Last grinned. “But don’t you feel the magic?”

He was strong-muscled and tall, and the dip in the ocean had left his skin gleaming.

Her nephew and niece looked up at her.

“Do you?” Curtis asked.

“Aunt Poppy?” Amelia said.

Goose pimples rose on Poppy’s arms.

“I’m always up for an adventure,” Last added with a devilish grin. “And that’s what I’m offering you.”

Poppy looked into his chocolate-brown eyes. “I don’t even know you.”

“But it’s clear you’re in a bind,” Last said, “and I’ve always been partial to coming to the rescue.”

“Children, it’s time to go. The sun is setting, and that means a bit of a chill this time of year. Goodbye, Mr. Jefferson. And good luck to you on your adventures.”

She escaped, her heart pounding. Oh, she had felt the magic.

THE JEFFERSON BROTHERS OF MALFUNCTION JUNCTION

Mason (38), Maverick and Mercy’s eldest son—He can’t run away from his own heartache or The Family Problem.

Frisco Joe (37)—Fell hard for Annabelle Turnberry and has sweet Emmie to show for it. They live in Texas wine country.

Fannin (36)—Life can’t get better than cozying up with Kelly Stone and his darling twins in a ring house in Ireland.

Laredo (35), twin to Tex—Loves Katy Goodnight, North Carolina and being the only brother to do Something Big.

Tex (35), twin to Laredo—Grower of roses and other plants, Tex fell for Cissy Kisserton and decided her waterbound way of life was best.

Calhoun (34)—Loved to paint nude women, and finally found Olivia Spinlove, the one woman who could hold his heart.

Ranger (33), twin to Archer—Fell for Hannah Hotchkiss and will never leave for the open road without her.

Archer (33), twin to Ranger—E-mail and an Aussie stuntwoman named Clove Penmire were this cowboy’s undoing.

Crockett (31), twin to Navarro—He was the first artist in the family! And his new wife, Valentine Cakes, and her daughter, Annette, have taught him the true meaning of creativity.

Navarro (31), twin to Crockett—Fell for Nina Cakes when he was supposed to be watching her sister, Valentine.

Bandera (27)—With Holly Henshaw in a hot air balloon he doesn’t need poetry to keep his mind off his troubles.

Last (26)—The only brother who finds himself a new father with no hope of marrying the mother. Will he ever find the happy ending he always wanted?

Last’s Temptation
Tina Leonard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Heather Tipton and Lorie Hart, for always being there. Joanne Reeson, you are a doll. Georgia Haynes, thank you for everything. Latesha Ballard, for making me smile. Fatin, your voice always cheers me. To all the Scandalous Ladies and Gal Pals, you are the best and truest friends.

Kimmie Eickholz, you are my best friend—I love my sissy and her angels.

Isabel Sites, you’re an awesome granny even if you are a feisty heroine.

Lisa and Dean, thank you for the Boy Scouts, lacrosse, drama, weird music and hair obsessions. I will always remember writing this book during your gall bladder removal, Dean. You were twelve, and having you at home for those three stolen weeks was an adventure that made the Jefferson boys stronger.

Many thanks to Stacy Boyd, whose memory is better than mine, and all the able editors and other people at Harlequin who have had a hand in making this series so much fun.

And to all the readers who have written to talk about it—it’s been a dream come true.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Prologue

Dear sons,

You’re growing up to be good men, and your mother would be proud. I know I am. Remember the things I’ve taught you. I hope you can forgive me, but if I stay any longer on the ranch where I see and hear your mother every day, I’m going to die of a broken heart. Always remember that I love you.

—Maverick Jefferson

Last Jefferson had been to hell and back.

He was not afraid of physical pain. Emotional pain he preferred to avoid, as did all his brothers. They claimed they were running from commitment, but the simple fact was that the men from the Malfunction Junction ranch were die-hard emotional-pain-avoidance junkies. No pain, all gain.

Last lived the motto as uncompromisingly as his eleven brothers. Being the youngest of twelve, he had watched. Learned. Now he possessed the soul of an escape artist. He loved his daughter, Annette. He loved his brothers and treasured his memories of growing up. And he had a soft spot for the mother of his daughter.

But, he thought, as he looked down at the California ground way, way below him, sometimes the only way to forget the past was to take a big flying leap into the future.

He held his breath the way he did before he rode a bull out of the chute. But this time instead of a bull carrying him hell-bent-for-leather into an arena, he ran until there was no ground left below his feet and nothing but a hang-glider canopy above him to keep him from leaving God’s green earth altogether.

Chapter One

If it wasn’t for the very shapely woman standing at the bottom of the California cliff, Last Jefferson might not have miscued his hang-glider landing, ending up in three feet of ocean instead of on the beach as he’d planned.

Last appreciated the female form, as did all of his brothers. Hers, he thought as she walked toward him, was worth the ocean water bath.

Until he saw the little boy and girl beside her.

Had he realized from his airborne position that the beautiful lady had two young children with her, he might have stayed dry. Unfortunately he’d been mainly focused on her sinuous shape and on the lovely cleavage gleaming above her bikini top.

The water was warmish, at least. He pulled off his helmet, grimacing.

“Are you all right?” the little boy asked. “You made a big splash when you hit the water.”

“A big splash,” his sister confirmed. “I bet the sea lions on their rocks heard it.”

Last dragged himself out of the water, checking his canopy to make certain it was still in good shape. “You two remind me of my niece and nephew back home. And they’re nothing but trouble,” he said wryly. “You two run on back to your mom. I’m fine.” And I don’t need any more wisenheimer children in my life.

Nor did he need a woman. He’d had enough trouble with the female gender. He should have saved himself the crash landing. He was on a mind-clearing sabbatical here in California, and he’d learned the hard way that one-night stands were not mind-clearing exercises.

His toddler daughter was proof of that.

The shapely brunette finally caught up with her children. “Are you all right?” she asked him.

His mouth watered as he got a closer look at her face. “Yes. Thank you.” Okay, God must have let one of his angels drop from the sky, because this woman was stunning.

Maybe she was a model. Wasn’t California full of models and actresses?

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Only by staying away,” he said bluntly, although he appreciated her sun-browned waist above a long black sarong. Beneath the crepe fabric he could see very shapely legs. Orange-painted toenails peeped from her leather thongs. “I’m a loner.”

“We’re loners, too,” the young boy said. “My mom’s a magician.”

Great. Just what he needed—someone who excelled in disappearing acts.

The Jefferson clan already possessed more disappearing acts than they needed, from their missing father Maverick to their eldest brother Mason, who had a habit of running off when he didn’t want to deal with his feelings for a certain lady. Right now Last was focused on his own disappearing act, while his brother Crockett tried to make a family with his new wife, Valentine—who just happened to be Last’s former one-night stand and the mother of Last’s daughter, Annette. Privacy had seemed like the proper thing for Last to give the new family, and he’d chosen not to hang around like a disgruntled shadow.

No matter how pretty this young mother was, he wouldn’t hang around here, either. “Goodbye,” he said, hauling his hang-glider down the beach.

“Hey,” the boy said, running after him. “My mom can pull a quarter from your ear.”

“Look,” Last said, not wanting to be mean, “I’ll pull a ten-dollar bill from yours if you scram.”

“Really?” The boy beamed while his sister looked on with doubt.

“Sure.” Last took a ten from the elastic-covered hidden pocket of his long swim trunks, folded it, then handed it to the boy.

“Hey! That wasn’t my ear!”

“But it is a ten. Now scram.”

“I beg your pardon!” The gorgeous-vixen mother with dark hair and snapping blue eyes snatched the money from her son and handed it back to Last.

It had been in poor taste. Last opened his mouth to apologize, except the woman whirled around, dragging her kids, one in each hand, away before he could speak.

Hellfire. He shouldn’t care, should he? He’d wanted them to bug off, and that’s what they were doing. But he hadn’t meant to hurt anyone’s feelings.

“Jeez,” he said under his breath, situating his canopy carefully on the sand. He ran after the brunette, noting that her rear view was as eye-pleasing as her front view.

Which meant spoon-style lovemaking would be a very pleasant option.

Whoa, he said to his unruly thoughts. With determination, he took his eyes off the swaying black sarong. “Excuse me.”

She didn’t turn around.

He jogged in front of her, holding up his palms in surrender. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said.

“A sorry excuse for a gentleman,” she snapped, passing him.

Gentleman? No one had ever accused him of being that. Gamely, he hustled past her. “My name’s Last Jefferson. From Texas.”

She marched past him.

The boy turned huge eyes toward him as the family walked away. “That’s a weird name,” he told Last. “Sort of like my mother’s stage name.”

Last trotted after the child, figuring he was the more receptive target for an apology. “What’s your mother’s stage name?”

“Poppy Peabody.”

“Poppy Peabody?” That was a stage name.

“The hottest female magician performing today,” the little girl said proudly. “Get your popcorn, take your seats, fellas—”

Poppy grimaced, tugging the children up the beach faster.

The “hot” part they had right. Last kept jogging alongside the boy, recognizing that the stubborn set of Poppy’s shoulders meant he wasn’t getting anywhere with her. “So what’s your name?” he asked the boy.

“Curtis. My sister’s name is Amelia.”

“Nice names.”

“Thanks. Is Last your stage name?”

“No.” Last wished Poppy would slow down. Her legs were nearly as long as his and obviously far more used to sand power-walking. “It’s all mine. Does your mother have a real name?”

“She’s not really my mother,” Curtis said in a confidential tone. “She’s our aunt.”

Aunt. Hmm. Last ignored the pleasure the knowledge gave him. “Name?”

Finally Poppy stopped. “Esmerelda Hastings,” she said curtly. “I prefer Aunt Poppy to Aunt Esmerelda, and Poppy in general.”

He blinked. “I can see where you might, although Esme is kind of cool, you have to admit. Not as dramatic, I guess.”

“Poppy and Last,” Amelia murmured, frowning. “That won’t do. You’re not The One.”

“Amelia!” Poppy said. “I apologize,” she told Last, her blush quite appealing. “They are homeschooled and quite precocious.”

“I was homeschooled, for the most part,” Last said. “We did go to public school for a few years, but more as a social exercise.” Now that he had her attention, he refused to let it go. “Can we start over?” he asked with a smile.

“I suppose,” she said reluctantly. “Although I try to discourage the children from talking to strangers. And certainly taking money from them is inappropriate.”

“You speak just like Mary Poppins,” Last said. “Very proper. Are you British?”

“Mary Poppins flew by parasol,” Amelia interrupted. “And Mr. Last flew by hang-glider, though not very well,” she finished thoughtfully. “It’s something in common.”

“I thought Mr. Jefferson did quite fine, except on the landing,” Curtis said. “They probably have lots in common.”

“Whew,” Last said, “these two are certainly trying to set you up. I’m sorry I’m not available, if for no other reason than to see what they’re up to.”

Poppy smiled sadly. “My sister passed away a year ago, and it is the children’s opinion that if they can marry me off, they will have a whole family. Like most children, having a whole family is their greatest wish.”

“No father?” Last asked quietly, watching as the children were sidetracked by a bird flying overhead.

Poppy shook her head. “No one knows where he is.”

“I know that routine,” he said with a sigh.

“Sorry?” Poppy said.

Last hadn’t seen his own father in years, though Mason kept up a diligent search. But Last wasn’t ready to go into that, not here and not with a woman as pretty as Poppy/Esmerelda. “Hey, let’s have lunch,” he said instead. “I want to hear more about this magician’s life you lead. Wasn’t it ‘the hottest female magician performing today’?”

Poppy blushed. “The children hear that every night from the announcer. Pay no attention to it.”

“How can I not?” He grinned at the kids as they turned their gazes back to him. “It’s true—at least the hot part. Now, magic, I don’t believe in.”

The children gasped. Poppy looked horrified.

“How do you think Mary Poppins flew?” Amelia demanded.

“Ropes and pulleys?” Last asked.

They all stared. Must be British, Last thought.

“Don’t you believe in firefly magic and baby turtles that run to the sea without ever knowing what the sea is?” Curtis demanded.

“Instinct,” Last said. “It’s all instinct, a very good thing to have.” Right now his was telling him that if he was smart, he’d be doing the cowboy-bachelor crawl away from this bunch.

Poppy drew herself up tall, which stretched her torso and raised her bikini top a bit, his practiced masculine eye noted. She had wonderfully taut skin, golden and plump with vitality.

“Magic is everything,” Poppy said. “It moves the world. It heightens your senses. It’s at the heart of your most fabulous moments.”

“Nope. Those happen when I’m drinking a cold beer, and there’s nothing magic about that except how fast I can make it disappear.” He grinned, pleased by his own humor.

“Mr. Jefferson!” Poppy said.

“Oops. Another lapse. I am sorry.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Neither I nor my eleven brothers are known for being role models.”

Poppy sniffed. “I’ll keep that in mind. Were you ever a child, Mr. Jefferson?”

“Most of my adult life,” he said cheerfully. “Although having a young daughter has certainly matured me.”

“I doubt the veracity of that,” Poppy said, “but I’ll have to take your word for it. If you’ll excuse us, we must decline your offer of luncheon. We have studies before tonight’s show.”

With the thought that he might not see Poppy again, he was suddenly in the mood to take in a show. What could it hurt? “Where will you be performing?”

“Goodbye,” she told him, walking away.

“Damn,” he said. “I’m not as smooth as I used to be.”

From the way she’d said it, he knew better than to follow her. But for some reason he followed her anyway.

POPPY WALKED AWAY FROM the handsome stranger wishing her charges were just a bit less in shopping-for-a-father mode. It wasn’t going to work. She had no desire for a permanent man, due to her lifestyle, and the children had no idea that marriage wasn’t always filled with glittery magic.

It was hard work, and right now her efforts needed to be focused on the children. Amelia was ten, Curtis eight, and there would be many changes in their lives in the teen years. She had to think only of them, and a man would make things in her once-free life even more complicated. Five months ago, she’d been a happily traveling gypsy with no greater care than daily performances. She liked the bohemian lifestyle. But she’d had to settle down a bit since she’d inherited the children. That kind of focus was hard enough without the further distraction of a man.

The children didn’t understand this. Amelia and Curtis only wanted a family, and were she in their circumstance, Poppy probably would have reacted the same way. But even if she was looking for marriage, the right man did not simply drop from the sky. Hunting for The One took effort and kissing lots of frogs.

She had an aversion to smooching frogs.

“You two must stop,” she said now to Amelia and Curtis. “Please try to be satisfied that, for now, we are a family. And a good one. We’re making it, aren’t we?” she asked, bending down to look in their faces.

They nodded slowly, not convinced.

“The judge said it would be better if we were placed in a two-parent home,” Amelia reminded her. “He said he’d examine our progress in a month.”

“He doesn’t like the fact that we travel with you in a circus,” Curtis said, his blue eyes round. “He said it wasn’t stable.”

“True,” Poppy agreed. “It’s something to consider.”

The judge certainly had been put off by her stage name and gypsy lifestyle. His suggested alternative was that the children live with Poppy’s parents. Though they were far past the age of wanting to be responsible for children, the judge knew her parents personally and felt more comfortable with the stability he thought they would give the children.

It would be better for everyone if she could find a way to settle down, Poppy knew. And she was trying. “I will try harder,” she said slowly. “I guess I could give marriage some consideration. But not to that man,” she said quickly, dimming their suddenly hopeful faces. “He’s just not for me.”

They nodded, accepting her reason.

“We like living with you, Aunt Poppy,” Amelia said. “We just want to stay with you.”

“Maybe I should give up the land of make-believe and take a job as a teacher. It might impress the judge.”

Surely it would. A sense of permanence was what he’d seen lacking in her résumé. The only reason she’d been temporarily awarded custody of the children was that she was the only family member who’d come forward at the time of her sister’s death to claim them. Frankly she felt her family’s matters were none of the court’s business, but in order to adopt the children, she’d had to file for custody.

The judge had taken exception to her, preferring, he’d said, the security of her parents’ home. Or for Curtis and Amelia’s father to reappear.

Old goat, Poppy thought angrily. “What does he know about me anyway?” she said. “I’ve been in the same job for ten years. I have a master’s degree in English and a minor in business. A degree and job stability should speak favorably for me.”

“It was the magic,” Curtis said. “I think it bothered him.”

Certainly it had bothered Mr. Jefferson. She had seen him visibly step back from her. If she was a teacher maybe none of this would be a problem. She’d have the children as hers. They would be a family.

“Excuse me,” Last said, making his presence known and looking better than any man should in those long swim trunks and nothing else. “Before I head off to my next adventure, I couldn’t help but overhear… I think I could help you out.”

“No, we don’t want help from you,” Poppy said, thinking of the children’s marriage schemes. “You’re too much like me. Unstable.”

“I’m not unstable,” Last said cheerfully, “but I will admit to being churlish, immature at times and living like the old cliché of the bachelor male.”

“Which cliché would that be?” Poppy asked.

“Bitter and distrusting of women. Due to the fact that I was romanced and then sued by one. It’s all fine now, but I’m holding on to the bitter and distrusting part as a cautionary reminder of what a female can do to a man. Sort of a souvenir.”

Poppy couldn’t help but laugh. “Goodbye, Mr. Bitter and Distrusting. We appreciate your offer of help, but you’re a stranger and we have to think about our future.”

“They seem to have a wedding in mind,” he said, nodding toward the children, “but I’m really not the marrying kind.”

“I didn’t ask you,” she said, annoyed.

“And except for my oldest brother Mason, I’m out of single brothers, so I can’t even play match-maker for you.”

“Not necessary,” Poppy snapped.

“But it’s clear you’re in a bind,” Last continued, “and I’ve always been partial to coming to the rescue.”

Poppy gasped. “I do not need rescuing!”

He winked. “Clearly you are on the railroad tracks of instability, ma’am, in the path of an oncoming judge-driven train. Here I am to save the day!”

“How do you propose to do that?” Poppy asked.

“You could go live on my ranch in Texas,” Last said. “The mother of my child has vacated the house she was using. She’s now living in town with my brother, Crockett. The house is empty, waiting for a happy family. Think about it,” he said, “a Texas ranch, a job in town—it’s the very image of stability.”

Curtis’s and Amelia’s eyes glowed.

“It’s not matrimony, but it would be a form of security. Mason is about to get roped into running for sheriff, I believe, by his dearest friend and enemy, Mimi.” Last shook his head. “I don’t know that Mason can worm out of Mimi’s grasp on this one. Other than my brother Bandera, who lives in the house next door with his crew, and my brother Calhoun, who lives below the windmill with his, there’s just horses, cows and sheep to liven up the days.”

Poppy had to admit the picture was a tempting one. “Cowboys,” she murmured.

“Nobody would mind you living there. Olivia—Calhoun’s wife—used to travel in a gig with her horse, Gypsy, and her father-in-law, who was a rodeo clown. Right up your alley, huh?”

Poppy hesitated. She wasn’t sure anymore what was “up her alley.” The children had changed her life. That was all she did know.

“What made you become a magician anyway?” he asked.

“My master’s thesis was about beliefs. Ninety percent of people want to believe in something magical. Good fortune of some kind,” she murmured. “I decided to test the theory.”

“So you’re in the circus because of your thesis?”

She looked at him thinking that he alone was enough to make a woman believe in good fortune. Strong-muscled and tall, the dip in the ocean had left his skin gleaming. She shivered. “I may pursue a doctorate one day. It’s good to collect more data. Can I make people believe?” An unwilling smile touched her lips. “You’re certainly a doubter.”

“Yeah, but I’m hardheaded by nature. I don’t want to believe in anything that I can’t rope or ride.”

Poppy nodded. “I understand. That’s how the majority of people sampled felt. Put, of course, in different terms than yours.”

“But I’m always up for an adventure,” he added with a devilish grin. “And that’s what I’m offering to you, Professor.”

She looked into his chocolate-brown eyes. “I don’t even know you.”

He grinned. “But don’t you feel the magic?”

Curtis and Amelia looked up at her. “Do you?” Curtis asked.

“Aunt Poppy?” Amelia said.

Goose pimples raised on her arms. “Children, it’s time to go. The sun is setting, and that means a bit of a chill this time of year. Goodbye, Mr. Jefferson. Good luck to you on your adventures.”

She escaped, her heart pounding. Oh, she had felt the magic.

It was the one thing she never wanted to feel again.

Chapter Two

“It’s okay to be a fake,” Poppy said under her breath as she and the children walked up a small set of steps to get to her car.

She didn’t believe in real magic any more than Last Jefferson did. She only believed in the kind she could produce under the big top, wearing a foxy bikini, a skirt with sequins and some fishnets.

The children should never know. They clung to her stories of magic, believing in fairy princesses and air-hung castles and all good things that could be found if one just wished for them.

“I could be wrong,” she said, “but it seems appropriate to encourage imagination and creativity in you two. What else are myths, fairy tales and legends for?”

Curtis and Amelia looked up at her, their dear faces round and sweet. Poppy just wanted Curtis and Amelia to have the joy of being children.

Drat the cowboy for making her wonder if reality would be better for them. Esme indeed.

“I am certain Mr. Jefferson just recited some cowboy tall tales to us,” she said. “Perhaps he doesn’t even live on a ranch. Why would a true cowboy want to fly off a cliff?”

Amelia’s eyes widened. “The same reason someone wants to walk on the moon?”

Poppy shook her head. “I do believe the gentleman was yanking our chains. Let’s forget about him.”

“I’ve never met a real cowboy before,” Curtis said. “I wonder if he has a holster.”

“Oh.” Poppy crossed the street, protectively watching for traffic. “Westerns are not reality.”

“But when John Wayne—”

“We know,” Amelia said impatiently. “No more discussions about the genius of John Wayne, Curtis.”

Poppy stopped when they were on the opposite corner of the street. She glanced down at her niece and nephew. “It may be time for you two to be enrolled in public school.”

They looked at her.

“Why?” Curtis asked. Amelia stared silently.

“Because. We may have veered too far into the land of make-believe. It’s possible that the judge is right.”

“You called him an old goat,” Curtis reminded her.

She sighed, regretting the moment of her quick tongue filing its nervous complaint. “I did. But he may be right about the stability issue.”

“Why?” Amelia asked. “You said stability was for people who accepted that adventure was dead. That fortune wasn’t built nor determined by people who wouldn’t take a chance.”

“True, but I may be working on a new hypothesis. Children who are taught the realities of life do not end up flying from cliffs.”

Their eyes went wide.

Poppy shrugged. “It’s something to consider. And I must always consider your welfare, first and foremost.” She squeezed their hands. “Kids, look. I have no experience as a mother. I don’t even know what I’m doing. It’s possible the judge has reason to be concerned about the way I’m raising you.” What was so great about life under a big top or on a stage anyway?

It could be time to stop doing research. She’d made a lot of people believe in her magic. She’d proven to herself that people did want to believe, if only for the moment, and that taking their cares away for a while was a gift. Maybe that was the only magic she could really believe in. “And it could be that your mother wouldn’t have wanted you to live such a bohemian lifestyle.”

“Excuse me, for the last time,” she heard from behind her. “I swear.”

The cowboy had followed her and the children across the street. Bare-chested still. Her breath left her. If he was a stalker, he was a very handsome one.

“I need to clarify one thing,” Last said. “Just in case you ever decide to take me up on my offer.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m not planning on being around there much, at least for a while,” he admitted.

She gazed at him.

“If I’m the reason you might not consider it, that is.”

“I don’t know that the judge would approve of us picking up and leaving the state at this time. Also, my parents really need me—or at least I tell myself they do.”

Last nodded. “I understand. And to tell you the truth, while life on a ranch can be stable, we Jeffersons do not have a reputation for stability.”

She put a hand on her hip. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“But the ranch is in a town populated by very nice characters. Again, something to consider, just in case you change your mind. It’s the Jefferson ranch in Union Junction, Texas, better known as Malfunction Junction.”

The kids grinned. Poppy did not. “The ranch, not the town, is better known as Malfunction Junction?”

“Specifically the nickname refers to my family,” he said softly in a voice that sent silken shivers over Poppy’s skin. “It’s the bane of our existence. We are a malfunctioning crew, whether we admit it or not.”

He was a rogue and a daredevil, she realized. Perhaps a bit crazy.

Everything she did not need in her life.

“We’re late,” she told the cowboy. “I hope to never see you again.”

He looked hurt. She shook her head, turning to walk away. The kids peered over their shoulders at him.

“Oh, he looks like a puppy,” Amelia observed. “Poor cowboy.”

Poppy sighed.

“Why don’t you like him, Aunt Poppy?” Curtis asked.

“I have to be very careful,” she said, specifically thinking about rogues and daredevils who made a woman do stupid things…bedroom things.

Last was a delicious specimen of male. No illusion of magic was required to make him more visually desirable than he was.

“Malfunction Junction sounds like fun,” Amelia said.

“What we don’t need is another circus in our lives,” Poppy said firmly. “And that’s exactly what it sounds like to me.” After another moment of brisk walking, she asked quietly, “Is he still following?”

“No,” Curtis said. “He turned around and walked away a few minutes ago.”

“After waving goodbye,” Amelia said. “You know how you always tell us not to talk to strangers?”

“Yes,” Poppy said. “And now you see why.”

There was no reply for a second.

“Well,” Curtis said, “at least I finally met a real John Wayne.”

“We don’t know that,” Poppy stated. “He wasn’t wearing a hat or boots.”

“I know that,” Curtis said. “A real cowboy doesn’t need his hat to be real.”

“When the lion tamer offered to marry you, you said he was too wild,” Amelia pointed out. “When the ringmaster offered, you said his hat was too tall and you weren’t sure what was under there. The cowboy only offered us his ranch, and he won’t even be there. Wouldn’t that mean we can trust him?”

“I don’t know,” Poppy said with determination. “And I love you two too much to find out.”

“Do you like any man, Aunt Poppy?” Curtis asked.

“Yes. I like you. Now forget about the cowboy, children, and let’s think about tonight’s performance.”

But she knew why he stayed on their minds. Brave, daring, somehow vulnerable—he was a very appealing character to two young children who were growing up needing a fairy-tale hero. And to the woman learning to be their mother.

LAST JEFFERSON KNEW when he’d been given the winter-frozen shoulder. No meant no, and that little lady had just handed him a very firm no.

Too bad. The kids had been cute. Whistling, he went to pick up his hang-glider, trying to decide if he had enough daylight left for another go at his technique.

Or he could go attend this “show” the children had mentioned. Tickets were public, weren’t they? And he could just look up the location on the Internet. Poppy would never know. He wouldn’t mind seeing a bit of this “magic” hocus-pocus they’d talked about.

Then again, why did he care? He’d gotten himself in enough trouble once, a long time ago, by drinking a bottle of a supposedly mystical potion. “Surely I’ve learned from my mistakes. Mystical things are bad for me.”

He should know better. He didn’t need a woman, no matter how alluring. His daughter didn’t need one more person introduced into her life in a parental role; right now assimilating her new family of Crockett and Valentine would be challenge enough.

He needed to think with his mind and not his heart—or that more traitorous region of his body.

More time in the air hanging from something should clear his mind.

And yet, he would love to make Esme change that formal, snippy tone she’d used when she’d said, “Mr. Jefferson,” to a gasping, grateful, Oh, Mr. Jefferson!

He couldn’t afford to indulge the fantasy.

“One more go?” asked the hang-glider attendant.

“I think not,” Last said. “Thanks, though.”

After changing into jeans and a shirt, he got into his truck. Two weeks driving the scenic route in north California, then heading to Africa for bungee jumping had felt like the right decision when he’d left Texas. The trip had been the perfect excuse for giving his brother and his new wife some family time.

No one knew, but it was really hard on Last to think about the new little family, no matter how much he loved Crockett. He wanted to be Annette’s only father, even if he knew that wasn’t possible. Damn lucky he was that her stepfather would be Crockett.

Still, it stung. His lips drew into a tight line, his gaze catching sight of brightly colored red tents as he drove only a few miles up the road. The tents could signify only one thing: the circus was in town and very near. He’d bet this was Esme’s gig.

He couldn’t resist.

In fact, he wouldn’t even try, he decided, parking his truck on the grounds and buying a ticket. Sneaking into the big top, he noted that his seat was far up and away from where Poppy or the children might spy him. The elderly gentleman seated beside him seemed harmless and likely to mind his own business, so Last was satisfied.

Checking his ticket stub, he realized he had about an hour to wait. He began dozing under his hat, somewhat bored by the lack of bulls and bucking broncs.

“The hottest magician on planet Earth,” he heard the announcer yell, making him sit straight up. “Poppy Peabody!”

Last’s jaw dropped as Esme rode into the arena on the back of a white pony, wearing a bikini-type garment so sexy he could only call it delightful.

No wonder the judge was having a bit of trouble seeing Poppy as a role model and a good guardian. Last grinned. The elderly gentleman next to him looked as though he’d never seen a showgirl of any kind and might have a coronary.

Esme was adorable, with black strands of cloth hanging from the bikini bottom and a feathery black sequined headdress pluming from her long ebony hair. Something jumped in his jeans, and Last realized he was more attracted to her than he’d been to anyone in his life—well worth the ticket price he’d paid to get in.

He realized the flip-flopping children in the act were Amelia and Curtis. They flipped onto the small stage where Esme dismounted, and as music filtered through the arena she put Curtis into a box, concealing him.

A moment later she was sawing through him. Last’s heart thundered. The judge was right! The children were young and impressionable and probably easily scared! Last leaned forward, knowing in his heart that Esme wouldn’t hurt them. They’d probably done this act a hundred times—but still, he was relieved when Curtis reappeared with no blood spurting from his “halved” body.

Then Last’s heart went completely still as Amelia was raised on a pulley, seemingly as if by magic wings, to the ceiling. Esme approached the center of the stage, instructing Amelia to fly. And fly she did, nearly to Last’s seat. Maybe she’d seen him! It seemed as if they’d made eye contact. Last wasn’t certain. As she swung back, to the gasps of the audience, Esme yelled, “Disappear!” and she did! Last craned his neck looking for Amelia, but she was gone. Poof!

He was very angry with Poppy Peabody.

She had certainly made a believer out of him. His entire collar was soaked with perspiration.

A second later the vein in his temple went back to normal when Curtis and Amelia stood beside their aunt, to the delighted applause of the audience. Annoyed at himself for falling for grandiose tricks and a woman in a spectacularly pleasing costume, he stomped down the stairs, preparing to exit and hit the road.

But he was stopped by a man in a very tall hat.

“You are the cowboy?” the man asked.

“I suppose,” Last replied. “Some days more than others.”

“Come with me.”

“I don’t think so,” Last said. “I paid my ticket, and that means I leave when I want.”

“Poppy wants you,” the man in the ringmaster’s costume insisted.

“Poppy?” The hottest magician on the planet—or in California or whatever—wanted him? Last blinked. “All right, stranger. Move along. I’m right behind you.”

He walked into a makeup room where Esme stood surrounded by her charges, a lion tamer, a man in a gorilla costume and the ringmaster.

“Mr. Jefferson!” Curtis and Amelia cried.

“I told you he was here, Aunt Poppy,” Amelia said.

Last crossed his arms. “Nice show,” he said, meaning costume, though now was not the time to say it. The atmosphere in the room was distinctly testosterone-charged.

“Thanks.” Poppy turned to her friends. “I thank you for your offers of marriage, all of you. However, this is the man who would like to take me to his ranch and this is the man I have chosen.”

Last stood still, not even allowing himself to blink. What was she saying? He couldn’t marry her. He couldn’t marry anyone, but especially not someone who was as unstable as he was. Together they’d be combustible!

The ringmaster nodded. “Come,” he told Last.

“I prefer to stay here,” Last said.

The gentleman seemed to take exception to that, so Last shrugged and followed the guy in the too-tall hat. “Great duds,” he said.

“You can do better?” the man asked in his heavily accented voice.

Last figured by the pleading look in Curtis’s and Amelia’s eyes that he’d better follow along. “Welcome to the family,” the ringmaster said, opening a curtain to reveal the innermost workings of the circus.

It was far busier and more colorful than anything he’d ever seen at a rodeo. “Wow. Crazy.”

The ringmaster nodded. “You are sure you want to take our Poppy to Texas with you?”

“Uh—”

Amelia and Curtis nodded emphatically. Last recognized desperation when he saw it.

“The judge was sitting right next to you, Mr. Last,” Curtis said. “We think he wasn’t very happy.”

So reassurance of stability was in order. Surprisingly, he was eager to do the reassuring. “Yes. Absolutely. I’ll take Esme—I mean Poppy and company to Texas.”

Everyone stopped when the ringmaster gestured. “This is Poppy’s husband-to-be,” he announced, and everyone applauded. Sweat broke out on Last’s forehead under his hat.

He’d offered the ranch, not a ring! Mason had nearly blown a gasket when a pregnant Valentine had shown up a while back. But Mason was going to kill him if Last brought home a ready-made family.

“THAT WAS AWKWARD,” Poppy said once the three of them were packed into his truck. “I apologize.”

Last seemed too stunned to reply. She could tell he was feeling a mixture of anger and annoyance. “Last?”

“You look better without the stage makeup,” he said. “Though I really dug the costume.”

She blinked. “I always thought the plumes were a bit over-the-top.”

“No way. Made you look like a fan dancer.”

Then he went back to staring at the road.

“You can drop us off at the ranch you’d mentioned,” Poppy said, feeling sick at how she’d used him. The judge had been adamant tonight about taking the children and…she’d had no choice. “I don’t really expect you to marry me.”

“I should hope not,” Last said. “I can’t marry anyone. Ever. It’s a conscience thing.”

“I understand. And I don’t want to get married. It just got very heated back there. The lion tamer said the judge was a bit upset, and the ringmaster said I needed to make a magical disappearance but in a way in which they could responsibly cover my leaving. You provided the perfect cover.”

Last sighed. “How?”

“They told him we were leaving on a honeymoon. And then you were taking us to your Texas ranch to see how we liked living life in one place, in the country, far from all the glitter.”

“I see. Did he buy it?”

She shrugged. “Enough to give us some time. We have to be back in a month, of course, so he can check on the children’s well-being before he’ll give me final custody.”

Last felt sorry for Esme and her kids. It was tough being in the middle of a custody battle—he knew that too well—and there was no reason for him to say that everything would work out. It might not.

“Well, you’ll like the ranch,” he said. “Everyone around there is certifiable but nice. You’ll fit in just fine. The kids can go to school—”

Clapping erupted from the backseat. Esme turned around. “I’m surprised at you two!”

“It sounds like fun!” Amelia said.

“Yeah,” Curtis said. “I’m going to be just like Mr. Last. A cowboy!”

Last sighed. “You’re going to get me in big trouble with your aunt.” Frowning, he said, “Hey, since you’re not in the circus anymore, can I call you Esme instead of your stage name?”

She blinked. “I’ve never gotten used to Esmerelda. I was teased in school over it, and when the ringmaster named me Poppy Peabody, I was so relieved.”

“I know exactly how that feels,” Last said. “Imagine your name being Last. And being last in a long line of brothers. Never mind the name games. Fast Last, Lasting Gas and so on. I pounded on some kids in my youth.”

“I didn’t,” Esme said. “I pretended I didn’t hear them. Esmerelda Smells was the main nickname.”

“Oh. Bummer.” He brightened. “You smell wonderful to me.”

She looked at him askance. “Thank you. When were you close enough to tell?”

“I can tell.” He nodded. “Women come in all flavors under the sun, and I love them every one.”

She stared at him.

“Sorry.” Last looked only a tiny bit ashamed. “Well, I do.”

She narrowed her eyes at this too-playful cowboy. “I have the strangest feeling you didn’t bear the heaviest load at the ranch,” Poppy said. “You’re far too relaxed.”

“Mason bore most of the burden,” Last admitted cheerfully. “And I was ever the baby wearing rose-colored glasses. My brothers all had problems. Tex, for example, had budus interruptus.”

“Sounds painful.”

“It was. For all of us. He was a madman when things didn’t go his way with his plants. No different than the rest of us, of course. Everybody’s got hang-ups. Probably even you.”

She looked out the opposite window.

“You can share if you like,” he said. “I’m listening.”

She checked over her shoulder. Amelia and Curtis had fallen asleep, their heads resting against each other’s.

“I never wanted to be tied down,” she said quietly. “I was the girl who never dreamed of The Prince. The One. I was always hanging around my grandparents, learning card tricks. Sleight of hand. Even ventriloquism.”

“Great,” Last said. “A woman who’s more into freedom than me. It’s almost like meeting my mirror image, only more frightening because you’re hot as hell.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Definitely. That’s why once I drop you at the ranch I’ve got to go. I’ve already had one night of passion go wrong on me. I have no intention of repeating history.”

“Did you love her?”

“We don’t even remember the night very much,” Last admitted. “But the aftermath was a killer, never mind the hangover. My baby is an angel, though. She’s gonna be a man slayer when she grows up. Looks like her mom, thank heaven, except with a bit of darkness in her hair and eyes.” He glanced over at her. “Sort of like you.”

Poppy felt something tingle down her spine, something very much like a magic trick played perfectly.

“The problem is,” he said with a wicked gleam in his eyes, “I would love to make love to you. But I just can’t afford that mistake again.”

“That scared?”

“I told you, I’m living the cliché,” he said, grinning at her with a wink. “The ultimate untamable bad boy. All I can say is that you would like it. I would like it. And it would definitely be something we both remembered.”

That tingle turned into a warning shiver. She was not at a place in her life where she could be seduced. Even by such a master of seduction as this cowboy, who, no doubt, was not exaggerating his skills. “Maybe I should have accepted the lion tamer,” she murmured.

“They broke the mold for sure when they made him,” Last said. “Why didn’t you marry him?”

“I knew he was asking me as a friend. I didn’t want that, even for the sake of the children. It wasn’t fair to him.”

“And the ringmaster? I got the sense that he was rather fatherly.”

She nodded. “He was. He offered, but I saved him from his kindness. Staying with them, with the circus, wouldn’t have endeared me to the judge. It was time to go.”

“And along I came,” Last said, turning off the highway onto a side road. “I want one last drive along the beach before heading back toward the land of stability.” He gave a heavy sigh. “I must warn you, we have a strong dose of superstition in our family. And if I get the sense even for a second that you might be invoking The Curse in me, I might have to…to send you into town to live with the Union Junction stylists. You’d like them,” he said. “They’d mother your kids to death. And the children would be closer to school.”

“What curse?” Poppy asked. “I don’t usually believe in such things.”

“Good,” Last said, satisfied. “This one has to do with love, and it’s happened to every single one of my brothers. When they found their true loves, they got hurt.”

“That’s…silly,” Poppy said. “What have I gotten myself into?” She glanced into the backseat, where the children slept, comfortable in the double cab.

“I’m sure everything’s going to be just fine,” Last told her. He peered through the windshield. “What the hell is that beside the road?”

“A dog?” Poppy looked harder. “A sea lion!”

“No way,” Last said. “They’re too fat to get all the way over here.” They were close enough to the ocean to see the waves from the road, but the road was still too far for a sea lion, at least by Last’s standards. Stopping the truck, he said, “I’m going to go check on whatever it is.”

Poppy watched anxiously as he snuck up on the hapless creature. She turned on the truck’s hazard lights so drivers coming around the narrow, winding road would see them.

To her surprise, she saw Last struggling with the animal. It seemed as if he was trying to push it back toward the sea. And just when it appeared he might be winning, the animal turned on him. Flippers and arms battled. Gasping, Poppy hit the horn with all her might. Startled, the animal lumbered back toward the ocean. Last lay on the ground for a moment before picking himself up and dragging himself into the seat of his truck. “Just like the rodeo,” he said. “I’m always getting tossed.”

“Are you all right?” Poppy asked. “That was horrible!”

“I’m fine,” Last said. “By golly, it was harder to corral than a bull. It nearly got the best of me!”

“That’s because it was a bull, obviously,” Poppy said. “A junior sea lion bull, beached and confused.”

“Yes. And damned unappreciative.” Last checked his ripped shirt. “It took exception to me saving it.”

“It didn’t look like you were saving it. It wanted to kill you! What made you try to move a wild creature?”

He groaned. “I move all kinds of wild creatures all the time, some that weigh a couple tons and have impressive horns and sharp hooves. Believe me, I didn’t think it would be any more difficult than throwing a cow to the ground or corralling a mad bull. It looked like a bunch of harmless blubber lying there all pathetic.”

“You smell like seal,” Poppy said. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“I’m just badly hurt,” Last said with a groan. “I may need a doctor.”

“Scoot over. I’ll drive you to the hospital.” As she stared at him clutching his side, she shook her head. “I want you to know this one doesn’t count.”

He looked at her through pained eyes. “What one?”

“The Curse thing. The don’t-hurt-me thing.”

The pain left Last and he sat up, staring at her. “Oh, no,” he said, his tone angry. “Oh, no, no, no. You cannot be The One.”

Chapter Three

Last had known this woman and her children were trouble the moment he’d laid eyes on them. They were even more trouble now that they were going to cost him an airplane ticket out of California and into the land of ultimate bungee jumping. Most particularly, they were going to get him in a lot of trouble with Mason, who already thought Last hadn’t properly learned the Condom Song since he’d become an unwed father. Bringing home two more children would only make matters more awkward between him and his eldest brother.

Last stared at Poppy for a few moments, his whole body screaming with pain and his mind shouting horrific echoes of denial.

“This time, The Curse is wrong. Actually, I feel fine now.” He struggled to sit up in the driver’s seat. “I’m completely healthy, with not one pain an aspirin can’t fix. I just need you to drive.”

“What?” Esme asked.

He took a deep, shaken breath. If he was honest, he’d admit the sea lion had scared the hell out of him. What looked like harmless, soft flubber had really been equal to any mad thing he’d met on the ranch, including Mason. There was a possibility he had a cracked rib.

“You drive,” Last repeated, getting out of the truck to limp around to the passenger side. “I’m according you the honor of driving a man’s truck, which has never been driven by a female.”

She shook her head. “No way. I want no part of you or your truck.” She sniffed in a hoity-toity way, but he didn’t have the strength to argue with her.

“Look. Get your foxy little ass out of my seat so I can sit down.”

“You’re hurt!”

“No, I’m not,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I think you are.”

“I think I’d know if I was!” A star passed before his vision that seemed as big as Halley’s Comet. He slumped into the seat she’d vacated. “Drive.”

She cleared her throat. “Last, can I say something?”

“Sure, magician.”

“I need to stop by and say goodbye to my parents. Plus the kids and I need to pack a suitcase. And I really would love to get out of my costume.”

The galaxy was threatening to take him over. “Do whatever you have to,” he said. “Just don’t ever tell a soul that a rubbery seal nearly got the best of me.”

“It’ll be our secret.” She pulled out onto the road, winding back toward the highway. “I could make a pit stop at the hospital—”

“I am not hurt,” he insisted. “I probably just caught a bit of wind shear when I was hang-gliding and didn’t realize I’d reorganized my internal organs at that time. Next breeze I’ll be fine.”

Her giggle was annoying. “Whatever.”

He kept his eyes tightly shut, enjoying Esme’s smooth driving. Okay, he would let her drive all the way to the ranch. There he could find some tape to bandage his rib. Shoot, he’d been hurt worse than this in rodeos and had still dragged himself back to the ranch. He could do it again.

Only…this time there was Mason to think about. Now that would be pain that would send him into the next galaxy. Cracking one eye open, he stared over at Esme as she concentrated on the road. Damn, she was pretty. So exotic. And good to her family. He liked that in a woman. And she had a little bit of attitude, which he thought spiced her up just fine.

His eye traveled from her top to the sequined band at her hips where the cloth strips hung. Her exposed waist was a smooth road, he decided poetically, one which he would certainly like to navigate. Such a shame she was totally wrong for him.

Valentine hadn’t been right for him, and she was the mother of his child. So there was no way that Esme could be the one. With her two kids and her unstable ways she was the worst-case scenario of what could happen if a man didn’t look before he leaped off the cliff of romance.

“You’re staring at me,” she said. “With one eye. And it gives you a remarkably Popeye-ish appearance.”

“You could have said pirate,” he complained.

“Your eye is pretty swollen. I feel Popeye is appropriate.”

“Lovely. Popeye and Poppy sitting in a tree—”

“Oh, good grief.” She stopped the truck. “I think you have a concussion.”

“I swear I do not, madam. I am insulted you would suggest it.”

He thought he heard her say, “What a fruitcake” under her breath. Magnanimously he ignored that.

“So what exactly does the judge think your parents could do better with the children than you do?” he asked.

She sighed, starting to drive again. “Send them to a regular school, give them a one-home environment, all the things children need. I know it’s true, but he simply does not understand that I’ve been caring for my parents for some time. The strain of losing my sister was too much for them. Unless you’ve lost a child, I don’t think you can understand that pain.”

He nodded, thinking about his father. “Actually I do understand a little.” Maverick had never gotten over losing his wife, and as much as Last hated the fact that his father had left them, at least Maverick hadn’t let himself die from grief. Last could remember their father, his skin gray from shock, his gait changed—he shook his head. “The ranch is a great place. You’re doing the right thing. If you think you can handle it.”

“I do,” she said. “Thank you for taking us with you.”

He groaned, trying not to think about Mason and the coronary to come. “Don’t mention it.” But he couldn’t help thinking about the children in the back of the truck. “I wasn’t certain I liked you having them in your act,” he admitted now.

Esme looked at him. “They’re with me all the time. And I teach them, as did other people in the troupe. What was wrong with it?”

“I don’t know. When you sawed Curtis—” he lowered his voice “—you scared me. It seemed almost medieval.”

Stopping the car, she peered into his face. “Are you sure you didn’t get a screw knocked out of you?”

“All my screws are tight,” he replied airily, “but I really did not like it when you made Amelia disappear. That was much too high for a little girl. I was afraid she’d fall.”

“She wears a harness that you can’t see, and there’s a cleverly concealed net below, in case something did go wrong.”

“I knew you’d take all the proper precautions, but still I was afraid,” he admitted. “I don’t know how your circus act is scarier than teaching a child how to rodeo—and we all got busted up at one time or another—and yet it bothered me.”

She blinked. “You sound like the judge.”

He held up a hand. “I don’t mean to. I’m just trying to figure out why it bothered me so much.”

“Perhaps you believed in the magic,” she suggested.

“No,” he said. “I most certainly did not.”

“What is the difference between my act and yours?” she demanded. “All this superstition nonsense?”

“That is a Jefferson fact,” he insisted, “and you’re simply using optical illusions.”

She laughed at him as she pulled up in front of a small cottage-style bungalow. “Home,” she said. “Do I need to help you out of the truck?”

“I’m fine.” Stubbornly he crawled out of the passenger seat. “Though I wonder if your parents have a teeny-weeny bandage I could borrow.”

“For your ribs?”

“Never mind.” Her trouble was that she was so sure of herself. So pigheaded. And, unfortunately, so sexy.

He just had to stop thinking of her that way.

“Come inside,” she said, tucking one of his arms over her shoulder. “My parents will fix you a cup of tea.”

He needed some Jack Daniel’s in that tea, but he refused to inquire as to her parents’ preference for something harder than chamomile. Trying not to groan, he let Esme lead him inside the small house.

It smelled of cinnamon, he realized. Very much like Valentine’s bakery. Suddenly he missed home—he missed his little daughter—and he dreadfully regretted all the actions that had brought him broken to this place in his life.

“Hello?” a kindly elderly woman said to him. “Are you hurt?”

He looked into the gentle blue eyes of a woman who had to be eighty years old. “I think so, ma’am. But I swear, your daughter had nothing to do with it.”

She smiled. “I should think not. Come in and lie down next to Chester.”

He hoped Chester was a very still, very plump pillow, but it turned out to be a large, old yellow dog on the sofa. Across from the sofa was a recliner, and an elderly gentleman raised an arm at Last.

“Don’t mind Chester,” he said. “He won’t mind you.”

Last wouldn’t have minded a pig at this moment. Sinking onto the sofa, he laid his head back, gasping as he stared at the ceiling.

“Where did you find him, dear?” the mother asked the daughter. “Did he take over the lion tamer’s position prematurely?”

“Not exactly,” Esme replied. “Let me get the children out of the truck and put them to bed. We may have to spend the night, Mom.”

“Fine, fine. I have plenty of eggs for breakfast. Young man, do you like bacon?”

“His name is Last, Mom.”

“Last?” She sounded confused, and Last was too tired to explain. “All right. Do you like bacon, Last?”

“I would really like an aspirin, ma’am,” he said, before saying, “Timber!” and crashing face-first into the elderly dog’s pillow.

“That’s right, Chester, you take good care of him,” Last heard Esme’s father say before he finally gave up to the sleep that wanted to claim him. He had to. He’d fallen into the circus of hell, and clearly there would be no rescue or safety net for this cowboy.

ESME STARED DOWN at Last, not quite sure what to do with him. Her parents had gone to bed. The children were tucked in. Chester had given up the sofa to the flailing cowboy. She folded her arms, wondering why Last was so dead set against seeing a doctor. She was pretty certain he needed one, the big goon.

Bending down to get close to his face, she touched his forehead. “That’s what you get for trying to save everything, you big silly.”

He didn’t move. Poppy studied his face, glad to be able to do it when he wasn’t piercing her with those watchful eyes of his. “Maybe you have a record,” she said, moving his hair away from his face. “That would be one reason you wouldn’t want to be seen. Which would also make you bad for me. Worse than you already are.”

A steel hand reached out, grabbing her wrist. “I have no record,” Last said. “I am very good for you, and you should be grateful.”

To her shock, he pulled her on top of him. She was so surprised she stared down at him, an inch from his face.

“Now let’s see who’s bad for whom,” he said, kissing her deeply, his hands framing her face as he held her captive. Over and over he kissed her, his lips firm and demanding and so practiced that she gave herself over to the wonderful feeling of being kissed by this stranger who didn’t wear fur or a too-tall hat. His hands sneaked down to her bottom, slipping into the pockets of the clam diggers she wore, holding her tightly against him.

“I think you’re bad for me,” he said. “I’m certain of it.”

“I think you’re worse,” she told him, holding his face so that she could kiss him some more. Good heavens, a woman should be kissed like this at least once a week! It was more than magic; she felt sprinkles and stardust and all the accoutrements of the fairy-tale land she’d spoken of but never experienced.

“I may be worse, but your kisses make me feel better than an aspirin.” He rolled her beneath him. “Make me feel even better.”

He was making her feel more than she ever had, so Poppy complied, winding her arms around him as he lay full-length against her. There was hardness against her from top to bottom and something much more in the middle, making her eyes water from the pleasure of knowing that this man wanted her that way.

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