Stella waved to her friends as the last of them left. “Thanks again for all the help,” she called.

As soon as the door shut behind them, she collapsed into a chair. Every muscle ached. She should get up, take a shower, eat something, and start unpacking the boxes that were stacked in every room. Instead, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back, willing the soreness away.

A soft tap at the door interrupted her. She scowled and waited; maybe whoever it was would go away. The tap sounded again. She heaved herself out of the chair and stalked to the door, ready to ream whatever salesman had been unlucky enough to pick on her.

She flung it open and stared. “Oh.” The man standing there didn’t look anything like a salesman. More like a cross between a movie star and a rugby player: big, rugged, and handsome. Careful, said a voice in her head.

The vision of manhood raised an eyebrow at her. “Were you expecting someone else?”

She tried to gather her thoughts. “Ah, I thought you might be selling something.”

He smiled at her, and warning bells went off. Careful, Stella. “I’m your new neighbor. Aidan Crossmore.”

She took the proffered hand; warmth tingled through her, and her nipples hardened. “Stella Ricchetti,” she said, a little breathlessly.

[...]

The sounds of a ball game filtered through the door. She knocked and waited, shifting from foot to foot.

Aidan opened the door and looked surprised. Insecurity dug its talons in deep, and Stella’s good mood plummeted. “I’m sorry. Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, it’s great. Come on in.” He stood back and held the door open; she carried the dish inside and saw another man sprawled on the couch, beer in hand. Intensely blue eyes made no secret of inspecting her from head to toe.

Stella felt her face color; with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment, she offered the dish to Aidan. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Yes,” said the man on the couch, “we’d like to be alone.”

She whipped her head around to see him smirking at Aidan, who seemed to be contemplating introducing his friend to the joys of trepanning. “Stella,” he said with deceptive calm, “this is my partner, Detective Michael Donohue. He was just leaving.”

With a grin, the man hoisted himself off the couch. “Nice to meet you, Stella.” His eyes lingered on her as he passed, and Stella looked away. “See you, Crossmore.”

Aidan looked at her closely as he set the cobbler down. “You okay?”

“Fine. He’s very . . . intense.”

“Yeah.” His lips twitched. “He doesn’t mean any harm.”

“I just wanted to say thanks for earlier. For being a good neighbor.”

He reached out and brushed a tendril of hair back from her face, and her pulse sped up. “You’re welcome,” he said. “Feeling better?”

“Yes.” His eyes were hazel, more green than brown. She couldn’t stop looking at him. He moved closer, resting his other hand on her waist, and she put both hands on his chest.