“Dammit, Woman,” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication 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 Epilogue Copyright

“Dammit, Woman,”

Adam erupted, “we have no past. I have never met you, don’t know you, and you sure as hell can’t know me.”

“Oh, but I do,” Sunny persisted, meeting his narrow-eyed glare with fearless composure. “I would know you anywhere.”

“How do you know me?” he insisted. “How, when we have never met, never seen each other?”

“Not in this lifetime, no,” she agreed.

Oh, hell, Adam thought savagely, seeing his hopes for a mutually satisfying holiday dalliance growing dimmer with each statement she made. He, Adam Grainger, so selective about his female companions, was attracted—strongly attracted—to a cuckoo bird!

Dear Reader,

A book from Joan Hohl is always a delight, so I’m thrilled that this month we have her latest MAN OF THE MONTH, A Memorable Man. Naturally, this story is chock-full of Joan’s trademark sensuality and it’s got some wonderful plot twists that are sure to please you!

Also this month, Cindy Gerard’s latest in her NORTHERN LIGHTS BRIDES series, A Bride for Crimson Falls, and Beverly Barton’s “Southern sizzle” is highlighted in A Child of Her Own. Anne Eames has the wonderful ability to combine sensuality and humor, and A Marriage Made in Joeville features this talent.

The Baby Blizzard by Caroline Cross is sure to melt your heart this month—it’s an extraordinary love story with a hero and heroine you’ll never forget! And the month is completed with a sexy romp by Diana Mars, Matchmaking Mona.

In months to come, look for spectacular Silhouette Desire books by Diana Palmer, Jennifer Greene, Lass Small and many other fantastic Desire stars! And I’m always here to listen to your thoughts and opinions about the books. You can write to me at the address below.

Enjoy! I wish you hours of happy reading!

Lucia Macro

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

A Memorable Man

Joan Hohl

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JOAN HOHL

is the bestselling author of almost three dozen books. She has received numerous awards for her work, including the Romance Writers of America Golden Medallion Award. In addition to contemporary romance, this prolific author also writes historical and time-travel romances. Joan lives in eastern Pennsylvania with her husband and family.

To my editor, Melissa Senate,

for being such a nice bully

One

It was fascinating, like stepping back over two hundred years in time.

Bemused by the novelty of the experience, Adam Grainger came to an abrupt halt behind the two elderly ladies blocking his passage to Duke of Gloucester Street. In no particular hurry, instead of circling around them, he waited patiently for them to finish their conversation and then either cross the street or part company.

It had been snowing when Adam flew out of Wyoming that morning, snowing and windy and bitterly cold. Rather normal weather for mid-December. At the time, since he was flying toward the eastern seaboard, he had presumed it would be cold in Virginia, as well.

But it wasn’t cold; in fact with the temperature hovering around 62°, the air felt balmy against his face.

While waiting, basking in the gentle sunshine, Adam slowly took in his surroundings, the sights and sounds of the restored capital city of Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia.

Lowering his gaze to his hands, he studied the well-marked map, which delineated every street and restored building in the area. His bearings set, he raised his eyes. Directly opposite, across the cobbled street, stood the Bruton Parish Church, and beyond the church, the Governor’s Palace rose majestically at the end of the two-block-long Palace Green.

But it wasn’t the lovely old church or even the more imposing palace in the background that caught Adam’s attention and fancy, riveting his gaze.

A young woman was approaching the street from the green. Although attired in the period costume of a reenactor, she strode forth with the free and easy long-legged gait of the modern woman, a long dark red cape swirling around her ankles, a mobcap swinging by its strings from her fingers. Sunlight glimmered in loosened strands of gold streaking her brown hair, which was gathered into a carelessly fashioned topknot.

An odd sensation of familiarity flared to life inside Adam. Startled by the feeling, he stood staring, arrested by the very sight of her beautiful composed face.

“A pity, really, she’s such a lovely girl.”

Adam couldn’t help but overhear the remark made by one of the ladies standing less than a foot in front of him. A movement of the lady’s head indicated the remark had obviously been intended to apply to the young woman coming to a halt at the opposite curb.

A pity? he thought, frowning. What could there be to feel pity for such an enchanting creature? The thought had no sooner struck him than the answer was forthcoming.

“A bit odd, you know,” the lady murmured in a sympathetic tone, shaking her head.

“So I’ve heard,” the other lady replied, heaving a sigh. “Although she seems fine most of the time, I understand she is subject to moments of delusions or some such.”

The first lady nodded in agreement. “Not only that,” she informed sadly. “But I’ve been told she goes off on rather wild and strange flights of fancy.”

Delusions? Wild and strange flights of fancy? Containing an urge to laugh aloud, Adam shot a glance at the woman under discussion. Although the woman hesitated near the curb, her expression of growing consternation seemed merely to indicate mild indecisiveness. She certainly didn’t appear to Adam as either odd or given to sudden wild and strange flights of fancy.

At that instant, just as Adam heard the two ladies say their goodbyes and separate, the woman stepped off the curb and into the street. Adam did likewise, strolling toward her as she strode toward him. As they drew alongside one another he felt another decidedly strange jolt, at the same time noting the sudden widening of her eyes.

What the hell?

Even as the thought flashed through his mind, Adam was brought up short by the sound of her voice.

“Andrew?”

A case of mistaken identity. Surprised by the sharp sense of disappointment he felt, Adam turned to offer her a small smile and a reluctant disclaimer.

“Sorry, but no, I am—”

“No, of course not.” She smiled, raised her eyes, and sighed, as if impatient with herself. “You wouldn’t be Andrew. Not again.”

Huh? Clueless, Adam stood there, right in the middle of Duke of Gloucester Street, not only speechless but dumbfounded to the point of being oblivious to the horse-drawn wagon lumbering toward them.

“Oh, dear, after all this time, you still don’t know, do you?” She sighed again, then, before he could think of a reply or even so much as how to reply, she glanced beyond him and grasped his arm. “Come along,” she urged, leading hum back the way he had come from the other side of the street. “We’re in danger of being run down here.”

Run down? Adam frowned, but nevertheless moved at her bidding. Surely the woman knew better than most that vehicular traffic wasn’t allowed within the restored area? His silent query was answered the next moment, when the touristladen wagon rumbled by, missing them by a mere foot or so.

Well, damn, he reflected, staring in bemusement at the horses and rough-hewn conveyance. He couldn’t recall seeing anything about the availability of wagon rides in the packet he’d been given at the visitors’ center. Of course, at the time, wanting to experience the place for himself, rather than read about it, he had given the information little more than a casual perusal.

“It’s a wagon,” he said, unnecessarily, and more to himself than to the woman standing beside him...now well out of harm’s way. “A horse-drawn wagon.”

“I know.”

The thread of amused understanding woven through her voice snagged Adam’s attention. Forgetting the wagon, he turned to level a probing look at her. “What did you mean earlier, when you said I wouldn’t be Andrew again?”

“Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” she replied, her smile enigmatic and knowing.

Knowing what? Adam wondered, frowning. She was a total stranger to him; what could she know? One of them was slightly off kilter here, and he knew that he was not the one. He suppressed a sigh, deciding that perhaps those two ladies had been correct in their assessment of the woman. Nevertheless, he forged ahead.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I haven’t the vaguest idea what you’re talking about.” He offered her a sympathetic smile. “You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

She shook her head. “No, no mistake about your identity.” Her eyes, as green, deep and mystifying as a shaded mountain glen, stared into his. “My mistake was in believing, hoping that by this time you might remember.”

“Remember what?” he demanded, his voice rough edged with impatience and a startling deeper sense of disappointment. “I’ve never seen you before. What’s to remember?”

“Oh, lots.” The smile she gave him was wistful, overshadowed with longing. “More than you probably could ever imagine.”

Adam felt a jolt of something stirring inside his mind, and a thrill of...excitement?...inside his body.

But this was ridiculous, he reasoned, trying and failing to shake off the mental and physical activity. Those two elderly ladies were right; there was something not all together about this woman.

So distracted was he, Adam didn’t notice the man coming abreast of them. The soft drawl of the man’s voice brought him into awareness.

“Good afternoon, Mistress Dase.”

“Good afternoon, sir,” she replied respectfully, dipping into a quick curtsy.

Confused by her abrupt change of demeanor, Adam glanced at the man. Obviously another reenactor, he was elderly, pleasant faced, his costume denoting a personage of means and some standing in the community.

“You are on your way home?” The gentleman’s gaze dropped to the cap dangling from her fingers, then back to her face. A twinkle of intelligent amusement sparkled in his otherwise plain brown eyes.

“Oh...yes.” A becoming flush infusing her cheeks, she raised her hands and settled the cap over the knot.

The man’s lips twitched. “I wish you a good evening, then,” he said, beginning to move on. His laughing eyes made contact with Adam. “And you, also, sir.”

“Good evening, sir,” she responded.

Thoroughly confused by the exchange, Adam could manage no more than a nod of acknowledgment in return.

“What was that all about?” he asked the moment the gentleman was beyond hearing.

“It’s bad form to be out of costume or character while in the area,” she answered, an unrepentant smile tugging at her full lips. “He gave me a teasing reminder of my cap.”

“I...er...” Adam began, only to be interrupted by the very same gentleman.

“Mistress Dase, on the chance you have forgotten where you are, you are standing in the middle of the road.”

She groaned, grabbed Adam’s sleeve, and made for the curb before replying, “Ah...yes, thank you, again, sir.”

Chuckling, the man went on his way.

The woman beside Adam laughed as well.

Adam shook his head. “I don’t understand any of this,” he confessed. “Who is that man?”

“A reenactor,” she answered, her smile reflecting the laughter lightening her incredible eyes. “This time, his name is Mr. White, and he’s playing the role of a very important figure of the period.”

Adam’s pragmatic mind latched onto two of her words. “This time?” He eyed her warily, as if steeling himself for a sudden flight of fancy. “What do you mean by ‘this time’?”

“Oh, he’s been here before.”

Uh-huh. A wave of regret washed over Adam. The ladies apparently knew whereof they spoke, he thought in abject dejection. Then, gazing at her laughing, beautiful face, another thought sent his spirits soaring on the wings of hope. Perhaps, forewarned and halfway expecting the odd, he had misconstrued her remark. Maybe, just possibly, she had meant that the older gentlemen had done this work before, and at that time had enacted a completely different type of role.

“I see,” he said, not quite truthfully. “And... er, have you also done this before?”

“Several times.” Her smile shifted from secret delight to soft compassion. “But, of course, you don’t remember.”

Oh, hell, not again. Adam suppressed a groan, and raked his mind for an intelligent or even merely adequate response, hating the sensation of being way out of his depth. But before he could come up with anything, another, younger voice came into the confusing mix.

“Good afternoon, Mistress Dase.”

Turning to the source of the call, Adam observed a young boy loping along on the far side of the street. The bright-faced boy sported a wide grin; his lanky frame was clad in the period clothes of a reenactor.

“Good afternoon, Master Robert,” she called, grinning back.

Watching the boy, Adam’s mind homed in on one point in particular about the intriguing woman.

“You’re name is Daze?”

“Hmm,” she murmured, turning to face him.

“Like...in a daze?”

“No.” She shook her head. “D-A-S-E.” She spelled the name aloud.

“Oh.” He frowned, thinking she was as forthcoming as the proverbial clam. “And do you have a first name?”

“Of course. Do you?”

Nudged into remembering common courtesy, he extended his hand. “Adam,” he said. “Adam Grainger.”

“How do you do, Adam Grainger,” she returned in tones of deceptive formality, sliding her hand into his.

The touch of her palm against his, the slight friction of skin on skin, caused an electrifying sensation inside Adam unlike anything he had ever before experienced and way out of proportion to the minimal contact. The thought burst in his mind of what effect he might feel should he touch her lips, her breasts, her...

“Sunshine.” Her one spoken word scattered his erotically galloping thoughts.

Adam blinked, then frowned. “What?”

“My given name,” she explained.

“Sunshine?” He shook his head—an action he seemed to be repeating frequently since encountering her. “Sunshine Dase?” he asked in patent disbelief. “You’re kidding?”

“Nope.” Now she shook her head. “That’s it.” She grinned. “My parents were repressed flowerchildren wannabes. But most folks call me Sunny.”

Sunny Dase. Oh, Lord. Adam felt torn between a desire to laugh and an urge to groan. “I can’t imagine what kind of teasing you must have endured growing up,” he murmured in understanding and commiseration.

“It was a challenge,” she said, shrugging. “But, as you can see, I survived.”

“Very nicely,” he commended, skimming a glance over her caped form, feeling his body clench in the process. Nice barely described her appearance, but... Adam wondered if perhaps the trials and tribulations of her former years had been a contributing factor in her strange behavior.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she responded, dipping into another quick curtsy. “Actually, I’ve grown to like the name,” she confided. “It’s different.”

“It is that,” he agreed, drolly.

Sunny laughed. And when Sunny laughed like that, easy and spontaneously, the sound literally stole the breath from Adam’s body. He had to see her again.

The realization brought sharp awareness of time and place. The late autumn sun was swimming on the horizon, casting a soft golden glow on the surroundings, in the highlights streaking her hair, on her lovely face.

Adam was struck by a sudden overwhelming need to taste the ripe fullness of her lips.

“What are you so deep in thought about?” Sunny’s green gaze knowingly probed his eyes, as if reading his mind, discerning his intentions.

Adam had never before met a woman—anyone—with such expressive eyes. The perception in those green depths danced along his nervous system.

Naturally, he couldn’t reveal to her what he had been thinking, the desire heating his blood. An eerie intuition telling him she knew the truth of his thoughts, he blurted out, “I was contemplating my chances of success at convincing you to have dinner with me this evening.”

“Excellent.”

Her prompt response stopped his mental process cold. “Huh?” he said, sounding like a dullard, in all likelihood, because he felt extremely dull and slow-witted. Adam didn’t appreciate the feeling. He betrayed himself by stiffening.

Her soft smile smoothed his ruffled feathers. “Your chances of having me accept your invitation to have dinner with you are excellent,” she explained.

Astounded by the feelings of elation her acceptance gave him, Adam stared at her a long moment, assimilating the glittering facets of the sensation.

“Where?”

He frowned. “Where what?”

Her laughing eyes mocked him. “Where do you want me to meet you for dinner?” she said precisely.

“Oh. Oh.” Adam felt like an idiot, or worse, an awkward hormonally confused teenager. “You don’t have to meet me. I’ll come for you. If you’ll give me directions to...”

“Where are you staying?” she interrupted him to ask, the expression in her eyes softening.

“The Patrick Henry.” Adam indicated the upper end of Duke of Gloucester Street with a flick of his hand. “It’s across from the restored area, right along Route 60.”

“I know where it is.” Her expression grew pensive. “Look,” she went on after a thoughtful moment, “I’m located close by, right on the fringes of the area. Depending on where you want to have dinner, it would probably be simpler for me to meet you there.” She arched her eyebrows. “Did you have a particular place in mind?”

“Well... no,” Adam admitted, shrugging. “Actually, although I have made reservations later in the week for several places that were recommended to me by friends, since I only arrived early this afternoon, I was planning to eat at the motel restaurant tonight.”

“Then why change your plans?” she said reasonably. “I’ve eaten there—the food’s good. I’ll meet you in the lobby at... What time?”

Adam was shaking his head before she’d finished. “Not necessary,” he insisted. “I’ve got a rental car. I can pick you up. It’ll be dark. You shouldn’t—do not—have to make your own way to the motel.”

“I’m a big girl, I can find my way,” she said wryly. “It’s no hassle for me to hop onto the bus that circles the area. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

Adam opened his mouth to argue, then immediately shut it again. Her chiding expression said volumes more than her spoken assurances. Advising himself to quit while he was ahead and before she changed her mind, he sighed in defeat.

“Okay, in the lobby at...say, six-thirty?”

“What time is it now?”

He glanced at his watch. “Four thirty-two.”

“Suppose we say six,” she suggested, her smile enticing. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I’m famished.”

“Six is fine.” He offered her a teasing smile. “I’d hate to see you waste away to a shadow of your former self.”

“Terrific. See you then.” Laughing, she turned away, then slanted a look at him over her shoulder and softly called, “By the way, my former self was little more than a shadow.”

Not again. A sinking sensation mingling with the anticipation perking inside him, Adam watched her stride away, the long cape swirling around her trim ankles.

Two

“Damn.”

Washing the trickle of blood from the razor nick on his jaw, Adam dug a styptic pencil out of his shaving kit and grimaced as he applied it to the minor wound. The grimace wasn’t in reaction to the sting of the pencil, but to the visible tremor in his fingers.

Ridiculous, Adam decided, flinging the towel aside and striding into the bedroom.

He was always cool, collected and logical. He ran a far-ranging family-owned corporation. He never lost his composure, maintaining his vaunted, steel-edged control through even the most intensely fought business battles.

The very idea of him suffering so much as a slight case of the shakes over the prospect of spending time with a woman was a concept beyond the pale.

Ms. Sunny Dase—preposterous name!—intrigued him, Adam concluded, absently rejecting one shirt in favor of another, too distracted to take note of his unusual indecisiveness concerning his choice of apparel.

Every article of clothing Adam possessed was well made, elegant, tasteful and outrageously expensive. Whatever he chose to wear suited him and any occasion. Formal wear excepted.

Should he wear a tie—or go for a more casual look?

The thought jolted Adam into the realization that he was actually agonizing over a necktie.

Was he losing his mind...or simply bewitched?

The follow-up thought brought a wry smile to his compressed lips. The consideration of bewitchment immediately wiped the smile from his mouth.

Nonsense.

Sunny was an enigma, a puzzle, nothing more. Adam had earned a reputation for his ability to untangle puzzles and expose supposed enigmas.

But she did possess the power to excite him. He had felt the zing and sting of that power with his first sight of her striding across the Palace Green.

Forgoing the neck wear, Adam felt a recurring sizzle dance along his nerve endings as he shrugged into his jacket. He would be meeting Sunny in exactly...

He shot a glance at his wristwatch. Another jolt went through him. While he had been musing on his limited sartorial section, time had slipped away from him.

Scooping his loose change, wallet and keys from atop the dresser, he shoved them into his pockets as he strode into the sitting room of the suite, then to the door. He had never known a woman to be on time. Still, he had three and a half minutes to get his rump down to the lobby—in the unlikely event Sunny proved to be the exception.

She was waiting for him.

The sight of her, standing at ease and relaxed next to the impressive bust of Patrick Henry on a pedestal in the lobby, not only surprised but delighted Adam.

The contrast in her attire alone was startling. Whereas before she had appeared the picture of an eighteenth-century maiden in her period costume, with her hair pulled up into a loose knot on top of her head, Sunny now projected an image of an ultramodern, thoroughly “with it” young woman.

She was dressed in a severely cut, perfectly fit, austere-looking black suit, with a figure-hugging pencil-slim ankle-length skirt, the side seems slit to just above the knees. The peek of curvaceous calves, in addition to her enticingly rounded bottom and long, slender thighs, caused a sudden dry tightness in Adam’s throat.

Swallowing with some difficulty, he shifted his gaze, giving her person a more encompassing look.

The severity of her black suit was balanced by a snowy white blouse with a froth of lace at the collar and cuffs, the lace spilling over the backs of her hands. Sheer black nylon encased her legs. Her slim, delicate feet were enhanced by highheeled black suede evening pumps.

Slowly, reluctantly, Adam dragged his gaze up along the alluring lines of her body and settled on her face. She appeared to be wearing a minimum of makeup: perhaps a light, translucent base, a brush of color on her cheeks; a darkening swish of mascara on her lashes; a clear, true red applied to her luscious lips.

Gliding his tongue over his own lips, Adam forced his glance away from temptation, past her straight nose, the glowing skin of her cheeks, the alert and bright interest in her curious green eyes, to the top of her head and...

And her hair... Oh, Lord, her hair. Sunny’s wavy mane of gold-streaked brown hair tumbled onto her shoulders and halfway down her elegantly straight spine.

In truth, the sight of her took his breath away. Adam’s fingers twitched with the desire to spear into the alluring brown mass; his mind reeled with an image of those gold-streaked strands spread out on a pillow...his pillow.

But first things first, he advised himself, crossing the lobby to her. Dinner, then...

“Hello,” he said, attempting to corral his bedbent thoughts as he came to a halt beside her. “Were you early or am I late?”

“Oh...hi.” Sunny flashed a nerve-crunching smile at him. “Since it is now precisely six, you are not late. So I guess I was a few moments early. No big deal.”

“Even so, I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” Adam replied, appalled by the slight catch in his voice, the rapid beat of his heart, the quivery sensation inside him...all direct effects of her disarming smile.

Boy, he mused, inwardly shaken by his response, mentally and physically. He had heard about dynamite smiles, had even witnessed a few, but this woman’s smile went way beyond dynamite; megaton came closer to the mark.

“Still hungry?” he asked politely, quashing a different hunger expanding inside.

“Starved.” Though her tone was somber, her eyes, those amazingly expressive green eyes, conveyed her understanding of and amusement at his unstated appetite.

Batten down the hatches, Mabel, there’s a rocka-butzer storm gathering on the horizon.

The sudden recollection of one of Adam’s late father’s favorite expressions in times of trouble had a settling effect on his equilibrium, easing the strain from his voice, allowing him to return her perceptive smile.

“In that case, I suppose I’d better feed you.” Taking her by the hand, Adam steered her to the restaurant.

“My hero,” Sunny murmured, batting her eyelashes—her long, dark eyelashes—at him. Then, as she moved around the bust, she drew her fingers along the chiseled jawline of Patrick Henry. “It’s a good likeness,” she said, slanting a teasing look at him. “The fiery radical would be pleased.”

Adam laughed at her whimsy, but composed himself enough to give his name to the pleasantfaced hostess standing in the restaurant entrance, checking names against the leather-bound reservation list in her hands.

“Ah, yes, good evening, Mr. Grainger.” She offered a smile and an ushering movement of her hand. “Right this way. Your table is ready.”

“Have you eaten here before?” Sunny asked, after they were seated and proffered menus, when the hostess had departed.

Adam shook his head. “No. I didn’t get in until early this afternoon. I had lunch on the plane.” He grinned. “Unlike some, I find nothing wrong with the in-flight food. In truth, I thoroughly enjoy it.”

“So do I.” She grinned back at him. “Does that make us peasants or merely plebeian?”

“Or, just maybe, it makes us too honest to affect a pseudosophistication,” he suggested.

“Yes,” she agreed, giving him the chills with the soft look she swept over him. “You always were...honest, I mean, almost to a fault.”

Not again, Adam thought, smothering a groan. Not yet another not-too-veiled reference to them having met, known each other before.

Still, he couldn’t deny the spark of interest her remark generated.

Studying her, and more than a little impressed by her clear-eyed and direct regard in return, Adam decided that perhaps it was time he probed the depths of her assumed previous knowledge of him, his personality.

“We’ve only just met,” he said. “How could you possibly know that I’ve always been honest.”

Her eyes darkened, as if with an inner amused knowing. A gently mocking smile kissed her lips, making his mouth ache with desire to do likewise.

“I’ve known almost forever.”

“Indeed?” The skeptical arch of one eyebrow underscored his tone of voice.

“Yes.” Though quiet, her tone was absolute.

“But, how?” he persisted. “How could...”

Adam broke off with the arrival of a waiter at the table. He concealed his impatience until they had given their drink and dinner orders and the man had left them.

“How?” he repeated the moment they were alone again. “How could you know anything about me?”

“Oh, Andrew...”

“Adam,” he interjected, his voice taut and impatient. “My name is Adam.”

“Of course.” She winced. “I’m sorry.” The expression in her eyes revealed the depth of her contrition. “I...I’m having some difficulty keeping the two separated.”

Adam was struck by a blast of feeling, too close to jealously to be acceptable. Dammit, he thought, he barely knew the woman. How could he be jealous?

“We are so alike, this Andrew and I?” he asked, in a harsh tone made almost cruel by his inner struggle of denial.

“Yes.” A gentle smile curved her lips. “But please try to understand, you are alike because you are one, the same being, the same soul.”

Oh, hell. A New Age basket case.

Adam wasn’t into New Age. He was too busy staying on the cutting edge of his current age.

Disappointment bruised his mind. Sunny had caught Adam’s interest from his first sight of her. She was not only lovely but fascinating, exciting, different. Too different.

“You’re having trouble dealing with this.” Her voice was soft, her tone sympathetic.

Staring at her, at the concerned expression dimming the glow in her fantastic eyes, Adam was only vaguely aware of the waiter silently placing their drinks in front of them, then moving away again.

“Have a sip of your wine. It might help a little,” she suggested.

Distracted, Adam picked up the stemmed goblet, took a generous swallow of the dark red wine, then frowned. Why had he ordered it? Other than for toasting purposes on holidays, birthday gatherings, weddings and such, he didn’t drink wine, preferring light beer, or when in need of fortification and something stronger, bourbon or scotch, neat.

He transferred his frown to Sunny. “Did I order this—what is it, anyway? Burgundy?” It was a pure guess.

“Yes.” The glow flared to life again in her eyes. “And yes, you did order it.”

“Odd.”

“Not to me,” she said, her smile nostalgic. “It was always your wine of preference...even with a fish or fowl course.”

Adam felt his facial muscles tighten and his stomach clench. “Don’t start that always business again. I’m not buying into it.”

“You will...eventually.” Once more, her smile and the glow in her eyes faded. “At least, I pray you will.”

This was getting heavy, Adam told himself. And he was getting edgy.

“Look, Sunny,” he began, determined to stay calm and reasonable. “I’m not sure...” he broke off as the waiter put in another appearance at the table, this time to deliver their soup course.

After smiling and thanking the waiter, Sunny glanced down at the creamy potato-leek soup the man had set before her, then back up at Adam.

“Could we postpone further discussion until after we’ve eaten?” she asked. “I truly am very hungry.”

It wasn’t easy, but drawing a deep breath, Adam managed to temper his impatience. Besides, he was hungry, too, and the soup did look inviting.

“Okay.” He watched her take a sample taste of her soup; his breath got stuck in his throat as her lips closed around the bowl of the spoon. “Good?” he asked, despairing of the dry catch in his voice.

“Mmm,” Sunny nodded, dipping the spoon into the creamy broth once again. “Heavenly.”

“You’re right,” he murmured, after his first sip. “Absolutely heavenly.”

Though she smiled, she made no response.

Adam concluded that when the hungry Sunny involved herself with eating, her involvement was complete. He couldn’t help but wonder if she became as deeply involved while in the process of assuaging a different, more earthy appetite.

The soup was consumed in silence. While polishing off his soup, Adam was consumed by erotic images of Sunny, feasting on the sustenance of his mouth.

“Oh, that was wonderful,” she said when the last drop had been scooped from the bowl. She grinned. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have had to order the salmon. I could have made a meal of a large bowl of the soup.”

I could make a meal of you.

The smile that tugged at Adam’s lips was more in response to his thought than Sunny’s impish grin.

“We could change your...” he began, then shook his head on sight of the waiter approaching the table, a large tray balanced on one palm and held aloft at shoulder level. “No, we couldn’t,” he went on, lowering his voice as the waiter came to a stop. “You’ll have to settle for the fish.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” She shrugged. “I like fish...as you should know.”

Adam scowled at her and at the taunting remark and undertones of her voice.

Of course, with the waiter there, he could not retaliate or even question her assertion, not without sounding like a reject from a New Age publishing house.

“Mmm, it all looks and smells delicious.” Sunny gave the waiter a decidedly sunny smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, returning her smile full wattage, while sparing a mere glance at Adam. “Ma’am, sir, enjoy your dinner.” Giving a half bow from the waist, he withdrew from the table.

“Nice young man, isn’t he?” she asked, brightly.

“Charming,” he said, darkly.

Her lips twitched; her eyes teased. “I do love the sound of that gentle Virginia drawl.”

Adam grunted and slanted a pointed look at her plate. “I thought you were starving?”

“That was before the soup,” she said, pleasantly. “Now I’m merely hungry.”

“Then eat.” Adam was chagrined by the snarling sound of his voice, and even more so by the startling rush of emotions that had caused it.

That old green-eyed monster again?

First that gut-wrenching twinge because he thought Sunny’s reference to an Andrew was to an actual, living, breathing man, and now because of a pleasant, soft-spoken—incidentally good looking—young waiter?

Adam rejected the very idea; or at least he tried to reject it. Problem was, it wouldn’t stay rejected. His mind persisted in examining the phenomenon.

Could he actually be jealous of the smile, the brief attention she had bestowed upon the seemingly ubiquitous waiter? he mused uncomfortably.

Ridiculous. He barely knew the woman—and he wasn’t too sure about her mental stability. The very idea of him being jealous was ludicrous in the extreme.

So why, then, was he feeling as if he wanted to break things, starting with the Virginia drawlvoiced waiter?

“Have you lost your appetite?”

Sunny’s question intruded upon his unappealing ruminations. For the salmon in dill sauce, yes, he answered in silent frustration. But for her, dammit, no.

Noting with some surprise that she had made inroads into her meal, Adam avoided responding by posing a query of his own. “Is it good?”

“Excellent.” She smiled; his pulses raced. “But why not try it for yourself?”

He did. She was right. It was excellent. But Adam was no longer hungry. Not for food. Nevertheless, he continued to eat, growing more restless by the minute.

When at last they had finished and the charming waiter had served their coffee and removed their plates and himself, Adam determined to have answers.

“Okay, you said you’d explain after dinner.” He arched his eyebrows. “I’m listening.”

Sunny gnawed on her lip and glanced around at the laughing, chatting diners crowding the room. “Not here,” she murmured. “I’d prefer somewhere more private.”

“Like one of the seating areas in the lobby?”

“Or, better yet... Perhaps, your room?”

Three

Sunny’s prosaically delivered suggestion had an electrifying effect on Adam.

Did she realize the connotations he could... was attaching to her proposal? he reflected, staring at her expectant expression in surprised disbelief. Or, he further mused, had she tossed out a deliberate proposition?

The concept didn’t seem to fit what Adam had thus far garnered about her character—but on the other hand, what he actually knew about Miss Sunshine Dase was in fact sorely lacking in evidence.

“Of course, if you prefer one of the seating areas...” she said, shrugging when his silence lengthened.

“Not at all,” Adam was quick to assure her, taking a deep swallow of his coffee in hopes of relieving the sudden dryness in his throat. “You just caught me off guard,” he admitted, draining the cup before continuing, “I...er, you’re not afraid or even uncertain of being alone with me?”

“Not at all,” Sunny mimicked, softening her gentle mockery with a confident smile. “I have never, would never, will never be afraid or uncertain of being alone with you.”

“Why not?” he asked at once, his voice harsh with demand. “What assurance do you have?”

“Because I know you...so well.” Her voice held a note of wistfulness, her eyes, those deep green windows to her soul, were shadowed with regret. “I know you would sacrifice yourself before you would deliberately hurt me.”

Oh, God. What had he gotten into here? Adam asked himself, feeling torn between conflicting, yet equal desires. While part of him, the down-toearth, logical part, urged him to retreat, another part, the captivated, fascinated part, demanded he forge ahead, explore the possibilities.

The inner conflict must have been written plain as day in his expression; it became obvious that Sunny had no difficulty reading him like an open book.

“You can always change your mind,” she offered, keeping her expression devoid of whatever she might be feeling.

“No.” The instant decision made and voiced, Adam placed his napkin on the table. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Sunny didn’t respond verbally; she made her intent clear by mirroring his act of discarding her napkin.

After signing the check and tipping the waiter, Adam escorted Sunny from the restaurant and directly to the elevators.

In a silence fraught with questions, doubts and a building desire he could not deny, Adam stood beside her during the brief ascent to his floor and walked beside her along the hallway to his suite.

Tension crawled along his nervous system as he pulled shut the door behind them, enclosing them in privacy. A wry smile touched his lips at the thought that at least the bed wasn’t the first thing they saw on entering the sitting room.

“Very nice,” she murmured, glancing around the room before raising teasing eyes to his. “Do you always take a suite of rooms when you travel?”

“No.” Adam shook his head. “I usually don’t spend enough time in the room to care, either way. I took this suite simply because it was all that was available.” He flicked a hand to indicate the cozy grouping of settee and two chairs. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“In a moment,” she said, tossing her cape over the back of a chair as she crossed to the wide window, framed by the open drapes. “The pool area looks rather desolate,” she observed, turning her head to smile at him. “Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, wondering how much time she would waste on small-talk inanities before getting around to meaningful explanations. “But, then, despite the mild weather, it is December, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She turned her back on the window, as if dismissing the scene beyond the pane. “Less than two weeks to go until Christmas.”

“Hmm.” Adam nodded; one subject closed. “May I get you a drink? There’s a good selection in the mini bar.”

Sunny started to shake her head no, then appeared to change her mind. “Yes, why not. I have a lot to tell you. It’ll keep my throat moist. I’ll have the white wine...” She paused to smile. “You may have the red.”

So, she wasn’t planning to procrastinate, he thought, going to the small drinks cabinet while Sunny settled into one corner of the settee. Breaking the seal, he unlocked the cabinet, removed two small bottles, then emptied the contents into the stemmed glasses set on a tray atop the cabinet.

After handing one of the glasses to her, he settled into the other corner of the settee.

The way Sunny sat, knees together, legs turned into the settee, gave him a tantalizing view of her shapely calves and trim ankles, revealed by the gap in her side-slit skirt. The sight both excited and amused Adam. Here he was, unbelievably turned on by the everyday look of a woman’s legs below the knee. Incredible.

“Your health,” he murmured. Suddenly very thirsty, he raised the glass to her before bringing it to his lips to sample the dark red liquid.

“And yours,” she said, following his example.

Adam was barely aware of her response; he was too distracted by the sudden realization of having chosen the wine, a cabernet this time, instead of his normally preferred can of light beer.

Weird. And yet...

The astounding thing was, he found himself savoring the rich, full-bodied flavor of the wine.

Weird, indeed. But then, weird seemed par for the course ever since his first encounter with Sunny, when she had appeared to recognize him and called him Andrew.

Sunny took a sip of her wine, then glided the tip of her tongue over her upper lip.

A deliberate, seductive maneuver? Adam wondered. A flickering coil of heat in the foundation of his manhood gave ample evidence that if it was a deliberate ploy, it had definitely succeeded. He was experiencing the discomfort to prove it.

“Before I begin,” she began, “I would like you to answer a question for me.”

What game was she playing, anyway? Adam took another swallow of his wine to conceal his cynical smile.

Nevertheless, cynicism or not, he decided to play along with her—for the moment.

“Ask anything you like,” he invited expansively. “I have nothing to hide.”

If Sunny noticed the emphasis he’d placed on the “I,” she chose to ignore it.

“From your mention of friends having recommended restaurants to you and your reaction to the wagon on the street earlier, I presume that this is your first visit to the restored area of Colonial Williamsburg.” She raised her delicately arched eyebrows. “Am I correct?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “Why?”

“And...” She smiled. “You’re obviously alone.”

“Yes.” His frown deepened. “Why?”

“That’s what I’m getting at.”

“Excuse me?” Adam made a production of exhaling. “I’m afraid I missed something. You want to back that up and run it by me again?”

“You are here alone.”

Impatience scraped against Adam’s nerves. “I thought I had made that clear.” His voice and the muscles in his jaw were tight. “Yes, I am alone.”

“Why?”

When had their roles switched? Adam asked himself, striving to hang on to control. When had Sunny become the interrogator and he the interrogatee?

“Why am I alone?” His voice had a grating edge.

“Why are you here... alone.” Sunny gave a quick impatient shake of her head. “Why did you come here alone?”

Good question, Adam conceded. Too bad he didn’t have a good answer. He pondered a response for a moment, then with a mental shrug, decided to go with the unvarnished truth, odd as it might sound.

“Believe it or not, I’m here, at this family time of year, because of a whim.”

“A whim,” she repeated, her wry tone giving evidence of disbelief. “Of course.”

“A whim,” he repeated, adamantly.

“You have no family?”

“Yes, I have family,” he answered. “Two brothers and a sister, all younger and all unmarried...” He paused a beat before adding, “As I am.”

“No wife or significant other?”

“No wife or significant other,” he echoed, grimacing at the current term for girlfriend or lover. He hesitated, almost afraid to ask the next logical question, yet aware he had to know the answer. “Do you have family somewhere, your parents, siblings...a husband?”

“Parents, yes, and a brother and sister, both older, both married, with one child apiece, all living in northern California.”

“No husband?” He arched his brows. “Or significant other in your life?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I could ask the same of you.” Her eyebrows rose in reflection of his.

Adam felt caught in a trap of his own devising. He didn’t want to answer, resisted the self exposure of explaining his reluctance to commit to any one woman. And yet, he wanted to hear her reasons for remaining single.

Sunny waited in calm patience for him to respond, as if she somehow knew the inner struggle he was waging. To Adam’s way of thinking, her apparent knowing was more than unnerving, it was damn creepy.

She raised her glass and sipped at the wine, all the while maintaining eye contact with him.

Adam smiled, conceding victory to her in the silent war of wills. “I have just never found a woman with whom I wanted to share either my life or my space,” he said, hoping the explanation was enough to satisfy her. He should have known better, even after such a short acquaintance.

“Found?” Sunny pounced on the word. “Found presupposes that you’ve been looking.”

“Not actively,” he hedged. “Have you?” he shot back. “Been looking, I mean?”

“Actively,” she admitted. “For you.”

Adam heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Why do I have this feeling I’ve landed in the middle of a particularly weird episode of ‘The Twilight Zone’?” he asked, as much of himself as of her.

She laughed. “Scary, huh?”

“More like dumb,” he retaliated.

“Perhaps.” She shrugged. “Nevertheless, for certain reasons we are both unattached.”

Adam slowly expelled another heartfelt sight. “So, you’re basically alone here.”

“Yes. My choice.” She smiled. “And you are here, now, in reaction to a whim.”

Adam suddenly felt funny—funny odd, not funny ha-ha. He didn’t like the feeling, and so felt compelled to explain, which wasn’t easy since he wasn’t accustomed to explaining his motives or actions to anyone and since he wasn’t certain he himself understood the whim, or impulse, or whatever.

“A couple of weeks ago, I turned on the TV to catch the news,” he began, hoping to discern some sense of it for himself while explaining to her. “As a rule, I watch little television, but, since I head up the family owned business, I do like to stay abreast of what’s going on in the business world.”

“You’re the CEO?”

“Yes—” he smiled “—which only means I ride herd over the other members of my family.” Then he laughed aloud. “We’re a diverse and farflung bunch, one running a casino in Deadwood, one managing a ranch in Montana, the youngest doing her fashion thing in San Francisco. And then there are other interests, oil, computer software,” he went on, wondering why in the hell he was babbling away to her, when he was usually closedmouth. And yet, his smile wry, he continued on, just the same.

“It’s a tough job but somebody has to do it. Since I’m the eldest of the lot, I inherited the job of holding the corporate strings and keeping them from tangling.”

“And I suspect you do it very well,” she murmured.

He shrugged. “There have been no complaints... so far.” Frowning at his sudden propensity to shoot his mouth off, Adam brought himself back to the point of discussion. “At any rate, I was in front of the TV. During a break, a commercial came on extolling the attractions of Colonial Williamsburg at Christmastime.” He gave a half laugh, half snort. “I wasn’t even paying attention... and yet...”

“You felt drawn,” she murmured into the quiet space left by his voice trailing off.

“Yes.” Adam cringed inwardly at the detectable strain in his voice.

“Yes.” The understanding in her eyes reflected her solemn tone. “I know.”

“How do you know?” he demanded, the strain in his voice rough edged.

“I’ve felt it, that compelling draw,” she replied, her voice a bare whisper. “Many times.”

“I don’t understand any of this.” Gulping down the last of the wine, Adam rose and went to the drinks cabinet to withdraw another small bottle. “Are you ready for another?” he asked, in a near snarl.

“No.” Sunny shook her head, setting her hair rippling against her shoulders and back.

Adam shuddered in response to the sight of the long, swirling strands, the gold highlights glinting in the glow from the table lamps. His hands ached to bury themselves in the silken mass. In reflex, his fingers clenched around the delicate stem of the wineglass.

“You’re angry,” she murmured, staring pointedly at his white-knuckled grip.

And aroused, he replied in silent frustration, glaring at the offending digits. When had he ever responded to a woman—any woman—like this? Never. Adam knew full well that he had never before in his life, not even as a young and admittedly horny man reacted so strongly to a woman.

“Adam.”

“What?” Startled by the harsh sound of his own voice, he sliced a quick, hard look at her.

“Come sit down, please.” She drew a slow breath, then went on, “I have a story... several stories, to tell you.”

Recalling the tales of Scheherazade, Adam smiled, wryly, took a fortifying swallow of his wine, and returned to settle again on the opposite corner of the settee.

“About what?” He raised his brows in a deliberate arch of skepticism.

“Seasons past,” she answered, her beautiful, revealing eyes filled with gut-wrenching sadness.

Shifting mental gears away from the tales of Scheherazade, Adam suddenly recalled another tale and the visit of Dickens’s fictional ghost to Scrooge. Smiling in an attempt to ease the tension in the muscles banding his stomach, he repeated the miser’s response to the specter.

“Long past?”

Sunny’s return smile was soft, melancholic.

“Our past.”

Adam had reached the point of explosion. Leaping to his feet and nearly spilling the wine in the process, he took the two steps necessary to close the distance between them. Bending down, he brought his face to within inches of hers.

“Dammit, woman,” he erupted. “We have no past. I never laid eyes on you before this afternoon.” Even as he made the claim, Adam felt a twinge of conscience, recollecting the shock of recognition he’d experienced earlier as she had come abreast of him in the street.

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