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admired the day Ed showed her the house, before she'd
met Nate. It was a nineteenth-century spool bed, covered with a quilt in the
log cabin pattern, done in bits of blue and yellow. Somehow the effect was too
domesticated to fit her image of Nate.
    Just for a second she tried to imagine him in that bed, and
succeeded with disquieting clarity. The quilt was rumpled now, and in her
imagination Nate's sleek, tanned chest and shoulders were bare above it as he
stretched, giving her a sleepy, appreciative smile brimming with devilish
intent.
    Damn. She turned sharply away and marched down the hall
toward the sound of voices, which came from a room at the end.
    When she glanced in, it was to receive a shock. Phil and
Colin weren't talking to each other, they were talking to Nate, who was leaning
against a tall drafter's table by the windows and listening with an
impenetrable expression. His gaze left them the moment she appeared, his eyes
narrowing as he took in her appearance. Just for an instant she regretted the
slacks and bulky raincoat. Then she reminded herself tartly that looking sexy
wasn't supposed to be her principal aim in life. And if Nate Taggart was
starting to make her think it was, she'd better watch herself.
    "Mr. Taggart," she said neutrally.
    Amusement glinted in his eyes and he inclined his head
slightly. "Ms. McLeod."
    "I take it you've met Mr. Santos and Mr. Browder?"
    "Yes." His voice hardened. "They tell me I'm standing
in one of their future condominiums' kitchens."
    Abigail's lips parted, but no words emerged. What could she
say? I'm sorry? All she was doing was her job. As a broker she had agreed to
show the house, to sell it. Nate Taggart had no business trying to make her
feel guilty.
    Phil Browder chuckled uneasily, sensing the atmosphere even
though Nate's emotions weren't overt. "You're getting ahead of us, Mr.
Taggart. Who knows, the whole project may not prove to be cost effective."
    Nate didn't say anything. His back was to the bright
goose-neck lamp that shone down on his slanted table. Perhaps because of the
rain-washed, gray windows behind him, his eyes looked almost black today. The
hollows under his cheekbones were shadowed and the grooves beside his mouth
were cut deeper than usual. He looked tired, Abigail thought suddenly. She
wished he didn't. She wished he'd give her one of those lazy, mocking smiles
that sent shivers down her spine. She'd settle for him just saying something.
    But he didn't. He only nodded without interest as Abigail's
two businessmen murmured pleasantries and made their escape.
    She stood aside for them, but hesitated in the doorway once
they'd passed. "Nate, is something wrong?"
    "Wrong?" He looked at her as though surprised that
she was still there, and not very interested. "I'm working, that's
all."
    "But...." The protest died on Abigail's tongue.
She lifted her chin in a deliberate gesture of pride and said distantly,
"I'm sorry we disturbed you, Nate. Excuse me now." With that she
turned and walked away.
    Nate's fingers curled into tight fists as he stared at the
empty doorway, listening to the sound of her footsteps fading down the hall.
Then he swore sharply under his breath, meaning every word. So much for his
little delusions. It had taken Abigail only four days to come up with another
potential buyer. He guessed this was his second chance, one that he was
flunking, although Abigail didn't know it yet. And they hadn't even had that
date. He hadn't been able to kiss her. He never would be able to kiss her, if
she even began to suspect....
    "Hell!" he muttered again. He'd never expected to
feel guilty; the house meant so much to him. By rights of affection, it should
have been his. If only old Josiah Irving hadn't clung to antiquated notions
about the importance of family, despite his personal feelings about Ed
Phillips, his great-nephew. But Nate didn't hold that against Josiah; he didn't
mind having to buy the house. What he did mind was Ed breaking their