lean shadow framed by the open front door. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out the features of the so unrugby-shaped last arrival. But against the bright yellow sunshine outside, he was only a silhouette, a dark figure centered in the doorway as if determined to prevent an escape.
Ignoring an odd sense of alarm, she raised her voice. "Sir? Please come in and shut the door. It's time we get going."
As it happened, though, it was much too late for Kitty to go anywhere.
Because, after a brief hesitation, the black shadow obeyed. The front door shut and he stepped through the arched entry to the parlor. Behind all those collegiate grins and bristling haircuts, the shadow turned out to be a lean, tough-looking man in black jeans and a black T-shirt, with black, nearly shoulder-length hair.
Holy bad news, Batman.
As if her skin were allergic to her sudden, excruciating panic, it broke out in goose bumps like a bad rash. Her bare skin, hidden skin, secret skin, it all prickled in horrified reaction. Her head spun in woozy circles like an ill-weighted merry-go-round.
Because she knew him. She'd been barely eighteen when she'd last seen him, and on that occasion she hadn't been at her ... best. But there was no doubting who he was.
The man was Dylan Matthews. Those were his dark eyes, his sexy-sulky mouth, his square-cut chin with just a hint of a cleft. Looking as cool as a cucumber and about a zillion times more dangerous.
Cool as a cucumber, but not the least bit green. No, that was her. Kitty supposed she looked green anyway, because her head and now her stomach were reeling. Dylan was back. Back in Hot Water.
Worse yet, he was here, in Kitty's place of business.
Self-protective instincts kicking in at last, Kitty wrenched her gaze off him. Her stomach calmed, but then pitched again as she took in what else was happening around the room.
There were other people in it. People looking at her. Expectantly. Kitty gazed about, baffled. Then it hit her. The tour!
She closed her eyes, opened them. You're fine, she said to herself, drawing in a deep breath. Just fine.
In a second she would be, surely. Dylan - no! Head starting that queasy spin again, Kitty resisted even thinking his name. He was her One Silly Mistake. But even with her One Silly Mistake - her teenage, eight-year-old mistake - in the audience, she could get through this tour. With dignity.
She straightened her shoulders. Rubbed her palms against the satin of her skirt. Cleared her throat, then started her spiel.
"Welcome," she said - more words tumbled out, as easy as creek water over smooth stones, because she'd said them hundreds of times before - "to this entertainment establishment built for the men who came to Hot Water, California, seeking gold. It was called The..."
On a roll, she darted a glance at her One Silly Mistake. He still stood in the rear, his face expressionless, his stance relaxed. Certainly nothing more than mere chance had brought him into the brothel, she assured herself, trying to stifle her nagging worry. Most likely he didn't even recognize her as someone he'd known before. Eight years ago she'd been a towheaded beanpole of a girl. There was no reason for him to see any resemblance to the towheaded beanpole of a woman she was now, right?
She swallowed. "It was called The Burning..."
Her OSM crossed his arms over his chest.
Kitty stared. "...Biceps."
The crowd guffawed and Kitty blinked. "Rose," she quickly corrected herself. "The Burning Rose."
Swallowing again, she hastily focused her gaze on the front row of rugby players, far away from the man behind them who stood out like a lean, lethal dagger in a field of plump Iowa corn. "And my name is - " Wait.
Think. No matter if his reason for being in the brothel was mere happenstance, it would be safer for her to remain anonymous. She searched her mind for an alias, a nom de guerre of sorts, but the man at the back of the room must have taken another long silence as proof of her complete idiocy.
"You're Kitty," he called out, with a sort of grim helpfulness. "Kitty Wilder."
Once again her equilibrium fell, sad but swift, straight onto its overly optimistic fanny.
She wasn't sure how she got through the next few minutes, struggling as she was to deal with the fact that not only was her OSM in town, he was in The Burning Rose, and perfectly aware of