On the way, she stopped at what he thought of as Retro Green.

“This is … this is just charming. Anybody else would have gutted this, but you went with it, and it’s adorable.”

“And now I have to confess gutting was my first thought. Essie, my partner, had different ideas. And she sent me the seahorse shower curtain, and the towels, even the mirror over the sink with the seashell frame. The only thing I did was buy the vanity. Oh, and I had John Pryor replace the faucets. They were pretty awful.”

“But you stuck with the old style. Midcentury. You need a mermaid,” she decided. “Find yourself a good print of a sexy mermaid, frame it in shabby-chic white like the vanity, and hang it on that wall.”

“A mermaid.”

“A sexy one.”

She walked out, followed him down to the master.

“Well now.” She stepped in, circled. “Is this your partner, too?”

“Some. She insisted I get a bed.”

“If you didn’t have one, what did you sleep on?”

“It was a bed. The kind of bed that’s a mattress on top of box springs on top of the floor. I lived in a craphole apartment in Portland. Moved in right out of college, and I stuck with it because I wanted to buy a place. You have to save up for the place, then find the place. It wasn’t the sort of apartment where you thought about furniture.”

“You thought about this. The colors are good—strong, but relaxing. I like that you didn’t go with a new dresser. Did you paint it the navy blue?”

“I found it at the flea market—picked up a few things there. The drawers needed some work, but it was already painted. I saw it, and thought, Deal.”

“No curtains at the doors to the porch. I’d never put curtains on that view. If you want to sleep late, pull the sheet over your head.”

She turned back to him. “Do you step out there in the morning, look around, and think: all mine?”

He looked around now, nodded. “Pretty much every day.”

She opened the door, let the wind roll. “God, doesn’t it just rush right through you? All that power and beauty. The energy.”

Her hair flew back in wild streams. Her skin seemed to glow against the angry, roiling sky. In the distance he saw the first flash of lightning.

“Yes.”

She eased the door closed, turned back with that crazy sexy hair, the glow. She walked to the nightstand, set down her glass. “A coaster.”

“If I set a glass or bottle down without one, I hear my mother’s voice saying—and she’s got that exasperated Mom tone down cold—‘Reed Douglas Quartermaine, I taught you better.’ So … coasters, because sometimes you want to stretch out with a beer.”

“Sometimes you want.” She moved to him and, with her eyes on his, began to unbutton his shirt.

He saw himself grabbing her up like a madman, taking what he so desperately wanted for his.

To his surprise as much as hers, he closed his free hand over her busy ones. “I’m going to slow this down a little,” he said.

Her eyebrows shot up again. “Oh?”

He had to take a breath, step back. Since he only had the one coaster handy, he set his beer on the dish he used for loose change every night.

“Did I read this wrong?” she asked him.

“No. A-plus in reading comprehension. I wanted you from the first second I saw you, walking down the stairs at CiCi’s party. No, I lie,” he corrected. “I wanted you when I saw you in that painting, the one CiCi calls Temptation.”

“Hence the name,” she said, watching him.

“Yeah, good title. But the night of the party, I saw you. I saw you walking down the stairs, and everything turned. Everything stopped, then started again. It was a goddamn moment, Simone.”

“You’ve had moments before.”

When she started to turn and reach for her wine again, he put a hand on her arm. “Not like this. Let’s get that clear straight off. This is another goddamn moment. I just want to slow it down.”

“You don’t want to have sex with me tonight?”

“I said I wanted to slow it down a little. I didn’t say I’d lost my mind. I want you tonight. I’m going to have you tonight, unless you walk out the door. I just want to slow it down.”

He drew her in, took her mouth.

Long and slow, in contrast to the storm breaking outside the glass. Soft and smooth and dreamy.

“Don’t walk out the door,” he whispered.

In answer, she wrapped her arms around his neck, took the kiss deeper.

“How slow?” she asked.

“Pretty slow, to start anyway.” He slipped the jacket off her shoulders. “I’ve had some pretty intense dreams about you in that bed. We may get there.”

He went back to her mouth as the wind kicked. Lightning flashed, thunder rumbled in its wake.

She’d underestimated him, she knew that now. She’d been so sure they’d just jump in, and she’d rid herself of this damn itch he’d left her with.

But he lured her into wanting more, into giving more, feeling more.

When he plucked her off her feet, she felt her heart skip, heard her breath catch. Then he took her mouth again. God, he was good at it. As he laid her on the bed, she drew him down with her, absorbing his weight, the shape of him, before she rolled to reverse positions.

“I can do slow.” She dipped her lips to his, a soft brush, a tease. “But I want, too.”

Watching him again, she finished unbuttoning his shirt, toed and kicked off her boots. Stretched over him, she nipped at his jaw. “I like your face. Lean, angular, the eyes deep set in that quiet green that’s really not quiet at all. I’ve done sketches of your face.”

“You have?”

“Trying to decide what to do with you.” She tossed her hair back, smiled down at him. “I decided this part of it.” She ran her hands down his sides, then stopped with a jerk. “You’re wearing a gun.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” He rolled her back, sat up. “I didn’t think of it.” He unclipped it, shoved it in the drawer of the nightstand.

“You forget you’re wearing it because it’s part of who you are.”

“Of what I do.”

“And who you are.”

He shifted around, saw her kneeling on the bed behind him. “It’s all right,” she told him. “Just gave me a jolt for a minute. But who knows the good guys from the bad guys better than you and me? I really wish you’d undress me now.”

“I can do that.”

“But you should take off your boots first, so I can do the same with you.”

“Good idea.” He bent over to drag at the laces.

“How long since you’ve done this?”

“Since—” Before he’d been shot, he nearly said. “Since last fall, for one reason or another.”

“A long time. It’s been a long time for me, too. For one reason or another. Maybe we could speed it up. Just a little.”

“Also a good idea.” He turned back, knelt with her to pull the sweater over her head. She wore a black bra, cut low. “Man. Sorry, but I’m going to have to take another moment.”

When he put his hands on her, she let her head fall back. “You can take a moment. Or two. You have good hands, Reed. Strong, confident.”

“I’ve wanted them on you. Just like this.”

“You never pushed.”

“Worth waiting.”

She lifted her head, opened her eyes. “Wait’s over.”

She yanked at his shirt, pressed against him, gave herself over to the next kiss. Hungrier now. Harder. She dragged at his belt as the need swamped her.

Around them, the room exploded with lightning, and thunder answered in a roar. Rain lashed, driven by the howling wind.

He pushed her back, dragging at her jeans as she dragged at his.

“We’ll slow down after,” she managed.

“Best idea yet. Let me…”

His mouth rushed over her. So much to taste, so much to feel. When his hands found her, hot, wet, ready, she arched against him with a ragged moan.

“Don’t wait, don’t wait.”

“Can’t.” He stripped her down, plunged in.

The world shattered, and at last, at long last, he let himself take. He gripped her hands as if to hold them both tethered to the bed. Her legs locked around him as her hips flashed, as she demanded more, more.

She tightened around him, an urgent fist, but he held on, barely held on, so there could be more even when she cried out.

She gathered again, groaning with the build, rising and falling with him.

This time when she broke, she said his name. And buried in her, he let go.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The two of them stayed tangled, sweaty, breathless while the wind slapped the rain into ice, and the ice hit the windows with the sound of hot grease sizzling. If he’d had his way, Reed would have stayed just as he was, smug and satisfied with the girl of his dreams, until spring.

Seriously smug, he thought as Simone’s hands trailed up and down his back. Then her fingers traced the scar from the exit wound in his shoulder.

He shifted, braced on his elbows to look down at her. “You have the most amazing eyes.”

“They’re brown.”

“Some artist you are if ‘brown’ is the best you’ve got. They’re like a tiger’s eyes. Like dark amber. We okay here?”