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strike against you."
    "How many is that?"
    "At least two."
    "Then I might as well go for broke." He pulled her up against his chest, his other arm going around her waist. He lowered his head and pressed his mouth against hers.
    She felt both hot and shivery as his passionate and demanding kiss set off a dizzying wave of desire. This kiss was nothing like the night before. He wasn't just meeting her tentative lips with his; he was taking control. When she opened her mouth to breathe, he slipped his tongue inside, taking the kiss deeper, making her feel as if she was a part of him, and he was a part of her. It was heady, exhilarating and terrifying. Her hands roamed his back, reveling in his male form, the tight muscles in his back, the broad shoulders, the strong arms that held her so close.
    What was she doing? She couldn't do this. She couldn't have him. And he couldn't have her.
    With her brain finally re-engaging, she managed to pull away.
    He stared back at her, his gaze filled with desire, his ragged breathing telling her he'd been on the same wild ride with her.
    "What was that?" she asked.
    "Apparently strike three."
    Actually, he'd come close to hitting a home run, but she wasn't going to tell him that. Instead, she said, "So we're done now?"
    He gave her a long look. "I wish we were, but somehow I don't think so."
    And with that troubling comment, he turned and left the attic.
    She sank down on a nearby chest, her legs feeling suddenly weak. She felt like she'd just been through a tornado of emotions, dealing with Sean's sadness and anger about his friend, and then fighting the passion that had been brewing between them for months. She was exhausted and charged up at the same time, and she had no idea what was coming next. The only thing she knew for sure was that friends or not, Sean was going to be a problem.

Chapter Four
     
    Sean jogged down the stairs and out the front door, feeling a desperate need to get out of the house before he did something stupid—make that something else that was stupid. Kissing Jessica had certainly not been a good idea. But he'd been revved up after spilling his guts about Stacy. When Jessica told him she had no interest in musicians, he'd wanted to prove to her that she couldn't dismiss him so easily, but all he'd really proved was that he liked her even more. He should be happy she didn't want to date a musician, because he didn't want to date a woman who was tied to his family and had a kid. He also didn't like the way he felt like spilling his guts when he was around her. He'd never told anyone about being at Stacy's house, so why had he told her?
    Shaking his head in bewilderment, he walked briskly back home, but once there he found the idea of going inside unappealing. He needed to clear his head and get some perspective, so he dug his keys out of his pocket and got into his van.
    He drove across town toward the beach, leaving his car in a spot off the Great Highway. Then he crossed the street to the wide sandy beach and stared out at the water glistening in the sunlight. The waves were high today, crashing down with an angry force that matched his mood. He felt restless, unsettled, and he didn't know if it was memories of the fire or kissing Jessica that had him in such turmoil. But one way or the other, he needed to get back on an even keel.
    He walked along the beach for a while and then sat down on the sand. As he watched a little girl and her father walk along the water's edge, he was reminded of Stacy and her dad. He hadn't really thought much about the fact that Stacy had been with her father when the fire broke out. Why hadn't her father been able to get out of the house? Why had Stacy been alone when she'd come through that front door?
    The fire had to have exploded, taken them both by surprise. But what would cause such an explosion? His father could probably tell him, but the last person he wanted to ask was Jack. Emma was an arson investigator. She might be able to