Before her frozen brain could formulate any adequate response, he was bending and brushing his lips across hers, a soft, light touch that almost wasn’t even there, and sent a rush of longing through her body. She could have sworn her soul sighed-which was such a ridiculous, girly thought that she was momentarily too stunned to kiss him back.

Then he was gone, standing full height, and she recovered herself. But when she reached to return the gesture, maybe expand on it, she couldn’t quite manage more than the bottom of his chin, even on tiptoe.

Gripping his steel biceps, she gave up straining. “Shit, I can’t even reach you. Come here by the side door so I can stand on the step.”

Rushing on her heels, she about broke her ankle, but wasn’t in the mood to care. Stepping onto the stoop that led through the side door of the house and up to the second floor where her apartment was, she turned back to Caleb. It still wasn’t an even match, but he bent his head a little, she reached up, and she was there.

On his mouth, tasting him, dragging her lips across his while her hands clung to his shirt and every part of her exploded in electrifying lust. He groaned, she moaned, and the kiss went deeper, harder, rougher, his hands pressing against her back while she opened up for the thrust of his tongue.

Trish molded against that hard body, wrapped her leg around his, ignored the fact that her dress had bunched up a hell of a lot more than was appropriate for her driveway. Then his tongue touched hers, and she sank into ecstasy for a split second before jerking herself back out.

He tasted like beer.

What the hell was she doing? He was drunk, which generally didn’t make for rational behavior.

Trish fell back against the screen door, scratching her bare shoulder on the metal frame, breathing hard. Caleb was also sporting an incredible erection in his jeans. But that didn’t matter.

She eyed that burgeoning denim and flattened herself further against the door. Okay, it did matter, but it shouldn’t.

What mattered was that she not take advantage of him. The last thing in the world she wanted was to sleep with him, then have him wake up with a throbbing head and regret, mortification, or horror at what he had done.

He was lonely, embarrassed that his ex was marrying an old guy, and Trish could not be selfish about this and give in to the lusty urge to just rip her dress off and hop on him right now.

He reached for her. She turned around, hugging the door, digging in her purse for her key. “Sorry. Sorry, Caleb. God, I didn’t mean for that to happen. Not to worry, though. I won’t lay another finger on you for the rest of the night-you have my word.”

Oh, yippee.Caleb stared at Trish’s cute little backside wiggling as she fiddled around in her purse, and wondered why she was apologizing for kissing him exactly like he’d wanted her to.

And wanted her to again.

He enjoyed her company, liked the way she was so confident and direct, and he was rapidly developing intense interest in her body. She was compact, firm, with a little curve to the hips and a luscious swell of breasts. He was afraid to touch, yet at the same time itched to slide his hands everywhere.

It was the last lingering effects of the alcohol that had emboldened him to rest his hands on her thighs, and when he’d felt that toned and satin-smooth flesh, he had about fallen off his bike. Two years was too damn long to go without touching a woman.

Now as Trish climbed the stairs in front of him, he swallowed hard. “It’s okay, Trish. I enjoyed it.”

She paused, but didn’t turn around. “Caleb. I lost my head for a second there, but let’s be up-front here.”

He followed her into a small living room with hardwood floors and a vibrant red couch. “Up-front about what?”

Trish kicked her shoes off under the coffee table. “Look, I’m not embarrassed to admit that I’m attracted to you. But you’re sleeping on the couch tonight. That’s all there is to it.”

“Okay.” No matter how hard he was, he didn’t want her to have any doubts at all. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to ask her out for tomorrow night. He had every intention of seeing Trish again.

“Okay then. Great.” She put her hands on her hips. “Let me get you a sheet and a pillow. And I can get you something to eat if you’re hungry. Or coffee-do you need coffee?”

“I’m fine.” Caleb sat on the couch and fought a grimace. It was like a pine board. Stiff and smelling chemical, like she’d had it sprayed with stain repellent. It was a look-good-but-shit-for-comfort couch.

He lay down as she came back into the room with a bright red pillow. “You like red, huh?”

It seemed to be jumping at him from every direction, including by his feet. He nearly clipped six red candles on metal sticks on the end table when he lay down. Shifting, he tried to bring his feet back onto the couch. His head, shoulders, and chest shot off the other end and almost collided with a lamp. Red, of course.

“It’s my signature color. I’ve gone with a monochromatic decorating scheme.”

Okay. He took the pillow but there was nowhere to put it since his head was dangling three feet above the couch arm. He tried to adjust his feet so part of his lower half and part of his upper half were both off the couch, and he wound up feeling uncomfortable everywhere, muscles tense and bunched.

Trish laughed. “You look like a foot-long hot dog in a regular-size bun.”

He searched for a compliment in there, but couldn’t find one. “This is a small-ass couch.”

She rested her finger above her lip. “Well, I’m not cruel, so you can sleep in my bed and I’ll sleep out here.”

“You don’t want to sleep on this couch. It’s like laying on a brick.”

“I guess we could share the bed.”

Oh, yeah, baby. She didn’t need to ask him twice. “I guess we could.”

Trish was left with one burning question.

What the hell had she been thinking?

She was lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling, inches from Caleb, and she couldn’t do anything about it.

Damn her parents for teaching her ethics. If she hadn’t felt sorry for him, she would have left him tortured on the too-short couch. Or for that matter, she would just do what she really wanted and have hot and sweaty sex with him. Or if she hadn’t been a total softie, taken in by the big lug’s pathetic solo drinking, she never would have talked to him in the first place.

Being nice and responsible was a bitch.

Because she was wearing shorty pajamas that clung to her body, no bra, within smelling distance from the sweetest, most interesting guy she had met in aboutever, and she was just going to fall asleep.

After having told him that she didn’t mind in the least if he took his T-shirt and jeans off.

It had taken incredible discipline not to look when he’d climbed on the bed with her.

“Trish?” he asked as he turned toward her.

She grabbed the edge of the mattress so she wouldn’t roll toward him. Every time he shifted, the bed sank on his side and she started to skid downhill, right toward him.

“Yes?”

“How long does my adoption last?”

He was using that voice again, the one that had traipsed past her ear while his hands had managed to fall up her skirt.

She clung tighter to the mattress. “Until I’ve decided you’re grown up and don’t need me anymore.”

“That’s nice of you.”

Oh, yeah. She was nice all right.

Nice and horny.

And wide awake. Inches from him.

It all came back to that.

Caleb watched Trish staring at the ceiling, covers up to her chin. He was under those covers with her, in nothing but his underwear. She was wearing tight little black shorts and a clinging red top that had revealed her nipples to him before she’d gotten into bed while he was stripping off his jeans.