A small town it was indeed. It only took a few minutes to reach the house. I was in luck. One of the rooms was ready to rent out. To my surprise it was clean and with plenty of space. The "over-the-top" interior design scheme, however, was not exactly my style. Too many ruffles on the bedspread and a heavy use of floral patterns in the curtains, pillows, and every fabric in the room-including the wallpaper, which had enormous blue roses plastered from floor to ceiling.

"You have a very nice house," I said to the woman who apparently owned the mansion.

"Thank you. I'm sort of an amateur interior decorator. My name is Emma, by the way."

"I'm...Hanna," I said. "How long have you lived here in Summerville?"

"All my life. Born and raised. Never seemed to be able to get away from here. Married my high school sweetheart. You know, all the cliches, except he turned out to be not so much of a sweetheart after all, if you know what I mean."

"Not quite," I said.

"Sorry, I always do that. Spill my life story to strangers." She laughed.

"No, it's fine. I just wasn't sure what you meant. What did he do?"

"Let's just say Brian has anger issues."

Emma pulled the cord on the window blinds and bright sunlight flooded the room. I turned my head and squinted as the light illuminated even more floral designs that had been previously hidden in the shadows.

"Oh, I see...?"

"We separated two years ago, but not long after that, he ended up in jail. Beat a friend of mine senseless just because he had asked me out on a date. That landed him in prison until now. He just got out a month ago."

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry. That's terrible. So, is he back in town?"

"Yes, but don't worry, he's not coming here. I have a restraining order against him. The asshole threatened me the first evening he was back. Can you believe that? You'd think prison would straighten him out, but he hasn't changed one bit."

"Guys and their fucking control issues. He sounds like a real jerk."

"Ha-I like you already, Hanna. I hope you'll stay more than a day."

The thought of staying longer had pricked at my mind. It might be safer here than in a big city, and since Summerville was a vacation town, I would blend in. The locals wouldn't notice a new face in town, although the cab driver wasn't fooled. And then there was John, toying with my mind and my emotions, teasing my panties down my legs inch by tortuous inch, at the very thought of him and his deep blue eyes. I wouldn't mind getting to know him a little better, either.

When he'd helped me up from the ground, I felt the most wonderful shiver when his hand touched mine. It was electric and intense, and it made my blood rush. It was singular and defined and yet it was everywhere at once. I had never experienced anything like that, and it was so bizarre that I couldn't even find the right words to describe the feeling. I liked it and yet it frightened me.

My wild side had made a cameo with the appearance of that damn briefcase full of money and now it was demanding to be let out. Funny, how cash in your pockets acted as a lubricant, easily releasing hidden desires.

"We'll see. I might stay a few more days."

"That would be wonderful," Emma said. "You can stay here as long as you like."

Suddenly I heard a girl's voice coming from the doorway of my floral-garden-designed room. "Mom, what's for dinner tonight?" A small face with a turned-up nose and a light sprinkling of freckles beamed at me from the threshold.

"Don't put your dirty fingers on the doorframe. I just repainted it," Emma said and took a step toward the girl.

The little girl jerked her hands back as if the doorframe were made of fire.

"Sor-ree." Her long brown braids bobbed on her head as she reacted to her mother's scolding.

"Hi, who are you?" I asked.

"Michelle."

"Michelle. That's a pretty name. How old are you?"

"I'm nine," she said and disappeared around the corner.

"She is a little shy," Emma said.

"That's okay. She's adorable."

"Thanks. She is the one good thing that came out of my marriage." Emma fell silent. Her gaze was empty, as if she was wondering what ever happened to her life. "Well, I should let you get some rest. I'm making meatloaf tonight if you want to have dinner with us."

"Meatloaf? That sounds delicious. I'd love to. Thank you so much."

As soon as Emma shut the door behind her, I hauled my suitcase up onto the bed and dialed the combination lock on it. It sprung open and I dug my hands deep inside, searching under my new clothes. I felt it and exhaled a breath of relief. The plastic bag was still there with the money inside.

What happened this afternoon at lunch was too close a call. I could have lost everything because of a pair of blue eyes and a strong chin. Too much of a distraction. Damn. I needed to step up my game. No more fooling around with hot guys...that is, after tonight at least.

I chuckled, closed the suitcase, and laid flat on my back next to it and stared up to the ceiling. I was a little fatigued from the bus ride but excited and alive, very much alive, so much so, I almost felt like a completely different woman. I was like an actress playing a character in a movie script. No more a little mouse who barely dared talk to guys, much less challenge them. No more a bookworm studying at the library on Saturday night while everyone else was out partying. It was as if all this money next to me inspired me to be "confident Hanna" instead of "shy Dani." It was liberating, as if no one could touch me or hurt me, and I liked this feeling.

As my eyelids drifted shut, I fantasized about all the things I could do with the money. Things I could do as Hanna. Oh, the possibilities...swing from the chandeliers, drink champagne till all hours of the night...don't we all have a little bit of a devil inside of us? Then I thought about John, his blue eyes and rock-hard body. Was it time to let the little devil out to play? There was no doubt about it, I had to go see John tonight-well, Hanna had to see him tonight if for no other reason than just to get him out of my mind. He was a dangerous distraction, the kind of distraction that could lead to a mistake. I needed to keep my focus. But oh, how would it feel for those bulging biceps to hold me and his lips to touch mine?

Emma's pillow-top mattress was calling my name. I rolled on my side and grabbed a white bed pillow and tucked it between my knees, lengthwise, pressing it up against my body. It didn't take long before my dreams took me into John's arms.

"Are you sure I can't cut you another piece?" Emma asked.

"Oh, no thank you, Emma. You make a great meatloaf but I'm stuffed, really."

"But you only had a small piece."

"All my friends say I eat like a bird."

That was a lie. I eat like a pig actually, but I couldn't tell Emma. Along with her dreadful interior decorating sense, that dry meatloaf was probably one of the worst I had eaten in a long time. But it didn't matter. Emma had a heart of gold. And her daughter, Michelle, could win the "Daughter of the Year" award three years in a row. She was that sweet and adorable.

"Emma, have you heard of a place called 'The Bar' around here?"

"Yes, of course. It's a popular local hangout. Are you thinking of going out?"

I smiled and pushed my empty plate away from me on the table. "I thought it might be fun to see some of Summerville's night life before I leave."

"Well, The Bar would be the place to go. They might even have a band tonight. I would go with you but I have Michelle here, you know."

"I want to go." Michelle sat up straight in her chair, beaming.

"Not for the next twelve years, sweetheart. Now help me clean the table and you can watch some TV later."

"I can help," I said and got up from the chair to join her at the kitchen sink.

"No way. You're a paying guest." She tugged the blue dish towel from my grasp and propped her hand on her hip. "You should go and get ready if you want to get to The Bar before the band starts. Put on a pair of tight jeans. A lot of cute guys hang out there."

She wiggled her eyebrows at me as she shooed me out of the kitchen, waving her blue dish towel in the air.

Chapter Nine.

For a Sunday night, "The Bar" was packed. It was quite a voluminous space for a local joint. I had expected a small dive bar with a few scruffy-looking locals glued to their favorite bar stools and a sprinkling of "young guns" playing beer pong or some other drinking game. Not so at all. This place was quite large. It had a stage and dance floor at one end, a huge bar in the middle, and thirty or so high tables and chairs scattered around the edges. There must have been at least fifty people fighting for the bartenders' attention already. Although the band hadn't started yet, music was booming from the speaker. I pushed through a mass of elbows, circling the perimeter, scouting out the place to see if I could find John. He should be easy to spot. His height would put him slightly above the heads of most of the others in this crowd. John...what was his last name? Connors? I rocked back on my heels as I settled my weight from standing on my tippy-toes. Could he have been stringing me along all this time...jerkwad! Or maybe he'd show after the band went on the stage. I'd give him a few more minutes; after all, this whole secret money situation was making me more edgy than usual.

I caught the eye of a tall blond-haired bartender. He looked up at me with deep-set eyes while pouring a draught from an ornately decorated beer spigot. He was handsome and muscular, with a tattoo running down his right arm. I watched the white foam spill over the edge of the tilted glass and drizzle over his large hand as he gripped its girth. Damn, is every guy in this town just a friggin' hottie? He looked Swedish, or Norwegian, or something very Euro-sexy, anyway, and I had to take a minute to pick up my jaw from the floor. Emma was definitely right about the cute guys here, and my new persona of Hanna was definitely reacting differently than my old self.

"What will it be?" he yelled over the noise from the crowd.

"I'll take one of those." I nodded toward the yellow-enameled spigot at the end of the row.

I pressed up to the bar and he leaned over and asked, "Can I see your ID?"

"Sure." I took out the new Guess wallet I had purchased at Macy's and showed him my driver's license.

"Daniella? Nice name."

"Thanks. Everybody calls me Hanna, though."

"And...?" He seemed perplexed as he poured my beer. "Why Hanna?" It dripped a little foam from the bottom edge as he passed the brimming glass over the bar top. "I like Daniella better." He rewarded me with a charming smile.

"So are you going to tell me your name, or do I have to guess?" I handed him a twenty-dollar bill but he waved it away. "First one's on the house. And everybody calls me Jasper."

I tilted my head in a "thanks" gesture and tucked my money back into my purse. His eyes narrowed in mock exaggeration, and he gave me a sidelong glance to get a closer look at me. "I haven't seen you before. Are you here on vacation?"

I pursed my lips and paused. Was he hitting on me? Feeling like a bug under a magnifying glass, I glanced down at my beer for a moment, then back up at him. "Just for a few days. Nice place. Crowded for a Sunday."

"Just wait, it'll get worse when the band goes on. Summer is our biggest season, vacation town and all. Most nights are crowded here."

I said nothing and nodded as I sipped my beer. His attention was diverted to a group of boisterous girls chanting the words "shot, shot, shot, shot..." and pounding their fists on the bar top to get Hunky Bartender's service for their order. Typical, must have just turned twenty-one.

I lifted my beer glass and slid a coaster under it. I turned my back to the bar and leaned against it to take another look through the crowd. Two more hooting girls pushed past me in a hurry to meet their celebrating friends at the end of the bar, but still no sign of John. I turned back to nurse my beer and think. Coming here was probably a big mistake. I should just go back to Emma's Bed and Breakfast-which really wasn't a Bed and Breakfast yet, just one room for now-lay low and get on the next bus tomorrow. Now was the wrong time and wrong place to make friends.

Having come to this conclusion, I grabbed my beer and spun around, bumping straight into a guy standing behind me. My golden ale went flying out of my glass, with most of the liquid landing on the guy's shirt.

"Hey, watch out! Already had a shower today."

"I'm so sorry," I said.

"Don't worry. It's not like anyone never spilled something on me before. Looks like your glass is empty now. I'll buy you another beer."

The guy was scruffy-looking, in his forties, and his breath smelled awful, like he'd been drinking for hours-or maybe weeks, on second thought.

I set my empty glass on the bar and glanced in Hunky Bartender's direction. No help from him. He wasn't even looking, still busy serving the "shot girls." "Thanks, but...I was about to leave. Another time maybe..." I tried to pass him but he grabbed my shoulder and turned me toward him.

"Come on, baby. Let me buy you another beer. You owe me that much." He kept a grip firmly on my shoulder as he faced the bartender. "Tony, pour me another beer." I looked to the bartender for help, but the man behind the bar wasn't my friendly Swede from last time. It was a different, gruff-looking guy with a noncommittal expression on his face. He didn't appear to be concerned with anything, let alone my plight.

I pushed his hand off me. "No, I really gotta go." I took a few steps toward the exit but once again he grabbed me.

"Don't be a fucking tease, baby. You were practically shoving those nice tits of yours in my face before. Come on..." His breath was so vile, I wanted to vomit.

"Get the fuck off me, asshole," I shouted.

He grabbed my upper arm hard and his fingers dug violently into my skin, sending a shooting pain through my body. "Nobody calls me a fucking asshole," he spat.

I heard a familiar voice behind me. "Hanna, so sorry I'm late. Are you okay? Who's this guy?"

The asshole let go of my arm. He was drunk but he wasn't stupid. When he saw the raw confidence of John's stature, the guy's demeanor suddenly changed.

"Hey, buddy," he said to John. "I was just keeping your lady company while she waited for you. You shouldn't leave her alone in a place like this. Can't be too careful, you know."

As he passed in front of John to walk away, he bumped John's shoulder hard, making his body sway. The tension in the air was thick and I thought, for a moment, John would deck him. The muscle in his jaw twitched as he glared at the man. John's eyes darted to a hefty bouncer posted at the door, standing in an intimidating pose with his arms folded across his chest. John didn't react. He took me by my elbow and led me to an empty spot further down the bar with less people around.

I was glad to see that John was the type of man who had control of his impulses. Getting thrown in jail for fighting wasn't a good way to make a first impression. Anyway, the part of me that was Dani, the old me, wanted someone with stable emotions. But there was something about John, his virile good looks, the way he oozed confidence when he walked, that brought out a different side of me, the wild, "devil-may-care" Hanna me. And Hanna would be satisfied with nothing short of John's punching the stinking breath out of the groper. The thought of watching John's powerful arms flexing as he pulled back for a punch made my blood rush faster through my veins. It was a good feeling, an excitement that made me feel more alive than I had been for a long time. Maybe I shouldn't have been such a prude that night at the fights with Joey and Krissy. Looking back, I could see that I was so tightly focused on school and work that I couldn't enjoy the entertainment of the night. The stress of everything, keeping my grades up, working the night shift, made me closed off, and I was in desperate need of some relief.

"Friend of yours?" John asked once we were alone.

"Hell no. That guy's an asshole." I rubbed my sore arm.

"Did he hurt you?" John's eyes darkened as he leaned in. The pads of his fingertips lightly touched the sore spot on my arm. I gazed up into his blue eyes and a flood of warmth ran through me. I was taken aback by my body's response to a simple brush of his skin against mine. I didn't usually take action and respond to the advances of hot muscular guys like this. In the past, I took the logical approach to relationships. I would rationalize, sure they were good-looking, but these types were usually full of themselves, hotheaded and impulsive, only interested in a one-night stand, not a relationship.

"No, it's fine," I squeaked. I cleared my throat. "He just got his tail in a knot because I accidentally spilled my beer on him. He smelled like he took a bath in it himself, so I don't know what he was all worked up about."

John laughed. "I love your sense of humor. Don't even worry about it, Hanna. Some people are just plain stupid." He raised two fingers and signaled the bartender. He tipped his head to the side and peered over at me as we leaned our elbows on the high-gloss shellac of the countertop. Sitting next to John felt warm and comfortable and I found myself opening up to him easily as we chatted. "You know, Hanna...Hanna...I don't know your last name."

Here we go with the names again. I guess it wouldn't hurt to use my real last name. Who would recognize it this far from New York? "Uh, Hanna Carrington. Nice to meet you, John...Connors. Right?" We both smiled at the same time, like giddy teenagers.

"Nice to meet you, Hanna Carrington."

"Likewise, John." We tipped our beers in a "hello" salute.

As we leaned on the bar, his massive arm lay next to mine. It was pure steel. Imagine what he could have done to the drunken guy with that powerful arm...I was glad a fight hadn't happened. Or was I? Of course I was.

John took a long look at me. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners and burned a hole in mine. His gaze trailed down and stopped at my lips, and a rush of adrenaline zapped my stomach, making it clinch. He licked his lips, then broke his glance momentarily when the bartender stuck his face in ours, asking if we needed another beer. I bit my lip and shifted my gaze to the wood-grain design in the bar top. It was getting so much harder to resist, but I shouldn't be tempted. Why was I even here? Just one glance into John's eyes had already given me the answer.

John ordered us another round and leaned back in his seat, letting one hand rest on his thick jean-covered thigh, while the other encircled his beer. Damn, his thigh muscles are huge, like his arms. His jeans seemed like they could hardly contain the bulk, like the tough denim fabric could shred apart at any moment. Feeling self-conscious that my eyes were glued to his legs, I blinked...Oh my God, he probably thought I was staring at his crotch. I quickly averted my eyes and turned back to my beer sitting on the bar-top.

"So, are you really leaving tomorrow to visit your relatives?"