“So it would seem.” In the dim light, her eyes seemed fixed on his face, her gaze full of interest or curiosity. There was the connection he’d felt before. More than once, he’d glanced across a reception or a lecture hall to find her staring, only to look away when he caught her at it. That’s what had told him she never lost touch of him any more than he did of her.

  Finally, she took a sip of her wine. “Wow.”

  “The good stuff. “ He held up the bottle so she could read the label. “Rosenblum.”

  “Rockpile Vineyard, the really good stuff.”

  “So’s the food.” He put a heap of pasta on the plate in front of him, added a meatball and some sausage, and passed it to her. Then he took her dish and served himself.

  They ate in silence for a while—not the companionable silence of people who’ve talked long into the night and already knew each other’s stories, but the sort where hands felt too large and objects moved awkwardly. They’d had this awareness for a couple of years now but had never had to spend time alone together. They’d always had colleagues around and escape routes into other rooms. Staying in this cabin together, they’d confront each other wherever they turned. Sharing a bathroom, scheduling showers—the intimate things lovers did but with nothing resolved between them.

  The discomfort even got to him, and he kept his eyes more or less fixed on his food. They took turns keeping each other’s wineglasses full. Finally, though, he’d stuffed himself. He didn’t have the meal as a diversion any longer.

  “That was delicious,” he said around his last bite of meatball. “I didn’t know you were Italian.”

  “My mother is.”

  “Traditional family upbringing. I should have guessed,” he said.

  She put down her fork and stared at him. “Why do you assume that?”

  “Because children thrive in two-parent families. They go on to achieve, as you have.”

  “What if she’s a single mother?” she said. “Would that disqualify me somehow?”

  “Is she?”

  “No,” she answered.

  “What does she do for a living?” he asked.

  “She had six kids. That’s enough, don’t you think?”

  “And your father?”

  She rested back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s a doctor.”

  “What about your brothers and sisters?”

  “Is there a point to this?” she asked.

  “Just answer.”

  “Two still in college, two engineers, and a biochemist.”

  “And you,” he said. “I rest my case.”

  She grabbed the wine bottle and refilled her glass. “And just what do you think you’ve proved?”

  She knew damned well. They’d been having this battle in the journals and at symposia. He’d thought that they could get through a good meal before they’d have to engage it all over again. Maybe that was for the best. Dave and Susan didn’t have to witness the fight. He poured himself some more zin and took a swallow. “The traditional family structure is the product of evolution because it works. Your own family proves that.”

  “Are you saying a single-parent household can’t produce successful children?”

  “Of course not, but the odds aren’t as good,” he answered. “You see the proof everywhere in the animal kingdom. The larger, stronger male protects and provides. The female nurtures the young.”

  “Well thank you, Father Knows Best. Are there any other words of wisdom from the 1950s you’d like to channel?”

  He drank the rest of his wine and poured some more. What was left went into her glass. It turned out to be more than he’d given himself. Good. He’d need a clear head for this argument. Or at least, as clear as it could be after all he’d had to drink.

  “You know I’m telling the truth,” he said. “That’s why you’re getting so defensive.”

  “Defensive?” She let out a loud “ha!” “Me defensive? That’s rich.”

  “All you’ve done is call me old-fashioned. You haven’t cited a single piece of data to prove me wrong.”

  “Okay.” She took a swig of her wine and thought a minute. Her eyes had the lazy look of someone who’d had a wee bit too much of the grape to be indulging in intellectual disputes. In fact, her features had softened, and a drop of wine clung to the corner of her mouth, where it would be oh so easy to lick it off.

  “Lobsters,” she said finally.

  “Lobsters?” he repeated.

  “Lobsters.”

  “What do lobsters have to do with anything?”

  “The way they mate. The male loses interest after fertilization. The mother lobster cares for the eggs until they hatch and then spews them out by the thousands and leaves them to sink or swim.” She finished her wine and sat back in her chair with a triumphant smile on her face.

  “That doesn’t prove anything.” Damn it, his voice was rising. “They’re not even mammals.”

  “You didn’t say anything about mammals. You put forth a general theory, and I’ve proved it wrong.”

  “No you haven’t.”

  She leaned forward and tapped her index finger against the tabletop. “Lobsters don’t fit your model, and they’re perfectly well adapted. We’d be up to our ankles in them if they didn’t taste so good with melted butter.”

  “Lobsters, huh?”

  “Lobsters,” she said.

  If he had all his mental faculties, he could no doubt find a counterargument. In the meantime, he’d made a blanket statement about evolution, and she’d found a contradicting example. All that, and she’d had more wine than he had. Relaxed as she was now, with her hair loose around her face and her features softened, she was really quite beautiful. He’d have to end the argument here and live to fight another day.

  “You’re cute when you’ve been thwarted,” she said.

  “Don’t push your luck.”

  She replied with a throaty laugh, a sound that came from deep down inside her. He’d never heard that before, but now that he had, he’d never get it out of his head. The timbre of her voice was as sexy as anything he’d ever heard, the tone of a woman taking her pleasure without regard to the consequences. This situation was innocent enough, more or less. But if he followed that siren call to its logical extreme, they’d end up bed.

  His cock thought that was a fabulous idea. He’d obviously had enough wine to loosen his inhibitions but not enough to dampen his ability to perform. In fact, he might have gotten them both to the perfect state of inebriation—where she’d throw caution to the winds and he could put off orgasm until he’d fucked her for a good long time, drawing climax after climax from her. And he would or die trying. She thought he was cute, huh? He’d show her cute.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nuh-huh. Not true.” She leaned over and tapped his temple. “There’s always something going on in that high-powered brain.”

  He grabbed her hand. “You don’t want to know.”

  “But I do.” She bit her lip in the most provocative way imaginable, and his cock twitched in his pants. He’d wanted women before, but none of them had made him this randy. Following through was not a good idea. First, she was a colleague. Second, she would never have acted so seductively if she hadn’t had so much zinfandel.

  Or would she? The truth hit him right between the eyes. She might be a little loose with wine right now, or she wouldn’t be taunting him so openly. But this fight didn’t differ all that much from the ones they’d had in person and in print so many times before. Her eyes sparkled the same way now as they had when she’d challenged him before. She had the same passion, and that passion extended past intellect into something much more basic.

  The two of them hadn’t had an attraction, a mere awareness of each other. They had full-blown lust for each other. All the heat behind their earlier arguments hadn’t been intellectual, but sexual. Of course, she hadn’t planned this trip to seduce him, given that the others would have shared the cabin with them, but circumstances had lit the fuse, and now the dynamite was about to explode.

  “C’mon, Hersch, give.” She leaned closer, propping her chin on her fist. Beneath the soft material of her T-shirt, her breasts rose and fell, as if she was having trouble breathing. “I really, really want to know.”

  Enough. No man had to take provocation like that and not respond. He did what any male would do in that situation. He got to his feet and pulled her up after him. Something clattered to the floor, but he ignored it and smothered her mouth with his own.

  In seconds, he lost himself in the kiss. Her lips were soft under his. Pliant. Giving and taking. Driving him on. She moaned softly as he continued tasting her, nipping and stroking with his tongue. They were both breathing raggedly now as arousal claimed them.

  Oh yes, she wanted this. Every bit as much as he did. She melted against him, soft where he was hard. Her breasts pressed into his chest, the nipples stiffening into tight points. While she clung to his shoulders, he palmed her buttocks, massaging and pulling her against his erection.

  She’d have to feel it. She’d have to know how completely she’d excited him. That didn’t stop her from rubbing against him while her lips continued her assault on his reason. She’d consented. No doubt about that. She’d given her permission to carry her to her bed, strip every item of her clothing from her body, and plunge his cock so deep in her she’d never get the memory out of her head.

  Hell’s bells, what was he thinking? He straightened and stepped away from her. This was Gayle Richards—his colleague and his chief theoretical opponent. Did he really want to make himself vulnerable by sleeping with her? Sex always involved feelings as far as women were concerned. Always. Did he want to include that in the mix of their professional relationship?

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was uncalled for.”

  Her gaze didn’t focus completely for a moment, but then, his was probably pretty hazy, too. His heart was still hammering, and nothing had happened to relieve the swelling in his pants. At least she had the decency to appear to be in the same state.

  She held up a hand. “My fault. I shouldn’t have goaded you.”

  “The wine was my doing.”

  “Yeah.” She managed a phony smile. “I wonder what they put in that stuff.”

  “We won’t have any more before the others show up.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” She turned away from him, and his mind finally got a semblance of control over his body. He really wasn’t going to screw this woman. Not tonight, not ever. He hadn’t quite convinced his cock, but he’d take command of that, too, one way or another. He hadn’t masturbated much since he was a teenager, but his hand would have to make him happy until the others got here and the tension eased.

  She bent to pick up a fork from the floor, probably what he’d heard clatter when he’d pulled her into his arms. Briefly, she gave him another view of her ass, so when she straightened, he took the fork from her.

  “You go on to bed,” he said. “I’ll clean up.”

  “You sure? I made a pretty big mess.”

  So had he, or he’d been right on the verge of doing it. He’d cleaned that up. He could wash some dishes. He most assuredly didn’t need any more of her company.

  “I’m sure. Let me play the enlightened man, okay?”

  “Okay.” She gave him a thumbs-up gesture. “Sweet of you.”

  “That’s me . . . sweet.”

  “Night.” With that, she went into her bedroom, taking her breasts and her ass and her moans of pleasure with her. Days until the others arrived. He was in for a hell of a ride.

  Chapter Two

  THE CURSED MAN and his broad shoulders took up all the room in the blind. Gayle had had it made big enough to hold two, and she’d shared the space before, with male colleagues as well as female. She’d never felt so cramped before. Every time one of them moved, shoulders bumped, hips grazed each other. She’d even gotten her feet tangled with his.

  Then came the apology, followed by the other assuming fault for the contact. Then the awkward silence settled in again. If they had to wait hours for some elk to show up, she’d surely go nuts.

  “Would you like some more coffee?” he asked. God, he looked good. He probably finger-combed his hair to create just the right combination of style and casualness. Instead of khakis, he’d dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that rippled over the firm planes of his chest and abdomen. The same uniform she wore, but he made it masculine and sexy beyond belief.

  She had to clear her throat before her voice would work. “Sure.”

  The man had become hugely domestic ever since he’d kissed her the night before. He’d cleaned up after their dinner, and she’d found the leftovers packed neatly away in the fridge. He’d made breakfast. Nothing unusual . . . just some scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. And then he’d washed the dishes and straightened up the kitchen after that. Now he seemed determined to wait on her, hand and foot. A thermos of coffee, concern that she might not have dressed warmly enough. She ought to appreciate all the kindness. She really ought to.

  Their arms butted against each other as he handed her the cup. When he poured the coffee, his fingers brushed against the side of her breast. She jumped a bit, causing the hot liquid to slosh.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “My fault. I zigged when I should have zagged.”

  “Is the coffee still hot?”

  She tried a sip and did her best not to make a face. She usually took sugar. French roast unsweetened was kind of hard to take, but he drank it black, and they only had one thermos.

  “It’s great,” she said.

  “I’m glad,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if I used enough water.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Thanks.”

  Fabulous. Just fucking fabulous. She’d thrown herself at him the night before. She might have painted “take me” across her forehead. He’d responded, sort of, before he’d come to his senses and broken things off. But not before he’d given her a taste of the forbidden. Sexual excitement so potent it ought to be a controlled substance. He’d made her crave more, and if the hardness that had pressed into her belly gave any indication, he had all the equipment to give her everything she needed.

  Now she had to sit here next to him—confined to a tiny space—and wonder if maybe, just maybe, he was erect right now. Shit. Clutching at the cup with a death grip, she finished the coffee in one swallow. This time, she did wince.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said.

  “No really. Everything’s fine.”

  “You like sugar,” he said. “How could I have forgotten?”

  Great. He’d noticed things about her the way she had about him. They’d had a Thing between them for a long time. A Really Big Thing. He wasn’t going to give in to it, and she had to hold herself back, too. Being nice to each other when all she wanted to do was to climb into his lap and demand more of those kisses wouldn’t help matters. If they could go back to fighting, maybe she could get control of her libido.

  Just when it seemed as if nothing would save her from the torment, a female elk appeared in the meadow. Hattie. Old Bob wouldn’t be far behind.

  “Get the camera ready,” she said.

  He turned his attention to the equipment, and the world settled into place. They’d work as a team now, concentrating on the elk. While he aimed the camera and focused it, she lifted her binoculars to her eyes. More cows stood off in the distance. Most likely the rest of Bob’s harem. She’d know better when they came closer.

  “Will we see the rut today, do you think?” he said.

  “Possibly. If Old Bob’s fought off his opponents yet.”

  One sandy eyebrow went up. “You’ve named them?”

  “After members of my family, mostly on my mother’s side. There are dozens of them.”

  “Will Old Bob make an appearance, do you think?” he asked.

  “He’s never far from Hattie in mating season.” More cows appeared—Rosa, Angie, and a new one Gayle had never seen before. Graceful and young, this one. After that, more appeared—so many they’d have to sort out who was who from the video. A splendid harem. Bob hadn’t lost his touch. Finally, he appeared behind them, his huge antlers proclaiming him a force to be reckoned with.

  Beside her, Nolan’s breath caught. “He’s amazing.”

  “Be sure to get shots of all the cows,” she said.

  “Yeah, yeah, but . . . wow . . . look at him.”

  Her teeth clenched automatically. How typical of him to ignore all the females in favor of the one male. Bob was beautiful, and in fact, she took pride in his breeding success. Not that she had anything to do with it, of course, but she’d watched him since he’d first started attracting mates. With his size, he hardly had to fight to protect his harem. The other bulls took his measure and walked away without challenging him.

  Bob was amazing and magnificent and all the other adjectives anyone could heap on him, but no understanding of the species could leave out his mates and how they interacted. That didn’t seem to have the least effect on the man next to her. He’d zoomed in on the obvious and didn’t care about anything else.

  “Hey, fella, you going to get some today?” Hersch said.

  “Do you mean, is he going to mate with one of his partners?” she corrected.

  “Right. Whatever.” His eyes glued to the camera’s viewfinder, he completely ignored Gayle as well as anything else without a penis.

  “Focus in on Hattie, won’t you?” she said. “I want to make sure we record her behavior.”

  “Hattie?” he repeated. “Which one is she?”

  “The cow that showed up first.”

  “Right.” He turned slightly to capture Hattie where she stood not far from Bob, grazing as if nothing of particular interest was going on. “Hey, Hattie, want to get lucky?”