It Had To Be You

you and I need some privacy so we can talk a few things over.'

Phoebe couldn't think of anything they had to talk about that wouldn't wait until the next day. After what had happened last week in the weight room, she wasn't up to any more rejection, and she knew she shouldn't be alone with him. Since he was already driving down the lane that led to his house, however, it was a bit late to ask him to turn back.

'First we're going to talk,' he said. 'Then we're going to burn that dress of yours.'

He was scowling, so she doubted that his remark was intended to be sexual, but as the Ferrari sped beneath the bare trees whose skeletal branches were silhouetted against the night sky, she realized her palms were damp. 'It's Versace.'

'Beg your pardon?'

'My dress. Versace. The designer. Or at least it's a Versace rip-off. I have this friend in Manhattan who can rip off any designer.'

'What's wrong with your voice? It sounds funny.'

'My teeth are chattering.' The low-slung car bounced on a rut.

'I've got the heater on. It's warm.'

'I'm not cold. I guess it's a delayed reaction. I was a little nervous this evening.'

'You damn well should have been. Phoebe, in all my born days I never saw anything like what you did tonight. I'm a little disappointed in Ron, though, for not letting me in on your plans, especially since he invited me along.'

'Ron didn't know exactly what I had in mind.'

'Are you telling me he was winging it in there?'

'Not entirely. I told him the attitude I wanted him to assume, but not the details of what I planned to do. He has this problem with heart arrhythmia. It kicks up when he gets too nervous, and I was afraid he'd give me away. But he's gotten very good at improvising, so I wasn't too worried.'

'My respect for my good friend Ron grows by the day.'

They stopped in front of the stone farmhouse, where faint puddles of golden light spilled through the living room windows onto the porch. The Dutchman's-pipe vine hung dry and withered on its trellis at the end of the porch, but it still somehow managed to be beautiful in the cold December night. She waited until he came around to open her door, and when he did, she was forced to swing her legs out first because her dress was so tight.

He extended his hand to help her. When his fingers closed around her own, she tried to repress a shiver of excitement. A leaf crunched under the toe of her beaded black heels as she and Dan climbed the front steps together.

He unlocked the door and held it open for her. 'I thought it was all over when Keane placed that phone call to your close personal friend, Donald Trump.'

'Donald has quite a sense of humor. It didn't take any persuasion on my part to convince him to back up my story.'

The hallway was lit by a single brass library lamp with a black shade that sat on a small antique chest. She followed him into the living room, where he flicked on more lights until the interior was filled with a cozy glow. Once again, she was struck by how snug his house was. A discarded navy sweatshirt lay across the arm of the green and red plaid couch, while copies of the Chicago papers, along with the Wall Street Journal, were scattered on the floor near one of the overstuffed chairs. She smelled clove and cinnamon.

'This place is so homey,' she said wistfully.

He followed the direction of her gaze toward a rush basket piled high with pinecones on the hearth. 'I like outdoors things around me.'

He shed his tuxedo jacket and, while he made his way across the rug to the fireplace, pulled at his bow tie. The ends dangled as he leaned forward to ignite the fire that had been laid. After it caught, he closed the screen and straightened.

'Are you going to take off your coat?'

Maybe it was the result of all those weeks of wearing pearls and headbands, but she didn't want to stand before him in the vulgar dress she'd used to disarm Jason Keane, not while they were enclosed by the cozy comfort of this wonderful old house. 'I'm still a little cold.'

If he knew she was lying, he gave no sign. 'I'm going to have a beer. Do you want something to warm you up? Coffee? Tea?'

'No, thank you.' As he moved into the open kitchen at the back, she slipped off her coat and replaced it with the zippered sweatshirt he'd left on the arm of the couch. It held the fresh scent of laundry detergent along with a fragrance that wasn't quite spice and wasn't quite citrus, but was indisputably Dan Calebow. She sat down at one end of the couch just as he came back into the room with a bottle of Old Style in his hand.

He settled at the other end, leaned back against the overstuffed arm, and propped one ankle over his knee. 'You and Ron are getting good at pulling scams. Tonight was even better than the one you pulled on me. By the way, I'm a big enough man to admit you were right about him and I was wrong.'

'Thank you.'

'I'll even admit you might have been partially right about the team being too tense earlier in the season.'

'Only partially right?'

'Mostly right,' he conceded. 'But that doesn't mean I'm not looking forward to living the remainder of my life without hearing any more speeches about naked football players.' He shuddered. 'Do you and Ron think you could let me in on your next scam ahead of time? I hope you realize I almost committed assault and battery tonight, although I'm not entirely sure whether I would have gone after Keane or you.'

'Probably Keane. For all your yelling, I can't imagine you hitting a woman.'

'You're forgetting about Valerie.'

'You should introduce her to Jason. They're perfect for each other.'

'How do you know that?'

'Instinct. That man would enjoy every kinky little game she could conjure up.'

'I don't know. Some of them-'

'Never mind. I have a weak stomach.' Even though Dan had told her he was no longer seeing Valerie, the thought of them together dug into her like sharp little spurs, and her voice was more waspish than she intended. 'I'm sure other women must seem tame to you after being married to the kinky congresswoman.'

He sighed. 'You're determined to pick a fight with me, aren't you?'

'I'm not doing any such thing.'

'Yes, you are, and I'm not in a fighting mood.' He uncrossed his legs and set his beer bottle down on the hooked rug. 'What I'm in a mood to do is fetch a pair of pliers and see if I can get you out of that dress.'

She caught her breath and heat spread through her body, followed by uncertainty. 'Dan, don't joke about this.'

'I'm not joking.' His expression was so solemn it almost scared her. 'Believe me, I've tried to keep my hands off you. But I can't do it any longer.'

'Is this now?' she asked quietly.

'Did I say now?'

'No.'

'Then it's not now. It's just what I said.'

'Oh.' She moistened her dry lips.

'First I'd like you to take off my sweatshirt. I've got a good fire going, and it's plenty warm.'

'I'd rather leave it on.'

'Are you saying you don't want to make love?'

'No.' She wished she hadn't protested so quickly, and she tried to speak more reasonably. 'The minute you see this dress, you'll start yelling again.'

'Phoebe, any woman with half a brain could figure out that yelling's about the last thing on my mind right now.'

'That's what you say now, but your temper is unpredictable. It hasn't occurred to you that I did exactly what you expect the team to do.'

'You want to come at that one again?'