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"I've got my reasons, and they're private."
"I won't tell."
"Don't push it, Phoebe."
"Please. I want to know."
He sighed and she thought she saw something that looked very much like guilt flash across his features. "If you repeat this, I'll call you ten different kinds of a liar."
"I won't repeat, it."
"The suspension is going to hurt the team, and I don't like that. It'll take a miracle for us to win this Sunday, and it'll be tough to recover from one and four. But I'm not fighting it because Ron finally did the right thing. I was way out of line. I just never expected him to call me on it."
She finally smiled. "I don't believe it. You actually called him Ron."
"It slipped out, so don't count on it happening again." He began walking. "And don't think I've changed my opinion about him just because he finally showed some gumption. The jury's still out as far as I'm concerned. Now what about Saturday?"
She hesitated. "Why, Dan? We've already agreed that we don't mix well."
"I'm not siccing my lawyers on you. Isn't that a good enough reason?"
They had reached the end of the cul-de-sac. As they came around the curve, she gathered her courage. "I'm not a toy. You can't use me to amuse yourself and then toss me away when you're done."
His voice was surprisingly soft. "Then why do you act like one?"
Although he sounded more puzzled than accusatory, the hurt came back, and she picked up her stride.
He stayed with her. "You can't have it both ways. You can't flirt with everything in pants, wear clothes that look like they've been shrink-wrapped on your body, then expect people to treat you like you're Mother Teresa."
Because she knew there was truth in what he was saying, she stopped walking and turned to confront him. "I don't need a lecture from you. And since you're into personal assessment, maybe you should consider looking in the mirror and figuring out why you can't control your temper."
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I already know the answer to that one. And I'm not talking to you about it, so don't even let yourself get warmed up to ask."
"Then you shouldn't ask me why I act like a—The way I do."
He gave her a long, searching look. "I don't understand you. You're not like any woman I've ever met, except I keep thinking you're exactly like so many of the women I've met, and that's when I get into trouble."
Even as she gazed at him standing in a pool of golden light with the wind rustling his hair, she could hear the creak of the paddle wheel fan overhead. "I'm not going to bed with you again." She spoke softly. "That was a terrible mistake."
"I know."
She wished he hadn't agreed so quickly. "I don't think Saturday is a good idea."
He refused to be
brushed off. "It's a great idea. You like art, and we'll be out in public, so we won't be able to paw each other."
"That's not what I meant!"
He grinned and chucked her under the chin, looking much too pleased with himself. "Pick you up at noon, hot stuff."
As he walked away from her toward his car, she raised her voice. "Don't you call me hot stuff!"
"Sorry." He opened the door and slid inside. "Hot stuff, ma 'am."
She stood beneath the streetlamp and watched him drive away. It was only an art show, she thought. What harm could there be?
Ray Hardesty could see Phoebe's blond hair shining in the streetlight from his vantage point on the hillside that ran behind the luxury condos. He had parked his van on a narrow road that led to a small residential development, and now he set the binoculars down on the seat. The rumors were true, he thought. Calebow had something personal going with the Stars' new owner.
