abrielle bit into an asparagus spear and glanced at the silver watch strapped to her left wrist. Nine-thirty. It seemed a lot later.

"If you're not careful, Nancy is going to steal your man."

Gabrielle glanced across her shoulder at Kevin, then returned her gaze to the undercover cop who'd obviously forgotten he was supposed to have a girlfriend, or that he was supposed to be looking for Mr. Hillard's Monet.

Unless Nancy had the painting down her dress, Joe wasn't likely to find it. He stood across the room with his forearm resting on the bar, his hand wrapped around a half empty glass. His head was cocked to one side toward Nancy, as if he couldn't bear to miss one fascinating word uttered from the woman's red lips. "I'm not worried." Gabrielle reached for a slice of toasted Brie on a piece of baguette.

"Maybe you should. Nancy loves to steal men away from their wives or girlfriends."

"How'd the store do today?" she asked, purposely changing the subject and turning her full attention to Kevin.

"We sold a few garnet pieces, and that big wicker picnic basket. Made about four hundred dollars. Not bad, I guess, for June." He shrugged. "How'd you do with your oils?"

"I sold just about everything. By two o'clock. I only had a few bottles of sunscreen oil. So I packed up and spent the rest of the day at home painting and napping."

She took a bite of the baguette, and her gaze strayed across the room. Now the two were smiling at each other, and she wondered if Joe was secretly making a date to meet Nancy later. They made a good-looking couple. Not only was Nancy petite but she also had that pale, frail look about her, like she needed a man to protect her. A big hunk of man who could throw her over his shoulder and save her from burning buildings. A man like Joe.

"Are you sure you aren't worried about Joe and Nancy?"

"Not at all." To prove it, she turned her back on them, determined to forget about Detective Shanahan. She might have succeeded, too, but his deep, rich laughter rose above the other noise in the room and reminded her of his exact location beside the bar—next to a beautiful little blond in a tiny dress. "Guess who I saw today?" she asked, trying to refocus her attention. "That guy I dated last year, Ian Raney. He's still giving Reiki treatments at the Healing Center. He had a booth at the festival and was healing auras."

"He was an odd one," Kevin chuckled.

"He's gay now." She frowned. "Or maybe he was gay before, and I just didn't know it"

"Really? How do you know he's gay now?"

"He introduced me to his 'special friend Brad." She popped the rest of the Brie into her mouth and washed it down with a sip of white wine. "There wasn't a doubt about Brad's sexual orientation."

"A flaming fruit?"

"Flambeed, I'm sorry to say. How could I have gone out with a gay guy and not have known it? Weren't there signs?"

"Well, did he try to get you into bed with him?"

"No."

Kevin put his arm around Gabrielle's shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. "There you go."

She looked into his familiar blue eyes and felt herself relax a little. She'd had these kinds of conversations with Kevin in the past They'd sit in their office on slow days, feet kicked up, ignoring the thousand and one details and demands of running a small business, and they'd talk about anything. "Not all men are like you."

"Yes they are. But most men aren't going to tell you the truth if they think they have a chance to score. I know I don't, so I have nothing to lose."

She laughed and took another sip of her wine. Kevin could be just as superficial as the rest of his friends, but he was never that way with her. She didn't know how he was able to meld his different personalities, but he managed it somehow. He was honest and open and a lot of fun and could almost make her forget about the man across the room and why she was there. "So you're only telling me the truth because we're never going to have sex?"

"That's about it."

"If you thought there was a chance, you'd lie?"

"Like a cheap rug."

"And you think all men are like you?"

"Absolutely. If you don't believe me, ask your boyfriend." He dropped his hand from her shoulder.

"Ask me what?"

Gabrielle turned and looked into Joe's watchful eyes. A knot twisted her stomach, and she tried to tell herself it was the Brie. She didn't want to even think it could be anything other than rich food. "Nothing."

"Gabrielle doesn't want to believe guys lie to women to get them into bed."

"I said not all guys," she clarified.

Joe glanced at Kevin, then returned his gaze to Gabrielle. He slid his hand to the small of her back. "This is one of those trick questions,right? Either way I answer, I'm screwed."

A warm tingle swept way up her spine, and she stepped away from his touch. She especially didn't want to think about how easily this one man could affect her with nothing more than a glance or a touch.

"Looks like you're screwed anyway. Maybe you should pay more attention to Gabrielle and less to Nancy," Kevin said, noticing her reaction and misinterpreting it for jealousy. Which it wasn't, of course.

"Gabrielle knows she doesn't have to worry about other women." He took her wine glass and set it on the table. "I have a real fondness for that mole on the inside of her thigh." He raised her hand to his mouth and brushed a kiss to her knuckles. "You might even say I'm obsessed."

He stared at her over the back of her hand. Her fingers trembled, and she tried to remember if she had a mole and couldn't.

"Did you get enough to eat?" he asked against her knuckles.

"What?" Was he really asking about food? "I'm not hungry."

"Ready to go home then?"

Slowly, she nodded.

"Are you two leaving already?" Kevin asked.

"It's our one-month anniversary," Joe explained as he lowered her hand and kept it tight in his grasp. "I'm sentimental about those kinds of things. Let's say good-bye and get your purse."

"I'll get it for you" Kevin offered.

"Thanks, but we'll get it," Joe insisted.

Saying good-bye to Kevin's friends took about three minutes, and most of that was spent trying to convince Nancy that they really did have to leave so soon. Joe wove his fingers through hers, and they walked from the room, palm pressed to palm. If they'd been a real couple, she might have rested her head against his, and he might have turned and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek or whispered something sweet into her ear. But there was nothing soft or sweet about Joe, and they weren't a real couple. They were a lie, and she wondered how anyone looking at them couldn't see behind the facade.

The warm sensation of his touch triggered an even warmer physical desire, but this time her mind and spirit were in control. Just in case, she dropped his hand and kept a few inches of distance between them. She wondered how Kevin was so easily fooled.

Kevin kept his gaze on Gabrielle's back as she and her boyfriend walked from the room. He watched her drop Joe's hand and knew she was upset about something. But whatever it was, Kevin was just as sure her boyfriend could make her forget. Guys like Joe were like that. They could be losers and still get what they wanted handed to them. Not Kevin. He had to take what he wanted.

He glanced around at his young wealthy guests, eating his food, drinking his booze, standing in his beautiful house. He'd crammed his home with wonderful paintings and fine antiques and artifacts. He had one of the best views in the city, and it hadn't come cheap. He'd made it to the top of the hill, but one look at a guy like Joe, and he got that old hunger in his gut for more and that old pounding in his head that told him he would never be enough, never have enough. Enough money, nice clothes, fancy houses, and fast cars. Enough beautiful women to make him feel as if he were different from every other guy walking the planet. As if he weren't invisible. The hunger inside was insatiable, and sometimes he feared there would never be enough.

"Stand right here," Joe ordered once they were out of sight of Kevin and his friends. "If anyone comes, talk loud and don't let them in the room."

"What are you going to do?" Gabrielle asked as she watched him slip inside the first room they'd come to. He quietly shut the door without answering, leaving her alone in the hall.

She stood perfectly still, hoping he'd hurry, trying to hear above the sound of her pounding heart. She felt like a spy, but not a very good one. Her hands shook and her scalp grew too tight. She wasn't cut out to be a Bond girl. Somewhere else in the house a cabinet door slammed shut, and Gabrielle jumped like someone had zapped her with a stun gun. She ran her fingers through her hair and took deep cleansing breaths. She didn't have nerves of steel. She glanced at her wristwatch and waited the longest five minutes of her life.

When Joe appeared again, a deep frown wrinkled his forehead and lowered his brows. Since he didn't look happy and wasn't calling for backup or breaking out the handcuffs, Gabrielle figured he hadn't found anything. She relaxed a little. Now they would leave.

Joe shoved her purse at her, then moved across the hall and quietly slipped into another room. The door had barely shut when she heard his familiar curse.

"Sweet baby Jesus!"

Everything within Gabrielle stilled. He'd found something. She sneaked inside the room and shut the door behind her, half expecting to see Mr. Hillard's Monet hanging on the wall. What she did see was just as shocking. Mirrors. Everywhere. On the walls, the backs of the doors of the walk-in closet, and on the ceiling. A round bed sat in the center of the room and was covered with a black-and-white sheepskin spread that had a big Oriental symbol in the middle. There were no chests of drawers or nightstands to restrict the view through the mirrors. Positioned beside the arched doorway leading to the bathroom stood a small pedestal table with an ivory chess set on top. Even from a distance of half the room's width away, Gabrielle cotdd see that the set was antique, Oriental, and, typical of that period, the nude pieces were not quite anatomically proportional. Gabrielle felt as if she'd stepped into a room at the Playboy mansion. Hugh Hefner's babe lair.

"Look at this place. Makes you wonder what kind of action he sees in here," Joe said just above a whisper.

Gabrielle leaned her head back and looked up. "And how much Windex he goes through."

His gaze met hers through the mirrors on the ceiling. "Yeah, that was my second thought."

She hung her purse on her shoulder and watched him walk silently across the room, the thick white carpet muting the sound of his leather loafers. No matter where she looked, she was surrounded by his image. Caught by his dark intent eyes and the sensual lines of his mouth. The profile of his straight nose and the square, stubborn set of his jaw. The curls at the base of his neck, and his wide shoulders outlined perfectly in his ribbed polo. Her gaze moved down his back to the waist of his gabardine trousers, then he disappeared inside the closet, and she was alone with her own image. She frowned at her reflection and stood a little straighter.

So, Kevin was a little perverted, she thought as she pushed her curls behind her ear. It wasn't her business. Covering a bedroom with mirrors wasn't against the law. She ran her hand down the bib of her jumper, tilted her head to one side, and viewed herself with a critical eye. She was nothing like Nancy. She wasn't petite or blond or flirtatious, and once again she wondered what Joe saw when he looked at her.

She saw every little flaw multiplied around the room and couldn't imagine watching herself making love. Totally naked. Obviously Kevin didn't have the same qualm, and that was just a little more information than she wanted to know about him.

She walked to the bathroom, passing the chess set, with its rows of largely endowed and extremely erect pawns. She, didn't pause to inspect the other pieces; she really didn't want to know.

The bathroom space was filled with more mirrors, a shower stall, and a big Jacuzzi tub surrounded by tiles. A set of French doors led outside to a small deck and another Jacuzzi. Except for the mirrors, she could visualize herself drawing a bath for a nice relaxing soak, maybe adding some ylang-ylang, definitely lavender and rosemary.

Gabrielle sat on the edge of the Jacuzzi and glanced at her watch. If Joe didn't hurry, she didn't know how they would explain what had taken them so long to retrieve her purse. She tugged the skirt of her jumper down her thighs, then slid it back up to see if she really did have a mole. She leaned forward and saw a perfectly round mole about an inch below the elastic leg of her panties. It wasn't even that noticeable, and she wondered how Joe could possibly have known about it.

"What are you doing?"

She looked up into Joe's face and shoved her skirt down. His brows were pulled together in a straight line across his forehead.

"Looking at my mole. How did you know about it?"

He laughed quietly and lowered to one knee in front of the sink. "I know everything about you," he answered and began a search of the cabinet.

She opened her mouth to tell him she doubted her moles were a matter of police record, but the bedroom door swung open and she recognized Kevin's voice.

"What did you want?" he asked.

Gabrielle's breath caught in her throat, and her gaze found Joe's reflection in the mirror above the sink. He slowly stood and raised a finger to his lips.

The female voice that answered Kevin didn't belong to his girlfriend. "I want to show you something," Nancy answered.

"What's that?" There was a long pause before Kevin spoke again. "Very nice," he said.

"China told me about this room. About the mirrors."

"And you wanted to see for yourself?"

"Yes."

Joe reached for Gabrielle's hand and pulled her with him to the French doors.

"Are you sure? China might find out."

"I don't care." There was a sound like clothes hitting the carpet and Kevin said, "Then come here and say hello to Mr. Happy."

Silently, Gabrielle and Joe slipped outside onto the deck and shut the door behind them. A cool breeze lifted her hair and the bottom of her dress. The last orange and pink rays of the setting sun shot across a mackerel sky, and the lights of the city blinked to life in the valley below. Any other time, Gabrielle might have paused to appreciate the view, but tonight she hardly noticed. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she now knew a few more pieces of information about Kevin that she really wished she didn't. Like he cheated on his girlfriend with her best friend, and he called his penis Mr. Happy.

"Do you think Kevin heard us?" she asked just above a whisper.

Joe walked to the metal railing and looked over. "No. He sounded pretty busy." He straightened and moved to the left corner of the deck. "We can jump from here."

"Jump?" Gabrielle moved to stand beside Joe and looked over the side. The back half of Kevin's house and the whole deck hung from the side of a mountain and were supported by several substantial stilts. The earth below was corrugated with a succession of three-foot-wide terraces and braced with concrete to prevent erosion. "When I signed the confidential agreement, it didn't say anything about jumping off Kevin's deck and breaking my neck."

"You won't break your neck. It's only about ten or twelve feet from over here. All we have to do is climb over the rail, hang from the bottom of the deck, and let go. It'll only be about a four-foot drop."

Her shoulder brushed his as she leaned out a little further. He made it sound so easy. "Unless you miss the terrace you're aiming for, then it's about four more feet." She turned and looked at his profile, bathed in the first shadows of night. "There has to be some other way."

"Sure. We could always go back inside and interrupt Kevin. I imagine things are getting really interesting just about now." He looked across his shoulder at her.

"Maybe we could just wait a bit and then go through the house."

"And what are you going to tell Kevin took us so long to get your purse? He’ll think we were knocking boots in the bathroom the whole time."

"He might not think that," she said but didn't really believe it.

"Yes he would, and I'd have to give you a big sucker bite on your neck and mess up your hair just to make sure that's exactly what he'd think." He leaned way over the railing. "It's up to you, though. But if we're jumping, we better do it before it gets any darker out here. I don't want to miss that terrace." He straightened, looked at her, and grinned like he was having a really good time. "You ready?" he asked as if he hadn't just given her a choice between a hickey and jumping to her death.

"No!"

"You're not scared, are you?"

"Yes! Any person with half a brain would be terrified."

He shook his head and swung one leg, then the other, over the rail. "Don't tell me you're afraid of heights?" He stood on the outside edge of the deck, facing her, his hands gripping the metal bar.

"No. I'm afraid of falling to my death."

"You probably wouldn't die." He glanced at the ground below him, then back at her. "Probably could break a leg, though."

"That doesn't make me feel better."

His smile grew. "I was just kidding about that last part."

She leaned forward a fraction and looked down. "This isn't a real good time for jokes."

"You're probably right." He placed a hand beneath her chin and brought her gaze back up to his. "I won't let anything happen to you, Gabrielle. I won't let you get hurt."

They both knew he couldn't promise such a thing, but staring into his intense brown eyes, she almost believed he had the power to keep her safe.

"Trust me."

Trust him? She couldn't think of one good reason why she should trust him, but as she stood there perched above the city, contemplating a leap off the balcony, she discovered that she did trust him. "Okay."

"That's my girl," he said with a grin. Then he slid his hands to the bottom rail, lowering himself until all she could see of him was his big hands. Then they were gone too, followed by a heavy thud.

Gabrielle looked down at the top of his head, and he lifted his face up to her. "Your turn," he said, raising his voice just enough to be heard.

She took a deep breath. She could do this. She could climb on the outside of a flimsy rail and dangle ten or twelve feet in the air, then drop and hope she landed on a three-foot-wide terrace. No problem. She slid the strap of her purse over her head and shoulder, then shoved the big bag around to the small of her back. She tried not to think about falling to her death. "I can do this," she whispered and stepped onto the bottom rung of the railing.

"I am calm." She managed to keep her panic at bay as she swung one leg, then the other, over the rail. Another blast of cool air blew up her skirt as she balanced on the edge of the deck, her heels hanging over. The metal bar was cold within her tight grasp.

"That's it," Joe encouraged her from the ground.

She knew better than to glance over her shoulder, but she couldn't stop herself. She looked out at the city lights below, and she froze.

"Come on, Gabrielle. Come on, baby."

"Joe?"

"I'm right here."

She closed her eyes. "I'm scared. I don't think I can do this."

"Sure you can. You're the same woman who knocked me on my ass in the park. You can do anything."

She opened her eyes and looked down toward him, but it was dark and he was hidden in the shadows of the house, and she couldn't see anything but a gray outline.

"Just bend down a little and grab the bottom of the rail."

Slowly she slid her hands down the metal bars until she crouched on the edge, her behind hanging out over the city. She didn't think she'd ever been so terrified in her life. "I can do this," she whispered on a cleansing breath. "I am calm."

"Hurry up before your palms sweat."

Geez, she hadn't thought of sweaty palms, but now she did. "I can't see you. Can you see me?"

His soft, low chuckle rose to her "as she crouched with a death grip on the rail. "I have a real nice view of your white panties."

At the moment, Joe Shanahan looking up her skirt was the least of her problems. She slid one foot from the wooden deck.

"Come on, honey," he coaxed from below.

"What if I fall?"

"I'll catch you. I promise, only you have to let go now, before it gets too dark to see those panties."

She slowly slid her other foot from the deck and dangled above the dark ground below. "Joe," she called out just as her foot contacted with something solid.

"Fuck!"

"What was that?"

"The side of my head."

"Oh, sorry." His strong hands grabbed her ankles, then slid up the backs of her calves to her knees.

"I have you."

"Are you sure?"

"Let go."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, let go."

She took a deep breath, counted to three, then released the railing. And she fell, sliding downward within the circle of his big arms. He clasped her to him, and her jumper bunched up around her waist as she slipped down his chest. His hands slid up the backs of her legs, and he held her bare thighs in his grasp. She looked down into his dark face just below hers.

"I did it."

"I know."

"My skirt's up around my waist," she said.

His teeth looked very white when he smiled. "I know." He slowly lowered her until her feet touched the ground, and his palms settled on her behind. "You're not only beautiful, you've got big cojones. I like that in a woman."

Gabrielle could honestly say that no man had ever chosen those exact words to compliment her before. Usually they stuck with more common flattery and commented on her eyes or legs.

"You were afraid, but you went over that railing anyway." His hot hands warmed her flesh through the lace of her underwear. "Do you remember last night when you said I couldn't kiss you anymore?"

"I remember."

"Did you mean on the lips?"

"Of course."

He lowered his mouth and kissed the side of her throat. "That leaves a lot of really interesting spots free," he said as his hands squeezed her bottom.

Gabrielle opened her mouth, then closed it again. What could she possibly say to that?

"Do you want me to find them now or later?"

"Ahh___later would probably be better." She tugged at the bottom of her skirt, but Joe's grasp tightened on her behind.

His voice was low and husky when he asked, "You sure?"

Not really. She stood on a terraced mountain-side, her butt hanging out of her dress, and she wasn't sure she wanted to be any other place than exactly where she stood. Wrapped in darkness, shoved against Joe's solid chest. "Yes."

He yanked the hem of her jumper and smoothed it over the curve of her bottom. "Let me know."

"I will." She stepped away from the lure of his voice and the warmth of his embrace. "How's your head?"

"I'll live." He turned and hauled himself up to the next level of the terraced retaining wall. She looked up at his outline, and he reached for her hand and pulled her up after him. He hauled her up three more times and made it all seem so easy.

The night had taken on a discernable chill by the time they made it to his old Chevy, and Gabrielle was looking forward to taking a nice warm soak in the tub when she got home. But fifteen minutes later, she found herself sitting on Joe's beige-and-brown sofa, the beady yellow-and-black eyes of his parrot pinning her to the couch. Across the living room Joe stood with his back to her, the cradle of a telephone dangling from one hand, the receiver in the other. He spoke just low enough not to be heard, then walked into the dining room, the long cord trailing after him.

"You've got to ask yourself one question. Do I feel lucky? Well do ya—punk?"

Gabrielle jumped and turned her full attention to Sam. "Excuse me?"

The parrot flapped his wings twice, then flew to the arm of the couch. He rocked from one foot to the other, then tilted his head to the side and studied her.

"Ahh… Polly want a cracker?"

"Go ahead, make my day,"

She supposed it made perfect sense that Joe's bird would quote Dirty Harry. She sat perfectly still as the bird walked along the back of the couch, a blue metal band around one scaly leg. "Nice parrot" she said softly and glanced in Joe's direction. He still stood in the dining room, his back to her, his weight resting on one foot. He cradled the receiver between his shoulder and ear and massaged his other shoulder with his opposite hand. For a brief second, she wondered if he'd hurt himself helping her over the retaining walls, but then Sam let out a shrill whistle, and she forgot about Joe. The bird swayed back and forth, then hopped on her shoulder.

"You behave."

"Joe," she called out, keeping her gaze on Sam's black beak.

Sam laid his head against her temple and puffed out his chest. "Pretty bird."

Gabrielle had never been around birds before, let alone had one stand on her shoulder. She didn't know what to do or say. She didn't know anything about bird behavior, but she knew she didn't want to make him mad. She'd seen the Alfred Hitchcock classic many times, and the image of Suzanne Pleshette with her eyes pecked out flashed through her head. "Nice parrot," she said and glanced across the room. "Help."

Joe finally looked over his shoulder at her, his now familiar scowl lowering his brows as he spoke a few words into the receiver. After a few terse sentences, he finished the call and walked back into the living room. "Sam, what do you think you're doing?" he asked as he set the telephone on the coffee table. "Get off her."

The bird rubbed his soft head against Gabrielle, but didn't hop from her shoulder.

"Come on now." Joe patted his own shoulder. "Come here." Sam didn't move.

Instead he dipped his head and touched his beak to her cheek. "Pretty bird."

"Well, I'll be damned." Joe put his hands on his hips and cocked his head to one side. "He likes you."

She wasn't convinced. "Really? How can you tell?"

Joe moved to stand directly in front of her. "He kissed you," he said, then he leaned forward and placed his hand just below Sam's feet. "Lately, he's been in the mood for a mate." Joe snapped his fingers, and the side of his hand brushed her chest through her white blouse. "I guess he thinks he's found a girlfriend."

"Me?"

"Uh-huh." His gaze lowered to her mouth, then returned to the parrot. "Step up, Sam. Be a good bird." Finally Sam obeyed and hopped onto Joe's hand.

"You behave."

"Me? I'm not the guy rubbing my head against a pretty girl and kissing her. I am behaving. Well, I am tonight anyway." He flashed her a smile, then walked to the huge cage sitting in front of a big picture window.

Gabrielle stood and watched him run a careful hand over Sam's feathers before he placed him in the cage. The big bad cop wasn't so big and bad after all. "Does he really think I'm a potential girlfriend?"

"Probably. He's been shredding the newspaper and roosting on his stuffed animals again." Sam hopped on a perch, and Joe dosed the wire door. "But I've never seen him behave like he did with you. He usually gets really jealous of the women I bring home and tries to chase them out the front door."

"I guess I lucked out," she said, now wondering how many women he brought to his house, and again, why she should care.

"Yeah, he wants to roost with you." He turned and looked at her. "I can't say that I blame him."

As compliments went; it wasn't great. But for some peculiar reason his words settled near her heart and made her pulse leap. "You suck at flattery, Shanahan."

He just smiled like he knew better and motioned toward the door. "Do you need to stop anywhere on the way home? Maybe run in somewhere and get dinner?"

She stood and followed him. "Are you hungry?"

"No, I thought you might be."

"No, I ate before Kevin's party."

"Oh." He glanced at her across his shoulder. "Oh, okay."

During the drive to Gabrielle's house, her thoughts once again turned to the type of women Joe might bring home. She wondered what they looked like, and if they looked like Nancy. She bet they did.

Joe seemed just as distracted as Gabrielle, and neither of them spoke until she made an attempt at conversation three blocks from her house. "Kevin gives an interesting party." She was sure he'd have a lot to say about that.

He didn't. He just kind of grunted and said, "Kevin's a fool."

She gave up, and they rode the rest of the short way in silence. He didn't say anything as he walked her up the sidewalk or when he took the keys from her hand. The pink porch light caressed his profile and lingered in the soft curls above his ear as he bent forward and opened the door. He straightened and moved his shoulder as if it still bothered him.

"Did you hurt yourself helping me tonight?" she asked.

"I pulled a muscle the other day moving those shelves in your store, but I'll live."

He straightened, and she looked at him, into his tired dark eyes, the beginning of another five O'clock, and the stress creasing his forehead. "I could give you a massage," she suggested before she gave herself time to think better of the offer.

"Do you know how?"

"Of course." Visions of Joe served up in nothing but a towel drifted through her head and warmed the pit of her stomach. "I'm almost a professional."

"You mean, like you're almost a vegetarian?"

"Are you making fun of me again?" She'd taken classes on massage and, although she wasn't a certified masseuse, she considered herself semipro.

His quiet laughter stretched across the still night air and wrapped her up in the depth of the masculine sound. "Of course," he admitted without shame.

At least he was honest. "I bet I could have you feeling better in twenty minutes."

"What do you want to bet?"

"Five bucks."

"Five bucks? Make it ten and you're on."