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thoughtful gestures. He did not go to great lengths to make her smile. And most of all, Harry McMahon did not fill her stomach with giddy butterflies.
    But Elise found that she was smiling. And her stomach was completely aflutter.
    Damn him , she thought. Damn him.
    She lifted her gaze to his face and felt all the pent-up longing and aching tenderness she had once had for him rush from her stomach into her chest. Her eyes wandered across his face: his carefully combed dark hair, his golden skin, his warm, brown eyes and his square jaw. There was a sweetness in his expression that made her heart warm, an intensity in his eyes that made her cheeks glow and a sharpness in his smirk that made her thighs tingle. Feelings long forgotten rose to the surface.
    This was dangerous, she told herself. Oh, so dangerous. The color drained from her face as she realized what was happening—she was on the verge of falling in love with him...again.
    Harry glanced at her from over the rim of his coffee cup—just in time to see her go perfectly pale. He dropped the cup into its saucer and was kneeling by her chair in an instant. He placed his hands over her small, trembling fingers.
    “What is it, Elise?” he asked urgently. “What is wrong?”
    Elise shook her head and refused to meet his eyes. He took her chin between his fingers and peered up into her downcast face.
    “Please,” he coaxed. “Tell me what is bothering you.”
    “It’s just s-so wonderful,” Elise stammered out weakly.
    “Wonderful?” His tone was hopeful.
    “Yes,” she replied honestly. “I would never have expected you to do something like this just for me.”
    Harry stood and gently drew his fingers across her porcelain cheek, and she looked up at him with her large, luminescent blue eyes. In the moonlight, she looked so small and fragile—gone was the jaded, irreverent flapper girl with whom he’d wanted to cavort frivolously. No, this was the image of a beautiful, vulnerable young widow—a woman he wanted to shield, to protect, to treat as a most precious treasure.
    And she was so familiar! There was something about her that made him feel at ease, something that made him feel that they’d know each other for years—he just couldn’t put his finger on it.
    Harry wished he could shake the treacherous thoughts from his head. He was supposed to be seducing her...not the other way around!
    “Let’s finish our treats,” he said, his smile tight as he walked back to his seat.
    As he picked up his mug, he mulled over their situation. He needed money. She had money. And to get her money, he would have to make her need him. Harry gently drummed his fingers on the tabletop.
    But who said that he had to hurt her to get what he wanted? Surely he could take her heart and her money...and make her happy at the same time. And why not? They could enjoy each other’s company as long as it pleased them to do so. And when they were done, they could go their separate ways—he would just make sure his debts were paid before he let her go.
    Harry nodded once, his decision made. He looked up to find Elise watching him, an aching hunger in her eyes. She seemed even more beautiful with such an unguarded expression. He smiled and fought the urge to lunge across the table and kiss her senseless.
    “So,” he said instead. “What do you think of my mini-Paris?”
    “It’s the cat’s meow,” she replied with a delicate laugh.
    And so began a long conversation that stretched until almost midnight. Harry and Elise traded both playful taunts and serious opinions—each so caught up in their banter that they completely forgot about their ulterior motives. It was only when it finally became so dark that they could hardly see each other in the lamplight that their conversation reached a lull.
    Harry stood, brushing the pastry crumbs from his trousers. He held out a hand to Elise.
    “Shall we go?”
    “Where?”
    “On a midnight drive across the bridge,” he answered as he