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the music playing on the radio, so, laughing at themselves, they swayed to an awkward rhythm of their own.
    She wondered how she could feel so secure in his arms—the arms of a man she’d just met, a man whom, as far as she knew, she’d never seen. But she did feel secure, and she felt other things, too. Emotions that had nothing remotely to do with safety.
    Her heart beat much too fast and, as if to compensate for her lack of vision, her other senses became fine-tuned. The pace of Mitch’s breath was slow and even, the length of his body lean and solid. He smelled like Dove soap and warm male skin. And when he lifted her chin to kiss her, his lips tasted faintly of wine and sardines, but she found the secondhand flavor more to her liking.
    The song’s tempo increased and they spun once, then crumpled to the floor, out of breath and laughing. Mitch tugged the cushions off the couch and they stretched out side by side on top of them, talking and teasing.
    Claire pushed aside thoughts of James and the game. She tried not to analyze the reasons why, since the moment she’d met Mitch, she’d avoided telling him she had a fiancé. After the past few days of heartache and humiliation and fruitless competition, it felt good to just relax and be herself. Yes, she wanted to marry James; that hadn’t changed. But she refused to turn away from this moment; she wouldn’t question the right or wrong of it. Not once in the past had she fantasized about a secret lover, a one-night rendezvous.
    But now the prospect tantalized her. One night of carefree pleasure. No strings…no commitments.
    “You’re a great dancer,” Mitch said.
    “And you’re a terrible liar. I’m clumsy and gangly even when both feet are working. Always have been. You, on the other hand, have been concealing your true identity. You’re really John Travolta. That’s some rhythm you’ve got. What else have you been keeping from me?”
    “Let’s see. I’ve been called obsessive and self-centered by a woman or two.”
    “Self-centered, huh?”
    “Yeah. And one of them even followed up that accusation by saying something derogatory about my mother.”
    “Your mother?” Claire mulled that over for a second.
    “She said something to the effect of ‘you obsessive, self-centered son of a bitch’.”
    Claire choked out a laugh. “That was rude.”
    “That’s what I thought, too. She’d never even met Mom.”
    His fingers gently tapped on Claire’s forearm, keeping time with the music. “What else do your old girlfriends say about you?” she asked.
    “I seem to recall the words ‘control freak’. And then there was ‘problem avoider’.” He paused. “No, it was ‘conflict avoider’, I believe.”
    “Are you?”
    “I don’t know.” She felt his shoulders lift, then lower. “Maybe. I don’t like being pushed into a corner, if that’s what it means. I don’t like being caught off guard, either. As far as I’m concerned, the fewer surprises, the better.”
    “You kind of bombed out this trip, didn’t you? First the storm, the blackout, then me? I’d say that’s quite a few surprises in one day.”
    “The weather can’t always be predicted. Neither can power outages. But you can bet I’ll never travel again without a flashlight and fresh batteries in my suitcase. Now, as for you, stumbling across a goddess every now and then is a nice surprise. I don’t mind that kind.”
    Claire trailed a finger across his collarbone. “I’m not usually a surprise, nice or otherwise. I lied to you earlier about being impulsive. I’m normally dull and predictable. This is the first time I’ve ever been spontaneous.”
    “Being on Eden or skinny-dipping?”
    “Both. And this. You and me. Here. Now. I normally avoid setting myself up for future regrets.”
    “Why do you think you’ll regret this?”
    Anxiety forged a jittery path toward the pit of Claire’s stomach. Beneath the banter, the conversation had somehow turned serious. “You