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more mellow, and a bit guilty. David Winter still appeared as good-looking as he had when she first laid eyes on him, but he was a stuffed shirt, damn it. But, her thinking continued, she had antagonized him, challenged him, made things a bit uncomfortable. I'll back off a bit, she decided.
    After the delicious meal George excused both herself and Chelsea and hauled her friend upstairs. George whirled on her friend the moment she'd closed the bedroom door. "You're being obnoxious, Chelsea, and you know it. You probably took a dislike to David on your drive over here, didn't you?"
    "He's a stuffed shirt and a preppie," Chelsea said defensively.
    "A bit, maybe, but you've been attacking him as if he were Hitler himself! For goodness' sake, give the poor fellow a chance!"
    "You think I should change my stripes, huh?"
    "You have so many to choose from!"
    "You're right, George," Chelsea said, appearing much struck. She added thoughtfully, smiling impishly, "I think I'll try my fluffy, feminine, helpless stripes for the rest of the evening. Maybe it'll loosen up our three-piece-suited preppie doctor from Boston. It's probably exactly what he's used to from women."
    "Don't go overboard," George warned as they made their way back downstairs. "He's not stupid."
    They heard the men laughing in the living room. David, having added Irish coffee to his three glasses of wine, was feeling no pain. He was stretched out on the floor in front of the fireplace, laughing at one of Elliot's stories.
    It took him a good ten minutes to realize that Chelsea Lattimer had ceased her obnoxious comments. Had she indeed been obnoxious? He wasn't so sure now. Indeed, she was laughing enthusiastically at every story and joke he told.
    Over more Irish coffee Chelsea, at George's encouragement, waxed eloquent on her ill-fated experience with an interior decorator whose dearest love was to place Dresden shepherdesses on every available surface. Women, David thought, but without rancor this time. All they're interested in is spending money. But she was cute, a bit giddy after all that wine, but that just seemed to add to her burgeoning charm. He watched her dark blue eyes sparkle at a bout of repartee between George and Elliot and decided that this bit of female fluff would be quite nice in bed. Lord knew it had been a long time.
    Elliot pulled out Trivial Pursuit and matched himself up with Chelsea. Chelsea, quite aware that Dr. David Winter was nearly as mellow as she, decided to continue her role as the cute lamebrain. She felt sorry for Elliot. They were trounced thoroughly. But no one really cared. Too much wine had passed down all their respective throats, except George, who had had only a wine spritzer.
    "Lord, look at the time," Chelsea said, blinking owlishly down at her watch. "It's nearly one in the morning!"
    As they'd all been lounging on the floor during the game, David had gotten quite a good look at Chelsea's legs. Very nice. Very nice, indeed.
    "Yes, it is late," he agreed. "I think I'd like to follow you home, Chelsea, if that's okay with you."
    He'd taken off his tie and coat, and Chelsea was looking fondly at his muscled forearms. "All right," she said. If he wanted to play masterful protector, it was just fine with her. Maybe he wasn't such a stuffed shirt after all.
    They reached her condo some thirty minutes later. Chelsea was sober as a judge. George accused her of having a hollow leg, and she supposed it was true when it came to white wine. She wondered, looking at David as he came toward her from his car, if the same could be said about him. His very nice hazel eyes were a bit glazed.
    He stopped about three inches from her and gave her what could only be called a scorching look. "Come here," he said, and drew her into his arms.
    Merciful heavens, she thought, one of my heroes couldn't do it any better.

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    Chapter 2
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    H is mouth was hard and aggressive, and his hands were quickly stroking down her back to curve around her