LITMIR.BIZ

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tax forms,” he said in a chiding tone. “I’d have to check to make sure everything was done the way I wanted it to be.”

      She didn’t seem at all shaken in her confidence. “Got a bit of OCD, do we?”

      “Obsessive compulsive disorder? Maybe a little. Must be why I chose to be an accountant—just to make sure all the columns add up and the bottom lines balance.”

      He was unreasonably pleased when she laughed.

      She stood to hand the signed forms back to him, leaning slightly across the desk as she offered it. Her bright pink top gapped a bit with the movement, and he was treated to a clear view of the tops of her creamy breasts. He didn’t believe it was intentional on her part, but the fact that he was still seated put him directly at eye level with her chest. And a nice chest it was, he noted before he quickly glanced away.

      He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It had been too long since he had spent an adult night out if he was reacting this strongly to a glimpse of cleavage.

      “I suppose you have big plans for the weekend?” he asked as Miranda took her seat again, apparently in no hurry to leave.

      “No, not really. I’m just going to play it by ear.”

      “Maybe I could buy you dinner tomorrow night?” It had been a while since he had asked anyone out, and his awkwardness now made that painfully clear. It wasn’t as if he had given any thought to the invitation, since he’d blurted it out almost before he had realized he was going to ask.

      For the first time since he had met her, he saw Miranda Martin at a temporary loss for words. “Is this like a thank-you-for-your-business dinner?” she asked after a moment.

      “Not exactly. But I’ll understand if you don’t want to mix business with pleasure.” It was a risk he probably shouldn’t be taking himself, actually. Maybe it would be better all around if she turned him down. He’d have gotten the urge to ask out of his system, and she would have made it clear she wasn’t interested, putting a stop to any further imaginings on his part.

      Miranda toyed with the folder in her lap, studying him with atypically somber eyes. “It isn’t that I’m not tempted. I think dinner with you could be fun. But you should know that I make it a rule not to get involved with a man with kids.”

      “And I’m not looking to get involved with anyone, either,” he returned. “Precisely because of those kids. That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate an occasional adult evening out.”

      “So you’re just suggesting a casual date?”

      “Just dinner,” he agreed. “I spent my birthday watching a cartoon with two preschoolers. It would be nice to have a conversation that doesn’t center around animated characters or talking animals.”

      As he watched her mentally debate the invitation for a few moments longer, he wondered what was going through her mind.

      “Okay, sure,” she said finally. “We’ll call it a birthday dinner. But in that case, I should pay.”

      He tapped the bottle of expensive liquor sitting on his desk. “I’d say you’ve spent enough already. Dinner will be my treat. Dress comfortably—I have no intention of wearing a tie. I’m celebrating my birthday and the end of tax season.”

      She smiled. “Fine. You can write the expense off, anyway. Remind me to ask you an accounting question sometime during the meal.”

      He chuckled and escorted her out of his office, agreeing to the details of the dinner date along the way. And then he returned to his desk, where he wasted the next half hour wondering what on earth he’d been thinking when he had impulsively asked out Miranda Martin.

      Miranda was almost ready the next evening when her telephone rang. Her first thought was that Mark had changed his mind—come to his senses, maybe. Her second thought was, damn, she’d spent the past hour primping for nothing.

      “Hello?”

      “Hi. It’s me.”

      “Lisa?” This was more of a surprise than having Mark cancel dinner. Miranda could hardly remember the last time she had spoken with her sister. “Are you here in town?”

      “No. But, Miranda, I’m in trouble.”

      Miranda resisted an urge to groan. “How much do you need?”

      “No, it’s worse than that.”

      Something in her sister’s voice made a chill run down Miranda’s spine. “Lisa, what’s wrong? What do you need me to do?”

      “I just—I just want you to know I’m sorry. And I wish things had been different—for both of us. I really do love you, you know. I’ve always been able to turn to you when I needed you. And since Grandma died, you’re the only one in our family I can say that about.”

      Miranda was getting more anxious by the moment. “Please, tell me what’s going on. Are you ill? Is something wrong with the boys?”

      “I’m so sorry, Miranda. I need you again. It’s the biggest favor I’ve ever asked of you, but I know you’ll do the right thing.”

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Tell me—”

      “Damn, I’ve got to go.” There was a new note of tension in Lisa’s voice now, which had dropped to little more than a whisper. “Please, Miranda, don’t let me down.”

      “Wait, you haven’t even told me what—”

      But Lisa had already hung up, and when Miranda tried the call return function, the phone number was blocked.

      She slammed down the telephone receiver in frustration. Lisa had always been prone to melodrama, but this mysterious call was unusual even for her. Miranda just hoped her older sister hadn’t done anything really stupid this time, though considering the tone of that telephone call, it seemed to be a futile wish.

      Now she was running late and Mark was due any minute. Growling beneath her breath, she dashed for her bedroom—not exactly a long run since her two-room apartment was somewhat smaller than tiny.

      She had just slipped her feet into her shoes when her doorbell rang. Fluffing her hair with one hand, she made a quick mirror-check before heading for the door.

      She had debated what to wear, wanting to dress up a bit more than her usual weekend jeans, but not wanting to look as though she had put too much effort into her grooming. She had settled on a three-quarter sleeve sunshine-yellow blouse worn open over a white tank top and a short denim skirt with a wide leather belt at the hips. Leather wedge-heeled sandals and chunky gold and amber jewelry completed the casual outfit. Now she was rethinking her choices. Maybe she should have worn—

      Bringing an abrupt stop to that line of thought, she shook her head at her uncharacteristic hesitation and opened the door.

      Mark looked as delectable as always in a hunter-green cotton shirt and khakis. Admittedly more conservative than her usual crowd, but sexy enough to make her pulse rate increase, anyway.

      “You look very nice,” he said, giving her a smile that held just a touch of shy awkwardness. Which, of course, only endeared him more to her.

      “Thank you.”

      He glanced around her miniscule, thrift-store furnished apartment. “Nice place. It’s very…cozy.”

      “Which is your tactful way of pointing out how small it is.” She shrugged. “I would rather spend my extra money on fun than rent.”

      Because he knew exactly how much she made, and how much she stashed into savings for a future in which she intended to retire young and spend a great deal of time traveling, he didn’t seem surprised by that choice. “It’s still a nice place.”

      “Thanks.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and locked the door behind them as they headed outside.

      This

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