What the devil is her name, now we know she isn’t you?’ ‘Yolande,’ supplied Melusine. She pulled the door so that it was not quite to, and held out her hand, palm up. She liked to do it for Cathy Beck, so that she could relax after waitressing all day at the Big Apple with a homemade meal. He was conscious of a quickening of his heartbeat and the familiar rise of adrenalin that sent his senses soaring in anticipation. He made it impossible not to respond, his arms tightening deliciously around hers. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine.
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