sex tape,” Ric repeated as the limo headed south on Tamiami Trail. “With Annie?”

Robin opened up the refrigerator and took inventory of both that and the liquor cabinet, as Annie cracked up. There was Coke and there was…plenty of rum. Score.

“Ew,” she said. “Am I allowed to say ew? ” She looked at Robin. “Not that the idea of…”

“Don’t worry, I’m not offended. I get a heavy whiff of ew myself from the idea of getting busy in a studio with Gordie Junior directing.” Robin imitated Junior’s tough-guy accent, which the thug-wannabe had probably learned from watching The Sopranos. “Fucka harda, Chadwick, fucka harda.”

Jules spoke for the first time since they’d put up the privacy shield that separated them from the driver, and run Ric’s bug sweeper across them, getting the all-clear. “Not everyone in this vehicle is from Hollywood,” he said sharply, “so watch your mouth.”

Suddenly Jules had a problem with his language? “It was a joke.” Robin looked at Annie. “You knew it was a joke, right?”

She nodded, also more than a little mystified.

“It was actually a multilevel, layered kind of joke,” Robin continued, “because there’s this underlying implication that I think it’s okay to make a sex tape, as long as it’s not Gordie Junior who’s directing.”

“Will you please button your shirt?” Jules implored, impatience and annoyance dripping from him.

Robin looked down. His shirt was, indeed, still hanging open. “Why are you mad at me?” he asked Jules as he buttoned it. He’d thought the connection they’d shared during dinner was a step toward at least an acknowledgment that this spark between them was something real, something solid.

But now Jules just shook his head, refusing even to look at Robin.

“As freaky as this sex-tape thing is,” Ric said, “it’s good. It’s another connection to Gordie Junior.”

“Yeah, and you know, he wasn’t married to the idea of it being with Annie,” Robin told him. “Any random starfucker would do.” He looked at Jules. “Am I allowed to say starfucker since I buttoned my shirt?”

“How drunk are you?” Jules asked.

“Sadly,” Robin said, “too drunk to comprehend your sudden hostility, but not drunk enough to not care.” He turned back to Annie and Ric. “Jules gave Junior his card and let him think we were interested.” He took a Coke from the fridge and popped open the top. “Anyone want anything?”

All three of them shook their heads. Robin knew that Jules was enormously upset about the evidence they’d discovered—the room that was Peggy’s that had been, as Ric had put it, sanitized. But why he was now taking it out on Robin was a total mystery.

“Didn’t we accomplish our mission?” Robin asked. He turned to Jules. “Or am I wrong, and you didn’t find what you were looking for…?”

“Oh, I found it,” Jules said grimly. “Peggy left a message, on the metal window frame. It was hidden until the window was cranked open, and even then I had to really look to see it. She was good. She must’ve known the room was going to be stripped.”

Holy God. That meant Peggy had known she was going to be killed. No wonder Jules was freaking out.

“What did it say?” Annie asked. “Her message?”

Jules shook his head. “It was written in some kind of code. I’ve already passed the information on to the analysts. I’m waiting for a call back, but it could take a while.”

“You’re certain she’s dead?” Annie asked.

“I’m pretty sure she wrote it in blood.”

“Ah, God, babe, I’m so sorry,” Robin breathed.

“Yeah, me, too.” Jules looked away.

They rode for about a half mile in gloomy silence. But then Robin reached for the plastic cups.

“Okay,” he said as he put four into the limo’s built-in cup holders, pouring a few fingers of his Coke into each of them. “I didn’t know Peggy Ryan. I never met the woman. I couldn’t tell you if I would’ve liked her, although I suspect I wouldn’t’ve, because word is she was something of a hard-ass, not to mention homophobic.”

He tossed the empty can into the recycling, and took the rum from the cabinet. “But regardless of that, she has my respect. She gave her life for our country, for our freedom, for our safety.” He opened the bottle and poured a healthy amount of rum into each cup.

“Haven’t you had enough to drink?” Jules asked.

Robin stopped pouring. “Are you going back to work after we drop Annie and Ric?”

Jules sighed, a long drawn out exhale of frustration. “Yes,” he said. “I probably am.”

Which meant that, once again, the conversation that Jules refused to have with him was going to be postponed. “Then, nope, I haven’t.”

Robin resumed pouring. It was either have another drink or bring the subject up now, in front of Ric and Annie, as he’d threatened earlier. But tonight had clearly been tough enough for Jules. And Robin was just not that cruel.

“Besides, this isn’t a drink,” Robin added, putting the rum away, and distributing the cups first to Annie, then Ric, and then Jules. “It’s a toast.” He had to put the cup into Jules’s hand, wrapping his fingers around it. “Would it kill you to drink a toast?”

Jules was silent, but he’d finally taken the damn thing, so Robin picked up his own cup, and held it up. “To Peggy Ryan. May her final courageous message be one that saves thousands of lives.”

“To Peggy,” Ric and Annie unisoned.

Robin looked at Jules.

“To Peggy,” he said.

The soda was cold, but the rum warmed Robin. Warmed and fuzzed and made the prospect of going home alone both more and less bearable. Funny how that worked.

Truth was, he was a little disappointed that Annie wasn’t coming to the hotel with him. He’d been looking forward to having some company. Someone he didn’t have to pretend around. Someone to talk to, someone who knew Jules, too.

Dolphina had taken the night off. She was attending the wedding of a friend in Orlando and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow afternoon. So when he went home, he really would be alone.

“So what happened?” Robin asked Ric and Annie now. “You know, the whole change-in-plans thing.”

They looked at each other. They were sitting about as far apart as two people could sit on the bench seat, and still be in the same limo.

“Go ahead,” Ric told Annie. “I’m interested in hearing what happened, too.”

“Okay,” Annie said. “Should I start with the part where I saved your life?”

Apparently Jules didn’t have the monopoly on being pissed off.

“Or should I start a little earlier?” Annie continued. “I know. I’ll start where I saw Ric heading down the hall to the kitchen. So I know he’s going for it, right? He’s going to find Peggy’s room. A few minutes later, I’ve just come out of the ladies’ room, and he’s still not back, and I see one of Burns’s security guards—a really scary guy named Foley. He’s got these zombie eyes—really freaky, like he’s already dead. He was obviously scanning the crowd, looking for someone. I noticed that he kept looking at Robin and Jules. I was still lurking over by the bathroom—I know he didn’t see me. And I just…I somehow knew that he was looking for Ric and maybe even for me. I saw him speak to another guard, who pointed at the hall to the kitchen, where Ric had gone. I was afraid Foley was going to go after him and oh, I don’t know, kill him? So I went outside, and ran around the side of the house, and I climbed up onto the servants’ deck. Which wasn’t as easy to do as it looked on paper.”

She pulled back the sleeve of Ric’s jacket, which she’d been wearing since dinner, revealing a scrape on her arm that was still oozing blood. So that was why she’d claimed to be cold despite the tropical heat.

“Shit, Annie.” Ric took her arm and turned on the overhead light to get a better look. The heel of her hand looked raw and sore, too. He looked at her questioningly, in some kind of wordless exchange to which she nodded an almost apologetic response. “Shit,” he swore again.

Robin snuck a look at Jules, who was, to his surprise, watching him.

“I’m really sorry,” Robin told him silently, even as Annie spoke to Ric.

“I’m okay”—she pulled her arm back—“although I’ve ruined the lining of your jacket.”

“I don’t care about that,” Ric said as Jules just looked at Robin, as Robin saw a breathtaking echo of everything he himself wanted right there in Jules’s dark brown eyes. “Christ, Annie, how many times did I tell you not to go off on your own?”

Annie made an exasperated noise. “I didn’t think it applied to a situation in which you were about to disappear, the way Peggy Ryan did.”

“You don’t know that would’ve happened.”

“You don’t know that it wouldn’t’ve,” she countered as Robin continued to hold Jules’s gaze, his heart in his throat. “Can’t you just acknowledge that I did something right?”

“You put yourself at incredible risk!”

“It was worth it!” she shouted back at Ric, and Jules finally looked away. “You’re here, I’m here, we’re all in one piece!”

“Guys,” Jules said, once again the peacekeeper.

“What if you’d fallen?” Ric asked. “What if you’d been followed?”

“What if Foley had figured out you were looking for Peggy Ryan”—Annie was not ready to let him win—“and he killed you, and then he killed the rest of us, because we came to this party with you, and then, because you screwed it up and the FBI no longer had access to Gordon Burns and his despicable plans, this terrorist gets into the country and blows up freaking New York City?”

Ric was finally silent.

“It was worth it,” Annie said again, more quietly now. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it when I said you, you know, screwed it up, because you didn’t. It wasn’t your fault that Foley went looking for you.”

Robin reached for the rum, needing desperately to top off his drink.

“Burns’s security team is extremely well trained,” Jules pointed out, but Ric didn’t seem convinced. “If they weren’t so highly skilled, we would’ve been able to get onto the property long before this. And here, Robin, why don’t you just finish mine?”

Jules was holding out his cup, so Robin took it.

“Foley thought we’d had a…romantic assignation out on the deck.” Annie continued with the story. “So he let us go.”

“Annie made it look as if she was, um, appeasing my jealousy,” Ric explained. “You know, about her and Chadwick. She was actually very convincing. I thought Foley would get suspicious—more suspicious—if she suddenly did a one-eighty and walked out on me an hour later. That was why the change in the plan.”

“Good call,” Jules said.

“Yeah, right,” Ric said, with a glance at Annie.

“Anyone want to know what I found out?” Robin asked, and they all turned to look at him in surprise. “What? Just because I’m an actor I’m an idiot? My only contribution was when I took off my clothes? Thanks a lot, team.”

“That was quite a contribution,” Annie said.

“No one thinks you’re an idiot,” Jules said in a tone that was loaded with subtext that screamed what an idiot.

Robin took another sip of his drink, making them wait for it. “So what I did, was talk to the serving staff, pretty much all night—every chance I got.”

No one was impressed. Or maybe they were all just too busy being mad at one another. Although Jules seemed to have forgiven Robin. Except now all he looked was exhausted.

“The staff,” Robin repeated. “Including the three women who hold full-time, live-in positions at Burns Point, two of whom worked closely with Peggy Ryan?”

Now he had their attention. In fact, Jules took a small pad and pen from his inside jacket pocket so he could take notes.

“Okay,” Robin said. “There’s three of ’em, right? Maria, Terese, and Mona. They’re all mature—well over forty, which was the first thing I noticed. I thought it was kind of interesting. Burns is richer than God, and he’s a widower, why not have a staff of buxom twenty-year-olds?”

“He seems kind of formal—straight-laced—to me,” Annie volunteered.

“He’s also got a longtime ladyfriend,” Robin said. “Ella Whittier, who lives out at Lakewood Ranch.” When Ella had introduced herself to him, she’d grabbed his ass. And that was before he had his clothes off. “But I don’t think she’s the reason his staff are all prospective members of the Red Hat Society. One of the temps—the girls who were passing around the hors d’oeuvres and cheer—her name was Giselle. She’s done a lot of parties at Burns Point. She told me a few years back she was going to ask about a permanent position, but another of the girls told her not to bother. I asked why not, and she told me that as of six years ago, Burns has only hired older women because, get this—the younger ones had a habit of disappearing. One theory is that Gordie Junior knocked them up, and they were paid off and sent away. The other theory’s not as nice, but probably connected to the fact that, also six years ago, one of the staff—a nineteen-year-old girl—drowned in the family pool. Junior was looked at hard, for that one, too.”

“I remember that,” Ric said. “It was found to be an accident. I wasn’t on the case, but I followed it. The girl’s family was sure it was foul play—she was an excellent swimmer.”

Jules nodded. “I know about her, too. But you’re saying there were others?”

“Maybe it’s just urban legend,” Robin said, “but yeah. At least four. Giselle said she always jumps at the chance to work a party at Burns Point because the money is insane. But she also said that she’s careful to steer clear of Gordie Junior. She kind of said his name like she was saying Jack the Ripper.”

“I’ll have Yashi and Deb look into any other disappearances that happened at that time,” Jules said. “I’m not sure where this is going to go but…This is good information. Thank you.”

“And you thought all I could do was strip,” he said. “So, you want the rest of it?”

Jules smiled at that. “There’s more.” He didn’t quite phrase it as a question, but Robin nodded anyway. “Definitely.”

“When I was signing autographs,” Robin said, “I asked Mona and Terese how long they’d worked at Burns Point. Turns out Terese has been there three years, but Mona’s new. She told me she was hired to replace someone who had to leave rather suddenly last week. Which had to be Peggy, right? Apparently the excuse for her hasty departure was that an elderly parent broke a hip. Terese, who worked with Peggy, was a little tongue-tied, so I got her chatting. I asked her what it was like working as a live-in for such a long time, and she told me that she had nothing on Maria, who was a lifer.

“Maria’s been there more than ten years—she’s married to the head gardener. I got a heavy sense that there was a pecking order—and that Mona and Terese both thought that Maria was stuck-up. I told them that they seemed like good friends even though Mona was new, and it was nice that they had each other. And then I asked Terese if she’d been as close to the woman Mona was replacing—if she wanted me to sign something that she could send to her, you know, to cheer her up as she was taking care of her elderly whoever. Terese thought that was a great idea and had me sign a cocktail napkin for—drumroll, please—her dear friend Peggy. She said she’d have to ask Maria for her address. Maria happens to be nearby, Terese calls her over, explains what’s up, and Maria—you met her. She’s a nice-looking older lady. Very calm and serene. But now she looks like she can’t decide whether to shit or go blind. She takes the autograph that I’ve just signed and tells us she’ll send it to Peggy, and she practically runs away. I think at the very least that she’s seen rooms being ‘sanitized’ before. At best, she knows exactly what happened to Peggy Ryan.”

Silence followed. Ric was the first to speak, shifting in his seat. “Well, damn,” he said. “That’s an amazing amount of useful information.”

“People talk to me,” Robin said. Of course, there was a great irony there, considering the one person he really wanted to talk to wouldn’t. Jules definitely knew what he was thinking, and he glanced up, briefly meeting Robin’s gaze.

The limo slowed, and they all peered out the tinted windows—at night it was almost as impossible to see out as in. This thing was built like a fortress. When they’d first climbed in, Ric had been worried about the driver overhearing their conversation. But with the privacy shield up and locked into place, they could set off a small bomb back here, and Sean-the-driver would never know.

There was a reason, after all, why mob bosses did so much of their illegal business in the backs of limousines.

As Robin watched, they took the left turn onto Ric’s street.

“Tomorrow night,” Ric said. “I’ve got a meeting with Gordie Junior at eleven P.M. ” He looked at Annie. “I don’t want you anywhere near that.”

“You could give her a black eye,” Robin suggested. “And after you left for your meeting, she could come running to me, over at my hotel.”

Ric gave him such a look of disbelief, Robin laughed. “No violence,” he explained. “We do it with makeup.”

Annie shook her head. “I don’t think I could—”

“I can,” Robin said. “I started in indie films, remember? I know how to do FX makeup—the simple stuff, anyway. A black eye’s easy.”

“How would that work?” Jules asked as the limo pulled to a stop. “Without you coming over here to help her with the makeup?”

Good point. Hmm. “You wear a hoodie,” Robin told Annie. “And sunglasses. And you keep your head down and come straight to my room. Women don’t advertise domestic abuse—they try to hide it. You can smudge some shadow around your eye in case someone’s paying close attention. Once you’re in my room, I’ll help you. We’ll make it look like you’ve got a bruise that you’re trying to cover with makeup. That’s a total piece of cake.”

Ric glanced at Annie. “Okay,” he said. “I guess that’s a plan.”

It wasn’t enough of a plan for Annie, who asked Jules, “You’re going to make sure that Ric is safe when he meets Junior tomorrow night, right?”

Jules nodded. “We’ll have a surveillance van nearby. I’ll be in touch before that,” he told Ric.

Ric opened the door and helped Annie out. “Tomorrow, then,” he said, and the door closed behind them with a solid-sounding thunk.

Jules glanced at Robin.

Yeah, he’d noticed, too. They were alone.

“So,” Robin said. “Where to?”

“Better take me to my hotel,” Jules told him. “It’s too easy to tail a limo. I’ll call for a ride to get me over to HQ.” But then he cleared his throat. “I don’t really have to go right in anyway. I mean, all I’m doing is waiting for someone to call me back.”

Jules’s hotel was over near the harbor. Back near Burns Point. Robin pressed the intercom that connected him to the driver. “Take us north again, Sean,” he said, “to the Sarasotan Hotel,” and the limo pulled away from the curb.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking before,” Jules apologized. “You could’ve dropped me before Ric and Annie.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Robin reassured him. “Besides, you know, this way I get to have a couple of seconds of crazy hope that what you really want is for me to come with you, you know, up to your room and…”

Jules was just sitting there, looking at him.

“Holy shit,” Robin said. “You’re inviting me to your room.”

It was funny, actually. Jules could’ve imagined a dozen different responses from Robin to the news that, yes, Jules was actually inviting him back to his hotel room.

It was a mistake, there was no doubt about it. This was going to come back and bite Jules on the ass in more ways than he could imagine—he just knew it. But he was done. He’d had it. He was only human—he could only take so much before he broke.

And tonight, he’d broken.

But while he could’ve imagined Robin hitting him with another of those full-body-slam kisses that they’d shared just yesterday, Jules never would’ve thought the man would just sit there, staring back at him in stunned, wide-eyed silence.

Robin finally spoke. “Okay, so now I’m terrified. I’m afraid if I move, or even say anything at all, you’re going to change your mind or…decide I’m…not worth it.”

Jules reached for him, which was also kind of funny, because up to this point, Robin had been the pursuer. Jules had imagined giving in, saying yes, and being swept away completely.

Powerless. Helpless. Totally out of control.

Instead, he touched Robin’s hair, Robin’s face, brushed his thumb across the softness of Robin’s lips, felt Robin’s breath quicken, and watched his beautiful eyes darken with desire. Instead of being kissed, Jules kissed Robin—gently, slowly.

Thoroughly.

“You taste like rum,” Jules said, pulling back to look at him.

“I’m sorry.” Robin hadn’t been kidding. He was seriously terrified, his vulnerability all over his face. “I know you don’t like—”

“Shh. You also taste like you, and that I like.” Jules kissed him again. Harder, deeper, until the softness of Robin’s mouth turned demanding, too.

“God, Jules—” This time it was Robin who pulled back. He was breathing hard. They both were. “This doesn’t mean we don’t have to talk, because we still have to talk, okay?”

Jules laughed. “What do you think? That this is just a fast fuck in the back of a limo?”

“I don’t know,” Robin admitted, but then realized what Jules said. “Jesus, you’re serious—right now? Right…?”

Jules looked at him. God know she’d waited long enough. “Six months?” he asked Robin.

Who nodded and moved first, leaping into action, reaching up to turn on the radio that was built into the ceiling, cranking the volume. It was surreal. It must’ve been tuned to the local oldies station, because “Hooked on a Feeling” pounded as both of their pairs of shoes went flying.

It wasn’t the Blue Swede version, thank you, God. It must’ve been an earlier recording. Jules had never particularly liked the song, but as Robin grabbed him and kissed him again, it rocketed into his top ten.

Damn, as Robin helped him out of his jacket and unfastened his belt, it was his new all-time favorite song.

Robin had his own clothes off in record time, probably from having to do quick costume changes backstage when he did live theater. Socks, pants, shirt. Those blue boxers that were, indeed, silk, and as soft to the touch as they’d looked back in Gordon Burns’s kitchen.

“Hooked on a Feeling” segued into the Beatles—“That Boy”—which so wasn’t the song Jules would have chosen for this moment with this man who was going to trash his heart. That boy isn’t good for you… Shut up, John, Paul, George, and Ringo. Jules closed his eyes, not needing their warning, as he kissed Robin again.

“I love this song,” Robin murmured, in between those long, slow, soft kisses. “It’s so romantic, don’t you think?” He lifted his head and sang directly to Jules. “This boy would be happy just to love you…”

Jules had to laugh. “You can sing, too, huh?”

“And play the piano,” Robin said. “But not like Teo Alvarado.”

“Oh, well,” Jules said, “then forget it. Let’s call the whole thing off.”

“Too late.” Robin laughed as he helped him with his pants, which really wasn’t very helpful at all, at least as far as taking them off went.

There must’ve been condoms in a compartment right in the limo’s door. Robin covered them both as “That Boy” melted into “Kiss Him Goodbye”—again not another song that Jules would have picked for this particular occasion’s soundtrack.

And then the music didn’t matter, because they were finally skin to skin, kissing, touching…

Loving.

Sweet God, it felt so good…

“I love your smile,” Robin breathed, kissing the corner of Jules’s mouth.

Jules kissed him back, afraid to speak, afraid of what he might accidentally say.

But it was Robin from whom the truth leaked, his voice a rough whisper in Jules’s ear, mere seconds before he found his release. “God, I love you. You know that, right?”

His words took Jules, hard, right over the edge.

Ric and Annie came through the office door fighting.

“I don’t understand why you’re so mad,” Ric told her.

Annie bent down to greet Pierre. “Hello, my good dog. What a good dog. It’s so nice to see someone who’s not a total asshole. ” She looked up at Ric. “You really can’t figure it out, can you?”

“No. I can’t,” Ric’s voice was loaded with frustration. “Hello. That’s why I’m asking.”

“You said nothing to me.” Annie lit into him. “Nothing at all, when I kicked ass at the shooting range.”

“Yo, guys,” Martell said, waving from Annie’s desk. “I’m sitting right here.”

But Annie kept on going, speaking right over him. “But now, when I put on a dress and makeup, now you want to screw me, is that how it works?” She grabbed Pierre’s leash from its hook by the door. “Don’t bother answering that—I have to walk my dog.”

“He’s cool,” Martell said. “I took him out when I got here, ’bout ten minutes ago.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Ric asked Annie, who put Pierre’s leash back. Martell may have been invisible, but apparently he wasn’t inaudible. “I have been working my ass off to keep my distance from you, right from the second that you walked into my office two weeks ago. And that was despite my thinking that you were still grieving from the loss of your significant other!”

“Oh, good.” Annie put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “Let’s bring the fact that you thought I was gay into this, shall we?”

“Jesus God!” Ric grabbed his forehead.

“Guys.” Martell stood up. “Are you sure you want to be doing this while I’m here?”

They both turned to him in unison, heavy on the extra fury. “Yes!”

Annie kept going. “Did you believe Bruce because I’m ugly or because I’m fat?”

Oh, no. No, no, no. That was not a question that could be answered, not even with a flat-out denial. Ric would have to say…

“God damn it, Annie!”

That worked. Sort of.

“Or maybe it’s because I’m smart and strong,” Annie said. “Because I’m independent. What kind of society do we live in, that strong, independent women are automatically assumed to be lesbians—that weakness, indecisiveness, flightiness, vanity, and—yes!—stupidity! Stupidity is actually encouraged among young women and girls, to make themselves more attractive to men!”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Ric told her.

“Yeah,” Annie said, “but the fact is that you didn’t really want to have sex with me until I put on some stupid dress and made myself look like—”

“I have wanted to have sex with you,” Ric bellowed so loudly that it was likely the folks out on the interstate could hear him, “since you had that stupid birthday party at the bowling alley!”

She stared at him. “When I was…twelve?”

“Dude,” Martell said with disapproval.

“Not that one,” Ric said. “The one when all your friends had the flu. Everyone but what’s-his-name. Sandy Something. The kid you didn’t like. Bruce and I went, too, so you wouldn’t have to be alone with him.”

“Sandy Beebe,” Annie said. “The mouth breather. I was sixteen. You and Bruce made barf jokes all night long.”

“That’s the one,” Ric said.

“It was oddly fun,” Annie remembered. “Sandy turned out to be nice, and you…You were really sweet.”

“Sweet,” Ric scoffed. “Right. I wanted to do you, and it totally freaked me out.” He turned to Martell. “This was more than ten years before she put on the makeup.” He turned back to Annie. “You owe me an apology.”

She laughed scornfully. “What?”

“You accused me of being extremely shallow. You put on a dress and makeup and suddenly I want to screw you —your words,” Ric said. “I want you to apologize.”

“I’m sorry,” Annie said, “that I got it wrong, and that you apparently wanted to screw me back when I was sixteen. ”

“Sixteen’s jailbait,” Martell said.

Ric looked at him. “No shit.” He turned back to Annie. “For the record, I also thought you were outstanding at the shooting range. You totally kicked my ass—”

“So…what?” She crossed her arms. “You had to run away and pout about it?”

Ric’s mad was starting to restructure itself, with a heavy dose of frustration and insanity as its foundation. “No! I had to run away because I’ve always run away! I ran away when you were sixteen. And I ran away again when Bruce told me I had no chance with you. I’m still running, because now you’re back, scaring me out of my mother-loving mind. I couldn’t talk to you at the range, okay, because all I wanted to do was kiss the shit out of you. If I got too close, it was all over. Kind of like the way it was when I kissed you tonight.”

Martell cleared his throat, breaking the stunned silence. “Should I leave now?” he asked. No one answered.

“Why is that such a bad thing?” Annie asked Ric, her voice just a whisper.

“Because it is!”

“Why?”

“Because for one thing, sex ends friendships, all right? Christ, Annie, it was easier when you were off-limits, because I can live without the sex, but I can’t live without you as my friend.”

Martell didn’t move, waiting for Annie to laugh in Ric’s face, and then kick his ass up into the bedroom. She didn’t disappoint.

“You can live without the sex?” she asked, with, yes, disbelieving laughter in her voice.

“Yes,” Ric lied, heavy on the s, as if more sibilance would make him more believable, despite the fact that he was already shaking his head in a very solid no.

“Because I can’t,” she said. “Just the thought of you walking around all night with my panties in your pocket…”

“And it is time for me to go.” Martell grabbed Pierre’s leash. “Come on, dog-thing. Sleep over at Uncle Marty’s.”

“You can really live without the sex?” Annie asked Ric again.

This time he answered honestly. “No.”

“Then just…shut up and kiss me,” Annie said as Martell closed and locked the door behind him.

Ric was still angry with her.

Or maybe it wasn’t still. Maybe he was angry all over again. Either way, Annie could taste it in his kisses, feel it in the way he held her, touched her, his body taut, his hands slightly rough.

“I thought we agreed this was a mistake,” he all but snarled before kissing her again, longer, deeper, harder.

Just like at Burns Point, he had her pressed against the wall. Just like at Burns Point, she clung to him, opening her mouth to him, kissing him back just as forcefully.

She could feel him solid against her, and she opened her body to him, too, wrapping her leg around him, shifting her hips so that he was now pressed exactly where she wanted him.

“Oh God,” he breathed, his hands hot and rough against her thighs, pushing her skirt up indecently high, all the way to her waist, but she didn’t care. She wanted…

“Please,” Annie said, but it came out as just a muffled moan, because his tongue was in her mouth again. She could feel him unfastening his pants, heard the jingle of his belt buckle, the sound of something spilling onto the floor.

It was his credit cards, falling out of his wallet. And then it was his wallet, hitting the tile with a slap, tossed aside as he covered himself with a condom that he must’ve kept in there.

And then he made a sound that may in fact have been her name, but she wasn’t sure because she stopped listening, stopped thinking, stopped breathing.

Because there was only Ric—hard and hot and pressed unbelievably deeply inside of her.

She may have cried out, or maybe it was Ric. Again, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she didn’t want this moment ever to stop. She wanted to stay right here, in this particular now, until the end of time.

But then he started to move—slowly, languorously—an excruciatingly delicious sensation. It felt so good she started to laugh, and she discarded that other now for this new one, and the next, and the next, and the next.

“You think…this is…funny?” Ric’s voice came in gasps, and she opened her eyes to find him watching her, his eyes heavy-lidded and filled with heat, but not just from anger, from desire, too. He was feeling the same thing she was. She knew it.

“Is sex always this great?” she asked him, her own voice breathy and oddly high-pitched. “I mean, for you. With you. Because, for me, this is…incredible.” He pushed himself even more deeply inside of her, and she groaned. “Don’t ever stop, okay? I just want to keep doing this forever.”

Maybe it was the fact that he was laughing now, too. Or maybe it was the hot satisfaction that flared in his eyes. Maybe it was the fact that she was looking into those eyes, Ric’s eyes, losing herself in their rich darkness, surrounding herself with his palpable heat.

Or maybe it was reality giving her a shove. Nothing lasted forever. It was crazy of her even to think the word, let alone utter it aloud.

But she came in a shaking, shuddering rush, and Ric caught her mouth with his and kissed her and kissed her and kissed her until he gasped his own release.

And there they were. Both breathing hard, Ric with his forehead against the very wall where she rested the back of her own head.

His arms and shoulders were still tensed—he was, after all, supporting her full weight. Her feet were off the ground, legs locked around his waist.

This was, without a doubt, one of those times Ric had called her on—where she’d acted on impulse, without much thought as to what would follow.

Someone had to say something. And it was going to have to be her. She started with the obvious. “You should let me down.”

He did, lifting his head and opening his eyes, his muscles straining as he made sure her landing was gentle.

And there she was, with her boobs and her ass hanging out. Ric was just as disheveled, his pants down around his ankles, but of course, on him, it all looked unbelievably sexy.

At least it did until he spoke. “Remember how I said that when I’m with you, I usually end up doing something completely insane? This is one of those times.”

“Wow, thanks. It was good for me, too.” Annie was trying to wrestle her skirt back down, but sweat and spandex were not a good combination. She turned away, embarrassed, glad she was still covered by his jacket.

“I’m talking about the fact that I completely forgot you hurt yourself climbing up to that deck,” Ric told her. “You were right—I’m an asshole. Did I hurt you?”

He’d kicked off his shoes and his pants and was standing there wearing only his socks and shirt and tie, with such concern in his eyes, that Annie started to laugh.

“It’s not funny,” he said.

“Actually,” she said, “it kind of is.”

He looked down at himself, and almost before she could say, “I’m okay. I’m just scraped up a little—believe me, you didn’t hurt me.” He’d discarded the condom, peeled off his socks, and tossed away his tie. He took longer with his shirt, holding her gaze as he unbuttoned it. But it, too, soon joined his other clothes on the floor.

“Better?” he asked.

Oh yeah. Some men looked hotter with their clothes securely on—Ric didn’t fall into that subcategory. He was all tan skin and well-defined muscles and thick, dark body hair, and…She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Definitely not as funny now,” Annie told him.

He held out his hand. “Let’s go upstairs and get your scrapes cleaned up.”

She didn’t move. “You seem…okay,” she said.

“You mean, as opposed to being in a panic because I just nailed Bruce’s little sister to the wall?”

“Will you please forget Bruce?” Annie said in exasperation.

“Okay,” Ric said. “Bruce is forgotten. You mean, as opposed to being in a panic because I just nailed a really good friend of mine to the wall?”

“The world didn’t end,” Annie pointed out. “Look at us. We’re still talking. We’re still friends.”

He laughed. “Friends?”

“Yeah, well, you’re now my naked friend, but that really works for me. Look at you—you’re my own personal hot-naked-guy fantasy come true.”

“Is that really what you think?” Ric was starting to get mad again. “Because there’s nothing easy in what we just started. You want a fantasy? Find someone else.”

“What we just started…?” Annie couldn’t believe it. “I’m leaving tomorrow, remember?”

He’d forgotten—she could see it in his eyes, on his face. He’d forgotten, and he didn’t want her to go.

And oh, the way that made her heart swell with hope—which was a dangerous way to feel. This was Ric Alvarado. What did she think? He was going to marry her?

“Maybe the message that Peggy Ryan left,” Ric said. “Maybe it’ll be enough to end this for good.”

And then she could stay for another week or two—a month if she was lucky. It would, however, be one hell of a month.

“Let’s go upstairs and get you cleaned up,” Ric repeated. But then he kissed her. “And after that I’m going to make you come again. Only it’s going to be in my bed this time, with plenty of pillows and candlelight, okay? If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this right.”

Damn, skippy, when he put it that way…Annie took his hand and let him lead her upstairs.