I pulse with the need to know what it is. I lean closer, unable to fight the urge, and I can taste his breath.

His fingers find my face, caressing my scarred cheek, then scoop around the back of my neck.

I don’t even think. I just do what I’ve been dying to do for weeks. I stretch up onto my tiptoes and press myself against him. My lips brush over his and I take his lower lip between my teeth.

He groans as his hands tighten around me, one at my back and the other at my neck, and he pulls me against the curve of his body. His mouth moves hungrily on mine, his tongue tasting and owning.

Little flashes of lightning jolt through my insides and my heart strains against my rib cage. Every nerve ending is on fire with his touch, and every part of me hums.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him closer, deepening our kiss. He responds with a low groan deep in his chest, and I’d swear the water around us boils. He grabs my hips and lifts me onto him, and I wrap my legs around his cut torso, needing to be closer, to feel every inch of him pressed against me. He backs us toward the pool stairs and lays me across them, his mouth leaving mine and trailing down my jawline, my throat, and across my collarbone.

I feel a tug at my neck, and suddenly my bikini top is floating away on the surface of the water. His lips migrate lower and I arch up and moan when they close over my breast, swirling his tongue over my tight nipple.

I’m on fire, my whole body a live nerve ending. I ache all over and I can barely breathe. As he presses me against the stairs and moves his erection against my sweet spot, I come unglued.

I let out a sharp “Ahh!” and dig my heels into his back, pulling him harder against me. I don’t care anymore about what’s right or wrong. I want Blake more then I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, and I know he feels the same.

I lift a hand and trail the tip of my finger along the curves of his chest and down his ripped abs. Every muscle feels taut under my hands, steel under silk.

His mouth finds mine again, and he moves his erection against my sweet spot, finding a rhythm. As I climb to a place I’ve never been, I can’t believe he can do this to me right through our clothes. He takes my nipple into his mouth again and gives suck as he rubs himself faster against me, and holy God, I’ve never felt anything like this. I’m vaguely aware that I’m crying out, loudly, something between a moan and a sob. And a minute later, when I come for the first time in my life, I do sob, an animal cry that doesn’t even sound human.

I’m struggling to catch my breath as he scoops me up and carries me to the house. Despite his injury, he sweeps up the stairs to my room like I weigh nothing at all and lays me on my unmade bed. He lies next to me and I curl myself around him. I burrow into his warmth, and as much as I don’t want to miss a minute of this, I feel myself drowsy with contentment. The beat of his heart, the caress of his fingers over my back, the rhythm of his breath in my hair, lull me slowly into sleep.

I WAKE TO the smell of coffee. It takes me a minute to get my senses straightened out, but then I smile when I remember where I am . . . or more accurately, how I got here.

I roll, and when I find the other side of the bed empty, the smile fades off my face.

Coffee.

He’s in the kitchen.

I drag myself out of bed, still groggy, and slip my robe on over my bikini bottoms, then go to the kitchen. But Blake is nowhere.

I fill my Alcatraz mug and suck down half of it in one greedy gulp. When I hear Blake on the stairs, I can’t keep the grin from spreading over my face. I turn, but the person who crests the top step isn’t Blake. It’s Cooper.

He looks at me, his gaze cool.

I pull my robe tighter around me, suddenly feeling naked. “Is Blake . . . downstairs?”

“Special Agent Montgomery decided he needed some recovery time. He asked me to stand in, which means you’re graced with my company for the next few days.”

A tight band wraps around my chest and I can’t get a full breath. “Recovery time?” I picture him working out last night . . . and carrying me up the stairs.

But now he needs recovery time?

Cooper fixes me in a frosty stare. “He was shot, in case you forgot.”

“I know he was shot!” I snap, guilt and dread and fear spinning my emotions into a cyclone.

He moves past me into the kitchen. “At least he had the good sense to brew the coffee before he left.”

I move to the living room, sinking into the sofa. “Is he coming back?”

He flicks me a glance. “You tell me, Jezebel.”

I lean into the cushions and close my eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Cooper settles into the armchair and sets my full Alcatraz mug on the table in front of me. “Look, Blake is a good kid, and he’s a great agent. He has more potential than anyone I’ve seen come up through the ranks for a while. If you ever repeat this to anyone, I’ll deny it, but I think Special Agent in Charge Navarro screwed up bringing him in on this case. There’s no way this isn’t going to be personal for him. His emotions are all over the place. Add Jezebel,” he says with a flick of his wrist at me, “and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.”

Is that what we are? A disaster?

I lift my mug to my face and take slow sips, breathing in the steam and letting it calm me. After a minute I stand and head to my room.

I start for the bathroom, but detour to the window. Below, in the pool, a black shadow sits at the bottom of the shallow end. My bikini top.

It happened. I didn’t dream it.

I crawl into my bed and pull Blake’s pillow to my face. He’s still here, that musky, earthy scent that’s all man. All Blake.

Does this mean he thinks what happened was a mistake?

It’s a long while later that I drag myself up and shower. When I finally cross the living room on my way to the coffeepot, Cooper is watching a WWF match on TV.

His gaze doesn’t stray from the screen as he says, “I went to check on your family yesterday.”

My eyes snap to him and my coffee sloshes over the rim. “Why?”

“After what happened at the cabin, we wanted to be sure they were okay.”

My heart’s beating in my throat as I move to the living room and drop into the sofa. “And?”

“Everyone’s fine.”

I try to swallow the ball of panic in my throat but I can’t. “What did you tell them?”

His head shakes slightly. “Nothing.”

“Mom didn’t ask how I was or anything?”

He finally pulls his eyes away from the TV. “She did.”

“What did you say?” I ask, throwing my hand in the air, exasperated.

He leans forward, his elbow on the arm of the chair. “I told her you were fine, Jezebel.”

“Oh, God.” I say, dropping my face into my hand. I can only imagine what Mom’s making out of all this.

“She wanted me to give you that,” he says, pointing the remote at a thick white envelope on the coffee table.

I pick it up and see it’s already been opened. “You?” I say, slipping my finger into the opening.

He gives me a shake of his head. “Your mother.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“No.”

“But she and Greg are okay?”

“Yes.”

Conversation with Cooper is about as informative as talking to a rock. I shoot him a glare and flip the envelope in my hand. When I see the return address, I almost drop my mug.

Lexie.

ALL THE BLOOD  rushes out of my head and I feel suddenly dizzy.

I set my coffee down and pull out the contents of the envelope as if it might bite me. It’s not flowery, and it doesn’t smell like roses or anything. It’s actually pretty classy—parchment-looking paper with a swatch of antique lace in one corner. But I can’t help the way my stomach clamps at the words written in a simple slant across the front.