That hadn’t kept her from dreaming, though. She knew there was a man for her; she just hadn’t found him yet. One day she’d know what a physical relationship would be like, but she also wanted something deeper. Whoever she eventually married would have to understand her, share her dreams, be there to build a future with her, and love her unconditionally.She didn’t want to think it, knew it would be futile and useless and lead her nowhere, but Jackson looked as if he belonged in her home. She could picture him stretched out with her on her sofa watching TV, or using her shower, or lying in herbed with his arms wrapped around her. The visions seemed so real, so effortless that they could have already happened and were now a part of her memory.The pressure in her throat spread to her chest, squeezing until she couldn’t breathe. Rachel hurried into the kitchen where she leaned against the counter, eyes closed, and searched inside herself for some sort of calm. She didn’t expect to find

'Of course we’d have a bill-of-sale, only it isn’t. . .’ Jackson reached out with one hand, gripped her upper arm and pulled her to him. ‘Don’t try to lie and tell me it isn’t here.’‘I ... I wasn’t.’ Though that was exactly what she’d intended to do. She needed to buy some time so she could question Emily and Penny without Jackson listening. ‘Why are you assuming it’s stolen? Are you preprogrammed to always think the worst of me?’‘The vase is hot, Rachel.’‘How do I know that? Because you say so?’ She drew a shuddering breath. ‘You come into my store throwing accusations without backing them up. How do I know you didn’t plant it yourself? I don’t know you that well, either, Jackson. Maybe you’re so desperate to save your business you’ll sabotage mine, offer me up as a sacrificial lamb.’He pushed closer, trapped her between the wall and his body. She thought about struggling, but knew the effort would be futile. Besides, she wasn’t afraid of him - what he could do to her business, y

Arriving with the destructive force of a flash flood, Jackson’s dark eyes took on the appearance of bruised clouds whipped with icy rain. The air around him sizzled with trapped electricity. The hair on Rachel’s arms stood on end, tracking a path up to her nape where tingles crept across her scalp. She thought it odd for the sky to be clear and crisp and softening with the approaching dusk. Heated wind should be beating against the wooden slats of her house, while stinging rain slashed her windows. But the storm had come inside - with her. Somehow she had to get rid of it.She tilted her head back and held her ground as Jackson stepped into her entry way. Her grip on the doorknob tightened and she planted her other hand on the wooden trim, blocking his path. ‘You’re not coming inside.’He hesitated, backed up a step. His eyes narrowed a calculating degree. ‘Aren’t you acting a little childish?’‘About letting a virtual stranger into my home? A man who has done nothing but harass me an

She stared at the empty spot where the car had been parked as her mind absorbed the fact. Instead of welcoming the respite, she experienced an absurd form of resentment that he’d left without telling her. Back inside, she shut the door, her thoughts narrowing on the man who was quickly becoming an obsession. He’d been so adamant about following her everywhere, why would he leave without talking to her first? Was he up to something, or had he simply gone for a cup of sludge coffee and a restroom break, which he must definitely need after nearly ten hours of surveillance work?Returning to the kitchen, she switched on the gas under the kettle filled with water. She reached for a cup but hesitated when she spotted a piece of her stationery on the counter. Her heart missed a beat as she picked it up.So he had been inside. She glanced around, expecting him to appear. She remembered unlocking the front door. Then how . . . ? The back door. Had she locked it after he’d left? She couldn’t re

Rachel stood alone in the middle of Jackson’s immense living room, absorbing facts about him that he would never have revealed on his own. White mini-blinds on the patio door blended with the off-white walls. He hadn’t bothered with pictures or drapes to relieve the bleached color. The couch, set at a haphazard angle in the middle of the room, was a burlap, Rent-to-Own special that no one in their right mind would ever buy. Or at least, no one with any taste. A veneered walnut-brown end table supported a pastel lamp that she guessed dated from the 60s. He didn’t own a coffee table. The room seemed a contradiction to the man she thought she was coming to know.She made a slow turn, noticing the lack of personal mementos, framed photographs, anything that would allude to a hobby or special interest. No books or magazines. A pile of folders and newspapers tossed on the floor was the only evidence that the place was inhabited at all. She couldn’t imagine anyone living here. It was as if J