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lifted his head, jerked ramrod straight in his chair, searching Savannah's face for any indication that she was bluffing. Her clothes, her skin, her features were all obscured in gray and black, giving him no clue.
    "Are you joking?"
    She released a pent-up breath and started to edge around the table toward him. "You said you could change my mind. Perhaps I can change yours."
    He waved her back with his glass, sloshing a drop or two on his trousers in the process. "You must know that I'm not a marrying man. Never, ever again."
    She halted, surprising the heck out of him by throwing her head back and laughing, her body curving with it. It was a masculine laugh and damned appealing. "Oh, heavens, Constable, is that a call for marriage in your world? I've never been kissed well enough to get me in front of a minister." Covering her mouth with her hand, she gasped, "Must be some—what would you call it— mighty fine kissing to make people take vows."
    "Well," he said, feeling a frown bunch his brow, "it could be good. That's not out of the realm of possibility."
    "Prove it," she said around another burst of laughter. "Prove it, prove it, prove it."
    He rubbed a hand across his chin, debating the wisdom of having any more wine. Had he actually thought he was in control of this situation? "I don't know. This all seems crazy to me. And it was my idea."
    She gulped a breath and patted her chest. "My, from the fantastic entertainment I've witnessed in this town, I'm sure it does." Taking a step forward, she held out her hand, as if she were trying hard not to startle him. It was downright insulting. "Rightly, Constable, you asked me first. And I'm willing to go the distance to solve a disagreement."
    "I bet you're always willing," Zach muttered, wondering if he'd lost his mind sitting in his backyard on a lovely twilight evening. Gambling with a woman who wouldn't back down if a tiger had her latched in its jaws.
    "Are you willing?"
    Through the shadows, he found her gleaming eyes, her slightly curved mouth. "No, it's too reckless. Too irresponsible."
    "You're sounding like a father. Or a constable, Constable."
    "I'm both, Miss Connor."
    He watched her lips tilt and flow into a glorious smile. "Rory's in bed, safe and sound. Most of the town is in bed, safe and sound. And you're here, with a pragmatic woman who can take care of herself. Two adults and one magnificent challenge."
    "More like a dare," he said and drained his glass.
    She took a step closer, until her skirt brushed his knee. "Call it a dare if you like."
    "No." His resolve slipped a notch when she crouched before him, the pleasing angles of her face flooding into view. She was much, much too tempting.
    "I'll do it all. You don't have to participate. That should be enough to prove my case."
    "I wasn't serious when I said that. I'm sure you're not, hell, frigid ."
    She leaned in, her hands sliding along the arms of the chair, her face fading out of view as it closed in on his. A scent, provocative and earthy, stole in with his stuttered breath. "You see, Constable, I'm always serious." He watched her moisten her lips, so near he could almost taste her. "Close your eyes. I've heard that's the way it's done."

 
     
     
    Chapter 3

     
    The brain is not, and cannot be,  
    the sole or complete organ of thought or feeling .
    ~Antoinette Brown Blackwell
     
    Savannah held her breath, waiting, her pulse tapping against her temples in a potent rhythm, her fingers trembling where they gripped the chair. Who was this woman? This boastful, immodest woman challenging the most attractive man in town to a sexual dual?
    Zachariah Garrett was right: she was crazy.
    A moment passed; then he closed his eyes.
    Dear God, he closed his eyes .
    She moved in, nearly resting in his lap, all the while keeping his lips in view. They looked firm and very nicely shaped. Harder than hers, most assuredly.
    Closer.
    His breath smelled of wine and the cigarette she'd seen him smoke earlier in the