The airport was crowded. Micah caught her by the arm and guided her past the ticket counter on the way to the concourses.

      “But…” she protested.

      “Don’t argue. Just walk through the metal detector.”

      He followed close behind her. Neither of them was carrying anything metallic, but Micah was stopped when a security woman passed a wand over the two of them and her detector picked up the residual gunpowder on his hands and clothing. The woman looked at her instrument and then at him, with a wary, suspicious stare.

      He smiled lazily at the uniformed woman holding the wand. “I’m on my way to a regional skeet shooting tournament,” he lied glibly. “I sent my guns on ahead by express, unassembled. Can’t be too careful these days, where firearms are concerned,” he added, catching Callie’s hand in his. “Right, honey?” he murmured softly, drawing her close.

      To Callie’s credit, she didn’t faint at the unexpected feel of Micah’s arm around her, but she tingled from head to toe and her heart went wild.

      The airport security woman seemed to relax, and she smiled back. She assumed, as Micah had intended, that he and Callie were involved. “Indeed you can’t. Have a good trip.”

      Micah kept that long, muscular arm around Callie as they walked slowly down the concourse. He looked down, noting the erratic rhythm of her heartbeat at her neck, and he smiled to himself.

      “You have lightning-quick reflexes,” he remarked after a minute. “I noticed that in Cancún. You didn’t argue, you didn’t question anything I told you to do, and you moved almost as fast as I did. You’re good company in tight corners.”

      She shrugged. “When you came in through the window, I didn’t know who you were, because of that face mask. Actually,” she confessed with a sheepish smile, “at first, I figured you were a rival drug dealer, but I had high hopes that you might be kind enough to just kill me and not torture me first if I didn’t resist.”

      He drew in a sharp breath and the arm holding her contracted with a jerk. “Strange attitude, Callie,” he remarked.

      “Not at the time. Not to me, anyway.” She shivered at the memory and felt his arm tighten almost protectively. They were well out of earshot and sight of the security guard. “Micah, what was that wand she was checking us with?”

      “It detects nitrates,” he replied. “With it, they can tell if a passenger has had any recent contact with weapons or explosives.”

      She was keenly aware of his arm still holding her close against his warm, powerful body. “You can, uh, let go now. She’s out of sight.”

      He didn’t relent. “Don’t look, but there’s a security guard with a two-way radio about fifteen feet to your right.” He smiled down at her. “And I’ll give you three guesses who’s on the other end of it.”

      She smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “The lady with the nitrate wand? We’re psyching them out, right?”

      He searched her eyes and for a few seconds he stopped walking. “Psyching them out,” he murmured. His gaze fell to her soft, full mouth. “Exactly.”

      She couldn’t quite get her breath. His expression was unreadable, but his black eyes were glittering. He watched her blouse shake with the frantic rate of her heartbeats. He was remembering mistletoe and harsh words, and that same look in Callie’s soft eyes, that aching need to be kissed that made her look so very vulnerable.

      “What the hell,” he murmured roughly as his head bent to hers. “It’s an airport. People are saying hello and goodbye everywhere…”

      His warm, hard mouth covered hers very gently while the sounds of people in transit all around them faded to a dull roar. His heavy brows drew together in something close to anguish as he began to kiss her. Fascinated by his expression, by the warm, ardent pressure of his mouth on hers, she closed her eyes tight, and fantasized that he meant it, that he wasn’t pretending for the benefit of security guards, that he was enjoying the soft, tremulous response of her lips to the teasing, expert pressure of his own.

      “Boss?”

      They didn’t hear the gruff whisper.

      It was followed by the loud clearing of a throat and a cough.

      They didn’t hear that, either. Callie was on tiptoe now, her short nails digging into the hard muscles of his upper arms, hanging on Micah’s slow, tender kiss with little more than willpower, so afraid that he was going to pull away…!

      “Micah!” the voice said shortly.

      Micah’s head jerked up, and for a few seconds he seemed as disoriented as Callie. He stared blankly at the dark-headed man in front of him.

      The man was extending a small case toward him. “Her papers and clothes and shoes and stuff,” the man said, nodding toward Callie and clearing his throat again. “Maddie had me fly them over here.”

      “Thanks, Pogo.”

      The big, dark man nodded. He stared with open curiosity at Callie, and then he smiled gently. “It was my pleasure,” he said, glancing again at Micah and making an odd little gesture with his head in Callie’s direction.

      “This is Callie Kirby,” Micah said shortly, adding, “my…stepsister.”

      The big man’s eyebrows levered up. “Oh! I mean, I was hoping she wasn’t a real sister. I mean, the way you were kissing her and all.” He flushed, and laughed self-consciously when Micah glared at him. Callie was scarlet, looking everywhere except at the newcomer.

      “You’ll miss your flight out of here,” Micah said pointedly.

      “What? Oh. Yeah.” He grinned