CHAPTER 2

Increasingly loud voices, too. Thankfully, Chris assured himself, they weren’t in his head. Nor were they telling him to pick up an axe and go do something decidedly unsavory. Intrigued despite his better judgment, Chris turned away from the door and peered down a long hard-wood-floored hall, trying to pinpoint exactly what he was hearing and where it was coming from.

He took a few tentative steps across the foyer. At the other end of the hall, he could see an impressive sweep of stairs that marched upward to the second floor. Apparently, the voices came from a room far, far down there by the stairs. Chris backed up. No. Definitely out of the safety zone.

Just then, the commotion escalated to grunting, cussing, gasps, and lots of feminine encouragement.

Chris’s eyes widened, but he suspended judgment. Hey, these were modern times. He tried to think what he should do next. Intervene? Leave? Pay admission? But maybe someone was hurt and needed help. This thought overrode his other concerns, even his belief in his neutrality as long as he stayed put. Chris stalked down the hall, ever closer to the noise and the action. When he reached the open doorway, very cautiously he peeked in. It took a moment, but he suddenly realized what he was seeing … and froze, wide-eyed. Whatever he’d expected to see, it sure as hell wasn’t this.

Three—no, four—fully clothed women surrounded some big Ninja-dressed guy who was down on all fours on the white carpet. So much was going on that Chris couldn’t take it all in at once. He couldn’t say if the guy wanted to be there or not, but the women clearly were not amused. An older, gray-haired lady, skirt hiked up, all but sat astride the man. And the other women, three of them, much younger than the lady on top, were tugging on the guy from all sides, including his backside. Just then, the guy began bucking and bellowing.

Chris remained shocked and speechless. At that moment, one of the combatants—a phenomenally good-looking woman, Chris’s always alert libido noted—looked up and caught sight of him.

“Ohmigod.” She relinquished her hold on the downed man, stepped around the main event, and hurried to stand in front of Chris. “This is not what it looks like.”

“And yet it might be because I have no idea what’s supposed to be happening here.” Chris smiled down at her. When he did, some pleasant yet involuntary thing in his chest tightened. She was a really sharp-looking brunette with wavy shoulder-length hair and amazing eyes. Almost gold in color. She stood about five-foot-five. Great figure. Tailored yet feminine sky-blue blouse and slim black slacks. Nice. Really nice. And she smelled wonderful.

Since she stood at a three-quarter pose to him, she divided her attention between the ongoing brouhaha and occasional glances up at Chris. “Well, maybe it is what it looks like. I don’t know. But can you help us, please?”

Innate caution kicked in. “Help you do what, exactly?”

“Get him on his feet, of course.”

Chris considered her words while eyeing the action. The Ninja was losing, big-time. “And then what?”

“Send him on his way.”

“In a good way? I mean ‘still alive’?”

“Against all that’s holy, but yes.”

“I see.” Capturing Chris’s attention was the sight of the stout older woman in the thick-looking nylons. She was all over the big guy’s back. She had the right attitude for the job. All she lacked were the black leather, a whip, and a German accent. Chris wagged his chin in the mounted man’s direction. “So what’s he doing down on all fours, anyway?”

“He was asking me to marry him.”

Chris damn near gave himself whiplash, so abruptly did he jerk his head to stare down at the woman standing next to him. Speechless, he spent some time doing that, just staring at her … then finally at the guy. Her again. The guy. Her. “No, seriously. What’s he doing down there on the floor? Is he an intruder? Or are you practicing some skit? I’d feel much better knowing that.”

Over the downed guy’s shouts of distress and the other women’s of aggravation, the pretty woman sighed. “No skit. Not an intruder. Sorry. That’s just Lenny. And he was asking me to marry him, but only as a practice exercise.”

Much more cheered by this bit of news, Chris pointed at her. “That’s more like it. I didn’t think you were with him.”

“Me? With Lenny?” She made a face, as if she’d just smelled fresh skunk. “No. Hardly. But this happened because he’s scared. Tonight’s the night, and he’s going to ask his girlfriend for real.”

Even as he nodded, Chris frowned his confusion. “So let me see if I have this straight … you ladies are beating him up for being scared?”

The seriously sexy woman chuckled. “No, but it wouldn’t take much. The truth is he got down on his bad knee. No, wait. It was his good knee. Anyway, he can’t get back up.” She sent Chris a pleading look, all but drowning him in those gold-colored eyes of hers. “What we need is some muscle.”

“And you mean mine, right?”

She nodded. “Lenny has to go to the bathroom. Bad.”

Chris raised his eyebrows. “And my knowing that, you believe, will convince me to help?”

Her rich, throaty laugh went all over Chris. “You’re funny.”

“Looks aren’t everything. A guy has to develop his personality.” He grinned back at her, enjoying the hell out of this exchange with this excellent-looking female, even while across the room the cacophony continued unabated. In fact, it escalated, finally drawing their attention. Chris stared, amazed, at the scene. The women were on Lenny like a free-for-all at a playground. Pushing, shoving, smacking, tugging. Gouging. Very impressive. “With any luck,” Chris felt compelled to say, “this ugly fight could turn into a pretty good rugby match at any moment.”

At his side, the pretty woman nodded. “It could. But it gets worse.”

“Than this? I don’t see how, but don’t feel you have to share.”

“But I have to. That’s new carpet. As you can see, new white carpet.”

Chris sent her a mock dirty look. “You shared. But, hey, that settles it for me. Can’t have the carpet ruined. That stuff doesn’t just grow on floors, you know.”

She brightened considerably. “Then you’ll help?”

He nodded fatalistically. “Yeah, it’s probably gone on long enough. One side, yours or his, needs some relief. But one thing, okay? When it comes to my turn for lessons in romance, I think we can leave out the older lady there riding my back and all that hitting and shoving. I have a perfectly good mother capable of doing that for me.”

The woman’s expression sobered. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me. You’re not a delivery guy or anything like that, are you? No, of course you’re not. How stupid of me.” Though she stuck her hand out for him to shake, her enthusiasm level was that of someone who expected her hand to be chopped off at the wrist. “You’re Chris Adams, my three o’clock, aren’t you?”

“That’s me.” Chris clasped her hand … small, warm. Electric. A jolt shot right up his arm, all the way through him, going straight to his … well, not exactly his heart. The truth was much lower and more flamboyant in its expressions of its likes and dislikes. And right now, it liked … especially when her grip almost spasmodically tightened around his hand. Had she felt the connection, too? “You’re Dianna West, the owner, right? My friend Rick Hampton sent me.”

She smiled. “I know. We love Rick.”

“Everybody loves Rick. He’s one of those guys.”

“He is and he’s great. He called me to say he’d referred you. Oh, and yes, I am Dianna West.” Much as if contact with him were painful, she withdrew her hand from his and made an apologetic face. “I’m sorry you had to witness this. And I promise you that it’s not how we normally operate. Anyway, I wouldn’t blame you one bit if you turned around and walked away, never to return.”

Chris recalled his earlier reticence about even coming inside. “Been there, had the chance, didn’t do it. So, I’m in. Tell me how to help.”

At that very second, the whole tableau—three shrieking women and one shouting man—fell in a cursing, howling heap to the floor. Pulling back, Chris made a face. “Whew. Now, that had to hurt.”

Dianna West gasped and rushed into the room. Chris was right behind her. While she pulled the older woman, whose skirt was now immodestly over her head, off the guy, Chris latched onto a skinny spitfire with short red hair and blue eyeglasses askew. The tiny woman was cussing like a middle-school kid who’d been tossed out of the lunchroom line on pizza day.

“Easy now, champ,” Chris told her, his arm locked around her waist.

“Let go of me, whoever the hell you are.”

Chris didn’t, so she fought his hold on her while at the same time taking ineffectual roundhouse swings at the squashed-bug guy laid out on his belly. She also hurled threats and insults at him. “Lenny Daschowitz, you grabbed my breast, you little perv! I’ll kick your ass!”

Whoa. Believing she could do it, too, Chris immediately shifted his arm, making certain that he touched nothing of hers not G-rated.

But Lenny, who apparently still hadn’t learned when he was down, turned his big curly-haired head in their direction. “Did not, Paula. But someone touched my penis, and I’m going to sue.”

“Oh, as totally if, you asshole. If one of us did touch your teeny little peeny, you’d thank us and pay us big time, you freakin’—”

“Okay, we’re done here.” Ms. West, boss lady, sounded as if she meant it, too. “That’s enough, everyone, and I mean it.”

Thinking she could use some backup, Chris put in his two cents’ worth. “You heard the lady. No one’s touching anyone’s … anything else. And we’re all going to calm down”—he purposely tightened his grip on the welterweight in his arms; her muttered “Oof” told him she’d gotten the message—“and then we’ll allow your boss to straighten this all out. Okay, now, nice and easy, got it?”

Everyone stared silently at him. Dianna West had a steadying grip on the shaking older woman who was straightening her clothes. Lenny still stared up at him. The spitfire hung loosely, like a towel, over his arm. And the fourth woman … “Oh, my goodness, where’d you come from?” she said.

Chris had about one second to eye her. Instant impression: With a change of costume and seven dwarves flanking her, she could be Snow White. Very pale skin. Jet-black hair. Big dark eyes. Red mouth. Soft voice. “High maintenance” was written all over her.

“He’s my three o’clock.” Ms. Dianna West smiled uncertainly at Chris, perhaps begging him to understand. “This is Mr. Chris Adams, everyone. Mr. Adams, this is Mrs. Windhorst, my secretary.” The older woman next to Dianna nodded regally his way. Chris returned the gesture. “And this is Melanie O’Hara, one of my associates.”

Snow White fluttered her hands, telling him, “Like in Gone with the Wind.”

Chris raised his eyebrows in question. “Beg pardon?”

“My name. Melanie. She married Ashley Wilkes. And O’Hara—”

“Gotcha. Scarlett’s last name.”

“I see you know your literature.” She actually simpered.

Chris feared a case of the vapors was not far behind. Where was Rhett Butler when you needed him?

“And that”—Dianna West pointed to the woman Chris had all but forgotten he still held in a death grip—“is Paula Capland, another of my associates.”

Chris looked down at the rag doll he held. With her narrow behind pressed against his hip, she swung her upper body until she could see him and raised a hand in greeting. “Pleased to meet you. And, my, what a strong grip you have, Grandma.”

Smart-ass. Chris liked her immediately. “Hi, yourself. You still intending to take a swing at the guy there on the floor?”

“Maybe. Depends.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dianna cut in, sounding much as if this were a cocktail party and not the equivalent of a WWF smackdown. “Chris Adams, meet Lenny Daschowitz. Lenny, say hello.”

Lenny raised a thick-fingered hand in greeting. “How you doin’? I’d get up, but you know how it is. Lost a contact. Damned white carpet.”

Chris chuckled. Lenny was pretty okay, too. “I understand. Need some help, buddy?”

Somehow managing to look totally dignified, he nodded. “That would be nice. But just you. I’ve had all the female help I can take.”

Alarm bells went off inside Chris. “You know what, Lenny? In your current situation here, I’d say ix-nay on the female bashing.”

Chris followed this with releasing the combatant he held, steadying her on her feet before he faced the four women together. “If you ladies will excuse us? Lenny and I have some manly business to conduct.”

“If you don’t mind,” Dianna West said, “I’d like to stay. My place of business. My liability. You understand.”

He did. “Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”

Acknowledging this with a nod of her head, she then turned a frown on Lenny and pointed at him. “You hold on another minute, mister.”

“I’ve been holding on. Whadda you want me to do—tie a knot in it? Hey, where you going?”

“Just outside here a second to talk to my employees.”

With that, she herded the women past Chris. As they went by, they made apologetic noises, all except for Paula, and smiled up at him and straightened their clothing all around. The last one out the door, Dianna West, caught his attention. “I’ll be right back.”

He gave her his best smile. “I’ll be counting the seconds.”

“So will I.” Lenny, again. “I still got to pee, only worse now.”

Dianna whipped around. “Lenny, could you please be more crass?” Then she focused on Chris. “I’ve known him since I was a little girl.”

Chris mimed a droll expression. “You have my condolences.”

“Thank you. I won’t be but a second out here.”

Chris held the door, implying he would close it behind her. She nodded her thanks and walked past him. Chris indeed meant to shut the door, but a snippet of the women’s parting conversation, containing his name and conducted in a loud stage whisper, stayed his hand.

“Could Mr. Chris Adams be better-looking? Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome is more like it. Why, I nearly swooned.” That would be Miss Snow White O’Hara.

“Oh, shut up with the swooning. You swoon at guys on billboards.” Paula.

“And you, young lady, flirt with every man who comes through the door.” The secretary. Mrs. Wind-something. “And that’s despite the fact that they’re every one already in committed relationships when they arrive here. Very unprofessional.”

“Now, stop it, all of you. Enough arguing.” Dianna. “It’s a wonder Mr. Adams hasn’t already run out of here like rabid vampires were chasing him. He has to think we’re all nuts.”

“You mean we aren’t?” Paula again.

“Not all of us.” Dianna.

“But did you think he was good-looking, Di?”

Melanie’s breathless question had Chris, though staring at Lenny, straining to hear Dianna’s answer. Lenny smirked and eyed Chris knowingly from across the room. Chris chose to ignore this.

“Oh, God,” Dianna said, “he is gorgeous. And so nice. I nearly died. I had to come out into the hall just to fan myself.”

Across the way, Lenny sent Chris a thumbs-up sign. Chris answered with a nod of his head and a grin as, out in the hall, Dianna West kept talking.

“… neither here nor there. Like Mrs. Windhorst said, he’s here because he’s a man in a committed relationship with a woman he wants to marry. And let me remind you: If we ever lose sight of that, ladies, if we ever give in to our attraction to one of our clients, it’s called fraud and a breach of professional ethics—and this business and our livelihoods are history.”

Chris had stopped listening after that “man in a committed relationship” thing. Who was she talking about? Lenny? No, probably not in the same breath with the word “attraction.” Then that left … him. Damn. Chris wondered what Dianna West would say, or do, if she knew exactly how uncommitted his relationship really was.

*   *   *

About fifteen minutes later, and now behind the closed door in her office across the foyer from the reception area, Dianna sat with Mr. Chris Adams, prospective bridegroom, on the overstuffed rose-brocade sofa where she conducted her client interviews. They were alone … at last.

Dianna held in her hands her interview notebook and a pen. “I cannot thank you enough for coming to our rescue—and Lenny’s. I don’t know who was happier, us or him. And I know it’s hard to believe, but he really is an old friend of mine. Well, hardly a friend. Tormentor is more like it. But his mother still lives next door to mine, which explains why I moved away. Lenny hasn’t. Yes, he lives with his mother. The poor guy. Well, you saw him.”

You’re babbling. Stop it right now. Dianna did, reminding herself that Mr. Adams was here because he wanted her to help him ask his girlfriend—that darned lucky, lucky woman—to marry him. “So, anyway, you’re a terrific sport. And I think I’ll give you a big discount for being so nice, Mr. Adams.”

“Call me Chris. And there’s no need for a discount. It was nothing.”

Dianna smiled. “Oh, but it was. It was a big something … Chris.” For some reason, she felt shy saying his name, and so fell back on the familiar. “Poor Lenny.” The words were a sigh. “Thank you for waiting while we got him dusted off and sent on his way.”

“Again, not a problem.”

Dianna nodded, just sitting there and grinning stupidly at the man. And he was watching her do it, too. She needed to say something. The first thing that came into her mind also came out of her mouth. “Why don’t you call me Dianna?”

A playful light sparkled in his dark-chocolate eyes. “Mainly because you haven’t asked me to before now.”

“Oh, I get it.” Brilliant, Dianna. Scintillating. You’ve got him now, girl.

Chris’s sultry smile, coupled with his bold gaze, made Dianna giddy. The man had no right to sit there so completely at ease, an ankle crossed atop his opposite knee and an arm draped along the sofa’s carved-wood spine. His hand rested so close to her shoulder that, should a sudden insanity seize her, all she had to do was lean over the slightest bit to kiss his fingertips. Afraid she’d do exactly that, Dianna forced a businesslike smile to her face. “All right. So we’re Chris and Dianna now. And you want to get married.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Whoa. Slow down. I think we should date first. See how things go.”

Totally confused, Dianna shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow…?”

“We went from first names to getting married in about two seconds.”

“Oh, I get it. The way I said it. Sorry.” Some stupid giggle left over from her teenage years erupted from her, leaving her unsettled, a bit off her game. “That would be silly. Me and you. Ha-ha.”

“It would? Hmm. My mistake.” He grinned big-time and just sat there.

He was flirting, and it was working. Dianna’s heart raced with excitement. She wanted to kiss him … hard. Finally remembering to exhale, she reminded herself that Chris’s flirting with her wasn’t the first time she’d seen this phenomenon. Many of her male clients became self-conscious and seemed to feel a need to flirt and be macho, as if they needed to prove to themselves that they were still studly guys. Melanie and Paula reported the same experiences. Hence, that “breach of ethics and no jobs” reminder of hers. They were not to give in to their libidos’ urgings where clients were concerned. But that was before Chris Adams, Dianna argued.

Stop right there. Big problem. Before Chris Adams? Oh, girlfriend, do not make that mistake. Sure, she was very attracted to him, and he was getting to her, but the rule remained: no dipping in the client pool allowed. Yet here she was, wanting to do just that. God, this whole afternoon was designed to test me. First Lenny for being an idiot, and now this guy for being sexy. Get a grip, Dianna. She did, putting on her best professional face and ending the silence between them that had stretched taut. “So, you’re here because you want to ask your girlfriend or significant other—”

“Definitely girlfriend.”

She smiled. “I figured. But that’s not always the case in my business. So I try not to take anything for granted.”

“Smart.”

“Thanks. I think so.” Dianna marveled that she could, somehow, hold this lucid conversation with Chris Adams. Inside, she was mush. It just wasn’t fair. This man had taken her breath away the first moment she’d spied him standing in the doorway to the salon. And yet he was taboo. Just then, Chris firmed his lips together and ran his fingers over them. Dianna nearly swooned. His mouth. So sensually shaped. Generous. Prone to smiling. Was he just trying to make her lose control?

“So,” he said, a bit too loudly, clearing his throat, “we were talking about getting married, right? Me to someone else.” He suddenly frowned, much as if his own words had surprised him. Then he smiled, peering deep into Dianna’s eyes and holding her gaze riveted to his. “Well, you know, I thought I wanted to get married. Until I came here, that is.”

She knew exactly what he was doing, but she could barely swallow, so potent was his appeal. To save them both, she pretended she’d taken his meaning wrong and spoke fatalistically, even slumping her posture. “Oh no, I just knew it. That whole Lenny business, right? We put you completely off marriage. You poor man. And your girlfriend.” Remember her, Dianna? “She’ll be really happy with us here at Popping the Question, won’t she?”

Chris blinked, shuttering his gaze from her. “I’m not sure. I really don’t know how she would react.”

“You don’t? Seriously?” If he was her man and someone here had put him off marriage to her, Dianna knew she’d show up posthaste, prepared for some serious hair-pulling and name-calling.

“Oh, she might hunt you down and prosecute you,” Chris cheerfully assured her. “Cite alienation of affection or something like that, I guess.”

Dianna blinked. “Great. Let me guess. She’s an attorney?”

Still smiling, he nodded. “A prosecuting attorney with the state, in fact.”

Suddenly feeling ill, Dianna grimaced. “A prosecuting attorney. With the state.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “So, she sounds like a lovely woman, your attorney. I mean your girlfriend. Of course, she would be, if you’re involved with her.”

Dianna froze. Had she really said that out loud?

“Well … thanks,” Chris said, proving that, yes, she had. So he was wearing a Rolex watch and faded jeans and a blue oxford-style shirt tucked in and belted with a braided-leather belt. How could she have ever thought he might be a delivery guy? His shirt was open at the throat. Dark chest hair peeked over the top of the rounded crew-neck of his white T-shirt.

Not that she was checking him out. Dianna exhaled. “Is it warm in here to you? Because it seems awfully hot in here to me.”

Not waiting for any answer he might give, she pushed up from the sofa and turned to the dainty, glass-topped end table that had been on her right when she was seated. Atop this she placed her pen and interview notebook before hurrying over to the thermostat. She stared accusingly at the seventy-five-degree reading on its digital face and tapped the cover. “I don’t think this thing is working.”

“If it’s as old as this house, it probably isn’t.”

Dianna turned around to face her client. She repeated that word mentally. Client, client, client. He’s my client. “You don’t like the house?”

He shrugged. “Not my style, is all. Not what I expected, either.”

“What did you expect?” Dianna started back toward him and the sofa. She had to fight a mental image of the two of them making out hot and heavy on its inviting cushions. By the time she sat down, she had him naked. Well, in her mind, anyway.

“Something more masculine, I guess, since you deal mostly with guys. You do, right?”

“Yes. Mostly. But you’d be surprised at the number of women who come in wanting to be the one to pop the question.”

“Seriously? That’s surprising. I mean, I thought that women had a lock on romantic. But, hey, women who take charge and ask the guy? Pretty cool.”

Dianna smiled. “Glad you think so. And, on that note…”

She reached over to the glass-topped table and retrieved her pen and notebook. Resettling herself on the sofa cushions, she opened her ledger to a clean page. At the top of it, she wrote “Chris Adams.” She stared at the two words and fought the urge to put a “Mrs.” in front of his name and write it over and over, like some lovesick high school girl.

Dianna looked up, catching her client watching her. Sudden, palpable sexual attraction, like electrical currents, throbbed between them. Dianna had to fight its effects just to get her words out. “So, Chris. Right now we need to fill out a preliminary form and a contract. Then, today or during a subsequent meeting, whatever you prefer, we can talk about your likes and dislikes, what you want to have happen. Even things like music, location, flowers, any special needs you might have. And I’ll also need some insights on your intended.”

He’d been nodding along as she talked, but by the time she finished, he was frowning. “Intended? I have an—Oh, hell, I do. That makes it pretty official, doesn’t it?”

“Almost.” Dianna smiled at the brown-eyed, handsome man to her left. “Don’t tell me you’re going to do a Lenny and get cold feet?”

“Hell, no. Not after seeing what happened to him.” Chris suddenly leaned in toward Dianna. His gaze dropped to her lips and then rose to her eyes. His face filled her vision. “Before we begin to get official here, I want to ask you something.”

The answer is yes. “You do?” The sound of her own voice, all Marilyn Monroe breathy, snapped Dianna out of vamp mode. She abruptly sat back, but what she really wanted to do was jump on Chris Adams, wrap her legs around him and— She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. What do you want to ask me?”

Not answering right off, he sat back and roved his gaze over … well, not her, but her office furnishings. How flattering was that? “How’d you get started doing something like this? It’s really great. Very unique. Totally entrepreneurial. I’d bet there isn’t another business like it in the whole country.”

Dianna’s chest expanded with pride. “And you’d win. There isn’t, not that I know of. In fact, last Wednesday I was interviewed by a features reporter for The Baltimore Sun for an upcoming story. And Baltimore Magazine is featuring us, too. As if that weren’t great enough, People magazine has already been here to do an article. Pictures and everything.”

“Damn. You go, girl.”

“I know. I can’t believe it. Me. In People magazine.”

“You’re going to have more business than you and fifty employees can handle when that comes out. Are you ready for that? I mean, let’s face it, men are pretty lame, for the most part, when it comes to romantic ideas for proposing.”

“I hate to agree with you, especially since you put it like that, but that’s exactly how I got started.”

“Seriously?” He shifted his weight, settling himself on the sofa. “Tell me about it. I’d really like to hear this.”

Obviously, he was genuinely interested, so Dianna happily obliged. “Well, you can thank—or curse, depending on how you feel about being here—my older brothers. When they wanted to propose to their girlfriends, they turned to me, the resident girl in the house.”

Chris nodded. “Makes sense. Go on.”

“Well, they’re guys, okay? Like you said: totally lame in the romantic vision department. Anyway, Tommy is thirty-two and a cop. And Edward is thirty-four. He’s an accountant—”

“How old are you?”

“Me?” That stopped her. She didn’t see how it was relevant.

Chris’s smile was disarming. “Call me curious. Professionally speaking.”

She had her doubts about that, but: “Okay. Well, I’m twenty-six.”

He nodded. “I figured you had to be younger than your brothers.”

“That was a compliment, right?”

“Right. You don’t even look twenty-six, much less older than thirty-four. Are you married?”

Surprised, Dianna pulled back, but still managed to smile. “I don’t see how that matters.”

“I guess I’m prying, right? I don’t mean to. I was just wondering if some guy had swept you off your feet already … you know, in the sense that if he had, then that would give you professional credentials. Meaning you personally know what works, et cetera.” He stopped, frowned off into space, and then focused on Dianna again. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I’m just nervous about being here.”

Dianna took pity on the man. “It’s okay. Really. And no, I’m not married. But I do know what works.”

Chris Adams grinned, reminding her of the big bad wolf. “I’ll bet you do.”

Highly flattered, and allowing herself one moment only of flirting right back, Dianna raised her eyebrows. “Did I tell you yet that one of my brothers is a cop?”

Chris laughed out loud … a gutsy masculine sound. “Point taken, Ms. West. So, two older brothers. No wonder you’re not married. That’s a lot for a guy to get past. But I take it they’re married?”

“Yes. Happily. And I take some of the credit for that, speaking of professional credentials. I’m talking about my coaching and the romantic scenarios I set up for them, individually, when the time came. They were clueless. Turned out it was fun, and I loved it. And so did their girlfriends, who are now their wives, of course.”

“I bet. So tell me what you set up for your brothers. Maybe I’ll want something like what you did for them.”

Dianna nodded and smiled. “Okay. Good point. For Tommy I put together a horse-drawn-carriage ride, string quartet, champagne, and a midnight-dinner-on-the-beach package.”

“Sounds fabulous.”

“It was. It was in Florida. And Edward—Mr. Traditional—popped the question on a weekend excursion up to Vermont. Sightseeing. Fall foliage. A bed-and-breakfast inn. Long walks. Antiques-shopping. Really shivery stuff to a woman’s heart.”

“I can imagine. Are you finding, though, that most people are sticking closer to home nowadays, not wanting to travel, that sort of thing?”

Dianna sobered and nodded. “Yes. But that’s great, too. I mean, Baltimore isn’t called ‘Charm City’ for nothing. And we do have a history of famous lovers here. Zelda and F. Scott. Clark Gable and Carole Lombard. Even Wallis Simpson and King Edward.”

“Hey, so pretty much it’s all going on right here in ‘Marryland,’ right?”

“Hey, ‘Marryland.’ I like that. Can I use it?”

“Sure. Just give me credit. So, anyway, what happened after your brothers got married? Don’t leave me hanging.”

Dianna chuckled at her own expense and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I don’t know. It’s kind of an embarrassing story, really.”

Chris smiled evilly. “Even better.”

He was teasing her—and Dianna loved it. “Oh, all right. Let’s just say I didn’t catch on at first that I could do something like this for a living. There I was, just out of college—”

“What’d you major in?”

Dianna sent Chris an arch expression. “Still checking out my credentials?”

“No.” He grinned that killer grin, one that liquefied her bones. “Just nosy. So what’d you major in?”

“Don’t laugh. Philosophy.”

He laughed. “I’m not laughing.”

“You are. But, and as you seem to already know, my degree was completely useless in the real world. So I started on my master’s degree—”

“In philosophy?”

Dianna raised her chin as if insulted, but knew the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth gave her away. “Yes. I’m a very slow learner. So, anyway, while I was toiling away in academia, I got started doing this on the side, totally for free. For friends. And friends of friends. For the love of the thing. But after a couple years of that—”

“A couple of years?”

“I said I was a slow learner. Anyway, my brother Edward—”

“The accountant. I think I see where this is going.”

“Yes. The accountant. He’s big on business and marketing. He suggested it. Tommy seconded it. And my parents loved it and gave me the seed money. Edward is my business manager now. And here I am, a year later and going strong. Thriving, even. I think that, given the times, people are wanting to commit. They seem to want stability now, something they can cling to, something that matters.”

“Which explains why I’m here. But, hey, you’re about to be on the cover of People magazine.”

“Hardly the cover. Probably more of a footnote at the back of the thing.”

“‘Where’ won’t matter. It’s People magazine. You’ll be swamped with clients once that comes out.”

“Gee, that would be awful.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t it? Got a Web presence?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You need a Web presence.”

“Why? You said I’d have more clients than I could handle with just the People thing.”

“If you’re on the Web, you can serve the country. The world.”

“No, I couldn’t. Think of all the different languages and customs.”

“Not a problem. Get your brother to do his thing and then get in touch with a corporate attorney for the legal framework part. Then you could sell franchises all over the world.”

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

He nodded. “I do.”

Dianna waited, but he didn’t elaborate. So she frowned her doubts about his idea. “That sounds like a lot of work, worldwide franchises. Not to mention time and money and headaches.”

“Only at first. But after that, you’d never have to work again. Just spend your time counting your money. Retire at twenty-six.”

Visions of the lifestyles of the rich and famous danced through her head. “Well, that’s not ugly, is it? But what would I do with my time? I mean, everyday stuff, my whole life left to live?”

Chris shrugged. “It’d be up to you, but that’s the point. You’d go where you want. Do what you want. No one to answer to.”

“God, that sounds totally seductive.” She tried to envision it … couldn’t. “No. I don’t think I’d like that for long. A constant vacation would get boring. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. Or where to go.” She was beginning to get upset. “I’d miss my family and friends and Baltimore. I love this city and the Orioles and Inner Harbor and Fell’s Point and—”

Chris held his hands up, palms to her, to stop her. “Hey, hold on. It’s okay. I’m not the genie in the bottle granting you your wishes. I’m just talking. You don’t have to go anywhere.”

She felt foolish. “Well, thank God, because I don’t think I could handle wealth on that rich and idle scale.” Of course, she was only half-joking. “I mean, there’d be all those years with nothing to fill them. Too scary to think about.”

“It’s not as bleak as all that. You can move on to the next thing. Find what else it is you might love to do.”

“But I love doing this.”

“Good for you, then. You know what you want out of life. That’s great. And also very rare.”

“I guess it is.” Something in Chris’s manner, or maybe it was his suddenly subdued tone of voice, alerted Dianna. She thought maybe he wasn’t talking about mere possibilities, not where he was concerned. Just exactly who was this Chris Adams sitting here so close to her and making her aware of every beat of her heart? “So, Chris, how do you know so much about being a jet-setter?”

He grinned … a lopsided, self-deprecating one. “I don’t know the first thing about it. Not my style. I like to lie low.”

Dianna pulled back. “Lie low? Are you wanted by the police?”

“No. I was talking personality-wise. Got the money, but not the desire to flaunt it.”

Dianna sighed in relief. She’d seen a lot of suspicious characters come through her door. “Admirable. So you’re independently wealthy, then? A man of infinite means, I take it?”

“A what? I think you’ve been in this Victorian house too long. What exactly is ‘a man of infinite means’?”

Dianna felt her face heat up. Teach her to blurt personal questions that were none of her business. “Totally filthy stinking rich, I think.”

“Oh. Then, yeah, that’s me.”

“Are you putting me on?”

He leaned in toward her. “If I did, do you think you’d fit?”

Dianna’s cheeks burst into flames of embarrassed heat. She couldn’t say a thing or even look away. Tears actually stung her eyes.

Instantly contrite, Chris put a hand on her arm. His grip was warm and firm. “Oh, hell, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what I was thinking. I forgot myself. Forgive me?”

Dianna swallowed, finally finding her voice. “Of course. But only if you’ll forgive me. God, I’ve been sitting here grilling you about money. How rude is that?”

“From anyone else, completely. But from you?” He sat back and shrugged. “For some reason I’m not offended. It’s like you have a right to know. And I don’t know how else to explain it, so don’t ask me.”

“I won’t, but I really don’t have to … because I think I feel the same way.” This was so odd. What was going on here? In another moment, they’d be in a serious lip-lock. Dianna realized she was staring at the man. Simply staring. Not talking. Just feeling the tug of his body for hers.

“And on that note,” Chris announced loudly, “I think I’d better start taking care of official business here.” Sitting back, settling again into his corner of the sofa, he began filling out a clipboarded client information form she’d given him, followed by the contract he needed to sign. Dianna sat quietly waiting, watching him. Without warning, he looked up. “Okay, I have to say this. You are one of the most interesting women I’ve met in a long time.” He paused, his expression intensified. “A very long time.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Dianna barely kept the disappointment off her face until he returned his attention to the forms. She stared at his profile and wondered why, for her, it was never any different. He thought she was interesting. Great. The kiss of death. He couldn’t know it, but every guy in her life thought of her that way. Interesting. Easy to talk to. A friend. A little sister. Though she knew she was nice-looking enough and smart enough and, all right, funny sometimes, there just seemed to be something about her that didn’t inspire lasting or long-term passion in men. Sure, they wanted to hang out with her, maybe date her and even sleep with her, or tell her all their problems with other women. But in the end, they didn’t want to marry her.

Could she be in a more ironic business for her, then? Here she helped people merge onto the highway of love and marriage, but when it came to herself, she couldn’t even find the on ramp. And neither could the three women who worked for her, none of whom was currently married. Mrs. Windhorst was a widow. Paula was twice divorced. And Melanie was single, like Dianna. Go figure.

So, what about this other woman, Dianna wondered, who had inspired Chris to want to marry her? What was she like? And what did that attorney have, darn it, that she did not? Short answer? Chris. Dianna focused on him, trying to decide what specifically about him was so appealing to her. Certainly, he was tall, dark, and handsome. Had the football shoulders and the winning smile. Was obviously intelligent. A sharp dresser. Great sense of humor. Everything there to like.

But what about the small things? Like the shape of his fingernails. Squared off nicely, neatly clipped. But his hands weren’t soft. No, he was every inch the rugged male but with nothing coarse about him. His black hair was neatly trimmed. He wore it short on the sides and back, longer on top with a wave in front that fell forward when he had his head down, like now. Very attractive. He smelled of clean clothes and an expensive citrus aftershave. Nice.

And he was, right now, watching her watch him.

Embarrassed shock sent Dianna’s stomach plummeting. She wanted to die. The man was clearly flattered and amused that he’d caught her, too. Dianna felt her face heat up to, no doubt, a flaming beet-red. Completely flustered, she leaned forward, all business now, to straighten up an already straightened stack of magazines on the coffee table in front of them. “So,” she said briskly, sparing him but a glance, “are you ready?”

He chuckled. “I am, if you are. Just say the word.”