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used to think that if I ever did, you’d be high on my list of prospects.” His face darkened. “And then John started feeding me lies about you. And I listened.”
    She started to draw away, but he caught her wrists and held her there, his black eyes steady and probing.
    â€œI wish I could take it back,” he said. “But I can’t. I’m really sorry for the way I treated you. Especially at the funeral home.”
    The feel of his big, warm hands around her wrists wasn’t threatening to her. They were comforting. “You didn’t know me,” she said.
    â€œI didn’t want to know you.” He grimaced. “Maybe I won’t ever go off the deep end like my mother did. But I’ve got a past that’s going to make it hard for any woman to live with me on a permanent basis. I make my living with guns, Millie,” he added, watching her face. “I work for a government agency that sends me in when every other option fails. It’s dangerous work. I can’t afford any sort of distraction. That’s why I don’t get involved with nice girls. Girls like you.”
    It began to make sense. Good time girls didn’t expect happy endings. They, like Tony, lived for the moment. He liked his job, had no thought of ever quitting it, and he was telling Millie to back off. In a nice way, but definitely the same message.
    She forced a smile. “You’re warning me off,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Should I be flattered?”
    He let go of her wrists. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said solemnly. “I could. You’re not worldly.”
    She got to her feet and went back to the sofa and sat down. “I guess I’m not. I’m a librarian,” she said philosophically. “Library work isn’t Indiana Jones stuff.”
    â€œNo. But if you read military history, you’re an armchair adventurer, at least,” he teased.
    She smiled, hiding her misery. “What do you like to read?”
    â€œThe classics,” he said. “But I’m partial to military history myself.”
    â€œDo you have a hobby?” she asked, fascinated with what she was learning about him.
    He grinned. “I like to cook,” he told her. “I can make almost anything, even French pastries.”
    She laughed. “So can I.”
    He pursed his lips. “Pity we don’t have a kitchen here.”
    â€œIsn’t it, just?”
    He stood up and stretched, powerful muscles rippling in his chest and arms. “It’s been a long day. I usually stay up late, but I’m pretty tired. Watch another movie, if you like. It won’t disturb me.”
    She nodded, but she looked uncomfortable.
    â€œWhat is it?” he asked.
    She grimaced. “I was so upset that I forgot to pack anything to sleep in…”
    â€œNow that’s a problem I can solve,” he told her. He went into his bedroom, rummaged in his suitcase and came back with a round-necked white T-shirt in pristine condition. “It will swallow you whole. As good as a gown, I’d say.” He grinned.
    She laughed and fought a blush. He really was huge. It would come down to her knees and wrap around her three times. “Thanks.”
    â€œHey. We’re bunkmates. We have to share, right?” He winked at her. “Sleep tight.”
    â€œYou, too.”
    He went into his room and closed the door. She turned off the television and withdrew into her own room. After she’d put out the light, she lay in the darkness, loving the feel and smell of the T-shirt against her skin. She wondered if she could find some excuse for not giving it back.
    She was delighted that he’d told her the true story of his background. She understood him much better. He had good reasons for wanting to stay uninvolved with women. But she wondered if he was beginning to feel the need for companionship, more than just a