To my dismay, Jack picked up the most recent issue, which contained one of my more provocative columns.

"Maybe you shouldn't . . ." I began, but my voice trailed away as he paged through the periodical. I could tell the moment he found my page, with its cartoon portrait of me wearing cartoon high heels and a fashionable swing coat. And I knew exactly what he was reading even before his brows began to inch toward his hairline.

Dear Miss Independent,

I'm dating a fantastic guy—handsome, successful, caring, and good in bed. But there's a problem. He's built on the petite side, sexually speaking. I've always heard that size doesn't matter, but I can't help wishing he had more to offer in that department. I want to stay with him in spite of the fact that he's hung like a cocktail weenie, but how can I stop wishing for a kielbasa? "

—Length Lover

Dear Length Lover,

Despite the claims made by a barrage of spam in Miss I.'s mailbox, it is not possible to increase a man's genital size. But here are a few relevant facts to consider: there are approximately 8,000 nerve endings in the clitoris, and a lesser concentration in the outer third of the vagina, and virtually none in the inner two-thirds. Therefore, a shorter penis is able to provide all the necessary stimulation that a longer one can.

For most women, a partner's skills are far more important than his size. Try various positions and techniques, emphasize foreplay, and keep in mind that many roads lead to Rome.

Finally, if you want something big to play with during intercourse, bring some toys to bed. Think of it as outsourcing.

—Miss Independent

Jack's expression was faintly bemused, as if he were attempting to reconcile the persona of Miss Indepen-dent with what he had observed of me so far. Lowering to the small moss-green sofa, he continued to read.

"Come see the kitchen," Haven told me, tugging me toward a tiled area with granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. "Would you like something to drink? "

"Yes, thanks."

She opened the refrigerator. "Mango iced tea, or raspberry basil?"

"Mango, please." I sat on a stool at the island.

Jack ripped his attention away from the magazine long enough to protest, "Haven, you know I can't stand that stuff. Just give me the regular kind."

"I don't have the regular kind," his sister retorted, pulling out a pitcher of citrus-colored tea. "You can try some of the mango."

"What's wrong with tea-flavored tea?"

"Quit complaining, Jack. Hardy tried this a few times and he likes it."

"Honey, Hardy would like it if you picked up grass clippings from the yard and brewed them. He's pu**y-whipped."

Haven bit back a smile. "I dare you to say that to his face."

"Can't," came the laconic reply. "He's pu**y-whipped, but he could still kick the crap out of me."

My eyes widened as I wondered what kind of man could manage to kick the crap out of Jack Travis.

"My fiancé used to be a welder on a drilling rig and he's tough as hell," Haven informed me, her eyes twinkling. "Which is a good thing. Otherwise my three older brothers would have run him off by now."

"We've done everything short of giving him a medal for taking you on," Jack retorted.

From their easy manner with each other, it was clear they enjoyed each other's company. Continuing to bicker companionably, Haven brought some tea to her brother and came back to the kitchen.

After giving me a glass, Haven leaned her forearms on the top of the kitchen island. "Do you like the apartment?" she asked.

"Yes, it's terrific. But there are issues—"

"I know. Here's the deal, Ella," she said with disarming frankness. "I've never paid rent for this apartment, since it came with the job. And after I get married, I'm moving into Hardy's place on the eighteenth floor." A self-conscious smile crossed her face as she added, "Most of my things are there already. So what we've got is an empty furnished apartment. I don't see why you shouldn't stay here with Luke for the next few months—taking care of your own utilities, of course—until it's time for you to go back to Austin. I wouldn't charge you anything, since the apartment would go unused in any case."

"No, I'd have to sublet it," I said. "I couldn't take it for free."

She made a little grimace and ran a hand through the layers of her hair. "I don't know how to put this delicately . . . but whatever you paid me would be nothing more than a symbolic gesture. I don't need the money."

"I still wouldn't consider it otherwise."

"Then take the amount you'd like to pay in rent and invest it for Luke."

"Can I ask why you're not turning this apartment into a revenue-producing property?"

"We've talked about it," she admitted. "There's a waiting list. But we're still not sure what we're ultimately going to do with it. When or if we hire a new manager, he or she will have to live on-site, so we'll need to keep this unit available."

"Why would you need a new—" I began, but I thought better and shut my mouth.

Haven smiled. "Hardy and I will probably try to start a family soon."

"A man who actually wants a baby," I said. "What a concept." There was no sound from Jack. I heard the rustling of glossy magazine pages.