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him

into the parlor.

"Don't Zanita me; I'm going to kill you!"

He scooted around an oak tea table, feinting left when she lunged right. "Baby,

it was just a joke."

"You scared me half to death!" She just missed his arm that time.

Tyber gave up the table tag, racing back into the foyer. Zanita ran right after

him. He suddenly stopped and turned to her, arms open, and her momentum plowed

her right into him.

Tyber grinned wickedly, then tossed her over his shoulder.

"What are you doing? Put me down this minute!" She tried to lever her way up his

back.

"Is it a call to arms, Captain? Are we under attack?"

The commotion must've woken Blooey up. He was standing in the hallway wearing a

red nightshirt and sleep cap. He rubbed his eyes sleepily. Hambone sat on the

floor next to him; the groggy cat leaned against Blooey's leg as if by doing so

he could pretend they were still cozy in bed.

"Nay, Blooey, just a hot-blooded wench what needs to be taught a lesson in the

Captain's cabin." He heartily slapped her rear end.

"Ow!"

"What lesson might that be, Captain?" Blooey grinned.

Tyber regarded the wiggling rump next to his face. "The Laws of Motion, I think.

Especially oscillation." He leaned over and nipped her buttock.

"Cut it out!"

"And you being the perfect one to be teachin' her such a lesson," Blooey

chuckled. "Good night, Captain; good night, Lady Masterson." He yawned and

headed back to bed, Hambone trailing behind him.

"Blooey, don't leave me with this madman!"

Tyber clicked his teeth. "Tsk-tsk. Listen to you, asking a man who believes

himself on a pirate ship to commit mutiny. I'm worried about you, baby. Truly, I

am." His hand stroked down the back of her thigh as he climbed the stairs with

her. "Oh!" She clenched her fists. "You are a—a—rogue!" Tyber threw back his

head and laughed. "Why, thank you, baby."

She was late. She was a mess.

It was after five and she had promised Tyber she would be back around three to

help with the arrangements for the weekend. And she would've been if it wasn't

for the flat tire on Rural Route 23. Now their guests—no, her guests—would be

arriving within the hour. Tyber would have a right to be put out with her.

She trudged up the stairs, quietly closing the door behind her. Maybe she could

sneak upstairs—

"Where have you been! I've called your office a hundred times—Good God! What

happened to you?" Her clothes were streaked with dirt, her jacket ripped at the

shoulder. A smudge of grease slashed across her forehead.

She didn't answer him right away; she was too stunned at the sight of him. He

was wearing black dress slacks with a white pin-striped shirt. As was his habit,

he had rolled the cuffs back, revealing those sinewy forearms of his. His long

hair was sleekly tied back from his masculine face, accenting the strong column

of his throat.

All she had ever seen him in were very casual clothes, mostly jeans. He looked

positively gorgeous. He looked positively furious.

"I—I had a flat tire on 23. I tried to change it, but the stupid jack wouldn't

stay put. I crawled underneath to see what the problem was—" He paled.

"Are you telling me you were under the car when the jack slipped?"

"Not quite, but—"

He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up slightly. "My God. Why didn't you

call me?"

"I didn't have to; a nice truck driver stopped to help me. He was really very

sweet."

"You let a stranger help you on a deserted road? What the hell is the matter

with you! Don't you read the newspapers—what am I saying? You're a reporter, for

christsakes!" Zanita winced. He was really working himself into a full-blown

tirade.

"Really, Tyber, you're overreacting—"

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I didn't want to bother you." Wrong answer. She could tell by the way his

pupils glazed over. She quickly added, "Besides, there was no way I could call

you; it was a country road, nothing around for miles."

That stopped him. He considered her words for a few moments.

"All right. Only next time, call me."

Zanita knew men always said stuff like that in situations such as this,

completely ignoring logistics. As if the next time something similar happened,

they would somehow miraculously appear out of the ether to take care of it!

She never understood it.

Her grandfather Hank acted the same way. Zanita also knew that once you agreed

to what they said, regardless of how farfetched it might be, their feathers

immediately unruffled and they forgot about it. Tyber apparently was no

exception to this peculiar male trait.

"Okay."

"Mills called; she said she'd be here in about half an hour." Feathers sleek

again.

"I better hurry and clean up—"

There was a crash from the kitchen, followed by a roar from Blooey. Zanita

jumped, throwing a questioning glance at Tyber.

"My-Maggy's here." Another crash was followed by more yelling, Blooey cursing,

and a raspy bellow from a distinctly Irish-accented voice.

Tyber winced. "Don't worry—they love each other." At Zanita's disbelieving look,

he added, "Sort of, Zanita, why are you staring at me?"

She still couldn't stop looking at him. "You're dressed."

Tyber wondered if her recent experience with the flat had shaken her brains. He

slowly approached her and carefully lifted her chin with his index finger. "Yes,

but don't worry, baby; it comes off."

He brushed her lips, standing well away from her dusty clothes. "Better hurry;

they'll be here soon."

As he watched her walk up the stairs, he made a mental note to add a cellular

phone to his shopping list.

Zanita whispered to her friend. "So, what do you think, Mills? Did I exaggerate

or what?"

"No, it's just like you said. This place is incredible." Her sights strayed to

Tyber, who was sipping a drink while watching the sunset through the large

sitting room window. "And so is he. I still hate you."

"Thank you, Mills. You don't know how much it means to me to hear you say that."

And she meant it. Mills had given her the supreme compliment between

girlfriends: she was pea-green and woman enough to admit it.

They both giggled.

Tyber was thinking how beautiful Zanita looked when she came down the stairs a

little while ago in a long, dark blue dress. An amethyst choker circled her

slender throat, bringing out the color of her incredible eyes.

The