That Reckless Night. Kimberly Van Meter

the biggest mistake of his life or he was going to have a heart attack from the wildest night of sex ever imagined.

      He hoped it was the latter.

      At least he’d die happy.

      And he didn’t have to worry about where he was going to spend the night.

      Things were looking up already.

      Perhaps this gig in Homer was going to work out just fine.

      CHAPTER TWO

      MIRANDA FELL BACK on the bed, winded and sated, sweat dampening her hairline as her chest rose and fell with the same harsh breaths as her temporary lover. She was thankful he wasn’t a chatterbox—she just wanted to enjoy the blissful nothing, the wonderful blankness of her mind that was the aftereffect of a damn good romp in the sack. And oh, yes, it’d been good. Better than good, in fact.

      A satisfied sigh rattled from her chest as the sweat drying in the chill air caused goose bumps to pop along her skin. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and padded silently through the darkened room to the restroom, where she slipped a robe over her nude body and made her way to the kitchen for water.

      As she guzzled her glass, she leaned against the old fridge, listening as it clunked and hummed its way through the night as it always did. The wind whistled through the trees outside, whispering of the coming storm, promising a deluge with the season’s first snow. Her body hummed and tingled, even protesting with a show of soreness as muscles that hadn’t been put to use for a while reminded her that they were still there. But it was a good feeling, even if she had to suffer through the awkward conversation later. Perhaps with some luck he’d already crashed out. A smile curved her lips. The man had stamina, that was for sure. Gotta give credit where credit was due. Unwelcome, her mother’s voice in her head crashed her buzz and stomped her good feelings.

      When you going to stop whoring around and settle down like a normal girl? Don’t you think your son needs a man around? It’s bad enough you chose to shack up with a criminal just to prove a point.

      Jennelle Sinclair’s strident tone had dripped with disapproval and disgust, leaving no room for confusion as to where she stood on her remaining daughter’s choices. But that was nothing new. If disapproving of Miranda’s choices were an Olympic sport, Jennelle would win the gold.

      Miranda closed her eyes and pushed away her mother’s recriminations just as she always did when they came back to jeer at her. Tonight would have been difficult no matter how many men she lost herself in or how many drinks she downed.

      All because of one damn sweater. Hard to believe given her current penchant for wash-and-wear convenience that there’d ever been a time when she’d cared about something as frivolous as a cashmere sweater.

      Miranda couldn’t even remember what it looked like any longer, which was a surprise given that it had ruined so many lives.

      Simone and her flighty sense of responsibility, her ability to laugh off anything that didn’t adhere to her sense of fun and fancy... Miranda’s chest trembled with the repression of a sob that felt trapped behind her ribs. “Damn you, Simone,” she murmured, adding with a shake of her head, “Damn that sweater.”

      Would there ever come a time when she didn’t obsess on the past? If the fact that she was standing in her darkened kitchen at midnight, rehydrating after a night of alcohol and one-nighter sex was any indication, the answer was distressingly obvious. She blew out a short breath as an ironic chuckle chased her thoughts, and she returned to the bedroom with quiet steps.

      “Is that for me?” a deep male voice asked from the darkness. The only source of light, a pale sliver of moonlight shining through the partially parted window drapes, illuminated his profile and glanced off a powerfully built shoulder. She allowed her stare to linger over, savor even, the view and then handed him the water glass with a shrug. He downed it with a good swallow and returned the glass. “Thanks,” he said, his voice warm with a smile that she couldn’t exactly see but she could imagine. “You really know how to make a man work for his reward. I like that in a woman.”

      “Yeah, well, right back at you. I value a man with a strong work ethic,” she said, placing the glass in the bathroom before shucking her robe and returning to bed. She slid between the covers and made a show of giving him her backside to communicate that she was ready for some shut-eye rather than small talk but it seemed he wasn’t quite ready to sleep. A strong arm hooked itself around the front of her stomach and pulled her against him, his nose nuzzling the back of her neck. Her first reaction was irritation and she let him know it as she flipped around to stare up at him as he positioned himself above her. “Listen, fun times are fun times but I have to work in the morning, so unless you want to find yourself sleeping on my old sofa, I suggest you settle down and keep your paws to yourself. Got it?”

      He surprised her with a sexy laugh that set off a trip wire of crazy shivers shaking down her spine and she had to fight to remember that she was ready for sleep. “Going by first impressions, I didn’t take you for such a lightweight,” he teased, moving to caress her neck with the soft touch of his lips traveling across her skin. “A one-and-done kind of woman.”

      Lightweight? “I am no lightweight,” she said, indignant. “I could wear you out in a heartbeat and ruin you for other women.”

      “Strong words.” His tone was faintly disbelieving, but before she could offer an argument, he took away her ability to remember why she was irritated in the first place. His tongue delved deep in her mouth, tangling with hers, sliding in and out in a practiced move that kindled a fire as surely as a spark ignited dry tinder. Within moments she was gasping against his mouth, lost to the wonder of this beautiful, talented stranger as he coaxed pleasure from her body in ways that she never imagined possible. For the first time, she was the one left gasping and babbling, as every muscle tightened in a wonderful chorus of mind-bending sensations. By the time she crashed back to earth, she was wrung out like a washcloth after a sinkful of dishes.

      A satisfied sigh sounded from her left and she smiled at the irony that she may have found her sexual match in a man she was destined to never see again by morning. Ah well, that was life, she supposed. She couldn’t help the welcome drag on her eyelids as every ounce of her strength fled in the warm wake of her extreme sexual satisfaction. She didn’t even protest when he pulled her close, manhandling her in a way that she never allowed, much less enjoyed, but somehow, when done by this man...it was okay. Actually, it was more than okay; it was sublime.

      * * *

      SLEEP DIDN’T FIND Jeremiah as quickly as it did his gently snoring partner but he wasn’t complaining. There were worse things than to be cuddled up to a beautiful naked woman on a frigid cold night. But his mind was moving in dizzying circles even as his body was heavy with sated pleasure. The tension that continually corded his shoulders and kinked his neck—no matter how many times his chiropractor back in Wyoming had tried to pull it out—was gone, and for that, he was inordinately happy.

      However, no matter how sated his body, his mind refused to give up the images he was doing his best to run away from. Maybe he should’ve picked a tropical climate instead of a place where it snowed like it did in Wyoming, only ten times heavier.

      Tyler had loved the snow; the kid had been fearless on his snowboard. The memory of his eleven-year-old son shredding the slopes elicited a brief smile that faded almost as quickly as it came. Fearless...maybe that had been the problem.

      Maybe if he’d cautioned Tyler to be less fearless, the boy wouldn’t have been crushed beneath his ATV in a rollover that had happened faster than a rattlesnake strike. Maybe. Maybe. God, he hated that word.

      Shake it off, Jeremiah. Nothing you say or think is going to bring him back. His own counsel always sounded so pathetic in his head whenever he tried to pull himself from that ledge of depression and grief. It’d been a year since Tyler died. Eight months since his wife had left him. Seven months since he’d been served divorce papers. A lot could happen in a year.

      The woman in his arms stirred and curled her arm around