Bill stopped listening, instead turning his full attention toward the staircase.

Did he dare?

"Go," Ace came up beside him, giving him a little shove even as Mac continued to rant about the superiority of Texans when it came to the inventiveness of Southern colloquialisms. "But I warn you, you better just talk to her, just comfort her. I don't want to hear you up there smudging her cookies."

"Smudging her what?" Bill asked, only half listening since all his attention was focused on those stairs. Was it a stairway to heaven or h.e.l.l?

"You know what I'm talking about," Ace insisted. "Eating her cake, flicking her bean, smudging her cookies. None of that."

And, s.h.i.t, had his thoughts been plastered all over his face?

He turned to lift a brow at Ace who flattened his mouth and narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, I can see the gerbils spinning the wheels in your head. But I trust you to keep them, and yourself, in check. Can you do that for me?"

"Of course I can," Bill said, but he wondered who he was trying to convince more, Ace or himself. Then he decided there was no use standing there pondering imponderable thoughts, so he pulled his determination around himself like a steely mantle and stomped across the room to the metal steps.

Chapter Eight.

Somewhere on Lake Sh.o.r.e Drive 11:02 p.m.

She needed to die. It was the only way...

And it broke his heart that's how it had to be. But there was a law in the jungle: Eat or be eaten. And, as sad as it might sound, it didn't matter what the relationship was. The female praying mantis ate her lover. The chimpanzee was known to eat his enemy. Even polar bear fathers had been filmed killing and eating their young.

He didn't make the rules, by G.o.d. But he'd certainly learned to live by them. And the only way he could see to get free of his current predicament was for Eve to meet her maker.

Unfortunately, she was proving far more difficult to kill than he ever imagined...

Tough. That's what she was. Tough and smart and beautiful. And there was a part of him that was so d.a.m.ned proud of her and how far she'd come from that young woman who'd suffered nearly paralyzing shyness and self-doubt. A part of him that adored her and scorned himself and the decisions he'd made that necessitated her death.

No. He shook his head, gazing out of his living room window at the cars zooming past on Lake Sh.o.r.e Drive, and beyond, to the calming blue of the lake itself. You've made your decision.

As always, the inner pep talk steadied him. And he could admit that he no longer had the time to stage her death, to orchestrate another accident. The clock was ticking down to the final hour, and he had to act fast. It needed to be quick. It needed to be dirty. And it needed to be soon.

Which meant it was time to call in the cavalry, otherwise known as the lowlife Chicago thugs who were threatening to break his knees before breaking his neck...

Picking up a cheap, plastic pre-paid phone, he dialed a number he knew by heart. One quick string of words later, and it was done. Eve's life-or the end of her life-was no longer in his hands.

It's just as well, he thought, sighing. It'd been obvious that night when he hesitated in putting a bullet in her brain that he really didn't have the stomach to see this kind of nasty business through. He loved her, after all. But he hadn't been able to countenance the thought of the half million dollars he'd have to pay that seedy Chicago gangster-on top of the wad of money he already owed the man-for services rendered.

Then again, time-and an impending deadline-brought clarity. And, really, what was a measly five hundred thousand when compared to continuing to breathe without the help of a tube? Which was exactly what would happen to him if Eve didn't meet her end soon.

So, yes, he'd done the right thing, calling in the hit. And now all he had to do was sit and wait. Wait to give the big, sleazy a.s.sholes with their big, sleazy guns her whereabouts.

Glancing down at the gla.s.s of scotch in his hand, he watched the amber liquid catch the light from a nearby Tiffany lamp. It sparkled like agate, reminding him of the style of life he was used to living, of the style of life he deserved.

Raising the gla.s.s to his nose, he sucked in the peaty aroma of well-aged malted barley.

Yes, he a.s.sured himself. I did the right thing.

She was crying.

He could hear her through the door.

d.a.m.nit! The sound of her sobs, of her quiet sniffles, stabbed through him like shrapnel from a car bomb, tearing apart his insides. He was a sucker for women's tears, no doubt about it. Really, what decent, honorable man wasn't? But Eve's had always been particularly heartrending. She cried with her whole body. She shook from head to toe, her tears seeming to come up from the depths of her soul.

His steely cloak of determination slipped, and he pressed his forehead against the cool metal door, fighting the urge to just turn away. From her sorrow. From his own. Then he reminded himself of Ace's words and metaphorically reached back to adjust his mantle.

Flyboy was right. It was time for him to, if not forget, then at least begin to forgive. To heal his hurt as well as hers. And, yes, as much as it might grieve him to admit it, ever since their reunion he'd been doing his best to hurt her, to give her a taste of his suffering.

Of course, healing their hurts meant he had to start by marching into the room and asking her to answer the question that'd eaten at his brain like a tumor since the day he'd received that wedding invitation in the mail...

He needed to ask her why?

Why had she done things the way she'd done them? Why hadn't she treated him with a little more respect, a little more compa.s.sion? Hadn't he deserved that?

And maybe after he'd asked those questions, depending on her answers-or perhaps her answers didn't really matter so much as the act of finally confronting the issue-he could begin to move forward. Move on.

Okay, Billy boy. Let's man up and do this.

"Eve?" he knocked softly. "I..." He had to swallow the ton of sand that'd inexplicably taken up residence in his throat like the place was a friggin' Saudi desert or something. "I'm coming in, okay?"

He didn't wait for a reply, simply turned the k.n.o.b and pushed into the room.

And there she was, sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed, Peanut curled up next to her, a loud purr rumbling from the big tomcat until he sounded like a furry, V-twin engine. Yes, there she was. The first woman to touch his heart. The only woman who'd ever broken it...

Her usually sleek, raven-black hair was a bird's nest, the end of her perfect nose pink and shiny. And her eyes? Well, they were so puffy and red he was hard-pressed to make out the blue of her irises. And yet she was still, hands down, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. s.h.i.t.

"I want to be alone, B-Billy," she hiccupped, wiping the backs of her hands over her wet cheeks.

"That's not what you told Ace," he reminded her as he edged closer and closer to the bed even as the urge to flee in the friggin' opposite direction grew stronger and stronger. Now that he was here, doing it, he wasn't sure he was ready. It suddenly felt as if he was poised to pull the pin on something, and the explosion was going to be far larger than he antic.i.p.ated.

"That's because Ace isn't..." She shook her head helplessly, looking up at him when he came to stand beside her, her eyes begging him for mercy. No doubt she expected more disdain and vitriol from him. Why shouldn't she? That's all he'd given her for nearly a year...

Double s.h.i.t.

Once again, that soft spot inside, the one he'd thought forever hardened, took one long look at her there, expression meek and pleading, and immediately turned to goo.

"Ace isn't what?" he asked, shoving Peanut back into the middle of the mattress, receiving a loud, disgruntled mrrreow for his trouble. He ignored the cat's furiously twitching tail and narrowed, yellow eyes as he gently lowered himself to the bed beside Eve.

"He's not you," she said, stiffening up like her whole body had been doused in Super Glue when he threw an arm around her shoulders, ignoring the little voice inside his head that yelled, Danger! Danger, Will Robinson! "Wh-what are you d-doing?"

"Comforting you," he said, his breath sawing from his lungs at the feel of her in his arms again. So delicate and fragile. Like a very fine, very rare crystal vase that had to be protected at all costs.

"B-but why?" she stuttered. One big, sparkling tear leaked from the corner of her eye to trail down her perfect, pale cheek. He reached up to thumb it away, and her breath hitched in her throat.

So soft. That's what he remembered about her. How soft her skin was. How good it smelled. Like handmade soap, designer lotion, and warm lace. He dragged in a deep breath. That lavish aroma would always make his d.i.c.k hard enough to hammer nails.

Now being no exception...

He shifted, subtly adjusting himself into a more comfortable position. "Let's just say I'm putting a little change in the karma bank," he told her. "Besides, I think it's time to let bygones be bygones."

"Do you..." She licked her pale, peachy lips, and his eyes followed the dart of her pink tongue. The s.e.xual beast inside him, the one he'd kept reined in around her since their reunion, began chomping at the bit. d.a.m.nit all to h.e.l.l! She made him feel completely uncivilized, straight up animalistic, in fact. And the way he wanted her, hard, fast, and totally dirty was straight out of the jungle. Anytime he touched her, he was all about the me Tarzan, you Jane. And it was so very annoying that his libido had never gotten the note that she was persona non grata in the whole horizontal mambo department. "Do you mean that?" she finally managed.

Did he? If he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure.

What he was sure of was that, despite everything, despite the fact that their convoluted history meant there was no chance of a future between them, he wanted to kiss her. To taste those full, perfectly formed lips, to breathe in that sweet, soft breath, to feel her warm, lithe form pressed against the length of him once again.

Smudging her cookies indeed...

G.o.d, he remembered how she'd been all those years ago. So young and fresh. So eager to learn the ways of his body. So delighted as he learned the ways of hers.

Oh, great. And now his d.i.c.k wasn't only hard enough to hammer nails, the d.a.m.n thing was actually sucking all the blood away from his brain, causing him to, for a split second, consider doing something very, very stupid.

She must've sensed the change in him because a subtle trembling shook her shoulders. Her pupils dilated until they almost eclipsed the blue of her irises. And staring at her lovely face, he couldn't read her expression. Which was odd. Because open book or wide-open book, remember?

So call it Fate or bad luck or simply bad timing, but, in that moment, he couldn't tell if she was inviting him to lay her back on that bed or sizing him up for a coffin-payback for all the h.e.l.l he'd put her through recently. And the not knowing meant he had to rely on instinct. So before he realized he even moved, he was palming the back of her neck and dragging her forward for a kiss, the little head in his pants instinctively taking over for the big head on his shoulders.

And the instant their lips touched? Well...let's just say he knew it for the mistake it was.

Suddenly, his big head was back online and shouting at him to get the h.e.l.l out! Because the feel of her, the taste of her, made him want to forget everything, forget that she was a cruel, untrustworthy woman. And he absolutely could not forget that. If he did, there'd be nothing stopping him from throwing caution to the wind and giving her another chance, from allowing her the opportunity to crush him again.

Which could not, would not happen. He'd barely survived the heartbreak the first time. He wouldn't survive it a second...

But he couldn't make himself release her either. In fact, against all reason and good judgment, he did just the opposite. He slid his free hand down her arm, stopping to intertwine their fingers. Then he snaked their joined hands behind her back and pressed her forward until she was forced to scoot closer to him. She was trembling in his arms just as she had at eighteen, trembling with desire mixed with nerves. And just as he'd done all those years ago, he gentled his a.s.sault, kissing his way across her brow and then her closed lids, letting her lush lashes tickle his lips, sipping at the salty wetness that still clung there. Sliding his nose down the side of hers until their foreheads touched, he was surprised when she released his hand, grabbed his face, and angled his head, slamming her mouth over the top of his only to proceed to try to catalog his teeth with her tongue.

Sonofa- And just like that, all his gentleness vanished. Okay, and Ace was right. He not only wanted to smudge her cookies, he wanted to flick her bean and eat her cake, too. But first he wanted to kiss her. Kiss her like he hadn't kissed a woman since her, with everything he had, with his whole body, with his whole...heart.

He slipped his hand under her blouse, and the warm skin of her back was soft yet firm, covering supple feminine muscles. Eve might look fragile, but she did not feel it. What she did feel like was his. She'd always felt like his and- s.h.i.t on a stick!

How had everything gotten out of hand so quickly?

Once again, his body acted before his brain. With absolutely no finesse, he jumped from the bed like the thing had turned into a gaping mouth threatening to swallow him whole. The sudden move nearly had Eve face-planting into the colorful rug, and he steadied her by placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I, uh-" He stopped short, trying and failing to catch his breath. She was looking up at him with big, wary eyes, two graceful fingers touching her kiss-wet lips, her other hand wrapped around the pearl pendant at her throat. Holy h.e.l.l, you've got to get out of here, boy-o.

"I didn't mean for that to-" He stopped again, shaking his head. "Goodnight, Eve."

He turned on his heel, gritting his teeth against the pain caused by the humungous bite his ulcer took out of his stomach when her softly whispered "G-goodnight, Billy" followed him out the door.

Chapter Nine.

Black Knight Inc.'s Onsite Gym Sunday, 6:36 a.m.

What did it mean? What did it mean? What did it mean?

The phrase circling around in Eve's head kept time with the pounding of her sneakers on the treadmill's conveyer belt.

He'd said he wanted to let bygones be bygones, and then he'd kissed her...

Holy moly, did he ever! Her lips were still tender, the skin on her chin still slightly pink from the rasp of his ever-present beard stubble. And, oh, she'd forgotten what it felt like to be good and truly kissed. To be swept away by the sensation of lips and teeth and tongues and sweet-tasting breath.

n.o.body, and she meant n.o.body, kissed like William Wesley Reichert. The man was a veritable prodigy, especially when he did that thing where he put both palms on either side of her face and gently sucked her tongue into his mouth...or when he caught her lower lip between both of his and softly stroked the sensitive pad with his tongue...or when he was in the conquering mood and plunged inside her mouth like Genghis Khan, just flippin' ravaging her-which was what he'd done toward the end last night.

And, yes, she totally blamed him-and her early immersion in the wonder that was him-for the fact that the guys she'd dated and kissed since him hadn't measured up to her expectations. I mean, once a girl got a taste of triple-chocolate truffles, plain ol' graham crackers simply lost their appeal.

But what did it mean? Did it mean she'd been wrong about that look out in the Hummer? Did it mean he'd forgiven her and wanted to give it another try? Or was it, in fact, some sort of good-bye kiss, a way to mark the end of their tumultuous relationship, to bookend their time together, if you will?

Her phone sprang to life, dragging her from her restless thoughts, and she frowned down at the name on the screen. Her father wasn't very good at taking a hint. But she wasn't prepared to speak to him. Not yet, at least. Punching a b.u.t.ton, she sent the call directly to voice mail just as a deep voice, spoken from directly behind her, had her hitting the emergency stop key on the treadmill.

"You still run like the wind."

She glanced over her shoulder, grabbing the towel draped over one of the handrails in order to wipe away the drops of sweat on her brow and throat.

"You're up early," she wheezed as she stepped off the machine, wondering if her breathlessness came from exertion or the fact that Billy looked so dang good that her lungs had seized up.

Erm...probably the second. Because she ran seven miles a day, five days a week, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd lost her breath while doing it.

Chastising herself for being a complete man-hungry ninny when it came to Billy and his miles of tan, tattooed muscles, she wiped the towel over her face and forced herself to drag in a steadying breath. The smell of the bleach the towel had been washed in combined with the aromas of the gym's astringent cleaning products and good, healthy, male sweat to ground her. Sort of. That is until her gaze once more landed on Billy.

Oh, good gracious. Today he was wearing baggy sweat pants slung low around his ultra-trim waist and a tight white tank top that emphasized the hulking muscles in his shoulders and just happened to showcase the colorful star tattoos cascading down his sculpted arms.

Her eyes were drawn to the red and blue ink, to the fierce points of each wickedly perfect beacon of patriotism. She wondered idly if the individual stars represented something. But the thought was fleeting, because she was distracted by the sea of testosterone surrounding Billy. The sea of testosterone that made her want to do something incredibly foolish like, oh, say, don snorkel gear and dive right in. Then again, before she could do that, she needed to figure out exactly what last night's kiss meant. If she could just drum up the courage, that is.

Come on, Eve. Stop being a wuss. Oh G.o.d, her heart was pounding a mile a minute.

"I like to get in a workout before the chaos of the day begins," Billy said in answer to her incredibly lame-insert eye roll here-you're up early. Geez, whoever it was who'd recently complimented her for being articulate should obviously go in for a CT scan. Because when it came to Billy, her vocabulary shrank to double and most times single syllable words.

Like, for instance, right now? Well, right now, as she watched him push away from the doorjamb, the only word she could seem to come up with was yum.

Her eyes devoured him as he sauntered over to a weight bench. Lowering himself, he bent to tighten the laces on his worn sneakers. Which is when she realized not only was her stomach quivering from the mere sight of him, but her hands were also shaking with fear. And dangit, a large part of her wanted to turn tail and run. Just skedaddle right on out of the outbuilding that served as BKI's home gymnasium and avoid any morning-after conversations. Because what if he told her that kiss meant nothing? Or worse, that it meant the end of everything...