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her tingling from head to foot.
    Apparently her strange reaction to Max Fortune last night had not been just a curious by-product of the stress she had been under at the time. She was perfectly relaxed this morning, and yet she was experiencing the same unsettling sensation. She took a deep breath and braced herself.
    “Good morning, Max.” Cleo swung around, pot in hand, and smiled at him. She would not make a fool of herself, she vowed silently. She would be calm and dignified. She struggled to keep her expression limited to one of polite welcome, but inside she was bubbling with the delicious, unfamiliar excitement.
    It was clear in the light of the new day that her imagination had not been playing tricks on her. Max Fortune's impact on her senses was devastating. She found herself staring in spite of her determination to be casual and cool.
    He was the man in the mirror . She had never seen his face clearly in her dreams, but the moment he had materialized, she had recognized him.
    Cleo gave herself a small, imperceptible shake in an effort to free herself from the disorienting sensation that was sweeping through her. She forced herself to concentrate on facts, not fantasy.
    Max was obviously in his mid-thirties but definitely not in any danger of going soft. There was a lean, hard quality to his body. His boldly carved face bore a disquieting similarity to the hawk on the handle of his cane.
    The subtle fierceness that marked him gleamed clearly in his gray eyes. There was an air of unrelenting watchfulness about Max Fortune, as if he trusted no one and depended on no one. Cleo sensed that this was a man who took nothing for granted. He looked as though he expected to have to fight for whatever he wanted in life.
    But the hard-edged, potentially ruthless element in him was overlaid with a tantalizing air of polished civility. It was a powerful, compelling image for Cleo; one that was straight out of the deepest, most secret recesses of her imagination. There was no doubt about it; the well-hidden, carefully contained, very sensual aspect of her nature recognized Max Fortune.
    He was the man who lived in the shadows of her secret fantasies.
    Perhaps it was not so strange that she knew him on sight, she thought ruefully. After all, she had written a book about him. She just hadn't known his name at the time.
    The cane should have had the effect of making Max look at least somewhat vulnerable. Instead it only served to reveal another hard edge. It hinted at pain that had been subdued by the force of sheer willpower and self-control. Cleo found herself wanting to touch and soothe that old anguish in him.
    She gripped the handle of the teapot, completely at a loss to explain her reaction to this stranger who had walked in out of the storm last night and made a place for himself near her hearth.
    “Good morning.” Max examined the kitchen and its unusually garbed staff. His expression showed no particular reaction except mild interest. “Is this where I get breakfast?”
    “Definitely.” Cleo jerked herself out of the thrall that had enveloped her. “Andromeda can fix you up, can't you, Andromeda?”
    “Of course.” The tiny bells on the hem of Andromeda's gown chimed as she turned away to put two corn bread muffins on a plate. “There is also muesli with fresh fruit and yogurt over on the counter. Take whatever you want.”
    Max's gaze was on Cleo. “I'll do that.”
    Cleo felt a tremor go through her. “Tea?” she asked quickly.
    He glanced at the pot in her hand. “Any coffee available?”
    “Right over there.” Cleo nodded toward the freshly brewed coffee that was sitting on the counter. “Have a seat at the table, and I'll get you a cup.”
    “Thanks.”
    Cleo ignored Daystar's speculative frown. She scooped up the coffee pot and another muffin for herself and hurried to follow Max to the nook where the staff of the inn grabbed meals during busy times.
    “Don't expect service like this every day,”