She felt the press of desperation, but it was useless. This wasn't going to be her night. She'd have to return to Claire's homey, comfortable guest room, climb into bed alone, and spend the night tossing and turning and wanting. Wanting, most of all.

She looked at the derelict. His shoulders were broad; his black T-shirt stretched taut along the top of his back. The waistband of his worn, faded Levi's veed out, as if he'd lost weight and hadn't bothered to buy jeans that fit.

It was him . . . or loneliness.

She went to his table, stood beside him. "May I sit down?"

He didn't look up from his beer. "What am I, your lucky fifth choice?"

"You're counting counting?"

"It isn't hard, lady. You're clearing out the place faster than a cop at a frat party."

She pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. The song "Lookin' for Love" came on the jukebox. In all the wrong places . . . In all the wrong places . . .

Finally, he looked up. Beneath the silvery fringe of hair that must have been trimmed with a pocket knife, a pair of blue eyes stared at her. With a start, she realized that he wasn't much older than she was, and he was almost handsome, in a Sam Elliott stranger-in-town kind of way. He looked like the kind of man who'd walked down a few dark alleys in his time.

"Whatever you're looking for," he said, "you won't find it here."

She started to flirt, to say something funny and impersonal, but before her tongue had even formed the first word, she paused. There was something about him. . . .

"Have we met?" she asked, frowning. She prided herself on her memory. Faces, she rarely forgot. Unless they belonged to the men she sometimes picked up; those those she forgot immediately. she forgot immediately. Please G.o.d, tell me I haven't screwed him already. Please G.o.d, tell me I haven't screwed him already.

"People say that all the time." He sighed. "Just an ordinary face, I guess."

No, that wasn't it. She was sure she'd seen him before, but it didn't matter, really. Besides, anonymity was her goal here, not making friends. "It's far from ordinary. Are you from around here?"

"I am now."

"What do you do for a living?"

"Do I look look like I make a living? I get by, that's all." like I make a living? I get by, that's all."

"That's all any of us do, really."

"Look, lady-"

"Meghann. Friends call me Meg."

"Meghann. I'm not going to take you home. Is that clear enough for you?"

That made her smile. "I don't remember asking to be taken home. I asked if I could sit down. You're making quite an a.s.sumption."

He pulled back a little, looked uncomfortable. "Sorry. I've been . . . alone for a while. Makes a man poor company."

Poor company. It had the ring of education to it.

She leaned closer, studying him. Though the light was dim in here, and the air clogged with cigarette smoke, she liked his face. Enough for one night, at least.

"What if I did did want to go home with you?" want to go home with you?"

When he looked up again, she would have sworn that he'd gone pale. His eyes were swimming-pool blue.

It was an eternity before he answered. "I'd say it wouldn't mean anything." His voice sounded tight. He looked scared.

She frowned. "The s.e.x?"

He nodded.

She felt it suddenly, the thrill of the chase, the revving up of her heart. She reached out, pressed her forefinger along the back of his hand. "What if I said that was okay? That I didn't want it to mean anything?"

"I'd say that was sad."

She pulled her hand back, stung by the observation. She felt transparent suddenly, as if those blue eyes could see straight into her. "Do you want to get laid or not? No strings. No future. Just tonight. A little time together." She heard her voice spike; it was a small, desperate kind of sound, and it shamed her into sudden silence.

Another eternity pa.s.sed. Finally, he spoke. "I don't know if I'd be any good at it."

"I am." She pressed her lips together to keep from saying something stupid. It was ridiculous, really, but she was nervous. She wanted him to want her, wanted it more than she understood. He was nothing, just another link in the chain of unavailable, ultimately forgettable men she'd slept with since her divorce. As far as she could tell, he had nothing to recommend him, nothing that would account for the odd fluttering in her chest. But she was afraid he'd turn her down. "Maybe we could just get each other through this one night."

He stood up so quickly the chair wobbled and almost fell. "I live down the street."

She didn't touch him, didn't take his hand or otherwise lay claim to him. None of the usual pretense of affection. "I'll follow you" was all she said.

Joe felt her beside him, the warmth of her body, the way her hand brushed accidentally against his every now and then.

Stop this now, he thought. Just turn to her and say, "I made a mistake, I'm sorry." Just turn to her and say, "I made a mistake, I'm sorry." But he kept walking forward, putting one foot in front of the other. But he kept walking forward, putting one foot in front of the other.

He could smell her perfume. Something musty and sweet and s.e.xy; it reminded him of summer in the deep South. Of fragrant blossoms and hot, dark nights.

He was losing his grip. Must be drunker than he'd thought.

He couldn't do this. Didn't even remember how. (Not the s.e.x part-that he remembered; it was the rest of it that eluded him, the talking, the touching, the being with another person.) he remembered; it was the rest of it that eluded him, the talking, the touching, the being with another person.) Suddenly he was standing in front of his cabin. Three blocks they'd walked, and he hadn't managed a single word of conversation. Neither had she, and he didn't know if he was thankful or not. If she'd chattered ridiculously on about nothing, perhaps he would have had the strength to turn away from her, to make his excuses. Her silence was his undoing.

"This is where I live right now," he said, rather stupidly he thought, as they were standing at the front door.

"Right now, huh?"

That surprised him. She'd picked up on the one thing in the sentence that revealed something. He'd need to be careful around her.

He opened the door and stepped aside to let her enter first.

She frowned briefly, then walked past him, into the darkness.

He followed her, leaving the lights off on purpose. There were photos of Diana everywhere. He didn't want to explain why he lived this way, not to this woman in her designer dress and expensive gold-and-platinum jewelry. In fact, he didn't want to talk at all.

He went to the kitchen and grabbed some candles. There were dozens available, kept on hand for winter storms when the power went out. Wordlessly, he carried them into the bedroom and placed them wherever he could; then, one by one, he lit them. When he was finished, he turned around and there she was, standing at the end of the bed, holding her purse as if she thought he might steal it.

He released a pent-up breath. She was beautiful. Jet-black hair, pale skin, green eyes that slanted upward, lips that seemed reluctant to smile. What in the h.e.l.l was she doing here with him? And what was he doing here with her? He hadn't been with a woman since Diana.

She reached into her purse for something- A condom. Oh, G.o.d.

-and then dropped her bag on the floor. As she walked toward him, hips swaying slightly, she unzipped her dress. It fell halfway down her arms, revealing a lacy black bra and creamy cleavage.

He meant to say, Go away Go away, but instead he reached for her, pulled her against him. Her body molded to his and began slowly, slowly to move.

When he found the strength to pull back, he was trembling.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He didn't think, didn't speak, just swept her into his arms and carried her toward the bed.

They fell onto the rumpled bedding together, she beneath him. His body lay possessively on top of hers, and it felt good. Her hips came up to meet him.

Groaning, he bent down to kiss her. The soft, pliant feel of her mouth jolted him back in time.

Diana.

"What did you say?"

He drew back, looked down at her.

Meghann.

This time, when he kissed her, he kept his eyes open. She kissed him with a ferocity that left him breathless.

She shoved her hands underneath his T-shirt. Her fingertips grazed his nipples. "Take off your pants." Her voice was coa.r.s.e. "I want to touch you."

They broke apart. He slid off the bed and undressed, his fingers too shaky to unb.u.t.ton his jeans on the first try.

Naked, they fell together on the bed again. He rubbed his erection against her, kissing her open mouth, her chin, her closed eyes. She wrapped her leg over his and pressed in close. He felt her moisture against his thigh.

Then she reached down and touched him, wrapped her fingers tightly around him. Up and down. Up and down. He felt the condom slide into place in one practiced move.

He groaned as he thrust into her grasp one sweet, aching time, then pulled away before it was too late. He slid down her body, kissing her chin, her throat, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He tasted one nipple, drew it into his mouth, and sucked its sweetness. His hands pushed her legs apart as he moved downward, kissing her navel, her pubic hair.

She tried to push him away.

He held her in place, lowered his kisses until he was inside her. Moaning, she clutched his head and spread her legs wider apart. His tongue explored her, tasted her, glided up and down and in and out.

"Oh. My. G.o.d." She said it brokenly. "Now." "Now."

He pulled her toward him in one swift motion and entered her.

She clung to him, arched up to meet him. She matched him thrust for thrust.

Joe's climax was like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

"Whew," she said, pushing the damp hair away from her face. "That was definitely an E-ticket ride."

He leaned back against the wobbly headboard. His whole body felt weak, trembling.

She looked up at him, smiling broadly, still breathing hard. "What's your name?"

"Joe."

"Well, Joe. That was great."

After a long minute, he dared to slide his arm around her, draw her closer. Holding her, he closed his eyes.

For the first time in years, he went to sleep with a woman in his arms.

When he woke up, he was alone again.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

"WHEW!" CLAIRE FLOPPED BACK ONTO THE PILLOWS. CLAIRE FLOPPED BACK ONTO THE PILLOWS. " "I CAN'T remember the last time I got lucky in the morning." She pushed the hair out of her eyes and smiled at Bobby. "You must really love me if you'll kiss me before I brush my teeth." remember the last time I got lucky in the morning." She pushed the hair out of her eyes and smiled at Bobby. "You must really love me if you'll kiss me before I brush my teeth."

He rolled onto his side. His handsome face was crisscrossed with tiny pink sleep lines. "You still wonder, don't you?"

"No," she said too quickly.

He touched her cheek in a caress so soft it made her sigh. "I love you, Claire Cavenaugh. I'd like to kick the a.s.s of the man who made you so afraid to believe me."

She knew her smile was more than a little sad. There was nothing she could do about it. "It's not just men."

"But I can't beat up your mother or your sister."

She laughed at that. "Just prove Meg wrong. Nothing will make her crazier."

"She's trying, you know."

Claire sat up in bed. "Yeah. I noticed. She made that crack about me not loving people, then left the party early."

"She also bought you a dress that cost more than my car."

"Money's easy for Meg. She's got tons. Just ask her."

Bobby leaned back against the headboard. The blankets slid down his naked chest and pooled across his lap.

"She grew up with your mother, too, and she didn't have a dad to pick up the slack. It had to be hard on her, raising you all those years and then watching Sam step in to replace her."

"I can't believe you're defending her. She told me I was stupid to marry you."