Limbo Man by Blair Bancroft

you bought it. Told yourself it was for the job, but truth is, you wondered what it would take to rock the man back on his heels .
    Unfortunately, what she was discovering was that when Nick got rocked back on his heels, he turned into Sergei. Nonetheless . . . if she was standing directly behind him, he couldn’t see her. And this much she owed him.
    He gasped as her fingers bit into his shoulders. Vee snatched her hands back. Had that sound been pleasure or pain? Who knew what was under that black tee? She bent down, got her fingers under the hem, and skinned it off over hands raised as docilely as a one-year-old on the changing table. Oh. My. God . It was a miracle he was able to walk. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” she murmured.
    “Scars not all new,” Sergei said. “Is worth the pain.”
    Vee blinked, took a deep breath. Earlier in the kitchen , he had helped her. She needed to return the favor. Starting with his neck, which seemed to have the fewest wounds, she massaged every part of his arms and upper back that didn’t have raw abrasions or recent stitches. Occasionally, he moaned. Each time, Vee hastily drew back. “ Nyet , is good,” Sergei protested, and she would begin again, finally developing a rhythm, feeling his response . . . becoming one with a pliant gargoyle.
    Vee’s hands slowed. His head had fallen forward, eyes closed. Profound silence enveloped them. A silence out of time and space, as if they’d warped into a new universe. If only they could stay cocooned on the island . . . never have to go back . . . never face reality.
    Almost, she liked the guy. If she couldn’t be marooned on an island with Cade, Nick was an intriguing second choice. Vee sighed. Her fingers stilled. Too much contact. Too personal.
    Time to summon Vee Frost, federal cop.
    “Come on, big boy, time for bed.” Vee coaxed him off the chair, steered him to the bed. Pausing only long enough to turn back the covers on the opposite side of the bed from where she’d been sleeping, she tucked him in. Silently, she gazed at the bowling ball head, the top covered in soft brown fuzz, lower cheeks the same, sort of like a skinhead chia pet. Damn! The miserable man had no right to touch her soul, but he did. It must be the Russian in both of them.
    She had two choices—sleep in Nick’s bed or join him in hers. If she slept in the room next door, she was going to worry about him. If she didn’t, she was going to worry about waking up with him in the morning. More specifically, waking up with Sergei, whose bent for cherchez les femmes just might be enough to triumph over physical weakness.
    She needn’t have worried. When she woke, the other half of the double bed was empty. She heard water gurgling through the pipes to the bathroom down the hall, where Nick was obviously taking a shower. A pang of something Vee didn’t want to examine closely stabbed through her. It had to be relief, right? It couldn’t possibly be regret.
     
    As Nick followed the smell of frying bacon to the kitchen, movement caught his eye. Eyes narrowed, he paused at the window above the kitchen sink. “Company coming,” he snapped. “Not false alarm.”
    “Dammit, he was supposed to call first—”
    The disposable cell phone rang. Vee fished it out of the pocket of an apron almost as frilly as that lavender confection she wore to bed. Probably kept her Glock in there too. Women were very strange.
    “Yes?” she snapped, her crisp tone displaying her annoyance. Nonetheless, Nick could see tension ease away as the caller confirmed the approaching boat was friend, not foe.
    A backup minder? Nick wondered. Or was this the full cavalry charging to the rescue?
    “My father,” Vee told him as she ended the call. “He outranks all the agents you’ve dealt with to date. His name is James, but, fair warning, he’s known as Jack the Ripper and Jack the Giant Killer.”
    “Can I eat first?”
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Glaring, Vee slammed a