Page 3 of Fire Dancer

Then his expression hardened, and he bustled in, six-foot-two inches of broody man muscle fit for the cover of a calendar ofHot FirefightersorRipped Ranchers.

Or, more fittingly,Sexy Secret Agents. Not that that was public knowledge.

The teenaged daughter gaped. So did her mother. Even the son did a double take at the way Ingo’s biceps stretched the sleeves of his dark T-shirt.

“Welcome to Sedona Glass,” I said, as if we hadn’t once dreamed of a happily-ever-after.

He shot me one of those looks that ignited my girl parts, and I swear, the space between us sizzled.

“Uh, we’ll come back later.” The mother hustled her kids out of the shop.

Smart lady. Ingo exuded asomething’s about to go downintensity that made folks scan the street for drug dealers and mafia hit men.

“But, Mom—” her daughter protested.

The door slammed behind them, and the bell rang merrily.

Long after the sound died, Ingo and I gazed at each other in silence.

Finally, I pointed at the fleeing family. “That was a sure sale you just chased away.”

Either Ingo didn’t hear me, or he ignored my words. Both were equally possible. The guy was that focused. So focused, his gaze didn’t so much as dart to the beautiful glass art all around him. The glass art I had poured heart and soul into.

Reason number one we were no longer together.

He stomped over to the front window and peered out at an angle. “What did she come for?”

I rolled my eyes. This again?

Thiswas reason number two. An unhealthy obsession with work — his, not mine.

He gazed in Stacy’s direction, but I refused to indulge him.

I pointed to the mother. “She wanted a dream catcher. You know, a dream catcher? Because some people have happy dreams, not just obsessions.”

“I have happy dreams,” he grumbled in that gritty, dragging steel over gravel voice that used to make my toes curl.

Operative term:used to. I was older and wiser now. This man no longer affected me.

Well, barely.

“Happy dreams aren’t about catching bad guys. They’re about good times with nice people,” I lectured. “They’re about success in goals you didn’t even know you had.” I narrowed my eyes and leaned in. “Some happy dreams are about sex. Like the best sex you ever had, only better.”

His nostrils flared, and his eyes dropped to my lips, then lower.

My throat bobbed, but I held my ground. Yes, all mybest sexdreams featured Ingo. And they weren’t just dreams. They were memories.

His lips twitched, and several silent seconds ticked by as we stared at each other.

Then Ingo gave himself a shake and jerked a thumb toward the street. “I meant her.”

“Stacy?” I asked, though I already knew.

The question was, why? Stacy was sweet, friendly, and genuine. There was no way she was involved in anything iffy.

Ingo, on the other hand, was broody and mistrustful. Borderline paranoid, at least when it came to the safety of others. Even his buddy Nash worried about him.

And, yikes. That was saying something. Nash was great, but he’d been one to worry about until he’d met my sister. For him to point the finger at Ingo…

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