Damned if he wanted to worry about Maggie Fitzgerald. She was a woman from another place, who liked glittery parties and opening nights. Where he’d choose solitude, she’d choose crowds. She’d want champagne; he, cold beer. She’d prefer trips to Europe; he, a quiet ride down the river. She was the last person he needed to worry about.

She’d been married to a performer who’d flamed like a comet and who’d burned out just as quickly. Her escorts had been among the princes of the celebrity world. Tuxedos, silk scarves and diamond cufflinks, he thought derisively. What the hell was she doing in the middle of a mess like this? And what the hell, he asked himself, was she doing in his life?

He pulled up behind her car and stared broodingly at her house. Maybe with all that was going on she’d decide to go back west. He’d prefer it that way. Damned if he didn’t want to believe he would. She had no business crashing into his thoughts the way she had lately. That music. He let out a long stream of curses as he remembered it. That night music. Cliff knew he wanted her the way he’d wanted no woman before. It was something he couldn’t overcome. Something he could barely control.

So why was he here? Why had he pushed his way into a meeting she hadn’t wanted? Because, he admitted, when he thought of the way it had been between them, he didn’t want to overcome it. Tonight he didn’t want control.

As he walked toward the front door, he reminded himself that he was dealing with a woman who was different from any he’d known. Approach with caution, he told himself, then knocked at the front door.

From the other side, Maggie gripped the knob with both hands and tugged. It took two tries before she opened the door, and by that time Killer was barking nonstop.

“You should have Bog take care of that,” Cliff suggested.

He bent down to ruffle the dog’s fur. Killer flopped on his back, offering his belly.

“Yeah.” She was glad to see him. Maggie told herself she would’ve been glad to see anyone, but when she looked at him, she knew it was a lie. All through the afternoon she’d waited. “I keep meaning to.”

He saw tension in the way she stood, in the way one hand still gripped the doorknob. Deliberately, he gave her a cocky smile. “So, what’s for dinner?”

She let out a quick laugh as some of the nerves escaped. “Hamburgers.”

“Hamburgers?”

“You did invite yourself,” she reminded him. “And you did say not to fuss.”

“So I did.” He gave Killer a last scratch behind the ears, then rose.

“Well, since it’s my first dinner party, I thought I’d stick with my speciality. It was either that or canned soup and cold sandwiches.”

“If that’s been your staple since you moved in, it’s no wonder you’re thin.”

Frowning, Maggie glanced down at herself. “Do you realize you make a habit of criticizing?”