Because he saw Reba and little Daniel Simmons in his mind and knew he could never go to Charlotte Tasker, tell her he'd searched for her, that he'd never forgotten her, that he'd missed her every damn day for thirteen years. He couldn't risk getting close to anyone.

Not ever again.

***

Not fifteen minutes had passed since Bonnie went home, and the poems were coming fast and furious. Maybe because of the Glenlivet but more likely because he was here. He was real.

Charlotte could feel a crackle in the air around her. She felt like a live wire, her skin raw, her mouth dry. And all she could think of was his face, now thirteen years older and framed in a villain's goatee and longer hair. But it was the same face. It was his face. There was no doubt.

At first, when she'd hauled herself off the floor and retrieved the binoculars, she told herself no-it couldn't be him. It was just a man who looked like him. A man who happened to move like he'd moved and smile like he'd smiled. Besides, the man she'd known so briefly was clean-shaven and wore a crew cut. The Chippendales guy's face was harsher. Much more intense, even when he smiled. So, no. It wasn't him.

But there was no mistaking those piercing black eyesy that sensuous, wide mouth, those big but graceful hands. The man's entire body seemed to glide through space, like a sleek jaguar, just like her fantasy man.

She couldn't stop writing.

Glide

Tongue on tongue

Slide on me

Teeth to flesh

Consume me

Move inside

Fill the void

Feel the glide

Deliver me.

Charlotte closed her eyes tight and allowed herself the luxury of the ultimate fantasy. Here's what would happen: She'd walk over and knock on his door. He would smile and wrap her up in his arms and he'd say, why, of course he remembered her! And yes, he happened to be single yet adored children, and he was sane, employed, and free of all communicable diseases! And of course he'd love to pick up where they left off thirteen years ago and fuck her brains out on a regular basis!