“Right. I’ll ask Krystal. I talked to Webster not half an hour ago.”

Annabelle had a pretty good idea what Krystal and Webster were doing about now, and they wouldn’t appreciate being interrupted. “It’s midnight.”

“Your powwow just broke up. She won’t have gone to bed yet.”

Don’t bet on it.

He rubbed his thumb over the number pad. “I’ve always liked Krystal. She’s straightforward.” He pressed the first button.

Annabelle sucked in air. “We watched porn, okay?”

He grinned and tossed the phone down. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Believe me, it wasn’t my idea. And it’s not funny. Besides, it wasn’t really porn. It was erotica. For women.”

“There’s a difference?”

“That’s exactly the kind of thing I’d expect a man to say. Do you think most of us get off watching a bunch of women with collagen lips and soccer-ball implants go at each other?”

“From your expression, I’m guessing not.”

She needed something cold to drink, and she headed for the kitchen, still talking because she had a point to make. “Like seduction. Does your average porn film even think about showing a little seduction?”

He followed her. “To be fair, there’s not usually much need. The women are pretty aggressive.”

“Exactly. Well, I’m not.” As soon as the words were out, she could have kicked herself. The last thing she’d wanted to do was bring the subject back to the personal.

He didn’t pounce on her misstep, not the wily Python. He liked to play with his prey before he struck. “So did the film have a plot?”

“Rural New England, virginal artist, studly stranger, ’nuff said.” She pulled open the refrigerator door and stared inside without seeing a thing.

“Only two people. That’s disappointing.”

“There were a couple of subplots.”

“Ah.”

She turned on him, her damp palm still curled around the refrigerator door handle. “You think this is funny, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I’m ashamed of myself.”

She wanted to smell him. His hair was nearly dry, his skin freshly showered. She wanted to press her face against his chest and inhale, to burrow in, maybe find an errant tuft of silky hair and let it tickle her nose. She nearly whimpered. “Please go away.”

He cocked his head. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

She grabbed the first cold thing she touched and pushed the door shut. “You know the way I feel about this. About…us.”

“You were pretty clear last night.”

“I’m right, too.”

“I know you are.”

“So why did you argue with me?”

“Jerk syndrome. I can’t help it. I’m a guy.” His lips curved in a lazy smile. “And you’re not.”

Enough bolts of sexual electricity charged the air to light up the planet. He stood between her and the bedroom, and if she passed too close, she’d be tempted to lick, so she headed for the porch and nearly stumbled over the mattress he’d dragged out there last night. He’d tidied the sheets, stacked the pillows, and folded the blanket in half, doing a better job of it than she’d done with the double bed.