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her car door, but Harrison swore and reached for it first. Their hands connected and Madeline felt a searing wave of desire spread through her, thick and fast. She jumped, and guiltily pulled her hand away. Her eyes flew to his face, and she could see that he had felt it too.
    “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice just a husk.
    His eyes dropped to mouth, pouted before him, and he shook his head slowly. “What for, Maddie?”
    She bit down on her lip, as she had done years earlier. “For everything.” She dropped her gaze.
    Harrison knew Madeline. Years had past, but the way he’d understood her didn’t simply evaporate. He put a hand lightly on her arm, and she jumped again.
    “Come inside for a moment.”
    She looked at the house dubiously. “Inside? You mean in your house?”
    “It’s freezing out here.”
    Madeline felt an enormous butterfly batting against her ribs. She looked at him uncertainly. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s not too late?”
    He frowned. “It’s not even nine.”
    “Okay. Just for a minute.” She fell into step beside him. “It’s a nice house. Have you lived here long?”
    “We moved in about two years ago. Around the time I was made Chief of Police.”
    She nodded. It was what he’d always wanted. A wife, a kid, great job, lovely house. “It suits you.” She ran a hand wistfully over the bannister, taking in the geranium window boxes and pretty garden beds beneath. Though Harrison Samson was pure alpha male, somehow, the lovely garden complemented him. And Ivy must love the flowers.
    He pushed the door inwards and stepped back, allowing Madeline to precede him. It meant that she had to brush against him, and her whole body seemed to spark with tiny flames at the intimate, innocent contact.
    “Can I take your jacket?” He asked, looking at the beige thing she wore.
    She nodded jerkily. “Thanks.” She stepped out of it and handed it to him. It smelled of vanilla and coconut. He inhaled surreptitiously, as he hung it on the coat rack, and placed his own beside it. He spun back to Madeline. She had her back to him.
    God, she was beautiful. The jeans hugged her perfect rear, showing her long, slender legs. Her blonde hair was down, with a simple clasp pinning it back from her face. He itched to reach out and touch it. She turned slowly, to face him. “Ivy’s quite the artist,” she observed with a shy smile, nodding towards the collection of pictures that were taped to the walls.
    He grimaced. “She is certainly prolific,” he agreed with a shrug. “And I’m her biggest fan.”
    Her face, so often wiped of emotion, seemed to shift up a gear, showing something. Something he didn’t understand. “I really didn’t think this through. Coming here tonight, I mean.”
    He nodded. He could do this. He just had to treat her like a suspect. Or a reporting witness. Not the woman he’d once loved. “So why did you?”
    She sighed. “I didn’t like the way things went between us the other day.” She shrugged, and it exposed an inch of bare midriff beneath her sweater. He looked away. The last thing he needed was to see her slim waist.
    “The lounge is at the end of the hall. Go have a seat. I’ll make a coffee.”
    “Do you have any wine?”
    “Wine?” He frowned. “Yeah. In the kitchen.”
    “Thanks.” She followed behind him, vanillas and coconuts teasing him the whole way.
    “Red or white?”
    “White.”
    He pulled a bottle from the fridge and looked at the label. “It was a gift from my boss. Not sure if it’s any good.” He unscrewed the cap and poured some into a wine glass.
    “Wow, impressive,” she said, taking the glass from him with a tense smile. “You must be making waves if the Colonel’s giving you bottles of wine.” She tasted it and lifted her brows. “And nice wines, too.”
    It would have been the easiest, and the most dangerous thing in the world, to simply speak to her as he used to. She was conversational quick sand. So comfortable