In fact, just beyond the outline of his shoulder, I saw the leggy blonde in the next chair glaring at me. I had stumbled, literally, into the middle of their conversation.

"Miss Travis." Hardy looked at me as if he couldn't quite believe I was there. "Pardon. I mean Mrs. Tanner."

"No, I'm . . . it's Travis again." Aware that I was stammering, I said baldly, "I'm divorced."

There was no change in his expression except for a slight widening of those blue-on-blue eyes. He picked up his drink and tossed back a swallow. When his gaze returned to mine, he seemed to be looking right inside me. I flushed hard, remembering the wine cellar again.

The blonde was still giving me the evil eye. I gestured to her awkwardly and babbled, "I'm sorry to interrupt. I didn't mean to . . . please, you go on with your . . . it was nice seeing you, Mr. — "

"Hardy. You're not interrupting anything. We're not together." He glanced over his shoulder, the yellow bar light sliding over the layers of his shiny dark hair. "Excuse me," he said to the woman. "I have to catch up with an old friend."

"Sure," she said with a dimpled smile.

Hardy turned back to me, and the woman's face changed. From the look she gave me, I should have dropped dead on the spot.

"I'm not going to take your chair," I said, beginning to slide off the barstool. "I was just heading out. It's so crowded in here — " My breath caught as my legs touched his, and I scooted up onto the stool again.

"Give it a minute," Hardy said. "It'll thin out soon." He gestured for a bartender, who appeared with miraculous speed.

"Yes, Mr. Cates?"

Hardy looked at me, one brow lifting. "What'll you have?"

I've really got to go, I wanted to tell him, but it came out as, "Dr Pepper, please."

"Dr Pepper — extra cherries," he told the bartender.

Surprised, I asked, "How did you know I like maraschinos?" His mouth curved with a slow burn of a smile. For a moment I forgot how to breathe. "Just figured you for the type who likes extra."

He was too big. Too close. I still hadn't rid myself of the habit of assessing a man in terms of how much damage he could do to me.

Nick had left bruises and fractures — but this guy could kill a normal person with a swipe of his hand. I knew that someone like me, with all my baggage and my possible case of sexophobia had no business being around Hardy Cates.

His hands were still on either side of me, braced on the chair arm and the countertop. I felt the tension of opposing urges, the desire to shrink away from him, and an attraction that prickled like sparks in-side me. His silver-gray tie had been loosened and the top button of his shirt was unfastened, revealing the hint of a white undershirt beneath. The skin of his throat was smooth and brown. I wondered for a second what his body felt like beneath the layers of thin cotton and broadcloth, if he was as hard as I remembered. A tumult of curiosity and dread caused me to fidget on the chair.

I turned gratefully as the bartender brought my drink, a highball of sparkling Dr Pepper. Bright red cherries bobbed on the surface. I plucked one from the drink and pulled the fruit from its stem with my teeth. It was plump and sticky, rolling sweetly on my tongue.

"Did you come here alone, Miss Travis?" Hardy asked. So many men his size had incongruously high voices, but he had a deep voice, made to fill a big chest.

I considered telling him to call me by my first name, but I needed to keep every possible barrier between us, no matter how slight.

"I came with my brother Jack and his girlfriend," I said. "I work for him now. He has a property management company. We were celebrating my first week." I picked out another cherry and ate it slowly, and found that Hardy was watching me with an absorbed, slightly glazed expression.

"When I was little, I could never get enough of these," I said. "I stole jars of maraschinos from the fridge. I ate the fruit like candy and poured the juice into my Coke."

"I bet you were a cute little girl. A tomboy."

"Absolutely a tomboy," I said. "I wanted to be like my brothers. Every Christmas I asked Santa for a tool set."

"Did he ever bring you one?"

I shook my head with a rueful smile. "Lots of dolls. Ballet outfits. An Easy-Bake Oven." I washed down another cherry with a swallow of Dr Pepper. "My aunt finally gave me a junior tool kit, but I had to give it back. My mother said it wasn't appropriate for little girls."

The corner of his mouth quirked. "I never got what I wanted either."

I wondered what that was, but getting into personal subjects with him was out of the question. I tried to think of something mundane. Something about work. "How's your EOR business going?" I asked.

From what I knew, Hardy and a couple of other guys had started a small enhanced oil recovery company that went into mature or spent fields after the big companies were through with them. Using specialized recovery techniques, they could locate leftover reserves, called "bypassed pay." A man could make a lot of money that way.

"We're doing okay," Hardy said easily. "We've bought up leases for some mature fields, and got some good results with CO, flooding. And we bought an interest in a nonoperated property in the Gulf — we're getting some good play out of it." He watched as I drank my Dr Pepper. "You cut your hair," he said softly.

I lifted a hand and scrubbed my fingers through the short layers. "It was in the way."