And what if the answer, or the question, was in one of the books she’d assigned to her friends? What if they missed it because it would only resonate with her?

That way lay madness, she told herself.

On top of everything else she had to do, had to think about, had to worry about, she had to get ready for a date. A date, she reminded herself, that she should never have agreed to.

Talk about the road to madness.

If she canceled, Jordan would either nag and harangue her until she sliced him to pieces with a butcher knife and spent the rest of her life in prison, or, even worse, he’d get that smug, told-you-so look on his face and claim he’d only proven that she was afraid to be around him.

In which case, it was back to the kitchen knife and life in the women’s penitentiary.

The only choice left was to go—and to go fully armed. She would not only prove she wasn’t the least bit concerned about spending a few hours with him, she would drive him mad while she was at it.

She knew he was a sucker for scent, so she slathered herself in perfumed body cream before slipping into what she thought of as her tonight’s-the-night underwear. Not that she would give Jordan the chance to see it, but she would know she was wearing the sexy black bra, the lacy panties, the lace-trimmed garter belt and sheer hose.

And they would make her feel powerful.

She checked herself in the mirror—front, back, sides. “Oh, yeah, I look just fine. Eat your heart out, Hawke.”

She picked up the dress she’d laid on the bed. It looked deceptively simple, one long, fluid line of black. But when you put a body into it, everything changed.

She slipped it on, gave it a few tugs, then did another turn before the mirror.

The scoop neck took on a whole new dimension when there were br**sts filling it out, rising teasingly over the edge. The column turned seductive when the slightest movement parted that long side slit and revealed the length of leg.

She slipped on her shoes, delighted that the stiletto heels added three inches to her already impressive height. She’d never been sensitive about being tall. She liked it.

She had Zoe to thank for the hair. She’d done it sleek and loose, with a little jeweled clip anchored between the crown and the tip of her left ear. Just another tease, Dana mused. The clip didn’t do anything but sit there and sparkle.

She dabbed perfume at her collarbone, in the valley between her br**sts, at her wrists. Then tossed her head. “You are a dead man, pal. You are meat.”

It occurred to her that she was actually looking forward to the evening. It had been weeks since she’d dressed herself up for a date. Plus, she had to admit she was curious. How would Jordan handle himself? How, for that matter, would they handle each other? She wondered what it would be like to be with him, within the ritual of a date, now that they were man and woman rather than boy and girl.

It was, she had to admit, exciting. Particularly exciting since she was certain he intended to win her over and she had no intention of being won.

She leaned toward the mirror, slid murderous red on her lips, then dropped the tube of lipstick in her purse. She pressed her lips together, opened them again with a cocky little pop. “Let the games begin.”

When Jordan knocked at exactly seven-thirty, she couldn’t have scripted his reaction any more perfectly.

His eyes widened, blurred. She actually saw the pulse in his throat jump. Then he fisted a hand and rapped it twice against his own heart as if to get it started again.

“You’re trying to hurt me, aren’t you?”

She angled her head. “Absolutely. How’d I do?”

“Kill shot. Am I drooling?”

Now she grinned and turned back inside to get her coat. He stepped in behind her, leaned down and sniffed. “If I whimper, try to . . .” He trailed off as he saw the books. Piles and stacks of them beside the sofa, another stack on the coffee table, a sea of them on her dining table.

“Jesus Christ, Dane, you need treatment.”

“They’re not just for reading, not that there’s anything wrong with that. They’re for work and for research. I’m playing an angle on the key and I’m preparing to open a bookstore.”

She slipped into the coat, trying not to be miffed that he now appeared to be more interested in the books than in how incredible she looked.

“The Key to Rebecca, Key Witness, A House Without a Key. I see where you’re going here. The Key to Sexual Fulfillment?” He sent her a long, smirking look.

“Shut up. Are we going to eat?”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve got your work cut out for you.” He crouched down, began flipping through pages. “You want me to take some of these?”

“I’ve already split the load with Malory and Zoe.” She knew he’d start reading in a moment; he wouldn’t be able to help himself. In that area, they were identical twins.

“That’s enough. Hungry here.”

“What else is new?” He set a book back on a tower of its fellows, straightened and took another good long look at her. “Wowzer.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet. Are we going?”

He moved to the door to open it for her. “Where’s Moe?”

“Romping in the park with his best friend. Flynn’s dropping him off before he goes home. Where are we eating?”

“Just get in the car, Miss One Track Mind. You’ll get fed. How’s the painting brigade doing?” he asked once she was settled and he was behind the wheel.

“We rock. Seriously. I can’t get over how much we’re getting done. And I have the body aches to prove it.”

“Anything you want me to rub, just let me know.”

“That’s a kind and selfless offer, Jordan.”

“Just the kind of guy I am.”

She crossed her legs, making sure the move was slow and parted the slit of her dress well up to her thigh. “But I have Chris to take care of that for me.”

His gaze traveled down, all the way to the sharp heel of her shoe, then back up again. “Chris?” He didn’t snarl it, but he wanted to.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“And who’s Chris?”

“A very talented massage therapist with magic hands.” She stretched, as if under those magic hands, and added a quiet little moan. Oh, yes, she thought at the quick hitch of Jordan’s breathing, she had entirely new weaponry to aim at him this time around.