Unable to resist the tug of the room at the far end of the narrow hall, Paige peered inside. A large bed, one nightstand, one lamp, one pillow. So odd, the magnetic draw of it, the way it called to her most basic, instinctive self.

Walking inside, she whirled around with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. “I’ve been here.”

His broad shoulders filled up the doorway, and he nodded, and his face just … broke. His aloof, detached expression transformed, his brow became marked with lines, and he closed his eyes tight enough to make her think it was paining him to do so.

Paige splayed a hand across her midriff. “I have this sensation. I can’t explain it.”

Their eyes met. His pupils dilated, merging with the liquid green irises. He stood there—large, taciturn, stunning. She could think of nothing but how attractive he was. His jaw spoke of character, and his mouth was lush and succulent. His top lip flared into a bow, and the bottom was plump and she desperately wanted to taste it. To … to … suck it.

She grew wet between her legs. “I’m … shaky.” Breathless, full of puzzled wonder, she whispered, “And I feel like I …” Belong.

She could feel his weight on top of hers, could feel … God, his lips dragging over her shoulder, her neck, her cheeks, her temple, could hear the echo of her name murmured in her ear. Paige.

A tremor of excitement melted her knees. “This is your place … ?” Her throat cramped around his name, preventing her from saying it.

“Zach.” Violently tender green eyes scanned her features. “My name is Zach. Paige.”

“Zach.” Her hushed whisper feathered into the silence, leaving her with the sensation of having done something illicit. Her entire body twittered like a wanton’s with the inexplicable eroticism of having spoken his name.

Friends. He said they’d been friends. Only friends? she wondered. And how could a woman, ever, in her life, forget him?

He gestured toward the bed, saying thickly, “You can sleep in my bed.”

Her stomach gripped as he pulled the drapes shut. “Oh, no … I couldn’t. Impose.”

“No. No imposing.”

He covered the threshold once more and stared into her eyes, stroking a large, restless hand up and down the wood frame. The air felt so thick with awareness that his strong, splayed hand could have been sliding intimately up her thigh.

“Do you need anything?” he rasped. “Food or … anything?”

Stomach squeezing as a thousand—indecent—suggestions sprang to mind, she shook her head and forced herself to stay put the moment he left even when her legs wanted to follow him.

Too restless to settle down, Paige absently glanced through the books stacked atop the TV. Cold Case Files. Hidden Evidence. Then she walked over to the window and plucked the drapes apart to reveal the quiet moonlit street outside. But no. Her heart continued beating abnormally fast.

After a moment’s hesitation, she gave in to the impulse and went to peer into the living room through the slit in the door. She eyed the small stainless steel kitchen from afar and spotted him—a sleek, mysterious feline, a weary feline, checking the windows, the door. Then he removed the gun at his hip, clearly at ease with the weapon, and set it on top of a nearby desk.