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hard-on?” The centers of his dark eyes glowed brightly.
    No. She’d never been in such a bad scrape that she felt the need to use her body. Never before him, anyway.
    His gaze slid down. She followed his eyes, not realizing until she felt his hand on her breast that he meant to touch her. He rolled her nipple through her T-shirt, squeezing it until it grew hard and distended.
    She gasped at the perfect pain of it. Her belly clenched, and she grew wet. Shifting her legs in attempt to ease the ache between her thighs, she bit her lip to stop from crying out.
    â€œHow far would you go, Kit March? Hmm?”
    That light at the centers of his eyes intensified as he worked his fingers harder over her nipple. A knot grew in her belly, twisting and tightening. A cry escaped from between her teeth.
    He pressed his mouth to her neck, breathing warm air over her flesh. “I, for one, would be very interested to know.”
    She lifted a hand to cling to his arm. “Please,” she gasped, fingers digging into his hard bicep. This was crazy.
    â€œPlease what?”
    Rip off my clothes. Put your mouth where your hand is. Take me. Pound into me right here against the neighbor’s tree.
    â€œStop,” she hissed as he turned his attention to her other aching, neglected nipple. His fingers rolled it into a hard, tight bud. “I said stop!”
    And then he was gone. His heat. His marvelous hands. Him .
    She blinked. Gone. Vanished, it seemed.
    His hand, his wicked touch on her breasts. As abruptly as it had begun, it was over.
    She blinked again. Breath coming fast and hard, she moved away from the tree. Crossing her arms over her chest, she surveyed the neighborhood, craning her neck and looking all around. Nothing. No sign of him.
    A humid breeze shook the trees as she stepped out of the neighbor’s yard and into the street.
    She squeezed her arms tighter over her throbbing breasts, trying to erase his touch. No use. She still tingled and ached, wanted to take her own hands to herself in a simulation of what he had done to her.
    His Hummer sat unmoving along the curb, but he was nowhere to be seen. She strained her ears, listening for him, but heard nothing. No sound of running feet.
    The night hummed around her, alive. She glanced up at the moon. Almost full. Only a sliver remained. Despite the evening’s heat, she shivered. Bending, she scooped up her gun from the street.
    How could he have just disappeared?
    She eyed a dark line of nearby shrubs for several moments before returning to the house.
    Â 
    He leaned against a tree, chest lifting in ragged breaths that sawed from his lips as he listened to the light footsteps of Kit March as she moved across the street. He dared not look. Not if he wanted to remain where he was. In his mind he could see her. Her tan legs, her sweet ass, round and firm in her boxers. That was temptation enough.
    That’s it. Run. Run fast. Run far.
    He could still smell her. Clean woman. Her mild scented soap. She had showered, but he still detected on her the faint vanilla from earlier in the evening.
    Dragging a hand through his hair, he glanced at the watching moon and cursed. His cock pushed painfully against his jeans, begging for relief. The relief he could have had moments ago. With Kit March.
    She hadn’t wanted him to stop. At least her body hadn’t. He could have persuaded her, could have pushed those boxers down her hips, wrapped her legs around him, and slid inside her heat right there against that tree.
    It would have been good. Great.
    Wrong.
    He heard a door open and shut as she entered her house and he heaved a sigh of relief. Hands clenched at his sides, he beat the back of his head against the tree, punishing himself, feeling more alone than he had ever felt before. Bereft. Even worse than when his mother banished him and his brother to the mountains that summer, isolating them from the world. Freaks to be cut off from mankind.
    The blood