I ignored him, bestowed goodnight kisses to my roommates and swept, head held high, out the door.

Secondly, Hector informed me in the Bronco that Buddy had given the police the keys to my storage facility. The "lab boys" found nothing to place Ricky at my apartment such was the immaculate cleaning job Ralphie and Buddy did, but they did find traces of blood and hairs on my couch and mattress. Some of it, he explained, they figured was mine, some of it, they hoped, would belong to Ricky.

I hoped so too but I didn't share.

However, I did wonder how this was going to affect the auction of my "estate". I didn't share that either.

Lastly, Hector took me to a Mexican restaurant off Broadway, down south in Englewood. It was called El Tejado and it was not the kind of place where you wore a shimmery, silvery-gray outfit and little diamonds shaped as flowers.

I ignored my discomfort, walked into the casual, worn-in restaurant like I went there every day and sat down in the booth, planting my behind dead center so Hector would get no ideas that he was sharing my seat with me.

He slid in opposite me, still grinning and I got the impression my act didn't convince him and further he found it highly amusing.

I ignored this too.

Dinner, luckily, didn't last long. They didn't mess around with taking and serving your order and I figured that had something to do with the line at the door. A line, incidentally, that we circumvented by Hector smiling at the lady behind the cash register, her face lighting up in recognition, the two of them exchanging rapid-fire Spanish and her elbowing her way through the crowd and seating us at a booth that was getting its finishing wipe down by a busboy. This, I noted with a glance at the door, was not greeted with delight by the waiting customers but I ignored that too.

There was barely any conversation due to my avid fascination of, at first, my menu then the restaurant's decor then every person in line waiting to get in then my fellow patrons and finally, my newfound wonder at watching a no-sound Mexican soap opera on the television above the bar.

No matter how tasty the food was (and it was tasty), I hardly ate a bite (thank goodness Blanca wasn't there or she would have had a conniption). Hector paid, we slid out of the booth, he walked me to the Bronco with his hand on my elbow and then it was over.

Dinner down, I just had to survive "the talk".

If in one day I could survive three lectures, a sex talk, a reunion with the husband of my long, lost mother's best friend, the revealing of the knowledge that Indy, Ally and Lee were babydom playmates and a "just the two of us" dinner with Hector then I could survive "the talk".

No problem.

I stared out the window of the Bronco wondering if I might be in Crete next week or next month. Then I wondered if I would like Crete. Then I wondered if they spoke any English on Crete. I was mentally planning on downloading English to Greek lessons on my iPod when Hector parked on a street.

I came out of my thoughts, looked around and immediately realized my mistake at letting my mind wander.

We weren't outside Capitol Hill where the brownstone was located, we were somewhere else. A clean, tidy, well-established, family neighborhood with clean, tidy, well-kept houses with clean, tidy, well-kept lawns and moderately-priced vehicles lining the street.

"Where are...?" I started, my head turning toward Hector but he was out of the Bronco and rounding the hood.

Blooming heck!

He opened my door.

"Where are we?" I asked the minute he did.

He grabbed my hand and with a firm tug he pulled me out of the car. He dropped my hand, I fell into his waiting ones, he swung my around, set me on my feet on the sidewalk and twisted to slam my door. Then he took my hand again and charged up the sidewalk.

I walked double-time to keep up with him all the while pulling at his hold. "Hector, where are we?"

He didn't look back when he answered, "My place."

Blooming, blooming, heck!

"Why are we at your place?" I asked when he stopped at the front door.

"Privacy," he replied, unlocking the door, shoving it open and before I could make a run for it he had a hand in the small of my back and he was pushing me in.

I entered and stopped.

I was standing on a two step up, dark wood platform, half walls to either side made of the same wood and columns at the end of each. Straight ahead, down the two steps and about five feet away was a wall, along its side, a set of dark wood stairs and matching banister.

On the left side of us was a room that held a jumble of furniture and boxes but also a beautiful, tiled fireplace that looked like it had been scrubbed, the wood of the mantel sanded and refinished to a warm sheen. The walls looked freshly painted in a dusky gray-blue and the floors were obviously refinished. There were closed French doors I couldn't see through at the other end of that room well down from the wall that separated the room from the stairs.

On the right side of us was another room, filled with paint cans, brushes and tools (hand tools as well as big, heavy power tools with lots of cords). The fireplace in that room looked grimy and as yet untouched but refinished, it'd be gorgeous. Beyond that room was an open doorway which led to a kitchen.

Hector's hand at my back guided me down the steps and we stopped. He headed left, I heard the rustle of plastic and I turned to watch him.

He was uncovering a big, overstuffed armchair covered in midnight blue twill. Once uncovered, he dragged it into the empty but renovation implements room and positioned it in the center.

On the way back, he shrugged off his jacket and threw it on the banister. Then he came to me, walked around me, pulled off my trench, tagged my purse, threw my coat on his and hooked my purse straps around the newel post.

After doing all of this, he grabbed my hand, strode to the chair, sat and then tugged my hand again sharply until I went off-balance. His hands went to my waist and he guided my body until I was seated in his lap.

I didn't protest any of this not because I didn't want to but because I was coming to terms with the fact that, obviously, Hector was fixing up his own house.

This affected me deeply, for two reasons.

First, for as long as I could remember, my father had a personal groomer who came to the house every two weeks. She trimmed my father's hair, gave him a clean shave and finished off with a manicure. My father's fingernails were perfectly clipped and shone so brightly it was almost like he was wearing a coat of clear polish. As far as I knew, he never picked up anything but a fork, a pen, a book or a golf club in his life. Never a hammer or a paint brush. Never. He'd also never operated anything with a cord except, perhaps, his razor (though, I must admit, I'd not familiarized myself with his personal hygiene).

In fact, most every man of my acquaintance was much the same.

Second, because of the above, when I was seventeen or eighteen I had this stupid, silly, girlish, in the very, very back of my mind daydream that one day I'd find a real man. A man so unlike my father as to be his antithesis. A man who was strong enough to take me away from my horrible life living in my beautiful but cold ivory tower with bad people swarming around me like killer bees. We'd fall in love and he'd whisk me away, we'd buy some junker bungalow that we'd fix up, intermingling our renovation efforts with having and raising a plethora of children who we would spoil rotten and love to distraction. Often we'd cease our duties, laughing at each other, paint dabs on our cheeks and dust in our hair, while our children frolicked amongst our jumble of restoration paraphernalia.

A jumble that looked an awful lot in my head like the house I was sitting in at that very moment.

That dream died ages ago; in fact until just then, I'd forgotten I'd even had it.

"Sadie?" Hector called.

I gave my head a little shake and looked at him.

"What?"

"You looked miles away."

I wasn't miles away, I was right there.

In fact, my whole life, I never felt as right there as I did at that exact moment.

"Are you fixing up your house?" I couldn't help but ask.

He looked around at the abundance of evidence of this very fact obviously scattered around us, his mouth twitched and his eyes came back to me.

"Yeah," he answered.

"Oh," I said softly, not knowing what else to say but for some reason I could feel my heart beating in my throat.

One of his hands slid slowly up my back, the other arm came to rest across my lap.

"You okay?" he asked, his eyes doing a scan of my face.

No. No, I was not okay. It hit me that I didn't even know what "okay" felt like. I'd never actually felt "okay".

At that precise moment, however, what I felt like was asking Hector if I could paint his living room. And that, I figured, was probably seriously not okay.

"Yes," I answered.

"Sadie," he said softly.

I focused on him, noticed he was watching me closely and I wondered what he saw.

"What did you think of me when you first met me?" I asked before I could think better of it.

His fingers were warm on my neck and he gave me a gentle squeeze.

He didn't hesitate with his answer. "I thought you were beautiful and I thought you were cold."

This didn't offend me, a lot of people thought that way because I wanted them to think that way, so I nodded.

"Do you want to know what I think of you now?" he asked.

I really didn't, I wasn't sure I could take it but for some bizarre reason I nodded again anyway.

"I think you're even more beautiful and I think you're totally lost."

My brows went up. "And you think you can help me find my way?"

He shook his head, his eyes went warm and I got another neck squeeze coupled with a tightening of his arm around my waist.

"Mamita, only you can find your way. I just wanna be along for the ride."

My belly went warm and I decided in that instant, in that house with Hector, after he said those words, that before I left this life behind forever, I'd give myself one more gift.

And on that decision, I leaned forward and kissed him.

It wasn't a peck on the lips, it was a kiss and just like the first time I threw myself at him, he caught me, instantly.

He leaned in, pulling my body across his lap as he took over the kiss. It went from Sadie Hot to Hector White Hot and I wrapped my arms around him, feeling myself melt with the fire he shot through me from his body, our locked lips and his talented tongue.

His mouth trailed to my ear and my hands yanked at his shirt until I had it out of his jeans and I could get my fingers under it, inside it and up the smooth skin and hard muscle of his back.

I turned my head and whispered in his ear, "I like the way you kiss."

His tongue touched my neck, I shivered, felt his lips smile there and then his mouth came back to mine.

Our mouths touching, his eyes looking deep into mine, he muttered, "Good."

Then his head slanted and he kissed me again, this time hotter, deeper, longer, making me feel things I hadn't felt in a long time. Good things. Delicious things. Tingles along my skin, wetness between my legs and a belly tied up in glorious knots.

It felt so good, I squirmed in his lap and gently scored a path down his back with my fingernails, showing him (I hoped) that I wanted more.

He groaned into my mouth. That felt good too.

His arm moved from my waist to behind my knees and he stood up, taking me with him, carrying me while kissing me to the stairs, up the stairs, down a hall and into his bedroom.

I guessed that meant he knew I wanted more.

He set me on my feet by the bed, leaned over, turned on the bedside lamp, sat on the bed and tugged off his boots.

I watched him, coming out of my desire-fuelled stupor, my senses coming back to me and my mind asking me what in the heck did I think I was doing.

Then he leaned forward and down, grabbed my ankle, lifted my foot between his legs, slid off my shoe and threw it to the side. His head came up, eyes on mine as one hand held my ankle firmly, his other hand trailed up the back of my calf, moving only to his fingertips as they swept behind my knee then kept going partially up the back of my thigh before his touch fell away.

Oh... my.

He put my foot down and repeated this move with my other leg.

Before I could do a thing (like, say, tear off my clothes and throw myself at him), he stood in front of me so close our bodies brushed, the tingles had started to spread again, this time far more frantic and he pulled off his t-shirt. At our proximity, this maneuver meant his t-shirt caught under my breasts and slid over them. I sucked in breath and reached out quickly to grab his waist and hold on because I was pretty certain sure my legs were about to give out.

He tossed his t-shirt toward my shoes and my hands tensed at his waist when I saw his chest. It was smooth, well-defined and he had a small, broken heart inked in blood red, outlined in barbed-wire black, tattooed on his inside, left pectoral.

Like someone else (an even newer New Sadie) had taken over my body, I leaned forward and put my mouth to his incredibly cool tattoo. Then I put my tongue there too.

I liked the taste of his skin. I liked it so much I slid my tongue to his nipple and that was that.

His hands came to my shirt, he whipped it over my head, dislodging my mouth from his chest and he tossed that aside. His arms locked around me, my head went back, his head bent and he kissed me.

This kiss, I could feel right away, was not under his control. It was even hotter, deeper and so urgent, I felt it stirring in me. My body responding wildly, I shoved my hands under his arms and wrapped them around him as tight as I could.

Still kissing me, his hands slid down my bottom, pressing me deeper into him so I could feel his hardness against my belly and at the feel of it, a thrill raced through my entire system.

When his hands moved back up, his fingers found the skirt's zipper and tugged it down then he shoved my skirt over my hips until it fell to my feet.

His arms went around me then, he fell back to the bed, me on top of him, he rolled me to the side so I was on my back, his mouth on me everywhere, my neck, behind my ears, down my throat, across my chest. It felt good, it felt tremendous. I thought there was nothing better in the whole world until his lips closed over the dove-gray satin of my bra right where my nipple was.

I felt his tongue through the satin then he sucked deep.

Waves of pure goodness shot from my nipple to between my legs and my hands slid in his hair.

"Oh my God," I breathed. "Do that again."

He did as I asked, it felt even better than before and I arched into him, wanting more. His hand slid down my belly, into my panties, between my legs, I felt his fingers on me, sliding through the wetness...