Hopefully, her sister was okay....

Climbing out of bed, Cheyenne grabbed the fluffy robe Eve's parents had given her years ago and shuffled to the front door in matching slippers. There, she peered out the peephole. Then she pressed a panicked hand to her chest. Although the image was somewhat distorted, she recognized the tall, dark figure who stood leaning against the railing.

Dylan.

Cheyenne's heart began to pound so loudly it reverberated in her ears. What was he doing here?

She'd called the devil, and now he'd come calling on her.

"Oh, boy, oh, boy, oh, boy," she breathed, flicking her hands. Did she dare open the door? Would he go away if she didn't?

She hesitated, watching him. He was smoking. She could see the glow of his cigarette.

He waited patiently for a couple of minutes. Then he put out his cigarette and straightened, addressing the door as if he could see her quaking behind it. "Are you going to answer or not?"

Before bed, she'd left the porch light on for Presley, but she'd turned on the living room light when she got up. He knew she was there. It wasn't as if her mother could respond to a visitor.

Should she let him in?

She couldn't decide, didn't know what she'd say once he was inside. She hadn't consciously committed to seeing him. She'd just given in to whatever weakness had made her react to the way she'd felt in the park.

"Go," she whispered. But when he stepped off the porch to do just that, she unlocked the dead bolt and poked her head out.

He turned at the sound, stopping a little beyond the circle thrown by the porch light. She wondered if he'd been drinking. He'd been doing something in the two hours since she'd called him. But he didn't seem drunk, wasn't at all unsteady.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" she asked when he merely stared at her.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know." Acute anxiety made it difficult to talk. She was shaking, too. Why, she couldn't explain. He hadn't taken so much as a step toward her.

Then she realized how cold he must be. He was wearing the same Levi's jacket he'd had on earlier with a pair of jeans. The worn denim hugged his body in all the right places, but it didn't provide much protection against thirty-degree temperatures.

"Would you like to come in?"

"Is that why you called?"

Not in her conscious mind. She could never admit it, not even to herself. But she knew she hadn't phoned him to ask if he'd look after her sister as she'd pretended. She'd been hoping he could fill the gap her friends had left. He seemed like a safe substitute. He wasn't part of her circle, wasn't close to anyone who was, and he wasn't likely to judge her. Not only that, but she was pretty sure he could keep a secret. He didn't do a whole lot of talking-about anything. It was other people who talked about him.

She shoved back her hair, combing her fingers through it so she wouldn't look like a hag after tossing and turning in bed. Then she breathed deep and swung open the door.

He didn't chuckle at her transparency or taunt her for giving in, as she thought he might. In fact, he said nothing as he walked past her. It was almost as if he was a bit nervous himself.

His gaze cut to the tree, then skimmed over the rest of their threadbare furnishings. But, unlike with Joe, Cheyenne felt no need to apologize for what she lacked. Dylan wouldn't look down on her for her background or her impoverished circumstances. There was something liberating about feeling like an equal, just as there'd been something liberating about standing at the park, knowing that if she acted badly, he wouldn't necessarily regard her as a bad person.

For a second, she was afraid he'd wait for her to come up with some small talk and couldn't think of anything. As much as she must've wanted this-or why would she have called him?-she hadn't rehearsed what would come next.

She owed him an explanation for her unexpected behavior, didn't she?

Probably. But she was grateful he didn't demand one. He reached behind him and turned off the light, plunging the room into semidarkness, with only the porch light filtering in from outside. Then he extended his hand to her.

Cheyenne thought she must be dreaming. Except she couldn't be. If she was, she'd be with Joe and not Dylan Amos.

"Chey?" The vulnerability in his voice told her he was afraid she might reject him. Apparently, he wasn't quite as cocky as he'd seemed at the park.

Butterflies rioted in her stomach as she stared at his outstretched hand. She dared not touch him, but she couldn't bring herself to ask him to leave, either. She stood locked in indecision-until he gave her more encouragement.

"It's okay. I won't take it too far."

"How far is too far?" She heard the breathless quality in her own voice but, at the moment, couldn't seem to speak normally. Her pulse was racing so fast it was making her dizzy.

"Any further than you want to go," he replied. "You call the shots."

She wasn't convinced she could rely on that promise. But if he was dangerous to women, she would've heard about it by now. Her sister went over to his place all the time. When he got in trouble with the law, it was for speeding, fighting, possession of unregistered firearms, setting off illegal fireworks-misdemeanors that suggested he had problems with authority, not women. He'd never been picked up for anything sexual in nature.

"I'd hate to get you excited and then...you know, bail out." She swallowed hard. "But I don't know what I want. I'm not even sure why I called you. It took me over an hour to get up the nerve."

"I wondered. But I'm not asking for any kind of commitment." He crooked his fingers, coaxing her. "Why don't we start with a simple kiss?"

A kiss sounded innocuous enough. She wanted to kiss him, didn't she?

Slipping her hand in his, she allowed him to tug her forward. But when his arms went around her, bringing her up against his body, she nearly balked. She didn't know this man. The solid muscular frame, the hair that fell to his shoulders, the eyes that watched her so closely-it was all foreign to her.

But any man would feel foreign to her. She hadn't been on a date since Joe's divorce. The last guy she'd kissed had been twenty-five years her senior and had asked permission.

Dylan seemed cautious, as if he was trying hard not to spook her, but he wasn't tentative. He knew what he wanted and was working on the best way to get it.

"You smell like Christmas trees and cigarette smoke," she said as her cheek brushed his.

He rubbed his lips against her ear as he spoke. "I'm sorry. I should quit."

For his health, he should. But he'd misinterpreted her comment. "I don't mind the smell," she admitted. "My mother smoked until recently. Now Presley does. I'm used to it."

"Your mother is...where?"

Although he was taller by at least six inches, she fit nicely against him. "In her room. Asleep."

Tilting her head back with both hands, he looked down at her as though he wished he could read her mind, understand her intent. She recalled her earlier opinion-that he had cruel eyes-but they didn't seem cruel tonight. A soft, liquid brown, they held a world of sensual promise, which he began to fulfill when he brought his lips to hers.

Cheyenne didn't resist. The contact felt surprisingly natural, considering how little they knew each other. She liked the feel of his mouth, firm yet soft, moving on hers, so much that she leaned closer and parted her lips.

He groaned as their tongues met, sending a wave of awareness through her that weakened her knees. When she answered with a similar sound, his arms tightened until she could feel his erection against her abdomen.

They'd barely touched and yet they were already getting swept away. It felt as if they'd been waiting for this moment their whole lives.

She slipped her hands into his hair, let the silky strands slide through her fingers. She couldn't taste any alcohol-just spearmint, as if he'd eaten a breath mint on his way over.

"That's it," he murmured as she kissed him harder. "I can give you what you want."

As he trailed kisses down her throat, his hands found their way inside her robe. She thought he'd immediately go for her breasts. They tingled with the desire to be touched. But he slid his palms up her back instead, perhaps to make sure that she was comfortable with such intimacy.

"I've wanted to feel you against me for years," he said.

She didn't know how that could be true. She'd pretty much ignored his existence. But whatever they'd felt before didn't matter. Right now she was drowning in desire, so much so she feared her legs wouldn't have the strength to support her if he let go.

When his hands finally found her breasts, Cheyenne gasped and covered them with her own. A gratified smile told her he took that for the encouragement it was. Kissing her again, he bent her slightly back, then dropped his head to suckle her through the silky fabric of her nightgown.

"Oh...that feels amazing," she whispered. How could he bring her to a state of arousal so quickly, so easily? She'd felt nothing but mild affection for Principal Kovinski when they made out after their last date. If not for her fantasies about Joe she would've feared she was frigid. Never had she been tempted beyond her ability to resist.

But the fire burning through her veins left no doubt that her body was as healthy and normal as anyone else's. Maybe she was a little late in embracing her sexuality, but the need building inside her was already turning to an expectant throb between her legs.

She wanted to feel Dylan inside her.

It was a shocking revelation, so shocking that she pulled back.

He seemed reluctant to let her go. He stared at her as if he couldn't make himself turn away, but he did-and without complaint. When she realized he was leaving, that he thought she'd stomped on the brakes, she caught him by the shoulder.

"No!" she said, and started yanking off his jacket.

She sensed his surprise that he'd misread her intent. Or maybe he was surprised by her sudden aggressiveness. It wasn't like her to be so forward. But she couldn't seem to rein herself in.

Fortunately, he didn't hesitate. He shed his coat. Then he pulled his thermal over his head.

She'd known he had tattoos on his arms. She'd seen them before. There were more on his chest. She couldn't tell what they were in the dark, couldn't see clearly enough. But she didn't really care. Being able to feel him was all that mattered.

As he tossed away his shirt, she explored the sinewy contours of his chest and arms with her hands and mouth. It was insane, inexplicable, but she wanted to do things to him she'd never imagined before, and he didn't seem to mind. She could hear the change in his breathing, knew he was feeling the same crush of excitement.

Then she glanced up and saw the stubborn set to his jaw and realized he was trying to retain control of the situation. "What?" she said.

"This is hard to believe," he explained, but he closed his eyes and dropped his head against the wall when she found his nipple.

"Why?" she murmured against the wet spot she'd made. She was too absorbed to manage a conversation. She didn't want to think, anyway. She just wanted to get rid of the rest of his clothes, to feel more of his supple skin.

"You never let anyone touch you."

"So?"

"Why me?"

"I don't know."

Apparently, that wasn't an acceptable answer. He grasped her shoulders to stop her long enough to pay attention to what he was saying. "Tell me this isn't a game, that you're not playing me. Tell me you're not going to dangle yourself in front of me and then, at the very last second, shut me down."

Before, he'd acted as if he'd have no problem accepting a refusal at any point, if that was what she chose. But his ambivalence was long gone. The spark created by that first kiss had changed everything.

Struggling with the power of her emotions, she bit her lip as she considered his words. "Have you slept with my sister?" It was the one thing that made her uncomfortable, the one thing that threatened to ruin her enjoyment. She couldn't let what she'd started go to its natural conclusion until she knew.

"I told you I haven't." His voice was harsh with need, adamant. "Ask her."

Cheyenne didn't want to admit that she'd tried. It didn't matter. He was convincing.

"It's actually been a while since I've been with anyone," he added.

"Why?" The way she heard it, he had a new girl every weekend.

"Hit-and-runs get old after a while."

"You seem interested enough now."

"This is different."

She wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because he couldn't resist relieving her of her innocence. "But you've got a condom, right?"

"I've got a few."

"Then tell me how much you want me," she said. "Tell me I'm the one who makes you hard."

He didn't sound as if he had to pretend. "It's true. I've wanted you for years. Virgin or no. Makes no difference to me."

Was she really going through with this? She'd spoken to him for almost the first time earlier today. Now he stood shirtless in her living room, his hair mussed from her hands, his eyes feral and hungry. And instead of being frightened, repulsed, too uninterested or too shy to continue, all of which she'd experienced with other men, she found him absolutely irresistible.

Maybe she was no different from her mother and sister. She craved physical intimacy with a man she had no emotional commitment to. But she'd been holding back the demands of her body for so long, she didn't seem capable of doing it any longer. Already she was pressing into him, couldn't seem to stop grinding her hips against his erection. It helped that she didn't have to be anyone other than who she was. With this man, she could be completely naked, literally and figuratively, and yet feel safe. He was even aware of her feelings for Joe.

But he still seemed unconvinced that he could trust her, as if he just knew it couldn't be this easy. "Are you sure you want me?" he asked. "You won't change your mind? Or regret it later?"

She couldn't promise she wouldn't regret her actions. She had no idea how she'd feel in the morning. But she wasn't going to change her mind. It made no sense that Dylan would be her first-but why not? Eve didn't have dibs on him. Neither did Presley. As far as Cheyenne knew, no one did.

"Sometimes you have to take a chance," she said, and led him to her bedroom.

11.

It didn't hurt. Cheyenne had been warned that penetration would be painful the first time. But maybe that was for younger women. Or she'd simply been too drunk on hormones to feel the pain. It didn't matter. What mattered was the pleasure she'd been able to experience, the fact that she could enjoy sex like other women.

"That was incredible," she said as they slumped, exhausted, against the pillows.

"It took a while, but we got there."

She mustered a tired smile. "Because you wouldn't give up."

"I was the only one who knew what was waiting for you."