Kids on the Doorstep / Cop on Loan. Kimberly Van Meter

good—earthy and sweet, like fresh alfalfa hay on a summer day. Where was he going with that thought train? Off track. He paused to give himself a mental shake. “I didn’t mean to rile you up,” he said.

      She ran the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip as if she were nervous and said, “Well, you did. Rile me up,” she added with a fair amount of shake in her voice, making him wonder if she was struggling with the same odd assortment of inappropriate feelings, too. He hoped so. He’d hate to realize he was traveling a one-way street. She swallowed. “But I accept your apology,” she said, lifting her chin.

      Her lips were so close, her mouth so tempting…he jerked and took a step away. When he grinned, it almost hurt. “Good,” he said. “It’s better if we get along. For the kids.”

      “Where have I heard that before…” she said, but her voice was strained. “All right then. Good night.”

      He watched her cross to the guesthouse and waited until her door closed before he shut himself in his own bedroom, feeling oddly discontented. Jerking his shirt out from the waistband of his jeans he pulled it off and over his head to toss in the laundry basket. He’d wanted to kiss her. And yet, he knew that was a bad idea. Laying a lip-lock on the one woman who was so not available was pure lunacy and an exercise in futility. And he wasn’t usually the kind of man who dabbled in stupid ventures.

      When he was down to his boxers, he climbed into the bed and punched the pillows a few times in an attempt to fluff them more to his liking but it was really just a way to blow off steam. He wanted her. Wanted her in the worst way. He pushed at his hardened erection in annoyance. Down, boy. Nothing happening for you.

      Think taxes, mending fence—yeah, that didn’t work the first time around, and it didn’t work now. He turned onto his stomach, grimacing at the discomfort from his groin and closed his eyes, determined to put the whole incident behind him and just go to sleep.

      And it almost worked. But just as he hovered between asleep and awake, Renee floated into his mental theater and instead of wearing a look of uncertainty, she smiled suggestively over her shoulder and beckoned for him to come to her as her robe parted and slid to the floor in a discarded heap.

      He drifted into slumber on a tortured groan.

      RENEE PACED HER SMALL living room unable to sleep. She twisted her hands in agitation, not quite sure what she’d hoped would happen but definitely disappointed that nothing had.

      Yet, the very fact that she’d looked into his eyes and felt a tingle zing from her stomach to her feminine parts made her extremely wary. She wasn’t supposed to be attracted to John Murphy. The man had complicated her life in a way that should make him Public Enemy #1 in her eyes but she was slowly seeing him in a different light.

      And that was not good. Better to keep the battle lines firmly drawn. They were not on the same side. They were simply being civil to one another for the sake of the kids. Kinda like being stuck in a loveless marriage…yeah…she knew what that felt like.

      This year was not going to be Renee Dolling’s year of living dangerously but rather the year of practical and sound decisions that do not encourage her to drink. Okay, so the thought wasn’t something she could put on an inspirational button but it had to keep her on the straight and narrow. Thus far, it had. And that was saying something after all the stress and disappointment she’d endured while searching for her girls.

      She sighed. Technically, she could date. She was past the prescribed time of no dating after making her commitment to sobriety but somehow keeping her distance seemed so much safer for everyone involved. No entanglements. No conflicts. No…sex.

      That’s where the pacing came in. Renee stopped and rubbed her palms down her jeans to wipe away the sudden clammy feeling. Sex. She missed it. Needed it. God, craved it.

      But not with John Murphy.

      Anyone but him. Why not, a voice whispered in her head and she nearly barked in laughter. Why? Because that man would likely brand her soul if he so much as touched her in a sexual manner. If they breached that intimate barrier there’d be nothing stopping her from falling headlong in love with him. Was that a bad thing? Yes! She didn’t want to love John Murphy. She wanted to leave Emmett’s Mill and put this whole awful chapter of her life behind her. She wanted to start a new life with the girls somewhere else. Was that so much to ask?

      Her hormones seemed to think so because even as she berated herself for shooting periodic looks of intense longing toward John’s house, she couldn’t stop wondering what it might feel like to sample just one taste of that firm, sexy mouth.

      Climbing into bed, she closed her eyes with an unhappy frown and tried to ignore the twisting tendril of achy tension that taunted her lady bits without mercy, reminding her that no matter how hard she may try, her curiosity was not fading but simply becoming stronger.

      Well, she knew what curiosity did for the cat. She just needed to keep that reminder front and center in her mind when she started to feel her defenses drop around that man. That way her panties wouldn’t drop, as well.