Standard Disclaimer: No copyrighted material used in this chapter belongs to me. This story belongs to Linda Howard/Jones with some RIB and the writers of Glee mixed in. Now it is time for some of Sam's POV and a little more Samcedes...in a chapter that I have entitled "The Sam of it All"….

Chapter Eight

After his unexpected meeting with Cedes that night, Sam did his best to keep away from his Kryptonite. He had to struggle with himself to keep from leaving the mountain. He knew he had to do several things to get ready for the winter, so he used that as an excuse to not the leave the mountain. He prepared for the winter by chopping wood, hunting, and fishing, so he wouldn't have to use his canned or dried food supplies before winter set in. His solar panels provided what electricity he needed at night, conserving his lamp oil and candles. He'd given up on receiving any critical news on his ham radio. Maybe in a week or two he'd be able to get some worthwhile information from over the airwaves.

This morning on what he figured was a week later around the 13th of September, he brought his breakfast outside with him, some leftover fish he'd fried the night before, and settled down in a chair with that and his coffee to kick back to enjoy the coolness of the morning air. He was almost finished with his food when he spotted something from forty yards away, on the left side of the driveway. He turned his head a fraction of an inch, focusing on the movement. It could be a deer, bear, turkey—any kind of wildlife. Turkey would be good; he could smoke some and dry some for jerky.

But it was a dog that made its way from the underbrush and stood watching him warily. Sam held himself motionless, waiting to see what it did. It was a dark brown and grayish white mountain mutt, maybe six or seven months old from the looks of it. It edged farther out of the brush, twisting its body, tail hesitantly wagging.

It was so thin, its ribs were showing. Mountain mix breeds were great hunting dogs; Sam figured when the CME hit some shortsighted fool had figured he wouldn't be able to feed the dog and simply abandoned it, not realizing what a great asset the dog could be once it was trained.

From its body language, the dog was friendly but unsure, wanted to approach but was too afraid to. Likely it smelled the fish and hunger had forced it to show itself.

"Hey," Sam said softly. The canine's ears perked up at the sound of his voice. He didn't want a dog or any other attachment, but his tours of duty had given him a deep appreciation for war dogs, and he would never let one suffer if he could help it. The dog needed food, and he had food. If he brought the fish to the dog, though, it would probably run.

He got up and walked slowly to the steps. Without looking at the dog, he broke off a piece of fish and laid it on the top step. Another piece of fish was placed halfway between there and the front door. He gradually opened the door, moved inside, and put another piece of fish on the threshold. He placed the last piece of fish three feet inside. Then he retreated all the way to the kitchen and sat down where he could see the dog, watching it through the open door.

The dog could see him, too, so he sat relaxed and motionless. He had no idea if the animal had ever been inside a house; if it hadn't, it might not venture as far as the threshold, much less enter for the last piece of fish. Still, hunger was a powerful motivator, and the young dog wouldn't be as cautious as an older one.

It crossed the yard toward him, its gaze darting back and forth between him and the food on the step. It stopped a couple of times and backed up, sat down, got up again and ventured closer. When Sam didn't move, the puppy reached the steps and with one fast, courageous bound and consumed the fish in one swallow. Then, immediately pounced on the second piece of fish, and continued to the third piece on the threshold.

The puppy's tail was wagging faster now, and it didn't seem nearly as wary. "Hey," he said again, keeping his tone soft and crooning the way the war dog handlers had spoken to their canines. "Come in, little buddy. There's plenty of food and water, and a rug to bed down on, if you need a nap."

The dog eyed the last piece of fish, dashed forward to get it, then stood unsure of what to do next. But that tail was still wagging, even if it didn't feel ready to come within Sam's reach just yet. It was wearing a bedraggled blue collar, without a tag on it. If there had been one, it had been torn loose during the dog's journey of survival—or more than likely the former owner had removed the tag. Either way, the collar was proof that the dog was accustomed to humans, and so far its behavior didn't indicate it expected mistreatment. It was just uncertain of itself and the situation.

Sam looked around the kitchen. He had a lot of food, but nothing specifically for dogs. He did have jerky, though, and the pup needed some protein. He yawned and looked away—a trainer he'd deployed with had told him that a yawn told a dog there was nothing to be alarmed about—and went to the cabinet to open a pack of jerky. The pup backed up a couple of steps at his movement, but didn't bolt. When he opened the pack, the smell of the jerky riveted the animal's attention.

Sam went back to his chair, sat down, and took a piece of jerky from the pack, placed it on the floor at his feet.

The dog whined, and eased forward. Sam didn't move. It grabbed the jerky, gobbled it down, then looked expectantly at the open pack. When Sam still didn't move it looked at him, then back at the pack.

Huh. This was a smart little shit, but mountain dogs were usually bright.

The dog butted his hand, and looked at the pack signaling to Sam to give him more jerky.

"Demanding, aren't you?" Sam murmured, but got another stick of jerky and held it out, ready to jerk his hand back if the pup went for it too aggressively. Instead it tilted its head and gently lipped the jerky from his fingers, though all signs of gentleness vanished once the treat was in its mouth.

Sam held out the back of his hand, and the pup sniffed it, then gave him a lick.

Still moving slowly, he got up and poured some water in a bowl, set it on the floor. The pup came over without hesitation and drank thirstily, almost emptying the bowl. Then it looked back at the jerky, but Sam thought he should wait a while to see if what he'd already given the animal stayed down or would end up on his floor. He took the chance and gave the dog's shoulder a pat, and it crowded against his leg in delight.

"Okay," he told the animal. "I'll help out, you can bunk down here for a while. But fair warning: I'm not looking for a roommate. Understand?"

Whether or not the dog did, it knew a good thing when it saw it. Over the next several days, Sam had a constant companion. He discovered that, hunting dog or not, the pup was house-trained and at ease inside. It didn't try to get on the bed with him but did sleep on the rug beside the bed. Maybe its former owner hadn't dumped it, maybe it had wandered away and gotten lost. Sam didn't normally think the best of people—experience was a hard teacher—but for certain the dog hadn't been mistreated. It was too trusting and comfortable with him for it to have been abused.

He didn't name the pup, he just called it "dog" or "buddy." Naming it would imply a permanency he wasn't prepared to accept, though maybe the pup's companionship wasn't as bad as he'd expected. Sometimes, though, even being around the puppy was too much, and he'd leave it in the house while he took a long hike through the woods. He'd hunt, or he'd just walk, get in some exercise by sprinting up the steep mountainside, leaping deadfalls, dodging boulders and trees. He had some free weights in the house but he much preferred moving, and in all his years of training he hadn't found anything that compared to mountain running.

Two weeks after the CME, he finally made some distant contact on the ham radio. The dog sat beside him, head cocked as if trying to figure out where that other voice was coming from when it couldn't smell another human anywhere nearby. The radio operator he reached was outside Memphis, about four hundred miles away.

"The city's trashed, looted clean and a lot of it burned," the voice said. "A lot of people were killed. There are some pockets where it's too dangerous to go, but for the most part a lot of people have moved on because there's nothing else here to steal. The national guard is beginning to secure some areas, but there's not much food to be had. From what I've heard, it's the same in Little Rock."

"Same for Knoxville and Nashville. How far out can you reach?"

"You're the limit, so far, but it's getting better every day. What's your power source?"

"I have solar." He had a lot more, but Sam didn't intend to let the world know the extent of his resources. That would be inviting trouble, in the form of looters who would take anything they could. "Be safe." He signed off, then tried to reach his buddy Jake Puckerman, without success. Jake would have taken his radio equipment with him when he left, but there were some hefty mountains between them and the atmosphere wasn't letting transmissions overcome that yet . . . either that, or Jake wasn't capable of responding. Sam had seen too many of his buddies die to reject that possibility. Jake could be dead, badly injured, or his radio equipment stolen or destroyed. Anything could have happened. Eventually he would find out; he'd either make contact, or he wouldn't.

Restlessly he got to his feet and walked outside, the dog at his heels. He looked down at the town below. Since the first night of the aurora, he hadn't been back down. He couldn't trust himself to walk patrol, and although he couldn't get Cedes out of his mind, neither did he want to see her . . . who was he kidding? He did want to see her, but only safely from a distance. His nerves had felt raw after that accidental midnight meeting. The contact that led to a hunger that had been too much. He wasn't protecting himself from Kryptonite. He was protecting her. He knew a good woman like her did not deserve a man like him.

He tried to tell himself that being alone was much more comfortable. He could find peace in the silence and solitude, but he knew he was lying to himself. His next thought revealed his heart because he was thinking about going down the mountain to just see her again.

Not because he missed her. He was a red blooded man, and she was a smart, caring, beautiful, and sexy woman who unexpectedly was showing up in his dreams. He had awakened with more than one erection. It was nice to know the thing was still alive, but actually getting involved and doing something about it was a step too far. Everything in him recoiled from the thought . . . everything except the part of him that kept thinking about her.

Almost before he realized he'd decided to do anything, he was making a leash for the dog and getting armed and ready to go outside. The puppy needed a good walk, but its hunting instinct was strong and it hadn't been trained; he didn't want it plunging through the woods after game and not knowing what to do when called. So he would begin the pup's training.

"All right, let's go on a walk."

The farther down the mountain he got the more pissed off he was at himself, but as on the night of the red aurora, that didn't seem to matter. It wasn't even dark, and he was going down where people could see him. Finally he just thought, To hell with it, and concentrated on his surroundings. The mountain and the exercise always made him feel better, even if he was having to deal with a young dog who wanted to investigate every new scent it came across.

He made up his mind and was going down the mountain. He might even have to talk to people. The world wouldn't come to an end; he could always retreat to the cabin and not come back down again until he was good and ready.

No one was his responsibility. He had no one to save, no one to worry about. Anything he did or didn't do now was his own choice, without any orders to follow. All of this was his choice, and he could talk to people or not.

Funny how he hadn't realized that before, that every interaction he had was under his control. He'd sat beside Cedes and talked to her because he'd wanted to, not because he'd been trapped and hog-tied. He could talk to her again if the mood took him, or not talk to her if he didn't want to.

He was the one in control. He could talk or not. The realization was freeing.

He avoided the houses down below his, leaving the road and striking through the woods whenever he neared one of them. He didn't know who his nearest neighbors were and didn't feel as if he was missing anything. That might change one day, but not right now.

Even admitting that there might come a day when he got to know his neighbors felt as if he'd turned some mental corner . . . or at least seen that there was a corner to be turned. He wasn't yet ready to go around it.

Unbidden, he remembered the elderly couple who had invited him to dinner. He hadn't wanted to go; dinner with chatty grandparent-types was his idea of a nightmare. Their intentions had been good, and they seemed to be kind, honest people. Talking to them didn't seem so nightmarish to him now, and he wondered how they were getting along since the grid went down. Did they have anyone, family or neighbors, who kept an eye on them? When food began to run short, would they be able to protect what they had?

Shit, did they have anything to protect? Maybe they hadn't done any prep at all, despite the warnings that had been broadcast. Some people just ignored warnings, and sat in their houses with hurricanes or tornadoes bearing down on them, as if they couldn't grasp that they were in danger. The warning about the CME would have been difficult for some people to process, because it was something they couldn't see or hear.

His spatial memory was excellent. When the old couple had told him where they lived, he had marked the location on his mental map of the area. He knew about where they lived—in fact they weren't far from him now—and could probably locate them without too much trouble.

Their welfare wasn't his business, but they'd been kind to him. It wouldn't hurt him to check on them, make sure they were okay.

If his memory served him, he needed to take a left on the next road. And speaking of memory, what the hell was their name? They'd introduced themselves. Carlton? Carson?

Carlisle, that was it. His first name was Jim; that was easy enough to remember. She had a very Southern double name that he just couldn't pull up. He was safe with just calling her Mrs. Carlisle.

The dog was bouncing along, looking at everything as if he was having the time of his life. There were only six houses on the Carlisles' short street. Their house was easy to spot, since Jim drove a 1998 Camry that looked to be on its last gasp. It was parked in the driveway of the second house on the right. Not only that, their name was on the mailbox. Sam contained a growl. The days were long gone when it was safe to put your name on the mailbox. On the other hand, with no social media or internet searches, they were now perfectly safe from identity theft.

He walked up the driveway toward the faded-red Camry. The little house was nice and well kept, one story, traditional redbrick.

He and the puppy went up the two steps and knocked on the front door. No answer, and he didn't hear anyone stirring inside. Maybe they had relatives who had picked them up before the CME hit, and took the old couple home with them. That would have been the perfect solution.

But the house didn't feel empty, and he'd cleared enough houses to have a good sense about things like that. He even reached back and touched the shotgun before he remembered he wasn't clearing the house, he was . . . fuck, he was visiting. How alien was that?

He walked around the house, looking in every window as he sidestepped flowers. He reached the backyard, and his hopes that someone was taking care of the Carlisles died a quick death.

Jim stood over a charcoal grill, intent on the meat cooking there. The wind was blowing away from Sam or he'd have smelled it. The pup sure smelled it now, and he began bouncing up and down in eagerness and the surety that these humans would give him some of the good-smelling meat. Double-name sat in a lounge chair just a few feet away, and she was the one who spotted him first.

He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd reacted with alarm; any woman in her right mind would be alarmed by the sudden appearance of an armed man, one she knew only slightly, in her backyard. Apparently the double-name woman was not in her right mind. "My goodness!" she said as she stood and headed Sam's way. "What a nice surprise! I wasn't expecting visitors. We'll have supper ready in a little while and we'd love to have you join us. We don't see many people these days. And we're eating awfully early to call this supper, but without electricity we go to bed as soon as it gets dark so it all works out. How have you been? What a sweet-looking dog!"

"I'm . . . good." He reminded himself that this conversation was his choice. Being here was his choice. "I was just passing by, thought I'd check on you."

Jim smiled and nodded, but he didn't leave his station at the grill. "A neighbor brought us some deer," he said. "We ran out of meat a week or so ago. I'm doing the cooking, and a couple of other neighbors will be by shortly. We eat together a lot of times. Burt is bringing some of his last tomatoes, and Carole said she'd bring some baked beans."

They should save the beans for winter was Sam's first thought, but it was too late for that advice. "Thanks, but I have somewhere else to be. I'm checking on a few other people."

Mrs. Carlisle beamed at him as if he was the biggest, finest Boy Scout on earth. Jim said, "I didn't hear your car. Things have been so quiet around here, I thought I'd hear anyone heading our way."

"The pup and I hiked down."

They both stared at him for a moment, then Mrs. Carlisle said, "You walked down Cove Mountain?"

"Yes, ma'am." He'd walked a lot farther than that before, and in rougher conditions.

"Oh, call me Mary Jo! The mountain is so steep, I can't imagine going up and down it on foot."

Mary Jo. That was it. He committed her name to memory. "Do y'all have everything you need to get by for a while?" he asked, taking a step away. He hoped to make his escape before the rest of the neighborhood showed up.

Mary Jo shrugged. "Oh, I imagine we'll be fine. We have a few canned goods put back, and plenty of peanut butter to put on some apple slices. We didn't go to the meeting at the school right after the power went out, but Burt did, and he keeps us up to date on what's going on. Roz Washington is in charge of organizing things, but I don't think this will go on much longer, do you? People always blow things like this out of proportion, they see disaster in everything."

Jim frowned and cleared his throat. "The power better come back on pretty soon. Mary Jo is going to run out of her prescription pills in a few weeks. We'll need to get a ride into town to get refills. My old car's already out of gas. I had close to a full tank, but Burt and I siphoned it to use in his generator, to keep it running a while longer. I thought the service stations would reopen, but so far they haven't."

Oh hell. They were a disaster waiting to happen. "I hate to tell you, but this is going to last for months." They both looked dismayed, but they needed to be dismayed; maybe that would wake up what little survival instinct they seemed to have. This wasn't a damn picnic, and before long their little neighborly cookout was going to look like a damned feast. In spite of himself, he turned to look down at short, plump Mary Jo. Maybe it was his imagination, but she didn't look as plump as she had when she'd invited him to dinner several months ago. "What meds do you take?"

"Oh, just my blood pressure and heart pills."

He scrubbed his hand over his face. He didn't know much about medications, other than to pop an Ambien when he needed some sleep before a mission, or inject morphine in a wounded brother to ease the pain. For years he had slept on the military's schedule, which was nothing like a normal circadian rhythm. Blood pressure and "heart pills" weren't in his wheelhouse, and there was no way he could research them.

"You have to conserve them," he said firmly. "Cut them in half, if they're tablets, and take them only every other day or even more spread out than that. Make them last as long as you can. Same with food, same with everything." God, some medications weren't made to be halved, but desperate times, desperate measures.

Her eyes got wide, and he saw some dawning of comprehension that they needed to assume the worst. She slowly nodded. "I understand. There are some people here in the valley who know about herbs and things, I can probably handle my blood pressure that way."

"Good idea," he said. "I'll check back on you all when I can. You folks take care. C'mon, dog." He and the pup started back the way they'd come, though the dog was reluctant to leave the smell of cooking meat. Thank God he didn't run into any of the neighbors as they walked away from the Carlisles' house.

He and the dog reached the highway and made their way to Cedes's neighborhood. There were more people walking the highway than he'd expected, and he was taken aback when several people waved and called out hellos. He didn't recognize them, so how the hell did they think they knew him? Then again, for the past few years he'd made a practice of not looking directly at people so they wouldn't try to talk to him, but that didn't mean they hadn't been looking him over. It was something of a shock, scraping uncomfortably on his nerves, to realize that a lot of people knew him by sight.

He returned the waves, but kept walking. God, save him from friendly people. What the hell was wrong with them?

When he reached Cedes's side road he realized he'd assumed she'd be at her own house, but in reality she could be anywhere. The two most likely choices, though, were her house and her aunt's house. He passed the blue two-story she'd said belonged to her aunt but didn't stop, because he didn't want to deal with any extra people; he'd had enough for the day, about all he could stand. If she wasn't at her house, he'd go back to the mountain.

But she was there; he saw her sitting on the screened porch. When she spotted him, she laid down the book she was reading and got up. The pup barked in greeting and tried to bound forward, to be thwarted by his grip on the leash.

Walking across her yard, though, didn't fill him with dread. Somehow talking to and being with her was different, as if the night they'd watched the aurora together had gotten into an acquaintanceship. Maybe seeing the outline of her breasts had something to do with it, he thought with a tinge of amusement. Amusement. It had been a long time since he'd been amused by anything, much less himself.

"You have a dog!" she said as she opened the screen door, smiling down at the puppy.

A quick glance told him she was wearing a bra, which was both a relief and a disappointment. At least he wouldn't have to fight to keep his mind on the conversation, but damn, he missed the view. "He showed up at my cabin; he'd either gotten lost or been abandoned."

She opened the door wider. "Come on in, and bring him in, too. I'll get him some water. Do you want some tea?" She gestured to the half-full glass sitting beside her open book. "I have some fresh sun tea."

"Thanks. I'll keep him here on the porch, though. I'm not sure of his manners in a strange place." Plus going inside her house was something he was reluctant to do, though he didn't know why.

"I'll be right back."

He watched as she went inside, and yeah, he noticed the way her jean like leggings cupped her amazing ass. Her dark hair was now braided and in a ponytail, and she was wearing a purple T-shirt. No shoes. He'd never seen her dressed to attract attention; for the most part, she seemed to be content to be under the radar.

She came back out with a glass of tea in one hand and a bowl of water in the other. He took the glass and she set the bowl down on the porch for the dog, who began lapping as thirstily as if he hadn't had plenty to drink from the creek just an hour before. He released the leash and the dog began sniffing around, dragging the rope behind him.

"Have a seat." She gestured to the porch chair beside hers, separated by the small table on which she'd set her book and tea. She took her own seat and pulled her feet up into the chair, curling to the side toward him. "What brings you down today?"

He couldn't say exactly, but used the opening to ask, "Do you know the Carlisles, just off Jones Cove? Jim and Mary Jo. Old couple."

"I do, though not well. Jim stopped at my store for gas every Saturday." She smiled. "About half the time he didn't need much, but he always topped off the tank anyway."

"They didn't make any preparations for the power to be out this long. They're low on food, though the neighbors are helping. Mary Jo takes blood pressure and heart medications, and is running low on both." With amazement, he heard the words coming out of his own mouth. He sounded like someone who was involved. "Do you know anyone in the area who knows about medicines?" Mary Jo had said she knew some herbalists, but he figured having backup wasn't a bad idea.

"I do. I'll get in touch with them, have them talk to Mary Jo. We have a flowchart set up with people who volunteered to help, what they can do. I wish we had a pharmacist, Mike's our only doctor but he isn't a GP; he is a surgeon, but so far we've been able to get by."

He took a gulp of the tea, and drained most of the glass and set it down, and then looked for the dog. It was nosing around a potted plant and he said, "Here, dog," to call it away before it began eating the leaves. The pup trotted over to him and he rewarded it with a scratch behind the ears.

"He's well behaved," she said, leaning forward to stroke the dog's head.

"Evidently you didn't notice him about to eat your plant."

She smiled, and something in him warmed, not just at her smile but knowing he'd put it there.

"I'm glad you stopped by. I've been thinking about the gasoline in my storage tanks at the store."

That got his attention quickly. His head snapped around. "You have gasoline?" Right now gasoline was worth more than gold.

"I turned off the pumps the day you told me what was going to happen."

"Smart thinking. Does anyone else know?"

"Roz, for certain. I don't know if she's told anyone."

"Ask her. Know for sure what you're dealing with. If she hasn't told anyone else, don't. People will kill for gasoline right now, and the situation will get worse."

She looked uncertain, and he wished she was more street savvy. "People here won't—"

"Some of them will. Gasoline is money, and you have drug addicts here the same as everywhere else. Food doesn't matter to them as much as getting their next dose, nothing does. Are your tanks locked?"

"Yes, of course."

"Eventually gangs and looters will start working their way here. Hell, if the population in the northern half of the country has any sense, they'll be walking south right now. Our town isn't on an interstate but some people will come through this area. Start hiding what you have or you'll lose it."

She slowly nodded, her gaze turning inward as she processed the realization that she wasn't as secure as she'd thought.

"The gas is a problem. Ethanol gas is good for about three months, so you either use it or lose it. Pure gasoline is stable much longer, but—"

"I have a pure gasoline tank," she said. "Not a big one, but I keep it because people like pure gas for their lawn mowers and such. It's on the left side of the station, with a separate pump."

He'd seen the small pump, and assumed it was for kerosene. That was a resource he hadn't expected, and it was available because she'd had the foresight to turn off her pumps. A couple of other stations in the valley had been pumped dry, with the owners making as much money as they could while they could. Both views had merit.

"Do you have any fuel stabilizer in your store?"

"Some. Not much."

"Okay." He thought for a minute. "It's a balancing act. I won't tell you to hoard the gasoline, because it'll go bad. But if you let people have access to it now, a good portion of them will use their generators right now, instead of waiting for colder weather. I think you should wait another month before you sell it, or barter with it. The weather will be colder, and they can save firewood by using the generators. Use the stabilizer when you sell the ethanol blend, but keep all of the pure stuff for yourself."

"That's selfish." She sighed. "And pragmatic. It isn't just me, I have Roz and Bree to think about." Her smile this time was crooked. "This survival-of-the-fittest stuff is new to me."

It never had been for him, but Cedes was made of much kinder stuff. He doubted she'd ever been shot at; that made a difference.

"Anyway, I wanted to ask if you knew of a way to pump the gas out of the tanks, without electricity? I intended to check online before . . . well, before . . . but I got busy and never did."

"A suction pump system will do, like siphoning gas from a car tank. Let me know when you're ready to let people have the gas, and I'll get something rigged up."

"Thanks. I figured you'd know."

She'd had confidence in him, even though she knew nothing about him, his background, his experience. Just like that, he absorbed a hard punch to the chest, because his squad members had had confidence in him, followed his lead, and looked to him to know what to do. For the most part he'd carried out his missions and got his guys back alive, but his unit had absorbed casualties and fatalities like every other unit. The deaths added up, and one day the weights of those deaths had been too heavy for him to carry. All of it had crashed and burned for him, the dumb-ass orders, the incompetence of people in command, the cost paid by his men and others like them.

He wanted to leave. Like the night they'd sat on the steps, he'd suddenly crossed a mental line and needed to get away from everyone, be alone for a while—like a month or so. It was all he could do to remain seated, and only the fact that this was Cedes kept him there. Being here was his choice. Talking to her was his choice. He made himself finish the small amount of tea left in his glass, because he didn't want to offend her by being too abrupt.

"I should get back. I just wanted to make certain someone checked on the Carlisles," he said as he stood.

She stood, too. "I'll take care of it. Thanks for letting me know." She took a step toward the screen door and the movement brought her close to him, so close her arm brushed against his abdomen. She faltered and stopped, as if the contact had rocked her. He looked down at her, noting that the top of her head didn't reach his neck, that her tiny hand shook a little as she reached out to open the door. His hands were almost twice as big as hers.

She looked up at him, and her brown eyes were wide, both soft and a little alarmed, as if she sensed what he was thinking. His hungry eyes on her lips wanting to taste her to see if she tasted as sweet as her actions were. He couldn't test his self-control knowing he wouldn't want to stop at kissing, and it was much too soon for that.

He knew that he'd need to be careful with her, that he wanted her. He could feel his expression changing, becoming hard and intent, and knew he couldn't hide it from her. Kryptonite...

"I need to get away from you," he said softly. "Right now."

She didn't protest as he took the dog's leash in his grip and went down the steps. He didn't look back.