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him, during sentient periods, he denied everything with such vehemence that I stopped asking. But when he confused me with others, with men from his past, I became curious and encouraged his stories.
    “He admitted to having joined an ancient secret society of powerful men.
    “And he admitted to ruining us by crossing them during the War.”
     
    Arden had heard much of this story once already. So, while Greta told how her father had challenged the Comitatus and their precious status quo, Arden found herself watching Smith.
    Carefully, though, so nobody would notice.
    She’d generally avoided him during their youth, despite their fathers’ friendship. Smith had been too full of himself, too loud and boy like—trouble on two feet. Only when they began moving in the same post-college circles did she really start watching him, still more annoyed than intrigued. His cocky immunity to her charms—and she wasn’t foolish enough to deny them—had bothered her. The more caustic the run-ins they had, the more she assumed their dislike to be mutual. They couldn’t seem to spend ten minutes in each other’s company without finding something to disagree about…which eventually proved downright fascinating. By the time he’d bitten out a sudden invitation to a party, like adare in the middle of a fight over nothing, she’d been so surprised that she’d stuttered out agreement. And then…
    Then the attraction that flared up between them, no longer held back by their pretense of mutual enmity, had almost consumed her.
    How long had she already been in love by then?
    It wasn’t just that he was handsome, though he was. She noted the long line of his back now, the pull of his shoulders under his faded brown T-shirt, worn to a softness she could only imagine under her fingers. She noted the defined muscles of his tanned, bare arms, his elbows on his jeaned knees as he leaned nearer Greta to hear the story. The brush of his too-long brown hair across his neck. That action-hero profile. The stubborn, uncompromising jaw—far more recalcitrant than his daring grins let on—which she could remember kissing the tension out of one night, while his hands had done sinful things across her…
    She shifted uncomfortably in the love seat, crossing her ankles, her feet still bare. Smith’s gaze slanted momentarily in her direction, dancing with mischief as if he knew just what she’d been remembering, before returning to Greta.
    Oh… sugar. They should have slept together and gotten it out of their systems, but she was a six-month-minimum girl and they’d kept breaking up at five-and-a-half months, then starting over. Maybe she’d been afraid to surrender that last bit of control, or afraid the reality couldn’t match the anticipation, which—good God in heaven! That last time, they were a day from six months and she’d honestly looked forward not just to making love, but to planning a future with him.
    And then the phone call.
    She should have dated more seriously since their breakup, but none of her gentleman callers had, well… challenged her. Not like Smith. Which should have been a good thing, but apparently was not.
    He claimed to want to protect her, which shouldn’t make her feel quite as gooey inside as it did. The warmth of his body, so close to hers in this un-air-conditioned home, was bad enough without her mistaking stalking for affection. He’d come back —which, as far as reasons to like him went, was even worse.
    He didn’t deserve a second—or was that a fifth?—chance. She couldn’t respect herself if she gave him one. Not that he’d even asked. What if he didn’t?
    Arden felt far more threatened by Smith’s return than by any supposed Comitatus.
    Val’s voice cut through her thoughts. “So you think he told you all these supposed secrets because of the Alzheimer’s?”
    “I’m sure of it,” agreed Greta. “To hear him speak of it, the Comitatus were once a society of honor. A society formed by