Reckless Passion by Stephanie James

Romeo.
    She couldn't deny it, she thought gloomily. She was in love. She had fallen in love last night, and nothing was going to change that fact that quickly. She was a woman who prided herself on a pragmatic approach to life. She would deal with the reality of the situation and not pretend she was merely temporarily infatuated. She knew what infatuation was. It was what she had felt for her ex-husband. And now she knew what love was.
    There were cures for being in love, just as there were cures for infatuation, she told herself firmly. But the remedies for love were likely to have some severe side effects. And they didn't work quickly, as far as she knew. Time was one of them. Time and throwing oneself into work and perhaps finding another man... She would try them all. As soon as she could free herself from Yale Ransom!
    Chewing absently on her lower lip, she came to a brief halt in front of a hall mirror and ran a quick, assessing eye over herself. There had been no date to cancel for this evening. Jeff Conroy, the research analyst from the office, was out of town on business and she hadn't felt like seeing any of her other assorted escorts. She almost hadn't gone to her manager's party last night, in fact. Too bad she hadn't followed her inclinations!
    The curving bell of her deep red hair was brushed and polished-looking in the glow of the lamp. The floating material of the exotically printed yellow and green dress fell flatteringly over her rounded breasts and softly flaring hips. She had chosen her highest-heeled sandals in an effort to be on more equal footing with Yale, but she was very much afraid that wouldn't be a lot of help. He tended to dominate everyone in his vicinity.
    On the whole, she had to be reasonably satisfied with the overall effect. She looked poised, cool and very much in command of herself. It was as much as she could hope for under the circumstances, she thought with a sigh as the sound of a car stopping out front caught her attention.
    She opened the door to find Yale standing on the step, every inch the neat, conservatively dressed professional. For some reason she almost laughed, barely managing to stifle the flash of humor. But he must have seen it in her eyes, because the gold winked in his grin and the hazel eyes glittered wickedly behind the austere glasses.
    "Why do you have to look past the surface?" he complained, stepping inside the cozy apartment and glancing around expectantly. "I really am an accountant, you know. Give me a chance!" He finished his quick perusal of the room and lifted her chin possessively with his hand. Dropping a light, proprietary kiss on her lips, he released her almost at once.
    "I gave you a chance," she reminded him determinedly. "And you turned out to be something altogether different from an accountant!" She moved away from him. "I'll get my purse."
    She disappeared into the bedroom and returned to find him studying her eclectic collection of books. He put down the small volume of eighteenth-century philosophy as she appeared in the doorway.
    "Your interests appear to be wide-ranging," he murmured, coming forward. "Do you play that guitar?" He nodded toward the instrument on the wall.
    "A little," she admitted carefully, eyeing him uneasily.
    "And can you really cook stuff out of those fancy gourmet cookbooks?"
    "Do I look like I've been starving to death most of my life?" she tossed back, reaching for a fluffy shawl.
    He came up behind her, adjusting the shawl and then sliding his hands warmly down her sides, shaping her curves. "No," he whispered throatily. "You look like a woman who knows instinctively about womanly things like cooking and loving and—"
    "And selling securities!" she interrupted, stepping hastily away from his touch.
    "And selling securities," he agreed smiling. He flicked a glance over her interestedly. "Tonight's my night to ask the questions," he went on slowly.
    "I thought you were going to take a lesson from me in the perils of