She chuckled. “Only on days when I sense someone else likes a good, rousing debate. But besides that, you just looked like you could use a little distraction. Sometimes it helps to talk with an outsider, you know? It’s not like I know you. What’s the harm?”
That was the whole problem. There seemed no harm. She was unlike anyone in his life—or anyone who was likely to be—and she kept looking at him with those deep, soft eyes. And out it came. The whole corny story of a man who’d waited to marry, unwilling to settle for less than a soul mate, someone who seemed as compatible with him as two sides of the same coin. When he’d found her, his whole world seemed right. For the same reason, once she took off, his whole life seemed wrong. He couldn’t shake the feelings of loss. Nothing he’d ever believed in seemed sure anymore. He had never guessed she was unhappy. He couldn’t grasp how he’d failed her.
Regan listened. He didn’t know for how long. Every time he quit talking, she’d ask him another question in that whiskey-smooth alto of hers. Maybe her voice had him mesmerized. Hell, maybe she did. But she didn’t let up on those soft-voiced, nosy, prying questions until he was spent.
For a few moments after that, silence fell between them. Alex was suddenly aware the bright, afternoon sunshine had faded to the hushed stillness of twilight. He felt as if he was awakening from some fruitcake spell, where he’d been someone else for a few minutes—positively not himself, because Alex Brennan never spilled his private life in front of anyone.
Then, suddenly, it was over. Regan glanced at her bangle watch and yelped in surprise. She shot to her feet. “Good grief, I didn’t realize the time. I have to go!”
She grabbed her unwieldy purse and three books, then darted over to his side of the table, tilted her head and kissed him. If Alex could have guessed the kiss was coming, he might have flown for Tahiti. Or stopped her before it could happen. Or swung her into his lap and responded like a wild man who’d lost all his marbles.
He never had time to make any of those choices. The kiss was over almost before it began. He barely caught the sensation of her sun-warm mouth and the tease of a sweet, forbidden taste before she sprang upright again. She jogged back to the other side of the table, scooped up the rest of her research texts, dropped one, cursed, noisily scraped the chair...and then charged out of his life as fast as she’d charged in.
Alex sat immobile for several more minutes. His heart was slamming, his palms damp, his pulse skittery. The last time he remembered suffering the symptoms of shock, one of those female hurricanes had been terrorizing the North Carolina coast.
The hurricanes had been real. Alex wasn’t absolutely positive that Regan Stuart was.
There seemed some telling evidence that she was an illusion. He’d always been comfortable around women. Quiet women. Quiet, restful, peaceful women. Regan was as blunt, bold and sexy as a man’s definition of dynamite. No one he could conceivably have opened up to about his life. No one who could possibly have kissed him.
Spring fever addled men’s minds. Alex hadn’t slept well in weeks now. Losing Gwen had dominated his mind, the wound raw and unhealable, and he figured he wasn’t going to recover until he understood why she left him, jettisoned the self-pity and faced up to how he’d failed her.
Under those conditions, maybe any man could daydream up the magic of a witchy, wild Lorelei.
Alex shook his head and slowly started to neatly, efficiently gather up his research tomes. He could halfway buy the illusion thing. He wasn’t himself. He wasn’t thinking clearly. But Regan had definitely been real—and the proof of that was the one element in their encounter that nagged at Alex’s mind like a beesting. It had nothing to do with her intimidatingly earthy sensuality or her looks or anything like that. Alex couldn’t imagine a man alive who’d fail to notice those things—even if he were in love with another woman.
But Regan was a woman who didn’t believe in heroes.
From the time Gwen left him, Alex had felt as if he’d lost half his soul. Now, though, he couldn’t help but wonder how Regan had lost half of hers.
She hadn’t said one thing about herself...and as Alex exited the library and headed for home, he doubted that he’d ever find out the answer. In a town as small as Silvertree, it wasn’t that unlikely that he’d run into her. But a repeat of that strange, impossible, unsettling encounter couldn’t possibly happen again.
Two
Hot damn. Regan watched the ticker tape on CNBC roll past. Her Disney stock was up a quarter point. She hit the Off button on the remote control and sat back to bask.
Teaching was her life’s work, but Regan theorized that no woman could stay sane without some vices. She’d been wildly gambling in the stock market for six months now. Well...perhaps wildly was a slight exaggeration. Considering that her entire stock portfolio consisted of five shares of stock, Bill Gates didn’t need to worry about competition from her quite yet.
“But our time is coming, Scarlett. I’m getting into this business tycoon stuff. And at the rate we’re going, I figure we’ll be millionaires by the twenty-third century—maybe even a couple weeks sooner.” The black-and-white angora cat who’d just leapt onto her lap seemed unimpressed with this psychic forecast. She nuzzled insistently against Regan’s chin, shedding tufts of fur in every direction. “What? You want a cat treat? Don’t tell me your food dish is empty again. It just can’t be.”
At the mention of food, Scarlett O’Haira bolted off her lap and aimed in the direction of the kitchen. Regan followed, considering that the cat, like her namesake, was pretty but dumb. She invariably fell for the wrong men without ever considering the consequences.
Regan couldn’t scold. She’d once suffered the same problem.
Dusk was just falling, making the teal-and-cream kitchen shadowy and gloomy. Still, she refrained from turning on the light and carefully tiptoed across the room as soundlessly as Scarlett. The newest litter of kittens was snoozing in a pillow-lined box in the corner. None of them had a good-looking daddy—and for damn sure, they wouldn’t stay sleeping long.
“You’re getting fixed as soon as you wean these,” Regan whispered to Scarlett, who’d heard the warning before and was more interested in gourmet food and cat treats. Silent as a ghost, Regan crouched down and lifted the ten-pound sack of cat food to the counter.
One kitten stirred. The two adult females froze in unison. Both knew there would be no peace once the hellions woke up. And then the telephone jangled, obliterating all hope. The noise made four pairs of kitten eyes pop open—every one of them full of the devil and instantly looking for trouble. Regan grabbed the wall receiver before the second ring, but already knew it was too late. “Hello—”
“Regan? This is Alex Brennan.”
She dropped the cat food bag with a thump on the counter.
“Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here—”
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, not at all...I’d just finished correcting papers and was relaxing for the evening.” So to speak. One orange fuzzball had already pounced on her bare foot with razor claws. Regan hiked up onto the counter and drew up her legs. Scarlett was simply going to have to take care of her wayward children on her own for a bit.
Three days had passed since she’d met Alex in the library. He’d been on her mind, but she’d positively never expected to hear his rich, dark baritone again.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have called. Don’t hesitate to say if it’s a problem. There’s no reason you should want to hear from me—”
“I enjoyed our conversation the other day. And I’m glad to hear from you. You just took me a little by surprise—Scartett, cut that out!”
“Scarlett?”