Blame It On Paris

CHAPTER NINE

Will figured this moment had to register as the most perfect of all time. Kel felt like treasure in his arms. His stomach had started rumbling a while back. So had hers. He was hungry and jet-lagged and had a mountain of things he had to do yet today, but he still didn't want to move. Not while he had her right where he wanted her. cheek and arms and boobs and legs sprawled or snugged so she fit just right against him.

Of course, eventually the obvious came out of her mouth. "Will, this was wrong."

He didn't open his eyes. "Talk about deja vu. I could have sworn we had this same conversation in Paris."

"No, we didn't. Well. I guess we did. but it wasn't exactly the same. In Paris. I already knew I wasn't going to marry Jason, that I couldn't. So it was wrong that I hadn't severed that relationship before sleeping with you. But it wasn't wrong to fall for you."

Thankfully he'd learned a lot since meeting her. He didn't try suggesting that was convoluted reasoning, for example. He simply said. "Damn right, it wasn't." and then peeked under the sheet, because… well, because looking at her naked body was stress reducing.

When it came down to it, he could think of forty reasons why looking at her naked body was a good thing. And that was without even applying his mind to the task.

Kelly seemed on a slightly different mental street. "Generally, I really believe that a couple can solve problems together. That they should solve problems together."

"Damn right." he agreed.

"But right now I have problems you can't possibly solve. And you have problems that I can't solve. They're not our problems. They're individual problems."

"Hey, that doesn't mean we can't still help each other."

"And I'm for that," she agreed. "But I'm not for adding more complications to the mix."

"Which means what?" Will already knew this conversation was going in the wrong direction. He just didn't know how bad it was going to be. And she was stroking her fingertips on his chest, making it impossible to concentrate.

"Which means," she said gently, "that if my family realizes I'm sleeping with you, they're going to think I broke up with Jason because of you. I don't want them prejudiced against you, especially because you'd be blamed for something that wasn't your fault. I need to face my own music there. I also have to figure out this housing thing, because I'll never survive living like a college kid for long. So I have to get this whole broken-engagement business off my table completely. And as for you…"

"Me? What?"

"You're in a parallel situation. I can listen to you, about your dad and your family. I can be with you, whenever you want me to. But you have to decide what you want to do about the situation. I don't even want to try to influence you. I want you to do whatever your heart tells you is right."

He heard all that. But he still hadn't heard the bottom line. "All of which means what? Somehow I sense this has to do with sex."

She leaned back so she could face him eye to eye. "That's just because you associate everything with sex. You're male."

"Yeah, so?"

"So, in this rare, rare case…you're right. About the nature of the problem. I think we should, um, refrain from sleeping together. Until we get our lives a little more under control."

"I think that's a lousy idea," he stated firmly.

"You want to get even more involved with me- if you end up deciding not to stay in the U.S.?"

He opened his mouth, closed it.

"See? We're just not in a good place to put hopes or plans on the table. At least not yet. All sex could do is make our situations messier."

"Sex is good in all circumstances," he began.

She slugged him. "Look. I'm not for abstinence-"

"Neither am I. Ever." He wanted his vote on that to be crystal clear.

"-but I think a little stretch of it is necessary. Look, how long could it take for you to work through the problems with your family? For me to get my family to accept that my engagement to Jason is undeniably over? I mean…one way or another, these things are going to happen. They "re just not problems that are fixable in a blink. But this couldn't take more than a few weeks to get straightened out, right?"

He frowned at her. "I don't know when you started doing all this thinking, but I want you to quit it, right now."

"Will, we can do things together. Talk together. Even go to things involving our families together. But I think we should be able to say, to anyone who asks, that the decisions we're making right now are not connected to each other. Otherwise you're going to get blamed for my mess with Jason."

"You think I'd care if anyone blamed me?"

"I'd care."

He wanted to offer an argument but couldn't. Because reality was exactly what she'd said. "I don't want to make anything worse for you," he said honestly.

"I made it what it is. You didn't. But the fact is, we've only known each other for a very short amount of time."

'Three weeks." Even when he said it, he couldn't believe it. How could he only have known her for three weeks?

"Exactly. Three weeks. Hardly a lifetime. Yet we fell right back in bed together as if we were…well, as if we were a couple. When there are still dozens and dozens of unsettled things between us. My life is here. Yours has been in Europe. I'm a practicing Catholic. You've got an allergy to religion. You come from money and you have money. I'm beyond broke. I'm into guilt, and that's not a small thing. I could wear you down over the long run. You could find me exhausting. Tedious. I'm trying to say…honest to Pete, Will, we really don't know enough about each other to be sure we've got anything long-term going on. We don't have to be in a rush."

"Kel…" He wanted to wash a hand over his face. And he would have if his palm hadn't been occupied keeping her right breast warm. "I'm afraid you're all mixed-up. It's the guy who's supposed to say, why be in a rush. I'm supposed to be the one who talks you out of using sucky words like 'commitment' and 'long-term' and all that."

"Will?"

"What?"

"You're in sex with me. And I'm definitely in sex with you, too. But I'm not positive we've got the scary four-letter word going for the long run."

She didn't have to spell out the love word. But it miffed him that she didn't. "Maybe it isn't. But I think sex is damned important."

She grinned at him. A roguish, impish, archly feminine grin. "So do I. With you. And actually, that means that a little stretch of abstinence could be a lot of fun."

"No. it couldn't," he argued immediately. "Abstinence is never fun. And it could never be fun with you. Assuming it's even possible."

"Will."

"What now?"

"Get serious. You know I'm only saying what you're thinking."

He opened his mouth, but that was such a confounding thing for her to say that he couldn't think of a single response.

And then she bounced out of bed-out of his reach.

OKAY. He accepted it. Kelly was more trouble than a pack of puppies.

Will parked his rental car in the driveway, and mentally braced before climbing out. His parents' house was an architectural wonder-lots of glass, lots of redwood, a shake-shingle roof with a variety of pitches and angles. The layers of landscaping added to the impression of a home that had endless twists and surprises, no two rooms alike, no two views alike. The place was spectacular. Aaron liked to say, with pride, that he'd managed to build it for under three mil.

Will remembered a picture that used to be in his bedroom when he was growing up-a framed photograph of a wolf in sunlight. You couldn't see the barbed-wire fence, but the shadows of the wires showed on the wolf's face. The animal was trapped. It was in his eyes. And that was exactly how Will had always felt when he was around his old man.

He climbed the steps, thinking that was exactly why he couldn't get his mind off the discussion with Kelly. The woman was damned annoying-worse, when she was right.

The truth was, he did have five miles of trouble without adding more to his plate. Another annoying truth was that he couldn't very well offer Kelly a life together until he had a clue what his half of that life was going to be. So she was absolutely right. It was nuts to think about their future as a couple when neither of them even knew what country they were going to live in.

Damn woman.

At the top of the front steps, he rapped a couple times on the Chinese lacquered door, then turned the knob. "It's me!" he called out.

"Will!"

His three sisters all charged him at once, with their mom letting the girls reach him first. He never could come home without being smothered in estrogen. Martha had already seen him. of course, since he was staying at her place, but not Laurie and Liz.

Liz, the youngest, had a new short haircut, very spiky, and was duded up with a bunch of gaudy baubles. Liz never saw a new style she didn't like. Laurie, the middle sister, was just the opposite- she'd worn her hair in the same sleek, smooth style since high school, had the same sapphire ring that was her only regular jewelry.

All three of them kissed and grabbed him the same way, though, jabbering at the same time, giving him more ardent smooches and hugs…until his mom's voice intervened.

"Oh. Will…you look so, so wonderful!"

Damn it. His mother crossed the room with tear-filled eyes. He swooped her up and spun her around-she never had weighed more than a half-pint. That made even more tears glisten in her eyes, but at least she started laughing, too.

"Oh, honey, you look so good," she whispered. "I've missed you so, so much."

Hell, he'd missed her, too. He'd forgotten her slight frame, the scent of Shalimar and the gold heart she always wore and that gentle, quiet voice of hers. She'd been there for him a hundred million times. It wasn't his mom's fault he'd taken off for France.

At the time, he'd thought an ocean wasn't enough distance to put between him and Aaron, but that wasn't to say he'd ever wanted to desert his mom.

"Hey. Did you get a face-lift?" he asked her.

"Oh, you. Of course not."

"Are you sure? You look so young and gorgeous."

His mom's face flushed with pleasure. "I've missed your blarney, Will. Come on, though, I made all the things you like for dinner, but there's chilled shrimp first. And lemon-meringue pie for dessert. And ribs that have been simmering all day."

His sisters separated him from his mom and promptly grabbed both arms. "She thinks she's gonna spoil you, but I've got news, brother," Liz warned. "You're getting nothing-no food, no water, nothing-until we hear what's going on in your life. Is there a woman? What are you working at? Did you bring pictures? If you're going to stay over there, can I come visit you for a while?"

As the exuberant chatter continued-they didn't give him a chance to answer a single question before plying another-Will kept thinking that Kelly would have been okay with every part of this. If she'd been here, she'd not only do the estrogen test, she'd have a blast with it. If she just saw his family like this, it'd be okay.

Then the far door slammed, and his father walked in.

Aaron Maguire had always been larger-than-life to Will.

The look was tall and strong, stern-faced and handsome. The posture reflected an iron will and the character to back it up. Aaron never gave up, never gave in and, on top of stubbornness, was smart and ambitious and would kill for his family. His employees always jumped when he walked into a room, but no one could claim they outworked him, because he never asked anyone to do something he wasn't willing to do himself. But then, he wasn't human. Will had always thought.

Aaron was beyond human.

That hadn't exactly changed, only Will suddenly shifted uneasily. When had his dad gotten those wrinkles? Lost the ruddiness in his face?

Aaron strode forward, clapped a hand on his shoulder, then yanked him close for a heavy hug. "Good," he said heartily. "Good, you came home for your mother."

He felt his mother and sisters fall quieter than midnight. He knew the women were worried there would be friction.

"Yeah, I did." Will agreed. "And it's really great to see everyone. I missed you all."

And that's how it went for a while-light and easy. He kept thinking how Kelly would see it all. She'd think he'd been stupid to hide out in Paris. Stupid to miss out on the family laughter, and the big dinner spread his mom put out. and his sisters driving him crazy with all their teasing and prying questions.

There was no household help on the weekends, never had been, so when the meal was over, he got up with his mom. It wasn't as if he liked dishes-who the hell liked dishes? But his sisters were happy to escape KP, so nobody interrupted them. He piled dishes into the dishwasher and watched as his mother wrapped up leftovers.

"You know that was the best dinner I had in four years, don't you?"

"In Paris? With all those French chefs?" She wiped down the counter. He started turning off lights. He knew how she liked her kitchen left, just the light over the stove as a night illumination. "Will…is there a girl?"

When it was just him and his mother, different things got said. "Yes. No guarantees it'll work out. But…yes."

"I can see it in your face. That there was someone serious. Someone you really care about."

Will nodded. "I do care."

"She lives here? Or in France?"

"Here, Mom."

He could see the relief in her smile. "Am I going to meet her?"

"Yes. Soon. I hope, anyway."

Happy with that answer, she didn't push, just sneaked right into the subject she wanted to talk about. "He's tired, Will. Tired of the ninety-hour workweeks. You can see he's having trouble, from the way he walks, the way he moves. He wants to act like the thirty-five-year-old bull he once was. But he can't run everything at his age."

"Has he been to a doctor?"

"Yes. But he won't tell me. I don't know the whole story. I know he's got the obvious-cholesterol, some arthritis. But the thing is. I want you to be gentle with him." It was the only thing his mother really lifted her chin about. She wanted him to be good to his father. "It's past time you two got along."

"That's the point. Mom. It takes two."

"No. It's going to take you to be the better man. I'm asking you to try-for his sake. It's not as if he doesn't love you, Will. You're half his soul. And it's not as if he was ever a bad father. Be a bigger man than he is," she whispered. "I know you're capable of it."

Okay, Will thought. The first pressure gun had been fired. It wasn't as if he hadn't expected it. and as long as his mom didn't cry again, he could handle it.

It was one example, though, of what Kelly didn't understand when she blithely told him to get his butt in gear and fix it all. She seemed to think he had miraculous powers. That he was some kind of hero who could change anything with enough character and strength and all that crap.

Then, of course, came the second round of pressure. He had only disappeared for two seconds to take a leak, but Laurie and Liz were waiting for him when he emerged from the upstairs bathroom. He sensed a trap.

"We both have to head home, but just wanted to catch a few minutes alone with you." Laurie said.

Laurie was always the ringleader, at least when Martha wasn't around. They herded him into his old room, which, naturally, his mom had long redone. But still there was the desk where he'd sat doing calc and physics…where Whiskey, their old Irish setter, had hung out at his feet…where a pile of football and sports and academic letters and trophies had hung on the far wall.

Liz caught him up on her life story. She'd graduated, finally, after six grisly years of trying to pin down a major and a potential career. "But now I know how much I love interior design. I want to move to Chicago, set up there. I mean, how much can I do in South Bend? I need a real city, a place where there's some serious action in my field."

Will mentally translated. She needed money for a car, for an apartment, a stake in a business or in a partnership. A high-end stake.

Laurie had a different tune. She was just a year younger than he was, and the two of them had been thick as thieves as kids. If Laurie got in trouble. Will had always been at her back. When he warred with their dad, she was always there to listen.

"I've got a guy," she said.

"A good one?"

"You'd like him. He's very nerdy. Smart. All A's all the way through high school and college."

Will could have smelled the "but" from five miles away with his nostrils clamped shut. "So what does he do?"

"He's an artist. But don't be thinking he's the lazy, starving-artist kind…"

Five minutes late,. Will knew the guy was a loser. His sister would be supporting the jerk, if they got married, which was what Laurie wanted to do. "I haven't told Dad and Mom yet," she confided.

Naturally. Their dad would raise the roof over her marrying a lazy loafer, but after a bunch of protests, Aaron would come through with a big wedding, a house for a wedding present, and yeah, he'd set the guy up with his own studio or whatever. Because that's what his dad did. He coddled the girls.

On the surface, Aaron Maguire came across as the most generous man alive.

That's how Kelly would probably see him, too, Will thought morosely, as he made his way downstairs a few minutes later. Everybody thought Aaron was a god and a half-a generous, fabulous father, devoted to his family, hard worker, blah-blah-blah.

He found both of his parents in front of the theater screen, the volume on low, heated brandy snifters in front of them-and an extra poured for him.

His mom looked at him with hopeful eyes, then excused herself to go to the bathroom. She didn't come back.

That's when he knew the big-pressure gun was already cocked in his direction. Aaron flicked off the TiVo and motioned for him to sit down.

Aw, hell, Will thought.

"I can't tell you how happy I am that you're home, son. how much we've missed you. Tell me what you've been doing. I want to hear everything."

It all sounded so good. Will thought. So nice. So fatherly. So loving. That's how Kelly would see it, too, he was positive. She'd take one look at Aaron and think he was a darling. Aaron would take to her like another daughter added to the fold.

Will hadn't been in the room with his dad three minutes before feeling strangled.

They made it five before voices were raised.

Seven before they were shouting at each other.

SUNDAY MORNING Kelly pulled into her driveway and spotted the lone figure sitting on her front porch step. She recognized Will in a second flat.

Her mood hopelessly, helplessly, lifted sky-high. But that didn't prevent her from immediately intuiting that something was wrong. Her first clue had been his failing to call for several days-not that that was a crime-but his showing up on a Sunday morning before ten without a check-in call first definitely indicated trouble.

The instant he heard her Saturn's engine. Will's head shot up and he was on his feet and striding toward her, giving a low, wicked whistle when he saw the legs, the swish of skirt and apricot top.

"You been out on an early date?" he demanded, with just enough jealousy in his tone to sound as if he meant it.

"You bet. By ten on Sunday, I've usually seduced a couple of guys and am ready for a break."

He knew she'd been at church.

"Did you see your dad?"

"Sure did."

"How'd it go?" She opened the door and immediately lowered her voice, knowing her roommate would still be sleeping. Will did the same.

"Went fine. No sweat." He averted his eyes. "So what's your agenda for the day?"

Apparently she was going to have company today. "My original plan was to paint my room. Even if I'm only very temporarily living here, I can't stand that dirty gray color even a day longer."

"You're not exactly dressed for painting." he noticed.

"By the time you pour me a mug of coffee in the kitchen, I will be."

Okay, so maybe it took a little longer to find her old paint shorts and Notre Dame tee, yank them on and clip up her hair. Still, she was a skilled hustler when she needed to be. Within twenty minutes they were hanging at the paint counter at Lowe's. At least, she was hanging. He was fidgeting, male style. That roll of his eyes communicated the intrepid male are we going to be here all day? look.

"I'm not being fussy," she insisted. "I'm trying to pick a color that'll work for the tenant after me. The landlord'll subtract the cost of the paint from my rent. So I don't want to screw it up by picking something really off."

"Hey, I don't object to painting. Good thing to do on a Sunday afternoon. But how about white?"

She laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Men and white paint." She murmured, "I'm thinking cinnamon. With vanilla trim."

"That isn't paint. That's food. What's with the ex? Any more problems with Geronimo?"

"His name is Jason. And apparently he has left town. Decided to take a week's vacation without telling anyone."

"Then how'd you know?"

She sighed as she handed him the three gallons of paint to juggle on the way back to the car. "Because his mother called me. Then his sister. Then his brother. Then my mother. First, because they had no idea where he was, and then, after someone contacted his boss and found out about the vacation, they all had to call me again. They seemed to feel I'd want to know that I was responsible for Jason's being so depressed that he had to leave town."

"Hell. That doesn't sound like a depressed guy to me. It sounds like a coward, getting out of Dodge so you'd be stuck handling everything."

"Well, I can't fault him for that. Since I'm the one who broke it off. I don't see why he should have to deal with the aftermath. I just have to admit, this hasn't been a real ran week." She studied him when they climbed back in the car. Looked close and hard. Didn't kiss him. didn't touch him, just…looked.

"What? I have a bug on my nose?"

"No bug. It went that badly with your dad?" she asked gently.

"Hey, I told you. It went okay."

Yeah, right. Back at her place, they went back to whispering. Will hadn't come dressed to paint, obviously, but he kept saying his T-shirt and old jeans didn't matter. Within minutes, they'd pushed furniture and boxes to the middle of the floor and had laid down tarps.

She did the trim; he did the rolling-a division of labor that she considered sexist and unfair. His response to that was a major "duh," as if it would have been obvious to any man in the universe that guys didn't do trim. Still, clearly in an extreme effort to be accommodating, he offered to wrestle her for rights to the roller.

"You're going to be such hard work for any woman who thinks you're marriage material," she said disgustedly.

"Hey. You like me. Warts and all."

"I am able to tolerate you," she corrected him. Of course, that was a complete lie. Even worried about whatever he was hiding from her. her mood was singing high just from being with him. Even if they both were taking ridiculous care not to accidentally touch. And teasing helped. "Part of the reason I'm able to tolerate you is because you're capable of being a hero when a girl gets mugged. It makes up for your being a royal pain in the keester the rest of the time."

"Welllll…I'm not sure you should be giving me credit for being a hero. I mean, I don't do much unless there's a whole lot of incentive. Such as, say, outstanding sex."

He was dreaming if he thought she'd let him get away with that one. "We weren't talking about sex. We were talking about how things went with your dad."

"No, we weren't. But if you're determined to bring up fathers, what's the story with yours? Has there been any contact between you two since Paris? And have you confronted your mom?"

"Ouch. Neither of those are easy issues. I brought up the subject of my dad once to my mom. At the time, she was focused on the broken engagement, couldn't let that go. But now, she hasn't mentioned my dad again, and I can't seem to." Just trying to talk about this made her feel flustered inside. "Darn it, Will. I need to understand. I'm hurt that she lied to me-not just that she wasn't married but about never telling me I had a father who was alive. I want to know why she lied. I want to understand…"

"Hey. You're clear enough about what you want to say. Why is it so hard to get it out on the table?"

"I don't know." A drop of vanilla paint plopped onto her cheek. "I just can't start the conversation. I get too upset."

Somehow he'd moved across the room and found a wet rag to swipe the paint off her cheek. She tensed up in strong sexual awareness with Will that close, but he didn't pounce. He just rubbed at the paint spot. And forced her to endure a combustible amount of chemistry that she was determined to ignore.

And then, of course, he took his rag and his rascal smile and moved back to rolling paint.

After the job was finally done they moved outside, to wash out their brushes and the roller pan with the hose. It took forever to get the stuff clean, and the hose water was freezing cold. Once most of the paint was cleaned off, they moved back inside to do a major hand and face wash in the bathroom- together. Kelly couldn't help noting that both of them were still carefully not touching.

After the cleanup, they took five minutes to just stand in the doorway of the room and admire their handiwork.

"Well, it's not like anyone could turn this place into a spread for House Beautiful, but we do good work, don't we?" She really was in awe. It hadn't taken that long to paint the sucker-four hours or so? And it looked so much better. She'd been telling herself that she hadn't minded going from a nice apartment, filled with decent furniture and matching towels and her own colors, to living like a college student, but that was a lie. She'd been depressed up the wazoo.

Will said. "We still need to get rid of the tarps, get the bed moved back and all that. But I'm voting for a break first."

His theory was a predinner ice-cream cone. Kelly thought she was in no shape to be seen in public, but he looked adorable, with the streak of cinnamon-colored paint on his neck and another spot in his hair. Kissably adorable. Not that kissing him was on her mind.

Cotton-candy ice cream was. Her favorite flavor. And once he handed her a double-decker cone, he asked if she'd been in contact with her father since she'd left Paris.

"When he asked for that DNA test, he royally ticked me. But I went to a doctor, did a swab at a lab and had the results sent directly to my father's Paris address. Then I stewed." Her tongue swiped at the ice-cream cone. Man, it was good. "We had exchanged e-mail addresses the first time I met him. I thought that was interesting. I mean, obviously he didn't want mail or phone calls to come to the house from me. By giving me an e-mail address. I didn't know if he was trying to prevent direct contact or trying to keep a door open. Anyway…"

"You've been writing him?"

She nodded. "I don't know if I want a relationship with him-or vice versa. But I'll be damned if he gets to pretend that I don't exist, now that we both know about each other. And it still bugs me, that my half brothers believed I was after his money. So I started sending him a post every couple of days. Telling him things about my life, who I am. Not asking for a response."

"Has he responded?"

She shook her head. "The e-mails haven't come back, so I assume he got them. I mean, I realize he could have blocked me, or just deleted the e-mails without reading them, but there's nothing I can do about that. The only thing I have power over is keeping the door open. Even if he doesn't want to believe I exist, I still feel this…need. To know more about him, about that side of my family. Like, what were my grandparents like? Are there any family-related health issues? That's part of who I am. Who my kids will be, too." She almost got an ice-cream headache, she had devoured the cone so fast. But then she sighed. "The whole thing has had me in a muddle. Cripes. I've been a muddle since this all started-"

"All right, all right. We'll go shopping."

"Huh?" She blinked in surprise.

It was his turn to sigh, one of those heavy, testosterone-laden sighs. "You think I don't know when I'm being set up? It's okay. I get it. You've had a rotten time for weeks. And now you've ended up working like a dog on a Sunday, a day you should have spent relaxing. Obviously you need some kind of female pick-me-up. So where are we stuck going? The mall?"

His face said it all, that he considered shopping to be the ultimate sacrifice. "How about a movie instead?" she asked.

"A movie?"

The look of relief on his face almost made her burst out laughing. "When I'm stressed, I love to see a movie, any movie. Of course, we've still got paint on our clothes."

"Dried paint. And not that much."

It was hysterical, she thought, how willingly he'd do anything to get out of shopping. And even more interesting, how he'd just shown up and fit into her life all day as if he belonged there.

Her heart started aching. And the ache had intensified by the time she was sitting next to him in the dark theater, stealing his popcorn, shoulder-touching, knee-brushing, smile-sharing.

Desire, suppressed all day, appeared, ugly, annoying and refusing to disappear. She didn't want this yearning, this need to be with him. She told herself that she wouldn't mind so much if the whole thing were just about sex.

Sex was just sex, after all. Even when it was fantastic, fantabulous, fantilicious sex. Sex was only dangerous. It wasn't petrifying, like when doing ordinary things like painting a room and going to a movie felt impossibly right.

A bunch of blood and guts showed up on the movie screen. Kelly chewed on a nail. She wasn't going to start believing that the fantasy was real. This wasn't Paris. They were home now. Reality was reality. He was from a very, very rich background and had family problems beyond her ken. She was having identity issues of her own, not even counting how fractious her family relationships currently were.

So she ate his popcorn and she forced her mind off sex and she told herself, several zillion times, that the fantasy was over. When that didn't work-as they were walking out of the theater-she tried the one subject that should have been guaranteed to jam him up.

"So it went so bad with your dad that you can't even talk about it?"

She must have worn him down, because this time he didn't even try to duck. "It probably could have been worse, but I don't know how."

When he didn't come through with any details, she said, "Okay. I have an idea."

"What?"

"Ask me to dinner. With your parents. Pick a nice place, but more ordinary than ultrafancy. You know. Comfortable, with nothing about the atmosphere to add stress. They'll come because they'll be worried about what kind of girl you're seeing, so the heat will be on me instead of you. And it'll give me a chance to get a take on your dad. Maybe I could be of more help if I knew the players face-to-face."

'That's really a dumb idea," he said.

"Uh-huh." She thought again. "I can't tomorrow or Thursday. I'm clocking a ton of extra hours, trying to make some extra money. But Wednesday night would work well. Say six-thirty?"

They'd just stepped off the curb, crossing with the light, aiming for the parking lot across the street. People were milling all over the place, some exiting the theater, others going to dinner.

When Will grabbed her arm, her first assumption was that there was a problem-like she hadn't been paying attention and there was a car headed toward them.

She glanced around, yet there didn't seem to be any sudden cars in their way. And when she looked back at Will, his expression had turned sober…as if that first touch between them was all it had taken to create a conflagration within him. As it had for her, too.

His arms swooped around her.

Her arms wrapped around him.

His mouth claimed hers in a hot kiss that went on and on and on. She claimed his mouth right back, asking for more, needing more, demanding more.

Tension and tenderness swirled between them. She couldn't smell anything but him. Couldn't see

anything but him. Couldn't feel anything but him. "Will." she said softly, full of longing. He answered with another wild, slow kiss.

A car honked.

Then another.

Then a semitruck-loud enough to wake the dead.

She pulled back from him, startled at the sudden appearance of other people, cars, trucks. They were in the middle of the road, for Pete's sake.

And this wasn't Paris.