What reservation?

"Tomorrow, then?" Christopher said. "Take care of her, Caughleigh. Or I'll have your blood!"

Somehow, she didn't think he was joking. This was positively Neanderthal. Better get out of here before the pair of them came to blows. "Tomorrow. But not too early."

"Perhaps afternoon? I'd call first if I could."

"I'll be there all day."

Sebastian had chosen an elegant country restaurant with oak paneling, pitched ceilings and mullioned windows. Another time, and in different company, the atmosphere, the starched linen on the tables and beeswax candles in the silver candlesticks might have charmed, instead Dixie felt shanghaied.

"Do you bring all your clients here?" The devil made her ask that.

He looked up from his sweetbreads in sherry. "No." In the silence that followed, his fork sc.r.a.ped his plate three times.

Two waiters appeared with their main courses. Dixie tried to concentrate on the chartreuse of vegetables in front of her and ignore the steak Diane sizzling inches from her elbow. She should be gracious and enjoy the meal but couldn't squelch the suspicion that she was paying even though Sebastian might sign the check.

Their knees banged again, just as the waiter slid the steaming meat onto a warmed plate. "Aren't you concerned about Mad Cow disease?" she asked.

Sebastian's hand froze, poised over his knife. "They only use Charolais beef, imported from France." Yes, she was paying for it. "More champagne?"

At his signal, a waiter refilled her gla.s.s before she could refuse. "You're not having any?" Sebastian had covered his gla.s.s.

"I'm driving." He expected her to finish the bottle? Gran warned her about men like him. She refused his suggestion of dessert wine with her flan and liqueur with her coffee.

As they crossed the parking lot, his palm warmed the small of her back. His fingers slid over the silk and up to her neck. She'd had enough. More than enough. "Thanks for dinner and the evening out. I did enjoy meeting so many new people."

"The evening isn't over. How about coming back for coffee?"

Previous Top NextCoffee? "No, thanks. It's late. I've got a lot to do tomorrow."

He had one last try as they pulled up at Emily's gate. "I can't change your mind?" His sweaty hand cupped her knee.

She opened the door and got out. Fast. And spoke from the safety of the sidewalk. "Sebastian, I need a good lawyer more than I need a romance." He finally got the message. After she practically hit him over the head with it.

Upstairs, she kicked off her shoes and took out her earrings. The phone rang, echoing in the silent house. After a few minutes, Emily ran downstairs. The front door opened. Dixie couldn't help herself; she peered from behind the curtain, just in time to see Emily get in the car before Sebastian drove away. What next!

The night quiet settled on the house. Dixie felt tempted to wait up and ask Emily if she'd enjoyed her "coffee." This village was better than a soap opera. She would stay her month and then return to the normalcy of the good old U. S. of A.

Dixie opened the window and leaned out sideways, recognizing the dark outline of her house across the Green. That light again! Someone was in her house!

It took just minutes to pull on tennis shoes and a sweats.h.i.+rt. She took the Metro. Ten minutes' walk took three by car. She turned off her lights and crept the last thirty yards in low gear. Stopping in the narrow lane beside the house, she grabbed the black flashlight. She'd use it against whoever had dropped it.

The house was dark now. Had she been a fool to come? A call to Sergeant Grace would have made better sense. Her hand tightened over the flashlight. Two steps inside the gate she saw a dark silhouette ahead of her. "Got you, buster!" Dixie shouted and shone her flashlight full beam ahead. The beam lit up a pale face and a dark leather eye patch. Christopher! So all that talk about wanting to buy books was a front.

"Dixie, turn out the d.a.m.n light!" He sounded more irritated than guilty. The nerve of the man!

"No way. Get off my land and don't ever come back," she yelled, feeling like a heroine in a Western romance, waving a flashlight instead of a six-shooter.

He stared straight at her, unblinded by the light. "Hush, Dixie," he said and took a step forward.

"No way. Go now, or I'll scream."

"And alert whomever's in your house?"

He'd whispered but she heard him as clearly as the night. One glance confirmed the light still moved upstairs. As she watched, confused, his hand closed over hers and switched off her flashlight as he pulled her between two scratchy shrubs. She tried the evasion techniques she'd learned in self-defense. They didn't work. Something sc.r.a.ped her ankle and a twig grazed her cheek.

His arm closed round her shoulders and held her tight against his hard chest. She flattened her hand and tried to push away. His chest felt like steel and his arm tightened like a vice. "Let me go."

"I will."

Not a muscle moved.

"When? Next week? Someone's in my house and I'm finding out who."

"This Englishman's-home-is-his-castle act is impressive, but foolish."

That did it. "I'm female and American. If you haven't noticed.""Oh, I've noticed." She didn't doubt it. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were half-flattened against his chest.

"You'll let me go this week or next?"

"Now, if you promise not to go rus.h.i.+ng out to protect your property."

"That's my house getting broken into."

"Yes, and burglars today carry guns, knives, tear gas and bicycle chains. Stay here," he whispered, "trust me."

"Give me one good reason."

"I'm not the one thieving your great-grandfather's first editions." He had a point. The light moved again, disappeared, then appeared lower.

"He's having a good look," Christopher whispered in her ear and pulled her beside him against the wall, his arms loosely circling her shoulders.

"Who?"

"You know it's not me. Who else could get in?"

"Sebastian, but he's giving Emily a cup of coffee."

She heard his chuckle but his chest never moved. "You resisted his blandishments then?"

"It wasn't hard." Even laughter didn't ripple a muscle in his chest. Where did he work out? "Enough of that." She'd come to waylay an intruder not discuss Sebastian's advances.

"Whoever it is, they're not afraid of being in a haunted house at night."

"Oh, please!"

"The villagers believe your aunts haunt the house."

"Well, I don't. I don't believe in ghosts. Especially ones that carry flashlights."

"They also believed they were witches."

"I don't believe in witches either."

"What a woman. You scoff at witches and ghosts. What about fairies, pixies and elves?"

"Not hobbits, either."

"What about..." He hesitated, then whispered, "Vampires?" As he spoke, his fingers trailed cool down the side of her neck.

At that, her foot slammed down on his instep. He didn't flinch or move away, just looked into her face.

"Only in Anne Rice. Quit fooling! I'm not here to play games. Anyway, what are you doing here?"

"Same thing as you. I was walking along the lane and saw a light." He almost hissed the words as he pushed her away. The night chill settled on her shoulders. He watched the window a minute. "I'll take care of this. Go back to your car and lock the doors. Better still, drive away.""I'm not leaving as long as that intruder's there!"

He paused as if to take a breath, but Dixie never heard him inhale. "We could try scaring him out. Get rid of him before he nicks something. Are you game?"

Why not? It was her property at stake. "What shall I do?"

"Slip back out the gate, get in your car and lock the door." He spoke lightly but stared at her with an intensity that made her s.h.i.+ver. This close, his one eye seemed to warm as it met hers. For a minute she felt weak, giddy. Then she shook herself out of it. The tension was getting to her.

"You've got to be kidding!" Sit in the car while he confronted a possibly armed intruder?

He frowned. "Don't get so riled up. I want you ready for a quick getaway if things get nasty."

It sounded more like antiquated notions of chivalry. "Why lock it then?"

He pulled her closer and whispered, "Are you trying to be difficult?"

Again the giddiness, the feeling of warmth, of weakness. She had drunk too much this evening. "No. Sensible. You mentioned weapons. Why are you barging in unarmed?"

He chuckled. "I'm Superman, remember?" He took her hesitation as consent. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing. Wait in the car. I may need your help later."

Grudgingly, Dixie agreed and went out the side gate but didn't go straight to her car. A car parked up the side lane caught her attention. Christopher's? She imagined him driving something more stylish than a battered compact. Bennie the Burglar's? Why not? With the help of her flashlight, she memorized the number.

So much for country quiet. Rustles, creaks and whines filled the night. Talk about spooky! She decided to ignore them and her body's reaction to being held close by Christopher. Impatience tugged at Dixie. This was crazy. She was going back.

A shriek cut through the night quiet. A door slammed and Dixie ran round the corner just in time to see a dark figure running for the parked car. The engine started, but as the car pulled away down the road, a second figure ran after it. Christopher? The car swerved just as he came alongside. Dixie's heart stilled as Christopher's body arched through the air, frozen in the headlights.

She raced up the lane as he staggered out of the ditch.

"You were supposed to be in your car."

"You're hurt?" He had to be.

"Just shaken."

Shaken? He had to be injured after that fall. She imagined broken bones, internal injuries-but he was standing. "I'll get the car.

You need a doctor." Without waiting for a reply, she tore down the lane. When she got back, he was leaning against a tree. As she stopped, he opened the pa.s.senger door. .

"May I get in?"

He stood there, holding on to the door. Was this British or something? "Of course! Get in!" He got in, his legs a little too long for a compact car. Dixie flicked on the interior light. "That was a homicidal maniac, not a burglar."

"I'm okay. I just wish you'd seen the car number."That did it. "Let's have a reality check here. You're half dead and you're worrying about a registration number. Anyway, I have it." She recited the memorized numbers, amazed that she remembered them after all this panic. "Now, let me look at you."

He didn't appear to be bleeding, but he had mud on his face and clothes, gra.s.s in his hair and his cashmere sweater wouldn't see any more c.o.c.ktail parties. One shoulder showed white where his s.h.i.+rt and sweater were both ripped open. She reached out to touch him. He had to be bleeding from a gash like that.

His hand closed on her wrist. "Go easy, my dear."

"You might be bleeding." He had some grip for a man who'd barely escaped death.

"I'm not."

"Let me check."

He put her hand on the steering wheel. "If you fancy tearing the clothes off a man, you had your chance with Caughleigh. Spare me. Your house is safe for the night."

"Forget the house! What about you? You're seeing a doctor."

His fingers closed over her hand as she clutched the gear stick. "Get this straight. I am not seeing a doctor and you are going home. I am not hurt."

"You have to be. I saw you tossed through the air."

"Ever heard of Jujitsu, Dixie? I know how to fall."

He couldn't sit that straight, grip like a maniac and argue if he were hurting, and his chest would heave if he'd had some injury.

"You are Superman, aren't you?"

"You believe in him, do you?"

She gave up-almost. She insisted on driving him home. He acquiesced, but refused to let her even come up his path. "I've a reputation to consider even if you haven't," he said. "Imagine the talk-you refuse Sebastian and then hotfoot it over to my house. We'd have to fight a duel for certain."

"I thought they became illegal in the last century."

"I'm a man with roots in the past." He squeezed her hand, as if in farewell. Dixie wasn't ready to have him go. She touched his shoulder and reached to kiss him good-bye. It wasn't much for a man who'd risked his life to protect her property.

She aimed for his cheek. He turned and her mouth met his lips, cool as the marble on her pantry shelf. But as her lips caressed his, she knew only warmth and softness. He tasted of night and spice and excitement. Her mouth opened as his pressed on hers, but slowly, like a plant unfolding in spring warmth. Almost reluctantly, his hand smoothed up her neck and through her hair. She sighed and her tongue reached for his.

The heat of summer burst through her. She gasped, but not for breath; for more. And he gave it. Sweetness flooded her soul and need surged like a current through her brain. It was a mating of mouths, a coupling of spirits. Time stopped. Dixie knew nothing but spiraling warmth and an aching need for more.

"Christopher," she murmured as he pulled away."Remember my reputation," he teased. She leaned into his strong shoulder. His fingers smoothed her neck from her ear to her throat. His touch promised heaven. She prayed he'd never stop. That he'd ask her to stay. Anything to feel this way forever.

Her hand reached for his chest, searching for s.h.i.+rt b.u.t.tons, questing warm, male flesh.