Match Me If You Can

Chapter Twelve

Annabelle and Heath left Chicago Friday afternoon. The Wind Lake Campground was located in northeastern Michigan about an hour from the pretty town of Grayling. Kevin and Molly had been there all week and the other book club members were driving up, but Mr. Super Agent couldn't spare that much time, so he'd snagged a ride for them on a friend's corporate jet. While he made phone calls, Annabelle, who'd never been on a private jet, gazed out the window and tried to talk herself into relaxing. So what if she and Heath were sharing a cottage for the weekend? Most of the time he'd either be hanging out with the men or trying to impress Phoebe, so she'd hardly see him, which was definitely for the best, because all those male pheromones he emitted were getting to her. Fortunately, she understood the difference between biological attraction and lasting affection. She might be horny, but she wasn't entirely self-destructive.

A gray rental SUV waited for them at the small airstrip. They were only about eighty miles from Mackinac Island, and the warm afternoon air carried the crisp, piney scent of the north woods. Heath grabbed her bag along with his own and carried them to the car, then went back for his golf clubs. She'd strained her budget to buy a few new things for the trip, including her buff slacks, which had thin brown stripes that made her legs look longer. A flirty bronze top set off tiny amber eardrops, a Christmas gift from Kate. She'd gotten her split ends trimmed, and for once her hair wasn't giving her trouble. Heath wore another of his expensive polo shirts, this one moss green, along with stone-colored chinos and loafers.

He set the suitcases in the back then tossed her the keys. "You drive."

She repressed a smile as she climbed behind the wheel. "With each passing day, your reasons for wanting a wife become clearer."

He shoved his laptop in the back and settled into the passenger seat. She consulted Molly's directions, then pulled out onto a winding two-lane highway. She wondered how he'd spent the Fourth. She hadn't seen him since Wednesday, when she'd introduced him to the De Paul harpist, whom he found intelligent, attractive, but too serious. After the date, he'd pressed her for more information about Gwen. Someday very soon she'd have to tell him the truth about that. Not a pleasant thought.

As he made another call, she concentrated on the pleasure of driving a car that wasn't Sherman. Molly hadn't exaggerated when she'd described how beautiful it was up here. Woods stretched on each side of the road, stands of pine, oak, and maple. Last year, Annabelle had been forced to cancel her plans to attend the retreat after Kate had shown up in Chicago unannounced, but she'd heard all about it: the walks they'd taken through the campground, how they'd gone swimming in the lake and held their book discussion in the new gazebo Molly and Kevin had build near their private living area, which was attached to the B &B. It had sounded so relaxing. But she didn't feel relaxed now. She had too much at stake, and she had to get her head together.

Heath made a second call before he put his phone away and occupied himself with criticizing her driving. "You have plenty of room to pass that truck."

"As long as I ignore the double yellow line."

"You'll be fine if you step on it."

"Right. Why worry about a silly thing like a head-on collision?"

"The speed limit's fifty-five. You're barely doing sixty."

"Don't make me stop this car, young man."

He chuckled, and for a few moments, his tension eased. Soon, however, he was back at it: sighing, tapping his foot, fiddling with the radio. She shot him a dark look. "You're never going to be able to manage three whole days away from work."

"Sure I can."

"Not without your cell."

"Definitely not. You'll win our bet."

"We don't have a bet!"

"Good. I hate losing. And it's not really three days. I've already put in eight hours today, and I'm taking off for Detroit on Sunday morning. You made plans to get back to the city, right?"

She nodded. She was riding back with Janine, the group's other unmarried member. He peered over at the speedometer. "You must have spoken to Molly since the party, and I'm guessing she grilled you about this weekend. How did you explain why I was coming with you?"

"I said that someone was at my door, and I'd get back to her. Is that a wild turkey?"

"I don't know. Did you call her back?"

"No."

"You should have. Now she'll be suspicious."

"What was I supposed to say? That you're obsessed with sucking up to her sister?"

"No, you were supposed to say that I've been working too hard, and it's made me so tense I can't appreciate all the great women you're introducing me to."

"That's for sure. You should give Zoe another chance. The harpist," she added, in case he'd already forgotten.

"I remember."

"Just because she thinks Adam Sandler is moronic doesn't mean she has no sense of humor."

"You think Adam Sandler's funny," he pointed out.

"Yes, but I'm immature."

He smiled. "Admit it. You know she wasn't right for me. I don't even think she liked me that much. Although she did have great legs." He leaned against the headrest, his mouth curling like a Python's tail. "Tell Molly you can't find me a wife when all I think about is work. Say you need to get me away from the city this weekend so you can have a serious talk with me about my screwed-up priorities."

"Which they are."

"See? You've already made progress."

"Molly's sharp. She won't buy that for a minute." She didn't add that Molly had already started asking Annabelle probing questions about how she and Heath were getting along.

"You can handle whatever she throws at you. And do you know why, Ace? Because you're not afraid of a challenge. Because you, my friend, live for challenges, the tougher the better."

"That's me, all right. A real shark."

"Now you're talking." They flew past a sign pointing toward the town of Wind Lake. "Do you know where you're going?"

"The campground's on the other end of the lake."

"Let me see."

As he reached for the crumpled page of directions lying in her lap, his thumb brushed the inside of her thigh, and she got goose bumps. She distracted herself with a little passive aggression. "I'm surprised this is your first trip to the campground. Kevin and Molly come up here all the time. I can't believe he hasn't invited you."

"I never said I hadn't been invited." He glanced from the directions to a road marker. "Kevin's a solid guy. He doesn't need the same amount of hand holding my younger clients do."

"You're weaseling. Kevin's never invited you up here, and do you know why? Because nobody can relax around you."

"Exactly what you're trying to change." A green-and-white sign with gilt-edged letters came into view on their left.

WIND LAKE COTTAGES

BED AND BREAKFAST

ESTABLISHED 1894

She turned into a narrow lane that tunneled through a dense stand of trees. "I know this might be hard to process, but I think you should be honest. Everybody knows you and Phoebe are at loggerheads, so why don't you just admit that you saw an opportunity to improve your relationship and took advantage of it?"

"And put Phoebe on guard? I don't think so."

"I'm guessing she already will be."

Another lazy smile. "Not if I play my cards right."

Fresh gravel pinged against the undercarriage of the car, and a few minutes later, the campground came into sight. She took in the shady commons, where a group of kids were playing softball. Gingerbread cottages with tiny eaves that dripped wooden lace surrounded the grassy rectangle. Each house looked as though it had been painted with brushes dipped in sherbet cartons: one lime green with root beer and cantaloupe trim, another raspberry with touches of lemon and almond. Through the trees she glimpsed a slice of sandy beach and the bright blue water of Wind Lake.

"No wonder Kevin likes it here so much," Heath said.

"It's exactly like Nightingale Woods in Molly's Daphne books. I'm so glad she talked Kevin out of selling it." The campground had been in Kevin's family since his great-grandfather, an itinerant Methodist minister, had founded it for summer religious revivals. Eventually, it had passed to Kevin's father, then Kevin's aunt, and finally to Kevin.

"The upkeep on the place is unbelievable," Heath said. "I've always wondered why he kept it."

"Now you know."

"Now I know." He slipped off his sunglasses. "I miss not being outdoors more. I grew up banging around in the woods."

"Huntin' and trappin'?"

"Not too much. I never got into killing things."

"Preferring slow torture."

"You know me so well."

They followed the road that looped around the common. Each cottage bore a neatly painted sign over the door: green

PASTURES, MILK AND HONEY, LAMB OF GOD, JACOB'S LADDER. She slowed to admire the bed-and-breakfast, a stately, turreted Queen Anne with sweeping porches; lush, hanging ferns; and wooden rockers where two women sat chatting. Heath checked the directions and pointed toward a narrow lane that ran parallel to the lake. "Take a left."

She did as he said. They passed an elderly woman with binoculars and a walking stick, then two teenagers on bikes. Finally, they reached the end of the lane, and she pulled up in front of the last of the cottages, a doll's house with a sign above the door that read lilies of the field. Painted a creamy yellow with dusty pink and pale blue accents, the house looked as though it had tumbled out of a child's nursery tale. Annabelle was captivated. At the same time, she found herself wishing it weren't quite so isolated from the other cottages.

Heath bounded from the car and unloaded their suitcases. The screen door squeaked as she followed him into the cottage's main living area. Everything was worn, chipped, and homey, authentic shabby chic instead of the overpriced decorator variety. Off-white walls, a cozy couch with a faded floral print, battered brass lamps, a scrubbed pine chest… She poked her head into a tiny kitchen with an old-fashioned gas stove. A door next to the refrigerator led to a shady, screened-in porch. She walked outside and saw a glider, bent willow chairs, and an ancient drop-leaf table with two painted wooden chairs.

Heath came up behind her. "No sirens, no garbage trucks, no car alarms. I've forgotten what real quiet sounds like."

She drew in the damp, cool smell of vegetation. "It's so private. It feels like a nest."

"It's nice."

This was too much coziness for her, and she slipped back inside. The rest of the cottage consisted of an old-fashioned bathroom along with two bedrooms, the largest of which held a double bed with an iron headboard. And two suitcases… "Heath?"

He poked his head through the door. "Yeah?"

She gestured toward his suitcase. "You left something in here."

"Just until we flip for the big bed."

"Nice try. It's my party. You get the kiddy bedroom."

"I'm the client, and this one looks more comfortable."

"I know. Which is why I'm taking it."

"Fine," he said with a surprising display of good humor. "I'll drag that other mattress onto the porch. I can't remember the last time I slept outside." He tossed her suitcase up on the bed then handed her an envelope with her name on it in Molly's handwriting. "I found this in the kitchen."

She pulled out a note written on Molly's new line of Nightingale Woods stationery. "Molly says this is one of her favorite cottages and she hopes we like it. The refrigerator's stocked with necessities, and there's a cookout on the beach at six o'clock." The P.S. Annabelle kept to herself.

Do not do anything stupid!

"Fill me in on this book club." He moved his suitcase out of the way and set a shoulder against the doorjamb as she slipped the note inside the pocket of her slacks. "How did you get involved?"

"Through Molly." She unzipped her suitcase. "We've been meeting once a month for the past two years. Last year Phoebe said she thought it would be fun if we all went away for a weekend. I think she had a spa in mind, but Janine and I couldn't afford it-Janine writes young adult books-so Molly jumped in and said we should all come to the campground. Before long, the men were involved."

Annabelle and Janine were two of only three book club members not directly associated with the Stars. The other was Heath's dream woman, Gwen. Fortunately, she and Ian were closing on their new house this weekend and couldn't come.

Heath gave a soft whistle. "This is one hell of a book club. Phoebe and Molly. Didn't you mention Ron McDermitt's wife?"

She nodded and flipped open her suitcase. "Sharon used to teach nursery school. She keeps us in line."

"And now she's married to the Stars' general manager. I've met her." He gazed directly at the bras and panties lying on top, but his mind was on business, not underwear. "At the party, Phoebe mentioned Darnell. That can only be Darnell Pruitt."

"His wife's name is Charmaine." She surreptitiously slipped a T-shirt over her lingerie pile

"The greatest D.T. the Stars ever had."

"Charmaine played football?"

But he was a John Deere on his way to a tractor-pulling contest, and she couldn't distract him. "Who else?"

"Krystal Greer." She pulled out her toiletry case and set it on the dresser's cracked white marble top.

"Webster Greer's wife. Unbelievable. He went to the Pro Bowl nine years in a row."

"It's the women who are members, not the men. Try not to embarrass me."

He snorted and picked up his suitcase but paused at the door. "Did anybody bring their kids?"

"Adults only."

He smiled. "Excellent."

"Except for Pippi and Danny. They're too young to leave behind."

"Shit."

She frowned at him. "What's wrong with you? They're adorable children."

"One of them's adorable. I'd sign him right now if I could."

"The road trips might be a challenge, since he's still nursing. And Pippi's just as cute as Danny. That little girl is precious."

"She'll be in prison before she makes it to first grade."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just rambling." He headed out the door only to poke his head back in. "Good taste in panties, Tinker Bell." Then he was gone.

She sank down on the side of the bed. The man didn't miss anything. What else about her might he notice that she didn't want him to see? With a sense of foreboding, she traded in her new slacks for biscuit-colored shorts but left the flirty bronze top on. After running her fingers through her hair, she headed for the porch. Heath was already there. He'd also changed into shorts, along with a light gray T-shirt that curled like pipe smoke around the contours of his chest. A blade of light angling through the screen caught one cheekbone, etching its tough, uncompromising contour. "Are you going to sabotage me this weekend?" he asked quietly.

He had grounds for being suspicious, so she shouldn't have been offended, but she was. "Is that what you think of me?"

"Just making sure we're on the same page."

"Your page."

"All I'm asking is that you don't undermine me. I'll take care of everything else."

"Oh, I'm sure you will," she said, sarcastic as all hell.

"What's your beef, anyway? You've been marginally bitchy all afternoon."

She was pleased that he'd noticed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"And not just this afternoon. You're taking potshots at me whenever you see the opportunity. Is it personal or symbolic of your feelings toward men in general? It's not my fault your last boyfriend decided to play for the same team you're on."

Okay. Now she was mad. "Who told you that?"

"I didn't know it was a secret."

"It's not exactly." Molly wouldn't have said anything, but Kevin still had trouble accepting what Rob had done, which made him the likely culprit. She shoved one of the chairs back under the table. She wouldn't talk about Rob to Heath. "I'm sorry if I've been testy," she said, still sounding testy, "but I have a hard time understanding people who make work the center of their lives to the exclusion of personal relationships."

"Which is exactly why you brought me here. To fix that."

He had her there.

"Shall we?" He gestured toward the porch door.

"Why not?" She tossed her hair and marched past him. "Time to get Operation Suck Up off and running."

"Now, that's the kind of can-do attitude I like to hear."

The fire popped and sparks shot into the sky. Only the platter of chocolate brownies Molly had baked for them in the B &B's kitchen that afternoon remained on the picnic table. A young couple took care of the everyday operation of the campground, but Molly and Kevin always pitched in when they were here. The meal had been delicious: grilled steaks, baked potatoes with plenty of toppings, sweet onions perfectly charred at the edges, and a salad laced with juicy slices of ripe pear. Kevin and Molly had left their children with the couple who ran the campground, nobody had to drive home, and the wine and beer flowed. Heath was in his element, friendly and charming with the women, perfectly at home with the men. He was a chameleon, Annabelle thought, subtly adjusting his behavior to suit his audience. Tonight, everyone except Phoebe was enjoying his company, and even she hadn't done much worse than shoot him a few poisonous glares.

As the music from the boom box began to crank up, Annabelle wandered out onto the deserted dock, but just as she'd begun to enjoy the solitude, she heard the purposeful tap of a pair of sandals coming her way and turned to see Molly approaching. With the exception of the more generous bust-line that nursing Danny had given her, she looked like the same studious girl Annabelle had first met more than a decade ago in a comparative lit class. Tonight she'd pulled her straight brown hair back from her face with a barrette, and a tiny pair of silver sea turtles bobbed at her earlobes. She wore purple capris with a matching top and a necklace made out of elbow macaroni.

"Why haven't you returned my calls?" she demanded.

"Sorry. Things got totally crazy." Maybe she could distract her. "Remember I told you I have a client who's a hypochondriac? I set him up with a woman who's-"

"Never mind that. What's going on with you and Heath?"

Annabelle pulled a little wide-eyed innocence out of her rusty bag of college acting skills. "What do you mean? Business."

"Don't give me that. We've been friends too long."

She switched to a furrowed brow. "He's my most important client. You know how much this means to me."

Molly wasn't buying it. "I've seen the way you look at him. Like he was a slot machine with triple sevens tattooed on his forehead. If you fall in love with him, I swear I'll never speak to you again."

Annabelle nearly choked. She'd known Molly would be suspicious, but she hadn't expected an outright confrontation. "Are you nuts? Setting aside the fact that he treats me like a flunky, I'd never fall for a workaholic after what I've had to go through with my family." Falling in lust, however, was an entirely different matter.

"He has a calculator for a heart," Molly said.

"I thought you liked him."

"I love him. He handled Kevin's negotiations brilliantly, and, believe me, my sister can be a real cheapo. Heath's smart, I've never met anybody who works so hard, he'll do anything for his clients, and he's as ethical as any agent's ever going to get. But he's the worst candidate for a love match I've ever met."

"You think I don't know that? This weekend is business. He's rejected everybody Powers and I set him up with. There's something we're both missing, and I can't figure out what that is during those stingy slivers of time he gives me." She was speaking the truth. This was exactly where she needed to concentrate her attention this weekend, looking into his psyche instead of noticing how good he smelled or how gorgeous his stupid green eyes were.

Molly still looked worried. "I'd like to believe you, but I've got a weird feeling that-"

What kind of feeling she had was lost as more footsteps sounded on the dock. They turned to see Krystal Greer and Charmaine Pruitt joining them. Krystal looked like a younger Diana Ross. Tonight, she'd tied her long, curly hair up with a red ribbon that matched her bandanna top. She was tiny, but she carried herself like a queen, and entering her forties hadn't altered either her model's cheekbones or her take-no-prisoners attitude.

Despite their diametrical personalities, she and Charmaine had been best friends for years. Charmaine, conservatively dressed in a cranberry cotton twin set and twill walking shorts, was curvy, sweet, and serious. A former librarian and current church organist, she centered her life around her husband and two little boys. The first time Annabelle had met Charmaine's husband, Darnell, she'd been struck speechless by what seemed the mismatch of the century. Although Annabelle knew Darnell had once played for the Stars, she hadn't paid much attention to football in those days, and she'd imagined someone as conservative as Charmaine. Instead, Darnell had a diamond-embedded gold front tooth, a seemingly endless collection of dark glasses, and a penchant for bling-bling that rivaled a hip-hop headliner. Appearances, however, were deceiving. Over half their book club selections were based on his recommendations.

"I can't get over the way the sky looks up here." Charmaine wrapped her arms around herself and gazed at the stars. "Living in the city, you forget."

"You're going to have a bigger surprise this weekend than a sky full of pretty stars," Krystal said smugly.

"Either spill your big secret or keep quiet about it," Charmaine retorted. She turned to Annabelle and Molly. "Krystal keeps dropping hints about some big surprise she has planned. Do either of you know what it is?"

Annabelle and Molly shook their heads.

Krystal slipped her thumbs in the front pockets of her shorts and stuck out a set of still perky breasts. "I'll just say this… Our Miss Charmaine might need a little therapy after I'm done with her. As for the rest of you… Just be prepared."

"For what?" Janine approached with Sharon McDermitt and Phoebe, who'd pulled on a pink zippered hoodie with matching sweatpants and held a glass of chardonnay. Janine, with her prematurely gray pixie, artisan's jewelry, and ankle-length block-print sundress, was coming off a bad year: the death of her mother, breast cancer, and a bad bout of writer's block. The friendship of the book club meant everything to her. When she'd been sick, Annabelle and Charmaine had brought her meals and run errands, Phoebe had arranged for regular massages and called her daily, Krystal tended her garden, and Molly nagged her into starting to write again. Sharon McDermitt, the best listener in the group, had been her confidante. Next to Molly, Sharon was Phoebe's best friend, and she headed the Stars' charity foundation.

"Apparently Krystal has a secret," Molly said, "which, as usual, she'll reveal when she's good and ready."

While the rest of them speculated over what Krystal's secret might be, Annabelle tried to figure out the best way to broach a perilous subject. Although she'd been lucky so far, she couldn't count on her luck lasting forever, and when there was a lull in the conversation, she plunged in. "I might need a little help this weekend."

She knew by their expectant expressions that they wanted her to explain why she'd shown up with Heath, but she wasn't volunteering any more than she already had. She toyed with the yellow band of her Swatch daisy watch. "All of you know how much Perfect for You means to me. If I don't make a success of this, it'll basically prove my mother's right about everything. And I really don't want to be an accountant."

"Kate puts too much pressure on you," Sharon said, not for the first time.

Annabelle shot her a grateful smile. "Thanks to Molly, I had an interview with Heath. But the thing is, I needed to engage in a small act of subterfuge to get his name on my contract."

"What kind of subterfuge?" Janine asked.

She took a deep breath and told them how she'd fixed him up with Gwen.

Molly gasped. "He's going to kill you. I mean it, Annabelle. When he finds out you deceived him-and he will find out- he'll go ballistic."

"He boxed me into a corner." Annabelle hunched her shoulders and rubbed her arm. "I admit it was a crappy thing to do, but I only had twenty-four hours to come up with a knockout candidate, or I was going to lose him."

"That is not a man to mess with," Sharon said. "You wouldn't believe some of the stories I've heard from Ron."

Annabelle gnawed her bottom lip. "I know I have to tell him the truth. I just need to find the right moment."

Krystal cocked her hip. "Girl, there is no right moment to die."

Charmaine clucked her tongue. "You are going straight to the top on my prayer list."

Only Phoebe looked pleased, and her amber eyes glowed like a cat's. "I love this. Not the fact that you'll end up in a shallow grave-I'm really sorry about that, and I'll make sure he's prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. But I love knowing that a mere slip of a female put one over on the great Python."

Molly glared at her sister. "This is the exact reason why Christine Jeffreys won't let her daughter have a sleepover with the twins. You frighten people." And then, to Annabelle, "What do you want us to do?"

"Just don't mention Gwen's name around him, that's all. I can't see any reason the guys would mention her, so I'll have to hope for the best with them. Unless any of you can find a way to clue them in without actually telling them what I did."

"I vote we tell them the truth," Phoebe said. "They'll laugh at him behind his back for months."

"You don't get a vote," Krystal said. "Not on anything that involves the Python."

"That is so unfair." Phoebe sniffed.

Charmaine patted her arm. "You're a little irrational on the subject."

The sound of male laughter drifted toward them from the beach. "We'd better get back," Molly said. "We've got all day tomorrow to talk about Annabelle's problems, including why she brought Heath in the first place."

Sharon looked worried. "I think that's fairly obvious. Annabelle, really, what were you thinking?"

"It's business!" she exclaimed.

"Monkey business," Krystal muttered.

"Heath needed to get away for a while, and I need a chance to figure out why the matches aren't working. There's nothing more to it than that."

Charmaine exchanged a loaded glance with Phoebe, ready to say more, but Molly came to Annabelle's rescue. "We'd better get back before they start running plays."

All of them turned toward the end of the dock.

And came to a dead stop.

Phoebe was the first to break the long silence. In her soft, husky voice, she said what all of them were thinking. "Welcome to the Garden of the Gods, ladies."

Sharon spoke quietly over the lapping water. "When you're standing right next to them, you don't get the full impact."

Krystal's voice had a dreamy edge. "We're getting it now."

The men stood by the campfire… all six of them… one more gorgeous than the other. Phoebe licked her bottom lip and pointed to the oldest, a big blond giant with a hand cocked at his hip. On a never-to-be-forgotten day in the Midwest Sports Dome, Dan Calebow had saved her life with a perfectly thrown spiral. "I pick him," she said softly. "Forever and ever."

Molly slipped her arm through her sister's and said, just as softly. "I'll take the golden boy right next to him. Forever and ever." Kevin Tucker, tan and fit, had hazel eyes and a star-kissed talent that had earned him two Super Bowl rings, but he still told people the night he'd mistaken Molly for a burglar was the luckiest night of his life.

"I'll take that righteous brother with the soulful eyes and smile that melts my heart." Krystal pointed toward Webster Greer, the second largest of the men standing by the flames. "As mad as he makes me, I'd marry him again tomorrow."

Charmaine gazed toward the largest and most menacing of the gods. Darnell Pruitt had left his silk shirt unbuttoned to the waist, revealing a brawny chest and a trio of gold chains. As the firelight turned his skin to polished ebony, he looked like an ancient African king. She pressed her fingertips to the base of her throat. "I still don't quite understand it. He should terrify me."

"Instead, it's the other way around." Janine's smile held a trace of longing. "Somebody lend me one of them. Just for the night."

"Not mine," Sharon said. The fact that Ron McDermitt was the smallest man around the fire and a self-proclaimed geek didn't dim his sexual megawattage one bit, not when the right pair of sunglasses turned him into a ringer for Tom Cruise.

One by one, the women's gazes fell on Heath. Lithe, square-jawed, his crisp brown hair dusted with gold from the fire, he stood in the exact center of this elite group of warriors, both one of them and somehow set apart. He was younger, and his battle-hardened edges had been honed at the negotiating table instead of on the gridiron, but that didn't make him any less commanding. This was a man to be reckoned with.

"Spooky how he fits right in," Molly observed.

"It's the favorite trick of the undead," Phoebe said tartly. "Shape-shifters transform themselves into whatever people want to see."

Annabelle suppressed a powerful urge to defend him.

"Harvard brains, GQ polish, and country boy charm," Charmaine said. "That's why the young guys want to sign with him."

Phoebe tapped the toe of her sneaker against the dock. "There's only one good use for a man like Heath Champion."

"Here we go again," Molly muttered.

Phoebe's lip curled. "Target practice."

"Stop it!" Annabelle rounded on her.

They all stared. Annabelle unclenched her hands and tried to retrench. "What I mean is… I mean… If a man said something like that about a woman, people would throw him in jail. So, I don't… you know… think maybe a woman should say it about a man."

Phoebe seemed fascinated by Annabelle's rebuke. "The Python has a champion."

"I'm just saying," Annabelle murmured.

"She has a point." Krystal began walking toward the beach.

"It's hard to raise male children with good self-esteem. That kind of thing doesn't help."

"You're right." Phoebe slipped her arm around Annabelle's waist. "I'm the mother of a son, and I should know better. I'm just… a little uneasy. I've had so much more experience with Heath than you."

Her concern was genuine, and Annabelle couldn't stay upset. "You really don't have to worry."

"It's hard not to. I feel guilty."

"About what?"

Phoebe's steps slowed just enough so they fell behind the others. She patted Annabelle the same way she patted her children when she was worried. "I'm trying to figure out a tactful way to say this, but I can't. You know, don't you, that he's manipulating you to get to me?"

"You can't blame him for trying," Annabelle said quietly. "He's a good agent. Everybody says so. Maybe it's time to let bygones be bygones." She regretted her words the moment she spoke them. She knew nothing about the inner workings of the NFL, and she shouldn't presume to tell Phoebe how to run her empire.

But Phoebe merely sighed and dropped her hand from Annabelle's waist. "There are no good agents. But at least some of them don't go out of their way to stab you in the back."

Heath had scented danger, and he came striding toward her. "Ron had his eye on the last brownie, Annabelle, but I snagged it first. I've seen how cranky you get if you go too long without chocolate."

She was more of a caramel person, but she wouldn't contradict him in front of his archenemy, and she took the brownie he extended. "Phoebe, do you want to split this?"

"I'll save my calories for another glass of wine." Without even glancing at Heath, she walked away to join the others.

"So how's your plan working so far?" Annabelle said, studying Phoebe's back.

"She'll come around."

"Not anytime soon."

"Attitude, Annabelle. It's all about attitude."

"So you've mentioned." She handed him the brownie. "You can work this off easier than me."

He took a bite. From the beach, she heard Janine say she needed to finish the book before tomorrow. As everybody told her good night, Webster slipped another CD in the boom box, and a Marc Anthony song came on. Ron and Sharon began to salsa in the sand. Kevin grabbed Molly, and they joined in, executing the steps more gracefully than the McDermitts. Phoebe and Dan looked into each other's eyes, laughed, and began to dance, too.

Heath's fingers tightened around Annabelle's elbow. "Let's take a walk."

"No. They're suspicious enough as it is. And Phoebe knows exactly what you're up to."

"Does she now?" He tossed the rest of the brownie in the trash. "If you don't want to walk, let's dance."

"Okay, but dance with the other women, too, so nobody gets suspicious."

"Of what?"

"Molly thinks… Oh, never mind. Just spread your dubious charm around, okay?"

"Will you relax?" He grabbed her hand and led her back to the others.

It didn't take long for her to kick off her sandals and get into the spirit of the evening. After all the classes Kate had forced her to take, Annabelle was a good dancer. Either Heath had taken a few classes himself or he was a natural because he stayed right with her. When it came to mastering the social graces, he didn't seem to have missed a trick. The song came to an end, and Annabelle waited for the next one. With the water lapping the shore, a crackling fire, a star-spangled sky, and a frighteningly tempting man at her side, this was a romantic cliche of a night.

She couldn't handle a ballad-that would be too cruel. To her relief, the music stayed upbeat.

She danced with Darnell and Kevin, Heath with their wives. After a while, the couples drifted back together, and they stayed that way for the rest of the evening. Eventually, Kevin and Molly disappeared to check on their kids. Phoebe and Dan wandered away, hand in hand, for a stroll along the beach. The rest of them kept dancing, shedding their sweatshirts, mopping their brows, refreshing themselves with a cold beer or a glass of wine while the music urged them on. Annabelle's hair whipped her cheeks. Heath pulled a Travolta move that made them both laugh. They drank more wine, came together, slipped apart. Their hips touched, their legs rubbed, the blood surged through her veins. Krystal ground her bottom against her husband like a freak-dancing teenager. Darnell took his wife by the hips, gazed into her eyes, and Charmaine no longer looked prim at all.

Sparks shot into the sky. Outkast launched into "Hey Yah!" Annabelle's breasts brushed Heath's chest. She gazed up into a pair of half-lidded deep green eyes and thought about how being drunk could give a woman the perfect excuse to do something she normally wouldn't. The next morning, she could always say, "God, I was so hammered. Remind me never to drink again."

It would be like having a free pass.

Somewhere between Marc Anthony and James Brown, Heath started forgetting that Annabelle was his matchmaker. As they headed back to the cottage, he blamed the night, the music, too many beers, and that wild auburn rumpus dancing around her head. He blamed the impish amber sparks in her eyes as she'd dared him to keep up with her. He blamed the feisty curve of her mouth as her small bare feet kicked up the sand. But most of all, he blamed his training regimen for marital fidelity, which he now realized had been way too strict or he'd be able to remember this was Annabelle, his matchmaker, his- sort of-buddy.

She fell silent as they approached the darkened cottage. Granted, tonight wasn't the first time his thoughts toward her had turned in a sexual direction, but that had been a normal male reaction to an intriguing female. Annabelle as a potential bed partner had no place in his life, and he needed to get a grip.

He held the cottage door open for her. All evening, her laughter had chimed like bells in his head, and, as she brushed his shoulder, an unwelcome surge of blood shot straight to his loins. He smelled wood smoke, along with a light, floral shampoo, and fought the urge to bury his face in her hair. His cell sat on the end table, where he'd left it before the cookout so he wouldn't be tempted to use it. Normally, he'd have checked for messages first thing, but he didn't feel like it tonight. Annabelle, however, was busy as a bee. She slipped past him to turn on a lamp, knocking the shade askew in the process. She opened a window, fanned herself, picked up the purse she'd left on the couch, set it back down. When she finally gazed at him, he saw the damp spot on her top where she'd spilled her third glass of wine. Bastard that he was, he'd refilled it right away.

"I'd better get to bed." She nibbled on her bottom lip.

He couldn't look away from those small, straight teeth sinking into that rosy flesh. "Not yet," he heard himself say. "I'm too wired. I want somebody to talk to." Somebody to touch.

Being Annabelle, she read his mind, and she confronted the situation head-on. "How sober are you?"

"Almost."

"Good. Because I'm not."

His eyes settled on that moist blossom of a mouth. Her lips parted like flower petals. He tried to come up with a smarmy comment that was sure to offend her, which would snap them both out of this, but he couldn't think of a thing. "And if I weren't almost sober?" he said.

"You are. Almost." Those melted caramel eyes didn't leave his face. "You're a very self-disciplined person. I respect that about you."

"Because one of us needs to be self-disciplined, right?"

Her hands twisted at her waist. She looked adorable- rumpled clothes, sandy ankles, that hullabaloo of shiny hair. "Exactly."

"Or maybe not." To hell with it. They were both adults. They knew what they were doing, and he took a step toward her.

She threw up her hands. "I'm drunk. Really, really drunk."

"Got it." He moved closer.

"I'm totally wasted." She took a quick, awkward step backward. "Hammered out of my mind."

"Okay." He stopped where he was and waited.

The toe of her sandal eased forward. "I am not responsible!"

"I'm readin' you loud and clear."

"Any man would look good to me right now." Another step toward him. "If Dan walked in, Darnell, Ron-any man!-I'd think about jumping him." The bridge of her nose crinkled with indignation. "Even Kevin! My best friend's husband, can you imagine? That's exactly how drunk I am. I mean…"A gulp of air. "You! Can you believe it? I'm so wasted, I couldn't tell one man from another."

"You'll take whatever you can get, right?" Oh, this was too easy. He closed the remaining distance between them.

The muscles in her throat worked as she swallowed. "I have to be honest."

"You'd even take me."

Her narrow shoulders rose, then fell. "Unfortunately, you're the only man in the room. If somebody else was here, I'd-"

"I know. Jump him." He ran the tip of his finger over the curve of her cheek. She leaned into his hand. He rubbed his thumb over her chin. "Could you be quiet now so I can kiss you?'

She blinked, thick lashes sweeping her pixie's eyes. "Really?"

"Oh, yes."

"Because, if you do, I'll kiss you back, so you need to remember that I'm-"

"Drunk. I'll remember." He slipped his hands into the hair he'd been aching to touch for weeks. "You're not responsible for your actions."

She gazed up at him. "Just so you understand."

"I understand," he said softly. And then he kissed her.

She arched against him, her body pliant, her lips hot and Annabelle-spicy. Her hair curled around his fingers, ribbons of silk. He freed one hand and found her breast. Through her clothes, the nipple pebbled under his palm. She wound her arms around his neck, pressed her hips to his. Their tongues played an erotic game. He was hard, mindless. He needed more, and he reached under her top to feel her skin.

A muffled little whimper penetrated his fog. She shuddered, and the heels of her hands pressed against his chest.

He drew back. "Annabelle?"

She gazed up at him through watery eyes and sniffed, the corners of her soft, rosy mouth drooping. "If only I were drunk," she whispered.