He snorted at her helpful suggestion. “Yeah, thanks but no thanks.”

She turned to study him with a lift of her brows. “Does it matter?”

“Only if they’re dangerous.”

“We have our own method of dealing with dangerous high-bloods.”

“Hunters?”

She nodded at the mention of the Sentinels who chased down renegades. Even now they were on the trail of a murderous high-blood who was creating chaos through Texas.

“Sometimes.”

“And other times?”

“Psychics. Witches.” She grimaced. “And Wolfe.”

“Wolfe?”

“The head of the Sentinels. No one wants to piss him off,” she said before giving a sudden shake of her head. “Well, except the Mave. She does it on a regular basis.”

“I’m not remotely surprised.”

“Sometimes I think—” She bit off her words, startled to discover she’d come close to confessing her suspicion that there were more than control issues that set off sparks between the Tagos and the Mave.

What was it about Duncan that made her feel as if she could share her most private thoughts and feelings?

It was ... unnerving.

His brow furrowed. “Callie?”

“I should let you get some rest,” she abruptly said, turning to head for the door. “You can use the phone if you need to call your chief.”

“Wait.”

With a swift motion he was blocking her path, his hands lightly grasping her upper arms.

“It’s late,” she protested, her heart fluttering at his gentle touch. “We can talk in the morning.”

His gaze slid over her face, lingering on her lips before returning to meet her wary eyes. “You’re right.”

“I am?”

“I don’t want to talk.”

She shivered. The heat of his fingers seared her skin, sending jolts of sensual electricity darting through her body. “Duncan,” she breathed.

His hooded gaze sparked with gold in the dim overhead light. “Can I hold you?”

She licked her dry lips. “What?”

His fingers stroked up and down the back of her arm. “We’re both tired and more than a little freaked out.”

“True.”

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Is that another cheesy line?”

“Not this time.” His expression was oddly somber. “I just want to feel you in my arms while I sleep.”

Her heart missed a beat at the simple words. She’d never had a man who just wanted to hold her. Actually, most men who were willing to have sex with her would have been horrified by the thought of sharing her bed.

She did, after all, peer into the minds of the dead.

The fact that Duncan genuinely seemed to want to hold her touched her in a deep, vulnerable place.

“Oh.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Too cheesy?”

Cheesy? It was ... perilously perfect.

Dammit.

“No,” she husked.

His jaw tightened, as if preparing to be rejected. “But?”

There was a tense pause as Callie silently weighed her options.

Logic warned that she should walk out the door and never look back.

She didn’t understand what was happening between her and Duncan O’Conner, though she did know that it was more than the usual lust for a prime stud-muffin.

But she didn’t want to be logical.

Not tonight.

She might be accustomed to her lonely bed, she might even have convinced herself she preferred to be on her own, but as Duncan had pointed out, it had been a long, freaky day. No doubt the first of many.

Why shouldn’t she enjoy a few hours wrapped in the arms of this gorgeous, drop-dead sexy cop?

A small smile curved her lips. “I don’t have my nightie.”

An undefinable emotion flared through the hazel eyes as Duncan moved with a speed that would have rivaled a Sentinel to scoop her off her feet.

“That’s okay,” he rasped, headed toward the bedroom. “Neither do I.”

She allowed herself to relax against the hard muscles of his chest, her gaze caught by the golden stubble that shadowed the line of his jaw.

He was so ... male.

Uncompromisingly, ruthlessly male.

And yet, he held her with a gentle care that was oddly reassuring.

He might be aggressive and even violent when necessary, but he would never, ever harm her.

“I don’t believe you wear a nightie.”

“Some night soon I’ll show you just what I do or don’t wear,” he promised with a wicked grin. “Tonight there are a couple robes hanging in the bathroon.” Entering the comfortable, if impersonal bedroom done in shades of black and silver, he lowered her until her feet were touching the carpet. “You can use the bathroom first.”

With a nod she hurried into the attached bathroom and closed the door.

It wasn’t that she was shy. Or scared.

Or at least not exactly.

But on the day of her eighteenth birthday she’d moved into her own apartment. She wasn’t used to sharing a private space with anyone.

Stripping off her clothes, she stepped into the shower and turned it on hot enough to turn her skin rosy. Steam billowed around her as she soaped herself from head to toe before squeezing her favorite apple shampoo into her palm and quickly washing her hair.

She admired women like Serra who could keep their long hair perfectly coiffed (whatever the hell that meant). She, however, ended up looking like a porcupine by the end of the day. Besides, the unique color attracted the sort of attention she didn’t want.

Hopping out of the shower, she quickly dried herself and pulled on one of the thick terry cloth robes. Then, leaving the bathroom, she returned to the bedroom, keeping her gaze locked on her bare toes.

“Your turn.”

She felt him hesitate, as if he wanted to say something. Then she heard the steady tread of his footsteps as he headed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Callie released the breath she’d been unconsciously holding.

This was what she wanted.

It truly was.

But she felt as awkward as a teenager about to go on her first date.

No. This was worse. Her first date had been with a boy she’d known for years. He’d been warned by her foster mother, who happened to be a witch, that if he did anything more than hold her hand he would be turned into a slimy slug.

Certainly she hadn’t been pacing the floor with the sensation of demented butterflies filling her belly.

And what was the deal with the temperature?

She was hot then cold then hot then ...

“Hey, relax, sweetheart,” a male voice whispered in her ear, those strong arms again sweeping her off her feet to carry her to the nearby bed. “I just want you close.”

With care he settled her on the mattress and shucked off his robe to reveal his lean, surprisingly bronzed body covered by a pair of green boxers. She barely had the opportunity to appreciate the broad shoulders, the well-defined six-pack, and powerful thighs before he was sliding in the bed behind her, tugging the blanket over both of them.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” She sucked in a deep breath, forcing her tense muscles to relax as the heat of his body seeped through her skin. He smelled of soap and toothpaste and an enticing scent that was uniquely Duncan O’Conner. “I’ve never slept with anyone before ... I mean ... not for the whole night.”

Cautiously he scooted closer, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Do all high-bloods keep themselves so isolated?”

She settled her head on the pillow, her gaze absently studying the oil painting depicting a field of daffodils that hung on the wall.

“It does seem to be a common trait.”

“Is it because you’re afraid of trusting anyone?”

She struggled to concentrate. She told herself her jitters were because she’d never cuddled in bed with a man and tried to have a conversation. Her few sexual encounters had been brief with little in the way of actual chitchat.

It was bound to be awkward the first time, wasn’t it?

Certainly it had nothing to do with the intrusive images of what would happen if she shimmied out of her robe and turned to face him.

“For some.” She was forced to clear her throat. She wasn’t going to imagine rubbing herself against all that male hardness. Or her sensitive nipples being tickled by his golden chest hair as he nuzzled kisses down the curve of her neck. Nope. Not gonna do it. “Most have special abilities that mean they have to maintain constant control when they’re around others,” she managed to continue. “They need time and space just to relax.”

“I get that.” His warm breath puffed against her nape, sending arrows of pleasure down her spine. “Cops don’t have special powers, but after a day spent in the gutters they need some serious decompression. Not all spouses understand why we want to go to a bar and toss back a few shots or lay on the couch and try to pretend that we can forget the sight of a young woman found dead on her kitchen floor.”

She stilled. For once they were completely alone with no danger of being overheard.

“That’s not entirely true, is it?” she asked softly.

“What isn’t true?”

“That you don’t have special powers.”

He tensed, remaining silent for a long minute. Callie bit her bottom lip, regretting her impulsive question. It was beyond intrusive to prod into a person’s private gifts. Even the youngest high-blood knew that.

If Duncan wanted her to know about his powers he would have told her.

The apology was on the tip of her tongue when Duncan abruptly broke the silence.

“How long have you known?”

“I don’t know anything for certain,” she assured him. “You work very hard to keep them hidden.” She hesitated, torn between curiosity and the manners that had been drilled into her from the cradle. Curiosity won. “Are you ashamed?”