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when she heard
his boots on the back steps, and a moment later: the screen door
slammed behind him. Suddenly the air seemed to arc with tension.
Watching the water fill the can, she was afraid to look around. She
still had to face him. And not only now, but for days and weeks to
come. Her heart began pounding.
    She heard a whooshing sound but didn't turn
around as his hat sailed onto the table beside hers. Her eyes
remained on the lemonade. In two seconds he was beside her,
casually leaning one hip against the counter, his arms folded
across his chest, his legs crossed as he watched her stir the
beverage.
    She could see him from the corner of her eye,
but refused to meet his gaze. Glad her dark coloring would hide the
heat rising in her body, she gave every aspect of concentration to
making the lemonade.
    "You going to stir that all day?" he asked,
amusement lacing his tone.
    "If I want to, I will. I'm the boss—"
    He broke into her speech by lifting her chin
with his warm fingers, tilting her face to meet his.
    "It was only a kiss, Kalli. Lighten up.
You've been kissed before."
    "But not like that," she murmured. Then
closed her eyes in anguish. She hadn't wanted to admit it.
    When his thumb brushed across her mouth, her
eyes flew open.
    "You can't stay here, Kalli. It's too much
for you. You don't know enough and aren't going to have enough time
to learn it before you run the place into the ground. Give it up
and go home." His gaze was on her mouth, on the movement of his
thumb across her lips.
    "This is my home," she said breathlessly.
"I'll learn all I need to know to run the place. And in the
meantime I can hire people who do know."
    "While you stay—" he ignored her vow to
remain "—I'll help you out. And if you want more than a few chaste
kisses, I'm willing. I want you, Kalli."
    She so didn't know how to deal with such
blatant desire. The men she'd dated in Boston had been smooth,
sophisticated, restrained. They would never have been so blunt,
especially on such short acquaintance.
    But none of them had ever stirred her senses
as Trace did.
    She took a deep breath and clasped his wrist
with her hand, longing to push him away, yet clamoring for more of
his touch. Idly she noted his pulse was strong and steady, not
racing like hers. His eyes met hers and he gazed at her for a long
moment. She felt as if he could see into her soul.
    "Please, Trace. I can't. I don't know you.
You don't know me. It's too soon." She knew she wasn't doing a good
job of it, but she could scarcely think with the blood thrumming
through her veins, the heat of his hand scorching her.
    He let his gaze slip across her, stalling for
time while he tried to think. Her breasts were high and firm, a
little on the small side. Yet his palms itched to cup them, feel
their weight, make her nipples harden against his hot skin. Her
waist was narrow, her hips gently flared, filling the jeans she
wore like a man's dream. Being with her fostered a hunger in him he
hadn't felt in a long, long time. He didn't like it any more than
she did.
    Hell.
    "So you call the shots, Boss Lady. Are you
going to serve up that lemonade?" He moved away, sat at the table,
his legs sprawled out before him, his thumbs tucked into his empty
belt loops as he watched her.
    "Yes." She turned, glad of the activity. She
would call the shots. She was the boss and she had better remember
that. She was used to advising patients what to do. Maybe she could
pretend Trace was a patient. Would he mind? Somehow she thought of
him more as the recalcitrant kind, challenging her every
recommendation, then doing whatever he damned well pleased.
    She set the two glasses on the table and
pulled out a chair, as far from him as she could get.
    "I'm hungry," he said after he pulled a long
drink from the glass.
    She frowned. "I'm not your cook."
    He shrugged and stood, reaching for his
hat.
    "I'll be back tomorrow then. See you."
    "Wait! Trace, where are you going?"
    "I'm hungry. If you're not going to