He knew she had his number, but he didn't believe in conceding defeat. "My sincerity's never fake. I was stating the facts. Two single people, a warm summer night, a hot kiss… We're only human."

"One of us, anyway. The other's a reptile."

"Harsh, Annabelle. Very harsh."

She advanced on him again. "Let me ask you a question, one business owner to another." She planted her fingernail in his chest. "Have you ever had sex with a client? Is that accept7able professional behavior in your book?"

"My clients are men."

"Stop weaseling. What if I were a world champion figure skater on my way to the Olympics? Let's say I'm a favorite for the gold medal, and I just signed you as my agent last week. Are you going to have sex with me or not?"

"We only signed last week? That seems a little-"

"Fast-forward, then, to the Olympics," she said with exaggerated patience. "I've won the stupid medal. Only the silver, since I couldn't land my triple axel, but nobody cares because I'm a charmer, and they still want my face on their breakfast cereal. You and I have a contract. Are you sleeping with me?"

"It's apples and oranges. In the case you describe, millions of dollars would be at stake."

She made a rude buzzer noise. "Wrong answer."

"True answer."

"Because your megabusiness is so much more important than my silly little matchmaking agency? Well, it might be to you, Mr. Python, but it's not to me."

"I understand how important your business is to you."

"You don't have a clue." Pinning the blame on him felt so much better than assuming her rightful share, and she stomped back to the picnic table to grab the flashlight. "You're just like my brothers. Worse! You can't stand having anybody say no to you about anything." She thrust the flashlight toward him. "Well, listen up, Mr. Champion. I am not somebody you can pass the time with while you wait for your spectacular future wife to show up. I won't be your sexual entertainment."

"You're insulting yourself," he said calmly. "I may not be crazy about all of your business practices, but I have nothing except respect for you as a person."

"Great. Watch me build on that."

She turned on her heel and stalked off.

Heath gazed after her as she disappeared into the trees. When he could no longer see her, he picked up a stone, skipped it over the dark water, and smiled. She couldn't have been more right. He was a snake. And he was ashamed of himself. Okay, maybe not at this exact instant, but by tomorrow for sure. His only excuse was that he liked her so damned much, and he hadn't done anything just for fun in longer than he could remember.

Still, trying to nail a friend was a rotten thing to do. Even a sexy friend, although she didn't seem too clear about that, which made the effect of those mischievous eyes and the swirl of that amazing hair all the more enticing. Still, if he was going to blow his training for marital fidelity, he should have done it with one of the women at Waterworks, not with Annabelle, because she was right. How could she sleep with him then introduce him to other women? She couldn't, they both knew it, and since he never wasted his time supporting an unsupportable position, he couldn't imagine why he'd done it tonight. Or maybe he could.

Because he wanted his matchmaker naked… and that definitely wasn't part of his plan.

Heath slept on the porch that night and awakened the next morning to the sound of the front door closing. He rolled over and squinted at his watch. It was a few minutes before eight, which meant Annabelle was heading off to meet the book club for breakfast. He rose from the mattress he'd dragged out to the porch for the best night's sleep he'd experienced in weeks, a hell of a lot better than tossing and turning in his empty house.

The men had a round of golf scheduled. As he showered and dressed, he went over the events of the previous night and reminded himself to mind the manners he'd worked so hard to acquire. Annabelle was his friend, and he didn't screw over friends, figuratively or literally.

He drove to the public course with Kevin but ended up sharing a golf cart with Dan Calebow. Dan kept himself in great shape for a man in his forties. With the exception of a few character lines, he didn't look all that different from his playing days when his steely eyes and cold-blooded determination on the field had earned him the nickname Ice. Dan and Heath had always gotten along well, but whenever Heath mentioned Phoebe, as he did that morning, Dan always said pretty much the same thing.

"When two hardheaded people get married, they learn to pick their battles." Dan spoke softly so he didn't distract Darnell, who was lining up his tee shot. "This one's all yours, pal."

Darnell hooked his ball into the left rough, and the discussion returned to golf, but later, as they were riding down the fairway, Heath asked Dan if he missed his head coaching job, which he'd left for the front office.

"Sometimes." As Dan checked the scorecard, Heath spotted one of those rub-on tattoos on the side of his neck. A baby blue unicorn. Pippi Tucker's handiwork. "But I have a great consolation prize," Dan went on. "I get to watch my kids grow up."

"A lot of coaches have kids."

"Yeah, and their wives are raising them. Being president of the Stars is a big job, but I can still get the kids off to school in the mornings and be at the dinner table most nights."

Right now, Heath couldn't see anything too exciting about either activity, but he took it on faith that someday he might.

He finished the round only three shots behind Kevin, which wasn't bad, considering his own twelve handicap. They turned in their carts, and then the six of them headed into the clubhouse's private room for lunch. It was a dingy space with cheap paneling, battered tables, and what Kevin insisted were the best cheeseburgers in the county. After a couple of bites, Heath found himself agreeing.

They were enjoying replaying their round when, out of nowhere, Darnell decided he had to spoil it. "It's time to talk about our book," he said. "Did everybody read it like you was supposed to?"

Heath nodded along with the rest of them. Last week Annabelle had left him a message with the title of the novel all the men were supposed to read, the story of a group of mountain climbers. Heath didn't get to read for pleasure much anymore, and he'd enjoyed having an excuse. When he'd been a kid, the public library had been his refuge, but once he'd hit high school, he'd gotten wrapped up in the demands of working two jobs, playing football, and studying for the straight As that would put the Beau Vista Trailer Park behind him forever. Reading for fun had gone by the wayside, along with a lot of other simple pleasures.

Darnell rested an arm on the table. "Anybody want to start the ball rolling?"

There was a long silence.

"I liked it," Dan finally said.

"Me, too," Kevin offered.

Webster held up his hand to order another Coke. "It was pretty interesting."

They stared at one another.

"Good plot," Ron said.

An even longer silence fell.

Kevin made some accordion folds in a straw wrapper. Ron messed with the saltshaker. Webster looked around for his Coke. Darnell tried again. "What did you think about the way the men reacted to their first night on the mountain?"

"Pretty interesting."

"It was okay."

Darnell took his literature seriously, and storm clouds were gathering in his eyes. He shot Heath a menacing look. "You got anything to say?"

Heath set down his burger. "Combining adventure, irony, and unabashed sentimentality is always tricky to pull off, especially in a novel with such a strong central conceit. We ask ourselves, where is the conflict? Man v. nature, man v. man, man versus himself? A fairly complex exploration of our modern sense of disconnection. Bleak undertones, comic high notes. It worked for me."

That cracked 'em all up. Even Darnell.

Finally, they quieted down. Webster got his Coke, Dan found a fresh bottle of ketchup, and the discussion turned right back to where everybody except Darnell wanted it to be.

Football.

After lunch, the book club took a walk around the campground and continued their discussion of the biographies of the famous women they'd read. Annabelle had dug into both Katharine Graham's and Mary Kay Ash's books. Phoebe had concentrated on Eleanor Roosevelt, Charmaine on Josephine Baker, Krystal on Coco Chanel. Janine had read several biographies of cancer survivors, and Sharon had explored the life of Frida Kahlo. Molly, predictably, had chosen Beatrix Potter. As they talked, they related the women's lives to their own, looked for common themes, and examined each woman's survival skills.

After their walk, they returned to Kevin and Molly's private gazebo. Janine began setting out an assortment of old magazines, catalogs, and art supplies. "We did this in my cancer support group," she said. "It was pretty revealing. We're going to cut out words and pictures that appeal to us and assemble them into individual collages. When we're done, we'll talk about them."

Annabelle knew a land mine when she saw one, and she was very careful what she chose. Unfortunately, not careful enough.

"That man looks a lot like Heath." Molly pointed to a hunky model in a Van Heusen shirt Annabelle had pasted in the upper left corner of her poster.

"He does not," Annabelle protested. "He represents the kind of male clients I want Perfect for You to attract."

"What about that bedroom furniture?" Charmaine pointed out a Crate & Barrel sleigh bed. "And the little girl and the dog?"

"They're on the other side of the paper. Professional life. Personal life. Totally separate."