A SEAL's Temptation. Tawny Weber

in the rules—that if the sibling never found out and it wasn’t a big deal, then the rule didn’t count.

      Shane was only here for a few days, a week at the most. Despite his family, he clearly had no strong ties to the town. And she’d been without sex for over a year and a half. All of which, she’d decided, qualified her for the loophole.

      But somewhere between her middle of the night fantasies and produce shopping, she’d made a vow. She wasn’t going to wimp out next time she saw Shane O’Brian.

      Excitement danced in her belly as she reached the landing. Was Shane in the apartment? She wondered if he’d slept okay. She could stop in and ask. That was totally nonwimpy.

      Maybe she should offer him some muffins or cookies from downstairs. She suddenly wished for some of Heather’s reputedly sex-inducing passionflower tarts. Or, she glanced at the cloth bag in her arms, at least something more exciting than granola.

      Boring snack or not, checking on him was the neighborly thing to do. The fact that he was the sexiest, most appealing man she’d ever seen in her life had nothing to do with it.

      But he was the sexiest, most appealing man she’d ever seen in her life. He might be quiet, but he was well-spoken with that deep, husky bedroom voice. And even though the idea of hooking up with a male stripper had its drawbacks, she figured it meant he had to have some seriously incredible moves—on and offstage.

      Because she was so ready for hot, wild sex. The kind that came without commitments. The kind that came with multiple screaming orgasms.

      She wanted to experience a wickedly wild affair.

      And she knew exactly who she wanted to experience it with.

      Because not only did he look as if he would be amazing in bed, but Shane O’Brian was the kind of guy she could get seriously hooked on.

      She was halfway to his door when her feet stopped all by themselves and it hit her. She’d been hooked before. And she knew that hooked meant hurt.

      Her eyes lingered on his door for a long moment, but she didn’t step forward to knock. Instead, she turned left and unlocked her own apartment.

      As homes went, the place wasn’t very big. But it was hers.

      She’d painted the walls a dusky blue leaning toward indigo and kept the windows bare. She’d sold most of her furniture when she’d given up her apartment, only keeping the pieces she loved most. Her purple velvet chaise lounge. The brass floor lamp with its dangling crystal shade. Her bedroom set, with its ornate brass headboard and etched armoire. And, of course, her art supplies.