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unless there’s a little bistro around here that I don’t know about.”
    I regained my equilibrium enough to glare at him. “Very magnanimous of you.”
    â€œIt’s the least I could do,” he said. “I’ll carry your bag if you want.” He held out his hand for my shoulder bag. I pulled it away, and he chuckled. Just like last time, I had to fight a smile. What was it about this guy?
    He took a step back and headed for the door without another word. At the doorway he turned, that smile lighting his face again. “We got off to a bad start, so I’m going to try again. Humor me.” He took advantage of my renewed speechlessness to knock on the open door, gesturing at me to respond when I stood, frozen, bag in hand.
    â€œCome in,” I said, feeling like an idiot.
    â€œHey,” he said once more. “Sorry about scaring you before. I’m Aidan James.”
    â€œMadeleine Kimble,” I said, for want of a better reply.
    â€œNice to meet you.”
    I scrambled for something to say. “How did you know I was in here?”
    â€œI was watching you teach.”
    â€œYou—what? From where?” It was a stupid question. The room had a wall of windows that opened onto the flagstone patio. I’d been facing away from them when I was working with the kids, and on the rare occasion that I’d turned around, I’d been way too absorbed in what I was doing to notice him.
    â€œDon’t be self-conscious. You’re good at it. The kids like you.”
    â€œYou were spying on me,” I said, indignation clear in my voice. “That’s creepy.”
    â€œSorry,” he replied, not sounding particularly repentant. “I figured you’d probably notice me standing there, given the enormous transparent wall and everything. If espionage was what I was after, I would’ve chosen a slightly more secluded vantage point.”
    There was really nothing I could say to this without sounding like an idiot, so I didn’t bother. He was right, it wasn’t his fault I was so unobservant. Still, the thought of him on the patio, scrutinizing my rapport with my students and my teaching methods, wasn’t exactly soothing. Stalker, I thought again, and wondered how I’d call for help if he decided to accost me.
    It would be just like me to escape to a quiet mountain retreat, far from the proverbial madding crowd, and come face-to-face with a crazy person who wouldn’t leave me alone.
    My discomfort must have shown on my face, because he hurried on, in a more conciliatory tone. “So anyhow, I didn’t mean to freak you out earlier, and I was wondering if I might be able to make it up to you at dinner tonight.”
    â€œWell …” I began, and then trailed off. Did I want to go to dinner with this guy? On the one hand, he was superlatively gorgeous. On the other hand, he seemed to bring out my inner moron. Maybe I would just spend the evening making a fool of myself, and the subsequent hours kicking myself. I was a little too bruised for comfort already.
    â€œHow about if I say ‘please’? Please will you go to dinner with me, Madeleine Kimble?” He’d turned the full force of his blue eyes on me, and it was unsettling. There was an intensity to the way he looked at me that made me feel like he had me half-undressed already. Worse than that, I felt like he could see right through my clothes into what lay beneath—thoughts, feelings, desires and all. I squirmed.
    â€œPretty please? I promise to behave.” He raised one eyebrow, a trick I had yet to master.
    I opened my mouth to reply but with no good idea of what I was going to say. What came out was this: “What were you doing in that tree?”
    â€œIs our dinner date conditional upon my response?”
    I revised my original opinion. Maybe he was a monkey, a stalker,
and
a lawyer—a crazy, tree-hanging, flirtatious-as-hell