My conscience had tried. It had talked to me as we stood there by the sink.

Don’t touch her, it said.

Don’t kiss her, it warned.

Don’t let her get too close.

And I tried, I swear to God I tried to listen. I fought the urge. I told myself no for lots of good reasons.

She was my friend. She was my neighbor. She was someone whose well-being I genuinely cared about. She was a good, generous person helping me out. Beyond that, she trusted me. Trust was something I didn’t take lightly, didn’t offer easily, and didn’t want to accept if I hadn’t earned it.

But I couldn’t resist her.

One kiss, I’d told myself as my lips hovered tantalizingly close to hers. One kiss to see what it was like. One kiss to satisfy the craving for her. One kiss to show her what it meant to me that she was here, that she cared, that she believed in me. I wasn’t good with words, not those kinds of words anyway, but I could communicate my gratitude with a kiss, couldn’t I? And she wanted me to kiss her. I knew she did. I could tell by the way she was holding her breath and standing so still. It would be okay this one time, right? We’d probably laugh about this later.

One kiss. And then we would stop.

Needless to say, that’s not how it went down.

Five minutes after I put my lips on hers for the first time, we were horizontal on the couch and I was trying to reenact my dream from this morning and give it a better ending. Clearly I had way, way overestimated my willpower and underestimated her effect on me, from the scent of her hair to the taste of her skin to the feel of her chest against mine. Her breasts, small but perfectly plump, with sweet little raspberry nipples, drove me wild. Her perfume smelled like summer.

I bet she tastes like summer too. Like those strawberries right off the vine we used to pick when we were kids. The sweetest, juiciest, most luscious strawberries in the world.

I wanted that flavor on my tongue right the fuck now.

In three seconds flat, I’d slid down her body, hiked up her skirt and moved her underwear aside. At the first stroke she moaned aloud, then clapped both hands over her mouth. The more she struggled to stay silent, the more difficult I made the task. I clamped my hands on the outsides of her thighs, pinning her legs in place so she couldn’t get away from my mouth. I got to my knees, hauling her lower body up with me so I could watch her while I worked her into a frenzy, her eyes wild and pleading above the hands that muffled her cries. I used every trick I had—long, lazy strokes up the middle with the flat of my tongue; quick, light flutters across her clit with the tip; swirling circles that made her eyes roll back in her head; fast, hard flicks as I sucked her into my mouth; long, low moans with my mouth sealed to her pussy. In no time at all, she was bucking beneath me, her legs locked around my neck, her head twisting from side to side.

And she was not silent.

She wasn’t even quiet.

Her cries filled the room, bounced off the walls, shook the floor. I loved every fucking second of it. I felt like a million bucks. I might not know how to be a dad, but goddamn, I knew how to make a woman come.

And I was just getting started.

I let her wilted legs drop and reached for my belt.

“Oh my God.” Emme’s eyes opened halfway. She was breathing hard. “That was—”

A shrill, piercing wail cut her off.

No.

Emme looked at the monitor. I looked toward the stairs.

The keening seemed to surround us.

Oh, no.

We looked at each other in disbelief. Blinked.

“Maybe she’ll go back to sleep,” I said, my hands paused on my zipper.

“Maybe.”

But the crying continued, and the spell was broken.

What the hell were we doing, anyway?

As we stared at each other, it dawned on us what we’d been about to do. What we’d done.

“Um,” Emme started.

“Oops,” I finished.

“Yeah. We should maybe—”

“Right.”

Quickly and silently, we put ourselves back together. Emme pulled down her skirt as I put on my shirt. She scooped up her bra from the floor while I zipped and buttoned my pants. Paisley continued to howl.

“I’ll get her,” I said, heading for the stairs.

“Okay.”

My heart was still pounding as I went up. Holy shit. Holy shit. I’d kissed Emme. I’d given her an orgasm with my tongue. I’d nearly fucked her.

How had that even happened? One second I’d been standing there watching her do the dishes, thinking about how pretty she looked, what a good friend she was, how much I appreciated her, and the next my mouth was closing over hers.

That was the last thing I remembered.

Inside my bedroom, I carefully took Paisley from the sleeper and cradled her in my arms. She was restless and fidgety, her arms moving all over the place, but her eyes were closed, leading me to believe I could get her back to sleep. It had only been an hour or so since her last feeding anyway. If I was going to get her on some kind of regular schedule, which all the books suggested, I had to be a little more disciplined about it. There was a pacifier in the sleeper, and I grabbed it, figuring I would give it another try. Holding her stomach against my chest so I could keep one of her arms in place, I fit the pacifier in her mouth and gently held it there, praying she would get the hang of it and like it. She tried to spit it out at first, but then began to suck on it. I thought for sure she would get mad there was no food in it, but she didn’t. She kept it in her mouth and stayed quiet, and gradually I felt her little body relax.

I, however, was pretty fucking wound up. My erection had mostly gone away, thankfully, but it was crazy how badly I wanted to go back downstairs and finish what we’d started.

No, I told myself. Out of the question. You shouldn’t have even done what you did. Do you not have a big enough life crisis right now? Do you want to add another one? You don’t do relationships, and that’s ALL she does. It’s what she wants and deserves. So keep your tongue in your mouth and your pants zipped before you add a whole new set of expectations to your plate and become the latest name on a very long list of assholes who let her down.

I took a few more minutes to let that sink in and catch my breath. Then, moving slowly and carefully, I placed my daughter back in bed, waited a moment to make sure she remained asleep, and went back downstairs.

Emme was in the kitchen, finishing the dishes. She’d put her hair in a ponytail, and I recalled the way it had felt like spun silk in my hands. I wanted to touch it again. I wanted to touch her again. So I crossed my arms and leaned back against the counter, five feet away from her, the island between us. “You know, if that whole event planning thing doesn’t work out, you’d be a kickass housekeeper. I’d hire you.”

She smiled at me over one shoulder, eyes narrowed. “You couldn’t afford me.”

“Ha.”

“You get her back to sleep?”

“I did. Got her to take the pacifier.”

“Good job.” She turned off the water and dried her hands. Then she turned around. “So.”

Fuck, she was cute in my shirt. “So.”

She twisted her hands together and glanced over at the couch. “Guess I was a little loud,” she said sheepishly.

“I didn’t mind.”

“Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever been that loud.”

Oh, Jesus, Emme. Don’t tell me that. “Good.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to—you didn’t—” She made a little bursting motion with her fingers.

I had to laugh. “What is that? An orgasm?”

“Yes,” she said, giggling too, although her cheeks went a little pink.

“Well, don’t be sorry. I quite enjoyed myself. And actually, it’s probably better that we were interrupted before we took it too far.”

“Definitely. I mean, what were we thinking?” Her eyes were wide.

“I’m not sure there was a whole lot of thinking going on.”

She laughed. “Probably none at all.”

“Let’s call it a momentary lapse in sanity. Forget it happened.”

Her smile was relieved. “Let’s.”

“Friends?”

She nodded. “Friends.”

But we stood there looking at each other across the kitchen for a moment longer, and I found myself wishing that somehow we could be more. That there was a state of closeness that existed between friendship and commitment. Something more than platonic but less than romantic. Did such a thing exist?

No. And she wouldn’t want it if it did.

“Well, I should go,” she said. “It’s late.”

I followed her out of the kitchen and watched her drape her blouse and jacket over her arm. “Oh, your shirt!” she said, turning to me with a worried expression.

“Keep it,” I told her. “Looks better on you.”

She smiled at me and stepped into her heels. “I’ll wash it and bring it back.”

Actually, I kind of liked the idea of her lying around in it, maybe sleeping in it with nothing underneath, but that was probably the kind of thing you didn’t say to a friend. And you definitely didn’t imagine yourself smelling it once she gave it back. “Okay.”

She walked to the door and opened it herself, which totally violated my sense of chivalry, but I thought it might be smarter to keep some distance between us. “Night,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder.

“Night,” I echoed, remembering her hand in mine as we’d lain next to each other in bed last night.

The door shut behind her with a soft click, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

I needed a break from her. The more time we spent together, the easier she made my life, the harder it was to suppress these stupid urges I had whenever she was around. Urges that could ruin our friendship and destroy her opinion of me. If I was really the man I was pretending to be—no, the man I wanted to be, strong and able and independent, I’d be able to get through a few days without her.

I vowed to do it, starting tomorrow.