“Or,” she murmured, and let her hands glide up from his shoulders until her arms could link around his neck.

More surprises, he thought, when there was warmth and exploration instead of just heat and impulse. Sweet and easy wrapped in layers of the familiar and the new. He knew her scent, her shape, but the taste of her, ripe and seductive, merged what was into what might be.

He took his time, drawing it out, drawing her in, to savor the new mix of sensations.

She poured herself into it, taking every ounce of the moment she’d imagined dozens of times. A dying day, soft lights, the quiet sigh of a summer breeze. Foolish fancies of a young girl’s crush, longings transformed over time into a woman’s need.

Now the fancies were real, the longings met. And in the kiss she felt his need rise with hers. Whatever happened, this moment, this dying day, would always be hers.

When their lips parted, he stayed close. “How long do you think that’s been in there?” he wondered.

“Hard to say.” Impossible to tell him.

“Yeah.”

He touched his lips to hers again, testing, stirring, then deepening until they were both breathless.

“I’d better go get your shoes.”

“Okay.” But she pulled him back, racheting up the heat, groaning with it when his hands stroked down her sides to grip her hips.

He teetered on the edge, but made himself pull back. “Shoes,” he managed. “Free the hostages.You really need to go. Home.”

Stirred and shaken, she leaned back against the deck rail. “I told you dating’s harder than sex.”

“We don’t shirk from challenges.You’ve got some lips. I’ve always liked the look of them. I like them even better now.”

They curved. “Come over here and say that.”

“Better not. I’ll be back in a minute with the shoes.”

She watched him go and thought it was going to be a really long month.

SNEAKING BACK INTO THE HOUSE SHOULD BE, BY ALL THE ODDS, simpler than sneaking out. Carter and Mac would be tucked into their place, Emma and Jack in theirs. Mrs. G would either be watching TV in her cozy apartment with her feet up and a pot of her evening tea, or out with some cronies. Parker? Probably still working, but in her own suite and in comfortable clothes.

Laurel parked, reassured by the lights in the studio and guest-house. She just wanted to get into her own space, alone, and think about everything that happened, everything that had changed or started to change tonight.

Her lips still tingled from his; her skin still hummed. She could all but dance to the tune. If she’d kept a diary, she’d cover today’s page with little hearts and flowers.

Then rip it out and tear it up because that was embarrassing. But still, she’d do it.