But Riley grabbed a handful of her hair at the back of her head and calmly planted his lips right over hers, putting an end to whatever it was that she'd wanted to say. Which she couldn't remember now. Because he kissed her like he was entitled to her mouth. He held her in place by her hair like he had every right to do it. With his lips and tongue and teeth he put his brand on her, and through the fog of lust, all Kat could think of was the lyrics to one of those songs she heard at least ten times a week on the Oldies station in the back room radio at the flower shop: If loving you is wrong, I don't want to be right.

Riley removed his lips and smiled down at her.

Kat was dizzy. But not too dizzy to do the right thing, because unlike Riley, she had a conscience. She fumbled for the door handle once more and pulled it open. Good-bye, Riley. Have a happy life.

His smile didn't budge. I'm not engaged. There is no fiancйe.

Kat suddenly felt unsteady on her feet, like she needed to lie down. On her bed. With him. No fiancйe? she whispered.

There was oneCarrie Mathislast year, right before I found out about you and Aidan. He began to brush his fingertips along the side of her face.

She became a little unbalanced when I canceled the wedding and broke up with her. I think she used Madeline to mess with you in a very big way.

Kat felt the hope begin to swell inside her. She could barely speak. Is that the truth?

The blunt truth, Scout. And I'm thinking we're free to bust our lives wide open right about now, if you get my drift.

The bedroom is down the hall to your right, she said.

Carrie didn't think he'd mind. After all, according to Madeline, Virgil Cavanaugh hadn't left his house since his wife died, except for his recent visit to the cardiac unit at Davis Memorial, so it wasn't like Carrie would be interrupting his busy schedule or anything.

She pulled her Volvo into the driveway and took a quick glance around.

The place looked untidy. Obviously, hiring a neighborhood kid to rake up the leaves was not a priority for Mr. Cavanaugh. Then again, the way Madeline described him, maybe he couldn't pay a kid enough to do his yard work. She said the only person who could stand to be in the same room with him was his sister, who'd been doing his shopping and laundry since Mrs. Cavanaugh died.

Carrie smiled to herself as she climbed the front steps, thinking that she could handle one little old nasty hermit. She rang the doorbell.

Nothing.

She rang it again. No sound of movement inside.

Carrie dug her finger into the doorbell and didn't let up. The hospital records indicated he'd been released five days earlier, but maybe he'd infarcted on his kitchen floor. She had just about decided to call 911 when she heard a faint rustling.

Mr. Cavanaugh? Carrie spoke in a voice loud enough to penetrate the door. May I talk with you for just a moment? I'm Dr. Caroline Mathis, a colleague of Dr. Bohland's.

I don't do house calls, said a scraggly voice from inside.

That made her laugh. This is more of a social call, Mr. Cavanaugh.

Please open up.

I don't do those, either.

Carrie sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. This old geezer was a character. Unfortunately, he was beginning to irritate her.

I'd just like a few minutes of your time.

The dead bolt turned. The wooden door of the tacky rancher opened, and from behind the ragged screen she saw an equally ragged face.

Make it snappy, he said.

Good evening, Mr. Cavanaugh. It's an honor to meet you.

The old man let out a wheeze of a laugh. Charmed, I'm sure. Now what the hell do you want?

Carrie blinked in surprise. No wonder Virgil Cavanaugh didn't have any friends. May I come in?

You may not. Just state your business and then you can leave.

Well… Carrie looked around the unkempt front yard. It's a rather delicate subject. Are you sure you want me to be standing out here in public?

Mr. Cavanaugh craned his neck to look over her shoulder. What public?

What the hell are you talking about?

It has to do with your daughter, Mr. Cavanaugh. I need just a few minutes of your time.

Carrie observed, fascinated, as the old man's demeanor changed. His back straightened and his eyes cleared, like a heat inside him had just burned through the dullness of age, coronary artery disease, and what smelled like a fifth of Stolichnaya. She watched his cheek spasm.

Go around to the back of the house. He slammed the door in her face.

Can I just say how much I appreciate you not wearing a bra? Riley yanked off Kat's T-shirt and buried his face in the heavenly succulence of her breasts.

I'm happy that you're happy. While he kicked aside his shoes and socks, she pulled his pants off, then ripped off his shirt.

Do you always go braless at home? Riley inhaled the sugary aroma of her girl flesh.

Kat giggled, raking her fingertips through Riley's hair and pulling him tighter to her body. I think I'm about to ruin some sort of man fantasy by telling you this, but no. I almost always wear a bra. I was just too depressed to put one on today.

Ah. More blunt truth.

Absolutely. That's all you'll get from me from here on out.

Riley groaned, enjoying how the tingles from his scalp were now shooting all the way through his limbs. He buried his nose deeper, inhaled some more, rubbed into her, then dragged his lips down from her cleavage to her tummy, where he grabbed the waistband of her pants and underwear, and yanked those off, too. He stepped back to stare at the vision in front of himKat Cavanaugh, naked. All pink softness. Real. A real Kat Cavanaugh all pink and naked and sitting on the edge of her bed looking happy to see him.

Riley fell to his knees in front of her. Mind if I worship you?

Kat laughed.

I'm dead serious.

Her laugh died down. She played with his hair as a small smile crept over her face. I wouldn't know what that feels like.

Her response shocked him. He and Kat hadn't talked much that night at Cherry Hill, but from what Aidan said, Riley figured that Kat had had a healthy love life over the years.

How can that be? Riley asked.

She shrugged. Just never found the right man for the job, I guess. She ran a fingertip down the bridge of Riley's nose. And you? How come no woman snapped you up in those moments you happened not to be engaged?

Riley gently pushed her thighs apart. Not wide, but enough that he could see the tight red curls that guarded the entrance to a pussy that was already swelling and wet for him. He looked up at her and was greeted by eyes as warm as honey but shadowed by doubt. It broke his heart.

He wished he could say something profound, something that would satisfy that doubt once and for all. He wanted to wrap up all the pain and loneliness and mistakes and longing of the last twenty years and put all of it behind them. He wanted to wash them both clean, give them both permission to risk everything for another shot at happiness.

But since he didn't have a clue how to do that with words, he decided to rely on touch.

Riley leaned down and kissed the instep of her left foot, then her right. He slowly dragged his tongue along the inside of one of her ankles, then lifted her leg up and out so that he could nibble on the tender skin behind the knee. While he did this, Kat leaned back on her palms and let her head loll, moaning softly.

Riley noticed how she had instinctively begun to spread her thighs farther as his mouth worked its way toward the juncture of her legs. He could smell herthe same damp and rich abundance he'd nearly drowned in at Cherry Hill. Riley started to nip at her labia, press his nose into her clitoris.

Seriously, didn't you date anyone after Carrie? Kat asked.

Mmmmm… I don't remember any dates with anyone, he said, dragging his tongue around his target, teasing, testing, then suddenly licking up and down through the wet seam of her sex. But I can't remember much of anything right now, he mumbled.