Guilty Pleasures by Stella Cameron Page A

places more prominent than other places.
    Another rush of heat to her face embarrassed Polly. “What doesn’t come to you naturally?” she asked, covering her own awkwardness.
    “Making the moves.” Not a shadow of humor touched his features now. “Saying the right things, in the right tone of voice. Flattering a woman. Doing the things a woman needs and wants from a man—if he wants to mean something to her. That kind of thing.”
    Polly had often been pegged as a chatterer. No smart words came to mind right now, but she couldn’t help liking his direct approach.
    “I was out of line last night,” he said.
    A stick of incense smoldered in a holder at the middle of the table. Polly picked it up and sniffed, then coughed.
    “It wasn’t because I meant to be out of line. Like I’ve said, I haven’t had much experience saying the right things to a woman.”
    “I believe you.”
    “Ouch. I deserved that, I guess.”
    Incense nauseated her. She put the holder on the next table.
    “It never mattered before.”
    Polly studied him.
    He tipped his chair onto its back legs and jiggled. “It matters now, and I don’t care if I make a fool of myself telling you.”
    “You don’t know me.”
    The sight of the tip of his tongue, curling over his top teeth, made Polly swallow hard. He said, “One day I’ll explain why I do know you. Not all the details, of course, but a good deal. Everyone has special skills. Judging people is one of mine. I’m good at it.”
    “You’re humble, too.”
    “I’m honest. You’re a very special woman. All the more reason why I shouldn’t have pushed you the way I did.”
    “Why did you?”
    “I wasn’t getting through to you. And I didn’t want you to go. I didn’t handle the situation well. I’m going to do better from here on.”
    From here on. He didn’t know anything about her, but he spoke as if they had a future. “You’ve picked me. That’s what you’re telling me. You’ve picked me and, as far as you’re concerned, that means I’ll automatically pick you. Interesting theory.”
    Nasty leaned across the table so suddenly she jumped. He pulled her hands out of her lap and held them beneath his on top of the table. “Desperate theory,” he said. His voice was deep. “I’ve never thought I could fall in love before.”
    The rush Polly felt was as if ice had passed across her skin. Goose bumps shot over her arms and legs. Deep inside she trembled. “You can’t say something like that,” she whispered. “You can’t.”
    “I just did.”
    “But you shouldn’t.”
    “I did.”
    “You don’t think you could love me. Crumb! That sounds mad.”
    “There’s nothing mad about me.”
    “There has to be. I’m a stranger.”
    “I’ve watched you for weeks.”
    “But you don’t know me.”
    “I’m going to.”
    This was the stuff of movies, not Polly Crow’s life. He sounded—obsessed? Oh. “I’ve got to go.”
    “I’ve scared you. Again.”
    “Please let me leave.”
    “If I do, I’ll have blown it. You’ll never let me talk to you like this again.”
    How right he was. “No.” How much she wanted him to be wrong. How much she wanted… what did she want? They were strangers. He was a fantastically beautiful stranger, but facts were facts. He behaved as if he was obsessed with her— like the whisperer on the answering machine.
    “Polly, forget I just made an ass of myself by saying something you can’t be expected to take seriously. Just tell me you’ll see me again. And again. And again.”
    “I’m a—”
    “Please?”
    “I’ve got a son.”
    “I know. I’ve seen you with him. He looks like a nice kid.”
    “The best. He didn’t have an easy time of it when he was little. Now he’s my life, and I intend to make sure he knows it. No one’s ever going to be more important to me than Bobby.”
    “Little boys grow up into men. Then their mommies had better have someone else to love.”
    “I’m used to being alone.”
    With