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he was to turn around and smile at her… She sighed. She wasn't sure exactly what she would do, but she was pretty sure it would be embarrassing.
    Sometime when she was alone, she would figure out why she was reacting to Kyle this way. He wasn't her type. She didn't have a type. She'd only dated a little in high school and college. Then she'd met Thomas and they'd gotten married right away. She'd been so positive when she'd met him, confident that she'd found her soul mate. Someone kind and responsible, willing to share life's burdens. How was she to have known that this tenured philosophy professor was just an adolescent in disguise? She'd learned one thing from her marriage—that she didn't want to be the only adult in a relationship. When she got involved again—if she got involved again—it was going to be with someone who understood life wasn't a game. It was going to be with someone who took things seriously and lived up to his commitments.
    It was not going to be with an overgrown playboy who had a body that sent her stomach plummeting to her toes. And never with someone like Kyle.
    "You're looking fierce about something," he said, turning to study her.
    "What? Oh, I was just thinking. I'll order the pizza now." The phone had been installed the previous day. She walked over to the phone books that had been delivered and flipped to the right page. "Which place do you recommend?"
    He set down the wet paintbrush, leaned over her shoulder and studied the list. The scent of him—male sweat, paint and something else, something subtle but compelling—drifted to her. She inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma. It made her think of tangled sheets on a Sunday morning. Of croissants and coffee after great sex.
    The clear visual image startled her so much, she tried to back away. But Kyle was right behind her. She bumped into him, her head hitting his chest as her heel came down on the toe of his athletic shoes. At the moment of contact, she jerked forward and her hipbone rammed against the counter. She yelped.
    "You okay?" he asked, putting his hands on her shoulders.
    "Sorry," she mumbled. She could feel his fingers through her T-shirt. The heat surprised her. As well as the way her muscles turned to liquid. She cleared her throat. "Ah, which place?"
    He slid one of his hands down her arm and onto the page of the phone book. "That one," he said, pointing. "Why don't you tell me what you want to order and I'll call? They'll have to deliver it to my house, anyway."
    "Your house? Why?"
    He stepped back. She didn't turn around. It didn't help. She could still hear the smile in his voice. "You don't have any plates here. Not to mention chairs. Don't worry, Sandy . There's nothing to be frightened of."
    "I'm not afraid."
    Sandy managed to get through dinner without embarrassing herself. She was thrilled. By the time all three kids had gotten cleaned up and they'd walked over to Kyle's gatehouse, it was almost time for the pizza to arrive. Between sorting out who wanted what to drink, picking off mushrooms for Blake and mopping up Nichole's spills, she'd even forgotten to be nervous. Until now.
    Sandy grabbed the last of the plates from the table and carried them to the counter.
    "I'll do that," Kyle said, but he didn't move from his chair in front of the window.
    "I'll wash the dishes. I insist. It's the least I can do." She put the stopper in the sink and started running the water. From the living room came the musical introduction to a familiar cartoon video. "I'm a little surprised that you have videos for kids," she said without turning around.
    "What did you think? That the house would be done in red velvet and paneling, with X-rated movies and mirrored ceilings? I live here, Sandy . It's my home."
    Mirrored ceilings? She certainly hadn't thought that. But she had assumed there would be some signs of the seductions that must have taken place here. If the walls could talk.
    She glanced around the small kitchen. Everything was