"No, I'm afraid of me."

He frowned deeply.

"I don't want to be something to you, because you have a certain reputation..."

His brows shot up. "Hey, I'm a nice guy. Ask anyone."

He looked adorably defensive. Darn it. "I don't have to ask. I've heard. You don't stay with a woman for longer than a month or two and, frankly, after that kiss, I'm not ready to be another notch on your belt."

There, she'd found an easy excuse, a way to get rid of him. It was sensible, though she didn't really believe the rumors she'd heard about him being a playboy. A man who enjoyed playing didn't have to be untrustworthy or amoral. And the way he'd spoken to his mother said a lot about him.

But as she'd planned for the past two days, it was a way to put him off when she really wanted to see what it was like to wear him like a second skin. The thought made her blood sizzle and she looked down at the papers in front of her.

"So I have a bad reputation?"

She smiled to herself. "The worst." What a lie.

"Well, then, date me and change it."

"No."

"Lunch?"

"I have work to do."

"I went to the Cracked Crab for it."

Her head jerked up as he set the small basket on the counter. It was her favorite restaurant, and she'd become good friends with the owner, Nalla Campanelli, a woman of Italian and Irish descent, like her. They'd hit it off from day one, and Lane got to be the taste tester for Nalla's latest creations.

She eyed the basket. "What's in it?"

Tyler felt victory looming and hid a smile. "Thai crab salad. Nalla said it was your favorite."

Lane hesitated. It was indeed her favorite. "With the little cracked-pepper crackers?"

Tyler grinned. "I think so. Look, if we're not going to eat this, then I'll take it back to the office." He started to move away.

She reached. "No!" She met his gaze. "You are so sneaky."

"I know."

That smile blinded her again. She inclined her head and they went over to the cappuccino bar. She took the basket, her mouth already watering as Tyler pulled a table and two chairs close.

Lane nabbed some plates from behind the coffee bar, then ignored the chairs and knelt on the rug, pulling back the cloth, decorated with little red crabs, that covered the basket. "Nalla is the best."

"So I heard. Martha thinks so, too."

"Martha?" Lane asked, frowning and ignoring the little p.r.i.c.k of jealousy she felt.

"My secretary."

"They call them executive a.s.sistants now, you know."

"Not her. She's a holdover from when my dad ran the company. She's sixty-three, her dependable shoes squeak, and she still takes shorthand."

"I bet she's efficient as heck, too." Lane opened the containers and spooned the meal onto plates.

"She practically runs my life." Tyler took off his jacket and sat in a chair, watching her.

Lane could feel it. His eyes had fingers, and she could feel them probing her face, bringing back the memory of his soul-stripping kiss. Her hands shook a little at the thought of kissing him, of feeling him pressed against her in full body contact.

Don't.

Don't go there. It will bring too much attention. He will bring attention and then he'll find out the truth about you and hate you for lying. She chanted the warning silently so she wouldn't forget. So she wouldn't melt when he looked at her. She handed him a plate of Thai crab, then started savoring each bite of her own.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

With a fork, she poked the air over her head to indicate that she lived above the shop.

"It can't be that big."

She chewed and swallowed. "It's not. I don't need much room."

"I know what you mean. I rattle around my house like a stray dog looking for a place to settle."

She stilled, her fork halfway to her mouth. Her look said, Explain.

He set the plate on the little table. "It's almost as if I don't live there, as if I just visit every night."

"Not a home yet, then."

He shrugged. "It has all my stuff in it."

"Maybe you need to hire a decorator to get the feeling you want."

Lane wasn't going to mention that things did not make a home. That would lead to discussions about what did, and getting into a conversation about love and family with Tyler McKay was not wise. She knew without asking that despite the wealth and privilege they'd both had growing up, his ideas about family hadn't been anything like the one she'd grown up around.

"The idea of dealing with a decorator gives me chills." Suddenly he slid to the floor before her, the motion bringing him closer.

She gave him a wary look and scooted back. "Ask your mother for help."

"Hey, I want it to look like my house, not the one I grew up in."

"Good point." Lane had grown up in a penthouse in New York and a villa in Tuscany. Her great-grandparents' home in Rapolano Terme, Tuscany, where the winery had begun and where the company headquarters was now. And when her career had exploded during her fas.h.i.+on show, she'd left only a suite of rooms in a hotel in Paris behind. It was tough to stick around when no one was buying her fas.h.i.+on designs and the press was pasting headlines like Giovanni Designs Sewn with Mafioso Thread, and Giovanni Sales High an Offer You Can't Refuse, instead of fas.h.i.+on reports. Inwardly she groaned at the memory and ate more crab. Though a need for a vat of chocolate was creeping up on her.

"Why books?" Tyler asked, wondering about that sad look she got sometimes.

"Why construction?"

"Uh-uh." He wagged a finger at her. "Mine's a family business."

"Did you want to take it over?"

He shrugged. "It's all I've known. My dad dragged me and my brothers along to the construction sites when we were old enough to know the rules and not get into trouble. I was fascinated that from stacks of lumber and nails a home grew, then a business."

"Then a conglomerate, a regional corporation," she added.

A little alarm went off inside him, and he stared at the top of her head as she bent over the basket. "Checking me out?"

"I read the papers, McKay." She pulled out the little package of crackers. "I love these." She opened it and handed him one. He nibbled, watching her as she put a dollop of Thai crab on the cracker and devoured it.

"You really like this, huh?"

"Don't you?"

He shrugged. He hadn't even tasted it yet, since he was too busy watching her. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her navy skirt covering her legs and ugly shoes. He liked that she didn't nibble and worry about fat content and calories like most women he'd been with. No, he thought, don't compare her to other women. She's definitely different.

"What I like best is Nalla's creations. They change a little with her mood."

He scoffed. "What in this world doesn't change with a woman's mood?"

She looked up, eyes wide as she swallowed. She thought about that. "Football?"

He grinned and tried the food. It was delicious.

"I love to eat, especially when someone else makes it," Lane said.

"Do you cook?"

She tasted the marinated cuc.u.mbers and tomato salad that Nalla had created only last week. "Taking inventory or something?"

He smiled. "Are you ever going to give me a straight answer?"

"Not if I can help it. Adds to the mystery."

"You have enough going on, Lane, trust me."

"Then I'll spare you my Mata Harri routine. Men can't resist me then. Can't you tell?" She gestured to the empty store.

"I get first dibs."

Her smile was genuine, and Tyler felt his entire body tighten. "So?" he asked.

"So what?

"Do you cook?"

"Yes, I can cook, but rarely do it. It's not much fun when it's just for me."

"Any good at it?"

She was half Italian. Cooking was in her genes. "Decently enough." Her brows drew down a fraction. "You're fis.h.i.+ng for a dinner invitation?"

"Why not? You're having lunch with me now."

"The Thai crab made the decision and you asked. I didn't."

He blinked. "I think I'm insulted."

"Don't be. But I told you, Tyler, I don't want a relations.h.i.+p or anything from you. You're the most eligible, well-known bachelor in this city. And you're just chasing me because I'm immune to the McKay charm."

Was that the only reason? he wondered, then remembered kissing her. "You weren't immune the other night on my porch."

"Pity kiss," she said, and snickered a little. What a lie. She'd almost begged him for more.

He laughed, the sound deep and rough, then took the cracker she was about to eat. "If that was pity, then I want to try one on for size when you really want to kiss me."

So did she. Boy, did she.

He ate the cracker in one bite, then leaned closer, tipping his head, and she understood his intention instantly.

She inched back. "You have crab breath."

"So do you."

She put her fingers over his mouth. "Stop this. Please."

He kept his features schooled, but she was serious. Even her eyes turned sad. He realized his past had indeed caught up with him and was ruining what could be a very good thing.

She lowered her hand. "Just be my friend."

He made a sour face. "Okay, that's a definite pa.s.sion killer." Tyler went back to eating, and though he didn't want to believe that his supposed playboy reputation was the real heart of her excuse, he'd accept it for now. Changing the subject entirely, he asked, "Where were you last night? We were all working on the pageant."

"My part was done."

He looked at her, frowning.

"I finished it all the next evening. All the costumes are in the dressing room tagged with the actors' names."

"So what you're saying is, community service is over."

Lane felt suddenly, strangely alone as she said, "Yes. It is."

She watched as Tyler leaned closer, his hand on the floor near her hip, hemming her in. He met her gaze. "If you think I'm going to go away now, Lane, you're wrong. Dead wrong."

Lane experienced true panic and complete and utter joy.