Match Me If You Can

Chapter Thirteen

Annabelle heard Heath's sigh. That kiss… She'd known he'd be a wonderful kisser: domineering in the best possible way, master and commander, lord of the realm, leader of the pack. No need to worry about this one slipping into high heels when she wasn't paying attention. But none of that justified her foolishness. "I-I guess I have more self-discipline than I thought," she said, her voice unsteady.

"So gosh darned thrilled you figured that out now."

"I can't throw everything away for a couple of minutes of heavy breathing."

"A couple of minutes?" he exclaimed indignantly. "If you think I'm not good for longer than-"

"Don't." Pain shot through her. All she wanted to do now was climb into bed and pull the covers over her head. She hadn't cared about her business, her life, her self-respect. All she'd cared about was giving in to the moment.

"Let's go, Tinker Bell." He snagged her arm and steered her toward the kitchen. "We're taking a walk to cool down."

"I don't want to walk," she cried.

"Fine. Let's go back to what we were doing."

Even as she pulled away, she knew he was right. If she intended to get her footing back, this couldn't wait till morning. She had to do it now. "All right."

He grabbed the flashlight hanging by the refrigerator, and she followed him outside. They set off down a path soft with pine needles. Neither of them said a word, not even when the path opened into a small, moonlit cove where limestone boulders edged the water. Heath turned off the flashlight and set it on the lone picnic table. He stuffed his hands in the rear pockets of his shorts and walked toward the water. "I know you want to make a big deal out of this, but don't."

"Out of what? I've already forgotten." She kept her distance, wandering toward the water but stopping a good ten feet from him. The air smelled warm and marshy, and the lights from the town of Wind Lake twinkled off to her left.

"We were dancing," he said. "We got turned on. So what?"

She dug her fingernails into her palms. "As far as I'm concerned, it never happened."

"It happened all right." He turned toward her, and the tough note in his voice told her the Python had uncoiled. "I know the way you think, and that wasn't some big, unforgivable sin."

Her composure dissolved. "I'm your matchmaker!"

"Right. A matchmaker. You didn't have to swear a Hippo-cratic oath to get your business card."

"You know exactly what I mean."

"You're single; I'm single. It wouldn't have been the end of the world if we'd seen this through."

She couldn't believe she'd heard him right. "It would have been the end of my world."

"I was afraid of this."

His mildly exasperated air pushed her over the edge, and she stomped toward him. "I should never have let you come with me this weekend! I knew it was a bad idea from the beginning."

"It was a great idea, and no harm's been done. We're two healthy, unattached, reasonably sane adults. We have fun together, and don't even try to deny that."

"Yeah, I'm a great buddy, all right."

"Believe me, tonight I wasn't thinking of you as a buddy."

That threw her totally off stride, but she recovered quickly. "If another woman had been around, this would never have happened."

"Whatever you're trying to say, just spit it out."

"Come on, Heath. I'm not blond, leggy, or stacked. I was the default setting. Even my ex-fiance never said I was sexy."

"Your ex-fiance wears lipstick, so I wouldn't take that to heart. I promise, Annabelle, you're very sexy. That hair…"

"Do not start in on my hair. I was born with it, okay. It's like making fun of someone with a birth defect."

She heard him sigh. "We're talking about simple physical attraction brought on by some moonlight, a little dancing, and too much liquor," he said. "Do you agree that's what this is?"

"I guess."

"Basic physical attraction."

"I suppose."

"I don't know about you," he said, "but it's been a long time since I've had such a good time."

"Okay, I'll admit it was fun. The dancing," she added hastily.

"Damned right it was. So we got a little carried away. Nothing more than circumstances, right?"

Pride and self-respect dictated that she agree. "Of course."

"Circumstances… and a little animal instinct." His huskier pitch began to sound almost seductive. "Nothing to get worked up about. Are you with me?"

He was throwing her off stride, but she nodded.

He moved closer, his gravelly whisper a rasp over her skin. "Perfectly understandable, right?"

"Right." She was still nodding, almost as if he'd mesmerized her.

"Are you sure?" he whispered.

She kept nodding, no longer remembering exactly what the question was.

His eyes gleamed in the moonlight. "Because that's the only way… you can explain something like this. Pure animal attraction."

"Uh-huh," she managed, beginning to feel like a bedazzled, bobble-headed doll.

"Which sets us free"-he touched her chin, the barest brush-"to do exactly what neither of us can stop thinking about, right?" He dropped his head to kiss her.

The night wind hummed; her heart pounded. Just before his lips touched hers, his eyelids flickered, and she glimpsed the faintest hint of cunning loitering in those green irises. That's when it hit her.

"You snake!" She pushed against his chest.

He stepped back, all wounded innocence. "I don't deserve that."

"Ohmygod! You've just put me through Sales 101.I bow to the master."

"You've had way too much to drink."

"The Great Salesman asks just the right questions to get his mark agreeing with everything he says. He makes her nod her stupid head until it feels like it's coming off her neck. Then he dives in for the kill. You just tried to make a sale!"

"Have you always been this suspicious?"

"This is so you." She stomped toward the path, then spun back because she had so much more to say. "You want something you know is totally outrageous, and then you try to sell it with a combination of leading questions and fake sincerity. I just watched the Python in action, didn't I?"

He knew she had his number, but he didn't believe in conceding defeat. "My sincerity's never fake. I was stating the facts. Two single people, a warm summer night, a hot kiss… We're only human."

"One of us, anyway. The other's a reptile."

"Harsh, Annabelle. Very harsh."

She advanced on him again. "Let me ask you a question, one business owner to another." She planted her fingernail in his chest. "Have you ever had sex with a client? Is that accept7able professional behavior in your book?"

"My clients are men."

"Stop weaseling. What if I were a world champion figure skater on my way to the Olympics? Let's say I'm a favorite for the gold medal, and I just signed you as my agent last week. Are you going to have sex with me or not?"

"We only signed last week? That seems a little-"

"Fast-forward, then, to the Olympics," she said with exaggerated patience. "I've won the stupid medal. Only the silver, since I couldn't land my triple axel, but nobody cares because I'm a charmer, and they still want my face on their breakfast cereal. You and I have a contract. Are you sleeping with me?"

"It's apples and oranges. In the case you describe, millions of dollars would be at stake."

She made a rude buzzer noise. "Wrong answer."

"True answer."

"Because your megabusiness is so much more important than my silly little matchmaking agency? Well, it might be to you, Mr. Python, but it's not to me."

"I understand how important your business is to you."

"You don't have a clue." Pinning the blame on him felt so much better than assuming her rightful share, and she stomped back to the picnic table to grab the flashlight. "You're just like my brothers. Worse! You can't stand having anybody say no to you about anything." She thrust the flashlight toward him. "Well, listen up, Mr. Champion. I am not somebody you can pass the time with while you wait for your spectacular future wife to show up. I won't be your sexual entertainment."

"You're insulting yourself," he said calmly. "I may not be crazy about all of your business practices, but I have nothing except respect for you as a person."

"Great. Watch me build on that."

She turned on her heel and stalked off.

Heath gazed after her as she disappeared into the trees. When he could no longer see her, he picked up a stone, skipped it over the dark water, and smiled. She couldn't have been more right. He was a snake. And he was ashamed of himself. Okay, maybe not at this exact instant, but by tomorrow for sure. His only excuse was that he liked her so damned much, and he hadn't done anything just for fun in longer than he could remember.

Still, trying to nail a friend was a rotten thing to do. Even a sexy friend, although she didn't seem too clear about that, which made the effect of those mischievous eyes and the swirl of that amazing hair all the more enticing. Still, if he was going to blow his training for marital fidelity, he should have done it with one of the women at Waterworks, not with Annabelle, because she was right. How could she sleep with him then introduce him to other women? She couldn't, they both knew it, and since he never wasted his time supporting an unsupportable position, he couldn't imagine why he'd done it tonight. Or maybe he could.

Because he wanted his matchmaker naked… and that definitely wasn't part of his plan.

Heath slept on the porch that night and awakened the next morning to the sound of the front door closing. He rolled over and squinted at his watch. It was a few minutes before eight, which meant Annabelle was heading off to meet the book club for breakfast. He rose from the mattress he'd dragged out to the porch for the best night's sleep he'd experienced in weeks, a hell of a lot better than tossing and turning in his empty house.

The men had a round of golf scheduled. As he showered and dressed, he went over the events of the previous night and reminded himself to mind the manners he'd worked so hard to acquire. Annabelle was his friend, and he didn't screw over friends, figuratively or literally.

He drove to the public course with Kevin but ended up sharing a golf cart with Dan Calebow. Dan kept himself in great shape for a man in his forties. With the exception of a few character lines, he didn't look all that different from his playing days when his steely eyes and cold-blooded determination on the field had earned him the nickname Ice. Dan and Heath had always gotten along well, but whenever Heath mentioned Phoebe, as he did that morning, Dan always said pretty much the same thing.

"When two hardheaded people get married, they learn to pick their battles." Dan spoke softly so he didn't distract Darnell, who was lining up his tee shot. "This one's all yours, pal."

Darnell hooked his ball into the left rough, and the discussion returned to golf, but later, as they were riding down the fairway, Heath asked Dan if he missed his head coaching job, which he'd left for the front office.

"Sometimes." As Dan checked the scorecard, Heath spotted one of those rub-on tattoos on the side of his neck. A baby blue unicorn. Pippi Tucker's handiwork. "But I have a great consolation prize," Dan went on. "I get to watch my kids grow up."

"A lot of coaches have kids."

"Yeah, and their wives are raising them. Being president of the Stars is a big job, but I can still get the kids off to school in the mornings and be at the dinner table most nights."

Right now, Heath couldn't see anything too exciting about either activity, but he took it on faith that someday he might.

He finished the round only three shots behind Kevin, which wasn't bad, considering his own twelve handicap. They turned in their carts, and then the six of them headed into the clubhouse's private room for lunch. It was a dingy space with cheap paneling, battered tables, and what Kevin insisted were the best cheeseburgers in the county. After a couple of bites, Heath found himself agreeing.

They were enjoying replaying their round when, out of nowhere, Darnell decided he had to spoil it. "It's time to talk about our book," he said. "Did everybody read it like you was supposed to?"

Heath nodded along with the rest of them. Last week Annabelle had left him a message with the title of the novel all the men were supposed to read, the story of a group of mountain climbers. Heath didn't get to read for pleasure much anymore, and he'd enjoyed having an excuse. When he'd been a kid, the public library had been his refuge, but once he'd hit high school, he'd gotten wrapped up in the demands of working two jobs, playing football, and studying for the straight As that would put the Beau Vista Trailer Park behind him forever. Reading for fun had gone by the wayside, along with a lot of other simple pleasures.

Darnell rested an arm on the table. "Anybody want to start the ball rolling?"

There was a long silence.

"I liked it," Dan finally said.

"Me, too," Kevin offered.

Webster held up his hand to order another Coke. "It was pretty interesting."

They stared at one another.

"Good plot," Ron said.

An even longer silence fell.

Kevin made some accordion folds in a straw wrapper. Ron messed with the saltshaker. Webster looked around for his Coke. Darnell tried again. "What did you think about the way the men reacted to their first night on the mountain?"

"Pretty interesting."

"It was okay."

Darnell took his literature seriously, and storm clouds were gathering in his eyes. He shot Heath a menacing look. "You got anything to say?"

Heath set down his burger. "Combining adventure, irony, and unabashed sentimentality is always tricky to pull off, especially in a novel with such a strong central conceit. We ask ourselves, where is the conflict? Man v. nature, man v. man, man versus himself? A fairly complex exploration of our modern sense of disconnection. Bleak undertones, comic high notes. It worked for me."

That cracked 'em all up. Even Darnell.

Finally, they quieted down. Webster got his Coke, Dan found a fresh bottle of ketchup, and the discussion turned right back to where everybody except Darnell wanted it to be.

Football.

After lunch, the book club took a walk around the campground and continued their discussion of the biographies of the famous women they'd read. Annabelle had dug into both Katharine Graham's and Mary Kay Ash's books. Phoebe had concentrated on Eleanor Roosevelt, Charmaine on Josephine Baker, Krystal on Coco Chanel. Janine had read several biographies of cancer survivors, and Sharon had explored the life of Frida Kahlo. Molly, predictably, had chosen Beatrix Potter. As they talked, they related the women's lives to their own, looked for common themes, and examined each woman's survival skills.

After their walk, they returned to Kevin and Molly's private gazebo. Janine began setting out an assortment of old magazines, catalogs, and art supplies. "We did this in my cancer support group," she said. "It was pretty revealing. We're going to cut out words and pictures that appeal to us and assemble them into individual collages. When we're done, we'll talk about them."

Annabelle knew a land mine when she saw one, and she was very careful what she chose. Unfortunately, not careful enough.

"That man looks a lot like Heath." Molly pointed to a hunky model in a Van Heusen shirt Annabelle had pasted in the upper left corner of her poster.

"He does not," Annabelle protested. "He represents the kind of male clients I want Perfect for You to attract."

"What about that bedroom furniture?" Charmaine pointed out a Crate & Barrel sleigh bed. "And the little girl and the dog?"

"They're on the other side of the paper. Professional life. Personal life. Totally separate."

Luckily, the dessert tray arrived just then, so they stopped interrogating her, but even a slab of lemon cake didn't stop her from lambasting herself for last night. Had she been born stupid or was this a skill she'd worked to acquire? And one more night stretching in front of her…

Twinz!" Heath winced as he spotted the pint-size demon from the blue lagoon clomping toward him through the sand in a polka-dot bathing suit, her red rubber boots, and a baseball cap that came down so far over her ears only the curly ends of her blond hair peeked out from beneath. He grabbed the newspaper from under his beach chair and pretended not to see her.

The guys had played a couple of games of pickup basketball after lunch, then Heath had gone back to the cottage to make some phone calls. Afterward, he'd pulled on his trunks and headed for the beach, where they were supposed to meet the women later for a swim before they all headed to town for dinner. Despite the time he'd spent on the phone, he'd started to feel as though this really was a vacation.

"Twinz?"

He pulled the newspaper closer to his face, hoping Pippi would go away if he ignored her. She was unpredictable, and that made him uncomfortable. Who knew what she'd come up with next? Off to his left, Webster and Kevin tossed a Frisbee with some of the kids who were staying at the campground. Darnell lay on a Mickey Mouse beach towel, engrossed in a book. Small, sandy fingers tapped Heath's arm. He turned a page.

"Twinz?"

He kept his eyes on the headlines. "No twins here."

She tugged on the leg of his swim trunks and said it for the fourth time, except this time it sounded like pwinz, and that's when he got it. Prince. She was calling him Prince. And wasn't that just cuter than crap?

He peered at her around the side of the paper. "I didn't bring my phone."

She beamed at him and patted her little round stomach. "I got a baby."

He dropped the paper and looked frantically around for her father, but Kevin was showing a skinny kid with a bad haircut how to get more mileage from the Frisbee.

"Hey, Pip."

He whipped around to the sound of a familiar female voice and saw the cavalry walking toward him in the form of his sexy little matchmaker, delectably dressed in a modestly cut white bikini. A rainbow-colored plastic heart gathered the material between her breasts into pleats, and a second heart, this one larger and printed directly on the fabric, nested next to her hip. He couldn't see a hard edge or sharp angle anywhere. She was all pliant curves and soft contours: narrow shoulders, nipped waist, round hips, and thighs that she, being a woman, undoubtedly thought were too fat, but he, being a man, judged extremely nuzzle-able.

"Belle!" Pippi squealed.

He swallowed. "I've never been happier to see a person in my life."

"Why's that?" Annabelle stopped next to his chair but refused to look directly at him. She hadn't forgotten about last night, which was fine with him. He didn't want her to forget, proving her point that he was a snake, but not an unredeemable one. As much as he'd enjoyed himself-and he'd definitely enjoyed himself-there'd be no repeat performance. He was bad, but not that bad.

"Guess what?" Pippi went through the stomach-rubbing routine again. "I got a baby in my tummy."

Annabelle looked interested. "No kidding? What's its name?"

"Daddy."

Heath winced. "That's why."

Annabelle laughed. Pippi sprawled in the sand and picked at a dab of blue polish on her big toe. "Pwinz don't have his phone."

Annabelle sat in the sand next to her, looking puzzled. "I don't understand."

Pippi patted Heath's calf with a sandy hand. "Pwinz. He don't have his phone."

Annabelle gazed up at him. "I understand about the phone part, but what's that other thing she's saying?"

Heath gritted his teeth. "Prince. That's me."

Annabelle grinned and hugged the little troublemaker, who launched into a monologue about how Daphne the Bunny used to come into her bedroom and play but wouldn't come anymore because Pippi was too big. As Annabelle tilted her head to listen, her hair brushed his thigh, and he nearly jumped out of his chair.

Pippi finally ran off to join her father and demand he go in the water with her. He was agreeable, although they had a small dispute about the boots, which he eventually won.

"I love that kid." Annabelle's expression held a trace of longing. "She's got a lot of spirit."

"Which is bound to get her into trouble when she's incarcerated."

"Will you stop it?"

Her hair brushed his thigh again. He could only handle so much stimulation, and he shot up. "I'm going swimming. Want to join me?"

She sent a longing glance toward the lake. "I think I'll stay here."

"Come on, girly-girl." He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. "Unless you're afraid to get your hair wet?"

Quick as a flash, she jerked free and raced for the water. "Last one to the raft is an obsessive-compulsive fathead." She plunged in and set off. He was right after her. Although she was a good swimmer, he had her on endurance. Still, he made himself back off when they got close so she could win.

As she touched the ladder, she rewarded him with one of those Annabelle grins that took over her whole face. "Sissy boy got beat."

That was too much, and he dunked her.

They horsed around like that for a while, climbing up on the raft, diving in, and attacking each other. Growing up with older brothers had taught her more than a few dirty tricks, and her expression of glee when she got the best of him was priceless. Once again, she tried to make him tell her what the D in his middle name stood for. He refused and got a face full of water. The horseplay gave him a good excuse to get his hands on her, but he finally lingered too long, and she pulled back.

"I've had enough. I'm going back to the cottage to rest up before dinner."

"I understand. You're not as young as you used to be."

But he couldn't bait her, and she swam away. He watched as she waded toward the beach. Her bathing suit rode up, revealing two round, water-slicked cheeks. She reached around and slipped her finger under the leg openings to tug it back into place. He groaned and dove under, but the water wasn't nearly cold enough, and it took awhile before he settled down.

When he got back to the beach, he spent some time shooting the bull with Charmaine and Darnell, but all the while he was conscious of Phoebe lazing on a chaise a few yards away. She wore a big straw hat, a low-cut one-piece black suit with a tropical print sarong wrapped around her waist, and an invisible do not disturb sign. He decided it was time to make his move and excused himself from the Pruitts to wander over. "Mind if I pull up some sand so we can talk?"

Her lids dropped behind a pair of sunglasses with pink lenses. "And my day was going so well until now."

"All good things have to come to an end." Instead of taking the empty chaise next to her, he gave her the advantage of the superior position and sat on an abandoned towel in the sand. "I've been curious about something ever since that party for the kids."

"Oh?"

"How did a dragon lady like you end up with a sweetheart like Hannah?"

For once, she laughed. "Dan's gene pool."

"Did you hear Hannah talking to the girls about the balloons?"

She finally looked at him. "I guess I missed that conversation."

"She said that if their balloons broke, they could cry if they really wanted to, but all it meant was that a grumpy fairy had stuck a pin in them. Where does she come up with stuff like that?"

She smiled. "Hannah has quite an imagination."

"I'll say. She's a special kid."

Even the toughest moguls were pushovers when it came to their children, and the ice cracked a little more. "We worry about her more than the others. She's so sensitive."

"Considering who her parents are, I'm guessing she's a lot tougher than you think." He should have been ashamed of himself for laying it on so thick, but Hannah really was a great kid, and he didn't feel too bad about it.

"I don't know. She feels things pretty deeply."

"What you call sensitive, I call having people smarts. Once she graduates from ninth grade, send her to me and I'll give her a job. I need somebody to put me in touch with my feminine side."

Phoebe laughed, a sound of genuine amusement. "I'll think about it. Might be useful to have a spy in the enemy camp."

"Come on, Phoebe. I was a cocky kid trying to show everybody how tough I was. I blew it, and we both know it. But I haven't screwed you over once since then."

A shadow fell over her face. "Now, you've moved on to Annabelle."

Just like that, their fragile camaraderie evaporated. He spoke carefully. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"You're using her to get to me, and I don't like it."

"It's hard to use Annabelle. She's pretty sharp."

Phoebe shot him her no-nonsense look. "She's special, Heath, and she's my friend. Perfect for You means everything to her. You're making things messy."

A fairly accurate assessment, but a knot of anger still formed under his breastbone. "You don't give her enough credit."

"She doesn't give herself enough credit. That's what makes her vulnerable. Her family's convinced her she's a failure because she's not earning six figures. She needs to be concentrating on making her business work, and I'm getting the feeling you deliberately turned yourself into a bad distraction."

He forgot that he never let himself get defensive. "Exactly what do you mean by that?"

"I saw how you were looking at her last night."

The insinuation that he might deliberately hurt Annabelle stuck in his craw. He wasn't his father. He didn't use women, and he especially didn't use a woman he liked. But he was dealing with Phoebe Calebow, and he couldn't afford to lose his temper, so he dug into his always reliable supply of self-control… and came up empty. "Annabelle's my friend, and I don't make it a habit of hurting my friends." He pushed to his feet. "But then you don't know me well enough to figure that out, do you?"

As he stalked away, he called himself every name in the book. He never lost it. He absolutely never fucking lost it. Yet he'd basically just told Phoebe Calebow to go to hell. And for what? Because enough truth lurked in what she'd said to hurt. The fact was, he'd committed a foul, and Phoebe had dropped a penalty flag on him.

Annabelle waited for Heath on the front porch at the B &B along with Janine, whom she'd invited to ride into town with them for dinner. Annabelle had stayed in her bedroom at the cottage until she'd heard Heath come in. As soon as the shower started running, she'd jotted a quick note, left it on the table, and slipped out. The less time she spent alone with him the better.

"Any ideas about Krystal's mysterious surprise?" Janine straightened the clasp on her silver necklace as they sat in the porch rockers.

"No, but I hope it's fattening." Annabelle didn't really care what the surprise was, as long as it kept her away from Heath after dinner.

He pulled up in the car, and Annabelle insisted Janine sit with him in the front. On their way into town, he asked about her books. He'd never read a word she'd written, but by the time they reached the inn, he'd convinced her she had everything it took to be the next J. K. Rowling. The weird thing was, he seemed to believe it. No question that the Python was a powerful motivator.

The Wind Lake Inn's rustic north woods decor complemented a varied menu of beef, fish, and game. Conversation was lively, and Annabelle limited her alcohol consumption to a single glass of wine. As they dug into their entrees, Phoebe asked the men how their book discussion had gone. Darnell opened his mouth to respond, his gold tooth flashing, only to have Dan cut in. "So much came up, I don't even know where to start. Ron?"

"It was intense, all right," the Stars' general manager said.

Kevin looked thoughtful. "A lot of sharing."

"Intense?" Darnell scowled. "It was-"

"Heath could probably summarize better than any of us," Webster interjected.

The others nodded solemnly and turned their heads toward Heath, who set down his fork. "I doubt I could do it justice. Who figured we could have so many different opinions about postmodern nihilism?"

Molly looked at Phoebe. "They didn't talk about the book at all."

"I told you they wouldn't," her sister replied.

Charmaine reached over to rub her husband's back. "I'm sorry, honey. You know I tried to talk the women into letting you join our group, but they said you'd upset our dynamics."

"Besides trying to bully us into reading One Hundred Years of Solitude," Janine added.

"That is a great book!" Darnell exclaimed. "Y'all don't want to challenge your minds."

Kevin had heard Darnell's lecture on people's reading tastes before and quickly moved to deflect it. "We know you're right. And we're all ashamed of ourselves, aren't we, guys?"

"I am."

"Me, too."

"Can't hardly stand to look in the mirror."

Kevin seized on Annabelle as the next distraction to keep Darnell from getting worked up. "So what's this I hear about you dating Dean Robillard?"

Everyone at the table stopped eating. Heath set down his knife. The women's heads swiveled. Molly gazed into her husband's not-so-innocent green eyes. "Annabelle's not dating Dean. She would have told us."

"I'm really not," Annabelle said.

Kevin Tucker, the wiliest quarterback in the NFL, scratched the back of his head like a gorgeous doofus. "I'm confused. I talked to Dean on Friday, and he mentioned that the two of you went out last week and that he'd had a real good time."

"Well, we went to the beach…"

"You went to the beach with Dean Robillard, and you didn't think to mention it?" Krystal shrieked.

"It was… a last-minute thing."

The women started buzzing. Kevin had more mischief on his mind and didn't wait for them to calm down. "So Dean's planning to ask you out again?"

"No, of course not. No. I mean… is he? Why? Did he say something?"

"I kind of got that idea. Maybe I misunderstood."

"I'm sure you did."

Heath sat stony-faced, a fact that caught Phoebe's interest. "Your little matchmaker certainly is getting around."

"I'm glad," Sharon said. "It's time she came out of her shell."

Heath regarded Annabelle dubiously. "You were in a shell?"

"Kind of."

Charmaine gazed at her across the table. "Are we allowed to talk about your unfortunate engagement?"

Annabelle sighed. "Why not? We seem to be examining every other part of my life."

"Shocked the hell out of me," Kevin said. "Rob and I played golf together a couple of times. He had an ugly duck hook, but still…"

Molly covered his hand with her own. "It's been two years, and Kevin's still not reconciled."

Kevin shook his head. "I feel like I should invite him… her… to play again, just to show I'm broad-minded, which I am under ordinary circumstances, but I like Annabelle, and Rob knew from the beginning he had a problem. He should never have asked her to marry him."

"I remember Rob's duck hook," Webster said.

"Yeah, I remember it, too." Dan shook his head in disgust.

A short silence fell. Kevin gazed at his brother-in-law. "Are you thinking the same thing I am?"

"Yep."

"Me, too," Webster said.

Ron nodded. So did the others. Heath smiled, and they all returned their attention to their dinner plates.

"What?" Molly shrieked.

Kevin shook his head. "No sex-change operation in the world is going to fix a duck hook like that."

The women left the men at the inn and returned to the B &B, where Krystal locked them into the cozy back parlor, drew the shades, and turned down the lights. "Tonight," she announced, "we're going to celebrate our sexuality."

"I read that book," Molly said. "And if anybody starts taking off her clothes and grabbing a mirror, I'm out of here."

"We're not celebrating that way," Krystal said. "All of us have some issues we need to face. For example… Charmaine's too uptight."

"Me?"

"You undressed in the closet for the first two years of your marriage."

"That was a long time ago, and I don't undress there anymore."

"Only because Darnell threatened to take the door off. But you're not the only one with sexual hang-ups. Annabelle doesn't say much about it, but we all know she hasn't slept with anybody since Rob traumatized her. Unless last night…?"

They all turned to gaze at her.

"I'm his matchmaker! We're not having sex!"

"Which is a good thing," Molly said. "But Dean Robil-lard's a whole different matter. Talk about the ultimate boy toy."

"We're straying," Krystal said. "Three of us have been married for a long time, and no matter how much we love our husbands, things can get a little stale."

"Or not," Phoebe drawled with her cat's smile.

They all snickered, but Krystal wouldn't be distracted. "Molly and Kevin have young kids, and we know what a crimp that can put in your sex life."

"Or not." Molly offered up her own cat's smile.

"The point is… It's time we get more in touch with our sexuality."

"I'm way too much in touch with mine," Janine said. "I just wish somebody else would touch it, too."

More snickers.

"Go ahead and make jokes," Krystal said. "We're still going to watch this film. We'll be better women for it."

Charmaine went on full alert. "What kind of film?"

"An erotic movie made especially for women."

"You're kidding. Really, Krystal."

"The one I selected-a personal favorite-involves actors of various races, ages, and degrees of hotness, so nobody'll feel excluded."

"This is your big mystery?" Phoebe said. "That we're going to watch porn together?"

"Erotica. Made just for women. And until you've seen some of these movies, you shouldn't judge."

Annabelle suspected more than a few of them already had, but no one wanted to put too much of a damper on Krystal's enthusiasm.

"Here's what I really like about this particular film," Krystal said. "The men are all gorgeous, but the women are fairly ordinary. No silicone."

"That sets it apart from porn for men, all right," Sharon said. "At least from what I've heard."

Krystal began fussing with the DVD player. "There's also a story, and real foreplay. A lot of it. Kissing, slow undressing, lots of caressing…"

Janine buried her face in her hands. "This is pathetic. I'm already getting turned on."

"I'm not," Charmaine said in a huff. "I'm a Christian, and I refuse to-"

"Good Christians-good Christian women-are supposed to please their husbands." Krystal smiled and hit the remote. "And believe me, this'll please the hell out of Darnell."