His gut clenched when he thought of leaving her that morning in her bathrobe. He’d wanted to stay, to carry her back to the bedroom and finish what he’d started on the night of Bliss Cawthorne’s marriage. It had been five or six days since then, and the image of her lying on the bed, the shimmering blue gown peeled down to her waist, her gorgeous breasts exposed and crowned with rosy nipples, had haunted him. Day and night. He’d cruised by her house since then, telling himself that he was checking to see that no one was lingering in the shadows of her cottage, that no intruder was hell-bent on breaking in, that he was only checking on her.

And he’d called. Asked her about Josh’s ankle and if she’d had any more hang-ups, or if she’d changed the locks. She’d told him in no uncertain terms that it wasn’t really any of his business, but he knew that it wasn’t his concern that bothered her; it was the unspoken current that existed between them, the passion that they both tried to ignore, that caused her tongue to lash out.

He could break down and knock on her door. Use the same excuse he’d used the other night, about the potential prowler. And they’d end up in bed; they wouldn’t be able to stop themselves. But he knew it was a sham, a pretense to see her again.

Trying to convince himself that he’d been overreacting—that no one had been observing them at the hotel the night of the Lafferty wedding, that nothing in her house had been out of place and no one had broken in, that the phone calls she’d received were just a rash of wrong numbers—he climbed down the outside staircase.

The main house was nearly empty; a moving van had carted off most of Tiffany Santini’s belongings the day before. Boxes, crates and sacks were piled on the back porch and the windows were dark. Soon, Katie and Josh would be moving in. It calmed him somehow, to think that she’d be near. Sure, there’d be hell to pay because he knew himself well enough to realize that he’d use any reason to get close to her, any excuse to get her into bed with him.

“Damn it all to hell.” What was it about that woman that made him want to protect her one minute and make love to her the next?