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again, as she made a cup of tea, that there was no point thinking about Liam. It would get her nowhere, except miserable and crazy. The doorbell rang as she poured the tea. It rang endlessly, which told her that the guardian was out. She ran across the courtyard to the big bronze outer door, with no idea who it could be. No one ever rang their doorbell at night.

She looked through the peephole and could see no one there, and then hit the buzzer to open one side of the big bronze door. Maybe someone had left something outside. As she pulled the door open and looked around, she saw Liam standing in front of her, drenched, in the pouring rain. He was carrying a small bag, and wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. He was wearing a pair of old cowboy boots, and his long blond hair was plastered to his head in the rain. She stood staring at him and said not a word as he looked down at her, and then she stepped aside so he could come into the courtyard at least, and stand sheltered from the rain.

“You told me not to call you from London,” he said, smiling at her. “So I didn't. I called you from Paris. I didn't call till I got here. I figured you'd be home by now.”

“What are you doing here, Liam?” She looked upset more than angry. And somewhere deep inside of her, she was frightened. With very little effort from either of them, this could get out of hand.

“I came to see you.” He looked more than ever like a giant child. “I haven't been able to think of anything but you since yesterday. So I figured I might as well come to see you. I missed you.” She had missed him, too, but he was a risk she just couldn't afford.

“The roses were beautiful,” she said politely.

“Were? Did you throw them away?” He looked instantly disappointed.

“Of course not. They're in my office.” They were still standing under the sheltered part of the courtyard. “I told my secretary they were from a new artist.”

“Why do you owe her an explanation? You're a free woman.”

“No one is free, Liam. Or at least I'm not. I have a business, children, employees, clients, responsibilities, obligations, a reputation. I can't go around acting like a love-starved schoolgirl.” She said it as much to herself as to him.

“Why not? It might do you good for a change to let your hair down.” It was the same thing her son had said, literally, when he saw her with her hair loose in London. But for some reason, Liam unhinged her. And that was not what she wanted. She wasn't going to throw her life away and make a fool of herself, falling for this crazy overgrown boy. “Can I take you to dinner somewhere?” As he asked her, she suddenly thought of her infuriating dinner with Gonzague de St. Mallory at Alain Ducasse the month before, when he had expected her to sleep with him to sell a painting. How insulting that had been. This wasn't. Foolish perhaps, but sincere, and not insulting. Gonzague was a lot less of a man, or even a gentleman, than this self-declared and proud-to-be-wacky artist.

“Why don't you come in, and I'll cook you something? The weather is too miserable to go out.” She led the way back to her house, the door was still standing open. “Where are you staying?” she asked nervously. If he had said with her, she wouldn't have let him in her front door.

“At an artists' hostel in the Marais, near the Place des Vosges. I stayed there last summer.” She nodded, and led the way into her living room. The house was eighteenth century, as was the furniture. The art was all contemporary and modern. It was an artful mixture that few could have accomplished. The end result was elegant, cheerful, and cozy. There was a huge fireplace in the room, which she had had rebuilt in white marble.

There was only one lamp lit in the room, a tall silver torchère she had bought years before in Venice. There were tall candlesticks with candles in them all over the room. She never bothered to light them. It was too much trouble. They walked through the living room, past the dining room, and straight into the kitchen, which was a big cozy room with French provincial furniture, an enormous marble table, and paintings by