It was one minute before six and there was no sign of Mack outside Chez Pierre. Bev tried to run her hand through her hair, stopping when her fingers caught in the sophisticated bun that Josie had woven for her.

Where was Mack? She stood on the edge of the curb, peering up and down the street, but the only vehicle that went by was a mini-van with screaming kids in the backseat. Definitely not Mack.

Maybe he hadn't received her message. She should have called his house. She'd been so certain a workaholic like Mack would check his messages constantly, but maybe she was wrong.

Her stomach plummeted when she looked at her watch. Six o'clock. Time was up. She couldn't afford to keep Mrs. Jezebel Barnum waiting. But how could she face that restaurant by herself?

She'd been so certain Mack would come, after all his offers for help. She still should've had a back-up plan.

Oh, well. It was too late. She was on her own, and her animals were depending on her. She had to go inside. Heaven help her, she knew nothing about fundraising or dining in fancy restaurants. Nothing at all.

Bev shuffled to the front door of Chez Pierre, her brain racing as she tried to think of how she was going to address Mrs. Barnum. Should she start talking about Give a Dog a Bone right away, or wait for Mrs. Barnum to bring it up? Was she supposed to pay for dinner?

A quick glance at the prices on the menu posted beside the door nearly sent her running for her car, clutching her wallet, but she managed to stop herself after only two steps. She had to think of her little beagle, and all her friends, even the nasty cocker.

"You can do it, Bev." She took a deep breath and smoothed her dress, grateful at least that Josie had allowed her to wear a less daring neckline than she'd been saddled with at the party. Of course, the cinched-in waist was hardly a good camouflage for her less-than-hourglass figure, but Josie had insisted that she looked like a goddess. It had been too much effort to argue, plus, she had to admit that the dress had an interesting slenderizing effect that she rather liked. She stole a peek at herself in the glass front door. Wow. She didn't look half-bad. With her hair swept up and the narrow straps of her sandals, she almost looked sophisticated.

Maybe she could pull this off.

Hauling open the glass front door, which didn't have even a single fingerprint, Bev stepped inside the plush restaurant, the hushed hum of dignified conversation barely audible.

"Good evening. Do you have a reservation?" A balding man with a red rose tucked into the lapel of his tuxedo gave her no time to adjust to the velvet covered chairs and crystal chandeliers. It was even fancier than she'd imagined, and she didn't belong. Oh, God. She needed to find an alley to hide in right now…

"Miss? Do you have a reservation?"

Dogs. Dogs. Dogs. Do it for the dogs. "Um... Oh, yes." She lifted her chin. "I'm meeting Mrs. Jezebel Barnum for dinner."

"Ah, yes. Right this way." Walking like a penguin on ice, the man led the way across the immaculate carpet, through a series of elegantly set tables with sparkling wine glasses and pristine linen tablecloths. The women all wore elegant dresses with huge diamonds sparkling in their ears. Bev touched her sterling silver dog bone earrings that she'd gotten on eBay for twenty dollars, and decided she no longer needed to wonder whether she'd made a foolish mistake coming to Chez Pierre. She had.

"Here you go."

They stopped beside a table in the corner, with windows on two sides and a view of a park. An elderly woman with a diamond ring the size of a piece of kibble was staring idly out the window, a glass of white wine in front of her.

Bev waited for the maître d' to introduce them, and then realized he was gone. She was on her own. Heaven help her, she was so out of her league. "Um, Mrs. Barnum? I'm Bev Ryan."

The craggy head turned slowly toward her, as if to build the anticipation. Sharp eyes crackled behind the gold-rimmed glasses as Mrs. Jezebel Barnum studied Bev, starting at the top of her head all the way down to her high-heeled sandals. The pain in her feet was worth it when Mrs. Barnum gave an approving nod at her appearance. "And where is your date? I told you I dislike business meetings."

"Ah... My date..."

"Is late as usual. I'm so sorry to keep two such lovely ladies waiting." And then, suddenly, miraculously Mack was beside her, his hand tucked around her elbow and a very apologetic look on his face. He placed a chaste kiss on Bev's cheek. "I'm so sorry, my dear. I was in the middle of a negotiation for the North Shore Bank and I just couldn't leave. Please, do forgive me..." His voice trailed off, and his eyes darkened as his gaze settled on her.

Bev was unable to stop herself from beaming at his surprise appearance, even when he began to inspect her. She shifted nervously as Mack's eyes rambled over her swept-up hair, traveled across her bare shoulders, down the length of her body. After he reached her freshly painted toenails, he released a barely audible whistle under his breath, then met Bev's gaze. "You look incredible."

Warmth surged through her, and her belly quivered. There was no mistaking the heat in his gaze. If they were alone, it would be last night all over again, only this time she wasn't certain she would stop him. He was freshly shaven, but she could still see the faint darkening where his stubble was. His suit fit him perfectly, draping over his frame like it was made for him...which it most certainly was.

Before she could make herself stop gawking at him, Mack ducked his head and caught her lips in the most tender kiss, dignified and appropriate for the circumstances, but promising so much more. Her knees wobbled, and only his secure grip on her elbow kept her steady.

His eyes twinkling, as if he could read Bev's mind, he turned his charms on Mrs. Jezebel Barnum. "And you must be the Olympic gold medalist that I've been dying to meet ever since Bev told me about our dinner. My name is Mack Spenser and it is completely my honor to meet you."

The wrinkles seemed to drop right off Jezebel's face as she began to glow. "How in the world did you know about the Olympics?"

Mack shrugged, pulling out a chair for Bev. "Anyone who follows track and field would know who you are. You're a legend. Have a seat, Bev."

He guided Bev to her seat with a hand on her lower back, proper yet laden with heat and promise. She tried to focus on the conversation. Olympic medalist?

* * *

Once he was certain Bev wasn't going to topple out of her chair, Mack sat in the adjacent chair, keeping one arm resting across the back of her chair. Possessive, yet dignified. He wouldn't ruin her chances with Jezebel by molesting her in the restaurant, but it wasn't going to be easy. The dress she was wearing showed off curves he wanted to investigate. Closely. With Bev, everything she wore was sexy, and each time he saw her, she became harder to resist. He'd seen the look of terror on her face and the stiff set to her shoulders as he'd approached, and he knew she'd been terrified to deal with Jezebel on her own…and yet she'd been there anyway, for her dogs.

Damn, he admired her. The woman had guts, and he liked that. A lot.

"You're too kind with your praise, my boy," Jezebel said. "I'm hardly a legend."

"Of course you are. The first American woman to win a gold in your event. You laid the groundwork for all female track and field athletes who came after you." He smiled at Bev. "Don't you agree, sweetheart?" He couldn't touch her the way he wanted to right now, but he damn well wanted her to know that he was still thinking about last night.

Her gaze snapped to his, and her cheeks flushed, making his gut tighten. He knew from the smoldering look in her eyes at his appearance that she too hadn't been able to stop thinking about last night either. He dropped his hand so he could touch her neck, trailing his fingers along her delicate skin. "Sweetheart? Don't you agree?"

She jumped at his touch, then cleared her throat, stalling for time as she regrouped. "Um, absolutely... Honey." Mack warmed at Bev's endearment, even though he knew it was payback, but before he could continue the flirtation, she dragged her eyes off him and looked at Jezebel. "You're the first Olympic athlete I've ever met. Do you still have your medal?"

When Jezebel fluffed her hair and leaned toward Bev with a spark in her eye in response to Bev's insightful question, Mack grinned. Bev had the instinct when it came to people, even if she didn't believe it.

"I have it framed over my bed." Jezebel giggled like a little girl. "I look at it every single night. No one ever remembers, except Walt, of course."

Bev shot Mack a panicked look, obviously having no idea who Walt was. He pressed his thigh against hers for reassurance, then nodded in agreement with Jezebel. "Walt's a business genius. I can see why you two have been married for sixty-three years. Walt must take inspiration from you to have named his business after the city where you won your medal."

Bev's mouth dropped open in astonishment, clearly shocked that he'd taken the time to find out who they were eating with tonight. He quietly slid his hand under the table and squeezed her knee, immediately forgetting his intention had been to reassure her so she didn't feel ignorant. He'd done a little research because he'd done this song and dance a bunch of times, and it was fine that she hadn't thought of it. Why would she? This was her first time in this situation. He wanted her to know that…but the moment he felt the slippery silk of her dress under his hand, all he could think about was her as a woman. He could feel the muscles in her thigh tighten. He noticed that she didn't pull away from his touch, so he left his hand right where it was.

Her cheeks became red, and she glanced at him. He grinned, and a tentative smile curved her mouth. He realized she had no clue how alluring she was, which made her even more charming. The women he was used to dating were nothing like her…and he was realizing pretty fast why none of them had worked out. He'd been looking for Bev.

Jezebel tapped her finger on the table and looked at Mack appraisingly. "You, my boy, do your research quite well, don't you?"

Mack nodded, rubbing Bev's thigh rhythmically under the tablecloth. Hell's teeth, he couldn't even keep his hands off her. "As I'm sure you would expect, Mrs. Barnum."

"Oh, do call me Jez." She glanced at Bev. "You too, dearie."

Just as he'd hoped, Jez had brought Bev into her inner circle along with him. When Bev touched his hand, he knew that she realized what he'd done. He caught her thumb between his fingers and trapped it, unable to let her go.

Jez turned to Bev. "So, Bev, why don't you tell me about this shelter of yours?"

He saw Bev's eyes widen in panic and heard her sharp intake of breath. Hell. She still didn't understand her own strength, her own capabilities.

He tightened his grip on her hand, rubbing his thumb against the palm of her hand. A rapid pulsing in her throat told him that her heart was racing. With panic or passion? He wished he knew. "Go ahead, Bev. Tell her about the beagle."

She took a deep breath. "Right. The beagle." She lifted her chin and faced Jez. "I was standing outside another local shelter earlier this week when a young woman walked up, with the cutest little beagle. You know, the big, brown eyes, floppy ears. So cute."

"You mean, eyes like yours? Eyes that will melt your heart?" Mack covered his own surprise at his remark with a bland smile. How had that slipped out?

Bev stared at him, her mouth slightly open. At that moment, he knew she was trying to figure him out. Wondering how much of his actions were for Jez's benefit, and how much he meant. He squeezed her hand, vowing to make it clear later.

"Um..." She eyed Mack warily, and he nodded toward Jez. It took almost five seconds for her to drag her questioning gaze off him, but she finally faced the older woman again, still gripping his hand tightly. "Anyway, she'd found the dog in the street, and had brought her in to surrender her." She sat up, her voice gaining strength. "I'd just been inside, and the shelter had told me that they had already turned down a dozen dogs coming up from the south because they didn't have room. They were at the point where unadoptable dogs were getting only four days on the floor before they were putting them to sleep. Four days! Can you believe that?"

Mack saw the fire begin to flicker in her eyes and knew she was finally relaxing. The woman had such passion, a rarity among the folks he knew. It was the kind of passion that had driven him to his own level of success. It was something he admired more than he could ever articulate.

"And that poor little dog had a horrible eye infection. She looked terrible. Do you know what that means?"

Mack chuckled when he saw Jez shake her head vigorously, leaning toward Bev. He'd set the groundwork, but Bev was taking over. She probably didn't even realize she was doing it, didn't think she was capable of it. The woman didn't know her own worth, or appeal. He certainly did, and he was so proud of her, battling her fears and standing up for what she believed in. No doubt, Bev was a woman he could admire, a woman who would be the perfect role model for their children...

Mack sat up so fast he banged the table, sloshing water out of all the glasses. Bev shot him a quizzical look that he couldn't even acknowledge, his mind was spinning so fast. Their children? He needed to get a serious handle on his emotions. Or rather his hormones, which were causing some sort of insanity.

"All shelters have to be selective about which animals they put on display, because they are so short of resources. With an eye infection that required medical care, that dog wouldn't have made it to the adoption area." Bev's face grew red. "They would have killed her that very day."

"So you took the dog." Jez nodded her head. "I would have done the same."

"Of course I took the dog. My shelter specializes in dogs that would be considered 'unadoptable.' It could be behavioral issues, health issues, or whatever. I find those dogs, and I work with them until I can find the right home for them, for as long as it takes. Just last week, I placed a sweet pit bull mix with three legs. That's a double strike against her, but I found her the perfect home."

As Bev launched into an animated explanation of her animals, and how she creatively got training and medical care for them, through a local vet and a dog trainer from New Hampshire. Mack felt his chest tighten with pride, in direct contravention of his resolution to quit obsessing about her. Despite her all-too-apparent lack of self-confidence, Bev was so accomplished. A survivor. A fierce, passionate badass about her animals.

She was definitely not the kind of woman who defined herself by how expensive her clothes were, or how perfect her nails looked. She would probably never even allow him to give her a piece of jewelry, demanding that he buy the whole shelter new beds instead.

Damn. He admired the hell out of her.