Slower than a sigh, he lifted his head. His gaze roamed her face, his eyes dark with awareness, electric with what they’d kindled together. She felt his fingertip on her cheek. His voice came out rough and tender-low.

“I knew it was in there. That soft, wonderful heart of yours. I hate to see you hurting so bad, Cam.”

He didn’t lower his hand particularly fast, or turn around and start walking away with any speed. But still she couldn’t come up with an answer before he was already a hundred yards onto his own property. She couldn’t talk at all. She still seemed to be gulping in air and sensation both.

There’d never been anything wrong with her IQ. She realized perfectly well that Pete had been trying to reach out a hand to her ever since she’d come home, but she’d assumed it was a neighborly hand. She’d never expected…kisses. She’d never expected to feel his heart thundering against hers, to see the stark shine of desire in his eyes, to feel his body rousing because of their closeness.

Pete wanted her.

It seemed an astounding revelation.

She stared after him, but memories of Robert suddenly pushed into her mind-her lean, elegant Robert, with his city ways and boyish grin. He’d loved the night lights. So many Friday nights they’d gone clubbing, her in her highest heels and slinkiest black dress, Robert in his city-guy clothes. Robert could dance down the house when he got in the mood; he knew his wines, knew his music, knew all the cool places to go.

Camille couldn’t imagine Pete giving a damn about “a cool place” in a thousand years. He was day-and-night from Robert in every way.

Pete was lean himself, but when a man was built that tall and physical, he just wasn’t…elegant. His shoulders were as broad as a trunk. His skin had an earthy tan; his hair never looked brushed. He roared when he was mad, laughed from the belly when he was happy. Nothing scared Pete. He was elemental, earthy, wild himself.