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before Hatch could get around to her side of the car.
    Conversation had been sparse since Jessie and Hatch had left the restaurant. It was even sparser as they went down the hall to her apartment. When they reached her door, Hatch took the key from her hand and fitted it into the lock.
    Jessie stepped inside, found the light switch, and flipped it on.
    Hatch reached for Jessie's burnt-orange duster. He eased it from her shoulders slowly, letting her feel the weight of his hands. She was suddenly conscious of just how much material was missing from the back of her dress.
    “Would it be so bad, Jessie?” he asked quietly.
    She stepped briskly away from the lightweight coat, leaving it in his fingers. “Would what be so bad?”
    “You and me.” He tossed the duster over the back of a chair. His eyes held hers as he shrugged out of his suit jacket.
    There was no point in pretending she didn't know what he meant. Jessie turned toward the shadowed kitchen. “Yes.”
    “Why?” He followed her, one hand loosening the knot of his tie.
    “Don't you understand, Hatch?” Jessie opened a cup-board and took down two mugs. “It would be a disaster for both of us.”
    “You haven't given us much of a chance yet.” He took a seat at the counter, one well-shod foot hooked on the bottom rung of the kitchen stool. “Every evening we've had together, all four or five of them, has followed the same pattern as this one.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “First, I've had to corner you and cut off all the obvious exits. Then I've had to coax you or blackmail you or lay a guilt trip on you in order to keep you from backing out at the last minute. When I do get you out to a restaurant, you spend the time baiting me. Then I take you home and you say good night downstairs and dash out of the car as if you're running off to meet another man. You call that giving us a chance?”
    “Certainly makes one wonder what you see in me, doesn't it? But I guess we both know the answer to that.” She switched on the kettle with a savage little twist of her fingers. “I'm Vincent Benedict's daughter.”
    Hatch responded only with mild curiosity to that unsubtle taunt. He smiled quizzically. “You think I'm interested in you just because of the company?”
    Jessie sighed. “I think that's a big part of it.”
    “The company is what brought us together. And I want it very badly. But I would not marry you to get it unless I also wanted you just as badly. And I do. Want you, that is.”
    Jessie gasped and her hand jerked so quickly that she scattered a spoonful of tea leaves all over the kitchen counter. “Damn.”
    “Relax, Jessie.”
    “You always have this effect on me.”
    “I know,” he said softly.
    “How can you expect me to get serious about a man who makes me feel like a complete klutz?” She put another spoonful of tea in the pot and reached for the hissing kettle.
    “Jessie, please. I know there's a mutual attraction here. And we both have the best interests of Benedict Fasteners at heart. So why won't you give me a chance?”
    She leaned back against the counter and eyed the tea as it steeped. “Okay, okay. I'll give you an answer but you aren't going to like it.”
    “Try me.”
    “I'll admit I'm attracted to you, but I'm not going to get involved with you, Hatch. I am not going to get serious about you. I am definitely not going to marry you, even though everyone else thinks it would be a really nifty idea.”
    “Because?”
    She drew a deep, steadying breath. “Because you are a carbon copy of my father.”
    He considered that in thoughtful silence. “No,” he said at last. “I'm not.”
    “You're right. You're worse than my father in a lot of ways. Harder. More driven. More consumed by your work. If that's possible. There's a reason my father has two ex-wives, Hatch. And the reason is not that he's a womanizer or that he's the kind of man who has to trade in older wives on younger ones in order to feel powerful and