Sweet Fortune

his neck and pulled his head down to hers. Standing on tiptoe, she crushed her mouth against his.
    Her first impression was that she was peering over the rim of a volcano. Boiling lava simmered deep down in the heart of the mountain, just as her intuition had warned her. There was definitely heat here, but it was under awesome control, surrounded by layers of frozen stone. Images of banked fires and smoldering furnaces flickered in her mind.
    Moth to the flame .
    Hatch's mouth moved slowly on hers, taking complete control of the kiss with effortless ease. Jessie was not quite certain just when she was no longer doing the kissing but became, instead, the one being kissed.
    Hatch's elegant, dangerous hands tightened on her arms as he held her against the length of him. She could feel the long, hard muscles of his upper thighs and was deeply aware of the strength in him. It compelled and fascinated everything that was feminine within her.
    But overshadowing all the other impressions that were pouring in on her was a sense of Hatch's pure self-mastery.
    Jessie did not know what she had been expecting, perhaps some proof that Hatch would be as cold physically as he was in every other aspect of his life. Perhaps she had hoped such a discovery would calm the storm of conflicting emotions she felt toward him.
    What she found instead was infinitely more disturbing. It would have been reassuring to know that there really was no emotion buried in this man. To discover that the fire was there, just as she had suspected, but that he had complete control of it, was unsettling in the extreme.
    Jessie began to tremble. Alarmed, she brought her hands up and pushed at Hatch's shoulders. He let her go at once, his gaze amused and all too knowing. The pace of his breathing was unchanged, slow and steady as ever.
    Jessie stepped quickly away from him, aware that her mouth was quivering. She bit her lip in an effort to regain her self-control as she stalked to the cupboard and got down another mug.
    “Well, Jessie?”
    “I think you'd better go.” She poured the tea with shaking fingers.
    He waited a moment longer and then, without a word, he turned and walked out of the kitchen and out of the apartment.
    When the door closed behind him, Jessie sagged heavily against the counter, shut her eyes, and gulped down the hot tea.
    * * *
    The dowdy, worried-looking woman was hovering in the hall outside the offices of Valentine Consultations the next morning when Jessie arrived for work. Jessie was so excited at the prospect of a real live client that she nearly dropped her key.
    “I'm sorry,” she apologized. “Have you been waiting long? I'm afraid Mrs. Valentine isn't here today, but perhaps I can help you?”
    “I'm Martha Attwood,” the woman said, glancing around uneasily. “I had an appointment.”
    “You did?” Jessie opened the door and led the way into the office. “I'm Mrs. Valentine's assistant. I don't recall setting up an appointment for you.”
    “I called her at home the night before last.” The woman trailed slowly into the office, looking as though she expected to find crystal balls on the tables and dark, heavy drapes covering the windows. “I told her I wasn't sure if I really wanted to hire her. She said to come in this morning. Just to talk, you know.”
    “Certainly. Have a seat, Mrs. Attwood. Coffee?”
    “No, thank you.” Martha Attwood sat down on the edge of a chair, her handbag perched on her knees. She cast another anxious look around the office. “I don't really believe in this sort of thing. Bunch of silly mumbo jumbo, if you ask me. But I don't know where else to turn. I'm desperate and the police say there's nothing they can do. There's been no actual crime committed, and my daughter…” Her face started to crumple. “Excuse me.”
    Jessie sprang up from behind the desk and came around the corner to extend a box of tissues. “It's all right, Mrs. Attwood. Just take your time.”
    Martha Attwood sniffed several times, blew her nose, and then dropped the used tissue into her purse. “I'm so sorry. It's the stress, you know. I've been under so much of it lately.”
    “I understand.”
    “She was doing so well in college. I was so proud of her. She was studying computer science.”
    “Who was studying computer science?”
    “My daughter. Susan. She was always so mature for her age. Even as a child. Quiet. Hardworking. Sensible. Never got into trouble. I never dreamed she'd do something like