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announce that she’d been snooping.
    Could this morning get any worse?
    There was no way around stepping out of that bathroom reeking of his aftershave, so Abby resigned herself to facing the music, again thinking that the sooner she did that, the sooner she could get home, out of the man’s sight and—with a little luck and a lot of hiding for the rest of her life—maybe she’d never have to face him again.
    She took a deep breath and sighed it out—as much in self-disgust as to bolster her courage—squared her shoulders and walked out of the bathroom.
    â€œI...uh...accidentally knocked over a bottle of aftershave on the counter. The lid wasn’t on tight, and some of it spilled. I’m sorry. I’d be happy to replace it,” she said in a hurry.
    He was rummaging in a drawer and only when he had a pair of socks in hand did he face her. He leaned near, sniffing as he did. “Smells better on you than on me.”
    She couldn’t imagine that was true but appreciated that he didn’t make any bigger deal out of it than that.
    Then he straightened up again and studied her face. “Better. Much better.”
    She self-consciously touched her fingertips to her cheek. “I know I was kind of smeared up.”
    â€œThis is even better than before that.”
    Had she looked so bad last night? “Not so clownish—is that what you mean?” she asked, embarrassed once more.
    â€œYou didn’t look like a clown. Just a fresh-faced woman trying to cover it up when she shouldn’t have.”
    â€œFresh faced,” she repeated. It sounded better than shy, quiet, predictable and provincial. But somehow, in her mind, it went along with those other things and still added up to boring. She was just... plain.
    And she guessed it was time to give up trying to be anything else and accept it.
    â€œI’d like to go home now.”
    As if he could tell that she hadn’t taken his comment as a compliment, he stepped close in front of her, grasped her chin in a strong hand and tilted her face upward until she was looking right into his aquamarine eyes.
    â€œThe makeup just hid how really beautiful you are,” he said quietly, as if confiding a secret.
    And then he did something that totally and completely surprised her.
    He kissed her.
    Square on the mouth. A soft, delicate meeting of warm, slightly moist, decidedly expert lips against hers, in a kiss so tender she might never have guessed a man like Cal Ketchum would give it. Except for the added bit of devilry in the tip of his tongue touching ever so lightly to her upper lip just before he ended it.
    The kiss was over before she knew it, but still it had wielded power enough to leave her knees weak and her head spinning more than it had been under the effects of alcohol.
    And all she could think of was that she wanted more...
    Of the kisses, not the alcohol.
    â€œSure I can’t persuade you to stay awhile?”
    Awhile? How about forever? As a willing slave to kisses as potent as that one...
    â€œNo,” she said in a semipanic at her own thoughts, her own weakness—a weakness she’d never known she possessed. “I have to go home. Now.”
    â€œWho says?”
    â€œMe,” she insisted.
    He let out an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. “If your heart is set on it. I guess we’d better go, then.”
    He began to button his shirt from the top, and a wave of disappointment washed through her. She just wasn’t certain over what. Maybe over losing the sexy sight of his bare chest and stomach? Maybe over his agreeing to let her go rather than keeping her captive to kisses like the one before and the silent promise it held of more passionate ones?
    She honestly didn’t know.
    She only knew that she couldn’t take her eyes off his hands working their way down that shirtfront and then tucking the tails into his jeans in a way that unwittingly tantalized her