Joe was still shaken.

He and Maricci talked about nothing the rest of the way home. Maricci pulled into the parking space next to Joe’s house, then gave him a wry look. “Pollution, ozone and the environmental impact of drilling for oil aside, there are times when a car comes in handy, man.”

“Yeah, but walking the dogs isn’t one of them. Thanks for the ride.” Joe climbed out, then freed the dogs while Liz slid from the backseat. As Maricci backed out, they walked to the sidewalk that connected the three west-side houses. If he hadn’t still been mildly freaked out, he wouldn’t have noticed the movement on Natalia’s porch, but jumpiness made him look sharply in that direction.

In the dim light spilling from the living room window, Natalia was pulling off her shoes. She wore jeans and a dark slicker, the hood still pulled over her head.

His heart rate slowed a few beats. “Hey, Nat. Can you do me a favor?”

She stiffened, then shoved the hood back from her head. “Joe. I didn’t hear…”

That was why he never wore the hood on those things. “Can you take the dogs to my house and start drying them off? Liz fell while we were walking, and I want to get her inside.”

“Sure.” Ignoring her shoes, she came down the steps barefooted, took his keys and the dogs and headed next door.

“I can walk fifty feet by myself,” Liz commented.

“Yeah, and I can dry those mutts off by myself, but I’d rather not.”

In less than a minute, they were standing on her porch, stripping off their slickers, taking off their shoes. Liz pulled her keys from her bag and unlocked the door, and he followed her inside.

Their cottages might be identical in construction and layout, but that was where the similarities ended. His was comfortable-okay, even cozy-while hers was so empty that it echoed. The wicker sofa and matching coffee table were the only things in the living room, and except for a foam cup from SnoCap, the kitchen looked as if it hadn’t been used in decades. No pictures on the walls, no rugs on the floor, not a single personal thing anywhere besides the laptop computer on the table.

She went down the hall to the bathroom, then came back with a couple of towels. “Welcome to my humble home.”

“That’s one way of putting it. Jeez, even rent-by-the-hour motel rooms have more personality than this.”

“And you have a lot of experience with rent-by-the-hour motel rooms?”

He scowled at her. “You don’t even have a television.”

“I don’t watch much TV, and I can catch some of my favorite shows online.”

“No stereo?”

“I listen to music on the computer or my iPod.”

“Books? Newspapers?”

She gestured to the computer.

“Do you at least have a bed?”

She finished drying her feet and legs, then straightened to give him a long, level look. “I do. Want to see it?”

The towel had become unnecessary. The heat rising inside him spread through his veins, warming his skin, turning moisture to steam. He couldn’t hear the sizzle, though, over the roaring in his ears. He didn’t want to see her bed. He wanted to be in it. With her. For a long, long time. The rest of the weekend sounded like a good start.

He looked around for a place to lay the towel, then wrapped it securely around his fists. “No, thanks,” he said, half surprised his voice worked, though it sounded harsh and very much as if he were lying. “But I would like to see where you fell.”

She looked for a moment as if she’d forgotten about it, then gave a lopsided shrug. “It’s okay.”

“Just a look. Turn around.”

The look in her eyes suggested she was debating an argument, then, with a frown, she turned her back to him. Her purse came off first, dangling from her fingers to land with a clunk on the wood floor. Next she grasped the hem of her shirt and slowly peeled it up. Halfway to her shoulders, she stopped and stood motionless.

Just beneath the scrunched fabric was the band of her bra, narrow, lacy, black. Damn. Underneath that was skin, smooth, olive-toned, stretching across bone and muscle, tapering in at her waist, starting to flare again before her shorts blocked the view. Not a lot of skin. Not as much as he regularly saw on joggers and swimmers and girls at the shop. But it was Liz’s skin, and from the moment he’d met her, he’d wanted to see it, touch it, kiss it.

He closed his eyes briefly, took a shallow breath, then dropped the towel and walked to her. There was a mark in the middle of her back above her waist, where the skin dipped slightly over her spine, red and scraped, promising to add more colors to its palette by morning. He touched it gently and she shivered. Not because her skin was warm and his fingers were cold. He knew that instinctively.

“You’ll have a good bruise tomorrow.” His voice was thick, strained.

So was hers. “It won’t be the first. Three brothers, remember?”

He was warm and getting warmer. His fingers were still on her back, tracing lightly, and she wasn’t moving or pushing him away. It would be so easy to put both hands at her waist-like that-then to slide them up her arms-like that-then grasp her shoulders and turn her to face him.

Like that.

There was a smear of dirt on her cheek where she’d fallen, and her curls looked like coiled springs that were about to explode, but she was gorgeous. Her dark gaze locked with his, her eyes hazy with desire and regret, and he figured he looked about the same. He wanted her, damn it, but there were good reasons for both of them to keep their distance, starting with Josh.

Then she sighed softly, and he thought to hell with Josh. All their lives, Joe had been the responsible, reliable, honorable twin, while Josh had done what he wanted, taken what he wanted and run when he wanted. Joe had always thought too much, and Josh hadn’t thought at all.

At this moment, Joe didn’t want to think. He wanted to feel. To do.

Liz’s breathing was shallow, ragged, then he realized that it was his own echoing in his ears. She was hardly breathing at all, waiting, watching him, wanting…

Wanting him for who he was, or because he looked exactly like his brother?

Later, that would matter. All the reasons this was a bad idea would matter. But not right now.

He raised both hands to her face, cupping his palms to her cheeks, lowering his head until his mouth brushed hers. She responded with a breath, another soft sigh, and knotted her fingers in the waistband of his jeans. She was so slender, so delicate, and yet she’d probably saved his life tonight by yanking him through the River’s Edge gate.

He brushed her mouth again, rewarded with another whisper of sound from her, then drew back to stare at her. “It’ll take more than a mention of Josh to stop me this time.”

She stared back as she moved closer, taking the two steps needed to bring their bodies together. His hands moved of their own accord, sliding around to her back, holding her exactly where he wanted her to be.

Rising onto her toes, she murmured into his ear, “That mention of Josh wasn’t to stop you. It was to stop me.”

Remember Josh, she’d said in a panic-tinged whisper. He liked thinking he could have made her forget.

He didn’t tease her, play or rush. He just kissed her, all mouths and tongues and tastes and heat and need and hunger and two years’ worth of wanting. His heart was pounding, his lungs burning, and all he could think was she was worth the wait.

She was clinging to him when he stopped, or maybe he was clinging to her. He didn’t want to let go, didn’t want to step back and start thinking. He just wanted to kiss her again and see where it would lead. To bed, for sure. To trouble, absolutely. To disaster-long-time unhappy, hurts to be with her or without her-pretty damn likely.

He touched her hair, stretching out one thick curl, soft and shiny as it reshaped around his fingers. He toyed with it a moment, sighed heavily and rested his forehead against hers. “I’d better go.”