"I probably should've told you sooner, but yes. That was nice of you. Thanks."

"Well, I'm here to kind of follow up that." Thomas's voice was scratchy and hesitant. "I needed to apologize in person for what happened the other night. I needed to see you again."

Emma put her hands on her hips, which reminded her of the unattractive mess she was. She was wearing a pair of Beckett's old seersucker pajamas she'd hacked off with a pair of scissors. Her hair was a disaster, and she was sweating profusely. She must look like the Bride of Chucky.

"Oh, yeah? What exactly was it that happened the other night, Thomas? I haven't quite been able to figure that one out."

He nodded and rubbed a hand over his mouth and that's when Emma noticed the bandage.

"What did you do to yourself, Rugby Boy?" She took a step down and reached out for his hand, which proved to be a huge mistake. The innocent touch sent a jolt through her limbs that sparked and smoldered deep in her pelvis.

And as she cradled his hand, she realized she didn't have the slightest idea what to do with it. She stared at the muscle and bone, the calluses, the short, square nails, as her blood pounded and her vision blurred.

What she really wanted to do was kiss his swollen knuckles. Lick his lifeline. Pull each of his fingertips into her mouth and suck on them one by one.

Horrified, she pushed it away, and his hand smacked with a thud against his thigh.

"Ow!" Thomas looked surprised. "You should probably stick to dogs and cats, Doc."

She laughed then, relieved to let go of some of her nervousness, some of her pent-up agitation. Then she watched as very slowly-very deliciously-Thomas smiled at her.

It was a deadly weapon, that smile of his, and she wondered if he was aware of its firepower. The smile hovered there, bracketed by deep masculine dimples, sexy and sweet, and it silently laid to waste her well-thought-out campaign of avoidance. Every objection she'd had, every perfectly logical reason she'd given herself for forgetting she'd ever met this man now lay bleeding at her feet.

A smile like that could not possibly lie, could it?

"God, Thomas. I can't believe you came to my house. Why did you come to my house?"

He gave his brawny shoulders a shrug and looked up from under a thick fringe of dark honey lashes. "I figured my best shot was to surprise you. You know, just kind of show up on your doorstep."

… if the right man ever showed up on her doorstep, her heart would know him in an instant…

"No way in hell," Emma whispered.

The whole of Thomas's body seemed to sag in defeat. "It was worth a try."

"No!" Emma reached out and grabbed his bare forearm and the touch was once again electric. She let go immediately. "I didn't mean that… exactly." Her head was spinning. "Look, I'm going to take a quick shower and we can talk, all right? Have Beck get you something to drink. It'll just take a sec-"

"Emma, I'm not a liar and I'm sorry for leaving you the way I did." Thomas took a step up, bringing him within touching distance again.

Emma backed up one step, holding on to the railing. "Apology accepted… I guess."

"I'm sorry for biting you. Velvet told me you were disconcerted."

Emma raised an eyebrow at that. Disconcerted? Okay, sure. That and lambasted by lust…

"I don't usually bite women. I don't know what happened. I couldn't stop myself."

She nodded and swallowed. She was tingling, shaking, pulsing. "It happens."

Thomas's eyes flew wide. "It's happened to you before?"

"No. Not exactly. What I mean is… well… there are a variety of triggers for the biting response. Usually it's fear and insecurity."

He took another step up and she retreated again. She remembered originally thinking that his eyes were cool and calculating-well, baby, something had changed, because now the silver gaze was pure liquid heat, glimmering, alive with determination, desire, and humor.

It scared the living hell out of her.

"My problem is that I'm conflicted, Emma."

She snorted. "No kidding."

"So you've noticed?"

She nodded. "I've even come up with a name for your disorder. Want to hear it?"

His mouth quivered at the corners. "Do I have a choice?"

"It's the Thomas Tobin two-step-pull me close then push me away. Do-si-do. It's a snap to learn but it gets old real quick."

He smiled again and cocked his head. "I like you, Emma."

She swallowed. "Okay."

"A lot."

Her fingers were starting to go numb. "All right."

"That's not a lie."

"Glad to hear it."

"You make me laugh."

"Great."

"And I like your sense of style." He wagged an eyebrow. "But your buttons are crooked."

Emma looked down to confirm that observation. "How attractive," she mumbled, trying to manipulate the thin old buttons with unsteady fingers. She gave up with a groan.

"And I really do need your help. Will you help me, Miss Marple?"

She jerked her head back in sharp surprise and felt a bewildered smile spread across her face. He remembered her little talk about Agatha Christie? Why was that? she wondered.

"Help with what?" she asked, suddenly a bit more inclined to protect herself. She stepped back again.

"A couple things, actually." He took another step up.

"What things?"

"My dog, for one. I think that ugly little fu-uh, fellow-just might be able to identify a murderer."

"So you are some kind of cop! I knew it!"

"I'm a lawyer. That part wasn't a lie. But your instincts were right on. I do specialized work within the criminal justice system-for the state police. It's pretty complicated."

"Oh, I just bet it is," she said with a snort. It seemed everything about Thomas Tobin was pretty complicated.

"But I'll tell you all about it."

"I can't wait. So what else?" She took a step back. "You mean besides Hairy?" Thomas took a step up and pressed close, bringing his body a hairsbreadth from hers. Emma could feel the heat lightning shooting out from him again, but didn't have the wherewithal to move. She'd lost the ability to resist, probably because her bones had turned to overcooked pasta in his heat.

"Well, Emma, I think I'm suffering from a lack of something in my life."

"Really?" Emma's eyes widened. "Iron? B-twelve?" It damn sure wasn't testosterone.

One side of Thomas's mouth hitched up, creating a deep dimple in his cheek again. He cocked an eyebrow. "You're cute, too."

"Oh, gee, thanks."

God. She needed to regain her ability to think. And though it had occurred to her that she could easily clasp her arms around his neck, fling her legs around his waist, and slurp him up right there on the basement steps, the idea wasn't all that practical. Beckett and Leelee were home and the steps were rickety.

"I'll meet you on the front porch in a few minutes." She turned and ran while she still could.

As Thomas watched her voluptuous backside bounce up the steps, the appreciation he felt for Emma Jenkins slammed into him on all possible levels of consciousness.

Physical? Oh, hell, yeah-he wanted her, sweaty and naked right here on the stairs, right now and forever, his hands all over that ass of hers, his mouth all over her farmgirl skin.

Emotional? Yes, unbelievably so. It was nearly as strong as the hunger in his body and he didn't quite know how it had happened. But it seemed final somehow. Predetermined. Like walking into a stranger's house and knowing you were going to live there one day.

Intellectual? His mind had never clicked into place like this with a woman-not even Nina. Nor had he ever enjoyed talking to a woman as much. So, okay-that, too.

Metaphysical? Spiritual? Sure, why the hell not? If he was going down, he might as well go down in a giant ball of flame, so why not admit that he had felt the unseen hand of destiny the day he walked into her clinic? Weirder things had happened.