"Perfectly."

"And around here-we should be professional. Set an example. You know."

"Of course," she said. Then she waited. "Is that all?"

"I think so, yes."

"Then I'll get going-those apples won't pick themselves."

He gave a nod.

"I'll need the hands," she said, pulling her hands out of his.

And he immediately dropped his hands to his sides. "Right."

She was chuckling as she left his office. Well, he thought, she could laugh it off if she wanted to, but he felt much better, having said his piece. He probably should have added that he wasn't in love and wasn't going to be, but then it was easier to think she'd figure that out in no time.

The problem with his theory hit at about eleven in the morning. Junior was on the press, Jerome had offered to deliver apples to some of their local groceries, Juan and Eduardo were picking on the other side of the orchard... . And Tom found Nora. She was on a ladder, up very high, her bag holding only a few apples and not yet heavy. He climbed the tripod ladder until he was standing on the step right under the one upon which she stood so that they were face-to-face, at least partially concealed by the branches of one of the oldest, thickest of trees.

He touched her lips once, twice, then slipped his arm around her waist, pulled her against him and covered her mouth in a deep, wet kiss that lasted for over a minute.

"Whew," she said. "Is this your way of keeping things light?"

"How do you like it so far?"

She touched his face with her fingertips. "I like the way you kiss-a couple of test kisses, then a huge kiss. I have only one problem-my imagination."

"Huh?"

"If that's your version of light and playful, I'm a little curious about what happens when you are serious."

"But we're not going there," he said. "We agreed."

"Fine. Okay."

So he did it again, kissed her like a starving man, kissed her until she couldn't catch her breath. And again, and again, holding her tight against him.

"You're going to make cider out of these apples in my bag," she said.

Just once more, he told himself, kissing her again. But since this was going to be the last one for a good long time, he made it a very long kiss. He stopped when he started to get aroused.

He lectured himself for a while on how only a fool would allow himself that kind of contact with a woman he wanted to keep at arm's length. So-that was pleasant, he thought. And now it will officially stop. No more playing around; no more five-minute kisses in the apples.

And at two o'clock in the afternoon he found her in the orchard, slid that heavy bag full of apples off her shoulders, spun her around the thick trunk of a tree and kissed the breath out of her. Over and over.

When he let her breathe, she laughed. "I know you want me to understand that this is not passion or desire, but just friendship, but I have to be honest-I'm having a little trouble with the concept. You are very distracting."

"So are you," he accused. "I'm not really doing this because I want to be serious. I'm doing this because you taste like apples and honey and I like apples and honey."

"And you taste like roughly ten tons of testosterone. I am not sleeping with you."

"We could probably manage it, though. Without getting too involved."

"No," she said.

"But why? I mean, if we're trusted friends? And it doesn't interfere with our responsibilities?"

"Did that line ever actually work for you?"

"I can't remember. But it probably did-it's brilliant."

"No. Never gonna happen."

"Really?"

"Tom, how many children do you think I have to have before I figure out you get them by having sex?"

"Of course there would be protection," he offered. "Tons of it."

"No."

"Jeez. Well, then, could you stop looking so good?"

"You're pathetic," she said with a laugh. "I'm dressed for apple picking and have no makeup on and no matter what you say, I'm sure I don't smell or taste that good."

His lips instantly sought her neck; he kissed and licked. He groaned. Then he went after her lips again, kissing her stupid.

"No," she said when their lips parted. "Now, as much fun as it is to make out with the boss, I have work to do."

"Had enough of me, have you?" he asked.

"For now," she said with a smile. "Your professional behavior is killing me."

He sighed and let her go. He helped her back into the apple sack.

"Thank you," she said. "Now go do something important." And she gave him a little shove.

"All right, but I have a feeling I might be back."

"Yeah. I know."

Tom wasn't a particularly good liar and he blamed Maxie. She had always told him that lying created bad karma and that often you were stuck with the lie. She said it was God showing his sense of humor. When he was a kid in school and hadn't done his homework, she'd warn him, "Don't say you couldn't do it because your grandmother died unless you want your grandmother to die-lies have a funny way of working into truth."