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her chest and
studied him.  A dimple lingered at the corner of his mouth as he boldly
returned her perusal.  She was acutely conscious of the most minute things: 
the warmth of the morning sun on her shoulders, the odor of overripe fruit, the
way the fine hairs grew on the back of his hand. She was drunk, intoxicated by
the nearness of this charismatic man who had made her feel more in two days
than she’d felt in eighteen years of living.  In spite of her valiant efforts
to remain neutral, her traitorous body had betrayed her.  Parts that should
have been wet had gone dry, and parts that were normally dry were inexcusably
damp.  And his voice, that black velvet voice, made her stomach quiver and set
the soft hairs on the back of her neck to standing up straight.
    It was exquisite.
    It was terrifying.
    And disgraceful, and wholly inappropriate for a woman promised to
another man. She had obligations, responsibilities, promises to keep.  She had
expectations to live up to, people she couldn’t let down.  A wedding in four
weeks that she couldn’t miss. 
    He took her hand in his.  With the pad of his thumb, he traced a
line along her palm, his touch bringing to life every nerve ending in her
body.  “This,” he said near her ear, “is your life line.  You’re going to live
a long and healthy life.  And this—”  He paused, continuing the stroking that
had her heart hammering double-time, “is your love line.”
    She had difficulty getting the words out.  “And what does it say?”
    “You’re going to meet a tall, handsome stranger.”  He pressed his
lips to her palm.  “You’re trembling,” he said.
    She wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t.  “I’m afraid this was a
very bad idea,” she said.
    “Having pizza for breakfast?”
    She withdrew her hand from his.  “Coming to Boston,” she said.  “I
tried to tell myself it was strictly business, but it’s turning into something
else, and I can’t let that happen.  I come from conservative people, Danny. 
I’ve had that conservatism spoon-fed to me since birth.  I don’t believe in
casual sex.”
    His smile faded.  “Are you trying to tell me,” he demanded, “that
you believe anything between us could ever be casual?”
    She took a deep breath and looked at him directly.  “No,” she
said.
    “You don’t have to marry him.”
    For a fleeting instant, something resembling hope sprang to life
in her.  “Maybe,” she said, “you’d like to make me a better offer.”
    Behind those blue eyes, something stilled.  He stood up, shoved
his hands in his pockets, and was suddenly very busy examining the brickwork in
the building behind them.  “I can’t,” he said.
    A muscle clenched in her jaw as her faint hope sputtered and
extinguished itself.  She got up from the bench, swung her purse strap over her
shoulder, and strode away, not caring where she ended up as long as it was as
far as possible from Danny Fiore.
    He caught up with her before she’d gone a dozen steps.  “Damn it,
Casey,” he said, “it has nothing to do with you!”
    When she refused to stop, he caught her by the elbow.  “Listen to
me,” he pleaded.  “Just listen!”
    “I’m tired, Danny.  I’m going to bed.”  Yanking free of him, she stepped
off the curb and held up an arm, the way she’d seen it done on television.  A
yellow taxi pulled up, and deliberately ignoring him, she opened the door.
    “You don’t understand!” he shouted.  “It’s not you, it’s me!”
    “Don’t worry,” she told him.  “You’ll get your damn songs.”  And
she climbed into the taxi and slammed the door.
    As the car pulled away from the curb, she knotted her hands in her
lap.  She would not look back.  The man was an arrogant, conceited fool.  She
wouldn’t look back at him if he were the last man on earth.
    When she did, he was still standing there with his mouth hanging
open.
     

chapter four
     
    She slept restlessly, her dreams