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rent-controlled,” I called back.
    “Even more amazing. An incredible apartment you must pay next to nothing for, and which by law can’t be taken away from you. You hear about these places, but there are so few left anymore.”
    “Which is why I’ll never give it up.”
    I heard him hesitate before asking, “There is nothing that would make you give it up?”
    I should have understood then that I had tempted fate.
    “Absolutely nothing. This apartment gives me … freedom. It gives me a place where I belong, a home that I’ll always be able to afford.”
    “Of course. You’re right.” He resumed his perusal of the living room, laughed when he opened an antique music box and it played.
    “I’ll be there in a minute,” I said. “I’ve just about finished the dough.”
    “You’re making homemade bread?”
    “Rolls. Two batches. One for dinner, then another with cinnamon, pecans, loads of butter, and iced when they’re done.”
    He popped his head around the door frame, his smile as wicked as it was charming. “I take it you’re planning on me staying until breakfast?”
    My pulse leaped but I gave him a stern look. “No, I have no intention of seducing you. Just feeding you. Dinner. Only dinner. I rarely take the time to make fresh bread, so while I was at it I figured I’d make my famous cinnamon rolls too.”
    “Ah, well, a man can dream.” He extended the flowers.
    “Peonies.” I wiped my hands on a towel. “My favorites.”
    I took the flowers from him and found a vase.
    He came up behind me, close, but still not touching me. “Will they get me a breakfast roll?”
    A deep rush of longing ran along my senses, and after a second I turned to face him. When he lifted me up onto the tiny, cluttered countertop I didn’t stop him. When he leaned in, our lips nearly touching, and whispered, “Fall in love with me. I dare you,” I took his hand and pressed his palm to the side of my face, then kissed him.
    I forgot about breakfast rolls and dinner when he pulled me closer. He smelled of a subtle mix of wind and leather, intensely masculine and compelling after growing up in a world of women, men coming and going only in the capacity of temporary diversions. It wasn’t until Sandy slid his hands down my back, cupping my hips, that I broke away.
    “I am not wasting that dough,” I said, my breathing ragged.
    I kissed him one more time, then pushed him out of the kitchen, handing him a glass and a bottle of wine.
    Over dinner that night I told him about my only living relative.
    “At forty-nine, when I was nine, my mother surprised us all when she got pregnant again and actually married.” I smiled, though I knew there was a wry twist to it. “My little sister Jordan is everything I’m not. I write out lists and map out plans. She breaks the rules, gets into trouble, shuns good sense … and never failed to make our mother smile.”
    I felt the surprise I always did when I thought about my sister.
    “You must have hated her.”
    My head jerked back. “Hate her? God no. She can frustrate me, make me insane with worry. But I have loved her from the minute my mother brought her home, loved every tiny finger and perfect little toe.”
    He considered me for a second. “Where’s she now?”
    “Who knows? She travels the world doing good works. She’s convinced she can and will save the world.”
    “I’d like to meet her.”
    I had always kept Jordan away from the rest of my world, not because I was embarrassed of her, but because I knew she hated all things that involved deadlines and moneymaking, not to mention the sorts of people I tended to like. Having her point out all the reasons my friends and pursuits were suspect and inferior got old. Not to mention that when she said things like, “Freaking A, Em, that guy has fat palms and tiny fingers. Imagine what his dick looks like … if you can find it since you know fingers like that mean his dick is really a dickette.” Followed by a