Plain Jane's Secret Life. Cathy Thacker Gillen

      “So?” Hannah kept her focus on Dylan as she unlocked the repair-shop minivan and slid open the back passenger door so he could get his clothes. “Last time I heard, it wasn’t against the law for married men to play pool.”

      Dylan unzipped the bag and drew out a pair of jeans, a knit polo shirt, sweat socks and running shoes. He tossed the bag aside, then prepared to climb into the back. “Mind if I change?”

      Yes, as a matter of fact, she did. “Wait till we get where we’re going to eat,” Hannah said, pretending she hadn’t been affected at all by his earlier quick-change artistry. “I’ve seen enough of your studly body for one day.”

      Dylan flashed a surprisingly wicked grin. “Turned you on, huh?” he said, tossing his clothes down and climbing into the front-passenger seat inside.

      If you only knew, Hannah thought. She was still burning from the glimpses of his handsome body. “You wish.” She threw the taunt over her shoulder as she circled around the front of the van and climbed behind the steering wheel.

      Dylan relaxed in the passenger seat, looking debonair and sexy, and very much ready to take a woman to bed. Which was ridiculous given that generally speaking he didn’t even know she was alive, let alone a woman. Although you wouldn’t know it the way he kept glancing at the way her skirt was riding up over her thighs…

      Shaking off the wistful transgression—the day she would get Dylan’s attention in that way was never going to come!—Hannah started up the vehicle and eased away from the curb. “So where do you want to go?” she asked in the most casual voice she could manage, wishing he didn’t still look and smell so good.

      “There’s a drive-in root-beer stand en route back to Holly Springs. What do you say we stop there? That is if they take credit cards.” He looked worried.

      “I think I can handle it even if they don’t,” Hannah said dryly. She might not be rolling in dough, but she made more than enough to handle her day-to-day expenses as well as anything she felt like doing after hours.

      “If it’s cash only, I’ll pay you back tomorrow,” Dylan said, giving her another curiously analytical look.

      “No problem,” Hannah said.

      The silence strung out between them. “You don’t look happy,” Dylan said eventually.

      Hannah released a long, irritated sigh. “Should I be?” Given that he had just interrupted a very important get-to-know-you session she had planned. Not that she could have continued her preplanned manipulation of events with Dylan standing there, watching every move she made, without revealing what she and Cal were trying to accomplish when it came to R. G. Yarborough.

      “Are you disappointed that guy you were with tonight turned out to be married?”

      Hannah blinked in surprise as Dylan favored her with a challenging half smile she found even more disturbing than his sudden interference in her life.

      “You were flirting with him,” Dylan said.

      Just as a means to an end, Hannah admitted to herself. But Dylan didn’t need to know about any of that. “He’s a little old for me. Don’t you think?”

      “He still looked like he wanted to take you to bed.”

      Hannah’s neck and shoulders drew tight as a bow. Be blunt, why don’t you? “And that surprises you?” Hannah asked coolly, flushing despite herself.

      “That someone would want to take you to bed?”

      Hannah tingled all over at the low timbre of Dylan’s voice. With effort Hannah kept her eyes on the road and her hands on the steering wheel. She was not going to let Dylan Hart lead her down that path! She was not! “R. G. Yarborough never said that.”

      Dylan smirked. “Trust me.” Dylan lounged in his seat, radiating all the pure male power and sexy masculinity he typically did on the TV screen. He turned to look at her directly. “The way you were coming on to him, he would’ve gotten around to suggesting it before the end of the night,” Dylan predicted darkly.

      Hannah knew that was true. The moment she’d walked up to tell her mark why she was there, only to have him suggest the two of them play a game of pool instead, R. G. Yarborough had looked her over like a piece of meat. “And that bothers you?” Hannah asked, completely surprised that Dylan sounded almost…jealous.

      Suddenly, it was Dylan’s turn to hedge.

      DYLAN WAS PUSHING TOO hard. He knew it. But the curiosity was eating him up inside. He had to know what was going on between Hannah and Cal. Because if it was what it looked like at first glance, Cal and Hannah were both in a heap of trouble. He couldn’t let either of them crash and burn without trying to stop it. “You just don’t seem the type to pick up men in a bar,” Dylan explained finally.

      Now he had really hit a sore spot with her. She was taking his observation as an assault on her morality, when that wasn’t what he had meant at all.

      “I hope you know you’re buying me one of everything on the menu for that remark,” she said as she turned the minivan into the restaurant parking lot and angled it into one of the slots on either side of the concrete divider. She rolled down the windows and warm August air poured over them.

      A waitress on roller skates headed over to the car. She handed them a plastic-coated menu. She told them about the specials, then gave them a few moments to decide. As soon as the waitress skated off, Dylan turned back to Hannah and picked up the conversation where they had left off. “I meant that in the most respectful way,” he said, doing his best to repair the damage.

      “Did you now.” Hannah kept her eyes glued on the menu.

      It was late, but the place was full of teenagers in cars. All of whom seemed to be having a very good time—unlike he and Hannah.

      Oh, to go back to such easy, carefree days…

      “I’m concerned about your well-being and safety,” Dylan continued.

      Hannah turned back to him. She was about to speak, when the phone clipped to Dylan’s belt began to ring.

      Frowning, Dylan picked it up. “Dylan Hart,” he said as the waitress roller-skated past them, balancing a tray filled with food. While he listened to the voice on the other end of the connection, she attached it to the driver-side window on the station wagon beside him. The delicious aromas of onion rings and chili dogs with cheese wafted up around them.

      “It happened,” Sasha, the Chicago evening-news anchor, said. “Just like you said it was going to.”

      Dylan tensed as Hannah went back to studying her menu. “When?”

      “Tonight around six,” Sasha said grimly. “Check your e-mail. The official notification should be there.”

      Dylan clamped down on a string of swearwords. “Thanks.”

      “No problem. And Dylan…” Sasha paused, empathy in her low voice. “I’m sorry.”

      “Same to you,” Dylan replied just as sympathetically. He hung up to find Hannah watching him. “Mind if we take a rain check on dinner?”

      Her eyes widened. She couldn’t believe his audacity. “First you interrupt my evening. Now you’re standing me up?”

      Sometimes life really bites. “I need to get back to Holly Springs.”

      Hannah paused, her indignation fading as fast as it had appeared. She looked at him harder. “Something wrong?”

      “A problem with my job,” Dylan muttered, reluctant to tell her anything more until he saw it in print and knew for certain his life was really crashing down around him.

      Hannah hesitated, her lips taking on a softer curve. “Anything I can do?” she asked after a moment.

      Dylan shrugged, his mood turning grimmer by the minute as he contemplated