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jacket as she tried to think of something else to say. He’d noticed her crossing her arms for warmth when the evening breeze cooled. Without asking, he’d shrugged out of the light wool blazer he wore and draped it over her shoulders. His body heat clung to the fabric, surrounding her like an embrace. The need to get closer to that heat, to feel those hard muscles against her naked body had soared inside her with every plaintive note of the cello and the clarinet that had floated in the fragrant air.
    “I…I could offer you a cup of coffee.” A fierce blush stung her cheeks. He might think that she had invited him into her hotel room. She closed her eyes, pictured the desk with the single chair. Although the room was spacious, the only place for both of them to sit down would be the edge of the bed. “They have a little pantry with coffee and tea in the lobby,” she added. “It’s quite pleasant.”
    “We’ll go to my place.”
    A fireball of heat exploded in her belly. We’ll go to my place. Just like that. No questions, no hesitation. She swallowed, awkward and uncertain. Was she really broadcasting her willingness so loud and clear?
    Brock didn’t look at her as they covered the short journey. A sense of purpose clung to him like an aura. Cat’s heart pounded, as if trying to break out of her chest. They swung into a narrow drive outside an old house with a wraparound porch. She waited. Brock pulled her door open and offered his hand to help her out. She stared at him, trembling with a mix of anticipation and panic.
    He didn’t smile. Something hard and dark had settled over his features. He released her elbow and led her up to the front door. A soft whoosh in the air skimmed by her cheek. Cat cried out, grabbing his arm.
    “Bats,” Brock explained as he unlocked the door. He made no attempt to use her clinging as an excuse to pull her into his arms. He pried her fingers loose and strode on ahead. She followed, glimpsing into a living room and dining room as she hurried past. Dark oak armoires and heavy stuffed sofas created a formal feel, like echoes of a genteel past.
    “Do you mind instant coffee?” he asked. “That’s all I have.”
    “I thought cops lived on coffee.”
    “They do. I get mine out in town.” He poured water into a kettle and set it to boil. Then he turned to face her. He propped his hips against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms over his chest. As he surveyed her, the hard and closed look returned to haunt his face.
    “What do you want from me, Cat?” he asked. His voice was silky soft.
    “I…I don’t want anything from you.”
    “Don’t lie to me.”
    “I…” Cat swallowed and closed her eyes. She should be blushing, but instead she felt the blood draining from her face.
    “Whatever it is, I can’t give it to you,” Brock said.
    She blinked her eyes open. “I just want to…feel alive again. For so long, I’ve been surrounded by death. First I nursed my mother, then my husband. I want to do something totally and utterly selfish. Hedonistic, if you will. I want the experience the sort of mindless abandon I’ve read about in books.”
    Surprise flickered across his face. Slowly, in complete control of every move, he closed the two steps that separated them and stood in front of her.
    “Mindless abandon?” he murmured. Raising one hand, he dragged a fingertip over the hollow of her collarbones.
    Her head tipped back. Her eyes drifted shut. She felt his hands curling around her upper arms and his mouth coming down against the side of her neck. Hot. Burning. He kissed her with a savage hunger, all the more startling since no hint of his intention had passed between them. He nipped her skin with his teeth, his lips roaming and feasting on the sensitive curve of her throat.
    He paused, as if waiting for her to protest. When she remained silent, he resumed the contact. His tongued traced the shell of her ear, dipped inside, eliciting a low moan of pleasure from