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tell-tale signs of a long-term smoker. No nicotine-stained fingers, no ‘cloud’ around him. Also, he hadn’t indulged while in the diner, so he wasn’t a chain-smoker. Still. Continuing on, her slow steps carried her nearer. Jago took another draw and she saw it wasn’t a cigarette, but a long, thin cigar—cigarillo, she believed it was called.
    â€œWorse than cigarettes.” Her mouth pursed in censure. Cigars often left a foul smell on men who puffed them. Oddly, the cigarillo looked natural to Jago. As the warm breeze swirled around them, she detected a sweet cherry scent.
    â€œHello, neighbor.” His low voice rumbled with a sorcerer’s cant.
    Hello, neighbor, my foot!
Warning gongs were going off in her brain. If she was smart, she’d slug him with her purse and make a run for her cottage. Lock herself in.
Then
she might be safe from this virile warlock and his potent magic.
    The soft breeze ruffled his wavy black hair and caused his silken shirt to ripple. He’d unbuttoned it halfway down his chest and had no T-shirt underneath. One long leg was stretched out before him; the other was cocked against the low, creek-stone wall for balance.
    Jago Fitzgerald was waiting—waiting with that stillness inherent to all of nature’s nocturnal hunters. Men of his caliber were few and far between, and quite treacherous to females. They sensed small changes in a woman’s body,reaction to the lethal peril they posed. The pounding of her heart, the rapid, short breaths, and—damn her body—the tightening of her breasts.
    Fortunately, her black sweater hid that reaction from this arrogant man in the darkness. Her little secret. A woman needed every advantage in dealing with a male like Jago Fitzgerald, for she had the unshakable sense Netta was right.
    He was waiting for her.

C HAPTER F OUR
    Wanting was a dangerous thing. Asha knew this. Everyone wants something: a Lamborghini Murcielago, more money, a closet full of Prada shoes. With many women it’s to pig out on chocolate. That didn’t mean getting what you wanted was
good
for you.
    Asha suddenly wanted Jago Fitzgerald with a soul-deep craving that was alarming. Terrifying. Wanted him enough to reach out and take whatever he offered, asking for nothing but tonight. She could see the whole scene play out in her mind. His mouth taking hers, savagely. Her clinging to him with a passion the like of which she’d never known.
    She wondered if he would make love with that same controlled force now emanating from him, or would he snap and let loose demons because he too wanted? Both scenarios rattled Asha. Both images were frighteningly vivid, crackling with the power of clairvoyance. Worse, she figured he was likely aware of her hesitation. Aware of why.
    As badly as she desired him, she reminded herself this man was passing through. Oh, he’d enjoy a hot fling to wile away his stay in Hicksville, Kentucky. If so, he should targetNetta, not her. Asha didn’t play with customers—
Rule Number One
. She wasn’t part of the package at The Windmill.
    â€œHow long are we to be neighbors, Mr. Fitzgerald?” she asked softly.
    He smiled. Not a fool, Asha didn’t trust that smile. It was the same smile the Wolf wore when Little Red Riding Hood exclaimed,
My, what big teeth you have
! Women were born knowing
not
to trust a sexy smile like that.
    â€œI want to gain a feel for the area. Ramble a bit. I plan to use The Windmill as my base—if that’s all right. Why I wanted the bungalow instead of a room—I like to spread out . . . have room to work.” He lifted the cigarillo to his lips, took a draw and then exhaled a narrow stream of smoke into the air. The cherry-scented smoke swirled around her with a wizard’s magic.
    â€œI should be fool enough to help the enemy by providing a roof over your head?” Tired after being on her feet most of the day, Asha considered