Cherokee. Sheri WhiteFeather

      Adam looked at Sarah again, wondering if she would find her way into his bed. If she would nuzzle and purr, arch and stretch against him. A smooth, sleek creature he wouldn’t be able to resist.

      Frowning, he shook his head. She wasn’t a lost kitten. And he was thinking with his libido, creating sexual scenarios on a first date. So much for not pushing too hard.

      “What’s your favorite thing about California?” he asked, forcing himself to clear his mind.

      She stopped to gaze at a window display. “That’s easy.” Turning toward him, she smiled. “The beaches. I love the sand and the surf. I like to go there at dusk, when it’s quiet.”

      She sighed, and Adam pictured her at the beach on a windy day, dressed in an oversize sweater and jeans, her waist-length hair blowing in the breeze. “You collect shells, don’t you?”

      She widened her eyes. “Yes. How did you know?”

      Because he could see her walking along the shore, shells glinting in her hand like pieces of eight. She was, he decided, a woman who appreciated simple treasures. “A good guess, I suppose. Do you want to check out this shop?”

      “Sure.”

      They entered the boutique and scanned the crammed interior. It held a collection of goods, many of them jewelry and trinkets, shiny items meant to attract a woman’s eye. Sarah looked around, then wandered over to a small circular rack of clothing. Intrigued, Adam watched her.

      She admired a satin dress, tilting her head as she stroked the shiny red fabric.

      “It’s pretty,” Adam said, noting the traditional mandarin collar and intricate embroidered design.

      “Yes.” Her voice held a note of feminine awe.

      The proprietor, a tiny Chinese woman offering a friendly smile, walked over to them. She was old, Adam thought, ancient and charming. She patted Sarah’s shoulder with a gnarled hand.

      “You try on,” she said, her accent making her English choppy.

      Sarah turned, hugged the garment in a startled reaction. “Oh, no. Thank you, though.”

      “We have a private fitting room.” The woman pointed to a corner where an ornate brass rod housed a silky green drape.

      “I’m just browsing.” Sarah replaced the dress, giving it one last glance.

      The old woman said, “Okay,” then headed toward the front counter.

      Perplexed, Adam studied his date. She had looked at the garment with longing, yet refused to indulge herself. Sarah Cloud was a mystery, a dark-eyed princess who wore plain clothes and collected seashells at dusk. He didn’t know how to pursue her, wasn’t sure if he should try. She confused as much as fascinated him.

      “Why didn’t you try the dress on?” he asked.

      She crossed her arms in what seemed like a protective, if not slightly defiant gesture. “It’s too fancy.”

      “I think it’s perfect.”

      “Not for me.”

      Did everyone see her beauty but her? he wondered. Most beautiful women in L.A. were used to attention, yet Sarah didn’t appear to notice an appreciative eye. Of course she wasn’t from California, he reminded himself. And that alone appealed to him. Since he’d lost his parents, the City of Angels and everything it represented no longer felt right. But in spite of his European education, it was all he knew.

      Sarah had asked him about England, and he had tried to respond as casually as possible. His parents had died while he was in London. He had come home to bury them, then returned to finish his studies, knowing his career was all he had left. But that hadn’t been something he could discuss over dinner, not on a first date, not when he’d wanted to keep the evening light. And there was nothing light about the death of his parents—the caring, supportive family that had lied to him. It hurt so badly, sometimes he couldn’t breathe.

      Adam looked at Sarah and noticed her arms were still crossed. She was tense, but suddenly so was he. “Let’s buy something,” he said, hoping to ease the tension. “You pick out a souvenir for me, and I’ll choose one for you.”

      “You’re kidding, right?”

      “Nope.” And he intended to con her into the red dress. “Come on.” He led her to the other side of the store. “Find something you think I’d like.”

      Baffled, Sarah wandered through the tiny boutique. She didn’t know what to choose for Adam. She wasn’t an experienced shopper. And the only items she collected came from the sea. She didn’t buy shells; she lifted them from the sand, even broken and chipped ones.

      He smiled at her, and her stomach unleashed a flurry of wings. Beautiful butterflies, she decided. It wasn’t nerves this time. It was the flutter of attraction.

      Curious about his upbringing, she wanted to ask him about his mother and why he was determined to replace her with the woman who had given him up. But she decided now wasn’t the time for that sort of conversation.

      Maybe she was curious about Adam’s mother because she missed her own. Sarah didn’t have anything to remember her mother by, no outdated dresses, no feminine little keepsakes. Her father had burned everything. But that had been part of their culture, the old Cherokee way. A path she no longer followed.

      Sarah looked up at Adam. He watched her. Closely. Maybe too closely. Before he could ask what she had been thinking about, she returned to the business at hand. She still had to find him a souvenir.

      Scanning the shelves, she caught sight of a teapot. But not just any teapot. This one was adorned with a hand-painted dragon. The serpent’s body shimmered with gold, and its eyes were set with shiny red stones. Yes, she thought, a powerful creature spun from legend. A man like Adam would slay this beast, assume the role of the protective knight, the fairy-tale prince.

      She lifted it, turned it in her hand. The serpent’s eyes shined back at her. The detail was exquisite. The dragon seemed alive, ready to breathe a burst of iridescent flames. She could almost feel the heat. The scorch of fire.

      “This,” she said. “Do you like it?”

      Adam blinked. “It’s a teapot, Sarah.”

      “It has a dragon on it,” she pointed out.

      “Yeah, but it’s still a teapot.”

      She stifled a smile. He looked as if she had just squelched his masculinity. “You drink tea, so what’s wrong with a teapot?”

      “Nothing, I guess. It’s just not what I figured you’d choose.”

      She touched the serpent. “I think he’s dangerous.” Like the way Adam made her feel. Suddenly she was caught up in the moment, in the fairy tale she had created in her mind.

      Adam studied the teapot, and the winged flutter erupted in her stomach again. And when he took a small step toward her, the motion intensified.

      “Okay. I’ll take the dragon,” he said. “But I want you to try on that dress.”

      Her heartbeat jumped. “Why?”

      “Because I want to see you in it.”

      “It won’t look right on me,” she said, feeling suddenly foolish. “I’m not a red satin kind of girl.” She wore mostly pastels, simple skirts and blouses constructed of washable fabrics. Never red. And never satin.

      “You’ll never know until you try it on.”

      Was he challenging her? Baiting her? Either way, she knew she had to prove him wrong. Sarah considered herself a practical woman. She had no use for such a luxurious garment. It wouldn’t fit her looks or her lifestyle.

      “Fine. I’ll try it on.” She turned and headed toward the clothing rack, knowing Adam followed. Retrieving the