Midnight Jewels

wire mesh kitchen chairs, his arms resting easily along the back. He held his own wineglass lightly cradled in his hand.
    The rich, deep, near purple color of the zinfandel looked right clasped within those strong fingers. It was another example of darkness suiting him, Mercy decided.
    Whatever else could be said about the man, he didn't appear to have a drinking problem. He was savoring his wine, but he sipped with great restraint. Mercy had a hunch Croft Falconer did everything with restraint. She wondered if that applied to making love and decided it probably did. He might be very skillful at it, but he would also be very much in control. It was hard to envision this man surrendering to any kind of strong emotion.
    She still wasn't quite certain how she had come to let him stay for dinner, but she had the distinct impression there had been a certain inevitability about the situation from the start. She was too aware of him, too intrigued by him, too curious about him for her own good and she knew it. But he was there and she was the one who had let him stay.
    "How long have you owned the schools of self-defense?" she made herself ask casually. Mercy had been doing her best for the past twenty minutes to keep all conversation light and superficial. She wanted the time to think about and evaluate him as well as her own unfamiliar reactions.
    "I opened the first one nearly three years ago. The second one a year after that and the third six months ago."
    "Where did you pick up the expertise?"
    "I've studied. And traveled."
    "Do you do a lot of traveling in your, uh, field?" she pressed.
    "No, not anymore, except when I visit my schools to teach special courses or give demonstrations."
    "Who teaches the regular classes?"
    "Friends. Former students. They handle the day to day management of the schools."
    "Leaving you free to sit by the shore and twiddle your thumbs in Oregon?" She smiled.
    "You could say that."
    "Nice work if you can get it," she declared with humorous envy. "Beats my routine."
    His mouth lifted at the edge. "You said you were an ex-librarian. When did you go into business for yourself?"
    "A couple of years ago." She set down her glass and went back to work on the broccoli. She didn't particularly want to encourage the discussion in that direction.
    As if he sensed her desire not to talk about it, Croft deliberately focused on the one direction Mercy didn't wish to go. "What made you decide to open a bookstore?"
    "It's only natural for a librarian to be interested in trying to sell the product she's been loaning out for years, isn't it? I see bookselling as the mercenary side of librarianship."
    "Are you from Washington?"
    Mercy shook her head, beginning to worry that he wasn't going to let the subject drop. "California."
    "Why didn't you open your bookshop down there?"
    "I looked around for several months before choosing a location. I like Washington, I like Ignatius Cove and I thought it could support the kind of store I wanted to run." She was very busy with the broccoli now, cutting the florets, running them under cold water again and stacking them neatly in the perforated steamer pan.
    There was a short silence. "Why did you leave California?" he asked.
    Mercy stifled a groan. "I told you. I did a lot of looking and decided business odds were better up here."
    "I think there was more to it than just a business decision. For you to pull up stakes and move to another state there must have been some other reason involved. You're not the kind of woman who would move easily. You forge ties and put down roots."
    She whirled around, startled by his cool deduction. "Why on earth do you say that?"
    He took a sip from his glass and contemplated her flaring eyes. "Was it a man?"
    She closed her teeth with a small snap and wondered how one got rid of a dinner guest before dinner. "That," she informed him, "is none of your business, is it?"
    "It was a man." He inclined his head once, as if satisfied. Then he took another swallow of wine. "Were you running away from him?"
    His casual invasion of her privacy infuriated Mercy. She slammed the lid on me steamer. "No, I was not running away from him. I was engaged to him. When the engagement ended, I decided I wanted a fresh start somewhere else."
    "Why did the engagement end? Did he cheat on you?"
    Her fingers were trembling, Mercy realized as she ran water for the pasta into a kettle. She focused her attention on the small task. "I don't know. If he did, I wasn't