Brynn blinked. “Well, I’m not planning on quitting. And I can’t bake worth a damn. And backpacking? When did she shower?”

Susan gave a slight laugh. “Okay, I can see that you need this break more than I thought. Seriously, though, don’t give yourself any expectations for the next few weeks, okay? Not even good-intentioned ones.”

“Sometimes the good-intentioned ones seem to do the most damage,” Brynn muttered.

“Too much of a good thing, and all that,” Susan agreed.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Susan glanced discreetly at her thin designer watch. “I’ve got a patient in five. You’ll let me know if you need anything?”

“For sure. And I’ll get all my notes together and have them to you and Blake by the end of the week.”

“I know you will,” Susan said breezily, heading toward the door. “And Brynn? Have fun, okay? Whatever that looks like…mimosas for breakfast, skydiving, Vegas, monkey sex…just go for it.”

Brynn tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at Susan. “You say that so easily. Have you ever gone for it?”

Susan gave her a cheeky smile. “No. But I’m only twenty-seven.”

Touché.

CHAPTER TWELVE

When you feel the urge to do something

irrational, sleep on it.

—Brynn Dalton’s Rules for an

Exemplary Life, #9

Brynn Dalton maintained a very a strict list of Do Nots.

Perms. Trans fats. Cubic zirconia. Tequila. Glitter nail polish. Airplane bathrooms. Casual sex. William Thatcher.

The last two items of her list were completely unrelated, of course. At least, they were supposed to be.

But then that kiss in the car had happened, and Brynn couldn’t seem to separate “Will” from “sex.” And after an uncharacteristic three glasses of Pinot Grigio, it was getting a lot harder to remember why exactly “William Thatcher” and “casual sex” were on her Do Not list at all.

Combining the two wouldn’t be so horrible, would it?

Yes. Yes, it would be very horrible, said her brain.

But fun. Really hot, sexy fun, said her loins.

Clearly, it was her loins that had done the majority of absorbing the three glasses of wine she’d just consumed at her monthly sorority reunion.

She wasn’t drunk. Just tipsy. And tipsy was not something Brynn did often because it left her feeling reckless.

Brynn Dalton did not do reckless. Come to think of it, she should probably add it to her Do Not list. Nothing good ever came from being impetuous. That was where STDs, unwanted pregnancies, and broken hearts came from.

And yet here she was, standing outside Will Thatcher’s home and debating the unthinkable.

It bothered her that he lived in a homey town house. Hotshot bachelors like William Thatcher were supposed to live in monolithic high-rises. Brynn had been here before, of course. He’d hosted an anniversary for her parents two years earlier, and she’d also been by a couple times to pick up an inebriated Sophie.

But she’d never really picked up the details before. Like a friendly blue welcome mat. Why would a man who could barely be civil have a welcome mat?

The dark green of his front door was also all wrong. Hunter-green accents were for her future home. They did not belong at the enemy’s abode. And the dented brass knocker looked like it had been well used. Probably by a constant stream of female visitors.

The flower pots bothered her more than anything. They were empty now thanks to Seattle’s chillier-than-usual winter, but she couldn’t help but wonder what he planted in the summer months. Flowers? Herbs? Or maybe something more stark and manly, like palms. Not that she could see him out here watering the damn things. Or maybe she just didn’t want to picture it.

Brynn squeezed her eyes shut and told herself to walk away. Contemplating a one-night stand with public enemy number one was dangerous enough. Humanizing the bastard would be a disaster.

Damn Carrie for pushing that last glass of wine. Although it wasn’t really fair to blame her friend. It wasn’t like Brynn didn’t know her own limits. The monthly sorority reunions were notoriously boozy. Granted the sugary Jell-O shots of college had given way to overpriced wine bars, but her group of girlfriends still knew their way around their drinks. Brynn usually limited herself to one or two glasses, but she had the day off tomorrow, and she’d really hoped that third glass would help rid her of the itchy feeling.

Instead it had led her here. Enemy territory.

“This is insane,” she muttered. “I’m not that drunk.”

There were plenty of less dangerous men with whom she could scratch her itch. That accountant she’d gone on a date with last week would probably be willing. Or an ex? She thought briefly of Gray but quickly discarded the thought. They hadn’t slept together when they were dating, why would they sleep together after they’d broken up?

Besides, something clearly was happening between him and her sister. Not that Brynn could actually see something developing there. They wouldn’t make it past the first date when Sophie insisted on rowdy karaoke and Gray wanted to go to the opera. Something she’d told him straight-out when he’d driven her home after the emergency room the other night. Sophie would kill Brynn if she knew she’d interfered, but Brynn hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity to talk with Gray.

The soft looks that Sophie had been shooting Gray were not harmless employee-to-employee glances. Brynn hadn’t seen her sister look at anyone that way in years. Sophie choosing to care about something was a rare gift, one that Brynn had made damn sure Gray knew to either accept or return with care.

“Will?”

“Brynn.” His voice was low and gravelly. She felt the smart part of her slipping away, and her reckless feeling increased tenfold.

“Hi, um…why are you calling me?” she asked in a too-casual high-pitched voice.

He was silent for several moments. “What are you doing on my front porch?”

Oh God. She squeezed her eyes shut. “You know?”

“I saw the cab and watched you teeter up my walkway in death heels. Pretty sexy shoes for an orthodontist.”

Brynn scowled at that. She hated how he always undermined her career, as though being an orthodontist meant you had to be frumpy and wear clogs.

“Yeah, well, I was just leaving,” she grumbled.

The door opened so suddenly that she nearly fell forward. Their eyes locked for several heated moments, and moving on unspoken agreement, they silently hung up their cell phones without saying another word.

Will had braced his arm on the doorjamb as though barring her entrance.

Not exactly a welcoming start, Brynn thought with a pang.

Then his hand slid up several inches as he lifted his eyebrows in invitation, leaving just enough room for her to slide under his arm if she wanted to.

She wanted to.

Swallowing dryly, she ducked under his arm so she was standing in his foyer. He closed the door with a quiet click, and they still said nothing.

She studied Will closely, waiting for smugness or mockery, but his face was carefully blank.

“I, um…I just thought I’d stop by. You know, to say hi, and stuff,” she said, her voice husky.

His eyebrow quirked at the mention of “stuff,” but instead of giving her a hard time, he just nodded and gestured toward the kitchen. “Let me get you a glass of wine.”

“Oh gosh, no. I’ve had plenty,” she said, following him into the kitchen.

He paused in opening the fridge. “You’re drunk?” Something like disappointment flashed across his face.

“No, just a little buzzy. And getting less so by the minute.”

“Coming from a not-so-great date?” he asked, pouring her a glass of ice water.

“No, just a girls’ night.” She lowered herself onto the leather bar stool and fixed her eyes on her glass as he poured himself some sort of amber-looking liquid.

“And you came by to say hi,” he said, taking a long swallow of his drink.

“Mm-hmm,” she said, tracing a drip of condensation down the side of her glass.

The wine buzz was fading, but the recklessness wasn’t.

Her mind kept returning to The Kiss from the car. It had been running over and over through her brain like a track on repeat. And the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to do it again. Take it further.