"Listen, Serena. There's something we have to hash out. Until we do we'll both be in limbo."

"No."

"Yes! Don't try to deny your response to me. I felt it back in that den tonight. I felt it back in your apartment that morning. Damn it, I felt it in that restaurant that very first day!"

"You're confusing the issue, Tom," she argued softly. "That first day I was stunned to see you-"

"Could it be that there was something more, even then? It happens sometimes, you know. Instant response. Biological attraction. Chemical communication."

"No."

"You're that sure?" Darkness hid his expression, but his profile was uncompromising.

Serena shivered as she stared at him, simultaneously trying to consider and dismiss his claim. In the end she had to be honest, with him and with herself. "No," she admitted wretchedly.

Tom started the engine. "Then let's go. We'll work this all out, one way or the other. I've got to know what's going on in that head of yours or I'm apt to go right off the deep end myself."

"Hmph ... true justice..."

He ignored her sally. "Justice is your giving me an hour of your time in return for my rescuing you from Andre's party."

Serena's eyes glittered in the passing headlights. "From the frying pan into the fire?" she quipped dryly, quietly, but not quietly enough.

"There's always been a fire with us, Serena. That's what this is all about. Fire can be either destructive or purifying. Either we douse it for good, or we let it flame."

His point was well-taken, expressing much of Serena's own sentiment. Tom had been on her mind enough in the past month to merit this time spent together. He was right; it had to be. For her own peace of mind as much as for his, they had to talk things out. Talk was good for the soul. But the body, what would answer its needs?

"I'll take you home later, if that's what you want." Tom spoke gently, reading her mind, in total understanding of her fear. It was this very understanding that reassured her, and the fact that she did trust him. "OK?" he asked.

She hesitated for just a moment before giving the only answer conscience would allow. "OK," she murmured and he purposefully stepped on the gas.

5.

For a Saturday night the traffic was negligible, reducing what might have been a drive of forty minutes to a simple twenty-minute trip.

"I didn't realize that you lived in Wayzata," Serena commented, easily recognizing her surroundings.

Tom's eyes remained fixed on the road. "There's a lot about me you don't know. Which will be changed soon enough."

She shot him a slanted look. "Why does that sound ominous?"

"Does it?" he asked innocently. "I hadn't meant it to be ominous. Perhaps ... enticing?"

"Oh, yes, enticing." Her echo held enough amusement to cover the trepidation she felt. What had she let herself in for?

"Having second thoughts?"

"Naturally."

"I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. You know that, don't you?"

Serena answered impulsively. "I wish you had made that promise years ago. My family might still be in one piece."

"No, Serena. If it hadn't been me it would have been someone else-reporter, detective, district attorney, take your pick. Your father broke the law. He had no one to blame but himself."

"You didn't know him," she argued softly, lowering her gaze while images of her childhood passed before her. "He was a good man...."

Tom considered her words and, more important, the heartfelt belief behind them. Serena had adored her father; even now, though she might acknowledge that he'd done wrong, she could not think of him as a criminal. In her dreams she often imagined him vindicated through the process of appeal. In reality he hadn't lived long enough.

"Here we are." With a turn of the wheel Tom turned from the main road onto a private drive that wound around for a short distance and ended in a graceful arc.

"Tom, this is beautiful!" Serena exclaimed, captivated at once by the moonlit manor before her. In the total absence of artificial light its profile was impressive-tall in the eaves, broad in the wings, and strong in the sturdy brick of which it was molded. "It's you!"

Scrambling from the car, she was aware of Tom's instant materialization by her side. "It will be one day. Come on"-he took her hand-"we go over this way."

Bemused, she followed his lead, away from the larger house toward a small cottage on its far side. She heard the gentle sounds of her high heels tapping on the flagstone walk, the wind playing through branches just shy of their spring buds, and a softer, more rhythmic lilt from the lake nearby. But the hand of night was reluctant to reveal more than one bit of beauty at a time. Serena clutched Tom's long fingers as he headed toward the single lighted lamppost.

"Tom?"

"Uh-huh?" He fished in his pocket for a key.

"I'm not sure I understand."

"What?" Amusement lacing his tone, he opened the door, reached within to switch on a light, and stood to the side for Serena to pass.

"The house ... that house, is it yours or is this?"

"Would it matter?" he drawled tartly.

She shrugged. "Only to satisfy my curiosity, or if I needed an address to send a quart-sized carton of Cinnamon Red Hots to."

"You'd be that cruel?"

"You wouldn't have to eat them," she said sweetly over her shoulder as she stepped across the threshold of the quaint brick structure and found herself in a surprisingly open single room, contemporary both in design and furnishing. "This is amazing, Tom! This is like a modern mountain hideaway."

The soft click of the door as it closed added to the intimacy of the surroundings. As she admired the long, plush-cushioned velour sofa and matching armchairs, the low coffee table, the freestanding television and stereo unit with its sectioned desk and inevitable typewriter, she felt a surge of warmth.

"You like it?" he asked.

Her hazel eyes sparkled her approval. "It's delightful. Do you really live here, rather than at that house?"

"For now."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means," he sighed, "that I can't be bothered by the worries of running a large house. This is just my size."

Surprised, Serena turned to stare at him. "You do own the house?"

His firm lips rose at the corners. "I had to buy it to get this."

"Tom"-she frowned through a skeptical smile-"that's ludicrous. People don't buy huge estates simply to live in small cabins."

"You may have a point," he rejoined tongue in cheek. "To be more precise, what I really wanted was a small place on the lake. I had to buy the whole parcel of land, with the woods surrounding it, to get the privacy I wanted. The house was thrown in as a bonus."

Serena chuckled. "Some bonus!" But she grew more serious. "You really do want privacy?"

"Yes."

"But why? From what I can imagine, given the fact that your family is a prominent one, you must have been raised in the public eye. I'd think you'd be used to it."

He gestured toward the sofa, watched as she sank into it, then eased his long frame onto its far end. Appreciative of the distance he'd deliberately put between them, Serena relaxed.

"I may be well used to the limelight, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. From the start I preferred a more private life."

"Could've fooled me." She looked away.

"Even then. What you saw of me was my job. There was-there is-a private man behind the notebook."

It was his vehemence that coaxed her eyes back to him. She might have been dubious still, but she wanted to know more. "So you bought this place. You've done it over?" Again she perused the decor, admiring the palette of browns and creams, accessorized in gray to emphasize the masculine tone.

Tom nodded. "Privacy doesn't rule out convenience. I bought the estate when I first arrived here, then lived in a hotel while the interior of the cottage was completely torn out and redone. It needed wiring, plumbing, plastering-everything." Tipping his head back, he smiled. "Not bad, if I do say so myself. I enjoy it here."

"Where do you live?" she burst out, qualifying her question at his frown. "I mean, this seems to be the only room. I assume that's the kitchen"-she pointed-"and that's the bath, but...?"

Tom leaned forward, his voice a hair lower. "If you're asking about the sleeping arrangements, you're sitting on them."

"The couch? You don't sleep on the couch every night, do you?"

"Now, now, don't knock what you haven't seen. It just so happens that this couch is no ordinary couch. It opens into the most comfortable king-sized bed you've ever seen."

"That's not saying much, since I haven't seen many." Her quip was as pointed as she dared make it without inspiring Tom to revenge. As it was, she was at a disadvantage, here in this cozy cabin with him. Granted, his tall and muscled frame lounged several feet away, but her pulse fluttered strangely every time she looked at him. And it certainly didn't help to know that they were sitting on his bed. It was like sipping champagne from a loving cup.

As if he had caught her thought Tom unfolded his limbs and rose in one smooth motion. "Would you like some wine?"

Feeling in sudden need of fortification, she nodded. "That would be nice." But her mind was still on the king-sized bed. "Tell me, Tom. Once before you said you'd been 'burned.' What did you mean by that?"

"You are curious."

"You were the one who suggested we talk. And you were the one who pointed out how little I know about you."

Tom remained silent for a time, bent in concentration over a conveniently stubborn cork. With its climactic pop he seemed to reach a decision.

"I was married once. It was a long time ago. I was-we both were-very young." Returning to the sofa, he handed her an empty glass, skillfully filled it halfway, then retreated to his end of the couch to fill his own glass and sink back in a posture of brooding. "She had an image in her mind of what she wanted from life, with riches and glamour ranking high on her list. I guess I was a disappointment."

"A disappointment?" she asked, incredulous. "How can that be? Certainly you could have given her all that."

"To Eleanor, wealth was a goal in itself. To me, it's simply the means to an end that may be totally different, such as the modesty of this cabin. I realize that to you my attitude may sound callous. In my life money has never been a problem and most likely never will. In that respect I am arrogant, I suppose." His brow furrowed beneath the swath of dark hair that the evening breeze had ruffled. "I enjoy the finer things in life, but in a very private, very personal way."

There was something comforting in what he said, for Serena was, herself, a private soul. "But your wife couldn't agree?"

"Hah! She couldn't stand it. I put up with the parties and the globe-trotting as much as I could, but there's a limit for every man beyond which he simply can't go. When it became clear that we were headed in different directions in life we called it quits."

"A mutual decision?" Serena asked softly, touched by his willingness to share this intimacy, sensing that he rarely did so.

At last he looked at her. "Yes. Fortunately there were no children. It was difficult enough."

"You loved her."

"Yes." He took a deep breath. "In my way I did love her."

"Do you ever see her?"

He shook his head and studied the smooth swirl of wine as he moved his glass. "She's married again. He's a European hotelier. From what I hear they have several kids already."

Serena was aware of the vulnerability in him, of the hurt he must have suffered. Much as she wanted to attribute only the harshest qualities to him she couldn't ignore the more human element that never failed to touch her deeply.

"Do you want them? Kids?" she prodded gently.

"Sure." He smiled impulsively, then again more sadly. "That's what the big house is for. Someday ... perhaps..."

Serena ached with the dying off of his voice. She actually wanted to slide across the distance and hold him, comfort him, even promise him those things he wished. It was absurd! This was Thomas Harrison Reynolds! How could she sympathize with him?

"That's a strange expression you're wearing," Tom observed, suddenly more humorous, as though freed of a burden. "It's a combination of compassion and anger." He paused. "What are you thinking, Serena?"

"I'm thinking that you totally confuse me. You're not at all what I expected to find."

Tom stared at her in silence. His features grew more gentle with each passing second. When he finally spoke it was very softly. "That has to be a compliment. I can imagine what it took for you to offer it."

She burst from the couch, nearly spilling her wine, and paced to the low-silled window on the far side of the room. "It's the truth. Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?"

Her hazel-eyed gaze locked with his as she turned. "It would have been so much easier to hate you. With everything that happened back in L.A., I should hate you!"

He rose from the sofa with an animal grace that evoked a similarly primitive response in Serena. "But you don't," he stated quietly. Again she was perplexed, for where there might have been triumph on his face there was only a look of gratitude.

"No," she whispered, mesmerized once more by the manly strength of his features, now hovering dangerously close.

"Do you hate yourself for that?"

"I don't know. I can't think when you're around."