When he was several yards away, driving along the dirt road, Declan spotted Leslie’s cobalt-blue vest and the blue and cream hat with its jaunty ball on top.

Thanks to Cherry and Orbra—who had driven past him and Emily as they were walking through the parking lot—he’d not only been sent off in the right direction, but he’d had an excuse not to join Emily and a few other parents for a post-game drink at Trib’s.

“Do you mind driving Leslie home?” Cherry had asked. “We didn’t have room for her in the van and so she decided to walk.” Her eyes glittered with undisguised mischief.

“Not a problem,” Declan replied, trying not to sound relieved.

Emily hadn’t been too happy about it, and tried to suggest they ride together. “We could drop her off and then meet everyone at Trib’s,” she said. “It’s easier to find parking downtown with only one car.”

“That’s all right—I’m not sure I’m up for going out tonight,” Declan had said, then ducked quickly into his car before Emily could discuss it further.

Damn, he thought as he pulled out of the parking lot. Was he being a jerk, or was it pure self-preservation?

He contemplated those questions with cold objectivity and thought he was allowed to decide whether he wanted to go out or not—even if others had different expectations of him. Then he firmly put the thoughts out of his mind, and a funny spike of anticipation jolted through him as he pulled up next to Leslie.

From the way she half turned yet kept walking, he could tell he’d spooked her—oh hell; that made it twice in one day—when he rolled down the car window.

“Need a ride?”

As soon as he spoke and she recognized him, she stopped and smiled. “Depends who’s offering.”

“Get in da car, lady,” he said in a mock gangster voice. “If you know what’s good for you.”

“That sounds like more like a promise than a threat,” she said, climbing in.

Even in the dimness of the car’s interior light, he could see the red tip of her nose and the sparkle in her eyes. Declan almost reached over and kissed her right then, but held back at the last minute.

“Good game, huh?” he asked casually, tightening his hands on the steering wheel.

“I didn’t see much of it. It was pretty crazy inside the tea tent. But from the sounds of it, we did well.”

“I was up in the press box for most of the second half—my buddy Baxter James covered the game for the paper.”

“Wow. He sure gets around. He did the article on me and Shenstone House, and I hear he’s also a brewer?”

“That’d be right. Journalist turned entrepreneur. Really great guy. The Grand Rapids news station was there too—the sports anchor is an alum. Marcus Levin—used to play football here, I guess. So I might even be on the late night news.”

“I’ll make sure to watch for you.” Her voice was…well, there might have been a hint of flirtation in it.

He glanced over at her and caught a good look at her profile. She was smiling. And such nice, high cheekbones she had. Plus that hat…there was something about the way it looked on her that made him want to cuddle her close in front of a fire. Maybe because it made her seem less like a slick businesswoman and more like a person who would be deadly in a snowball fight.

And maybe one who’d even roll around in the snow afterward. And then have to strip off all the wet clothes when they came inside—

“It was nice of you to give me a ride home. I didn’t mind walking, but—”

“Your aunt told me they’d abandoned you, so I thought I’d do the neighborly thing and give you a lift.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

All of a sudden, she sounded more prim and cool and less warm and friendly. What the hell had he said?

Declan mentally shook his head as he turned onto the tree-shrouded drive that led up the hill to Shenstone House. He just didn’t understand women. Half the time he didn’t recognize the signals until it was too late, and then when he thought he was reading them right, everything changed. “See any more sign of that cat?”

Leslie made a short, sudden noise. “Oh. I thought you were going to say ‘ghost.’” She glanced at him. “I haven’t seen either. I hope the cat’s all right. It looked pretty bad.”

He couldn’t help a smile. “Got any more tuna?”

She smiled back just as he pulled up to the back door of the house. Her car was sitting there off to the side, and a generous pool of light spilled into the parking area due to a motion detector.

“Yes, I bought several more cans today, and some cat food too.” She shrugged, looking a little embarrassed about her soft heart. “I figure I’ll see if I can lure him closer to the house, and maybe he’ll become comfortable enough that I can capture him.”

He turned off the engine, wondering if that was enough of a hint for her to ask him inside.

All at once, he realized how much he wanted to be invited in. But…he wasn’t quite certain how to make it happen.

“Thanks a lot for the ride,” she said. And the way her voice trailed off made it sound as if she’d been about to say something else, but changed her mind.

Leslie fumbled for her seatbelt. Declan heard the metallic click as it came loose, and it sounded so sharp and final he was certain he was losing his chance.

But then Fate intervened.

Just as Leslie bent toward the floor for her bag, she stopped short. “Ouch,” she said, then reached up with both hands at the far side of her seat’s headrest. “Oh, I’m caught.”

She was trying to free herself, but her long hair had somehow (thank you, Fate) gotten wrapped around the little plastic knob at the top of her seat that acted as a guide for the seatbelt.

“Let me help,” Declan said, and leaned toward her.

She was tangled quite well. As he worked to free the thick, shiny lock of hair, feeling his way more than actually able to see what he was doing, Declan discovered her hair was silky and soft, and chilly from the cool night air. And it smelled like Leslie, all mingled with the scent of crisp autumn night that still clung to her from her walk.

He was very close to her—closer than he’d ever been—and her nearness made his big fingers clumsy and his heart race. Her mouth was inches from his cheek, his arm brushed against the front of her down vest—and beneath that was a bulky sweater, and beneath that, he was acutely aware, were the curves of her breasts.

“Thanks,” she said when her hair was finally emancipated. Her voice sounded lower than usual, and he swore she sounded a little breathy.

“My pleasure,” he said, allowing his fingers to smooth along the recently freed lock of hair to its blunt end.

And then before he could think too much about it, his hand slid around the side of her throat to cup the back of her head, and he used his other hand to leverage himself against the car’s console so he could get close enough to kiss her. And then he moved in.

To his great pleasure, she didn’t resist, didn’t even hesitate. Instead, she turned in her seat—the better to face him—and met his mouth with hers.

Her cold nose bumped his cheek, but the warmth from her lips and the slick heat of her tongue sent a jolt of pleasure through him. He sighed in the back of his throat and eased in closer, kissing her more deeply and thoroughly as he drew in her smell, her taste, the warmth of the attraction sizzling between them.

Leslie’s hand settled on his thigh as she came forward to meet his deep kiss and demanding mouth, and a shock of desire surged through him. Yes, he thought. Oh, damned yes.

After a heady moment of sleek tangling of tongues and sliding of lips, she pulled back a little suddenly, muttering, “Wait…aren’t you and Emily Delt—”

“No,” he said firmly, and pulled her back to him, covering her mouth once more. She softened, and made a soft little sound that made him smile with pleasure against her lips. So he worked a little harder to taste and touch and stroke, closer and slower and with deliberation. He wanted more sounds like that, and other ones…louder, more urgent ones.

At some point, he eased back to catch his breath, to look at her and remind himself how beautiful she was and how lucky he was to be here with her taste on his lips and his hands warm from her body. She opened her eyes, and though the light was dim—and, damn, the windows were a little fogged up!—he caught her gaze in the near-dark and felt another stab of want.

She was a little out of breath too, and he could make out her lips: they were full and moist, parted in a way that looked sexy as hell, and her hat…that adorable hat was askew, ready to slip off the back of her head.

He wanted to invite himself inside, wanted to get back at it—and more—but he hesitated. That little voice in the back of his mind reminded him: She’s the client.

But he told it to shut the hell up and instead reached out to fix her hat. “Can’t remember the last time I made out in a car,” he said in a voice much lower than usual.

“It’s not very comfortable,” she said, with a little smile. “I’ve got some…some tea inside. And I bought some beer. Would you like to come in?”

Yes. Oh yes indeedy. Yes, I would like to come in and try this again, without a damn console or stick shift between us—except for mine—and maybe with fewer clothes. A lot fewer clothes. And no bucket seats. A couch would work…a bed, even better…

But “Yes” was all he said—and then fairly bolted from the car. She’d mentioned tea (tea?) and a beer—not a nightcap, not just a dangling, suggestive invite inside…but, nevertheless, a reason for him to come in. A generic reason. Not a winky-wink, “do you want to come inside and finish this up” invitation.

What did that mean? He shifted inconspicuously to adjust his erection to a more comfortable position as Leslie came around from her side of the vehicle.

By the time she got the keys out and let them into the house, Declan’s brain—and hormones—had descended from “this is ah-mazing: curves, heat, wet, sweet—let’s do it!” to a more controlled but no less interested state.

Thus, when the next thing he knew, she was backing him up against the kitchen island and moving right on in, he froze for just a sec. But when Leslie slid right up against him, and the edge of the granite bumped him in the low back, and he was suddenly accosted by soft woman and the interesting scent of chilly autumn air, Declan had no reservations.

He bent to meet her lips and went back into that hot, slick world of sensuality and intensity. But the granite edge bothered him, and the fact that she wasn’t damned close enough was even worse…so he caught her by the waist and in one smooth move, turned, lifted, and settled that pretty ass right onto the counter.

And that worked just fine. She laughed a little against his mouth, but her hands were on his shoulders and her fingers tickled his hair, and things were getting even hotter and heavier and more intense when all of a sudden she gasped and tore away.

“Oh my God!” she cried, shoving at him and sliding off the counter in one frantic movement. “Declan!”

He spun, albeit a little slowly because, damn, he’d been into her—into the moment, the taste, the heat, the touch…and that was when he saw it: the mess.

Down the hall, beyond the kitchen, and everywhere in between: objects strewn about, chairs on their sides, books on the floor…

Someone—or something—had been there.

And was very angry.