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us?”
    “Like a sword?” His expression could have been scorching, but it was difficult to tell because it was hooded. He smiled. A casual smile, but she noticed the tense lines around his mouth. He was probably as nervous as she about all this.
    “Th-that’s what they did in the olden days.” The chivalrous knights.
    “I don’t, ahem, have a sword.” And then he murmured something that sounded like, “Not that kind of sword,” but she couldn’t be sure.
    She scouted the room for something. Something that would create a barrier, make her feel safe. Which was stupid. He was a decent guy. He’d kissed her once, and it had been a wonderful kiss, but he hadn’t pounced upon her or grabbed her or backed her into a corner. He hadn’t said or done anything even remotely sleazy. Still, when her gaze landed on the broomstick in the closet, she let out a gusty sigh. “This.” She grabbed the broom, arranged it on the bed, right in the middle and then glanced at him.
    His lips quirked, as though her whimsy amused him. He nodded. “Perfect.” He yawned. “Are you ready for bed?”
    “No.” She didn’t mean the word to come out that sharply, but the prospect of crawling into bed with him, broomstick or not, petrified her.
    “Okay. How about a game of cards, then?” He pulled a deck from a drawer in the end table and shuffled.
    “What would you like to play?”
    He shrugged. “Poker?”
    She wandered to the table by the window and sat. “I don’t know how to play poker.”
    “Perfect.”
    She grinned at his expression. “How about gin rummy?” His face fell, but it was such an overblown pout, she knew he was teasing her.
    “Oh, all right.” He dealt the cards, then poured them each another tin cup of wine.
    They played for a while, chatting and sipping their wine. It was a pleasant evening. He was a charming companion, asking her about her life as a teacher and chattering on about television shows and movies they both liked. They had several favorite restaurants in common and even had a few mutual friends.
    He reached for the bottle and refilled her glass, but when he went to refill his own, the bottle was empty. “Shall I open another?” he asked.
    Emily nibbled her lip. She loved this cozy, contented feeling. She knew it came from the rich, buttery merlot, but she didn’t think she should have any more. However, she didn’t want this to end. Not yet. “Sure.”
    He practically sprinted across the room to the pantry, coming back with another bottle. They continued to play and drink and talk until the fire died down. He tossed on another log and stretched.
    “Well,” he said. “We should probably turn in.”
    “Mmm hmm.” She fought  back a yawn. When she stood, she teetered and grabbed the back of the chair for balance. “Oh my. I think I drank a bit too much.” Her chuckle stalled in her throat as she caught his look. It seemed almost…predatory. Then he blinked and that friendly countenance was back in place. She must have imagined it. “I…ah…think I need to use the facilities.”
    Other than a grunt, he didn’t respond. He occupied himself smoothing the blanket on the bed and fluffing the pillows.
    When she emerged from the bathroom, and saw him already in bed, under the covers, dismay claimed her. Heavens. How was she going to do this? How was she going to fall asleep next to him? Her instinct for survival would not allow it.
    But there was more to it than that with Ash. With Ash she felt a draw, an urge she’d never felt before.
    It tasted like…temptation.
    With Ash, she wanted the intimacy she’d eschewed for the entirety of her adult life. Sure, it still scared her, the thought of being with a man like that, but she wanted it.
    She craved it.
    That scared her too.
    She contemplated grabbing a pillow and a blanket and curling up on the floor, despite their broomstick negotiations, but decided not to. She wouldn’t want him to think she was some kind of weird woman. Besides,