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of him rise another, less reluctant, notch.
    "If you're going to stay here awhile, Leslie, you'll have to put up with mice and such,” he said, a trace of amusement in his voice. “I wouldn't be surprised if there are mice in the basement, as well."
    The basement? A shiver of dread stirred within her. She'd looked down the stairs yesterday afternoon but, put off by the damp-smelling darkness below, she'd slammed the door shut and postponed further exploration. But her cowardice nagged her now. Sooner or later she would have to enter the cellar, if only to inspect the water system or look for Jason's missing belongings.
    Without thinking, she placed her free hand on Simon's chest and dropped her forehead against his shirt, inhaling the scent of sun-dried cotton, soap and clean male skin. “I'll set a trap. And call you to empty it if I catch something."
    His stroking hand stilled. She heard the sharp intake of his breath at the same moment her words re-echoed in her head. I'll call you.
    "Would you really?” he asked softly. “Would you really call me, Leslie?"
    Her face burning, she stared at the ground, at the battered canvas sneakers he wore. The top of one had the frayed beginning of a hole over the big toe. She didn't know what was worse, to stand there feeling his heartbeat strong against her palm, or to move away and let him see how easily he could destroy her equilibrium.
    Pulling herself together, she took a step back. To her relief, he let her go at once. “I'll check the basement later.” Her voice only wobbled a little. “When the electrician comes. Which reminds me, could you recommend someone?"
    "I'll call him for you when we get back in the house.” He lifted one black brow. “The car keys?"
    "Oh.” She gave them to him, standing aside as he got into the little car and cranked the engine. It came to life with a cough and a wheeze, then ran more smoothly. Blue exhaust, reeking of stale gasoline, enveloped her in a choking cloud, driving her out of the cool building and into the blazing sunlight. She stood there, gasping for breath and holding her nose.
    Simon backed the car out, adjusting the choke to a slow idle. Opening the door, he got out, moving around to the passenger side to check the insurance document mounted in the corner of the windshield. “You're in luck,” he said. “It seems to be valid. Would you like me to drive it down to the village for you to have the gas station mechanic drain out the old gasoline and do a service on it?"
    "I'll come with you,” Leslie said quickly. After all, how long had she known this man? A gut feeling told her he could be trusted with her property. Whether she could trust the stability of her emotions around him, or believe his version of Jason's life, was another story. “I need to go to the grocery store anyway. I'll get my purse."
    "Sure,” he said easily. Whistling something that sounded like Mozart, he leaned back against the car, crossing his legs at the ankles.
    Leslie walked back to the house through the green-filtered sunlight on the path. The kitchen door stood open, just as they'd left it.
    On the counter, next to the sink, stood a vase of blood-red roses that hadn't been there twenty minutes earlier.
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Chapter Three
    Spooky. That's what it was. Who would bring her roses? Not to mention sneaking into the house to leave them. A florist would have left them on the back step.
    No, maybe not. She pulled at her earlobe. The open door could have seemed like an invitation. Who knew what people did here? Maybe they were so at home with each other, they just walked into people's houses without knocking.
    After all, Eugenia had, earlier. But she had been chasing her bird.
    Frowning deeply, Leslie ran upstairs to get her purse. The house seemed undisturbed, although her nose twitched when she reached her room. Was that roses she smelled up here? She wasn't sure, and the scent could be drifting through the open French doors from