Back in the house, Grant washed up while Callie wandered around, admiring the rustic but strangely elegant furnishings. He came out looking freshly scrubbed.

“Rosa says she’ll lay lunch out in half an hour,” he told her.

“What will we do until then?”

He thought for a moment, then had an idea.

“Come on,” he said with a lascivious wink that was pure mockery. “I’ll take you up to my bedroom.”

CHAPTER SIX

FEIGNED suspicion filled Callie’s dark eyes and she dug in her heels.

“Why?” she demanded to know.

Grant grinned and tugged on her hand. “Just to show you.”

She frowned. “Show me what?”

“I don’t know. All my trophies. How’s that?” He laughed. “Come on. Follow me.”

She wasn’t seriously reluctant, so she did follow him and they ended up in a large room overlooking the back garden. A huge bed took up most of the middle of the room.

“Wow. This bed looks big enough to have a party in,” she said.

She colored when he laughed and she realized how that could be taken.

“Too bad I was such a shy guy I never thought of that myself,” he said sadly.

She threw him a skeptical look. “Shy guy” just didn’t fit with the man she was getting to know. “Right.”

Lowering herself to sit on the edge of the bed, she looked around at the furnishings. Basketballs, baseball gloves, a snowboard, a racing bike, trophies and banners. There was no doubt this room had belonged to a male child. She had a quick vision of all the friends and fantasies that must have passed through this room over the years.

“You know, this is just crazy,” she said softly, looking up at him. “How can I marry you? I don’t really know you. I don’t know what sort of person you really are.” She studied him, frowning. “I don’t know if you’ve been a solid citizen or a womanizer. I don’t know if you cheat on your taxes or…or rescue little donkeys from the snow. Who are you?”

He stared at her for a moment. “It doesn’t usually snow in this part of Texas,” he said at last. “At least not when the donkeys are out.”

She bit her lip. She refused to laugh. Instead she rose and began wandering about the room, looking at the artifacts of his growing up years.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” she said, picking up an endearing picture of a young Grant in a soccer uniform. He was trying to look tough and fierce for the camera. “Tell me what you were like as a child,” she said, setting it down.

“As a child?” His shrug was nonchalant. “I was a boy genius, of course.”

“Really.” She perused the titles in his bookcase-mostly old textbooks. “Tell me more.”

“Well, let’s see.” He struck a pose as though harkening back in time. “Naturally I was a Boy Scout. Helped my share of old ladies across the street. Won all my badges.”

“What else?” she asked, assuming he was only half-serious. There was a mocking tone to his attitude that let her know he wasn’t going to reveal any more than he had to.

“There’s not much more.”

She gave him a look. “Come on. Make an effort. I need to know.”

He shrugged and his voice took on the timbre of a radio announcer.

“I was a studious lad right from the start. Top honors in recitation. Walked miles through the snow to get to school.”

“I thought you just said it didn’t snow around here.”

“Snow in the metaphorical sense, of course.”

She sighed, losing hope of getting anything honest out of him now. “I should have known.”

He went on. “When I wasn’t studying, I was collecting things. Coins, stamps, butterflies.”

“Girlfriends?” she suggested casually, finding a stack of annuals and taking one up to flip through.

He scowled at her. “Never.”

“No kidding.” She raised an eyebrow as she found a page in his annual signed by lots of girlish sounding names.

“Of course. I was the model student. Summers I spent at science camp. I wrote journals and was president of the entomology club. Advisor to Student Scholars. Champion at one-hour chess. I had no time for frivolous things like girls and parties and…”

“Hmm. Then I guess this yearbook must belong to some other guy named Grant. Here’s a note from someone named Snookie. ‘My dearest Grant,’” she read from the page, glancing up to see how he was taking it. “‘Thanks so much for giving me your picture. I keep it under my pillow so I can kiss you good-night every night. I pretend I’m your one and only girl, even though you explained to me how you don’t believe in going steady…’” She looked up at him, aghast. “You cad!” she cried.

He shrugged and tried to look innocent. “Snookie? Never heard of her.”

“Here’s another one. ‘Grant, you hottie! I saved you a seat in assembly but you didn’t show up. I’m looking forward to Friday night. You are so hot! Love, Mimi.’”

Grant’s innocent act was beginning to fray around the edges and he was looking a little shifty-eyed.

“I don’t remember any Mimi, either,” he said before she had a chance to make a comment.

“I’ll bet she remembers you.”

He frowned, shoved his hands down deep into his pockets and looked at her sideways, trying a new direction. “You know, I really think this is a sad case of mistaken identity.”

“Really?”

He nodded hopefully. “It’s like you said. She must have meant some other Grant.”

“Right.” She nodded, eyes dancing. “I’ll bet your school was just brimming with guys named Grant Carver.”

He grimaced. “Brimming with Grant Carver wannabes, maybe,” he muttered.

She grinned. “Okay, let’s see if we can pin this down,” she said, turning to the index. “This Grant Carver was captain of the swim team. King of Junior Prom. Senior class president. Does that ring a bell?”

He blinked blankly and shrugged. “Who remembers high school?”

“Oh, wait! This Grant Carver was voted ‘Most Likely To Be Shot By A Jealous Husband.’” She looked up, her eyes dancing at his discomfort. “Grant, I don’t see anything about the chess club here.”

“They must have left that out.” He grimaced. “Never mind. Let’s go down and see if lunch is ready.”

She shook her head. “Let’s read more of those letters.”

“Let’s not.” He made a halfhearted pass at grabbing the book from her but she kicked off her shoes and jumped up on the bed, out of reach.

“‘Dear Grant,’” she read. “‘You are so cool, but your kiss is so hot.’” She laughed. “All these references to heat. A theme seems to be coming through, don’t you think? Hot, hot, hot.” She made a face at him.

His eyes were smiling but he was pretending to frown and tried to grab the book again. “Give me that.”

“No!” she cried, bouncing away from his reach. “We must read all the letters. The truth must come out! Your wild past can’t be suppressed forever.” She frowned down at him. “Was this really your attitude toward girls in those days? Sexist pig.”

“I told you. That isn’t me.”

“Then who is it, your evil twin?”

“Could be. I won’t know until you hand over the book.”

“Hah!”

He held out his hand. “Give me the book.”

She taunted him with a grin. “Make me.”

He didn’t hesitate. In one bound, he was up on the bed with her. Laughing, she tried to get away, and when that didn’t work, she clung to the yearbook, trying to keep him from taking it. That didn’t last long. He had the book, and then she was falling onto the soft surface of the bed and he was falling with her.

They landed together, face-to-face, her hands flattened on his chest. She was still laughing, but when she looked into his eyes, she saw something darker and more disturbed there.

“Hi,” she said softly.

He couldn’t answer her. He was too busy trying not to want her.

His hands were clutched in fists to keep from touching her. And because this was so hard, he had to ask himself-could he do this? Could he marry another woman? He stared down into Callie’s dark eyes and searched for an answer.

Callie’s face had a look of impatience, as though she’d waited for something that hadn’t happened and she was getting darn tired of this. With a flash of quick irritation, she threw her arms around his neck.

“If you can’t even kiss me, how are we ever going to make love?” she whispered.

He stared down at her. She didn’t understand. Sex was just sex. He could do that anytime, anywhere. But kissing-that was opening up and letting someone in-a connection between heart and soul. Once he’d kissed her…

She was giving up. Her hands slid down from his neck and a hurt look filled her eyes. He couldn’t stand that, and without letting himself think, he lowered his mouth to hers.

Hot buttered rum. That was what she tasted like. Smooth and creamy and slightly intoxicating. And addictive. Once the kiss started, he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to stop it. She was so soft, so sweet…Desire rose in him like a sort of madness, threatening to take away his ability to reason.

As he struggled to pull away, the thoughts came anyway, fast and confusing. He didn’t want to feel this sort of urgency, this need to take her in his arms. But it had been so long since he’d held a woman and his body wanted hers so badly. At the same time, he had to hold himself back. He wasn’t free to do what came naturally. He had to remember…

“I’m sorry,” she was saying.

He looked down, startled. Her gaze was still troubled.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you into that,” she said. “I know you didn’t want to do it.”

His mind was still too thick to process coherent thoughts. Pulling back away from her, he rose on his elbow and watched her for a moment.

“This isn’t going to be easy for either of us,” he said at last. “What we’re planning to do will go against all our basic instincts.”

She nodded. “I know.”

Rolling over, she sat on the edge of the bed and looked back at him. She was reeling from that kiss, but working hard to keep that information close to the vest. But, oh my! Her lips were still vibrating. She’d never been kissed like that before. In fact, she didn’t know it could be that way. And worst of all, she was dying to feel that way again.