“I did not! No one’s ever guessed before. And I’ve had…ah…lady friends who have hung around quite a bit longer than you have.”

“Oh, that.” She waved away “lady friends who have hung around.” “Well, that’s the thing about me—the secret thing—I was gonna tell you. I can tell things about people. That’s why I came home with you. I didn’t just think you wouldn’t hurt me; I knew you wouldn’t. It’s like I can get into a person’s head and tell exactly what they’re feeling.”

“Empathic, hmm? That’s interesting. Well, Crescent, for heaven’s sake, why do you keep giving that gang of yours a second chance?”

“I think they might be a little crazy,” she replied matter-off-actly. “When we meet up, they never feel like they’re going to hurt me. Then they get mad, and…anyway, obviously my radar isn’t one hundred percent right all the time. Close enough for jazz, though.”

“And this fixation with flying?”

“Dude, I totally can! I know it! You just have to stop getting in the way when I jump off things.”

Empathy…flight fixation…and her build, small and speedy…but surprisingly heavy for her height…could it be? He had assumed they were legend. Rather like werewolves. “Crescent,” he said abruptly, “have you ever had an X ray?”

Startled by the abrupt subject change, she blinked at him like a blond doe. “Uh…not in the last few hours.”

“And you never knew your family?”

“Nope.”

“Hmmm.”

“Have I mentioned you’re sexy when you go all ‘pondering physician-esque’?”

“No,” he said, pouncing on her and bearing her back on the bed like a cat with a new toy. “You haven’t. Please elaborate.”

She did.

Chapter 10

Drake. Seriously. How many T-shirts do you think I need?”

“But they’re so versatile,” the Gap saleswoman piped up.

“Not to mention fragile,” Drake whispered in her ear, and was gratified to see her blush.

“You go away,” she ordered the woman, smiling. “You’re helping him spend way too much money as it is. And you—put that down. Khaki—yech.”

“But this is the Gap,” the saleswoman said (“Ask me how to save 15%” was emblazoned in hysterical red ink on her lapel button), obediently retreating.

“What, so I have to wear the uniform, too? Keep going.”

“I’m offering you any woman’s dream,” he said, “and you’re still making mischief.”

“A) Chauvinist much? Any woman’s dream? Shopping at Faneuil Hall? And B) put those down. I already picked out pants.”

“You’ll need more than two pairs.”

“Not according to some,” she said, arching an eyebrow.

“Hmm,” he said, advancing on her, momentarily slowed by a whirl of khaki as she threw the pants at him.