CHAPTER ONE

       GOOD LORD, WAS THAT a tongue?

      Nichole Daniels ripped her attention from the kiss deepening at exponential rates less than fifty feet away and dragged it back to where Chicago’s cityscape reflected the molten hues of the western sky.

      Having arrived early to help her friend Sam set up for his rooftop bash to welcome his older brother home from Europe, she’d been stocking wash pails with beer, wine and a myriad other pre-packaged cocktails when the lovebirds had pushed out the door, their breathless laughter dying at the sight of her. With the party scheduled to start—well, right then, for the few minutes before the guests migrated up to the terrace she’d figured the roof would be big enough for the three of them. Only now the evening breeze had picked up, carrying with it whispers not meant for her ears. Private words and promises of the kind of forever she’d stopped dreaming about years ago. The intimacy of their exchange had her feeling like some kind of creepy voyeur.

      Boxing up the last packaging to recycle, she eyed the door. Anytime now …

      People always showed up early for Sam’s parties. The view from his roof was one of the best in the city for watching the sunset.

      A muffled groan.

       Awkward.

      Tipping the longneck that hung from her fingers for a small draw of the lemony draft, she glanced down at her phone for the hundredth time. She saw a text from her mother, who was checking to see if she had any special plans for the night, so she pushed it aside on the picnic tabletop, making a mental note to call her the next day.

      Tonight she wasn’t in the mood for a diatribe on beggars versus choosers, ticking clocks and doing the work to make her dreams a reality. No matter how well-intentioned her mother might be, a guilt-flavored pep-talk wasn’t on the evening’s agenda.

      Another gasp. This one edged with unmistakable need—and she hazarded a sidelong glance—

      Whoa! Mistake!

      She hadn’t just seen … and the hands … and the legs …

      Jumping clumsily from the picnic table, Nichole stumbled back and made a beeline for the stairway access.

      Eyes on the ground. Eyes. On. The. Ground.

      She was halfway down the narrow flight, ready to text Maeve her first report from the party, when she stopped, staring blankly at her open, empty palm.

      She’d left her phone.

      Her stomach turned to lead as she hesitantly looked back up to the roof. The sunset she could live without. But that phone was her lifeline. All her contacts … appointments … shopping lists … music … Maeve.

      She had to go back. Only she really didn’t want to.

      Maybe if she gave it a minute or two they’d be done and she’d be able to collect her phone without feeling like she needed to boil her eyes in bleach or start therapy seven days a week to scrub the memory from her mind.

      How long had it been already? She didn’t even know.

      So accustomed to her pretty little pink-rubber-clad smartphone, who needed a watch?

      Okay, this was ridiculous. She was an adult, and her phone was a critical part of her existence. She turned toward the roof, bottom lip parked between her teeth, foot poised to advance—

      The door below opened and she glanced back, hoping against hope it was Sam so she could make him get the darned phone for her. Only this wasn’t her five-foot-ten-if-she-looked-up-just-right, whipcord-thin blond bud, come to rescue her phone, but rather a six-foot-something stranger in worn jeans and a white Oxford rolled back at the arms, shouldering through a doorway made too small by his frame.

      Head bowed, he called back to someone within the apartment, “Yeah, see you up there in a few.”

      Maybe she should warn the guy about the rooftop action. Only before she could figure quite how to phrase it, the head topped with short, disheveled, dark curls tipped back, revealing a set of electric blue eyes that sent a shock straight through the center of her. Her mind whirled and stalled as recognition washed over her in a wave, receding just as quickly.

      She’d have sworn she knew him.

      “Looks like we had the same idea to catch the sunset,” he offered with an easy smile and a jut of his chin toward the roof as he took the steps at a loose jog, meeting her at the midpoint of the stairwell. “You going up?”

      “I think I have to,” she answered weakly, her eyes tracking nervously to the rectangle of open sky at the top of the stairs. “I left my phone when I ran….”

      Her phone would be fine. It wasn’t like she’d left it balancing on the rail.

      Was it possible they were finished?

      “Ran?”

      Of course it was possible. Probable? Who knew?

      “Did something happen up there?”

      “Yeah,” she answered with a shudder as she covered her eyes with her hands. The way they’d started going at it—she’d never seen … never done….

      Heat penetrated the fog of her embarrassed shock, radiating from a concentrated point where his hand, wide and heavy, covered her shoulder in a reassuring squeeze. “Go down to Sam. Stay with him.”

      And then he was bypassing her on the narrow stairwell, somehow managing to keep all that brawn from doing more than warming the scant space between them. The proximity was unnerving, distracting her even more than the scene she’d witnessed on the rooftop … where this guy was heading … his every step landing like an increasing threat.

      Wait. Did something happen?

      Oh … no.

      Her breath caught.

       Oh, no.

      “Oh, no! Wait,” she gasped, realizing too late what he’d been asking her.

      The eyes that looked back at her as his steps continued were anything but laughing. “Go downstairs. I’ll take care of this guy.”

      Take care of—? She watched his retreating back expand impossibly, blotting out the light of the evening sky beyond. “No, really,” she yelped, scrambling up the steps behind him. “You—um—blue-eyed guy—wait!”

      But he just held a staying hand behind him as he hit the open access to the rooftop. At best this was about to get extremely embarrassing for both of them. She had to do something—and fast.

      “Sex!”

      Oh, God, that hadn’t come out right either. Except the guy’s steps slowed and his head cranked around, revealing all that deep blue intensity replaced with confusion. “Excuse me?”

      She