Excerpt

Nancy gasped in the glacial blast that mugged them the instant they hit the porch. The light snow needling their cheeks was nothing, but damn it was cold. Underneath her black velvet swing coat, she couldn't stop shivering.

Not just because she was cold, though.

"At the risk of sounding tacky," Rod said next to her, his breath nearly opaque in front of his face, "my place or yours?"

She tried to laugh, but the sound froze before she could get it out. "I'm t-too plotzed to d-drive," she chattered, "b-but I live just on the other s-side of the lake. If we go there -- t-that is, if you t-take me there -- I can walk b-back over
here tomorrow and p-pick up my c-c-car."

He nodded -- she was beginning to see a pattern here -- then led her to his car, a gleaming silver luxury model sedan that had been the focus of a huge media blitz last year. His media blitz, she figured, when he was still head of Marketing
for Star Motors. Before he let her in, however, he shrugged off his topcoat -- made, no doubt, from wool plucked from the underside of some hardy beastie that grazed on grasses found only on the most remote mountain range in the
world -- and slipped it around her shoulders.

She wanted to crawl inside this coat and live here for the rest of her life. Well, actually, she wanted to crawl inside his car first, because the coat didn't
cover her feet which had turned instantly into two hundred dollar popsicles. 

They got in. Then they sat there. His car smelled of fine leather and his cologne and some indefinable rich smell she could easily get used to. Nancy had no idea what Rod what thinking, but she was thinking. . . Actually, she was
shivering too hard to think, but the phrase ohmigod was in there somewhere.

She'd just invited Rod Braden out for coffee. And he'd accepted. 

Somehow, she squelched the laugh threatening to blow her cool. She also remembered she had worked up the chutzpah to ask Norman Sklar to dance that night all those years ago. And that he'd accepted. She hadn't felt like this since that night -- apprehensive, excited, and damned smug. 

If a tad perplexed. Rod hadn't said anything, or even started the car. Confined in a small space with him, he seemed. . .

She inwardly sighed. You know you're in trouble when you can't remember the last time you had sex. Hell, she vaguely even remembered who
she'd last had sex with. Not that her list of partners would impress anyone, but what a pitiful comment on her thirty-four years that -- if she was generous, 
mind -- the best she could muster was two forgettables and one adequate. And
let's not go into which one of those had been her husband for five years.

The buzz alone two feet away was already more exciting than any of her actual experiences. She wasn't sure whether that was more of a comment on Rod or her, but she decided analyzing it would serve no viable purpose. 

She jumped when Rod cleared his throat. "Where's your place?"

"Oh. Right." She gave him directions; the three-minute drive passed in silence. But now she noticed a sharpness to the buzzing that put her on guard, made her wonder if she'd edged closer to losing it than she'd realized. Had she
misinterpreted politeness for actual interest? Wouldn't be the first time, God
knew. By the time he pulled up in front of her lakefront bungalow, she decided
she'd let her imagination run away with her. From her. 

"Look," she said on a sigh, "I'm sorry. I don't know why I asked you to leave with me. I guess the wine impaired my reason more than I'd thought, but
it's obvious you'd really prefer to be alone, so if you want to back out, it's okay--"

"Nancy," he said softly, and she turned, chiding herself for getting off on just the way he said her plain vanilla name. She'd left her porch light on so she wouldn't kill herself trying to come in later; the feeble light illuminating features she'd only ever seen radiate grace and confidence, before tonight. "If I hadn't wanted to come with you -- with you -- I wouldn't have. God knows, I didn't want
to be at that party, but I don't really want to be alone, either." His lips tilted into
a sad smile. "Done that enough this past little while to last a lifetime."

Her heart had become stuck somewhere at the base of her neck and was now pounding uncomfortably. She shifted, looked out at the puny snowflakes twirling in his headlights which he'd yet to turn off. 

"Yeah. I know how that goes." She shuddered in the cold, swung open the door. "Well, come on, then. The inaugural meeting of the Spruce Lake Lonely Hearts Club is about to begin." 
She hesitated, leaned back into the car. "Um, I have cats."

Rod chuckled. "There's a cure for that, you know." She rolled her eyes. "How many are we talking about?"

"Seven."

He simply stared at her, then said, "Just don't ask me to clean out their pans." 

"Not a problem."

They got out of the car, icy pellets pricking their faces as they walked up to her door. Her smooth leather soles skidded on the filmy layer of snow underfoot; Rod caught her before she fell, kept his hand on her elbow the rest of the way. 
Underneath his coat, she shivered, imagining what it would be like to cuddle against that solid chest. 

Naked. 

She pushed the thought out, sighed when it came right back like an eager dog with a stick in its mouth.

All these years, she'd entertained fantasies of what it would be like to have Rod Braden do more than politely smile at her, imagined being alone with him, receiving his undivided attention. Well, she didn't have to imagine that any longer. So, um. . .how far did she dare push her luck?

She inwardly snorted. Since when did she rely on luck to accomplish anything? If you want something, you go after it. Okay, so maybe that
philosophy had more than its share of holes, but it sure as hell beat waiting around for life to fall into your lap. Maybe tonight wasn't her only shot at upping the ante with Rod Braden. But maybe it was. Why heap more regrets on the
already burgeoning pile she'd accumulated over the years?

She took a very. . .deep. . . breath.

"And another thing--" she fumbled for her key in her Judith Lieberesque purse, managed to get it inthe door "--I haven't quite decided yet whether or not
to seduce you."

Talk about your stunned silences. 

"Well," she said to the doorknob, since someone had to say something and apparently the honor had fallen to her, "I don't hear retreating footsteps, so I
guess that's a good sign."

What she heard was a short, startled laugh. "Are you always this forthright?"

Still staring at the doorknob, she nodded. Then his hands were on her shoulders, turning her to him, the look in his eyes. . .oy. 

Something told her she wasn't the only person standing here who went after what they wanted. 
 
 

Copyright 2000 Karen Templeton-Berger.  All rights reserved.  Reprinted 
with permission of Harlequin Enterprises, S.A