No More Mr. Nice

chapter 8


As Jess struggled toward Moses, coughing and sputtering, she heard a male voice shout, “When I shove you up, grab the opposite side of the boat and swing a leg over.”

She wiped water from her eyes, and squinted. Lucas had reached the rowboat ahead of her. He shouted again. “Larry, get low in the center, and grab Moses’ arm when he comes up over the side.”

Jess began to dog-paddle, watching in confusion. What was Lucas doing out there? Why wasn’t he saving his computer?

He disappeared beneath the surface. After another few seconds she saw a flailing Moses catapulted up and out of the water. He belly flopped over the side of the boat, and immediately swung a leg up and over the gunwale. Larry grabbed Moses by his soggy jacket and hauled him, gagging and spitting, into the bottom of the rowboat.

Before Jess realized he had moved away from the boat, Lucas was beside her, grasping her by the upper arm. “Let’s get you back to shore,” he said, sounding slightly winded. Jess cast one last glance at the boat. Larry, looking wretched and guilt-ridden, was rowing for all he was worth. Moses’ nose was the only part of him visible above the gunwale, for he was slumped backward, exhausted, his head lolling on the seat.



She shifted her attention back to Lucas, and gasped, “You—you jumped in to save Moses?”

He seemed surprised by her question. “Why else?”

“I—I thought you were—uh—saving your computer….”

He scowled. “You have quite an opinion of me, don’t you?”

She opened her mouth, but inhaled more water and choked.

“You okay?” Lucas asked. Though his tone was edged with resentment, she saw a shadow of concern in his eyes.

“I—I’m—” She broke off as more water sloshed into her mouth, bringing on a gut-wrenching fit of coughing.

Lucas began tugging her toward shore, and she felt humiliation clench her stomach. Another failure. Another type A deciding she needed rescuing, deciding she couldn’t manage on her own. “Lu—Lucas,” she spat out between gasps for air. “Please. let go of my arm. I—I’m not drowning….”

He didn’t oblige her at first, accusing, “You’re doing a pretty good imitation of it.”

She was treading water in the world’s heaviest boots, peering at him between strands of water-soaked hair. “Please…” she moaned hoarsely. “Don’t treat me like a child.”

“I’m not trying to dominate or control you, Jess. I’m trying to help.”

“I know, I know. I appreciate it, really,” she wheezed, then added, almost begging, “Please—let go…”

His frown told her of his reluctance, but he finally let go. Without a word, they swam back toward shore. Jess knew he was slowing his pace to match hers, but now it wasn’t quite so obvious she was the less capable of the two.

She knew she was acting irrationally, being so touchy about not wanting his help. Especially after the vow she’d just made to heaven that she would endure any humiliation if Moses’ life was spared. But she’d spent so many years receiving unsolicited “help” from people who thought what they were doing was for her own good, it was practically impossible to endure any, so-called help these days—even, apparently, when her life was at stake.

As they neared shore, the rowboat caught up and wedged itself between them. Its oars dipped and rose frantically, gouging out explosive showers of water, as Larry did his inept best to get Moses to land. Jess could hear Larry’s labored breathing as he rowed. Though she couldn’t see his face, she could tell he was worried for his friend’s health, and upset by what his recklessness had caused.

When the boat bumped the shore, Lucas scrambled onto the grass and helped Moses out. Jess noticed that he ignored her as she hauled herself weakly from the frigid water. She tottered to the boat as Larry hopped out to help Lucas with Moses. She grabbed the piece of rope that was used to tie it to the dock and wrapped it around a sapling that grew near the water’s edge. Then, hardly able to support her own weight, she stumbled over to retrieve her coat, her ruined shoes squishing loudly as she went.

The other kids in their group had gathered around Lucas as he pulled on his dry sweater and boots. Shuddering, Jess huddled in her parka, which did little to ward off the cold. She noticed that Molly was sobbing, and reached out an arm to comfort her. “Everything’s okay, honey,” she soothed. “Don’t worry.”

The girl looked up, her face ghostly pale. “But—but I didn’t know you said ‘cooler.’ I thought you said ‘computer,’” she wailed. “I thought it could float or something.” She gulped. “I’m sorry, I threw it—” Her mournful apology was interrupted as she burst into sobs and buried her face in her hands.

So that’s how the computer got into the lake, Jess mused sadly. Poor Molly. Hugging the quaking girl, she whispered, “You thought you were doing right. And you acted quickly.” She turned to Lucas. “Mr. Niceguy doesn’t blame you,” she assured Molly, casting a threatening look at Lucas that said, You hurt this child’s feelings and I’ll have your heart!

He met her gaze, and in a split second his anger and frustration about the thousands of dollars’ worth of computer hardware that had been lost and the multimillion-dollar contract that was slipping rapidly out of his grasp was silently communicated.

Then Lucas’s hard glance shifted away from Jess and settled on Molly, her face buried in her hands, her thin shoulders quaking. His expression softened slightly with what might have been pity. “It wasn’t your fault, Molly,” he said. “I thought she said, ‘Throw cat litter.’ Figured she was out of her head from the cold, so I jumped in.”

Molly looked up and blinked her big, liquid eyes at him. Several of the kids laughed at his unexpectedly humorous remark. Jess simply stared.

“I’ll—pay you back,” Molly whispered brokenly.



He shrugged. “Tell you what,” he suggested. “You take my next turn at peeling potatoes and we’ll call it even.”

Molly swallowed several times, then the beginnings of a grateful smile quirked her lips. “I’ll peel all your potatoes from now on, Mr. Niceguy,” she offered.

He grinned at her and Jess felt the appeal of it radiate through her frozen core, kindling a new warmth within her. “Just once is fine,” he said, then turned back to Jess. “We’d better get Moses to the house to dry off,” he reminded, more brusquely.

“Yes—I suppose we had,” she agreed, her voice quivery with cold and fatigue, and something more. Perhaps it was gratitude for what he’d done for Molly. Or, maybe it had been his gentle smile, reminding her of the unexpected sweetness of his kiss last night. In spite of her resolve not to dwell on it, the memory came back to haunt her, robbing her of any peace of mind.

Larry stripped off his coat and put it over Moses’ shoulders, muttering in a strained tone, “I’ll run on ahead and tell ’em to get some blankets ready.”

Lucas nodded. “Good idea. We’ll be right there.”

Bernie came up puffing and took charge of the remaining group, but Jess hardly noticed. Her consciousness was focused on Lucas, who had slung a protective arm about Moses’ quaking shoulders to help him forward.

She guessed he was starting to relate to this boy—to all of these kids. Somehow, slowly, he was remembering how it had been for him, and he was opening up. Not by much, yet. But that one, spontaneous movement to try to warm Moses himself, despite his own obvious discomfort, was certainly telling.



She felt a stirring of fondness for the man. During the past twenty-four hours, Jess had been witness to the fact that he wasn’t a man devoid of passions. His were simply directed in areas other than personal relation ships—a tragedy, for he could probably be a loving, caring man. Exactly what she needed most in her life. But, getting involved with Lucas Brand would never do. Never. He had no intention of redirecting his passions away from making money toward making people happy. Unfortunately for Jess, however, those dark eyes beckoned, beckoned….

But she’d never be so stupid as to fall for another type A man again. Especially not the very man who’d been partly responsible for the breakup of both her parents’ and her own marriage! She’s be a crazy, self-destructive idiot if she allowed such a thing.

The trio headed toward the house, Jess trailing tensely a few paces back. She watched her tall, drenched host from under her lashes, hating the fact that she was so drawn to him. His jeans were plastered to his legs, showing off every taut male muscle of his hips and thighs. Focusing on the back of his dark head, she wondered what was in his mind. He’d been gracious to Molly, and Jess was grateful for that. At least he wasn’t a man who humiliated children. Or grown women, for that matter. He’d certainly left her alone when she’d asked—begged, she amended, smarting inwardly as she recalled the humbling scene in the lake.

She wondered if he was angry that she’d rejected his help. Or had his abandonment when she’d gotten out of the water been his way of allowing her to be the strong, independent woman she wanted to be?



“You’re pretty quiet back there,” Lucas called, slowing his pace to allow her to catch up with them.

She was pleased to suddenly be included. Lucas and Moses had been talking, but embroiled in her own mental turmoil, she hadn’t heard what they’d said. Hurrying forward, she asked, “How are you doing, Moses?”

He looked at her for a minute, then cast a dejected gaze at the ground. “I’m gonna get k-k-kicked out on my butt, ain’t I?” he grumbled through chattering teeth.

She frowned at him. “Of course not.” Taking his hand in a reassuring gesture, she said, “Actually, you’re going to get some dry clothes and some hot chocolate.”

He peered over at her. “Ain’t you ticked?”

She squeezed his fingers. “I’ve been ticked worse.”

“No jive?” he asked, sounding incredulous. “I don’t have t-to go home?”

She shook her head. “Hey, Moses, we all make mistakes. Next time, you’ll remember to wear your life jacket. Okay?”

He snorted. “Won’t be no next time this trip, man. That water’s cold as a witch’s b-butt.”

Lucas chuckled. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

Once they’d handed the quaking teenager over to a couple of servants who wrapped him in a towel and were escorting him to a hot bath, Jess turned to Lucas and whispered, “Cat litter?” She found herself breaking into a smile at the craziness of his response earlier to Molly.



He lifted a derisive brow. “You want poetry, get Robert Frost. That look of yours didn’t give me much time to come up with a good lie.”

She gathered the wool blanket that enveloped her more tightly about her shoulders as she and Lucas headed up the back stairs to hot baths of their own. Her smile faded. “How bad was it—I mean, what you lost?”

He exhaled tiredly. “The phone that fell out of my pocket was no great loss. And, I’ve got the Takahashi program here on hard disk. Mainly I lost a damn fine computer and time I can’t afford to lose.”

As they reached the second-floor landing where Lucas’s room was, she took hold of his hand. “Lucas—” she began tentatively, “today, you were truly the Mr. Niceguy I’d hoped for. Thanks.”

He turned on her sharply. His dark eyes narrowed as they stared at her hand holding his. Though he had donned that familiar air of isolation, Jess wasn’t intimidated by it, now. She’d discovered new facets of Lucas Brand. Like the way he could smile at a frightened little girl and ease her fears, or fling a fatherly arm about a quaking boy to warm and comfort him. And most important of all, she’d felt the gentleness of his kiss. Bravely, she smiled in the face of his aloof manner, holding tightly to his fingers. “Maybe Mr. Roxbury knew what he was doing after all,” she whispered.

His eyes flashed a warning, but she was no longer frightened by that look. Suddenly embarrassed by her uncharacteristic boldness, she slid her fingers from his. “I’m—I’m truly grateful,” she offered unsteadily.

“Are you talking about what I did for Molly, or in the water with you?”

She flushed. “Both—I suppose.”



He was wearing his blank computer-screen stare, and she couldn’t begin to guess his thoughts. “Don’t be grateful to me,” he cautioned. “Just because I’m not a beast who makes little girls cry, and because I let you struggle to shore half drowned, doesn’t make me any more your Mr. Niceguy than I was the day we met.” He turned away, summarily dismissing her with his abrupt departure.

She watched him stalk off, sensing that he was angrier with himself than with her. Both of them knew he’d gone farther today than he’d probably ever expected he would toward being what Mr. Roxbury wanted in his substitute Mr. Niceguy.

Lucas’s attitude had mellowed toward the kids, toward the project. Why couldn’t he concede that he owned a heart, and could even use it when called upon? Darn his stubborn hide!

Shaking her head, she trudged on up the stairs to the third floor, weary all the way to the ends of her dripping hair. “Why are you so afraid to care about people, Lucas?” she murmured sadly.

THE KIDS WERE IN THE great room, watching a film the Goodalls had rented for them. Tonight was to be a relaxing evening after a long, active day. Since Lucas’s presence wasn’t required during the screening, he’d retired to his computer room to go over his program in peace.

Whatever the movie was, it must have been funny, because every so often he could hear the young people burst out laughing. He frowned, realizing his mind wasn’t on the scrolling display of figures on the computer screen. With a keystroke, he moved the display back and restarted it, only to be immediately distracted. “Damn it to hell,” he muttered and began the scrolling over again.

The phone rang, and he picked up the receiver. “Brand, here,” he barked.

“This is Fletch. Just got word that Cybertronics has dropped out of the race.”

Lucas was surprised by the news. Cybertronics was one of their strongest competitors for the Takahashi contract. “Did you hear why?” he asked.

“Can’t conquer the cordless glove—uh…” Fletch halted, wisely not voicing his thought.

“Don’t you dare say, either,” Lucas warned. “We’re going to find the glitch in the program and get this deal if it’s the last thing we do.”

“Uh, right,” Fletch said. “You find anything on your end?”

“No. I’m working on it now.” Deciding not to tell Fletch the absurd story about how his computer got thrown into the lake, he just said, “Had a problem with my XJ 9000 this morning. What about you and Sol? Find anything in the sensor system?”

“Nada, but we’re staying with it.”

“Check with me before you go home.”

“Home?” Fletch scoffed. “I’m not familiar with the word.”

“Hilarious,” Lucas said tonelessly, then hung up.

As he moved to reset his computer, he paused, cursed and sagged back wearily. Closing his eyes, he did something he rarely ever did—let his mind wander. Irritated, but knowing he wasn’t getting any work done, he decided he might as well get this thing sorted out in his mind and file it away so he could get on with his life, and his work. What difference would fifteen lousy minutes make?

Why in hell had he kissed Jess Glen last night? The question had gnawed at him all day. And, if he were to be honest, it had cost him what little sleep he might have had when he’d finally given in to exhaustion around four in the morning, and had fallen into bed.

Maybe his lapse had been due partly to nostalgia. He hadn’t gone walking in that part of the woods since—well, for years. It had brought back memories of happier times. That’s probably why he’d lingered with Jess instead of going back to the house. Damn, it had been eerie to walk there. To be so near his…

He ran a restless hand through his hair, cursed again and decided to face the fact that it hadn’t been only that. Not simple nostalgia. It had been Jess, too. That flustered, brave little speech had given him new insight into why she was the way she was, why she automatically disliked men like him and was nervous when he was around.

She’d been bossed and badgered a lot in her life, and she was sick of it. He could see now why she wanted desperately to be a person in her own right—not one who someone else was molding like sculptor’s clay, but her own person. People in her past had made her terribly vulnerable, damn them. She’d proved that today when she would rather have drowned than accept his help and maybe get a little ribbing. When she’d pleaded with him, choking and coughing, her frightened eyes bright with tears, he’d felt like kissing her again, right there in front of God and everyone.

What was it about her that made him want to take her in his arms and protect her? That was the last thing she wanted from him—or from anyone. She wanted respect and fair treatment, and he didn’t blame her, didn’t fault her. Unexpectedly, last night he’d felt her pain, witnessed her shattered confidence, and it had touched something inside him.

He’d made an effort over the years to empty himself of emotions and sentiment. That’s why the kiss had surprised him so. It had shocked her, but it had blown him away. He hadn’t kissed a woman out of simple caring in a lot of years; had never expected or wanted to, again. Yet, he’d felt a stirring last night, and had acted on it. Not the brightest idea he’d had lately, but it had been too strong to ignore.

It had been some sort of twisted, crazy urge to help, he guessed—no doubt due to his fatigue and the lack of female companionship since he’d begun this damned Takahashi thing a month ago. He’d regretted his actions immediately, but hadn’t been able to forget how perfectly attuned their kiss had been, how damned quickly and thoroughly the whisper-light touch of their lips had become wildly hungry; and that memory rode him hard.

Over the years, he’d learned to distance himself from pain, both his own and other people’s. Since his divorce, he’d made it a practice—no, a strict policy—not to get involved. Especially with women who wore their hearts on their sleeves and lived by their emotions—like Jess.

Why, then, was he suddenly ambivalent about his strict policy of noninvolvement? What was it about her that made him want to punch somebody? Her father, maybe? Or her ass of an ex-husband? Why did he want to shout, “Leave the woman alone. She’s damned pushy enough the way she is!”

He almost smiled at that. For a woman who thought she was a failure, she’d gotten him to do things for her he’d never have done for anyone else. Damned honest gray eyes of hers. He snorted derisively. He knew she wasn’t manipulative. He knew she’d tried her damnedest to be, but it just wasn’t her nature. Still, in her own decent, scrupulous way, she’d handled him like a pro. He was strangely ambivalent about that, too. Sometimes her directness irritated the fire out of him, and other times, like when she was sputtering out her “You bother me” speech last night, it sent a stab of feeling through him that he couldn’t quite identify—and couldn’t quite ignore.

As he rocked back in his swivel chair, listening to the faint squeak of its hinges, he found himself fantasizing about making love to her. She was so caring and vulnerable with the kids, and so guarded with him. What would it be like, he wondered, to see her flushed with passion, gasping and moaning softly in his arms? Beautifully naked, her silky skin wet and pulsing against his. He gritted his teeth, crushing the dangerous image. But another emerged in its place, just as haunting, and every bit as dangerous: the image of Jess today, when she’d shocked him by taking his fingers in hers.

He’d resisted squeezing back, had balked at the compliment and the intimacy. He fisted the hand she’d held so tightly. He wasn’t Mr. Niceguy, dammit. Wasn’t the generous soul old Roxbury was, and he didn’t want to care, to deceive the woman who was looking at him with a new, almost-admiring expression. He’d backed off, growled at her. Rejected her approval.

It was best that he had, he told himself. She was an open person by nature. Unfortunately, people who were supposed to have loved her had given her a lot of emotional scars. It was ironic, he mused. Both he and Jess were guarded in their own ways. She’d never had much affection in her life, or much approval. By working with these kids, she was getting both, at last.

Because Lucas had known affection, but had lost it suddenly and cruelly, he no longer sought it. He rejected it, and didn’t give a damn about anyone’s approval. They were an interesting twosome, he and Jess Glen. Very different, but ironically alike.

Though the kiss they’d shared had proved they were highly compatible sexually, pulling her into bed would be a mistake. It might do his ego some momentary good, but it would only make her more guarded and inhibited when the affair ended. He didn’t want to add to her hurts, and offering uncommitted sex to a woman who wanted affection and emotional attachment would be underhanded and sleazy.

He knew he had to steer clear. But the memory of the kiss nagged, driving him crazy. Dammit! He jerked forward and switched on the diagnostics. Enough time had been wasted dwelling on that idiotic kiss. It was time he moved on.

“Hey, man,” came a voice from behind him. Swiveling around in his chair, he saw Molly and Moses standing just inside the door. The thin girl, her hair pulled back into a runty ponytail, was carrying a plate with what looked like a sandwich on it. Moses held a steaming mug.



Lucas sat forward, frowning, but not particularly irritated by the interruption. Maybe a break was a good idea. “What can I do for you two?”

They were looking around the room, clearly in awe of the advanced technology they were seeing. “Shi— uh—” Moses began, then amended, “Shoot, man, you know how to work all this stuff?”

Lucas raked an impatient gaze over the computer equipment. “The board of directors thinks so,” he muttered.

“What is it you’re doing?” asked Molly.

He shrugged. “Working on a Virtual Reality program for a pharmaceutical company in Japan.” Lucas indicated the helmet sitting on the desktop to his left. “This is what we call an HMD, or head-mounted display. Through it we see a Virtual, or imaginary, world. And this—” he lifted the glove, barely able to keep the anger at the malfunctioning piece of junk from his voice “—is our cordless, force-feedback glove. It lets you feel an imaginary thing the way it would really feel. Say, an imaginary marshmallow that feels spongy, like a real marshmallow, or an imaginary rock that feels hard, like a real rock.” He slipped on the silver glove and opened and closed his fingers in a clawlike maneuver. “This drug company wants a computer program that’ll help them pick up molecules and move them around so they can improve medicines.”

“But molecules are too small to move with your hand,” Molly said, a confused frown puckering her forehead.

“That’s true,” Lucas agreed, giving the girl an approving nod. “So my job is to make imaginary molecules that are big enough to move with this glove, and to see through this helmet, so the computer can then work microscopic tools that do the same thing to the real molecules.”

“No jive?” Moses exclaimed.

“No jive,” Lucas echoed, pleased at the boy’s interest. “The drug company hopes this new technology will help reduce the costs of products.”

“Cool,” Molly breathed. “You’re almost like a saint to be working on something so wonderful.”

Lucas halted in the act of taking off his glove, and shot her a startled glance. “I wouldn’t say I’m very close to sainthood,” he hedged, embarrassed by the young girl’s admiration. “It’s my business to come up with computer programs.”

“But you do such awesome stuff, Mr. Niceguy,” she objected passionately. “You’re a totally awesome man.”

He felt a prick of guilt as he turned away to finish removing the glove. “What is that you two brought?” he asked brusquely, anxious to change the subject.

“We, uh, thought you might be hungry,” Molly offered, still sounding too impassioned for Lucas’s peace of mind. He turned to stare somberly at her. She held out the plate, but did not move forward.

He realized now why neither of them had come any closer. To a fourteen-year-old, his equipment no doubt looked like the inside of an alien spacecraft. “I am a little hungry, at that,” he admitted, feeling the weariness of the past several weeks lying heavily on his shoulders. “Thanks.” He got up and indicated a table and four chairs in the corner near the door. “I’ll eat over there.”

Molly and Moses, hurrying along the far wall, beat him to the table and had set down his sandwich and mug by the time he got there. Lucas was surprised to see he’d been brought a cup of cocoa instead of coffee. “Looks good,” he offered less gruffly, realizing how really hungry he was.

“Mrs. Glen thought you might be ready for something,” Molly said, taking a step back, as though she still feared he might reach out and slug her for tossing his computer into the lake.

After seating himself, he ran a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes. “Tell her thanks,” he said, tiredly. Then, looking at the boy, he asked, “How are you feeling, Moses?”

He shrugged. “Like a dumb-butt, but I ain’t cold anymore.” He elbowed Molly gently. “We both feel pretty stupid.”

Molly bit her lower lip. “Yeah,” she added shyly. “Spitball told me those little computers can cost a couple of thousand dollars—” She broke off suddenly, as tears flooded her eyes. The storm of emotion was so unexpected, Lucas was taken aback. He flinched, lowering the sandwich he’d been about to bite into.

“Hey—” He reached out and took her hand. “Cut that out,” he cautioned gently. “We had a deal. You’re peeling my potatoes remember?”

She sniffled. “But—I ruined an expensive computer!” she sobbed, brokenly.

She was right about that—except for one small detail. The XJ 9000 had cost fifteen thousand dollars, not two. Frowning at her distress, he squeezed her fingers. “Molly, I don’t usually brag to women about my finances,” he said, with a grin he hoped would charm her out of her tears, “but I’m filthy, stinking rich. I could toss one of those little toys in the lake every day if I wanted and still be able to afford cable TV.” He squeezed her hand again, then let go, adding, “Besides, I have insurance for stuff like that. Won’t cost me a dime.”

She blinked, and sniffed. “You—you sure?”

“Would Mr. Niceguy lie?” he asked, ashamed at his use of the title he didn’t feel worthy of. But he figured it was a label she’d have faith in, and he hoped it would get her mind off the blasted computer.

Molly seemed to relax slightly. His reference to the damned Mr. Niceguy fraud he was perpetrating had done what he’d wanted it to. She swallowed and wiped her nose with the napkin she’d brought. “I—I made the sandwich,” she said, her voice almost steady.

Moses added, “I made the cocoa. Larry’s trying to say he’s sorry by helpin’ Jack wash that moron dog.”

Lucas was confused. “What moron dog?”

“You know,” Moses said, “the dumb one that chases skunks. He came home smellin’ like shi—uh—smellin’ gross, again.”

Lucas shook his head. “Moron sounds like a good name for a dog who likes to chase skunks.”

Molly giggled, and that surprised Lucas. She seemed to have bounced back quickly with his reassurance. “I’ll tell Jack,” she was saying. “It’s nicer than most of the names he’s been calling that mutt.” Her big eyes were still glistening with liquid, but she seemed at peace, somehow. Lucas felt an odd gratification about that, then he caught himself and grunted at his slackening of control. “If you kids will excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

“Right. No problem,” Moses said, tugging on Molly’s sleeve. “See ya tomorrow, man.”



“Sure.” He didn’t look up as they left the room. After a minute he took a bite of the sandwich. Leftover meat loaf from the dinner the kids had concocted last night. He chewed, deciding it tasted pretty good. He hadn’t had leftover meat loaf sandwiches since he was a kid. Eyeing the cocoa dubiously, he considered it. Odd how the world could grow colder, crueler, the economy could crumble, countries could wage wars all around the globe, but somehow, cocoa seemed to remain a quaint constant in his life. Somehow it wasn’t just a drink; it invariably came to him as an offering of thanks or help or hope.

He scowled in contemplation. Once, he’d heard a quote—actually a question—that went something like, “Who knows where great things begin?” A long time ago, a great thing had begun for him when he’d been offered a simple cup of cocoa. He lifted the mug, staring at it. Though he wasn’t crazy about the sweet taste, he took a swallow. It warmed him, and he felt curiously melancholy.

“I hope I’m not intruding.” Jess’s hesitant voice shattered his pensive mood and he glanced over to where she stood by the door. All the apprehension she’d ever harbored for him seemed to have returned to her face, and stiffened her stance. He found himself regretting that.

Though obviously she’d distanced herself emotionally from him since her attempt at friendship this afternoon, she looked much improved over the last time he’d seen her, dirt-caked and drenched. Her light-colored hair hung straight to her shoulders, and her wispy bangs half hid expressive gray eyes. Her features were earnest, though apprehensive. He wondered if she had any idea how lovely she was in her own quiet, insecure way.

She had a skittish, fawnlike beauty, especially when casually dressed in jeans and a sweater. She was softer this way than in those power suits she’d worn when they’d first met. Now he understood how out of place she’d felt in them, how she’d never really been herself, dressed for success. She didn’t even like the power-dresser types. Preferred comfortable clothes and affectionate relationships, not boardrooms and techno-bull—any kind of bull, for that matter.

She was a caring, vulnerable person. He found himself warming to the idea of making love to her again, as the memory of their kiss raced through his mind with renewed vigor. But he squelched the thought along with the smile that had almost made it to his lips. “What is it?” he asked, purposefully gruff.

Her tentative smile faded and she gave him a mildly offended look as she approached the table. “Do you realize you have an exasperating habit of making people come to you?”

He scanned her skeptically. “I’ve been eating sitting down for a long time. I didn’t know it was so daunting.”

She flushed, disconcerted. “You’re in a charming mood,” she said, her voice edged with sarcasm. “Find your mistake yet?”

“No,” he admitted gruffly, trying not to give a damn about her feelings. “What do you want?”

She pulled out a chair and sat down, her expression pained. “Okay. You want to play it this way, I can be grouchy, too.” She planted her elbows on the table and laced her fingers below her chin. He had a feeling the move was to keep from tapping her nails nervously on the table. “How familiar are you with horses?” she asked.

“I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never made love to one. Is that all?”

“That’s terribly charming, but not what I meant,” she chided. “I meant, can you ride?”

“It’s been a long time.”

“Well, don’t worry.” She stood and assumed a pose every bit as dismissive as his had been, earlier that day. “I’m sure it’ll come back to you. See you at eight sharp for a day of horseback riding.”

“Or what?”

She gave him one of those stringent looks he’d gotten used to. They were more engaging than intimidating, and he fought an urge to tell her so.

“Or this, Mr. Niceguy,” she warned, turning away. “If you don’t show up, you’re a dead man.”

“I hope you realize murder can’t solve all of life’s little problems,” he taunted.

“Maybe not,” she retorted over her shoulder. “But it would sure put a dent in mine.”

Lucas sat back, watching the inviting sway of her hips as she marched away. A smile played on his lips in spite of himself.