Mike grinned. Don't worry, Mom.

I mean it. I don't have bail money this time.

Don't wait up.

The door shut. Kevin shook it off. He couldn't keep agonizing over every single person in his life, over their inability to make good decisions. It was too tiring. So he showered until the scalding water ran out, then pulled on a pair of sweats and wandered through his dark house toward the kitchen. The refrigerator wasn't promising. It held leftover pizza of questionable quality, a soggy-looking apple, and a beer, which he grabbed. Yeah, he was a party animal all right.

A hollow, empty-feeling one.

Just as he took a long pull from the bottle, someone knocked on his front door. Probably Mike, who'd forgotten something. Flipping on the porch light, he pulled the door open in one movement, then went still in surprise.

Mia.

She was beautiful. Maybe even crazy beautiful. And wickedly dangerous to his mental health.

Blinking from the sudden glare, she wore only that creamy, elegant robe, a pissed-off, hungry expression, and nothing else. He knew this because the light cast her in bold relief, cutting through that thin, drenched silk and highlighting her gorgeous body.

It was still raining. Her limbs glistened, her skin glowed damply. And everything within him tightened in anticipation. "What are you doing here?"

"Can you cut the light?" She lifted a hand to protect her eyes as rain dripped from her hair to the silk, plastering it to her skin, revealing that she was good and chilled.

She looked amazing, if not oddly solemn. He should send her home, for nothing else than she also looked vulnerable, and then there was that melancholy in her eyes…

But to hell with being the good guy, to being the guy everyone came to when they needed something. He needed, too, goddamnit. And what he needed in this moment was to look at her.

"The light?" she said again.

"I don't think so." He drank in his fill. Just look, don't touch. "You never know who could be prowling around late at night."

"Funny." She drank her fill as well, her gaze lingering on his bare chest, wet now from the rain blowing at him. "You going to let me in?"

Her cool, icy voice was back, overriding any vulnerability he'd caught a glimpse of. Even wet and chilled, she now looked put together, in charge of herself and capabilities, and sexy as all hell.

Which meant he was in big trouble. Trying to maintain composure, he propped up the jamb with his shoulder, his beer dangling from his fingers. "Why? Need to hit me with another Mack truck?"

Arms crossed over her chest, Mia glanced behind her, as if worried about someone seeing her. "I'm not dressed."

"I noticed." He took another long pull of his beer, letting his gaze soak her up, all that long, still-damp chestnut hair tumbling just past her shoulders. Her eyes flashed her frustration louder than a shout, that compact, neat, tight, toned body quivering with God knew what beneath that silk. All he knew for sure was that her nipples were still poking against the material, her softly rounded belly rising and falling with her every breath. And those legs. He needed a good long time to sigh over those legs. "Where's Hope?"

"Fast asleep, and snoring like a buzz saw."

"You've got a real thing about snoring."

"Move," she said and went to brush past him, only he straightened, trapping her between his body and the jamb.

She let out a sound that spoke volumes of how frustrated she was, and glared up at him.

God, she was something, all shimmering with pent-up aggression and a barely repressed excitement, and he felt a glimmer of his own excitement, which made him a very sick man, he decided. "Do you ever say please?" he asked.

Her mouth tightened. "Fine. Will you pretty please let me inside so you can do me?"

He let out a surprised laugh. "What, is it my birthday?"

"Yep, and I brought you just what you wished for," she said with just a slight hint of that Southern drawl in her voice now, a sound that gave him back some of his power. He took one last breath as a smart man and stepped back. "Do you want something to drink?"

"No."

"How about-"

She kicked the door shut behind them, then slid her hands up his bare chest into his hair and tugged his head to hers.

"Okay, no drink, no talk," he said as she bit his lower lip, just sunk her teeth right into his flesh and tugged, whipping his blood into an instant froth, from cool to boiling in just under two-point-zero seconds. "Jesus."

He was already off balance, so when she gave him a light shove he fell back against the wall. Her scent surrounded him, some complicated mixture of exotic perfume and woman as she sandwiched him there with her body, taking her hot, greedy mouth on a tour along his jaw, exhaling slowly in his ear, making him groan as his hands gripped her hips hard for balance in a spinning world.

Then she slithered out of his hold and dropped to her knees.

Jesus. "Mia-"

"Right here." She yanked his sweats down, baring his ass to the cold wall behind him, and everything else to her gaze. She whispered his name then, or what might have been his name, on a sigh so soft it drifted like silk over his heated, hard flesh as she took him in her hands and stroked.

He sucked in a breath. His knees buckled, and he hit the ground hard. Had it been only a minute ago he'd been feeling hollow and empty? Because, he didn't know how, but she was changing that for him, filling him, making him feel whole.

It wasn't real. Hell, she wasn't real, but the warm, silk-clad body against him said otherwise, and he couldn't pull away to save himself the grief that would come later-not when his brain, hungry and awakened and desperate for release, had clocked out. She was touching him, making him smolder, then flame, and then she dragged him all the way down to the floor and straddled him.

With a slow, achingly sensual smile, she pulled a condom out of her pocket, untied her robe, and shrugged it off her shoulders.

Her breasts gleamed pale and full in the foyer light, swaying when she leaned over him and took his mouth with hers. He was lost then; but as she stoked the condom down his length, then lifted up and took him deep inside her body, he was found.

Simple and unbelievable as that. Having had enough of her being in control, he surged up and tucked her beneath him now. She tried to rear up, but he entwined their fingers, holding her hands on either side of her head as he thrust into her again and again until she cried out, shuddering as she came with a soft, gasping cry. Burying his face in her hair, he followed her over.

It took him a while to gain his breath, though he did manage to roll off her so he didn't crush her farther into the hard floor. Then he lay there gaping like a beached fish, thinking, so much for basketball keeping him in shape.

She shifted, and he was reminded of her last, hasty exit. Reaching out to pull her into him, he put his mouth to her throat, running his hand up her warm curves.

She put her hand over his, squeezed, but then scooted away and stood up.

Smiling up at her beautiful naked body, the one he wanted to put his mouth all over, every inch, he wiggled his fingers at her to come back.

Slowly she shook her head and reached for her robe.

And his smile faded. "Ah, hell. Not again."

"It's late. I've got a teenager in the house. God. A teenager." She shook her head as if she still couldn't believe it. Then she glanced down at him, at his expression. She let out a sound. "You're not going to make this complicated, are you?"

Still flat on the floor,, still twitching from the aftermath of great sex, he let out a low laugh and managed to shake his head. "No, no complication." Gathering his strength, he staggered to his feet and snagged her hand, tugging her close, trying one more time to reach her. "You came over here just for this then."

She stiffened up on him and blinked warily. His little Ice Queen. "Yes."

"Well, then, I'm going to ask you to take back what you said this morning."

She didn't pretend not to know what he meant. "Fine." Her lips quirked. "You don't have-what was it-stinky feet."

Ah, wasn't she funny. "Mia."

"And you don't snore."

"And…"

"And…" She smiled as she belted her robe. "And maybe next time we'll get to a bed to see about that other thing."

His poor heart gave a quick kick. "Next time?"

The flicker of unease across her face fascinated him. She hadn't meant to say those words, and he knew why. She didn't like to repeat. And not only had she repeated with him, she'd just admitted she wanted to repeat again. Unable to hold it back, he smiled.

She let out a frustrated sound. "There will not be a next time." She flung open the front door, braved the rain. "Good night."

When it shut rather hard, he stood there, still staggered, still half aroused, feeling as if he'd been hit by the Mack truck all over again.

She was bad for him. Bad, bad, bad. Next time she came knocking, even if she wasn't wearing a damn stitch, he wouldn't sleep with her. He would not make the mistake a third time. "Better keep telling yourself that," he muttered and managed to find the energy to pull his sweats back up. He went to the fridge, but no food fairy had appeared, so he headed for some mindless TV.

A few hours later, the front door opened and Mike stood there, eyes glossy, crooked smile in place. He gave an exaggerated wave.