Blue Smoke

tell you about it sometime. I talked with Mandy today.”
    And with that, he assumed, the talk of relationships past was closed. “Yeah?”
    “She called to apologize—again—and I asked if she’d meet me. Every now and again I pull Josh’s file out of the closet. I wanted to talk to her about it. Nothing new, of course. But meeting her here struck me as one of those cosmic signs, so I wanted to follow through. In any case, I liked her. Buckets of energy, which may come from the fact that she drank a gallon of coffee in a twenty-minute period.”
    “Lives on it,” Bo agreed. “She’s never understood how I live without it.”
    “You don’t drink coffee?”
    “Never got the taste for it.”
    “Me, either. Strange.”
    “Just another check on the you’re-meant-for-me balance sheet. Want more chicken?”
    “No, but thanks. Bowen?”
    “Catarina.”
    She laughed a little, took another sip of wine. “Did you sleep with Mandy when she was married?”
    “No.”
    “Okay. That’s just one of my lines. I don’t have many, but that’s one of them. I’ll do the dishes,” she said as she rose.
    “We’ll just pile them up for later,” he began, then, catching her expression, sighed. “You’re one of those. Okay, we’ll do the dishes. Want dessert first?”

    “I haven’t decided if I’m sleeping with you yet.”
    “Ha ha. There goes my heart. I meant the sort you put on a plate and eat. We’ve got pie.”
    She set her plate on the counter, turned. “What kind?”
    He opened the refrigerator, took out the dish.
    “That’s lemon meringue.” She stepped closer, gave him a serious look. “That’s not from the bakery either.”
    “Nope.”
    “You baked a pie?”
    He tried an innocent, slightly insulted look. “Why is that so surprising?”
    She leaned back on the counter, studied him. “If you can name five ingredients in that dish—other than lemon—I’ll sleep with you right now.”
    “Flour, sugar . . . oh hell. Busted. Client baked it.”
    “She pays you in pie?”
    “It’s my bonus. I also have a bag of chocolate chip cookies, but I’m not sharing them unless you sleep with me. We can have them for breakfast.”
    “You can do time for attempting to bribe a police officer.”
    “What, you’re wired?”
    She laughed. And she thought, The hell with the dishes. She leaned her elbows back on the counter, tipped up her chin. “Why don’t you put that pie down, Goodnight, and come over here and find out.”

18
    He moved, his eyes on hers. There was a challenge in hers and a sparkle of sexy amusement. He was already hard when he fit his body to hers. What man wouldn’t be?
    She kept her arms stretched out, her hands on the counter even as he took her mouth, even as he took in her quick gasp.
    “You carrying your gun?” he asked with his mouth on hers.
    She stiffened just a little. “In my purse. Why?”
    “Because if somebody comes to the door this time, we’re going to use it.”
    She had an instant to relax again, an instant to laugh, then he swept her into his arms. “And we’re doing the dishes later.”
    “Ummm. Forceful.”
    “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” But his knees went weak when she clamped her teeth on his neck. Focus, he ordered himself as he carried her out of the room. Don’t blow it. “And we’re not doing this on the kitchen floor. Not that I’m opposed to it.” He turned his head so he could see her face again. “Just not this time.”
    She touched his hair, and her smile went soft. “Not this time. You planning on carrying me all the way upstairs?”
    “Tonight, Scarlett, you won’t think of Ashley.”
    As he climbed, she wrapped her arms around his neck and covered his face with kisses.

    He’d forgotten to leave a light on—so much for preplanning—but he knew the way. And there was just enough twilight left to guide him.
    Her arms stayed around his neck as he lowered her to the bed, bringing him with her, keeping their mouths fused. And the thump of his heart was a jungle drum in his ear.
    “Wait. It’s too dark.” Still he tasted her throat, the tender spot under her jaw. His hands burned to cover flesh. “I want to see you. Need to see you.”
    He peeled away, fumbled in the nightstand drawer for a book of matches to light the candle he’d bought with her in mind.
    When he turned back, she was braced on her elbows, her hair a wild halo of melted amber. “You’re a romantic.”
    “With you.”
    The halo shimmered as she