Can you take care of me, please? I'd like to check in."

Ann Waverly looked up from her work at the registration desk and stared at the man through her large tortoise-shell-framed glasses. Good heavens, she thought. Someone should take care of him!

The man was bedraggled, unshaven, and almost asleep on his feet. What terrible hardship had he endured? His sandy hair was tousled, his clothes rumpled and torn. Most astounding of all, how had he gotten here, to the middle of urban America? It wasn't every day that a man in his condition strode into the River Regency, the most exclusive hotel in St. Charles, Missouri.

All these thoughts tumbled through Ann's mind in a matter of seconds. She schooled her features sedate, tranquil-then smiled and asked the first question any reservation clerk-worth her salt should ask.

"Do you have a reservation, sir?"

The man leaned heavily against the counter; his glazed blue eyes stared across the lobby. "The name's Jeffrey Madison. The reservation was confirmed yesterday."

Ann rapidly punched his name into the computer. Gazing at the screen, she was dismayed by what she saw printed there. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Madison, but your room was released when you didn't arrive before eight o'clock this evening."

And she was sorry. Jeffrey Madison appeared to be dead on his feet. Then he turned to her, and his gaze seemed to chill and boil at the same time. She forgot her compassion because the hair on the back of her neck suddenly stood at attention. Unable to break away from his furious glare, she was glad that a high marble counter separated her body from his.

Jeffrey Madison studied the woman who was keeping him from his bed. Her dark hair was pulled back into a neat, smooth bun and her blue eyes were shielded by expensive-looking glasses. She used a minimum of makeup, and her navy blue uniform was adorned only by her name tag. Ann Waverly, it said. He intended to remember that name. Forever!

"What the hell do you mean, Ms. Waverly?" he asked. Pushed beyond his endurance, he raised his voice and gestured broadly. "A room was reserved. Yesterday. I need sleep. Tonight. Just find me another room in this damn place so I can get some rest."

His performance did nothing to reassure Ann. She didn't think the hotel needed to cater to a madman. Not on her shift anyway. "Perhaps the Lasta Motel down the highway has a vacancy, sir. I'll be glad to make the call."

"Are you kidding?" he exploded. "The Lasta Motel?"

He looked at her as if she'd just dropped in from Mars, Ann thought, when in reality it was his bloodshot eyes that were beginning to radiate an otherworldly glow. Any second now he'd send a zap across the counter that would melt the silver in her back teeth. Imagining she could already feel that menacing heat, she took one small step backward . . . for her own good health.

"Look, lady, I had a reservation. I'm staying here tonight." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Even if I have to sleep in the damn potted palms."

Ann kept smiling, although she felt like sticking out her tongue at him. She told herself she had to get the man to leave before he attracted a crowd. It was ten-thirty and quite a few guests were still in the garden lounge in the center of the huge lobby. Just as she was about to speak, Mr. Gillian, the night manager, appeared at her side.

"What seems to be the problem here, Miss Waverly?"

Oh, he would have to come out now, she fumed to herself, grimly accepting his condescending tone. He pronounced the word "Miss" as if it were a sin to be single. Before she could explain, he brusquely excused her, then aimed an effusive smile at the disheveled man on the other side of the counter.

"Perhaps I can help you, sir," Mr. Gillian said.

"Please overlook the night clerk's lack of understanding. She's a trainee."

Ann stalked to the back office. She glanced at her watch and realized her shift was over. Checking to make sure she still had her room key in her jacket pocket, she trudged to the elevator. It was glass on three sides, and as it lifted her to the second floor, she could see the registration desk. She sighed when she saw the night manager give the seedy Mr. Madison a key and another simpering smile.

"That little fiasco was not an auspicious beginning, Annie," she muttered.

When Jeffrey took the key, he experienced a pang of conscience. "Look," he said. "I don't want Ms. Waverly to get into trouble. This wasn't her fault. She was undoubtedly following house rules."

Mr. Gillian stopped smiling, but assured Jeffrey that Miss Waverly had nothing to fear. "After all, Mr. Madison, she's only a trainee. Thank you for being so charitable."

Jeffrey grunted unintelligibly, then wearily found his way to his room. He paused in the bathroom for a long, cool drink of water. When he realized he was still holding his battered knapsack, he tossed it into the corner of the bedroom.

Yawning and groaning on the same breath, he dropped his jacket inside the closet, bent to untie his hiking boots, then staggered toward the welcoming oasis of his clean bed, dropping clothes and boots along the way. He sank onto the foot of the bed, pulled off one remaining sock, and collapsed across the mattress. Slowly he turned and crawled under the covers like a bear about to hibernate.

His last thought as he drifted into unconsciousness was that the manager had acted like a grade-A jerk, and that he would check the next day to make sure the attractive Ms. Waverly had not been hassled.

In her own room, Ann was getting ready for bed. For the hundredth time she thought she probably should have her head examined. What had she been thinking when she'd accepted the unorthodox challenge from Vanessa Cummings, owner of the River Regency?

"I must have been out of my mind," she mumbled, brushing her teeth with unrelenting vigor.

She lifted her head and peered at her reflection in the mirror. Large blue eyes, the irises outlined with indigo, stared back. Her small, straight nose was shiny. When she looked at her mouth and saw the foaming toothpaste bubbling from her pursed lips, she burst out laughing.

"See?" she said, leaning over to finish her chore. "You've gone mad!"

She pulled the pins from her hair, and the sable locks fell to her waist. As she brushed her hair, she reassessed the reasons that she'd decided to come to St. Charles in the first place.

For the last seven years she had worked for a Chicago hotel, part of an international chain. And though she'd risen from clerk to public relations associate during those years, she had known it was time to find a position with more authority. Personal assistant to the owner of a four-star hotel had seemed like the right move.

She couldn't deny the attraction of the new job, but there had been a catch to the offer. Before she could begin her formal duties, she would have to sample all the diversified jobs executed by the general staff on a revolving daily schedule. It would take a month.

Vanessa Cummings believed her strange request was logical. "If you know the jobs, you'll be in a better position to handle complaints," she had told Ann.

But Ann quite frankly believed Vanessa Cummings wanted to test her mettle, though her new boss had sweetened the pot by providing this lovely room until Ann could find an apartment near the hotel. She also thought the job was an opportunity she couldn't afford to pass by, no matter how kooky this idea seemed. Anyway, it was right up Ann's alley. She liked to gamble, so long as it involved risking only her own skin.

She turned out the light and crawled into bed, then released a long sigh and relaxed. As she drifted to sleep, she wondered where Mr. Gillian had put the wild man. She pictured the unlikely guest in her mind. He was tall, and although he was obviously exhausted, he looked as if he might wrestle bears or bulls, or even mountain lions, for a living. Shuddering, she decided she was glad she'd been dismissed. Another minute under that sizzling stare and she would have gotten a free perm.

By ten o'clock the following morning Ann had been working almost two hours. Today she was a housekeeper, and she'd been given a list of the cleaning chores required for each of her assigned rooms.

She pushed her cleaning cart along the well-lighted gold-carpeted hallway, which on one side looked out over the lobby. The central part of the hotel was open, rising twelve stories to a glass roof. Ann paused to lean far over the sturdy oak rail and look down at the garden lounge, the bubbling fountain, the ebony grand piano, the intimate seating areas. Straightening slowly, she tipped her head back to gaze up at the fluffy clouds racing like celestial chariots across the blue sky. It was true, she thought, not for the first time: The River Regency's architecture was spectacular.

She continued on to Room 604. She smoothed her hair and the skirt of her rose-colored uniform, and knocked once. There was no response, and she knocked again, harder. When no one answered, she unlocked the door with her master key and entered the room. Quickly she assessed the bathroom. One glass had been used and she replaced it, but nothing else had been disturbed.

When she walked out of the bathroom, she stumbled. Glancing down, she saw a boot lying on its side. A trail of clothing led into the darkened bedroom. Like Gretel, she followed, picking up the boot, a sock, a second scuffed boot, a gamey pair of faded jeans which could have stood by themselves, a soft blue-plaid shirt that smelled like woodsmoke, and, finally, a pair of navy briefs.

Just when she realized she was short one sock, a sunbeam peeked through the drapes and spotlighted the elusive gray wool sock at the foot of the bed. Muttering to herself about sloppy guests, she leaned over to pick it up-and came nose to toes with a large bare foot!

Someone was here . . . in the bed, she realized. Was he dead? Frozen in her crouched position, she continued to stare at the foot until the man groaned, kicked off his covers, and turned over. He began snoring, loud enough, it seemed, to rattle the windows.

Reassured that the guest was very much alive, Ann retreated slowly, stealthily. She kept her gaze glued to a crescent-shaped scar on the bottom of the man's heel, but her peripheral vision nevertheless noticed the rest of him-nude-and lying now on his stomach.

She paused for just a moment and let her inquisitive gaze meander across the tantalizing expanse of his relaxed muscular body. Suddenly, she caught her breath. Of all the people to stumble upon! she thought. That glorious specimen of the male species was the man who'd checked in last night.

Taking another step backward, she berated herself for looking. But her self was having none of it. It was a safe bet no one would ever know, and so, feeling assured, she chanced a last lingering look.

If there was anything in this world she truly appreciated, it was the bold, lean lines of the male form. For Ann, a well-developed body was a joy to behold. She considered it living sculpture. And if she didn't get out of this room quickly, she was going to get into trouble because she was sorely tempted to examine this intriguing three-dimensional work of art with more than her eyes!

Sighing wistfully, she replaced each item of clothing exactly where she'd found it, then sneaked out the door, taking the Do Not Disturb sign with her.

Whistling softly, she leaned against the wall and began to breathe again. She had to admit, Jeffrey Madison-in nature's garb, so to speak-was certainly a surprise. Yes, he'd appeared to be very strong and well-built when she met him the night before. But she would never have guessed that beneath those tattered mountainman clothes lay such a fabulous body. Hercules? A Superman? A Rocky?

"Definitely, a Rocky," she murmured as she moved to the next room. "And surely a ten!" She whistled again, then knocked so hard on the door of the room that she hurt her knuckles and alarmed the occupants.

The hours passed quickly. Ann had plenty to keep her busy. But at odd moments-when she was smoothing the covers on a bed or running the vacuum-her mind supplied a most graphic image of Jeffrey Madison sprawled nude upon his rumpled sheets. Inconsequentially she wondered how he'd gotten that crescent scar. Maybe he'd been kicking at one of those mountain lions he wrestled and got swiped by a claw, she thought, picturing the battle in her vivid imagination. And of course Mr. Madison had won. There was no doubt in her mind.

Jeffrey's mother, owner of the River Regency, wakened him in midafternoon when she phoned.

"Oh, darling," she said when she heard his groggy voice. "I'm sorry I disturbed you. You should have slept at Mountainview before you flew all the way from Utah."

"Hey, Legs, you call, I haul," he said lightly.

"Did you find the lost little boy?" she asked.

"Yup, all safe and sound."

"I'm so relieved, son."

"Me too. He must have been scared to death, but he didn't show it." He yawned and stretched. "Are you still losing convention business?"

"Yes, two more last week. Since you're the investigator, I hope you can catch the guilty party soon, though, Lord knows, I've asked you often enough to take over here."

"Now, don't start that again, Mom."

Jeffrey had been raised in the hotel business. His parents had owned the Mountainview Inn for three decades until four years ago, when his father had died suddenly-His mother had sold out, taken one year to travel, two more to get herself pulled back together, then had purchased the River Regency.

The only time he'd been here was before she'd taken over and brought in new management. Since then he'd stayed away on purpose because he was sure she needed some space to prove to herself she could manage alone. Personally, Jeffrey never doubted his mother's abilities. He believed she could handle anything in the hotel business. He also knew she loved it. He, on the other hand, did not.

Jeffrey had chosen to use his knowledge of the business world to investigate white-collar crime. Embezzling, patent fraud, the theft and sale of corporate secrets were a few of his specialties. He loved his work because he was a risk taker, had been since he was a child. And he knew how to keep a secret.

"When did you get in?" his mother asked.

"About ten-thirty last night. And it was some experience!" He purposely exaggerated the circumstances. "The first person I met was a woman named Ann Waverly. Boy, have you got her brainwashed. She just kept smiling and telling me my reservation had been released. Finally I was given this dinky little room."

"There are no dinky little rooms at the River Regency, young man."

He chuckled at her imperious tone. "Well, I feel closed in."

"You'll get your suite. Within twenty-four hours. Those are house rules."

"You run a tight ship, ma'am."

"But it's sprung a leak somewhere, so let's get busy." Vanessa was sure one of her employees was tipping off another hotel about convention inquiries, and they'd been undercutting Regency's bids.

"Do you have any suspects?" Jeffrey asked.

"Three." She named the public relations director, the convention coordinator, and the general manager. "They're all new, you know. The only person I brought from Utah is Charles."

"It'll be good to see him."

Charles Jones had been only eighteen years old when he was hired to be Sam and Vanessa Cummings's chauffeur. The following year Jeffrey had been born, and it seemed natural when the two formed a strong bond, almost like younger and older brother. Charles had helped Jeffrey's parents curb their son's youthful headstrong impetuosity. After Jeffrey reached adulthood, he admitted that it had probably taken all three of them to guide him through the maze of adolescence.

"Remember," his mother said now, "you don't know either Charles or me."

"Right. Are you in the penthouse now, Mom? I thought you'd come down to greet your only son."

"I'm in the hospital."

Jeffrey's teasing vanished instantly. He listened intently as Vanessa explained that she'd worried herself into a gall bladder attack, but was feeling much better now. The doctor had insisted that she have a complete physical checkup, so she would stay in the hospital for the rest of the week.

"I've been telling you to take it a little easier, Mom. I wish you would."

"And I will, son . . . as soon as you give me my grandbabies."

Jeffrey ran his hand through his sleep-tousled hair. "Now, Mama, you know I'm kinda old-fashioned about that. I have to find a wife first."

"Well?"

"You're too sexy to be a grandma."

"Like hell I am! I've said it before and I'll say it again- "

"I know, Mom."

Together they recited, "Thirty-four years is a damn long time to wait for another baby!"

"Well, it is!"

"I'm working on it."

"Are you even looking, young man?"

"Sure, I am. All the time," he said with a lilt in his voice. Unheralded, the image of the attractive Ann Waverly came into his mind. "I love you, Mom. See you later."

"You will not see me. I don't want this caper queered."

Jeffrey chuckled as he hung up the phone, then he rolled out of bed. On his way to the bathroom he picked up his clothes and boots and dumped them in the closet. In the bathroom he reached for his glass, but had to unwrap a clean one.

Funny, he thought. He could have sworn he'd drunk about a gallon of water last night. Shrugging, he turned on the shower, then stepped beneath the hard spray and scrubbed off two days worth of grime. As he dried himself, he idly surveyed his reflection in the hazy mirror. His sandy hair was sun-streaked and thick. One woman had told him his wide-set eyes were bluer than a rain-washed Utah sky. His face and neck were perpetually tanned, and his muscular body revealed his love of outdoor activities in any weather, any season.

When he pulled a clean knit shirt from his knapsack, he winced as the fabric irritated a cut on his hand. "Damn," he muttered, sucking on his knuckle. He wished he'd worn heavier gloves. The rocks had cut his hands badly. He tugged on the shirt and a fresh pair of jeans, then called his Mountainview office.

"Hi, Kim," he said when his assistant answered the phone. "Anything going on?"

"There's always something going on, boss. You know that."

"Can you handle it?"

"Sure."

"Then I won't worry about it," he replied. "I'll be setting the trap for my mom's informer in the next few days. I'll give each of the targets identical details about a phony upcoming national convention. The only difference is that I71 give each of them a different company name. When the bids arrive--I'll use the office address-the one we receive from Mom's competitor will be linked to the guilty party."

"Neat idea, boss," said Kim. "Ingenious."

"Yeah, well, what can I say," he answered, chuckling happily. "Will you ask Les to pack enough clothes for me for two weeks and send them ASAP? It looks like I'm going to be here for a while."

"Your bags are already packed, Jeff. Well air-freight them to you.'-'

"What a team!"

"We aim to please."

"Thanks, Kim. I'll keep in touch."

After Jeffrey had hung up, his stomach gave a mighty growl. He massaged his middle, wondering when he'd last eaten. Yesterday. Afternoon? No wonder he was hungry. He needed food-fast. He slipped his room key and wallet into separate pockets and strode to the door. When he opened it he noticed the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside. He couldn't remember placing it there. "Man, I must have been walking in my sleep last night," he mumbled.

Later that evening, when Jeffrey strolled into the lobby, Mr. Gillian caught his attention. "Good evening, Mr. Madison. Your suite is ready for occupancy, sir. Suite 1108."

Not bad, Jeffrey thought as he exchanged keys with the man. Then he remembered the trainee. "Oh, by the way, I hope you didn't discipline Ms. Waverly." He glanced around. "I haven't seen her today."

"Miss Waverly is still with us." Mr. Gillian's tone revealed he was less than pleased.

"Very good, Mr. Gillian." The look in Jeffrey's eyes let the man know there would have been hell to pay if she'd been fired. "I'd like a wake-up call for seven."

By nine o'clock Wednesday morning Jeffrey had swum fifty laps in the hotel pool, showered, shaved, dressed, and consumed a large breakfast. He was determined not to waste another day. He wasn't used to inactivity. In fact, he hated it.

He belonged in the mountains, he thought as he left the hotel restaurant, heading for the elevators. All thoughts of the great outdoors fled, though, when he spotted Ann Waverly seated behind an ornate desk in the lobby. The small gold-lettered sign on the mahogany surface said: CONCIERGE. She was talking animatedly to a woman, obviously doing her best to please a guest. Jeffrey slipped behind a potted palm to watch her unobserved.

Damn, he thought, she had on those huge goggles again. How was a man supposed to see what she was thinking? Her hair was pulled back into the same smooth, businesslike bun, and she was wearing the unappealing uniform she'd worn two nights ago. She did, however, fill out that uniform very well, as far as he could see.

But it was her smile that really attracted his gaze. It wasn't a phony smile. On the contrary, it was genuine, expressing her pleasure in her work. He wondered, could a man measure the goodness of a woman by her smile? It was worth investigating, he decided. When the guest got up to leave, he strolled from his hiding place.

Ann noticed the tall man walking toward her. He looked familiar, but she couldn't quite place him. Suddenly she recognized him. It was Jeffrey Madison, clean-shaven and wearing a sport jacket over a cotton shirt and dress trousers. My, he was handsome, she thought, smiling shyly. She was glad to see him, but was embarrassed over their last two meetings-one of which he didn't even know about! -and wished he hadn't seen her.

"Hi, Ms. Waverly," he greeted her. "Coming up in the world?"

"You might say that."

Her lips curved into an impish grin as she realized she would have recognized Jeffrey in a second had she been able to get a peek at his left heel. Her grin didn't quite register with him. He obviously had his mind on something else, for his blond brows drew together in a thoughtful scowl.

"Won't that manager take you back?" he asked. "I'll speak to him at once."

"That really isn't necessary, Mr. Madison."

"Certainly it is." He looked over at the registration desk, hoping to see Mr. Gillian.

"But . . . but. . ."

Jeffrey swung his gaze back to Ann, trying to see past the reflection in her glasses. Was she afraid to make trouble? he wondered. Then another thought came to mind.

"Are you covering for someone?" he asked, grinning. "Without permission?"

Sighing, she straightened a stack of tourist brochures, then removed her glasses. She looked up, her dark-lashed eyes boldly meeting his inquisitive gaze. "I might as well tell you. You aren't going to stop till I do. I'm in a new-concept training program, doing a different job every day."

"For what reason?" he asked absently as he stared into her eyes. Ann Waverly, he thought, had the most beautiful, expressive eyes he'd ever seen. Their indigo-blue color was unusual, and a definite threat to his nervous system. Suddenly he felt the need to sit down, and did so instantly.

"It's designed to see if I'm worthy of the Regency," she said in answer to his question.

Jeffrey thought her explanation exemplary. He wished all his mother's employees shared Ann's attitude. "What will you do the rest of this week?" he asked.

"Tomorrow I work in the kitchen, and on Friday I'm in the luggage storeroom."

He snorted with disgust. "Luggage? That's no work for a woman."

Ann glared directly into his clear blue eyes. "I will be working one of the jobs, Mr. Madison. I'd like to point out to you that women work everywhere in this hotel. We're an equal opportunity establishment."

"Yeah, any one of you can get a hernia," he said, silently vowing to discuss this edict with his mother.

"Mr. Madison," Ann sputtered, her eyes blazing, "you are a dyed-in-the-wool chauvinist bully."

Jeffrey's scowl disappeared instantly. Grinning again, he reached for her hand and smoothed his roughened thumb over her knuckles. "Uh-uh," he said, shaking his head. "I just don't want you to hurt your hands, Ann. Yours are made for gentler work. For pleasure." His voice was a whisper as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips.

His gallant gesture prompted a sigh to slip from Ann's lips, and she simply could not force herself to withdraw from his touch.

"Aren't you about ready to take a break?" he murmured, continuing to hold her hand. His smoky gaze captured hers. "Let's have a cup of coffee."

"I'm very sorry, sir." And she was. "Employees aren't allowed to fraternize with the guests." She smiled to soften her refusal and retrieved her hand.

Jeffrey was so smitten with her enchanting smile, he almost admitted he wasn't a paying guest. Catching himself just in time, he tried to cajole her into accepting his invitation anyway.

"What harm can come from a cup of coffee and a little innocent conversation? Come on, just one cup?"

Ann had to steel herself against his gentle persuasion. His firm lips curved into a whimsical smile, and his blue eyes were warm. "It's a house rule. Mr. Madison. And a good one, I believe."

Ann's reckless spirit and more sensible self warred within her. She was able to admit she'd like to get to know Jeffrey Madison better. But she also knew her interest in this man could get her into a whole lot of trouble.

Jeffrey was watching her eyes, sensing her indecision, and he believed he could change her mind. The challenge was very nearly overwhelming. "Ann, won't you reconsider?" he asked in his most seductive voice as he gently stroked her hand again.

Smiling a bittersweet smile, she slipped her hand away from his, realizing how close she was to accepting his invitation. "Thank you, Mr. Madison, but I really can't accept. I hope you'll understand."

Jeffrey was surprised by his tenacity. He told himself he was being so persistent because he might obtain some useful information about the convention tipster from her, but deep down he knew that was a flimsy excuse. He was simply incredibly attracted to Ann Waverly, elusive woman that she was.

Ann studied Jeffrey, hoping he would stay, yet conversely wishing he'd disappear. He was too tempting. She could still feel the warmth of his kiss on her fingertips. This was not the time to become involved with a dangerously handsome man. Furthermore, he was a guest of the hotel:. Period! End of discussion. She needed every bit of her energy to meet the challenge she'd accepted from her boss.

"So you're concierge for the day?" he asked.

She nodded.

His tanned features relaxed; his grin warmed her fluttering heart. "I come from a little town in Utah. Mountainview."

"I know."

"You do?" He was startled, then he chuckled. "Ah, yes, the registration card. Handy things to have around."

"I guess."

"I'm delighted that you were interested enough to look."

She lowered her gaze and her cheeks glowed with color. "I think the word to describe my feelings would be 'curious.' "

"Or 'terrified'?" he suggested, tipping her chin up with his finger and smiling. "I know I bellowed like a wounded moose the other night."

"Well, not terrified," she said. "More like alarmed." She laughed softly. "You looked like you'd been stranded on one of your mountains for months."

"Only two days," he said. "But they were long ones. I led a volunteer wilderness rescue team at Mountainview. When you and I first met. I'd just returned from a two-day search for a little boy."

"Did you find him?" she asked, almost afraid to know the answer. Jeffrey had looked so exhausted that night. He may not have been successful.

"We found him, safe and sound," he said. "But we were lucky. He knew enough to find shelter and stay put."

"I'm so glad to hear it. And it explains why you looked the way you did that night." Her eyes sparkled with sudden tears of relief. "I think only a very special person would risk his life in order to save another's."

Jeffrey was uncomfortable with her sincere praise. Her glistening gaze, her warm smile, were genuine expressions of her feelings. Of that he was sure. "That's nice of you to say, Ann, but it was a team effort." He shook his head and chuckled. "You should have seen that little guy leap into his dad's arms and try to hug his mom at the same time with the little strength he had left." He gazed into Ann's eyes. "I thought he'd never let go of them. Or they let go of him."

"I don't suppose a search always ends so happily."

The grin slid from his lips. "No, and those are the times I die a little myself. It's hard. Real hard."

Ann tentatively reached out a hand and covered his clenched fist. "I'm sorry I brought it up, Mr. Madison. Forgive me?"

The smile returned to his eyes first, then his mouth curved into a mischievous grin. "Only if you call me by my first name."

"I couldn't. The house rules."

"Sure you can. Look at me and watch my lips."

Oh, that was very easy to do, she decided, lifting her gaze.

"Now, repeat after me. Jeffrey." He cocked his head and waited.

"Jeffrey," she murmured.

"Ah, Ann, that sounded wonderful. Say it again."

"Jeffrey," she repeated, then realized what she was doing. This would never do. "I have a question, Jeffrey," she said, trying to change the subject to more neutral ground. "What was the big hurry to get here? You should have rested first."

"I had an important meeting scheduled," he answered, careful to be vague. "Anyway, I don't often get to the big city. Let's see you do your stuff."

For the next half hour Ann gave him chapter and verse about the sights, sounds, and educational tours in the St. Charles area. Jeffrey listened patiently, asking questions, making choices.

"Excellent work, Ms. Waverly," he said finally. "I'll be sure to tell management how helpful you've been."

"I'm only doing my job, sir," she replied, but couldn't keep from smiling at his compliment.

"Will you make reservations for the two tours I've indicated?" he asked. "I'd like to have confirmation now."

It took her another fifteen minutes to make the calls. When she was through, she sighed with relief and smiled at Jeffrey. "Everything is confirmed, Mr. Madison. I hope you enjoy your tours."

Jeffrey tipped his head to one side, rubbing the back of his neck as if he were ill at ease. "Ah . . .would you mind making those reservations for two? I'd like to invite a lady."

Ann wasn't quite able to mask her features when she gritted her teeth, but after one unguarded moment she smiled again. "Certainly, sir. Your guest's name?"

"Ann Waverly."

She moaned, frustrated. "But I've told you, I can't go out with you."

"You'd be my tour guide."

"I would not!" she shot back, and was incredulous when he grinned engagingly. That grin tunneled straight into her heart.

"Others would think so," he said.

"Perhaps, but I'd know different."

"So would I," he said softly, stroking her hand slowly. It was a vivid reminder of the touch of his warm lips. He glanced down when he felt a trembling beneath his fingers. "I'd like to kiss you, Ann," he murmured. "Come away with me, away from this hotel and your job. Travel with me to the land where wishes come true." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "And, Annie, I do wish to kiss you . . . again and again."

Her lips parted and her breath caught, and Jeffrey pressed his advantage. "Speak with your heart, Annie," he whispered, leaning closer. "Let's live dangerously. We can fool the world for a few hours."

Oh, no! she thought in dismay. She longed to say yes, to give in to the temptation to spend an entire day with him, gazing into his eyes, listening to his deep voice .... And that kind of challenge was just her cup of tea. But she couldn't, she told herself. She absolutely, positively could not.

"It wouldn't be ethical," she said. "I'm truly sorry."

He frowned, not accustomed to negative responses in any area of his life. "But I want to spend some time with you. Alone." He laughed gruffly. "What's it take to get a date with you? A move out of the hotel?"

Her musical laughter and dancing blue eyes were almost his undoing. "Surely, a date with me can't mean that much. You'll be gone soon. I'd feel guilty if you took such drastic action."

"I may be here for some time," he argued doggedly. "It's indefinite."

"Oh? What business are you in?"

Secrets, secrets! complained his churning brain. Tell the truth, but make it evasive. "I'm . . . ah . . . a headhunter."

"In what field?"

"Corporate executives." Well done, he congratulated himself.

"That must be an interesting profession. Traveling around the country, interviewing all types of people."

He shook his head, searching for a way to get her off the track. "It's boring as hell, Ann." He favored her with another dazzling smile, enjoying the pink flush on her cheeks. "I'd rather talk about our trip."

"I've told you, Mr. Madison-"

"Jeffrey . . . please," he said coaxingly.

"All right. Jeffrey. But the answer is still no." She tried hard to keep her voice firm and unwavering:

He grinned again and shrugged. "Can't say I didn't try to change your mind."

She laughed throatily. "Now, that's a fact!"

He rose from his chair, hesitated for a moment, then turned back to her. "Ah . . . would you do me one last favor?"

"Certainly, Mr. Madison."

He fixed her with a warning gaze.

"Certainly, Jeffrey," she corrected herself. "What is it?"

"Would you cancel my reservations? I hate to sight see alone."

"What?" She rose halfway from her Queen Anne chair.

His large hand pressed her shoulder, easing her back into place. "Temper, temper!"

Trying to catch her breath, she used vast amounts of energy to harness an unladylike retort. "You're perfectly right. Thank you, sir. I'll see to it at once."

He grinned like a young kid who'd just pulled his best practical joke of the week. He was delighted with her iron control. It was a little ragged around the edges, but she'd done it.

"See you around, Annie." He waved jauntily. "Thanks for your time. Oh," he added, "if you should change your mind, I'll be in the lounge on Friday evening. Perhaps you'll let me buy you a drink."

She glared after him as he walked away, then her irritation began to fade as she saw the humor of the situation. "What chutzpah!" she exclaimed softly. The man simply would not take no for an answer.

She saw Jeffrey again later in the afternoon, but he didn't look her way. Dressed in sports clothes, he strode out the front entrance and got into her boss's limousine. Mrs. Cummings's chauffeur, Charles, was at the wheel. Ann could see Jeffrey speak with him for a moment, then the limo pulled away. Did Jeffrey know her boss? she wondered. It certainly was curious that he should be using her car. And her chauffeur.

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