“Absolutely not.” Gideon tightened his fingers around his drink as though she was trying to pry them open. How on earth had he gotten into this mess?

“But why not?” Fiona looked at him, training her big, Madeira-colored eyes on him. “I’d love to look at your hands.”

Her voice was a purr: intimate without being too suggestive, the depth of it meant for his ears only. He felt himself drowning in her gaze—right there in front of his grandfather and Iva in the middle of Trib’s.

Never mind that she was nearly begging to read his palm, for Christ’s sake, like some charlatan fortune-teller.

Never mind that she’d come from the back of the shop with Carl, the blond god, with her hair all mussed, sticking her combs back into place.

Never mind that she’d probably had fewer serious thoughts in her lifetime than his screwed-up father.

He just couldn’t resist her.

Avoiding his grandfather’s eyes, he set down the drink and extended his hand.

“You’re left-handed, yes?” she asked as her fingers closed over that hand. When he nodded, she continued, “Good.”

She held his hand, brushing her thumbs over the inside of his palm, right there in the restaurant…and he felt as though she were undressing him. There was something about the intimacy of fingers slowly, carefully touching fingers… Even though they’d kissed—their bodies smashed up against each other, every curve and hard plane outlined against the other…this was different. It was as though they’d never touched before.

She wasn’t unaffected either, if the faint trembling of her fingers was any indication. He felt the ridges of her fingertips, the finger pad whorls that made her Fiona—unique, odd, exciting Fiona—as they brushed over his own.

“It looks as though you’ll be marrying soon,” she said suddenly, breaking what had become—to him—a charged silence, but was in reality only moments of quiet. “And at least one child.”

He almost pulled his hand away as anger spurted through him. What the hell kind of game was she playing?

Iva nearly burst from her seat, barely able to contain herself, and he shot her a dark glare. “Don’t get all excited, Iva—she’s just telling you what you want to hear. Grandchildren, remember?”

Fiona remained cool, and her gaze continued steadily on him. “I’m just telling you what I see, Gideon.” Did he detect a hint of sadness in her gaze? Regret, perhaps? “Unless you’ve already been married?”

“No.” He snapped the word out and this time did start to pull his hand away. Her fingers held on and he relented, for, despite his anger, he liked the feel of her small, warm hand around his. And he didn’t want to make a fool out of himself by making a scene.

She bent to look at his palm again, her pale, slim fingers caressing the darker skin of his own flesh, straightening his digits with her thumbs, smoothing the underside of his hand where the skin was softer and more sensitive. Then she looked up at him, and he could see the surprise in her face. “Let me see your right hand,” she said, frowning slightly.

“What is it?” Iva asked, leaning forward.

“Nothing major…just one of those secrets I mentioned.” She was waiting for him to show her his other hand. “Since you’re left-handed, your left hand shows what you are or have been, while your right hand indicates potentials that may or may not have been realized.”

Gideon was just about to comply when he was saved, rescued from something that would certainly be uncomfortable, by the waiter serving their salads. By the time all of them received their plates, Gideon had firmly picked up a fork and knife—to keep his hands busy—and managed to swing the conversation to the success of the open house for the antiques shop.

The rest of the meal passed slowly but at least without further discomfort on his part. Fiona and Iva had hit it off famously, discussing things he knew nothing about—ta’i chi, aromatherapy, feng shui and yoga.

Gideon Senior managed to bring up the Valente estate only once—when he casually asked, “How did you say you knew Nevio Valente, Fiona?”

She flickered a glance at Gideon as if to measure how she should respond, but replied, “Do you mean Gideon didn’t tell you? I believe I only met him once, when he came into the office where I worked.”

The older man shook his head, then dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “Odd man, Valente was. Even odder for a crotchety old bastard—pardon me, ladies—to do something nice for anyone, let alone someone he didn’t know. Everything else going okay with the shop?” His eyes focused sharply on Fiona, and Gideon held his breath.

Don’t mention the light.

He couldn’t bear for the older couple to think she was a flake—talking about lit lamps that weren’t plugged in. Obviously, it was something that had rattled her—and, odd as she was, probably for good reason…but he wasn’t sure his grandfather would understand.

In order to forestall that from happening, he reached over and, resting his hand on top of hers, said, “Speaking of the shop, I’m sure you need to get back and get closed up for the night, hmm, Fiona?”

He ignored the frown directed at him by his grandfather and kept his attention on Fiona. He was ready to get out of there—away from the suggestive looks from Iva, but more importantly, away to where he could have Fiona to himself.

Heat shot through him, straight down through his belly, as he realized exactly how much he wanted to run off with her…and just what he would do when they did.

When his grandfather insisted on settling the bill—a legitimate business expense, since Fiona had been there—Gideon was able to get his wish. Less than ten minutes later, they were strolling up Pamela Avenue toward Violet Way.

As it was a Tuesday evening in October and after nine o’clock, the quaint streets were nearly empty and most of the windows had gone dark, except for eating establishments. Victorian-style streetlamps cast warm circles of orange-gold every block. On each corner was a small barrel planter spilling with rust, gold, and white mums. A banner strung over the main intersection of the town announced a large multi-class reunion. The air was smooth and almost warm, but there was still the bite of autumn in it.

Gideon hadn’t spoken a word to Fiona since they’d parted from his grandfather and Iva—for suddenly, now that they were alone, he didn’t know what to say. He knew what he wanted to do…but not what he wanted to say.

Fiona broke the silence at last. “Your grandfather and Iva are lovely people—and it was so kind of them to invite me to dinner.”

“Yes, well, you should know that Iva had an ulterior motive.” He glanced down at her as they passed under a streetlight, and saw the delicate planes of her face outlined by the stark light when she looked up at him.

“Well, of course she did, Gideon—it was pretty obvious. She—and probably your grandfather even more—is dying for you to settle down and find happiness just as they have, so they’ll take advantage of any possible candidate for you.” The smug smile she sent him should have tweaked his annoyance, but instead, he grinned at her candor. “Even an oddball like me.”

His gaze flickered away. “You’re no more odd than Iva, believing in all that New Age stuff,” he heard himself say. “Do you actually think that by rearranging your furniture, you can become wealthy or happy?”

Fiona laughed out loud, delightedly. “Do I detect a bit of sarcasm, there, Gideon? You’d best be careful—sarcasm could be mistaken for a sense of humor, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want that.” She laughed again, her bare arm brushing up against him as they ambled along. Then, to his surprise, she slipped one hand around his bicep, hugging it to her without breaking her stride.

They walked easily, their steps matching, thighs brushing, her thick, wild hair tickling the underside of his chin, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

When she smiled up at him again, the sparkle in her eyes showing even in the half moonlight, Gideon felt an unfamiliar twinge deep inside and he almost stopped right there on the sidewalk. He must have hesitated anyway, for she looked back up, shifting against him as they walked.

“Almost there,” he said, just to make sure his voice still worked.

“Yes.”

They turned onto Violet Way, which was dark except for a single streetlight at each end, and a soft glow from an upper floor window in the realtor’s office building.

“Do you need to go in?” he asked as she paused in the little exterior alcove of her shop. She peered in one of the windows, cupping her hand around her eyes as if to see better.

“No. Carl locked the back door when he left, and everything looks fine from here.”

At the mention of her shop clerk, Gideon’s veins froze and his earlier irritation returned. “Yes. Your assistant. How could I have forgotten?”

Fiona looked up at him, puzzlement etched over her shadowed features, and nodded. “You met him?”

“No, I didn’t meet him—but all the ladies were gushing on about him.”

Fiona grinned. “Yes, he does tend to have that effect on the ladies. Well, I’m not complaining—it can’t be a bad thing for business, can it?”

She stepped away from the door and turned to walk past him. “My car is parked in the alley. I’m really glad you’re here to walk me back there since Carl’s gone.” She tossed him a warm smile and slipped past, back onto the sidewalk.

Gideon felt outrage bubbling in his veins, but he mutely turned to follow her. So he was an acceptable escort when her boy toy wasn’t around, was he? A mere stand-in?

He wondered furiously whether their backroom embraces meant anything in light of the fact that she’d been kissing her assistant so passionately earlier that she’d had to replace her hair combs. His mouth settled into a hard line as he stalked just behind Fiona when she turned into a narrow but well-lit alley between two storefronts. The thought of her passionate, pliant, willing responsiveness under another man’s mouth infuriated him, driving coherent thoughts from his mind.

The only thing that stayed there—the pinpoint of lucidity in his haze of anger—was the desire to remind her of those moments with him. He wanted to mutilate any last trace of Carl’s kiss on her lips, and replace it with his own…and to make her understand that he wanted more from her.

Fiona rounded the sharp corner to the alley that led to the back entrance of her shop, walking as quickly as she could. She felt Gideon on her trail as if he were already touching her, and her skin prickled with anticipation. She thought about how it was going to feel—pressed up against the side of her little VW, sandwiched between it and the hard, muscular frame of Gideon, his mouth on hers and his hands everywhere else.

He was going to kiss her—and if he didn’t, she would kiss him—and after that…well, she couldn’t make that decision right at this very moment. She was too nervous, too on-edge to think about where this could lead…and whether she wanted to take that step.

“Fiona!” He caught up with her in the middle of the alley, a narrow, brick-walled passage just wide enough for a car to pass through. A glimmer of streetlight cast shadows and shards of light down upon them. At the end of the narrow throughway, in the small loading area behind Charmed Antiquity, Fiona could see her VW Beetle gleaming like a sleek lemon drop right next to a large Dumpster.

She didn’t need to turn, for Gideon’s hand closed over her arm and tugged her, firmly, around to face him. She was close enough to feel the heat of his body, and prickles erupted on her bare arms. The intensity in his eyes shocked her, sending a thrill of sensation—and a bit of nervousness—through her belly.

“Are you going to kiss me now?” she asked, looking up at him. “I was hoping you would.”

Gideon stilled as his fingers closed around her arms and he looked down at her, obviously astonished. Then his mouth settled into a dark, slashing line, shadowed by the uneven light. “Is that what you say to all your boy toys?”

“Boy to—?” Fiona choked on her surprise as he reeled her in to him, smothering her abrupt confusion with those hard, persuasive lips. Desire won out over shock, and she allowed her mouth to mold to his for a few moments before she yanked herself away.

“What do you mean, boy toy?” she demanded, stepping back as far as his arms would allow. The further away from temptation, the clearer her mind would be.

“Your muscle-bound minion Carl. And Bradley Forth. And whoever else you may have stringing along. I don’t count myself in that line-up, by the way.” His eyes glittered dangerously.

That kiss had not been one of uncontrolled passion, Fiona realized, but one borne out of fury and frustration. Even so, it left her all hot and fluttery—wanting more. Damn.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted, gathering up her indignation—which was difficult, considering what she wanted mostly to do was step back into his arms. “And if you really believe that I’m somehow juggling Carl and Brad, while kissing you, then you’re only degrading yourself by kissing me back.”

She stepped out of his loosening grip and planted her hands on her hips. “And you’re one to talk, Hollis Gideon Nath—considering the fact that you were with your friends-with-benefits ice queen on Saturday.”

“I didn’t sleep with Rachel,” he said, his eyes dark in the shadowy light. “I wouldn’t do that then—then kiss you.”

But Fiona wasn’t finished with him, even though her lips were still full and ready for his kiss. “And, by the way, Hollis—when and if I choose to be involved with a man, that’s it—it’s him and no one else.”

He’d taken a step closer during her tirade. She felt the presence of the brick wall behind her, brushing it with her fingers, but she did not feel trapped.

Not trapped. Excited.

“Don’t call me Hollis,” he muttered just before his mouth descended on hers once again.

She should have continued to berate him, she should have insisted that he apologize for such a rude comment…she should have stayed in control, walked away…but she didn’t. She let go.

Dropping her one-ton leather bag, Fiona slipped her arms up around him, smoothing her fingers down the sides of his warm neck and over the breadth of his wide shoulders, thinking vaguely that it was odd—scary, almost—that she should be so affected by his kisses, and the closeness of his body.

And then, she had no further coherent thoughts. She concentrated on him, on the skillful way his mouth moved over hers, the taste and heat of him…every plane and angle of his body and that of the wall behind her…the ridges of brick pressing into her spine.

He must have realized she wasn’t going to push away, so Gideon released her arms, planting his hands on either side of her shoulders, pinning her back against the rough wall with his mouth and thighs. Fiona shifted, kissing him back, pushing her breasts up into him so that he exhaled long and raggedly as he trailed his lips along her jaw-line.

“Fiona….”

“Ever done it in the back of a VW bug?” she murmured with a husky chuckle that ended in a gasp as he circled his tongue around her ear. “Gideon . . .” she began, but then forgot what she was going to say as he returned to taste her mouth again. His hands had long since left their anchor on either side of her, and were deftly unbuttoning the back buttons of her pantsuit top.

He slipped those long, elegant fingers up under the silky fabric, smoothing them over the satin of her strapless bra, then into it to cup her nipple-hard breasts in his hands.

The cooling night air breezed over her hot skin through the open back of her shirt, and the sandpaper roughness of the bricks grazed her bare back, but Fiona was conscious of little other than what his fingers were doing to her body. She was just about to yank his shirt open—damn the buttons—when there was a crash, followed by a shrill alarm.

Gideon staggered back, pivoting to look toward the back entrance of the shop—but the view was hidden by a large Dumpster. “What the he—”

“That’s my alarm!” Fiona pushed him away and started toward the Dumpster and her shop’s back door.

Just then, a figure burst into view from behind the Dumpster, started toward them, then spun to run in the opposite direction. Gideon was after him in a flash, with Fiona stumbling behind in her high heels.

“Hey! Stop!” she shrieked as Gideon tore along, gaining on the intruder and leaving her far behind.

She hurried after them, damning herself for the little bit of fashion sense she’d chosen to follow this evening, but unwilling to kick off her shoes and run barefooted through a back alley. She saw Gideon disappear around the corner of the opposite end of the alley and sped up her pace. Her foot landed awkwardly on a stone or some odd object, wrenching her ankle enough to bring her to a wincing halt.

She forced herself to hobble along at a much slower pace, realizing belatedly that the cool breeze on her back was due to the fact that the top of her pantsuit was unbuttoned. She angled her hands up behind her, fumbling to connect at least one button before the whole thing fell off as she rushed to catch up to her date.

When she finally rounded the corner around which he’d disappeared, she nearly ran into him. “What happened?” she exclaimed, breathing heavily, looking around past him. “Did he get away?”

Her hands landed on the center of his chest, and she felt it rising and falling rapidly. Only then, when he didn’t reply, did she look up to see a dark stream running down the side of his face, and the hand he had pressed to his head. He was leaning against the wall.

“Gideon! What happened?” she cried, pulling his hand away.

“Don’t fuss,” he muttered, placing his hand back onto some type of wound. “Let’s get back to the shop and see what damage he did.” His voice, though weaker than usual, still held the stilted command of a man used to no-nonsense—and dripped with self-disgust.

“He crowned me as I came around the corner—caught me right in the gut, then knocked me against the brick edge there.” He had begun the walk back to the shop, and Fiona could do little but walk along with him.

“Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere else?” She wrapped her arm around his waist as though to support him, already feeling guilty that he should have been hurt.

“I said don’t fuss,” he repeated, but he did not move away from her embrace. In fact, he may have shifted a bit closer to her. “I didn’t get a look at the guy at all—did you? Just that he was fairly tall, and average build. Fat lot of good that’ll do us.”

They had reached the back of the store now, and Fiona saw that the bathroom window next to the back door was shattered where someone had obviously tried to break in.

“He must not have seen us—we were blocked by the Dumpster and that edge of the building. But when he broke the window and the alarm went off.” She drew in a breath. “Good thing Carl set the alarm.”

She checked to see whether the door had been jimmied, but the lock was intact. The opening of jagged glass was much too small for any person to pass through. Since the alarm had gone off just after the window was broken, the intruder obviously never made it inside the store.

That was also the conclusion of Wicks Hollow Police Chief Joe Longbow, who arrived moments later, having been notified by the alarm system.

“Store’s still locked up,” he said in his drawling voice. “You say nothing was taken, Miz Murphy?”

“I haven’t been inside, but it doesn’t appear that he made it in.”

“That’s all right, then. You can confirm when you file the report tomorrow up to the office,” Longbow said. He was a rangy man approaching fifty with the high cheekbones and sienna-toned skin of his Native American heritage. His demeanor was calm and professional, and instilled a sense of trust and confidence in Fiona. “If nothing’s taken, we’ll file it as vandalism and suspected attempt of breaking and entering.”

“All right,” she replied. “I’ll be in first thing tomorrow to file the report.”

“Sorry about this being your welcome to Wicks Hollow,” Longbow said with a grim smile. “But I did hear your re-opening was a success. My wife and daughter came in and brought home a small porcelain lamp.” He scratched his head. “Has a turtle for a base,” he added as if uncertain about it.

Fiona smiled. “Oh, I know the one. That turtle was a cheeky little critter. I’m glad he found a home.”

Through their conversation, Gideon had leaned propped against the side of Fiona’s yellow Beetle, holding a rumpled handkerchief to his head and refusing to allow her to minister to him. “Finish up with this first,” he growled when she tried to pry it away to look at it.

Apparently he was not the type that liked to be mothered, yet he looked wan and drawn even in the dim light.

Longbow jerked a look toward him. “Might want to have him looked at by an EMT or at the ER. Nasty cut there.” Then he shook her hand, took a few more photos with an actual camera instead of a mobile phone, and bid them good evening.

“I’m not going to the ER,” Gideon said from between clenched teeth, heedless of the blood that had dried all over his temple and the side of his face.

“All right, then. But at least let me drive you home, Gideon.”

He seemed about to argue, then apparently thought better of it. “Fine,” he said shortly. “It’s about thirty minutes away,” he added as if in warning.

She shrugged. “I figured you lived in Grand Rapids. I’m glad you’re on this side of town and not the other.”

With that, she opened the passenger door of her car. It would be interesting to see how he managed to get all six-foot-plus of himself in the little bucket seat.

She nearly had to shove him into the vehicle, but when he acquiesced with little reluctance, she realized how badly he must feel. He gave her basic directions and they fell silent as she maneuvered the Beetle out of Wicks Hollow to the highway that would take them to his house.

The seriousness of tonight’s events struck her as she was waiting for a light to turn green. Up until now, it had been a foggy realization, overshadowed by the passionate kisses shared with Gideon, concern for him, and her factual conversation with the police.

Now, her focus sharpened as she recognized the hard facts: someone had broken into her shop. A random thief, or maybe even one of her guests from the open house today. Maybe someone had noticed one of the few pieces that caused Carl to positively drool, and decided he didn’t want to pay for it? Regardless, it wasn’t likely the police would ever find him—particularly since neither she nor Gideon had gotten a good look at him. She shivered. She was just so lucky that she hadn’t come back to the shop on her own.

Fiona turned to look at Gideon, whose face was still raised to the ceiling. “Are you sure I can’t take you to the ER?” she asked, noticing the lines of pain etched on his face.

“No. Stupidity does not deserve to be catered to.” His voice was flat, but he lifted his head as they exited the highway and gave her further directions.

Moments later, Fiona pulled into the drive outside the garage to his condo, which overlooked Lake Michigan. “Lake view,” she said, impressed. “Nice.”

He let them into his condo, which was of newer construction, and Fiona had to readjust her previous assumptions about his living space.

It was not the cold, sleek, black-leather-and-chrome decor she’d imagined. Although definitely a bachelor pad, it did, nevertheless, have a warmer feel than she’d anticipated, with plump—not sleek—leather sofas, Scandinavian-style wooden furnishings, and interesting texture everywhere: in a tile display on one wall, on the subway-style backsplash in the kitchen, in an interesting metal piece on a two-storey wall, in a modern fabric tapestry stretched in a mahogany frame.

A small gas fireplace opened on two sides into the living room and kitchen, and a worn armchair was positioned next to a closed, but very large, wall-to-ceiling, entertainment center. The ugliest afghan she’d ever seen—olive green, chartreuse, and off-white—was folded across the back of the rich navy sofa.

“Nice blanket,” she commented sincerely, smoothing her hand over its worn comfort. Ugly though it might be, it had been well-used and obviously provided some great measure of solace to its user.

“My mother made it.”

The level of emotion in his voice told Fiona that it wasn’t just pain from his injury that made it short and flat. She filed the information away for future contemplation and turned her attention from the residence to the man himself.

“Sit down and let me take a look at that. No, better yet, let’s go into the bathroom where I can clean you up right there.” She didn’t wait for him to reply, but started down a hallway that passed a staircase, a den, and ended in a spacious powder room, certain he would follow.

He set his keys and phone next to the sink. Fiona made him take the handkerchief away from his face, and she couldn’t help a small gasp when she saw the gash and nasty scrapes from the brick wall all along the side of his face. “Wow, he got you really good, hmm?”

Gideon’s jaw tightened—she could feel it shift under her fingers as she gently wiped away the blood, grit, and dust from the wound—and he replied, “Yes, he certainly did.” She could tell by the tone of his voice that he was angrier with himself than the would-be intruder for doing it to him, and she chose to remain silent.

Instead, she concentrated on ministering to him, and feeling the warmth of his tanned skin, the heavy weight of dark waves, and the slight prickles of end-of-the-day stubble. It didn’t take long to clean it up, but by the time she was finished, all Fiona could think about was picking up where they’d left off in the alley.

Obviously, Gideon was feeling the same way, for when she turned to leave the room, he caught her wrist and pulled her back. “Not so fast,” he murmured.

She stood, looking down at him where he sat next to the sink, then shifted to look at their images in the mirror. Gently, almost reverently, holding her gaze with his own in the mirror, he half rose from his seat and brought his lips to hers.

As their mouths touched, lightly, tentatively, she sighed and closed her eyes, allowing the rush of desire to flood her in powerful contrast to the carefulness of their kiss. She felt him lower back to his seat, allowing her to stand over him, hands on his shoulders, bending her face to his as they kissed slowly, thoroughly…as if they had all the time in the world.

And they did, until his cell phone chirped.

Fiona began to pull away, but Gideon grabbed her wrists, and held her in place. “No,” was all he said.

It chirped a second and third time, and at that point, Fiona pulled away. “Someone’s trying to get in touch with you.”

“It’s just a text,” he murmured. But they both looked down and there it was, lit up on the phone’s screen. Fiona didn’t mean to pry, but she took in the message at a glance.

Tried to call you. Wanted to confirm the party next week. Had a great time Sat. Lmk.

It was from Rachel. And it was signed with a heart-eyed emoji.

Fiona extricated herself with deliberate care, and the fact that Gideon allowed her to do so was a measure that he understood how serious the situation was.

She stepped back, passed a hand over her face, then let it drop to her side. She saw herself in the mirror—saw the rueful smile pasted on her face, saw the flush of her cheeks and the fullness of her lips—and tried very hard to keep from losing her temper.

“I knew better,” she said, turning to walk out of the powder room. “I knew about her, I knew you were involved…and somehow I let myself forget it. Stupid.” She was speaking more to herself than to him, but she didn’t care that he heard.

“Fiona….”

She heard him start behind her, but kept walking. “Gideon, I’m not angry. I swear it. I knew exactly what the situation was, but I let myself forget about it. You are a supernova kisser, you know,” she said, turning to look at him as they reached the living room. Her smile turned wry. “You made me forget about my rules and every other precaution that I’m used to taking.”

“Fiona, really, this is ridiculous,” he began.

“I’m not sure I follow that line of logic,” she said sharply, taking back the control she’d lost to him twice this evening, “but let me just say one thing to you—again. I don’t sleep around, and I certainly don’t sleep around with men who are also sleeping around. It would have been fun, it would have been nice…but as long as you have Rachel Backley—or whatever her name is—on the short list, then I’m removing myself from it.”

“I told you, Fiona, Rachel is just a friend,” he said, his words taut and flat. He reached to slide an open hand down her bare arm.

She stepped away before he could touch her. Her insides, which had been bubbling with fullness all evening, suddenly felt starved. “But you don’t deny sleeping with her. You have. And you’re still connected. And that’s all I need to know.”

She picked up her heavy leather bag, and miraculously found the mass of keys immediately in its depths. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, and for getting yourself beat up for me. I really do appreciate it…and, truly, you are one incredible kisser.” And just to make sure she had the last word, the last moment in her corner, she pulled his face to hers for a short, thorough kiss. “Good-bye, Gideon. It’s been real.”