“You shouldn’t.” He ate with the ease of a man completely content. “My sister made it.”

“Sister?” If her name was Sarah …

“Bonnie raises children and makes jewelry,” Hunter went on. “I’m not sure which comes first.”

“Bonnie.” Nodding, she forced herself to continue eating. “Is she your only sister?”

“There were just the two of us. For some odd reason, we got along very well.” He remembered those early years when he was struggling to learn how to be both father and mother to Sarah. He smiled. “We still do.”

“How does she feel about what you do?”

“Bonnie’s a firm believer that everyone should do exactly what suits them. As long as they’re married, with a half-dozen children.” He grinned, recognizing the unspoken question in Lee’s eyes. “In that area, I’ve disappointed her.” He paused for a moment, the grin fading. “Do you think I could make love with you if I had a wife waiting for me at home?”

She dropped her gaze to her plate. Why could he always read her when she couldn’t read him? “I still don’t know very much about you.”

He didn’t know if he consciously made the decision at that moment or if he’d been ready to make it all along. “Ask,” he said simply.

Lee looked up at him. It no longer mattered if she needed to know for herself or for her job. She just needed to know. “You’ve never been married?”

“No.”

“Is that an outgrowth of your need for privacy?”

“No, it’s an outgrowth of not finding anyone who could deal with the way I live and my obligations.”

Lee mulled this over, thinking it a rather odd way to phrase it. “Your writing?”

“Yes, there’s that.”

She started to press further, then decided to change directions. Personal questions could be reciprocated with personal questions. “You said you hadn’t always wanted to be a writer, but were born to be one. What made you realize it?”

“I don’t think it was a matter of realizing, but of accepting.” Understanding that she wanted something specific, he drew out a cigarette, studying the tip. He was no more certain why he was answering than Lee was why she was asking. “It must’ve been in my first year of college. I’d written stories ever since I could remember, but I was dead set on a career as an athlete. Then I wrote something that seemed to trigger it. It was nothing fabulous,” he added thoughtfully. “A very basic plot, simple background, but the characters pulled me in. I knew them as well as I knew anyone. There was nothing else for me to do.”

“It must’ve been difficult. Publishing isn’t an easy field. Even when you break in, it isn’t particularly lucrative unless you write bestsellers. With your parents gone, you had to support yourself.”