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indeed an Irish leprechaun – she’d certainly been his lucky charm the previous night.
    “Pleased to meet you, Ariel,” he said, with a wry grin. “Matthew Morrison.”
    “Pleased to meet you, Matthew,” Ariel said, reaching up to touch his face. It was a good face, handsome, strong and kind. “Thank you, I think we could call it even now.”
    It had been so long since anyone had touched her, had held her like this. Until now, she hadn’t known how much she’d needed it. How much she’d missed it. Memories crowded for attention, feelings, old pain, but she pushed all of it into the back of her mind.
    Matt saw the shadow move through her eyes. Such a capacity for joy, lighting her face when she smiled but beneath it was this odd, wistful sadness.
    Even? It wasn’t even close.
    “Why?” he asked.
    He really wanted to know. There was something about her that said she wasn’t the type for a one-night stand. She was too warm, too clear-eyed, too giving, she would need more than simple sex.
    She was strong, decisive and gutsy as hell, too, from what he’d seen.
    Matt had had his share of one-night stands, women looking for a quick fling or to scratch an itch. It was an exercise of bodies, not this kind of warmth and giving. At the end of the night in those shallow couplings, you were never sure whether it had been worth the effort and you certainly didn’t want to stay the night.
    He’d also been in a relationship that had been less giving, had had less intensity than this. That memory stung.
    Ariel O’Donnell had given her heart and soul to him, had loved him and touched him with more joy in this brief interlude than his last girlfriend had in the six months they’d been together.
    Jeannine.
    Sex with her had been satisfying enough but he’d never experienced this deep pleasure, this flaring passion. Never once had she touched him more than was necessary. He’d always been left with the vague sense of wanting more. Ariel had reached for him, had caressed him, as Jeannine never had. And maybe that had been the attraction. The thought was unsettling.
    Ariel frowned a little at his question, a narrow line appearing between those finely arched brows that flared outward like dark wings.
    “Why help you?” Ariel asked. Or why this?
    Old sorrow, old grief, moved in her. No, she wouldn’t think of that, not now.
    The unspoken question hovered between them.
    Matt wanted to know that as well. He still couldn’t believe she’d done it. A brief momentary hesitation to take it in, to see he was in trouble...and then she’d just stepped in. The images of her, all of five foot something, reaching for that two-by and swinging it with determination. She had to have known the danger in which she was putting herself and yet she’d done it anyway.
    “You took a hell of a risk,” he said in frank admiration.
    Wryly, she laughed a little. “I didn’t even think about it. I just didn’t like the odds of three against one. It didn’t seem fair, although it looks as if you normally do pretty well for yourself.”
    She stroked her fingers across his chest.
    Matt saw that same odd, wistful smile curve her lips again as she caressed him. She liked to touch, that was clear. He didn’t mind it at all. Some women thought the man should do all the work or that men didn’t like to be touched. Or didn’t care if they were. For himself, he liked to make love to women, to give them pleasure, but he also liked to be touched. Very much. For a moment, he simply absorbed the dance of her fingers across him.
    Reluctantly he wrenched his mind back to what she’d said.
    “Generally,” he admitted, “they took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting that kind of response.”
    “Matt,” she asked, “why were they beating you?”
    Her question was like being doused with cold water – a sudden cold reminder of the reason he was here. And it wasn’t to make love to pretty, elf-like women. Bill. He was the real reason he was here. That