With that in mind, she walked over to him. She couldn’t undo what Daniela had done, but she could assure Kyle that nothing like that would ever happen as long as he was with her. So she uncrossed his arms, wanting nothing between them, and stepped closer. She peered up and looked straight into his eyes. “There’s nothing going on with Cade. We work together, and we’re friends, but that’s it.”

He made no move to pull her closer. Instead, he cocked his head, his tone quiet. “You’re friends with the guy who called me a terrorist?”

Oh…crap. When Rylann saw the flicker of hurt in Kyle’s eyes, she knew that had been the wrong thing to say.

Obviously, she understood why he would have a problem with her being friends with Cade. Of course, he didn’t know the whole story, that the former U.S. attorney had wanted to send a message to the press and specifically told Cade to go after Kyle hard. But even if that hadn’t happened, Cade still would’ve prosecuted Kyle—and been tough in doing so—because that was his job. Just like it was her job.

She wasn’t sure what all she could say in these circumstances except for the truth. “Well…yes.” She sighed. “And here I thought things were complicated before.”

“Does that mean you’re having second thoughts about…whatever this is between us?” When she didn’t answer at first, Kyle cupped her chin, making her look at him. “Do you want me to leave?”

Rylann thought about that, then shook her head. “No,” she said softly.

His face remained uncertain, as if he needed more convincing. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I’m sure.” She reached up, winding her arms around his neck. Though she didn’t have all the answers, there was one thing she knew for certain—that she wasn’t ready to say good-bye to Kyle yet. “See, I’ve been having this problem the last couple nights. My pillows smell like whatever shampoo you use in your freakishly lustrous hair, and now I can’t go to sleep without thinking about you.”

Kyle slid his hands up her back, pulling her closer. “Maybe you should wash your pillows. Get rid of all traces of me.”

“Or I could just invite you to spend the night again.” She stood up on her toes, brushing her lips against his. “Since we never seem to do much sleeping, anyway.”

When their mouths met, everything else seemed to fall by the wayside. Perhaps brought on by their near fight, the kiss quickly turned hot and impatient. Kyle gripped her hips and guided her backward, trapping her against the front door. Rylann tugged his T-shirt over his head and then ran her hands over the solid muscles of his chest as their mouths came back together. She moaned his name, needing to feel all of him against her, wanting to be as close to him as possible right then and there.

Apparently driven by the same need, Kyle yanked her T-shirt off, then hooked his hands into the waistband of her yoga pants and panties and hastily pushed them down her hips. Eager to hurry up the process, Rylann helped him out, kicking her clothes aside as he made fast work of the button and zipper on the fly of his jeans.

As their tongues clashed and fought, she pushed his jeans down, and a thrill of excitement coursed through her when his heavy, hard shaft brushed up against her stomach. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and found a condom.

“Hurry,” she panted urgently, watching as he ripped open the wrapper and rolled the condom on.

He slid his hands under her bottom and lifted her up against the wall, positioning himself right between her legs, where she was wet and ready for him. He gazed down at her heatedly, his hair falling into his eyes. “As long as we’re doing this, for however long it lasts, there’s no one else. Got it?”

She tightened her arms around his neck. “There’s no one else I want.”

Seeming to be satisfied with that answer, he thrust hard and deep, entering her in one stroke. Rylann threw her head back against the door and moaned. “Oh God, it’s so good.”

Kyle held her firmly against the wall and began moving inside her, his voice deep and husky. “It’s perfect.”

LATER THAT EVENING, Kyle sat alone in Rylann’s living room, toying absentmindedly with his glass of wine while he waited. Apparently, she was the “duty assistant” that night, which—judging from the emergency page she’d received from an FBI team wanting a search warrant—was something like being a doctor on call.

They’d been curled up on the couch together, pretending to watch a movie but mostly just making out like a couple of sixteen-year-olds, when her pager went off. She’d checked it, apologized with a quick kiss, then had headed into her bedroom to return the call in private.

The normalcy of the moment, the everydayness of it, had made Kyle realize that this was how things could be between them. Cozy weekend nights together, a good bottle of wine, hitting pause on the TiVo remote while one of them had to sneak off for a work call. A far cry from his “play hard” days spent wining and dining the girl of the week.

But as he sat there on Rylann’s couch, listening to the murmur of her voice from the bedroom and waiting for her to join him again, he knew there was no place he’d rather be.

Yep, it was official.

He was falling for her.

Panic set in upon that realization, and in his mind’s eye he saw himself pulling a Road Runner and bolting lightning-quick, cartoon-style, out of the apartment. She’d come out of the bedroom after finishing her call and would find no trace of him except a half-empty wineglass and the gaping hole of a man running top-speed through her front door.