LITMIR.BIZ

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keep it a secret that she favored the senator as the companion of choice for her niece. But that was for Anne to decide. She was a mature adult.

      He spread his hands in an innocent gesture. “I wouldn’t think of upsetting Anne.”

      “This isn’t funny, Mr. Sinclair.”

      “I’m not laughing.” He leveled a steady gaze on her as the old rebellious spirit stirred in him. Being told not to do something had always set him on a direct path for it. Of course, rebellion sometimes led to disaster.

      “Just what are your intentions toward my niece?” the older woman demanded, stopping in the shade of the oak tree and out of sight of the other two.

      He gave her a cool glance. “I think that’s between Anne and me. She is of age, isn’t she?”

      “She’s twenty-five. And a virgin.”

      “I’m thirty-one. And I’m not.”

      Ignoring her indignant gasp, he headed for the lemonade stand and ordered four drinks. The gorgon gave him the silent treatment on the return trip. Which was okay by him.

      Anne glanced from one expressionless face to the other. She sighed dramatically. “My aunt give you the medical diagnosis?”

      “Yes,” Jon admitted, looking her over.

      “Still planning to seduce me?” she asked, mostly out of curiosity. Men fled when they found out she might turn into a liability rather than a lover.

      “Anne!” her aunt admonished.

      “Yes,” Jon said, meeting her eyes. He grinned.

      Anne placed a final spray of greenery in a bouquet of yellow and pink roses, then stepped back and eyed the arrangement. She nodded in satisfaction at its loveliness.

      Doc Adamson had ordered an impressive array of flowers for his cousin’s thirty-ninth birthday. Ellen Adamson had directed his office and business affairs for the past two years with cheerful efficiency, but this was the first time he’d sent her flowers. Perhaps this signified a change in their relationship.

      For a tenth of a second, Anne was wistful, then she pushed aside the feeling. If she ever married, it would be to a man like Randall, someone who wouldn’t expect too much from her.

      Her aunt and uncle liked him and had encouraged their dating. Randall had hinted several times of late that he wanted to ask for more from her, but she’d managed to evade the final question. She wasn’t quite ready to commit herself.…

      A restlessness stirred in her, a longing for something more. Excitement. Danger. Romance. Oh, sure.

      She shouldn’t expect fireworks, rainbows and all that. She knew wild romance was only in books and movies. Still, she wondered about it sometimes. A startling thought came to her—Jon Sinclair could give her all those.

      But then, what about commitment and mutual respect and common goals? Excitement and danger were childish fantasies. And wild romance was not lasting devotion. Randall was a much better choice. If she ever decided to marry.

      Another wild idea intruded. Wasn’t a person entitled to one mad fling before settling down to marital and family bliss and responsibility?

      She was shocked at the errant ways of her mind. She had always been the soul of respectability. After all, Randall had two sons—one in his first year of college and one a junior in high school who still lived at home. She liked the boys and would be a model parent for them. If she married.

      The bell tinkled over the door, announcing a customer.

      She stuck her head around the corner. “Ellen, hi,” she called, seeing her friend. “Be right with you.” She quickly hid the bouquet with a covering of colorful foil paper and walked into the front part of the flower shop.

      “I thought I’d see if you had time for coffee,” Ellen Adamson said, admiring a wreath made of Christmas bows with cinnamon sticks and sachets of cloves to add a holiday scent. Monday was the day the doctor did routine surgery. The office was closed, and so Ellen had the day pretty much to herself.

      “Give me a second to freshen up.” Anne renewed her lipstick and checked her hair. She wore it clipped out of the way with a big bow at the back of her neck while she worked. “Okay, let’s go.” She stuck a Be Back Soon sign in the window.

      The two friends walked two doors down the block to a restaurant and took a free table amid a myriad of hanging plants. Anne picked a couple of dead leaves off a spider plant and checked its moisture level before taking her seat.

      “That was some kiss Saturday,” Ellen commented after the waitress had departed with their order.

      “Yes.” Anne tried for a nonchalant manner and failed.

      “I was coming to rescue you, but you fainted before I got there. Quick thinking, that.”

      Anne cleared her throat. “Thanks, but it wasn’t all an act. I sort of panicked, then things went dark. When I realized what had happened, I decided to go along with it. I was afraid my aunt would club him if she saw him kissing me like that.”

      “A couple of guys were ready to step in when you made your dramatic move. I was worried about you for a minute.”

      “You were?”

      “Mmm-hmm. Until I saw your face.” Ellen laughed softly. “You looked totally blissed-out. Was the kiss that wonderful?”

      Anne hesitated. “Yes.”

      “Oh.” Ellen studied her a second. “That sounded like a very serious yes.”

      Anne lifted the bangs off her forehead. “Is it suddenly hot in here or am I blushing?”

      “Blushing. This gets more interesting by the minute. What are you going to do about Jon Sinclair?”

      “I don’t know,” she hedged. “Got any advice?” She wasn’t sure if she should confess, even to her best friend, the insane idea that kept occurring to her.

      “Go for it,” Ellen announced.

      “Go for it?”

      “Right.”

      Anne frowned at her friend. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

      “I hope so. I think you should have a torrid, tempestuous affair, one that will singe your eyebrows.”

      Anne had to laugh. “That kiss nearly did.”

      Ellen became serious. “I don’t want to see you settle for…oh, I don’t know, less than you deserve. Randall is almost twenty years older than you.”

      “Does that matter?”

      “Maybe. Everyone deserves that wild, impossibly insane first love. I’d hate to see you miss out on it.”

      Anne watched Ellen become pensive, her smile bittersweet. Her friend had once been married, but it hadn’t worked out.

      “Everyone should have that first sweet taste of passion,” Ellen continued. “For men, it’s called sowing their wild oats. For women, it’s gather ye rosebuds while ye may.”

      “This advice from a doctor’s right-hand person? What about safe sex and all that?”

      “I didn’t say not to be careful. Just have fun while you’re doing it.”

      “Jon Sinclair told me he wasn’t a marrying man.”

      Shock momentarily stopped Ellen, then she grinned in pure glee. “Arrogant beast,” she murmured. “So it has already gotten that far.” She gave Anne a purely speculative perusal. “From a kiss to talk of marriage in one breath. Impressive. You must have singed more than his eyebrows.”

      Anne lowered her lashes demurely and murmured wickedly, “I hope so. I like to give as well as I get.”

      Ellen

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