“I think…” She moistened her dry lips and met his gaze. “I think maybe we should have a fling.” He raised his eyebrows. “A fling?” Uncertainty tugged at her belly. “An affair then? I’m not sure what people call it, you know, not dating, but, um, spending a couple of weeks having sex with someone…” “So you want to have sex with me, but not date me?” She nodded. A pained expression creased his handsome face. “Well, then, that might be a problem.” She fought back disappointment. “Why?” “Because I’m not really interested in flings anymore.” Carson’s jaw tensed. “After the night at the club, I decided I’m not that kind of guy anymore.” “What kind of guy?” He frowned. “The kind who screws random strangers in closets.” He shook his head, looking upset. “I’ve done the casual thing all my life and I think it’s time to stop it.” Something that resembled vulnerability flashed across his eyes. “I want to go on a date with you.” “What? Why?” He shot her a cute grin and shrugged. “Because I like you. You’re…well, you’re kind of weird.” She bristled. “Thanks.” “In a good way,” he added quickly. “I mean, you’re gorgeous, sure, but there’s something else that draws me to you. Maybe it’s that good girl image you’re determined to lose. And you’re funny, and interesting, and…I don’t know, I just wouldn’t mind getting to know you.” She had no response. It was really sweet, everything he was saying, but she wasn’t sure she wanted sweet right now. The night she’d slept with Carson, she hadn’t been sweet. Naughty, maybe. Reckless, sure. But not sweet. And a date? That was the last thing she wanted right now. She’d just gotten out of a six-month relationship, one she’d poured so much time and energy into—for nothing. At the moment, dating again sounded way too tiring, and she was tired enough as it was. Sex, she could handle. But not a new romance. Not when her heart was still recovering from Steve. “So what do you say?” Carson asked, looking oddly nervous. She felt awful, but she had to tell the truth. “I don’t want to start dating anyone right now. I recently got out of a relationship. I’m swamped with work and the culinary course I’m taking. I just want…fun.” “You mean sex,” he said flatly. She sighed. “Yes.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and gave her a rueful look. “Then I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” She rolled her eyes. “Sure you can. Just do me again.” A faint smile broke through the serious expression on his face, but it faded quickly. “I’m serious, Holly. I want something different this time around.” They’d reached an impasse. She could see it. But she could also see the glimmer of desire in his blue eyes. Maybe if she gave him a tiny little push… Licking her lips, she stepped forward and rested both palms on his impossibly broad shoulders. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind?” He was a lot taller than her and she had to tilt her head fully to look into his eyes. The desire she’d seen there had deepened the moment she’d touched him. Fueled by the obvious attraction, she leaned up on her tiptoes and brushed her lips over his. For a second he didn’t respond, but he evidently couldn’t hold back for long, because a moment later he parted her lips with his tongue and kissed the hell out of her. Heat rolled through her in waves, making her breasts tingle, her thighs ache. His mouth was warm and persuasive, his tongue so skilled she closed her eyes to savor each sensual stroke. Carson’s hands slid down her back to her bottom, cupping it, stroking it, and then he moved one hand to her front, inched it down to the juncture of her thighs…and pulled it away. She swallowed back a groan of disappointment as he ended the incredible kiss. “No.” His features strained. “I meant what I said. I want more this time.” Holly could see that she’d lost the battle. Fortunately, the war was still up for grabs. Sighing, she asked, “Do you have a cell phone?” “Yeah. Why?” “Can I see it?” Shooting her a quizzical look, he pulled a slender phone from his back pocket and handed it to her. Without giving him time to object, she quickly programmed in her phone number and handed him back the cell. “My number’s in there now,” she said with a grin. “So if you change your mind, you know how to reach me.” Carson looked pained. “You really want this fling, don’t you?” “You bet I do. So don’t keep me waiting long, okay, Carson?” Still grinning, she turned and walked away.

“Let me in, Mackenzie.” She slowly opened the door then stepped aside as a very wet Will Charleston pushed his way inside. “What are you doing here?” she blurted. “It’s past midnight. And in case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a hurricane out there.” “Thunderstorm,” he corrected. “It was a bitch driving all the way out here from Coronado in this rain, but I needed to see you.” Her mouth grew dry. “Why? What’s so important that you risked getting into a car accident over?” “I think you know.” Four words. Smoky with seduction and shrouded with erotic promise. This couldn’t be happening. And yet everything about the situation, everything about him, spoke otherwise. His dark eyes glimmered with passion. His sensual mouth was set in a firm line, his defined jaw tight, as if he’d come here prepared for her to fight him. She’d never seen Will like this before. Raw masculinity seemed to ooze out of his pores. It teased her, taunted at her, wrapped around her like a lover’s touch and caused every nerve in her body to tingle. He shrugged out of his navy blue windbreaker and tossed it on the wooden bench next to the front door. Next he kicked off his boots. Drops of rain slid from his dark hair, down his rugged face and dripped onto the floor. He strode into the living room without invitation. Not that he needed one. Will had always been welcome in her home and he was there often, filling the house with his comforting presence. Tonight she wasn’t comforted. Tonight his presence was…different. Masculine. Passionate. Dangerous. “It’s time we talked about what happened last week,” he said in that rough voice of his. She gulped. “Nothing happened last week.” Darn it, why did he have to bring it up? She’d hoped that during the past seven days, while he’d been traipsing around in the jungle, he might have forgotten about it. He tilted his head, those bottomless dark eyes piercing right through the lie and glittering with challenge. “I beg to differ.” He moved closer and the spicy scent of his aftershave wafted into her nostrils. She inhaled it, nearly keeling over backwards as the sexy aroma surrounded her and grasped her senses. God, he smelled good. “You kissed me,” he said gruffly. “It was a mistake.” “We both know that’s not true.” Another step toward her. “Do you know that this past week has been torture for me? You kissed me, Mac, and the next morning I had to get on a chopper, without getting the chance to talk to you about it.” He visibly swallowed. “The entire time I was gone, I was thinking of you. Aching for you. So don’t try to shrug it off, or call it a mistake. Because we both know it wasn’t.” Warm hands cupping her breasts. A pinch to her nipples. Pain. Pleasure. Her thighs squeezed together and a gasp escaped her lips. He was at her side in an instant, stroking her temples with his long fingers. “Hey, you all right?” “I’m fine,” she squeezed out. “What did you see?” Damn it, why did he have to know her so well? She wished she’d never confided in him about the visions. Past experience told her that most people didn’t understand the visions. Hell, she didn’t understand them either. What she did understand was that it scared people. Men, especially. Her former boyfriends had never seemed to be able to handle the visions. They fled the moment a particularly upsetting one hit her, looking at her like she was the angel of death or something. Though they vehemently denied it, claiming they were dumping her for an entirely different reason, she knew they considered her a freak. And hell, sometimes she didn’t blame them. Sometimes, usually after seeing the death of someone she knew, she felt like a freak. “What did you see?” Will repeated. Their gazes collided and the fire she saw in his eyes sucked the breath out of her lungs like a vacuum. He was so sexy. Magnetic eyes, chiseled features, and a sexy body that looked way too good in a pair of faded jeans and a snug T-shirt. His job as a SEAL assured that he always stayed in shape, hard, sleek, and muscled. He was the best-looking man she’d ever known, and the one man she’d never allowed herself to get involved with. Her lovers never stayed in her life long. Her best friend, on the other hand? Well, he was always by her side. But would he remain there if he knew her intimately? If they shared a bed, if she woke him up from sleep with her screams and tears after a nasty vision? Not to mention her complete inability to lose control in the bedroom. She wasn’t one to give in to self-pity, but when it came to relationships, she was a mess. A freak. And it would crush her, losing her best friend just because she’d been foolish enough to fuck him. “Either we talk about what you saw, or we talk about the kiss.” Will’s brows were drawn together in a frown. “Your choice, Mac.”

Becker resisted a sigh. Shit, he really needed to quit thinking about the divorce. It had been finalized months ago, and yet here he was, constantly thinking about his ex-wife. Maybe he needed to take a page out of his teammates’ books and indulge in some random, no-strings sex. And double shit, because sex was definitely something he shouldn’t be thinking about either. Not now, anyway. The woman in his lap shifted, letting out a wobbly breath that broke through the silence. “Okay, this isn’t working,” she choked out. “Maybe you can try to distract me? Talk to me about something.” Becker fought a wave of discomfort. Wonderful. If there was one thing he sucked at, it was talking. Especially to women. “Please,” she added, obviously seeing the reluctance in his eyes. “Talk about what?” he finally asked, caving in. “Anything. Tell me about the bullet wound in your arm, your favorite movie, your pet peeves. I don’t care.” Another shaky breath. “Um, okay.” He paused. “Well, bullet wounds hurt.” Her lips quirked, and Becker was startled by the little spark of pleasure he got from knowing he’d made her smile. “What does it feel like? Is it like a knife wound? Because I know what that feels like.” “When the hell did you get a knife wound?” “College. I was a reporter for the school paper and I went to interview this meth addict for a piece I was doing. Only he was super high and thought I was a narc.” She offered a small shrug, as if to say no biggie. Despite himself, Becker grinned. “Remember earlier how I said you were persistent? Well, correction—you’re nuts.” “It was an important story. Getting knifed added some color to the piece.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “So, the bullet…?” “Right. Well, to be honest, I didn’t even feel it at first. Adrenaline running too high, you know. I was too focused on getting your sister into the chop—” He narrowed his eyes. “All this is off the record, right?” Jane made a face. “Unfortunately. But I still think you should let me interview you.” “Not interested.” “Fine.” She gave a little pout, which brought another smile to his lips. “At least finish the story.” “Yes, ma’am. So, like I said, didn’t feel a thing at first, not until I climbed into the chopper. Then the pain hit me, like a streak of lightning. Arm started throbbing, head spinning from the loss of blood. Felt like someone stuck a live wire straight into my bone.” “Is that the first time you’ve been shot?” “First time I’ve had a bullet in me, yeah. I’ve been grazed a few times, knifed, slashed by a machete once…” His voice drifted, and he smiled at the horror in her eyes. “Part of the job.” “I could never do it,” Jane said frankly. “A job where I’m constantly getting injured? No thank you. I’d way rather interview people in the comfort of their homes.” He shot her a curious glance. “What kind of stories do you write?” “Whatever I get assigned. Last issue I had a piece about insider trading, the one before that was a story about human trafficking.” “And now you’re working on a story about your sister?” She nodded then released a long breath. To his relief, this one didn’t sound shaky. She was evidently calming down. “I was so worried about her, Becker. When her office called and told us she’d gone off the radar, I thought she was dead.” Jane swallowed. “I always tell her not to take such risky assignments, but she never listens.” He arched a brow. “Would you ever turn down a story because someone told you there might be some risk?” The corner of her mouth curved. “No. I guess it runs in the family, huh? Pigheadedness is probably the only thing I have in common with them.” “You don’t get along with your family?” “No, I do. I love them to death. But sometimes I feel like the odd man out, you know? My mom, Dad, Liz, my brother Ken—they’re all so similar. Look alike, think alike. Hell, they all chose the same career. Photographers, all of them!” She shook her head, looking baffled. “Journalism is a related field, I guess, but I know squat about photography. We have dinner together every Wednesday night, and the four of them drone on and on about new techniques they’re using or what not, and I just sit there, twiddling my thumbs.” She halted suddenly, her cheeks reddening. “Sorry, I don’t mean to complain. You’re probably bored by my rambling, huh?” Actually, he was the farthest thing from bored. Becker couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed listening to a woman talk. And he knew exactly what Jane was saying. How many times had he sat at the dinner table listening to Alice go on and on about her headshots and runway walk and the latest fashion trends, then watching her get all huffy when he had nothing to contribute to the conversation? Too many times. “I don’t mind the rambling,” he admitted. “I find you interesting.” She smiled again. “Thank you.” He liked that. Thank you. Alice had never been able to take compliments, always feigning humbleness while in reality she loved hearing how wonderful she was. He swept his gaze over Jane’s beautiful face, and then, before he could stop himself, lightly ran his hand over her hip. Her lips parted slightly, a flicker of arousal in her eyes, and Becker’s hand instantly stilled. Shit, what was he doing? The air between them sizzled, while the heat from her curvy little body seared into him and made his pulse race. He realized she was the first woman he’d been attracted to since the divorce, and the notion unnerved him. Clearing his throat, he struggled to snuff out the flame of desire burning in his body. “So, did you always want to be a journalist?” he blurted out. She blinked, as if snapping herself out of her own sexual haze. “Uh, yeah. Ever since I was a kid. I used to write articles about everyone in the neighborhood.” She grinned. “I was convinced Mr. Jervais from across the street was up to no good, so I would spy on him and then write about what I saw.” “What did you see?” “Well, he took out the garbage a lot, so I decided he was getting rid of dismembered body parts. And he spent a lot of time in his garage, which was obviously where he killed his victims.” Becker laughed. “Poor man. I hope you didn’t show him any of the stories.” “No, my parents made me shred them. They said even ten year olds could be arrested for slander and harassment.” “And ten years later, you’re still at it, huh?” “That would make me twenty. I’m twenty-eight, thank you very much. But I appreciate the compliment. And yes, I’m still at it. I’m going to win a Pulitzer someday, you know.” The flash of ambition he saw in her eyes brought a wave of uneasiness. He’d seen that look far too many times in his ex-wife’s eyes. “And what about a husband and kids? Do you see that in your future too, or just the Pulitzer?” he asked. She shrugged. “Sure, I want those things too, but there’s no rush. I want to focus on my career right now, make a name for myself. There’ll be time for all the rest.” Becker stifled a snort. How many times had he heard that one? There’s no rush. There’s time. Alice had spouted that bull for fourteen years of marriage, before finally dropping the bomb that she never planned on starting a family. A spark of bitterness ignited in his gut, but he forced himself not to reveal his thoughts on the subject to Jane. He seriously needed to stop comparing her to his ex. He didn’t even know this woman. He had no right judging her choices and goals. So what if they weren’t aligned with his? Wasn’t like he was going to marry the girl. “I do make plenty of time for sex, though,” she added with a small grin. His hard-on returned with full-force, straining against his zipper. No doubt Jane felt it straining against her too, because her eyes widened slightly. “Oh my,” she murmured. Becker rolled his eyes. “That’s what happens when you say the word sex while you’re sitting in a man’s lap, sweetheart.” “Do you want me to say it again?” she asked with an impish look. “Seeing as we’re trapped here in this elevator, I can’t really stop you from saying anything, can I?” He instantly knew he’d said the wrong thing because Jane’s blue eyes flickered with terror. She glanced around the small space, as if remembering where they were and why there were there. Her throat worked as she swallowed repeatedly, and Beck could practically hear her pulse began to race. Shit. Why on earth had he reminded her they were trapped in an elevator? “Jane—” he started. “How long has it been?” she cut him off. “Didn’t he say a half an hour? It feels like ages since—” “Jane—” She shifted in his lap, hand fumbling toward her purse. “My phone has the time on it. I need to see—” “Jane—” “—how long we’ve been here. Do you feel hot too or is it just me? And it is getting hard to breathe, because I really can’t—” Becker pressed his lips to hers. He hadn’t planned on kissing her, but it was the only way to shut her up, to distract her before she hurled herself headfirst off another panic cliff. Only, the second his mouth touched hers, he forgot all about why he’d kissed her in the first place. Instead, all he could think about was…well, kissing her. Kissing the holy hell out of her. So he did.