“This is a trick question. So rather than answer it, I’m going to distract you.”

“I’m not making love with you while dinner’s cooking and Jordan’s upstairs.”

“That wasn’t my idea, but I really like it. I’m going to distract you by telling you that the kitchen guys are coming on Monday to start the remodel.”

“Really?” As he’d planned, every other thought spilled out of her mind. “Really?” she repeated and leaped at him. “Oh, this is great! This is wonderful!”

“I thought that would do it. So, are you going to move in with me?”

She touched her lips to his. “Ask me again when the kitchen’s done.”

“You’re a tough one, Malory.”

AFTER a day of manual labor, Dana longed for a soak in a hot tub before she dived into her new resource books. But she lacked the courage to do it.

Since that realization was too mortifying to dwell on, she fantasized about the house she’d buy one day. The big, secluded house. With a library the size of a barn.

And a Jacuzzi, she added as she pressed on the ache at the small of her back.

But until that happy day, she would settle for her apartment. Eventually, for all the rooms in her apartment, which included the one with the tub in it.

She could join a gym, she thought as she settled down to her books for an evening of research.

She hated gyms. They were full of people. Sweaty people. Naked people who would insist on sharing her Jacuzzi time.

It just wasn’t worth the aggravation. Better to wait until she could afford her own place. Of course, when she could afford her own place—with Jacuzzi—it was unlikely that she’d be spending eight hours scraping and painting until her back ached.

Ordering herself to settle down, she started on Othello. She had her own copy, of course. She had a copy of everything Shakespeare had written, but she wanted a different volume. A kind of fresh look, she thought.

It was jealousy and ambition that had driven Iago, she mused. He had planted “the green-ey’d monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on” in Othello, then had watched it devour him.

It was jealousy and ambition that drove Kane, and so he watched as his monster devoured.

She could learn from this, she thought, of what made a man—or a god—soulless.

She’d barely started when the knock on the door interrupted.

“What now?” Grumbling to herself, she went to answer it. Her irritation only increased when the door opened on Jordan.

“This had better not become a habit.”

“Let’s go for a ride.”

Her response was to slam the door, but he anticipated her, slapped a hand on it, braced it open. “Let me put that another way. I’m heading up to Warrior’s Peak. Do you want to come?”

“What are you going up there for? You’re a bystander in this deal.”

“That’s a matter of opinion. I’m going up because I have some questions. Actually, I decided to get out of Flynn’s place after dinner. To give the lovebirds a little space.” He leaned comfortably on the jamb as he spoke but kept that hand firm on the door. “Found myself heading out of town and up the mountain road. Figured I might as well keep going, have myself a chat with Pitte and Rowena. Then I thought, You know, it’s just going to tick Dana off if I do that without running it by her. So I turned around and came back. I’m running it by you.”

“I suppose you want points for that.”

His mouth curved. “If you’re keeping score.”

“I don’t see that you have anything to talk to them about.”

“Let’s put this one more way. I’m going, with or without you.” He straightened, let his hand drop from the door. “But if you want to come along, you can drive.”

“Big deal.”

“My car.”

The image of his gorgeous, muscular, classic T-Bird flashed into her mind. She had to make a conscious effort not to drool. “You fight dirty.”

He took his keys out of his pocket. And dangled them.

Her internal war lasted about three seconds before she snatched the keys out of his hand. “Let me get a jacket.”

WHATEVER his flaws, Jordan Hawke knew cars. The Thunderbird climbed the hills like a mountain cat, all sleek grace and muscle. It clung to curves and roared down straightaways.

Some might think of it as a vehicle, others as a toy. But Dana knew it was a machine. A first-class one.

Being behind the wheel wasn’t just a sexy pleasure. It let Dana shift the situation as smoothly as she shifted gears. She was in charge now. The trip to the Peak might have been Jordan’s idea, but by God, she was driving.

The evening was brisk, and grew brisker yet as they climbed to higher elevations, but the top was down. She was glad to trade chilly fingers and the bite of the wind for the sheer joy of zipping along the roads in the open air.

The trees were at their peak, the force of colors made only more brilliant by the sheen of gold from the setting sun. Fallen leaves skipped and skittered across the road where light and shadow danced.

It was like driving into a story, she mused, where anything could happen around the next turn.

“How’s it handling for you?” Jordan asked her.

“She’s got style. And muscle.”

“I always thought the same about you.”

She slid her gaze in his direction, balefully, then focused on the road. However much fun she was having, it didn’t mean she couldn’t take a poke at him.

“I don’t see why you need a car like this when you live in an urban environment where mass transit is not only readily available but efficient.”

“Two reasons. First, for those times when I’m not in an urban environment, such as now. And second, I lusted after her.”

“Yeah.” She couldn’t blame him. “Fifty-seven was the primo year for T-Birds.”

“No question. I’ve got a ’63 Stingray.”

Her eyes went glassy. “You do not.”

“Four-speed, 327. Fuel injection.”

She felt the long, liquid pull in her belly. “Shut up.”

“I had her up to 120. She’d’ve given me more, but we were just getting to know each other.” He waited a beat. “I’ve got my eye on this very sweet Caddy convertible. Fifty-nine. Single quadajet carb.”