In the secluded silence of the house, I hear Audrey’s voice as she and the client stroll through. The other voice is feminine as well, and when they wander down toward the lake, I see that she’s a silver-haired but spry woman in slacks and a silk blouse that has a big bow at the neck. On the dock, Audrey gestures broadly toward the lake, and the woman looks at it for what seems like a long time. A breeze picks up, lifting strands of Audrey’s hair and pressing her skirt against her legs. I pull back behind the stone arch when they begin climbing the path to the house, even though sheer curtains screen me.

Their voices carry, and as they draw close, words become clear.

“We were always supposed to retire to the country,” she says. “And in particular, living on a lake was John’s dream. We worked up from next to nothing, you know. You’d never guess it to look at him, before he passed last year. But he worked so hard all the time. For five years he said he was going to retire. But he never could leave his business behind and I guess we waited too long.”

She sniffles, and Audrey’s soothing voice murmurs indistinctly.

“Thank you, sweetheart. I’m okay. It’s been a year now, and I’m ready. He left me shares in the business and life insurance, and I can live wherever I want. I think—no, I know he would have wanted that. I want to settle down somewhere that makes me think of him, but I need to be somewhere new, apart from the space we shared. Somewhere like this.”

“That’s a lovely way to honor your time together,” Audrey says. They’ve drawn close enough to hear her now as well.

Careful not to move the gauzy curtains, I peek around the column. Audrey’s hair has dried and glints with fiery highlights in the sun. She’s smiling, and I think how long it’s been since I’ve seen her that way. She’s so beautiful. The faint smile lines that seem to draw up the corners of her mouth over her adorable, almost-dimpled chin, the way her eyes crinkle at the corners—that’s real. And the way the client responds, Audrey’s not selling her something she doesn’t want. She’s helping someone find what she’s looking for. Even if it’s not this one, Audrey will find that woman a place to feel at home with her memories. In this business where so much is façade, maybe she has always been the real thing, and I just lost the ability to recognize it.

“Now, I’ve got one more must-have,” the woman says. “We had two children, and although they got an education and are out being productive in the world, I need to know that this place will either hold its value for them to sell, or it will be a place their families can come even when I’m gone. I want a house built to last, I’m saying, not a place that lays plywood under hardwood veneer to save money in order to tart up the house with smart gadgets that’ll be outdated in four years.”

I almost chuckle at her scolding tone, and I wonder what Audrey will say. We’ve only had a day to get to know this place, and I’d bet that she concentrated on emotional appeal rather than financials. I watch her face closely, and see the hesitation before she presses her lips together and nods like she’s got a plan of attack.

“I can definitely set your mind at ease about quality. This isn’t a gimmick house. That floor? Solid hickory. The stone is locally sourced and hand-laid by master craftsmen, and the bones of the house are heart pine. This place is old-school in that way, built to outlast us all.”

Their footsteps sound on the veranda, and one set comes my way. Damn. One in a thousand clients will pore over the place like Sherlock, and it looks like she’s one of them. She pokes her head into my little nook and draws back with a start.

I stand, extending a hand and flashing my best smile. “I’m sorry to startle you. I’m Caleb Mercer. Don’t mind me; I’m just part of the scenery.”

The widow smiles a little. “You’re certainly handsome enough for the job, young man. I’m Patricia Hartwell.” I recognize the name, and remember hearing the news of John Hartwell’s death last year. Yeah, she can definitely afford this place.

Behind her, Audrey fidgets while I make small talk. I hardly know what I’m saying, because I’m hyper aware of her every move. One hand wraps around her middle, and she props an elbow on that arm. Restless fingers pinch the side of her lip. Finally, she releases the lip and her hands fall as she seems to settle whatever question she was worrying over.

“Caleb, Patricia and I were just talking about property values.”

She pauses as if waiting for me to weigh in. But I know this is her weak area, just like the emotional approach is mine. She’ll be waiting a long time if she wants me to just jump in and save her here.

“Really? Numbers seem like a tedious topic when you’re out enjoying the lake breeze.” The way Audrey’s eyebrows wrinkle in the middle gives me a little thrill of sullen glee.

“Oh, no,” Patricia says. “I know I look like the little old lady from Tweety Bird cartoons, but believe it or not, I like details. I managed the financial side of our business for years. I like to know the value of what I’m buying.”

I laugh aloud at the absurd comparison. Patricia Hartwell knows full well she’s still an attractive older woman, her loose linen slacks hinting at a trim figure. Her likeability thaws my resistance to Audrey’s unspoken plea for help, but I’m still going to make her ask for it.

“So what’s the verdict? A virtual goldmine?”

Audrey’s face is a fabulous mix of pleading and exasperation before she reins in her emotions. She needs me to give this information, but she hates it. I smile broadly, enjoying the moment. Patricia Hartwell steps around me to look at the lake from my reading nook. Audrey opens her mouth and closes it. Wanting to speak, but hesitating.

“We’ve talked about current values,” she finally says, “but you were always the best at knowing where an area will go, Caleb. I’ve been telling Patricia they don’t call you the Numbers King for nothing. I’d lay a bet that you know the investment outlook for this property and the area for the next twenty years. Any chance we could get you to weigh in on where you see this area going?”

She smiles hopefully, and I can’t resist her. I could make her look like an idiot in front of this client, but I don’t really want to. With a hand under Mrs. Hartwell’s elbow, I pull back a wicker chair for her, and then gesture Audrey into another. When we’re gathered cozily around the low table, I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees, and launch into my research: comparables, history, projections, development plans filed in the area, environmental assessments. Audrey’s eyes flash gratitude at me.

“Well that’s very impressive,” Patricia says in a grandmotherly way. “How clever of you to have memorized all of that. How confident are you in your predictions?” Underneath that grandma vibe, she’s sharp as a knife. I wouldn’t put it past her to know all this already and be testing us.

“As confident as I can be in fortune telling,” I say with a laugh. “I’ve done the research, and barring things that don’t make it into the models, you’re looking at a property that will hold its value for potentially generations.”

“Your kids and grandkids will love it here,” Audrey says, bringing the soft touch back in. “You seem to be very close. Can you imagine Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner overlooking the lake?” She seems genuinely delighted at the idea of other people’s family dinners.

“And you’ll all appreciate the way property values are due to keep going up,” I say.

The woman chuckles. “Thank you both. I do have some thinking to do, and other properties, but you’ve been great. This is a real possibility for me. I know from experience it’s hard working alongside the person you love sometimes, but in the end you’re stronger for it. You two make a lovely couple.”

I’m caught between wishing for that very thing and denying it.

Audrey’s face freezes, and her smile falls into strained lines.

A high pitched, painfully awkward laugh breaks the silence. “Oh, no, we’re not a couple. We’ve known each other a long time, though. So nice of you to say, but that’s not for us.”

Her eyes meet mine briefly. Fuck this. She could have been a little nicer about it.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve got a pretty good instinct about these things. Caleb might be right about numbers, but I’m almost never wrong about people.”

“Goodness gracious, no. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that is definitely not in the cards for us.”

Patricia glances at me knowingly. “We never know, do we?” Then she sticks out a hand for Audrey to shake. “Thank you, dear. I’ve enjoyed seeing this house a great deal, but I never make up my mind without sleeping on it.”

“Don’t wait too long if you like it,” Audrey says. “This one won’t be on the market for long.”

“If not, it’s not the one for me,” she says.

My phone vibrates with a text message, and I see that my next showing, my only other one today, is canceled. And because it’s exactly the worst thing that can happen right now, my screen lights up with an incoming call from Derek. Expecting results, I’m sure. Dammit.

“Caleb, tell me good news. My squash doubles partner said the Hartwell widow was looking at our lake property today. They were already loaded, and I hear his life insurance policy was fucking huge. He used to play here, so fit nobody saw the heart attack coming.”

Fuck me, can this day get any worse? What a miserable disappointment after my hopes this morning.

“Sorry, I’m afraid Mrs. Hartwell was walking through with Audrey. However—”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Caleb? Don’t dick me around. How the hell did anyone working for Claire get her hands on the Hartwell widow? What have you got in the pipeline?”

“I’ve already shown it to a tech millionaire,” I reassure him, “and I’ve got one lined up and another that’s rescheduling. My buyers are preapproved and good to go when they decide to buy. We’ve got this.”

“You better hope so. Goddammit, Caleb, I thought you were the right man for the job. Don’t fucking let me down.”

The call goes dead, and I want to throw the phone.

To make it worse, Audrey sashays back in with a gloating smile.

“Thanks so much, Caleb. I’d never have asked you if Mrs. Hartwell hadn’t stumbled on you, and you didn’t have to answer. I really appreciate it.”

“You should,” I snarl. With Derek’s angry voice in my ears, I regret helping. I can’t afford that kind of generosity right now. “I can’t believe you put me on the spot like that, asking me to do your work for you like we still work together. I always worked the numbers for you, and you’re still here asking me to do your homework. No wonder things aren’t working out. You can’t sell houses with muffins and sympathy.”

Red creeps up her chest.

“I have always pulled my weight, and don’t even think about denying it. How many times did I help you brainstorm difficult buyers? The angles I’m good at are different than yours, but that doesn’t mean they’re not legit. You know what I know that you don’t? How to be a decent freaking person.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” I choke out an incredulous laugh. “We were friends. What kind of decent freaking person applies for her friend’s dream job? After I told you about it and how much I wanted that job, you still went after it. Who knows what you did to get the job? I know one thing you’re good at.” So she doesn’t miss the jab, I glance down at my crotch.

So yeah, that crossed a line. And I don’t care. Her mouth falls open, and her face draws up in rage. I’ve never seen her look so angry. Good.

“You took my job, ditched me, and never even fucking apologized.” I cross my arms, daring her to deny it.

Audrey splutters, then stops, holds up a hand, and takes a deep breath.

“One: it was never your job. Don’t bring your sense of entitlement over here and tell me it’s reality. I tried to apologize and explain, but you’re the one who stormed off. And from what I hear, you consoled yourself pretty quickly. I mean, come on, Caleb. I still have friends at the agency. Did you think I wouldn’t hear about you leaving with someone else the same damn night? After—what happened between us, you went home with someone else.”

Oh, shit. My face probably shows my surprise.

“Yeah. I heard. So why should I waste my breath apologizing? That night meant nothing to you, and I meant nothing to you. You used me to sweet talk every female client you ever had, because apparently you don’t know how to talk to women. So don’t tell me I did something wrong. All you cared about was that job and what I could do for you.”

“You don’t know anything.” I can’t wait to wipe that self-righteous anger off her face. “I put Jennifer in a cab and sent her home, Audrey. But thanks for thinking that about me. I guess you don’t know people as well as you think. What else is fake about you? This hippie, earth mama vibe you’ve got going on? It’s as fake as everything else about you. You’re just another scheming bitch, as ambitious as I am, but with the gall to pretend you’re not.”

We’ve been drawing closer as we yell. Her chest is heaving, and every muscle in me tenses. My lip curls.

“I mean, look at you. Who dresses like this?” I mean to gesture dismissively at her phony peasant top. Instead, the back of my hand brushes over her breast, and somehow the string hanging between her boobs catches between the links of my watch. When I jerk my hand away, the string jerks half of her shirt down her arm. Fabric rips. Her blouse hangs loose below her breast, exposed in a white demi-cup bra that barely covers her nipple.

If I weren’t so pissed, I’d stop to admire the physics keeping that demi-cup aloft and pointed at me. My dick forgets my grudge and springs to life yet again, fully hard and aching for her. She doesn’t cover up, doesn’t seem to notice the swath of flesh on view. Her chest heaves with anger, and I struggle to focus on her words instead of her breast.

“I’ve never been anything but real with you, asshole.” Audrey’s voice rises. Her hand twitches like she wants to slap me. I almost wish she would try it. “And as for fake, what about you, with your suits and that hair. Oh my god I hate your hair. It’s like you went in and picked this out of the smarmy real estate agent playbook. Right next to the used car salesman model.”

She reaches up, runs her fingers through my hair, and tousles it all to hell.

“There, say something douchey now, Caleb, if you can with your douchey hair all messed up. I bet you need to go fix it now.”

“Don’t fucking put your hands on me.” Put your hands on me, my dick begs. “You need to get out of my space.”

“Screw you, Caleb, get out of my space.” She raises her hands and shoves at me. When I don’t move, she balls up a fist and pounds the heel of it against my chest.

Fuck, I’ve never seen Audrey lose her cool like this. Her eyes are stormy, and her jaw juts forward. She braces, as if she expects me to push back.

I step forward instead. Right into her personal bubble. She glares up at me, daring me to go further. So I oblige.

“Just can’t keep your hands off me, can you?”

She pushes me again and steps back, glaring. “Why do you have to be such a jackass? It was hard enough to ask you for help. If you didn’t want to, you could have just said no. Jackass.” Another shove.

The longer I keep goading her, the longer I can make this confrontation last. And I don’t want it to end. I’m pissed about this lake house, pissed about Derek reaming me, and pissed that I’m so fucking turned on while she’s apparently only concerned with this goddam house.

“What are you even mad about, Audrey? I’m the one who just got used so you can make a sale. Again. Do I at least get another consolation prize?”

“You fucker.” Her voice sinks to a raw whisper. “It wasn’t like that.”

She nearly trembles with anger. The tension in my body stretches tighter. “It was like that then, and it’s like that now,” I growl.

I think she’s going to push me again, but she doesn’t just shove. She throws her body against me, and I’m not prepared. I stumble back and hit the wall. We glare at each other, our hot, panting breath mingling in the same space. My erection throbs against her stomach. Lust fogs my mind.

Then her hand is in my hair again, tugging. I clutch at her ass. Our mouths collide. I thrust my tongue roughly in her mouth, groaning as she grinds her hips against mine. Her tongue slides over mine into my mouth. The memory of other things her tongue can do makes me frantic with lust. With an unexpected shove, she pushes me against the wall, her fingers plucking at the buttons of my shirt.

My hand goes to her jaw, and I force her head aside to suckle the tender skin of her neck. Her breathy pants are hot against my ear. Tangling my hand in her hair, the other still at her ass, I take charge and flip her around. Her back hits the wall, and my knee presses between her thighs. With her pinned, I free my hands. Oh god. Under her torn blouse, I fill my hands with her tits as I plunder her mouth again. My thumbs slip under the satin cups and caress her nipples until they pucker and harden. I swallow her breathy moan and then kiss along her jaw to her ear, her neck. I want her begging for me.

Then her hands are at my belt. There’s a jerk as she pulls it off, a slap as it hits the floor. Before I can stop her, her hands are in my pants, stroking up and down the length of my shaft. I swell in her grip, and I grit my teeth to stay in control. Jerking away, I pull her shirt over her head, and while she’s off balance, I spin her to face the wall.

The skin of her shoulder is as soft and sensitive as I hoped. I kiss and suck along the line of her shoulders as my fingers unhook her bra. She pushes away from the wall, but I stop, capture her hands, and slap them against the wall by her head. I nuzzle her ear while I hold her there, then run my palms over her arms to her shoulders, slide down past her shoulder blades, and stop at her hips. Then I drop kisses along her spine as I sink to my knees, working down to the little dip over her ass that drives me wild. Her breathing is ragged, and a sweet, musky scent envelops me. One I remember.

I push her gauzy skirt up, and I can’t resist a little nip at her lace-covered ass. I palm her mound, where the fabric is already damp. Fuck, knowing she’s wet for me already drives me crazy. I want to fuck her here, her palms against the wall and my pants at my knees.

But I don’t. I rise, step away, and push my pants and boxers down. My dick juts out, hard and ready, and I slide it between her thighs, nudging against the fabric barrier keeping me out of her. Nibbling her shoulder again, I find her nipples with my fingers, tweaking and teasing, waiting for her to act.

I’m not disappointed. She pushes her ass against me, levering for space, and whips around as I back up. She grabs my dick in a fucking vise, then, and changes our positions yet again. I’m against the wall, and she’s on her knees. Her fingers tease under my balls, and her mouth wraps around me. I watch her cheeks hollow with suction as the sensation of her tongue under my head sucks all thought out of my mind for several long seconds. Fuck, I could blow right here. No.

The head of my dick pops out of her mouth, and she blows over the surface. When she opens her lips again, I pin her head between my hands while I dodge away. Then I raise her up and begin to walk toward the bedroom, pulling her with me and savaging her mouth as we walk. Her hands are busy, stroking up and down my shaft, caressing my balls.

Suddenly, she puts her hands on my shoulders and pushes me back and down. I think for a second she’s been playing me, but my knees buckle as I hit a sofa and plop down. She’s standing over me looking like a smug cat with cream on her whiskers. Her hands cup her own breasts, rolling the nipples as she watches me, then they slide over her hips to gather her skirt in her fists. Hooking thumbs under her panties, she slides them off and lifts her skirt to straddle me on the sofa. And the whole time I’m watching her, I can’t speak. Can’t even move.

Sitting on my lap, she’s almost silhouetted against the huge windows, the glare of the sun almost a halo around her. I reach for her breasts, and her hands cover mine, guiding my palms over her nipples. Her skirt pools around her, but underneath it, her bared sex is right there, spread open over my lap. My dick jumps, making brief contact with her wet slit. What the hell are you doing, I want to ask. No condom, some faint voice in my mind whispers.

But all I manage is “Audrey—” right before she lifts herself up and shoves her nipple in my mouth. Oh, fuck. I knead and suckle, circling my tongue around the hard nipple and moving to the next. I press her gorgeous tits together and worship them with my tongue. She grips the sofa behind me with one hand, my dick with the other, and drops her ass.

Her pussy swallows me, and sensation sweeter than anything I’ve ever felt shoots through me. Goddam, she’s fucking wet. She lifts up and this time, I thrust up to meet her downstroke. She cries out, finally, and I hold on to her hips for dear life. She rolls forward and down, gaining speed. Her breasts bounce in front of me, and I can’t resist flicking my tongue over a nipple. She’s going to make me come if I don’t stop this.

So I grab her hips and lift her with a twist, and then lay her down on the long end of the sectional sofa. Her eyes go big, like she’s surprised to lose the upper hand.

My kisses start at the inside of her knee and move up her creamy thigh to the closely trimmed triangle at the top. My tongue darts between her folds, tasting. She’s as sweet as she was that night. The scent of her around me drives me wild. My fingers sink into her thighs as I spread them, making more room so I can sample the banquet before me. I thrust my tongue into her hungrily, curling up, tasting, devouring. But that’s not what’s going to get what I want from her. Flattening my tongue, I drag it up to her clit. I move one hand underneath her ass so I can press my thumb inside, pumping lightly.

I’ve imagined having her this way so many times. At my mercy. She’s so wet, her sweet scent all around me. All over me. I point my tongue and nudge away the little hood, feathering faint circles around the base of her clit. Every few strokes, I glide over the nub. I love the way her muscles jump, the mindless thrust of her hips when I hit a sweet spot.

Her fingers weave through my hair, and she presses my face into her pussy. I dip another long, slow stroke up from her slit to her clit, then settle into a steady circular pattern. As I caress, I feel the changes in her breathing, the clench and relax of her walls around my thumb inside her. Her arousal is so sexy. I want to be inside her again, but I force myself to wait. When her hips buck and her thighs quiver, I pull my tongue away.

She protests with a high-pitched sound and tries to pull my head closer. I shake her hand away, and she wraps a heel around my back.

Instead of giving her what she wants, I kiss her thighs again, marking them with her own scent.

“Do you like my mouth on you, Audrey?”

She hums a low agreement. Still hovering several inches away from her sex, I pull out my thumb and slide in two fingers.

“I can tell you like it. You’re wet for me, and those sounds you make are so sexy. I see what you want, but I’m not ready to give it to you yet.”

She pants, her hands gripping the sofa cushions.

My fingers sink into her, drawing my thumb over her clit. Her pink folds nestle around me, slick and warm. I press an open-mouthed kiss against her thigh and suckle as my fingers slide in and out. I add another, stretching and exploring, concentrating on the changes in her body. I’m hungry to know every quiver and moan, to read her desire like a book.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are, how sexy? I like seeing your pussy like this, spread out for me. I like touching you here—” My thumb grazes her clit and she moans. “—and here.” My fingers reach deep inside her again, curling against her upper wall in a torturously slow outward stroke.

Her hips arch off the cushion. I lay my cheek against the raised knee beside me that’s pressing against the back of the sofa. She lifts a hand again, reaching for my head.

“No, not yet,” I say. “I’m not done watching. With that hand, I want you to touch yourself.”

Her hand slides over her belly, and her fingertips tease out her clit. She moans.

“No, no. You’ll come if I allow that, and I’m not ready to let that happen.” I pull my slick fingers out of her and move her hand away. “Your breasts. Get a handful, show it to me. Ah, good.” Because she follows directions, I give her my fingers again. She lifts her hips to meet them. “You’ve got perfect breasts, Audrey, and delicious-looking nipples. Hold one for me, roll it between your fingers so that it feels good. Show me what feels good.”

My hand moves faster in her as she obeys again, tugging and caressing her deep pink nipple between her finger and thumb. Her head falls to the side.

“Oh, God,” she moans, her head thrashing to the other side. I suckle her leg gently.

She shoots up, twists both hands in my hair, and meets my eye. Then she shoves my head down and holds it there, her grip on my hair almost painful. I flick my tongue over her clit, leaving my fingers inside her. As my tongue swirls faster, I apply more pressure, and her rough grip on my hair becomes a caress. I change to searching vertical strokes until I find a spot that makes her fingers tighten again.

Her breathing becomes gasps. I find a rhythm, and I feel the change inside her instantly. My hand continues slow strokes, but my tongue dances over that spot mercilessly, pushing her toward the end. A few more strokes and then she comes, heels digging into the cushions, hips bucking against my mouth, fingers clenching in my hair.

With my mouth still fastened on her sex, I gaze over the plane of her stomach, through the valley between her breasts, at the glorious horizon that is her face in ecstasy. I lick her juices from my lips and turn my head to kiss her quivering flesh. Her panting slows, and she shoves my head away. I pull back, my eyes searching hers for meaning. Her pupils are wide, her face intense as she pushes herself up, grabs my cock, and pulls my head to hers. Her tongue thrusts deep into my mouth as her hand travels up and down my shaft, and then she captures my tongue to suck it gently in time to her hand’s strokes.

My dick pulses and swells at the lightest touch from her. I want to tell her again how sexy she is, how long I’ve wanted her. But she nips my bottom lip and flips around to press her face and shoulders against the sofa, one foot anchored on the floor and the other knee propping her ass up, offered to me like a present. That ass. I push her skirt out of the way to unwrap my gift and take a minute to appreciate it. I’d love to smack it, see the red print of my palm on her pale flesh, but I’m not sure if she’d like it. And I want her to love everything I do to her.

 She doesn’t wait for me, reaching between her legs and slipping her own fingers into her pussy. I do spank her lightly for that, earning a squeak of surprise. I’m so turned on now I can’t wait. Can’t go slow. Can’t stop. With a growl, I grip her hip with one hand and myself with the other, nudging her entrance with the head of my cock. My balls draw up like a fist, ready to blow just looking at her like this. Then I rock into her, and can’t help the whispered oh god as she pushes back against me. Fuck. It’s been so long since I’ve been with someone bareback, and it’s better than I remembered. Or maybe she’s just better. She finally moans too as I plunge into her again, jerking her back against me at the same time. Her pussy is taut but not uncomfortable, and my third stroke seats me fully inside her, every inch of my dick sheathed in her.

My control evaporates. Then I hold on and fuck her with everything I’ve got. I need more leverage, so I brace one foot on the floor and adjust my grip. With every pounding stroke, she makes this little grunting unh. Her sounds get breathy, then louder, then urgent. Pressure builds, begging for release, but I hold on tight. She’s not there yet, and I want one more from her.

Slowing the pace of my rhythm, I reach around to press upward under her stomach, urging her to her hands and knees, doggy style. The new angle of her hips lets the head of my dick skim over the upper wall where all those nerve endings lie, and her body responds eagerly to the new sensations. Fuck, I never imagined a woman could even be so wet. I find her clit again, my fingers luring the tricky bastard from its hiding place. With a feather touch, I circle it as I give her long, slow thrusts. Her ass and thighs tense, and her voice is raw, pleading, like she can see the finish line from here. I’m close, too. I almost want to tell her how long I’ve wanted her, how good and right it feels to be inside her. But I clench my teeth together over those words and focus on getting her to the next climax. When her walls clench around me with the first spasm, my dick gives its last throb, and I jackhammer my hips against her ass with soft slaps as the grip of her orgasm finally pushes me over the edge. As my own climax grips me, I pull out just in time. Milky streams of my cum spurt onto her back and settle into a thick pool in the dip at the base of her spine. One rivulet starts to slip away, and I hastily remove my shirt to wipe her clean. I toss it to the side as Audrey straightens, and before she can get away, I capture her against me for a deep, satisfied kiss.

Good god, now what?