Anything's Possible!

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Cassie frowned, wondering how it was that he was the one doing all the questioning when she’d been the one intending to. Maybe talking about Jonas would put Dan off guard, and she could slip in a few of her own questions, she decided.

“There’s very little to tell,” she said carefully. “I saw a man on the steps, and again in the attic, who looked like the description of Jonas Middlebury in Millicent’s diaries. Not believing in ghosts, I was hoping that someone in town might have a logical explanation for what I saw.”

“Maybe I’ll see him?” Dan gave her a slow grin that made her very wary. He would not be an easy man to con.

“I wouldn’t know. He didn’t give me an itinerary of his hauntings. Do you have a weak heart?” she suddenly asked. He didn’t look like he did, but then, looks could be deceptive.

“No, just a game leg.” Dan instinctively rubbed his hand over his right thigh. “I think I’d like some of that pot roast.” He purposefully changed the subject, and Cassie had no alternative but to go along with it.

She handed him the platter of pot roast, freezing as he reached for the plate and his rolled-up shirtsleeve stretched back over his forearm. Hastily she looked down at her own plate to hide her sense of shock. That was an almost-healed scar from a bullet wound on his arm! She was sure of it. Last fall she’d overseen an ad campaign to promote a violent cops-and-robbers film, and the makeup man had had a wall full of photos of various bullet scars as examples to help him create fake scars on the characters. Cassie had spent the better part of three days listening to the man expound on what bullets did to human flesh and the difficulty of recreating that impact with makeup. There was no way she could ever mistake a bullet scar.

So why did Dan have one? Surreptitiously, she studied him. He was pouring gravy into the hole he’d made in his mound of mashed potatoes with a concentration she found endearing.

Cassie unconsciously relaxed. She didn’t know why he’d been shot, but she would be willing to bet that he hadn’t been doing anything illegal at the time. Maybe he was simply a careless hunter with very bad aim.

“You still haven’t told me about your ghost,” Dan persisted.

“Yes, I have. You simply didn’t like what I told you. And since questions seem to be the order of the day—” she gave up on the subtle approach and opted for directness “—who did Ed think you were?”

“Beats me.” Dan’s shrug was a masterpiece of unconcern. “Ask him if you want to know.”

“Why did you agree to write his editorial for him?” she persisted.

He grimaced. “It seemed like the neighborly thing to do, and it’ll keep me from being bored. I’m not used to being idle.”

That was possible, Cassie conceded. Dan seemed to be surrounded by a force field of energy. He could well be a workaholic type who needed something to keep him occupied. Although she could think of far more interesting things for him to do than to spend his time writing Ed’s editorials, she thought dreamily.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“About why people do things,” she said obliquely.

“Personally, I’ve long since come to the conclusion that most people don’t have any motivation. They simply react to events and then try to rationalize after the fact.”

“You’re oversimplifying,” Cassie argued. “Most people have a goal. Something that drives them toward a certain end.”

“Such as what made you tell Ed about the ghost?” He eyed her narrowly.

“Has anyone ever told you that persistence carried to extremes is no longer a virtue?” Cassie shot back.

Dan studied her for a long moment and then said, “What do you think is motivating me?”

Cassie stared at him. The skin around the corners of his bright eyes crinkled as if in humor. Or devilment, she thought with a spurt of excitement. Her gaze slipped lower to study the humorous quirk of his firm lips.

“Hunger for your dinner?” she asked.

“You’re partially correct.” He got to his feet and slowly walked around the table toward her. “Hunger is very definitely a major part of what is motivating me at the moment. But food isn’t the source. You are.”

“I are...am?” Her concentration faltered when he stopped scant inches from her. If she were to move ever so slightly, she would be touching him. She swallowed uneasily at the depth of the longing she felt to do exactly that. She tilted her head back and looked up at him. His mouth was curled in a sensuous smile that reflected her own longing, a fact that didn’t help her crumbling composure.

“I want to kiss you.” His voice deepened perceptibly. “Would you object if I did?”

Cassie stared at him, intrigued by his request. She was far more used to men who grabbed what they wanted—whether it was a thing or a person. To have a man actually ask for what he wanted was a novelty.

“No,” she said slowly, “I wouldn’t object.”

“In that case...” He leaned forward and ever so gently pressed his lips to hers. A sudden surge of reaction shot through her, sending a flush of heat racing under her skin. The faint scent of his cologne drifted down into her lungs and then seeped into her mind, intensifying her reaction. His lips felt warm and firm and ever so faintly rough as he slowly rubbed them back and forth.

Cassie shivered, unconsciously clutching him. Her fingers dug into the firm muscles of his shoulder. She leaned forward, wanting more, much more than she was getting. She wanted to find out what it would be like if he were to wrap his arms around her and pull her up against him. If he were to press her body against his lean, muscled one.

Cassie blinked as a ringing sound filled her head. The telephone. Her mind automatically put a name to the sound. The telephone was ringing. She lifted her heavy lids and watched as Dan stepped back, a scowl on his face. That was exactly how she felt—as if she had been interrupted on the brink of some momentous discovery. But maybe it was for the best, she thought, a slither of reality chilling her sense of euphoria. She was getting in too deep, too fast with this man. She didn’t know why she was so drawn to him. Or why he fascinated her so. And, more important, she didn’t know how much of her fascination was reciprocated.

“Are we going to answer it?” His rueful question brought her back to earth with a thud. Her pride rebelled at the thought that he might think she was one of those vapid females thrown into a dither by a kiss. Because that was all it had been, she assured herself. A simple kiss. What hadn’t been simple had been her reaction to it. That had been a masterpiece of complications.

“Excuse me,” she muttered as she brushed past him, the skin on her arm tingling where it touched him. Cassie hurried out to the lobby, snatching up the phone on its sixth ring.