They settled against the stone. Not like before, but side by side. As if by talking about whatever this was between them, they'd opened up something they needed to handle carefully.

"Saw you out once." He spoke quietly, his head back, eyes on the sky rather than on her, though it felt as if she had every ounce of his attention.

Something prickled up her spine. It wasn't unpleasant. "Yeah?"

"At Howie's, down near the beach."

She nodded. She'd been there exactly once, with girl- friends. "You didn't say hi?"

"No." Why did that hurt, just a little? "You're... young."

"I'm twenty-nine."

He looked surprised, which wasn't a shocker. She'd always been told she appeared younger than her age.

"How old are you, Eric?" "Forty-one."

What were a few years, really? "That's nothing." His profile, long and stern and immovable, looked cut from the rock he leaned on. He fit in out here, seemed a part of the landscape. She tried to conjure up an image of him sitting at a bar like Howie's, full of Marine Corps recruits and college girls. In a rowdy place like that, he'd stick out like a rock in a stream. And no way would he sit. He'd stand, so that the crowd would have to flow around him. That image made her smile.

"You were with a guy."

She threw him a disbelieving grimace. "I was?"

"Surfer type. Joined you and your girlfriends."

"And?"

"He was into you. He seemed right for you."

That sent a spike of irritation through her. Who was he to decide what kind of guy she deserved to be with? "Right for me?"

"Easygoing. Good-looking, I guess, in a young, hip shithead kinda way."

"What does that make you? Old and out of it?"

He shot her a look, not quite smiling. "Pretty much."

"Were you wearing dad jeans?" She'd only seen him in shorts, but he had the kind of long, rangy build that would look really good in a pair of jeans.

"Of course. I am retired, after all. Not to mention I'm your elder, so..."

"Yeah. Retired." She looked at him, long and hard. Something about him—the careful way he held himself maybe—spoke of feigned nonchalance.

With a burst of insight, she got it. "You were afraid," she said.

"Huh?"

"That's it, isn't it? You—the dude who broke into an oil rig, unarmed, to pull me out of a certain-death situation—were too scared to approach a table full of women and some guy who, I'll tell you right now, I don't remember at all."

"Well, he was all over you."

After a few quiet moments, she spoke. "I would have been pretty happy to see you."

"Yeah?"

"I'd totally have gone home with you."

He turned, putting their faces inches apart. "You're kidding."

"Why?" Full of a newfound power, she leaned in. Close enough, even in the dark, to make out the lines that fanned out from his eyes. "You think I don't like old men?"

The lines deepened as he smiled and threw his hand to his chest. "Stab me in the heart."

"You're the one who said it. I think you're fine just the way you are."

He cocked his head to the side, and for just a second, she thought maybe this was it—the lead-up to a kiss. "Thanks."

"So. Retired, huh?"

"Kind of. I've been thinking about getting some friends together, using our combined skills to start a security company."

"Sounds interesting."

His eyes slid her way. "You're full of it."

"What?" She shrugged, then wrinkled her face up in embarrassment. "Honestly, I don't even know what that means. Security? You, like, put alarms in houses?"

"Not exactly. I mean, some companies do that. I'd be more interested in"—he lifted his chin toward the rig— "stuff like this. Like...figuring out what the hell those people are up to. Stopping them."

"Except with clients."

"Sure."

"So, like...Bat-Signal stuff." She ignored a tight burst of disappointment when his body shifted minutely away.

A little raw around the edges, she forced herself to smile and sucked in a refreshing breath of cool, sea-foam air. It was amazing, actually, that she could find joy in a moment like this one.

She threw him a surreptitious look. It was because of this man that she wasn't in hell right now. "If we get out of here, Eric—"

"When." His voice was quiet but certain, and what she'd thought was him putting distance between them proved to be just a straightening of his stance. More proof that the man was somehow rock solid, while she melted into a puddle here beside him.

"When we get out of here..." With her next breath, she sucked in courage. "I'd consider a date. If that's what you're after."

"I seem like I'm after something?" Was he teasing her? She couldn't quite see a twinkle in his eyes, but she could hear one in his voice. Maybe.

"Well, you did follow me to the platform today." His lips twitched in response. "You saved my life, Eric." Her voice came out breathy, as if this dark, needy femme fatale routine was something she did every day. "It's the least I can do in return."

He smirked. "So, a date for your life, huh?"

"Sure. Fair payment. Can you do that, old man?"

Had she misread the humor she'd seen on his face? It was gone now, replaced by an expression so solemn that she wasn't sure if he'd laugh or take her seriously. Suddenly, she regretted the joking.

She'd just opened her mouth to take it back when he spoke.

"How 'bout a kiss?" His words shocked blood to the surface of her face again, made her hot and a little shaky.

In a flash, she pictured the way he'd handled that man, done something to make his arm not quite right. The way the man had screamed, and Eric's expression had been blank, emotionless... She shivered just thinking about how hair-raising it had been to watch one man hurt another without caring for a single second about it. And now here he was, flirty, attractive. Unbelievably warm. And he wanted to kiss her.

"Which one's the real you?"

Without seeming to move, he stiffened, turning the few inches between them into an insurmountable gulf. "What do you mean?"

Why was she shaking as if she'd opened up a can of worms she should have left alone? "Are you the easygoing guy fishing off his boat? Or the big, scary badass on the rig, ready to tear a man's arm off? Or..." Who even knew who this version was. He was the world's most singular fusion of solid and sure, smart and competent, funny and skeptical and cautious. "Or this guy?" She waved a vague hand between them, because there was no way to condense his million-and-one facets into one sentence.

He blinked. "This guy?"

"Yeah." She cared about the answer. That was why she couldn't get her lips to stop trembling or her breathing to calm. "This reserved, kinda funny guy who's solid and smart, but not quite at ease in social situations?"

"Kinda funny?" He huffed out a quiet laugh, and everything inside her let go.

"Well, you're not laugh-out-loud. More subtle." She dredged up enough courage to lean in. "The good kind of funny."

"Little of each, I guess. Like you, Zoe Garcia, I am a complex individual."

Complex? More like lethal.

She watched him for a few seconds out of the corner of her eye. Was this real, this thing between them? It felt more solid than anything she'd experienced with a man— possibly ever—but what if that was just the gratitude talk- ing? Could this be a comedown from today's adrenaline rush? Or a misplaced sense of somehow owing him after what he'd done for her?

Something about his profile—straight and ridiculously masculine against nature's harsh backdrop—pulled a memory from her brain. It unraveled in a split second, like tugging at the end of a ball of yarn. The first time she and Jane had come out to the Polaris, they'd chatted with him about God knows what.

After they'd pulled away, Jane had said some nonsense about how cute he was. When Zoe didn't answer, she'd turned and given her a look. "Close your mouth. You'll catch flies."

She'd started to say something, but Jane had glanced back at Eric's boat and stopped her with a raised hand and a sly laugh. "Don't bother. He's got the same expression on his face. Both of you got hit by the same bolt."

That was exactly how it felt, looking at him here in such close quarters—like she'd been hit by lightning. But it was the good kind, the kind that electrified her, charged her up, sent a thrill of desire through her veins. From the second she'd seen him, she'd wanted to taste him.

"Yes," she whispered. Another bolt of that energy rolled through her. It was the pleasant kind, though, not stressful like today's adrenaline rush. This felt like the best date she'd ever had. Or had never had, actually.

"Hmm?"

"You can take a kiss. As payment." Now she was the one to look at the stars—avoiding his eyes in case the whole thing had been a joke and this man who sent electricity through her veins wasn't really interested.

The noise he made—a little puff of disbelief—was flattering. He reached for her hand, but she followed some weird instinct and shifted closer—to get on his lap, maybe?—and took this immediately from kissing to something...bigger. There was a little intimidation in the air. Not in the way he spoke to her or handled her, but in the memory of what he could do.

Not to me, though.

No, with her, he used gentle hands, slow movements, barely touching her body as she straddled him, putting them face-to-face. A little too close too soon, but also so damned exciting.

"Kiss me." His whispered words puffed into the cool air between them. The way he said it—an order or a plea?— lit her up in places she hadn't paid attention to in ages. Her breasts, her pelvis, her lips. She was excited already, without doing a thing. She could only imagine where this would lead.

She took a long, slow breath and leaned in. Just the tip of her nose touched his, their mouths not quite meeting, his eyes big and dark in the night. He was nothing like the stone-cold killer she'd witnessed on that platform, but that didn't stop a long, slow shiver from sliding through her.

"You do it." Who am I, challenging this big, bad wolf of a man?

"Thought you owed me."

Each word brushed his lips to hers in a not-quite-kiss more sensual than anything she'd ever experienced.

With a stuttering inhale, she tilted her head, just enough to put friction between their mouths. It sent shocks through her body. Half of her wanted to smash her face against his, but the other half loved this strange byplay.

He could palm her bottom now, and she wouldn't protest. But he didn't. He hadn't even put his hands on her body.

How long can I drag this out? What if I...

She shifted her weight infinitesimally, but it might as well have been an earthquake for the effect it had on him. The noise he made was a low animal groan. Not quite a growl, but close. As if in pain, as if just this...tiny...rub was more than he could handle.

She did it again, and this time, the animal didn't stay in its cage. His arms went tight around her; his body beneath her hardened... Oh. Oh, he was hard.

"You want that kiss or not?" He sounded tense.

"Yeah." She was breathless, her heart fluttering like a caged bird in her chest. Or maybe she was the creature caught in a net and he the predator. That made more sense.

He'd do it now, she was sure. He'd kiss her, hard, and show her exactly what wild animals did with their prey.

But he didn't. Not the way she expected, at least. He didn't press his now-open mouth to hers or shove his tongue down her throat. Though she could feel something savage thrum through him as surely as her own frantic response, he didn't act on it.

Instead, he put one hand on her shoulder, the other on her waist, and pressed down. Firmly.

A long, low oh emerged from her mouth, dragged out by this powerful man. As though she had no say about what her body did—her heart, her mouth. All of it was tied to whatever he'd do next. Breathless with anticipation, she waited, eyes open too wide, expectation shimmering across her nerve endings as shockingly as the fear just hours before. In fact, she suspected that fear was making all of this much, much bigger.

He shifted, and she let out a sound like she'd never made in her life, waiting for that kiss. He, meanwhile, was a stone wall of silence. She wished there was more light so she could see his face.

What next? What next? She didn't dare budge for fear of waking him from whatever this was.

Have I ever been this turned on?

How on earth could this slow grind feel better than sex? This was untamed, fierce, needy, and pure in the strangest way. This was back to basics.

Real.

And she wanted more.

NOTE: Eric keeps surprising me with the stuff he does... He's so gruff, but real. And Zoe's got no time to be intimidated. She sees right through the gruffness. I love these two.

Thank you for reading, lovelies!!! xoxo, Adriana