“No, boy! No! Calm down! It’s okay!” She oophed as he head-butted her abdomen, seeking shelter. “Off, boy. Down.”

Roooo, he moaned, shuddering.

“Hang on,” Colleen muttered, trying to stand, which was not that easy, not with a hundred and sixty pounds of terrified mammal on her lap. “I have a tranquilizer for him.”

Ah rooo rooo rooo, her beloved pet moaned.

“Come here, boy,” Lucas said, standing up. He hauled the dog off her, and she got up and scrambled for the kitchen. For the love of St. Patrick...the mess in here seemed to have grown. It would take weeks to clean up.

She found Rufus’s meds, took a scoop of peanut butter and went back to the living room. “Here you go, boy. Sleepy time. That’s a good puppy.”

He licked obediently, his eyes still tragic, and she knelt down and hugged him. “Good puppy. Good boy. Come on, let’s go to bed.” She led him into the bedroom, told him to lie down, then stroked his giant head until his pretty eyes closed.

Doggy all set. God bless the vet who’d prescribed those drugs. They worked fast and wore off fast, just what you needed for a thunderstorm. Alas, her black dress was now covered with rough gray fur, but that was the price of dog ownership. Dry-cleaning bills up the wazoo.

Lucas had cleaned up the pudding and was sitting back in front of the couch. “Come sit over here,” he said, patting the floor next to him.

“Yeah, one sec,” she said, sitting on the floor on her side of the room. Because the truth was, she was starving, and she, at least, had some pudding left. She shoveled a few bites into her mouth (sustenance for the exertion to come, please God) and watched him.

He hadn’t shaved today, and a faint smile played in his eyes. His hands—his big, beautiful hands—rested in his lap, and his shirt glowed in the flickering light of the candles.

It was time. Adrenaline flooded through her arms and legs—and special places.

And yes, Colleen O’Rourke knew what she was doing in the old boudoir (or living room, whatever). Granted, most of what she knew she’d learned with this man in front of her, but maybe she could show him a thing or two.

She maneuvered to her hands and knees and started to crawl toward him, like in that hot movie whose title was eluding her right now. Her knee cracked (he probably didn’t notice) and her hair fell into her face (sexy? Or just blinding?). She pushed it back with what she hoped was a come-hither smile (but her knee kind of hurt, actually), lost her balance and sort of tilted (just a little, maybe not noticeable?) jostling the coffee table.

And because this night had been against her from the start, two of her lemon-scented candles (which cost seventeen dollars apiece), fell, and there was a small flare of light (because she’d just started a fire).

“Oh, come on!” she yelped. “This is so unfair!”

Lucas grabbed a throw pillow and smothered the flames. The pretty blue throw pillow that Rufus liked best, the one with the ruffles on it. Ruffles which were now melting, adding to that dee-licious burnt smell her apartment seemed to be sporting. She dumped her wine on top of the pillow, and there was a hiss, some foul-smelling smoke, that was that.

Lucas checked under the pillow. “Fire’s out.”

“Oh, good. At least we won’t be dying tonight. Something to celebrate.”

He checked the melted pillow, then looked at her.

Time to admit defeat. She sighed, sitting back on her heels. “I usually do better than this,” she said.

“I don’t want to hear what you usually do,” he answered. Then he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, and oh, his mouth, and the sound of the rain, and the memory of them together, the way they fit, the softness of his mouth and the scrape of five-o’clock shadow, the good clean smell of him.

He pulled her closer, his hands going into her hair, tugging gently so her neck was exposed for his kiss, the soft scrape of his teeth in the sweet spot just above her collarbone, and she shuddered with the feeling. Her hands were under his shirt, clever hands, and his skin was hot and smooth and velvet. Colleen seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, because shallow little gasps were coming out of her, and she kissed him, hard, urgently, wrapping her arms around him and pressing against him until he lowered her to the floor, shoving the melted pillow aside.

And my God, how it felt to have him on top of her, at last, again, finally. He was so hard and solid and incredible that her whole body was just one aching, throbbing pulse, and finally, finally, they were together again, Lucas and Colleen, the way it was meant to be.

He stood up and pulled her to her feet and led her to the bedroom. Thunder rumbled and shook the house, and Rufus snored gently from his bed.

And then, all of a sudden, Colleen was nervous.

Even though she’d been with him so many times in the past, even though she was far from inexperienced with men, even so. This wasn’t men. This wasn’t some guy.

This was the only man who’d ever meant anything to her.

He sat on her bed and looked at her, his Spanish eyes black and unfathomable in the dim light of the fading day. Turned her hand over and kissed the soft side of her wrist, and looked at her again, his thumb sliding over the spot he’d just kissed, and suddenly, Colleen realized her eyes were full of tears.

“I missed you,” she whispered, and he stood again and kissed her softly, softly, then wiped her tears away and kissed her again.

“Oh, mía,” he whispered. “I missed you, too.”

Then he unzipped her dress and pushed it off her shoulders, the fabric skimming against her skin to the floor. His hands were callused and warm and thorough, skimming her skin, unhooking her bra and sliding it off. His mouth lingered on her neck, her shoulders, and her blood felt slow and heavy and sweet.

This was love. This was what had been missing all the other times, when she tried to find what she and Lucas had.

No wonder nothing had worked. No one else was him.

She opened her eyes, realizing that he was waiting. Then he smiled, just a little, and that smile blossomed in her heart in a warm, heavy wave. She sank down on the mattress and pulled him down with her, her hands going to his belt.

“Vanquish me, Spaniard,” she whispered, then bit his earlobe, and the sound of his laugh was like the sound of thunder, reverberating in her heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

AROUND MIDNIGHT, LUCAS woke up. The rain had stopped, and a cool breeze fluttered the curtains. From the dim glow of the streetlight, he saw that Colleen was sound asleep on her stomach, mouth slightly open, possibly drooling, her lashes smudged on her cheeks, hair matted and tangled. Utterly beautiful, in other words.

Ten years ago, he’d married another woman. Shattered Colleen’s heart and walked away, leaving the shards scattered behind him.

And yet here he was, staring at her. He pushed her hair back from her face. She groaned a little and swatted his hand, then rolled over, presenting him with her shoulders and more matted hair.

She smelled like lemons, despite her foray into arson this night. He leaned his forehead against her neck and just breathed her in. Kissed her shoulder once. Then again. Then a third time.

This got a little sigh.

Her dog’s tail started thumping on the floor.

He put his arm around her. Her breast fit into his hand perfectly, soft and plump and—

“Hey, creepy man, stop fondling me.”

“No can do, mía. You were meant to be fondled.”

She rolled over and before she even opened her eyes, she was kissing him, wrapping herself around him, pulling him against her, his generous, beautiful, smiling Colleen, and he didn’t waste time, just pushed her on her back made her laughter turn into a gasp, and then a sigh, and then his name on her lips.

And when she was once again smiling at him, her cheeks flushed and her skin glowing, he said, “Get dressed, hotshot. I’m starving.”

With Rufus draped over the entire backseat of the truck, they headed to the nearest Chicken King, which was open until 2:00 a.m., and ordered a bucket of Texas Cowboy Big ’n’ Hearty Extra Spicy (“made with real lard!”) from the beleaguered teen behind the counter. Colleen directed him to a spot way up on top of a hill, in a field where tree frogs sang from the nearby woods and an impossible number of fireflies winked and flitted.

He grabbed one of the drop clothes he kept in the back of the truck, as well as the blanket he’d grabbed from her apartment, and set up a picnic, shooing Rufus away from the food.

They ate and watched the fireflies, the sliver moon giving just enough light. From somewhere not too far away, an owl called and was answered. There was a sweet smell to the air, and the chicken was fantastic, if taking years off their lives.

It was one of those perfect moments in life, like the time before his mother got sick, when the family had gone to the lake and he’d swum underwater for the first time, surfacing to hear Stephanie cheering and his parents clapping. The time he’d hit a grand slam his freshman year of high school off the opposing team’s best pitcher, one of the few games his father had been able to make. The first time he kissed Colleen, and known what he’d been trying not to know—that she was The One.

The One smiled at him now, and took another bite of the life-threatening chicken, then wiped her hands on one of the many wipes supplied by the Chicken King. Lucas lay down with his head in her lap, her hand idly stroking his hair, and it was like it had been back then, when she was the only thing he had that was real and unconditional and his.

She’d have to come back with him to Chicago. She just would. She could be happy there. She’d have to be.

“You know anything about constellations, Spaniard?” she asked, looking up into the sky.

“No.”

“Me, neither.” She smiled, then lay down next to him. The dog cantered over and flopped down next to her, putting his head on her hip. “So about...this. Us.”

“Yes. About that.”

She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Let’s not overthink it this time.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t want to read too much into this.”

“Colleen—”

“Let’s just have now. Because this is pretty damn perfect, and I don’t want to ruin things by making plans.”

He propped himself up on an elbow to see her face. She looked serious, but not unhappy.

She reached up and touched his lips, traced them, and a little smile came to her own. “It’s not that I don’t love you, Spaniard,” she said. “It’s just that I’m smarter now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, seize the day. Or the woman. Live for today. Look both ways crossing the street. Don’t use your teeth as tools.” Her hand went to his hair, tugging a strand. “I don’t want to ruin whatever we have together by looking too far down the road. I know why you’re here, and I know you’re not going to stay, and I don’t want to think about that right now.” She looked away and scratched her dog’s head.

“Colleen, you could always—”

“Shh. Don’t you know I’m the queen of flings? Enjoy me.”

His smile dropped. “This is not a fling,” he growled.

Her eyes filled with tears. “Be careful what you say to me, Lucas,” she whispered.

“This is not a fling,” he repeated.

“You don’t have to—”

“Colleen. This. Is not. A fling.”

“Fine. You’re a bully, you know.”

He kissed her then, softly, and tasted her, and she opened her mouth to him, her hands fisting in his hair.

“If you break my heart, I will sic this vicious dog on you,” she said against his mouth. “And then I’ll sic Connor on what’s left of you, and then I’ll bring your remains to the Chicken King, and he’ll—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” he asked, and gave her mouth something better to do, and they kissed, and kissed, and kissed more, tongues and teeth, lips and whispers, and yes, a smile or two as well, and he slid his hand under her shirt, feeling the soft skin of her breast, relishing the quick intake of breath.

“I haven’t stayed out all night with a girl for a long time,” he said.

“How about with a boy?”

He laughed. “Not with a boy, either.”

“You remember the time we went out on my father’s boat and fell asleep and woke up in Urbana?”

“I remember your black bra,” he said. “The one with the little pink flower in the front.” He undid the button of her jeans.

“And the time in Chicago, when we watched the fireworks. We stayed out all night then, too.”

“I don’t remember the fireworks. I do remember you doing something you’d never done before that night.”

She blushed. “Do you? I have no recollection of that event.”

“I’d be happy to help you remember. It involved you, me, your mouth—”

“Fine, fine, I remember. And I might be tempted to relive it if you’re a good boy.”

“I’m very good. I thought I proved that. Twice.”

“Oh, man. The ego on you is— Oh. Okay.” She finally stopped talking as he slid his hand into her jeans.

Lucas turned his head and looked at the dog. “Go away,” he said, and Rufus gave him a wounded look and heaved himself up.

“You hurt his feelings,” Colleen whispered.

“He’ll live,” he said. “But if I can’t get you na**d, right now, I might not.”

She tugged his shirt off over his head. “Then shut up and put up, Spaniard.” She grinned. “And stop laughing or someone’s gonna hear us. This is public property, you know. We could get arrested for lewd acts.”