His hands were stained and rough-skinned. Large. They were the hands that testosterone hath made, she would think later, when she could think. His grip was all male and possessive. His fingers dug into the pale skin at her hips.

Something in her responded to him. Everything in her responded to him.

"You have that wild streak of your grandmother’s, Lara Jordan." Her mother had always poured her disapproval on her every chance she got. "Mark my words, girls like you come to a bad end," she used to say, then would add with a disgusted glare, "Every time."

Lara had fought that parental prejudice all her life, only to realize now that her mother had been right. At the urging of the man who was kissing all common sense from her, she lay back on the wood-top table—flour dust be damned—and let him situate himself between her legs.

She was twenty two, alone in life for the first time, and she was about to lose her virginity to the most dangerous man she’d ever set eyes on. And she couldn’t claim for a moment that he’d seduced her. She was the one who’d strolled over to his bakery next door with a trumped up excuse, after hours.

"Here we are, the butcher and the baker," she said just so there’d be something in the air beyond their panting.

He licked a fiery trail down her neck and stopped to press his hot lips against her racing pulse. "If a candlestick maker tries to interrupt, I won’t be hold responsible."

They groaned together at the lame play on the nursery rhyme.

She didn’t know any candlestick makers, but she thought she might have found the candlestick.

Oh, my.

Her skirt came up. Her panties slipped away. His mouth scorched her nipples through the thin fabric of her bra. She ran her fingers over the corded muscles of his back. He was almost a full head taller than her and built like a brick oven. She was built like, well, like a butcher, but she felt feminine next to him, desirable in his hot gaze from the beginning.

When she’d decided to take over and run the butcher shop she’d inherited from her uncle, she considered that she might be getting in over her head. She had no idea how deep. But this was the life she wanted--adventure, challenge, and not the staid, average existence her mother had lived where every move was dictated by rules and more rules. She was going to be wild and free.

The man between her legs lifted his head, his dark gaze burning into hers. He said one word only, "Mine."

"Yes," she whispered as he pushed inside her with incredible restraint.

They’d known each other for a week.

Two years later...

The day had been going to hell in a hand basket even before his past decided to rise up and spit into his face. Undercover agent Reid Graham watched with mixed emotions as Lara Jordan walked in on the arms of a corporate stiff whose suit cost more than his monthly government salary.

Of all the restaurants in all the world, and she walks into this one. Tonight of all nights.

Lust and anger hit him in the gut in about equal doses. Lust, because the memory of their one night two years before was still his number one favorite fantasy. Anger because a single word from her could blow his cover and jeopardize an operation he’d invested years’ worth of sweat and blood in. One wrong word could easily get the both of them killed.

And not just them. He glanced around the crowded dining room, frowning at the people who could go from innocent bystander to victim in a blink of an eye.