She would go absolutely anywhere he wanted to on his motorcycle. Anywhere, anytime.

"I loved riding with my arms wrapped around you, too." As his eyes darkened even further, she had to ask, "Do you still think waiting twenty-four hours is a good idea?"

Clearly realizing he’d just trapped himself, he sighed and said, "You’re planning to torture me for every last one of them, aren’t you?"

She laughed. "I have a feeling you’ll do a perfectly fine job of that yourself. Especially," her newly wicked streak had her adding, "when you find out about my pajamas."

"Your pajamas?" The two words came strangled out of his beautiful mouth.

"Mmm," she said with a nod as she headed for the front door of the restaurant and tried not to betray how amazed she was with herself for the things she was managing to say to him. "I don’t wear any."

* * *

Brooke and the gray-haired hostess hugged hello, and then after Brooke gave her a couple of boxes of chocolate as a gift, she said, "Elise, this is Rafe Sullivan. His family used to own the house next door, and he’s just bought it again. Rafe, you remember the Lombardis? They’ve owned this restaurant since we were kids."

"Sullivan?" Recognition registered in the woman’s eyes as they narrowed. "Wait a minute, weren’t you and your brothers the ones who egged our front window on July Fourth way back when?"

He grimaced. "Guilty as charged. I know my apology is coming years too late, but I’d be more than happy to wash dishes for you tonight to make up for it."

Thankfully, she only laughed, although she was looking between him and Brooke with a clear question in her eyes. And a warning, if he wasn’t too far off the mark, that he should be careful not to do one damn thing to hurt the sweet woman standing beside him.

"You already made up for it by finding that little boy in the woods," Mrs. Lombardi said, and then, "Are you back for good, too?"

"For a summer vacation."

"Well, this welcome-back dinner’s on the house for both of you," she said as she showed them to a table in the corner. A rather romantic table for two, Rafe thought.

Then again, sitting close enough to Brooke that their knees touched was nothing compared to the ride into town with her soft curves wrapped around him. By the time he halfway recovered from that, they’d be getting back on his bike and heading home.

He’d assumed that, after their super hot kiss on the beach, things would be weird. Awkward. Strained. But apart from the way she kept teasing him, Brooke was her usual cheerful, sweet self. At no point had she tried to use emotional blackmail on him to get her way, like most of the other women he’d met.

Was it really possible that the two of them could have a sexy summer fling? Two friends who knew the score and wanted nothing more than to give and receive pleasure when the lights were out?

That’s what this twenty-four-hour moratorium was supposed to be about: a time-out to let those initial raging impulses settle so that both of them could rationally think things through.

Rafe figured most of the mistakes he’d made with women in the past might have been averted with a little cooling-off period. Only, something told him there wasn’t going to be anything cool about his evening with Brooke...and that there was a distinct possibility his plan could backfire. Instead of taking a clearheaded step back in twenty-four hours, he was afraid he’d be shredding Brooke’s clothes as he ripped them off her.

Hell, he’d already been about to do that on the beach. Especially when she’d informed him that she was determined to be "wild" this summer, with or without him. What if he did the right thing by walking away from her and then she turned around and picked up some creep to try out her newfound urges?

She was too trusting and it made Rafe sick to his stomach to think of all the things he knew for a fact, after seven years as a P.I. and five as a cop, could happen to her.

Damn it, an hour in and he was already rationalizing how sleeping with her himself was the only way to protect her and keep her safe.

Right. Wrong. After all these years, Rafe thought he knew exactly where the lines were drawn. But Brooke had him second-guessing everything. Everything except the sure knowledge that she’d freak out if he actually tried anything remotely kinky with her.

Still, vanilla sex had never sounded so good before...

Chapter Nine

As soon as they’d ordered and Mrs. Lombardi had brought them two glasses of red wine, Rafe lifted his glass in a toast. "To old friends."

Brooke added, "And great next-door neighbors," as they clinked their glasses together.

Speaking of keeping her safe, as soon as they ordered, he had to ask about the phone call he’d overheard. "Sounds like things are progressing with your business in Seattle."

She nodded happily. "Sorry about taking the call from Cord right before we left. He’d actually been trying to get ahold of me all day to let me know about the perfect space he found in the city for our store."

"How’d the two of you meet?"

"He was a colleague of my father’s at Harvard Business School, visiting from Seattle a few years back. But it was more coincidence than anything that someone gave him a box of my truffles. He said I converted him to appreciating just how good chocolate could be. He came out to the lake with a business plan already written up."

A slightly surly teenage girl whom Elise introduced as her granddaughter Holly brought them their salads. She kept looking wistfully out at the beach across from the restaurant’s front window, where a bunch of teenagers were hanging out. Rafe remembered all too well what it had felt like to be sixteen years old with hormones taking hold of his brain cells and a body that was far more mature than the rest of him.

After the girl had let loose a sigh and headed back to the kitchen, Rafe asked, "What about his personal life?"

Brooke paused with her fork halfway to her mouth and gave him a look that said she knew exactly what he was up to. "I thought you were here at the lake to take some time off from investigating people."

There was no point in denying that was exactly what he was doing. "I am, but I overheard you talking about transferring money to him." After what she’d said to him on the beach about everyone mistakenly thinking she was too naïve, too soft to take care of herself, he knew better than to imply that now. "Anyone I cared about I’d be asking the same kinds of questions."