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up.”
    â€œAnd you’re Mr. Right?”
    â€œI’m not Mr. Wrong,” he said. He knew that with a surety that came from deep inside him. He might not like what she made him feel, but no way was he going to ease out of her life.
    He put the car back in gear and pulled back onto the road. They arrived at the parking lot and Lauren had her seat belt off and her hand on the door before he even shut the car off. He grabbed her arm to stop her from leaping out of the vehicle.
    â€œWhat’s the hurry?” he asked.
    â€œNo hurry. I just…I need to get home.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Lauren,” he said. And meant it. He had the feeling that he’d hurt her and had no idea how.
    â€œDon’t be. You were definitely a gentleman and I enjoyed our coffee and conversation.”
    â€œBut?”
    She shrugged. “You were right. I do have barriers that I keep between myself and the rest of the world. And I’m not sure I can let you inside.”
    â€œThis is new to me, too. Normally I’d have taken you home with me.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you?”
    â€œBecause you’re different than every other woman and…”
    â€œAnd?” she asked.
    She seemed poised on the edge of running, and he knew he didn’t have the words to make her stay.
    â€œAnd that scares me.”
    She smiled then and he knew he’d blundered intothe right thing to say. And hoped he could keep on doing it, because being with Lauren was like riding ninety miles an hour down a twisting mountain road on his motorcycle.

Four
    T he peal of the doorbell pulled her from an erotic dream. At first she didn’t want to leave the bed. Tried to cling to the images in her head and the feeling of Jack’s strong body over hers. But the ringing was insistent and her dream lover faded away.
    She pushed to her feet, grabbing her tattered quilted robe and shrugging into it. The robe had been a gift from her maternal grandmother, Grandma Jean, when she’d graduated from college. Since Grandma Jean had died six months later, the robe was now Lauren’s way of experiencing a hug from her grandmother.
    The doorbell rang again and she hurried to answer it. She checked the security peephole. A deliveryman, but not her usual guy. Her mother was constantly sending books, videos and homemade cookies via FedEx to her.
    For some reason, even though she was thirty, her mom insisted on treating her as if she were twelve.
    â€œMiss Belchoir?”
    â€œYes,” she said.
    â€œThese are for you.”
    He handed her a flower bouquet in a heavy vase. Lauren stared at him for a minute, not really sure what to say. Who had sent her flowers?
    He turned to go.
    â€œWait. Let me get you—”
    â€œEverything’s been taken care of. Have a nice day.”
    Lauren eased back inside her house and shut the door with her foot. The bouquet wasn’t something as common as roses or gerbera daisies. It was orchids and stargazer lilies and…damn, a bunch of blooms that she didn’t know the name of.
    She took the cut-glass vase into her kitchen and set it on the table. The card was there, in an envelope with her name on the outside. There was a computer printout on the back of the envelope, but her first name had been handwritten in a strong masculine scrawl.
    She told herself she was wrong, that Jack wouldn’t have sent her flowers. By even entertaining the thought, she was setting herself up for disappointment. She opened the tab of the envelope with her fingernail and pulled that card out.
    Thanks for last night. Will you have dinner with me?
    Jack
    She dropped the card and leaned forward on the table, resting her head on her folded arms. Was she really going to do this? Was she really going to go out with a man who made her feel…too many things? A man who was mercurial and changed with the wind?
    She stood up and grabbed the phone before she realized she didn’t have his