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worlds and put characters to paper. She hoped these Americans would be interested in talking about their home cities. Rogue had been teased by her aunt more than once for harassing guests with too many questions about the quirks and sayings in the Western world. A yearning inside wanted to know ... more. The States seemed like a cornucopia of miniature countries linked between two oceans, and she found it fascinating. Accents varied from northern Maine to southern Louisiana, making understanding her guests not always easy.
    A year ago, she’d spent a delightful few months in Olympia, Washington, at Aunt Baillie’s bookshop, Pen & Pages, living upstairs with Sally and her delightful young daughter, Casie. More than once, Rogue found herself sauntering slowly through the crowded Olympia Farmers Market; she’d nearly overdosed on pounds of ripe Rainier cherries, peaches, and a variety of apples during her stay. One Saturday, they shopped for hours in the crowded Capital Mall, thoroughly mesmerizing Rogue with the abundance of shops and food tastes under one roof. A glimpse of her aunt’s hometown gave her a tiny taste of what she saw in American movies, and she wanted more.
    Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Rogue paused her step and watched Jonathan stride down the east stairs, regal in motion, dressed all in black, drawing attention to his tanned face and striking beard. He’d released his hair, the wild, dark waves now decorating his shoulders and a few strands in front of his face. Rogue’s heart skipped a beat as she watched a less trimmed Rhett Butler of the twenty-first century hold court with his phone against his ear.
    He caught her looking and spoke a bit louder. “Let me call you back,” he said before shoving the phone in his pocket. “Ah, princess, indeed, you waited for me. I am truly touched at your purity of service.” He pressed a manicured hand to his heart.
    Rogue stiffened as her body betrayed her with a rising warmth. “I dinna realize you were not already at tea, Mr. Olson.” Rogue denied herself the delicious feel of his stare by looking away first from the brooding face now inches away from her own.
    “Only fashionably late, my dear, but first a more pressing issue took my attention. Business may beckon me twenty-four/seven, but your voice is like a siren’s song to my heart.”
    “Your arrogance precedes your charm, sir.” She refused to step back and give ground, yet she could smell a citrus scent, feeling the heat from his body this close.
    His lips tightened as his eyes flashed. Jonathan moved slowly, deliberately, as he circled around her, appraising her dress. “Excellent,” he whispered. He stopped a degree to the right of where he started, forcing her to turn her head to face him.
    Rogue made fists with her hands, trying to control an unnatural response to touch him, the air surrounding her, thick with testosterone. “What?” The question came out stiff, foreign.
    “You.” His warm breath caressed her cheek, making her blink. She waited for him to continue. Nothing. She raised an eyebrow and waited for him to elaborate.
    “Despite your fears, you may find my predilections somewhat old fashioned. The truth is, you would be a breath of fresh air in Hollywood.” His words poured smooth like a fine whiskey. “A runaway phenomenon of singular quality,
bonita
. The stars would whisper your name above the city lights.” He leaned closer. “I’d love to discuss your exquisite face and melodic voice soon. ’Tis a rare, precious combination.” The last syllable again blew air against her face.
    Wanting to lean against a support of some kind, a chair back, a side table, as her knees suddenly weakened, Rogue felt entrapped by the man. She couldn’t remember breathing as he finished his sentence. Her eyes moved across his facial features, soaking in each detail until her gaze caught a glow of lights sparkling behind him. Rogue blinked and the intense