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His expression shifted from uncomfortable to embarrassed. He set his jaw. “I’m not some damned hero. I’m just…” He shook his head and stood up. “It’s getting late. I should head out of here.”

Heather rose to her feet, as well. “You’re just a good man,” she said, completing his sentence. “There aren’t enough of those around, which still means you get to be a hero whether you like it or not. Sorry, Jim, you’re stuck with a cape and superpowers.”

“As long as I don’t have to wear red plastic boots.”

“You don’t.” She led the way to the front door, then paused before opening it. “I meant what I said,” she told him. “I am very proud to know you. I appreciate your willingness to share a difficult piece of your past with me and I’ll respect your confidence.”

He shoved his hands into his front pockets. “I trust you, Heather. I never expected otherwise.”

His words made her glow with pleasure. Which was silly because they were just friends, and friends looked out for and trusted each other. None of this should have been news to either of them. But his expression of trust made her feel good about both of them.

Impulsively, she raised herself up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. But he was six-three to her five-seven and she couldn’t quite reach. “I’m only going to give you a friendly peck on the cheek,” she said laughingly. “It’s a combination thank-you and I’m-happy-to-be-your-friend gesture. The least you could do is cooperate.”

But instead of bending down or making a joke, Jim hesitated. In that second, doubts crashed in on Heather. They were just friends and she’d somehow crossed the line. He wasn’t comfortable with that kind of affection. The thought of her kissing his cheek was repellent to him and—

“A kiss would be nice,” he said, interrupting her emotional self-flagellation.

But she’d already taken an involuntary step away and now they were too far apart. They stared at each other. He shook his head.

“Did we just have a momentary lapse of communication or are we both incredibly inept?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe both.”

He smiled, and her world righted itself. “Okay, let’s start over,” he told her. “I’m going to say goodbye, but first you’re going to give me a kiss. How’s that?”

“Fine.” But too much time had passed and she was suddenly nervous. Kiss Jim? What had she been thinking? They didn’t kiss. They teased and laughed and occasionally hugged, but never, ever kissed.

“Great.”

He reached out and took hold of her upper arms and drew her closer to him. As he lowered his head, she went up on tiptoe. Her plan had been to kiss his cheek, only he didn’t turn his head and she had to make a decision really soon because his mouth was right there and did she pull away and reach for his cheek or—

Their mouths touched in a soft contact that spoke volumes more than her friendly peck had been meant to do. Heather froze. The very sensible part of her brain said that they’d kissed, it was over, and she needed to get this man out of her house. But the sensible part of her brain was small and incredibly overrated. Especially as the contact between their mouths continued and various parts of her body woke up and began to notice.

At first there was just the pressure of his lips against hers. The warmth and firmness, the masculine scent of his skin, the way his hands moved up and down her arms from elbow to shoulder. Then a tiny flare of heat drifted slowly from her mouth, down her throat, through her chest, before exploding in her stomach, bathing her whole body in a sensual glow. A shiver rippled through her, all the way to her toes, and she was lost.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and felt the lean strength of him. His hands moved from her arms to her back. She took a step closer, or did he? She wasn’t sure, but suddenly, their bodies pressed against each other, and then his head tilted to the side, or was it hers? And then the kiss got a whole lot more interesting.

He parted his mouth and she felt the soft dampness of his tongue brushing against her lower lip. She moaned low in her throat even as she opened to admit him. This was insane, she thought through a fog of wonderful need and desire and electric shocks that set all her senses to tingling. This was amazing.

As his tongue invaded her mouth, she welcomed him. They touched and retreated, then touched again, discovering each other in that glorious dance that is the first real kiss. Around again and again, he stroked against her. She could taste his sweetness and feel his breath against her cheek. It was perfect and magic and she never wanted either of them to stop.

She clutched at him with one hand and with the other stroked the back of his head. His hair was silky smooth and still a little too long. His hands were everywhere, moving up and down her back, then lowering to cup her rear and haul her up against him. She felt the flat planes of his chest, the broadness of him, then the hard ridge of his desire pressing against her.

The proof that he wanted her as much as she was realizing she wanted him made her shiver with delight. Wicked images rose up in her mind—of her pressed against a wall, with him supporting her as he drove into her again and again. Of wild lovemaking on the bed, the floor, in the shower, everywhere. She had the startling realization that no single kiss had ever made her dampen so quickly or so much. She was more than hungry for him—she was starving.

He broke the kiss and breathed her name. She answered with a sigh and another kiss. This time, he welcomed her as she slipped past his lips and explored him. She felt the hardness of his teeth, the rough smoothness of his tongue, and as she plunged inside, she wished he were plunging inside her, but in a very different way.

He stroked her hip, then moved up to her breast. Heather had the fleeting thought that he would find her too bony and thin to be attractive. As she always had, she wished she had the lush curves of those women always trying to lose twenty pounds. Just once in her life, she wanted some part of her body to be excessive. But what he was doing felt too good for her thoughts to stay focused on her fears. He cupped her breast gently, a brief touch she barely registered before he was gone again, stroking her side and her arm.

Her nipples had hardened and pressed against her bra, and she asked for him to touch her there. Then he shifted so that he was kissing her jaw and her neck, and she forgot everything except the warmth in her belly and the weakness in her legs. She wanted to lean against him and have this go on forever. He nibbled on her earlobe and made her squirm against him. She reached down and cupped his rear and he groaned, and then it didn’t matter about curves or lack thereof. There was only the heat and the need, the frantic pounding of her heart, and if she didn’t have more of him right now, she would die.

His hands moved faster and faster, up and down her body. When he bent over and gripped the backs of her thighs, it was as if he’d read her mind. She gave a little hop, then she was up in the air, pressed against the door, and he was pushed hard against her, center to center. Hard and throbbing to wet and swollen. He rubbed back and forth, the layers of clothing adding to the friction.

“I want you,” he breathed in her ear.

“Yes,” she gasped.

“Now.”