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force.
    Pain. He was in pain.
    “Noah?” The word was out before she could sink hooks into it to haul it back. He turned to look at her, shoulders framed by the entryway leading back to the bare-walled living space. His stare was so flat and closed off that for a second, Violet wondered if she’d conjured the emotion behind them, but then his stomach let out a toothy rumble, shoving her instincts into gear.
    “I know granola bars might fall into your ‘weird’ category, but they’re better than going hungry, especially if you need to take a painkiller. You should eat.” She dipped a hand into the grocery bag in front of her, coming up with a bright green box boasting nine-grain goodness.
    “I’m fine,” he said, and God, he was just as hard-headed and gruff as she remembered. She was only trying to help.     
                  “You’re hurting and you’re hungry,” Violet popped back, unable to bite down on the words to keep them in. “And the last thing I want to do is tell my brother you passed out on my watch because you were too much of a hero to take care of yourself and eat.”
    Well that got his attention. Noah fixed her with a hard look she’d bet he gave up often, retracing his steps back into the kitchen to pluck the box of granola bars from her outstretched hand.
    “I get that you’re here as a favor to your brother, but let’s get something straight, Morgan. I might need to eat, but all the food in the world isn’t going to take care of me. The only way I’m going to get right again is to go back to work where I belong.”
    And with that, he walked out of the kitchen.
    #
    Three days later, Violet had a system worked out with Noah whereby she’d knock on his door at four o’clock every afternoon, he’d grunt and let her in, and she’d cook while he sat on the couch watching a selection from what looked to be the world’s largest collection of Kung Fu movies. The silence between them was thick enough to spread on toast, but Violet had no reason to break the business-only rhythm they’d established.
    Except that it was driving her one hundred and fifty percent bat-shit crazy.
    Okay, yes, she wanted to keep things as cursory as possible, and more yes, Noah seemed to be just fine with doing the bare minimum of interacting to get by. But still, she couldn’t get past the urgency in the tight gravel of his voice as he’d realized she’d been in his hospital room, or the stab of pain he’d tried to hide at something as simple as a shrug.
    Noah had sworn that food wouldn’t take care of him, and damn it, despite the fact that she knew caring for a cop was a dangerous idea, Violet wanted nothing more than to cook for him until she proved him dead wrong.
    Which was ludicrous, really, since she didn’t even like the guy. But something about the entire exchange left her feeling restless and challenged and more torn than ever about taking the personal aspect out of preparing his meals. And that was dangerous too, because if Violet skirted the business-only boundary they’d established this week, she might be tempted to remember how unbelievably hot Noah’s mouth felt on hers when he parted her lips in one swift stroke that New Year’s Eve. And she’d definitely be tempted to remember how, instead of pushing him away like she should’ve, she’d been so turned on, she’d thrown her arms around him and feasted on him like he was a four-course meal, and she’d been inches away from starving.
    Since Violet was the only one of the two of them who seemed to remember that little event, it was probably best to bend her cardinal rule, cook for the guy, and get the hell out of Dodge. Noah had been drunk, and she’d been stupid. End of story.
    Never mind that it had been the hottest kiss anyone had ever laid on her in her entire twenty-nine years.
    The chain on Noah’s front door rattled against its metal housing, knocking her squarely back down to the thinly-carpeted hallway in