It was one of the fascinating things about her, he mused. The variety of her.

“Coffee?”

“I really should just get Simon. Its nearly his bedtime.”

“Oh. Well. Okay.”

When he just stood, looking at her,Zoe felt embarrassed heat creeping up the back of her neck. Had she done something wrong? Left out something?

“Thanks for having us.”

“Glad you could make it.”

During the next long pause, she had to make a conscious effort not to bite her lip. “Simon? I dont know exactly where he is.”

“The game room. Oh.” Amused at both of them, Brad laughed. “You dont know where the game room is. Come on, Ill take you back.”

The moreZoe saw of the house, the more in love with it, and intimidated by it, she was. To begin with, there was so much of it, all of it charming or stunning or just lovely. She imagined the things she noticed on tables or shelves were several levels up from knickknacks.

Brad veered off through an archway into what she assumed was some sort of library. The soaring ceiling was done in wood and made the room feel open while still managing to be co2y.

“Theres so much room.” She stopped, appalled that shed spoken out loud.

“The story is, once my father got started, he couldnt stop. Hed get another idea, add it into the design.”

“Its a wonderful house,” she said quickly. “So much detail without being fussy. You mustve loved growing up here.”

“I did.”

He stepped into another room.Zoe already heard the roar of engines, the vicious gunfire, the breathless chant— come on, come on, come on—of her son.

The video game was some sort of urban car war that flashed over an enormous wall-size TV screen. Simon sat cross-legged on the floor rather than in one of the cushy recliners in a room that fulfilled every boys fantasy.

A pool table, three pinball machines, two video-arcade games. Slot machines, a soda machine, a jukebox.

The ceiling here was coffered, framed in honey-toned wood that shielded strips of lights.

There was another fireplace, with cheerful flames snapping, as well as a small, glossy bar and a second television with an entire cabinet devoted to various components.

“Gosh. This is Simon Michael McCourts personal version of heaven.”

“My dad loves toys. We spent a lot of time in here.”

“I bet.” She stepped up behind her son. “Simon. We have to go.”

“Not yet, not yet.” His face was fierce with concentration. “This is Grand Theft Auto Three! Im really close, really close to having them call out the National Guard. Tanks and everything! Im kicking Swat Team butt. I could set a record. Ten more minutes.”

“Simon. Mr. Vane needs his house back.”

“Mr. Vane is fine with this,” Brad corrected.

“Please, Mom. Please. Tanks.”

She wavered. She saw more than the heat of competition on his face as he stared at the screen. She saw joy.

Someone died on-screen with a great deal of splashing blood, and from the delighted cackle she figured it wasnt Simon.

“Its a little violent,” Brad realized and winced. “If you dont want him playing this sort of thing—”

“Simon knows the difference between reality and video games.”

“Right. Good. Why dont we go have that coffee?” Brad suggested. “A few more minutes cant hurt.”

“All right. Ten minutes, Simon.”

“Okay, Mom, thanks, Mom. Im going to do it,” he mumbled, already back in the groove. “Im going to do it.”

“Its nice of you to let him play with your things,”Zoe began as they left Simon to the battle. “He talked about being out here before for days.”

“Hes a great kid. Fun to be around.”

“I certainly think so.”

She found herself in the kitchen with him—another spacious, stunning room. This one done in bright, cheerful white and toasty yellows that would make it seem sunny even on a gloomy day.

She coveted the acres of counter space, the forest of cupboards, some with gorgeous seeded glass. She admired the sleek appliances that had to make cooking a creative joy rather than a mundane chore.

Then it occurred to her that she was, once again, alone with him.

“You know, I should just go back with Simon, and let you… do whatever. Well be out of your way quicker.”

He finished measuring out coffee before he turned to her. “Why do you think I want you out of my way?”

“Im sure you have things to do.”

“Not so much.”

“Well, I do. A million things. I should really be ready to pry Simon away before he loses control and starts another game. Ill just go get him, and well let ourselves out.”

“I dont get it.” Forgetting the coffee, Brad stepped closer to her. “I really dont get it.”

“What?”

“Youre comfortable enough with Flynn and Jordan to flirt with them, but two minutes with me and youre not only blowing cold, youre halfway out the door.”

“Its not flirting.” Her voice went sharp. “Not like that. Were friends. Theyre Malorys and Danas boyfriends, for Petes sake. And if you think Im the sort of person whod—”

“Then theres that,” Brad continued with what he considered admirable calm. “The way you automatically jump to conclusions, usually the wrong ones, when it comes to me.”

“I dont know what youre talking about. In the first place, I barely know you.”

“Thats not true. People get to know each other pretty quickly in intense situations. Were in one, and weve been in one for close to two months now. Weve spent time together, we have good mutual friends, and youve cooked me dinner.”

“I didnt cook you dinner.” Her chin came up. “You happened to be at the house when I cooked dinner. You ate. Thats different.”

“Point for you,” he acknowledged. “You know, for some reason your response to me causes me to start sounding like my father when hes annoyed. Theres this tone he gets in his voice, this change of body language. Used to bug the hell out of me when I was a kid.”

“I have no intention of bugging the hell out of you. Well leave.”

In Brads mind there was a time for talk and there was a time for action. When you were fed up, it was time for action. He closed a hand over her arm to keep her in place, watched temper and nerves rush across her truly spectacular face.

“There it is,” he told her. “Your usual response to me. Annoyance and/or nervousness. Ive been asking myself why that is. I spend a lot of time asking myself questions about you.”

“Then you must have a lot of time to waste. Let go. Im leaving.”

“And one of my theories is,” he continued easily, “this.”

He cupped his other hand at the nape of her neck, pulled her forward, and kissed her.

Hed wanted to kiss her for weeks. Maybe for years. Hed wanted the taste of her on his lips, on his tongue, in his blood. And the feel of her, he thought as he slipped an arm around her waist to bring her more firmly against him.

Her mouth was so full, soripe,sand much more potent than hed anticipated. Her body quivered once against his, in shock, in response. At the moment it didnt matter.

Just as it didnt matter if this single act was taken as a declaration of war or an offer of peace. He only knew hed slowly been going mad waiting to hold her.

Shed hesitated instead of pushing him away. And that, she would think later, when thinking was an option again, was her mistake.

He was warm and hard, and his mouth was skilled. And God, it had been so long since shed been pressed against a man. She felt the need lift inside her, from the toes to the belly to the throat, followed by that long, lovely pull and flutter that took it all the way back down.

For one mad moment, she drew him in. The male scent and flavor, the strength and the passion, and let it tumble through her in a kind of joyful spree.

It was like a carnival, like the giddiest of rides when you couldnt be sure—not absolutely—that you wouldnt be flung out of your seat and into the air.

And wasnt that fabulous?

Then she slammed on the brakes. What choice did she have? She knew what happened when you rode too fast, too hard, too high.

And this wasnt her place, this wasnt her man. What was hers—her child—was playing in the next room.

She pulled out of Brads arms.

He was shaken, right down to the soles of his feet, but he stared into her eyes and nodded coolly. “I think that made my point.”

She was no quaking virgin, and a long way from being an easy mark. She didnt step back, that would have been retreat, but stood firm and kept her eyes level with his. “Lets get a few things straight. I like men. I like their company, their conversation, their humor. I happen to be raising one of my own, and I intend to do a good job of it.”

She looked, he thought, like an angry, and aroused, wood nymph. “You are doing a good job of it.”

“I like kissing men—the right man, the right circumstances. I like sex, under the same conditions.”

His eyes warmed to a deep, foggy gray that was unexpected and compelling. The charming creases in his cheeks—too manly,Zoe thought, to be called dimples— deepened. Her fingers itched to trace those creases, and the sensation warned her she was in trouble. “Thats a relief to me.”

“Youd better understand that I make the conditions at this point in my life. The fact that I have a kid and Im not married doesnt make me easy.”

Angry shock leaped into his face. “For Christs sake,Zoe . Where did we veer from me finding you interesting and attractive and wanting to kiss you to finding you easy?”

“I want to be clear, thats all. Just like Im going to be clear that nobody uses my kid to get to me.”