“I was mildly interested.” She popped the top of the Coke, took a long sip. She ate some Fritos, traded them for the apple, traded them back. And, she thought in disgust, he wasnt going to crack.

“Okay, who is he? Whats after him? How did he get there?”

He took the Coke. Was there anything more satisfying than having someone who shared your love of books being so interested in one of yours? he wondered.

If you added the fact that your literary partner was a very sexy, very naked woman, it was just gravy.

“Its a long story. Lets just say hes a man whos made mistakes, and hes looking for a way to fix them. Along the way he finds out there arent any easy answers, that redemption—the real thing—carries a price. That love, the kind that matters, makes the price-worth paying.” “What did he do?”

“Betrayed a woman, killed a man.” He ate more chips, listened to the rain drum and patter— outside the window, and in the forest in his mind. “He thought he had reasons for both. Maybe he did. But were they the right reasons?”

“Youre writing it, you ought to know.”

“No, he has to know. Thats part of the price of redemption. The not-knowing haunts him, hunts him as much as whats with him in the woods.”

“What is with him in the woods?”

He chuckled. “Read the book.”

She bit into the apple again. “Thats a very underhanded method of making a sale.”

“A guysgotta make a living. Even if it is with „mundane and predictable commercial fiction. One of your pithy reviews of my work.”

She felt a twang of guilt, but shrugged it off. “Im a librarian. Former librarian,” she corrected. “And Im about to become a bookstore owner. I value all books.”

“Some more than others.”

“That would be a matter of personal taste rather than a professional outlook.” Now she wanted to squirm. “Certainly your commercial success indicates you write books that satisfy the masses.”

He shook his head and abruptly craved a cigarette. “Nobody damns with faint praise better than you, Dana.”

“I didnt mean it that way.” She was, she realized, digging a hole for herself. But she could hardly confess to being a fan of his work when she was sitting in his bed naked and eating corn chips. It was a sure way to make both of them feel ridiculous.

And would make any honest praise seem like pandering.

“Youre doing what you always wanted to do, Jordan, and successfully. You should be proud of yourself.”

“No argument there.” He polished off the Coke, set the can aside. Wrapped his fingers around her ankle. “Still hungry?”

Relieved that the topic had been tabled, she rolled up the bag of chips, tossed it on the floor beside the bed. “As a matter of fact,” she began, then jumped him.

* * *

IT shouldnt bother him so much, and it irritated the hell out of him that it did. He didnt expect everyone to like his work. Hed long ago stopped being bruised or deflated by a poor review or a disgruntled comment from a reader.

He wasnt some high-strung, temperamental artist who fell into funks at the slightest criticism.

But damn it, Danas dismissal of his work dug holes in him.

It was worse now, Jordan thought as he gazed out the bedroom window and brooded. Worse that shed been kind about it. It had been easier to take her scathing and unsolicited opinions of his talent, her snotty, elitist dismissal of his field than her gentle and kindly meant pat on the head.

He wrote thrillers, often with a whiff of something other , and she dismissed them as hackneyed commercialism that appealed to the lowest common denominator.

He could handle that, if she was an elitist book snob, but she was far from it. She simply loved books. Her apartment was crammed with them and there was plenty of genre fiction on her shelves.

Though hed noted there was nothing on them by Jordan Hawke.

And, yeah, he thought, it stung more than a little.

Hed been ridiculously pleased to come back into the bedroom and see her bent over his laptop, to see what hed believed had been avid interest in the story he was building.

Curiosity, as shed said. Nothing more.

Best to put that one away, he told himself. Lock it awayьi a box before it dug in too deep and started to fester.

They were lovers again, and thank God for it. They were, he hoped, halfway to being friends again as well. He didnt want to lose her, lover and friend, because he couldnt get past her disinterest or disapproval of his work.

She didnt know what it meant to him to be a writer. How could she? Oh, she knew it was what hed wanted and hoped for. But she didnt know why it was so vital to him. Hed never shared that with her.

There was a great deal that he hadnt shared with her; he admitted.

His work, yes. Hed often asked her to read something hed done, and naturally had been pleased and satisfied when shed praised it—intrigued and interested when shed discussed the story and offered her opinions.

The fact was, on a purely practical level, hers was one of the opinions he valued most.

But hed never told her how much hed needed to make something of himself. As a man, as a writer. For himself, certainly. And for his mother. It was, for Jordan, the only way he knew to pay his mother back for all shed done for him, all shed given up for him, all shed worked for.

But hed never shared that with Dana, or anyone else. Never shared with anyone that private grief, the drowning guilt or the desperate need.

So, he would put it away again and concentrate on rebuilding what he could and starting fresh with what he couldnt rebuild.

His current hero wasnt the only one looking for redemption.

* * *

DANA waited until shed painted an entire wall in what was to beZoes main salon area. Shed bitten her tongue half a dozen times that morning, had talked herself out of saying anything, then had taken the internal debate full circle again.

In the end she convinced herself that it was an insult to friendship not to speak.

“I slept with Jordan.” She blurted it out, kept her eyes trained on the wall she was painting, and waited for her friends to burst out with comments and questions.

When five long seconds ran by in silence, she turned her head and caught the look passing between Malory andZoe .

“You knew? You already knew? You mean to tell me that arrogant, self-satisfied son of a bitch ran right to Flynn to brag that hed banged me?”

“No.” Malory barely swallowed a laugh. “At least not that I know of. And Im sure if Jordan had said anything about it to Flynn, Flynn wouldve told me. Anyway, we didnt know. We just…” She trailed off, then studied the ceiling.

“We were wondering how long it would take before the two of you jumped each other,”Zoe put in. “Actually, we thought about starting a pool on it, but decided that would be a little crass.Idve won,” she added. “I had today as spontaneous combustion day. Malory figured youd hold out another week.”

“Well.” Dana fisted her hands on her hips. “Thats a hell of a note.”

“We didnt actually bet.” Malory chimed back in. “And see what good friends we are, not even pointing out that youre telling us, though Jordan telling Flynn would make him an arrogant, self-satisfied son of a bitch.”

“Im rendered speechless.”

“Oh, no, you dont.”Zoe shook her head. “At least not until you tell us how it was. You want to use the scale of one to ten, or do a descriptive retrospective?”

The laugh escaped before Dana could stop it. “I dont know why I like the two of you.”

“Sure you do. Come on,”Zoe urged. “Tell. Youre dying to.“

“It was great, and not just because I was ready to spontaneously combust. I missed being with him. You think you forget what its like to feel so… connected to somebody. But you dont. You really dont. We were always good in bed. Were even better now.”

Zoelet out a long sigh. “Was it romantic or insane?”

“Which time?”

“Now youre bragging.”

With a laugh Dana started painting again. “Been a while since I had anything to brag about.”

“How are you planning to handle it?” Malory asked her.

“Handle what?”

“Are you going to tell him youre in love with him?”

The question brought a little shadow creeping in on the edge of her bright mood. “Whats the point of it? Hed either back off or feel guilty about not backing off.”

“If youre honest with him—”

“That was your way,” Dana interrupted. “Its the way you needed to deal with what you felt for Flynn. It was right for you, Mal, and for him. But for me… well, I dont have any expectations of Jordan this time around, and Im willing to take responsibility for my own emotions and the consequences. What Im not willing to do is put my big,gooshy heart in his hands and force him into making a choice. What weve got right now is good enough for me. For now. Well worry about tomorrow when it gets here.”

“Um… Im not going to disagree with you,”Zoe began. “Maybe you need to take some time, let things settle or evolve. But more, maybe youre meant to. Maybe its part of the quest.”

The roller jumped in Danas hand. “My sleeping with Jordan is part of the quest? Where the hell does that come in?”

“I dont mean the sex, specifically. Though sex is, lets face it, powerful magic.”

“Yeah, well, maybe the gods sang and the faeries wept.” Dana ran her roller over the wall again. “But Im not buying that doing the wild thing with Jordans going to lead me to the key.”

“Im talking about the relationship, the connection, however you want to say it. What was between you, what is between you, whats going to be.”