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hesitated, and Kiera had the instant impression that he was put out by her refusal. Or maybe that was just her feeling guilty about her skittishness.
    “I’d really rather meet you in person,” he said quietly. “You see, I’m dyslexic, so corresponding by email isn’t my strong suit.”
    For half a second, Kiera thought he was making that up just to get her to meet him, but she rejected the idea with a flush of embarrassment. Why she would suspect him of lying about something like that was totally beyond her. She sighed, defeated.
    “In that case, we can meet at the coffee shop.”
    “I’m sorry to be difficult,” Hunter replied, making Kiera feel even guiltier for her suspicious thoughts. She doubted it was easy for a guy like him to admit any kind of weakness.
    “Not at all. When would you like to meet?”
    “Would three o’clock work?”
    Considering how unencumbered she was by anything resembling regular work hours—or, for that matter, a social life—one time was as good as the next. “Three it is. I’ll see you then.”
    “I look forward to it.”
    Despite all her suspicions and trepidation, Kiera realized she did, too.
    ****
    Kiera paused to glance at herself in the mirror before stepping out into the hallway. What she saw brought her up short.
    She’d never thought of herself as a fashion queen, preferring comfort to style, but she was suddenly struck by how awful her outfit looked. The puffy green down coat was at least one size too big for her—she’d known that when she’d bought it, but it had been on sale, and it had been warm, and she’d figured it didn’t look that bad. The warm knit hat she pulled down over her ears was in a conflicting shade of green, and the way her riot of hair spilled out beneath it reminded her of one of those Bozo the Clown wigs.
    Hunter was a client, not a date. But there was no reason she should look like such a slob when going to meet a client, either.
    She pulled off the hat and flung it back into the closet. The quick motion left her hair alive with static electricity. She shrugged off the coat and hurried to the bedroom. Layers. That was the key to staying warm. So she donned a turtleneck, a wool-blend sweater, and a corduroy blazer. Then she hurried into the bathroom and brushed some water into her hair, temporarily taming the static. Satisfied—and now running significantly late—Kiera hurried out the front door and headed across the square.
    This was one of the coldest Novembers in her memory, and the instant she left the comfort of her building, she cursed the vanity that had moved her to change out of the heavy coat. At least the cold made hurrying easy. Hunter didn’t strike her as the type who had much patience for tardiness, and she’d sensed a distinct annoyance when she’d arrived late for their first meeting.
    When she burst through the coffee shop door, she felt chilled down to her bones. She stood blinking in the doorway a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness. Then she saw Hunter, sitting at a four-person table with his arms crossed over his chest. He had stretched his legs out into the aisle, crossing his heavy black boots at the ankle, and she could tell at once that he was exasperated by the delay. Heat rose to her frosty cheeks.
    Kiera crossed the distance in several nervous strides, her stomach feeling strangely fluttery. Ridiculous to feel nervous, of course. He was just a client, one of many. Nothing special about him whatsoever. Get a grip, Kiera, she scolded. She smiled brightly and held out her hand as she approached the table.
    Hunter uncoiled. That was the best word she could think of to describe the way he sat up in his chair, drawing his legs back under him and uncrossing his arms.
    Kiera froze in her tracks, her heart nearly stopping at that brief image of him as a cobra about to strike. There was something fierce and primal in his eyes, something that chilled her far more than the frigid wind.
    Then, he smiled, and