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her as she balanced a bit doubtfully.
    “I…uh…yes! I’m ready. Mary, thank you so much for everything.”
    “Nothing at all, dear. Nothing at all. And I’m so sure we’ll be seeing more of one another!”
    Donna had no reply. She hobbled quickly to the doorway where she stared up at…the man. The flecks of molten gold and green in eyes seemed to fuse to the shade of fire as he returned her scrutiny with humor. He offered her his arm and she had little choice but to accept. His touch seemed to burn with the heat of his eyes. It rippled through her. It made her more acutely aware of being a woman than she had ever known possible.
    “Come on, Ms. Miro, our chariot is waiting.” She swallowed and lowered her lashes and hurried along beside him. Whomever, or whatever, Father Luke actually was, the effect he had upon her was definitely sinful.

CHAPTER FOUR
    I N THE DIMNESS OF the cab Donna could see a reflected gleam in the golden eyes that seemed ever more satanically appealing in the neon glow of night. Something about him just wasn’t right.
    Donna drew her gaze from him to stare out the window, thankful to recognize the area of Central Park South. A hansom cab pulled by a large bay gelding clattered by as they stopped at a traffic light. Donna jerked back around to face the man beside her. The whole situation was driving her crazy.
    “Are you Catholic?” she demanded.
    He glanced her way with lazy, heavy lidded eyes. “Do you know the meaning of the word, Ms. Miro?”
    “Of course: ‘universal.’”
    “Then I suppose I can certainly say I’m catholic.”
    “What kind of an answer is that?” she demanded. The taxi seemed terribly small.
    “The best you’re going to get, Ms. Miro. Except that I’ll hasten to assure you I didn’t create a charade of my life simply for your benefit this evening.”
    So he was a priest. She felt a little doomed because she was falling beneath the spell of his fascination and was attracted to a man who had dedicated his life to a different calling. How did she deal with him?
    A baseball bat would have been nice. Right across the back of his head. She wanted to label him as arrogant—but she couldn’t, not quite. He was quick to parry her thrusts, yet his voice always carried a low note of humor that wasn’t cruel, merely amused, as if he were clearly aware of her dilemma and enjoying it. Arrogant…no, not exactly. He was an assured man, confident in himself…electrically vital….
    Like Mark. Donna’s mouth twisted into a sad smile as she thought of the man who had once been her husband. Mark could walk into a room and charm everyone. His eyes carried that bold flash of appreciation and challenge. So dynamic. Lorna had told her once that Mark had been too dynamic and that it would be hard for her to fall in love again because she would have to find a man more dynamic to make her forget him.
    This man was dynamic. He made her forget everything, even the fact that he was a priest. And the attraction was still there—perhaps worse in the cab—a chemistry that was blinding. An undeniable, overpowering instinct to go to him.
    She was floundering in quicksand. And yet, if he were any other man, she would have been certain that he was as riddled by the magical yet natural beguilement as she. Even when she wanted to slap him she wanted to feel the strong, clean-shaven contours of his jaw….
    “My turn,” he said suddenly.
    “For what?” Donna asked, meeting his eyes uneasily.
    “Are you…Roman Catholic, Ms. Miro?”
    In the near future, she would regret that she gave little notice to his emphasis on the adjective “Roman.” But she was tired and sore, confused, angry—and disturbed by his very unpriestly presence. She answered him flippantly. “Me? Of course, Father. An Italian girl from Shrewesbury Street? They consider us to be very, very Catholic!”
    Donna noticed her fingers were shaking as she drew further against her side of the cab. The distance didn’t