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At last, a question I could answer honestly. “Yes, I swear to you, I did. I didn’t intend to stay out here and was heading right back to my warm— To my bed. But then you came out.”

“And you decided to…stay?” Not waiting for an answer, he lifted his hand and brushed the back of his fingers on my shoulder. “You’re freezing.”

Freezing? Oh, no. I felt very, very hot.

I could have made some lame well, you could keep me warm comment, but we were already way beyond that level of silly, light flirtation. Instead, I inched closer to him, using his body to block the wind, smelling the warm, masculine scent arising from his skin. His shirt continued to whip around and now I could see more of the scar just below his collarbone. Not to mention the ripples of muscle and taut, wiry hair.

I couldn’t resist. Lifting a hand, I laid it flat on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart. And his heat.

He didn’t say anything. He merely acted. Without a word of warning, he slid both his hands into my hair, cupping my head and tugging me forward. Any gasp of surprise I might have made was drowned out by my own heart, which thudded like crazy as he lowered his mouth to mine.

Then our lips met. Opened. Tasted. Thunder pounded…or maybe it was just the low roar of pleasure rolling through me.

The rain picked up again and lightning flashed somewhere nearby. I wasn’t aware of any of it. I couldn’t focus on anything except the warm lips and smooth tongue giving me such pleasure.

I’ve been kissed. A lot.

This wasn’t kissing. It was sex of the mouth.

Groaning, I rose on tiptoe, loving the strong, steady way he cupped my head, fingering my hair as his tongue plunged deep. I savored it, licking and sucking, sharing each breath with him, certain I’d never experienced anything more exciting in my entire life.

And then it was over. He ended the kiss, yanked his hands back and put them on my shoulders. Spinning me around, he literally pushed me through the door, into the house. Muttering, “Go to bed before you freeze,” he turned and stalked toward the open door, where the white curtains still whipped furiously in the night wind.

With one final, heated glance in my direction, he disappeared inside.

4

Simon

SHE HADN’T BEEN LYING. Her damn car wouldn’t start.

When his unwanted houseguest had informed him this morning that there was something wrong with her bright, shiny and new-looking car, Simon had half suspected she was lying. The woman was nothing if not determined to stay here and dig up whatever secrets her professor had sent her to find. She’d started in on him while sipping the coffee he’d grudgingly shared with her before escorting her out the door.

He’d brushed aside her suggestion that she stay and tell him more about this house he’d inherited from his uncle.

He was more tempted than he’d wanted to let on, mainly because of the strange things he’d experienced lately. But a long restless night—during which he’d been tormented by just how amazing she’d tasted when he’d given in to his insane impulse and kissed her—had convinced him it wasn’t worth the risk. Having her under his roof would be torture of the worst kind, since he just couldn’t trust his own judgment these days.

He wanted her. He’d wanted her from the minute he saw her and now that he’d had her in his arms, he only wanted her more.

Aside from her physical attractions, he wanted some of that brightness—light and life—that seemed to envelop her like an aura.

But he didn’t trust her. He trusted no one.

Besides, he wasn’t entitled to her. He didn’t deserve her.

So he’d convinced himself this morning that it was best to let her go. That he didn’t need to know anything more about Seaton House than what he already knew. After all, this wasn’t his home, it was merely a shelter. A refuge from the storm his life had become since he’d been released from the hospital in July. He didn’t give a damn if Jimmy Hoffa were buried in the basement. He simply didn’t want to hear about it.

Especially