The Valentine Two-Step. RaeAnne Thayne

cleared his throat. The action made him realize how thirsty he was. Parched, like he’d been riding through a desert for days.

      The kitchen had water. Plenty of it, cold, pure mountain spring water right out of the tap. He could walk right in there and pour himself a big glass and nobody could do a damn thing about it.

      Except then he’d have to face her.

      He heaved a sigh and turned to the computer until the next wisp of laughter curled under the door.

      That was it. He was going in. He shoved back from the desk and headed toward the door. He lived here, dammit. A man ought to be able to walk into his own kitchen for a drink if it suited him. She had no right to come into his house and tangle him up like this.

      No right whatsoever.