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at Ian. Now she did. He looked far more virile, handsome, and sexy than any man of his profession had a right to look. Swallowing her timidity, she drew close to him, placed her hands boldly on his shoulders, and bent down. Her lips brushed his. "Good morning, brother."
    The electricity that scorched her lips and sizzled through every vein had nothing to do with sisterly love. To the tips of her toes, she was aware of his masculinity, his scent, his feel, his size. All were testimonies to his manliness. Her body yearned for it, hungered for it, and she feared that he wasn't fooled for one moment by the childish game she was playing. She could even imagine that he felt the same current of arousal that she did the instant their lips touched.
    But when she pulled back and stood erect, he stretched his long legs out in front of him and assumed a posture of utter indifference. "Morning, sis."
    Shay's blood rose to a boil for an entirely different reason now, and her good intentions of a moment before flew out the window. "Why aren't you at prayers or something?" she demanded. "Isn't that what men of the cloth do?" Her sandals tapped smartly on the floor as she crossed to the stove. She heard her mother's sigh.
    "I've already said my prayers," Ian responded levelly.
    "I hope you said some for me." She flashed him a false smile as she splashed coffee into a cup.
    "As a matter of fact, the many I said for you took up most of my meditation."
    Shay tested the glass coffee pot's guarantee not to break as she thumped it back onto the burner. "I didn't ask for—"
    "John and I had the most wonderful idea," Celia interjected loudly, overriding Shay's scathing remark to Ian. "Why don't the four of us play tennis this morning before it gets too warm?"
    "Tennis?" For a moment Shay's dislike for Ian was replaced by astonishment. She'd never known her mother to participate in anything requiring as much energy as tennis. "When did you learn to play tennis?"
    "John's teaching me," Celia said shyly, looking lovingly at her husband. "Of course I'm not very good yet, but—"
    "She's improving every day," he finished proudly. "What about it, kids? Are you up for a doubles match?"
    "Did you bring your racket and tennis clothes, Shay?" Celia asked.
    "Yes, though at the time I couldn't figure out why you suggested it."
    "Wonderful," Celia said, clapping her hands happily.
    "I don't know," Shay hedged.
    "Maybe Shay feels self-conscious about her game," Ian suggested. "If she doesn't want to play doubles, you two—"
    "I play a great game," she retorted angrily, interrupting his buttery drawl. Their eyes clashed. She knew hers were shooting sparks of irritation. His were guileless, but lurking just behind the innocent expression, she saw lights of amusement and victory. She'd fallen for the oldest ploy in existence.
    "You men go change while Shay and I clear the table," Celia said, standing. "Shay, I know you don't usually eat breakfast, but those blueberry muffins are scrumptious."
    "Thank you, Mom, but no. Coffee's enough."
    "You're really far too thin."
    "Now, Celia, leave the girl alone. It's chic to be slender," John said, surveying Shay's svelte form as Celia looked on.
    "Then maybe you'd like my figure better if I lost a few pounds," Celia suggested, almost pouting.
    John grabbed her and nuzzled her neck playfully. "I like your figure just the way it is."
    Shay smiled at their display of affection, but she didn't want to admit how perturbed she was when Ian sauntered out of the kitchen. Though everyone else in the room had assayed her figure, he hadn't given it a glance.

    John was right about her mother's figure. She looked cute as a button in her tennis togs. Her legs weren't as long, slender, or tanned as Shay's, but they were remarkably trim and firm for a woman her age.
    The municipal tennis courts weren't as smooth as those found at country clubs, but they would suffice.
    After they'd warmed up, the doubles match began. Tacitly, Shay and Ian