As she nodded, it occurred to her that she might fit into the first group, and he into the second.

The road he took narrowed and twisted down. He didn’t drive sedately, but with the air of a man who knew he could negotiate whatever curve was thrown at him. Lee gripped the door handle, determined not to comment on his speed. It was like taking the downhill rush of a roller coaster without having had the preparatory uphill climb. They whooshed down, a rock wall on one side, a spiraling drop on the other.

“Do you camp often?” Her knuckles were whiten-ing on the handle, but though she had to shout to be heard she was satisfied that her voice was calm enough.

“Now and again.”

“I’m curious…” She stopped and cleared her throat as Hunter whipped around a snaking turn. “Why camping?” Did the rocks in the sheer wall beside them ever loosen and tumble onto the road? She decided it was best not to think about it. “A man in your position could go anywhere and do anything he chose.”

“This is what I chose,” he pointed out.

“All right. Why?”

“There are times when everyone needs simplicity.”

Her foot pressed down on the floorboard as if it were a brake pedal. “Isn’t this just one more way you have of avoiding people?”

“Yes.” His easy agreement had her turning her head to stare at him. He was amused to note that her hand loosened on the handle and that her concentration was on him now rather than the road. “It’s also a way of getting away from my work. You never get away from writing, but there are times you need to get away from the trappings of writing.”

Her gaze sharpened. Though her fingers itched for her notebook, Lee had faith in her own powers of retention. “You don’t like trappings.”

“We don’t always like what’s necessary.”

Oblivious to the speed and the curves now, Lee tucked one leg under her and turned toward him. That attracted him, Hunter reflected. The way she’d unconsciously drop that careful shield whenever something challenged her mind. That attracted him every bit as much as her cool, nineteenth-century beauty.

“What do you consider trappings as regards your profession?”

“The confinement of an office, the hum of a machine, the paperwork that’s unavoidable but interferes with the story flow.”

Odd, but that was precisely what she needed in order to maintain discipline. “If you could change it, what would you do?”

He smiled again. Hunter had never known anyone who thought in more basic terms or straighter lines. “I’d go back a few centuries to when I could simply travel and tell the story.”

She believed him. Though he had wealth and fame and critical acclaim, Lee believed him. “None of the rest means anything to you, does it? The glory, the admiration?”

“Whose admiration?”

“Your readers and the critics.”