The kiss became less a comedy and more… Just more. Slow and sweet. Then slow and hot. When Max lifted his head again, Kellen had to blink the faint sheen of tears from her eyes. Not that she was crying, just that the heat had been so intense her body had to act like a sprinkler system to cool her off.

It hadn’t worked very well. She was still very, very warm.

She stared into his eyes, his warm, beautiful brown eyes, and thought…nothing much at all. Except that as hard as he was breathing, he might come in for another pass. She would like that. She licked her bottom lip—

Rae said, “That’s enough, please. I guess you are married pretty good.”

Max and Kellen both flinched, a reaction to the interruption, and predictably Max found his focus first. Carefully he stood Kellen on her feet. In a mellow tone, he said, “Right, Rae. We are married pretty good. We, um, should go in and meet our cook, Olympia. She’s been here for two weeks, using the Conkles as a cleaning crew and preparing for our arrival. Let’s hope that she especially got the kitchen ready to go. Rae’s hungry.”

“And you?”

“So hungry.” As he slid his hands away from Kellen, it was clear he wasn’t talking about food.

They walked together, not touching, the rest of the way toward the house, and when Kellen slid a glance toward him, he wore a smug, lopsided smile.

She looked hastily away. If Rae wasn’t right there with them, she’d demand to know what he thought he was doing. What happened to his self-restraint? What happened to being all worried about the effects of unbridled passion on Kellen’s Brain? She had been frankly irked at his restraint, but now, after so long…

The story in the military was that six months without sex made you a virgin again. Maybe true. She rubbed her palms on her jeans. Her hands were sweating.

At the house, Dylan had unloaded the bags, then carried them inside.

Kellen turned to Max. “What did you do with the, um, special bag?”

It had been the middle of the night when they picked up the helicopter from Max’s cousin, Jason Di Luca. He stashed their luggage inside, helped Max get a half-asleep Rae on board, and indicated the long canvas bag behind the seats. In a low voice, he had told them, “Firearms. A bolt-action 30-06 and a Remington 308 with scope. A Ruger 9 mil semiautomatic and a couple of compact handguns. Probably overkill, but better prepared for anything than not.” He shook hands with them both, pressed a kiss on Rae’s forehead, and sent them on their way.