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social worker.”
    â€œYes. They met at the courthouse. She’d been released after an arrest and he was there as a character witness for one of his clients. It was an instant attraction. Mom says her life turned around in the space of five minutes. When she and Dad got together, she realized that, while she cared deeply about the environment, she also wanted love, a personal life, a family. She and my dad have done a great job of balancing things.”
    â€œThat can’t be easy.”
    She shook her head, and settled in to share more family stories.
    Jamal listened attentively and asked questions, like he was genuinely intrigued. Even while she was caught up in storytelling, she was intensely aware of each brush of his foot against hers on the coffee table, each touch of his hand on her arm when he reacted to something she said. Casual contact, but it had her constantly on the edge of arousal.
    Despite that, she tried hard to not give him any misleading signals.
    He didn’t come on to her, and she told herself she was glad.
    â€œEnough of my family,” she said. “How about—”
    â€œCaribou Crossing,” he said.
    Hmm. Did he genuinely want to know, or had he guessed that she was going to ask about his family? The man hadn’t been very forthcoming about his own background. Maybe that was second nature for him, due to his many years of undercover work.
    Still, she felt a little shut out. Oh well, she was a cop and she had ways of making a man talk. Right now, she’d try the chocolate method.
    Rising, she said, “Brooke’s chocolate-mint cake is calling to me. Ready for seconds?”
    He gave her a slow, lazy smile. “An offer I can’t turn down.”
    â€œCoffee? Tea? Milk?”
    The quick glint in his eyes made her realize how close that was to the hokey old “coffee, tea, or me?” line. But all he said was, “Coffee sounds good.”
    She went into the kitchen, relieved to have a few minutes on her own. Jamal was just so much . Not only big and handsome, but he had a quiet, collected intensity. Sexual, definitely, but more than that.
    Automatically, she flicked on the radio as she always did when she was alone in the kitchen. CXNG, the local country and western station, was playing Elvis Presley’s “Suspicious Minds.”
    Humming along, she got the coffeemaker going and then flicked on the outside light to check the backyard. Tennison lay curled up outside the door of the doghouse in her normal summer sleeping spot. Her favorite winter location was the braided rug beside Karen’s bed.
    Karen turned off the outside light and took the container of leftover cake from the fridge. She was about to reach into the cupboard for plates when Jamal came up behind her.
    He planted his hands on the counter on either side of her.
    Her pulse jerked like it had been jump-started. She took quick, shallow breaths, wondering what would happen if she turned around. What if he kissed her? She wanted him to—oh God, she wanted him to—but it was such a bad idea.
    He moved closer and his front touched her back. His heat and potent male sexual vibe pricked every cell of her body to tingling arousal. Bending his head, his voice a low rumble near her ear, he said, “Cake and coffee. Are those my only choices?”
    She gulped, knowing he wasn’t talking about milk or juice. He was saying he wanted her.
    Brain whirling, arousal jolting through her, she tried to remember that she didn’t want to wake up tomorrow feeling cheap. Empty. Lonely. “Yes,” she forced herself to say. “That’s all.”
    Immediately, he stepped back. “Got it.”
    Now she dared to turn and face him, where he stood a few feet away. Body still quivering with pure sexual craving, she said, “It’s not that I don’t want to, Jamal, but we barely know each other.” Jake trusted this man, Brooke liked him, and Karen’s