From the Heart

scrap of information. You could never tell what could lead to bigger things. Liv found it ironic that a torn dress and scuffed shoes had brought her to the drawing room of a Supreme Court justice.
    “Five spades.” Greg took the bid, and Liv spread her cards on the table and rose.
    “Sorry,” she said when he gave a small sigh at what she had to offer him.
    “Tennis,” he muttered, and played his first ace.
    “I’m going to get some air.”
    “Coward,” he said, and shot her a grin.
    With a laugh, Liv slipped out to the terrace.
    It was still cool. Spring was fighting its way into Washington like a dark horse candidate. After the heat of thedrawing room, Liv found the chill refreshing. There was little light as clouds drifted over a half-moon. And it was quiet. The rear of the house was shielded from the street sounds and hum of city traffic. She heard Myra’s boom of a laugh as she won game point.
    How strange it was, Liv thought, to meet Greg again like this—to have those bittersweet years of her life brought back. Extremes, she mused. I lived on extremes. Staggeringly happy, unbearably sad. It’s better this way, without all those peaks and valleys of emotion. Safer. I’ve had enough of risks and failures. Smarter.
    Wrapping her arms around herself, she walked to the edge of the terrace. Safer and smarter. You can’t be hurt if you don’t take chances.
    “No wrap, Liv?”
    She gasped and whirled. She hadn’t heard the terrace doors open, or Thorpe’s steps on the stone. What moonlight there was shone directly on her face, while his was in shadows. She felt at a disadvantage.
    “It’s warm enough.” Her answer was stiff. She hadn’t forgiven him for embarrassing her in the studio.
    Thorpe moved closer and laid his hands on her arms. “You’re chilled. Nobody wants to listen to a newscaster with the sniffles.” He stripped off his jacket and slipped it over her shoulders.
    “I don’t need—”
    Keeping his hands on the lapels, Thorpe pulled her against him and silenced her with a bruising kiss. Her arms were pinned between his body and her own, her mouth quickly and expertly conquered. Liv’s thoughts seemed to explode, then spiral down to a small, unintelligible buzz in her head. She felt the unwanted pull of desire begin to take over just before his mouth lifted from hers.
    “Maybe you didn’t need that.” He kept her close, still gripping the lapels of his own jacket. “But I did.”
    “You must be crazy.” The words were strong and scathing, but husky with awakened passion.
    “I must be,” he agreed easily enough. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have walked out of your apartment the other night.”
    Liv let that pass. The memories of her response to himwere too uncomfortable. “You had no right pulling that business in the studio this evening.”
    “Kissing you?” She watched his grin flash. “I intend to make a habit of that. You have a fantastic mouth.”
    “Listen, Thorpe—”
    “I hear you and Myra’s nephew are old friends,” he interrupted.
    Liv let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t see what that has to do with you.”
    “Just weeding out the competition,” he said smoothly. He liked holding her close, waiting for the slight resistance of her body to melt.
    “Competition?” Liv would have drawn away, but she was trapped in the jacket. “What are you talking about?”
    “I’ll have to learn about the other men you let hold you so I can dispose of them.” Thorpe pulled her fractionally closer. The heat of his body seemed to skim along her skin. His eyes were direct on hers. “I’m going to marry you.”
    Liv’s mouth dropped open. She hadn’t thought it was possible for Thorpe to shock her again. He was a man she had learned to expect anything of. But not this. Here was a calm, matter-of-fact statement. He might have been saying he was going to be her partner for the next round of bridge. After a close, thorough study of his face, Liv could have sworn he was completely serious.
    “Now I know you’re crazy,” she whispered. “Really, really mad.”
    His brow lifted in acknowledgment, but he continued in a reasonable tone. It was the tone more than anything else that left her baffled. “I’m willing to give you six months to come around. I’m a patient man. I can afford to be; I don’t lose.”
    “Thorpe, you’re in serious trouble. You should ask for a leave of absence. Pressure does strange things to the mind.”
    “I think it’ll be