Jack took a swallow of beer. “No. You didn’t. And I didn’t.”

“Let me get this straight. You want to nail me, but you think I’m scum, and you don’t want me around lowering your property value.”

He frowned. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I didn’t say ‘scum.’”

“I call it how I see it,” she shot back. “You want me to get so pissed off, I just pack up and leave, right? Is that your plan?”

He forked up a bite of his steak fajita and stared at it. “That would be my plan, if it weren’t for this danger issue,” he said, reluctantly. “It does sound like you’ve got one hell of a security problem. But I don’t—”

“Then let me make a revolutionary suggestion,” she announced. “Get this, Kendrick. I know this idea might shock you to your toes, but how about if we just don’t have sex?”

He smothered a laugh, covering his mouth with his napkin, his eyes darting around the restaurant. “Uh—”

“It’s the perfect solution,” she went on, with false cheerfulness. “Amazing in its streamlined simplicity. You don’t have to fuck me, if it would be so upsetting to you. Aren’t you relieved? Isn’t that just an incredible load off your mind? Just ignore me, okay? It’s easy. I’ll just stay out of your way and do my own thing.”

He looked alarmed. “And what exactly is your thing?”

She shrugged. “Living my life. Making my art. Duncan mentioned that you have a studio in the barn, but I’ll understand if you don’t want me to use the space. The apartment will do nicely for now.”

Jack rose, bumping the table and knocking over the beer bottle. A fork fell to the floor. The restaurant went dead silent, and a waitress froze in position, holding her trays of food. Jack cursed softly. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Fine.” She got up, and began digging for her wallet.

“I’ve got the check,” he said.

She swept past him, elbowing him out of her way at the cash register. “I’d rather die than let you pay for my meal.”

Vivi sat as far from Jack as possible in the truck. After he pulled into the driveway, she climbed out without a word, slammed the door, and reached for her groceries.

He tried to take the bags from her. She jerked them away.

He yanked them back. “Don’t be stupid,” he growled.

She followed the crunch of his boots on the gravel through the darkness and followed him up the stairs, still fuming.

He opened her door with his own key, flipped on the light, and set her bags on the kitchen counter. They stared at each other as Edna leaped and danced and wagged her enthusiastic greeting.

“Good night,” Vivi said, pointedly.

“Where are you going to sleep?” he asked.

She opened and closed her mouth. “Wha—what?” she forced out.

“There’s no bed here. Where are you going to sleep?”

“Ah,” she murmured, blushing.

There was a faint, fleeting hint of a smile in his eyes. “I wasn’t suggesting my own bed.”

“I didn’t think you were,” she lied, her blush deepening. “I’m sleeping in my sleeping bag. It was hooked to my backpack. See?”

“Just a sleeping bag? On the bare floor?” He sounded shocked.

“I’m used to roughing it,” she said coolly.

He frowned, ruffling Edna’s ears. “No one sleeps on a bare floor in my place,” he said. “I don’t care what you’re used to.”

“Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but strictly speaking, it’s not your place. I’ll be paying rent. So don’t treat me like a guest.”

He turned and stalked out the door, disappearing into the dense darkness. Vivi shut the door behind him, breathing out a sigh of relief.

Her battle tension dissipated, leaving her exhausted. She opened the sliding doors and let the fragrant night air into the room. Then, slowly and systematically, she put away her groceries in the big, clean kitchen. So much space, for everything. It felt strange, after the van and her sisters’ microscopic apartments.

Then she lit her scented candles and some sandalwood incense, turned out the overhead light, and sat down cross-legged on her sleeping bag. The graceful, empty room flickering with candlelight soothed her. It felt strange and lovely, to have the door open to the night. To let her senses open and soften, to listen to frogs and insects singing their sweet night songs. She’d been so paranoid and closed up tight these last few weeks. But here, oddly, she felt…safe.

From the Fiend, anyway. If not her own sex-starved stupidity.

It was more a sense of his presence rather than any noise he made that made her nerves jolt into a state of alert. She jumped to her feet as he pushed open the mosquito screen with his boot and stepped through the sliding glass doors. He carried a rolled-up futon without apparent effort, a feather pillow wedged beneath his muscular arm.

“Knock next time,” she said. “I’d appreciate it.”

He gazed over the futon, looking aggrieved. “My hands were full.” He unfolded it onto the floor, tossed the pillow on top.

“For the record,” she persisted, “in the future, I prefer that you not barge in on me like that. Whether your arms are full or not.”

That condescending, dismissive movement he made with his shoulders was making her tense. “You’re not taking me seriously,” she said tightly.

“Don’t worry, I heard you.” His eyes swept the room until they found her sleeping bag. “Will that keep you warm enough?”

“It always has before,” she said. “The futon wasn’t necessary, but thanks, anyway.”

“The incense smells good.” His eyes followed the thin stream of smoke that undulated sensuously from the tiny bronze censer.

“Yes, it does. It’s my favorite.”

A heavy silence fell. “Ah…thanks for the futon,” she said. She’d intended the words to be a dismissal, but they emerged so husky and low and tentative, they sounded almost inviting.

Vivi tried to think of something else to say, but after a couple minutes of strugging, she abandoned the effort. She was too tired. It felt false. And this guy wasn’t interested in social chatter. He just stood there like a mountain in her bedroom. As dense as granite. An unidentifiable emotion burning from his shadowed eyes. He wasn’t leaving until he was ready.

So Vivi waited. She quietly bore the weight of the silence that spread ever wider in the flickering dimness, until it became something more than silence. Anticipation, taut with things that were longing to be said. Waiting. A breeze wafted through the door and put out a candle, casting the room into deeper shadow.

Vivi took matches from her pocket, and turned to relight it.

She started to turn, and froze. He was right behind her.

“Just looking at this.” He pushed aside the hair hanging over her back with his fingertip, barely touching her sun tattoo. “I caught a glimpse of it while you were paying for your dinner, but I couldn’t tell what it was, under your hair.” He traced the small circle with radiating lines. “A sun. Does it have some special meaning? Like the flower?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It’s in memorium. For a friend I lost.”

His hand dropped. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded and turned to face him again. It took all her nerve to raise her eyes to his. When she did, the smoldering hunger in his gaze stole her breath.

“Do you have any other tattoos?” he finally asked.

She lifted her chin, straightened her spine. He had no right to do this, when she was all alone in the dark. Throwing those hot, intense sexual vibes at her, when she was feeling so vulnerable. “That’s for me to know, and for you to wonder about.” She aimed for a crisp, dismissive tone of voice. Insofar as she could, with no breath to back it up.

The breathlessness made it sound like…flirting. God help her.

Sure enough. He didn’t look dismissed. He looked like he was wondering, as she’d just invited him to do. And who could blame him?

He was wondering so hard, she could feel it against her skin.

If he made a move on her now, she wouldn’t have the force of will to push him away. She was gooey to the core. Sopping wet for him. One featherlight push, and down she’d fall, right onto her back. Take me.