She wasn’t much of a cuddler afterward, and had never been big on pillow talk. But here she was, wrapped cozily around Mac, snuggled in because it felt exactly right. Her legs were tangled with his, her head cradled on his shoulder, her arm hooked around his neck.

What made it even better was the way he held on to her, as if he was just as content to stay there for the next two or three years himself.

“Did you learn some of those moves by studying the sexual habits of primitive societies?”

He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “I like to think I put my own spin on them.”

“You do good work.”

“Right back at you.”

“I threw your glasses on the floor. You want to watch out you don’t step on them.”

“Sure. I meant to tell you something before.”

“What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Get out. You’re in a sexual haze.”

“You have all this dense, dark hair. And I keep wanting to bite that heavy top lip of yours. Add that really swell body, and it’s a great package.”

When she tipped her head up and stared at him, he blinked until he had her in focus. “What?” he asked.

“I’m just trying to think when’s the last time I heard anyone use the word ‘swell’ that way in a sentence. You’re really weird, Mac. Cute, but weird.” She lifted her head just enough to nip at him. “Need fuel,”

she said. “Want pizza.”

“Okay, I’ll get it.”

“Nope, I brought it, I’ll get it. You just stay where you are. And stay naked,” she added as she rolled over him and off the bed. “By the way, you’ve got a really swell body, too.”

She strolled into the other room, stretched luxuriously. Limber and naked, she went into the kitchen for a couple of beers to go with the pizza. She grabbed a pile of napkins, then did a quick spin. Could she feel any better? she wondered.

Not just the sex, she thought with a dreamy sigh that would have embarrassed her if she hadn’t been so loose. It was Mac. He was so sweet and smart, so steady without being boring or stuffy about it. She loved listening to him, watching the way his mouth quirked just a little higher on the left corner than the right when he grinned. And the way his eyes got all blurred and unfocused when he was thinking. The way his hair, all dark blond and thick, was never quite tidy.

Then there was all that fascinating intensity balanced by the easy humor. He was the first man she’d ever let herself be involved with, she admitted, who had so many layers. He wasn’t simple, and didn’t expect her to be.

And wasn’t that lovely?

With the bottles clanging cheerfully together, she wandered back into the living room to retrieve the pizza. Happiness soared through her, and before she realized what was happening, her heart did a slow turn, a kind of waltz, then suddenly fell.

Her eyes popped wide. “Oh, my God!”

Before she could react to the abrupt and slightly terrifying realization that she’d fallen in love, every machine in the cottage went into action.

Her head rang with the sound of them. Beeping, squealing, buzzing, humming. Needles whipped, lights flashed. And she stood frozen in shock.

Mac gave a shout and leaped out of bed. He sprinted toward the living room, tripped over a pair of sneakers and went sprawling. Cursing, he scrambled up and ran naked into the room.

“What’d you touch? What’d you do?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” Ripley gripped the bottles like lifelines. Later, she told herself—much later—she would look back at this and it would all be so ridiculous she’d crack a rib laughing. But for now she could only stare as Mac rushed from machine to machine, calling out readings, actually patting his naked body as if he might find a pocket in his skin where a pencil was hiding.

“Man! Man! Would you look at this?” He pulled up sheets of paper, holding them almost to his nose as he scanned the printout. “Major events. The first one nearly an hour ago. I think. I can’t read the time. Can’t see a f**king thing on the graphs. Where the hell are my glasses? Holy cow, fried another sensor. This is great !”

“Mac.”

“Yeah, uh-huh.” He waved a hand at her as if she were a vaguely annoying fly. “I just want to rewind the video-tape, see if there were any visible manifestations.”

“You’d better put some clothes on because you’re a little . . . vulnerable to injury at the moment.”

“Hmm? What was that?” he asked distractedly.

“Why don’t we both get dressed, and I’ll let you get back to your work.”

Only an idiot, he thought, would turn a naked woman away to play with toys. Especially when the woman was Deputy Ripley Todd.

Dr. MacAllister Booke was no idiot.

“No. Let’s have pizza.” He picked up the box, and the scent of it, of her, stirred his appetite again. “I’ll go over the data tomorrow. It’s not going anywhere.” He went to her, skimmed his knuckles over her cheek. “I don’t want you going anywhere either.”

Fair enough, she decided. She would go over her internal data tomorrow, too. “Watch your step this time. I don’t want you falling on the box and smashing dinner.”

Ordering herself to settle down, she walked with him back to the bedroom. “How’d you get the scar on your butt?”

“Oh, I sort of fell off a cliff.”

“Jesus, Mac.” They settled on the bed, the pizza between them, and she handed him a beer. “Only you.”

She hadn’t meant to stay. Sleeping over was entirely different, in Ripley’s view, from sleeping with. It added another layer of intimacy that, too often, got sticky.

But somehow, without her being entirely sure how he managed it, she ended up squeezing into the tiny shower with him the next morning.

He proved to be very adept in tight places.

As a result she was feeling loose, a bit muggy in the brain, and vaguely embarrassed when she let herself into her own house. Her hope was to sneak upstairs, change into sweats for a run on the beach, and act as if nothing much had happened. That hope was dashed as Nell called out from the kitchen.

“Is that you, Ripley? Coffee’s fresh.”

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath and reluctantly changed directions. She was mortally afraid there was about to be a girl talk and hadn’t a clue how she should handle it. There Nell was, working in the kitchen that was alive with the homey scents of baking, looking daffodil-fresh as she filled another round of muffin tins.