These last few days had been almost unreal in a way – like a chapter out of time – and he knew with a sense of dread that this magical time couldn’t last forever. Or even much longer. While he didn’t have a specific deadline of any sort to finish this article – one of the few perks of being a freelance journalist – he also couldn’t afford to simply hang around here for weeks on end. He had to get the rest of the article finished up as quickly as possible, which entailed at least ten more stops en route along Highway One until his final destination in San Diego.

And while Lauren didn’t have to be back at school for several more weeks, he knew that her parents were due back from their trip to Scotland and the British Isles within the next two weeks. And he had a very strong hunch that they wouldn’t be at all pleased to learn their daughter had a house guest – especially one who had barely enough money in his bank account to finance the rest of his trip.

He’d tried on numerous occasions to buy groceries or take her out to dinner as a way to repay her hospitality, but Lauren had brushed him off each time. Instead, she’d been true to her word and heaped one chore after another on him – washing her mud-caked truck; feeding the three dogs – who always seemed to be hungry – as well as helping her take them for walks twice a day; doing the dishes after each meal; and helping her stain and seal the deck – a project she’d promised her father would be taken care of before the summer ended.

But he still felt like a freeloader, especially since he knew the wine he was drinking now had likely cost thirty bucks a bottle, and that the steaks they’d grilled for dinner had been of a prime cut. He’d noticed over the past few days that everything in the house – furniture, linens, dishes, etc. – might appear simple and even bohemian at first glance, but upon closer inspection had proven to be of a very high quality. Even the casual clothing that was all Lauren seemed to own – tank tops, bikinis, shorts, jeans, flip flops – were largely brands that he recognized as being on the upscale side.

And, unknown to Lauren, he’d done a bit of research on her parents, learning that Natalie Benoit was considered one of the great painters of her generation, and that her works typically sold in the five figure range. As for Lauren’s father, Ben had determined that Robert McKinnon had been a much sought-after architect up until his semi-retirement just a couple of years ago. Ben had also checked out some local real estate listings and figured that this deceptively simple, rather small cabin – albeit with its jaw-dropping views and surrounding property – was worth over two million dollars.

Everything added up to the inescapable facts that Lauren’s parents were millionaires, and that her upbringing in the exclusive community of Carmel had been markedly different from his own rather dreary childhood back in Ohio. After his parents had divorced and then quickly established separate homes with new spouses and second families, Ben hadn’t even had a bedroom of his own, shuttling back and forth between two homes constantly and bunking in with one of his half-siblings. Money had always been tight, and he’d had to make do with the basics. He hadn’t even owned a cell phone or laptop until he’d started college, where he had worked three part-time jobs to pay for the expenses not covered by scholarships and grants.

And he sensed that Lauren’s childhood had also been an extremely happy one, with parents and a sister who had loved and cherished her. He’d glimpsed dozens of photographs clustered around the cabin – on tabletops and bookcases, hanging on the walls – and each one spoke of a warm, close-knit, and very happy family life. Ben’s favorite photo had been one of Lauren and her twin, when they had been approximately seven or eight years old. Lauren had been wearing her martial arts gi – white pants and jacket with a purple cloth belt, and had been barefoot. Julia, who looked so much like her sister that it was almost eerie, even for identical twins, had been garbed all in pink – leotard, tights, a short wraparound skirt, and ballet slippers. Both girls were smiling broadly, their arms flung over the other’s shoulder, and Ben had realized that even as little girls they’d been gorgeous.

He envied Lauren tremendously. Oh, not for the understated but still obviously affluent lifestyle she’d no doubt enjoyed all her life. No, he envied her instead for the loving family that she’d always had, the comfort in knowing that she was loved and cherished, and that she belonged – things that Ben had never really known in his own life.

“Should I open another bottle of wine, or is it time to move on to the hard stuff?”

He smiled as a now-familiar voice startled him out of his brooding, and he held out his arm, beckoning her close.

Lauren wasted no time in snuggling up against his side, wrapping her arms around his waist as he hugged her in tight.

“I’m good for now,” he told her quietly. “Still full from dinner actually. I’m not sure I could eat or drink another thing at the moment.”

Teasingly, she pinched the side of his waist. “Yeah, you look like you’ve put on a few pounds. Good, because you were a teensy bit on the lean side for my liking.”

“Is that right?” he drawled in amusement. He pinched her ass in retaliation, chuckling when she yelped in protest. “Well, sweetheart, every part of you is one hundred and fifty percent to my liking, so don’t change a thing, hmm?”

She stood up on her bare toes, wrapping her arms around his neck and planting a resounding smooch on his unshaven cheek. “Okay, boss. Whatever you say.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Like you’d ever think of me as your boss. Or do anything I asked for that matter. You, sweetheart, are what’s known as a law unto herself. No one is ever going to be able to control you.”

Lauren snickered. “One of my teachers used to call me a little tornado.”

He shook his head. “Not tough enough. You’re more like a Category Five hurricane.”

She laughed in delight. “Hurricane Lauren. I love it. Think the National Weather Center might name one after me someday?”

Ben pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Absolutely. Though it can’t hurt to send them an email request.”

They stood there for a few minutes wrapped in each other’s arms as they gazed out at the night sky. The moon, nearly full, was just beginning to rise, and soon the stars would all be out in full force.

“So I guess this means we’ll need to wait awhile before dessert?” Lauren asked, her voice breaking the comfortable silence.

He caressed the skin of her back, bared by the cropped halter top she wore. “That depends,” he teased. “If you’re the dessert, then I don’t think my appetite would ever be appeased.”

“Hah, hah.” In retaliation, she bit down – a little too hard to be considered a love bite – on his earlobe. “Well, I’m always on the menu, Blue Eyes,” she murmured suggestively. “But for tonight I also made my specialty – actually, it’s the only dessert I know how to make – slutty brownies.”

He quirked a brow at her. “I’m not sure if that sounds disgusting or delicious. What – exactly – are slutty brownies?”

Lauren grinned impishly. “Well, it isn’t a dessert baked by hookers, if that’s what you’re thinking. To make them, you layer chocolate chip cookie dough – refrigerated in this case, mind you, ‘cause I do not make anything from scratch – a bag of Oreo cookies, a jar of caramel syrup, and then the brownie batter. Topped with more caramel syrup once they’re out of the oven.”

“Jesus, I feel kind of nauseous just thinking about them,” he groaned, clutching his stomach. “Serves you right for cooking such a great dinner.”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t anything special. Just salad and bread from the bakery in town and the steaks. And you did the grilling. I’ve told you before that I’m not much of a cook.”