Hed never had a woman take an aversion to him on sight. It was especially galling that the first one who did happened to be the one he was so outrageously attracted to.

He hadnt been able to get her face out of his mind for three years, since hed first seen After the Spell , the painting hed bought—the second one Rowena had painted of the Daughters of Glass .

Zoesface on the goddess who slept, three thousand years, in a coffin of glass.

However ridiculous it was, Brad had fallen in love at first sight with the woman in the portrait.

The woman in reality was a much tougher nut.

But Vanes were known for their tenacity. And their determination to win. If shed come into the store that afternoon, he could and would have rearranged his schedule and taken her through. It wouldve given him the opportunity to spend some time with her, while keeping it all practical and friendly.

Of course, youd think that when her car broke down and he happened by and offered her a lift, that interlude would have been practical and friendly.

Instead shed gotten her back up because he pointed out the flaws in her plan to try to fix the car while wearing a dinner dress, and he, understandably, had refused to mess with the engine himself.

Hed offered to call a mechanic for her, hadnt he? Brad thought, getting riled up again at the memory. Hed stood there debating with her for ten minutes, thus ensuring that whatever she did they would both be late to the Peak.

And when she grudgingly accepted the ride finally, she spent every minute of it in an ice-cold funk.

He was absolutely crazy about her.

“Sick,” he muttered as he turned the corner to her street. “Youre a sick man, Vane.”

Her little house sat tidily back from the road on a neat stamp of lawn. Shed planted fall flowers along the sunny left side. The house itself was a cheerful yellow with bright white trim. A boys red bike lay on its side in the front yard, reminding him that she had a son hed yet to catch sight of.

Brad pulled his new Mercedes behind her decade-old hatchback.

He walked back to the cargo area and hauled out the gift he hoped would turn the tide in his favor.

He carted it to the front door, then caught himself running a nervous hand through his hair.

Women never made him nervous.

Annoyed with himself, he knocked briskly.

It was the boy who opened it, and for the second time in his life, Brad found himself dazzled by a face. He looked like his mother—dark hair, tawny eyes, pretty, pointed features. The dark hair was mussed, the eyes cool with suspicion, but neither detracted a whit from the exotic good looks.

Brad had enough young cousins, assorted nieces and nephews, to be able to peg the kid at around eight or nine. Give him another ten years, Brad thought, and this one would have to beat the coeds off with a stick. “Simon, right?” Brad offered an Im-harmless-you-can-trust-me grin. “Im Brad Vane, a friend of your moms.” Sort of. “She around?”

“Yeah, shes around.” Though the boy gave Brad a very quick up-and-down glance, Brad had the certain sensation hed been studied carefully and thoroughly, and the jury was still out. “Yougotta wait out there, cause Im not allowed to let anybody in if I dont know who they are.”

“No problem.”

The door shut in his face. Like mother, like son, Brad thought, then heard the boy shout.

“Mom! Theres this guy at the door. He looks like a lawyer or something.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Brad mumbled and cast his eyes to heaven.

Moments later the door opened again.Zoes expression changed from puzzlement to surprise to mild irritation in three distinct stages.

“Oh. Its you. Um… is there something I can do for you?”

You could let me nibble my way up your neck to the back of your ear for a start, Brad thought, but kept his easy smile in place. “Dana was in the store this afternoon, picking up some supplies.”

“Yes. I know.” She tucked a dishcloth in the waistband of her jeans, let the tail hang down her hip. “Did she forget something?”

“Not exactly. I just thought you might be able to use this.” He lifted the gift hed leaned against the side of the house, then had the pleasure of seeing her blink in surprise an instant before she laughed.

Really laughed. He loved the sound of it, the way it danced over her face, into her eyes.

“You brought me a stepladder?”

“An essential tool for any home or business improvement project.”

“Yes, it is. I have one.” Obviously realizing how ungracious that sounded, she flushed and hurried on. “But its… old. And we can certainly use another. It was really thoughtful of you.”

“We ofHomeMakers appreciate your business. Where would you like me to put this?”

“Oh, well.” She glanced behind her, then seemed to sigh. “Why dont you just bring it in here? Ill figure that out later.” She stepped back, bumped into the boy who was hovering at her back. “Simon, this is Mr. Vane. Hes an old friend of Flynns.”

“He said he was a friend of yours.”

“Working on that.” Brad carried the stepladder into the house. “Hi, Simon. Hows it going?”

“Its going okay. How come youre wearing a suit if youre carrying ladders around?”

“Simon.”

“Good question.” Brad ignoredZoe and concentrated on the boy. “I had a couple of meetings earlier today. Suits are more intimidating.”

“Wearing them sucks. Mom made me wear one to AuntJoleens wedding last year. With a tie. Bogus.”

“Thanks for that fashion report.”Zoe hooked an arm around Simons throat and made him grin.

Then they both grinned, at each other, and Brads eyes were dazzled.

“Homework?”

“Done. Video game time.”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Forty-five.”

“Thirty.”

“Sweet!” He wriggled free, then bolted across the room to the TV.

Now that her hands were no longer full of boy,Zoe didnt know what to do with them. She laid one on the ladder. “Its a really nice stepladder. The fiberglass ones are so light and easy to work with.”

“Quality with value—HomeMakers bywords.”

The sounds of a ballpark abruptly filled the tiny living room behind her. “Its his favorite,”Zoe managed. “Hed rather play baseball—virtual or in real life—than breathe.” She cleared her throat, wondered what the hell she was supposed to do next. “Ah… can I get you something to drink?”

“Sure, Whatevers handy.” “Okay.” Damn it. “Just, um, have a seat. Ill be back in a minute.”

What to do with Bradley Vane? she asked herself as she hurried back to the kitchen. In her house. Plunked down in his expensive shoes in her living room. An hour before dinner.

She stopped herself, pressed her hands to her eyes. It was okay, it was perfectly all right. Hed done something very considerate, and she would reciprocate by bringing him something to drink, having a few minutes of conversation.

She never knew what she was supposed to say to him. She didnt understand men like him. The kind of man who came from serious money. Whod done things and had things and gone places to get more.

And he made her so stupidly nervous and defensive.

Should she take him a glass of wine? No, no, he was driving, and she didnt have any really good wine anyway. Coffee? Tea?

Christ.

At her wits end, she opened the refrigerator. She had juice, she had milk.

Here, Bradley Charles Vane IV, of the really rich and

important Pennsylvania Vanes, have a nice glass of cow juice, then be on your way.

She blew out a breath, then dug a bottle of ginger ale out of a cupboard. She took out her nicest glass, checked for water spots, then filled it with ice. She added the ginger ale, careful to keep it a safe half inch below the rim.

She tugged at the hem of the sweatshirt shed tossed on over jeans, looked down resignedly at the thick gray socks she wore in lieu of shoes, and hoped she didnt smell of the brass cleaner shed been using to attack the tarnish on an umbrella stand shed picked up at the flea market.

Suit or no suit, she thought as she squared her shoulders, she wouldnt be intimidated in her own home. She would take him his drink, speak politely, hopefully briefly, then show him out.

No doubt he had more exciting things to do than sit in her living room drinking ginger ale and watching a nine-year-old play video baseball.

She carried the glass down the hall, then stopped and stared.

Bradley Charles Vane IV wasnt watching Simon play. He was, to her amazement, sitting on the floor in his gorgeous suit, playing with her son.

“Two strikes, baby. You are doomed.” With a cackle, Simon wiggled his butt and prepared for the next pitch.

“Dream on, kid. See my man on third? Hes about to score.”

She stepped farther into the room, but neither of them noticed her as the ball whistled toward the plate and the bat cracked against virtual cowhide.

“Hes got it, hes got it, hes got it,” Simon said in a kind of whispered chant. “Yeah, yeah, shagged that sucker.”

“And the runner tags,” Brad said. “Watch him fly, heading for home. Here comes the throw… and he slides, and…”

Safe! the home base ump decreed.

“Oh, yeah.” Brad gave Simon a quick elbow nudge. “One to zip, pal.”

“Not bad. For an old guy.” Simon chuckled. “Now prepare to be humiliated.”

“Excuse me. I brought you some ginger ale.”

“Time out.“ Brad twisted around to smile up at her. ”Thanks. Do you mind if we play out the inning?“

“No. Of course not.” She set the glass on the coffee table, and wondered what she should do now. “Ill just be back in the kitchen. I need to start dinner.”