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  a careful signature, she recognized it as a child's even before she read the date printed beneath.

  He'd drawn it when he was a child, she realized. Just a little boy making a picture of his home—and already recognizing its value, already talented and insightful enough to translate that value, that warmth and stability with his pencil.

  Helplessly, her heart softened toward him. He might be an idiot with an oversized water pistol, but he was a good man. If art reflected the artist, he was a very special man.

  She followed the sound of voices back into the kitchen. This, she recognized immediately, was another family center, one captained by a female who took cooking seriously. The long counters were a pristine white making a bright, happy contrast to the candy-apple-red trim. They were covered with platters and bowls of food. Seth stood with his arm around Anna's shoulders. Their heads were close together, and though she continued to unwrap a bowl, there was a unity in their stance.

  Love. Dru could feel the flow of it from across the room, the simple, strong, steady flow of it. The din might have continued from outside, people might have winged in and out the back door, but the two of them made a little island of affection.

  She'd always been attracted to that kind of connection, and found herself smiling at them before the woman—that would be Grace—backed out of the enormous refrigerator with yet another platter in hand.

  "Oh, Dru. Here, let me take those."

  Grace set the bowl aside; Anna and Seth turned. And Dru's smile dimmed into politeness.

  Her heart might have softened toward the artist, but she wasn't about to let the idiot off the hook too easily.

  "Thanks. They're only damp really. The shirt got the worst of it."

  "I got the worst of it." Seth tipped his head toward Anna before he stepped forward. "Sorry. Really. I don't know how I mistook you for a thirteen-year-old boy."

  The stare she aimed at him could have frozen a pond at ten paces. "Why don't we just say I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and leave it at that."

  "No, this is the right place." He took her hand, lifted it to his lips in what she imagined he thought of as a charming gesture. And damn it, it was. "And it's always the right time."

  "Gack," was Jake's opinion as he swung through the back door. "Crabs are going in," he told Seth. "Dad says for you to get your ass out there."

  "Jake!"

  Jake sent his mother an innocent look. "I'm just the messenger. We're starving."

  "Here." Anna stuffed a deviled egg in his mouth. "Now carry this outside. Then come back, without slamming the door, and apologize to Dru."

  Jake made mumbling noises around the egg and carried the platter outside.

  "It really wasn't his fault," Dru began.

  "If this wasn't, something else was. Something always is. Can I get you some wine?"

  "Yes, thanks." Obviously, she wasn't going to be able to escape. And the fact was, she was curious about the family that lived in a young artist's pencil sketch. "Ah, is there something I can do to help?"

  "Grab whatever, take it out. We'll be feeding the masses shortly."

  Anna lifted her eyebrows as Seth grabbed a platter, then pushed the door open for Dru and her bowl of coleslaw. Then Anna wiggled those eyebrows at Grace. "They look cute together."

  "They do," Grace agreed. "I like her." She wandered to the door to spy out with Anna. "She's always a little cool at first, then she warms up—or relaxes, I guess. She's awfully pretty, isn't she?

  And so… polished."

  "Money usually puts a gleam on you. She's a bit stiff yet, but if this group can't loosen her up, nothing can. Seth's very attracted."

  "So I noticed." Grace turned her head toward Anna. "I guess we'd better find out more about her."

  "My thoughts exactly." She went back to fetch the wine.

  THE Quinn BROTHERS were impressive examples of the species individually. As a group, Dru decided, they were staggering. They might not have shared blood, but they were so obviously fraternal—tall, lanky, handsome and most of all male.

  The quartet around the huge steaming pot simply exuded manhood like other men might a distinctive aftershave. She didn't doubt for a moment that they knew it.

  They were what they were, she thought, and were pretty damned pleased about it.

  As a woman she found that sort of innate self-satisfaction attractive. She respected confidence and a good, healthy ego. When she wandered around to the brick pit where they steamed the crabs to deliver, at Anna's request, a foursome of cold beer, she caught the end of a conversation.

  "Asshole thinks he's Horatio fucking Hornblower." From Cam.

  "More like Captain fucking Queed." Muttered by Ethan.

  "He can be anybody he wants, as long as his money's green."

  Delivered with a shrug by Phillip. "We've built boats for assholes before, and will again."

  "One fuckhead's the same as—" Seth broke off when he spotted Dru.

  "Gentlemen." She never batted an eyelash. "Cold beer for hot work."

  "Thanks." Phillip took them from her. "Heard you've already cooled off once today."

  "Unexpectedly." Relieved of the bottles, she lifted her wineglass to her lips, sipped. "But I prefer this method to the Super Soaker 5000." Ignoring Seth, she looked at Ethan. "Did you catch them?" she asked, gesturing to the pot.

  "Deke and I, yeah." He grinned when Seth cleared his throat. "We took him along for ballast," he told Dru. "Got blisters on his city hands."

  "Couple days in the boatyard might toughen him up," Cam speculated. "Always was puny though."

  "You're just trying to insult me so I'll come in and do the hot fifty-fifty work." Seth tipped back his beer. "Keep dreaming."

  "Puny," Phillip said, "but smart. Always was smart."

  "I wonder if I could come in sometime, take a look around at your work."

  Cam tilted his head toward Dru. "Like boats, do you?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "Why don't we go for a sail," Seth asked her.

  She spared him a glance that was on the edge of withering. "Keep dreaming," she suggested and strolled away.

  "Classy," was Phillip's opinion.

  .•

  "She's a nice girl," Ethan said as he checked the pot.

  "Hot," Cam commented. "Very, very hot."

  "You want to cool off, I'll be happy to stick the Super Soaker 5000 up your ass," Seth told him.

  "Got a bead on her?" Cam shook his head as if in pity. "She looks out of your league to me, kid."

  "Yeah." Seth gulped more beer. "I'm a big fan of interleague play."

  Phillip watched Seth wander off, then chuckled. "Our boy's going to be spending a hell of a lot of money on flowers for the next little while."

  "That particular bloom's got some long stems on her," Cam remarked.

  "Got careful eyes." Ethan gave the traditional Quinn shoulder jerk when Cam frowned at him. "Watches everything, including Seth, but it's all one step back, you know. Not because she's shy—the girl isn't shy. She's careful."

  "She comes from big money and politics." Phillip considered his beer. "Bound to make you careful."

  "Saint Chris is a funny place for her to end up, isn't it?" To Cam's mind, family forged you—the family you were born to or the family you made. He wondered how Dru's had forged her.

  SHE'D INTENDED to stay no more than an hour. A polite hour while her clothes dried. But somehow she was drawn into a conversation with Emily about New York. And one with Anna about gardening. Then there were the mutual acquaintances with Sybill and Phillip from D.C.

  The food was wonderful. When she complimented the potato salad, Grace offered her the recipe. Dru wasn't quite sure how to announce that she didn't cook.

  There were arguments—over baseball, clothes, video games. It didn't take her long to realize it was just another kind of interaction. Dogs sidled up to the table and were ordered firmly away—usually after someone snuck food into a canine mouth. The breeze blew in
cool over the water while as many as six conversations went on at the same time.

  She kept up. Early training had honed her ability to have something to say to everyone and anyone in social situations. She could comment about boats and baseball, food and music, art and travel even when the talk of them and more leaped and swirled around her.

  She nursed a second glass of wine and stayed far longer than she'd intended. Not just because she couldn't find a polite way to leave. Because she liked them. She was amused by and envious of the intimacy of the family. Despite their numbers and the obvious differences—could sisters be less alike than the sharp-tongued, sports-loving Aubrey and Emily, the waiflike ballerina?—they were all so firmly interlinked.

  Like individual pieces of one big, bold puzzle, Dru decided. The puzzle of family always fascinated her. Certainly her own continued to remain a mystery to her.

  However colorful and cheerful they seemed on the surface, Dru imagined the Quinn puzzle had its share of shadows and complications.

  Families always did.

  As did men, she thought, turning her head deliberately to meet Seth's dead-on stare. She was perfectly aware that he'd watched her almost continuously since they'd sat down to eat. Oh, he was good at the conversation juggling, too; she'd give him that. And from time to time he'd tune his attention fully on someone else. But his gaze, that straight-on and vivid blue gaze, would always swing back to her.

  She could feel it, a kind of heat along her skin. She refused to let it intrigue her. And she certainly wasn't going to let it fluster her.

  "The afternoon light's good here." His eyes still on Dru, he scooped up a forkful of pasta salad. "Maybe we'll do some outdoor work. You got anything with a long, full skirt? Strapless or sleeveless to show off your shoulders. Good strong shoulders," he added with another scoop of pasta. "They go with the face."

  "That's lucky for me, isn't it?" She dismissed him with a slight wave of her hand and turned to Sybill. "I enjoyed your last documentary very much, the studies and examples of blended family dynamics. I suppose you based some of your findings on your own experiences."

  "Hard to get away from it. I could study this bunch for the next couple of decades and never run out of material."

  "We're all Mom's guinea pigs," Fiona stated as she handily picked out another crab. "Better watch out. You hang out around here, Seth'll have you naked on a canvas and Mom'll have you analyzed in a book."

  "Oh, I don't know." Aubrey gestured with her drink. "Annie Crawford hung around here for months, and Seth never did paint her—naked or otherwise. I don't think Sybill ever wrote about her either, unless I missed the one about societal placement of brainless bimbos."

  "She wasn't brainless," Seth put in.

  "She called you Sethie. As in, 'Oh, Sethie, you're a regular Michael Dee Angelo.'"

  "Want me to start trotting out some of the guys you hung with a few years back? Matt Fisher, for instance?"

  "I was young and shallow."

  "Yeah, you're old and deep now. Anyway"—he shifted that direct gaze to Dru again—"you got a long, flowy thing? Little top?"

  "No."

  "We'll get something."

  Dru sipped the last of her wine, tilted her head slightly to indicate interest. "Has anyone ever declined to be painted by you?"

  "No, not really."

  "Let me be the first."

  "He'll do it anyway," Cam told her. "Kid's got a head like a brick."

  "And that comes from the most flexible, most reasonable, most accommodating of men," Anna declared as she rose. "Anybody got room for dessert?"

  They did, though Dru didn't see how. She declined offers of cakes, pies, but lost the battle of wills over a double fudge brownie that she nibbled on before changing back into her own clothes.

  She folded the borrowed shirt and jeans, set them on the bed, took one last look around the cozy bedroom, then started down.

  Dru stopped short in the kitchen doorway when she spotted

  Anna and Cam in front of the sink in an embrace a great deal more torrid than she expected from parents of teenagers.

  "Let's go upstairs and lock the door," Dru heard him say—and wasn't sure where to look when she noted Cam's hands slide around possessively to squeeze his wife's butt. "No one will miss us."

  "That's what you said after dinner last Thanksgiving." There was both warmth and fun in her voice when Anna linked her arms around Cam's neck. "You were wrong."

  "Phil was just jealous because he didn't think of it first."

  "Later, Quinn. If you behave, I might just let you… Oh, Dru."

  From the easy grins on their faces, Dru concluded she was the only one of the trio who was the least bit embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I wanted to thank you for the hospitality. I really enjoyed the afternoon."

  "Good. Then you'll come again. Cam, let Seth know Dru's leaving, will you?" And damned if she didn't give his butt a squeeze before easing out of his arms.

  "Don't bother. You have a wonderful family, a beautiful home. I appreciate your letting me share them today."

  "I'm glad you dropped by," Anna said, giving Cam a silent signal as she laid an arm over Dru's shoulder to walk her to the front door. "The key." Shaking her head, Dru dug into her purse. "I completely forgot the reason I came by in the first place. Would you give this to Seth? He can store whatever he needs to in there for the time being. We'll work out the details later."

  Anna heard the kitchen door slam. "You might as well give it to him yourself. Come back," she said, then gave Dru a quick, casual kiss on the cheek.

  "Taking off?" A little winded, Seth hurried up to catch Dru on the front porch. "Why don't you stay? Aubrey's getting a soft-ball game together."

  "I have to get home. The key." She held it out while he only stood looking at her. "Utility room? Storage?"

  "Yeah, yeah." He took it, stuffed it in his pocket. "Listen, it's early, but if you want to split, we can go somewhere. A drive or something."

  "I have things to do." She walked toward her car. "We'll have to try for less of a crowd on our second date." She paused, looked back at him over her shoulder. "We haven't had a first date yet."

  "Sure we did. Steamed crabs, just as predicted. You get to pick the menu and venue for date number two."

  Jiggling the car keys in her hand, she turned to face him. "I came by to give you the key, got blasted with a water gun and had a crab feast with your large, extended family. That doesn't make this a date."

  "This will."

  He had a smooth move—so smooth she never saw it coming. Maybe if she had, she'd have evaded. Or maybe not. But that wasn't the issue as his hands were cupped on her shoulders and his mouth was warm and firm on hers.

  He lifted her, just slightly. He tilted his head, just a little. So his lips rubbed hers—a seductive tease—and his hands cruised down her body to add an unexpected punch of heat.

  She felt the breeze flutter against her cheeks, and heard the blast of music as someone turned the stereo up to scream again. And when the hard line of him pressed against her, she realized she'd been the one to move in.

  The long, liquid tugs deep in her belly warned her, but still she shot her fingers through that thick, sun-streaked hair and let his hands roam.

  He'd meant to suggest with a kiss, to tease a smile or a frown out of her so he could have the pleasure of watching either expression move over her face.

  He'd only intended to skim the surface, perhaps to show them both hints of what could lie beneath. But when she'd leaned into him, locked around him, he sank.

  Women were a dazzling array of colors for him. Mother, sister, lover, friend. But he'd never had another woman strike him with such brilliance. He wanted to steep in it, in her until they were both drenched.

  "Let me come home with you, Drusilla." He skimmed his lips over her cheek, down to her throat, back up and along the finger-brush indentation in her chin, and to her mouth. "Let me lie down with you. Be with you. Let me touch you."

&nb
sp; She shook her head. She didn't like speed, she reminded herself. A smart woman never turned a corner until she'd looked at the map for the entire route—and even then, she went forward only with caution.

  "I'm not impulsive, Seth. I'm not rash." She put her hands on his shoulders to nudge him away, but her gaze was direct. "I don't share myself with a man just because there's heat."

  "Okay." He pressed his lips to her forehead before he stepped back. "Stay. We'll play some ball, maybe go for a sail. We'll keep it simple today."

  With some men, the suggestion would have been just another ploy to persuade her into bed. But she didn't sense that with him.

  He meant what he said, she decided. "I might actually like you after a while."

  "Counting on it."

  "But I can't stay. I left a number of things undone to come by, and I've stayed much longer than I intended."

  "Didn't you ever ditch school?"

  "No."

  He braced a hand on the car door before she could open it, and his face was sincerely shocked. "Not once?"

  "Afraid not."

  "A rule player," he considered. "Sexy."

  She had to laugh. "If I said I'd skipped school once a week, you'd have called me a rebel and said that was sexy."

  "Got me. How about dinner tomorrow night?"

  "No." She waved him away from the car door. "I need to think about this. I don't want to be interested in you."

  "Which means you are."

  She slid behind the wheel. "Which means I don't want to be. I'll let you know if I change my mind. Go back to your family. You're lucky to have them," she said, then closed the car door.

  He watched her back out, then drive away. His blood was still warm from the kiss, and his mind too full of her and the possibilities for him to take notice of the car that eased from the shoulder of the road by the trees, then followed after Dru's.

  * * *

  Chapter Five

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  SHE KNEW HE'D MOVED IN. Now and again when Dru went into the back room of the shop, she could hear music through the vents. It didn't surprise her that he played it loud, or that his choices varied from head-banging rock to mellow blues and into passionate opera.

  Nothing about Seth Quinn surprised her.

  He came and went during the first week of his lease without any rhyme or reason she could see. Occasionally he breezed in and out of the shop, to ask if she needed anything, to let her know he'd be starting on the skylights, to tell her he'd moved some things into the storage space and made a copy of the key.

  He was always friendly, never seemed particularly rushed. And never once attempted to follow up on the steamy afternoon kiss.

  It irked her, for a number of reasons. First, she'd been set to deflect any follow-up, at least for the time being. She had no intention of Seth, or any man,