Mad About You

tomorrow?"
    "Only for you." He smiled, sending little tremors to her midsection. "Otherwise, I'll be closed to finish the cleanup and complete my inventory."
    She suddenly wished she hadn't accepted his generosity. What would Trey say if he knew she accepted a ride home from another man? Her heart tripped double time, and she glanced into the side mirror. What if a photographer were following them at this very minute? She could just imagine the scandal in the papers.
    "I'll be needing that table in a few days," she said in a shaky voice. "Pencil in the delivery to the governor's mansion whenever it's convenient."
    "You've been working on the governor's place for a long time—what, eight months now?"
    "Seven," she corrected. "I hadn't planned on being asked to overhaul the private quarters once I finished the public touring areas."
    "What a lucky break," he said lightly.
    She glanced at him sideways. "Yes."
    "I saw you on the news the other night at a fundraiser. You looked nice."
    Jasmine shifted restlessly, wondering why she felt compelled to defend herself. "I do what I can to help Trey's reelection campaign."
    "Do you think he'll win?"
    "I certainly hope so. And not just for his sake. I truly believe he's the best man for the job."
    "He made a lot of enemies when he went head-to-head with the logging industry."
    "That took a lot of guts."
    Ladden made a thoughtful noise. "And his campaign costs are mounting—I read close to three million?"
    "Trey thinks it's worth it," she murmured. She herself found it difficult to imagine the dollars people at Trey's level bandied about as if it were milk money.
    They hit a pothole, bounced up, and landed with enough force to jar her teeth. She laughed and he apologized.
    "You might want to mention that little bump in the road the next time you see the governor," he teased. "I've called my councilman twice and got nowhere."
    "Take a right at the next light," she said. "Then turn into the gate."
    He slowed the truck at the gated entrance and rolled down the window. Jasmine leaned forward and waved to the guard. The man glanced at the truck with a puzzled look but waved them on through.
    "Seems like a safe place," Ladden remarked.
    "Mine is the third unit on the left," she said, then unbuckled her belt, poised to make her getaway.
    He pointed to her condo for clarification, and she nodded.
    "Thanks for the ride," she said cheerfully. She lifted the door handle, but it refused to budge.
    "The handle sticks," Ladden said with a little smile. "I'll have to get it from the outside."
    He opened the door and jumped down. Jasmine sat in the dark and tried to squash the absurd feelings echoing in her chest. She had to distance herself from this man who, by some collision of hormones and timing, had caught her completely off guard.
    He opened the complaining passenger door and raised his arms to help her down. Jasmine opened her mouth to decline, but with one look at his sincere, gentle smile, her will dissolved. She settled one hand on his shoulder. His big hands practically spanned her waist, his thumbs pressing on either side of her navel as he swung her to the ground.
    For a few seconds, her hand seemed glued to his shoulder, his hands bound to her waist. Thankfully, he moved first, clearing his throat. "I'll walk you to your door."
    "There's no need," she said quickly.
    His mouth curved into an innocent smile. "My aunt would never forgive me if I displayed such a lapse in manners."
    She relented and walked toward the well-lit entrance of her townhouse. As she dug for her keys, Jasmine decided she couldn't blame her knocking knees on Ladden—she was more afraid of herself. What if he tried to kiss her good night? Would she let him? Would she like it?
    He walked a half-step behind her, his boots scraping against the sidewalk. At her door she turned around and offered him a broad smile. "Thanks for seeing me home," she said, a bit too loudly.
    "No problem," he said, then leaned forward and, before she had time to react, grazed his warm cheek against hers—just his cheek. "Good night," he murmured.
    Jasmine had the feeling that if he'd been wearing a hat, he would have doffed it to her, but instead he simply nodded, turned on his heel, and strode back to his big, ugly truck, whistling.
    After fumbling with her keys, she unlocked the door and disabled the security alarm. But she couldn't do anything to silence the warning alarms going off in her head. She leaned against the door,