Maybe there was a photo shoot somewhere in town and he'd gotten lost. But that didn't explain how he knew her name. Or what he was doing walking purposefully toward her.

She panicked and started backing up. "Who are you?" she demanded, clutching her car keys in her right hand and wondering if she should just make a run for it.

The man stopped less than two feet in front of her. He reached up and pulled off his sunglasses. "You don't remember?" he asked, obviously disappointed.

Remember? He wasn't the sort of man a woman would forget. Even one who didn't consider herself the least bit romantic or given to feminine fancies.

Her gaze focused on his. Thick lashes framed impossibly dark eyes. Lines fanned out toward his temples as if he spent a lot of time smiling. He was good-looking enough to melt butter in a snowstorm. And familiar.

She blinked. The sense of horror started low in her belly and spread, like a rash. She'd been a widow for almost two years and in that time she'd never been tempted to look at a man twice. In all her life, she'd never been tempted to look at a man twice. Appearances weren't that important to her. So why did she have to notice this particular man? Why now? Why him?

"I saw that," the man said. "You do remember me."

She blinked again. Lord have mercy. "Kyle Haynes," she said softly.

"Bingo." Then before she could move or stop him, he bent down and kissed her cheek. "Welcome back, Sandy Morgan. It's been, what, fifteen years? You look terrific."

The brush of his lips against her skin forced all her nerve endings to go on alert. She hated that, so she chose to ignore the sensation. His low, sexy voice made her shiver, as if someone had run a feather across her skin.