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the endless rows of trees. He'd already climbed a tree in another field and the basket was half-full of peaches. If she squinted, she could see the roof of the big farmhouse, although it had to be miles away. In between, the tops of a thousand peach trees rustled in the wind. Most were bare of fruit except those in this grove at the top of the mountain. August sunshine sparkled off a large lake, the relic of an abandoned attempt at mining limestone. The miners had hit water, and according to Daniel, that had been the birth of these orchards. One of his ancestors had decided the water would be good for irrigating and had bought up the land. Over eight hundred acres was a lot of land. He surely wouldn't miss a few.
    She turned her head to the left. The wind lifted one corner of the bright quilt he'd thrown down. Peering into the tree again, she wished for the tenth time he'd come down. Tall grass tickled her calves. Bumblebees droned around the damaged fruit, but to her relief, the peaches seemed more attractive to them than she did.
    That seemed to be going around. She kicked at the grass.
    "Head's up," Daniel called. Cynda caught the next peach. He tossed down one after another until she'd filled the basket. Finally, he dropped from a limb onto the grass with an ease suggesting he'd climbed these trees a million times. He straightened, staring at her in a way that gave her hope he was finally going to lay her down on that quilt and get busy.
    He was pretty to look at. Now that she'd had time to get over her shock of seeing him on his porch as naked as a jaybird this morning and had her head around the amazing things he'd done to her body, she could admire the bulging muscles in his arms and his broad chest and narrow waist. The man was in shape and he was finally staring at her like she was the juicy fruit. Her heart sped up when he yanked open the buttons on his shirt.
    "Cynda, take off the dress."
    She cut him a glance before lowering her lashes. "Yes, Daniel." Eagerly, she pulled the filmy material over her head, smiling to herself. The situation was about to take a turn in her favor.
    He walked right past her to the small trailer hitched to the back of the tractor, unfastening the bungee-style cords holding down roofing shingles, plywood, and a tool chest. Straightening, he turned, and she began to figure out what was coming next from the look in his eye. She stood motionless, watching as he hooked one to a high branch, leaving the end hanging loose after experimentally stretching it to its limit. He crooked a finger at her.
    Wherever Kingsley Dazza was at this moment, she hoped he got run over by a freight train. "Please, not that."
    He grinned. "Beg me again. I might change my mind."
    Cynda raised her chin, clenching her teeth together as she stepped to where he stood. She'd die before she begged him for a thing. Holding up one arm, she studied his face as he coiled the cord once around her wrist. Letting the stretchy rope fall, he walked away again to plunder the tool box on the trailer, coming back holding a handful of rags. Tucking a few into his back pocket, he folded one before tying it around her wrist, then wrapped the bungee on top of that.
    The pathetic burst of gratitude she felt because he didn't want the makeshift ties cutting into her skin pissed her off. When her other wrist was similarly fastened, he wound the third band around her wrists, and tied that to the two suspended from the branch. It was impossible to relax with her arms stretched above her head. She worried about what was coming.
    "Can't we just… talk for a minute?"
    He cocked his head. "About what?"
    "Well, I know this looks bad, but I'm not in the habit of screwing around with people I don't know anything about."
    Scraping a thumb along his chin, he seemed to study her. "What did you want to know?"
    "For starters"—she twisted her wrists, glancing up at the way he'd wrapped the cords so precisely—"do you tie a lot of women up to your