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been on her shoulder slid down her arm, turned her hand over and pressed warm, soft lips to her palm. He gazed up at her with those half-closed hazel eyes, then stood. Without warning he cupped her face in his big hands and kissed her, gently but with barely restrained hunger.
    He pulled back for a second, whispered, “More,” and took her lips again, easing them open to make way for a thick, hot tongue she immediately imagined in other, more intimate places. She groaned deep in her throat, and he pressed her back into the tile wall, his body hard against hers. His hands found hers and raised them above her head, fingers intertwined, pinning her. Taking control of her.
    He slanted his mouth over hers and deepened the kiss, tongues tangling and straining. They were fast approaching the point of no return, she knew. Her breasts felt heavy, aching with the need to be held in his hands. And once that happened…
    With a supreme effort, she pulled her mouth away and breathed, “John…no more.”
    They were both panting, and his body was still pressed against hers. He rubbed his face through her hair, nuzzled her neck, whispered in a low, urgent voice, “Let me stay, Hannah. I want you so bad.”
    That almost did her in. But in some dim corner of her brain, she understood that if she slept with him now she’d regret it in the morning. So she brought their joined hands down and gently eased his big body off her, then slid sideways until their bodies weren’t touching anymore. John ran both hands through his hair, the muscles in his arms and chest tight. Good Lord, the man was beautiful. And able to turn her on with a touch. She shivered.
    He gave her a wry smile. “Don’t tell me you’re cold after that.”
    “It’s the contrast,” she said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.
    They gazed at each other for a few moments, and then John grabbed his shirt and sweater off the counter and pulled them over his head. “I guess I didn’t keep my promise not to come on to you. I really thought I could do it, but I should have known better.”
    “You always come on to women who stab you?”
    He grinned. “Only if it’s an accident. The ones who do it deliberately I try to avoid.”
    She couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll bet there’s been more than one woman who’s fantasized about sticking a knife in you, John Emerson.”
     
     
    Edna Krantz sat straight up in her bed and held a hand to her chest. Good Lord, what had woken her? Rain tapped lightly against the windows, and she didn’t remember hearing thunder. She climbed out from under the covers, shivering, and walked through the darkened house to the kitchen. The linoleum floor was wet and covered with leaves, telling her exactly what had woken her.
    “No good rotten boy,” she muttered. She wadded up paper towels and got down on her knees. “Knew it right from the start. How I ever gave birth to such a pathetic creature I will never know.” She braced herself on one arm and wiped the floor in wide arcs. “All he’s ever brought is heartache. Heartache. Never shoulda been born.”
    When she’d finished mopping up, she tossed the paper towel in the trash bin under the sink, took a deep breath and opened the back door. She shook her head.
    “Shoulda killed him in his sleep,” she said.

Chapter Four
    “Hannah said I could come,” Ty Bradshaw said from the doorway. “I got thrown out of class for sleeping and she’s too busy to deal with me so I asked her if I could talk to you instead and she said, ‘Why not?’”
    In the week or so John had been on campus he’d gotten friendly with some of the kids, including Ty. He joined their Frisbee games and let them climb all over his bike. He was a novelty—an adult who talked easily with them but had no control over their lives. In other words, he was safe.
    John leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. How well he remembered being sent to the office at school for one thing or