“Let’s keep it in perspective.” How had she begun this so badly? And how could she keep rambling on when she only wanted to curl up next to him and hold on? “We’re both unattached adults who’re attracted to each other. On that level, we shouldn’t expect any more from each other than’s reasonable. On a business level, we both have to expect total involvement.”

He wanted to push the business level down her throat. Violently. The emotion didn’t please him, nor did the sudden realization that he wanted total involvement on a very personal level. With an effort, he controlled the fury. He needed to ask, and answer, some questions for himself—soon. In the meantime, he needed to keep a cool head.

“Summer, I intend to make love with you often, and when I do, business can go to hell.” He ran a hand down her side and felt her body respond. If she wanted rules, he thought furiously, he’d give her rules. His. “When we’re here, there isn’t any hotel or any restaurant. There’s just you and me. Back at Cocharan House, we’ll be as professional as you want.”

She wasn’t certain if she wanted to calmly agree with him or scream in protest. She remained silent.

“And now,” he continued, drawing her still closer, “I want to make love with you again, then I want to sleep with you. At nine o’clock tomorrow, we’ll get back to business.”

She might have spoken then, but his mouth touched hers. Tomorrow was hours away.

Chapter Eight

Damn, it was frustrating. Blake had heard men complain about women, calling them incomprehensible, contradictory, baffling. Because he’d always found it possible to deal with women on a sensible level, he’d never put much credence in any of it, until Summer. Now, he found himself searching for more adjectives. Rising from his desk, Blake paced to the window and frowned out at his view of the city.

When they’d made love the first time, he realized that he’d never known that a woman could be that soft, that giving. Strong—still strong, yes, but with a fragility that had a man lying in velvet. Had it been his imagination, or had she been totally his in every way one person could belong to another? He’d have sworn that for that space of time she’d thought of nothing but him, wanted nothing but him. And yet, before their bodies had cooled, she’d been so practical, so…unemotional.

Damn, wasn’t a man supposed to be grateful for that—a man who wanted the pleasure and companionship of a woman without all the complications? He could remember other relationships where a neat set of rules had proven invaluable, but now…

Below, a couple walked along the sidewalk, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. As he watched he imagined them laughing at something no one else would understand. And as he watched, Blake thought of his own statement of the degrees of intimacy. Instinct told him that he and Summer had shared an intimacy as deep as any two people could experience. Not just a merging of bodies, but a touching, a twining, of thoughts and needs and wants that was absolute. But if his instincts had told him one thing, she had told him another. Which was he to believe?