There was a moment last night when I realized why I was seducing him. But it was fleeting, unconvincing. I brushed it aside without a quiver of guilt or concern.

He only hesitated once. It was when he thought I wouldn't say he was the specific man I was after that night.

Once I gave in, admitted what I really wanted, he took over control of that night. All it took was me whispering his first name. He'd figured out that it was a game to me - that I'd been doing my best to reduce him to someone not even important enough for me to say his first name around other people. To do so would have given the illusion he had become more than a hated quasi-stranger in my life.

It's mid-morning. I'm driving north on the highway, heading home. The sun's beating on my left side. It reflects mercilessly, gloriously off the dashing blue of the ocean far below. The coast road begins its wide curve to the right, going inland as trees begin to take over the space between the road and the ocean view. Big Sur's famous bridge is miles behind me. The compound's turn off is just ahead, on the left. I'm sore, dirty and still not sure I haven't sold my body in order to save the book store.

Could he have been telling the truth about everything?

Saturday nights are now big times at the Library of Congress. It's due to the Lyric Slams, an innovation Ralph came up with. His idea was to let song writers come perform their best lyrics. It's become quite a smash hit; fills up the place with interesting people and good vibes. We've even got Chili Palmer coming up every so often bringing one of his protégés to test out their work.

With the late hours on Saturday, we've stopped opening on Sundays to give us some time off to sleep in, run errands, all that stuff normal people do.

I've started using Saturday nights after the Lyric Slams to date men who keep similar hours - and who are not stalking me while acting all broody and mysterious. So there's been a rather steady stream of okay if forgettable bartenders, members of the little bands out hitting the circuit around here, even a music producer needing a bit of stress relief after a Lyric Slam.

For years now, I've had a good policy to never date a guy more than once. Second dates never turn out well for me. Sometimes, though, one sneaks in under the gate when my curiosity is engaged. Every time, it's only proven to me why I have the policy. Well, except Jeremy, of course. He's the one exception I've never regretted.

This Saturday, I found myself inexplicably inviting bartender Joel to come by my place after his shift. We'd been out once after meeting at his bar, went to another one after he got off work and then crashed into a local motel for a few hours. Then I'd seen him four days later, both of us standing in line at the post office to mail packages. I invited him out again because I'd been obsessing on another man and wanted something to prove to myself that other man wasn't getting to me. I told Joel I'd make him a special dinner after his shift on Saturday. He said 'yes' with that certain look in his eyes and a glance over my body.

On that Friday, I'd shopped and done a bunch of prep work. Saturday morning and afternoon, I'd stolen time from work to go upstairs and turn the pork loin as it bathed in a mixture of papaya, pomegranate and ginger. Then I started it in the oven on a low temperature to cook for a few hours, sure to come out moist and dense with flavor. It was a lot of work; I hoped that alone could set my internal record straight.

During the Lyric Slam that Saturday night, I realized I was enjoying how far I've come in terms of cooking. I thought of that date with Terry Thorne a few years ago - how Andy had talked me through everything, given me all sorts of help - and still, I'd ended up with disasters once I was alone in the kitchen. That should have been the harbinger of the total disaster the date with Terry evolved into. To this day, it pains me to have missed every clue he was never interested in me and only wanted to pump me for how he could move in on Uma. I've never liked knowingly being a substitute or stand-in for a man's real interest. If he can't fake it just enough to keep the illusion it's me he's interested in, what's the use? After all those weeks of getting to know him, it really hurt that he actually felt nothing for me when I'd already fallen so hard for him.

But the night of the Lyric Slam, I knew things were going to be different with this dinner. For one thing, it wasn't a first date like it'd been with Terry. And for another, I didn't care about Joel. I liked the way he couldn't keep his hands off me and that was it. No illusions. And, most of all, no doubts but that he wanted me again - badly.

Until, that is, he called me during the Lyric Slam and said something else had cropped up. He couldn't make it - maybe some other time, he said. I felt my mouth do that thing it does - where my lips slam shut and my teeth catch the tip of my tongue in a vise grip.

"It's not that bad," Chili said to me, his eyes coolly appraising me as I rejoined him after my phone call.

"Your gal? She's great. Sorry. Just got a message..."

"Bad news?" He patted his front pocket. I knew he was wishing against all wishes that he didn't have to be nice and not smoke in the bookstore. It was only a matter of one more song and his newest discovery would be off stage, which meant he could then go outside to light up.

"No. Irritating news. Got stood up." I shrugged. The look of surprise on his face made me feel good, actually. "And I went to all this trouble cooking a great meal. Hey, how'd you like to come up after the Slam? It's just going to go to waste otherwise."

Chili'd asked me out before. Several times. I liked him too much to go out with him, though. Just then, I asked myself what was wrong with having a date with Chili Palmer anyway.

"Some other time, Ann? Can't abandon Melinda. Wouldn't be cool." He smiled at me, patted my cheek, even leaned in to whisper that last part against my ear.

"Sure. I understand." I looked up at Melinda, his gal up there singing with not the best voice in the world but she was a hell of a writer. Someone else singing that song was going to make them both some good change.

A half hour after the Slam ended, I climbed the inside stairs to my apartment above the shop. It smelled good up there - and despite myself, it made me hungry. I looked around at all the careful preparations, my hands on my hips, a curse word on my lips. The only man I was ever cooking for again in my place was my brother Ralph. At least he showed up when invited. And he always brought wine. Not that this was going to be my place much longer anyway, but still...

I opened the wine I'd put out since I'd been so sure Joel wouldn't think of bringing anything, much less wine. That's how guys his age were - they hadn't ever had anyone teach them about being a guest. That they should bring something other than just their appetites and their expectations.

Well, I could still enjoy the meal. Besides, it'd make it almost pleasant following that nice meal to begin tackling the final work Ralph and I had to do before we abandoned the Library of Congress to its new owner. I had books to ship off to new owners. We'd finally ended the auction for the books and the first of the checks had come in only that morning from the winning bidders. All of this work had to be done in secret still, away from anyone but me and Ralph. No one could know we were selling off the valuable books. We had to get it done before Ben Wade filed the codicil as his first step toward claiming ownership of the buildings. If he got wind of what we were up to, I was convinced he'd file legal papers to stop us.

That's the exact moment the doorbell rang. I sipped at the wine and considered whether or not I'd let Joel come in - or whether I'd tell him it was too late to come there and use me as the stand-in for whatever girl he'd hooked up with before he'd called me but who'd ended up not being interested in screwing him that night after all.

I still hadn't decided when I opened the door; I figured it'd depend on what he looked like and how desperate I was to just use him for sex.

Only it wasn't Joel at my door.

It was Ben Wade.

Smiling at me.

I looked behind him. I guess I was just still so sure it was Joel who was really at the door that I was looking for him even with Ben Wade standing before me on my doorstep.

"Expecting someone else?" His voice was rich in its softness.

In a flash, I realized I had to keep pretending, as I had been all week, that nothing was wrong. I'd been polite to him on the surface even though under it all, I did do a few things I could laugh about later. Like giving him a book this week that I knew would upset his fragile psyche where his mother was concerned if he decided to read it.

So I looked him right in the eye, gave a polite smile, and said, "Not anymore." Only then did I glance down to see the book in his hands. I tried not to react.

He cocked an amused eyebrow at me. "I wanted to return this to you tonight at your Lyric Slam but it was so noisy."

I remembered a moment that night, looking up to see him sitting at a table with a young girl. He was smiling at me then, too, just like he was now. He'd risen from his seat after our eyes met, as if it prodded him to action. But I had turned, on purpose, to break the contact between us. Next I looked over there, he was staring at the girl he was with. I knew that look, what he wanted from her.

"Yeah, we had a good night. Thanks for coming to these things. We appreciate the business." Then I put my hand out, expecting him to put the book there. It was one I'd loaned him since I didn't have a copy to sell.

"You were right about this novel. I never saw the end coming. Even though you said I wouldn't, thought I was prepared, but..." His voice was soft, deep, intriguing as it trailed off.

"Really? You read it?" I'd actually been goading him when I talked about this book; I never once thought he'd react this way.

"Of course. And I wanted you to know: I'm glad I did."

Only then did he place the book in my outstretched hand. He did it slowly, deliberately. I pictured his date of the evening, down in the parking lot, waiting on him in his car while he delivered this book to me up here, where only I would be witness to this spectacle of Ben Wade grateful to have experienced something someone else recommended to him.

"Too bad you've got someone waiting on you, Wade. I'd ask you in for dinner since my intended dining companion isn't making it after all. We could chat about the book." I chuckled at the absurd notion - Ben Wade and me, a two-person book club, sitting down like regular folk to talk about something as normal as a novel we'd both enjoyed. After what he'd done to me with the codicil?

"I've got all night, Ann. No one's expecting me."

"Oh. Well, I was..."

"It does smell good inside. All that trouble to cook something that smells that fine for another man, though. You sure he's not just running late?"

"Um, no. But..."

"Then I accept your lovely invitation to dinner. I take that most kindly."

"Oh." Dammit! Now what? Say something, Ann - something to get him to leave...

"I see. That wasn't a real invitation? A bit too close to treating me like a person?" He had stepped in nearer to me, as if he was getting reading to come inside my door. He was so near he could say that all soft, almost breathy, but far too gravelly to be taken lightly. "Close your mouth if you don't want me to kiss it."

In just that flickering moment that combined latent threat with sexual game, I leapt without looking. Actually, I flung myself into the chance to get him back, once and for all before I left, for all the ways he'd been toying with me since I'd met him. Especially in the time between the infamous poker game and now.

"Please. Come in. This should be fun," I said, now tossing the door open wide and stepping aside to make room for him. "What can I get you to drink, Wade?"

"We're alone now. You can call me Ben."

"Bourbon? Isn't that your drink?"

He nodded, a smile on his lips, that evil twinkle in his hooded eyes. Then he asked me what I'd prepared for dinner and I told him, all in great detail. He made a nice, gentlemanly show of anticipation for a meal fit for a man who'd appreciate one made by a woman who'd enjoyed making it. I stuck the book on the shelf by the door, made his drink, delivered it to him where he sat on the couch before the fireplace. Gathering up my wine glass and a plate of baked brie, crisp apple slices and thick crackers, I joined him there. I waited until he'd eaten his first bite, until after he'd made a charming compliment, until after he'd settled back to nibble on another laden cracker. I wasn't quite sure how I'd do it yet, but I knew somehow I could make him feel as small as he'd made me feel.

For weeks, he'd been coming in to the shop, buying whatever novel I'd recommend, pretending he was really interested in expanding his literary horizons. In truth, this was just an effort to amuse himself at my expense. He wanted to obliquely remind me he now held the codicil that placed my store in jeopardy. And he was keeping tabs on Uma through me. He used the books as something that would force me to talk with him. After he'd read each one, he'd come tell me his take. But I never went too far in discussion with him - I'd caught on that he always ended up turning it into a way to ask for an update on Uma. I missed having her around so much but it did nothing but annoy me to have him ask about her. I wished he'd just drive up to where she was working at Maximus' winery to woo her and leave me the hell out of it.

Then at the Lyric Slam two weeks ago, Wade had finally lost his cool with me and made it clear to me that the codicil was real - he already had a lawyer. I knew then he was taking the store from me. Ralph and I had had a melt down but once we came up with a plan, we felt stronger. After we sold the valuable books, I would set Ralph up a nest egg so he could build a new life, maybe get a job with Dino and Terry using his Army Special Forces skills. He wanted to stay in this area because he was falling for Justine. I was planning to move back to New Orleans, sure our pasts were long buried there. Big Sur was no longer where I wanted to be. I'd lost faith in my future here the moment Wade made me see that the old man who'd promised he was leaving me the bookstore had lied - he'd apparently owed someone money or something; hence the codicil I never knew about until recently. It has crushed me to learn this, I admit.

It was vital to our plan that Wade never know he had gotten to me, or that I'd given up on the silly idea I was going to save my store. 

I knew what to do with him tonight, how to toy with him. I could do it through intellect. I could challenge him - he was so egotistical about his intelligence. Let's see him match wits with me on literature and its interpretation. It wasn't much, but it could be a small victory in pride for me. Soon enough, he'd be winning the war over the store.

"So, was the entire thing made up?" I asked, studying him over the rim of my wineglass. 

He never hesitated. "It was a damaged mind, doing the best it could."

"Or perhaps an opportunistic killer, trying to gain sympathy by appearing to be damaged." I was surprised he really was going to talk with me about the book. "Or could it be about the cost of survival to an innocent who descends into evil?"

He shrugged his shoulders, then tilted his head for a moment as he looked in my eyes. "Do you always endeavor to give complications to the already complicated?"

"The simple explanation is rarely, if ever, the real answer."

"No wonder this novel appealed to you as it did, Ann. Bet you created a huge mental list of symbolism you found in the characters once you got to the ending."

"Touché." It made me laugh. A new layer of me for him to ferret out. Not that I ever once thought he spent much time thinking about me. If he thought about my motivations in life, it was with an eye toward how he could use that knowledge to benefit himself in some way.

"On the other hand, I tend to look for human nature - and find it never fails me to understand the mysteries of life." He sipped his bourbon, looked off and around my place.

"Still checking to see if your 'investment' is solid?" I blurted it out. I should have been careful. Having Max Skinner hold a codicil to my building was one thing - but now that Ben Wade owned that slip of inconvenient paper, I was dealing with a man I knew I didn't stand a chance would ever do the honorable thing. It made me feel belligerent, despite all my best intentions. There's a thing to be said for when you have no hope - you also have no fear.

"I know it's safe, Ann. I know you and Ralph far too well by now. You still harbor the illusion that there's justice in the world; that it'll save you in the end. He still believes that one day I'll get bored."

Oh, good. I hadn't blown it. Yet. 

"Actually, I'm the one who figures you'll get bored. I can't imagine you ever deigning to show prolonged interest in anything the boring, law-abiding people like us get up to. The idea of you actually wanting this business is ludicrous. What you want is to toy with us. The only thing I worry about in terms of the codicil is who you'll decide to give it to - it'll be someone you figure will keep me up nights worrying over. That seems your style."

"I'd have to have found some reason to care enough about your petty little life to go to all that trouble, Ann. So far, you've been barely above tiresome."

"I think you smile like that when most people would frown. Do I annoy you, Wade? Is it that I don't bow and scrape? That I don't seem to be for sale to you?"

His smile left so abruptly I didn't see it go. "You have the illusion I'm attracted to you, Ann. Consider that the reality is far different. Wouldn't that be more in keeping with your own history with men?"

"Absolutely." What he said stung. Of course it did. But I couldn't let him see how it felt like he'd just stuck his big fist inside me and yanked out my pride. I could afford to admit he was right - I rather wore it like a badge of honor that I never kept a man interested and preferred vapid, occasional one-night stands. But deep inside every woman lives the girl who wonders if anyone's ever going to chase her long enough to find out if she's worth anything. With Ben Wade, each time I thought he was making a move on me, it turned out it was all part of a maneuver designed to gain him access to Uma's bed.

"And yet?" He took a long sip of his bourbon.

"And yet, here you are."

"Here I am."

"And you know where Uma is but you're not there. What's that say?"

"That I was returning a book and you seized the opportunity to have a man join you after you were stood up by another man. And perhaps I knew Uma was otherwise occupied these evenings."

"Meaning Maximus?" We'd all heard the rumors about Uma and Maximus. She'd essentially confirmed them to me that fateful Lyric Slam night.

"Meaning a different Max."

I rolled my eyes. "The only other Max is Skinner. The day those two get together, the earth will stop spinning."

He'd tried telling me, maybe a week or so ago, that Skinner and Uma were secret lovers - that she was lying to me. That she was purposely hiding that she was now involved with a man I considered an enemy and a bastard. As before, there was no way I was buying it. I'd even called Uma, after Wade told me that. We'd had a good laugh about it. And then one day, I'd overheard Colin and Johnny talking about seeing Uma at Skinner's place when they'd dropped off his car. Uma told me how Colin and Wade were buddies now; she figured he'd enlisted dumb old Colin to spread that insane rumor. It sounded logical.

"Don't be a fool. You know already she's keeping secrets from you. She's never done that before, has she? Why would I lie to you, Ann?"

"Because you're upset she's with Maximus and wouldn't give you the time of day. You always talk about her. You think I'm some sort of route to her for you. Just go seduce her if you've got the hots for her. Be a man."

He pursed his lips as if he'd just sucked down on a lemon.

"Would you light the candles on the table while I serve our dinners?" I smiled at him, all fake charm and social graces.

His smile returned. I kept seeing it in my mind as I decorated our plates - that evocative play between what his eyes looked like when he smiled and when he didn't. The sense that he was more himself when he didn't smile. That he was more serious when he smiled. That he was more vulnerable when he didn't.

I knew I was on to something significant in what I knew of him. I flashed on the look on his face when we had first come out of the erotica book into that hotel room in San Francisco. How serious he'd been, holding out his hand. And how absolutely convinced I'd been that he'd be gentle when I did go into his arms.

So as dinner with Ben Wade began in earnest, I studied him openly. He noticed, of course. He even joked about it, forewarning me to expect to never see what I expected when it came to him. So proud of his ability to be the only one in the room who really reads people, who really can play anyone with the slightest of effort.

We talked more about the novel a bit more. I'd not only not expected him to read it all but I hadn't expected him to figure out why I'd thrust it on him a few days ago when he'd annoyed me again.

Then we talked about Uma, her and Cullen, her and assorted other men in the group including Skinner and Maximus. Once again, it was painfully obvious I would be the stand-in that night if Wade's libido became engaged.

"The thing I think is funny is that you didn't really see it coming," I said after a bit of verbal jousting in which Wade was trying to find out if she'd ever taken lovers in retaliation when she'd find out about one of Cullen's affairs. His eyebrows went up at this response. I waved my wineglass at him as it was nearing my lips. "You know, if you'd only followed up on that kiss, rather than coming over here to be an ass, you'd probably be with her now. Coulda slipped right in while she was vulnerable. But her time with Maximus is making her too strong for you, I would guess."

"What kiss?"

"You know the one I mean, Wade." His smile deepened. "After you won the game off Skinner. You kissed her, so he'd see."

"Or so you'd see?"

"Me? Pfft. No, the audience was Skinner. You were marking her off, figuring he'd be further humiliated."

"Yet I came here instead that night."

"Yes, but that was..."

"That was what, Ann? Even if it was in jest, me wooing you was more enjoyable than you want to admit. Do you regret turning me down that night up here? Do you think about that when you're with the boys you date? Do you imagine they're me?"

"Pity you had such a fruitless night. Poor Wade. Neither woman gave it out that night to you."

We stared at each other, both smiling our standard smiles of gamesmanship, the fringes of that night still capable of reaching out to irritate us. Both of us bristling from its irritating stroke across our psyches, I suppose.

What I remembered was how I felt after he'd won the codicil in the poker game with Skinner. He'd been so attentive to me all evening, playing up the charade that the two of us were an item. When he won, I thought he'd come over, present me the codicil - I was so excited and relieved that he'd won it for me from Skinner, that I think would have laid a huge, sloppy kiss on him in front of everyone. But it wasn't me he went to in that moment of glory. It was Uma. He'd kissed her in front of all of us. To be fair, it was off to the side, as if he was pretending there was some privacy and we were all supposed to believe it was spontaneous. I'd left then, feeling foolish. It was the second time in two days he'd caught me out - caught me believing he was interested in me only to demonstrate I was nothing but a useful set piece, a prop for his theatre as he advanced whatever plan he was brewing.

Then he'd come over here that night; I don't remember how much later. I'd opened my door, he'd sailed through - I'd said something about him acting as if he owned he place. He'd sauntered back to my bedroom where he'd sprawled out atop my mattress. He'd just looked up at me, his hands behind his head, a smirk on his face. What do you think you're doing in my bedroom, I'd asked. It's not yours anymore, he'd said. I own it all, he'd told me, tugging the codicil from his pocket.

It didn't take much to realize he meant he owned rights to the property - and to the woman who lived there. I knew he was goading me, acting that way. To this day, I wonder if he really thought I'd just get naked and jump in bed with him - as if the codicil was really that powerful a document I'd do anything to have it or anything for the man who had it.

I'd said to him that he was breaking his word, that he'd only bet for the codicil on that last hand in the poker game to win it for me - that it had been the deal we'd all struck. The deal, he corrected me, was only that he'd win it - not that he'd give it to me once he did. Now, if I wanted to work out a deal with him, we could talk, he'd said.

Then he'd touched me. I hadn't expected it. He'd whispered to me that he'd thought about me - about how my breasts tasted, about how I sassed him all the time. I admit, his voice weakened me and I gave in for a moment before shoving him away. I went downstairs to my office and tried to sleep on the couch. He was gone from my apartment when I'd gone up in the morning, finally ready to confront him.

I hated that I actually had considered just going to bed with him that night. I remember being on my office couch, knowing he was just upstairs. What was I doing? Why deprive myself? It's not like I was a virgin, not like we hadn't had sex before, not like he hadn't been an incredible lover. It really had been amazing, that experience with him, that night in San Francisco. Why not just go up there, climb into my own bed where he was sleeping. Why not just screw him all night - and earn the codicil by morning?

Because.

Because that's not who I am. I'm not a whore, giving out my body in exchange for money or favors - or the codicil. 

Here we were, again in my apartment, now sharing a testy dinner conversation. I bet he was thinking of that other night, too, and the decision I made to not give in to him. Was that why he bit his lip, why he looked down at his own hands, touching my silverware? And why he asked the next question? Did he realize I despised him for what he was doing to me and Ralph?

"What made you think I'd wanted you, Ann?" I looked up into his eyes, into his smile. "That would have been a lot of effort to go to just for..."

"Just for me?" I broke in, quickly, blinking at him as if it didn't bother me. "No, I never made the mistake of thinking that, Wade. And this isn't the first time you'd made that clear to me. Why is it you do that? Is it to remind me... or you?"

He leaned in over his elbows, and in one second, changed his entire demeanor from his body language to his voice. He smiled broadly at me, his eyes wide and engaged. He spoke with a soft lilt, as if this congenial new line of conversation would make him an amusing dinner guest. "How is your boyfriend? Jeremy?"

"He's quite fine."

"Is he who was meant to eat this fine meal with you?"

"Sure. But work, you know?"

"What was it again he does for a living?"

"He's with the British government."

"A good man, is he?"

"Yes. But dangerous to those who cross him."

"Do you love him?"

I hesitated, not quick enough to counter him. I bet my smile froze on my face. I knew I'd made a mistake just by the way his smile grew softer and he tilted his head at me before looking down to his plate. "It's not that kind of relationship."

Now his eyes came up to mine. He knitted his brows. He hesitated. Then: "You wish he were here now. Instead of me."

"He'll be amused when I tell him of our book discussion."

"Did you tell him about our little ruse? About the poker game? Or perhaps he's heard others talk about us being together that night?"

"He wouldn't care. We're not exclusive." Oh. God. Why did I say that?

"There. I've heard that expression before, from other women in this time. What does that mean?"

"He and I are... Actually, I don't want to have this discussion, if you don't mind. Let's just not talk about Jeremy."

For a long time, he just examined me, his eyes shifting in response to my squirming before him. "Why do you lie to me when you know I can tell?"

"Do I? Lie to you?" Can he really tell? Does he know what I'm up to? Is this him giving me a warning?

"Often. I wonder if it's fear of me or fear of yourself."

"Maybe it's just one of those convenient lies - to save your ego."

He sighed then. He leaned back in his seat, pushed away a nearly clean plate, looked up at the ceiling. "Why is it you must always bait me, Ann? Nothing with you is ever clean, easy if you can make it more complicated. It wasn't Jeremy you were expecting tonight. It was one of your new boys. Besides, I hear what others say about Jeremy so I know - you may wish he was your boyfriend, but he's not."

I got up to clear the table. He didn't move, didn't look at me, said nothing. Just sat there, staring at the ceiling as I walked back and forth between the kitchen and the dining area. On my third trip back, I pulled out the chair next to him. Only when I sat did Wade shift, sit up straight and look at me. He wasn't smiling. Somehow, that made me feel better. I refilled his glass of wine and topped mine off. Then leaned in on the table, studying him, smiling in a way I hoped he found inviting.

"When you read the novel, what did you end up feeling about the boy's mother?" I asked him, for this was always the one question I would have most wanted to ask him. And now I threw caution to the wind and just asked. After all, the night wasn't going to end up anywhere good, so why not?

His jaw worked side to side; his eyes narrowed. Somehow, I knew he wasn't angry - just honestly considering how he'd answer me. He also leaned in now, his elbows on the table, his hands gliding together. "His view of his mother surprised me most of all."

"The boy wasn't being honest about her, though. Since he was the narrator, he made her out to be more valiant in saving his life than she really was. You got that, right?"

He shook his head. His body almost visibly loosened as he set about to convince me of his viewpoint of this novel's intriguing aspect of the nature of the mother. Coming from him, the interest in this character was incredibly provocative. His fingers inched across the table until the tips stroked over mine as he spoke, seeking a connection between us that was both mental and physical. "A boy never lies to himself about his mother," he said. "Even if she's ultimately not who he wanted her to be, she is who she is and he knows that above all things. He loves her not for her momentary weaknesses or transitory deeds - he loves her for the connection they alone share. She gives life."

"What if she gives death? Isn't that something that could have happened while they were waiting to be saved? I mean, if you read this as if she was the..."

"She was never in the lifeboat, Ann. She was already dead before this began - drowned when the ship went down. This was about who the boy needed his mother to be and who she never had been for him in life."

"I don't agree. She was the only real person besides him in the lifeboat."

"No. Each animal he described in the boat was a person. The only human he claimed was aboard with him was an animal. Probably his dog for the way he looked to her for protection at times."

I stared at him, open mouthed, and reframed the entire novel with that one idea. I didn't necessarily agree but I was fascinated at his perspective. And then in one glaring moment, the entire novel shifted and I knew he was right. Damn him.

He leaned in closer and ran a finger along my jaw. "I told you earlier tonight: close your mouth or I'll kiss it for you."

I could kill myself for blushing when he said that.

"What did you think the floating island of mangroves meant?" he asked me when I said nothing else.

"A delusion, brought on by his desire to find a safe haven when his mother fought for his life."

"Didn't it seem more likely it was a sex dream?"

"Wade, it wasn't a sex dream."

"Every dream of a boy that age relates to sex."

"What about the dreams of a boy your age?"

"I'm no boy. You know that. It's why you run from me."

I rolled my eyes. "You didn't answer the question. Do you still only dream of sex?"

"When are you going to stop running from me, Ann?"

"You just reminded me earlier that you're not pursuing me, that you have zero interest in me. How can I run away from someone who's not pursuing?"

For the first time all evening, he chuckled. Not hale and hearty as if it was the funniest joke he'd ever heard but deep and rumbly as if he was surprised to find me up to the challenge.

"Do I annoy you?" I asked him after swallowing a gulp of fine wine. How had my glass emptied so quickly yet again? "I'd so like to think I annoy you."

"Why?"

"Because a man like you needs to be annoyed by at least one woman. Too many women would fall on the floor and give it up to you if you asked just the right way."

"You certainly did."

"Those were special circumstances. It won't happen again."

"Really? I could change your mind."

The look on his face, so earnest and conceited. It made me chuckle. He knew his affect on women; he used it with us but he was also honest about it. "Keep to not being interested in me, Wade. Just go after my friend Uma, whom you're really hot for."

"Maximus told me you withdraw from any man who tries to engage your soul rather than your body. I find this fascinating in a woman who presents such a pleasant, helpful face to the world around her. The idea that I could get you into my bed again if all I did was concentrate on your body - but the moment I seek to invade your thoughts, you close down? Any disinterest on my part may have been only seeking to work around that."

Was this true? Had Maximus really said that? Surely not. I poured more wine and considered what was happening. I don't like talking about myself. I don't like examining anything with anyone else able to pass judgment. Wade, on the other hand, has a more than healthy ego and more baggage than the average guy. Why not play with him a bit? "The thing about men is they have such a hard time believing a woman may just not want more than their body. For me, the rest is too much of a mess to put up with."

"You don't like men?"

"No, I like men. I even like the idea of men as love interests - in theory. But in practice? They're not worth the hassle."

"You harboring a broken heart, Ann?" 

I grinned. Wasn't that a standard leap of logic? "Aren't we all, Wade?"

"Most of us get over it. Go on and love again."

"Who needs love?" I waved a hand as if shoving it all away. He leaned forward to catch my hand. "I have a very sensible approach. I'm just too clear-eyed about men to give up my independence in order to be taken in by a temporary spurt of them on their best behavior while they try to convince you that you need them. But I do like the feel of a man's body and I like the way a man can make my body feel."

He grinned and shook his head. "So no man's good enough for you - you'd never let one close enough to do any good."

"All they do is damage if you let them too close. They make you promises and then let you down if you believe them. You know I'm right. Hence my 'one date and out' rule to live by. Not that I don't make a few exceptions but those are only with men I know I'd never feel anything for."

"Like Jeremy?" He asked this so softly. I stared at him. "Sounds a lonely life for a woman. You miss out on all the good things a man brings to a woman he loves - including the ones he loves just for a night."

"Oh, you know, I bet you and I feel much the same way about this whole 'love' game. I bet you have your share of women you wish you'd never met. Confess. How many times has your heart been broken?"

He closed his eyes and sat there, breathing deeply. Was he going through the mental roster of women he'd known in his life and naming the ones who'd claimed parts of his heart only to hurt him when it came right to it in the end? No one can ever tell me a man who lived his life hadn't get his hopes up on one seemingly sweet woman after another, only for the weight of his infamy or ambition to drag the promise of 'love' across the sandpaper of reality. While his eyes were closed, I simply looked at him and was blown away, again, by how much he turned me on.

Finally, his eyes opened and he reached over to stroke my wrist. "Only a few, Ann. And I'd never give up on all women just for them."

The involuntary shiver at his touch made my voice drop low and soft. "Do you think they know they hurt you?"

"No."

"With what I know about you, I can't quite understand why you'd ever leave yourself open with any woman."

"You don't know that much about me, though. It's when a person most surprises you that you should be most intrigued, Ann. The times they show a spirit you find at odds with their life." Now he trailed his fingers across the palm of one hand; when I closed my hand at the sensation, he held it between both of his.

"So it's true what Evans thought? That you were at a point in your life where you wanted to find a nice woman to settle down with?"

"Evans was wrong on many assumptions he had about me." He was almost snappish. He smiled to cover it up. "Women are moments of softness in my life. I never once wanted a woman as a companion for more than a few weeks."

We were at odds with the other, battling for the last word, not willing to concede. But the way he held on to my hand, as if he owned it? Despite everything bad I felt about him, I could never deny he was sex personified to me - intelligent, dangerous, and willing to take a woman for no reason other than he wanted sex just then. And quite implausibly, the most moving lover I'd ever been with, damn him.

I suddenly wished so deeply that he'd been there that night with only one thing on his mind: getting me to have sex with him again. My voice reflected the desire; I could hear it in my own ears as I spoke. "I'm glad you came by tonight, Wade."

"Though you wish another man would have been here having dinner with you."

"Or perhaps not." I smiled now, slowly. I pulled my hand from his hold; he let it go grudgingly. Leaning toward him, I reached across the short distance and smoothed my hand up his arm, from his wrist to his shoulder. And then I lingered even longer to drop those fingers down the front of his shirt, stopping at each button to tug on it just a bit. If I'd used a telegraph, I couldn't have sent Ben Wade a clearer message of what I wanted from him that night. "Actually, I'm glad he wasn't able to make it. Finding myself alone with you, again - I wouldn't mind at all taking advantage of it."

It seemed to throw him, ever so briefly, for me to really change directions and go on the advance. His reaction, though, was not exactly what I expected. I thought he'd toss me a few more come ons, then he'd kiss me and we'd end up doing the horizontal mambo on my mattress. Instead, he rose, nodded at me. "Thank you most kindly for the dinner, Ann. Don't think I've enjoyed such fine home cooking since I've been here. And thank you also for the book."

"You're leaving?" Was this was part of his game? I rose quickly; my chair skittered back.

He scrunched up his mouth; his eyes hardened to steel. Then: "Hard as it may be for you to believe of any man, some of us don't want sex bad enough to just be your stand-by choice. The man you wanted to be with isn't here; you figure I'll be a worthy substitute. Forgive me if I find that of no appeal."

I laughed. The look on his face! As if I'd offended him because I'd come on to him. "Wade, don't be silly."

"Silly? 'It is a people of no understanding who shall not have mercy shown them nor favor given.' Isaiah 27. Take this warning, Ann, for you don't know me. Never believe you can use me as a substitute. Ever. Got it?"

I moved toward him now. All he had time to do was turn around; before he could move away from the table, I was right in front of him, my hands running down his chest. His breathing deepened when I leaned in on him. "Wade, don't go. You know what I can do for you," I whispered, my mouth near his neck. "I may not be her, but ..."

He pulled my hands away just as I was beginning to work on his belt buckle. His voice was hoarse. "Stop, Ann. You don't want to push me tonight."

With that, he slid away fro me. I followed as he walked away but then just stood in the archway that led from the dining area to the living room. He grabbed his coat from the couch; I leaned into the wall. He walked to the door without a glance back at me.

In a voice I hoped cut, I said, "That's it, then? A woman won't grovel to you so she's not appealing? This isn't your time, Wade. This is ours. And here, you're not the rock star - no one here knows or cares who Big Bad Ben Wade is. You're threatened by me because I won't swoon like the lonely barmaids of your time did just at the hope you'll favor me with your attention."

Now he looked at me, over his shoulder, his eyes as deadly as his hissed whisper. "Careful."

"You're not really man enough for me. But I would have made you feel good tonight. You would have even believed I think you're a good enough lover to make up for your bumbling efforts to appeal to women of this time."

Even when he turned, even when his focus on me was so sharp it should have sliced me to shreds, I never once flinched. I was so tired of being stood up, taken as the second choice, not worth another look once the first glimpse failed to inspire. Face it, I was tired of myself - of being unwilling to act on my desire for the rare one of these men with whom my life was bound up. Nothing he could do to me was worse than being ignored and dismissed, which he'd already done. What else could hurt that mattered?

"Oh, go on and leave already, Wade. You only think you want to change your mind. You know I don't really want you anyway. I sure as hell don't like you. I just wanted a man tonight - any man." I gave a light chuckle at the end as the punch line. I turned and walked into the kitchen. As I waited to hear the door slam behind him, I needed something to make me feel better. So I pulled from the refrigerator one of the desserts I'd made so carefully that morning. Chocolate mousse. Solace in a small crystal cup for a woman who already knew more wine wasn't going to help nearly as well as chocolate.

He was in the kitchen doorway when I closed the refrigerator. He tried his best to glower me into a sign of submission. But his hands trembled; a fine line of sweat glistened along his forehead. And I knew whatever else I'd done, I'd shot the dart damned near to a death kill of his state of mind. I gazed at him, aware I'd made him feel he was easily dismissed in this new world - perhaps the great fear of this dangerous, imposing man. That was when I noticed he was hardening. He saw me looking at his groin; I would have bet it infuriated him that I smiled when I saw he wasn't able to control his body better than that reaction.

Everything about him was focused on only one thing: me. He took two steps and then reached for me, knocking the crystal bowl from my hand in the process. His voice was deep, rough.  "That mouth of yours..."

I slapped him. Hard. He didn't flinch but he did freeze. My own voice was just as rough as his; mine was a whisper. "I hate you. I hate you more than I've ever hated any man."

His hand gripped in at my elbow and yanked.

"I said I hate you. Can't you even hear?" My other hand formed into a fist; I would have punched his chest but he caught my wrist. "What else do you want from me? You've taken everything I care about..."

"You." He blinked; his mouth softened. "I want you."

A moment before, he'd looked as if he wanted to let the rage out. Now it was as if he wanted to corral it, to use it at his own command.

I shoved him against the refrigerator to try to kiss him but he twisted around, taking me with him until I moved from his grasp to lean back against the wall of the entryway. My body arched toward his when he loomed over me, his eyes looking down my form, which had been so carefully clothed in anticipation of another man. For long moments, we paused in the battle between us. The anticipation of his touch was the wildest aphrodisiac I'd ever willingly imbibed.

When he did touch, it was light yet instantly possessive. And I knew, right then, with that touch and my reaction, that he had really only needed a sign from me that I wanted him, despite all my barriers. His hand was on the back of my knee and then he ran fingers up that thigh, delicate skin reacting with goose bumps that made me shiver and sigh. His hand went under the skirt, inching it up; his right hand then helping with the other side.

His eyes were looking down at my chest. His face was solemn, his jaw tight with concentration. My hands stroked his neck and tried to pull him to me for a kiss but he resisted. It felt impossibly dark, close, sensual - and I felt the power of being a woman within the thrall of a man who knows he's capable of making us both do anything in the time to follow if he just presses it to where he feels it should go.

"Ben." I whispered his name, my lips caressing the lobe of his ear. "You're who I wanted tonight. Why do I want someone I hate so much?"

His head dipped down, giving me better position to gather myself into him. His hands on my legs bunched up the skirt before the left one went between my legs, stroking up my buttocks until looping a finger in the top of my thong. I felt the echo of his sigh inside my chest.

"You're not a substitute." My panted whisper must have been all the evidence he'd need I was telling him the truth. "I'm sorry for what I said..."

"Don't..." he whispered back, his voice a croak.

This is when he moved, so fast, so sure - like nothing I'd witnessed. With only the one finger looped in my thong's top, he somehow whipped it down - he was dragging it past my knees before I could react by bracing my hands on the wall. He sunk down, racing his own hand as it pulled the thong down to my ankles. From down there, he looked up at me, a swift glance, pure male. I raised one foot at a time as he freed me of my panties.

"Oh my." It was a breath of awe from me.

"So wet," he said as he came back upright, his mouth brushing over my chin before working over my lips, shoving them open at the end even as I pushed up into him and whispered his name into his mouth.

My hands were on his belt again. He pushed them away before grabbing my hips and pulling me into him. I put a hand between us, kneading him through his slacks. He finally took hold of both my wrists and pinned them to the wall. I would have moaned very loudly to feel that demonstration of might but I was too involved in trying to kiss him harder.

He walked me backwards into the living room, my hands captured at the small of my back, my teeth nibbling wherever they could reach on his chest. He tumbled into the couch, righting himself into a sitting position as he pulled me astride his lap. Kneeling over him, I worked to undo the buttons of his shirt.

His hands cupped my face. "Slow down. I want this to last."

"No, I want..."

He yanked me down. "Ann... Look at me."

When I stopped and really looked, I found the most unbelievably vulnerable man staring back. It made me feel sick. And frightened. "I just want you. Can't everything else not matter, Ben?"

He closed his eyes in response. His hands on my face slipped down so slowly, caressing my neck and then smoothing down over my breasts. He leaned in, wrapped his arms around me and pulled me with him as he relaxed into the couch's back cushions. That was when I realized he wanted to be gentle with me. It was like switching something off inside me. I remember how he'd been tender and giving when we'd first made love - and how I'd so not expected it.

Arching away just a little, I looked down at him, his head leaning back over the couch, watching me. I smoothed the hair back from his face and then kissed him, gently this time. Then slowly ran my lips over his eyes, along his brow. He responded by undressing me a little at a time. It was as simple as it should have been because when he did it, I liked how he took charge.

For a long while after we were only skin to skin, we sat nearly unmoving and mostly silent except for the sounds of my breathy moans as he used just the coarse whorls of his fingerprints to trace the outlines of my nipples, then the contours of my clit.

We kissed just as languidly. Exploring how far the kiss could go, how close to coming it could bring us.

The moment came for him to slip inside me. He lifted me up while I held him poised, the heat of his cock almost more than I could hold in my hand. I settled atop him, slowly and carefully, filled to the point of greed and still it wasn't enough.

After we were slick with sweat, sliding chests and slippery hands, he said it wasn't enough friction. So he flipped and flopped - and I was on my back on the couch, knees wide, him driving between my legs, mindless, until his halting breath murmured something warm against my ear and he came.

Next I remembered, my eyes slid open and I looked out on a world of his arm draping across my shoulder, my face buried in a cushion and his thigh between mine.

He was awake, waiting on me perhaps. "Cold?" His voice sounded far off.

"No. You're like a furnace. I'm not complaining. It feels nice." I nestled into him more.

"You okay? I didn't hurt you?"

I swiveled around to cast a glimpse into one half-closed eye. "Of course not."

"Mmm. You already got a few bruises." His hand touched gently over my hip.

"They won't show. Don't worry - I bruise rather easy."

He chuckled. I did, too. Somehow, I realized, I'd just maybe said the truest thing about me and he got it. "I'll keep that in mind."

But since I was moving soon, I knew he'd never again grab my body in passion. I turned all the way until we were facing each other. My fingers stroked his hair back and then traced over his lips and under his eyes. "So."

"So."

"We got this out of systems finally, right?"

He slipped down a bit until he could bury his face in my neck. His arms circled me; if I didn't know better, I'd have said he was cuddling. "Do you know why I came over here tonight?" he asked me, his mouth against my throat.

"The book. You said..."

"I heard you tell the guy in the overcoat about your date not making it tonight."

I looked down but all I could see was the top of his head. "If you already knew that, why the attitude when I asked you in?"

"Even bad men get cold feet around women like you."

"Don't lie and pretend it's sweet talk. I hate when men do that." I tried to push away; he held on; there was no budging.

Eventually, he chuckled, stroking his tongue along the front of my shoulder. I shivered at the sensation. "You're determined to always annoy me."

"Someone has to." My voice was a soft whisper now.

I didn't think he was going to say anything else. When his warm hand pulled my leg over his thigh, I let myself give in to his hold. "I came here for you tonight, Ann. You think once with you was ever gonna be enough for me? But figuring out how to have you again... Well, you're not the easiest woman I ever knew."

It made me smile; but I said nothing.

After a while, I felt myself drifting. At some point, he said he was cold. When I said I could get us a blanket, he rose from the couch, pulling me up with him and led me back to my bed. By the time we slipped under the comforter, all I wanted was to bury myself inside his warmth.

It was the last thought I had - that he was warm, there, holding on. And then from nowhere, I was woken by the ringing of my cell phone on the bedside. Reaching out, I realized I was now alone in bed. He must have slipped out, like he had in San Francisco. I figured this was a good thing - not having to face him over breakfast. It was still only about sex. On the fourth ring, I had the cell phone in my hand, an unfamiliar number showing.

The caller launched right in when I answered: "It's Joel. I'm outside. Let me in."

"Let you in?" My brain felt numb. "Who is this?"

"Joel. Don't pout - a woman your age never looks good pouting. Unless it's pouting lips around my dick."

My entire being snapped to alertness. And annoyance. "What? You woke me up to talk crude? You been drinking?"

"You liked my crude mouth the other night. C'mon, Annie. Let me in."

"No one calls me Annie. How desperate do you think I am that I'd let you in after you stood me up?"

"Didn't stand you up - called you, didn't I? C'mon - I'm out here and it's cold. Let me in - you know you want to. Annie..."

"Don't call me Annie! And you cannot come in. Go home and leave me alone."

I heard the heavy thuds of him pounding on my front door. The sound echoed down the hallway and through my open bedroom door. "I'm gonna stand out here, knocking on your door, until you let me in. Annie, you don't want your neighbors hearing all this racket."

"Stop that! You are really an ass when you're drunk, you know that, Joel? I cannot believe I wasted all that effort just to..." He giggled in my ear and kept knocking. I knew he was just going to keep it up. It really pissed me off - first waking up to find Ben gone and this jerk here. I hopped out of bed, grabbed a t-shirt, pulled it angrily over my head, started stomping toward my bedroom door and yelled at him, all at the same time. "Joel! Stop knocking on my door and get the hell out of here!"

Before I even finished yelling, the knocking stopped. I paused at the door to my bedroom, listening to Joel, who was talking to someone else even while he held his phone to his mouth. "Who the fuck are you?" I heard Joel say.

"Your worst nightmare, son," I heard Ben Wade say.

Tiptoeing into the hall, I held my breath until I could see what was going on. Ben stood inside my open front door, his back to me, wearing only his slacks. Facing him from outside was Joel, whose entire body was registering that he'd just had an "Oh, fuck" moment. I could only imagine what Ben's face looked like to Joel - and how Joel must have seen a threat unlike any he'd seen before.

But I give Joel credit. Or maybe he really was drunk. He said, "Where's Ann? She's expecting me."

"Does it look to you like she's expecting you?" Ben's hand clenched and then slowly relaxed. "I ain't got too many rules about life. But I got a simple one about how I deal with any man who sniffs around a woman I'm seeing."

"We had a date..."

"You got one chance to make it out of this whole. Stop talking. Turn around. Go home. And don't ever come back here. I better never find out you bothered her again."

It was like Joel suddenly remembered the phone he still had against his ear. He lowered it, snapped it shut, a slightly dazed expression as he studied Ben. He turned and walked away. I stood there watching Wade watch him go and listened to the soft sounds of Joel's footsteps rapidly descending my stairs.

Finally, Wade closed the door and turned to gaze at me as I leaned against the wall, my arms crossed against the chilled air that'd come in through the open door.

"I thought you'd gone," I said, shrugging my shoulders.

"Anything else you got to say to me?" His voice was soft but it was still filled with the threat I'd heard when he was talking to Joel.

"Thank you... Ben." Even in the dim light from my kitchen that fell on him by the door, I could see the way his eyebrows drew up in confusion. "I'm not used to a man sticking up for me. Other than Ralph. I know it shouldn't, but it felt good to have you do that."

His eyes dropped. When he glanced back up, I saw that slight grin of his, the one that was so superior to the rest of us. The one that gave him distance from us. "Just getting some water. You worked up a thirst in me."

"Ah. I see." And I did. At least I thought I did. Until he came to me, took my hand, and led me back to bed. I fell asleep, holding him, feeling safe in the distance only people like us could generate with someone pressed in against us.

When I woke in the morning, I really was alone. He was gone from the bed, gone from the apartment.

I found the codicil when I went to make coffee. An envelope sat on the kitchen counter. I didn't realize what it was. I actually thought he'd left me a note and I was already bracing myself for it to be something stupid.

But inside the envelope, I found two pieces of paper. One was smaller. I opened it first, smoothing it down, looking at a pencil drawing of me, on my bed, a blanket drawn up, my hair covering most of the side of my face. When I unfolded the second piece of paper, I saw it was the codicil.

It took me ten minutes to brush my teeth, comb my hair, run a washcloth over my body, pull on jeans and a t-shirt. I was at my car maybe two minutes later. In five minutes, I was driving through the parking areas of the Big Sur Inn, where he'd made the mistake of telling me he was staying that weekend. When I spotted his car before one of the cabins, I parked next to it.

A moment later, I was pounding on the door. He opened it, his face trying to decide between a smile and a frown.

"You son of a bitch," I rasped at him, shoving the codicil into his chest. "You can't buy me."

He stepped back, instinctively grabbing the codicil. "Good morning. I presume you'd like to come in?"

I opened my mouth to say something else but every word was choked off. Instead, I turned to leave. I'd taken only one step when I felt his hand on my arm. I tried to wrestle my arm back but he pulled me into his room.

We struggled against each other, neither saying a word, just panting with the exertion. Finally, he let me go and I stumbled back, my knees hitting the edge of his bed. When I looked up, he was leaning against the closed door.

"I didn't think you would make me feel cheap."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not a whore. I didn't do that last night to get you to pay me off."

His voice was ice cold and very low. He held up the codicil. "This is what you wanted."

My breath caught. Hard. Rough. Bad. "Yes, I want the codicil. But it had nothing to do with last night - between us. You bastard. I thought..."

"What, Ann? What'd you think I was leaving it for?"

I suddenly started laughing. "I tell you, Wade. Now you see why I never see a guy twice. The second date's always a disaster. Thanks for not breaking the jinx."

"The codicil was in the book. I put it there because I liked the idea of you not knowing you had it in your possession." I heard amusement in his voice. Derision was in his eyes as he walked over to take a seat at the small desk. "I liked thinking of telling you at some point where it was - and how it was going to feel when you realized you'd had it all along and I'd been playing with your life."

It took a moment for me to understand what he was really telling me. "You put it in the novel you were returning? Before you even got invited in?"

"Yes. It gave me such pleasure to hide it in plain sight from you."

"Why did you change your mind and leave it where I'd find it this morning?"

For a long moment, he just looked at me, as if weighing his words. Finally, he ran the tip of his tongue across his unsmiling lips. Then: "After last night, I wasn't so amused anymore. Besides, I didn't want to be one of the people you'd find out had been in on the fact the codicil's a fake."

"A fake? What are you talking... You said... You said it was real!"

"No. I said you should take me to court, Ann. You would've found out it was a fake."

"Then who has... Wait." I sat heavily on the edge of bed. My head was dizzy. "It was fake all along? Did Skinner know?"

"Know? Skinner created it, Ann. He was trying to cheat you, take the store from you."

"God." The enormity of what Skinner had put me through flashed before me. I looked up at Ben. Tears were in the way; I tried so hard to get them to stop. "Why would someone be that cruel?"

"That wasn't the cruelest part." He got up, stood at the window, gazed out for a moment. Then looked back at me. His voice was so serious. "Uma's the one who told me it was fake. Few weeks ago."

"What? No. No way. She'd have told me if she knew!"

"Not if she's helping Skinner. How else would she have known if he didn't tell her?"

"But you're the one who had the codicil. You saying she was covering for both of you?"

He sighed. "I told you, they're lovers, Ann. For a while now. Maybe she's been helping him set you up. But face it, if she were your friend, she'd have told you long before she told me. She must've figured I'd never say anything - that I'd take the place from you like Skinner was going to. That wasn't my plan. Ever. I was always going to give this to you; just got annoyed and wanted you to sweat a bit."

What he said, the way he said it, his voice? How convincing it was. But I shook my head hard. "I'll never believe that about Uma."

He didn't say anything. Not until I walked to the door. My hand was on the knob when he finally spoke. "I'm not really as mean a man as you think I am. I am capable of surprising you, Ann. Remember my touch - how it felt last night? That wasn't a lie. And this isn't either. I'm trying to protect you."

"Bullshit. You set this whole thing up to get back at her." I turned to look at him. "Just don't think I ever really wanted you for anything but sex."

His mouth scrunched up, tight, angry. He grabbed the codicil from the table and brought it to me. As I watched him, I saw his shoulders droop. He didn't seem able to look at me. Anger seemed to ease from his body and leave through his fingertips as he ran them through his hair for a long, tired moment.

"You're free, Ann. Go on home."

"I don't understand," I said softly, holding the codicil gently. "Are you just giving it to me?"

"It was mine to do with as I wanted. Now we're done with each other."

"Wait..."

"Just go, Ann. I'm tired." He walked to the window and looked out.

I shuffled my feet. Should I go or should I even care that I didn't like what I felt? He told me he'd surprise me at just the moment he stepped out of his comfort zone. He was right - because just as I was staring at his back, wishing I understood and afraid I did, he turned and walked right up to me. His hand cupped the back of my head and drew my face to his. Without hesitation, he simply kissed me. It was rough, just this side of brutal. And all I could do was hold on until it was over.

"It was all a game to you." I pushed back against him; he wouldn't let go. "I was willing to pretend you wanted me...You could have just fucked me and walked away. You knew I wouldn't expect anything else."

"No. I wanted the game over. I knew you were planning to leave. I don't want you to go away." His voice was too filled with the emptiness of disappointment. That's the moment I let myself accept this was about the clash of expectations. "I wanted you to know who I am. I wanted you to want to hold me again."

"You were...?" I tried to say it. It choked coming out. Finally: "Were you being nice to me? Is that why you left it for me this morning?"

Now he let me go and took a step back, his eyes dropping down to find mine. His lips jerked into a tiny smile. "Now, Ann, you know better than that. I'm never nice. You do something nice for someone, I imagine they look at you like you're looking at me. You may just find yourself doing something nice again."

"Right. Besides..." For some inexplicable reason, my eyes clouded. I honestly was thinking he felt something for me that was ridiculous. I cleared my throat and looked down.

"Besides, you don't like men doing nice things for you. Gets you thinking they're maybe after something other than your body."

"Right." My voice sounded harsh in my ears, like a rasp compared to the silk of his. I took a step back and reached behind me for the doorknob again. "I wouldn't want that."

"So you've made clear. Always try to abide by a lady's wishes, even if there may be options she hasn't considered."

"Options?"

"Since you got no reason to move on from here anymore... And since I want to taste those pretty breasts again..." His voice was so low, I wasn't sure I heard him. I looked up, right into his eyes. They were hooded by the seductive droop of his lids. "You ever had an affair? I had an affair with a lady once. A fine lady of St. Louis. Wouldn't have done for such a fine society lady to be seen in public with an outlaw like me. Used to sneak into her house, late at night, for months. No one ever knew. Including her husband."

"What happened?"

He neared me, reaching out to gently cup my face. "When it was over, it was over. We went our ways."

"It was that clean?"

He smiled and let it grow bigger as he watched me realize he wasn't going to answer that. When I twisted the door knob, he put his arms around me. I found myself holding on to him the moment he stopped smiling at me. He whispered, "Make the same exception you make for Jeremy."

"I can't. It wouldn't work ..."

"We can have an affair." His voice was a sensual feather, a sensation that made me feel alive. "Nobody needs to know."

The question I should have posed was about honesty, I suppose. I should have asked: what are we being honest about and what are we being deceptive about? The idea of doing something illicit with Ben Wade, I admit, excites me. I've made decisions on less.

He's not what I expected. I can't figure him out, how it is he can make me so sure he's a bastard and then make me feel so alive around him. And he just can be so gentle. And there were those moments with him when I felt I saw a part of him that was so vulnerable it made me feel inexplicitly protective.

I pull into the compound and look at the Library of Congress. As I sit in my car, staring at the building where I both work and live, a play of bright sunlight cascades across the wide expanse of the front windows of my shop. Surely, this wasn't what the old man meant? If there was ever a time to keep my guard up, this is it. Just in case.

Nothing Ben says about Uma can be right, no matter how convincing he can be. I know her too well. He's going to have to stop saying things like that about her - he has no reason to now. Not now that we're the ones having a secret affair.

This is when it hits me.

The shop is mine. It always was. For once in my life, a man gave me something of real value and let me keep it. I was right to have taken that leap of faith that kept me here in Big Sur.