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Henry woke to the sound of a motorcycle rumbling outside and squinted at the digital clock, grumbling, "Two a.m. on a Tuesday. Good grief!"

He rolled over pulling a blanket with him when he heard knocking at the door. For a moment he hesitated, but urgency propelled him from his bed. It was an uneasiness he hadn't felt in months. Henry fought to surface from his dream-laden sleep, attempting to recall when he'd last felt this way.

"Not since I was seeing," He cut short his thoughts and opened the door to find Kit leaning against the doorframe wearing a familiar look; one that seemed to say, "What took so long, asshole?"

He smiled despite himself. She was the only woman he couldn't read but, even entirely disheveled, with her hellfire hair windblown and tangled, she was a vision.

Kit incited feelings in him that were utterly endearing, if somewhat disquieting. She was both woman and child; part fully grown, tougher than nails, strong in her own right, temptress and vixen, yet part playful, silly, wide-eyed innocent with a bit of wild child.

Henry studied her wondering whether to fold her into his protective arms or pin her to the wall and ravage her. He could never quite discern what was veiled with practiced stealth behind her eyes.

When they'd lived together briefly, he surmised that she'd meant to send no obvious message, intentionally leaving him to wonder whether she wished to appear mysteriously alluring or had, perhaps, arranged for his early demise. Her turbulent sea-storm eyes, and lips that only turned up slightly at the corners, could mean one of two things, his greatest joy or his worst fear realized.

Kit loved with an intensity that left him gasping in astonishment and, in the space of a breath, she could be the embodiment of tornadic wrath swirling around its entirely too attractive eye.

You may be the death of me, he thought, remembering that she had always been a volatile creature, albeit an enticingly beautiful one. He was certain she had been a mythical Siren in a past life. She had frequently lured him with her charms to leave him in peril with his hopes dashed.

Even entirely disheveled, Kit was stunning with fiery locks framing her angelic face. He had nicknamed her "Hellcat" for the riotous red waves she could never quite tame. Hellcat eventually merged with her given name and then she was his ‘Kitkat'.

Henry shook his head clear, and steeled himself, "Kitkat, What brings you here?"

"I can't believe you remember that nickname," she laughed.

"Of course I do. You never forget a moment of your first love."

Henry froze, certain that her heart had slammed shut the moment he said love. It was a hard and fast rule for her. Kit couldn't handle love.

Ironically, by way of reply, she flew into his arms kissing him hotly, ardently pressing her slight frame to his and raking her nails down his back. Instinct urged him not to question his good fortune, as nearly all reason deserted him, but there had to be more to this picture, more he wasn't equipped to handle at this hour.

Henry struggled to extract himself from a hormonal cocktail, feeling as though he were in the vice-grip of something much stronger than himself. After a heated moment, locked in passionate embrace, he managed a step back and rummaged through his thoughts for a plausible excuse, "Kitkat, this is a very welcome surprise," he informed her, "but I have company tonight," he lied, glancing toward the stairs and holding his breath.

She paused, smiling at the nickname he'd given her, and immediately called his bluff. With one eyebrow cocked and her eyes sparking a

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