ebastian picked up the knife and cut several turkey sandwiches in half. He placed them on a plate and grabbed a tube of Pringles. He’d never flown a woman in just so he could spend the day in bed with her. But then he didn’t think he’d ever been with a woman quite like Clare before.

Wearing only his underwear, he grabbed lunch and walked from the kitchen. He’d picked Clare up that morning from Sea-Tac, and it wasn’t until he’d watched her come down the escalator toward him, looking gorgeous in her black coat and red scarf, that he realized how much he liked being with her. They had a lot in common. She was smart and beautiful and didn’t make demands. More important, she was just easy to be with. In his experience, once a man had sex with a woman more than twice, they always brought up the R word—relationship—which was always followed closely by the C word—commitment. Women just couldn’t seem to relax. They always had to complicate things.

He walked into his bedroom and his gaze went to Clare, sitting in the center of his bed, a tangle of white sheets pulled up beneath her armpits. “There’s nothing to watch but football,” she said with disgust as she flipped through television channels with the remote. “I hate to watch football. I dated a guy once who taped all the games.”

Her hair was a mess and there was a pink sucker bite on her shoulder. “I watch football if there’s nothing better to do.” He set the plate on the edge of the bed and crawled toward her. He handed her half a sandwich and kissed the mark. He liked the way her skin smelled and the taste of her in his mouth.

“I broke up with him when I caught him watching football while we were having sex.” She took a bite, then swallowed. “He’d turned on the television but kept the sound on mute so I wouldn’t know.”

“Sneaky bastard.” Sebastian popped the top of the Pringles can and ate a few.

“Yeah. I’m a sneaky bastard magnet.” She turned off the television and tossed the remote on the bed. “Which is why I’m taking a break from men.”

He paused mid-chew. “What am I?”

“You’re just a friend with benefits. And believe me, after Lonny, I need the benefit of benefits.” She laughed and took another bite.

Which was one more reason he liked her. He handed her some chips and grabbed half a sandwich for himself. “Tell me something. If you’re a girl who likes lots of benefits, and we both know that you are, how did you end up engaged to a gay man? Wanting to please your mother only explains it to a point.”

She thought a moment as she scarfed several Pringles. “It happened little by little. At first the relationship was fairly typical. He was less sexual than other boyfriends, but I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. I loved him. And if you love someone, you have to be accepting. Then once you’re that deep in denial, you really don’t see anything. Actually, you probably don’t want to see it.” She shrugged. “And other than sex, there really wasn’t one huge sign. Just lots of little signs that I ignored.”

“Like that lacy, girly girl crap hanging over your bed. A heterosexual guy wouldn’t have put up with sleeping under that.”

She looked at him and pushed her hair behind one ear. “You did.”

He shook his head. “I have sex under it. I don’t sleep under lace.” Which reminded him of the sex they’d just had. It started by his front door and ended in a naked tangle on his bed. She’d been as hot for him as he had been for her, and for a man to know a woman wanted him as much as he wanted her was a powerful aphrodisiac. The sex would have been even better if it hadn’t been for the condom she’d asked him to wear.

“I thought you trusted me without a condom,” he said and ate a chip.

“I did trust you.” She tilted her head to one side and looked at him. “But I assume you are seeing other women now and I have to be careful.”

“Seeing other women? Since last weekend? Thanks for the compliment, but I don’t move that fast.” He’d assumed she hadn’t seen anyone, and the thought that she might have bothered him more than he wanted to admit. “Have you been with another man?”

She recoiled. “No.”

“Then why don’t we keep it that way?” He reached for a bottle of water and unscrewed the cap.

“Are you saying you want to be sexually exclusive? Both of us?”

He took a drink of water, then handed to her. He liked the idea of Clare only having sex with him, and he didn’t want to have sex with another woman. “Sure.”

“Can you do that?”

He scowled at her. “Yeah. Can you?”

“I just meant that you live in a different state.”

“That’s not a problem. I’ll be visiting my father a lot, and believe me, I’ve gone without sex before. I didn’t like it but I survived.”

She took a drink and seemed deep in thought before she handed him back the bottle. “Okay, but Sebastian, if and when you find someone, you have to tell me.”

“Find someone? Find someone to what?”

She simply stared at him.

“Okay.” He leaned forward and kissed her bare shoulder. “If I get tired of you, I’ll tell you.”

She slid her hand up his chest and scattered goose bumps across his skin. “I noticed you didn’t mention what happens if I get tired of you first.”

He laughed and pushed her down on the bed. That wasn’t likely to happen.

After they finished lunch, they showered and left the apartment for what Sebastian had thought would be a quick trip to Pacific Place Mall. He wasn’t big on shopping and he didn’t own a lot of clothing. He had a few Hugo Boss suits and some dress shirts, but he much preferred cargo pants, where he could stash gear, and comfy cotton T-shirts from Eddie Bauer. In fact, shopping was one of his least favorite things to do, but for some reason he allowed himself to be dragged around downtown Seattle while Clare tried on racks of clothing, inspected numerous handbags, and got a crazed look in her eyes when she discovered silver shoes in Nordstrom.

After the fifth store and numerous bags, Sebastian relaxed and just took it all in. He couldn’t say he had fun, but it was interesting. Clare had a definite style and knew what she wanted when she saw it. By the time they walked into Club Monaco, he could predict what would draw her attention.

That morning when he picked her up from the airport, he’d wondered why she’d brought two big suitcases for such a short trip. Now he knew.

Clare was a classic shopaholic.

Later that evening Sebastian took her to the New Year’s Eve party of his former college friend, Jane Alcot-Martineau. He’d known Jane long before she’d gotten herself hyphenated. They’d attended the same journalism classes at the University of Washington, and while Sebastian had taken off after graduation to freelance across the country and eventually the globe, Jane had stuck around Seattle. She’d eventually landed a job at the Seattle Times, where she’d met and married hockey goalie Luc Martineau. They’d been married for a few years and lived in an apartment not far from Sebastian’s. They had a one-year-old son, James, and Luc’s sister Marie lived with them while she attended school.

“Are you sure Clare’s just a friend?” Jane asked as she handed him a Pyramid ale.

Sebastian stared down at the five-foot-one woman beside him, then turned his gaze to Clare, who was talking to a tall thin blond woman, her red-haired boyfriend, and a beefy Russian defenseman. “Yeah, I’m sure.” Clare wore a shiny silver tube of a dress that looked like she’d been wrapped up in tinfoil, then had someone take their hands and press it against her body. The dress wasn’t exactly scandalous, but several times during the evening, Sebastian noticed a few muscle-necked hockey players unwrapping her with their eyes. When they found out she was a romance writer, their interest intensified. He knew what the bastards were thinking.

“’Cause you look like you’re ready to cross-check Vlad,” Jane said.

Sebastian carefully unfolded his arms from across the chest of his blue dress shirt and took a drink of his beer. “Do you think I can take him?”

“Heck no. He’d kick your sissy reporter butt.” Jane had always been almost as smart as she was a smartass. “He’s ‘Vlad the Impaler’ for a reason. Once you get to know him, he’s a nice enough guy.” She shook her head and her short black hair brushed her cheek. “If you didn’t want these guys to hit on her, you shouldn’t have introduced her as your ‘friend.’”

Jane was probably right, but introducing her as his girlfriend seemed too soon. And Clare probably wouldn’t have appreciated it if he’d said, “This girl is mine so back the hell off!” Clare might not be his girlfriend, but she was his date, and he didn’t like watching other men move in on her. “You do know that I was kidding, don’t you?”

“About taking on Vlad? Yeah. About Clare being ‘just a friend,’ I think you’re kidding yourself.”

He opened his mouth to argue but Jane walked away to join her husband. Later that night as he watched Clare sleep, he wondered what it was about her that drew him in and refused to let go. It wasn’t just the sex. It was something else. All that shopping she’d subjected him to should have cooled his interest. But it hadn’t. Perhaps it was that she had no expectations. She didn’t seem to want anything from him, and the more she kept her distance, the more he wanted to pull her closer.

At six the next morning Sebastian woke, restless, and yanked on a T-shirt and a pair of cargo pants. While Clare slept, he started a pot of coffee, and as it brewed he called his dad. It was seven o’clock in Boise, but he knew Leo was an early riser. His relationship with his father was improving slowly with each visit. They weren’t exactly close, but both of them were making a real effort to repair the damage of the past.

He hadn’t spoken with his father since Christmas, but he was fairly certain Leo didn’t know about his guest asleep in his bed. He hadn’t mentioned it, and he didn’t know how the old man would feel about what he had going on with Clare. Okay, that was a lie. Leo wouldn’t be thrilled, but of course, he’d known that going in. He knew it the first time he kissed her, and he knew it the last time he made love to her the night before. He’d come to the conclusion that he and Clare were consenting adults and what they consented to do was between them and no one else.

After he got off the phone with Leo, he moved into his office. The last few months he’d been toying with the idea of writing fiction. A series of thriller/mystery novels with a recurring central character much in the vein of Cussler’s Dirk Pitt or Clancy’s Jack Ryan. Only his main protagonist would be an investigative journalist.

Sebastian sat down at his desk and booted up his computer. He had a sketchy plot outline and a vague notion of character, but after two hours of solid writing, it became more concrete in his mind.

A noise from the kitchen drew his attention from the drama taking place in his head, and he glanced up from his computer screen as Clare walked into the room wearing a plain blue nightgown that matched her eyes. It was short and had little straps and was sexy as all hell simply by virtue of not trying too hard. A lot like Clare herself.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, and stopped in the doorway. I didn’t know you had to work.”

“I don’t.” He stood and stretched. “I’m not really working. Mostly just playing around.”

“Solitaire?” She moved farther into the room and took a drink of coffee from the mug in her hand.

“No. I have an idea for a book.” It was the first time he’d been this excited about writing anything in a while. Probably since before his mother had died.

“On a story you’ve covered recently?”

“No. Fiction.” It was also the first time he’d mentioned what he was doing. He hadn’t even told his agent yet. “I was thinking more along the lines of an investigative journalist who uncovers government secrets.”

Her brows rose up her forehead. “Like Ken Follett or Frederick Forsyth, maybe?”

“Maybe.” He came out from behind his desk and smiled. “Or maybe I’ll become a male romance novelist.”

Behind her mug her eyes got wide and she started to laugh.

“What are you laughing at? I’m a romantic guy.”

She set the mug on his desk, and somehow her laugher turned into a choking jag that lasted until he threw her over his shoulder and carried her back to bed like Valmont Drake from her latest book, Surrender to Love.

On the third day of March, Clare turned thirty-four with real ambivalence about becoming another year older. On one hand, she liked the wisdom that came with age and the confidence that came with that wisdom. On the other, she didn’t like the ticking time clock in her body. The one that kept track of every day and every year and reminded her that she was still alone.

A few weeks ago she’d made plans to celebrate the day with her friends. Lucy made dinner reservations for the four of them at The Milky Way in the old Empire building downtown, but they were expected to meet at Clare’s house first for a glass of wine and to give Clare her birthday gifts.

As Clare dressed for the evening in a Michael Kors jersey dress she’d picked up on sale at Nieman Marcus, she thought of Sebastian. As far as she knew, he was in Florida. She hadn’t spoken to him in a week, when he told her he’d decided to write a piece on the most recent wave of Cuban immigrants to hit Little Havana. In the past two months she’d seen him at least every other week when he’d drive or fly into Boise to see his father.

Clare hooked a pair of silver hoops in her ears and sprayed Escada on the insides of her wrists. For now, her nonrelationship with Sebastian was working. They had fun together and there was no pressure to try and impress him. She could talk to him about anything, because she didn’t have to worry about whether he was Mr. Right. He clearly wasn’t. Mr. Right would come along. Until that time, she was happily spending time with Mr. Right Now.

When he came into town, she was glad to see him, but her heart didn’t race or pinch, and her stomach did not get light and queasy. Well, perhaps a little, but that had more to do with the way he looked at her than what she felt for him. She did not lose her ability to breathe or think rationally. He was just easy to be around. The day it no longer worked was the day she would end it—or he would. No hard feelings. That was the deal. They might be exclusive for now, but she knew that it wouldn’t last forever, and she didn’t let herself think too far ahead.

She reached for a tube of red lipstick and leaned toward the dresser mirror. She wasn’t ready for a serious relationship. Not yet. Just last week she’d decided to test the waters and had met Adele at Montego Bay for the restaurant’s eight-minute date night, in which a person spent eight minutes getting to know someone before moving on to the next table. Most of the men she’d met that evening had seemed perfectly fine. There’d been nothing really wrong with them, but two minutes into her first “date,” she’d opened her mouth and said, “I have four children.” When that hadn’t totally turned him off, she’d added, “All under the age of six.” By the end of the evening she’d somehow become a single mother who collected stray cats. When that hadn’t totally turned off one stalwart dater, she’d alluded to “female troubles,” and he’d practically knocked over the table in his haste to get away from her.

The doorbell rang as Clare finished with her lipstick, and she moved through the house to the front door. Adele and Maddie stood on her porch, gifts in hand.

“I told you two not to get me anything,” she said, knowing full well that they totally would.

“What’s this?” Maddie asked as she pointed to an express mail box at her feet.

Clare wasn’t expecting any mail orders or anything from her publisher. When she knelt to pick it up, she recognized the Seattle return address. It had a Florida postmark. “I think it’s probably a birthday present.” Sebastian had remembered her birthday, and she tried to tamp down the pleasure of it before it reached her heart. When she heard footsteps walking up the drive, she half expected to see Sebastian. It was Lucy, of course, and she was carrying a bouquet of pink roses and a small gold box.

“I thought I’d beat you girls here,” she said as Clare let her friends into the house.

Clare took the roses from Lucy and went in search of a vase while her friends hung up their coats. In the kitchen, she cut the bottoms off the stems, and her gaze drifted to the white box on the counter. She was surprised that Sebastian had remembered her birthday. Especially on assignment, and the pleasure she’d tried to suppress brushed across her skin. She told herself it probably wasn’t a thoughtful gift. More than likely the box held the usual self-serving man present. Something crotchless with nipple tassels.

“Lord, I’ve had enough of the cold,” Maddie complained as the other three women moved into the kitchen.

“Could one of you pour the wine?” Clare asked as she arranged the flowers in some deceased relative’s Portmeirion vase. Lucy poured, and when she was finished, the four friends moved into the living room. Clare set the vase on an end table next to the sofa, and when she turned around, Adele was setting the gifts on the coffee table. Including the white box.

As the four women talked about getting older, Clare opened the presents her friends had bought for her. Lucy gave her a monogrammed business card holder, and Adele a bracelet with little purple crystals. Maddie, being Maddie, gifted Clare with a personal safety device in the form of a red stun pen to replace the faulty one she’d given her the year before. “Thanks, guys. I loved all the gifts,” she said as she sat back with her glass.

“Are you going to open that one?” Adele asked.

“Is it from your mother again?” Lucy wanted to know. A few years ago when she’d been avoiding Joyce, her mother had sent her beautiful bed linens for her birthday. Picking up the phone and calling Clare would not have been passive aggressive enough.

“No. My mother and I are speaking this year.”

“Who’s it from?”

“A friend of mine.” The three women stared at her, brows raised as they waited for more information. “Sebastian Vaughan.”

“Sebastian the reporter?” Adele asked. “The guy Maddie thinks has heft?”

“Yes.” Clare’s face was purposely impassive when she added, “And he is just a friend.”

Maddie sucked in a breath. “Just a friend, my ass. I can tell by your face you’re hiding something. You always get that look when you’re hiding something.”

“What look?”

Lucy pointed at her. “That look.” She took a drink of her wine. “So, is he a boyfriend?”

“No. He’s just a friend.” When her friends continued to stare at her, she sighed and confessed, “Okay. We’re friends who have sex.”

“Good for you!” Maddie nodded. “Adele told you that you should use him as a rebound man.”

Adele nodded. “I’ve had a few, and sex without strings is some of the best kind.”

Lucy was quiet for a few moments, then asked, “Are you sure?”

“About what?”

“That you can handle sex without strings? I know you. You’ve the heart of a pure romantic. Can you really handle sex without falling in love?”

“I can handle it.” She set her glass on the coffee table and reached for the white box. To prove it, she’d show them the gift from Sebastian was no big deal. None at all. “And I am handling it.” She opened the white mailer and smiled. Inside was a smaller box wrapped in pink metallic paper and excessive bows and ribbon. “It’s working out great. He lives in Seattle and sees me when he’s here in town to visit his dad. We have a lot of fun and there are no expectations.”

“Be careful,” Lucy warned. “I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

“I won’t get hurt,” she said as she unwrapped the pink paper. “I don’t love Sebastian and he doesn’t love me.” She looked down as she opened the box, and nestled in white and pink polka-dot tissue was a black leather belt. On the heavy silver buckle was the deep inscription, boy toy.

Clare stared down at the gift as she felt a sharp pinch in her chest and a frightening little flutter in her stomach. At the same time, she felt like she was being thrust to the top of a roller coaster. Up, up, up, and she knew there was nowhere to go but straight down. Boy Toy.

“What is it?”

She held it up and her friends chuckled. “Is he marking his territory?” Adele asked.

Clare nodded, but she knew it wasn’t like that at all. It was worse. He’d looked into a young, awkward girl’s heart and given her what she desired most. He’d paid attention. He’d listened to her and gone to a good deal of trouble to get it for her. He’d wrapped it in pink and he’d made sure it arrived on her birthday. Her face was suddenly hot, and her pinching heart pounded frantically, beating against the wall she’d built to keep Sebastian out. The wall she hid behind to keep from falling madly and completely in love with a man so totally wrong for her. Around her, her friends talked and laughed and seemed oblivious to the struggle within her to stay on top of the roller coaster. To struggle and fight and hang on. But it was too late. She was helpless as she started the plunge. Deep emotion rushed toward her, and the overwhelming force of it threatened to rob her of breath. She told herself that she couldn’t let herself love him, but it was too late. It slammed into her, and she fell madly, deeply, completely in love with Sebastian Vaughan. Splat. “Oh no,” she whispered.

Lucy noticed something was wrong and asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I think turning thirty-four has put me in a weird mood.” She laughed and prayed she sounded convincing.

“I understand. When I turned thirty-five, I started getting a really panicky feeling,” Lucy said, and Clare breathed a little easier. “It’s normal.”

Later, during dinner, Clare tried to tell herself that the burning in her chest wasn’t real love, that it was a result of the jalapeno shrimp bites she ordered for an hors d’oeuvre. The tears threatening to sting the backs of her eyes were the result of turning another year older. It was normal. Even Lucy thought so.

But by the time the meal ended with crême brulée, Clare knew it wasn’t the jalapeno nor the day. She was in love with Sebastian, and she didn’t think she’d ever been so scared. Sure, there had been other scary times in her life, but she’d always known what to do. This time she had absolutely no idea. Somehow while she’d been convincing herself that all she felt was friendship, her love for him had snuck up on her quietly. It hadn’t been a whap to the chest or a breath-stealing glance from across the room. No warm fuzzy tingling zaps to the heart when she thought of him. Instead, it had grown from a little seed, finding the cracks and fissures in the wall guarding her heart, entangling her without her even knowing it until she was caught good and tight.

While she and Sebastian talked about a lot of different things, they had never talked about what they felt for each other. But at least she wasn’t in denial. Not anymore. Yes, he wanted to be exclusive, but she knew he didn’t love her. She’d been with men who’d loved her. She might not have felt so strongly about them, but she knew how a man in love acted. And it wasn’t like Sebastian.

Once again she’d fallen for Mr. Wrong. She was such a fool.

That night she went to bed thinking of Sebastian, and when she woke, he was still on her mind. She thought about the smell of his neck and the touch of his hands, but she refused to call him. She had a perfect excuse. She should call and thank him for the birthday present. In fact, etiquette demanded that she at least call him, but she refused to give in to the temptation to hear his voice. Perhaps if she just tried to ignore her feelings, they would go back into hiding. She didn’t kid herself that they would go away. She was a thirty-four-year-old relationship veteran and former love junky. But perhaps, if she were very lucky, his absence would make her heart grow a little less fond.