“It’s cumulative. It’s annoying when you put on the ‘Del knows best’ act, and since that’s been going on for years, the annoyance built up and so ... It was to prove a point.”

“What was the point? I think I missed it.”

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of it.” She felt the temper rising, just like the heat of embarrassment in her cheeks. “We’re adults. It was just a kiss, and a nonviolent alternative to punching you in the mouth. Which I wish I’d done instead.”

“Okay. To be clear. You were irritated with me. Said irritation having built up over the course of years. And your actions were an alternative to punching me in the face. Does that sum it up?”

“Yes, Counselor, that’s close enough. Do you want me to get a Bible and swear on it? Jesus, Del.”

She walked to the fridge, yanked it open to grab a bottle of water. She could probably think of a man who pissed her off more, but right at the moment, Delaney Brown headed the list. With an angry twist of the wrist she unscrewed the cap on the bottle as she turned. And bumped right into him.

“Cut it out.” She wouldn’t have called it panic, but her temper took on a different edge.

“You opened the door. The metaphorical one as well as.” He gestured to the open refrigerator. “I bet you’re irritated now, too.”

“Yes, I’m irritated now.”

“Good. Since we’re on the same page, and I know how it works....”

He gripped her by the shoulders and hauled her up to the toes of her bare feet. “Don’t even th—”

It was as far as she got before her brain fizzled.

The heat, mouth to mouth, opposed the cold air blasting at her back. She felt trapped between the ice and the fire, helpless to move in either direction as he kept her poised on that thin, shaky line.

Then his hands slid down, found her waist, and the kiss softened into slow, melting lust. Her body went pliant, her mind drowsy as he drew her just a little closer.

The sound he heard, a soft, low purr in her throat, didn’t signal anger but surrender. The surprise of her, like a gift held for years, opened. He wanted to carefully, painstakingly fold aside those layers and find more.

She shifted, reached—and the icy water in the bottle splashed them both. He eased back, glanced down at his wet shirt, and hers. “Oops.”

Her eyes, dazed and dark, blinked. Even as he grinned, she scrambled away. She gestured with the bottle, the movement jerky enough that more water sloshed out. “Okay. Okay. So ... we’re even. I have to get back. I have to.” She wiped at her wet shirt. “Crap.”

She turned, fled.