No Hero by Mallory Kane

off her murmured retort, and stalked around the car. Just as well. He didn’t want to hear it. He glanced through the windshield. Sure enough, she had her mouth open and he knew as soon as he opened the door she’d be spouting another question. Well, he’d had it with her questions. And he figured he knew one surefire way to shut her up. He wrenched open the mangled passenger door and waited for her to get out.
    When she did, he didn’t move aside like the perfect gentleman. He told himself he was doing this to make her back off. That it had nothing to do with her spicy scent. It definitely had nothing to do with the battle he’d waged ever since he’d seen her that morning, to ignore the chemistry between them and forget just how good her lips had tasted the one time he’d kissed her. He told himself she’d really hate it if he gathered up that mad tangle of red hair and angled her head just the way he liked when he made a move on a woman.
    So he did, and the silken strands caught his fingers like spider webs.
    She looked up at him, her eyes wide, her mouth opening in a little O. Was she scared—or was she about to say something? He didn’t wait to find out. He lowered his head and touched her parted lips with his. To his surprise, her head tilted slightly backward, and she sighed.
    Oh hell. The soft warmth of her breath against his mouth sent desire shooting through him like a spear, straight to his groin. He pulled back to look at her, searching for something that would tell him he was wrong—that she wasn’t feeling the same desire he felt spilling through his veins.
    Her eyes drifted closed. Her sigh fanned his lips. He finally admitted to himself that he’d always wanted her, not just since he’d kissed her that night five months ago, but since forever. Since his first glimpse of that damn television show, since he’d first shaken her hand flirtatiously and asked her out, since before he’d discovered that her goal was to unearth all his darkest secrets and feed them to the world—or at least to the whole city of New Orleans.
    “Damn it, Connor,” he rasped, pulling her closer. He felt her arms come around his neck, felt her yield, willingly, and he knew, just as he’d known that night, that he could have her if he wanted to. Hot and naked. She wouldn’t say no. Waves of lust wracked him, banishing the haze of exhaustion and grief from his brain. His body hardened in anticipation of—
    Hell. He was doing this to scare her away, not take her to bed.
    At his hesitation, she tensed, but before she could pull away, he did. He lifted his head and gazed at her through lowered lids, then deliberately cocked one brow. To his surprise, a small moan escaped her lips.
    He swore, and set her away from him. “This—” he growled, “—is a really bad idea.”
    She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
    Speechless? Join the club.
    He let her go and grabbed the edge of the passenger door. She scooted out of the way as he slammed it shut. He stood there waiting to follow her across the parking lot and into the lobby of the WACT building. She didn’t move. After a couple of seconds, he said. “The disk, Connor?”
    She started. Then, with a frustrated glance, she said, “You know, I have a first name. It’s Reghan.”
    He let the corner of his mouth drift upward. “Oh, I know,” he drawled. “And a middle one too. Maria.”
    Her eyes flashed, then she turned and wordlessly stalked toward the large glass front doors. They went through the lobby to the elevators, where she punched the button for the eleventh floor.
    As kisses went, that one had been insubstantial. Their lips had barely touched. But it hung in the air between them like a giant sword as the elevator made its slow ascent to the eleventh floor. He let it hang there. He’d accomplished what he’d wanted. He’d made her intensely uncomfortable.
    Unfortunately, his brilliant idea had backfired on him. Because he was now fighting a raging urge