“Probably for the best,” Cliff murmured. “I let the crew go. It’ll be less confusing.”

“Oh.” She must’ve been in a daze not to notice that the trucks and men were gone. When she forced herself to look, she saw that the backhoe remained, sitting on the rise above the gully, big and yellow and silent. The sun was warm on her back. Her skin was like ice. Time to snap out of it, Maggie told herself, and straightened her shoulders. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right. Should I call your office when the police say it’s all right to start work again?” Her voice was businesslike. Her throat was dry with the thought of being left alone, completely alone, with what was down by the gully.

Cliff turned his head. Without speaking, he took off his sunglasses so that their eyes met. “Thought I’d hang around.”

Relief washed over her. Maggie knew it must’ve shown in her face, but she didn’t have the will to put pride first. “I’d like you to. It’s stupid, but—” She glanced over in the direction of the gully.

“Not stupid.”

“Maybe weak’s a better word,” she mumbled, trying to smile.

“Human.” Despite his determination not to, Cliff reached out and took her hand. The touch, one designed to comfort, to reassure her, set off a chain reaction of emotion too swift to stop.

It ran through her head that she should rise swiftly and go inside. He might stop her, or he might let her go. Maggie didn’t ask herself which she wanted, nor did she move. Instead, she sat where she was, meeting his gaze and letting the sensation of torrid, liquid heat flow through her. Nothing else existed. Nothing else mattered.

She felt each of his fingers tense individually on her hand. There was a sense of power there; whether it was his or hers, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was the melding of both. She saw his eyes darken until the irises were only shades lighter than the pupils. It was as if he were looking through her, into her chaotic thoughts. In the quiet of midafternoon, she heard each breath he drew in and expelled. The sound stirred the excitement that vibrated in the air between them.

Together they moved toward each other until mouth molded itself to mouth.

Intensity. She hadn’t known anything between two people could be so concentrated, such pure sensation. She understood that if years passed, if she was blind and deaf, she would know this man just by the touch of his lips. In one instant she became intimate with the shape of his mouth, the taste and texture of his tongue. Her mouth was on his, his hand on hers, and they touched nowhere else. In that moment there was no need to.

There was an aggressiveness, even a harshness, to the kiss that Maggie hadn’t expected. It held none of the sweetness, the hesitation, that first kisses often do, yet she didn’t back away from it. Perhaps it was all part of the attraction that had begun the moment he’d stepped from the truck. Different, yes, he was different from the other men who’d touched her life—different still from the man she’d shared her body with. She’d known that from the first encounter. Now, with his mouth stirring her senses, she found herself grateful for it. She wanted nothing to be the same as it had been, no reminders of what she’d had once and lost. This man wouldn’t pamper or worship. He was strong enough to want strength in return. She felt his tongue tangle with hers, probing deeper. Maggie reveled in the demands.