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from you.”
    “I am loyal,” he defended. “And so is she. Companionship and respect for each other’s goals has defined our friendship.” He paused briefly, then added, “Until now.”
    She barely resisted the urge to ask what had changed now. It was a slippery slope and she didn’t want to go back where she’d just been, a place where she might be tempted to think about a future. That was very dangerous. She was living proof that plans had a way of being blown to bits. With the luxury of hindsight she’d learned that it was best not to have expectations.
    “Are you saying that all of a sudden you’re not getting what you want from Blair? Or that you already got what you wanted and your goals have changed?”
    “Neither. And that’s a lot like a ‘have you stopped beating your wife?’ question.” He looked frustrated and angry as a muscle in his lean jaw bunched and contracted. “I’m not a player, Hope.”
    She laughed, but there was no humor in it. The soundwas brittle and harsh. “That’s not what hospital gossip says about your trauma group’s token bachelor.”
    “Since I’m the only single doctor in the group, that makes me the bachelor. And hospital gossip is notoriously unreliable. Do you believe everything you hear?”
    “Depends on who’s saying it. You have a short memory, Doctor. Push the flashing red button on the answering machine. The message confirms the rumor that I heard about you being the last playboy standing.”
    “For what it’s worth, I plan to tell Blair what happened between you and me.”
    “Good for you. Straighten out that halo. Maybe if you come clean she won’t mind. But I do. Being the other woman isn’t a role that I want to play.”
    His eyes flashed with irritation and he blew out a long breath. “Does picking a fight with me really help?”
    “I’m not picking a fight. Just clearing the air.”
    “Then why is your pulse elevated? Respiration rapid and shallow?”
    “Because I’m mad, that’s why.”
    “And being deliberately unreasonable. Guilt does that to a person.”
    “What are you talking about?” she demanded.
    “You’re painting me with the bastard brush because it makes you feel better.”
    The jab hit too close to the mark. She lifted her chin slightly and said, “When you have this bare-your-soul conversation with Blair, be sure not to leave out the part about you being a fried Twinkie.”
    His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
    “You know.” She stepped around him and walked to the front door. After opening it she turned to find him right behind her. “A fried Twinkie—fluffy extravagance.It’s okay once in a while, but a steady diet is bad for the heart.”
    She walked out and slammed the door before he could answer. The chilly air cooled her hot cheeks, but the shivering had nothing to do with weather. Hurrying to her car, she got in and drove away as fast as she could. In case he tried to stop her.
    It would only take a single touch.
    She wasn’t proud of that. She’d loved her husband with all her heart and it shamed her to think about how easily she’d succumbed to Jake’s charm.
    The “fried Twinkie” warning was just as relevant for her as it was for him. She’d had her taste, her indulgence. Guilty pleasure.
    It was only sex; it was out of her system. Now she was going on a diet.
     
    Jake sat across the table from Blair in a steakhouse on the second floor of the Suncoast Hotel in Summerlin. They were next to the drapery-framed windows that overlooked the glittering lights of the Las Vegas Valley. This place was one of his favorites. Good food. Great service. Although price wasn’t an issue anymore, the cost was reasonable. The woman staring over the spotless white tablecloth, candles and flowers didn’t feel the same way. Blair was into pricey, exclusive places where she could be seen and photographed with the rich and famous. It was a world where perception was everything.
    So his choice of venue