Three

      The city transit bus ran over a pothole. The resulting bump shuddered through the vehicle and the few remaining passengers still on board near the end of the line.

      The jarring sensation rippled up Tina’s spine to the back of her neck, aggravating the throbbing pain in her temples. The pain had been little more than an annoying ache when she awakened that morning. Not enough sleep, she had thought, dragging her tired body from the bed to the bathroom.

      A stinging shower had not revived her lethargic body or relieved the ache in her head. Telling herself that she should have insisted Ted bring her home at a reasonable hour didn’t help much, either. Tina hadn’t insisted; Ted and the others who had remained in the tavern had lingered on long after the rest of their friends had called it a night, talking and drinking, until the bartender had shouted his nightly last-call-for-drinks warning. And even then she had not been able to go directly home, as she had assumed the responsibility of driving Ted and the others to their respective homes.

      Then, with the prolonged goodbyes at each successive house or apartment, it had been very late when she finally crawled into bed.

      When she left her house that morning, Ted’s car was parked in her driveway. Although Ted had urged her to use it to get to work, Tina had flatly refused, unwilling to take on the added responsibility of driving his fairly new car in the morning and evening rush hours.

      And so, in consequence, simply getting herself out of bed and together and to the corner bus stop was like pushing a rope uphill...with her nose.

      The thought had sprung to mind, more than once, that perhaps she should have accepted the offer of a lift home last night from her new neighbor. Tina had pushed the thought aside every time it insinuated itself into her consciousness—for what she felt were excellent reasons.

      Eric Wolfe was too good to look at, too charming, too...too masculine. The merest consideration of the tall, gorgeous, tawny-haired hunk sent Tina’s pulses into overdrive and her breathing processes into decline, and set her thighs to tingling in remembrance of being pressed to his firm, jean-clad tush.

      And it simply was not like her to react in such a manner to a man—any man. Her blatantly sensual response confused Tina; hadn’t her former husband cruelly accused her of being cold, lacking normal sensuality?

      Upon long consideration of her unresponsiveness to Glen’s lovemaking, and the attempted advances made by other men since her divorce, hadn’t she been forced to concede to the validity of his claim?

      Sadly, Tina had to admit that in all honesty, the answer to her own questions had to be yes.

      But then, if Glen’s accusations, and her reluctant agreement with them were accurate, why did her mind persist in envisioning a man she hardly knew? Tina wondered, her headache made worse by the questions hammering at her.

      Then, as if mentally dodging the tormenting images of one unmentionable man wasn’t enough, business in the shop had been brisk, demanding her scattered attention. Consequently, her headache had steadily increased throughout the seemingly endless day. And now, past six-thirty in the evening, all she wanted to do was swallow two aspirins, lie down and hopefully escape from her unwelcome contemplation of one particular man, while sleeping off the pounding pain in her head. But first she had to get home.

      The bus creaked and groaned to a stop. Tina exhaled a sigh of relief; the next stop was hers. Then again...maybe some exercise in the crisp autumn air would be as beneficial as sleep and painkillers.

      “Please wait!” she called to the driver as she jumped from her seat and made a beeline for the closing door. “I want to get off here.”

      The driver muttered something in a tone of disgust about passengers dozing past their stops, but nevertheless reopened the exit door. Calling a sweet-voiced thank-you to the driver’s reflection in the rearview mirror, Tina alighted, and not an instant too soon, for the doors swished shut again just as she took a leaping step onto the sidewalk.

      Holding her breath, she waited until the exhaust fumes from the departing vehicle had dissipated, then drew in a deep breath of the fresh evening air.

      * * *

      Eric noticed Tina walking toward him when she got to about the middle of the block. Sitting on his bike across the street from her stop, he had been watching for her for twenty-odd minutes. After nearly an hour spent that morning on the phone with his brother, with almost half of it listening to Cameron’s drawling-voiced heckling, then sitting all day fruitlessly watching the house across the street from his apartment, Tina Kranas was a delightful sight for his numbed mind and tired eyes.

      Of course, with her lovely face and enticing body, the sight of Tina was also a kick to his lately reactivated libido.

      Kick-starting the engine, he cruised down the street until he was opposite her, then making a U-turn, he glided up to the curb to keep pace alongside her.

      “Hey, lady, want a lift?” he called over the growl of the powerful machine.

      Tina tossed him a quick look, then, just as quickly, turned away to stare straight ahead. “No, thank you,” she said, in a voice also raised above the bike’s rumble. “I’d rather walk.”

      “All the way to the restaurant?” His question got its intended result—her attention.

      Coming to an abrupt stop, Tina swung around to frown at him. “Restaurant?” she repeated. “What restaurant?”

      Eric killed the engine before answering. “The one out on the highway with the Colonial name and atmosphere—The Continental Congress Inn.”

      “But why would I walk all the way out there?” she demanded, her frown deepening.

      “To have dinner with me?” Eric answered, in all apparent innocence.

      “Dinner?”

      Eric couldn’t deny the soft smile that teased his lips; she looked so darned cute in a state of bemusement. “Yeah, you know, food, drink, congenial conversation.”

      Tina sighed and raised a hand to massage her temple. “I have a headache.”

      Eric suppressed a grin. “I haven’t asked you to go to bed with me,” he said solemnly, “only to dinner.”

      She gave him a wry look and slowly shook her head from side to side. “I really don’t think...”

      That’s as far as he let her go. “You’re not hungry?”

      “Well, yes, but—”

      “Please come,” he said in a coaxing tone, once again interrupting her. “I made reservations.”

      Tina stared at him for long seconds, then heaved another, defeated-sounding sigh. “Oh, all right,” she said. “I skipped lunch, and I am hungry.”

      Despite her less-than-enthusiastic acquiescence, Eric felt a rush of elation. Before she had a chance to change her mind, he steadied the bike and leaned forward, making room for her on the saddle. “Hop on,” he said, glancing at his watch. “The reservation is for seven, and it’s five-to now.”