She stayed in her bathtub until her skin shriveled up like a prune and the water went cold. Setting down her novel, she climbed from the tub and wrapped herself in a towel.

Despite having eaten a serving of cobbler at her father’s, she felt like she needed a brownie or something else that could bring on a sugar coma. The evening at her dad’s had been distracting and she had not eaten her usual Sunday dinner portion, which could pretty much feed the Green Giant.

Patting herself dry, she wrapped herself in her thick terrycloth robe and padded barefoot downstairs. She opened her pantry and fridge, discovering she had everything she needed except for eggs. Stepping back, she considered if she actually wanted to get dressed, leave the house and go to the store. While she internally debated whether she wanted brownies that much, she heard the growl of a bike outside.

She moved to the window and peered out through the blinds, watching as North climbed off his bike. A bike that he parked behind her car.

Was he serious?

How was she supposed to go anywhere?

Before she could even think about it, she marched toward her door and yanked it open. Stalking outside into the night, her bare feet slapping over concrete, her robe whipping at her calves, she huffed furiously, knowing she must look like some kind of cartoon character with steam coming out of her ears. But for the love of God she didn’t care. It was the height of ridiculousness for him to think that was okay.

She was too annoyed to stop and think. Too annoyed to consider what she was wearing—or rather, what she wasn’t wearing. Too annoyed to think that this would be the first time (discounting the green-avocado-mask encounter) that she would be face-to-face with North Callaghan.

The evening air slid over her wet hair and inside the opening of her robe to her naked skin, but she did not care. She’d had it. Grabbing the belt at her waist, she cinched the robe tighter with resolve.

Dinner with Dad and Hale had been agonizing. Her date last night had been . . . nice . . . and that somehow rubbed her wrong, too. Nice was her grandmother’s banana bread. Damn it, she didn’t want banana bread.

And then there was this joker with a penchant for having loud sex at all hours, strutting around naked and sending her rated-R texts.

He refused to take her seriously.

She scanned the area for him. He was no longer in their driveway. She spotted him at his door. He looked up at the sound of her approach, turning to face her. Her feet charged toward him over the still-warm concrete.

His face was expressionless, his gaze hooded as it moved up and down her advancing form.

She stopped a couple feet in front of him and stabbed the air, coming close to touching his chest but not actually making contact. She wasn’t that bold. Even as pissed off as she was, she wasn’t about to get physical with the likes of this man. He had a criminal record.

Keeping her distance, she propped her hands on her hips. “You’re trying to provoke me, aren’t you?”

He angled his head. “What are you talking about?” Despite the spark in his brown gaze, his voice sounded bored, and that only pissed her off more.

She motioned to the bike. “You’re blocking my car.”

He sent a slow glance over his shoulder. “You going somewhere? It’s late. And a Sunday night. I figured you’d be inside baking muffins or scones or whatever.”

She ignored his jabs. “Is it so hard to park in the street?”

He shrugged, but the casual gesture seemed at odds with the intensity of his gaze. “I don’t want my bike to get sideswiped.”

Of course he had to sound reasonable. But he wasn’t. He was a jerk.

“So you just think it’s okay to park behind me. I might not have anywhere to go, right?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Were you waiting for me to come home to bawl me out?”

“No. I heard you drive up.”

His top lip curled in a sneer and she was torn between two overwhelming urges: either to stroke that well-sculpted mouth with her fingertips or smack him.

“Sure you did,” he drawled, taking a step closer that made her pulse jump at her neck. “You know, you could have just texted me and asked me nicely to move my bike. Instead you came out here half-cocked—” His gaze dropped. “Half dressed.”

She gaped. “Are you insinuating I’m looking for a fight?”

“I think you’re looking for something.”

There was no mistaking the sexual nature of that statement. Heat flushed through her. That heat sank deep and took up residence in all her girl parts.

“I don’t sit around staring out my blinds hoping to get a glimpse of you.” She managed not to wince. Okay, yeah, sometimes she did do that, but it would be the last thing she’d admit to.

He smirked and she knew he was remembering when she had watched him in the backyard—when he had been naked and touched himself.

She swallowed and took a few steps back.

He followed with a few steps forward.

“You got somewhere to be?” he asked.

After his jab about her baking scones, she wasn’t about to admit she wanted to make herself some brownies. “Yes.” Her chin went up.

“Yeah. Where?”

“None of your business.” She bumped into the wall of her house. “Just move your bike,” she bit out and turned.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her around to face him. Her hand went to the front of her robe, making sure it wasn’t gaping open.

He looked her up and down again. “The truth is I’ve had a shitty night, Faith Walters, and I don’t feel like having you read me the riot act.”

“Yeah? Well, I haven’t had the best night either.”

“No?” He seized her other hand then, the one gripping the front of her robe. Holding both hands in his, he tugged her toward him.

“You know I’ve been wondering what your face looked like.”

“Yeah?” she bit out, her voice hard with challenge even if she felt shaky and uncertain inside.

“Yeah,” he repeated with a nod.

She swallowed, fighting against the sudden lump in her throat. Her porch light glowed strong, bathing her in its yellow glow. There was no hiding her makeup-free features from him. Her wet hair fell around her face in a curtain. “Disappointed?”

He stepped closer and picked up a lock of hair off her shoulder. “Is this your way of fishing for compliments? You want me to tell you that you’re pretty? That I’d fuck you.”

She snorted. “We know you’d do that with anyone.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll say it.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “You’re pretty.” Her breath seized in her chest at the simple declaration. She didn’t realize until that moment how badly she wanted him to find her attractive. “I’d fuck you.”

“Yeah.” Her voice escaped in a whispery rasp. “Well. Not happening. I’m not going to be another notch on your bedpost. I’m certain you can find someone else to fuck.”

She closed her hands over his and lifted them off her, desperation hammering inside her. She had to flee. Coming out here, talking to him, letting him touch her . . . it had all been a mistake.

He angled his head and rubbed at the back of his neck with an idleness she didn’t feel. “Yeah, that’s gonna be a problem.”

“Why’s that?”

“You see . . . ever since you moved in, I’ve kind of wanted to fuck you.” He shrugged like he was just commenting on the weather.

She laughed weakly even as her heart knocked like a battering ram against her chest. “This is the first time you’ve even seen my face.”

“I know. It’s crazy.” He nodded his dark head. “I never wanted a woman without knowing what she looked like.”

“Bullshit,” she snapped, certain that he was lying. Mocking her. As always.

She spun around and charged toward her door. Maybe she did need to rethink staying here. Maybe she did need to move because—

A hand on her shoulder had her whirling around. She caught a flash of dark eyes before his mouth slammed over hers.

She inhaled through her nose as his mouth slanted over hers. His lips were soft. She didn’t know what she’d expected. He was so hard. His eyes. His body. Everything about him, but his mouth was gentle and coaxing on hers.

He spoke against her mouth. “Does this feel like bullshit? I wanted you before I could see you. And now that I’ve seen you . . . I want you even more.”

His words sapped her lingering willpower. She couldn’t stop herself. She lifted her hands and grabbed his neck, her fingers curling through the strands of hair at his nape, pulling him closer, drawing him in. And still it was not enough. Still not close enough. She wouldn’t be close enough until she had managed to crawl inside him.

There were distant sounds. A dog barking. A car starting somewhere down the street. The sudden burst of wind stirring the heated air and wrestling with dry leaves in trees. All this was muted background to the roar of blood in her veins for this man. For his mouth on hers. His tongue sliding past her lips. For the hard plane of his chest mashing into her.

He made a growling sound of approval. His hands, contrary to his mouth, felt firm and hard, controlling as they grabbed her waist and turned her, guiding her backward while never breaking their kiss until he hefted her up and plopped her down on the hood of her car—as though she weighed nothing at all. And that was saying something.

She was no small package. At five feet ten inches she could seriously throw out a man’s back. A normal man. Just not this one. He would have been a warrior in another time. A warrior with a marauding mouth. Her hands pulled and tugged at him, desperate for more. She ached and wanted with every burning fiber of her being. A terrifying realization. Faith had never wanted anyone like this. It was scary. A person did not just enter into a fling with their next-door neighbor and not suffer consequences. Especially not with a man like this. He was complicated. Dark and edgy.

And yet here she was, panting and kissing him as though a gun were pointed at her skull demanding she do so.

She shoved her body back against him, pressing breasts that suddenly felt tight and aching into his chest. Her robe was thick and fluffy. He couldn’t possibly feel her hardened nipples, but she did. She felt the prodding tips chafing against the terrycloth of her robe, dying to be acknowledged . . . touched, anything . . .

“I knew you wanted to be bad.” His deep voice rumbled against her mouth.

Those words jarred her.

She broke her lips free of his, opening her eyes to a blurred world. She blinked off her daze, focusing on his looming face.

He sucked in a breath and looked down at her. His skin was flushed, the scar standing out starkly, a white tear against the heated color of his skin.

“Wait, wait, wait . . .” she gasped.

He waited. Staring down at her in a way that made her feel like cornered prey . . . moments before the wolf decided to pounce and feast.

Looking up at him, she noted the various golden-brown flecks in his deep brown eyes. Who knew brown eyes could have so many colors? Who knew any man’s eyes could make her feel so warm and melty inside? Her hand shook between them, pressing against the hard wall of his chest. Not so much to ward him off as to keep herself from diving back in.

He really was a beautiful man. The scar only seemed to highlight the near-perfect symmetry of his face. She itched to touch that face, test its texture, feel the scratch of a day’s growth of beard. He was this close. She could.

“What?” The gravelly pitch to his voice made her shiver. The sound of his voice told her everything. He might be waiting, but it cost him. He wanted her. A lot. It seemed impossible.

Wait? Why did you tell him to wait? She couldn’t even remember what she had wanted to say. All she could do was stare at his face, his eyes, the mad tic pulsing in his cheek, and think how much she wanted all of that—him—to unleash on her.

Even with a foot between them, she felt the heat radiating from him. His body was a pulsing rod of electricity. And she wanted that rod. Her lips felt bruised and tingly and aching. Aching for the return of his mouth. Aching for the rest of him.

She didn’t want to stop. She shook her head and leaned forward. “Never mind,” she muttered.

“Thank God.” His head swooped back down. His hands moved from her waist to her hips and yanked her closer, forcing her thighs to open and accept him more fully. “You taste so good. Like you smell. Fresh and clean like rainwater.”

Her robe parted below the waist, falling open to the point where she had belted it tightly. Otherwise she would be sitting spread-eagled and bare from stem to stern. Balanced on the hood of a car with him wedged between her thighs, his hardness positioned directly where she most needed it.

She wasn’t wearing any underwear and the rough hard scratch of denim abraded her tender parts and shot bolts of sensation into her sex. Her eyes flew open even as his mouth continued its assault on her lips.

She cried out, her fingers digging into the hard wall of his chest. She couldn’t even properly kiss him as he ground his cock against her.

He didn’t seem to care. His mouth moved down her jaw to her neck. Her head fell back. He kissed her neck, laved it with his tongue and then bit down on the stretched cord of her throat. A strangled sob broke from her. Wetness rushed between her legs. She inched down and tilted her hips, angling herself, searching, trying to find what it was she needed. OhMyGod. OhMyGod. OhMyGod. A wave welled up on her. Big and frightening in its intensity. Like nothing she had ever felt and yet she knew what it was. She knew what was coming, as unbelievable as it seemed, and she swam hard for the crest of it.

“Please, please,” she begged, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

He seemed to know. He understood. His hands slid under her, cupping the bare rounds of her ass inside her robe. She didn’t even jerk at this first touch on her naked flesh. It felt right. The most natural thing in the world.

He groaned. “You have a tight ass, Faith.” Squeezing the mounds, he lifted her, brought her closer, harder against him, digging his denim-covered cock into her weeping sex.

She moaned, her hands dropping to clutch at his biceps. Just a little more, a few more scrapes of denim against her clit and she would be done. Finished.

“Please,” she choked again.

It was like he knew exactly what she needed. He slid one hand deftly between them, testing. His fingers found her core, wet and soaking for him. It was shameful how wet she was, but she was too gone to care. He stroked her folds, parting them slightly to test her opening, tracing it in a slow teasing circle.

It was too much. She was shaking now, crying out against his lips, needing him firmer, harder, driving into her, filling up the unbearable hollowness.

“That’s it, baby. Come for me.”

She bit her lip until she tasted the coppery wash of blood. She didn’t care. She welcomed the pain. She had to treat herself so cruelly to stop herself from begging. She craved him inside her. Now. Hard and fast, she needed him to put out the fire he had started in her.

She arched her throat and lifted up, toward him, toward that hand. She was close.

He pulled back from her mouth with a ragged gasp. “Let’s go inside your house.”

She stared at him, unable to speak. Unable to think. That battering ram inside her chest was working overtime now. “Wh-what?” she managed to get out, speaking amid the maelstrom of sensations bombarding her.

“Let’s go inside your house,” he repeated. The words shuddered out of him, a spaced breath between each one. She felt them reverberate into her. Through her. His eyes were dark mirrors reflecting her own torment. “I need to be inside you bad, Faith.”

She blinked and gave her head a small shake, coming to as if breaking free of a fog. “No.”

“No?” he echoed, his voice and face strained.

She nodded, regaining her composure—and good sense.

She wiggled enough to dislodge his hand from between her legs. She brought her thighs back together, locking her quaking knees tight and hastily covering them up with her robe.

Unfortunately, she could not hop down from the hood of the car without touching him. Without bringing her body flush with him, which was the last thing she wanted to do right now with all of her still burning and aching.

He was in the way, staring at her with flaring nostrils and dark, hooded eyes. Part of him looked ready to ignore her and that should have frightened her. But somehow she knew he wouldn’t do that. This killer . . . this criminal . . . he wouldn’t force her.

He wouldn’t have to. She shook off that insidious whisper. Sure. He could probably persuade her. Kiss her a little more, touch her. Bring her to a screaming climax. But he wouldn’t because she told him to stop.

Her voice emerged much firmer. “No. We can’t. I can’t.”

Because this was insane. And she was not. She was sane. She was Faith Walters. A sensible woman. A woman who lived a safe life without risk. And face it. North Callaghan was a risk.

His eyes narrowed to slits. “What’s the matter? I’m not good enough for you? I don’t drive an Audi and wear slacks and have a membership to the local country club?”

His words struck like a well-aimed arrow.

She knew he knew about her date, but she had no idea he had been watching that closely. It didn’t make sense that he should be so very interested in who she was dating. That he gave a damn about her at all. That she was anything beyond a potential roll in the sack. It went against everything she thought she knew about him.

“That’s not it at all,” she denied, wanting to believe that she wasn’t that superficial. She wasn’t after the things he’d just accused her of wanting. She was a social worker. She could have gone to college to be anything else, but she spent her days working with the less fortunate and it definitely wasn’t because it paid the big bucks.

He nodded and smirked slightly. “It is. A little. Come on, admit it.”

She stubbornly shook her head. She wasn’t interested in Brendan Cooper for those reasons.

He continued, “I bet if your Fancy Pants boyfriend could get you this hot and bothered you’d be inviting him inside your house . . . inside your bed right this second.”

“I would not,” she insisted. Although she wasn’t so certain. She thought back to their date. Their very nice date. As far as first dates went, it barely registered on the Richter scale. If Brendan had entered her house and started making out with her with half the skill that North Callaghan just exhibited, would she have hesitated to jump his bones?

At his dubious look, she insisted, “I’m sure he can get me hot and bothered! We just haven’t tried yet . . .”

He laughed once, a hard bark that made her skin jump. “Sometimes it’s not a choice, you know. The chemistry is just there and you have to have each other.” His dark eyes heated and that battering ram was back again, beating against her chest so hard it hurt to breathe.

Oh, this guy was good. Every time he opened his mouth he affected her. She guessed that was the gift of bad boys. The thing that gave them the advantage over all the good boys of the world.

She shook her head, feeling confused. “Brendan and I just started dating. He’s a gentleman. If things continue to go well, then, yeah, our relationship will progress to that level.” She shook her head, suddenly angry with herself for feeling so defensive. She didn’t need to justify anything to North.

“That level?” He laughed harshly. “You mean our level?”

“The last time I checked you and I were not dating,” she snapped. “You are not Brendan.”

“In that we are both in agreement.” He looked smug as he flung that out at her. Then he shrugged, adding, “With enough time, maybe you and Fancy Pants will reach third base?”

Fury flashed through her. With both hands she gave his chest a mighty shove and hopped down off the car hood. Her hands flew to her robe, straightening it and making sure it was still in place, covering all her girl parts. She backed up, her feet sliding over the concrete as she closed the distance to her door.

“You’re a jerk!”

“You weren’t saying that a few minutes ago.”

She raked him coolly for good measure, doing her best to convey her utter contempt.

His deep brown eyes squinted at her. If possible his smirk went deeper. “Things would go much smoother if you just went ahead and let this happen between us.”

“You arrogant—”

“Not arrogant.” His smirk vanished as he closed the distance between them, stopping directly in front of her. “You and I are going to collide.” He allowed a fraction of space between them. “That’s where this train has been headed since the moment you moved in here.”

His face was so close. She could easily mark the light brown striations in his eyes. The dark fan of his lashes. The thick slash of his eyebrows. She thought for certain he was going to kiss her again. And contrary her . . . she leaned forward incrementally. “Don’t kiss me,” she pleaded in a whisper.

He chuckled lightly. “I won’t do that. You’ve drawn your line in the sand, Faith Walters. I’ll sit back and wait for you to step over it.” That said, he moved away, walking backward slowly, his gaze devouring her. When he reached his door he turned. Keys already in his hand, he unlocked his door and moved inside. Disappearing from her sight, though not disappearing from her thoughts.

She reentered her house, thoughts of him chasing after her, the sensation of him trailing her like a ghost.

It would be a long sleepless night.