LINE OF FIRE Only one thing stood in the way of Wynn Ascot's marriage-her legal guardian, McCabe Foxe. The tough war correspondent returned from Central America with an injured leg-and with the force of a cannonball invaded her home, her life, and her heart. A hard-headed journalist, Wynn was uncharacteristically devastated by the new, disturbing feelings McCabe aroused. But he was a man who made no commitments and asked for none. With Wynn it was all or nothing, and though her heart had already been captured, the surrender would have to be on her terms.
“And I want it in a church, even if we just have a small ceremony. I want everything proper and aboveboard. And that doesn’t include anticipating it on this sofa,” he added on a sigh, rolling away from her to lie heavily on his back.
She loved him more at that moment than she ever had. She moved close and nuzzled her face into his shoulder, letting one arm drape lazily over his bare chest. “Will you wear a ring, too?”
“If you like.”
“Of course I like,” she muttered, sliding her head back to glare up at him. “I don’t want other women thinking you’re available. My gosh, competition is fierce these days.”
“As if you’d have to worry about that,” he mused, letting his eyes drop deliberately to her bare torso. “Whew! Would you mind putting your clothes back on? Honestly, I’ve never seen anything so brazen. Tearing off your blouse, forcing me to kiss your—”
“Stop it!” she gasped, leaping to her feet. “Shame on you!”
He watched her, relaxed, delighted, while she struggled with clips and buttons. “Hussy,” he accused.
She glared at him. “You just hold your breath until I take my blouse off for you again, you unappreciative peasant,” she told him.
He got to his feet, rubbing his thigh gingerly, and pulled his own shirt back on. “Aren’t we supposed to go to work today?” he asked.
She gasped, running to find a clock. “It’s nine-thirty!” she exclaimed. “We’re an hour late.”
“My, my, we did spend some time lying down, didn’t