I recline on one of the oversized leather couches in the spacious media room. After stuffing us with blackened fish and salad, Colt insisted on roasting marshmallows over the outdoor fire. Cee, with her bottomless stomach crammed seven S’mores into her slender body. Later, we’d played air hockey before we finally settled down to watch Killer Klowns from Outer Space.

I don’t know what’s more entertaining—the movie or the phenomenal lake views from the room. Now, barely thirty minutes into the movie, both Colt and Cee are out cold. It’s still early in the evening, but Colt lays sprawled on the other end of the massive sectional. Cee has fallen asleep on a pallet on the floor. I don’t have the heart to wake either of them, especially Cee, who is prone to nightmares. The girl deserves every bit of peaceful rest she can get. At least she’s no longer sleeping with weapons under her pillow. Poor child!

Each day, I grow more fond of her. Apparently, Cee is becoming attached to me, too. Little by little she’s been opening up about her parents. They are despicable wastes of human lives, as far as I’m concerned. The worst story was the one Cee told me about her father using her arm as an ashtray. She showed me the burn scar to prove it. She was only eight years old when it happened. I’ve never met the man, but I want to hogtie him and throw him six feet under the jail.

I can’t even conceive of my family members doing anything so cruel to each other. Thank God, I had loving parents. Daddy adores me and Mama encouraged me to do anything my heart desired. I want that support system for Cee. I want to inspire her and reassure her of her self-worth.

I creep from the sofa and tiptoe over to where she’s sleeping. I cover her with a blanket and then I shut off the TV. We’ll have plenty of time to watch Killer Klowns another day.

I drag myself upstairs to the master bedroom to take a shower. A film of sweat, lake water and grime still coats my body. There is no way I’m slipping in between the sheets stinking like a mildewed log.

Twenty minutes later I’d scrubbed my body and hair clean. I also took a few minutes to shave my legs. I’ve been in the water so much over the past few days my fingertips are in danger of becoming permanently wrinkled. Maybe I’ll take a break from the lake tomorrow and go hiking or something instead.

Yeah, right! Good luck dragging Cee away from that lake.

I swear the girl is half mermaid. She would stay in the water from dawn to dusk if she could.

I wrap my hair in the only towel I can find. I should have retrieved some fresh linens from the hall closet. I pad naked from the shower into the master bedroom.

A moment later, Colt bursts through the bedroom door. “Shayla, we need to—”

We both freeze. Our gazes crash together.

I expect him to do an about-face, leave, and shut the door behind him. Instead, he closes the door and stands gaping at me.

“God, your body is beautiful,” he murmurs.

I should cover myself. I should tell him to get out. I should panic. Yell. Something. Instead, I calmly reply, “Colt, you’re not supposed to be in here.”

He strides toward me. “I came to tell you…to tell you…”

I back up. Unfortunately, Colt keeps advancing toward me. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at you.”

“You’re doing more than looking.”

“You won’t let me touch.”

“That’s right. No touching.”

I continue to retreat, not caring where I go. I simply need to be far away from him.

“I have bad news, Shayla.”

“What?”

“I’m about to bend, manipulate and twist that rule.”

“You can’t.” My voice is barely a whisper. Even as I say the words, sparks of desire shoot through my body. I wonder if he really will touch me, and how he’ll do it. I take another step backward and feel the hard, cool surface of the wall against my spine. I’m trapped. “Look Colt…”

“I told you, I am looking.” His hungry gaze rakes over me.

I shake my head. “No, I mean listen—”

In seconds, his long strides eat up the carpet. His mouth covers mine. Any protests I’d planned die on my lips. I close my eyes and revel in the feeling of his tongue sliding along mine, playfully entwining, sucking and pulling.

His hard body presses against me. With only the wall at my back, I melt into him. My insides turn to mush. My legs tremble. Colt deepens the kiss, tilting his head to the side for better access. Lord, I’m done for.

He always was a good kisser. Nothing has changed in the years we’ve been apart. His stroke is full of fire and heat, scorching me from scalp to toenails. And I love every moment of it. I taste remnants of the imported beer on his tongue. Smell his woodsy cologne. Hear his hungry moans against my mouth. He consumes my senses. Damn, I want him so bad!

His big hands slide up my ribcage and caress my breasts. I gasp with pleasure. He knows how I like to be touched. Knows all of my hot spots. After all these years, he remembers—and he’s using his knowledge to beguile me.

He dips his head, nibbling my collarbone. “Baby, you taste so good,” he murmurs in between playful bites.

Blood rushes to my ears. My heart pounds a frenzied beat a primitive drummer would be proud of. The place between my thighs throbs. Even though he’d seen me in my naked glory before, that was years ago. For one insecure moment, I wonder if he likes what he sees.

“I love your body,” he says, reading my mind.

“You do?”

“God, yes. I’ve missed you, Shayla. I’ve missed us.” He punctuates each sentence with a slow, sensual kiss. When he palms my backside and pulls me closer, my stomach flip-flops and my knees shake.

This is it. It’s actually happening. I’m about to make love to my husband again. After nearly a decade. The fire between my legs is about to be quenched.

The shrill ring of a cell phone smashes the intimate moment. I jump like I’ve been electrocuted. I push him away, but not before seeing the mixture of hurt and yearning in his eyes.

Shit! What was I thinking?

I whip the towel from my head and hastily cover my nude body.

“Shayla…” Colt begins.

I scramble back to the bathroom, ignoring his pleas.

This cannot be happening!

I slam the bathroom door and brace myself against it. I hear Colt answer his phone. From his end of the conversation I can tell the caller is his lawyer.

“No, Renaldo. This isn’t a bad time,” Colt says. His sigh of resignation makes my heart wrench, but I steel myself against the onslaught of emotions. “I was in the middle of something, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to work out.”

I don’t emerge from the bathroom until I hear the distant shuffle of Colt’s footsteps leaving. Only then do I rush across the room and lock the bedroom door—like I should have done in the first place.

I have to stay on guard with Colt. Not that I don’t trust him. I don’t trust myself.