"Hmm," Eden murmured, unwilling to leave the comforting warmth of Jackson's chest. She hadn't thought a person could actually doze off while on their feet, but as close as she was to doing just that, she figured she'd better alter her opinion.

"We need to talk."

Uh-oh. She didn't like the sound of that one bit. With supreme effort, she eased out of his embrace and straightened, teetering slightly in her heels.

"No. We don't," she said, then turned and walked unsteadily into the kitchen.

"Eden, wait."

As she washed her hands at the sink, she sensed his presence behind her. Dammit, she did not want to hear his recriminations or regrets. Remorse had no place whatsoever in the satisfied afterglow of one of the most gratifying orgasms of the decade.

"We can't do this," he said. "I can't. Not like this."

Unexpected anger slammed into her so hard she nearly stumbled. "It's a bit late for that, don't you think?" she snapped at him. She turned off the faucet and yanked a paper towel from the holder to dry her hands.

What the hell had made her think he'd be different from the others? He was, after all, a man. Apparently the entire gender had been infected with the same testosterone poisoning. Screw her and skip out the door, that was their motto. Christ, she must have detailed instructions tattooed on her ass -- remove dick and proceed to the nearest exit.

Okay, so maybe she and Jackson hadn't physically gone all the way, but if he was ready to cut and run before they even made it into the bedroom, then something was definitely wrong with her. A sad little fact of her life, but she'd find a way to deal with it. What she absolutely could not handle was her friend and partner lying to her.

She tossed the paper towel on the counter and removed the loaf of bread from the oven before facing him. Folding her arms, she propped her backside against the edge of the sink, then dipped her gaze pointedly to his crotch. The outline of his erection remained impressively evident beneath his trousers. "Looks to me like you wouldn't have any problems finishing what you started."

He scrubbed his hand over his face. "Don't blow this out of proportion, Eden. I nev-"

"That's not all I won't be blowing," she said sarcastically. She clung to her anger. If she didn't, the abject disappointment that even Jackson could do this to her would take over and she might actually cry.

Like hell.

No man was worth her tears.

He stalked across the kitchen to loom over her before her heart took its next beat. "This isn't about not wanting you, dammit," he fired at her, the frustration in his voice equaled the heated emotion lining his sea green eyes. "It's about me-"

"Oh, please, Jackson. Can't you be more inventive than that?" She forced a caustic laugh around the lump the size of a bullet-proof vest lodged in her throat. "If you're going to lie to spare my feelings, at least have the decency not to feed me a line that predates the Ice Age."

"Would you stop interrupting and let me finish?"

"I'm listening, but make it good. Just remember, I've heard them all. Go ahead," she said, gesturing with her arm. "Give it your best shot. Dazzle me with your creativity."

He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. No doubt a stall tactic to borrow time as he searched for the words to blow her off in a way he hoped wouldn't hurt her.

Too late, pal.

"There's nothing I want more than to make love to you, Eden," he said in a calmer tone.

"But?" In her experience, there was always a but somewhere.

"I'm resigning as your sexuality instructor. If you're willing to learn how to give me pleasure, then I have no problem showing you everything you want to know. But only as your lover."

Her eyebrows winged upward. "As my what?"

His lips tugged into a frown. "I think you heard me."

Oh, she definitely heard him. She just couldn't believe what she was hearing. So much for offering a no-strings, casual, anything goes, sexual liaison. No guy in his right mind would prefer to complicate obligation-free sex with...what? A commitment?

She had a feeling she was looking at just that guy.

"You sure about that? Do you even know what the term implies?" She certainly did, and no matter how she viewed the situation, the results made her queasy. In the end, the kind of involvement he was proposing would translate into the demise of their friendship and her having to break in a new partner, or worse, completely transfer to another squad.

"Mutual exclusivity, for one."

She stared at him, utterly stunned. Jackson Hunt, in a mutually exclusive, committed relationship? They'd laugh her off the force if she carried such a wild, unbelieveable tale into the ladies' locker room. She'd known him to have two, sometimes even three, women dangling from the proverbial string at a time. Hell, the man practically made a career out of avoiding commitment-minded females.

Understanding dawned in one big Ah-ha! moment. The old caveman, stand on mountain, pound manly chest, double-standard bullshit.

"Look," she said, "if you're worried about me sleeping around while we're doing our thing, then don't. I'm not exactly planning on rolling out of bed with you in the morning to go try out some new technique on the first potential stud that bleeps on my radar screen."

"I didn't think you would. You're not the type."

He really did know her too well. There wasn't a chance in hell she'd ever sleep with another guy while she and Jackson were involved. Not that she'd ever dreamed he'd screw up a good thing by demanding mutual exclusivity, but promiscuity in general simply wasn't her style. Relationships were complicated enough without trying to simultaneously juggle two or three at the same time, as he well knew.

So if he wasn't concerned with her bed hopping, then what was he trying to say? Offer her reassurance that for as long as they were involved he'd only put his boots under her bed? She wanted more of what he'd given her earlier, not reassurances she hadn't asked for and didn't need.

She rubbed at her throbbing temples with the tips of her fingers. "You're confusing the hell out of me. Why are you doing this now?"

He dragged his fingers through his hair. "I don't like the thought of you using me to prep for some other guy."

She blew out a frustrated stream of breath. Why did she suddenly feel as if she were the equivalent of a fire hydrant and he a big, furry German shepherd attempting to mark his territory? "For some unknown guy," she corrected him. "I haven't exactly zeroed in on my next intended victim."

"I don't see a difference," he said stubbornly.

No, he probably didn't. He was, after all, a mere chest-thumping man. "Well, I don't see a difference, either. People do move on when relationships end, Jackson. Or did you forget that part of it?"

He folded his arms over his chest and gave her an impatient look. "You don't know that."

"Yes I do," she argued, "because that's the way it works. And when the relationship is over, it's rarely pretty. Besides, we'd practically be flushing a great friendship and a solid partnership down the toilet, too."

"It doesn't have to be that way," he said, and started buttoning his shirt.

"I'm offering you sex, a lot of sex. Adventurous sex. No strings, no complications, and you seriously want a commitment? Have you lost your mind?"

"Maybe I have," he said, looking perfectly sane. His careless shrug belied the hardness of his stare. "The decision is yours, Eden. Take it, and we'll finish what we started. Leave it, and I'll see you when our shift starts Monday night."

"You're issuing an ultimatum?" she asked incredulously. "Your way or a cold shower?"

A positively arrogant smile curved his mouth. "You bet your sweet little ass I am." He glanced pointedly at his wrist watch. "Clock's ticking, babe. What's it gonna be?"