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her steadily. “Don’t.”
    His words didn’t sound like a threat. There was no invisible “or else” tagged on to the end. That would almost have been easier. She could have gotten angry at his arrogance and presumption.  
    Instead, his simple request for honesty struck her as intensely personal and scared her more than any threat. Which was stupid. If you asked most people if they wanted you to lie to them or tell them the truth, they’d pick the truth. So why did his asking for it outright shake her to her core?  
    “Okay, here’s the truth.” She spoke louder than normal, trying to dispel the growing intimacy building in the room. “I hate making two trips and next time I’ll load up with as many bags as I possibly can to avoid it.”
    He smiled slightly and then nodded once. “Excellent.”
    She was breathing too quickly. Who was this man?  
    His expression serious, he straightened, the spell he’d woven between them gone. “All week you’ve avoided speaking with me privately. We have to talk. Marguerite will undoubtedly show up soon.”
    Julie sighed and began to move efficiently around the kitchen, putting away the groceries. She’d forgotten for a moment that this man was crazy. “I don’t know who Marguerite is, Harry,” she said gently.
    “I’m aware of that. Stop patronizing me and give me your full attention. I’ll explain.”
    Julie paused, a box of lasagna noodles in her hand. “Does this have something to do with you wanting to have sex with me?”
    “Yes.” His face was expressionless.  
    “It’s not going to happen.”
    He studied her a moment. “Would it make a difference if I told you that you’d enjoy yourself?”
    “Please.” Julie shook her head. He might be crazy, but his ego was doing just fine.
    “You’d no doubt get offended if I offered you reimbursement for your services.”
    “You think? Don’t even go there.”
    He ran a hand through his hair in a motion she was beginning to recognize as frustration. “I thought Americans weren’t as hung up about sex as they used to be.”
    “Where did you get that idea? Of course we are.” She put the cheese in the refrigerator, stuffed all of the now empty plastic bags into one bag and shoved them under the sink, then straightened. “You’ve been watching American television, haven’t you?”
    “Everyone watches American television.”
    “Television is fantasy,” she said. Just like the delusions buzzing around inside your head, handsome man.
    Harry took a step toward her. “Define fantasy, Julie.”
    “I know you have that word in England. You’re from the land of Tolkien and Rowling.”  
    When he continued to watch her, waiting, she elaborated. “Fantasy is make-believe. Pretend. Dragons and magic.” She waved her hands in the air. “Happily ever after.”
    “What if I told you dragons once existed?” He took a step closer.
    “I’d ask for fossil evidence.”
    “What if I told you magic exists now?”
    “I’d say prove it.” He stood so near she could smell him, an elusive scent of earth and sun that made her want to breathe deeply.  
    His voice lowered. “What if I said happily ever after is a possibility?”
    “I’d say you’ve never been married.” The words came out as a whisper. He stood too close. She should back away, but she didn’t want to. A frisson of heat built from the soles of her feet to her shoulders. The warmth spread out and filled her.
    Harrison’s eyes darkened to rich amber and his breathing deepened. He didn’t touch her, but it felt like he did. It felt like he moved his hands over her, learning her skin, the space inside her elbow, the curve of cheek.
    “Have you ever been married, Harry?” She forced herself to talk, to back away from him and the odd, intimate sensation.
    He frowned, but answered. “No.”
    “Take my advice. Stay single. Life is so much simpler that way.”
    “I haven’t noticed that my life is simple.” He stood still, his gaze following