"You'd just better catch up." He crushed his mouth to hers and felt her instinctive jerk of protest. Ignored it.

"You got a problem with it?" he demanded lifting his head and meeting her eyes.

"Brody—" That was all she managed to say before he took her mouth over again.

"Yes or no."

"I don't—" His teeth scraped along her neck. "Oh God." She couldn't think. This had to be wrong. There had to be a dozen, two dozen, rational reasons why this was wrong. She'd worry about them later.

"You want me to take my hands off you?" They moved over her, rough and possessive. "Yes or no. Pick now."

"No. Damn it." She fisted her hands in his hair and dragged his mouth back to hers. She didn't know who pulled whom to the floor. It didn't seem to matter. She couldn't tell whose hands were more impatient as they tugged at clothing. She didn't care.

All she knew was she wanted this rough, angry man every bit as much as she'd wanted the gentle, patient one. Her body was quaking for him, her heart bounding.

So much heat. She was amazed her system didn't simply implode from it. The sharp stabs of pain and pleasure fused together into one unbearable sensation.

Tangled together, they rolled over the floor. She set her teeth at his shoulder, craving that wild flavor of flesh.

He'd forgotten what it was to let himself want like this, to take like this. Without restriction or boundaries. To rush and plunder. His fingers tore at the triangle of lace that blocked her from him. And he drove her up, hard and high.

The bite of her nails on his back was a dark thrill, the blind shock in her eyes a violent triumph. Desperate for possession, he yanked up her hips and plunged.

She rose up, that agile body quivering, her fingers digging into the rug for stability as he pounded into her. An elemental mating that fed on hot blood. Even as she cried out, he dragged her up until her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands found slippery purchase on his sweat-slicked shoulders. She held on, riding the razor-tipped edge of pleasure, clinging to it, to him. When the climax ripped through her, shredding her system to tatters, she bowed back and let him take his own.

She melted like candle wax onto the floor when he released her. Then simply lay there, weak and sated. She'd been ravaged. She had allowed it. And she felt wonderful.

Though his vision was still a little blurry at the edges, Brody studied her, then what was left of their clothes. "I ripped your shirt." When her eyes fluttered open, he recognized the lazy gleam of a satisfied woman. "And these things." He held up the tatters of her panties. "Well, I'm not going to apologize."

"I didn't ask for an apology."

"Good. Because if you had, I'd have been forced to haul you outside again—naked this time—to find another neighbor. Instead you can borrow my shirt. I've got a spare in the truck." She sat up, took the offered shirt. The glow she'd felt was beginning to fade. "Are we still fighting?"

"I'm done, so I guess that's up to you."

She looked up. His eyes were clear now, and direct. This time it was she who fumbled—starting to speak, then shaking her head.

"No, go on. Say it. Let's make sure the air's completely clear."

"You hurt my feelings." It was lowering to admit it. Temper, she thought, was so much easier to handle than hurt.

"I get that." He took the shirt from her, draped it over her shoulders. "And that's something I will apologize for. If it helps any, you hurt mine right back."

"What are we doing, Brody?"

"Trying to figure each other out, I guess. I'm not embarrassed by what we've got going on, Kate. I don't want you to think that. But I don't have a handle on it yet."

"All right, that's fair enough." But it hurt a lot, she realized as she shrugged into the borrowed shirt. Hurt that she'd fallen in love, and he hadn't. Still, that didn't mean he wouldn't. She smiled a little, leaned over and up to kiss him. "You're not a jerk. I'm sorry I called you one." He caught her chin. "You called me something worse than that, didn't you?" Now the smile spread and was genuine. "Maybe."

"I'm going to buy a Ukrainian phrase book."

"Good luck. Besides they just don't have certain descriptive words and phrases in there."

"I'm getting one anyway." He got to his feet, drew her up to hers. "I've got to go pick up my kid." His hair was a sexy mess, his eyes lazily satisfied. He was naked to the waist. And, she thought, he was a father who had to pick up his little boy from the school bus.

"That's part of it, isn't it? Part of your problem with getting a grip on our relationship? Trying to juggle the man and the father together."

"Maybe. Yes," he admitted. "Kate, there hasn't been anyone in…" He lifted a hand, smoothed it over his hair in some attempt to order it. "Connie was sick for a long time." He couldn't talk about that now, couldn't go back there. "Jack had a rough start. I guess we both did. All I can do is make up for it."

"You have. And you are. I know how to juggle, too, Brody. I think we can keep the balls in the air. As long as we both want to."

"I want to."

Her heart settled. "Then that's also fair enough. Go get Jack."

"Yeah." His gaze skimmed down. "Before I do, I'd just like to say you sure look good in flannel."

"Thanks."

"You want a lift home?"

"No. I really do have some things to finish up here."

"All right." He lowered his head, touched his mouth to hers. Ended up lingering. "Gotta go." But when he got to the door, he glanced back. "You want to go out Saturday night?" Her eyebrow lifted. It was the first time he'd actually asked her out. It was, she supposed, some sort of progress. "I'd love to."

How it got to be spring break when it seemed they'd just gotten through Christmas vacation, Brody didn't know. School days had certainly not flown by when he'd been a kid. Added to that, the Skullys had decided to take advantage of the time off to take the kids to Disney World. This had caused major problems with Jack who'd begged, pleaded and had fallen back on whining over the idea that they should go, too.