She gave him a long, hard look. Then she pulled a piece of paper and a pen out from under the counter and started writing.

Joely was carefully wrapping a ceramic owl in tissue paper when the phone rang. Perry picked it up, talked for a moment, then gave Joely a flirty look as she hung up.

"That was Rey," she said.

Joely eased the well-cus.h.i.+oned owl into a gift box. "What did he want?"

"Nothing. He just said not to worry about him. He got directions from Virginia and drove up to your place about an hour ago."

"Did you want this gift-wrapped?" Joely asked the customer, then her confusion kicked in. "He did what?"

The customer, a young woman in an extremely pink blouse, said, "No, no gift wrap. Who's Rey?"

"Her husband," said Perry, and Joely said, "My ex."

The woman smiled. "That's what I love about this place. It's always so interesting." She picked up her carefully packaged owl and departed, grinning.

Joely shrugged, trying not to let her imagination get away with her. "Maybe he just got bored."

"Maybe he's waiting on your couch. Naked." She gave a cheeky grin. "You know, with that big nose and everything."

Joely scowled. "Don't start, Perry."

"I'd hurry home if I were you."

"We close in an hour. I'll go home then."

She spent the next hour pretending she had no concerns at all about what Rey might be doing alone in her house. But by the time she turned over the "Closed" sign, her stomach was trembling with antic.i.p.ation. He'd said he was going to seduce her, and she had reason to know he could do a fine job of it, if he set his mind to it. She pulled out the cash drawer, preparing to take it back to the office to lock it in the safe, but Perry grabbed it.

"I'll take care of this stuff. You go home and see what's up."

Joely opened her mouth to protest, then realized she didn't want to. "Okay. Thanks, Perry. Don't count it. We can do that in the morning. I'll come in early."

"Somehow I doubt that," said Perry.

Joely gave her a tolerant smile and a half-amused roll of the eyes. But, secretly, she thought maybe Perry was right.

Rubbing his hands together, Rey perused his work. The table was set with some pretty stoneware he'd found in Joely's cabinets. It didn't look familiar; she must have bought it after she'd moved. Or maybe she'd made it. It didn't have her mark on the bottom, but the pattern looked like something she'd come up with, with its vibrant, offbeat colors and not-quite symmetrical pattern. In the middle of the table was a large bouquet flanked by candles, which he'd lit. The lady at the florist shop had said they had aromatherapy oils in them that would increase the romantic mood. Rey wasn't sure he believed in aromatherapy, but he needed all the help he could get. So there were six more candles in the kitchen, burning in different places, adding atmosphere and a subtle fragrance Rey hoped would work its magic on Joely.

He wondered if it would work, though, if the aromatherapy smell was drowned out by the dinner smell. He'd bought dinner to go at the diner and had it warming now in the oven. Virginia had given him suggestions on the diner's specialties after she'd written up the directions to Joely's house. So, at the moment, the smell of the candles was barely discernible beneath the smell of warming buffalo burritos.

Whatever those were. He hoped they were good.

He'd prepared the bedroom, too, hoping to end up there at some point. There were more candles in there, more flowers, a bottle of champagne. As far as he knew, everything was ready for a full-charge, take-no-prisoners seduction.

Okay, maybe the wartime metaphors weren't the best. But he was a guy-it was the best he could do.

The sound of gravel crunching in the long driveway was the signal he'd been waiting for. He pulled the wine bottle out of the fridge and set it on the table, then settled himself on the couch, legs crossed. No, legs uncrossed. No, crossed. One arm over the back of the sofa? Maybe he should take off his clothes... No, that was pus.h.i.+ng it. No point looking like a Playgirl spread. Nonchalant sitting should do it.

Crossed. No, uncrossed.

Too late. Joely opened the door and walked in. She stopped and stared. At him, at the candles, at the bottle of wine on the table.

"What's all this?" she asked.

"Dinner."

She nodded, slowly and dubiously. "I see." Looking more closely at him, she said, "You look nice."

"Thanks." He hadn't been sure what to wear, so he'd settled on jeans, because when he wore them, she kept staring at his a.s.s, and a casual cotton s.h.i.+rt that b.u.t.toned down the front, because it would be easy to get out of when the time came. Apparently, they went well together. He was glad Joely approved.

Joely took off her jacket and hung it and her purse on the coat tree by the door. "So, what's cooking?"

"Buffalo burritos and some rice and beans from the diner." He turned as she walked into the kitchen and opened the oven to look in.

"Sounds good," she said.

"I wasn't sure about the burritos, but Virginia recommended them. Are they like buffalo wings, or what?"

Joely gave him an odd look. "No, Rey, it's buffalo meat. You know, buffalo? Those big hairy cows?" She wiggled her index fingers next to her temples, imitating small, curled bison horns.

"Oh." There was a stupid city-boy mistake if there ever was one. "Is that kind of like thinking Rocky Mountain Oysters are really oysters?"

She laughed. "Not quite that bad."

Her warm smile made him feel less stupid. He got up and followed her into the kitchen. "So, are you hungry?" "Yes, I am-"

She turned to face him and he caught her, first with his arms, then with his mouth against hers. For a moment she held herself stiff against him, then she melted, slowly but thoroughly.

The barriers were coming down. He could feel them falling one by one as she pressed harder into him, her mouth opening under his. Right now, if he let his hands slide forward to mound her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his palms, he knew she wouldn't pull away. But he didn't do it. He walked his fingers softly down her back, just to where her waist met her hips, dancing along the beginnings of that rounded rise. No farther.

He wanted her. More than he could allow himself to show right now. Wanted to taste her skin, her mouth, her body, wanted to bury himself in her, possess her as he had so many times before. Wanted to remind her who she belonged to. But he couldn't rush her, not right now. He knew she was going to say yes, albeit later, so there was no need. He flattened his hands against her waist and tucked her a little closer against him while his tongue reacquainted itself with the taste of her mouth. Long, slow, gentle strokes, more than chaste, not quite l.u.s.tful.

She whimpered and her fingers dug hard into his shoulders. Slowly, he drew back. Arousal pounded through his body, making him crazy, making him want more than he should try to take right now. One step at a time, let her lead the way, but his body wanted so much more. His mind, his heart, wanted to be part of her again. He s.h.i.+fted his position against her. His c.o.c.k was hard and getting harder, and he didn't want to prod her with it. Didn't want to make her think he was forcing the issue.

"We should eat," he said.

Her eyes staring into his had gone dark and gla.s.sy with need. She blinked up at him, comprehension slowly returning to her face.

"Yes," she finally said, in a weak voice. "That would be a good idea."

Joely picked at her dinner. She couldn't bring herself to eat more than half of one of the heavy, cheese-drenched burritos. The rice was lighter and didn't land in her stomach like a rock, but even that lost its appeal after a few forkfuls.

She poked at the cheese that had melted across her plate, twirling it around the tines of her fork, then laid the fork down and folded her hands in her lap.

"What's the matter?" Rey asked. He'd demolished an entire burrito and a pile of rice and beans, plus at least two gla.s.ses of wine.

"Nothing. It's a lot of food."

"No dessert, then?"

The diner was famous for its pies, but Joely's stomach wouldn't stop fluttering. She was unaccountably nervous, her hands trembling, her breath too fast, her heartbeat pattering in the back of her throat. "Probably not."

"That's okay. It'll keep."

He sipped his wine, then set it back down. She watched his hand as it cupped the winegla.s.s, then drew slowly away. His fingers lingered against the rounded belly of the gla.s.s and she thought about last night, his hands on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s- "Rey ..." She trailed off, not sure she could say anymore. Still looking at the winegla.s.s, she gathered her courage. "Rey, I want to try it."

He said nothing. Surprised at the silence, she finally looked up, only to find him looking right at her, an undeniable smolder in his eyes.

"The pie?" he said quietly. "Or me?"

She couldn't laugh. She was too scared. "You, Rey. You've got your month."

He laid his hand on the table in front of her, palm up. "Thank you."

For the s.p.a.ce of a long breath, she could only stare at his hand, the tapered fingers, the creases across his wide palm. Then, s.h.i.+vering a little, she lifted her own hand and slid it into his. His fingers curled around hers gently.

"I still love you, Joely." His voice seemed to come from far away.

"I know," she said, and squeezed his hand.

As the dinner smells faded, another, subtler aroma took over. Not quite floral, not quite citrus, it gave Joely a soft, melty feeling. It was the candles, she realized. Rey had obviously talked to all the right people. Tara at the gift shop knew all about aromatherapy.

It touched her that he'd gone to so much trouble. He'd been like this when they'd first started going out-romantic and willing to spare no expense to give her a memorable evening. It had lasted for a year or so into their marriage, even.

They were on the couch by now, the remains of dinner left to itself. Joely couldn't even muster enough interest to sc.r.a.pe the plates or put the leftovers in the fridge, not with Rey looking at her with s.e.x smoldering in his eyes, and the smell from the candles growing stronger. She leaned into him, fisting his s.h.i.+rt in her hand. Her tongue traced his lips, remembering the shape. His lower lip was full and pillowy, the upper thin but bowed, the combined effect one of irresistible sensuality. He knew how to use that mouth, too. She wanted him to use it tonight in as many ways as he could think of.

He cupped her elbow in one hand, but made no further overtures as she slowly undid his s.h.i.+rt b.u.t.tons. She slid her hands inside, drawing her fingers through the rough hair, finding his nipples and rubbing them with her thumbs until they rose under her encouragement. He drew in a quick breath and let it out, and his fingers tightened a little on her elbow.

"Touch me," she whispered. He was waiting for her permission, she was certain, giving her control. At her words, he sighed and scooped his hands under the tail of her s.h.i.+rt. His palms slid up her back to the clasp of her bra and worried it open. Then his hands moved forward, until her b.r.e.a.s.t.s settled into the curve of his fingers.

She leaned harder into him, pressing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s into his hands. Her nipples strained against his palms, tingling with arousal that shot through her body, pooling in taut heat between her legs. She wanted him so badly, it was like insanity pulsing through her blood. Wanted to possess him, wanted him to possess her. She remembered what it was like to have him inside her-he could fill her hard and deep, and he knew how to make her scream. But she was afraid. She felt like a virgin. He'd been inside her more times than she could count, but right now it was as if she had never made love to him at all.

He kissed her again, his mouth hard and insistent. No more polite waiting. His tongue moved in an urgent rhythm, hot in her mouth, his hands stoking the flame. Need stabbed through her body as he rolled her nipples between thumb and forefinger, squeezed and teased them. The clothes had to go-no question about that. Writhing into the movement of his hands, she worked her way out of her s.h.i.+rt, her bra, peeling his s.h.i.+rt off him as well, until finally she could press bare skin against bare skin. She drew a harsh breath, overwhelmed the sensation. It had been so long...

Not too late to turn back. You don't have to go through with it. But of course she did. She wanted it too much. His warm skin, the rough texture of the hair on his chest, rubbing against her nipples. His heartbeat against her, the rhythm of his breathing. She remembered a day when she had craved him, times she would have sold her own soul just to touch him. Days she thought she might die if she couldn't have him inside her.

This was one of those days.

His fingers found the b.u.t.tons at her waistband, loosened them, then trailed down her thighs, her calves, as he slid her pants off her. She closed her eyes. Gentle, careful fingers, barely brus.h.i.+ng her skin, creating new lines of fire through her body. Eager, greedy, she pulled at his jeans until they slid undone down his hips. She hesitated, surprised at her own uncertainty. She had made love to this man a hundred times-more. Why did it feel so different this time? As if she no longer knew how to touch him?

She took a breath, trying to allay the thin s.h.i.+ver of apprehension, and put her hand against the straining cotton of his briefs. Her fingers curled around his thick, hard c.o.c.k, and he moaned. That was good. She remembered that sound. It meant she'd done something right. She smiled.

Confidence beginning to return, she peeled off the briefs, her hand conforming to the familiar curve of his a.s.s. His skin twitched a little under her touch, and she felt gooseb.u.mps rise. The muscle there was still firm and round, still very grabbable, making her think he hadn't stopped his regular workout. Her other hand rose to cup the other b.u.t.tock, and she hesitated before pulling him in toward her, opening her legs, drawing him between them.

It felt right to have him there. Like he belonged. Of course he did. They'd been perfectly matched in so many ways. s.e.x had always been incendiary between them. Bed-rattlingly hot. Her skin lit up, antic.i.p.ating reunion, reacquaintance, the oh-so-familiar, oh-so-achingly, suddenly new sensation of penetration. Inside her. She needed him inside her.

She traced her fingers forward, to the front curve of his hipbone, then down, touching the springy curls of his hair, finally touching the tips of her fingers to the root of his p.e.n.i.s. She couldn't help a smug smile when he flinched. He caressed her hair, bent to kiss her, drawing her head in as he softly devoured her mouth. The taste of wine and salsa still lingered in his mouth, and she pressed her tongue in deep, tasting it all. Her fingers pressed gently at the root of his c.o.c.k. Memory flooded through her, recalling the exact shape of him, the textures of his skin. She traced his hard length, the slight curve, touching the rim, caressing around it, then gently up the slick skin to the tip.

He pushed her hand away.

"What?" she asked, wondering if she'd been too rough in her enthusiasm.

He smiled a little, crookedly, his fingers curling over hers in a caress. "It's been a long time. I'm going to be way too far ahead of you if you keep that up."

Freeing her fingers from his, she traced the back of her hand up his belly until her nails brushed his nipples. "How long?"

"As long as it's been for you."

She swallowed a sudden lump of emotion and pressed her face into his chest, kissing the hollow between his pectoral muscles, letting his hair tickle her face. He had waited, too. He had waited.

Drawing her firmly against him, he slipped his hand into her panties, his fingers dipping into her folds. A rush of arousal followed his touch, her body heating up, wetness flooding her. She stilled at the intense sensation. Tears had come to her eyes. She wasn't sure if they were from regret, happiness, or just arousal. Maybe all of the above.

He stopped, too, fingers still inside her, but withdrawing a little. She s.h.i.+vered.

"It's not too late," he murmured. "You can still tell me no."

She shook her head.

He seemed surprised. "You're sure? You're sure you want this?"

She thought she should answer him aloud, but found herself incapable of forming words. They seemed to be stranded somewhere between her brain and her lips.

Instead she groped between the couch cus.h.i.+ons, where she'd hidden a condom. She opened the package and sheathed him. He gasped as her fingers slid down the length of his c.o.c.k, unrolling the thin latex.

Pleased by the reaction, she pulled her panties out of the way, not bothering to take them off, just pus.h.i.+ng the crotch material to the side. She grasped his shaft and pulled him toward her, settled the head of his c.o.c.k against her l.a.b.i.a, then held him there for a moment. The weight of him there, pressing against her sensitive flesh, just on the verge of penetration, made her want to weep with joy. She blinked back another round of unexpected tears.

His hips pulsed, automatically, she thought, and she moved her own hips back to keep him from penetrating her. She wasn't ready. Not yet. Instead, she took firm hold of his shaft and moved the head up and down, tracing the edges of her v.a.g.i.n.a. Then out a little, dragging him across the sensitive inner tissue of her l.a.b.i.a, up, circling her c.l.i.t with the head of his c.o.c.k.

He arched his head back, emitting a low, breathy moan. It occurred to her, belatedly, really, that she'd never taken charge with him quite in this way. She'd been taking care of him, now she was aggressive with him, controlling the dynamic of this encounter. He didn't seem to mind.

She undulated her hips, stroking his c.o.c.k with her c.u.n.t, letting only the barest tip of him inside her. G.o.d, it felt good. She hadn't had anything remotely resembling a good, thick c.o.c.k this close to her since she'd left Rey, and it was like heaven. Not just because it was s.e.x. Because it was Rey.

He braced his hands against her shoulders, not controlling her movement at all, but mes.h.i.+ng with her rhythm, moving with her, as she pressed harder and harder into his c.o.c.k, bringing the tip repeatedly up and over the swollen nub of her c.l.i.t.

Finally, her body full of heat and light and something she tentatively wanted to call happiness, she let go of his shaft and moved forward, until he was inside her. He hesitated, but only for a moment, as if waiting for a signal. But she'd already given the signal when she'd let him go. He took a breath, short and shallow, then pushed into her, deep, firm, all the way to the root.

She closed her eyes and smiled. It was just as she'd remembered it, but more. It had been so long that it felt brand new, like something she'd never done before. At the same time, she remembered this sensation, of being taken, claimed, so full of him she could barely contain it. She threw her head back and let out a sound of pleasure mixed with triumph.