His turn to look away. He stared straight forward. He pressed his lips together so hard, he was losing feeling in them. And he didn't say another word to her all the way home, which made him feel like a fricking drama queen, but he didn't trust what he might say if he opened his mouth.

Selling. Her. To traffickers.

The acid in his stomach grew into a lake. With piranhas that chewed on his stomach lining.

He pulled into the condo parking. She could probably tell that he was having a silent s.h.i.t-fit, and she was waiting him out, maturely. And he tried to calm down as they marched up to the third floor. He didn't succeed.

He rented a two-bedroom condo for them in a safe neighborhood. Each bedroom had its private bath. Lots of sun, big kitchen. Lots of IKEA furniture, because she loved the store. She was like a kid at a playground there, trying every armchair and every bed. And she'd put together most of their furnishings, loved the puzzle, loved building things, her face shining with the pleasure of accomplishment.

He loved watching her when she was like that.

Right at this moment, however... The top of his head was about to blow off. He couldn't remember ever being this scared and mad at her.

We could pretend that you're selling me...

"Can we talk now?" she asked.

"We. Are. Not. Pretending to sell you to anyone." He ground out the words. "Ever!" His voice rose on that last word.

He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and- The tension in the room was throwing enough sparks to catch the curtains on fire.

Before he could say or do something he might regret later, he marched off. "I'm taking a shower."

He needed time. He needed some ice-cold water to cool his anger. He needed a lobotomy.

He let that cold water pound him. Okay. No big deal. She was an adult. She was a very capable person. He'd always known that eventually she would a.s.sert her independence by refusing his advice. He could live with that. He wanted that for her. He wanted her to be happy.

He just didn't want her anywhere near a human trafficking case in Brazil.

By the time he was toweling off his hair, padding naked into his bedroom, he almost convinced himself that they could have a reasonable conversation, after which she was going to make the reasonable decision.

She was waiting for him inside the bedroom door.

They never entered each other's bedrooms.

He hadn't set it as a rule, but he never entered hers, and she'd taken his lead. Until now.

"What the h.e.l.l, Daniela?" He s.n.a.t.c.hed the towel from his shoulder and wrapped it around his waist as he jumped back into the bathroom.

Daniela "Well, that's one stupid rule broken." Daniela couldn't move.

Her body felt as if she was in the last mile of one of their ten-mile runs. When she was here, they often went for runs in the morning, to the Lincoln Memorial and back, up one side of the Reflecting Pool and down the other.

Her heart pumped harder; her blood raced.

She'd seen other women stare at Ian when he wore running shorts and no shirt, but to her he'd always been just...Ian.

And now... Now her heart wouldn't slow down.

"What rule?" His words came out winded.

She could see him through the open bathroom door. He was facing the mirror, hands braced on the sink, his back to her.

She couldn't look away from his wide shoulders, from his naked, muscled back. She was as bad as Crystal. When did that happen?

Over the summer. While he'd been in Jordan, and she'd missed him so much, she'd slept in his bed. And dreamt of him.

She'd dreamt of men before-those had always been nightmares.

But her dreams about Ian...

On impulse, she strode up to him, pressed against him from behind, and let her hands slide around him and up his chest, her palms resting against his hot skin.

She laid her cheek against his bare back. "Remember when you said we were never ever going to see each other naked? I think I hate that rule. I'm glad it's over."

She couldn't touch anyone else like this, but she could touch Ian. She trusted him to the bottom of her soul.

"Daniela." His voice carried warning. He was vibrating with tension.

Everywhere they touched, her body burned. She almost laughed out loud. She wanted Ian the way a woman wanted a man. Because she was...normal!

The pure, sweet desire that tingled through her was a thrilling surprise and an incredible relief. She wanted him, and she wanted him to want her too. She wanted to make him see her not as a waif, but as a woman.

If he didn't want her because of her past, she could accept that. But if the only reason they weren't together was because he insisted on seeing her as his responsibility, someone who needed his protection...

"Daniela." He sounded strained as if he was struggling to move some great weight. "Please leave my room."

"I want us to be lovers." She tried on the thought by saying the words.

"Christ. No." He twisted away from her and nearly ran through the room, dragging on jeans under the towel, grabbing a T-shirt to take with him, dashing out the front door barefoot.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Daniela leaned against the doorframe of his bedroom and looked out into the empty living room.

That had not gone well.

She didn't know what to do with Ian's reaction any more than she knew what to do with her physical attraction to him. But now she at least understood why her attempts at dating had been a disaster. Of course, the boys at college had never been enough. Because all along, she'd been comparing them to Ian Slaney.

Subconsciously, Ian was her measure of a man.

She didn't want anyone else.

He'd always supported her in everything, understood her. So why not in this?

For a moment, she was hurt. And then she was angry.

She grabbed her gym bag. She needed to work off some of her confusion and frustration. Capoeira would help.

Of course, even the sport was something Ian had given her-one of a million gifts.

When she'd moved to the US, at first she'd wanted to leave her past completely behind. She loved America; she just wanted to be an American. Ian had encouraged her to be proud of her rich heritage.

There's not one thing wrong with you, or bad about you, he'd repeated to her daily when she'd felt like she was just a dumb, backward girl from a bamboo hut in the middle of nowhere.

He was the one who'd first encouraged her to keep cooking Brazilian dishes. And sometimes they spoke to each other in Portuguese. When Ian insisted that she take up some kind of self-defense training, she'd chosen Brazilian capoeira and had fallen in love with it.

Capoeira combined martial arts with dance, acrobatics, and music. She took to it like a monkey to climbing. She'd even placed in a compet.i.tion. Ian had told her he was proud of her.

Ian who'd just run from the idea that she was a grown woman who wanted him.

And yet...

As she drummed down the stairs, a slow smile spread on her face, and she had to suck in her bottom lip and wrap her arms around her gym bag so she wouldn't start laughing like a lunatic.

She had just seen Ian naked!

She texted Crystal to let her know that she got the job, and was going on a.s.signment, so they wouldn't be able to hang out for the next couple of weeks.

Crystal texted back her congratulations, and a promise to take her out to celebrate when she got back.

Daniela put her phone away as she reached her car. Before getting in, she glanced around to make sure n.o.body was watching, and she did a little dance.

She was going on a mission with Ian!

Chapter Ten.

Ian Ian said, "No, thank you," to the flight attendant when she offered him a gla.s.s of Caipirinha, the national drink of Brazil, even if at the moment he was more tempted to go back to drinking than he'd been in the past four years.

Daniela slept next to him, her dark lashes fanning her cheeks, a picture of innocence. As if she would be no trouble at all. Sure.

G.o.d, he desperately wanted everything to go back to normal.

She wanted the job, and she wanted a relationship with him. He'd had a stern talk with her, but she'd refused to give up both. Technically, she'd refused to give up either. But, magnanimously, she'd given him time to think about the relationship.

She negotiated like a pro. She knew him too d.a.m.n well, and that was the problem. She'd known his arguments before he'd made them.

Christ. A relationship. Between the two of them. In what universe would that ever be right?

Not that she wasn't a beautiful woman. Men kept looking at her. When they did, Ian glared them down. Even so, some little f.u.c.ker had managed to sidle up to her at the airport and buy her coffee.

Ian wanted her to have a boyfriend. He wanted her to have a normal life. Just not with that guy.

Truth was, she was stunning. She'd filled out, grown curves, kept her black hair long, and had a wild beauty, a certain Mother Earth kind of wholesome way about her. She was very clearly a grown woman. Some guy was going to be d.a.m.ned lucky to end up with her.

But she wasn't for Ian.

Wanting her would be fricking d.a.m.n wrong, and that was the end of it.

She was as bright as a torch in the night jungle. She was all youthful energy and beauty and innocence. And he was a worn-out, jaded soldier. He had no right to her. She'd already brought him more happiness these past four years than he deserved.

They were going to find the missing baby, while he kept Daniela safe, then they would go back home, and he'd get started on the task of finding her an appropriate boyfriend.

She needed someone. She'd had a few dates in college, but nothing serious, nothing steady.

And Ian needed to start seeing Nicole again.

Without his drunken binges, his one-night stands had disappeared long ago, and he wasn't going back there. Nicole and he were on the same page, wanted the same thing. No feelings. No complications. He needed Nicole. Because if he didn't have someone in his life, it'd be as if he was saving himself for Daniela, which would be just plain wrong.

Also-he grabbed on to his next thought with the desperation of a drowning man-if he found Daniela the right kind of boyfriend, then she'd have someone else to watch over her, and Ian could go back to the house in Santana and finally figure out what had happened to Finch.

Ian kept his thoughts firmly on that topic for the rest of the flight.

They got into Rio in the late afternoon, an hour past their scheduled arrival since the pilot had to fly around a major storm. At least they didn't have to wait for luggage claim since they'd each brought a single backpack, which they'd taken as carry-ons. He didn't know where they'd end up in the course of the investigation, and they couldn't exactly be running around in the jungle with suitcases.

Once they pa.s.sed through customs, they went straight to their hotel, some local chain, midpriced, a place that fit in the DOD's budget.

He'd called the local investigator from the plane, and the guy called him back just as they were checking in at the front desk, so Ian walked away to take the call and left Daniela to handle check-in.

He was still on the phone when she headed for the elevators. He followed her, ending the call.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"We have an appointment first thing in the morning."

They got off on the sixth floor-beige walls, green tile floor. He followed her to room 605.

As she opened the door, he held out his hand. "My key?"

"We're sharing a room." She sailed inside without looking at him.

He stood in the doorway and felt a headache coming on. "I reserved two adjoining rooms."

She dropped her backpack on the king-size bed...the only bed. "The storms last night damaged the roof. They had to close off the whole top floor."

He followed her into the room, but not without caution.

The lobby had been hopping. With unhappy guests? But still, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was some scheme of hers in her sudden, unreasonable quest to change their relationship.

Then he heard distant clanging somewhere above them. The barely there whine of a drill. Right. Repairs. And he felt guilty for suspecting her of dishonesty. She wasn't manipulative.