She stole a look at him. She liked him, too. A lot. And this was doing nothing to suppress her wild s.e.xual desire.

She had to stop thinking about him and concentrate on the present. Food.

She returned her attention to the scenery just as they turned onto a side street, then followed a drive to the back entrance of a condominium complex. He flashed a smile as he pulled into a garage. "Best place around for Italian food-my kitchen."

His place. Intimate. Private. Equipped with every comfort and convenience one could want for . . .

Eating dinner. Nothing more.

Rocky punched a code on a keypad by the door and led the way into a dim laundry room before locking the door behind them. Turning, he b.u.mped into Janet.

"Sorry!" She stepped back, about to make some excuse about not paying attention, when he pulled her against his body.

"Not so fast," he murmured against her ear, sending shivers all the way to her toes. "Lasagna can wait another couple minutes. This is a better idea."

"I didn't mean to . . ." His mouth brushed a whisper-soft caress over her temple, then her cheek. Her bones went soft while other parts of her snapped to attention. "Oh, never mind."

"You seem jumpy. That's not conducive to a good meal. I think you need to relax first."

He stroked a hand down her back and over the curve of her bottom, coaxing her gently against the firm line of his thighs. She couldn't think of anything less conducive to relaxing-key parts of her body were suddenly zinging with erotic ideas that had nothing to do with dinner.

"You smell good enough to eat," he said against her hair. Raising his head, he gave her a feral smile. "Want to be the appetizer?"

"Oh, G.o.d," she moaned.

He backed her into the wall, and she slapped one hand against it for support as he pinned her with a deep kiss. Finding his waist with her other hand, she hooked her fingers in a belt loop and pulled him closer as she let the fire take her.

They were both breathing hard when he lifted his head. "I've wanted to do this for so long," he whispered. "I hope you don't mind if dinner is late." He reached back as he spoke, tossing the car keys on the washing machine with a sharp clang.

"A sacrifice I'm willing to-eeek!" she yelped. A white blur shot by Rocky's shoulder, thumped onto the dryer, and disappeared into the kitchen.

"My cat," he said. "She likes the view from the shelf up there." When she turned to look, he touched her head, turning it back toward him and placing a quick kiss on her mouth. "Uh-uh, no distractions. You might forget what we're doing."

Not likely. She could swear his touch had created an energy that traveled downward, flicking on nerve endings all over her body. Nerve endings that begged to be touched by him. Parts of her were coming alive that had been dormant for far too long; she practically squirmed with antic.i.p.ation.

He seemed a bit eager himself. He pulled her into a kitchen she barely glimpsed before backing her against the refrigerator and pinning her hands beside her head while he took her in a slow, deep kiss. She melted beneath him, as if she could absorb his hard body into hers. His pounding heart already felt like her own as it beat between them.

He looked at her from inches away. "I'm going to have fond memories every time I open this refrigerator."

"That's so romantic."

He grinned at her, not the least bit insulted. "You want romantic?" He teased his tongue across her lips then drew her into a lingering kiss while cupping her breast beneath her blouse and flicking his fingers across its sensitive nipple. A wet heat settled between her thighs. "Lasagna by candlelight, maybe?"

She framed his head in her hands, making sure she held his gaze with her own. "Rocky, I think we can skip the lasagna."

Heat flared in his eyes. He didn't say anything, but she understood things had just turned serious for him. If she'd had any doubts, the intensity of his gaze might have made her nervous, but it didn't. It excited her even more to know how important she was to him.

Without removing her top, his hands found the clasp of her bra and opened it. The next second she caught her breath as his mouth lowered first to one breast, then to the other, his warm suction creating an answering pull between her legs that left her flushed and panting.

If she hadn't had the refrigerator for support, her legs would have collapsed. As it was, her knees were shaky. She took a couple steadying breaths. "I don't suppose you have a bed?"

"Upstairs. But I don't think we're going to make it that far."

Fine with her, since she wasn't sure her legs were strong enough to climb the stairs. She would have settled for the floor, but he walked backward into the living room, pulling her along, tugging off her top and bra as they went. She removed his shirt, dropped it to the floor, and ran her hands over the smooth planes of his chest.

"Mmm," she hummed, and melted a little more.

He unzipped her jeans and reached inside with both hands, cupping her bottom. Warm, rough palms gripped her skin, igniting more flames. With a quick movement, he lifted her against him. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she closed her eyes and let the tiny shocks quiver through her.

Her breath came faster, responding to her urgency building inside. Clutching his shoulders, she arched back as his mouth sought her breast, suckling hard. She breathed his name, turning it into a plea, helpless against the desire racing through her.

He groaned against the swell of her breast. "G.o.d, Janet, I want you. Right now."

"Yes," she managed, because she didn't have enough breath to say: "Absolutely, take me, that's the best idea you've ever had, and if you don't hurry up I may just explode in your arms from sheer frustration."

"Yes" was enough. He pa.s.sed by the stairs and entered a small room. It was an office, lit by muted beams of light that seeped through slatted blinds. He laid her on a leather couch and tugged her jeans off before working frantically at his own.

She licked her lips, watching as he dug through his wallet for a condom and sheathed himself. He paused then, his hot gaze softening as he looked at her.

"G.o.d, you're beautiful."

Because she knew it wasn't just a line, her throat closed on a rush of emotion she didn't try to name. Her voice was barely a whisper as she held her hand out to him. "Come here."

Placing one knee on the couch, he hovered over her, touching her hair. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to rush this."

"You didn't." She raised a hand to his face, giving him a tremulous smile. "I want you, too."

She pulled him down, certain if he waited another minute she'd die. But he put his hand between them, stroking, then dipping inside her, a.s.suring himself she was ready. She bit back a gasp. "Rocky, please . . ."

He sank into her. She thrust upward to meet him, watching his eyes as she undulated again. Each movement eased a yearning while creating another one. With one foot on the floor, he set the rhythm, slow then faster, holding them both at the brink. She panted, digging her nails into his shoulder, lost in the pulse that thrummed in her veins and rocked between her thighs.

Faster.

Harder.

The fiery, consuming explosion began, rolling outward in tight waves. She caught her breath, pressed against him, and held on. After a few more strokes, he rode it with her, until they both collapsed against the leather cushions, limp and exhausted.

She lay beneath him, breathing hard, mind racing. Wondering if it had been even half as incredible for him as it had been for her.

After a minute, he rolled to the tight s.p.a.ce against the back cushions and threw his arm over his head. "Holy s.h.i.t," he breathed softly.

She smiled. Maybe it had been.

She could have stayed there a long while, but some things couldn't wait. "Where's the bathroom?"

"Back toward the kitchen. Come on, I'll show you." He chuckled. "Then I'll fix us something to eat."

He watched as she stopped to pick up her scattered clothes. "If you put them on I'll just have to take them off all over again," he warned. Before she could respond, he perked up. "Never mind. Sounds like fun."

It did. But for a moment she felt oddly adrift, and realized it was because she no longer had to find a comeback, some smart remark that denied her mutual interest. She'd made that interest pretty clear a few minutes ago on his couch. She smiled. "Looking forward to it," she said, following him.

He was in the kitchen, bare-chested but wearing his jeans, when she came out. She didn't hesitate; walking up behind him, she ran her hands over the hard muscles of his back and arms, loving the strength she felt, then slid her hands around to the front. When her fingers encountered the b.u.t.ton on his jeans, she flicked it open.

He spun her around so fast she gasped and laughed, finding herself trapped against the counter with his bare chest right in front of her. It looked as touchable as his back. She leaned into him, pressing a kiss above his heart, then trailing a line with her tongue up to his neck. He froze. She smiled to herself, feeling his skin shiver.

"Janet . . ."

"Hmm?"

Her tongue found his and she stood on tiptoe, molding her body to his in a long, slow kiss. When she finally pulled away, he swore under his breath.

"How do you feel about s.e.x on a kitchen counter?"

She wasn't sure how that would work, but just the idea excited her. "I thought we were eating."

"Food can wait," he growled.

Barely controlling her excitement, she fed him the obvious straight line. "And I just put my clothes on."

"I can fix that." He grabbed a handful of shirt, prepared to tug it over her head when the doorbell rang.

They looked at each other. "Ignore it," he decided, lifting her shirt and molding her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with his hands. She closed her eyes.

The bell rang again and a woman's voice sang out, "Yoo-hoo, Mr. Hernandez! I have a package for you!"

She smiled at his look of irritation. "Girl next door?"

"Old lady next door. Mrs. Garfield."

"I think she knows you're here." She pulled her shirt down, determined to do this without interruptions. "Answer it. I'll be here when you get back."

He scowled. "Fine. But don't take anything off this time. I want to do that myself."

Pleasant shivers skittered down her back. "Promise."

Seconds later she heard him open the front door with a pleasant, "h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Garfield." She hoped he'd remembered to fasten his pants.

The package had apparently only been part of Mrs. Garfield's news. When the woman's chattering hadn't died down a couple minutes later, she decided he needed rescuing. Grabbing a dish towel, she walked into the living room.

They stood just inside the door, the short, gray-haired lady rattling on about garbage pickup and Dumpster regulations while Rocky listened patiently, holding a box. Janet caught the lady's surprised look and smiled. "h.e.l.lo, I'm sorry to interrupt. Where did you say you kept the flour, sweetie?"

Mrs. Garfield's face lit with curiosity. "Oh my, I'm sorry. I didn't know you had company." She made no move to leave.

"Mrs. Garfield, this is Janet."

Janet shook her hand and took the package from Rocky, a square box big enough to hold a basketball. "Here, let me take that." They exchanged grins. "The flour?" she reminded him.

"The cupboard beside the stove. I'll be right there to help, honey."

It was all very contrived, but she enjoyed the charade and being called honey. It felt almost natural around Rocky. In the pretense she'd invented she could easily see him returning to the kitchen to help her prepare dinner. He belonged in that sort of scenario.

He also belonged in bed, with her. That was an even better scenario, and one Mrs. Garfield was delaying with every word she spoke. Janet carried the package back to the kitchen and set it on the counter, waiting for Rocky to usher Mrs. Garfield out the door. She could hear him making excuses now, and smiled to herself while somehow still feeling sorry for poor Mrs. Garfield. Women naturally responded to Rocky's charm, and older women were no exception. She understood the attraction. Boy, did she ever. And as soon as she heard that door close behind Mrs. Garfield, they could get back to business.

Janet heard something coming from inside the box and frowned. Was it fizzing? She could have sworn it had made some sort of sound.

Approaching cautiously, she poked the box. Nothing happened. Could something inside have spilled? It hadn't felt too heavy, and she hadn't noticed a return address. Rocky would be here in a minute, but she could hear Mrs. Garfield going on about curbside recycling, and the box was definitely making a sound. And getting louder. She touched it. The cardboard was unnaturally warm.

Gingerly, she carried it to the sink. If they needed to contain a spill or put out flames, the box would at least be in the right place. She didn't know what else to do. Peering closely, she tried to find the return address.

A flash of light and a m.u.f.fled explosion made her whirl away, raising a hand to her eyes. The world spun and she couldn't see. Blinking at the sudden pervasive whiteness, she covered her nose with her hand. Something smelled odd . . .

It was the last thing she remembered.

Chapter.

Eight.

Rocky heard it just as he closed the front door behind Mrs. Garfield, a small poof like starter fluid igniting on a charcoal grill. Not a sound he expected from his kitchen.

"Janet?"

She didn't answer, causing small tentacles of worry to clutch at his ribs and make him hurry to the kitchen. Their hold tightened when he saw her lying on the floor in front of the sink.

"Janet!" He dropped to her side. "Wake up!" Heart thundering and cold sweat gathering at every pore, he brushed her bangs aside and stroked her cheeks, repeating her name. Her eyelids fluttered. The roaring pulse in his ears eased a fraction, and he resisted the urge to yell and shake her. Leaning close, he held her pale face between his hands, slightly rea.s.sured by the warmth of her skin.

"Janet. Janet."

Her eyes opened, slowly focusing on him. Confusion drew her brows together. "Rocky?"

Her voice was groggy, but her eyes were clear. Sighing, he dropped a grateful kiss on her forehead. Controlling the nervous quiver that tried to grip his voice, he asked, "Do you remember what happened? I found you lying here on the floor. Did you trip?"

Her gaze drifted around the room as she thought, stopping at the sink. "I remember. The box. It made a sound and it started smelling funny. I put it in the sink." When he started to rise, she grabbed his hand. "Wait! Don't get too close. I think it exploded or something." She propped herself on her elbows.

"Just lie still. Don't get up yet." His order had no effect, as she propped herself against a cupboard door and ma.s.saged her temples. "Or just ignore me and take a chance on pa.s.sing out again." He pushed her hand aside and lifted her chin, letting light from the window fall on her face. Color was returning to her cheeks. "Stubborn as usual. How are you feeling?"

"A little better." He must not have looked relieved because she clutched his hand and squeezed it. "Honest, I'm okay. You can check the box, Rocky. But if you smell something, hold your breath. Whatever it is, I think it's what got to me."

Cautiously, he stood and approached the sink. Tatters of cardboard flecked the countertop, and a blackened box sat in the stainless steel basin, its top flaps nothing but shredded edges. Inside, cushioned in ash-coated packing peanuts, wires connected a small box that looked like a kitchen timer to a broken gla.s.s jar. An acrid smell a.s.saulted him, making him faintly dizzy, but it had dissipated enough to have lost its intended effect. Just to make sure, he bypa.s.sed the security system and opened the window above the sink, then ran water over the debris and threw a dish towel over the soggy ruins.

"It's some sort of bomb, isn't it," Janet said from the floor. It wasn't a question. Her eyes squinted and he was pretty sure she was feeling the beginnings of a nasty headache. "Why is someone sending you a bomb?"