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trailing hot kisses
along her neck and shoulder. Desire unfurled inside her. This was madness, she
knew him only a few hours, but she was hungry for him.
     
    Adrenaline sex, he’d experienced it a few times after
battle. Strom groaned as her hands became more eager. His fingers reached for
the belt on her robe and he hesitated. Much as he wanted her, he couldn’t let
this happen. Ingrid would hate him in the morning. He couldn’t let her get
under his skin like this. She was still in far too much danger. Strom pressed a
gentle kiss against her lips, and held her until her breathing slowed and she
was calm again.
    “Ingrid, we really need to talk.”
    “Of course,” she murmured with an embarrassed flush, as she
untangled herself from his arms. What on earth was she doing? She had witnessed
a murder and now she was kissing a stranger as if it was going out of fashion. Okay,
Sorrenson, get a grip. This guy may have saved your life but you know
absolutely nothing about him. And what was he doing in the museum at night
anyway?
    “What were you doing in my office?”
    “I was waiting for you, Ingrid.”
    This was getting way too weird. Strom’s expression was
serious, but how had he known where to find her, unless he was one of them.
Ingrid moved to the edge of the couch.
    “Strom, thank you for tonight, but it’s getting late and I’m
really tired. So if you don’t mind…”
    He didn’t move. Her heart sank. This was turning into scary
movie night. The one where the too-stupid-to-live heroine brings the killer
home with her. She was off the couch in a flash, hobbling toward the kitchen.
She eyed Finn’s prized Sabatier knives on the worktop, and reaching for the
knife block, she selected the largest one she could find.
    “Ingrid, put it down. You might hurt yourself.”
    Strom’s voice startled her and the knife fell from her hand,
skidding across the tiled floor. She inched her way along the kitchen cupboards
toward the hall.
    “Ingrid,” his tone became impatient. What was wrong with
her? One minute she was kissing him and the next she had fled like a startled
bird.
    Ingrid picked up a heavy ceramic dish and flung it in his
direction. Strom caught it easily and replaced it on the counter. The big idiot
thought this was a game. He covered the distance between them in an instant.
Then she was in his arms, being carried to the couch.
    “Put me down.” When she thumped his chest there was no
reaction. It was as if he barely felt her blows. Then she was pinned down, with
both hands over her head, clasped in one of his. They were both out of breath.
    “Ingrid, I will release you. But you must promise to listen
to me. Do you promise?”
    When Ingrid nodded, Strom released her hands and touched her
face tenderly before moving away. Her fear began to evaporate. Okay, so he
wasn’t going to hurt her.
    “You’re in danger, Ingrid. We know about the thefts at the
museum. I’ve been sent here to protect you.”
    Ingrid breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re with the police? Oh
thank god. I thought for a moment that you were one of—”
    “No, I’m not one of Raoul’s men.” Strom reached for her
hand. “You’ve got to trust me. I need you to tell me everything. Now why don’t
you start at the beginning?”
    Ingrid poured two more shots. “I suppose it started with my
doctoral thesis Sexual Symbolism in Early Hiberno-Norse Morning Gifts .”
    Strom took a sip of his drink. “I’ve read it.”
    Ingrid eyed him with amazement. “Really?”
    “Well, not all of it,” Strom admitted. He had flipped
through the first two chapters in the interests of research before the mission.
“But I have a copy back home.” Yeah, it was on loan from the rare book
collection at the Gates Library of Cultural History and he had forgotten to
return it before he left on the mission. Damn.
    Ingrid took a sip and continued. “It didn’t exactly set the
academic world on fire, but when professor Clynes retired there was an