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me,” she whispered, her head bent so she wouldn’t get caught in the glow of his eyes again. “I have to use the ladies’ room.”

    What was she going to do, she wondered as she sat on the chipped Formica counter with her knees drawn up and her chin planted on them. Her whole body burned with want of that man. And her soul trembled with fear of him. Was he right? Was she using Mac’s ghost as a cloak to protect her from getting on with her life? Or was she just being sensibly cautious?
    Reilly’s motives were a mystery to her. He’d made it plain that he wanted a relationship, but he hadn’t explained why. He’d denied her charge that she was a challenge to him, but she knew she was. He had wanted her when she’d been Mac’s wife, but his friendship with Mac had prevented him from pursuing it. Now she was denying him. She was forbidden fruit, which was traditionally more tempting than the kind that could be easily acquired.
    There were other possibilities for his persistence as well. Maybe he’d been plagued by the same kind of guilt as she had, and he saw this as his chance to get her out of his system, to exorcise the guilt he’d felt for wanting his best friend’s wife.
    Oh, fudge, she thought, a long sigh seeping outof her, life could be so complicated. She leaned back into the corner, forcibly forgetting her problems for a moment and letting her eyes roam around the ladies’ room.
    The walls were a moldy green color. Or was that real mold over green paint? Yuk. This place needed a real cleaning. Cobwebs hung like dirty lace from the heat ducts in the ceiling. The door on one of the stalls was hanging by one hinge. Another door was missing completely.
    It was a shame the townspeople had let the place go like this. Now that they had a theater group, hopefully interest in the building would pick up as well as interest in the arts.
    She would be partly responsible for that renewed interest, Jayne thought with a mix of pride and surprise. She’d never been one to take charge of things, but she’d made an effort to get involved when she’d moved to Anastasia. Involvement had seemed important, involvement with the town, with people … with Pat Reilly?
    Shivers danced through her. She dodged the question and turned so she was on her knees on the counter facing the grubby, smudged mirror that stretched the length of the sink area. She picked her sponge out of her bucket and began methodically wiping it over the glass. Cleaningwas very therapeutic. Symbolic too, she thought as she swiped a layer of dust and grime from her reflection.
    If only she could wipe away her uncertainty about Reilly as easily.
    There had always been something between them, something nameless, something mysterious, something almost … mystical. What if it turned out to be something wonderful? Could she really pass up the opportunity to find out?
    Could she pass up the chance to let Reilly overwhelm her? Yes.
    “I think you missed your callin’, luv.” His low voice snapped her to attention. “You were obviously meant to be a housekeeper—an infinitely more honorable profession than the one you hold to now, I dare say.”
    “You would,” Jayne said, scowling at his reflection in the mirror. It was no secret Reilly didn’t like critics. He’d been very public in his scorn. So what was he doing here?
    He had opened the door just enough to stick his head in the room. He had washed off the last of his makeup. His hair had been wetted and rubbed partially dry. The black dye was mostly gone. Now the golden strands stood up in waywardtufts like miniature shocks of wheat. He looked like he’d just come from the shower.
    The thought sent molten heat through Jayne’s veins. She’d seen enough of his body on the movie screen to know he was some gorgeous example of the male of the species, all thick rippling muscle. She didn’t have to try at all to picture him stepping out of a shower stall with crystalline droplets of water clinging