Summer stared at Joe as he moved around the small table in front of the love seat and sat next to her, thinking she’d kissed those firm, unsmiling lips, she’d had her fingers in his too long, wavy, uncombed hair, and it was damn hard to forget that whenever she’d been in his arms, she felt alive, gloriously alive. As she watched, he swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bounced. She wanted to bite it. Bite him. His hands, big and agile, held his clipboard and a pen, and she remembered what those long, tapered strong fingers could do to her nipples. What they felt like on her, inside her. Off balance, she shook her head, but couldn’t clear it. “I’m losing it.”

“You had a traumatic experience,” he said. “Give yourself a break.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking about right now.” She lifted her gaze and let him see what she was thinking about, and he swallowed again.

“Red,” he said softly, with a desperation that made her sigh.

“I’m sorry.” She rubbed her temples. “Go ahead. Ask away. What do you need to know? That I think I started the fire by accident, causing my mom and aunt untold amounts of anguish and money?”

“You didn’t.”

“Or that the insurance company is going to up their rates—” She stared at him. “What?”

“I don’t think the candle started the fire.”

Thank God was her first selfish thought. Then she took a good look at his expression and the grimness in it, and got a very bad feeling. “What did?”

“Before you fell asleep downstairs, were you alone in the shop?”

Her bad feeling spread. “Why?”

He tapped his pen on his clipboard and just looked at her.

“Joe, you’re scaring me. Did someone do this on purpose?” God, the implications of that boggled, because everyone knew she’d been there. That someone could have…“Joe.”

He looked bleak.

“Okay,” she said, shaken. “See, this is where you talk.”

“We found traces of an accelerant. Gasoline.”

“Oh, God.” She gripped the small table in front of them. “What do we do?”

“First, you relax.” He said this gently, prying her rigid fingers off the table to stroke her hand, making her realize she’d begun breathing too rapidly again. “Keep breathing, okay?”

“I am.” The spots would come next, she knew it.

He saw it all, her growing panic, her struggle to overcome it, she knew he did. Every little flicker of emotion crossing her face, every little tremble of her fingers as she let go of his to rub her temples again, now panicky because suddenly she couldn’t control her breathing. “Oh, damn.”

“I suppose this isn’t a panic attack either,” he said, and set aside his clipboard to scoot close and rub her back.

“Don’t be silly. I’m tougher than that,” she panted.