"So?" Dyna prodded, days later. "How are things goin' with you and Nursie?"

Landon had prepared for this line of questioning. He had concocted a hundred and one lies on his walk over, all of them featuring a pristine-perfect image of the domestic bliss he now shared with Alex. He had even come up with a few filthy remixes just to amuse himself . . . and had to put the brakes on those pretty quickly. Turns out that cohabitating with the little nurse hadn't cooled his desire for her.

If anything, it only made matters worse.

And speaking of matters that were worse . . .

". . . horribly," he replied to Dyna. "Things are going horribly."

Just that morning, he had gotten out of the shower and accidentally stepped on the tail of Alex's cat, Raphael. The orange tabby had streaked off like a bat out of hell, yowling, and Alex had flown out of her room partially dressed as if she fully expected to find her cat being murdered.

Landon, for his part, had been pursuing the cat, wrapped only in a towel . . . a towel that turned out to be covered in cat hair.

"Landon, I told you before, you have to be careful getting out of the shower!" Alex had exclaimed. "Raphael always goes in there when I get up in the morning!"

"I closed the door!" Landon had shouted back at her. Even now, he couldn't be certain why he shouted, only that he felt compelled to match Alex's volume. "He must have opened it!"

"He's a cat, Landon. Are you kidding me?"

And I don't trust cats as far as I can throw them, he wanted to say, but refrained from mentioning it. The last thing he needed was for Alex to throw him out for suspecting him of purposefully mistreating Raphael. And as for accidentally . . . "I swear I did. I even locked it. He must have been hiding in there before I got in. And anyway, maybe you should think about instituting a new rule to keep the door closed at all hours." He pulled the top of his towel away from his waist and glanced down his navel, considering. "He must sleep in the towels, because I'm covered in cat fur."

"Sorry, but that comes from living in a house that has a cat in it." Alex stared at where he had separated the towel from his skin. Her expression was almost worried, but Landon knew that wasn't it. In fact, if he didn't know any better—if Alex hadn't talked so incessantly about boundaries already—he could have sworn she wore the look of a woman exceedingly interested in what he was hiding beneath his towel. He thought it might be her own interest that worried her.

"Cats are useless," he blurted out. The heat of her eyes was causing him to stir physically, and he wanted to get an equal rise out of her to distract from it.

"Cats are not useless!" she protested.

"Dogs are better."

"Dogs are not better!"

His eyes raked her figure. Did his glance deceive him, or had she been halfway to removing her bra beneath her scrubs before she came running out into the hall?

He stepped nearer. He thought about dropping the towel around his waist, but wasn't sure yet that the calculation would pay off.

Alex gazed up into his eyes.

"I'm a dog person," he said at last.

"Of course you are." She didn't look away.

"What's that supposed to mean? You make it sound like I just insulted myself."

"And while we're talking about what kind of people we are, Landon," she had said as she turned from him. "You should probably know that I'm a widow. So don't try anything. Now or . . . in the future. And stay the hell away from my cat."

I'm a widow, Landon.

I'm a widow.

Now, Landon dropped his face into his hands. Dyna made a sympathetic tutting noise and rubbed his back. "Am I the only one who didn't know?" he asked finally. "About Alex. Am I the only one who—?"

"It's common knowledge around these parts what happened to Henry," Dyna said. Her intuition was sharper than a chef's knife and as on point as ever. "Seeing as you're not from around here, I assume whatever sins you've committed can be forgiven."

That's the problem, Landon thought as he walked home alone that afternoon. It's the sins I'm not committing that are driving me crazy.

About ten minutes into his walk, a hoarse yip drew him from his thoughts. Landon looked up and saw a four-legged shadow flanking him between buildings. The dog froze when it noticed him looking. Its tail gave a half-hearted wag of greeting.

"Hey there. I remember you. How you doing? You healing up all right?" Landon called to it. The dog wagged again, then it turned and bolted off down the alleyway.

Landon sighed. "I knew I didn't just dream you up," he muttered, gazing after the elusive creature. He wasn't sure what else he could do about the dog.

And he still wasn't sure what to do about Alex.

Dyna had given him the lowdown on Alex’s Henry. He had been a police officer, she’d said, and a hell of a good one before he passed away. Landon understood then that Henry was the clean-cut face of the man staring out of most of the photos scattered around Alex's house. Considering the man himself didn't reside with Alex, Landon had always assumed the cop was a brother of hers . . . and if he had thought to assume otherwise on occasion, he’d never asked. He figured it wasn't his place.

Maybe there was just a part of him that hadn't wanted to know the answer.

I don't care that you're a widow, Alex. I want you. I have feelings for you.

He recited the words mentally, but he had no real intention of saying them to her as he climbed the porch and shouldered open the door. It was unlocked, and Alex's car was in the driveway.

He found her stirring a steaming pot of chili in the kitchen in shorts and a T-shirt. Raphael wound around her bare legs. Landon swore the cat knew exactly what he wanted and was teasing him now by showing the easy proximity he could get to Alex's slender calves.

Fuck, he needed a drink.

"Those are my beers," Alex pointed out as he pulled open the fridge behind her and fished out the first six-pack within reach.

"Better grab two of them, then."

"Chip in a few dollars and you can drink them both," she said. "It's likely I'll be called in tonight—hey, what are you doing?"

Landon had closed the fridge. He’d left the beers forgotten. He’d been wrong about what he thought he needed. The thirst in him wouldn't be satisfied with a lonely bottle of cold ale.

He moved behind Alex and dialed the stovetop down until it shut itself off. She turned inside the cage of his arms, an angry remonstration hovering on the tip of her tongue. He could see it forming there.

He decided to taste it instead.

"Lan—"

He caught the second half of his name in his mouth as he kissed her.

Alex made a muffled sound of surprise and dropped the spoon she held. It clattered to the floor, splashing hot and spicy red splatters in every direction, and Raphael tore out of the kitchen with a startled yowl.

Good. Landon didn't exactly want to share right now.

His hands roamed down Alex's body, desperate to feel her shapely legs and move along those maddening curves. She gasped and gripped his head as his mouth dropped to her neck, her shoulders, her heaving breasts . . . his kisses raced along every inch of her like they were running out of time.

In a way, Landon was running a race. He was racing against their better senses. He had to convince her it was worth crossing the finish line before they had even pulled the trigger on the starting pistol.

"Landon—!" When she was finally able to voice his full name, it was beautifully strained. His hands, his mouth—they were having an effect on her. Both of her hands alighted on his shoulders as if it had been her original intention to forestall him, but she had forgotten.

His lips skimmed back up the curved angle of her neck. She shuddered at the mercy of his mouth.

"I don't care that you're a widow." He breathed them out then. The words. "I want you, Alex. I want all of you. It's driving me crazy not having you."

"We can't—" she protested.

"Why can't we? There's nobody here but you and me. And I know you want this, too." He yanked her against him. In that moment, he needed to feel her as much as he needed her to feel him. His cock thickened, stiffening upright with the proof of his desire. He heard Alex's gasp before she closed her mouth over the sound to try and hide it. He leaned in and forced her lips open again with his own. This time, her tongue retaliated against his invasive sweep. It wound around his, returning every plunge and stroke, until Landon found he was the one reduced to moaning. He tugged her close again, felt the press of her slender body against the firmness of his need.

"I do want it." Her admission was also a plea. "I do."

"Then what's stopping you? What's stopping us?"

"Oh God, I don't know anymore!" He kissed her behind her ear and she went rigid beneath him. "I can't think. Give me a second—!"

"Fresh out of seconds," he whispered. His apology was also a promise. "Let us have this, Alex. Let me have you. I want you more than you can possibly imagine."

He groaned explosively as a hand came up between his legs and grabbed hold of him. Alex's hot palm kneaded his erection, and he thrust into her touch unselfconsciously. He needed more: more heat, more friction. He needed it like he needed the wildfire. He needed the conflict, the resolution, the being needed . . .

"Fuck it," Alex gasped against him. Her mouth was suddenly on his ear, and electricity shot down the back of his neck.

He moved his head aside, cupped her face, and captured Alex's kiss. Their tongues clashed in a twisting dance as he pressed her back against the kitchen counter.

Dinner would have to wait.