IAM SQUINTED AT the clock, the only thing illuminating the room: 12:13 a.m. He’d fallen asleep for a few minutes. Not that he hadn’t earned a nap, he thought with a grin. He might’ve been a little out of practice, but yeah, he could say that things hadn’t been half bad.

In fact, things had been pretty flipping fantastic.

Reaching over, he was a little surprised to find the bed was empty. After that Olympic round of sex, he’d expect her to be out cold, too. Well, there was something…a cat, apparently, because it mewed softly, then jumped down. But no human.

“Cordelia?” he said. No answer. Too bad, because he had quite the urge to kiss her again. And not only kiss her, either. He’d been right about what lay beneath all that flannel. Well worth finding. Lean, but not scrawny, everything in proportion. She was small—but in a nice way. Not underfed, just…nice. She was strong, too, and he hadn’t been afraid of hurting her or being too heavy. Her skin was surprisingly soft and sweet, and the way she smelled was like an addiction, that orangey, clean smell. And man, that mouth of hers… The girl could kiss, and when her legs had wrapped around his waist…yeah. Olympic covered it pretty well.

Liam got out of bed, groped around for his jeans and pulled them on. Maybe she was taking a shower. Maybe he’d join her in there.

The bathroom was empty. Huh. He padded down the stairs, curious. Even though Cordelia didn’t seem like the cuddling type, most women didn’t bolt after sex, did they? Back in the day, he was the one itchy to leave. Which made him kind of a prick, he knew. Using women for sex, however willingly they’d offered themselves up, was not something he was proud of. Not anymore. When he was seventeen, back in his idiot days, sure. Amazing how fatherhood changed a guy’s perspective.

One of the cats, the one with the big head, hissed at him and ran upstairs. Strange house, this old church. There was a light on in the kitchen, though Cordelia didn’t seem to be there, either. But wait. A door was slightly ajar. Ah-ha. He could hear the telltale rattle of a food wrapper. Liam opened the door, and there stood Cordelia in the pantry, turned slightly away from him and clad in her bathrobe, hair all messed up, stuffing four or five Ritz crackers into her mouth, the giant dog staring at her, drooling impressively. “Hi,” Liam said, folding his arms over his bare chest.

She jumped. “Urmph,” she said, a few crumbs flying. A blush crept up her neck. She swallowed thickly and gestured with the crackers. Her dog took this as an invitation to gently remove the roll of crackers from her hand, then stepped delicately around them both, leaving with his booty.

Cordelia swallowed thickly, then shoved her hands in the pockets of her robe, an aging blue-and-green flannel thing that reminded Liam of something worn by his alcoholic uncle. Her feet were bare. And cute. “Hi,” she said.

“I was wondering where you’d gone.”

“Oh…just a…snack. Do you want anything?”

“No, I’m good,” he answered. He stood there, looking at her. She made no attempt to leave the pantry. “You gonna stay in here all night?”

“Nope.” Still blushing, she brushed past him—there was that nice smell of oranges again—and sat at the kitchen table. He joined her.

She was uncomfortable, that was clear. And man, she was cute. Those big brown orphan eyes, that little chin. She definitely looked like an elf, though Liam knew that most women wouldn’t cherish the comparison. Her gaze made it about as far as his throat, then went back to his bare chest, then to his arms. She swallowed again, then looked at the sugar bowl.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Sure. Of course. What could be wrong?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t the one hiding in the pantry.”

“I wasn’t hiding. I just didn’t, um…want to wake you up.”

“Thoughtful of you.”

“My cousin will be home soon,” she said, eyes on the sugar bowl.

“Want me to leave?”

“Oh! Um…well, you can if you want.”

She still couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. He suppressed a sigh. Why didn’t women come with a user’s manual? She’d practically mauled him in her front hall and now wouldn’t even look at him. “Cordelia, I thought that was a lot of fun. Was I wrong?”

“Nope. It was fun. Very fun. Thank you.” The blush flared again. She bit her lip—he wished she wouldn’t, because frankly, he’d like to. He’d like to tug her up by the belt of that ratty robe, push it open and lift her onto the table and—

“Are you thinking about Emma?” she said, and Liam was so surprised that his head jerked back. “I mean, you must be. It’s natural. It’s fine. You loved her, she was your wife. I understand. It’s all good.”

Emma. Right.

“It’s just…you know. You and Emma were together a long time. And, um, you must be thinking about her. About Emma.” She finally met his eyes. “Are you?”

“Well, I am now. Since you keep chanting her name.”

She nodded. “Were you before?”

“Before when? Upstairs before?”

Her face fired up. “Um…yes.”

“No.” Emma hadn’t crossed his mind once. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Obviously, Emma was his main point of reference, the only woman he’d slept with for a lot of years. But not in an obvious way…just in the way that she was always there somehow or another. Now that Cordelia had brought it up, though…well, she was smaller than Emma. More, er, energetic. Her hair was short, and Emma’s had been long.

Cordelia tugged the robe more tightly around her. “Cold?” Liam asked.

“No. Are you? Because your shirt is…missing.”

Liam bit down on a smile. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” Eyes back on the sugar bowl, which apparently was like the Rosetta Stone or something for all the attention she was giving it. “Am I the first woman you’ve…um…been with? Since Emma?”

“No.”

She nodded, pulled the robe tighter still, practically strangling herself with it.

“I had a thing with someone out in San Diego,” he found himself saying. “About a year after Emma died. Kind of a friends with benefits situation.”

“Right.”

He was losing patience. “Cordelia, have I terrified you or something? You seemed like you were having a pretty good time up there.”

“I was! I did! I just wonder about how you felt about it. Given, um…Emma.”

“I wasn’t thinking of Emma!” he barked, then lowered his voice. “You’re the one who’s like a dog with a damn bone.”

“Well, Liam, I don’t see how you can avoid it,” she said in a huffy voice.

“I’m a guy, Cordelia! I think about whatever’s in front of me.”

“You don’t have to yell at me, idiot,” she snapped. “You’re scaring my dog.” Her dog was lying on his back, jowls drooping, the paper from the crackers under his ear. “I’m sorry,” she continued, not sounding very sorry at all. “It’s just…I’ve never been with a widower. And I remember Emma and how…nice she was.”

Great. Now her eyes looked a little wet. Women. Extremely difficult. “She was nice. And I did love her.” He paused. “But I was thinking about you,” he said in a gentler voice.

“Really?”

Liam opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “Yes, Cordelia. As I said, I’m a guy. We’re very basic. You’re here, I like you, I’d like to be back in bed with you instead of in this freezing kitchen having this ridiculous conversation, but if you want to talk, fine. I think about Emma every day. She’s part of me. My child’s mother. Can’t forget her. I wasn’t comparing you, though. I was thinking of you. And that mouth of yours. I’m thinking of it right now.”

There. That shut her up. Her cheeks blossomed with pink once more, and she blinked a couple of times. “Oh,” she managed eventually.

“Speechless, huh?”

She grinned. Nodded.

Liam got out of his chair, stepped over the calflike dog and knelt down next to her. “Good.” He leaned in close and kissed those ripe, pink lips, earning a quick intake of breath as a reward. “Now, if it’s all right with you,” he murmured, inhaling the smell of her, “I’d like to take you back upstairs and get you out of this disgusting bathrobe. What do you say?” He pulled back and looked at her.

She was smiling. “Sounds like a plan, biker boy.”

LIAM JERKED AWAKE the next morning and glanced at the clock: 7:02. Sun streamed in through the windows, illuminating the rafters and a few cobwebs as well.

He had to get home; Nicole was due back at ten.

Cordelia was still sleeping, her hair standing up in odd little clumps, her lashes wispy on her cheeks. Elf-cute, there was really no other way to think of it. Her lips were slightly swollen, and he’d left a little beard burn on her neck. He’d have to shave first next time.

Next time. The thought made him pause.

Cordelia Osterhagen came from a nice family. Chances were high that she probably wanted to get married, have a couple kids, pick out a couch, the whole deal. All good things…just not with him.

Marriage hadn’t been hell or anything…but it hadn’t been easy. It wasn’t the circumstances, the unexpected pregnancy. Those were actually their happiest years, when Nicole was little. But from the very beginning, he could sense it, the long, slow fading as Emma’s heart slipped away a little further each year, as she fell out of love with the juvie mechanic who’d knocked her up.

Besides. There was Nicole to think of.

He got out of bed and pulled on his clothes in silence, then bent down and gave Cordelia a gentle shake. “Hey. I have to run. Nicole needs a ride.”

“Okay,” she said sleepily. Then she bolted awake, her head smacking his. “Ow! Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, rubbing the sore spot. “See you around?”

“Oh…sure.”

He knew that look. But aren’t we in something here? Will you call me? When will I see you again? Didn’t this mean something? He’d seen that look on Paige’s face in San Diego, and on the faces of a dozen girls back in the day, and now, seeing it on Cordelia’s, he… Well, shit.

She pulled the covers higher and looked away. The awkward silence filled the room like carbon monoxide. Liam sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his boots. “Last night was great.”

“Yeah.” She blushed, and he felt an uncomfortable pull in his chest. When she’d opened the door and jumped him, come on. A guy didn’t just pass that up. Not when all the blood cheerfully fled from head to groin, rendering logical thought completely impossible. Then in the kitchen last night, he’d just wanted to…reassure her for some reason, even though she’d given him the perfect out, bringing up Emma and all.

“Cordelia, listen.”

“You’re not ready for a big relationship, you have a kid, you’re still adjusting, a fling would be fine, but no commitment.”

Wow. He smelled a trap. She didn’t look mad, or like she was about to burst into tears, but women were tricky. “Um…well, in some ways, yes.”

“Okay. See you around.” She flopped back down on the pillows and closed her eyes.

He stood there, suspicious. Maybe she was about to bury a knife between his shoulder blades. Or maybe he’d just really hurt her feelings. Maybe she really didn’t care if she ever saw him again. Or maybe…here was an odd thought…maybe she’d just used him for sex.

User’s manual—so handy. “You free on Sunday?” The words seem to fall out of his mouth without permission.

She opened one eye. “Maybe.”

“Want to do something?”

Her eyes stayed closed. “Something fling-ish that doesn’t imply commitment?”

“Um…I get the feeling I’m being led to my doom. Can I take the fifth and just see you again?”

To his surprise, she laughed and sat up again, reached out and patted his knee. “Sure, biker boy. Now get out. I have to go to work.”

He hesitated until she gave him an ungentle shove with her foot, then left, somewhat confused, mildly suspicious and…huh. And kind of happy.