Clare pointed to a woman wearing a sheer white dress, standing on the beach and holding a baby. “I like the expression on her face. It’s blissful.”

“Hmm.” He turned his head to the side. “I’d say it’s more peaceful.” He moved in front of a chalk drawing of a nude man and woman locked in an embrace. “Now that woman’s expression is blissful.”

She would have said it was more orgasmic, if she were the kind of woman to say such things out loud in public.

In the end Sebastian chose a signed lithograph of a man and a boy standing on a big rock at the edge of the Payette River, fishing. While they looked at matte and frame samples, he asked her opinion about each and took her suggestions. He paid extra to have it finished by Christmas. Delivery was going to be a problem, considering the time crunch, and before Clare could stop herself, she volunteered to pick it up on Christmas Eve.

He looked at her out of the corners of his eyes and frowned. “No thanks.”

She smiled up at him. “I won’t wrap it in pink ribbon. I swear.”

He thought about her offer as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “If you’re sure it won’t be a problem.”

She had a signing that day and would be out and about anyway. “It won’t.”

“Okay, thanks. That’s a load off.” He handed over a platinum Visa, and when the shop owner walked away, Sebastian added, “If I could kiss you, I would.”

She turned and held up her hand as if she were a queen. Instead of kissing her knuckles, he turned her hand over, pushed back the sleeve of her coat, and placed his mouth on the inside of her wrist. “Thank you, Clare.”

Her skin actually tingled all the way up her arm, and she pulled her hand away. “You’re welcome.”

The hour he’d promised turned into three with a stop at P.F. Chang’s in the old warehouse district. They were given a table near the back of the Chinese restaurant, and Clare couldn’t help but notice the female attention that tracked them across the room. It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed it that day, the furtive glances and blatant stares as they walked down the street or through the gallery. She wondered if Sebastian noticed the way women looked at him. He didn’t seem to, but perhaps he was just used to it.

They started off the meal with chicken lettuce wraps, and if Clare had been with her friends, she would have ordered the appetizer as an entrée and considered that lunch. Not Sebastian. He also ordered orange peel chicken, moo goo gai pan, pork fried rice, and Sichuan asparagus.

“Are we meeting someone else?” she asked after the entrées arrived.

“I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse.” He shook his head and put orange chicken on his plate. “I take that back. Horse is too tough.”

Clare spooned a portion of rice on her plate, then they traded entrées across the table. “And you know this because you’ve eaten a horse?”

“Eaten?” He looked up from the rice. “More like I’ve chewed on horse.”

She felt her nose crinkle. “Where?”

He served himself moo goo gai pan, then handed it to Clare. “I was in Manchuria.”

She held up her hand and declined any more food. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. In northern China you can buy packages of dog and monkey meat in the markets.”

Clare looked at the orange peel chicken on her plate. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not. I saw it when I was there in ’96. It’s the honest to God’s truth.” He picked up his fork and stabbed some asparagus. “There are quite a few cultures that consider dog a delicacy. I try not to judge.”

Clare didn’t like to judge either, but she couldn’t help but think of poor Cindy. She looked up as far as the hollow of his throat, visible between the collar of his shirt. “Did you eat dog?”

He glanced up, then returned his attention to his lunch. “Nah, but the guys and I did eat the monkey.”

“You ate a monkey?” She took a drink of her cabernet sauvignon.

“Yeah. It tasted just like chicken,” he said through a laugh. “Believe me, after a diet of mostly congee, the monkey was damn good.”

Clare had never heard of congee and was too afraid he’d tell her if she asked. She watched him dig into his meal and set her glass back on the table. “Where’s your next assignment?” she inquired, purposely moving the subject away from canines and primates.

He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not sure. I decided not to sign a new contract with Newsweek. Or with anyone. I think I’ll take some time off.”

“To do what?” She took a bite of rice.

“I haven’t figured that out yet.”

She knew if she wasn’t under contract, she’d be freaking out. “Doesn’t that scare you?”

He looked across the table and his green eyes met hers. “Not as much as it did a few months ago. I’ve worked really long and hard to get where I am in my job, and at first it was scary as hell to think I might be losing my drive for it. But I had to accept the fact that I don’t enjoy the travel as much as I used to. Plain and simple. So, I’m backing off a little before I burn out completely. I’m sure I’ll always freelance, but I want a new challenge. Something different.”

She suspected that’s how he was with women too. Once the challenge was over, he’d be ready to move on to the next different and exciting thing. But whether or not she was right didn’t matter. There was no way she’d ever get involved with Sebastian. Not only had she sworn off men until she sorted out her own life, he’d said himself he had problems with relationships, and his love life was not her concern.

“How about you?” he asked, and took a drink of his wine.

“No. There are no men in my life.”

His brows lowered. “I thought we were talking about our work. At least I was.”

“Oh.” She pushed a little smile on her lips to cover her embarrassment. “What about me?”

“When is your next book out?” He set his wine back on the table and picked up his fork.

“It’s out. I have a signing next Saturday at Walden’s in the mall.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s a romance.”

“Yes. I know. What is it about?” He sat back in his chair and waited for her to answer.

Surely he didn’t care. “It’s the second book in my governess series. The heroine is, obviously, a governess-to a reclusive duke and his three small daughters. It’s kind of a Jane Eyre meets Mary Poppins.”

“Interesting. So, it’s not a pirate book?”

Pirate? She shook her head.

“Is the book you’re working on now a pirate book?”

“No. It’s the third and final book in my series about governesses.”

“Good-looking governesses?”

“Of course.” And why was he asking?

The waiter interrupted and asked if everything was all right, and when he went away again, Clare got her answer. “I saw your books at my dad’s.”

Ahh. “Yes. Bless him. He buys every one, although he won’t read them because he says they make him blush.”

“They must be really hot.”

“I imagine that would depend on what you’re used to reading.”

He looked at her and one corner of his mouth slid up into an easy smile. “I can’t believe little Clare Wingate grew up to write steamy romance novels.”

“And I can’t believe you grew up and ate a monkey. Worse, I can’t believe I let a guy who ate a monkey kiss my mouth.”

He reached across the table and placed his hand on her forearm. “Honey,” he said, and looked deep into her eyes, “I kissed more than your mouth.”

Fifteen

On the twenty-fourth of December the Boise Towne Square Mall was packed with last-minute shoppers. Christmas Muzak kept time with the ringing of cash registers. Groups of teenagers hung over the second-floor railings, calling to friends below, while mothers maneuvered strollers through the melee.

At the entrance of Walden’s Books, Clare sat surrounded by a stack of her latest, Surrender to Love, and was partially hidden by a big easel-backed poster of a busty heroine and her shirtless hero. For the signing, she had dressed in her black double-breasted suit and emerald silk blouse. She wore black hose and four-inch pumps, and her hair was curled about her shoulders. She looked successful and sophisticated, and in one hand she held her gold Tiffany signing pen. There were ten minutes left of her two-hour signing, and she’d sold fifteen of her books. Not bad for December. It was time to sit back, relax. A slight smile tilted her red lips as she gazed down at the open book hidden in her lap: Redneck Haiku, Double-Wide Edition.

“Hey there, Cinderella.”

Clare glanced up from a haiku about Bubba’s wedding and her gaze landed on the faded button fly of a pair of well-worn Levi’s. She recognized those jeans and that voice and knew who both belonged to even before she looked up past an open fleece jacket and blue shirt, past that familiar smile and dark green eyes.

“What are you doing here?” She’d heard Sebastian was back in town for Christmas. He was expected with Leo at her mother’s house for dinner tomorrow night, but it was a shock to see him standing across her small table. His answer was a bigger shock.

“Buying your book for my dad for Christmas.”

Seeing him, a familiar little sensation lifted her stomach. She didn’t love Sebastian, but she did like him. How could she not like a man who braved holiday shopping to buy a romance novel for his father? “You could have called and I would have brought you one.”

Inside his black fleece, he shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

Which was a blatant lie. No sane person was at the mall unless they absolutely had to be. “I picked up Leo’s lithograph this morning.” Just as much as she liked him, she was physically attracted to him. Much in the same way she was attracted to Godiva truffles. They weren’t good for her and had an addictive quality. If she reached for one, she’d have to have the whole box. Afterward she’d regret it, but there was no denying how much she wanted to dive in and pig out.