Lover Beware

one side, unlocked the door, and flicked on the hall and porch lights.
    The note was brief and to the point.
    “Call me, Michael.”
    Raw heat flashed through her, making her belly clench and her knees turn to jelly. The moment Michael’s gaze had locked on hers outside the police station replayed itself in her mind, and abruptly she was spun back almost seven years when she’d opened the door, and found him on her doorstep dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his hair damp as if he’d not long stepped from the shower. His wife had left just days before, and she had also been on her own because Patrick had been in hospital for an operation.
    He hadn’t asked to come in, and she hadn’t offered any hospitality. The lack of manners on her part had been unspeakably rude for a small country community, but erecting some kind of barrier had been necessary, because the moment she looked into his dark gaze the reason he affected her so badly was suddenly clear, and the revelation shook her to the core.
    His dark gaze pinned her. “The reason Clare left is that she knows I’m in love with you.”
    The words dropped into a pool of silence and for a moment she wondered if she’d misheard, or even worse, if her guilty mind had somehow supplied the words she wanted to hear.
    She’d felt dazed, at once present and peculiarly removed from the scene taking place, as if there were two Janes—one who dealt in the solid currency of reality, and one who floated in a fantasy world.
    He was in love with her .
    Her heart slammed in her chest, and not for the first time, she wondered what it would be like to stretch out in bed with him, to have that sensual male mouth on hers: to have him naked on top of her.
    It should have shocked her that she was even considering what it might be like to make love with her next-door neighbour, but instead, all she could think of was that on top of everything else that was going wrong in her life, she shouldn’t have to want Rider.
    Rider must have read something in her expression, because instead of backing off, he stepped into her, his hands curved around her waist—the contact electrifying. “Damn,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to upset you, and I wasn’t going to do this.”
    His head dipped and his mouth captured hers. Jane’s heart slammed in her chest and for a moment she was frozen, then, somewhere in the murky depths of her mind, sharp need welled out of the confusion that always gripped her whenever she thought about Michael Rider and the hazy notion of pushing free dissolved. If the kiss had been practiced or slick, maybe she could have resisted, but it was so hungry it made her toes curl.
    His tongue stroked along hers and a low moan welled up from deep in her belly, and she closed off the guilt, wound her arms around his neck, and kissed him back.
    His hands closed on her bottom and she found herself lifted, until the hard ridge of his sex settled against the sensitive flesh between her legs. He pressed more firmly against her, and the tension coiled almost unbearably tight.
    She broke the kiss. “If you keep doing that—”
    “You’ll come.” His gaze locked with hers, dark and fierce. “God, don’t say it—”
    One hand closed on her hair, pulling her head back, the movement fierce as his mouth sank on hers. His tongue was hot and wet and salty in her mouth, and her whole being tensed as he walked her back a half step until she was pinned against the doorjamb, his muscled body tight against hers. Her breasts felt swollen and constricted, her skin so sensitive that every touch made her shiver and jerk, the hot ache between her legs so acute it bordered on pain.
    She felt the hard, male shape of him straining for entrance despite the constricted layers of clothing, felt the shudder that swept him as he moved against her, and the gloomy afternoon dissolved in a raw flash of heat.
    The buzz of the phone, the click of her answering machine engaging, registered, and abruptly, she recoiled.
    Patrick . She’d forgotten about Patrick.
    She’d forgotten she was married.
    All Rider had had to do was kiss her and she’d practically forgotten her own name.
    She shook her head, her throat tight. She still felt drawn, magnetized. She wanted to bury her face against the warm skin of his throat, breathe in his scent, open her mouth against his skin and taste him, and for a moment she teetered on the brink, shoved off balance by needs that were so alien and powerful she could