Flirting With Temptation. Cara Summers

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      1

      SAN FRANCISCO, HERE I COME…

      As she pulled her car into her driveway, Corie Benjamin tried to ignore the little tune that had been playing in her head all day. The moment she turned off the ignition, her gaze strayed to the overnight delivery envelope on the passenger seat. Inside was a plane ticket to San Francisco. Even though she hadn’t yet agreed to use it, Jack Kincaid had still sent it to her. The man knew how to tempt a woman.

      She picked up the envelope and traced her finger along his name on the return address. The first time she’d heard from him, he’d left a message on her answering machine, telling her his name and how to reach him at the San Francisco Chronicle. Of course, none of the details had registered until she’d replayed the message. The first time she’d listened to it, she’d been totally absorbed in his voice. Soft velvet with sandpapery edges was the only way she could describe it, and each time she heard it, a tingle of awareness went right through her. She’d called him back, and what he’d told her had set her head spinning. If she would fly to San Francisco, he would help her meet her father.

      Her father. Jack Kincaid couldn’t have said anything that would tempt her more. All her life she’d wondered about the man her mother would never speak of. Was she like him? Was he the reason she felt so…restless, so unsatisfied with her life in Fairview, Ohio? She tightened her grip on the envelope, and, for the first time, she understood how Eve must have felt in the Garden of Eden—irresistibly drawn by the promise of knowledge.

      But knowledge could be dangerous, she reminded herself as she hugged the envelope to her chest. She might not like the answers she would find.

      And she had obligations at the library. Dropping everything and flying off to San Francisco would be irresponsible…and wild…and wonderful…

      “Never act on impulse.” In her mind, Corie could hear her mother reciting her most frequently repeated commandment as clearly as if she were sitting right next to her in the car. The first time Isabella Benjamin had said those words, Corie had been six. After reading Peter Pan for the first time, she’d climbed onto the roof of the house and tried to fly. Six weeks in bed with a broken leg had given her ample opportunity to reflect on the virtue of being cautious. Not that she’d learned her lesson. Being cautious just didn’t seem to be part of her nature. She had to work at it constantly.

      A glance at her watch had her slipping out of the car and racing up the flagstone path. In less than fifteen minutes, Jack Kincaid was going to call and ask if she was going to use the ticket. The moment of decision was upon her.

      “Yoo-hoo! Corie!”

      Busted, Corie thought as she hit the top step of the porch and turned. “Afternoon, Ms. Ponsonby.”

      Since Corie’s mother had died two months ago, Muriel Ponsonby, Fairview, Ohio’s town crier, had made it her mission in life to watch over Corie.

      “You’re home early.” Eyes narrowing, Muriel moved to the steps of her porch. “You feeling all right?”

      Corie beamed a smile at Muriel. “I’m fine. It’s such a lovely day, I just decided to leave work early.”

      Muriel frowned. “You’ll make bridge club tonight?”

      “Wouldn’t miss it.” Muriel had seen to it that Corie had been invited to take her mother’s place in the bridge club, the quilting circle and the Friday evening book-discussion group. Corie tightened her grip on the airline ticket. If she stayed in Fairview, her life was all safely mapped out for her. She would turn into her mother.

      “Heard you got an overnight delivery letter at the library today. From San Francisco. Not bad news, I hope.”

      Corie had often thought that the U.S. government should have the kind of spy network that Muriel seemed to have in place. For one wild moment she was tempted to wave the envelope and say, “Just a little note from a lover I met on the Internet. I’m going to fly out and meet him on Wednesday.”

      But if she did that, Muriel and the entire quilting circle would probably rush to her house to do an intervention. Ever since her failed attempt to fly off the roof, she’d had a reputation for acting recklessly, and in Fairview a reputation stuck.

      Stifling the impulse to mention an Internet lover or any other kind, Corie backed toward her door, but she couldn’t resist saying, “It’s just an article I ordered for Dean Atwell—something on poisonous mushrooms.”

      “Poisonous mushrooms?” Muriel said, looking for all the world like a dog picking up a new scent. “Why would he want something like that?”

      Muriel didn’t seem to expect an answer. She was too busy backing toward her own front door. In a few minutes, the phone lines would be buzzing since everyone in town knew that Dean Atwell’s divorce was not going well. Any twinge of conscience that Corie might have felt at her lie was eased when she pushed her key into the lock and escaped into her house. She’d come home early to gather her thoughts. A quick glance at her watch told her that she now had less than ten minutes to finalize her decision.

      To go to San Francisco or not to go—that was the question. Placing the ticket on the small table next to the phone, Corie sank down into a straight-backed chair and fished her notebook out of her bag. From the time she’d been a little girl, doodling had always helped her to see things more clearly. Quickly, she sketched a huge Y. It was the same one she’d been drawing at the library all week. Following the right-hand prong of the Y would keep her trapped safely in her present cocoon as a college librarian in Fairview, Ohio, population eight thousand and dropping. She drew a little circle to represent a cocoon at the end of that path. Following the other path would offer her the chance to escape. To become a butterfly. Quickly, she sketched wings at the end of the left-hand prong. More important, she would get the opportunity to meet the man who could very well be her father and perhaps discover why her mother had kept his existence a secret all these years. Maybe she could figure out why she couldn’t be happy with the life her mother had chosen. And maybe, just maybe, she could figure out who she really was.

      Just the thought of that had a mix of anticipation and fear forming a tight, hard knot in her stomach. Placing her notebook on the table, she reached out and ran a finger down the envelope that contained the ticket. The choice should have been a no-brainer, and it would have been if it weren’t for the promise she’d made over and over again to her mother.

      Shifting her glance, Corie met the eyes of the woman in the small ivory-framed picture next to the phone. Her mother’s eyes were so serious, her mouth just hinting at a frown. Isabella Benjamin had worn the same expression on her deathbed and she’d made Corie promise one last time…

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