Blessed silence filled the house.

The ache behind his eyes from stress and lack of sleep eased slightly. It came back in a flash when he thought about the deliciously rumpled woman in the bed in the next room, with her wide eyes that were always filled with a curious wonder, her pouty lips that seemed to beg to be kissed, her thick, luscious hair that never stayed in place.

She turned his world inside out.

How was she able to annoy him and arouse him at the same time? It had never happened before, and it alarmed him now, since he couldn’t seem to control his response to her.

He wouldn’t dwell on it, he decided. Not now, in the middle of the night. And he certainly wouldn’t look at her again, not when he knew she was probably at this moment wearing some sexy little number from her store. Probably black, or red, leather or lace, he hadn’t really checked when he’d been worried about a fire.

Now the only fire seemed to be in his groin.

As he reentered Trisha’s bedroom he told himself she didn’t drive him crazy on purpose. Yeah, and maybe the alarm had somehow just gone off accidentally.

Right.

He knew better, and because he did, he automatically took a deep breath, already on the defensive.

Which, it turned out, was completely unnecessary. Trisha had fallen back asleep.

Stretched sideways across the bed, half under her covers and half out of them, she slept on. He stopped in the doorway and let out a little noise of disbelief. “Unbelievable. Trisha.”

She didn’t budge.

Stirred by some uncontrollable urge he couldn’t deny if his life depended on it, he moved forward, until his knees bumped her bed. In his dream, she’d been in black leather. Now, in the flesh, Hunter expected something equally erotic, certainly something frilly and feminine, something intended to entice and seduce.

She’d surprised him – again.

One long leg stuck out from the sheet, bare and smooth. Her covers, bunched at her waist, revealed her nightwear of choice, and it surpassed even the most sensual of dreams.

Far sexier than any black silk or lace, she wore a plain white cotton T-shirt… and she was cold. Oh, God. “Trisha.”

For an answer, he got a soft snore. Feeling like a martyr, he leaned over her and pulled the covers up to her chin, tucking the blanket carefully around her.

She turned to her side, trapping his hand beneath her. “I’m sorry, Aunt Hilda, I’ll do better next time,” she murmured softly.

“Trisha.”

“I promise – just please don’t send me back.”

The tense, desolate tone of her voice galvanized him. Hating that her dreams haunted her, he used his free hand to pat her shoulder. “You’re just dreaming, Trisha.” Then he stroked her hair. “Go to a happier place.”

When she’d relaxed a little, he slowly pulled his hand free, heat spearing through his body when his knuckles accidentally brushed against a soft breast.

At that moment Duff stalked into the room, went still at the sight of him. Feeling like a molester, Hunter stepped back. Duff passed him, tail pointing straight up, chin lifted. Leaping onto the bed in one fluid motion, he settled proprietarily in the curve of Trisha’s hip.

Trisha shifted, then whispered groggily, “Oh, Duff, you’re so warm. For a minute I thought you were Hunter.”

She thought this was a dream.

Shaking his head, Hunter turned from her. It was that or slip in beside her and give her some of the body heat just watching her had generated.

Because he still felt uneasy and unsettled about the alarm, he walked through her bathroom, wanting to check each room. But what he found there told him he had no need to go farther.

Obviously, she’d had a hell of a time. Water was everywhere, beaded on the walls and the linoleum in the old, unventilated bathroom. The mirror was half-fogged. The scent of the bath still filled the room. Though the candles had all burned out and were cold, it didn’t take a space scientist to figure out that they’d probably set off the alarm when she’d blown them out.

An empty bottle of wine lay on the floor, next to an overturned glass.

Frowning, he picked them up and set them on the counter. Without considering the wisdom of what he was going to do, he strode back into Trisha’s dark bedroom. A beam of light from the hallway divided the room, highlighted the bed and her still form.

“Trisha.”

No response, but at least now he understood why. She’d drunk herself into a stupor. Not feeling particularly sympathetic since she’d interrupted his sleep for the night – sleep he desperately needed – he reached out a hand to her shoulder and shook her. Actually, he amended to himself, she’d ruined just about every night’s sleep since he’d first moved in, just because he couldn’t stop thinking of her.

“Trisha, wake up.”

“No.”

Though her eyes remained firmly closed, she said this quite clearly, giving him the impression he’d actually woken her. “Yes.” He had no idea if she did this sort of thing often, but the thought that she might was more upsetting to him than he wanted to admit. “We have to talk.”

She clutched blindly at his arm, her grip tight, desperate. “I already ran the five miles, Uncle Victor. I’m too tired to do the push-ups and sit-ups. Please, I said I was sorry.”

God. “Trisha.”

“I won’t make Aunt Hilda mad again, just don’t make me.”

His stomach clenched. Very deliberately, he sat on the edge of the bed. “No one’s going to make you do anything,” he assured her gently. “I promise.”

Silence fell. He sensed the change immediately, knew she’d come fully awake by the sudden stillness and tension in her body.

“I found the fire,” he said hoarsely.

“Fire?” she mumbled, pushing back her hair and blinking at him sleepily. “What fire? Hunter? Is that you?”

Who the hell else? “It’s me.” Without thinking, he leaned forward, braced himself on the bed, his hands on either side of her hips. “You were dreaming.”

“No,” she said flatly, shaking her head.

“You were,” he insisted. “You said -”

“Please. I’m fine now.”

“But -”

Again she shook her head, violently this time. Her hair flew, a strand clung to his slightly stubbled face. With a hand that trembled, she reached up and brushed it away. “Hunter.”

The way she said his name made him want to groan, want to bend and take her mouth with his, then take the rest of her as well. He could still feel the warmness of her touch on his face, and he wanted more.

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

“The smoke detector went off, and I just reacted, thinking there was a fire. I knocked – pounded – on the door, calling your name, but you sleep like the dead. And dammit, your door wasn’t locked. You’ve got to lock it, Trisha.”

“Fire,” she said, moistening her lips, her eyes never leaving his face. “I remember you saying something about fire.”

“I think the smoke from your doused candles in the bathroom set off the alarm.”

“I’m sorry it woke you.”

“Why didn’t it wake you?”

She stared at him for a minute, then flushed. “I don’t know.”

“I do,” he said quietly. “How often do you down an entire bottle of wine like that?”

“I didn’t -”

“You could have drowned in that tub,” he said swiftly, realizing just how angry he was. Dammit, didn’t she care about herself at all? Still leaning close, he took her shoulders in his hands. “And I would have found you dead.”

“No, I -”

Lifting her clear off her pillows, he pulled her upright, stared deep into her troubled, dark eyes. “Drinking is not the answer, Trisha.”

“Dammit,” she gasped, fisting her hands against him. “I know that.” Her incredibly expressive eyes filled with tears. “My parents drank themselves to death. Do you really think I could do the same?”

For a minute he just stared at her. When he let her go, she sank back against her pillows. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t.” She laid her arm over her eyes. “You don’t know much about me except that I drive you crazy, I play my radio too loud, and I won’t move out of your house.”

“And you rearranged my bumper.”

Her lips twitched, but when she lowered her arm to look at him, her eyes remained suspiciously bright. “That too.”

Guilt twisted at him, so did something much more potent, something he couldn’t name. “Trisha -”

“No,” she said quickly, propping herself against her headboard. “Don’t say anything else. I want you to go now.”

He’d judged her, quickly and harshly. But it didn’t erase his worry for her. “Are you all right?”

“For a drunkard, you mean?” Her smile seemed forced. “Of course. How much trouble can I get into in the middle of the night?” At his raised brow, she rolled her eyes. “You’d better forget that question. Just go. Please.”

He started to object, but what right did he have? Reluctantly, he rose, walked to the door.

“Hunter?”

“Yes?” In the dark room, he turned back to her.

“Did you race up here to rescue me, or your house?”

“You,” he said without hesitation.

The light in the hallway highlighted the features of her face and he caught her small smile. “You even look like a hero, standing there like that, half-dressed.” Her voice went husky. “You didn’t put on shoes… or a shirt.”

He felt more than saw her gaze run over the length of him, and his body responded so quickly, he felt dizzy. “I was afraid for you.”

Some of the tension left her. “It’s nice to know that. I’m sorry I woke you.”

He nodded, turned to go, needing to get out.

“I didn’t drink that whole bottle of wine,” she whispered as he stepped out of the room.

Unquestioningly believing her, he closed his eyes and went still. Self-disgust filled him.