But ever since the wedding he had been unable to think about anything else.

If this was lust, it was anything but superficial. If it was something more, he was in trouble because Lillian was not what he had pictured when he set out to look for a wife. For the first time since he had decided to get married he wondered if he should put the search for a wife on hold for a while. Just until he got this murky situation with Lillian cleared up and out of the way. He needed to be able to concentrate and she was making that impossible.

He realized they had halted at a crosswalk.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“I don’t know where you’re going, but I’m walking home.” Her voice was slightly muffled by the hood of her cloak.

“What do you say we stop somewhere and get you that drink I suggested? I have to tell you that after watching your colleague work with a patient, I could use one, myself.”

“Don’t start with me on that subject, Madison.”

He smiled and reached out to take her arm. “Come on, I’ll buy.”

He steered her toward the small café in the middle of the block.

She peered fixedly through the glass panes into the cozily lit interior.

“You know what?” she said. “I think you’re right. A glass of wine sounds like an excellent idea.”

She pulled free of his hand and went toward the door with quick, crisp steps. She did not look around to see if he was following.

He made it to the door a half a step ahead of her and got it open. She did not thank him, just swept past him into the café.

The place was just starting to fill up with the after-work crowd. A cheerful gas fire cast an inviting glow. The chalkboard listed several brands of beer from local microbreweries and half a dozen premium wines by the glass. Another hand-lettered menu on the wall featured a variety of oyster appetizers and happy-hour specials.

He knew this place. It was only a few streets over from the office tower that housed the headquarters of Madison Commercial. He stopped in here occasionally on his way home to his empty apartment.

“Come here a lot?” he asked as they settled into a wooden booth.

“No.” She picked up the miniature wine menu and studied it intently. “Why?”

“Portland is a small town in a lot of ways. It’s a wonder our paths haven’t crossed before,” he said, trying for a neutral topic of conversation.

She frowned at the little menu. “I haven’t lived here much in recent years.”

“Where have you been since college?”

“You really want to know?”

“Sure.” He was suddenly more curious than he wanted to let on.

She shrugged and put down the menu. Before she could answer his question, however, the waiter arrived to take their orders. She chose a glass of chardonnay. He asked for a beer.

When the waiter left, there was a short silence. He thought he might have to remind Lillian of the question. Somewhat to his surprise, however, she started to talk.

“After I graduated from college I worked in Seattle for a while,” she said. “Then I moved to Hawaii. Spent a year there. After that I went to California and then back to Seattle. I didn’t return to Oregon until I decided to open Private Arrangements.”

“Were you running matchmaking businesses in all those different places?”

She eyed him with a wary expression. “Why do you want to know?”

“Been a while. Just catching up.”

“You and I don’t have any catching up to do. We hardly even know each other.”

That was almost funny, he thought.

“I’m a Harte and you’re a Madison,” he said. “My brother is now married to your sister. Trust me, we know each other.”

The waiter returned with their drinks and disappeared once more. Lillian picked up her chardonnay, took a sip and set the glass down very precisely on the little napkin. He got the feeling she was debating how much to tell him about herself.

“The official Harte family version of events is that I’ve spent the last few years trying to find myself,” she said.

“What’s the unofficial version?”

“That I’m a little flaky.”

Definitely not wife material, he thought. Probably not good affair material either. He did not date flakes. He didn’t do business with flakes, either. If he had known Private Arrangements was run by a flake, he would never have signed on as a client.

Then again, who was he kidding?

Damn. This was not a good idea. If he had any sense he would run, not walk, to the nearest exit. Some lingering vestige of self-preservation made him glance toward the door.

What the hell, he thought, turning back to Lillian. Plenty of time to escape later.

“Didn’t realize any of you Hartes had to find yourselves,” he said after a while. “Figured you were all born knowing where you wanted to go in life and how you would get there.”

“You’re thinking of everyone else in the family.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m the exception.”

“Yeah? How exceptional are you?”

She studied the wine in her glass. “Let’s just say I haven’t found my niche yet.”

“From all accounts you’ve been extremely successful with Private Arrangements.”

“Oh, sure.” She raised one shoulder in dismissal. “If you’re talking business success.”

He went blank.

“There’s another kind?” he asked.

Irritation gleamed in her eyes. “Of course there’s another kind.”

He leaned back in the booth. “This isn’t about finding yourself and inner peace through work, is it?”

“You’ve got a problem with the concept of work as a source of happiness and personal fulfillment?”

“I’ve got a problem with people who think work is supposed to be entertainment. Work is work.” He paused. “Probably why they call it work instead of, say, fun. A lot of folks don’t seem to get that.”

“You ought to know,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been working night and day since you were a boy to build Madison Commercial.” She smiled wryly. “Folks back in Eclipse Bay always said that you were a different kind of Madison.”

“Different?”

“One who might actually make a success of himself. You certainly proved them right, didn’t you?”

How the hell had the conversation turned back on him like this?

“All I proved,” he said carefully, “is that you can get someplace if you want to go there badly enough.”

“And you wanted to get where you are now very, very badly, didn’t you?”

He did not know what to make of her in this mood, so he took another swallow of beer to give himself time to come up with a strategy.

“Tell me, Gabe, what do you do for fun?”

“Fun?” The question put him off stride again. He was still working on strategy.

“As far as I can tell, all you do is work. If work isn’t fun for you, where do you go and what do you do when you’re looking for a good time?”

He frowned. “You make it sound like I never get out of the office.”

“Do you?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? This sure as hell isn’t my office.”

“You’re right. This isn’t your office. So, tell me, are you having fun yet?”

“I didn’t come here to have fun. We’re here because you received a severe shock back there in Dr. J. Anderson Flint’s office. I figured you needed a glass of wine for medicinal purposes.”

“The only reason you’re still hanging around is because you’re trying to figure out how to get your sixth date. Forget it. Never happen.”

“We’ll see.”

“Pay attention, Madison.” She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “It will never happen because Private Arrangements is closed.”

“So? We’ll talk about my sixth date when you reopen on Monday.”

“I meant closed for good. Today was the last day of business. As of five o’clock this afternoon, my firm ceased operations. Get it?”

She was serious, he thought. “You can’t just shut down a moneymaking enterprise like that.”

“Watch me.”

“What about your clients?”

“You are the last one.” She raised her glass in a mocking little toast. “Here’s to you. Good luck finding yourself a robot.”

“A wife.”

“Whatever.” She took a sip of the wine.

“Why the hell would you want to go out of business? You’re a huge success.”

“Financially, yes.” She sat back. “That isn’t enough.”

“Damn. You really are into this work-has-got-to-be-a-transcendent-experience thing, aren’t you?”

“Yep.” She propped one elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “Let’s get back to you and fun.”

“Thought you just got through implying that the two don’t belong in the same sentence.”

“Well, let’s talk about your relationship with Madison Commercial, then.”

“Relationship? Are you suggesting that the company is my mistress or something?”

“That’s certainly what it looks like to me.”

He was getting irritated. “Is that yourprofessional opinion?”

“I’m a matchmaker, remember? I know a good match when I see one. Tell me, what, exactly, do you get out of Madison Commercial?”

He was wary now. “What do Iget out of it?”

She gave him a bright-eyed, innocently inquiring look. “Do you think your relationship with the company is a substitute for sex?”

She was a Harte, he reminded himself. Damned if he would let her goad him.

“Got news for you. In case you don’t know, Ms. Matchmaker, there is no substitute for sex. What I get out of Madison Commercial is a lot of money.”

“And power,” she added a little too helpfully. “But, then, the two usually go together, don’t they?”

“Power?” he repeated neutrally.