For the first time in his life, a woman had gotten under his skin and was driving him crazy, Brent Sanford thought as he steered his coal-black sports car through Charlotte’s early evening traffic.

          First, Hope Hunt had called, saying urgent business had come up with a client and asking him to meet her at the airport ASAP to fly her to Dallas.  That, however, wasn’t a problem -- he was used to juggling his schedule.  Clients often changed destinations, even cancelled private charters at the last minute.  Then there was the weather that occasionally wreaked havoc with everyone’s agenda. 

          Just another day at the office. 

          He’d barely had time to pass the charter he’d been scheduled to fly to Lake Tahoe to one of his backup pilots when Hope called again.  Could he pick her up at the Levine Museum because she had to drop off something to her sister, who was catering an event there?  Fine.  It didn’t bother him to drive halfway across the city to pick her up.

          What goaded him was that during both calls, she hadn’t said one word about them. 

          Did she think it had been easy for him to admit he had feelings for her? he brooded as he maneuvered through the heavy traffic.  Had she considered it a walk in the park for him to acknowledge he wanted a relationship to develop between them?  Because she said she needed time to think he hadn’t seen or talked to her since he flew her to New Hampshire to attend the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series race.  The least the woman could have done over the phone was acknowledge she was still thinking about what he’d said.  Instead, she’d sounded efficient and businesslike, as if he’d never even brought up the subject.

          Or if she’d maybe decided to pass on his offer.

          Jaw set, he braked at a red light.  Rapped his fingers against the steering wheel while the bluesy ache of a tenor sax poured out of the stereo.  It was a sorry state for a man who’d once had women tumbling for him like bowling pins to realize the one woman he wanted just might not be interested.  

          Dammit, he wasn’t anything like her bastard of an ex-fiancé.  He hadn’t cheated to try to win a NASCAR race.  Any race for that matter.  Why the hell couldn’t she just take his word for that?

          “Because she can’t,” he muttered as the signal light changed.  He was the one who used to live his life in the fast lane.  Every day.  Every way.  Hell, professionally he still did that, only now he buckled himself in behind the controls of a plane instead of a high-powered stock car. 

          Hope had been taken for a wild ride by a smooth con man.  The last thing she would do is dive into another relationship when there were no doubt numerous warning signs blipping through her brain.  It would be a matter of self-preservation for her to be cautious.  To take things slow.  To hold at arm’s length a man she wasn’t sure she could trust. 

          If that was the best he could get for now, so be it, Brent resolved.  Problem was, he couldn’t foresee things between them changing unless he somehow convinced her to trust him.   

          And just how was he going to pull that minor miracle off if he couldn’t clear his name?  Scowling, he conjured up the image of Mike Jones.  Tall and muscular, the gas man had done a good job of putting all aspects of the setup into play that had effectively tanked the racing career of a driver with a good shot at winning that year’s NASCAR Sprint Cup Series Championship.

          Scowling, Brent whipped the sports car into the alley behind the museum.  A few yards farther along he spotted a panel van with Gourmet by Grace scrolled across its side.  Hope had told him to park in the loading zone beside her sister’s catering van, then knock on the museum’s back door and tell the security guard he was there to pick her up. 

          He climbed out of the car into the balmy evening air, 

rapped on the locked door.  Moments later, it swung open to reveal a beefy uniformed security guard with a gray crew cut. 

          “I’m looking for Hope Hunt,” Brent said.  “She said she’d be waiting for me in the kitchen.”

          The guard checked a list of names on a clipboard, then pointed down a brightly lit corridor.  “First door on the right,” he said.

          “Thanks.”  By the time Brent reached the kitchen, the air was ripe with good, rich scents that made his mouth water. 

          He stepped through an open door into a brightly lit kitchen where several people dressed in white shirts and black slacks were busy loading flutes of champagne and a variety of hors d'oeuvres onto doily-covered silver trays.  At the sound of heels clicking against the tile floor, he turned and spotted Hope heading his way. 

          Her dark hair was swept up and back, emphasizing her sculpted cheekbones.  She wore a snug, short-skirted suit in traffic-stopping red with mile-high seductress heels in the same color.

          Seeing her, just seeing her, made his chest go tight.  “Hey, Doc.”

          “Hey, Captain Sanford.”  Smiling, she stepped forward and squeezed his arm, bringing with her the scent of some heady French perfume.  “Thanks for agreeing to fly me to Dallas at the last minute.  And for driving here to pick me up.”

          It occurred to him she was a little overdressed for a plane ride, but for all he knew she’d had a business meeting right before coming here.  “All part of the service Sanford Aviation offers its navigators.”

          She tilted her head to the side.  The dark red stones at her ears caught the light and glinted.  “I didn’t realize the job had so many perks.” 

          Her lips were glossed with the same red as her suit, and he wanted a taste of them -- and a great deal more than that.  “Speaking of perks, do you think we could abscond with some of your sister’s hors d'oeuvres?”

          “Grace always cooks extra, so I’m sure she can spare some. Why don’t I introduce you to her and we’ll ask?”

          Brent glanced around the kitchen at the servers working at a frenetic pace.  “She might be too busy for chitchat.  Why don’t we just swipe some hors d’oeuvres and head to the airport?”

          “That would be rude.  And the party Grace is catering won’t get started in earnest until the guest of honor arrives.”  Hope tucked her hand into the curve of his arm and gave him a tug.  “Come on, she’s just down the hall making a last-minute check of the table setup.”

          Hope escorted him through a gallery where several illuminated pedestals displayed sculptures of colorful Venetian glass almost thin enough to read through.  Subdued lights illuminated framed artwork hanging on the walls.  Just beyond a staircase with a thick velvet rope strung across its base, she indicated an arched entryway to their right.  “Grace is in there.”

          Her scent was clogging his brain.  Each step he took beside her had him feeling more agitated and primitive enough to toss her over his shoulder and carry her off to some place where they could be alone.  Dammit, he wanted her to at least acknowledge that he’d opened the door to his feelings for her.  To admit that she owed him an answer.  And if that answer was no, he was going to have to figure out a way to convince her to change her mind. 

          “We’ll get to your sister in a minute.”  He nudged Hope into a small alcove just outside the arched doorway. 

          She gave a startled gasp as her hands locked on his upper arms.  “Brent, what are you doing?”

          “Talking to you.  I have a question.”

          Hope gazed up into his dark, intense eyes, and instantly felt the heat moving up from her toes.  She had to remind herself there were nearly fifty people waiting for him in the next room.  The security guard would have already called Adam to tell him Brent had arrived.  The candles on the cake had no doubt been lit.

          “Your question can’t wait until after I introduce you to Grace?” she asked.  The erratic pounding of her pulse had turned her voice breathless. 

          “I don’t want to wait.”  When one of his palms cupped the side of her throat, her legs began to tremble.  “You told me you’d think about us.”

          She swept her tongue across her suddenly dry lips.  “I kept my word.”

          “And?”

          “And, we need to talk.”

          “I’m listening.”

          “Not here.”  Her lungs felt tight.  She took a careful breath to clear them.  “Not now.”

          “When?”

          “Later.”

          He lowered his head, pressed his forehead against hers.  “I haven’t been able to think of anything but you for days, Doc.  Got a name for that condition?”

          Her nerves jittered in time with her pulse.  “How about obsession?”

          “Works for me.  How about you tell me what we need to talk about?”

          “I don’t--”

          “Hey, bro, how about you unhand that gorgeous woman and let’s get the show on the road?”

          At the sound of his brother’s voice, Brent expelled a soft oath and turned.  “What the hell are you doing here?”

          Trey Sanford shot him an unrepentant grin.  The youngest Sanford brother wore a dark suit, but had left the collar of his crisp dress shirt unbuttoned and had forgone wearing a tie.  “Making our mom happy.” 

          “She sounded plenty happy when she called me early this morning to wish me a happy birthday before I flew a charter out of Nashville.”  Brent narrowed his eyes against the suspicion buzzing in his brain.  “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

          “No can do, bro.  Mom’s wanted to give you a birthday bash for a couple of years, but you’ve always managed to sidestep her plans.  Not this year.  So, birthday boy, you need to act really surprised when you make an appearance in the room next door.”

          “Hell.”  Brent looked back at Hope.  “Apparently, we’re not flying to Dallas.”

          “Not tonight.”  She beamed him a bright smile.  “Which means you can have all the hors d'oeuvres and champagne you want.” 

          “Freaking ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”

          “I try to always look on the bright side.”  She patted his arm.  “You’d better go in and make your mamma happy.  Meanwhile, I’m going to slip into the kitchen.  One of Grace’s crew called in sick, so I promised I’d give her a hand.” 

          “Oh, no, you don’t.”  He clamped a hand around her wrist.  “You got me here, Doc.  That means I’ve got you for the entire night.” 

          He felt a grim satisfaction when her pulse jumped against his palm.  “Entire?” she asked.

          “Oh, yeah,” he said, tugging her close.  “All.  Night.  Long.”