To keep himself from thinking about the thirst, he focused on Misty’s yard. It was like her—compact, neat, beautiful. She hadn’t simply stuck clumps of plants everywhere. The yard had been landscaped, sculpted almost, with low mounds of grass and gravel hosting small flowering bushes and plants that bloomed fiercely under the hot sun. A false wash of river rock cut through the yard, crossed by a small wooden bridge.

Stepping stones led to the bridge and across the yard on the other side. Between the stones were gravel and scatterings of plants, blossoms moving in the summer breeze. The ugly cement block walls, so common in Southwestern cities, were softened by stands of hot pink and white oleanders on two walls, with a line of rose bushes, sheltered from the direct sun, on the third.

A pretty garden, with chairs and tables set out so Misty and friends could sit and enjoy iced tea or whatever women drank on summer afternoons. Graham was out of place here, a hulking creature in the diminutive space.

Misty seemed to be waiting for something. Graham did not understand her—anything female, in fact. She declared she was finished with him, then she ran after him. She said she wanted to talk to him, then she expected him to do the talking, when Graham wasn’t any good at it.

“What do you want me to say?” he ended up almost shouting. Yelling—that he was good at.

Misty glared. Did she know how edible she looked in her body-hugging tank top, the shorts that stopped mid-thigh? She’d put on sandals, which showed her bare legs all the way to her toes. Misty wasn’t a stick, thank the Goddess. Some human women starved themselves down to skin and bones and thought it looked good. Insanity.

Misty had round br**sts, arms that were plump from shoulders to elbow then tapered into soft wrists and small hands. Strong hands—she worked hard in her store, carrying plants, heavy pots and baskets, armloads of flowers, buckets of water. Her legs were sturdy and curved, calves soft and kissable.

Her face—the one all screwed up with her scowl—was round, her nose in perfect proportion. Her eyes were a little too big for a human, but Graham didn’t mind. They were soft brown and surrounded by thick black lashes.

Watching Misty tongue the ice cream had made every cell of him scream in need. She had a little bit of cream on her lips even now.

To hell with it. Graham closed the space between them, jerked her against him, and brought his mouth down on hers.

Misty made a little surprised sound in her throat, and fists contacted his shoulders. Graham tightened his grip, pulling her into him, and licked the cream from her lip in one firm stroke.

Misty stopped fighting. Her lips softened, hesitated, then formed to his.

Fire. Her mouth was heat and everything good. Graham laced his fingers through her hair, pulling it out of the ponytail she’d dragged it into. Soft goodness flowing over his hand.

He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, and Misty made another soft noise. No more protests, no more fists. No more talking.

Misty’s body fitted to his, br**sts tight against his torso. He moved his hand down her back, callused fingers catching on her cotton tank. The fabric was so thin he could feel the heat of her skin plus the strap of a bra, tight against her back.

Graham could savor her all day and all night. He licked into her mouth, finding a bite of spice. Thirst went away as he drank her.

Her small hands caressed his shoulders then moved to the back of his neck, above the Collar. She liked to hold on to his neck when they kissed for some reason. Not that Graham minded. She also liked to run her fingers through his short buzz of hair.

Graham kept on kissing her. Misty’s mouth was a joy, her breath warm, her body pliant against his. His c**k hadn’t gone down; in fact, it had grown even more rigid. Misty tasted like sunshine, felt like a soft cooling breeze.

If it could be just you and me . . .

We’d unmake the world.

Graham made himself ease the kiss to its end. Misty gazed up at him, eyes warm, her lips parted. Her anger had been erased for now, and what he read in her was desire. Moisture lingered behind her lower lip, and Graham licked it away.

It took all his strength to relax his arms around her, to let go. Misty had been on tiptoe, and now she thumped back on her heels. She stared up at him, unblinking, her lips slightly swollen.

Graham pointed his finger at her face and ended up touching her lightly on the nose. “You and me,” he said. “We’re not done.”

He turned and walked away. Killed him to do it, but you didn’t say an exit line and then not leave the stage. You didn’t even look back to see if she stared after you, longing in her eyes, no matter how much you wanted to.

 • • •

Graham wouldn’t go home. After his searing kiss and the parting shot, Misty expected him to be long gone when she came back inside the house, but no. He was talking to Reid in the living room, his loud, harsh syllables drowning out Reid’s quieter ones.

Xav had cleaned up the broken bowl and given the cubs more ice cream. The two little ones could sure put it away. They’d discovered that licking the ice cream from the spoon was even more fun than licking it from the bowl. They could lick the spoon all over before they scooped up more. After all, Aunt Misty had been licking it from the spoon. So it was all right, wasn’t it?

When they finished, Kyle or Matt said, “Can we play outside, Aunt Misty? We didn’t go out before, because you and Uncle Graham were kissing.”

Xav laughed from where he sat at the table, and Misty’s face went hot. “That’s fine, but don’t mess up my plants. They get hurt easily.”