I woke during the night, cold and disoriented. The cold wasn’t surprising, because Wyatt had the window air conditioner in the bedroom turned on the “Frost” setting. I must have been dreaming, because a loud noise like a gunshot startled me awake, and for a moment I didn’t know where I was.

Maybe I made a sound, or jerked the way you do when you’re startled. Wyatt said, “Are you all right?” in an instantly alert voice as he sat up in bed, and the question jerked me out of the weird moment. I stared at him in the darkness, able to make out only the outline of his body framed against the slightly lighter background of the window. I reached out and touched him, my hand finding the warmth of his bare stomach just above the sheet pooled around his hips. Touching him was automatic, an instinctive need for contact.

“I’m cold,” I muttered, and he lay back down, pulling me against him and tucking the covers up around my shoulders. I cradled my head on his shoulder and put my hand on his chest, comforted by the warmth and hardness of his body, the substantial presence of him beside me. I hadn’t wanted to sleep with him-I mean in the literal sense, because I was still desperately trying to preserve my boundaries-but I’d fallen asleep in the middle of the argument and he’d obviously taken advantage of my unconscious state. I suspected it was a deliberate tactic: exhaust me with sex, so I couldn’t stay awake. But now I was glad he was here beside me in the night, snuggling me close and keeping the chill away. This was exactly what I had wanted from him before, this intimacy, the companionship, the link. The depth of my contentment now, in his arms, was frightening.

“What were you dreaming?” he asked, rubbing my back with a slow, soothing stroke. His deep voice was roughened by sleep, and the sweetness of lying there like that with him wrapped itself around me like a quilt.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember anything. I woke up, and it was one of those creepy times when I didn’t know where I was, plus I was cold. Did I say something?”

“No, you just made a funny sound, like you were scared.”

“I think I heard a loud noise, but it may have been in my dream. If I was dreaming.”

“I didn’t hear anything. What kind of loud noise?”

“Like a gunshot.”

“No, there definitely wasn’t anything like that.” He sounded absolutely certain. I supposed, since he was a cop, he was attuned to things like that.

“Then I must have been dreaming about the murder. I don’t remember.” I yawned and cuddled closer, and as I did a wisp of memory floated back. I hadn’t been dreaming about Nicole’s murder, but about mine, because before the cops found Nicole’s body, I’d thought the shot had been aimed at me. For about ten minutes, until the cops arrived, I’d been terrified.

“Wait, I do remember a little. I dreamed I was being shot at, which at first I thought was what had happened. I guess my subconscious is working that out.”

His arms tightened around me. “What did you do? That night.”

“Stayed down, duck-walked back to the door and got inside the building, then locked the door and called nine-one-one.”

“Good girl. That was exactly the right thing to do.”

“I left out the panicking part. I was scared to death.”

“Which proves you aren’t an idiot.”

“And it also proved I didn’t shoot Nicole myself, because I didn’t go out into the rain to check things out. I was completely dry. I asked them to do a gunpowder residue test, though, because I was tired and didn’t want to be taken in for questioning, which as it turned out was a wasted effort because you dragged me in anyway.” That was still a sore point with me.

“Yeah, I heard about the ‘thingie’ test.” His tone was dry. Evidently he thought I’d played like a dumb blond to allay the detectives’ suspicions. I can’t imagine where he got an idea like that.

“I couldn’t think of the name right then,” I said innocently. “I was rattled.” Half of that was the truth.

“Uh-huh.”

I think he didn’t believe me. Moving right along, I said, “I don’t know why I’d dream about being shot now. Why not the first night? That was when I was so shaken up.”

“You were exhausted. You probably did dream, but you didn’t wake up enough to remember them.”

“Then what about last night? I didn’t dream then, either.”

“Same theory. You’d had a long drive on not much sleep. You were tired.”

I snorted. “Hah! You think I wasn’t tired tonight?”

“Different kind of tired.” He sounded amused now. “The other was stress. Tonight was pleasure.”

That was for certain. Even fighting with him was pleasure on some level, because I got so much enjoyment out of it. I was alarmed because he seemed to be winning all the battles, but I was still exhilarated by the fight. I imagine moths are happy while they’re flying right into the fire, too. If Wyatt burned me again, I didn’t know what I’d do. He’d already gotten to me way more than he had before, witness the fact that I was in bed with him.

I pinched him. Just because.

He jumped. “Ow! What was that for?”

“For not even courting me before you got me into bed,” I said indignantly. “You make me feel as if I’m easy.”

“Honey, nothing about you is easy. Trust me.” His tone was wry.

“I must be.” I managed to put some tears into my voice. Hey, if I can’t win the battles, at least I can mess with him, right?

“Are you crying?” He definitely sounded suspicious.

“No.” That was the truth. Can I help it if the word quivered a little?

His big hand touched my face. “You are not.”

“I said I wasn’t.” Damn, did he accept nothing on face value? We definitely had an issue with trust here. How was I supposed to get away with anything?

“Yeah, but you were doing that little guilt-trip act. You know damn good and well that all you had to say at any time was ‘no’ if you really didn’t want it.”

“You sabotaged me with the neck thing. That has to stop.”

“What are you going to do, get rid of your neck?”

“Does that mean you won’t promise to leave my neck alone?”

“Are you kidding? Have I ever struck you as the type to cut my own throat?” He sounded lazily amused.

“I’m serious about not having sex. I think it’s the wrong thing to do this soon. We should have waited to see if a relationship gets going between us.”

“ ‘Gets going’?” he echoed. “Seems to me we’re halfway around the track already.”

“Not really. We haven’t left the starting line yet. We haven’t even been out on a date. This time, I mean. Two years ago doesn’t count.”

“We had dinner tonight.”

“That doesn’t count, either. You used your physical strength against me, then coerced me with threats.”

He snorted. “Like that would have stopped you from screaming your head off if you hadn’t decided you were hungry and I might as well pay for it.”

There was that, of course. Plus I was never in the least worried that he might actually hurt me. I felt remarkably safe and secure when I was with him-from everything except him, of course.

“So here’s the deal. I go out with you the way I would if we were starting all over again. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Another chance? That means no sex, because sex clouds the issue.”

“The hell it does.”

“Okay, it clouds my issues. Maybe when I get to know you better, and you get to know me, we’ll decide we don’t like each other that much, after all. Or maybe you decide you don’t like me nearly as much as I like you, because like I said, sex clouds the issue for me. Maybe men aren’t that influenced by having sex with someone, but women are. You’ll be saving me a lot of possible heartbreak if we back off and take our time with this.”

“You’re asking me to close the barn door after the horse is already out.”