fter several hours of grueling drills, coaches and players jammed the ice for a two-puck scrimmage. By day three of training camp, the Chinooks were ready for a little fun. Two of the team’s goalies crouched inside the creases at opposite ends of the rink, alert, waiting for someone to fire a rubber biscuit at their heads.

Raw gutter talk and the steady slur-slur-slur of skates filled John’s ears as he zigzagged down ice. The sleeves of his practice jersey fluttered as he swerved through human traffic. He kept his head up, and the puck sailing close to the blade of his stick. He could feel a rookie third-line defenseman breathing down his neck, and in order to avoid getting knocked into the cheap seats, he shot a high-wrister past Hugh Miner on the short side.

“Eat that, farm boy,” he said as he put his weight on the edges of his skates and stopped abruptly in front of the goal. A fine spray of ice powered Hugh’s pads.

“Blow me, old man,” Hugh grumbled, and reached behind him for the puck. He tossed it toward the other end of the rink, then crouched again and banged his stick on the red posts and cross bar, gaining his bearing without taking his eyes from the scrum.

John laughed and skated back into the free-for-all. When the practice was over, he felt bruised from battle, but happy to be back in the war. Later in the locker room, he handed his skates to a trainer to be sharpened for the next day and took a shower.

“Hey, Kowalsky,” an assistant coach called from the doorway to the locker rooms. “Mr. Duffy wants to see you when you’re dressed. He’s with Coach Nystrom.”

“Thanks, Kenny.” John tied his shoes, then pulled a green T-shirt with a Chinooks logo over his head and tucked it inside his blue nylon sweatpants. His teammates wandered around the room in various stages of undress, talking hockey, contracts, and the new rules the NHL had instated for the coming season.

It wasn’t unusual for Virgil Duffy to ask John to meet him, especially when the team’s general manager was out of state scouting for new talent. John was the captain of the Chinooks. He was a veteran player, and no one knew hockey better than the men who had played it for thirty years. Virgil respected John’s opinion, and John had come to respect the owner’s business acumen, even if at times they didn’t agree. At the moment they were debating a second-line enforcer. Good enforcers didn’t come cheap, and Virgil didn’t always want to pay millions for a limited player.

As John made his way to the front offices, he wondered how Virgil would react when he learned of Lexie’s existence. He didn’t figure the older gentleman would be real pleased, but he didn’t fear being traded anymore. Although he wouldn’t completely rule out the possibility. Virgil tended to be a hot reactor. The longer it took for Virgil to hear of what had transpired seven years ago, the better. John wasn’t purposely keeping Lexie a secret, but he figured there was no need to rub Virgil’s nose in it either.

He thought of Lexie and frowned. Since that morning in Cannon Beach a month and a half ago, Georgeanne had kept Lexie from him. She’d hired a lipstick-wearing pit bull for a lawyer who’d insisted on a paternity test. They’d stalled the test for weeks, then on the day the court-ordered test was to be performed, she’d done an about-face and had signed a document legally acknowledging paternity. With a stroke of Georgeanne’s pen, John was legally declared Lexie’s father.

A home examiner had been appointed to interview John and inspect his houseboat. The same examiner had talked to Georgeanne and Lexie and had recommended several short introduction visitations between father and child before John would be allowed to keep Lexie for longer periods of time. At the end of the introduction period, John would receive the same custody awarded fathers in a divorce situation, only he didn’t even have to appear before a judge. Once Georgeanne had legally acknowledged John as Lexie’s father, everything began to move rapidly.

John’s frown hardened. But for now, Georgeanne still had him by the short and curlies. He wasn’t getting any pleasure out of the experience, but Georgeanne obviously liked her grip. Well, she’d better enjoy it while it lasted, because in the end, what Georgeanne wanted wasn’t going to matter very much. She didn’t want him to pay child support or his share of Lexie’s day care and medical insurance. Through his lawyer, he’d offered generous support, plus full day care and insurance. He wanted to support his child and was willing to pay for whatever she needed, but Georgeanne had refused everything. According to her attorney, she didn’t want anything from him. In the end it wasn’t going to matter. The lawyers were in the final stages of dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s. Georgeanne would have to take what he offered.

He hadn’t seen or talked to Georgeanne since that morning at the beach house when she’d freaked out over nothing. She’d blown everything way out of proportion, calling him a sneaky liar when he hadn’t really lied to her. Okay, maybe that first night when she’d come to his houseboat he might have lied by omission. So they’d agreed not to hire attorneys, but he’d already hired Kirk Schwartz two hours before she’d showed up on his doorstep. He’d already had a basic idea of his rights even before he’d talked to her that night. Maybe he should have told her, but he’d figured she’d just get pissed off and try to keep Lexie from him. And he’d been right. But even now, he wouldn’t change what he’d done. He’d needed to know. He had to know his legal options in case Georgeanne moved or married or refused to let him see Lexie. He’d wanted to know who was listed as Lexie’s father on her birth certificate. He’d wanted information. His future with Lexie was too important not to know his legal rights.

The image of Lexie standing in the kitchen at his house in Cannon Beach was still vivid in his mind. He remembered the confusion on her face, and the bewildered look in her eye when she’d glanced over her shoulder at him as Georgeanne had dragged her down the sidewalk. He hadn’t wanted her to hear about him that way. He’d wanted to spend more time with her first. He’d wanted her to find as much joy in the news as he had.

He didn’t know what she thought now, but he would shortly. In two days he would see her for his first short visit.

John entered the coaches’ office and shut the door behind him. Virgil Duffy sat on a Naugahyde couch, wearing a linen suit from Fifth Avenue and a tan from the Caribbean.

“Look at that,” Virgil said, pointing to a portable television screen. “That kid’s made of cement.”

Sitting behind his desk, Larry Nystrom didn’t look as enthused as the owner. “But he can’t hit the lake from the dock.”

“He can be taught how to shoot the puck. You can’t teach heart.” Virgil looked at John and pointed toward the screen. “What do you think?”

John sat on the other end of the couch from Virgil and glanced at the television just in time to see a rookie Florida Panther nail Philly Flyer Eric Lindros to the boards. The six-four Lindros took his time getting to his feet before slowly skating to the bench. “I can tell you from personal experience that he hits high, like a linebacker. And he hits hard, but I’m not sure he has seed. How much?”

“Five hundred thousand.”

John shrugged. “He’s probably worth five, but we need a guy like Grimson or Domi.”

Virgil shook his head. “Too much.”

“Who else are you looking at?”

Virgil hit the fast-forward button and together the three men reviewed other prospects. The team trainer brought in a stack of paper and sat across from Nystrom. While the video played, the two men went over each sheet.

“Your body fat is less than twelve percent, Kowalsky,” the coach commented without looking up.

John wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t afford to let weight slow him down anymore, and he’d worked hard to keep it off. “What about Corbet?” he inquired of his teammate. The Chinooks right winger had reported to training camp looking as if he’d spent his summer rooting around an all-you-can-eat barbecue pit.

“Good God!” Nystrom swore. “He’s twenty percent fat!”

“Who is?” Virgil asked, and hit the stop button. The tape ejected and a local station flashed a Pampers commercial on the screen.

“That damn Corbet,” the trainer answered.

“I’m going to have to light a fire under his lard ass,” the coach threatened. “I’ll have to suspend him or send him to Jenny Craig.”

“Get him a trainer,” John suggested.

“Get him on one of Caroline’s diets,” Virgil suggested. “When she goes on one of her diets, she gets real cranky.” Caroline was Virgil’s wife of four years, and only a decade younger than her husband. As far as John could tell, she was a nice woman, and they seemed happy together. “Give him a cup of white rice and two ounces of dry chicken before each game, then sit back and watch him kick ass.”

The Pampers commercial ended and a voice John hadn’t heard in almost two months spoke to him from the television. “You made it back just in time,” Georgeanne said from the twelve-inch screen. “I’m about to add a shot of sin, and y’all don’t want to miss this.”

“What the hell...” John muttered, and sat forward.

Georgeanne picked up a bottle of Grand Marnier and poured about a shot into a bowl. “Now, if you have children, y’all will want to set aside a bit of the mousse before you add the liqueur, or liquid sin as my grandmother used to refer to all alcoholic beverages.” Her tilty green eyes looked into the camera and she smiled. “If you must abstain from alcohol for religious reasons, are under the age of twenty-one, or if you prefer your sin served straight up, you can choose to forgo the Grand Marnier altogether and add a little grated orange peel instead.”

He stared at her, like a dumb mesmerized rodent, remembering the night he’d served her a big dose of straight-up sin. Then the next morning, she’d whacked him with a stupid little doll and had accused him of using her. She was a lunatic. A vindictive crazy woman.

She wore a white blouse with a big embroidered collar and a dark blue apron that tied around her neck. Her hair was pulled back from her face, and little pearls dotted her earlobes. Someone had made an effort to subdue her overblown sexuality, but it didn’t matter. It was all there. It was there in her seductive eyes and full red mouth. Surely he wasn’t the only one who could see it. She looked ridiculous, like a Bay Watch babe playing at a cooking show. He watched her spoon mousse into little porcelain pots and keep up a steady stream of chatter at the same time. When she finished, she raised her hand, parted her lips, and sucked chocolate from her knuckles. He scoffed because he knew, he just knew, she was doing that shit for ratings. She was a mother, for God’s sake. Mothers of a young daughters shouldn’t behave like sex kittens on television.

The television suddenly went black, and John became aware of Virgil for the first time since Georgeanne’s face had flashed on the screen. The owner looked stunned and a little white beneath his tan. But other than shock, his face gave nothing away. Not anger, nor rage. Not love, nor a sense of betrayal, for the woman who’d left him at the altar. Virgil stood, tossed the remote on the couch, and without a word, walked out the door.

John watched him go, then turned his attention to the other men. They were still in a discussion about body fat. They hadn’t seen Georgeanne, but even if they had, John wasn’t sure they would realize who she was. Who she was to him. Who she was to Virgil.

* * *

Georgeanne felt as if she were falling. She’d taped six shows, and the feelings got only slightly better each time. She told herself to relax and have fun. She wasn’t on live television, and if she messed up, she could stop and start over. But still, her nerves churned in her stomach as she looked into the camera and confessed, “I don’t know if y’all know this, but I’m from Dallas— the land of big hats and big hair. I’ve studied cuisine from all over the world, but I earned my spurs cooking Tex-Mex. When most people think of Tex-Mex, they think tacos. Well, I’m going to show you something a little different.”

For over an hour, Georgeanne chopped mangoes, chilies, and tomatoes. When she was finished, she pulled an already-prepared, simple yet elegant dinner with a Texas theme out of the oven. “Next week,” she said, standing beside a vase of black-eyed Susans, “We’re going to take a break from the kitchen, and I’m going to show you how to personalize your picture frames. It’s real easy to do and a lot of fun. See y’all then.”

The light on top of the camera blinked off, and Georgeanne let out a deep breath. Today’s taping hadn’t gone too badly. She’d only dropped the pork loin once and read the words wrong three times. Not like the first show. The first show had taken seven hours to tape. It had already aired a few days ago, and she was so positive that her chocolate mousse had bombed with the viewers that she hadn’t the nerve to watch it herself. Charles had seen the show, of course, and had insisted that she wasn’t boring and didn’t look fat and stupid. She didn’t trust him not to humor her.

Lexie stepped over several cables taped to the floor and walked toward Georgeanne. “I gotta go to the bathroom,” she announced.

Georgeanne reached behind her back and untied her apron. She was wired with a portable microphone.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll take you.”

“I can go by myself.”

“I’ll take her,” a young production assistant offered.

Georgeanne smiled her gratitude.

Lexie frowned and took the assistant’s hand. “I’m not five anymore,” she grumbled.

Georgeanne watched her daughter go and pulled the apron over her head. One of the conditions to her doing the show was that she be allowed to bring Lexie to the tapings. Charles had agreed and had given Lexie the title of “creative consultant.” Lexie helped with ideas, and she came to the studio and helped Georgeanne prepare the finished dishes beforehand.

“You were great today,” Charles greeted her as he emerged from the back of the studio. He waited until her microphone was taken away before he put his arm around her shoulders. “Viewer response from the first show looks real good.”

Georgeanne gave a sigh of relief and looked up at him. She didn’t want him to keep her show because of their personal relationship. “Are you sure you’re not just saying that to be nice to me?”

He placed his mouth at her temple. “I’m sure.” She felt his smile when he said, “If your numbers stink, I promise I’ll fire you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He kissed the side of her head, then pulled back. “Why don’t you and Lexie have dinner with me and Amber?”

Georgeanne grabbed her purse from behind the kitchen counter that served as part of the studio set. “Can’t. John is picking up Lexie tonight for their first visit.”

Charles’s brows drew together over his gray eyes. “Do you want me to be there with you?”

Georgeanne shook her head. “I’ll be okay,” she said, but she didn’t think she would. She was afraid that after Lexie left, she’d fall apart, and she wanted to be alone if she did. Charles had been a very good friend, but he couldn’t help her now, not this time.

Three days after her return from Cannon Beach, she’d told Charles about the trip. She’d told him everything except the part about the sex. He hadn’t been happy to hear she’d spent time with John, but he hadn’t asked a lot of questions either. Instead, he’d given her the name of his ex-wife’s attorney and reoffered the half-hour television show. She’d needed the money and had accepted with the conditions that the shows be taped instead of live and that Lexie be welcome to accompany her.

A week later, she’d signed a contract.

“What does Lexie think about spending time with her father?”

Georgeanne hooked her leather bag over her shoulder. “I don’t really know. I know she’s a little confused about her last name now that it’s Kowalsky. She has a hard time spelling it, but other than that, she doesn’t say much.”

“She doesn’t talk about him?”

For several weeks after Lexie had learned that John was her father, she’d been cold and distant toward Georgeanne. Georgeanne had tried to explain why she’d lied, and Lexie had listened quietly. Then she’d directed all of her anger at her mother, hurting them both before letting it go. Their lives would never be the same. But for the most part, she was the same little girl now that she’d been before she’d learned of John. Although there were also times when she was unusually quiet. Georgeanne didn’t have to ask her what she was thinking, she just knew. “I’ve told her John was coming to pick her up for a visit tonight. She didn’t say much about it, just asked when he’d bring her back home.”

Lexie returned from the bathroom and the three of them walked from the studio toward the front entrance of the building. “Guess what, Charles.”

“What?”

“I’m in the first grade. My teacher’s name is Mrs. Berger. Like hamburger without the ham. I like her ‘cause she’s nice and ’cause she gots a gerbil in our classroom. He’s brown and white and has little tiny ears. Everyone named him Stimpy. I wanted to name him Pongo, but I didn’t get to.” She kept up a steady stream of chatter all the way through the building and out into the parking lot. But in the car on the drive home, she was very quiet. Georgeanne tried to talk to her, but she was clearly distracted.

From a block away, Georgeanne noticed John’s Range Rover parked in front of her house. She saw him sitting on her front porch, his feet apart and his forearms resting on his thighs. She pulled her car into the driveway and glanced over at the passenger seat. Lexie stared straight ahead at the garage door and sucked her top lip between her teeth. Her little hands tightly gripped the clipboard Charles had given her so she could write down her ideas for future shows. On the paper she’d drawn several misshaped cats and dogs and had written the words “pet sho.”

“Are you nervous?” she asked her daughter, feeling her own butterflies take flight.

Lexie shrugged.

“If you don’t want to go, I don’t think he’ll make you,” Georgeanne said, hoping she spoke the truth.

Lexie was silent for a while before she asked, “Do you think he likes me?”

Georgeanne’s throat constricted. Lexie, who was always so sure of herself, always so sure that everyone just automatically loved her, wasn’t so sure of her daddy. “Of course he likes you. He liked you the very first time he saw you.”

“Oh,” was all she said.

Together they got out of the car and moved up the sidewalk. From behind her big black sunglasses, Georgeanne watched him stand. He looked casual and at ease in a pair of beige twill pants, white T-shirt, and plaid dress shirt left unbuttoned and untucked. His dark hair had been cut shorter than the last time she’d seen him; the front fell in spikes over his forehead. His gaze was riveted on his daughter.

“Hey there, Lexie.”

She looked down at her clipboard, suddenly engrossed. “Hi.”

“What have you been up to since the last time I saw you?”

“Nothin‘.”

“How’s first grade?”

She wouldn’t look at him. “Okay.”

“Do you like your teacher?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s her name?”

“Mrs. Berger.”

The tension was almost tangible. Lexie was friendlier to the mailman than she was to her own father, and they both knew it. John lifted his gaze to Georgeanne, his blue eyes accusing. Georgeanne bristled. She might not like him, but she hadn’t said one word against him—well, not within Lexie’s hearing anyway. Just because she wasn’t willing to lie down and let him walk all over her anymore didn’t mean she would try to influence Lexie in any way. She was surprised by Lexie’s uncharacteristic bout of shyness, but she knew the reason. The cause for her reserve stood in front of her like a big, muscular giant, and she didn’t know how to behave around him now.

“Why don’t you tell John about your gerbil,” she suggested, introducing the subject of Lexie’s most recent fixation.

“We gots a gerbil.”

“Where?”

“School.”

John couldn’t believe this was the same little girl he’d first met in June. He looked down at her and wondered where the chatterbox had gone.

“Would you like to come inside?” Georgeanne asked.

He would have preferred to shake her and demand to know what she’d done to his daughter. “No. We need to get going.”

“Where?”

He looked into those big sunglasses of hers and thought about telling her it was none of her damn business. “I want to show Lexie where I live.” He reached for the clipboard and slid it from Lexie’s grasp. “I’ll have her back at nine,” he said, and handed the clipboard to Georgeanne.

“‘Bye, Mommy. I love you.”

Georgeanne looked down and pasted on one of those fake smiles of hers. “Give me some sugar, precious darlin‘.”

Lexie stood on her tiptoes and kissed her mother good-bye. As John watched, he knew that he wanted what Georgeanne had. He wanted his child’s love and affection. He wanted her to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him and tell him she loved him. He wanted to hear her call him daddy.

He was sure that once he got Lexie to his house and she relaxed, once she was away from Georgeanne’s influence, she would turn back into the little girl he’d come to know.

But it didn’t happen. The little girl he picked up at seven was the same girl he took back home at nine. Talking to her was like skating across soft ice—slow and as aggravating as hell. She hadn’t had much to say about his houseboat, and she hadn’t immediately wanted to know where all the bathrooms were located, which surprised him because in Cannon Beach, bathroom locations had seemed like serious business to her.

He’d showed her the spare bedroom he’d cleared for her, and he’d told her that he’d take her shopping and she could furnish it any way she liked. He’d thought she’d like the idea, but she’d just nodded and asked to go out on the deck below. She’d showed a spark of interest in his boat, so they’d jumped in the Sundancer and slowly cruised the lake. He’d watched her check out the cabin and open the compact refrigerator in the galley console. He’d put her on his lap so she could steer. Her eyes had widened and the corners of her mouth had finally tilted up into a smile, but she hadn’t said much.

By the time he pulled in front of her house two hours after leaving it, his mood matched the storm clouds quickly gathering overhead. He didn’t know the little girl he’d just spent the evening with, but she wasn’t Lexie. His Lexie laughed and giggled and talked water upstream.

The Range Rover had barely rolled to a stop before Georgeanne was out of her house and walking toward them. She wore a loose-fitting lace dress that swayed about her ankles when she moved, and her hair was piled up on top of her head.

A little girl standing in a yard across the street called Lexie’s name and frantically waved a Barbie with long blond hair.

“Who’s that?” John asked as he helped Lexie unbuckle her seat belt.

“Amy,” she answered, opened the door, and jumped out of the four-wheel-drive vehicle. “Mom, can I go play with Amy? She gots a new Mermaid Barbie, and I can show it to you ‘cause that’s the one I want, too.”

Georgeanne looked up at John as he walked around the front of the Range Rover. Their eyes met briefly before she dropped her gaze to her daughter. “It’s going to rain.”

“Please,” she begged, bouncing up and down as if she had springs in her heels. “Just for a few minutes?”

“For fifteen minutes.” Georgeanne reached for Lexie’s shoulder before she had a chance to run off. “What do you say to John?”

Lexie stilled and stared at his middle. “Thank you, John,” she said at practically a whisper. “I had a nice time.”

No kisses. No I love you, Daddies. He hadn’t expected love and affection so soon, but as he looked down at the part in Lexie’s hair, he knew he would have to wait longer than he’d anticipated. “Maybe next time we’ll go to the Key Arena, and I’ll show you where I work.” When his offer didn’t get an enthusiastic response, he added, “Or we can go to the mall.” John hated the mall, but he wasn’t a patient man.

The corners of Lexie’s mouth tilted upward. “Okay,” she said, then walked to the curb. She looked both ways, then dashed across the street. “Hey, Amy,” she hollered, “guess what I did. I went on a big boat, and we drove by Gas Works Park, and I saw a fish jump out of the water and John ran over it. John has a bed and a fridge in his boat, and I got to drive for a real long, long time too.”

John watched the two little girls walk toward the front door to Amy’s house, then he turned toward Georgeanne. “What have you done to her?”

She looked up at him and her brows drew together over her green eyes. “I haven’t done anything to her.”

“Bullshit. That is not the same Lexie I met in June. What have you said to her?”

She stared at him for several lengthy moments before she suggested, “Let’s go inside.”

He didn’t want to go inside. He didn’t want to have tea and discuss things rationally. He didn’t feel like cooperating with her. He was furious and he wanted to yell. “This is fine.”

“John, I won’t have this conversation with you on my front lawn.”

He returned her stare, then motioned for her to lead the way. Following her around the side of her house, he purposely kept his gaze pinned to the back of her head. He didn’t want to notice the way she moved. In the past, he’d always appreciated the way her hips made the hems of her dresses sway. Now he wasn’t in the mood to appreciate anything about her.

He followed her into a backyard bursting with pastel color, a feminine kaleidoscope so typical of Georgeanne. Flowers bobbed in the prestorm breeze while a sprinkler watered the grass near a blue and white striped swing set. The little plastic shopping cart he recognized from the first time he’d met Lexie sat next to a wheelbarrow; both were stuffed with dead flowers and weeds. As he glanced around the yard, he was struck by the contrast in their houses. Georgeanne’s home had a yard and a swing set, a flower garden, and a lawn that needed to be mowed. She lived on a street where a kid could ride a bike and where there was a smooth sidewalk for Lexie to skate. The moorage alone for John’s houseboat cost almost as much as Georgeanne’s entire mortgage. He had a great view and a great house, but it wasn’t really a home. Not like this. It didn’t have a garden or a yard or a smooth sidewalk.

A family lives here, he thought as he watched Georgeanne reach for a water spigot behind tall lavender flowers. His family. No. Not his family. His daughter.

“First of all,” Georgeanne began as she straightened, “don’t ever accuse me of doing or saying anything to hurt Lexie. I don’t like you, but I’ve never said one bad word against you in front of my daughter.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Georgeanne shrugged and strove for a calm she didn’t feel. Her stomach felt as if she’d eaten something rotten while John stood in front of her looking good enough to gobble up with a spoon. She’d thought she could manage being so near to him, but now she wasn’t sure. “I don’t care what you believe.”

“Why doesn’t she talk to me like she did before?”

She could tell him her opinion, but why? Why help him take her daughter from her? “Give her time.”

John shook his head. “The first time I met her she talked a blue streak. Now that she knows I’m her father, she hardly says a word. It doesn’t make any sense.”

It made perfect sense to Georgeanne. The one and only time she’d met her mother, she’d been terrified of rejection and hadn’t known what to say to Billy Jean. Georgeanne had been twenty at the time, and she could only imagine how a child felt. Lexie didn’t know what to say to John now, and she was afraid to be herself.

John rested his weight on one foot and cocked his head to the side. “You must have filled her with lies about me. I knew you were ticked off, but I didn’t think you’d go this far.”

Georgeanne wrapped her arms across her stomach and held the pain inside. His low opinion hurt even though it shouldn’t. “Don’t talk to me about lies. None of this would be happening now if you hadn’t lied about hiring a lawyer. You are a liar and a lecherous jock. But that isn’t enough to make me say bad thing about you to Lexie.”

John rocked back on his heels and looked down at her through narrowed eyes. “Ahh... now we get to it. You’re pissed about getting naked on my couch.”

Georgeanne hoped her cheeks weren’t turning red, but she could feel her face flush like some high school girl. “Are you insinuating that because of what happened between the two of us, I would try to poison my daughter against you?”

“Hell, I’m not insinuating anything. I’m saying it straight out. You’re mad because I didn’t send flowers or some other bullshit. I don’t know, maybe you woke up the next morning and wanted a quickie in the shower, but I wasn’t around to give you what you needed.”

Georgeanne could no longer hold the pain inside, and lashed out. “Or maybe I was disgusted that I’d let you touch me at all.”

He gave her a knowing smile. “You weren’t disgusted. You were hot. You couldn’t get enough.”

“Get over yourself,” Georgeanne scoffed. “You weren’t that memorable.”

“Bullshit. How many times did we go at it?” he asked, then held up one finger and counted. “On the couch.” He paused to hold up another finger. “On the futon in the loft with the stars shining on your bare breasts.” Three fingers. “In the Jacuzzi with all that hot water pounding our butts and sloshing on the floor. I had to pull up the carpet the next day so the floor wouldn’t rot.” He smiled and held up a fourth finger. “Against the wall, on the floor, and in my bed, which I’m counting as one since I only got off once, that time. You may have come more than once, though.”

“I did not!”

“Sorry. I guess I have it confused with the first time on the couch.”

“You’ve been spending too much time in the locker room,” she said between clenched teeth. “A real man doesn’t have to talk about his sex life.”

He took a step closer. “Baby doll, by they way you acted in my bed, I’d say I’m the only real man you know.”

Everything she said just seemed to bounce off his hard chest while at the same time, his words bruised her heart. She wasn’t going to win with him, so she did her best to look bored. “If you say so, John.”

He moved until only a few inches separated them and a cocky smile curved his lips. “If you ask real nice, I just might let you polish my stick.” He lowered his face closer to hers and asked in a silky voice, “Wanna ride the Zamboni?”

Georgeanne stood her ground and stared up at him. This time she wasn’t going to lose her temper and call him foul names, as she had in Oregon. She raised her chin a notch and said in a voice laced with southern censure, “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

His gaze narrowed. “Maybe if you were a little nicer when you had your clothes on, you’d be married by now.”

Just as always, John took up all the space. He took all her air, but she managed to fill her lungs with a breath suffused with the smell of his skin and aftershave. “You’re giving me advice? You married a stripper.”

His head snapped up and he took a step backward. She could tell by the look on his face that her words had finally scored a hit. “True,” he said. “I’ve always behaved like a real dumb ass over a great pair of tits.” He flipped over his wrist and looked at his watch. “I haven’t had this much fun since I busted my ankle in Detroit, but I’ve got to go. I’ll be back Saturday to pick up Lexie. Have her ready at three.” He barely spared her another glance as he turned to leave.

Georgeanne placed a hand at her throat and watched him walk out the back gate. She’d won. She’d finally won with John. She didn’t know how she’d done it, but she’d definitely put a dent in his enormous ego.

Her chest felt tight and she moved to the back porch and sat on the bottom step.

If she’d won, than why didn’t she feel better?