Jonathan St. Laurent walked up the steps to the Sheridan townhouse, his heart racing. She was inside. The little sprite who had fueled too many fantasies of late. Her dark-brown eyes gazing into his, the deep rich coils of her russet-brown locks spread out over a pillow, her lips parted as she gasped and moaned his name. She was a woman full of passionand she scared the bloody hell out of him. She was the only woman he'd ever met who seemed to know exactly who she was and what she ...