"Confidence or patience?"

"It can be both."

"I'd go to the wall telling myself I'm not impulsive. But I have this house, this dog, and I left the light on when I swore I wouldn't."

"You're not impulsive." He unstrapped the guitar case, set it against the wall by the door. "You just know how to make a decision."

"Maybe. All right, I've made a decision. This is just sex."

He didn't smile, just kept his gaze-patience, confidence-locked on hers. "No, it's not. You know that, too. But I'm more than happy to start with that. Tell me what you want."

"Tonight, I want you, and if that doesn't-"

She broke off when he gave her a yank so her body met his. "I'm going to give you what you want."

She let herself take. If this was a mistake, she'd regret it later. Now she'd take, she'd consume, she'd let herself gorge on what was offered.

Needy, she dragged at his jacket, fighting it off as the smell of leather surrounded her. As it fell to the floor, he backed her toward the steps, pulled her sweater over her head so fast and smooth it might have been air.

Tag's tail batted against her legs.

"He thinks it's a game," she managed.

"He'll get used to it." Xander pressed her back against the wall on the stairs, turned her blood to lava-molten. "This is mine," he said to the dog. "Settle down."

Reaching back, Xander flicked open her bra, flicked the straps off her shoulders. "You really need to be naked."

"Halfway there."

Hands, big and rough, took her breasts, callused thumbs running over her nipples, stealing her breath while his mouth enslaved her.

He wanted her just like that, desperate, quivering, against the wall. Too quick, done too quick, he warned himself, and pulled her up the rest of the stairs.

The world spun, bursts of light through the dark-heat lightning-shocked sounds she barely realized came from her. She tore at his shirt-where was flesh, she needed his flesh. And when she found it she all but sank her teeth in.

They fell on the bed with streams of moonlight slanting like bars, with the unearthly whisper of wind over the water.

He smelled of leather and sweat-and of the wind over the water. He felt of hard muscle, roughened hands, and bore her down with his weight.

The panic wanted to come but couldn't carve its way through the needs. Desperate to meet those needs, she found his belt, fought the buckle. And his mouth, rough as his hands, closed over her breast.

She arched up, shocked by the bolt of pleasure, the sheer strength of it. Before she could draw the next breath, his hand pressed between her legs.

When she came it was like falling into a hot pool. She couldn't surface, couldn't reach the cool and the air. He only took her deeper, yanking her jeans down her hips, using his hands on her.

Hot and wet, slick and smooth. Everything about her drove him mad. Her nails bit into him as she bowed up. In the dark her eyes were blind and dazed. Her heart, his heart, hammer blows as he fought to free himself.

He couldn't have stopped if the world ended.

When at last he thrust into her, he thought it had.

For an instant it stopped-sound, breath, movement.

Then it all rushed back, a tidal wave that battered and swept and pounded beyond reason.

He lost himself in it, in her, gave himself to it, to her.

When it broke in him, she broke with him.

She lay limp, still, with her heart still raging. Her body felt bruised and used, and so utterly relaxed. Since no coherent thought would form, she let the attempt go.

If she just stayed like this, eyes closed, she wouldn't have to think of what to do next.

Then he moved, rolling off her. She felt the bed dip with his weight. She sensed movement, more shifting.

"Back off, pal," he muttered.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting my boots off. Nobody looks good with his pants around his ankles and his boots on. The dog has your bra if you want it."

"What?"

She blinked her eyes open. In those slants of moonlight, she could see Xander sitting on the side of the bed, see the dog standing there, tail wagging, something hanging out of his mouth.

"That's my bra?"

"Yeah. You want it back?"

"Yes, I want it back." Now she rolled over, reached. Tag did his down-in-front, tail-up move. Wagged.

"He thinks you want to play." To settle it, Xander rose-tall, built, naked-and plucked the stuffed cat out of the dog bed. "Trade you."

Tag dropped the bra. Xander picked it up, tossed it on the bed.

"Is that a naked mermaid?"

Naomi glanced at the floor lamp. "Yes. It doesn't go in here."

"Why not?" And he did what any man would and stroked a hand over a bronze breast.

"It's going in the room I'm doing for my uncles. They'll love it."

All so casual, Naomi thought. That was good. No intense pillow talk.

Then he turned, looked at her. Ridiculous to feel exposed now, she thought, after what they'd just done to each other. But she had to suppress the urge to cover herself.

"We'll call that the fast and the furious."

"The what?"

"I take it you've missed some movies." He walked back over, obviously not bothered by being naked, and sat on the bed. "Still, it would've been faster and more furious without the dog. Being focused on the goal, I'd have banged you against the stairs, but he'd have been all over us. You do that, you tend to miss the finer details. Like how you look, right now, in blue moonlight."

"I'm not complaining."

"Glad to hear it." He skimmed a finger over the little tattoo riding low on her left hip. "Like your tat. Lotus blossom, right?"

"Yeah."

A symbol of hope, he thought, endurance, as it was beauty that grew out of mud.

"What kind of rocker are you?" she asked. "No tats."

"Haven't found anything I want that permanent."

He cupped the back of her head, leaned in to kiss her-softly, a surprise.

"We're going to slow things down some this time."

"We are?"

He smiled, eased her back. "Definitely. I don't want to miss those fine details this time around."

Later, Naomi could attest he hadn't missed a single one.

Fourteen.

Xander woke with the dog staring at him from the side of the bed-nearly nose to nose. His cloudy brain registered Milo before he remembered his longtime companion was gone. Still, he handled the interruption of sleep in the same way he had with Milo.

"Go away," he muttered.

Instead of hanging his head, a la Milo, and sulking off to lie down again, Tag wagged his tail and pushed his cold, wet nose into Xander's face.

"Crap." To make his point, Xander nudged the cold, wet nose away, which Tag took as encouragement.

The wet, soggy tennis ball plopped on the bed an inch from Xander's face.

Even the sleep-clouded brain knew better. If he knocked the ball on the floor, the dog would see it as a game and start all over again. So he closed his eyes, ignored the ball and the dog.

Helpfully Tag nosed the ball closer so now the soggy and wet rolled against Xander's chest.

Beside him, Naomi stirred, reminding Xander he had much more interesting games he could play at oh-dark-thirty.

"He won't stop," Naomi murmured beside him, and sat up before Xander could make his move. And beside the bed, Tag danced in joy. "It's morning ritual."

"It's not morning."

"Five in the morning, like clockwork. He's actually about ten minutes late."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm getting up, which is part of the morning ritual. Getting dressed-also part of the ritual."

To Xander's severe disappointment, she moved away in the dark, rummaged around. He could see her silhouette pulling on some kind of pants.

"You get up at five, every morning?"

"Yes, we do."

"Even weekends? This is America."

"Yes, even weekends, in America. The dog and I are in tune there, at least." She crossed over and opened the doors to the deck. Tag happily raced out. "Go back to sleep."

"Why don't you come back to bed, and we can try out a new morning ritual?"

"Tempting, but he'll be back inside of ten minutes nagging for his breakfast."

Xander considered. "I can work with ten minutes."

He liked her laugh, the smoky morning sound of it.

"Go back to sleep. I need coffee before he comes back."

If he wasn't getting sex, maybe . . . "Is the dog the only one who gets breakfast?"

She was still just a shadow-a long, slim one-already heading for the door. "Not necessarily."

When she walked out Xander lay there a moment. Normally he'd get another hour-maybe seventy minutes more on a Saturday. But he wouldn't get a hot breakfast.

He picked up the tennis ball, judged the distance to the dog bed, tossed it.

So, she was an early riser, he thought as he got out of bed. He could handle that. She wasn't a snuggler-and that equaled bonus points in his score book.

He didn't mind staying tangled up for a while after sex, but when it came to sleep, he wanted his space. Apparently so did she.

Not only amazing in bed, but didn't expect him to cuddle her like a teddy bear for hours after. Big bonus points.

And she cooked.

He found his pants, tugged them up, and when he couldn't find his T-shirt, he turned on the mermaid light. It made him grin. A woman who'd buy a naked mermaid lamp-more points.