He'd vanished for a few days, which wasn't unusual for Edward. He went off on trips all the time. Back then, he'd still been working as a fish and game warden, so his disappearance had been considered normal. Everyone knew he and Fay had been separated for decades. Just as everyone knew that it hadn't mattered. He'd still been head over heels in love with her, and clearly devastated by her death.

A week later, Edward had resurfaced, but by then Luke had gone back to San Francisco. Sara had still been in jail, and when Luke had gone for his weekly visit with her, he'd told her everything.

Sara, always the mediator, had tried to soothe Luke by telling him to stop with the guilt. In no way did anyone, especially their grandpa-a man who'd hurt Fay himself-blame Luke for Fay's death. Just like no one blamed him for Sara being in prison.

But Luke knew she was wrong. Because he blamed himself for both of those things.

Water continued to slap up against the pylons of the dock and the shore. The air was scented with pine, wet sand, and cigar and filled with the roar of the high tide hitting the rocky shore.

Edward took another long drag on his cigar.

"You know those things'll kill you," Luke said.

"They haven't yet."

Luke waited but Edward didn't say anything else, just sat there taking in the view. And yet Luke knew damn well he wasn't here for the view. He waited some more and got nothing, so he stretched out on the dock, leaned back on his elbows, and let the morning rays dry and warm him.

"You're finally claiming the house," Edward eventually said.

Ah. There it was. Luke threw an arm over his eyes to block the bright sun. "You're still pissed off she left me this place," he said.

"I was never pissed off that she left you this place."

"No?"

"No. Christ," Edward grumbled, "how can someone so smart be so stupid?"

Luke assumed that was a rhetorical question and kept his silence.

"I was pissed that you let her memory go to waste," Edward said. "That you left here without looking back. That you stayed away. That you don't give a shit about anything or anyone." He paused. "That you forgot about her. Us."

Luke sat back up, fury and grief fighting for space in his throat. "No. Hell no. You don't get to say that to me."

"Just did, boy-o."

"I've forgotten exactly nothing," Luke said. "I live in San Francisco. My job's there."

"And what, that job's kept you busy twenty-four seven for ten years? Is that what I'm supposed to believe?"

"Yeah, actually. The job's pretty demanding, which you damn-well know."

Edward nodded. He'd worked in law enforcement. He did know. "So you're here now because why? The going got rough?"

Luke stared at him. "You think that's what I do? I just walk away when the going gets rough?"

Edward shrugged. "If the shoe fits..."

Luke pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, but nope, nothing was going to take care of the new headache brutally kicking in behind his lids. "Fuck it," he muttered, and pushed to his feet. "Fuck this." He grabbed the T-shirt he'd left on the railing, shoved it over his head, and was striding away when he heard his grandfather mutter, "Walking away again."

Luke whipped back, his emotions far too close to the surface now. But he'd started this, he'd damn well finish it. "I didn't walk away from her. She died."

Edward got to his feet, a slow painful movement that had Luke feeling yet a new stab of guilt. When had his grandfather gotten old?

"You walked away from me," Edward said. "From the town that loved you. You closed yourself off and never looked back. That's walking away. That's what you do."

"I'm here now, aren't I?"

"For how long? Until something bad happens?"

"No, until I have to go back to my life."

Edward just shrugged and turned away, dismissing him. Luke did the same, striding up the stairs to the deck and shoving the back door open.

Ali, standing at the stove, gave a startled squeak and whirled around, wielding a wooden spoon like a weapon. When she saw him, she sagged, a hand to her heart. "Jesus, Luke."

He headed straight through the kitchen, intending to put a lot of space between the two of them so that he didn't scare her into next week with his bad attitude.

"Made you an omelet," she said.

He shook his head. "I'm good."

"I left out anything green."

Well, shit. The scent of her cooking was making his mouth water, and right on cue, his stomach rumbled. He turned back to face her and found her eating up the sight of him.

His body, already revved up on adrenaline, reacted predictably, but he didn't move toward her. Refused to touch her when he felt so out of control. "I can't do this right now, Ali."

"Do what?"

"Be civil."

"How about eating. Can you eat?" She pointed to a kitchen chair, and Luke had no idea why, but he sat.

Face creased into an expression of adorable concentration, she flipped the big, fluffy omelet onto a plate and pushed it his way. She poured him an orange juice and then repeated the whole thing for herself. As if realizing he needed some space, she hoisted herself up on the far side of the counter, her legs folded beneath her, eating with him in companionable silence.

"Thanks," he said when he'd finished.

She nodded, hopped off the counter, and went to pass by him. With no idea what he was doing, he snagged her wrist.

She turned to him, a question in her eyes. Then with a soft smile, she stepped between his legs and cupped his jaw. "Maybe I can help make you feel a little better," she said quietly, and bent and gave a gentle kiss to one corner of his mouth.

He closed his eyes against the assault of emotions that battered him. "Ali."

She simply kissed the other corner of his mouth.

So sweet, he thought. So warm. "Ali, I can't-"

"Be civil. I know." She straddled him. "So don't. Be you, Luke. And let me be whatever you need."

He was staggered. "I won't use you."

"I wouldn't let you," she said simply, and pulled off her tank top, leaving her in a pink bra and gauzy skirt. She unhooked her bra and let it fall away.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but it didn't matter. His body didn't need to see her, she was already imprinted on his brain. "I'm leaving in a couple of days," he said. "I have to be back in San Francisco this weekend."

"Okay."

Beautiful, satiny, smooth skin, sweet curves...His hands came up and cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over the tips.

She sighed in pleasure, and he figured it was a good thing he was sitting down, because she knocked the wind from him, every time he was with her. "Be sure, Ali."

Pulling back, she smiled into his gaze, eyes calm and direct. No sign of the nerves that suddenly lived in his gut.

"Don't worry." Her lips were close enough to brush over his with every word. "I know what this is."

Oh, thank Christ she knew. Because he sure as hell didn't.

Very gently, she pulled his shirt up and off, humming her approval as her hands slid over his chest. Her hips rocked, the core of her pressing down on his erection. He groaned and leaned in, pressing his face to her heart.

"I also know what this isn't," she murmured, her hands sliding into his hair to hold him at her breast.

When the words sank in, he started to pull back, but she tightened her grip. "I'm going to rock your world, Detective Lieutenant Luke Hanover, and you're going to rock mine."

He didn't know how she did it. She took him outside himself and made him feel nothing but in the moment, with her. Turning his head, he ran his tongue over her nipple, loving the way she sighed in pleasure, melting against him.

"And then," she said huskily, breathing heavy, "we're going to go back to being just friends."

They were friends, he realized with some surprise, though he had no real clue as to how or when that had actually happened. But it had, so her words disturbed him because they weren't just friends.

Not even close.

If they did this again, now that they'd become even more emotionally invested in each other, it'd be far more mind blowing than just rocking each other's world. He already knew that.

Did she?

She looked into his eyes, her own warm and full of emotion, so much emotion that his throat tightened. Yeah, she knew.

And yet she was once again putting him first, ahead of her own problems.

It was going to be hell to walk away from her while wanting more and knowing he couldn't have it.

Wouldn't have it.

But he didn't have the strength to go yet. He wanted this. For right now, he wanted nothing else. They could have this, he told himself, and they could keep it just what it was. Light. Easy.

But even he recognized the lie.

She kissed his jaw. "Looking pretty serious for a man who's got a sure thing in his lap, half naked," she murmured.

She was right. He slid his hands up her slim back, urging her to lean into him so that they were chest to chest. He kissed her shoulder and then nipped the spot.

Teasing.

She was already panting a little, rocking her hips, stroking his ego-among other things. He nipped her again, a little harder, and then made a move for her nipple again, sucking her into his mouth. The hungry sound she made egged him on, and so did the way she tightened her fingers in his hair with every little tug of his mouth.

"Luke. Please, Luke."

Oh yeah, he was going to please. He pushed the hem of her skirt up to her waist. "Hold this."

She reached for it reflexively, freeing up his hands. Running the pad of his finger over her tiny, sky blue cotton panties, he caught the material and scraped them aside, giving him a view that made him groan out her name. She was wet and glistening. For him.

She rocked against him again, and he tore open his board shorts, giving himself some desperately needed room.

"Oh," she whispered, all breathy, staring down at him with flattering raptness.

He reached for her, then stilled, letting out a long string of oaths. "No condom," he managed.

"I'm on the pill."

Her trust meant more to him than he could have possibly imagined. But how the hell was he supposed to keep this light when everything about it felt more like...everything?

She was still holding her skirt up like he'd asked, and it was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. Pulling her in, he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her deeply, wondering why he even bothered to keep his distance. There was no distance with her. None.

She returned his kisses with wild abandon. "It's crazy..." she whispered against his mouth, "what you do to me."

"Tell me," he said. "Tell me what I do to you."

"You look at me like I'm the best thing you've seen all day. You make me feel...I don't know. Pretty. Sexy. And important to you. You make me feel, Luke."

She was all those things to him. And she made him feel too. She made him feel so fucking much that his heart was going to burst through his ribs. "Ali," he breathed, and then slanted his mouth across hers. He'd meant to just make a quick connection, but she moved with him, taking the kiss hotter, deeper, pressing her body to his.

It turned him inside out and upside down and sideways. She was all he'd thought about, dreamed about since he'd returned home, her hot, curvy bod, warm, soft skin, her wild hair flowing over his shoulders and arms. She murmured his name like he was the best thing that had happened to her all day, and he gave himself up to her, sucking on her lower lip, sliding his tongue to hers, ravishing her until they were both trembling. "Raise up," he said, voice hoarse.

She eagerly scrambled up, giving him the room he needed to slide into her. The sensation of filling her rocked his world. Hers too, if her wild breathing meant anything. Holding still, giving her a moment to adjust, was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

"I love that too," she whispered.

He kissed the frantically beating pulse at the base of her neck. "What?"

"The feel of you." She arched against him wordlessly, demanding more. "Your mouth on me."

He made his way along her jaw to just beneath her ear. "What else?"

With a shiver, she tightened her grip on his hair. He didn't care if she made him bald, as long as she didn't let go. "That you know my sweet spots."

"You're one big, sweet spot."

She bit his lower lip, and when he sucked in a breath, she laughed at him softly.