locked； though she wished fervently for the dead bolt she had in New
York。
〃Open up！ It's wet out here！〃 The voice was deep； gruff； and angry。
〃Open the damn door！〃
Anne didn't budge。 This was her cottage for the week； and she had the
papers to prove it。 She didn't have to open the door。
But the banging went on； hard knuckles on wood。 〃e on； whoever you
are； open the door！ I'm getting soaked and I can't reach my key。〃
His key？ Was this a mon visiting place？ Had the realtor forgotten to
tell her something？
Feeling vaguely guilty at being warm and dry while someone was out there
wet and cold； she approached the door。 〃Who is it？〃 she yelled； resting
her forehead against the smooth oak。
〃It's Mitch； dammit。 Open up！〃 An impatient hand jiggled the doorknob
from the outside。
〃I don't know any Mitch；〃 she shouted over the storm。 〃What do you
want？〃
What came back was a menacing growl。 〃I want to get dry。 For God's sake；
open up。 I do have a key； but if I have to put these bags down to get
it； I'll be madder'n hell when I get in there！〃
Assuming she could believe him； he had a point。 If he did have a key and
would eventually open the door whether she liked it or not； she could
save him the effort and spare herself his anger。 Cautious； she reached
for the knob。 She opened the door a few inches； leaving her weight
agai