Flashback

Until he hadn’t been.

Luckily she was no longer young or stupid. She no longer dated men while dreaming of that white picket fence and two point four kids. Nope, she dated simply to have fun, and once in a while, to have good sex.

Easy come, easy go.

Too bad she and Aidan weren’t having a go at things now, because she was finally with the program, she finally got the rules. They’d probably have a hell of a time.

An evening breeze came through an open window and she drew in a fresh breath. Her pain pill had begun to kick in, and she sank a little deeper into the very comfortable couch. The last time she’d been in Aidan’s place, which back then had been an apartment, he’d owned a bed, a TV, a stereo and a box of condoms.

That’d been all they’d needed.

She hadn’t been the only one to change. His needs had apparently upgraded. His couch was extra large, and double extra comfortable. There was a TV, triple extra large, and the perennial stereo. But he also had a desk with a computer on it, and some beautiful prints on the walls, which were painted in muted beachy colors.

No condoms in sight. That was undoubtedly for the best. But she liked the house. Low maintenance, calm, even warm and clean. Her place wasn’t so different, which meant she felt far more at home here than she would have ever admitted out loud.

How ironic that she’d come back into town to handle Blake’s affairs, and to raise hell on the arson charges, intending to stay as far out of Aidan’s path as possible, only to end up here in his house, with nowhere else to go.

High on meds…

From the windows she could hear the waves slapping against the shore. Next to her, he was still, just sitting there breathing, soft and even, but she didn’t look at him. Wasn’t ready to look at him. Yet apparently her nose didn’t get that memo because her nostrils quivered, trying to catch a quick whiff of the man-except all she could smell was herself and the smoke and soot stuck to her skin. “I stink.”

“It’s stress.”

“No, not like that.” She rolled her eyes, which hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. “Like smoke.”

“You could take a shower.” His voice was low, a little gritty, and a whole lot suggestive, although she knew that last was all her own imagination.

She couldn’t help it, the guy had a voice that brought to mind slow, hot sex. Seriously, if he could bottle the sound, he’d have been rich.

“Kenzie? Do you want to take a shower?”

Yes, please. In her own place with her own things and her own thick, cozy, warm bathroom and fuzzy bunny slippers. And then she’d like a good DVD and a bag of popcorn, something to give her mind a mini-vacation from its current hell. “That would be nice, thanks.”

He offered her a hand. She stared at it, and then into his face, which was solemnly watching her. “Just a hand,” he murmured.

Knowing she was a bit wobbly, she put her hand in his bigger, warmer one and let him pull her up. She staggered into him, and for a moment he held her, and caving in to her own yearning, she pressed her face to his throat and was immediately overcome with memories.

But she didn’t do memories, at least not anymore, so she forced herself to step free of him.

He led her down the hall and into what must have been his bedroom. The walls were a soft cream, which went beautifully with the cedar ceilings. But what caught her eye was the biggest bed she’d ever seen, piled high with a thick navy-blue comforter and a mountain of pillows. It was made, sort of. It was boy- made, which meant the covers had been tugged up. His hamper appeared to be a pile of clothes in the corner, but other than that, the room was as warm and clean and welcoming as the rest of the house.

She shouldn’t have been surprised. The Aidan she’d known had been rough-and-tumble tough, always cool and calm and impenetrable no matter the circumstances, which she imagined served him well in his field. She’d seen that in action on the boat and in the water.

But much like his house, he had a warm, soft, welcoming center. It was what had made him so damn likeable.

Now, with the dubious honor of a few years and some maturing, that likeability had turned into an undeniable sex appeal she discovered while standing there staring at his bed, feeling a rather inexplicable stirring deep in her belly.

“Here.” With a hand to the small of her back, he gently nudged her all the way into the room, then passed by her, his arm brushing hers as he moved into the bathroom, which was all cool, white tile and more wood trim. He flipped on the shower, which was nearly as big as his entire kitchen.

“Wow,” she said, staring at it.

He shrugged. “I like showers.”

“I remember.” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. Damn, she really needed a script writer for this real-life thing.

His gaze slid to hers. Very slowly, he arched an eyebrow.

She turned away to blush in peace, but he turned her back toward him with a careful hand on her arm. “Kenzie?”

She stared at his chest, her vision a little compromised by the nice little pill she’d taken, but not so much so that she couldn’t appreciate the view. “Yeah?”

“Do we need to talk?”

Absolutely not. “No.”

She didn’t want to discuss her carnal knowledge of his love of showering. Not when she remembered, in vivid Technicolor, taking more than a few with him. She remembered, for instance, the time he’d backed her up to the shower wall in his apartment, lifting her legs around his waist, thrusting into her until she couldn’t have told him her own name. She remembered the feel of him, hot and thick inside her, remembered how it felt to be pressed between the hard wall and his harder body, the water pounding down over the top of them until she’d cried out so loudly his roommate had pounded on the bathroom door to make sure she was okay… They’d laughed so hard they’d barely been able to finish, but they’d managed.

They’d always managed.

The humbling truth was, once upon a time, he’d been able to make her come in less than three minutes, using nothing more than his mouth and his portable showerhead.

God.

Just the reminder had her beginning to sweat and her knees wobbling. And if she was being honest, there were some other even more base reactions going on. She firmly ignored them all and lifted her chin. “No. We don’t need to talk.”

He nodded very solemnly, but she would have sworn his eyes had heated, and along with that heat was a sort of wry humor.

Oh, perfect. Now he was remembering, too.

But what really cooked her goose was while she was squirming, nipples hard, thighs trembling, he was amused.

She ought to slug him. She thought about it, but just then, from the plastic hospital bag came the muffled sound of her cell ringing. Since it could only be someone she didn’t want to talk to, like her agent wanting her to get in line for auditions before everyone else from her show snatched up all the jobs, she ignored it.

He gestured toward the steaming shower. “It was the first thing I redid in the house.”

Thinking about his shower was infinitely more appealing than thinking about being unemployed. Thinking about him in the shower? Priceless. But he was still looking just amused enough at her interest that she shrugged lightly. Look at me not caring…

But on the inside she was caring big-time, wondering how the hell to get him un- amused and hot, because dammit she wanted him hot.

Why the hell she wanted it made no sense to her, none whatsoever, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She was hot, so he needed to be the same. Call it petty revenge on the guy who’d once walked away from her. Call it desperation for a diversion from her real reason for being here. But she wanted him to want her. Needed him to want her. She wanted that