“Nice outfit …”

In the way back of Kim’s closet hung a blue satiny nightgown with matching robe. Kim had never worn it, but tonight she would. Because tonight was a night for lingerie.

The material felt slippery cool and wonderful against her still-heated skin. She pulled on the robe and checked her reflection. Mmm, nice. The color matched her eyes and emphasized her slender figure in all the right places.

“Kim.” A tapping at her door.

Before she could change her mind, she marched to the door and flung it open. He was wearing soft shorts that showed off his powerful thigh muscles and a T-shirt that did the same for his biceps. His hair was wet and tousled, his skin golden, his eyes vividly brown surrounded by dark lashes.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Tonight.”

“Kim.” His voice was low, throaty, that tone that got her so worked up, undoubtedly perfected on dozens of women. She knew what was coming.

“… Can I come in?”

Dear Reader,

If you’re like me, you grew up crushing on the bad boys. Not the really bad boys, not the ones likely to end up on drugs or in jail, but the guys who were cool, funny and charming, a little—or maybe a lot—irresponsible, always dating someone new and always out of reach.

I’ve grown past wanting that fantasy in my life, but I haven’t grown past wanting to explore it in my books. Long Slow Burn features Nathan, on the surface a charming, smooth guy with a few endearing faults that keep him approachable. Underneath he’s a sweet kid with a decade-long passion for a shy older woman who thinks of him as a pesky little brother.

After she sees him half-naked, Kim is shocked to realize he’s no longer sixteen, and it’s not long before Nathan has turned not only her head, but her heart as well.

Don’t forget to visit my website at www.IsabelSharpe.com.

Cheers!

Isabel Sharpe

About the Auther

ISABEL SHARPE was not born pen in hand like so many of her fellow writers. After she quit work to stay home with her first-born son and nearly went out of her mind, she started writing. After more than twenty novels—along with another son—Isabel is more than happy with her choice these days. She loves hearing from readers. Write to her at www.IsabelSharpe.com.

Long Slow Burn
Isabel Sharpe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Adam Ziles, web designer par excellence, who gave me Kim’s career, and to Jessie Gemmer, future brilliant architect, who gave me Nathan’s. I could not have written this book without their considerable expertise and always-willing, cheerful assistance.

Prologue

MARIE HEWITT WIPED toast crumbs off her fingers, thinking that plain toast with jelly was a depressing thing to have for breakfast at any time, but when there was a plate in the middle of the table loaded with doughnuts, Danish and a particularly appetizing raspberry cream-cheese coffee cake, plain toast with jelly was like time in prison. Sometimes Marie thought she should make friends with her hips, call them voluptuous, and be done with it.

She looked enviously around the table at her skinny companions chowing down on fatty pastry that would have absolutely no effect on their figures. Kim Charlotte Horton, Darcy Clark and Candy Graham had joined her table, as usual, in the seventh floor meeting room at Milwaukee’s Pfister Hotel for the March gathering of Women in Power, an association of female business owners.

“So who has news this month?” She turned to her right, where Candy was biting reverently into a crumbly blueberry muffin. Candy’s transformation had been astonishing over the past month. Gone was the long-suffering martyr, pining for her horrible ex-boyfriend. Finding true love had made her glow like she was radioactive. “How’s the party-planning business going?”

“Ten to one it’s been taken over by the wedding-planning business.” Dark, beautiful Darcy smirked across the table, playing her familiar cynical-about-love role.

Candy didn’t blink. By now they all knew Darcy’s bark might sound nasty but there was no bite. “Justin and I are having a fall wedding, small and informal. We’d rather spend our money on a Paris honeymoon.”

“Oh, wow.” To Marie’s left, Kim’s tired blue eyes had turned starry at the mere mention.

“Paris. You lucky dog.” Even Darcy looked wistful.

Marie couldn’t help feeling smug. She’d drag Kim and Darcy into true love, too—Darcy kicking and screaming until she admitted how much she wanted it. As the founder of Milwaukeedates.com, the city’s premier—if she did say so herself—online dating service, Marie had made a New Year’s resolution to match up her three closest friends from Women in Power. She’d been able to cross Candy off last month after she and Justin Case got engaged on Valentine’s Day. Kim was up next; her thirtieth birthday was next month, April fifteenth, and Marie was determined she’d have something to celebrate. A surprise party, which she and Candy needed to get busy planning, and with any luck, a romance, too.

Then would come Darcy, the real matchmaker’s challenge. “Darcy, how is Gladiolas doing?”

Darcy made a face that couldn’t conceal her pride. “Milwaukee’s restaurant scene is getting more crowded and competitive, but we’re hanging in there.”

Candy snorted. “Justin and I tried to get in last weekend. Not only were there no reservations available, but a crowd was waiting. I’d say you’re doing more than hanging in there.”

“I don’t take anything for granted. Restaurants spring up and die like weeds. If I could stand doing anything else, I would.” Darcy shrugged and hoisted her coffee. “I’d rather hear about Kim and her proposal for the new Carter International website. How’s that going, Kim?”

“Okay. Not great.” Kim smiled bravely. She’d been working her butt off at her solo company, Charlotte’s Web Design, for the past five years and hadn’t yet gotten where she wanted to be. Kim was looking at this bid to design a new website for the crystal and china megacompany as her last chance before giving up her entrepreneurial dream. “I’ve had some ideas but nothing amazing yet. Carter is marketing this new line, Carter2, at a younger, more casual crowd, so I have to incorporate a funkier feel into their existing upscale image. So far it’s not working.”

“You’ll get this!” Candy smacked the table determinedly. “You are so talented. They have to hire you.”

“Thanks, Candy.” Kim reached for another doughnut; Marie chewed on a grape and forced herself not to do the same, though the coffee cake was still calling her name. She’d think skinny hips. She’d think toast.

“How’s the new roommate working out?” Darcy asked.

“It’s been … interesting.” Kim bit into the doughnut.

“In what way?”

“Well.” Kim washed her bite down with orange juice. “He’s a guy.”

The table erupted into laughter.

“Say no more.” Darcy rolled her eyes, a smile still on her face. “Toilet seat up, toothpaste cap left off, dishes piling up in his bedroom.”

“Oh, you’ve lived with him, too?” Kim kept her gaze deliberately innocent while the rest of the table cracked up again. “Nathan is okay. He’s my brother’s age, three years younger than me, but it sure seems like more.”

“Men mature more slowly.” Darcy quirked a dark eyebrow. “They’re generally not done until about age forty-five.”

Quinn’s age. Marie shook herself. She needed to stop thinking about her friend Quinn Peters, who looked like George Clooney and acted like Don Juan. Though at least he wasn’t fattening.

“Is Nathan cute?” Candy cut off a small piece of Danish and put it on her plate.

“Yes, but …” Kim wrinkled her nose. “He’s one of those guys who had so much fun partying in college he never stopped. He and my brother still spend too much time drinking and trying to score.”

“Oh, that type.” Darcy grimaced. “Men with the depth of a toddler pool. Keep your distance.”

“Trust me, that won’t be a problem.” Kim ate the last bite of doughnut with obvious enjoyment. Marie forced herself to look away, then found herself gazing at the cake again and had to turn away from that, too. Damn toast. How about curvaceous hips?

“What does Nathan do again?” Candy asked.

“He finished the course work for a master’s in architecture at UW Milwaukee, but can’t make himself finish his thesis project. He’s surviving on odd jobs, barista in the morning at Alterra, bartender in the evening at the Hi Hat, delaying real life as long as possible is my guess.” She shrugged. “I put up with him as a favor to Kent. And his help with the rent.”

“I say we toast new beginnings for Kim.” Marie lifted her coffee, wishing she hadn’t just said “toast.”

“Here’s to you getting the Carter job.”

“Hear, hear.” Darcy and the others raised their cups.

“And …” Marie smiled at Kim. “I’ve been thinking about another new beginning for you, not lucrative, but a lot more fun.”

Kim stopped wiping sugar off her fingers. “What do you mean?”

“Ha!” Candy started laughing. “I know that look, Marie. You turned it on me in January.”

“And look what happened to her. Trapped. Chained. Ruined.” Darcy shook her head in mock despair.

Marie winked at Candy. “Kim, you set your thirtieth birthday as your deadline for Charlotte’s Web sinking or swimming. I’m thinking it’s also a good milestone for finding a man.”

“Oh.” Kim straightened in her chair. “Well, actually I’m thinking—”

“I’d be thinking run if I were you,” Darcy said.

“She’s not you.” Candy grasped Kim’s forearm. “Go see Marie, she’s amazing. Dating is just what you need to jazz up life. I had a blast, and of course, I found Justin.”

“And got your very own engagement ring stuck in a pizza.” Darcy snorted.

Candy’s smile only got wider. “Right then pizza was as good as black velvet to me. You think you want everything a certain way, but when the guy is right, none of the showy stuff matters at all.”

“Very true.” Marie beamed proudly at Candy. “You have learned well, Grasshopper.”

The women burst into giggles. Even Darcy.

“So what do you think, Kim? Come see me?” Marie pulled out her iPhone and called up the calendar. “I even have someone in mind for you.”

Kim looked taken aback. “Oh, well, I’m—”

“Ooh, tell us about him.” Candy leaned forward eagerly.

“Troy Cahill. Sound familiar?”

“Oh! Yes! Perfect!” Candy all but bounced in her seat. “Oh gosh, this is so great. He’s Justin’s best friend and his coauthor on the interactive computer manual. We can go on double dates and—”

“Down, girl.” Darcy playfully restrained her. “The sparkles from that diamond have gone to your head.”

“No, seriously.” Candy shook her fingers as if they were burning. “And he is sooo hot.”

Kim laughed, her blush making her eyes brighter. Shyness might make Kim easy to overlook at first, but her smile or the occasional glint of mischief in her eyes gradually made the blond girl-next-door beauty more obvious, as well as her strength. “I was already thinking I’d—”

“Friday, Kim?” Marie smiled approvingly at the blush. The timing was right. “Morning?”

“Yes! Friday!” Kim threw up her hands. “I’ve been trying to tell you all that I have been thinking about dating. Because of my birthday, and then after seeing Candy so happy. Nine-thirty?”

“Nine-thirty, Friday.” Marie chuckled, entering the appointment into her iPhone. She had picked out Troy for Kim initially, but another profile had also caught her eye, a recent sign-up, Dale Swallow. Unfortunate name, but an interesting guy. She could see him being good for Kim, helping challenge her with new experiences to grow her confidence. There was more to Kim under that reserve and shyness, and Marie had a feeling the right man could get at it. Besides, Marie wasn’t sure Troy had made enough of an effort yet to get over his old girlfriend.

Either way, Kim was coming to see her without having put up a fight, and Marie could find her the happiness she deserved. This was going to be a piece of cake.

Piece of cake. Mmm.

She gave in and lifted a slice of coffee cake onto her plate.

Goodbye toast. Hello womanly hips.

1

“HI, YOU MUST BE KIM.“ Marie’s red-haired receptionist extended her hand for a shake. “I’m Jane.”

“Hi, Jane.” Kim smiled politely, refraining from pointing out that they’d met a couple of times before. The first time when Marie moved into these offices, and Kim, Candy and Darcy had brought over flowers and champagne for an impromptu celebration. Then two weeks ago, when Kim had come by to pick up Marie for lunch. “Think it will ever be spring?”

“According to the calendar next week. But given that it’s Wisconsin …” She gestured to the counter across from her desk. “Help yourself to coffee, tea or hot chocolate. Is it snowing?”

“Not accumulating, but it’s coming down, yes.”

“Enough to foul up traffic and remind us it’s still winter.” Jane rolled her eyes, blue behind narrow black glasses. “Marie is finishing up with someone. She’ll be done soon.”

“That’s fine. I’m early.” Kim poured a cup of coffee she didn’t need, since Nathan kept their apartment stocked with fresh-roasted beans from Alterra, and splashed in some milk. She was early because she’d been pacing nervously around her apartment all morning, too keyed up to get work done and not in the mood for anything else. Finally she’d figured it was better just to get going, drive slowly and hope for delaying traffic, which the snow had made possible.

Kim had been thinking about trying online dating for a while. She’d delayed, waiting for the perfect time, hoping Charlotte’s Web would take off so she could come into a relationship from a position of confidence and financial security. However, with her thirtieth birthday looming, she realized a lot of years had gone by without a “perfect time,” and that if she won the Carter bid and was no longer constantly teetering on the brink of insolvency, she might be too busy to date. Marie pressing her for an appointment now had clinched it.

“You can go in.” Jane pointed back toward Marie’s office, from which a younger woman had just emerged. “Marie’s got a treat for you.”

“A treat?”

Jane waggled her brows. “One of our new listings. Adorable.”

“Oh.” Kim laughed uncomfortably, ducking her head when the woman Marie had been meeting with passed behind her. Being here made her feel exposed, as if she was announcing to the world that she couldn’t get dates the normal way. Whatever normal was these days. Probably being here. She moved toward Marie’s office, wanting away from Jane’s black-framed stare. “Thanks, Jane.”

“Nice to meet you finally.”

“Right.” She pushed into Marie’s office. So flattering when people forgot they ever laid eyes on you. “Hey, Marie.”

“Kim, how are you? Come on in.” She beckoned warmly, elegant as always in a black pantsuit with cream accents and tasteful gold jewelry.

“Thanks.” Kim stepped into the cozy office, decorated more like someone’s favorite room than a place of business. Shelves lined two walls, with books, decorative pottery pieces and plants set at attractive intervals. Trust Marie to keep clients relaxed and comfortable in whatever way she could. “You’ve done fabulous things with this room.”

“That’s right, it was completely bare when you were in here before.” Marie waved her toward one of the overstuffed chairs in front of her desk, and took the other one. “Have a seat, make yourself comfortable. I see you got coffee already.”

“Not that I need to be any more jittery.” She perched on the chair’s edge, mug in one hand, Milwaukeedates.com paperwork clutched in the other.

“Trust me, everyone is nervous doing this. What did you think of the forms? Have any trouble?”

“Not really.” She held them out to Marie. “I’m not into the whole self-pimping thing, but I did my best.”

“Self-pimping? Interesting choice of words.” Marie took the papers, glancing over at Kim before she read them. “I’ll start with your description of yourself, then we’ll talk about the guy you’d like to meet. Okay with you?”

“Sounds good.”

Marie read while Kim got fidgety, sipped coffee, decided she didn’t need more caffeine, held the cup down in her lap, got fidgety, sipped more coffee …

“Okay.” Marie shifted position, frowning slightly. “Your profile. You’ve described yourself well here….”

“But?”

“But.” Marie put the papers down and met her eyes. “You make yourself sound a little dull.”

“I am a little dull.” She held up her hand when Marie started protesting. “I don’t wear makeup, I don’t own sexy clothes, I rarely go out. Men who want that whole hot party-girl thing aren’t going to want to waste time on a date with me.”

“Most men only want that kind of woman in fantasy.” Marie leaned forward earnestly. “Here they ask for honest women, loyal women, women with brains and with a sense of humor. You’ve got all that, but you make it sound as if you have nothing to offer. ‘I stay home most of the time. I don’t like crowds or noise.’”

Kim shrugged. “I want to be honest about who I am.”

“Understood.” Marie held up the page and shook it vigorously. “But this is maybe half of who you are.”

Kim tried to keep from bristling, without much luck. “How would you change it? With some dating euphemism? Like when Realtors say ‘cozy and quaint’ and mean ‘cramped and dingy,’ instead of ‘shy’ I should say I’m ‘serene’ or I have ‘hidden passion'?”

Marie dimpled a too-innocent smile. “Why, that’s exactly what I was going to suggest. ‘Hi, I’m Kim. Serene with hidden passion.’”

Kim’s cranky outrage wilted into laughter. “Ew.”

“We’ll move on for now. Tell me about your past relationships. The main ones. What the men were like, what happened, etc.”

Ugh.Kim wiggled farther back into the chair. “Well, let’s see. First boyfriend, Sam, in high school. Geek like me, quiet, we both had horrible skin and a love for all things computer. That lasted three years. We broke up when we went to college.”

“Because …”

“Our relationship had gotten too predictable and we both wanted to grow.”

“Understandable. Were you sexually involved?”

“Yeah.” Kim blushed. “Or something like it. High school, you know.”

“I do. Who came next?”

“Josh, in college. We dated for a year, then he ended it. He was a physics and philosophy double major and didn’t have time for a girlfriend.”

“Ouch.” Marie grimaced sympathetically. “Nice when you come first, huh?”

“Yeah, it didn’t feel great.” Kim adjusted the hem of her sweater, wanting to change the subject, but knowing Marie wouldn’t let her off the hook. “I survived.”

“After that?”

“Oh, well …” She took a sip of coffee that suddenly tasted bitter.

“Hmm.” Marie narrowed her eyes. “Something not so great.”

“Tony.” Kim let her head drop back against the chair. “Big, handsome jock, the kind of guy I’d get a crush on but never thought would be into me.”

Marie lifted her eyebrows. “I’m not surprised he was.”

“Yeah, well, I was suspicious, but he kept coming around.” She put her mug on Marie’s desk. “He was charming, persistent and surprisingly interesting to talk to. I got sucked in, started dressing better and wearing makeup. I went on meds to clear up my face. I looked good and felt great, and thought, Oh boy, the birth of New Kim! I loved the attention, not only from him, but from his friends. Seemed like wherever we went, they were watching me. I thought I was hot stuff.”

“You are.” Marie held up Kim’s profile again. “You’re selling yourself way short here. You should be—”

“Wait.” Kim shook her head, throat tightening. “Let me finish. I finally trusted him enough to let him in, to care about him. One night after he’d taken me to some horrible, loud party where I drank too much to be able to stand it, we went back to his place. He lived off campus, and his roommate wasn’t there. We had sex all over the apartment all night long. Incredible sex, I-didn’t-know-it-could-be-like-that sex.”

Marie’s frown crept back. She obviously couldn’t figure Tony out any better than Kim had been able to. “And this was bad how?”

“Turned out he had a bet with his friends that I’d be better in bed than I looked. Apparently he considered himself an expert at being able to tell which geeky girls were hot in the sack.”

“Ah.” Marie’s lips tightened. “I can see why you’re not keen on the phrase ‘hidden passion.’”

“Then it got worse.”

“Oh, Kim.”

“Since he won the bet, he had to beat his chest all over campus.” Kim screwed her eyes shut. “I had guys lining up to ask me out for weeks after, thinking they’d get what he got. I’m sure it never occurred to them I’d actually started to like the pig and that’s why I slept with him.”

“I’m sorry.”

Kim opened her eyes, hating the quaver in her voice the story could still bring on. “I got over it. Mostly. But now I avoid any guy who seems more concerned with what a woman represents than who she is. That whole ‘score at any cost’ mentality.”

“Your brother and new roommate.”

“Bingo.” She pointed emphatically at Marie. “Kent probably inherited his roving dick from Dad, who constantly cheated on Mom until he left her. I know there are better men out there. I just want to make sure I get the right kind. So if I sound boring on my profile, and my picture is plain, tough. I don’t want to attract another shallow jerk. I want someone to love me for me—no makeup, happy in a quiet life at home, geeking out with my computer.”

She finished, a little out of breath, and waited for a reaction. Marie sat quietly, watching her as if she was trying to make up her mind about something.

“Okay.” Marie got up with her usual grace and went around behind her desk. “I get what you’re saying. I had two men picked out for you before this meeting. I still want to show them to you, and I want you to look with an open mind. If you’re not interested, you can go online and choose whatever profiles you want. Just bear in mind that sometimes when we feel fear or aversion, it’s not necessarily good instinct talking. It can be habit or baggage instead. Very hard to tell the two apart. Deal?”

Kim reached for her mug, fingered the textured porcelain and then took a sip. She’d only have to look. Nothing more unless it felt right. “Okay. I’ll check them out.”

“Good.” Marie tapped a few letters on the keyboard. “Here.”

Kim got up stiffly; she must have been tensing her body ridiculously tight. Not many people had heard the story of Kim and Tony, at least not from her. Since college she’d told only Kent, trying to make him understand why she hated the way he and his friends talked about and treated women, but he’d just insisted she didn’t understand.

Yeah, no kidding.

“This is Troy.”

Kim found herself looking into a pair of the deepest, darkest eyes she’d ever seen, jumping off the screen under a strong forehead and tousled dark curls. Handsome. Very. Wearing a Green Day T-shirt over broad, developed shoulders.

Immediate panic kicked in. She didn’t want to go out with him. “He’s nice looking. Sexy.”

“He was adorable when we met. Gentle and very sweet. Smart, too. Works in IT, so you have computers in common. He owns a house in Whitefish Bay not far from the lake and lives there with his dog, Dylan. Solid career, and he’s writing a book with Candy’s fiancé, Justin, so they can vouch for him, too. I think he’s worth giving a try.”

Kim tilted her head noncommittally, sick with nerves. “Take your time, Kim. This is not a speed test. You can stare at him to your heart’s content in the privacy of your own home or ignore him completely. It’s up to you. You have all the power in this situation.” Marie tapped a few more keys and Troy’s midnight brooding eyes disappeared. Kim felt immediate relief. “Here’s the other man I thought might interest you. His name is Dale.”

“Dale.” She stared at the ordinary face filling the screen, and the pang of relief turned into a buzz of excitement. Light brown hair in a basic short cut, brown eyes behind chic frameless glasses that made him look professor-smart. He wore a dark suit that sat well on his shoulders—all she could see of him. His expression was serious, but not grim. His eyes looked kind, and his lips quirked as if he was about to smile.

“He works for Johnson Controls as a consultant. Does a lot of traveling, all over the world. He’s charming, educated, well-read, into yoga, skiing, sailing. Very interesting to talk to. I liked him.”

“Skiing? Sailing?” She snorted. “Not really my speed.”

“Honey, you’re twenty-nine. You can’t possibly have figured out everything about how you fit into the world. Maybe when you’re ninety, but even then I’d have my doubts.”

Marie had a point. Kim gazed into the warm brown eyes on the monitor. Something about this guy …

“Think about it. I can set up dates with both of them if you want, and if they want.”

Kim imagined herself sitting across the table from Troy even for an hour. She wasn’t sure she could do it. That handsome face would completely disconcert her. She’d babble, stutter and spill drinks.

“Kim.” Marie’s hand was comforting on her arm. “I know this is pushing you out of your comfort zone. Putting yourself out there is very hard. For you and for every single person that comes through that door, and if it’s not, there’s something wrong. Troy and Dale may not be the guys you pictured when you thought about signing up, but you don’t have to marry either one of them. You don’t even have to do more than look, exchange an email or have a quick cup of coffee.”

“True.” She wished that made her feel safer.

“It’s a place to start. When you left your full-time job at Soka Associates five years ago to start Charlotte’s Web Design, you took an enormous leap of faith, much bigger than going on an experimental date.” She gave Kim’s arm a squeeze. “This will be easy in comparison.”

Kim nodded, experiencing a jumble of mixed reactions: fear, excitement, pride and an overriding desire to run home and hide in bed. But if she always gave in to fear she’d still be miserable at Soka. Still be dating Sam. Still the same old pimply, dowdy Kim.

Marie tapped a few more keys; Dale’s face disappeared from the monitor but lingered in Kim’s brain for a few pleasant seconds before Troy’s dark eyes and lean features supplanted his.

Kim had come a long way. What hadn’t killed her had made her stronger, and there was no reason she couldn’t continue to change and grow, as Marie said, even if, God forbid, Charlotte’s Web failed. She wanted a relationship, and she’d lose nothing by meeting with these two. Call it practice, if that made the hours easier to cope with. And if she babbled and stuttered and spilled, so be it. No animals or small children would be harmed in the having of these dates.

“I’ll do it.” She spoke impulsively, started to take the words back, and found she couldn’t, because she didn’t want to take anything back; from now on she wanted to take everything forward.

“Both of them?”

Kim nodded firmly, her face flushed. “Both of them. I’m ready.”

2

“HEY, NATHAN.”

“Mmph?” Nathan opened one eye. Kim. What was she doing in his bedroom? Undoubtedly not what he wanted her to be doing in his bedroom.

Wait. He wasn’t in bed. He was on the couch in her—their—living room. What the—

“Did you remember to get wine on your way home?” Hands on her hips, lips pursed. “For my book club meeting tonight?”

Wine? Oh, no. He must have fallen asleep. She’d asked him this morning to get some; his fog-brain did remember that much. “I don’t think so.”

Kim’s face set. “No problem. I’ll get it.”

“No. No.” He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and shook his head, trying to clear it. Wine. She’d wanted him to get some on his way home from … where? “I’ll get it. I said I would. Wait, what time is it?”

She looked at her watch. “Almost four-thirty.”

His memory came back. He’d gone out after his bartending job at the Hi Hat Lounge last night, stayed out until four, gotten to work at Alterra Coffee at six, then stumbled home and slept through his four o’clock appointment with his faculty advisor, during which he was to have reported on progress he hadn’t made. He was supposed to buy Kim’s wine on the way back.

Nathan bounced off the couch, got an instant brownout and had to bend over until his vision cleared.

He was never, ever drinking tequila again.

“How long have you been asleep? Didn’t you have an appointment with Dr. Stephanopolous?”

“Um. Maybe.”

“Oh, no.” She used that tone he hated most. That what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you tone that meant all she saw was her little brother’s loser friend. He couldn’t tell her about the panic that gripped him when he tried to work, the compulsion to jump up and run, the inability to focus, the instinct that putting more work into what he’d planned was shoving bad after worse.

Sometimes he thought he was going nuts.

“I’ll call and straighten it out. Then I’ll get the wine.” He staggered forward into the pizza he’d bought after work and half finished before nodding off. Squish. A tepid slice stuck to the bottom of his bare foot. When he shook free, the sauce-slathered crust dropped back to the plate but the mozzarella clung. He hopped a few times, lost his balance and fell back on the couch, his cheesy foot sticking into the air.

Why always in front of this woman? If she laughed, he’d join her.

She didn’t laugh. She sighed.

He hated those sighs. “Help, cheese is trying to eat my foot.”

“Nathan.” Amusement in her voice this time. Good. He could usually get her to laugh. Someday soon he hoped to earn respect along with that laughter. Maybe affection. Maybe more.

She disappeared and came back with a paper towel, her hair in an endearingly sloppy ponytail, her slender, toned body hidden under baggy gray sweats and a shapeless sweater. “You are truly something.”

“Aren’t I?” He grinned up at her, the oh-so-charming, cocky boy-man she expected, and took the towel to wipe his foot clean. “Thanks for the rescue. I have to call Dr. S., then I’ll get your wine, I promise.”

Dreading the next installment of his advisor’s disappointment, he strode over the crooked, scarred hardwood floors of the narrow hallway to his bedroom, painted a vibrant blue by Kim before he’d moved in early in the month. She’d done amazing things with blasts of color here and there, but the apartment had definitely seen better days. As far as Nathan was concerned, however, any place Kim lived was paradise. He still couldn’t believe fate—or rather his previous landlord selling the building—had made this miracle possible.

After searching through piles of laundry and stacks of paper, his phone appeared on the floor next to his drafting table. He made the call quickly to get it over with, then found Kim in their old-fashioned kitchen, whose drab colors she’d ambushed with bright red canisters, colorful bowls of fruit and intricately patterned decorative tiles.

“What’s that smile for?” She’d picked up his pizza plate and glass and carried them to the sink. Why hadn’t he taken the time to do that? Fifteen seconds wouldn’t have made his screwup with his advisor worse, and it would have kept Kim from having to treat him like a little boy again.

“You won’t believe me.” He nudged her out of the way at the sink and took over washing. “Dr. S. forgot our meeting. He couldn’t apologize enough.”

“Are you serious?” She stopped drying her hands on a red towel. “You’re not kidding?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I wouldn’t.” He gave a final rinse to the pot he’d used to heat stomach-soothing oatmeal for breakfast, and set it upside down in the drying rack. “I told him not to worry, that I’d waited outside his office only fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops.”

Kim shook her head in exasperation. “I swear, you are the luckiest person on the planet. Totally self-indulgent and it never catches up to you.”

“Self-indulgent? Me?” He pretended comic outrage, though the barb hurt. Comments like that from Kim only bolstered his determination that while they were living together she would come around to seeing him differently. Yes, he’d always been disorganized. Ask his mom how often he’d left homework materials at home in the morning and at school in the afternoon. But he was plenty smart, and had been a good student all his life until the previous semester, when the panic and mental blocking started. “I was exhausted and fell asleep. That’s human nature, not self-indulgence.”

“Exhausted from being out until four in the morning. That’s self-indulgence.”

“I was at a friend’s bachelor party.” He tossed down the sponge he’d used to wipe the sink, and leaned against the counter so he could watch her. “You can’t leave those early. It is written.”

Kim scrunched up her face. “Where?”

“In The Man’s Guide to Being Manly.”

“Aha.” She spooned flour into a metal measuring cup. “I knew that book existed somewhere. Did you write it?”

He puffed out his chest, flexed his biceps. “You need to ask?”

“Oh, um, of course not.” She put away the flour, consulted her recipe, dumped a stick of butter into the mixer bowl with some sugar and turned on the battered yellow machine. She seemed tense, had been for the past few days. He hoped she hadn’t had another setback on the Carter bid. He didn’t understand her thirtieth-birthday deadline for giving up on Charlotte’s Web Design. Seemed an artificial stopping point to him. But then he hadn’t been struggling for five years, day in and out, to keep his dream alive the way she had.

“Can I help?”

“Wine.”

“Yes. Wine. I’m on my way. I have your list.” He patted his pockets frantically. “Somewhere.”

She picked up the paper from the counter, where it lay in plain view, and smacked it into his hand, leaving flour smudged on his palm.

“Oh, there.” He waved cheerfully, groaning inside, took the elevator down and jogged through the chilly March wind to the liquor store, a couple blocks east on Oakland. If he ever managed to do something macho and smooth around Kim she’d probably have a heart attack from the shock. Luck didn’t ever seem to be on his side where she was concerned.

Wine bought, he strode briskly back toward home, carrying the four bottles. His cell rang; he fumbled in his pocket, shifting the wine to his hip. It was Kent, who’d probably punch him if he knew the thoughts Nathan had regularly about his sister.

“Hey, Kent.”

“How’d it go this morning? Did you make it out of bed?”

“Barely. You?”

“Barely. I was nearly late to a meeting.” Kent chuckled. “John will remember that party for the rest of his life. Those women were incredible.”

“They were.” If you were sexually attracted to Barbie.

“Any of them would make me very happy for at least an hour. Maybe two. Poor John’s given up that chance forever.” Kent laughed harshly. “Same woman, day after day, for the rest of his life. He’s had it.”

Nathan chuckled dutifully. He was used to Kent’s bluster, not unlike the talk Nathan’s four older brothers and father indulged in. Lately, though, he wondered how much of it was really Kent and how much was sour grapes after his New York girlfriend dumped him.

“Oof, I need more coffee.” Kent yawned loudly. “Anyway, here’s the deal. Kim’s friend Marie called. She’s throwing Kim a thirtieth-birthday surprise party and wants us to help.”

He liked that idea. Kim needed more fun in her life. “How?”

“You’ll have to ask her. From me she wants childhood memories and all that.” His voice shifted into a caricature of a fussy female. “Let’s put together a super fun-filled scrapbook!”

“No way.”

“I got her number and told her you’d call her. Ready?”

“Hang on.” Nathan put the bottles down on the sidewalk, found a pen in his jacket but no paper so he scrawled Marie’s number on the liquor store bag. “Got it, thanks.”

“Basketball Sunday?”

“I’m there.” He hung up, tore the edge off the bag and dialed Marie. “Hey, this is Kim’s roommate, Nathan. Kent called me ….”

“Wow, that was fast.” The voice was rich and friendly. “What did he tell you?”

“That you need my help with Kim’s party.”

“We do, we do. I haven’t yet met with my partner in crime, Candy, but we’ve talked a little. We’ll need information about Kim so we can come up with the party’s theme.”

Nathan winced. Theme? All you needed for a party was people, a room and a keg. “Okay.”

“We’ll pick Kent’s brain for her friends and stories, but there might be one or two personal items you can find or steal, since you’ll have the most access to her. Maybe stories you can coax out of her. Are you willing to do that?”

Scrapbooking couldn’t be far behind. But Nathan would be happy for any excuse to interact with Kim. As long as nothing involved him using glitter. “Sure.”

“Terrific. Is this the best number to reach you at?”

“This is my cell, yeah.”

“Excellent. Thanks for getting back to me so fast, Nathan. This will be great to do for Kim. She’s such a sweetheart.”

He agreed with that and hung up, not sure how he felt about stealing personal items—like what?—but hearing about Kim’s life and memories was part of his plan for getting to know her better, anyway. He turned—nearly forgetting the wine—and started back toward home. Parties meant presents. This would be a great opportunity to do something really special for her. Something she’d notice and appreciate, and be touched by. Something to make her think of him in a new light.

What that could be he had no idea, but he had time.

Five minutes later he’d carried the bottles safely into the house and unloaded the reds, put the whites in the refrigerator. Kim was sitting at the Shaker-style natural-finish table, scooping balls of dough onto a baking sheet.

“Can I help with anything?”

“No, thanks, Nathan.” She smiled tightly. “I’ve got it.”

“C’mon, there must be something.” He lifted his hands to show them empty and willing, anxious to make up for his earlier bungling. “I’m no chef, but I’m not inept, either.”

She considered him. “How are you at putting snacks into bowls?”

“Expert.”

“Without eating them all?”

“Oh.” He made himself look pained. “I can try.”

“Good enough.” She smiled, pointing to a can of nuts, bags of chips and pretzels, and bowls, all on a tray on the counter.

Nathan pulled up a chair opposite and started his task, glancing at Kim once in a while. She was definitely on edge, her expression inward and thoughtful. She was too serious, too reserved. He loved goosing her into life, making her laugh. She needed someone like him around.

He poured pretzels into the last bowl. “I’m done here. What else can I help with? And don’t say you have it all covered. I’ve got time and there’s more to do.”

“Okay.” She pushed a third baking sheet toward him. “You can help make the cookies.”

“Sure.” He imitated her motions, scooping up dough with a teaspoon and pushing the blob onto a cookie sheet lined with a silicone mat. Homemade cookies in his childhood had meant store-bought slice-and-bake dough from the supermarket, so this was new to him. “You do realize what I’m sacrificing here, Kim.”

“I can guess. Making cookies isn’t manly, either?” She shot him a look. “Is anything manly that doesn’t involve drunken oblivion or getting laid?”

“Of course.” Nathan paused his cookie spooning. “Yelling obscenities at referees and umpires counts, too.”

Kim let go with a good giggle that time, the one he loved best, the one that turned her cheeks pink and softened her features. “What else?”

“Let’s see. Crushing beer cans on your head. Belches that wake the dead. More intimacy with the TV than with your girlfriend …”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a miracle marriage ever happens.”

“No, no, there are other, serious parts to the Man’s Guide that females can appreciate.”

“Like?”

“Like …” Nathan leaned toward her across the table, taking his first chance. “A Manly Man always swears to love, support and protect his woman for his whole life.”

“Huh?” Kim did not look impressed. “Support? Protect? Your woman? That sounds more like cavemanly.”

Hmm. That did not go the way Nathan had envisioned. Her eyes hadn’t gotten misty, nor had infatuation lit them up. She hadn’t sighed and said, Oh, Nathan, that is so romantic.

The seduction of Kim Charlotte Horton would take trial and error. Growing up with four older brothers and a chauvinist father hadn’t prepared Nathan for approaching a smart, independent woman like her. He wouldn’t give up, though. Hell, he’d just started trying.

She took her sheet to the oven, opened the door and put the cookies in. He didn’t mean to pay close attention when she bent over, but while he respected the very ground she walked on, to deny himself the pleasure of that sight would be pure masochism.

Why had this woman hit him so hard and never let go? First time he’d seen her he’d been following Kent into his house their freshman year in high school, Kim’s senior. Their family had just moved to Milwaukee from somewhere in Ohio. She’d been standing framed by the doorway between the living room and dining room, arguing with her mother, her face flushed, her eyes snapping blue heat. Nathan, all of fifteen, had literally stopped in his tracks. She wasn’t the kind of woman whose beauty struck you right off the bat, but something had sure struck him like a boulder between the eyes. Kent finally had to yank on his arm to get him to move. That’s how it had been right from the beginning. And the years hadn’t changed those feelings, or replicated them, no matter how many other women Nathan had tried to find them with. Now his goal was to figure out this crazy fantasy or turn it into reality.

She came back to the table, pulled the next baking sheet toward her and settled into her seat with a defeated plop. Something was definitely not right. His instinct was to tell her more jokes, but his instinct when it came to Kim was usually wrong. Maybe his best bet going forward would be to do the opposite of whatever came naturally.

He cleared his throat, feeling as if he were about to audition for a part he wasn’t right for. “How was your day? Did you get a lot done on the Carter proposal?”

“Another dead end.” She made a silly face, trying to hide her disappointment. “I like some things about the current design. It’s balanced, good colors, chic feel, but it just doesn’t pop.”

He wished he could come up with the perfect solution to take the frown off her face. He’d offer to look, but had already learned she was intensely private about her work in progress. “It’s a solid start, though?”

“Yeah, I guess.” She looked miserably down at the perfect mounds of cookie dough on her baking sheet.

Was that all that was bothering her? “Something will come to you. You’re very talented.”

“Thanks, Nathan.” A real smile then. “It’s just nerve-racking with the deadline looming, both for the bid and for Charlotte’s Web. What about your day?”

“My day.” He rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he hadn’t had that fifth drink at 3:00 a.m. “It started late last night, ended early this morning. In between was some very good tequila and some very bad judgment.”

She laughed. “Sounds like a typical night.”

That was the problem. To her that did seem typical. She didn’t understand that this self-destructive part of him wasn’t all there was. He was trapped right now in a cycle he didn’t understand how to get out of. Yet. Though he knew he would. In the meantime there was more of him to show her: that he was a good listener, a loyal friend and that he cared about her more than she knew. Probably more than was rational or reasonable.

The timer went off and she jumped to extract the first sheet of perfectly browned cookies. He lifted his nose like a puppy. “Mmm, those smell good.”

“Don’t they?” Kim sniffed rapturously. “Mom’s sugar oatmeal. Plain, but wonderful.”

She stood there, sparking uncharacteristically edgy energy. Nathan’s instinct was to go with the cookie conversation. Therefore he’d do the opposite. “Something’s up besides the website issues. Want to tell me?”

She stared down at the hot baking sheet, looking serious and shy and even more delicious than the cookies. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure.” He found himself gripping the spoon hard enough to bend it. “But something is different about you the past few days.”

“You’re very perceptive.” She said it as if it was a surprise. She took the cookies to the counter and started sliding them onto a cooling rack, her back to him. “I went to see Marie on Friday.”

Was this about the party? “You had lunch with her?”

“No, I went to the Milwaukeedates.com office.”

Small alarm bell. He pushed another ball of dough onto the sheet. “Why?”

“I’m going to start dating.”

“No.” He realized how that sounded when she turned, startled. “No … way, really?”

“I know, shock, right?” She made a wry face before she went back to the cookies. “Little mouse-girl wants herself a man.”

“That’s not what I was thinking.” This was bad. Nathan had a negative image to overcome with her; his only hope was to take things slowly. If Kim met some guy right away and was hot for him from the beginning … “You’re not a mouse. More like a sleepy lioness.”

“Hmph.” She flushed with pleasure even as she sent him a scowl. “I don’t think so.”

“I do.” He dipped the spoon into the bowl, trying to act casual. “Any good prospects?”

“A couple.”

“Sounds promising.” Sounds horrible. “What are they like?”

Kim left the baking sheet on the stove, ran water over the silicone mat, wiping it down carefully. “One is an author and computer geek.”

He wanted to groan. The guy sounded ideal for her. “Good things.”

“I don’t know….”

“No?” He tried not to sound hopeful. “Why not?”

“He’s absolutely gorgeous.”

Oh, just effing great. “This is a problem?”

“I don’t like guys like that.”

Nathan managed to unfreeze his face. “Yeah, we absolutely gorgeous guys can be real jerks.”

She laughed, flicking water at him.

“What?” He blinked innocently, scraping up the last of the dough from the bowl. “What about the other one?”

“Dale? He seems pretty great.”

No. Dale was not pretty great. Dale sucked. Nathan was absolutely sure of that. “Yeah? What’s his deal?”

“He’s some kind of consultant. Travels a lot. I wrote to him already. He wrote back right away.” She came over to pick up Nathan’s filled sheet; he could smell her flowery scent under the sugary vanilla aroma in the kitchen and wanted to devour her. “He’s vacationing. In Jamaica.”

Jamaica. This was bad. Nathan couldn’t afford to take Kim to Jamaica. Nathan could barely afford to take Kim to Applebees. “He’s probably there buying drugs.”

“Nathan!” She swept his baking sheet over to the oven.

“Who goes to Jamaica alone for any other reason? Or no, I’ve got it.” He pushed back his chair, turned it to face her. “He’s there with his wife. Or his fourteen-year-old girlfriend. Or both.”

“You are a hopeless cynic.” The timer went off. Kim took out the second cookie sheet and put his batch in.

Yeah, a hopeless cynic, who happened to be struck dumb by his first sight of this woman over ten years earlier. A woman who still hadn’t looked back. “I know how men think because I am one.”

“You’re not all of them.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “I’m going out with Kent and Steve tomorrow tonight. Want to come?”

“Watch you all get shit-faced and try to get laid? No thanks.”

“Kim.” He stood up, wanting some advantage, any advantage, even something that seemed like advantage. The invitation had come out of his mouth in desperation. Because he was desperate. “I haven’t ‘gotten laid’ like that in quite a while.”

“Not for lack of trying.”

“How do you know?”

“I hear from Kent.”

Nathan gestured in frustration. Kent exaggerated. Her brother never used to be so swaggering until he’d come back from New York and started hanging around with Steve, the Master Swaggerer. “That’s not all I’m about. I’ve never tried with you.”

She gave him a withering look. “Like you would.”

“Why not?”

She laughed, then saw he was serious; her laughter died and she glanced at him uneasily. “I’m not exactly your type.”

“No?” They were going to bust at least this part of the myth right now. “What is my type?”

“Bubbly with big boobs and a bent for blow jobs.”

Instinct told him to take the joke further. So instead he caught a stray piece of her hair, stroking its soft length between his thumb and index finger, hoping she’d experience an unexpected and highly sensual shiver. “What if I told you my type was blond and shy with hidden passion waiting to be—”

“Hidden passion?” She yanked her hair back as if he were about to set it on fire.

Crap. She was not experiencing anything like an unexpected sensual shiver. “Someone else said that. There’s no way I would say anything so stupid.”

“Geez, Nathan.” She wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t, either.

“You’re selling me short. There have been many women I’ve dated who aren’t bubbly and who don’t have big boobs. Many.” He gazed at her earnestly. She started looking cornered, folded her arms across her chest and stepped away from him. Oh, no. Scaring her was not what he wanted to do at all. He frowned. “Well … one, anyway. Maybe.”

She laughed in nervous relief and he grinned, cursing under his breath, wishing he had the guts to stay serious with her, wishing he had the nerve to set her straight. But it was still too soon. He needed time to win her. He thought he’d have plenty. But if she was going to start dating, he’d need to regroup, find a way to get her to think differently about him much sooner than planned.

Because otherwise, he could lose even the hope of her, and after ten years of wasted time, he just wasn’t willing to do that.

3

MARIE WENT DOWN THE stairs from Roots Restaurant to the Cellar bar. Quinn Peters would be waiting there for their usual Friday night “meeting.” She’d call it a date, but she’d promised herself to keep any and all romantic thoughts about Quinn firmly under control, under wraps, underground. No point being a masochist by indulging in such fantasies.

She was late tonight. Ten minutes before she was due to leave, her delightful ex-husband, Grant, had called. He rarely did, but whenever his number showed up on caller ID, it was a guarantee Marie had some teeth-clenching time ahead of her. Tonight had been no exception. The louse had the nerve to ask if she’d consider returning the ruby-and-diamond channel-set ring he’d given her for their tenth and final anniversary, the one Marie called the Guilt Ring because Grant had already been having an affair with Lizzy, a woman nearly half his age.

Part of Marie wanted to give the ring back, preferably by jamming it down his throat. She wasn’t, and might never be, at a place where she could happily wear it again, so why not let it shine on someone else’s finger?

Because the other part of her, maybe not the most mature and gracious part, didn’t want to give him anything he wanted. Ever. Because he’d taken from her a good chunk of self-confidence, and though she’d come a long way, she was still struggling to get the rest of it back.

After she’d hung up the phone it had taken her half an hour to calm down to the point where she’d be able to face Quinn calmly and cheerfully.

Her stomach did a little flip. There he was, sitting at the long wooden bar, one empty seat beside him in the otherwise crowded room. Temperatures had flirted with fifty degrees that day; everyone seemed to be emerging from winter hibernation, restless for spring.

“Hi there.” She climbed onto the chair next to him, keeping her smile bright, hoping he couldn’t tell she’d been crying. They’d settled into a comfortable weekly routine of meeting for drinks and dinner. At first she’d been surprised he’d want to spend that much time with her, especially on Fridays, a prime date night. Before they’d become friends, they’d both been casual regulars at the bar, and Marie had been fascinated by his success with women. His relaxed charm hooked ‘em nearly every time. The fact that he looked like George Clooney didn’t hurt.

“Marie.” His welcoming grin always turned her a little giddy. She knew better than to react that way to Quinn, but her inner whatever-it-was insisted on rebelling. Luckily, she’d stopped short of falling seriously since he’d told her how much she reminded him of his sister.

Pop goes the ego …

“What are you drinking tonight?” Not that she needed to ask. “Oh, gin martini, something new and different.”

“Why mess with perfection?” He lifted his glass to toast her. “What’ll you have? My treat tonight.”

“Your treat?” Marie hung her purse on a hook under the bar. “Why, did something good happen?”

“No, actually, something bad.”

“Oh, no.” She turned with concern. He didn’t look upset—he didn’t look anything but gorgeous, as usual—but in her experience men could hide their feelings better than women. “What is it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Uh.” Her eyebrows shot up. “You don’t know?”

“No, but I hope you’ll tell me.”

“Quinn, how many of those have you had?” She touched the base of his glass. “Something bad happened to you and I’m supposed to know what it is?”

“Not to me.” He flagged Joe, the dreamy-eyed bartender, on her behalf. As independent and competent as Marie was, moments of being taken care of like this were delicious. “Something bad happened to you.”

Marie gaped at him. “What gave me away?”

“You were late, you’re moving more slowly than usual, your body language is tense and you’re wearing heavier makeup around your eyes.”

“Sherlock, you impress me.”

“Thank you.”

“Marie, good to see you.” Joe put a coaster on the bar in front of her, his arm muscles ripped and rippling. He must spend half his life in a weight room. “What’s it going to be?”

“How about a Manhattan?”

“Manhattan it is.” He gestured between Marie and Quinn. “Will you want to order food now or wait awhile?”

“Are you hungry, Quinn?” Marie put a hand to her stomach, still churning from her recent fury and frustration. “I can hold off.”

“Same here. We’ll wait, Joe.”

“No problem. Your drink will be right up, Marie.” He tapped the bar smartly and turned to reach for a bottle of bourbon.

“So you get to decide.” Quinn’s touch was gentle on her forearm. “Do you want to talk fun stuff to cheer you up or do you want to tell me what happened?”

Marie bit her lip. She hadn’t been planning to spill, but the idea of unburdening appealed to her. Her ex had this way of making her question everything she knew to be right and true. “Grant called.”

“Oh, that sounds uplifting.”

“Like a too-tight WonderBra.” She rubbed her aching forehead. “He wants me to return the ring he gave me for our tenth anniversary, when the marriage was already over but I didn’t know it yet, so he can give it to his second wife for their fifth.”

Quinn’s easy, sympathetic smile turned to granite. “He what?”

“He figured I’d want to get rid of it, I guess.” She laughed at her ex’s typically insensitive and self-centered logic. “I see his point, but—”

“Are you kidding me? What point? He has none.” Quinn looked murderous and James Bond tough. “A gift is a gift. Not a loan, not a ransom and not a weapon. Your ex has the emotional IQ of a clam. Except for all I know, clams are very empathetic, and he doesn’t even rate that high.”

She managed a smile, relieved when Joe put her drink down and she could take that first icy gulp. The intensity of Quinn’s anger was thrilling. Brave knight defending the damsel in distress. Thrilling and dangerous, because against her best instincts, that level of passion had her wondering how much this sexy knight would summon for his real lady. “Thank you, Quinn.”

“I hope you’re furious as well as upset.”

She shrugged. “I don’t wear the ring. I hate everything it represents, but it is beautiful. Maybe it should be enjoyed by someone.”

“Then give it to Goodwill. Sell it on eBay.” He gestured too hard with his glass and splashed gin on the bar, but didn’t appear to notice. “Don’t let that cheap, cheating bastard have it back.”

Oh, Quinn. Marie took a turn with a comforting hand on his forearm, chiding herself for thinking his emotions had everything to do with her. Quinn had plenty to be furious about from the contents of his own baggage cart. His wife had cheated on him, married the other man, cheated on him, too, married the third one…. Who knew how long that twisted cycle would go on? “You’re absolutely right. I shouldn’t even be considering sending it back to him. In some ways it would be a relief to get rid of the thing, but then I’d torture myself thinking of her wearing it.”

“Unless …” Quinn turned slowly toward her. As always, she had to clear her mind when he set that wicked grin on full blast.

“Uh-oh, what’s that look for?”

He put down his drink and startled Marie by cupping her chin to bring her head closer, putting his fine, fine lips next to her ear. “Unless you send the ring directly to his wife with warmest wishes.”

“Why would I do that?” Shivers had gone through Marie’s body that had less to do with the vibrations of his deep voice and more to do with him being so close and touching her face.

Crazy girl.

“So you can make sure she knows where it came from and what kind of truly special and generous guy Grant is to want it back, just for her.”

Marie giggled, her bad mood dissolving in the masculine scent of his aftershave and the titillating thrill of his attention. “I think imagining that situation is all the revenge I need, at least right now.”

“Wise woman.” He turned back to his drink.

“Thanks, Quinn. It helps to be able to share this with someone who understands.”

“Believe me, sweetheart, I do.” He leaned over, pressing his shoulder to hers.

The intimacy became too much; Marie had to move away, reminding herself that he was a compulsive player. Reminding herself how lucky she was to be able to claim his friendship for the past couple of months, a relationship that undoubtedly had lasted longer than any of his recent romantic brushes with women. “Now that we’ve dismissed my clam of an ex, how was your week?”

“My week was dull.”

“How so?” She put on her most sugary smile. “No hot babe action?”

He scowled at her. “Marie …”

“Only six or seven this week? Three the most you could get in one night?”

He shook his head. “You are too much.”

No, she wasn’t enough. She patted his shoulder. “Sorry. You know I love to tease you about your … expertise.”

“I did know that.” He hunched his shoulders, let them drop. “It’s actually been a while.”

“Really?” She wasn’t sure what to do with his serious reaction. Usually he joked right along with her. “How come?”

“The chase is losing its appeal.”

Marie frowned at his profile. She’d never seen him like this, defenses nearly breachable. “Why do you think that is?”

“Primarily because of what I was catching.”

“Germs? Viruses? STDs? What?”

He chuckled. “That’s why I love you, Marie. You are smart, funny, compassionate and truly disgusting.”

“Thank you, dear.” She felt a blush rising and was mortified, which made her blush hotter. Men of his ilk should not be allowed to say “I love you” unless they meant it. “Go on about leaving the chase. I really do want to hear why you think it’s not satisfying anymore.”

“Well.” He finished a sip, put his glass down, smoothed the edges of the napkin under it. “I’m thinking it might be time for a deeper connection. One that’s longer lasting. Maybe a rela—”

“Uh-oh.”

“A rela-a—” He clutched at his throat, made a horrible choking noise. “Rela-a-a—”

“—tionship?”

“Thank you.” He mopped at his brow. “One of those.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed at his act, feeling sick underneath. She shouldn’t be making this about her, but if Quinn got a girlfriend, she could lose him, would probably lose him. She’d have to face how much he’d come to mean to her. And why she was no longer putting any serious thought or effort into matching him up with Darcy. “Congratulations, Quinn. This is a great step forward.”

“Thanks.” He moved restlessly in the chair. “So when do you take your great step forward?”

“Me?” His question startled her; she laughed shortly. “I’m not interested in getting married again.”

“Did I say married?”

“No, I know, I know.” She waved his comment away, wishing he’d change the subject. “Right now I’m not interested in any of it.”

“Hmm.” He tilted his head, eyebrow quirked suggestively. “Not in any of it?”

Marie’s face caught fire again. What would he do if she said she was dying for sex? Probably recommend a friend. Some dumpling-shaped guy more appropriate for her. “I’m happy alone. It’s going to stay that way for a good while longer.”

“Okay, then.” He emptied his martini, put the glass down, signaled to Joe. “I’m having another drink. You want one, too?”

She felt rebuked and wasn’t sure why. “Not yet. Maybe food?”

“Sure. Menu, too, Joe? Thanks.”

The couple beside Quinn got up and left. A new couple sat down, arms around each other, heads together, giggling. They were probably in their late twenties, a dozen years younger than Marie, more than fifteen younger than Quinn. Marie wanted them to be exactly that carefree and happy together for the rest of their lives, and it saddened her that the odds weren’t great.

“Hey.” She punched Quinn playfully. “You want to tell me why you shut down all of a sudden?”

“Sorry.” He turned in the chair so he was facing her. “I’m on edge tonight.”

“I ‘fessed up earlier. Your turn now.”

“Nothing really.” He shrugged. “Probably just that I’m ready for spring and spring isn’t ready for me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Honey, it’s March. This isn’t Florida. You’ve got months yet.”

“That I knew.”

“What else, Quinn? There’s something.”

“I was just thinking.” He twisted his mouth. “That maybe we could have done some relationship-type things together.”

Joe put down the second martini and menus—perfect timing, because Marie’s heart stopped until she realized what Quinn must have meant. “You wanted to compare notes on dating?”

Quinn thanked Joe and handed her a menu. “Yes. Compare notes on dating. Misery loves company, right?”

His facial muscles had loosened, but his voice still held an edge. She wished he would confide in her. Maybe a conquest had gone wrong? A woman had turned him down? Maybe two? Enough to make him lose confidence?

She couldn’t imagine Quinn anything but confident. Especially with women.

“I can’t go down that road, Quinn.” In any other difficulty she’d be first in line offering him support and a figurative shoulder, but she wouldn’t be able to stand hearing anything about him trying to date seriously.

“It’s fine.” He buried himself in his menu. “So how’s the matchmaking business going with Kim?”

Marie slumped in defeat. When all else failed, bring out the change of subject. Okay. She’d go with that. She shouldn’t be wasting energy wishing he felt comfortable enough with her to share whatever it was. That was for another woman someday, apparently sooner rather than later.

“Kim is terrific.” Marie glanced at her watch. “As a matter of fact, she’s out with Troy right now.”

“Troy …”

“Cahill. Friend of Justin.”

“Justin …”

“Candy’s fiancé.”

“Got it.” His face cleared. “Candy and Justin, last month’s meddling.”

“Matching, not meddling.” Marie rolled her eyes. “They’re deliriously happy.”

“Weren’t we all.”

“Oh, you cynic.” She smacked him with her menu, surprised by this dark side of him tonight, and wishing she could help with whatever had caused it—short of going back in time and preventing him from marrying The CheaterBeast. “We had to go through what we went through for some reason. The trick is to figure it out and then work up the courage to move on.”

“Here’s to getting there.” He lifted his glass.

“However long it takes.” She hoisted hers; they both drank.

“You think Kim and Troy are a good match?”

Marie frowned. “I’m not sure. Kim is beautiful and very talented, but shy and a little down on herself. Troy is a very good-looking, well-put-together, wealthy man, and I think she’s a little intimidated. I’m hoping she gives herself a chance to shine. She has no idea how sexy she is.”

“Hmm.” Quinn smirked at his drink. “That reminds me of someone.”

“Yeah? Who?”

He twisted to look at her, then for some reason started laughing.

“What is so funny?”

“Never mind, you wouldn’t get it. Just tell me, Marie. What advice would you give Kim about this problem?”

“Why?”

“I want to pass on your wisdom.” He dug out his BlackBerry and pulled up a blank email. “I’ll write it down and send it to her.”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay.” Marie looked up into the decorative hanging of tangled metal roots over the bar, trying to clear her head, muddled by bourbon and by Quinn’s mood tonight. “Let’s see. I’d tell her to go back though her life looking for messages she received about her sexuality and her self-esteem, and see if there’s a pattern she can identify that could be informing how she feels about herself now.”

“… feels … about herself … now.” He put in the period with a flourish. “And?”

“Undoubtedly the message that she isn’t worthy is coming from some judge figure in her life, probably a parent. She needs to tell that judge that she’ll be deciding her own feelings from now on.”

“… from now … on.”

“And then she should dress to kill, look in a mirror and promise to give herself positive feedback every day on how she looks and who she is and what she deserves.”

“… what … she deserves. That it?”

“She should probably go to therapy and talk the whole thing out, but this will help if she’s honest with herself, yes.”

“Excellent.” He selected a recipient and punched the send button. “She’ll be very surprised to hear from me.”

“And pleased, I hope?”

“Me, too.” He shrugged, putting the BlackBerry back in his pocket. “Want to order dinner?”

“I do.” She tossed back the rest of her drink and picked up a menu, hunger signals finally able to be heard through the decreasing clamor of her emotions. Helping people feel better about themselves always made her feel better about herself, too.

She and Quinn chatted easily for the rest of the evening, all the bizarre tension completely dissipated. As usual after their Friday night meeting, she felt refreshed and revitalized on her walk home to her beloved Victorian in the same quirky Brewer’s Hill neighborhood as the restaurant.

Inside her front door, she flicked on the light and said hello to her gray tabby, Jezebel, who’d come to greet her by weaving around her legs, making walking as difficult as possible. On the way up to her bedroom on the second floor, Marie sorted through the day’s mail, ditched most in the recycling box near her desk, and powered up her laptop. After changing into her beloved sloppy, nonbinding and infinitely comfortable sweats, she sat at her desk and waited for Jezebel’s predictable jump into her lap for the evening’s kitty-worship.

She opened her email program while she scratched soft ears and brought Jezebel’s rumbling purr to life. New emails: five. One from a college roommate, one from Mom and Dad …

Marie’s eyes jumped down the list. One from Quinn? How did he get home so much faster than she had?

Her phone rang and she did a comical back and forth, phone to email to phone, before grabbing the receiver and checking caller ID. Candy. She’d take it.

“Hey, woman, what’s up?”

“Ugh.” Candy’s melodramatic exasperation made Marie smile. “I just came back from the cocktail party from hell. The caterer was late, someone stole half the booze, one guest drank the other half and threw up, you name it.”

“That does not sound fun.” She touched her mouse, staring at Quinn’s email, then snatched her hand back.

“Anyway, I’m looking ahead and life is going to be a little calmer for a week or two, so we should get serious about planning Kim’s party.”

“Right. We should.” She swiveled her chair away from the monitor so Quinn’s note wouldn’t tempt her while talking to her friend, but it was as if it was sending out rays that burned her back. “I’ve already enlisted her brother, Kent, and that Nathan guy to help.”

“Perfect. We’ll need pictures of her at various ages, maybe a few personal items, like, I don’t know, some favorite stuffed animal or toy, old favorite outfits, diplomas, awards, anything like that. Her mom might have some stuff to contribute. We should also find out her favorite foods, beverages, all that, too. And figure out where we want to have it.”

“We can do it at my office or we can—”

“Ooh, I forgot to ask, how did her meeting with you go? Did she like Troy?”

Marie tsk-tsked. “Client confidentiality, Candy. You can ask her.”

“Aw c’mon. You can’t even—” A deep voice sounded in the background, then Candy sighed. “Justin says I shouldn’t snoop.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I hope she finds someone. She’s so sweet.”

Marie scratched under Jezebel’s chin. “Ah, but I’m betting there’s a vixen in there somewhere.”

“A vixen!“ Candy whistled. “Has anyone used that term in the past twenty years?”

“So I’m old.” She rolled her eyes. “Go jump on Justin and leave me alone.”

“Mmm, good idea.” Candy sighed blissfully. “So I’ll plan and you set our spies in motion. Oh, and I had a great idea for an early birthday present from the three of us, you, me and Darcy. Next Saturday I want to try out a salon where I might get my wedding hair done. I think we should make it a spa day, invite everyone and then pay for Kim.”

“I love it! I was thinking along the lines of sexy underwear to inspire her on the dating quest.”

“Ha!” Candy giggled. “That is too perfect. Let’s do both.”

“Done.” Marie gave in, twisted around and peeked. She hadn’t dreamed it; the email was still there.

Candy chatted a minute more, then Marie made her escape and shamelessly spun the chair back to her computer, Jezebel giving a brief mrrf of protest. Marie clicked open the email from Quinn, scanned the words, caught her breath and read them again, her brain whirling in confusion.

Go back though your life looking for messages you received about your sexuality …

Why had he sent the email to her? A blind copy? A carbon? A mistake? She peered at the header. He’d sent it to her directly. And she’d been sitting right there at Roots; he hadn’t sent it twice. What the hell?

That reminds me of someone I know. He’d been talking about another woman who didn’t realize how sexy she was.

He couldn’t be talking about Marie.

She hit Reply, typed quickly.

Did you send this to me by mistake? Or is this a blind copy?

Then she hit Send and got up from the desk, pushing a very annoyed Jezebel off her lap because there was no way she’d survive sitting there waiting for him to respond. She’d go completely mental.

Her email chimed. She whirled around in the middle of the room. Already?

Of course, it could be from anyone.

She rushed to peer at the screen. It was from Quinn. A simple response, straight to the point.

Answering both questions: Absolutely not.

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