LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER ONE

      REGINA BELLINI WAS expecting company.

      When she heard the knock at the door, she set aside her glass of Chianti, slid her feet into the soft leather heels she’d picked up during a trip to Italy and stood. Anticipation hummed through her body as she smoothed down the fabric of a slim-fitting skirt and carefully retucked her white silk blouse.

      As she passed the gilt-edged mirror that hung in the foyer, she paused to check her appearance. She fussed for a moment, pushing the tumbled mass of dark curls back from her face. Humidity had made a mockery of the hour she’d spent that morning blow-drying her hair straight. Still, she looked presentable.

      And so she picked up the shotgun.

      It wasn’t loaded, which was a pity she decided as she eyed the man’s silhouette through the oval of stained glass on the old Victorian’s front door. The double barrel, however, made quite a statement. Raising the gun, she swung open the door and pointed its business end directly at the man’s broad chest.

      “For the last time, I’m not selling,” Regina said, hollering to be heard over the storm that had turned the July night chilly and inhospitable.

      “And I’m not buying, lady,” the man promised, stumbling back a step.

      It was not quite nine o’clock but it was nearly pitch-black outside thanks to dark thunderclouds. Lightning cracked as he spoke, illuminating the scene more clearly than did the meager light that burned overhead on the generous expanse of porch. In that brief flash, the shock on the man’s face was unmistakable. It registered right along with the fact that he was handsome as sin and not the pesky developer Regina had been expecting.

      “I thought you were somebody else,” she sputtered in surprise.

      “Yeah, I got that.” The stranger’s deep voice sounded strained, but it held a hint of amusement. He motioned toward the gun. “Mind pointing that thing someplace else?”

      Regina hesitated. He was soaked to the skin, short dark hair plastered to his head. Yet even wet he exuded that same cocky sense of self-assurance she had come up against a little too often lately. She tilted her head to one side and asked, “Are you a developer?”

      His dark brows tugged together in an incredulous frown. “Are you going to shoot me if I say yes?”

      “You’ll have to answer the question to find out,” she challenged.

      The man divided a considering look between Regina and the lethal weapon she still gripped.

      “No, ma’am,” he said solemnly and held up a hand as if he were giving an oath.

      It was then that she noticed the blood. Bright crimson, it leaked down his arm from a gash across his palm.

      “My God! You’re hurt.” Regina quickly set aside the gun and reached for him, tugging him partway into the foyer for a better look. “What happened to you?”

      Despite the fact that the stately home was perched on a narrow point of land that jutted into one of the Great Lakes, his reply was the last thing she expected.

      “Shipwrecked.”

      Then his eyes rolled back and he stumbled forward into her arms in a dead faint, the weight of him taking them both to the floor. More than six feet of man lay on top of her—more than six feet of a wounded and unconscious man. His bulk made it impossible for Regina to scoot far enough inside the house to kick the door closed with the leg that wasn’t trapped between his thighs.

      The rain was coming down in a furious assault now, the wind slanting it sideways so that it marched with ruthless precision across the covered

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