Rough? she'd asked herself. That was rough? And so began thirteen years of comparing her husband to the mystery man who'd made her lose her freaking mind in a firestorm of lust and forceful language, the man now sitting across from her on her back patio, gently stroking her knee, and staring at her like she was some odd creature on display at a petting zoo.

"Charlotte?"

Then she thought of the evening she found her husband dead. He didn't answer when she told him dinner was ready, so she walked toward die family room, repeating his name while she wiped her hands on the green-checked kitchen towel. Her brain had started to buzz with alarm before she reached him. Something about the way he lay on the couch didn't look right. He appeared too loose. His chest wasn't rising and falling. The instant her warm fingers made contact with the cold skin of his cheek, she screamed.

It wasn't until hours later that she remembered her hideous secret wish. That Kurt would just disappear, so she could take a lover.

"Charlotte? Are you all right?"

She took a deep breath and straightened in the chair. She tried to smile at Joe. "Do you have any idea how strange it feels to be sitting here with you? You're not supposed to be real. You're my fantasy."

He laughed a little. "I think I know exactly how strange it feels."

"Do you have any idea how weird it was to have you here today for the barbecue?"

"Yes, I do."

"Do you know how often I thought of you over the years?"

"How often, Charlotte?"

"Every single day."

"I can beat that," he said, his white smile flashing in the night. He tapped his front tooth with his index finger. "At least twice a day for me."

She laughed, stopping his hand from continuing the warm circular movement around her knee. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Never-especially if it makes you feel so outrageously ashamed that you decide you need to make it up tome."

Charlotte shook her head and smiled. "I already feel guilty enough."

"Maybe it's time you stopped feeling guilty at all."

His hand was back, but this time it was higher, and his palm was stretched hot over the surface of her thigh, where it kneaded gently.

"Joe-"

"I'll go crazy if I don't touch you, Charlotte. I've been looking at you all day, thinking about touching you, wondering when it would be safe to touch you again, knowing exactly how you feel in my hands."

She couldn't do this with a tent full of kids not twenty yards away. She knew how it was with Joe-five minutes and she'd be on him like white on refined rice. Charlotte decided it would be best to end the evening with a warm "thank you" for all his help and a kiss on the cheek. No lip-to-lip contact. She tried to rise from the chair, but Joe caught her hands and pulled her back down.

"What I've always remembered, so clearly, is how dainty you were. How big my hands felt on your hips and waist, how feminine and soft and sweet you were."

"Oh, please." She tried to get up again, but his strong hands held her in place.

"You had this tiny waist and trim little knees and the sweetest round breasts with the perkiest little pink cherry nipples-"

"Stop right there-"

Joe bent close to her, his face not an inch from hers, her hands still gripped tight in his own.

"And this beautiful small perfect peach between your legs, Charlotte. A ladylike little split fruit covered in peach fuzz-so juicy and hot that I've never been able to forget it."

Charlotte felt numb. No one had ever spoken to her like this before-well, just once, thirteen years ago-and she couldn't help but notice that Joe's words sounded like something right out of one of her poems. She wondered if his voice had been the poetry inside her soul all the while.

The thought startled her.

"Sorry, but I'm not so dainty anymore."

Joe pulled back a bit and smiled.

Charlotte hoped her voice didn't sound shrill. She hoped she didn't sound as hysterical as she felt She wanted to come across as practical, because someone needed to be practical here and it didn't appear as if it was going to be Joe. "Like I said-"

"You're not that girl anymore."

She huffed. "That's right, Joe. I'm not that girl from the side of the road. What I am is a thirty-five-year-old widow with a mortgage aad a job, a woman who's carried two babies inside her, squeezed them out, nursed them with those little cherry nipples you seem to have liked so much, and frankly, all my dainty parts have been put to hard use."

He continued to grin and said nothing. It was definitely time to say good night.

"You are beautiful to me, Charlotte." Joe's words came out in a rough whisper. "From what I can tell, you're still dainty and feminine, and I'll be damned, but you smell exactly the same as you did back then. You feel the same in my arms. Your kiss still tastes the same. And I swear, Charlotte, if I don't get another one of those kisses right this second-"

He raised his hands to cup the sides of her face, then slowly so slowly, brought his lips down onto hers. Charlotte felt as though all the blood in her body rushed to her mouth, as if not a single red blood cell wanted to miss out on the sensory block party now taking place on her lips and tongue.

He pressed on, pushed open her lips to receive him, and kissed her senseless. He kissed her until she couldn't breathe and couldn't remember her name. He kissed the living hell out of her.

Just the way she liked.

"I've been thinking about it and I believe you have to sleep with more than two men in your life before you can be considered a slut, Charlotte."

Joe watched her nod seriously, and he couldn't resist the urge to trace the outline of her jaw. Her chin ended in such a soft little rounded point. He marveled at how smooth her skin was. How pale she seemed beneath his darker hand.

She was kicking him to the curb tonight, but she was doing it sweetly, like she did most everything. There was no doubt about how much she wanted him-he felt it in her kiss, the way her hands gapped him, the feverish look in her eye-but she was right It wasn't the time or place.

Joe glanced over Charlotte's shoulder toward the tent. Most of the dueling flashlight beams were now off, and only an occasional flicker of light appeared, followed by a brief exchange of whispers. The campers were finally falling asleep.

"You going to be okay with the boys?" He rubbed her upper arms as she stood in front of him in the driveway.

She smiled. "Of course. I'll sleep on the family room couch in case they need anything."

"Want me to stay?"

He saw a flicker of interest in her eyes, followed by a polite shake of her head. "No, thanks. I can handle it."

"Obviously."

He pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her small frame. He sighed in contentment when she returned the hug-a surprisingly tight grip coming from such a small woman.

"You've handled a lot, Charlotte. You are a very strong person."

Her entire body sagged against him. She weighed next to nothing. He wanted to pick her up, cradle her in his arms, kiss her face, and carry her right into his house and up the stairs and to his bed.

In his dreams.

He'd already thought this through. Now that he was staying, it would be too risky to let Charlotte or the kids wander around inside his house. The pool area would probably be okay, but he didn't want anyone getting anywhere near his office. It's not like he had his DEA shield mounted on the wall or his reports to the U.S. attorney scattered all over the floor, but it made him uncomfortable to think of anyone seeing anything that would put them at risk.

"I don't feel very strong sometimes, you know?" Charlotte's voice was muffled by the front of his shirt. He felt her snuggle close, and he pulled her even tighter.