“And what are you going to do when you have someone to wear it for and you didn’t buy it?” Serena had argued. “I’m telling you not as your friend, but as a very successful performance coach. If you wear sexy underwear you are fifty-eight percent more likely to have great sex with an amazing man.” Cassie had glanced at the department-store generic beige bra hunched on the change room’s only chair. “You wear that and you won’t want to get undressed, never mind have sex.”

  But Cassie wasn’t born yesterday. She’d crossed her arms over the admittedly delicious black lacy cups she was trying on. “Fifty-eight percent? You are making that up.”

  Serena had remained as serious as a nun at confession. “Fifty-eight point two, to be precise.”

  “Oh, well, now that you’ve mentioned the extra point two, I’d better get the matching panties.”

  At the time she’d been convinced her friend was joking. Now she wasn’t so sure. There was something about donning nice lingerie that definitely put a girl in the mood. And to have a man like Dylan staring at her chest as though those lacy bra cups were serving up two dishes of heaven was enough to get her even more revved up.

  “You—” he kissed the top of one breast “—are—” he kissed the top of the other “—gorgeous.” And he reached around and snapped open the catch.

  She moved her shoulders and arms so the bra slipped off.

  He pulled her to him wordlessly, crushing her lips with his mouth, his hands going everywhere at once. His greed and impatience fired hers. She dragged at his shirt, his belt, bumped into his hands trying to perform the same tasks.

  She almost growled in frustration as she fumbled at his belt until he pushed her hands away and did the job himself, though not very smoothly. He shoved his jeans down his legs, kicking them off with impatience. His briefs followed; his shirt was over his head and sailing into the newly painted walls.

  Pulling back the coverlet on the bed, he gently pushed her so she fell into the soft, cool sheets—the new ones she’d bought as part of her bedroom do-over. Maybe her life was following suit, she thought dimly as she felt the cool air on her naked torso. Maybe redecorating her bedroom had given her the remaining 41.8-percent chance of having great sex with an amazing stud.

  She liked that idea. That she might transform along with the house into the woman she dreamed of becoming.

  As she gazed her fill at that glorious man standing naked beside the bed, he bent and removed her skirt, pulling as she wriggled so she was left in nothing but a lacy black thong.

  “You’re killing me,” he said, his voice a husky whisper.

  “Don’t die yet. Not until I’ve had at least three orgasms.”

  He chuckled, “Greedy, huh?”

  “You have no idea.”

  9

  HE FOLLOWED HER down onto the bed, his body so hot against hers. His hands were everywhere, exciting her, learning her. She felt soft and pliable compared to his firefighting-toned body. And yet his mouth was so soft, tender almost, as it traced the line of her collarbone, dipping to her breasts. He licked the underside and she felt like screaming. The sensations were racing too fast for her to keep up. Her nipples ached for his touch, already tingling in anticipation.

  And as he put his mouth on one aching point, he reached down, slipping his hand into her panties, sliding to her core, where she was already slick with desire, and playing with her even as his mouth was busy at her nipples.

  Orgasm one hit her so fast she barely had time to register how close she was. She arched against his fingers, pushing herself higher. He took her lead, giving her what she needed until her back arched right off the bed and her cries echoed off the walls.

  He stroked her softly, bringing her down slowly, kissing her breasts easily until her panting subsided.

  She stared up at the ceiling, feeling as if she might as well have worn a neon sign that said, Chick Who Seriously Needs to Get Laid. It had been so long. She eyed him. “That was—”

  His smile cut her off almost before his words did, so delighted did he seem. “Amazing,” he said, finishing the sentence in a whole different direction than she would have gone. “That was absolutely amazing.”

  She threw her arms around him. Kissing him noisily. “Your turn,” she said. “Condoms are in the side table.”

  “Not so fast,” he said, rising so he could look down at her probably flushed face. “Can you do that again?”

  A warm flood of possibilities filled her. She tilted her head, glanced up through her lashes. “Let’s find out.”

  “Oh, I do like a challenge.”

  She could feel the rigidity in him, and she knew it wasn’t as easy to hold himself back as he wanted her to believe. She tried to tell him that she wanted him inside her as much as she could sense he wanted to be there, but then his mouth began to travel south and she forgot how to form words.

  Down her belly his lips traveled, bringing her sex roaring back from satiated to starved. He took his time, though, making her wait. He relieved her of her panties in one smooth move, then kissed his way back up her legs, explored the bumps of her hip bones with his tongue, eased her legs apart with his big hands.

  She was still swollen and slick from her recent climax, so she hovered halfway back up that peak. She wanted to hold on forever, to enjoy the delicious feel of his tongue on her, but her body didn’t feel like waiting. It seemed much more interested in Blow Me Apart, Now!

  And so, in short order, he did.

  “Damn,” he murmured, “you are one responsive woman.” He said it admiringly, gazing at her as though she’d done something particularly amazing.

  “I was built that way,” she said, refusing to take credit. “But I am grateful all the same.”

  “And so am I.”

  She loved that he enjoyed her sexuality as much as she did.

  “I want you to come inside me.”

  “Okay. Don’t have to be asked twice.” He reached for her night table, and she didn’t bother to help him—she enjoyed watching the stretch and twist of muscles. He put a fan of condoms on the table beside them and she didn’t comment.

  She watched him sheath himself, swiftly and efficiently, and knew she’d take on that job next time in order to get that impressive piece of manhood in her hands. She also suspected that he probably had too much steam built up for her to get involved quite yet. So she watched.

  Then, instead of getting on top of her as she’d imagined he would, he hoisted her up to sitting and scooted in behind her, his back against the wall. She really needed to do something about a nice headboard.

  When he lifted her hips, she followed his lead, and felt him ease her slowly onto his rigid cock. Oh, it was a good thing her body was so slippery and relaxed with satisfaction, because Mr. June wasn’t only big in the pecs and biceps. He was large everywhere.

  And as he slowly entered her body she felt stretched in places she didn’t think she’d ever been stretched. “Oh,” she moaned. “Oh.”

  “You okay?” He stopped, holding her still.

  She turned her head until she could kiss him. “I am more than okay,” she whispered.

  He nodded and continued easing her down onto him until he was all the way in and she was settled on his lap.

  He opened her legs and, reaching around, began to play with her again. “Oh, not fair, I want to—”

  “What?” he whispered in her hair, his voice husky. “What do you want?”

  “I want to move, I want to—”

  “You are moving. You’re wriggling and pulsing and so hot I’m going to explode inside you any second now,” he promised.

  She felt him moving a little inside her, and she felt his fingers stroking her hot button outside her and she felt his chest, hot and huffing out and in with his labored breath at her back, and she felt as though it was too much. Too much stimulation, too much of a good thing, she’d never be able to hold on, she couldn’t control her hips and didn’t even try—she began to do a seriously out-of-control lap dance. He kept up with her rhythm with his fingers, stroking her until she could feel the pressure rising, the gorgeous pressure, and the beautiful, strong cock pushing up inside her only added to the imminent explosion.

  She wanted to tell him, warn him, but it was already too late. She threw back her head so it banged his shoulder, felt the shock waves begin to rise and then she was thrown forward, she was on her hands and knees and he stayed with her, driving into her even as she drove back against him again and again, until she quaked and cried out and her world careened out of control.

  She heard the low roar behind her as Dylan joined in.

  As they collapsed on the bed, Dylan said, “And that’s three.”

  She turned to him, giving a lazy chuckle. When she caught her breath enough to talk, she said, “Can you do that?”

  His sleepy, sexy blues regarded her. “What, come three times?”

  She nodded.

  “Not bang, bang, bang, like you.” He pulled her over so her head was resting on his chest, where his heart thudded comfortably beneath her ear. “But maybe bang, pause, bang, pause, bang.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “Okay, so this is a pause.”

  He pulled her closer. “You are so my kind of woman.”

  10

  CASSIE WOKE SUDDENLY, wondering why she was so hot, and then became aware that a very warm male body was pressed up to hers. In that instant of swimming between sleep and consciousness, she felt the memories flood back. They’d never discussed Dylan staying the night—she suspected they’d both passed out at some point. But, she recalled smugly, bang, pause, bang, pause, bang worked just fine for her new lover.

  It had worked fine for her, too.

  Dawn was letting a gauzy film of light into the room, enough for her to watch him and admire the strong features in his face. When he wasn’t joking around and teasing her, Dylan had a serious side to him.

  His right arm was flung up over his head in sleep and she was fascinated to see that the chain tattoo on his upper arm sported links of some sort on the underside of his arm.

  She was squinting, trying to distinguish the significance when she realized he was awake and watching her. Had his breathing changed? When she looked at him, she found his eyes open and on hers. She felt the smile pull at her lips.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.” He yawned. “What time is it?”

  “Early.”

  She reached out and traced the line of his tattoo. “Tell me about your tat.”

  “It’s a chain.”

  “I can see that. What are these symbols here?” There were three of them on the underside of his arm, where she imagined they were mostly hidden from view.

  He turned his head as though he might have forgotten they were there and was seeing them for the first time. There was a short pause, which she found interesting. Most people were only too happy to talk about their body art. Finally, he said, “My dad had the same tattoo. The chain is for protection and he used to say it was the unbroken unity of our family. His had my mom’s first initial, M for Mary. Then the D for me.” She traced the two links with her forefinger. “I had this inked when I was eighteen. He’d been dead for so long I barely remembered him, but I remembered that tattoo. I added the G for him. His name was Geoffrey.”

  “Was he a firefighter, too?”

  “Military. My whole family’s military. He was killed in Lebanon in 1983 when his barracks were bombed.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Dylan was staring at the ceiling. “He always used to say, ‘No guts, no glory.’ He was proud to serve his country.”

  She said, “But you didn’t follow in his footsteps.”

  “Promised my mom I wouldn’t.”

  Suddenly he flipped her so she was on her side facing away from him. He kissed the back of her neck and then his tongue began to trace the bumps of her spine. “You’re so delicate for how strong you are.”

  She felt the glorious slide toward arousal as his right hand got busy with her front, stroking her sensitive breasts, tracing her ribs with his fingers even as his tongue traced the bones of her back. He stroked her belly, down between her legs until he found her most secret places.

  A glorious weakness spilled over her as she gave herself over to his hands and his mouth and the rising tide of excitement.

  He reached over and she heard a drawer open, then the familiar rustle and tear of a condom wrapper.

  Heat rushed through her. Soon he’d be inside her again, and even though her body felt satiated and well used, she didn’t think she could wait another second.

  Not many seconds later she felt him nudge between her thighs, heavy and warm, finding her hot and ready. He entered her slowly, stretching and reaching, up, up to that magic spot. When he hit it she gasped.

  He kept up the motion of his fingers working her clit and began to drive into her. She reached behind her, grabbing his hip with one hand, needing something to hang on to as he rocked them both up and up.

  Sounds spilled out of her mouth, guttural words and cries as she bucked against him, driving them both higher.

  He tossed her up and over the edge as effortlessly as he’d been doing all night and then as her cries subsided, he grabbed her hips and pumped, long, deep strokes that drove her up again until they both fell off the edge of the world.

  As she settled against him, drowsing slowly back to sleep, it occurred to her that he’d managed to avoid a personal conversation in a very efficient way.

  * * *

  WHEN CASSIE WOKE again it was thanks to her alarm reminding her she had to go to work. She knew the instant her eyes opened that she was alone in bed. She rolled out slowly, feeling stretched and tender in the best possible way, realizing she’d gone far too long without that particular kind of workout.

  She was smiling as she hit the shower, still smiling as she padded downstairs in her robe, her hair clinging to her head in wet curls.

  The smell of coffee drew her to the kitchen, only to find no one there but the kitten, who mewled piteously, scampering up to Cassie, wrapping around her legs like a hazardous mink stole, and then prancing back to circle her empty food bowl.

  “Coffee first,” she grumbled.

  The cat seemed disinclined to wait. Then Cassie spied the open cat food on the counter, which certainly hadn’t been there last night. “Oh, you little faker,” she cried, half laughing. “You already had breakfast.”

  But when she gazed down at the bundle of fur, who was rapidly losing her gaunt look, she softened and added a few more kibbles to the bowl.

  Then she poured herself a mug of coffee. There was no note. What did that mean? Was Dylan coming back?

  She picked up her phone. Then put it down again. She had no idea of the protocol now she’d slept with him. If she called would she sound like his employer wondering if he was planning to come in to work? Or would she sound like a needy sex partner checking up on her guy hours after he’d left her?

  She picked up the kitten, who was purring so hard her small body vibrated, and carried her—and the coffee—out to the backyard. She settled on an Adirondack chair in the morning sun. This had already become a routine in the short time she’d been here, this early-morning coffee out in her yard with the cat curled on her lap.

  “Is he coming today or what?” she asked the fur ball, who didn’t seem to have an opinion one way or the other.

  By the time she finished her mug of—excellent—coffee, she decided she was being ridiculous. Putting the cat down, so it brrped with unhappiness and stalked back into the kitchen, she followed and picked up the phone.

  Dylan answered right away. “Hey, sexy,” he said.

  Okay. That was good.

  “Hi. Are you coming by to work today?”

  “Of course I’ll be there. Why wouldn’t I?”

  I don’t know. Because you slept with me and then sneaked out without a word? “You didn’t leave a note. I wasn’t sure.”

  “I left coffee.”

  “Is that some kind of man-speak?”

  “No. It means I left coffee. I’m picking up some drywall. I’ll be over in an hour or so.”

  “Okay if I paint tonight?” She wondered about drywall dust.

  “Sweetheart, you can do whatever you want.” He said it in such an intimate way that she felt herself blushing. Now that, she decided, was man-speak for I had a great time last night. At least she hoped it was.

  “Okay. See you later.”

  * * *

  WHEN CASSIE GOT into work she said to Lorena, the front office manager, “How’s Arnold?”

  “He’s droopy, but they say he’s getting better.”

  “Good. I need my star of the cephalopod tank back in action.” Arnold was a giant octopus who’d been mysteriously taken sick.

  “You have bigger problems.”

  “Bigger than a giant octopus?” She couldn’t imagine.

  “Way bigger.” Lorena passed her a note but explained the contents anyway. “Allison Morganstern’s mother called. She’s got mono.” Allison was one of their teen ambassadors, a high-school student who was supposed to run a birthday party in the aquarium this coming Saturday night. Sleepover birthday parties in the aquarium were not only incredibly popular, but a nice moneymaking venture that helped support important work and hopefully raise a generation of kids sensitive to the plight of the aquatic environment.