Faith woke to a persistent knocking, broken up by the swift pings of her doorbell. A quick glance at her clock revealed it to be half past midnight.

She stumbled groggily from her bed. Rubbing at her eyes, she paused as she caught a glimpse of herself in the hallway. She’d looked better. The day she took a softball to the face her freshman year she had looked better than this. Her hair stuck up in a haphazard bun, strands sticking out wildly from every direction on her head. A T-shirt that had belonged to Tucker, circa 2005, complemented a pair of baggy pajama bottoms that she would never get rid of on threat of death.

The doorbell rang again, prompting her to action.

The pièce de résistance was the green avocado mud mask she’d applied to her face for the night. Her former roommate Bonnie swore by the stuff, and since Bonnie’s mother was sixty years old and looked thirty-five, Faith tended to believe all of Bonnie’s beauty tips, as they had all been passed down from her mother.

Flattening her hands on her door, she peered out the peephole. The low glow off her porch light illuminated Serena standing in front of her door. Or rather swaying in front of her door.

Faith frowned. Maybe the woman was fleeing from Faith’s jackass neighbor? Maybe he was a brute. An abusive brute. Faith had seen horrible things as a social worker, and she had heard stories all her life in whispered undertones between her father and mother, and then later between her father and brother, about events they had witnessed in the course of their day-to-day work. What did she really know about North Callaghan, after all?

She quickly unbolted the door and yanked it open. “Serena? Is everything all right?” She surveyed the woman with an eye for injuries, searching for any evidence of abuse.

Serena blinked. Dropping her chin, her gaze started at Faith’s feet, slowly working her way up to the top of her head with wide eyes, not missing a single thing. “You’re not North,” she finally proclaimed.

It took a long moment for Faith to register this declaration and what it signified—along with Serena’s booze-laden breath. “No. I am not North.” Annoyance pricked at her chest. “Are you looking for him?”

“Ohh!” She smacked her forehead hard enough to make Faith wince. “You’re the scone lady! Hey . . .” She took an unsteady step forward, inching inside Faith’s house. “You got any more of them in here? Those were goooood.”

Faith lifted her hands and set them on Serena’s shoulders, giving her a gentle push back to keep her from entering her house. “No. I don’t have any more scones. Sorry. Is there something I can help you with, Serena? Are you hurt?” Faith swung a quick glance sideways, as though she expected her neighbor to jump out from the shadows.

“Hurt? No! I’m not hurt.” She attempted to step inside again, saying, “You got North in there? North! North! Come out!”

“Wh-what?” She shook her head in bewilderment. “No, he’s not in here. Why would you think that he’s in—”

“You’re in his house.” She blinked and tilted her head back to look up at Faith. “If he’s not here, then where is he?”

“I . . .” Faith stopped and took a breath, understanding dawning.

She looked out to the street and where Serena’s familiar car was parked haphazardly. The ass end stuck out onto the street. The front of the car was wedged right up behind North Callaghan’s truck, barely a hair separating the two vehicles.

“Serena,” she drawled, her stomach twisting sickly. “Did you drive yourself here?”

She nodded sloppily. “Yes.” Leaning forward, she whispered loudly, one finger pressed over her lips as a gust of booze-laden air escaped her, “I’ve had a few beers.”

“A few?” It seemed like she had more than a few.

“I always get horny when I drink so I thought I’d take myself here.” She splayed her arms wide, nearly losing her balance. “North is always up for a good time.”

As in another sex marathon. “Well, here is my house, not North’s.” She jabbed a thumb to her left. “There is North’s house.”

Serena’s eyes grew comically large. “No way!”

“Yep.” Faith nodded. “You’ve knocked on the wrong door.” She shrugged. “It happens.” Especially when intoxicated.

Serena slammed both hands over her mouth. Sputtering sounds still managed to escape, however. The woman was on the verge of hysterical laughter. “For real! I’m sorry! That is hilarious!”

“It’s quite all right,” Faith said. “Happens more than you’d think.”

Really, it never happened. But living next door to Mr. Sexy Fun Times, it might become a thing.

Dropping her hands from her mouth, Serena stepped closer, squinting. “Is that guacamole on your face?” Wrinkling her nose, she stuck out a finger as though to test for herself.

“No! No, stop that.” Faith swatted at her hand, bobbing her head out of Serena’s range. She felt her hair flopping on top of her head, strands falling onto her forehead and getting stuck in the avocado mask.

Suddenly a yellow glow flooded the porch as the neighboring porch light flipped on and the door to the left pulled open.

Oh. No. NoNoNoNoNoNo. She wasn’t going to finally meet him now. Not like this. She wasn’t going to finally come face-to-face with him looking this way.

She resisted the urge to run inside and slam her door shut. So what if he saw her with a green avocado mask on her face and dressed like a thirteen-year-old girl at a slumber party? She wasn’t out to impress him. That ship had sailed. And clearly he was not out to impress her. He didn’t give a damn about her. Inexplicable anger sizzled through her at the ugly thought. The feeling was mutual. At least that’s what she tried to tell herself . . . that’s what she tried to convince herself.

Regaining her composure, she turned to face the neighbor who had been ignoring her notes, ignoring her—who did not have the courtesy to park in his own driveway or keep the sounds of fornicating to himself like any other respectable human being.

And then she saw him. Truly saw him.

Melting brown eyes. Dark hair hovered over naked shoulders, the strands uneven and layered, all the more appealing for the effortless nature of the style. This guy didn’t go to a salon or dump product in his hair.

And then there was his body. His body with all its curves and hollows. His abdomen with those tight ridges. He belonged on billboards advertising Calvin Klein underwear. He turned at the waist and his muscles bunched and danced in unbelievable ways. Her mouth dried and her heart kicked painfully against her chest. She’d seen a hint of this when he entered his house and when she’d spied on him in his backyard. But nothing had prepared her for the real up-close-and-personal reality of him.

His face was a study in beauty, too. Square-cut jaw and a beautiful well-carved mouth. Eyes so rich and deep. Eyelashes criminally long. A woman would throw down good money for those lashes.

None of this beauty was marred either by the jagged scar running down his face and ending at his jawline. It might have ruined another face, but not his. No, it added to his masculinity. Gave all that prettiness a hard edge. A half inch to the right and it would have sliced his eye, too. He must have been pretty once, but now he was this. A man whose face both drew and repelled. Enticed and intimidated.

He was the embodiment of her every sexual fantasy. Scratch that. He was the embodiment of every woman’s sexual fantasy. She could almost cry. Or laugh. She wasn’t sure which of the two was the stronger impulse.

His deep brown gaze skimmed over Serena before landing on Faith. She supposed they were both in bad shape, but Faith would probably win the prize for biggest freak show. Which was saying something considering Serena was swaying on her feet with bloodshot eyes and definitely looking like roadkill.

The world seemed to fade away as they assessed each other. It felt as though she had been barreling toward this moment for a long time rather than the week she had been living in her new house.

She was certain, of the two of them, she was the only one feeling this way. She probably never even crossed his radar. Especially considering he could never do the right thing and introduce himself to her or answer the damn door for her or pick up the phone and acknowledge any one of the notes she had left him. No, she was certain she was the only one who felt as though the world were fading away and leaving just the two of them standing in it.

His gaze swept over her. Instantly she wished she was wearing a bra at the very least. She felt vulnerable without one until she remembered that she was wearing the world’s baggiest T-shirt and her breasts were practically nonexistent anyway.

He was much bigger in the flesh. Taller. Broader of shoulder. And speaking of in the flesh, he had on a pair of boxer briefs. Nothing else. Her gaze devoured tan, muscled skin that bunched and rippled as though it was possessed with its own life.

So. Much. Skin.

God. OhGodOhGodOhGod. This wasn’t happening. Say it wasn’t happening. Please. God. Not like this.

His eyes narrowed. “Faith Walters?”

So he knew her name. So he wasn’t so indifferent to her notes that he didn’t file away that little tidbit. Although he didn’t look thrilled to see her. But he was definitely seeing her. His gaze crawled over her face, leaving a path of fire in its wake.

“North Callaghan, I presume?” Did she actually say that? Like she was in some sort of Alfred Hitchcock movie?

He chuckled. “Great. So we know each other’s names. Glad we got that out of the way.”

“Yeah, well, how would I know anything about you? You won’t acknowledge the notes I left for you. Or answer your door whenever I knock.”

Serena laughed. The sound jarred Faith. For a moment she had forgotten her presence. “Oh, North? He’s not very social. He wouldn’t know the first thing about being neighborly. Or small talk, for that matter.” She staggered forward until she fell against him. Her hands made good use of the proximity, touching and stroking that delicious chest of his. The irrational urge to step forward and yank Serena’s hand off him seized her. She quelled the urge as Serena continued talking. “But you don’t need small talk with North. That’s the nice thing about him.” She giggled, her clumsy fingers sliding south on his chest. “Well. Not the nicest thing.”

He didn’t crack a smile, and she imagined she saw a flash of irritation in his dark eyes. He grabbed Serena’s wandering hand and stopped it from roaming.

Serena clucked her tongue and pulled a pouting face. “Aw, you’re no fun.”

Faith could well understand the irritation. Indignation filled her, bubbling in her chest like when she ate too many peppers on her nachos. Which was absolutely crazy that she should feel like that. She should not feel offended on his behalf. He was a rude, inconsiderate neighbor. If he was okay with being treated like a piece of meat, then who was she to care?

“Your friend Serena here has had a few drinks.”

“Yeah, I see that,” he said without taking his gaze off Faith.

“Yeahhh, so. It appears she drove herself here. Drunk.”

Serena’s head whipped around to glare at Faith. Apparently she wasn’t so out of it she missed the reference to herself. “I’m not drunk!” she protested.

North sighed and dropped his head back briefly to look skyward. “Christ, Serena.”

“North,” she whined. “Don’t be mad at me!” She turned to glare at Faith as though she were the one responsible for loverboy being annoyed with her.

“Sorry if she disturbed you.” He turned Serena in the direction of his door, guiding her away from Faith. “I got this now.”

Something snapped inside her. Her temper finally let loose. “Do you?” she called after his back. “Do you got this?”

Because clearly there were other things he did not get. Since the day she moved in there were several things he did not get.

He stopped and turned to face her. “Do you have something to say?”

It was almost laughable. He posed the question mildly. Only she felt like a line had been drawn in the sand. Actually that had happened some time ago. He simply didn’t realize it. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care.

“Norrrrrth!” Serena whined his name.

He turned around briefly to snap, “Go inside, Serena.”

She gave a huff and then disappeared inside his house.

He faced Faith again. “You were saying?”

Yes. She was saying. She was saying something. Exactly what she couldn’t put into words when he stared at her with such a steely gaze.

She sucked in a sharp breath and forged ahead. “For days I have wanted to introduce myself to you. It seems we are well past friendly introductions now though.” She swallowed, fighting against the golf-ball-size lump in her throat. “Aren’t we?”

He stared at her for a long moment, not responding.

“Hello?” she growled. “Are you listening to me?”

Finally he came to himself as if shaking off a daze. “I’m sorry. I was mesmerized by that green shit all over your face.”

Ohhh. As if she needed the reminder of how terrible she looked in front of him.

She mustered as much composure as she could and pointed at the door to his house. “I would appreciate it if you had a talk with your friend.” Now would be the perfect moment to insert that his friend needed to control the volume of her orgasms. The perfect moment. And the worst moment.

He arched dark eyebrows over deeply set eyes, waiting for her to finish.

She inhaled. “I realize your booty call is important to you. God knows it’s been a couple days.” Yes. Those words had come out of her mouth.

Something like humor glinted in his eyes. “Keeping track, are we?”

“Hard not to. Our walls aren’t very thick, you know?”

“Apparently not.”

She waved back to his house where Serena waited. “Driving drunk, as she so obviously did, not only put her life in danger but countless others, too. I’d appreciate it if you would emphasize that point to her. For everyone.” Not the outrageous things she had thought to say, but no less important, no less true. She had grown up her whole life surrounded by law enforcement. She had heard the stories. She’d seen the look on her father’s face the morning after he had to scrape some poor soul off the highway because some idiot decided to get behind the wheel of a car after he had one too many drinks.

He waited a moment before replying, still looking at her, still assessing, still making her feel like a bug squashed beneath his shoe. “I’ll do that.”

She tried to read him, to see if he was mocking her, but she only sensed that he was being honest in his reply.

She gave a nod. “Thank you.”

Still clinging to the scraps of her dignity, she spun around on her bare feet, feeling the bun on top of her head start to slip.

She fled inside her house and slammed the door behind her before her hair took a complete tumble. She fell against the door, her back flat against its surface, her chest heaving as though she had just completed a marathon.

She finally got to meet him. They finally had a conversation. Unfortunately it went nothing as she had anticipated. She closed her eyes in a weary blink. A deep heaviness settled in her stomach and she knew this wasn’t over between them.

As if there were any doubts to that thought, something crashed next door that sounded suspiciously like a lamp, followed by Serena’s shrill, drunken laughter.

Faith strained to listen, stepping into her kitchen area and jerking as several thwacks hit the wall beside her table.

Stepping forward she pounded back on the wall. “Keep it down!” She was done playing nice. So what if she sounded like some old prude. She wasn’t in college anymore. She didn’t have to put up with loud neighbors anymore.

She heard the deep muted tones of North’s voice, his words a distinctive rumble. Great. Now she would hear their shenanigans all night. She winced at that idea. The notion of North having sex with an inebriated woman seemed wrong. She wanted to think better of him for some reason. Which was very strange. Serena clearly wanted some action. That was why she came here. She had said as much. Serena’s hands making a direct beeline for his junk left little doubt of that.

What was so disappointing was that North Callaghan was likely prepared to give it to her.

Snorting with disgust, Faith pushed away from the door and headed upstairs. She climbed into her bed and settled back on her pillow, hoping to fall back asleep so that she would not have to endure the sounds of marathon sex coming through the walls again.

For once, her wish came true, and she fell fast asleep, sparing herself the sounds of whatever was happening next door.

She had green shit all over her face. He had no idea what it was. Clearly some part of a beauty regime that women felt necessary. Women like her. Women not for him. Women who cared about skin care and had careers and dated men with careers. Not felons who worked in garages and fooled themselves into believing they were artists. She would never get her pristine hands dirty with someone like him.

He dropped his head back against the flat expanse of his front door and released a mirthless laugh at the memory of her green face. He still didn’t know what she looked like underneath that mask. Unbelievable. He was dying to know, dying to see her for himself. It was messed up. He lived next door to her. He knew it was as simple as knocking on her door and playing the role of nice neighbor. Introducing himself properly. Apologizing for whatever he had done. He grimaced. He could start with apologizing for his drunk friend showing up at her door in the middle of the night.

He could be charming if he decided to. There had been a time in his life when he had been a well-liked guy. Affable. Full of smiles. Teachers had loved him. Coaches had only ever praised him—not just for his athleticism but also his positive attitude. Parents had wanted their daughters to date him. North Callaghan had been a name that meant something, that held value. He’d been a prince in his corner of the world—Sweet Hill, Texas. Granted, it was a small corner of the world . . . but he’d been a prince nonetheless.

If he pretended to be that guy again, if he channeled him from the grave, he could probably smooth things over with Faith Walters.

She had stood toe-to-toe with him, her eyes flashing under the light of the porch, ready to take him on. Ready to let him know just how little she thought of him.

Crazy as it seemed, that just made him want to engage with her further. But as himself. As the guy he was now, not the ghost of the boy he had once been. Which was the complete opposite of what he had planned to do. Pretend she didn’t exist, pretend the house next door to his was still vacant. Locking horns with her was not the plan.

One thing for certain: she was unlike any woman he had ever met. He couldn’t remember conversing with another woman for any length of time without sex as the end result.

Not that he “met” many women. They weren’t exactly plentiful where he worked. Of course his sister-in-law had suggested setting him up on a few dates. He winced at that idea.

He glanced to where he had deposited Serena’s drunk ass on the couch. She was getting to be too much trouble. It was one thing to have a convenient fuck every now and then, but when it stopped being convenient . . .

There was also the not-so-minor fact that when he stared at her, he felt nothing. Not the slightest arousal. Even a hot mess, she was undeniably attractive. Her skirt rode up to reveal an enticing view of her black-thong-clad backside. He knew that body. Had felt it under him, above him, countless times. She was a great lay. And he felt nothing.

Christ.

It couldn’t be any clearer. They were done. It was no longer fun. Sex with Serena—hell, with anyone lately—hardly took the edge off anymore. He didn’t know what could, but he had to find it. The idea of not finding anything to ease the pressure, to dull the pain, to distract . . . it was unthinkable.

Serena lifted her head from the couch. He grimaced at the large drool stain she’d left on his cushion.

“North!” Her bleary gaze fastened on him. “C’mere! Why aren’t you naked yet!”

He approached the couch. “Shh. You don’t need to shout.”

Not that he had ever cared before. Suddenly he was very conscious of the woman living next door to him.

Serena popped up and started shrugging out of her clothes, her movements determined.

He grabbed hold of her hands. “Not tonight, Serena.”

She wrenched away and collided with the lamp on the side table, sending it crashing to the floor. She gawked at the wreckage for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Shit,” he grumbled as he moved to pick it up and set it back on the table. It listed to the side, the shade mangled. This was stupid.

He glanced back to find Serena topless and squeezing her tits like she was working the stage at Joe’s Cabaret. “Come on, baby,” she called, her voice loud enough to be heard down the block. “You know you want to play with the girls.”

His gaze drifted to the wall as though he could see through it to the woman undoubtedly listening on the other side.

He sighed, feeling suddenly far older than his years. Serena was fine as long as she wasn’t drinking. Fortunately, this was only the second time he had to deal with her like this. But he was thinking two times was two too many.

He snatched up Serena’s shirt and pushed it at her to take. “C’mon. Get dressed.”

She grabbed the shirt and tossed it across the room with a cowgirl yell. Hopping to her feet, she wobbled unsteadily on the couch cushions, her arms jerking wildly at her sides in an effort to balance herself. Her lack of balance didn’t stop her from bouncing like it was a trampoline.

“You’re going to fall and break your neck,” he snapped.

She continued to bounce, her hand slapping the wall with every jump. “C’mon, North! This is fun!”

“I’m going to pass.”

Thump! Thump! “Keep it down!” Faith Walters’s voice carried through the wall, her agitation coming through loud and clear.

“Serena,” he snapped. He caught her hand and tugged her down from the couch. She decided to accommodate him by launching herself in his arms. He caught her neatly.

“Aren’t you strong? Like a fucking tank,” she gushed, pushing her giant breasts against his chest, her hands snaking over his shoulders. “Speaking of fucking, take me up upstairs.”

He sighed. There was no sense talking to her when she was in this condition. He’d let her down in the morning. Be as kind as he could, but there would be no confusion. They were done. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any drama. They weren’t a couple. This wasn’t a breakup, after all.

He carried her upstairs and deposited her on the bed. She rolled onto her back on his mattress, stretching like a cat. Her eyelids drooped to half-mast over her glassy gaze. She extended one hand up to him, inviting him to join her.

“I’ll be right back,” he lied.

Turning, he marched back downstairs and helped himself to a beer, confident that she was close to passing out. Leaning against the counter, he waited, staring hard at the living room wall, wondering what Faith Walters was doing now.

For some reason it bothered him that she thought he was in here banging a drunk woman. And that was senseless. Stupid even. Why should he care what she thought of him?

Whatever the case, it didn’t stop him from thinking about her. From wondering. Did she go back to bed? Did she sleep in that green mask? Did she fuck wearing it, too? Shaking his head, he released a little laugh.

He didn’t think she was married. There hadn’t been any evidence of a husband or live-in boyfriend. She appeared to live alone. Meaning she wasn’t getting any. At least not recently.

Well, maybe she should. Maybe that would help loosen that stick up her ass. Maybe then she wouldn’t care about what sounds she heard coming from his house at night. He took a pull of beer and wondered why he was suddenly so interested in Faith Walters’s sex life.

He let another ten minutes pass before he headed back upstairs. As suspected, Serena was asleep, sprawled across his bed, fresh drool falling. Grabbing the top blanket on the bed, he gave it a yank and took it with him as he headed back downstairs. He didn’t feel like sharing a bed tonight.

He dropped down on the couch, rested an arm over his forehead and pulled the blanket up to his waist. Rolling his head sideways, he stared at the wall until he fell asleep.