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HE’D TAKEN her by surprise.

Good. That was exactly what he wanted.

Long moments ago, when he’d awakened to find Mia stirring beside him, his

reaction had been instantaneous.

Male, and instantaneous. Even after making love to her twice, he awoke hard and eager to take her again.

He knew that didn’t make sense. She was his prisoner. She was a thief. She dealt in drugs.

All another man had done was ask him to find her.

But he wanted her. Making love with her hadn’t ended his hunger, it had only increased it.

There were so many things they hadn’t done. Things he wanted to do while he watched her face. He wanted to go more slowly, kiss his way down her body, seek out all the shadowed parts of her and explore them.

Crazy as it seemed, making love with Mia had been different. She’d been innocent and abandoned, tender and wild, and in those last minutes of his possession, when she began to tremble beneath him, he’d felt as if he were standing on the edge of the universe.

No. None of it made sense, but he was a man of action, not introspect. Why try to figure out what would cause such powerful sexual attraction?

Living it was all that mattered.

He’d been on the verge of doing just that a few minutes ago, of drawing her closer and kissing her, but something had stopped him.

Her caution, maybe.

She’d held herself as if she were made of glass.

He’d told himself he was overreacting. She thought he was asleep. She didn’t want to wake him. Maybe she had to go to the bathroom, and she was working up to easing from the bed without disturbing him.

Wrong.

When she finally slipped out from under his arm, she didn’t head for the bathroom, she headed for his closet.

He watched through slitted eyes as she chose a T-shirt and sweatpants and put them on.

That was when he understood, Mia was getting ready to run away. To leave him.

He told himself that was a crazy way to label it. He’d taken her captive, brought her here against her will. As she saw it, this was their own war, and a POW’s first obligation was to try to escape.

All nicely logical, except she wasn’t his prisoner of war anymore. She was—she was—

Damn it, what was she? A woman he’d taken to bed, that was all. What they’d done was have sex. Nothing more, nothing less—and he’d been a fool to have fallen asleep with her in his arms as if they were lovers instead of tying her up, the way he’d planned.

She’d let him seduce her. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe it had all been deliberate. She’d wanted him off his guard and he, fool that he was, had obliged.

And yet—and yet, even when he’d followed her down the hall, some foolish part of him had been hoping she’d just gone for a glass of water. A cup of tea.

Sure, he thought grimly, seeing the look of horror on her face as she saw him, of course. A woman would definitely go for a glass of water with her overnight case in her hand.

“Matthew.” She gave a little laugh. “You’re awake.”

He didn’t answer. He saw her throat constrict as she swallowed.

“I was just—I was just—”

“I know what you were ‘just,’” he said coldly, waggling the keys. “You were just looking for these.”