By the time he got home, Ethan was fuming, seething and all but frothing at the mouth. Alyssa's little chicken-shit remark had burned a hole in his pride big as the one tearing through the Ozone, and stayed with him all afternoon.

He'd planned to confront her when he got off shift at the gallery only to find the place was shut down, sheets draped over the windows and a note of 'under renovations' slapped over the doors. The rumble of construction from inside was hard to miss. So he'd been left with no other recourse but to try and burn off his mad through a punishing, hellish hour of plyometrics and cardio at the gym.

After which he'd been a shaking, sweating mess—and close to puking up his lunch—but no less pissed.

And that just pissed him off more.

Not even the thought of tearing it up with his dogs at the park made a dent, so with an apologetic offering of rawhide to Beast and Belle, Ethan shooed them out back and was about to pop open a beer when his phone rang. Seeing his sister's name on the screen, Ethan answered with an aggrieved, "What?"

"Oh, aren't we a ray of sunshine?" she sang out, far too bright and cheery for his tastes. "Can't a girl call her big brother to say hi?"

"I'm not in the mood for games tonight, Jen."

"Who's playing?"

"What," he said between clenched teeth, phone set on speaker and perched on the counter. Otherwise he was liable to crush it in his grip, "do you want?"

"Jeez, someone really needs to get laid. Speaking of, heard you had a little lovers spat today. Wanna talk about it?"

Turning to his fridge, Ethan moved to pluck out the beer he'd been able to open when interrupted by his sister's call. "I'm not even going to ask where this is going." The cop in him knew how to extrapolate the answer from a smattering of facts. Jenelle calling to razz him could only mean one thing: she'd spoken with Alyssa, and Alyssa had dished on whatever it was that had happened that afternoon.

The only recourse left to him was to deny culpability, to play a deaf ear and not give Jenelle even the barest hint of a reaction to sink her teeth into. His sister was a wolf and could scent weakness three miles away. You gave her the barest whiff and she'd be after you for blood.

Knowing this was one thing. Applying it, entirely another as Jenelle's knowing giggle skipped along his already throbbing nerves.

"Alright, no worries. If you want to be as sexually frustrated moron with his head up his ass and too chicken-shit to do anything about it, so be it."

Ethan's body jerked to a stop and he rounded slowly, fingers curling into a white knuckled fist. His eyes lasering to the offending phone he wanted to pummel into dust. "Say that again?"

"Sexually frustrated moron? Or Chicken-shit?"

Snarling, he hung up. That was the last fucking straw.

The drive to her cabin was a test in restraint, his temper aching to punch the gas and rocket there like Superman breaking the sound barrier. Parked around the back, because at this hour to do so on the street would likely see him towed, Ethan shot up the steps, pounded fiercely on the door.

He heard the voice call out from inside and wasn't long before it whisked open, a surprised but impatient expression on her face. So his unexpected arrival was an irritating inconvenience, his thoughts seethed, well too freaking bad.

"Ethan." The door widened and it was then he realized she'd answered the door naked. Or at least naked underneath a short, silky excuse of a robe—hair curled and makeup done. "Hey," she said leaning casually against the frame. "What's up?"

"Can we talk?"

Lips quirking to the side, she slid her phone out of the pocket. Checked the time. "Sure, I've got a couple minutes to spare. Do you mind if I get ready while we do?" She stepped back, for him to enter.

"Ready?" he asked, shutting it behind him.

"Yes. I'm sorry, I hate to be rude but I'm meeting someone in a half hour." She was already walking away from him, not waiting for a response. Ethan watched as she disappeared into the bedroom but kept the door partially ajar.

"I'm glad you stopped by," she called out. "I wanted to apologize for this afternoon. I gave a lot of thought to what you said earlier, and I realize that you're right."

And that popped the balloon of his temper. All of his carefully planned words evaporated out of his head. He'd come prepared for a raging battle of wills, not for an easy and immediate apology. Good, he thought with a justified nod of his head. She should be sorry.

"I was way out of line."

Yes, you were. Ethan set his shoulders, pleased to find that she was so agreeable. Who said that men and women couldn't come to easy terms without tears or bloodshed? All that Men are from Mars bullshit was bogus.

"Anyway, I've met someone and can promise from here on out it won't happen again. Scouts honour."  

Ethan jerked around, shoulders tensing and hands in fists. Met someone? Who the hell could she have met in the space of a few hours that would toss everything else out the damn window like it hadn't meant anything? Last night—sure he'd instigated, but she'd been alive and hot in his arms, locked in like a woman starved for him and him alone. Followed by her impassioned remarks this afternoon...?

Then his thoughts flashed back to Carlos. To the way he'd seen them together with Alyssa sitting on the edge of his desk and his hand resting on her knee like it belonged there. A picture of flirtation and interest that had soured his mood far more than Alyssa's tirade ever could.

Now here she was, her demeanor was so cool and unaffected. So disinterested. It only burned him more.

"Yeah, I mean, how weird would that be? You and I?" She laughed. Laughed! "Guess I got a little carried away. Us together—you're right, it shouldn't happen."

The muscles in his jaw locked, his teeth clenched so tight he'd thought they'd crack.

"So there's no more need for awkwardness." She returned to the living room, earrings pinned to her lobes, wearing a dress that had his blood heat and mind go blank. The slinky fabric caught the light in an ice-blue hue accentuating the warmth of her skin and the golden green of her eyes. Rolling over her body like liquid from breast to thigh. And wearing heels that brought her up to his level.

She was going out in that? On a date? 

Carlos was a dead man.

Seeing the murderous flash in his eyes, her smile dimmed a fraction. "You're still angry with me?" 

"No," he growled, nostrils flaring. "I'm fine."

"Good." She beamed again. "Because I want us to start fresh. Put all that crap behind us." She crossed to him, a slow kind of prowl that was so innately Alyssa. And came close enough that he could smell the crisp heady perfume of her skin, see the hint of green in her eyes. That fucking little glint of something in her skin that dragged his eyes lower.

Lower.

She stuck out a hand between them. A platonic gesture of truce. "Friends?"

Ethan smacked that hand aside. "Like hell." And pounced. His grip tangled in her styled hair and dragged that mouth—that infuriating, irresistible mouth—up to his. She tasted exactly as he remembered, all bright and provocative, all wild energy and heat with a smile around the edges that told him he'd been maneuvered. Played.

And he didn't give a damn.

"Tell me," he panted against her lips, dragging back to see her eyes. "Tell me now."

Lips swollen, breath shallow, she looked up at him. Nodded. "Yes."

That was all he needed. Thrusting her back against the door, his hands scored across her body. Touching. Finally touching. The fullness of her breasts, the smooth length of her waist, the compelling curve of her ass. God help him, there was so much he wanted and all at the same fucking time.

Here. He wanted her right here. With her legs around his waist and his body plunging hard and hot and fast inside of her. The need whipped through him, fast and vibrant and beyond his control as she levered a leg around his waist, wrapped it around him crushing his hips against that open wall of heat. Ethan ground himself against her, until a delicious ripple of lust shuddered through Alyssa's incredible body.

His hand slipped between her thighs and cupped that wicked wet warmth, fingers stroking and searching. Sliding around lace and into the heart of her, slow, even strokes that had her writhing in his arms.

This was what he wanted. More than taking that heat for himself, he to see her unravel. To see her fall and break apart in his arms. Her hips rolled with the thrusting of his fingers, the soaked core of her clenched tighter and, dammit, almost killed him. The rise was swift, violent and her orgasm tore through her, jagged as a bolt of lightning. He drank in her cries, savoured her moans.

"Bedroom," she gasped. A little weak, a little limp, but the hunger was there, far from sated. Circling his hands behind her thighs, Ethan hauled her up into his arms, his mouth busy tangling with hers as he carried her into the bedroom, booted the door shut with his foot.

When she tried to shimmy down him, he held on a little tighter, wanting the weight of her on him, against him, just a little longer. Slower. He needed to slow this down. To draw this out. He may have been out of practice but that didn't make him clueless.

And though he wanted her with a hunger beyond his control, the rational part of his brain wasn't about to rush something this profound. Growing up, he'd always been the kid to save the best things for last. He treated sex no differently. Between that first kiss and the final moment there was a lot of ground to cover. And he planned to explore it all.

Thoroughly.