But her closet yielded a fascinating windfall. Buried behind an old chest of drawers, in the deepest part of the closet, was another trove of paintings. I dragged the entire stack out into the late afternoon light and went through them one at a time.

These were not landscapes. They were of a decidedly more intimate nature. Sensual, erotic, beautiful, in fact. The faces were mostly suggested rather than shown clearly, but the one or two that did include features showed that the woman involved was Aunt Maude, and the man was . . . No.

“Mr. Montgomery?” I whispered, a violent blush erupting across my face.

Good God damn, this house has seen some funky shit go down. And speaking of going down, please see painting number seventeen. The real eyebrow raiser was painting number eighteen, but my viewing was interrupted by a knock on the front door. For a second my heart began to beat faster in anticipation, until I remembered I’d asked Jessica to help me hang curtains today.

“So tell me all the latest gossip. What’s going on with Hunky Hank the cowboy man?” she asked, settling into a rocking chair on the back porch, cold beer in her hand.

I sat down next to her, rolled my eyes at her comment, but offered her a clinking cheers.

“What? Romance novel not quite working out as you’d planned it?”

“No comment,” I answered through my smile.

“He doesn’t want to saddle up and ride?” she teased, making me laugh in spite of myself.

I thought of the offer he’d made about the bareback and the riding and the everything else. At the time, I’d thought it was exactly what I wanted. I mean, he was the ideal, right?

“All is going according to plan.” I sipped my beer.

“I see.” We rocked a few times. “You sure about that?”

“Nosy bitch.”

“Friendly bitch—there’s a difference.”

“It’s a fine line you walk there.”

“The finest,” she agreed.

We sipped and rocked some more.

“So this plan of yours. You think that Clark—”

“Jessica? I’m going to need you to drop it, ’kay?”

“ ’Kay.”

She did. For exactly seven seconds.

“Can I just say one thing?”

I had to laugh. “One thing. Better make it count.”

When it came, it was not what I was expecting.

“Okay. Here’s my one thing. You think you’re living in a romance novel, right?”

“Well, shit, when you put it that way it sounds ridiculous.”

“Answer please,” she said, looking at me carefully.

“Okay, yes. I admit it. I think I’m living in a romance novel. Go ahead and laugh,” I said, rocking a little faster.

“I’m not going to laugh. Because I totally believe you,” she said, drinking nonchalantly.

I waited for her to finish, and then grimaced when she didn’t. “Okay, ha-ha. What’s your actual point?”

“Already made it.”

“But wait wait wait—you believe me?”

“Sure do,” she said, clinking my beer again.

“Elaborate please,” I said, feeling a bit uneasy.

“Don’t need to. I agree with you.”

“Oh come on, you do not!” I protested.

“Are you this aggressive with all people who agree with you?” She laughed, staring off into the sunset. “We’re supposed to get rain later this week, but it sure doesn’t look like it right now. Smooth sailing today,” she said, changing the subject.

She looked relaxed as she rocked away. I finished my beer, decidedly unrelaxed.

That night when I went up to bed, I looked at my calendar. Tomorrow was Friday. Caroline was coming. The contractor was coming. And the librarian was coming. I shivered under the covers. It must be really cold tonight . . .

But I couldn’t fool myself anymore. And I’d always been able to do that.

I woke with a start, covered in sweat, so completely turned on that I could barely stand even the touch of the sheets on my skin. I kicked them toward the bottom.

I’d had such a vivid dream, which started the same way it always did. Standing in the doorway, a man approaching me from behind, not sure he was there until I could hear his footsteps on the wood floor. My skin buzzed, feeling how very near this man, this dark lover was, standing now just behind me.

He pressed his nose just below my ear, making me arch into what I hoped was him, but was only empty air. But he was still there, his lips now grazing the same skin, whispering into my ear my name. “Vivian. Sweet, sweet Vivian,” he said, a voice so very deep. Deep, like I was longing for him to be inside of me, filling me up with hot, frantic love.

“How long have you been waiting for me? Mmm, your skin is intoxicating. I wonder if your taste will be as sweet as your scent? he murmured, now letting me feel the entirety of his body, molding me to him. Hard, so very hard, and not just the planes of his chest and the iron of his thighs. He was hard for me. Against me, and hopefully soon, finally inside me. I struggled to turn, to see, to touch, but as always he held me facing away.

Yet tonight he went further than he had before, his strong hands tearing the silken gown from my heated skin and letting his palms roam freely across my bare body. Still held hostage against his body, caged in by his powerful arms, I soon found myself pressed against the wall, his hands placing mine above my head, pulling my hips out, making me ready for him.

But not for his impressive erection. No, not yet. My dark lover teased and taunted my br**sts, lightly pulling at my tender flesh, letting his fingertips bring my ni**les to a hardened peak, swirling and dancing across the sensitive tips.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asked, then dragged his tongue across my nape. I could feel his soft hair as it followed the path his mouth was taking, down down down. Across my shoulder blades, dipping into the hollow between each vertebrae, then finally coming to rest in the small of my back, his teeth gently nipping at the dimple just above my bottom.

His hands? They’d left my br**sts, which were full and infinitely heavy as I arched my back, seeking his attention once more. But his hands were on a southern trajectory, and as they began to explore my innermost secrets, my moans and groans begged him to take me, to push me past this threshold that began to border on pain, the need to be inhabited by him was so great.

“Not so fast, Vivian. You’ve no idea how much I’ve wanted this,” he whispered, parting me. And then suddenly his heated breath was no longer at my back. The insides of my thighs were tickled by his silky hair, and my knees threatened to give way. I looked down as his hands gently but insistently urged my legs farther apart . . . and then, his kisses. Oh, his kisses!