HE FOLLOWING MORNING AT ELEVEN-FIFTY, LAUREN was lucky enough to find a parking space right across from Sinco's offices, directly in front of the Global Industries Building. With a mixture of dread and anticipation, she got out of the car, smoothed her slim beige skirt, straightened the short matching military jacket and crossed the street to see Mr. Weatherby.

Despite his formal, almost ingratiating smile, Mr. Weatherby was obviously annoyed. "Really, Miss Danner," he said, ushering her into his office, "you could have saved yourself, me and several others a great deal of time and trouble if you had simply told me when you came in yesterday that you're a friend of Mr. Sinclair's."

"Did Mr. Sinclair call you and tell you I was a friend of his?" Lauren asked curiously.

"No," Mr. Weatherby said, trying hard to hide his irritation. "Mr. Sinclair called the president of our company, Mr. Sampson. Mr. Sampson called the executive vice-president, who called the vice-president of operations, who called my boss. And last night my boss called me at home and informed me that I had offended and misjudged Miss Danner, who happens to be extremely bright and a personal friend of Mr. Sinclair's. Then he hung up on me."

Lauren could not believe she had stirred up such a furor. "I'm terribly sorry to have caused you so much trouble," she said contritely. "It wasn't entirely your fault—after all, I did fail my tests."

He nodded in emphatic agreement. "I told my boss you didn't know which end of a pencil to write with, but he said he didn't give a damn if you typed with your toes." Heaving himself out of his chair, he said, "Now, if you'll come with me, I'll take you up to Mr. Williams's office. Mr. Williams is our executive vice-president and his secretary is moving to California. He wants to interview you for the position."

"Is Mr. Williams the executive vice-president who called the vice-president of operations, who called—" Lauren began uneasily.

"Exactly," Mr. Weatherby interrupted.

Lauren followed him, beset with the unsettling thought that even if he detested her, Mr. Williams might offer her a job because he had been intimidated by his superior. But minutes later she abandoned any such idea. James Williams, in his mid-thirties, had the brisk, authoritative air of a man who would never be anyone's puppet. He glanced up from the documents he was reading when Mr. Weatherby brought Lauren into his office and nodded coolly toward the leather chair in front of his large desk. "Sit down," he said to Lauren. To Mr. Weatherby he said curtly, "Close the door behind you as you leave."

Lauren sat as she'd been told to do and waited as Jim Williams stood up and came around in front of his desk. Leaning back against it, he crossed his arms over his chest, and his penetrating gaze swept over her. "So you're Lauren Danner?" he said dispassionately.

"Yes," Lauren admitted. "I'm afraid so."

Amusement flickered across his face, momentarily softening the cool, businesslike features. "I take it from that remark that you're aware of the uproar you caused last night?"

"Yes," Lauren sighed. "In every excruciating, embarrassing detail."

"Can you spell 'excruciating'?"

"Yes," she said, completely taken aback.

"How fast can you type—when you aren't under testing conditions?"

Lauren flushed. "About a hundred words a minute."

"Shorthand?"

"Yes."

Without taking his eyes from her face, he reached behind him and picked up a pencil and tablet lying on his desk. Handing them to her, he said, "Take this down, please."

Lauren stared at him in amazement then recovered and began to write as he dictated swiftly: "Dear Miss Danner, as my administrative assistant, you will be expected to perform a variety of secretarial duties and to function efficiently and smoothly as my personal liaison with my staff. You will, at all times, adhere precisely to company policies, regardless of your acquaintance with Nick Sinclair. In a few weeks we will be moving into the Global Building, and if you ever attempt to take advantage of your friendship with Mr. Sinclair, either by shirking your duties or ignoring the rules that apply to the rest of the staff, I will fire you on the spot and personally escort you out the front door. If, on the other hand, you show interest and initiative, I will delegate as much responsibility to you as you wish to accept and are capable of handling. If this meets with your approval, report for work here in my office at 9:00 a.m. two weeks from Monday. Any questions, Lauren?"

Lauren raised dazed eyes to him. "You mean I have the job?"

"That depends on whether you can type that memo without errors in a reasonably short time."

Lauren was too stunned by this cool, unemotional offer of a job to be nervous about transcribing her dictation. In a few minutes, she returned from the typewriter and walked hesitantly into his office. "Here's the memo, Mr. Williams."

He glanced at it and then at her. "Very efficient. How did Weatherby ever get the idea that you're a feather-brain?"

"It's the impression I gave him," Lauren said obliquely.

"Care to tell me how that happened?"

"No, not really. It was all a… a misunderstanding."

"Very well, we'll leave it at that. Now, is there anything else we need to discuss? Yes, of course there is—your salary."

The salary he named was $2,000 a year less than Philip had offered, but Philip had promised to make up the difference.

"Well, do you want the job?"

"Yes," Lauren said with a faint smile. "And no. I would like to work for you, because I have the feeling that I could learn a great deal. But I don't want the job if the only reason you're offering it to me is because of… of…"

"Nick Sinclair?"

Lauren nodded.

"Nick has nothing whatsoever to do with it. I've known him for many years, and we're good friends. Friendship, however, has no place in business matters. Nick has his job and I have mine. I do not presume to tell him how to do his, and I would not appreciate his trying to influence my choice of a secretary."

"Then why did you decide to interview me today, even though I failed my tests?"

His brown eyes twinkled. "Oh, that. Well, as a matter of fact, my former secretary, for whom I have the greatest respect, struck sparks off Weatherby from the very first. When I heard that a bright young secretarial applicant hadn't hit it off with him yesterday, I thought perhaps you might be another Theresa. You aren't, but I think you and I will work together even better, Lauren."

"Thank you, Mr. Williams. I'll see you two weeks from Monday."

"Call me Jim."

Lauren smiled, accepting his handshake. "In that case, you may call me Lauren."

"I thought I had been."

"You have."

His lips twitched. "Good for you—don't let me intimidate you."

Lauren emerged from the dim building into the dazzling sunlight of a wonderful August day. As she waited for the traffic light to change from red to green, her gaze was irresistibly drawn to the Global Industries Building across the street. Would Nick be there working, she wondered. She longed to see him.

The light changed and she crossed the wide boulevard to her car. But if Nick had wanted to see her again, surely he would have asked for her phone number. Perhaps he was shy. Shy! Lauren shook her head derisively as she reached for the car door handle. Nick Sinclair was not in the least shy! With his looks and lazy charm, he was probably accustomed to women who took the initiative and asked him out…

The glass doors of the building swung open, and Lauren's heart soared as Nick himself strode into view. For a joyous moment, Lauren thought he'd seen her standing at her car and had come out to talk to her, but he turned to his right and started toward the far corner of the building.

"Nick!" she called impulsively. "Nick!"

He glanced over his shoulder, and Lauren waved at him, feeling absurdly happy when he headed toward her with those long strides of his.

"Guess where I've been?" She beamed.

There was a warm, teasing light in his gray eyes as they swept over her shining honey hair in its elegant chignon, her smart beige suit, silky blouse and chocolate brown sandals. "Modeling for a Bonwit Teller fashion show?" he ventured with a grin.

Lauren glowed at the compliment, but she hung on to her composure. "No, I've been across the street at Sinco Electronics, and they offered me a job—thanks to you."

He ignored her reference to his help. "Did you take it?"

"Did I! The money's fantastic; the man I'll be working for is terrific, and the job sounds interesting and challenging."

"You're pleased, then?"

Lauren nodded… then waited, hoping he would ask her out. Instead he reached down to open her car door for her. "Nick," she said before her courage could desert her. "I'm in the mood to celebrate. If you know a good place for sandwiches and a cold drink, I'll buy you lunch."

He hesitated for an unbearable moment, then a smile dawned across his tanned features. "That's the best offer I've had all day."

Rather than give her directions, Nick drove the car. A few blocks away he turned off Jefferson and pulled into a parking lot behind what looked like a narrow, renovated three-story brick house. The sign above the back door, made of dark wood with gold letters etched deeply into it, said simply, Tony's. Inside, the house had been converted into a dimly lit, charming restaurant, with dark oaken floors, tables polished to a glossy shine and copper pots and pans hanging artistically on the rough brick walls. Sunlight illuminated the stained glass windows, and red-and-white checked tablecloths added to the warmth and charm.

A waiter stationed near the door greeted Nick with a polite, "Good morning," then showed them to the only unoccupied table in the entire place. As Nick pulled out her chair, Lauren glanced around at the other customers. She was one of the few women present, but there was certainly a mixed variety of men. Most of them were wearing suits and ties, while three others, including Nick, wore slacks with open-collared sports shirts.

An older waiter appeared at their table, greeted Nick with an affectionate pat on the shoulder, a cheery, "Good to see you again, my friend," and began to hand them huge, leather-bound menus. "We'll have the special, Tony," Nick said, and at Lauren's quizzical look, he added, "The specialty is French-dip sandwiches—is that all right with you?"

Since she had offered to buy his lunch, Lauren thought he was asking her permission to order something that cost more than a regular sandwich. "Please have whatever you like," she insisted graciously. "We're celebrating my new job, and I can afford anything on the menu."

"How do you think you're going to like living in Detroit?" he asked when Tony, who was apparently the owner, had left. "It's bound to be a big change for a small-town girl from Missouri."

A small-town girl? Lauren was puzzled. That wasn't the impression she normally conveyed to people. "Actually, we lived in a suburb of Chicago until my mother died, when I was twelve. After that my father and I moved to Fenster, Missouri—the town where he grew up. He took a job teaching in the same school he'd attended as a boy. So you see, I'm not completely a 'small-town girl' after all."

Nick's expression didn't change. "Were you an only child?"

"Yes, but my father remarried when I was thirteen. Along with a stepmother, I also acquired a stepsister two years older than me, and a stepbrother one year older."

He must have caught the note of distaste in her voice when she mentioned her stepbrother because he said, "I thought all little girls liked the idea of having a big brother. Didn't you?"

An irrepressible smile lit Lauren's vivid face. "Oh, I liked the idea of having a big brother. Unfortunately, I didn't like Lenny at the time. We detested each other on sight. He teased me unmercifully, yanked my braids and stole money from my bedroom. I retaliated by telling everyone in town that he was gay—which no one believed because he turned out to be an absolute lecher!"

Nick chuckled, and Lauren noticed that when he smiled, his eyes crinkled at the corners. In contrast to the warm golden tan of his face, his eyes were a light metallic silver. Beneath his straight dark brows and thick spiky lashes, they glinted with humor and keen intelligence, while his firm lips promised excitingly aggressive male sensuality. Lauren felt the same delicious stirring of her senses that she had experienced the night before and cautiously lowered her gaze to the tanned column of his throat.

"What about your stepsister?" Nick asked. "What was she like?"

"Gorgeous. All she had to do was stroll down the street and the boys positively drooled over her."

"Did she try to steal your boyfriends?"

Lauren's eyes kindled with humor as she gazed at him across the narrow table. "I didn't have many boyfriends for her to steal—at least, not until I was seventeen."

One dark brow lifted in disbelief as his gaze moved over the classic perfection of her features, over her eyes like shining turquoise satin beneath their heavy fringe of curly lashes, to linger on her thick, honey-colored hair. Sunlight streaming through the stained-glass window beside their table bathed her face in a soft glow. "I find that very hard to believe," he said finally.

"I promise you, it's true," Lauren averred, dismissing his compliment with a smile. She remembered with great clarity the homely little girl she had been, and while the memories were not particularly painful, she really couldn't place much importance now on anything as unreliable as surface beauty.

Tony put two plates down on the red-checked tablecloth, each containing a crusty loaf of French bread that had been sliced lengthwise and piled high with wafer-thin rare roast beef. Beside each plate, he placed a little bowl of beef juice. "It's delicious—try it," he urged.

Lauren tasted hers and agreed. "It's wonderful," she told him.

"Good," he said, his round, mustachioed face beaming paternally at her. "Then you let Nick pay for it! He has more money than you. Nick's grandfather loaned me the money to start this place," he confided before bustling off to chastise a clumsy busboy.

They ate their meal in companionable silence interspersed with Lauren's questions about the restaurant and its owner. From what little she could gather from Nick's brief answers, his family and Tony's had been friends for three generations. At one point Nick's father had actually worked for Tony's father, yet somehow the financial situation must have reversed itself for Nick's grandfather later had enough money to lend to Tony.

The moment they were finished Tony appeared at their table to whisk away their plates. The service in the place was much too good, Lauren thought with dismay. They had only been here for thirty-five minutes, and she'd hoped to have at least an hour with Nick.

"Now, how about some dessert," Tony said, his friendly dark eyes on Lauren. "For you I have canoli—or some of my special spumoni. My spumoni is not what you find in stores," he told her proudly. "It is the real thing. It is ice cream of several flavors and colors, arranged in layers. Then into it I put—"

"Bits of fruit and lots of nuts," Lauren finished, smiling warmly at him. "The way my mother used to make it."

Tony's mouth dropped open, then he minutely scrutinized her face. After a long moment he nodded decisively. "You are Italian," he proclaimed with a broad smile.

"Only half Italian," Lauren corrected. "The other half is Irish."

In ten seconds Tony had pried her full name out of her, the name of her mother's family and had discovered that she was moving to Detroit where she knew no one. Lauren felt a little guilty for not mentioning Philip Whitworth, but since Nick knew people at Sinco she didn't think she should risk mentioning her connection with Philip in front of him.

She listened to Tony with a glow of happiness. It had been so long since she had lived in Chicago and visited with her Italian cousins, and it felt so good to hear that quaint familiar accent again.

"You need anything, Lauren, you come to me," Tony told her, patting her shoulder as he had Nick's. "A beautiful young woman alone in the big city needs some family she can turn to when she needs help. Here there will always be a meal for you—a good Italian meal," he clarified. "Now how about my great spumoni?"

Lauren glanced at Nick and then at Tony's expectant face. "I'd love some spumoni," she announced, ignoring the groaning protest of her full stomach in the interest of prolonging their lunch.

Tony beamed, and Nick winked conspiratorially at him. "Lauren is still a growing girl, Tony."

Lauren's eyes darkened with exasperation and confusion at his words, and for a minute she idly traced a large red check on the tablecloth with her manicured fingernail. "Nick, may I ask you a question?" she said softly.

"Of course."

She folded her arms on the table and regarded him directly. "Why do you talk about me, as if I'm some naive teenager?"

Wry amusement twisted his lips. "I didn't realize I was. But I suppose it's to remind myself that you're young, that you come from a small town in Missouri and that you're probably very naive."

Lauren was amazed by his answer. "I'm a grown woman, and the fact that I grew up in a small town doesn't mean a thing!" She paused as Tony served her spumoni, but the moment he turned away she added irritably, "And I don't know what gave you the idea that I'm naive, but I'm not."

The teasing light in Nick's eyes was extinguished as he leaned back in his chair and studied her speculatively. "You're not?"

"No, I'm not."

"In that case," he drawled smoothly, "what are your plans for this weekend?"

Lauren's heart somersaulted with delight but she asked cautiously, "What did you have in mind?"

"A party. Some friends of mine are having a party this weekend at their house near Harbor Springs. I was about to leave for their place when we met today. It's approximately a five-hour drive from here, and we'd return on Sunday."

Lauren had planned to drive directly to Fenster that afternoon. On the other hand, it only took a day to drive each way, and she could easily pack all her belongings in less than a week. She had more than two weeks before she was to start her new job, so time was no problem, and she desperately wanted to go with Nick. "Are you certain it won't inconvenience your friends if I come with you?"

"It won't inconvenience them; they were expecting me to bring someone with me."

"In that case," Lauren smiled, "I'd love to go. In fact, my suitcase is already in the trunk of the car."

Nick glanced over his shoulder and nodded at Tony, signaling for their check. The older man brought it over and placed it on the table near Nick, but Lauren deftly covered it with her hand and pulled it toward her. "I am buying lunch," she stated, carefully concealing her shock at the total on the check—rather exorbitant for the amount they had eaten. As she reached for her wallet, however, Nick laid several bills on the table, and she watched helplessly as Tony swept them away.

Tony saw her dismay and chucked her under the chin as if she were eight years old. "You come back often, Laurie. For you I will always have an empty table and something good to eat."

"At these prices," Lauren teased him, "I'm surprised all your tables aren't empty."

Tony leaned closer confidingly. "My tables are never empty. In fact, you cannot even reserve one in advance unless your name is on my list. I will have Ricco place your name on our list." He lifted an imperious arm and three young, darkly handsome waiters glanced up, then came to Lauren's table. "These are my sons," Tony said, proudly introducing them. "Ricco, Dominic and Joe. Ricco, you put Laurie's name on the list."

"No, please don't bother," Lauren interjected quickly.

Tony ignored her. "A nice Italian girl like you needs a family to protect and guide her in a big city like Detroit. You come often to see us—we live on the floors above the restaurant. Ricco, Dominic," Tony ordered them sternly, "when Laurie comes, you keep an eye on her. Joe, you keep an eye on Ricco and Dominic!"

To Lauren, who had burst out laughing, Tony explained, "Joe is married."

Repressing her mirth with an effort, Lauren looked at her four appointed "guardians" with happy gratitude shining in her eyes. "Who should I keep my eye on?" she asked teasingly.

In perfect unison, four dark Italian faces turned accusingly to Nick, who was lounging in his chair, observing them all with an amused expression. "Lauren tells me she can take care of herself," he said imperturbably as he pushed his chair back and stood up.

Nick said he had to make a phone call, and while he did so, Lauren walked down the hall to the ladies' room. When she emerged, she recognized his broad shoulders and tapered back at a phone in the entranceway. His deep baritone voice was lowered, but one word drifted to her as clear as a bell: "Ericka."

What an odd time for him to be calling another woman, Lauren thought. Or was it? He had said that their hosts were expecting him to bring a friend, and he would have undoubtedly arranged to take someone with him long before today. He was breaking a date!

Nick slid into her sporty Pontiac Trans Am, turned on the ignition, then frowned at the generator warning light that glowed red on the dashboard. "I don't think there's anything wrong with the generator," Lauren hastily explained. "On the way up here I stopped and had a mechanic check it. He couldn't find anything wrong, so it's possible it's just a short in the warning light itself. The car is only six months old."

"Why don't we take it up north and see how it runs," Nick said after a brief pause. "That way you won't be alone on the highway en route to Missouri if the generator does go out."

"Wonderful," she readily agreed.

"Tell me more about your family and you," he said as they pulled out of the parking lot.

Lauren turned her face to the front, trying not to show her tension. The little web of deceit she'd woven was already growing larger and more entangled. Since Nick knew people at Sinco, and she'd deliberately omitted mentioning her college degree on her application, she was hesitant about telling him she'd been at college for the last five years. Staring out the window at the splendid glass Renaissance Center, she sighed. A person who was innately honest, she'd already lied to him about her age, because she wouldn't really be twenty-three for another three weeks. And she'd told Tony in front of him that she had no friends or relatives in Detroit. Now she was going to carefully "forget" the last five years of her life.

"Was that a tough question?" Nick joked.

His smile did crazy things to her heartbeat. She wanted to lift her hand and lay it against his hard jaw and to trace the line of those sensual lips. His shirt collar was open at the throat, and she wanted to touch the dark hairs that curled crisply just above the deep V of the third button. Even the scent of his spicy cologne was teasing her senses, inviting her closer. "There isn't much more to tell you. My stepbrother, Lenny, is twenty-four now, and he's married and starting his own family. My stepsister, Melissa, is twenty-five, and she got married in April. Her husband is a mechanic who works for the Pontiac dealer where I bought this car."

"What about your father and stepmother?"

"My father is a teacher. He's brilliant and wise. My stepmother is very sweet and completely devoted to him."

"If your father's a teacher, I'm amazed that he didn't urge you to go on to college, rather than letting you work as a secretary."

"He did," Lauren replied obliquely, vastly relieved when Nick was obliged to direct his attention to the intricacies of changing lanes and negotiating the wide curve that brought them down the entrance ramp onto Interstate 75. The expressway took them through the inner city before the scenery changed from urban factories and housing to small suburban homes, followed by a huge shopping center and far more opulent suburbs. "What about your extra clothes?" she asked suddenly. "Won't you need to pack a suitcase?"

"No. I keep some clothes at another house in Harbor Springs."

The breeze through the open car window lightly teased his thick, coffee-brown hair. Although it was cut and styled to lie flat at the sides, it was just long enough at the nape to brush his shirt collar—just long enough, Lauren reflected wistfully, for a woman's fingers to slide through it. Her fingers. Tearing her eyes from his profile, she pulled her sunglasses down onto her nose and turned her head to gaze at the passing scenery on the interstate, only dimly aware when the endless suburbs gave way to long stretches of open countryside. Nick positively radiated bold sexual expertise and confident virility. Even now she was disturbingly aware of the length of his hard, muscled thigh only inches away from hers and the way his powerful shoulders seemed to dwarf her. Everything about the way he looked, and the way he looked at her, warned her that he could be very dangerous to her peace of mind.

Dangerous? Agreeing to go away for the weekend with him had been completely out of character for her—as out of character and unexplainable as this deep compelling attraction she felt for him. It was also a rash, reckless thing to do, she admitted to herself. But was it dangerous? What if Nick was a demented killer who intended to murder her, mutilate her body and bury it in the woods? If he did, no one would ever know what had happened to her, because no one knew she was with him—except Tony and his sons, and Nick could simply tell them she'd gone back to Missouri. They'd believe him. Literally and figuratively, Nick could get away with murder.

Lauren stole a swift, apprehensive glance at his chiseled profile, and her features relaxed into a faint smile. Her instincts about people had never let her down before, and she knew instinctively that she was not in any physical danger.

The next three hours passed in a delightful blur. The car ate up the miles, sending a balmy breeze to touch their faces and ruffle their hair, and they talked companionably about everything and nothing.

Nick, Lauren noticed, was extremely evasive when it came to actually talking about himself, but positively insatiable when it came to probing into her background. All she learned about him was that his father had died when he was four, and that his grandparents, who had raised him, had both died a few years ago.

In the town of Grayling, which Nick said was about an hour and a half's drive from their destination of Harbor Springs, he stopped at a little grocery store. When he came out, Lauren saw that he was carrying two cans of Coke and a package of cigarettes. A few miles down the road, he pulled over at a roadside picnic table, and they both got out.

"Isn't it a gorgeous day?" Lauren tipped her head back to gaze in delight at the lacy white clouds drifting across the brilliant blue sky. She glanced at Nick and found him observing her with an indulgent expression.

Ignoring his blasé attitude she said, "At home the sky never seems to be this blue, and it's much hotter. I suppose because Missouri is so far south of here."

Nick opened both cans of Coke and handed one to her. He leaned his hip casually on the picnic table behind him, and Lauren tried to pick up their conversation where it had been interrupted a few minutes ago. "You said your father died when you were four, and your grandparents raised you—what happened to your mother?"

"Nothing happened to her," he replied. Putting a cigarette between his lips, he struck a match, cupping his hands around the flame to protect it from the breeze.

Lauren stared at the vital thickness of his dark brown hair as he bent his head to the match, then she quickly lifted her blue eyes to his. "Nick, why are you so uncommunicative about yourself?"

He squinted his eyes against the aromatic smoke drifting up from the cigarette. "Uncommunicative? I've been talking my head off for a hundred miles."

"But not about anything really personal. What happened to your mother?"

He laughed. "Has anyone ever told you that you have incredibly beautiful eyes?"

"Yes, and you're prevaricating!"

"And that you're extremely well-spoken, too?" he continued, ignoring her remark.

"Which isn't surprising because my father is an English teacher, as you've already discovered." Lauren sighed, exasperated by his deliberate evasiveness.

Nick glanced up at the sky, his gaze drifting over the trees and the deserted highway, before he finally looked at Lauren again. "I didn't realize how tense I was until three hours ago, when I finally started to relax. I needed to get away like this."

"Have you been working very hard?"

"About seventy hours a week for the past two months."

Her expressive eyes filled with sympathy, and Nick smiled at her—one of those warm, engaging smiles that quickened her heartbeat. "Did you know that you're very relaxing company?" he asked softly.

She was not particularly pleased to hear that while she found him electrifying, he found her relaxing. "Thank you—I'll try not to put you to sleep before we get to Harbor Springs."

"You can put me to sleep after we get there," he said suggestively.

Lauren's heart slammed into her rib cage. "What I meant was, I hope I'm not boring you."

"Believe me, you haven't bored me." His voice deepened with sensuality. "As a matter of fact, there's something I've wanted to do ever since last night, when I turned around with your glass of tonic in my hand and saw you standing there, trying very hard not to laugh at my shock."

Even in her state of heightened nervousness, Lauren knew he intended to kiss her. He took her Coke from her limp fingers and calmly put it on the picnic table beside him, then he reached out and drew her purposefully between his legs. Her hip brushed the inside of his hard thigh, sending shock waves of alarmed awareness through her entire nervous system. His hands slid up her arms to gently imprison her shoulders. In helpless anticipation she watched his firm, sensual lips slowly descend to hers.

His mouth covered hers, moving and probing in a kiss that was lazily coaxing, yet breathtakingly insistent. Lauren tried desperately to hold on to her fleeing sanity, but the moment his tongue slid against her lips she lost the battle.

With a smothered moan, she leaned into him and let him part her lips. His response was instantaneous. His arms tightened around her, imprisoning her against his chest, while his mouth opened hungrily, his tongue plunging into her mouth and stroking against hers. Something exploded inside Lauren; her body arched against him, and her hands lifted compulsively to caress his neck and slide through the soft hair at his nape as she eagerly responded to his hungry mouth.

By the time Nick finally lifted his head, Lauren felt branded by that kiss, permanently marked as his possession. Trembling with inner turmoil, she leaned her forehead against his shoulder. His warm lips drifted across her cheek to her temple, trailing downward until his teeth playfully nipped her earlobe. He chuckled huskily against her ear, "I think I owe you an apology, Lauren."

She leaned back in his arms and looked up at him. The smoky gray eyes gazing back at her were heavy-lidded and smoldering with passion, and although he was smiling, it was a wry smile of self-mockery.

"Why do you owe me an apology?"

His hand slid up and down her spine in a lazy caress. "Because despite your assurance that you aren't naive, until a few minutes ago I was worried that this weekend might be more than you could handle—and more than you bargained for."

Still dazed from their kiss, Lauren asked softly, "And now what do you think?"

"I think," he murmured dryly, "that this weekend might turn out to be more than I bargained for." He gazed into her glowing blue eyes, and his own eyes darkened with response. "I also think that if you continue to look at me like that, we're going to be about two hours late getting to Harbor Springs."

His glance flicked meaningfully to the motel across the highway but before Lauren even considered panicking, he reached up and firmly pulled her sunglasses down onto her nose. "Those eyes of yours are going to be my undoing," he said with grim humor.

Then he took her arm and led her toward the car.

Lauren collapsed into her seat, feeling as if she had just been through a cyclone. The car engine roared to life, and she forced herself to relax and think logically. She had two immediate problems facing her: the first was that it was now obvious Nick intended to take her to bed this weekend. In his mind it was already a forgone conclusion. Of course, she could simply say no when the time came, but the second problem was that she wasn't at all certain she wanted to say no. Never before had she been so attracted to a man, or so affected by a kiss. Never before had she so wanted a man to make love to her.

She looked at Nick's strong, capable hands on the steering wheel, then lifted her eyes to his ruggedly handsome profile. He was so attractive, so blatantly virile, that women probably took one look at him and eagerly went to bed with him without ever expecting any emotional commitment from him. Surely she herself wouldn't be such an easy conquest. Or would she?

A rueful smile touched Lauren's lips as she turned her head toward the window. Everyone always said she was so intelligent, so sensible, yet here she was, already planning to make Nick Sinclair fall in love with her… because she knew she was already falling in love with him.

"Lauren, this trip is getting a little lonely on my side of the car. What are you thinking about?"

Filled with thoughts of their destiny, Lauren turned to him and, smiling, slowly shook her head. "If I told you, it would scare you to death."