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Tilly wiped a streak of wetness off her cheek and plucked out another tissue to dab under her nose. Oh, forget dabbing. She honked into the tissue then set it on the dining table among the growing pile of scrunched-up soggy tissues.

“Spineless son of a jellyfish.” She snapped Mary’s journal shut and stood, the chair screeching on the floor. She grimaced, wondering if the sound would’ve disturbed her newest guest who she hadn’t heard a peep out of since she and her impromptu bodyguard, Wade, had dropped off fresh towels and linen hours ago.

Tilly managed a few hours’ work on her sample script for Tuesday’s face-to-face meeting—her last before she was due to return to Auckland permanently—and she was pretty sure she’d nailed it. In her coffee break she’d pried open Mary’s journal and continued to read. Up until the last entry, everything had seemed to be going swimmingly for her great-aunt and Jim.

Kinda like everything had been going swimmingly for her and Noah the past couple of days. Tilly’s nose crinkled and a flush of heat crawled up her neck. Until he’d started acting like Officer Big-Fat-Jerk.

A knock sounded on the front door. The sound only served to irritate her that she could now identify Noah’s knock from other people’s. She was tempted to ignore it, but she wouldn’t put it past him to retrieve the spare key he’d had cut for her and waltz on in.

The big fat jerk.

So she dumped her soggy tissues into the trash and opened the front door. She forced herself not to wince at the shiny redness surrounding his eye or the scrape on his cheek since her concern was somehow correlated to a direct hit to his precious masculinity. He didn’t want her to care that he’d been attacked and was in pain? 

Fine.

She glanced down at the Due South logo stamped on the paper bag he carried. “I’m not hungry.”

“Have you been writing this afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are.”

He slid in through the open door before she could shut it on his arrogant face. Though, even with a black eye forming, the man was stupid hot. He sauntered into the kitchen like he owned the place, crinkling his nose at the discarded wrappers scattered over the dining table.

“Granola bars are full of sugar,” he said. “Useless calories, you know.”

“What are you, the sugar police now?”

He ignored her question and peeled open the bag, taking a sniff inside. “You need real food.”

“We had a big lunch, remember?” Though she’d worked off all that lamb and roast vegetables via terrified sweat during Noah’s confrontation with the Reynoldses.

“I remember.” He set the bag on the table and pulled out three plastic containers. “Green salad, Greek salad, and Waldorf salad—with extra Waldorfs.” His mouth curved in an inviting smile as he shot her a glance, probably to see if she’d let him off the hook by returning it.

She didn’t. She wouldn’t. 

Giving him a wide berth, she circled the dining table and positioned herself against the farthest kitchen counter. “Hope you picked up a raw steak while you were raiding Shaye and Del’s restaurant.”

“Steak?”

“For your eye.” She couldn’t prevent her voice coming out in a razor-sharp snippy tone, but her arms tingled with the need to twine around his neck and kiss his boo-boo better.

“Ah.” Noah abandoned the takeout bag and in three long strides they were toe to toe. He braced his palms on the countertop either side of her waist. “I’ve had worse brawls on the rugby field. Pete just got off a lucky shot.”

“Don’t make light of it.” She smacked her palm onto his chest. Under his shirt his steady and strong heartbeat bumped against her skin, causing her fingers to splay and adhere to the spot. “He could’ve had a brick in his hands, or, or—a knife.”

“More likely a bottle opener. This is Pete we’re talking about.” The corner of his mouth twitched up to match the amusement in his voice.

“It’s not funny. You could’ve been badly hurt, so don’t laugh at me.” She smacked her other palm on his chest and shoved. He didn’t budge, but something sparked in his eyes. Before she’d had time to take another breath, he’d boosted her onto the counter and wedged himself between her spread legs. This much Noah in this close proximity made it momentarily hard to remember what she was mad about.

His hands still spanned her hips where he’d lifted her, and his fingers tightened their grip. “I wasn’t in any danger.” 

Oh yeah. Now she remembered what her anger was about. She slitted her eyes. “You didn’t have your vest on. What if one of them had a gun? You’re not RoboCop.”

He sucked in his cheeks and his Adam’s apple jerked up and down between the strained muscles of his throat. “I’ve been doing this job a long time, Til. I’m good at it, and I don’t need a woman worrying herself into an early grave over me.”

Her stomach plummeted to her sock-covered toes. “Personal experience with an ex?”

“Uh-huh.”

He didn’t say anything for a long three beats, then grimaced. “It was a major bone of contention in my last serious relationship. She was scared for me, then resented being scared, then eventually resented me for refusing to give up my job.”

Tilly could relate to the being scared for Noah, and possibly the resentment that could develop over time at the stress of constantly being fearful. “Were you a cop when the two of you met?”

“Yeah. Hayley worked in a civilian role within the police when we first started dating, but it wasn’t until we moved in together that the reality of my day-to-day life became less appealing.”

He stroked his big hands down her thighs and rested them on her kneecaps. “I don’t blame her. I missed a lot of date nights and events I’d promised to attend. She learned quickly not to rely on me saying I’d be somewhere at a certain time; I was late or a no-show more times than I care to admit. Sometimes I’d spin my wheels after a shift, not wanting to go home to the tears and accusations. It was exhausting, for both of us.”

Prickles of unease spread over Tilly’s scalp and her fingers, which had somehow remained on Noah’s chest, tightened, bunching his T-shirt in her fists. Was Noah aware of the similarities of his relationship with Hayley and his parents’? Did he not understand that when you loved someone you didn’t have any choice but to care deeply about their well-being?

“I can imagine it was a very difficult situation.” Her hands developed a mind of their own, releasing his shirt and skimming up over hard muscle to trace the line of his jaw. 

Her touch seemed to melt a fraction of his tension, and his hands returned to her hips, dragging her flush against him. He turned his head, pressing a kiss to her fingers as they brushed over his mouth. “I didn’t come here to dredge up the past or fight with you.”

Fingertips tingling, she continued to explore the bold planes of his face. Strong jaw, slight bump in his nose, a graze following the line of his cheekbone. His startling, beautiful eyes bracketed by laughter lines, and lips so smooth and shapely they wouldn’t have looked out of place on a marble sculpture.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

This time when he smiled at her a flurry of hot tingles swept through her and she found herself smiling back. Note to self: A man who made you mad as hell one moment and gooey the next was a dangerous man indeed. 

“To feed you.”

“I told you. I’m not—”

Noah shut her up by pressing his mouth to hers. He didn’t need to smoosh their lips together; just the faintest caress was enough to render her mute and helpless.

“And I told you.” He sucked on her lower lip, then released it. “Yeah, you are.”

Hunger was in his voice, and it wasn’t for salad.

Dammit, he was right. And they both knew what their appetites needed.

She laced her fingers in his thick hair and dragged his mouth down. She kissed him with all the pent-up fear and frustration that had rampaged through her. The unrestrained heat of her mouth on his as she searched for reassurance was found in the mating of their tongues. He met her stroke for stroke, hot and demanding, forcing her fear and frustration to melt under the single-minded need that existed between them. 

He tugged up her sweater, pulling his mouth away from hers only long enough to drag it over her head and fling it aside. Her bra followed a moment later, and he slid her stretchy leggings and panties down and off with barely any effort on her part. Noah deserved a medal, or at least a special mention, for being a manly man who could get a woman naked in less than thirty seconds.

She slipped her hands beneath the hem of his T-shirt, but he was a step ahead of her. While she paused to dreamily run her fingertips over his washboard abs, he hauled off his shirt and unbuttoned his jeans. He was hard against the denim, the shape of his erection pressing through his boxer briefs causing her breath to lock in her lungs and everything south of the border to grow wet and needy. She ached for him, for the physical connection that would make her forget how deep the need for him went.

“Noah?”

“I can’t wait to be inside you any longer.”

Her either. She licked suddenly dry lips and his gaze tracked the motion in a way that suggested he planned to devour her mouth in a few moments.

“Condom,” she managed to say.

“Right here.” He dug into his back pocket, drew out a square foil, and ripped it open.

“Protect and serve, huh?” She shivered in anticipation as he sheathed himself.

The smile he sent her nearly made her climax on the spot. Oh dear Lord. She was beyond playing with fire with Noah.

This was playing with dynamite. 

He stepped between her legs again and ran his hand along her inner thigh. One firm stroke of his thumb up through her folds to caress the swollen center of her was enough to make her beg. 

“Please.” She arched back, lifting her hips toward him, offering herself.

His eyes hooded as he slid a finger inside her, withdrew it slowly, then trailed it across his lower lip. His tongue flicked out to taste her slick arousal and a groan rumbled out of him.

“You’re so sweet, Tilly.” He moved in closer, hooking her legs around his hips. “I’m going to enjoy having you for dessert.”

With one swift thrust he seated himself deep inside her. She barely had time to moan with the exquisite sensation of being stretched to capacity when his mouth took hers in a bruising kiss. One hot kiss after another, each punctuated by the slap of skin against skin. She clung to him, hung on for the wild ride even though she knew he wouldn’t let her escape his arms, let alone fall. So hard, so deep her core muscles ached from delicious tension as Noah drove into her over and over.

She was so far gone it took a solid three seconds to register the brisk knocking on the back door.

Noah froze, remaining thick and hard inside her as he eased his mouth away from where he’d been kissing her throat. He lifted his head and their eyes met as once again another knock sounded on the door. They were just out of sight of whoever stood on the back porch, but—Tilly’s gaze shot past Noah to the metal lock near the door handle. Had she remembered to lock it? 

“You home, Til?”

Wade’s voice.

A devastatingly sexy smile spread on Noah’s face and he began to move inside her again. Long, slow thrusts that made her toes curl and her eyes cross. 

“Stop it,” she mouthed.

“No,” he mouthed in return and slid his hand between their bodies to circle her swollen flesh.

She couldn’t stop a soft whimper from escaping, but Noah trapped the moan that followed with one big hand clapped across her mouth. Eyes narrowed, she bit the fleshy part of his palm. His smile widened and his thumb circled her again. Slowly.

“I just want a couple of towels. Hello?” The door handle twisted and rattled but didn’t open.

Pleasure speared through her as the first spasms squeezed her womb and triggered a chain reaction. She strained against him, whimpers muffled in his palm, her gaze locked in combat with his. She came hard—dynamite explosion hard—and clawed at Noah’s shoulders as he continued to forge toward his own release.

Another flurry of knocks, but Tilly was gone, floating bonelessly near the ceiling in orgasmic freaking bliss. As if from a long distance she heard Wade curse then grumble something about her probably being off somewhere shagging his brother. Footsteps clumped down the porch steps.

Noah slammed into her again, and her foot slipped from where it was looped around his hip, dropping down to connect with a cabinet door. The jarring sound didn’t deter Noah; in fact, it spurred him into overdrive. He dropped his hand from her mouth and replaced it with his lips, kissing her relentlessly until her limp body stirred and quickened, sending another flurry of throbbing spasms through her system. She kicked the cabinet door again in an effort to twine herself even closer around him, and heedless of who could hear, cried out as she climaxed again. Noah also didn’t seem to care if their audience returned, as he ground out her name on repeat when he lost himself in his own pleasure.

They clung together in a sweaty, heaving, panting mess—or maybe that was just Tilly. Forget about walking a straight line in a sobriety test. She’d be lucky to stand upright anytime in the next fifteen minutes.

Noah nuzzled the sensitive spot under her ear. “Did you work up an appetite, sweetheart?”

“I did.” She tightened her internal muscles, squeezing them around him. “Turns out I’m hungrier than I thought.”

Tilly arrived in Auckland to a stunning autumn day—the sky so crystalline blue she could almost make out the tourists gawking at the view on the Sky Tower’s famous observation deck almost twenty miles from the airport. Everything was coming up roses, as her mum would say. Her interconnecting flights from Oban to Invercargill, then from Invercargill to the bigger city of Christchurch, and finally from Christchurch across Cook Strait and to Auckland on the North Island, had all been on time. And she even managed to resist the inflight cookie, since she’d had more than enough sweetness lately.

The thought of sweetness naturally led to thoughts of Noah and the day before when they’d spent most of Easter Monday tucked up in his bed—once they’d dropped Wade off at Oban’s tiny airstrip for his flight back to Dunedin.

Tilly leaned back into the taxi seat and watched the Auckland city skyline grow closer. Between her and Wade they’d finally convinced Noah to attend his dad’s retirement party, on the condition that Tilly was his plus-one—Noah’s condition. She’d thought it wise not to mention that attending any sort of party involving a man’s family was more a girlfriend thing than a working-vacation-hookup thing, because if there was any chance of Noah rebuilding the relationship with his father…

Tilly paid the taxi driver and headed into the nondescript building that housed her production company’s offices. Because of the scarcity of flights from Stewart Island to Invercargill, she was on time for the staff meeting, but too late to zip home to change into a fresh outfit. 

Home.

Her stomach gave an odd little wobble at the thought of her tiny city apartment and the view of a neighboring apartment block from her living room window. She brushed the thought aside. Hoisting her overnight bag higher on her shoulder and hugging her laptop bag tighter under her arm, she marched to the elevator bank. After stepping out onto the top floor, she received a lukewarm, harried greeting from their receptionist and then was told to, “Go on down. They’re all waiting for you.”

Resisting the childish urge to cross her fingers for good luck, Tilly continued along the hallway lined with K-Road cast headshots. All of them seemed to stare at her with accusation.

“We deserve your best work, your heart and soul,” they whispered. “But you just don’t care anymore, do you, Matilda?”

The conference door was ajar, and Tilly slipped inside. Six pairs of eyes slid toward her—five sets friendly enough, the other as painfully cold as a tongue pressed to icy metal. Jonas leaned back in his chair with sprawled open legs and folded arms, faux relaxed and in an I’m an alpha male mode. He totally wasn’t alpha—unlike Noah—but he tried. Bless his frigid little heart.

“There you are, Tilly,” he said. “Welcome back.”

There was nothing at all welcoming in his tone, and her stomach plummeted to the soles of her heels—which clicked like gunfire as she strode across the polished tile floor and slid into a spare seat. She kept her spine arrow straight and crossed her legs with what she hoped was casual poise. “Thank you. It’s good to be back.”

Was it? Was it really? When she could’ve stayed another hour in Noah’s bed this morning, touching him, kissing him, teasing that elusive and just-for-her sexy smile to his mouth.

Shut up, brain.

Unzipping her laptop bag, she sucked in a deep breath. “Have you all read the rough script I emailed out yesterday morning?”

Murmurs of agreement skipped around the table as she pulled out her laptop and opened the screen. 

“Let’s get into it, then.” Jonas turned to Marjorie Chambers, the only other female writer on the team and somewhat of an ally of Tilly’s since she also thought Jonas was a giant turd. “What’s your initial feedback, Marge?”

Tilly listened, heart in throat, as discussion of her cop character, Trevor Marshall, and his first introductory scene on K-Road flew back and forth between her cowriters. Mostly positive, there were a few points raised about issues that needed work and Tilly was open to revising them. Jonas, however, contributed little to the meeting until they’d reached the last page of the script.

He drummed his manicured fingernails on the table. “Interesting discussion, people. And well done, Tilly. Such an improvement over what you and Christophe initially worked on.” 

His congratulations were so insincere even Ken Douglas—another staff writer and by no means her biggest fan—sent her a pitying glance. She braced herself for Jonas to metaphorically shred her script to confetti.

“Speaking of Christophe,” Jonas continued. “He mentioned you’d become friendly with the local constable in Oban, and being naturally curious, I did a little digging.”

Chunks of ice replaced Tilly’s spine and she froze, her breath silently whistling in and out of her lungs. “You Googled Noah Daniels?” she ground out.

Jonas’s smile contained not a whisker of amusement. “I did more than just Google him. You’re not the only one with police contacts. In fact, I think tweaking this Daniels guy’s fascinating backstory would really bring Trevor to life.”

But Noah didn’t have a fascinating backstory. He was a city cop who’d moved to Oban to feel more involved in hands-on, small-town policing…hadn’t he? Noah had always managed to skim over what he’d done before he’d arrived in Oban. He’d described to her a few black-humor moments of dealing with the public and some of the outrageous pranks he and his cop buddies played on each other. Her forehead crumpled. She found it fascinating, but only because she found Noah fascinating.

“Oh, Matilda. You didn’t know?” Jonas’s eyes glittered, much the way Tilly imagined a bird of prey’s would as it dive-bombed a stunned field mouse. “He was in the Armed Offenders Squad for three years.”

One second, then two, ticked past while her lungs locked in her last inhale. Cold crept through her veins, headed on a speedy journey to ice around her heart. “That can’t be right. You have the wrong Daniels. Noah’s father was in the AOS, not Noah.”

Jonas must be wrong. What possible reason would Noah have not to tell her?

Jonas tilted his head and braced his fist under his chin, adopting his ‘thinking’ position. “Hmm. Detective Inspector Bruce Daniels, sixty-five, former AOS in the eighties, about to retire. Eldest son, Detective Mark Daniels, forty, stationed at Wellington Central. Youngest son, Constable Wade Daniels, twenty-nine, canine unit, Dunedin. And finally the middle son, Constable Noah Daniels, thirty-three, spent the five years previous to moving to Oban at Wellington Central. He completed selection and training—the most promising trainee that year, I’m told—and became a fully-fledged member of the squad where he performed outstandingly. No, I’m definitely talking about the right Daniels.”

It was all too much to process. Questions flew around her brain like poison-tipped arrows—so many she couldn’t settle on which to mull on first.

“Well.” She swallowed hard and tried to align her features into a bland expression. “You’re right. I didn’t know that.”

Recrossing her legs, she sent a small isn’t that interesting smile around the table to her cowriters, who were unsurprisingly watching the exchange like spectators at a tennis match.

“While the AOS certainly has an aura of mystery around it”—and the men and women who were part of it looked tough enough and mean enough to appear as if they ate criminals for breakfast—“why is being a former member so fascinating?”

“There’s more to Constable Daniels’s story than that. Much more.”

Smugness coated his words. Heaviness like a swallowed bowling ball settled in Tilly’s gut. Like it or not, she was about to hear something she really didn’t want to.

By now, every other writer practically salivated at the thought of burrowing into the hidden depths of a stranger’s life. Someone’s most precious secrets could be tweaked and embellished then flung onto the small screen as fodder for an uncaring audience. And she was just as guilty of it as any other writer. Didn’t feel so nice when she knew the person having their life and actions dissected.

A person she was falling for.

The thought froze her tongue, and Jonas took it as a cue to continue.

“Who remembers a few years back when a man holding his girlfriend hostage in Wellington was shot dead by a member of the AOS?” Jonas asked.

There were a few mumbles around the table, but most of her cowriters shrugged or shook their heads.

Ken lifted his hand as if asking for permission to speak. “I remember. The guy slit the woman’s throat and made a run for it. Cops took him down as he came out the back door firing a hunting rifle.”

“A cop took him down,” Jonas said. “Noah Daniels, the newest member of the squad, fired the fatal shot.”

“That’d be a justified shooting, wouldn’t it?” Marjorie asked.

Jonas nodded. “Yes. But any shooting incident is treated like a homicide and the officer involved is thoroughly investigated. Eighteen months Daniels was under scrutiny before he was cleared, and the poor guy cracked under the pressure. Such a shame.” His gaze slid to Tilly’s, but there was absolutely no sympathy in his tone. “He left the AOS and returned to normal duties, but he couldn’t stomach it for long and transferred to Stewart Island. A killer with a conscience, it appears.”

It felt like a slab of marble were pressing down on her chest, flattening her lungs. “He’s not a killer.” The words came out in a whisper.

Jonas’s eyes once again displayed a predatory gleam. “Have you developed feelings for him?” He tutted, trying—and failing—to affect an expression of concern on his face. “Matilda, those men are stone-cold, highly trained machines. They have to be in order to do what they do. I imagine being emotionally distant is a core requisite to a long-term successful career. Just the sort of man a woman like you should avoid tangling with.”

She stiffened in her chair, hands bunching into fists upon her lap. While he might be correct in his assessment, she wasn’t a doormat he could wipe their past relationship issues on. “This discussion is now work inappropriate, Jonas. Can we get back to business?”

Dammit, he knew her well enough to spot that he’d hit his target and that his arrows would leave one hell of a bruise. “Certainly. Let’s put a pin in Trevor Marshall and move along to Nicole’s story arc. What have you got for us, Ken?”

While Ken began to speak, Tilly’s cell vibrated against her hip. She slid it out of her jacket and glanced down at the text message displayed onscreen.

As would hers—assuming she got any sleep that night. With a quick look to ascertain no one was still paying her any attention, she composed a response.

She paused, rereading her message to ensure no hint of what was swirling around in her brain would tip him off. She didn’t want to discuss his lying by omission from seven hundred and fifty miles away. After a moment’s consideration she added a winking emoji face and hit send.

She stuffed her phone back into her pocket and concentrated on what Ken was saying. For all of five seconds. Dammit.

Emotionally distant. Stone-cold, highly trained machines.

My bed will be lonely and cold.

Noah couldn’t even come out and say that he missed her. Then again, you had to have feelings for someone to miss them, even if you were a little pissed at them at the same time. The way she missed Noah—craved him, wanting to be his hot-water bottle tonight and every night—only pointed toward an undeniable fact that made her stomach tip into free fall.

She was done falling in love. She’d already fallen.