For heaven’s sake, she’d just seen him on Sunday. There was no sensible reason for this desperate urge to see him now. She would go back to St. Christopher’s right now, because she had made a terrible mistake.

She cursed herself as she walked to the elevator, stepped inside, and pushed the button for the sixteenth floor.

What was wrong with her? Why was she doing this?

Oh, God, what if he was home but he wasn’t alone? The sheer mortification of that possibility struck her like a blow to the stomach. They’d never said anything about exclusivity. He had a perfect right to see other women. For all she knew, he had a platoon of women. Which only proved she’d lost all common sense by becoming involved with him in the first place.

She couldn’t possibly drop in on him like this, unannounced, uninvited, unexpected. Everything she’d been taught about manners, protocol, acceptable social behavior ordered her to stab the down button and leave. Every ounce of pride demanded that she turn around before she was humiliated.

She had no idea what it was that overcame all of that and pushed her out of the elevator and to the door of 1605.

Don’t do this, don’t do this, don’t do this. The order screamed in her head even as she watched her finger depress the buzzer beside his door.

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, what have I done? What will I say? How can I explain?

Please don’t be home, was her last desperate thought seconds before the door opened.

“Sybill?” His eyes widened in surprise, his lips curved.

Lord help her, she began to babble. “I’m so sorry. I should have called. I don’t mean to—I shouldn’t have . . . I had to come into the city, and I was just . . .”

“Here, let me have those. You buy out the store?” He was pulling the wet bags out of her icy hands. “You’re freezing. Come inside.”

“I should have called. I was—”

“Don’t be silly.” He dumped the bags and began to peel her out of her dripping raincoat. “You should have let me know you were coming into Baltimore today. When did you get in?”

“I—about two-thirty. I had an appointment. I was just—it’s raining,” she blurted out, hating herself. “I’m not used to driving in traffic. Not really used to driving at all, actually, and I was a little nervous about it.”

She rambled on, while he studied her, his brows lifted. Her cheeks were flushed, but he didn’t think it was from the cold. Her voice was skittish, and that was new. And interesting. She couldn’t seem to figure out what to do with her hands.

Though the raincoat had protected her neat slate-gray suit, her shoes were soaked and her hair was dewed with rain.

“You’re wired up, aren’t you?” he murmured. He put his hands on her arms, rubbed up and down to warm them. “Relax.”

“I should have called,” she said for the third time. “It was rude, presumptuous—”