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to be her grandfather. But it seemed like a good policy. It was a good policy. She knew it was.
    “Oh, come on,” he said, turning to face her, still sitting on the floor. “I’m just talking about a date. Very harmless.”
    She looked back at him steadily. “What’s harmless to you isn’t necessarily harmless to someone else, Mr. Donovan.”
    “God, will you
please
call me Web.”
    A curly lock of dark hair had fallen across his forehead. He was still on the floor, looking up at her with frustration in his eyes.
    It was the first genuine emotion she’d seen in his face since she’d come into the room, and it almost made her change her mind. Almost.
    She stood up. “Mr. Donovan,” she said. “I’ve been running this bed and breakfast for nearly five years. I believe I know what’s best, particularly in dealing with a guest who intends to remain for over a month. If that makes you unhappy, you should feel free to check out at any time.”
    Webster Donovan stood up, too. “Whoa, baby, relax—”
    “I do
not
appreciate being called ‘baby,’ ” Juliana said.
    He ran his fingers through his hair with impatience. “If you told me your name, I wouldn’t
have
to call you baby.”
    “I repeat, I prefer Miss Anderson.”
    “Yeah, well, I
don’t
. Look, I know your name starts with a J.”
    She stared at him, startled. “How do you know that?”
    “I looked through your mail,” he said with a shrug. He didn’t even have the decency to blush.
    “Are you always rude and offensive, Mr. Donovan,” Juliana said, her eyes flashing, “or is there something about me that brings this out in you?”
    He took a step toward her. “Oh, come on—”
    “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your distance,” she said, backing away.
    Webster was caught off guard. “Whoa!” he said. “Wait a minute! It’s not like I’m going to attack you or anything.”
    “No? You did this morning.” Even as Juliana said it, she realized that it wasn’t quite fair. He
hadn’t
attacked her, but sweet heavens, she was mad at him.
    Webster’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need to
attack
women,
Miss Anderson
,” he said angrily. “They usually just fall into my arms, the way
you
did this morning.”
    Oh boy
, Webster thought. He’d made her angry now. If the lightning bolts that just shot out of her eyes had been real, he’d be a dead man.
    “You are
such
a jerk,” she said, the Victorian woman replaced by a late-twentieth-century righteous feminist.
    Spinning on her heels, she swept toward the parlor door with great dignity and left the room.
    *   *   *
    Juliana stormed up to her apartment, locking the door tightly behind her. She wouldn’t put it past him to follow her, the rude, arrogant … man!
    She quickly changed out of her gown, hanging it carefully in the closet. Rummaging through her dresser drawers, she pulled out a running bra and a pair of bike shorts. She dressed, then slipped her feet into her running shoes.
    With the exception of her tiny kitchen and the bathroom, her apartment was one vast, opened-up, modern-looking room. Because it was the third floor, the ceiling was at all kinds of angles and there were all sorts of nooks and crannies.
    Her big bed was tucked into a cozy alcove at one side of the room. She had a comfortable couch, her entertainment center set up in another corner. But now she went to a third area, where she kept her workout equipment.
    She had an exercise bike, a stairmaster, and a rowing machine. She climbed onto the exercise bike, set it for level eight, and took out her frustrations.

Chapter Four
    Webster Donovan was still in a bad mood.
    He wasn’t writing.
    He
was
trying, practically chaining himself to his computer, but nothing would come out. Nothing worth saving, anyway.
    He’d spent the past two days locked in his room. Juliana hadn’t even had a chance to go in and clean up. He was always there. Sitting at his computer. Not writing.
    Tuesday morning, he was the only