And as Leo sat on the edge of the pool, dangling his legs into the cool water, watching this woman glide toward him with the hunger of someone who hadn’t been touched in months, he realized he’d never make that recording studio money delivering pizzas the usual way.

“The water’s perfect,” she said, voice low and teasing. “And your other deliveries? They can wait, can’t they? It’s only pepperoni.”

“The pizza’s getting cold,” he said, a stupid, breathless excuse.