Curious, she studied his profile. “Would you tell me if they didn’t?”

“No. I just wouldn’t mention it.”

Just lightly, just perfectly buzzed off cheap wine, she snuggled back in the seat. “I liked them, too.”

“Would you tell me if you didn’t?”

“No. I just wouldn’t mention it. Seriously, it’s just really lovely to have friends that go back so far with you, who’ve shared so much with you. And are still willing to open the door to new people.”

When he paused at the gates, Cate used her remote to open them.

“You earned major points—like super points—for teaching Dave to move like an actual person instead of one without any working joints suffering an electric shock.”

She had to laugh, as he’d slam-dunked the description—before her lessons. “He’s got a sweetness. It’s what draws the esoteric and freewheeling Tricia to him.”

When he parked, she got out—deliberately, so he’d have to follow suit. “I’m sure your ladies taught you to walk a woman to her door.”

“They did.”

“It’s so nice at night, isn’t it? The sounds, the air. I never spent much time here during the spring. Just quick visits. I’m loving being here through the change of seasons, really seeing it.”

Moonlight bathing the water, starlight sprinkled over the shadows of the mountains, the steady whoosh and slap of the sea.

They passed the pool, its little dollhouse, the charm of tangled bougainvillea.

“Your mother’s going to show me how to plant some herbs, in pots, that I can play with. I’ve never actually planted anything.”

“Watch yourself or she’ll make a rancher out of you.”

“No danger of that, but maybe I can keep a pot of basil alive.”

The path lights gleamed low, as did the patio light she’d left on to show the way.

“Every time I see a light in the dark, I think of you and your family. That memory has been a light for me for a long time.”

The truth of that had her taking his hand, his good, strong hand.

“And now you’ve added another. Dancing at a roadhouse, questionable wine, excellent nachos, really good friends.”

She turned to him at the door. “I’m going to have to find a way to reciprocate.”

“You could sleep with me and we’d call it even.”

“Hmm.” She opened the door she hadn’t bothered to lock. “That’s quite a bartering technique you have there. Does it ever work?”

“It’s a trial run.”

“Well then.” With the door open behind her, she gave him a long study. “Let’s test it out.”

“I didn’t actually—”

“Talk later.” She took a fistful of his shirt, pulled him in.

Before he found his balance, she hooked an arm around his neck, shoved the door closed with the other. And latched her mouth onto his.

It was there, all there, everything he’d imagined too many times and for far too long. The give of her, the strength of her. The taste of her, too potent for sweet, and warm, already so warm it bordered on hot.

Nothing coy here, and everything that left a man aching for the rest.

He had to have the rest.

He swept her up, and for one terrible instant he feared he’d gone too far, too fast, because she stared at him with shock widening her eyes.

“Oh my God.” Then her hands fisted in his hair; her mouth covered his like a fever. “Every man should be raised by women. Upstairs. First room on the right.”

She slid her mouth down to his neck, used her teeth.

“You smell so damn good,” he managed as he climbed the stairs. “Don’t change your mind or I’ll have to hang myself.”

“But no pressure,” she murmured, and moved up to his ear.

He turned to the right, to the view of the sea through the glass. He hit the light with his elbow, noted the dimmer, eased it down to a glow.

“Jesus, you’re good.” Already half-desperate, she scraped her teeth over his jaw. “We’ve barely started and you’re really good.”

“But no pressure.”

He stood her on her feet at the side of the bed with its thick, towering, turned posts. A moment, he thought, he needed just a moment to breathe, to etch this new picture of her in his head.

Cate in her pretty dress with the night sky, the dark sea behind her.

He wanted to remember her, in this light, wanted to undress her and feel her skin under his hands.

He reached around for the zipper of her dress, forced himself to lower it slowly.

Her hands flew to his shirt, dragging buttons open. “Can we save slow for the second round?”

Possibly, just possibly, he fell the rest of the way in love with her at that moment. “I’m a hundred percent behind that.”

They pulled at clothes, grappled with them, hands everywhere while mouths met, urgent and avid, parted with quickened breaths.

When the pretty dress dropped to the floor, she kicked it aside.

Hard, his body so hard, so roped with muscle. And his hands, hard, fast, deliberate. Those hands made her blood sing under her skin, reminded her what it was to crave another’s touch. The way they closed over her breasts, the way his calluses slid rough over her nipples.

When she lay under him, the moonlight streaming, the sea whispering, she found his mouth again, poured that need into him.

“Now, just now. Don’t wait.”

“I want—” Everything, he thought. “Look at me. Look at me.”

When she did, with those deep, deep blue eyes, he drove into her.

Heard her cry, the catch of her breath on the end of it. Saw her eyes go deeper yet as her arms, her legs locked around him.

Fast, driving her, driving himself as the years of pent-up fantasies ripped through him, then tattered in the wonder of reality. She raged with him, beat for frenzied beat even when her eyes glazed over with an orgasm.

She shuddered with it, but didn’t stop.

Her hands clutched at his hair, dragged his mouth down to hers again. “More. More. More.”

He gave her more, and more, still more until she cried out again, until her hands slid away and her body went limp. Then he buried his face against her throat, drew her scent in, and let himself break.

She lay sweaty, soft, and oh-so-wonderfully sated. She felt his heart pounding against hers, yet another wonderful sensation.

When he rolled over, bringing her with him, she realized she could breathe again. And her breath came out in a long, satisfied sigh.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he told her.

“You’re good at keeping things to yourself. I wasn’t all the way sure until you were showing me how to milk—what’s the cow’s name I started on?”

“Bossie.”

“You’re making that up.”

“There has to be a Bossie in a milk cow herd. It’s the law.”

“If you say so.” Trailing a hand over his chest, she thought of the boy he’d been, the skinny build.

He’d filled out just fine.

“Until then.”

“I didn’t want to mess things up.”

“Me either. We’ll have to talk about that.”