LITMIR.BIZ

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only asking.’

      She opened the freezer compartment of the refrigerator and extracted a couple of frozen breakfast burritos in paper wrappings. ‘Actually, I was going to have one of these.’ She put them on the counter and turned on the small toaster oven.

      ‘Breakfast burritos?’ He examined the frozen food, reading the information printed on the wrapper. ‘Good God, what are they going to come up with next?’

      ’they’re good,’ she said. ‘Eggs, cheese, ham, the works. All the protein you need.’ And all the choles-terol you didn’t. ‘And they’re real easy. All you do is heat them up in the oven. Haven’t you ever seen these before? Where have you been?’ She couldn’t help herself.

      ‘Not anywhere in the so-called civilised world,’ he said promptly.

      So she had discovered from his ticket carbons, but of course he didn’t know that, and she wasn’t about to admit that she’d been snooping through his papers.

      ‘And where was that?’ she asked casually.

      ‘Nowhere you’d know.’

      That’s what you think, she told him silently, annoyed with his arrogance. She looked at him squarely. ’try me.’

      Obviously he didn’t deem this a worthy challenge, because he simply ignored it. Instead he poured boiling water into the mugs and handed her one.

      Well, how many people in rural Virginia had ever heard of Balikpapan? Not too many. Yet his condescending attitude was definitely insulting. Mr High and Mighty, Mr Globetrotter with an attitude problem.

      ‘You’re giving me the evil eye,’ he said with a sardonic twist of his lips.

      ‘It’s my gypsy blood,’ she said lightly, and took a drink from her coffee.

      ‘Ah,’ he said slowly. ‘Gypsy blood. Very intriguing. Is that what gives you the fire in your eyes?’ He flicked a finger at her ponytail. ‘And that gorgeous dark hair?’

      Instinctively, she took a step back. It had been a casual gesture, the way he had touched her hair, yet it had set off instant sparks of fire inside her. ‘Watch it,’ she said. ‘I do spells, too.’ She walked out the back door into the bright spring morning, taking her cup with her. His presence was dark and disturbing and made her long for light and cheer. He made her uneasy with those black, mysterious eyes and that big, muscled body, all male virility and power. She didn’t want him in her house.

      Yet it was not fear for her physical well-being that made her uncomfortable. She saw power, strength and energy, but no violence. There was something else that disturbed her, that made her heart beat faster, her senses sharpen. Something that set off strange vibrations and tremors.

      The back porch was big and had a view of the grounds with its many blooming white and pink dogwoods, and numerous azaleas in a luxuriant riot of colour. It was a fairy-tale garden. She leaned on the wooden railing and watched the squirrels racing up and down the large oak trees just starting to bud into leaf. Everywhere birds chirped in exuberant harmony. Spring was springing and all was light and cheer.

      She loved this place. She’d remodel it as a big family home, but it would be perfect as a bed-and-breakfast, a hideaway where stressed-out yuppie couples could come for rest, relaxation and romance.

      She sighed. Romance. She wouldn’t mind a little romance herself. Actually, she wanted a lot more than a little romance. She was twenty-eight and she wanted a man for the long haul, meaning that she wanted a lot of romance for a long time, preferably for the rest of her life, another fifty years or so. A half-century. Finding a man good enough to last you for a half-century wasn’t an easy proposition.

      The kitchen screen door squeaked and Clint appeared next to her, leaning brown muscled arms on the railing.

      He was awfully close, or maybe it just seemed that way. Her body reacted instantly, tensing, as if her every cell was aware of his presence. She smelled soap. She stared straight ahead at the oak tree, fighting the impulse to move away. She didn’t want him to know he disturbed her.

      ‘We need to talk,’ he said. ‘My mind was not exactly crystal-clear last night, and it unfortunately did not retain the information about the reason for your presence in my house.’

      Her hands clamped hard around her coffee-cup. ‘It’s my house. I bought it, I paid for it, I own it, it’s mine. Is that clear enough?’

      He shook his head. ‘Unfortunately, it’s not clear at all. If I didn’t sell it, you couldn’t have bought it.’

      ‘I’ve never met a man who owned a house furnished like this one unless he was an eighty-year-old widower.’ Doilies on the backs of chairs. A collection of porcelain figurines, needlepoint cushions, ruffled curtains, cabbage-rose wallpaper. Good Housekeeping magazines twenty years old.

      He observed her calmly. ’then you’ve learned something today and it’s only seven in the morning. Congratulations.’

      She wanted to throw her coffee at him, but only barely controlled herself. ’the house belonged to an old lady. She died. I bought the house.’

      ’the old lady was my grandmother and she left the house to me. I have a will to prove it.’

      For a moment she felt panic. Had she been the victim of some crooked scheme? It was true that she’d got the house for a good price, but not such a good price as to make it suspiciously low. In her mind’s eye she saw the round, friendly face of the estate agent who had sold her the house. The lady who had told her that there was no crime in these parts, the lady who had shown her the picture of her baby granddaughter—a beautiful baby, not at all the sort of baby that would have a criminal for a grandmother.

      She was not the victim of a crooked deal. She could not afford to believe it. If the sale had been a fraudulent one, she might lose everything. There’d be nothing left—no money, no trip to the Amazon jungle. In fact, she’d be in debt. It was enough to make you panic and break out in a sopping sweat. Only, she refused. She simply refused to panic.

      All the papers had been in order. The whole process had been completely ordinary and routine and she was no dummy. This wasn’t the first time she’d bought a house. In the past five years she’d bought, fixed up and sold five residences in all. This was the sixth. She knew what she was doing. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and gave him a stony stare.

      ‘I suggest you check with your lawyer about that will,’ she said, as coolly professionally as she could manage in the circumstances, ‘and with Boswell and Armis in Charlottesville. They dealt with the estate.’

      His mouth curved fractionally. ‘Oh, I certainly will.’ And you’re not going to get away with anything, his tone implied. He took a swallow of his coffee and surveyed the view with obvious appreciation. He did not say anything, but she could tell from his face. A good face. Strong, determined, yet with a certain undefinable sensuality…Good lord, what was she thinking?

      He turned to face her again. ‘You said you bought the house. Anyone else involved in this little scheme? A husband perhaps?’

      She glared at him. ‘Nobody is involved in any kind of a scheme. And I don’t have a husband.’ Why had she said that? It was none of his business.

      He was too close for comfort. She finished the last of her coffee and pushed herself away from the railing. In the kitchen she opened a carton of orange juice, filled two glasses and put them on the table.

      This was not a good situation. What was she going to do with this man in her house? How was she going to get rid of him? Here she was, having breakfast with the intruder. It was completely absurd.

      He came in and poured more water into the kettle and put it on the stove.

      She fixed her gaze on his broad back. ‘Mrs Coddlemore died two months ago. If she was your grandmother, why didn’t you come here sooner to handle the estate?’

      ‘I didn’t know she had

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