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should a confirmed bachelor fix what isn’t broken? Maybe the guy was right about this one point.
    He was stinking tired of his own company. Meeting Kat last night had been his breaking point. The girl had a quirky sense of humor, was educated, gorgeous, lush, and unless he’d missed his guess . . . willing . She’d all but invited him to take her on an adventure neither of them would forget. Just fantasizing about the various ways he’d deliver caused his shaft to harden and push against the zipper of his jeans. Why fight the attraction?
    Crossing to the counter, he nearly tore the junk drawer off the track by yanking it open to grab the phone book. Quickly, he flipped it open to the M’s. “McKenna-comma-Katherine. There!”
    Punching in the number, he waited, assailed by a sudden case of nerves. He wasn’t used to assuming the role of pursuer. What if he screwed up? What if he’d misread her signals or—
    “Hello?” a soft, groggy voice greeted him.
    Christ, she was still in bed. “Um, Kat?”
    A hesitation. “Yes?”
    “It’s Howard Paxton. From last night.”
    “Oh!” A rustle. “Howard! Hey, what’s up?”
    He closed his eyes, barely stifling a groan. “I was wondering, that is, I thought maybe you’d like to—”
    “Absolutely!”
    His eyes popped open. “Ah . . .”
    “I’m sorry,” she laughed, now sounding merry and fully awake, and not the least bit apologetic. “I suppose I should wait and let you finish. What do you have in mind?”
    Uh, I’d like you to go down on me until I come so hard I shrivel like plastic wrap?
    He cleared his throat. “Well, I thought I could take you over to check on your parents’ house, then maybe we could grab a bite to eat? Casual, nothing fancy.”
    “Sounds great. What time?” The smile in her voice practically lit his kitchen through the phone.
    “I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”
    “I’m still in bed!”
    “No complaints here.” He sighed.
    “What?”
    “Nothing. Half an hour. Jeans and a T-shirt are all you need for what I have in mind. No makeup, either.”
    “Ohh, you’re an evil man, Lieutenant Paxton,” she drawled. “Remember, when the swamp monster answers my door, you asked for it. I guess we’ll find out right off the bat what you’re made of, huh?”
    Her teasing warmed him, inside and out. “Tough stuff, Miss McKenna. Bulletproof.”
    “We’ll see, big guy. Need directions?”
    “Sure.” He fumbled for a sticky note and pen, scribbling the route to her apartment ten minutes away. “Got it.”
    “Thirty minutes, then. Bye, Howard.”
    Hanging up, he replaced the phone in the cradle, let out a whoop and punched his fist in the air. Who cared if he was acting like a lovestruck teenager? Talking to Kat for five minutes had worked a miracle.
    Grinning, he realized he looked forward to spending the afternoon with her more than he ever had with any woman. Down, boy.
    He snatched his denim jacket from the arm of the living room sofa and shrugged it on. On the way through the kitchen, he scooped up his key ring and headed out the door into the attached garage. His mammoth Ford F-250 and stout Harley motorcycle were parked side by side.
    “Oh yeah, babe. Let’s see what you’re made of.”
    He swung onto the Harley and cranked the ignition. The machine roared to life as he hit the garage door opener, then pulled on his helmet. Whoops, the extra helmet.
    Dismounting, he jogged to his workbench, retrieved the one he’d purchased for his last girl-dash-friend and hoped Kat wouldn’t mind too much. How else did a guy happen to have a female-sized helmet lying around?
    He strapped it onto the back, resumed his seat, and drove out of the garage. As he guided the bike carefully down the drive, he happened to glance to the right, toward his front door. A flutter of paper caught his eye and he slowed, raising the sun visor of his helmet.
    A white, letter-sized envelope was stuck between the screen door and frame, about chest