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Paul had talked about his antiques on their date. He’d talked about them a lot. Particularly, his collection of ancient knives. He’d been collecting them all his life. He had knives dating back to ancient Egypt. Knives from the Middle Ages. The Victorian era. The Civil War.

Since he loved to cut his prey, the fascination made a sick sense to Miranda.

Now she just had to set a nice lure in her trap and wait for the knife-freak to show.

“What are you doing?”

Cain’s voice. She jerked, startled. The man sure moved like some kind of, um, cat.

He closed the door behind him. Lowered the blinds that covered the glass on the door. Then turned the lock on the door with a soft click.

His predatory gaze narrowed as he stalked toward her. “Miranda? Why do I have the feeling you aren’t just checking Sam’s email?”

Her fingers stilled above the keyboard. “Because I’m not.” No sense denying it. Her chin lifted. “I’m doing a bit of hunting on my own.”

He grunted and continued to cross the room with his long, strong strides. He’d been keeping his distance from her since the shooting. No touches. No kisses. She’d caught him staring at her a few times, the same raw lust lurking in his eyes that she’d seen before Paul had screwed things to hell and back.

But Cain had been holding on to a steel chain of control. And she was getting incredibly tired of it.

And tired of having both him and Santiago bunking in her den.

There was more than enough room in her queen-size bed for Cain, and the man knew it.

So why the standoff? Miranda’s patience was long gone, and she’d never pretended to have the control that the man before her possessed. Time to clear the air.

She stood quickly, sending the chair rolling back behind her. “What the hell is your deal lately?” Grandma Belle had been a woman used to speaking her mind, and Miranda thought it was long past time she did the same.

Cain blinked, then lowered those glittering eyes of his to her throat. “Your bruises are gone.”

“What?” Her hand lifted automatically and touched the no-longer-tender skin. “Yeah, so⁠—”

“The stitches came out this morning, didn’t they?”

A stiff nod. The stitches in her arm had been removed.

He smiled then, the smile of one very pleased cat. And his dimple curved. “Good.”

The lust was in his eyes again. That need that had a ball of fire churning within her. She marched around the desk, angry he could arouse her with just a stare. Angry that she’d wanted him all week while he’d kept that cold space between them.

Just angry, dammit.

Her arms crossed over her chest as she faced off with him. “What kind of game are you trying to play with me, Lawson?” Sam had told her about the background check he’d run on Cain. Until he was eighteen, her shifter had lived in Dallas, Texas. Then he and his mother had moved to Atlanta. He’d bounced around with the Bureau a bit after that, eventually winding up in Miami before he took his little retirement and headed to Cherryville.

Lots of big cities. And she was sure there had been lots of women in those cities. Cain was far too sexy not to have attracted more than his share of lovers. Hell, maybe the guy was too used to big-city life and the games that men and women played there.

Emotional games weren’t for her. Her ex-fiancés could tell him that.

He stepped even closer to her and lifted a hand to trail over her arm. “I’m not playing.”

She swallowed, liking his touch far too much. And when the backs of his fingers rubbed lightly against her breast, she sucked in a quick pull of air. “Then what is this hot-and-cold mood? One day, you’re acting wild for me. Then the next day, you’re freezing me out.” He’d been completely hands-off.

And it had hurt. When she sure hadn’t been expecting pain. She’d been rejected before. She was thirty-two, for heaven’s sake. Of course she’d been rejected. But this, it was different.

He was different, and not just because the guy could turn into an animal at will.

His hands curled around her. He lifted her up and put her down on the top of the desk. Her legs dangled off the side, and her skirt fluttered over her thighs. “What are you doing?”

His lips took hers. Hot. Hard. Demanding and possessive.