tattoos.â âNot hate. I just didnât want you to ruin a great body with one of those ugly biker tats you kept threatening to get. And I certainly didnât want some biker-gang scum with an ink gun anywhere near you. Hepatitis? HIV?â Scott let her explanation sink in. He didnât recall any of their fights on the subject including such a reasonable argument. Or, maybe he had just stopped listening before she could make it. âOf course, Iâm not inflexible.â The corner of her mouth lifted though she didnât glance at him. âI found a licensed artist who is working to pay her way to become a nurse practitioner.â He sat forward suddenly. âYouâve got a tattoo?â She nodded. âNot that itâs any of your business.â Scottâs gaze swept over her. Sheâd showered and changed before they ate. Her hair was swept up in a ponytail he longed to tug at. No designs on her slender neck. The sleeveless vee-neck tee and shorts she wore couldnât be hiding a tattoo on her arms or her legs, which meant no thigh or chest tattoos. It had to be in a secret place. A variety of possibilities invaded his thoughts, each one more intimate than the last. He felt himself begin to sweat. âCan I see it?â To his astonishment, she gave him a secret naughty-girl smile. âIn your dreams, Agent Lucca. In your dreams.â Well hell. Now he was going to have to see it. Somehow. Cole reached for the beer she had earlier refused. âWe need to get back to business.â She did, maybe. He wanted to continue to think about her hidden tattoo. He stretched, deliberately allowing his legs to spread until one of his denim-clad thighs leaned against her bare one. When she didnât immediately shift away, he smiled. Now they could talk business. âLattimore called this afternoon. Heâs sending out people in the morning to evaluate our progress. We need to get our story straight and prove to them that we can do this before we take it on the road.â âHow do we do that?â âGlad you asked.â He clinked his bottle to hers. âWe need to move in together.â Cole bit back her initial reaction. Of course, they had to move in together. They were going to pretend to be a couple. A real couple. âIs that a problem?â Scott leaned toward her. âYou got a boyfriend somewhere who wonât like it?â Cole had been expecting he would ask, sooner or later, if there was a man in her life. She even had a story ready. âHe understands.â âDoes he?â The question came out of Scott in a huff of surprise. Shit. That wasnât the answer heâd wanted to hear. But he tried to play it off casually. âI most definitely wouldnât understand a woman I cared about moving in with another guy, even if it was strictly for the job. Iâd be a wild man.â âYes. You would.â Kate Winslow was in the house. âThatâs why heâs nothing like you.â Scott reared back, bracing his elbows on the porch. Cole tried not to notice how his sprawl showed off his long lean body to good effect. âSo, whatâs he like?â âHeâs a podiatrist.â She saw his jaw drop a little before a smirk punched dimples into his cheeks. âI know. Feet. Thatâs what everyone thinks. But heâs a surgeon. Sports medicine. Specializing in injuries to the foot, ankle, and lower leg.â âSounds like a busy guy.â âHe is. Sports medicine is very lucrative.â He gazed at her between narrowed lids. âInteresting.â âWhat?â âYou havenât mentioned his name.â âRobert Dawson. Dr. Robert Dawson. Becca introduced us.â She had looked up the name of the doctor her sister had been trying to set her up with, in case Scott decided to check. She just hoped the guy would never know how she was lying about