"I checked with the owner here tonight-half of these pups aren't local-they're flown in from Texas and Louisiana." Thomas dipped a claw into the drawn butter and popped it in his mouth, scraping it clean. "Did you know the price is up to sixty-five dollars a dozen for good-sized hard-shells these days? I remember my granddad used to get half that much for an entire bushel."

Emma's breath caught-he was spending close to one hundred and fifty dollars on crabs tonight?

Thomas noticed her worry and waved it away as he threw another carcass on the pile. "It's worth it to me. This is a special occasion. I can afford it."

"The state police must pay better than I realized."

He hummed thoughtfully as he chewed. "I make enough to get by, but I also got extra help along the way. My dad was a big-shot corporate attorney and he left me and Pam a nice chunk of change when he passed away. Money's not a problem for me."

Emma looked up in surprise, then smiled wistfully. "Now that's something I look forward to hearing myself say someday."

Thomas remained quiet for a few moments, letting the guilt wash over him-again. He should have told her that he paid her consulting fee. But she wouldn't have wanted that, right? She wouldn't have agreed to work with him, right? She wouldn't have had any reason to spend time with him.

He couldn't keep putting this off. He had to come clean-about everything.

"Emma, I-"

"Thanks again for snagging the contract for me, Thomas. I'm sure it wasn't easy and you probably got a lot of ribbing about it. I wish… " Emma stopped and stared down at the dinner roll in her fingers. "I really needed the money-my practice needed it."

Thomas shook his head and began to say something but Emma jumped in again. "Aaron wasn't the most responsible person in the world. Money was a constant struggle with us and he had some personal problems that got us into trouble. But it was my fault too, for letting him get away with it."

Thomas answered her in a soft voice. "Beckett told me."

Her head snapped up and she blinked. "He did? When? What did he tell you?"

Thomas shrugged. "The first night I came to your house. He told me, and I quote, 'Aaron had an eye for the ladies and couldn't hold on to a dollar to save his soul. He wasn't good enough for my girl. Never was.'"

Emma snorted and took another sip of beer. "That about sums it up, unfortunately."

Thomas waited for a few more details, but they didn't come. He had to smile-the only human being in the world he wouldn't mind opening up to him about a failed relationship wasn't interested in doing so.

"You're a very private person, aren't you, Emma?"

She tipped her head. "Not really. Not with the people I'm close to-the people I love."

That sentence shot him through with pain-she didn't love him. But hold on. Of course she didn't love him! They'd only known each other a couple weeks! And yes, he was extremely attracted to her, but he didn't exactly want her to love him, did he? He didn't want any woman to love him!

Did he?

"Thomas, do you remember that night on my porch when we kissed?" Emma stared down at the brown paper tablecloth and her voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Only every other second."

Her breath was coming fast and her pulse was kicking hard and all she could think was that he didn't say anything about her dress. He didn't say anything! It was obvious that whatever was happening was a bit one-sided-he might not mind taking her to bed a few times, but he didn't like her enough to notice she'd gone to extreme lengths to look nice tonight. He didn't like her enough to be courteous. Respectful. Appreciative.

She had to remind herself that this was not the type of man she wanted in her life-even for a few nights. She deserved more, and though she'd convinced herself that Thomas was more, she had to admit she may have been wrong.

She needed to take charge of this situation, take care of herself. If she didn't, who would?

"When I said this wasn't the right time, I meant that in a couple ways." She bit her bottom lip with nervousness. "It's not just Leelee."

When she brought her soft blue eyes level with his, Thomas nearly moaned with longing.

"I just signed my divorce papers, Thomas. I just got out of an extremely bad situation, and I'm not exactly at my best-I'm kind of exhausted, actually." She let her elbow rest on the edge of the table and cupped her chin in her hand, looking at him. "It took me a long time to realize that I wasn't responsible for Aaron. It took everything I had to get out of that relationship. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Sure I do." He cracked another claw. "You're scared."

Emma sighed and shook her head. "I'm saying I need to be very careful. I'm trying to decide if I'm ready to get involved with anyone-with you-beyond being friendly business partners. I'm not convinced that you're the right kind of man for me."

She sat back and said nothing more.

Thomas's movements had slowed considerably. He used a napkin to wipe the streaks of red spices and butter from his fingers and grabbed for his bottle of beer. He took a long, slow drag, and let his eyes wander from that lovely, confused face to that dress again. Damn, he shouldn't have done that!

How ironic. She'd just told him he wasn't her type and he'd picked that particular moment to nearly explode in his chinos just from looking at her. All that thick, gleaming hair, that succulent cleavage, those ripe, red lips slippery with butter.

Never in his life had he known a woman as fun, appealing, smart, delicious-oh, Jesus, as fuckable-asMiss Marple over there, and all he wanted was to clear off the tabletop with one violent sweep of his forearm, lay her down on the butcher paper, and let his tongue slip over every goddamn inch of that farm-girl skin. He wanted to stretch his body over hers, feel her wrap around him, hear her scream his name.

He wanted… her.

Thomas put down the beer bottle and looked her right in the eye. He'd heard her words clear enough. And as he studied her, observed her body language, he heard that, too. And the actions were speaking much louder than the words.

The sexual heat gathered around them as fast as the twilight, and it pushed against his chest, against his cock, and into his brain.

Yes, her words said, "I'm not sure." But the soft pleading in her eyes, the way she'd been jealous of the waitress, the seductive pout of her lips, her quick breathing, that fucking dress!-allof it screamed, "Put your hands on me-now!"

Thomas didn't know what to do. He could hardly breathe.

So he started in on another crab.

Emma simply stared at him. Her lips were on fire. She didn't know if it was the beer, the heavy-handed dose of Old Bay spice on the crabs, or just plain sexual greed, but her lips felt unbearably sensitive and swollen and a liquid fire was rushing through her veins.

She watched Thomas as he ate-consumed was more like it. His mouth and chin were smeared slick with butter. He was an eating machine-evenly paced in his movements, denuding one helpless creature after another. It was a kind of lusty, barbaric dance that made her dizzy.

A loud crack! pierced the air and she jerked. He'd smashed the mallet down on a crab leg, using far more force than was necessary, not saying a word, his eyes now fierce on hers. He looked exactly like he did that night in the diner parking lot-absolutely tortured.

Then came another loud crack of the mallet, followed by more silence and staring, and the quiet was growing heavier, darker, breath-stealing. Emma felt how the air itself became heavy, rich, and dripping with the promise of sex.

Sex. Sex. Sex.

The two of them couldn't seem to escape it.

Suddenly, Thomas picked up a new victim, held it with both hands, and wrenched apart the crab legs until they formed a wide vee in front of his mouth. His eyes locked on Emma's as he licked a drip of butter off the inside of his wrist.