Grand Passion

own way Jason needed us. I am not so certain about this other man.”
    “You only met him briefly last night.”
    Daystar swooped down on Cleo before Andromeda could respond. “Saw his car in the parking lot.” She hoisted a spatula in a warning manner. “My ex-husband bought a Jaguar like that right before he married his secretary. Your Mr. Fortune is no starving artist, Cleo.”
    Cleo smiled at her. Daystar was a sturdy, competent-looking woman whose shrewd, no-nonsense eyes reflected her assertive, inquisitive attitude toward everything and everyone. She was the airy, ethereal Andromeda's natural opposite. Cleo had often thought the two made a perfect pair.
    “Jason wasn't exactly starving either,” Cleo pointed out. “At least not in the literal sense. But he needed a place like Robbins' Nest Inn in order to paint. And he wanted to help out around here.”
    Andromeda gave her a gentle smile. “You mean he wanted to be part of our extended family.”
    Cleo shrugged. “Maybe Max Fortune wants the same thing.”
    “Or perhaps he wants something else,” Daystar said darkly.
    “I doubt it,” Cleo murmured. “Don't forget, I saw him with a toilet plunger in his hand. You learn a lot about a man when you see him in action like that.” She popped the last bite of muffin into her mouth. “Besides, what else is there for him around here except the same kind of family thing that Jason found?”
    “I don't know,” Daystar said. “I'm just suggesting that you be cautious. The fact that he knew Jason does not automatically make Mr. Fortune a member of the family.”
    Andromeda nodded in agreement. “Daystar is right, dear.”
    “Don't worry, I'll be careful,” Cleo promised.
    She was about to pick up the teapot when a flash of awareness made her pause. There had been no telltale sound above the clatter of pans and the hum of conversation that filled the kitchen, but Cleo knew without turning around who was standing in the doorway. A small thrill shot through her, leaving her tingling from head to foot.
    Apparently her strange reaction to Max Fortune last night had not been just a curious by-product of the stress she had been under at the time. She was perfectly relaxed this morning, and yet she was experiencing the same unsettling sensation. She took a deep breath and braced herself.
    “Good morning, Max.” Cleo swung around, pot in hand, and smiled at him. She would not make a fool of herself, she vowed silently. She would be calm and dignified. She struggled to keep her expression limited to one of polite welcome, but inside she was bubbling with the delicious, unfamiliar excitement.
    It was clear in the light of the new day that her imagination had not been playing tricks on her. Max Fortune's impact on her senses was devastating. She found herself staring in spite of her determination to be casual and cool.
    He was the man in the mirror . She had never seen his face clearly in her dreams, but the moment he had materialized, she had recognized him.
    Cleo gave herself a small, imperceptible shake in an effort to free herself from the disorienting sensation that was sweeping through her. She forced herself to concentrate on facts, not fantasy.
    Max was obviously in his mid-thirties but definitely not in any danger of going soft. There was a lean, hard quality to his body. His boldly carved face bore a disquieting similarity to the hawk on the handle of his cane.
    The subtle fierceness that marked him gleamed clearly in his gray eyes. There was an air of unrelenting watchfulness about Max Fortune, as if he trusted no one and depended on no one. Cleo sensed that this was a man who took nothing for granted. He looked as though he expected to have to fight for whatever he wanted in life.
    But the hard-edged, potentially ruthless element in him was overlaid with a tantalizing air of polished civility. It was a powerful, compelling image for Cleo; one that was straight out of the deepest, most secret recesses of her imagination. There was no doubt about it; the well-hidden, carefully contained, very sensual aspect of her nature recognized Max Fortune.
    He was the man who lived in the shadows of her secret fantasies.
    Perhaps it was not so strange that she knew him on sight, she thought ruefully. After all, she had written a book about him. She just hadn't known his name at the time.
    The cane should have had the effect of making Max look at least somewhat vulnerable. Instead it only served to reveal another