found.
Too bad it was reality he had to live with.
When they got to the farm they gave the house and the other buildings a wide berth, approaching the barn from the rear.
“Hayloft,” Cole said, indicating a door sitting about twenty-five feet off the ground, at the top of a conveyor.
He took her hand and pulled her up the ramp, wincing when he opened the door and the shriek of unoiled hinges cut through the still night air. A dog barked from the farmyard, but Cole relaxed when he heard the faint rattle of chain that told him the animal wasn’t roaming around free.
Cole wouldn’t have risked it, but Harmony went past him, continuing across the loft to look out the window on the other side.
“The house is still dark,” she said softly, “and the dog has stopped barking.”
“What about tomorrow morning?”
“We’ll be gone before anyone knows we were here,” she said, and then for the second time that night she decided to torture him, digging through her duffel. “Yes!” she said, pulling out another pair of jeans. “They’re still dry. Mostly.”
She toed off her shoes and peeled out of her wet jeans one agonizing inch at a time. Cole turned his back. He could still hear the rustle of cloth, imagine too well what she was taking off and regret what she was putting on, but at least he had the self-control not to watch this time.
“It feels good to be dry again,” she finally said, dropping down onto the hay.
“I wouldn’t know,” Cole said. “I don’t have anything to change into. But we can share body heat.”
“You want to share body heat?” she asked, her voice dropping from chipper to sultry. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
“Really?” His voice shot up about three octaves and broke at the end.
“Sure. There’s a cow right down there.”
Cole stomped to the other side—okay, it was more like wading, since it was impossible to stomp in knee-deep hay. “It’s your fault I’m cold,” he griped. “You didn’t bring me a coat.”
“Sue me,” Harmony said groggily, the hay rustling as she settled down, her duffel under her head.
Cole waded back and lay down behind her, but she scrambled away before he could get too cozy.
“Time to get some things straight.”
Cole blew out a breath and rolled onto his back, crossing his arms behind his head. “You do like your rules, don’t you?”
“Not rules,” she said, “these are more like guidelines.”
“Guidelines.”
“Suggestions,” she amended. “Obviously you’ve decided to help me, and I think it would be a good idea to agree—”
“Agree?” Cole sat up, exasperated. “Sweetheart, if you want to be in control, just take charge. Don’t ask or suggest or supply guidelines. Tell.”
“Fine, I’m the FBI agent—”
“Having a job title doesn’t make you the boss, either.”
“Back off, Mr. Chips.”
“That’s better,” Cole said. “Nice snap to the voice, good touch with the sarcasm.”
Harmony didn’t say anything.
“Earth to Blondie.”
“I’m reminiscing about our first meeting, when you refused to talk to me.”
Cole smiled before he could stop himself. It was surprising. And troubling—even more because he was feeling . . . friendly. Lust he could understand; anything else was sheer stupidity. Sure, she was attractive, and yeah, he enjoyed the fact that she could keep up with him. Hell, she gave as good as she got, mentally and physically. But she was FBI, and if she hadn’t lied to him outright, she definitely hadn’t told him everything. She’d managed to answer all his questions, and she’d looked sincere while she did it, but the FBI operated on a need-to-know basis, and he wasn’t in the loop.
“You have something to say, say it,” he said, feeling as grim as he sounded.
Harmony must have heard it too because she got right down to setting boundaries, no edge, no banter. “Like I said, I’m the FBI agent, so I’ll deal with any threats and I’ll handle
Too bad it was reality he had to live with.
When they got to the farm they gave the house and the other buildings a wide berth, approaching the barn from the rear.
“Hayloft,” Cole said, indicating a door sitting about twenty-five feet off the ground, at the top of a conveyor.
He took her hand and pulled her up the ramp, wincing when he opened the door and the shriek of unoiled hinges cut through the still night air. A dog barked from the farmyard, but Cole relaxed when he heard the faint rattle of chain that told him the animal wasn’t roaming around free.
Cole wouldn’t have risked it, but Harmony went past him, continuing across the loft to look out the window on the other side.
“The house is still dark,” she said softly, “and the dog has stopped barking.”
“What about tomorrow morning?”
“We’ll be gone before anyone knows we were here,” she said, and then for the second time that night she decided to torture him, digging through her duffel. “Yes!” she said, pulling out another pair of jeans. “They’re still dry. Mostly.”
She toed off her shoes and peeled out of her wet jeans one agonizing inch at a time. Cole turned his back. He could still hear the rustle of cloth, imagine too well what she was taking off and regret what she was putting on, but at least he had the self-control not to watch this time.
“It feels good to be dry again,” she finally said, dropping down onto the hay.
“I wouldn’t know,” Cole said. “I don’t have anything to change into. But we can share body heat.”
“You want to share body heat?” she asked, her voice dropping from chipper to sultry. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
“Really?” His voice shot up about three octaves and broke at the end.
“Sure. There’s a cow right down there.”
Cole stomped to the other side—okay, it was more like wading, since it was impossible to stomp in knee-deep hay. “It’s your fault I’m cold,” he griped. “You didn’t bring me a coat.”
“Sue me,” Harmony said groggily, the hay rustling as she settled down, her duffel under her head.
Cole waded back and lay down behind her, but she scrambled away before he could get too cozy.
“Time to get some things straight.”
Cole blew out a breath and rolled onto his back, crossing his arms behind his head. “You do like your rules, don’t you?”
“Not rules,” she said, “these are more like guidelines.”
“Guidelines.”
“Suggestions,” she amended. “Obviously you’ve decided to help me, and I think it would be a good idea to agree—”
“Agree?” Cole sat up, exasperated. “Sweetheart, if you want to be in control, just take charge. Don’t ask or suggest or supply guidelines. Tell.”
“Fine, I’m the FBI agent—”
“Having a job title doesn’t make you the boss, either.”
“Back off, Mr. Chips.”
“That’s better,” Cole said. “Nice snap to the voice, good touch with the sarcasm.”
Harmony didn’t say anything.
“Earth to Blondie.”
“I’m reminiscing about our first meeting, when you refused to talk to me.”
Cole smiled before he could stop himself. It was surprising. And troubling—even more because he was feeling . . . friendly. Lust he could understand; anything else was sheer stupidity. Sure, she was attractive, and yeah, he enjoyed the fact that she could keep up with him. Hell, she gave as good as she got, mentally and physically. But she was FBI, and if she hadn’t lied to him outright, she definitely hadn’t told him everything. She’d managed to answer all his questions, and she’d looked sincere while she did it, but the FBI operated on a need-to-know basis, and he wasn’t in the loop.
“You have something to say, say it,” he said, feeling as grim as he sounded.
Harmony must have heard it too because she got right down to setting boundaries, no edge, no banter. “Like I said, I’m the FBI agent, so I’ll deal with any threats and I’ll handle
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