FIRST EDITION First Printing, 1998

No if’s, and’s, or but’s!

She wanted a divorce—FROM HER FAMILY!

And not just any mealy-mouthed one, but an ironclad document with all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed. Most of all she wanted sole custody of her lovelife.

Regina Citrano dashed from the garden reception into the house, murmuring apologies to those she nudged along the way. Heads turned as her lavender skirt billowed and swirled and her matching heels pounded up the oak stairs. Her face flushed, her newly-permed hair flying, she sought sanctuary in her cousin’s bedroom.

Once inside, she locked the door and marched to the open window. The May breeze ushered in the fragrance of lilacs but failed to cool her temper. Muted conversations, mixed with strains of romantic music, floated upward as she peered down on the idyllic scene.

Idyllic?

No gathering of the Citrano clan could be labeled idyllic, let alone idle.

Especially this wedding reception.

Her cousin Melva’s marriage left Regina the only remaining single Citrano female in her generation. A state her family zealously pledged to rectify.

She sat down on the hope chest, conveniently perched beneath the window. A collection of stuffed animals, once prized possessions of her cousin, sat atop it, propped against the bottom rim of the window. Preoccupied with her thoughts, Regina picked up a Teddy Bear, then spied a magazine wedged between the chest and the wall. She tugged at it, tossing the worn replica of Pooh onto the bed.

She’d had a premonition she’d regret coming today.

Too late now!

Come to think of it, divorcing her family might not be drastic enough, especially her three meddlesome aunts. Sure they had her welfare at heart, but today they’d stepped over the line. She had half a mind to put out a contract on them.

And how do you propose to do that when you’re too shy to find your own dates?

Good point, she admitted, fanning herself with the magazine. A mutiny might prove easier. In spite of her anger, Regina chuckled, savoring the vision of her conniving aunts walking the plank. Just her luck, they’d cast a hex on her from their watery graves.

Too soft-hearted for her own good, she sighed. How could she stay angry with them? A good crew, they meant well. But heavens, this very moment three totally unsuitable men cruised the reception searching for her, each under the assumption she was their date and each escorted by one of her aunts. As a result, the aunts weren’t speaking to each other, and family members had chosen sides.

World War Three, Citrano-style, was imminent.

Mortally embarrassed, Regina had beat a hasty retreat.

Don’t blame them, her conscience chided. They know how shy you are. They know you haven’t had a serious relationship since you broke up with Paul four years ago.

Regina chewed her lip and thumbed through the pages of the magazine. With three older siblings and a dozen older cousins doting on her, she’d hardly uttered a word till she was three— hadn’t needed to. Her family’s boisterous and argumentative nature had overwhelmed her. Yet she’d quietly observed and absorbed their antics, even managing to adopt them now and then. Once past her initial shyness with a person, her Citrano pizzazz shone through.

Of course, her disappointing relationship with Paul could be responsible for her shyness, too. It had lasted all through college and kept her out of circulation. That, combined with attending a Catholic woman’s college hadn’t provided many opportunities to interact with men.

But men weren’t her problem.

Bless their ever-loving hearts, she was rather fond of them.

It was the seeking out and meeting them that defeated her.

If left to her own devices, taking her time to get to know a man, she did very well. Trouble was, it took her forever to break the ice and none of the men lit a spark, especially the ones her aunts pushed on her. And her aunts were growing increasingly impatient.

Regina stared blankly at the magazine. She could sit in this room stewing about her family’s interference until she turned sixty, or she could do something about it. Something to convince them to stop. Something desperate... like...

Fighting fire with fire. But how?

Mutiny, murder, and divorce weren’t the answers.

Suddenly, the magazine headline, FLIRTING IS FUN, stood out in bold red letters. Not if you’re shy. Not if your bottom lip quivers and your mouth turns dry. Tingles spread through her fingers as she flipped through the pages, then scanned the article.

"Bull’s eye!" This could be the answer to her prayers.

Hone your skills it said. Search for romance with the same determination you would hunt for a job. Practice makes perfect.

Hmm... maybe by using the article as her Bible, she could finally master the art of flirting. Wouldn’t that just put a crimp in her aunts’ matchmaking?

Practice makes perfect.

She liked the sound of that.

She’d give it a shot.

I can do this!

In a daze amid the hustle and bustle of Greater Cincinnati’s Airport, Regina Citrano plunged her hand into her black and tan portfolio and retrieved her magazine. Ignoring the horde of people who walked by, she flipped to the article that had obsessed her for the past two weeks. "Five Easy Steps to Flirting."

Lord, she hoped so.

She skimmed the piece, then slipped it back in her case. According to the info, men succumbed to flirting no matter what their condition. Age or marital status didn’t matter. A crowded airport was recommended as a fertile hunting ground for beginners.

And she was about to begin the hunt.

So why was she hyperventilating?

A Citrano never wavered but as the baby of the family, somehow she’d missed out on her allotted dose of Citrano Confidence.

Though stage fright contributed to her shakiness, she knew the root cause—a pathological aversion to airplanes acquired during childhood. Considering her phobia for them, she deserved nothing short of a medal for even setting foot in the terminal. Of course, the article mentioned several other promising venues besides the airport, and she planned to cover them all. Eventually. Next weekend she’d scout the mall.

Practice makes perfect.

And she intended to acquire plenty of it.

But for now, the airport seemed the least threatening—a place where people frustrated by long delays would be receptive to conversations, a place where it didn’t matter whether the man was married or not as she’d surely never see him again, a place where if the flirting got out of hand, she could vanish into the crowd on a moment’s notice.

A balding but attractive man sat down next to her. Regina studied him out of the corner of her eye. Well dressed, with a dark suit and red tie, and a fatherly appearance to his face, he looked harmless enough. She scanned his left hand for a ring. One thing she’d never do was intentionally flirt with a married man. Yet, the article stressed not to be concerned about that. Short, objective, practice runs were supposed to be preludes to the main event—a more serious interaction with the guy you wanted to get to know.

Do it, her conscience ordered. Say something. Start a conversation. You want to get married, don’t you?

Regina nodded. Twenty-five years and counting, she saw her life slipping away before her eyes. Being a teller in a bank for the rest of her life didn’t exactly fit what she had in mind. Out of style though it might be, she wanted a husband and children to fuss over. And judging from her family’s zealous interest, they wanted it even more than she did.

You don’t want your family to foist your future husband on you, do you?

Regina groaned. Not if it meant marrying Johnny Barbato, the man her Aunt Sophia and Uncle Guido were currently pushing on her. Bless her family’s interfering hearts, every single one of them had been matchmaking for more than three years now. Not one of the candidates had stirred her heart. If Prince Charming was out there, she preferred to find him herself, and to do that she needed to overcome her chronic shyness.

For an extra boost she fished her compact from her purse, then snapped it open. Apprehensive, dark brown eyes peered back at her. An auburn wig covered her blah-brown tresses. The wig insured her anonymity. If someone she knew caught her hanging out at the airport and flirting with strange men, she’d die. Admiring the sexy aura the wig gave her, she considered changing the color permanently. She’d always wanted to be a redhead.

She winked at her image in the compact and snapped it shut. Crossing her fingers, she took a deep breath and peeked at the news magazine the man next to her was reading. As if sensing her scrutiny, the man turned and faced her.

Show time.

Regina swallowed then squared her shoulders. "I couldn’t help but notice the article you were reading on Bosnia. Tragic circumstances, don’t you agree?"

Tyler Novak leaned against the wall of the airport corridor and scanned the crowd with more than mild curiosity, his mind absorbing everything around him with rapid-fire ease.

"Whadda you think?" Jake, his stocky companion, asked him.

"I think it’s him." Tyler reached into his jeans pocket and withdrew a snapshot.

He lifted his gaze to compare the man in question to the snapshot when a redhead walked by. The blazing color of her hair and her spectacular legs caught his attention. She wore a navy blazer and matching, short, split skirt. A very short skirt, and with her incredibly shaped legs, she’d chosen wisely. It’d be a shame to hide them.

Paying particular attention to the seductive sway of her hips, he let his gaze drift up and down in calm appraisal as she continued to walk across his line of vision. With one eye locked on her and the other on their target, he saw her sit down next to a bald-headed guy. Tyler immediately shifted his full attention back to their suspected quarry.

"Some dame, huh?" Jake, his partner commented, then softly whistled.

"What?"

"The redhead. Choice, wouldn’t you say?"

That she was. He’d always been a sucker for redheads. "Yeah," Tyler agreed. She and the bald guy were engaged in an animated conversation. Hell. Probably her husband, lucky guy.

Regina released a deep breath and walked away from the third man as she surveyed the crowd. Her flirtatious conversations with the three men had gone well. She’d selected them and thought she’d improved her line of patter. The bald man had been a businessman, the soldier, on leave, and the overweight man, married with three children. Apparently flattered by her interest, the latter had even showed her snapshots of his kids. Maybe she’d try one more man before moving on to another gate.

The flight delay had caused the waiting area to fill up with people. The article had been explicit about not spending more than ten or fifteen minutes with each subject. More time tended to lead to something more serious—a level she wasn’t yet ready to tackle.

She’d certainly hit pay dirt here. Plenty of men appeared headed to Chicago, and many promised to be good candidates. Especially the man across the corridor. More than once she’d caught him staring at her. If he’d been alone, she might have been inclined to approach him.

Not a good idea, Regina.

The article specifically warned against trying the routine out on someone who attracted you, and the man across the way definitely attracted her. One was supposed to hone the techniques on uninteresting strangers before applying them to someone you hoped to engage in a relationship. She’d probably get tongue-tied talking to the handsome hunk.

Less than twenty feet away he lounged against the wall in a sexy stance. There was a general toughness about him, sort of a rough-around-the-edges-look. Along with a strong pronounced chin and thin lips, a hint of a frown punctuated his face. She couldn’t tell for sure as he watched her through slitted eyes, but she sensed his eyes were brown. His hair was the shade of golden sand and had a wiry curl to it, a curl she imagined would feel soft and springy to the touch.

As if in need of a crutch, Regina slipped her hand into her portfolio and fingered the magazine. No sense digging it out. The man was clearly off limits, and rereading the article wouldn’t change it. When she dared look over at him again, he was still watching her. He sent her a smile.

Glory be! The tables had turned. He seemed to be flirting with her, and she’d barely had a chance to put anything into action.

Flirting couldn’t be this easy, could it? Smiles and eye contact were important components, but before today she’d been too shy to practice them on strangers. Of course once she knew a man well enough to befriend and trust him, it was a different story. The realization that this man might be trying to get her attention sparked a funny tightening in her chest. The last thing in the world she wanted was to flirt with him.

Not true!

Okay, so it wasn’t true. She did secretly want to meet him, and the sweat building on her palms verified it.

Go on, take advantage of the situation. So what if you’re attracted to him. Don’t let the article spook you. You can’t sit around and wait for men to come down your chimney like Santa Claus.

Maybe they didn’t slide down her chimney, but the pickings around here put Santa’s warehouse to shame. Men came across her path like snowflakes in the North Pole. Had she suddenly acquired some magical ability to attract them? And to think of all the time she’d wasted by not hanging out in airports.

Darn, she needed to remember something the article said. Regina furrowed her brow, trying to reel the errant memory in—something to do with body language—not that the man across the way needed to be concerned about it. His body translated easily into any language. Now, she remembered. It mentioned giving the man a signal you were approachable by catching his eye, and when you did, to give him the most inviting, receptive look you could and hold it for three whole seconds. Or was is five?

Regina shrugged. Judging from his interest, she may have overdone it a bit and stretched it to ten.

Unable to resist the urge a moment longer, she pulled the magazine from her portfolio. Not only did she want to check the article again, but she wanted to note the author. Uncannily on target, the woman knew what she was writing about. Regina smiled. If her future excursions proved this successful, the author deserved a nomination for the Pulitzer prize.

"Ma’am."

Regina jumped, then wheeled around in the direction of the voice. Her gaze came eye to eye with the soldier with whom she’d just chatted. "Yes," she answered tentatively, masking a slight tremor in her voice.

"You left your umbrella on the seat next to me. I just noticed it."

"Thanks. I’m always losing it." She took the stubby, pink umbrella from him, slipped it into her portfolio, and watched him return to his seat.

The umbrella industry owed her a debt of gratitude. Single-handedly, she kept them in business. All over the country, possibly the world, people inherited umbrellas courtesy of her. Her umbrellas saw more exotic locales than she could hope to visit in a lifetime. They had a disturbing habit of disappearing on her, and it wasn’t unusual for her to misplace five or six of them a year.

Regina debated sneaking another glimpse at the handsome hunk. A split second later, when he fixed his gaze on some distant point, the debate ended. She took advantage of the moment to admire his profile and rangy physique. Less than a second later, he turned in her direction and his answering smile spelled, ‘Gotcha’.

Okay, so he’d caught her staring at him, but he’d been staring at her, too. She’d do well to remember frogs were the ones more likely to turn out to be princes, whereas good-looking princes who looked like this man more often than not turned out to be toads. Still...

As she pondered approaching the two men, another came into view, a man far better suited to becoming candidate number four. Looking humdrum and decidedly safer, he sat apart from everyone else, not far away from the sexy man leaning against the wall. She was a woman on a mission, and the handsome devil with the extra dose of testosterone was mission impossible. Still... She hesitated, then resolutely turned aside the temptation.

As she walked in the direction of her new subject, the handsome hunk met her gaze straight on and smiled again. Deep wrinkles creased the corners of his light brown eyes.

His eyes were brown.

And sexy!

They reached out like magnets and held her in place for countless seconds. Regina felt a quickening in the pit of her stomach. A bemused look graced his face, a look that said he’d been watching her the whole time. Just her luck he’d turn out to be a security agent and tell her to move on. No. Dressed as scruffily as he was in faded jeans, dusty boots and a blue shirt, he couldn’t be in a position of authority. All the same, she’d strike up a conversation with this other man in the smoking section and then move on to another gate.

"Excuse me," she said, sitting down next to the man, "I don’t suppose you have the correct time." Tyler grinned.

The bald guy sure as hell wasn’t her husband. Nor the soldier. And now, to his amazement, she sat down next to their target. What the devil was Red up to? In the past thirty minutes she’d flitted from one man to another like a butterfly. Selling something? Herself, perhaps?

"Interesting development," Jake said. "Think she knows him?"

"Have you seen her in action?" Tyler stuffed his hands into his jeans’ pockets. "She seems to know everyone."

"Yeah, I’ve been watching, along with every guy over fifteen. She sure is a sociable bunny. You think she’s in on it?"

"Don’t rightly know," Tyler said lazily. The bureau didn’t have a firm number on how many smugglers were involved, but twin feelings of admiration and amusement flashed through him. If she was an accomplice, the woman was good, damn good.

"Guess he’s planning to take flight 311 to Chicago."

"Looks that way."

"Should we stop him?"

"Nah. Better to see who meets him at the other end."

"I’ll go make a call and set up surveillance in Chicago," Jake said. "You keep an eye on the cozy twosome while I’m gone."

"Roger that." So what are you up to Red? You connected to this guy and the smuggling ring? The woman was chatting up the men with some aim in mind. Or could she be a diversion especially for his and Jake’s benefit? He’d always been a sucker for redheads.

Regina squirmed in her seat, not sure how long she’d been talking to the man, five or six minutes, perhaps. She couldn’t even remember what they’d been discussing. How was she supposed to keep track with the compelling hunk behind her who was burning a hole clear through her head? He stood off to the side, all by himself now, and every time she glanced up, his gaze locked with hers like radar. Something told her the guy against the wall wanted to cut out the flirting and skip to the main event.

"So you’re not taking this flight," the man next to her said.

Regina stared blankly at him. Had she told him that? "No, er, um, not exactly."

"You said you were here to meet your aunt."

"I did?" Mental gymnastics performed in her head. Apparently, she’d been so distracted, she’d developed a case of oral diarrhea. There was no telling what she’d said to this man. "Yes, my aunt." She glanced across the rows of seats. "Oh my gosh!"

"What is it?"

"My aunt."

"Why are you so surprised? You said you were here to meet her."

The lie had found her out and was about to come true. If she wasn’t super careful, in a couple of minutes she’d not only be meeting Aunt Sophia but Uncle Guido, as well. What were they doing here? Of course! She patted her forehead with the heel of her palm. The inbound flight was from Philadelphia. Their son Joey would be on it, returning home from Villanova.

Regina cleared her throat, wishing she could clear the chaos in her mind, as well. "I have to go now. It’s been nice chatting with you." She chewed at her bottom lip. Aunt Sophia possessed the eyes of a hawk. She’d see through the wig in a second and demand answers, and in a voice loud enough to attract the attention of everyone at the gate. Humiliation stood only feet away.

"Could you do me a favor?" The man’s voice intruded her angst.

"A favor? Sure." For some reason she turned and looked at the man against the wall. Her gaze collided with his inquisitive, brown eyes again. The handsome devil stared at her from one direction while Aunt Sophia and Uncle Guido closed in from another—and this man wanted a favor. No problem, she psyched herself up.

"This present," he said taking a small package from his pocket. "I was supposed to go to the General Aviation Terminal, gate four, and give this to my brother-in-law for his son. It’s a birthday present, but I didn’t have time. Even though the flight’s been delayed, I just got here, and the plane’s taxiing up to the gate right now. My brother-in-law’s a pilot. Could you deliver this to him? Otherwise, my nephew will have to wait until I can mail it to him."

"The General Aviation Terminal for private charters?" she asked with an inquiring tilt of her head.

"Yes, gate four," he said in an undertone. He leaned closer and looked around at the same time.

The private terminal was adjacent to the airport—away from here. And any place far away sounded good. The farther the better. She stared at the gift, festively wrapped in paper with clowns and balloons. "Gate four, you said," she repeated loud and firm.

"Yes. Ask for Bill Dawson. Here’s my business card. Tell him I sent you. He’ll be waiting."

She stared at the card. "Bill Dawson and you’re Frank Foster." Regina took the package, dumped it into her portfolio, then stood. "I have to run." Before her aunt caught up with her and unearthed her disguise.

Aunt Sophia had a singular knack for dragging the truth out of everyone and a dramatic flare that served her well in the many amateur theater presentations in which she appeared. Two minutes with her aunt and every blessed person within a fifty-foot radius of the gate would know about Regina’s flirting escapade.

She glanced furtively to her right. Aunt Sophia and Uncle Guido marched steadily toward her. She swung around only to face the handsome hunk, and sought refuge in his gaze, his thick, dark eyelashes capturing her attention. He watched her silently. Expectantly. Time was about to run out. Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, otherwise known as Aunt Sophia and Uncle Guido, she had to do something.

She chose the devil.

"Hi, I’m Regina Citrano," she said breathlessly, walking right up to him. Aunt Sophia would never think to pair her with a man. Not this one, anyway.

"Hi." A playful grin curved his lips.

"I know this sounds silly, but I’ve been watching you."

"I noticed, and I’ve been watching you."

"I know." She stood so close to him now she could see the rich, brown irises in his eyes. "Something’s come up. There’s someone I don’t want to see, and I was wondering if you could pretend you know me."

"I don’t think I’ll have to pretend." He cracked another crooked grin and gave her stare for stare.

"You don’t?" She wanted to sound cool, appear self-possessed, but under his scrutiny she felt neither. Crossing her fingers, she turned her head. As her aunt stared at them, Regina linked arms with the man. The contact sent a jolt through her, but she did her best to ignore it. "M-Mind if we walk down the corridor?"

The man didn’t move, and Regina tracked his gaze as he zeroed in on her aunt and uncle. He must have seen her glance their way. Then catching sight of his buddy, he stood firm, waiting for his companion to stride toward them.

"Looks like she finally buzzed around to you," the man said coming abreast of them.

"Yeah. Say Jake, suppose you stay here at the gate. I’m going to go with the flow with Red here." Regina breathed a sigh of relief, then watched the handsome hunk whisper something in his buddy’s ear. The man called Jake nodded, then grinned and walked away.

"Lead on, Red." The handsome hunk gestured with his arm.

"Red?"

"For your hair."

"Oh, yes, my hair. What did you say your name was?"

"I didn’t. It’s Tyler. Tyler Novak." His sexy voice sent tickles up and down her vocal chords. "Where you headed?"

"Over to the terminal for private planes."

He lifted a speculative eyebrow. "You don’t say. The F.B.O."

"The F.B. what?"

"Fixed base operations. I’ll accompany you."

"That won’t be necessary." She just needed to get out of sight of Aunt Sophia without arousing her suspicion.

"But I’d like to."

"Oh." She couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice.

"Know where it is?"

"No."

"Well, I do. Let’s go, Red."

A low, deep, sexy rumble threaded through his laugh. Regina blushed at the provocative tone of his voice and the seductive gleam that surfaced in his eyes. She’d been right. Flirting had been the appetizer for him, and her intuition told her he was hungry for the entree.

She halted in her tracks, digging her heels into the concourse. "You think I’m coming on to you, don’t you?"

"Whatever you say, Red."

"I’m not, and I appreciate your help, but it’s really not necessary to take up any more of your time."

He cupped her elbow and gave her a forward nudge. "No bother. It’s complicated getting over there. I have plenty of time and no way I’d rather spend it."

Tyler smiled at her mock indignation. Lady, you’re something else, he thought to himself.

She even blushed an innocent shade of pink, guaranteed to make her look old-fashioned. He hadn’t missed her earlier come-hither looks, but if that’s the way she wanted it, he’d play along.

They hustled along the corridor in the direction of an escalator which would take them down a level. There they could catch a courtesy shuttle to the smaller terminal. He spent a great deal of time staring at her. From a professional standpoint, of course. And it proved a very pleasant pastime.

She wasn’t knock ‘em dead gorgeous, more like a pixie-playfulness to her face. Wide mouth, soft, full lips, and a great smile, especially the dimples low on either side of her cheeks. Mental images of this woman in action teased his imagination. Hard to guess her age, mid twenties, perhaps.

He let his gaze trail up and down her, taking note of her petite stature and small waist, always returning to her glorious mane of auburn hair. He wouldn’t mind running his hands through it, but apart from his gentle grasp on her arm, he kept his hands to himself and wondered.

What the hell had been behind that exhibition she’d put on at the gate? To draw attention to herself? That didn’t make sense.

At the crest of the escalator as the crowd increased, Red tried to wiggle free, but he handily reined her in. If she got too feisty, he’d produce his badge and put her under arrest, but he preferred not to tip his hand.

Shades of Sherlock Holmes! Tyler couldn’t believe what had happened. He’d actually seen their quarry slip this dame a package. And it had to be the diamonds. They’d been covering the airports and every bus and train station in the area, waiting for him to show up. Once in the airport, the guy probably thought he was safe. But the Bureau had received a tip he might show up at flight 311.

Okay, so maybe Red and the package were decoys, but he’d left Jake back at the gate to tail the guy just in case the dude didn’t board the plane, and if he did, agents would be waiting to follow him when he arrived in Chicago. One way or another they’d crack this case.

Tyler bet his bottom dollar that following the guy would lead to a dead end. He was ninety percent positive that the woman next to him carried the loot, and apparently Chicago wasn’t its destination. Other people were in on it, and she’d lead him to them. He let his gaze slide over her and wondered again what kind of stunt she’d been pulling, playing up to nearly every Tom, Dick, and Harry sitting at the gate. If she was in on the heist, she had to be loco calling attention to herself that way.

Piece of luck for him, though. Batting those big, brown eyes of hers, she’d walked right into his web.

Or had he walked into hers?

As Tyler Novak guided her down the concourse, a bewildered Regina nearly tripped over her feet. At the torturous pace he’d set, people’s faces whizzed by her. His fingers held her lightly by the elbow, his touch searing through her suit jacket to her skin, and she sensed perspiration had broken out on her forehead. Not exactly the image one wanted to project when one was flirting.

Something told her the flirting had ended.

He’d latched onto her like a lovesick lovebug, and she didn’t know how to get rid of him. Wasn’t sure she wanted to. Surely he didn’t intend to harm her?

Impossible.

Regina looked uncertainly at him. She was letting the quirks of another of her crazy aunts’ personality influence her. Overly suspicious and slightly whacky, Aunt Ruth, her father’s sister, constantly invented conspiracies and spent hours wondering if the people she observed worked for the C.I.A. If Aunt Ruth were to see them this very minute, no doubt she’d dream up a scenario that Tyler Novak was an undercover agent.

Keeping up with Tyler’s long-legged stride, Regina studied him again. Face it, her inner voice affirmed, you did ask him to help you. She desperately wished she could whisk out her magazine and check it for suggestions on disentangling oneself from an overly amorous admirer. But then again, he did know where the—what had he called it?—F.B.O. terminal was, and if there were any statistics available, she bet they’d make the trip in record-breaking time.

Regina froze, jolting to a halt. Heavens, maybe he wasn’t leading her to the private plane terminal at all. All along she’d assumed he was infatuated with her. Maybe she should think more like Aunt Ruth and be less trusting. Tyler tugged at her arm, but Regina remained steadfast and wouldn’t budge.

Regina Anne Catherine Mary Citrano, you might be in deep trouble.

Her gaze wandered from Tyler to scan the corridor. A ladies room. Where was a ladies room when a girl needed one? Maybe it wasn’t vitally urgent at the moment, but it’d make a perfect excuse to ditch him. "Mr. Novak, please, where’s the fire? Do you think we could slow down the pace?" Sprinting had never been her sport.

"Guess so."

Mercifully when they resumed walking, he slowed from their trot to a less taxing lope. "When we see a restroom, I need to stop." She’d forced a measure of authority into her voice, trying to establish control over the situation.

"That plane you need to catch might not wait," he swiftly countered.

Regina cocked her head. She didn’t remember telling him she had to catch a plane, well actually a pilot. Had he been so smitten that he listened in on her conversation? "Look, Mr.—"

"Tyler’s fine."

"Look, Tyler. If my bladder says we need to stop, it would be wise to pay attention to it." A malady common to the female contingency of the Citrano clan.

He nodded. "We’re almost there."

"There?" Did the man possess prior knowledge of the location of restrooms throughout the entire airport complex?

"To gate four."

"Oh." She must have told him.

"Do you want to speed up so we can get to the gate faster and then find a ladies room, or do you want to keep this slower pace?"

She didn’t know what she wanted. On one hand, she didn’t want to push him out of her life, at least not until they reached gate four. After all, she’d never made a conquest like this, and she wanted to savor it a little longer.

Don’t crawl back into your shy shell. Live a little.

Nodding agreement, she gave herself a mental shake. Her crazy idea that Tyler intended her harm was just that: crazy. Stopping, he whirled around in front of her, then placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Regina?" He paused a beat, obviously awaiting her answer.

"I... uh..." Blast, her meandering mind had scrambled her brain. She’d forgotten his question, but given a second or two, she was positive she’d remember.

"Take a deep breath," he quietly instructed.

She did.

"Feel better?"

She did.

Who wouldn’t, when Prince Charming spoke in that low, soothing tone and his light brown eyes tenderly searched your own? Regina went limp. She blinked again, trying to sever contact with his captivating eyes, trying to crawl out from the spell they cast on her.

"Slow would be nice," she answered, finally, miraculously, remembering what he’d asked her. Who needed a ladies room? Certainly not her, although from the tingles stirring inside her, she might have need of one soon.

He clasped her hand. "Okay, we’ll slow it down even more."

She gave a reluctant nod. The man oozed charm, and she had a sneaky suspicion he knew it. How did he do it? How did one look from him melt her down? This very moment his endearing, liquid gaze feathered up and down every inch of her spine. He was a natural at flirting, and she wondered if he’d read the article, then chuckled softly at the absurdity. She doubted he’d ever seen the inside of a woman’s magazine, let alone read an article in one. As for her reaction to him, it had to be some aberration—a glitch in her system. One didn’t ordinarily flip over strangers.

At least Regina Citrano didn’t.

"Pretty name—Regina," he commented, breaking the silence and still holding her hand.

Regina swallowed at his uncanny remark. Could he read her mind like Aunt Della sometimes could? First, knowing the gate, and now this—only seconds after she’d mentally repeated her name. "My father chose it."

He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Yeah? So what was your mother’s choice?"

"Catherine. Her mother chose Anne, and Dad’s mother chose Mary."

"Holy Toledo, how many names you got?"

"Four. Regina Anne Catherine Mary." She looked at him through her lashes.

A ghost of a smile curved his mouth. "That’s a mouthful."

"I’m Italian."

"Somehow I guessed that." His mouth quirked wider into a wry smile.

"How ‘bout you?"

"Slovak and garden variety American."

"No, I meant how about your names." He’d steered her around the corner quickly, depriving her of the chance to get a good look for a restroom.

"Just Tyler Novak. Tyler was my mother’s maiden name."

"Sisters and brothers?"

"A sister, and you?"

"Monica and Angela and Vincent, all older." He stopped walking for a second, his gaze snaring hers. Tension built between them, and she couldn’t understand why.

"Where’s home?" he asked.

"Here in Cincinnati. And yours?"

"Cincinnati for now."

For a man whose body language spoke volumes, when it came to conversations, he was exasperatingly uncommunicative. Her adventure would be over soon enough. Might as well enjoy his company while she could. "How much farther?" she asked as they exited the main terminal.

"Just have to grab this courtesy shuttle and we’ll be there in a jiffy."