Leelee hissed with impatience, then giggled. "Can I drive it the whole way down the lane?"

Thomas swallowed hard as dual images duked it out in his brain-the imagined sight of his car going into the ditch and the reality of Emma crossing her legs, the shirt falling open across her upper thighs.

"Your wish is my command, Leelee."

"Awesome. Will you take me to Tyson's Corner?"

"Yeah. Sure. Sounds fun." Thomas hated that monstrosity of a shopping mall more than he hated Celine Dion, but Emma was leaning back on her hands and she was smiling like she loved him.

"So I'll see you guys tomorrow?"

Leelee's voice suddenly sounded young and timid, and Thomas jolted at the change. His throat clamped tight. "Hey, Lee? I appreciate this. I really do. I'll make it up to you, kid. I promise."

"Oh, you know you will," she said, laughing. Then after a moment of quiet, she said, "I guess I'm going to have to learn to share, aren't I?"

Thomas smiled at that, and he felt his chest expand with a warm heat and a strange flush of connection, and it dawned on him that in the space of days he'd gone from a man who preferred to be alone to a man who happily had two women to take care of, make promises to-two women to love.

"I'll be learning right along with you," Thomas said.

He hung up the phone and turned to face Emma, who had unbuttoned the shirt and was reclining back upon her elbows. A stream of afternoon sun spilled over the pale silk of her breasts and belly, and put a spotlight on the sweet heaven between her thighs.

"What's for lunch?" she asked, shaking out her hair and smiling wickedly.

"Tongue," he said, closing in on her. "Specialty of the house."

It was nearly dark and there was a twinge of fall in the air as they walked down the sidewalk, holding hands. Hairy skittered under their feet, sniffing and peeing on everything in his path-mailboxes, wire mesh trash barrels, streetlights, and tree trunks.

Thomas smiled down at Emma and squeezed her hand.

She was awed by how quickly she'd come to love this man, by how much love there was inside her to give him.

Emma gazed out absently at the Federal Hill evening traffic, headlights flickering on, and knew that she'd never once felt this way with Aaron.

Yes, there'd been a wild flare of endorphins at the beginning, but even then Emma was aware that something wasn't quite right between them. Aaron made sure Emma knew that she fell short of his ideal woman. He made sure she blamed herself for the lack of zing in their relationship.

And what had she done? She'd disregarded her intuition and married him anyway, because she figured that it might not be perfect, but it was close enough.

And what about this man who now held her hand? She looked up and he smiled down at her again-the private smile of a lover who knew her well-and she felt the truth sink into her bones: she was made for Thomas, and he was made for her. It was that simple.

In her mind she saw Mother Nature in her flowing white robes and her crown of blossoms, scanning her clipboard and arranging things so that Emma Jenkins and Thomas Tobin would be alive on earth at the same time, in the same geographic vicinity, so they could find each other.

She glanced down at the little dog at the end of the leash and had to laugh. Maybe Hairy was Mother Nature's emissary. Maybe she owed her happiness to Hairy.

"What's so funny?"

Emma shook her head. "I was just thinking that Hairy is the most unusual dog I've ever known. He's weird even for a Crested."

"You got that right, babe."

"And sometimes, I look at him and I get this feeling he really understands what's going on. He's unusually intelligent. I swear-and I know I sound like one of my crazy clients and should be shot-but I swear he smiles at me sometimes."

Thomas cocked his head. "I've had the same feeling."

"Huh." She studied the dog for a minute. He peed on a bus shelter. "So you're not even tempted to give Hairy to that Maxine woman up in Delaware?"

Thomas laughed. "Hell, no! Hairy's not going to live in a trailer park if I have anything to say about it."

"You're going to keep him?"

"I think I have to, now."

"Why's that?"

Thomas shrugged. "Because he's Leelee's dog now as much as mine. He stays with you guys half the time. Besides, I think I'd miss the little butt-ugly fu-fellow."

Emma leaned closer and wrapped an arm around his waist, laughing. It was nine o'clock -meaning they'd been lovers for about twelve hours. It felt as comfortable as twelve years.

"Besides, some things are just meant to be." Thomas pulled her tight. "Don't you agree?"

"Sure seems that way."

Thomas had driven her to delirium on the kitchen table, then made her a turkey on whole wheat. They made love in the shower, then took a nap, heated up leftover pizza for dinner, and made love again before taking Hairy on his evening constitutional.

And each time and every minute in between, Emma felt linked with Thomas, a kind of body-and-soul melding she'd never once experienced in thirteen years with Aaron.

She thought back to the first time she saw Thomas's face, to that spark of connection she felt. And she wondered if all they'd done was fan the spark until it ignited, and they'd never have to suffer through another cold night as long as they lived.

"I want to marry you, Emma."

"Whaa-?" She nearly tripped before Thomas could pull her into his arms.

"I didn't mean to scare you."

"Too late."

He smiled down at her, chuckling. "It doesn't have to be right now. We don't have to jump on the first plane to Vegas, but I want to marry you. Soon. Would you be my wife?"

He was looking down at her with that tortured expression, and Emma knew he was absolutely serious. He wanted to marry her! Her mouth fell open.

Hairy's leash was now tangled in their ankles, and he began to make gagging noises just as Emma heard a friendly voice call out, "Well, hello, stranger!"

She whipped around to see a very blond, very leather-encased man standing near them. He was accompanied by a female Cockapoo in a tennis outfit whom Hairy had already started humping, tangled leash or no.

"Hey, Franco."

"Hi, Thomas."

As Thomas unknotted Hairy's leash, Emma felt the man's eyes scan her from head to toe, and it clearly wasn't interest she saw in his eyes-it was jealousy.

Oh, Lordy!

"This is my fiancée, Emma Jenkins. She's a pet behaviorist. Emma, this is Franco and Quiche Lorraine."

The shock pounded Emma so hard that she couldn't speak. She simply extended her hand and tried to smile while the Franco person oohed and aahed about her job.

Thomas had just asked her to marry him! He'd just proudly announced that she was his fiancée! Didn't she have a say in any of this?

Besides, what in the world would it be like to be his wife?

As she watched Franco chat with Thomas, she wondered if she was strong enough to be married to a Viking love god in Nikes with no socks, a man whose appeal apparently extended to people of both genders.

"Have you set a date?" Franco's eyebrows rose in nicely groomed arches. "As it happens, I'm a wedding planner." He somehow managed to squeeze his fingers into the pocket of his leather pants to extract a small silver case. He handed Emma a business card.

"Intimate gatherings, beer brawls, anything in between. So how long have you been engaged?"

Emma really did try to get her lips to move, but it felt as if the nerve endings had been severed.

"About thirty seconds, Franco." Thomas laughed, turning his Christmas-tree-tinsel eyes on Emma. "Hell, she hasn't even had a chance to say yes yet."

Emma's tongue felt like it had been super glued to the roof of her mouth.