“Cinderella feet.”

“What?” She eyed him quizzically.

“Tiny feet. Glass slipper,” he said by way of explanation.

“Oh.” Then she charged ahead, still on the subject of shoe size. “I have no idea what size shoes the others wear. We can rule out Martina. She couldn’t fake being that terrified. So that leaves DeLynn, April, and Bella.” Looking directly at Dean, she asked, “Have you ever paid any attention to their feet?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“DeLynn is tall and slender. I’d think she’d wear at least an eight. And I seem to recall that April has rather large feet. Maybe a size nine. I have no idea about Bella.”

“Why don’t we wait until Phil has a definite size for us before we play this guessing game,” Dean said. “Once we know a definite size, we can investigate.”

“What do you think they’d do if we asked to see in their closets to look at their shoes?”

Dean reached across the console and grasped Rachel’s shoulder. “Let it rest for tonight. Phil will call us in the morning. In the meantime, we both need some R & R after the day we’ve had. I’ll take you home-”

“I don’t want to go home.” The words flew out of her mouth before she gave the implication any thought. “I-I’m not offering or asking for anything more than just not to be alone. Understand?”

He nodded. “Buckle up.”

He fastened his seat belt. She did the same. Then he started the engine and zoomed the T-bird out into the nighttime traffic. The wind whipped around them, warm and balmy. When he kicked the sports car into high gear, all of Rachel’s senses came into play: The feel of the evening breeze. The sound of the T-bird’s motor and the hum of traffic. The mixed and mingled scents of the big city. The blurred lights and buildings as they zipped by at high speed. The taste of desire and fear in her mouth.

Neither of them spoke on the drive from Martina’s house to Dean’s apartment. Screeching into his designated slot, he parked the Thunderbird in an underground garage. After bringing up the windows and top, he got out, rounded the hood, and opened the door for her. She looked up at him and smiled. He held out his hand.

She put her hand in his and climbed out of his car. “Nothing like death to make you need to prove just how alive you are,” she said.

“Is that what you think this is all about?” He raked the back of his hand over her cheek.

She sucked in her breath. “Maybe, at least in part.”

“And the other part would be?” He took her hand and led her away from the locked car and toward the elevator.

“Needing sex,” she admitted.

He punched the Up arrow button and the elevator doors swung open. Once inside, he hit the Six button, the doors closed, and the elevator began its ascent.

“Nothing personal about it?” he asked, waving his hand between them. “You and me or you and anybody, as long as-”

She put her hand over his mouth. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

They gazed at each other, the connection between them sizzling. She eased her hand away from his mouth.

“I don’t understand you, Rachel. I thought you weren’t into meaningless one-night stands.”

“You’re the one who said we shouldn’t mistake need and want for love,” she told him. “You’re the one who didn’t want to get involved.”

The elevator stopped and then opened on the sixth floor. Without saying a word, Dean waited for her to exit; then he got out, took her hand again, and silently led her to his apartment door.

He took his key ring from his pocket, unlocked the door, and reached around her to flip on the overhead light in the small entry hall. She felt him behind her, his chest to her back, his breath warm on her neck.

“Come into my parlor.”

Said the spider to the fly. Shivering, she hesitated for a millisecond, then when he nudged her into action, she entered his bachelor flat. Nothing fancy. White walls. Wooden floors. Sturdy, masculine furniture. Not overly expensive. Not cheap.

“Come on in and make yourself at home,” he said. “Want something to drink?”

She shook her head.

“So how do we play this?” he asked. “Up-front and honest? Or subtle and coy?”

“I’m not good at playing games.”

“Honey, you sure as hell could have fooled me. I think you’ve been playing a game with me for weeks now.”

“No, I haven’t. Really. I-I-” She turned and walked toward the door. “This was a mistake, wasn’t it? I thought you wanted me, maybe even needed me tonight. I guess you should just take me home.”

Before she knew what was happening, Dean came up behind her, whirled her around, and shoved her up against the wall. He lowered his head and brought his mouth down on hers, taking her in an all-consuming, conquering kiss that both startled and excited her. With his big, hard body pressing against her, she felt his arousal and knew without a doubt that he wanted her.

And she wanted him. God, how she wanted him!

Rachel pushed against his chest until he ended the kiss. They stared at each other, their lips parted, their breathing ragged.

“We don’t have to talk,” she said breathlessly. “We don’t need to analyze this.”

“No, honey, we don’t.”

He swept her up into his arms, kicked his half-closed bedroom door wide open, and carried her to his unmade bed. They tore at each other’s clothes until within minutes they were both naked. Shoes, belts, his slacks, her blouse, and various other items lay scattered on the floor and foot of the bed.

Dean stared at her, visually eating her up as if she were his favorite food. She looked right back at him, appreciating his lean, hard body.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” Dean said as he cupped each of her breasts. “I’ve wanted to see these beauties since I was fourteen.”

She smiled. “Better late than never.”

He released her abruptly. “Wait right here. I’ve got a box of condoms in the bathroom.”

“Do you think we’ll need a whole box?” she asked teasingly.

“Honey, the way I feel about you, we may need more than one box.”

Hours later, as dawn light seeped through his apartment windows, Dean rested on one elbow and stared at the woman asleep beside him. Rachel. His Rachel.

Had she meant it when she’d told him that she loved him? Or had she spoken the words in the heat of the moment? Three times! He hadn’t thought he still had it in him to go three times, not at the ripe old age of thirty-eight. But by God, he had. And he was hard again. Wanted her again.

He kissed her navel. She stirred. He kissed the musky triangle of blond curls between her thighs. Her eyelids popped open.

“Liked that, did you?” he teased.

She ruffled his hair. “I like everything you do to me. Everything.”

“Are you too sore for a little more everything?” he asked as he came up and over her, straddling her hips.

“You know, I could get used to being the object of your desire.”

“Permanently?” he asked, but kept his tone light.

She lifted her arms up and around his neck, drawing him down to her. She kissed him. He rubbed his sex against hers. She sighed into his open mouth.

“What would permanently entail?” she inquired.

Should he tell her that he’d meant it when he had repeatedly told her that he loved her and find out if she really did love him? Should he risk her rejection and ask her to marry him?

“I was thinking-after a proper courtship-we might get engaged and then eventually married and in a year or two after that have a couple of kids and-”

“Why wait?” She spread her legs and lifted her hips, inviting him in, as she pressed her lips against his neck. “I don’t need a proper courtship. A few more dates and then you can buy me a traditional diamond ring.”

“A diamond ring, huh? How big?” He thrust deeply inside her.

She gasped with pleasure. “Really big,” she sighed.

He laughed. “I was talking about the ring.”