“Croc, for God’s sake. She saw me half a second after she saw you.”

“I don’t know.” They came to the end of the driveway and turned up the road. Streetlights and passing cars provided some illumination. “I think she knows I wasn’t the jewel thief. Which means she must know who it really is.”

“That’s a huge leap in logic.”

“So? Logic’s your department.” He grinned over at Jeremiah. “I consider myself a visionary.”

“Yeah, well, visionary me back to my truck.”

Croc’s car was a little red Volkswagen Rabbit that fit in Palm Beach even less well than Jeremiah’s truck. A truck was an essential piece of equipment. Gardeners could have beat-up trucks. Rich men who drove Lincolns and Mercedes during the day liked to rough it with a beat-up truck. But a rusted, ancient Rabbit with bald tires didn’t make the grade. Croc didn’t seem to care. “I’m telling you, this baby costs nothing to keep on the road.”

Jeremiah wondered who paid the insurance. And whose name it was in. He could run the license plate, but that seemed premature, a violation of the fragile trust he and Croc, aka Blake Wilder, had established. Not that the little bastard was holding up his end. He was damned lucky Jeremiah still didn’t throttle him for following Mollie.

When they arrived at Pascarelli’s, she was backing Jeremiah’s truck onto the street. It was bucking wildly. “I don’t think she’s so good with a clutch,” Croc said.

“That clutch is balky.”

Jeremiah winced at the squeal of tires and sudden silence as the engine choked. The truck was still crooked, its front tires well out into the street, but Mollie apparently had had enough. The door opened, and she climbed out.

Croc gave a low whistle. “Guess that’s a hint, huh?”

“Go home, Croc.” Jeremiah pushed open the rusting passenger door and got out. “Call me tomorrow. We’ll talk.”

This time not arguing, Croc did a quick turnaround and sped off. Jeremiah approached his truck, and Mollie, with a certain prudent wariness. “I’m surprised you didn’t let the air out of my tires.”

She turned to him, dusting off her hands as if there’d been something nasty on his steering wheel, and tossed her head back, the streetlight catching the ends of her pale hair. She still had on her little black dinner dress. “That would only encourage you to stay longer.”

He moved closer. “Mad, huh?”

“Very.”

“You deserve to be.”

She narrowed her eyes on him. “Is that an apology?”

“Mollie, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure it was Croc. I wasn’t even a hundred percent sure we’d been followed. I didn’t want to ruin your evening if I was wrong. When I tracked him down on your friends’ grounds, I could hardly waltz up to the house and come clean to you.”

She didn’t soften. “Would you have told me if I hadn’t spotted him?”

Jeremiah moved even closer, aware of the cool evening air, the shape of her under her dress, of his own ragged muscles, his hair and clothes damp from the intermittent rain, the crazy trek through underbrush. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“I see. Well, fair enough. Here are your keys.” She dangled them from two fingers. Jeremiah held out his palm, and she dropped them in. “Good night.”

She started back toward her open gates, casting a long shadow on the elegant brick driveway.

Jeremiah stayed where he was. “What would you do if you were trapped in there with a pack of wild dogs and your gates didn’t work?”

She arched him a mystified look. “I’d just have to get out my tranquilizer gun and tranquilize them.”

“You don’t have a tranquilizer gun.”

“You don’t have a pack of wild dogs, and my gates work fine.”

He settled back on his heels, studying her.

She couldn’t stand the scrutiny for long. “What is it?”

“How come there’s no man in your life?”

She swiveled around at him, obviously taken aback by his question. “Should there be? A woman can’t be happy and fulfilled without a man in her life?” She thrust her hands on her hips. “Why isn’t there a woman in your life?”

“Who says there isn’t?”

“You don’t have a committed relationship, a partnership, with a woman, Jeremiah. It’s not in your nature.”

He frowned. “It’s not?”

“No. Your only committed relationship is with your work.”

“Which isn’t going too well right now. I’m spending most of my time chasing a story I can’t write.”

“Because it would be unethical,” she said, with just a hint of sarcasm.

Jeremiah grinned at her. “You’re not as hard as you think you are, Mollie. You know you’ve forgiven me for ten years ago.” He moved toward her, enough of a saunter in his gait to aggravate her. He was having fun all of a sudden. And so, he was confident, was she. “It’s just killing you to admit it.”

“You changed my life. All my plans, all my expectations-everything changed after our week together.”

“Maybe it needed changing.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What’s the point?” He caught up her fingers into his, drew her just a little closer. “That I hurt you?” She blinked rapidly, not answering, and he pressed her fingers to his mouth. “I never meant to hurt you, Mollie. If I could go back and unhurt you, I would.”

He could see her throat tighten, her lips part, a spark of desire in her eyes. When he curved an arm around her back and she said nothing, didn’t pull away, he knew she was going to let the kiss happen. His mouth on hers, the taste of her, the feel of her body pressed up against his. It was the stuff of his dreams for the past decade.

And yet when his mouth did find hers, he couldn’t pretend this was anything but real. Every fiber of him flared, set afire by the taste of her, the feel of her as she wrapped her arms around him, splaying both hands on his back as if to take in as much of him as she could. He heard her sharp intake of breath as their kiss deepened, restraint vanishing. He drew her fully against him, a moan of pleasure and need escaping as he fought for air, his senses running wild, soaking up everything, the chirping of the birds, the soughing of the breeze, the hum of distant traffic, the scent of grass and flowers, all of it a detailed backdrop to the play of his tongue against hers, the light, hot kisses he trailed along her jaw.

“Ah, Mollie.” He kissed her once more on the mouth, fiercely, before he pulled back, straightened. “A good thing for curious neighbors, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose.” She caught her breath, reeling. “I don’t think either of us can make a case for neutrality right now.”

“I expect not.”

“You’ll wait for me to lock the gates?”

He nodded. He wouldn’t be spending the night with her. Under the circumstances, a spine-melting kiss was as much as he could expect for tonight. “Night, Mollie.”

She smiled, the stiffness of anger and self-doubt gone, a genuine openness in their place. He liked her unguarded, relaxed, not trying to pretend she wasn’t still attracted to him. “Good night, Jeremiah.” The smile faded, just for an instant, and she said quietly, “And I have forgiven you. And myself.”

She was through the gates, and as they shut, Jeremiah wondered if a little part of her wasn’t telling herself that next time, she should hope for the pack of wild dogs instead of a man who’d already broken her heart once.