“Erin.” I keep my voice calm in direct reaction to the hysteria in hers. “Let’s go into the apartment where we won’t have to worry about anyone overhearing us. There’s a few things we have to discuss.”

Erin, still looking like she’s committed the crime of the century, nods and pushes the door open.

My mind spins as I trail behind her into the apartment.

There’s only one reason that Erin would be back here, alone, this early in the night. Her date must not have gone well.

And the only reason she insisted I follow her out of the elevator is because she worked out that I’m the man behind the curtain. The only question I had as I followed her down the hallway toward her apartment was what she was going to do about it.

The last reaction I expected from her was a kiss so powerful that I not only felt the earth move beneath my feet, but was so desperate for it to continue, that I nearly got down on my knees, ready to promise her anything, absolutely anything, if she’d let me kiss her a second time.

Looking shell shocked, Erin pushes her door open and steps into her darkened apartment, where a large, hairy dog bounces happily on his forefeet as he waits to greet her.

I follow.

I can’t help appreciating the view. The black dress she’s wearing does a wonderful job accenting her best features. The way her hips gently sway to and fro before me, and the knowledge of what she is, and isn’t, wearing under that tight skirt, is all the temptation my cock needs to swell to the point that it presses painfully against the front of my jeans. If I don’t calm down soon, I’m going to start walking with a limp.

Erin pushes the door closed and manipulates the deadbolt while I stare down at her dog. He doesn’t bark or jump on me. Instead he sits down, his big tail sweeping back and forth across the floor, and returns my stare.

“Um, this is Harlan,” Erin says and waves a hand in the animal’s direction. “He’s very sweet, but if he bothers you, I can put him in another room for a little while.”

“I said that I like dogs,” I remind her. Dropping down on knee, I extend my left hand to the dog. “Hello, Harlan. I’m Garret.” Years of talking to Sammy means I don’t feel self-conscious about taking to the dog as if he understands my every word.

Harlan doesn’t lift his paw to shake, but he does give my palm a curious sniff and the tempo of his tail wagging increases. We’re going to get along just fine.

“He’s beautiful.” I stand up and turn back to Erin. She’s chewing on her lip and looks ready to cry. “I keep thinking about getting a dog, but so far it just hasn’t happened. What kind of dog is he?”

“Bernese Mountain Dog,” she says. “Probably not the smartest dog to have in Arizona, considering how hairy he is. But as long as I keep my air conditioner cranked all whenever it’s hot outside. He gets shaved regularly. In July and August, he spends his days at a local doggie day care where he’s able to play with other dogs and enjoy air conditioning full time.”

Erin sets her purse down on a nearby table. Her hands flutter a few times, like she’s not quite sure what to do with them, before she drops them to her side

“Garret, I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you.” She reaches up and plays with an earring. “All I can say is that it’s been a really long, really rotten kind of night and I … I don’t know, just stopped thinking for a minute. I don’t think any of my neighbors are the kind of people who spy out the peepholes, but you should probably tell your wife about what happened, just in case. Or better yet, I’ll talk to her and explain it was all my fault.”

I don’t know any other woman who would volunteer to tell a man’s wife what just happened. I admire Erin’s courage.

“I kissed you back,” I point out.

“Oh.” That sets Erin back on her heels. She takes a second to think about it. “It’s still my fault. You just got caught up in things. I’ll tell her it was like kissing the person next to you when the Ball drops on New Year’s Eve.”

“Do you kiss many strangers on New Year’s Eve?” I love watching the array of emotions that keep flitting across Erin’s face. It’s better than any television program.

“That’s not really relevant.” I find Erin’s sudden blush enchanting. “But sometimes I do. And I won’t tell your wife that you’ve been acting as my sex coach. It’s not like you did anything wrong—” Her blush brightens, and she drops her gaze to stare at the ground, “—aside from talking about my underwear.”

The memory of that conversation and the reminder of what she is and isn’t wearing under her stunning dress warms my blood. I cross my arms, to stop myself from reaching for her.

“About my wife,” I finally say, “you can stop worrying about her.”

Erin blinks. “What do you mean?”

“She doesn’t exist.”

Erin looks at my wedding ring and frowns. “I have a few girlfriends who wear wedding bands when they go out because the ring discourages some men from getting too pushy, but I’ve never heard of a guy doing that, and you wear your ring all the time. None of my friends do that.”

“It’s not for protection or even to fool people. The ring is a real wedding ring. My wife gave it to me when we got married nearly ten years ago, but she passed away.” I always avoid talking about her or my ring because doing so has always reopened the wounds her death created. But not this time. It still hurts, but it’s more like a fading bruise than the gaping, tearing, sucking wounds I remember.

“And you still wear her ring?”

“Yeah.” I touch my thumb to the gold band. “The thought of taking it off, that’s never set right with me.”

Neither of us knows what to say next. Uncomfortable with the seriously emotional nature of the conversation and not knowing exactly what to do with myself, I look around her apartment. “You’ve got a nice place here.”

The corners of Erin’s mouth lift slightly. “Thanks.”

The place isn’t decorated with any particular style in mind, but everything in it is geared to be comfortably cozy. The couch is a huge overstuffed leather deal. Monet and Suerat prints cover the walls. Cute pillows are piled on one end of the couch and a colorful afghan hangs on the back of the couch and the two chairs she’s placed in the room. An enormous bookcase takes up one entire wall, stuffed full with paperbacks. Even from here, I can tell that the bulk of the books are romance novels.

I nod to the bookcase and shoot Erin an amused look. “You know, there’s this great new thing on the market. It’s called a Kindle. You can store thousands of books in about the amount of space these take up.”

Erin rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t give herself an instant migraine. “You’re not the first person to tell me that, wise guy. And I have a Kindle. I use it, especially when I’m traveling, but there’s something about the feel of a paperback that’s—” Erin shrugs, “—I don’t know, special.”

“I suppose, but if you’re not careful, you’ll find yourself living in an apartment that’s wall to wall with books.”

“I can think of worse situations to be in,” Erin responds. “But if it makes you feel better, every few months I empty out a few of the shelves into boxes which I bring to a women’s shelter. That’s something you can’t do with eBooks.”

“Touché.” I turn away from her bookcase and face her. “So, what happened with your date tonight? I’m assuming that since you’re here instead of burning up his sheets, things didn’t go well.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Erin grimaces and quickly tells me about her date.

“Guess he wasn’t the perfect guy you thought he was.” I’m sorry that the date didn’t go well and that she ended up with a bruised ego, but I’m just enough of a bastard to be glad that I’m the guy she ultimately ended up kissing. “But the good news is that there are lots of guys out there. Sooner or later you’re going to find the one that’s right for you.”

“Maybe.” Erin doesn’t sound or look like she’s convinced. “But I got to tell you, after tonight, I’m just really tired of the whole dating thing. I’m starting to feel like a serial dater. It’s not a good feeling.”

“Give it some time,” I tell her, trying to be as encouraging as possible. “After a good night’s sleep, you might have a whole different perspective and be ready to start the hunt for Mister Right.”

Erin reaches up and plays with one of her dangly earrings. “The last time I broke up with someone whose name started with a D, it didn’t end well. I hope that Dan takes this better than that guy. He had a hard time believing that I’m wasn’t interested.”

“See, there you go,” I tell her, trying to keep my tone as encouraging as possible. “All you have to do is avoid guys whose names start with the letter D.”

That type of comment would have made my late wife howl with laughter, but Erin just slants me an inscrutable look. “By the way, I have to thank you.”

My brows shoot up. “For what? Talking you into going out with that doctor again even though you said it wasn’t a good idea? Considering how things turned out, I’d just as soon you forget all about whose idea it was.”

“I’m thanking you for that oil you had sent to my office.” Erin’s face turns bright red. If she blushes any harder, she’ll spontaneously combust. “It’s amazing stuff. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so since I don’t have to work I’m thinking of going to The Sex Project and picking up a bulk-sized bottle of the stuff.”

Chuckling, I make a mental note to contact the shop and have them send over a supply for her. “Sorry I missed that.”

Erin wrinkles her nose. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to take full advantage of it.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Erin’s laugh joins mine. I like the way our different laughs sound mixed together in a way that can only be described as musical.

As our laughter fades I notice some details that I’ve missed up until now, mostly the way the delicate skin beneath her eyes is starting to darken, and the lines of strain radiating from the corners of her mouth.

She’s had a long and disappointing day. She needs to rest. I reach out and touch her shoulder. “Why don’t you sit down and take a load off your feet?”