His smile grew, and her heart did a strange flutter. This man was dangerous, all right, and not just to her health.
"Which is why I could not retrieve my sweater," he said, his gaze drifting from her face to her breasts and back again.
Suddenly too warm, she peeled off her coat and dropped it on the seat next to her. "How did you lose the cops in the park?"
"How did they find me after the supermarket?"
"I saw you."
He studied her for a moment. "It would seem you are not as oblivious to this link between us as you would have me believe."
That much was certainly true, but she wasn't about to admit it. Giving this man the knowledge of how deeply he affected her would be a bad move on so many levels. Not the least of which was the fact that he was a stranger who refused to impart information about himself.
But would that stop her from having sex with him again?
Hell, no!
"And how did you come to that conclusion?"
"You sensed who I was, didn't you, even though I gave no clues via appearance or walk?"
"Maybe."
A smile tugged his lips again. "I can understand your hesitancy. Believe me, this was not on my agenda, either."
"Then what is?"
His smile faded into something cold and hard. "Catching a killer."
The sudden change was a chilling reminder that she knew nothing about this man other than the fact that he gave good sex. She didn't even know if she could trust him, despite what her instincts said.
She crossed her arms, and leaned back. "Are you government?"
He paused, his expression assessing. After a moment, he said, "Yes."
"U.S. government, I mean."
"Yes."
"CIA?"
"No."
"FBI?"
"No."
"Who then?"
"It doesn't matter."
It did matter, if only because of what was happening between them. She needed to know more about him. Needed to explore the possibilities that lay before them.
But that required two willing participants, and she had a suspicion willing wasn't in his repertoire at the moment. So why was he here? Really?
"Do you know the killer?"
"Yes."
"He works with you?"
He hesitated, his gaze sliding past her for a moment, then coming back full of warning. Not that she really needed one when the sound of footsteps, as well as the tantalizing aroma of bacon, pancakes and coffee, was evidence enough that Dan was approaching.
She waited until he'd deposited the food and the coffee, then picked up the small pot of maple syrup and poured it all over her pancakes.
"If you eat a stack like that every morning, piled high with butter and maple syrup, how the hell do you remain so slim?"
Grey asked, amusement glinting briefly in his eyes.
"Luck of the draw when it comes to the gene pool. Beagles are naturally slender." She picked up her knife and fork. "You were saying?"
He began to tuck into his bacon and eggs. "You need to keep away from the bar tonight."
She blinked. "That's not what you were saying."
"No. But it's what I needed to say."
"Why?"
"Because the killer will strike tonight, and I don't want you in the firing line."
His words made her heart do an odd little jig. "Better me than someone who can't defend themselves."
"There is no defense against the likes of this person. Not for you, anyway."
"I'm a shifter. I'm fast. Strong."
His smile held a condescending edge. "Not against this person. Not even against me."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're just a face shifter—no disrespect intended. Granted, you're a male, and therefore stronger than me by nature, but I still should have the edge when it comes to speed."
"You think?"
"I wouldn't have said it otherwise."
He studied her for a moment, his gaze so intent she had to quell the urge to squirm. Then, with a half smile, he put down his knife and fork.
"Care to test that?"
She hesitated. "How?"
"On the count of three, you try to pull your right hand away from the pancakes before I can grab it."
She put down her cutlery. It seemed too easy, which made her suspect it would be the opposite. "Who counts."
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."
"Okay. One."
He raised an eyebrow, amusement touching his lips again.
He crossed his arms, and rested them lightly on the table. It was a pose that suggested this was no contest.
"Two."
Tension ran through her. He still looked relaxed.
Unconcerned. Like he had all the time in the world to lunge across the table and grab her hand.
"Three."
As fast as she could, she ripped her hand back, out of the way. His hand blurred as it shot out. She got as far as the edge of the table before his fingers wrapped around hers and stopped her dead.
"Damn, that's fast," she muttered, trying to ignore the press of his callused palm against her knuckles. Yet it was impossible to ignore the warm response that spread from her hand to the rest of her body.
"It almost wasn't fast enough." He shifted his grip and, with his thumb, began to lightly caress the inside of her wrist.
Her pulse jumped into high gear again, and her throat felt suddenly dry.
"What do you mean?" It came out little more than a husky whisper, and the heat in his gaze went up several notches.
Even the air seemed to vibrate with the lust flaring between them.
"You got your hand to the edge of the table. Most people wouldn't have."
"Most people aren't shifters."
"Most shifters aren't that fast." His gaze rose to hers. "Or this beautiful."
For several seconds she lost herself in the ethereal beauty of his eyes, drinking in the heat, the sincerity, the desire, that were all too evident in those ghostly depths.
It would be all too easy to fall for this man.
This stranger.
She blinked and tried to free her hand from his. He held it fast, then with his free hand, pushed the food aside and leaned across the table. She watched his approach, her gaze skating between his lips and his eyes, torn between watching the desire so evident in his gaze, and the advance of the luscious mouth she just wanted to kiss forever. She closed her eyes at the last moment, welcoming his kiss, opening her mouth, drawing him deeper. God, he tasted good. She kissed him long and hard, exploring his mouth with her tongue, tasting him as thoroughly as he tasted her.
By the time he pulled back, her breathing was ragged and tiny beads of perspiration dotted her overheated skin.
"I want you," he whispered, his breath so warm and fast against her lips. He raised a hand, cupping her cheek, his fingers seeming to burn where they touch. "Now."
Oh God… she so wanted the same. Yet she couldn't. Not here, not when she knew so little about him. Not when she didn't even know what he really wanted.
He began to drop feather light kisses on her lips, her nose, her cheeks. "Trust your instincts," he said. "They rarely lie."
"It's the rarely bit I'm worried about."
"I'm not lying, Eryn. I want you."
His mouth moved down her neck. She closed her eyes again, enjoying the sensation, feeling warmth flooding all the right places. "That I don't doubt. It's the rest of your story I'm worried about."
"I've told you no lies here."
His tongue skimmed the moisture around the base of her neck. A tremor ran through her. "It's the truths you haven't told that concern me."
"The only truth that matters right now is what's happening between us."
His breath was a warm caress of air against her neck. She licked her lips, fighting the urge to leap across the table and take what he was offering.
"Tell me your name."
He pulled back a little, his gaze searching hers. "It matters that much?"
"Yes."