“Ah, Meg, do you know how hard this is?”Joe groaned

“Yeah, I think I do.” Meg pushed seductively against him. “That is, unless you have a gun stuffed down your pants—a rather large-caliber gun, too, I might add,” she added, grinning wickedly.

He stared at her, speechless. Then he found his voice. “What I meant was, feeling the way I do about you and not being able to act on it…do you know how hard that is?”

“So show me,” she dared.

Joe’s breath caught. “Are you sure, Meg, really? I mean, with everything going on and how crazy it’s all been—”

“Joe, I sent out an invitation. Are you telling me no?” She pulled back to look into his eyes.

Joe gave up trying to reason and pressed into her. “What can I say, Meg? Its too hard to resist you.”

Note from the editor…

An Evening To Remember… Those words evoke all kinds of emotions and memories. How do you plan a romantic evening with your guy that will help you get in touch with each other on every level?

Start with a great dinner that you cook together. Be sure to light several candles and put fresh flowers on the table. Enjoy a few glasses of wine and pick out your favorite music to set the mood. After dinner take the time to really talk to each other. Hold hands and snuggle on the sofa in front of the fireplace. And maybe take a few minutes to read aloud selected sexy scenes from your favorite Harlequin Temptation novel. After that, anything can happen.…

That’s just one way to have an evening to remember. There are so many more. Write and tell us how you keep the spark in your relationship. And don’t forget to check out our Web site at www.eHarlequin.com.

Sincerely,

Birgit Davis-Todd

Executive Editor

Blind Date

Cheryl Anne Porter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To all those women who had to kiss toads until princes finally showed up. Especially the wonderful doctors, nurses and dear friends on my health care team in Tampa, Florida.

Dear Reader,

On August 25, 2004, wonderfully talented Harlequin Temptation author Cheryl Anne Porter passed away after a valiant struggle with cancer. As her friends, we—the other “Temptresses”—wished to share a few of our fond memories of this vibrant, witty woman.

Without fail, all of us remember laughing with her. Whether because of her outrageous stories, the devilish gleam in her eye, or, as Wendy Etherington remembers, a name tag saying “Queen of the Universe,” Cheryl Anne inspired a feeling of genuine happiness from the moment you met her. Carly Phillips recalls meeting Cheryl Anne in a hotel lobby, and says everyone was roaring with laughter within moments of her arrival. Jacquie D’Alessandro distinctly remembers the first time she heard Cheryl’s voice—sort of husky, and filled with humor. That warm, softly accented voice was something Leslie Kelly will never forget, as her first interaction with Cheryl Anne was in a phone call.

If you’ve read Cheryl Anne’s books, you probably know her a little yourself. Her voice shone brilliantly through her written words. Julie Kistler was struck by how much Cheryl reminded her of her books, being smart, fresh, genuine and totally original. And Kimberly Raye calls Cheryl one of those people who lives life “out loud,” pointing out that, like her books, she made people feel good. Julie Kenner finds comfort that Cheryl’s voice, humor and wit will continue to live on through the readers, old and new, who discover her books.

Several of us first met her at writers’ conferences, where she was a sought-after speaker. Joanne Rock credits Cheryl Anne with helping her learn to tap deeply into her emotions while writing. Vicki Lewis Thompson fondly recalls the way Cheryl Anne would whip out those pictures of her grandchildren whenever they ran into one another. And every one of us still laughs when we think of Cheryl Anne’s “Larry the hotel employee” story.

Jill Shalvis and Julie Elizabeth Leto were fortunate enough to work closely with Cheryl on the MEN OF CHANCE miniseries in Harlequin Temptation, and Jill loved getting to know her. Julie, who lived close to Cheryl Anne, says that on the day Cheryl died, their hometown experienced an awe-inspiring rainstorm that lasted all night—and no one who knew Cheryl was the least surprised that she could influence Mother Nature.

But even those of us who didn’t know her personally felt touched by her. Emily McKay is thankful for Cheryl Anne’s gifts to the writing community, through her brilliant workshops, her wonderful books and her insightful articles. Rhonda Nelson says that whether you were a good friend, met her but once, or had simply read her wonderful books, the mere thought of Cheryl Anne always evoked a smile.

Finally, Cheryl Anne’s editor, Brenda Chin, admits that she’s firmly in denial. She’s not yet willing to imagine not having the pleasure of collaborating on another book with Cheryl. Cheryl’s wit, her irreverence and her outrageousness will be greatly missed by her Harlequin family.

We hope you enjoy this last book by our very dear friend Cheryl Anne Porter. She crafted her stories with love, laughter and genuine emotion…the same way she lived her life. The humor, charm and warmth you’re about to experience is her last, personal gift to all of us. One we’re all very grateful to have received.

With love,

The Temptresses

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Prologue

“OKAY, ON THE COUNT of three, we start taking our clothes off. One—”

“Stop counting! We can’t just strip in a department store aisle, Meg!”

“Why not? It’ll teach them to put their fitting rooms in obvious locations, won’t it?”

Wendy gave her an exasperated look. “Either you quit it right now, or I’m going to call your mother on my cell phone and tell her what you’re doing. I don’t think the current president of the Women’s Garden Club will be amused.”

Meg Kendall assessed her best friend for seriousness of intent and decided Wendy Jones would do exactly as she’d threatened. Besides, Meg didn’t really intend to follow through with her daring plan. Her conservative upbringing hadn’t exactly encouraged wild spontaneity—but it was fun to kid about it. “Oh, all right, you win.” Shifting her armload of new spring outfits, Meg again scanned the vicinity for anything resembling a fitting room. “What now, fearless leader? Got any ideas?”

“Yes. We keep looking.” Doing just that, Wendy slowly turned around, searching. Suddenly, she pointed off to their left. “Ha. Right over there. See?”

Meg looked where Wendy indicated and saw a subtle but promising doorway cut into a wall of the very upscale department store anchoring one end of Tampa’s fabulous International Plaza. She brightened. “Good eye, Wendy.”

She set off, weaving her way around several carousels hung with pants and shirts. Mere feet from her destination, Meg was stopped by a restraining hand on her arm. She spun around to face her friend. “Whoa, head rush. What are you doing, Wendy?”

“We can’t go in there. These are—” she lowered her voice to a whisper “—the men’s fitting rooms.” Though equally laden with her own choices in outfits, Wendy managed to point above their heads.

Meg looked up, only now seeing the big blocky letters affixed above the entry. “Oh. So they are. Well, who cares?”

“I do. It’s against the law.”

“Oh, please. It used to be against the law for women to vote or go braless, but did that stop us? No.” Meg again surged forward.

Wendy held her firm. “Men could be in there undressing.”

Instant full-color, centerfold-quality snapshots popped into Meg’s mind. Hard-bodied athletes and cops and firefighters, all half-naked or better. Whew. She shook her head to clear the pictures. “Gorgeous men with their clothes off. How, exactly, is that supposed to dissuade me?”

Wendy released Meg’s arm. “What if they look like Maury instead?”

A replacement mental vision of the short, barrel-chested and blustery four-thousand-year-old sweetheart of a little old man who lived in the same complex as she and Wendy did in trendy South Tampa had Meg grimacing her distaste. “Thanks. Now I have to gouge out my mind’s eye.” She shook her head to clear the image. “Nice try. But I’m still game. I’m tired, my arms are about to fall off from carting these clothes all over the place, and I’m not getting any younger.”

“Same here, but first let’s think this through…”

“Oh, please, Wendy, not that.”

“Just listen. If we go in there, we run the risk of getting caught by the security guards and being charged with a crime, disowned by our families and convicted. If that happens, we’ll be sentenced to jail, where, just to survive, we will have to become some big, sweaty chicks’ bitches—”

“Big, sweaty— Where do you get this stuff?” Meg could hardly believe some of the things that came out of her cute blond, blue-eyed friend’s mouth.

“I’m not done. You have to promise me that if we get thrown into jail, we’ll pretend to be each other’s bitch so no one else will mess with us.”

Disbelief rounded Meg’s eyes. “You’re serious, aren’t you.”

Wendy nodded. “Go on…promise. I’m waiting.”

Knowing from long experience that Wendy would not budge until Meg promised her, she exhaled dramatically. “All right, fine. If we get caught and thrown in jail, I promise we will—and I can’t believe I am even going to say this—pretend to be each other’s…bitch. There.”

“And no farming me out in exchange for cigarettes or chocolate.”

“Seriously?” Meg pretended to weigh the pros and cons of such a course of action—Wendy promptly smacked her arm a glancing blow. “Ouch! Okay, fine on the cigarettes. I don’t smoke, anyway. But if it comes down to you or chocolate, I’m giving you up, honey.”

“That’s not funny—”

“Look, if you don’t have the guts for this, keep looking for the women’s fitting rooms. But don’t expect me to wait for you once I’ve found the dress of my dreams.”

Wendy rolled her eyes. “Oh, whatever. But one of these days, I’ll figure out why I let you talk me into doing dumb things.”

Meg instantly brightened. “It’s not dumb, and you do it because you secretly admire my courage.”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“I know it is.” With Wendy once again on her heels, Meg breezed under the forbidden arch. Quickly, she moved down the row of louvered doors, checking to see that each one was indeed empty. For all her bravado, she didn’t want to embarrass or alarm some guy. Or go to jail. Or be anybody’s bitch.

From behind her, Wendy said, “Back to Maury Seeger, he’s quite the character.”

Meg couldn’t help but warm to the subject of their elderly neighbor. “Maury and his Mafia-mobile,” she said, and smiled. Meg could visualize the little old man’s hulking, chrome-armored black tank of a car. “I just love Maury and his stories. The way he’s always going on about how he was a Mafia don in his younger days and how they called him The Stogie because of his cigars.”

“But don’t you think Maury—and I mean this in a loving way—has got to have a screw loose? Maybe a whole handful loose?”

Meg shrugged. “Probably. Who doesn’t?” Having finished casing the room, she said, “Oh, good, come on—they’re all empty.” She chose a stall and indicated to Wendy that she should take the one next to hers. Stepping in and closing the door after her, Meg called out, “By the way, did I tell you that I’m going out Saturday night with Maury’s great-nephew from out of town?”

“Yeah, you did. That’s my point.” Wendy’s raised voice and the sound of a closing door told Meg her friend had gone into her own fitting room. “This guy is from the same murky gene pool as Maury. Have you thought about that, Meg? And what about Carl? You just broke up with him last weekend. Are you sure that’s really over?”

“Beyond sure. Carl’s a two-timing jerk. He is so out of the picture.” Tamping down her simmering anger born of catching Carl out on a date with a woman who definitely had not been her, Meg sorted out the outfits she’d brought with her and hung her choices on the hooks provided. “My evenings are free now, so why shouldn’t I go out? Besides, this isn’t an actual date. It’s a blind date that isn’t even really that.”

Wendy’s voice became teasing instead of scolding. “If it isn’t a date, why did it require an evening trek to the mall in the middle of the week to buy a new outfit?”

“It didn’t. We came for you. You’re the one looking for something to wear on the airplane Friday afternoon.” Meg tossed her purse down and unsnapped her lightweight denim dress. “I just got lucky and found some cool things I like. Anyway, what’s the harm in wanting to make a good first impression?”

“I knew it! Tell me again how this isn’t a date, blind or otherwise?”

“It’s not. It’s a favor.” Meg considered her first selection. A scarlet linen shift, the hem of which was encircled with tiny rows of multicolored chain-stitch embroidery. A definite possibility. “I’m doing a nice thing for a little old man who owns a spot in my heart. His nephew is coming and he asked me if I’d just show the guy around Tampa for one evening. Big deal. So I’ll give him the three-hour tour.” Standing in her bra and panties, Meg unzipped the linen dress and stepped into it.

“Meg, you do realize, don’t you, that this guy could be a serial killer?”

Meg settled the dress on herself and performed all the standard contortions a woman does to get a zipper up. “It’s not like I picked up some ax-wielding, smelly psycho from the side of the road. The guy’s a foreman for a construction company in Colorado.” She admired herself in the mirror. The dress fit perfectly. “Are you having any luck over there? I am totally loving this red linen dress.”

“Really? I’m not too sure about this blue suit. I like it, but if I’m going to wear it on my trip, I want it to be comfortable. Maybe I need the next larger size,” she said with a sigh.

The sound of an opening door told Meg that Wendy had just exited her fitting room. “Wait here for me, okay? I’m dressed and I have my purse. I’m going to go look for that next size.”

“All right,” Meg said. She reached around behind her to undo the zipper and about four or five inches from the bottom, the zipper balked…and then stuck.

Meg felt for the snag, found it and grimaced. Great. It was stuck on the lace at the top of her bikini underwear. And no matter how she fiddled with it, it would not come loose. Damn it. Short of pulling the dress down and off—along with her underwear, which would leave her naked from the waist down—Meg was doomed to stand there, frustrated. Where was Wendy when she needed her?

At that exact moment, the door to the next stall closed. Wendy was back! Meg opened her stall’s door, went to the next one and knocked on it. “Hey, before you take your clothes off, would you get this stupid zipper unstuck for me? It’s caught in my underwear.”

STANDING IN THE MEN’S fitting room stall, already shirtless but still in his jeans, Joe Rossi didn’t budge as his mind processed what he’d just heard. A knock on his door. A female voice. A zipper stuck in her underwear. And she wanted his help.

That didn’t happen every day.

But what the hell was she doing in here? Was she mistaking him for a boyfriend or husband? Probably. So this would be funny when she saw him and realized her mistake. Unable to resist his impulse to play this scene out, Joe opened the door, ready to see the surprise on her face and laugh with her.

Only, she wasn’t facing him. She had her back to him and her hands pinched in at her waist to keep the dress’s two back panels loose. Her head was bent forward, which sent cascades of shiny brunette hair falling forward over her shoulders. Joe swallowed. If her front was even half as nice as her back, then this was one really hot woman. She stood about average height, had a great figure—the parts he could see—and lightly tanned skin. Her bra was white and lacy. Her dress was open to below her waist. And, sure enough, the zipper was caught on her underwear.

Joe was torn. He wished he could help her out, but not for all the money in country music was he going to touch her. Not that he didn’t want to. He’d be pleased to. But he didn’t dare, not without informed consent, which this scenario did not imply—

“Sweetie, what are you doing back there? See if you can get the zipper unstuck. I don’t want to have to take off the dress, and my underwear along with it, so I can work on it myself. How embarrassing would that be?”

“More so for you than me,” Joe said.

The woman tensed, her head came up, and she apparently stared straight ahead. Suddenly, she swung around, her eyes wide, her hands covering her mouth as she stared at him in shock.

“Don’t scream.” Joe already had his hands out in front of him in a stop-right-there gesture. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you—”

She moved her hands about an inch away from her mouth. “You don’t have on a shirt.”

“You’re absolutely right. I do not have on a shirt.” A lucid corner of his brain—one not involved in this debacle—noted that her front was every bit as hot as her back. This woman smoldered. Wide brown eyes. Bedroom eyes. He flicked his gaze over her fine nose, down to her sensual, rosy lips, then her slender neck, to her full set of breasts—and right back up to her eyes. “I had just pulled off my shirt and was getting ready to try one on when you knocked on the door. I can show it to you if you like. The shirt, I mean.”

“No. Not necessary. I believe you.” She sounded breathless, apologetic. “I am so embarrassed. I thought you were someone else.” She tucked a stray lock of her thick, shiny, reddish brown hair behind her ear. “She was here a minute ago, I swear.”

“She?” Joe’s interest level ratcheted up significantly—a purely male response to a hot, possibly unattached and half-dressed woman.

“Yes. My friend Wendy,” the woman said distractedly as she blatantly checked him out. “Okay, I just have to say something, and it’s very politically incorrect. But all of this—” she waved her hand up and down him, indicating his bare chest “—wow. On the other hand, I am so sorry. How uncool am I? I’ve never even seen you before, and I just stick my booty right in your face.”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly…in my face.” Still, Joe’s testosterone-soaked brain created some really nice images of that. Really nice. But he probably shouldn’t linger there. Say something. “What, exactly, are you doing in the men’s fitting rooms, anyway?”

Wrinkling her nose, which only made her cuter, she sighed. “It’s a long story that involves women in line scratching and shoving, and I don’t come off very well in it. So, really, it’s not worth retelling.” She backed up a step and, hands behind her, clutched at her dress. “Anyway, I should just…go. Again, sorry. I really did think you were my friend.”

Though acutely aware that he shouldn’t say what he was thinking, given his situation with Linda, his would-be fiancée, Joe nevertheless shrugged. “I could be your friend, if you wanted me to be.”

Awareness flared in her eyes, but then she chuckled and shook her head. “I’m sorry, but a guy like you? If all you wanted to be was my friend, I’d have to kill myself.”

Amused and self-conscious, Joe swept his gaze down and away before recovering enough to face her again. When he did, he was trapped. He couldn’t look away from those mesmerizing brown eyes. “So…what do we do now?”

“Do?” She raised her eyebrows. “We don’t do anything. In fact, we pretty much never see each other again because this is the most embarrassing moment of my life.”

A stab of disappointment surprised Joe. “Are you sure?”

She frowned. “Well, unless we count that time in high school when my swimsuit bra came up as I jumped off the high dive—”

“No, I mean, are you sure that we can never see each other again?” He couldn’t believe he’d said that. He had no right. And yet, here he was flirting—and maybe wanting this chance encounter to go somewhere.

“Oh God,” she said, covering her face with her hands again, but not before he saw her turning red. “First I talk about my butt and then my boobs.” She was talking through the web of her overlapping fingers. “Can you just go back in that fitting room and forget about all this? Just pretend you never saw me and that this didn’t happen?”

His voice ringing with as much regret as humor, Joe said, “Sure. I can go back in the fitting room. But I have to tell you, it will be damned hard to forget this ever happened.”

1

“IT’S FRIDAY EVENING, Meg,” she said to herself, “you’re alone in your apartment, your date tonight is with a department store, and—wait for it—you’re talking to yourself. How sad is that?” She grabbed up her handbag, turned the light off in her spacious bedroom, and walked down the narrow, carpeted hallway toward the living room. At least she lived in a great place. The Mediterranean-style courtyard apartment complex, with over two hundred units, was the address for young singles in Tampa. “Okay, so maybe I’m not totally pathetic.”

At least she looked good, dressed in her new V-neck, white T-shirt and stretchy, hip-hugging khaki pants. She wished Wendy could see her in them, but her friend had left today for a wedding in Dallas. On the other hand, school was out for spring break. Finally. That meant no precious little third-graders to teach for a whole week. Bless their hearts. And tomorrow night she had a date-that-wasn’t-a-date. A date who also wasn’t Carl “the high school football coach and big, fat cheater” Woodruff. So, life was good.

However, it would be even better if, instead of going out with Maury’s great-nephew tomorrow, she’d see Mr. Hot and Shirtless from the dressing room debacle two evenings ago. That man was causing her to toss and turn at night with torrid dreams of anonymous sex in a fitting room. Meg felt the tightening of desire tense her tummy muscles. “Great. One look from the guy in the tight jeans and the oh-my-God chest and I’m signing up for sex with him in elevators, airplanes and swimming pools.”

Sighing over what could not be, Meg sorted through her designated junk drawer in the tiny wet bar in her living room. Spying what she was looking for, she grabbed up the small can of pepper spray—blame Wendy’s talk of serial killers—and dropped the defensive weapon into her purse. “Wait. Car keys.” Rooting through her purse for those, Meg grimaced in sympathy for Wendy, who was at her younger sister’s wedding. “Younger. That hurts.”

It didn’t especially fill Meg with joy, either. Here she was, already twenty-five—practically middle-aged—and she had yet to fire some guy’s jets to the point of a white dress and ring.

Meg found her keys and zipped her purse closed, wishing she could do the same thing with her bridal and hormonal thoughts. Apparently there was nothing like a wedding to make a woman rethink her whole love life. “What love life?” She checked her wristwatch. “Yikes. Nearly seven. Time to shop.”

Holding her purse by its straps, like a bunny by the ears, Meg made for the sofa, where earlier, she’d stashed the department-store bag that held the new red dress she intended to return. Somehow, it hadn’t looked quite as stunning at home. As she reached for the bag, though, she caught her reflection in the large, framed mirror behind the sofa. Straightening, she checked out her “studied casual” look. After all, a girl never knew who else might be at the mall on a Friday evening. Like maybe some exciting man exchanging a shirt he’d just bought?

Meg turned this way and that checking her makeup…her teeth…her outfit. She fluffed her hair—and stared in shock. “When did my hair start sticking out on the sides like that?”

She tossed her keys and purse onto the sofa, tucked her long, layered hair behind her ears and checked out the effect. “Sucks.” She freed her hair and ran her fingers through it, muttering, “It’s not my hair. It’s my ears. Dad’s ears. God, I could fly with these things, like Dumbo—”

The phone rang, cutting off her words. It was probably Mom, who had telepathically heard her daughter say something mean about her bank president father’s ears. Meg reached over to the end table to retrieve the phone and hit the talk button. “Hello.”

The voice at the other end of the line—definitely not her mother’s—raised Meg’s hackles and reminded her she really needed to get caller ID. “Hello, Carl. What do you want?”

She listened for a moment, and decided that was all she could take. “You know what Carl? It’s a little late to say you miss me. What happened to your other friend? You know, the one you had that nice little date with the other night? Yes, I am still mad. And no, I don’t think I’ll forgive you. In fact, I don’t even want to talk to you….” She paused for a minute, waiting for it to sink in. It didn’t. “No, Carl, you can’t come over and discuss this with me,” she said, trying again. “There’s nothing to talk about. Besides, I have plans.”

Shopping by one’s self could certainly be called plans. “No, Carl. Do not come over. I will not be here. I swear I won’t. What? Yes, you actually are that easy to get over. Shocking, isn’t it? Oh, but I do mean it—I’m over you. No, I won’t be here. Do not come over. And now I’m hanging up. Goodbye.”

Though she could still hear him talking, Meg angrily pressed the end button and plunked the phone back onto its base. “Take that, you cheating—”

An abrupt knocking on her front door cut off her unflattering sentiment. Instinctively, she headed for the door but stopped after one step and stood there, thinking. She looked at the phone and then the door. Could Carl have been standing right outside when he called on his cell phone? A cutesy trick like that was just like him, she decided, now striding stiffly toward her entryway. “Well, I’ll give him an earful he won’t soon forget. A real tongue-lashing, by God. And not the good kind, either.”

Muttering, her anger building, she stepped onto the tile squares of the minuscule entryway. Why it couldn’t be the nice, gorgeous, shirtless guy from the department store standing on the other side of the door when she opened it, she’d never know. Talk about your six feet of hunk with blue eyes and sandy-brown hair. Yeah, right. In my dreams. But who do I get? Stupid Carl and his little cell-phone trick.

Meg twisted the dead bolt and jerked the door open, already talking as it swung wider. “Look, I don’t think you’re one bit funny. I told you not to come over here, you big—” She came to an embarrassed stop as her disbelieving eyes and brain got together and made the connection. This wasn’t Carl. “Oh my God, I thought you were someone else—again!” she cried out. “What are you doing here?”

The six-foot hunk from the fitting room incident stared at her in shock. “You!”

“I know!” This was just too bizarre, and Meg’s mind wouldn’t process it. Feeling weak, as if she might faint, she jerked back and slammed the door in his face.

“NO, DON’T—” Too late. Joe knocked hard on the freshly slammed door. “Hey, are you okay in there?” He waited. No answer. Well, now what? He stood in the breezeway, feeling the warm evening air wash over him. “Hello!” he called out again, concerned. “Are you all right?”

While he worried, another part of his brain worked on the fact that it was her—the really hot woman from the dressing room. Man, she certainly hadn’t lost anything in the translation. But this couldn’t be right. Hell, if he played these odds in Vegas, he’d own the town.

Looking for help, Joe turned around and peered over the iron railing to the pool, four floors below. He glanced at the lush, tropical landscaping with its lighted walkway meandering through the generous grounds and the park benches set at intervals throughout. There wasn’t a soul in sight. He turned to the door again and knocked. “Listen, if you don’t answer me right now, I’m going to get the manager to open this door. So if you can hear me—”

“I can hear you” came a muffled voice from the other side of the closed door. “And I’m all right. I just wasn’t expecting you to be here. I thought you were stupid Carl.”

Joe weighed that for significance. “Carl must have really messed up.”

“Oh, he did. Big time.”

Acutely conscious of how their semi-shouting match might appear to the neighbors, Joe stepped in closer and said, “Look, I think I can explain this if you’ll just open the door. You already know I’m not Carl, and I swear I’m not a stalker. Maury Seeger sent me.”

A moment of silence ensued. “Are you a hit man?”

Uncle Maury had obviously been spreading his Mafia stories. “No.”

“Would you tell me if you were?”

“Probably not. But, look, think about it for a minute. Didn’t Maury tell you to expect a visitor, one who isn’t a hit man?”

“Yes and no. What’s your name and where do you live?”

This was a test. “Joe Rossi, and I live in Denver.”

“What do you do there?”

“I’m a construction foreman.”

“Okay, what’s my name? And, yes, I know what it is. I want to see if you do.”

“I figured.” He extracted a piece of paper from his pants pocket and consulted it. “Meg Kendall?”

“Right. So, what are you doing here, Joe Rossi?”

“We have a date at seven.”

The door opened and the sexy brunette stood there, frowning. “We do not. It’s tomorrow night. And it’s not really a date. It’s just an outing. So to speak.”

“No, it’s tonight…whatever it is.” He could not get enough of looking at her. She just oozed an appealing mix of humor and sleepy sensuality…like a lazy Sunday afternoon spent in bed teasing and laughing and making love. Joe exhaled loudly. “Are you all right? I mean, you looked so shocked a minute ago—”

“Yeah, I’m okay. It was just such a surprise. But our…outing is still tomorrow night.”

Just as she had in the fitting room, she roved her gaze up and down his length, making Joe feel like a stud in the show ring. Far from offended, he had all he could do not to strike a manly weightlifting pose and flex his biceps for her. “And yet, here I am. Tonight.”

“I noticed. And you’re Maury Seeger’s nephew? Really?”

“No. I’m his great-nephew. My grandmother was his late wife’s sister.”

Still holding onto the doorknob, she said, “Sounds complicated.”

“What hasn’t been so far?”

“True. But just so you know—” she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms “—I have pepper spray in my purse, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

That slowed Joe down for a second. “Okay. But you should know I carry a small Swiss Army knife, most of the functions of which I have no idea.”

While she digested that, Joe flicked his gaze up and down her, deciding she looked damn nice in pants. Long legs. She also filled out her T-shirt admirably. And her hair looked like she’d just climbed out of bed…and not in a bad way, either.

Because the silence between them was getting long and awkward, Joe said, “Tried on any good clothes lately?”

Her expression crumpled in amused embarrassment. “I cannot believe I did that. I am still absolutely mortified.”

Instantly charmed, Joe grinned. “It wasn’t all that bad, was it?”

She wagged a scolding finger at him. “Yes, it was. And I told you we couldn’t ever see each other again.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“True. But then you have to promise you will not, under any circumstances, ever bring up that incident again.”

Still feeling devilish, and pretty sure she could take a joke when it was on her, Joe replied, “You mean the part where you were half-naked in the men’s fitting rooms and poked your booty in my face?”

Crying out, she slapped at his arm—and missed because he danced back just in time. “I said don’t bring it up.”

Joe held up both hands in surrender. “Okay, it’s in the vault. I swear.”

“Good.” She relaxed enough to lean against the doorjamb and again cross her arms under her excellent breasts. He wished like hell she’d quit doing that and drawing his attention there. Or maybe he didn’t. “Seriously, what are you doing here tonight?” she said, drawing his attention back to her face. “Maury told me Saturday night.”

“And he told me tonight. He gets things wrong sometimes.”

Her expression radiated fond affection. “I know. But he’s such a sweet little man. Other than that, I don’t know what to say, Joe. I can’t really show you around Tampa tonight.” She turned just enough to look back inside her apartment before facing him again. “Or maybe I can. Or should. I don’t know. I don’t want to be here if…”

“Are we talking about Carl?”

She wrinkled her nose as if the man’s name smelled bad. “Yes. I told him not to come over, that I had plans—”

“Which didn’t include me.”

“Right. I have to return a dress. Which means I don’t have anything to wear right now. And that means we can’t go out tonight.”

Joe made it a rule never to try to understand or argue with feminine logic. Still, he stopped short of saying that she could go naked, for all he cared. “Well, if it makes any difference, you look great to me just as you are.”

She glanced down at herself. “I don’t know. I was going to wear—I mean tomorrow night—this little red, sleeveless linen sheath with tiny rows of embroidered stitching all around the hem that I bought. But then I decided I didn’t really like it and should take it back—” She cut off her own words. “You don’t care, do you.”

Joe shook his head apologetically. “It’s not that I don’t care. It’s just that, like most men, I’m genetically programmed to understand only football rules and beer commercials. All I heard of what you said was la-la-la-linen, la-la-la-stitching.”

She laughed. “You poor Neanderthal. It’s lonely out there in the cave, isn’t it.”

“It is. And it’s cold. But we have great hopes for something called fire.”

Certain they were now on better footing, Joe added, “So, here’s a plan. We go out tonight and tomorrow night. That way, neither one of us has it wrong. Or has to admit it. Or will be here should Carl show up.”

“He’d better not.” But still, she stood there as she looked up at him with those big, brown bedroom eyes.

“So, what’s Colorado like? Lots of cowboys and snowmobiles?”

All right, she was still undecided and this was a stall tactic. Joe wondered, though, if she felt the same subtle force he did, the one that urged him to step closer to her. “Let’s see…Colorado. Well, it’s rocky, like you’d expect. Mountainous. Trees everywhere. And cold. Lots of snow. A few cowboys. Now it’s your turn. Where are you from? Uncle Maury didn’t tell me much about you, except that you are beautiful and have a great personality.”

A tinge of pink stained her cheeks as she shook her head. “Maury exaggerates.”

“Not in this case.”

“And now you’re just being nice. I’m a native Floridian, from Gainesville, where my family still lives. And I teach third grade.”

“Gainesville, huh? Go ’Gators. But third grade? Suddenly, I understand your need for pepper spray.”

Again she laughed. “They’re not as bad as all that. But their parents…” A dramatic roll of her eyes completed her joke.

Joe didn’t know what to say next, so he just stood there grinning and nodding—like an idiot, he feared. An awkward silence fell over them and slowly became painful.

“So,” he said abruptly, causing Meg to blink, “is this the actual date? The two of us standing here, you inside, me outside, talking?”

“Oh. No. Sorry.” She stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. “It’s not a date, but come in.”

He took a step forward.

“Or should I just get my purse?”

Joe stopped, waiting for her to decide.

“No, come in.”

Joe started forward again.

“Oh, darn, I still need to return that dress to the store, and I was on my way out when you knocked.”

Wanting to forestall any further doorway do-si-do, Joe suggested, “Why don’t we just return the dress when we’re out on our not-a-date?”

She brightened, smiling. “You wouldn’t mind? Really? Or maybe I should just wear the new dress.”

Joe thought he had her figured out well enough by now to say, “But you hate the new dress. And don’t go change clothes. You look fine to me in what you have on. Besides, I don’t have any big, fancy plans for this evening.”

“You don’t? Why not?”

Clearly she meant, Am I not worth it?

Joe thought fast. “I just meant it’s your town, Meg. I thought I’d be ready for anything you might want to do. That’s why I dressed like this.” He indicated his casual attire—jeans, neatly belted, and maroon knit shirt.

That seemed to satisfy her. “Okay. I was going to suggest dinner and then I’d show you the city…but tomorrow night, so I’m kind of disappointed.”

“I still don’t understand why we can’t do it tonight.”

“Because the free concert at Centro Ybor isn’t until tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that makes it hard.” Joe’s frown was for the unfamiliar term. “What’s Centro Ee-bore? Where’s that?”

Her expression brightened. “Oh, it’s fun. All kinds of stores, restaurants and clubs, and even a movie complex. It’s close by, just the other side of the Cross-town Expressway in Y-B-O-R City. Anyway, it’s the Latin Quarter of Tampa. Really historic. All about Cuban cigars. You’d like it.”

“Sounds like I would. We could still go tomorrow night…if you want. If we still like each other.”

“If we still do? So you think we like each other now?” Flirtatious best described her crooked grin.

It had an immediate—and elevating—effect on Joe. He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets to keep from grabbing her and kissing the hell out of her. Man, he just kept digging this hole of attraction deeper and deeper, didn’t he. Sure, he’d come here to visit his favorite relative, but also to take time away to think about his relationship with Linda, a really fine woman he’d been with now for about six months. She wanted things to get more serious…but he didn’t. So these ten days in Florida—three of which had already passed—were his chance to decide what he should do.

“You’re awfully quiet, cowboy. I mean, if you have to think about it that long, then—”

“Sorry.” Snapped back to the moment, Joe pulled his hands out of his pants pockets. Cowboy? Gazing at Meg Kendall’s pretty face, he decided he liked her teasing reference to his home state. This woman was going to keep him on his toes, he could just tell. “Yeah, we do. We like each other.”

Her attractive grin widened considerably. “Cool.”

Feeling way too warm, even for Tampa’s temperate evening air, Joe searched for something neutral to say. “We’ll be taking Uncle Maury’s car. You still want to go?”

She made a face. “Yes, but we can take my car, if you want.”

Smiling, Joe said, “So you’ve experienced the black and chrome monster. Personally, I would love to take your car, but we’d better take his. Evidently, he spent a whole week before I got here cleaning and polishing it. He’s pretty proud of it, and I’d hate to hurt his feelings.”

“Aren’t you a good nephew.”

Embarrassed, Joe feigned immediate insult. “Now, don’t go around saying things like that. If you ruin my reputation as the tough guy, cowboy type, I’d have to beat someone up all over again.”

“Really? Because there’s a guy named Carl I’d like to nominate for that honor. He’s kind of big, but I think you could take him.”

“Ah, yes…Carl. What did he do, exactly?” Joe couldn’t believe how much he enjoyed just standing here talking to her. Who cared if they went anywhere?

“Carl was a jerk, that’s what,” Meg said.

“Well, then, we don’t like him.” He gestured toward the door. “So, are you ready? Uncle Maury is bringing his car around from the parking garage. Once we’re on our way—with everyone in Tampa staring at us—we’ll go find this Carl and I’ll take care of him for you. How’s that sound for a start to a nice evening?”

Meg grinned. “I’ll go get my purse.”

“And the dress.”

“Right. And the dress.”

2

“SO, HOW ABOUT this little beauty, huh, Joey? It’s part of my legacy. When I die, it’s all yours.”

“You’re not going to die, Uncle Maury. The way things are going, you’ll be around longer than I am. You and this…car.” Standing in the apartment complex’s parking lot with Meg at his side, Joe looked over the black and chrome behemoth that could have been a prop in a James Cagney gangster movie. But his great-uncle was so proud of the car that Joe had no choice but to voice excitement. “Still looks like it’s in mint condition.”

“It’s better than that. Got a new engine. And I put new tires on it and installed seat belts. It’s gassed up, street-legal and ready to go.” Wearing striped and rumpled shorts, a loud Hawaiian shirt and scuffed deck shoes, the short, stocky, cigar-smoking and toupee-topped octogenarian indulgently patted the car’s fender. “This baby saw me through many a scrape up in Jersey in the old days. What a machine. It’s not the same now—the cars and the gangsters today. They don’t have anything on us old guys. We were the real deal—you know, kid?”

“Yes, I do, Uncle Maury.” As an aside to Meg, Joe whispered, “He was never in the Mafia. Not really. I’ll tell you more later.”

“Okay,” she whispered back, “but I didn’t really think he was.”

“Before I got out of the mob,” Maury continued, “we were really something. But these goons today, all dressed in black, so slick and educated? Hooey! A bunch of empty suits. Got no morals. No respect.” He wagged a stubby index finger at Joe. “A man who don’t respect his family is no kind of man at all. You remember that, Joey. And you take good care of my little Meggie here. She’s a gem, ain’t she?”

Maury cupped her chin in his hand and grinned proudly. “Beautiful, like I told you, huh? She teaches little kids. Tells them what they need to know about life—don’t you, Meggie?”

“I try, Maury.” Her voice sounded funny since she had to speak with her cheeks pooched between his big thumb and thick fingers.

Maury released her, leaving red marks on her face. Joe didn’t know what to do or say as she worked her jaw, but she she acted like this was an everyday occurrence that didn’t upset her.

“That’s my girl.” Maury dug through his pockets, obviously searching for something. “You need any money, Joey, to show this lady a good time? She deserves some fun.”

“I’ve got plenty, Uncle Maury. Keep your money.” But Maury pressed a big wad of bills into Joe’s hand anyway. “Well, in that case, thank you. That’s really nice of you.” He tucked the money into his pocket. It was just easier. Tomorrow he’d find a way to put it back on his uncle’s dresser. The top of it was such a mess he’d never notice a few loose dollars added back to the mix.

“Hey,” Meg said suddenly. “Why don’t you come with us, Maury?”

That surprised Joe. Sure it was nice that she’d want to include the old guy. But did she offer because she didn’t want to be alone with him?

Uncle Maury, God love him, came through. With broad gestures and an adamant shake of his head that left his toupee slightly askew, he waved Meg’s suggestion away. “No, you two go. You don’t want an old man tagging along. Go enjoy a little adventure. Maybe tomorrow when I’m not so tired, we can do something, the three of us. How does that sound?”

With the words no more than said, Maury was suddenly seized with an episode of coughing and wheezing that had him clutching at his chest.

Concerned, Joe took up position beside his uncle. At the same time, Meg took his elbow at the other side. Really liking this woman for her warmth and caring, Joe turned his attention to Maury. “You’re tired? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he groused, shaking off their hands.

Joe stepped back, exchanging a look with Meg, who looked every bit as worried as he felt. The old guy might be a kid at heart, but Joe had to remind himself that his great-uncle was well into his eighties. “Why don’t we just stay here with you tonight, Uncle Maury?”

Seeking her approval, Joe again met Meg’s eyes and saw her nod. “We’ll call out for a pizza and you can tell us all about the old days. How does that sound?”

“Boring as hell. You go paint the town with the young lady. Me, I got some people coming over tonight. We’ll sit by the pool, have a few drinks, play some cards and tell lies. I’ll be fine. Now, go. Get outta here.”

Joe frowned, suddenly worried about leaving Maury alone. Maybe moving from the active-seniors complex where he used to live hadn’t been such a good idea for his great-uncle. The family had taken it as a good sign when Maury left last year, saying he didn’t want to be surrounded by old people. Now, Joe wasn’t so sure.

“Why the long face, Joey?” Maury chided. “I said I was fine. Now, you kids go have fun. And make sure Meggie here cuts loose a little, Joey. But be a gentleman, or you’ll answer to me.”

Joe held his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. We’ll go, and I’ll behave.”

“Darn, Maury, why’d you have to make him promise to behave?” Meg pouted, clamping her hands to her waist. “Are you just trying to take all the fun out of this evening?”

Meg’s teasing sentiment—though Joe suspected she’d said it mainly to make Uncle Maury laugh, which he did—nevertheless riveted Joe’s attention on her. She boldly met his gaze, but only for an instant before she leaned in to kiss his elderly great-uncle on the cheek. Watching her, Joe again had the sense, deep inside, that she was not going to be an easy woman to walk away from.

A LITTLE MORE THAN three hours into their not-a-date, as they motored down stately Bayshore Boulevard with the un-air-conditioned jalopy’s front windows rolled down, Meg found herself looking over at Joe. Though he was seat-belted in behind the wheel of the Mafia-mobile, he wasn’t all that far away. For all its chrome and length, the car’s interior was fairly compact. No more than a foot of empty bench seat separated her from this fine specimen of maleness.

“How long have you been here visiting Maury?” she asked, deciding a little conversation might break the ice.

“Three days now.”

“Really? I’m surprised I haven’t seen you around the apartment complex.” Meg loved that Joe was driving. This way she could look at him all she wanted, without worrying about where they were going. The man had a killer face—high forehead and cheekbones, deep-set blue eyes, a straight nose, sensual lips and a firm jaw. He looked like a tough-guy movie star. But most of all, she liked how a lock of his sandy hair, which looked darker in the night, fell over his forehead. “Where have you been—camped out by the pool so you could check out all the bikini babes?”

“Only for about the first twenty-four hours.” He grinned over at her, showing beautiful white teeth, then returned his attention to the traffic. “I was wondering why I hadn’t seen you, either. But I guess it’s because Uncle Maury’s place is so far away from yours. You’ve got a whole other entrance and street address.”

“Yes, the stinker has the best apartment in the complex. But I was at work all this last week. And except for Wednesday evening when I went shopping—as you well know but aren’t allowed to talk about—I was home grading papers. Anyway, all I can say is thank God this upcoming week is our spring break.”

Looking really pleased, Joe nodded. “It is? So you’re off all week?”

If he was happy about that, then so was she. A heat deep in her abdomen grew at the spark of awareness she saw in his eyes. “Yes, I am.”

“And you’re not going anywhere?”

Meg raised her eyebrows. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Hardly. I was just thinking that this is Florida, spring-break mecca. I figured you’d join the festivities, like in all those old beach movies.”

“Not me. I grew up doing that. All the drinking, sleeping around, getting thrown in jail…it gets old pretty fast.” Enjoying the shocked disbelief on his face, Meg confessed. “I was just kidding. I didn’t do those things. Well, not all of them.”

“Imagine my disappointment.”

“Ha-ha. So, how long are you staying?”

“Another week.” Joe’s blue eyes glittered black in the semidarkness. “Pretty good timing on my part, huh?”

Meg playfully turned up her nose at him. “Don’t be so sure of yourself. I never said I’d spend the whole week with you.”

She wished like crazy she had the nerve to undo her seat belt, scoot over next to him and put her hand on his rock-solid leg as they rode along. And maybe he’d put his muscular arm around her. And they’d be like something out of Grease—hopefully, an R-rated Grease.

“So, where to now, Meg? We’ve returned your dress, eaten at that cheesecake place, talked about our families and our entire lives up to now, seen the former Tampa Bay Hotel along the Hillsborough River, which now houses the University of Tampa—” he grinned over at her “—not the river, the former hotel. See? I was paying attention on the tour.”

Meg nodded. “You better be, cowboy. I don’t do this for everyone.”

“Good. That means I’m special. So, what do we do next?”

We climb in the back seat and make out. Startled, Meg blinked, perfectly ready to get out and walk, if she’d said that out loud. But with his face lit by the passing streetlights and headlamps of other cars, Joe was merely dividing his attention between the road and her, an air of innocent expectancy on his face. Thank God. “Okay, let’s see. Oh, I know. We could get a drink on Harbour Island. There’s a really nice open-air bar there with live music. Jazz. A very in place to be.”

Joe nodded. “Sounds like fun. But I was thinking maybe we should park somewhere and make out hot and heavy.”

His voice was teasing but it had a deep, sensual undertone that sent shivers up her spine.

“This car just seems to beg for that—doesn’t it?” he added.

Shocked, Meg gulped, unable to speak.

“And there it is—the fish-out-of-water response.” Joe’s lip curled into an engaging Elvis Presley grin. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”

Meg fought to catch her breath. “It’s not that. You just surprised me. Only a minute ago I was going to…well, I was going to suggest the same thing…” A flash of something electric in his eyes nearly lit the car’s interior. “Really?”

Meg nodded. “Really.”

Apparently, that was enough for Joe. “I’m going to change lanes and find a place to pull over.”

A thrill of dangerous excitement coursed through Meg. Maybe she shouldn’t have started this. Could she finish it? Joe was a hottie, no doubt about that, and she’d all but wished him to be at her door earlier and, yes, she’d had all those sexy thoughts about him, all that was true. But this was getting pretty darned real way too fast. After all, he was here only for a week. That had casual fling written all over it. Before she could totally dismiss that idea, Meg’s libido seized it, telling her maybe that was exactly what she needed right now.

She eyed Joe openly, finally concluding she couldn’t think of any man she’d rather be flung by than him. “So, once you pull over, Joe, what exactly do you intend to do?”

“Something I’ve been wanting to do since I first saw you.”

“Oh God, I ate onions.” Now, why had she said that? Why? Meg almost groaned at how uncool she’d sounded.

Joe shrugged. “Won’t bother me. So did I. Hang on,” he said as he turned the wheel.

Meg wondered if she could dig through her purse, find her mints, pop one into her mouth and hurriedly suck the good out of it—without Joe realizing it. No, that wouldn’t work. Well, maybe he wouldn’t be able to pull over and park. After all, changing lanes—much less pulling over—on Bayshore wouldn’t be that easy. The four-lane avenue, lined with million-dollar mansions on one side of the grassy median and the waters of Tampa Bay on the other, was busy with a steady stream of Friday-evening revelers.

But she hadn’t counted on Joe’s determination. He expertly pulled the unwieldy cruiser into the right lane and, within the next half mile, found the one public parking area on the water’s side.

Joe cut the motor, undid his seat belt and turned toward her. “Meg Kendall, I’ve been wanting to do this since I first saw you with that zipper stuck in your panties.”

Though Meg’s heart thumped like a bass drum and she could barely swallow, she managed to choke out, “You said you wouldn’t bring that up again.”

Joe reached for her and, tenderly gripping her arm, slowly pulled her toward him. “I lied. That scene is all I think about at night.” His voice, low and husky, had her breathing through her open mouth. “How you looked standing there with your back to me. The curve of your spine. How soft your skin looked. And how much I wanted you.”

Oh God. Her bones were melting right along with her resistance and her no-sex-on-the-first-date rule. Meg allowed herself to be tugged toward him.

By the time Joe had her in his arms, Meg could no longer form coherent thoughts. She had one hand on his forearm, the skin warm and firm, and the other against his chest…no less firm and warm even through his knit shirt. His languid blue eyes still looked black in the night. Joe slowly slipped his hand up under her hair and around the back of her neck. Such a simple gesture, yet so incredibly erotically charged.

“I’m going to kiss you, Meg.”

“And I’m going to kiss you right back, Joe.” Meg moved in toward him, tipping her head to one side and parting her lips. Joe dipped his head down to hers. His lips were a mere inch from hers—

A cell phone rang stridently.

Meg jumped back, and so did Joe. The sexy-as-hell man slumped back against the seat and muttered a soft “Damn.”

Chagrined, Meg plucked her purse off the floor and unzipped it. “I cannot believe this. Is it mine or yours?”

Joe stretched up off the seat and pulled his phone off the clip attached to his belt. He stared at it. “It’s not mine.”

“I am so sorry.” Sure enough, she pulled a ringing phone out of her purse. “I have no idea who this can be. I should have turned the stupid thing off. In fact, why don’t I just do that now?”

Joe held up a hand to stop her. “No. Take the call. It’s probably a good thing someone called, considering where we were headed just now.”

Meg stared at him.

So he was already having second thoughts about that kiss. Disappointed, she hit the answer button and put the obtrusive little instrument to her ear. “Hello.”

The answering voice put her right over the edge. She looked over at Joe and mouthed It’s Carl. He nodded and watched her. Not breaking eye contact with the delicious man sitting next to her in the car, Meg dealt with her caller. “This isn’t a good time, Carl. Yes, I know I’m not home. I told you I was going out—Wait a minute. Are you there at my place right now?”

Next to her, Joe sat up tensely. He looked ready to start the car, drive back to the apartment complex and beat the hell out of Carl. Meg figured she’d better hurry her cheating ex-boyfriend off the phone. Much as she’d like to see him pounded to a pulp, she didn’t want Joe charged with assault. “Well, you better not be there. Anyway, we don’t really have anything to say to each other. What? It’s none of your business who I’m with, or if I’m even with anyone.”

What Carl next said into her ear stopped Meg for a good two to three seconds and had her pulse tripping. “What? No, you can’t say that now. It’s too late to tell me you love me. Just forget—Marry you? You want me to marry you?”

Joe abruptly turned away from her and stared out the window to his left. Her mind reeling, Meg didn’t know what to do, what to say. Joe—perhaps thinking she wanted privacy for this conversation—opened the car door and got out, closing it behind him.

Meg had reached out to stop him, but he’d had his back to her. By the time he’d walked around the back of the car and stepped over to the concrete seawall, Meg could only stare after him. Darn it, she wanted him back here, next to her…kissing her.

Stupid Carl. Suddenly, she remembered that he was still on the line. “Yes, I’m still here, Carl. But there’s nothing to discuss. I can’t forgive you. And no, I won’t be home early.” At least, she hoped she wouldn’t be. Still keeping Joe in sight, she told Carl, “I have to go. Oh, all right, fine, I’ll at least think about it. Yes, I know you aren’t taking this lightly. Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Meg jabbed the end button, turned the phone off and stuffed it back into her purse. She had no intention of calling Carl tomorrow. But she’d said she would, hoping he’d be satisfied and wouldn’t leave a hundred messages on her machine. She sighed, as she studied her not-a-date’s wide shoulders, broad back, slim hips. He was put together so fine. Smitten with his aura of masculine strength and power, she crossed her arms on the lowered window’s sill, rested her chin on her arms and drank in her fill of him.

Thoroughly immersed in the sight he made spotlighted by a street lamp, Meg realized something. She’d been fooling herself a moment ago when she’d thought Joe Rossi could be her fling. This man was not fling material. She’d already seen enough of him—well, surmised enough about him, at any rate—to know he was a man of depth, someone who could quickly come to matter.

Damn it. Shaking off her sensual lethargy, Meg followed Joe’s gaze out across the water. Directly across from him sat upscale Harbour Island with its stylish restaurants and yachts and hotel. The lights twinkled, music danced over the water and the southern night was soft. Meg wondered what Joe thought of her city. Maybe she should ask him. That would be a good start.

But first, she found her purse, located the tiny tin of mints and popped one in her mouth. She shouldn’t be hoping for that kiss, but a girl never knew. With that, she got out of the car to join him, knowing he would hear the sounds the door made as she opened and closed it. Meg crossed the small, bricked parking lot and stood next to Joe, who glanced down at her and smiled, as he might if a stranger had joined him.

“So,” she said with intentionally ironic cheeriness, “Carl’s a jerk.”

Nodding, Joe looked out over the night-blackened water. “I’m beginning to agree with you.”

“He, uh, wants to get back together.”

“Sounded to me like he wants to do more than that.” Looking off to his left, Joe put his hands on his hips. “It’s beautiful right here.”

“Yes, it is. This is one of the prettiest vantage points for seeing the bay.” Oh, the man had cooled considerably toward her. With her next breath, she said, “It’s not gonna happen, Joe. With Carl, I mean.”

Joe turned to look at her. “It’s not my business, Meg. You don’t owe me any explanations.”

“I know I don’t. And I know I keep saying this isn’t a date, but it was starting to feel like one back there in the car, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. But he asked you to marry him. A man doesn’t do that lightly.”

Joe’s vaguely accusatory tone, so close on the heels of Carl’s aggravating, mood-shattering phone call, had Meg crunching her breath mint and saying what she thought. “So, I should call him back and say yes, just because he asked? I don’t think so. I broke up with him. He only asked because he doesn’t like to lose. That’s all. Trust me, if I’d said yes, he’d already be running for the next plane to…Bora Bora.”

Joe inclined his head quizzically. “Bora Bora?”

Meg shrugged. “It’s the first remote-sounding place that came to mind.”

He nodded, a crooked grin breaking through briefly. “I’m sorry I said what I did just now. The truth is, I don’t get an opinion, but the whole thing still…hit me wrong.”

He looked so sorry—and uncomfortable. Meg relented, going with humor to smooth things over. “Well, I can’t imagine why. The woman you were about to kiss gets a phone call from another man who asks her to marry him? Gosh, I just don’t see how that could be awkward for you, Joe.”

He chuckled. “Go figure. But that’s why I got out of the car. It sounded to me like you two still had a lot to talk about. I didn’t want to get in the way.”

She waved that away. “You are so not in the way. You couldn’t be less in the way even if you were in—”

“Bora Bora?”

She nodded. “Exactly.”

“Well…good.” Joe turned to look out over the water again.

Meg stood silently at his side, so close she could feel his body’s warmth, yet miles away. Why couldn’t they get back to the part where they’d been about to kiss?

“So, what did Carl do?” Joe’s question broke the silence. “Why’d you break up with him, I mean?”

Meg took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He cheated on me. We’d been together for about a year. But last week I caught the rat out on a date. A date! Worse, the woman he was with didn’t even know I existed. She thought he was cheating on her with me! Can you believe it? Obviously, neither one of us was very important to him.”

“How about you?” Joe turned his head and looked at her. “I mean, how much did you care for him before he, uh, started dating?”

His question took Meg by surprise. “How much did I care? I don’t know. I guess…some. I cared enough to stay with him for a year. Is that an answer?”

“Yeah. A year is a long time. So, what if he hadn’t cheated on you and had asked you to marry him tonight? Would you have said yes?”

The man could come up with some probing questions. “Again, I don’t know. I guess I’d have told him I needed to think about it.”

Joe nodded. “You’d have to think about it—after a year of being exclusive?”

Meg was about to say yes, but her next thought caught her up short. “Oh my God, I see what you’re getting at. If I had to think about my answer, then it was probably always no, right?”

“Most likely.”

“Well, what do you know—I didn’t love him and was wasting my time. Joe, I owe you a big, fat thank-you for that insight.”

“No big deal. I’ll send you my bill. Still, Carl’s a fool for cheating on you.”

“You’re sweet to say so. Besides, it was all so unnecessary. All he had to do was tell me he didn’t want me around. How hard is that?”

Joe looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Sometimes it can be really hard, if you have any kind of a conscience, and if you suspect the other person cares for you a lot more than you do for her.”

Her? He was no longer talking about her and Carl, Meg realized. “So, Joe. You sound like you know how that feels.”

He exhaled roughly. “I do. Meg, I think I should tell you something. There’s…Well, I have a…Okay, her name’s Linda.”

3

“OH.” JOE’S WORDS hit Meg like a slap to the face. “I see. You have a Linda. How nice. Is she your—” Meg winced “—wife?”

“Oh, hell no, nothing like that. We’ve been together now for about six months…and she wants the relationship to be more.”

“I see. Well.” A sudden sense of loss made Meg want to sit down in a big, dejected heap and cry. “Maybe we should introduce Linda and Carl, since they both seem to have a case of the commitment bug. That is, unless you’ve caught it, too.” She looked over at him.

When he didn’t reply right away, Meg surreptitiously crossed her fingers against his answer—and held her breath.

Joe rubbed a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. That’s why I came to Tampa. Time away to think.”

There was hope. Her mood suddenly lighter, Meg pointed at him. “So, that’s why you were asking me all those questions a minute ago. You’re looking for some insight yourself.”

Joe had the grace to nod and look sheepish. “I am, yeah. But my situation is different.”

“Is it? How so?”

“Well, no one’s been cheating.”

“Really?” Meg crossed her arms and shrugged. “Don’t give up so easily, cowboy. The night’s still young.”

Joe laughed. “I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

“Good.” Though she now adopted an air of sophisticated confidence, inside Meg was quaking with the audacity of what she’d just said…and implied.

Joe’s eyes twinkled. “You’ve certainly given me a lot to think about in the few short hours I’ve known you, Meg Kendall.”

“Yeah? Thinking of doing something stupid, are you, Joe?”

“You mean like this?” He grabbed her by her arms and pulled her tight against him. Before she could react, he’d lowered his head and crushed his mouth against hers in a bruising, passionate kiss that curled Meg’s toes and scattered her senses. His tongue explored her mouth…probing…pushing in and out…mimicking perfectly the thrusting act of sex.

People driving past wa-hoo-ed out their car windows or honked their horns.

Meg wouldn’t have cared if an actual cheering crowd, complete with marching band, had gathered behind them. Her heart was beating triple time and her knees had become weak with desire. She was helpless, unable to resist.

When Joe broke the kiss and pulled back, Meg stared deep into his magnificent eyes. “Yeah. Like that. We shouldn’t do that…again…Joe.”

That quirky little Elvis grin of his appeared on his lips—lips Meg now knew intimately.

“No. We shouldn’t.” Joe lowered his head, and Meg raised her mouth to meet his again. But he pulled back at the last second, teasing, staring intently into her eyes.

Meg’s blood heated. “Damn you, Joe Rossi.”

She reached up, gripped him around the muscular column of his neck and pulled him firmly down to her. This time, she took the lead, allowing only the tip of her tongue to dart in and out as she tasted the sensual fullness of his lips. With an evilly sexy chuckle, Joe finally captured her mouth and again plundered its willing depth as he put his arms around her and held her to him, her breasts hard against his chest, her hips hard against his thighs.

And then, unbelievably, a cell phone rang.

“AW, SON OF A BITCH!” Joe could not believe they’d been interrupted—again—by a damn cell phone.

Meg pulled back, gasping. “Is that your pants ringing—or my ears?”

“My pants. In more ways than one.” He gently released her and reached for the phone at his belt, tugging it off its clip. “I ought to throw the damn thing in the water.”

Meg stepped away from him and hugged herself as if she were cold. “I hope Linda can swim.”

Poised to push the talk button, Joe held off and looked into Meg’s smoldering bedroom eyes. He was hungry to kiss her again…and not stop there. “It doesn’t have to be…Linda.”

He hated that he’d hesitated over her name. But right now, with Meg standing less than a foot from him, the last thing Joe was thinking about was his girlfriend. Hell, he was no better than Carl, was he?

The cell phone continued to ring.

Meg’s gaze locked with his. “You might as well answer it, cowboy,” she said, sounding practical. And angry.

“You’re right,” Joe said, resigned. He pushed the button and put the phone to his ear. “Hello.” To his infinite relief it wasn’t Linda. It was… “Uncle Maury!”

Meg looked at him questioningly. Joe shrugged. He had no idea why his great-uncle would be calling him. Then, when he heard the tone of Maury’s voice, he tensed. “Wait. Slow down. What are you saying? What mob?”

“A mob?” Meg said. “At the complex? Does he mean a party at the pool?”

Joe shook his head and held up a hand to Meg. “Oh, I get it. Not a mob, but the mob?” His tensed muscles relaxed. “No, Uncle Maury, we’re not doing this. You know there’s no mob at the door.”

Meg clutched Joe’s shirtsleeve. “Is he okay?”

Joe covered her grasping hand with his free one and nodded, mouthing I think so. He turned his attention back to his great-uncle. “Well, just don’t answer it,” he told Maury. “What do you mean we can’t come home? We weren’t on our way home…. Not ever? Uncle Maury, have you been drinking?”

“What’s going on?” Meg hissed.

“Hold on, Uncle Maury. Let me talk to Meg. Don’t hang up.” Joe released Meg’s fingers and held his hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. “Uncle Maury says we can’t ever come home because the mob is after him—and now they’re after us because we’re in The Stogie,” he said matter-of-factly. “He means the car,” he added.

Meg shook her head, looking confused. “But Maury’s called The Stogie, not the car.”

“They both are. I think Uncle Maury’s letting his imagination get the best of him.”

Meg pulled back. “But he always talks about the mob.”

“Yeah, but this is going a bit too far.” Aware of his elderly uncle hanging on the line, Joe spoke quickly to Meg. “You see, there’s a legend in our family that someone, at some time in the past, was in the Mafia. Uncle Maury decided he was that person and we’ve always gone along with it. It gave him stature. But he’s never made phone calls like this saying the mob is after him or anyone else. This is new.”

Concern shadowed her expression. “Maybe he didn’t take his medicines. Or maybe he took too many. I knew we shouldn’t have left him alone. Joe, tell him not to do anything. That we’re on our way home right now.”

Joe nodded and put the phone to his ear. “Uncle Maury? Meg says just sit tight, okay? We’re on our way home.”

Blinking, Joe jerked the phone away from his ear and said to Meg, “Whoa. He’s cussing like crazy. Listen.” He put the phone to her ear, saw her eyes widen, then pulled it away.

“Tell him we won’t come home, if that’s what he wants.”

“Sure, why not. Let’s go back to the car.” He grasped Meg’s arm to guide her and again spoke to his uncle. “Uncle Maury, listen to me—No, we’re not coming home…. Yes, calm down. It’s okay. No, I’m not lying. What? Shoot at us?” Joe’s knees locked, stopping him and Meg in their tracks, and he shook his head in disbelief.

“Shoot at us?” Meg parroted. “Who’s going to shoot at us?”

Joe held Meg’s fear-widened gaze as he talked. “Now, Uncle Maury, why would anyone be shooting at us?” He paused. “They want the keys? To what, the car? Uncle Maury, if anyone wants the keys to this car, trust me, I’ll hand them over long before they have to start shooting. Not the car keys? But don’t give them up, either? Well, what else would I have keys to, that some—How much money?”

Joe covered the phone and whispered to Meg. “He says the keys are worth a fortune.”

“Forget that. I want to know who’s going to shoot at us.”

“Apparently the mob.”

“Okay, Joe, this is beyond bizarre. And a little scary, I have to say.”

“Tell me about it. But such is life with Maury Seeger.”

“Well, what do we do? Do we believe him or not?”

“I don’t know. Something’s wrong, I’ll give him that much. Something definitely set him off.”

“Yeah, and it could be nothing more than some poor pizza delivery guy at his door.”

“True. And Maury could shoot him.”

Meg’s eyebrows rose. “Maury has a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Dear God.”

“Amen.”

“Joe?”

“What?”

She pointed to the phone in his hand. “Talk to Maury.”

“Oh, hell.” He put the phone to his ear. “Hey, Uncle—What?” He listened another moment and then pulled the phone away from his ear and hit the end button. “He said he thinks they’re trying to get inside and he has to go. Then the line went dead.”

“Ohmigod,” she breathed. “Joe, could it really be the Mafia?”

“I think Uncle Maury is harmless, but sometimes the way he gets caught up in his stories worries me—” Joe’s phone rang again. He exchanged a look with Meg and answered it on the second ring. “Uncle Maury? Is that you?” He nodded at Meg to let her know it was.

She looked so concerned, waiting to find out what Maury would say next, that Joe couldn’t resist putting an arm around her and pulling her close. He wasn’t sorry when the action squeezed her breast against his side.

“Really, Uncle Maury, did you have to hang up a minute ago? Are you okay? Your voice sounds funny…. You’re in the men’s room at the pool house? Why? What are you—Of course, you’re hiding. Look, stay there where you feel safe. Uncle Maury? Hello? You just dropped the phone? Why’d you drop the phone?”

He listened and then said to Meg, “Because he thought the mobsters were shooting at him, but it turned out to be a car backfiring.”

Meg leaned into him. “I might need to sit down, Joe.”

He took her arm to steady her and returned his attention to his great-uncle. “Is anyone else in there with you, Uncle Maury? Hell, no, I wasn’t suggesting you and another man—Yes, I do know how it would look for two guys to exit a one-holer bathroom together. Look, just sit tight and—”

Joe pulled the phone away from his ear. “Son of a—The line went dead again. When we get to his place, Meg, I swear I’m going to kick his ass. I don’t care if he is in his eighties and only five feet tall. I’m still going to kick his bowlegged, Mr.-T-gold-wearing, toupee-headed ass. Come on, let’s go see about my great-uncle, the nutcase.”

THEY WERE IN THE CAR with its front-mounted vanity plate that read “The Stogie” and on the way back to Meg’s apartment complex when she first became aware that she and Joe were being followed. Or, at least, she thought they were.

“Joe? Do you see—”

“Yes.”

Meg’s breath caught. “Oh my God, we are being followed.”

“I don’t really think so. Try not to let my crazy uncle, with all his mobster talk, get to you, okay?”

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