Holy hell, what just happened?

Her neighbor had stood naked as a jaybird in his backyard. Looking right at her window. Almost like he could see directly through the blinds to her. Even though she knew that wasn’t possible.

No, he wasn’t just naked. He was naked with a full raging hard-on, which he gripped in that big fist of his. A fist not so big, mind you, that she missed how large his . . . er, member happened to be. It was as impressive as the rest of him.

And then he stopped. He walked inside his house like nothing happened. He’d turned away. Not Faith. No, she had stood there gawking, peeking through her blinds, her breathing raspy, unable to look away.

“So unfair,” she muttered as she marched downstairs and refilled her wine glass—even as she contemplated digging out Mister Perfect from her nightstand drawer.

Mister Perfect was the name she had given her vibrator. Like North Callaghan, her vibrator was impressive in size . . . but Mister Perfect was battery operated. At the moment, that did not offer much enticement. Not after staring at the flesh-and-blood form of North Callaghan.

She swigged back her glass of wine in one more gulp and then grabbed the bottle to top it off again. Her head was spinning—and it wasn’t just because of the alcohol.

He was even sexier fully naked. Naturally. She snorted in disgust. Her best look was when she wore jeans and a turtleneck. She lived in Texas. So she could pull that look off two days a year. So unfair.

Life was unfair though. She was living next door to a man who looked like that. And the man happened to be a felon. And a jerk.

She sighed.

Taking her wine, she plopped back down on the couch. Muttering under her breath, she picked up her phone off the coffee table and scrolled through her contacts until she found his name. Or at least what she had decided to name him before.

With one final sip, she deleted Asshole Neighbor and changed it to Cock of Wonder. That produced a fit of giggles . . . all alcohol induced. Probably. Or perhaps she was losing her ever-loving mind.

She had just finished saving the change when a text popped up on the screen.

She squeaked and flung the phone across the room. It was an instinctive reaction born of horror and shock.

He was texting her. How on earth . . .

Understanding dawned. She had seen the crumpled notes on her porch. Her crumpled-up notes that he had tossed on her porch. Evidently he had saved her number from those earlier notes. Apparently he wasn’t so indifferent to her attempts to communicate. He had thought to save her number.

But why? And why was he texting her now?

Her fingers were shaking as she gathered up enough composure to text him back. You’re horrible.

She winced at his reply, instantly regretting revealing that tidbit to him. She could almost hear the smugness in his voice. I walked by the window and glanced out.

She replied with: I should have called the police. Masturbating naked in your backyard had to be against the law, right?

He didn’t know about her ties to law enforcement. She’d hang on to that information. It might be useful later. If she dropped it on him now he might read it as a threat. She wasn’t big on threats. Besides, she had long ago vowed not to rely on her father and brothers to fight her battles. They’d done that enough in her life already.

Although it would serve him right if she called her brother right now. Knowing Hale, he’d drive right over. If she told him the specifics, he’d handle North Callaghan himself—and it wouldn’t be through the proper channels. She grimaced. Forget about arresting him. Her brother would go old-school and wipe the floor with North Callaghan. Or he’d attempt to anyway. She wasn’t so confident that it would be an easy fight for Hale. He might be six feet five and made of muscles, but North Callaghan had come out of prison. And he was built, too. She’d hate for her brother to get hurt.

No, she would handle North Callaghan herself.

Feeling bold, she texted him back. No company tonight? Or you just felt like putting on a show for the neighbors?

Tilting back her head, she downed the rest of her glass. “God, I really am an idiot,” she muttered. Even half lit, she knew better than this. Drinking and texting did not mix.

Her phoned buzzed in her hand and she glanced down.

The smug grin on her face faltered and her stomach dipped in a way it had no business doing. She managed a reply. Should I be flattered?

Three dots danced before his words appeared. Are you?

She nodded approvingly at her nonanswer. It made her appear indifferent to him and his little display—okay, big display. Maybe she even came off as tough, too. Probably tougher than she’d looked in her green avocado mask last night. Considering what she’d found out about this man when she had done her digging today, she didn’t want to appear a pushover. Her text also implied that she thought him rude and inconsiderate. He’d ignored her attempts to have a conversation up until now. She gave herself a mental pat on the back.

His reply finally came. Yes.

So he got her notes and thought it was okay to just blow her off. Fuming, her fingers flew. And were you ever planning to respond? Before now?

Before he decided to give her a peep show?

He texted back. Been busy.

Not too busy for other things. After hitting send on that, she stared at her words, regretting them almost immediately. So much for appearing indifferent. She sounded angry.

Dancing dots appeared. He was texting her back. She held her breath and waited. Listening at walls again?

Heat flared in her cheeks. She fired off another text. I believe your bedroom wall borders mine. Please have a little common courtesy. Some of us have to get up early in the morning for work.

She blinked at the out-of-nowhere question.

Seventy! Was he serious? She replied: I’m twenty-six.

Wouldn’t have thought it. Why am I not hearing your bed frame knocking the wall? Her mouth dropped. He followed that up with a single word: Prude.

She shook her head. He was baiting her by calling her a prude? Was this junior high? She was too mature for this. It wouldn’t work on her. It shouldn’t.

She texted back: Let’s try to be civil. I would appreciate it if you keep the noise down.

She would also appreciate it if he wore some clothes. If he kept his penis under wraps so she didn’t salivate like some horny stranded-on-island woman.

She snorted. The ego on this man. Sadly, from what she’d seen of him, she knew it wasn’t undeserved though. Really?? I am sure you can control yourself.

Oh. My God. Just the mention of orgasm made her stomach muscles flutter. She rolled onto her back on the couch, the TV long forgotten. She splayed her hand over her abdomen to try to quell the flutters there.

Dancing dots appeared again. Her pulse hummed faster in her veins as she waited for his reply.

Oh. My. God. He was the devil.

She slammed the phone down on the couch beside her and stared up at the ceiling. Why was she even trying to talk to him? She swung a glance at her nearly empty wine glass. Drinking and texting. Definitely bad idea.

She snatched up her phone and went to his name in her contacts, changing it from Cock of Wonder to Orgasm Giver. Then, shaking her head, she dropped her phone back down on the couch and released a forlorn sigh.

Deliberately not looking at her phone again, she headed upstairs to take a shower. Turning it on, she tested the water until it was the desired warmth. Stripping off her clothes, she stepped under the spray. Her body throbbed in places that had felt numb for the last few years, as stunted and forgotten as shriveled-up weeds alongside the highway. Now those places stirred with life.

She flattened her palms against the shower wall and let the water beat down on her. She blew out a breath against the downpour.

Her head still felt delightfully woozy. That sensation combined with the tingle at her core had her lifting a hand from the wall. She slid her fingers down her stomach and between her legs to one of those places that suddenly shouted with life and need. At the first brush of her fingers, she shuddered.

She parted her slick folds, unerringly making her way to that little nub of pleasure. Her breathing hitched and she swallowed water. She was merely wet from her shower. That’s what she told herself as she stroked and rubbed her clit until her legs felt like rubber, ready to give out under her. It wasn’t as though texting the hot felon who lived next door had anything to do with that. He wasn’t why she was suddenly masturbating in the shower. Her orgasm, usually so elusive even when self-delivered (not that she had them any other way), swelled up on her. Her fingers worked faster and she bowed her head under the spray of water until she was gasping. So close. Almost . . . there . . .

She latched onto the memory of North Callaghan with his ridiculous body standing in front of her.

BAM! She was there, crying out and shuddering, her thighs clamping together on her hand.

Several moments passed before she lifted her head. Water sluiced over her face, trailing down her overheated cheeks. That was incredible. And awful. She’d gotten off to the thought of her next-door neighbor . . . the very guy she had just learned was an ex-con. He was not fantasy material! Her date with Brendan couldn’t come soon enough. He was the stuff of fantasy. A man worth dreaming about because he could become her reality. Maybe. That’s what dating would find out anyway.

She turned off the shower, then grabbed a towel hanging off the rack and pulled it around herself tightly. She stopped in front of the sink and stared at herself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the woman gazing back at her. She was bright-eyed and flushed. Like a woman well pleasured. God. What might it be like to actually have a real man between her legs? A man like the one next door? The man next door?

Shaking her head, she turned away from her reflection. Clearly she needed to get that thought out of her mind.