“Please, let me go. I know best, really. If you’ll just . . . do this for me—”

“You mean leave you now when you need me most, just like I did after I touched every inch of your body and got deeper inside you than any man ever has? Leave again, simply because you asked me to? Because you think you know best?”

Tyler advanced even closer, and suddenly, his bedroom door was at her back. He planted both of his large hands on either side of her head and leaned in. Her heart picked up speed viciously. That woodsy, testosterone-oozing scent swamped Delaney, and her legs trembled beneath her. She flattened herself against the door . . . but Tyler kept coming closer, leaning in, his green gaze darkening, drilling into her.

“How well do you think me listening to you worked out last time?” he challenged.

Terribly. Eric had eventually screamed that Tyler slinking off only made him wonder how long they’d been fucking each other. Her protestations otherwise had fallen on completely deaf ears. The positive pregnancy test had been the death knell of their marriage. By then, Tyler had been long gone, and she’d missed him so much. But . . .

Delaney closed her eyes. “This is different.”

“Yeah. It’s worse. Seth could lose you for the rest of his little life. I could lose you forever instead of for two years. Not happening, angel. Last time I saw you, I listened to you about everything. This time? It’s my way.”

Tyler cradled her face in his big hands. His stare zeroed in on her mouth. He pressed the length of his body against hers. The thin T-shirt she wore did nothing to protect her from the blistering heat of his body. He notched his heavy, steely erection against her mound. Delaney’s heart stuttered.

And then his lips hovered right above hers, his head cocking to the side as his gaze ensnared her. He lowered his mouth so, so close. She curled her fingers into fists at her sides so that she didn’t wrap her arms around him, her legs around him, and beg for everything he could give her—safety, comfort . . . feverish desire, shattering pleasure.

He exhaled against her mouth, parted his lips. God, she couldn’t breathe. Already, she wanted him desperately. Her heart pounded. Her pussy ached. If he kissed her, it would only make everything ten times more difficult.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

He hesitated, dropped his head near her ear. “My way, Del.”

Then Tyler nipped at her lobe with his teeth. A shiver wound through her, all the way to her toes.

She didn’t get in another breath before Tyler’s lips took hers, at first hungry but searching, as if testing his reception. The past, his long list of conquests, the pain between them—all instantly obliterated in the comfort of his solid embrace. His aching familiarity. His seductive kiss. There was no way she could stop the welcome bubbling inside her. Her lips turned pliant, yearning.

An instant later, Tyler groaned, bulldozing his way into her mouth. His heat crashed over her, inside her, surging low in her belly—then spearing deep between her thighs. The warmth of his breath as he seized her mouth and shoved her lips farther apart with his own burned her up. His arms twisted around her body, jacking her tight against the inferno of his taut muscles and steely cock.

She gasped into his mouth. He went deeper, even as his palm worked under her shirt, branding the suddenly feverish skin of her back, holding her against him without a breath of air between them.

Without conscious thought, she whimpered, her body melting into his, hands fisting his T-shirt, then clutching his shoulders to drag him closer. She opened wider for the hot thrust of his kiss. Needed it. Tyler gave it to her, then grabbed her thigh in one hand, slung it over his hip, and pressed harder against the needy flesh throbbing between her legs. She moaned.

Then Del caught herself.

No, no, no . . . Please let the response shimmering inside her be like a mirage on a hot highway, glimmering with promise. Not real.

Because if it was, she was in a whole world of trouble.

But it felt all too genuine, too intense. It had been so long since she’d experienced the tug and pull of attraction, that agonizing want making her sink against a man’s body.

Now wasn’t the time to be distracted. Her life—and her son’s—were on the line.

Delaney tore her lips from his and turned her head away. She’d love to push him aside and tell him that he didn’t affect her in the least. But her trembling and panting were dead giveaways, along with her heart galloping madly in her chest. Tyler wasn’t stupid or blind. His stare was all over her, weighty and scorching, cataloging her reactions. Her breath hitched at the thought. Her only consolation was that he was breathing hard, too.

Don’t let him kiss me again. If he laid his lips on her now, she’d be toast.

Gently, he tucked a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. “Del?”

What the hell did he want her to say? Was he looking for permission to continue?

She shook her head. “Don’t do that again.”

A muscle in his jaw ticced. “Why did you come to me? Honestly.”

“I had nowhere else to turn. Please don’t make me regret it. Just . . . watch Seth for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

With that, she twisted out from beneath the solid warmth of his body and turned, yanking frantically at the doorknob. Damn it, she had to get free before she did something with Tyler that she’d regret.

With a low curse, he stepped back and let her go. Then she was in the hall, running toward the guest room as if she was on fire.

Because she was, and Tyler had done that to her with a single kiss. Del had no illusions; he’d let her leave his bedroom because he’d chosen to. If he ever decided to put his hands on her again, chances were he wouldn’t release her until they were both utterly sated—because she feared that she wouldn’t be able to find the willpower to say no.

***

WHAT the hell was going through his head? Tyler winced. He knew the answer to that question, and it wasn’t G-rated. Damn it, Delaney flipped his switch in a way it hadn’t been turned on in forever. Why was it that one reluctant kiss from her had been better than any blow job he’d gotten from Alyssa’s girls? It was more than the addicting flavor of her kiss, more than the feel of her pussy against his denim-covered cock, getting hotter with each second.

As he watched Del’s sweet little ass sway down the hall while she sprinted back to safety, he started asking himself some hard questions. Why had he kissed a woman who’d said “no”? For the same reason her quick little breaths and hungry eyes got to him. He wanted her—bad. Beyond sense. Beyond scruples. After he’d gotten over the initial shock of seeing her at his door and knowing that he’d fathered a son on her, desire had settled in, vicious and unrelenting.

Why?

He didn’t want to delve too hard for the answer.

His dick couldn’t seem to think past the fact that he’d pinned her against his bedroom door and felt every inch of her soft body against him, her shy little tongue touching his before retreating, her pert nipples hardening against his chest. And Jesus, those little gasps and whimpers? He groaned and swiped a hand across his face.

If this had been strictly about desire, he’d be okay. He’d rip his jeans off, take himself in hand, and settle matters quick. He’d done it many times in his life. But right now, his own hand wasn’t going to do a damn thing to cool the throbbing settling deep in his cock. It wanted to fuck. Hard. Now. Until he was exhausted. And no one except Delaney would do.

Wasn’t that a bitch?

With a sigh, Tyler sat on the edge of his bed. It wasn’t wanting her that agitated him. Desire was easy. What he felt for her was far more complex.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Tyler adjusted his hard dick in his jeans, willing his erection to subside. The last thing he wanted was a verbal ribbing from Deke.

Finally under some control, he stalked back to the den, TV blaring a Dallas Mavericks game. Feeling itchy, edgy, he plopped down on the dark leather sofa next to Deke.

“I saw Delaney race back to her room like her ass was on fire. I take it you kindled that?”

Was this his way of meddling? “Shut the fuck up.”

Deke barked out a superior laugh. “You got it bad, you poor bastard. And she’s trying hard to hate your guts right now.”

Tell me something I don’t know. Tyler gave his buddy the finger.

It only made Deke laugh again. Then he slowly sobered and glanced at his cell phone. “I need to keep Kimber in the loop. How long do you think it’s going to take Delaney to run?”

“A couple of hours. She’s going to wait until she thinks I’m good and asleep before she makes a move.”

“Likely so.”

“I should pretend to hit the sack.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll crash on the couch. She’ll have no idea I’m here. But . . . can we wait just a few minutes? This game is getting good.”

“Yeah?” Tyler tried to get interested. Instead, he stared sightlessly at the TV, everything swimming before his eyes as he remembered another hot May evening . . .

Chapter Four

Los Angeles—two years earlier

“WHY’D you knock? It’ll take me two weeks to answer the door. I unlocked it a few minutes ago. Just come in.”

At the sound of his friend’s voice, Tyler entered the house with his key. Eric sat in his wheelchair as he had every day for the last three months, since the fucking suspect Tyler had been chasing sneaked up on Eric and capped a cheap shot in his back, grazing his spine and paralyzing him from the waist down. The doctors hoped the injury was temporary. But maybe not. The good news was, for the first time in forever, Eric looked clean, healthy, freshly shaved. Almost happy, given the grin stretching across his face.

“I’m here with beer, as promised.” Tyler held up a twelve-pack.

Eric rubbed his hands together, his dark brows rising. “That’s a nice appetizer, but tell me you brought something harder.”

“Oh, did I neglect to mention the Jack?” Tyler grinned, then pulled a half gallon of whiskey from behind his back.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Eric wheeled himself into the living room, then motioned Tyler to follow. “Ice that shit down and let’s get started.”

“Where’s Del?” He looked around the little character Craftsman house she and Eric had bought last year, shortly after their first anniversary.

“On her way. I can’t believe you both took the whole weekend off.” Eric stuck out his hand. “Thanks, man. For everything. For saving my life after the shooting, for being there during the surgery, for taking care of the yard since I can’t.”

Tyler shook his hand. “Hey, you’d do the same for me. We’ve walked through fire together. I’d do it again.”

Eric nodded, his dark hair groomed for once. It was even short again, like he’d had a trim. Tyler hoped to God that meant that he was finally ready to stop being angry with the world and get on with his life. Even if he couldn’t return to Vice, even if he never walked again, Del needed him to start recovering mentally and be the guy he’d been before the shooting. Caring for a man so lost in self-pity and depression weighed on her. She’d been so busy meeting Eric’s needs that she hadn’t seen to any of her own. She’d lost sleep, lost weight. Tyler tried to shoulder as much as he could for her, but the stubborn woman kept insisting that she was fine.

They’d all been looking forward to this long Memorial Day weekend. Tyler handed Eric a beer, hoping this would be Eric’s turning point. Then he grabbed a cold one himself.

“I hate that you quit the force.” Eric sounded genuinely regretful. “I feel responsible.”

Tyler didn’t regret it. “It wasn’t the same without you. That new partner they tried to give me was all kinds of gaping asshole. The PI gig is a nice change, being your own boss, making your own hours. Some days with the force, I just felt helpless. Too much case load, bureaucracy, and red tape. So many douche bags on the street, willing to roll over an innocent for fun and cash. So little justice for victims.”

“I know you hated that part of the job. I guess I kind of accepted that it came with the territory. I’m not sure that always made me the best cop.” Eric shrugged. “But that’s irrelevant now. I’m not going anywhere anymore.”

At Eric’s uncomfortable laugh, Tyler tried not to wince. Maybe Eric wasn’t moving on, after all. The guy needed to be more positive about his future. The doctor had given him a 50 percent chance of rehabbing back to normal. His loss of functionality might only be the result of swelling where the bullet embedded near his spine, near thoracolumbar vertebrae eleven and twelve. At worst, the nerve damage was minimal. In that case, he’d probably never do anything more than work a desk again, but he might walk. In the back of his mind, Tyler wondered why Eric wasn’t happier to be alive and have a wife who still loved him.