Catalyst

Catalyst by Charlene Teglia

Catalyst, Charlene Teglia ©2005 Cover Art by Patrick Teglia ALL RIGHTS RESERVED No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information and storage retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. 100% of all proceeds from sales of this ebook go to benefit survivors of Hurricane Katrina. To learn about other books by this author, visit http://www.charleneteglia.com

Prologue The Notice to Quit came on white, legal-sized paper in typically official-looking print and intimidating language. Like most legal documents, it gave the distinct impression of being designed intentionally more to confuse than communicate, although the very form communicated a great deal. And very clearly, too. It wasn't completely unexpected. Still, it was something of a shock. Just in case she was jumping to hasty conclusions, Veronica read slowly through the Whereas' and Aforementioneds twice. Then she sat abruptly on a convenient chair near the front porch door before her legs gave out. No, she wasn't jumping to hasty conclusions. Her landlord really meant it this time. It wasn't completely unexpected, now that she thought about it. He'd been furious. Actually, his face had been purple with rage when she'd last seen him, waving his fist and sputtering incoherent expressions punctuated periodically with that cat! "That cat" wound around her ankles in a silent query before jumping up to her lap to examine the page firsthand. "It's not good news, Sebastian," Veronica muttered, absently stroking his permanently rumpled coat. "In fact, I think it's safe to say that disaster is the word we're looking for, here." She wondered if a calamity of this scale rated a hot fudge sundae, or just a handful of chocolate-chip cookies. It was definitely an occasion that demanded some emotional bolstering. Because she and Sebastian were out on their ears. Again. She couldn't even really blame Sebastian this time. She blamed herself, if anything. But then, who could have imagined that their landlord was a raving lunatic? He'd seemed so rational. So normal. So sane and even-tempered. She couldn't have guessed that he'd turn out to be so hysterical. So paranoid. But to claim that her cat was personally responsible for every single thing that that had happened…well, it wasn't the sign of a sound mind, Veronica had to admit. He'd actually wheezed in helpless fury that Sebastian was stalking him. Ridiculous. Okay, so they'd gotten off to a bad start. Sebastian was an acquired taste under the best of circumstances, and that really wasn't an accurate description of the conditions her landlord and her cat had first encountered each other under. Sebastian had been rolling in the dirt, and had come up to see who was visiting out of typical cat curiosity and courtesy. Rubbing against her landlord's immaculate woolen trousers had been a friendly gesture, not the deliberate act of sabotage Ward had taken it as. And Sebastian couldn't have possibly known the man was allergic to cut fur. Even if the cat had somehow known, however, tripping him was plainly accidental. It was just unfortunate that he'd fallen into the prickly shrubbery by the porch. Veronica sighed at the memory and decided that she really should have seen the inevitable end coming there and then. No man liked to look foolish in front of a feminine audience. The male ego was a fragile and uncertain thing, and Ward Greeley's evidently hadn't been sufficiently robust to escape that incident unscathed. Well, one thing seemed certain, anyway; they were moving.

Veronica eyed the form once more and wondered if Ward had had the gall to copy it out of the book of legal forms kept in her library. Sebastian batted at the page and made a chirruping sound of query. Obliging him, Veronica read out loud, "Notice to Quit Premises. We are herein required within thirty days after service of this Notice to quite the premises described above or the undersigned will initiate legal proceedings to recover possession." "I'll give him possessed," she muttered to the cat in a dark aside. He swished his tail in agreement. She read on to Sebastian's wide-eyed fascination, "The undersigned hereby declares a forfeiture of the lease or rental agreement under which you hold the herein described premises, et cetera, et cetera," she finished resignedly. She crumpled the notice in disgust and dropped it to the floor. Sebastian immediately leaped on it, chewing and shredding the paper with an air of unholy glee. Veronica eyed the cat and decided that she could relate to the reaction. She was tempted to take out her frustration by ripping it up herself. Instead, she'd better call a realtor. "What rotten timing," she told the cat with a scowl. "It's May and the summer people are arriving like locusts. If there's a place for rent anywhere, it'll be a miracle." She slumped despondently in the chair. It was true; from spring until fall, New Hampshire's Lakes Region boomed. Finding something empty that wasn't a tar shack and that had indoor plumbing was too much to hope for. Maybe, she mused, the time had come to move on in more ways than one. Maybe it was time to admit that she was about to turn thirty, unmarried and not even dating seriously. Maybe it was time to quit stalling and buy a house. Face the fact that if she wanted to settle down with a white picket fence, she'd have to provide her own because if her prince was coming, he'd evidently lost her address. Which wouldn't be surprising, considering how often she'd moved since she'd acquired Sebastian. If she got started right away, she might even find something within her deadline. Thirty days. Same number as her upcoming birthday. Veronica wondered if the universe was trying to impress her with a lesson in irony, or if she should put it down to coincidence. I'm turning thirty, she thought unhappily. And what do I have to show for it? Homeless. Manless. Well, the homeless part she could do something about. She could buy a house and settle down to spinsterhood. She already had the requisite cat.

Chapter One Veronica hated moving. Sebastian hated it more, and said so. Loudly. She had to admit he did it with flair, leaping to the top of a stack of boxes first so he'd have the advantage of height. He twitched his tail once in annoyance, then swished it rapidly back and forth to punctuate his strident yowl of protest. "I know, I know," she sighed. "But we have to move, remember? Besides, this place was only temporary to begin with." He continued to glare through narrowed eyes that stood out in contrast to the mass of gray tabby fur that managed to look shaggy and unkempt even minutes after brushing. "You'll like the new house," she told the cat in an appeasing voice. "You can play outside, climb trees. Maybe even hunt up a lady friend in the neighborhood." Too late, she remembered that cats were far too dignified to stoop to playing. Well, he was already upset. He'd get over it. She, on the other hand, might not. She had bigger problems to worry about. The coffee maker, cups and filters had been left out for the last load. But somehow her electric grinder had already been packed. Which left her with whole beans, cup, pot; all the ingredients. But no coffee. She seriously considered pounding the beans with the flat sole of her shoe. She hoped the grinder was labeled on the box it had gotten stuck in. Otherwise, she'd have to go through the whole array of kitchen boxes in search of it. Possibly even beyond if that didn't unearth it. It might be days before she had another decent cup of coffee. The mere thought brought tears to her hazel eyes. It wasn't just the lack of coffee, the enforced move or even Sebastian's bad mood. It was the hard fact that she was now thirty, unmarried and likely to remain that way; buying a house had seemed like an irrevocable last step. She was lonely, dammit. And a lonely woman deserved at least the comfort a cup of fresh-ground coffee could provide. It didn't seem like much to ask. After all, she wasn't asking for a knight in shining armor to serve it to her. She wasn't even asking for a kindly waiter. Maybe she should be asking for more, considering how settling for not asking much was turning out. So much for spinsterhood. Veronica sat down on the shiny linoleum floor, a slightly padded figure in blue jeans and a man's white buttoned-down Oxford shirt. The padding bore testimony to the passage of time and a fondness for comfort food, and the man’s shirt was an attempt to hide the evidence. Leather deck shoes and straight dark hair pulled back in a ponytail completed the picture of Woman Forlorn. Was this the glamorous carefree single life she had to look forward to? Veronica pondered the question, and it led to other thoughts on singleness versus marriage in general. Which led to the memory of a book of advice to single women that encouraged the reader to make a list of all the men in her life, including Fuller Brush salesmen.

The idea was to prove that the world was full of men. Veronica wasn't sure there was a great deal of comfort in the thought of a world full of door-todoor salesmen and lonely women willing to consider them prospective dates. This optimistic tome hailed from a time before the reported man shortage which stated that, statistically, an unmarried woman her age had an even shot at matrimony or winning the state lottery. Picking up stray bits of information like those statistics tended to be an occupational hazard for a librarian. Veronica reflected soberly that the job had its downside. She really could have done without reading those dismal odds. At least the single women's guide, written by the editor of a leading national women's magazine, was cheerfully upbeat, even if it was inaccurate and outdated. Veronica preferred it to the reality of the present. But those dire statistics, combined with everything else, had added their weight to prompt her to quit stalling and living in rented apartments instead of buying a house, even though Sebastian and renting mixed about like oil and water. Sebastian and almost anything mixed about like oil and water, come to think of it. Another reason to face the fact that she was single and likely to remain that way. On the bright side, spinsterhood meant she could maybe quit worrying about the increasing roundness of her hips and never have to find out if the rumors about cellulite had any basis in reality. Well, spinsterhood and staying out of brightly lit dressing rooms in clothing stores. Veronica sniffed inelegantly and rubbed at her eyes with the back of one hand. So she didn't have coffee. So she didn't have a man. She did have a good job she enjoyed and a lovely restored Victorian in historic Franklin that she'd managed to find and acquire before she ran out of time and got ran out of her present lodgings by the righteous wrath of Ward Greeley. And she had Sebastian. True, he had some rough edges, but he was devoted. Also, her new house had an antique claw-footed tub that was big enough for her to lay down in; now, that was the first cheerful thought of the day. Somewhat cheered by the very idea of a tubful of soothing bubbles, Veronica got to her feet and filled the last box, grimacing as she packed away her coffee beans and unused cup. "Come on, Sebastian," she said. "Let's get it over with." If she was honest with herself, she had to admit that it was unreasonable as well as unrealistic to entertain second thoughts at this late date. She was doing the right thing for herself in joining the ranks of homeowners. And even though it felt like a major change, nothing was really any different. She was just admitting her confirmed single status. Besides, she argued silently, how did she know that closing this chapter in her life wouldn't open the door to new opportunities? With that pleasant thought, she carried boxes outside, filled the trunk of her sedate two-door coupe and then opened the passenger door for the cat. He leaped in and curled up on the seat, but not before giving her a final reproach-filled look. As if moving was her idea. "You should have been nicer to Ward," she told him, unmoved. Veronica closed the door after him, slammed her trunk lid shut and returned to glance through the apartment for the last time. The movers had left earlier that morning with the furniture and most of the cartons. Her footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors as she checked the rooms for forgotten items. The place

sounded and felt empty. And nothing but empty space met her searching gaze. Well, so, that was done. She left the key for the cleaners, closed up and headed back to her car. Once behind the wheel, she informed her passenger, "This is it. No more moves. We're homeowners now." Sebastian looked unimpressed. He was displeased with any interruption in his routine and his baleful yellow gaze seemed to say that he found her management of household affairs severely lacking. But she might be forgiven if she picked up some gourmet cat food. Veronica made a mental note to do just that on the way. Right after she picked up a good jolt of caffeine. Humming in anticipation, she started the car and headed off to her new life. The old one had needed changing, anyway.

***** Scott was dreaming. Day-dreaming, actually. Swaying lazily in his rope hammock, lulled equally by the July sunshine and the distant drone of honey bees, he only dimly registered the sound of the moving van next door pulling away. But once the sound did make its way to the forefront of conscious thought, it led to idle speculation about his new neighbors. Might be a married couple with young children. That disturbed his reverie. A frown tugged sensual lips downward as a mental picture continued to unfold that consisted of married people and children that weren’t his springing up all around him like mushrooms upholding the social order and pointing out his failure to participate. The day-dream was getting out of hand and rapidly becoming a nightmare. No, the new neighbor was probably another urban refugee. For whatever incomprehensible reason, Yuppie drop-outs seemed to be flocking to New Hampshire in droves. Maybe they'd heard the real estate market was down. Scott toyed with this new line of thinking. An urban transplant, sure. A single guy. A poker player, maybe. Hope and interest sparked equally at that pleasant notion. He could use a new poker buddy. Maybe the new guy would be a banker type. A suit. The type who'd suddenly gotten the idea that moving to the country and working with his hands would cure city angst. The type who'd lust over Scott's power tools. Another nightmare. He gave up on letting his imagination run wild and harshly reined it in before he dreamed up something worse. Needing a distraction, he headed inside, grabbed a beer and flipped on the big-screen TV before sprawling on his oversized couch to begin the ritual channel surf. Fifteen minutes later, he abandoned that, too, and shut it off in disgust. All those channels, and nothing worth watching. Or maybe it was him, Scott admitted silently. This restless discontent had been steadily building since his last bachelor buddy had turned traitor and joined the ranks of the wedded. A jeering stream of wedding invitations had arrived over the years, one by one, as other friends took the plunge. Now the same friends were sending

birth announcements with depressing regularity. As if he couldn't see for himself that the entire world was teaming up like Noah's Ark, two by two. The whole world except for himself. And now even Tony, the last of his single friends, had paired off and abandoned him to the life of a crusty bachelor. What kind of a poker game could he have by himself? Scott wondered in wounded silence. "By himself" already described everything else he did. He'd built his house, by himself. He'd built his carpentry business, ditto. He worked, cooked, ate and slept by himself. And he was heartily sick of it. Sighing, Scott ran a hand through close-cropped blond hair and wandered back to his hammock. By himself. Not for lack of effort, however. There was a certain irony in his present situation. With his brown eyes, broad shoulders and perennial tan, he drew his share of feminine attention. Unfortunately, the attention tended to be the wrong kind. Since he looked like a roving lady-killer, women didn't take him seriously. He seemed to interest only women interested in a good time. When he'd been younger, he hadn't minded enjoying a little temporary fun with Ms. Right Now while waiting for his Ms. Right to come along. The fact that he'd entered his thirties had changed his perspective, however. It had brought home to him the realization that he would one day grow old and find himself rocking on the front porch all by himself, and he wouldn't even have the comfort of grandchildren if he couldn't find the right woman and persuade her to pair up with him permanently. Seeing his last single friend get married had been the final straw. He'd decided the time had come to find his Ms. Right, settle down and start raising babies. He’d always imagined that finding the right person and settling down together sort of worked itself out without any effort. Now that he’d gotten fed up with waiting for true love and happily ever after to just fall into his lap, he was finding out that making an effort didn’t guarantee results, either. Whoever his Ms. Right was, she definitely wasn't any of the disastrous dates he'd endured in the past weeks. Maybe, Scott reflected, taking names and numbers from his mother had been a bad idea. He had no idea how she came up with them, but since she was always urging him to date this or that woman, he'd thought he could use her well-meant interference to work for him instead of against him. So much for thinking. Love and logic apparently didn't go together. At the thought of his mother, Scott abruptly remembered that she could call any time to grill him about his love-life. She'd grown even more persistent with his unwitting encouragement. No doubt she'd want a report on his latest date. He shuddered at the very thought and was glad for the peaceful retreat his hammock offered conveniently out of ear-shot. That date had been discouraging enough to make him question the wisdom of continuing his present course. "Remember Dave and Janine's girl, Debra?" His mother had prodded. "She's single again. Here's her number. Call her." He'd called. Debra had turned out to be the ambitious type who didn't think much of a man who found it

fulfilling to work with his hands. She was not the type to enjoy lazing away a summer evening in a hammock with him. Vacations on Martha’s Vineyard would be more her style. And she probably wouldn’t want kids on the grounds that it would ruin her hips and give her stretch marks. As if all a man cared about was a woman with a perfect body. He couldn't even imagine marriage to her. The thought of the merely physical fling she'd wanted to have had left him beyond cold. Scott finished his beer in morose silence and settled back to listen to the quiet hum of an early summer afternoon. He had that much, at least, he consoled himself. The sun warmed his roses and a light breeze carried the scent his way. It made for a pleasant place to drift and dream of a future with more companionship than a Saturday night poker game provided. More than a brittle sophisticate like Debra could offer. Much, much more. Remembering how Tony's bride had looked at him brought home just how much Scott wanted what everyone else seemed to be finding. He wanted a woman to look at him that same way, as if he was the only man in the world. He wanted love. Love of the kind legends were made of. Love that could change the course of history. Love that could inspire the soul of a poet. Love that ran deep and lasted a lifetime. Eventually, the gathering twilight told him he'd stayed safely out of range of the telephone long enough to avoid his mother's phone call. With a stretch, he rolled out of the hammock and gained his feet. And stopped dead. There, in the next house, as if conjured by his romantic yearnings, stood a lushly feminine silhouette backlit in the window. She wore a man's shirt. And nothing else. Scott stood transfixed and utterly unable to look away as the vision pulled the band restraining her hair free. It spilled over her shoulders as she shook it loose with sensual grace. She turned sideways, and he caught his breath as the light struck the white cotton and turned it transparent, outlining an uptilted breast. When she reached for something out of sight the shirt's hem rode teasingly higher, revealing a deliciously round derriere and a hint of soft feminine curls before the cotton hem skimmed back down over bare thighs in an erotic caress. He'd never envied a garment. He'd never realized he could ache with all his soul to trade places with the inanimate. He'd never thought he'd stoop to spying through open windows, either. But it hadn't been planned, and once he'd glimpsed her, he was spellbound, no more able to stop looking then he could stop breathing. When the light winked out and left him staring at a blank, darkened pane he felt the loss like a physical blow. For a long moment he stayed there, rooted to the spot. Finally, he managed to tear his eyes away from the window and swallowed. Hard. So. That was the new neighbor. Maybe she'd need a cup of sugar. Or something. Scott was all too aware of what he needed. Her. And most of all, he needed to believe that whoever's shirt she'd been wearing wasn't up there with her, out of sight, that somebody else hadn’t beaten him to the right to fill his hands with her intensely feminine rounded softness. For the first time it occurred to him that his Ms. Right might not have waited for him, might have settled for Mr. Good Enough. That he might have drifted a little too long, content

with things as they were.

***** She stood in his doorway, one hand on each side of the frame, full hips tilted suggestively, one knee slightly bent. The ageless pose made the most of what she had more than enough of, in Scott's opinion. So much so that he didn't even wonder why or how she came to be there. She was there, and with the thin fabric of that shirt molding every curve lovingly, he wasn't going to ask any questions. "I hope you don't mind," she murmured. "The door was open, and I don't like to sleep alone." She began slowly unbuttoning the shirt. "I don't mind," Scott hastened to assure her. The white cotton formed a pool around her bare feet. He lost the ability to speak. She held her pose for a long minute while he looked over the territory that her brief covering had hinted at more than hidden before his gaze returned to her face, partially hidden in shadow. She smiled, promising impossible things with her lush lips. Then she walked towards him with slow, deliberate, seductively measured steps, holding his eyes with hers, a silent declaration of womanly confidence in her sexual power. When she reached him, she settled one knee on the mattress and lowered those lips to meet his. Her bold kiss rocked his senses. He heard bells. Bells… The ringing came again with loud insistence. Scott frowned, wanting to shut out the unwelcome intrusion of reality. But already the dream was slipping away, taking his dreamwoman with it. Damn. He blinked slowly awake and separated himself from the dream with some reluctance. He'd heard bells. No, the bell. His doorbell, he realized. He made the logical inference with ponderous speed; there was somebody at his door. The next step formed in his sleep-fogged, desire-drugged brain with something less than crystalline clarity; he should go find out who. And then they'd better have a good reason for interrupting what had to be the greatest dream he'd ever had. Hell, the greatest dream anybody'd ever had. He'd be willing to bet on it. Disentangling himself from the dark green percale sheet with a muttered curse, he half-hopped, half-fell from the bed, pulled on the discarded denim cutoffs that lay beside the four-poster but didn't bother to button them, and raked a hand through unruly blond hair on his way to the door.

Chapter Two Veronica shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then back. After a brief interval, she rang the bell again. But she felt like an idiot. She was standing on her neighbor's doorstep at the earliest decent hour because she hadn't been able to find her grinder and she didn't have a hammer to smash the coffee beans with. She was truly desperate. Just as she was about to give up, footsteps sounded inside the house. Then the door opened and a half-naked man was looming over her, saying in a deep voice like an invitation to sin, "Yes?" Yes, she wanted to answer. Yes. God, yes. Sternly, she pushed the errant impulse down and reminded herself that he wasn't asking her if she wanted to accompany him back to the bed he'd obviously just left. It was an innocent question, and she had better concentrate on her purpose, since she was obviously in worse shape from caffeine withdrawal than she'd suspected. Get a grip, she told herself. Right. From somewhere she summoned up a hopefully normal smile and tried not to sound like a lunatic on a rampage as she started talking. "Hi. I'm Veronica Jones. I just moved in next door, and I was wondering if you have a coffee grinder I could use since mine got buried somewhere. Or maybe you could lend me some preground coffee?" The man just stared at her. Veronica shifted again in discomfort under his silent stare. Why was he staring at her like that? Did he think she was a nutcase? Was he deciding whether or not to call the cops? Or did he think she was what she looked like, a spinster getting a head start on middle aged spread? Did he think she looked so desperate for a man in general or for him in particular that she'd make up any kind of excuse to come over and throw herself at him? Come to think of it, he looked like that kind of thing might happen to him a lot. If there ever was a man made for women to make fools of themselves over, he was it. Embarrassed, Veronica muttered an incoherent apology for disturbing him and tried to beat a hasty retreat before she lost all dignity. A useful tactic she'd learned from Sebastian. The warm restraining hand closing on her arm surprised her. So did the electric awareness that fanned out from the point of contact. It was so distracting that she almost missed what he was saying. And then she had to get past the mesmerizing quality of that deep, sexy bedroom voice before she could even hope to absorb the meaning of what he was saying. However, even in her confused state the word "coffee" registered with blessed clarity. "Sorry, I'm no use to anyone before I've had my morning coffee," he was saying. The midnight velvet voice distracted her again, but she picked up the conversational thread with "Come in and wait while it brews?" He was offering to make her coffee. She was saved! She gave a long, grateful look to her savior. He was definitely good to look at, too. Really good. And in those shorts, he should come with some kind of a warning label. She let her eyes travel leisurely from his feet up muscled legs and over the dangerously snug

cutoffs that he'd zipped but left unbuttoned like an open invitation. Her gaze lingered there, then moved to the washboard stomach, broad chest sprinkled with golden curls to endless shoulders and finally, to the only face that could possibly top a body like that. It was too much to believe. She felt an insane urge to check behind the rhododendrons to see if Rod Serling was lurking there. It was definitely like something out of the twilight zone. Was this man for real? He was way beyond the kindly waiter of yesterday's maudlin speculation. In fact, he had the build of a knight. A very, very sexy one. One that she hoped wasn't too high up on any white horse. For the second time in as many days, Veronica wondered if she'd been a little hasty in deciding not to ask for much. If Sebastian hadn't woken her earlier by sitting on her stomach and loudly announcing that his was empty, she would have sworn she was still dreaming. Scott thought his skin might catch fire if she kept looking at him like that. Surely his cutoffs would, at the very least. Already they felt distinctly too warm. Too confining. Sure was warm for that early in the day, he thought in distraction. And getting warmer fast. She was looking at him like he'd just rescued her from dire peril, and she wanted to reward him in the age-old manner. If brewing some coffee made the woman of his literal dreams look at him that way, he'd volunteer to do it every morning. He felt like he'd been pole-axed. He hoped, sincerely, that he could make coffee without his brain functioning, because it seemed to have stopped the minute he'd opened the door and seen her there in that shirt, and he didn't want to disappoint her by forgetting how the percolator worked. After coffee, his fevered brain suggested, maybe they could discuss her taste in shirts. He could offer to show her his. Maybe she'd want to try one on, which would require first taking the one she was wearing off. Meanwhile, he'd better quit staring before she changed her mind and ran away, taking her lushly padded body with her. He cleared his throat with some difficulty and managed to ask her in and hold the door politely. Veronica thought she just might follow him anywhere he asked in that sexy voice. So she followed him to his kitchen. The Incredible Hunk, who told her his name was Scott Davis, had a fully equipped gourmet kitchen. The white tiled floor gleamed, setting off oak cabinets and a matching center island with a butcher-block top. Above it hung a rack of crystal wineglasses on the right, balancing a circular display of copper-bottomed pots and pans on the left. A large window faced the double sink and jars of herbs decorated the sill. One wall held a convection oven above a standard oven. A heavy-duty dishwasher reposed beneath the seemingly endless counter space. Either the Hunk could cook, or he was married. Or, with her luck, gay. Still, maybe he'd just want to be friends and she could take advantage of it to look at him. Deciding that she'd take what she could, Veronica perched on a stool at the breakfast bar and watched while Mr. Devastatingly Handsome pulled a printed bag of coffee beans out, poured a measured amount into the electric grinder and pressed down, activating the motor. Moving unhurriedly, he filled the percolator with water, poured the freshly ground coffee in and started the elixir of life perking. While it burbled happily, he pulled out heavy white mugs, two spoons, sugar and cream and

piled everything on a rectangular wooden tray which he placed in front of her before excusing himself and disappearing through the sliding glass door to his backyard. He reappeared moments later with a dark red rose, partially unfurled, dangling between two brown fingers. Veronica watched, dazzled, as he filled a bud vase and placed the flower in it before adding it to the items on the tray. The percolator hissed to a stop. A moment later, the heady aroma of Kona Blend mingled with the rose's perfume as he silently filled two cups. She really had to be dreaming this. Hunks did not serve coffee on rose-decorated trays to plain, plump women first thing in the morning. She would probably wake up any minute and return to the real Earth. But while she was in this alternate reality, at least she’d get caffeine. In companionable silence, they both sugared, stirred and sipped. Veronica savored the burst of flavor and the first bite of good, strong coffee with eyes closed in ecstasy. The second sip, she'd found, invariably lost something, the tastebuds dulled after that initial sensation, so she always gave full attention to the first glorious taste. It was good. She nearly moaned with pleasure, but managed not to. There was no telling what her neighbor thought of her as it was. She didn't want to make things any worse. He broke the silence to ask, "What was it you wanted?" You, she thought, but managed not to say. Out loud, she answered, "Actually, I wanted to use your coffee grinder if you had one. I can't seem to find mine." She sighed, remembering the fruitless, and frantic, search. "Something vital always seems to get lost in a move. I hate it." He gave an understanding nod. "I once lost my favorite shirt that way." Then he unaccountably flushed red. Maybe he was embarrassed over the implied lack of organization in his life. Or by the implied admission that he still missed the lost shirt. Veronica decided to step lightly around the touchy male ego and not ask, since her last experience with masculine embarrassment had ended with her out on her fanny. She wasn't going anywhere until she'd taken in the jolt of caffeine necessary to face the day. "Yes. Well, Sebastian and I are through moving," she said, artfully getting past the subject of his missing shirt. At that, Scott nearly choked on his coffee. "Sebastian? You're married?" He tried to ask the question in a neutral tone, as if it didn't matter to him in the least if she was spoken for. Because it shouldn't. Still, he waited in tense silence for her answer. Her bubbling laugh took him by surprise. "Oh. Sorry," she gasped, fighting for control. "Sebastian is my cat. Or maybe it's more accurate to say I'm his human. He picked me, not the other way around. He just moved in one day and demanded to be fed." Relief flooded his soul. A cat. Sebastian was a cat. He started to relax, then remembered the mystery of the man's shirt she'd been wearing when he'd first seen her. "So you aren't married? Are you dating anyone?" Scott probed, hoping it sounded like natural curiosity and not the beginnings of mad obsession. "No." Veronica figured Gordon didn't count. She took a second sip of what just might be the world's most perfect cup of Kona Blend and had to fight the urge to sigh in delight. It hadn't lost its impact. If anything, it tasted even better. Heaven. Remembering her manners, she asked politely, "You?" "No."

She eyed the rose, then the herb collection again. Gay. No wonder she was single with him for competition. It just wasn't fair. But at least he made great coffee, she consoled herself. Scott followed her gaze to the scattered jars on his sill. "I like to relax with gardening and gourmet cooking," he told her. "It makes a nice switch from the kind of work I do. I'm a carpenter." "And you like to cook?" He nodded. "I got started when I lost a bet and had to take a cooking class. I found I enjoyed it, though. And it beats eating in restaurants alone." Damn, he thought, wincing. Did he have to say "alone" like he had Lonely Guy emblazoned on his forehead in inch-high neon letters? Well, it was too late to take it back. And anyway, for some reason, she was looking distinctly relieved at his explanation. Or maybe his imagination was still in overdrive where she was concerned. "A cooking class? What a good idea. Maybe I should do something like that. I've just never learned to cook. Opening a can is about as far as I go," Veronica admitted. Which gave Scott an idea. A really wicked idea. An idea that would give her a reason to spend her evenings with him instead of with the mysterious owner of the shirt she'd been wearing. An idea that might just be the way to her heart, if her appreciation for coffee was any indication. A truly great idea. And it sounded so innocent. "You know," he said slowly, "It's never too late to learn something new. I could give you lessons if you'd like." He'd certainly like giving her lessons. Would he ever. Picturing the lessons he'd like to give her on the wide bar top separating them, Scott silently cursed his vivid imagination. Thankfully, she couldn't see below his waist or she'd know exactly what kind of lessons he had in mind. She toyed with her spoon for a moment. Finally, she answered, her brown eyes meeting and holding his directly. "I'd like that." He liked the way she was looking at him. As if he was a chocolate torte at a dieter's convention. He couldn't wait to tell Tony that he was finally having the last laugh on that stupid lost bet. Because his sexy new neighbor wanted him for his cooking. "You won't believe this, Sebastian, but the guy next door has a face like an angel's, a body that won't quit, and he cooks," Veronica announced in rhapsodic tones. The cat responded with a yawn. Then he rolled over. The picture of indolent feline indifference. "His name is Scott," she went on, undeterred. "He's a carpenter. He gardens. He makes a cup of Kona Blend to die for. And with style. A tray. A rose, freshly cut from his garden." She paused as a new thought struck her. "If this is how he treats a casual stranger dropping in, how does he handle the morning after a night of wild passion?" Now, there was a truly riveting thought. Sebastian found her speculation unworthy of comment. He rubbed a lazy paw over one ear, licked it and smoothed his ear back again.

"Believe me, it would be wild passion," she informed the cat. "He's so hot he practically sizzles. And you should have seen his cutoffs. Short. Tight. And unbuttoned at the waist. They didn't cover much to begin with, and he leaves them like that." Veronica was still reeling. Her cat might not be impressed, but then he was the wrong gender and species. Unlike herself. Also, she'd had the advantage of seeing him for herself. In the flesh. Up close and in person. And incredible as it seemed, Scott the Incredible Hunk was single, straight and apparently interested in her. Though she didn't know why. She certainly wasn't anything to write home about. Still, she couldn't have been mistaken. A deaf woman could have heard the double meaning in that sexy voice of his when he offered to teach her something new. Cooking lessons. A smile curved her generous mouth. Now, there was a new name for it. "He's giving me cooking lessons," she went on, grinning naughtily at the phrase. "And just think, even if he comes to his senses and the whole thing fizzles out, I could still learn to do something besides open cans and order take-out. You can sample and give advice." Sebastian's long, gray tail twitched once in response. He squeezed his eyes shut, then reopened them as if to say he expected no less. An advisory role suited him, and his talents were admirably suited to random tasting. Reluctantly, Veronica dragged her attention back to the task at hand. Far too many packed boxes were waiting for her. Along with the unsolved mystery of her missing grinder. Fortunately, unpacking tended to go more quickly then packing did, and after a certain number of moves, she'd worked out a system. Each box had the contents listed on the outside, and a master list tracked categories like towels, utensils, and so on. Some things might have slipped through, but the system worked as well as anything she'd ever come across. The first priorities were the kitchen and bathroom, since she considered them the most essential to daily comfort. The little things like toothpaste and scented lotion, coffee filters and stirring spoons made mornings bearable. She wasn't a morning person. Veronica firmly believed that the worst suffering a person could endure wasn't personal tragedy, torture or imprisonment, but being condemned to suffer through mornings without the necessary touches of civilization. She'd personally predicted the collapse of the Soviet bloc nations long before it occurred after she'd read about the chronic shortage of toilet paper. Most of the kitchen and bathroom unpacking were already done, thanks to hard work the night before. She'd done her best to forestall another disastrous awakening after the previous day's coffee crisis. She hadn't succeeded. But all in all, she had to admit that it hadn't turned out too badly. She'd take the view of The Hunk Next Door in his indescribable cutoffs any time, caffeine withdrawal or no caffeine withdrawal. Some things, she decided serenely, were worth any price. Glancing around her own kitchen, she thought it might not rival her neighbor's for streamlined modern efficiency, but it did have Victorian charm in abundance. Pale yellow and white striped wallpaper decorated the upper half of the walls with hardwood wainscoting on the lower half. The high ceiling of molded tin and the large windows added to the feeling of space and warmth. Throughout the house the trend of high ceilings and full-length windows continued. Hardwood parquet floors glowed with a patina of age. A beautifully carved banister set off the staircase that

led from the living room to the upstairs bedrooms and master bath. There, the oversized bathroom easily accommodated her black wrought-iron vanity with its cut-glass top and side curtains in a soft floral print, matched by the stool. The same thoughtful soul who'd modernized the ancient kitchen had worked magic there, installing a bidet and a skylight. It was positively decadent. Veronica loved it. It was her; old-fashioned. With a hedonistic streak. The claw-footed tub invited leisurely soaking, and she'd indulged herself in it the night before, looking up at the stars through the skylight. It said a great deal about her that she'd unpacked the terry cloth-covered tub cushion, fragrant bath beads and loofah sponge, but she'd had to put the Oxford shirt back on afterwards. Because her clothes were still in boxes. While she finished unpacking in the kitchen, Veronica started a mental list of items she still needed. A new grinder, in case her old one had forever gone where missing socks went. Some lace curtain panels for the windows. A few area rugs to scatter here and there. Maybe even a plant that could survive her neglect and Sebastian's abuse. "We'll have to go shopping," she informed the cat. "Or at least, I will. I suppose you couldn't be moved with dynamite after yesterday." The cat didn't deign to respond. "Okay. But don't say I never take you anywhere." A knock interrupted her in the middle of debating the merits of going shopping as she was or getting cleaned up first. Her heart actually skipped a beat in anticipation. Was it him? The Incredible Hunk? Get a grip, she scolded herself. What was she, a fainting Victorian violet, or a modern woman? So he was gorgeous. He wasn't some kind of romantic hero. He was a playboy with power tools. So what if she wanted to play? So what if she found him as irresistible as any other breathing female over five and under ninety? She was a dignified adult. She would not run to the door. Right. She dashed for it, and flung it open, breathless. It wasn't him. It was, however, a man. The representative from the telephone company who'd come to install her phone. Be still, my beating heart, she thought. Years of practice enabled Veronica to keep a straight face and invite him in. She showed him where she wanted the extra jack and then moved up to the bedrooms, now that she had the kitchen finally finished. Her bedroom had a nice view of her new neighbor's garden. The subtle perfume of roses drifted in through the window, open to catch the breeze. She frowned, unsure she liked the way he made his presence felt in that intimate setting. It was going to drive her crazy before the summer was over. If he thought she could stand next to him, night after night, and then go to bed alone, taunted by his roses, he could think again. Veronica sat abruptly, dropping a box of lingerie, as she realized the direction her thoughts had taken.

What was she considering, an actual fling? With her neighbor? A man who was built and who would notice her lack of muscle tone? A man she'd have to see day after day, eventually watch driving off on other dates with other women? Or worse, a man whose driveway she couldn't help seeing, along with any cars that might be parked there overnight? Scott was her neighbor. She couldn't have a fling with him, even if she could imagine letting him see her naked. There was probably an unwritten law against neighborhood flings. It would be like having sleeping with a coworker. It could start a terrible precedent. How would she end up, spending her life moving from house to house in an endless quest for ugly, unappealing neighbors? Perish the thought. She shuddered. Then she decided she was being ridiculous. What was she worried about? Sooner or later he'd have a run-in with her cat, and if that didn't throw ice water on the fire, well, she'd worry about it then. Anyway, he might be momentarily amusing himself with her, but she wasn't going to kid herself about the long-term possibilities. Her even features set in an oval face were classic, but hardly competition for the Helen of Troy Look-Alike Contest. Hers was a nice enough face. But it wouldn't launch a thousand ships. It had never launched so much as a fishing boat. Her hair was equally unremarkable, straight, dark and medium length. Her figure didn't fit either the voluptuous hour-glass type or the hipless waif supermodel look. She was built more like a pear, not so padded on top and round on the bottom. And getting rounder down there by the day, undoubtedly. Scott probably went for busty blonds. Or maybe long-legged, slender female elegance. Athletic Body Nazis toned to perfection. With his looks, he'd have his choice. So why did he want to amuse himself with an admittedly plain, pear-shaped librarian? Veronica gave up. She didn't know why. Did she really care why he was interested? For once in her staid, sober life, couldn't she live a little dangerously? Why not have fun while it lasted? It wasn't as if she was saving herself for something nobler. She'd stopped waiting for marriage, and she wasn't even Catholic, let alone interested in joining a convent. Not that she'd ever embraced the idea of free love, either. Veronica didn't believe in extremes. Instead, she chose to live by the rule of moderation. There had been a handful of lovers. But she suspected Scott would be in a class by himself; dangerous. The man could threaten her equilibrium from a house away. Gradually she worked her way through her clothes and got them all put where they belonged. Which left her with the boxes of books. Did she want them in her room, or the spare bedroom? It wasn't an easy decision. A confirmed book lover, she wanted them conveniently nearby. A guest in the spare bedroom might mean a sudden midnight yen for Milton would have to be squelched. On the other hand, she could get a life of her own instead of reading about somebody else's, as her last romantic interest had advised. He'd also suggested, as a friend, that she get rid of the cat. So much for the advice of old flames. As if coming in response to her thought, Sebastian appeared and settled on a nearby chair to watch her. "What does Gordon know about life?" she asked the cat. "Besides, he's too pale and too thin. I've never liked the anorexic rock-star looked." Sebastian meowed in agreement. "Of course you'd say that. Skinny is the ultimate incivility in the cat world. It implies missed

meals." Come to think of it, she and Sebastian agreed on that. As Veronica stacked books on her bedroom shelf, she couldn't help comparing the athletic with the aesthetic. Scott and Gordon were polar opposites. Gordon had the pallor of the intellectual who spent his time in classrooms. Scott, on the other hand, was a walking advertisement for the tanned and toned. He looked like he could start a back-to-nature movement just by going outside. If Scott's conversation ever bored her, she'd still find his face and physique fascinating, but while Gordon made a wonderful debate partner, physically he'd never come close to affecting her the way her neighbor did. Even if he did let her steal his shirts. Thinking of Gordon reminded her that they had a date that evening. They belonged to a literary discussion group with a diverse membership that met once a month. Last time, they'd argued the merits of tragedy. Personally, she didn't care for it, but she'd debated loudly with a stuffy professor just for fun. Gordon, she feared, had argued in earnest. He really thought Greek tragedy was great literature. He probably liked Russian writers, too. Well, there was no accounting for taste. Her own tastes were eclectic, but she didn't assign merit to a piece of writing just because it pronounced man and the future pointless and doomed. In fact, she tended to lean in the opposite direction. She was a librarian, not a literary critic. It was her job to know what was popular and what was important to the community. With the climbing rate of depression becoming a national problem, she personally thought bleak literature could be dropped from a few reading lists without any big loss. Tonight's subject, general semantics, sounded particularly promising, and Veronica was looking forward to it. She disagreed with the founding premise, that all conflict could be prevented or resolved through clear communication. In her own experience, the clearer the communication in a conflict situation, the more violent the response was likely to be. But she was interested in the alternative form of English proposed by some general semantics students called E-Prime that left out all to-be verbs. Would a book written without to-be verbs read more easily? Or would it lose something? Would it appeal to a range of readers? The questions aroused her professional curiosity. Her musings were interrupted by the telephone installer shouting up to her, "You're all set now with your phone. I'm on my way out." "Thanks!" she shouted back. Well, now, she had a phone, her mail forwarded, her unpacking was almost complete; not bad for the day after a move. And after tonight, she could look forward to evenings spent with The Hunk Next Door. Her life was better already. Maybe she ought to thank Ward. On the other hand, she did suspect that he might have had something to do with the disappearance of her coffee grinder. Her doorbell rang then, signaling Gordon's arrival. It was already time to go. She gave herself a cursory glance, shrugged and decided she was ready enough. "To-be, or not to-be?" Gordon droned when she opened the door. As usual, he was the epitome of neatness, every hair in place, his white dress shirt pristine. It drove Veronica insane. From the first moment she'd seen him, she'd felt an irresistible compulsion to mess up his hair and wrinkle his shirt. "Are we having a practice argument?" she asked.

"Ah, so you do remember tonight's subject." Gordon managed to look austere and amazed simultaneously. A nice trick. "Funny." Veronica shot him a dirty look. Then she smiled. "Want to see the place?" "Do you still have that moth-eaten excuse for a cat?" "Don't talk about Sebastian that way, it hurts his feelings. And yes, I do." Gordon shook his head sadly. "Ronnie, a cat is a poor surrogate. And great literature is food for the soul, but no substitute for real experience. You need to–" "Get a life, I know, I know," Veronica chimed in. "You'll be glad to hear that I met someone already. We have a date tomorrow night." She'd succeeded in surprising Gordon, she noticed. It was all she could do not to crow in triumph. "Well." A slow smile spread over his austere features, transforming him into an approachable human. "That's more like it." He brushed a congratulatory kiss on her cheek as he escorted her to his car. "And to answer your first question, I prefer to-be, although I'm keeping an open mind. I agree that it sometimes sounds more active, direct and authoritative to drop to-be, but I'm not convinced it's an all-or-nothing decision." Veronica grinned wickedly as she threw down the verbal gauntlet. Gordon readily picked up the argument in defense of E-Prime, and they drove off, shouting happily.

Chapter Three The next time Veronica stepped up to her neighbor's door and rang the bell she had more on her mind than the horrors of caffeine withdrawal. A sparkle of anticipation had added color and texture to everything she'd done all day, thinking about the coming night. Geez, she had it bad. She suspected that The Hunk was highly habit forming. And that withdrawal would make giving up her beloved bean pale into insignificance. A dangerous addiction, indeed. She was playing with fire. And heaven help her, she wanted to turn up the flames. If he wore those cutoffs again, Veronica decided, she'd never make it through a single lesson. Then Scott opened the door, wearing casual jeans and a polo shirt that defined every rippling muscle and set off his tan and Veronica made a sobering discovery. It didn't matter what he wore. If she'd thought more clothes would lessen the impact, she was obviously way wrong. He was pure, undiluted masculine sex appeal, no matter what he had on. She tried to swallow since her mouth had suddenly gone dry at the sight of him, and said, "Hi." "Hi yourself." He gave her a lazy grin. "Come on in." The scorching look that accompanied the smile had her warm all over even without the added effect of his bedroom voice. Unfair. The man had too many advantages. He held the door as she stepped through, and she could feel the heat from his body like a caress even though she didn't pass close enough to brush against him. It was disturbing. And very exciting. "Would you like a tour this time?" Scott asked. "I should have thought of it the other day, but I don't do my best thinking in the morning." Veronica grinned at that admission. So he was a fellow morning sufferer. "Neither do I," she readily confessed. "I'd love a tour." She would, in fact, love to see anything he cared to show her. He waved her down the hall to a sunken living room with a sprawling couch and recliner covered in soft leather. Glass and brass tables and a big-screen TV rounded out the room. It looked like the perfect spot for poker games and Superbowl parties, Veronica decided. Definitely a man's domain. "I bet you guessed this is the living room," Scott informed her solemnly. "Next is my home office," a casual wave at a small room nearly filled by a long desk, computer workstation and filing cabinet, "and there's a half-bath through there." He pointed out the next room. "This is a modified ranch lay-out. The whole place sort of leads back around to the kitchen." Following the easy traffic pattern, they passed the kitchen and continued on. "This is the guest room," Scott said in his casual tour-guide patter. Veronica made agreeable sounds and tried to keep her mind on the tour instead of the guide. Not an easy task. "And the master bedroom, with a walk-in closet and full bath." His bedroom. He was showing her his bedroom. Would she survive the experience? Did the man have any idea how he affected her? Veronica did her best to pay attention to the woodwork he was pointing out, but her mind was on the king sized four-poster bed that loomed in the center of the room. She could hardly overlook it, she silently defended herself. It practically took up the entire room. Well, maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but she could hardly be blamed for resting her

eyes on it. And wondering. This room was as masculine as the rest of his house. Blue carpeting, oversized furniture, and a noticeable lack of frills stated clearly that a man lived there. There wasn't any crowding or clutter. Just long, clean lines everywhere she looked and the kind of furniture that invited lingering and promised comfort. With an effort, Veronica resisted the urge to kick off her shoes and dig her toes into the carpet's deep pile, or fling herself across the seemingly endless expanse of mattress. "So, what do you think?" She tipped her face up to meet Scott's inquiring eyes and lost track of the question. She thought she could drown in those eyes. In that voice. In that bed. "Ah, it's, uh, nice. Very nice," she managed. "Very you." She paused to gather what few wits she might have left and cleared her throat nervously. "Um, maybe we should get started. With the cooking lesson," she hastened to add. "The way I cook, we'll need all the time we can get." Great. She sounded like a blithering idiot. Like she'd been reduced by fifty IQ points, at least, from brushing too close to his heat. Didn't fever destroy brain tissue? She thought she remembered reading something to that effect. "Oh, we have time," Scott promised with a sensual smile and a lazy glint of desire in his brown eyes. Looking at those eyes, she wondered how she'd ever thought brown was a bland color. They weren't bland at all. His eyes were hot. Feeling wary and somehow trapped by that heated gaze, she traced the outline of her lower lip with a nervous tongue. "I know what you're thinking," he stated softly. He did? Was she that obvious? "You think a modern house like this is out of place in a neighborhood full of older homes with gingerbread trim and widows' walks. But you'll notice that only the interior takes a radical departure from Victorian architecture. The exterior blends pretty well. Although there isn't any gingerbread." Scott finished with a teasing smile. She breathed a silent sigh of relief. No, he didn't know what she was thinking. Fortunately. Then he stepped back and motioned her to lead the way back to the kitchen, and followed with one large hand lightly guiding her by the small of her back and she wanted to groan. It was a polite gesture. Like holding the door open for her. But it forced an intimate closeness that had Veronica's senses reeling. Didn't the man know the effect he had on the opposite sex? He was driving her crazy already, and the lessons hadn't even begun. She hoped, fervently, that she wouldn't have to remember anything too important, like how to turn on an oven. At this rate they'd end up ordering pizza unless he kept to a safe distance. Like a house away. Maybe further. Who knew how far the brain-numbing Hunk Effect reached? With difficulty, she dragged her attention away from fevered speculation and directed it to what Scott was saying now in that teasing, sexy voice of his. "I thought I'd take it easy on you tonight, since you're a beginner." God. Oh, God. She certainly was, and he certainly wasn't, and she had to get a grip because he couldn't have been talking about anything but cooking. "We'll start off with Mexican." He winked, and she thought her heart skipped a beat. "You can't really go wrong with it, no matter what you do. It's the kind of thing that lends itself to

experimentation." She wanted to experiment, all right. "Um." She made a neutral sound of agreement. "Are there any cans? I open cans really, really well," she went on hopefully. He looked horrified at the very idea. "No cans. Absolutely none. But don't worry, we're not doing anything difficult. Just nachos for an appetizer, and fajitas for the main course. I thought about making fried ice cream for dessert, but I didn't want to overwhelm you." "Nice of you to take it easy on me," she muttered, giving him a sharp look. She felt the beginnings of panic stir. "Are you talking about multiple courses, here? Not just doing everything in one dish?" "I am," he agreed. The twinkle in his eyes belied the sober expression he turned to her. Was she imagining things, or was he laughing at her? "Now just wait a minute." She planed her hands on her hips and tried to stare him down. Not easy, considering the fact that he towered over her. "Why do I need to go to all this trouble? I only have one person to cook for. My cat doesn't eat cooked food. Well, at least not anything I've ever cooked," she amended honestly. "Still, doesn't it seem like a case of overkill?" He stared calmly back. "You don't have to cook more than one course or one dish, of course. But you should know how. What if you have guests, or want to impress someone?" "If I have guests, we order Chinese take-out," she grumbled. And her cooking was only likely to give a bad impression, she added silently. He seemed to take this cooking thing a little too seriously, Veronica decided. Multiple courses. Multiple dishes. It struck her as a total waste of time for one person and she opened her mouth to say so, but then he turned to find a utensil and presented her with a stunning view of masculine assets that effectively silenced her. There was nothing wrong with her reaction to the sight of a well-defined behind, she decided inwardly. Lots of women appreciated a tight end. Some even went as far as watching football for the pleasure. But while she stood there, staring and trying not to drool, Scott got his way by default. Unfair. She couldn't think, let alone argue, while she was being distracted by a white-hot bolt of lust that blinded her to everything but him. He had her at a distinct disadvantage. And he wanted to use it to initiate her into the mysteries of Mexican cuisine. Great. Just great. Veronica gave a silent sigh and surrendered, turning her attention to dinner preparations. She consoled herself with the thought that it was probably safer for both of them, no matter how badly she messed up. To her surprise, it went fairly quickly. Scott put her to work shredding lettuce, after showing her how to remove the hard core from a head of iceberg. Then she graduated to cheese-grating. By the time he showed her how to make fresh guacamole, she was starting to feel some interest in the task. "I thought guacamole came from the deli," she informed Scott solemnly. He grinned at her and touched the tip of her nose with one finger, nearly cutting off her oxygen supply with the casual gesture. "Nope. That stuff has no taste or texture," he informed her with a haughty cocked brow. "The real thing is best served freshly made. It's easy, too. A little lemon, a little chili powder, a little mayo." He demonstrated, measuring ingredients into the blender as he spoke. "Then the avocado. Here, feel."

Before she could react, he placed it in the palm of her hand and closed it around the fruit. "The secret to a good avocado is in the touch. Feel how it has some give, but isn't too soft?" Speechless, she nodded. She couldn't feel anything but his warm hand around hers, but why admit that? "If it's soft, it's no good. Too hard, and it was picked green and won't ripen. You want one just like this." "Right," Veronica croaked. He deftly picked it up again and showed her that the peel would come off a ripe avocado easily. Impressive. She'd once spent fifteen minutes fighting with an obstinate rind. So all along, her problem had been in not knowing how to pick the right one. By the time they actually sat down to start eating, her enthusiasm was perking up. The fresh guacamole had a bright flavor that complemented the spicy nachos perfectly. The appetizer was delicious, hot without being unbearable, just enough to tease her palate without scorching her tongue. It seemed to lead naturally to the fajitas filled with stir-fried onions, peppers and chicken. The whole dinner was really good. Better than anything she'd had in a Mexican restaurant. She was almost sorry that they hadn't tried to make fried ice cream. While they ate, Scott did his best to do a little gentle grilling. He hadn't missed the fact that a man about the right size and shape to explain the mysterious shirt had picked her up the night before. Or that she'd left with him. He hadn't missed seeing the mystery man kiss her, either. It appeared that he had some competition, and he intended to find out just how serious it was. To that end, he decided to start with some general, nonchalant, getting-to-know-you questions. "How'd it go yesterday, unpacking and settling in? Did you find your coffee grinder?" He guessed she had, since she hadn't come back that morning, to his disappointment. But it was as good a place to start as any. She grinned at him. "Oh, I'm mostly finished already. I've done this so many times that some mover's kid will go to college on me." She paused to savor another bite before continuing, "I wrote the grinder off as a loss and bought a new one." Then she frowned. "I hate to say it," she informed him in a conspiratorial voice that had him leaning forward, "but I really think my former landlord may have taken it just to get even. He lived in the same building. You know, those old mausoleums converted into three apartments?" Scott nodded. He knew the kind of place she meant. "Well, he was kind of a strange man. He had some sort of grudge against Sebastian." Ah, yes. Her cat. "Sounds like you had an interesting day," he answered in a subtle prompt to continue. "Mm, yes, it did have its moments." She paused to enjoy another forkful. "Then last night I had a meeting with the literary group I belong to." Now they were getting somewhere, Scott decided. "Oh? That sounds unusual. What kind of people belong to your group?" Who was the man who picked you up, and what does he mean to you? "All sorts." Veronica waved an expressive hand. "Professors. Writers. Housewives. Students. Anybody interested in literature, either professionally or as a hobby. My friend Gordon told me about it when we were dating. I started going more out of interest in him than in the group, but it turned out to be a good way to keep in touch with what devoted readers in the area are interested in. So, after Gordon and I decided we were better off as friends, I kept going for professional reasons."

So. Gordon was just a friend. Scott considered that. Did Gordon know that she thought of him as 'just a friend'? A worse thought followed that; did she think he was going to be 'just a friend'? Never, he vowed inwardly. Not that he didn't want to be friendly. But he wouldn't be willingly relegated to that tame classification in her life. And what about the shirt? Did she expect him to believe she was sleeping with the man's shirts, but not the man? That she had some perfectly reasonable explanation for having his clothes in her house? The turn his thoughts had taken shocked Scott. He had no rights where she was concerned. He especially didn't have the right to indulge in jealousy. He silently advised himself to ease off and decided a little space was a good idea. "Would you like coffee, since we don’t have dessert?" he asked, since it sounded like a good excuse to go get a grip on himself. Her hazel eyes brightened at the suggestion. "I'd love a cup. Thank you." Scott found himself giving her a heated smile in response. Then he tore himself away from her and busied himself with the coffee maker. It gave him a chance to get back to whatever passed for normal in his life since the moment he'd looked up in his backyard and beheld a vision. He might be entranced by her, but he had no evidence that she felt anything for him in return. He’d been expecting his Ms. Right for years, while the thought might never have crossed her mind. She might think he was just a nice neighbor. She might be envisioning a future relationship that consisted of borrowing each other's hedge clippers. Not a pleasant thought, but he couldn't overlook the possibility. Well, he'd just have to exercise a little patience. He'd never set out to deliberately snare a woman, but he felt reasonably sure it could be done. He was an attractive man, wasn't he? It wasn't out of the question that she might have noticed. If she hadn't, he'd just have to make himself more attractive to her. Find out what she wanted. Everyone wanted something. Once he pinpointed her desires, he could inflame and then fulfill them. How could she resist him if he offered her her heart's desire? He had nothing to worry about, he assured himself. He'd already had her in his bedroom. With a little careful planning, he'd have her in his bed. In his life. Permanently. They could even invite Gordon to the wedding, he decided in a fit of generosity. He'd be a gracious winner. By the time the coffee had finished perking, his eyes were glowing with anticipated triumph. She was his. She just didn't know it yet. Working as a team, the two cleared away the dishes and rinsed and stowed them in the dishwasher before taking their cups out on the cedar deck. Veronica thought she could easily get used to this. Good meals, good companionship, a good view of the garden and the sunset. And the best natural view of all, The Hunk himself. It might even be worth learning to cook with this kind of a reward, she decided. With a happy sigh, she relaxed into a deck chair and took a sip of Scott's wonderful coffee. It didn't get any better than this. While he plied her with coffee, she readily told him about herself. Sated and content, she missed the way his mouth tightened when she blithely mentioned that she wasn't going to get married so she'd decided it was time to buy her own house. "You're a dedicated career woman?" he asked blandly. "Not interested in getting married or

having a family?" "Well, that's a loaded question." Veronica thought it over and considered possible answers. How did she tell the world's most gorgeous man that her prince had never come, and given the current state of her hips that wasn't likely to change? She settled for a fairly neutral response. "I'm dedicated to my career in the sense that I love what I do and I think it's important. I think families are important, too, and I wouldn't mind having one of my own. But it hasn't worked out so far, and beyond a certain point, you sort of stop expecting it to happen." Veronica paused and took another sip. "I'm content with my life." As she said it, she realized it was true. So it wasn't filled with drama or adventure or wild passion. Well, whose was? "I don't think the only positive definition of a woman depends on her ability to procreate, either." That was a personal sore point. Women were more than wombs and she was tired of being told that her life wouldn't mean anything if she never gave birth. She felt the same biological imperatives most people did. But she wasn't a slave to biology, either. "I guess I believe that being married and being single both have some advantages and disadvantages and that it's more important in life to make the most of what you have than to worry about what you don't," she concluded. "Does that answer your question?" Veronica turned to grin up at him. Unexpectedly, he was closer than she'd realized. Her change in position placed her face close to his. Close enough to kiss. Her breath caught in her throat and she froze. For a long moment, their eyes meshed and held. She felt caught in an invisible force field, unable to move away. The very air separating them seemed to crackle with sensual tension. The unexpected proximity forced an awareness of the powerful undercurrents of attraction that had been swirling beneath the surface of casual conversation all evening. She felt an overwhelming sense of yearning to get closer, to touch the flame, and it clashed with an equally deep fear. It was too much, too soon. He was too much for her. And she was suddenly afraid of losing herself in the threatening vortex of passionate emotion. Veronica leaped to her feet, effectively breaking the mood. "I have to go now," she babbled. She backed away from him towards the yard, then broke and ran in the general direction of her house. The fence dividing the two backyards halted her disorganized flight. She didn't have to turn and look to know that he was right behind her. She could feel his presence. She wanted to sink into the ground and disappear. She didn't want to face him. Sighing, she decided to try to be brave, and turned around. Maybe she could just brazen it out, she decided hopefully. Pretend that she hadn't panicked at the mere thought of kissing him. Pretend that he didn't stir a deeply buried feminine need so strong that the very thought of unleashing it was enough to send her running for cover like a hunted doe. Like the doe, she had acquired a healthy respect for the potential danger of fires. Especially the kind that promised to rage out of control. Veronica deeply regretted her earlier fascination with the heat that flared in Scott's dark brown eyes. Those eyes were now uncomfortably close and uncomfortably direct. They held hers easily, and she was uncomfortably reminded of the way a small animal was held by the hypnotic gaze of

a predator. She noted his nearness, his body deliberately crowding hers and trespassing the polite boundary demanded for public comfort and felt a flash of irritation. He was invading her space, and he was doing it on purpose. His build seemed overly large as well as overly near as he loomed over her. Slowly, steadily, he leaned even closer, propping a hand on each side of her and effectively pinning her against the fence without ever touching her. "There's a fence," Scott said unnecessarily. But gently. "No gate." For seconds or maybe hours, she wasn't sure which, he held her there as if he was staking a claim. His body heat radiated towards her and his clean masculine scent filled her nostrils. She was deeply aware of him, everything about him, every sense heightened. Even her heartbeat seemed to echo so loudly that she was sure he could hear it. The heart, she remembered insanely, produced an electro-magnetic field that could be measured feet away. He was trapping her in his field. Making their hearts beat as one. Her breath caught at the thought and it seemed his chest tightened at the same moment. Then he moved back and she could breathe again. He took hold of her arm in a gesture of gentle possession and led her wordlessly through his house, across the front yard and delivered her to her own front door. Veronica went meekly, too unnerved to object. Especially since it seemed clear that he was deliberately letting her go when they both knew that at that moment he could have led her just as unresistingly to his four-poster bed. Feeling that her escape was a precarious thing kept her from risking opening her mouth and making him think better of his decision to relent. Scott kept her arm in his enervating hold a moment longer. Then he released her. Still, she couldn't seem to move. His unreadable eyes held hers. He moved closer. Slowly, deliberately, giving her time to move away if she chose, he bent towards her. He was going to kiss her. The knowledge rooted her to the spot and robbed her of any will. She let her eyes drift shut and waited for the first touch of his mouth. When it came, her eyes opened again in surprise. Warm, soft and very, very gentle, he placed a kiss on her forehead. He straightened, and gave her a crooked smile. "Good night, Veronica. Sleep well." Then he was gone and she was alone, leaning weakly against the door.

Chapter Four Somehow, she made her way inside and stumbled blindly to a chair. Collapsing onto it, Veronica took a deep breath, let it out, and then took another one. Calm. Cool. Collected. Right. So much for her brave ideas about throwing caution to the winds, living dangerously and entertaining an affair with a passionate stranger. When the moment of truth had come, she'd panicked and run away like a scared virgin. She'd be completely humiliated now, except that Scott seemed to have taken her jumpiness as some sort of a tribute to his masculinity. Which, if she was honest with herself, it was. He was just too overwhelmingly male. He was dangerous to her equilibrium and to her heart, and she'd known it instinctively from the first. So where did that leave her? Veronica wondered. Unthinkingly, she raised a hand to her forehead and traced the spot his lips had covered. Somehow, that one simple caress had carried an intimacy unmatched by anything else in her admittedly limited experience. She felt branded. Marked. Claimed. Dangerous, indeed. If Scott had this effect on her already, what would happen when he really kissed her for the first time? Spontaneous combustion, that's what. And a union beyond the physical bond of the moment that would leave his brand on her heart. This was unexplored territory ahead, and she was fast approaching the point of no return. His actions tonight had made it clear that there would be no running away, no escaping the attraction between them. He'd let her go, but only when he was sure she understood that. She understood all too well. She understood that he was in control, and they both knew it. The big question in her mind now was, what did she want to do about it? He wouldn't force anything. She knew that without even having to consider it. He also wouldn't have to, and he no doubt knew that, as well. With a sigh, Veronica admitted the sad fact to herself that she might be a modern woman, but she was still a woman and she could recognize a man when she stumbled over one. And Scott was all man. Something deeply feminine in her thrilled at the knowledge and yearned to surrender to his strength. Soft fur rubbing against her ankle interrupted her musing. "Hi, big fella," she murmured. She leaned down to stroke the cat, who rubbed his cheek against her hand affectionately. "Sebastian, I think I'm in trouble." He gave a rumbling purr in response. "Easy for you to say," she informed him. "You aren't sitting here realizing that all your life you believed you were an independent modern woman. Only the first caveman to come along and beat his chest suddenly makes you want to take a flying leap back into the stone age." She shook her head in rueful disbelief. "If this is grand passion," she went on, "I don't know if I want it. Maybe I do get lonely without it, but at least I know who I am." Still, now that she'd learned something about herself, like the fact that she liked cavemen, what

did she hope to gain by denying it? What had really happened tonight? Nothing, really. Except that now she knew she had a secret longing to play 'you Tarzan, me Jane' with an attractive and virile man, who obviously returned the feeling. So, what was so bad about that? Nothing, Veronica decided firmly. She was an adult and entitled to play any games she chose to. As an adult, she understood responsibility and she was prepared to accept the consequences of her own decisions. The only consequence she wasn't willing to take was the effect of living a life of emotional cowardice, denying her own needs and desires because she was afraid of them. She wanted Scott. It was that simple. Regardless of the consequences. She stood up and said to Sebastian, "I'd rather regret the things I did, then the things I didn't do. And believe me, I'd regret it if I didn't take a once-in-a-lifetime chance at grand passion." Hadn't somebody once said, surrender to temptation; it may not come your way again? She scooped up the cat and wandered up to her bedroom, ready to be haunted by Scott's roses. "You know, Sebastian, I might even get to like this. It could be worse. At least I know he can cook, and he isn't one of those irritating morning people. As a carpenter, he's a handy guy to have around in case of leaks or cracks. And let's face it, he gives new meaning to the word sexy." Humming off-key, she set the cat down, undressed and searched for something to sleep in. Her favorite lavender teddy finally turned up under a collection of boxer shorts, and she nabbed it and slipped it on. Flipping off the light, she slid under the sheet and with one foot felt Sebastian's comforting mass at the end of her bed. She grinned wickedly into the darkness. "Good night, Scott. I hope you don't snore or hog the covers." She was already looking forward to the next lesson.

***** So was Scott. He'd managed to walk home without letting out a whoop of triumph, but just barely. Veronica did not think of him as 'just a friend'. No, she was as intensely aware of him as he was of her. Drawing her into his loving snare was going to be simpler than he'd imagined. But he knew he still had a long ways to go. He didn't have any real claim on her, and nobody knew better than he did that physical desire could be a fickle thing. She might be attracted to him, but that didn't mean she felt any kind of emotional attachment. The two did not necessarily go hand in hand. He'd have to go carefully. Overall, though, he had to conclude that the night had gone well. He'd learned that she didn't have anything against marriage or children. That she wasn't serious about Gordon. And that she wanted him. The very thought had him hardening in response. It was becoming a permanent affliction around her. Soon, he told himself, hoping to calm his reaction. Meanwhile, maybe a cold shower would help. What was it about her that had him feeling like a teenager? The question brought Scott up short. Maybe it was precisely because she wasn't beautiful in any obvious way. Maybe it was because the idea of the maiden librarian with hidden passionate depths appealed to his masculine fantasies. Maybe it was chemistry, maybe her attitude, the way she carried herself, the

intelligence in her eyes. Maybe it was the way she seemed to totally abandon herself to every sensory experience. Remembering the way she took time to savor the scent of a rose or the flavor of fresh coffee naturally led to wondering what else she'd take her time to thoroughly enjoy. Like him. Unbidden, a series of erotic images involving a very abandoned Veronica, himself and a certain four-poster bed took shape. The very thought made him groan. He hoped it wouldn't be too long before they started living out the fantasies she inspired. He hated cold showers.

***** Veronica was laying on a sandy beach, luxuriating in the warmth of the sun. Eyes closed, she still recognized the hand that cupped her cheek, traced the outline of her collarbone before sliding down over her breast and the length of her torso, teasing. A smile spread over her face. "Scott," she sighed. A low, masculine laugh answered her. Her smile gradually changed to a frown as the hand that touched her continued to tease and torment, making her want more and refusing to give it. "More," she whispered, her voice husky with desire. "Not yet." Suddenly, the beach was gone and she was alone in a stainless-steel kitchen, surrounded by mysterious utensils she didn't know how to use. "Not until you can cook a ten-course dinner," the voice of her tormentor growled. With a strangled gasp, Veronica broke free from the nightmare and sat bolt upright. Disoriented, she blinked sleepily and looked around for familiar landmarks. No kitchen. No Scott. Just her bedroom, and the after-effects of a bad dream. She heaved a sigh of relief. Obviously, the cooking lesson and Scott's sensual intimidation had mixed together in her subconscious. Probably due to the intense emotional state she'd been in before bed. Still, it was unnerving. She jumped up, not in the mood to linger in bed, even if it was Saturday. Some coffee to clear the cobwebs took priority, she decided. Seeing her up, Sebastian stretched and followed, trailing her down the stairs to the kitchen where he sat patiently off to one side while she groped for water, grounds and a filter. He knew better than to wind around her ankles first thing in the morning. Minutes later, they both settled down to enjoy the rewards of patience; the cat with breakfast, Veronica with a cup of Swiss Mocha Almond. She sipped slowly, banishing the last vestige of the dream with the heady flavor. The bright sunshine that filled the room helped to set the tone for a sunnier mood, too. Saturday. Mentally she started reviewing the plan for the day. She had story hour at the library, although she wasn't technically working today. She'd volunteered for it and looked forward to the chance to introduce eager young minds to timeless classics. Some considered it a glorified babysitting service, but Veronica knew better. Every year, some child heard a story that captured the imagination and built a life-long love of reading,

or encouraged the desire to learn to read for himself. Since good reading skills were essential to learning, Veronica considered story hour one of the more important community library services. Aside from that, she planned to spend the day catching up on household chores that she hadn't done yet. Maybe she'd even polish her long-neglected nails. She pictured running watermelon-tipped ovals down Scott's tanned, sweat-glistening back and grinned at the image. Yes, she'd do her nails. Why not? Maybe she'd inspire a fantasy or two to disturb Scott's sleep the way he'd disrupted hers. Since she'd decided to live dangerously, she poured herself a second cup and took out a croissant for breakfast. Butter and carbs hadn’t ruined the French, no matter what diet experts said. She started to set the flaky croissant on a napkin, then changed her mind and got out a real plate instead. Dinner with Scott last night had awakened her to more than one thing. For instance, she'd fallen into the habit of skimping on all the niceties, eating alone. She didn't bother with cloth napkins, candles or even a full table setting. She was more likely to eat Chinese food directly from the take-out carton. She hated to admit it, but he did have a point about going to the same amount of work for herself as she would for a group she wanted to impress. She'd try to remember to incorporate the habit and make meals an occasion. Even if she did eat them alone. Then she had to wonder how he'd stumbled on to that principle. In his cooking classes? Or had it been an attempt to alleviate the loneliness of an empty house? She had Sebastian for company. Who did Scott have? Maybe being gorgeous didn't guarantee an active social life. For the first time, it dawned on her that The Hunk might be lonely, too. After all, she mused, he was probably in the same boat she found herself in; the odd single in a world of couples. An uneven number at dinner parties. A person who received but never sent wedding invitations. Like hers, most of his friends were probably married by now. Then she pulled her wandering thoughts back down to earth. The Hunk, lonely? She'd better have some more coffee. She was still dreaming. Sebastian jumped up onto the empty chair beside her and started his morning grooming. Veronica smiled at the sight. "Give it up," she told the cat. "No matter what you do, you'll never get it to lay flat." He ignored her and went on cleaning his coat as if he wasn't a permanent bad hair day on four feet. There was something to be said for that attitude, Veronica decided.

***** In his rose garden, Scott occupied himself with pruning, watering and spraying for the everhungry Japanese beetles. He scowled at the damage they'd done to several delicate blossoms. Rose seemed to be their favorite flavor. The pests burrowed into the flowers and ate their way through, leaving round holes behind. Judicious use of a pesticide eliminated that problem. If only everything were as simple. Noticing some stems drooping from their own weight, he carefully staked where support was

needed. The tasks involved in tending roses normally served to relax him. But since the moment he'd seen Veronica from this spot, relaxed had become a foreign word. She was the farthest thing imaginable from the girl next door. She was the stuff of exotic, erotic dreams. And he was counting the minutes until he saw her again. Thinking of her, he hoped that tonight they could progress to a new level. For the first time in his life, he wanted to romance a woman with all the traditional hearts and flowers trappings. Not least because she wasn't going to be easy to get closer to. The attraction between them was an irresistible force. He'd been ready to surrender to it the moment they'd met. Unfortunately, he had an idea that Veronica was going to be a little harder to convince. Everything about her said independent and original. She had too strong a sense of self to look for a relationship to complete her. So, he had to persuade her that a relationship with him would offer her the fullest range of self-expression she'd ever find. More fantasies sprang to life at the thought of her free spirit stretching to the limits to express fully every facet of her personality in his bed. If he didn't know that she reacted as strongly to him as he did to her, he didn't think he could stand this. Only believing that it was inevitable that they'd come together made it possible to bide his time. But if she took too long, he'd be tempted to drag her off by her hair. No, no, no. He winced at the thought. For some reason, she brought out the caveman in him. But he was better off with the plan he'd arrived at; a slow, thorough seduction that would drive her insane with passion. Hot looks. Hot words. Subtly, sensually staking a claim without physically claiming her in any obvious way. He remembered smugly that she'd looked ready to faint at the light kiss on her forehead last night. It would work. It was working. She was falling for his brand of seduction, and for him. A glance at his watch told him it was time to get ready, since she'd be arriving soon. He took the time to select a striking combination of creamy yellow roses and a new dark purple that was nearly black for the table. The flowers were dramatic and unusual, like Veronica. He thought she'd like them. Carrying them inside, he stripped and discarded excess leaves, then cut the stems on a diagonal and arranged them in a glass bowl. While he surveyed the effect, the phone rang. He groaned inwardly. His mother. Well, he couldn't hope to keep avoiding her calls forever. And if they talked now, he could be sure she wouldn't make an untimely interruption when his date arrived. "Hello," he said into the phone with quiet resignation. "Scott, there you are. I was afraid I'd get that machine again. Now, tell me what happened with Debra? Are you seeing her again?" His mother's effusive rush of words seemed to crowd through the receiver and fill his kitchen. Raking a hand through his hair, Scott broke the news to her. "No, Mother, Debra and I won't be seeing each other again." Not if there was a God, he added silently. "Well, why not? Darling, at your age you really shouldn't be so choosy." He winced. She made him sound like an old man past his prime with one foot in the grave. "But don't you worry, dear. I met the nicest girl. Karen. She's single and I'm sure she'd be happy to go out with you." As if he needed a mercy date. "Here's here number," she went on cheerfully, twisting the knife.

"Mother," Scott cut in, struggling for patience. "I don't want her number. I don't want any more numbers. No more dates. No more setups. I'm through." "But, Scott! Don't you want to get married? What about grandchildren? How can you break your poor mother's heart?" He didn't know how she managed to sound so theatrical and yet so genuinely wounded at the same time. "Don't worry about grandchildren. It's under control. In fact, maybe you should be knitting booties or something. Now, I have to go, Mother, this isn't a good time." Scott was nearly desperate to get off the phone before she demanded further details. His tenuous relationship with Veronica wasn't terribly likely to survive if his mother decided to interrogate her about her intentions. "Good-bye, Mother. Thanks for calling. I'll talk to you soon," he said over her sputtering questions and demands for explanations. Then he hung up quickly, feeling like a man who had just made a narrow escape. It didn't take long to finish setting up for the evening meal. He laid out dishes, the ingredients they'd need and put on a CD recording of the late, great Stan Getz to play softly in the background. He figured that between the romantic atmosphere and good food, his little sensualist would be rendered helpless to resist him. And as his secret weapon, a sinful chocolate mousse lay waiting in the refrigerator. He didn't know if she felt the same way about chocolate that she did about coffee, but it couldn't hurt to find out. Resorting to these kinds of strategies seemed more like masterminding a full-scale offensive in the battle of the sexes than conducting a courtship, Scott thought ruefully. Not that he saw them as opposing forces. More like opposite halves meant to fit together. Something elemental inside him resonated in her presence, as if her very femininity somehow made him aware of his masculinity. That something nagged at him, a constant reminder that there was something missing. Male needed female. Yin and yang, two forces that balanced. He didn't know what it was about this woman, but she was something special. Something he'd never found before but always wanted. He'd known it from the moment he'd seen her silhouette in the twilight, like something from a dream. He wanted to grab on to that elusive something with both hands, but sensed instinctively that the only way to keep it was to take it slow. Coax, tempt, and if need be, bully her by degrees into his life. Mentally rubbing his hands together and plotting her downfall, Scott gave a final approving look at the kitchen. Everything was ready. Except him. He just had time for another cold shower.

Chapter Five "The key to a good soufflé is in the egg whites." Veronica nodded as if she understood while Scott applied a wire whip to the egg whites in question with nearly Zenlike concentration. He really seemed determined to spare no effort to turn her into a culinary success story. She couldn't help wondering what it would be like to be the sole object his intense concentration herself. Not that she felt neglected. When he'd met her at the door his slow, lingering appraisal from head to toe and back again had had her curling her toes inside her whimsical lacy shoes. If the fire in his eyes was any indication, the dress she'd worn was a direct hit. It was a bright lemon yellow with a deceptively simple style. The fitted bodice subtly drew attention to her curves while the high neckline looked prim. The skirt fell nearly to her ankles in a flaring A-line. The style minimized even hips like hers and it was unmistakably feminine. Veronica couldn't help feeling a bit smug at her success with the dress. If she was going to go up in flames every time she saw the man, she wasn't going to burn alone. Not if she could help it. She figured she'd make up in creativity what she lacked in beauty. Coming back to the present, she leaned against the center island and did her best to look attentive. As if her mind wasn't on the teacher instead of the lesson. Scott coaxed the whites into ever stiffer peaks, then gently folded them into the waiting mixture. Even a novice like herself could appreciate that he had a good hand with a soufflé. Probably he had a good hand with other things, too. Pay attention, she scolded herself. And reviewed what they'd done so far. Something called a roux formed the soufflé's base. Egg yolks, spinach and cheese were added, along with seasoning. Then it was set aside while the whites were whipped before being combined. Veronica personally thought it was a lot more trouble than scrambled eggs for basically the same thing, but didn't say so. She didn't want to hurt his feelings. "Now it goes into the oven in the center and on the bottom rack," Scott informed her after pouring the mixture into the pan. "The oven door has to stay closed until it's done, or a draft can make it collapse." He placed the dish carefully in the prescribed position and gently closed the oven door. Veronica tried to divide her attention between the dangers of drafts and the dangers of watching his muscles flex and move. "It bakes for about twenty minutes. Long enough to be firm, but not too long or it'll get overdone and tough." "I see," she answered gravely. He gave her a mock frown. "Making a good soufflé is an art, woman." Scott set the timer, then pulled two wineglasses from the rack. A bottle of Chardonnay rested in a ceramic cooler, maintaining a pleasant chill. He opened it and she watched as he splashed some into each glass. Tonight's dinner included the soufflé, a green salad and breadsticks. They had everything ready except for the soufflé now, including the setting. Soft jazz played in the background. The bar top was set with Scott's heavy white stoneware, arranged in attractive place settings with linen

napkins folded through wooden rings. A bowl of yellow and nearly black roses in the center completed the picture of mellow ambiance. Briefly, Veronica wondered if he'd chosen the flowers to complement the color of the baking egg dish. Whatever the idea, the end result was wonderful. Pure romance. The only thing missing was candlelight. But personally, she preferred brighter lighting when she had a view like him to enjoy. She found the whole evening strangely enjoyable. Even grating carrots and tearing lettuce for the salad had been fun. With Scott, she suspected that even the most mundane chores could take on sensual undercurrents. Fortunately for them both, he hadn't worn the dangerous cutoffs again. As it was, she stared and stuttered enough. He had to know he was driving her slowly insane. Maybe that was the idea. Maybe there was something to be said for it, too. Wasn't anticipation half the fun? Scott interrupted her lustful thoughts by handing her a glass. "Here's to your budding genius for cuisine." "I don't know about that," she answered, but took a pleasurable swallow of the wine anyway, loving the flavor of oak it carried. "You have all the ingredients," he assured her. "Intelligence, concentration, and most importantly, the proper appreciation for the instructor's superior knowledge and skill." They sipped together while vivid images of other meanings sprang unbidden to life. He considered some possible results of her diligently applied intelligence and concentration. And she considered the possibilities his superior knowledge and skill might provide. Her imagination failed her. "Would you like to dance?" The question took Veronica by surprise. Would she like to dance with him? Did bees like flowers? She couldn't think of anything she'd like better. "Yes." They smiled at each other. He took her glass to set it out of the way, then took her hands in both of his. A current of awareness flowed between them. With slow deliberation, his eyes holding hers, Scott drew her closer until she just brushed against him. The hard wall of his chest teased her soft breasts, making her nipples tighten in involuntary response. He settled her hands on his shoulders, and his on the swell of her hips. Holding her lightly, he lead her in time to the jazz beat. Veronica followed willingly. He increased the pressure of his hands gradually until he had her molded against his muscular length, and his hold tightened to keep her there. They fit together perfectly. Just as she'd known they would. With a soft sigh, Veronica abandoned herself to the moment and laid her cheek against his chest, luxuriating in the male scent of him. His hands were cradling her hips now, strong fingers moving in slow, sensual strokes designed to arouse and tease her, fitting her closer against him until she could feel the jut of his masculine arousal. It made her knees weak to know she affected him so strongly. He wanted her, and the knowledge was a powerful aphrodisiac. She knew he could feel her uneven pulse and the thousand subtle signals her body gave in response. She felt languid, liquid, receptive. Wanting him. His lips brushed her hairline in a tender caress that heightened rather than diffused the unspoken admission of raw desire between them, and the sweetness mingled with aching

sexuality made her shiver. Scott slid one hand up her back to wrap in her hair, tugging her head back, and she arched to meet his first exploring kiss. Sensual nibbles teased her lower lip as he coaxed her into opening for the brush of his tongue between lips softened by drugging kisses. He teased, tasted, and tempted. And then he claimed and devoured, drawing her into a world of need and want. Kissing her was everything Scott had dreamed it would be. He heard bells. Bells. The soufflé. The oven timer droned through the music, effectively breaking the spell and bringing them too abruptly back to the present. It had to be soufflé, he thought sadly. Not something that could be left to warm while they satisfied a different hunger. Maybe it was just as well, though. He'd gotten a little carried away once he had her in his arms. He'd moved faster than he'd intended to. Somehow, it had just seemed like a good idea. He'd intended to fan the flame of desire into a towering inferno with dancing, dinner and a gradual build-up of physical contact. He wanted to touch her continually in a hundred little ways. Brushing her hair back from her cheek. Taking her hand. He was finding it almost impossible to keep his hands off of her, but he didn't want to rush her. He wanted to get to know her, all of her, and to let her know him. He wanted much more than momentary release, and he wanted it enough to slow down. Which he wouldn't be able to do if he didn't let go of her. Scott abruptly released her to rescue their dinner, and Veronica pressed her hands against flushed cheeks while she tried to simultaneously recover from the kiss and curse the interruption. What rotten timing. But on second thought, maybe it was a good thing. They were moving awfully fast. Scott reached for the soufflé and the ripple of muscle under the knit shirt he wore had her heart pounding again. No, it wasn't a good thing they'd been interrupted. They weren't moving nearly fast enough. Veronica wanted to throw caution to the winds, and him to his kitchen floor. Well, maybe not the floor. The tile looked unyieldingly hard and a little cold. The butcher-block counter, maybe. It irked her that he seemed so unmoved. How could he just calmly turn around and serve up dinner as if nothing had happened? Why wasn't he standing beside her with his knees shaking? Didn't she affect him the way he affected her? Yes, she thought, remembering the unmistakable evidence of his desire. He'd been as aroused as she was. And she decided to stop thinking about it, since it wasn't helping her calm down. Instead, she let him seat her, secretly pleased when he accidentally brushed her shoulder in the process and jerked his hands away as if burned. She affected him, all right. Scott lit a tapered candle she hadn't noticed before with a shaking hand. She pretended not to notice, but inwardly she gloated. It was nice to know she wasn't the only one losing her mind and her self-control. And once seated across from her, he then wanted to talk. There were times, Veronica thought sadly, when a girl could cry. Talking was the last thing she wanted to do with him. Unless it involved body talk. But she was in a mood to oblige him, between the food, which she had to admit was much

better than scrambled eggs and worth the effort for the dramatic effect if nothing else, the wine and the memory of his scorching kiss. So they talked. "You don't seem like a librarian," Scott informed her solemnly. "Really? What do you think librarians are like?" Veronica asked, curious. "You know." He paused. "Prim. Sedate." "That isn't how you'd describe me?" No, he wouldn't. She was a far cry from prim and sedate. More like sexy as hell and twice as hot. But he refrained from saying so and limited his answer to a careful "No." "Oh. Well, it makes sense, if you think about it," she answered cheerfully. "It does?" "Well, sure. Most librarians start out as English majors. You know, poets, writers, nostalgics. Given to high drama and low comedy. As for prim, didn't you know that librarians defended Allen Ginsberg when Howl was declared pornography?" Scott wondered how to answer that. He didn't want to admit that he'd never heard of Ginsberg and had no idea what "Howl" might be since she seemed to think he'd know. The awful possibility occurred to him that she might get to know him better, and decide that he was a dumb jock with a hammer. Still, it was probably better to let her know what she was getting with him from the beginning. "What's Howl?" Her face turned apologetic. "Sorry. I know poetry isn't everyone's thing, especially that kind. Howl is a poem. There was a lot of controversy over it, a court case in California involving the book, talk of banning it. In the end freedom of speech and the press was upheld, though." Scott gave her an incredulous look. "You're telling me there was a legal battle over a book of poetry?" "Yep." Veronica paused to take another bite of the soufflé. Delicious. She took a sip of the wine to enjoy the complementary flavors before continuing, "Books are about ideas, you know. And ideas change the world. Think about American history. Thomas Paine and the Revolutionary War. Harriet Beecher Stowe and the Civil War. That's why freedom of the press is so vital to a free country. Suppress ideas and you stifle change." The idea of a library as a hotbed of controversy was enough to boggle Scott's mind. Books. Incredible. "And what was the idea behind Howl?" Veronica made a wry face at him. "I'm not qualified to give you a review, but it was a political statement, essentially. A very powerful one. Ginsberg contrasted the lack of purpose in chasing money and the lack of direction in the generation that dropped out. I think his use of metaphors upset the censorship people by referring to material pursuits as worshipping Moloch, and maybe the bleak viewpoint was too disturbing. He was one of the San Francisco renaissance writers, so that gives you some context for the case." "Ah." Scott thought about the politically turbulent sixties and could appreciate the implications. "Does that kind of thing come up often?" She shrugged. "Well, occasionally. Suppression in the form of book burning, banning, or just labeling the controversial as pornographic does happen. One of Mark Twain's classics is now considered politically incorrect and banned in many schools. We librarians try to stay informed and work to preserve our cultural heritage as well as standing up for civil liberties." She reached for another sip of wine and ended with a half-smile, "And that's the end of my lecture. Hopefully

you won't think of librarians as stuffy, anyway." No. Far from it. "Okay. Librarians aren't stuffy," Scott solemnly agreed. They both paused to take another bite of the wonderfully light soufflé. "So, why did you become a librarian?" he asked, his curiosity now fully aroused. Veronica considered that briefly. "Hmm. Well, I didn't want to teach English. Writing is just too much hard work. And I wasn't interested in working for a publishing house. That pretty much left library science if I wanted to work with books." "Writing is too much hard work?" She laughed. "Let me ask you something. You remember writing papers in school?” He nodded. "Well, how much did you enjoy it and how easy did you think it was?" He remembered agonizing over footnotes and straining his eyes researching. Then the actual process, sweating over the time limits and struggling to make sentences form. He'd used pictures, charts and graphs whenever possible to stretch the length. Scott shuddered visibly. Veronica grinned and saluted him with her wineglass. "There, you see? I knew you were a bright guy. You figured it out. Well, that's why I became a librarian. I enjoy helping someone else's writing get to the people who need or want the information. I especially like seeing kids get excited about the world of ideas." Then she neatly turned the tables on him. "Now it's your turn. Tell me why you became a carpenter." He smiled at her. "That's easy. I like building things. I like to work with my hands. I also like restoring old houses." He gave a slight shrug. "Not very complicated, I'm afraid. I just like to build things, so I became a carpenter." "Ah, but it is more complicated than you're admitting," she teased. "Engineers and architects are also basically builders. Why not one of those fields?" Scott kept a solemn, straight face as he informed her, "Yes, but they don't get to wear tool belts and whistle when pretty women walk by." Veronica laughed in delight at his answer. "I also get to buy all the power tools I want and write them off as a business expense," he added with a grin. "I'd say that's a good reason." He was really funny, she thought, struggling to control her giggles. He sounded like an overgrown kid in a grown-up toy store with those power tools. She decided to ignore any possible symbolic significance, however. Scott was more secure in his masculinity than any other man she'd ever met. And she'd experienced proof, up close and personally, that he didn't need any substitutes when it came to manly equipment. And she had to stop thinking about him and his tools and working with his hands, or she'd be drooling on the table. Get a grip, Veronica, she told herself sternly. But then he cleared the plates and brought out the dessert. No woman could be expected to taste that wickedly rich chocolate concoction and not swoon. Veronica wondered what was in it. Then she realized what she was doing. Getting interested in cooking, for heaven's sake. Still, if she could learn to make something like this, the whole thing would be worthwhile no matter what else happened or didn't happen. "How did you make this? You didn't show me."

Scott just gave her a sexy wink. "A guy has to have some secrets." He took a spoonful and paused to enjoy it before continuing to tease her. "I have to maintain some sense of mystery." "Come on, Scott. Really," she coaxed. He turned a bland expression to her. "Really. This chocolate mousse recipe is a carefully guarded secret. It's been handed down through the ages by an ancient order of monks who feared the consequences of too much temptation falling into the wrong hands." Veronica drew in a breath. Too much temptation, indeed. "With this mousse, marriages could be threatened," Scott informed her solemnly. "Careers could be destroyed. Political leaders toppled. If the secret got out, outbursts of uncontrolled passion could wreck the fabric of society as we know it." She found that easy to believe. The mousse was incredible. Was it really just good chocolate, or a secret aphrodisiac? She'd be willing to wreck the fabric of society for more of it. And for more of him. Much, much more. Kissing him had only whetted her appetite. She had an all-consuming body hunger for Scott that dinner had failed to distract her from. It hadn't helped her cool off, either. If anything, it felt awfully warm in his kitchen, air conditioning or no air conditioning. Yes, it was definitely warm. And he was too tormentingly near to ignore. Too far away to touch. She really thought she could feel his body heat radiating toward her. As if he was touching her with an invisible force. An irresistible force. Maybe it was the mousse, or maybe it was the wine. But her resistance to him was definitely low. Nonexistent, in fact. Veronica thought she'd melt at his touch as easily as the chocolate confection melted on her tongue if he so much as touched her hand. As if he'd read her mind, Scott reached over and took her hand in his. Lifting it to his lips, he brushed a warm kiss on her open palm, then another on the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. Lazily, he nibbled along the base of her thumb to the pad and bit down gently. Releasing the pressure, he licked it, then turned his attention to the next digit. When he sucked lightly at her forefinger, she was lost. All thought ceased. Nothing except the sensation of his mouth moving over her skin existed. Her world narrowed to the two of them and the skillful seduction he was practicing on her. Every sensation seemed heightened. The flavor of chocolate on her tongue. The cushion beneath her. The musky trace of masculine cologne teasing her nostrils. It all combined to create a sensory overload that had her shivering at the slightest caress, her nervous system tuned to high voltage. When he rose and moved to stand behind her, placing her hand on the smooth, cool surface of the bar, she was nearly shaking in anticipation of his next heated touch. "Close your eyes," he growled softly. Veronica obeyed mindlessly. Although it didn't seem possible, cutting off the sense of sight served to further heighten every other sense and the added element of uncertainty, not being able to see, not knowing what he would do, had her on the edge. She would shatter when he touched her.

She would die if he didn't. His hands cupped her elbows, then stroked up to her shoulders in an easy, fluid movement. Fingers outlined the delicate collarbones bared above the neckline of her dress. He traced the hollow of her throat, the sensitive skin behind her ears, the curve of her cheek. Gentle fingertips feathered over the outline of her lips and closed eyelids. Then, abruptly, he gripped fistfuls of hair and tugged her head back. His mouth plundered hers with no pretense of gentleness. He wasn't asking. He was boldly taking what he wanted, and giving her what she ached for. One hand released her hair and moved down over her shoulder to cup her breast. Her moan was lost in his hungry kiss. It might have been seconds or an eternity before Scott broke away, breathing harshly, and pulled her to her feet. Still keeping her back to him, he drew her fully into his arms again, holding her tightly. They stood together in silence, the rhythm of their hearts racing in tandem. Veronica leaned weakly against him, letting his solid strength support her, grateful for the comfort of his arms wrapped around her waist, hugging her close. It had been much more than a kiss. More than casual petting. Scott had deliberately stormed her senses, and she was genuinely shaken. She suspected that he was, too. He wasn't the playboy she'd originally taken him for. She'd made the mistake of expecting a man with so much on the surface to be shallow underneath. Instead, he had a hidden depth that kept revealing itself in startling ways. She was beginning to think of him as a walking contradiction. Carpenter by day. Chef and cuisine expert by night. Romantic. Rogue. By turns gentle and brutal, but just enough to heighten her response and always controlled. She knew instinctively that he would never hurt her, but he was unsafe enough to excite her to the limit. Tonight he'd shown her what kind of lover he would be when he took her to his bed. That he was taking her there was boldly apparent in every possessive look and touch. And he'd shown her that he was in no rush to get there. She could hear a saxophone still wailing in the background as her heart slowed and her senses expanded to take in something beyond the circle of Scott's arms. As if attuned to her, he turned her in his embrace and pushed her head onto his shoulder with one hand. The other wrapped around her waist to keep her close. His cheek rested on the top of her head. For long minutes, they swayed to the music like that, lost to everything but the discovery of each other. Finally, he crooked one finger beneath her chin and tipped her face up to meet his eyes. "I have to take you home now, sweetheart." Reluctance colored Scott's gruff voice and his grip didn't loosen, in spite of the words. "I know." Her voice was quiet, subdued. Still, neither of them moved. He was right, and she knew it. They were courting danger every minute they stayed. But she felt as if she couldn't bear the loss of his warm, solid frame against her, the comfort of his touch. As if somehow, touching him had become as vital as air and water to her. As if he felt the same, Scott loosened his hold but kept her close against his side while he walked her to his door, out and over to her own. They lingered, neither wanting the moment to end. One last full embrace. One last chaste kiss,

dropped on her dark hair. It went without saying that one more open-mouthed kiss would lead to instant and abandoned love-making. She appreciated his restraint and regretted it, simultaneously. Finally, he stepped away from her, cupped her face and looked into her dazed eyes one last time. "Good night." Veronica echoed the phrase wordlessly, lips moving without sound. He smiled and touched the tip of his finger to her lips. Then he was gone, and she was left almost unbearably alone. She felt as if he'd stolen her soul.

Chapter Six Scott had been busy, Veronica noted the next morning. She'd padded out to retrieve the Sunday paper from her stoop, rubbing her eyes, but the surprise waiting for her jolted her wide awake. The roses from the table the night before lay strewn around her front steps. A steaming mug sat next to her newspaper with a note. She picked it up, unfolded it and read in his angular writing, "Drink me." She did. It was Mocha Java. Either the man really knew what he was doing, or he had a monitor inside her head. Then she noticed the flower petals that led off towards his house. An invitation to follow. Generous lips curved in a wide smile. A path of rose petals for her feet? Sheer romance. Sheer whimsy. And delightful fun. It seemed she was being seduced in style. Fortunately, Sebastian was already fed, leaving her free to follow the flowers. Veronica glanced down at her lounge outfit, decided it could pass for dressed, finger-combed her hair and set off for Wonderland like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. She was falling, anyway. That much she could be certain of. The trail of petals stopped, predictably, at Scott's door. A note on the doorbell read, "Ring me". Giggling, she pressed the button and waited. The door swung open. Her seducer stood before her in white twill shorts, a black silk bow tie and nothing else. Veronica sucked in a deep breath at the sight of that endless expanse of tanned, toned man. A snowy white linen cloth lay draped over one arm, maitre de style, and his green eyes burned into hers. "Good morning, madam. I trust you slept badly?" His husky voice was blandly polite. "Yes, thank you," she answered, following his lead. "I laid awake all night." Thinking about you. His green eyes glittered at her implied admission. "Good. If madam would follow me, your table awaits." He turned away and she followed him to the kitchen. The scene of the crime, she was coming to think of it as. With mock servility, he pulled a stool out for her and seated her with a flourish. This time, pale pink sweetheart roses rested in a cut glass vase. Veronica had to wonder how many varieties of roses Scott cultivated. So far, she hadn't seen the same flowers twice. "If madam will permit, I will serve at once," he intoned, coming back to loom beside her. Getting into the spirit of the thing, she inclined her head regally. "Very good, madam." She could get used to this, Veronica decided. Her own butler. Her own incredibly sexy, halfnaked butler. Maybe there was something good to be said for mornings, after all. And between his enticing state of dress, or undress, his sexy bedroom voice and the silent declaration of desire in his eyes, her new neighbor definitely had to fall into the category of

something good. She also couldn't help wondering in what other ways he might choose to cater to her wishes. A heady thought. He busily refilled her cup to the rim and placed a dish of fresh ripe strawberries in front of her with a warmed croissant on a separate plate. She kept her hands off of that tempting golden skin by clenching them tightly in her lap. He was a cruel tease, she decided. Practically brushing against her, and still not touching her. With a final mock bow and a most unsubservient look, her "butler" retreated. But not before handing her another note. She unfolded it, already knowing what she'd read: "Eat me". She complied. Breakfast was delicious. A perfect beginning to what looked like a perfect day. Veronica was just finishing the last juicy berry, the croissant a memory except for a trace of crumbs, when Scott returned to take the dishes. His sensual mouth quirked as he lifted one corner of the immaculate cloth and dabbed at the crumbs dusting her mouth. Then he shook his head in mock regret. "Pardon, madam, but I missed a crumb." That was her only warning before he bent his head and wickedly licked her lips. Scorching heat shot through her at the intimate caress. Damn, he was playing with her the way her cat played with a mouse. He was driving her insane. "This arrived for you," he went on smoothly, as if he hadn't had his tongue in the corner of her mouth a moment before. Mr. Correct handed her a small envelope. Then he disappeared again. The envelope, of course, said "Read me". She slit it open and pulled out the note inside. "Veronica: Spend the day with me. You have one hour to get ready. I'll pick you up. Scott" Her brows shot up. Not taking much for granted, was he? Did he think she didn't have anything else to do? Although even if she had had plans, she knew very well she'd change them because her body might as well be where her brain had fixated itself. He'd given her an hour. Plenty of time, she decided. Sure, as long her hands would stop shaking. He'd just reduced her to a quivering wreck and she had a sinking feeling that her IQ had been reduced nearly to vegetable status by the devastating Hunk Effect. Scott returned to guide her to the door, which he courteously held open for her. "A pleasure, madam." But she had a feeling the pleasure was going to be mutual. And extensive. Once home, she raced up the stairway, discarding clothing as she ran. Turning on the water and dropping a thick towel within reach, she waited for the water to run at a steady temperature, then stepped in. One detail Mr. Thorough had overlooked; what to wear? She had no idea where they were going or what they'd be doing. Well, some idea, but they could do that anywhere. And they just might. But still, how was she supposed to dress? It was a problem. What was the perfect thing to get seduced in that was still appropriate for general activities? Veronica debated the issue from several sides while shampooing and scrubbing her skin until it glowed with her loofah and liquid soap but failed to come up with any ideas. Probably due to Scott's seductive, fever-producing, brain-tissue-destroying, distracting attentions. So if she wore the wrong thing, it would be his fault, she decided guiltlessly. Once out of the tub and wrapped in an absorbent terry bath sheet, Veronica padded to her closet door, threw it open and waited for inspiration to strike.

Sebastian, understandably curious about the cause of her rare display of early morning energy, wound through her ankles and peered into the closet's depths with her. But he didn't offer her any suggestions. Something she could walk in, Veronica decided. Something versatile. Flattering. Something she could wear a comfortable pair of shoes with. When would some designer make an all-occasion sweat dress, equally appropriate for athletic activity or formal dining? Swearing under her breath, she flipped through hangers frantically. "Ah-ha!" She crowed, finding something close to that description. A melon-hued knit dress with a halter top and flirty skirt in her favorite flattering A-line. She paired it with white canvas sneakers. Not bad. Ankle socks followed, and a lacy white thong, since she wanted to avoid telltale panty lines. The halter top left the back bare, so no bra. Not that it would matter. She didn’t have enough on top to worry about supporting, anyway. Putting the whole ensemble together, Veronica tipped her head to consider it and nodded, satisfied. "It's perfect," she informed Sebastian. "The little-girl look, with grown-up sex appeal." If that didn't get to Tarzan, she didn't know what would. And wonder of wonders, the dress matched her nail color. "It really is a perfect day," she sighed out loud. Once she had the outfit assembled, she dressed swiftly. A spray of perfume, gold hoops in her earlobes, and a matching bangle bracelet added finishing touches. She brushed out her hair and decided a quick blow-dry was all it needed. After exactly one hour, she was outlining her lips with lipstick a shade darker than the dress. Mascara tipped her lashes and subtle use of an eye pencil added slight emphasis. Other than that, she skipped the rest of her makeup, preferring the natural sun-kissed glow she gained in the summer. She scooped up her bag with wallet and keys. Ready. And just in time for the doorbell. Veronica skipped down the stairs, an amazed Sebastian trailing in her wake, and threw open the door. And decided that impossible as it might seem, Scott just kept getting better looking. She took him in with hungry eyes, six feet plus of appealing male in casual shorts and a knit shirt that made the most of what he already had too much of for her peace of mind. He was eyeing her just as avidly. Then he extended a hand to her. "Let's get out of here before that dress overrules my plans." She took it, surprised at the thrill just holding his hand gave. Good grief, was she reliving her adolescence? Having a mid-life crisis early, brought on by the trauma of turning thirty? Well, if she was, it was too late to worry about it now. She locked the door and let Scott lead her to his pickup. He opened the door for her and released her hand, but before she could get in, he spanned her waist with both hands and lifted her against him for a heart-stopping minute. Being held at that height put her on eye level with him. A nice change. He nuzzled the curve of her neck with a low growl of appreciation. "Nice perfume. What is it?" Struggling for a serious expression, she threw his words from the previous night back at him, with a twist. "A girl has to have some secrets. I have to maintain some sense of mystery." He gently bit the sensitive cord below her earlobe, then soothed the sting with his tongue. "Oh, come on," he coaxed. "Nope. This perfume is a carefully guarded secret handed down through the centuries by an ancient order of knights. It's said to be the only remaining formula from an alchemist's text that

survived the burning of the great library of Alexandria." In spite of her light words, Veronica shivered from the combined effects of his loving attention to her neck and the seductive display of strength as he held her easily. With an effort, she went on, "With this perfume, empires could be toppled. Religious leaders destroyed by temptation. It could wreck the fabric of society." "And it would be worth it," Scott groaned, lifting her higher to nuzzle the valley between her breasts. And Veronica quietly said good-bye forever to her few remaining brain cells. He lowered her by inches, prolonging the torture of sliding her sensitized body along his, until her toes touched ground. Then, as if he'd changed his mind at the last moment, he lifted her again, cupping her rounded bottom to crush her intimately against him while his lips devoured hers, their tongues mating wildly. Together, they went from a steady burn to a white-hot inferno in seconds. As if regaining some thread of sanity, Scott drew back, switching to tiny, chaste kisses that he rained over her face in a change of pace that served to calm them both. When she opened her eyes to meet his again, they smoldered in an echo of the heat surging through her blood. Well, that was something, she decided. If she was going to lose all control, he could too. "Veronica," he whispered, rubbing his cheek against the dark silk of her hair. "I didn't meant to do that out here where anyone could come along and see." Rueful apology colored his gruff voice. Kind of sweet, she decided. "I wasn't exactly kicking and screaming, in case you didn't notice," she informed him, lightly tracing the outline of his mouth with one fingertip. He hugged her closer. "I noticed. And in case you couldn't tell, if we don't go right now, I'm going to lose my head completely and find out whether or not you're wearing any panties." She sucked in a breath at the erotic words. Then almost laughed as she realized what he meant. He couldn't feel the thong through the fabric of her skirt; in fact, he felt a distinct absence and apparently, it was affecting him. The item he thought wasn't there was in fact safely present. And clinging damply. But she decided it wasn't a good time to mention that. "Let's go then," she choked out. "Right." He lifted her into the truck and deposited her on the seat, then couldn't seem to resist guiding her shoulder harness into place, following it from breast to waist before he locked it into the buckle. Nice to know that his hands seemed as reluctant to leave her as she was to have them withdrawn. Still, she supposed it was for the best when he left her to go around and climb in the other side. Scott gripped the steering wheel firmly in both hands, as if keeping them occupied was a matter of grave importance, and turned to give her a half-smile. "I thought we'd take a drive up the Kancamagus and have a picnic by the river. Sound good?" "Sure." Veronica thought anything he suggested at that moment would probably sound good, including a midnight bacchanal. But she'd always loved the National Scenic Byway that wound through the mountains, following two rivers from Lincoln to Conway. The Kancamagus highway boasted spectacular views and waterfalls. Downriver from the Lower Falls, a popular swimming area with a series of large rocks invited lazy sunning. All along the way, well-marked hiking trails led off into the wilderness in case they got restless and needed to stretch their legs.

The trails also provided plenty of opportunities for a couple to hide and neck. A nice thought. And there were enough public areas along the way to provide safety in numbers if things got too hot. She wondered if he'd planned that. And if so, what it meant. Scott slid a tape into his deck and soon the soft sounds of Spyro Gyra surrounded them. Jazz again, she noted. She liked his taste in music. Once headed north and clear of traffic lights, he reached over to hold her hand again. Neither of them spoke, comfortable with each other's presence without needing a screen of social patter. Veronica relaxed, taking the opportunity to recover from Scott's scorching kisses and equally hot words. The earlier mood of romance and anticipation returned, and it struck her again that she'd been reduced to a hand-holding, lust-struck giddy juvenile. An incredibly attractive man was showering her with roses, chocolate and fabulous coffee. She was on the receiving end of an unbelievably courtly seduction. And it thrilled her. It was a little strange, true. Disconcerting. Here she was, thirty, devoted to a life of spinsterhood. A quiet librarian, who even her friends and former lovers agreed needed to get a life. Not exactly the most likely candidate for The Hunk to turn the full force of his magnetic attraction onto. She couldn't help wondering why. Never mind why, an inner voice answered in exasperation. Who cares why? It's there. Enjoy it. If the man wanted to cook for her, pamper her and seductively tease her until she couldn't take it anymore, why complain? She should just relax and enjoy the ride. Go with it wherever it led. Everyone was entitled to experience a grand passion once in a lifetime. Even librarians. Maybe especially librarians. After all, who was better acquainted with the history of romance and the depth of human passions? On the other hand…no, she told herself firmly. No other hand. No buts. She was going to seize the day, or when she was eighty and sitting in her rocker with Sebastian's great-grandson, she'd hate herself for missing the chance. The drive to Lincoln, where the Kancamagus began, passed swiftly. Once there, they played tourist happily, pointing out sights and wondering out loud how bicyclists managed to get up the steep mountain route as they passed a man and woman on ten-speeds. "I think they have helicopter pilots drop them at the summit," Veronica suggested, mischief sparkling in her brown eyes. "Nah," Scott disagreed. "They hook onto the backs of cars and get a ride up." Any explanation seemed more reasonable than the truth; that some people were crazy enough to pedal up a mountain and down the other side. "Why do they do it?" Veronica wondered out loud. He laughed. "Don't you know why?" She looked over and found herself caught and held by his mesmerizing eyes. With an effort, she shook her head in answer to the question. Heat deepened in the brown depths of his eyes. "A guy will do anything to impress the right girl," he informed her huskily, drawing her hand up to nip at her palm. "Absolutely anything." She let out a shaky breath. "If you're trying to impress me, it's working." Another scorching trail of kisses followed pulse points that pounded in reaction from her wrist to the sensitive inner skin of her elbow. "Just wait," Scott promised, his eyes burning into hers.

Waiting, she decided, was getting very difficult. They pulled into a scenic overlook on the site of an old logging trail. "Wait there," he cautioned, hopping out. She did, feeling deliciously pampered as he came around to open her door and help her out. Arm in arm, they walked to the edge and looked down the plunging gorge. It made a stunning study in contrasts, the open blue sky and the forest of hardwood and evergreens, the mountain jutting up to reach the heavens. "Beautiful," Scott said softly. "Yes," Veronica echoed. Then she realized he was looking at her, and not the view. Their eyes met and held while the world seemed to fall away. Their lips met in a soft, gentle kiss that seemed as natural and timeless as the mountains. This time, there was no deliberately provocative challenge. No declaration of intention. Nothing but a tender moment between lovers, finding expression in a kiss. Lovers. The word carried disquieting implications that she wasn't ready to consider. It implied a depth of feeling she wasn't sure she wanted to explore. A fling was like a roller-coaster ride; exhilarating, wildly exciting, the hint of danger adding to the thrill. But all the same, it was safe. The ride followed a predictable course and came to its natural end. Scott lifted his head and smiled at her, then tugged her by the hand back towards the pickup. As they continued the drive, however, she was plagued by the uneasy feeling that something fundamental had changed. So when Scott turned to her with a serious expression and said, "I have to tell you something," she reacted with a nervous, "What?" "I'm hungry." At the solemn confession, she relaxed and grinned in response. "Open the basket, would you?" Now that he mentioned it, she was curious about the old-fashioned picnic basket's contents. She opened it, and tilted a questioning look at him, waiting for further instructions. "Pull out that bunch of grapes on top." She did, wondering just what game he had in mind now. A bunch of seedless green grapes lay conveniently on top of the packed containers. Obviously, this was premeditated. Fighting the urge to laugh, she picked up the fruit and tried to hand it to him. He shook his head. "I'm driving. You'll have to feed me." She raised a brow at that suggestion. He gave her an innocent look that the wicked gleam in his eyes completely destroyed. Now, that was low, she decided. If she had his devastating mouth on her hand the length of time it would take to feed him the bunch of grapes, she'd be a quivering mass of need when he was done. Exactly the effect he obviously wanted. Heat curled through her belly at the thought. There was no doubt about it. The Hunk was in a class by himself. He was one dangerous man, and he was going to take her for the ride of her life to the limit of sensation. She definitely owed Ward Greeley her sincere thanks. If he hadn't evicted her, she and Scott would never have met. She was really enjoying her new life, Veronica decided happily. And plucked a single grape to offer him. He took it with a warm brush of his lips.

"That way's too slow," he informed her in a sexy growl. Her sentiments exactly. But she could hope things were speeding up. She gave him a wide-eyed look. "How should I do this, then?" she asked thoughtfully. She was starting to get into this game. If he wanted to have her wanting and helpless, she'd have the satisfaction of taking him down with her. "Like this, maybe?" She offered him the whole bunch, laid over the palm of her hand and slipped one grape into his mouth with a twist of two fingers. The heated look he gave her told her she'd scored. To her surprise, a streak of daring she didn't know she had was coming out in response to his challenge. The idea that she could seduce him back gave her a heady feeling of power. She wanted to give him everything he was giving her, in spades. To twist him inside-out and give him a taste of his own medicine. She gave him a regretful shake of her head. "I'm afraid I can't reach. I'll have to undo the seatbelt." She unbuckled the harness, and didn't miss the way his eyes followed its path as it retracted. She slid sideways, kneeling on the seat and leaning closer. In the process, her skirt just happened to slip higher, exposing more bare skin. With her knees slightly parted, the shadowed juncture between her thighs invited him to wonder if there was anything under there or not. She figured the mystery of the absent panty line should drive him at least as crazy as he was driving her. Fair was fair. Fire leaped higher in his eyes, telling her she'd scored again. She could get used to this. It was an odd sort of sensual duel. A silent contest of one-upmanship. And it was the kind of contest that had no losers. He made her feel wanton. Wicked. And the cluster of grapes provided a certain erotic symbolism. She was woman, tempting man. Being tempted herself. She offered; he took. She tempted; he tasted. Nipping, licking and sucking, he devoured the fruit and started on her. Veronica barely noticed when the stems fell to the floor. With his warm lips moving on her open palm, his tongue teasing her fingers apart in a prelude of things to come, she would barely have noticed a head-on collision. Especially when his fingers retaliated against her breast for teasingly brushing against his arm, tugging at her taut nipple in sensual punishment. It was almost enough to send her over the edge. Heat flooded her and her breath seemed to leave her. As if recognizing that he'd teased her too far and she couldn't take any more, Scott released the sensitive peak and instead pulled her close beside him in a one-armed embrace. His palm cradled her head against his shoulder, gentle fingers smoothing her hair in slow, calming strokes. She cuddled willingly and let him soothe her. The need he'd aroused didn't go away, but the urgency faded. She was barely conscious of the fact that the truck had stopped when he set the brake and lifted her onto his lap to cradle her against his chest. "I'm sorry, baby," he whispered against the soft darkness of her hair. "I touch you, and I forget where we are. I want you, but I don't want to rush you. I thought it'd be safer if we were someplace public." A weak giggle escaped her. As if they'd be safe anywhere they were together. It was a good thing they'd left town, or by

now they might have to change their names and move to avoid scandal. Franklin was too small a town for anyone to miss two people making out in a pickup. Especially two adults. "And as good as it feels to hold you like this, I'd better let you go before I embarrass us both." The hard evidence of aroused masculine urgency straining through the thin layers of fabric between them made his meaning very clear. He was as close to the brink, as deeply affected, as she was. He gave her one last swift, hard kiss, one last tight hug, and then he stepped out of the truck with her still in the cradle of his arms, then set her on her feet with a grin. "Let's do lunch." She had to smile back at the hackneyed phrase. "Okay." The mysterious basket contained a blanket, which he spread out invitingly. While she sprawled on it, he unpacked the rest of the items and held them up for her inspection. A bottle of red wine. With glasses noticeably absent. Obviously, he intended them to share. Flaky croissants filled with chicken salad. Two apples. A single white rose, which he lightly touched to her lips in a surrogate kiss before he tucked it behind one ear. Then he tangled his fingers in her hair and trapped her for a real kiss. Finally, he handed her a small thermos with a wicked look. "Juan for the road." Veronica groaned in mock agony at the terrible pun. He laughed at her pained expression. "Hey, I could be saving your life," Scott teased. "I didn't know how long you could go without a fix. It's a long way to Juan Valdez' mountain from here." "I'm not that bad," she protested. "I can go, oh, at least another five minutes without coffee." "Uh huh." He nodded, laughter lighting his eyes. "You see? If you went into caffeine withdrawal out here in the wilderness, it could get ugly. I think you should thank me for planning ahead." She thanked him with another kiss. They ate the sandwiches, passing the bottle of wine back and forth occasionally. Veronica noticed that he didn't drink much, conscious of his role as driver, and it warmed her even further than his kisses already had. How often did a sense of responsibility accompany a love of fun? Scott really was one of a kind. And the more time she spent with him, the more she appreciated his rare qualities. Admittedly, she hadn't seen any further than his gorgeous face and sexy body at first. But once she started to get used to the way he looked-well, not really used to it, but not quite so breathless and speechless-she gradually started to see the rest of the man. A man she had a hard time believing some woman hadn't snagged long ago. She couldn't help wondering why he was still single. Unless it was because he liked freedom and variety. They gradually relaxed through the meal until they lay on their backs, side by side, fingers entwined, crunching apples in companionable silence. As usual, he seemed attuned to her. After recognizing the intensity of arousal he'd pushed her to, Scott had backed off sexually, but kept her comfortingly close as if sensing her stormy emotions and the need for physical reassurance. In the distance, the sound of the Lower Falls blended with the sounds of cars humming past and the far-away voices of other people out enjoying the sunny weather. Scott took her apple core and tossed it deeper into the woods with his, then tugged her onto her side to snuggle against his chest. "Having fun?"

His voice rumbled beneath her ear, and Veronica smiled. "Yes." Strangely enough, she was. Instead of exploding with unfulfilled desire, an odd contentment filled her as she lay in his arms. "Me, too." They stayed there for a while, enjoying the peace and the simple pleasure of the moment. Then Scott stood, pulled her to her feet, and repacked the basket before taking her hand again. "Come on, let's go watch the falls." "Okay." And she reflected that letting him lead her around by the hand was becoming a habit. As usual, a crowd of onlookers thronged around the look-out area, a mix of local families, teenagers and tourists. "Ah, people. We're safe here," Scott growled suggestively against her ear. "Kiss me some more." Veronica giggled. "I don't think that's safe anywhere." "Good. You're laughing about it. I was worried there, for a while." He had to be kidding. Him? Worried? She eyed him sardonically and said, "You were?" "Yeah." He pulled her closer and continued, "I was worried that you might think I was just a tease who didn't intend to deliver." Another low blow. He played dirty. Her knees went weak and Veronica decided it was a very good thing that he was there for her to lean against. "And I intend to deliver, baby," he promised, his husky voice sending shivers through her. "I'm going to give you everything you've ever dreamed of when I make love to you." He continued to tell her, in vivid detail, what he had planned for her, the noise from the falls effectively guaranteeing that they wouldn't be overheard. "Oh, God," she whispered, sagging in his embrace. She didn't think she could stand by herself. She didn't think she could walk, either. He was going to have to carry her. She was definitely in trouble.

Chapter Seven The inescapable feeling of being out of her depth continued. Once off balance, it was hard to regain control. Getting the upper hand seemed impossible. Silently, Veronica had to concede that so far, Scott was the clear winner of the day's contest. After rendering her speechless and half-paralyzed with his unsweet nothings, he'd scooped her up and dragged her off to wade. She strongly suspected that his only motivation was the excuse it provided him to carry her through the river and set her on the rock of his choice. His Tarzan side was out in force. Any minute now, he'd beat his chest and yell. The man really seemed to delight in reminding her of his superior strength and size. She was beginning to wonder if he was going to cart her around forever like some sort of prize. She did have to admit that it came in handy when her knees failed her, but then, if he hadn't said those things to her, she wouldn't have had any trouble standing. Or walking. She wondered if he'd said those things just to get his way. Well, whatever his reasons, Scott was obviously enjoying himself, and Veronica had to admit that she was, too. He made her feel feminine and cherished, while simultaneously stirring womanly needs. He was no knight to put her on a pedestal. Instead, he offered a very earthy passion combined with elements of courtly love in one mind-blowing package. He'd made it clear that he had no intention of worshipping her from afar, and at the same time he treated her like a princess. A very sexy princess. Veronica grinned at the mental picture that suggested; herself, gowned and crowned in the image of ladylike purity. While he fondled her on his lap. If he was a knight, he was a very bawdy one. Just the way she preferred her knights these days. Besides, from a viewpoint of historical accuracy, those knights and ladies hadn't all espoused chivalry and spiritual love. Too many royal bastards had existed to make that fiction believable. "Tell me what you're smiling about, or I'll drop you in the river," a now-familiar growl threatened. Scott pounced on her, swinging her up into the cradle of his arms effortlessly. Veronica complied readily. "I was thinking about fairy tales." "Not good enough. What about fairy tales? Make it good, or you're going swimming." Scott gave her a ferocious scowl and dangled her warningly bare inches above the cold water. "No! Don't drop me!" she protested in mock fear. "I'll tell you everything, I swear." "My arms are getting tired. You'd better talk fast." "Okay, okay! I was thinking you'd make a great knight." "A knight, huh?" He pretended to give that serious consideration. "Well, I guess that's good. Keep going." He relented enough to draw her securely back against his chest, and she lost no time in anchoring her arms around his neck. Just in case. "Keep going? Well, I was thinking there was a lot more going on back in the days of knights on chargers and ladies in ivory towers than poetic tributes and metaphysical bliss." "Good thinking." A daring hand brushed beneath the hem of her skirt. "They could have been doing anything under those suits of armor. Very concealing. And those long dresses. One wonders what the ladies wore underneath them."

"One would have to do some research to find out," Veronica told him primly. "I'm a fan of research." The hand slid higher. Veronica gave him her best haughty princess look. "I told you what you wanted to know, knave. Unhand me." "Knave? I thought I was a knight." Mischief gleamed in his eyes. She smiled in spite of herself. "You're a very naughty knight." His hand was now cupping a bare cheek and suddenly he wasn't laughing. "And you're twice as naughty." His voice sounded rougher than usual. Scott sat abruptly on their rock and crushed her against him. Veronica almost took pity on him and told him what she was wearing, but it was too satisfying to watch him fighting for control for a change. He was practically shaking, and breathing like a winded marathoner. Maybe she was twice as naughty, Veronica reflected. She liked finding herself ahead for once. It was all she could do not to laugh out loud. Of course, his iron grip kept her from breathing deeply enough to allow that. Gradually, Scott relaxed, but she noticed smugly that his hands stayed safely locked around her waist. "Veronica, I can't believe you." He gave her an accusing look as he regained his powers of speech. "You just gave me gray hair." "Gray hair is very distinguished," she observed blandly. "I'm glad you think so. I have a feeling I'm going to have a lot of it soon." "Better gray than gone," Veronica assured him with a cheerful lack of concern. Brown eyes glowed with a light of vengeance. "I'm going to get you for this." She widened her own eyes innocently. "Get me for what?" "For cruel and inhumane treatment." She sighed. "Okay, I confess. You can put your mind at ease, I am decently dressed." "Don't talk to me about dressed," he groaned. "I can't stand it. I'm a broken man thanks to you." "You feel fine to me." That was an understatement. "Don't talk to me about feeling, either." A wounded look accompanied his plaintive words. Veronica couldn't resist teasing him. "You're cute when you pout." "Mock me, woman, and I'll find ways to shut you up." He demonstrated his point by claiming a kiss. "Now, let's wade." "No thanks. I'm not that fond of cold water," she admitted. Although she could see some merit in the idea. If his hand had progressed much further, she'd probably be eager to plunge into the icy river. That, or create the kind of public spectacle they were attempting to avoid. "Neither am I," Scott growled before he left her to wade away with determined strides. The implication had her smiling again. The sun felt good, and Veronica lazed contentedly on the heated stone. Scott's shoes and socks kept her company while he cooled off in the frigid mountain river. Considering the year-round lows in the White Mountains, she didn't think it would take him long to get tired of wading and come back for her. It didn't. He came back, still muttering darkly under his breath, and joined her in the sunshine. When he casually lifted her onto his lap as if she belonged there, Veronica opened a challenging eye.

"What is it with you, carrying me around like so much baggage?" "Baggage? I would never call you a baggage." An unrepentant and shameless reply. She frowned at the unflattering reference. His fingers combed through her windblown hair as he continued thoughtfully, "I don't remember my luggage ever talking back to me." She sighed. She might have known better than to challenge him while he was still stinging over what he hadn't found under her skirt. Although she thought it served him right. However, she'd come out of that one ahead, so why push her luck? She could be generous and cede the last point to him. And besides, she liked the Tarzan in him. Decided, she curled into his embrace in happy silence. "What? No comeback?" Scott exclaimed in mock amazement. "What? You're questioning getting your way?" Veronica neatly returned. "Ahh." A sharp nip accompanied the low growl below her ear. "I think I get it. You like being carted around. You probably get some sort of a secret thrill out of it and you don't want me to find out about your kinky fetishes." If only he knew. Scott swept her up and handed her his shoes with the socks balled up and tucked in. She took them obligingly. "My lady, your wish is my command," he informed her in an attitude of grave seriousness. "I'll carry you to safety. And anywhere else you want to go." The unspoken implication that he might be equally indulgent of any other kinky fetishes she might be harboring wasn't lost on her. Maybe she should have gone wading. That cold water was sounding better by the minute. On the other hand, there were some fires that couldn't be quenched by water, no matter how icy it was. Electrical fires, for example. Some kinds of chemical combustion. Veronica silently concluded that their only hope was to smother this particular fire with something substantial. Like sufficient layers of clothing. Or they could take the course of letting it burn itself out. It didn't take long to return to the truck. Scott set her down and held his hands out for his shoes. She surrendered them and as a reward got to view him from a very favorable angle as he bent to put them back on. Some day, she vowed, she'd find an excuse to keep him still while she feasted her eyes on him. Maybe she could tell him it was a fetish of hers. Maybe he'd be happy to oblige her. She found herself curling her toes at the thought. They took their time heading back. Since they'd both worn walking shoes, they made another stop at a popular trail point and chose a short hike from the range of one hour to one day hiking trails. Hand in hand, they set a leisurely pace through the woods in silent agreement to drink in and treasure every remaining moment of the day. And there was also the hope that some exertion would work where icy mountain water had failed. Veronica happily breathed in the scent of evergreens warmed by the sun and the mixed earthy fragrance of the woods, thankful for the ample distractions provided by the beauty around them. Between the shade and the occasional breeze, the woods stayed cool enough for exercise even in the heat of the day. A good thing, considering all the combined factors that had them both overheated before they began. She wondered if they should have opted for a more strenuous trail.

Well, if they couldn't hold out any longer, they could always resort to diving off the trail into the deep bush to relieve the need thrumming just below the surface. They could hope there weren't any scout troops in the vicinity. They might get away with it. Veronica gave a mental groan. This line of thinking wasn't doing much to distract her. She was obsessed. She was like a junky in need of another fix. Scott was proving as addictive as she'd feared, she concluded. She was hooked on him. The romantic props he provided were a nice touch, though; if a seduction was being staged, why not go all out? The Hunk himself was the central attraction, but a little chocolate didn't hurt, either. Neither did the roses, the gourmet coffee, the flattering attentive masculine solicitude, or a picnic worthy of the name alfresco dining. The Hunk Effect was devastating in itself. The impact of the total package was somewhat surreal. He could have seduced her just by raising an eyebrow. Instead he'd opted to conduct every romantic ritual known to man, and effectively turned up the heat until he had her igniting at the very thought of another kiss. Not that she was complaining. As if sensing her thoughts, Scott's hands began roaming over her arm and around her waist, no longer content to restrain himself to hand-holding. He pretended to stumble, pretended to protect her from a thorny bush, making ridiculous excuses to put his arms around her that had them both laughing. Beneath the surface playfulness, the serious undercurrent she'd felt back at the overlook when he kissed her and the world seemed to fall away came rushing back in force. The laughter died in their throats. They slowed to a halt. Caught in an inescapable web of desire, he pulled her closer until she was molded against him, both of them straining to get closer. Clothing became an unbearable torment, an almost painful barrier between them. Scott tugged her deeper into the brush to one side of the trail and drew her down to the forest floor. One hand cupped the back of her head, trapping her for long, drugging kisses. He drew back, stroking her cheek with the other hand until she opened her eyes to meet his. Fever-bright hazel eyes revealed naked desire echoed by the blush of heat in her skin. Veronica let him read what she felt, unable to hide the depths of her reaction to him even if she'd wanted to. She was too lost in the realization of unexplored passion. Slowly, the hand caressing the outline of her face traveled boldly down to the slight curve of a breast grown fuller with awakened need. He grazed the budding nipple that strained at the thin fabric of her dress and she let out a soft gasp at the unexpectedly intense sensation. Keeping his eyes locked with hers, Scott caught her reaction and deliberately flicked the sensitized bud again. She wanted more. She arched against his hand, seeking the full pressure of his hand cupping her, but he denied her. Instead, he toyed with the sensitive underside of her swollen breast, alternating that maddening torment with flicking the hardened tip. When he bent his head and nipped lightly at it through the thin fabric of her dress, Veronica moaned and arched violently under the caress, thrusting the peak into his kiss. He turned his attention to the other breast, teasing it into the same state of awakened expectancy before lightly raking her nipple with his teeth until she trembled in his arms. Scott pushed her flat on her back, rolling on top of her to pin her in a sensual hold with his weight. Veronica moved against him, loving the feel of his body fully against hers, delighting in the pressure. His size in contrast to hers made her feel very, very feminine. When he parted her legs with his own and settled himself in the cradle of her hips, the sensation was almost too much.

She arched into him, welcoming the male heat and weight. He responded, fitting himself more intimately to her, and murmured soothing words when she uttered a soft sound of frustration at the fulfillment that was so close and so completely denied. He rocked into her hips gently as he claimed her mouth once more. He parted her lips as boldly as he'd parted her legs, plundering her with his tongue that thrust in an echo of the rhythm of his pelvis riding her. Her thin knit dress was a very insubstantial barrier. She could feel the rough fabric of his shorts and his heavy arousal. Scott let out a low groan, then drew back from kissing her to wrap his arms around her and rest his cheek against her hair. Veronica burrowed into his chest willingly, welcoming the opportunity to hide in his embrace. As if his strength somehow might keep her safe from the dangerous passion between them. Or the dangerous game they'd been playing. She was close to forgetting where they were. And even as she recognized the wisdom of stopping, she shivered with unrelieved need. Scott rolled to his side with her still in his arms. Slowly, watching her closely for any sign of rejection or discomfort, he moved one large hand down to cup the feminine ache his arousal had teased a moment before. Her breath caught. Involuntarily, she moved against his touch, welcoming the intimate caress. Eyes closed, she kept her face hidden against his chest, unwilling to let him see her reaction. His palm rubbed gently over her mound, cupping her heat. "Let me take care of you." The rough whisper surprised her, and Veronica looked up, questioning. He gave her a crooked half-smile. "It's all right," he murmured, hugging her closer and stroking her hair with his free hand. "It's all right, baby. Let me give you this." He gentled her with soft words while the hand between her thighs found a stroking rhythm that had her thrusting in tandem. She writhed against the welcome pressure, instinctively trusting that he would give her the release she needed. Cupping, squeezing, stroking through the delicate lace of her thong bikini, his rhythmic fingers brought her swiftly to the peak and sent her crashing over the edge. With a soft cry, Veronica gave a convulsive shudder and sank down in his arms as she found her fulfillment. Scott pulled her closer and held her tightly. He stroked her soft hair and rubbed her back in long, soothing motions, quieting her until her heartbeat slowed. A fierce, possessive pride welled up inside him at the realization that she trusted him to please her. She'd given herself to him as fully as if they'd made love, holding nothing back in her response. With every touch and every kiss she belonged to him more. And the more he made her his, the deeper his love grew. Mingled tenderness and pride filled him at the thought of her sweet surrender to the pleasure he'd offered her. He'd wanted to please her more than he'd wanted to end his own need, and he wanted her so badly that he'd ached with it for days. It was all he could do, holding his woman in the aftermath of passion, not to tell her how he felt. He loved her. He wanted to say the words. But he hadn't come this far with her to blow it by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. And she wasn't ready to hear that he wanted more from her when she hadn't even had time to come to terms with him as a lover. He could only hope he hadn't blown it already by pushing her too far sexually. He hadn't meant to take things so far, so fast. He'd meant to gradually awaken her desire. He hadn't counted on the effect her arousal would have on him. Or the addictive pleasure of physical

contact. His arms tightened unconsciously around her as Scott admitted to himself that having held her like this, he never wanted to let her go. The thought of spending another night alone seemed unbearable. Veronica curled against his comforting bulk, finding a sense of security in his protective hold and the way his body shielded hers. She had to admit his size was a bonus in some circumstances. Even if he did take advantage of outweighing her when it suited him. But she couldn't find it in her heart to be annoyed with him while her body still tingled and throbbed from the sensations he aroused. Still, underneath the satiation a vague sense of alarm stirred. She'd been completely caught up in him. It had been a moment of shared passion, not solitary release. She'd just had a climax so intense she still felt shattered by it, and he'd been right there with her, caught up in everything she felt. Directing everything she felt. The unease grew at that disturbing thought. He'd been the one in control while she lost hers. That in itself was disquieting. And she had to wonder what would happen when they actually made love if he could possess her so completely while they both remained fully clothed. What would happen to her when she took him inside herself? The sunny day suddenly wasn't hot enough to keep out the chill that thought created. Veronica burrowed closer to Scott's warmth, unwilling to consider any more of the implications of what they'd just done. She was too afraid to. It was lamentable, but there it was; she was a coward. Just another one of the surprises turning thirty had in store. A blushing coward. Hot color flooded her face, fortunately hidden from Scott's sight, at the memory of her abandoned reaction. She wanted to groan for an entirely different reason. I will not be embarrassed, she told herself firmly. Right. Still, she had to admit he was making it easy for her, giving her time to recover and get over her blushes. Then the niggling suspicion that he was all but forcibly keeping her from pulling away finally pricked her to look up and meet his eyes again. The blatant male satisfaction lighting his eyes was too much. Veronica groaned, closed her eyes and hid her face against his chest again. "You're gloating," she accused, the sound partly muffled by his shirt. "I'm gloating." Complacency oozed from his husky voice. She groaned again. Scott gave a rumbling laugh in response. Veronica lifted her head again to give him her best irritated glare. He just laughed harder, rolling over with her until they came to rest with her sprawled on top of him. She considered him through narrowed eyes, drumming her fingers on his chest. "I suppose you think you've got me right where you want me," she muttered. He practically smirked. "I don't think, I do have you right where I want you. But I'm willing to be big about it. I'm letting you be on top." Actually, her words hit too close to the mark. He was all too aware that he didn't have any certain hold on her. The need to claim her as his own had only grown stronger. But he knew the

worst thing he could do was to push her to be serious. It was bad enough that he'd forced her to confront the depth of her desire for him and the inescapable proof of emotional entanglement. The revelation wasn't likely to sit well with her independent spirit. If he wasn't careful, she'd withdraw and regroup and leave him with new barriers to scale, voiding any progress that may have been made today. She needed some distracting, Scott decided. If that was manipulation, it was purely for her own good. She'd thank him for it someday. Then he proceeded to tease her until she got over her discomfort and relaxed with him again. She let him straighten her clothes and brush the pine needles from her hair, then did the same for him, effectively destroying the evidence before they fled the scene of the crime, holding hands and giggling like a pair of teenagers. "Okay, woman, now that you've waylaid me and taken advantage of me, I think you owe me a race," Scott announced as they returned to the trail. "Ha. Taken advantage of you? I'll give you an advantage," Veronica returned. "Start running now, or you'll be eating my dust." The look of patent disbelief on his face pushed her to show off. A little demonstration was in order, she decided. She hadn't run cross-country for a few years, but at one time she'd been a fast starter and hard to beat. She still kept in form, running two miles a couple of times a week. Like most runners, she didn’t look like much of an athlete but the calories burned let her indulge in her favorite foods without blowing up like the Goodyear blimp or having her hips spread into the next county. She gave him a wicked smile. Then she left him in the dust. She heard him let out a yell of protest and take off behind her, and couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled up. But she didn't let it distract her from beating feet to the trail marker up ahead he'd pointed to when he challenged her. Veronica was waiting for him when he caught up, smiling sweetly with a light of triumph glowing in her eyes. He was breathing hard. She thoughtfully blew on a melon-tipped nail before casually polishing it against the fabric of her dress. He glowered. She gloated. Scott sighed and reached for her hand, raising it overhead in victory. "The winnah!" he proclaimed, disgruntled. She curtsied, then batted her lashes at him. "Thank you," she simpered. "I'd like to thank my coach, my-" He cut her off, dragging her into his arms and kissing her soundly. "You won. Don't rub it in." Brown eyes glinted in warning. Veronica cleared her throat. "Um. Perhaps we should start to walk back," she offered in her best voice of diplomacy. Then she couldn't resist taunting in mock solicitude, "All that exertion. You must be tired." His eyes narrowed in dire warning. "Nobody likes a smart ass." Arm in arm, they strolled back down the trail. As they reached the truck, Veronica asked cheerfully, "What's for dinner?" "Whatever you order." "No cooking? Really?" Now it really was an absolutely perfect day, she decided.

"Really." Scott smiled down at her, enjoying her blissful pleasure at the unexpected reprieve. "I thought we deserved a night off." Of course, the fact that he also thought no number of cold showers could restore his control wasn't worth mentioning. Being alone with her in his house that night would be too dangerous. He might have smoothed things over with her for the moment, but the more time he spent with her, the more he found himself reverting to caveman instincts. Clubbing her over the head and dragging her off was not the way to impress a modern woman with his desirable qualities as a mate. Hardly the image he wanted to portray. Not even close to proving himself sensitive and in touch with his feminine side, whatever the hell that meant. Moodily, Scott imagined the path to the altar and himself luring his intended, step by reluctant step, with bites of his special chocolate mousse. Dragging her kicking and screaming would be so much quicker. Not to mention simpler.

Chapter Eight After dropping Veronica off at her house, Scott found himself once again by himself. But this time, by deliberate design. Not that he wanted it that way. He hadn't wanted to let her go. He especially hadn't wanted to spend another lonely night without her. But this whole courtship and seduction plan had turned on him somewhere along the way. It had certainly seemed like a good idea in the beginning. Romance her. Woo her. Seduce her into his loving snare with the irresistible lure of flowers and chocolate. He could only conclude that he'd completely lost his mind, and he'd be lucky if he still had more than two little gray cells to rub together after another day of torturous arousal and denial in her company. And it didn't help at all to have the memory of her in his arms, her sleek wet heat in his hand, her soft little gasps and the way she'd shivered and come apart for him. Scott raked his hand through his hair and grimaced. No, it didn't help, remembering that. His lush little librarian was driving him wild. He hadn't trusted himself to touch her again, beyond hand-holding and hugging. He especially hadn't trusted himself alone with her. Instead, he'd taken her to a restaurant in Lincoln, stayed safely on the opposite side of their table, and driven home with both hands clenching the wheel in a death grip while she curled up against his side with the innocence of a newborn kitten that has no idea the world holds any dangers. He'd come perilously close to losing all control. He'd found himself fantasizing about dragging her off by her hair like a Neanderthal on a rampage. He'd known he was in serious trouble when he found himself entertaining the exotic notion of making her his love prisoner. He'd thought of ways to make use of his king sized four-poster that had never occurred to him before. Was there a link between love and insanity? Certainly there was no link between love and logic, but then, he'd already known that. Probably he would have remembered if she hadn't worn the kind of panties that belonged on a strip-tease artist and if he hadn't seen and felt them for himself. The sight had evidently shorted out some vital mental circuit. In fact, now that he thought about it, the very first sight of her sweetly round body in that peeka-boo shirt had probably done the damage. That was the only possible explanation for the completely insane plan he'd come up with. Seduce her, would he? Entice her into his arms and into his life with wine and candlelight? Fan the flame of desire? He'd done that all right, but he was the one burning and there wasn't enough cold water in the world to quench the fire. In the brief time he'd known Veronica, he'd had more cold showers than any Eskimo had in a lifetime. And he hated cold showers. She was turning him into a raving madman. She had him nearly crying at the thought of continued celibacy. He'd raked his hands through his hair so many times that it stood completely on end, a sure sign of frustrated agitation.

It couldn't go on, he admitted silently. She was probably already wondering what he was waiting for. He could just imagine the look on her face if he suggested a wedding ring. But it was true. He needed commitment. Knowing Veronica was free to walk out of his life at any moment kept him right on the edge. Still, he couldn't just blurt out a proposal. The time had to be right. He needed to be reasonably sure that he'd laid enough groundwork to be confident of a positive outcome. Scott sighed and ran his hand through his hair again. Thinking wasn't getting him anywhere. Maybe he needed another cold shower. Maybe he'd be able to think better afterwards.

***** "Hi." "Hi." Inspired conversation it wasn't. But the silent communication in both pairs of hungry eyes more than made up for it, Veronica decided. After an entire perfect day in Scott's sensational company, the last thing she'd expected was for it to end with a kiss on the hand and a warm "Good night." Scott had been all the way to his own door and inside it before it really dawned on her that he wasn't staying. That the impassioned love-making they'd been leading up to for hours wasn't going to take place. That she was going up to her bedroom alone. She didn't know whether she should feel flattered or insulted. There was something to be said for taking it slow, letting a relationship build and spinning out the sensual anticipation. On the other hand, she'd had to close her bedroom window to shut out Scott's roses and she'd shut out the nightly breeze along with them. Consequently, she'd spent a very warm night filled with very heated dreams when she finally managed to quiet her singing nerves long enough to fall asleep. Veronica sincerely hoped The Hunk had suffered the same sleepless fate. She'd lost track of the score, but at last count she had to conclude that he was soundly in the lead in their unspoken contest. If his dreams were as restless as hers, at least they'd be close to even. She'd settle for that, considering the handicap she'd started with. Scott was just too devastatingly male, too temptingly and tauntingly much to resist. Not that her resistance to his brand of seduction was all that strong. The uneasy suspicion that maybe he was some kind of pervert who got a sick thrill from turning on every woman he met and then denying them his body was laid to rest by the intensity of his hot green eyes burning into hers. That, and the perceptible tremor in his hands when he took hers and drew her against himself by inches, told her he was enduring the same sweet torture she was. Good. It was some satisfaction for the day she'd had. Misplacing books, stamping the wrong dates, sending a sweet little old lady off to read a collection of erotica instead of the book on Country French Cuisine she'd requested. Veronica wanted to groan out loud at the memory. She was a mess. She was equating cooking with something entirely different. Confusing one kind of hunger for another.

The only good things her day had contained so far were Sebastian's uncharacteristically good behavior and looking forward to this moment. When Scott started trailing soft kisses along her temples, eyelids and cheeks, she decided this moment just might surpass even her hopeful expectations. Then his mouth claimed hers and "might" was firmly erased. Along with every other rational thought. Her palms clung helplessly to his broad chest while his slid over her arms, back and hips as if he couldn't get enough of her and wanted to touch her everywhere at once. The tip of his tongue probed, seeking admittance, and she obediently part her lips for a more thorough exploration. It was a long, deep, sweet kiss. A kiss to curl her toes. By the time it ended, she even felt forgiving towards the wretched man and hopeful about the possibilities of sleepless nights for more interesting reasons in the near future. "You're wearing that perfume again." The hoarse accusation breathed against the column of her throat was nearly a groan. "Mmm-hmm," she agreed. "Those medieval alchemists knew their chemistry." "Chemistry." He nibbled at her earlobe. "That explains it." "Yep." Veronica sighed blissfully as he continued to nuzzle her neck. "Love potions are for amateurs. This is the real thing, a chemical catalyst." "Catawhat?" "Catalyst. A substance that increases the rate of a chemical reaction, or an agent of change." She recited the definition in a breathless voice. A muffled laugh was buried in her hair. "I don't think we need it." "Well, I don't know." Veronica pretended to ponder the point. "From time to time we do seem to come close to reaching a certain critical heat. But in the spirit of academic inquiry, I thought a little added fuel to the fire might produce interesting results." "Ah." "Yes." Then, "Yes…" Somewhere along the way, Veronica realized she'd lost the upper hand on that round. If she'd ever really had it. While she was busy teasing him, he'd teased her body until it completely shut down what was passing for her brain these days. When they came up for air again, she was forced to agree that they didn't need any assistance. Nature was doing just fine unaided. In fact, they might be glad to have that kitchen fire extinguisher. She cuddled happily against Scott, loving the way he rocked from side to side with her, giving comfort and reassurance while giving them both time to float back to earth together. Finally, he loosened his hold on her and set her away with reluctant hands. "Come on, woman. If we keep this up, you won't get any dinner, and we’ll both get cranky if we miss a meal." "Dinner?" Veronica blinked at him in feigned forgetfulness. "Dinner." He kissed the tip of her nose. "A catalyst is only as good as the two starting elements. And I think your element is in need of some slower burning fuel." "Oh. Dinner it is, then. Speaking of which, what is it?" Now that he'd mentioned, she was hungry. Scott gave her his best snooty waiter expression. "Tonight, madam, we have the finest garden

fresh vegetables with savory beef cube kabobs marinated in a tangy orange sauce, accompanied by green salad and the house red wine." Veronica digested that description. "So, we're barbecuing?" "We're barbecuing," he agreed. They strolled to the patio, arms wrapped around each other as if to make up for the separation of a night and a day. She smugly concluded that she wasn't alone in feeling strangely bereft when they were apart. In fact, she seemed to feel as if they belonged together always. And it was Scott's doing, she felt sure. He'd somehow built on the initial attraction between them to form an invisible bond of increasing strength. In very real ways, she felt tied to him, and more so every day. She wasn't sure she liked it. Her own body no longer felt like it belonged to her. Instead, it followed his lead and answered to his every passionate demand, responded to his every caress. Now that she considered it, Veronica realized that grand passions were historically and traditionally rather uncomfortable affairs with unfortunate side effects. If she'd expected storybook perfection, she'd obviously forgotten such stories as Samson and Delilah, Tristan and Isolde, Anthony and Cleopatra. The horrible thought occurred that Gordon just might have had a valid point or two. It was one thing to read about desert islands from the safety of a comfortable chair. It was something altogether different to get sunburned and sandy, however. No doubt about it, books were far safer than real experience. Still, this real experience was at least keeping her fed. And keeping her house looking like an ad for a local florist. To top it all off, she had to admit that except for the deliberately instigated sensory inflammation and deprivation, she felt comfortably at home in Scott's company. Although they'd done little more than kiss, he already knew her body more intimately than any other lover had. She paused mentally, thinking about their little interlude in the woods. Okay, so maybe that was a little more than kissing. A lot more. But the leisurely pace he was setting involved an exploration of each other more detailed and involved than anything in her experience. And although they'd known each other such a short time, she felt a total lack of inhibition with him physically. That kind of trust led to an abandoned response beyond anything she'd expected. She still hadn't recovered from the experience. Knowing there was more to come was exhilarating and frightening in nearly equal parts. Veronica could feel herself getting warmer just thinking about it. Cooking dinner should keep them both safely distracted for a little while, at least. Then she remembered something she'd read about food as a substitute for sex. Considering that their relationship seemed to revolve around food, the implications about the extent of their mutual libidinous denial and the inevitable backlash were sobering. Veronica got a grip on those wayward thoughts with an effort and cleared her throat. "So. Talk to me about marinades and how to build a better kabob," she began in a desperate attempt at conversation. "Is it really possible to do it so that the cherry tomatoes don't get flattened?" If her voice sounded a bit strangled, he was kind enough not to mention it. Instead, Scott followed her lead and explained, "The trick to the tomatoes is in how you take them off, not how you put them on. When you slide a kabob off the skewer, apply steady pressure. The whole things comes off easily and nothing gets squashed."

Veronica blinked. She hadn't expected a real answer. But now that she thought about it, that was amazingly simple. Her admiration for his store of knowledge grew. "So that's how they do it," she said. "I always wondered. When I order kabobs at a restaurant, I thought maybe the tomatoes never went on a skewer in the first place." "Shish-kabob is on a skewer by definition," Scott assured her in a serious tone, although the dancing light of laughter in his eyes told her he knew she was just stalling. "It also helps to put everything on in an order that puts something firm against something softer. For example, you wouldn't put a mushroom next to a tomato. You'd put a cube of beef in between the two. A wedge of pepper or onion would work, too, but you really should put a meat cube in between any two pieces that would be easy to squish." He demonstrated, using the pre-cut meat he'd left marinating in the refrigerator overnight. Veronica paid attention, surprised to learn that meat had a grain and that it mattered which way it was cut as well as how it went onto the skewer. Together they assembled the kabobs and laid them on the grill. While they cooked, Veronica made the salad under Scott's less than helpful supervision. He kept finding excuses to toy with her until she feared the heat they created would wilt the lettuce. She was actually starting to learn her way around a kitchen and finding it more interesting than she'd ever suspected. She'd always related cooking to following recipes. Instead, Scott explained the underlying principles and then encouraged her to experiment. It brought a creative spirit to their endeavors, making it an adventure instead of a boring exercise. Thinking of recipes and creative combinations reminded Veronica about the chicken salad from the picnic. Scott had put in some mysterious ingredients she hadn't been able to identify. "What's your secret for the sandwiches you made yesterday?" she asked, curious. "There was something different, but I couldn't tell what." Scott gave her a suggestive look. "How badly do you want to know?" "Hmm." Veronica tipped her head to one side, mocking deep thought. She stepped closer and trailed a flirtatious finger down the buttoned front of his shirt and stopped just short of the point where it disappeared into his snug jeans. "How much will it take to make you tell me?" She let her fingertip run suggestively just beneath the waistband of his jeans and trailed it back and forth slowly. The intensity in his eyes and his ragged breathing told her she was scoring, and Veronica reveled in the thrill of power it gave her to tease and arouse him. "I haff vays of makink you talk," she threatened in her best Gestapo voice as she gripped a handful of denim and used it to tug him towards her. "Oh?" Scott growled a soft challenge. "I'm a tough guy. You'll have to convince me." She released his jeans and threaded her hands through his sexily disheveled hair to trap him for an open-mouthed assault. Her tongue traced the outline of his lips, toyed with the corners of his mouth and then slid boldly inside, bringing her mouth fully against his in a hot, wild mating kiss. When she released him, he gasped, "Watercress." "What?" She stared blankly at him. Then it dawned on her. She'd forgotten the question. She'd forgotten her own name and everything else. How could he keep track of a conversation at a time like that? It was really irritating. "Watercress," Scott repeated. "And chopped almonds." He claimed her lips again, nibbled at her mouth, tasting the curve of her lower lip before settling his mouth fully over hers again. When he lifted his head long minutes later, Veronica blinked at him in confusion, thoroughly disoriented. He gave her a smug look of satisfaction until it dawned on her that he'd turned the

tables on her again. "Feel free to interrogate me any time," he offered. Then, fearing retribution, he quickly distracted her with the final dinner preparations. Once everything was ready, they sipped the wine Scott had opened and left to breathe before she arrived. After the first taste, Veronica found the dry red preferable to the white wine she usually drank. She found herself comparing the unfamiliar pinot noir to Scott; deep, rich and easy to grow accustomed to. She suspected he'd spoiled her for white wines that would now seem pale and watery. Equally, she suspected that he'd spoiled her for any other man. An unsettling idea. Between one thing and another, the man certainly knew how to keep her off balance. But at least she wasn't bored. She wasn't lonely, either. Scott filled her days with sweet anticipation and her evenings with incredible romance. She could hope the nights of wild passion were coming soon. If they didn't, Veronica thought she'd find out firsthand if cold showers actually did repress the sex drive or if that was an old wives' tale. The wine, the enticing aroma of dinner cooking and the warmth of Scott's hand entwined with hers combined to create an atmosphere of blissful relaxation spiced with anticipation. Veronica let her imagination soar, picturing Scott in his dangerous cutoffs, suggestively left unbuttoned at the top. He'd turn to stir the charcoal, giving her an incredible view of muscular buttocks encased in lovingly close-fitting blue denim, soft from repeated wear. She'd find out just how soft, running appreciative hands over the well-worn fabric. The contrast with the hard male flesh underneath would intoxicate her senses as subtly as the smooth red wine he favored. She'd stand behind him, stroking palms hungry for the feel of him over his broad chest and down the work-hardened plane of his stomach to toy with the open top of his cutoffs. He'd lose patience with her teasing then, dragging her hands down to cup his aroused penis… Her mouth suddenly dry, Veronica switched her attention from her fantasy to her wineglass and took a hasty gulp. Even in her dreams, the man got to her. And how. That did it. If he thought they were going to wait even one more night, he could think again. She was a modern woman. She was ready, willing and able to take the initiative. So she wasn’t nineteen anymore. So she could stand to lose a few pounds. If neither of those factors bothered him, why should she let them bother her? If he protested, she could interrogate him some more. In a silent toast to her newly formed resolve, Veronica drained her glass and barely resisted the urge to complete the symbolic act by hurling it into the fire. It couldn't be good for the charcoal grill. Not to mention the kabobs. Scott disentangled his hand from hers and got up to check on dinner. "Let's see if this is ready," he suggested, putting a kabob on a plate. Veronica didn't know about dinner, but she definitely was. Following his directions, she slid the meat and vegetables free with tongs, then forked up a generous cube of beef and nibbled at a corner. "Mm. I don't know. What do you think, is it ready?" she asked, offering it to him. He let her feed him, then answered, "I think it is." They pulled the rest of the kabobs off, shut down the grill and took turns feeding each other,

first with forks, then with fingers, making a lovers' game out of eating that whetted other appetites. When Scott offered her a last bite, Veronica shook her head and gently bit the pad of his finger instead. "Done?" he asked. She shook her head slowly, her eyes locked with his. "Not even started." "Really." With an unreadable expression, Scott set the plate aside and walked around to stand in front of her deck chair. He traced the outline of her face with lazy hands, then let them slide down to the hollow of her throat where her throbbing pulse told him how strongly his slightest touch affected her. Keeping her eyes locked with his, he ran feather-light fingers down her arms, then locked her wrists together with sudden strength and pulled her to her feet. He released her to unbutton her blouse, yanked it open to expose the creamy flesh underneath and pulled it low on her arms, trapping her in the garment. Then the searing heat of his mouth was moving over the slight curves bared to his passionate assault above the low-cut bra she wore. His tongue teased the valley between her breasts while his hands moved up to pluck at her straining nipples through the thin satin. Replacing one hand with his mouth, he nipped at the sensitive peak. She was drowning in sensation. Burning with need. Scott unsnapped the bra and stripped her bare to the waist in one quick, rough motion. She gloried in it, reveling in the freedom to feel his sensual torture on her torso, rebelling against the remaining fabric that separated them. Kissing her deeply, his hands closed over her bared breasts, stroking towards the puckered nipples with strong, skillful fingers again and again until she wanted to crush his palms against the aching peaks. The crisp fabric of his shirt rubbed against the sensitive buds while he released them to unfasten her skirt. He let it fall to the floor, and Veronica stepped free of her sandals. Naked except for the satin wisp of her panties, she stood in his embrace, unembarrassed that he was still fully clothed. The contrast to her almost full nudity made her feel all the more wickedly, wantonly bare. Scott lifted her against his muscular frame with easy strength, crushing her breasts to his chest and bruising her lips in another scorching kiss. "Wrap your legs around my waist," he growled against her mouth. She complied readily and moaned softly at the pressure of his hard arousal against the aching juncture between her thighs, barely separated by brief layers of fabric. When he started to walk with her, the sensation intensified, pressure building in a tantalizing torment that made her want to beg for more. It didn't register that he'd carried her to his bed until he lowered her to the mattress.

Chapter Nine Veronica felt the cool fabric of the comforter beneath her and the sudden rush of air against bare skin as he laid her down and stepped away. She opened heavy-lidded eyes to find him standing over her. he unbuttoned his shirt with deliberate hands, pulled it off and let it drop. Then he nudged her legs apart with one knee and moved between them. He came down over her, one thigh pressing against her scrap of satin while his heated skin rubbed against hers, the wiry curls on his chest teasing her nipples. Claiming her lips once more, he swept his tongue inside again and again while echoing the thrusting rhythm with his hard thigh. It was too much for both of them. Scott stood again and unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them over his hips with his briefs, showing her the full evidence of his desire. Veronica watched dazedly, then lowered her gaze to his swollen member. Her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips in reaction. She thought again, ridiculously, that he didn't need power tools as a phallic substitute. The proof was there before her eyes. He was all male, and all hard need. The Hunk was hung. Then he sank down beside her. Scott cupped a hand over the satin covering her feminine mound and felt the damp heat through the fabric. She was as ready for him as he was for her. The knowledge shook him to the core. His fingers tangled in the flimsy panties and tore them free in one quick movement, baring her fully to his gaze for the first time. He could see that she was wet and slick. He couldn't resist closing his hand over her to test her readiness, thrusting one finger into her sheath. He pulled her close against him and fought the urge to bury himself in her to the hilt and finish it in one wild thrust. Instead, he buried his face in her hair, concentrating on the pleasure of having her so close to him and trying not to think about the slick welcoming heat closed so tightly around his finger. He would control himself. He wanted to please her. He would go slow if it killed him. And after four days of foreplay, Scott thought it just might. Reluctantly, he released her from his intimate caress and pulled her on top of him. He nuzzled her cheek and the curve of her neck before tasting her mouth once more. Holding her tightly to keep her still, he gave them both time to adjust to each other's nearness and newness, learning each other, warming to the texture of uninterrupted skin on skin. Finally he cupped her face in both of his hands and tipped it up to make her look at him. "Do you want this?" he asked. He might not ever recover if she said "no", but he cared too much to take more than she was ready to give. If she wasn't sure of him, he'd find the control to stop somehow. Her solemn eyes held his gaze steadily. "I want you," Veronica said, simply. Her words sent another blinding jolt of need through him. "Are you taking anything?" he managed to ask. She registered finally that he was talking about birth control. The caring and responsible question warmed her further.

She shook her head. "There hasn't been a need. It's been a long time." Scott pulled her close again at her answer, fiercely glad that there wasn't anyone else. He reached into the drawer beside his bed and found a foil package. Showing it to her, he halfsmiled and teased, "I'm a Life Scout. Always prepared," he quoted, giving the scout motto a very interesting new meaning. Then he added seriously, "I want you to know there hasn't been anyone else for me, either. Not for a long time. I'm not the kind of guy who always keeps a box of these around." She shot him a derisive look. "Oh, you just happened to have this today?" He bit her lower lip in gentle punishment. "Witch. I just happened to buy it the day I met you." Veronica blinked in surprise at his words. "You were that sure of yourself?" He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "I was that sure I wanted you. Too much to leave anything to chance or to miss any opportunity." He pulled her down for another kiss, pushing the package into her hand in unspoken invitation. He regretted it almost immediately when she teased him unmercifully with her hands, gripping and stroking the length of his erect penis, then releasing him before finally sheathing him in the thin latex. He rolled and dragged her underneath him in response. He slid one hand between her thighs and buried his fingers in her dark, feminine curls again, making her cry out against his lips, the sound muffled by his kiss. Scott laughed softly, pleased at her responsiveness. Then he toyed with her the way she'd toyed with him, stroking, gripping and releasing her until she bucked against him with frantic need. He couldn't wait any longer. He sat back on his heels, gripped her thighs with hard hands and pushed them wide, demanding her compliance. She did, surrendering to his rough, silent command and straining to open further for his possession. "Veronica," he whispered, shaken by her ready passion. She made him feel primitive and brutal, driven to possess. Her willing surrender only inflamed him further. He wanted to take her like the dominant male. And having her like this, receptive, all female, wanting him, pushed him to the limit of his control. "Yes," she whispered, her eyes meeting his directly. He took her in one swift, brutal stroke, driving full-length into her. She cried out at the suddenness of it. Scott stilled, giving her time to adjust to the feel of him, groaning as he fought for restraint while she stretched to accommodate his size. Somehow he waited until her hands tugged at his hips, wanting more and silently urging him to move. Slowly, stroking into her core and withdrawing, he rode her in a rocking rhythm too restrained to satisfy either of them and intended to prolong the erotic torment. She responded by gripping him with surprisingly strong thighs, impatient and demanding, arching up against him as she whispered, "Now, Scott. Please, now." He gave a hard, deep thrust in response, the last thread of control gone. He drove into her with all the pent-up aching need inside of him, taking her, giving himself until neither knew where one left off and they other began. They climaxed together, unable to separate the sensation when one began to pulse, pushing the other into the final burst of pleasure that shattered them both. Afterwards, they clung together, utterly spent, vulnerable and needing the comfort of closeness more than before. Scott moved to his side after a few minutes and pulled her into the curve of his body as he wrapped her in his arms. Their legs tangled together.

He wanted to keep her there forever, feeling her heartbeat underneath his palm, beating in time with his own. Veronica burrowed into him and hugged him closer. He didn't know she slept until she failed to answer her name. Unwilling to disturb her, he carefully gathered her up and carried her to the head of the bed. He pushed the covers back, climbed in and tugged the sheet over them. Then he simply held her until he slipped into sleep himself.

***** Veronica awoke feeling disoriented. The room didn't look right. The bed didn't feel right. And something else… The heavy warmth against her side refreshed her memory. Scott. Last night. More detail came rushing back in vivid recall. She didn't know whether to laugh or to blush. Has she really been that abandoned? Was there some truth to all those articles and studies that claimed women reached their sexual peak in mid-life? She had certainly peaked. She remembered that with a happy shiver. Whatever the explanation, last night she'd experienced unimagined heights of pleasure and depths of feeling. The Hunk Effect apparently operated on the pleasure center of the brain. Scott was every bit as sensational as he'd first appeared to be, standing there in his tempting cutoffs looking like he'd just gotten out of bed and wouldn't mind climbing back in with her. Thinking of him, she turned her head to see if he was awake yet. He wasn't. And she smiled at the sight of him. He sprawled across the mattress like a man accustomed to sleeping alone. Fortunately for her, she wasn't big enough to have to fight him for space. The king sized bed accommodated them both very easily. One arm was thrown up, covering his eyes. The rest of his face looking deeply peaceful. Relaxed, Veronica decided. They'd expended a tremendous build-up of sexual energy and slept like a pair of innocents. It was an odd feeling to wake up with a man. It wasn't something she was accustomed to. In fact, it was a first. She decided she'd been missing out on something, too. Falling asleep wrapped in Scott's arms, she'd felt wonderfully secure and content. Physically spent and exhausted, she hadn't wanted to leave him. It was sweet that he'd felt the same. That he had wanted to have her there, had wanted to feel her against him just as much in the quiet aftermath as in the passionate build-up. She leaned down to kiss his gorgeous naked chest, then slipped from the large bed, taking care not to disturb his sleep. She made her way to the door before she realized that she'd lost all her clothes somehow. Scott's shirt lay abandoned on the floor. She scooped it up and slid it over her head, then impulsively hugged it against her. His scent lingered on the fabric and she loved the sensation of wearing something so personally his. As she padded towards the door, her bare foot encountered the satiny remains of her panties.

She picked them up to examine them more closely. Were they still even remotely wearable? They were a dead loss. She tossed the tattered trophy onto Scott's pillow with a wide, satisfied smile and headed for the kitchen and coffee. While the percolator dripped, she gathered up her discarded items of clothing, one by one, folding them neatly. It was such a ridiculous contrast to the way she'd lost them that Veronica found herself giggling. No doubt about it, it was a lot more fun to lose them than it was to go and hunt them down. But it was such a stimulating chore. Each item brought back vivid impressions of Scott undressing her, rekindling the flame of desire that last night apparently hadn't totally quenched. Locating the tray, Veronica stacked it with cups, spoons, the sugar bowl and cream. Even the simple task of serving coffee carried an unfamiliar intimacy. It was impossible not to feel Scott's presence everywhere she looked. On impulse, she slipped into his garden and cut a rose. "I think I like spinsterhood," she informed the bush in a fit of whimsy. "Last night a gorgeous man literally ripped the clothes from my body. I think that calls for celebration. Wouldn't you agree?" The bush failed to offer an opinion. Veronica took that as agreement. She stripped the leaves from the single blossom she'd cut and clenched the stem between her teeth. Then she filled their cups and carried the tray to the bedroom. Setting it on Scott's bedside table, she kneeled on the mattress and took the rose in one hand. She lightly kissed the petals to his lips, then mischievously trailed the flower down his chest, circling the flat nipples, toying with his golden curls. Pushing the sheet aside, she continued downward, teasing his flat belly before caressing the blunt head of his penis. His eyes snapped open, locking onto hers. Scott was wide awake now and devouring her with his heated eyes. One hand snaked out to capture hers and still the flower. The other cupped the back of her head and pulled her down for a kiss. Veronica acquiesced with a happy sigh and let go of the rose. Then she gave her full attention to the wicked and wonderful things he did with his mouth. When he released her long minutes later, she kept her eyes dreamily closed until he tickled her nose with the discarded blossom. She opened her eyes to find him looking at her with an intensity at odds with the playful gesture. "Marry me." She blinked. "What?" His level gaze didn't waver. "I said, marry me." Veronica gave him a thoughtful look. "Do you say that to all the women who bring you coffee in bed?" "Only the ones who wear my shirts." "Oh." Veronica sat up and started to undo the buttons. His hands caught and stilled hers. "No, leave it on," he growled. "I like it." Without warning, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down to the mattress, rolled onto her and pinned her in place. "As a matter of fact, I like it a lot." He moved sinuously against her, proving the truth of that statement. He really did like it a lot. He was fully, urgently aroused.

Then Scott kissed her again, and Veronica forgot everything. When he lifted his head, she was dazed. But not deaf. "Marry me," he repeated. She was stunned into speechlessness. He kissed her once more, using all the blatant persuasion at his disposal, coaxing in between nips at her lower lip, "Say yes." She forgot to breathe. He was overwhelming, filling her senses and her heart. "Say yes," Scott urged in a sexy whisper, sliding against her suggestively and nudging her legs apart with his. "Say it." His hands pushed the shirt up, leaving a trail of fire behind on her skin. "Say yes." When he positioned the head of his penis against her slick opening, she was lost. He moved back and forth, teasing her, refusing to give either of them what they wanted, chanting in between kisses, "Yes. Yes. Yes." "Yes," Veronica finally groaned, wanting him. "What was that?" He slid against her again, nudging her clitoris with his erection. "Did you say something?" "Yes, yes, yes!" She nearly shouted the answer, frustrated beyond reason. Scott laughed, a low, exultant sound that sent shivers through her. Then he surged fully into her. "Yes," she groaned again, loving the feel of him as he filled her completely. "You're mine now," he told her roughly. "Feel it? Feel how your body reaches for me, opens for me? You belong to me, Veronica. Say it." "Yes," she gasped as he thrust deeply once more. "Tell me you want me." Veronica gave an inarticulate cry as he withdrew completely, arching helplessly beneath him. He waited until she whispered, "Please." Then he surged forward, slamming into her, burying himself to the hilt. "Tell me," he repeated. "I want you. Yes, Scott, oh, God, yes…" she ended nearly on a sob. She was lost, spinning in a storm of feeling, drowning in a maelstrom of pleasure almost beyond endurance. Nothing else existed. Nothing else was real but the unbearable pleasure he gave her. Wave after wave engulfed her and she cried out as it spun on endlessly, building until it threatened to destroy her. Then he pulsed deeply, pouring himself into her, and the final pleasure shattered her. When Veronica floated back to awareness, she found Scott had rolled with her onto his back, still deep inside her. His gentle hands stroked her hair, back and shoulders in slow, rhythmic movements. His rough voice murmured soothingly to her, comforting her. Tenderly, he brushed his fingers along her cheeks, then drew her face to his for a gentle kiss. Butterfly kisses covered her face before his lips moved down to reclaim her mouth. His tongue twined with hers as his strong hands molded her closer against him. He explored her body again, pleasuring her thoroughly with his hands and tongue before entering her with his penis once more. It was less intense this time, her initial violent need spent, but no less fulfilling. Veronica responded to him even as she dimly realized that the stunning pleasure she'd experienced had sated her. Scott was taking her, proving to her that she did belong to him. That her body followed his will and opened to him, regardless of need. His was a gentle domination,

but forceful, using his knowledge of her body to invoke her response, brooking no denial. He drove deeply into her again and again until he spilled himself into her with a blazing jet of liquid heat. And she arched up as he did, unconsciously offering herself to him more fully and deepening his pleasure. Afterwards, he held her silently as his hands stroked her sex, dipped inside her, played on her clitoris and brought her to a final peak in a last, thorough lesson. She was his, body, heart and soul. She was thoroughly sated. And hopelessly afraid. Everything had changed, and nothing would ever be the same again. Long minutes later, he asked softly, "Do you have to go to work today?" Veronica shook her head in a soundless reply, unable to speak. The library kept shorter hours in the summer and her schedule lightened accordingly. "Good." His hold tightened briefly. "I have to go and spend a couple of hours at a job site, but I want you here when I get back. We need to talk." Talk? What about, she wondered dully. About the fact that she didn't know herself anymore? About the fact that she was reduced to mindless putty in his knowledgeable hands and he knew it and wasn't above using it? What did he want to do, gloat some more? Veronica opened her eyes cautiously to check. No, he wasn't gloating. He looked very serious, in fact. And deeply concerned. "I hate this," Scott muttered. "I don't want to leave you like this. Will you be all right?" She forced stiff lips into an unnatural smile. "I'm fine." "Liar." Scott folded her back into his embrace and kissed her. Gently. Lightly. Sweetly. "Trust me, sweetheart," he urged, his husky voice adding subtle persuasion to his words. "Everything's going to be fine. I promise." "Easy for you to say," Veronica muttered, feeling unreasonably put upon and resentful. What did he think he was doing, manipulating her with sex, pushing her to have orgasm after orgasm, making her agree to marry him under duress? It was grossly unfair. Had she only known, Scott was feeling distinctly guilty. He'd deliberately set out to seduce and subdue her, and now he wasn't entirely certain he'd won. But it would be all right, he vowed silently. He'd make sure of it. He gave her another lingering kiss. "I'm going to take a shower," he informed her. "Want to stay here, or come with me?" "I'll stay here." "Okay." He brushed another warm kiss across her temple. "Get some rest. I'll be back soon." Veronica nodded, eyes shut. She waited until she heard him pad to the bathroom and close the door. The water came on a minute later. Feeling somewhat guilty, like a wayward child sneaking out after curfew, she sat up and groped through the tangled bedding until she found Scott's shirt again. She pulled it on with almost desperate haste, feeling terribly naked and exposed and wanting to hide. She just needed more coffee, she told herself, grasping at any reasonable explanation. She was never much good first thing in the morning, even on a normal day. Her brain didn't kick in until she'd had at least one cup. Maybe two. Adjusting to something like an engagement could take a whole pot. Gathering up the tray, Veronica returned it to the kitchen and poured herself another cup of

life-restoring Java. She was debating whether to make a fresh pot or finish what was left when the phone rang. Should she answer it? She frowned and bit her lip. Scott was still in the shower. While she hesitated, the answering machine clicked on and took the decision out of her hands. Probably for the best. It could be anyone. An old girlfriend. A relative. It could lead to awkward questions. Veronica figured she had enough to cope with already. "Scott, darling," a feminine voice began, a bit hesitantly. "Oh, dear. I hate this machine. Scott, I want to talk to you. How long do you think you can avoid me? I understand you don't intend to see Debra again, but what are you going to do about my future grandchild? Are you going to do the right thing by this other girl?" The voice rose indignantly, then subsided into a tearful, "You're breaking your poor mother's heart. Call me." The click of the phone hanging up preceded the whirring of the message tape as it rewound, unnaturally loud in the sudden silence. Veronica stood frozen, rooted to the spot. Numb with shock. Who was Debra? And worse; who was this other girl? The one who was evidently carrying the future grandchild in question? "Oh, God," she whispered as the horrible realization struck. Scott's determined pursuit finally made sense. It was, evidently, a habit with him. It seemed the perfect man was a perfect cad. A beast. A lying, lecherous, womanizing… Veronica grabbed her pile of clothing through a blind haze of tears and bolted, oblivious to the fact that it was broad daylight and she was dressed in nothing by Scott's shirt. It didn't go unnoticed. As luck would have it, the Misses Vickers were out on their veranda sipping tea. The two elderly sisters shared the gabled family home they'd both been born and raised in, across from Veronica's. "Did you see that, Patience?" gasped one in astonishment at the unexpected spectacle of the local librarian, dressed in a flapping man's shirt, racing across her lawn as if the hounds of hell pursued her while clutching a handful of clothing. Her sister shook her head and tutted. "Things aren't what they used to be when we were younger, Prudence." A short time later, the woman was followed by a half-dressed man with a towel flying behind him. "Now, isn't that the nice young man who repaired our roof last winter?" Prudence inquired. Patience placed dainty silver spectacles on the bridge of her nose and peered intently at the man in question. "I do believe you're right," she agreed. The two sisters watched, fascinated, as he shouted and pounded on Miss Jones' door. "Father would have marched out there with his shotgun," Prudence declared. Two silver heads shook in unison. "It's a shame," they chorused. Oblivious to his audience, Scott hammered on the door. "Veronica! Open up!" "Go away!" "Not until you open this door!" he roared. He was furious. She'd walked out. Ran out, he corrected himself. Without so much as a word. And now she wouldn't open her door.

This was no way to begin an engagement. Obviously, she was already having second thoughts. He pounded on the door again. "Go away!" she repeated, more forcefully. "I'm not going anywhere!" "I'll sic my cat on you," Veronica threatened. Scott would have sworn that nothing on earth could have made him laugh at that moment. But the very idea of her trying to scare him off, with her cat of all things… He roared with laughter. Until she put the cat out and slammed the door shut again. To his disbelief, he found himself being backed down the porch steps by a mangy-looking beast that didn't even remotely resemble a house pet. It looked like it might be rabid. Scott kept backing away. And the cat kept coming forward, snarling, with ears flattened against its head and tail lashing. The Misses Vickers watched, spellbound, as the cat chased the man back home and then stood guard on his doorstep. "Good for you!" cried the irrepressible and misnamed Prudence. Patience sniffed. "The neighborhood certainly has changed."

***** Cursing furiously, Scott stormed through his house, yanking on a shirt and grabbing his wallet. He actually had to sneak out a side door to get to his truck in order to evade the feline version of Cujo. As he shot into reverse, he took out his frustration by spinning his wheels and spitting gravel. If he hadn't had a client waiting at a job site, he and Veronica would be talking this out right now. That they would settle it was unquestionable. If she thought she could avoid talking to him when he returned, she could think again. She wasn't going to get away with running off and hiding. Scott took in a deep breath and reminded himself that he couldn't be completely surprised at her reaction. Veronica hadn't even had a chance to recover from the revelation of an unexplored depth of passion when he'd sprung a proposal on her. She was scared. She hadn't expected to feel so much. She was used to being independent and in control. It would take her time to adjust. He might understand her, but that didn't mean she was going to get away with running away from him. "I'll be back," he muttered under his breath in a tone of dark threat. And she'd better be prepared to listen. This wasn't over. Far from it.

Chapter Ten It was over. The realization finally washed over her when the shock started to wear off. After Scott drove away, Sebastian came back and meowed. Veronica went to let him in and petted him as he rubbed against her legs. "Missed me, huh?" she asked. "I bet you're hungry, too." She led the way to the kitchen, and the cat was only too happy to follow. Veronica fed him, then sank onto a kitchen chair, feeling somewhat numb. The whole bizarre chain of events still hadn't fully sunk in. In the past week, she'd moved. She'd been romanced. Ravished. Proposed to, either as part of some twisted game Scott was playing with her, or possibly to provide a convenient excuse in case somebody demanded more forcefully that he do "the right thing". She'd been transported to the heights of grand passion, and unceremoniously dumped into the icy water of reality. She supposed she owed Scott's mother some gratitude for unintentionally telling her the unpleasant truth. But she couldn't find anything positive in the situation just yet. Scott had lied to her. Played games with her. He'd gotten some unknown female pregnant. So much for the scout motto, she sneered inwardly. He'd certainly been caught unprepared, there. No wonder he'd been so cautious about birth control. And she'd mistaken his precautions for care and consideration. Veronica didn't know what part of it was worse. None of it was good. Then she realized in sheer horror that they'd made love twice that morning without using any protection. "Oh, my God," she wailed, and buried her head in her hands. She could see it coming now. She was going to wind up a head-liner on "Geraldo". One of who knew how many pathetic women impregnated by the same man. Get a grip, she told herself sternly, reining in the imagination. It wasn't that likely. It was just possible that she'd get lucky and escape unscathed. Although she couldn't remember just then how close she was to her most fertile period. Still, she had enough real problems to worry about without taking on possible future complications. Problems like the fact that she'd fallen foolishly, helplessly, head-over-heels in love with an unprincipled, uncaring seducer. The problem with grand passion, she was rapidly discovering, was that it led to equally grand despair when it ended. And it was definitely, distinctly, fat-lady-singing ended. She should have stuck to books. She'd finally gotten a life. And look where it had gotten her. That was when the tears started. Veronica wept through a cup of Mocha Java because it reminded her of the cup Scott had left for her with his roses. That memory drove her to go through the house, yanking the roses out of her vases to dump them outside so at least she didn't have to look at them. It didn't make her feel any better, however.

She cried while she ran water for a bath, thinking it might help. Then she sobbed in earnest because she couldn't even wash without thinking about the fact that the last pair of hands on her body hadn't been her own. By the time she finished and wrapped herself in a bath sheet, the steady stream of tears made it nearly impossible to see. With an effort, she dragged herself to her closet. Half-blinded by tears, she still couldn't miss seeing his damn shirt, laying there mockingly on her floor. In a burst of sudden rage, she grabbed it and hurled it into a corner. Then she sobbed harder. It was the worst moment of her whole life. Finally, she managed to pull herself together enough to grope for a tissue. She blew her nose. Then she cried some more. After a while, she decided she should call Gordon and tell him what she thought of him and his advice. So much for real experience. Sniffling, she picked up the extension in her room. It was summer. He didn't have any classes to teach. The least he could do was to help with the damage his rotten advice had resulted in. When Gordon arrived, Veronica opened the door and flung herself into his arms, sobbing pitifully. Damp tissues fluttered to the floor around her like some bizarre avian flock. Gordon took in the sight, slightly bewildered. "There, there," he offered kindly. He patted her shoulders in an awkward gesture, then led her inside and closed her door while she wept into the folds of his shirt. He looked around helplessly for the box of tissues. It had to be there, somewhere nearby, from the soggy evidence. When he spotted it on the floor by the couch, he pushed her down into a sitting position, grabbed a handful of tissues and blotted rather ineffectually at the river of tears. She seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of them. The tissues, however, were another story. He'd just yanked up the last ones. When the tissues proved inadequate, Veronica continued to cry on his shoulder. Literally. Blotting her tears on his shirt. Gordon was doing his well-intentioned best to comfort her when her man-eating cat stalked up to him, bristled at him and let out a chilling hiss. "Veronica, tell him I'm one of the good guys," he pleaded. The cat's unwavering stare unnerved him. Especially when the hiss changed to a low snarl. She lifted her head and sniffed, "Sebastian, behave." The words, although slurred by weeping, did get an obedient response. But he continued to keep a watchful eye on Gordon. "Aren't you ever going to get rid of that cat?" he asked. "He's all I ha-ha-have," Veronica sobbed in reply. The tears showed no signs of abating. At this rate, Gordon realized, she was going to end up with another one of his shirts and then the cat would start in on his pant leg. He'd be lucky to escape with his jockeys. He had to distract her. And quickly. Before the flood of tears drowned them all.

"How about some Milton?" he suggested, hopeful. She sobbed louder. "Yeats?" A low wail and another spreading soggy patch on his formerly crisp Oxford shirt vetoed that choice. Why was it, Gordon wondered unhappily, that whenever he wore a new shirt around Veronica some mysterious force led to its ruination? Desperate times, he decided, called for desperate measures. "How about Moby Dick? The really boring part?" Veronica responded with a curious sniff. "Boring part?" "The "all about whales" part. The part that stands as an eternal warning to all writers that it is, indeed, possible to overdo one's research." "Boring?" "Beyond boring," Gordon assured her. "Mindlessly dull. Paralyzing, in fact. Guaranteed to numb even the most acute sensitivity." She sniffed again. "Okay. That sounds good." "I suppose you still keep all your books in your bedroom?" She nodded. He sighed. "Ronnie, dear, you really should get a life." It was the wrong thing to say. With a heart-breaking wail, she burst into renewed tears. Gordon put an arm around her shoulder. "Now, now," he soothed, leading her to the stairs. "Come on. We're off to explore the mysteries of the deep. The hidden life of the whale." Resigned to its loss, he unbuttoned his shirt and handed it to her. She promptly dried her eyes and blew her nose into it. He couldn't help wincing. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I'll wash it." "No, no," he declaimed. "Keep it." He managed to get her to her room and found the book. Leading her to the bed, he got her settled, opened to the middle and paged through until he found the section he wanted. If it worked for Veronica as well as it worked for his students, she'd be peacefully asleep in no time. Gordon started to read in his best teacher's drone. Veronica curled up in a limp heap in the center of the mattress and listened wearily. She was wrung out emotionally. She thought she'd probably just set some sort of mood-swing world record in the past twentyfour hours. From heavenly heights to a hellish low in one short day. It was a relief not to think for a while. Instead, she focused on the unbelievably dry reading Gordon was kind enough to offer her. Whales. She sighed and stretched. Her life, such as it was, really couldn't get any stranger. Exhausted, drained of her store of tears, she gradually drifted off to sleep somewhere during the excruciatingly detailed narration of whale biology. When she finally nodded off, Gordon stopped and closed the book in quiet relief. It was starting to get to him. Another ten minutes and he would have been snoring right beside her.

He eyed her sleeping form and wondered if she'd eaten that day. Probably not, or the evidence would have been littered around with her tissues. Knowing her take-out habits, she probably didn't have anything edible in the house, either. If he was quick, he decided, he could run out to pick up another shirt, a large box of tissues, and some Chinese food before she woke up. Scott swung moodily from side to side in his hammock. He'd thought he couldn't be more furious. He'd been wrong. Gordon, "just a friend" Gordon, was strolling around Veronica's bedroom. Shirtless. Not a hair out of place, either. Scott wondered sourly if the man even had sweat glands. He'd come back ready to reason with Veronica, only to find the other man's car parked in front of her house. And now he knew why. "Just a friend", indeed. It made him wonder just how many other friends she had. The "friend" finally started his car and drove away, but Scott continued to brood. The more he thought about it, the more he decided he'd been taken advantage of. Veronica had lied to him. She'd used him for stud service. Then she'd left him high and dry as soon as she'd gotten what she wanted from him, and she'd gone back to her old lover the very same day. She hadn't even tried to be discreet about it, he thought in quiet fury. If she wanted nothing but a good time, he decided, two could play that game. He was just enraged enough to stalk into her house and into her bedroom, cat or no cat. He really hadn't wanted to find her sleeping in the middle of her bed, wrapped in an oversized bath sheet, hugging "just a friend" Gordon's shirt to her cheek. It hit him like a blow to the stomach. She looked sweetly disheveled, warm and sleepy. She looked like a woman who'd just been thoroughly loved. She looked amazingly innocent for a man-eating barracuda. For a moment, he stood and watched her sleep. Then he deliberately slammed the door and leaned against it in a studied pose. Veronica started awake at the unexpected sound, and looked around for the source. When she saw Scott, she sat up and rubbed at her eyes. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. He eyed her insolently, noting the way the towel slipped when she sat to give him a glimpse of the beginning swell of her breasts. "I thought that was obvious," he stated coolly. "You've been without a man for almost half an hour. You must be in need of one by now." Casually, he removed first one shoe, then the other. "Are you out of your mind? I wouldn't want you if you were the last man earth." She flung the words at him as if they were rocks aimed at his head. A mistake. He strolled towards the foot of her bed and pulled the hem of his knit shirt free from his jeans. "That isn't what you said this morning," he pointed out. "You said something very different while you were moaning and begging me to fuck you. You said you wanted me. You called my

name. You repeatedly invoked a deity." He paused and cocked a sardonic brow at her. "What did you say to Gordon? Did you remember to say the right name?" She sucked in a breath. "What is this, jealousy? From you?" She said it as if he was the last person in the world who had the right to feel possessive of her. It hit all too close to the mark. Scott was all too aware that she didn't return his feelings. But it was the last straw. "You still have my shirt, don't you, Veronica?" he asked, his voice a deadly caress. "What do you do? Take them as trophies?" Abruptly, he thundered to a crescendo. "Maybe you should switch to carving notches on your headboard before you run out of closet space!" Veronica stared at him, practically spitting in fury. "Is that what this is about? You want your shirt back?" She bounded up and stomped over to the corner she'd hurled it into, retrieved it and thrust it at him. "There!" she shouted back, all her earlier hurt transformed into typhoon-strength rage. "Now that that's over, you can take it and get out!" He gave a low laugh that wasn't at all amused. "Oh, no. It's not over. I'll tell you when it's over." He yanked off his shirt in a savage motion. "What are you doing?" Veronica demanded, suddenly nervous. "Giving you another trophy for your collection." His shirts hit the floor a bare second before they did. Scott's mouth closed over hers, plundering brutally, while his hands pushed the towel apart. He provided her fury with an outlet. Veronica returned his hateful kiss with matching force and raked her nails down his bare back. He growled, a low, animal sound. "So, you like it like this?" He deepened the punishing kiss and palmed her breasts, feeling them tighten at his touch. The words acted like a dash of cold water in her face. They brought Veronica sharply to her senses. She froze, shocked. What was she doing? Scott rolled on top of her, forcing her legs apart and lifting her hips to fit himself fully between her thighs. A soft sob reached him and a sense of something not right broke through the red haze. Leaning back to watch her response, he saw the tears pool in her eyes. Eyes suddenly huge and very dark against her shocked, white face. Tears. They were crocodile tears, Scott told himself. Twin trails slid down her cheeks as the pools overflowed her shimmering eyes. He reminded himself that she was a heartless, man-eating nymphomaniac. She used and discarded men like some women used lipstick. More tears followed the tracks from the first. And he admitted in silent resignation that it didn't matter. It didn't matter what she was or what she did; he still loved her. Abruptly, he levered his weight off of her and stood over her. "Keep the shirt. If you run out of room, I'll give you a bid on a bigger closet," Scott bit out. Then he walked out.

Veronica pulled the towel back around herself in an agony of humiliation. The lying, lecherous beast had walked in, insulted her, and thrown her to the floor, ready to pick up where they'd left off. And she'd been ready to let him. Ready to take out all her anger and hurt by having wild, raging sex with him. What kind of a person was she? Did she have some kind of a sick, deviant desire for punishment? No, she didn't, she realized. It hadn't been like that. They'd both been angry. They'd both been consenting parties in slugging it out, too. First verbally, then sexually. They'd both known what they were doing. And Scott had stopped the minute she had. According to a psychology study she'd read, a relationship was largely defined by how the two parties handled a fight. Whatever else she might say about their relationship, the terms of the fight had been decidedly equal. Veronica had to admit that for all his faults, Scott wasn't an abuser of women. And if all the women in his life wanted was great sex without commitment, he was just the person who could deliver. She wondered if he made a habit of lying to all women in general, or just her in particular. Had he had some reason for not telling her what she considered a vitally important detail? And what was he thinking of, asking her to marry him? What was that all about? It didn't make sense. But it hurt. So she consoled herself with another good cry. Somewhere in the middle of it, Gordon returned, meticulously clad once again and carrying food. "Oh, dear," he murmured, seeing her sprawled on the floor in tears with a pair of men's shoes and two shirts that were definitely not her size. Now what? "I'm afraid you're beyond the ministrations of Melville. How about the encyclopedia?" he offered. She just sobbed. Taking that as agreement, Gordon searched through her bookshelves until he selected a volume and settled on the floor beside her with the cartons of Chinese food within easy reach. "Think of it this way," he suggested. "This experience may deepen your appreciation for the finer points of tragedy." Veronica gave him a dirty look and cried louder. Gordon sighed, balled up the nearest garment and attempted to staunch the flow of tears. "'Aardvark'," he began. "'Indigenous to the regions…'" Scott was too angry and too frustrated to notice that he'd forgotten his footwear until some time after he'd reached his home. Then he dismissed it with a shrug. So, she'd gotten more than shirts from him. Let her keep them. She'd cried, damn her. How could he fight with her if she cried instead of fighting back? How were they going to settle this mess? Maybe she really couldn't help herself. Maybe it was some sort of compulsion. Maybe they should get some counseling. See a sex therapist. Scott raked a hand through his hair, frustrated beyond words.

Nobody had ever told him love was this complicated. Maybe he could unwind and get some perspective if he spent some time with his roses. He grasped at the thought like a drowning man at a rope. Right. That was what he needed. But when he reached his prize bushes, he nearly cried himself. Her cat. It had to have been her cat, he thought blankly, staring at the carnage. Shredded blossoms hung drunkenly from broken stems. Bushes tilted at odd angles. The bark mulch was torn up from around the roots and had clearly been used as kitty litter. "My roses," he croaked in a hoarse voice. Scott stood there like a victim of a sudden, unexpected freak of nature of disastrous proportions. Finally, he turned away and staggered back inside. Maybe life would seem more normal there. It didn't. The towel from his shower that morning lay on the floor. The towel he'd slung around his neck while anticipating another sweet kiss before he left. He wandered to the bedroom and stared down at his bed. It had looked unbelievably welcoming with Veronica laying back on it, her face flushed with desire and her arms reaching for him. Now it just looked too big and too empty. And it made it even worse to see that the panties he'd torn off of her lay on his pillow. A mocking reminder. Deciding to avoid the bedroom, he went to the kitchen. But there it was almost worse. He could picture her leaning against the counter, a strand of dark hair falling across her cheek. He could picture her laughing. Teasing him. Kissing him. Feeling somewhat dazed, Scott looked around until the blinking light on his answering machine caught his attention. Hope rose faintly. Maybe she'd tried to call him. Maybe she'd left him a message. He hit the replay button and waited, nearly holding his breath. After it played, he checked the time registered. Played it back once more. And noticed the abandoned coffee cup and tray. Then he started to swear. Colorfully. Forcefully. Imaginatively. He'd really blown it. She'd come out, still shell-shocked from their passionate love-making, looking for more coffee. And she'd heard every damning word. He could just imagine how it had sounded to her. Then he'd stomped over to her place like the wrath of God, shouted at her, insulted her and attacked her. He swore some more, but his heart wasn't really in it and it lacked the depth and vividness of his previous curses. Now what was he going to do? He had to fix it somehow. While he stood there, the phone rang again. A bit of universal irony, he decided. But he answered it anyway. "Hello." "Scott? Tony." Tony. He drew a hand through his hair. "Hey. Thought you were still on your honeymoon." "I am," a smug voice replied. "And planning to stay there for another fifty years. I just wanted to say thanks for the wedding present. Gina loves it." With an effort, Scott recalled that he'd given them an anniversary clock. The kind that got wound once a year on the same date. "She does? Good."

"Listen, I also wondered if you might like her to fix you up with somebody,” Tony went on cheerfully. Scott shut his eyes in pain. But when he spoke, it was very softly. "No. I don't think so." Then, figuring it was worth a shot, he asked, "Have you two had a fight yet?" A brief silence. Then Tony laughed. "Are you kidding? She's Italian. Yeah, we've had a fight. In fact, making up is so much fun I think I'll pick another fight tonight." In spite of himself, Scott smiled. "How do you get her to forgive you if you've really blown it?" he asked, hoping for a miracle. "I don't believe it," Tony crowed. "You're in love. When did this happen?" "About a week ago." "And already you got her that mad? She must love you, too." Strange logic. But maybe Tony knew something he didn't. "How do you figure?" "Hey, she must really be mad or you wouldn't be worried enough to ask my advice. And women don't get that mad unless the heart is involved. Don't worry, if she loves you, you can dig your way out no matter how deep you've buried yourself," Tony assured him. "And what if she doesn't?" Scott had to wonder. "Are you kidding? Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look like that guy with the long blond hair who poses for all those romance novel covers. Women go crazy for him. How could she not fall for you?" "Great. Maybe I should start letting my hair grow," Scott suggested in a deep growl. "Maybe by next January she'll be ready to forgive me." "No need to be sarcastic. I'm about to give you the benefit of my wisdom as a married man. The first thing you need to do is get an attitude." "An attitude. As in, get on my knees and start groveling?" It might even work, Scott mused. "No, don't grovel. You'll just make her madder. What you need is an attitude of success.” "Success," Scott echoed blankly. "Right. Act like you know she wants you to come back and sweep her off her feet." "You've got to be kidding. This actually works? Have you ever done this in your life?" Scott demanded. "Hey, which one of us is married, and which one is the single guy?” Good point. "An attitude of success," Scott murmured doubtfully. "Right. And go see her at work, she’ll be more likely to be polite." "Thanks." "Anything for a friend," Tony replied. "Besides, I can't hang out with you again until you get yourself married. You might try to steal Gina." That brought a reluctant smile to his face. "Tell her I said hello." "Will do. Hey, good luck." Good luck, Scott thought, hanging up. He could certainly use some right about now. He went to take another cold shower and work on getting the proper attitude. Maybe he should stop cutting his hair, too. It couldn't hurt, he reasoned. And at this point, he needed every possible advantage he could get.

Chapter Eleven Two boxes of tissue, a carton of Low Mein and a pint of Ben and Jerry's later, Veronica decided she'd come to terms with her meteoric fling with The Hunk Next Door. She'd drowned her sorrows in enough tears to flood the Grand Canyon. She'd buried the pain in calories. And she'd had the worst ravages to her severely injured pride soothed by Gordon. She reflected that she was lucky to have a good friend like him. She had her work. She had her house. She had her faithful feline. She had a lot to be thankful for, if she thought about it. She could even be grateful for what she'd learned about herself through her experience, although she seriously doubted that a deep appreciation for tragic literature would suddenly overtake her. For instance, she'd learned that she wasn't cut out for grand passion. It was too wearing on the emotions. Too disruptive to her schedule. Too addictively good, and too agonizingly painful. Veronica polished off the last bite of the rich ice cream and added silently, too brutal on the waistline. If she kept this up, she'd get over the pain of having loved and lost approximately by the time she leveled out at an increase of ten dress sizes. It was time to pull herself together, put this episode behind her and move on. So she was still single. Single wasn't so bad. She'd had a glimpse of grand passion, and it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. On the other hand, her total history of single life might get lonely or dull occasionally, but it had one thing Scott couldn't offer her. It was safe. Besides, if she wanted more excitement and a more involved social life, those things weren't dependent on a relationship. She could join more groups, volunteer, get a new hair-style, spruce up the contents of her closet with some new seasonal fashion separates. She didn't need a man to complete her life. She didn't need love. She absolutely didn't need Scott. She returned to the kitchen and peered into the refrigerator, then the freezer. Maybe she did need more ice cream, however. Well, not tonight, she decided. She was still too exhausted from her recent emotional rollercoaster ride to go shopping, even if it was limited to a run to the nearest convenience store. Besides, considering how the day's events had gone so far, she'd probably pick the one in the process of an armed robbery. She could just see herself, pleading with a masked gunman to let her take the Ben and Jerry's and go. The mind-picture was so ludicrous that Veronica actually cracked a smile. So, that was that. She'd go to sleep, go to work in the morning, and life would go on. She sounded so convincing that she almost believed herself. Veronica splashed some cold water on her face, patted it dry and peered critically at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Not too bad; the puffiness around her eyes from prolonged crying was starting to go down, and the red rims were fading to pink. She switched off the light and padded into her room. Tonight, she needed a real morale booster, she decided. Something to restore her abused ego and bolster her feminine confidence.

She ransacked lingerie drawers, considering and discarding item after item. Finally, she settled on rose stretch-lace bikini panties with a matching cropped top. The peek-aboo effect always made her feel sexy, and the floral lace pattern and rose color were the epitome of femininity. Her choice made, Veronica donned her sleepwear and did a turn in front of the mirror that hung on her closet door. She wasn't a raving beauty. Her hips and bottom were unfashionably round. But most men wouldn't kick her out of bed, either, she decided. She had attitude. And even with a broken heart, it showed. She took her attitude and went to bed. Tomorrow had to be a better day, she promised herself. It could hardly be worse. The mattress gave as Sebastian jumped up onto the bed, purring, and chose a spot to curl up in for the night. He turned in a half-circle, settled himself neatly and stretched his chin out over his front paws, the picture of catly contentment. Veronica thought she saw a bit of bark and a flower petal tangled in his matted fur, but dismissed it as a figment of an overactive imagination. She had Scott on the brain. Still. She really had it bad if she kept seeing evidence of him everywhere, even when she looked at her cat, she thought in disgust. She was a disgrace to modern womanhood. She shut off the lamp by the bed, pulled the covers over her head and went to sleep. She dreamed of knights on chargers, princesses in towers, flowers and poems of eternal love recited by whales and aardvarks, all being pursued by a vengeful captain. Meanwhile, she toiled away in a long, dark kitchen, an old crone in lace-edged rags. Veronica woke up feeling even more gritty-eyed than usual and groped her way to the kitchen and coffee with something approaching haste. Once she had it perking, she splashed cold water on her face from the kitchen sink and tipped her head back to let the droplets run into her limp hair. What a night. She went through the motions of starting the day. She fed the cat. She poured a mugful of reanimator and curled both hands around it as she huddled over the table. Veronica inhaled the intoxicating aroma first, letting her sense of smell and her taste buds perk up in anticipation. Then she took the first deep drink and swallowed appreciatively. She could almost feel the caffeine swimming through her bloodstream, coaxing her awake and wiping away the groggy hangover from her cry-a-thon. Not to mention the horrific combination of Chinese food and ice cream. She shuddered at the memory. No wonder she'd had weird dreams. She took another long pull from her mug and sighed in bliss. She was actually beginning to feel like the day was worth living. She gave a silent prayer of thanksgiving for the restorative powers of coffee. Then she remembered Scott's teasing comments about the extent of her dependence on caffeine and scowled. Was nothing sacred? Was he going to profane her morning rituals, too? "You are obsessed," she announced out loud. "Get a grip, Veronica, and get over it. You can enjoy a cup of coffee without thinking about him." She could even walk though a florist's shop without brooding. Someday.

She took another deep swallow, feeling defiant. "And you are completely nuts, talking to yourself," she muttered under her breath. Well, she would probably do more of it in the years to come. Talking to herself was the lot of the lonely lady spinster. Maybe in time she could look forward to joining the elderly Vickers spinsters for the occasional spinster tea. Veronica sighed at the thought. She hated tea. She finished her coffee, then went to shower and get dressed. Work would help. She'd stay busy and then she wouldn't have time to think about the fact that she'd been cavalierly charmed and discarded in less than a week. That had to be some kind of a record. The shower did a lot to revive her spirits and she deliberately wore the brightest thing she could find in her closet, a pair of hot-pink trousers with attached suspenders. She teamed it with a white shell top and examined the effect critically. She looked like a slightly pear-shaped candy cane having a really bad day. She sighed again and put on her white tennis shoes before beginning the quest for her handbag and keys. Well, maybe her outfit wasn't much of a fashion statement, but she'd read a new book about colors and mood. According to the experts, wearing bright colors helped give the wearer more energy and positive emotions. Wearing dark colors tended to cause feelings of depression. She felt like she was on her way to a funeral as it was; she certainly didn't want to feel any more depressed. The keys turned up under her bed. Probably dragged there by a certain cat. Her bag lurked beneath a pile of underwear. Veronica took note of the mess and paused to tidy up. In the process of finding the perfect thing to wear to bed, she'd managed to leave her room looking like a lingerie shop in the middle of a clearance sale. Once order was restored, more or less, she slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for work. Tranquil quiet and order waited there. Libraries were constant. Things like card catalogues and the Dewey Decimal System weren't fickle. They were reliable, dependable fixtures a person could count on. She walked out to her car, and paused in the act of opening the door. Someone had tied a bright red, heart-shaped balloon to her radio antenna. The balloon lacked any explanatory printed sentiment. It also lacked a card. She eyed it for a moment in deep suspicion. Then she decided to ignore it. She got in and started the engine. That was when she saw the solitary white rose laying on the dash. She stared at it while the engine warmed up. What was going on, exactly? Two possibilities occurred to her brilliant mind, now slowly recovering from repeated exposure to The Hunk Effect. One, Gordon was trying to make her feel better. Only flowers and balloons were hardly his style. Or Scott was up to something. Veronica decided to ignore the rose, too. And went to work. She'd throw herself into it, and then she wouldn't have time to think about anyone with the initials SD, which she decided stood for Seducing Deceiver. If she cared to think about him at all. Which she didn't. Feeling childish and surly, she stuck her tongue out at the rose and left it in her car to fry on the

dashboard in the summer sun. But even work was no longer a refuge. A delivery of twelve perfect, red long-stemmed roses waited for her there. Anonymously. But she could guess who Anonymous was. Two hours later, another anonymous delivery arrived, this time a box of Godiva chocolates. That did it. Scott was responsible. And if he thought she could be bribed with chocolates, roses and balloons, he obviously didn't do very much thinking. But she was so depressed by the inescapable reminder of her brief experience with grand passion that she started on the chocolates. Her depression was his fault, after all. He deserved to pay for the expensive chocolate cure. But she wouldn't forgive him. Not even if he begged her on his knees. She briefly spun a sweet revenge fantasy, starring Scott. He kneeled before her, humbled and stricken. He pleaded with her. Groveled. Shed a tear or two. Begged her to come back to him. It was so vivid that when he appeared in front of her it actually took a moment to register that he was standing upright, not even close to crying, and looking arrogant beyond reason. It just went to show that some people thought they could get away with any kind of behavior and still get by on their looks, she thought in quiet fury. He actually had the same smug, gloating expression he'd worn when he'd discovered he could bring her to the peak with his bare hands. "Hi." His deep, sexy voice sent shivers through her. Shivers of disgust, Veronica told herself firmly. "I missed you last night." The intimate tone, pitched for her ears alone, didn't draw so much as a raised brow from any library patrons. "I'll bet you missed me, too. I'll bet you never realized how empty a bed can feel until last night," he continued, advancing towards her. "I'll bet it felt cold. Lonely, too. But you won't be lonely for long." His warm brown eyes invited her to ask why not. Like a prize idiot, she fell for it. "Why not?" He leaned closer. "I just got our marriage license. I realized you probably decided we should wait until after the wedding, and if that's how you want to do it, sweetheart, that's what we'll do. But we can get married right away, and then I'll keep you warm every night." His look promised unspeakable pleasures and scorching heat. Veronica glared. "Not on your life," she bit out. He frowned. "Why? Do you want a big wedding? The white dress, the church, the whole bit?" Then he gave a slight shrug. "Well, okay, we can do that. I'll take care of it." The man was a certifiable lunatic, she thought in horror. "Stop it. I don't know what you think you're trying to do, but you can just stop right there." A hint of fire showed in the depths of her normally serene hazel eyes. "Now what?" His deep, dark velvet voice sounded pitifully aggrieved. "Don't tell me you want a really long engagement. I can't wait that long. I want you too much. I want you back in my bed where you belong. I swear I can't wait more than a week at the most." Veronica looked around frantically to see if anyone overheard. "Will you stop?" she hissed. "You are crazy. Listen to me. I am not marrying you. Not now. Not next week. Not next year. Not ever. I want you to go away."

Warm sympathy glimmered in his eyes. "I understand. You've got cold feet. Pre-wedding jitters. It's okay, it doesn't mean anything. It happens to everyone." He smiled at her. She wanted to hit him. Instead, she said very quietly, very clearly, "I do not have pre-wedding jitters. I know this because there is not going to be any wedding. No wedding, no jitters. Got it?" "Okay, baby," he soothed, obviously humoring her. "Whatever you say. Now, is it time for your lunch hour yet? I came to see if you could leave to look at engagement rings." Veronica drew a deep breath and counted to ten. Then she let him have it. "Listen to me, you big ox, and listen close," she snarled. "We are not going to go look at rings. I am not going to go anywhere with you. And now you are going to leave, and I am going back to work." She whirled and stalked away from him. Scott followed, easily keeping pace with her. "That’s okay. I thought you might not have time. I'll just check your ring size." He captured her hand before she realized what he was doing and tied a piece of string around her ring finger. Then he slid the loop off and dropped it into his shirt pocket. "There. All taken care of." He gave her a sexy wink. "You just leave everything to me. I'll find the perfect ring for you." Veronica stared at him, at a loss for words. Not that it made much difference. No matter what she said, he just kept plowing ahead. She realized, with a chill of horror, that he just might actually be serious. He might really be planning to marry her while he continued on his philandering ways. Maybe he thought a bookish sort of woman who was packing a few extra pounds would put up with that sort of treatment. Maybe he thought she'd be so grateful for any proposal that she wouldn't mind sharing her husband with half the female population of the state. Maybe he had a total lack of morals and conscience that allowed him to believe that there was nothing at all wrong with the way he was acting. "Now, listen, I know you're busy so I'll come back later. I just wanted to tell you I missed you, and I can't wait to be alone with you again." Scott's low voice was barely above a whisper. "You look beautiful. I want to kiss you on that little spot behind your ear that makes you shiver. I want to feel your satiny skin under my hands and watch your eyes go dark while I take you again. Did you know that they turn almost black?" His soft voice and shocking words had a hypnotic effect on her. That was the only thing she could think of to explain the fact that he had her alone by the biographies and his hands were sliding up and down her suspenders, brushing against her breasts. She came to her senses with an effort and pushed his hands away. "Stop that. You can't do that." Scott sighed and took her hands, bringing them to his lips to brush warm kisses in the center of each palm. "I know. I can't help myself. You're driving me wild. It's all your fault, too. Why did you have to decide we should wait? We could have been doing this all last night." He gave her a look filled with silent reproach. She was speechless with rage. "Get out. Leave now," she managed to choke out finally. A lazy, knowing grin twisted his full, sensual mouth. "You can't stand waiting either, can you?" Before she could evade him, he bent his head to hers and kissed her, then turned to leave

before she recovered enough to say a word. "I'll see you a little later," he assured her. His parting words floored her. See her later? He'd see her, all right. She'd show him a side of herself that he would regret for the rest of his life. She stomped back to the shelf she'd been sorting, burning with rage. A nervous cough alerted her to the presence of another person. Veronica got a firm grip on her emotions and looked up with a polite smile. A woman in her mid-fifties waited, glancing nervously left and right. "Can I help you?" Veronica asked. "Yes." The woman sidled forward. "I'm looking for a book of Country French Cuisine." She emphasized the words oddly. "My friend said you'd help me." Veronica drew a complete blank. Country French Cuisine? Her friend? Then she remembered. The mistake she'd made with the woman who'd asked for a cookbook and gotten a collection of erotica instead. Good grief. What had she started? "Certainly," she managed to say, keeping her face composed. She guided the woman over to the proper shelf. "You find that type of, uh, cookbook right here." The nervous woman beamed. "Thank you," she whispered. Then she took a swift look over her shoulder, and turned back to Veronica. “Do you have any suggestions?” Figuring it was hard to go wrong with a classic, Veronica pulled out Delta of Venus and handed it to her. The woman put her hands down at her sides instead of reaching for the book. "Dear, would you mind checking it out for me and putting it into one of those rainy-day bags?" Trying not to laugh at the subterfuge, Veronica complied. The woman left, clutching her contraband "cookbook", just as another delivery came in. It was too much to believe. What was Scott up to? What was he thinking? He couldn't possibly think he could get away with acting like nothing had happened, could he? Although the deluge of presents could be the prelude to an apology. Maybe he thought it would go over better if he softened her up first. As if anything could make up for the fact that he'd set out to seduce her purely to build his own ego. It certainly hadn't been because he'd taken one look at her hips, fallen madly in love, and been unable to resist. Veronica sighed and looked down at the latest offering. The designer teddy bear gazed up at her with adoring eyes and an innocent expression, as if to say, "I have no idea why you haven't hugged me yet". She hardened her heart and whipped up her pride. Scott had probably sent one just like it to the mother of his unborn child. To all of the mothers of his unborn children. He probably got a bulk-rate discount from a local florist. He probably bought bears and chocolates by the gross. It was an empty gesture without the necessary heart behind it, and she wouldn't be moved by it. She stuffed the bear under the counter next to her bag and refused to let her hand linger on the silky fur. So what if it was a Gund? Then she ate another chocolate for Dutch courage, in lieu of something stronger.

The worst part of his low-down sneak attack was the wistful, wishful thinking it aroused. If only he really did love her. If only all that romance wasn't coldly calculated to manipulate. If only he really was a sexy knight longing to sweep her off her feet and carry her off into the sunset. Veronica straightened and cut off that line of thought. This was New England. Carrying her off into the sunset meant a very long drive westward and Scott would probably drop her somewhere in Ohio for somebody new. Determined to remain sternly unmoved, she worked away the afternoon with a will. She kept half-expecting to see Scott return to torment her in person, but when she finished, he still hadn't come back. Probably just as well. If he had, she probably would have lost her temper completely and committed the mortal sin of shouting in the library. She'd just retrieved her keys and slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder he appeared, evidently materializing out of thin air. She glared. He smiled. All innocence, he gathered up her assorted gifts and waited for her to lead the way to her car. "What do you think you're doing now?" she snarled. "Helping." Scott indicated his overflowing arms with a raised brow. "You didn't think I'd leave you to struggle with this on your own, did you?" Veronica regarded him through narrowed eyes. "I don't think this is really the time or place to tell you what I think of you," she muttered. Since it seemed to be the only way to avoid a scene, she stalked out to her car, leaving him to follow if he insisted. He insisted. In fact, he insisted on depositing everything on the seat of her car and holding her door open for her in a chivalrous gesture. She looked daggers at him. "You're right," Scott said, his face serious. "This isn't the time or place, but I think you do owe it to me to tell me what you think of me." That did it. Owed it to him? Veronica drew a deep breath to sustain the enraged verbal outpouring he was asking for. He stifled it with a kiss. He wasn't going to get away with it. She bit his lip. It did succeed in making him stop kissing her, but he replaced his lips with his hand. "Veronica, we need to talk. Go ahead home. I'll follow you in my truck." Then he strategically retreated before she could even fire a single verbal shot. It was maddening. So, he wanted to talk, did he? "Well, that should be very interesting since I'm not speaking to you!" Veronica shouted after his retreating form at the top of her lungs, indifferent to the fascinated looks she drew from passing townspeople. She drove off fairly crackling with suppressed rage.

He wanted to talk? He had the nerve to talk about what she owed him? "What I owe him," she informed the wide-eyed teddy bear, "Is a punch in the snoot."

Chapter Twelve Veronica's temper hadn't abated by the time she reached her house. Not at all. She stormed inside, slamming the door and leaving the damned bear, balloon, flowers and candy to rot in her car. Scott didn't appear to notice. He retrieved the assorted items from her car as if he'd never considered allowing her to carry a thing. He swept inside behind her as if he had every right to be there. He even found his way to her kitchen and started searching for a vase to accommodate the roses. "What do you think you're doing?" Veronica screeched at him as he proceeded to calmly fill the vase with water and practice floral arrangement. "Putting these in some water." Scott quirked a brow at her. "You keep repeating yourself today. Is something on your mind?" She fairly sputtered in response. He nodded. "I bet you're preoccupied with wedding arrangements. Don't worry. I told you I'd take care of it. I have everything under control." "How many times do I have to tell you there is not going to be any wedding?" she shouted. "Well, I don't know," Scott pointed out in his most reasonable voice. "I thought you weren't speaking to me." "I'm not speaking to you!" "Then you can hardly tell me there isn't going to be a wedding," he stated with irrefutable logic. While she struggled with that, he calmly finished arranging the flowers to his satisfaction and set the vase on the table. "Now, why don't we sit down and talk?" he suggested, the soul of reason. He indicated a chair. Veronica sat in sullen silence. "Something seems to be disturbing you since I asked you to marry me. I wonder if you have any religious concerns about the ceremony, or how we'll raise our children," Scott mused out loud, inviting her to respond. She did.

"If I were speaking to you, I might tell you that I would never consider raising a family with a man who was busy scattering bastards like a maniac and who didn't seem overly concerned about his parental duties," Veronica ground out. "I also might tell you that I considered such a person completely irresponsible and very poor husband material. Furthermore, if I were speaking to you, I would also say that I have no interest in polygamy or bigamy or whatever your preference is, and I would never marry a man who was incapable of fidelity." Scott waited for a moment to be sure there wasn't more she would say if she was speaking to him. "Well, since no other woman but you is going to have my children and since I have no interest in or desire for anyone else, I don't see any problems," he concluded. "Now that that's settled, why don't we discuss the timing. Morning weddings are becoming more popular, but evening ceremonies are still big. Do you have a preference?" Veronica shot out of her chair so abruptly that it nearly flew over backwards. "You are unbelievable!" she raged. "Don't you dare sit there and ask me if I want an evening or a morning wedding. What about the girl your mother was worried about? What about Debra?" Scott regarded her steadily. She was beautiful when she was mad, he thought. Her hazel eyes snapped and a most flattering tinge of rose colored her cheeks. He could understand why Tony might want to provoke a fight with his wife. Now, if they could only get to the making up part. "Debra is a woman I dated once. We didn't connect. We didn't date again, and we aren't going to. My mother was disappointed because she knows Debra's parents. There isn't anyone else. Mother misunderstood something I said the last time I talked to her. It was just after we met, and I was talking about you." He gave her a meaningful look. "I didn't mention your name, because she's a little bit manic on the subject of grandchildren, and I didn't want her to show up at the library and maybe scare you off." "Oh, and I'm supposed to believe that?" she shot back. "Yes, you are." Scott lunged to his feet and towered over her. "When two people are in love, they trust each other. I do expect my future wife to believe me. Maybe that's the real problem, here. You heard something, and you took it as a convenient excuse to run. You should have asked me, Veronica." They exchanged heated glares. Veronica had been glared at too often by Sebastian to be intimidated. "Don't try any caveman tactics on me," she warned. "Lady, if I was going to, we wouldn't be having this ridiculous conversation. We'd be standing in front of a justice of the peace, and you would have to nod when it was your turn to say I do because of the gag in your mouth," Scott bit out. Veronica gasped. "Ridiculous? You think my concerns are ridiculous?" "You don't have any concerns. You're just being stubborn because you're scared." "I am not!" Veronica barely refrained from stamping her foot. "You are, too." Scott stormed to the door. "When you decide you're ready to speak to me, I love you would be a good start." He left, slamming the door behind him. The reverberations apparently didn't disturb the gray monster sunning on the porch. "That woman is unbelievable," he informed the cat. Sebastian hissed in reply. "And so are you. You sound just like her. But I'm more than a match for both of you."

Having delivered his warning, Scott went home to complete his plans. The gloves were coming off. It was time to play dirty. He'd tried the gentle persuasion method. He’d tried the positive attitude method. Now he'd have to get tough. Someday, he told himself, she'd thank him for it. Scott was waiting by the library's front desk the next morning, coincidentally, when Veronica arrived. Right. If it was coincidence, she'd give up coffee. "Can I help you?" she asked in her best distant professional tone. "I hope so. I need some books." His warm gaze connected with hers and refused to be rebuffed. She smiled sweetly. "We have a lot of books. What in particular do you need?" "Well, there's this new neighbor with a cat that doesn't like me." Veronica widened her eyes in innocent shock. "What a shame." "Yes, I think so, too. So I need some information on how to tame a wildcat." Scott delivered the innuendo, matching her ingenuous air. She gave him a warning look. "Be careful. Some cats scratch." She could have kicked herself when he all but leered at her poor choice of words. That he remembered her clawing his back was all too obvious from his reply. "I don't mind a little scratch if I can make a cat purr," he growled, his eyes burning with blatant desire. He made her blush. She decided to even the score. "Wait right here, please." She swiftly located several books, and returned minutes later to wipe the smug look off of his face when she dumped a towering stack in front of him. "Here you are," she said with a helpful smile, ruined by the gloating light in her eyes. Scott eyed the pile with some dismay. Books on the care and feeding of cats. An issue of a magazine for cat lovers. A history of domestic felines. And on top, a book with childish print entitled Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats. He cleared his throat and gave her a winsome smile. "I'll take these to go." "Do you have a library card?" She was really enjoying this, he noted. He reminded himself to make her pay for it later. He'd get her to purr for him if it was the last thing he did. He whipped out the required card and stacked up his booty when she finished checking the books out. "Thank you," he said. Her smile held pure vindictive glee. "Anytime." He managed to make his way out to his truck without dropping anything, but it was close. Well, he had what he'd come for, and he'd hopefully given her something to think about at the same time. If he knew her at all, she was going nuts right now trying to figure out what he was up to. Scott grinned at the thought. She couldn't put him out of her mind, any more than he could stop

thinking about her. He had about five more hours before she got home to scan through the pile of books, deal with her demon cat and provide Veronica with an urgent reason to speak to him. Plenty of time. Once home, Scott decided to start with the children's book. He plucked it from the stack and flipped to the beginning. "Okay, Old Possum, amaze me," he murmured. It rhymed. But it didn't take long to figure out that it definitely wasn't Dr. Seuss. And it certainly wasn't for children. The little witch had given him a book of poetry devoted to cats. Intrigued by the fiendish twists of Veronica's mind as much as by the engaging verse, Scott read on. Towards the end of the book, he found it; a poem that explained cat etiquette. It seemed that feline diplomacy involved ritual offerings of gourmet treats, being distantly polite, and never, ever confusing a cat with a dog. How hard could that be? He already had some liver, and he'd picked up some catnip after the last encounter with Sebastian. Scott figured he could distract the beast with that. A good thing, since he didn't have much more time. Armed with his tool belt, catnip and the required kitty treat, he was ready to storm Veronica's castle. The cat was ready for him. Following some sort of feline radar, Sebastian crouched on the porch, tail switching back and forth as if to say, I'm waiting. According to Old Possum, it was impolite to use the cat's name without a formal introduction. So Scott settled for "Hi kitty", placed the fresh liver what he judged to be a polite enough distance away and then sprinkled catnip liberally next to it. Sebastian continued to keep a watchful eye on him, but didn't growl or give chase. Scott figured that was good enough. He got his ladder against the house and headed for the spot above Veronica's bedroom. Once there, he methodically and deliberately began removing shingles. It was going to rain. She was going to get wet. He didn't feel a single pang of remorse. It was for her own good. And someday, she'd thank him for it. When he finished, he climbed back down and took a wary look around for the cat. Just in case it was feeling the need for some exercise after the meal. He didn't need to worry. Sebastian was rolling through the catnip in ecstasy, belly up, limp paws extended. Scott wasn't certain, but he thought he saw a blissful expression in the cat's glassy eyes. "You're welcome," he told it. "If I keep you supplied, maybe you could consider living in harmony with my landscaping." After stashing the evidence of his sabotage, he strolled home, whistling. He wouldn't be sleeping alone much longer. Sebastian was in an unusually good mood, Veronica noticed.

He warbled a greeting, wound around her legs in an affectionate display and raised up on his hind feet in a silent request to be picked up. She complied. "Hi, big fella. I'm glad you're in a good mood. Somebody around here needs to be." She could always hope that it would rub off on her. She'd been distracted all day by Scott's unexpected appearance. Not to mention his blatantly sexual innuendoes. And the effect he had on her pulse rate. Even when she was angry with him, she couldn't help noticing what an incredibly handsome man he was. Knowing him in the biblical sense only made it worse. The memory of their shared passion fueled her imagination and sent her senses reeling. "The man has incredible nerve," she informed Sebastian, who listened with rapt attention. "He really expects me to go over there and apologize? Tell him I love him? Ha." Not a chance. Not even if she had to eat her own uninspired cooking for the rest of her life. Not even if she had nobody but Sebastian to talk to. Nothing could make her take the first step. "Besides, he started it," she grumbled childishly to the cat. Cooking dinner only reminded her of how lonely it was without someone to talk to, laugh with and share the work. Well, she didn't need Scott to enjoy dinner. In an effort to cheer herself up, Veronica set the table and tried a soufflé on her own. But she must have been paying too much attention to The Hunk's various attributes instead of the lesson that night. Because something went seriously wrong. It wasn't supposed to be flat. It wasn't supposed to be blackened, either. Stubbornly, she cut a piece and ate it anyway. It didn't help that only the gorgeous flowers from the day before came anywhere close to capturing the ambiance of dinner with Scott, and that was probably because they were from him. She was surrounded by jeering reminders, in fact. The heart-shaped balloon bobbed above the refrigerator. The box of chocolates lurked on the counter, tempting her. The teddy bear beamed adorably from its place beside the sweetly perfumed roses. "I don't miss him," she told the bear firmly. Sure. Right now he was probably making a gourmet feast for one and artistically arranging it on matching stoneware with an imaginative garnish. Veronica looked down at her burnt, fallen soufflé and wanted to cry. But her tear ducts hadn't recovered sufficiently. As if to make her low mood complete, a distant rumble of thunder sounded. A summer storm on its way. Great. Just what she needed. Maybe she should just go to bed. Get a good night's sleep. Maybe she'd feel better in the morning. A stray thought suggested that the only thing that might make that happen would be if she went to bed early in a certain nearby four-poster. With a certain neighbor. After a little crawling. No. Never. She wasn't going to apologize, and she certainly wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of

hearing the words he'd certainly never said to her. With grim determination, Veronica undressed and put on her rose stretch-lace ensemble again. She climbed into bed with a good book and eventually drifted into sleep. Only her dreams were as unsettled as her waking mood. She was somewhere on a ship in a storm, and it was going down. She wiped the rain from her face and tried vainly to remember where the life jackets were. Her restless movements woke her up. But she was still wet and cold and the rain was still falling. "What-" she gasped and stared wildly around, trying to make sense of that. Had she been sleepwalking? Was she outside? No. She wasn't. She was in her own bed. Slowly, Veronica tipped her face up towards the ceiling. An ominous dark patch was spreading above her, and a steady stream of water rained down onto her upturned face. That did it. She got up and started towards the door. Then stopped. Scott had said the real problem was trust. When it came right down to it, she had never really expected her prince to come. She hadn’t trusted her good fortune when he had, and she hadn’t trusted him to actually value her and her pear-shaped bottom above all the other women in the world. Maybe it was equal parts trust in him and in herself. Wasn’t she good enough to be loved? Scott had told her the truth, and she hadn't listened. He'd been right, and she'd been wrong. She should have confronted him and heard him out. Instead, she had run away like the coward she evidently was. He was going to gloat. He was going to make her crawl. And he was going to make her admit her feelings for him went way beyond neighborly. Beyond sex. Veronica wavered, deliberating. Well, maybe he would. But he'd also warm her up and carry her back to his bed to kiss and make up. It could be worse. She sighed and headed across the yard, uncaring of her appearance. It was two in the morning. Nobody would see her. She rang his doorbell and waited, shivering. Scott answered, looking sexy and disheveled. He was wearing those unspeakable cutoffs again. Short, tight, invitingly unbuttoned at the top. Veronica swallowed with an effort, her mouth gone suddenly dry at the sight of him. "Hi." He leaned casually against the doorjamb and eyed her sodden state in unspoken curiosity. Veronica opened and closed her mouth, silent and at a loss for words. He raised an inquiring brow. "Still not speaking to me? Well, you look cold. Would you like to come in?" He held the door open for her. She sighed again and trudged through it, dripping. Scott disappeared briefly. When he returned, he held a large, fluffy towel. He unfolded it and held it up in a silent invitation.

He didn't have to ask her twice. She walked to him and let him wrap her in delicious warmth. He blotted the dampness from her hair and rubbed her skin until it tingled. When he finished, he set the damp towel aside and pulled her into his snug embrace, her back against the hard wall of his chest and stomach. One hand splayed possessively over her belly while the other molded the curve of her hip. "Better?" The low, rough voice caressed her ear just before warm lips kissed the sensitive spot beneath it. Veronica nodded. She was feeling much better, in fact. She hadn't realized how badly she'd needed him to just hold her. "I can't help noticing that it's two in the morning, and you're in your underwear. Soaking wet." Having prompted her, Scott waited for a response. "My roof leaks." Her voice came out sounding pathetically small and woeful. "Ah. I see." Thoughtfully, Scott began a lazy exploration of the outline of her stunning outfit. "If you were speaking to me, you might ask me for help." She sighed, a long, sad sound. He was going to make her say it. If he gloated, she was going to cry. "I love you." She said it in the same way she might announce that she'd just discovered that she had terminal cancer. Scott had a grin at her tone. He turned her in his arms to frame her face with his hands and hold her still for a kiss. It started gently. Sweetly. Then it grew and deepened as she softened in his embrace, surrendering to him, and wound her arms around his neck to press herself closer to his warmth. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were glowing with mingled desire and deep satisfaction. "I think I've been waiting to hear you say that forever," he told her. "Why? So you could gloat?" Veronica grumbled. "No." His hands roamed over her as if to reassure himself that she was really there. "So I could tell you that I love you, too." "You're just saying that to make me feel better, aren't you?" she muttered. He smiled and hugged her hard, swinging her lightly off of her feet. "No, you ridiculous woman. I love you. I think I fell in love with you the first moment I saw you. I was laying in my hammock wondering if I'd ever meet the right person, and then there you were." Veronica narrowed her eyes in dark suspicion. "That's a nice story, but we met on your front porch. Remember? I was the short, jittery person having caffeine withdrawal." "Yeah, but that's not when I first saw you." He gave her a wicked look. "Did I mention that I have a great view of your bedroom window from my hammock? That's where I first saw you. You were wearing a shirt you probably stole from Gordon, and the light was behind you." She gasped and blushed furiously. "You were spying on me?" she demanded. "Hell, yes. You were a vision from heaven. I could see everything. Every curve. Your rosy nipples. Those delectable dark curls that you have right here." His hand slipped between her thighs and cupped lightly, demonstrating unmistakably what he meant. Veronica gasped again. But for a different reason. "I saw you, and I wanted you. I wanted you more than anything I've ever wanted in my life. I

couldn't believe my luck when you showed up on my doorstep first thing in the morning." "And then you decided to drive me out of my mind and make me fall in love with you," she accused. He smiled, a slow, sexy smile echoed by the burning heat in his eyes. "Did it work?" "It worked." "Good." He tangled one hand in her hair, rubbing at the sensitive points along her jaw with his thumb. "But there's still one thing you don't know." His eyes invited her to ask what. She stepped into the sensual trap. "What?" Her voice came out breathless. Probably from the influence of his nearness. Not to mention his busy hands. She was trapped in the dangerous Hunk Effect again and it was fast eroding her brain. "I lied about being willing to wait until after the wedding. I couldn't arrange anything sooner than a week from Saturday, and that's too long." With that blatantly sexual warning, Scott swept her up into the cradle of his arms and carried her to his bed. He nuzzled her neck and then settled his lips over hers, tasting and tempting. "Do you know what the best part about fighting is?" he asked against her mouth as he lowered her to the mattress. "I think I'm about to find out," Veronica managed to answer. "Yes, you are." His wicked mouth traveled from hers down the curve of her neck and trailed fire around first one breast, then the other. When he continued downward, she was beyond speech. Somehow her lace top and panties vanished and his cutoffs followed. Then Scott was over her and inside her and he was loving her. Hot, sweet passion flared and soothed away the tears and the anger, leaving behind only a pleasure so sweet that she cried out. Again and again he took her to the edge of reason, delaying his own climax until she'd found hers in a peak that only built her response to the next release. Finally, he drove deeply and ended it in a last burst of ecstasy that left her clinging weakly to him, dampening his shoulder with tears. He rolled to his back and took her with him. She sprawled across his length, boneless, sated and exhausted, as he stroked the length of her spine in tender afterplay. A long while later, Veronica roused herself to ask, "Why didn't you just tell me how you felt from the beginning?" Scott laughed softly and lifted her for a light kiss. "What, and miss all the fun of pursuit?" he teased. "Besides, you might have run away screaming." She considered that. "Maybe. Maybe not. You had coffee, and I didn't," she felt obliged to point out. He raised a brow. "Is that what you love me for?" She propped herself up on one elbow and eyed him narrowly. He gave her a "who, me?" innocent look. "You want me to feed your overinflated ego and tell you that I drooled like a basset hound at the first sight of your gorgeous body displayed in those indecent shorts?" she asked, tugging at the curls scattered over his chest. "That would be a nice start." His voice was husky with approval. "How about the fact that your cooking is divine, your taste in presents is impeccable, and you looks are topped only by your amazing ability as a lover?" He pretended to think that over.

"That would be nice, too. And you can say you love me again." "I love you again," Veronica parroted obediently. "Witch. And I love you." He showed her how much. Much, much later, Veronica stirred in his arms and asked, "Where are we going to live? My house or yours?" "I think we should live in mine. Your roof leaks." "Good point." She was silent for a while. "My place has a bidet, though." Scott trailed kisses over her face. "I can install one for you here," he offered. "Hmm. Maybe. But what should we do about my house?" "Easy. We'll leave it to Sebastian," he suggested. "Be serious." He was. But considering how well things were going at the moment, he decided they could talk about that cat later. Besides, he thought he'd reached an understanding with the beast. "Okay. We'll rent it." Veronica giggled. "Oh, the irony! I get to be a landlord." Scott smiled at her, loving the light of laughter in her eyes. "Don't knock landlords. If yours hadn't evicted you, we might never have met." "True." Her bright hazel eyes sparkled at him. "But he wouldn't have evicted me if it hadn't been for Sebastian." "So I owe Sebastian one. And since he'll be taking me for a lifetime supply of catnip and gourmet treats, I think we can call it even." Scott sounded ridiculously doleful at the thought of lifetime servitude to the Machiavellian feline. Veronica laughed at his dark tone. "So now that that's settled, now what?" she asked, cuddling closer and kissing his chest. "That's easy. Now we live happily ever after. And we try to avoid my mother until sometime after the birth of our first child. Then we'll leave her to baby-sit and go work on the next one," he answered with a wicked look. Veronica blinked, innocent and wide-eyed. "We don't have a first child yet," she pointed out. He looked shocked. "You're right. We'd better get started." Laughter blended into mingled sighs. And then the house fell silent.

The End