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It was the intensity of that very thing that had kept her looking over her shoulder
     all afternoon.
    She deliberately pushed aside any and all memories of her intoxicating morning spent
     at the all-too-willing mercy of those talented hands. Goose bumps of remembered pleasure
     raced over her skin, anyway. She hoped he didn’t notice. In a life marked by impulsive
     choices, Tucker Morgan was another bad decision waiting to be made. But not this time.
     Not by her.
    She gave him what she hoped was a confident but not-too-friendly smile. “So what brings
     you to Sam’s?”
    “You.”
    She’d never heard so much intensity packed into one tiny little word. Her heart skipped
     a beat without permission. She should have expected the direct approach from him,
     but she silently acknowledged that no amount of advance preparation would have squelched
     her instant reaction. Conrad and Charlie had been proof enough that her impulses should
     be curbed, not encouraged. After Charlie, she’d vowed to work on thinking things through
     calmly and rationally instead of jumping right in. She’d slipped a bit this morning,
     but she was firmly back on the wagon now.
    She curved her mouth into a dry smile. “Well, that’s direct. Or didn’t you have a
     convenient excuse?”
    “Do I need one?” he countered, his own smile making it clear that he was enjoying
     himself immensely.
    So was she. She felt her wagon start to rock a little.
Hurry up
,
Sam
, she silently implored,
I’m treading dangerous waters out here
. “I suppose not. As they say”—shegestured blithely to the interior of Sam’s shop—“it’s a free market.”
    His gaze was unwavering. “But you’d feel better if I made one up, wouldn’t you?”
    Beating Tucker at his own game was a foolhardy strategy at best.
    “Probably,” she said. “I suppose it would be an easier world if people were more direct
     about what they wanted. In my experience, it’s usually quite the opposite, and though
     I am trying to improve, I’m still occasionally guilty of being one of them. But in
     the spirit of self-improvement, I’ll make another stab at it right now. Tell me, Mr.
     Morgan, exactly what is it you want of me?”
    He clapped his hands slowly. “Not a bad start. And you sounded oh-so-proper too. Nicely
     done.”
    Lainey found herself trapped by his gaze. His eyes were making it crystal clear that
     he hadn’t forgotten one single second of their less-than-proper encounter that morning.
     But the man was a professional, she argued. Certainly her very average body and less
     than sparkling wit hadn’t driven him to the boundaries of his control … as his hands
     had driven her?
    She snapped her gaze away from his and turned around, suddenly fascinated by the display
     of tiger shrimp and not feeling the least twinge of guilt over the pretense. Being
     straightforward wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. At least not where Tucker Morgan
     was concerned.
    She glanced over her shoulder. “My mother-in-law would be thrilled to hear that anyone
     thought me proper. Despite exhaustive attempts to mold me, she swore that ‘proper’
     was an adjective that would never be used in conjunction with Madelaine Marie Maitland.”
    Instead of the expected chuckle, his gaze sharpenedfurther. She swore that she could feel the heightened alertness in the air. Fish fumes,
     she told herself. Toxic fish fumes.
    “I thought you said you weren’t married.”
    “I’m not,” she said, returning her attention to the black-and-gray-striped shellfish.
     “Divorced. I’m plain old Lainey Cooper again.”
    “There is nothing remotely plain about you. And you’re molded just fine, if you ask
     me. Your former mother-in-law must not be too fine a judge of character.”
    A vision of the horrified expression that would have marred Agatha Maitland’s scrupulously
     maintained and dignified manner upon hearing that personal indictment had Lainey stifling
     a laugh.