This Heart Of Mine

Chapter 2

Kevin suddenly remembered that he'd been too preoccupied with his scotch to set the house's security system, A lucky break. Now he had a shot at a little entertainment.

The house was cold and dark as sin. He threw his bare feet over the edge of the couch and bumped into the coffee table. Cursing, he rubbed his shin, then hopped toward the door. What did it say about his life that tangling with a burglar would be this week's bright spot? He just hoped the son of a bitch was armed.

He dodged a chunky shape that he thought might be an armchair and stepped on something small and sharp, probably one of the Legos he'd seen scattered around. The house was big and luxurious, set deep into the Wisconsin woods, with trees on three sides and the icy waters of Lake Michigan at the rear.

Damn, it was dark. He headed toward the scratching sound, and just as he reached it, heard the click of the latch. The door began to open.

He felt that adrenaline rush he loved, and in one smooth motion he shoved the door against the wall and grabbed the person on the other side.

The guy was a lightweight, and he came flying.

He was a pansy, too, from the sound of that scream as he hit the floor.

Unfortunately, he had a dog. A big dog.

The hair stood on the back of Kevin's neck as he heard the low, bloodcurdling growl of an attack dog. He had no time to brace himself before the animal clamped down on his ankle.

With the reflexes that were making him a legend, he lunged toward the switch, at the same time steeling himself for the crunch of his anklebones. Light flooded the foyer, and he realized two things.

He wasn't being attacked by a rottweiler. And those panicked sounds weren't coming from a guy.

"Aw, shit…"

Lying on the slate floor at his feet was a small, screaming woman with hair the color of a 49ers jersey. And clamped to his ankle, ripping holes in his favorite jeans, was a small, gray…

His brain skidded away from the word.

The stuff she'd been carrying when he'd grabbed her lay strewn all around. As he tried to shake off the dog, he spotted lots of books, drawing supplies, two boxes of Nutter Butter cookies, and bedroom slippers with big pink rabbits' heads on the toes.

He finally shook off the snarling dog. The woman scrambled to her feet and assumed some kind of martial arts pose. He opened his mouth to explain, only to have her foot come up and catch him behind the knee. The next thing he knew, he'd been sacked.

"Damn… It took the Giants a good three quarters to do that."

She'd been wearing a coat when she hit the floor, but the only thing between him and the slate was a layer of denim. He winced and rolled to his back. The animal pounced on his chest, barking dog breath into his face and slapping him in the nose with the tails of the blue bandanna fastened around his neck.

"You tried to kill me!" she screamed, the fiery little wisps of 49er hair flashing around her face.

"Not on purpose." He knew he'd met her before, but he couldn't for the life of him remember who she was. "Could you call off your pit bull?"

Her panicked look was giving way to fury, and she bared her teeth just like the dog. "Come here, Roo."

The animal snarled and crawled off Kevin's chest. It finally hit him. Oh, shit… "You're, uh, Phoebe's sister. Are you okay"-he searched for a name-"Miss Somerville?" Since he was the one lying on the slate floor with a bruised hip and puncture wounds in his ankle, he considered the question something of a courtesy.

"This is the second time in two days!" she exclaimed.

"I don't remember-"

"The second time! Are you demented, you stupid badger? Is that your problem? Or are you just an idiot!"

"As to that, I-Did you just call me a badger?"

She blinked. "A bastard. I called you a bastard."

"That's all right then." Unfortunately, his lame attempt at humor didn't make her smile.

The pit bull retreated to his mistress's side. Kevin pushed himself up off the slate and rubbed his ankle, trying to recall what he knew about his employer's sister, but he remembered only that she was an egghead. He'd seen her a few times at Stars headquarters with her head buried in a book, but her hair sure hadn't been this color.

It was hard to believe that she and Phoebe were related, because she wasn't even close to being a fox. Not that she was a dog either. She was just sort of ordinary-flat where Phoebe was curvy, small where Phoebe was large. Unlike her sister's, this one's mouth didn't look as if it had been designed to whisper dirty words under the sheets. Instead, Little Sis's mouth looked as if it spent its days shushing people in the library.

He didn't need the evidence of all those scattered books to tell him she was the kind of woman he least liked-brainy and way too serious. She was probably going to be a talker, too, an even bigger strike against her. In the spirit of fairness, though, he had to give Little Sis high marks for eye power. They were an unusual color, somewhere between blue and gray, and they had a sexy slant to them, just like her eyebrows, which he realized were almost meeting in the middle as she scowled at him. Damn it. Phoebe's sister! And he'd thought this week couldn't get any worse.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Those blue-gray irises turned the exact color of an Illinois summer afternoon right before the tornado siren went off. He'd now managed to piss off every member of the Stars' ruling family, except maybe the kids. It was a gift.

He'd better mend his fences, and since charm was his long suit, he flashed a smile. "I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you were a burglar."

"What are you doing here?"

Even before her screech, he could see that the charm thing wasn't working.

He kept an eye on that kung fu leg of hers. "Dan suggested I come up here for a few days, to think things over…" He paused. "Which I didn't need to do."

She slapped the switch, and two sets of rustic iron wall sconces came on, filling the far corners with light.

The house was built of logs, but with six bedrooms and ceilings that soared up two stories to the exposed roof beams, the place didn't bear any resemblance to a frontier log cabin. Big windows made the woods seem part of the interior, and the huge stone fireplace that dominated one end of the room could have roasted a buffalo. All the furniture was big, overstuffed, and comfortable, designed to take the abuse of a large family. Off to the side a wide staircase led to a second floor complete with a small loft at one end.

Kevin bent over to pick up her things. He examined the rabbit slippers. "Don't you get nervous wearing these during hunting season?"

She snatched them from his hand. "Give them to me."

"I wasn't planning on wearing them. It'd be a little hard to keep the guys' respect."

She didn't smile as he handed them over. "There's a lodge not too far from here," she said. "I'm sure you can find a room for the night."

"It's too late to throw me out. Besides, I was invited."

"It's my house. You're uninvited." She tossed her coat on one of the couches and headed for the kitchen. The pit bull curled his lip, then stuck his pompon straight up, just as if he were giving Kevin the finger. Only when the dog was certain his message had been delivered did he trot after her.

Kevin followed them. The kitchen was roomy and comfortable, with Craftsman cabinets and a daylight view of Lake Michigan through every window. She dropped her packages on a pentagon-shaped center island surrounded by six stools.

She had an eye for fashion, he'd give her that. She wore close-fitting charcoal pants and a funky, oversize metallic-gray sweater that put him in mind of a suit of armor. With that short flaming hair, she could be Joan of Arc right after the match had been struck. Her clothes looked expensive but not new, which was odd, since he remembered hearing that she'd inherited Bert Somerville's fortune. Even though Kevin was wealthy himself, he'd come into his money long after his character had been formed. In his experience, people who'd grown up wealthy didn't understand hard work, and he hadn't met many of them he liked. This snobby rich girl was no exception.

"Uh, Miss Somerville? Before you kick me out… I'll bet you didn't let the Calebows know you were coming up here, or they'd have told you the place was already occupied."

"I have dibs. It's understood." She threw the cookies in a drawer and slammed it shut. Then she studied him, all uptight and mad as hell. "You don't remember my name, do you?"

"Sure I know your name." He searched his mind and couldn't come up with a thing.

"We've been introduced at least three times."

"Which was totally unnecessary, since I've got a great memory for names."

"Not mine. You've forgotten."

"Of course I haven't."

She stared at him for a long moment, but he was used to operating under pressure, and he didn't have any trouble waiting her out.

"It's Daphne," she said.

"Why are you telling me something I already know? Are you this paranoid with everyone, Daphne?"

She pursed her lips and muttered something under her breath. He could swear he heard the word "badger" again.

Kevin Tucker didn't even know her name! Let this be a lesson, Molly thought as she gazed at all that dangerous gorgeousness.

Right then she knew she had to find a way to protect herself from him. Okay, so he was drop-dead good-looking. So were a lot of men. Granted, not many of them had that particular combination of dark blond hair and brilliant green eyes. And not many had a body like his, which was trim and sculpted rather than bulky. Still, she wasn't stupid enough to be taken in by a man who was nothing more than a great body, a pretty face, and an on/off charm switch.

Well, she was stupid enough-witness her late, unlamented crush on him-but at least she'd known she was being stupid.

One thing she wouldn't do was come across as a fawning groupie. He was going to see her at her absolute snottiest! She conjured up Goldie Hawn in Overboard for inspiration. "You're going to have to leave, Ken. Oh, excuse me, I mean Kevin. It is Kevin, right?"

She must have gone too far because the corner of his mouth kicked up. "We've been introduced at least three times. I'd think you'd remember."

"There are just so many football players, and you all look alike."

One of his eyebrows arched.

She'd made her point, and it was late, so she could afford to be generous, but only in the most condescending way. "You can stay tonight, but I came here to work, so you'll have to vacate tomorrow morning." A glance out the back windows showed his Ferrari parked by the garage, which was why she hadn't seen it when she'd pulled up in front.

He deliberately settled on a stool, as if to show her he wasn't going anywhere. "What kind of work do you do?" He sounded patronizing, which told her he didn't believe it was anything too arduous.

"Je suis auteur."

"An author?"

"Soy autora," she added in Spanish.

"Any reason you've given up English?"

"I thought you might be more comfortable with a foreign language." A vague wave of her hand. "Something I read…"

Kevin might be shallow, but he wasn't stupid, and she wondered if she'd crossed the line. Unfortunately, she was on a roll. "I'm almost certain Roo has recovered from his little problem with rabies, but you might want to get some shots, just to be on the safe side."

"You're still mad about the burglar thing, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you. Probably a concussion from the fall."

"I said I was sorry."

"So you did." She moved aside a pile of crayons the kids had left on the counter.

"I think I'll head upstairs to bed." He rose and started toward the door, then paused for another look at her awful hair. "Tell me the truth. Was it some kind of football bet?"

"Good night, Kirk."

As Molly entered her bedroom, she realized she was breathing hard. Only a thin wall separated her from the guest room where Kevin would be sleeping. Her skin tingled, and she felt an almost uncontrollable urge to take the scissors to her hair, even though there wasn't much left to cut. Maybe she should dye it back to its natural color tomorrow, except she couldn't give him the satisfaction.

She'd come here to hide out, not sleep next to the lion's den, and she grabbed her things. With Roo following, she hurried down the hall to the big, dormitory-style corner room the three girls shared and locked the door.

She sagged against the jamb and tried to settle down by taking in the room's sloping ceiling and the cozy dormers designed for daydreaming. Two of the walls displayed a Nightingale Woods mural that she'd painted while everyone in the family got in her way. She'd be all right, and in the morning he'd be gone.

Sleep, however, was impossible. Why hadn't she let Phoebe know she was driving up here, as she usually did? Because she hadn't wanted more lectures about her hair or warnings about "incidents."

She tossed and turned, watched the clock, and finally flicked on the light to sketch some ideas for her new book. Nothing worked. Usually the sound of the winter wind battering the solid log house soothed her, but tonight that wind urged her to throw off her clothes and dance, to leave the studious, good girl behind and cross over to the wild side.

She tossed back the covers and jumped out of bed. The room was chilly, but she felt flushed and feverish. She wished she were home. Roo lifted one sleepy eyelid, then closed it again as she made her way to the padded bench in the nearest dormer.

Frost feathers decorated the windowpanes, and snow swirled in thin, dancing ribbons through the trees. She tried to concentrate on the night beauty, but she kept seeing Kevin Tucker. Her skin prickled, and her breasts tingled. It was so demeaning! She was a bright woman-brilliant, even-but, despite her denial, she was as obsessed as a sex-starved groupie.

Maybe this was a perverse form of personal growth. At least she was obsessing over sex instead of the Great Love Story she wouldn't ever have.

She decided it was safer to obsess over the Great Love Story. Dan had saved Phoebe's life! It was the most romantic thing Molly could imagine, but she supposed it had also given her unrealistic expectations.

She gave up on the Great Love Story and went back to obsessing over sex. Did Kevin speak English while he was doing it or had he memorized a few handy foreign phrases? With a groan, she buried her face in the pillow.

After only a few hours' sleep she awakened to a cold, gray dawn. When she looked out, she saw that Kevin's Ferrari was gone. Good! She took Roo outside, then showered. While she dried off, she forced herself to hum a little ditty about Winnie the Pooh, but as she pulled on a well-worn pair of gray pants and the Dolce & Gabbana sweater she'd bought before she gave away her money, the pretense of pretending she was happy faded.

What was wrong with her? She had a wonderful life. She was healthy. She had good friends, a terrific family, and an entertaining dog. Although she was nearly always broke, she didn't mind because her loft was worth every penny it cost her. She loved her work. Her life was perfect. More than perfect, now that Kevin Tucker was gone.

Disgusted with her moodiness, she shoved her feet into the pink slippers the twins had given her for her birthday and padded down to the kitchen, the bunny heads on the toes waggling. A quick breakfast, then she'd get to work.

She'd arrived too late last night to pick up groceries, so she pulled a box of Dan's Pop-Tarts from the cupboard. Just as she was slipping one into the toaster, Roo began to bark. The back door opened, and Kevin came in, his arms loaded with plastic grocery bags. Her idiotic heart skipped a beat.

Roo snarled. Kevin ignored him. "Morning, Daphne."

Her instinctive burst of pleasure gave way to annoyance. Slytherin!

He dumped the bags on the center island. "Supplies were running low."

"What difference does it make? You're leaving, remember? Vous partez. Saiga." She enunciated the foreign words and was gratified to see that she'd annoyed him.

"Leaving isn't a good idea." He gave a hard twist to the cap on the milk. "I'm not making any more waves with Dan right now, so you'll need to go instead."

Exactly what she should do, but she didn't like his attitude, so she let her inner bitch take over. "That's not going to happen. As an athlete, you won't understand this, but I need peace and quiet because I actually have to think when I work."

He definitely caught the insult but chose to ignore it. "I'm staying here."

"So am I," she replied, just as stubbornly.

She could see that he wanted to toss her out but couldn't do it because she was his boss's sister. He took his time filling his glass, then settled his hips against the counter. "It's a big house. We'll share."

She started to tell him to forget it, that she'd leave after all, when something stopped her. Maybe sharing wasn't as crazy as it sounded. The quickest way to get over her fixation would be to see the Slytherin beneath the real man. It had never been Kevin as a human being who attracted her because she had no idea who he really was. Instead, it was the illusion of Kevin-gorgeous body, sexy eyes, valiant leader of men.

She watched him drain the glass of milk. One belch. That's all it would take. Nothing disgusted her more than a man who belched… or scratched his crotch… or had gross table manners. Or what about the losers who tried to impress women by pulling out a fat roll of bills held together with one of those garish money clips?

Maybe he wore a gold chain. Molly shuddered. That would do it for sure. Or was a gun nut. Or said, "You duh man." Or in any of a hundred ways couldn't measure up to the standard set by Dan Calebow.

Yes, indeed, there were a million pitfalls awaiting Mr. Kevin I'm-too-sexy-for-my-Astroturf-green-eyes Tucker. One belch… one crotch scratch… even the slightest glimmer of gold around that gorgeous neck…

She realized she was smiling. "All right. You can stay."

"Thanks, Daphne." He drained the glass but didn't burp.

She narrowed her eyes and told herself that as long as he kept calling her Daphne, she was halfway home.

She found her laptop computer and carried it up to the loft, where she set it on the desk, along with her sketch pad. She could work on either Daphne Takes a Tumble or the article "Making Out-How Far to Go?"

Very far.

It was definitely the wrong time to work on an article about any kind of sex, even the teenage variety.

She heard the sound of game film being played below and realized Kevin had brought video with him so he could do his homework. She wondered if he ever cracked a book or went to an art film or did anything that wasn't connected with football.

Time to get her mind back on her work. She propped one foot on Roo and gazed out the window at the angry white-caps rolling over the gray, forbidding waters of Lake Michigan. Maybe Daphne should return to her cottage late at night only to find everything dark. And when she walked inside, Benny could jump out and-

She had to stop making her stories so autobiographical.

Okay… She flipped open her sketch pad. Daphne could decide to put on a Halloween mask and scare-No, she'd already done that in Daphne Plants a Pumpkin Patch.

Definitely time to phone a friend. Molly picked up the phone next to her and dialed Janine Stevens, one of her best writing pals. Although Janine wrote for the young adult market, they shared the same philosophy about books and frequently brainstormed together.

"Thank God you called!" Janine cried. "I've been trying to reach you all morning."

"What's wrong?"

"Everything! Some big-haired woman from SKIFSA was on the local news this morning ranting and raving about children's books being a recruiting tool for the homosexual lifestyle."

"Why don't they get a life?"

"Molly, she held up a copy of I Miss You So and said it was an example of the kind of filth that lures children into perversion!"

"Oh, Janine… that's awful!" I Miss You So was the story of a thirteen-year-old girl trying to come to terms with the persecution of an artistic older brother who'd been branded as gay by the other kids. It was beautifully written, sensitive, and heartfelt.

Janine blew her nose. "My editor called this morning. She said they've decided to wait until the heat dies down, and they're going to postpone my next book for a year!"

"You finished it almost a year ago!"

"They don't care. I can't believe it. My sales were finally starting to take off. Now I'm going to lose all my momentum."

Molly consoled her friend as best she could. By the time she hung up, she'd decided that SKIFSA was a bigger menace to society than any book could ever be.

She heard footsteps below and realized that the game film was no longer running. The only good thing about her conversation with Janine was that it had distracted her from thinking about Kevin.

A deep male voice called up to her. "Hey, Daphne! Do you know if they've got an airfield around here?"

"An airfield? Yes. There's one in Sturgeon Bay. It's-" Her head shot up. "Airfield!"

She vaulted out of her chair and made a rush for the railing. "You're going skydiving again!"

He tilted his head to gaze up at her. Even with his hands in his pockets, he looked as tall and dazzling as a sun god.

Will you please burp!

"Why would I go skydiving?" he said mildly. "Dan's asked me not to."

"Like that's going to stop you."

Benny pumped the pedals of his mountain bike faster and faster. He didn't notice the rain falling on the road that led through Nightingale Woods or the big puddle just ahead.

She raced down the stairs, even though she knew she should stay as far away from him as possible. "Don't do it. There were flurries all night. It's too windy."

"Now you're tantalizing me."

"I'm trying to explain that it's dangerous!"

"Isn't that what makes anything worth doing?"

"No plane's going to take you up on a day like today." Except that celebrities like Kevin could get people to do just about anything.

"I don't think I'd have too much trouble finding a pilot. If I did plan to go skydiving."

"I'll call Dan," she threatened. "I'm sure he'll be interested to hear just how lightly you've taken your suspension."

"Now you're scaring me," he drawled. "I'll bet you were one of those bratty little girls who tattled to the teacher when the boys misbehaved."

"I didn't go to school with boys until I was fifteen, so I missed the opportunity."

"That's right. You're a rich kid, aren't you?"

"Rich and pampered," she lied. "What about you?" Maybe if she distracted him with conversation, he'd forget about skydiving.

"Middle class and definitely not pampered."

He still looked restless, and she was trying to think of something to talk about when she spotted two books on the coffee table that hadn't been there earlier. She looked more closely and saw that one was the new Scott Turow, the other a rather scholarly volume on the cosmos that she'd tried to get into but set aside for something lighter. "You read?"

His mouth twitched as he slouched into the sectional sofa. "Only if I can't get anybody to do it for me."

"Very funny." She settled at the opposite end of the couch, unhappy with the revelation that he enjoyed books. Roo moved closer, ready to guard her in case Kevin took it into his mind to tackle her again.

You wish.

"Okay, I'll concede that you're not quite as… intellectually impaired as you appear to be."

"Let me put that in my press kit."

She'd set her trap quite nicely. "That being the case, why do you keep doing such stupid things?"

"Like what?"

"Like skydiving. skiing from a helicopter. Then there's that dirt-track racing you did right after training camp."

"You seem to know a lot about me."

"Only because you're part of the family business, so don't take it personally. Besides, everybody in Chicago knows what you've been up to."

"The media make a big deal out of nothing."

"It's not exactly nothing." She kicked off her rabbit's-head slippers and tucked her feet under her. "I don't get it. You've always been the poster boy for pro athletes. You don't drive drunk or beat up women. You show up early for practice and stay late. No gambling scandals, no grandstanding, not even much trash talk. Then all of a sudden you freak out."

"I haven't freaked out."

"What else can you call it?"

He cocked his head. "They sent you up here to spy on me, didn't they?"

She laughed, even though it compromised her role as a rich bitch. "I'm the last person any of them would trust with team business. I'm sort of a geek." She made an X over her heart. "Come on, Kevin. Cross my heart, I won't say a thing. Tell me what's going on."

"I enjoy a little excitement, and I'm not apologizing for it."

She wanted more, so she continued her exploring mission. "Don't your lady friends worry about you?"

"If you want to know about my love life, just ask. That way I can have the pleasure of telling you to mind your own business."

"Why would I want to know about your love life?"

"You tell me."

She regarded him demurely. "I was just wondering if you find your women in international catalogs? Or maybe on the Web? I know there are groups that specialize in helping lonely American men find foreign women because I've seen the pictures. 'Twenty-one-year-old Russian beauty. Plays classical piano in the nude, writes erotic novels in her spare time, wants to share her dandy with a Yankee doodle.' "

Unfortunately, he laughed instead of being offended. "I date American women, too."

"Not many, I'll bet."

"Did anybody ever mention that you're nosy?"

"I'm a writer. It goes with the profession." Maybe it was her imagination, but he didn't look as restless as when he'd sat down, so she decided to keep poking. "Tell me about your family."

"Not much to tell. I'm a PK."

Prize kisser? "Pathetic klutz?"

He grinned and crossed his ankles on the edge of the coffee table. "Preacher's kid. Fourth generation, depending on how you count."

"Oh, yes. I remember reading that. Fourth generation, huh?"

"My father was a Methodist minister, son of a Methodist minister, who was the grandson of one of the old Methodist circuit riders who carried the gospel into the wilderness."

"That must be where your daredevil blood comes from. The circuit rider."

"It sure didn't come from my father. A great guy, but not exactly what you'd call a risk taker. Pretty much an egghead." He smiled. "Like you. Except more polite."

She ignored that. "He's no longer alive?"

"He died about six years ago. He was fifty-one when I was born."

"What about your mother?"

"I lost her eighteen months ago. She was older, too. A big reader, the head of the historical society, into genealogy. Summers were the highlight of my parents' lives."

"Skinny-dipping in the Bahamas?"

He laughed. "Not quite. We all went to a Methodist church campground in northern Michigan. It's been in my family for generations."

"Your family owned a campground?"

"Complete with cabins and a big old wooden Tabernacle for church services. I had to go with them every summer until I was fifteen, and then I rebelled."

"They must have wondered how they hatched you."

His eyes grew shuttered. "Every day. What about you?"

"An orphan." She said the word lightly, the way she always did when anyone asked, but it felt lumpy.

"I thought Bert only married Vegas showgirls." The way his eyes swept from her crimson hair to linger on her modest chest told her he didn't believe she could have sequins in her gene pool.

"My mother was in the chorus at The Sands. She was Bert's third wife, and she died when I was two. She was flying to Aspen to celebrate her divorce."

"You and Phoebe didn't have the same mother?"

"No. Phoebe's mother was his first wife. She was in the chorus at The Flamingo."

"I never met Bert Somerville, but from what I've heard, he wasn't an easy man to live with."

"Fortunately, he sent me off to boarding school when I was five. Before that, I remember a stream of very attractive nannies."

"Interesting." He dropped his feet from the coffee table and picked up the pair of silver-framed Revo sunglasses he'd left there. Molly gazed at them with envy. Two hundred and seventy dollars at Marshall Field's.

Daphne set the sunglasses that had fallen from Benny's pocket on her own nose and bent over to admire her reflection in the pond. Parfait! (She believed French was the best language for contemplating personal appearance.) "Hey!" Benny called out from behind her. Plop! The sunglasses slid from her nose into the pond.

Kevin rose from the couch, and she could feel his energy filling the room. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"Out for a while. I need some fresh air."

"Out where?"

He folded in the stems of his sunglasses, the motion deliberate. "It's been nice talking to you, but I think I've had enough questions from management for now."

"I told you. I'm not management."

"You've got a financial stake in the Stars. In my book that makes you management."

"Okay. So management wants to know where you're going."

"skiing. Do you have a problem with that?"

No, but she was fairly sure Dan would. "There's just one alpine ski area around here, and the drop is only a hundred and twenty feet. That's not enough challenge for you."

"Damn."

She concealed her amusement.

"I'll go cross-country, then," he said. "I've heard there are some world class trails up here."

"Not enough snow."

"I'm going to find that airfield?" He shot toward the coat closet.

"No! We'll-we'll hike."

"Hike?" He looked as if she'd suggested bird-watching.

She thought fast. "There's a really treacherous path along the bluffs. It's so dangerous that it's closed off when there's wind or even a hint of snow, but I know a back way to get to it. Except you need to be really sure you want to do this. It's narrow and icy, and the slightest misstep could send you plunging to your death."

"You're making this up."

"I don't have that much imagination."

"You're a writer."

"Children's books. They're completely nonviolent. Now, if you want to stand around and talk all morning, that's up to you. But I'd like a little adventure."

She'd finally caught his interest.

"Let's get to it, then."

They had a good time on their hike, even though Molly never quite managed to locate the treacherous path she'd promised Kevin-maybe because she'd invented it. Still, the bluff they crossed was bitterly cold and windy, so he didn't complain too much. He even reached out to take her hand on an icy stretch, but she wasn't that foolish. Instead, she gave him a snooty look and told him he'd have to manage on his own because she wasn't going to prop him up every time he saw a little ice and got scared.

He'd laughed and climbed up on a slippery pile of rocks. The sight of him facing the winter-gray water, head thrown back, wind tearing through that dark blond hair had stolen her breath.

For the rest of their walk she'd forgotten to be obnoxious, and they had far too much fun. By the time they returned to the house, her teeth were chattering from the cold, but every womanly part of her burned.

He shrugged out of his coat and rubbed his hands. "I wouldn't mind using your hot tub."

And she wouldn't mind using his hot body. "Go ahead. I have to get back to work." As Molly rushed toward the loft, she found herself remembering what Phoebe had once said to her.

When you're raised as we were, Moll, casual sex is a snake pit. We need a love that's soul-deep, and I'm here to testify that you don't find it by bed-hopping.

Although Molly had never bed-hopped, she knew that Phoebe was right. Except what was a twenty-seven-year-old woman with a healthy body, but no soul-deep love, supposed to do? If only Kevin had acted shallow and stupid on their walk… but he hadn't talked about football once. Instead, they'd talked about books, living in Chicago, and their mutual passion for This Is Spinal Tap.

She couldn't concentrate on Daphne, so she flipped open her laptop to work on "Making Out-How Far to Go?" The subject depressed her even more.

By her junior year at Northwestern she'd grown sick of waiting for her Great Love Story to come along, so she'd decided to forget about soul-deep love and settle for soul-deep caring with a boy she'd been dating for a month. But losing her virginity had been a mistake. The affair had left her depressed, and she knew that Phoebe had been right. She wasn't made for casual sex.

A few years later she'd convinced herself she finally cared enough about a man to try again. He'd been intelligent and charming, but the wrenching sadness following the affair had taken months to fade.

She'd had a number of boyfriends since then, but no lovers, and she'd done her best to sublimate her sex drive with hard work and good friends. Chastity might be old-fashioned, but sex was an emotional quagmire for a woman who hadn't known love until she was fifteen. So why did she keep thinking about it, especially with Kevin Tucker in the house?

Because she was only human, and the Stars quarterback was a delectable piece of body candy, a walking aphrodisiac, a grown-up toy boy. She moaned, glared at her keyboard, and forced herself to concentrate.

At five she heard him leave the house. By seven "Making Out-How Far to Go?" was nearly done. Unfortunately, the subject had left her edgy and more than a little aroused. She called Janine, but her friend wasn't home, so she went down-stairs and stared at herself in the small kitchen mirror. It was too late for the stores to be open, or she could have run out for hair color. Maybe she'd just cut it. That crew cut a few years ago hadn't been so bad.

She was lying to herself. It had been horrible.

She grabbed a Lean Cuisine instead of the scissors and ate at the kitchen counter. Afterward she dug the marshmallows out of a carton of Rocky Road ice cream. Finally she grabbed her drawing pad and settled in front of the fireplace to sketch. But she hadn't slept well, and before long her lids grew heavy. Kevin's arrival sometime after midnight made her bolt up.

"Hey, Daphne."

She rubbed her eyes. "Hello, Karl."

He hung his coat on the back of a chair. It reeked of perfume. "This thing needs to air out."

"I'll say." Jealousy gnawed at her. While she'd been drooling over Kevin's body and obsessing about her own hangups, she'd ignored one important fact: He hadn't shown the slightest interest in her. "You must have been busy," she said. "It smells like more than one brand. All of them domestic, or did you find an au pair somewhere?"

"I wasn't that lucky. The women were unfortunately American, and they all talked too much." His pointed look said she did, too.

"And I'll bet lots of the words had more than one syllable, so you probably have a headache." She needed to stop this. He wasn't nearly as dumb as she wanted him to be, and if she didn't watch herself, he was going to figure out exactly how much interest she took in his personal life.

He looked more aggravated than angry. "I happen to like to relax when I'm on a date. I don't want to debate world politics or discuss global warming or be forced to listen to people with unpredictable personal hygiene recite bad poetry."

"Gee, and those are all my favorite things."

He shook his head, then rose and stretched, lengthening that lean body vertebra by vertebra. He was already bored with her. Probably because she hadn't entertained him by reciting his career statistics.

"I'd better turn in," he said. "I'm taking off first thing tomorrow, so if I don't see you, thanks for the hospitality."

She managed a yawn. "Ciao, babycakes." She knew he had to get back for practice, but that didn't ease her disappointment.

He smiled. "Night, Daphne."

She watched him mount the stairs, the denim tightening around those lean legs, molding his narrow hips, muscles rippling beneath his T-shirt.

Oh, God, she was drooling! And she was Phi Beta Kappa!

She was also aching and restless, blazingly dissatisfied with everything in her life.

"Damn it!" She knocked her sketch pad to the floor, jumped to her feet, and made a beeline for the bathroom to stare at her hair. She was going to shave it off!

No! She didn't want to be bald, and this time she wouldn't let herself act crazy.

She moved purposefully to the video center and pulled out the remake of The Parent Trap. Her inner child loved watching the twins get their parents back together, and her outer child loved Dennis Quaid's smile.

Kevin had that same crooked smile.

Resolutely, she took his game film from the VCR, put in The Parent Trap, and settled back to watch.

By two o'clock in the morning, Hallie and Annie had reunited their parents, but Molly was more restless than ever. She began surfing through old movies and infomercials, only to pause as she heard the familiar theme song of the old show, Lace, Inc.

"Lace is on the case, oh yeah… Lace can solve the case, oh yeah…" Two beautiful women ran across the screen, the sexy detectives Sable Drake and Ginger Hill.

Lace, Inc. had been one of Molly's favorite shows as a child. She'd wanted to be Sable, the smart brunette, played by actress Mallory McCoy. Ginger was the redheaded sexpot karate expert. Lace, Inc. had been a jiggle show, but Molly hadn't cared about that. She'd simply enjoyed watching women beat up the bad guys for a change.

The opening credits showed Mallory McCoy first, then Lilly Sherman, who'd played Ginger Hill. Molly sat up straighter as she remembered a fragment of conversation she'd once overheard at Stars headquarters indicating that Lilly Sherman had some sort of connection with Kevin. She hadn't wanted anyone to know she was interested, so she didn't ask any questions. She studied the actress more carefully.

She wore her trademark tight pants, tube top, and high heels. Her long red hair curled around her shoulders, and her eyes batted seductively at the camera. Even with a dated hairstyle and big gold hoop earrings, she was a knockout.

Sherman must be in her forties by now, surely a little old to be one of Kevin's women, so what was their connection? A photograph she'd seen of the actress a few years ago showed that she'd gained weight since the television show. She was still a beautiful woman, though, so it was possible they'd had a fling.

Molly stabbed the remote, and a cosmetics commercial came on. Maybe that's what she needed. A complete makeover.

She flipped off the TV and headed upstairs. Somehow she didn't think a makeover would fix what was wrong with her.

After a hot shower she slipped into one of the Irish linen nightgowns she'd bought when she was rich. It still made her feel like a heroine in a Georgette Heyer novel. She carried her notepad to bed so she could think more about Daphne, but the surge of creativity she'd experienced that afternoon had vanished.

Roo snored softly at the foot of the bed. Molly told herself she was getting sleepy. She wasn't.

Maybe she could finish polishing her article, but as she made her way to the loft to get her laptop, she glanced into the guest bathroom. It had two doors-the one she was standing in and a second one across from it that led directly into the bedroom where he slept. That door was ajar.

Her restless, twitchy legs carried her onto the tile.

She saw a Louis Vuitton shaving kit sitting on the counter. She couldn't imagine Kevin buying it for himself, so it must have been a gift from one of his international beauties. She moved closer and saw a red toothbrush with crisp white bristles. He'd put the cap back on the tube of Aquafresh.

She brushed her fingertip over the lid of a column of deodorant, then reached for a frosted glass bottle of very expensive aftershave. She unscrewed the stopper and drew it to her nose. Did it smell like Kevin? He wasn't one of those men who drowned himself in cologne, and she hadn't gotten close enough to know for sure, but something familiar about the scent made her close her eyes and inhale more deeply. She shivered and set it down, then glanced into the open shaving kit.

Lying next to a bottle of ibuprofen and a tube of Neosporin was Kevin's Super Bowl ring. She knew he'd earned it in the early days of his career as Cal Bonner's backup. It surprised her to see a championship ring tossed so carelessly in the bottom of a shaving kit, but then everything she knew about Kevin said he wouldn't want to wear a ring that had been earned when someone else was in charge.

She began to move away, only to pause as she saw what else lay in the shaving kit.

A condom.

No big deal. Of course he'd carry condoms with him. He probably had a whole crate of them. She picked it up and studied it. It seemed to be an ordinary condom. So why was she staring at it?

This was insane! All day she'd been acting like a woman obsessed. If she didn't pull herself together, she'd be boiling a bunny just like crazy Glenn Close.

She winced. Sorry, Daphne.

One peek. That was it. She'd just take one peek at him sleeping and then she'd leave.

She moved toward the bedroom door and slowly pushed it open.