Kiss A Handsome Stranger. Jacqueline Diamond

      All of us fear rejection. And many of us secretly feel unworthy of love. Putting the two areas of anxiety together, we may believe that the object of our interest couldn’t possibly love us as we really are.

      So we pretend to be something we aren’t, or we hide our real self deep inside. This is exactly the opposite of what we should do if we want to find true love.

      We need to be frank and honest. We need to take the risk of showing our true self to the one we care about.

      I’m not suggesting you test your loved one’s devotion by dropping your dirty boots on her spotless floor or unloading a day’s worth of frustration by yelling at him. That’s not honesty, it’s inconsideration.

      But if you’re watching his football games and haven’t seen your favorite ice skaters in months, tell him what you like. Look for a way to satisfy both your needs. Don’t hide your interests, your fears, your hopes. Sharing them can only create a stronger bond between the two of you.

      Skeptical, Daisy stuck the book back into place. The author’s advice made sense up to a point, but how could she tell a formidable man like Chance Foster that she had run away because she knew that sooner or later he would break her heart?

      And, having seen him again, she was more certain of that than ever.

      “WHAT WAS ALL THAT ABOUT?” Elise demanded when Chance popped into her condo.

      His sister had changed into shorts and a sleeveless buttoned shirt. With her medium-length brown hair clipped back, she looked too young to be a college professor. It was hard sometimes to remember that she was thirty-three and had a Ph.D.

      “What was all what about?” he temporized. It had become a habit, as an attorney, to reveal as little as possible while he organized his thoughts.

      Plus, Chance felt a natural restraint about revealing his emotions. Perhaps it came from being a big brother and taking a lot of responsibility for his sisters. He’d seen the pressure that having eight children put on his parents and had done his best to spare them from unnecessary worry.

      In any case, he didn’t like having other people see his vulnerabilities. Not even Elise.

      “I got the notion you and Daisy had met before.” She turned her back and marched into the kitchen. Judging by the onions, mushrooms, eggs and cheese on the counter, she was planning to cook an omelette. “You’re going to have to satisfy my curiosity if you expect me to fix you dinner.”

      “I had no such expectation,” he said, although the sight of the ingredients made his mouth water. “And naturally, I wouldn’t dream of preparing one of my kitchen-sink salads unless you answer a few questions I happen to have.”

      Chance was famous in the Foster household for salads in which, according to his sisters, he tossed everything but the kitchen sink. Starting with a base of greens and tomatoes, he would hunt through the pantry and come up with sardines or tuna, water chestnuts, cashew nuts, crispy Chinese noodles, garbanzo beans or whatever else was on hand.

      Elise cracked a couple of eggs into a bowl and regarded him assessingly. “Well, all right. I’ll bet I can tell plenty about you and Daisy from whatever questions you ask, anyway.”

      “You should have been a lawyer.”

      “Spare me!” she cried in mock horror. “Two in one family?” She cracked a couple more eggs into the bowl. Elise would never put that many eggs in an omelette unless she was expecting company, Chance noted happily.

      “By the way, I came over here to talk to you about your wedding plans,” he said. “As an attorney…”

      “If you say one word about James and me needing a prenuptial agreement, I’ll wring your neck!” She chopped the onions hard against the cutting board.

      From the refrigerator, Chance fetched the salad’s basic ingredients. “If I were his lawyer, seeing how wealthy he is, I’d insist on it. As your brother, however, I’m delighted that he hasn’t asked for one.”

      Elise’s mouth twitched. She was only slightly mollified, he could tell. “Then what did you want to say?”

      “That I hope you’ve taken my advice about getting premarital counseling.” Opening the cupboard, he stared at the rows of cans before selecting artichoke hearts and pinto beans. Chopped mild chili peppers. Sliced black olives. And a bag of sunflower seeds.

      “We don’t need it.” His sister splashed olive oil into her omelette pan. “We love each other and we’re already on the same wave length.”

      “How do you plan to handle finances?” Chance challenged. “Which relatives will you spend Christmas with? How many children do you want? What if you get a once-in-a-lifetime offer to teach at a foreign university?”

      “We’ll deal with those issues as they come up.” Elise’s thoughtful expression indicated he’d hit home, however.

      “It’s better if you discuss potential areas of conflict before there’s an urgent need,” Chance informed her.

      His sister released an exasperated breath. “Don’t you ever stop being bossy?”

      “Will I ever stop caring about you? No.” He drained the salad ingredients and tossed them together.

      Elise didn’t say any more as she concentrated on pouring the mixture into the pan, letting it cook and deftly folding it. A few minutes later the two of them sat at the table, sharing their creations.

      “Tell me about you and Daisy,” she said.

      There was no point in playing coy. “I met her at your engagement party.”

      She stopped, a forkful of salad halfway to her mouth. “Daisy is Deirdre? I don’t believe it!”

      He thanked his innate reserve for the fact that he hadn’t told about taking Deirdre home with him. He’d said only that he’d met a charming woman and wondered if anyone knew her phone number. “To make matters worse, I told her my name was Charles. So she didn’t know who I was, either.”

      “And you like each other? How perfect!” Elise crowed. “Phoebe and I have been trying to find a guy for Daisy for months!”

      “So you’ve told me,” Chance said. “I don’t understand why. An attractive woman like her should have men swarming around.”

      “She’s picky,” his sister said. “We’ve been trying to find the right man.”

      “So she’s hard to please.” He poured a little more vinegar and oil on his salad. “Does that mean she’s unreliable? Does she change her mind often?”

      “There’s a difference between being discerning and being capricious.” Now Elise sounded like the professor she was instead of like his kid sister. “There’s nothing flighty about Daisy.”

      Chance hesitated. There was another thing he wanted to know that might shed light on Daisy’s behavior. It was highly personal, though. “Phoebe mentioned a female condition. I don’t know much about these things.”

      Elise set down her fork. “I don’t know if I should tell you.”

      “Then don’t.”

      Elise stared out the window, considering. “I don’t think Daisy would mind if I explained her condition to you. I’ve heard her tell others about it, people who aren’t that close to her. I think she’s actually trying to educate people about the condition.

      “She has endometriosis. The way Daisy explained it, tissue that’s supposed to be lining the uterus appears in other parts of the body. It can be minor or really nasty. Her case is kind of in the middle but getting worse. It can make it hard to have a baby, so if she wants one, she needs to have it soon.”

      The possibility that Daisy’s life might be in danger sent an icy wave of fear flooding through Chance. “It isn’t like cancer, is it?”