"It's these shoes," she said, plopping down in a nearby booth and kicking them off. She scooped them up and stood up again. "There. That's better."

She walked to the door, those shoes dangling from her fingertips. Brandon caught up with her.

"Here," he said, handing her the purse and looping his hand around her upper arm. "Put that over your shoulder. You hold your stuff, and I'll hold you."

She looked up at him with a loopy grin. "You're a nice guy, Brandon. Did I ever tell you that?"

"Yes, I believe you did."

He opened the door for her, and they stepped out into the night. "Which way?" Brandon asked. Alison pointed, and they started down the sidewalk.

"So what exactly happened at the state fair?" he asked.

"Nothing happened," she said. "And I don't care what Tony says, nobody called the cops."

"Good thing, since nothing happened."

"Damn right."

As they strolled along, Brandon took a deep breath, inhaling the heavenly aromas coming from a nearby Italian cafe. They passed a beer and wine shop, a dry cleaners, and a clothing resale store, all of which had been totally updated, even as they held onto the historic feel of life a hundred years ago.

A few minutes later, they reached her condo complex. It had design elements that made it look like a turn-of-the-century apartment building even though it was clearly only a few years old. She pointed to a second floor unit. This was going to be a challenge. Brandon wrapped his arm around her shoulders and headed for the stairs.

"Come on," he said. "Up we go."

She trudged up the stairs beside him, tripping a little on the third step. After that, she wrapped her arm around his waist, leveled out, and managed to make the rest of the climb. When they reached the top, she took a deep breath and blew it out.

"Boy, that was a lot of stairs," she said. "Like, twice as many as usual."

"Where are your keys?"

"Oh. Keys." She fished through her purse and pulled them out. He took them from her and opened her door. He led her inside, leaving the door ajar, and got a surprise.

Her condo may have been new, but her furnishings weren't. In the living room was a sofa the size of the Queen Mary upholstered in a heavy floral fabric flanked by a couple of side chairs in green velvet. He looked around for a TV. When he didn't see one, he assumed it was inside the cabinet on the wall across the room from the sofa. Big, ornate lamps lit the room with a warm glow. It looked as Victorian England had time traveled and landed squarely in the middle of Alison's living room.

"You have a new condo but old furniture," he said. "What's the deal?"

"I want to wait to buy a big old house until I'm married. But just because I have a modern condo, it doesn't mean I have to have furniture that's all...ugh. Contemporary."

All at once, three cats galloped into the living room, meowing all at once. Brandon thought Jasmine was bad. This was worse. They were like a preschool choir. Cute and all, but, God, the noise.

"There are my darling kitties!" Alison said, petting one of them when she jumped onto the arm of the sofa. Alison stroked her down the length of her back. "Okay, this is Ethel, and that one over there with the white paws is Ricky, and that one is...uh..." She tilted her head questioningly as she stared at the third cat.

"Lucy?" Brandon said.

Alison looked at Brandon quizzically. "How did you know that?"

"I'm psychic, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." Alison sank to the sofa with a heavy sigh. "I think I should sit for a minute."

She sat down on the sofa, then fell to one side, her head on the sofa pillow but her feet still on the floor. Brandon lifted her legs by the ankles and put them on the sofa, those gorgeous legs he definitely needed to be ignoring right now.

He sat down beside her. "Alison? Are you all right?"

"Maybe that third martini wasn't such a good idea after all."

Just then, Lucy jumped up on the back of the sofa, walked the length of it, and stopped to stare down at Alison, letting out a plaintive meow. Oh, no. Mom's tipping the bottle again. At the same time, Ethel jumped onto the sofa behind Brandon and rubbed her head against his arm.

"Whoa!" Alison said.

"What?"

"Ethel likes you!" she said, her voice awestruck. "She doesn't like anybody. There was this guy I dated once. She threw up on him."

As long as Alison didn't throw up on him, all would be well. "So why did you drink so much tonight?"

She lifted one shoulder in a weak shrug. "I don't know. Frustration, I guess."

"Because of the men I've been setting you up with?"

"Not completely. It's like I told you. My bad experiences with men started way before you ever showed up."

"Don't worry. It's all going to work out."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I'll keep at it until I make it work out. Okay?"

The second the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to kick himself. Why had he said that? He might not even be around long enough to keep a promise like that, no matter how much he wished he could.

She tilted her head. "I've never met a man like you before."

"Yeah? What makes me so different?"

A dreamy smile crossed her lips. "A lot of men don't believe in love. But you do."

Brandon didn't know what to say to that, because anything that left his mouth now would be a lie.

"But not just for yourself," she went on. "You want as many people as you can to find it. I mean, God, Brandon. You've dedicated your whole life to it. Do you know how amazing that is?"

Now he officially felt like crap. She was looking at him as if he was some kind of saint, when really he was about as opportunistic as a man got. If he hadn't gotten to know her, he'd say she was a gullible fool. But as he looked at her now, all he saw was a trusting soul who deserved a far better man than the ones he'd set her up with.

"I know how you can find me the right man," Alison said.

"How's that?"

She smiled. "Make sure he's just like you."

Brandon shook his head. "No. You don't want a guy like me. Trust me on that."

"Oh, yes, I do," she said. "What's not to like?"

"Plenty."

"You're modest, too," she said. "Add that to the list. Course, if I found a guy like you, he'd have to want a girl like me."

"A girl like you? Of course he'd want you. What's not to like?"

He hadn't meant anything at all by that. He'd merely intended it as an offhand compliment that mirrored the one she'd given him, and he figured that was the way she'd take it.

Until he felt her hand on his leg.

When she flexed her fingers against him, he realized he might have started something he was going to have a hard time getting out of.

"Alison," he said warily. "I'm not the man you think I am."

"Oh, no. You are." Her voice fell to a grainy whisper. "You are."

No, he wasn't. Not even close. And no matter how many times he'd had borderline carnal thoughts about her, nothing was going to happen here. Nothing. He was a selfserving man in any number of ways, but he drew the line at taking advantage of helpless women. And right now, Alison was about as helpless as a woman got, which meant he needed to get up and get out of there now.

He eased away. "Uh, Alison, I don't think-"

But before he could get all of I don't think we should do this out of his mouth, she grabbed a double handful of his shirt, pulled him down to her, and kissed him.

Alison was kissing him.

Alison?

It happened so quickly he was stunned into submission. But it wasn't just the speed of her kiss that froze him where he sat. It was the quality of it. The sheer abandonment of it. The softness of her mouth. The way she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer with a sweet insistence that made him want to melt right into her.

And for several long, heavenly moments, that was exactly what he did.

Gradually the kiss that had started so abruptly dissolved into a slow, hot feast for the senses. She might not have much luck when it came to finding a husband, but it wasn't her talent for kissing that was holding her back. A little voice in the back of his mind was shouting at him to stop, but it was almost impossible to hear when blood was pounding through his ears with every heartbeat. Instead he listened to an even louder voice that was shouting more, more, more. He angled his mouth and dove deeper, until his nerves were raw with pleasure and stars exploded behind his eyelids.

Then the first voice got louder.

Brandon knew this didn't compute. The Alison he knew would never grab a man and kiss him like this, which meant that the vodka that had started talking earlier was now screaming at the top of its lungs. So he put his hand against her arm, intending to ease her away from him, but the moment his palm met her bare flesh, it turned into a caress instead.

No. Stop it right now. Don't touch what you can't have.

But the truth was that he could have her. He had no doubt he could seduce her any time he wanted to, because she thought he was a completely different man than the man he really was. But he knew exactly who she was. He'd kissed a lot of women in his life, but never one whose heart seemed to flow from her lips to his. And that was the problem. He could practically feel all that love bubbling up inside her now, dying to be released, and it wasn't fair to her if he took even the tiniest bit of it. She needed to save it for the man who could give her forever.

He took her by the shoulders and managed to ease her away from him. She lay back against the pillow and stared up at him with a heavylidded expression of total bliss. It was all he could do not to dive right in again.

"We really shouldn't do this," he said.

She blinked lazily. "No?"

"No." He tucked her hair behind her ear, soft, silky hair that seemed to glide along his fingers. "As nice as that kiss was, you're my client, so I don't think it would be right if you and I..."

He realized her eyes were drifting closed, so he let his voice trail off. Several seconds passed, and soon the steady rise and fall of her chest told him she'd fallen asleep.

Amazing.

He had no idea what she'd done at the state fair, but if it was anywhere nearly as impulsive as the kiss she'd just laid on him, it must have really been something. Fortunately, there was a chance she wouldn't even remember this in the morning, which meant they could proceed as if nothing had ever happened. Then tomorrow he'd redouble his efforts to find her the kind of man who didn't drive her straight into a twelve step program.

Just as he was getting ready to leave, though, he heard something behind him. When he turned around, he got a most unpleasant surprise.

Heather was coming through the front door.

Chapter 17.

What's going on here?" Heather asked, her face all scrunched up with suspicion.

Brandon sighed. Could this night get any worse? Was it even possible?

"Alison had a little too much to drink," he said, rising from the sofa. "So I walked her home."

"That's what Tony said. I came by to check on her."

"She's fine. Just sleeping."

"Come out here," she said, walking out to the porch. "I want to talk to you."

Shit. He'd done something nice for Alison, walked her home so she'd be safe, and this was what he got? With a surge of irritation, he followed Heather out the door and pulled it closed behind him.

"I saw you sitting on the sofa beside her," Heather said.

For a moment, he was afraid she'd seen that kiss, too, but if she had, she would have said so. Thank God for small favors.

"What's wrong with sitting with her? I was just making sure she was all right."

"And if I hadn't shown up what would have happened?"

Brandon narrowed his eyes. "I'd be doing what I'm doing right now. Leaving."

"Is that all?"

"What are you suggesting?"