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another love affair. Not with you. Not with anybody.”
    “You sound positive of that.”
    “I am.”
    “Why? Because you loved your husband?”
    “Yes.”
    “All right. I’ll buy that. Temporarily. But tell me, what made your relationship with your late husband so special that it ruined you for other men? What was it like being in love with Charles ‘Demon’ Rumm?”

Three

    “Read my book.”
    “I have,” he replied evenly. “At least the chapters that were made available to the screenwriter.” He lowered his voice. “The book has been promoted as a ‘tell
all.’ I don’t think you’ve told all. I think you’re leaving out some very pertinent information about your relationship with your husband.”
    Kirsten removed her napkin from her lap and slapped it on the glass table. “Are you finished?”
    “With this subject? No.”
    “With dinner.”
    “With dinner, yes,” he said, and stood up.
    She led him out of the dining room and into one of the spacious living areas. Alice had stacked and lit a fire in the fireplace behind a fan-shaped brass screen. This close to the beach, the evenings were cool enough to have a fire. It was a beautiful addition to the contemporary but cozy room. The shiny tile floor reflected the dancing orange flames.
    But Kirsten seemed to regard the fire as a necessity more than an aesthetic contribution. She moved as close to it as she could, as though seeking warmth. Curling into the corner of a plush sofa, drawing her feet up beneath her hips, and hugging one of the bright batik pillows to her breasts, she stared into the flickering firelight.
    With no more respect for decorum than he ever showed, Rylan dropped onto the rug in front of the sofa. Lying on his side, he propped himself up on one elbow and stared at Kirsten until his gaze became as warm as the fire.
    “Stop looking at me like that,” she said crossly.
    “Like what?”
    “Like I’m about to start spouting ugly truths like a fountain with rusty water.”
    “
Are
there any ugly truths?”
    “No.”
    “Then why do you get so touchy when we broach the subject?”
    “When
you
broach the subject.”
    “I want to know what kind of relationship you had with your husband.”
    “It was wonderful. But, just for the record, I don’t like your prying into my private life with Charlie.”
    He raised one knee and casually swung it back and forth. “I find it terribly interesting that you should say that. If you didn’t want people to know about your private life with him, why did you decide to write the book? Isn’t that a contradiction?”
    Even the pillow she clutched to her chest like a shield seemed to expand with her heavy sigh. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t.”
    “Why did you, Kirsten? Money?”
    She looked down at him scornfully. “Of course not.”
    “Glad to hear it. I wouldn’t have approved. Why then?”
    “I wanted to preserve Charlie’s image.”
    Rylan sat up, Indian fashion, facing the sofa. “How do you perceive his image?”
    “Like everyone else. All-American. Strong. Courageous. Moral. He was a good hero for the country’s youth.”
    “You’re referring to the antidrug rallies, the commercials against drinking and driving, and so forth?”
    “Yes.”
    He knew she wasn’t going to like his next question, but he had to ask it anyway. “Did he do one thing and preach another?”
    Her eyes narrowed angrily. “No. He was an honest-to-goodness role model.”
    “Okay, I’m sorry. I just have this keen notion that you’re protecting his sterling reputation.”
    “It doesn’t need protecting.”
    “He had critics, don’t forget. Many thought that he encouraged recklessness. He made stunt flying look so easy that he tempted unqualified, weekend pilots to give it a try.”
    Kirsten shook her head. “Every time he was interviewed, he stressed the danger involved. He was a nut for taking every conceivable safety precaution.”
    “But he glorified speed. That’s right up the alley of