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while he was there.
    A strange, languorous heat wound through her as she envisioned him doing exactly that, with—oh, dear—herself cast in the role of the willing woman. Immediately, Sara banished the graphic image from her brain. But remnants of it lingered, scorching the edges of her mind, and nomatter how hard she tried, she couldn’t banish it completely.
    “So, Miss Wallington,” Mr. Cordello began in that luscious voice, smiling his delicious smile, “how much longer ’til we get there?”
    Sara lifted her champagne to her mouth for a quick—but substantial—sip. “Not too, I should think,” she told him when she completed the action, the velvety liquid warming her throat, her chest, her belly and points beyond. Oh, no, wait, she thought. It wasn’t the champagne warming those points beyond. No, it was Shane Cordello’s smile that was doing that. Oh, dear. “No, ah…no more than an hour or two I would imagine,” she managed to add in a voice that she was relieved to realize didn’t make her sound too awfully feeble-minded.
    His smile seemed to grow even more dangerous somehow, and Sara couldn’t help thinking that he had almost certainly picked up on that points beyond business. Probably because of her not too awfully feeble-minded voice.
    His verbal response, however, wasn’t quite in keeping with that dangerous smile. “Wanna play Twenty Questions?” he asked.
    Sara arched her brows curiously. “I beg your pardon?”
    Mr. Cordello lifted his shoulders and let them drop in a shrug that she supposed he meant to look casual, but somehow it didn’t. “Twenty Questions,” he repeated. “It’s a game my brother and I used to play as kids to pass the time on long car trips.” His expression went a bit grim when he added, “Or to drown out the noise of our parents’ shouting at each other there at the end.”
    Tactfully, Sara pretended she hadn’t heard that last part, and focused on the first part instead. “You and your brother must be very close. Being twins and all, I mean.”
    “Actually, our closeness has less to do with being twins than it does being cast adrift at an early age.”
    “I’m not sure I follow you,” Sara said.
    “Our folks split up when Marcus and I were nine. Marcus went to live with our father, and I went to live with our mother.”
    A pang of something sharp and unpleasant twisted Sara’s midsection, and she was surprised to realize how very much she cared about what had happened to this man she had only just met. “That must have been very difficult for you both,” she said softly.
    He expelled an exasperated sound. “To put it mildly. We were able to spend a month together every summer, but it never felt like enough. Even now, I wish we had more time to spend together.”
    “Yet, as adults, you live hundreds of miles away from each other,” Sara couldn’t help pointing out.
    Mr. Cordello shrugged again, almost apologetically this time. “My mother has made Southern California her home, and I don’t want to be too far away from her. She’s—” He halted abruptly.
    “What?” Sara asked before she could stop herself, knowing it was impolite to pry. Even if Mr. Cordello had been the one to bring it up.
    He expelled a weary breath. “She’s… She’s not very… She has a habit of…” Now he uttered a restless sound. “Let me put it this way. She’s on husband number five, and none of them since my father have been much of a prize. Even my father didn’t do right by her, as far as I’m concerned. But at least he loved her. For a while. She’s just not good at taking care of herself,” he finally concluded. “She needs someone close by to keep an eye on her. On things,” he quickly corrected himself. “So as long as she calls L.A. home, that’s where I’ll be, too.”
    Something inside Sara turned over a little bit at hearing his admission. He was a good son. He wanted to make certain his mother was well cared for. In spite of his rough