It was just like the night before, just as serious, just as hot, just as quick to scramble my brain and make me go dizzy.

He lifted his head.

When I could think straight again, I said, “You’re supposed to do that after the date is over.”

“I’m gonna do it then too,” he returned, his arm stil around me, his hand stil at my neck.

Holy cow.

“I’m sorry but you Denver people are nuts. I’ve known you al , like, a day and I just got cal s from Daisy, Al y and Jet.

Tod actual y came over bringing half of Neiman Marcus’s accessory department with him to help me get dressed.

The entire Denver experience is weird. Beyond weird.

Denver is “The Twilight Zone,” I told him.

“We’re friendly.”

“You can say that again.”

He ignored my comment and asked, “You hungry?” I wasn’t hungry, I’d eaten a mountain of food only a few hours before.

If I said no, I wasn’t certain what my options were and since we were in a room that consisted mainly of furniture on which a girl could only find trouble (or, in my case, more trouble), I lied.

“Starving.”

It was then, the smile in his eyes hit his mouth.

Holy cow.

My phone rang.

“Shit!” I cried, pul ing out of his arms and lifting the phone to look at it. “Who could it be now? It has to be Indy.” I stopped talking when Hank plucked the phone out of my hand, flipped it open and put it to his ear.

I stared at him in disbelief.

“Yeah?” he said into the phone.

“Whisky, you can’t just answer my phone,” I snapped, sounding a lot like Jet when she snapped at Eddie, that was to say, ful of shit. I reached to take it away from him but he jerked his head away from my reach.

“Hel o?” he said, sounding far more serious.

My body froze and my heart stopped.

Bil y.

This was not good. I thought it would be Indy, Duke, Stevie, Lee, Eddie and half dozen other people I barely knew who were al of a sudden my friends. Not Bil y.

He took the phone from his ear and flipped it shut.

“Who was it?” I asked, wondering if I should ask for CPR

pre-heart attack and deciding Hank’s lips on mine (again) was not a good idea.

“No answer.”

The phone rang again.

I reached for it, knowing now who it was and feeling panic spreading through my body but Hank stepped away, flipped it open and put it to his ear. “Hel o?” he said.

I moved toward him and got in his space. “Hank,” I I moved toward him and got in his space. “Hank,” I whispered.

“Is someone there?” Hank said into the phone.

I closed my eyes.

This was not happening.

I opened my eyes again and Hank was watching me. He took the phone from his ear and flipped it shut. “No answer,” Hank informed me. He opened it and started pressing buttons.

I knew what he was doing, looking at the received cal s.

Normal y, I would have been angry at his nerve but I was too busy freaking out at what he might find.

“Give me my phone, Hank.”

He got to what he was looking for. “It says unknown cal er.”

Shit.

Bil y was on the road and likely his cel had run out of juice.

“Give me the phone,” I repeated.

It rang again.

Without delay, he flipped it open and put it to his ear.

“Hank!” I yel ed, making a play for it but he caught me, snatching me around the waist with his arm and he pul ed me up against his body.

“This is Detective Hank Nightingale. Who’s cal ing?” he said in a voice that rang with so much authority, if it was me on the other side, I would have answered in a flash.

Bil y was going to have a shit hemorrhage: a man answering my phone, a man with a deep, sexy, authoritative, no-nonsense voice and a police title.

authoritative, no-nonsense voice and a police title.

“Identify yourself,” Hank demanded.

He waited. I waited.

Hank was looking pissed off. I was holding my breath.

He pul ed the phone from his ear, flipped it shut one-handed and looked at me.

“No answer?” I asked.

He nodded.

I closed my eyes.

His arm tightened.

I opened them.

“Your trouble catching up with you?” he asked.

I bit my lip. Then I let it go.

“Maybe.”

“You ready to tel me about it?”

I answered immediately. “No.”

This made him look more pissed off.

It might make me a freak but Hank, normal y, was seriously handsome. Hank pissed off was off-the-charts handsome.

“You’re even better looking when you’re angry.” Now, why did I say that?

He stared at me and, luckily, ignored my comment.

Then he said, “I dated a girl al through high school. She was pretty, but when she walked in a room, only I noticed her, not every f**kin’ guy in the room. She wore normal clothes, not shit that looks like it comes from the pages of a fashion magazine. She never threw attitude at anyone. She never got drunk, never listened to music too loud, never stayed out after curfew, wouldn’t know trouble if it bit her in the ass and wouldn’t even know how to keep a secret.” My heart clenched, definite pre-heart-attack for sure. I should have asked for CPR.

“You should have married her,” I said, sounding uppity.

He let me go, closed his eyes, wiped his hand on his forehead and agreed with me. “I should have married her.” Wel !

“If you’l remember, I didn’t want to have dinner with you,” I reminded him.

He dropped his hand and his eyes locked on mine,

“Sunshine, you want to have dinner with me, you want me to kiss you and, later, you’re gonna beg me to do other things to you too.”

I put my hands to my h*ps even as the blood rushed to very specific parts of my body. “I don’t think so, Hank Nightingale. This has official y become the shortest date in history. You want to find your high school girlfriend? Start looking now.”

Quick as a flash, he grabbed my waist and hauled me up against his body.

“You want to pretend you don’t feel what’s between us, be my guest,” he said, his face close to mine. “You’l admit it soon enough.”

“There’s nothing to feel.”