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her beloved Audi Cabriolet, her on ly extravagance and one she’d paid dearly for in more ways than one. “I’ll deal with your neighbor.”
    She laughed and opened her own door, stepping out with her purse in one hand, the plastic sack hanging from the other. She didn’t need a gentleman. He joined her on the sidewalk, catching her arm. “Something funny?”
    “When do you suppose you’re gonna deal with him?” Slipping his hold, she made her way up the walk and rammed the key inside the lock, knowing she was inviting her own personal sexual vampire inside. He’d drain her dry and move on. Nothing she hadn’t known beforehand and nothing she couldn’t surmount if she worked hard at it. This was sex—pure fucking—and there was nothing different or special about it. Wishful thinking wasn’t a crime, but a dire disappointment.

Chapter Two
     
    Dean followed her into the brightly lit little house, the solid -wood door shutting firmly behind them. He’d noted it was a square box of a place, wooden siding, turn of the century, with shutters edging the windows at the front. It didn’t suit Amy Copeland. She should be surrounded with upscale, clean contemporary lines, a hint of kitsch to speak to that side of her he saw on that stage. The unexpected. And all of this introspective thinking wasn’t easing the painful thrust of his cock.
    She’d paused at a keypad just inside the entry . Noting the two deadbolts and the security system, his interest was piqued. Women living alone wanted to feel safe, but this spoke of fear, or total awareness of the monsters lurking everywhere. His last words to her played back in his head, that he’d deal with her neighbor. Her warning about the man had woken a protective instinct within him, something he didn’t feel unless it involved the job. She was right. He wouldn’t be around to intercede on her behalf if the neighbor acted like an asshole. Or around to find out why she took her security so seriously. Funny how that didn’t sit right—neither part of it. But he didn’t take care of women anymore.
    Setting his boots beside her shoes, he took in the surroundings. The place had recently been painted in a soothing shade of green, the hardwood floors refinished. A huge desk took up most of the living space, two of them actually, pushed together, a laptop and a PC on the surface, a pile of paper and a container stuffed with pens and highlighters. The drapes were tightly closed, and there was nothing on the walls to draw the eye. There was only one chair, an armless thing, sort of like a chaise lounge, aside from the one on rollers at the desk. No television. He hoped she at least had a bed.
    The open concept kitchen, clearly a recent renovation, appeared spotless, only the bag from the pharmacy cluttering the counter, where she’d placed it. A granite-topped island delineated the area from the living room, but the appliances and cabinets were standard. Amy stood by the island, tossing something into her mouth, chasing it with the chocolate milk straight out of the carton. Taking the aspirin, ensuring her stamina as he planned. He watched her throat work and surreptitiously palmed his crotch. He planned to shove his cock down that throat as deep as she could take him, in very short order.
    Tossing the carton into the trash can in the corner, she faced him, tongue hooking out to chase an errant drop of milk. She smiled. One of those powerful, feminine smiles he never allowed his women.
    “Come here.”
    A slow blink, a rise and fall of long lashes over those violet eyes, and the smile softened. She walked to him, long legs scissoring, breasts gently lifting and falling with each breath, and he lost himself in his need. Lost his control, knowing it showed. Her eyes widened , but she kept her smile. Equal. He allowed her that for now. They came together, mouths crashing, lips mashing against teeth, tongues dueling. He fisted one hand in her thick hair to anchor her against his