Kiss A Handsome Stranger

Chance knew it couldn’t be. His lawyer instincts prodded him to back her into a corner, argue until she broke down and win the case through logic. But if he did that, he would lose any hope of winning her heart.

Instead he said, “Maybe we could start over. You have no reason to be embarrassed now, because I’m not a stranger, and—”

“I didn’t agree to a debate,” she said. “This conversation is over.”

“Are you asking me to go?”

“No hard feelings, but yes.”

For one agonizing moment he held her gaze. She was so much smaller than he but equally strong willed. He’d met his match, he thought. Perhaps in more ways than one.

“I yield the point,” he said. “And, Daisy?”

“Yes?”

“Please stop ducking around corners and nearly drowning yourself to avoid me,” he said. “I’m not an ogre.”

“I’ll remember that,” she said.

Judging by the glint in her eye, Chance knew she was teasing. He just hoped that behind the teasing lay an attraction to match his own.

Chapter Three

He certainly wasn’t an ogre, Daisy thought as she closed the door behind him. He was sexy and bewitching and even a bit vulnerable.

If only she could yield to instinct and haul him into her bedroom. If only she had a heart of cast iron and could simply enjoy the moment.

But Chance had the power to hurt her badly. And eventually he’d do it, either through one big abandonment or through little betrayals over time.

In the meantime he was too forceful. Daisy had nearly backed down beneath his verbal onslaught, had nearly apologized and admitted she’d been wrong.

She didn’t want to back down. She didn’t want a man who could override her better judgment and control her actions.

In her adult life she’d been involved seriously with two men. They’d seemed different from each other on the surface, but underneath they’d been alike.

Commanding. Insistent. Wanting to take charge of her. In both cases, she’d broken things off after a nasty argument.

Maybe it was because she’d grown up without a father or even a grandfather, but in Daisy’s experience it simply wasn’t possible to negotiate with a man. There was no way to share power, only fight or flight.

She needed a low-key fellow who wouldn’t lock horns with her. So why wasn’t she attracted to a guy like that?

Daisy wandered into the kitchen and tried to concentrate on fixing dinner. She couldn’t stop thinking about Chance. The lingering scent of his aftershave drifted from the living room, as if a part of him had permeated her condo.

While using the electric opener on a can of soup, she noticed a white paperback wedged between two cookbooks on the counter. What a relief to discover where she’d stuck it! She’d been afraid a deep-lying emotional reluctance had led her to lose the book her friends had bought her, 2001 Ways to Wed.

The book worked, all right. Using it in an attempt to help Daisy, both Phoebe and Elise had fallen in love.

So far she hadn’t done more than glance through it. But if it could help her find Mr. Right, she’d be able to put Chance Foster out of her mind once and for all.

Daisy opened the book. “Okay, Jane Jasmine,” she said, as if the author were standing in front of her. “What pearls of wisdom do you have to offer me?”

Flipping through the pages, she noted and rejected some of the suggestions. She wasn’t going to meet the man of her dreams at the workplace. Sean O’Reilly, her assistant at the gallery, was a kid of twenty-two, eight years younger than she was.

Nor was she likely to find the man of her dreams next door. She’d already ruled out the brother of her next-door neighbor, Elise. The condo on the other side belonged to a middle-aged married couple with school-age children.

Daisy stopped at a chapter entitled “If He Knew Me, He’d Hate Me—Or Would He?”

All of us fear rejection. And many of us secretly feel unworthy of love. Putting the two areas of anxiety together, we may believe that the object of our interest couldn’t possibly love us as we really are.

So we pretend to be something we aren’t, or we hide our real self deep inside. This is exactly the opposite of what we should do if we want to find true love.

We need to be frank and honest. We need to take the risk of showing our true self to the one we care about.

I’m not suggesting you test your loved one’s devotion by dropping your dirty boots on her spotless floor or unloading a day’s worth of frustration by yelling at him. That’s not honesty, it’s inconsideration.

But if you’re watching his football games and haven’t seen your favorite ice skaters in months, tell him what you like. Look for a way to satisfy both your needs. Don’t hide your interests, your fears, your hopes. Sharing them can only create a stronger bond between the two of you.

Skeptical, Daisy stuck the book back into place. The author’s advice made sense up to a point, but how could she tell a formidable man like Chance Foster that she had run away because she knew that sooner or later he would break her heart?

And, having seen him again, she was more certain of that than ever.

“WHAT WAS ALL THAT ABOUT?” Elise demanded when Chance popped into her condo.

His sister had changed into shorts and a sleeveless buttoned shirt. With her medium-length brown hair clipped back, she looked too young to be a college professor. It was hard sometimes to remember that she was thirty-three and had a Ph.D.

“What was all what about?” he temporized. It had become a habit, as an attorney, to reveal as little as possible while he organized his thoughts.

Plus, Chance felt a natural restraint about revealing his emotions. Perhaps it came from being a big brother and taking a lot of responsibility for his sisters. He’d seen the pressure that having eight children put on his parents and had done his best to spare them from unnecessary worry.

In any case, he didn’t like having other people see his vulnerabilities. Not even Elise.

“I got the notion you and Daisy had met before.” She turned her back and marched into the kitchen. Judging by the onions, mushrooms, eggs and cheese on the counter, she was planning to cook an omelette. “You’re going to have to satisfy my curiosity if you expect me to fix you dinner.”

“I had no such expectation,” he said, although the sight of the ingredients made his mouth water. “And naturally, I wouldn’t dream of preparing one of my kitchen-sink salads unless you answer a few questions I happen to have.”

Chance was famous in the Foster household for salads in which, according to his sisters, he tossed everything but the kitchen sink. Starting with a base of greens and tomatoes, he would hunt through the pantry and come up with sardines or tuna, water chestnuts, cashew nuts, crispy Chinese noodles, garbanzo beans or whatever else was on hand.

Elise cracked a couple of eggs into a bowl and regarded him assessingly. “Well, all right. I’ll bet I can tell plenty about you and Daisy from whatever questions you ask, anyway.”

“You should have been a lawyer.”

“Spare me!” she cried in mock horror. “Two in one family?” She cracked a couple more eggs into the bowl. Elise would never put that many eggs in an omelette unless she was expecting company, Chance noted happily.

“By the way, I came over here to talk to you about your wedding plans,” he said. “As an attorney…”

“If you say one word about James and me needing a prenuptial agreement, I’ll wring your neck!” She chopped the onions hard against the cutting board.

From the refrigerator, Chance fetched the salad’s basic ingredients. “If I were his lawyer, seeing how wealthy he is, I’d insist on it. As your brother, however, I’m delighted that he hasn’t asked for one.”