Most women succumbed to a man’s charms under a silver moon while surrounded by fragrant blossoms and serenaded by violins. She’d almost given it up in a mud puddle.

  “How soon before we eat?”

  She snapped out of her daydream. Men liked to eat. She’d been without a boyfriend since last fall, and she’d forgotten a few things about the male of the species. “Let’s give it ten more minutes to cool and set. I’d suggest we have a seat in the living room, but I don’t have any furniture in there yet.”

  “I noticed.”

  “I’ll get some eventually. My parents gave me their old dining room table and chairs, but they’re not ready to replace their living room stuff.”

  He gazed at her, a question in his eyes.

  “You probably wonder why I don’t just go out and get my own.”

  “It crossed my mind. You must care about this place, since you spent a lot of time painting the outside of all the buildings.”

  “Because painting is fun! I would have painted inside, too, but then more horses arrived, along with the chickens, and now the pigs, so I don’t have time. And everyone knows you’re supposed to paint before you bring in furniture.” She tried not to stare at his legs, but the hem of the bathrobe reached only to his knees. Nice calves. Yeah, very nice.

  “That’s a good point. Painting should come first.”

  “But that’s not the real reason. I can’t get excited about furniture.” But she was getting quite excited about watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Whenever he breathed in, the terry shifted to reveal more of that delicious territory. It would be so easy to walk over and slide her hands under the lapels...

  “I thought women like shopping for furniture. In general, I mean.”

  Furniture. Right. She redirected her thoughts to the topic at hand. “It all looks the same to me—boring.” Which certainly wasn’t a word she’d use to describe Regan. His thighs were probably as impressive as his calves. “I’d be fine with those throw pillows you might have seen stacked in the corner, and maybe a beanbag chair. But my mom convinced me I need a couch. They’ll be replacing theirs soon, and at that point my dad will bring me their old one.”

  “Is their couch boring?” Amusement lit his brown eyes.

  Luckily her attention had been on his face at the time, so she caught that. “I’m afraid so, but then, what couch isn’t? And it’s not just the color, which in this case is beige. I realize you can find them in red, or purple, or paisley. I object to the basic shape—a big, bulky rectangle that takes up space and dominates the room. And is heavy. Omigod. A couch can weigh you down.”

  “I never thought of it that way.” He sipped his wine and the bathrobe sleeve gaped open, exposing his entire forearm. His skin was tanned to a golden hue, probably a gift from his Italian ancestry.

  She bet he tasted as good as he looked, but she continued the conversation as if she had no interest in licking him all over. “Couches aren’t practical, either. Three people could sit there, but then they’d be like birds on a rail, or people waiting to have their group picture taken.”

  He laughed at that, and the terry lapels shifted again.

  Mercy. “No, really! In practice, only two people ever sit on a couch, even though it takes up so much floor space.”

  “Sometimes two people lie on a couch.” Was that a challenging gleam in his eye?

  “Yes, and it’s crunched and crowded. A bed’s better.” She sucked in a breath. Where had that come from? Yikes!

  “More wine?”

  She glanced at the glass in her hand and discovered it was empty. Apparently she’d been chattering, ogling and drinking. The only thing she could say in her defense was that she hadn’t been licking and kissing. Did she know how to draw a line in the sand or what?

  Setting her glass firmly on the counter, she opened a cupboard. “I’m going to hold off on the wine for now. I’m sure the lasagna’s ready. I’ll dish up.”

  “I have an idea.”

  If he had one idea, she had twenty, and they all involved untying the sash of his robe. She pulled two plates out of the cupboard. “What’s that?”

  “Let’s build a fire and sit on the floor in the living room. It’s cool enough tonight for one, and I noticed you have wood.”

  “The Turners left me some, and I used some last month. It was a cool May.” His idea sounded different and fun. And potentially dangerous.

  “So what do you say? We can sit on two of those floor pillows.”

  “I guess that would work.”

  “It’ll work great.” He drained his glass and left it on the counter. “I’ll start the fire while you serve the lasagna.”

  He’d already started a fire, and she had no extinguisher handy. Eating picnic style on the floor could heat things up even more. The whole setup was becoming too cozy, and she wasn’t helping. She gave herself a stern reminder about the speech she was going to deliver, even if she could have done that more effectively while sitting at the dining room table.

  Too late to change her mind, though. The sound of crinkling newspaper and logs settling onto the grate indicated he was into his fire-building routine. “Is the flue open?” he called out.

  “No, it isn’t. Pull the lever toward you.”

  Metal creaked. “Got it. You know, I figured you for a picnic-on-the-floor kind of woman. I couldn’t ever convince Jeannette to do this, but I thought for sure you’d be all over it.”

  So his ex’s name was Jeannette. And she didn’t go for picnics on the floor in front of the fireplace. Lily should ignore that thrown gauntlet. But being a normal woman, she wanted to prove that she was more accommodating than dumb old Jeannette, the idiot who had betrayed this beautiful man on Christmas Eve. The question remained, how accommodating did Lily plan to be?

  6

  REGAN WASN’T OBLIVIOUS to the effect he was having on Lily. He wasn’t above using it to his advantage, either. He could hardly be blamed for wearing a bathrobe that was several sizes too small for him. His only other option was a towel, and that wouldn’t have helped matters.

  As they settled themselves on her colorful striped pillows and balanced their plates in their laps, he was careful to keep the bathrobe closed over his crotch. This game was all about teasing, anyway, not flashing the goods. Besides, nothing could happen between them without those little raincoats. He doubted she had a supply. The woman didn’t even own a make-out couch.

  She was a puzzle in so many ways. Even though she couldn’t stop looking at him, he could tell that she was fighting her reaction tooth and nail. She’d kissed him with enthusiasm, but she’d cautioned him that it was a mistake. He needed to find out why she’d said that, and sitting casually in front of a fire seemed like a better venue for sharing confidences than perched at the formal-looking dining table.

  She’d agreed to a second glass of wine, but she was taking tiny sips instead of knocking it back the way she had her first glass. Her speech about furniture in general and couches in particular had been entertaining. Enlightening, too. She viewed a couch as a boring anchor, so maybe she was more like his parents than he wanted to believe. Maybe, despite her dedication to these animals, she’d grow tired of being in one place and take off. He might want to keep that in mind.

  For sure Lily was nothing like Jeannette. Jeannette had been perfectly okay with owning an expensive and very boring couch. Now that he thought about it, that couch might have been a symbol for whatever had been missing in their relationship. He’d asked Jeannette to marry him because he’d cared for her. Now, though, he questioned whether they’d truly been in love.

  She’d appealed to him because she was deeply rooted in her hometown and she had ambition. After growing up with his rootless and unfocused parents, he craved Jeannette’s lifestyle and figured they’d be blissfully happy enjoying emotional and financial stability. And a boring couch.

  They’d had all that, but not much in the way of wild passion. If he were honest, he’d admit that the life they’d created as an engaged couple hadn’t been very stimulating. Getting married wouldn’t have changed that dynamic. She might have been bored, too, although she’d never said so. That she had sex with his best friend might have been a small indication. Ha. No kidding.

  One thing he could say after spending time with Lily King—he wasn’t bored. She appeared to have as many facets as the crystals hanging in her living room windows. They were the only decorations she’d put up, and there was something soothing about her minimalist approach, especially with a cheerful blaze crackling in the fireplace.

  Crystals always reminded him of his mother, who loved them. As he watched the crystals reflect the light from the fire, he felt a tug of nostalgia. And he was never nostalgic about his parents.

  His vegetarian folks also would have praised Lily’s lasagna. Regan glanced over at her. “You didn’t exaggerate about your cooking skills.” He pointed his fork at the generous helping on his plate. “This is terrific.”

  “Thank you. Listen, Regan, we need to talk about that kiss.”

  Good thing she hadn’t said that when he was drinking wine. As it was, he nearly tipped the lasagna right off his plate. But he recovered quickly enough to keep it from falling into his lap, which would have been bad on many levels. The food was hot, his privates weren’t well protected and this was his only outfit.

  Putting the plate safely beside him, he cleared his throat and turned to her. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

  “You don’t have to stop eating.”

  “I think I do. This is important.”

  “All right then.” She put down her plate, too. “The kiss was a mistake.” She looked him in the eye, her expression resolute.

  “How come?”

  “You broke up with your fiancée six months ago, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll take a wild guess that you haven’t dated anyone since then.”

  “Nope, and that’s why I felt completely free to kiss you. And from the way you kissed me, I’d say you’re not dating anyone, either.”

  “I’m not, but that isn’t the point I wanted to make. If you haven’t dated since you ended your engagement, you’re on target for a rebound relationship.”

  He blinked. Although he hadn’t known what to expect from this discussion, that comment took him by surprise. “Who says?”

  “It’s common knowledge.”

  “What the hell? Is the entire population of the Jackson Hole area discussing my love life?”

  “No, of course not. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just saying it’s generally accepted that people suffering a breakup usually rebound to someone else for temporary comfort and a chance to get their groove back.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re talking about, but not everybody goes through that. And what’s with me being on target for it? Is six months significant? Is there some timetable I don’t know about?” And underneath that barrage of questions was guilt, because his thoughts this morning could easily be interpreted as a guy wanting to get his groove back, as she’d termed it.

  “No timetable. But why haven’t you dated since you broke up with Jeannette?”

  “Didn’t feel like it.” He took a gulp of his wine. His mellow mood was disappearing fast.

  “But now you do feel like it?”

  “I did until this conversation started. Not sure that’s still true.”

  “So you’re not attracted to me anymore? Is that because I hit the nail on the head?”

  He gazed at her, and his irritation faded. “You might have hit the nail a glancing blow.”

  She blew out a breath. “Thanks for admitting that.”

  “And for the record, I’m still attracted to you.”

  “Maybe because you’re at the stage where you need someone and I’m handy.”

  “No. It’s not like that.” She was so much more than handy. Tendrils of her hair had escaped from the arrangement on top of her head, and they seemed to dance and glow whenever she moved. The freckles across the bridge of her nose beckoned to him, tempting him to kiss each and every one.

  He anticipated his next move. The scent of her shampoo drifted across the space between them, drawing him closer. He longed to slide his hand up the curve of her neck, cradle her head and finally allow himself to taste her pink lips again. This time they would make that magical connection without benefit of mud or pesky pigs.

  But for some reason, she was trying to give him the brush-off. He could feel it coming. But he couldn’t let her think his interest was based on her being handy. “You’re beautiful, Lily. Any man would feel lucky to be with you.”

  Her expression grew tender. “Not true, Regan. I don’t have men beating a path to my door.”

  “You should.”

  “I understand why they don’t. I’m different from most women. As you’ve noticed, I paint things wild colors. I mean really wild. I don’t care about fancy clothes, or jewelry or makeup.”

  “You don’t need those things.”

  “That’s sweet of you to say, but I have a few other handicaps where men are concerned. I’m smart, although I’ve never understood why that makes men nervous. Nevertheless, it does. Earning piles of money doesn’t interest me. The computer game seems to be bringing in a fair bit, but that wasn’t my goal. I was just goofing around when I created it. Some guys, maybe most guys, would say I’m weird.”

  Her description of herself included many of the tendencies he’d worked hard to banish from his life—impulsive behavior, indifference to money, lack of defined career goals. The woman was on the flaky side, which should make him avoid her like the plague. Instead he wanted her so much he ached.

  He decided against saying that. She was convinced that he wanted her only because they’d met when he was ready to get back in the game. “You mentioned an ex-boyfriend. What happened there?” If she could discuss his situation, then he should be able to ask about hers.

  “Simple. He works for a computer-game company and he taught me how to create a game. So I did and sold it to his company. But then I lost interest.”

  Regan took note of that, but he wasn’t ready to build a whole case on it. Making up a computer game would have been a one-shot deal for him, too. It was about electronics, not living creatures. “So then what?”

  “He begged me to create more computer games and make a bunch of money. He started test-driving fancy cars and checking out coastline real estate. Then he offered to take over as my manager-slash-accountant because I obviously didn’t want to deal with the financial side of my business, according to him. I didn’t have a business, just one silly game.”

  “In other words, he wanted to use you to get rich.”

  “Pretty much. We had a big fight, and I threw him out of my funky little apartment in San Francisco.”

  “Which had no couch.”

  She pointed a finger at him. “Right. Anyway, we’d managed fine there for about a year until I sold the game and he started seeing dollar signs whenever he looked at me. Come to think of it, his affections increased in proportion to the size of my royalty checks.”

  “Bastard.”

  “He said I was wasting my talent. He even tried to make a case for a troubled world needing my happy games. That way he could pretend he was pressuring me for the good of humankind, when all he really cared about was the good of Alfred G. Dinwoody.”

  “That was his name? Alfred G. Dinwoody?”

  “Yep. After my game became a hit, he insisted I start calling him A.G. instead of Al. He said it sounded cooler.”

  “And I thought I had it rough being stuck with O’Connelli.”

  “Are you kidding? Your name is fantastic! I’ve been dying to ask you where it came from.”

  So he told her, and naturally she loved the concept. She’d get along with his parents like peanut butter and jelly. His explanation led to more questions, and eventually she wormed the whole story of his vagabond childhood out of him.

  Sometime during the telling, she suggested they eat their dinner before it got stone-cold. That made sense, so they picked up their plates and dug in while they continued to talk and drink more wine. He refreshed the fire, and she left with their empty plates while promising to bring back a package of sandwich cookies for dessert.

  She didn’t fancy them up by putting them on a plate, either. She arrived in the living room with the open package and handed it to him. “Be warned that I twist them apart and lick out the filling. If that grosses you out, too bad.”

  He reached inside for a cookie. “I’m used to it. Half my family eats them that way.” He gave her the bag.

  “The O’Connor half or the Spinelli half?” She pulled out a cookie and set the bag between them.

  “Some of each.” He bit into his cookie. The taste rocketed him right back to his childhood. Jeannette wouldn’t have dreamed of serving packaged sandwich cookies for dessert, let alone right out of the bag.

  “I figure you took after your mom’s side. Do any of your brothers and sisters look Irish?”

  “They do. In fact, two of my sisters have red hair like my dad’s, but it’s not the same shade as yours.”

  Lily groaned. “I’m not surprised. Nobody has hair the shade of mine. It’s the bane of my existence.” She twisted her cookie apart.

  “You’re kidding, right?” This time he took out two cookies.

  “Why would I be kidding? It’s a shocking color that goes with almost nothing, and it’s so curly it’s impossible to style. Most of the time my head looks like a giant orange chrysanthemum.” She proceeded to lick the frosting from her cookie.

  Watching her clean the last bit of vanilla from the chocolate didn’t gross him out, but it might turn him on if he paid too much attention. He’d recently been in intimate contact with that tongue of hers and wouldn’t mind repeating the experience. But she seemed to think he wanted to kiss her only because he was ready to start kissing girls again and she was available.

  His attraction to her didn’t feel like that, but he was unsure of his position and didn’t want to argue the point. That meant no kissing would happen anytime soon, no matter how her cookie-eating affected him. So he focused on the burning logs, instead, and continued the conversation. “I happen to like your hair.”