Subject: Navy SEAL Shane “Scavenger” O’Brian

Mission: Seduce and satisfy Lark Sommers!

Lark Sommers’s dry spell is officially a sex-starved desert. Since taking over her mom’s quirky coffee shop in Nowhere, Idaho—putting her own career on permanent hold—Lark’s been, well, miserable. But her friends have a plan...one that starts with a superhot guy with a rockin’ hard bod.

US Navy SEAL Shane O’Brian has no clue he’s being set up. All he knows is that Lark does incredible things to his libido. Still, Shane can’t quite bring himself to tell her what he does for a living. After all, their risqué business is temporary—no strings, no falling in love. Especially when there’s no way this SEAL would ever be tempted into anything more than a sexy little fling...

She’d been right. He was gorgeous...

Oh, that mouth. Those lips. Mmm.

Lark didn’t know if it was all the talk of sex today, or if Shane was simply the most desirable man she’d ever seen in her life.

Oh, yeah, she suspected he was even better naked. Long, lean and luscious, he’d know what to do with his body. Better yet, he’d know what to do with hers. She’d bet he could do things she’d only read about in those sexy romance novels.

It wasn’t against the rules to look, and he looked even better up close.

Her heart beat a little faster, her breath shaky as she offered him her best smile. “You’ll have to try our sugar cookies. Everyone loves them. They’re soft and sweet, but everyone says they get a guy hard—”

Holey moley. The heat that’d been stirring in her belly climbed its way up to coat her cheeks.

She’d just offered the sexiest man she’d ever met a copulation cookie...

Dear Reader,

One of the things I love about September is the change it brings. To the weather, to our clothing choices and most of all to my footwear. Out with the sandals, in with the boots. Yay. So I had change on my mind as I wrote A SEAL’s Temptation. Not only was it fun to contrast the difference between the states of Idaho and California, but it was also fun to play with what Lark and Shane think they want and what their actual wishes change into.

Even more fun, for me, was exploring the world of pottery and ceramics through Lark. It’s an art I’ve always admired and, well, lusted after, to be honest. For fun, I’ll share a few of my favorite pieces of pottery I’ve gotten over the years on my blog this September. I hope you’ll stop by and check them out, as well as the fun contests and sexy hunks I’ll be featuring.

Wishing you a wonderful autumn, and if any changes come your way, I hope you embrace them as Lark and Shane did. Visit me at tawnyweber.com or find me on Facebook at TawnyWeber.RomanceAuthor.

Happy reading,

Tawny Weber

A SEAL’s Temptation

Tawny Weber

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of over thirty books, TAWNY WEBER has been writing sassy, sexy romances since her first Harlequin Blaze book was published in 2007. A fan of Johnny Depp, cupcakes and color coordination, she spends a lot of her time shopping for cute shoes, scrapbooking and hanging out on Facebook.

Readers can check out Tawny’s books at her website, tawnyweber.com, or join her Red Hot Readers Club for goodies such as free reads, complete first-chapter excerpts, recipes, insider story info and much more. Look for her on Facebook at facebook.com/TawnyWeber.RomanceAuthor and follow her on Twitter @TawnyWeber.

With heartfelt thanks to Pat Jones for her brilliant gift with ceramics and pottery. I so appreciated all of the insights you shared, and, of course, all of the lovely pieces gracing my home. I love you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

Last Month

“HEY, LARK. WE need two double-whipped, triple-caramel mocha lattes.”

“And one of those passionflower tarts.” The woman leaned so close she was bent over the counter, then said in a faux whisper, “You know, the ones Heather makes. She told me the ingredients in one of those is enough to make a girl irresistible to any man.”

“Heather said what?” Lark Sommers stopped in the act of ringing up their order to stare.

“You know, that the baked goods here are aphrodisiacs,” Cassia said with a wide grin.

“Hey,” Sara O’Brian whispered at the same time, smacking her cousin on the shoulder. “I thought you said that was a secret.”

“Right, like Lark doesn’t know that Heather’s making her aphrodisiacs for the coffeehouse,” Cassia said, rolling her eyes.

Lark frowned at two of her favorite customers turned good friends, then blinked. First at the curvaceous redhead, then at the kewpie doll blonde. The cousins looked nothing alike. Cassia was as sassy as Sara was sweet. And both were usually pretty perceptive.

Sure, Heather baked for the coffeehouse. Lark’s aunt also baked for the market, for the high school and for three local restaurants. She provided everything from cupcakes to croissants to half the town. So why would Cassia think the tarts were a turn-on?

Before Lark could ask, Cassia continued.

“Look, I haven’t had sex in eight days. That’s more than a week. At this rate, I might forget my best moves.” The busty redhead sounded as if she was about to cry.

And knowing Cassia, Lark Sommers figured she probably was. The only thing Cassia Moore loved more than herself was sex.

Still...

“C’mon, Cassia, you know better than to listen to Heather’s crazy talk,” Lark chided, not caring that she’d just thrown her aunt under the bus. That’s what Heather got for trying to stir everyone’s imagination.

“Then they aren’t real?” Cassia huffed, slamming her hands on her hips so hard her bracelets jangled like bells. “But I need sex. Soon. Today. Now. Otherwise, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Oh my God, hush,” Sara hissed, hunching her shoulders before looking right, then left to see if any of their fellow caffeine addicts had overheard. Color washed her sweet face from her dimpled chin to her pale blond roots. “Do you think everyone in The Magic Beans wants to know that you’re desperate?”

“Desperate? You go a week without sex and see how you feel.”

It only hurt for the first thirty weeks. But Lark didn’t figure sharing that little tidbit of knowledge would help, so she kept it to herself. As the cousins bickered, she tried to remember what went into a double-whipped, triple-caramel mocha latte—and what was up with multiples? And why wasn’t regular coffee good enough for people?

She slid a quick glance toward the counter, with its old-fashioned cash register, antique metal tin of honey sticks and vintage cake servers, one piled high with tiny yam scones under the domed glass, the other with a variety of muffins.

Lark bit her lip, and as soon as she was sure that the two women were totally engrossed with their debate, she slid her laminated cheat sheet out from its hiding place tucked between a commercial coffee machine that looked as if it should be on a spaceship and the midnight-blue wall.

After a quick glance at the ingredients and steps, she began measuring, whipping, mixing and stirring. While she did, her friends debated the reality of magical tarts and if it was fair to use them to get a guy into bed. As she so often did over the past year, Lark felt as if she’d fallen down a very dark rabbit hole.

She pursed her lips, studying the only part of the café that felt like her—a half wall of shelves holding ceramic cups, bowls, mugs and dishes. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d made them for her mom when the older woman had decided to open a coffeehouse. Scattered around the place on high shelves and display cabinets were a few bigger pieces that she’d shipped from her studio in San Francisco. Guilt pieces, she called them, because she’d sent them instead of taking time out of her busy life and dream career to visit her mom’s new home in Idaho. And now they were all that was left of Lark’s dream life. Just like the coffeehouse was all that was left of her mom.

Knowing if she thought about it too long, she’d sink into a funk that would inevitably have her drinking chocolate syrup from the bottle, she blocked the thoughts. Instead, she carefully chose two of her favorite style, the tall fluted ceramic cups a rich blue glaze dripping over teal.

“Lark, if you did believe in magic, would you think it was okay to use it to get a guy naked?” Sara asked as Lark filled the mugs with the mocha-caramel-caffeine mixture.

Once upon a time, Lark had believed in all sorts of magic. In positive energy and thinking good thoughts and wishing on stars. But that was then—she frowned—and this was now.

“Nope. I’m not getting between the two of you.” Grabbing the whipped cream dispenser, Lark shook her head. When a single strand of hair, black and silky, slid out of her French braid, she blew it out of her way. She’d missed her last two hair appointments because she was too busy to leave the café. And maybe, just maybe, because she couldn’t work up much enthusiasm for her haircut at a place called Budget Cuts—the only salon in Little Lake, Idaho—population ten thousand—that didn’t sport a barber pole.

“Okay, fine,” Sara said, shooting her cousin a sideways look. “How about this question. Do you think it’s okay to talk about your lack of sex in public?”

Lark held up a shaker bottle of mocha magic, a chocolate dust her aunt made for the drinks. When both women nodded, she shook a dusting over each mountain of whipped cream and considered the question.

“I think it depends,” she said with a shrug, relaxing now that they were served. She leaned one hip against the counter, trying not to yawn. This getting up at five in the morning thing was for the birds.

“Depends on what?”

“On whether the discussion is between good friends or virtual strangers. On if it’s held in quiet, considerate tones or put out there loud enough for the guy in the corner to hear.”

The three women glanced across The Magic Beans. The café was on the small size so they didn’t have to strain their eyes. Seated in the corner at a table made of a tree stump was a man who looked older than the dirt the tree had grown in. Grizzled and Grumpy, Lark had nicknamed the café’s regular. But he wasn’t paying any attention to them, so obviously the sex talk hadn’t reached his hairy ears.

“But most of all,” Lark added when the other two women turned to face her again, “it depends on if one of the friends is getting sex and the other isn’t.”

“Ha, there you go.” Cassia did a little happy dance boogie that did get Old Joe’s attention. He sent them a scowl and a growl from his corner before snapping his newspaper. Cassia gave one last defiant hip wiggle, then she poked Sara in the shoulder. “See, it’s okay to talk about how devastating it is that I haven’t had sex in over a week.”

“Devastating?” Sara rolled her eyes. “I haven’t had a date, let alone sex, in three months.”

“Boo-hoo to both of you,” Lark said with a laugh, taking her bottle of iced lemon water from under the counter to sip. “I’ve been in dry dock for seventeen months, eleven days and—” she glanced at her watch “—nine hours.”

“And you’re not stark raving crazy?” Cassia shook her head and eyed Lark as if expecting her to burst into maniacal laughter or run around the cozy café, screaming her head off.

Or worse, curl up behind the counter and cry. Which, Lark acknowledged with a sigh, was a possibility that grew stronger every day.

But not over sex.

Before she had to admit that, or react to the pitying look on her friends’ faces, the door chimed.

“Well, well, what have we here? Three lovely ladies and coffee. What more could a man want?”

“Eww,” muttered Cassia.

Sara pulled a face.

Lark barely managed to keep her smile in place as Paul Devarue approached the counter. The banker’s pale gray suit did nothing to disguise his bulk, nor did his carefully styled hair hide the fact that he was balding.

Lark told herself not to hold any of that against him. Nor should she blame him for his ongoing campaign to convince her to sell her mother’s coffeehouse so he could demolish Raine Sommers’s legacy to put in a minimall. As he so often said, that was only business.

Yet, no matter now often she told herself all of that, she simply couldn’t stand the guy.

“Good morning, Paul,” she said, grimacing when he subtly nudged Sara and Cassia aside. Before Cassia could nudge him back, Sara grabbed their mugs by the thick handles, shoved one at her cousin and gave Lark a little finger wave.

“What can I get for you?” she asked. “Your regular? Black coffee, large, and a banana hazelnut bran muffin?”

The kind that came from the bakery. Not from Heather’s creative kitchen. Not that aphrodisiac-laced treats would work on a guy like Paul. Lark’s mom had always said that the first tenet of magic was imagination.

“Coffee and a muffin sounds just right. The perfect start to the day.”

Lark glanced at the funky clock on the wall, a mosaic of coffee beans with spoons for hands, and gave a fond thought to the time in her life that she’d called 10:00 a.m. the start of the morning.

“Did you want it to go?” she asked, lifting the lid of the domed dessert dish and, remembering to use a napkin, grabbed the largest muffin.

“Here is fine. With business so slow, I’m sure you can keep me company for a while.”

Oh, goody. Lark filled a rich purple mug etched with stars with coffee and tried not to grimace. That sounded about as fun as being kicked in the gut by a scary clown during a tax audit.

Or barring that, having a pity party over her nonexistent sex life.

* * *

“I HATE THAT GUY. He’s such a jerk.” Her eyes narrow with suspicion, Sara watched the smarmy banker lean forward, damn near climbing over the counter to shove his capped-tooth smile in Lark’s face. “Look at how he’s getting in her space. That can’t be good. A guy like that, he’ll smudge her aura.”

“You’re a goofball,” Cassia said, shaking her head. But she twisted in her chair to check it out. “Quit worrying. It’s not like he’s hitting on her.”

“Worse. He’s nagging at her. And if he keeps at it long enough, she’ll cave and sell him The Magic Beans. If she does, she’ll move away and then we’ll lose a good friend. A good friend with a great wardrobe that she lets you borrow. Then what?”

Misery was what.

Misery for Sara, that was.

She’d lose her best friend. The coolest person she’d ever met. Lark was everything Sara wanted to be. Sophisticated yet bohemian. Clever yet sweet. She had a degree in Fine Arts, she’d owned a chic apartment in San Francisco and worked in a fancy art gallery and attended fancy art shows there featuring her own pottery. She’d had it all.

And she’d given it up for family. Lark had come to Little Lake, Idaho, a year and a half ago because her mom was sick. When Raine Sommers’s flu had turned out to be cancer, Lark had stayed. First to take care of her mother, then after Raine passed, to take over running The Magic Beans.

Sara thought Lark was the strongest woman she knew.

“Well, she’s not happy,” Cassia pointed out. “She puts on a good face and all. But she’s working her tail off to keep this place going like if she doesn’t her mom’s gonna come back and kick her ass.”

Sara winced and resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. If ghosts where real—and she was sure they were—talk like that would earn a good haunting.

“She promised Raine that she’d keep it going.”

“Lark shouldn’t be miserable just because she made a deathbed promise.” Cassia shook her head. “That’s, like, medieval.”

Sara hummed instead of answering. She knew Lark was sticking around for more than her mom’s legacy. Raine’s insurance hadn’t gone very far, so Lark had sold her San Francisco apartment and taken out a second mortgage on the coffeehouse in the hopes that something—anything—would change the prognosis.

The bottom line was that Lark couldn’t afford to leave. But Sara wasn’t telling Cassia that.

“And speaking of medieval, can you believe she hasn’t had sex in eighteen months?”

“Seventeen months, eleven days and nine hours,” Sara corrected. Then, frowning, she added, “Maybe ten by now.”

“No wonder she’s unhappy. I mean, can you imagine going that long?” Cassia gave an exaggerated shudder, but the horror in her eyes was real.

“Well, her heart was broken,” Sara pointed out. “Between her mom and that jerk, Eric, she’s had a lot to deal with.”

Eric had been Lark’s sexy San Francisco guy. They’d been practically engaged, and he’d cheated on her the first week she’d been in Idaho. Worse, Lark had found out when a friend posted New Year’s pictures on Facebook—one of which was her true love with his lips plastered on a busty blonde’s mouth and his hands on her butt.

“That’s the answer,” Cassia exclaimed, slapping her hand on the table. Sara hissed when everyone, including the woman whose sex life they were whispering about, looked over.

“What’s the answer?” she asked when they all turned back to their own business.

“Sex.”

Sara blinked.

“Sex?”

“Yeah. You know, the horizontal boogie? The mattress mambo? Riding the—”

“Stop!” In defense against the onslaught of euphemisms, of which she knew Cassia had legion, Sara threw up a hand. “We’ve already established that I know what sex is. What I don’t know is why you think it would help Lark right now.”

“Sex helps anything, anyone, anytime,” was Cassia’s sage response.

“How is sex going to help Lark’s situation?” She didn’t ask how it’d help Lark personally. She knew what Cassia would say to that.

“Sex will keep Lark from seizing her engine.”

“What do you mean?”

Her cousin grinned. “Remember that mechanic I went out with for a while?”

“The one who liked to, um, do you on the hood of his Camaro,” she asked. At Cassia’s nod, Sara shrugged. “So?”

“While we were doing the hood hop, he rebuilt my engine.” Smirking at Sara’s arch look, Cassia shook her head. “That way, too, but I mean he literally rebuilt the engine of my ’Vette. Chewed me out for not taking care of it properly, too. Said that an engine has to stay lubricated if it’s going to run right.”

Confused, Sara lifted her mug to lick the last of the whipped cream from the side. Maybe if the sugar high kicked in, she’d understand.

“Lark needs sex,” Cassia explained patiently, pushing aside her coffee mug, only half-empty. “It’ll give her a boost. If she’s boosted enough, she’ll be able to figure out what she wants to do with her life, she’ll know how to handle the coffeehouse and, let’s face it, she’ll feel damned good.”

Sara pursed her lips and thought over Cassia’s words. Sara was a smart woman when it came to most things, but in the matter of sex, she always bowed to Cassia’s greater knowledge. Everyone did. She wanted to suggest Heather’s aphrodisiac tarts, but knew better.

“So you’re saying if we get Lark some sort of date that she’ll stick around? I mean, that she’ll be happy,” Sara corrected, not wanting to sound selfish.

“It can’t hurt,” Cassia said with a wicked smile. “Now, let’s figure out who to hook her up with.”

“He has to be good-looking.”

“Better if he’s got a rockin’ bod. The kind that will make her mouth water and her hormones stand up and dance.”

“Someone with a good sense of humor,” Sara decided as she nibbled her bottom lip. “Lark’s had it rough the last couple of years, so someone who makes her laugh would be nice.”

“We want someone with stamina. A guy who can give her a dozen orgasms in one night, and still greet her the next morning with a breakfast boner.”

“A breakfast...” Knowing her cheeks were turning pink, Sara shook her head. Just when she thought Cassia couldn’t shock her any more.

“Yeah. Every woman deserves a once-in-a-lifetime guy. He needs to be temp, though. You know, transient. Otherwise Lark will get all emotionally involved and it could mess with her mind. That’d just put her right back where she is now.”

“I was thinking a local guy, someone who’d make Lark want to stay.” Sara frowned.

“Nah. Lark’s been here a year and a half—if there was a guy who appealed to her, she’d have already met him. We need a temporary guy to pop her cork, then once he’s gone, she’ll be more amenable to looking at the locals.”

“Good point,” Sara agreed.

Lark’s perfect guy, but temporary.

He’d have to be good-looking, fun and nice. Cassia would toss in sexy, so Sara figured that probably mattered, too. Someone who wouldn’t screw Lark over like Eric had.

Sara quit nibbling her lip and started sucking on it instead, her mind racing. It could be one of those two birds with one stone deals. She’d help Lark, keep her best friend and fix a few family issues all at the same time. It was a crazy idea, but maybe...

“You thinking one of those online dating services? Because I tried that a couple of times and those guys lie. They tell you they’re sporting ten inches and they really got three.” Cassia shook her head. “Why don’t I check my history book, see if there’s anyone in there who’d tempt her.”

“Nope.” Sara waved a dismissive hand before the sleek redhead had her little black book cleared from her purse. “I’ve got the perfect guy for Lark. Absolutely perfect.”

1

“REPORT, O’BRIAN. DID you complete your mission?”

Petty Officer Shane O’Brian stood at attention. Shoulders back, chin high, eyes ahead.

“Yes, sir,” he barked. “Completed with resources to spare.”

“Is that so. And at any time did the target become aware of your mission?”

“Hell, no.” Eyes dancing, Shane grinned. “He’s as clueless as a newborn. Which, I’ve gotta tell you, is totally weird. Of all people, you’d think he’d be suspicious.”

“Nice job.” Shane’s commander, Mitch Donovan, slapped him on the back before dropping onto the couch. Resting his booted foot on the knee of his camouflage fatigues, Mitch laughed. “Gabriel’s a wily SOB, but there’s no way he’d expect an engagement party. Especially since the bride-to-be doesn’t even know they’re getting engaged.”

“He’s going to be so pissed,” Shane observed, handing Mitch the list of what had and hadn’t been done so far.

“That you accessed his private information, evaluated his actions, went behind his back to report said information and actions, then compounded it by bringing multiple people into it in a way that will, when it comes out, be a huge slap in the face?” Mitch jutted out his chin and considered that, then nodded. “Yup. Seriously pissed.”

“I can’t wait.” Laughing, Shane dropped into the chair opposite Mitch. Like most everything else in the apartment, the brown furniture was butt ugly, but it was comfortable. Shane figured that’s all a person could ask for with base housing.

Both he and Mitch, along with their friend Gabriel—better known as Romeo to the SEAL team—had got the PCS—permanent change of station—to the Coronado base a year ago. The three of them had bunked together until his buddies had hooked their perfect women. After they’d moved out, Shane hadn’t seen any point in looking for other quarters—or in replacing the butt-ugly furniture.

“You’re sure he’s going to propose?”

Shane simply raised one brow. They didn’t call him Scavenger for nothing. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t find. Supplies, enemies, information.

“Right,” Mitch said, shaking his head. “Of course you’re sure. Which means he has no clue what you’re planning.”

“That’d be we, not me,” Shane pointed out. “And yeah, I’m sure. Nobody expects a party for getting engaged. Married, having a kid, okay. But for volunteering to hook on a ball and chain?” He gave a pitying shake of his head. Not over Gabriel landing Tessa, or that Mitch was newly married with a baby due any day. His friends had scored some great women.

But Shane figured the odds of military guys, SEALs especially, making it work long-term? Of finding a woman who got what they did, was okay living their life with a man who answered to Uncle Sam, put his life on the line on a regular basis and kept 90 percent of what he did to himself? Pretty much zilch.

Hell, he’d experienced issues himself in his family alone. His own mother was so pissed about his career, she refused to acknowledge it. To keep her happy, the entire family pretended he was a traveling salesman. It’d been funny for a while, but over the past couple of years it’d started getting to him. He’d got to the point that he rarely went back home to Little Lake, Idaho, and since nobody acknowledged his career, none of the family had ever visited him here in Southern California.

Shane frowned, taking the list from Mitch. He was better off without any more emotional crap in his life.

Maybe his buddies would do better. But he doubted it. Mitch had actually walked away from a shot to join the elite Special Mission Unit, DEVGRU. Sure, he said it was because he preferred training and wanted to stay with his team, but given that it’d happened about the same time as he met Livi, Shane had his doubts. And now Romeo was getting ready to pop the question. He’d already started making noises about extended training, taking on things that would keep him stateside instead of hot zones.

Shane got it. He understood why his friends were making those choices. But those weren’t the kind of choices he wanted to make.

So he’d make damned sure he didn’t get himself in a situation that would call for them.

“Any thoughts on the ETA?”

“Not yet.” Shane glanced over his list again. “He’s bought the engagement ring, but you know Romeo. He’s going to want to set the scene, make it something special. He’s leaving on maneuvers in the morning and he’ll be gone for the next two weeks, though, so it won’t be before that.”

When the front door swung open, neither Shane nor Mitch had to school their expressions. They were experts at keeping their faces blank.

And in came Romeo, in all his glory. But if you knew to look, you could see a hint of smug terror in his eyes. Yeah, he deserved this party. Shane casually folded the list into a neat rectangle and stuck it in his pocket as if he hadn’t just been planning on going behind the man’s back.

“Yo, Scavenger.”

“Yo, Romeo?”

“Mail for you.” Gabriel tossed a couple of envelopes on Shane’s lap on his way into the kitchen. “You got beer?”

“You’re in uniform,” Mitch pointed out, ever the stickler.

Gabriel simply lifted his hand, showing the gym bag he carried.

“I’ve got twelve hours before I have to report for maneuvers. Tessa’s meeting me for dinner at Zappatos since it’s halfway between here and our place,” he said when he came back with his unopened beer. Just one, since Mitch and Shane were still in fatigues, too. “So I’m using your shower.”

Flipping through the envelopes, Shane waved to indicate he do whatever he wanted.

“Shit.”

“What?” Mitch leaned forward.

“A letter from home.”

Knowing Shane’s family situation, Mitch gave a sympathetic grimace.

Shane stared at the flowery handwriting on the pastel envelope for a second, then with a sigh, tore it open. After all, Sara wouldn’t risk their mother’s wrath by addressing a letter to an FPO unless there was a really good reason. And she usually took care to make the three-hour drive to Boise to mail her letter. But this one had a Little Lake postmark.

Affection, irritation and resignation all tangled together in his belly as Shane unfolded the paper. As he scanned his little sister’s letter, his gut tightened.

“Well?”

“Huh?” He glanced at Mitch with a frown.

“The letter. What’s wrong?”

They’d served together, been through too much together, for Shane not to answer.

“Drama. Sara’s upset about the family rift. She wants me to come home for her birthday. Apparently she’ll be miserable and her entire year ruined if I don’t.”

Shane frowned at Mitch’s snicker.

“Go ahead, laugh. You’re an only child. You have no idea what this means. I have five sisters. If one blames me for her misery, they all will.”

“So? You’re what? Eight hundred miles or so away. They don’t even acknowledge you’re here. And it’d take a hell of a lot for them to storm the base and get to you.”

Shane didn’t laugh because he could imagine them doing just that. Women were scary. His sisters scarier than most.

“Maybe I can volunteer for a mission. Something far, far away,” he muttered.

“Or maybe you can take some of that leave you have built up and go home,” Mitch suggested. “Watch your sister blow out the candles, keep her from being miserable, fix the mess with your mom.”

Just the thought of it tightened his gut.

“I’m already working on an assignment,” he said quickly.

“An assignment that’s on hold for the next two weeks. Take a few days. Go home.” Mitch waited a beat, then smiled. “Consider it an order.”

* * *

“SO, HANDSOME...WANNA join the Mile High Club?”

Damning Mitch for making this an order, Shane peeled his eyes off the book he’d been trying to read. He didn’t turn his head. He just slid a glance to his right in hopes that the whispered question hadn’t been aimed at him.

But the big-haired blonde’s hungry smile dashed those hopes all to hell. And in case he’d been too dim to catch a clue, she skimmed her fingers up his thigh, those lethal nails skimming uncomfortably close to his goods. He wanted to shift away. He really wanted to move her hand. But he’d been trained to never blink first.

Shane was a SEAL. He’d faced down terrorists, shot down enemy combatants and answered to cranky Admirals. He’d once jumped from a burning plane with a wounded soldier in his arms and a parachute on his back.

And he’d done it all with nerves of steel.

But faced with a predatory woman and he froze. He specialized in communications, but he was lousy at this kind of thing. He didn’t have Romeo’s flirting skills. Nor did he have the social ease that Mitch was known for. Added to that, women generally either hit on him or wanted to take care of him. Both of which always confused the hell out of him.

“I’m Kathy, by the way.” The lush blonde gave a low growl when she leaned closer to press her ample breasts against Shane’s arm. “Mmm, you have such an impressive body. I’ll bet you work out a lot, don’t you? I’d love to see more of those muscles...”

“Whoa.” Shane clamped down on the hand that was about to test his muscle. “Sorry. I’m going to have to pass.”

He hated turning women down. Even ones who looked as if they could send the plane into a tailspin during a Mile High bounce. But the thrill of being hit on for reasons that often baffled him had long since passed. The thrill of easy sex, easy women and easier times walking away had faded, too.

“Now why would you do that?” Kathy fluttered her lashes, giving him a wicked smile. “Don’t you like adventures?”

Shane laughed. He couldn’t help it.

“I live for adventures,” he deadpanned, figuring there wasn’t any point in telling her he’d scored his Mile High wings years ago, when he’d still been riding that thrill. She’d likely dare him to prove it. “I appreciate the offer, though.”

As soon as the words were out, he mentally cringed. Appreciate the offer. As if she’d just suggested he take the window seat and enjoy the view. God, he was lousy at this stuff. Put him in uniform and he had no problem with communication. But when it came to witty repartee, clever conversation or easy dialogue with anyone he hadn’t known for a while, he choked.

Shane didn’t consider himself shy.

Shy was for girls and toddlers.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t know how to handle women. He was damned good when he put his hands on one. He was simply a quiet man who preferred to get the lay of the land, to get a feel for a person, before he opened up. A private man who believed fiercely in walking the talk. Since he didn’t like people prying into his life, into his thoughts, he didn’t ask questions. He figured if someone wanted to share, they would. Damned if most people didn’t share way more than he could imagine anyone wanted to know about all sorts of things.

As if proving his point, Kathy the blonde took his refusal in good stride. Instead, she dived into a stream of chatter. Resigned, Shane tucked his book into the seat in front of him and gave her the semblance of his attention.

But he was only half listening. The rest of him was making the mental adjustment from his life in California and his job as a SEAL with its military mindset to dealing with whatever was waiting for him when he got off this plane.

Since she hadn’t returned any of the messages he’d left, he didn’t know if Sara told anyone he was coming home or not. Either way, it wasn’t going to be pretty. All warning would do was give his mom time to stew.

It’d been rough enough when his dad had died in a skydiving accident when Shane was seven. He’d left behind a grieving wife, two sons and five daughters. Then in Shane’s senior year of high school his brother, Mike, the oldest of the O’Brian siblings, had been killed in a drag racing accident.

Molly O’Brian was a strong woman. She was a loving mother. And she was the best cook in the world as far as Shane was concerned. But the loss of her husband and her oldest son had devastated her. She couldn’t handle the idea of her second-to-youngest child, her only remaining son, living in danger.

And Shane couldn’t set his dream aside. Not even for his mother. When he’d joined the navy right after graduation, she’d had a meltdown, but eventually, with all of his sisters persuading her, she’d dealt with it. If overcompensating by sending care packages that had to be delivered by forklift, insisting he call her every week he was in port and sending him job clippings from the local paper was dealing. But his joining the SEALs five years ago had been too much. This would make his third trip home since she’d issued the ultimatum that he choose between his career and his family.

By the time he’d shaken off the blonde, deplaned and made his way through the Boise Airport to baggage claim, he figured he should have argued harder with Mitch for a dangerous mission instead of this trip. Sara would have understood.

“Shane!”

A few inches taller than most of the crowd, he easily saw his sister on the far end of the row of chairs. His height was always an advantage, but probably not necessary this time since Sara was jumping up and down.

Damn. A weight he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying lifted. There was a lightness in his chest, a sort of joy he barely recognized.

Then, because he apparently wasn’t moving fast enough, Sara plowed through the crowd to throw her arms around him.

“You look so good. Oh man, I missed you,” she gushed once she’d released the stranglehold enough to lean back and grin.

Shane grinned back.

Damn, his little sister had grown up pretty.

Although Sara was as blonde as all of the O’Brian sisters and Shane’s hair was dark brown, nobody would mistake them as anything but siblings. From their bottle-green eyes to the squared chin, the O’Brian genes ran strong.

“Did you bring a suitcase?” she asked.

It took him a second before he remembered that yeah, he did have a suitcase. It was rare that Shane actually booked a flight. One of the perks of traveling as an active duty SEAL was flying free if he was willing to go standby.

“We’ll grab it, then head back. I’m so excited you’re here. It seems like forever, doesn’t it?” Sara babbled, tucking her arm through his as they moved toward the baggage carousel. “Was it a safe flight? Easy? No turbulence?”

He wanted to say that he’d flown through lightning storms and dived out of a Seahawk into the raging ocean, so it was stupid to think he couldn’t handle a few bumps on a commercial airline.

But he knew hearing that would freak her out, so he shrugged instead.

“It was a quick flight.”

“Oh, Shane. I’m so, so happy to see you. You’ll be here through next weekend, right?”

“I’m here for your birthday,” he said. There was no point reminding her that his welcome was thin at best. Pushing the length of his visit past its purpose was pointless.

“But my birthday party is in two days. And on a Tuesday. Celebrating in the middle of the week is so lame. I want another party. A big one with dancing, music, fun. That means the weekend.” She leaned her head against his arm and slanted him a look through her lashes. “You will be here to celebrate with me, won’t you?”

Shane wanted to close his eyes against the beseeching look in her eyes. He was a SEAL, he reminded himself. SEALs didn’t show weakness.

Nor did they have to keep reminding themselves of that. He scrubbed his hand over his hair. Damn, he wasn’t even technically home yet and he was already acting like a dumbass.

“What did mom have to say about my visiting?” he asked instead of committing himself.

He didn’t need to hear her response. Her face said it all. Downcast eyes, a pouty lip and flushed cheeks. Dammit.

“Sara—”

“Don’t be mad,” she said, her words spilling out in a breathless rush. “It’s going to be okay. I’ve got it all planned. I’ve got a place for you to stay until my birthday, then you’ll pop in like the best present of my life. Mom will be so happy to see you that she won’t have time to get upset.”

He’d flown home. He’d met with his sister. He could pull a fifty out of his wallet, tell Sara it was her birthday gift and grab the next flight home. Technically, he’d followed orders. He could get away with it.

And—he looked at Sara—he couldn’t do it. His family ties were tenuous at best. He couldn’t break them with the only person in the family who didn’t pretend he was a traveling salesman.

* * *

“DO YOU HAVE anything that will inspire lust? You know, like magical Viagra that can be slipped into a drink or sprinkled on a plate of spaghetti.”

“Have you considered a little lace chemise? Maybe add in candlelight to go with the wine and meatballs.”

“Lark!” The tone danced somewhere between a whine and a laugh as the woman on the other side of the counter lifted a pink striped shopping bag to wave it back and forth. “C’mon, you know I’ve already covered the basics. I need oomph, though. A little guarantee.”

Lark wanted to point out that nothing in life came with a guarantee, but she knew the pretty brunette wouldn’t listen. The only thing Jenny wanted to hear was the magic phrase that would get her into Dave White’s tighty whities. But Lark didn’t have magic, nor did she feel right encouraging Jenny sneak into Dave’s underwear.

“Jenny—”

“C’mon, Lark. Nobody’s here, to hear us. Besides, everyone knows The Magic Beans sells special treats. Heather says all those exotic ingredients she uses have a special kick.” Her elbows on the cherrywood counter, Jenny leaned forward and added in a persuasive tone, “Your mom would have something for me.”

Lark clenched her teeth so tight, she thought she heard cracking. Then, because she knew from experience that the nagging wouldn’t stop, she angled her head toward the glossy frosting of the brownies under the dessert dome.

“Chocolate is reputed to be an aphrodisiac,” she said, trying to make her voice sound mysterious. “From the time of the ancient Aztecs, it’s been fueling passion-filled nights.”

So had cheap beer in recent times.

But Lark kept that to herself, preferring to hurry Jenny on her way with two huge brownies and a pound of freshly ground dark roast.

The horny housewife hadn’t been gone ten minutes before the source of Lark’s frustration came sweeping through the front door, her lavender hair curling over her wide hips and a trio of crystals dangling from her ears. In her plump arms was a large purple bakery box and on her face was a loving smile.

Lark wanted to scream, but that smile stopped her.

“Darling, I had a baking epiphany after my morning meditation and had to try a new recipe. Sesame mango cupcakes with almond frosting. What do you think? Will your afternoon crowd like them?”

“Heather, you have to stop—”

“Stop?” Heather interrupted, setting the box on the counter and lifting the lid. The scent of fruit and almonds filled the air. “Would you ask Mozart to stop composing? Van Gogh to stop painting? I’m an artist, darling. I must create.”

“Fine, then create edible art instead of rumors.”

“Rumors?” Heather’s brows, as black as Lark’s own, rose to meet her pastel hair.

“Aphrodisiacs.”

“Well, darling, many of my ingredients have been reputed to have desire-invoking results. Just look it up on the internet.”

Lark closed her eyes, wishing for the millionth time that she had her mother’s patience. But, nada. Fortunately, she did have her sense of humor.

“Did you know the internet claims that Elvis is alive, living on Neptune partying with Freud?”

“Well, that’d be a trick, wouldn’t it? Especially as I heard that Elvis was in Brooklyn imprinting his profile on toast.”

Lark burst into laughter. She couldn’t help it. Heather was too sweet, too fun and too much like her sister for Lark to stay mad at her.

“Please stop,” she asked, pulling a glossy red ceramic tray off the highest shelf. “It’s bringing in the crazies. Last week, Mrs. Bell from the post office asked if I could sell her cookies for the nursing home. Apparently the residents are bored.”

“Are they? Well, I’ll have to make a batch and drop off a few dozen.”

“No,” Lark exclaimed, throwing up one hand. “I mean it. The last thing I need are more customers with a sweet tooth looking for the easy way to get lucky.”

“Magic isn’t a cure-all,” Heather agreed, bustling around the counter to unbox the cupcakes, arranging them neatly on the tray. “It’s more a boost, a little extra help. You know that.”

“No.” While Heather arranged cupcakes, Lark began putting freshly washed mugs back on the shelf. “I know that things can happen, sometimes, because of the power of suggestion, subliminal messaging and luck. Not magic.”

“Your mom believed in magic,” Heather insisted, jutting out her chin as she refilled the coffeemaker in preparation for the busy afternoon crowd.

Her own jaw tight, Lark kept her eyes on the mug-lined shelves, carefully inspecting them for chips or dings. Her mom had believed a lot of things. She’d thought dancing in the rain brought good luck, she’d believed in magic and she’d been sure that positive energy and clean living could keep her healthy, that a shaman with his herbal tea or the healer with her glowing crystals could beat cancer.

Lark had believed all of that, too.

Turns out, they’d both been wrong.

“If you’d just believe, just have faith, you’d be happier, Lark.”

“I’m happy enough.”

“You could be happier.”

“Sure,” Lark agreed, refilling the whipped cream dispenser. Most of the afternoon crowd considered their drinks as a segue to dessert. “Maybe if I was planning for a weekend of naked games and wild sex, I’d be happier. But I’m not.”

“You could be,” Heather said. “If that’s what you want, you could eat a cupcake, open your mind to that power of suggestion and make it happen.”

With who?

Lark had spent over a year in this little town and had yet to see a man who gave her the tingles, let alone one who made her think of all-night-sexcapades. No amount of positive energy or suggestive powers were going to change that.

“I’d be happier if you’d quit trying to convince my customers that your desserts will get them great sex. I’m starting to feel like I should be wearing a purple pimp fedora to sell cookies.”

“A lot of them are asking for special treats, are they?”

“Way too many.” Lark rolled her eyes.

“New customers?” Heather asked, her voice muffled because her head was in the supply cupboard.

“Absolute strangers, people who’ve never come in before. Last week a busload from the ski resort stopped in. It’s crazy.” Lark took the stack of paper to-go cups from her aunt, waiting for the other woman to get to her feet before adding, “It’s like you took out an ad or something.”

She stopped talking when she saw the triumphant look flash across Heather’s face.

“What?”

“So my fun with baking is helping your business. Even better than an ad, I’ll bet.”

Sara dropped the cups on the counter so her hands were free to slap on her hips.

“You did that on purpose? Why?” She waved her hands in the air. “No, no. Don’t tell me why. Just tell me why you didn’t tell me in the first place.”

Heather frowned, blinked, then shook her head.

“What?”

Lark rubbed her hand over her hair as if the move would soothe her frazzled brain.

“You apparently put the word out that your baked goods were laced with an extra dose of come-do-me. You obviously did that to bring more business into the coffeehouse. Which I appreciate.” Didn’t she? Lark scrunched up her nose, then decided to mentally debate the merits of higher sales versus the irritation of having a slew of people asking if caffeine would dull the sexual buzz. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me what you were doing, though.”

“You’d have told me to stop,” Heather said matter-of-factly as she took over putting the to-go cups in their place.

“Of course I’d have told you to stop.” Unable to stand still, Lark turned to pace, then realized that there was no room behind the counter. “We sell coffee. Not happy hard-ons.”

“Here, refill the straws,” Heather suggested, handing over a box.

Lark dumped them in the glass jar by the self-serve station, then, box in hand, started pacing. It wasn’t until her second turn that she realized her aunt had sent her out here so she could walk through her thoughts.

“Why?” she asked, stopping midstride to turn to face Heather.

“You’re not happy here,” her aunt said quietly. “As much as I want to keep you here with me, I know it’s not your place.”

Lips trembling, eyes burning, Lark stared at the wall of mugs until she was sure she wouldn’t break down.

“It was Mom’s place,” she finally said.

“Yes, for as long as it would have lasted.” Heather waved her hand to indicate time flying by. “Raine was a butterfly. She’d landed here and might have stayed for a while. But before here she was in Seattle. Before that in San Francisco. Before that...well, you know all of those befores because you were still living with her.”

“Itchy feet,” Lark murmured. Because her own feet were feeling a little shaky, she dropped into a chair. “I went to fourteen different schools before applying to the Academy of Arts.”

“Proudest day of Raine’s life was when you graduated with those degrees in Fine Art and Ceramics. She used to say she was glad to see all those years of making mud pies to serve with your porcelain tea set were put to good use,” Heather said, her tone making it clear that she’d been just as proud. Then her features shifted from fond to stern. “So you know that your mother would want you to still be putting it to good use.”

Lark had to swallow twice to get the words past the lump in her throat. But finally, she said, “And selling baked goods with sexual properties is going to do that?”

“Well, it can’t hurt,” Heather said, tapping the display case. “And if that doesn’t do it, I’ll step it up. I found some lovely silicone bakeware in the shapes of busty breasts and well-endowed penises.”

“Oh God.” Lark dropped her head into her hands. “I’m going to need a fur-lined trench coat to go with the pimp hat.”

2

HEATHER’S WORDS WERE still playing through Lark’s mind when she closed the coffeehouse at six. She’d been obsessing over their conversation, replaying it in her mind for the past few hours. But she still didn’t know how she felt about it.

It was sweet of her aunt to try to help out. And the increase in customers had definitely impacted the bottom line. But that didn’t mean that Raine would have wanted Lark back in San Francisco, hobnobbing with the artsy crowds, throwing clay for a living and attending gallery galas to celebrate her latest ceramics show.

As she cleaned the coffee and tea machines, she tried to imagine herself living that life again. But she couldn’t see it. In part because her circle of friends there not only included her ex-boyfriend, his new wife and, of course, the three good friends who’d just had to send Lark pictorial proof of Eric’s infidelity.

More, because she didn’t feel as if she fit in that life any longer. But Heather was right—she didn’t really fit here, either. She felt like a square peg wandering around a world of round holes.

But fit or not, she was stuck in this round hole for however long it took to climb out of the financial hole she was in. Or, since there was no way she was selling the coffeehouse to Paul to tear down, maybe she could find a buyer who would pay what it was worth and keep her mom’s dream alive. Lark moved on to wiping down tables, her shoulders drooping a little as she tried to imagine where she’d go, what she’d do.

But her imagination wouldn’t cooperate.

Because underneath it all was the simple fact that when she left The Magic Beans, when she moved away from Little Lake, she’d be saying goodbye to her mom. Again.

And she wasn’t ready for that.

She was wiping down the last table when she heard a tapping on the glass.

“Sara,” she exclaimed as she unlocked and opened the door. She was surprised to see her since the younger woman knew the coffeehouse closed early during the week. “Did we have plans that I forgot about? Or are you jonesing for an after-hours caffeine fix?”

“Neither. I’m here about the apartment. The one upstairs next to yours. You said I could put something in it this week, remember?” Sara’s words were as upbeat and bouncy as her movements as she danced into the coffeehouse.

“Yeah, sure,” Lark said, exchanging her sponge for the broom. The second floor housed two fully furnished apartments. Lark had taken one for herself when her mom died. The other was usually rented out, but the tenants had moved the previous month and she’d yet to find anyone new. “What are you storing?”

“My brother.”

Lark almost bobbled the broom.

“Your what?”

“Shane. My big brother.”

“You want to put your brother upstairs? Why not at your mom’s?” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Is he alive? Because I draw the line at storing dead bodies.”

“Of course he’s alive.” Sara laughed, starting to help with the cleanup by grabbing a bag out of the trash can. “I dropped him at Sam’s for a beer.”

Lark glanced out the window toward the corner sports bar with a mild sort of curiosity. Over the past year or so, she’d met all of Sara’s family except the secret brother. This should be interesting.

“He flew in for my birthday,” Sara continued as she emptied the rest of the trash cans. “Isn’t that sweet? But I want to surprise my mom, so I need a place for him to stay until Tuesday.”

“Is this your brother’s first visit since I moved here?”

“Yeah. He’s, um, super busy with work and stuff.”

Lark could hear the tension in her friend’s voice. It took a second before she remembered that there were problems between Sara’s mom and her brother. What those problems were, Sara had never said.

But apparently it was enough to keep the talkative woman quiet, since Sara had only mentioned her brother a couple of times. From her description, he was a cross between a philosopher, a Greek god, Einstein and a Boy Scout with a degree in psychology. What she didn’t know was what he actually did for a living.

Whenever she asked, Sara sidestepped, shrugged or sighed. Which was probably the issue their mom had. Maybe they were ashamed of his job. Lark frowned, trying to think of a job worth being ashamed of. But all she could come up with was male stripper.

Hmm...

“How long is your brother visiting?” Lark asked, grinning a little as she imagined Sara’s reaction if she asked if her brother danced in a G-string. She’d better keep it to herself, though. Otherwise Heather would have him dancing in the corner while she hawked penis-shaped brownies.

“He said he’s only staying for a few days, but I’m hoping it’ll be a week.” Sara’s shrug echoed her pouty tone as she piled the trash bags by the door to the backroom.

“He has to get back to work?” Maybe he was a headliner at one of those fancy strip clubs.

“Yeah, something like that,” Sara said. As if she were eager to avoid answering questions, the pretty blonde grabbed the tray of dirty mugs and carried them into the back.

As much to finish her chores as to tease Sara about her brother’s stripping career, Lark followed.

The back room was so small it barely held the two of them and the dirty mugs. The purple walls were stenciled with her mom’s favorite motivational quotes, like, Do It With Happiness, the floor-to-ceiling shelves were filled with supplies and the sink and industrial dishwasher were tucked under the window overlooking the stairs to the apartment above.

On one shelf was a picture of Raine, her arms wrapped around Lark and a wide smile on her face. Lark would never admit it to anyone, but sometimes when she was alone back here, she talked to the picture. Thankfully, it never talked back.

“So,” Lark said, loading the mugs into the dishwasher, “you never told me what your brother does for a living. Or is it top secret?”

One of the ceramic mugs slipped out of Sara’s hand, plopping in the sinkful of watery bubbles. The blonde squealed, Lark cringed and the mug floated to the surface without a crack.

“Whew, sorry about that,” Sara said, handing over the mug.

Wincing, Lark carefully placed the delicate cup in the dishwasher. Maybe she should give teasing Sara about her brother a rest. At least until the other woman wasn’t handling her mugs.

“Um, yeah. Shane’s job is sorta top secret, actually,” Sara said, her voice carrying a fake edge. “He’s not supposed to talk about it, so maybe do me a favor? Don’t ask him while he’s here. He’d feel awkward, and it kinda upsets our mom.”

Wow. He really must be a stripper.

Or worse.

Before Lark could figure out what a mother would consider worse than a stripper, the chimes on the door tinkled.

Sara let out another loud squeal, tossed the sponge at Lark and ran out of the back room. Figuring it was the stripper—no, no the brother, she corrected—Lark took her time finishing up before heading out to meet Shane and decide if he had the body to justify her stripping theory.

Oh my.

He was gorgeous.

Wasn’t he gorgeous?

She thought so, but the room had taken a nice, slow spin, which she was sure accounted for the sudden dizziness filling her head and the odd tightness in her belly. Resting her hand on the door frame, Lark blinked a couple of times so she could see him more clearly.

And oh boy, was she glad she did.

Because she’d been right. He was gorgeous. Sara hadn’t exaggerated—he definitely had a little Greek god in there somewhere.

Tall, close to a foot over her own five-four, he had a swimmer’s build. Broad shoulders, a slender waist and long, long legs. The kind of body that would look mighty sweet naked but for a gleaming coat of oil.

His dark brown hair was cut supershort, the top spiked in a way that looked as if he’d run his hands through its thickness while it was wet and left it at that. Unlike Sara’s round sweetness, her brother’s face was narrow, with slashing brows and a full mouth.

Oh, that mouth. Those lips. Mmm. Lark wet her lips while imagining doing the same to his. She was pretty sure she could spend hours nibbling on that bottom lip of his and still not be satisfied.

She’d bet if he were doing the nibbling, her satisfaction would be guaranteed. She didn’t know if it was all the talk of sex today, or if he was simply the most desirable man she’d ever seen in her life. Either or both got credit for the images flooding her mind.

The two of them, naked. Oh yeah, she’d bet he was even better naked. Long, lean and luscious, he’d know what to do with his body. Better yet, he’d know what to do with hers. She’d bet he could do things she’d only read about in those sexy romance novels.

“Lark, hey,” Sara said in a bouncy tone, her arm hooked through her brother’s as she pulled him across the room. “I am so excited. I finally get to introduce you to my favorite person in the whole world.”

Lark hurried over to the checkout counter, hoping it’d be enough to prevent her from jumping him while his little sister was in the room. Jumping a guy before they were actually introduced was just rude.

And, she remembered as her stomach sank into her toes—taking a good chunk of her happy lust with it—jumping friends’ brothers was against the rules.

Dammit.

“This is Lark,” Sara said as she and the hunk of gorgeous sexiness reached the counter. “She runs The Magic Beans. Best coffee in Idaho with the greatest baked goods. The muffins I brought to the airport were from here. Shane loved them, Lark. I’ll bet he’s going to be in here all the time, drinking coffee and eating goodies. Is that great or what?”

It took a moment for Lark to realize that the younger woman had run out of verbal steam. She ran a mental replay of the babbling, but only remembered every other word.

“Great,” Lark murmured, anyway, unable to tear her eyes off the man in front of her. It wasn’t against the rules to look, and he looked even better up close. Her heart beat a little faster, her breath shaky as she offered him her best smile. “If you liked the muffins, you’ll have to try our sugar cookies. Everyone loves them. They’re soft and sweet, but everyone says they get a guy hard and horny.”

It wasn’t her own words that clued her in to what she’d said. It was the expression on their faces, Sara with her wide-eyed shock and Shane’s arched brow, that made Lark realize she’d quoted Cassia’s take on the cookies out loud.

The heat that’d been stirring in her belly climbed its way up to coat her cheeks. Holy crap. She’d just offered the sexiest man she’d ever met a copulation cookie.

She tried to think of something, anything, to say to make up for it. But her mind was terrifyingly blank.

Thankfully, Sara jumped in.

“Like I said, this is Lark. She’s my BFF and she’s going to be your landlord for the next little while. Hopefully the next long while if I have anything to say about it,” Sara said, the words flying out of her mouth so fast Lark was surprised they didn’t have smoke behind them.

Shane smiled, those full lips spreading to show perfect white teeth and a tiny hint of a dimple in his cheek. Lark wasn’t sure if it was because her cheeks were on fire or if it was because the lust was running so hot it was giving her orgasm previews. But she was pretty sure her panties had just melted.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Shane’s voice was as sexy as his smile. Low, a little husky and so, so mellow. Lark had a sudden vision of hearing that voice in the dark. She’d bet his hands would be just as smooth as his words as he slid them over her naked skin.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” she said, hoping her hand wasn’t wet as she held it out to him.

When he wrapped his fingers over hers, her only thought was gratitude that her hand had actually been dry. Otherwise the electricity sparking between them might have caused some pain.

She bit her lip, studying his face. Did he feel it, too? His friendly expression didn’t look as if he’d been plowed down by lust, so maybe it was just her.

Disliking that idea, Lark slid her hand from his. She didn’t take her eyes off his face, though. It was just too yummy.

“Lark?”

His eyes were the dreamiest green, with thick lashes and a look of intensity that promised he’d give anything he did his full attention. She gave a delicate shudder as she imagined what it’d be like if all that attention was focused on her body. On their pleasure. Oh, baby.

“Lark.”

Her eyes skimmed down that sleek face, with those high cheekbones and full lips, over shoulders made for holding on to during wild sex and a chest that just begged to be cuddled against. It was all Lark could do to keep herself from stepping back so the counter didn’t block her up-close view of what he had to offer below the waist. If the rest of him was anything to go by, she’d bet whatever he had behind that zipper was an amazing treat.

“Lark!”

“What?” Lark blinked. She shook her head as if waking from a very hot dream, then she blinked again. Oh my God. She wanted to groan. Better yet she wanted to run for the nearest cold shower—to ice down the desire and to cool her blazing cheeks. Horrified, her eyes shot to Sara’s, hoping her friend would give her a hint how long she’d spent staring like a lust-struck man-meat groupie.

“Sorry to be a pain,” Sara continued as if she hadn’t just yelled for Lark’s attention. But her eyes were dancing. “Are you done closing up? I want to show Shane where he’s staying. You know, get him settled so I can run to the store, pick up some food. I didn’t want to get groceries early in case he changed his mind about coming.”

At her brother’s arch look, Sara threw her arms in the air.

“It could happen. You know it could. And if it did, what was I going to do with a bunch of man food? It’s not like I can take it home or anything.”

Lark’s brows rose. Not just at the reference to their family issues—which she’d thought were off-limits—but at Sara’s confrontational tone. Her gaze shifted to Shane’s face. Instead of looking upset, he was grinning. Obviously he must be used to his sister’s babbling and lack of tact.

“Apparently Sara thinks I’m incapable of finding food on my own.” He slanted his sister a rueful look, then shook his head as if to say go figure. “It’s a wonder I survive without you.”

“As if.” Sara swatted him on the arm. “I just want to spoil you a little. I know you don’t get spoiled where you’re at. And I hardly ever get to see you. So the least you can do is let me have fun with it.”

“Then why don’t I show you the apartment,” Lark said before the banter could continue. As an only child, she was never sure if siblings were teasing, arguing or both.

“It’s a studio, so it’s kind of small but it’s comfortable,” she continued as she got her keys from the drawer under the counter. “I’m in the apartment next door, so if you need spoiling and Sara isn’t around, just knock.”

Holy shit. Had she actually said that? Lark gave a mental groan.

“I mean, if you need coffee or a snack and we’re closed down here,” she said quickly, afraid she’d start babbling like Sara soon. “I can help with that.”

But apparently Shane was as sweet as he was sexy. His eyes danced, that hint of a dimple winking again.

“I’ll do that. From what Sara said, your coffee is great. If it’s as good as this place looks, I’m sure she’s right.”

Lark looked around at the funky, fun space as she came around the counter.

“Thanks. My mom always wanted her own coffeehouse. Once she’d saved up enough, she decided to open it here so she could live near my aunt.” Lark hesitated as pain, swift and familiar, gripped her heart. “I joined them a year or so ago.”

“So it’s a family business. That has to be interesting.” His tone made it clear he wasn’t sure if interesting was a good thing or not.

Clearly picking up on that, his sister elbowed him with a huff.

“He says it like that because he’d run screaming into the night before he tied himself to forty hours a week with any of his own family,” Sara said, heading for the door.

“I would,” he said, offering Lark a serious nod. “I really would.”

Delighted that his sense of humor was as sexy as his body, Lark grinned.

“That makes you very brave to spend a whole week here, surrounded by family,” she teased.

The light in his eyes dimmed a little before he gave a one-shouldered shrug.

“Sara hopes I will. More likely, I’ll run screaming for the airport after the party Tuesday.” His lips twisted into a grimacing sort of smile before he headed for the door.

Lark followed a little more slowly as her mind and body did battle.

Her body argued that he was hot. Easily the sexiest guy she’d ever met. She was single; she hadn’t had sex in eighteen months, two days and—she glanced at her watch—twelve hours. He was single and he knew how to laugh.

Her mind countered with the fact that he’d be here for a week, maybe less. He was as temporary as a guy could be. And, again, it was against the rules to fool around with the brother of a friend.

Besides—her mind tossed with a victorious glee—he was probably a stripper. Sex with a stripper was all kinds of tacky.

“Upstairs?” Sara asked, all but clapping her hands with excitement.

“Upstairs,” Lark agreed, gesturing Shane ahead of her as she locked the door. She blew out a breath, then followed them along the wraparound porch to the stairs at the back of the building.

Which gave her a perfect view of Shane’s butt, encased in khaki cargo pants.

Mmm. Those little fingers of lust tickled again so her thighs trembled a little and her belly tingled.

To hell with the fact that he was only here for a few days, that he was her friend’s brother and that he might make his living wearing a tear-away cowboy costume.

All she wanted was that body.

* * *

WATCHING HIS SISTER all but bounce her way up the outside stairs that led to his apparent home away from home, Shane gave himself a moment to assess the situation.

Sara’s friend was seriously hot.

Dark eyes and darker hair gave her a sultry look, her full lips and lush lashes cementing that impression. She made him think of a gypsy. Not so much in looks since her hair fell in a sleek line to her shoulders, the edges jagged and choppy. But the dozen bracelets jangling on her wrist and the hoops hanging from her ears were big enough for a baby’s fist to fit. And then there was the way she looked at him, as if she could not only see into his mind, but all the way to his dreams.

But he was only here for a few days. A week if he gave in to his sister’s nagging. He was supposed to be spending time with Sara, maybe mend fences with his mother.

So getting a major hard-on for a small town girl who was besties with his sister was on the no-go list.

Even if she was seriously hot.

Once he was sure he had a handle on his reactions—and his body’s response to the luscious Lark, Shane followed the women up the short flight of stairs.

As he went, he mentally cataloged the terrain. Cool weather with a clear sky meant good visibility. The coffeehouse was located at the corner of Main Street, the second floor offering an easy view of downtown. Minimal noise as businesses shut down and locals went home for the day. The stairs creaked; he stepped harder on the next one and deemed them safe enough. And Lark Sommers was seriously hot.

He shook his head, forcing his attention back to recon.

Except he wasn’t on duty. And this wasn’t a target zone.

That didn’t mean he was off the hook for paying attention to details, evaluating locations and gauging risks. No that estimating the distance from the apartment windows to the ground below was more important than appreciating the way Lark’s hips swayed as she walked.

And what a sway she had. His eyes traced the curve of her butt. Her backside was just as sweet as her front. So why not enjoy himself while he was here? If Lark was interested, there was no reason not to see how far that interest he’d seen in her eyes could go.

It didn’t have to be an issue.

Did it?

Sara’s laugh burst out like happy bubbles floating through the air. Shane smiled as her exuberance lifted his mood. Damn, he’d missed her. Hearing her cheerful voice made him realize how much he tended to block out thoughts of his family. Because of his mom, sure, but also because of his job.

As they reached the landing, Sara shot him a bright smile and set his mind straight. The situation between their mother and him was hard enough on Sara. She didn’t need to deal with her best friend pissed off at him, too.

Which put Lark right back in the off-limits category.

He stepped into his temporary quarters with his resolve in place and looked around.

“What do you think? It’s great, isn’t it? Not too big, not too small.” Sara moved through the room like a bumblebee, flitting, landing and flitting again.

Because watching her was making him dizzy, Shane glanced around at the space instead.

Approximately five hundred square feet, the floors were polished wood, the walls a soft blue and the furniture looked comfortably lived in. A small kitchenette stood at one end, a door that led to what he assumed was the bathroom at the other.

Scattered everywhere were pottery and what he thought might be porcelain. A long, slender vase the color of a stormy ocean stood next to a sculpture of an owl so detailed he could see each feather. A wide-lipped bowl covered half the kitchen table and the open kitchen shelves housed almost as many pottery mugs and cups as he’d seen downstairs.

“As you can see, it’s pretty self-explanatory.” Standing in the middle of the room like a centerpiece, Lark gestured to each feature with an elegant hand. “Living room slash kitchen slash bedroom here.”

Lark lifted the couch cushions to show him the pull-away, her silky-looking purple blouse gaping as she bent over. Her bra matched, just as silky and bright as her top.

Shane’s mouth went dry.

Damn.

There was nothing sexier on a woman than matching undies. His eyes skimmed down to her denim-covered hips. Did the rest match, too? Then he noticed that her short fingernails were the same shade of purple. Yeah. Her panties matched.

Damn again. She’d just gone from seriously hot to the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. Shane didn’t usually fall into instant lust, but he was more than willing to make an exception in this case.

“The bathroom’s through that door.” Lark pointed to the one next to the kitchen. Then she opened the door of the one he’d assumed was the bathroom. “This is storage. Sorry it’s full.”

He walked over. More to get closer to the sexy brunette than because he cared about her storage habits.

Then he saw the various pieces of pottery and ceramic sculptures scattered around the small space. Damn. It was like getting hit in the face with the vast variety of colors, shapes and styles. Under all the color and fun, all he could see a lot of imagination.

“Impressive.” When he stepped in for a closer look, his arm brushed Lark’s.

Whoa. Instant hard-on. Shane knew he should step aside. Or at least get control of the lust pounding through his system. But it felt too good.

So he took a breath, reminded himself that he was a highly trained operative with nerves of steel. He could handle a little lust-gone-wild.

“Where did it all come from?” he asked, keeping his tone light and easy. “Do you collect it? Sell it? What?”

“She makes it,” Sara said, balancing one hand on Shane’s arm as she stepped on tiptoe to see over his shoulder. “Isn’t it great?”

“You made all of this?” Impressed, Shane looked in the room again. The pieces ranged from a vase big enough for him to stuff his sister into on down to some smaller than his hand.

“I did. I mostly use the pottery wheel, but I occasionally do slip casting and hand build sculptures,” Lark said, following his gaze toward the richly colored stock on the shelves. Her expression echoed her tone. Easy, comfortable pride. “All of the ceramics in the coffeehouse are mine. The mugs and plates and decorations. I used to have a studio but now I mostly supply to a few wholesalers and a couple of decorators contract pieces from time to time.”

“She’s great, Shane,” Sara chimed in. “You should have seen this piece she did for some fancy spa last year. It was a nude, all glossy and sleek.”

A nude.

Unable to stop himself, Shane’s gaze shifted from the sensual arch of Lark’s mouth to travel down the tempting curves of her body. The color of crushed grapes, purple and bleeding, the long sleeves of her dress were tight to the wrist, the top cupping breasts full enough to make his mouth water before draping loose over hips just the right width for his hands. He wished there was a little less fabric, so instead of hitting her calves to show off black boots that laced to the knee, he could see her legs. The only thing that got him hotter than a nice set of breasts was a pair of long, sleek legs.

He lifted his gaze to meet hers and had to mentally adjust that long-held belief. Because those dark eyes were getting him pretty damned hot, too.

For the first time in his life, Shane wished a woman would hit on him and hit hard. At least, he wished it if that woman was Lark.

That was the only way he was going to get her naked, he realized with an unfamiliar surge of frustration. If he did the hitting on, he’d have to get to know her first. That’s just the way it was. He’d have to learn more than her name before he asked her to strip down naked. That meant he’d have to tell her more about himself. Because once he stripped down naked, she’d see the scar riding low on his hip. And despite what his mother liked to tell people, he didn’t figure a woman as savvy as Lark was going to believe he’d taken shrapnel while installing phone systems.

And that wasn’t going to happen for two very good reasons.

One, word would get out, which would piss off his mother, which would launch yet another round of drama. Then his sisters would all join in the nagfest, every one of them singing the same ole familiar song, with a dozen choruses of why he should leave the military, how he should find a safe job and when was he going to move back home where they could watch over him.

Which led to reason number two. Shane would never, ever, live under the eyes of his family again. He loved them just fine, but loved them more at a distance and in small doses. Which meant hometown girls with connections to his family were off-limits.

“Hey, do you guys mind? I’m going to run down to the car and get a few things. Be right back,” Sara said. Before he even turned his head, he heard her rush out, leaving him alone with Lark.

“So...” His mind raced, desperate to find a topic that didn’t make him think of seeing her naked. “Is that what you mostly do now? In pottery? Cups and plates and things?”

Nice, O’Brian. He gave himself a mental slap upside the head.

Lark didn’t seem to mind, though. She just gave him a long, considering look. He knew that look. It was the one women used when they were wondering what he looked like naked.

His body stiffened, more than ready to show her that it was a pretty good view. Then she blinked and the look was gone.

“I can do almost anything with clay. Pottery is my passion but I really enjoy sculpting, too. Hang on.” She smiled and held up one finger, as if he’d turn heel and leave the minute she turned around.

Then she did just that, sweeping into the storage room and bending low to get something from the bottom shelf. And Shane knew it’d take an explosion to get him to move.

Because that was one sweet view.

He watched the way the fabric of her jean skirt clung to what looked to be a Grade A ass, then had to shove his hands into his pockets to hide his reaction.

As Lark came back with something in her hand, she gave him a smile that carried a hint of embarrassment, but unless she could read his mind, he didn’t know what she had to be embarrassed about.

“You might like this,” she said quietly, wetting her lips before holding out her hand, palm up.

On it was a small, whimsical dragon. Wings unfurled, it looked as if it were smiling.

“You made this?” Awed at the way the colors bled from red to gold to purple, he rubbed one finger over the tiny, detailed scales of the dragon’s back. “It’s great.”

“He’s a guardian dragon,” Lark said, touching her finger to the cool ceramic, close enough that all he’d have to do was shift his hand to touch her. “You might like one of your own. I can tell Sara worries about you.”

Shane grimaced at the idea of his baby sister telling people—especially sexy female people with eyes like midnight—that he needed protecting. Better to change the subject than comment on that.

“It takes a lot of talent to make something this intricate,” he said, waiting until her gaze met his to slide his hand over hers. He felt her fingers tremble even as he saw that spark heat. Her lips looked so soft as she puffed out a soft breath before tugging that full bottom cushion between her teeth. He wanted to do that for her, just nibble there for a little while.

“I’m good with my hands,” she finally said, her words so low they were almost a whisper.

How good? he wanted to ask, just before he dared her to prove it.

Before he could give in to the temptation, Sara came back into the room.

“This is a great apartment, Lark. Shane, you’re going to love staying here. It’s so comfy and cozy,” she said, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. “I’ll put groceries in this cute little kitchenette, then we’ll go get dinner, okay? Anywhere but the sports bar.”

Her words trailed off, then she giggled.

“What’chya guys doing?”

Lusting, dammit.

Shane blinked once, then shoved aside the knife-sharp edge of frustration, calling on his years of training to yank himself back under control.

“Nothing,” they both said at once.

“Uh-huh.” After a brief silence, Sara asked, “Lark, do you want to join us for dinner?”

Lark slowly shifted her gaze from Shane to his sister. She pressed her lips together, taking a deep breath that did amazing things for her lush breasts.

“Thanks.” Before Shane could decide if spending more time with her was good or bad, she shook her head. “I’ve got a lot to do tonight. Besides, I’m sure the two of you have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Are you sure?” Folding the canvas grocery bag, Sara tucked it between the counter and the refrigerator before joining them. “I’d love for you to join us.”

With an unreadable look on her face, Lark gave Shane a long look again.

“I’d better not,” she said quietly. She took the key ring out of her pocket and slipped one key off. “This will get you back in later. Why don’t you guys go eat? I’ll set out the bedding, towels and such.”

He’d rather stay.

Which is why Shane didn’t object when Sara tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and called a goodbye to her friend.

He shot Lark one last glance on his way out the door. Not because he wanted to remember what she looked like—her image was etched on his brain. He just wanted to see if she was looking.

Damn.

She had the sexiest smile, standing there with that dragon in her hand. The one she’d made by fondling a long tube. Sure, the tube was clay, but he’d bet she was good enough to extend that talent to tubes of flesh.

And she was off-limits, he reminded himself as he followed Sara down the stairs. It was just as well that Sara had sideswiped his making a move on her friend.

His mind agreed.

His dick, however, called it pure bullshit.

3

GRABBING THE GROCERIES from the back of her Scout, Lark glanced at the back stairs of The Magic Beans building. Nerves danced in her stomach as she eyed the door to the apartment next to hers.

She must have gone over the bend into crazy.

What other reason was there for her blah, bland and boring behavior the day before? Instead of flirting or acting interested when she met the sexiest man in the world, she’d babbled about pottery.

Why else would she spend an entire night with her ear pressed against the adjoining wall just because she was fantasizing about the guy on the other side?

Where was she ever going to meet another guy with the perfect combination of a gorgeous face, a body hot enough to dim the sun and a personality that made her want to curl up on the couch and talk for hours?

When would she get another shot at a little fun to break up the miserable monotony that had become her life?

Yet, she’d blown it.

At first, she’d tried to excuse her behavior by reminding herself that Shane was Sara’s brother, so the standard dating rules were in effect. But somewhere around midnight, she’d remembered that oft-used loophole in the rules—that if the sibling never found out and it wasn’t a big deal, then the rule didn’t count.

Shane was only here for a few days, a week at the most. Despite his family, he clearly had no strong ties to the town. And she’d been without sex for over a year and a half. All of which, she’d decided, qualified her for the loophole.

But somewhere between her middle of the night fantasies and produce shopping, she’d made a vow. She wasn’t going to wimp out next time she saw Shane O’Brian.

Excitement danced in her belly as she reached the landing. Was Shane in the apartment? She wondered if he’d slept okay. She could stop in and ask. That was totally nonwimpy.

Maybe she should offer him some muffins or cookies from downstairs. She suddenly wished for some of Heather’s reputedly sex-inducing passionflower tarts. Or, she glanced at the cloth bag in her arms, at least something more exciting than granola.

Boring snack or not, checking on him was the neighborly thing to do. The fact that he was the sexiest, most appealing man she’d ever seen in her life had nothing to do with it.

But he was the sexiest, most appealing man she’d ever seen in her life. He might be quiet, but he was well-spoken with that deep, husky bedroom voice. And even though the idea of hooking up with a male stripper had its drawbacks, she figured it meant he had to have some seriously incredible moves—on and offstage.

Because she was so ready for hot, wild sex. The kind that came without commitments. The kind that came with multiple screaming orgasms.

She wanted to experience a wickedly wild affair.

And she knew exactly who she wanted to experience it with.

Because not only did he look as if he would be amazing in bed, but Shane O’Brian was the kind of guy she could get seriously hooked on.

She was halfway to his door when her feet stopped all by themselves and it hit her. She’d been hooked before. And she knew that hooked meant hurt.

Her eyes lingered on his door for a long moment, but she didn’t step forward to knock. Instead, she turned left and unlocked her own apartment.

As homes went, the place wasn’t very big. But it was hers.

She’d painted the walls a dusky blue leaning toward indigo and kept the windows bare. She’d sold most of her furniture when she’d given up her apartment, only keeping the pieces she loved most. Her purple velvet chaise lounge. The brass floor lamp with its dangling crystal shade. Her bedroom set, with its ornate brass headboard and etched armoire. And, of course, her art supplies.

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