Declan’s eyes lock with mine. My mind goes quiet. The shift is so fast that it leaves a sort of ringing in my consciousness, like there’s an echo of the hustle-bustle of the craziness that just came to an abrupt halt. Like ringing a gong and hearing the lingering peal minutes later. It can’t be real, yet your mind invents it.

The clarity feels false, even though it isn’t. His eyes, though, tell me that it’s very much real. He smiles when he sees me, the grin a full expression of pleasure. There’s no leer, nothing suggestive, and it’s not one bit sultry.

It’s the smile of a guy who is happy to see me.

“You’re clothed,” he points out. “You look nice.”

“And she doesn’t look nice unclothed?” Mom asks with a tone of offense in her voice.

I blink rapidly. “I know what he means, Mom. He saw me with just my bra—” I say, rushing to fill the awkwardness.

Declan cuts me off, his words overpowering mine with a steady firmness that makes me go silent even though I’ve not been asked. “She looks beautiful all the time.” His tone makes Mom pause and blush, as if she’s the one in the wrong. Commanding and absolutely certain of his own words, Declan is poised, confident, strong—

And wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Faded Levi’s that look like he was poured into them, with a silky cotton t-shirt the color of soft moss. Like me, he has a shirt tied around his waist, except his is a flannel tartan plaid. He’s wearing hiking boots that look well-used.

L.L. Bean could put him in a catalog and see a spike in sales. Women would lick the pages. Rugged sensuality oozes off him as he stares at me, though his words were for Mom.

Even Dad stands still with anticipation, waiting for Declan’s cue.

Mom clears her throat, thinking she should speak. “Of course she is.”

“You two need to get going,” Dad says. I realize the washing machine is on. He must be washing his jeans. “We’ll be here for a while.”

Mom’s just staring at Declan. He is focused on me. Chuckles is staring at the trash can, where Amy set the half-devoured mouse corpse on top of a precariously full pile of garbage.

“Let’s go,” I declare, grabbing Declan’s hand. It’s warm and soft and as his fingers squeeze mine a rush of heat fills me from head to toe.

But mostly right smack in my center.

I pull him down my front steps, which are so much easier to navigate in hiking boots, then stop. The only car that could possibly be his is a gleaming black SUV with a hood ornament that is code for luxury.

“This is mine. Climb on in,” he says, reluctantly letting go of my hand and unlocking the vehicle. The aroma of his cologne and well-kept leather waft out as I open the door, and when I slide into the passenger seat it’s like riding on a stick of soft butter. Why can’t they make panties out of this kind of upholstery?

“Nice,” I say, meaning it. The dashboard looks like something out of the movie Serenity, with more gadgets than I knew existed.

Declan catches me gawking and says, “It gets me where I need to go.”

“What’s your other car? The TARDIS?”

He laughs. That was a test. Any man who doesn’t know his basic Doctor Who lingo isn’t getting to first base with me.

Oh. Wait. He already has…

He starts the car, puts it in reverse, then pauses. Putting it back in park, he turns to me, his strong hand moving from the gearshift to my shoulder. Warm eyes meet mine and he says:

“Your dad was interesting. Is having a dead mouse drop in between us like that some sort of sign? Is it your family’s version of a horse head in my bed?”

I can’t laugh. Can’t scream, can’t cry, can’t anything. “That’s a mating ritual,” I finally squeak out.

He cocks one eyebrow and my lady parts all faint from sheer overwhelm.

“Did I pass?” His slow smile makes me melt.

“My cat coughed up the mouse right before you arrived,” I confess.

“Your sister told me.” He laughs. “I seem to bring some kind of trouble whenever I’m around you.”

My turn to raise an eyebrow, because—huh? He’s taking this on? I’m the one who has a dark cloud of surreal weirdness hovering over her. And I don’t mean my mother.

“It’s not you. It’s me,” I say.

“Don’t you need to save that line for when we break up?”

“We’re not together—” He cuts me off with a kiss that makes the world stop, then pulls back, his palm caressing my jaw, thumb rubbing against the exact spot where my pulse was jamming like a reggae band.

“Let’s go drink wine in the woods and gorge on chocolate-covered strawberries,” he says, pulling away. He throws the car in reverse and begins to pull out of the spot.

“Are you sure you’re not part female?” I joke.

His eyes are dark and smoky, with a possessiveness I now know I’m not imagining. A raw attraction makes the air between us seem electrified. The car comes to a halt and he’s on me, mouth and hands everywhere, the interior space of the SUV narrowing to a pinprick, as if all time and space were in his palms, the soft skin of his mouth, the eager need of his tongue. My hands sink into his hair, roam down his neck and over his shoulders, our mouths and arms and legs searching for some truth we need to take a lot of time to find.

“Apparently I have something to prove,” he says, breathing hard against my ear, my fingers pausing at his waist, wanting to pull his shirt up so I can touch his hot skin. His chest rises and falls, pushing into my own yielding flesh as I burn with need for him. If I weren’t sitting in the passenger seat of a car my legs would wrap around his waist of their own volition and I’d violate public indecency laws right here in my own driveway, stripping us both naked and steaming the windows.

“You do?” is all I can manage to say.

“I’m all man, Shannon. Let’s make sure you know it by the time the night is over.” His eyes bore into mine. He is the only thing in the world right now. A thin sheen of sweat covers me, making his body slide against mine, our shirts tangled along with our limbs. My nipples tingle and I feel a direct line between every molecule in the space between us and my giant, throbbing self.

I can feel how much man he is. Again.

I reach for him, pulling his head to mine, my own boldness a swift surprise. He doesn’t need to prove one damn thing to me.

“Just kiss me like that again,” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer with words.