Devin struggled for the right words. He had no skill base to handle emotional pain; he’d barely mastered his own. What the boy needed was a student counselor, but Mark would bristle at the suggestion and he didn’t want to alienate him.

“Devin?”

Someone who could empathize…someone with common sense and compassion. An insider who could influence Mark toward counseling. It was Sunday. Devin glanced at his watch. Lunchtime. Rachel had turned down his lunch invitation, citing her prior commitment with students.

He put down his guitar and stood. “Let’s gate-crash a party.”

RACHEL WAS HUNTING through her kitchen drawer for a carving knife when the doorbell rang. “Someone get that,” she called into the adjacent lounge, where conversation hummed over the muted strains of La Bohème.

“I’ll go,” answered Huang.

Hunched over the stove, Trixie stirred a pot of steaming gravy, her brow knotted in concentration. With her kohl-darkened eyes, swirling black skirt and Alien Sex Fiend T-shirt, all she lacked was a witch’s hat. Rachel grinned.

“If you do the ‘double, double toil and trouble’ joke again, I’m letting it burn,” Trixie warned. “How you can be so happy slaving in a hot kitchen all morning is beyond me.”

“Because bringing people together and feeding them makes me happy.” This was Rachel’s favorite day of the week, the ritual an affirmation of her dreams-family, community, tradition. If one day she could get Mark here…“I only hope we have enough meat.” She found the carving knife and surveyed the joint, steaming gently on the countertop, mentally toting numbers. Jacob, Sarah, Huang, Marama, Juan, Silei, Ming, Dale, Chris…herself, Trixie and-

Devin appeared in the kitchen doorway holding a huge bunch of red gerberas, and her heart gave a queer little lurch that she wanted to be dismay but wasn’t. He eyed the knife. “I can see flowers aren’t enough.”

“What are you doing?” she said stupidly. This morning she’d convinced herself that the man was a scenic detour down a blind alley. She needed to get back on the freeway with its speed limits and clear signs.

“I was hoping you’d have room for extras.” Over the flowers he nodded hello to Trixie. “How’s the intimidation racket?”

From the stove, Trixie said, “One hundred percent success rate.”

“She’s promised never to interfere again,” Rachel said grimly.

“I might have a job for you, Trixie,” Devin continued. “My brother.”

Rachel glared at her assistant. “On pain of death,” she reiterated.

Undeterred, Trixie waved the gravy spoon toward Devin. “Have your people talk to my people.”

“Mark, that’s you,” he said over his shoulder, and Rachel dropped the knife. It hit the floor with a clatter.

Devin strolled forward to pick it up and Mark came into view behind him, blushing as he looked at Trixie.

Delighted as she was to see him, Rachel experienced a pang of regret. Why did her son have to be so irresistibly drawn to the dark side? Then Devin straightened, holding the knife in one hand, the flowers in the other-dark, gorgeous and devastatingly sexy. Because it runs in the family.

“You look harassed.” Handing her the gerberas, Devin tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear in an intimate gesture that made Trixie and Mark exchange glances. Too many things were happening at once and Rachel seemed to have control over none of them. “Want us to go away again?”

She gathered her wits. “No, stay! Mark, it’s lovely to see you here.” Her throat tightened on a rush of emotion and she busied herself finding a vase for the flowers. “Trixie, why don’t you take him through to the lounge and introduce him to everybody? I’ll handle the gravy. And, Devin, since you’ve got the knife, would you mind slicing the meat?” She gestured in the direction of the leg of roast lamb.

“Sure, if you don’t mind me butchering it.”

Her pulse steadied with Mark gone. “Not as long as I get twenty-six slices out of it.”

“Heartbreaker, you crack me up.” Devin dropped a brief kiss on her mouth and her pulse sped up again. The dragon twisted on his forearm as he began slicing meat with a showman’s flair.

Rachel concentrated on stirring the gravy but couldn’t resist another glance. The noon sun streamed through the window, glinted off the flashing knife and picked up the red in Devin’s stubble. He dwarfed the tiny kitchen, completely out of place against the teal-and-cream cupboards of her country-style décor, with its ceramic roosters, appliquéd tea towels and battered dresser.

This crazy attraction must be affecting her ability to be impartial, because she no longer saw him as a threat-at least not to Mark. So, what…one kiss and the frog had turned into a prince? No, she’d been softened by the fact that he was looking out for his mother. Katherine had sung his praises last night.

What do your instincts tell you?

To jump him.

Frowning, Rachel turned off the heat and put a lid on the gravy. Keep it simple, stupid. Now was the time to tell him she’d had second thoughts.

Except then he might leave-and take Mark. She put the vegetables and greens into serving dishes, then returned them to the warming drawer. She’d raise the subject after lunch.

Devin brought over a platter of meat, beautifully sliced. “Thirty-two. Damn, I’m good. You want me to carry this to the dining room?”

Rachel pointed to the two-person oak table in the corner of the kitchen. “You mean that?”

“Don’t tell me. It also makes up into a bed at night.”

If only he didn’t make her laugh. “Put the meat in the oven with the vegetables, then come and be introduced.”

“In a minute.” Off-loading the meat, he took her into his arms and smiled at her. And Rachel knew it wasn’t fair to let this go on any further.

“About last-”

Devin kissed her with the same arrogant confidence he had the night before, bypassing her reservations and tapping straight into the uncomfortable heat she felt for him. “I’d rather talk about tonight.”

Such an innocuous statement. Such a wealth of sinful promise.

Flustered, Rachel pulled free, fixed her gaze on his belt buckle and launched into her analogy about the difference between three-lane highways and one-way streets, and knowing what kind of driver you were. Devin balanced on the edge of the table, swinging one booted foot, and listened in polite silence.

She ran out of gas and spluttered to a stop. What had started out as a good idea had ended up a six-car pileup.

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight.” His voice was thoughtful. “I haven’t even made a layover yet and already I’m a blind alley?”

She looked up to see the slow-burn grin that always took the chill off.

“You know this road map of yours isn’t even accurate,” he pointed out. “Paul, the expressway, turned out to be a dead end.”

Rachel bit her cheek to stop from smiling.

Hooking one arm around her waist, Devin pulled her closer. “What you need on that map is a rest stop. Somewhere to take a break from the serious business of staying on the straight and narrow, scanning side mirrors, checking GPS, watching for safety signs…”

She couldn’t hold back the laugh. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I love it when you use librarian words.” He nuzzled her neck. It felt wonderful. Maybe she was overthinking this. No one needed to get hurt. He was a rock star, for God’s sake, and she hadn’t lost her head over a guy since her teens. Briefly, her arms tightened around him. To hell with impartiality. By bringing her son here, Devin was top of her hit parade right now.

“Let me introduce you to everybody, and then we’ll have lunch.” As she pushed Devin toward the living room, Rachel said softly, “Thanks for bringing Mark…to meet other students.”

“Actually, I’m hoping for advice,” he replied. “I’ll tell you about his cock-eyed plan when everyone’s gone.”