She had just made a list in her mind of all the fabrics, antique pieces and wall re-finishes that would need to happen in this space when the detective appeared.

And oh my goddess, did he appear. And that fact alone spiffed up this drab environment quite nicely, in Morgan’s eyes.

Yes, this was 100 percent the man who made her come like a tsunami hitting the shore last night.

He was a five-foot-eleven, raven-haired Adonis with striking dark eyebrows. She stood as he entered the office. His pheromones poured off him and teased every follicle on her skin. His entire aura overwhelmed her and electrified her.

And then he shook her hand and introduced himself. “Nice to meet you, Mrs….”

Morgan stuttered and then finally spat out her name. “Hibbins. Morgan. Ms. I’m not married. Not ever. Not even engaged. No children. Not that you need to know all of that. OK. Shutting up now.” Breathe, Morgan.

She breathed in and caught more of this man’s pheromones. She sat down and he sat down. He stared at her, but she could not read his face. So she read his scent. Campfire, dead leaves, blood, Scotch whiskey, steel. He liked to camp. Not recently, but it was there. Deeper than that, there was his essence. Paper. Old paper. A book collector? A reader? She couldn’t tell.

And he obviously liked close-fitting jeans. Because…the bulge. Whoop, there it was.

Oh…my.

She had to take her eyes off his man bits, because now he was asking her serious questions. Something serious was also happening elsewhere…in her panties. Morgan wrenched her focus away from the outline of his dick to his face. His dark eyes, his cheekbones, his sculpted jaw, his mouth, his white teeth…this didn’t exactly help her tone down the party in her panties.

Morgan answered his questions as best she could while fighting off her hormone-driven thoughts.

Yes, she had seen the would-be gunman at Kava…. Look at those eyes. Serious. All business.

Yes, Camo Man had become belligerent…cops really like that word, don’t they…?

Yes, this was after the proprietor informed him he was not allowed to place a political poster in her window…. I wonder if the kind detective would like to put a poster in her window sometime…. OK, now you’re not even making sense…

The would-be gunman had argued. He had started shouting…. Picturing me shouting your name, Detective…. Wait, what was the detective’s first name? She’d love to shout it while having an atom-splitting orgasm….

Morgan had approached the perpetrator and yes, Morgan had tried to defend Alice and distract him from focusing his anger at her…. Speaking of distracting, there was that bulge down there, daring you to take a glance….

The man had said something threatening, put his hand on the butt of his gun…and then….

She paused.

How could she explain it? She had been too distracted by the detective’s hot bod and chiseled face that she hadn’t even thought about her own cover story. Sure, she could tell the truth. And then be charged with lying, because who would believe that she had magical powers? Do cops press charges if they think you lied in a statement? Was she under oath? She did not know the answer to that.

She barreled through with enough truth to cover her ass. “And then…I saw his hand go to his gun. I just reacted. I shouted something, I don’t know what. I don’t remember what I shouted. Something. And then I must have startled him. It worked, I guess. I’m not sure how, but all of a sudden he screamed in pain and doubled over. I think he must have spilled his hot coffee on himself.”

The detective paused his writing and looked at her deep in the eye. Oh goddess. He’s onto me. Maybe that’s OK. Maybe later in the back of his squad car, naked and exhausted, we can laugh about how I told a little white lie.

“Spilled his coffee?” he repeated back at her.

“I don’t know for sure,” Morgan said. “His hand was burned, that’s the only thing I can think of that might have happened.”

“Which hand was holding the coffee?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t see the coffee.”

“But you said he dropped his coffee and that’s what burned his hand.”

“I said I think so, but I’m not sure.”

“You witnessed the whole thing. You described everything, from what he was wearing to his height, and you talked to the guy, but you don’t remember which hand was holding the coffee?”

“That’s correct.”

He was quiet again and stared her down. Uh oh. He was doing that very serious, silent stare-down thing that cops do. He was waiting her out, waiting for her to unravel and tell the whole truth. He knew she was lying, but he didn’t know exactly in what way she was lying, or what she was trying to cover up.

Then she thought of it. Of course! It was so obvious.

“The truth is, I tossed my hot coffee on his hand. I’m sorry. I know I’m in trouble for lying, but I wasn’t sure if it was a crime that I threw hot coffee on somebody.”

He was still staring. But she was done talking now. The detective appeared to be digesting what she said. He wasn’t exactly staring her down anymore. But he was studying her. Then he closed his notebook and tossed it on his desk.

“Nope. You’re not in trouble,” he said.

“Can I see him now?”

“The perp?”

“Yes.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because I feel bad that I injured him and I want to apologize.” Actually, she wanted to find out what Hank saw and find out if the colony’s powers were in danger of being discovered.

“That’s a little unusual.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. But I’m trying to show people like him that we can all take the high road and not be so mean to each other, despite our differences.”

The detective frowned some more and looked out the window. “Problem is, he’s unstable, so I don’t think your message is going to get through. But you’re free to talk to him. Holding cell is right over there.” The detective gestured down a short hallway. She turned and could literally see him sitting right there. He had probably heard every word of her statement.

“Probably a good thing he’s unstable,” she muttered.

“What?” said the detective.

“Never mind. Thank you for letting me see him,” she said. And thank you for letting me stare at you.

She smiled as she stood and offered him a handshake.

He simply stared back at her with a poker-straight face.

He didn’t know her. His essence, or a trickster spirit, had perhaps used this man’s appearance to toy with her last night. Or it was entirely possible that Morgan had seen this man around town before and her subconscious had tucked him away in the back of her mind, calling up the memory when she’d been in a trance.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment to study him more deeply. Alas, she determined with her mind’s eye that the detective was unavailable. Not because he was married. But because through his skin, she sensed his blood moving in all the normal directions. His pulse was calm. He may have the perfect physique, essence, scent, looks, voice to make her horny as hell…but he was clueless and furthermore, not interested in her.

He doesn’t remember you. What can you say? Leave, before you make a complete fool of yourself, Morgan!

When she opened her eyes, his intense gaze made her feel extremely self-conscious. And then finally he took her offered hand.

The energy between them penetrated her immediately. She looked at their hands pressed together. From the outside, it all looked normal. But when she met his gaze again, she knew he recognized her as she recognized him.

Morgan had no idea what to do next.

But she didn’t have to think of something to do, because the detective suddenly sprang into action. He slammed shut his office door behind her with one hand, still gripping her palm with the other.