There’s nothing like tossing the sheets with Dee to kick off the day. After she drifts back to sleep, I put on my jogging gear and head out for a run.

The fallen leaves crunch beneath my feet as the crisp autumn breeze sings in the air. I feel good—loose and energized. Charged by the burning passion between us. It’s addictive the way Dee loses her insecurities with me, how trusting she is. How uninhibited. I can’t get enough of watching her arousal, of getting her off, or feeling the spellbinding strength of my own desire—all the more staggering because it’s attached to deep and profound emotions.

I run ten miles, along the waterfront and then back through our neighborhood. I slide my cap back on and lower the bill. Day-to-day activities surround me—a woman walks her dog, a couple loads two toddlers into car seats, another jogger passes me with a wave. I see a man get into a van as Dee’s cozy bungalow comes into view.

Eventually we’ll need something bigger. Perhaps on the lake with a huge backyard, like we talked about all those years ago when we would lie under the stars, dreaming of our future together. I want to give Dee that and more. I want to give her everything.

I’m still smiling as I jog up the stairs, whistling when I reach the top. Then shocked panic slams into my chest. An envelope waits on the welcome mat addressed to M. Peters. Recalling the van from moments ago, my gaze swings back to the street. It’s gone.

I stare at the familiar handwriting with a vicious sense of foreboding. My breaths rush. I rip open the envelope and pull out a square piece of white note paper—like rat poison, toxic in its impact.

Friday night, 11:00.

Your condo.

Time to talk.

No name. None needed.

Rage swamps me. Balling the note in my fist, I go inside the garage and bury it, and the envelope, in the trash can, battling anger and that sense of powerlessness that I hate the most.

Too enraged to go in the house, I grab the toolbox off the shelf and follow the flagstones to the gate that opens onto the tidy backyard. Lethal thoughts circle my head like vultures. I locate the loose fence boards. Insert a nail. Pound. Insert. Pound. One after the other. Swinging the hammer fueled by adrenaline and fury, striking the wood with a loud, resounding thwack.

“Mick?”

Darkness edges my vision. I pull my gaze to the sliding glass doors. Dee is standing there in one of my sweatshirts, and nothing else. The first hints of sunlight dance over her loose hair, a waft of wind blows a few strands across her cheek.

I should tell her. But looking into those golden eyes staring at me with such love and affection, I just can’t get the words out. Another excuse, more prevarication. I set down the hammer and stride across the grass, eating up the short distance, and skim my knuckles down her cheek, forcing my tone to stay even, my hand not to shake. “Thought I’d fix the boards before the weather gets too cold.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can call a handyman.”

“It’s no problem. I’m good with my hands.”

“Yes, you are. In fact, you’d look great in a tool belt.”

“I’ll buy one.”

“Will you wear it with nothing else on?”

“A fantasy of yours, Counselor?” I walk her back inside the living room and gather her close as if to prove I can hold on to this, hold on to her. Dee’s grin melts into a moan. I cup her face, kissing her, losing myself in the slick, minty warmth of her mouth and the quick whip of passion that snaps between us.

Dee shoves off my cap and pushes her fingers through my hair, her tongue tasting mine in hot, provocative strokes, our chests crushed together, her heart thundering so hard, I don’t just feel it against me, but inside of me.

My senses seduced, I lower my hands to fill them with her. The only woman to ever make me need so desperately, so completely, to the exclusion of all else.

We’d made love just over an hour ago and still she responds with urgency, rolling her hips, feeding me her raspy moans before I let us up for air.

“Wow.” Her laugh is breathless. “What was that?”

“You,” I say at her throat. “Stay home with me.”

“I wish,” she murmurs. “You make it hard to go.”

“Then don’t.” I kiss my way back up to her lips, before resting my forehead against hers and binding my arms around her tightly.

“Tempting, but I have meetings and deadlines.”

My muscles flex with every protective instinct to make her stay. Though a bodyguard will keep Dee safe, I still don’t want to let her out of my sight, which is a biting paradox since being with me poses the greatest danger to her.

“Mick?”

She tries to incline her head to see my expression. I hold her still. Can’t have her looking at me right at this moment.

Dee leans into me and runs her hands over my tight shoulders and back. “You okay?” she whispers.

“Yeah, I’m good.” I swallow another guilty lie, and without relaxing my hold, keep her close for as long as I can.