"Black, please."

He handed her the cup and poured one for himself. He sipped from it, staring at her so pointedly that she wished she could disappear into the floorboards.

"Have I ever met you before, Miss Keller?"

"No."

"I was quite sure I hadn't. I can't imagine forgetting you. But if we've never met, I certainly can't see how I might have offended you in any way. Why do you dislike me?" "I...I don't," Bryn protested. "But you do. Why?"

Inadvertently she moistened her lips. It would be futile to lie. He wasn't asking her if she disliked him, he was asking her why she did. And in the secluded drawing room, he suddenly seemed ridiculously dangerous to her.Taut, trim and powerful.Able to move soundlessly with the grace of a great cat. She surreptitiously scanned his hard features. The jet hair, short and feathered in front, longer in back, dead straight. She imagined him with a bandanna across his forehead again.His shirt off, a loincloth in place of jeans. Moving stealthily through the dark, attacking with a bloodcurdling war cry keening from his full lips...

He wouldn't need the costume. In jeans and knit shirt, the fluid agility of his body was still evident. His dry, mocking smiles added to her certainty that he was more than healthy-he was exceptionally virile, a sexual and sensual man.Dangerous? Yes, very. He was being cordial now, testing her.Perhaps giving her a chance. But she knew as he stared at her with that look that was as hard as flint that things were done his way. He wouldn't tolerate dissension in the ranks of his employees. She would dance to his tune--or not at all.

Anger made an abrupt appearance, welling up from deep inside her. He wanted things on the line. Well, so didshe .

"To be quite truthful, Mr. Condor, I don't quite know why I dislike you myself. But I won't let it interfere with my work--here, or when we do your promo shots."

He laughed, easily, and his features didn't seemso hard as a grin, which displayed a nice set of even white teeth, softened them.

"Fine, Miss Keller, I'll trust in your professionalism.Just as I'll trust my own."

"What does that mean?" Bryn queried quickly.

"It means, MissKeller, that I may know you better than you know yourself. I believe you think that I mentally undress you each time I look at you."

"Perhaps," Bryn replied coolly, hoping that her cheeks weren't turning a telltale crimson.

"Ummm.And perhaps you're worried that I chose you from a crowd because I'd like to see more of you. Or drag you into bed."

"I don't presume--"

He chuckled softly again, and she heard the sound like a hot whisper that swept through the blood, caressing her heart.

"Miss Keller, presume all you like. I chose you for Lorena because you're talented, and you fit my image of the woman perfectly. As to the other...I'm afraid you're right. I would like to see more of you--and I would definitely like to seduce you into bed. But don'tworry, I won't let it interfere with work. Here, or when we do the promo shots."

She should have slapped him. She should have done something. But she was too stunned. She just stared at him as he set his cup on the fold-up table and sauntered out of the room.Silently.

With a panther-light tread that was dangerously deceptive, totally contrary to all that the man was proving himself to be.

He was professional, and competent--but he was there.

And no matter how she fought the ridiculousness of it, he frightened the hell out of her.

Chapter 3.

Bryn knew soon after she sat down at the large booth that the Chinese restaurant had been a mistake. Noodles were sliding across the slick veneer tabletop in seconds as the hungry kids grabbed at them; a water glass was tipped over almost immediately, and Adam slid off the plastic seat cover, bumped his head and broke into tears.

Why couldn't I have picked McDonald's, she asked herself as she alternately soothed Adam and tried to sound like the wrath of God to Brian and Keith in a quiet tone so that they would settle down.

Yes, it had definitely been a mistake. When Friday night had at last rolled around after the gruelling and nerve-racking week, she had been ecstatic. She had promised herself that she was going to forget it all, go home cool and calm, and be entirely decent and loving to the kids.

And for the first half hour everything had gone fine, just fine. But she had carried her Mother Goose act a little too far. And while she had been helping Brian to readBurrough's "Tarzan," Adam had looked up from his coloring book to inform her, "Something stinks!"

"Yeah," Keith had volunteered helpfully. "And it's burning, too!"

"Oh--" Don't say it! Don't say it! "Oh--sugar!" she groaned, flying up from the bottom bunk, bashing her head, and racing down to the kitchen. The meatloaf was irretrievably burned; her spinach was green glue inside the saucepan.

The kids loved Chinese food, and they even ate Chinese vegetables. Wong's was a great restaurant where they had a high tolerance for children. And she had already copped out with burgers and fries, and with pizza. They needed something healthy to eat.

So here she was at Wong's, wishing that she wasn't.

"I want the sweet and sour chicken..." Keith began.

"Can I have the cashew chicken? We always have to order what Keith wants."

"Uggh!I don't like cashew chicken. I don't like cashews."

"Stop!"Bryn hissed as quietly as it was possible to do while still putting menace in her voice. She kissed Adam on the top of his blond head, sopped up the spilled water and did her best to collect the straying noodles. Then she gave the two older boys her most threatening scowl, until Keith lowered his red head, and Brian bowed his darker one in silent submission.

"You three will act decent in a restaurant!" she warned, but then she leaned back more comfortably in the booth, resting her head against its back for a minute. It wasn't their fault that it was so late and that they were half starving. Nor was it their fault that her week had been so miserable.

It wasn't anyone's faultbut her own .And Lee Condor's.

He had barely spoken to her since they had talked in the drawing room. He had been professional and competent to a fault, polite--and strictly proper. It was almost as if he had actually asked her for a date and she had said a clear "No," leaving him to agree with a simple "Fine."

And then again, it was if he was waiting...watching her. As if he knew that she had come to a point where she could sense his presence even when he silently appeared several feet away, sense the subtle, woodsy, masculine aroma of his aftershave.

It was as if he knew that currents, alternately ice and fire, plagued her, rippling along her spine, playing havoc with her blood, each time he touched her.

And he always looked at her as he walked up that stairway with her in his arms. The gold flame seemed to ignite something within her, and as soon as she could, she would close her eyes and hear his husky laughter....

She couldn't help but wonder about him. She knew that he had made a whole host of new fans in Tahoe; everyone working on the video was crazy about him. He knew when to work, and when to laugh.When to demand discipline, when to let loose. And just as she sensed that dangerous fire within his eyes, she sensed a deep wisdom within their depths, one that had come from living...and from hurting? It was hard to imagine that he might have known trauma or pain. But Barbara had told her that he was widower. Was it possible that such a man could have loved one woman, and loved her so completely that her death had brought him a never-ending pain?

"Aunt Bryn?" Brian asked quietly. "Can I get cashew chicken?"

They usually had to share a meal. There were no children's portions here, and the tab could get high.But tonight...

She waved a hand in the air with helpless resignation. "Get whatever you want." She closed her eyes again for a minute. When she opened them, a pretty Oriental girl was waiting to take her order. "A large glass of wine first, please," Bryn murmured. "And we'll have the cashew chicken, the sweet and sour chicken--and Adam, what would you like?''

"A hot dog!"Adam said.

"They don't have hot dogs, Adam. This is a Chinese restaurant."

' 'Ummm... chicken."

Bryn shrugged at the waitress. "I'd better take a side order of egg rolls and ribs. And the special fried rice with the shrimp, please."

The waitress was a doll. She returned quickly with Bryn'swine, and with sodas for the boys with little umbrellas sticking out of the straws.

That will be good for at least two minutes' entertainment, Bryn thought gratefully.

The food arrived while they were still engrossed with the umbrellas, giving Bryn a chance to dole out portions to the three boys, and to dissect Adam'seggroll . He didn't like the "dark green things" in it.

Well, if nothing else, she reminded herself as she spooned out the fried rice, the wildlife shots were all completed. And Barbara was taking a few weeks off from her show and had promised to baby-sit a couple nights next week so that Bryn could go out and have dinner and drinks with a few of the other dancers. That would be nice. A night of utter relaxation...

"Aunt Bryn."

It was Brian's voice. Low, excited.

"There's a man coming this way. I think he's coming to see you."

Her eyes flew open, and she stared across the restaurant in dismay. There was a man coming toward

them, and he was definitely coming to see her.

It was Lee Condor.

Whatwas he doing here, she wondered bleakly. The restaurant was nice, but not ritzy. He should have

been at some sleek night spot, dining on steak Diane, dancing, and throwing some of his overabundance

of money away at the crap tables. "Hello, Miss Keller." His eyes moved quickly around the table; Brian and Keith were surveying him with open mouths, and Adam was showing overt hostility, with his mouth set in a pout.

"Hello," Bryn murmured. She was surprised that he had come to see her when she had three small children at her table. Most men would have run in the other direction. But there were nice smile lines that crinkled about his eyes, and he looked both interested and amused as he turned his gaze to her once more. "Is this your family? Foolish question, they must be. They all bear a resemblance."

"She's not our mother!" Brian supplied quickly. "She's our aunt."

"Oh, is she?" Lee queried. "Not yours, huh?" he asked Bryn.

"Not mine--but, yes, mine."

Keith liked to think of himself as old and mature; but his lip trembled a little when he hopped into the

conversation. "My mother and father are...they live with Jesus now. And we live with Aunt Bryn."

"Well, that sounds like a good arrangement," Lee said amiably. "And you're--"

"Keith Keller. That's Adam."

"Well, Keith Keller, would you mind scooting over for a minute? I'd like to join you for a few seconds, if you don't mind."

Keith agreeably scooted over. And to Bryn's horror Lee Condor sat down and smiled at her.

She tried to smile back, but the effort was a dismal failure. At least, she thought, he wouldn't want to hop into bed with her after tonight. She had showered, but that had been it. Her hair was still damp; it felt as if it was plastered to her shoulders. She hadn't bothered with new makeup, and she had thrown on an old tube top and a faded calico wraparound skirt.

And now she was wearing half of the Chinese noodles that had been on the table.

Bryn picked up her glass of wine and nervously downed three-quarters ofit, then tried a polite smile once again. "What are you doing here?" she asked him.

"I like Chinese food," he replied with a shrug. "No date?" Bryn queried, instantly wishing she hadn't. He chuckled. "Not unless you want to consider Mick and Perry dates. They're over there." He waved toward the rear of the room. She had met Mick and Perry earlier in the week. They had both impressed her as being down to earth pleasant men, the opposite of what she had expected. Sandy-haired Perry with his sexy lopsided smile waved to her; Mick, with his sparkling dark eyes, grinned broadly and waved, too.

Bryn waved back,then found her eyes returning of their own accord to meet Lee Condor's.

"Would you...ah...like some cashew chicken? Fried rice, an egg roll, a rib...?"

"Thankyou, no. I've eaten, and I'm all done."

So am I, Bryn thought, looking down at her plate and knowing she wouldn't be able to consume another mouthful.

"I'm...surprised to see you here," she heard herself say lamely.

"I've had a home in Tahoe for the last ten years," he explained. "I know all the spots where the food is really good and the service amiable."

"Oh," Bryn murmured. "They do serve delicious food. And they're very nice. They're always great with the...children."

"She means she's not embarrassed to bring us here," Brian volunteered.

"Brian!"

"Oh, I don't think your aunt is embarrassed to bring you places. It's just that some places are very accustomed to adults, but they don't understand how to feed children--or deal with them. But you know something, Brian? Most people who care about children tend to be nice people. So knowing that they're nice to you here makes me like the restaurant even better.''

"Do you have any children?" Brian asked, wide-eyed. Did Bryn imagine it, or did a flicker of the pain that she had sensed pass quickly through his eyes? "No, I don't have any children. But I would like to one day." "A boy?" "Sure, but I'd take a daughter, too." "Are you really a red-skinned tom-tom player?" "Oh, God!"Bryn breathed, frozen in absolute terror as she waited for an explosion of righteous fury. There was no explosion. His eyes returned to hers, heavily laced with humor."A red-skinned tom-tom player?" "Are you?" Brian persisted. "Brian!" Bryn snapped. "I swear to God, I'm going to skin you alive...." Lee turned his attention back to the boy and repeated the description one more time."A red-skinned tom-tom player.Hmmm. Yes, well, I guess in a way I am." "You're Lee Condor, aren't you?" Keith asked excitedly. "Yes." He glanced at Bryn with amused reproach. "I guess your aunt forgot her manners, but aunts do that sometimes.'' "Then you really are an Indian?" Brian asked. "Real live," he laughed."Or at least half." Brian looked confused."Which half?" Bryn wanted to sink under the table and die; Lee laughed again and motioned to the waitress. "I think I'm going to order your aunt another drink, and then I'll explain." He glanced at Bryn. "Chablis, isn't it?" She could only nod. She would gladly have downed the entire bottle if they would have brought it. Lee ordered another wine for her, glanced at her with an upraised brow and ordered a Scotch for himself.

The drinks arrived quickly, and he sipped his while replying to Brian. "My dad is a full-blooded Blackfoot. But my mom is German. That makes me half Blackfoot and half German. And all American." "Oh, wow!" Keith approved. "Does your dad live in ateepee ? Does he have horses and bows and arrows and all those neat things?"

"Sorry. My dad lives in an apartment inNew York City. He's a lawyer. They live there because my mom teaches at a music school." "Oh," Keith said, and his disappointment was evident. "But," Lee continued, "my grandfather lives in ateepee during the summer. And he wears buckskins and hunts deer and lives by all the old ways." "I wish I could meet him!" Keith sighed enviously.

"Well, he lives in the Dakota Black Hills, and that's pretty far away. But I have a nice collection of old bows and arrows and Indian art, if your aunt would like to bring you by to see them some time."

"Oh, Aunt Bryn, could we?" Brian begged instantly.