sheet.

"Good. You're up." Michael strolled in carrying a bucket of chicken and

a six-pack of c.o.kes. "I thought you might get hungry."

He'd pulled an LAPD T-shirt on with his jeans. But he was still

barefoot. To Emma he looked more like a beachcomber than a man who

would fire a gun. Before she could answer, he leaned down and kissed

her in a way that had her mind clouding again.

"Figured we could have a picnic."

"A picnic," she echoed. "Where?"

"Right here." He dropped the bucket of chicken on the bed. "That way

the neighbors won't be shocked because you're naked."

She laughed. "I could get dressed."

He sat on the bed across from her and took a long look. "I really wish

you wouldn't." Grinning, he twisted the top off a c.o.ke. "Want some

music?" He leaned over and punched a b.u.t.ton on his clock radio. Linda

Ronstadt soared over "Blue Bayou." Getting down to business, he peeled

the top off the bucket and dug in. "Aren't you hungry?"

The scent of the chicken was glorious. Emma watched him take a bite and

dragged a hand through her tousled hair. "I can't eat naked."

"Sure you can." He held out the drumstick. She shifted, took a bite

then laughed again.

"Really, I can't."

Michael dropped the chicken back in the bucket then dragged his shirt

off. He pulled it over her head. "Better?"

Emma worked her arms through. "Lots." The shirt smelled of him. It

amazed her that it made her every bit as hungry as the chicken. "I've

never had a picnic in bed before."

"Same principle as a blanket on the beach. We eat, listen to music, and

then I make love with you. This way we avoid the sand."

She took the bottle he offered and drank to ease a dry throat. "I don't

know how all this happened."

"That's okay. I'll be glad to run through it all again for you."

"Was it-" She broke off, annoyed with herself.

"You weren't going to ask if it was good for me, were you?"

"No." He was grinning at her. "Sort of." She took another bite of

chicken. "Never mind."

Delighted with her, with himself, with everything, he ran a fingertip

down her bare arm. "You want like a scale of one to ten?"

"Shut up, Michael."

"Just as well, because you went right off the scale."

He only fl.u.s.tered her. "It's never been like that for me before," she

murmured. "I've never ... I didn't think I could-" She broke off

again, then taking a deep breath got the rest out of her system. "I

thought I was frigid."

He nearly laughed, but he could see by her face that it wasn't a joke.

Latimer again, Michael thought and had to take several seconds to

control his voice. "You thought wrong."

His careless response was exactly the right one. Looking up again, she

smiled. "If I had followed my instincts that day on the beach when I

kissed you, I'd have known differently a long time ago."