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Noisy bunch.”
    “It’s how we celebrate a new dawn,” a throaty, smoker’s voice said over her shoulder.
    Kayla turned, but not before seeing Booker’s gaze soften at the sight of the speaker. Whoever this was, he was a friend. She wasn’t expecting to see the colonel’s grizzled face behind the rim of a whiskey glass. He’d aged since the last time Kayla had seen him.
    Booker pressed against her back before she could retreat, one hand at her waist like an anchor. “Someone I want you to meet. Colonel, this is Kayla. She works at Grounds for Divorce…”
    The colonel waved his tumbler. “I know who you are, sweetheart.”
    “Colonel.” Kayla shifted her weight from one foot to the other, pulse throbbing in her throat. It was one thing to tell Booker about her past as an abstract thing, an error of judgment with no real bearing on her present.
    It was a different story when that past was staring her in the face.
    “Sorry ‘bout your ma,” the colonel went on. Kayla had never wondered if he’d been handsome when he was young. It hadn’t mattered the last time they’d met and it didn’t matter now. Handsome or not, he was still dangerous.
    “We weren’t close.”
    The colonel nodded as if she’d only confirmed what he already suspected. “Tough lady. I remember she used to put your old man through his paces.”
    “Yeah.”
    He nudged her bare elbow with a wrinkled knuckle, snorting under his breath. “He used to run with us, you know…”
    “I do. Straight off Glenwood Canyon, right?”
    “Mm, sad day.”
    Kayla said nothing.
    “Lucky for you, Booker’s got a sound grip on that bike of his. He let you ride with him yet?”
    “Couple of times,” Booker confirmed, stroking his thumb over the soft rise of Kayla’s hip. He seemed to sense her discomfort, because the next words out of his mouth were whisper-soft, a caress that raised gooseflesh on Kayla’s arms. “How about that dance?”
    Kayla didn’t need to be told twice.
    There was no real dance floor in the clubhouse, but a few guys had already pulled wives or girlfriends into their arms and were swaying softly to the lilting strains of a Rita Coolidge hit.
    Booker left no room between him and Kayla for the Holy Ghost or anyone else. When she looked up, she discovered with relief that she couldn’t see the bar. Booker had a way of blotting out the world around him, the way a tall tree cast a broad shade over its immediate vicinity.
    “Aren’t you gonna ask me?” she murmured, speaking against his lips. She wanted him to kiss her, but she didn’t want to let this chafe until later, when they were alone.
    “You know the colonel.”
    Kayla made an acquiescing noise.
    “Lot of people know the colonel,” Booker noted and slid both hands to cup her ass. “But you said you can’t stay long, so…”
    You want to make the most of it. She moved with him without rhythm, less for the sake of the music than the pace of Booker’s heart beneath her hand. He wore a tight black T-shirt under his kutte tonight. His ribcage pressed into her palm whenever he inhaled.
    On a whim, Kayla worried her thumb over a pebbled nipple, grinning when he sucked in a startled breath. Any second now, he would pull her off the dance floor, take her back to his room. They’d end up in bed, his knees spreading her legs wide, her body pinned between his and the mattress. Her cunt pulsed with need as the vivid images raced through her thoughts.
    Booker pressed a kiss just at the edge of her hairline. “Zach know you’re here?”
    Desire curdled in her chest. Kayla stiffened.
    “Was I supposed to tell him?” Ask his permission? What did Booker think she was? She extricated herself from his hold with a flinch. “I should go.”
    “Already? No, come on—”
    “Early day tomorrow. Gotta go over the books, close up the month…” Kayla shook him off. “It was nice seeing you again.”
    “Seeing…” Booker caught her hand. “Wait, sweetheart—”
    “Don’t