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this life. What she and Turner had was too special to mess with. She needed to wake up a little more, that was all. The day was going to be just fine.
    But when she inhaled another breath to steady herself, Becca pulled the musky, masculine scent of Turner—mixed with the aroma of forbidden tar and nicotine—deep into her body with it. And even as he leaned away from her and rose from the bed, she noted again how his T-shirt stretched taut across his brawny chest and muscular arms, and how his rough, dark jaw gave him a feral look, and how his blue eyes seemed to be sizing her up for…something.
    And she started thinking that maybe, just maybe, the temptation offered by cigarettes wasn’t going to be the biggest obstacle she faced today. Maybe, just maybe, the toughest thing she was going to have to battle would be her own wayward thoughts.
     
    B ECCA HAD JUST FINISHED making Turner’s bed when she heard the water shut off in the bathroom. He’d magnanimously offered to let her shower and dress first, so she’d figured the least she could do was change his sheets for him—especially since she’d probably drooled all over them during that odd little morning interlude that had so confused her at the time.
    Of course, now that she was dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a cropped red sweater, and now that she was fortified by coffee and Cap’n Crunch—honestly, did men ever eat anything healthy for breakfast?—she was confident she knew exactly what had been behind that odd little… That unusual little… That strange little… That weird little… That mysterious little… That bizarre little… thing . Now she was confident that what had passed between the two of them earlier had simply resulted from a lack of sleep and nothing more.
    There was a reason why some governments used sleepdeprivation as a form of torture. It made a person crazy. Crazy enough to do and say things they would normally never say or do. Like drool on their best friend’s pillow because their best friend suddenly seemed kind of sexy, where he would never seem sexy if one had gotten enough sleep and was in one’s right mind.
    That was her story, and she was sticking to it.
    Unfortunately, her adhesive must have collected some lint or something while she was changing the bed, because Becca became decidedly less stuck to that story when the door to the bathroom just outside the bedroom flew open, and Turner emerged in a puff of steam, completely naked, and she found herself wanting to be stuck to him in the most basic, most wanton way two people could be stuck together.
    Oh, no, wait, he wasn’t quite naked, Becca was relieved—sort of—to realize. He had a towel slung around his midsection—sort of. So he was decent—sort of. Of course, the thoughts that popped into her head just then, not to mention the feelings that went zinging through her bloodstream, were anything but decent. Because as sexy as Turner had been that morning all rough-jawed and sleep-rumpled, he was ten times more so all wet-skinned and steamy.
    Lack of sleep, she reminded herself, closing her eyes against the sight. Note to self: Must be in bed at a decent hour tonight so Turner will get laid. Ah, that is to say, so that all errant thoughts of Turner will be laid to rest .
    Right.
    “Oh, sorry,” he muttered as he backed into the bathroom and pushed the door half-closed in front of himself. “I didn’t realize you were in here.”
    “No, I’m sorry,” she hastily told him, heading for thebedroom door. Which meant she also was headed toward the bathroom door. And Turner. And Turner’s towel. Among Turner’s other things.
    “I thought you’d be longer in the shower,” she added as she made herself race through the bedroom door and into the living room.
    “Longer?” he echoed as he poked his head back out to look at her. “All I had to do was get clean. What else would I be doing in here?”
    Don’t answer, she told herself. Don’t even think about an