“I don’t mind if the two of you want to fight, really, I don’t.” Malory dumped her briefcase, fat with notes, on the crate. “But maybe you could take it to another room.”

“We’re not fighting.” Jordan replied. “This is foreplay.”

“In your dreams.”

“Stretch, in my dreams you’re usually wearing a lot less. Let me know if I can help you out with anything, Malory.” He straightened, then strolled away.

“Be right back.” Dana was after him like a rocket. “In the kitchen, hotshot.” She streamed by, then gritted her teeth while she waited for him to catch up.

He moved at his own pace, she thought, and always had. Her temper sparked as he wandered in. She was readying the first salvo when he stepped right up, gripped her hips, and covered her shocked mouth with his.

The blast of heat blew straight through her.

That had always been, as well.

Fire and flash and promise all balled together in some sort of molten comet that exploded in the brain and left the system wrecked.

Not this time, not this time. Not ever again.

With considerable force she shoved him back a step. She wouldn’t slap. Too predictable and female. But she very nearly punched.

“Sorry. I thought that was what you called me out here for.”

“Try that again, and you’ll be bleeding from various fatal wounds.”

He shrugged, sauntered over to the coffeepot. “My mistake.”

“Damn right. Any rights you had to touch me expired a long time ago. You may be part of this thing because you happened to buy that damn painting, and I’ll tolerate you because of that. And because you’re Flynn’s friend. But as long as you’re here, you’ll abide by the rules.”

He poured two mugs of coffee, set hers on the counter. “Spell them out for me.”

“You don’t ever touch me. If I’m about to step in front of a damn bus, you don’t so much as reach out to pull me back to the curb.”

“Okay. You’d rather be run over by a bus than have me touch you. Check. Next?”

“You’re a son of a bitch.”

Something that might have been regret flashed across his face. “I know it. Look, let’s step back a minute. Flynn’s important to both of us, and this is important to Flynn. That woman out there’s important to him, and she’s important to you. We’re all connected here, whether we want to be or not. So let’s try to figure it out. He was in and out of here in about three minutes flat this morning. I didn’t get much more out of him then, or when he called last night, than that Malory’s in trouble. Fill me in.”

“If Malory wants you to know, she’ll tell you.”

Hand her an olive branch, he thought, and she rams it down your throat. “Still a hard-ass.”

“It’s private stuff,” she snapped. “Intimate stuff. She doesn’t know you.” Despite a thousand vows, she felt her eyes fill. “Neither do I.”