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conservative canyon roads. The Hollywood hills divided the city of Los Angeles. They separated the Los Angeles “Basin” from the San Fernando “Valley.” Crisscrossing the hills, and connecting the more urban basin to the more suburban Valley, were a number of secluded hillside neighborhoods.
    Each pass had a different reputation. Laurel Canyon was a haven for artists and sixties hippies who still clung to the ideals of that generation and decrepit VW buses, while Benedict Canyon was filled with nouveau riche movie and television producers. Coldwater Canyon, on the other hand, housed the bankers, lawyers, and every other suit in Los Angeles. So it was no shock to Sophie that Ryan lived in this area.
    At his urging, she brought Sasha into the house. The dog immediately ran over to the full water bowl set out for her, lapping up the liquid happily but noisily, then she plopped down unceremoniously on the dog bed Ryan had carefully placed in a corner of a dining room that was so neat it resembled a movie set.
    “Would you like to see the house?” Ryan asked. The dog crossed her front paws primly, and rested her head upon them. Sasha was settled in for the long haul. It sounded like Ryan wanted to show his house off, and the dog wasn’t complaining, so Sophie obliged, albeit a little hesitantly.
    “Um, sure,” she said. The kitchen was a small but ultra-modern affair with a fully stocked wine refrigerator and gleaming new stainless steel appliances. The rest of the house followed suit. Everything was new and clean and somehow not entirely lived in.
    “And you were going to bring a dog into this house?” Sophie asked, incredulous. “How were you going to deal with the hair and the inevitable doggy mess she would have left you with?”
    “I bought a dust buster,” Ryan said, brandishing the new-looking small silver and gray vacuum.
    Sophie did nothing to hide her smirk as she looked at him under her purple bangs. The rest of the house was bachelor central. She would never understand, in a million years, why all single men had black leather couches. Ryan’s was a black leather sectional, a nod, she guessed, to the recent trend in L-shaped couches. The house was modern with distinct lines, open skylights, and integrated upgrades everywhere. The master bath even had a bidet. A bidet , for goodness sakes. She didn’t even want to think about that.
    The last room he showed her was the master bedroom. She had no idea why the view of a king-sized sleigh bed covered in a flawless tan and navy striped duvet made her warm all over, but she needed to get out of there —fast. She’d get what she came for and go home. Now. She was about to scurry her way out the door and into her car when she barreled into Ryan, who’d been leaning casually against the doorjamb.
    He caught her in his strong arms and set her back just a few inches.
    “I think I need to get going before I rip your clothes off and take you right here,” Sophie said, trying her best to scare him off.
    Ryan had the good grace to blush. But her words had the opposite effect. “I think that’s an excellent idea,” he said, his voice husky. While she was trying to figure out what was a good idea, he kissed her. Sophie’s last coherent thought was that in the future she would learn to keep her big mouth shut.
    Oh, lordy have mercy on her soul. His mouth felt as good as she remembered. Better. He tasted like the honey in his breakfast tea and warm, masculine heat. Sophie wanted nothing more than to give herself over to the sensation of his sensual lips rubbing hers, having a time honored duel with his tongue. Maybe even do the horizontal mambo. Part of her hoped that with this man, at this time, things would be different. But they wouldn’t be. They never were.
    Every time a man so much as made a pass at her, touched her, kissed her like Ryan was kissing her, she reacted like an adolescent.
    But Ryan’s hands had a calming effect. They slid from where they had