Carrie Logan followed the circular driveway, then slowed as the house came into view. Far from being a cookie- cutter monstrosity, it was instead an elegant structure of timber and glass, modest in size and perfectly suited to the landscape.

Even her mother would have to admit it was beautiful.

But her heart thudded in her chest as she pulled to a stop. Bluebeard's castle had been beautiful, too.

The sounds grew louder, clearer.

Okay so Ethan Nash had a dog.

More than one dog. Lots and lots of them. A pack, by the sound of it.

This part of the rumor did not sound exaggerated one bit. Even people who liked dogs would think twice before opening their car door to dogs that sounded like this.

Not that Carrie didn't like dogs, she reminded herself. She just liked them... in moderation. Small. And one at a time.

She turned off the ignition but didn't undo her seatbelt. Mr. Nash would have to come to her.

Ar-ar-ar-ar. Big, deep voices. But where were they?

She tried not to listen, focusing instead on what she could see.

Minimal landscaping, tasteful. Lots of negative space.

Ar-ar-arrrr. Growling, too.

She clutched her bag to her chest and made sure her doors and windows were locked.

His garden was a mess. The rosebushes alone made her want to cry.

Was no one hearing this? The barking continued, almost frenzied now, but still she saw no sign of the animals themselves.

Suddenly, like a knife cutting through the air, the barking stopped. Silence rushed into the vacuum, vivid enough that she could hear the whoosh of blood in her ears and the ticking of her cooling engine.

Then the front door swung open heavily, as if the metal grommets studding the dark wood were made of lead. The figure in the doorway was nothing more than a still, shadowy silhouette.

Carrie cracked her window but didn't open her door. She watched movies. She knew about the Too Stupid To Live Heroine and baby, that was so not her.

He moved forward into the light.

Oh, mama, she thought. You didn't mention this.

Tall, dark and dangerous, personified. She swallowed hard and her throat clicked. Emphasis on the dangerous.

Two dogs stood on one side of him, a third on the other. They were tall enough to reach his hip, with upright ears like German Shepherds but taller, thinner, rangier. Their tails were at half-mast, neither wagging happily nor poised to attack. Simply waiting, as if for a command they knew was coming, but weren't sure when.

He snapped a word she didn't recognize and the dogs sat. Then he walked down the shallow stairs toward her, his face and figure coming into view with each step closer.

Ebony hair, black eyes, olive complexion, the scruffy shadow of beard on his chin. Heavily built and all muscle. Big eyebrows drawn together in a frown on his forehead.

"You afraid of dogs?" he said. His voice was low, gravelly, like perhaps it didn't get used much.

She lowered the window further.

"Dogs, no. Ravening wolves, yes."

His full lower lip twitched. He barked another command and the trio leaped down from the landing, tails wagging wildly this time. They hovered around her door, whining and shoving each other, their pink tongues lolling over big white teeth.

"Back away, boys. They're Belgian shepherds. Malinois. Come on out and say hi," he said.

Yeah, she thought. Do that.

Carrie took a deep breath, pushed open her door and stepped down into the yard. Immediately the dogs approached, whining and sniffing her enthusiastically. They didn't jump or even push her but the sheer mass of them, so intense, no near, had her backed up against her door, hands up, face averted, before she realized it.

She hoped she hadn't gasped audibly, but she wasn't sure.

"Here!" snapped the man.

The dogs backed away but continued to pant and wag, as if she was a choice bit of steak tartar they couldn't wait to taste.

"You said you weren't afraid of dogs."

The animals circled around to flank him again. He must have given a subtle hand gesture because all three suddenly sank to their haunches.

She sucked in a deep breath. "Still stuck on the ravening wolf thing, I guess."

He nodded once. "My apologies. They're very friendly, I assure you."

Carrie was not assured.

He gestured to each of the dogs in turn.

"Ashur. Mars. Gun." As he said their names, each of them held up a paw.

Oh, she thought, putting a hand to her throat.

"Polite ravening wolves, then."

The man cracked a brief smile. "Go on."

On shaky legs, she approached and tentatively touched each paw.

"P-pleased to meet you, Ashur. Mars. Gun."

The dogs wagged and wiggled like puppies but stayed seated, aiming their big, white, toothy grins at her, and despite herself, she was charmed.

"Good boys."

Carrie straightened up to find him standing right next to her, close enough that she could see that his deep dark eyes were more espresso than black, and that they were bracketed by faint lines.

"Ethan Nash. And you're Carrie Logan. Welcome."

Embers glowed in the depths of those dark eyes, warming her, smiling at her, though his face remained impassive. She felt the rumble of his voice resonate in her breastbone, like the sound of a drum calling over still water.

"Thank you," she said faintly.

"We'll talk in my office," he said, putting a hand on her elbow and guiding her up the stone steps to the dim interior of his castle.

The cap sleeve top she'd chosen that morning meant that his fingers were on her bare skin, and she felt his touch sear through her skin, down to the bone. An outsider, a recluse, suspicious, mysterious.

And charming as all get out.

Bluebeard, she thought as she walked inside on numb legs. Maybe she was too stupid to live, after all.