It was one of those winter evenings when the Houston weather couldn't make up its mind about what it wanted to do. It rained on and off for a while, a few sideways gusts hitting us beneath the shelter of an umbrella as Jack guided us inside. I gathered Jack was a regular at this place — he appeared to know the bouncer, two of the bartenders, a couple of waitresses, and pretty much everyone who passed by our small table. In fact, Heidi seemed to know everyone too. I was introduced to a steady parade of overworked Houstonites who were all desperate for their first Friday-evening cocktails.

A couple of times Heidi nudged me under the table when a nice-looking guy had stopped by. "He's cute, isn't he? I know him — I could fix you up. And that one over there — he's cute too. Which one do you like better?"

"Thank you," I said, appreciating her efforts, "but I'm still not over the divorce."

"Oh, you've got to get a rebound guy," Heidi said, "Rebound guys are the best." "They are?"

"They never even think of getting serious, because everyone knows you don't jump into a relationship right after a divorce. They just want to be your welcome wagon when you start ha**ng s*x again. It's your time to experiment, girl!"

"The world is my petri dish," I said, raising my drink.

After slowly drinking one and a half vodka martinis, I was ready to go home. The bar was getting more crowded, and the groups of bodies moving by our table reminded me of upstreaming salmon. I looked at Jack and Heidi, who appeared in no hurry to go anywhere, and I felt the kind of loneliness that can happen in a roomful of people when everyone but you seems to be in on the good time.

"Hey, you two . . . I'm heading out."

"You can't," Jack said, frowning. "It's not even eight o'clock."

"Jack, I've had two drinks and met three hundred and twenty-eight people," — I paused to grin at Heidi — "including a couple of potential rebound guys."

"I'll fix you up with one of 'em," Heidi said enthusiastically. "We'll go on a double date!"

When hell and half of Texas freezes over, I thought, but I smiled. "Sounds great. Let's talk later. Bye, y'all."

Jack began to stand. "I'll help you get a cab."

"No, no . . . stay with Heidi. I'll ask one of the door guys to help me." I shook my head in exasperation as he still looked concerned. "I can find the front door and get a cab. In fact, 1800 Main is close enough I could even walk."

"Don't even think about it," he said.

"I'm not planning to walk, I was just pointing out . . . Never mind. Have fun."

Relieved at the prospect of going home and taking off my high-heeled pumps, I plunged into the mass of jostling bodies. It gave me a clammy feeling, being close to so many people.

"I don't think it's an outright phobia," Susan had said when I'd told her I thought I'd developed sexophobia. "That would put it on the level of a disorder, and I'm not convinced the problem is that deep-seated. What happens is, after an experience like you had with Nick, your unconscious mind says 'I'll attach feelings of aversion and anxiety to the opposite sex, so I'll avoid ever being hurt again.' It's just a matter of rewiring."

"Well, I'd like to wire around it, then. Because I don't think I have it in me to go g*y."

"You don't have to go g*y," Susan had said, smiling. "You just have to find the right man. It'll happen when you're ready."

In retrospect, I wished I'd had sex with someone before Nick, some positive association that would help me get back in the saddle, so to speak. Bleakly I wondered how many men I was going to have to sleep with before I started to like it. I wasn't good at acquired tastes.

The mass of people inched by the bar. Every stool was occupied, hundreds of drinks set along the expanse of glittering mosaic table-top tiles. There was no way to get to the door other than follow along with the herd. Revulsion spiked in my stomach every time I felt another impersonal brush of someone's hip, someone's stomach, someone's arm. To distract myself, I tried to calculate how many people beyond the acceptable fire code level had been admitted to the bar.

Someone in the herd stumbled or staggered. It was a domino effect, one person falling into another until I felt the impact of a shoulder against mine. The momentum pushed me into the line of barstools, causing me to drop my purse. I would have bumped hard into the bar if someone sitting there hadn't reached out to steady me.

"Sorry, ma'am," someone called from the crowd.

"It's okay," I said breathlessly, hunting for my purse.

"Here, let me get that," the guy on the barstool said, bending down to retrieve it.

"Thanks."

As the guy straightened and handed me the purse, I looked up into a pair of blue eyes, and everything stopped, the sound of voices, the background music, every footstep, blink, breath, heartbeat. Only one person I'd ever met had eyes that color. Dazzling. Devil-blue.

I was slow to react, trying to jump-start my heart back into action, and then my pulse hammered too hard, too fast. All I could think of was that the last time — the only time — I'd seen Hardy Cates, I'd been wrapped around him in my family's wine cellar.

CHAPTER SIX

People were pressing behind me, trying to get the bartender's attention. I was about to be trampled. With a murmur, Hardy Cates guided me to the stool he'd been occupying, helping me up. I was too dazed to object. The leather seat was warm from his body. He stood with one hand on the counter, the other on the back of my chair, sheltering me. Trapping me.Hardy was a little leaner than I remembered, a little more seasoned, tempered by maturity. The look of experience suited him, especially because somewhere deep in those eyes, there still lurked a dangerous invitation to play. He had a quality of masculine confidence that was a thousand times more potent than mere handsomeness. Perfect good looks could leave you cold, but this kind of sexy charisma went straight to your knees. I had no doubt every available woman at the bar had been drooling over him.