Harlequin Shorts Online Part 03

92 onwards…

1 2 3 4* 5* 6* 7* 8* 9* 10 11 12 13 14* 15* 16* 17* 18* 19* 20* 21 22* 23* 24* 25* 26* 27* 28* 29* 30* 31* 32* 33* 34* 35 36*

Bachelor at Risk All That Glitters 24 Hours A Dog Named Nate Fate and Fortune Starstruck Getting Wild Heavy Metal Honey The Rhinestone Caper Loving Eleanor Judi & The Beast By Honour Bound The Mistress's Secret House of Secrets The Valentine Wedding Dress An Evening to Remember The Homecoming The Boss's Bought Mistress Shadow Lies Loving Valentine Never Again Blue Star Wrong Place, Right Girl The Royal Affair Wild West Kiss Caught Off Guard Nate's Anatomy The Venetian's Defiant Woman Assassin Study The Pirate Somewhere, My Love Desire Calls The Playboy's Seduction Girl Gone Solo Very Hush Hush Just Her Luck

By Rebecca Winters By Cassie Miles By Kay David By Inglath Cooper By Christie Ridgway By Raeanne Thayne By Kayla Perrin By Doranna Durgin By Merline Lovelace By Natasha Oakley By Dianne Drake By Julia Justiss By Julia James By Marta Perry By Sherryl Woods By Catherine Mann By Melissa James By Sharon Kendrick By Linda Conrad By Adrianne Byrd By Linda Winstead-Jones By Jennifer Greene By Marie Ferrarella By Day Leclaire By Kate Bridges By Kathryn Shay By Roz Denny Fox By Susan Stephens By Maria V. Snyder By Lyn Randal By Ingrid Weaver By Caridad Piñeiro By Lucy Monroe By Joanne Rock By Jo Leigh By Debbi Rawlins

2 24 41 63 84 105 126 151 170 196 220 248 265 288 303 314 344 364 388 409 428 443 461 486 506 526 553 574 597 612 639 654 672 692 713 723

37* 38* 39** 40* 41* 42* 43* 44* 45*

Where the Boys Are Take a Chance on Me Bound By Love The Prince's Housekeeper Bride True Confessions Naughty Mamselle Whose Wife Is It, Anyway? The Sheriff's Wife Read My Lips

By Kathryn Springer By Ann Roth

745 773 794 842 865 894 916 943 971

By Carol Marinelli By Marin Thomas By Jina Bacarr By Stevi Mittman By Anna DeStefano By Jane Sigaloff

Till 136…

* eHarlequin, US

** others

rest of them Mills and Boon, UK

1

Bachelor at Risk by Rebecca Winters Jean-Jacques has returned home to his first love, but he's about to receive the shock of his life. "Giselle?" "Yes, Monsieur Armentier? How can I help?" Jean-Jacques had only recently been installed as CEO of the Giraud Cosmetics Corporation, and since then his private secretary had shown him the greatest deference, but this business about calling him Monsieur, though well intentioned, was irritating the hell out of him. "Couldn't you call me Jean-Jacques like you used to?" "Are you sure?" She pretended to be scandalized, but he knew otherwise. "I'm sure." Her chuckle sounded loud and clear over the speaker. "I'm very happy to see that you're just the same." "When all is said and done, I'm still a mere chemist and the son of a flower farmer." "You're a lot more than that now!" "Don't remind me. I've been told you're the one who normally walks around the complex on the last day giving out the Christmas bonuses." "That's right. Would you prefer that someone else did it?" "Perhaps this one time you would allow me the privilege? I need an excuse to meet with everyone personally before they go home for the holiday. If I'm handing out money, they might just return after New Year's." Giselle's chuckle turned into full-bodied laughter. "The checks are in the safe, all ready for your signature." "Wonderful. I've been thinking it might be nice if they were to receive their bonuses today instead of Wednesday." "You must have read my mind," she quipped. Then on a more serious note, "If you want to know the truth, everyone is happy you've been put in charge." Jean-Jacques cleared his throat. "That's good to hear, but I'm still not sure this isn't a dream. Any minute now I expect to wake up flat on my back in a lavender field just waiting to be harvested." "Now you have to worry about the entire company instead of one flower farm. I'll be right in with the checks." By the end of the day he'd delivered envelopes to everyone in the building except Vivige Honfleur, a woman he hadn't yet met. She ran the day care center, which was a recent innovation. Five years ago, before JeanJacques had left Vence to get his degree and work for the Giraud perfumery in Paris, the center hadn't existed. As far as he was concerned, it was a terrific and much needed addition to the workplace. Hopefully the working parents with children had already picked up their offspring, and he'd be able to talk to Madame Honfleur without distraction. He walked out the front doors to the modern facility adjacent to the parking lot, recalling how pleased the workers had been to receive their Christmas bonuses early. Many of

2

them had taken the time to renew their acquaintance with him ? and he was glad he had recognized so many of them. Several mothers he'd spoken with earlier in the day were leaving with their toddlers. They chatted for a minute before he moved inside in the day care. Voices carried from one of the rooms set up like a class with tables, chairs, and toys. Jean-Jacques walked through the doorway where he saw a curly-headed toddler talking to his teacher while she helped him on with his coat. A man swept past him to collect his child, but Jean-Jacques's attention was suddenly riveted to the stunning woman who stood up to greet the boy's father, smoothing the skirt which had ridden up one gorgeous, shapely leg where the child had been clutching her. Mon Dieu. It was Nicole. Like the flowers that made up his world, Nicole Giraud, heiress to the Giraud perfume fortune, had always been an integral part of it. From their youth, her sweet nature, not just her beauty, had worked its way into his blood. Nicole and Provence. The two were inseparably connected. If he hadn't known she was getting married right away and going to live in England, he would never have considered returning to Vence as CEO. It had been five years since he'd seen her. Yet looking at her now made it seem like yesterday. *** Nicole said goodbye to little Luc, then turned to the other waiting parent. "May I help ?" She didn't finish what she was going to say because it wasn't another father who'd come into the room, looking taller and leaner than she'd remembered. Though she tried to quell it, a soft gasp escaped her throat. "Jean-Jacques ?" She'd known this moment had to come sometime, but she still wasn't prepared for it. His black eyes that used to pierce through to her very soul before kissing her into oblivion had developed a brooding quality. As they traveled over her features, she could find no trace of warmth in their assessing regard. There wasn't even a hint of the gentle, teasing side of his nature, which used to melt her bones. "It's been a long time, cherie," he finally responded with enviable calm and a certain emotional detachment that made her heart drop to the floor like a stone. The intervening years ? the years he'd left her and been in Paris ? had wrought changes. His olive skin wasn't as bronzed as it used to be. Of course that was only natural since he hadn't worked in the fields for years now. He'd become a man with a man's aloofness. Physically he was more attractive to her than ever. He still wore his dark hair a little longer than was currently fashionable, tempting her to run her fingers through it. But there were new lines of experience around his nose and mouth giving him a harder edge. His very remoteness challenged her to break through the veneer to find the man she'd lost her heart to years before. Standing this close to him again, she realized that nothing had changed for her. If anything she was even more in love with him. "You haven't changed, Nicole. You're still the beautiful girl who used to drop by my father's plant to give me a thrill when you didn't have something else more important to do with your time."

3

Nicole snapped her head back, dislodging the rich brown hair from her shoulders. Until he'd said that, she'd never known he had a problem with their different backgrounds. How strange to think he'd even considered there was a class barrier between them. She had been too caught up in her feelings for him to even consider their differences. "If you recall, your father's plant was the first place I came every day after school for years because I knew you'd be there. It was the only place I wanted to be," she confessed in a quiet voice. Jean-Jacques lifted his shoulders in that elegant yet careless shrug so typical of him, before straightening. In an instant his features had taken on a chiseled cast. "That was a long time ago." "A very long time ago." It was impossible to keep the tremor out of her voice. "I must admit I'm surprised to find you here at the day care center of all places." She took a deep breath. "It was built the year you left Vence. Every December since then I've worked with the children to enact the nativity scene for the Christmas Eve program." The news stunned him. He shifted his weight. "Isn't that a fairly ambitious project when you're planning to get married so soon?" Nicole's lambent brown eyes searched his with a frankness that gave his heart another dangerous workout. "You mean to Colin?" Jean-Jacques rubbed the back of his neck. "If you're referring to the Englishman I saw you with in the papers, then I suppose yes. It said something about an impending holiday wedding. I didn't really take note of the rest." A stillness emanated from her. "No, we're not getting married." Jean-Jacques froze. He couldn't have heard correctly. If Nicole wasn't getting married, what would it mean for them?? "You mean you're not getting married at Christmas?" Jean-Jacques needed to be perfectly clear on what Nicole meant. She paused in the process of straightening the chairs. "I mean, I was never going to be married. It's true I was in London recently to represent my mother at a family party. Some photographer caught me out on the lawn talking to Colin. He's marrying his fiancée in a few days." With those words, Jean-Jacques's entire world turned inside out. She wasn't engaged ? There wasn't going to be a marriage ? She wouldn't be living in England ? Mon Dieu. He'd imagined many things since he'd seen the photograph. All of them gut-wrenching. He fought to smother a groan. "My mistake. I was about to offer my congratulations." An impish smile broke out on her face. "It appears you've joined a long line of people duped by the paparazzi." When she looked like that, she had no idea how she came across to the males of the species. It was something she did as naturally as breathing. He'd known her since she was a little girl with a mop of bouncing curls. Her charm had gotten beneath his skin then, and would always have a stranglehold on his heart.

4

Now that she'd grown into a breathtaking woman, it didn't surprise him every journalist in Europe wanted photographs of her. Heiress to the Giraud perfume fortune, he supposed she would always be hounded by the press. "Guilty as charged," he replied in the same teasing vein to disguise his shock. She moved closer to him, her eyes intent on his face. "I never imagined such a thing could happen to JeanJacques Armentier of all people. Not when you used to laugh with me over the ridiculous claims in the tabloids linking me to this prince and that shipping magnate. Remember?" Oh yes. I remember. How I wish I didn't. For the love of heaven, Nicole, don't look at me like that. It was the same way she used to look at him whenever he tried to play hard to get. He did it on purpose to gauge her reaction. Her eyes would glisten over in pain and she'd go all breathless. Every time she responded that way, it would prove that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Something dark in his nature had always needed that proof because he couldn't believe that Nicole Giraud, the exquisite brunette men all over Europe fantasized about, the daughter of a family worth billions, would rather be with Jean-Jacques Armentier, a son of the soil who was very good at entertaining her, but could never be her equal. No matter how many times he tested her, she still came after him, undaunted. In front of his peers her unswerving desire for him fed his inflated ego. In the privacy of night, with the taste of her mouth still on his, he felt his heart soar. Then the morning would come, when the harsh light of day brought reality, dashing every dream. How jealously he'd guarded her all those years. Right up until the moment he left for Paris with an offer that settled an untenable situation for him. But that was a lifetime ago. His jaw hardened. This conversation needed to conclude so the torture would end. "If you're not getting married, what is the favorite target of the paparazzi doing these days besides putting on a Christmas play?" Tell me what I need to hear. Tell me you're planning a world cruise with your lover. Anything that puts thousands of miles between us. *** Nicole was in so much pain over his indifference to her presence, she didn't know if she could answer him. The question he'd asked her had been motivated by courtesy, nothing more. It went to prove how totally he'd eradicated her from his consciousness. "Brigitte never mentioned it?" "I'm afraid my sister and I were both poor letter writers," came the dampening response. Her heart plunged to new depths. Not only had Jean-Jacques been able to steal away in the night five years ago and abandon everything and everyone he knew without a backward glance, he hadn't shown enough curiosity to ask questions of his older sister who'd been a good friend to Nicole. There'd been no concern on his part how she'd survived that empty black period of endless mourning. Devastated didn't begin to describe Nicole's feelings at the time. One day he was working at his father's plant where the harvested lavender was processed. The next day Jean-Jacques was gone. With obvious pride Monsieur Armentier told Nicole his son had left for Paris to study chemistry.

5

He never wrote her. Never phoned. There'd been no explanation. Dear God. The pain had been so excruciating, she still hadn't recovered, and feared she never would. "I've been doing what I always intended to do with my life when I grew up." Her reply managed to wipe the faint mocking expression from his face. In its place crept a sober mask, realigning those attractive features. "You're a teacher?" The fact that he remembered even that much of past conversations ought to have brought her a modicum of solace. But his glaring incredulity didn't allow her one second's pleasure in the moment. She fought not to let him see how devastated she was. In as level a tone as possible she said, "I've been instructing kindergartners for four years now." "Where?" he asked. "At the École Charles Martel." He flashed her an impatient glance. "I meant 'where' as in which town?" "Here in Vence, of course. I was thrilled to be assigned that school because it's only a few minutes from the office. My brother and I were able to enjoy many lunches together before he moved to New York." She could have sworn his face lost color. "But that's impossible.?" "Why?" she burst out angrily. "Is it so unthinkable that a Giraud might be teaching at the same grade school an Armentier attended?" "You misunderstand me, Nicole," he ground out. "To be frank, I hadn't imagined you ?" "Working at all?" she cut him off. "Having a job like an ordinary person? For someone who always seemed so down-to-earth, you have a real problem about people with money. I don't know how I failed to recognize it until now ?" His mouth thinned into a white line of anger, but she didn't care. She was just getting warmed up. "I'm not sure you'll be able to handle what I'm going to tell you, Jean-Jacques, but I'll say it anyway. All those billions you're now responsible for have never had anything to do with me. I didn't earn as much as one cent! The only money I spend is what I make on my salary." It was fascinating to watch the way his black eyes turned into furious pinpoints of light. "Impossible as it is for you to believe, money doesn't make my world go round." Her declaration reverberated in the room. The way Jean-Jacques was staring at her now made her realize how out of control she was sounding. "The children here at the day care center," she began in a quieter tone, "will be presenting the Christmas play at the villa. Mother's planning a light supper for everyone on the staff. She sent an invitation to your office, but in case you didn't see it yet, I'm extending it personally."

6

A long silence ensued before he said, "Giselle already brought it to my attention. Please thank your mother for me." "I will," she whispered. "Does that mean you're coming?" Would he attend the Christmas party at her mother's home? Jean-Jacques realized it was like it had been before ? Nicole standing there with those velvety-brown eyes beseeching him for an answer. "I've already asked Giselle to accept your mother's invitation for me. Now if you'll excuse me, I must look up Madame Honfleur's address and drop off her bonus." Anxious to put distance between himself and Nicole, Jean-Jacques pulled out his car keys. "She lives above her husband's shop," Nicole said before he'd reached the door. "It's the bureau de tabac at the base of the rue Madelaine bordering the Place de Seurat. You know ? wh-where you and I used to buy chocolates on our way to the beach." She stammered the last. Jean-Jacques wished she hadn't mentioned those marshmallow delights covered in chocolate. They'd take a sack of them to an isolated stretch of sand and water to watch the yachts in the distance. But he never did see anything except the invitation in her beguiling smile. There was nothing sweeter than her lips covered in orange, mint, and raspberry. Even now they were a temptation he could do without. Auguste Giraud had seen what was happening between his daughter and the boy who was completely unsuitable for her. For years he'd watched and waited until the exact moment to proffer the bribe that had sent Jean-Jacques out of his daughter's life. Little did her father know that Jean-Jacques had already made plans to leave the Midi, the South of France region in which Vence was located. At 25 he was a man, hot with a man's desire, unable to bear the torture of her presence when he couldn't do anything about it. But he wasn't certain that, at some point, he wouldn't break his own vow and come running back to her. Lyon wasn't that far from Vence. The bribe to go all the way to Paris was presented to him when he was at his most vulnerable. So many miles between them guaranteed that he wouldn't backslide and come back to Vence every weekend. Until he'd found out Nicole wasn't getting married after all, Jean-Jacques had actually believed he was home free. Now everything he'd strived so carefully to orchestrate had blown up in his face. As soon as he made his delivery to Mme. Honfleur, he'd go back to his apartment and phone Dominic Giraud in New York. Nicole's older brother was the one who'd picked Jean-Jacques to be CEO. It was to Dominic he would tender his resignation. Hopefully a replacement could be found and installed by the first of the year. "Thank you for the information. À bientôt, Nicole." He left, determined to keep as far away from her as possible. If he worked his schedule correctly, there was no reason for him to see her again. He ignored the sinking feeling that thought gave him. *** Long after Jean-Jacques had left the room, Nicole stood there trembling. Something was wrong. If her instincts were correct, and she had every reason to believe they were, he was afraid of being alone with her. Why? It made no sense, not after the history they'd shared.

7

Dear God, they'd known each other since childhood! For as long as she could remember life, Jean-Jacques had been part of the mosaic making up her world. At first as one of the older boys who teased and sometimes played with her while her father visited with Jacques's father at the lavanderie. Later, as the heartthrob teenager she idolized long before she grew up enough to feel physical desire and express it. By her midteens they'd begun to share an intense personal relationship. In time she realized he was the man she wanted to be her husband and the father of their babies. He'd wanted her, too! He might not have said the words. He might not have made any commitments, but she knew the depth of his feelings every time he crushed her in his arms, every time he devoured her mouth with an unrestrained hunger that matched her own. Too unrestrained for him to behave around her now as if she were nothing more than an old acquaintance. Even if his feelings for her had died five years ago, prompting his sudden departure from Vence, how could he pretend an indifference that simply didn't ring true? If he'd thought he'd had the last word, he was very much mistaken. She was tired of not having answers. He owed her an explanation. She was desperate for closure so she could get on with the rest of her life. Now that he'd been brought back to Vence to run the company, she wasn't about to waste another second torturing herself over the past. Wheeling around, she locked up the day care center and headed for her car. Tomorrow wasn't that far away. Never before had she deliberately used her name to get something she wanted ? not from Jean-Jacques or anyone else. But there was always a first time.? Starting in the morning, she planned to fight for him any way she could. *** "Jean-Jacques?" "Yes, Giselle?" "Nicole Giraud is here to see you." Jean-Jacques broke out in a cold sweat. It was one thing to be able to walk away from her yesterday. But it was quite another to refuse to see Nicole in his office when it was her family's money paying his salary. Damn Dominic Giraud for being unavailable. His voice mail indicated he'd gone on vacation and wouldn't be back until the first of the year. All Jean-Jacques could do was leave a message that he'd made a mistake accepting the position, and was requesting a meeting with Dominic at his earliest convenience because he was handing in his resignation. "Tell her to come in, Giselle." He steeled himself not to respond. But the moment she walked inside and shut the door, the sight of her in a stylish cherry-red wool dress took his breath. Her brunette coloring, combined with the mold of her voluptuous body and long slender legs made it impossible to look anywhere else. After a lifetime of seeking him out at one of the flower farms or the lavanderie, it must be quite a shock for her to have to come to her brother's former office in order to talk to him. "Thank you for fitting me in. I know you're busy." She sounded a little breathless as she sat down in one of the chairs opposite his desk. He attributed the heightened color in her cheeks to the cold weather outside.

8

"You're always welcome, Nicole. You know that. What can I do for you?" He tried to sound as if he were addressing a member of the board of directors. Mon Dieu. Her eyes always had that expectant look when they met his, as if she were excited to see him. Five years had changed nothing in that regard! But no degree or title could alter the fact he was still an Armentier. They were adults now. There were certain lines you didn't cross. Nicole had always been out of reach, and always would be. The sooner he left Vence for good, the better. When her brother demanded an explanation for this sudden about-face, Jean-Jacques would tell him the truth. That he was, and always had been, in love with Nicole. Dominic was a man and understood these things. Once he'd heard that revelation, he'd accept Jean-Jacques's resignation without question. "With the establishment of the day care center, Dominic and I started a tradition at the villa of giving presents to the children after their performance. We shopped together for their gifts and had a lot of fun doing it. I guess you've inherited that job now." He groaned inwardly. For years he and Nicole had gone Christmas shopping for their families' and friends' gifts. On their last Christmas together, before he'd made the decision to leave Vence, he'd wanted to take her to a jeweler's and let her pick out an engagement ring. But that was one of those fantasies no one else knew about, least of all Nicole. He didn't have the kind of money to buy a ring she could be proud of. Of course it was absurd to even entertain the idea when marriage to her was out of the question. "With Christmas Eve only three days away, the gifts really should be bought today." Dominic had forgotten to go over this duty with him. Come to think of it, he'd forgotten to tell Jean-Jacques several things?all having to do with Nicole. "Giselle said you don't have a business lunch scheduled, so I thought we could grab a bite to eat, then run over to Toy World. But, of course, if you're too involved in something else?" Nicole looked at him, her eyes bright and challenging, as if she were daring him to spend time with her. But that couldn't be right?or could it? Nicole's request was something Jean-Jacques couldn't turn down, otherwise it would make the situation appear to take on more importance than it warranted. "How many children are there?" he asked to prevent her from leaving. She was already on her feet. "Forty, if you count the babies and toddlers. Only the four- and five-year-olds will be coming to the villa. There are 18 of them." Maybe it would be better to just get it over with now. Then he would only have to see her on Christmas Eve and that would be the end of it. Depending on how soon Dominic returned his call, Jean-Jacques could be back in Paris by New Year's Day. "I have a phone conference arranged for two o'clock, but can fit in the shopping as long as we skip lunch." "That's fine with me," she said, sounding undaunted. "Now that my students are out of school for the holidays, I've had a big breakfast with my parents the last two mornings." He followed her to the outer office, where she reached for her coat. Then they headed for the company car in the parking lot.

9

"I thought you had a leisurely breakfast with your parents just about every morning of life." He shut her door, then went around to the driver's side of the car. Nicole waited until they were merging with the traffic. "That might have been true when I was little. But like you, Jean-Jacques, I grew up and moved out of my parents' house years ago." Where? A tight band around his chest constricted his breathing. As long as she'd lived at her parents' villa, she'd been like the princess on the glass hill. You needed a magic horse to ride to the top to claim her. There was nothing magic about the plow horses in the Armentier barn. They would never fill the bill.? "Does that mean you're living in Antibes now? It's very beautiful along that stretch of the coast," he asked, remembering a time when they'd been riding around the towns near Vence on his motorbike and she'd pointed out the spectacular home overlooking the water, indicating that her father's aged parents lived there. "Antibes ?" "Yes. Didn't you move into the villa your grandfather willed to you?" Nicole let out an angry laugh. "My grandparents' home was meant to be filled with a family, not a single working woman. I rent a small studio apartment down on the rue de Mistral." His heart slammed into his ribs. It wasn't very far from his own apartment. He didn't want to hear any more. He didn't want to think about her there, alone, where he could have easy access. "You amaze me, Jean-Jacques." Her voice trembled. "Do you honestly imagine that I lie around in some obscenely expensive designer negligee on my private terrasse overlooking the Mediterranean while I sip champagne and contemplate how I'm going to spend my billions this weekend?" When he was in his late teens, those had been his exact thoughts, only they hadn't stopped there. He'd visualized himself climbing up to her terrasse and making slow, passionate love to her beneath the Midi sun, their bodies caressed by a gentle breeze filled with the scent of jasmine. A deep ache seared him at the memory. Shakespeare could have set his two star-crossed lovers in Provence. Their names, Armentier and Giraud. Auguste Giraud wasn't the only person who'd wanted the two of them permanently separated. Jean-Jacques's parents had been equally adamant on the subject of their son ending all association with Nicole. "It seems a great deal has changed while I've been away. I promise to stop making any more assumptions." He turned sharply to the right into the covered parking of Aux Quatre Saisons department store. "It may take a while for me to find a parking space. Why don't I let you out here and meet you in the toy department?" To his relief, she didn't object. "See you a minute," she said before getting out of the car. While he waited for the vehicle in front of him to move on, his eyes followed every bewitching movement of her gorgeous body. All the Christmas shoppers were watching her, too. Nicole was Vence's own unofficial princess. She couldn't go out in public without being the center of attention. Mon Dieu, Nicole. I shouldn't have come with you. Already I have this gut feeling I'm going to regret it.? *** The second Nicole entered the store, she expelled the breath she'd been holding. For a moment back in his office, she'd been afraid Jean-Jacques would refuse to come with her. But just because he'd felt obliged to help with the shopping, it didn't mean she could get him to do anything else. Deep in her heart, she knew it was going to take some kind of miracle to get back what they'd once had.

10

With a determination born of her love for him, she proceeded with her plan. By the time Jean-Jacques joined her in the girls' section of the toy store, she'd already ordered mobiles for the babies and push toys for the toddlers to be wrapped and sent to the day care center. Her pulse raced the moment she saw his tall, dark figure stride down the aisle toward her. Even from the distance separating them, she felt his black eyes searching hers. In his tan business suit, he looked every inch the urbane CEO, yet every woman in the store was aware of his hard-muscled body, the way it moved with that swift male grace of which he was unaware. Gathering three of the season's most popular dolls in her arms, she turned so Jean-Jacques could see them. "Which face do you like the best?" Through shuttered lids, his gaze passed over her face and body with haunting thoroughness before he fastened his attention on the dolls she was holding. His dark brows furrowed. "They're not very appealing." She chuckled. "I know. They're supposed to be homely. That's what makes them so endearing. Every little girl in France wants one. They're all the rage. Help me pick." "I'm afraid you've asked the wrong person. If Brigitte had owned a doll like that, I probably would have hidden it just to give her a hard time." "That's a terrible thing to say." But she smiled as she said it. "A lot of help you're being." "I guess the redhead isn't so bad. Maybe you'd better give every girl the identical doll so they won't fight. The same ought to go for the boys." "Have you decided on a gift for them?" "Of course. A toy car, preferably a red Ferrari like your father's. Every little boy's fantasy." If he'd profferred that little jab to remind her that they came from different worlds, it wasn't going to work. "Terrific! That made our shopping easy. I'll tell the salesclerk to get everything wrapped and have the gifts sent to the villa." Before long they were back in the car trying to exit the shopping area, but the crowds were worse than ever. She heard Jean-Jacques mutter something unintelligible as he was forced to start, then stop, while they waited for the line of cars to move. "We should have come on your motorbike." With her heart thudding in her chest, she ventured, "Do you still have it?" "I would imagine it's still in my parents' garage." "After you're through at the office for today, why don't we go for a ride on it?" Lines darkened his face. "All right, Nicole. It's obvious you didn't need my help to buy toys. What was your real motive for getting me to come with you today? The truth," he bit out tersely. She swallowed hard. "Five years ago you left Vence without one word of goodbye to me. Considering that I probably spent more time with you growing up than I did my own family or friends, it came as a tremendous shock to drive up to the lavanderie and be told you weren't there, that you'd left for Paris and wouldn't be coming back." There was a tremor in her voice that touched something deep inside of him.

11

"Obviously you were so excited to leave, you gave no thought to anything else. It didn't even occur to you to write a note that you could have asked your family to pass on to me. Had you grown to despise my company so much, you couldn't spare me five minutes' explanation?" Nicole turned to face him as Jean-Jacques decided what to say. Could he tell her the truth? The tension in the car was explosive as Nicole waited for Jean-Jacques to tell her why he had left without a word all those years ago. He surrendered the parking slip to the attendant and pulled out into traffic before attempting to respond. It was a question for which he'd had no satisfactory answer five years ago, so he'd done the cowardly thing and had left Vence without facing her. But just now he'd heard in her demand an underlying bleakness that he didn't want to acknowledge, yet couldn't ignore. Only Nicole had the power to slip past his defenses and tie him in knots. "Long before I went away, I'd been wrestling with the decision to do something more with my life than grow flowers," he began. "How come you never told me?" "Until I'd worked out a plan, it wasn't something I wished to discuss with anyone." Her head was bowed. "I lived in a fantasy world back then, didn't I? Imagining that I knew everything going on inside of you?" "Does one human being ever really know another?" "You knew me!" she blurted with raw emotion. He sucked in his breath. "I knew you were a Giraud, Nicole. You were also very young." Her head swerved in his direction. "Why don't you say what you really mean ? that I was a naïve little fool." "You're putting words in my mouth. I meant that you weren't old enough to know what life would present to you one day. Though you've always played it down, you were born to a world of privilege that only a handful of people will ever experience." "What does that have to do with anything?" she cried out angrily. "Every person is born to a world unique to them. But just because my father makes more money than yours shouldn't have any bearing on our relationship. You make it sound as though we come from different planets." "I'm not so sure that isn't the right analogy." He felt her gaze penetrate to his soul. "I can't believe what I'm hearing! Up until the day you disappeared, I don't recall those differences preventing you from spending every free moment with me." "It was always in private, Nicole. I was no more welcome in your home than you were in mine." "That's not true!" she fired back. "I begged you to come to my house and spend time with me. I could never understand why you refused. Neither could Mother. But until just now, I had no idea your family didn't approve of me." Her voice broke. Oh, hell. He raked an unsteady hand through his hair. "It wasn't a case of disapproval. I knew they'd be uncomfortable. That's why I didn't invite you."

12

"Uncomfortable ?" she cried. "Why?" Her incredulity made him realize she honestly didn't know. Nicole had always been blind to color and class differences. Those were just a few of the traits he loved about her. He shook his head. "If you don't understand it by now, then heaven help me, I can't explain it to you. It's a moot point anyway. To explain what happened ? an unexpected opportunity came my way to study in Paris, so I took it." "Did some benefactor give you money?" The tears in her voice tore at his soul. He was skirting dangerous ground now. "Yes. It was like a miracle. For the first time in my life I could look down the road at the possibility of a different future. But it meant leaving my parents who needed me, though they would deny it." It meant leaving you, he added in his mind. Looking at you right now, I don't know how I found the strength. "You couldn't have told me that much in a note at least?" By now they were getting close to the office. "Nicole ? do you remember the day you told me you wished I didn't smoke, and dared me to stop?" "Yes," came the quiet reply. "You stubbed it out and never smoked again." "Leaving home was like throwing that last cigarette away. It was all or nothing. If I'd started with the goodbyes, I would never have left. Before I lost my courage, I packed my things and headed for the train while the family was still asleep." A prolonged silence filled the interior of the car. He turned into the parking lot and pulled to a stop near the main doors of the building. Her lovely features looked frozen in marble. "Thank you for telling me the truth. All these years I ? I thought you must have hated me. Now I realize that the day you left, you chose to put away childish things." After another hesitation, she added, "Did you love Paris?" Get out of the car now, Armentier. Otherwise you know what you're going to do, and then Nicole will be in no doubt of your feelings for her. He forced a smile. "Does a Frenchman love the sun?" After turning off the motor, he pulled the keys from the ignition, ready to exit the car. She lifted tremulous brown eyes to him. "Jean-Jacques? I know you have a phone conference in a minute, but would you do me a favor? It's the last one I'll ever ask of you." Adrenaline surged through his body as he realized she was prepared to say goodbye. "If I can." "I'm giving a small cocktail party tonight. Would you drop by my apartment for drinks? Consider it a welcome home present from an old friend who was robbed of the pleasure of giving you a proper send-off. Any time after eight o'clock. I live at number 14, rue du Mistral." She looked at him rather sadly and smiled. Then she shut the car door behind her before he could answer. *** Nicole hovered near the front window of her apartment, worried because Jean-Jacques hadn't arrived yet. She looked around the tiny living room decorated with a small Christmas tree and red poinsettias. It was almost nine o'clock. The hors d'oeuvres would have to be reheated.

13

With every passing minute she had to wait, her temperature rose another degree. The tension made even the sleeveless black mandarin silk dress feel too hot for her. Her heart gave a furious kick when she heard footsteps outside the door, then a knock. She opened it to meet his unsmiling regard. There was a forbidding look about him tonight. She wondered at her temerity in asking him to her home. Swallowing hard she said, "Bonsoir, Jean-Jacques. I'm so glad you could make it. Come in." "Merci." In a few swift strides he moved past her, careful not to brush against her arm. As she was closing the door, she caught him appraising her with the kind of thoroughness that had always taken her breath in the past. Take a good look, my love, she thought. I'm no longer a child you can dismiss like you did five years ago. If he were as immune to her as he'd led her to believe earlier today, he wouldn't have come over tonight. Overjoyed at this much progress she stared back at him. Few men were as naturally elegant as JeanJacques. Tonight his formal navy suit and paisley tie gave him the air of the successful business tycoon. In her childhood she'd been too young to articulate what she found so attractive about him. By her teens the word dashing came to mind. When she turned 20, he was captivating. Everything about him fascinated her. But six years had added another element. He now had the irresistible appeal of a virile male who'd outgrown all traces of the younger man. She was staggered by his sensuality. "I hope you're hungry. Please sit down and help yourself to my homemade eggnog while I get the appetizers from the kitchen." He remained where he was, his stance formidable. His black eyes had narrowed on her mouth. "Where are the rest of your guests?" Nicole braved Jean-Jacques's piercing glance. "There are no other guests." "Why did you allow me to think otherwise?" "Because I knew you wouldn't have come unless I'd told you there would be other people." He cursed. "Damn you, Nicole! You got me over here on false pretenses." A dull red had crept beneath the skin of his handsome face. "We covered everything that needed to be said in the car." She didn't move a muscle. "But I didn't have my Christmas present for you with me then." His lips thinned in a hard line. "I suppose that's as good an excuse as any for a private talk about my new position with the company. But your effort isn't necessary. I know I could never fill your brother's shoes. We both know that would be an impossibility." "That's not true," she said, wounded by his aggressive attack ? the last thing she doubted about him was his business abilities. "Tell that to someone who doesn't know you as well as I do," he said with maddening calm. "You always were a highly emotional woman. Why don't you save all that charged energy for someone who would believe you." Nicole shook her head. "Why are you being like this?" More than ever she was convinced his uncharacteristic rudeness hid something he didn't want her to see.

14

"You think I don't know you have a right to be upset?" The cords stood out in his neck. "Unfortunately it's a fait accompli. All I can do is make certain the comptroller of the company sends you monthly statements and keeps you apprised of developments as they occur." "That won't be necessary." "No one has more right to information than you," he kept talking as if she hadn't said a word. "One day half of the Giraud fortune will belong to you. I promised your brother I would protect and hopefully increase those holdings. I make you the same promise." "Fine, but I was never in any doubt of it." She moved away from him and reached under the tree for his present. He backed away from her. "I don't have time for this." "Surely you have a few minutes to spare. Actually it's the birthday present I made for you, but you left Vence a week too soon for me to give it to you." She moved next to him and when he didn't take the gift, she ripped off the Christmas wrapping so he could see the framed eight by ten color photograph of the two of them on his motorbike. In the picture, she sat behind him with her arms flung around his waist, their smiling faces pressed together. Watching his reaction, she saw that Jean-Jacques remembered one of his friends snapping the photo. In the right-hand corner she'd written, "To my love from your love," and the date. "Do you remember that day? We'd just taken a glorious ride to Eze. Philippe ?" his friend who had taken the picture "? said he'd never seen a couple so in love. He told us how envious he was." Her voice throbbed. Jean-Jacques took the picture from her hands and set it on the coffee table next to the eggnog. Then he turned to her. "We had good times, Nicole. But all of that's in the past." His black eyes glittered with a strange light. "I should never have come here." She was trembling so hard, her legs would barely hold her up. "Nobody forced you. Certainly your job wasn't on the line if you didn't. If my company is so repulsive to you, why did you bother?" His chest heaved. "Because I felt I owed you something for hurting you when I went away without a word of explanation." "What do you think you're doing to me now?" came her tortured whisper. Jean-Jacques felt as though he and Nicole were back where they had been five years ago. Surely she still didn't have feelings for him. If she did, he was going to put a stop to any crazy fantasies she held. "Mon Dieu. It's happening again. No matter how many times I used to goad you, you always came back for more." Her eyes filled with tears. "I was a cruel swine wasn't I? Unfortunately it's a habit I can't seem to break." He shot out his hands to grasp her upper arms. "Is that what you want from me tonight? More of the same treatment?" "Yes!" she cried her answer to his taunting question. It came from the very depths of her being. "If it's the only part of you I can have, then yes ? I'll take your cruelty." Her hands reached inside his jacket and slid up that familiar hard chest to his broad shoulders. "Please, Jean-Jacques," she begged from every sensitized cell in her body, so on fire for him she covered his mouth with her own. Nicole was taller than the average woman. In high heels, she didn't have too far to go in order to wrap her arms around his neck and prevent him from evading the full force of her desire.

15

It may have been five years, but what was happening right now felt as natural to her as breathing. One moment he was resisting her, the next instant everything changed and she found herself being kissed with a hunger she'd never even dreamed of. Long, deep sensual kisses that went on and on. He crushed her against him, melding her curves to his solid frame. Their hands roved frantically as if in disbelief that they were back in each other's arms. His mouth stifled her moans of ecstasy, transporting her back to other flower-scented nights when they couldn't bear to be apart. It was like that now, and yet it was more. Much more. She knew she would die if she couldn't love Jean-Jacques like this for the rest of her life. "Please don't stop," she begged when he unexpectedly wrenched his mouth from hers, holding her at a distance while he struggled to recover from the passion they'd always aroused in each other on contact. "Perhaps now you understand why I decided against telling you I was leaving Vence. I have no desire to hurt you, Nicole. Even if it was five years in coming, let's agree we've had our final goodbye." He started for the door. Ecstatic because he'd lost control in her arms, she followed him considering what had happened between them, feeling a glimmer of hope. "Whatever you say, Jean-Jacques. See you at the villa on Christmas Eve." *** The second he slid behind the wheel of his car, Jean-Jacques reached for his cell phone to call Nicole's brother. The same damn message resounded in his ear. Dominic wouldn't be available until the New Year. Letting loose with a couple of well-chosen epithets, he clicked off and shoved the key in the ignition. He should have gotten out of Nicole's apartment before all hell had broken loose. The heavenly taste of her mouth still clung to his. His body throbbed with unassuaged longing. One look at that photograph had unleashed every demon driving him. But it also reminded him his bike was still in the garage at the farm. Though he'd urged his father to sell it ages ago, the older man had insisted on keeping it for his son's return, assuring him it would stay in mint condition. Blessing his father's foresight, Jean-Jacques drove to his own apartment where he could change clothes first. Tonight he needed the wind on his face and enough speed underneath him to find forgetfulness, if only for a little while.? And then he was going to contact Dominic and leave?before it was too late. Nicole hovered near the tall French doors of the 18th-century drawing room, desolate because JeanJacques hadn't arrived. The Christmas program was about ready to start. She was afraid he'd decided to stay away after what had transpired at her apartment. Her pulse raced to hear her mother's voice coming from the foyer. "Jean-Jacques! How wonderful to see you after all these years! Please come in." "Merci, Madame Giraud. The pleasure is all mine. Joyeux Noel." "What is this?" "Nicole once told me you liked to collect Pere Noels. I found this wood-carved version of Father Christmas in a little shop in town. I rather like the dark blue velvet of his elegant capuchin hood and cloak."

16

He remembered! Moved beyond words by his unexpected kindness to her mother, Nicole fought to get her emotions under control. When she heard her mother's cry of pure pleasure, she was lured out of her hiding place to join them. Her mother caught sight of her. "Darling ? come and look at what Jean-Jacques brought us. Isn't this Pere Noel exquisite!" "He's wonderful," Nicole said in a trembling voice. You're wonderful, her heart cried as her gaze sought Jean-Jacques's, but he refused to look at her. If they'd been alone, she would have forced him to acknowledge her. "Thank you, mon fils." Clearly thrilled, her mother raised up and kissed him on both cheeks. "As you're our guest of honor this evening, would you be so kind as to hand the children their gifts after the program? Their names are already on the packages." He nodded. "Of course." "Nicole? While I put Father Christmas in his own special place on the mantel, why don't you show JeanJacques to his seat." *** With the greatest of reluctance his glance darted to Nicole. She looked like a heavenly angel in a stunning white wool suit with a jeweled Christmas tree pin attached to one of the lapels. Around her neck she'd tied a white chiffon scarf. She seemed part of the magic of the night. This was the first time he'd been inside the fabulous Giraud villa, which had been decorated to look like a holiday wonderland with decorated trees, swags of garlands, and pots of fresh red flowers everywhere. He felt as though he was in a dream and Nicole was this exquisite doll who'd come to life from beneath the huge Christmas tree with its colored balls and pink and white lights. Avoiding her eyes, he whispered, "After you, Nicole." Following her voluptuous figure, he forced himself to smile and nod as they passed parents and staff seated on the Louis XV chairs and love seats. The group had assembled before a makeshift stage complete with a roofed stable, a wooden manger filled with straw, and a baby. Behind the manger stood several life-size cardboard cows and sheep. In the soft light, they looked real. This was all Nicole's doing. Jean-Jacques was so proud of her he could hardly swallow for the lump in his throat. There was no other woman in existence like her. Debilitating pain shot through him because he was standing inside her world for the first time and had never felt so far removed from it. As he took his place up in front, she gestured to the accompanist at the grand piano. Then the shepherds, followed by the three wise men in their homemade costumes, began to enter, singing, through the tall mirrored doors. Next came Mary and Joseph, then the young narrator, who stumbled over his crook before taking his place at the microphone. The parents started to whisper and chuckle as each child made his or her appearance and waved. Hot tears stung Jean-Jacques's eyes because he couldn't remember a time when he didn't want Nicole to be the mother of his children. It was never going to happen. Deep in agony, he didn't realize what was happening on stage until he heard Joseph cry out, "I want to hold the baby Jesus, too!" Suddenly there was a tug of war between him and Mary who was clutching the baby for all she was worth. The audience broke into laughter.

17

Nicole flashed Jean-Jacques a signal of distress. He bounded out of the fauteuil and rushed up to the children. Kneeling behind them he whispered, "You can both hold him. Joseph, put your arm around Mary. That's right. Now just stay like that till the play is over." When Joseph finally did his bidding, Jean-Jacques released the breath he'd been holding and raised his head. Nicole's shimmering gaze fused with his, thanking him for saving the evening from disaster. Her loving expression was too much to handle. Jean-Jacques couldn't wait any longer for Dominic to return his phone call. Tonight he would tender his resignation to Auguste Giraud. The older man was seated by the French doors. It would be a simple thing to seek him out. By tomorrow morning Jean-Jacques planned to be long gone from the woman he loved.... *** While Jean-Jacques passed out the presents to the children, who were jumping up and down with excitement, Nicole worked with the maids to make certain the food and marzipan treats were ready in the dining room. As soon as she could leave, she fixed a heaping plate for Jean-Jacques, then moved into the drawing room to find him. She had plans for them. Depending on the outcome, they'd never be out of each other's sight again. But as she scanned the crowd, she couldn't see him anywhere. When she asked her mother, she said he'd gone to the library with Nicole's father. Uneasy because they'd disappeared during the festivities, she handed the plate to her mother and dashed out to the terrace. After walking the length of it past the music room, she stood outside her father's study at the other end of the villa. She waited for several minutes but when it didn't seem that they would be leaving any time soon, she knocked on the door. "Papa?" she asked before entering the room to discover her father alone at his desk. "Where's Jean-Jacques?" He sat back in the leather chair, eyeing her through shuttered lids. "After we concluded our talk, he said he had an important engagement and left by the balcony stairs." "No!" She dashed back outside and leaned against the wrought iron railing to watch for movement in the sunken garden below. But she couldn't see or hear anything except the gentle rustle of the night breeze. By now he could be anywhere and would make certain she couldn't find him. Pain as real as if someone had repeatedly stabbed her left her immobilized. A deep sob welled up inside of her until she was convulsed. "Nicolette. Tell me what's wrong." Her father was a cold man. It had been a long time since he'd reached out to comfort her. For once he'd caught her off guard. She spun around, wiping the tears that dripped off her cheeks. "Tonight was the company party. What was so important you had to bring him in here?" "He said he had to talk to me in private. Dominic has been unavailable, so Jean-Jacques resigned to me." "Resigned ?" "Yes. He didn't give me a reason."

18

"Dear God ? I've got to find him!" "Nicole ? there's something you should know. Five years ago I offered Jean-Jacques a scholarship to go to Paris to study chemistry with the proviso that he work for the company after graduation." Shattered, she looked at her parent in horror. "You paid him money to break us up? My own father?" But it all made sense to her. Jean-Jacques had come home the new CEO of the company, a prize more coveted than the love of any woman. What man who'd expected to work in the flower fields all his life could have resisted such temptation? So why had he resigned? "Non, ma fille. I was acting under your brother's orders." She blinked. "What are you talking about? Dominic doesn't have a treacherous bone in his body!" "I agree," he said quietly. "Only once after the day he disowned me as his father did he ask a favor of me. Out of my love for him, I obliged without questioning it or his motives." Nicole couldn't take it all in. "Dominic wanted my relationship with Jean-Jacques ended?" "If you want answers, you'll have to ask your brother. For Dominic's sake, as well as my own selfish reasons, I'd rather your mother were kept in the dark. But before you're too hard on him, just remember that JeanJacques didn't have to take the offer." Nicole blinked back tears as she turned and ran the entire distance to her suite of rooms to phone Dominic. But with every step, her father's last words rang the death knell in her heart. Just remember. Jean-Jacques didn't have to take the offer. *** Jean-Jacques left the cathedral with his sister and her husband, bundling little Paul against his shoulder for the walk to their cars. During the midnight mass, the baby had fallen asleep on his shoulder. While they made their way through the crowd, he was loath to give up his nephew's comforting warmth. Heaven knew he needed something to prevent him from thinking about what he was going to do now that he was no longer the CEO. He was terrified that no matter where he went, no matter how many miles he put between them, Nicole's memory would haunt him to the end of his life. He felt a nudge in his ribs. "What is it, Brigitte?" "Don't look now but Nicole isn't far behind and gaining on us with every footstep. Why don't you ask her to join the family for the réveillon. Everyone loves her. You want her to come. Admit it." Jean-Jacques knew Nicole would attend mass with her family. But he hadn't expected her to search him out in this crowd. He should have known that leaving the villa without saying goodbye was exactly the wrong thing to do. "Leave it alone, Brigitte. There are things you don't understand. Tell Maman I'll catch up with all of you at the farm.?" Brigitte flashed her brother an accusing glance. "Mark my words, Jean-Jacques, your stupid Gallic pride is going to be your ruination."

19

Unable to abide her remarks because they were trampling over his bleeding wounds, he lifted Paul from his shoulder. By the time had made the transfer to her arms, Nicole had reached them. "Joyeux Noel, everyone. These presents are for your family." She handed her packages to Claude, kissing him and Brigitte on both cheeks, then the baby. When she lifted her head, she darted Jean-Jacques a glance devoid of emotion. Her eyes no longer reflected her usual joy. The drastic change in her demeanor, especially during this Christmas season, sent a chill through his body. "If you two don't mind, I'd like to speak to Jean-Jacques for a few minutes. I promise I won't keep him long." "No problem. We'll see you later." Brigitte shot Jean-Jacques a final fierce glint of disapproval before walking away with her husband and little Paul. Once they'd gone, he turned to Nicole. "I assume you came to mass with your parents. I'll run you to the villa in my car. It's behind the back of the cathedral." By tacit agreement they headed in that direction, forming part of the throng of people dispersing from the square. She said nothing and held herself apart from him. Even though this was the most holy of nights for locals and their families, there were still journalists hanging around for a chance sighting of her. On cue the flashes started popping. A half-dozen video-cam artists followed their progress to the car, shouting at her to make a comment. With regal grace she ignored them as if they didn't exist. Still, it was a relief to get her inside and drive away. He knew how much she hated the paparazzi. It was testimony of her determination to talk to him that she would face the media's scrutiny without Dominic or her parents nearby to offer protection. I've always made you walk the gauntlet, haven't I, Nicole. But after tonight, no more. One glance in the rearview mirror told him the press hounds were in hot pursuit. But he knew they couldn't follow his car inside the gates of the Giraud estate. Pressing on the accelerator, he headed there with tires squealing around the hairpin turns as they wound up the hill. Fortunately, Nicole had ridden on the back of his bike too many times to be nervous. In fact right now she seemed impervious to her surroundings. But he knew inside that beautiful skin of hers, tension had been building. She was ready to explode. So was he. The pain had to end. The guard at the gate immediately recognized them and ushered him on through. Jean-Jacques drove beyond the fountain to the west end of the villa near a stand of dark cypress trees. It was the one place where they could have total privacy, yet Nicole would still be safe from him. Right now he was going to have to lie through his teeth. He knew what she was going to say, so he decided to save her the trouble. Without looking at her he said, "After the way I left Vence, not to mention the way I've behaved since I've been back, I don't blame you for coming after me for an apology. No person deserves one more than you do, so I'll be blunt. "As long as I lived in Vence, you were always a temptation, but not the sole meaning of my existence. After I moved to Paris, I discovered other women who had the same effect on me. When Dominic asked me to come back and head the company, I was flattered and thought it was what I wanted. But I was wrong. Paris has more distractions than I thought, so I've resigned from the company." "I know. My father told me." To his shock he heard her door open. He jerked his head around in time to see her get out of the car. She leaned down so their eyes would meet. Hers held a mixture of indescribable hurt and anger. "I expected honesty from you tonight, but it's just not in you." Her voice trembled. "He told me about the scholarship."

20

Jean-Jacques's worst nightmare had come true. Sickness welled up inside him. "I don't blame you for taking what was offered. You now have what you never thought could be yours. Don't resign because of me. I'll never come near you again. But I have to tell you that if I'd known about this before you left Vence, I would have whispered, 'Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.' One day there may be a price to pay. I hope not. Adieu." *** "Un moment!" Jean-Jacques called out as he threw the last pair of socks in his suitcase. The knocking at the door continued. He'd refused to answer any phone calls. In frustration Brigitte must have told Claude to come over, hoping his brother-in-law could talk him into spending Christmas day with them. But he wasn't fit for company, not even his own. Damn Dominic to hell for flying to Paris and talking him into coming back home. He knew how Jean-Jacques felt about Nicole. Dominic knew a lot more than he ever let on. That's what made him so remarkable. Until he'd allowed him to believe something that wasn't true, there probably wasn't a man outside of JeanJacques's father he admired more. He still couldn't understand why Dominic hadn't asked him to take the position in New York. None of it made any sense. As for Nicole, last night's devastating encounter outside the villa wrote the end of their history. That one last withering adieu from her lips had said it all. The knocking persisted. As long as it was Claude, Jean-Jacques didn't care if he hadn't shaved and was only wearing a pair of well-worn jeans. When he jerked the door open, his eyes narrowed in disbelief to see Nicole standing there in a two-piece suit the shade of hyacinths. She smelled like a garden of tea roses opened by the sun, and she looked so breathtaking, he thought he was hallucinating. He couldn't take any more. "Unless it's a case of life or death, I don't know what would bring you to this door." "This is life and death. I just talked to Dominic. May I come in, please." There was an element in her voice and mien that convinced him she was serious. His heart did a violent kick. He stepped aside. As she moved past him into the mess he'd made of the living room with all his stuff still to be packed, he heard her breath catch. Her emotions had risen to the surface. Something traumatic had happened. He prayed it wasn't bad news. Nicole idolized her brother. After closing the door, he leaned against it and folded his arms, not knowing what to expect, yet fearing the worst. She drew close to him. "Jean-Jacques ?" He shook his head. "What, Nicole? Tell me ?" he cried softly in alarm. To his shock, she got down on both knees and grasped his left hand. Looking up at him with her heart in her eyes she said, "I love you with all my mind, body, and soul. I've loved you all my life. I don't remember a time when I didn't. This morning Dominic told me you loved me. He said that's why you went away. "Now that you're back, would you do me the honor of marrying me? You're the man I want to be the father of my babies. You're the man I want to walk through the flowers with until the day we die. Please say yes. "I already have a job, and so do you as CEO. I also have a home my dear grandfather willed to me. You've seen it. That lovely villa in Antibes, which is close enough to both our jobs. It's waiting for us. I also have this silver ring from Morocco my grandmother gave to him at their wedding. He told me to give it to my husband one day. It was meant for you, no one else. Will you let me put it on you? Please let me," she implored him. "Then promise me you'll never take it off."

21

Jean-Jacques couldn't move, couldn't breathe. His vision blurred from tears he couldn't fight. When he felt the warm metal from her hand slide home on his ring finger, an enormous weight seemed to leave his body. "Nicole ?" he cried, joining her on the floor, pulling her on top of him. "Mon amour." He covered her feverish face with kisses. "Je t'aime." He kissed her mouth. "Je t'adore." He kissed her eyes and nose. "I love you. Dear God, how I love you. I love you. I can't think what I've done to deserve you, but I've always wanted you for my wife. Yes, I'll marry you. I love you. I swear I'll love you to the day I die." She put a finger to his lips. "Let's never talk about dying again, not when it's time to live. Really live." She kissed his mouth hungrily. "I want to get married as soon as we can. We'll tell the priest it's an emergency. If he gives us any trouble about not waiting for the banns, Dominic will fix it. He fixes everything. He was the mastermind behind that ghastly scholarship that took you away from me," her voice throbbed. "But I forgive him because he brought you back to me." "On my way to Paris I figured he'd orchestrated everything," he murmured against her throat where her scent was the sweetest. "He knew when I hadn't proposed to you by the time I'd reached 25, I wasn't after your money. He also heard I was leaving Vence to go to college in Lyon." She gasped. "You never said a word to me." "I was afraid to, mignonne. Your power over me was too great. If you'd begged me not to leave, I probably wouldn't have. But without more education, I would never have worked up enough courage to ask Nicole Giraud, of all women, to marry me. "Dominic understood me better than I did myself. When he heard through gossip about my plans, he devised a plan of his own to send me to Paris. I went with it because Paris was farther away from home. I wouldn't be tempted to come back on weekends to be with you." "If only I'd known," she moaned. "I would have found a teaching job in Paris so we could be together all the time!" "I wouldn't have let you, mon amour. My plan was to pay back your father every franc so I wouldn't be beholden to your family. By that time, if you were still free, I hoped to find a job elsewhere and ask you to marry me. Then I saw that photograph in the paper and thought you were getting married. My heart died that day, Nicole. It was the only reason I said yes when Dominic offered me the job. If I couldn't have you, I could at least come home to Vence." "Bless him for deceiving you." She gave him another passionate kiss. "He knew all along our wedding was going to happen. Do you know I'm marrying the most exciting Frenchman on the planet?" "That is true, cherie," he said very seriously to provoke a response. She didn't disappoint him. "You're horrible," she teased, before they both chuckled. "Swear to me you won't ever change. Always be my Jean-Jacques," she begged before they lost all sense of time and place in each other's arms. "I am a horrible man," came his admission some time later, after he'd grudgingly released her mouth so she could breathe. "I never let another guy get near you. I was too possessive. Those five years away were part penance for my sins." "The other part you'll have to pay for by never letting me out of your sight again. By the way, Dominic made me temporary CEO until you withdraw your resignation. Since I don't have it in writing yet, I'm ordering you to take a long honeymoon." Low laughter rumbled out of him as he reversed their positions. "He's a man after my own heart. Where does my fetching bride-to-be want to go?" Looking down at her, he could drown in her gorgeous brown eyes.

22

"Anywhere you are. Merry Christmas, my darling." After a sharp intake of breath, he gathered her to him and clung. "I think I'm too happy, Nicole." "You only think? That sounds like a true chemist talking," she whispered into his neck. "I guess this means we'll have to undergo hundreds of experiments to test your theory." Her mind was as exciting as her body, which was having too powerful an effect on him. He still couldn't believe his fantasy woman was going to be his wife! "More like thousands and thousands. Come closer and we'll get started on our first one?"

23

All That Glitters by Cassie Miles Life has been handed to Maxwell Harris on a silver platter ? that is, except when it comes to finding one true love. Sabrina Tyrell is a charming diversion from the business that brought him to Amelia Island, but Max wants nothing more from her than one perfect night spent arousing the passion he senses within her. Sabrina has made a good life for herself, but she's always been unlucky in love. Trusting fate seems to find her falling flat on her face. On a dream island vacation, she meets Max, a man she suspects could bring her to a level of pleasure that has always eluded her. What she doesn't expect is to fall in love with her one-night stand!

Chapter One Jane Huffman balanced on the top step of a four-foot-tall ladder. She reached up to arrange a swag of bloodred velvet across a thick brass curtain rod. As a professional interior designer, she wasn't proud of this particular redecorating project. In no way did this excessively opulent bedroom reflect her own taste. Massive four-poster bed? Gilt mirrors? Flocked wallpaper? Yuck! But the customer was always right, and her customer was the glamorous Lily Dumont whose lucrative divorce and subsequent parade of lovers made her uniquely suited to a bordello-style boudoir. Jane hummed as she worked. Her mood was as bubbly as Dom Pérignon. Tonight would be her third meeting with Sam Clarendon ? an attorney who had hired Jane to do decorations for a benefit ball raising money for homeless children. This job offered amazing exposure for Jane's fledgling business, and she hoped to make great contacts. Even more exciting was her introduction to Sam. Although he was, by reputation, the most notorious bachelor in Denver, he was also funny, smart, and sexy with an endearingly masculine ignorance when it came to decor. She hoped tonight's meeting might turn into a date. "Uneven!" Lily charged into the bedroom, pointing with both hands at the velvet swag. "It's all wrong! Uneven!" Jane adjusted the bulky drapery. "Better?" "Not really." She scowled. "Emerald green might be more effective. And fringe." Oh please, not fringe. Jane glanced over her shoulder at Lily. Her thick black hair was tied back in a sporty ponytail, and she wore a skimpy tennis skirt that showed off her tanned legs ? an enviable attribute. Jane had a typical redhead's complexion. All freckle. No tan. Accompanying Lily was a scrawny woman wearing a paisley silk headscarf. She introduced herself. "I'm Mina Corsky, Lily's astrologer." Jane smiled politely, hoping Mina's astrological advice wouldn't mean changing the swag to saffron yellow with spangles. "You're a Libra," Mina said with surprising accuracy. "Beware the Taurus man who sweeps you off your feet. He'll be the death of you." As if on cue, Sam Clarendon sauntered into the room. Carrying a tennis racket, he was also dressed for sport in khaki shorts and a T-shirt. "Hello, Jane." Lily velcroed herself to his side and stroked the blond stubble on his jaw. "I wasn't aware you two knew each other."

24

"Jane works for me." That certainly put Jane in her place. To him, she was nothing more than an employee. Sam caught hold of Lily's hand and gazed at the magnificent ring on her middle finger. Even from across the room, Jane knew this gem was the real deal, likely from Tiffany's. "A blue diamond," Sam said. "Eighteen carats." "It really doesn't go with tennis," Lily said, "but I wear it constantly. A lady can't be too careful with a cat burglar on the loose." "You could save yourself the trouble by donating your ring for the silent auction at the Benefit Ball." "Convince me." Looking up at Sam, her fake lashes fluttered like crazed centipedes. "I'd be happy to try." He raised her fingertips to his lips. With a growl, Jane turned back to the velvet swag. Obviously, she'd been mistaken about Sam. The man was a slut. When the two other women left the room, he approached her. "See you tonight, Jane. Eight o'clock." Coldly, she said, "Perhaps it's best if we reschedule during regular business hours." "It's important." Too bad! Even though she was ? as he'd said ? only a hired hand, she didn't have to come whenever he called. As she whipped around to give him a piece of her mind, her toe slipped off the ladder. She grabbed the velvet drape. The plush material slithered through her fingers. Awkwardly, she fell, colliding with Sam. They crashed to the floor. Sprawled across his muscular body, she gasped to catch her breath. Her face was inches from his. She stared into his blue eyes ? nearly the same color as her own. If they had children together, genetics would make them blue-eyed, too. Children? Oh, jeez, what was she thinking? This was definitely not the man who would give her a home, security, and family. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Fine. And you?" "I'm great. This is the first time a woman has swept me off my feet." Jane scrambled upright. She'd intended to put distance between them. Instead, she'd gotten too close ? close enough to smell the pheromones, to feel the warmth of his flesh. "About tonight ?" "Eight o'clock." He stood and picked up his tennis racket. "My house. I'll leave the back door open." "Fine." After dive-bombing onto him, she couldn't refuse. "By the way, Sam, what's your sign?" "Taurus."

25

*** Five hours later, after no less than twelve changes of outfit, she settled on a sleeveless sundress and a seethrough overblouse that camouflaged the freckles on her shoulders. If this meeting turned into a date, she could unbutton the blouse or take it off. She wheeled her van into the driveway that stretched around to the back of his Cherry Creek minimansion. Hers was the only vehicle in sight; Sam must be parked in the detached garage. Locking the van, Jane strolled through manicured landscaping to the back door. She knocked. Though the day had begun to fade into sunset, there was enough light to see inside. No one appeared to be home. The door was unlocked as he had promised. She entered, feeling a bit like an intruder. "Sam? Are you here?" Ever since she was a kid moving from one foster home to another, Jane had had a sense about the personality of a house ? as if the walls could breathe and the windows could see. Some were bright and happy. Others wept. Sam's house felt abandoned in spite of being well tended. It felt as if nobody really lived here. She walked through to the kitchen. Someone had been cooking; the scent of roasting fowl tickled her nostrils. In the formal dining room, she found two places set at the table with crystal glasses, patterned china, and two white tapers, recently lit. A very romantic scene, this was not the setting for a straightforward business discussion. A shiver of anticipation chased through her. "Sam, where are you?" She entered the living room where the drapes were drawn. Heavy, masculine furniture lurked in the shadows like crouching beasts. Jane rounded a leather sofa and turned on a table lamp. On the floor beside the coffee table, a woman lay facedown. Her hair was black. Her dress was white with a crimson splotch in the middle of her back. Blood! On her ring finger, the woman wore Lily Dumont's fabulous blue diamond. Her hand twitched. Jane gasped. "Oh my God! Lily?" The back door slammed. Someone was coming. Chapter Two When the back door slammed, common sense told Jane to hide. But the woman in white sprawled on the floor in Sam's living room wasn't dead. Her finger had twitched. Jane wouldn't leave this unconscious victim at the mercy of whoever walked through that door. It was her nature to protect the helpless. Growing up in foster care, she'd learned to be tough. From the kitchen, she heard a man's voice. Maybe Sam? Or maybe not. She needed a weapon. From the stand by the front door, she grabbed an umbrella. With her other hand, she groped in her purse for her cell phone. The stranger who entered the living room was built like a gorilla. "Stay back!" Jane positioned herself between him and his victim. She punched in 9-1-1. "I'm calling the cops." Calmly, he reached inside his blazer and pulled out a revolver.

26

Her heart stopped. Was it too late to run and hide? "I need help," Jane shouted into the cell phone. "There's a man with a gun." The gorilla stepped toward her. "Listen, ma'am, I'm not ?" "Don't move!" She jabbed at him with the point of the umbrella as she gave Sam's address to the emergency operator. "And we need an ambulance. There's a woman who's nearly dead." "Not hardly," said a familiar female voice. Looking over her shoulder, Jane saw Lily Dumont sit up on the floor, like a vampire rising from her coffin. Sam strolled into his living room. As he beheld the scene, his eyebrows lifted. "Jane," he said, "I see you've already met Franklin. He's a professional security guard." "Oh." She lowered her umbrella. From the floor, Lily whined, "Sam, darling, I was attacked. Don't you care about me?" While Sam helped Lily onto the sofa, Jane approached Franklin. "Sorry," she said. He grinned. "You had me real scared, ma'am." She glanced toward Sam and sighed. Every time she got close to him, she seemed destined to behave like a complete moron. The wail of approaching police sirens and an ambulance confirmed her idiocy. This situation could only get worse now that the cops were involved. Breathlessly Lily explained, "I came here to surprise you, Sam. I had my chef prepare a divine candlelit dinner for two. She left while I set the table. I heard a noise and came into this room. I sensed someone behind me and?" She reached up to touch the back of her head. "?everything went black." "Wait a minute," Jane said. "You were hit on the head? But there's blood on the back of your dress." "Oh dear, I hope not. This is a Vera Wang." Lily leaned forward. There was nothing on her back. But Jane had seen blood! She looked down at the carpet. "There it is." She picked up the piece of shiny red plastic that she'd mistaken for blood in the poorly lit room. It was shaped like a sunburst ? the calling card for the cat burglar who was terrorizing the wealthy of Denver. Immediately, Lily checked her ring finger. "Thank God, the burglar didn't get my blue diamond!" When Franklin opened the front door for the policemen and ambulance crew, Jane left center stage to Lily who protested to everyone and wouldn't allow the paramedics to touch her. In the midst of this confusion, a neighbor popped in to see what was happening. With her was Mina Corsky, who had just arrived for an evening tarot card reading. Lily demanded, "I want my personal doctor. Someone fetch me a brandy." Mina complied, going directly toward the liquor cabinet. Had she been here before? Did Sam use the services of this psychic?

27

When he caught Jane's eye and nodded toward the dining room, she followed him. At the romantically set table, he paused to blow out the candles. "Let me assure you, I knew nothing about Lily's dinner plans." "Someone did," she said. "The cat burglar." "How much do you know about these thefts?" "Only what I read in the paper. Why?" "The Benefit Ball is a big temptation for a jewel thief." Sam unlocked the door into an old-fashioned library with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Unlike the rest of his house, this room looked lived-in. The large desk held a respectable amount of clutter. On the center table was an ebony rectangular box. Reverently, Sam unfastened the hasp and lifted the lid. "I wanted you to see this before you designed the decorations for the ball." Inside the white satin-lined box lay an ornately carved, golden scabbard. The hilt of the sword was pure, gleaming gold. Sam lifted the scabbard from the case and drew the double-edged blade. "The Sword of LeFevre, a Frenchman who came to the Rockies and discovered gold in the 1800s. This scabbard and hilt were fashioned from gold mined from his strike. The blade is steel, still sharp." He slashed the air, and the sword whistled. "It's to be auctioned off at the ball." Jane watched as Sam parried and thrust at an invisible opponent. The gold highlights in his hair matched the shimmer of the hilt. "Elegant," she said. "The owner's nervous about letting this treasure out of his sight. That's why I have Franklin with me." "May I touch it?" Jane reached out. He gave her the sword. The hilt was still warm from his touch. Golden heat radiated up her arm and spread through her entire body. "I thought the sword might inspire you," he said. "For the decorations. Maybe some French stuff. Lots of gold." Her gaze met his. An undeniable electricity sparked between them. "I'm inspired," she said. "There was another reason I wanted to see you, Jane. I need major redecorating to make my house suitable for kids. "But you're a bachelor." A confirmed and notorious bachelor. "I've applied to be a foster parent." She swallowed hard. Could Sam Clarendon possibly be more attractive? Handsome. Dashing. And sensitive, to boot. "This was the kind of home I dreamed about when I was a kid. I grew up in foster care." Jane confessed. "I know."

28

Though her past wasn't a secret, her upbringing wasn't common knowledge. "What else do you know about me?" "You have a juvenile criminal record for shoplifting. You put yourself through college, majoring in art history. Before I hired you, I had you checked out, Jane. You're the woman I want?for this job." Before Jane could reply, the library door was opened by Franklin. "Excuse me, sir. The police are taking statements. They'd like to speak to Miss Huffman." *** After her interview with the cops, Jane drove straight home, thinking about what Sam had said. She was the woman he wanted...for the job. Did he want her in other ways? What might have happened tonight if Lily hadn't interfered? For hours, Jane invented possible scenarios. The candlelit dinner. The personal tour of his house, including the bedroom. Before going to bed, she took her cell phone from her purse to recharge during the night. The phone wasn't properly closed. It looked like something was blocking the catch. She flipped it open. Lily's diamond ring fell into her hand. Chapter Three Clutching Lily's blue diamond ring, Jane telephoned the police detective who had interviewed her at Sam's house. She'd found the ring in her purse after arriving home from Sam's, but to anyone else, it would look as if she'd stolen it. She had to clear her name immediately. If accused of theft, her interior decorating business was ruined. People who hired Jane to work in their homes had to be able to trust her. Pacing nervously, she waited for the detective to arrive. She grasped the ring in her hand, not daring to let it out of her sight. How had the diamond gotten into her purse? Was someone trying to frame her? Why? Her doorbell chimed, and Jane ran to answer. Standing on her stoop was Mina Corsky. "What are you doing here?" Jane asked. "It's after ten o'clock at night." "But you're wide-awake," the psychic said as if stating the obvious was a brilliant revelation. "I'll make a pot of tea." Mina slipped inside. Her dark eyes darted as she studied the layout of Jane's two-story carriage house. The downstairs was an open room with a galley kitchen against the south wall. A spiral staircase led to the bedroom. As Mina strode toward the kitchen, her long scarves swirled like the silky plumage of an exotic bird ? a multicolored vulture. Behind the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the room, she lit the burner under the teapot. "I was right when I said a Taurus man would sweep you off your feet." "You're referring to Sam." She had also said he'd be the death of her. "Such a dear." Mina grinned knowingly. "Taurus is ruled by Venus. As are you. A Libra. I see a sky filled with romantic sparks." Jane's fingers closed tightly on the diamond ring. This sparkler was closer to earth. "What happened at Sam's house after I left?" "Questions from the police. Blah, blah, blah. When I left, Sam was comforting Lily."

29

About the loss of her ring. "She must have been distraught." "Of course. Lily was attacked by the cat burglar. Such a marvelous excuse for being coddled! She's been after Sam for quite a while, but he prefers you. You two have so much in common." "Like what?" Sam Clarendon was a wealthy, privileged attorney. Jane was raised in foster care and struggled all her life. What could they have in common? "Taurus and Libra. You both adore beautiful things. Yet, you're practical." Mina emerged from behind the counter. "And, of course, you're both thieves." "What?" "Give me your hand, Jane. I'll read your palm." And take the diamond? Jane hid both hands behind her back. "You're wrong, Mina. I'm not a thief." "Don't deny! You did a bit of shoplifting as a girl. Unlike you, Sam has never been arrested. He's far too clever. His eyes are focused on the golden sword. Blue eyes, much like yours." The teapot screamed to a boil. At the same time, the doorbell rang. "It's the police," Jane said as she went toward the door. "I called them." By the time the detective came inside, Mina had already poured boiling water into two mugs and added tea bags. It was rather amazing that she'd found everything so quickly. Maybe she truly was psychic. As she exited, she said, "I'll read your palm another time, Jane." After she left, the police detective took the ring, much to Jane's relief. She said, "I'm sure Lily was frantic looking for this." "She didn't report it missing," the detective replied. "But she was wearing the ring earlier tonight," Jane said. "I saw it." "This might be a copy." When the detective held the diamond in the light, reflections from fifty-seven facets in a Tiffany cut shimmered in breathtaking splendor. Jane knew ? as well as she knew her own name ? that this gem was genuine. After a few routine questions, he turned to leave. "Be sure to lock your door. If ? as you claim ? someone hid the ring in your purse, they'll come after it." She closed the door behind him. Mina might have come here looking for the diamond. The psychic was a likely cat burglar. Her association with the wealthy of Denver gave her access to their homes, their secrets, their precious belongings?and their gossip. Why had she accused Sam? When her cell phone rang, Jane feared it might be him, coming for the ring. "Hello?" "Did I wake you?" The sound of Sam's voice was both exciting and troubling. "I wanted to apologize about tonight." "I'm okay," she said. "How's Lily?"

30

"No crazier than usual." He paused. "You sound nervous, Jane. Would you like some company?" "I couldn't ask you to come all the way to my place." "No problem. I'm on my cell phone, parked next door to your carriage house." He was outside, waiting in the dark, watching the light from her windows. A gaggle of goose bumps marched up her arm. Was he here for nefarious reasons? There was only one way to find out. "Since you're already nearby ?" The doorbell sounded. She unlocked the door, and they faced each other. Each with cell phone in hand. Jane disconnected. "Guess we don't need these." "Guess not." When he entered, his energy filled the room. Her home seemed somehow brighter, lit by an ominous amber flare. "There's something I want to talk about." Her heart thumped. She prayed he wouldn't confess to being the cat burglar. "What is it, Sam?" "I think Lily staged her assault. She wouldn't allow the paramedics to check her injuries. I don't think she was attacked." "Why would she fake it?" Like Mina, he surveyed her home. His gaze focused on the spiral staircase leading to her bedroom. "Lily's after something." "She's after you," Jane said. "She went to a lot of trouble to prepare that romantic candlelit dinner. Pretending to be attacked is a quick way into your arms. Obviously, she has the hots for you." "There's only one thing Lily cares about. Money." Don't we all? "They say it makes the world go round." "With Lily, it's an obsession." "What do you care about, Sam? Mina says a Taurus is supposed to adore objects of art and beauty." He turned toward her. "I appreciate the finer things." "Such as?" The Sword of LeFevre. A blue diamond ring. "The red-gold shine of your hair." His direct gaze caressed her. "The pattern of freckles across your nose." She quickly glanced away ? afraid to connect with this incredibly attractive man who might be a cat burglar. "Why did you come here?" "To see you." He strolled to the counter, noticing the two cups with tea bags. "Were you expecting company?" "Not anymore."

31

"You live alone," he said. His words struck a portentous chord. She was alone. If she screamed, no one would hear. He took a step toward her. "I want to know you better, Jane. I want to know if I can trust you." As he approached, she was aware of his height, his broad chest and muscular forearms. He could overpower her so easily. His nearness should have made her wary, but a strange instinct drew her toward him. When he touched her arm, electricity trembled through her body. "Trust," she said, "can be dangerous." "Lily knew I was bringing the sword to my house. I think she was trying to figure out a way to get her hands on it. And to frame me." "Or me," Jane said. "Why do you think she wanted to frame you?" Sam asked. Jane decided to put her cards on the table. "To get me away from you," she explained. "She knows I find you?attractive." Jane swallowed nervously, not sure how Sam would react. He moved closer to her. There was no escape from him now. Taking her hands in his, he brought his lips close to hers. "Jane," he whispered. "Where is the blue diamond ring?" Chapter Four After the police had finished questioning him, Sam had come directly to Jane's house. He hadn't even taken the time to return with Franklin, the security guard, to drop off the golden Sword of LeFevre. First, he needed to see Jane and find out if she'd stolen Lily Dumont's blue diamond ring. All night long, Lily had been flashing that eighteen-carat gem. A few times, she was out of his sight. Then Sam noticed the ring was different. It was a fake. At exactly that moment, Jane was walking out the door. She turned toward Sam and winked as if she had a little secret. Damn it! If Jane stole that diamond, he wanted to know how she'd done it and why she'd done it at his house. Since he'd applied to be a foster parent, Sam couldn't afford the appearance of impropriety. Why now? Why now did all these crazy women seem hell-bent on framing him? He gazed into Jane's wide blue eyes. "Where's the ring?" She shuddered. In her tank top and shorts, she seemed young and vulnerable ? almost scared. But Sam wasn't misled by her apparent innocence. As a corporate attorney, he came across his share of wrongdoers who looked pure as lambs and had the hearts of stone-cold predators. "Jane? Answer me." Her adorable freckled nose twitched. Her mouth opened as if to speak. Then she flung her arms around his neck. She kissed him. For an instant, he was too surprised to respond. Then he felt the supple length of her body. Her breasts crushed against his chest. The taste of her lips was pure nectar.

32

His arms wrapped tightly around her. A growl of desire rumbled in the back of his throat as he returned her kiss. His tongue penetrated her lips and teeth. He hadn't intended to make love to her?not while Franklin still waited in the car. An unexpected burst of passion surged through Sam's veins. Let Franklin wait. Everything about her excited him. Her scent of musk and roses. The heat of her body. Her wiry strength and the silky texture of her red-gold hair. All of a sudden, she was pushing away from him. "Did you hear that, Sam?" He stood gaping at her. All the blood had drained from his brain to his groin, leaving him dumb as a tree stump. "What?" "It sounded like a gunshot." Two sharp cracks echoed outside her door. Gunfire! He ran toward the sound and flung open the door. The entrance to her carriage house opened onto a cobblestone alley. Her porch light shone on Franklin. He was down on one knee, firing into the dark. Wincing, the security guard stood. He lowered his weapon. "They got away." "What happened?" "You called me," Franklin said. "You called me on the cell phone and told me to come inside." Of course, Sam hadn't made that call. "Then what?" "When I was getting out of the car, somebody hit me hard. I went down. I was only unconscious for a second, but it was long enough for them to grab the sword and run." "Oh, no," Jane exclaimed. "The sword was stolen?" Sam eyed her suspiciously. Had her kiss been a delaying tactic to keep him inside? He pulled the cell phone from his pocket to call the police. Jane pointed to the cobblestones beside the rear wheel of his car. "Look!" It was a red plastic sunburst ? the signature of the cat burglar. *** The next day in the early afternoon, Jane returned to work at Lily Dumont's home with two plumbers. Their job today was the installation of gold-plated fixtures in the bathroom next to the grotesque bordello bedroom. Normally, Jane would have allowed the plumbers to handle this work alone, but these fixtures were extremely expensive, and she didn't want to install them without Lily's express approval. Jane also had something else in mind. She intended to get to the bottom of these jewel thefts. The police didn't seem to be making any headway. In fact, they made it clear last night that Jane could consider herself a suspect. Last night was disastrous on so many levels. Most of all, she regretted the timing of that impulsive kiss. At the time, she was afraid that Sam might be the thief. She kissed him to buy time, to distract him. Hah! That plan certainly backfired! His kiss had thrown her for a loop. It was the best sensual experience she'd ever had with her clothes on. Finally, she understood Sam's reputation as the most desirable and notorious bachelor in Denver.

33

Unfortunately, he now distrusted her. If she ever hoped to have any peace of mind ? or any chance for more kisses from Sam ? she must find the cat burglar. Her investigation would start with Lily, who was the most likely person to have slipped the ring into Jane's purse. Wearing exercise spandex, Lily slithered into the bathroom as the plumbers were unpacking the gold fixtures to be installed on the red marble sink and tub. She looked none the worse for wear after last night's supposed assault. The blue diamond ring sparkled on her finger. "What do you want, Jane?" "I need your approval before the plumbers get started." She glanced at the hardware. "Lovely. One can't go wrong with gold." Like the fabled Sword of LeFevre? "I'm glad to see you have your ring back. I'm shocked that you didn't notice it missing. How could that happen?" Her eyes turned cold. "So much was going on. I must have taken if off when I washed my hands. Or when my doctor was examining me. Someone must have substituted the fake then." "Someone?" Jane questioned. "Someone who had access to the ring so a copy could be made?" "Are you suggesting that I arranged the substitution? Why on earth would I put my ring into your purse?" Ah ha! "How did you know it was in my purse?" "The detective told me," she said. "That doesn't look good for your reputation. Does it, Jane?" "Were you trying to frame me?" Hands on hips, Lily scowled furiously. "Why would I care about what happens to a little nobody like you?" Mina sashayed into the room. "Because you're both after the same man." Jane glared at the psychic. If anybody looked suspicious, it was Mina. Not only had she been at Sam's house when the ring was substituted, but she had also appeared on Jane's doorstep ? which meant she was nearby when the sword was stolen. As Mina swirled, a dozen Mardi Gras necklaces clattered around her throat like a death rattle. "And here he is, ladies. What a coincidence! It's darling Sam." He looked anything but darling. Stern and angry in a three-piece business suit, tension radiated from him in palpable waves. "I want you three to be the first to know. I'm offering a half-million-dollar reward for the return of the sword." "Why?" Lily asked. "That's far more than it's worth." "Enough to make a cat burglar think twice," Mina said. "Especially if the cat is greedy." When he stared directly at Jane, she felt hot, blushing beneath her freckles. She'd be foolish to think she had a chance with Sam. But now that she'd tasted his lips, she was hungry for the entrée. "Jane," he said, "I need to speak with you." Yes! Her heart did a happy dance. He wanted to talk to her! As she left the room, Jane glanced over her shoulder at the other two women. She was sure that one of them was the cat burglar.

34

Chapter Five Even after last night's robbery, confusion, and that one insanely impulsive kiss, Sam wanted to see her alone. Jane considered that a good sign. She joined him in the corridor outside Lily's flamboyantly redecorated boudoir. In his business suit, he appeared ready for the cold, hard world of corporate law. "Walk me to the door," he said. She fell into step beside him, descending the pink marble staircase with a polished brass banister. Outside on the wide verandah were tall, white columns that put Scarlett's Tara to shame. "I need your help, Jane." Another good sign! He was willing to trust her. "I'll do anything." His eyebrows raised as he gave her a sexy smile. "Anything?" "To help you find the sword," she said quickly. "I think Lily is the cat burglar. Who else could have put the diamond ring in my purse?" "You're assuming the same person was after the diamond and the sword." "There can't be two cat burglars." Actually, there could be two or four or even more. There could be a whole gang of cat burglars dashing around Denver, grabbing precious gems and leaving the red plastic sunburst behind. "We'll start with your initial hypothesis," he said in a lawyerly tone. "If Lily took the sword, it's probably hidden in her house. You can help me by looking for it while you're working here." She and Sam were definitely on the same page ? the one that said Lily was guilty. "I'll do it," Jane said. "If you find anything suspicious, tell me. Don't investigate by yourself. This cat burglar could be dangerous." She nodded. Jane had grown up on the streets; she knew better than to stroll blindly into peril. "What made you decide to trust me?" "Because you kiss like an angel." She felt herself blushing under her freckles. "Last night, you seemed to think I had something to do with the burglary." "You thought the same about me. Why?" How could she explain? Behind his buttoned-down corporate facade, there was something dangerous about Sam. He was unpredictable and edgy. "Mina said you were a thief." He shrugged off Mina's accusation. "We only have three weeks until the Benefit Ball. I want the Sword of LeFevre back before then." "The police have been trying to catch the cat burglar for months. What makes you think we can figure this out in three weeks?" "Because?" he leaned toward her and whispered, "You and I understand what it means to be a thief. To want something so much that you can't resist."

35

"Even when you know it might be bad for you." "We'll be good partners." Lightly, he caressed her shoulder and arm. He squeezed her hand, then broke away quickly. Pinpricks of excitement danced beneath her skin as she watched him descend the stairs from Lily's verandah and step into the sunlight. When he turned back toward her, he dangled her wristwatch between two fingers. He'd stolen her watch. "You're good," she said with a smile. With a grin, he tossed the watch back to her and got into his car. When Jane returned to the foyer, she almost tripped over Mina, who lurked silently inside the doorway. "You were spying on us." Mina handed her a tarot card. "From the major arcana. The Sun." Jane stared at the tarot picture of a garden with two young boys beneath a large sun ? as in sunburst, the calling card of the cat burglar. Before she could question the psychic, Mina had made her exit. Slipping the card into her pocket, Jane returned to Lily's boudoir. There was only one problem with Sam's plan for checking out hiding places. Jane was almost done with this project. She needed to convince Lily to hire her for more work ? which meant putting good taste on hold. In the bedroom, Lily stood at the window, frowning at the drapes. "I'm not thrilled with all this red." "I'd love to hear your other ideas." Jane gritted her teeth. "Your decorating sense is so different and dramatic." "Anyone can be beige." Lily strutted across the room in her formfitting spandex. "I'm colorful." Like an explosion in a paint factory. "Now that we're almost done with the bedroom, I'm wondering if there are any other projects." "My exercise room in the basement seems terribly cramped. I might consider moving the equipment upstairs to the sunroom." "Fantastic," Jane said. "And, of course, you'll want more mirrors. And maybe statuary." "Dozens of mirrors. Come, take a look." Those were exactly the words Jane wanted to hear. She was on the job. *** The next couple of weeks passed in a flurry of intense activity. Jane worked at her regular decorating projects and finalized her sketches for the Benefit Ball decorations. Sam's business took him out of town. During their few, fleeting moments together, they made zero progress toward catching the cat burglar. Worse than that, there had been no more kisses. Two days before the ball, Jane made a discovery at Lily's house. She telephoned Sam at his office right away. "There's a secret room," she said. "In the basement of Lily's house, a doorway is camouflaged into the paneling."

36

"Have you gone inside?" "It's locked." "I'll pick you up at midnight," he said. "Wear black." She was fairly certain that his intention was to sneak into Lily's house. Not a good idea! If they were caught, her decorating business would be deader than the proverbial doornail. But the secret room was intriguing. And a midnight rendezvous with Sam sounded very appealing. Or was it? What kind of relationship was founded on a date that included breaking and entering? At midnight, she opened her door for Sam, who was dressed all in black, looking mysterious ? dangerously seductive. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard, taking her breath away. "I've missed you." "Sam, we shouldn't break into Lily's house. It's not ?" "Nothing bad will happen. Trust me." She'd heard those words before from bad companions who led her directly into disaster. But Sam was different. "What kind of corporate attorney does midnight break-ins?" "One who understands that doing what's right sometimes means bending the law. We need to recover the sword. Proceeds from the auction are going to benefit homeless children." When he kissed her again, Jane's objections faded to a cautionary whisper. Be careful. He could hurt you in so many ways. At Lily's house, there was no need to break a window. Jane had the key to the front door. Though she had been here dozens of times, the house had never before seemed ominous. She and Sam crept through the moonlit foyer to the staircase leading down. In the pitch dark basement hallway, they came to the secret door. The handle and lock were hidden behind an autographed picture of a Denver Bronco football player. With trembling hands, Jane held the flashlight while Sam expertly picked the lock. If she was caught, her career was over. This was a terrible mistake! She never should have come here. They were inside the room. Sam closed the door and turned on the overhead light. Chapter Six When Sam turned on the light in the secret room in Lily Dumont's basement, Jane's misgivings about their break-in turned to certainty. The room was filled with treasures to die for ? Ming vases, Fabergé eggs, bronzes, and original artworks. Glass display cases were filled with priceless scrimshaw, jade, and magnificent jewelry, much of which had been duplicated. She took a closer look at one of the bronzes. "This is a fake." Sam peered into the jewelry cases. "Lots of duplicates. I count three rings that look like Lily's blue diamond." "She must be stealing the originals, then selling the copies." "Black market sales with phony authentication." He grinned sheepishly. "I never should have suspected you, Jane."

37

"What?" She couldn't believe her ears. "You didn't trust me. That's why you stayed away from me for the past two weeks." "I needed to be sure." He picked up the Sword of LeFevre. "Apparently, this hasn't been copied yet." She wasn't about to let him off the hook. The differences between them had never been more apparent. "Just because you're a rich attorney ?" "Wealth has nothing to do with suspicion." "A lot you know." Everything she wanted in life had to do with security and safety and all those tangible things that money could buy. "It's everything." The door to the secret room creaked open, framing a husky young man with auburn hair. In his right hand, he held a gun. Jane's irritation at Sam vanished in the face of this larger threat. "I knew a man was involved," Sam said calmly. "A male voice spoke to Franklin on the phone, claiming to be me, then lured him out and grabbed the sword. So, who are you? Lily's latest boyfriend?" Lily herself appeared. "Allow me to introduce my son. His name is Red." She held up the photograph of a Denver Bronco football player that had hidden the latch to the secret room. "Named after his father, Red Haywood." "You're not old enough to have a grown son," Jane said. "Aren't you sweet?" She preened. "I got pregnant when I was fourteen. If I'd known that my boyfriend was going to be a wealthy running back, I certainly would've married him. But we all make silly mistakes." "Like putting me up for adoption," her son said. She patted his cheek. "My son returned to me two years ago after he was accused of robbery. We've improvedhis technique since then, haven't we, Red?" "Red," Jane repeated. "And he's your son. The calling card of the cat burglar is a red sun." "Ta-da!" Lily said. "One must have one's little amusements." Jane had another question. "Why did you go to Sam's house and prepare that surprise dinner?" "I planned to drug his wine and steal the sword. But I learned ? before he arrived ? that Sam was accompanied by a security guard. I faked an attack by the cat burglar to throw off police suspicions. Also, as a ploy for sympathy." She pressed her wrist melodramatically to her forehead. "Poor little me! I thought Sam would become my gallant protector." "I'd rather protect a pit viper." Sam growled. "Such a pity," Lily said. "Now I'll have to?eliminate you. Both of you." "You won't get away with murder," Sam said. "You're trespassing." Her dark eyes shone harshly. "There won't be much investigation. You're both dressed in black?like cat burglars, caught in the act."

38

Jane didn't intend to go quietly. As Sam edged toward the doorway with the sword still in his hand, she picked up a Ming vase. "I'll smash this." When Lily and Red stared at her, Sam had the distraction he needed. Using the gold hilt of the sword, he knocked the gun from Red's hand and charged him. Jane raced after him. She kicked the gun away from Lily's grasp. It slid under the entertainment center in the rec room. Lily rose athletically. She struck a karate pose. In an instant, Jane transformed from her role as sophisticated interior decorator to her former identity as a tough street kid. She grabbed a lamp and swung it like a baseball bat, keeping Lily at bay. At the far end of the room, Sam and Red battled, hand-to-hand. Sam got in a good, hard uppercut. When Red went down, Sam grabbed the sword and held the tip to Red's throat. A familiar voice shouted, "Freeze." Jane pivoted and saw Mina, accompanied by three uniformed policemen. Around Mina's throat, dangling amid colorful scarves and necklaces, was a badge. "You're a cop!" "An undercover detective, and a damn good one," Mina said. "How did you think I knew all that stuff about you and Sam?" "Psychically?" "In your dreams," Mina said with a grin. "I've been investigating this case for months. Now, it looks like we've caught our cat burglars." While the officers took Lily and her son into custody, Sam came to Jane's side. "I think we might all get exactly what we want." "And what might that be?" she asked. "You," he said. "It's been hell staying away from you. All I could think about was this?." He pulled her into his arms for a long, deep kiss. She heard a clatter as the Sword of LeFevre dropped from his hand. *** Two days later, Jane stood in the lobby of the Brown Palace Hotel. She wore a strapless gown of emerald silk ? material that she'd purchased for boudoir curtains before Lily decided on red velvet. The Benefit Ball was under way. Dozens of Denver's elite were here in all their finery, wearing enough gems to make a cat burglar's fur stand on end. But Sam had not yet arrived. Where was he? During the past forty-eight hours, Jane had more than forgiven him. They'd been inseparable. He came with her while she supervised the ball decorations, which, ironically, included bouquets of gilded lilies. And she'd gone with him to the courthouse, where he was approved as a foster parent after Detective Mina Corsky testified to his outstanding character. The crowd parted, and she saw him. In his tuxedo with his blond hair shining under the chandelier's glow, he was?amazing. Though Jane had fully intended to chastise him for being late, she could only say, "Hi."

39

"Hi yourself." He caressed her freckled shoulder. Last night in bed, he'd played a seductive game of connect the dots. "You're beautiful, Jane." Taking her arm, he escorted her through the ballroom to the dais, where he stepped in front of the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have a presentation to make. As most of you know, I offered a halfmillion-dollar reward for the return of the Sword of LeFevre. The reward goes to Jane Huffman." A security guard with a lockbox stepped in front of her. Inside was more money than she'd ever imagined. All her life, she'd yearned for security, and here it was. She should have been satisfied, but she wanted something different. Her priorities had changed. She wanted Sam ? the chance to build a life with him. She spoke into the microphone. "I'm pleased to donate the full amount of this reward to the Benefit for Homeless Children." Sam pulled her aside. "I thought money was everything." "All that glitters isn't gold." Now, she knew the truth. "You're my everything." "I hope you won't give this back." He opened a small black velvet box. Inside was a Tiffany engagement ring. "Marry me, Jane." She flung her arms around his neck. He might not be a cat burglar, but he had truly stolen her heart.

40

24 HOURS by Kay David Held hostage during a bank robbery with the man who betrayed her, Sarah's life will change forever in the next 24 hours.

Chapter One Destin, Florida, 4:30 p.m. In 10 minutes, Sarah Greenberg?s world was going to end. If she didn?t get to the bank, deposit her paycheck, and make it to the training field in the next 10 minutes, life, as she knew it, would be over. Her rent check would bounce. But worse than that, she?d be tardy, a major offense in the eyes of Lena McKinney, Sarah?s boss and the commander of the Emerald Coast SWAT Team. As the information officer of the SWAT team, Sarah had been begging for a promotion. The exercise Lena had planned for today was Sarah?s big chance to prove she was ready to move up. Wheeling into the bank?s crowded parking lot, Sarah slid her jeep into the last open spot and grabbed her purse. Working for the SWAT team was exciting, but Sarah longed for more action. A multicounty organization, the team handled all the dangerous situations the local police forces couldn?t handle. With their extra fire power and special techniques, the SWAT team was a force of its own. But Sarah?s position on the team seemed mundane to her. Whenever there was a hostage situation, it was her responsibility to find who the captors were and how they could impact the situation. She garnered floor plans and telephone numbers, neighbors? names and relatives? jobs. If it was a domestic complaint or an assailant was holding a gun to someone?s head, it was her job to discover who he was and why he was doing what he was doing. Her job was vital, but she could do more and she wanted to prove that fact to Lena. Jumping from her vehicle, Sarah ran toward the door of the bank and slipped inside just as the security guard was reaching out to close it. She gave the gray-haired man a grateful look. She?d lived in Destin all her life and Tommy Tipton had been the guard ever since she had come here with her father. ?Thanks, Tommy,? she said breathlessly. ?No problem, Sarah.? He grinned. ?It?s always a pleasure to see you, late or not.? She flashed him a smile, then hurried toward the front of the lobby. There were two tellers and a half-dozen waiting customers. Sarah almost groaned out loud. The wait would be forever! Before she could decide to leave or stay, a motion caught her peripheral vision. She focused without thinking, her cop?s radar coming on, her gaze swinging to a man near the front of the line. After a moment?s study, she decided she was being paranoid. There was nothing that unusual about the stranger. Casually dressed and wearing sunglasses, he seemed anxious for the line to progress, stepping slightly out of the queue to look ahead. He was tapping his foot impatiently. She relaxed, but all at once, the feeling returned, even stronger than it was before.

41

Sarah looked again, her stare going down the line a little more closely this time. The man she?d first noticed had stepped back and she could now see the people ahead of him. Along with a couple of teenagers and a gray-haired retiree in shorts and dress shoes, there was a woman corralling two little boys, an impatient businessman batting papers against his leg, and a solitary figure dressed in black, standing completely still. Sarah concentrated on the last person, her heart first stalling then accelerating. No one else had shoulders that wide or hair that dark. No one else could send her pulse into such panic. No one else could make her want to turn and run. No one but Ray Maitland. The only man she?d ever loved and hated at the very same time?. Chapter Two 5 p.m Sarah whispered his name to herself. Ray Maitland. She?d known he was still in town, but they hadn?t had any real contact or even spoken since they?d both been seniors in high school. She?d been young, and so had he, the last time they?d embraced, yet if she lived to be 100, she?d never forget the feeling of his body against hers. As if sensing her stare upon him, Ray turned slowly and looked over his shoulder. His hair was longer growing over his collar1; his brown eyes even darker and more cynical than when he?d been 18. He searched the queue as she had, seeking the source of his discomfort. A second later, he saw her. Before he could stop himself, everything that had once been between them flashed across his face. Love, hate, confusion, resentment. She could feel the searing heat as the emotions burned their way toward her. In a single heartbeat, she was 18 again. Back then, Sarah had thought nothing could separate them. She didn?t care that his father wasn?t around or that his brother was in a mental hospital. His mom did the best she could but a waitress?s salary didn?t put her in the same social set most of Sarah?s friends and family enjoyed. Her parents had told her Ray wasn?t good enough for her but she?d stood up for him. She?d loved him. Then he?d dumped her. Sarah, her brother, and her mom and dad had gone on vacation. Almost as soon as their car had pulled into their driveway, Ray had called and told her to meet him. She?d grabbed her little brother for cover and stuck him in the backseat of the car, telling her parents he?d asked for ice cream. Five minutes later, she?d met Ray at the Dairy Queen. He?d told her he had married Joan Wilson, a former girlfriend. Naturally Sarah had been devastated. She and Joan hated each other, always had. The stepdaughter of the local sheriff, she?d been Ray?s girlfriend before Sarah, and she?d never forgiven Sarah for ?taking him away? as she always put it. Ray had married Joan. Ray wouldn?t explain, despite the barrage of questions Sarah had thrown at him. She?d cried and pleaded, making a fool of herself. Dignity fled. In the end, he?d said nothing but goodbye. The humiliation of being so wrong had hurt for a long time. After the pain had come the anger.

42

Unable to look away, Sarah met Ray?s gaze, but she kept her thoughts to herself or so she hoped. He stared back, his own expression under control once more. There were lines in the corners of his eyes and a hardness behind them. She?d heard the divorce had been a bad one, but he still had his business. Sometimes, she drove past it on her way to the beach. Maitland?s Motors. He owned a high-powered mechanic?s shop that specialized in expensive motorcycle repair and sales. She broke their gaze by glancing down at her watch, then she cursed silently, her fingers tightening on the deposit slip and paycheck. She?d just leave. To hell with the rent. Her decision had nothing to do with Ray, she told herself. He meant nothing to her anymore. All that had passed between them was just that. In the past. She turned to get out of the queue, but at the very last second, shock rooted her to the marble floor, her eyes disbelieving what she was seeing. The man behind Ray, the stranger who?d first caught her eye, had suddenly grabbed Ray. As Sarah watched, horror sweeping over her, he stuck a gun in Ray?s neck. ?This is a holdup,? he screamed. ?Everyone down! Down on the floor, right now!? Chapter Three 5:15 p.m. Ray could feel the gun pressed against his temple. He could smell the oil from the weapon?s chambers, could feel the cold, hard metal. For just a second, though, he couldn?t comprehend exactly what it meant. He could only concentrate on Sarah. Her shocked stare, as she saw what was happening, actually registered more powerfully with him than the .38 now jammed into his flesh. Don?t do anything stupid, he told himself. Not with Sarah here. God help him, he?d hurt her enough already. But his instinct for survival was stronger than his need for caution. He twisted abruptly and seized the man?s arm. Squeezing tightly, Ray pulled at the weapon, but the guy seemed to possess an almost supernatural power. He held on and crammed the pistol even deeper into Ray?s flesh. ?Keep trying,? he yelled, ?and I?ll shoot!? Ray heard the note of insanity and recognized it; his own brother had screamed at him that way. He immediately went still. ?Everyone on the floor. Now!? The crazed man repeated his command then began to shout as one of the smaller children, not understanding, broke free of his stunned mother?s grip and ran away. The terrified customers watched helplessly, some shrieking, some frozen in shock. The robber pushed Ray to the floor, sending him spinning away from where they?d been. Ray stumbled and fell, but not before he realized there were more of them. Three other robbers had now joined the first, each holding a gun. Ray?s eyes returned to Sarah?s. They were filled with a fear so palpable it made his stomach clench. He followed her gaze and saw the reason why. The man who?d first grabbed Ray now had the small child tucked under his arm.

43

Ray watched in horror as the mother cried out and ran for her baby. In a slow, almost graceful movement, the robber holding the toddler lifted his right hand and brought it down against the mother?s head, the crack of his gun against her skull a gut-wrenching sound. Then he turned nonchalantly and handed the child to one of the other men The uniformed guard by the front door took two steps forward. Until that very moment, Ray hadn?t even noted the old man?s presence. ?D-drop that kid,? he demanded. His weapon shook and so did his voice as he faced the other man. ?Drop him and the guns right now, and no one will get hurt!? Ray?s heart faltered. The crook?s expression held no understanding, no compassion. Nothing but blank determination ?It?s too late for that, old man.? The robber raised the .38 and fired.... Chapter Four 5:30 p.m. The sound of the gunshot echoed in the lobby of the bank, as pandemonium broke out. Sarah gasped as Tommy Tipton crumpled without a sound, a small dark hole opening up in the center of his forehead. She ran toward him, then stopped as the robber pointed his gun at her. ?Forget him! Get away!? Having no choice, Sarah stepped back and dropped to the marble tiles with the others, but her mind was spinning through the possibilities. She had to do something and do it fast. Then she cursed. She?d left her weapon locked in her trunk. Lifting her head, Sarah watched the four men huddle together, hoping against hope she might figure out what to do. They split up and headed in different directions. At the front of the bank, one of the robbers stood in the middle and counted off the time, his eyes trained on a stopwatch. The one with the child stayed by the front door and the other one guarded the hostages. The fourth man, the one in charge, barked out instructions to the two tellers, sending one woman to join the others on the floor and ordering the remaining one to fill the bag he threw at her. Sarah winced and held her breath as the older woman froze. Lucille Abbot had been with the bank forever and always greeted Sarah with the kindest of smiles. She?d lost her husband to a heart attack last summer, but she had two grandchildren and a third on the way. ?Move it!? he screamed. ?Fill the damned bag.? ?I I can?t....? Lucille clutched the bag to her chest and stuttered the words, the color draining from her face to leave two circles of blush. He lifted his gun and pointed it at her, cocking the hammer with a smooth pull of his thumb. ?Does this help?? The clicking sound seemed to jar her. Without another word, she reached toward the nearest drawer and began to stuff money into the sack.

44

Sarah let out the breath she hadn?t known she?d been holding, then suddenly she realized Ray was right beside her. As the confrontation had taken place, he?d used the opportunity to move to her side. No one had noticed, including her. She held back a gasp, his dark eyes inches from hers, his head a heartbeat away. For just a second, she didn?t know what was making her pulse race faster; the holdup or Ray?s closeness. Her eyes went over his face, from the stubble of his beard to the fullness of his lips. They were as sensual and compelling as she remembered. He spoke urgently and she jerked her gaze to his, leaving her thoughts where they?d been. ?Have you got your gun?? he asked. ?It?s in the car.? ?What about your radio?? ?Same place.? She glanced over her shoulder, then looked back at him. ?I?ve got to think of something, though. These guys mean business.? Together they looked at Tommy, then their eyes connected again. Ray?s hand was on her shoulder, the heat of his fingers burning through her T-shirt, the strength of his grip digging into her flesh. A second later, Sarah heard Lucille gasp and she jerked her gaze to the woman?s white face. The teller had finished filling the bag and had just seen Sarah. Lucille?s eyes widened as the realization sunk in. ?Do something,? the older woman screamed. ?For God?s sake, Sarah do something! You?re a cop!? Chapter Five 5:45 p.m.> Sarah was yanked to her feet and found herself staring straight into the robber?s eyes. Green and filled with anger, they were frantic in their intensity. Time was passing, and he knew it, the counting man a constant reminder. > ?Is that so?? He shook her roughly, as if he were a dog and she a bone. ?Are you a goddamned cop?? ?Yes, I am.? She hoped she sounded calmer than she felt. Inside her chest, her heart felt as if it were about to explode. She?d been trained for situations like this, but actually going through one was something entirely different. She wasn?t prepared for her fright. Knowing Ray was there didn?t help, either. A rush of incompetence, sharp and edgy, sliced through her and her emotions pushed in, everything crowding her closer to panic. Drawing a deep breath, she forced the terror back down, making herself speak with a clear, strong voice. ?If you think you?re going to get away with this, you?re wrong. You made a bad decision when you picked this bank.? ?Get over there and get those damned bags filled up!? he screamed over his shoulder at the man by the hostages, ignoring Sarah?s warning. The other man nodded then ran past them and Green Eyes turned back to Sarah, his head tilting toward Ray. He?d obviously seen them talking. ?I picked the right bank,? he said curtly. ?You and your boyfriend aren?t gonna stop us.? Sarah followed the track of his movement to where Ray was poised. A ripple of something went down her spine at the look in Ray?s eyes. When they?d been together, every moment had seemed more intense, the

45

light more blinding, the smells sharper. It had seemed as if he had the ability to turn up the volume on her senses. Looking at him now, across the lobby, she felt the same thing happen all over again, a sweep of emotions rushing over her. What was she going to do? How could she protect him and everyone else? She pulled her gaze away and turned to the man who held her. ?I don?t think my boyfriend and I will stop you.? She took a breath, then continued. ?But you will be stopped. I?m sure of that.? ?You?re crazy —? He swung his head around. ?How many bags, Bobby Lee ?Five more! Maybe six ?The Emerald Coast SWAT Team is the best there is,? Sarah spoke again. The longer she could stall him, the better the team?s chances were of getting there. ?Once they get involved, you?re history.? ?What the hell makes you think they?ll find out? She shook her head and started to speak, then stopped herself. He didn?t need to know about the silent alarm the tellers could trip with their feet. Surely Lucille had managed to get to it. Sarah opened her mouth to answer him flippantly, but she never got a chance. From outside the bank, the startling sound of a bullhorn could be heard. ?This is the Emerald Coast SWAT Team,? a voice boomed. ?We?ve got the building surrounded and you are now under our command. Put down your weapons and come to the front of the bank.? Sarah?s heart leapt as she recognized Beck Winter?s voice. A huge blond giant of a man, he was the chief negotiator of the team and she?d seen him in action many times. If anyone could resolve this without violence, it would be Beck. He was phenomenal, his tones liquid, his presence incredible. But her relief was short-lived. A second later, the robber?s gun was at her head and his arm was around her neck. All she could think of was Ray. Chapter Six 6 p.m. Panic filled the elegant lobby once again and Ray jumped to his feet. Before he could get halfway up, the man with the gun at Sarah?s head jerked the barrel and pressed it into her flesh, just as he had with Ray earlier. Ray felt his heart stumble then stop, the metal gleaming evilly in the bank?s overhead lights. Sarah stood still within his grasp, her face white but her expression determined. She was going to do something, and Ray didn?t wait to see what. He moved forward without even thinking. The robber stared at Ray. His eyes were filled with a terrifying intensity. ?Stop it! Right there.? Turning to the others, he waved the gun. ?Shut up,? he screamed. ?Shut up or I shoot the cop!? The huddled group near the wall fell silent while outside the bullhorn continued. /P> ?We know who you are and we have the bank surrounded. Put your weapons down and come to the front door now. Release your hostages.? The man holding Sarah tightened his fingers on his weapon. Ray could see his knuckles going white with the effort and that was all it took. Something seemed to explode behind Ray?s eyes, a white-hot rage over the idea that anyone, anyone!; would dare to hurt her.

46

He started forward again, two long strides, but this time Sarah raised her hand to stop him. When the robber felt her movement, he yanked her back with an abrupt jerk. ?Stay there, damn it!? he screamed at Ray. ?I?m telling you, man! Stay there or she gets it!? Ray had no choice; he froze, a giant hand constricting his heart. Without another word, the man unexpectedly pivoted and pushed Sarah hard, his palm in the center of her back. ?Tie her up, damn it.? Swinging the gun in Ray?s direction, the robber pointed it at him. ?And him, too! Then put them by the other wall.? He looked over his shoulder. ?Get out here, Bobby Lee, we got trouble!? Sarah went flying across the room, stumbling into the arms of the robber who?d been counting off the minutes. He caught her roughly and tried to spin her around, but she reacted faster. With a vicious kick straight to his groin, she sent the man down. She turned instantly to the next one, but she still wasn?t quick enough. The fourth robber was tall and muscular, a huge man with a beefy red face, the largest of the four men. He grabbed both her hands in one of his and despite her best efforts, subdued her quickly. Seeing Sarah in the robber?s grasp, a stab of something rippled down Ray?s back. Something uncontrollable this time. He couldn?t define the emotion but all caution fled as adrenaline surged through him. He barreled toward Sarah and the big man, a mist of anger filling his vision. Sarah cried out and shook her head, but Ray kept on. A second later, he saw movement from the corner of his eye. His brain defined the motion and he understood what was happening; the man Sarah had kicked had recovered and he was coming at Ray; but Ray didn?t really care. The only thing that mattered was getting to Sarah. The sharp report of the pistol filled the lobby, then unbelievable pain detonated behind Ray?s temple, white stars on a field of black. He went down? Chapter Seven 6:30 p.m. Sarah screamed. The bullet hit Ray and he collapsed to the floor. A line of blood welled up along the edge of his scalp, dark red against the tanned, smooth skin. Without thinking, she headed to where he?d fallen, but the big man jerked her back so hard, it felt as though her arm might pop from its socket. Pain ricocheted down her shoulder, all the way to her fingers, but she ignored the agony and struggled against the man. She had to get to Ray! Someone had to help him! Twisting and turning she fought until the robber subdued her again. The only reward she got for her effort was a quick glimpse of Ray?s body. What she saw made her ill. She actually went weak, her legs turning to rubber. The man she?d kicked was dragging Ray?s limp form toward the wall opposite from where the other hostages were gathered, his head bumping along on the floor, a streak of red marking its path. She swallowed down a wave of nausea and pulled herself together. Was he alive? She couldn?t tell. At least the SWAT team had arrived. Like a pRayer, she repeated the words in her mind. The team was here. Everything was under control. The team was here. Lena, Beck, everyone else. They wouldn?t let anything bad happen to them. She repeated the mantra several times, as the beefy man at her back tied her hands then pushed her toward the wall. She crashed into the elegant paneling, then slid down into a pile, Ray right beside her.

47

The second robber tied Ray?s hands together then he sent Sarah a nasty look and kicked Ray once, hard and fast. Ray groaned and the man turned and ran to where the other three men waited. They converged, a frantic huddle as the bullhorn outside continued to sound. Her eyes went back to Ray?s face and as she watched, he moved slightly. She felt a wave of relief wash over her as he groaned again. At least he was alive! A second later, the robbers went back to their work, frantically filling the bags behind the counter. They acted as if they didn?t care the team was outside. Didn?t they understand what was going to happen? They?d never get out now! Sarah hadn?t exaggerated to the green-eyed robber. The Emerald Coast SWAT Team was the best there was. Every year they won competitions; every year they won awards. No one had a better record for arrests and safe recoveries. But they?d have to do their job, and Sarah knew better than most what that really meant. Her throat so tight, she could hardly breathe, she turned back to look at Ray. His wound was vicious, the bullet had cut a wide swath across his head and he was bleeding furiously. It needed immediate attention. Her gaze then went to the mother still crumpled on the marble floor. A few steps from her was Tommy, obviously dead. She strained against her ropes but they were too tight. She?d never get out of them. Closing her eyes, she continued to struggle against them anyway. After a while, she gave up and did the only thing she could; she prayed. Two hours passed. Unable to move or do anything to help anyone, Sarah was growing desperate. The team continued to try to contact the people inside the bank, but so far the robbers had resisted all efforts. As long as they didn?t talk, they seemed to think, they?d be safe. If they only knew, Sarah thought... There were plenty of ways to handle this situation and if things didn?t start to move soon, something would break loose. Lena didn?t let incidents drag out. It wasn?t her style; the team members wearied and then mistakes were made. By now, she?d have set up a perimeter and was probably getting information on the bank?s layout. Guessing who was inside and praying for their safety. All the planning would be taking place in the War Wagon, a remodeled Winnebago that carried the team?s equipment and Sarah?s own workstation. She wished she were sitting there instead of here. Once again, Beck Winter?s voice filled the lobby from outside the bank. ?If we don?t hear from you soon, an entry will be made. Do you understand what I?m saying? An entry will be made!? Sarah swallowed hard and inched her way toward Ray. She?d been trying to rouse him for hours, but he?d fallen silent. She was getting more and more worried. He could have a concussion...or worse. ?Ray?? she spoke urgently. ?Ray, can you hear me?? He didn?t answer, and all Sarah could do was think again about the men and women outside the bank. They were doing everything they could, she knew. Another sweep of helplessness came over her. She should be doing something besides sitting here, thinking about what her team was planning. She looked across the lobby at the group on the other side. Lucille, the mother and two kids, the businessman...

48

With her hands tied and no weapon, there was little to be done, but the more Sarah thought about it, the faster the ideas came. Suddenly, she knew what she had to do. She gave Ray a final look, then she struggled to her feet. ?Hey!? she called out. ?Hey, you...? She raised her bound hands and pointed them at the man in charge. The startled robbers, in a group by the teller?s counter, broke apart, their eyes turning her way. For a second, she didn?t think they?d answer, then the man in charge broke away from the others. As he stepped toward her, a stutter of fear made its way down her spine. But it was too late now. She?d caught his attention. ?What?? he growled from across the way. ?Get over here,? she said. ?Right now. I?ve got a proposition for you.? Chapter Eight 10:30 p.m. Ray?s first impression was pain. His second was of Sarah. Sitting beside him on the floor, she touched him softly, her hands cool and gentle as they dabbed at his temple. Despite her care, he jerked as he became aware of his surroundings and tried to sit up. ?Stay still,? she demanded. ?You?ll bleed if you move.? She was biting the end of her tongue, the tip of it sticking out as she concentrated on his wound. ?I?m no nurse, but I found a first aid kit with bandages in it. I think I?ve got the bleeding stopped. You?ve been out almost two hours.? Ignoring her words, he eased up, and a swell of dizziness hit him. He closed his eyes for a second, then opened them and looked around, touching the gauze at his temple. They were in a small room lined with shelves filled with paper goods and file cabinets. ?Where in the hell are we?? ?They locked us up in the supply room, in the back of the bank. ?What about everyone else?? ?They?re gone,? she said calmly. ?I traded the other hostages for time. The SWAT team threatened an entry, but I got them to hold off. In return, the robbers let everyone go and sent out Tommy?s body. I tried to get you out, too, but they wouldn?t release you. I made them untie us, though. I think they?re saving us to exchange for transportation.? ?What do you think they?ll want?? ?Who knows,? she answered. ?Some kind of car, maybe a plane. As much sense as they?ve apparently got, they might want safe passage to Timbuktu, who knows?? she repeated. Ray nodded, then grimaced at the pain. She put her hand out and touched his shoulder. ?Don?t move. It?s a nasty wound. You?re lucky to be alive.?

49

Her touch etched itself into his skin, her fingers warm, the nails painted a pale shade of pink. It was the same color she?d always used, he realized with a start. How many times had he imagined her skin against his since they?d broken up? He answered himself quickly: too many to count. He reached out and covered her hand with his, raising his eyes to hers. Her blue gaze turned unsettled as he made the connection and spoke two words. ?I?m sorry. She hesitated for a long moment, then said, ?For what?? ?For not trying harder. There should have been something I could have done? She shook her head quickly, her hair swinging back and forth, brushing whispers across her neck. ?Don?t worry about it. The team will come through — Beck?s a great negotiator and it?ll work out. With the hostages out of the way, they have a lot more options.? She paused. ?You did the best you could.? ?Did I?? His face shifted and grew hard. ?That?s what I tell myself all the time about us, too. That I did the best I could. But you know what?? She licked her lips, her heart freezing in place as she waited for him to continue. ?I didn?t do the best I could. I screwed up, big time. And I?ve regretted it every day of my life.? Chapter Nine 11:30 p.m. The silence between them thickened and grew until it was suffocating, the weight of their past too much to keep ignoring. Sarah tried anyway, removing her hands from underneath Ray?s, inching away from him as she did so. ?It?s in the past. We wouldn?t have stayed together anyway.? ?How do you know that?? he insisted. ?We might have?. Her gaze falling to her lap, she interrupted him. ?Drop it, Ray. I don?t want to go there. Now isn?t the time to explain all that.? He waited for her to raise her face but she kept her eyes down. If she looked at him, he?d know she was lying, and she didn?t want that to that happen. Not now. ?But I hurt you,? he said bluntly. ?And I shouldn?t have. You didn?t deserve it.? At his pronouncement, a flood of emotion overcame her, and she couldn?t stop herself. The mask she?d constructed so carefully fell away. She jerked her head up and looked directly into his dark eyes. ?You didn?t just hurt me, Ray. I was devastated when you left me.? He pulled himself together with an obvious effort, a grimace of pain rippling over his face. ?I know.? She blinked hard, the memory of that agonizing time suddenly as fresh as if it?d happened the day before. ?You could have warned me.? ?No,? he said slowly. ?I couldn?t have.? ?I don?t understand. What do you mean you couldn?t have? What kept you? ?It was complicated. Too complicated?

50

She interrupted him again. ?Nothing?s that complicated. Tell me what I did that was so horrible, tell me what I did that ran you off.? She clasped her arms against her chest as if the gesture could protect her heart, the one he?d already broken so many years before. ?You didn?t do anything,? he answered wearily. ?It had nothing to do with you. I told you that then and it?s still the truth.? ?You?re lying.? Despite his pain, he leaned toward her. She didn?t reach for him, but she didn?t move, either. He clasped her shoulders with both his hands and looked straight into her eyes. They were blue, so blue it almost hurt him to stare at them ?It?s the truth, Sarah. I left you because I had to. You didn?t do a thing. Something...happened. Something neither of us could control.? ?What? Just tell me, Ray. ? In the past five years, Ray had played this scene a thousand times inside his head. He?d picked up the phone countless more times, wanting to call her only to put the receiver down abruptly. More than once or twice, he?d even driven past her apartment. She lived on a quiet side street, just off Highway 98, kept flowers on her porch and flew a bright blue windsock shaped like a cat. Sometimes she stayed up late and watched television. He?d seen the blue flickering light. He took a deep breath. ?We couldn?t stay together, Sarah. I had to marry Joan. She was pregnant.? Chapter Ten Midnight Sarah?s heart flamed, then turned into ashes, leaving a gaping hole in her chest, where it had rested a moment before. ?Pregnant? Yo-you were sleeping with her and me? My God, all that time I thought you loved me and this is what was going on. I can?t believe this bull? Ray tightened his hands on her shoulders, his dark eyes glittering, the heat in his touch reaching deep into the place she?d kept hidden all these years. ?I did love you,? he said sharply. ?I loved you with everything I had inside me, Sarah. You were my world? She tried to pull away but he wouldn?t let her. ?But how could you? ?I said she was pregnant,? he interrupted again. ?I didn?t say I was the father.? Sarah fell still, the words echoing inside her head, her brain incapable of unscrambling the situation. Through the years, she?d accused him of many different sins in her mind but this possibility had never entered the realm of thinking. Not this. Ray dropped his hands from her shoulders but didn?t move away. He was so close she could see his pulse jumping at the base of his neck, could smell the soap he?d used that morning. All her senses went on high alert and suddenly she was even more aware of him than she had been before. After a moment, she realised he hadn?t answered her. With an almost Herculean effort, she pulled herself together and focused once more.

51

?Why did you marry Joan, then? Why would you do that if you weren?t the father of her baby? I don?t understand....? ?She was raped,? he said bluntly. ?She went out on a blind date and the guy roughed her up then raped her. When she learned she was pregnant, she didn?t know what to do. The guy was long gone and even if he?d been around, she would have had nothing to do with him. ?She came to me and asked for help.? He raised his gaze. ?I couldn?t walk away from her, Sarah. She wouldn?t have survived.? ?Wouldn?t have? Sarah broke off her incredulous words. ?She could have gone to the police! She could have told the counselor at school. She could have gone to her church. Damn it, Ray, there?re a million places Joan could have gone for help besides you.? A sudden memory broke free. ?Damn, Ray, her father! Joan?s father was the sheriff! He could have found the guy. He could have? Ray shook his head, then closed his eyes, his face going pale at the pain. It took him a second to look at Sarah again. When he did, she could tell the anguish he was feeling came from a deeper place than the wound he?d just received. ?She couldn?t tell him, Sarah. He was a total son of a bitch and he would never have believed her. He?d been beating her for years and I believe he would have killed her if he?d known. ?I was the only one who could help her.?? Chapter Eleven 12:30 a.m. ?Oh, my God...? Sarah said the words softly, each one holding the weight of her shock. ?Sheriff Bentley? Ray, are you sure? He cut her off. ?Believe me, Sarah I knew the man. He was brutal and angry and he had the size to back it up. Joan wouldn?t have had a chance. He hated her...or at least he acted as if he did. Maybe it was something else and he couldn?t allow that to happen...so he beat her instead.? A sick roll of disgust washed over Sarah. ?How horrible for her. I always thought...? She stopped herself and started over. ?I never knew?. He looked past her, to the window above. He had no idea what time it was, but behind the streetlights, there was total darkness. ?No one knew. No one but me. Every night he?d come home and work her over...or her mother. I think Joan deliberately put herself in his way sometimes to spare her mom. Her life was hell, believe me.? Sarah thought back. Joan had been beautiful, a tiny girl with golden hair and dark green eyes. Sarah had always been so jealous of her, never knowing, never suspecting.... Her heart clenched at what the other girl had gone through. She raised her face to Ray?s, his expression torn with grief and sadness. ?What about the baby?? she asked softly. ?I didn?t ever hear? ?She lost the baby, which was a blessing, I guess.? His face went tight and closed. ?We tried to stick it out for a few years, then realized it was pointless. We didn?t love each other and we never really had. Not like? Sarah knew what he?d been about to say.

52

She started to answer, although she had no idea what words to use, but all at once Ray shook his head then grabbed her. ?Shh...? Pushing her behind him, both of them still sitting on the floor, he slid himself between her and the door as he whispered urgently over his shoulder, his hands on her legs. ?Listen! I think I hear someone....? She held her breath and concentrated, the heat of his touch burning through to her skin. The sensation was a familiar one; she?d dreamed about it for years. Frozen against the wall, she waited behind him, but her pulse was the only sound she heard. After a moment, he relaxed. She could see his shoulders slump and feel the tension ease from his muscles. He shifted to face her, but he didn?t move back. Instead, he closed the gap between them and reached out for her.... Chapter Twelve 1 a.m. Ray put his arms around her, then pressed closer. He thought he could feel Sarah?s heart beating, but he wasn?t sure. Maybe he was imagining the sensation because he wanted to, because he needed to. It had been far too long since he?d held her this close. She raised her face to his, her skin glowing in the dimness of the office, her eyes bewildered. Was the shock of the situation finally reaching her or was it his embrace that had her confused? She touched her lips with the edge of her tongue, darted her eyes across the room, then brought them back to his face. ?I thought they might be coming back,? he explained. She nodded. He made no effort to move away. And Sarah didn?t, either. Instead, he lifted his hand and cupped her cheek. Her skin was smooth, the satin softness just as sensual as when they were young and in love. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and pulled in the fragrance of her body. She?d never worn perfume, he remembered, but she hadn?t needed it, either. A seductive essence all her own rose in the heat between them, and in a flash, he was 18 and they were in the backseat of his old Camaro. He hardened with the memory. ?What are you doing?? she whispered. The words were whispered with a sexy hoarseness. He didn?t answer her. He couldn?t. Instead, his throat closed down with a sudden, overwhelming desire, any words he might have spoken, trapped just as he was in the memories surrounding them. Then she touched him. It was a dove?s feather across his brow, the brush of an angel?s wing, but he felt it all the same. A thousand nights he?d woken from a dream, haunted by just such a sensation but knowing at the same time he?d never really feel it again except in his dreams. ?I thought you hated me,? she said softly. Her eyes were liquid; they pulled him into her heart. ?I thought I did something terrible, something wrong, and you just stopped loving me.? His fingers tightened against her back and he brought her closer without even thinking. She fit against him as if she?d never left, her arms going around his waist, her hands smoothing his back.

53

?Stopped loving you?? His gaze connected with hers in the dark and something passed between them. He couldn?t explain the feeling, couldn?t even name it, but he recognized it all the same. Its unexpected appearance and the strength of it shocked him. He knew he couldn?t lie and he couldn?t hide behind anything less than the truth. Not now. ?I could never have stopped loving you, Sarah.? The words hurt as they came out in a rusty whisper. She gripped his back with her hands, her face expectant. Suddenly Ray understood, as he looked down at her, the reality of what he was really saying. He could never have stopped loving her. And he never had. Chapter Thirteen 1:30 a.m. Wrapped in Ray?s warm embrace, Sarah felt her heart clutch. She?d gone through enough pain over their breakup. To have him say something like that and not really mean it would be beyond cruel. She had to make sure she was hearing what he was really saying. ?What are you telling me?? she asked quietly. ?I have to know what you mean.? He didn?t answer her with words. He brought his face to hers and covered her lips in a kiss that stole her ability to even think. Beyond the reality of what was happening, though, she understood. He loved her. He really loved her. She kissed him back with abandon. For what felt like a lifetime, they clung to each other and didn?t let go, their bodies meshing in the old familiar way, their hands exploring the sweet paths of the past. He?d filled out, she thought, his shoulders wider, his hips more narrow. She wondered if he could tell how her shape had changed, as well. Since joining the force, she?d slimmed down, toughened up. She felt a fleeting sense of anxiety; her soft teenage curves had been replaced by a leanness born of strenuous exercise. Would he still find her attractive? She didn?t have to ask. Ray murmured deep in his throat and dropped his hands. His fingers followed the lines of her hips then smoothed their way to her buttocks. He almost lifted her up as he brought her close and for a moment, she halfway expected him to do just that. She did nothing to stop him, either. She wanted to feel him against her, wanted even more. The need must have made itself known. He yanked her black Tshirt from the waist of her pants then slid his hands underneath it. Like a heated torch, his touch imprinted itself against her skin, and Sarah gasped. It?d been years since they?d been together, years since they?d made love. In her memory, she?d imagined it, but all the images from the past had fallen short as had every man who?d ever touch her since Ray. No one but him could make her feel like this. No one. Her body took control and Sarah let it. With her hands, she pulled Ray closer and with her mouth she urged him on. Nothing meant anything but this, the moment taking on a life of its own. Later on, she wondered how it could have happened. How could she have lost control so easily? How could she have forgotten where they were, what was happening? It seemed impossible that a man could have that

54

kind of power over her very sense of survival, but then again, maybe that?s what the moment was about. Even in the face of danger, one had to survive, to feel...to live. She had no real answer to her questions because nothing had made sense that day. She only knew she did what she did because she had no other option. In this moment, at this time, nothing was important but the feel of Ray?s body, his skin against her own. Their mouths still locked, they fell into each other?s arms, their kiss deepening with a passion sending them straight into the past. Chapter Fourteen 2:30 a.m. The door opened without warning. Ray and Sarah rolled apart, Sarah gasping, Ray coming up with his hands fisted. He didn?t know what was going on but he wanted to be prepared. Entertaining yourselves?? The man with the green eyes stood in the doorway. Despite his mocking words, he wore an unmistakable aura of tension. His expression was tight and so were his hands, wrapped about his weapon. Ray shifted his gaze from the gun back to the man?s face. The robber didn?t let them answer, he simply turned and nodded to one of the men behind him. It was the big guy, Ray saw, as he pushed his way into the tiny supply room. Without a word, he walked up next to Ray and put a gun to his head. Ray watched as Sarah started forward automatically, her hands fisted, her whole body ready to do battle. But Green Eyes swung toward her, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward him. ?Not so fast,? he said as he thrust a cell phone in her face. ?Your buddies are back on the line. I want you to give them a message for me.? Ray struggled to contain himself. All he could think about was elbowing the creep with the gun, then leaping across the room to smash the other man?s face in. He could even see the action in his mind. Sarah had always been important to him, but the past few hours had confirmed what he?d reluctantly suspected. He loved her and he wanted to save her. His body must have telegraphed his intent. The man at his side reached out with a beefy hand and touched his arm. ?Don?t even think about it,? he warned softly. ?You?ll regret it.? Despite the gun at his head, Ray shook off his touch and sent him a cold glance. Green Eyes spoke again, pinching Sarah?s arm until the flesh went white. ?It?s time to wrap this up. You?re going to confirm what I?ve told your negotiator, then you?re going to tell him they?ve got two hours to bring a helicopter to the parking lot. When it gets here, we?re going to leave — with all our money and one of you. We?ll tell the pilot where we?re going once we?re inside.? He held out the cell phone and Sarah took it, her hand steady. She brought it to her ear, then paused as the robber spoke again, his voice almost conversational. ?By the way, there?s one more thing you might want to mention to your friends out there....?

55

She looked at the man with a neutral expression. Ray couldn?t believe how cool she was, how unruffled. A few seconds before her heart had been pounding beneath his, her skin hot with desire. No one, including Ray, would have thought her anything but capable as she glared at the man beside her. ?What might that be?? she asked coolly. He tilted his head in Ray?s direction. ?If our directions aren?t followed and our hand is forced, we?re going to start with your boyfriend. We?ll shoot him one leg at a time and work our way up.? Chapter Fifteen 3 a.m. Sarah hadn?t thought she could get more scared, yet when the robber made his pronouncement, she actually went weak, her stomach churning. She forced her eyes away from Ray?s and stared at the robber from behind a mask of aloofness. Her voice was chilly. ?I understand.? Lifting his cell phone to her ear, she began to speak. On the other end, Beck Winters answered her. He was the SWAT team negotiator and there was no one better at his job. They kept the conversation short and blunt. ?They want a chopper,? she said. ?In the parking lot. You?ve got two hours to get it. When they leave, I?ll be going with them.? From across the tiny room, Ray started to protest, but the man at his side silenced him with a rough backhanded slap. From beneath his makeshift bandage, a trickle of fresh blood appeared. Sarah held back a groan of her own. She didn?t want him hurt but he wasn?t getting on that helicopter. If anyone did that, it?d be her. Beck quizzed her, as she?d known he would, but she couldn?t answer his questions with anything but a grunt. Before she even managed two of those, the robber grabbed the phone from her hands and closed it with a flip of his wrist. ?Did he agree?? ?They?ll do what they can,? she said. ?But they may need more time.? ?Well, for your friend?s sake, I hope they don?t.? Green Eyes nodded to the big man at Ray?s side. The robber tied Ray?s hands again, as Green Eyes tied Sarah?s. In unison, they pushed them into the hallway, Sarah following behind Ray with a gun in her back. She felt a rush of angry hopelessness. She ought to be doing more. But she couldn?t.... And for the very first time, Sarah truly understood the meaning of teamwork. She was a cop, but she was also a SWAT member. By herself she could do nothing. She had to depend on the men and women outside to get her through this one. The things she normally did for the team were as essential as the officers who busted in with weapons drawn. Why had she never realized that until now? For the same reason she hadn?t realized she still loved Ray.

56

The real truths of life had a way of getting away from you. When you were covered up in the details of living, you didn?t have time for the larger picture. But she did now. In the lobby, the robbers tied their hands again, then pushed them both to the floor — on opposite sides from one another. For more than two hours, they sat there, opposite each other, their eyes saying what their hearts couldn?t. Sarah wasn?t ready to give up, though. She used the time to work on the knots of the ropes binding her hands. After a while, she thought they were actually getting looser. After a little bit longer, just when she was sure they were, she watched as the big robber came over and spoke to Ray. The guy?s expression didn?t change as he talked, but it was clear something was about to happen. A flash of shock and then surprise crossed Ray?s face as the robber reached behind him and did something to his ropes. Sarah tensed, her mind spinning; if nothing else, she could create a diversion, do something, do anything.... But she didn?t have time. A second later, Ray turned to her and mouthed three words. She was translating them in her brain I love you when the two men rushed the three remaining robbers and the bank doors exploded open. Chapter Sixteen 6 a.m. The flash-bang went off with a blast of noise and smoke, and the SWAT team poured through the door, a rush of black movement and noise. Sarah jumped to her feet and struggled to free herself in the confusion as Ray and the fourth robber attacked the three gang members. As total chaos erupted, finally dropping her ropes, Sarah joined the Ray. Just as they were meant to, the SWAT team quickly gained the upper hand. The men and women were trained, a superb team of lethal precision. Lena McKinney, the commander, along with four other officers, all garbed in black, instantly took control while the rest of the team checked the lobby and secured the area. No weapon was discharged. Lena rushed to Sarah?s side. ?Are you okay?? Not normally a demonstrative person, the other woman wrapped her arms around Sarah, her Ray eyes filled with tension and concern. ?God, Sarah, I couldn?t believe it when I realized you were in here? Sarah hugged her back then pulled away. ?Lena, wh-what happened? How?d you know?? Before Lena could answer, Ray and the big robber joined them. Sarah looked up at the huge man and blinked. ?You helped us? I don?t understand....? Lena tilted her head toward the man who?d turned then back to Sarah. ?Meet Jack Cutter, Sarah. He?s under cover with the ATF.? The towering would-be robber held out his hand. ?I?m sorry,? he said softly. ?I had no idea what was going on until he brought us in here and threw me a gun. I didn?t have a clue.? Astonished, all Sarah could do was nod. ?Jack?s been under cover for almost a year,? Lena told Sarah. ?But he sacrificed his investigation to end this.?

57

Sarah followed Jack Cutter?s gaze to where the three robbers stood, their hands already cuffed. The leader of the men was staring back, his eyes so full of hate, Sarah could feel it all the way across the lobby. ?I almost had him,? Jack Cutter said. ?He was planning a big drug buy from a pipeline out of the Caribbean, but he didn?t have enough money.? He turned back to Sarah and Lena, his expression filled with regret at what had almost happened. ?That?s why he was robbing the bank. He needed cash for the buy. If I?d had any notice, I would have told you guys.? Sarah nodded but she wasn?t listening. All at once, she?d realized Ray was no longer by her side. Her eyes almost frantic, she jerked her gaze from one corner of the lobby to the other, searching, staring, disbelieving. She saw team members, bank officials, and EMS personnel, but no one that looked like Ray. Her heart spiraled down in a slow descent, the past rushing in with pain and disappointment. He was nowhere in sight. He?d left her. Just like before. Chapter Seventeen 11 a.m. Sarah was a wreck by the time she was debriefed and released to go home. Driving Sarah?s Jeep, Lena chauffeured her there, another officer following in Lena?s SUV. They hadn?t wanted Sarah driving and that was fine with her. They arrived and Lena parked against the curb, turning to Sarah as she killed the Jeep?s engine. She spoke softly. ?Are you sure you wouldn?t rather come out to my place? We can have dinner, sit on the deck. You might not want to be alone tonight, you know....? Sarah pushed a hand through her hair. It felt as tangled and confused as her emotions. ?I?m okay, Lena. Really. It was...it was scary but I?ll be okay. You don?t need to baby-sit me.? ?Now that sounds like something I?d say....? Sarah smiled wanly. ?I?ll consider that a compliment.? ?You should.? Lena smiled broadly. ?You did a great job in there, Sarah. You really kept your cool. I?m proud of you.? She hesitated, then asked, ?Are you going to call the guy who was in the bank with you? Ray?? Being on the team was more than just a job they were a family and Lena knew Sarah?s history. Nobody?s private life was actually private. ?I don?t know,? Sarah answered. ?I thought we might get together again...then he was gone. I guess that pretty much tells me everything I need to know.? ?Don?t count on it,? Lena cautioned. ?You can?t read someone else?s mind, no matter how close you are.? ?Maybe so,? Sarah agreed reluctantly, ?but we shared more than words back there at the bank, Lena. We connected. Ray explained everything that happened back when we were dating, and then we...well, we got to know each other again. I thought...? She let her words die slowly, her hopes going with them. Lena reached across the seat and patted her arm. ?Don?t give up,? she said. ?You might be surprised by how things turn out.? ?That might be true. I learned one thing from this experience, that?s for sure, something valuable.? Lena?s gray eyes turned curious. ?What?s that??

58

Sarah took a deep breath. ?I learned what teamwork means. Until today, I hadn?t understood. We?re all important, whether we break down the door or sit at a desk and get information.? ?That?s what I?ve been trying to tell you all along.? ?I know that now,? Sarah said. ?Well, it was a hard way to learn the lesson,? Lena smiled, ?but I?m glad you feel good about it now.? She paused. ?And don?t worry about Ray, either. It?ll all work out like it?s supposed to. It always does.? Sarah went inside and shut her door behind her, sliding to the floor in a heap. All alone, she let the tears flow. Lena was an incredibly smart and unbelievably strong woman, but this time she didn?t know what she was talking about. Things weren?t going to work out right this time. Not for Sarah and Ray. Chapter Eighteen Noon Ray stepped inside his house and slammed the door behind him. He?d insisted on giving the cops his statement from the parking lot, then he?d grabbed his motorcycle and taken off. If he?d stayed any longer he would have made an even bigger fool of himself than he already had. Walking to the rear of the house, he peeled off his T-shirt and jeans and stepped into his shower. He turned on the water full force but even the cold blast couldn?t erase the image of Sarah from his mind. Her soft brown hair, her startling blue eyes, her lips against his. Touching her had been a dream come true, the taste of her mouth against his even more sweet than he?d remembered. She?d become a woman since the last time he?d held her, and quite a woman at that. The memory of everything that had happened between them flashed inside his brain. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cold hard tile, the water streaming over him in freezing rivulets. What on earth had he done? He lifted his face and scrubbed it with his hands. She?d been living in his memory forever, and now, with a single rash choice, he?d renewed her license to stay there. The taste of her mouth alone would keep him awake for years. He stepped out of the shower and toweled off, shaking his head and slinging water drops to the mirror. It had to be ironic, he thought. He was no shrink, but it seemed like most people might come out of a failed bank robbery with some kind of traumatic anxiety. He didn?t have that problem. The cold barrel of that gun against his head meant nothing compared to his emotions now. All he wanted was Sarah. But he couldn?t have her. He?d hurt her too much the last time and expecting her to come back to him just because he?d explained was ridiculous. She was a smart woman. She might kiss him, might even do more, but she wouldn?t take a second chance on a loser like him. Not the kind of second chance he wanted he kind that would last forever.

59

He padded into the kitchen with the towel wrapped around him, and headed for the refrigerator. Reaching inside, he pulled out a beer and drained it in two swallows. The cold bitter taste eased his throat but did nothing for his heart. Chapter Nineteen 3:30 p.m. Sarah woke up late that afternoon, her head still fuzzy, her heart still hurting. Stretched out on her bed, she thought back to the previous day. Barely 24 hours before, she?d been walking into the bank. It didn?t seem possible, but in the course of a single day, her life had been flipped upside down and turned backward, as well. Her career. Her past. Her future. Nothing seemed the same. She stared at the stripes of sunshine above her bed. They danced in the late afternoon heat, their shimmering lights reminding her of the dark gleams in Ray?s eyes. He wasn?t the young boy she?d known all those years ago. He?d grown up and become someone else. The cynical, jaded mask was still there, yes, but underneath it was a man with deep convictions. The sacrifice he?d made by marrying Joan was one few men would make. Sarah felt a strange mixture of confusion as she thought about his actions. He?d done the right thing, but a part of her still hurt over his choice. On the other hand, had he made a different decision, she wouldn?t have loved him as deeply as she did. He would have been someone else entirely. He would have been a man who didn?t have the capacity to feel as he did. A man who wouldn?t put others above himself. He?d done the right thing, she told herself, but in doing so, he?d hurt her in a way she hadn?t really understood until today. With a moan, she rolled to the edge of the bed and stood up, the sheets falling away into a pile. However she felt about Ray...however he felt about her...none of it really mattered, did it? He?d disappeared last night and she was sure this time, it was for good. Sarah would probably never see Ray Maitland again and if she had harbored any hopes that something else might come of their encounter, she was kidding herself. She walked into her kitchen, her sadness wrapped around her like a blanket with holes. *** The wind rushed past his face in a stinging wave, but Ray gunned the motorcycle?s engine to its outer edge and forced the big machine to go even faster. The passing scnery at his left the blue-green water and pearl white sand disappeared into a blur as the cycle responded. He wished he could make his thoughts blur as easily. Unable to sleep, unable to work, he?d gone to his shop after cleaning up. The guys who worked for him had all heard about the bank robbery; some reporter yahoo with a camera had even caught his image as he?d rushed from the lobby afterward. He?d brushed off the mechanics? questions just as he had the reporters?. He didn?t want to talk about the incident or his part in it. All he wanted to do was forget it had even happened. But he couldn?t. Sarah?s eyes haunted him with a vengeance. He couldn?t get their blueness to leave his mind. His fingers still felt her skin, his lips still tasted hers. Reaching the limits of town, he slowed the cycle. There was nothing he could do. He was doomed.

60

One way or another, Sarah would always be with him. In his heart. In his mind. She?d seemed to accept what he?d told her about Joan, but her expression had given her true emotions away. Just as he?d known all along, he?d hurt her, hurt her so badly, she?d never forgive him. When you chose one woman over another, the reasons didn?t really matter, did they? Slowing to stop at a red light, Ray looked around him, his eyes burning with exhaustion and despair. The sad part was he?d told Sarah the truth yesterday. He loved her. Loved her with everything inside of him. He always had. He took off again, the cycle?s motor screaming, the pavement streaming beneath him. Now that he?d said the words out loud and to her; they?d taken on a life of their own. There was no way he?d go on pretending that wasn?t the case anymore and suddenly he wondered why he?d even tried. The question hit him hard, reality crashing all around him. He fought the cycle as he fought his thoughts, then finally he gave up. With a wild jerk on the cycle, he pulled the big machine over to the curb and braked, scrubbing his face with his hands. How could he have never wondered what this meant? How could he have ignored the truth for so long? Through the years, he?d thought he wasn?t good enough for Sarah. He?d made up all kinds of excuses and given himself dozens of reasons why he couldn?t contact her. Every time he?d wanted to call her, he?d convinced himself she wouldn?t talk to him. Why? Why had he done that? It made no sense at all. Without any warning, the answer came to him swiftly, the power of his words to Sarah opening his eyes and laying out what had always been there. What he?d been too blind to see. A cold whisper of disappointment came over him, then anger, hard and fast. He?d wasted all these years, all this time, and he had no one to blame but himself. He slowly lifted his head and stared off to his right. The Gulf of Mexico stretched out before him, an endless vista of emerald waves and glistening light. He cursed softly, the wind snatching away his words and sprinkling them over the water. An hour passed then he started the cycle?s engine and pulled away. Chapter Twenty 5:30 p.m. Sarah wrapped her housecoat more tightly around herself and opened her front door, her house shoes shuffling against the concrete sidewalk. Without even thinking, she bent down to pick up the evening paper. The boy always left it directly on her doormat, but this evening it wasn?t there. She straightened up and saw Ray. He was sitting in the white patio chair she kept on her tiny front porch. The newspaper was spread around him as if he?d been there for a while. A foam cup of coffee rested on the concrete floor beside his feet along with a crumpled bag from Krispy Kreme Doughnuts.He raised one eyebrow and her heart melted. ?I didn?t want to wake you,? he said. ?Hope you don?t mind that I made myself at home.? She shut the door behind her and walked slowly to the empty chair beside him. She was making a mistake, she told herself. ?Go back inside. Forget him.? She ignored the warning as he offered her a doughnut. She took it and sat down. ?I have something to tell you,? he said without preliminaries. ?Something I should have said a long time ago.?

61

The doughnut turned to dust but she continued to chew. He leaned closer to where she sat. He?d shaved and changed clothes. His dark hair gleamed in the evening?s dying light and she felt a catch inside her chest as she remembered how soft it?d been when she?d run her fingers through the black strands. ?There?s a lot of things I shouldn?t have done in our relationship. I shouldn?t have left you yesterday without a word. And I shouldn?t have left you all those years ago and married Joan. I probably shouldn?t have gotten into your life to begin with....? He paused. ?But the worst thing I did was ignore the truth, Sarah. And if it?s the last thing I do, I had to come over here and tell you that.? Sarah swallowed hard. ?I understand? ?No. No, you don?t.? He interrupted her gently, his expression taking the bitterness from his words. ?Because I didn?t understand myself until just a little while ago.? He reached out and took her hands in his. ?I was scared, Sarah. Scared to death. When we met and fell in love, I?d never cared for anyone like I cared for you. And I couldn?t believe someone as wonderful as you could actually love anyone like me. I think I married Joan because it was the easy way out.? ?The easy way out! You gave up your life to help her? ?She made it safe, don?t you see? That way I didn?t have to be the person you thought I was.? ?That?s ridiculous!? Sarah gripped his hands. ?You are the person I think you are. You?re brave and smart and loving...you?re everything any woman could possibly want.? ?Any woman?? He waited a second and she felt as if her world were dropping away. ?Does that mean you, too? Could you love me, Sarah? As much as I love you?? It took her only a second. ?Yes.? Her hands were holding his so tightly her knuckles went white. ?It does mean me. You?re the only man who?s ever meant anything to me, Ray. Since I was 18 years old, I?ve loved you and as much as I wanted it to be different in the past, that?s just not the case.? He pulled her out of her chair and into his, the warmth of his arms melting her heart as she pressed herself into his embrace. They needed no more words. The kiss they shared said everything.

62

A Dog Named Nate by Inglath Cooper At 39, divorced and staggering under a case of career burnout, Tanner Morgan has no idea her life is about to change forever thanks to a handsome stranger and a stray dog…

Chapter One I've never been one to believe in coincidence. That type of thinking has never worked for me. Maybe it goes hand in hand with my Type-A-must-always-be-in-control personality. It's my nature to believe there's a reason for everything, that each piece of the cosmic puzzle is put in place for a specific purpose. Three months down the road and looking back, I understand things now about myself I was otherwise blind to at the beginning of this story I'm about to tell. I think most of us can be accused of looking at ourselves through rose-colored glasses, and I am certainly no exception. I wonder, really, if anyone ever gets around to taking off those glasses and standing in front of a full-length mirror, clothes optional, all excuses and justifications checked at the front door? At 39, divorced and staggering under a case of career burnout, I'd built myself four solid walls of both. As a prosecuting attorney for the District of Columbia, I lived waist deep in a cesspool of drug dealers, addicts and the never-ending circle of lives that collapse in their wake. For anyone who asked, I carried with me a portfolio of rationalizations as to why I charged from one drug case to the next — refusing to let up with my water hose of good intentions until I was sure I had quelled every spark, only to have a larger fire break out down the block in the form of a newly appointed dope lord. Until one day I just hit a wall. I was in Florida when it happened, meeting with a group of attorneys hovering around a scumbag I knew to be directly responsible for the demolition of hundreds of teen0/¿¿lives in D.C. These lawyers were the best of the best, Ivy League grads pulling in annual incomes that made mine, by comparison, a paltry joke. Maybe it was the look in the defendant's eyes that did it. I'd seen it countless times before, the glint of confidence that comes with knowing you have what it takes to shake the system in your favor, no matter how many piss-ant prosecutors are glued to your tail. And that was me. That was the person I saw reflected in the eyes of that lowlife. A piss-ant prosecutor whose fire hose had weakened to a drip. I realized that day that even if I spent the rest of my life running from one blaze to the next, eventually, it was all going to burn anyway. That whatever good I managed to put back into the world would just be smashed to pieces by someone else's much larger stick of evil. And there was always a larger stick. I left that office without finishing what I'd gone there to do. I took a taxi to the airport, but instead of waiting for the flight I'd booked a seat on later that afternoon, I rented a car and started driving North. I didn't bother with a map, covering several hundred miles of interstate under the deluge of a not unimpressive pity-party for one. How was it possible to forge an existence from a set of beliefs so much a part of you that you never questioned their validity? How was it possible to just wake up one day in front of a wall you'd never imagined hitting and absolutely unable, or maybe unwilling, to look for a way around it? The road in front of me seemed to have no end to it, as if maybe there would eventually be a ledge somewhere far ahead that blurred into oblivion. It's scary now to think where I might have ended up that day if it hadn't been for a busted water hose and a dog named Nate.

63

Chapter Two Steam seeps from the hood's edges and forms a quick cloud above the car. An angry hissing sound is next, and it seems a crowning cherry for this day that I should end up with a brand-new rental only to have it break down in the middle of what looks like nowhere. I'd opted for a smaller road than the I-95 route that runs a bullet path from Florida to D.C. A meandering waltz back home seemed fitting in light of the fact that I'd just walked away from a career that once meant everything to me. My gray power suit has wilted beneath the heat of a summer day, and to say I'm unprepared for car trouble is an understatement. I walk around to the trunk, dial 411 for info and locate a garage. They'll have someone out in thirty minutes or less. Meanwhile, I have to find a ladies room. Cars whiz by the gravel road on which I've managed to pull over. Drivers crane their necks in my direction, but so far none have stopped. I'm glad. I'd rather wait for the tow truck than risk some perv thinking he's found himself a sitting duck. I'm considering my options when a dark blue Navigator pulls off the highway in front of my car. The vehicle's emergency lights begin to flash. A tall man jumps out of the driver's side and walks toward me, his stride long and purposeful, as if he has someplace else to be and really doesn't have time to stop. My heart starts pounding too hard, and I catch a glimpse of dark hair beneath a baseball cap and what looks like a couple days worth of five o'clock shadow. He's wearing blue jeans and a slightly rumpled short-sleeve shirt. He looks like someone who just pulled an all-nighter, his expression one of a resigned willingness to offer help, as if he wishes he'd pulled a horse of another color from the barn today. "You need some help?" he asks, stopping near the front bumper of my car. His voice is what strikes me next. It's deep and to the point. No time for frilly conversation here. "I've called a tow truck. It should be here soon." "What's the problem?" "I'm not sure. Maybe a hose." "Would you like for me to wait with you?" I'm a little shocked by his chivalry. Okay, more than a little. A lot. I can't even remember the last time I ran into a man for whom such a show of manners didn't have another purpose behind it. But then who's to say this man is any different? "I'll be fine. Really." "You sure?" "Yes, thanks." I notice his blue eyes then, the dark lashes fringing them. Despite his in-a-hurry demeanor, there's compassion there, as if it's a part of himself he has no control over. I think of the times I've stared at myself in the mirror lately, only to glance away from what I no longer see there. A woman once driven by empathy for families who had suffered what my own had suffered. Somewhere along the way, empathy became something much more like greed, fueled by a need to take down as many of the bad guys as I could. With a flash of insight, it's suddenly clear that at some point it became about me and not about them.

Chapter Three

64

A beeper sounds, and the man pulls the blinking rectangle from the side of his jeans, glancing at the number. "I've got to take this," he says. "Oh, sure," I say, waving him on. "I'm fine, really. Thanks for stopping." He starts to say something, then shakes his head, backs up a step and gets in the truck. He raises a hand and waves once. I watch him drive away, wondering why it feels like an opportunity lost. I glance around and only now notice a small square sign just off the shoulder. Armand County, GA Animal Shelter. 1/4 mile . M-F 8-5. I glance at my watch. Four forty-five. It's either hurry, or make use of the woods just up the hill. I decide to try for the actual restroom, hit the remote lock on the car and take off as fast as my two-inch pumps will allow. By the time I reach the long building at the end of the gravel road, I'm getting a blister on one heel, and my white cotton blouse is sticking to the center of my back. The place is sad-looking to say the least. There are no windows, and the concrete block exterior has never been painted. I can hear dogs barking from inside, and I'm suddenly not sure I want to go in there. But I'm less sure I can make it to the woods now, so I walk to the door and turn the knob only to find it locked. I knock once, then a little harder. The door opens, and a man in a uniform of brown pants and a tan shirt stares out at me. He's so tall I have to tip my head back to look up at him. "We're closing up, ma'am," he says. "My car broke down by the main road, and I'm waiting on a tow truck," I say, trying to find a smile. "May I please use your restroom? I'll just be a minute." He considers this as if I've just asked him to start his day all over again and the possibility is beyond bearing. With a sigh heavy enough to conjure guilt, he finally steps back and waves me in. "The one up here is broke. You'll have to use the one in the back. Follow me." We walk through a metal door into the shelter's kennel. Chain-link cages line the walls on either side, some empty, the others containing single dogs. At the sight of us, they all begin to bark, tails wagging in instant happiness, as if convinced I've arrived to spring them.

65

Chapter Four I am reminded of the countless times I've walked through jails and prisons, some of the faces staring back at me flat with acceptance, others hardened with defiance. These faces are different, though. Some lit with joyful confidence. Some with the kind of hesitant hope that splits a crack down the center of my heart. And there's another difference, too. Most of these dogs probably never did anything to warrant ending up in such a place. I force myself to look straight ahead, wishing now that I had opted for the woods. I follow my reluctant tour guide to the end of the aisle where he waves a hand at a door marked TOIL, the last two letters having fallen off at some point. I thank him, go inside and close the door. Both sink and toilet look as if they'd last been cleaned prior to the turn of the current century, and the room smells distinctly of stale urine. I hurry, wash my hands under icy water without the benefit of soap and step back into the aisle. Directly across from the bathroom, a large black dog lies on the concrete floor of a kennel. He raises his head, looks at me, then makes a sound that is something between a sigh and a moan. I walk over to the cage door and stand for a moment, finally seeing the shallow rise and fall of his breathing. "Hey," I say. "Are you all right?" For a few seconds, he doesn't respond, but then lifts his head again and gets to his feet. This time, he makes an awful whimpering sound, and he holds his left front leg off the floor. The light here is dim, but I can see that a bone juts out midway down at an odd angle. I squat on my heels, one hand on the wire door. He hops closer, sniffs my fingers, then sits, still holding the leg out. He's an old dog, his muzzle gray against his black coat. His eyes have the limpid look of age. And he's thin. Actually, emaciated is more accurate. His coat is long, but now that my eyes have adjusted to the dimness, I can see his sunken sides behind his rib cage. His whimpering is soft now. I wonder how long he's been like this, why no one has treated him. The tip of his tail moves back and forth in a weak question mark. "I'm sorry, fella," I say, touching my fingers to his nose through the door. As if sensing my inability to do anything for him, he lies back down and doesn't look at me again. I think of a little girl whose mother I'd sent to prison for selling cocaine, the plea in her eyes leaving me with the same feeling of inadequacy I'm feeling now. All over again, I'm reminded of my own failures and that this is just another example of one person not being able to change the world. Certainly, not me.

Chapter Five I stand up too quickly, an old running injury pulling in my knee. I take a step back, then turn and walk as fast as I can down the aisle without looking at the other dogs. Back at the front desk, Mr. Personality glances up, his lunch box and water cooler stacked on top of a magazine, ready to go. "The black dog in the last run," I say, my voice clipped and to the point. "He's hurt, isn't he?" "We picked him up this morning," the man says.

66

"What happened to him?" I ask. "Looks like maybe he caught the side of a boot." My stomach lifts, a wave of nausea settling in its wake. I find it impossible to believe that there are living, breathing people who perpetrate this kind of cruelty with little more than a blink. But then I don't know why I'm shocked. I've dealt with that kind of person hundreds of times before. Evil is evil. Regardless of the venue. "Has a vet seen him?" The man shakes his head, glancing at his watch. "Vet's out of town. He won't be back 'til Friday." "But it's Tuesday." This gets me a weary look. "Lady, we got one vet in town. I can't exactly snap my fingers and make one appear." "Surely, there's something —" "We're closing, ma'am," he says abruptly. Judging from the set of his jaw, I've clearly crossed his last line of patience. "Could I take him somewhere to be treated then?" The question is out before the thought has processed fully, and I instantly wonder what I am thinking. "The dog has to remain in quarantine until the fifteenth. You can adopt him then, if you'd like." "And what is he supposed to do until then? His leg looks as if it's broken. He must be in awful pain." "We'll get Doc out here soon as he's back." I have no idea how to respond to any of this, but a too-familiar feeling of helplessness settles in the center of my chest. It's a feeling I've grown to hate; a feeling I'd never imagined as a young attorney fresh out of law school. I'd once been fueled with the kind of determination that won cases and put dealers behind bars for enough years that they were no threat to the current drug economy. From the beginning, my fight had been personal. At seventeen, I lost a fourteen-year-old brother to a first-time experiment with cocaine. He'd been given a revved-up version of somebody's intent to addict a string of kids from a good school, smart kids with the potential to bring in a new pool of potential addicts. Standing over Randy's grave on a bone-chilling February day, I had vowed to make what happened to him count for something. He'd been a good kid, straight A's, ambitions of going to Harvard and becoming a medical research scientist. The thing I could never accept was that a life of such bright possibility and potential to leave good in this world could be extinguished by someone's casually meted out evil. And that, sometimes, there is absolutely nothing we can do to change it. Now I realize there's a lot in this world that I can't change. This staggering feeling of hopelessness is the same sensation that chased me out of Florida earlier today. I can't put myself in the middle of something I have no chance of making a difference in. That's a road I've been driving for a long time. What kind of sense would it make to get back on when I just got off?

67

Chapter Six I thank the man, although I'm not sure what for — perhaps the stinky bathroom or the boulder of sadness now sitting on my chest — and quickly leave the building. The walk back up the road to my car seems to take no time, maybe because I'm so anxious to put distance between myself and that place. The tow truck has arrived. A young man named Walt with red hair and a slew of freckles hooks up my car and drives me into town. He talks along the way, pleasant enough conversation, but I'm distracted with my own thoughts of that poor dog and how it can be that there is no one who can do anything for him. At the garage, I call the car rental company and explain what has happened. I ask for a new vehicle only to be told they don't have an office anywhere near here. It will be tomorrow before they can get me something new. Walt tells me they'll take a look at the current one and see if it's anything they can fix. Meanwhile, he recommends I try the café across the street. He'll come get me in a little while. The Willow Tree Café appears to be popular, judging from the number of cars parked at the side and along the curb in front. A couple spots back is a blue Navigator, and my pulse picks up a beat or two at the thought that I might run into the man who'd stopped to help me earlier. Inside, the lighting is dim, and I blink into focus a waitress with white hair and a nice smile who directs me to a table in a corner of the front room. She tells me about the specials and promises to be right back with my iced tea. I spot him near a door to what looks like the kitchen, chatting with a woman somewhere near my age who laughs at something he's said and gives him a playful thwack on the arm that has flirtation written all over it. I wonder if this is a girlfriend. He backs up, laughs, (a very nice laugh, by the way), walks past my table, then stops and turns around. "Hey," he says, looking surprised to see me. "You got your car running." "Not exactly," I say. "It's across the street getting a diagnosis." "No big deal?" "We'll see." "You need a ride somewhere?" "I'll wait and see what they find first." He nods once, studies me for a moment, as if weighing the wisdom of what he's about to say. "Have you ordered?" "Not yet." "Try the vegetable pot pie. It's a sure thing." "Not too many of those around." "Pot pies?" My smile is automatic, if a little rusty. "No," I say. "Sure things."

Chapter Seven

68

"I'd have to agree with that," he says, folding his arms and leaning against the edge of the booth. "Have you eaten?" I ask, before giving myself time to think better of the question. "I was just getting ready to order. I'm Gabe Traynor, by the way." "Tanner. Morgan." "You waiting on someone, Tanner?" "No." I wave a hand at the seat across from me. "Join me, please." Instantly, I ask myself what I am doing. I don't know this man, or anything about him, and I've just invited him to sit down. He looks like a nice guy, but my track record speaks for itself. And then it occurs to me that maybe he's waiting on someone. "That is, I mean, if you're eating alone." "Yeah," he says. "As a matter of fact, I am." The moment he takes the seat across from me, I'm flooded with the strangest sense of déjà vu, as if I've been here before. Or maybe it's more like a flash of recognition. A glimpse I'd once caught of the future. Whatever it is, I'm unnerved by it and find myself unable to look at him. The friendly waitress is back with my iced tea. Gabe asks about her mother's arthritis, listening intently as she gives him an update and then tells her he'll take an iced tea as well. "You got it, Doc," the woman says and heads back to the kitchen, her sensible white shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor. "Doc?" I ask, wondering if he could be the town's missing vet, returned earlier than expected. "Family practice," he says. "Oh. That explains the beeper." "Yeah. Sorry I had to rush off back there. Duty called." "Nothing serious, I hope?" "As it turned out, no." "Good." "Hope you didn't wait too long for the tow?" "Not too long." We stare at each other for a stretch of moments. I wonder what the chances are that we would cross paths again so soon, even in a town this size. I think of the dog lying on the concrete floor at the pound and decide maybe there was a reason for running into this man again. "While I was waiting for the tow truck," I say, "I ended up walking down to the animal shelter in search of a restroom. There's a dog there with a broken leg, I think. Apparently, the vet won't be back until the end of the week." Gabe considers this, then frowns. "That the best they said they could do?"

69

"According to the man out front." Gabe tips his head, then says, "I could take a look at it." My heart trips a beat. "Would you?" "Not promising it will help, but yeah, I'd be glad to. You want to get those pot pies to go?" A smile breaks across my face, something that feels amazingly like hope blooming inside me. "To go sounds great," I say.

Chapter Eight I run across to the gas station to let them know I'll be back later to check on the car. The mechanic says, "No problem," and throws a wave at Gabe. Ten minutes later, I'm in the front seat of his Navigator, driving across the town of Murphree. It's like a snapshot from the past, the hardware store, pharmacy and grocery store each bearing family names of Smith, Warren and Perkins, instead of the chain logos that now populate the landscape of so many small towns. The buildings are well-kept with fresh coats of paint and streetlights that hold hanging baskets of pink petunias. "How long have you lived here?" I ask. He drives with one hand, the other wrist draped across the wheel. "My whole life except for college." "Where was that?" "Duke. And then med school at Johns Hopkins. How about you?" "Georgetown. Undergrad and law school." "Impressive." "Yours wasn't exactly a walk in the park." He shrugs. "I love what I do." I nod, struck mute by the realization that I'd once said the same thing with the same brand of absolute conviction. We pull our pot pies from their to-go bags and start eating, Gabe keeping a conscientious eye on the road. I feel a little self-conscious at first, passing salt and napkins back and forth with this man I had never met just two hours ago. "You were right," I say. "This is delicious." "They make it for me every Tuesday," he says, a little sheepish. "For you?" I ask, failing to hide my amazement. "A benefit of life in a small town." I grew up in the city, or rather the suburbs of D.C, which is practically the same thing. I cannot imagine living in a place where the local diner made something for me just because they knew I liked it. "Anything else you like?" I ask.

70

He gives me a long look, and a warm flush steals up my neck to settle in my cheeks. "Cherry pie's always good." "Too bad we didn't get a piece of that to go," I say. "Next time." I'm not sure what to make of this, so I look out the window, unable to deny an upsurge of inexplicable pleasure at the words. "Do you have a lot of family here?" "An obscene amount." "Define obscene," I say, smiling. "Well, let's see, there's my mom and dad. Two brothers, one sister, five nephews, six nieces, seven aunts, four uncles, and then there's cousins Margaret, cousin Austin —" "All right, all right," I say, holding up a hand and laughing now. "You're right. That is obscene." "How about you?" "No one I'm close to except my mom and dad," I say, the words a little flatter than I'd meant for them to be. "Do you see them much?" "Not as much as I should," I say, realizing I can't remember the last time we even spoke on the phone.

Chapter Nine "Family can be complicated," Gabe says. "Yeah. I bet your Christmas shopping list is really something," I say, attempting to steer the conversation toward a lighter note. "We finally gave it up and started drawing names." I picture what Christmas day must be like for a family that size, hear the laughter and the pleas of children unable to wait a second longer to open presents. Right behind the image is a picture of my own family — all the years of going through the motions of putting up a tree, sitting through a meal that somehow had no taste, doing our best to endure a day that with the death of my brother became unendurable. By the time we pull up at a two-story white house surrounded by boxwoods, Gabe and I are done with our food and sipping from Styrofoam cups of iced tea. "I'll be right back," he says, cutting the engine and then getting out and jogging up to the front door. He knocks, and after a minute, a man in a green shirt and khaki pants answers. He listens as Gabe talks, then pulls a cell phone from his pocket, dials a number and speaks for a few moments. He flips the phone closed, still looking reluctant. Gabe speaks again, and this time the man fishes a key from the opposite pocket and hands it over. Gabe jogs back to the truck and with a grin, drops the key in my lap. "Who was he?" I ask.

71

"Mark Mitchell. He works with the county." "He didn't look too cooperative at first." "We went to school together. Plus, I had to pull out a you-owe-me card. I try not to do that, but —" "Another benefit of living in a small town." "Yep," he says. "Don't worry. I won't be reporting you to the AMA for your powers of persuasion." "Good to know," Gabe says, pulling back onto the street and then looking at me with a questioning smile. "Speaking of such powers, you wanna tell me who you are, Tanner Morgan?" "Nobody special," I say, a little caught off guard by the question. "Nobody special just passing through?" "That pretty much sums it up." "Why am I not buying that?" he says. "Which part?" "The nobody special part." "Let's just say that today I'm feeling anything but that." "Why?" His voice is low and almost tentative, as if he suspects there's a big answer awaiting this question. I glance out the window as the quaint neighborhood houses blend into the town's main street once again. A mile or so more, and we take an exit onto the highway that leads back to the shelter. "I quit my job this morning," I say.

Chapter Ten Gabe looks at me for a moment, then says, "Mind if I ask why?" "How long do you have?" "As long as it takes." The answer surprises me. I guess it's been forever since I felt the interest of a man in this way. Or since I let anyone get close enough to ask. I lift a shoulder, keep my voice neutral. "Same as most people, I guess. It just turned out to be something very different than I thought it would be." "So what didn't happen that you thought would?" Gabe asks. I consider this for a bit, then say, "Maybe I thought I might actually make a difference somewhere along the way." We're outside of the town now, fields of hay and corn stretching out alongside us. A couple more miles have passed when Gabe says, "I guess that's what we're all hoping for, huh?"

72

But then this, I think I know something about. "No," I say. "Not all of us." "Care to elaborate?" "Maybe I just finally realized we're not all made the same," I answer. "What I see as a blight on society might be nothing more to someone else than a need being met." "What kind of attorney were you, Tanner?" "I prosecuted drug dealers." He lets out a low whistle. "I'm impressed." "Don't be. There's nothing glamorous about it." "It takes someone with some pretty broad shoulders to carry that kind of pressure." "As you can see, mine fall a little short." He looks at me and says in a soft voice, "You look more than capable to me." I run my hand across the back of my hair, wondering if I can even find the words to explain this place I've arrived at. "Have you ever tried to grow a garden?" "Once," he says. "You know how there's a point when it all looks perfect, the new plants lined up side by side, the dirt dark and freshly turned? For a little while, you think it will stay that way. But then the weeds start sprouting up, and for every one you pull, there are five more to replace it. If you spray poison on them, chances are some of it will get on the good plants as well and end up killing them, too." "So you just let the weeds overtake the whole thing?" "Or you turn it over to a new gardener and hope he or she has better ideas than you had," I say. "What makes you think they'll do as well as you did?" "Maybe because someone new will still believe they can make a difference." "And you no longer do?" "No," I say, at least knowing this much is true. "I don't."

Chapter Eleven Gabe turns the Navigator off the highway and onto the gravel road that leads to the shelter. When we pull up in front of the building, he still hasn't said anything. It's not until he opens the building door, and we step inside that he says, "You don't strike me as the type to give up." There was a time when I would have rallied at such a statement, when it would have made me indignant enough to defend myself. But not now. Now, I'm too weary. "Maybe it's more like I've finally opened my eyes to reality." "And what is that?"

73

"Some fights are just too big, I guess." Gabe flicks on the lights, and I lead the way to the kennel at the far end of the aisle. We're greeted by a chorus of excited barks and yelps. I keep my gaze focused straight ahead, again unable to look at the faces of the dogs. I can't seem to swallow past the lump in my throat. I blink hard, stopping in front of the black dog's cage. "Hey," I say softly. He's lying on his side, and at the sound of my voice, his tail thumps once against the concrete. This time, he doesn't get up, though. Gabe pops the latch, and the door swings open. Using an easy voice, he drops to his knees and begins speaking to the dog. After a bit, he reaches out and rubs the dog under the chin. The dog tries to get up, whimpers as he puts weight on his left front leg. "Easy, boy," Gabe says. The dog sits, holding the leg off the floor. Gabe rubs him for a minute or more, and I see the dog's demeanor relax with trust. When he licks Gabe's hand, Gabe says, "You're a good boy, aren't you?" The dog hangs his head in a posture of abject humility. I feel the weight of his suffering, and tears well in my eyes. I hastily wipe them away with the back of my hand. "How can there be so many here?" I ask, allowing myself a glance at the other cages. Gabe shakes his head. "We've become a throwaway world," he says, a note in his voice I've yet to hear. "If it fails to live up to expectation or becomes a little too inconvenient, just get rid of it. You can always replace it later." The statement catches me by surprise, and I wonder if I've idealized his small-town life, assuming the problems of the world never reach a place like this. "I shouldn't admit this," I say, "but it's easy to think someone like you doesn't see much of the hard stuff." "Someone like me?" I lift a shoulder. "Small-town doc. This is like Mayberry compared to D.C." Something like reluctant acceptance flickers in his blue eyes. "But people are still people, Tanner," he says. "No matter where you go."

Chapter Twelve I'd like to look away, but find that I can't. "Maybe it's just arrogance that makes us think our own problems are so much bigger than everyone else's." Gabe pulls his gaze from mine, running his fingers down the dog's injured leg and then gently probing the length of it. "The first time I saw a patient who was obviously being abused by her husband," he says, "I was determined to make her see why she had to leave him. But that wasn't something she was ready to hear. Certainly not from me. Somewhere along the way, I learned that the sledgehammer approach wasn't going to work. Swinging that thing around twenty-four seven didn't leave me with much energy for the rest. It took me a while to realize that when you step back and look at the big picture, it's amazing what can be accomplished with a chisel." There's wisdom in the words, and I let them settle around me, feeling as if I've been handed a nugget of something valuable, something that might apply to me. "His leg's definitely fractured," Gabe says. "They say how long he's been in here?" "Since this morning."

74

"No way to guess how old the injury is, but if it's not taken care of pretty quickly, he could lose this leg." I feel instantly sick at the thought, my stomach churning. "What can we do?" Gabe runs a hand across his jaw, then says, "There's a twenty-four hour emergency vet hospital about ninety miles from here. You up for a drive?" My eyes widen. "You mean just take him there?" "I can't think of a better option." I stare at him for a moment, then say, "Won't you get in trouble?" He smiles the smile I am beginning to find more than a little difficult to resist. "It wouldn't be the first time." I look at this man about whom I know very little, and I suddenly see something in him I used to think was true of myself. A willingness to go out on a limb for something I believe in. I glance at the dog still sitting humbly with his paw off the floor, watching us. "For me, either," I say. Gabe reaches in his bag and pulls out a bottle. "An aspirin should take the edge off until we get there." He picks the dog up then and carries him out to the Navigator, placing him carefully in the backseat. The dog whimpers once, stretching out on his side as if the pain is something he has become resigned to. "It's going to be better soon, son," Gabe says, getting in the driver's seat and pulling out of the parking lot. We're quiet the first few minutes of the ride, and I look over my shoulder at the dog, my heart aching for his misery. I wonder what kind of life he's had. If like most of us, there's been happiness blended in with the bad. Or if this isn't the first time he's been at the mercy of somebody's boot.

Chapter Thirteen "He needs a name," Gabe says, once we're almost fifteen miles down the road. I give it some consideration, and then say, "How about Nate?" "It's dignified. It suits him." He holds my gaze, and there's a spark of something between us that I'm not sure what to do with. I can't even remember the last time I felt anything remotely close to attraction for a man. Peter had successfully erased from me any desire to trust my own judgment in thinking I knew someone. Believe me, when you've had your eyes opened as wide as I've had mine opened, once-burned-twice-shy is a motto to live by. I rub the finger where my wedding ring had once been. "I can't believe we're really doing this." "What?" "Stealing a dog. Not to mention we don't even know each other." "We've got seventy-five miles left to remedy that," he says. "And you think you can get to know a person in that amount of time?" I ask, failing to conceal my own disagreement with the assertion.

75

"A good bit of them." I bite my lip and shake my head. "I think you can only know what a person shows you. It's the parts they choose not to disclose that make it tricky." "And you're speaking from experience?" "The worst kind, believe me." He glances at me, his eyes suddenly serious. "I'm listening." I consider the wisdom in going on. I've never talked about it to anyone. Not even my parents. They know what happened and where Peter is now. But I've never discussed it with them. Maybe I was too ashamed. Or maybe I thought they would see me as in some way responsible for Peter's topple from grace. How could I have lived with the man, worked with the man and not known his true heart? I still wish I knew the answer. "You know those weeds I mentioned?" I say, looking at Gabe. "Yeah." "I had a husband who was also a prosecutor. He turned out to be one of those weeds." A big space of silence follows my admission. Gabe blows out a breath and says, "Wow." "My response was actually something a little stronger, but yeah. Wow." "What happened to him?" "Actually, he's in prison." "Again, wow." "He got caught with his hand in the till so to speak. I guess what the other side was getting just looked too good." "Greed. The universal aphrodisiac." "You said it." I look back at Nate who now has his eyes closed, the aspirin apparently having given him some relief. And I say a little prayer of thanks for this, that there can be an actual escape from such pain, however temporary.

Chapter Fourteen I jump a little when Gabe reaches over and puts his hand on mine. "Do you blame yourself for what your husband did?" I start to answer with an automatic no, but stop, shrug. I have nothing to gain in denying it, much as I wish I could. "It's hard not to." We've left behind the smaller highway and merged onto an Interstate, the miles sliding by now at a rapid clip. "You know," Gabe says. "I just don't buy into that."

76

"Into what?" "Taking the rap for other people's choices." I tuck my hair behind my ears, stare out the window. "Believe me, he's the one taking the rap." "And it hasn't changed your life at all?" "Of course it has." "Why?" "Because I picked him." He gives this consideration, and then says, "Is it something you ever thought he would do?" "Not in a million years." "But it's your fault that he took a path you never thought he'd take?" It's a big question, one I don't know exactly how to answer. "I'm not sure there's any way to explain how a person can change into someone you no longer even recognize." A billboard on the right side of the road reads Best Friends Veterinary Hospital. Open 24 Hours. 15 Miles Ahead. Exit 221. More highway rolls by, the white line at the edge of the road a blur in my peripheral vision. When Gabe speaks again, his voice is soft and edged with memory. "When I got married, I was sure I'd found the woman I'd spend the rest of my life with. There wasn't a single question in my mind. I loved her. That crazy kind of love, you know? I've wondered more times than I can count if there were things I didn't see early on because I didn't want to see them. I don't know. Maybe all those pheromones take over the brain." I smile a little at this, certain there is accuracy in the statement. "For a long time, I walked around trying to figure out what I had done to make everything change," he says, his voice now serious. "And then one day, the fog lifted, and it was as if I could finally see everything clearly. I had done what I promised to do. Love and cherish my wife. But she failed on the follow-through. She got bored, I guess. Bored with being a small-town doctor's wife. Maybe bored with me. And when something more appealing came along, she took the ride." I hear the thread of pain in the words. It's impossible to miss. And that pain reflects off something inside me like a mirror to the sun, illuminating feelings I've done my best to ignore.

Chapter Fifteen "It's not easy to be that honest," I say after a bit. "The truth's the truth." "None of us wants to admit we've fallen short of someone else's expectations. Especially someone we've put our heart on the line for." "No. But the other side of the coin is that they've fallen short of ours as well."

77

"So what came first? The chicken or the egg?" He doesn't answer for a moment, and then says, "This is how I see it. People make choices. And if they take the wrong road, there's no reason why we have to go along with them. Or to feel responsible for the fact they decided to take it." The statement is made with a common-sense matter-of-factness that resonates, even as part of me says it doesn't work that way. Because I do feel responsible. I do wonder why I never suspected anything. How I could have been so blind. And yet, hearing Gabe's words is a little like having a door opened just far enough to glimpse light from the other side. I've been walking around in the dark, shutting out everything around me, my single focus trying to put away as many of the bad guys as possible. And maybe with every one, finding a little piece of retribution. Hollow as it now seems. "How long were you married, Gabe?" I ask. "Ten years," he says. "Any children?" "No. You?" "No." "Did you want them?" "Yes," I say. "But he didn't." Gabe is quiet and then says, "Do you still want them?" I laugh a self-conscious laugh. "I think it's getting a little late in the game for me." "Why?" "Forty's in the headlights." "So?" This has been such a big deal to me for so long that I'm a little thrown by his clear disbelief that my age is a problem. In my early thirties, I longed for a baby. I know now that by that point, Peter had become distracted by other things, other needs. "There are just all sorts of potential problems after a certain age." Gabe hits the signal for the hospital exit. "Maybe. But I don't believe in leaving anything to regret. It's like that old Pac-man game, you know? Regret eats up everything in its path. Happiness. Hope. Courage. And never looks back."

Chapter Sixteen I look across at Gabe, again feeling the click of connection. As if I've found someone who sees through the walls I've been hiding behind to the real me. The me I used to be. I turn in my seat to reach back and rub Nate's soft head. "I've wished I could go back to the moment in my marriage when things started to go wrong. From there, aim us in a different direction so that none of it ever happened."

78

His voice is soft when he says, "But you see, the problem there is that you're taking the blame for what went wrong. And it sounds to me as if he's the one who ought to be wearing that particular hair shirt. Not you." The truth of this is hard to dispute, but I've grown comfortable with my own scenario of what-if. What if I'd been a better wife? What if I'd noticed that he seemed to have money to spend on things our incomes should have made it difficult to afford? "Maybe it's easier to think I could have done something to stop it." "It sits a little better than the idea that sometimes people just aren't who we thought they were." "I guess so," I say. We're off the Interstate now, rolling from one stoplight to the next on a street populated by business after business. "Hold on, Nate," Gabe says over his shoulder. "We're almost there." I hear the dog's tail thump against the backseat, as if he knows we're trying to help him. The now familiar lump settles in my throat, and I think how incredible this day has been. I wonder if there will be a day somewhere in my future when I look back and see it all as a turning point. To what, I'm not sure. Gabe hits the signal, and we pull into a parking lot, the brick building in front of us marked with a sign that says, "24-Hour Veterinary Care." I glance back at Nate, still lying on his side, his eyes closed. We get out, and Gabe opens the back door, reaching in to lift the dog in his arms. I watch him in this snapshot of a moment. Is it possible that he could be as good as he seems? Inside, he explains to a receptionist with dark hair that hangs in a braid to her waist what he suspects is wrong with the dog. She shakes her head in sympathy and says, "Let's see if we can get him right back." We wait while she buzzes someone and tells them she has an emergency out front. I reach out and rub Nate's head, feeling Gabe's gaze on me. The strange thing is, I can't bring myself to look back at him. And I'm not sure if it's because of what I might see in his face. Or what I might not.

Chapter Seventeen A young man with a compassionate smile appears in the waiting area with a gurney. "I'm one of the vet techs," he says. "You can put him right on here. I'll make sure he gets a safe ride back." Gabe gently lowers the dog onto the rolling bed and then straightens, rubbing his side. Nate thumps his tail, although the gesture is weaker now than his previous attempts. I reach out and rub him once, pulling my hand back as the young man wheels him off through a set of double doors. The silence in the wake of their exit is awkward. I fold my arms across my chest. Gabe looks down at the floor, shoving his hands in his pockets, and I wonder if he's feeling what I'm feeling. "He's going to be all right," he says. "Yeah," I say, clearing my throat. "Anything has to be better than the way he feels right now." "How about some coffee?" Gabe asks, pointing at the pot in one corner of the lobby. "I could use some." I glance at my watch, surprised to see it's now after nine o'clock and suddenly remembering my car. "Oh, no." "What is it?"

79

"I forgot to call the garage." "They'll be closed now. When we're done here, I'll take you wherever you need to go." "Thanks." We head for the coffee maker. Gabe passes me a Styrofoam cup, then takes one for himself. "Is this an everyday thing for you?" I ask. "Coffee?" I shake my head and smile. "Rescuing damsels and dogs in distress." "Oh, that," he allows with a grin. "I could say yes to make myself look good." I hold my cup out as he fills it with coffee, then offers me the cream and sugar. "Plain is good," I say. "It has its good points, though." "The cream and sugar?" His smile widens. "The rescuing." We take the two nearest chairs. I sip from my coffee and then say, "Such as?" "Meeting a beautiful and interesting woman is always a plus." There is something sincere in his voice, and I feel warmth steal into my face. I don't feel beautiful, and it seems impossible he would have made this assertion about me. He sets his coffee down, reaches a hand out and tips my chin toward him. "Hey," he says. "That's an honest assessment, you know. Not just of the outside package but the inside as well." I let myself meet his gaze then. Gabe has honest eyes, and I think I actually believe him. "Thank you," I say, insignificant though it sounds. "Thank you."

Chapter Eighteen We wait for a long time. Talk for hours on end. About anything and everything. Growing up in a small town versus a big city. Vacationing in the Virgin Islands. What it felt like the day we got our driver's permit. How we each met our previous spouse. How many dogs we had as kids. Which is better: hot chocolate with big round marshmallows or with the cream that comes in a jar. How it felt to find ourselves single again. And the day we finally realized it was better to be alone than in a bad marriage. Gabe stretches out in the less-than-comfortable chair with his feet in front of him, hands clasped behind his head. "At some point after I finished trying to drown myself in misery, I figured out that the important thing is not to let another person's choices change our belief in what kind of person we should be. You see, I believe this world is a place where all our actions matter. That we have as much potential to do good as evil. And that the good adds up and eventually makes a difference." I consider what we're doing for Nate and the fact that we've both stepped out on a limb in trying to do the right thing. It's been a good while since I've willingly put myself in such a place. The surprising thing is I like it out here. Even though I know firsthand how easily the bough can break and send me careening to the

80

ground. I wonder, suddenly, what I've been so afraid of. I've hit the dirt once. I know what it feels like. And I know that I can get back on my feet, dust off my backside and look for another limb. I realize with something that almost feels like relief that Gabe is right. Sometimes, we have to step forward simply because it's the right thing to do. Whether it's for a mother who's lost a son to the drugs dangled in front of him by dealers who don't care about the ruin they leave behind. Or for an old dog who has no one to speak for him. And I wonder how it could be that in the span of a single day, I have stumbled across a man who lives his life with this simple creed as his lighthouse. Because it is the right thing to do. Lost though I've been, I feel as though I suddenly see my way back to shore. The double doors to the room where the clinic staff took Nate earlier swing open, and the same young man spots us and smiles. He comes over and says, "We were able to set the leg, and I think it should heal back just fine. He's still a little out of it, but you can come back and see him if you'd like." "That's great news," Gabe says, standing. He looks over at me with a smile. "You coming, Tanner?" Relief floods through me, and for a moment, I can't speak past the emotion that wells up from my heart. "Yes," I say, smiling back. "I'm right behind you."

Chapter Nineteen The sun rises in a majestic halo of pink, red and yellow as we walk out of the clinic a couple of hours later, a very groggy Nate once again in Gabe's arms. I walk behind the two of them, staring at Gabe's strong shoulders, unable to believe all that has happened since this time just one morning ago. I think mostly the change is on the inside. I feel different. As if something of who I used to be has been restored. But there's more, too. A me I don't think I've ever known. A me willing to look around and see what else I might have to offer this world. Gabe gets Nate settled, and we start the trip back to Murphree in a kind of introspective silence. We stop at a Starbucks drive-through for coffee and muffins, the caffeine taking the teeth out of my fatigue. We've driven several miles when Gabe says, "So what are we going to do with him?" I look back at the dog, something in my chest flipping over. Sending him back to the pound feels like an absolute impossibility now. "Do you think they would let me have him?" Gabe takes a sip of his coffee, not looking the least bit surprised by my question. "I could try my powers of persuasion again," he says. "Would you do that?" I ask. Gabe glances at me, and I find myself unable to look away. I wonder if it's possible to fall for a dog and a man all in the span of a single day. "Absolutely," he says. And I decide that maybe it is possible. The drive back seems to take less time than it had going. We don't talk a lot, both of us quiet, as if we know we're speeding toward the end of something we're not ready to let go of yet. At just after six a.m., we pull up in front of the same house we'd stopped by the night before. "I'll be right back," Gabe says, getting out and going to the front door. The same man answers, this time looking as if he just got up, and he and Gabe talk for a good ten minutes. The man's expression is serious, and I can't tell whether Gabe's magic is working or not. The two men finally shake hands, and Gabe comes back to the Navigator, getting in and closing the door. "He wasn't too pleased that I'd taken the dog from the shelter, but Mark's a good guy. After I explained what kind of injury it was, he was glad that we did. Since the clinic said

81

he'd already been neutered and actually had a current rabies tag on his collar, he's yours right now if you want him." "Really?" My voice comes out as a high-pitched squeak I barely recognize. Hardly the voice of a prosecuting attorney used to addressing stern-faced judges. "Really," he says. I throw my arms around his neck, kiss the side of his face. "Thank you, Gabe. Thank you." He pushes a hand through my hair, rubs the ends between his fingers. We look at each other for a long time, and then finally, he leans in and kisses me. It would be hard to sum up everything I'm feeling. But all I can think is that I don't ever want to stop kissing him. I know how unlikely it is to find something that feels this real based on car trouble and a walk down to a county pound. But that's exactly what has happened to me, and for once, I'm not going to question it. Gabe's beeper goes off. He pulls back with a low groan and glances at the number. "I have to go," he says. "Will I see you again?" I ask. "I'm counting on it." Happiness blooms inside me, and despite not having slept all night, I feel as if I could float all the way back to D.C. Gabe takes me to the garage and waits while I go in and get the keys. After letting him make a bathroom stop, we get Nate situated in the backseat. "I'll stop and get him some food on the way," I say. "A good hamburger would probably fix him right up," Gabe says, reaching inside his wallet and handing me a card with his address and telephone number on it. I pull out one of mine as well and give it to him. He leans in and kisses me again, his hand lingering at the base of my neck. "I'm going to call you. So don't be surprised when I do." "You'd better," I say. "And I won't." He gives Nate a last rub under the chin and then gets in the Navigator and pulls away. I feel an instant sense of loss, but then refuse to let myself go there. What's happened between Gabe and me doesn't feel like an ending. It feels like a beginning. I pay my bill at the garage, then get in the car, looking back at Nate, who stares at me with still sleepy eyes. I have no idea what I'm going to do with such a big dog. A dog with a broken leg, at that. But as I pull out of the garage parking lot, Nate sitting up now and looking out the window, I don't have a single doubt that we'll figure it out as we go.

Chapter Twenty As I said before, I don't believe in coincidence. I've seen what can happen in the span of three months. And I never would have believed my life could change in the ways it has. But here I stand at the window of my Georgetown house, waiting for a man I have come to know as thoroughly as I have ever known anyone. And to date, it has been completely through telephone calls and emails. After the first few phone conversations, I needed some time to figure out what direction to take from where I was at that point. And although we haven't seen each other since the morning I left Murphree in my repaired rental car with Nate in the backseat, I feel as if we just saw each other yesterday.

82

I think there's something to be said for this kind of prelude to dating. I'm not sure either of us has a single secret the other doesn't know about. We've shared hopes, dreams, fears, inhibitions, nightmares, you name it. But mostly, we've figured out that we want the same things in our lives. And difficult as it was for me to believe at first, I trust him. I trust my interpretation of who he is, what he wants and how it all fits with who I am and what I want. It's pretty incredible to be in a place where the disaster that was my marriage no longer affects my life. I can honestly say I'm happy. I have direction and purpose. And while I would like to go back to practicing law someday, I've been looking at some different options. Maybe something to do with animals and the rescue work I've gotten involved with since returning to D.C. There is something incredibly rewarding in giving a dog or cat another chance at happiness with a family who wants them. This is something Gabe and I have been working on together. Me, here in Washington. And he in Murphree by putting together a committee of people willing to raise money for an adoption facility to help place dogs and cats rescued from the local pound where my Nate came from. Just then, Nate pads in from the kitchen and joins me at the window. I reach down and rub under his chin the way he likes. His tail swishes back and forth on the wood floor. His leg has completely healed now, although he still walks with a slight limp that will probably never go away. I spot the front end of the blue Navigator as it rounds the street corner. I force myself to wait until he turns into the driveway, and then Nate and I both go out front. Gabe gets out of the vehicle, and we stand for a moment, staring at each other. I can't seem to take my eyes off him. He's as gorgeous as I remember, his smile nearly lethal. It's nice that the outside package is as appealing as it is, but it's nice, too, that what's on the inside is what I believe to be a sure thing. Nate wags his tail and barks once in recognition. Gabe raises a hand, waves, as if waiting for us to make the first move. "Come on, Nate," I say. And we run out to meet him.

83

Fate and Fortune by Christie Ridgway Californian corporate raider and playboy Reese Fortune Lavery is off to Texas to offer support to his uncle, whose wife was recently kidnapped. He has other motives for visiting, though — namely to knock some sense into his older sister, Megan, who has recently fallen in love with a ranch hand. Traveling deserted back roads, Reese finds himself reminiscing about a summer years back when he also thought he'd found love amongst the horses and the hay in Texas. He's forced to put the brakes on his memories and the luxury sedan he's driving when he comes upon two cars mangled together at a curve in the road. Jumping out to see if he can help, the last thing Reese expects is to find himself facing a man with a gun — or the girl who had been his "first" in heart and body all those years ago…

Chapter One Driving along a deserted Hill Country back road, Reese Fortune Lavery was a man on a mission. To achieve his purpose, he'd thought to stock important provisions — the weather page from the Los Angeles Times, a plastic baggy filled with soft, grayish-gold Pacific sand and a swizzle stick from the Urbanite Bar & Grill. He'd have bottled a lungful of SoCal smog if he could have figured out a way to do it. Most important, though, he had with him a flyer advertising an upcoming sale at his sister Megan's favorite shoe-tique on Rodeo Drive. He glanced over at the stack of lure, bait, tangible logic — call it what you will — sitting on the passenger seat of the Lexus he'd rented. Surely, he and his Golden State souvenirs could convince his sister to forget the Texas ranch hand she claimed to have fallen for. One look at that "30% Off All Stilettos and Sandals" and her so-called "love" would die the sure, swift death of all so-called "loves." Reese himself hadn't had one last from a hotel penthouse Friday night to an hour beyond a room service Sunday brunch. He always let the calendar feature on his Palm Pilot take the blame for the end of those brief affairs. Oh, sorry, honey, but I've got to get back to prepare for an early Monday morning meeting. Since his sister had apparently dumped her PDA at the same time as her L.A. job, it was now up to Reese to be her metaphorical Monday morning meeting. "The magic doesn't last, Megs," he said out loud. Reese was what they called a corporate raider, and he'd often thought of telling those very words to the board members he ousted during hostile takeovers. It was a life philosophy that reminded him not to hold on to things and people too tightly. The magic doesn't last. Not even in the Lone Star State. Reese unrolled his window and took a breath of Texas air. It smelled fresh and green, a smell that took him back fifteen years. This part of the state was Fortune — his family on his mother's side — country, and he'd been introduced to it and the combustible reaction of hay and hormones the summer before college. That's why these surroundings, while a world away from the steel, sand and starlets of L.A., weren't wholly unfamiliar. The hilly, rural landscape was dotted with cedars, oaks and scrub brush. He'd passed a herd of longhorns a curve-and-a-half back, along with those silly looking mini-donkeys he'd gaped at fifteen years ago.

84

Mini-donkeys. Daisy had gaped at him when he'd used the description, then laughed so hard he'd thought she'd split the seams of the skimpy halter top she'd been wearing. Burros, she'd finally managed to get out, and their job was to protect the herds from coyotes. Reese knew of coyotes, even after growing up in a mansions-aplenty neighborhood in Bel Air. There, they ate garbage and left-out dog food and the occasional stray cat. Apparently, in Texas they grew big enough to take down an entire day's servings of Big Macs. The things one could learn from a farmer's daughter.… Reese was grinning to himself as he rounded yet another curve. Then his mouth slammed down on the smile as his right foot slammed down on the brakes. Brake pad on metal screeched. Tires gave up a layer of skin to the road. The odor of burning rubber joined the eerie quiet as Reese's car halted just short of a mangle of sedan and rusty Ford pickup. Nose-tocrumpled-nose, the vehicles were stretched across the narrow lane, blocking passage in both directions. The sound of Reese's door popping open was loud in the ominous silence. From the side of the road, a placid brown-and-white beast — Heifer? Steer? Mare? Reese could never keep that livestock-lingo straight — turned its head to stare at him as he sprinted toward the tangle of bumpers and fenders. A woman was in the driver's seat of the Ford. Long ripples of sun-streaked brown hair covered her face. A river of hair that reminded him of the cool creek he'd stuck his eighteen-year-old feet in, when a warm Daisy sat in the curve of his arm and all things seemed possible. This woman's wrists were crossed on the steering wheel, her forehead resting against them. Reese's gut lurched. "Are you all right?" he said through the half-open window. She lifted her head and shook it, as if puzzled by the urgency in his voice. Her hair still partially covered her face. "Okay. Okay, I think. The cow crossed the road…" Her hand gestured to the nondescript sedan that appeared to be fatally wounded by her truck and vice versa. Through the cracked windshield of the car, Reese could see another figure slumped over another steering wheel. Since the truck's driver seemed to be functioning, he hurried toward the sedan, pulling his cell phone from the pocket of his slacks. Still no service, he realized. He'd already tried to use it earlier. Shoving the phone back in his pocket, he peered through the passenger side window at the unmoving man in the driver's seat. "You okay?" he called, knocking on the glass. The guy didn't move. Reese hurried around the back bumper to the other side, aware that the woman in the truck had opened her door and was climbing out. "Hey, you!" Reese called again, trying to open the driver's door. It was locked and the man didn't stir. "Is something the matter with him?" It was her voice, the woman's, anxious-sounding and husky, as if she'd swallowed her fear from the accident and it hadn't gone down easy. "I don't —" Glancing over his shoulder, Reese froze. Now it was his turn to shake his head. He had to jar the imaginary vision loose somehow. He'd been thinking of farmer's daughter Daisy just moments before; that had to be why he thought he was seeing her now. He'd been thinking of her halter tops and her rippling hair and her cut-off blue jeans — But he hadn't gotten as far as envisioning those blue jean short-shorts she used to wear. He was looking at them now, though, and the long golden legs they revealed. No. It had to be someone else, he thought, as

85

his gaze traveled upward again, past shapely thighs and curved hips and tiny waist and not-so-tiny breasts. His farmer's daughter couldn't still be — His gaze jumped to the side of the old truck and the fading logo that had been stenciled there. The Egg Man, Organic Eggs, Fresh to You. The old hippie, Daisy's dad Edward "The Egg Man" Frances, must still be in business. Reese finally looked into the woman's face again. Daisy's face. Daisy. Those blue eyes, that short nose, that ripe mouth. The magic of his eighteenth summer when he'd learned that magic never lasts. "I —" What the hell do you say to the first woman who ever took you into her body and then cast a spell that sent you hurtling from earth? Were there words? She seemed to think so. "Hello, Reese." Daisy gave a shrug and a half smile. "I never expected to see you again." Thup. The sound of a door lock popping free. They both turned their heads as the sedan door swung open. The man who climbed out was Reese's age, early thirties, with dark hair and almost pretty features. The gun he pointed at them was butt-ugly. "Hands up," he ordered.

Chapter Two A man was holding a gun on them. Reese's mind worked hard to grasp that fact. Minutes ago he had happened upon a two-vehicle accident in the middle of a deserted Texas road. Out of one vehicle had climbed his very first lover, whom he hadn't seen in fifteen years. Out of the other had climbed the man with the gun. There wasn't time to make sense of it. Instead, Reese shoved Daisy behind him and held her there, his hands wrapped around her forearms. "Hey, hey, hey," he said to the man, using his calm, hostile takeover voice. He'd faced chairmen of boards who were mad as hell at him, though none had ever pulled a weapon. "No need for the gun. It was just an accident. If you want to shoot something, the one to blame is the cow." The man's gaze shifted to the cud-chewer still standing a few feet away. Daisy made a muffled sound, an instinctive protest, Reese guessed, to his suggestion. "What did you say?" the man asked, but then he swayed and stumbled back against the side of the car. His gun hand sagged. Dropping Daisy's arms, Reese surged forward. The gun jerked back up. "Stay where you are." "Okay, okay." Reese lifted his palms. "I was just trying to help." "Don't need help." The guy with the gun grimaced as if in pain. A bump was rising above one eyebrow. "You hit your head." Reese shuffled back, crowding Daisy so she edged farther away from the guy, too.

86

The man blinked a few times, as if he might have double vision, but his gun hand remained steady. "I'll be all right in a minute." "Sure you will," Reese said, again in his soothing-the-ousted-CEO voice. "But maybe you should lie down." In the backseat of the sedan. So that he and Daisy could then jump into the Lexus and speed away like the proverbial bats out of hell. "I said, don't move." Reese, who had been continuing to inch back, stilled. At the small of his back, he felt Daisy's fingers clutching the fabric of his dress shirt. "It will be okay, honey," he murmured. Her grasp on the cotton tightened, so he reached behind him again to find her hand with one of his. Their fingers meshed without awkwardness. It felt right to hold her hand. Again. Reese didn't dare take his gaze off the guy with the gun, however. Though the man appeared more than a little woozy from the knock he'd taken to the head, he still seemed intent on holding that weapon on them. "We're not the enemy," Reese said. "You don't need the gun." "Yeah?" the man replied. "Well, you don't know me and I don't know you." "I'm Reese Lavery." Thinking about all the extended family he had in the Red Rock area, he added his middle name, hoping to reassure. "Reese Fortune Lavery." Anyone who had been around this part of Texas for any length of time would be certain to make the connection. "Fortune?" The guy's gaze sharpened. "As in Ryan Fortune?" "He's my mother's cousin." Ryan Fortune was part of the reason Reese had traveled to Texas. Yes, he wanted to rescue his sister, Megan, from her ridiculous belief in fairy tales and a man in pointy-toed boots and John Wayne headgear, but also because his Uncle Ryan Fortune's wife, Lily, had recently been kidnapped. And word had come to L.A. that Ryan was not only suffering over fear for his wife, but from an inoperable brain tumor, as well. Reese was here to see how he could help with the kidnapping situation — though he knew other relatives had already circled the wagons — and also to check in with his Uncle Ryan. Big, handsome, generous Ryan Fortune. Reese couldn't imagine a world without the older man. Magic never lasts. For some reason the other guy was smiling now. And the gun he held looked even more deadly. Every muscle in Reese's body tensed. He held Daisy's hand tighter. "Well, well, well. Reese Fortune Lavery. Is the lady behind you another fortunate Fortune, too?" "I'm Daisy Frances." She stepped closer to Reese, her front to his back. "And not a Fortune," instinct prompted Reese to add. "Who are you?" The man full-out grinned. "Not a Fortune, either, though I finally have something of the Fortunes I've always wanted."

87

Foreboding walked icy-tipped fingers down Reese's back. He stepped sideways to completely block Daisy. "Yeah? What's that?" "Two million beautiful Fortune dollars in ransom money. I'm Jason Jamison."

*** Jason Jamison? Daisy Frances swallowed down the scream she wanted to make. "He's the one who kidnapped Lily," she whispered in the direction of Reese's ear. "They've been looking for him for days." Reese Lavery. Good God, she'd plowed into Jason Jamison, only to run into Reese Lavery, as well. She'd always had rotten luck with men, starting from the day Reese Lavery took himself out of Texas and out of her life, for good. A summer fling. A teenage summer fling. Growing up on a farm and with organic Ed "The Egg Man" as her only parent had necessitated Daisy being practical from an early age. Even when she'd fallen head-oversandals for Reese Lavery that summer she was seventeen, she'd known from the start that he'd go back to his California girls in September and forget all about her. It was her dumb luck that she'd never forgotten him. "Listen, Jamison," Reese was saying. "Daisy and I have no beef with you." Daisy and I.

There used to be a Daisy and Reese, she remembered, for half of June and all of July and August. The wide plain of Reese's shoulders was beneath her hands. He was broader now, heavier with muscle, but she could feel his heart beating just as it used to — racing as it had whenever they were close. But it was racing with tension now. His muscles were like steel. "But see," Jason said, "I have this longtime, long-standing 'beef' with the Fortunes." His tone was conversational, almost amused. "Not with Daisy and me. Especially not with Daisy," Reese said firmly. His voice was so cool, so calm that it made her feel calmer, even though his heart was thrumming against her palms. "Daisy and you. You and Daisy." Before, Jason Jamison had seemed somewhat confused from that bump on his head, but he appeared wide-awake and unpleasantly alert now. "You and Daisy seem to already know each other." Reese hesitated, his muscles going even steelier. Daisy figured he was trying to figure out the best thing to say under the circumstances. "I visited the Red Rock area fifteen years ago," he finally said, his voice low. "Daisy was my first love and I've never forgotten her." She didn't know which was more shocking — the words he'd said or that they were an echo of her very own thoughts.

88

Chapter Three The sound of Reese's pulse hammered in his ears. Daisy was my first love and I've never forgotten her. He didn't know why the hell that had popped out of his mouth. Well, yeah he did, and that got his heart pumping even harder. When a man — Jason Jamison, confessed kidnapper — was holding a gun on you, you thought about the past. About dying. About things that should be said before dying. God, please let nothing happen to Daisy. Please let nothing happen to Daisy and me. "First love. How romantic." Jamison was still smiling, but his amusement did nothing to ease Reese's tension. Or Daisy's. From her place behind him, her fingers tightened on his shirt. He reached back and linked his fingers with hers again. "But you should never trust a woman, pal." Oh, yeah, he and Jason were such good pals. Still, the guy was talking, not shooting, and that was good. "Had a bad experience, have you?" Reese asked the other man. "Bitch betrayed me." Jason's knuckles whitened as he tightened his hold on his gun. "Her name was Melissa and she tried to cut me off at the knees." Was. The man had said was. "Daisy's not like that," Reese replied quickly. This conversation definitely wasn't going the way he wanted it to. "Enough about that, though. Don't you think it's time you got on your way?" Jason leaned with more confidence against the side of his smashed-up sedan. "Oh yes, I'll be getting on my way. I just have to figure out what to do with the two of you first." Reese squeezed Daisy's fingers in reassurance. "My keys are in my car, Jamison. Go ahead and take it. Leave me and Daisy here." "Of course I'll leave you and Daisy here. But the question is do I leave you here alive…or dead?" Reese sucked in a quick breath, then opened his mouth to answer. "Alive," Daisy piped up from behind him. He squeezed her fingers in warning, but she went on, anyway. "I want to live, Mr. Jamison. I…I just rediscovered my first love." She stepped around Reese so they were shoulder-to-shoulder. "That has to be fate, right?" It had to be crazy! Reese wanted to shove her behind him, to shove her away and tell her to run as fast as she could to safety. Fate wasn't in charge here, Jason Jamison and his deadly looking gun were, and they didn't seem all so cooperative. But the other man was smiling again, and looking at Daisy with a new sparkle in his eyes. "Fate? You're a romantic, too, then, are you?" "I didn't think so. Not until today."

89

Reese stared at Daisy. She looked serious. Honest. And then scared to death when Jason Jamison suddenly lunged toward them.

*** Daisy watched the luxury car back up, spin a U-turn, then take off with a squeal of rubber on road. Air that had backed up in her lungs exhaled in a whoosh, further drying her already parched mouth. It took three swallows for her tongue and throat to start working again. "Do you think he's gone for good?" she croaked out. She felt Reese shift his shoulders. "Yeah." "Thank God." She was sitting on the gate of her pickup truck, and she drew up her knees so she could rest her forehead on them. For a few minutes she just breathed as euphoric relief flooded her body. She was alive. She and Reese had survived their encounter with a kidnapper and murderer. He felt warm and solid behind her, and another surge of euphoria coursed through her, a wild burst of giddy bubbles. They made her want to laugh, to shriek, to shout out her complete and total gladness. She thought about her dad, recovering from a hip replacement at a hospital in San Antonio. She was his only child and her untimely demise would have sucked the life out of The Egg Man, too. More giddy bubbles. "Would you have any objection to a resounding chorus of 'Joy to the World'?" "The Christmas carol?" "Or the 'Jeremiah was a bullfrog,' version, your choice." Reese laughed. For some odd reason, the sound sent tears springing to her eyes. She blinked them away, not wanting him to suspect her sudden weakness. But he knew, anyway. She felt him go still. "Daisy? Daisy, don't cry." "I'm not crying." Right. She hadn't been crying the last time he'd said that to her, either, on their last night together before he went back to California and college. Real crying was sobs and sniffles and wails, not the silent tears that had coursed down her face then and that were coursing down her face now. "We're okay, Daisy. We're all right." "I know." But she wished he would take her in his arms as he had that night so many years ago. It hadn't done much to comfort her then, but now she thought it might. They were alive, okay, all right, but it would be so much better to know that with his heart pounding beneath her cheek. It wasn't going to happen, though, so she dried her wet face against her upraised knees and lifted her head. "So, um, how've you been, Reese?" He laughed again. "I think my short answer would have to be, 'never better.' And yourself?" "Pretty much the same." There was a long moment of silence. "Daisy Frances," he finally said aloud, as if testing out her name. "What are the chances I would have come across you on a Texas back road right after your run-in with a kidnapper?"

90

"About as remote as the likelihood of anyone else happening along this patch of blacktop anytime soon," she admitted. "Unless you made plans to meet someone out here in the middle of nowhere?" "I'm in the area to visit family, but this afternoon I was, uh, just taking a drive." She thought he sounded almost…embarrassed. "There's still nothing out this way but Dad's egg farm," Daisy said. "I was on my way to the farmer's market in Austin." "The Egg Man will come looking for you then." She was already shaking her head. "He's recovering in a hospital from surgery." "Oh." "That about says it." She glanced over her shoulder to see if she could read his expression, but only glimpsed his dark, glossy hair in its no-nonsense business-cut. Sighing, she took a look around them, at the countryside empty of every breathing thing except for her, Reese and that damnable cow. It continued to chew as if nothing momentous had happened. "Maybe it was fate," she murmured. How else to explain how she and Reese Lavery came to be together again after all these years? "Is that what you really think?" Reese asked. From the tone of his voice, she couldn't tell what he thought of the idea. "How else would you explain this?" She held up her hands. "Jason Jamison's sick sense of humor," Reese answered. His hands had come up, too, as the two of them were seated back-to-back, their arms at their sides, opposite wrist duct taped to opposite wrist. "He said a woman hog-ties a man, and this was his oh-so-funny way to prove it."

Chapter Four Reese listened as Daisy summed up their situation. "All right," she said. "We're stuck with two broken vehicles on a deserted country road, left here by a homicidal kidnapper who sat us back-to-back on the gate of my pickup truck and duct taped our wrists together at our sides. There's no reason to hope for an imminent rescue." She paused. "So what do you think we should do next?" Several options came to his mind, he was a businessman after all, one whose job it was to buy financially crippled companies and rebuild them into profit-makers again. Solving problems was second nature — hell no, first nature to him. "We could start crab-walking in the direction of civilization," he said, his tone practical. "It won't be pretty, but it's doable. Or we could —" He paused. "What?" Problem-solving took a sudden backseat as knowledge finally sank in. They were alive. My God, they were alive! Maybe it was due to the bump Jason Jamison had taken to the head, maybe it was due to some latent humanity still flickering somewhere inside his dark heart, but the criminal had gone off in Reese's car and had left them there, unharmed.

91

They were alive. I want to live, Daisy had told Jason. I've just rediscovered my first love. Hearing those words again in his mind, Reese knew what he wanted to do. What he had to do right now. "What, Reese?" Daisy asked again. He pressed his back against hers, then turned his head over his shoulder. "Daisy," he said, his breath stirring the river of her golden-brown hair flowing between them. "Daisy, look at me." And when she obeyed, her mouth was there, her lips half opened in surprise. In invitation. His RSVP was gentle. Reese pressed his mouth to Daisy's and memories rose like the sweet scent of her perfume in the air. He remembered their first kiss — on their first date, watching some horror flick that had her jumping closer to him with each dumb dead body. She'd jumped when he'd kissed her, too, and he'd felt her bare arms goose bump beneath the palms of his hands. It had been erotic as hell at eighteen. The memory of it was erotic as hell now. He twined his fingers with hers and held on tight as he filled her mouth with his tongue. Grown-up Daisy made a little noise, a whimper of pleasure, the very same sound that teenage Daisy had made all those years ago when he'd Frenchkissed her to the melodramatic soundtrack of a low-budget slasher movie. They said it was the thrill of survival that made kids enjoy scary movies, that it was a high they'd seek over and over. Reese didn't know. He only knew that he and Daisy had survived today and that it only made their kiss hotter, better, more necessary than anything they'd shared when they were kids. Because those kisses had always been laced with the poignant, bittersweet knowledge that it was going to end when the summer ended. It's magic again. Reese wrenched his mouth away and stared at Daisy. So close, he could see the dilated darkness of her pupils and the rim of summer blue surrounding them. "Daisy," he whispered. She was weaving another spell on him. A charm that combined Texas afternoon air with the remembered taste of cherry lip gloss and the new visual of her all-grown-up curves. He wanted her like before. He wanted her again. He wanted to believe in forever. "Daisy." "What is it, Reese?" Her voice was husky, and the deep note seemed to slide down his body to grab him right where he was most vulnerable. "Reese?" The magic never lasts. It never had. It never would. He had years of brief, unsatisfying relationships and even briefer flings to prove it. So with an effort he straightened and tossed a wry smile her way. "Sorry. That was my rendition of 'Joy to the World,' I guess." Her face went pink and she turned it forward again. "No apology necessary." She seemed just as content as he to take a few minutes to re-catch his breath. To regain his bearings. The truth was, with the state his body was in, he wouldn't be able to roll off the damn truck let alone crab-walk a couple of miles, especially not all the way to civilization.

92

It was as if he was eighteen again. Reese cleared his throat. "So, uh…still working on the egg farm?" "Once a farmer's daughter," she said lightly, "always a farmer's daughter." "You look good." "Thanks. You, too." Reese realized their fingers were still linked. Expert problem solver that he was, he used that fact to ascertain her left ring finger was bare of wedding band or engagement ring. The distinct relief he felt at that must be because, playboy that he admittedly was, he didn't play with other men's women. "You're still in L.A.," she said, more of a statement than question. "A corporate raider — 'The Pirate Lavery.' I believe that's what the magazine article I read called you." L.A. Business Monthly. He supposed a copy of it might have shown up here in the wilds of Texas. Maybe one of his Fortune cousins had passed it to Daisy or mentioned it to her. He shrugged. "They made me sound ruthless. The fact is, I fix the companies I buy." "Purely out of the goodness of your heart, I suppose," she said dryly. He grinned. "No, for lots and lots of money." He glanced over his shoulder at the back of her head. "Does that offend the organic egg-farmer's daughter?" She'd always been so different than him. Rural to his urban. Texan to his Californian. Farmer's daughter to his tycoon's son. It's why it had seemed smart to walk away from her at the end of that summer and never look back. It had been the rational, reasonable, sensible thing to do. There had never been a forever in their future. So there had never been a letter or a phone call from him, either. "I have nothing against financial success," she put in mildly. Then why did it suddenly sound as if she had something against him? Maybe she was remembering his broken promise to call and write, too. "I didn't know what to say to you after I left," he heard himself mutter. "I didn't think it would help if I —" "It was better than you didn't," Daisy said. "And remember, I had your phone number. I had your address. I can hardly be mad at you for what I didn't do myself." Well, hell. She was right about that. It irked him, come to think of it, that she hadn't tried to contact him. "Why didn't you?" he spit out before he could help himself, turning to look at her. She turned to him, too, her mouth once again just a wish away. He could smell her again, that sweet, flowery fragrance that he used to sink himself in just as he used to sink his fingers into her wealth of honeybrown hair. "Because it was never meant to last," she said. "I knew that. You knew that, too." "What if —" Reese tried to stop himself. He tried to remember that he'd come to Texas to talk his sister out of romantic foolishness, so he shouldn't be spouting any of it himself. But the words just kept rushing out of his mouth. "What if we were both wrong?"

93

Chapter Five Daisy stared over her shoulder at Reese, the man who had been the eighteen-year-old boy who'd walked away after their perfect summer. At seventeen, she'd known he would never come back. She'd known she would never see him again. Her practical nature had accepted that, even though her heart had ached for…a long, long time. Yet here he was. And he'd just said that maybe they'd been wrong about their feelings for each other not lasting. She swallowed. Reese was looking at her mouth and it tingled, her whole body tingled, as if bathed in those euphoric bubbles that had been rushing through her bloodstream. Her mouth went dry again and she licked her lips. Reese groaned and moved in to take another kiss. His mouth was hotter, more insistent this time. The tingles on her skin ignited into sparklers of heat. Mouths still fused, they both tried shifting closer, but their awkward pose — back-to-back and opposite wrist duct taped to opposite wrist at their sides — meant their movements were counterproductive. First her lips slid off his; next he was kissing her chin instead of her mouth. "Damn!" Reese lifted his head. "Jamison was more diabolical than I thought." "He wanted to hamper us from coming after him." "He's hampering me from something I want a lot more than that," Reese muttered. Daisy laughed. Her euphoria was climbing higher and though she wanted nothing more than to be face-toface with Reese and in his arms, there was something reassuring about the frustration in his voice. It proved he wanted her as much as she wanted him. "Can we get loose somehow?" she suggested. "Maybe we can find a way to saw through the tape." Reese held up one set of their linked hands and inspected the thick band of silver tape binding their wrists. "I kept my first car together with this stuff. It's made to last, damn it." Made to last. Just like her feelings for Reese. Oh, God. Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the back of his. This wasn't smart. This wasn't what ever-practical, always-rational Daisy Frances had thought would happen when she'd fallen for Reese so long ago. It was supposed to have been a short-lived, summer fling. She let out a silent groan. "Daise?" "What?" "Did you happen to take up yoga in the last few years?" "Huh?" She attended a weekly class, but she didn't think she could Downward Dog herself out of this predicament. In love all over again with a man known as a pirate, a player, a playboy. Daisy knew more about the grown-up Reese Lavery than maybe she wanted to. "What does yoga have to do with anything?"

94

"Daise, you're smaller than me. I think if you ducked under one set of our arms, we could at least be face-toface." She stilled. Face-to-face. For more kisses. For more eye-to-eye contact. For more honesty. Because wouldn't he be able to read her feelings? It was how he made his living, after all, by reading situations and people. "Maybe I'm safer just as I am," she said. "The danger left with Jason Jamison," Reese replied. "Now it's just you and me, Daise, after all these years" She'd thrown caution to the wind for the first time that summer when she was seventeen. He'd been hanging at a back table at the Dairy Dream and she'd come in with her friends for a softie cone. They'd elbowed her. "Who's that?" One look at him and she'd known exactly who he was. Hers. She wanted to look at him again. So she thanked the Westwood Yoga Studio as she scooted her rear end alongside his and ducked her head under the arch of one set of their linked arms — though it was less yoga and more like half a square dance move she'd learned in fourth grade — to find herself face-to-face with Reese. The shift meant one pair of their hands was positioned between their chests and she could feel his heart beating against her curled fingers. It was a more awkward position for sitting, but a less awkward position for kissing. His head ducked toward hers. "Hello, Daisy," he said, smiling. And she smiled, too, because she was so unbearably happy to be gazing at him. "Hello, Reese." He kissed her upper lip. He kissed her lower one. His mouth brushed one corner of her mouth, and then the other. Content to let him lead her along, Daisy watched through half-closed eyes, taking in the lean planes of his face, the stubby darkness of his lashes, the growth of beard that was just starting to shadow his jaw. He licked her bottom lip. Okay, so she wasn't so content anymore. "Reese," she whispered. "Hmm?" He licked there again. "Kiss me." "I am." His lips ran over her right cheekbone and across the bridge of her nose to her left. Goose bumps tickled her neck and ran underneath her bra. She squirmed, causing his hand to accidentally brush her nipple. He stilled, then deliberately made the move again. The already hard nub stiffened more. "Daisy," he groaned. His eyes closed and he slammed his mouth against hers. She opened her lips and his tongue slid inside.

95

Oh, Reese. Oh, my. Oh, yes. When they were teenagers the kisses had gone on for hours. It had taken weeks for them to move to touches and then to caresses and then to skin. But now…now she was older and she remembered that pleasure of the past and she remembered that not an hour ago she hadn't thought they had much time left to live. Tangling her tongue with his, she tugged at the buttons on his shirt. He drew his mouth away from hers and ran it over her chin to her neck. He sucked there and she shuddered. His touch, his scent, his heat was making her dizzy, but she had to have more of all of it, so she worked one-handed on those stubborn buttons, taking his own hand along for the ride. Finally, the last one pulled free to ping against the metal of the truck bed. And there it was, Reese's bare skin, Reese's chest, which was a man's chest now. It was hard and layered with flat muscles that twitched when she drew her fingertips along them. The hair along his breastbone was silky and it tickled her palms. Reese groaned. "Daisy. You're making me nuts. This damn duct tape is making me nuts." She pressed her mouth to his chest and he groaned again. Then his fingers pushed up her chin so they could be mouth-to-mouth. She took his tongue into her body like she wanted to take the rest of him into her. His fingers fumbled at the buttons on her shirt, bumping against the inside slopes of her breast. Her shivering didn't aid him, but she couldn't help it, she could only think about wanting him to touch her more, more, more. A rhythmic thwapping intruded on her desire-drugged consciousness. She closed her eyes to the noise, relegating it to fly drone annoyance, but then the cow — that damned cow! — started bawling. She felt Reese freeze. He lifted his head and his fingers stopped their work at her buttons. They both gazed over at the cow, then skyward. A sheriff's helicopter was circling them. Circling lower. The cow skittered down the road. Daisy's heart skittered, too. "We have company," she said. A few more minutes and that company would have had a lot more of her to look at. She didn't know if she was relieved or disappointed. "Daisy," Reese said. She forced herself to meet his eyes. "We're going to finish this. Mark my words."

Chapter Six It didn't take long for the authorities to surround Reese, Daisy and the disabled cars. There was the sheriff, several deputies, then dark sedan-loads of agents in even darker suits that shouted "Federal Bureau of Investigation." The helicopter shifted higher then flew off as a thirty-ish, black-haired man wearing informal clothes and a grim expression cut through the duct tape binding Daisy to Reese. The other man pulled the sticky stuff free of her skin, then gently chafed her wrists while looking into her face with serious eyes. "Are you all right, ma'am?" he asked, switching his attention to her other arm. "He didn't hurt you?"

96

While Reese couldn't blame the guy for giving his attention to beautiful Daisy, he still scowled at the stranger as he ripped the remnants of the tape free from his own arm. "We're both fine, thanks very much. Who the hell are you?" "Emmett. Emmett…Jamison." Reese reached out and yanked Daisy away from the other man to hold her against his chest. "Emmett who?" The black-haired man pulled a badge from his pocket. Emmett Jamison, even without the prerequisite dark suit, was FBI. "Jason's my brother," the agent admitted. "And I'd be grateful if you could tell me what he said and what he did while he was with you. Anything. Everything." "He thought about killing us," Reese said, his arm tightening around Daisy's waist. Emmett nodded, obviously unsurprised. "You two are lucky. But I promise you, I'm going to stop him. Now, tell me exactly what happened. Please." They told the story, fourteen, maybe one hundred and fourteen, times. Their audience changed with each telling, with the exception of Emmett Jamison. He listened through each and every recital of the details. Finally, Reese put a halt to it. "Don't you have enough?" Daisy was leaning against his body and he ran his hand down the back of her hair. "She's tired. We need water, food, a chance to relax. I'd like to make a call to my Uncle Ryan." Emmett frowned. "Ryan Fortune?" "He's actually my mother's cousin," Reese clarified. "But I want to know what's going on. Jason said he had the ransom money…but what about Lily?" It seemed impossible, but Emmett Jamison's expression went even grimmer, and Reese's gut clenched. "Oh, God. Is Lily —" "No! Lily has been recovered and she's going to be fine. She's been through an ordeal, of course, but she's going to be fine. Ryan's better for having her back." "But Ryan is not well?" Emmett hesitated, then merely repeated himself. "He's better for having Lily back." Meaning the older man's health was still deteriorating. Reese closed his eyes a moment and took comfort in the warm feel of Daisy against him. At least Ryan was reunited with his beloved Lily again. Just as he was reunited with Daisy. He stroked his hand down her hair once more. Magic might never last, but he wasn't ready to give it up just yet. "Can someone give Daisy and me a ride into Red Rock?" He had a room at the inn there. Daisy glanced back at him. "I need to go back to —" "And I'll get you there," Reese promised. "Later." After he touched her again, tasted her, steeped himself in old memories and made new ones.

97

"We almost died today," he whispered in her ear. "I just can't let you go quite yet."

*** Daisy had second, third, fourth thoughts as she sat beside Reese in the backseat of a deputy's four-wheel drive. Reese must have felt her growing tension, because he took her hand and lightly rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. "A meal at Emma's," he said, mentioning the popular café in the center of town. "We deserve that, at least." And at most they deserved…what? A chance to see how sex would be between them after fifteen years? Would it be as good? Better? Either way, it wouldn't make it any easier to say goodbye to him once again. Still, she let him help her out of the deputy's car. He guided her through the entrance of the café with his fingertips on the small of her back. Her skin reacted to the small touches, goose bumps jittering across her flesh as her face flushed hot. The iced water they were served shortly after taking their seats at a tiny table didn't cool her in the least. The way Reese was studying her face didn't calm the nervous pounding of her heart. "Reese —" "Daisy —" "You go first," he said, his gaze holding hers. "Okay." Fine. She was going to tell him this wasn't a good idea. She was going to tell him that it was time for her to head back to the farm and put this entire episode behind her. It wasn't practical or sensible to indulge herself or her senses in old memories. Since Reese had left all those years ago, she'd been luckless at love, hadn't she? Swallowing hard, she half rose from her chair. "I —" "Daisy Frances!" The new voice startled her. Her head jerked right, and there, coming toward her, was the embodiment of one of her romantic relationship disasters. She pasted on a smile, though, as John Taylor gave her a light hug and kissed her cheek. "How've you been?" He continued to smile back at her as he held on to her hand. "Well. Terrific." But John hadn't been a disaster, she corrected herself. He was a nice man and he hadn't broken her heart. Though he hadn't made it pound, either. The problem was, like every other guy she'd dated in the past fifteen years, there'd been no sizzle between them. The brief interest she'd felt had fizzled out almost immediately. John hadn't been a disaster, he'd been a dud. For her, love had never lived up to its billing. "Reese Lavery." Now Reese was standing, too, and introducing himself to Roger. Daisy let them run through a couple minutes' worth of small talk without her, because she was busy comparing the two men. They were both tall, lean, handsome. Successful. But, she thought, her gaze fixed on Reese, for some reason he was the one who made her achingly aware of every female part of herself. John slanted her a bemused look. "I'll be on my way then." Daisy wiggled her fingers in farewell, then slid back down into her seat.

98

"Seems like a good man," Reese commented as he sat, too. "He seemed like a good idea at the time." She'd dated him her last year in college. His mouth quirked up in a smile. "But not anymore?" She sighed. What was the point of practicality? She had the rest of her life for that. If she couldn't have love, why couldn't she have this? Why couldn't she have sex with the one man who'd lit a fire inside her that had never died? "Frankly, the only idea that seems any good to me right now is you."

Chapter Seven Reese wasn't a man to waste an opportunity. When Daisy had said, "Frankly, the only idea that seems any good to me right now is you," with that honest, and honestly hot look in her eyes, he'd been out of his chair in a flash. He'd hustled her out of the café and across the street to the inn, pausing only to order a picnic basket of food to be delivered to his room ASAP. Though his reunion with Daisy had come at the hands of a dangerous kidnapper, Reese wasn't taking another chance that she'd get away from him without holding her in his arms one more time. The food followed on their heels, so he didn't think she had a chance to get nervous before he handed her a glass of chilled wine and spread out fried chicken, potato salad, fresh fruit and a selection of homemade cookies across the small corner table. With a click, he tapped his wine glass against hers, and tried to appear smooth and charming and adult — anything but adolescent and horny and nervous, the true way he was feeling. The fact was that none of his dozens of penthouse weekend flings had prepared him to face a grown-up, sexy-as-all-get-out Daisy Frances across a king-sized mattress. He let out a slow breath. "Can I fix you a plate?" he asked, gesturing toward the food. She took a sip from her glass. "I couldn't eat a thing." Thank God. "Me neither." He swallowed down some of his own wine. "I feel like a kid again." Her lips twitched into a little smile. "I wasn't nervous then." "No?" "That first time, I felt sure you knew what you were doing." He laughed, and didn't that feel good? "I had no idea. You were my first." Her eyes widened. "What? Then I'm even more impressed than I was then. How did you know —" "I read a lot." And with her laughter, he felt his pulse calm enough for him to approach her and lift her wine out of her hand. He set both of their glasses on the little table. His arms linked behind her back. "I still read a lot." Her eyes danced. "Whoopee." He bent his head. "Yeah, whoopee." And then, that's what it was. Whoopee. Exuberant, giddy, teenagers-again whoopee.

99

"I still love the way you taste," he said, taking a nip of her earlobe. "I still love the way you jump," she replied, running her hand along the heavy ridge in his pants. "That's a 'hello,'" he whispered against her mouth. "Then this is a 'hello' back." And pressed her hips against his. Their shirts came off, his more quickly than hers, because he loved to torture her with the slow movement of his fingers. Then he placed his palms over her bra-covered breasts and held them in his hands, reveling in the sweetness of their weight, in the sweetness of Daisy and how good, how right it felt to be with her again. The magic never lasts. Of course it didn't, but it was back for the moment, back for the afternoon, and he tasted it on her lips, in the puckered hardness of her nipples, in the tight, wet sheath of her body. His fingers slid inside her with ease, and she bowed up, her shoulders on the mattress, her naked breasts rising toward his waiting mouth. He played with her, slowly, thoroughly, like certainly he hadn't played with her when he was young and randy and too eager to take her where he wanted to go. Now the journey was about her journey, and he loved taking the ride with her, feeling every bump, every detour, every valley, every hill. When she climbed the last one at the urging of his hands, he caught her cry of completion in his mouth, then covered himself with a condom and covered her body. He slid inside her and his head fell back. This is what's been missing, he thought. What's been missing? A voice asked inside his head. "Daisy," he said aloud. "Daisy, Daisy, Daisy." And she caught him this time, and held him against her as he came. They dozed as the afternoon turned to dusk. Reese came awake to find her head pillowed on his chest, her river of sunshine hair draped over them. He sifted his fingers through it, marveling at how content he felt, half hard, yet willing to wait until Daisy opened her eyes. Wanting to wait until Daisy opened her eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been in bed with a woman after sex and hadn't thought about how soon he could get out of bed with her and get back to work and the nonstop business grind of his life. She stretched against him, then stilled, and he smiled, realizing exactly what she was thinking. "That's right, it's me," he murmured. "I thought I was dreaming," she said, her voice sleepy. Did that happen often? "I dream of you," he heard himself confessing. "More than I care to admit." Then why the hell was he admitting it now? She half turned to stack her hands on his chest and propped her chin on them. "It's only natural to romanticize that summer." "Yeah." Romanticize. Not that he liked the word much, but it explained why all the relationships he'd had since had seemed…less intense. "We grew up." "Right." She smiled.

100

He smiled back, even though he didn't really want to. "So that was a pretty good time for you, as well? That summer?" "You know it was." Her eyes closed and he marveled at her thick fringe of lashes. Had any woman ever been so beautiful? "I don't think I've had anything that's lasted as long since." "Me neither." It shouldn't make him feel so damn glad. There were thousands of books, movies, songs about love, and it shouldn't make him happy to find someone else — to find that Daisy — had been as untouched as he by all of them. To put it out of his mind, he slipped his hands beneath her arms and drew her up and completely on top of him. She squeaked. It made her sound seventeen again and he let himself dive back through the years and back to that golden, romantic summer when he'd thought himself to be in love. When he'd believed in such a thing. The sex was just as mind-blowing this time. Daisy felt just as right in his arms. Afterward, he dozed again. When he woke up, the room was dark. He reached for Daisy, and his hand encountered the crinkle of paper, instead. His heart starting to slam against his chest, he flicked on the bedside light and grabbed the notepaper off the sheet where Daisy had lain. He remembered her handwriting, too. It was as curvy as her body, as easy to read as her face when he made love to her. Thank you. It's time for me to go. Have a wonderful rest of your life. Reese flopped back against the pillows.It's time for me to go. That was usually his line. But fine. Good. No problem. Apparently, she also knew that the magic never lasted. She'd saved him from having to say the words first. Fine. Good. No problem. Which didn't explain why the hell he was out of bed and already shoving his legs through his pants.

Chapter Eight Reese ran through the lobby of the inn, intent on finding Daisy and why…why… Why it had been so damn easy for her to leave him following their unexpected reunion. On his way out the front door, he slammed into someone coming inside. Muttering a "pardon me," he tried shifting by. "Reese?" He halted, staring at the woman. "Megan?" His older sister. "What are you doing here?" She frowned. "I'm here to see you! The Red Rock grapevine says you were carjacked by Jason Jamison today as he was escaping with two million dollars in ransom." Today? Reese blinked. That happened today? It seemed ages ago and insignificant when compared to what came afterward. When he'd touched Daisy, kissed her, made love to her… Lost her.Damn.

101

"Gotta go, Megs." He started moving past her again. She latched on to him. "Not so fast! I don't know why you came to Red Rock in the first place." "To…" An image of him driving the Lexus popped into Reese's mind. In the seat beside him, the items he'd brought to remind Megan her life was in L.A. The Pacific sand, the swizzle stick, the sale flyer from her favorite shoe boutique in Beverly Hills. He'd told himself he'd come to Red Rock to tell her that love was a sham and that the magic never lasted. But the truth was, he hadn't been taking the direct route to his sister. When he'd come across Jason Jamison and Daisy's car accident, he'd been wandering down Memory Lane — specifically, the back roads that would have led him to Daisy's father's farm. He'd been hoping to see Daisy. "Why haven't you come home?" he asked Megan abruptly. "I've been telling you over the phone for six months. I'm in love. Nash Ridley is the man I've been looking for all my life." "It's magic." "Yes." Closing his eyes, Reese threw back his head. "Daisy," he murmured. "How could I have been so dense?" Other women hadn't held his attention, because the one,his one, had been Daisy. It was his misfortune to have met her when he was eighteen and too full of himself and his future plans to realize how special, how wonderful, how magical the two of them were together. It wasn't that there was no such thing as love. It had been here in Red Rock. "Are you mumbling about Daisy Frances?" Reese opened his eyes and looked at his sister. "Yeah. I guess both of us should have spent more time in Texas all these years." But he'd find a way to change that. The things that had made him and Daisy so different before, her rural to his urban, her Texan to his Californian, didn't matter now that they were all grown up. "Daisy hasn't been living in Texas." "Huh? What are you talking about, Megs?" "It's the Red Rock grapevine that's been talking. Your Daisy has been living in Los Angeles. She's only back on the farm to help while her father has hip surgery." "She's been in L.A.?" "Yep. She's a corporate attorney, with offices in a high-rise just a couple blocks from yours." And she'd never contacted him? She had to know he was in the area. She had known, he realized, thinking of that article she'd mentioned she'd seen about him in L.A. Business Monthly. Apparently, Daisy had been as certain as he that the magic never lasted.

102

"Well, too damn bad," he said aloud. He'd just have to change her mind. After all, he was trained in the art of the hostile takeover.

*** Daisy had borrowed a car to drive back to the farm. Unfortunately, she'd borrowed it from a contemporary of her father's, and the classic VW Bug was suffering pangs of middle age. As she'd been sputtering down the road, one wheel had fallen off, leaving her half in and half out of shallow gulley. With a sigh, she shut the driver's door and patted the rusted metal. In her other hand she gripped a flashlight she'd found on the floor. "You did your best," she told the car. "That's all anyone can expect." It was how she'd been able to walk away from Reese without sadness. By not expecting more than a brief reprise of what they'd once shared, she'd not been hurt. In the past fifteen years she'd had lousy luck with men, so there'd been no reason to hope a reunion with Reese would prove different. "Maaw!" The unexpected moan had her jumping out of her skin. "Maaw!" Daisy flicked on the flashlight, and waved it through the dark. "You!" she said, spotlighting what looked like the same cow that had wandered across her path earlier that day. "Haven't you caused enough trouble?" The creature ambled nearer. "Maaw! Maaw!" The plaintive sound pulled at Daisy's heart. "Maaw maaw back at ya," she said. The cow stood in the middle of the road as it had that morning, and for a moment Daisy felt as lost as it looked. "Okay, I miss him," she whispered. "Don't tell, but I already miss him." The sound of a car speeding down the road had Daisy glancing over her shoulder. She sidled closer to the VW. "Come on, cow, get out of the way." "Maaw!" Anxiety thinned Daisy's voice as headlights came around a curve. "Watch out!" Her eyes squeezed shut as brakes screamed. Then there was silence, the sound of a car door opening, a litany of swear words in a male voice. Daisy opened her eyes and played the flashlight beam toward the road. The cow was fine. The car was fine. The man — Reese — appeared fine, too, but spitting mad. "You scared the hell out of me!" he yelled, stomping over to grab her arm. "For the second, no, make that the third time today." "It was the cow's fault," Daisy protested. "The first time and this time and…what other time?" His expression was grim. "When I woke up and found myself alone in bed. I thought I might have lost you for good." Daisy froze. "And that —"

103

"Scared the hell out of me. I'm not losing you again, do you understand? Not to a carjacker, a car accident or my own inability to recognize magic — the love of a lifetime — when it's staring me in the face." She swallowed. "'The love of a lifetime?'" "What else would you call it, Ms. Corporate Attorney?" So he knew then. What she was. Where she'd been living. "I didn't contact you because I was afraid it would tarnish the memory of what we'd had." "What we'd had is what everyone else looks for all their lives. What I've been looking for since but had given up on." "Reese." The flashlight dropped as she wound her free arm around his neck. "I had, too. But I love you. I always have." "Good answer." His mouth was warm and sure on hers. But even over the sensations of the luxuriant kiss she heard a sticky rip and felt pressure on her wrist. She broke away to stare down at her arm in the darkness. "Wha —?" "Thank my sister. She keeps an emergency kit in her car, which includes a handy dandy roll of duct tape. Until I can get a ring on your finger, I'm not taking any chances." Reese had taped their wrists together. Again. Nothing was going to part them now. And to ever-practical Daisy Frances, that seemed like a very sensible idea.

104

Starstruck by RaeAnne Thayne Justin Hartford is a jerk! Sure, Ashley Barnes may have had his picture in her locker back when he was a Hollywood heartthrob. But now that the former idol's daughter is causing trouble in the classroom — and Justin doesn't seem to care one bit — kindergarten teacher Ashley is definitely over her school-girl crush! Or at least she thinks she is, until she gets to know this sexy single dad up close and personal…

Chapter One Justin Hartford was a jerk. Ashley Barnes leaned against the hood of her car glaring at the locked gates to the sprawling Blue Sage ranch and repeated the words like a mantra. Jerk. Jerk. Jerk. He was a narcissistic egomaniac who thought the entire world had nothing better to do but impinge on his personal space. Of course he would have locked gates. He wasn't about to give mere mortals easy access to him. Too darn bad. She had to talk to him today. If repeated phone calls, letters and emails weren't going to do the trick, she would just have to bust down these gates until the man agreed to talk to her. She sighed. Well, okay, that probably wasn't the most brilliant idea she had ever come up with. As much as she adored her lime green VW bug, she was afraid it didn't have the necessary gumption to break through a couple of eight-foot-high iron gates. Failure was not an option, though. She and the jerk in question had been heading for this shoot-out for three weeks. Whether he knew it or not — or whether he even cared — she had given Justin Hartford an ultimatum in her mind. His time for avoiding her had just run out. She eyed the gates, all eight menacing feet of them. She hadn't grown up on a horse ranch with four older brothers without learning a thing or two about hurdling fences, shinnying up trees and swinging out of barn lofts on old, fraying ropes. Climbing the man's gate wouldn't exactly be easy, but he wasn't giving her a lot to work with here. She sighed, grateful at least that she was wearing jeans. She had to jump three times before she could reach the crossbar on the fence. From there, it was easy enough to hoist herself up. She perched along the top bar for just a moment — only long enough to catch a terrifying glimpse of a horse and rider heading toward her at a neck-or-nothing pace. Rats. It was too far to jump unless she wanted to risk a broken ankle, so she had to slither down like one of her kindergarten children on the monkey bars. She hit the ground and turned around just as a gorgeous Arabian raced up in a swirling cloud of dust. Ashley caught a quick glimpse of the horse's rider and her pulse rate kicked up a notch. Her mouth suddenly felt as dry as a Cold Creek tributary after a three-year drought. It was the jerk himself. She couldn't mistake those chiseled features and that strong jaw for anyone else. She had a quick mental picture of him in Last Chance when he had played a wounded outlaw with a tragic secret. She loved that movie. She loved all his movies. Too bad they were all Hollywood make-believe.

Chapter Two

105

Justin reined the horse in and tipped his hat back. Ashley took an instinctive step back at the menace on his features. Had she ever really been so young and so stupid to think she was hopelessly in love with him? "You've got two choices here, lady," he growled. "You either climb back the way you came or we wait here until the sheriff shows up to arrest you for trespassing. Which one do you prefer?" A chorus line of nerves started tap-dancing in her stomach, and she couldn't seem to think straight with those midnight blue eyes boring into her. "Go ahead and call the sheriff, Mr. Hartford. In fact," she added brightly, "I can do it for you if you'd like, since I've got him on speed dial on my cell phone. I have all my brothers on speed dial. Luke is #2, right after Mom and Dad. It's only fair, since he's the oldest and that seemed the easiest way to keep the numbers straight. I should probably put Evan at #2 since I call him most often. He's the brother just older than me. We're only two years apart so we are probably the closest. Still, he's at number three. I don't call the twins very often since they live on the coast so they're at five and six. But like I said, Luke is #2 so it would be easy to get him here fast if that's what you want to do —" By the time she had the sense to realize she was rambling and could manage to clamp her teeth together to stem the gushing flow of stupidity, Justin Hartford's famously gorgeous eyes had started to cross. This was all his own fault, she thought, crabby all over again. He didn't need to sit there on his horse and glower at her like she was the treasonous spy in one of his movies. "I'm sorry," she said stiffly. "You don't care about any of that. When I'm nervous I ramble." "I hadn't noticed," he muttered, with such condescension she wanted to smack him. "Enlightening family history aside, you're still trespassing — an eight-foot-high locked iron gate is usually a big tip-off there." She drew in a cleansing breath and let it out again. This wasn't going well. She needed to put aside her instinctive nervous reaction to her silly teenage heartthrob and focus on the crisis at hand — the reason she was there. "It's your own fault. If you weren't such a …a darn hermit maybe I wouldn't have to resort to such drastic measures." He blinked. "A hermit?" "Yes! How am I supposed to talk to you if you hardly leave the Blue Sage?" "I happen to like my privacy, Ms…" She drew herself up to her full five-foot-three inches tall and glared at him with all the frustration that had been burning through her for three weeks. "Ashley Barnes. Ruby's kindergarten teacher. Whether you want to be bothered or not, it is imperative I talk to you about your daughter."

106

Chapter Three Justin looked down at the soft little blond peach in the dusty pink sweater who had just scaled his gate like some kind of Olympic gymnast. Ruby's kindergarten teacher. He winced, embarrassed he had mistaken her for an obsessed fan. Though he had walked away from Hollywood six years ago and moved to eastern Idaho without a backward glance, away from the attention he had never wanted, sometimes it followed him. He wasn't obsessive about security. But what else was he supposed to think when he spied a woman climbing over his gate? "Kind of drastic measures to take for a parent-teacher conference, don't you think?" he asked as he slid down from his horse. Her hazel eyes narrowed at him and he had to admit, up close she was seriously cute. Small and feminine, with short blond curls held back in a headband and dimples that appeared even when she was glaring at him. She looked like a cream puff. Like a delicious, sugary, melt-in-your-mouth confection. He had sworn off sweets a long time ago, but that didn't make the sudden intense craving any easier to ignore. "I wouldn't have had to resort to such drastic measures as climbing your stupid gate if you could be bothered just once to answer one of my dozens of pleas to set up a meeting." She didn't let him answer — not that he had the first idea what she was talking about. "I realize you're a very busy, very important man," she snapped, her hands fisted on her hips. How did the curl of those luscious lips make the words sound like an epithet? he wondered. "I'm sure you must have scores of people to see and all that," she went on. "But you're an actor — or you used to be, anyway. Couldn't you at least pretend you care about your child?" He jerked his attention from her lips as her words filtered through. "Excuse me?" "You probably pay more attention to that horse of yours than you do to your own daughter!" Justin was usually pretty good at keeping his temper under wraps. But he wasn't about to let some sanctimonious schoolteacher question how he raised his daughter. Ruby was the most important thing in his life. The only thing that mattered. Everything he did was for her and he didn't take kindly to anyone insinuating otherwise. "You don't know anything about me or about my daughter if you can say that." The cream puff didn't exactly deflate in the face of his anger, but she did back down a little. "I'm sorry," she said stiffly. "But for three weeks I have been trying every method under the sun, except carrier pigeons, to get your attention, and you have ignored every single one of my attempts to contact you. If you were in my shoes, wouldn't you have the same impression, of an uninvolved parent who doesn't care a hill of beans about his daughter's education? I finally decided I would talk to you today, even if I had to climb your gate to do it."

107

Chapter Four He tipped his hat back farther, completely baffled by the obvious concern in her voice. "I'm sure this is some kind of a mistake. I haven't heard anything about any problems Ruby might be having in school. Did you talk to her great-aunt about it?" She moved forward, so close he could smell her, like vanilla and almonds. His mouth instantly watered but he pushed it aside. "Several times," she answered, oblivious — he hoped — to his sudden hunger. "Lydia has promised me that she and Ruby talked about it and Ruby promised her things would change. But nothing has." The school term had been underway for a month now and he had been under the impression everything was fine. Pine Gulch, Idaho, wasn't exactly overflowing with educational opportunities and the local public school was the only option for his five-year-old daughter. He could have hired tutors for Ruby when she reached school-age, but he wanted her to have the most normal life possible. To him, that meant school lunch and recess and spelling bees. All the things he never had. It was tough enough on a kid having a dad who had once been a celebrity. He hadn't wanted to make things harder on Ruby by showing up at her school all the time and reminding everyone of it, so he and his aunt had agreed she would be his go-between with the school. Lydia served as his housekeeper, nanny and confidante. She had raised him, after all, and had been the logical person to turn for help raising Ruby the day she had been dumped on him when she was only two months old. He loved Lydia dearly, but she did have a bad habit of trying to solve all his problems for him. "Lydia or Ruby never said a word about any trouble at school. In fact, all I hear from Ruby is how much she loves it. She talks about it all the time. About her friends and how much she's learning and how much she loves her teacher. I guess that would be you." Miss Barnes had been the major topic of conversation since school started a month ago, he reflected. Ruby had jabbered endlessly about how pretty and nice and smart her teacher was, until he had begun to dislike the woman before he'd even met her. Just now the nice, pretty teacher was staring at him like he was the alien space creature from the single scifi picture he'd made. "She said she loved her teacher? Are we talking about the same child here? Mr. Hartford, your daughter hates school! And me! Or at least she manages to give a very convincing impression of a child who does." "Hates it? You've got to be kidding! She doesn't talk about anything else!" "The first week of the school year, things seemed fine. Ruby was making friends, she was enthusiastic about learning, she was attentive in class and participated in discussions. Then three weeks ago, everything changed." "Three weeks ago?" "Right. I've seen a dramatic turnaround. Ruby has gone from being a sweet little girl to one who seems absolutely miserable, from the moment she arrives at lunchtime to when she leaves at the end of the day. She is sullen and uncooperative. If I call on her in class, she clamps her lips together and she turns every assignment over on her desk without even putting her name on it."

108

Chapter Five He stared, his mind churning to make sense of this. "That's not like Ruby at all. This can't be right." "Look, Mr. Hartford, I'm only trying to get to the bottom of the rapid change in Ruby's behavior. Have you noticed a similar change at home?" "No. She's been the same as always — energetic, curious, a little on the mischievous side, maybe. But over all, she's a great kid." Her prickly attitude seemed to soften a little at his words. "I'll admit, I'm stumped. Did anything happen about three weeks ago that might have contributed to her acting out?" He wracked his brain, trying to think back. They had made a quick weekend trip to L.A. to visit a friend who was having an engagement party to celebrate her second marriage. That was the only thing that came to mind. "I don't know. I can't think of anything specific." "I must tell you, I'm wondering if perhaps Ruby is not quite ready for kindergarten. Some children take longer to mature than others, especially if there is some…upheaval in their lives." She said the last part with such subtle contempt that he simmered. She didn't know anything about him — except maybe what she read in the tabloids. "You're wrong, Ms. Barnes. Ruby has been ready for kindergarten since she was three years old. She is smart and precocious and curious and loves learning. I can't imagine what's happened since she started in your classroom to change that." Her gaze narrowed and he realized how his words could be misconstrued. "You can bet I intend to find out," he said quickly. "I'm sure once we sit down together we can figure out what's going on. Ruby and Lydia have gone to Jackson shopping for the day or I would go grab her right now and have this out. Any chance you can come back later?" "I have plans tonight," she said stiffly, a hint of color in her cheeks. A hot date? he wondered, and was stunned at his disappointment. "We can make an appointment to meet one day this week after school," she offered. "I'm leaving Monday to go to Denver on a horse-buying trip until Friday. What about tomorrow night? We'll even throw in dinner for your trouble." A host of emotions flashed through those expressive eyes — reluctance at the forefront among them, something that suddenly annoyed him. "I…yes. I suppose that would be all right." "Does seven sound okay?" She nodded those soft curls. "Yes." "This has got to be a big misunderstanding. Ruby is a great kid. You'll see. We'll get to the bottom of it." "I hope so. Ruby's negative attitude is becoming disruptive to the entire afternoon class." "I'll see you tomorrow night, then. Oh, and Ms. Barnes," he said with a smile as he pushed the button to open the gate, "perhaps it would be better if you rang the buzzer when you arrive for dinner tomorrow. I wouldn't want you to fall from the top of the gate next time and miss the appetizer."

109

He laughed at the hot glare she sliced at him. As he watched her march back through the gates and climb into her fluorescent car, he was aware of the unwilling attraction settling low in his gut.

Chapter Six He was charmed by her, Justin thought as he watched Ruby's teacher drive away. He had to admire any woman passionate enough about her job to climb a fence, just to get her point across. Not to mention those delectable lips… Nothing could come of it. He knew that. Miss Ashley Barnes had commitment written all over her cute little face and he had a terrible track record in that department. He had decided after Ruby came into his life that he just had to close the door on anything long-term. He had been burned too many times. He picked the wrong kind of women to tangle with and then ended up paying for it. Ruby's mother had been the final straw. Tamara Drake had been an aspiring actress he met at a party and dated a few times, unaware that underneath her fun, sexy act was a predatory woman who thought trapping him by becoming pregnant with his child would seal her celebrity status. Tamara's pregnancy and her increasingly strident demands on him had been Justin's wake-up call that his life was not traveling a course he wanted. He had fathered a child with a woman he barely knew and one he had come to despise, and the grim reality of it all forced him to take a good, hard look at himself. He hadn't been very crazy about what he saw. He was just like Tamara, he had realized. He had become selfish, materialistic, shallow. He went after what he wanted at the moment without thought of the consequences, and he knew he couldn't continue on that road. He started looking for a quiet western town to settle in, told Tamara he was leaving Hollywood and offered a financial settlement and annuity in return for her signing over parental rights to Ruby to him. Though she had been livid at him for walking away, she certainly hadn't wanted to be saddled with a baby. She agreed with alacrity and died a year later of a drug overdose. It was an ugly story, one that still made him ashamed of the man he had been six years ago. He had changed. Ruby had seen to that, but he still didn't trust his own judgment about women. Tamara had just been the last in a long line of mistakes, and with a child's fragile emotions to consider, he couldn't afford the high price, anymore. He avoided the spotlight now as much as he could but to his jaded eye, it seemed like every woman he met since Tamara was mostly interested in him for his ex-celebrity status, enthralled, for some crazy reason, to be seen with a man who had once been moderately famous. It turned his stomach. He wanted them to see beyond the image that had appeared on far too much movierelated merchandise. To see the man whose favorite things now were mowing the lawn on a warm summer afternoon, playing outside in the sunshine with his daughter, training a good horse. He didn't trust many women and he certainly didn't trust his own judgment. This way was better. Just him and Ruby and Lydia. They made a good team and there just wasn't room for any more players. Not even cute-as-pie schoolteachers with dimples and hazel eyes and blond, starlit curls.

Chapter Seven "All a big misunderstanding. Right. Can you believe that man? Does he think I don't know what's going on in my own classroom?"

110

"The nerve!" Josie Roundy exclaimed. "He should be horsewhipped," Marcy Weller agreed. Her two best friends looked at each other and grinned, and Ashley fought the urge to bean them both with the wok she was setting up on the stovetop. She should be grateful they were there, she told herself. They had both agreed to her last-minute invitation so she wouldn't be consumed with guilt for lying to Jason Hartford. She hadn't wanted to tell him the truth — that she had no plans other than lesson prep work — but she also hadn't been ready to turn around and drive back to the Blue Sage that night, not without a little more time to psych herself up to facing him again. As salve to her conscience, she had called Josie and Marcy over for an impromptu party watching movies and making Chinese food and venting about the man himself. "You should have seen the way he looked at me, like I was some deranged fan come to steal his boxers or something. Good grief." "Well, you did climb over his gate," Marcy pointed out from the sink where she was washing vegetables. "You can't blame the man for being a little suspicious about you." "If I were going to become a stalker, why would I pick a washed-up recluse of an actor?" "Because he's a big hot bundle of yum?" Josie suggested. Marcy made a face. "Yum factor aside, you know perfectly well he's not washed-up, Ash. He walked away at the top of his game. I bet right this minute he could still step into any role he wanted and find himself back on the A-list. He just doesn't want to be there." She had to admit, Marcy was right about that. Justin had the intensity and range of a truly great actor. And the cameras had loved him. "I still cry every time I watch him in Warrior," Josie said. Ashley didn't want to admit that she did, too — and that she'd watched the DVD just the other night. "How many times did we drive to Idaho Falls to see Last Chance when we were sixteen?" Marcy laughed. "At least a dozen. Remember how you used to have that picture of him in your locker with his shirt half ripped off and his sexy black Stetson and that hard look in his eyes?" Josie snickered as she twisted another egg roll. "If there was ever an obsessed stalker fan back then, it would have been you, Ash. I seem to remember you writing Mrs. Justin Hartford on everything from your algebra homework to the pizza napkins at Stoneys." "Will you two just forget about that? For heaven's sake! It was more than a decade ago. Marcy's already given me a hard time about my stupid crush." She loved her friends dearly. They had been friends since they were all in kindergarten and she found great comfort in that kind of continuity. She just sometimes wished they didn't know every single detail about her life. "You're supposed to be sympathetic here. I was a silly teenager. What did I know about what to look for in a man? All I cared about ten years ago were dreamy eyes and six-pack abs."

111

"Two things Justin Hartford still has," Josie pointed out with a slightly overheated gleam in her own eyes. "He came into the hardware store last week for hex screws and I just about drooled all over his cowboy boots." "Dreamy eyes are fine but not when they come as a package deal with a man willing to abdicate his responsibility to his child." "That's unfair," Marcy spoke up as she drained the vegetables. "He invited you to come back and talk to Ruby about her behavior, didn't he? I wonder if you would be so mad at him right now if you hadn't had such a crush on him back in the day." "Yeah," Josie warmed to the theory. "Maybe you built him up in your wild little fantasy world for so long that finding out the real man is just a struggling father with the same problems as the rest of us has left you heartbroken and disillusioned." She had to admit, there might be some truth in what they said. She had this image in her head of him as the hard-driving, hard-living hero he played so well. It was a little hard to reconcile that with the father of her biggest behavior problem. She sighed. She was not looking forward to dinner the next night. How did a girl dress to have dinner with her teenage crush?

Chapter Eight By the next evening as he was prepping the steaks for dinner, Justin still didn't have a clue what was going on with Ruby and school. He had tried to talk to his daughter about it a dozen times, but she had been acting strangely ever since she found out Miss Barnes was coming to dinner. She was popping out of her skin with an odd kind of excitement and every time he tried to bring up school, she made some excuse to escape. He hadn't pushed it, though he knew he should. He didn't really have a good handle on the extent of the problem, and he thought maybe it would be better if he waited until the teacher was there. Lydia hadn't been much help, either. When he talked to her the night before, he found his aunt was firmly of the opinion that Ruby was only misbehaving as a coping mechanism to adjust to school. She wasn't used to being around other children all the time, everything was new and she had the added complication of being the daughter of the town's only celebrity, which automatically set her apart, Lydia thought. She had talked to Ruby several times and the girl had promised she would do better. Lydia wanted to give her a little more time to adjust and she hadn't wanted to bother Justin with it, especially as they had agreed she would be the liaison with the school. She had nothing but praise for the teacher, though. Justin had had just about enough of hearing about all of Ashley Barnes's wonderful qualities. He sighed. He already had enough trouble with the females in his life. Why did he even think for a moment he needed to add more? Still, he hadn't been able to get the teacher out of his mind. He had dreamed of her last night and had awoken aroused and embarrassed and with an intense hunger for cream puffs. He jerked his mind away from those unruly images. "Ruby, you need to set the table," he called. "Your teacher will be here any minute now." "Coming, Daddy," she called from the other room and a moment later she flounced into the room. Flounce was exactly the word for it — she was wearing the ruffly girly dress she and Lydia had bought the day before in Jackson.

112

She was all taffeta and lace, with mismatched ankle socks and her favorite sparkly sneakers. He hid a smile. "Honey, you can't wear that. You'll ruin the pretty dress you and Aunt Lydia bought to wear to Sierra's mom's wedding next month." "I want Miss Barnes to see it. She'll like the way it twirls. See, Daddy?" She spun in a circle, eyes wide with delight, and a lump rose in his throat. He loved this crazy, funny little thing so much it was a physical ache in his chest sometimes. "You're having a hotdog, though, and you know how messy those can be. You wouldn't want to spill mustard on your dress, would you?" Her brow furrowed as she considered and he pushed his advantage while he had it. "Set the table out on the deck and then go up and change into something else. After dinner maybe you can change into your new dress to show Miss Barnes." He knew before too much longer, he wouldn't be able to convince her of anything so easily, but for now his logic could still sway her. "Okay." She ran to the cupboard for the plates then stopped and gave him a considering look. "You should wear your blue shirt, Daddy. The one that's soft and silky. Aunt Lydia said you turn all the ladies to mush when you wear it." Before he could ask why she might want him to turn her kindergarten teacher to mush — a task he doubted he had the ability to perform, much as he and his libidinous dreams might like to — she rushed outside with an armload of plates and silverware. She had just returned for glasses when the buzzer on the front gates rang. Ruby shrieked with excitement. "She's here! She's here! She's really here!"

Chapter Nine Ruby raced to the intercom and control console for the electronic gates. "Miss Barnes! Miss Barnes! Hi, Miss Barnes! I'm going to push the button and open the gate, okay? Okay?" There was a slight pause then Ashley's voice filled the kitchen and even through the intercom he could hear the amusement in it. "Thank you very much, Ruby." She pushed the button then jumped away from the console. "You let her in while I go change, Daddy. I'll be right back." He started to call her back — since she was already in the dress, she might as well show it off now instead of later — but she was gone, heading up the stairs at a full-out run. The doorbell rang and Justin was startled at the way his pulse kicked up against his will. He walked out to the entryway and opened the door then forgot to even say hello. She looked sweet and lovely and delicious enough to gobble up in one bite. He was so busy trying to convince himself he wasn't hungry that he almost missed the wary look in her eyes. "Hi. I'm early. I'm sorry." He was a little rusty as a host but he tried to do his best. "Not at all. Come in. Ruby's gone to change her clothes and I'm not sure where my aunt has vanished to. I'm sure she'll be along soon."

113

She held out something in a white box wrapped in string. "I brought dessert. I didn't know what you were serving so I didn't know what kind of wine would be appropriate. And, anyway, I thought Ruby might enjoy something sweet more." "What is it?" "Raspberry ribbon cheesecake. It's my mom's recipe." "Ruby will love it. I'll just put it in the refrigerator. Why don't you come outside with me while I put the steaks on?" "You're cooking?" He had to smile at the utter disbelief in her voice. "I'm grilling. There's a world of difference between the two. Throwing a couple steaks on the grill doesn't exactly take much except a good spice rub recipe and a meat thermometer." She still looked flabbergasted as he gestured her ahead of him into the kitchen. She walked past him and again the tantalizing scents of vanilla and almonds — with a hint of raspberry now — teased him. He closed his eyes, stunned by the overwhelming urge to lean forward and bury his face in her curls and just inhale. It had been far too long since he had been with a woman. Months. That must be the reason for this sudden fascination with this soft schoolteacher. One of the downsides of being a responsible single father was the serious crimp it put in any casual encounters. It never seemed right to bring women home for the night with Ruby in the house and lately he had been taking her along on the few trips he took out of town. He had entertained some vague idea about calling Lexie Walker when he went to Denver on the horsebuying trip next week to see if she might be interested in flying out to meet him, as she had done a few times before. Lexie was a producer he had known in L.A. She was sharp, beautiful and sexy as silk sheets. Oddly, the idea suddenly didn't appeal to him at all. He didn't have to look far to figure out why.

Chapter Ten "This is lovely," Ashley exclaimed when they moved out onto the wide deck overlooking the western slope of the Tetons. With delight evident on her delicate features, she took in the twinkling lights in the trees shading the deck, the swimming pool with its waterfalls and spa and the outdoor fireplace where a merry blaze took out the slight chill of the September air. Beyond the backyard, horses grazed near the whitewashed barn, and in the evening everything looked peaceful and still. "We live out here when the weather is nice," he admitted. "And even sometimes when it's not. With the fireplace, we can enjoy it from March to early December sometimes, until the snow gets too deep on the deck." "She must adore it out here! My word, look at that play set. I think it's more elaborate than the playground equipment we have at school." He smiled at her enthusiasm. "We'll have to have your class out for a party in the springtime when it's warm enough to swim again. Ruby would love it."

114

Her eyes glowed at the idea and she smiled, the first genuine, heartfelt smile she had ever given him. He couldn't seem to look away from it, at the curve of her lips, at the way the left side lifted just a little higher than the right, at the dimples he suddenly hungered to taste. The heated dreams of the night before suddenly rocketed through his brain and in his mind he was once more tangled in all that softness, touching his mouth to hers, tasting that sweetly curved mouth. He heard a ragged-sounding breath and managed to drag his attention from her mouth — and from his own feverish imagination — to meet her gaze. Her pupils were wide, her color high, and thick, heady awareness suddenly bloomed between them. He needed to kiss her. He didn't want to, he knew he shouldn't, but he had to know if she tasted as delicious as he had imagined. He couldn't seem to stop himself from leaning forward. An instant before he reached her, he heard the bang of the screen door and jerked back just as Ruby raced out of the house. "Here I am! I changed and everything. Hi, Miss Barnes!" She hugged her teacher's legs and Ashley looked dazed — whether from Ruby's affection or their almost-kiss, he couldn't guess. "Do you want to come see my bedroom? It's pink and green and my bed is in a real playhouse!" She cast a furtive look at him, her color high. "I…of course," she murmured, looking relieved at any excuse to escape. "The steaks won't take long," he said, calling on all his long-neglected acting skills to keep any trace of embarrassment from his voice. She nodded and walked out with Ruby's hand tucked in hers, leaving him alone in the starlight to wonder what the hell had just happened.

Chapter Eleven Justin Hartford had nearly kissed her. If his daughter hadn't come bursting out onto the deck, Ashley had no doubt that with a half-second more alone with him, she would have been in his arms. She followed Ruby up a sweeping staircase constructed of hewn half-logs, painfully aware of the way her knees trembled and her stomach still felt jittery and weak. Justin Hartford. Almost. Kissed. Her. He had wanted to, anyway. She had seen the sudden heat in those heartbreaking eyes of his, the slight parting of his lips, and hadn't been able to stop her body's instinctive sway toward him. What a jerk, she thought, but the familiar imprecation held no heat whatsoever. She had wanted him to kiss her. Another minute or two and she probably would have begged him to. They reached Ruby's bedroom and she could only stare. "Wow. This is your room?" "Yep. It's cool, huh?" "Very cool." It was a dream of a room for a little girl. Everything was pink and flowery and Ruby had told the truth — her bed was built into a massive playhouse built into the center of the large room. It was like a room inside of a room, with a door and windows and a gabled roof that touched the ceiling.

115

"Daddy and me built the playhouse. I helped hammer the nails and measure the wood and everything." "Oh?" It was very hard to dislike a man who could create such a wonderland for his child. "Yep. My daddy makes really good things. My Aunt Liddy says he has always been good with his hands. She said when he was a kid, he was always making stuff from junk wood he found around. And he's strong, too. When we builded my bed, he carried all the wood in by himself." Ruby frowned for a moment, her brow furrowed in concentration, then it cleared and she smiled. "Oh, and he makes up funny stories. My favorite is about the ugly hedgehog. Daddy does all kinds of voices when he tells stories and he always makes me laugh. You should hear him." "Oh?" She tried to pretend disinterest, but in truth she was fascinated to hear about Justin's interactions with his daughter. "Yeah, and he can swim super fast! You should see him. And he rides horses better than anybody else in the whole wide world. I have my own horse, but my favorite is when I ride with my daddy." Why did Ruby suddenly remind her of a used car salesman trying to unload a junker? Ashley wondered uneasily. She really shouldn't be listening to all these things about Justin. It made him seem too real, entirely too likable. Still, she forced herself to smile. "It sounds like you have a lot of fun with your dad." "We're best buds. Me and Daddy and Aunt Liddy are a team. Daddy says so. I love him a ton." She suddenly gave Ashley a funny sidelong look she couldn't quite interpret. "Except I think maybe he's lonely."

Chapter Twelve Justin Hartford lonely? She couldn't even imagine it. Still, the conviction in the girl's voice set off warning bells. "Ruby, is that why you've been misbehaving in class? Because you think if you're naughty enough in school and don't do your work, you'll be sent home to the Blue Sage where you can be with your father?" Ruby's big blue eyes opened wide and she looked so genuinely startled at the suggestion that Ashley knew she must be completely off the mark. The little girl giggled. "No! That's not why. You're silly." Oh, she certainly was, especially if she thought a gorgeous, compelling man like Justin Hartford could ever be interested in a boring, naive schoolteacher like her. "Will you tell me the reason?" she pressed. "I don't think you really hate school, even though you pretend you do." "I don't hate it," she whispered. She looked down at the thick carpet of her room, digging the toe of her sneakers into the floral pattern. Ashley paused, totally at sea to figure out what all this was about. "Is it me you don't like? Perhaps we could switch you to the other kindergarten teacher's class."

116

"Noooo!" Ruby looked horrified by the very idea. "I don't want another teacher. I have to be in your class. Please, Miss Barnes. Please don't make me go to another class!" She was trying to process that impassioned plea when she heard footsteps in the hallway and a moment later, Justin stuck his head in. He looked incongruous in the girly room, dark and gorgeous and über-masculine and her heart gave a foolish little thump just at the sight of him. Ruby jumped into his arms. "Hi, Daddy. I've been telling Miss Barnes about all the fun things we do and how you're such a good swimmer and a good horse rider. I bet she'd like to see you sometime." He raised an eyebrow and Ashley refrained from commenting that she had seen his particular riding style when he had nearly mowed her over the day before. "Oh, and Miss Barnes thinks the playhouse you made for me is cool," Ruby added. He managed a smile. "Good to know. Uh, dinner is ready. I just checked on Lydia and she said she's feeling a little under the weather tonight so it's just the three of us, I guess. I hope you're hungry." "I'm starving!" Ruby said with so much pathos in her voice, Ashley had to assume she had inherited more from her father than midnight blue eyes and dark hair. The little girl skipped ahead down the stairs, leaving the two of them alone. She was intensely aware of Justin as they walked down the stairs. They didn't say anything, but the thick awareness flowed between them, leaving her jittery and unsettled as they walked out into the moonlit night.

Chapter Thirteen Dinner would live on forever in her memory as one of the most surreal experiences of Ashley's life. She was having dinner with Justin Hartford — and not just any dinner, but one he prepared with his own hands. The fourteen-year-old girl who — she was ashamed to say — still sometimes popped up in her psyche, wanted to swoon. She found the whole experience disorienting. It was extraordinarily difficult to reconcile her different images of him — sexy, intense Big Screen hero, then disinterested father — with the man who cut his daughter's hot dog and did really lousy impersonations. Somehow they managed to put aside their discomfort over that awkward scene before dinner as they talked and laughed and listened to Ruby's apparently endless repertoire of bad knock-knock jokes. She was charmed by both of them. This Ruby was a far different girl at home than she had been the last three weeks. Here was the girl she had met those first few days at school and Ashley wanted to know why she had disappeared. And Justin. Every once in a while she would find him watching her with a baffled kind of heat in his eyes and her insides would flutter and sigh. She was doing her best to ignore it, but she had never been so fiercely aware of a man. Her heart was in serious danger here. She realized it sometime before they finished eating and he brought out her cheesecake. The man across the table was exactly the kind she dreamed of now, and that scared the heck out of her.

117

"I'm all done eating," Ruby said after she had all but licked her dessert plate clean. "Can I go change into my party dress to show Miss Barnes, Daddy? Can I?" He looked reluctant but he nodded. "Go ahead. Hurry, though." Without the buffer of Ruby and her chatter, Ashley's awareness of him became almost unbearable. She couldn't shake the disbelief that she was actually sitting on a starlit deck with Justin Hartford, a man she was finding increasingly attractive. Without thinking, needing only to move suddenly, she stood up and started to clear away the dinner dishes. "You don't have to do that," he said. "We usually don't make our guests clean up." She felt her face heat. "Habit. Sorry. With five kids in my family, we all had to pitch in to help. I don't mind, though. Really I don't. This way you don't have to clear them yourself later." He rose and started helping her, and they worked in a silence that would have been companionable except for the vibes zinging between them like the kids on the zipline at the school playground. "The sheriff is really your brother?" he asked after a moment. She nodded. "He's always been good at telling people what to do. I guess that's because he's the oldest." "I've met him a few times. He's a good man. Does that mean you grew up around here?" She searched his rugged features for any clue that he might be patronizing her, but all she saw was genuine interest. "I've lived here all my life, except for the years I spent in college in Oregon. I suppose that must seem pretty provincial to someone like you." "Not at all." He gave an almost bittersweet smile. "I envy you."

Chapter Fourteen She blinked. "Me? I'm a boring kindergarten teacher. I've never done anything exciting in my life." Before tonight, anyway, she corrected to herself. "Climbing over my gates doesn't count?" She smiled. "Well, there was that. And the time I drove my dad's pickup over the mayor's mailbox." His laugh did funny things to her insides. "I'm serious," he said. "It must be wonderful to have roots in a nice town like Pine Gulch. When I was looking at property to purchase, I knew the moment I stepped into town that this was what I wanted for Ruby." "You didn't? Have roots, I mean?" He was quiet for a long moment, leaning against the railing of the deck with the stars spilling across the sky behind him. "No. I grew up living out of suitcases and cheap hotels and sometimes even the backseat of my mom's old Pontiac. She was a wanderer who didn't like to stay in one place very long. When I was twelve, she dumped me off with Lydia in Chicago and never bothered to come back." She heard the old pain in his voice and her heart ached with sympathy.

118

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, leaning against the railing beside him. "But I'm glad you had Lydia. I've taught children with no one at all to call their own." "You're right. I was lucky, though I didn't think so at the time. Lydia tried. But by age twelve I had been basically on my own for a long time and didn't want much help from her. I equated caring with smothering. I took off when I was seventeen and headed for sunshine. L.A. I worked odd jobs for awhile and ended up doing some stunt work as a favor to a friend and before I knew it, I was in movies." She remembered the bones of his story from those early days when she used to scour People and Us Weekly looking for information about him, in the days before the Internet would have put all those details at her fingertips. But, of course, she couldn't tell him that. "What about you?" he asked. "What led you to teaching?" "It's all I've ever wanted to do. I love children. I always have." She smiled. "I was the world's best babysitter because I could have done it all day for free just for the fun of it and everyone knew it. There is something so magical about early childhood, the innocence and the wonder and the sheer delight of it. I love watching them grow and start to test life. Setting them on a path to discover the world of possibilities waiting for them." Her voice trailed off and she flushed. "I'm sorry. I'm rambling again." "Not at all. I could listen to you all night." Her gaze flashed to his and the heat in the midnight depths sent those nerves twirling through her insides again. She swallowed hard and had time only to wonder if this could possibly be real, when his mouth captured hers.

Chapter Fifteen Ashley froze, the breath caught in her throat and her pulse thundered in her ears. Oh. Oh my. His kiss was unbearably soft, almost tender, and she leaned into it, into him. Her hands rested on the hard muscles of his chest and she could feel the jump of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. His arms slid around her, pulling her close, and she surrendered to the magic and wonder of his kiss. She could definitely fall hard for this man. His kiss suddenly deepened, his tongue licking at the corner of her mouth, and she lost any chance at coherent thought for several long, drugging moments. "Okay, get ready!" she suddenly heard Ruby call from inside the house and the two of them sprang apart, both breathing hard, just as the girl burst through the door in all her finery.

*** What in the hell was he doing? He invites the woman to dinner to talk about his daughter's problems in school then ends up dumping his life story on her before all but jumping her on his back deck. The crazy thing was, he wanted to do it all over again. The kissing part, anyway. Justin could still taste her on his lips, that subtle, sweetly erotic taste of raspberry and cream and Ashley. It was crazy. He knew it was impossible, but he ached to taste her again.

119

Focus, he chided himself and jerked his attention back to the conversation between Ruby and her teacher. "See how twirly it is?" Ruby exclaimed, her arms wide as she did circles around the living room, where they had adjourned since there was more light to show off the sparkles. Justin wasn't sure he was prepared for this primpy stage to start. Ruby was showing all the signs of someone who would be seriously girly and he had no idea how to handle the rest of it. Just thinking about makeup and boyfriends and hairspray made him break into a cold sweat. At least he had a few more years before he had to worry about that. "You look just like a princess," Ashley assured Ruby. Her color was high, he saw, and she didn't look at him as she spoke. Ruby preened, oblivious to the tension between them. "I'm going to wear it to a wedding. My friend Sierra's mom is getting married next month and we're going to Hawaii for it and I get to swim in the ocean and maybe see a dolphin." She had been delirious with excitement about the whole thing, from the moment Natalie Brooks invited them along. Nat was his first leading lady and one of the few people he stayed in touch with in Hollywood. "I don't get to be the flower girl because Sierra does," Ruby went on, "but I can wear my new dress and maybe have a lei, too." Ashley gave a smile that looked forced and he would have given just about anything to know what was running through her head right about now. "How fun," she murmured. "You and your father will have to take lots of pictures so you can bring them back for the rest of the class to see." "Okay. I will." She looked thrilled at the idea for just a moment before she frowned and her excitement slipped away. "Um, I'll have to see. I'll probably forget." Right. Ruby remembered the names and birthdays and favorite colors of everyone she had ever met. This sudden reluctance was part of whatever game she had been playing at school. He sighed, knowing the time for socializing was over. "Ruby, if you're done showing off your new dress, we need to talk about what's happening in school. You know that's why Miss Barnes is here." Panic flared in her eyes, suddenly, and she started edging for the stairs. "I better go change out of my dress before I get it all dirty." "Come back here," he said, his voice stern. "We're going to sit down right now and discuss how you've been acting."

Chapter Sixteen "Do I have to?" Ruby asked, looking suddenly miserable. "Yeah, you do, shortcake." "You'll be mad." "Probably. But we still have to talk about it."

120

She perched on the edge of a leather ottoman, her hands tightly folded on her lap. He sighed, not sure where to start. "I thought you loved school," he finally said. "You talk about it all the time. But Miss Barnes says you're not doing your work and you're not participating in class. What's going on?" "I was just pretending I didn't like school," she said, her voice small. She lifted her gaze to give her teacher a look of earnest entreaty. "I really do, Miss Barnes. I promise. I love playtime and I love circle time and I love snack time. My favorite is story time. I love, love, love story time." Ashley gazed at her, her lovely features baffled. "Why would you want to pretend you don't like it? It's wonderful to love learning!" Ruby's chin wobbled. "It was Sierra's idea. She's my friend in California. She said if I was bad in class, my dad would have to come to school for a conference. And then he would fall in love with you and you would get married like Sierra's mom is getting married and then you could be my new mom." Okay. This was just about the most horrifying moment of his life. A dead silence greeted Ruby's stunning declaration and Justin couldn't think what to do, what to say. He risked a look at Ashley and saw her features had leached of all color. Not a good sign. He knew he had to step into the terrible silence. "Ruby…" he began, then faltered as he found himself at a loss for words. "People don't, uh, fall in love like that," he said after a moment. "You can't manipulate them into doing what you want just because you want it. Life doesn't work that way." Sometimes it did, though. He had to be crazy, but he suddenly knew he was in serious danger of falling for this soft, sweet woman who loved children and smelled like a dream. "But Miss Barnes already loves you, Daddy. You just have to fall in love with her." "What?!" Ashley exclaimed. To his somewhat thunderstruck fascination, all the color soaked back into her cheeks in a hot, relentless tide. Ruby fidgeted, looking almost as miserable as Ashley. "I heard Miss Weller in the school office talking to you about Daddy a few days after school started. I had a stomachache and went to lay down in the sick kid place, and I heard her ask if you had met Daddy yet and you said no and Miss Weller asked if you would mention at parent-teacher conference that you had his picture in your locker in school and that you used to write Mrs. Justin Hartford on things."

Chapter Seventeen He heard a soft sound of distress coming from somewhere in Ashley's vicinity, but he didn't dare look at her. "So then I thought how nice you are," Ruby went on, "and how I wanted you to be my mom but I didn't know what to do. I told Sierra when we went to visit them and she thought I should be bad in school. It was really hard and I didn't want to. But I wanted you to be my mommy really bad, so I did it, anyway. I'm sorry." After she finished, there was a long, terrible silence and all Justin could focus on was how much he would have preferred it if Ashley hadn't known who he was back then. He had a wild, sudden wish that she had only met him the day before. He wanted her to only know the man he was today, not some image on a screen that had never been real. His chest ached suddenly and he had to fight the urge to rub his hand against it.

121

Finally, he managed to speak. "That was very wrong of you, Ruby. I'm disappointed that you would be so deceitful. You've wasted three weeks of the school year for nothing and now you're going to be behind all the others in your class." "I'm sorry. Daddy." "I don't think I'm the one you need to apologize to." Her chin quivered but she rose and stood in front of Ashley, who looked close to tears herself. "I'm sorry, Miss Barnes. I do like you and I can be good. I promise." Ashley cleared her throat, still not looking at him. "Does this mean you're going to do better from now on? No more of these…these crazy ideas?" "I promise. You'll see. I'll be the best kid in the whole class! I'll do all my work on time and I'll raise my hand and everything." "Good. I'm, uh, certainly glad to hear that." She rose abruptly. "I…now that we've cleared that up, I should go." "You don't have to," Justin said. "Yes. I do." He couldn't argue with the vehemence in her voice, and in truth he knew he would be relieved when she was gone. She still didn't look at him once as he and a now-dejected Ruby walked her to her impractical little car. "Ruby, I'll see you Monday in school," she said, with what sounded like false brightness in her voice. "Thank you again for dinner." She climbed into her car, started it and took off down the driveway. He hit the buzzer to open the gates just as she reached them, wondering if it could possibly be only a day since he had found her climbing over them. As her taillights headed down Cold Creek Road, he held Ruby's hand and watched them disappear. How insane. She only blew into his life the day before, but he knew as he watched her drive away that she had left footprints on his heart. He would miss her laughter and her softness and her sweet, infectious smile. He had to let her go. He had no choice. Anything between them was impossible. Even before he found out she had once been a fan of his movies, he knew he could never do anything about this terrifying tenderness growing inside him. That didn't make the regret any less bitter.

Chapter Eighteen She was going to die — just pull her Bug over somewhere along the banks of the Cold Creek, curl up in the front seat and wither away from absolute mortification. But Miss Barnes already loves you, Daddy. You just have to fall in love with her. Oh, this was the most awful moment of Ashley's life. It was bad enough that he should find out from his daughter about the crush she used to have on him. It was far worse that she had to be sitting three feet away from him when he did!

122

She forced herself to concentrate on the driving until she had reached the town limits and her own little white clapboard house. Once home, she pulled into her driveway and buried her face in her hands. She felt miserable. Completely wretched. All she could think about was the soft, seductive heat of their kiss and the way she wanted to lean into him and let him hold her forever. Tears burned behind her eyes. She used to have a crush on a one-dimensional image on the screen, gorgeous and strong and heroic. But she was very much afraid she had lost her heart to the man behind that image. Even through her absolute horror as she had listened to Ruby's scheme, as the girl had talked about how much she wanted a mommy — how much she had wanted Ashley for a mommy — she had wanted it, too. She still did. She ached with it, with the possibilities he had stirred up inside her by the tender heat of that kiss. She indulged in those possibilities — okay, those impossibilities — for only a moment then she dropped her hands and squared her shoulders. It was over. She had shared one wonderful starlit night with him and with Ruby and that was all she would ever have. She just needed to put the whole humiliating experience behind her, forget about her teenage crush and the wonderful man she had found in real life, and figure out how to move on.

*** The weather turned cold and grim the next day as an icy rain blew down out of Montana to soak the mountains. It matched her mood perfectly, but did nothing to help lift her spirits. As promised, Monday saw a dramatic turnaround in the Ruby Problem. The girl reverted to the sweet, sunny child she had been the first few days of school. No more belligerence or defiance. She handed in perfect assignments, she answered more questions than anyone else in class, she sat as still as a five-year-old could possibly manage during circle time. The only black mark Ashley could have put in the Ruby column was that the girl apparently hadn't given up her ridiculous matchmaking. Every day at recess, she would hover around Ashley, filling her ears with stories about her father that only made Ashley fall deeper for him. She tried her best to discourage her, but Ruby wouldn't be deterred. She could only wonder what kinds of stories about her Ruby was carrying back to Justin. She had to admit, she was always glad to see the last of the girl when her Aunt Lydia arrived to pick her up every afternoon in a sleek Range Rover. On Friday, though, Ruby was the last child waiting at pick-up and Lydia and her Range Rover were nowhere in sight. The cold, relentless rain dropped in sheets and even under the awning in front of the elementary school, it was miserable. "Let's go inside and wait," she said to Ruby. "We can go back to the classroom and call your aunt to find out what's going on." To her dismay, Ruby looked thrilled for a little more time in her company and Ashley sighed. She was growing to care far too much about the little girl, too. She set Ruby up with crayons and paper and looked through her files for Ruby's contact information so she could dial Lydia's cell number. She had just found the right paper and pulled it out when she heard a noise by the door and Ruby shrieked with delight. "Daddy! Daddy!"

Chapter Nineteen

123

Ashley jerked her gaze up, just in time to see Justin standing in the doorway, looking strong and masculine and wonderful, before Ruby rushed to him and threw her arms around his waist. "I missed you so much, Daddy. Did you buy a new horse on your trip?" "A couple of them." He hugged his daughter, but his gaze rested on Ashley and she felt hot and cold at the same time. "Are they pretty?" Ruby asked. "Beautiful," he murmured, but his gaze never left her. A wild heat flared inside her and she couldn't seem to catch her breath. Try, she ordered herself harshly. The last thing she needed right now was to hyperventilate and pass out at his feet. Then he would really think she was an obsessed fan. "I was really good for Miss Barnes all week," Ruby told him. "Wasn't I, Miss Barnes?" She cleared her throat and tried to force her oxygen-starved brain to function again. "Uh, yes. You were wonderful." "Oh!" Ruby said suddenly. "I forgot my leaf pictures. I left them in Mrs. Cook's classroom in art class so they could dry, but I need to take them home and show Aunt Liddy." In a heartbeat, she rushed out the door, leaving the two of them alone. Ashley couldn't look at Justin, but she was aware of him moving into the classroom and walking closer to her desk. "How are you?" he asked. She finally lifted her gaze at the quiet sincerity in his voice. "Still more embarrassed than I've ever been in my life," she admitted. "You have no reason to be embarrassed. It was my daughter who tried to play matchmaker." "Ruby would never have gotten the crazy idea in her head if I hadn't been talking about you with Marcy." She sighed, knowing she had to confront this or she would never be able to look him in the eye again. "Marcy has been my best friend since second grade. She knew all about my silly crush on you. Everyone knew. I'm afraid I was a little obsessed. I was fourteen and you were, well, you. You were heroic and passionate and…and gorgeous." Her face flared with color and she knew she had to be beet-red, but she cleared her throat and plowed on. "Marcy thinks it's a hilarious twist of fate that I'm teaching your daughter, all these years later, and she's been teasing me about it since school started. That's what Ruby overheard, just two old friends remembering something that seems another lifetime ago." He was quiet and she thought she saw something like pain flicker in his eyes. "You know I'm not that man, right? I hated being a celebrity. I never wanted it, everything just sort of fell into my lap. I was more surprised than anybody when I turned out to be moderately good at making movies, and for a while it was heady and addicting and I got sucked into the whole thing. But for my own survival, I had to get out when I did and I've never been sorry." "I know. I don't see that heartthrob, anymore, when I look at you, Justin. Not after the other night." He seemed to absorb that for a moment, then to her shock, he reached for her hand. "What do you see?" he asked, and the sudden intensity in his voice snatched away her breath again.

124

Chapter Twenty Ashley's heart raced and she was certain Justin must be able to hear the blood pulsing loudly in her ears. "I see a man who loves his daughter. Someone trying to do his best by her. I see someone funny and sweet who cooks a mean steak and does a lousy John Wayne impression. And I see someone who made me forget my own name when he kissed me," she added in a whisper. His fingers tightened on hers. "I've spent six days thinking about that kiss, Ashley. Thinking about you." She blinked as his words soaked through her lingering discomfort. He had thought about it, too? About her, about the magic she thought she had only dreamed? "Oh?" she managed. "For years I've been telling myself I didn't need a woman in my life, that Ruby and I were doing just fine on our own. Suddenly, I'm not so sure." "You're…not?" He shook his head and pulled her to her feet. "I don't know how it happened, and I certainly wasn't looking for it. But when you climbed the gates of my ranch, somehow you climbed through the walls I've built around my heart." As his arms slid around her, a heady kind of joy flooded through her like that rain outside, only this was sweet and cleansing. He kissed her, his mouth strong and warm, and she sighed a welcome. This was real, she realized with shock. Real and right and worlds better than anything she could have imagined as a silly, giddy teenager. She lost herself in the kiss, yanking off his Stetson and burying her hands in his thick hair as she poured all the emotions of her heart into her response. When he pulled away, they were both breathing hard. Through the delicious haze, she sensed movement in the doorway and they both turned to find Ruby standing there. Her leaf pictures were scattered at her feet, her clasped hands were pressed to her heart and her wide eyes glittered with a thousand stars. "It worked," she breathed. "It really worked!" Justin groaned. "I think we've created a monster." Ashley smiled, happier than she ever dreamed she could be. "That's all right. I'm a kindergarten teacher. Taming monsters is part of the job description."

125

Getting Wild by Kayla Perrin Samera was born to be wild… A firm believer that a person should do what she loves for a living, Samera has put her expert skills as a seductress to good use in her career as an exotic dancer. But when her romance with the manager of the Atlanta strip club she works at goes south, so does Samera. Seeking refuge in the tropical paradise of Costa Rica, she meets Miguel, a man with the body of a god and sexual skills that rival her own… So why can't she get her ex-lover out of her head?

Chapter One Many people — mostly women — would call me a whore. If loving sex makes you a whore, then I'm a total ho. If using your body to make a buck makes you a whore, then hell, I guess I was just born to be wild. I do what I want when I want and quite frankly, I could care less what people have to say. I didn't care what my mama had to say about the matter, neither, but that's another story. The way I see it, everybody's got something they like to do. Something they're good at. I'm a firm believer that people should do what they love for a living. I'm good at sex. That's why I became a dancer. A stripper, if you want to get technical. I take my clothes off for horny men. I'd never do anything freaky like have sex for money, but I see nothing wrong with the art of seduction, of performing for men while wearing no clothes. Of course, it helps that the pay's fantastic. At least it was. Because I'm no longer employed. A little over two weeks ago, I quit my job. It was total drama, and to make a long story short, for one of the few times in my life, I thought I was in love. With the manager at the club where I worked. Until I found out he was screwing another dancer behind my back. I had no choice but to quit after that. I was ripe for an escape, which is what my sister provided when she needed to head to Costa Rica. Only Annelise has taken care of her business and is now back in Atlanta. Me — I met someone. So I decided to stick around. And not just anyone. A hot-blooded native Costa Rican who could be my Mr. Right. I know, I shouldn't be thinking about getting serious so soon after Reed broke my heart, but you know what they say — that you find love when you're not looking for it. Annelise said she figured I'd be home in ten days max, but it's now day twelve and I'm still loving being in Costa Rica. Still loving spending time with Miguel. He's six feet tall, about a hundred and eighty pounds, has a magnificent bronze-colored body, and black hair long enough for me to grip while we're making love. He's not the most well-endowed guy I've ever been with, but the bonus is he's able to stay hard for an amazing amount of time. And he's sweet. He really is. He's made me realize that there are more important things in life than a nineinch cock.

126

Quite frankly, I'm feeling really positive about where things are going between us. Even though I haven't known him long, I love everything about him. I'm being cautious, though. Taking things slowly. Miguel invited me to stay at his place, but I declined. Instead, I kept my room at the Los Sueóos Marriott, which is a slice of paradise if ever there was one. I'd rather stay at the resort, spend time with Miguel here on my terms, and see how things pan out. As good as I feel about him, I don't want to go to his place where no one would ever find me on the off chance the guy turns out to be some psychotic creep. But so far, he's not a creep. In fact, he's far more romantic and considerate than any American guy I've ever dated. And he turns me on something awful. When I hear a knock at my door, heat pools between my thighs. Just like that, I'm ready for another night of passion. It's shortly after six, and I know it's Miguel. Every day, after he finishes his work at the real estate office on the lower level of this gorgeous property, he heads to my room and we immediately get naked. "Coming," I call. I smile smugly as I strut toward the door. I can hardly wait to see Miguel's face when I open it. I'm wearing these clear plastic pumps with four-inch heels, ones guys always flip over when I'm dancing. Those and nothing else. I saunter to the door, ease it open a crack and grin, and seeing no one behind Miguel, I swing the door open fully. "Mios Dios," he exclaims, his eyes widening. I've learned that that means "Oh my God." Then Miguel rushes forward, slipping into the room and closing the door behind him. "Samera, you are crazy!" He's smiling as he says the words, and then he surprises me by pulling a bouquet of white and red roses from behind his back. I can't help squealing in delight. Trust me, I'm not a squealer — except in bed. But Miguel has been spoiling me, treating me in a way I'm just not accustomed to. "Crazy for you," I tell him, and wrap my arms around his neck. I give him a deep kiss, then take the flowers and drop them on the table near the window. I'll deal with putting them in water later. Right now, I want to deal with Miguel. He's got this look of amazement on his face as I spin to face him, because I did this exaggerated bending over movement as I put the flowers down, giving him a view of the back of my crotch. And I realize in that instant what it is that so turns me on about him. He's into me. Totally into me. It's like every time he's with me, he's experiencing the joy of being with a woman for the first time. It's a powerful and special feeling. I play with my nipples as I approach him again, pulling and tweaking them into hard tips. "Did you miss me?" I ask. "Miss you? Every moment of the day I could not stop thinking of you. Could not stop thinking of this." He reaches for me and groans in pleasure as his hand covers my breast. Then he lowers his head and takes my nipple into his mouth, hungrily suckling it the way he knows that I like. "Mmm…" I moan, slipping my fingers into his hair.

127

Miguel's lips move lower, down my torso where he dips his tongue into my belly button. He goes onto his knees and grabs hold of my hips. My body tenses with sweet anticipation, knowing what is going to come next. "Mamasita," he murmurs, then whispers something in Spanish that I don't understand. His hot breath on my pussy makes me wet. And when Miguel's tongue touches my clit, I sigh with utter delight. He licks me. Sucks me. Buries his face in my pussy and eats me until I scream. "Oh, Miguel…don't stop, baby. Don't stop!" The phone rings then, instantly pulling me out of the moment. I whimper as I look down at Miguel. Who the fuck would be calling me here? The answer hits me a moment later. My sister. Now I hurry to answer the phone, hoping everything is okay with Annelise. I grab the receiver and say breathlessly, "Annie?" There's a pause. Then, "Babe." My stomach lurches at the sound of the low, deep voice. The voice I recognize as belonging to my ex-boyfriend, Reed.

Chapter Two Ohmigodohmigod! How can this be happening? How can Reed McLeod be on the other end of my line? I never told the son of a bitch where I was going for exactly this reason. I didn't want to hear his voice ever again. "Aw, babe," Reed says. "Thank God I found you." My heart flutters a little, in a way that pisses me off. I'm not supposed to care one way or the other about Reed, anymore. I don't want to be angry or hurt; I just want to be over him. I throw a quick glance over my shoulder at Miguel, who is now unbuttoning his shirt. "Are you there?" Reed asks. "What do you want?" I snap. "Do you have to ask?" "Obviously."

128

"I want to talk, babe. Make things right between us." I roll my eyes. "Like that's gonna happen." "Why are you whispering?" Reed asks me. "Is someone there with you?" "That is none of your business." Facing Miguel, I hold a finger in the air to tell him I'll be a minute. "Okay, okay," Reed says quickly. "I get it. You're down there screwing some guy's brains out." "None of your —" "I understand," he interjects. "That's exactly what I deserve. I'm not gonna hold it against you." "Excuse me?" I whisper angrily. I glance in Miguel's direction, see him heading into the bathroom. Either he's got to use the toilet, or he's giving me some privacy. Regardless, I'm grateful. "I'm just saying," Reed goes on, "I forgive you." "Fuck you, Reed." "Wait, wait. Don't hang up. I'm kinda nervous, okay? Not saying the right things. Give a guy a break, all right?" I frown but don't say anything. Part of me wonders why I'm even still listening to Reed at all. "What I called to tell you is that I miss you, Samera." Reed's voice softens. "I'm going crazy here without you. Not to mention all my customers who miss you." "So this is about business?" "Hell, no. This isn't about business. It's about us." He pauses briefly. "I know I'm the one who messed up. But I want another chance. You were the best thing that ever happened to me." "That's priceless," I hiss. "And what about —" I force myself to shut the hell up. I want to give Reed a piece of my mind, but now is not the time. "I know you're pissed, and you have every right to be." "You think?" I can't help retorting. Then I draw in a breath to calm my nerves. "How did you find me?" "I heard about your sister being down in Costa Rica. I figured you were probably there, too. I've been calling every single hotel. My long distance bill's gonna be huge." "You wouldn't have had to do that if you hadn't —" I stop short of completing my statement, but Reed's not a moron. Just an asshole. He knows damn well what I was going to say. "You're gonna be mad at me forever?" "Pretty much, yeah." "You telling me you don't think about how great we were? That guy who's there with you — is his tongue anywhere as skilled as mine?"

129

Fuck. I do not want to go there again. I don't want to think about Reed's amazing nine-inch penis nor the amazing things he can do with his tongue. I've put the prick behind me. I look toward the bathroom door. Miguel is still inside. If he's hearing any of my end of the conversation, I can only imagine what he's thinking. "Look, I gotta go." "Wait," Reed says. "I want to tell you something. Something…important. I know I never said this before, but babe, I love you —" I hang up the phone. I don't know what else to do. To my surprise, my hands are shaking. I can't believe Reed had the nerve to track me down in Costa Rica. Fucking asshole. "Is everything all right?" I whirl around at the sound of Miguel's voice. He's looking at me with concern. "Yeah," I lie. "Everything's fine." Slowly, I walk toward him and place my hands on his chest. "Now, where were we?" Miguel covers my hands with his. "I'm not so sure you are fine, Samera." "Of course I am." "On the phone — was that your old boyfriend?" There's no point lying. "Yeah, but I hate him, okay. You don't have to worry about him." Miguel stares deeply into my eyes, like he's trying to read what I'm feeling in my soul. "Forget about him. Our relationship is over. You're the only one I want." To convince Miguel of my words, I cover his mouth with mine, tangle my fingers in his hair, and kiss him until we're both breathless. Then I undo his pants, reach for his cock, and coax him into an erect state. "I love how hard you get," I purr into his ear. This is what I do best. Charm men. Make them forget about their problems. "Baby, I want to taste you. Take you deep in my mouth…" Miguel shudders as I suck on his tongue, emulating what I'd like to do to his penis. I give him a forceful push that lands him exactly where I want him — on the bed. I grab at his pants and tug them off, then climb on top of him. I waste no time taking his testicles into one hand. I fondle them and watch as Miguel's eyes flutter shut. His reaction makes me feel powerful. Special.

130

Fuck Reed. "How much do you want me?" I ask. "How badly?" Miguel opens his eyes, reaches for my head and slips his fingers into my long, blond hair. "Very much, princessa." I lower my head and lave his testicles with a slow, hot brush of my tongue. "Mios Dios…" I run my tongue up the length of his shaft, and when I get to the tip, I tease it with little flicks. Miguel is breathing heavily and murmuring words I don't understand. But man, they turn me on. Keeping my eyes on his face, I take him completely into my mouth. Up and down I move my lips while I pump his cock with my hand. "Mmm, baby. Come in my mouth. I want to taste you." Miguel makes this growling sound, and I think he's about to come. Instead, he tugs on my hair and urges me forward. He kisses me deeply before reaching for his penis and guiding it to my vagina. He enters me with a hard, fast thrust. And then I ride him. Ride him like he's a wild stallion. I don't want to think. I just want to feel. Feel nothing but carnal pleasure. I moan and writhe against him, but I don't feel that sweet, building pressure. Miguel rubs a finger over my clit, trying to get me off, but oh my God I can't come. What the hell is wrong with me? Reed's words sound in my mind. "I love you." Fuck you, Reed, I think. And then I fake my orgasm.

Chapter Three "I have a surprise for you," Miguel tells me later that night, after we've made love a couple more times. I snuggle my body close to his. "You do?" He nods. "Yes. Tomorrow, I will take you somewhere special. Somewhere special for my princessa." I love when Miguel calls me his "princessa." I ease onto an elbow as I look at him, wondering where he wants to take me. We've already been to all the hot clubs on Jaco Beach, where we not only danced, but fondled each other when no one was looking. "Tomorrow?" I ask. "After you finish work?"

131

"No, we must leave early. I am taking you on a trip to see another part of the country. I do not have to work tomorrow, nor the next day. So we are going away." "Ooooh. I like the sound of that. Where?" "In Guanacaste province. Far from here. But it is beautiful, I assure you." "A Zip Line excursion!" I say excitedly. I saw brochures at the front desk advertising the tours, which involve jumping from platform to platform across the rainforest canopy. Maybe there's one in another part of the country that is better than the ones around here? "Oh, much better than that." "You won't tell me?" He merely eyes me and smiles. "Okay. Now you've got me all excited. It's got to be a tour. Or maybe a day cruise?" Miguel links hands with mine and brushes his lips over my knuckles. "We will leave early in the morning. Will you be ready for six o'clock?" "Absolutely. And we'll be gone for two days?" "Yes." This sounds like exactly what I need — a romantic trip with Miguel, away from the Marriott where my phone could ring any moment with Reed on the other end of the line. Even though we had sex two more times since Reed's unexpected call, I wasn't able to reach climax. Hearing Reed's voice put me on edge. So yeah, I need to get out of here. "Maybe when we return," Miguel begins, "we can talk about how much longer you will be staying in Costa Rica." "Yeah. Sure." It's something I haven't been thinking about, because I've been living in the moment. Though in the back of my mind I know I'm going to have to head back to my life in Atlanta. At the very least, I'm going to have to try and find another job. I still have rent to pay, and my savings won't last forever. "Maybe I can go to America with you," Miguel suggests. "I love America." "You've been?" "Once. To Houston." Why Houston, I want to ask, but instead I smile softly at him and stroke his face. I'm not entirely comfortable talking about America right now. I don't feel like talking about the "tomorrow" of our relationship. I'd rather deal with the "right now." "About tomorrow," I say. "What do I need to bring?" "Some clothes, of course. A bathing suit. And maybe those shoes I like."

132

I throw my head back and laugh. There's something about my hooker heels that makes guys go crazy. "Trust me, Miguel, I always bring those shoes."

*** I thought the Los Sueóos Marriott Resort had to be the most beautiful place on earth — until I stepped foot on the property of the Tabacón Hot Springs Resort and Spa. I know immediately that this place is going to be unlike any spot I've seen before, or ever will see again. I grip Miguel's arm as we step into the building, which is near the base of an active volcano from what he told me as he parked the car. "This is beautiful!" I exclaim, looking around in wonder. "It's like heaven on earth." The mountainside is lush and tropical, much like the rest of Costa Rica. And trust me, I saw plenty of it during the four and a half hours it took Miguel to get us here. The distance isn't actually all that far in terms of miles, it's the winding roads into the mountains that make the trip so long. "Are you ready for a drink?" Miguel asks me. "Or would you like us to check in?" I slip my arms around his waist and lean forward to kiss his chin. "I'm ready to head to the room." "Princessa." I hear a rumbling sound in his chest. "I have never met another woman like you." "I hope not." Miguel takes my hand and leads me to the left, where the front desk is. The woman behind the counter gives me a quick once-over — and I recognize the sneer in her gaze even if she offers us a smile. I guess she doesn't like my white dress, reminiscent of the one Marilyn Monroe wore in that famous shot of her. It hugs my curves like a second layer of skin, and shows off my ample cleavage. I flash the hotel clerk a syrupy grin. I'm used to women looking at me the way she just did. I take it all with a grain of salt. "Our thermo pools are world renowned," the clerk explains, "and the hot spring is naturally warm." "I've been here before," Miguel tells the woman. "I see." She gives us some brochures with the spa information, then our room key and directions how to get there. "We are only going to our room to change," he tells me. "I want to take you to the hot springs because they are magnificent." I playfully swat his butt. "Don't you trust me to keep my hands off you?" "No!" Miguel laughs. We get to our room, which is beautiful in its simplicity, and change into our swimsuits. Mine is a two-piece gold thong, which gets a low whistle from Miguel. He has the body of a god in his black Speedo, something I've noticed guys are comfortable wearing in this part of the world. "We'd better go," I tell him. "Before I think of something else we can do to pass the time."

133

Miguel gives me a knowing look, then ushers me out of the room. He leads me outside and I am awed by the stunning beauty of the place. Vibrant, leafy plants line the rock path that winds through the hot springs area, as well as an array of tropical flowers. There's a waterfall that cascades from the mountainside. Steam rises from the pools of water below, and I have to say, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. When we reach the base of one area of the waterfall, Miguel kicks off his sandals and says, "Come. I promise, you will love this." I throw off my wrap, slip out of my thong sandals, and follow Miguel into the water. I moan happily as the heat envelopes my body. "I can't believe it's this hot," I say. I know he told me it was a hot spring, but I didn't realize the water would actually feel this warm — naturally. "It's like a Jacuzzi tub." "It is my favorite place in Costa Rica." "I can see why." I immerse my body completely, enjoying the feeling of heat on my skin. When I come up for air, I move toward Miguel. "Que bonita," he says and pulls me into his arms. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." "You're so sweet." "I tell the truth. No other woman I have ever met is as beautiful as you." I run my hands through Miguel's thick, black hair. "No?" "No." And then I think — though I can't be one-hundred-percent sure — that I hear Miguel whisper that he loves me in Spanish. Love? He can't love me — can he? I don't know why, but the thought bothers me. Or rather, bothers me now. Because I don't think it would have bothered me had I heard Miguel utter those words before Reed called me and said the very same thing.

Chapter Four Obviously, Miguel did not just say that he loved me. And even if he did, I know he doesn't mean it the way it sounded. People often utter words of love in passionate situations, but that doesn't mean a thing. I trail a finger down the length of Miguel's chest. Forget what I think I heard, I want to concentrate on the here and now. The here and now is about sensual pleasure, and I don't want thoughts of love ruining that. "Baby, you're so hot," I whisper in Miguel's ear before I cover his mouth with mine. For several heated moments, my tongue tangles with his. The steam rises off the water around us, and I know I have to make love to Miguel in this amazing place.

134

I take his hands and guide them to my breasts. Miguel pulls back to look at me, his eyes lighting up. He knows exactly what's on my mind. "Samera…?" I glance over both of my shoulders. No one is within our immediate vicinity. There are various people scattered around in different sections of the hot springs, but Miguel and I have our own little alcove. We have privacy. I immerse my body in the steamy water again, and this time wriggle out of my thong. I pull it out of the water and twirl it around a finger. Miguel laughs. "Crazy woman!" I toss the thong at Miguel and he catches it. "It's your turn," I tell him. "Trust me, the water feels great on your naked skin." Now, Miguel is the one to look around. "No one will see your butt under water," I point out. "Besides, no one's close enough to see what we're doing. And we're surrounded by bushes." "You are crazy." "I know." I dive under the water and grope around for his Speedo. I slide it down his legs, then emerge victorious with it in my hand. "Doesn't that feel better?" I ask. Miguel shakes his head as he stares at me, a smirk dancing on his lips. I take my swimsuit from him and toss both of ours onto the rocky ledge beside us. Then I turn to him and boldly slip my bikini straps off of my shoulders. I stroke my nipples and ask, "Wanna fuck?" God, I love it when Miguel groans. It truly makes me feel like he's completely mesmerized by me. Reed made me feel that way, too — for a while. He used to shower me with gifts and make me feel like the most special girl in the world. I push the unwelcome thought of Reed out of my mind and boldly wade over to Miguel. I make no effort to hide my body, figuring no one's going to be rude enough to stare even if they catch a glimpse of skin. I just know I have to have Miguel. Right here, right now. "I love it when you suck on my nipples." I dip my hands into the hot springs and pour water over my breasts. "I want you to taste them, baby." I arch my back and close my eyes. "Please." "Mios Dios, Samera…"

135

For a moment, I'm not sure what Miguel is going to do. I only know that I feel an incredible rush of sensual power. I want to have this beautiful man right here in the middle of paradise. Me and Miguel — one with nature, and each other. Mewling softly, I continue to stroke my nipples. I don't open my eyes. I want the moment when he touches me to be a surprise. I start when I feel his hands skim the fullness of my breasts. He strokes my skin, moving his fingers closer to my nipples with each touch. And when his mouth closes over one of my nipples, Reed is the last thing on my mind. "Ooh. Oh, baby." Miguel suckles my nipple slowly, lovingly. It's like every time he touches me, he is worshipping my body. He plays with my other nipple, running his finger over it. Back and forth, back and forth. And when he takes that nipple deep into his mouth, I can't help crying out in pleasure. I slip a hand between my legs and stroke my nub. The hot water only adds to my pleasure. "Don't stop, Miguel. Make me come…" Miguel doesn't stop. He tortures me with the carnal pleasure of his tongue like we're the only two people in the world. I finger myself while Miguel runs his tongue over my taut peaks, and soon my knees start to tremble. "Oh, baby. Baby, I'm coming…" I shatter into a million pieces. Miguel kisses me as I ride the wave of my orgasm. Then I bury my face in his neck and whimper, holding him close and savoring my orgasmic release. Running his fingers through my hair, Miguel murmurs words in Spanish. I love how it sounds, even if I can't understand a word. Now, I want to please him. I'd love to get down and dirty with him in a sixty-nine position, but this is not the place. We'll do that when we have the total privacy our room offers us. The sound of laughter gets my attention, and I quickly look over my shoulder as I lower my body in the water. A man and woman barely throw a glance our way as they walk arm-in-arm past us on the lane. I wrap my arms around Miguel's neck, then my legs around his ass. His penis is hard against me. Ready. "Put it in," I whisper. Miguel teases the tip of his cock over my clit before entering my pussy with a blinding thrust. I cling to him, getting a secret thrill out of fucking in a public place. I squeeze my inner walls around Miguel's shaft. He moves in and out of me slowly, and man, it feels so good. I hold him tight, my breasts pressed against the hard wall of his chest. The water making our bodies buoyant, Miguel moves a few feet to the left until we hit the wall and the edge of one of the cascading waterfalls. His cock is still inside me the entire time, thrusting in and out.

136

My butt nestles on a little ledge in the rocky wall, and as warm water sprays us, Miguel really picks up speed. Soon his body tenses, then he kisses me as he comes. I tighten my legs and dig my fingernails into his back. "Princessa, princessa…Mios Dios…" As his wave of passion subsides, we smile at each other like lovesick fools. Then Miguel makes a sudden move to his right, taking us under the direct stream of the waterfall. We laugh as we pull apart. "Aw, princessa." Miguel kisses my forehead. "Are you happy?" "Of course I'm happy." "I'm happy, too," he tells me. He glances around and gestures to the picturesque nature. "Everything is perfect." I frame his face. "I know." "That's why I want to tell you what's in my heart. In my favorite place in the world." Miguel pauses, and my heart starts to pound as I fear what he's going to say. "Miguel —" He puts a finger over my lips to silence me. "Samera, my beautiful princessa. I have fallen in love with you."

Chapter Five Miguel loves me. It's all I can think about for the rest of the evening, while we eat lobster and drink wine over dim, romantic candlelight. He loves me. I fiddle with the stem of my wineglass, glancing around the restaurant at all the other happy couples. The restaurant we're in boasts floor-to-ceiling windows and faces the mountainside, allowing guests a view of the Arenal Volcano's peak. It's absolutely stunning at night, and I'm sharing this experience with a man who loves me. I should be over the moon with bliss. This should be the highlight of my two-week affair with him. So why am I not happy? One simple sentence, but God, it has changed everything. I didn't realize how the word "love" could mess a person up. For one thing, there's going to be pressure the next time we have sex. Because I'll be thinking about the fact that he's not just fucking a woman he likes, but a woman he's in love with. Maybe he'll even use the L-word again — and, of course, he'll expect me to say it back.

137

Earlier, I dodged that bullet by pulling him under the waterfall and kissing him, something I'd done because I'd been at a loss for words. I can only imagine Miguel took that as proof that I feel the same way about him. Now, in this clearly romantic setting, the "love" word hangs between us like a barbed-wire barrier. At least for me. "Tell me about your family," Miguel says. "Your life in America." Not that I'm ashamed of what I do, but I didn't bother to mention to Miguel that I've worked most of my adult life as a stripper. I figure that's not something he needs to know. "I work in entertainment," I answer honestly, leaving out the specific details. "It pays the rent." I finish the last of my white wine. "What about you? Do you like working in real estate?" "Oh, yes. I always see people when they are happy. Most people come to Costa Rica simply to visit, fall in love with the area, then decide to purchase property here." "It's good that you love what you do." "I love not only that." Fuck. Why'd I have to mention the L-word? I reach for the wine bottle, but find it empty. Before I can say I'd like another glass, Miguel summons the waiter, who swiftly comes over to our table. "More wine," Miguel tells the man. "No, wait. Make it champagne." He beams at the waiter. "Tonight, we are celebrating." He turns his warm gaze on me, smiling like we just got engaged. And I feel like shit. Miguel and the waiter exchange words in Spanish. I hear the waiter say "bonita" — and I'm sure he's commenting on how beautiful he thinks I am. At least that's what I assume, given the brazen look of lust in his eyes. When the waiter is gone, Miguel reaches for my hands across the table. "You know what I am thinking?" I shake my head. But of course, I have a pretty good idea. "I am wondering, what did I do right that God has sent you into my life." I smile politely, but don't tell him about my doubts that God had anything to do with what we've been doing for the past couple weeks. My mother is what I call a religious freak — everything is God this, fire and brimstone that. Growing up with her extreme beliefs has pretty much left me feeling confused about the whole God issue. Miguel keeps smiling, so much so that I can't take it. Here he is, a wonderful guy, and I can't deal with the fact that he loves me. He's exactly the kind of guy I need — one who is faithful (with the amount of time he's been spending with me, it's clear he doesn't have another woman somewhere), and one who adores me. Honestly, what more could a woman want?

138

But I'm suddenly thinking about all my failed relationships, all the times I got involved with a guy and had so much hope. Not one of those relationships amounted to anything significant. And if I'm entirely honest, I can't blame the guys for all of it. I got bored, too. After the sex got stale. And I've got trust issues up the wazoo. How could you not when your father took off when you were a toddler, and then your stepfather lusted after your teenage body like he'd never seen young flesh before? I had no clue what love was when I fell into bed with him, but I certainly learned the extent of my mother's wrath. "I want my family to meet you," Miguel tells me. "Maybe this weekend." "Oh, I don't know about that." "Why not? They will love you just as much as I do." My God, things are suddenly moving at warp speed. Meet his family? I can't deal with that kind of pressure. "My mother makes the best roast pork in Costa Rica," Miguel goes on. "She will be so happy to know that I've met a woman like you." A woman like me… "Miguel, I'm not…" I fumble for the right thing to say. "I'm hardly perfect." "You are perfect to me." "I'm nowhere near perfect." "I understand this. Princessa, I see in your eyes that you have had a hard life. This is why God has sent you to me. It is my time to show you joy. And love." Miguel's words leave me breathless. How the hell does he know the struggles I've had just by looking in my eyes? I have to admit, I'm feeling a little freaked out. Like Miguel is too friggin' perfect. Understanding and hot and great in bed. Part of me wants to run to the nearest church and marry the man. But another part…another part can't stop thinking of Reed. "I know I'm the one who messed up. But I want another chance. You were the best thing that ever happened to me." There. I've admitted to myself the real conflict in my heart. Reed totally fucked me over, and yet I'm thinking about what he told me on the phone and wondering if I should give him another chance. "Princessa, what are you thinking?" "I'm sorry. Will you excuse me for a moment?" I push my chair back and stand. "I need to go to the restroom." "Sure."

139

I walk briskly out of the restaurant, turning once to glance at Miguel. He's watching me, of course. Smiling. I don't know why I feel the need to do this, but instead of going to the restroom, I head to the lobby and a payphone. Using my credit card, I make a call to my cell phone to check my messages. "You have fifteen new messages," an automated voice tells me. My heart lifts with a hope I shouldn't feel. The first message plays. "Samera, it's Reed. Aw, babe. I'm so sorry. I was a total, complete ass. And I was drunk, too. I know that's not an excuse for cheating, but if you forgive me, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you." I actually grin at that message — and I know I'm in deep shit. "Sam, it's me, Reed again. Where are you? I was hoping to hear back from you. Call me, please." "Samera, I really miss you. Call me, okay." "Okay, now I'm worried. I know you're pissed, but at least get back to me so I know that you're all right. I'd hate to think that something awful happened to you." Of the fifteen messages, fourteen are from Reed. One is from my sister, who comments that she's surprised I'm still in Costa Rica. "Maybe it is love," she adds with a chuckle. "If so, I'm really happy that things are working out for you and Miguel. He's a hottie!" I close my eyes and sigh. "Oh, Annie. Damn, I could use your advice right now." Though I know exactly what she'd say — that I shouldn't trust Reed as far as I can throw him. And I know she's right. If only my heart knew it, too.

Chapter Six Reed is all I can think about as Miguel drives me back to the Marriott the next day. After dinner the night before, we made love again, but I just went through the motions. My heart wasn't in it. And I'm starting to feel that Miguel is sensing something's wrong. He told me again that he was in love with me, and I lay there like a moron. I stared at him and said nothing. Bless him, he didn't ask me outright how I felt. But I know it's on his mind. For the majority of our drive back to Jaco Beach, I sleep or pretend to be sleeping. Miguel holds my hand much of the time, which only makes me feel worse for wondering if I should indeed give Reed another chance.

140

"What are you doing tonight?" Miguel asks me as he pulls up in front of the Marriott. It's shortly after five, and the sun is shining. I'm thinking I'd like to head to the beach and finally work on my tan. But I don't tell Miguel that. Instead I say, "I'm tired." What I really am is confused. Where I was once excited about the prospect of a future with Miguel, I'm now thinking we ought to cool things down. He's in love with me — or so he thinks — and I'm just not ready for that. Let's face it — I'm on the rebound. Funny how I can finally admit that to myself. Miguel takes my hand, and instead of holding it gently like he did while we were driving, he ups the ante by sucking the tip of one of my fingers in what is obviously an attempt to seduce me. "Maybe we can both sleep for a little while. Then…" His voice trails off, his sexual suggestion clear. "Not today," I say softly. "Not only am I tired, I'm…sore. You know — we've had so much sex. My body needs a rest." "Then we will only sleep." When Miguel doesn't release my hand, I pretend like I've got an itch and pull it away. "And I feel a migraine coming on." "A what?" Miguel's eyes register confusion. "A headache. You know." I point to my head. "Ah. Si." "Yeah. So, I think I'd better go to sleep." Disappointment streaks across Miguel's face, even though he nods. "Yes. Get some rest." I give Miguel a quick peck on the cheek. "Let's talk tomorrow, okay? But right now, you should spend time with your friends. Your family." Miguel seems so…sad. Like he feels I'm rejecting him. "Call me in the morning," I add. "Or drop by. I'll be here." Before Miguel can say a word — and because I feel bad enough as it is — I secure my bags in my hand and ease out of the car. Miguel blows me a kiss. "Hasta luego, princessa." I force a smile. "Yes, see you soon." "Sleep well." As Miguel drives off in his Toyota, I feel a pang of regret. But I do need to put some distance between us. Get some perspective on what I'm feeling.

141

I make my way to my room, where the light is flashing on the phone. I immediately drop my overnight bag and purse and hurry to snatch up the receiver. The next second, I punch in the code to check my messages. Reed's deep voice fills my ear. "Babe, it's me again. It was great hearing your voice. I want you to know, I meant what I said. I love you. I need you. Hopefully, you're on your way home." Groaning, I delete the message. "Fucking asshole, Reed. Why'd you have to choose now to decide that you love me?" But I know I need to talk to him. I call his home number. It rings until the answering machine picks up, but I don't leave a message. Then I try his cell and also get no answer. And when I call the club, he's not there. And now, instead of being happy that Reed loves me, insecurity brews deep in my gut. Who's he with, what's he doing, is he screwing someone else? I just sent Miguel away, a guy I know will be thinking of me all night. Can I really say the same for Reed? Cussing, I shove myself off the bed and charge to my suitcase in the corner near the window. I need to get out of this room. Forget about Reed and Miguel for the next few hours and simply relax. Since I got here, I've hardly taken the time to enjoy the place. Now, I decide to head down to the pool, which is the most impressive one I've ever seen, and maybe swim some laps or drink an apple martini at the poolside bar. This time, I opt for a scarlet red bikini, one that is sexy as hell. It's not a thong, but barely covers much more than one. The top conceals my nipples, but not much else. What can I say? When you've worked as a stripper, you don't have a problem showing off your body. I do slip into one of the robes provided in the room. I'll discard it when I'm ready to head into the water. A few minutes later, I'm downstairs. I hear music, and rhythmic clapping, and scan the large pool area until I see what's going on. Young men and women dressed in cute costumes are singing and dancing as they traverse the outer area of the pool. The pool has several sections to it, complete with archways and a waterfall, and surrounded by leafy foliage. I shake my body to the beat and head in the direction of the dancers. There's a bar in that area — a plus since I definitely want a drink. Women cling a little tighter to their men as they see me stroll by. I ignore them and head to the bar, where I strip out of my robe — everyone be damned. "Holy," someone says. "Like those are real," a woman scoffs. Again, I pretend to be oblivious to the attention I'm getting, though part of me wants to turn around and tell the woman if she's so envious of my boobs, she can buy herself a pair like I did. But I don't. I'm here to relax. "I'll have an apple martini," I tell the bartender, who eyes me up and down like I'm a giant lollipop. "Si, senorita. One apple martini coming right up."

142

"It's on me," a guy says. I face the man, an average-looking guy in his fifties sitting a couple stools away, and offer a friendly smile. "Thanks, but I got it." Then I turn back to the bartender, hoping this guy gets the hint that I'm not interested. Behind me, someone whistles. I can't help thinking that maybe I should have stayed in my room. "I know I've seen you naked, but holy shit, you're gorgeous." My stomach flutters. Oh my God… I whip my head around with lightning speed. And see Reed's smiling face.

Chapter Seven "Reed!" I exclaim. I stop short of leaping into his arms. "My God. W-what are you doing here?" "What do you think?" he asks. I throw my gaze around the bar and surrounding pool area, like I expect to see Miguel hanging out, watching us. "You came all the way here for me?" "You got my messages, didn't you?" "Yeah. And I called you back." Ah — no wonder I couldn't reach him at any of his numbers! "When did you get here?" "Yesterday. Morning." "You're kidding." He must have arrived shortly after I left. "No. And I've been looking for you ever since. They told me at the front desk that you hadn't checked out, so I stuck around. I figured you'd show up at the pool sooner or later." "You've definitely gotten a tan." Reed's tall, with sandy-brown hair, and incredibly cute. His body isn't as well honed as Miguel's, but he's got a penis that makes up for any of his shortcomings. "I've got a tan because I've been hanging by the pool since yesterday, waiting for you to show up." "Why didn't you say something?" I ask him. "Tell me you were planning to head down here?" "Because I wanted to surprise you, babe." He grins widely and scoops me into his arms. "Surprised?" "Totally." Reed gives me a deep, passionate kiss — the kind that's tacky in a bar full of strangers. "Senorita, your apple martini."

143

"Oh. Right." I step away from Reed and back to the bar. Reed hands the bartender a ten before I can sign my room number on the receipt. "Thanks," I tell him. Reed's eyes roam my body slowly. "Damn, babe. You look incredible." He leans close and whispers in my ear, "You've got me as hard as a fucking tire iron. Wanna skip this joint?" "Actually, I was hoping to work on my tan." "Oh. All right, then. Let's find a spot." I place my drink on the bar so I can slip my robe on, but Reed takes the robe out of my hand. "Naw, leave it off. You've got an amazing body. Show it off, babe." Whatever. I'll only have to take it off when we find lounge chairs, anyway. Reed secures a possessive arm around me as we walk out of the bar area. We catch the tail end of the singers and dancers before they disappear on a path that leads toward the hotel. "There are a couple chairs over there." Reed points in the direction of the grassy area beyond the pool, leading toward the beach. "Fine with me," I tell him. We settle ourselves in the chairs, and Reed asks if I have any sunscreen. I tell him I have some in my bag, and he digs it out. "Lie on your stomach." I take a gulp of my apple martini, spread my robe over the chair like a towel, then settle onto my stomach. Moments later, Reed is massaging my body with slick lotion, moving his hands expertly over my shoulder blades and down my back. "How does that feel?" he asks. "Mmm," I moan. Reed's hands move lower, to my butt. He kneads my flesh slowly now, using his fingertips to tease my skin. I feel him pulling the back of my bikini out of the way, and he runs a finger along the crack of my ass. "And how does that feel?" My body is starting to get warm — and not from the sun. "You know it feels great." Reed gets bolder, slipping his finger farther south until it skims my pussy. "Fuck, babe. Are you wet?" My vulva pulses. "Maybe." "You're gonna torture me out here where you know I can't touch you." "You're touching me now."

144

Reed slips a finger into my vagina, and instinctively I moan. He holds it there, moving it around inside me, while his other hand massages more lotion onto my back. "God, I want to fuck you right now." He thrusts his finger deeper, wriggles it around more urgently. "I want to take this bathing suit off you and suck on your clit till you're screaming my name." "Reed…" I say his name on a moan, because I'm getting hot, and my body is succumbing to carnal desire. "I'll do it. Just say the word, and I'll do it." And then Reed lowers his head to my butt and bites on my flesh. I gasp, whirl around. Reed's gaze is so hot, it sears my skin. Slowly, he puts the finger that was inside me into his mouth and tastes my essence. Two young guys whistle as they stroll past us. It must be the color red that gets everyone hot and bothered. "She's got a sweet ass, doesn't she?" Reed asks them. "Reed!" I exclaim. "You do," he tells me. "And I want to fuck you so badly, Sam, I'm about to come in my pants." "Do you really love me?" I ask him. I need to know before we head upstairs. Sex is great, but love is what I want from him. "You think I came all this way to find you because I'm not in love with you?" "Where's your room?" I ask him. So much for getting sun. I'm ready to get naked. And wild. "Seventh floor." "Then let's go to mine. It's closer."

*** The moment I close my room door behind me, I pull the tie on the back of my bikini and let the top fall away from my breasts. Then I waste no time pulling off the bottoms and stepping out of them. "Oh, fuck," Reed groans. He pushes his swim trunks down and grips his rock-hard cock. "I've missed you. Missed your beautiful tits, your sweet pussy. You are fucking amazing." I slip my arms around Reed's neck and plant my lips on his. We neck for several seconds, my hands moving over his penis and his fingers massaging my nub. He scoops me into his arms without notice and carries me to the bed. There, he lies on his back and pulls me onto him. "Sit on my face," he says gruffly. My body trembles as I move over him, adjusting my pussy so that it's atop his face. And then I moan long and loud when Reed sucks on my clit. "Oh, Reed…"

145

He spreads my lips and devours my clit. The friction from his hot tongue is more than I can stand. And when Reed's tongue enters my vagina, I'm lost. I arch my back, squeeze my nipples, and scream with pleasure as the sweetest of orgasms swallows me whole. Reed's tongue doesn't relent. Neither do his fingers. And before I know it, the pressure is building inside me, like a string being pulled that's ready to break. "I can't get enough of this," Reed rasps. "Can't get enough of you." Then he suckles me softly, and the gentleness of it is so erotically blissful that it strips me bare. The last of my control is ripped away and my body explodes with a release more powerful than the first one. "Reed! Oh my God…oh, baby!" I cry, that's how intense my orgasm is. How intense my feelings are for this man.

Chapter Eight Later, my body is completely sated. And I am exhausted beyond exhausted. Our lovemaking was so frenzied and passionate that Reed and I collapsed when we were finished and didn't move a muscle. That was at least two hours ago, and still I don't want to move. All I can think is wow. That was the most explosive fucking Reed and I have ever experienced together, and we've had some pretty hot encounters. I sigh softly, thinking that this must be what sex feels like when you're in love. "Hey." Reed speaks softly in the darkness of the room. "Hey, yourself." "Don't tell me you're ready for more." "Are you kidding me? I'm not sure I can ever move again!" Reed chuckles at that. Then he stretches past me to glance at the clock. "What time is it?" I ask. "One-fourteen. I should probably get up. And you, too." "Get up? Reed, I want to sleep for the next two days!" "Well, that'd be nice, but we can sleep on the plane." "On the plane?" "Yeah. I booked us on an eleven o'clock flight out of San Jose. It'll take at least two hours to get to the airport, and we both have to pack."

146

"Wait a second." I sit up. "What do you mean you booked us on a flight? When? We haven't been out of bed since we got in this room." "I booked it when you were sleeping." "Without asking me?" "Yeah," Reed says nonchalantly. "What's the big deal?" I pause for a moment, wondering exactly why I feel irked. But I realize it's about control. Reed feeling he can make decisions for me and I'll just jump whenever he tells me to. "The big deal, Reed, is that you didn't even discuss it with me. You have no clue what my plans are, if I've got…got excursions booked." "Cancel them. I'll give you the money." I turn on the light and stare at Reed angrily. "Are you hearing what I'm saying?" "I told you I loved you. What more do you want?" What more do I want? Wow. Instantly, I think of Miguel. Miguel would never use the word love like a weapon, or worse, as a way to control. I find myself asking, "If you love me, why did you fuck Leanne?" "Oh, don't start. We just spent an incredible evening together, and you want to ruin it by bringing up Leanne?" "I wouldn't have to bring her up if you didn't fuck her!" "Yeah well, I did. You're either gonna get over it, or you're gonna whine about it for the rest of your life. Can we just move past this?" I cross my arms over my chest. "Oh. So I'm the one with the problem, then. Not you and your wandering fucking dick." "You hear me whining about the guy you've been down here with?" "You know what?" I shake my head with disgust. "You're an asshole. I think you said you loved me just because you wanted me back, because you hate to lose. You always have to be in control. But you don't know what the word love means." Reed jumps off the bed. "I don't need this shit." "Then get out of here already." "Chill, bitch. I'm going." Bitch?

147

I roar with anger as I hop off the bed. I grab Reed's tote and throw it toward the door. What I really want to do is smash something over his head. "Get out, Reed. Get out, get out, get out!" Hurriedly, he slips his bathing trunks on, then charges out of the room. I collapse against the door, barely suppressing the scream bubbling in my throat. I can't believe I was so stupid. Inside my chest, it feels like someone has chopped my heart into little pieces. To think I believed Reed when he said he loved me. To think I let him have the privilege of touching my body again when I should have learned my lesson the first time. But at least Reed has made it easy. Easy to put him behind me once and for all.

*** The next morning, my head feels like it's about to split open when the phone beside my bed rings. A quick glance at the clock tells me it's shortly after ten. I don't want to answer it, but I have a feeling it's Miguel, so I grope around for the phone. "Hello?" My voice is faint. Hoarse. "Buenos dias, princessa." A soft sigh falls from my lips. "Miguel." "How are you this morning? You do not sound so well." "I could be better," I admit. "Maybe I can call you later." My eyelids flutter shut. "No. I mean, I was hoping…maybe you could come see me now? If you're not busy." "I am never too busy for you." Nerves knot my stomach as I hang up the phone. I want to see Miguel, but I'm also afraid to. I head to the shower, where I wake my body up with a blast of cold water. I'm dressed and waiting only ten minutes before there's a soft knock at my door. Inhaling a deep breath, I make my way to answer it. I hesitate before I open it, not sure I have the guts to do this. It would be so much easier to simply disappear, return to America, but Miguel deserves better. His face lights up when he sees me. "Ah, princessa." He steps into the room and sweeps me into his arms. "Miguel." This hurts, dammit. Hurts to even think what I'm about to say. I'm sure Miguel senses it, because his smile falters a little. "You're leaving." It's a statement, not a question.

148

I nod. "Because of your former lover?" "No. Well…no. That's over." I blow out a ragged breath. "Miguel, I adore you. But I can't be what you need right now." "You are everything I need." I sigh. "Stay with me, Samera. Make a life with me. I promise, you will be happy." The thing is, I believe him — which makes this all the more painful. I hate to do this to Miguel, break his heart. Because unlike Reed, I do believe Miguel's feelings for me are real — even if I don't deserve them. "I wish it were that easy," I say softly. "I know you have your secrets. But I do not care about them." Easy for him to say. What would he think if I told him that not even twelve hours ago, I was riding another man's cock like he was the last man I'd ever make love to? No, Miguel deserves better than a woman who is conflicted over her feelings. He deserves a woman who will worship him the way he worships her. Me — I have some growing up to do. I always fall hard and fast and don't think about the long-term. Then I get bored. I can't do that to Miguel. I place my hands on his cheeks. "You have so much love to give. You need someone who's ready to love you in return. I thought I was, but…I'm confused. I need to figure out what I really want in life." Maybe that sounds lame, but it's the best I have to offer. I don't want to lie to Miguel. After all we've been through, I at least owe him the truth. "When will you leave?" Miguel asks sadly. "Tomorrow." If I can book a flight. "I see." I want to tell him that we can spend the day together, do something fun before I leave this idyllic place. But I think it's best to make a clean break, not make things any harder than they already are. "You know what would make me happy?" Miguel says suddenly. "Please, Miguel. I've made my —" "If you would stay in touch. Call me sometime. Let me know how you are doing." Not what I expected him to say, but he's been surprising me since the beginning.

149

I say, "I'm not sure that's a good idea." "Princessa. We have been so close these past couple weeks. At least we can be friends." Miguel is absolutely right. We spent two weeks fucking each other's brains out. I'm not going to be an ass and pretend it was completely meaningless. "Of course." "Do you need a ride to the airport?" "Thanks, but I'll be okay." "Yes." Miguel offers me a smile. "You will be." Miguel takes me into his arms and kisses me so tenderly, tears well up in my eyes. I want to love this guy. I want to so desperately. What is holding me back? But I know. Miguel is one of the good guys, and he deserves a woman who will love him as though he's the most special person on the face of the planet. A woman who won't hurt him. Right now, that's not me. Maybe one day, I can be that person. When I've gotten my life together and I'm ready to love with every fiber of my being. I hope for that. Because Miguel is the marrying kind. But for now, I will take the incredible memories of our time together and cherish them forever.

150

Heavy Metal Honey by Doranna Durgin Hard-edged Hunter Agency operative Kimmer Reed has always had one goal when it comes to doing her job: nab the bad guys, no matter what. But over the past year, she's seen a different side to life, thanks to her lover and new partner, Rio Carlsen — an ex-CIA agent with strong ties to his extended family. On her first assignment with Rio, Kimmer tries to stay focused on the big picture: catching those responsible for bringing the makings of a dirty bomb in to the U.S. But with Rio by her side, she can't help but feel a twinge of compassion for a hapless woman caught up in the dangerous game…

Chapter One Kimmer Reed peered through her night-vision goggles into a green-hued desert. "Got me some dust," she said into the tiny voice-activated mike at the side of her face. "Ooh, these next gen goggles are sweet." In her ear, ex-CIA operative Rio Carlsen responded, "Got dust here, too." Rio…she'd met him on an assignment, cemented their relationship on an unofficial op, and only a few weeks earlier he'd accepted the Hunter Agency's offer of part-time work. And here they were on their first assignment together, scanning the Arizona borderlands for one very specific smuggler. Also sweeet. "Move in?" Rio suggested. "Move in," she confirmed. They wouldn't spook anyone with their motorbikes, sleek little hydrogen-fueled machines not quite meant for the rugged terrain of the Coronado National Forest. Even here at four thousand feet of elevation, the desert foliage lent itself more to spines and prickles and low-lying brittle brush than actual trees, and the footpaths spit out a powdery dust at the passage of anything on four feet or two wheels. She and Rio flanked the trail they'd hoped the smuggler would use, with nine hundred meters of combined night vision range between them. More Hunter agents flanked similar trails all along this section of the border — the trails that led to Bisbee, the unofficial drug corridor of the border. And now they had dust. Kimmer said, "Could be the jackpot." And she grinned — fiercely — because they were headed for action, and because there was nothing better than nabbing a bad guy. Kimmer and her SIG, Rio and the Colt on which he'd recently settled. Or to be more precise, Kimmer and her SIG and every other little weapon she had stashed in her clothing. She also wore a light pack with camelback water supply, restraints and the heavy lined pouch for the smuggler's contaminated dope — their ultimate goal. "Might not be our jackpot," Rio said. More laid back than she by far, he was astonishing once he went into action. Which, since the blown operation that had been the end of his CIA field career, wasn't as often as it had once been. Even now, he still favored his bad side. "Might be just your average illegal immigrant," Kimmer agreed. But she didn't think so. The average illegal immigrant didn't have the means to buy a dirt bike, and the dust they saw came from wheels, not feet — this particular runner had been, at least to some extent, financed. Kimmer eased her own bike forward through the brush, glad for her knee and shin guards — she brushed by a prickly pear without taking damage, and then a cholla. "What I don't get," she murmured to Rio, "is what's so important about this particular smuggler. Let's get serious — pretty much the whole agency is in on this one, not to mention the border patrol and friends."

151

"Contaminated drugs," Rio said. "Meaner than your average bear if they get out into distribution. They pulled us in because we could mobilize faster." "We're not immobilized by red tape, you mean." Kimmer looked to the side, discovered him within visual range. "I just wish I'd had a chance to talk to the suits. There are things going unsaid. Important things." Not that it mattered. They'd come to get a drug-dealing smuggler, and they would. When it came to the bad guys, Kimmer gave no quarter. Kimmer gleefully gave no quarter. And Rio laughed, angling along the other side of the trail from her, his wheat-blond hair hidden by his helmet but his large, lanky frame making his sleek motorbike look not quite up to the job. "Why do you think they stayed out of your sights?" Kimmer grumbled, but she knew he was right. Agency directors tended to avoid her, simply because she had a knack for reading the truth behind a situation. Any situation. Anyone. Almost anyone except Rio. She'd had to figure him out from the ground up. At first it had scared her…and now she had learned to revel in it. Just as they were learning to reconcile Kimmer's alienation from all things family to his tight-knit, compassionate relatives. Rio's voice changed, became all business, "Here we go —" For the dust had drifted away into the dark night, and the trail widened into a flat area littered with the refuse of previous runners — water bottles and suitcases and belongings that these travelers had once thought they couldn't do without. And here, a figure stood by a dirt bike, shapeless under layers of ill-fitting clothing, long stringy hair hanging limp, shoulders slumped with fatigue. Good. The better to snatch you up. Kimmer gunned the eerily silent engine and shot forward, balancing as though she rode a living thing, aware of Rio a beat behind her. They circled the figure in an unmistakable message — we found you! — kicking up dust in a ghostly silent display and all the while expecting the smuggler to go for a gun, to jump for the bike. But none of those things happened, and when Kimmer stopped her bike, she was greeted with exhausted relief. "Finally!" the smuggler said in Spanish, and using a woman's voice to do it. She reached inside her baggy long-sleeved shirt to tug at the hem of the oversized T-shirt beneath. "Take this, and give me my papers!" Rio sent Kimmer a quick look, as startled as she at what they'd cornered; she lifted one shoulder in a shrug of reply. "Well?" The woman tucked lank hair behind her ear and mustered up a glare from a young face already careworn. "That's what you said. I bring this over the border. I don't get caught. You give me my papers. So take your drugs! I don't want anything more to do with them!" Not exactly the gutter-crawling nastiness Kimmer had expected — just a mule, trading honor for the American Dream. She took a second look, a closer look — she saw the fear and exhaustion and the edges of hope. Kimmer almost felt sorry for her. Almost. "The problem is," Kimmer said, also in Spanish, "you got caught." "I —" The young woman looked at Kimmer, looked at Rio. Her hands went to her waist and the fanny bag now visible beneath her clothes. "Madre de Dios!"

152

"You must be kidding," Kimmer told her. "She was a mom. Probably a charter member of Mothers Against Drugs." "But they'll kill me!" "You don't look so hot now." And it was true. The woman didn't stand quite straight, didn't show any real energy. Contaminated drugs. She made her choice. And then Rio lifted his head in alarm and said, "Kimmer —" and the world exploded into light and gunfire. Kimmer ripped off her goggles and abandoned the bike to hit the dirt. Cholla spines drove through her leather gloves and she blistered the air. "Rio!" "I'm good!" he shouted back over the high-pitched engine of the dirt bike kicking in, and the sudden din of several others joining it. Kimmer blinked furiously, pulling her SIG from its low thigh holster but still unable to see. Sporadic shots kicked up dirt in her general direction, and she hugged the ground, exposing herself just enough to see two new bikes crash into the drug mule's bike. Kimmer realized then that the woman would be killed — she was a liability now — and she took a shot at the dark round blur of a bike tire, wasted another into the dirt just to make sure she had their attention. Return fire kept her low as Rio followed her example — another moment of sound and blurry darkness and vague movement, and the motorbikes raced away, two in tandem and a belated third gunning off in the opposite direction with Kimmer sprinting up to take a chance at it. She stumbled over something soft but solid and went down, brushing up against another cholla. "Sonuva — !" "She got away with it," said Rio — he whom she had tripped over. "I saw that much. Sort of." Kimmer squinted into the night with futility and little result. "And we got nothing." And now the contaminated drugs were on their way to the dealer pipeline — and Kimmer had the strong feeling they were about to discover what the stakes had really been.

Chapter Two The bad-guy drug smugglers got away in the dark desert. The drug mule had also escaped, still carrying her payload. And here Kimmer sat in a meeting. She plucked at the prickly pear spines in the tender skin of her inner wrist. Not the big obvious ones, but the almost invisible ones, fine barbed hairs that made their presence more known with each passing moment. Beside her, Rio casually crossed his ankle over his knee, managing to nudge her in the process. A pay attention signal. Fine. This sleek conference room was supposed to impress her. The fact that they'd been helicoptered to Tucson was supposed to impress her.

153

Thing was, she'd seen what she needed to see. Stripped of her weapons — they thought — and escorted into this government building where a handful of men took their time arriving and then only glanced at Kimmer and Rio, murmuring among themselves until the final participant arrived — Owen Hunter. And meanwhile she'd already looked the men over — already knew what they had in mind. "We're going to get scolded," she said under her breath to Rio, seeing he'd heard by the tilt of his head and the amusement in his dark, angled eyes. Everything about Rio came angled, a courtesy of his heritage — strong Danish bones beneath sculpted Japanese-stamped features. He was no more impressed by this gathering of authority figures than she. They'd both rather be out in the field, coordinating with other Hunter agents to track down the missing drugs. They had suspect names; they had favorite distribution channels. They had places to start. Though the point had been to get the stuff before it hit distribution at all. "What about that?" Kimmer asked abruptly, as the suits shuffled their chairs up to the table in the wake of Owen's arrival. "How the heck did that stuff get so contaminated that it brought you all together?" Owen, who had greeted her with a nod, now cleared his throat — she knew it for the request that it was. Don't cause trouble. Too late. This little gathering was all about chastising them, about imprinting them with the importance of what they had failed to do and shaming them into bursting out upon the world to finish the job. Kimmer wasn't too keen on being shamed. She was, however, pretty much into bursting out upon the world and taking down the bad guys. One of them cleared his throat. A white middle-aged man with a hairstyle that didn't quite acknowledge his advancing baldness. "About that," he said, and then stopped, starting again on a different tack. "I'm Thomas Keen, assistant director of the Homeland Security Terrorist Threat Integration Center. This is Gregor Spellman, deputy commissioner of the U.S. Customs and Border Patrol." This, a stern tea-colored man with silvered hair and a perceptible facelift. The final nod went to a black man who looked annoyed at the whole idea of being here. "And Jaden DuBois, FBI counterterrorism." Owen Hunter, indisputable authority of the elite family-owned Hunter Agency, didn't offer any title at all. But he did nod at her, and she nodded back. "Kimmer Reed," she said, and glanced down at her leather biking duds. "All-round kick-ass chick. And Rio Carlsen —" "Her sidekick," Rio said dryly. Keen's lips thinned briefly. Then he leaned forward to tap the closed file folder on the table in front of him. "I'll get right to the point. We were very disappointed in the results of last night's stakeout." Tell me about it. Kimmer scratched at the prickly pear spines in her wrist, and said nothing. "Frankly," Spellman said, tapping the table with some authority, "I need to be convinced that we have the best possible team before we go further." He looked at Kimmer; she smiled back in the most predatory way. So she wasn't all that big; so she had her totally curly dark chestnut hair cut cap-short in a gamin style and guileless eyes he would never be able to read. She was also honed by the best training Hunter could provide after they found her — a runaway caught in the middle of an undercover op — and a dossier of successful assignments. Not to mention that brutal childhood. Owen cleared his throat. "Don't waste our time by going there, gentlemen. You may consider us a small private agency, but we've been playing in the big kids' sandbox for a good number of years now. I'll withhold commentary — for now — about the validity of the intel you passed us, and you can assume I'm competent to assess my own agents."

154

Ooh. They hadn't expected that. They looked as though they'd bitten into a communal lemon. But they were also experienced men, good at their jobs; they dropped the subject with a series of tacit glances among themselves, and then Keen cleared his throat again. "Here's what you need to know. The woman you failed to intercept last night also thought she carried drugs." Thought? Kimmer quit scratching her wrist; beside her, Rio's foot thumped to the ground. "What," Owen said with distinct care, "was she carrying?" And Kimmer heard his unspoken words, the cold, hard what did you send my agents into? demand. DuBois looked as though he could hardly bring himself to say the words. "The powdered remains of a spent fuel rod from the Lagura Verde plant." "Whoa," Kimmer said, implications reeling through her. "That stuff is hot." Spellman offered, "As far as we know, the woman had no idea what she carried. She, too, thought it was drugs. She was chosen to smuggle the material so that our main targets could dissociate from her if there was trouble." "And you thought this would make no difference to us?" Rio's voice seemed only to hold calm query, but Kimmer knew better. Her congenial ex-CIA agent on his first Hunter assignment…and he was about to walk away. The CIA had taught him some hard lessons about trusting the chain of command. "We sent you with more than adequate container materials," Keen pointed out. No wonder that pouch had been so damned heavy. Lead-lined. He eyed her, meant to quell any objections. "You were to intercept the woman and obtain her cargo. It wouldn't have gone down any differently had you known the details." "Gentlemen, I'm surprised at you." Owen stood. His hard, rugged features were tightly set and he, too, was on the verge of walking out. Not Kimmer. Kimmer still wanted the bad guys. And Kimmer had grown up with worse betrayals. Still, she backed Owen, standing beside him. "Except we could have been ready for them. Do you think real drug dealers would have risked apprehension to grab a package that small? Do you think they would have had the inclination to swoop in on a busted mule for a firefight over the goods? Terrorists and drug deals have different resources; they have different goals. We could have been ready for them — but now they're on the loose with their radioactive goods. Just how hot did you say that stuff was?" "Dirty bomb hot," Rio muttered, and by their reaction Kimmer saw he was right. "From Lagura Verde? Probably some cobalt-60; definitely some cesium-137. Gamma ray stuff, would have triggered border patrol detectors." God. "Then quit playing agency games with us and tell us the whole story," Kimmer said, snapping the words out. "We've got some bomb boys to catch." And Rio, compassionate Rio, looked at the men with a drawn brow and said, "What about the woman?" DuBois looked Rio in the eye and said, "She was never meant to survive — and unless she gets immediate medical attention, she won't."

Chapter Three Bisbee, Arizona. Copper mining ghost town turned tourist town, shadows shifting in the late afternoon sun, summer heat just beginning to fade. "Wishful thinking, tourist town," muttered Kimmer, shifting on the seat of the stealthy motorcycle she'd so quickly grown fond of. She'd named hers She-Ra. "More like a leftover skeleton town."

155

"Bet that even makes sense in your head somewhere," Rio said, and just grinned at her when she gave him a squinty eye. "I was thinking," she said, "that there's no way to not stand out in this town. Especially if you're you. Better keep that motorcycle helmet on." "I don't think it matters if I stand out." Which he would, with that wheat-blond hair and that height and that sculpted face. "If we spook our mule and her little radioactive package, at least we'll have a dust trail to follow." "Won't need it," Kimmer said, hefting the radiation survey meter in her hand. "If she's anywhere around…" They had personal dosimeters, as well, although they'd been reassured that any short-lived contact would expose them to far less than the 15 rems considered to be in the safe zone — especially if they underwent decon. Kimmer, however, was not inclined to believe the agency contacts who had deceived them about their mission in the first place. But with the Hunter reputation on the line, and the materials for a dirty bomb somewhere here on U.S. soil, she wasn't inclined to walk away, either. Not even when the border patrol had agents crawling through Bisbee, the FBI had taken up residence in Hotel La More, and there was sure to be a Homeland Security rep here somewhere. So they sat here outside the totally unexpected Chinese Country Antiques and waited for a certain old blue panel van to cruise by Copper Queen Plaza. It was driven by a known contact for illegal immigrants — and while the missing mule might once have expected a perfect set of papers, now she was on the run. Kimmer just hoped she hadn't dumped the package, leaving them to track it down in the desert before the terrorist boys got their hands on it. "Poor woman," Rio said, his voice a strange echo in her ear, both direct and via her ear-mike. "She had no idea what she was getting into. I wish we could —" "Don't count on it," Kimmer said. She didn't need to hear the rest of that sentence to know that Rio wanted to save the woman — and that he'd already sensed Kimmer was focused on their original target. More than focused on it, given the newly revealed nature of the threat it posed. "She made a bad decision, and she's probably going to pay for it. We can't compromise recovery of that package to save her. Or try to save her, to judge by our little better-late-than-never briefing." "She was used," Rio countered. "She didn't deserve this." "No one deserves radiation poisoning." Kimmer held his gaze through the narrow open area of their respective full-face helmets. "But there's nothing we can do about it." He looked away, but she knew better than to think he'd given up. Not until that woman was dead would he give up. Didn't seem like that would take long. "There," Rio said, lifting his head — proving he wasn't as distracted as he seemed. A blue panel van tracked a casual path along Bisbee Ave. Rio pulled out into the light traffic behind it with Kimmer right on his tail. They headed for the complicated little traffic circle at routes 80 and 92 and then turned east to the — "Surely not," Kimmer murmured into her mike, drafting along behind Rio. "Cemetery," Rio confirmed.

156

"Trite," Kimmer said. "Really trite. And it's not even a proper cemetery." Not to her eyes, not without a green lawn and vast spreading crowns of maple trees sheltering the graves. This cemetery had rough caliche ground and clumps of sparse grama grass. The spear-shaped lombardy poplars that formed rows and boundaries only served to create a spook factor. "Ugh. There's no rest in peace here." Rio pulled his silent motorcycle into the tree shadows, leaving the occupants of the van some illusion of privacy as they pulled up to a fresh grave site. Kimmer sliced in ahead of him and — smaller, more compact on her bike — crept up along the shadows to gain a better vantage point, flipping up her face shield. Not so close that she didn't need the diminutive binoculars tucked away inside her leather jacket; she reached for them, never taking her eyes off the scene. "And here comes our mule," she said, holding the binocs up and fine-tuning the focus on the woman, moving up from behind a mausoleum on the same dirt bike she'd had on the trail. Still dressed in baggy clothes, hair still lank and dirty…the harsh afternoon sun revealed the grayish nature of her complexion, the hollows of her eyes and cheeks. "Nope, she doesn't feel so good. And hot damn!" This as an old sedan crept up not far away. "Hail, hail, the gang's unexpectedly all here," Rio noted under his breath. "Our bomb boys," Kimmer said, her voice warm with welcome as the two men emerged from the car. This time she'd seen their dossiers; she knew their faces. Average American melting pot faces. "But how did they find her here —?" Rio's voice came with startled realization. "She called them. She's still trying to get her papers. To make the original trade." Kimmer felt a jolt of respect. "Good for her." Futile, but still. "And she arranged it so she'd have the van boys for backup, too." "With no idea what they've gotten into." Not likely. This woman didn't have a clue how far over her head she'd gotten. Still hoping for her happily ever after here in the good old U-S-of-A — and she probably had no idea her illness was caused by the package to which she still clung. How desperate she must be… "We may not be able to save her, but this meet's not going down to our bomb boys' plans," Kimmer growled. She put the binocs away, reached into her jacket for the small handmade war club she kept there. Red oak root, a lumpy ball of scrap metal worn smooth by time and use…she hefted it with familiarity and fondness. "Ready?" Rio moved up beside her. "The noisemaker," he said, referring to the motorcycle's ability to generate noise so those in traffic would be aware of its presence. "I'll take the front, turn mine on. You and your little friend can be the sneak attack." "My favorite," said Kimmer, and pulled down her helmet face shield. It wasn't enough to hide the wicked grin she sent at Rio. "Let's go get us some bomb boys."

Chapter Four Not gonna make it — Kimmer realized it as soon as they started their stealth motorcycle run toward the blue panel van — toward the fugitive woman half hidden behind it, and most important, toward the two men who wanted the stolen radioactive powder the woman had been duped into smuggling as drugs. If she truly thought she'd get her visa out of it, she'd been mistaken…but Kimmer couldn't blame her for taking this one last chance.

157

She could blame the bomb boys for being so treacherous, and she did. Even as she silently closed on them, even as Rio turned on the noisemaker for his own hydrogen-fueled motorcycle and drew their startled attention, the bomb boys went into action. One of them jumped the woman, wrestling with the fanny pack secured at her waist. The other turned a gun on the van, blowing out the back tires in quick succession, not the least taken aback by Rio's sudden noisy presence. He merely turned the gun on Rio next. And Kimmer, leaning over the silent bike, still building speed, veered away from the protection of the tree line and her chosen target — the radioactive package. Not Rio! She swooped in at a calculated angle and slammed her war club into the man's arm — a wicked and unexpected ambush that made him scream in surprise as much as pain. Broken, no doubt. If it wasn't, she'd just have to come back for seconds. But not now. Now, the gun skidded across the gritty desert soil. The two immigrants from inside the van leaped on the hapless bomb boy, and Kimmer slewed her bike around to take a run at the second target just as he separated from the woman, his gun aimed at her head and the radioactive fanny pack dangling from his hand. Not gonna make it — Rio blasted between them, knocking the woman to the ground and sending the man staggering back — his gun discharged into the air. But he kept his feet and with nary a glance at his downed partner, he bolted the few yards to his sedan, diving in to crank the engine and spit gravel from spinning wheels. Rio's noisemaker switched off, leaving them in an eerie silence — nothing left but the crunch of car tires on gravely ground. Kimmer lined her bike up to go after the sedan, hesitating only when she realized that Rio had stopped, had straightened those long legs to brace the bike upright even as he bent over the woman. "Rio!" she shouted, loudly enough to make him wince as it came in through his earpiece. "The package!" He froze; he stopped in the act of reaching out. Then he withdrew his hand, his fingers curling into an angry fist. "Stay here," he told the woman in Spanish. "We know why you're sick. We'll come back to help you." Kimmer knew from the look on the woman's face that it wouldn't happen; she'd bolt as soon as she could. Probably wouldn't even wait for the help of the two men in the van who'd come specifically for just that. Nothing to be done about it. Not with the dirty bomb materials heading out of the cemetery with hasty purpose. "We can't outrun him on the road," she told Rio, and kicked the bike forward, steering across the grounds. The sedan hung in her peripheral vision, flashing behind the sepulchral landscaping and toward the exit. Kimmer leaned forward, riding the bike over the rough spots as though it were a steeplechase jumper. Coming in behind her at a more extreme angle, Rio quickly made up ground; in moments, they rode nearly side by side. The car ignored the road at its driver's whim, cutting across the looping asphalt, bouncing and lurching over old shocks. "Get ahead of him," Kimmer said into her mike, breathless as the bike jarred on uneven ground. "See if he wants to play chicken at the cemetery gate." Rio sounded so close, right in her ear. "My pistol and I say he doesn't." "Works for me," Kimmer said, and pushed the bike to the limit, splitting off from Rio to pull up alongside the sedan, pacing it a moment — and then pulling ahead, with the cemetery entrance coming up fast.

158

The car slowed, and Kimmer gave it a disbelieving double take. The man within it didn't look tense, or concerned, or even annoyed. Behind the glare on the windshield he — Dammit, he was grinning. He knows something. She didn't doubt the instant assessment; she didn't doubt that it would be bad for them. And when she glanced ahead to the gate, still speeding alongside the car, Rio on the other side and just as intent as she — Just a glint. Nothing more. And they were almost upon the gates with the sedan dropping well back, to all appearances giving up, when she realized. "Wire!" she cried. Wire, set to stop the woman in case she ran with their goods again. "Go down, go down!" His surprised grunt sounded in her ear just before she laid her own bike down, leathers skidding over rocky ground, body tumbling away. The car shot past, once again in full acceleration — she heard the twang of wire breaking overhead and hunched in anticipation of the whiplash. The end of the wire snapped across the back of her helmet and she waited no longer than that before scrambling to her feet, not waiting to see if everything still worked. "Rio!" She yanked her helmet off, losing the ear bud in the process — and then had to dive out of the way when the blue van came bearing down on her, chasing on the heels of the woman's dirt bike. She landed hard beside Rio, sparing the speeding procession little more than a glare as she pulled herself to her hands and knees — a little more slowly this time. And by then Rio was rolling over, getting to his knees; tugging on his own helmet. "Damn!" She knew by the way he held himself that he'd wrenched his back. And she knew by the tone of his voice that he wasn't thinking about his back at all. They'd lost the radioactive powder. They'd lost the woman. They'd lost the men who could lead them to her again. "Damn," Kimmer echoed. And then, "I think I broke one of them." "Not in so many pieces he can't talk?" "Not yet," she told him. "Let's go see how long he can keep it that way."

Chapter Five "They should have let me talk to the guy. We did catch him." Kimmer tried to keep her anger from her hands as they worked along Rio's back in the privacy of their Bisbee, Arizona, hotel room. She straddled his hips, sitting back on his firm posterior to massage the strained muscles of his back. His extremely clean back — just like the rest of him, and Kimmer, as well. Their personal dosimeters had shown their exposure to the radioactive payload to be negligible, but the Hunter Agency operated on a better safe than sorry policy, and she and Rio had undergone a thorough decontamination. No doubt so had the single bomb boy they'd caught, broken arm and all. But he wasn't talking. Not yet. And the border patrol agents who'd descended on the area had lost the trail of radioactivity only a block from the cemetery rendezvous. No doubt the bomb boys had been prepared with a lead-lined container, just as they'd been prepared to stop a motorcycle escape.

159

"I could have gotten something from him," Kimmer said, thinking of that nuclear fuel rod on the loose — the pellets ground to powder, ready for dispersal via dirty bomb. "Even if he thought he wasn't telling us anything at all…" Rio grunted agreement. "Interagency turf wars…and Hunter is the independent. None of them want us to get the scoop." He made a pained sound, and Kimmer guiltily eased her touch on his back, the scar tissue knotted and inflexible under her fingers. "And your knack for reading people…it's hard to explain." "They didn't believe it, you mean." Even though they'd earlier avoided her for that same reason. They wanted it both ways — and they had the authority to demand it. "Hmm," he said, by way of agreement. His muscles finally began to relax under Kimmer's touch. After the decon, they'd hit the hotel hot tub, pretending they weren't listening for the ring of the phone, the call back to action. Pretending they weren't fuming at being left out of the interrogation of the man they'd apprehended. "You'd think," Kimmer said, moving to massage his shoulders and unable to resist the temptation to trail her fingers up his neck, "they'd do anything to keep our bomb boys from building their dirty bomb. Even if the whole threat of those things is so greatly exaggerated. Radiological Dispersion Device — instant unnecessary public panic." "That's not fair," Rio said, and he meant her touch on his neck, and the way she'd made the hair at his nape stand on end. Goose bumps. He turned his head just enough to give her a meaningful eye, and then settled again. "The danger from RDDs is real enough. It's just not the danger everyone thinks of." Not the instant deaths, he meant. Not the radiation poisoning, not the potential cancers. Only those in the direct blast zone were at risk to inhale particles, or to swallow them — and there were preventative treatments for such people. No, the real effects would come later. The economic costs of large scale, long-term evacuations. The cleanup and demolition costs — Hurricane Katrina all over again, with radiation on the side. Kimmer scowled at the back of Rio's head — and then, to make up for it, bent over to delicately lick behind his ear. He made a growling noise and shifted beneath her. But she hadn't distracted him from the matter at hand, not completely. "We should go after her," he said. Kimmer stilled. "Our nameless mule, you mean." The woman who'd been duped into smuggling in what she'd thought to be drugs — and who didn't have much longer to live after carrying the powdered fuel rod pellets over the border. "She doesn't know anything, Rio. She didn't even know what she had in her hands — and she sure doesn't have it, anymore." "We don't know what she knows," Rio said, his voice muffled by the bedsheets. "At the least she's got names and faces, and we should check her out. Not to mention that it's the right thing to do." Yup, that was Rio. Conditioned by his family to consider the individual just as important as the big picture — or more so. And completely aware that Kimmer not only looked at the big picture, but had less reason to forgive people those things that got them into trouble with the law. But she kept her response low-key. "Our friendly alphabet soup collection told us to stand down until they extract some sort of direction from their new prisoner." The border patrol, Homeland Security, the FBI…they were all in on it. Rio snorted softly. "Since when do you pay attention to what the Powers That Be tell you?" Kimmer poked his shoulder, but kept it gentle. "Since it'll get Owen in a big whopping load of trouble if I don't." He was silent a moment, which she didn't much like. Rio was all easy-going, all natural ease. Didn't fret, just got things done.

160

The tension beneath her felt an awful lot like fretting. Or possibly like a man who was about to draw a line. When he took a deep breath, she felt sure of it. "I'm not sure this works for me," he said. "I joined Hunter so we could work together…so I could do my good deeds in the world. But I've got my own definition of good deed. Owen understood that well enough after that business in Pittsburgh with your brother. If I'm going to work this gig, I've got to feel there's something to it. That there's —" and he cut his words short, probably afraid of sounding just a little too Lord of the Rings. Not a problem for Kimmer. "You want there to be honor in it," she said. "Like, maybe, in saving people from a dirty bomb? You'd risk trading an urban population for one woman? A woman who might already be dead?" "Except that you're assuming she can't be of help to us. What do we lose in looking for her, Kimmer? As opposed to sitting here in this hotel room like good little puppets, waiting for a pat on the head and permission to go do our jobs?" Kimmer stroked along the top of his shoulder. Nothing provocative this time…just plain old reaching out. The kind of touch she'd learned from Rio himself. "I don't think I've ever heard you this…" she hunted for the word, found it, and still had trouble applying it to Rio. "Bitter." He turned beneath her, dropping his head back to look up at her with dark eyes a little wry, and yes…a little bitter. "Only because you didn't see me when I was still hooked up to tubes and catheters and morphine, coming to terms with the agency's failures. With the cost of those failures." "It was just one person," Kimmer said. "One person with bad judgment." "And a system that didn't protect my asset from the situation. Or my own personal ass." Rio shook his head, wheat-blond hair falling back from his forehead. "We lost more than just a foreign agent coming in from the cold that day. We lost my friend. If I'm getting into the business again, it'll be on my terms. And that means not losing sight of the individuals caught up in our little games." She regarded him in silence, but not for long. Then she shrugged, her hands resting on his chest, her toes hooked under his knees. "Okay," she said. "Then we do both. We do it all. Bomb boys, sick mule, gamma ray package. Right?" He grinned up at her. "You say the sweetest things." Yeah. Right. Do it all. Somehow.

Chapter Six Kimmer stood in a part of Bisbee where tourists shouldn't go. A rough spot, stuck at the end of town like an afterthought of meanness. Good thing she wasn't a tourist. "Owen," she'd said into the phone that late afternoon, "Rio and I are going sightseeing in Bisbee. We have a package to gift wrap." And he'd been silent just long enough so she knew he understood — that he should avoid asking pointed questions if he wanted to disavow knowledge of their activity. That she was giving him the chance to say absolutely not. But Owen had said, "Good luck with that. If you need a lift back to the hotel, let me know."

161

All his way of saying he'd back them up if it came to that. So with much cheer, she and Rio had scoured Bisbee's rough spots, asking questions and not particularly trying to hide their outsider's nature or their intent. No point, not with the suits sweeping through before them. No one would have talked to them, anyway — and no one did. For no one in the Hispanic community had any intention of answering her questions — of revealing their underground places, or of betraying the very sick woman now among them. But they did it all the same. Subtle reactions to Kimmer's words, the lies they chose in response to Rio's questions…together they worked around the edges of town, from the taco stand with the best tacos ever made to a tiny tattoo parlor still decorated with pathetic tatters of Cinco de Mayo streamers. And they'd ended up here, in nastyville, close enough to their quarry so it was time to step lightly. If the woman could still run, she would. Kimmer eyed the battered adobe building across the street from them, pondering their best approach. "We could just go ahead and flush her, grab her up at the back." "Or I could go inside as a customer," Rio suggested, his tone all innocence. The battered adobe building was, to all appearances, a small-time whorehouse. "Yeah," Kimmer told him. "You do that." "It's not like you could —" But he broke off, realizing what he'd done. Looking at her — small but wiry and much stronger than she appeared, her demeanor whatever she wished it to be — he winced. Hunter hadn't given her the code name Chimera for nothing. "Oh," she said, already one step toward the adobe, "I could." He winced again, but this time in resignation. "Expect the unexpected. The definition of you." Kimmer smiled sweetly at him. "Besides, it might just get us farther. I'm not as physically threatening." "Not outwardly," he agreed. "See if you can saunter around back without looking too conspicuous," she suggested. Between the crumbling old parking lot on one side and the tiny shop of cluttering religious icons on the other, cover was as sparse as the desert landscape. But those same circumstances made it easy to spot their recently arrived tail. Lurking at the corner a block away, grinding a cigarette under his heel. Twilight obscured his features, but Kimmer could read that body language easily enough. "Ooh," she said. "Company." Rio looked from the man to the adobe building, his reluctance clear. "She could be right there —" "And this guy could know where the bomb powder is stashed." "This guy is only here to clean up what they left behind." Meaning the woman. Illegal immigrant, unwitting terrorist. "You think that's a chance we can take?" Kimmer didn't. But she softened at the conflict on Rio's face nonetheless. "I know I said we'd try to do it all. Save the world, save the woman. But —" "We could split up."

162

She tipped her head to scrutinize him — his expression, his body language. Her knack was no good at reading him; it never had been. It was like that with those who were too close to her. She asked, "You okay with that? Splitting up?" Muscles played across his jaw. "No," he said, just a little too sharply. "So how do you want to handle it?" "Easy," she said lightly. "Let's head for the corner. If he's here after our mule, he won't even notice us. If he's been following us around in the hopes of finding the mule, then he's gonna know he's been made. Bet he runs." "Okay," he said, and held out his hand, turning them back into a couple. "Let's take a walk." "Sure," she said, twining her fingers in his. "You and me and our various concealed weapons. Sounds idyllic." There. That got a smile from him. But not for long. So oo casually, the bomb boy walked away, down the street toward the center of town. Such as it was. Behind them, the squeal of tires and the smell of burnt rubber testified as to another kind of runner. The woman…someone saw us. Recognized us. She'd been in that building, all right — she just wasn't there, anymore. Rio's fingers tightened on hers. She might have heard him growl frustration. After a slight squeeze in return, Kimmer disengaged her hand. As they passed a tiny alley before the corner bodega, she slipped behind the building and sprinted full speed to the opposite corner of the store. Along the way, she withdrew her sleek SIG Sauer. A quick glance into the pools of insipid streetlight and she marked the man's progress just as Rio rounded the corner alone. Suspicion crossed the man's face — but he was too late. As he passed the alley, Kimmer pushed the SIG's cold metal barrel into the vulnerable skin just behind his ear. "Please, sir, can you tell me the way to the stolen fuel rod?" He may have thought she couldn't understand his Spanish cursing; he may not have cared. She tsked, anyway. "Hey, just asking directions here. The Visitor's Bureau will have you replaced if you keep that up." And by then Rio was behind him, his larger pistol secure in the small of the man's back. "Talk to the lady nicely," he murmured in the man's ear in his American-accented Spanish. "I'm in a bad mood." The man got the message. The look on his face told her so…and it also told her that he wasn't going to talk to them. He'd martyr himself first. Dammit. If they took him in, they'd learn nothing; they'd lose him to the alphabet soup suits. They'd already lost the woman. If Kimmer didn't do something fast, they'd come out of another night with nothing. No woman, no ex-fuel rod, no information. She stepped closer to him, within range of any counterstrike he might dare to make — and she nodded Rio back. Trust me, she told him with that gesture. And then, into their captive's ear, so softly, "We know where the woman is headed; our people will have her soon enough. Before she dies, she'll tell us names, faces, meeting places…. We'll find your friends, and we'll even find that fuel rod. Now's your only chance to play nice. You talk to me now, and maybe I won't use your front pocket to carry that powder when we get it. Or maybe you've had kids already?" "Puta!" he spat. "Ah," she said. "But not your puta. I'm a capitalist dog puta and this is my game." She glanced at Rio. "Coast is clear?" And though he had no idea what she was up to, he said, "It's clear."

163

"Let's have a little talk in this alley, then." But when she reached to drag him in, she let her gun slip away from behind his ear, to skid right off the back of his neck. He was no slouch. He grabbed her. Better have read this one right, gringa, she told herself in that split second before he slammed her against the building, whamwhamwham in quick succession, and sprinted away down the street. Rio might not understand, but he backed her. He knew well enough that she'd left that opening; he let the man run, already at Kimmer's side and steadying her. "That could have gone wrong so many ways —" "But it didn't." She rubbed her jaw where her teeth had bounced off each other during all that whamming. "He's running off to tattle — to tell someone my little fib about having the woman pinned down. They'll race to find her first. We'll have to be there when they do." Rio's look turned grim. "You just let one of the bomb boys go." "I just did exactly that." "If we don't play this right, we walk away with nothing. Again." Kimmer moved close to him, standing at the edge of the streetlight's aura. "You wanted to save the mule? This is our chance to do it. If we play our cards right, we can end up in the same place at the same time…and we can grab the bomb boys and help the mule. Everyone's happy. But when you want it all…it doesn't come without risk." His expression shifted, rapid understanding and gratitude and then something fierce and possessive. Finally his gaze went distant. Looking ahead. "If they reach her before we do…" Kimmer pushed away from the building, finding her legs steady again. "Then we won't let it happen. Let's go talk to whoever's left at that whorehouse." Rio nodded, trying to hide his worry and not succeeding. "Hey," she said. "We can do this." And they would, because they had to. Their bomb boy, escaped; the woman, gone. They were running out of options.

164

Chapter Seven Kimmer walked into the adobe building as if she'd been there a dozen times before. Not an airy building, this one. Old and small and close, smelling of old clay, with cracks festooning the walls near the ceiling and rounded corners worn by time. Several women lounged along the wall — young and old, on the verge of being used up; all Latina. One woman sat behind a rickety wooden desk, a simplistic ledger open before her and a broken mug holding pencil stubs and battered pens. The room darkened — that was Rio, standing in the doorway behind her. The women drew together, and Kimmer approached the desk, not making any effort to hide her intensity. She and Rio had been seen, after all; their quarry had bolted from this building. No point in being coy now. She started the conversation in Spanish. "Where did she go?" "You must be in the wrong place." The woman's resentment glimmered through the bored look she'd pasted on her face. "This isn't for a woman." Kimmer gave the occupants a pointed glance. "Then we're all in the wrong place. Where did she go?" The woman just snorted, leaned back in a chair that might give way at any moment, and folded her arms across her chest. The following silence was a loud one. "Here's how it is," Kimmer said. "We know she's sick. She's dying, in fact. We'd like to help her. We also know there are men in this town who want to finish her off, and they're as close to finding her as we are." A shrug greeted her words. She heard Rio shift in the doorway, as fidgety as he ever got. And she knew why, too — thanks to her, those men were hunting the woman more fervently than ever. She looked straight into those flat black-brown eyes. "Okay, this is also how it is. I'm working with a bunch of fancy-pants investigators. They haven't found your friend because they're more interested in the men. But they're the sort of people who like to go around cleaning things up, and if I happen to tell them the woman came through here, it would bring a lot of attention your way. Government-type attention. Policia. Immigration. I don't suppose you've all got green cards?" That caused a stir of distress along the wall. Better a whore here than a whore in Mexico, apparently. The woman stayed hard. "And I believe this…why?" "Because you were watching when we chased one of those men away. And since we're the ones who came back…draw your own conclusions." Kimmer showed her teeth. "Look," Rio said. "She's going to die. She was exposed to some bad stuff. Tell me you're not surprised she could even get up to leave this place." One of the women by the wall said, "Flaco helped her —" And the woman at the desk gave them all an annoyed scowl. "And Flaco will take it out on us if anyone finds his place." Kimmer plucked a pen from the broken mug and handed it over. "Write it down." She tapped the corner of the ledger. "Or when Flaco gets back, we'll be here waiting, and we'll start asking him the same questions." The woman stared at Kimmer, weighing her options — and then hissed air between her teeth and snatched the pen. She scribbled an address on the corner of the ledger and tore it off with an annoyed flourish, presenting it to Kimmer. And Kimmer looked at Rio and grinned.

***

165

"We should call Owen," Rio suggested. They sat on their motorcycles out on the edge of the desert, up a thousand feet from Bisbee and outside a little collection of adobe homes that used to be associated with the nearest copper mine. Dim light showed through the curtains of the particular house they watched. Kimmer shook her head. "He wouldn't be able to pretend he didn't know what we were up to if we did that. Later." "We're only assuming the bomb guys will find this place." "They knew which building we were watching. They'll follow the trail, just as we did. And they're more familiar with this area." Kimmer drew up the collar of her leather jacket. "If I'd known we were going to head uphill, I'd have worn something warmer." Rio gazed at the pimp's house, apparently oblivious to the same cold that sneaked into Kimmer's bones. "Flaco. He's hoping she'll get better so he can add her to his collection." "Yeah." Kimmer hunched her shoulders against that cold…against reality. She touched her war club inside her jacket, her thigh holster, the cluster of war darts tucked in her back pocket. Locked and loaded and ready to go. The night-vision goggles hung off her handlebars, but she didn't think this would turn into a stalking game. "Hey," he said. She looked his way in the darkness. "Thanks." She could have pretended not to know what he was talking about. It would have been easier. It's what she would have done eighteen months earlier, before she'd ever believed a man like Rio existed. Someone who could be so different, and yet understand — and accept — her. Someone who could show her glimpses of another way to live, and still let her find her own way there. So she didn't pretend. "You're welcome." "And you're right," he said. "About priorities. If we'd had no choice…we'd have had to stick with the bomb boys. Get that powder back." "Choices are good," she told him, thinking that it was probably too late in any event. Thinking that they might yet have to let the woman go in their efforts to retrieve the package. But… "Creating our own choices is even better. I don't like being cornered." She looked over at him, grinned wickedly in the darkness. "Doing the impossible…one of my favorite things." "Listen," Rio said, cocking his head at the sound of an approaching vehicle, one that traveled far too fast for the state of the road and the lack of light. "I think you're about to get your chance."

Chapter Eight

Kimmer had no intention of getting fancy. They'd found the woman…they'd lured the bomb boys to find her with renewed purpose. And now it was time to wrap things up in one tidy little sting, descending on the small adobe house to apprehend the terrorists and save the woman sickened by their stolen fuel rod. "Watch the back," she suggested to Rio as they thoughtfully flattened the tires of the bomb boys' car. "I'll hit the front. They're not as likely to run from me." "More fools, they." Rio's teeth gleamed briefly in the darkness, a quick grin. "You need help, you shout."

166

She still wasn't used to having the option, and had to grin back. "Sounds good to me." From within the house came shouting; they couldn't wait any longer. Kimmer ran for the house while Rio loped around the back, avoiding an abandoned car axle and a broken grocery cart before he disappeared around the side. Kimmer didn't knock. She didn't even hesitate. She kicked the flimsy door out of her way — and she didn't stop until her SIG's muzzle ran up against the back of a bomb boy's skull. Fast. Tidy. Freezing the action: the woman sat on a cot in the corner of a crowded room, too sick to get up even though she'd evidently tried. Flaco the pimp, hands in the air and smear of greasy beard on his face, backed up against the far wall, gauging the distance between his position and the archway to the next room. And two bomb boys, guns in hand, froze in place, knowing better than to move. "Avon calling," she told them, and then raised her voice. "Hey, Avon man — let them know I'm not alone." From the back of the house, Rio's amused voice said, "She's not alone." The bomb boy at the end of her gun stayed perfectly still. "Who are you? Not cops." "Not cops." Kimmer wrenched the man's revolver from his hand, thumbed open the wheel to dump the bullets, and tossed it out into the darkness. "Think of us as troublesome independents." "Hey, man, I got nothing to do with this," Flaco said. "I was just trying to help." "Oh, please," Kimmer said to him, bumping the SIG against her captive's spine as his back tensed in a way that meant he was thinking of trouble. Multitasking, that was her. "Innocent, you're not. You're just not who I'm looking for. At least, not tonight." "How about I…leave?" he suggested, tentative and sly and weaselly all at the same time. She ignored him, and spoke to the woman as she reached for the Flex-Cuffs stashed in her back pocket. "We're here to help you," she said. "We know why you're sick. In fact, these guys know why you're sick, too. They never intended for you to survive your trip across the border with your little radioactive package." "Whoa," Flaco said. "I don't know nothing about —" Kimmer kept her voice unconcerned. "Shut up. This isn't about you." She watched the sick woman, waiting for signs of understanding…hoping it wasn't too late. "This is about letting her know that she's not going from bad to worse because we're here. Bad to better, actually." She yanked the flexible riot cuffs into place around her bomb boy's wrist, and jerked it behind his back. "Give me the other one, glow-boy." Reluctantly, he did. She completed his restraint and stepped back just far enough to plant her foot squarely on his scrawny ass, shoving him across the room. He couldn't keep his balance, stumbling into a ratty futon chair before he went down. Kimmer eyed the second man, whose gun still pointed at Flaco, frozen there when she'd burst in. Flaco said, "You're right. This isn't about me. How about I just leave?" She tipped her head slightly, assessing him. Total asshole. Pimpish weaselly asshole. Coward to boot. Not to be trusted…but not part of this. From the back of the house came a scuffling sound — wood breaking, glass breaking…and what might have been bone breaking. And Rio, breathless, muttering, "Idiot." And then to Kimmer. "Be with you in — dammit —" more scuffling, glass crunching underfoot "— a moment —" A lurker from the bomb boy team, going down.

167

"Take your time." Kimmer nodded at the pimp, jerked her chin at the door. "You're in my way. Get lost." He wasted no time abandoning the woman, whose grayish color couldn't possibly be a good thing. He eased through the frozen tableau of the room and then bolted for the yard. "Your turn," she told the second bomb boy. "Toss the gun, and turn around. I'm into bondage tonight." "If you take us in, you'll never find what you're looking for," the bomb boy said. At the back, a wooden ripping sound seemed to indicate the door had parted ways with the hinges. Rio called, "Almost done here —" Kimmer just grinned at the bomb boy. "By the time we take you in, we'll have found what we're looking for," she said. "Remember? Not cops. We have our own procedures." Which weren't so flexible as that comment might imply, but he didn't have to know. She had only an instant's warning, the feeling of presence behind her. She ducked, whirling, and took a jarring blow to her shoulder — only barely realizing that Flaco had returned, had scavenged the revolver and used it as a cudgel. She ducked the brunt of a second blow, going down on one knee as her gun fell from numbed fingers. Not just a coward. An opportunist —; Not to be trusted. She should have paid more attention. The man had seen opportunity to get in good with some heavy hitters — and he'd taken it. The bomb boys scrambled to take advantage of the break. Kimmer ignored them, dropping the flexible restraint to dig at her other back pocket, doing a tuck and roll and coming up with a war dart. A throwing tool, it was — but sharp enough to do a turn as a stiletto if circumstances demanded. Circumstances did. She jammed the stout metal spike into the back of Flaco's knee, shoving until the point grated against bone. He screamed and fell — but he still fumbled at the gun with a purpose, moaning and cursing. She took her chances, turning back to the bomb boys even as she freed another war dart, slipping it into throwing position. She found pretty much what she expected — one bomb boy still frantically trying to free himself, which he wouldn't. The other completely smug that Kimmer's dominant hand was useless, her gun on the floor. "You or her," he said, picking the easy, closer target and jamming his gun into her temple even as she retched weakly. "Or both." "Leave her alone," Kimmer said, her heart sinking. They'd come so close…so damned close. "She's worth nothing as a hostage. She's already dead." "But you said —" "I was trying to be nice," she told him, trying not to see the despair on the woman's face. "Make her feel a little better before she kicked off. Nope, you blew it. You should have aimed that gun at me." But behind her, Flaco gave a primal scream of intent, inspiring renewed triumph on the bomb boy's face. He still had an ally, and now she was trapped between the two of them and about to go down — Rio! Here he came, charging through with blood dripping from his hand and smeared across his face, fast on his feet in spite of his size — and intent. Oh so intent. Blowing through the little room to launch himself at the pimp. Kimmer dove away, and the bomb boy took his moment, shoving the woman away so hard she tumbled right off the cot, taking aim at Kimmer — But not before Kimmer rolled to her feet and let fly with a dart he never even saw before it sunk into his eye…and beyond. He folded like a rag doll.

168

Kimmer staggered to her feet, thrown off balance by her tingling, useless arm as she kicked the man's gun away from his limp hand. "There's a reason I practice with both hands."

*** "Owen," Kimmer said into her cell phone, flexing her fingers in the cold darkness of the front yard. Or trying to, but at least the little spasm of movement was an improvement. In the house, Rio had stacked disabled and deceased bad guys and now tended the woman, reassuring her that Kimmer's words had been a ploy. "Hey, we got 'em wrapped up for the suits. Bomb boys and their mule, with a pimp on the side. And send an ambulance. Or two." "You have them all?" "You betcha, and the bomb boys are already singing. I think if you tell our suit friends to hit the farmer's coop, you'll find what you want in the freezer, in a lead box inside a cooler." Owen was shaking his head. She didn't have to see it; she could hear it in his voice. "When you do things your own way, you don't think small." Kimmer grinned, glancing through the open door to the captive baddies and her very own partner, offering water to the sick woman. "Nope. We did this one our way. Better get used to it, Owen — neither of us think small."

169

The Rhinestone Caper by Merline Lovelace

Kristina Naxos entered the Ms. Greece pageant with an ulterior motive: to get to New York City to carry out a very important personal errand. But the moment she slips away from her pageant duties and onto the city streets, she's mugged! Fortunately, NYPD Protective Services Sergeant Derek Holt happens upon Kristina just moments after the attack, and though the thug eludes him, Derek is assigned by the mayor as Kristina's personal bodyguard. And he can't help but notice the gorgeous brunette's nervous energy and apparent aversion to cops.…

Chapter One Greek-born, American-educated Kristina Naxos arrived in New York City on a sunny April afternoon. She breezed through customs wearing her rhinestone Ms. Greece crown, the diamond-studded sunglasses she'd won as part of her pageant booty, and stilettos that added three inches to her already impressive five-nine. Luckily she'd had prescription lenses inserted in the sunglass frames, as her contacts were in the luggage that was now lost somewhere between Athens and New York. A limo whisked her and her volunteer escort to a Manhattan hotel, where Greece's ambassador to the UN gave her a ceremonial welcome kiss. Pinning on a sparkly smile, Kristina posed with the ambassador for the paparazzi. An hour later, she had dumped her escort, deposited her crown in the hotel safe and traded her stilettos for a pair of beaded sneakers purchased in the hotel gift shop, along with snug jeans and an I LUV NY T-shirt. Hiding behind her ultra-chic, ultra-expensive glasses, she slipped out a side door of the hotel. Kristina was on a mission — a private and very desperate one that had nothing to do with the Ms. World pageant she'd compete in a few days from now. Her eyes intent behind the shades, she stepped out onto the sidewalk. She'd taken only a couple of steps when someone shoved her from behind and grabbed her purse. "Hey!" The sunglasses flew off and Kristina went down, but she managed to hang on to her purse strap. Engaged in a furious tug of war, she screeched for help. She heard the thud of pounding feet. Her attacker heard them, too. Cursing, he wrenched the purse out of her hands and took off around the corner. A few seconds later, someone whizzed by in hot pursuit. Kristina was on her feet, dusting herself off, when the pursuer returned. "The bastard disappeared like a rat down a hole. You okay?" She squinted up — a rare occurrence for her. The face was a pale blur, but the voice was deep and rich and carried a definite hint of the Bronx. Kristina's four years as an undergrad at Columbia had given her an ear for the boroughs. "I'm fine. Just a little shaken." "Did you get a good look at the guy?" "Well, uh, he sounded tall." "Come again?"

170

"You know." She flapped her hand a little above shoulder height. "Tall." NYPD Protective Services Sergeant Derek Holt blinked as the leggy brunette thrust out a sneakered toe and tapped the sidewalk. With her wildly curly black hair and killer curves, the woman could stop traffic on any street corner. Too bad she was a little loony. "The mugger knocked off my glasses. Do you see them?" Enlightened, he scooped up a pair with mangled frames and shattered lenses. "Here they are. Or what's left of them." "Oh, no! I can't see six inches in front of my face without them." Derek had just come off duty, but he couldn't leave a near-blind woman to find her own way to the precinct. Her mile-long legs and luscious breasts had nothing to do with his spurt of chivalry. "I'm a police officer. I'll take you downtown to fill out a report." "No!" Her chin jerked up. Her brown eyes filled with something that looked like dismay. "No, thanks. There, uh, wasn't anything of value in my purse." "You were attacked. You need to report it." "I'm okay. Really. I have to go." Whirling, she groped her way through the hotel's revolving side door. Derek was left with a view of a classy backside and a decided curiosity about the gorgeous babe's aversion to cops.

Chapter Two Fighting a serious case of jet lag, Kristina huddled on the sofa in her hotel suite. She'd retrieved her crown from the hotel safe and changed out of her gift-shop jeans into one of the hotel's fluffy robes. Staring with hopelessly myopic eyes at the fuzz of color on the TV, she thought about the thug who'd jumped her earlier that afternoon. The mugger couldn't know it, but he'd blown her desperate scheme all to hell. Kristina had entered the Ms. Greece pageant on a whim. Much to her surprise, she'd won the rhinestone crown. But she'd traveled to NYC not just to represent her country at the Ms. World competition. She was here for very personal reasons. She had to find her cousin. She and Athena had grown up together, closer than most sisters, and looked so much alike most people thought they were twins. Unfortunately, Athena's student visa had expired weeks ago. Now she was not only in the States illegally, the police had issued a warrant for her arrest after an antiwar protest that turned ugly. The last Athena's frantic mother had heard, her daughter was hiding out with a friend and desperate to get home. Kristina had intended to find her and give Athena her passport. Once her cousin was safely out of the country, she'd report the passport stolen. Except a mugger had just made off with her purse and passport! To make things worse, Kristina's prescription sunglasses had taken a direct hit during the scuffle. She could hardly find the bathroom, much less her cousin, until the airlines delivered her luggage and her contacts. Unless…

171

Struck by inspiration, she groped for the phone. The diamond-studded sunglasses had been compliments of an exclusive NYC designer. Maybe they could straighten the frames and replace the lenses on a rush order. An obliging hotel operator connected her with the Jordan Colby Eyewear Boutique on 5th Avenue. When Kristina explained her dilemma, the designer herself got on the phone. "I'll send a runner right over. If the optometrist I work with isn't too backed up, he should be able to duplicate the prescription and provide you with new eyes by tomorrow morning." "Thank you!" When the runner arrived, Kristina handed him the mangled glasses. Hopefully, her luggage would appear before she had to attend the Greek-American Society banquet in a few hours. If not, she'd just have to fumble her way through the event. "…and in local news, the Greek delegate to the Ms. World pageant was mugged this afternoon." Startled, Kristina swung around and squinted at the fuzzy image on the TV. "An enterprising tourist captured the incident on his cell phone camera." Her first reaction was dismay. Her second, a thrill of excitement. If her cousin caught the news, she'd know Kristina was here! Athena would try to reach her. They could… A brisk knock checked her racing thoughts. Praying it was her luggage, she felt her way to the door and opened it a crack. "Yes?" Something shiny flashed in front of her nose. "It's Sergeant Holt, Ms. Naxos. I'm with the NYPD. We met earlier this afternoon. " Kristina's heart dropped to the toes of the terry-cloth hotel scuffs. Common sense told her Holt had come about the robbery. He couldn't have connected her to her fugitive cousin. Could he? "I have my supervisor with me," he said. "We'd like to talk to you." Gulping, Kristina unlatched the chain.

Chapter Three NYPD Sergeant Derek Holt had gotten an eyeful of Ms. Greece's seductive curves, creamy skin and long, silky mane earlier this afternoon. She looked even better now, with her face scrubbed clean and her hair wrapped in a towel turban. Like a Greek goddess, Derek thought. Tall. Proud. And more than a little nervous. Wondering what it was about cops that made her so edgy, he clipped his badge to his belt and introduced his boss. "This is Captain Mike Carpenter, chief of the NYPD Protective Services Division." "I hope you've come to tell me you've caught the mugger and recovered my purse, Captain."

172

"We're working on it. May we come in?" Nodding, she stepped aside and waved them into a sitting room filled with flowers. Derek spotted an elaborate rhinestone crown amid the bouquets. An instant and highly erotic image of Ms. Naxos wearing nothing but that sparkling crown jumped into his head and refused to jump out. Sweating a little, he wrenched his gaze from the glittering headpiece. "The mayor asked me to convey his personal apologies that you were attacked in our city," Captain Carpenter told the dark-haired beauty. "He's also asked me to provide you extra protection during the pageant activities." "What?" "I've assigned Sergeant Holt here to head your detail. He or one of his people will be with you twenty-four hours a day." Her face flooded with dismay. "I don't want…that is, I don't need…" She stopped, dragged in a breath, and pasted on a brilliant smile. "I appreciate the offer, Captain, but I'm sure the pageant will provide adequate security for all contestants." "You'll need more than 'adequate,'" Derek countered. "A tourist gave us a partial visual of the guy who attacked you." "I just heard. It was just on the news." "We think we know who he is." "Think?" "The tourist caught him from behind. We blew up the photo and spotted what looks like a Cobra tattoo on the side of his neck. The tattoo gave us a tentative ID." "So arrest him." "We will, when we find him. In the meantime, you need to know this man is more than a purse snatcher, Ms. Naxos. He's got a rap sheet as long as my arm. Armed robbery. Breaking and entering. Murder for hire." The color drained out of her cheeks. "Murder?" "We suspect he gunned down one of our undercover agents two years ago," Captain Carpenter said grimly. Derek's jaw went tight at the memory. He'd lost more than a fellow officer in that dark alley. He'd lost a friend. He wanted this Snake character. He wanted him bad. "We don't know why he jumped you," he told the shocked brunette. "But we don't believe it was for your purse. Whatever the reason, you're a key witness to the crime." "But…But…I lost my glasses in the scuffle. I'm blind without them. I wouldn't recognize this guy if he walked right up to me."

173

"He doesn't know that. So he may come back to make sure you're not available to pick him out of a lineup. If he does," Derek promised, his voice low and lethal, "I'll be waiting for him."

Chapter Four Kristina played with the belt of her bathrobe as Sergeant Derek Holt scoped out her two-room hotel suite. His face was a blurry smudge, but the determined set to his wide shoulders told her he was there to stay. Christos! She was stuck with him. Even if the airline delivered her luggage and contacts, she couldn't search for her cousin unless she managed to evade Sergeant Holt and her assigned escort for the evening and the professional killer who might try to eliminate the witness he thought could ID him. Feeling overwhelmed and just a little scared, Kristina fiddled with the belt until Holt finished inspecting closets, windows and fire escapes. "I'll need your complete schedule," he announced. "Times, places, attendees, sponsors, media coverage, the works." "It's all in that folder on the desk." "I also need to lay some ground rules. One, I answer the door. Two, I get on the extension before you answer the phone. Three, you don't move out of my sight. Four…" "Four?" "If I tell you to get down, you drop like a stone. Understand?" She swallowed. Hard. "Yes." "Good. What's next on your agenda?" "A banquet," she said in a small voice. "Sponsored by the Greek American Society. At, uh, seven thirty. Holt must have picked up on her skittering nerves. He crossed to where she stood and tried to reassure her. "Don't worry. You'll have New York's finest surrounding you at every public event." Just what she needed! A phalanx of guards! How would she ever slip away to find Athena? "And one of us will be here at the hotel with you around the clock." He was close. Too close. As if to make up for her lazy vision, Kristina's other senses did double duty. She could smell the faint tang of his aftershave. Hear the softening in his tone as he tried to calm her fear. Feel a tingle under her skin when he patted her arm. More than a tingle. A small electric jolt. Surprised by the sensation, Kristina decided she'd better change back into her jeans. She still had several hours until the banquet. She couldn't spend them naked under this fluffy robe. Not while sharing such close confines with an NYPD officer.

174

She started for the bedroom. A thud in the hall, just outside her door, stopped her. She caught a blur of movement as Holt whipped a hand to the small of his back and produced something big and black and ugly. "Get down." "Huh?" "Get down, dammit." Belatedly remembering she was supposed to be a rock, Kristina hit the carpet. Her heart hammered as she squirmed forward a few inches, straining to see what was happening. "Yeah?" Holt called, his shoulders planted against the wall beside the door. "Who is it?" "I'm here to see Ms. Naxos." Holt threw her a quick glance. "You expecting…? " He broke off with a choked, strangled sound that sent terror spearing through Kristina.

Chapter Five "What?" Fear put a squeak in Kristina's voice. Sprawled on the carpet, her heart slamming against her ribs, she squinted at the police officer with his back pinned to the wall. "What's the matter?" When he remained silent, her imagination went crazy. Was he wounded? Had someone shot through the wall with a silenced gun? Was poisoned gas seeping under the door? She levered onto her elbows, intending to rush to his aid. That was when she discovered the flaps of her robe had parted during her squirming. Cold air prickled the backs of her thighs and most of her bottom. Her wild hope that Holt hadn't noticed all that bare skin died when he gave an inarticulate grunt and recovered his voice. "You expecting someone?" Thoroughly flustered, she jerked the terry-cloth over her backside. "It could be my luggage. The airline said they'd deliver it. Or more flowers. They've been arriving all day. Or the gown the pageant coordinators promised to send over in case my bags didn't arrive in time for the banquet tonight." "Okay. Stay down." It was the gown, they discovered moments later. A length of shimmering silver lamé delivered by the harried pageant coordinator himself. The short, chubby Byron DeMarco blinked in surprise when Holt opened the door. He blinked again when Kristina picked herself off the floor. "What's going on?"

175

"I'm Sergeant Derek Holt, NYPD Protective Services. The mayor requested we provide Ms. Naxos protection after her mugging this morning." "Oh. Well. We can always use the extra help." Depositing the gown on a chair, he flicked a glance around the suite and zoomed in on a glitter of rhinestones. "Is that your crown?" "Yes." "It's fabulous!" Kristina might have entered the Ms. Greece pageant with ulterior motives, but she had to admit wearing the high, cylindrical crown gave her a thrill. "It's fashioned after Hera's diadem," she said with a touch of pride. "She was the wife of Zeus and queen of Olympus. Zeus thought her the most beautiful of all females, goddess or mortal." "Apropos," Holt commented with a sidelong glance in her direction. Ridiculously pleased by the compliment, Kristina continued. "Hera didn't want anything to do with Zeus, so he transformed himself into a cuckoo and pretended to be frozen in the cold. When Hera cuddled him to her breast to warm him, he morphed back into his normal shape and seduced her." "That's all very interesting," DeMarco said with a last look at the gleaming rhinestones. "I have to run. One of the other contestants missed her flight from Madrid. I'll see you at the kick-off luncheon tomorrow. We'll have every network covering the event. Let me know if you need another dress." He rushed out before Kristina thought to beg another favor. "I'm sorry, Sergeant Holt. I should have asked him to supply you with a tux." "No problem. We squire around a lot of VIPs. A tux is part of our duty uniform. But I suggest we dispense with the 'sergeant.'" A hint of laughter crept into his deep voice. "I think we've seen enough of each other now to be on a first name basis." He'd certainly seen enough of her! Kristina didn't get her first good look at him, however, until her luggage arrived shortly before they were to depart for the banquet. Muttering a fervent prayer of thanks, she rushed into the bathroom and inserted her contacts. When she swept out again, the sight of Sergeant Derek Holt in black tie and tails stopped her in her tracks.

Chapter Six Kristina had picked up an extensive repertoire of American slang during her four years at Columbia University. One phrase fit Sergeant Derek Holt to a T. The man was hot! Somehow she managed to keep her jaw from dropping while her newly refocused eyes catalogued tanned skin, short-cropped tawny hair, and eyes the same glorious blue as the Aegean. The rest of him wasn't bad, either. Her gaze drifted from wide shoulders and a chest made for snuggling against to lean hips and muscular thighs, all encased in a hand-tailored tux. He cocked a head at her intent scrutiny. "Something wrong? Did I miss a stud?"

176

"No." Embarrassed, she scrambled for her dignity. "It's just…uh…your bowtie is a little crooked." Stooping, he peered into a wall mirror and fiddled with the tie. "I can never get the damned thing straight." "Here, let me do it." Kristina worked the silk and tried to ignore the warm wash of his breath on her cheek. She couldn't ignore his teasing murmur, though. "I guess this is why a man needs a wife." "Or a valet," she retorted. Curiosity prompted her to ask, "Do you have one?" Laughter crinkled the corners of his eyes. "A valet or a wife?" Good Lord! He should bottle that smile and sell it to sex-starved virgins. He could make a fortune! Kristina wouldn't classify herself as sex starved, exactly, and she certainly wasn't a virgin. Still, she felt the impact of that lopsided grin all the way to her strappy silver sandals. "Whichever," she got out a little breathlessly. "No to both." For pity's sake! She had to get a grip here. She was in New York to locate her fugitive cousin and whisk her out of the country. She had no business going all gooey inside because this American Apollo looked like he wanted to kiss her. So why didn't he? Piqued and more than a little aroused by the possibility, she fashioned a neat bow. "There," she said, giving his chest a light pat. "All nice and straight." That was more than Derek could say for himself at the moment. Kristina Naxos had just about doubled him over. He hadn't drawn a full breath since she emerged from the bedroom. He had no idea how she'd wiggled into that shimmering silver tube, but all he could think of was wiggling her out of it. All the reasons he shouldn't pinged around inside his head. She was a protectee. He was responsible for her safety. A real bad ass might be after her. A cop killer. That sobered him — until Ms. Greece rested her palms on his chest and smiled up at him. The look in her warm brown eyes could be interpreted as either a question or an invitation. Derek choose B. Giving in to an insane impulse, he dipped his head. The kiss started out light. Just a brush of lips. The next thing he knew, his arms were around her supple waist and his mouth had covered hers.

Chapter Seven Kristina had been kissed before.

177

But never like this. The wild sensations shooting through her might have had something to do with Derek's tall, muscular build. Even in three-inch evening sandals, she still had to go up on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck. That experience was almost as heady as the hot press of his mouth. Not to mention the friction he generated when his hands roamed over skin left bare by the plunging back of her gown. When he shifted and drew her into him, Kristina could feel him against every inch of her body. Greedy hunger had her pressing even closer, until her breasts flattened against his chest and her hips canted into his. This was crazy, she thought. Insane. She'd come to the States to find her cousin and slip Athena out of the country. Yet here she was, her knees as rubbery as calamari and what felt like a triple shot of ouzo firing her blood. She had no idea who finally broke off the contact. She thought she had, but the urge to fling herself back into Derek's arms and taste him again was so powerful she couldn't be sure. The only saving grace was that he looked almost as shell-shocked as she felt. "Sorry." Shagging a hand through his short, tawny hair, he put a few feet of space between them. "That wasn't real smart of me." The phone jangled before Kristina could suggest they'd both been equally dumb. The heat invading her veins went out like a snuffed candle. Was that Athena? Had her cousin seen the news story about the mugging? Or was it the cop killer himself, checking to see if she was here? Her nerves strung wire-tight, she waited while Derek raced for the extension in the bedroom. At his nod, they lifted the phones simultaneously and Kristina croaked out a nervous, "Hello?" "Ms. Naxos?" "Yes." "This is Christopher Xanatopolous. I'm your escort for the evening. I'm in the lobby. Shall I come up?" She blew out a shaky breath. "No, I'll be right down." Derek stayed on the phone after she hung up. Double-checking with the front desk, Kristina guessed. She used the brief interval to repair damage to her lipstick and anchor the rhinestone crown to her upswept curls. "I ran Xanatopolous through our computers after I saw his name on your schedule," Derek said when he emerged from the bedroom. "The desk clerk's description matches the profile we pulled up on him. Far as we know, he's clean but I don't want you waltzing off with him at the banquet." Or with anyone else, he thought as she turned to face him. The primitive, gut-level response surprised the heck out of him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been hit this hard and this fast. Hell! Who was he kidding? He'd never been hit this hard or this fast. Scowling, he tucked a spare ammo clip in his tux pocket and checked the hall before escorting his charge to the elevators.

178

Chapter Eight The Greek American Society banquet held in Ms. Greece's honor was a loud, boisterous affair. The guests offered toast after toast. To the land of their birth. To the nation that had welcomed them with open arms. To the smiling, sparkling beauty wearing the crown of Hera. Derek avoided the cloudy ouzo that most of the guests tossed back like water. Arms folded, he maintained a position that allowed him to scan the ballroom while keeping Kristina in his line of sight. He had plainclothes officers stationed outside the exits and another Protective Services officer mingling with the crowd. Still, he felt edgy and off-balance. He could blame his frayed concentration on that bit of idiocy back at the hotel…and on the woman now being led onto the dance floor by her escort. Derek had disliked the rich, handsome banker on sight. Being forced to watch from a distance while Xanatopolous conversed with Kristina at the head table hadn't altered his opinion. Nor did he care for the man's smarmy smile as he linked his hand with hers. Half the crowd joined them on the parquet floor. The band struck up a slow, elemental beat. The dancers began to dip and sway. Sweat popped out on Derek's temples. How in God's name could she move in that shimmering silver shroud? The beat picked up. The dancers matched it. Kristina's back was to him now. Jaw tight, Derek wrenched his attention away from the view to make another sweep of the room. What the…? Eyes narrowed, he stared at the waitress holding aloft a tray of glasses. She could be Kristina's twin! Same glossy hair. Same luminous brown eyes. Same stunning build. Frowning, Derek watched her approach the circle of dancers and thought he saw a flicker of startled recognition in Kristina's face before a sudden shout whipped him around. "Ooompah!" A plate sailed through the air and shattered against the wall. Another followed. A third. As the pile of broken crockery grew, Derek came out of his instinctive crouch and turned to find Kristina weaving her way through the crowd, her face flushed and her eyes overly bright. "It's been a long day," she said. "I'm really tired. I think I'd better call it a night." He skimmed another glance around the ballroom. The waitress had disappeared. So had the banker. "Where's Xanatopolous?" "I told him you'd escort me back to the hotel, so he decided to stay. I think he's at the bar. Let's go, shall we?" Derek followed, his instincts working overtime. He said nothing, however, until he had his charge safely inside her hotel room. "All right. What the hell's going on?" Kristina wasn't prepared for the question. Her exhilaration at making contact with her cousin fizzled and died. "What do you mean?" she asked, stalling for time.

179

"Who was that woman? The one who put such a look of surprise on your face?" "She didn't say her name." That was true. Athena hadn't said her name. "I guess…I guess I was surprised because she looked so much like me." "There's more to it than that. You're a bundle of nervous energy. You have been since we left the banquet." Kristina could come up with only one explanation that wouldn't give her or Athena away. "Maybe I've been thinking about that kiss we shared before we left. Maybe…maybe I'm hoping we'll share another." A diversionary tactic. Something to erase the suspicion in his eyes. That was all Kristina intended until she slid her arms around his neck and drew his mouth down to hers. Then she just sort of…fell off the edge. There was no other way to describe it. Or explain the insanity that followed.

Chapter Nine Eight years as a street cop and another three in NYPD's Protective Services Division had honed Derek's survival instincts to a razor's edge. As Kristina's mouth moved over his, those instincts were shouting at him. She was playing some game of her own. She'd used jet lag as an excuse to leave the banquet but she was wound tighter than a corkscrew. He could sense her tension, feel the suppressed energy demanding release. She wanted him to believe that energy was sexual. Okay, he'd play along with that. And he'd enjoy the hell out of himself in the process. That was the plan, anyway, until her breath started coming all fast and her tongue found his. The taste of her went straight to Derek's gut. "You taste like cloves," he growled, burying his hands in her hair. "And something dark, something sweet." "Licorice," she gasped between hot, hard kisses. "Or anise. They're both in ouzo." Kristina knew she was fast losing control of the situation. She shivered as his lips moved from her mouth to her throat. Felt a thrill of sheer delight when his hands skimmed down her back to her hips. But when he brought her against him, a brief flash of reason pierced her chaotic thoughts. If she was going to stop this lunacy, she'd better do it now. Or not. He wanted her as badly as she wanted him. She could hear the rasp in his voice, feel him rock hard against her hip. As if it had a will of its own, her body responded to those unmistakable signals. Her womb clenched. Her breath got heavy. Her mind concocted a swift rationale. She hadn't done anything wrong. Certainly nothing to feel guilty about. She'd just whispered a frantic request to Christopher Xanatopolous, begging him to intercept her cousin and whisk her away from the banquet to a safe place. Bewildered but compliant, the banker had agreed and promised to contact Kristina tomorrow. Until then, all she had to deal with was the heat Derek sparked with every touch. Why not give in to the hunger he roused in her?

180

He was obviously wrestling with the problem. "I'm here to protect you," he bit out, "not tumble you into bed. Much as I want to." The gruff admission settled the matter for Kristina. Taking her courage in both hands, she smiled up at him. "Can't you do both?" His jaw locked, Derek waged a fierce battle between duty and desire. He'd set up intrusion detection devices, put the hotel night staff on alert, made sure the security cameras were aimed at the right angles. He'd planned to spend the night on the sofa and make periodic checks on his charge. Why not maintain a closer and far more intimate surveillance? The thought set his already heated blood to boiling. Scooping Kristina into his arms, he carried her to the bedroom. Within minutes, he had her stripped down to her underwear. She returned the favor by working the studs from his dress shirt. Peeling back the starched cotton, she trailed greedy kisses across his chest. They were naked when they fell to the bed. Panting when he dug a condom out of his wallet. Lost in a frenzy of need when he positioned himself between her thighs and slid into her wet, welcoming heat.

Chapter Ten Kristina came awake with her face buried in her pillow and the scent of fresh brewed coffee teasing her nostrils. As the last tentacles of sleep evaporated, memories of the night just past burned through the mists. Try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to regret a single minute of it. Her tawny-haired Apollo had more than lived up to the god's reputation as a powerful lover. The first time had been fast and wicked and wonderful. The second slow and sweet. Remembering the third brought a surge of heat to Kristina's cheeks. "Morning, beautiful." Kristina had removed her contacts sometime during the night. All she could see when she raised her head and shoved her hair out of her eyes was the vague outline of black trousers topped by an expanse of naked chest and what looked like a very smug, very satisfied male grin. "I made coffee. How do you take it?" "Black. Three sweeteners. What time is it?" "Almost eight." "Eight!" Yelping, Kristina threw off the covers and snatched at the robe puddled on the floor beside the bed. "I'm supposed to meet with the stylist and makeup artist at eight-thirty. The first photo shoot is at ten, followed by the kick-off luncheon at the Waldorf." "Relax. The stylist called a few moments ago. He and his partner are on their way. You have time for coffee…or maybe not," he amended as the phone jangled. "Wait for me to get on the extension," he ordered tersely. A cold lump formed in Kristina's stomach. She'd almost forgotten the reason Sergeant Derek Holt had burst into her life. That could be a killer on the phone. Or Christoper Xanatopolous, calling to ask what Kristina wanted him to do with her fugitive cousin. Christos! What did she want him to do with Athena? "Okay," Derek called from the sitting room, "pick up."

181

Her thoughts whirling, Kristina lifted the receiver. "Yes?" "It's Jordan Colby, Ms. Naxos. I have your sunglasses. I thought I'd deliver them on my way in to my studio. Shall I come up?" Relief loosened Kristina's death grip on the phone. "Yes, please." "Who's Jordan Colby?" Derek wanted to know. "A former model turned eyewear designer. She designed the sunglasses I had on — the ones that got mangled in the mugging. She promised a quick repair job." Nodding, Derek dragged on his dress shirt and was hunting for the missing studs when Jordan Colby arrived. Draped in Versace and wreathed in Chanel, the tall, auburn-haired designer couldn't fail to note their just-out-of-bed attire. She said nothing, however, until Derek excused himself to make a call and Kristina tried on the glasses with their distinctive butterfly logo picked out in glittering diamonds. "Perfect. I can't thank you enough, Ms. Colby. How much do I owe you?" "Not a thing. Consider this an apology from a New Yorker for what happened yesterday." "Yes, well…" Warmth crept into Kristina's cheeks. "Yesterday wasn't all bad." "So I gather," Colby replied dryly. She hesitated, rubbing a small crescent shaped scar above her eye. "May I offer a word of advice?" "Of course." "Watch yourself with New York City cops. Especially ones who are too handsome for their own good." "You sound like you might be speaking from personal experience." "I am. Unfortunately. Well, I'd better… My, God!" She froze, her gaze locked on the crown glittering in a shaft of morning sunlight. "That's magnificent!" "It is, isn't it?" Kristina experienced a familiar thrill of pride. "It's modeled after the diadem of Hera, queen of the Greek gods. The rhinestones were specially cut and fitted into…" "Rhinestones, my left foot!" "I beg your pardon?" "I work with gems every day. If those center stones aren't diamonds, I'll eat my jeweler's loupe."

Chapter Eleven "Diamonds!" The muffled shriek spun Derek around. He dropped his cell phone and was reaching for his Glock when Kristina pointed a shaking finger at her cylindrical crown. "She thinks…she thinks those are diamonds!" "The hell you say!"

182

He and Kristina watched side by side as Jordan Colby dug a small, folded magnifier out of her purse and examined the stones in the crown. "Most definitely diamonds," she murmured. "Excellent cut. Beautiful color. VS2 or 3 clarity." A frown etched a line between her delicate brows. "Unless I miss my guess," she said slowly, "these stones are part of the cache stolen from a South African dealer six weeks ago." Two pairs of accusing eyes swung toward Kristina. "You can't think I stole them!" "We don't know who stole them," Colby said coolly. "But we do know several other stones from that lot have already been purchased on the black market and smuggled into this country." "We?" Derek echoed. "I'm in the business. The diamond business," she amended smoothly. "Well, this crown is now NYPD business." "Then I'll leave you to it." She made for the door, paused, and gave Kristina a last, considering look. "You have my number. Call me if I can help in any way." The door closed behind her, leaving the room blanketed in silence and Kristina swamped by dismay and disbelief. Both feelings increased exponentially when she glanced up and saw suspicion in Sergeant Holt's eyes. "Derek, I swear I didn't know about those diamonds. If they are diamonds," she added, glaring at the crown she'd been so proud of only moments ago. "You've been nervous as a cat about something," he said. Guilt piled on top of Kristina's other chaotic emotions. Gulping, she tried to bluff it out. "Yes, well, being attacked by a professional thug does tend to make me nervous." "There's more to it than that." He cocked his head, his expression cold and remote. "You refused to go down to the station and report the theft. You got all flustered when Captain Carpenter told you we'd be providing special protective services. You said you were tired and wanted to leave the banquet early last night, yet when we got back to the hotel, you…" "Practically attacked you," she finished for him, her chin lifting. Kristina couldn't believe how swiftly things had deteriorated. She'd come apart in this man's arms last night not once. Not twice. Three soul-shattering times. Yet now he just stood there, so cold, so accusing. Jordan Colby's warning thundered in her ears. She'd been a fool to let down her guard with this toohandsome NYPD cop. Before she could tell him so, the phone rang for the second time that morning. Furious with herself for giving in to the hunger he roused in her, she forgot to wait and snatched up the receiver. "Kristina Naxos." "It's Athena." The whisper was ragged and choked with fear. "They want the crown. They…they said they'd kill me if you don't do exactly what they say."

183

Kristina forgot how to breathe as her cousin's terror spilled into a desperate sob. "Are you alone? Can you talk to them?"

Chapter Twelve Kristina made her decision in the space of a single heartbeat. Derek's withdrawal into a cold, hard shell after their wild night hurt and infuriated her, but every instinct in her body said she could trust him in this situation. She had to trust him. Flashing him an urgent, silent signal, she gestured to the extension in the other room and answered her cousin's desperate question. "Yes," she lied. "I'm alone. I can talk." "What…what about the ph-phone? Is it being monitored?" "No." "Here," Athena sobbed to an unseen listener. "Talk to her." In the small silence that followed Kristina intercepted a hard look from Derek that made her wish fervently she'd told him about her fugitive cousin. "Just do as we say, Kristina, and Athena won't get hurt." Her heart seemed to stutter and stop. She recognized that deep baritone! She should — she'd danced with its owner just last night. "Christopher? What insane game are you playing?" "This is no game. I need to cover some, shall we say, accounting errors at the bank. I bought some diamonds on the black market and arranged to have them smuggled in. They're in your crown." She didn't have to work hard to feign shock, indignation and fury. The banker cut through her stuttering exclamations. "I want the crown. I should have had it yesterday, after Santerra snatched your purse and room key." "That thug works for you?" "When I need him. He searched your room after he got the key. The crown wasn't there." "No," Kristina ground out, as angry now as she was frightened for her cousin. "I'd put it in the hotel safe." "Then the mayor put you under around-the-clock police protection. That made things a bit more difficult. Luckily, you dropped just the leverage I needed into my hands. Athena told me her situation. If you don't want to see her in jail — or worse — you'll do exactly as I say." "You're a bastard, Xanatopolous. I curse you." The words came out in a hot rush of English and Greek. "Athena curses you. Her mother curses you. Her mother's mother curses…"

184

"I'm not interested in curses," he interrupted ruthlessly. "Only the crown." Derek made a violent gesture, circling his arm in the air. Spin it out. He wanted her to spin it out. "You can't just take Hera's diadem," Kristina objected, improvising wildly. "How will I explain the loss to the police? To pageant officials?" "Don't be stupid. We have a duplicate ready. Just wait for our signal." The connection went dead. Kristina held on to the phone, afraid to hang up, while Derek did something on his end. There was a click. Another click. A disembodied voice floated through the receiver. "He made the call on a mobile phone. We vectored him to within a six-block area on the lower East Side. Looks like he destroyed the instrument, though. It's not putting out a signal any longer. Want us to send patrols to canvass the area?" "Yeah. Thanks." He slammed the extension down. When he stalked out of the bedroom, his face could have been carved from granite. "Who the hell is Athena?"

Chapter Thirteen "Athena Spiridon is my cousin." Kristina faced the hard-eyed cop. He looked nothing like the passionate lover she'd just spent the most incredible night of her life with. His rumpled white shirt hung open. His black dress trousers rode low on his hips. Golden bristles stubbled his cheeks and jaw and his hair needed a quick comb. But it was the tightly restrained anger radiating from him in waves that demanded her full and complete attention. "Why didn't you tell me that last night," Derek said icily, "when I asked you about the woman at the banquet." "I couldn't. You're a police officer and Athena, uh, got into a little trouble here in the States." "What kind of trouble?" "Her student visa expired. She either didn't know or didn't care until she marched in an antiwar protest that resulted in some shattered store windows." "And stolen property, as I recall." "Athena didn't steal anything! I swear! But someone gave her name and description to the police and now there's a warrant out for her arrest. She's been in hiding, desperate to get home. I was going to help her slip out of the country." "How?" "I planned to give her my passport, put her on a plane, then report the passport stolen."

185

There! It was out. The secret she'd been carrying since her arrival in New York City. She should have been relieved to get it off her shoulders. Instead, the burden seemed to have quadrupled in weight. No surprise there. In the past few minutes, she'd learned the rhinestone crown she'd been traipsing around in was studded with real diamonds, her cousin had been kidnapped, and a suave, handsome banker was holding a gun to Athena's head. "Only my passport was stolen," she finished. "And I pushed Athena into Xanatopolous's hands last night, asking him to take care of her until I could figure out what to do." "Because you didn't trust me enough to ask for my help." He said it flatly, without emotion, but a muscle ticked in one side of his jaw. Kristina knew nothing but the truth would serve. "I didn't trust you then. I do now." He wasn't buying it. "Was that what last night was all about? Was our roll between the sheets supposed to soften me up? Keep me from thinking too much about the resemblance between you and the woman at the banquet?" "No! Well…yes. At first." Miserable, Kristina stuck to the painful truth. "Maybe distracting you was in the back of my mind. But I never intended more than that one kiss. The rest just…just happened." "Yeah, right." "When I heard the terror in Athena's voice, when I knew she was in real trouble, I didn't think twice. I wanted you on the phone. I needed you on that phone. Please, Derek. Please help her." She knew she'd said the wrong thing when the ice in his eyes took on another layer of frost. "I'm a cop. That's my job."

Chapter Fourteen By 9:15 a.m., the scene in Kristina's small hotel suite was one of controlled chaos. She sat ensconced behind a portable makeup station hastily set up in the bedroom. Two temperamental artists wielding brushes and curling irons battled for elbow room. A technician had spread her Ms. Greece sash across his knees and was patiently, painstakingly, weaving a hair-thin wire into the gold threads. The tiny dot at the end of the wire was a miniature condenser microphone with a medium-frequency pickup pattern that could distinguish human voices from background chatter at a range of fifty feet. Or so the technician had assured her. The activity level in the other room was just as frenetic. The gemologist called in by NYPD worked frantically to replace the diamonds in Hera's crown with paste. Uniformed police officers dusted doorknobs, tables and chair backs in hopes of picking up prints of the man Xanatopolous had sent to steal the crown. Derek had changed into jeans and a blue button-down Oxford shirt topped by a suede sport coat and was now hunched over a laptop. With the hotel's chief of security at his elbow, he was reviewing videotapes recorded by the cameras in the hallway outside Kristina's room. "Xanatopolous said his accomplice searched this room right after Ms. Naxos was attacked. Probably while she was still down on the street with me."

186

That ate at his insides like acid. He'd noted Kristina's aversion to cops in the first five minutes of their acquaintance. And again, when she learned about the personal protection. Yet arrogance and a smug belief in his infallible charm had convinced Derek he could get close to her, get her to open up. She finally had…but not until a terrified young woman's life hung in the balance. What kind of jerk did that make him? Worse, what kind of cop did that make him? No wonder Kristina couldn't bring herself to trust him until she had her back to the wall. "This is the last disk." The security director ejected one CD and inserted another. "The camera is hidden in a potted palm at the end of the corridor so — Well, hel-lo." As they watched, a figure bolted from the elevator. He looked over his shoulder — right into the camera — then bent to shove a key card in Kristina's door. A fanged cobra snaked out of his collar. Yes! There he was. Santerra, the murdering cop killer. Derek now had a clean visual, one he could transmit to every officer on the street. He'd already pulled a photo of Xanatopolous from a news clipping. If either the banker or Santerra showed at Kristina's photo shoot, they were going down. "Cut me a jpeg of that frame," he told the security director. "And do it quick. We need to be out of here in the next five minutes." "Will do. I just have to — Well, hel-lo." Frowning, Derek followed the security director's riveted gaze to the woman framed in the bedroom door. Kristina wore her Ms. Greece sash, three-inch stiletto heels, and two tiny scraps of a bikini Derek would have appreciated on any other woman. Just not his woman. Wondering where the hell that had come from, he wrenched his gaze from her exposed belly button to her face. The fear she tried so valiantly to hide doused the anger he'd been nursing since she'd told him about her cousin. Crossing to where she stood, he let his admiration for her courage and her beauty show. "Anyone ever tell you that you're one gorgeous female?" "Once or twice." Incredibly, she managed a shaky smile. "But I like the way it sounds coming from you." He had to touch her, had to heal the breach. Curling a knuckle, he brushed it along her cheek. "Ready to take those bastards down?" Her chin came up. Her smile took on the lethality of a Spartan spear. "I'm ready."

Chapter Fifteen The Ms. World Pageant officially kicked off with a luncheon in the Waldorf Astoria's grand ballroom. Prior to that, a number of photo shoots would take place at various venues all over New York City. Kristina's shoot

187

was at Ellis Island, where she and six other contestants would pose in front of exhibits tracing the journey to America by many of their countrymen. A private boat ferried the contestants to the island at the mouth of the Hudson, a stone's throw from the Statue of Liberty. The huge, redbrick "castle" that had processed hundreds of thousands of immigrants for entry into America dominated the dime-sized island. Now a museum, the castle was crammed with tourists who gawked as seven long-legged beauties strutted their stuff. Derek sweated bullets the whole time. He had plainclothes officers planted among the tourists. He'd put the National Park Service guards on full alert. The museum staff knew to maintain heightened vigilance. They didn't know where or when Xanatopolous planned to snatch the crown, but if the banker sent Santerra to do his dirty work again, Derek intended to take the bastard down. One by one the contestants posed for the cameras. Ms. Ireland tossed her flame-colored hair in front of a picture of her countrymen arriving in the States during the devastating Potato Famine of the mid-1800s. Ms. Philippines talked about the thousands of Filipinos who'd served in America's armed forces after the U.S. liberated the islands from Spain. Ms. Ecuador told of America's open arms after the earthquake that left a quarter of her country's population homeless and starving. Kristina posed in front of a grainy, black-and-white photo enlarged to wall size. It showed a group of immigrants being led in prayer by a Greek Orthodox priest, with Lady Liberty lifting her torch in the background. The joy and relief and terror of having arrived in a strange new land showed in every face. "My great-grandfather disembarked at Ellis Island in May, 1913," she said, striking a pose that managed to be both provocative and respectful. "He had to wait five days for an uncle to arrive and vouch for him before he could go ashore. After serving in the American army in World War I, he went home to marry my grandmother. Eighty years later, I came to America to study." She angled her head to catch the klieg lights. A sparkling smile lit her eyes. Her crown flashed a fiery rainbow. "This country is in my heart, as it is in the hearts of many of my countrymen." The minute the cameras angled toward Ms. Poland, Kristina drifted to Derek's side. "Maybe you shouldn't have come with me." She darted a nervous glance around the hall. "Maybe Xanatopolous or his pal is watching. Maybe they won't contact me with you hovering so close." "Xanatopolous knew the mayor had assigned you special protection," he replied with a calm he was far from feeling. "He'd expect me or someone else from my division to accompany you everywhere." Kristina knew he was right. That didn't ease her roiling stomach. "Just stay where I can see you. I need to talk to one of my men." He wasn't more than eight or ten feet away when a curly haired boy of six or seven sidled through the crowd. "I am Greek, too," he said in the heavy accent of Macedonia. "Poppa and Mama and me, we visit America. Will you sign my cap?" Derek immediately swung back. Kristina reassured him with a wave. "It's okay. He just wants an autograph." Borrowing a pen from another tourist, she stooped down to the boy's level. "What's your name?" "I am Dimitri." Grinning, he tugged a New York Yankee's cap off his curls. "A man, he gives me this cap. He tells me to have you sign it here." He pointed a stubby finger to the inside of the brim. Her heart thumping, Kristina turned the cap over and skimmed the block printed message.

188

Go to the ladies' room at this end of the hall. Say nothing or your cousin dies. We're watching every move.

Chapter Sixteen Kristina pushed to her feet. The boy disappeared back into the crowd. Her frantic glance swung to Derek, still in conversation with another man, and then to the ladies' room only a few yards away. They were watching. They'd kill Athena. She had no choice. She started forward. "Where are you going?" Derek called. She answered with a strained smile and a nod toward the plainly marked door. "Wait. I'll send someone with you." She didn't wait. She couldn't. They were watching. Frowning, Derek searched for a female plainclothes officer and signaled to her to follow. The officer entered the ladies' room only a few seconds after Kristina. The tiny receiver screwed into Derek's ear picked up what sounded like the slam of a stall door. Force of habit had him making constant sweeps of the crowd while he waited for the women to emerge. He checked every face, hoping to spot Xanatopolous. Every neck, searching for a tattoo. After each sweep, his intent gaze returned to the door to the ladies' room. As the seconds ticked by, the pressure sitting on his chest like a stone got heavier. He strained to hear over the tourist and camera noise. The microphone in Kristina's sash should have picked up the sound of a toilet flushing, the click of her heels on the marble floor, water splashing into a sink, something! He shoved through the crowd and barked into the miniature radio clipped to his lapel. "All officers converge on — Hold that." Relief swept through him as Kristina emerged. The tension coiling his muscles relaxed for a moment, maybe two, before slowly ratcheting up again. She didn't look his way. Her face was turned toward the cameraman signaling her to join the others for a group shot. Her tumble of glossy black curls hid everything but the tip of her nose. The bathing suit was the same. The embroidered sash slanted across a back that looked like the one Derek's hands and mouth had explored last night. She walked with the same, graceful sway of hips. But she wasn't the woman who'd melted in his arms. She was a decoy. A diversion. Kristina's cousin. Spitting a curse, he reached for the Glock nested in the holster at the small of his back and barreled through the crowd. A woman screamed. A man shouted. Tourists stampeded in all directions. The dark-haired imposter spun around, her face frozen.

189

Derek shoved her into the arms of one of his fellow officers. "Cover her!" The ladies' room was just ahead. Taking the last few yards in a lunge, he dove through the door, hit the marble floor on a roll and came up in a crouch with his weapon held in a two-fisted shooter's stance. His blood thundering in his ears, he spun in a circle. In a lightning sequence, his brain registered the row of empty stalls. The other door at the far end of the bathroom. The plainclothes police officer lying in a crumpled heap a few feet away.

Chapter Seventeen Derek's first instinct was to race for the door at the far end of the restroom. Savagely, he suppressed it. He'd already lost one friend to Santerra. He wasn't going to leave another officer down and possibly bleeding out on a bathroom floor. She hadn't been knifed or shot, thank God, merely stunned. She was already coming to when Derek flipped her over. Grimacing, she pushed up on one elbow and put a tentative hand to the back of her head. "Sorry. They jumped me from behind." "Did you see who or how many?" "No." Derek didn't wait for more. His mind racing, he bolted for the far exit. Whoever had snatched Kristina and her crown had only a few seconds lead. They couldn't hustle her out of the museum too fast without raising an alarm. He'd snare them. He had to snare them. "Security!" he barked into the radio clipped to his shoulder. "Secure all exits!" He burst into the cavernous, three-story main hall of the museum. Long lines of tourists waited to purchase tickets. Others milled around the first floor exhibits. Their faces registered curiosity and a tinge of alarm as guards leaped to bar the massive doors at the main entrance. Derek raced for that entrance. "Ms. Greece! Did she come through here?" "No. Oh, hell! Yes." Disgust contorted the face of one of the guards. "A woman exited a few minutes ago. Tall. Draped in a gauzy sort of dress. With sunglasses shielding most of her face. But she had red hair, not black." They'd slapped a wig on her. And some sort of cover-up. Probably intended to use her as a hostage if it came to that. "Who was with her?" "White male. Thirty-five, six. Carrying a tote bag from the gift shop. Not the Greek banker in the photo you circulated. Or the Hispanic with the snake tattoo." So Xanatopolous had brought in a third, an unknown. Cursing, Derek relayed that information via his radio and plunged through the exit. Dazzling sunshine blinded him, forcing him to slow until the black silhouettes resolved into people.

190

Then he saw her. A tall redhead. Nudged by the man at her side, she steered for the National Park Service launch tied up at the dock. An officer in the tan and green NPS uniform hunched at the wheel of the boat. The visor of his cap was pulled low, obscuring most of his face, but his upturned collar gave him away. A savage thrill shot through Derek. He had him! The Snake! He wrenched his attention back to the man at the redhead's side, saw him throw the tote bag into the boat and clamber aboard, dragging her with him. "Kristina!" The bellow whirled her around. The violent movement set the boat to rocking. Derek was already on the run when she lunged at the man throwing off the mooring ropes. He went over the side. So did she. The driver threw a startled glance over his shoulder, saw Derek barreling toward him, and thrust the throttle forward. The engine roared. The launch shot away from the dock and into the channel leading to the wide, flat Hudson. Derek had all of two seconds to alter his course. If he swerved, he could intercept the launch and take out the vicious killer who'd shot his friend. Or he could plunge in after Kristina.

Chapter Eighteen To Kristina, everything seemed to happen at warp speed. Derek's shout. The violent shove she gave the stranger who'd hustled her out of the museum. Her headfirst dive into the channel. The arm that hooked around her throat. Struggling frantically, she went under, kicked back up, fought to free herself from the deadweight on her back. "Get…off…me!" The chokehold tightened, cutting off her air. A hoarse shout battered her eardrum. "I can't swim!" They went under again. His legs tangled with hers. His bulk shifted, impeding her arm movements. She couldn't kick, couldn't thrust. Shrieking silently, she sank down and down and down. Her lungs burned. Pain spiked into her chest. Slimy weeds and kelp reached up to tangle around her feet. Suddenly, the stranglehold broke. The weight lifted. The gray green water behind her thrashed and churned. Kristina thrust upward and broke the surface. Gasping in air, she whirled in a circle. "Derek!" He was still down there, battling with the thug who'd almost drowned her. Kristina dragged more air into her aching lungs, jackknifed, and was about to plunge into the muddy depths again when Derek broke the surface just a few feet away. Shoulders bunching, he reached back down and hauled up the choking, gasping stranger.

191

"You okay?" Derek panted to Kristina. "I am now. Thanks for getting him off my back." "Can you make it to the dock?" Nodding, she dog paddled to the wooden pier now groaning under the weight of the crowd that had gathered. Eager hands reached down to haul her out. She'd lost that awful wig but the wet, gauzy dress was almost transparent. Since she'd been forced to give Athena her bikini, she was naked under the clinging fabric. "Here." Someone draped a jacket over her shoulders. Murmuring a distracted thanks, Kristina waited for Derek to release his burden and swing onto the dock. Seaweed decorated his head and shoulders. Mud spotted his suede sport coat. Water ran in runnels down his cheeks and dripped from his chin. Kristina's heart did a funny little flip-flop. He was Poseidon, battling the creatures of the deep to save her. Apollo, so handsome he'd stopped the breath in her throat last night. Zeus, meeting out punishment to all who offended. Speaking of which… "The boat driver," she said when he made his way to her side. "He had a tattoo on his neck. A snake." "That's what I figured when I saw his upturned collar." "You could have knocked him out of the boat. You were close enough to make the leap." "The harbor patrol can take him." His mouth curving, he plucked a piece of kelp from her hair. "I got the fish I wanted." There it went again! That crazy little flip-flop. Kristina's smile spread from her face to her heart. Derek's died right where it was. She saw his glance shift, his expression harden. A moment later, a sobbing Athena rushed onto the dock and flung herself into Kristina's arms.

Chapter Nineteen Derek paced the squad room. He was still wet, still sporting layers of mud and seaweed, and still furious. The radio call from the harbor patrol advising that they'd captured Snake should have taken the edge off his temper. But every time he remembered how Kristina had almost drowned, he got hot all over again. The fact that Christopher Xanatopolous had apparently slipped through the net didn't help. He took out his frustration and anger on the brunette watching him with tear-reddened and increasingly resentful eyes. "Do you know what would have happened to Kristina if she'd gone through with this harebrained scheme to smuggle you out of the country?" "I didn't know she planned to smuggle me out of the country," Athena protested indignantly. "I didn't even know she was in New York until I saw her on TV." "At which point you waltzed into the Greek American Society banquet and promptly got yourself kidnapped."

192

For the third or fourth time since they'd been transported via squad car to the Protective Services Division headquarters, Kristina came to her cousin's defense. Like Derek, she still showed the ravages of her swim in the Hudson. Her hair hung in rat-tails, the gauzy dress was one big wrinkle, and her cheek had acquired an ugly purple bruise, compliments of the gorilla who almost drowned her. "The kidnapping was my fault," she insisted. "I asked Xanatopolous to look out for Athena." "Yeah, well, we'll get to that later." He speared her cousin with a hard glance. "Right now I want you to think. Xanatopolous must have said something, given some indication of how he planned to slip out of the city or where he might be hiding." "Once again, he didn't say anything. Not that I expect you to believe me." "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" "I told the cop who interrogated me after…" "That's police officer to you, Ms. Spiridon." "I told the police officer who interrogated me after the antiwar march that I didn't throw any bricks or break into any shops. Yet two days later, the same police officer came to my dorm and told my roommate he had a warrant for my arrest." Derek let out an exasperated huff. "Your roommate got it wrong. I checked it out. What the patrolman had was a request to bring you in for questioning." The cousins gaped at each other, identical expressions of dismay on their almost identical faces. Athena recovered first. "What about my student visa?" she asked eagerly. "Can I renew it, or do I have to go home?" "I'll talk to the appropriate folks," Derek said reluctantly. "See what I can work out." "Thank you!" Her earlier resentment forgotten, she sprang out of her chair, threw her arms around his neck, and planted a fat kiss on his cheek. She had just disengaged when short, chubby Byron DeMarco rushed into the squad room. "I just heard. Is Kristina all right?" "I'm fine." The stubby little pageant director turned and let loose with a shriek. "You can't go to the kickoff luncheon like that!" Producing his cell phone, he stabbed a button and shouted at whoever answered. "I need hair! I need makeup! At the Waldorf. Twenty minutes. And a dress. Size…" Calmly, Derek yanked the phone out of his hands and tossed it in the wastebasket. "Ms. Greece isn't making another public appearance until we nail Christopher Xanatopolous." The pronouncement produced a storm of protest. From Kristina. From DeMarco. And from the tall, auburnhaired female who strolled into the squad room. "Xanatopolous isn't a problem any longer," Jordan Colby announced with a cool smile.

193

Chapter Twenty Kristina gaped at Jordan Colby. The former model-turned-eyewear designer had shed her Versace and Chanel and now wore mirrored sunglasses, boots and a zippered black jumpsuit that looked like it had been painted on. "May we speak in private?" she asked Derek. Scowling, he escorted her to an interrogation room. He was still scowling when they returned after ten long minutes. "Wait here," he instructed tersely. "I need to inform my captain." Kristina, Byron DeMarco and a wide-eyed Athena immediately crowded around her. "What's going on?" Kristina asked. "How did you know about Christopher Xanatopolous?" Colby smiled, her perfect features marred only by that tiny scar above her eye. "I believe I mentioned I was in the business. We've had our eye on Xanatopolous for some time." "We who?" "Let's just say the U.S. government is very grateful for your assistance in this case." "That's a relief," Kristina said wryly. "According to Derek, Athena and I are both only a half step away from jail." "That's just his way of letting off steam." Colby hesitated a moment or two. "I think Sergeant Holt may have a thing for you." Kristina's glance shot to the broad-shouldered cop in earnest conversation with his captain. "I hope so, because I certainly have one for him." Something flickered in Colby's amber eyes. Before Kristina could decide whether it was pain or regret, Derek returned with Captain Carpenter. After a round of handshakes and cryptic comments only he, Carpenter and Jordan Colby seemed to understand, the former model excused herself. Bryon DeMarco watched her depart with a sigh, obviously comparing her cool beauty to the bedraggled Ms. Greece. He looked at his watch and let out another shriek. "The Waldorf! We'll never get there in time to clean Kristina up!" "We'll make it," Derek promised. "But she looks damned good to me just like she is." The gruff admission went straight to Kristina's heart. Smiling, she went up on tiptoe and brushed his mouth with hers. "Thank you. For everything." "You're welcome." An answering smile came into his blue eyes. "For everything." Ignoring the ring of interested spectators, he slid an arm around her waist and made the kiss a real one. A very real one. Kristina's head was spinning when DeMarco pawed through the wastebasket and rescued his cell phone. "We're leaving now!" he shouted into the phone. "Hair and makeup! Twenty minutes!" A long black limo was waiting at the curb. DeMarco and Athena scrambled in. Kristina would have followed if Derek hadn't caught her wrist and tugged her into the backseat of the squad car.

194

"The Waldorf," he told the uniformed officer in the front seat. "As fast as you can get us there." "No problem, Sergeant." Lights flashing, siren wailing, the squad car screeched away from the curb. The limo zoomed along in its wake. "Now," Derek said with a grin that warmed Kristina from her seaweedy hair to her soggy toes. "Where were we?" She went into his arms with a breathless laugh. "Right about here." When his mouth came down on hers, she knew that whatever happened at the competition next week, she'd already walked away with first prize.

195

Loving Eleanor by Natasha Oakley Luke and Susanna Burnett have been married for fifteen months — thirteen of which have been spent at their baby daughter's bedside. Born prematurely with a condition called Necrotising Enterocolitis, baby Eleanor has spent the majority of her short life in hospital. While Susanna keeps vigil at their daughter's bedside, Luke deals with his anguish and concern differently, going off to work, barely showing any emotion. His actions convince Susanna even more that Luke only married her because she was pregnant — not because he was in love with her. Now, desperately in need of a liver transplant, it seems Eleanor has lost her fight for life. Luke and Susanna wait the agonizing hours together while the search for a donor goes on…but in the tumult of their grief, they realize there is more to their relationship than they ever imagined.

Luke Burnett lay flat out on the sand, one arm shading his eyes from the sun. Susanna rolled over and looked at him. He was so sexy. So perfect. And hers. In two days they'd be married. A lifetime ahead of them. A bubble of pure happiness seemed lodged in the middle of her chest. His arm moved and his sinful blue eyes opened and glinted across at her. She stirred. "Where are you going?" "Nowhere." He moved swiftly, pinning her beneath him. "I should think not." And then he kissed her. "I'd miss you." Susanna reached up and smoothed his dark hair back from his forehead. "Would you? And the baby?" His mouth twisted into the kind of smile that turned her bones to liquid. "What do you think?" And then he was kissing her again…and she couldn't think. Her fingers curled into his dark hair and she forgot about everything except how much she loved him. How much she wanted to be with him. For a few blissful hours while she slept, everything in Susanna's world had been perfect…but now she was back in reality. She opened her eyes and felt the familiar sense of despair return. As it always did. Day after day. Eleanor was dying. Her little girl. Her baby. The knowledge thumped through her head with each beat of her heart and every morning it was the same. While she slept she had a few hours respite. A brief interlude where she could make-believe she had a life like any other mother of a thirteen-month-old little girl.

196

But it was make-believe and, in many ways it made it worse when she woke. As soon as she opened her eyes the bleakness closed in around her with fresh impact. She was back in a long dark tunnel that stretched out endlessly before her without the slightest glimmer of daylight. Today would be like yesterday…and tomorrow like today. She would sit beside Eleanor's tiny bed and try to ignore the tubes that connected her daughter to the ventilator that kept her alive. She would reach out and hold the perfectly formed little hand and pray. Susanna rubbed at her eyes trying to erase the spike of pain that had settled in the centre of her forehead. Necrotising Enterocolitis. Before Eleanor was born she hadn't known such a condition existed. Now she couldn't imagine a day where she didn't think those two words and understand exactly what they meant to her daughter. They were a death sentence. Probably. Susanna rolled over and looked at the luminous hands on her alarm clock. There was never any need to set it. She woke with depressing regularity in the early hours of the morning. "What time is it?" Luke asked beside her, his voice heavy with sleep. "Just after three." She heard the slow exhale of breath, his determination to keep calm. "I'm sorry I woke you." She was always sorry she woke him. There was nothing she'd like better than to be able to sleep through until morning. But… She rolled out of bed and padded across to her dressing gown, wrapping the long robe around her body. "What time did you say it was?" Susanna looked over her shoulder. "Just after three. I'm going to make a cup of tea. Do you want one?" She watched him struggle to sit up. "Susanna, come back to bed. Get some sleep." They'd played this scene out over and over. She knew it irritated him but she couldn't just lie there. The thought of Eleanor, so many miles away, tenaciously fighting for her life, crowded in on her. It made her restless. "I'll sleep better after I've had a hot drink." Which was a lie. She never slept better. Susanna watched the lines furrow his forehead and turned away not wanting to hear anything else he had to say. "Susanna —" "I'll be fine." She pulled tight the final knot in her dressing-gown sash. "Go back to sleep." Luke pushed back the duvet and she caught a glimpse of the athletic physique that had first attracted her. It seemed a lifetime ago now. So much had happened since then; it hardly seemed worth remembering. Their marriage had never stood a chance. "I'll have a cup of tea." "What?"

197

He reached out and picked up his own dressing gown from the rail of the footboard. "If you're making tea, I'll have some." Susanna looked across at him, shocked. This wasn't the way they played this game. He never said "yes." He always rolled over in the pale blue covered duvet and went back to sleep. "I could bring it up." She saw the faint shake of his head. "Put the kettle on. I'll come down." It amazed her how much she resented him joining her. This was her private time. A time she desperately needed. She was used to the steady tick of the clock, the creak of the floorboards and the sense of peace. In the quiet of the night she always felt she could think. She could remember everything about Eleanor's short life, from her traumatic birth at twenty-eight weeks to the severe liver failure that threatened her now. In the morning she would need to be strong. Every atom in her body focused on willing their daughter to live. She needed the night to grieve. "Okay." It didn't seem worth arguing. Luke would do what he wanted to do — he always did. Susanna hit the landing switch and let the harsh light illuminate the sweeping mahogany staircase. Her bare feet were silent on the thick carpet as she made her way downstairs. Luke Burnett had been all she'd ever wanted. She'd idolized him since she'd been fourteen. Loved him since her eighteenth birthday party. It was strange, now, to know there was such a chasm between them. Such a gaping hole that now she even resented his company. Luke had been the golden boy. Handsome, clever and rich. He'd succeeded at anything and everything he'd turned his hand to. And he'd married her. She'd thought she'd struck gold. That some mythical fairy had sprinkled some stardust and answered her secret dreams. Luke…and a baby. Their baby. How good could it get? She'd built such dreams around the birth of their first child. The first of three, maybe four. She'd hoped. Every foolish daydream mocked her now. She'd skipped into this nightmare, never dreaming of what lay in store for them. Susanna filled the kettle. "How long have you been awake?" Luke asked, his hair tousled and his face sleepy in the kitchen doorway. "Not long." The silence stretched out between them, awkward and uncomfortable. Luke walked farther into the room, resting his hand on the granite worktop. "Did Dr. Lane say anything about the search for a suitable liver donor when you spoke to her yesterday?" "No." Susanna reached for the teapot.

198

She'd been told what she already knew — that her daughter was a very sick little girl. With infinite care, Susanna knew she was being prepared for the day when they would tell her Eleanor had died. She knew, without a transplant, it couldn't be long. Day after day, sitting beside Eleanor, with a tiny pink teddy bear she was too ill to notice tucked in at her daughter's side. White tubes pushed up her daughter's nostrils and another taped to her mouth. How could she not know? "No progress at all?" "No." She poured in the boiling water. "I wondered if she'd said something that…upset you?" "No." There was nothing the doctor could say that would upset her more than the fears already existing in her head. Nothing worse than sitting beside Eleanor, her little face swollen and yellow and her life hanging by a thread. Susanna turned in time to see Luke rub a hand against the back of his neck. Just fifteen months after they'd married each other and there was really nothing left to say. It was as though they'd each become locked inside separate worlds and there was no bridging it. But then Eleanor was all there'd ever been that had connected them. Once Susanna might have tried to convince herself differently, but deep down she knew. Luke would never have married a girl like her if she hadn't been pregnant with his baby. In the handful of months they'd had together before Eleanor's birth, he'd been incredible. Her knight in shining armor. Everything a husband should be. There was just one thing missing… He didn't love her. Had never loved her. During their short engagement and the early weeks of their marriage, Susanna had allowed herself to hope Luke loved her. He was so passionate and exciting. She'd told herself no one got married for the sake of a baby, anymore. She'd tried to imagine the night they'd created Eleanor was the result of a mutual and overwhelming desire. Something magical. But you could only go on lying to yourself for so long. He'd never once said he loved her. Not on their wedding day. Or during Eleanor's premature birth. Not even when they'd first heard the words Necrotising Enterocolitis. He'd married her because she was pregnant with his baby. Because he was too good a man to leave her to cope with the consequences alone. Deep down she'd always known that, from the very beginning when he'd slipped the wedding band on her finger. But she'd hoped and dreamed of the day when he'd realize he'd loved her all along. Only that hadn't happened. Instead, they'd been locked into the nightmare of Eleanor's illness, a huge wedge between them. Susanna lifted the lid of the teapot and stirred the contents, acutely aware of Luke watching her. "I think I'll pack a bag and stay at the hospital for the next few nights." Luke's fingers moved on the worktop. "You're supposed to be getting some rest."

199

She shrugged. "I find it easier if I can see her." "Susanna, she's getting the best possible care. She's — " "In the best place. I know." It was what everyone said, but she didn't believe that. The best place would be home with her, well and happy. At thirteen months, she should be getting into everything, starting to walk, making sounds they could both pretend were words… Susanna focused all her attention on what she was doing. She poured the milk into two cobalt blue mugs and carefully added the tea. "You'll be ill yourself if you don't pace yourself." Susanna wanted to scream at him that he didn't understand. That her world had shrunk to the hospital where Eleanor spent her days tied to a ventilator, whereas he still spent his in the outside world pursuing a lucrative career as an investment banker. It was only on evenings and weekends that he touched the agony that was her day-to-day existence. She said nothing. Instead, her fingers closed around her warm mug and she sipped the hot tea. "You could get more involved in the campaign to try and find a donor," Luke suggested, reaching out for his own drink. "Do something practical. The local paper is going to run a story on Eleanor and the hope is it'll be picked up by the nationals. They want to print a few pictures —" "No." The word shot from her mouth. Luke looked across at her. "What do you mean?" "I don't want Eleanor's face plastered all over the paper. I don't want people seeing all the tubes and…" She covered her face with a hand and tried to fight back the tears. Luke watched helplessly. He understood what Susanna was really saying — that she didn't want Eleanor to be ill. But she was…and the best chance, the only chance, Eleanor had was for a liver donor to be found. "It's an excellent opportunity," he said carefully. "I contacted them last week and I had a phone call yesterday from one of the reporters. I meant to tell you…but you came back from the hospital so late. The idea is to appeal directly to bereaved families. The wider the net, the better our chance of finding a compatible match." She looked up, her eyes rimmed red. "But why do they need photos?" "To make it feel personal. It's a difficult decision for anyone to make, and they have to make it at an impossible time." Luke had struggled with that thought himself. For Eleanor to live, someone else would have had to have died. Another man's child. But he was desperate. His love for his daughter meant that he'd do anything. Ask anything. He'd happily donate his own liver if it would mean Eleanor could live. What he couldn't cope with was standing helplessly by, watching her fade away. He hated the feeling of powerlessness, of events being so far outside his control. It was better to focus on the positive, on what could be done, rather than spend hour upon hour, like Susanna did, watching each assisted breath.

200

It was easier, too, not seeing Susanna cry. He hated that. Her face was red and blotchy from tears and lack of sleep. She looked like someone who was merely existing…which he supposed she was. And there was not a damn thing he could do about it. "They want to do a real 'tug on the heartstrings' piece. Perhaps, have you looking down at Eleanor?" Susanna's mouth moved in a soundless "no." He reached forward to take hold of her hand, but she pulled it away. She tried to make it look as though she needed it to hold her mug. It didn't fool him. Susanna couldn't cope with him touching her. Not for comfort. Not for anything. Her attention was focused entirely on their daughter. Everyone else had been pushed away and shut out. The only thing that mattered to Susanna was Eleanor. And Eleanor was dying. "They think a headline like Mother's Vigil might reach the parents of potential donors," he continued tonelessly. "Touch their emotions and make them want to bring something good out of their own tragedy." "I — I can't ."Susanna's voice was a whisper but he heard it. "We can talk about it later. I haven't said we'll do it." He drained the last of his tea. "I'm going to try and get some sleep. You?" She shook her head — as he'd known she would. "I'll read down here for a bit." Luke knew she wouldn't. She would curl up in the brown leather armchair and cry. Racking sobs that tore into him and made him hurt with an intensity he hadn't imagined existed. And there was nothing he could do. Not for Eleanor. Not for Susanna. He set his mug down on the worktop. "I'll leave the landing light on." "Thanks." It was easier to pretend. He watched her turn and carefully place her empty mug in the dishwasher, then his own, and knew she didn't want him to see her face. She'd shut him out. She always shut him out. Her grief was so overwhelming…so all encompassing. She made him feel guilty when he came home and he hadn't thought about Eleanor for several hours. There were moments in his working day when he could forget the lead weight settled in his heart. It wasn't like that for Susanna. Whole swathes of her time were spent at the hospital and when she was prized away her mind was still there. Some days, God help him, it took everything he had not to stay in the car and keep driving. He felt trapped. Angry. For the first time in his life there was nothing he could do that would change things. He could work on raising the profile of organ donation, but it felt like he was chipping away at a mountain. It changed very little. He paused at the doorway, wanting to say something that would help her. "Eleanor's a determined little thing —"

201

"She's dying." He felt like she'd slapped him. "I know." Susanna turned away, her blond hair dull and lifeless. The soft highlights that had streaked her hair when they'd gotten married had grown out and her layers were overlong. It was months of not caring. So different from the bright, vivacious woman he'd married. Not that he'd had much choice. Five months pregnant with his child, he'd felt it was the only thing he could do. Twenty-six years old, midway through a law degree, Susanna had told him the news. She was pregnant and she was keeping the baby. His baby. Her brown eyes had been completely fearless, but he'd known she couldn't have been feeling like that. Both her parents had died, an only child… There'd been no choice. He'd taken a deep breath and asked her to marry him. And then she'd smiled. It had started in her eyes and spread out from there. Her face had lit up as though a light had switched on inside her…and he'd felt great. It wasn't what he'd planned. He hadn't felt ready for marriage or children. But making a final commitment was always going to be difficult and, he'd told himself, it might even be better this way. He hadn't understood what he was doing. "Go to bed, Luke. I'll be fine." She wrapped her arms about her body. "You need to get some sleep if you're going to work tomorrow." "What about you?" Her face twisted. "I'll survive." Even if Luke hadn't been called into the hospital, Susanna would have known it was bad news when Dr. Rosemary Lane shut the door of her office. Susanna glanced across at her husband, glad he was with her if only because it meant she wouldn't have to tell him what had been said. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, a small muscle pulsing in his cheek. It was the only sign he gave of any sort of inner turmoil. It angered her that he could remain so calm. It made her feel so alone. Her mind was pulsing with fear at what the head of the liver transplant unit might be about to tell them, but when she looked at Luke, she saw…nothing. Just that tiny muscle clench and unclench. "Eleanor is an incredible little girl," Professor Lane said as she sat down. "Mr Burnett…Luke, would you like to take a seat?" Reluctantly, he sat where she indicated. Susanna tried her best to swallow the hard lump that had settled in her throat as she waited for what would come next. "Eleanor's a real fighter…"

202

Susanna heard the scrape of Luke's chair as he pushed it backward, the sound of feet in the corridor outside. "But…I'm afraid she's also one of the sickest children we've seen in the unit for a very long time." Dr. Lane looked from one parent to the other. "The infection she caught two weeks ago has led to a dramatic deterioration in her condition and I think —" she paused again, her voice kind " —I think we're at the stage where we must now consider using a liver from a different blood type." Susanna nodded because she knew it was expected. Her eyes fixed on the other woman's as though they were a lifeline. "Is that possible?" Luke asked beside her. Dr. Lane turned to look at him. "It's possible, but not ideal. As you know, Eleanor's rare AB blood type is only found in approximately two percent of the population and she is running out of time. If successful, a transplant now, albeit using a less-than-perfect match, will keep her alive until a more suitable donor can be found." The words were stark in their simplicity. Susanna felt the explosion in her head, the panic and the screaming fear. Each time, every time, she'd thought she'd heard the worst. It was like facing the sea, with wave after wave crashing down upon her. Unstoppable. Luke cleared his throat. "There doesn't seem to be any choice." "Very little," Professor Lane agreed. "We need a donor very quickly. Eleanor is struggling to stay alive. Every day we wait is a risk." "What are the chances of one being found in time?" Susanna sat in numbed shock. All she'd really heard was the fact that her baby was running out of time. She'd known that, but hearing the words sent ice coursing through her veins. Then she felt the pain. Long fingers gripping her heart and squeezing tight until she thought it would have to stop beating. A shadow passed over Dr. Lane's face. "Parents whose children have just died are naturally reluctant to donate the organs of their loved ones and it's difficult for health professionals to approach them." "So, it's not likely?" Luke's voice sounded overloud in the quiet confines of the small office space. Susanna glanced across at him, but Professor Lane answered calmly, "We have to hope that there are some very special people out there who can use their own tragedy to save Eleanor." Luke sat back in his chair and raised a hand to shield his eyes. "Would you like a cup of tea? A moment together to discuss what I've told you?" A moment together? Susanna didn't know how to answer that. How did other parents manage in a situation like this? Did they cling to each other, united in their grief? Their marriage wasn't like that. Had never been like that. She didn't even know how Luke was really feeling. They didn't talk about things like that. Their conversations were entirely practical. If she cried he turned away. What would it be like now to have Luke hold her? Loving and supportive? Her throat was sore with the effort of not crying, her eyes were smarting and her head ached…and she couldn't tell him how she was feeling.

203

Couldn't tell him because he didn't seem to care. Or didn't want to care. Luke let his hand fall. "We've got to go to the papers. If the story gets taken up by the nationals there's a small chance it will hit someone's doormat at the right time and they'll act with their hearts. Susanna?" Her mind seemed like it was full of fog. She couldn't think quickly. Didn't really understand what he was talking about. "A nationwide appeal would certainly be helpful," Professor Lane said, standing up. "I'll leave you alone to discuss it. Perhaps, you'd like to take a walk together outside in the sunshine? We've a couple of tests we need to run on Eleanor in the next few minutes." Her shoes clicked against the hospital floor and the door shut with a quiet thud. "Susanna?" She turned to look at him, her eyes blind with grief. "I need to call the local paper now. They need to do the story straightaway." His words shot at her like bullets from a gun. There was no escape. She nodded. "Did you hear what I said? We need to do the story now." Susanna stood up and brushed a hand across her eyes. "Whatever." Her arms felt heavy and her legs no longer seemed to want to take her weight. She just wanted the night to close in on her so she could shut all of this out. Every hateful moment. The pain was too much. Far, far too much. Luke caught her as her body swayed, his hands holding her arms and forcing her to look at him. "Susanna, we can do this. Eleanor can do this. Don't give up on her now." His eyes were bright blue, startling against the dark brown of his hair — and strong. Why could he do this and she couldn't? She felt like a shaken rag doll, so punch-drunk she could scarcely stand. Susanna felt the first tear fall, hot against her cheek. "I'm scared," she whispered. His right hand slid up her arm and gently held her face, his thumb stroking away the trail of moisture. "I'm scared, too." His admission surprised her, as did the warm feeling of his fingers against her skin. Susanna ached to curl in against him. Have his strength wrap itself around her. She wanted so much to believe Luke would one day love her. That their marriage might become something beautiful. "E-Eleanor might die." "I know." She heard the tremor in his voice and then felt his arms close around her. Her heart hammered against her chest. Nothing had changed. She still wanted him. Loved him. "Eleanor hasn't lost yet." His fingers threaded through her hair and his hand cradled her head. He hadn't held her for so long. She closed her eyes and let her body relax against his. She'd almost forgotten how wonderful this felt.

204

The subtle scent of a masculine body spray mingled with something that was entirely Luke. The steady beat of his heart beneath her fingers as they rested against his chest. It felt like she was standing in the eye of the storm. Right here, right now, she was at peace. It was a dangerous feeling. He made her feel cared for, loved even — but she knew it had no basis in reality. Luke was a good man, a passionate man, a man who would have loved her if he could. She had to remember that the only reason he was with her was because of Eleanor. And if their daughter died…he would leave her. Susanna made herself pull away from the comfort of being held by Luke. It would have been easy to let herself rest against his chest, to feel his arms around her and imagine he really wanted to hold her. But, it was an illusion. She knew she'd trapped Luke into this marriage. She hadn't meant to. Her pregnancy had been a shock — even the night Eleanor had been created had been a surprise. She'd loved him for so long…and when he'd kissed her she'd been lost. No part of her mind had thought of anything but how it felt to have his lips on hers, his hands moving over her body. It might have been a sin, it was certainly wrong, but she'd wanted him…whatever the consequences. Eleanor was that consequence. And because he was a fantastic man he stayed. She wasn't a fool. She knew she was his second best. Not the woman he would have chosen. And if Eleanor died…he would be free. Had he thought of that? Susanna turned and brushed away the tears on her face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." "I don't know why!" "I need to be strong for Eleanor." She heard the soft expletive he muttered under his breath. "You are strong for her. You're bloody amazing." He stretched out his hand and she couldn't do anything but hold out her own. His fingers threaded through hers, so dark against the paleness of her skin. "Let's make the call to the newspaper. It might not work, but at least we'll know we tried everything we could." There was no choice. Eleanor's life hung in the balance. "Okay." "We need to go outside. I can't use the cell phone from here." Susanna nodded. He led her out of the office, along the corridors painted in soothing pink and out into a bright May morning. Cocooned inside the hospital walls she'd almost forgotten there was a world outside. Luke let go of her hand and Susanna sat on the nearest bench. Somewhere on the third floor medical staff was seeing to her baby, replacing tubes and giving her injections they didn't want her to see. She watched Luke take his cell phone and a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, and then key in the number he had written down. Even hearing just the one side of the conversation, she understood it all.

205

Luke's crisp voice explained Eleanor's condition. He talked about timescales and locations. He gave directions to the ward Eleanor was on and agreed to meet a man called Brian in the reception area at three o'clock. As he ended the call, he glanced across at her. "It's settled." Susanna nodded, and knotted her hands together in her lap. "They're coming today. This afternoon." Again she nodded. "Brian Hartman and a woman called Veronica Lewis. She's the photographer." Susanna felt the tears well up behind her eyes and bit down hard on her lip. She'd seen articles like this many times over the years. She'd looked at the pictures of desperately ill children and anguished washed-out women and felt an abstract kind of sympathy. She'd never taken the time to imagine the heartache behind the pictures. And now she was to be the anguished washed-out woman — and Eleanor the child. Luke sat down beside her. His eyes fixed on her profile. "Do you want to get a coffee?" "No." He glanced down at his wristwatch. "We ought to give them a few more minutes with Eleanor before we go back up." Susanna nodded and then turned to look at him. "Do you think she's going to die?" She saw the sudden movement of his throat and watched his eyes skit away. "Luke?" she prompted. He turned back to look at her. "I don't know." "Perhaps, we ought to ring your parents? Ask them to come to the hospital?" Luke shook his head. "I've telephoned them. They know what's going on…but she's our little girl. She needs us." Us. Susanna let the word swirl about her mind. Luke had married her because he believed their child needed a mother and a father. She'd married him because she'd needed him. "Do you remember the day I told you I was expecting Eleanor?" "I remember." His eyes scanned the sky. "What did you really think? Honestly?" Think? He turned back to look at her, trying to understand the question. Think? He wasn't sure he knew what he'd thought.

206

She was pregnant…and it was his baby. Susanna leaned over and picked a single stem of lavender. "I nearly didn't tell you. It didn't seem right, though. To just have your baby and not tell you anything about it." God, no. He swallowed painfully. "What made you change your mind?" "Arlene Peacock. Do you remember her?" He nodded. "She used to help out at the post office on Tuesdays. I felt sick one day and she got me a glass of water. She guessed…" Luke frowned with the effort of trying to understand where his wife was going with this. Her eyes were fixed on a small spot in the distance, her mind far away. "Not about you." She glanced across at him, a wavering smile touching her lips. "Just about the baby. She asked me if I'd told the father." "And you hadn't?" Susanna shook her head, her fingers picking at the lavender. "Would you have preferred not to know?" "Of course not." Or would he? Sometimes, during the past few months he'd thought about what it might have been like if Eleanor hadn't been born. If Susanna hadn't cried that night, when their daughter was conceived… She seemed to read his mind. "I shouldn't have married you." Her eyes turned back to look at the shredded lavender stalk. "I always knew you didn't love me." And he couldn't speak. His mind, usually so sharp, couldn't think of one single intelligent thing to say. "I was wrong to do that to you." Luke swallowed hard. "We made the baby together." "Yes, but I knew I wasn't taking any precautions." "So did I." She shook her head, but then she said, "I was so glad not to have to do the whole baby thing on my own. When you asked me to marry you, I just said yes. I shouldn't have done that." "Susanna —" "No, let me finish." She threw the shorn lavender stalk on the ground and plucked at another. "Whatever happens now with Eleanor…" Her voice wavered. "Let's stop pretending. We made a great little girl, and we love her…" Luke couldn't bear to hear any more. He watched the trembling of her lips and the shimmer that covered her eyes. "This isn't the time —" "I know. I just wanted you to know…well, for you to know that I know you don't love me."

207

And Luke felt like he'd been punched in the solar plexus. Hard — with a fist as solid as a cannonball. Luke wanted to find words to reassure Susanna. In an ideal world he would have put his arm around her and told her to stop talking nonsense. Told her that, of course, he loved her. That their marriage wasn't a mistake. But … She wanted him to know that she knew. Simple. Dignified. Just as Susanna always was. She smiled, her eyes honest and brave. "We'd better go back in. Are you coming?" He swallowed. "I-In a moment." For a second he thought she was going to say something else, but she nodded and turned away. His wife. His. The woman who said she knew he'd never loved her. Luke's eyes clouded over as he thought about that. He'd been married to Susanna for fifteen months and he'd never known she'd nearly not told him about Eleanor. He didn't even know why she'd decided to sleep with him that night. The need to be close to someone? Anyone? He didn't know. How was it possible you could share your life with someone and know so little about them? Why hadn't he asked those questions? He'd blithely assumed this was his life. He'd resented it, but he'd never really questioned it. And, there'd seemed to be so much time. Luke glanced up at the third story window where Susanna and Eleanor were. It was all changing now. Eleanor was dying, and Susanna… What? Susanna had chosen the difficult path. She always did. She'd chosen to keep their baby when many other women would have terminated the pregnancy without anyone knowing. She'd brought Eleanor home and given her five special weeks. She'd shelved the final year of her degree to care for their baby. She'd told him she knew he didn't love her… Who was she, this woman he'd married? Luke stood up and twisted the wedding ring on the third finger of his left hand. There was so much he wanted to know.

208

How did she feel about him? In the beginning there'd been moments when he'd wondered if she loved him. If she had, he'd done nothing to foster it. And suddenly it mattered. He had to know what he'd thrown away so carelessly. *** Veronica Lewis, the photographer, knew what she was doing. She waited until Eleanor was sleeping and positioned the small pink teddy bear so its face peaked out of the hospital blanket. "Mrs Bennett, if you would look down at Eleanor. Perhaps, rest your chin on your hands?" Susanna leaned forward on the hospital chair and overlapped her hands. It was all so orchestrated and artificial. Luke hated it. "Can you think about how Eleanor might be feeling now?" He wanted to shove the photographer aside for such a crass remark. He watched the flicker of pain pass over Susanna's face as she schooled her features to give what was wanted. Her chin rested next to the narrow wedding band he'd given her. No engagement ring. There hadn't been time. And he hadn't thought. Had she wanted one? Had she dreamed of a large white wedding with a four-piece band? "That's beautiful. Thank you." Veronica Lewis straightened and looked across at her colleague. "I have everything I need." Brian Hartman nodded and smiled at Luke. "That's it. We'll try and get the pictures in the paper this weekend." "Thank you." "No guarantees, of course, but a human interest story…anything we can do to help," he said, stretching out his hand. Luke went through the motions. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Susanna stand up, her fingers stroking lightly across Eleanor's bare chest. Almost an apology. He saw the dark smudges beneath his wife's eyes, the exhaustion that hung about her frame. Veronica packed away her camera and turned to Susanna. "I hope your little girl pulls through." Susanna's smile wavered, the tears she'd kept back until then slowly formed in her eyes and softly tumbled over. Luke moved. His hand snaked around her waist and he held her tight against his body. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice muffled.

209

"You did great." He felt her shudder and heard the first heartrending sob. Luke gathered her closer. He saw Veronica wave a hand in goodbye, but he kept his arms tightly around his wife. There was nothing more important than this. Her fingers clutched at his shirt and her tears wet the thin cotton fabric. There was nothing he could do but hold her. Every sob, every heartrending gulp, tore into him. He felt so helpless, so…impotent…to do anything. His hand moved through her hair feeling the long blond silkiness and he closed his eyes and prayed. He hadn't prayed since he was a child, but everything seemed so overwhelming. Gradually, her sobs quietened and she stood exhausted in the circle of his arms. Her cheek lay warm against his chest and he felt how right it was she should be there. It had always felt right. The first time, in his parents' home… An amazing, sexy night. Beyond anything he'd ever experienced before. It had felt…cosmic. As though the heavens had shifted and, suddenly, everything was right in his world. Luke rested his chin on the top of her head. What would it have been like if he hadn't left for New York the weekend after? If he'd rung her up and they'd gone out to dinner? Talked? What if… Her body felt warm and soft. He let his fingers move across her back, hoping that she would understand what he was trying to convey, even though he wasn't sure of what it was himself. Susanna sighed and then pulled away, her fingers wiping at her eyes. "I'm sorry to cry all over you." "It's been a long time since you have." Her eyes flicked up to his and back to Eleanor. Luke moved closer, his hand resting lightly on Eleanor's crib. "Why?" "Why what?" "Why did you stop crying in front of me?" Susanna looked up, her eyes enormous in her white face. "It was all I was doing." It wasn't the real answer — and she knew it. Luke reached down and stroked the top of Eleanor's head. "I love her, too." She didn't doubt that. Had never doubted it. "I know that." "Then why, Susanna? Why couldn't we have cried together?" She looked up into his face. Luke's eyes were a murky blue, like a troubled sea. He really didn't know. That seemed unbelievable to her. There were so many reasons, but, perhaps, the main one was the shuttered look on his face when he walked through the front door. A masklike control.

210

And she'd never felt so lonely. She'd poured over photographs of Eleanor and ached for her little girl. She'd suffered with each and every operation her daughter had undergone. If Luke had loved her, perhaps, they'd have drawn closer. Instead, she'd been alone. Isolated. "We began wrong," she said gently, aware of the nurse sitting quietly in the corner. Susanna saw the whiplash effect her words had. She hadn't meant to hurt him. Luke must have known they'd begun badly. He must have felt it. The nurse stood up and checked the monitors. She paused and smiled. "Eleanor is very peaceful. Why don't you take the opportunity to get something to eat?" Susanna couldn't imagine eating. Everything tasted like cardboard these days. She glanced down at Eleanor's sleeping face. "If she needs us we can be fetched," Luke said quietly. Susanna looked from Eleanor to Luke and then back to the nurse. Annie's solid good sense radiated from every pore — and Eleanor liked her. "I'll be here all the time," Annie said. "And your husband's right. I'll have you called if there's the slightest change." Reluctantly, Susanna nodded. "I'll be in The Swannery." The sandwich shop was a great alternative to the main cafeteria, as it was a lot quieter. Vaguely, she was aware of Luke behind her. She went to the locker and pulled out her handbag. She turned to face him. "It's probably a good idea to get some food. It's going to be a long night." He nodded. Susanna knew her way to The Swannery blindfolded. She'd spent so many hours there over the past year. It was bright and clean, with emerald green trelliswork trying to give the impression you'd stumbled into a bistro. "What do you mean 'began wrong'?" Luke asked as soon as they were out in the corridor. Susanna kept her eyes focused on the double doors ahead. "I'm not a fool. I know how much you gave up for Eleanor." "I've never said that." "No." He hadn't. Perhaps, it would have been better if he had. He'd been twenty-six. The world had been opening up before him. Luke could have done anything. Gone anywhere. Instead, he'd tied himself to a woman he didn't love for the sake of his baby. It had taken her a while to understand that. She'd wanted to believe the fairytale. Most of her still did. "But you can't pretend you married me because you wanted to be with me…can you?"

211

She saw his eyes flick away and then back again. He couldn't say that. Susanna strode on through the double doors and paused at the elevator. She reached inside her handbag and rummaged inside for a pack of tissues. "Why did you sleep with me that night?" Luke asked abruptly. The elevator doors opened and Susanna stumbled inside. To answer that question was to bare her soul. She'd slept with him because it was everything she'd ever wanted. She looked up at him. It had been like being transported from the slums of Calcutta to Buckingham Palace. "I don't know." "I don't believe you." The lift doors closed. Susanna stepped forward and pushed the ground floor button. The lift shuddered and started its decent. Luke laid a hand on her arm. "Susanna, I need to know." Perhaps, he did. They'd gone from being almost friends…to being lovers…to being parents far too quickly. And Eleanor was his child, too. "It just happened," she said huskily. Her fingers trembled as she searched for the string that would open the packet. "That's no answer. I don't even know why you were at my parents' house." "I was their cleaner. It was my part-time job." Luke shook his head. "Not at nine o'clock at night. Susanna?" His blue eyes seemed to bore into her soul. Everything he said was true. She shouldn't have been there so late. In fact, she shouldn't have been there at all. Marilyn and Robert had flown to Barcelona for a week's holiday. The house had been left spotless. But she'd had a key, and Marilyn had told her to use the house as her own. Susanna pulled out a tissue and fiercely blew her nose. That night she'd really wanted to escape the well-meaning sympathy of friends. It had seemed like such a good idea. If she'd known Luke was going to be there she wouldn't have gone. Or would she? "The telephone kept ringing at home. Really nice people wanting to say really nice things about Dad…but I'd got tired of hearing them." "So you went to escape?" Susanna nodded. "Your mum said I could. If it all got too much. My aunt had gone back home that morning. She'd stayed for a couple of days after dad's funeral…" "I remember. You said." Susanna pushed the door of The Swannery open. "I really missed her when she left. I hadn't realised quite how much she'd been shielding me." "So you went to my parents' house." Luke picked up a tray.

212

She glanced across at him, then back at the counter. "Then you came home." Luke knew that part of the story. He'd opened the front door and had heard a noise. His first thought had been that he'd disturbed burglars. Only it hadn't been. It had been a beautiful blonde. She'd been dressed in jeans and an oversized sweater that kept slipping off her shoulder. It had been classic student dress, but he'd found it amazingly sexy. He remembered that. She'd seemed almost as shocked as he was when he'd walked in, but he'd persuaded her to stay. He'd opened a bottle of wine and they'd sat and talked. Endlessly. She'd told him about her law degree, her ambition to become a lawyer and her failed French 'A' Level. He knew her favorite flowers were lilies of the valley and she'd told him why. It had been the only flower her mother had let her pick in the garden as a child. He'd forgotten that. It had been a wonderful evening. He hadn't wanted it to end. When she'd looked at her watch and suggested she ought to leave he'd persuaded her to stay the night. There were plenty of bedrooms…and he'd opened another bottle of wine. "I just want a coffee," Susanna said at his elbow. He looked down at her, and for the first time in months he saw the woman he'd met that night. "I'll bring it over. Do you want to pick somewhere to sit?" She nodded. Luke watched her walk across to a table by the window. She put her handbag on the floor and leant forward with her head in her hands, elbows on the table. This couldn't be the life she'd planned for herself. He felt like he'd been struck over the head with a bat. He'd been so focused on doing the right thing, on how he was feeling…he'd scarcely thought about Susanna. About how much she'd given up. He put two coffees on the tray and selected two plastic wrapped sandwiches — one ham, one cheese — and then he lined up to pay. Luke caught sight of Susanna as she ran her fingers through her hair and fixed unseeing eyes on the view outside. He'd never asked her how she'd felt when she first discovered she was pregnant. By the time she told him he was going to be a father, all the important decisions had been taken. The consequences of deciding to keep her baby had been as far-reaching for her as him. Her law degree had been abandoned; all her hopes of being a barrister had been put aside. And she'd done it freely. It made him feel ashamed at how much he'd resented the changes in his own life. Luke set the tray down on the table and waited until Susanna looked up. He sat in the chair opposite. "Now tell me why you slept with me?" Luke's choice of words jarred. He wanted to know why she'd slept with him. Susanna would never have described it like that. As far as she'd been concerned, she'd made love. With every fiber of her being. It had been like coming home.

213

Susanna reached out and tore open a sachet of Demerara sugar. She watched as the brown crystals sank into her coffee and then she picked up her spoon. "Susanna?" Luke prompted. She looked up at him. His eyes were fixed on her face. There was obviously going to be no escape. Slowly, she stirred the dark liquid. "Do you remember the summer you came home for your parents' silver wedding?" "Y-yes. No." He looked confused. "What's that got to do with anything?" With meticulous care she laid the spoon on the tray. "I was fourteen. My mum was ill by then, but she managed to come to the garden party. We were all there." He nodded. "You'd come back from university specially." "I remember." Susanna smiled. It had been a beautiful day and the Burnett's garden was a stunning place to spend a summer afternoon. "I watched you play tennis. You won." Luke pulled his coffee nearer. "I don't understand …" "No. Well." She reached out and picked up the cheese sandwich. Without thinking she pulled back the plastic cover. "You were with some girl who had long red hair." "Kim Grantham." Susanna looked up. "Was it? I never knew her name. She was the most glamorous person I'd ever seen." She paused while she took a bite of her sandwich. "And I thought you were gorgeous. I spent months imagining what it would be like to be her." "And that's why you slept with me?" Susanna hesitated. To say "yes" would be the easy answer. End of interrogation and they could go on as before. It wouldn't be the truth, though. The silver wedding party had been the beginning. She'd been fourteen and he'd been twenty. She'd not been in love with him then — but it was the first time she'd noticed him. He'd seemed almost godlike. Perfect. She hesitated. "Not exactly. Why is this so important?" Luke picked up the ham sandwich. "Because I don't know the answer." "It doesn't matter." "It does to me." Susanna let a beat of silence pass and then she asked, "Why did you…make love to me?" She chose her words carefully, but Luke didn't seem to notice. His long fingers pulled back the cover on his sandwich and he took it out of the wrapper.

214

"Because you cried." And then, "I think. I think that's why it happened." It wasn't the answer she'd been expecting. "Because I cried?" "I think so." Not because he'd wanted to. Not because he'd been overcome by passion. Just because she'd cried. Because he'd felt sorry for her. His words twisted a knife inside her. Susanna felt angry with herself. Even now, after all the heartache she still allowed herself to hope. There'd been a tiny chink of…something that made her dream of a different answer. It was time for all this to be over. Past time. She placed her half-eaten sandwich back in the plastic triangle it had come in and pushed it away. Luke put his own sandwich down. "So you fancied me at fourteen? What happened then?" Susanna looked up and met his eyes for a moment. She saw in them a confusion that didn't match his voice or the words he was using. Her fingers played with the rim of her mug. This was the moment of no return. If she told him she'd fallen in love with him at her eighteenth birthday party, dreamed about him every night since, she could never unsay the words. He would know. Always. But did that matter now? She'd already decided that whatever happened their marriage needed to end. For both of them. There was something about telling him Eleanor had been made out of her love for him that really appealed to her. A child should be made out of love. "When I was eighteen…" I fell in love with you. She even remembered the moment. The exact second when she'd looked across the room at him and known she'd never feel like that about anyone ever again. Luke frowned. "Your birthday?" "I had a party. Your mum had arranged it because my mum had died by then, and she wanted to look out for her friend's daughter." He nodded. "You were home for the Christmas holidays." In his face she saw the first trace of real understanding. As though he remembered the mistletoe. "I kissed you." Susanna kept looking at him. She watched his eyes. They seemed to change color, from gray to blue. In the end it was easy to say the words. They'd been locked up inside her for so long it was almost a relief. "I fell in love with you then." His mouth moved, but he didn't say anything. "It was as simple as walking from one room to another. One moment I was suffering an adolescent passion and the next…well, the next I knew I was in love. That I'd met the man I wanted to be with."

215

Luke brushed a hand through his hair. In some distant recess of her mind, Susanna felt sorry for him. He'd obviously had no idea. He'd started this conversation with no inkling of what she'd say. "The trouble was, you didn't feel like that." "I —" "Don't." Susanna stopped him. She didn't want him to feel bad. It wasn't his fault he couldn't love her. "That night…the first night…I slept with you because I loved you." She saw the flush hit his cheekbones, the uncertainty in his eyes. "It doesn't matter. Not now. Whatever happens with Eleanor…if she lives or…" She couldn't bring herself to say the words. "Whatever happens now, it doesn't matter. Eleanor will always be your little girl. Our baby. Always." Susanna reached out and took hold of his hand across the table. His fingers closed around hers. "That's why I said, it's time this all stopped. You tried. Really, really hard." "No. I — " "I shouldn't have let you marry me. I always knew you didn't love me. You're a kind, passionate, wonderful man…but it's not enough. I want more. Whatever happens, I think we should get a divorce." Luke's hand gripped hers. "Susanna, I —" "You're unhappy…and so am I." Gently, she disengaged his fingers. "I ought to go back up and check on Eleanor. I don't like to think of her on her own." Luke sat as though a tranquilizer gun had hit him. The mother of his child had just told him she loved and wanted a divorce in the same breath. He knew he nodded and he saw her leave. She glanced back at him once, just as she pushed open the double doors. He didn't understand how he felt. He didn't understand anything. Susanna had slept with him because she loved him. All those vague suspicions crystallized into something tangible and real. Susanna loved him. Had loved him. And she wanted a divorce. His daughter was dying and his wife wanted a divorce. Twenty-four hours and Luke hadn't been able to see Susanna alone. She'd said she loved him — once — and he hadn't seen her alone since to talk about it. Or about anything. Luke spread the newspaper out on the white plastic table in the waiting room. They'd made the nationals. Just as they'd hoped. There was his little girl, her life slipping away. And his wife…gazing at Eleanor with such love in her eyes. The softness in her face made her look incandescently beautiful. Luke reached out and traced Susanna's cheekbone, the shape of her jaw. He was about to lose them both. One because she wasn't well enough to live…and the other through carelessness. There'd been a time when Susanna had looked at him that way. With love. He wanted that back.

216

The photograph was haunting. There was Eleanor. His daughter. Eyes tightly shut. Tubes everywhere. The pink teddy bear his parents had bought… He swallowed painfully. And Susanna. Bone weary and emotionally drained. Her eyes focused on the precious life they'd created together…because she'd loved him. Memories of that night streamed through him. She'd said "they'd begun wrong," but that wasn't true. They'd begun right. It was just he hadn't recognized how right it was. He'd been young and selfish, fixated on the opportunities New York would bring him. He hadn't seen how precious the pearl he was leaving behind was. Susanna had always been there. So close, he'd not noticed her. Six years younger than him, but so much more mature. He'd told her he'd slept with her because she'd cried, but that wasn't true. He'd made love to her because he hadn't been able to do anything else. When she'd cried it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to hold her. And when he was holding her it had been the most natural thing to kiss her. And when he'd kissed her… It still felt natural. Every time he was with her, every time he touched her, something deep inside him responded to her. Because he loved her. How could he have missed that? Images passed through his mind. He saw Susanna standing before him telling him she was expecting his child. He saw her laughing at a joke, sun streaming through her hair. He saw her eyes clouded with passion. For him. "Luke?" He turned to look at Susanna. Her hand was splayed out on the waiting-room door, her face tired but calm. "Dr. Lane wants to see us." She looked so beautiful that he was almost too frightened to speak to her. "Now?" She nodded. "I don't know why." She raised a hand and brushed away a tear. He wanted to hold her. To tell her he loved her. That she was the woman he wanted to walk through the rest of his life with — whatever trials and tribulations it might bring. Luke stood up and stared at her as though he was seeing her for the first time. He wanted to be there for all her good times. Comfort her in the bad. He wanted to help her scale every mountain and stand looking at the view together. He wanted to see her get her law degree. Become a lawyer. Have other children, maybe. Tears swelled behind his eyes. He'd never wanted anything so fiercely as Susanna in his life. He'd been such a fool. He'd taken her love and screwed it under his foot. And now she wanted to walk away. She wanted a divorce. She was bright and beautiful, honest and caring. In many ways she deserved a new start with someone better than him…but he loved her and without her he'd be nothing. Luke felt the first tear drop down his face. It burned across his cheek like acid.

217

"Luke?" Susanna moved forward, her face full of concern. Her hand reached out, then hesitated, not quite touching him. That killed him. She didn't feel she had the right to touch him. Dear God. Luke reached for her and he hid his face against her hair. It smelled of vanilla and summertime. His body throbbed with pain. He felt like he'd only just come alive. Susanna's arms held him tightly. "It might not be bad news," she said softly. "There's been no change in Eleanor." Every sense he had was screaming out with a desire to keep this woman close. To have, and to hold, for as long as they both should live. And he didn't know where to begin. He didn't know how to find the words to tell Susanna he loved her. How did he start to heal the pain he'd caused her? How could he make her believe in them? Luke pulled back and moved to hold her face between his hands. He stared down at her. "I love you." He saw the confusion hit her brown eyes. Perhaps, he should have led in more gently, perhaps… But they were the words of his heart and they spilled out. He forced her to keep looking at him, his blue eyes pleading for her to understand and see what was deep within him. "Luke, you don't —" "I love you," he repeated, his voice stronger. "I don't want you to leave me. Or divorce me." Susanna's eyes took on a new vulnerability. "Eleanor will always be your daughter…whatever happens between us," she whispered. He nodded and let go of her face. "I know that." He reached out for her hand and held it gently between his own. His thumb moved against her palm. "You know the moment you looked at me and knew you loved me?" She nodded, her hand still in his. Luke swallowed. "I just had that moment. Susanna…" He searched for the words. "Susanna, I want to do all the things I should have done before. I want to take you to dinner. I want to sit up late talking. I want to know every thought in your head. I want to fill our garden with lilies of the valley so our children and grandchildren can pick them." His voice deepened. "I want to go to sleep every night knowing you're going to be beside me when I wake." Susanna felt the first whisper of hope. Slowly, so slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away, Luke kissed her. His lips touched hers. Hesitantly, like a first kiss. Then, as he felt her hand twitch, he pulled back to look in her eyes. "I love you." "You love me?" she whispered brokenly. His mouth twisted into a wry smile. "I left it a bit late to tell you."

218

Susanna stared up into his face. "A little." "I'm sorry." It was all there in his blue eyes. All the love she'd dreamed of seeing there — one day. She reached up and stroked the side of his face. The man she loved. Had always loved. The moment felt surreal. "I love you, too." Luke pulled her in close; so close she could feel the beat of his heart. His arms locked about her as though he would never let her go and Susanna felt the fear recede. With Luke beside her she could do anything. Cope with anything. "We need to go," she said softly. The door banged open and one of the nurses from the night shift rushed in. "There's been a phone call from London. They have a near perfect match for Eleanor." Susanna turned within Luke's arms to look at her. "A liver?" She nodded, her eyes glowing. "It's on its way. Dr. Lane has just called in a team of three surgeons. She needs to speak to you." "We're coming," Luke said behind her. The young nurse nodded and left. For a moment Susanna was too scared to believe what she'd heard, then relief started to flood through her. She knew there were no guarantees. That it would be a long seven- or eight-hour operation, followed by an agonizing wait to see if the organ had taken. "Eleanor's got a chance," she said brokenly. Luke smiled. The kind of smile that made her heart feel like it would burst from happiness. "A good one." He laced his fingers between hers and led her out through the doors, toward their daughter.

219

Judi & The Beast by Dianne Drake When Judi Blake “runs over” a stray dog, she drops everything to rush the mutt to the vet — and the good doctor turns out to be the man of her dreams! Problem is, Dr. Mike Jericho wants Judi to keep the pup, and Judi’s got no room in her hectic life for a pet, or a boyfriend! But Mike convinces Judi to keep Lucky for two weeks while he looks for a suitable home for the pooch. And soon, he’s making nightly house calls to help Judi cope with the dog’s antics.... Chapter One Wednesday afternoon and she’s already late Here she comes! With food, just like yesterday. What’s that I smell? Chicken? I love chicken. Hello, lady. Here I am again. Wag, wag. Remember me? “Shoo. Go away, puppy.” Judi Blake scooted around the black-and-red mongrel and laid the foil tray of Buffalo wings in the back of her Ford Expedition. Third tray down, one to go. Then off to the Bigelow family reunion. She glanced at her watch as she ran back to her multifunction catering kitchen/home sweet teensy home. Paying the mortgage on the building was all she could afford, so the corner in which she lived was a make-do. “Geez.” Ten minutes late. Deb was going to kill her. Six weeks landing this job, and her best friend and business partner, Debra Hayes, had almost gone gray nailing the details. Wings, no make it calamari, no make it wings and calamari with some of those little pizza rolls. Right now those wings and calamari and pizza rolls were getting cold! Hey, lady. I really do like chicken. Wag, wag, again. “Shoo, puppy. Get away.” Cute dog, but she didn’t have time to mess with him today. What? No chicken? Maybe if I just turn on the sad eyes. All her wings safely in the Expedition, Judi shut the back door then tried shooing the puppy again. “Go away,” she said, stamping her foot on the ground. “Scoot!” Don’t ya see the sad eyes, lady? Hustling around to the driver’s door, Judi opened it. “Shoo. Go home.” Judi nudged him away from her truck and climbed inside. Oh, no! Quick! Plan B! Gotta get it right... Just walk away so she thinks she’s in the clear. Yep, she’s checking to make sure I’m gone. Okay, now...charge! “Aieee...ooooh...aieee!” “Oh, no!” Judi gasped, jamming on her brakes. Jumping out of the truck, she dropped to her hands and knees and there he was, under the vehicle, sprawled out and whimpering. She’d hit him, but he wasn’t dead. “Come here, puppy,” she said tentatively. Sad eyes rolling up at her. Sad eyes for real this time. “Here, puppy.” Puppy hurts. “Ooooh...”

220

His sad cries just about broke her heart as Judi pulled the puppy out from under the truck and took a quick look at him. Not bleeding, nothing obvious. She breathed a sigh of relief over that. “It’s okay, boy. I’m going to take you to the doctor right now, and he’ll make you all better.” Like the dog could understand. But the words sure made her feel better. After wrapping the pup in an emergency spill towel she always carried in the back of her Expedition, Judi laid him in the front bucket seat next to hers and speed-dialed Deb. “Quick! Who’s your vet?” “Mike Jericho. Why?” “I hit a dog and I need to get him to a vet, and you’ve got to meet me there to get the Bigelow wings.” “He’s over on State, right across from the restaurant supply. LuLu just loves him.” LuLu was Deb’s apricot poodle. “In case you’re interested, he’s single, gorgeous, and he makes the whole veterinarian experience worth the trip.” Judi grinned. “For you or for LuLu?” She reached over and scratched the puppy behind his ears. Not that she was interested but — “Is that ‘single’ as in confirmed bachelor, gay or just hasn’t gotten around to it?” Didn’t matter. With her new business just beginning to make it, everything else was on the back burner. Including her social life. Nada. Zip. Zilch. But it was still fun to pretend she had one. “See ya in ten,” she said, clicking off. As Judi pulled into the parking lot a few minutes later, Deb called back. “I phoned him to let him know you’re on your way in with an emergency, and he’s waiting. Oh, and he said to tell you he just hasn’t gotten around to it yet.” “He hasn’t gotten around to what?” “Getting married. I asked him, since I knew you wouldn’t.” “And I’ve gotta go face this man? How could you do that to me?” Her cheeks were already turning red. “I’ll swear, Deb, if you weren’t a partner, I’d fire...” Judi stopped and took a look at the man standing in the parking lot, waving at her. If that was Mike Jericho, now she understood why Deb hauled LuLu to the vet every other week. “Well, dog. Looks good to me.” And that had nothing to do with the puppy. Chapter Two “He’s a stray. I’ve seen him wandering around my place for a day or so.” Judi paced back and forth in the tiny examining room while Mike Jericho ran his fingers over the little mutt. “I like dogs. I wouldn’t hurt one intentionally. But I was in a hurry. Didn’t see him.” “He may have some broken ribs, but with a little care he’ll be as good as new in...” Mike’s attention slipped momentarily from the pup to Judi. Hey guys, look at me. I’m the one who’s hurt here. “Um, in a week or two,” he continued, returning his focus to the dog. “You’re sure, Doctor?” “Call me Mike. And yep, he’ll be fine now that he has a home.”

221

“A home...,” Judi mumbled, giving Mike the once-over. Seriously cute. Just shy of six feet, sensational blond hair a little on the longish side, gorgeous baby blues, perfect pearly whites and a dangerous physique... Wow! “So, you’ll send him to a shelter?” “A shelter?” Judi nodded. “Where they’ll take good care of him until somebody adopts him.” “Look, Miss Blake... That is Miss, isn’t it? Your friend, Deb, did say you’re...” “Not married,” Judi jumped right in. For once, she was glad she wasn’t. “Call me Judi. Remember sad eyes, anyone? “Judi, I need to get some x-rays. But if they confirm the broken ribs, no shelter’s going to take him. Guess I assumed that since you brought him in you were going to keep him.” Of course she’s going to keep me.“I’ll take care of his vet bills, but I can’t keep him, Mike.” Oh, great, he was scowling now. Was he getting ready to take back her use of his first name? “I’m not equipped to deal with...” “Be right back,” he said hastily, picking up the dog and exiting the room. “Got the wings in my truck,” Deb said, rushing into the exam room. “So I’m on my way to feed the Bigelows. And didn’t I tell you? Isn’t he the most magnificent thing you’ve ever seen in a white smock? Aren’t you just dying to see what’s underneath it?” “Shh,” Judi warned. “This is strictly professional.” But Deb was right. She was dying to take a peek at his pecs. “And he’s not happy that I’m not keeping the dog.” “So keep the dog. Makes it easier to get to the vet.” “Don’t want a dog. Therefore, don’t need a vet.” “Honey, you need a vet worse than both LuLu and that pup you ran over do.” “What I need is to get over to the Bigelows’ to get their food service going.” “No need. I called Larenz. He’s on his way.” “Larenz?” “You know, Larenz DeFazio. We’ve used him as a server a couple of times.... I’ve used him a couple of times on my own.” Deb giggled. “But I thought you and the vet...” “Hey, a girl can look, but when this girl touches it’s short, dark and Larenz all the way. So help yourself to the vet. And don’t worry about the Bigelows. They’re in good hands. Hope you are, too, pretty soon.” Judi shook her head as Deb trotted out of the examining room. They were the same age, twenty-six. Apart from that, no other similarities. Deb was on the edge — short, bouncy, with dark brown eyes and spiked champagne hair. Great business partner, not great in the kitchen, excellent with the public contact. And apparently excellent with Larenz. And Judi? She was not bouncy, for starters. Five-five, one-twenty, green eyes and long, copper-colored hair she couldn’t control with a whip and kept tied back when she cooked or served. She was great in the kitchen and...and... Well, for a caterer, that was enough. Until she met Mike.

222

“A couple of broken ribs,” Mike confirmed, stepping back into the exam room. “They’re stable, but you’ll have to keep him on bed rest for a few days. Give him plenty of water, some puppy food, and he’ll be fine.” My very own bed, lady? “But I thought you understood...” “I understand you have a pup who needs some TLC for a while. Get him healed, then we’ll talk about finding him a home. Okay?” He smiled the most beguiling smile she’d ever seen in her life. “But I’m warning you, I’ll do whatever it takes to convince you to keep him.” Then he winked and almost melted her into a puddle on the floor. Can I sleep with you, lady? Please, please? Chapter Three Sure, she liked dogs, little fluffy ones. Poodles like LuLu, or bichons. But this pup... “I’m sorry, but I just can’t do it.” Judi glanced over at the little beast. Napping now, he was snuggled down into her towel, dreaming sweet puppy dreams. “He’s awfully cute,” she admitted. Big feet, the cutest eyes she’d ever seen, except, maybe, for Mike Jericho’s. “But I’d be scared to death I might run over him again. I’m urban — he needs a yard.” “You didn’t run over him the first time.” “Sure I did.” “I think the dog ran into you. Darted under your truck and bounced off a tire. Other way around he wouldn’t have survived.” “You’ve got to be kidding. The dog hit me?” “Hey, I’ve never tried that approach with a woman, but it if works...” He shrugged. “What can I say? It was love at first sight and he did what he had to do.” “Yeah. Just like you’re doing what you have to do by trying to persuade me to keep him.” She laughed. “Right?” “If you’re persuaded, then yes, I am. If not, give me time.” Wow, was she persuaded, and it sure had nothing to do with the dog! But it was something she simply didn’t have time for. Still, that twinkle in those baby blues, and the crooked way he smiled... Geez...life would have been a whole lot simpler had Deb simply declared him hands off. All signals coming from Mike, though, were hands on. In a big way! Smiling, Judi glanced down at her hands. Real big way. “In case this adds to the persuasion, I do make house calls.” Durn that crooked smile again. Okay, resolve, time to help me out here. “After hours.” Arched eyebrows, twinkling eyes. Bye-bye, resolve. “Anytime, Judi.”

223

Mercy! The way her name rolled off his lips. “And you’re sure it’s only going to be a couple of weeks?” Plenty of time to get this whatever the heck it was out of her system. She hoped. “If he heals well, could be sooner.” Then he winked again. “But I wouldn’t count on it.” Great. Like she really needed this complication — the vet and the dog. “So, if I keep him for a while, you’ll be available to...” wine me, dine me, let me see you without the smock “...um, answer some questions, if I have them.” Skip the if, more like when. “Like I said, anytime.” Eyebrows arched sooo seductively again. Talk about a hint. This guy really meant it. Well, why not? A couple weeks of fun could be...fun. No strings. No promises. Might work, and heaven knew she hadn’t had a diversion, male or otherwise, since the invention of the wheel. “And you don’t think you’ll...um...he’ll be a big problem?” The vet being a problem was already a given. “That dog? No way.” He jotted something on a scrap of paper then pressed it into her palm. “I’m a man of my word. I’ll have a permanent home for him within two weeks. Promise! In the meantime, that’s my home and personal cell phone numbers. Call me.” And that call me didn’t come with a dog attached to it. Well, this just keeps getting better and better. “So that leaves me with a problem right now. I have a job to get to...can’t take him home.” A little hint-dropping time here. He was obviously a master of the not-sosubtle, so now it was her turn to step up to the plate and see what kind of ball she could hit. “And I don’t have anybody else to look after him for the day.” She glanced at her watch. It was eleven. The Bigelows were scheduled to belly up to the food no later than noon. “So leave him here for the afternoon, then get him on your way home.” Well, that was sure easy. Now she’d get one more chance to see the good doctor today. And just when she thought it couldn’t get any better. “And Judi...a name?” “Huh?“The dog. I need a name for the records.” “Doesn’t matter. You name him.” Mike waited until Judi was gone before he scribbled a name on the dog’s folder. “Lucky,” he said, scratching Lucky behind the ears. “Seems like you already did get lucky, and let’s hope that happens to me real soon, too.” Chapter Four “Don’t blame you for throwing yourself at her truck, pal,” Mike said, tucking Lucky in. “So I got you in her door, now do the same for me. Okay?” Lucky rolled his eyes up at Mike, gave him a lazy wag, then went to sleep. Darn cute mutt, Mike thought. He was going to be a big, stout one — massive rottweiler contours with an all shar-pei face, he had lots of wrinkles, lots of lips and a spotted pink-and-black tongue. “So if you want to make this thing work, be on your good behavior. And don’t blow it for me. If she ditches you, she won’t need me.” And he was already counting the ways he wanted to be needed by Judi Blake. Certainly, his quick feelings for Judi were a shocker. At twenty-nine, he wasn’t necessarily ready to settle down, but he wasn’t necessarily not ready either. There was something nice about going home to a house

224

full of critters — assorted dogs, cats and barnyard animals - all whose only demands were a little attention and food. Not like his last girlfriend. She’d moved herself in while he wasn’t looking, then man-oh-man, did the demands start rolling. “You work too much.” She wanted him home more. “Do those people with animal problems have to keep calling all the time?” She wanted him to unplug the phone. “Do you really need a cow?” That’s where he tossed her. Sure, in a good relationship some sacrifices were necessary. But asking a man to give up his cow? Way over the top. Since then he’d devoted himself to growing the practice — skip the personal life. Of course, the cold nose in bed with him every night certainly wasn’t a good substitute for a warm one. For the first time since he couldn’t remember when, though, Mike Jericho wanted a warm nose in his bed, and he knew which one. “Yes, he’s cute,” Judi whispered to Deb as she dumped the next batch of wings into the serving dish. The Bigelows were plowing through the food as though they’d starved themselves for a week. And making a huge mess. Man! She wasn’t sure she could get it all cleaned up by tomorrow, let alone in time to go get the dog. “And I was actually going to see him again this evening, but with all this mess...” “Larenz and I can handle it,” Deb interrupted. They were hot for each other, Judi realized. It showed in the way they looked at each other, the affectionate little gestures, like a squeeze in passing or a wink. Good for Deb, figuring out how to balance her life so everything fit. That kind of balance wasn’t on Judi’s agenda until her business was much further along. “Nope, that’s my job, and Mike will just have to keep the dog tonight.” “You call him Mike? So did you get him out of that smock already?” Judi smiled. “Looks to me like you’ve got a little desmocking of your own going on.” “Ooo...is that evasion I hear? Does that mean the cook’s finally got something on her platter that’s outside the kitchen?” “Maybe.” “Well, if the Bigelows weren’t in a frenzy because the mac and cheese is getting low, I’d love to hear the juicy details, but I’ve got some serious carbs to serve up. So save it for me.” After Deb trotted off in search of more mac, Judi phoned Mike. “Look, I’m tied up at work. Won’t get off in time to get the dog.” “Lucky.” Lucky? As in he was lucky because she wouldn’t be stopping by? Her heart lurched a little. “I g-guess so,” she stammered. Oh, well, it wasn’t as if she really expected anything. But still... “I’ll get him tomorrow.” Then she clicked off, grabbed a bowl of gherkins and headed straight into the throng of Bigelows. Within ten seconds her cell phone was ringing. Tempted to let it go to voice mail, she waited until mid-fourth ring, couldn’t stand it anymore, and finally answered. “Look, Mike,” she said instead of hello. “I’ve got an emergency coming in,” he interrupted, “so call me when you get off work, and I’ll bring Lucky to you.” Then he clicked off. Well, she couldn’t have planned it better herself, thank you, Bigelows! Dialing Mike’s voice mail, she left a message. “Since you’re coming over anyway, want some dinner?”

225

Chapter Five “He’s feeling just fine.” Mike settled the puppy into a brand-new dog bed he’d brought with him...along with some chew toys, a collar, a leash, a couple of dog bowls and some kind of a new-fangled pet massager. “Still sleepy, but I don’t think he’s in too much pain.” Judi took a look at all the puppy paraphernalia as she scooted around it to get to her stove. After fooling with wings and all the other Bigelow fare all day, dinner was going to be simple. Spaghetti and meatballs, salad, garlic bread. “He needs all this?” she asked, kicking a rubber ball out of the way. “Just the basics.” “The massager’s a basic?” A little of that on her tired, aching shoulders wouldn’t be bad, especially if it came with the hand of a certain vet who looked better in jeans and a T-shirt than anything she’d seen in her kitchen in a while. Eat your heart out, Deb. What’s under the smock is better than you could have ever dreamed. Nice muscles, nice tan, pretty much nice everything, although she hadn’t been able to get an eyeful of everything from the back...yet. “He’s going to be sore for a few days. Just keep it off his rib area. Stick to the shoulders, back of the neck, and I guarantee he’ll love it.” “I’ll bet,” she quipped, grabbing a big spoon to stir the sauce. Who wouldn’t love it? “So tell me, Mike. Do all your patients get this kind of care?” He grinned. “When it comes with a dinner invitation.” “And you get a lot of those?” “A lot that I don’t accept. This is the first one since...well, ever.” Ever? A sudden case of the jitters knocked the sauce spoon right out of Judi’s hand and it landed on the floor. Toy alert! Lucky bolted right out of his doggy bed, in spite of his sore ribs, lunged across the floor, grabbed it and ran. “I’ll get it,” Mike volunteered, charging after him. Judi’s tiny quarters were completely separate from her business - health laws - so Lucky was somewhat contained. “Are you sure he’s really got some broken ribs?” she called, watching Lucky circle through the kitchen, slide into the wall, shake his head, then keep on going. She glanced out into her living room in time to see Lucky sail over her couch then dart behind her entertainment center with Mike on his tail. “Dogs don’t react to pain the same way we do,” he said, lunging for the wooden spoon when Lucky decided a plush squeaky bone was better. “Well, it’s a fatality, I’m sorry to say.” He passed back the mangled remnants - half a handle attached to some tooth marks. “How’d he do that so fast?” She glanced at Mike, down on all fours. Nice. She’d certainly be willing to sacrifice a spoon to Lucky any day just to get a look at Mike the way she was looking at him right now. As he pushed himself up from all fours to two, she got that full view of the backside, and had to bite her lower lip to keep from groaning in pure appreciative pleasure. Thank you, Lucky, for this one. Wooden spoons were cheap; Judi made a mental note to add a few to her shopping list in case Mike came back. “Don’t know where he went,” Mike said, brushing a dust bunny off the knee of his jeans.

226

“Bedroom, I think. Could you go get him?” Too obvious? Probably, but dinner was ready and all she really wanted out of the experience was a glimpse of Mike in the proximity of her bed. That would keep her fantasies going for a while. But durn that dog! Just as Mike got to the hall, six lousy feet from her bedroom door, Lucky flew back through the kitchen, and by the time they caught up with him, he was curled up in his bed, sound asleep. One bedroom fantasy gone to the dogs! “Looks like that wore him out. Maybe he’ll sleep all night for you now.” “Hope so.” Not! Just before she sat down across the tiny kitchen table from Mike, Judi rummaged through her utensil drawer. No more wooden spoons, but that rubber spatula would do. One more utensil fatality à la Lucky coming up right after dinner, she hoped. If at first you don’t succeed... Chapter Six “The least you could have done was help get him into the bedroom,” Judi muttered, plopping down on her back step. Dinner had been brief. About six bites in, they were interrupted by the imminent birth of a litter of ferrets. Not even enough time to drop the rubber spatula. And now Lucky was busy disassembling her postage stampsized yard twig by twig. “So we’ve got to come to some kind of an understanding. You get me the vet and I’ll make sure you get a great home. One with a big yard you can chew up.” She slipped the pet massager out of her pocket - it was a little larger than her hand and shaped like a paw. Turning it on, she ran it over her neck. “Oh, gosh,” she murmured. Pure heaven. Only thing better would have been Mike’s fingers doing a little of that heaven-making on her neck instead of leaving it to the black rubber nubs. Lucky came up to investigate. No way the dog was getting this. Shutting her eyes, Judi imagined Mike kneading the vibrating paw over her neck. He was lifting her hair off her collar then sliding the massager over her shoulders...bare shoulders. Definitely had to be bare. The paw was moving in slow, methodical circles, pressing deep into her flesh. Then suddenly his lips...hard and demanding on hers, as he slid the massager between his chest and hers, rubbing it first over her right breast then her left. “Yes...,” she moaned aloud. The paw was creeping downward, over her ribs, tickling her flesh, causing goose bumps to rise on her arms. “Oh, yes....” Slower and slower, he explored her flat belly, her belly button, then reaching down to her... “No!” she gasped, her eyes popping open. Damn batteries died! It took a few seconds for Judi to blink back the fleshly images of what Mike could have done with a vibrating paw and after that, for some strange reason, she wanted a cigarette. Even though she didn’t smoke. When Judi finally remembered she had a dog — oh, yeah, the dog — she glanced out into the yard just in time to see him stalking her tiny little petunia patch. Six plants, that’s all. And he was going after them. “Don’t you dare,” she yelled, just as he ripped out the first one. “Two weeks, Mike. How did you con me into it?” With his gorgeous eyes, that’s how. He knew exactly what he was doing when he twinkled them at her. Now here she was, standing in as a surrogate mama for a petunia-plucking pup. “That’s what a year without a date will do to you,” she told Lucky, who was in the process of dropping the spoils of his second petunia conquest at her feet. “Make you fall all over the first good-looking veterinarian who comes along.” Considering all her former falls, and there’d been a few minor ones, this one felt like a major. The only major. Not a good sign, especially since she was tingling even without the paw. Talk about scared! This was so fast...too fast. Meaning most likely some big-time physical chemistry going on. Which scared her, too, because where there was one spark, there was bound to be another one. And one and one equaled...well, she wasn’t going to do that math because it added up to complications she didn’t need. Not with trying to make her business succeed.

227

Really bad timing. Another year or two down the road... Nope. Not going there. Didn’t matter. Flying sparks right now certainly wouldn’t keep for two years. Lucky plopped down on the sidewalk next to Judi’s feet, a petunia still dangling from his mouth, then rolled his sad eyes up at her. “You sure know how to work them to your advantage, don’t you,” she said. “Well, not on me. As soon as Mike says you’re good to go, you’re going.” She scratched his ears, eliciting a sigh of pure doggy contentment from the pooch. “So, you know the plan, and I expect you to do a good job. Get him closer than six feet from the bedroom and you can chew up any darn thing you want to.” Really, lady? I can chew up anything? Lucky turned around, surveying his new chew domain for his next victim. Chapter Seven “Hello,” Judi mumbled. Six a.m. Who the heck called anybody at six a.m.? “So, how’s he doing this morning?” Mike asked, his voice sounding all chipper and bright as if he were the grand champion morning person of the world. He was probably smiling, too. “Did Lucky have a good night?” Lucky? He was asking about the dog? How about her? Good morning, Judi. How are you doing? Did you have a good night? Too bad he didn’t ask, because the answer would be one great big unequivocal no! Judi wasn’t having a good morning. Judi wasn’t doing well. Judi didn’t have a good night. Blame it on the dog. “He cried for the first hour after I turned out the lights, then he whimpered for the next hour after that. So somewhere around midnight, after I’d checked on him a dozen times to make sure he wasn’t hurting, I finally gave in to his demands...brought him into the bedroom...under duress, I might add. And guess what?” “He quieted right down,” Mike said, laughing. “Not a peep.” Turning over on her side, Judi reached over and patted Lucky on the head. No, sleeping with the mutt hadn’t been her first choice, but it was the only thing that rocked him into puppy dreamland and allowed her a few hours of nod. “So the answer is, he’s doing just fine, and he had a great night.” “Well, a lot of puppies cry the first night or two in a new home, but they stop once they get used to it.” “Cry isn’t exactly the right word here, Mike. Pavarotti couldn’t have outsung him in a battle of dueling tenors. That’s how much he cried. Which is why I took him to bed with me - to shut him up. Lucky, not Pavarotti.” “In your bed? Lucky dog. Lucky, not Pavarotti. Of course, Pavarotti should have been so lucky.” Judi blinked her eyes. Had he really said that, or was she still sleeping? “But he may need to see you because he’s breathing a little heavily this morning.” She glanced over at Lucky. Snuggled into her spare pillow, he was snoring like a dog who was used to sleeping there. So it was a little exaggeration. Big deal! Sometimes a girl just had to use whatever was handy, including her dog. “Think you should come over and check him out?” Well, not as subtle as she would have liked, but it was the best she could do since her feminine wiles didn’t turn on until late afternoon or early evening. “Think Lucky can wait until I’m off work tonight?” Oh, he could. Judi snuggled into her own pillow and smiled. “Yep.” But I don’t know if I can. Judi glanced over the food list, smiling. Big wedding plans, and she was sure hoping to get the job. Especially since it was the mayor’s one-and-only daughter. Talk about prestige - this could be the one to really launch her business into the upper echelons of catering.

228

Today she was experimenting with Belgian chocolate-dipped mints while Deb scrambled around the kitchen trying to help but mostly getting in the way. “But he actually came over and had a meal with you,” Deb said, cleaning up a big blob of chocolate Judi had spilled on the floor. “Even if he had to leave right away. So, did you...you know. Sneak in a little kiss before you lost him to the ferrets?” Judi stared wistfully into the bowl of chocolate. “Not even close. But I’m seeing him again tonight, so who knows.” Probably wishful thinking, but she couldn’t get it out of her head. Thinking, hoping, wishing, dreaming... “He’s eating something,” Deb yelled, breaking up Judi’s little retreat into la-la. “Huh?” “Earth to Judi. Your dog... See what he’s doing?” She pointed out the window to Lucky, who was darting across the yard with a juniper branch in his mouth. “Might be poison. Might require a trip to the vet.” She jabbed Judi in the ribs with her elbow. “After you wash off all the chocolate. Although I can think of some mighty fun things to do dipped in chocolate. Actually I can think of some mighty fun things to dip in chocolate.” Judi smiled. So could she! Problem was, she didn’t know if Mike was the dipping type, and they were never together long enough for her to find out. Chapter Eight “I know I should have called first,” Judi gasped, rushing into Mike’s office, “but this was an emergency.” Mike’s receptionist, an efficient older man called Arthur, looked over the top of his glasses at Judi. “Same dog you brought in yesterday?” He said it as though he was a man used to having women bring in different emergency dogs every day. Of course, with Mike seeing each and every one of those dogs, that was sure a real possibility. Judi nodded. “Yep. Yesterday it was broken ribs. Today he ate a juniper bush.” Arthur wrote juniper consumption on the chart as if that was an everyday occurrence. “Can Mike see me now...see my puppy?” Her puppy? Since when had Lucky become her puppy? “Examining room four. I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.” Mike was there, grinning at her, when Judi wandered in. “You're so anxious to see me you couldn’t wait until tonight?” “He’s that anxious to see you,” she said, handing Lucky over to him. “That’s why he ate a juniper.” “A whole juniper? Pretty impressive for a puppy.” “Not the green part.” “Then I guess he needs an x-ray.” Mike disappeared with Lucky in tow, while Judi waited. Gone for only a few seconds, he returned, sans pup. “My technician’s doing it, which gives us about three minutes to work out a few important details between us.” Important details? Sounded pretty promising to her. “Since it’s all happening pretty fast.”

229

More and more promising. “It is fast, isn’t it?” Yesterday, fast scared her. Today it intrigued her. In fact, in the course of twenty-four hours, she’d gone from apprehensive to actually looking forward to a little fast in her life. And it wasn’t as if it was forever. Two weeks, then hit the brakes. He smiled. “I kind of thought you were developing some feelings already. At least I’d hoped you were.” If he was nothing else, he was direct. Sure made her nervous but in a way, she liked that. “Maybe I am, a little, but I think it’s too soon to tell anything for sure.” Except that she was feeling a little flushed right now. “Well, for me it’s always love at first sight. I just seem to jump right in there and think about the details afterwards.” A little flushed? Make that a lot! “I g-guess that can happen,” she stammered. “But I’ve always tried to be cautious.” “Very cautious, since this is your first time. Right? This is your first time, isn’t it?” First time? For what? Dating? Falling in love? For that? Did she look that pathetic and desperate to him? Sure, she didn’t exactly have a great social life going right now. By choice! But calling her a first-timer, and at her age? Maybe that was his wishful thinking — some kind of strange babe-in-the-woods fantasy. “I’ve done this before,” she said, making sure to sound good and defensive. “Just not lately.” Mike laughed. “Well, you could have fooled me. But actually I’m glad. I mean, I don’t mind teaching you, but it’s always easier on me if you’ve got some of the basics mastered.” “Teaching me?” she sputtered. “Well, not teach so much as point you in the right direction. You’ve got good instincts. Reluctant, but good. Probably better than mine, actually, since I can’t seem to restrain myself.” This sure wasn’t what she expected from him. Being a little forward was okay, but the guy was way over the top. “What do you mean you can’t restrain yourself?” she asked, backing her way over to the door. He smiled. “Lack of restraint, as in there always seems to be room for one more.” Now it was getting bizarre. Did he expect her to just fall in line with the others? “Define one more.” Reaching behind her, Judi grabbed hold of the door knob. “Well, one more usually, except right now I’m at capacity. Eight, give or take. Almost more than I can handle.” Judi sure wasn’t flushed anymore. More like panicked, dizzy, brain waves going flat. Eight women? No wonder Arthur was skeptical. He probably didn’t have room to pencil in another one on Mike’s schedule. Dear lord, what kind of man was she falling for? Chapter Nine “Eight?” Judi grabbed a flea-and-tick brochure off Mike’s veterinary cabinet to fan herself. “Well, nine, but the cow doesn’t count since, technically, she’s livestock.” This was about animals, not him and her, not dating, sex and the proclivities of his perverse love life. Geez, had she been wandering around the wrong bark park with that one. Thank heavens. Take a deep breath, Judi. Breathe, regroup, pick up the beat.

230

“So what’s it like owning a cow?” Brilliant recovery. No way he’d ever suspect she’d been on the verge of calling him a pervert. “You thought I was talking about having eight women, didn’t you?” He chuckled. Apparently not so brilliant. “Did not.” Not so brilliant again. He leaned down and brushed Judi’s cheek with a circumspect kiss. “Believe me, I’m not even sure I can manage one, so you don’t have to worry about the competition. Look, I’ve got to go see a cat about a hairball right now, so we’ll talk about the details of good puppy care later. I’ll have someone bring Lucky back once we get the x-ray looked at. How’s his breathing, by the way? I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.” “His breathing?” She was still feeling too silly to recoup with any kind of grace and aplomb. “This morning you said he was breathing hard. I was going to stop by later to check him. Remember?” Yeah, now she remembered. And she’d blown it. Durn that dog anyway. One munched-down juniper and her evening was shot. “I think he was just snoring,” she admitted. Might as well fess up, since he wasn’t coming over no way, no how, now. “Snoring,” he repeated on his way out the door. A minute later, Arthur brought Lucky back and handed him to Judi. “He’s fine, and the doctor said he’ll see you tonight. Would that be another dog with an emergency, or another emergency with this one?” “Haven’t decided yet,” she said brightly. Outside in the parking lot, before she climbed into her Expedition, Judi gave Lucky a kiss on the top of his wrinkly head. “Good boy. Next time you get the two of us together, though, let’s make it something where we don’t have to involve Arthur. Okay?” Next time, lady? I really get a next time? Judi was testing a pâté recipe when Mike showed up. This was the third pâté she’d gone through since this afternoon. First two were flops, but Lucky gobbled them right up. And no, a built-in flop disposer wasn’t a good enough reason to keep him. “I’m hoping to cater the mayor’s daughter’s wedding,” Judi told Mike as she pulled the keeper batch of pâté out of the refrigerator. She scooped a spoonful onto a cracker and handed it to him. “Goose liver?” Mike asked, turning up his nose. “Sorry, but I don’t eat anything I keep as a pet.” “And you have a goose?” “Several geese, on a pond.” And he had a cow. No wonder he’d picked around the meatballs in her spaghetti sauce. And tonight... “Do you like grilled cheese?” “Love grilled cheese. So, tell me what you love.” “Meaning food?”

231

“Meaning anything...everything. I don’t know anything about you...yet. And I want to know everything.” He picked up a chocolate mint from a tray of them sitting on her counter, then brushed it across her lips. “Do you like chocolate?” Judi shut her eyes, savoring the slight tingling. “I love chocolate,” she purred. “And I’d love you in chocolate.” Moving a step closer to him, Judi opened her lips to the chocolate, eating only half of it. Then she took it from his fingers and raised it to his lips. “And I’d love you in chocolate, too. Milk chocolate.” “Dark chocolate.” Their first argument. She couldn’t wait until the making-up part. “Milk, it’s sweeter.” “Dark, it’s...sinful.” Taking another chocolate, Judi slipped it between Mike’s lips, then raised her lips to his. Lip to lip, one chocolate between them. The possibilities were both sweet and sinful. She was like another Judi, the one she’d always wanted to be but was afraid to let loose. With Mike she wanted to let so many things loose. In response, Mike crushed Judi to his body, where she could feel his instant hard need. Sinful was, indeed, the better chocolate and she was looking forward to finding out just how much. “Aieeee! Aieeee! Aieeee!” “Lucky!” they cried in unison. Chapter Ten “Is he okay?” Judi asked breathlessly. Lucky was in her bed, between her pillows, on his back, eyes shut. “Probably dreaming.” Mike gave Lucky a fast once-over. “Looks fine to me.” “You’re kidding, right? We didn’t get to...you know, because he was dreaming?” Dreaming and wrecking her whole evening! Mike stepped out into the hall and followed Judi into her kitchen. “So you’re getting used to sleeping with him? Because he sure looks mighty cozy in your bed.” “Bed doesn’t mean he’s staying, so don’t go getting that look of triumph on your face, because you’ve still got to hold up your end of the deal and find him a home.” “Good home,” Mike interjected. “That was part of the deal.” “Okay, good home. And he might as well sleep with me until then since nobody else does,” she said, so disappointed she wanted to cry. “Look, I’ve got lots of leftover samples, if you’d like to stay and share them with me. Or I can make grilled cheese.” Didn’t matter since the chocolate moment was sure over. Judi stuck her head into the fridge, looking for anything edible. That’s right, drown your frustration in food, Judi. Forget the romance. Go for the ravioli. And at the rate she was being frustrated lately, that would equate to approximately one dress size per week, and not in a good direction. “I was enjoying the chocolate,” he said. “Wouldn’t mind a little more of that, if you’ve got any left.”

232

Oh, did she have more chocolate! “Want to try something dark this time?” she asked, backing out of the fridge. So maybe the evening would work out after all. Nice, he thought, watching her rummage through the fridge. And he was feeling the potent reaction to it in places he really didn’t want to feel it right now, considering how they’d only just met. But damn that butt was beautiful. And damn it even more that he really liked her. Not that he didn’t want to, because he did. But add a little dark chocolate to the mix and it was going to turn into something a whole lot more than simply admiring her backside and merely liking her. “I’d love something dark,” he said, stepping back as she emerged from the fridge holding a bowl of chocolate mousse. Good grief, the things that were coming to mind! “It’s good with plain wafer cookies,” she said. Maybe yes, maybe no, but he could think of other ways it would be good, and they had nothing to do with wafer cookies. “Um...sure. Fine.” Brilliant conversationalist that he was, he sure wasn’t holding up his end of it right now, not while she was swirling her finger in the mousse and... Oh, no! She was licking her finger now. And he was seriously aroused. “It’s good,” she pronounced, smiling. “So, how much do you want?” “All of it,” he murmured. Taking the bowl from her, Mike dipped his finger into the mousse then ran it lightly over her lips. Bending to her, he traced the chocolate line with his tongue, starting with her lower lip then moving to her upper. “You taste mighty good in chocolate,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. In response, Judi reached up, coiled her arms around his neck and pulled his face to hers. “If you think I taste good in chocolate, just wait until you taste me in strawberry.” “Strawberry’s my favorite.” Their first kiss was gentle, tentative. A prelude with so much promise. But as he pressed his mouth to hers to claim that promise, he felt the buzz of his cell phone in his pocket. She felt it, too, because when she looked up at him, her eyes were full of the knowledge of what came next. Disappointment? Resignation? Sighing, Mike let the cell phone buzz. What was one more minute anyway? Other than the kiss he wanted more than anything. “I’m sorry I have to do it this way, but...” Their second kiss came hard, full of need, and fast. It started, then it was over. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, grabbing his phone. “You have no idea...” Judi smiled as she reached up and brushed her fingers across her swollen, red lips. “Believe me, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry about.” He eyed the bowl of mousse sitting on the table as he hit the call-back number. “Oh, I think I do.” Chapter Eleven “You mean he just up and left after that?” Deb exclaimed. “And you had chocolate mousse left? Geez. Larenz and I were in the mood for some mousse last night.” She grinned, wrinkling her nose playfully. “We needed something to go with the whipped cream.” “It was another emergency call, and unless you’re talking about dessert after dinner, spare me the details. Okay?” “Sounds like you two are working up to some details of your own.” Judi shook her head. “Details? I got beat out by a potbellied pig with a stomachache. I mean, the guy’s dedicated to his work, and I admire that — I mean, I’m like that, too. His work is already getting in the way, though, and we haven’t even gotten to a level where it should matter. But it does. Then there’s the dog to consider.” She glanced down at Lucky, who was chewing up the morning paper. “Half of me thinks this could be just a pseudo-seduction meant to get me to keep him...the dog, not Mike.”

233

“And suppose it’s a real seduction meant to get you to keep Mike?” Deb sat LuLu down on the floor, and immediately the little fluff-ball went right up to Lucky and tried to take the sports section away from him. Lucky, six months old, according to Mike, already weighed thirty pounds and was twice LuLu’s size, but the poodle clearly went for the big guys. When she discovered the sports page wasn’t much fun, she sidled right up to Lucky and plopped down on the floor next to him, nuzzling into his chest. “See that? It’s so easy for them,” Judi said. “LuLu likes Lucky, and that’s all there is to it. Judi likes Mike but if Judi acted that way...” She shrugged. “If Judi acted the way LuLu does, Mike might do that.” Deb pointed to Lucky, who was licking LuLu’s face. “Or he might go outside and chew down another one of my shrubs. I mean, except for the fact that I’m attracted to Mike in a big way, what else is there?” “Well, happily-ever-after, for starters. Someone in your bed at night, and not even in the sexual way. Someone across the kitchen table from you in the morning. A hand to hold when you’re forty and sixty and eighty. A shoulder to cry on. Someone to laugh with, dream with, plan with. On rainy Sundays, someone to snuggle in with and read the paper.” Deb sighed wistfully. “The list goes on forever, if you want it to.” “But my list may stop as soon as I get rid of the dog. Mike could see that as some kind of major character flaw in me, not wanting a pet.” Get rid of me? Please, lady, Lucky wants to live here. Lucky flopped over on the floor and laid his head on Judi’s foot. Please keep me, lady. “Are you sure you really want to get rid of the dog, Judi? He’s just the cutest thing. And as long as you have Lucky, that’ll give you an excuse to keep calling Mike.” She’s right, lady. Listen to her. “Like I haven’t thought of that?” Actually, she liked the little dog. But this just wasn’t a good place for him. Sad eyes, lady. Sad eyes because Lucky doesn’t want to go away. “Look, I told Mike I’d keep him until he’s feeling better, and I will. But after that the dog has got to go.” Judi dumped the bowl of chocolate mousse into the sink, then rinsed it down the drain. Could have been so much fun. “He has a cow.” “Huh?” “A cow. Mike has a cow.” “And?” “And nothing, except I can’t even handle a puppy and the man owns his own petting zoo. Suppose something did happen between us? Something other than the physical thing that would happen if his patients would leave him alone for a night. Then what? We hit it off, maybe even fall in love. Then either the cow comes to Judi or Judi goes to the cow. Either way, how’s that going to work?” “Do you think maybe that’s a question you should be asking him instead of me? And do you think you could make me a batch of mousse? Larenz is coming over tonight and I’ve got a little of the whipped cream left.” Mousse again. Judi smiled. Maybe next time’s the charm. “How’s strawberry?” Chapter Twelve

234

“Judi, was that hole in the wall always there, because I sure don’t remember seeing it before?” Deb asked, pointing to the corner of the wall between Judi’s kitchen and dining room. Or more accurately, what used to be a corner. In place of a nice, sharp-edged square corner, she found a chewed-out area where the exposed white of the Sheetrock stuck out, with teeth marks all around the ragged edges. “I can’t believe this,” Judi exclaimed. “I’ve given that dog a half-dozen rubber toys then he goes and chews a hole in my wall.” But lady, you said if I got him into your bedroom I could chew up anything I wanted. And I got him there, so I did. Deb laughed. “Lucky’s a puppy, for heaven’s sake. Puppies chew things. And it’s not so bad. LuLu’s done a whole lot worse than that. Remember my previous boyfriend Carmichael? Once, LuLu chewed up Carmichael’s shoe, and it was still on his foot. Of course, that pretty well ended things between Carmichael and me, but he was getting boring in bed, and outside of bed he was a total zero, so I always considered what LuLu did a favor. I’ll bet this has an upside, too.” “Like calling Mike to see if the drywall dust is dangerous.” “Sounds like an upside to me,” Deb quipped, heading out the door on her way to a meeting with the bride-tobe and her mayor mom. “Tell him I said hello, that I’ll stop by next week so he can take a look at LuLu’s coat. It seems a little dull lately.” Judi laughed. “Isn’t Larenz enough for you?” “Larenz is more than enough. But a girl can still look, can’t she? Unless the girl’s partner doesn’t like that?” “Look all you want. Three emergencies in three days and he’s going to think I’m either the most irresponsible person on the face of the earth or I’m trying to kill the dog. Somehow I don’t see the puppy doctor getting together with either of those scenarios. Then there’s Arthur. No way he’s letting me in the door again.” She looked at the hole in her wall, sighed wistfully, then picked up the phone. “May I speak to him, Arthur?” “What a surprise,” Arthur replied, his tone flat. “Another emergency.” “He thinks I’m doing this on purpose,” Judi complained when Mike came on. “To get to you.” “Should I be flattered?” “Do you think that’s what I’m doing?” “Hey, I’ve met the mutt. Remember? I saw the remains of that juniper bush. So what remains am I going to see when I come over for dinner tonight?” Judi drew in a quick breath. He wants to come to dinner. Thank you, thank you! “My, um, kitchen wall. He chewed a hole in it.” “Plaster won’t hurt him. Unless there’s asbestos in it. But your building’s too new to have asbestos, so he’ll be fine.” “Strawberry mousse?” she asked, her mind already jumping way ahead. “Because I think you’ll look wonderful in strawberry.” “If that’s intended to seduce the vet, it’s working.”

235

“With whipped cream?” She couldn’t help herself. Almost-phone sex was kind of fun. “Can or tub?” he asked, his voice sounding a little more gruff than norm. “Oh, can...all the way. So many more things you can do with a can than a tub. Maybe two cans, if you really like whipped cream. Do you think we’ll need two cans, Mike?” Two cans and a block of ice, she was getting so hot. Judi didn’t hear a real answer from Mike. Instead, she heard a breathy moan. Apparently he needed a block of ice, too. “Any impending ferret births tonight?” she asked. “Or potbellied belly-achin’ pigs?” “No, ma’am. Doctor Jericho is completely free tonight,” Arthur cut in, his tone flat as usual. “Someone else will be taking his calls while he’s indulging in your...mousse.” Judi heard Arthur click off, then Mike click off...hopefully to go fire Arthur...and she was left with a dead phone line and the burning need for another emergency house call from the vet. In lieu of that, a nice, cold shower. Whoever said men were the only ones? So the order for her day...cool down those hormone-raging, veterinarian-hankerings first, make the best darn strawberry mousse that’s ever been slathered, spooned or otherwise served, then stock up on whipped cream...in the can. Take that, Arthur! Chapter Thirteen “Judi’s really nice,” Mike explained. “And I think it could turn into something more. Believe me, I’d like it to, but we’ve got a huge, fundamental difference. It’s the animal thing. Plus she’s city all the way. I’m not. And if I go much further with this we’re both going to get hurt. Because between you and me, and keep this to yourself, I think it’s gonna get pretty hot. Sure, it was only one kiss for starters. But man, oh man, what she packed in that one kiss...” Mike shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead, remembering every vivid detail. “I gotta tell you, if I hadn’t been called away...” He shook his head. “So, you’ve been around the block a couple times, Gertie. Got any advice for me, ‘cause I sure could use it.” Gertie blinked her big brown eyes at Mike and swished a few flies off her back with her tail. She’d been with Mike three years now. Just wandered in as a calf one night, and stayed. For a cow, she was a pretty good pet, one who certainly wouldn’t fit in that mini yard behind Judi’s warehouse. If things did work out between them, Mike had a hunch Judi wouldn’t be moving to the country to live with him. He glanced at Gertie, whose big beautiful browns were drifting shut. For sure he and Gertie and the rest of the crew wouldn’t be heading to the city. “So what’s the point?” he asked, heading out of the barn to his truck. “The point is you won’t know if you don’t try,” Arthur said. He was sitting on the porch, sipping tea. Feet propped up on a stool, he waved a foil packet at Mike. “And if you don’t try, you’ll be kicking yourself.” “Look, Dad. It’s not that simple.” “Sure it is. You’re just making it complicated on purpose. You like her, she likes you, you put your heads together — before you put your other stuff together — and figure out where it’s going. You both might be surprised what a little talking before the mousse might turn up.” “You shouldn’t have been listening.” “Good thing I didn’t have it on speakerphone.”

236

“You believe in love at first sight, Dad?” “It’s not about what I believe, son. But it sure seems like you do.” “Yeah, well, two different worlds, and I don’t know how you overcome that.” “Your mom and I did.” “You and mom? You’re both veterinarians, for heaven’s sake. So where do you get two different worlds out of that?” “She had a small-animal practice, I had big animals. That’s a huge difference.” He waved the condom again. “Better safe...” “Go home, Dad. Tell Mom I said to lock you up.” Halfway to Judi’s, Mike dialed his referral service and let them know he was off for the evening, that his parents, retired though they were, would take call. Then he crossed his fingers. Conversation before mousse. Maybe his dad was right. “You look amazing,” Judi said, stepping back as he walked through her front door. Looked great in his khakis and green knit shirt, smelled great in something other than his normal veterinary disinfectant. “I’d say the same about you but amazing doesn’t even come close to describing it.” Judi smiled. It had taken her an hour to achieve the look - the basic black dress, tight, short, low neck with just enough cleavage exposed to catch the male eye but not so low it didn’t leave a little something to the male imagination. Deb’s dress, of course. Judi didn’t own anything sexy or seductive or meet-me-in-theboudoir. But Deb did, a whole closetful, and she’d hemmed this little number so it hit Judi’s midthigh. “Give him some leg, girlfriend.” Leg and stilettos. And, boy, did Judi feel silly wearing five-inch spikes in her own living room. She was the basic barefooter. Of course, that feeling went away the instant Mike took a good hard look at her - a slow, deliberate journey from head to toe, lingering awhile on the whole leg area - thank you, Deb! Under his very conspicuous carnal scrutiny, Judi felt herself go warm...no, make that downright hot...in ways way beyond reading the mercury. “So, Mike,” she said, “how would you like your sex — er, salad?” His eyes lit up. “No dressing sounds good.” Chapter Fourteen “Almost done,” Mike said, slopping gooey mud on the hole in her wall. “Me, too,” Judi grumbled, looking into the half-empty bowl of mousse. So many expectations when he’d stepped through the door, but he’d brought joint compound with him, and now, for the past hour, he’d been on his hands and knees squishing it into the hole. Mike put down the Spackle and turned around to face her. “I’m sensing you’re not happy about my fixing this?” “We’ve had three dates...actually, I wouldn’t even call them dates. More like datus interruptus. They were brief exchanges broken up by ferrets, potbellied pigs and dogs. I totally understand the animals, and I don’t have a problem with that. But frankly, it’s not fun being passed over for a lousy hole.”

237

He stood, frowning. “It’s hard to leave the career behind. That’s part of who I am — not very many degrees of separation between me and it. I made you keep the dog; he did this; I felt responsible for getting it fixed.” Lucky rolled his eyes up at Judi, then twisted to get a look at Mike. So many sad eyes all over the place. Oh, no! “Look, Judi. I’m really sorry. It’s not easy getting a business going. Takes a lot of hours, doesn’t give you any time for the personal things.” He chuckled. “But you already know that, don’t you? Anyway, last time I tried getting involved with somebody it was pure hell. I didn’t have time, she didn’t have patience. After that I promised myself that everything but my practice was on hold. Until I met you.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “Guess I’m really showing you how bad I am with people, huh?” Understatement, big time. “So I’m not your first?” she asked, arching her eyebrows in mock skepticism. “I think maybe you are.” Judi’s heart skipped a beat. That wasn’t what she’d expected from him, and she didn’t know what to do with it. Ignore it and it will go away? Sure didn’t work with the dog. Truthfully, she didn’t want it working with him. Problem was, she didn’t know what she did want working with him. “Which means I’ll need a whole lot of teaching. So do you want to teach me, Judi?” “Well, not teach so much as point you in the right direction. You’ve got good instincts, Doctor. Reluctant, but good. Probably better than mine, since I can’t seem to restrain myself.” Sitting down next to Judi, Mike picked up the bowl of mousse. “Please, don’t restrain yourself.” “Whoa! This is the place where you start getting nervous and head to the door.” “If I want to leave, which I don’t. Unless you want me to.” Smiling, Judi scooted over closer to him then held up a spare spoon. She wasn’t kidding herself. This would never work, not in the forever sense. But she did like being with him so much. Loved being with him. “Okay, maybe you don’t have to head to the door.” “I’ll accept that.” “We’ll talk for now, go casual, get to know each other before we...well, you know.” “I’ll accept that.” “Moment to moment, and the mousse is strictly for eating.” “I’ll accept that.” “For heaven’s sake! Is there anything you won’t accept, Mike?” “When it comes from you, no.” He was so close right now it was dangerous to her brand-new resolve. But nothing in her wanted to move away, nothing could. This was the man she was falling in love with. Three days and here she was, heart on her sleeve, head in the clouds, feelings in a whirlwind. And all over a man who didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t live a life like hers.

238

The solution? Like she’d just said, moment to moment without the mousse. That’s all they could have. “So why’d you become a vet?” she asked, going for casual. “Other than animals, I think the outfit. The smock.” He arched his eyebrows innocently, then took a bite of mousse. “You overheard that?” She actually blushed. He nodded, going for another bite. This time the arch of his eyebrows was anything but innocent. “Geez. Do you and Arthur ever do anything besides eavesdrop?” Nuzzled between Judi’s feet and Mike’s, Lucky gave his tail a lazy wag. See, lady. He’s a real nice man. Will you keep both of us? Chapter Fifteen “Look, I’m really sorry about this, but it’s an emergency.” Like she hadn’t heard that before. “But I wouldn’t be leaving except my mom’s taking call and she does only small animals, and she can’t find my dad, who does large animals. So I’ve got to go.” And that made sense? Apparently it did to Mike, because he was on his way to the door...again. “I understand,” Judi said, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice. Back to square one. This thing just wasn’t going to work out. “Look, we’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay? I’ve got a sick horse, one of the police patrol horses....” Horse? She loved horses. Always wanted one, which, of course, never happened, city girl that she was. “Bad?” He nodded. “Colic. Won’t know how bad ’til I get there.” “Need some help?” Where did that come from? She didn’t know, and it surprised her almost as much as it surprised him, judging by the look on his face. “If you can get into some old clothes in two minutes.” Two minutes later, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she was running to the door with an old pair of Nikes tied together and slung over her shoulder, and Lucky bundled in a blanket in her arms. Not the evening she’d planned, but at least it wasn’t over yet. He still wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to this, to taking her along. Colic wasn’t easy, and he didn’t need somebody getting in the way. But he’d agreed before he even realized what she was offering. In a way, though, he was pleased she’d offered. “You’re bringing Lucky?” “Couldn’t leave him alone.” “This could take hours.” “Not a problem. I’ve got hours.” “Might not turn out the way you’d like. Most colic’s treatable, but sometimes...” Twisting to settle Lucky into the space behind the seat, she said, “I can help. I know in some cases you’ve got to walk a horse with colic, and I can do that. If it’s just gas colic or some kind of an obstruction.”

239

“How’d you know that?” “Once, a long time ago, when I was ten, I wanted a horse. But I was a condo kid in a condo with a strict nopets-with-four-legs policy. I studied up on horses anyway, went to the condo board, tried convincing them of all the reasons horses should be allowed.” “Such as?” “Pulling out stuck cars in the winter was at the top of my list.” He chuckled. “Well, at least it was original.” “Yeah. They applauded my efforts and defeated my proposal. So I know a little, just not in an up close and personal sense.” She was sure full of surprises. And cute - he could almost see that ten-year-old girl standing up to the condo board. Suddenly, a long, difficult ordeal didn’t look so bad to him. “Okay, I need the symptoms. You’ll be talking to the stable manager, Ike Petrie.” He speed-dialed a number, and when Ike answered, Mike said, “I’m going to put you on with Judi. She’s my assistant tonight.” And somebody I’m falling in love with. He handed Judi the phone. “So what’s your horse’s name, Ike?” she asked. Mike smiled. This was good. She was good. “I’m going to tell you some symptoms, you find out from Ike if...” “Bo,” she supplied. “...if Bo has them.” He took in a deep breath. Most colic wasn’t serious. It was a horse thing, something most of them came down with at some point in their life. But it always made him nervous because it could be serious, even fatal. “Okay, any pawing?” “Pawing?” Judi asked Ike. “Yes,” she told Mike. “Kicking or biting at his abdomen?” “Yes.” “Poor appetite?” “Hasn’t eaten since yesterday.” “Sweating?” “Some.” He reached over and squeezed Judi’s hand. “Good job. I’m glad you came with me.” And he meant that. “Me, to!. And Ike said to tell you Bo’s nostrils are flaring.” So was Mike’s heart. He didn’t know how it was going to work, but more than anything he’d ever known in his life, he knew he wanted much, much more than moment-to-moment with Judi. What he didn’t know was how to get it.

240

Chapter Sixteen “Pulse rate’s up, Doc. So is his temperature,” Ike Petrie said even before Mike and Judi were inside the stable. “Breathing’s a little difficult, too.” ”I need a look inside his mouth.” Mike pulled a flashlight out of his medical kit. “Judi, you stand on one side of his head and try to gentle him. Ike, you do the same on the other. And be careful. He might kick or fight.” “He’s a sweet one, Doc,” Ike said. “And a sick one. So you never know what’s going to happen to his temperament.” Judi moved to Bo’s left side, a ways back from his head, and leaned into his neck, almost in a nuzzle. “You’re such a beautiful boy,” she said to the chestnut horse. “Mike’s a good doctor and you’ll be feeling better in no time.” Mike listened to the dulcet tones Judi had for Bo, amazed by how they calmed the horse. Normally, he might have given the horse a slight sedative, but Judi seemed to be all the sedative Bo needed. The horse was falling in love with her! The horse, the dog...him. “You have quite a knack,” he said, assessing Bo’s mucous membrane. No discoloration, no drying. Then he checked the capillary refill time by pressing on Bo’s gums and counting the seconds for normal color to return. “Good,” he said to himself. “I used to practice on my stuffed pony, the one my parents bought me in lieu of the real thing.” “Well, I hope you practiced good, because I’ve got to listen to his digestive noises next, meaning I’ve got to get to his belly...and worse.” “That’s okay because Bo and I are doing just fine, aren’t we, boy?” She patted the horse’s neck, then laid her head against it. “Just fine.” Upper digestive noises weren’t absent. Good sign. “Just keep your boyfriend occupied while I duck underneath him and take a look.” Mike poked around on Bo’s belly for a minute, crawled a little farther down, prodded and listened, then finally crawled out and stood up. “I think we’ve got a plugged-up horse. A little laxative, a little walking...” That diagnosis was as much a relief to him as it would be to Bo, and apparently Judi, judging from the smile brushing her lips. “I’ll do the walking,” she volunteered. She nudged Lucky, who was sprawled in the straw. “Me and him.” Mike laughed. “Somehow I thought that’s the job you’d take. But if you’d like to switch with me.” “The laxative? Hun-uh, Jericho. Not a chance.”It took a while before Judi finally got to lead Bo out to the corral, then woman, dog and horse simply circled, around and around. Amazing, Mike thought, watching her. She was chatting with them. Talking about what, he didn’t know, because he couldn’t hear, but Lucky was responding with a wag and Bo was stepping much livelier than he should have, considering his ordeal. “She’s sure got a way with them,” Ike Petrie commented. “Like my mama. One kiss and she made it all better. Give me a call if you ever decide to let her go. I’ve got a job right here for her.” “Believe me Ike, I’m trying to figure out how to keep her.”

241

The night ended at sunup, as Mike watched Judi say goodbye to Bo. More and more he liked - make that loved - the way she shined. It was so natural, and she tried so hard not to show it. But Ike was right. One kiss and Judi made everything better. “Hey, Ike, keep him off patrol for the next couple of days and I’ll check back tomorrow afternoon to see how he’s doing. I think we may have a feeding issue here.” Mike glanced out at the corral, where Judi was hugging the horse one last time. “Wonder how she’d feel about hugging a cow.” Or me. Chapter Seventeen Crab cakes and salads and cakes, oh my! Judi stepped back to admire her sample table. She’d never been to a wedding with so much food, but then, she’d never been to a social event of the year like this was going to be. Not even as a caterer. And she was sure keeping her fingers crossed she’d be there, as caterer. “This could be it, Deb.” “We deserve it, girlfriend. So why don’t you go let them in while I run over to your apartment and get the contract.” Let them in. Thinking the words gave her butterflies. After hours of prep and hundreds of dollars all on speculation, this was a big gamble. But to get ahead, that’s what it took. Judi greeted Mayor Georgia Johnston, and her daughter, Amber, in the office, and explained the procedure pretty much eat and evaluate. Then she escorted them to the sampling room, with Deb bringing up the rear, clutching the contract. Big moment, and Judi was shaking as she laid her hand on the doorknob. This was her make-or-break moment. “Please go in and make yourselves comfortable.” She opened the door, closed her eyes, held her breath. “Oh, no!” Amber choked. “Oh, no!” Deb echoed. “I left the apartment door open!” From there it registered in slow-mo. Judi turned, saw the food table...saw Lucky standing in the middle of the food table straddling three of the five kinds of cake, his tail sending petit fours flying everywhere. He looked up at Judi, a huge chunk of crab cake dangling from his lips, then went for the pâté. What he wasn’t eating, he was wearing. What he wasn’t wearing he’d played in. Judi’s beautiful sampling room looked like the bad end of a B movie food fight. The only thing missing was a pie in somebody’s face. Hers! Lucky glanced over at the crowd again, and if a dog with droopy lips could grin, that’s exactly what he was doing. Lucky loves you so much, Mama! Lucky!” Judi screamed, lunging for the beast. He was slippery, covered in spinach dip and cheese fondue. But she managed to latch onto him and wrestle him into the backyard before Georgia Johnston marched her daughter out of the room. “I’m so sorry,” Judi cried, scrambling right back to the sampling room. “They’re gone.” Deb was standing in a pile of arugula and endive, her hands full of sculpted radishes. “And I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to...” “Not your fault, Deb. I should never have had a dog here. I knew that, but I got sidetracked by something that shouldn’t be sidetracking me.” Judi stepped over a heap of Waldorf salad, kicked aside a sun-dried tomato flat bread, then plunked down in the seat where the mayor should have been sitting at that very moment. “I don’t suppose there’s any way to get them back?” “I did explain the situation with Lucky, that you’re looking for a home. And Amber expressed some interest in him. That’s something, I guess.”

242

“Interest - in killing him? Or adopting him?” “The second doesn’t necessarily preclude the first, does it?” Deb popped a radish into her mouth and slid through the chicken teriyaki sauce to get to the punch bowl. “Want a drink?” “Put something in it.” “I think Lucky already did,” she said, pulling out a soggy cocktail wiener. Deb tossed it aside and ladled out a couple cups of fruit punch anyway. “I can’t believe it,” Judi said, looking over the whole buffet battlefield. “I’ve been getting ready for days and it takes him two minutes to ruin it all. And it’s not just the time...or the money. I really wanted the job, wanted it worse than any job we’ve ever had.” She wanted to cry, wanted to just lie down in the middle of the mess and wallow in some pity. But instead she drank the punch then slumped down and closed her eyes. “You don’t suppose begging on our hands and knees would work?” “What I think is...” “Something’s wrong with your dog!” Amber yelled, running back into the sampling room. “My mom and I went around back to see him since I thought I might adopt him and...I think you’d better come take a look.” When Judi got to the yard, the mayor was sitting in the grass holding a very limp puppy. “I don’t think he’s going to make it,” she said. Chapter Eighteen “I don’t know what he ate,” Judi cried as Mike inserted a breathing tube. “I mean, he ate everything.” She reached over to pat Lucky, expecting his tail to wag as it always did. But it didn’t, and he didn’t even roll his eyes up to look at her. They were open, but fixed in a dead stare straight ahead. “Come on, Lucky. Don’t die on me. Please, don’t die on me.” “Anaphylaxis,” Mike said. “Allergic reaction. Look, I think you should go to the waiting room for a while. Would you send my dad in on your way out?” “Your dad?” “Arthur?” Judi nodded numbly. “Half an hour ago it was all good,” she said, dropping down onto the bench next to Deb. “Big job in the works, with the prospect for more to come. And now...” “Well, if it’s of any consolation, Amber’s still interested in taking Lucky if he gets better.” “Great.” Judi didn’t utter that in an excited sense because right now her feelings were on the fence. She liked Lucky, liked having him around. Liked using him as an excuse to see Mike. Except that excuse had worn too thin. Four emergencies in four days... Arthur — Mike’s dad — was certainly distrustful of her. Like father, like son? Judi shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “I don’t know what to do, Deb. He doesn’t want me in there, and I’m not sure he even wants me in his life. Maybe it really has been about the dog, and I’ve been really dumb.” “It’s not about the dog, trust me. It’s about you. And I should know. I’ve been hanging around him for a year, using my precious LuLu to get him to notice me...not so much as a blink in my direction. He looks at you like Larenz looks at me, and that’s sure not about a dog.” “But I can’t be sure.”

243

“Then ask him. Be blunt. Hey, Mike, who are you happier to see — me or my mutt?” “And what if he says mutt?” “What if he says you?” Before Judi could respond, Mike came out to the waiting room. “He’s not...” she gasped .“No. We’ve got a breathing tube in him, plus an IV. We’re going to run a blood panel to figure out what he’s allergic to since the list you gave Dad is pretty long. And I’m not even sure if a veterinary allergen panel covers artichokes and marinated asparagus.” “Can I see him?” “Not tonight. He’s just going to sleep all night, so why don’t you go home and get some rest. Stop by in the morning.” He was dismissing her. Maybe that was the answer she’d been afraid to hear. “Sure, in the morning.” Judy was afraid to look at Mike, afraid of what she would see on his face. “I’m so sorry....” She bit her bottom lip to keep herself from crying. “It was your wedding sampling, wasn’t it? The one with the mayor.” She nodded. “He got in....” She finally looked up, saw the sympathy written all over his face. Genuine sympathy, and her heart turned over. She was in love with this guy, heart and soul. No matter what the problems - careers, logistics, animals - she loved him. Everything else could be worked out...if they got that chance. Mike pulled Judi into his arms and stroked her hair. “Maybe they’ll give you another chance.” “I may give them the dog, Mike. They want him, and it’s just not working out for me, having a dog there. He needs a real yard, someone who can take care of him. Which, apparently, I can’t.” The moment of truth. She looked up at him, but she could no longer read his expression. Anger? Disappointment? Meaning she was right. It had always been about the dog. So better to accept it now, and move on. Clean sweep. No dog, no Mike. All work. That was always the plan anyway. “Tomorrow,” she said heading to the door. Time to go home. Time to move on. Good decision for everyone, including Lucky, but oh, how her heart ached. Chapter Nineteen “Judi, what are you doing back here?” Almost midnight now, Mike had been sitting with Lucky for hours. Lonely, wishing for Judi, understanding why she wasn’t here. His emotions were in the same uproar. “Couldn’t sleep. So I decided to come and wait with you. If that’s okay?” “I removed the breathing tube and IV a couple of hours ago, and he seems to be holding his own. Go ahead. Open the cage, reach in and pet him.” Unlatching the door, Judi stuck her hand into the cage, and the instant she patted Lucky on the rump, his little tail started wagging. Lucky was finally coming around. Now he wondered if Judi would. “You’ll have to let his new owner know I’ve started the allergen panel.” “He ruined an account I may never get a shot at again,” Judi said.

244

“So you’re getting rid of him.” “I never intended on keeping him, Mike. You knew that. And you were supposed to be looking for a good home.” “You are a good home, Judi.” “But if I’m not that good home for him, Mike, what does that mean to us? You and me? All night I’ve been thinking that the only reason we keep getting together is because you’re trying to get me to keep the dog. Not because you want to be with me, but because you want me to be with the dog.” “Sure, I’ll admit it. I wanted you to keep the dog...for his sake. But also because I wanted a reason to see you. Then when you told me you’d found him a home, it was like everything that was trying to start between us suddenly stopped. Since my life is so hectic, I wasn’t sure you’d keep trying.” Judi flew into Mike’s arms. “I want to do more than keep trying. I want to stay with you tonight.” She wanted to stay with Lucky, but more than that, she wanted to stay with Mike while he stayed with Lucky — to get used to the life he loved, the life she hoped they would share. “I have a cot here. But it’s only for one.” Lucky pressed his nose to his cage. Then why don’t you both take the cot so I can get some sleep? “Will it hold two if they snuggle up real close?” Judi asked. Well, duh, you two. Disinterested now, Lucky turned back over and shut his eyes. “I’m too busy to manage a relationship,” Judi said, slipping into Mike’s arms on the cot. “With any luck I’ll be working seven days a week real soon, maybe eighteen hours a day when my business takes off. And that’s what I want to do, Mike. You’ve got to know that. It’s what I have to do...what I love.” “And I want that for you, Judi. Believe me, it’s not a problem. I’m not the kind of man who needs his little woman at home, greeting me at the door with pipe, slippers and the evening paper. I want the woman I love to be fulfilled in her life, doing whatever makes her happy. Because whatever makes her happy makes me happy.” “Oh, Mike...I’d convinced myself it just couldn’t work between us. Your job, my job. Our lives are so different. Lots of hours, lots of time apart. But those details don’t matter. I know that now. The only thing that matters is us. The rest will be whatever we want it to be, and God willing, we’ll have a long time to figure that out.” It felt so good being there. A perfect fit, a place she never wanted to leave. “But let me warn you, I don’t have time to date....” He kissed her on the back of the neck. “Neither do I.” “Or cook other than professionally... Or do laundry... And I’m broke.” “Ditto.” Then he moved around to the side of her neck. “And I...” “What?” he whispered. “I love you and I’m tired of talking.” Judi rolled over into his arms. Raising up, she pulled off her T-shirt and tossed it onto the floor. “I gave your vet tech the rest of the night off, by the way.”

245

“I love you, too. And I already did that when I saw you on your way in.” “So you had expectations?” He pulled her down to him. “Since the first time I saw you.” On the other side of the kennel, Lucky poked his head under the dog blanket. Pu-leeze, not in front of the puppy. Chapter Twenty Three glorious weeks later... “I thought you’d like to see Lucky. He’s loving it here.” Judi stepped out of Mike’s truck and right into his arms. Her favorite place in the world to be now. Even better than her kitchen. No, their schedules hadn’t suddenly opened up and given them oodles of time together, time to fall in love the way most people did it. Mostly it happened on the fly, when he was on his way to an animal emergency and she was going with him, or when she was busy trying a new vegetarian recipe and he was standing in as the guinea pig. Not exactly a traditional lifestyle, but with a little help from his parents stepping into Mike’s practice to pinchhit for him from time to time, and Larenz — who’d just popped the question to Deb - with his newlydiscovered culinary prowess stepping into her kitchen to pinch-hit for her from time to time, it was working out. It was their life, such as it was. And it was all she’d ever wanted, even if she hadn’t known that until she’d met Mike. “So when are you moving in?” he asked. “Moving in? We haven’t even talked about that yet,” Judi said, stepping around the pygmy goat wandering down Mike’s driveway. It was a typical farmhouse, two stories, barn out back. Nice. Cozy. With an abundance of animals everywhere. And she fit there. More than that, she was happy there. “Well, the way I see it, you’ve been busy night and day getting the mayor’s daughter’s wedding in order.” Yep, she’d won the contract after all. “And I’ve been busy night and day with my practice. So if we ever expect to find time for that real first date, or anything else, you’re going to have to move in with me. You know, the whole theory behind catch as catch can. And I definitely want to do some catching pretty soon. So, I think the practical thing to do would be to have you move in, and just for good measure I’m throwing a marriage proposal into the offer. Marry me, Judi, and all this will be yours.” He swept his arms open, gesturing to his farm. “This way, you get to expand your business into the whole building since I’m betting that after the wedding you’re going to start seeing a lot more business. Meaning, if nothing else, it’s a practical business decision.” “You’re trying way too hard, Jericho.” Judi glanced at the cow wandering in their direction. “So by everything, do you mean the cow, too?” “Especially the cow.” “And if I say yes?” “For starters, you’d make me the happiest man in the world.” Grabbing Judi by the hand, he pulled her around to the side of the house, to a small barnyard. “And he’d be pretty happy, too.” “Bo,” Judi gasped, tears springing to her eyes. “He’s yours?”

246

“No, he’s yours.” “But how?” she asked, sniffling. “Eating disorder. We couldn’t maintain it in the police stable with the other horses, so they let me buy him. And just so you’ll know, it was either him or an engagement ring.” “An engagement horse? Oh, Mike. I always wanted...” “I know you did, sweetheart.” “Not him, silly. You. From the first time I saw you. I mean, it’s probably dumb, but I’ve sort of thought Lucky might have been Fate messing around with me. With us. You know, his showing up at my place like he did, from out of nowhere. Then throwing himself at my tire, then me having to bring him to you... It was almost like he planned the whole thing.” They both glanced over at Lucky, who was busy chewing down one of Mike’s pussy willow bushes. According to the allergy tests, better that than crab cakes. “Nah,” Judi said, falling into Mike’s arms. “Couldn’t happen.” As they sealed their engagement with a kiss, Lucky glanced over at Bo, and shook his head skeptically. Boy, they sure have a lot to learn. Bo nodded his agreement, then Lucky went back to the stick. “I love you, Mike,” Judi whispered. “And I love you,” he returned. Lucky glanced over at them. You guys didn’t stand a chance! Wag, wag.

247

By Honour Bound by Julia Justiss Jenna has followed the drum with her father, a British Army colonel, most of her life. Since the death of her mother, Jenna has been her father’s chief companion. She has grown to love the adventure of traveling with the regiment, despite the lack of comforts and the constant threat of danger. She has also grown to love her father’s second-in-command, Major Garrett Fairchild. Since Garrett Fairchild’s fiancée left him for another man, he has gone into battle prepared to die a glorious death that would at least erase the pain of his heartbreak. But the friendship of his colonel’s daughter, a woman who is dearer to him than any sister, has lately renewed his interest in life. Can he forget the past and learn to love again?

By tomorrow morning he might be dead. A chill shook Jenna as she gazed out the open doorway at the tall form of Brigade Major Garrett Fairchild, the dinner dishes she was helping Sancha clear away rattling in her hands. They might any of them be dead, any one of that little “family” of officers in her father’s regiment who for the past few months had marched and fought, dined and laughed with their commanding officer and his daughter. Jenna glanced across the muddy road to the reassuring figure of her father. Colonel Montague, bridle in hand as he prepared to ride out and inspect pickets, was exchanging some final words with two of his other subordinates, Lieutenants “Heedless” Harry Hartwell and Lord Anthony Nelthorpe. She ought to be used to it. After India, and then following Papa for nearly four long years in the Peninsula, she should be accustomed to the spur of dread gouging her belly and the haze of fear suspended in her mind like campfire smoke. Even so, apprehension about the battle to come had made it impossible for her to consume more than a mouthful of the chicken Papa’s batman had foraged. Jenna didn’t know for sure when Wellington’s troops would begin their final assault on the fortified Spanish city of Badajoz, a bastion that had resisted capture so long and so stubbornly. However, if the activity in the encampment today - and the rumors running rampant - did indeed signal an evening assault, Papa would find some time in the next few hours to quietly inform her. Suddenly she could not wait any longer to discover whether the long-threatened attack would, in fact, come tonight. Depositing her plates on the worn table, Jenna looped her shawl over her shoulders and slipped out to the crude log portico that sheltered the front of the stone house where for the last several weeks they’d been billeted. But as she walked out, her father leaped into the saddle and rode off, saluting her with his whip as he passed. For a moment, stymied, she hesitated. Garrett would tell her the truth. The other officers remained by the brushwork paddock, lighted cheroots in hand. “Major Fairchild,” she called over to the group. “Could I speak with you, please?” The major turned, fixing on her that slightly melancholy blue-eyed gaze that never failed to make her heart lurch. “Of course, Jenna. Shall we go in? This night air is damp as well as chilly.” But realizing he would not speak freely inside with Sancha bustling about, when he reached the portico, Jenna stopped him with a hand to his sleeve. “Stay here with me a moment.” She lowered her voice to an urgent murmur. “Please, Garrett, I must know! Is the attack to be tonight?”

248

The half-smile on Brigade Major Garrett Fairchild’s face faded, but he did not attempt to evade Jenna Montague’s question. After a short hesitation, he said bluntly, “Yes, we storm the walls of Badajoz tonight.” Jenna briefly closed her eyes, trying to quell a queasy rush of fear. Though she’d always worried for Papa’s safety, until Mama’s death during the bitter winter retreat from Corunna, she’d never experienced this deep, gut-twisting apprehension. Now she knew all too well that someone dear to her could die. Her father. This strong, quiet man who had no idea he held her heart. She took a ragged breath. Garrett put his hand over hers and squeezed it. “We’re ready, Jenna. And after months of mud and inactivity, the men are spoiling for a fight.” Trying to match his calm, she summoned up a smile. “I trust this time you’ve not volunteered to lead the Forlorn Hope!” He laughed, as she’d meant him to. “No, I’ve no fancy to lead the first troop of soldiers up the scaling ladders while the Frog defenders rain shot, pitch and rifle fire down on my head. Suicidal odds haven’t the attraction they once did.” Thank God for that, anyway. “If they go tonight, how long until…” “I cannot say,” he answered her unfinished question. “Once we reinforce the first wave that makes it over the walls, the city will be ours - but getting in…” The major grimaced. “When we do, though, I fear for the city’s inhabitants. After two failed assaults and months of taunts from the ramparts, the troopers are in an ugly mood. I’m marching our soldiers out as soon as the fortress is secured, but rumor says many commanders intend to turn a blind eye and leave the troops to their plunder. God help the civilians then.” Jenna shivered, having been around an army long enough to know exactly what sort of retribution men crazed by blood lust and anger were capable of exacting. “Surely they know not all the inhabitants are French sympathizers.” The major’s face remained grim. “None of the men are likely to care overmuch about political niceties, and some of them really are the ‘dregs of the earth’ as Wellington called them. I can only trust the general won’t let things get too out of hand.” “Perhaps the whole business will be resolved by tomorrow night. That would be a blessing.” He patted her hand again. “Sometimes I think you who follow the army have it the worst. Those of us in the thick of it are too preoccupied - or terrified - for worry. But you - listening to the guns, the shouting, with no idea how the battle is faring and no means to affect the outcome… It must be terrible.” At his words, she saw again the haze of smoke obscuring the field, heard the dreadful din of artillery, the even more awful groans and cries punctuating the silence after it ceased. Surprised by his understanding, she nodded, her throat too tight for speech. “You mustn’t worry too much. Your papa is a seasoned campaigner, and those in the first assault face the greatest threat. I have little doubt tomorrow evening you will be plagued with us once again gathered around your table, Lord Anthony looking bored, Harry and Alastair arguing over which unit fought best and apologizing that they hadn’t time to hunt up some rabbit.” Oh, may it be so! Jenna prayed. Jenna Montague looked up at Major Garrett Fairchild. “You know I am always delighted to have Papa’s officers dine with us. Evers and I always manage to turn up enough provisions somehow.”

249

The major smiled, admiration in his eyes. “You’re the best of troopers, Jenna! In all these months in the Peninsula, never once have I seen you tire or complain however difficult the march or vermin-ridden the billet. Your papa is a lucky man.” His voice softened. “I must thank you, too. Your calm, level-headed influence is the major reason I’m no longer volunteering for hazardous expeditions like the Hope.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Heavens, what a sorry fellow I was when I reported in! So sure my world was blighted because a beautiful, spoiled chit who must never have loved me anyway scorned my eagerly tendered heart! So ready to die gloriously in battle to make her regret wedding an older, wealthier peer.” He shook his head. “I wonder now how you tolerated me.” Despite his light tone, Jenna heard in his voice a raw edge of pain. Major Garrett Fairchild may have indeed made progress in recovering from his broken heart, but he wasn’t yet free of the spell of the lovely Lucinda. A woman Jenna would hate forever without once having met her for putting that look of misery in Major Fairchild’s eyes. “I suppose I would have despised you, had I not soon discovered how excellent a partner you are at whist,” she replied, resorting to the gentle humor that, she’d found early on, could nearly always pull him out of melancholy. “And once I saw how splendidly you dance, I should have humored you were Bonaparte himself.” He looked away, absently rubbing the hand that rested on his sleeve. Jenna’s heartbeat quickened and a familiar, hopeless warmth curled in her belly. “Not that I expect anything will happen, but I do want you to know how much I’ve come to treasure our friendship. I’ve never known a woman so capable of creating around her an aura of calm and cheer. You manage to bring even to this primitive place some semblance of graciousness.” He shook his head. “What an odd ‘family’ we are - Harry with his reckless enthusiasm, Alastair following him about like a puppy, Lord Anthony with his airs, me with my moods! Your papa is an excellent commander, but you are the heart of us.” Oh, that I might have your heart! she thought, but dared not say. Even if the major’s feelings were warming toward her, she knew instinctively it was still too soon. While she fumbled for a reply, Garrett clasped her hand. “No sister could be sweeter or more dear,” he said, and brought her hand to his lips. Mercifully, that gallant gesture masked the wince she wasn’t able to completely suppress. “You - and the grim reality of battle - have made me realize something I should never have overlooked. Life is precious, and ’tis one’s true friends that make it so.” Was it only hopeful imagining that made her see tenderness in his eyes? Before she could decide, he released her hand and bowed. “Until tomorrow, Jenna.” You make life precious, she thought. “May God protect you!” she called as he walked away. God protect them all. Brigade Major Garrett Fairchild paced slowly through the next evening’s fading light. His face and uniform were grimy with sweat and smoke, his shoulder on fire from the flesh wound inflicted by a stray rifle bullet, but it wasn’t these familiar aggravations that hindered his steps or weighed down his heart. How was he to tell Jenna her father was dead? For a moment, rage overwhelmed the grief. It shouldn’t have happened. The bloody business of subduing the city done, Colonel Montague had been astride his horse supervising the orderly withdrawal of his troopers, some of them resentful at not being permitted to join the orgy of destruction now taking place

250

within the walls. A bullet fired by one of the celebrating soldiers had ricocheted over the ramparts and pierced the colonel through the heart. Less than an hour ago his commander had ridden beside Garrett, telling him he’d just sent Jenna word that all the “family” had come through the engagement safely. She and his batman, Evers, would be preparing dinner even now. Having spent the day tending the awful carnage of the wounded, she would probably be offering a guilty thanks, as he was, that though so many had been stricken, God had spared those dear to her. She would be totally unprepared for this. But he’d have to tell her now. He’d ordered the men to delay for just an hour before they brought the colonel’s body back to his billet to be prepared for burial. The colonel’s billet. Garrett stopped short, suddenly realizing another bitter truth. Jenna Montague had lost more than her father tonight - she’d lost her home and her way of life. With her father dead and no other relative to care for her, she would have no choice but to return to England. She’d have to give up this arduous but adventurous life she’d often claimed to love, take up a vastly different one far from this fierce, beautiful land. Far from him. Another pang smote his heart, and though he could not begin to compare his loss to hers, he recognized how keenly he was going to miss her. He forced his feet back into motion. No amount of delay would make this easier, so he’d best get it done. Garrett slipped silently behind the stone building where, as he’d suspected, he found Jenna tending the cooking fire. Eyes bright, tendrils of soft brown hair escaping from beneath her muslin bonnet to frame her heat-flushed face, she hummed a soldier’s ditty while she stirred a pot of what smelled to be rabbit stew. For a moment he simply watched her, his chest aching with regret and grief. Then he stepped into the firelight. “Garrett!” she cried, smiling a welcome. An instant later her eyes widened, the smile fading. “But - you’re injured! Let me see!” “It’s just a scratch,” he said, waving her off. “I’ve much worse news. Jenna, I…I have to tell you…” While he struggled to complete the sentence, her dark eyes searched his. Then she gasped. “Not…Papa,” she whispered, shaking her head in denial. Grimly Garrett nodded. “Jenna, I’m so sorry.” She uttered a small cry that might have been “no.” And in what seemed the most natural movement in the world, he stepped forward and gathered her into his arms. The next afternoon, Brigade Major Garrett Fairchild sat in the small stone house with the other officers of Colonel Montague’s regiment. Now that their commander’s body had been laid to rest, his orphaned daughter Jenna would be preparing to return to England. Bad enough, Garrett thought glumly, to have lost the skilled leader who had taught him everything he knew about keeping himself and his troops alive. But now Jenna must leave, too….

251

Garrett heard a soft footstep and jumped to his feet, the other officers of the colonel’s “family” following in turn. Her bearing as martially erect as it had been this morning beside her father’s grave, Jenna Montague entered the common room and nodded to acknowledge their salute. “Please be seated, gentlemen. Evers assures me our midday meal will soon be ready. As you know, Colonel Anderson’s wife will be arriving this afternoon to…assist in my departure. I trust whomever General Wellington appoints to be your new commanding officer will appreciate your skill and loyalty as much as Father did.” Though her words were calm, her face composed, Garrett read shock and desolation in her eyes. He had a sudden, impossible impulse to once again shelter her in his arms, as he had yesterday when he’d first conveyed the news of her father’s death. She had every right to look desolated after a night spent preparing her father’s bloody body for the funeral service. Now, without even time to mourn, she would be sent back to England, a dependent of relations she could not have seen in years. Garrett’s chest ached at the thought of her loss - and the thought of losing her. Not until these past few hours, when he’d had time to imagine what the regiment would be like without her, did he truly appreciate how much a part of his daily existence Jenna had become. From the day he reported to her father, bitter and angry, she’d eased his anguish and helped his broken heart begin to heal. Instead of contemplating a death in battle, he’d gradually grown to anticipate each new day, looking forward to Jenna’s quick wit and cheerful company. Without her, life in the army would lose much of its charm and all its gentility. Was there no way, he wondered, to prevent that? The batman Evers entered with their meal, interrupting Garrett’s gloomy reflections and summoning the “family” to the rough table. “Must you return to England, Jenna?” Lieutenant “Heedless” Harry Hartwell asked the colonel’s daughter. “You are a born campaigner, as your father often said. I simply can’t imagine you seated in some stuffy parlor, pouring tea and prosing on with other females about gowns and bonnets. Wouldn’t you rather stay here?” Trust Lieutenant “Heedless Harry,” ever the most forthright member of their little group, to plunge in and confront directly the matter of which the late Colonel Montague’s “family” must all be thinking - the future of his orphaned daughter. Jenna Montague sighed. “Yes, Harry, the army has been my life as much as it was Papa’s. But I cannot see how I can avoid leaving. I don’t know Colonel and Mrs. Anderson well enough to ask to stay with them, and I can’t travel with the regiment alone.” “Thought all females liked hobnobbing to talk of bonnets and such,” Lieutenant Alastair Percy said. “M’sisters surely do. And only think, ma’am - England means hot food on a regular basis, a bed you needn’t inspect for vermin, theaters, shops -” “Stuff,” Harry dismissed Alastair’s observation with a wave of his hand. “What cares Jenna for such paltry things, compared to the adventure of living with the army?” Quelled by his idol, Alastair subsided, but Lieutenant Lord Anthony Nelthorpe raised one sardonic eyebrow. “Not everyone shares your delight for playing in the mud, Harry. Being a civilized sort, Miss Montague will doubtless be thrilled to trade the primitive filth of Portugal for the splendor of a London town house. Especially once her chaperone helps her bleach that unladylike sunburn from her skin, procures her a wardrobe of stylish new gowns, and fills her parlor with beaux to entice. None of whom, one must note, are apt to be killed before she can thoroughly torment them.” Garrett stiffened, resenting on Jenna’s behalf the peer’s sardonic tone, while Jenna gave Nelthorpe a wary glance. But before the major could utter a sharp rejoinder, Jenna said wryly, “England will more likely mean becoming dutiful companion to Papa’s elderly aunt Cecilia in some dreary spa or other.”

252

“Do you not even know with whom you would reside?” Garrett asked, struck once more by the painful uncertainty into which her father’s death had cast her. Toying with the spoon in her untasted stew, she looked away from the sympathy he knew his eyes must hold. “Except for a month in London reprovisioning after Papa was transferred from India to the Peninsula, I’ve not resided in England since I was two. Mama has no near relations, and Aunt Cecilia is the only one of Papa’s family who still writes us. Judging by what she writes about, I doubt we shall have much in common. My skill at beheading chickens, plugging a target at twenty paces, and coaxing pack animals to ford flooding rivers isn’t likely to be much in demand in London, Bath, or Harrogate.” “Seems devilish unsporting that you be reduced to matrimonial games -” Harry leveled a scornful glance at Lord Nelthorpe “- or playing companion.” He lapsed into silence, only to look up a moment later, his eyes bright. “By Jove, Jenna, I have it! You shall stay with us!” “Do exhibit some wit, Harry,” Lord Anthony said with a sigh. “As Miss Montague has already informed you, a virtuous maiden does not live unchaperoned in the midst of an army - if she wishes to retain her reputation as a virtuous maiden.” “Dammit, I know that!” Harry said with an impatient wave of the hand. “But you needn’t go to England and waste yourself on some overstuffed popinjay who could never appreciate you. Stay here and marry one of us!” Startled out of contemplating the stew she’d been toying with, Jenna Montague sat at first speechless, then broke into a laugh. “Oh, Harry, how impossibly gallant! But I couldn’t marry one of Papa’s officers!” “Why not?” Lieutenant “Heedless Harry” Hartwell demanded. “We’ve all of us - the Brigade Major, Alastair, Anthony, and I - been with you through hard marches, pitched battles, and dismal bivouacs. All that has certainly given you a better indication of our character and honor than you’d get of some poetry-spouting fool during a stroll through Hyde Park or a dance at Almack’s. And we all know and appreciate you. What better husband could you wish for than an officer of the Fighting Fifth?” Though Jenna knew she must decline, Harry’s ardent avowal warmed the cold, aching void that had filled her as she gradually absorbed the awful reality of her father’s death - and its equally awful implications for her life. Having outgrown girlish fancies, she’d long known there were no guarantees that her soldier father would survive her. Since her mama’s death, she’d also known that should the unthinkable occur, she would have no option but to leave the Peninsula and return to distant relatives in England. That didn’t mean, however, that she’d been able to fully prepare herself to face the future now confronting her - a vista that appeared as dismal as it was disquieting. “Harry, I’m deeply touched and terribly honored but…but I couldn’t possibly accept.” Looking at the startled faces around her, Jenna suppressed a grin. “Nor do I think your comrades appreciate your having offered them up on the matrimonial altar.” To his credit, Lieutenant Alastair Percy managed to wipe the dismay from his face. “Ma’am, we all think you a splendid plucky lass. You’d make a soldier as excellent a wife as you’ve been a colonel’s daughter. Any of us would be happy to offer our hand.” “Well said.” Harry affirmed, bringing a blush of gratitude to his young acolyte’s face. Lieutenant Lord Anthony Nelthorpe’s lips twitched, as if he found this means of disposing of his colonel’s orphaned daughter vastly diverting. “After such a touching tribute, how could I help but offer to sacrifice my own poor self?” he drawled. “No such sacrifice will be necessary,” she flashed back, struggling to mask her resentment of his tone.

253

In truth, this son of a marquess was the only one of her father’s officers whom she would absolutely rule out as a possible spouse - were she choosing among them, which she was not. Though her father had judged Nelthorpe a competent officer and she’d known him over a year, she was still vaguely uncomfortable around the man. His cool gray eyes too often seemed to follow her with a disquieting intensity - whether admiring or disdainful, she’d never been able to decide. Harry and Alastair, however, she both liked and admired. Indeed, Harry’s solution to her orphan’s dilemma might have been ideal, but for one thing. The tall Brigade Major sitting silently beside her. While his subordinates had, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, offered the orphaned regimental commander’s daughter their hands in marriage, Major Garrett Fairchild had said nothing. But, knowing the major’s still-smoldering feelings for his lost love, Jenna Montague hadn’t really expected her late father’s brigade major to chime in with a declaration of his own. Older and more experienced than his impetuous comrades, he was more aware of what he’d be taking on - and giving up - were he to offer her a marriage of convenience. Jenna’s brief moment of warmth chilled. Though she wouldn’t for a moment consider taking Lord Anthony Nelthorpe to husband, if she hadn’t fallen in love with Garrett Fairchild, she might readily have considered entering such a union with either Lieutenant “Heedless Harry” Hartwell or Lieutenant Alastair Percy. But grateful as she was for their championship, she couldn’t seize that means to escape being banished to distant relatives in England. Loving Garrett as she did, she couldn’t imagine giving herself in marriage to anyone else. And loving Garrett, she couldn’t bear marrying him, knowing the lovely Lucinda still held his heart. Despite that firm resolve, she still had to squelch a flicker of irrational but persistent hope that the major would now shock her by suddenly confessing his love and begging for her hand. When, of course, he did not, she looked up at him, a wobbly smile the best she could manage. “Well, Major Fairchild? I believe ’tis time for you to drop a few pearls of worldly wisdom and convince my gallant but misguided swains of the impossibility of their plan.” When the major didn’t reward her light tone with a smile, to her disgust Jenna once again had to extinguish a wild flash of hope. As she mentally chastised herself, Garrett said, “Though the afternoon of your father’s funeral is far too soon for you to be forced to decide your entire future, I do think Harry’s suggestion has merit.” So certain was she that Garrett would summarily reject Harry’s plan, Jenna was left speechless. Seeming oblivious to her astonishment, Garrett continued, “You would remain in a society where you are known and valued, among friends who care about you. Painful as it must be to deal with this now, I do think you should seriously consider marrying one of us, Jenna.” While Harry uttered a “bravo,” Lord Anthony looked at Garrett, eyebrows raised. “Do my ears deceive me? Or does our esteemed brigade major mean to toss his hat in the matrimonial ring as well?” Though Jenna knew Garrett had no great liking for Lord Nelthorpe, she had never seen him direct at the man such a look of icy disdain. “I do. And I mean to beg Colonel Anderson’s wife to remain with the regiment for a few days so that Jenna has some time to decide if this is truly what she would prefer.” “Time for Miss Montague to decide what?” came a feminine voice from the entry.

254

“Mrs. Anderson,” Brigade Major Garrett Fairchild said, walking over to bow before the wife of their neighboring regiment’s colonel. “I hope your trip through the lines wasn’t too difficult.” After making a quick, sharp-eyed inspection of the bare stone house in which the late Colonel Montague and his daughter, Jenna, had been billeted, Mrs. Anderson sniffed before deigning to accept the crude chair Garrett indicated. “A few impertinent sentries,” she replied as she seated herself, “but I’d rather have the lads watchful as not. And ’tis safer to journey among the men now, while the worst of them are still making mischief inside the walls of Badajoz.” The older woman shook her head, the iron-gray curls beneath her bonnet jiggling. “A bad business, the end of a siege, and this one looks to be worse than most. Lord Wellington will be ordering hangings before this day’s work is done, mark my words. You’d best keep close within the regimental area until it’s over, Miss Montague.” Jenna acknowledged Mrs. Anderson’s advice with a nod, not sure whether she was glad or sorry to have the discussion about her future interrupted. “Thank you, Mrs. Anderson. I shall appreciate your help in…in sorting out my plans,” she finished, unable as yet to make her father’s death seem more real by speaking about it. “Lieutenants Hartwell and Percy,” Garrett said, indicating the two, who bowed. “Lieutenant Lord Nelthorpe I believe you already know.” “Mrs. Anderson, a great pleasure to see you again,” Lord Anthony said, making an elaborate bow before bringing the woman’s hand to his lips. The colonel’s wife actually blushed at that gallantry. “I remember you well, my lord. Your mama and I had a delightful dinner together before Lady Weatherford’s ball when the colonel and I were last in London.” Jenna’s spirits sank lower as she covertly inspected this snobbish granddaughter of an earl who was to escort her to Lisbon on the first stage of her journey to England. A trip she was commencing with as little enthusiasm as she expected to discover in the faces of the distant relations whom civility and kinship would force to welcome her. Still, Mrs. Anderson was ostensibly doing her a service and Jenna owed her courtesy. “May I offer you some refreshment, ma’am? Our meal was somewhat…delayed, but -” “I’ve already dined, thank you. My husband’s batman prepares quite an excellent paella. And I should like to complete preparations for your departure as speedily as possible. The Marquesa of Oporto will be having her spring ball soon, and I hope to reach Lisbon in time to attend .” “I know you cannot mean for Miss Montague to begin so arduous a journey immediately,” Garrett interposed, to Jenna’s relief. “She must have a little time to recover from the shock of her father’s death.” “Indeed, ma’am,” Lieutenant “Heedless Harry” Hartwell added, “Jenna - Miss Montague don’t need to leave at all.” “No, ma’am,” Lieutenant Alastair Percy, prodded by a subtle gesture from his idol, Harry, to enter the conversation. “Jenna - Miss Montague - is to stay here and marry one of us.” Her gray eyebrows raised, Mrs. Anderson turned to stare at Jenna Montague. “You are engaged to an officer in your late father’s regiment? Which one? And why were Colonel Anderson and I not informed of it?” “Well, she ain’t exactly engaged yet,” Lieutenant “Heedless” Harry Hartwell replied. “But it seemed a great shame for one of her pluck and skill to leave the army, so we’ve all offered for her. I expect she’ll require a few days to make up her mind which one of us she’ll take.”

255

With a sharp glance at his subordinate, Brigade Major Garrett Fairchild began “Miss Montague hasn’t yet -“ at the same time Jenna exclaimed “I haven’t ye -“ “What a bunch of nonsense!” Mrs. Anderson cut them both off. “As if any girl with any claim to wit wouldn’t be breathless with anticipation to leave this heathen place and return to England! Gentlemen, I don’t mean to be unkind, but - with the exception of Lieutenant Lord Nelthorpe, of course - none of you have more to offer in marriage than a handsome face and a set of regimentals. Quite dashing, I’ll allow, but not nearly as good an offer as Miss Montague deserves.” Mrs. Anderson patted Jenna’s hand. “I shall dispatch you to my sister in London, my dear. Persephone will know just how to turn you out to advantage, and, I have no doubt, help you make an excellent match. For an heiress of your great wealth, my dear, even a duke is possible!” For once, Lord Anthony Nelthorpe’s perpetual sneer disappeared. “Miss Montague is an heiress?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “Bah, what does wealth matter?” “Heedless” Harry said. “H-heiress?” Jenna echoed, as incredulous as Lord Anthony. “Your father never told you?” Mrs. Anderson sighed. “How like an army man, thinking more of his regiment than his daughter’s future! Yes, my dear, you are heir to quite considerable wealth, as your papa informed me when I taxed him about your circumstances after your dear mama’s death at Corunna. I urged him then to send you back to England…but ’tis no matter now.” “I had no idea,” Jenna murmured, still astounded. Mrs. Anderson sniffed. “I’m sure you did not! One would never have guessed it, seeing how spartanly you live, but your papa returned from India with a tidy fortune, which as his only child and heir, now goes to you. Ah, how delightful you will find London, with all the finest young gentlemen vying for your notice! So let’s have no more talk of throwing yourself away on an army officer!” Mrs. Anderson gestured to the back room. “You’d best begin packing up your papa’s things. Perhaps the major could sell off those you don’t wish to keep as mementos.” At Jenna’s stricken look, she colored, but continued, “Some might call me insensitive to press you to such a task so soon, but you’ve been with the army long enough to understand that life goes on. And so must we.” Aye, life goes on, Jenna thought bitterly, the anguish of that blatant reminder of her father’s loss too heavy in her chest for her to summon speech. “Up with you now, my dear. You’ll find keeping active makes it easier. I’d like to depart while the troopers are still sporting themselves in the city and so be well away before headquarters orders another march and decides it cannot spare us an escort.” By the look of barely repressed agitation on his face, Jenna could tell that only respect for Colonel Anderson’s position was restraining Harry from countermanding the directions of his superior’s wife. As it happened, though, Jenna had no desire to discuss any further her departure - or her wedding - in front of the colonel’s wife. Not until she sorted out her own feelings about the officers’ unexpected proposals. For if Garrett Fairchild had meant his own offer of marriage seriously - and she knew the major well enough to believe he would never make such an offer carelessly - she wasn’t sure whether she could resist the very great temptation to accept it. Even though marrying the man she loved with all her heart but who thought of her as a sister would surely doom them both to a lifetime of unhappiness.

256

Brigade Major Garrett Fairchild’s glance drifted from the colonel’s wife placidly knitting at the table across from him to the door of the chamber where Jenna Montague was packing her father’s possessions. How hard it must be for her, forced now to make a decision that would alter her entire future while still in the first shock of grief over her father’s death. But there was no help for it. The wife of the neighboring commander who had come to assist Jenna had made it clear she wished to depart for Lisbon as quickly as possible. Jenna must either begin her journey home under the chaperonage of Colonel Anderson’s wife - or if she truly wished to remain with the army, accept one of the offers of marriage that had just been tendered her by several of her father’s officers. Much as he hated to press her at such a time, perhaps he should coax Jenna to solve her dilemma by taking him to husband, Garrett thought. They’d been drawn to each other from the day he reported to the regiment, and over the months that initial attraction had strengthened. Not that he could tender her his whole heart, shattered beyond mending as it was by Lucinda’s deception, but he could offer respect and affection. Though in his initial rage, he’d vowed never to marry, he’d lately come to feel he didn’t wish to spend his whole life alone. And if he should decide to wed, he felt sure he might inspect every hopeful debutante in London’s marriage mart without finding a lady as intelligent, resourceful, or courageous as Jenna. If he were really honest, though, something more than her admirable qualities urged him to lay claim to her. Though until now he’d sternly repressed the memory, the thought of taking Jenna to wife brought it all back, set a hot, guilty excitement simmering in his veins. It had been one of the last warm days of the previous fall. Rounding a bend in the river as he returned from a solitary scouting expedition, Garrett had happened upon Jenna, bathing on the opposite bank. He’d frozen in place, not wishing to embarrass her by revealing his presence - or risk taking a shot from her papa’s batman, doubtless standing guard in the rocks behind her. In the instant it had taken him to decide to silently retrace his steps, her image had burned into his brain. A water nymph totally unselfconscious in her nakedness, laughing as she doused herself in the stream and jumped back up, gasping at the cold. Before he’d made himself drag his reluctant gaze away, he’d seen beaded droplets glisten on her pale skin, drip from her ebony mane and trickle down plump breasts, their rosy nipples peaked from the chill. Rivulets descended to paint with crystalline lines the curve of her hips and belly before coursing down her slender legs - or losing themselves in the swirl of dark curls at the junction of her thighs. For an instant he’d stood spellbound…. Gaze riveted on the shocking vista of a naked siren bathing in the river, Major Garrett Fairchild had thirsted to follow with his tongue the water’s slow journey down from the vision’s shoulders. To trace that ridge of collarbone to the swell of her breast, where he might pause to warm her nipples with his breath, feel them harden again as he suckled. Then proceed lower still, over stomach and hip until, sinking to his knees, he bent to savor the taste at her center, where the droplets’ liquor mingled with her own. Though he’d forced his eyes shut and turned away, blood seeming to boil in his veins, he’d not been able to banish from his mind the fantasy of her beckoning to him across the water. Her hands going to his trouser flap as he drew near…wrapping her droplet-spangled legs around his waist when he entered her, moaning his name as he brought her to her peak. He’d been well behind the next outcropping of rock, legs still clumsy at being compelled to retreat rather than advance, tongue still dry with desire, when outraged sanity returned to remind him the woman for whom he lusted was not some creature out of myth but a lady. Jenna Montague, his superior officer’s innocent daughter. That realization doused his ardor, though it had never completely extinguished it. At first he excused his reaction by reminding himself he was no saint and had been long without a woman. But as the months

257

passed and the images still beckoned to him from the edges of his dreams, he had maintained a tight control over his conscious thoughts and carefully limited his physical contact with Jenna. He didn’t wish to blunder into doing something that might frighten or affront her, or spoil their easy, comfortable friendship. Last fall, he’d been still too much under the spell of the lovely Lucinda to consider giving his warm thoughts honorable expression by making Jenna an offer. But with a jolt of surprise, he realized that for quite some time now, in the drowsy moments between waking and sleep, he’d no longer seen Lucinda’s rosebud mouth, blue eyes, and flaxen hair. Sometimes, as if the image had been branded on the inside of his eyelids, he glimpsed instead that vision of Jenna rising from the river. There’d been that moment yesterday, too. After fighting past the piles of dead and wounded to the base of Badajoz’s walls, he’d put his boot on the bottom rung of the scaling ladder, ready to lead his men up. And paused, thinking suddenly that if he were about to make the last climb of his life, what he would most regret leaving would be Jenna’s smile. “Major, perhaps you could assist Miss Montague to carry out her papa’s trunk?” “Of course, ma’am.” Pulling himself from his thoughts, Garrett rose and walked toward the chamber. Yes, marrying the colonel’s daughter offered enticing possibilities, he thought, the image of Jenna bathing still smoldering in his senses. From the outraged look on the face of Colonel Anderson’s wife, it was quite clear what that lady thought was transpiring in the bedchamber where she discovered Jenna Montague sitting on the lap of Major Garrett Fairchild. Still lightheaded from the storm of grief from which that officer had been trying to comfort her, Jenna struggled for words to refute Mrs. Anderson’s mistaken assumptions. Before she could speak, the woman continued, “Never would I have thought you capable of such…wanton behavior, missy!” Her accusing voice echoing through the small stone chamber, she stalked toward the bed. “And you, sirrah! I would have expected better of Colonel Montague’s second-in-command than to discover him seducing his former commander’s daughter on the very afternoon of the colonel’s funeral!“ “Enough, madam,” Garrett’s low voice, soft but menacing as the whistle of shrapnel, sliced through the woman’s shrill tones. With unhurried precision, Garrett set Jenna back on the bed and rose to his full height. Emanating an unmistakable aura of command, he walked toward Mrs. Anderson - who took an instinctive step back. “I’m sure you are much too wise, ma’am, to misconstrue what you’ve just seen - or to disparage my honor or that of the lady who has just agreed to become my wife.” Mrs. Anderson looked as shocked as Jenna felt. “Y-Your wife?” “Yes. You may wish us happy, and once my betrothed has finished here, I’m sure she will wish your assistance in planning the details of our wedding. Madam.” Garrett bowed, his arm continuing in a sweeping movement that indicated the open doorway. After a moment’s hesitation, Mrs. Anderson once again heeded the voice of authority. “My…my congratulations, Jenna, Major. Well, I suppose I shall return to the common room.” With obvious reluctance, she turned toward the door. As she took a step, though, she added in an aggrieved tone, “Persephone is going to be quite annoyed. And you, young lady - meaning no disparagement, Major, for I’ve heard you are a fine officer - I hope you know what you’re doing, settling for a titleless younger son when, with your fortune, you could have had the pick of the marriage mart!” “I shall have to endeavor to see she never regrets her decision,” Garrett said smoothly. Before Jenna figured out how to frame a response that acknowledged Mrs. Anderson’s well-meaning if unwanted interference

258

without further insulting her supposed intended, the colonel’s wife had reached the door. “General Wellington will not be pleased!” she pronounced before exiting the room. Disjointed thoughts along with a kaleidoscope of emotions swirled in Jenna’s head like dry leaves driven by a fierce Peninsular wind. Finally she seized upon the most pressing concern. “Garrett, I’m so sorry about Mrs. Anderson! But you mustn’t think I mean to hold you to this fictitious engagement.” Having apparently assured himself of Mrs. Anderson’s retreat, the major walked back to Jenna. “If apologies are required, it should be me apologizing to you, for subjecting you to such a scene. And though I’m not happy to be the subject of Mrs. Anderson’s scurrilous innuendo, otherwise I’m quite content with the situation. This just accelerates what I’d intended all along.” He gave her a moment to fully comprehend his meaning. “You intended all along to marry me?” she said at last. “I already proposed to you once, you will remember,” Major Garrett Fairchild told Jenna Montague. “But why do you wish to marry me?” she asked, clenching her fists with the desperate hope that this time, the reason he voiced might be the right one. “Despite Mrs. Anderson’s disparagement of my situation, I’m well enough off not to be accused of fortunehunting should you marry me. And marrying now would be advantageous for us both. I realize we can’t claim to share some grand amour, but I’ve bitter experience to prove that being desperately in love isn’t always the firmest of foundations upon which to build a marriage. We like and respect each other, and I flatter myself that we would be congenial life companions.” With each sensible, prosaic sentence he snuffed out the last feeble embers of her hope. Liking. Respect. Congenial companions. While she hungered for the passion he so summarily rejected, some violent emotion to match the deep intensity of what she felt for him. “Besides,” he continued in that same, infuriatingly reasonable voice, “even had I not already decided to press you to accept my suit, after the unfortunate scene that just occurred, both your honor and mine are at stake. Mrs. Anderson would delight in broadcasting our supposed misconduct, not just among the army, but to all her friends back in London. Unless you wish to see me branded a seducer and yourself a wanton, we must marry.” In Jenna’s opinion that was, if possible, even more unpalatable a reason to wed him than the arguments he had previously advanced. But before she could begin to explain how impossible it would be for her to marry on such terms, Lieutenant “Heedless” Harry Hartwell bounded into the room. “You rogue, to steal a march on all of us!” he exclaimed, pounding Garrett on the shoulder. “But if the lady is misguided enough to spurn my offer, I can’t imagine a better man for her than you, Major! Jenna, may you have a lifetime of happiness together!” As usual, Harry was followed almost immediately by Lieutenant Alastair Percy, looking, Jenna thought, mightily relieved that he had not been forced to honor his own proposal. “What famous news! May I wish you both happy!” Jenna’s fervent prayers that the farce proceed no further were not to be answered. To fill her cup of gall, Lieutenant Lord Anthony Nelthorpe strolled in.

259

Garrett being preoccupied by Harry and Alastair, who continued to voice a noisy approval, Jenna was left to face Nelthorpe’s scrutiny alone. He took full advantage of it, horrid man, making an elaborate scan of the room before letting his gaze rest for a long moment on the rumpled edge of her father’s bed. “Ah,” he said at last, staring at her with that mocking look she so detested. “I begin to understand the impetus for this most…precipitous announcement.” He swept her an elaborate bow. “I must add my congratulations, it seems. My, how things do have a way of working out differently than we expect.” After that enigmatic pronouncement, he turned to offer Garrett his hand. “My best wishes for your happiness, Major. Alastair, Harry, come along. Let’s allow the happy couple a few more moments of privacy before the dragon lady without snatches Miss Montague away to observe - however belatedly - the proprieties.” Jenna and Garrett remained silent for a few moments after the other officers departed. Then, her composure ravaged by the events of the past twenty-four hours, before she could stop herself Jenna blurted, “Garrett, I cannot marry you!” Jenna Montague’s conscience smote her as the warm light died in Major Garrett Fairchild’s eyes. “Though I may be only an earl’s untitled younger son,” he said with a wry half smile, “he is a rich earl. My wife will want for nothing, and should I be killed in battle my widow -” “Don’t say that!” Jenna cried, putting a finger to his lips. Hands shaking, she could barely refrain from making the sign of the cross over him to ward off bad luck, as Sancha would have done. “You know how little I care for money or fancy titles.” “What is it, then? I thought we were friends. It is a bit battering to my self-esteem to twice have the lady to whom I’ve pledged my troth break off our engagement.” “But we were never truly engaged,” she objected. “It’s not that I don’t honor and respect you, or harbor a - a fond affection for you. It’s just…well, though you may reject ‘love’ as a basis for wedlock, I…I had always hoped to share that emotion with the gentleman I married. My parents did.” “Perhaps for some fortunate individuals, happiness follows love,” he conceded. “Though my own regrettable experience argues that such passion is more likely to end in heartache. Certainly I wish never to be caught in its toils again! A mutual friendship like ours is surely a much better guarantee of lasting harmony. Besides, if it is love you must have, there is every reason to believe our warm affection will deepen over time. I pledge to do my utmost to make you happy. You believe that, don’t you?” “Y-Yes,” she stuttered, frantic to find some convincing grounds to refuse him, lest he manage to ferret out her real objections. “But…what if we were to marry and you later met a-another lady who inspired you to passion? Never would I wish to be an impediment keeping you from following your heart.” Garrett shook his head. “The last thing I want is to experience again such a painful excess of emotion! Besides, once I’ve vowed my life to you, I would never look at another lady. So…shall I go down on one knee and ask for your hand properly?” Not when I already love you to “painful excess”! she wanted to snap back. But she couldn’t tell him that. Feeling honor bound to marry her as he did, such a revelation would only reinforce his conviction. Her previous rash admission - that she wished for a husband who loved her - only gave her a more compelling reason to resist him. Should they wed, how could she ever be sure that any love he professed to develop for her afterward was sincere? Knowing now how she valued the emotion, he might well avow those tender sentiments in a gentlemanly attempt to make her happy.

260

She couldn’t bear a lifetime of wondering whether the emotions he pledged were genuine. Wondering, if he should seem distracted or irritable, whether he was merely out of sorts - or had met another lady who’d captured his heart and felt obliged to renounce her. Or to visit her secretly. A sick feeling settled in her gut. No, she couldn’t marry Garrett. But her tattered nerves and raw emotions left her too drained now to come up with an argument that would withstand his soldierly single-mindedness. In desperation, she fell back on the excuse of fatigue. “Please, Garrett, not now! I’m so weary I can scarce keep my eyes open, and Papa’s loss is still so fresh….” She didn’t have to feign the anguish that made her voice ragged and clogged her throat. “I don’t want to do something hasty, and I simply can’t think now.” Though she saw hurt in his eyes at her rebuff, he was instantly solicitous. “Of course not. I’m sorry to have pressed you. With all you’ve had to do, I doubt you got much sleep last night. Why not return to your chamber and rest? I’ll take the trunk out and get Mrs. Anderson settled. We’ll talk of this again tomorrow.” “Yes,” she said gratefully. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” By which time, she devoutly hoped to have come up with a way to avoid marrying a man she wanted with every fiber of her being - who planned to wed her out of tepid inclination and a strong sense of duty. Though she’d taken to her bed more to avoid further discussion than from fatigue, Jenna Montague must have been more tired than she’d thought. After falling asleep moments after she laid her head on the pillow, she’d roused that evening only when Sancha insisted she eat the bowl of soup her maid brought to the room, and then slept much later than usual the next morning. When she dressed and left her chamber, the sun was high in the sky and Sancha, humming in the kitchen, the only other person in the house. Trouble within the walls at Badajoz, Sancha informed her darkly when she inquired after the soldiers’ whereabouts. Given the severity of the disturbances, and with Jenna supposedly to wed Major Garrett Fairchild and therefore not requiring her assistance in preparing to leave Spain, Colonel Anderson’s wife had requested Garrett escort her back to her husband’s regiment. After that, the major had told Sancha he meant to assist in quelling the rioting inside the city. Thankful for the respite in which she would not have to fend off Mrs. Anderson’s questions about her supposedly impending nuptials, Jenna settled at the table with a steaming cup of coffee. She’d spend these unexpected private moments marshaling arguments compelling enough to convince Garrett that a marriage between the two of them would be a mistake. Wistfully wondering whether she was likely to feel more wretched if she succeeded in driving Garrett away or if she succumbed to the temptation of becoming his wife, Jenna hadn’t made much progress on that endeavor when, with a stamp of boots, an officer entered the room. Her welcoming smile dimmed when she found the newcomer to be Lieutenant Lord Anthony Nelthorpe. “My lord,” she said with a cool nod. Please, heaven, let him merely help himself to coffee and depart. Should he begin to needle her about her upcoming nuptials, Jenna wasn’t sure she could remain polite. To her surprise, he greeted her without his normal mocking smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Miss Montague, but I fear we have need of your services.” Given the events of the past day - and the sporadic rifle fire that continued to echo over the walls - alarm shocked through her. “No one else has been -“ she cried, not even able to complete the sentence.

261

“No,” he interrupted, his sharp, knowing look making her face heat. “Your esteemed brigade major and my other compatriots are well. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for many of the denizens of Badajoz. Particularly, it grieves me to inform you, the female inhabitants.” He didn’t need to spell out the details. With a spurt of anger at the bestiality of which man was capable and a deep compassion for helpless female victims everywhere, Jenna closed her eyes and uttered a swift prayer. She opened them again and asked, “How can I help?” “A number of officers are attempting to restore order, and the gallows now being erected should bring the madness to a halt. Some of the injured women are being moved into the abandoned monastery off the Lisbon road. As you can imagine, many of the ladies are…leery of dealing with soldiers. Major Fairchild asked if you would go assist in nursing them.” “Of course.” Lord Anthony nodded. “I’m to escort you. With the stragglers still on the loose, Garrett didn’t want you traveling alone.” Jenna rose as she spoke. “I’ll get my bag of supplies at once.”

With grim determination, Major Garrett Fairchild spurred his lathered horse down the Lisbon road. Lieutenant Lord Anthony Nelthorpe had taken Jenna Montague to the abandoned monastery, Sancha said. To his frenzied “why,” the maid merely wailed that she should never have let her mistress leave with that evil one, who had watched Jenna’s every move since the fat colonel’s wife told them her father’s death left Jenna a rich woman. Though he still couldn’t believe his subordinate would harm the daughter of his former commander, Nelthorpe had impressed Garrett from the beginning as an individual concerned solely with his own wellbeing. If he needed money, Garrett could easily see him deciding to “persuade” Jenna to marry him - by whatever means necessary. Rage, fanned by fear, boiled in his heart, flowed like lava through his veins. Then as he rounded the last bend, he spied a slender figure stumbling out the front door of the monastery. In an instant, he pulled up his horse, leaped from the saddle, and raced to meet her. “Jenna, thank God! Are you all right?” “Garrett!” she exclaimed, and ran into his arms. For a moment Jenna allowed herself to enjoy the blessed safety of being wrapped in Garrett’s embrace. Then, still a bit shaky, she pulled away. “H-Has order been restored in Badajoz?” Garrett gripped her arms so hard they hurt. “I don’t give a damn about Badajoz! Where is Nelthorpe? If he hurt, or even frightened you, by God I swear I’ll gut him!” He looked alarmingly ferocious - out of concern for her. Jenna swallowed hard to keep the tears at bay. “I’m fine, as you can see. And Lord Anthony has…returned to the city. I’m surprised you did not pass him on your way.” “He did bring you here, then? What did he do to you, Jenna? The truth, now!” “Nothing, really. He…merely wanted some privacy in which to persuade me to accept his offer of marriage.” “Persuade - or coerce?”

262

“Well, he did seem a bit surprised that I should not leap at the opportunity to share his kisses and my fortune. But after a bit of…maneuvering, I managed to convince him there was no possibility of my accepting his flattering offer, and he…left.” “I’ll kill the bastard,” Garrett growled. “That is just what you must not do! General Wellington would be most displeased, and besides, there is no need. Only you, he, and Sancha know we came here.” “You are sure he didn’t harm you?” Garrett persisted. “If all he wished was to beg you to consider his suit, he could have done that back at your billet.” Garrett stared at her so intently Jenna felt her cheeks heat. “He may have had…other intentions, but I assure you, they came to naught. You must remember I was raised in the midst of an army, Garrett. Father knew that not every soldier was a gentleman, and trained me to handle myself accordingly.” Garrett studied her face. “Are you inferring that I spare some concern for Lord Nelthorpe’s condition?” “Let’s just say he will be returning with a wound not received in battle. And narrowly missed returning minus that part of his anatomy a gentleman is said to cherish most highly.” Laughing, Garrett seized her in another bone-crushing hug. “Then you are more merciful than I would have been. Ah, what a woman you are, Jenna! No wonder I love you so much!” For a moment, Jenna Montague’s breath caught in her throat. “You…love me?” she gasped, sure she could not have heard Major Garrett Fairchild correctly. “I know, yesterday I spouted a great deal of nonsense about ‘respect’ and ‘esteem.’ But after Sancha told me that Nelthorpe had taken you I…I found that I’d not become such a stranger to violent emotion as I’d thought. When I realized he was threatening to marry you by force and knew I might lose you forever…the thought was beyond bearing.” To her astonishment, the major went down on one knee. “Will you forgive me, Jenna, for being too blind to see the truth before my eyes? I thought I no longer had a heart to give - and I didn’t, for by the time you gathered the pieces and made it whole again, it belonged to you. Will you marry me, and give me a chance to win yours?” Though she could still hardly believe it was true, it appeared that Brigade Major Garrett Fairchild had just proposed to her again - this time for all the right reasons. “Ah, Garrett,” she said, pulling him to his feet, “my heart is yours and always has been.” He stared at her, incredulous. “Then…why did you refuse me before?” “Because I loved you too much to marry a man who only ‘esteemed’ me.” He lifted her hands and kissed them. “Darling Jenna, I do esteem you - as much as I adore you. Now, let us get back. We have, I believe, a wedding to plan.” But as he turned to take her to her horse, it suddenly occurred to Jenna that Lord Anthony Nelthorpe’s method of cementing a betrothal might be quite enthralling - with the right man. “Garrett,” she said, halting, “do you not wish to seal our agreement with a kiss?” A slow smile lit his face and he leaned toward her. “Not here in the road,” she protested, blushing. Taking his hand, she led him back into the small stone monastery.

263

*** His heart was already pounding and his mouth dry by the time they reached the shadowed interior. “Just one chaste kiss,” Garrett promised before Jenna was once again in his arms. And so it was - at first. But he hadn’t counted on her raising her hands to clutch his shoulders, or her breathy sigh as she parted her lips. Just the thought of the touch of her tongue sent a blast of heat scorching every nerve. Before he could honor his vow and - albeit reluctantly - release her, Jenna made a mewing sound and hugged him closer. Somehow his tongue strayed into the moist cavern of her mouth and found hers. The dizzying rush of sensation as she returned that tentative stroke robbed him of the ability to move an inch, much less pull away. And then he stopped thinking altogether, completely entranced with teaching an eager Jenna a most delightful version of thrust and parry. At last, knowing his control couldn’t take much more, he broke away. “Garrett,” Jenna whispered, her kiss-reddened lips a breath away making it nearly impossible for him to keep his distance, “you do intend for us to have a full and…complete union?” He brought one hand up and kissed it. “Yes, my darling, I await but the proper interval to make it complete in every way. ” “And what is the…proper interval?” “However long it takes for you to mourn your father and be ready to move on with your life. I can wait.” “Would you be shocked if I said that interval were…three days?” It took him half a heartbeat to make the calculation. “But that would be…today? You can’t mean that you want -” “Yes. Please, Garrett.” Hauling her back into his arms, his eager mouth seeking hers, Garrett showed her he wasn’t shocked at all.

264

The Mistress's Secret by JULIA JAMES Alanna Richards leafed idly along the racks of cocktail dresses. Each carried a top designer label and was swathed in protective plastic. A wry, almost self-mocking smile hovered around her mouth. Once she had a wardrobe of such dresses. Each more beautiful than the last. Her smile took on a touch of strain. But then, it had been essential that she look as good as she possibly could. Every day. Every night. Her smile stilled. Memories, long banished, suddenly haunted her. A face —dark-eyed, desiring. Abruptly she dropped her hand and started to walk forward again across soft deep carpet. It was time to find Maggie and the boys. It had been stupid of her to indulge in such weakness, however brief. Her memories were locked tightly away. Maybe, one day, when she was an old woman, she would take them out. But until that time, so far ahead of her, it was not safe. Not safe at all. Eyes straight ahead, she started for the archway that led through to the escalator lobby of the huge, world famous London department store. It catered to the rich - the very rich — and once Alanna had been a regular customer. Now it was as much as she could bear to enter its portals again. Not that it had been her idea. Maggie had enthused over the idea of making a special visit up to town with the boys to see the store’s magically decorated Christmas toy department - “Not to buy, of course,” Alanna’s friend and fellow single mother had laughed. “Just to look. Ben and Nicky would adore it!” They had, too - delighting in the lavish display of toys and the wonderful Christmas decorations, and content merely to look. Both children were used to “only looking” when it came to toys. Neither Alanna nor Maggie had money to spare for expensive playthings. For a moment regret hovered in her mind. Had she been rash to give away Nikos's money as she had? No - she lifted her chin resolutely — it had been the right thing to do. The only thing! It had been money she’d had no right to — none at all. The little she had kept had been enough to keep her and Nicky out of state support. Next year, when Nicky started school, she would be able to work during the school day, and then her finances would ease a little. But never again — her eyes wandered sideways one last time to a mannequin wearing a glittering evening dress that didn’t even have a price displayed — would she ever wear anything like that.... Not like that female there, she thought, her gaze lighting on a chicly clad blonde wearing what was obviously a designer suit, pursing her lips thoughtfully over the evening dress. The woman was about her age, she thought, a few years under thirty, and she had that polished perfection about her that told Alanna immediately that she spent her days doing nothing but having her hair and nails done and making herself look fabulous. The way I used to spend my days.... She paused momentarily to study the woman. Yes, she thought, her lips tightening, I used to be just like that. Checking out the very best in clothes. So that I could look my very best. For Leon. Memory leaped back, seizing her throat, making her breath catch chokingly. It was this place that had done it, reminded her of that beautiful, expensive world she’d once, so briefly, inhabited. The sight of these glamorous, expensive clothes had ripped away that fragile — terrifyingly fragile — barrier that she had erected day by day...year by year...against a single man, a single name.

265

Leon Andreakos. Greek. Rich. Gorgeous. Fantastically, wonderfully, irresistibly gorgeous. All six foot two of him. From the top of his silky, sable hair to his long, lithe legs. And everything in between. The most fantastic male she’d ever set eyes on. Ever would set eyes on. Ever could set eyes on. Whom she would never see again. His face was in front of her again, tormenting her memory — that arrogant tilt of the head; the high, sculpted cheekbones; and those eyes, so dark, swept by eyelashes so thick and long that they were wasted on a man. But nothing, nothing at all, was wasted on Leon Andreakos. Not an inch of that toned, muscled flesh that she had once known so intimately... Her mouth twisted. No, she had never known Leon Andreakos. She had known his body — and he had known hers...oh, how he had known hers! — but she had never known the man. He had never permitted that. Always, always, even in the tempest of their physical union, even at the more intense moments of their shared sensuality, he had kept that distance between them, never letting her close that gap, always, always holding her just far enough away. There was a hardness now in her eyes, and behind the hardness, a pain that would never leave her. After all, what man like Leon Andreakos would ever let his mistress become emotionally close to him? Let alone fall in love with him. She shut her eyes, feeling the pain sweep over her. Pain she had pushed aside nearly five long bitter years ago because what was the use of feeling it? She could weep and agonize over loving Leon Andreakos all she liked, but he would never love her, and so what was the point of all her pain, all her wasted love? And it wasn’t just that Leon Andreakos didn’t love her. He hated her. She'd seen that hatred, seen it loud and clear and spearing from his eyes as if it were a knife to plunge deep into her heart. Hatred for what she had done to him, to his family...to his brother. Another emotion flushed through her like acid eating her from the inside. She had tried to stop that emotion, too, but it was no use; it came flooding back, rocking her with the force of it. Guilt. Guilt over Nikos, who was dead because of her. She forced her eyes open. Making the real world come back. Not the world that haunted her, the sickening memories of that terrible, deadly night when Leon Andreakos's brother had died. Her eyes rested on the first thing they saw — that chicly dressed blonde who was reaching out her hand, fingering the fabric of the evening gown while she considered whether or not it would sufficiently adorn her

266

beauty. Then, as Alanna's gaze rested on her, half-blind still, torn still between memory and reality, the woman's head turned. A smile lit her face. Of greeting, of pleasure...of satisfaction. A man was walking into the department, walking with lean, long strides up to the beautiful blonde, who was smiling at him...and he was smiling at her. Smiling at the beautiful woman who was gracing his arm in the clothes he had bought her, gracing his bed in return for those clothes... Faintness washed over Alanna. The room swam, and she felt her legs weaken, her whole body weaken. It couldn't be.... But it was. Blood drummed in her ears like a crashing tide. For the first time in over four long, endless years she was looking at Leon Andreakos again. ***** Alanna could not move. Not a muscle. She could only stand, paralyzed, while in front of her, Leon Andreakos walked up to the woman who was his current mistress. Leon Andreakos, whom she had not set eyes on for nearly five long years, whose mistress she had once been in another lifetime, another existence.... The lush surroundings of the store's eveningwear department vanished. The years vanished. She was standing, once again, behind the counter of the gift shop in the lobby of the expensive west end hotel while the most fabulous man she had ever laid eyes on walked up to her. He came up to the counter and smiled at her. And in that moment, that single moment, she felt her heart swoop like a bird plunging from the topmost branch of the tree. To abase herself at his feet in worship of his male perfection, his sensual, sexual potency. “Would you gift wrap a scarf for me?” His eyes flickered briefly to her and then moved to the flowing cascade of silk scarves that hung from a display at the end of the counter. Long fingers moved swiftly and then selected one patterned in muted grays and soft pinks. “This one, I think.” He removed it and draped it on the counter in front of her. His eyes came back to her. An eyebrow rose. “If you please?” The prompt jolted her. Jolted her out of the total daze that had overcome her as she had stared, mesmerized at this most devastating-looking man. Tall, with dark, Mediterranean looks, dressed in a charcoal business suit that hugged every line of his lean body, and eyes...oh, eyes that made her heart swoop again - this time right up to the clouds, to the sky beyond... “Yes - yes, of course, sir,” she managed in a voice suddenly far too tight, too faint. “Um...do you want to have it delivered to your room, or do you wish to wait?” How she had got out that second sentence she did not know. She didn't know anything suddenly, not a thing - only that she just wanted to stare and stare at the face of the man in front of her. It was his eyes...no, his mouth...no, everything, just everything! Everything just made her want to gaze and gaze at him. His eyes were so dark, but they had fleck of light in them, and she wanted to drown in them. His mouth was sculpted, perfect, but there was a mobility to it that made her insides weak.... “I'll wait — if you don't take too long.”

267

It was his voice! That's what it was, Alanna thought, desperate to try to make her brain work again, make it reason...when all it wanted to do was to dissolve into formless goo. His voice — deep, accented. What accent? She forced herself to think as she heard her own voice murmuring, “Of course, sir,” as she reached under the counter for the silver tissue paper. She felt her hand fumbling and dragged her eyes away. She couldn't just stand here staring at this man...she had to gift wrap the scarf. It was what he was waiting for her to do. How she managed it she did not know. The man did not move, simply stood there, immobile, his eyes resting on her bowed head as her fingers fumbled hopelessly with the task. Usually she was deft and nimble with gift wrapping; today she was hopeless. And it was because of him. And all the while he said nothing, just waited, and she could hear his impatience mounting. He glanced at his watch once, she could tell, saw from the corner of her eye the swift lift of his wrist, the faint flash of gold. Finally it was done, and she gave the last ribbon one final curl with the edge of her scissors. With relief she reached for the snipped off tag and flashed it through the bar-code reader and got on with printing out the invoice. The cost of the scarves still astounded her — she could have bought an entire outfit for the price of one of these hand-painted silken works of art. But then everything about working in this luxury gift shop in this five-star hotel still astounded her — that people really existed who could afford what the shop stocked, who could afford to stay at the hotel in the first place. This man certainly could. She had come to recognize money when it walked around the lobby, and this man was a walking gold mine. Everything about him shrieked it, from his superb tailored business suit to the tips of his Italian handmade shoes. Just as everything about him shrieked that he was the most gorgeous male she'd ever seen. And she was going to have to look at him again. She couldn't complete the transaction keeping her head bowed. With huge effort, as if she were lifting a great weight, she looked up at him. “Would you prefer to pay here, sir, or shall I charge it to your room?” As her gaze met his she felt her heart do that terrifying, enthralling swoop again, and a tiny gasp escaped her constricted throat. For a second his eyes narrowed, as if focusing on her properly for the first time, and then, in the next instant, he smiled again. That palpable aura of impatience vanished. Completely vanished. In its place his eyes washed over her. Caressing her... The swoop came again from a greater height, and she gave that little gasp again. Something changed in his eye — amusement, that was it. And it devastated her even more. “Charge it to my room,” he instructed in that deep, accented voice. “1209.” “And the name, sir?” she asked, her voice still faint. She needed a name to countercheck against the reservations computer in case of fraud. He took the payment slip she offered him and scrawled across the signature line.

268

“Andreakos. Leon Andreakos.” He picked up the gift-wrapped scarf. “Kalispera, thespinis,” he murmured in his deep, accented voice and walked out. Greek, she thought weakly. He's Greek. Greek. Rich. Gorgeous. And now, almost five years since she had first had her life turned upside down by Leon Andreakos, she was seeing him again. Alanna went on standing, paralyzed, every muscle frozen. And slowly, like in some hideous slow motion, she saw him reach the woman, saw his gaze flicker past her to head beyond the blonde toward her like some dire, deadly missile...where it came to rest. For a moment, just a brief instant, he did not recognize her. Then, as the night-dark eyes focused, they hardened. Like steel. Like the blade of a knife ripping into her exposed, defenceless flesh. She reeled. It was a like a blow to the heart - without mercy. Ignoring his current mistress, he stalked across to his former mistress, his heavy tread silent over the thick, soft carpet. The blonde glared, irritated by his distraction by another woman — and such a woman. Wearing nothing but a jersey and trousers, not in the least fashionable, bought off the rack from a budget chain store. Utterly unworthy of the perfection that was Leon Andreakos. Alanna stood there, waiting. Waiting for Leon Andreakos, who had once been all the world to her, and to whom she was now nothing, worse than nothing. He stopped dead. His eyes were glittering obsidian. Full of loathing. “What the hell are you doing here?” he snarled. ***** His voice was the same — deep and accented, but filled now with a cold anger as Leon Andreakos demanded to know the reason why his cast-off mistress from five long years ago dared to be in his presence again. He had banished Alanna from his life — from his family — from further contaminating any Andreakos at all. Alanna felt hysteria beading in her stricken throat. Dear God, did he think she had waylaid him here on purpose? A man she had never thought to set eyes on again for the rest of her life? As she stared at him, totally frozen, she saw him glance at an inconspicuous man standing some little ways away by the exit to the escalator lobby. His bodyguard. Leon Andreakos always had a bodyguard in tow. He was a wealthy man. Very wealthy. Such men were a target. A target for thieves, kidnappers — and greedy, gold-digging women. That's what Leon had thought her, Alanna knew. One more in the long line of beautiful women who used their beauty to get their greedy little fingers inside his wallet. Get him to shower his money on them.

269

Self-condemnation shadowed her eyes. Leon had been right about her in that - she'd been overwhelmed by his wealth, incredulous that he should lavish so much of it down upon her, to whom luxury had been totally unknown. After a lifetime of perpetual scrimping and saving, with barely enough for essentials, let alone anything else, she had gone wild as his mistress, she knew, lapping up the luxurious lifestyle with Leon like a kitten standing four-paw in a bowl of cream. She had revelled in the clothes he’d bought her, the gifts he’d given her, the places he’d taken her to. Revelled in the whole wonderful, magical bliss of being the woman in Leon Andreakos's life, envied by all other women — yet he had chosen her, just ordinary her, had plucked her out of the hotel gift shop and selected her for his bed. And she had gone willingly, eagerly, helplessly, the thought of turning down his wonderful, magical invitation never even a possibility. Because what woman could possibly turn down Leon Andreakos? “Well?” Leon's harsh voice cut through her self-recrimination. Like some hideous mocking replay of the very first time he'd ever spoken to her in the hotel gift shop, Alanna was unable to reply, unable to force her voice to work. But she had to speak, say something, anything. Even though her limbs felt like water and her bones like soft wax. “Nothing—“ The word mumbled from her. She swallowed and said it again, clearer this time. “Nothing.” The memory of the last time he had spoken to her assailed her. The very last words he had said to her as he had barred her from his brother Nikos's funeral. “Whore! Murdering whore!” She stumbled past him, but a hand shot out, closing over her arm like a steel band, fingers digging into her flesh. “Let me go!” For one long, devastating, soul-consuming moment she stared into his night-dark eyes. And in that one moment the present was ripped away, back, back into the past they had once had together. Torment and bliss. Agony and ecstasy. All at the same time. Oh Leon, Leon — how I loved you once! How I would have thrown myself at your feet! But you didn't want me — you didn't want me for anything except your bed. And you thought that all I wanted from you was your money.... His eyes seared into hers, and in that flash of fire she knew, with a hollowing of her insides, that it was not just his wealth that had overwhelmed her. It had been him - every inch of him, every pulse of his raw, potent sexuality that could melt her bones, pool her like honey in his arms with a single touch, a single kiss.... The memory of his very first kiss flared in her. He had come back to the gift shop the following evening.... He placed the scarf, loosely folded within the opened wrapping tissue, in front of her. “Is it faulty?” she asked anxiously. He gave a caustic smile — but not at her. “The wrong color, so I was informed.” There was a bite beneath the accent. He was annoyed; she could tell. “Would you like to exchange it?” she offered. She tried to slow the sudden rapid beating of her heart that had happened the moment he'd walked back into the gift shop. Tried to stop her eyes from just gazing

270

helplessly at him. She'd thought of him all night. Tossing and turning in the narrow bed in the poky flat in the dreary part of London that was all she could afford on her meagre wages. His face kept appearing in front of her closed eyes, and she could not banish it. Did not want to. Wanted to keep thinking about it, thinking about him — dreaming about him. Now he was here in the gift shop again, in the flesh, and her pulse was racing. Suddenly, quite abruptly, it slewed to a halt. He picked up the scarf and reached forward. With a casual gesture he draped it around her neck, his fingers lifting her hair free. She thought she would faint. Her eyes widened helplessly, her breath catching in a little gasp in her throat as she gazed at him. He smiled down at her. The annoyance was gone. In its place amusement...and speculation. “On you,” he said, the husk in his voice melting her bones, “the color is perfect.” Then, still holding the ends of the scarf, he drew her forward and lowered his head.... His kiss was bliss, his mouth moving with slow appropriation over her lips. There wasn't breath left in her body. As he let her go he went on smiling down at her. “Come and have dinner with me,” he said. And she went. Just like that. Without thought, without question. Closing up the shop and following him out into the hotel lobby as meekly as a lamb. The only thing she managed to say, half terrified that it would make him change his mind, was, “I'm not properly dressed!” He paused and glanced at her neat gray pencil skirt, her crisp white high-necked blouse. His eyes washed over her, draining even more breath from her. “You look very...demure.” The expression in his eyes changed minutely, and she felt heat flushing through her. “It has its own allure.” He nodded imperiously. “Come.” And so it had begun. He had seduced her that very night, wining and dining her in the finest restaurant, where every bite had tasted like ambrosia, then taking her back to the hotel, back up to his suite, removing her crisp white blouse, button by button, slipping her narrow skirt down over her slim hips and slender thighs. And when she had been naked, completely naked, he had taken her to bed — and paradise. A paradise that had lasted for six exquisite months before the bitter, bitter end had come. And now, nearly five long years later, a single glance from Leon Andreakos's night-dark eyes could relight the ashes of passion she had thought quenched for ever. Then the flash of fire was gone, and he thrust her from him. On legs like jelly Alanna stumbled away from him, desperate to escape. Shock was shooting through her, making her heart seize up, her every movement jerky and uncontrolled. How she got out of there she didn't know, but as she gained the escalator lobby, felt the soft carpet give way to the clack of stone beneath her winter boots, she felt as if a tank had just rolled over her. Crushing the life from her. As she stepped onto the up escalator, clutching the hand rail for support, her whole body still trembling, heart racing, chest heaving, she quite failed to notice a suited, inconspicuous figure following her out of the dress department.

271

Under clear orders from Leon Andreakos. ***** Leon Andreakos glanced at the out-of-town address printed on the memo his security agency had forwarded to him, then let the paper drop again. No, he would not follow it up. Would never again have anything to do with the woman who had destroyed his brother Nikos. Just Nikos? The question mocked at him, and he crushed it aside. No, he had not let Alanna Richards destroy him! He had felt nothing for her but desire — that was all. She had been his mistress — that was all. True, she had been different — engagingly different — from his usual female fare. It wasn't just that her natural, unforced beauty had caught his connoisseur's eye the first time he had seen her in that hotel gift shop, or that her wide-eyed gaze had reflected her immediate response to him. It was that usually his mistresses were seductive, sophisticated and very sexually experienced. Alanna had been none of these things. Oh, there had been some fumbling boy, so he had learned from her faltering lips, who had taken her virginity in a tipsy teenage congress, but all she had learned from the experience was how not to have sex. At his skilled hands she had learned the art of pleasure from a master - and had proved an apt and ardent pupil. He had enjoyed teaching her - had enjoyed taking her on that journey to the paradise of the senses, had found, indeed, that she had extended that paradise for him in ways he had never previously experienced. He had not expected that. He had seduced her simply because her predecessor had foolishly chosen to try to manipulate him, something he never tolerated in a woman, and because Alanna had been such a refreshing contrast. Memory flickered at him — how she had gazed in wonder at him, her dark hair a cloud around her lovely face, blue eyes huge, pupils dilated, body trembling whenever he touched her.... Roughly he pushed the memo away from him, and stood up. It hadn't just been him she'd gazed in wonder at, but at the things he'd bought her, too! His mouth tightened. He'd been amused at first — amused by her stunned reaction to his showering down his wealth on her. Buying her beautiful clothes, taking her to beautiful places, bestowing a luxury lifestyle on her. She had revelled in it, adored it! A hard light glinted in his dark eyes. She had become greedy. Wanted more. And hadn't been fussy how she'd got it. First she'd tried to trap him, and then, when he'd made it clear he wasn't about to hand her a lifetime's golden meal ticket, she'd made Nikos her target. Screwed up, malleable, vulnerable Nikos — and she'd got her greedy little claws into him and hadn’t let go. Not until he had married her. And then she had destroyed him. Betrayed him within weeks of their wedding — and it had killed Nikos. Killed his brother... He thrust the memo into his desk drawer and strode out of his office. Seeing Alanna again had been nothing more than chance - ill chance.

272

So what if he'd felt, like the blade of a knife, desire stab through him at the sight of her, standing there, as lovely as she ever had been, her hair a cloud around her face, her eyes as wide and as brilliant for him as they had ever been? Making every other woman he'd been with since seem cloying, boring — pointless. He would not remember it. Would not remember her. He'd worked her out of his system, and she was gone now. History. She'd taken Nikos's money and had cleared out nearly five long years ago — and good riddance to her! He would never think about her again. * * * Alanna emptied out the washing-up bowl and rinsed round the sink. Then she turned her attention to drying the dishes. Nicky was asleep in bed, tired out from an afternoon spent with his pal Ben at the municipal swimming pool. She gave a fond smile. Money might be punishingly tight, but her son was having a good childhood, for all that. She was making sure of it. Her smile wavered. Her son would grow up without a father, and although that was increasingly common these days — look at her friend Maggie, promptly abandoned by her waste-of-space boyfriend the moment she'd told him she was pregnant — it was a source of perpetual guilt for her. But what kind of father would Nikos have made, even if he'd lived? She sighed heavily. What was the point of thinking about that? Nikos was dead. And though she would feel responsible for his death to the end of her days, she must not think about the past. It was gone, over. Nikos was dead. And Leon — Leon might as well be. Certainly she was dead to him. Seeing him again like that before Christmas had been traumatic, but she'd gotten over it. She'd gotten over him the first time around. She'd had to — she'd had no choice. And this time — three months ago now, since that brief, awful encounter at the department store that had lasted just a couple of minutes, no more — she'd gotten over that, too. She'd had to. Nothing had changed. Leon Andreakos still hated her. She felt her heart squeeze the way it used to in those first nightmare months after she'd fled his bed, and went on drying up. She had Nicky. A new life with him. A blessing beyond all grace. The buzz of the doorbell made her head lift sharply. Who on earth? Not Maggie at this time of night. Ben would be asleep as well. So who? Cautiously, because although the small block of flats was in a quiet part of town, you could never be too careful these days, she walked down the narrow hallway to the front door. The buzz came again, impatient. Peremptory. She peered through the fish eye, but all she could make out was a man in a suit, face distorted. He seemed respectable, but for all that she opened the door slowly on the chain. “Alanna?” Blackness folded over her eyes. The voice — deep, accented. “Alanna, open up.” Not a request. An order. A hand, large, square, long-fingered, pressed insistently against his side of the door. Like a zombie she opened the door to him. To Leon Andreakos. She stared at him blankly. “What are you doing here?”

273

Her voice was a thread. His eyes, so dark — condemning — looked down at her. No expression. But in their depths, something she had not seen for an eternity of lonely nights. Desire. He stepped inside. She couldn't stop him. Felt her knees buckling. He saw her reaction and a smile slashed across his face. Cynical. Mocking. But it was not her he was mocking. It was himself. He looked down at her, his eyes filled with a dark fire. She stood there, completely incapable of movement. Silently, saying not a word, he slid his hand around her neck, stroking the nape softly with the tips of his fingers, his other hand drawing her against his long, lean body, his hand hard on her spine. Sensation, like a hot flood, drenched through her. “I still want you —“ said Leon Andreakos as he lowered his mouth to hers. For an instant, so brief it scarcely existed, she tried to resist. Then she gave a moan, low in her throat, and was lost. Arousal surged through Leon. Thee mou but he wanted her! Wanted the feel of her lissom body pressed against him, wanted the warmth of her mouth opened to him, wanted to knead and stroke those soft, rounded breasts... He'd tried not to want her. Tried for three months to not think about her - not to remember her. But seeing her again like that, out of the blue, had relit a flame he’d thought he'd doused five long years ago as he lowered his brother into his untimely grave. And the flame was burning now, searing through him, firing his blood. Alanna Richards had destroyed his brother, but right now he didn't care. He would have her one more time. Right now. *****

Alanna was drowning, drowning in bliss, in sensation, as Leon possessed her mouth with his. Conscious thought had gone, submerged totally in this flood of hot, hungry desire that was consuming her very soul. Oh, after so long, so long, she had Leon again in her arms, wrapping him against her, pressing against his hard, muscled body, yielding her mouth to his as he plundered its sweetness, fingers spearing into her hair. Her hips strained forward, feeling with shocked excitement his instant response to her stimulus. There were no words, none. How could there be words? she thought as her body took her over, yielding to what it so desperately longed to do — recover what had been lost so long ago.... His hand was moving to her waist, sliding between their tight-pressed bodies, seeking the zipper on her jeans. He was moving her, moving her backward — “Where?” It was all he said, hardly lifting his mouth from hers.

274

“In here.“ The words gasped from her, and she let him steer her into her darkened bedroom. It was insanity, madness. She had to stop him — she had to! She had to stop herself.... But she could not. A power greater than she could resist possessed her. Silently, without words, only with touch, he stripped the clothes from her, tumbled her down upon the bed. “I have to have you.“ The words grated from him. And in the dark, without words, only with touch — hot, hungry touch — he took her. Fire scorched through them, urging them to wild, wanton consummation. His possession was total, absolute. Her passion total, absolute. The whiteout of desire blinding them both, convulsing their bodies in one final, extreme urgency of ultimate sensation. She cried out, smothering her cry in his shoulder, nails digging into his back without volition, only with need, absolute need. He surged within her one last time, head lifting, eyes blinded, for one long, endless moment that held eternity in it. Then he lay, still and heavy, on her panting, exhausted body. Her heart pounded, and slowly, very slowly, she realized what she had done. But before she even put mental thought to the emotion that now sluiced through her like a cold draft, he had thrown himself back off her, lying staring up into the dark. She could feel his bare arm against her arm, he was still that close — but as distant as the stars. He said something in Greek that she did not understand. Then, in English this time, he said, “I'll set you up in a flat in London. I'll have to be discrete about you this time around. Even my father must not know that I've taken you back — let alone my mother.” His voice was harsh. Bile rose in her throat. Horror at what she had just let happen. Disbelief that it had happened. And beneath the horror and the disbelief her body still throbbed, uncaring of anything but itself, its own needs and demands. Hating herself, her body, she rolled jerkily to her side, swinging her legs to the ground and pushing herself upright. A hand shot out, imprisoning the hand she was using to lever herself up. “Let me go!” Her voice was low, hissing. He gave a grating laugh. “I cannot! There is no question of it. Understand that. You should never have let me see you again. I have fought this for three months — and I have lost. I will take you back, make you my mistress again!” There was a choking sound in her throat. “You're insane!” He laughed again. She turned round to look at him. In the dim light the planes of his face were etched starkly. His eyes blazed with a black light.

275

“Yes,” he acknowledged, “I am. Insane to want you like this — insane to take you back. After everything you did to me. And yet I do, God help me. I want you — greedy, treacherous, faithless — but I don't care! You destroyed my brother, and I don't care! He wasn't even cold in his grave when you ran, taking all his money with you. And I don't care!” His other hand snaked around her waist, hauling her down against him. Every muscle in his body was tensed, she could tell, and so were hers. His eyes burned into hers. “You looked so demure that first time I saw you — I had to teach you everything. So how is it, how, that you do this to me?” His hand moved, splaying down over the smooth curve of her hip, starting to caress her. This time she found the strength to pull away. For a moment, so brief, he resisted the attempt. Then, abruptly, he let her go. She got to her feet unsteadily, horribly conscious of her nakedness — his. “I want you to go,” she said in a shaky husk. “Just get out. Go!” He stood up. Totally unconcerned by his nudity, his superb body glistening in the half light. She felt her insides turn over and jolted backward with a step. His eyes glanced dismissively around the small bedroom and into the narrow hallway beyond. “You've sunk low,” said Leon, his dismissive glance coming back. “You must have blown Nikos's money in a big way to be reduced to this dump. Well, I'll bank roll you again, but —“ “Get out!” Her voice was a shriek. She groped for her clothes, finding her baggy sweatshirt and pulling it over her head. It came down to mid-thigh, concealing the essentials. As for Leon, he simply started to dress again as calmly as if nothing had happened. “You always were greedy for Andreakos money,” he said, his tone almost conversational, as Alanna stood there, heart pounding, limbs trembling and emotion bucketing through her like a hurricane. How could he be doing this to her? How? She was over him, over. But he'd walked in and without a word taken her to bed.... She started to shiver, but not with cold. Disbelief was washing through her just as his words — so cruel, so hateful — were washing over her. “You'll have an allowance but nothing more,” he was saying as he shrugged on the shirt she had all but torn off him. “I'll be generous — but don't even think of getting more out of me this time around! Tell me —” he jerked his head up and looked at her across the bed, as he calmly did up his cuffs “— just how long did it take you to spend Nikos's money? One year? Two? Or has it only just run out? Was that why you'd gone clothes shopping that day when I saw you? To tart yourself up again so you could catch another sucker at a Christmas party? Looks like you didn't get lucky....” The sneer was open, and suddenly, quite suddenly, Alanna’s shaking stopped. In its place anger, raw and vehement, burned through her. She whirled around, flicked on the bedside lamp, then yanked open a wardrobe door and tugged out a large cardboard box from the base. Thrusting her hand inside, she pulled free an envelope with a letter still inside. She hurled it at Leon. “Read it!” she snarled. “Go on, read it!” With a faint frown he picked up the envelope, pulling out the letter and opening it up. She watched his face change. His eyes snapped to hers. The letter dropped from nerveless fingers to the bed, the printed heading from the famous London's children's hospital quite visible.

276

“You gave it away. You gave Nikos's money away.” His voice was blank. She stood, chest heaving still. Then, into the absolute silence between them, another sound was heard from beyond the bedroom. “Mum-my!” Shock etched Leon's face. ***** As Nicky's plaintive cry came again, Alanna galvanized into action. She hurried from the room, intent only on reaching Nicky. Her yelling must have woken him. Panic started to engulf her. She had to get Leon out of the flat. Had to get rid of him totally. She'd been an idiot to throw that letter at him from the hospital thanking her for so magnificent a donation — but something had snapped inside her as he'd rained down such vile insults on her head. But Nicky calling out was an even worse disaster. Nicky was sitting up in bed, half distressed at being woken, still half sleepy. She sat down on the bed and cuddled him up to her, sheltering him from view. “It's all right, darling, just lie down and go to sleep again. It was just something noisy on the telly, that's all.” But Nicky was craning his neck to try to stare over her shoulder. She heard something in Greek behind her and froze. Then heavy tread across the shabby carpet. “You have a child?” She didn't let go of Nicky and kept her back to Leon. “Yes.” Her teeth were gritted, stomach hollowing with fear. “I met...someone else. My — my son is three. Just turned three.” Her voice was strained. Would Leon believe her? Nicky was squirming in her arms, defying her attempt to lay him back down again. “Who's that man?” he demanded. “Just someone visiting Mummy. Lie down, poppet.” Desperately she urged him back down on the pillow, but he struggled upright. “I'm not a poppet,” he said distinctly, “I'm Nicky. And I'm not three, Mummy. I'm four!” There was a rasp, a sharp intake of breath behind her, and then the room flooded with light. She blinked, blinded by the brightness. Footsteps, rapid, urgent, a hand on her shoulder, pulling her away from her son so that his face was visible. His face - with his dark, Andreakos eyes, his black hair, his Mediterranean skin tone. Only the shape of his face was hers.

277

“Thee mou —” Leon's voice shook. His brother's eyes looked up at him out of his nephew's face. * * * Alanna stirred the coffee in her mug round and round with the teaspoon. She wanted to drink it, was desperate for the caffeine — desperate for anything that might act upon her savaged nerves — but it was too hot. On the far side of the kitchen table, palms square on the surface, leaning menacingly toward her, Leon loomed like an unholy presence. Alanna hunched into her chair. “Give me one good reason why you hid him! One!” His voice cut at her, and the teaspoon jerked in her grip. One good reason? She could give him a dozen! “I'd have thought it was obvious,” she said tightly. She lifted her eyes, like dead weights, to Leon's. He was glaring down at her. There was anger in his face — but more, much more. She could not tell what it was. She had never seen such emotions in him before. She was used to only three emotions: amusement, enjoying her naïveté as he had at the beginning of their relationship when she'd been so impressed by him and the world he lived in; alternating with desire, when his eyes had taken on an expression she learned to know well, sending tremors through her, liquefying her. And then, at the end, anger. Nothing but anger. Anger that had slain her. It was slaying her again...but this time she had an answer. The only one she could give. “Do you think,” she said leadenly, “that it would have been good news? Knowing that I left Greece pregnant? Do you?” Something flashed in his eyes. Then it was gone. “It would have been consolation to my parents —“ She gave a harsh, ugly laugh. “Fine consolation! With me as their grandson's mother?” “They'll accept you. For their grandson's sake.” Her mouth fell open as the import of what he had just said hit her. “What do you mean — they will accept me?” His lips pressed together. “We shall be flying to Greece without delay.” Alanna stared.

278

“Are you mad?” Her voice was hollow. “Are you mad,” he echoed harshly, “to imagine I will leave my nephew here, to be raised in this dump?” “There's nothing wrong with this flat! It's clean and in a quiet part of town! It's all I could afford once I'd —“ Her voice broke off. Another emotion worked in Leon's face. He stood up. “Why did you do it, Alanna?” There was something strange about his voice. She shut her eyes, then opened them again. She looked at Leon but did not see him. Saw only the tormented face of his brother — her husband. Who had married her to save her — and himself. And doomed them both. “How could I keep it?” she answered brokenly, staring down into her coffee, unable to keep looking at Leon. A sound like a rasp came from his throat. “How? Very easily I imagine! It's what you married him for - his money!” Her fingers tightened on the teaspoon. She lifted her head. “For financial security — and I kept enough to ensure that!” His mouth tightened, and he glanced involuntarily around the little kitchen at the old fashioned appliances, which she was not able to afford to replace, and the worn vinyl flooring. She met his eyes. “I'd been poor before, Leon,” she said quietly. “It wasn't so hard to go back to being poor. And Nicky is having a good childhood — I don't have to work; I can be with him all the time. This is a decent suburb; he's having a normal life. I know it's not normal by your standards, but for most of the population this is perfectly adequate. When he goes to school I'll start working, and that will bring in more money as Nicky grows older.” “And when he asks for his father?” The question was harsh — her answer strained. “Many children now have no fathers. There's no stigma.” His brows drew together. He looked formidable suddenly, and she felt a tremor go through her. “Stigma? Why should there be a stigma in being the son of my brother — and his wife?” Her fingers clenched. “I — I meant...” Her voice trailed off. Leon's eyes rested on her like weights. “The point is irrelevant. All that is relevant is that the child needs a father — and he will have one.” Her gaze stretched, uncomprehendingly.

279

“He will have me,” said Leon. “As his stepfather I will adopt him, and he will grow up as my son. And you —” a sardonic note entered his voice “— you will attain the very goal you once longed for. You will be my wife after all!” As he spoke, every last shred of color drained from her face. The dream she had once had so long ago had just turned into a nightmare. ***** “You don't mean that — you can't.” Alanna's voice was faint. Shock was starting to take over - shock upon shock. She couldn't cope, not with what had happened in the space of less than an hour.... An hour ago her life had been normal. Now Leon Andreakos had stormed back into her life, demanding her body. And her child. She had given him the former...but could she do the latter? Leon rested dark, implacable eyes on her as she sat at the kitchen table, her coffee cooling in front of her. “But I do. I will raise my brother's son as my own.” His expression changed. “Why this show of reluctance? I am granting you what you dreamed of — I’m making you my wife.” “That dream ended a long time ago when I realized what a fool I'd been.” His mouth tightened. “A fool to think you could trap me into marriage. So that you could spend even more of my money.” His hand slashed through the air. “But enough! As my wife, as my nephew's mother, you will be treated accordingly. And at least —” his eyes filled with an expression she knew well, one that made the breath catch in her throat, her limbs quicken “— I know that in bed we shall be as good as we always were....” She got to her feet, sharply pushing her chair back. “No, I'm not marrying you. Never!” He leaned back in his chair — he seemed unconcerned. “Then you will face a custody battle that will make you wish you had never been born.” She swayed. “No court will take him from his mother!” Her voice came out high pitched with fear. His face hardened. “Do you think your past makes for edifying reading? You were my pampered mistress for six months! You lapped up everything I gave you — greedy for more. You were prepared to conceive a child purely to force me to marry you. And when I called your bluff, you eloped with my twenty-two-year-old brother to try the same trick on him. You knew full well he'd already had years of psychiatric treatment, but all you cared about was persuading him to marry you and get you pregnant. And within a month — a month — of marrying him he found you with another man! A man so depraved he drew a knife on Nikos and used it.” “He died, too,” she whispered, her voice a thread. “They died together, falling down the stairs as they struggled....”

280

Sickness was washing over her, wave after wave, as the nightmare vision returned and she witnessed again in her head that hideous, terrifying struggle at the top of the long flight of stone stairs in Nikos's house in Athens. Heard her voice, screaming, screaming... “I should never have married him....” Guilt crushed her. “That's why I gave his money away.... Nikos died because of me. I had no right to his money.” She turned away. Hands came over her shoulders, heavy, yet not hard. “Did bearing his child make you realize what you had done? Did it finally put some shred of morality into you? Some fragment of remorse?” There was that same strange note in Leon's voice as when she had shown him the letter from the children's hospital. He turned her around, lifting her chin to look at him. His face was sombre. “You cannot deprive Nikos's son of his birthright because of your guilt. He has a right to the life he would have had, had Nikos lived. And Nicky — Nicky has a right to a father, Alanna. I will be a father to him. Your guilt has made you run, hide. But it has to stop now. You must see that.” His words had drained the color from her face, the breath from her body. His dark eyed bored into hers as if he would see into the heart of her. She felt immobile, as if too much had happened too soon. Too many emotions, too much feeling — emotions that Leon couldn't, mustn't discover — draining from her all present capacity for feeling more right now. He spoke, measuring each word. “I do not offer you forgiveness; I cannot be that generous, but you should know that I understand why you sought sex with another man.” She stilled, tensing all through her body. “You do?” She dared not ask, but breathed the question at him. He nodded. The self-mocking look was back in his eye, as if he almost hated himself. “I taught you passion in my arms — you did not find it in my brother's. He was, I know...inept...with women. After what we shared you would not have found him...satisfying.” A shadow passed in her eye, and she looked away. “Do you deny it?” he demanded. He turned her face back toward him. “Then you lie — to me, to yourself.” Long fingers stroked her cheek, and she felt her heart give a crazy lurch. “Five years since I last possessed you,” he said in a low voice, “and the flame burns as strongly as ever it did. And now —” his mouth lowered, grazing over her lips, and she felt her spine dissolve “— it can keep burning. Marriage,” he breathed, as his mouth moved on hers again, “is the perfect answer. Nicky gets a father, you get the wealth you always craved and I —” he opened her mouth, deepening his kiss, folding her against his body “— I get you.” * * * “In you go!” Nicky squealed with glee as Leon settled him in beside him in the miniature train. His uncle pulled down the safety bar and put his arm around his shoulder.

281

“We're off!” he exclaimed as the ride began. Alanna stood behind the railing, watching the little train moving slowly at first, then gathering speed as it raced up the incline through the “mountain” to twist and turn and loop back round and round. Spring sunshine bathed the theme park in fresh light, the newly budded leaves on the trees and bushes telling of winter's end and the summer to come. Warm days. An end to chill and loneliness. She felt strange, unreal. Welling with an emotion that threatened to overspill, flood right through her life. Three days had passed since Leon had arrived at her door - but it might have been three months or three years. He had stayed the night, taking her back to bed, caressing away every last shred of resistance until she was melting honey in his arms. And he had slept with her afterward, holding her tight against him as if he feared she might run away in the night, taking Nicky with her.... But she had not run. Had watched, heart full, as Nicky had come into the bedroom in the morning, demanding to know why “that man” was still there. And Leon had sat up and had made Alanna sit up, too, with his arm around her shoulder and had invited Nicky - and the teddy bear he was clutching — to sit on the bed beside them because he had something to tell him. And she had watched, wide-eyed, emotions keyed up so tight that she could hardly breathe, as Leon had told him he was his father's brother, and he would like to marry his mother and take them both to Greece to meet his grandparents and stay in a house with a swimming pool.... Nicky had listened, dark eyes huge. “A swimming pool?” he had breathed, unable to believe such good fortune. Leon had nodded. “Are we going today?” Nicky had asked, eager to be off on such an amazing adventure. “Today we are going to London. I am going to buy a ring for your mother, so we can be married soon, and get a passport for you, so you can come to Greece.” He had turned to Alanna. “I take it he needs a passport? Alanna?” His voice had changed. She had been sitting there against the pillows, staring at them, emotion working in her eyes. He had touched her cheek. “It will be all right,” he had murmured. The softness in his voice had nearly undone her. Then Nicky had recalled his attention. “Are you going to eat breakfast with us?” he had asked. “I eat toast for breakfast. Made with brown bread,” he’d added virtuously. Leon had grinned at him. “You will grow up strong and healthy!” Nicky had grinned back, well pleased with such a notion. Now Alanna watched the pair of them twist and turn on the ride, Nicky shouting with laughter and Leon, too.

282

Something clutched at her heart. I have to do this, she thought. I did not ask for it. It came to me, unasked. I will suffer - but it does not matter. Only Nicky matters. The bond between Nicky and Leon had been instant. Instinctive. There had been no shyness, no reticence. Nicky had simply enfolded Leon into his life — and let Leon enfold him into his. As she watched them bonding so instantly, her heart had crushed and had known a rightness, a relief that told her there could be no other way. Nicky needed Leon — deserved him. And she knew, with a kind of overwhelming inevitability, that there was one more secret she would have to tell him. Whatever it cost her. She prayed for strength. Strength to endure the love she still felt for Leon Andreakos, would feel till the end of her days — a man who did not love her. Who never had. Who never could. But who must love Nicky.... ***** Alanna stared at the pearls in their velvet case as she sat in the wide leather seat of the executive jet winging toward Athens. “Let me put them on you.” There was a husk in Leon's voice. “No - no, there's no need. They're exquisite, I can see.” Her voice was strained. “What's wrong, Alanna? You used to love my giving you jewelry.” The husk had gone. There was only sharpness now. And questioning. She lifted her head to look at him. “Perhaps I've outgrown my greed at last,” she answered. He stilled. “And perhaps,” he answered back slowly, “you were never as greedy as I thought you. Perhaps I never realized how deprived a life you'd led. Never realized —” his expression changed “— how unreal my wealth was to you.” “I was like a kid in a candy store,” she said, and her eyes slipped away from him, looking out over the cloudscape, remembering, “being handed the most fabulous sweets in the shop by Prince Charming himself. I didn't — I didn't mean to be greedy...but I was. I took everything you gave me and revelled in it.” She swallowed, a hard knot in her throat, and looked back at him, straight in the eye. “But I won't be greedy any more. So please...please don't give me jewels. I'm only your wife for Nicky's sake; I know that. I...won't — won't...presume, Leon. I learned that lesson a long time ago.” She felt her emotions swell and stood up. “I — I just want to check on Nicky. Make sure he's all right.”

283

She hurried off to the sleeping cabin at the rear of the plane where an exhausted Nicky slept after the excitement of his mother's wedding to his wonderful new Uncle Leon. Alanna's throat tightened. I've got to tell Leon, she thought. I've got to tell him about Nicky. The truth... As soon as the ordeal of meeting Leon's parents is over... * * * Leon stared after her. He felt his heart scrape. He had married for Nicky's sake, but not just for him, he knew. Alanna — so soft in his arms, glowing with passion. Hungry for him. Starving... It was like it had been at the beginning, but it was more. She felt remorse, he knew — had given away Nikos's money, raising Nicky on a pittance. She'd had the guts, the courage to do that.... And even now, as his bride, she only wanted him to spend his money on Nicky. His heart squeezed. Nicky - the child of his heart, even if not of his loins. He was drawn to him by a love that had been instant, all consuming. And Alanna came with him, the little boy he loved already.... Alanna... His heart squeezed again. I will make this marriage work! Thee mou but I will do so! * * * As tense as a board, holding Nicky's hand, Alanna stood as Leon's parents hurried toward them across the huge, ornate drawing room of the Andreakos mansion in Athens. What if they rejected Nicky for being her son? The woman they blamed for Nikos's death. There was a volley of excited Greek, and then Leon's father scooped up Nicky, hugging him close. In wonder, Alanna saw tears on his cheeks. And then his wife was there, kissing Nicky, calling herself his Ya-ya who loved him already and forever. Champagne was uncorked, fizzing lemonade for Nicky, more Greek, more exclamations, and then, suddenly, switching to English, Leon's mother turned to her. “Oh, my dear, how you have suffered for our sakes! But now we beg your forgiveness for the wrong we did you when Nikos died.” The room went completely and utterly silent. Then, into the silence, Leon's father spoke. “Nicky, come and see the swimming pool.“ Happily, Nicky put his hand into his grandfather's and was led away. Leon's mother paused. Her eyes were huge.

284

She touched Alanna's wrist. Her voice full of emotion. “We never knew the truth about my poor Nikos...till recently. The son of a friend let it slip. And when we knew the truth, we understood. Understood why he died. That it was not your fault! But Leon, Leon does not know. You must tell him, my child, so that he may have the happiness that he, too, deserves — as you deserve yours.” She kissed Alanna and followed her husband and her grandson from the room. As the door clicked behind her, Leon spoke. “Tell me what? What do I not know about Nikos?” She moved away from him. Shock was still buckling through her. “Tell me!” The urgency in Leon's voice demanded an answer. She swallowed. His parents wanted her to tell him. Tell him the secret she had promised Nikos she would keep for ever — as she had. Until now. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Nikos was gay,” she said. “And terrified of it, of discovery. That's why he had so much psychiatric treatment. He married me to hide it. On — on the night that he died, the man who came to the house was not my lover. He was Nikos's. He came in a jealous rage, demented that Nikos had married. After — after they had both died in each other's arms, I could not add to your parents' grief, to yours, by telling what I had promised Nikos never to tell....” “So you let us think the man was your lover and took the blame for Nikos's death.” Leon's voice fell like a tolling bell. “It was all that I could do. I felt so guilty....” “Guilty! What cause was there for you to feel guilty?” She shut her eyes, then opened them. “Because I knew I should never have married him, despite his pleas. He begged me — that morning, when he came to your apartment, and discovered...” She broke off. “Discovered what?” Leon's eyes burned into hers. “Discovered I was leaving you.” He stared. “Leaving me? You left me to marry Nikos!” Slowly she shook her head.

285

“No. I was leaving you anyway.” She looked him in the eye and told him her heart's secret, hidden for so long. “I — I'd fallen in love with you, Leon. I dreamed, like an idiot, of being your wife one day. But you only wanted me to be your mistress. I...couldn't bear it. I'm sorry.” There was silence all around them. In a grating voice, Leon spoke. “Why not tell me you loved me?” Alanna gave a bitter, hollow laugh. “You’d just told me not to think of getting pregnant to extract a wedding ring from you. I didn’t think you’d be interested in hearing that I was in love with you.” “I thought you married Nikos for his money, but when you inherited it you gave it away. So that was not the reason, was it?” Now. Tell him now! The final secret! She took a breath. Then, his expression as tormented as if the devils of hell were taunting him, he spoke. “If Nikos was gay, how did you conceive Nicky?” His eyes were bleak, but understanding began to dawn in them. “You were already pregnant — by me. And you dared not tell me because I'd warned you not to get pregnant! So you married my brother to be the father to Nicky you thought I would not be.” His face was broken, ravaged. Pain clutched at Alanna. She ran to him, catching his hands. “I should have told you — trusted you to be a father to Nicky, even if you never married me, never loved me! And you had every reason to think me greedy, mercenary, wanting your money.” “You've proved to me you are not in love with money. Giving Nikos's wealth away and living in poverty,” he ground out. “My distrust of you drove you away. I lost both you and my son.” His bitter self-accusation lacerated her. She swallowed. “Seeing you with Nicky shows me how wrong I was to keep him from you. You love him dearly already! As for me —” she took a breath “— I will be as good a wife to you as I can, and not...bother you with my feelings.” He stared at her. “Are you telling me,” he said in a slow, disbelieving voice, “that you are still in love with me...after all I did to you?” She gave a painful smile. “Love isn't something you turn on or off. It's just...there. But I won't annoy you with it, I promise you.” Something changed in his eyes. For the first time since his mother had dropped her bombshell, Alanna saw them lighten. More than lighten. Gleam. His hold on her hands loosened, and he brought each hand up to his lips and kissed them. The tension in his shoulders eased.

286

“You may...annoy me with your love any time you want, Alanna mou. For it is a gift to me I do not deserve and can only wonder at.” Something moved in his face, an expression that suddenly made Alanna's heart skip a beat. Then, drawing her hands against his heart, he lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss was light and sweet and healing. As he drew back, he spoke. “When I thought it was my money you loved, not me, I was hurt, angry. It made me lash out when you married Nikos, and when he died I turned my feelings for you into hatred — but they were never that. Never that. And now...” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Now you have given me a second chance and two most precious, precious gifts. My son and your heart. And I will treasure them both all my days for as long as I live, my sweet, beloved wife, my own one. My dearest love.” Tears welled in her eyes, and her heart swelled with wonder and joy. He kissed away her tears, cradling her against him for long moments. Then, setting her back, he took her hand. “Let us find our son — and our new life together.” She went with him, her hand, trustingly, in his, radiant with joy.

287

House of Secrets by Marta Perry Big city attorney Catherine Morley has been summoned to a remote Georgia sea island as executor of the will of her quirky late great-aunt Henny. She hopes to speed through the job and return to her high-pressure life, but she soon learns nothing moves quickly on the island — except for the storms and the alligators. Nature isn't the only danger at the lonely old beach house. Does the threat come from the various relatives who hope they're named in the will? Or from enigmatic islander Nathan Corwin, who may know more than he's saying about the secrets of the house called Morley's End?

Chapter One Catherine Morley stared in frustration at the black wrought-iron gates of the property known as Morley's End. Frustration had been the key word of this entire trip. Her flight from Boston had been delayed, the car rental people at the Savannah had been extremely polite but also extremely slow, she'd gotten lost twice finding St. James Island, and now the caretaker, promised by her late great-aunt's attorney, wasn't here to let her in. She reached in the car window to hit the horn. Its blare sent birds fluttering from the branches of the live oak that overhung the gate, making the Spanish moss sway as if it were alive. The lush, secretive maritime forest had frightened her on her one previous visit as a confused eight-year-old, sent away to a great-aunt while her parents tried futilely to patch their broken marriage. She wouldn't allow it to frighten her now. Still, Catherine couldn't help glancing over her shoulder. She'd turned off the main road, where the new vacation houses of the wealthy had changed this end of the island beyond all recognition with their manicured grounds that tamed the teeming low-country growth. And then there was Aunt Henny's place — thirty acres of prime building land and beachfront, enclosed by an uncompromising metal fence. The stone pineapples on the posts at either end of the gate were hidden by rough wooden boxes, painted with a stark message. Keep Out! Typical Aunt Henny. If Catherine were safely back in Boston dealing with the multiple responsibilities of being a junior partner in her father's law firm, she'd find it amusing. Since she was here, executor of Aunt Henny's estate and unable even to get inside, it wasn't funny. But there, finally, was the caretaker, ambling toward the gate as if he had all the time in the world at his disposal. She resisted the impulse to blast the horn in his ears and contented herself with a glare that would have dented an alligator's hide. It didn't seem to have any noticeable effect on him. Six feet of solid muscle, marred by a faint limp, thick black hair countered by a pair of the bluest eyes she'd ever seen, a lazy smile that seemed to find amusement in the sight of her standing hot and fuming in front of the closed gate — this didn't look like any handyman she'd ever seen. "I expected you to be here to open the gates when I arrived." She matched him stare for stare. "My aunt's attorney assured me I wouldn't have any trouble getting in." "Relax, sugar. Henny always said you'd hurry yourself into a heart attack if you didn't learn to slow down." He pressed a hidden button and the gates slid smoothly back. She bit back a retort about his use of her aunt's first name. Henny had been the eccentric one of her father's family, causing her Boston relatives endless embarrassment over her antics. It would be like her to be on a first-name basis with the help. "Thank you," she said shortly. "Has Mr. Adams arrived yet?" Why had the attorney insisted on meeting her here rather than at his office in Savannah? Surely that would have been easier for him, and then she could have visited the house alone and said goodbye to her aunt in her own way. He nodded, so she yanked the car door open and got in. Before she could turn the ignition, the caretaker had reached the passenger's side and slid in next to her. He gave her a bland smile that didn't quite mask

288

the impression that he knew something about this situation she didn't. "Might as well ride back as walk," he drawled. "I don't reckon you mind, do you, Miz Catherine?" Up close she could see the scars, white against the tanned skin, running down his right leg from khaki shorts to battered sneakers. She looked away, but not before she caught the tightened lips that said he'd caught her staring. "That's fine. But the gates —" He held up the remote in his hand. "Got it covered, sugar." "Don't call me that," she snapped, and something about the words seemed oddly familiar, as if they'd had this exchange before. She drove through, the gate closing smoothly behind him. Closing them in. The tangle of dark pines, gnarled live oaks, dangling moss and dense undergrowth crowded the car, and the lush, fecund smell of the salt marsh stirred memories — of herself, too high on the wide branch of an oak, of a boy's laughter as he teased her to get down. She stopped the car and frowned at him. "Who are you?" "Just call me Nathan, ma'am." He accentuated the drawl to the slow trickle of molasses. "Nathan Corwin." She said the name slowly. One of her aunt's eccentricities had been to keep her own name through two marriages. The fact that both husbands had been wealthy had alleviated the embarrassment slightly in her family's view. Daniel Corwin had been her second husband, coming into the marriage with a son. Nathan. "Why are you pretending to be a handyman? Just out of a need to embarrass me? As I recall, that was one of your many talents." She'd been eight, so he must have been ten — an age to resent having an unknown little girl foisted on him as a relative-by-marriage he had to entertain. He'd coped by tormenting her with typical little-boy tricks. His dark brows lifted. "Looks like little Cathy has developed a sharp tongue. Guess that goes along with being a Boston lawyer." He shook his head. "Disappointed Henny, that did. Figured it meant you were turning out just like your father." "That's none of your business, even if you are my —" She stopped, unable for a moment to put a name to their relationship. "Step-uncle, maybe?" he drawled. Yes, definitely laughing at her. "We aren't related at all, so drop it. You still haven't told me why you're pretending to be Aunt Henny's handyman. The last I heard, you were working in Atlanta." And that had been ages ago. Obviously something had changed in Nathan's life. "I happen to be a very good handyman. And, to use your elegant words, anything else is none of your business." The undertone of bitterness in his voice silenced any retort. "Fine." She reached for the gearshift. His hand closed over hers, sending an unexpected jolt of warmth up her arm. "Wait a second." He took his hand away slowly, the movement almost a caress. "There's something you have to know before you go up to the house and face Henny's lawyer and her other relatives-by-marriage." She glanced at him, and the intensity in those deep blue eyes had her suddenly breathless. "What?" "Your aunt's will has disappeared. And I don't buy the idea that her death was natural."

289

Chapter Two Catherine's head was throbbing in time with the babble of voices that had followed the announcement by her aunt's attorney. The will had, indeed, disappeared. Bradley Adams, the lawyer, sat behind the massive mahogany desk in the room Aunt Henny had called her workroom. It had certainly never been a formal parlor. The desk surface still held stacks of books, papers, magazines, a basket of yarn and knitting needles, and a half-finished piece of needlework. Across the room, the latest flat-panel television was flanked by a dartboard and an easel, and the walls held everything from faded prints to garish posters. Aunt Henny might have been eighty-two and in poor health from diabetes, but she'd never lost her interest in everything and everyone. Catherine cleared her throat. "Surely you have a copy of my great-aunt's will." Adams's shock of white hair, bushy white brows and drooping moustache hid his expression to some extent. "Your aunt was a very strong-willed woman. She wished to have the only copy. I've looked in all the obvious places, but I haven't found it." The rambling old beach house had a dozen or more rooms, attics, walk-in closets with hidden panels and a widow's walk that gave a view of the ocean. It had been Nathan's father's house, she remembered, brought by him into the marriage and renamed Morley's End in honor of Aunt Henny. Now his son claimed to be the handyman. She looked for Nathan and found him across the room, leaning against the fireplace with his arms crossed over his chest. Their gazes locked. Clashed, and again she felt that odd sensation of warmth, as if they were connected. "Still, you must know what was in it." Flora Judson leaned on the desk, hands planted. "You can tell us. We're all family." Not exactly, Catherine thought. Flora was the niece of Henny's first husband, a stout, motherly woman who'd been a nurse and had done her best to take care of Aunt Henny, she said, during her final illness. Unfortunately, Flora's motherly instincts seemed wasted on her only child, Bobby Jon, a surly, tattooed teenager. "Mr. Adams can't tell us. It wouldn't be ethical." The third member of the trio spoke up with an apologetic smile. Clayton Henderson was Bobby Jon's cousin, but probably neither of them took any pleasure in that. Clayton's lightweight suit was immaculate in spite of the humidity of the May afternoon, and the stylish cut of his blond hair and finely groomed hands made him look as if he'd just stepped from an expensive salon. "I may just be an accountant, not an attorney like Cousin Catherine, but I know that." So she was Cousin Catherine now. Everyone seemed to be eager to get along with her, probably because as executor of the estate, they assumed she wielded some power. Everyone except Nathan, she amended. He wasn't any more conciliatory now than he had been at ten. And as for that outrageous claim of his — Still, he'd been right about one thing. The will was missing, and whatever hope she'd had of winding things up quickly had vanished along with it. "It not only wouldn't be ethical," Adams said. "It would be fruitless. According to witnesses I've spoken with, the will Henrietta made in my office wasn't her last. She made and signed another will just a month ago. If we find it, it is the valid will." Flora turned an alarming shade of purple, but before she could speak, Bobby Jon slouched toward the door. "I'm outta here, Ma. I'll wait in the car." Adams stood. "I believe it's time we all left. Catherine must be tired from her trip, and until she finds the will — one of the wills — we can do nothing."

290

His words only increased her headache, but at least the others began moving toward the door. She needed a bit of peace and quiet to consider what she had to do. Call her father, that much was obvious, and tell him her absence would be extended. Flora paused next to her, looking as if she'd hug her but only patting her arm. "I left some food in the refrigerator, and if you need anything, you call me." She tilted her head closer to Catherine's. "You want to be careful, with that Nathan staying so close in the caretaker's cottage. Maybe I should stay here with you." "No. Thank you," she added. That was the last thing she wanted. "I'll be fine." Flora shook her head, graying locks bobbing. "Just lock your doors." She darted a glance at Nathan. "That boy can't be trusted. Your aunt knew that — they fought somethin' fierce. And she made him stay out in the cottage, not in the house." Saying she could take care of herself wouldn't allay Flora's fears, but Catherine wasn't afraid of Nathan. He was annoying, not dangerous. Finally they were all out. All except Nathan, that is. He left his guarded position by the fireplace and approached her. "I saw dear Flora getting in her two cents worth. I trust she warned you against me. Would you like me to put an extra chain on the door?" "That won't be necessary." She hesitated and then made up her mind. "Look, I know you've never liked me, and there's no reason to start now. But I'd like you to level with me. Why did you say you think there's something wrong about Aunt Henny's death?" He frowned, dark brows drawing down over those very blue eyes. His stubble of beard was dark against his tanned skin. "This." He gestured. "All this mix-up with the wills. I know it doesn't look like it, but Henny was very organized about business. She wouldn't have left things in a mess for you to clear up." "She may have thought she had time to get things in order." Sorrow tightened her throat. She would like to have said goodbye. She would like to have done a lot of things differently. "Maybe she didn't realize how sick she was." "Maybe." But his tone said he doubted it. "Listen —" He touched her wrist, and then released it as if it were hot. "Lock your doors tonight. Put the chain on." It was the same advice Flora had given, but she'd been talking about him. Nathan slouched toward the door, the limp a little more pronounced. "What did you and Aunt Henny quarrel about?" she asked impulsively. "None of your business." His smile took the sting out. "And you were wrong about one thing, Cathy." She blinked at the effect of that smile. "What?" "When you said I never liked you. I did. I still do." He went out, closing the door.

Chapter Three Catherine leaned her elbows on the windowsill of the room she'd occupied as a child and looked out at the sultry southern night. After she'd eaten Flora's sandwiches and had a glass of too-sweet tea, she'd started searching the workroom. She'd gotten through one set of shelves before the exasperating call from her father. How did he expect her to have prevented Aunt Henny's shenanigans with the two wills?

291

The glow through the trees had to be Nathan's cottage. She thought again how odd it was that he lived in the handyman's cottage of the estate that had been his father's. Unfair, but surely Aunt Henny had a good reason for that. She'd never been unkind. Beyond the pale strip of beach, the dark sea moved restlessly. A vague memory of Nathan and a tidal pool teased her mind. She slid into bed, reaching for Aunt Henny's Bible. She'd brought it from Henny's bedside table. Struggling to keep her eyes open, she slid back against the pillows. The Bible slid from her hands. A sharp noise roused her from a foggy, frightening dream in which she struggled desperately toward someone — or was it away from someone? She couldn't seem to remember. Then she heard the sound again and realized it was the doorbell. She tried to focus on the clock. Three in the morning, and the doorbell pealed. Something wrong. She stumbled out of bed, dragging her flannel robe around her. She couldn't find her slippers, so she fumbled her way barefoot to the door. Out the door into the dark hall she went, feeling as if she waded through waist-deep water. The doorbell pealed again. "Coming," she muttered, and grabbed the stair railing, feet slipping from hardwood floor in the upper hall to carpeted stairs. Start down, hurry, bell ringing — something bit into her leg, stinging. She was moving too fast, her body lurched forward, hands grabbing for something, anything to grab on to. She couldn't catch herself. She was falling, ricocheting down the stairs —

*** Nathan ran toward the house, the flashlight swinging in his hand, grimacing at the stab of pain from each step. Good thing he'd opened the windows tonight; good thing he was a light sleeper, or he might not have heard that persistent ringing of the doorbell. Something was wrong. Catherine — he felt a little stab of fear. If something happened to Catherine, was it because of what he'd told her or in spite of it? He stormed up the steps to the door. Whoever had been ringing the doorbell was gone, maybe alarmed at the sight of his approaching light. He pounded on the door with the heavy flashlight. "Catherine! Cathy, it's Nathan. Open up." Nothing, and the instinct that drove him told him that wasn't good. He fumbled for the key ring he'd shoved into his pocket, found the door key, hands stiff and awkward as he shoved it into the lock, turned it, pushed the door — It opened three inches and stopped. She'd put the chain on, of course. He'd told her to. He maneuvered the flashlight through the opening, scanning the hall. The beam hit a stream of pale hair, a white face, a splash of blood on the forehead. Cathy sprawled at the bottom of the stairs, headfirst, limp and still. "Cathy —" The other doors would be locked, too. He'd seen to that. Without letting himself think too much, he drew back and flung himself at the door. A creak of dry wood, a snap, and he was in, stumbling and nearly falling as his bad leg took the full agonizing weight of his forward lunge. He sucked in the pain and dropped to the floor next to Catherine, his fingers feeling her neck for a pulse. She was breathing, thank heaven, and her pulse seemed steady under his fingers. He straightened her legs, then her arms, checking for damage, finding nothing except the cut on her forehead, and that didn't look deep enough for stitches. It couldn't be good that she was unconscious. His stomach twisted at her pallor. He'd have to call the St. James Clinic and hope someone was on duty at this hour. The only alternative was across the bridge to

292

Savannah, and that would take too long. He yanked the cell phone from the pocket of his shorts, but before he could dial, she moaned. Dropping the phone, he patted her cheek. "Cathy, can you hear me? Open your eyes. It's Nathan. Look at me." As if responding to his voice, her eyelids flickered. Her hand moved, groping for something, and he caught it in his, holding it firmly. "Come on, Cathy. Open your eyes. I promise not to chase you up any more trees." As an attempt at humor it wasn't great, but she responded, moving a little, groaning and putting her hand to her head. "What happened?" The words came out in a slur. She opened her eyes slowly, and if the lids weighed a ton. Shock stabbed through him. Her pupils were dark, dilated and unfocused. He grabbed her shoulders. "What did you take? Tell me, Catherine. What did you take?" She shook her head and winced. "What do you mean?" "I mean your pupils are dilated and you're clearly out of it. What did you take? Sleeping pills? Tranquilizers? What?" He couldn't keep the fury from his voice. He'd feel that way at discovering that anyone he knew was doping. It wasn't because it was Catherine, with her cool eyes, her sharp mind and that vulnerable curve to her lips. Her eyes shot open. Normally a clear green that reminded him of mountain springs, they were blurred, but full of indignation. "Are you crazy? I don't take things like that." He shook her lightly. "Be honest with me. If I have to take you to a doctor, I want to know what to tell him or her." She slapped his hands away, and that return to her usual attitude heartened him. "I am telling you the truth." She enunciated the words carefully. "After you left, I searched for awhile, and then I had the sandwiches and tea Flora had left and went to bed. I didn't take so much as a vitamin pill." The truth sank in then. It was better than thinking she'd taken the stuff herself, but not much. "Wake up, Cathy, and think. You need to be alert, because if you didn't take something yourself, then somebody — somebody with access to this house — drugged you tonight."

Chapter Four "No more, please." Catherine tried to push away the coffeepot. Nathan filled her mug anyway and then sank down into the kitchen chair opposite her. He'd finally let her stop walking, as much for his sake as hers, since his leg wouldn't hold him up any longer. But he wanted to be sure that dazed gaze was completely gone. His stomach still churned at the thought of how she'd looked when she'd first opened her eyes. "Are you coherent enough to talk yet?" He leaned across the table for a closer look at her face. Innocent of makeup, with her blond hair falling to her shoulders instead of fastened back in that sophisticated twist she'd worn when she arrived, she looked more like the little girl he remembered, but with the allure of the grown woman she was now. "I'm fine." The glare was convincing enough. "Talk away. This conspiracy theory is yours, not mine." He slapped his palm down on the table. "Facts, not theory. Someone drugged you tonight, probably in the food Flora left, since you say you didn't have anything else."

293

"I don't just say it. It's true." The chill in her voice would cool down a gallon of sweet tea. "Then someone else did it. And tied a nice strong cord across the stairs. And rang the doorbell, to make sure you'd come stumbling down them, too dazed to save yourself." He could tell she didn't like admitting it, but she was too much of a lawyer not to recognize the truth when it stared her in the face. "All right," she snapped. "Who?" He lifted an eyebrow. "Do you have any enemies who are likely to have followed you to St. James?" "That's ridiculous. I'm a corporate attorney, not a prosecutor who makes enemies." "Personal? Jealous ex-boyfriend?" Her eyes flickered a little at that. "No boyfriend, period." "That sounds a little lonely." That sounded a lot lonely, but he was no better. She shrugged. "Just take my word for it, okay? If this isn't a figment of our imagination, it has something to do with Aunt Henny. She's my only connection to this place." "All right. The people potentially involved with Henny's will are the ones who were here today. Adams, the lawyer. Flora and her disgusting offspring. Pretty-boy Clayton." "Not very fond of them, are you?" Her gaze was steady and assessing. "Not especially. Flora did her best to carry every bit of gossip about me she could find to Henny. Bobby Jon will pick up anything that's not chained down. And Clayton — well, Clayton and I have never had much use for each other." "Aren't you forgetting someone?" "You mean Adams? He's honest enough, just maybe getting a bit past his prime." "No." She looked at him. "I mean you." Funny, that her doubt could hurt that much. Natural enough, he supposed. He wasn't anything to her but the vague memory of an oaf who'd teased her as a child. He shrugged. "Well, putting motive aside, I suppose I could have had access to the food Flora left. I knew about it — Flora announced her good deed to everyone. I could have tied the cord, rung the bell, then broken in to rescue you. But why would I?" "Why would anyone?" She ran her fingers through her hair, wincing a little when they brushed the bandage he'd applied to the cut. "What does anyone have to gain? My only function here is to carry out Aunt Henny's wishes as expressed in her will. If I don't do it, the probate court will simply appoint another executor." "That's assuming you find the will. Either will." She frowned. "That business with the second will is odd. Adams told me that the witness who came forward is a nurse at the clinic, very reputable. She doesn't know what was in the will, but Aunt Henny asked her and the gardener to witness it one day when she was doing a home visit." "A month ago." He tried to remember what had been going on at that time. "Henny had had a couple of bad episodes. Flora was always coming in and fixing the most unappetizing food imaginable and lecturing her if she didn't eat it."

294

"I suppose that just made Aunt Henny all the more determined to eat what she wanted." Something about sitting there alone with her in the quiet kitchen, the sun brightening the sky, made him ask the question he'd never intended to ask. "Why didn't you come? You were the only blood kin she cared a thing about, and you never came to see her." She jerked back as if he'd hit her, cheeks paling. "Because I didn't know how ill she was. I saw her in Boston at Christmas and she seemed fine then. Complaining about the cold and saying I'd have to come to St. James for Christmas next time, but feeling well for her age." Did he believe her? He wanted to, but — "She wanted you to come, that last month. Talked about it a lot. I thought she'd asked you to come." "And you suppose I'd ignore a request like that and then lie about it? How flattering. You don't know me in the least." She sat there in an old flannel robe with her hair around her shoulders, but her eyes flashed as if she argued a case in front of a judge. "Maybe I don't. But maybe you really are your father's daughter." Her chin came up at that. "I suppose you know what you're talking about. I don't. But there's something you're ignoring." "What's that?" It might be safer to quarrel with her than to imagine he felt something. "According to you, you were as close to her as anyone. If you knew she was sick, knew she wanted me, why didn't you send for me yourself?"

Chapter Five She didn't feel too bad, considering the number of bruises under her slacks and long-sleeved shirt. Cathy went cautiously down the stairs. The wonder was that she hadn't broken her neck, falling that far. She hadn't seen Nathan since he'd stormed out of the house after their quarrel. She supposed it was a quarrel, when two people were determined to think the worst of each other. She paused at the bottom of the steps, listening. Was someone in the dining room? That sounded like a drawer closing. She went quickly across the hallway. Bobby Jon turned from the china closet, hand on the drawer that probably held the silver flatware. "What are you doing?" she snapped. He slouched toward her. "Nothing. What's it to you?" "As the executor, I'm responsible for the contents of the house. If you took anything out of that drawer, put it back." "Or what?" He came close — so close that she was aware of his wiry strength and the sense of wildness that emanated from him. "You want to search me?" She stiffened, but before she could reply, Flora bustled into the room, a dust cloth in her hand. "Catherine, there you are. Bobby Jon and I came over to help you look for those wills." She sniffed. "Not that I believe there ever was a second one." "That's very nice of you." And do you believe you're mentioned in one of the wills, Flora? "But I'm afraid that wouldn't be proper. As executor, that's my job." "But we're family. You can trust us." Flora looked ready to take offense.

295

"Of course, but it's not a question of that. Mr. Adams was very specific about it." She ushered them toward the door. "I appreciate the offer, though." Flora paused on the threshold. "Guess you've got to do what Adams says. But don't you go letting Nathan into the house, either." She glanced toward the cottage. "He takes drugs, you know. I saw the evidence with my own eyes. Your great-aunt knew, too." She wouldn't let her expression change. "Thank you, Flora. I'll see you later, I'm sure." She waited until they'd climbed into a rusty pickup and driven away. Then she headed for the cottage, fueled by determination. It was past time for Nathan to level with her. She skirted the drainage ditch that ran along the path, catching her breath when a small alligator slid into the water at her approach. The low country can be a dangerous place. She could almost hear Aunt Henny's voice. Dangerous, but beautiful. Aunt Henny had known every inch of this land, and every creature that lived on it. She'd taught Cathy to respect it. A shiver went down her spine. It wasn't the gators she feared. The cottage door stood ajar so she walked in, rapping as she did. "Nathan?" She stopped. Exercise equipment crowded the space. Nathan, on a leg-press machine, grimaced as he pushed and then released. "Don't you believe in knocking?" "I just had a visit from Flora and son. You were right about him. I think he was trying to get at the silver service." He grunted, getting up and mopping his face with a towel. "That place needs a guard dog. I suppose Flora offered to help look for the will." "She did." She could see the pain in his face when he moved, and her heart clutched. He'd probably reinjured himself getting to her last night. "She said something else." Just say it, Cathy. "She said you were into drugs, and Aunt Henny knew." He tossed the towel away, face averted. "Believe what you want." Pain etched the words and echoed in her heart. She walked to him deliberately and touched his arm. "I believe you're an honest man. Aunt Henny trusted you, or you wouldn't be living here. So tell me. Please." For a moment it hung in the balance. He looked into her face, and apparently whatever he saw there satisfied him, because he nodded. "Henny and I had our ups and downs. I always thought she was too bossy. You're a lot like her, you know?" "I'll take that as a compliment." His smile flickered. "She wanted me to become a naturalist, because I loved the island and its creatures like she did. But that was too tame for me, so I became a cop. We fought about it." She wouldn't let herself look down at his leg. "You got hurt on the job." He nodded. "A drug dealer smashed me against a brick wall with an SUV, leading to more operations than I want to remember. The irony is, I became dependent on the pain meds." He took a breath. "Not anymore. Thanks to Henny, I made it. She set this up for me." He gestured toward the equipment. "Bullied me through the bad times. Gave me my life back and never asked a thing in return."

296

Tears stung her eyes. "Yes. She always thought she knew what was best for you, and most times she was right." "Any particular thing she was right about for you?" He was so close the question seemed to brush her skin. She didn't step away. "When she came at Christmas. I'd been dating someone. She sized him up in a minute and a half and told me he was a stuffed shirt and a pretentious snob. Which he was." Nathan chuckled deep in his throat. "I trust he's out of the picture now." He touched her cheek, skimming his fingers back into her hair. "Because I intend to kiss you, and I wouldn't want to —" She turned her head slightly, and their lips met, cutting off his words. The room seemed to fade as she let her eyes close and leaned into the kiss. She felt as if she'd come home at last.

Chapter Six "Did you know Henny kept all the pictures you sent her?" Nathan held up a drawing he'd just unearthed from the workroom cabinet, smiling at Cathy's expression when she saw the stick figure. "She should have thrown that away." Cathy knelt in front of the bookcases, pulling things from the bottom shelves. "I never could draw." "She wanted it. She loved you." He could understand the feeling. Cathy was lovable, especially when she forgot about her life and career back in Boston and relaxed. Henny had always said that the island brought out what was real in people. "Well, if she wanted us to find her will, she should have saved a little less stuff. Or put it somewhere obvious, like the safe." She pulled a stack of books from the shelf, and a carved wooden box came with them. "That's mine, Cousin Catherine." Nathan jerked around. Fine watchdog he was. Why hadn't he heard Clayton approach? Cathy glanced from Clayton to him before replying, and he knew what she was thinking. Was Clayton, like Flora, eager to join the search for the missing wills? She turned the box over in her hands. "I'm sorry, Clayton, but nothing must leave the house until after the will has been found. I'm sure you understand." "But that's mine." Clayton took a step toward her. "You have to give it to me." Nathan eased away from the cabinet, muscles tightening. "No, she doesn't." For a moment they faced each other, and he could feel the tension radiating from Clayton. "I'll tell you what." Cathy scrambled to her feet. "I won't open it, and I'll keep it safe for you. Once I've gone through everything, we can sort this out. All right?" For a moment longer Clayton stood rigid. Then he nodded. "Yes. Thank you." He took a step toward the door. "I guess I should go." Before they could speak, he'd hurried out. He looked at her, eyebrows lifting. "Maybe you ought to see what's inside." She shook the box experimentally. Paper rustled. "I promised. But I'd love to know how important this is to him."

297

"Enough to try and get you out of the way, you mean? Frankly, at this moment I don't trust any of them. He might have been kin, but Henny didn't trust Clayton any more than she trusted —" He stopped, realizing he was about to go too far. Two red spots appeared on Cathy's cheeks. "Than my father. That's what you were going to say, isn't it? I know they didn't get along, but he's not a bad person." He no longer suspected that she was involved in her father's scheme, so he shouldn't say anymore. "If you say so. You know him. I don't." She shoved the box onto the shelf and planted her hands on her hips. "Don't patronize me. If you imagine you know something about my father, you can't just imply he's not trustworthy and let it go." "All right. Fine." The anger he'd felt at the time surged to life. "Did you know your father was here six weeks before Henny died? Did you know that he pushed her to sell Morley's End for some condo scheme he was involved in? And that when she refused, he threatened to have her declared incompetent?" Cathy's face had been red — now it was ashen. "That's not true. My father wouldn't do something like that. He wouldn't!" "Wouldn't he?" He'd gone too far, but he couldn't back down now. He owed it to Henny. "If you don't believe me, ask him. Just ask him."

*** Cathy sat on the bed in the room that had been hers as a child. She'd cried herself out after the phone call to her father, and now she had no more tears. She faced the truth — that her father was a man who'd badger a sick old woman because of his own greed. I didn't know, Lord. I didn't know, and I wasn't here to help her. Please, show me what to do now. Aunt Henny's Bible still lay on the bedside table. She picked it up, her throat tightening when she saw the bookmark that stuck out of it — an image of Jesus as shepherd, pasted together with a child's care. She'd made it in Sunday School and sent it to her. The passage that it marked was one of Aunt Henny's favorites, the 23rd Psalm. Aunt Henny had underlined several verses, as she always did when she found something that spoke to her. She read through the familiar chapter, then closed the Bible and put it back. The words had comforted her, as no doubt they'd comforted Aunt Henny. Now it was time to take action. She owed Nathan the truth. The house was silent as she hurried down the stairs and out the door. The setting sun touched the marsh grasses with gold, and a mockingbird swooped over her head as she trotted down the path. Her heart was in her throat as she approached the cottage. She had been so angry with Nathan, and now she had to apologize. Had to admit that her own father had behaved just as badly as Nathan had said. Her mind flickered back to that kiss they'd shared. How odd it was. If someone had asked before she'd come back, she'd have said that she barely remembered Nathan. And yet they'd moved so quickly to the point of arguing and caring as if they'd been together for years. Maybe, in a way, that childhood summer had created a bond that had been there ever since, even though she hadn't seen it. She rounded the corner of the cottage, her mind focused on what she had to say to him. And stopped, breath catching in her throat.

298

Where the porch had been there was nothing but a pile of jagged boards and protruding timbers, and Nathan lay, half-covered, in the midst of it.

Chapter Seven "I'm fine. Stop fussing over me," Nathan snarled. The tall, stately Gullah nurse who'd met them at the clinic smiled at Catherine and continued wrapping an elastic bandage around his wrist. "Might as well stop resisting, Nathan. I've known you since you were a tadpole, and it's not impressing me." "Are you sure that's not broken?" The vise Cathy had felt around her heart when she saw Nathan trapped in the wreckage of the porch had loosened a little, but she still shuddered when she thought of it. Esther Johnson shook her head, gold earrings swinging against her skin. "He's fine. Just try to keep him out of trouble." Her gaze zeroed in on the bandage on Cathy's forehead. "You two look as if you've gone a round with a gator. Take care out there at Morley's End." Things came together in her mind then. "Mr. Adams told me that a nurse from the clinic witnessed my aunt's will. Was that you?" The woman nodded. "I knew what it was, of course, but I don't know what was in it." "I guess you've heard that we haven't been able to find either will." Nathan winced as she fastened the bandage. "Did you have any sense of what she was doing with it?" "No, can't say as I do. It was on the desk in her workroom when I left."

*** "We're no further along than we were before." Nathan leaned against the passenger seat as Catherine drove down the narrow lane to the house. "Maybe worse, with me banged up." He flexed his hand, and she could tell by the way he stiffened that it hurt. "We can't keep going this way." The concern she felt must show in her voice. "Maybe we should go to the police. That porch didn't collapse by itself." "And tell them what?" Nathan just sounded frustrated. "That we think one of Henny's relatives is trying to keep us from finding the will? What can they gain by delaying us?" It was irrational, to feel so pleased that he kept saying "us" as if they were a team. "I've given up wondering why. I just want to find the new will and get this settled." "So you can rush back to Boston?" Nathan's voice deepened a little, as if her answer were important. "I don't know what I'm going to do," she said slowly. "There hasn't been enough time to figure it out. But I know I'll be leaving my father's firm." Nathan reached across the seat to touch her wrist in a comforting gesture. "I'm sorry I was the one to tell you. I didn't want to hurt you." She took a deep breath to ease the pain in her heart. "It's better that I know the truth. It explains why he was so eager for me to come. He probably hoped I'd inherit and that I'd agree to his plans. Which I wouldn't. This place meant too much to Aunt Henny." She hesitated. "And to you. Whatever the will says, this place rightfully belongs to you."

299

Nathan stiffened. "My father left it to Henny, and she had the right to dispose of it however she saw fit. I have no desire to change that." "Then we'd better find that will, and fast." She drew to a stop in front of the house. "I still think it has to be in the workroom somewhere. That was her special place." "Let's get looking, then." He opened the door with his good hand. "I'm not stopping until we've gone through every single inch. I don't want to risk any more little accidents." "Agreed." She slid out, wanting to help him but afraid he'd be offended if she tried. "You start looking while I go make us some coffee. It's going to be a long night."

*** It was dark outside by the time Cathy sank down in the middle of the books she'd removed from the shelves. "Maybe we were wrong. Maybe she put it someplace else." Nathan looked worse than she felt, his face white with fatigue and pain as he shoved aside his own stack of books. "What about her bedroom? Did you take a look up there?" She nodded. "I did that earlier. Unless she had a secret hiding place under the floorboards, it's not there. You grew up in this house — can you think of anything?" "I've already checked all the hiding places I know about." He gave her a strained smile. "I didn't wait for the executor to arrive from Boston — I'd already started looking as soon as I knew the will was missing. I didn't want to let her down. Maybe if I hadn't gone to Savannah that night —" "You couldn't have known. You said she seemed to be feeling well that day." "I hate it that she died alone." His voice choked. He was letting her see how much he'd loved Henny, and she sensed that he didn't show that depth of emotion easily. "She wasn't alone," she said softly. "'Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, Thou are with me.' That was her favorite passage, remember? I've been using her Bible, and she had it bookmarked and underscored." "I remember." He jerked a nod toward a sepia-toned print on the wall, with its flock of sheep settled against a quiet hillside. "That's why that's hanging in here, so she could see it from her desk." Cathy stared at the familiar print, feeling a tingle of excitement moving through her. "She'd underscored the words in her Bible. Recently — the ink wasn't faded. What if —" Nathan was on his feet almost before she'd finished speaking. He couldn't manage the heavy frame with one hand, and she rushed to help him tilt it from the wall. The new envelope was white against the brown backing of the print. She pulled it out, fingers trembling. "Last will and testament of Henrietta Morley. We've found it!" "Now you can give it to me." They turned. Flora stood in the doorway, smiling, and in her plump hands was clutched a deadly looking rifle.

Chapter Eight

300

Nathan froze, his good hand still holding the heavy picture frame. Helpless — why did he have to feel so helpless? Flora had the deer rifle aimed right at Cathy. She might be a lousy shot, but at this distance, she could hardly miss. "Flora." Cathy found her voice first. "What are you doing? Put that thing down." "Not until you give me the will." Flora didn't budge from the doorway. She wouldn't come within range, so that meant he had to move. He eased the frame back against the wall, assessing the distance between them and the clutter of books they'd left on the floor, now an obstacle course for a man with only one good leg and one good arm. Lord, be with us now, or we don't stand a chance. "You mean this?" Cathy held the envelope up, moving several steps away from him. Way to go, sugar. Put some distance between us, so when I move she'll aim at me, not you. A cold hand seized his heart at the thought of the damage that rifle could do. "Stop that! Stand still!" The barrel of the rifle wavered between them. "Just give me the will, and no one will get hurt. I have the first one, so once this one is destroyed, everything is okay." "Destroying a will is a criminal offense," Cathy said. Her voice was perfectly calm, as if she faced a potential murderer every day. "The court won't let you inherit if you do that." "No one will know." Flora's face hardened. "Henny never should have written it. She said she was going to do it — going to change her will after she found out about the few little things we took from the house." "What did you do?" For an instant rage consumed him, and he beat it back. No good cop went into a confrontation against a weapon with his control shattered by anger. But Cathy understood the implication. She gasped, taking an unwary step toward Flora. Toward the weapon. "Aunt Henny — you did something to her. Flora, what did you do?" "She had everything. Everything! And she begrudged us a few little pieces of silver. She sat up in her bed like a queen with that Bible open on her lap and told me we'd have to be content with whatever we'd already taken." Flora was so angry the rifle shook, and he moved to the side, searching for a clear path to her. "You killed her." Cathy took another step, as if she knew what he planned and was drawing Flora's attention farther and farther from him. "You're a nurse — you'd know how to make it look as if she overindulged and let her sugar get out of control." "I didn't want to do it. She made me. I have to think of my son. She never had any kids, so she didn't know what that was like." She seemed to be asking Cathy to agree. Cathy nodded, as if that actually made sense. The heavy rifle sagged a little. He reached toward the desk, groping with his good hand for anything he could throw. "You must have been shocked when Adams said there was a second will," Cathy said. "I had the first one. But I couldn't pretend to find it if there was a second one, so I had to stop you until I could get it and destroy it." She raised the rifle again. "Now give it to me." "Fine, take it." Cathy thrust the envelope toward her, then let it drop. It fluttered toward the floor.

301

Cathy bent as if to pick it up. His hand closed over the brass lamp and he threw with all his strength. Flora stumbled backward, tripping on the threshold, and he lunged at her, knocking the rifle away. It fired, and he looked toward Cathy, his heart clutching, but she came toward them, shaking but in one piece. "I think you just shot Aunt Henny's dartboard," she said, and dropped to her knees next to him.

*** Cathy hurried back to the workroom after seeing Adams and Clayton off, with Clayton clutching the box Aunt Henny had left him in her will. Evidence of some malfeasance on his part? Well, if so, he was safe now. Bobby Jon hadn't shown up for the reading of the will. In fact, no one had seen him on St. James since his mother's arrest. Nathan stood in front of the print, straightening it. He turned as she entered, giving her a smile that made her knees turn to water. "You know, I was never too crazy about this picture, but it's growing on me. What do you think? Should we leave it here for good?" She walked toward him slowly, not sure how to put what she wanted to say. "Just because Aunt Henny left the property to both of us, you don't have to consult me about everything. It came from your family, so rightfully —" "If you tell me that it belongs to me, I might just have to chase you up a tree again." "Well, I just meant that I might not be here to make decisions," she said. "I'm out of a job, remember?" "That makes two of us, but there's no rush. Turning the land into a nature preserve, like Henny asked, is going to take some time. After that — well, we both know his law practice is getting beyond Adams. I'll bet he'd be happy to have a bright young woman come on board as a partner." "Are you saying you want me to stay?" She'd made so many mistakes about people, including her own father, that she had to be sure she did it right this time. As an answer, Nathan reached out and pulled her close against him. She went willingly, her doubts evaporating in the strength of his embrace. He kissed her until she had to cling to him to keep from falling, and then he leaned just far enough away to see her face. "You know what's the only thing that bothers me about this?" He grinned, all the marks of grief and pain gone from his face. "It's exactly what Henny expected would happen. We've just proved her right again."

302

The Valentine Wedding Dress by Sherryl Woods Drawn to an old trunk in the attic, Lara Calhoun is unable to resist finding out what treasure her late, beloved mother had kept hidden away for all these years. Her unexpected discovery soon turns her world upside down and makes her second-guess everything she's ever believed about her mother and about love. Will it lead her straight into Dave Lafferty's arms — or make her turn away from the love of a lifetime? Dave Lafferty has always thought big. But when a sense of duty brings him back to his small Virginia hometown, he makes a discovery that rocks the foundation of everything he's ever wanted or believed. And when he meets the perfect woman, he realizes that love isn't always perfectly timed, but is far too precious not to be seized.

Chapter One It had been her mother's annual Valentine's Day ritual. Now it was a tradition Lara intended to continue. She climbed the stairs of the old Victorian house that had been her home for all of her 22 years, opened the door to the attic, and stepped inside for perhaps the first time since she'd stopped playing dress-up there as a child. The old clothes and her mother's childhood toys had been the attraction then. Now it was the locked trunk that drew her across the chilly space. Dust motes swirled in the beams of sunshine coming through the single round window. Using the rag she'd brought with her, Lara carefully wiped off the lid of the trunk, took the old brass key from her pocket, inserted it into the lock, then hesitated. Whatever was inside had been her mother's private treasure, something that made Susan Calhoun nostalgic and teary every single February 14, as far back as Lara could remember. And yet she had continued the ritual, though it was obvious that it made her unhappy. It had been almost a year since her death and Lara was determined to carry on the tradition, even though not once in all those years had her mother told Lara or anyone else what was inside the trunk. After the funeral Lara had asked her father about the mysterious contents. He had shrugged off the question, insisting that everyone was entitled to their whims...their secrets. Her 24-year-old twin sisters, less curious and more self-absorbed than Lara, hadn't even recalled the tradition. With their big-city careers, fancy homes, and doting husbands, they rarely came home to the small Virginia coastal town where they'd grown up, much less worried about one of their mother's many idiosyncrasies. That had been left to Lara, who identified with her mother in so many ways. Lara sat down, letting the rays of sunshine warm her, and considered whether she was doing the right thing. Was she invading her mother's privacy? Or was this something her mother would want her to do, now that she was no longer here to carry on the tradition herself? "Mom, what should I do?" Lara whispered. "I want to understand why this trunk was so important to you. I need a sign. I really, really need a sign." Just at that instant, her mother's beloved gray-and-white cat jumped onto the trunk and began purring. Maybe it was a sign, maybe it wasn't, but it was good enough for Lara. She reached for the key and turned it. As she lifted the lid, Prissy leapt down without protest and curled against her side, still purring as if she wholeheartedly approved of Lara's decision. At first glance, the trunk appeared to be filled with little more than tissue paper, not yellowed with age as she might have expected, but as crisp and white as if it were brand-new...as if it had been replaced frequently with loving care. Lara lifted the top layer and then the next, then gasped as she found the treasure beneath...a wedding dress.

303

Like the paper, the white satin bore few of the marks of time. The tiny seed pearls adorning the neckline were as neatly in place as if they'd been sewn on the day before. With an odd sense of reverence, Lara lifted the dress from the trunk and held it up. It was a size eight, her mother's size and her own. Her breath caught in her throat, Lara moved to an old mirror and stared, trying to imagine what her mother must have looked like in this elegant, simple gown. It had been years since she'd looked at the wedding album downstairs or even noticed the enlarged wedding snapshot on the dresser in her parents' bedroom. But gazing into the mirror she had some idea. Not only were they the same size, but they had the same fair coloring, the same dusting of freckles across their noses if they spent too long in the summer sun, the same periwinkle blue eyes. Tears welled up as she stared at her reflection and imagined her mother looking just like this — okay, with her blond hair tidy, not mussed from the wintry breeze outside, and without the streak of dust on her cheek — on her wedding day. For a moment she hesitated, tempted to try the dress on to get the full effect. "Why not?" she murmured. Who would ever know? Quickly she stripped out of her clothes, shivering a bit in the attic's chilly air. Slowly, carefully, she lifted the folds of fabric over her head, then let the dress slip into place. Her fingers trembled as she drew the zipper up in back. Only then did she step in front of the mirror. As she'd known it would be, the dress was a perfect fit. Gazing at her image, she felt a lump form in her throat. She looked...radiant, as if she truly were a blushing bride. Even though there hadn't been a man in her life for months now, even though she had so many things she wanted to do before she settled down, Lara felt the most amazing sense that someone special was just around the corner, that it wouldn't be long before she could wear this very dress at her own wedding. Though her family scoffed, Lara was a very big believer in destiny, and something told her that hers was about to take the most astonishing twist.

*** David Lafferty normally didn't take on quick little fix-it jobs like the one he'd agreed to do today. In fact, since he'd reluctantly left his dream job with a major developer in Atlanta and come home to help out in the aftermath of his father's heart attack, Lafferty Construction had been going after major contracts with some of the area's biggest developers. He was happiest when there were major challenges on his plate. His father had reluctantly agreed to the business expansion, but David knew he would have been happier if the company had been some small, father-son enterprise. Usually he let David decide what jobs to take these days. But today, for some reason, his father had been insistent that David be the one to waste an afternoon driving to the next county to repair some wobbly steps. He'd gotten the distinct impression that his father just wanted him out from underfoot. Or maybe he was just tired of hearing David go on and on about Chelsea's desire to get married. Tonight was supposed to be the big night. She was expecting an engagement ring for Valentine's Day, but David just couldn't work up any enthusiasm. Chelsea was a wonderful woman, but he wasn't ready to have a wife or to start a family, especially when he wasn't at all certain that he wanted to stay in Virginia. Not only that, with Chelsea, there was no spark, no magic. David wanted magic and at 25, he wasn't quite ready to settle for anything less.

304

He rang the bell at 337 River Glen still debating whether Chelsea was going to get that ring or not. When no one answered, he rang it again, impatient to get the job done and be on his way to the meeting he had scheduled to discuss a huge office building complex that would put Lafferty Construction in the big leagues. Suddenly he heard what sounded like a startled scream. Testing the handle of the door, he swung it open and stepped inside just as a woman dressed in a wedding gown tumbled down the stairs and straight into his arms. He found himself gazing into vivid blue eyes and suddenly, without warning, he knew without a doubt that this was the magic he'd been waiting for. And it had literally fallen into his life when he wasn't the least bit ready for it.

Chapter Two "Are you okay?" David couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from the woman in his arms. Aside from a streak of dirt on her cheek, she looked none the worse for her tumble down the stairs. In fact, she looked amazing...as radiant as a bride. Suddenly it dawned on him that a woman wearing a wedding dress was probably engaged to another man. The thought brought on a powerful surge of pure jealousy, an emotion with which he wasn't at all familiar. He had no idea how to deal with it except to ignore it. He was good at ignoring inconvenient emotions. "I thought the bride was supposed to toss the bouquet, not herself, down the stairs," he said, proud of his casual tone. "Bride?" She stared at him blankly, then glanced down at her dress as if just realizing what she was wearing. "Oh, my. That's why I tripped. I was in the attic when the doorbell rang. I was rushing and I forgot all about the dress. I must have caught my foot in the hem." She tugged frantically at the skirt, revealing a shapely calf and probably considerably more thigh than she realized. Dave couldn't seem to prevent an appreciative survey. "I hope I didn't tear it," she said, studying the yards of fabric. "So, when's the big day?" he asked, his voice annoyingly tight. She regarded him with surprise, then chuckled. "Oh, I'm not getting married." Determined though he was to pretend it didn't matter, he couldn't stop the sigh of relief that washed through him. "You're dressed awfully formally for cleaning." He brushed at the streak of dirt on her cheek. "Long story," she said, her gaze locked with his, her voice a little breathless. "By the way, you can put me down now. I'm fine." Reluctantly, he set her on her feet, though he couldn't quite make himself release his grip on her arms. It was hard to tell where satin left off and bare skin began. The fabric was cooler, he decided when he finally pulled away. She stared at him, looking as shaken as he felt. "Who are you?" she asked at last. "Dave Lafferty. I'm here to fix some stairs. Obviously, I was a bit too late." "Actually it's the steps to the attic that need fixing, not these. This little tumble of mine was my own doing. I'm always rushing without thinking. Come on. I'll show you. I'm Lara, by the way. Lara Calhoun."

305

Dave couldn't seem to shake the odd out-of-body sensation he had as he followed her to the foot of the attic steps, which were, indeed, dangerously wobbly. There was something about this Lara that seemed strangely familiar, as if he'd known her all his life, yet he knew they'd never met. Surely he would have remembered a woman with this fragile, heart-shaped face, with hair the color of corn silk and a mouth so tempting it was taking every ounce of restraint he possessed to keep from kissing her and, no doubt, scaring her to death. Better to concentrate on the steps. "How long have they been like this?" he asked. When his question drew nothing more than a vague hmm? he glanced up and saw that her gaze was locked on him. "Lara?" An embarrassed blush crept into her cheeks. "Sorry. I was distracted." He knew the feeling. He also could think of only one way to get beyond it — fill the time with innocuous chitchat. He was a master of it. Instead, what came out of his mouth was an invitation. "What are you doing tonight?" he asked, regretting the impulsive words the instant they were spoken. "Tonight?" He'd done it now. He could hardly back out, now that he'd uttered the invitation. "It's Valentine's Day. Would you like to go out for dinner?" His gaze locked with hers and he felt that odd sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Or do you already have plans?" It was part question, part plea. If she had plans, he'd be safe. He could go out with Chelsea, who was clearly no risk at all compared to this woman. Lara regarded him with surprise. "You want to go out with me on Valentine's Day? Surely there's some other woman you'd rather be spending tonight with. Someone you know better." An image of Chelsea came and went. He would have to call her — no, stop by in person — and break things off. How could he possibly go out with Chelsea when the woman of his dreams was right here in front of him, lousy timing or not? And, he thought, allowing himself to enjoy the irony, she was already dressed for the wedding.

*** Lara fingered the soft, cool satin of the wedding gown and considered Dave's invitation. She didn't date strangers. She made it a rule never to go out with anyone to whom she hadn't been properly introduced by mutual friends or family. It was an old-fashioned standard, but in this day and age a woman couldn't be too careful. Her only exceptions were for men she'd met and spent a lot of time with through her job working for a restoration architect. Funny thing about Dave Lafferty, though, it didn't feel as if he were a stranger. From the moment she'd landed in his muscular arms and gazed into his eyes, he'd felt familiar, as if their souls were somehow connected. And it was Valentine's Day. Everyone should have a date with someone special on this most romantic night of the year. She looked into his green eyes warmed by flecks of brown and felt her heart flip over. She'd never bought into the possibility of love at first sight, but she had a feeling this man could make a believer out of her. Still, she hesitated. "I don't know."

306

"Would it help if I told you that my father knows your father?" She brightened at that, eager for any excuse to do what her heart was yearning to do. "Really?" He grinned. "Well enough to call and ask me to come over and do this repair job, anyway." "How do I know he didn't just get the number out of the Yellow Pages?" "Call him. Ask." Lara considered doing just that, then dismissed the idea. What if it turned out that her father knew nothing at all about Dave Lafferty or his father? Then she'd be forced to say no to the invitation. "I'll go," she said in a rush. Dave gave her a crooked smile. "Great. Just one thing." "Yes?" "Could you lose the dress?" She glanced down and smiled. "Under any other circumstances, I'd probably be offended by that suggestion, but I suppose you're right. We don't want people to assume this is our wedding night." He tensed visibly at the suggestion. "No," he said in a tight voice. "We most definitely do not want that." He sounded as if the very idea panicked him. Too bad, Lara thought, because the idea was suddenly beginning to appeal to her....

Chapter Three After Dave had fixed the stairs and left with a promise to be back by seven, Lara floated back up to the attic. She literally felt as if she were walking on air. How was it possible for a humdrum day to be transformed so quickly into something absolutely magical? Of course, she had another transformation to make before seven. She was not going out tonight looking like Cinderella's poorest, ugliest stepsister. Quickly she stripped off the wedding gown. She carefully covered it with tissue and folded it. She was about to place it back in the trunk, when she spotted the envelope, yellowed with age, the writing on the front, bold and masculine, the postmark from a town less than 50 miles away. Unable to stop herself, she picked it up and slid out the card, an elaborate valentine meant for a sweetheart. It had been opened and read so many times over the years that it was coming apart. There were blotches, too, suggesting that it had been soaked with tears, probably more than once. Hands shaking, Lara opened it, feeling an odd sense of trepidation. In addition to the printed verse, there was a note in that same bold handwriting: My darling Susan, on this day of all days, thoughts of you fill my heart, replacing for a few brief hours the regrets that haunt me always. You know why I did what I did. And because of the kind of woman you are, I know that you understand and maybe, after all this time, have even forgiven me. If only things could have been different. With all my love, Peter."

307

Peter? Lara stared again at the signature to make sure she'd gotten it right. Who was Peter? Her father's name was Mitch. Mitch Calhoun. Lara had never heard of anyone named Peter. Certainly her mother had never mentioned the name. Why would a card with such an obviously intimate message be tucked away with her mother's wedding dress? Suddenly Lara thought she knew. Dropping the card on top of the folds of satin, she ran downstairs, relieved that she had the house to herself, that her father wouldn't be home for hours, not until long after she'd left for her date. She paused at the door to her parents' bedroom, took a deep breath, then stepped inside and walked over to the dresser. Swallowing hard, heart thundering in her chest, she reached for the informal wedding picture that had sat in the same spot as far back as she could remember. In it, her mother was smiling brilliantly, but it was a spring day, not winter, not February 14. There were buds on the trees and daffodils blooming beside the church steps. And the dress? Lara's gaze swept over it in a single glance. Soft and feminine, it was trimmed in lace, not pearls. It was made of organza, not satin. Which meant that the dress in the attic was from another wedding. She thought of the valentine. Or, she concluded, from a wedding that had never taken place at all.

*** "Going out with Chelsea tonight?" Peter Lafferty asked as Dave stood in front of the hall mirror and straightened his tie. "No, as a matter of fact, I'm not." "Really? I thought that was getting serious." Dave sighed. "She thought so, too. I told her a little while ago that I couldn't be with her anymore, that we didn't have a future." It had been the most difficult conversation he'd ever had, but he knew in his heart it had been the only fair thing to do. "Can't say I'm sorry," his father said. "I never did think she was right for you." Dave stared at him in surprise. "Why didn't you say anything?" "Because nobody knows better than I do that you can't let other people pick the person you're going to love." Dave was startled by the admission. He walked into the living room and sat opposite his father. "Dad, were you and Mom happy?"

Chapter Four From the moment Lara answered the door, Dave knew that something had happened since he'd left that afternoon. It wasn't that she didn't look fabulous. She did. Her hair had been brushed until it gleamed. Her makeup was perfect. She was wearing a red wool dress that skimmed over her curves in the most enticing way. She'd chosen sleek red heels that added two inches to her height, yet brought her only to his chin. "You look beautiful," he said with total sincerity. He touched a finger to her cheek. "Or you would if it weren't for the sorrow in your eyes. What's wrong? Would you rather not do this?" "No, I'm looking forward to it," she said. "About as much as you would to having your tooth pulled," he said. "Come on, Lara, what is it?"

308

She hesitated, then drew him inside. The living room was smaller than his own, but cozy. He could tell at once that this was a real home, furnished with love. Photos lined the mantel of the fireplace. A gleaming piano stood against one wall with sheet music piled atop it. "Something did happen," she confessed, looking shaken. "I don't know what to make of it." "Tell me." "You know that dress I was wearing?" He grinned at that. "How could I forget?" "It was my mother's. It's been in the attic for years, in this trunk." So far, he didn't see the problem. "Okay?" "But it wasn't the one she was wearing in her wedding pictures." Dave felt an odd tingling in his chest. "Are you sure?" "Absolutely." "Maybe it wasn't hers." "Then why was it in our attic?" she asked reasonably. "Could it have been your grandmother's?" "No way. The design was too contemporary. Besides, I'm almost certain it had never been worn." "How can you be certain of that?" "There wasn't a spot on it, not so much as a hint of any kind of stain." "It could have been cleaned. Besides, what's the big deal? It's just a dress." "Not any dress," she argued. "A wedding dress." She drew in a deep breath and leveled a look straight at him. "Besides, there was a valentine in the trunk." She shook her head. "I must sound like an idiot. I'm probably making way too much of this, but there's no one I can ask. I certainly can't go to my father and say, oh, by the way, was Mom supposed to marry someone else." Dave's heart took on an erratic rhythm. "A valentine?" he repeated in a choked voice. "What did it say?" "The usual hearts and flowers stuff, but there was a note apologizing. Though it wasn't spelled out, it sounded like he had broken their engagement." Dave had never fainted in his entire life, but he felt right now as if he could. As if he wanted to. Surely this was simply a crazy coincidence — his father telling him about an old romance, now Lara telling him about a valentine expressing regret over a canceled wedding. "Was the card signed?" Lara nodded. "Peter," she said softly. "My father's name is Mitch."

309

"Oh, God," Dave whispered, getting to his feet unsteadily. Lara stared at him with obvious alarm. "What's wrong?" "I have to go. There's someone I need to see." "About this?" "I don't know. Not really." He leaned down and gave her a distracted kiss. "I'll call you. I promise, Lara. I will call you and explain everything, if there is anything to explain." If he lived to be 100, Dave was fairly certain he would never forget the confusion and heartache on Lara's face as she watched him walk out the door.

*** Lara absentmindedly smoothed down the skirt of her pretty red dress. Clearly Dave knew something about the valentine in the attic, but how? He'd looked so distraught, so shaken. But until he came back or phoned, there would be no answers. Unless... Could there be something more in the trunk? she wondered. And if there was, did she really want to know? This had been her mother's secret, one she'd carried to her grave. And yet Lara was compelled to find out the rest. She kicked off her bright red shoes and ran upstairs, turning on the low overhead light that gave the attic an illusion of cheeriness, despite all the shadows in the corners. She'd left the key in the trunk earlier and now she turned it, then lifted the lid for the second time that day. Carefully she removed the dress, then the card. There was more tissue paper below. Lara hesitated, then lifted that out as well, revealing a square, flat box from a department store that had closed years ago. Hands shaking, she picked up the box and set it in her lap. There were answers inside. She knew it. She could feel it. She fumbled as she removed the lid. There were more valentines inside, two dozen at least, all yellowed with age, all bearing the same signature she'd seen earlier, all expressing the same deep regret. She was openly weeping as she reached for the last one, the biggest of them all. She wondered if they'd been in chronological order, if this lavish one had been the first one sent, all those years ago. As she picked it up, something slid out. Even as she reached for it, she realized it was a snapshot, an old one. Heart pounding, she retrieved it from the floor. Could this be the man her mother had loved and lost? Lara had to take a deep breath before she felt brave enough to turn it over. When she finally did, her breath came out in a gasp. "Oh, my God," she whispered.

Chapter Five Dave stood in the hallway for what felt like an eternity. How could he face his father and ask if Lara Calhoun was the daughter of the woman he had once loved? Still, he had to know. There was a connection between him and Lara. He'd felt it from the beginning. This could explain it. Perhaps they were destined to find the happiness that had eluded their parents.

310

He forced himself to walk into the living room, where his father was watching a basketball game. "Dad?" His father blinked, then regarded him with surprise. "Back already? Didn't your date go well?" Was there disappointment in his voice? Dave wondered. "Actually we postponed it," he told his father. "There's something I need to ask you." "Shoot." "Do you know Lara Calhoun?" "No." Dave looked him straight in the eye. His father had never lied to him, not once. "Did you know her mother?" His father looked away, then sighed heavily. "Yes. Susan Calhoun was the woman I was engaged to marry. She was Susan Davis then." "Why would Mitch Calhoun call you to do a repair job over there? Or didn't he know about your past with his wife?" For the first time ever, his father looked guilty. "He didn't call. I sent you over there on my own. I wanted you to meet Susan's daughter. Call it a whim, but I knew it was the right thing to do." Dave regarded his father with bemusement. "But the steps were wobbly." "It was an old house. I figured the odds were in my favor." "Oh, Dad," he said, not sure whether to laugh or cry. "She looks just like her mother," Peter said, his expression nostalgic. "I've seen her over the years, never up close, always by chance. Of the three girls, Lara was most like Susan." "She's beautiful," Dave said. "And you were drawn to her, isn't that right? Don't walk away from this because of my part in arranging the meeting." Dave reached for his father's hand, gave it a squeeze. "I'm not going to walk away," he said quietly, then admitted to his father...and himself, "I don't think I could."

*** Lara was still sitting in the attic, that snapshot clutched in her hand, when the doorbell rang. It was Dave. She knew it was. How could she face him, knowing what she knew, that her mother and his father had once been engaged, that his father had broken her mother's heart? The picture had been undeniable proof. The man in it had looked exactly like Dave, same square jaw, same eyes, same tousled, sun-streaked hair from working outdoors. In the snapshot he had been holding a baby. She had known instinctively that the baby was Dave, the man who had suddenly appeared in her life just that afternoon. The man who was already close to stealing her heart. She took her time going downstairs this time, debating her options, weighing what was right...for her mother, for herself.

311

When she opened the door, Dave took one look at her face and said, "You know, don't you?" She nodded and held out the picture. Her hand trembled. "I found this in the trunk along with more valentines. He's your father, isn't he?" Dave nodded, looking as stricken as she felt, yet calmer somehow, as if he'd come to some sort of a decision, as if he'd made peace with it. "Yes," he said. "If you'll invite me in, I'll explain. I'll tell you everything I found out tonight." Lara shook her head. "Not here." Not in her father's home. "I invited you out to dinner. It's not too late to go." She looked into his eyes, saw what her mother must have seen in Peter Lafferty's eyes so long ago — a hint of vulnerability, an irresistible sexy charm. And that stunning sense of connectedness. She nodded at last. "Let me get my purse." He grinned. "And your shoes," he suggested with a pointed glance at her stocking feet. "Unless you want me to sweep you into my arms and carry you like Cinderella after the ball." She laughed despite herself. "A lot's happened today that doesn't make much sense. I think I better keep my feet planted firmly on the ground." He shrugged. "Whatever you say." It was past 10:00 by the time they ate, past midnight by the time they had pieced together as much of the story as each of them knew. "I wasn't ready for what happened today, not any of it, but I know I want to see you again," Dave said as he walked her to her front door. "If I learned nothing else from what happened to my father and your mother, I learned that it's important to seize something that feels right." Though she agreed with the lesson, Lara was hesitant. So much about today had been disconcerting, downright upsetting, in fact. But then there had been the undeniable magic, that irrefutable sense of destiny. She might be young, but she was wise enough to understand that magic didn't come along all that often. "We can't do this if it's only about the past," she said at last. "We can't make up for what went wrong between our parents." Dave cupped her cheek in his hand, brushed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip as his gaze locked with hers. Lara felt a rush of heat more than equal to the night's frosty air. When he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his, she trembled with the wonder of the kiss. That sense of magic that had been with her all day deepened. "That's the here and now," he said softly but emphatically when he released her. "No, it's more than that. It's the promise of the future. How can either of us risk losing it by walking away?" "I don't want to," she admitted.

312

"Then don't. This is about you and me. I don't know where this is going, but it feels right to me. As inexplicable as it is, it's felt right ever since I caught you at the foot of the stairs wearing that wedding dress that your mother intended to wear when she married my father." It had felt right to Lara, too. Still, she hesitated, then glanced at the brilliant night sky with its scattering of stars. A year ago, when her mother had died, Lara had stood in this very spot, broken-hearted, staring at the sky. She had chosen a star just beyond the Big Dipper and convinced herself it was her mother, watching over her. She glanced that way now, found her star, saw it wink against the black velvet of the night, and she had her answer. She met Dave's gaze, then reached for him. "I know it's past midnight, but happy Valentine's Day," she whispered just before she kissed him. "I'm going to see you in that dress again one day," he said. Lara lifted her eyes to the sky once again, then smiled. "I know."

313

An Evening to Remember by Catherine Mann Captain Vince "Novocain" Novak, USAF, hadn't bargained for the excruciating ache of carving McKenzie Rowe from his life. After returning from a dangerous, top-secret deployment to the Middle East, Vince is determined to gain back her love and trust, no matter what it takes. But McKenzie has had her heart broken enough to last a lifetime, and isn't so willing to give Vince a second chance. He convinces her to give him one week's worth of dates to win her back — but that's easier said than done with a stalker gunning to eliminate the competition!

Chapter One "Go! Go! Go!" Captain Vince "Novocain" Novak hurtled out of the military cargo plane, the crew chief's order to jump from the C-17 echoing in his ears along with the roaring of engines. Then the silent sky swallowed him. Arms and legs splayed, he soared down, down, down toward the landing zone at MacDill Air Force Base in Florida. A speck of grass in Tampa where McKenzie Rowe waited for him. Of course she didn't know he was one of the guys parachuting this afternoon. Although regularly an MH-53 Pave Low helicopter pilot, he was also jump qualified and needed to stay current on his training. But she thought he was still deployed to the Middle East. He'd enlisted her co-workers' aid to ensure McKenzie would come for a Valentine's surprise — even if Valentine's Day was still a week away. Thank goodness for the help of her three pals, because no way would she have showed if she learned Vince would be landing at her feet. Wind battered his body, the quiet void of endless blue sky filling with thoughts of meeting McKenzie the day she'd started her job as a civilian engineering contractor on base. The first time he'd laid eyes on her in the conference room, with all her chocolate brown hair piled up on her head, he'd burned to set it free. To his surprise, the reserved academic had said yes to dinner. And yes again to another date. But with all the unrest in the Middle East, he'd logged hellish hours in his job with the U.S. Special Operations Command, headquartered at MacDill. It left little time for romance. After a month of dating, they pretty much bolted straight for the sack at each and every opportunity. Thoughts of being with her stirred him even now. Damned uncomfortable with a parachute harness ratcheting up on his stones. His chute deployed with a hefty jerk he felt clear to his teeth. Christ Almighty! Another jump like this one and he might never have kids, regardless of whether or not he romanced McKenzie back with his planned evening to remember. Romance… Almost a foreign word for a blockhead like him. But he was a smart blockhead who could figure anything out given a little help. So he'd bought a book, How to Romance Your Valentine, currently tucked inside the thigh pocket of the camouflage he wore for jumps instead of his regular flight suit. Although he might need a freaking library to fix how badly he'd screwed up just before he'd deployed five months ago to train Iraqi security forces to fly helicopters. He'd ended things with McKenzie rather than risk breaking her heart the way his mother's heart had been destroyed when his Army Delta Force father had died on a top-secret mission.

314

Just like his mother, McKenzie had already lost a husband, and it devastated her. Vince tugged on the risers to steer his descent. He hadn't counted on discovering he — Captain Numb Emotions Novocain — had a heart, after all, which hurt like hell without McKenzie. He wasn't sure how he would reconcile his relationship with McKenzie with his calling to serve in the Air Force, but now he knew he had to try. Closer, closer. He approached the ground and clusters of people, coming into focus almost faster than his brain could process — men and women now distinguishable from each other. He guided the risers toward the parked blue truck he'd been promised would mark McKenzie's location. He was almost sure he spotted her…long dark hair, clasped in a trailing ponytail. Yes. Her beautiful body in a loose shirt — red, her favorite color. God, he'd missed her, hoped she would appreciate the romanticism of him landing at her feet. He couldn't wait to see her closer. Closer still. Long legs, amazing smile, trailing hair. And a pregnant stomach? Holy crap. His hands fell from the risers. His eyes locked on the bulge bumping her blouse as he forgot all about landing protocol. The ground rushed up to smack him as hard and fast as fate.

Chapter Two Well, she'd wanted to bring Vince Novak to his knees after he broke up with her, but she hadn't envisioned it happening quite so literally. Swiping her windblown ponytail from her face, McKenzie Rowe stared at the dazed sky god at her feet, parachute trailing behind him. His chocolate brown eyes stayed wide and unblinking. For a second she thought he might pass out on the grassy landing zone, with the Florida sun beaming hot and bright even in February. What a way to discover he'd knocked up his old girlfriend. Welcome to my world, pal. She'd about passed out in the doctor's office upon learning the rabbit died, in spite of how careful she and Vince had always been to use condoms. "You're —" Rising slowly, he gestured at her tummy. Her big lug of a lover still looked ready to timber over from a gust of wind that barely mussed his buzzed dark hair. "You guessed it, flyboy." She nodded, arms folding over her swelling stomach. "Five months along. Do the math. We made a baby the night before you told me I was as welcome in your life as moldy cheese in your fridge." Low whispers sounded behind her — no doubt the matchmaking trio of co-workers who'd wrangled her here today to watch an office mate's final jump. Why hadn't she remembered that Vince was jump qualified as well as being a pilot? However, since she hadn't even known he was back from the Middle East, there'd been no reason to suspect him to fall from the sky. "In some countries," her friend Ruthie chimed from behind her, "moldy cheese is a delicacy. Oh, and nice landing, Captain Ton 'O Bricks. At least you land an aircraft better than you jump out of them."

315

Yep. Somehow, they'd conspired with Vince. She would deal with the three engineer stooges later. Without speaking, McKenzie kept her gaze sealed on Vince unhooking his chute and stowing it in a daze. A good opportunity to make a break for it. She rushed past. Oh, she knew Vince would follow — a good thing because she so did not want to have this conversation in front of her friends, the other jumpers and the dozen or so observers milling about the grassy expanse. She was already on edge enough over increasingly frequent obscene phone calls. And now someone had started mailing her "love notes" — creepy, obsessive letters. Worse yet, she'd found the latest on the front seat of her car just before she'd come here, even though she'd been certain she locked the doors as usual. Calls and mail were one thing, but he'd crossed a new line by breaking into her car. At first, when the calls had started, she'd just been annoyed, then disgusted as his language grew more vulgar. Now she was getting a little scared. Thank goodness she'd followed the police's advice and had installed a security system at her condo shortly after the calls began four-and-a-half months ago. How could all of this be happening to her? Especially when she was pregnant, for crying out loud. And speaking of crying, please hormones, hold off on waterworks until Vince leaves. His jump boots thudded alongside her on their way toward the parking lot and looming buildings. "So are we almost to the place where you want to talk?" Of course he knew why she'd stalked off. She hated that he understood her so well when they'd dated just less than a year, because that had to mean he realized how his rejection had decimated her. The rat bastard. And to make matters worse, the rat bastard's offspring was currently practicing barrel rolls on her bladder when she had to pee something fierce after standing outside for the past two hours. "I'm looking for a bathroom." "Base ops is the closest, but it's still quite a hump to walk. Are you and the uh…" He gestured vaguely over her stomach, still not touching, and darn him for looking so sexy and toned in his cammo when she currently had no waist. "Are you both all right?" "Totally. And I was planning to tell you about Junior here — as soon as you returned from the Middle East, even though you never once bothered to call or write." At least he had the good grace to blush. And wasn't that pink tinge on a big burly man just too adorable? Then pink made her think of a baby girl, which made her go teary eyed again. No way would she shed any more tears over this man. Hadn't she already cried a lifetime's worth when her husband had died of a brain tumor? Vince stopped just outside the base ops door. "After you freshen up, let's go out to eat. I have reservations at Josephine's French Country Inn. We could talk over an order of crab cakes and their grilled rack of lamb you like so much." He'd planned to see her? Even plotted with her co-workers? Dangerous emotions swirled — emotions that she refused to fuel with romantic candlelight. "We can talk at McDonald's." Even though she would kill for a crab cake. "I'm craving Big Macs."

316

Frowning, he scratched along his thigh, right over his pocket that seemed to have a book inside. "I guess I could make that work." "Good. I'll meet you over at my car." She spun away before she did something silly like hug the big lug and tell him she was so relieved to see him alive, that she'd worried herself sick thinking about him flying helicopter missions in the Middle East. The base ops door swishing closed behind her, McKenzie screeched to a halt, realization stopping her cold. She'd just sent Vince to her car — where a creepy love letter waited on the front seat.

Chapter Three Three hours later, he still hadn't gotten a straight answer about that letter in McKenzie's car. Standing on her front porch with a fifty-dollar fistful of flowers in hand, Vince wondered if she'd already moved on to another guy. Otherwise, why would she dash past to hide a note scrawled in blatantly masculine penmanship? Jealousy sucked. However, he didn't doubt for a moment that McKenzie carried his baby. She wouldn't lie about that. So whoever wrote that letter would just have to go blow, because McKenzie was now officially taken. Surely she knew that, too? But he was hedging his bets with flowers and chocolate, like the How to Romance Your Valentine book suggested. After she'd left base to change for their date, he'd even splurged on Godiva chocolates and roses since she'd cut him off at the knees on a fancy restaurant, for dinner at McDonald's, instead. Blue jeans date or not, he would show her a super-size evening, come hell or high water. And make that order with extra pickles for the pregnant lady carrying his child, because he really could not screw up now with a baby on the way. He would shelve his own concerns about how much his mother had suffered because of military losses. He couldn't risk the least flinch in front of McKenzie. She opened the door and he damn near forgot how to breathe. She'd left her awesome dark hair loose in a free-fall down her back. He thrust out the flowers — red, her favorite color. "For you. I'm sorry. Please forgive me for being an ass." "Fine." McKenzie took the bouquet without even touching his hand. "I forgive you." Yeah right, she forgave him. Not. Stone faced, she turned away, leaving him standing alone on her stoop staring at the open door like a numskull. He hadn't expected her to lay a big kiss on him or anything, but he would have preferred a slap to indifference. Although her teary blue eyes when he'd broken things off had damn near killed him. If she got that upset over sending him to battle, how much worse would it be if he died in combat? Or had to say a hundred tearful goodbyes to him as he'd seen his mother and father endure? Well, he'd gotten his wish. McKenzie wasn't crying over him anymore. Damn. Vince peered inside her cluttered condo to make sure she wasn't bolting away behind a stack of Engineering Weekly issues — and found her with her face buried deep in the roses while she inhaled, eyes fluttering closed much like during sex. Then she smiled. Just a slight tip of her luscious lips was enough to encourage him to speed-read through another couple of chapters of that book after his date with McKenzie and a Big Mac.

317

He risked a step inside to place the ribbon-covered box of chocolates on the entryway table, jamming his hands in his leather flight jacket to stop from reaching for her. She straightened from the flowers, back ramrod straight in her silky shirt, mile-long legs encased in jeans — legs he remembered locked very well around his waist. As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, McKenzie pivoted to face him. "I'm going to place these in water and reset the security system." Security system? That was new — and a wise idea for a single woman living alone. Not that he intended for her to live alone much longer. She nodded to a folder on the entryway table. "I had some preliminary custody papers drawn up, in case you want to be a part of the baby's life." He'd spent half his childhood without his father. Damned if he could give up so much as a day with his kid. "How can you even ask that? You know I —" "Apparently, I didn't know you very well at all, flyboy." She backed away. "Take the papers, please." He bypassed her freaking papers to step nearer until he could smell the sweet scent of her shower still clinging to her. He angled closer, a whisker away from brushing her mouth with his. All the while careful to keep his hand off her stomach because only an idiot wouldn't realize she probably thought he was just romancing her because of the kid. His kid. Vince's gut went tight as he remembered standing at his father's funeral holding that folded flag while his mother cried. He swallowed hard, shut his eyes and reached for the oblivion he knew he could find in McKenzie's kiss…

Chapter Four McKenzie closed her empty Big Mac box, wondering how she'd managed to hold strong and duck Vince's kiss back at her condo. There wasn't a super-size big enough to satisfy the hunger leaving her dizzy even an hour after she'd come a hair's breath away from lip locking with the man who'd shattered her heart five months ago. A man who now wanted her out of duty. A big part of why she hadn't told him about the creepy calls and letters. Because then he would stick to her side like glue, even though she'd already notified the police and installed a security system. Sure, it appeared Vince had planned to see her. But how could she trust him for more, long-term duty after the way he'd dumped her cold with no real explanation? Duty. The baby. And why oh why had she chosen McDonald's with children everywhere? Each rugrat squealing down the slide reminded her of families, and all she couldn't have with Vince and this child she carried. She couldn't avoid talking any longer. Vince had actually been far more patient than she'd expected. But then he had always been steady, focused, full-speed ahead while she struggled to find level footing in relationships. Vince's surety soothed her after her marriage that had united two equally absentminded professor types. Except Vince had then dumped her in a shocker moment. And that still pissed her off, no matter what his reasons for coming back now.

318

"I want you to be a part of our child's life." She was careful to say our as she flipped to the next page in her folder splayed open on the booth table. "Your name will be listed on the birth certificate. I'm even okay with him or her having your last name if you wish. I would like to pick the first name though, and you could choose the middle name." Hard, handsome angles of his face tensed ever so slightly. "Are you finished?" She closed the file and flattened her hands on the table to keep them from reaching to smooth the persistent cowlick in his jet-black hair. "I'm sure there will be plenty more to discuss, such as visitation schedules, but I won't cut you out of Junior's life." "What about your life? Will I be 'scheduled' to see you, too?" "You already decided that five months ago, flyboy." Oops. Way to go showing her bruised heart. "I'd like another chance." He leaned forward on his elbows, muscles straining the sleeves of his chambray shirt. "Not just because of the baby." Snort. Right. Hadn't he noticed the PhD after her name? "Vince, I'm sorry but —" "Listen, please. If not for us, then yeah, for the kid. I only want a chance to convince you. I have a week's leave coming to me, so let's spend the time together. Valentine's Day's around the corner and maybe you're made of heartier stuff than me, but I think it would blow monkey chunks to spend it alone, especially when I've got this fist-size lump in my chest just thinking about how I messed things up for us." Stop being sweet! "A week, huh?" "A week of dates — and talk." His head turned at a series of thuds behind them — a little boy thundering his way up the playland. A smile softened the strong angles of Vince's face, melting her insides like ice cream left out in the Florida sun. "No sex," she insisted to her hormone-revved libido, as well as to him. Please, please…she did not need to remember how all their dates ended with sex, and what do ya' know, her fries were all gone. The big guy winced — a welcome ego balm — but finally, he nodded. "If you decide to change your mind about no sex, I sure wouldn't turn you down. But I promise not to bring the subject up." Her mind sifted through his words, looking for the loophole he'd undoubtedly left himself. Except that thinking was tough with the spicy soap scent of him reaching across the table to tease her starved senses. "Fair enough." She held up her hand. "But tonight counts as date one." He opened his mouth to argue. She crossed her arms. He closed his mouth. "Deal. That'll carry us through to Valentine's Day." He extended his hand across the table for a shake. Her eyes locked on the strong, blunt fingers that had stroked her body to life with such intuitive finesse. Her hand gravitated toward his, already anticipating the warm rasp of his callused skin. A ringing swelled from her purse. A phone? Hers. At least, she thought it was hers, although it was tough to tell for sure with her heart thundering so darn loud. Her senses numbed to anything but Vince, she fumbled inside her bag and brought the cell phone to her ear. "Yes?"

319

"Are you wearing lace under that silky shirt?" an obscenely familiar voice asked. "I love a hint of creamy skin peeking through lace."

Chapter Five Vince launched to his feet and around to the other side of the McDonald's booth, McKenzie so damn pale he was certain she'd be out cold in another second. Whatever she'd heard on her cell phone had freaked her out, big time. Fear for her and their baby knotted his gut tighter than during any hairy helicopter mission in the Middle East. Vince knelt beside her, resting a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Kenzie, hon, are you okay?" The phone shook so hard against her face he took it from her and spoke into the receiver. "Hello, McKenzie can't —" The line went dead. His thoughts flew back to that note she'd hidden earlier. Jealousy roared louder than the kids pouring out of the playland. "Are you seeing someone?" Her sky blue eyes went wide with shock. "No! No. Nobody since you." "Then what's going on with the call and the letter you hid earlier?" She took her phone back with a trembling hand and tucked it in her purse. "Could we talk about it in your truck, please? I really want to get away from here." "Sure. But I'm holding you to your promise of a serious conversation."

*** With the night breeze filling the cab of Vince's truck as they sped along the shoreline road back to her place, McKenzie accepted time had run out. No more dodging. She knew Vince's bulldog expression well, and he wasn't backing off until he had answers. And frankly, she was beyond "starting" to get scared. She was totally shaken to her shoes. She tilted her face into the salty wind. "I've been getting obscene phone calls for a while now. He uses some kind of distorter to disguise his voice so I don't even know if it's a stranger or not. I changed my number, but that didn't stop him. Then creepy letters started, too. That call was from him." "Damn," Vince hissed low. "The new security system. I should have guessed something was wrong." She nodded. "Yes, I had it installed because of him." "Do you still have the letters?" He eased the truck to a stop at a traffic light. "I gave them to the police — all but the latest one that came today. It's still in my purse." "Let me see it." "What will that —"

320

"Let me see it." Vince's knuckles went white on the steering wheel. "Please." He wouldn't give up and she knew it. She fished the letter from her purse and passed it across the bench seat. He read it by the illumination from the dash, his jaw going tight — no doubt when he got to the section about all the places the creepy bastard wanted to put his tongue. With exaggerated precision, Vince refolded the paper. The light turned green and he eased his foot off the brake, accelerating back into traffic, his jaw still so tight she feared he would crack a tooth. She slid the letter back across the seat, resisting the urge to shred it. The police needed to see it. "He wasn't that explicit at first, so I thought it was just some simple prank caller." He sucked in breaths with great effort. "How long has this been going on?" "The first call happened about four-and-a-half months ago, the letters about three weeks ago." "Shortly after I left." She nodded, her throat clogging with a fresh swell of fear. "Then the calls picked up in frequency, and he knew details about me. Like tonight, he knew what I was wearing." Already she saw the warrior protectiveness emerging from within Vince to cloak him like a uniform he could never peel away, merely absorb back inside until the next time duty called. His honor was unquestionable, but inconvenient when she needed distance to stay objective. He exhaled a long low curse. "You said you've called the cops." "Of course. Right away, and I've documented everything since. So far there haven't been any leads." Vince met her gaze for a quick but intense moment. "I'm sorry I haven't been here for you." God, but it was tempting to believe him, believe in him again. Sighing, she shifted to study the murky seaside skyline. "This isn't your fault or your problem. Now if you don't mind, I'm really tired. Could you take me home?" "Home? Not a chance. Our first date isn't over after all, because you're not going home." Panic — and a hint of excitement — swept away the horror of the phone call. "Vince —" "You'll be spending the night at my place."

Chapter Six Vince watched McKenzie sleeping in his king-size bed, her hand curled over their baby inside her, and he wanted more than anything to wrap himself around them both. But he knew she wouldn't allow that. He had some serious backpedaling to do, all while keeping her safe from the bastard who'd dared stalk her. What kind of sicko scared a pregnant woman? Protectiveness roared through him, for her and the tiny life they'd made together. He'd seen too much overseas. He knew firsthand how vulnerable women and children were to evil and destruction. Coming home from the Middle East, he'd just wanted to lose himself in McKenzie's softness as he'd done so often before. Right here in this bed. Where she belonged, with her long brown hair fanned on his pillow — or over his chest.

321

He reached to trace sun-kissed caramel colored streaks glinting in the moonlight. His eyes rested on her stubborn chin, set even in sleep. He'd won a tough battle in convincing her to take a week off work so they could be together during the days, as well as evenings. She'd been hesitant, with the renovations on the clinic finishing and runway repairs gearing up. Her job as a civilian engineer on base in an understaffed office kept them all maxed, and she didn't want to overburden Ruthie, Carl and Judd. But she'd finally acquiesced. For the baby's safety, she'd insisted, even though he could see the fear in her eyes she was too proud to admit. He would take the victory any way he could get it. Keeping her protected was too important, especially since she didn't seem to grasp how quickly some pervert could slip over the edge and become dangerous. She also hadn't realized the significance of the latest note. Since the letter-writing bastard had broken into her car on a secure military installation, this could be someone in her everyday work world. Now, he had some major planning to undertake for dates to keep her busy and safe, and somehow persuade her to take him back.

*** Streetlights illuminating the sidewalk, McKenzie's stomach fluttered in a way that had nothing to do with the baby, and everything to do with nerves over her "date" with Vince to the historic Ybor City, just outside of Tampa. Her hormone-heightened senses were on overload. She savored the beauty of old cigar factories renovated into boutiques, restaurants and clubs. Spicy scents of Cuban delicacies wafted into the street. Latin music thrummed through the walls, finding an answering pulse in her heavy heartbeat. And to complete her sensory feast, a hunky, muscled man walked at her side. A man who'd been so sweetly romantic about draping his leather flight jacket over her shoulders when a surprise chill hit the night air. Lordy, he looked fine in khakis and a white button down. He looked even better without them. Sure, she'd been more than a little torqued off at his high-handed tactics in insisting she take time off from work, but honestly, he was right in thinking she should step back and make a concerted effort at discovering who'd been stalking her. Just thinking about the horrible possibilities Vince had spelled out, of what could happen if the phone caller decided to try for personal contact…she shivered. Vince certainly made for a hulking bodyguard. As much as she enjoyed her engineering career and valued her independence, the baby was too important to risk over pride. And speaking of the baby, that kind of discussion would offer a welcome distraction from the urge to burrow deeper into his leather jacket. "About the baby —" "Shhh." Vince rested his finger over her lips — and ohmigod, his touch felt sooo good. "Let's not talk about Junior tonight. Let's just be together, simple and uncomplicated, to get reacquainted." That sounded as good as his finger felt. A wicked impishness made her ask, "You don't want to know about my next doctor's appointment with an ultrasound to find out the baby's gender?" "We can know this early?"

322

A hunger swept through his expression so intense, her heart melted more than a little. As much as she didn't want him to pursue her out of duty — hey wait! She didn't want him to pursue her again at all. So why was she standing in the middle of Ybor City nightlife traffic, fighting the urge to suck on Vince Novak's finger?

Chapter Seven He could kiss her right now and she wouldn't stop him. Tracing her lips with one finger, Vince could see McKenzie's consent shining in her serious blue eyes as they stood on a busy sidewalk outside one of Ybor City's best restaurants. "I want to kiss you so bad I can't breathe." He let his hand slide away from her. "But I made a promise and I'm not going to risk losing our other five dates by breaking my word." She stared unblinking, still focused on his finger with hungry intent. "What promise?" "The no-sex promise you insisted on." "Oh." She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, streetlights glinting off the caramel streaks in her hair while oblivious couples strolled past. "Technically, a kiss isn't sex." Hmm. She had a point. Then reality smacked him. "Just necking was never an option for us." A small smile teased her mouth. "We had something mighty amazing going." Had. Past tense. Damn, he hurt without her and he hurt with her. He stared deeper into her eyes, a whole different kind of hurt throbbing through him, bringing memories of amazing nights tangled up in her hair — A body rammed into his back. Vince pivoted hard and fast to find…college kids stumbling in a pack from the nightclub next door. Relief slammed him harder than the jostle, also offering a healthy reminder to keep McKenzie as close to his side as possible. He cupped her elbow and steered her around the pedestrian traffic. McKenzie's disappointed sigh bolstered him. Hang tough, pal, for the big prize. The evening had gone great so far, better than he'd expected. His mind winged back to her last comment before her eyes had broadcast kiss me. "You're okay with me coming to your doctor appointments?" She blinked fast at his abrupt conversational shift. Not a bad thing since too often around McKenzie he felt like he was parachuting without a reserve chute. If only she would think less and feel more. And the irony wasn't lost on him. He wasn't Vince "Feel-No-Pain-Novocain" Novak anymore. Finally, she nodded. "Of course you're welcome at the appointments. It's not like you haven't seen my stomach before." With a slight grimace that was quickly replaced with a smile, she smoothed her hands over the slight swell. "Although you haven't seen it quite like this."

323

"But I want to." The words slipped right past his defenses that burned to touch their baby, touch her. Might as well work with it since he couldn't pull back his admission. "You always turned me inside out before, but now…damn. What they say about a pregnant woman glowing is totally true. I can't take my eyes off you." Her head rose, her chin jutting with that stubborn thrust until his brain blared ambush! "Well then, flyboy, if I've always turned you inside out, why did you tell me you wanted us to see other people?"

Chapter Eight McKenzie desperately wanted to gulp back her question about why Vince dumped her and just return to an evening free of worries or heartbreak. Holy cow, had she really blurted such a vulnerable admission to him instead of simply walking inside and enjoying a taste of Ybor City's finest cuisine? Argh! But now that the words were out there, backing down would only make her appear more vulnerable. Vince jammed his fists into his jean pockets. "Do we really want to ruin this date by discussing why we broke up?" "We didn't break up, flyboy. You did." And since she wasn't backing down, might as well go for broke. She jabbed his chest with a finger. "And you can play at this dating thing all you want, but it doesn't change facts. You just up and dumped me, you rat bastard!" "McKenzie —" She poked again, rock-solid man not budging. "Maybe you were sorry enough later to decide you should pick things up when you returned to the States —" "Will you let me talk?" Old insecurities from her marriage bubbled to life. "And you figured geeky ole engineer McKenzie would be grateful to have you." "You're kidding me, right?" Whisking McKenzie into semi-privacy behind a club marquee, Vince hauled her into his arms, his head descending. Just a brush of his lips over hers sent liquid fire shooting from her toes to her hair, then pooling where she longed to have him fill her. Whoa, baby.

*** Whoa, mama! How could he have forgotten the full potency of a McKenzie kiss? Like dumping raw fuel into a jet engine, kicking absolutely everything into afterburners until the nightlife around them, people and cars, faded. Away from the crowd, he shielded her with his body and kissed her until his brain went numb. Other parts of him, however, were anything but numb. He went rock hard in his jeans until the zipper damn near left an imprint. Groaning, she pressed closer, not near close enough though, with the slight swell between them.

324

Gentle, pal. He eased his hold on her, while still searching the hot moist depths of her mouth with his tongue. His hands glided up and down her back, stroking, savoring. He had to get control of himself. He wasn't some teenager for God's sake. Vince rested his forehead on hers, his breathing too ragged for talk, much less walking. Maybe they could stay in this safe little corner for the next couple of months until his heart rate slowed to normal again. McKenzie settled against him with one of those sexy whisper sighs. "I guess that's why we always ended up in bed." "Huh?" Words. Need 'em. Soon. "We don't know how to talk to each other." Talk? He didn't want to tell her why he'd broken up until he had his head on straight. Except looking into her eyes, he realized he'd run out of time for excuses. She was too smart — and she deserved the truth. Hell, this was tougher than jumping out of an airplane. "I know how torn up you were over losing your husband." Jealousy pinched. Hard. And how damn dumb was that since the man was dead? "I didn't want to put you through that again if something happened to me over in the Middle East." Her laser blue eyes narrowed. "So let me get this straight. You broke my heart so you wouldn't break my heart by dying?" "Umm…" He scratched his buzzed short hair, the ambush alert doubling. "Pretty much." McKenzie snorted. "Either you're the biggest idiot I've ever met, or you're lying to yourself."

Chapter Nine Vince's expression closed so fast McKenzie struggled not to snap her fingers in front of his face to bring him back to her. But he wouldn't go for a scene in the middle of a crowded street full of late-night revelers. Sure enough, he palmed her waist and started walking as if nothing had happened. "We're going to miss our dinner reservation." "Can't we go somewhere more private to talk?" And no more toe-tingling kisses scrambling her thoughts. "Or we could request a to-go box and —" "Are you afraid to sit in a romantic restaurant with me?" Duh! Even so, she couldn't miss that he'd dodged any probing questions about their breakup, and she wasn't quitting. But she also couldn't miss his bulldog expression that told her all she needed to know. He wouldn't be ponying up any confidences tonight.

*** The next morning, McKenzie strode into her office at MacDill AFB. Not to work, though. Vince had been adamant about her promise to take time off and quite frankly, now she wondered if he needed the vacation more than she did.

325

But if she didn't want to fall behind during their week of dates, she needed her laptop and a few files on runway renovations. Although she wasn't sure how she actually would work with Vince's big shadow stretching over her 24/7, bringing fantasies of having the actual man stretch his hot long length over her, as well… She fanned herself with a file from her cluttered desk, her eyes gravitating to the hall where Vince stood beside a table of fundraising military spouses who were selling Valentine's candy. He'd been on the phone with base security police and even the OSI — Office of Special Investigations — trying to ID her stalker. God, how could she have missed the fact that the letter showing up in her car on base could be significant? Her eyes skated back to the cubicles sporting cupid cutouts and fuzzy red hearts. She worked in a predominantly male office, half military, half civilian employees like her. Could one of her trusted co-workers be so sexually twisted? She must have considered that on at least some level before now, since she'd never told any of them about the letters or calls. She studied those closest to her — recently divorced Judd to her left, single nerdy Carl to her right, both civilians. Each had offered to walk her to her car on late nights working; a thoughtful gesture she hated questioning. "Boo!" McKenzie jolted. Looked. Found Ruthie — the only other female in the office, a model-gorgeous, hyperactive genius in Air Force blues — peering over a cubicle wall. "Holy cow, Ruthie, you scared me." "Sorry! Well, not really, because if I hadn't sneaked up on you, you would have slipped away." Ducking around, Ruthie pointed toward Vince in the hall. "Details, girl. Spill." Ruthie was a sweetie, but had a habit of interfering in other people's love lives as frequently as she popped candy. Maybe Judd or Carl could use a push in Ruthie's direction to keep her occupied. As long as one of them wasn't a letter-writing creep. McKenzie leaned against her desk, shuffling aside a tiny abacus Vince had brought her from Japan. "I'm assuming he called for your help to make sure I would be there for his jump." "Guilty as charged!" Wispy auburn curls sneaking free from her French braid in the humidity, Ruthie fished into her drawer for a box of conversation hearts. "Wasn't that the most romantic thing? Judd and Carl were certain you'd be pissed, but I insisted it was worth a try." Carl rolled back from his cube. "Well, she did storm off after he landed." Judd strolled from the copier. "Hope you're not still mad. No offense, but you were getting downright morose. So we resorted to desperate measures for the holiday. It seems to have worked." McKenzie held up her hand. "Vince and I are using this week to sort out legalities for the baby. I'm sorry to leave you shorthanded with the upcoming inspection of the clinic renovations." "You take all the time you need," Judd said. "As long as you're back in time to help oversee the runway repairs, we can handle things here." His puppy-dog-sad gaze fell to the picture of his ex-wife, still resting on his desk. "It's not like I notice overtime, anymore." Awkward silence alert. Ruthie crunched her candy triple-time. Carl leaned forward, chair creaking. "Novak had better be treating you right."

326

Maybe broadcasting a few details about Vince trying to win her back would discourage her caller. "He's romancing me to death — flowers, chocolate, fancy dinners out." Ruthie sighed, clutching her box of conversation hearts. "How sweet." "Poor bastard," Judd muttered. "I need to be sure, and it's all so scary." The admission slipped out before she could think to guard her words, but darn it, these were supposed to be her friends. Ruthie slid an arm around her shoulders. "Of course you need to be careful, honey. But did you ever think maybe he's as scared as you are?" Invincible Vince? Scared? Sheesh, was that the world rocking under her feet, or what? Ruthie might well have a point, one that tugged at McKenzie more than a little. Still, as much as she admired Vince's strength of will, the man resisted any offers of comfort or help. Which meant that come time for their next date, she would have to maneuver the master of maneuvering into a quiet evening alone so she could tear down a few of those walls he built around himself.

Chapter Ten Vince stretched his arm along the truck seat, letting his fingers toy with McKenzie's hair as they sat parked at a drive-in movie on date number three. While she watched the movie, he tipped his head and stared up at the night sky. God, he loved to fly, but he wanted this woman beside him. He also wanted their kid and didn't want to be a gone-all-the-time parent. Not that he would even have a choice if he didn't win her back. Soon. Time was moving too fast. He had to sway her before mega-smart McKenzie launched them into some discussion that would surely spell the end of any chance of her marrying him. Yeah, he'd finally gotten past the shock of the idea of him getting hitched. He hadn't been thinking about marriage when he'd jumped out of the plane, but he probably would have gotten around to that point eventually. The baby just put life on fast forward. For tonight's date, he'd planned to take her to a beach restaurant with live music and then for a seaside walk, but she'd looked so tired after her trip to the office. He'd been worried she was working too hard. She'd simply smiled and answered she didn't do well with late-night partying, anymore. Could they go somewhere quiet? Just the two of them? He'd felt like an insensitive ass. Of course she needed to put her feet up. Hadn't she suffered enough stress during her pregnancy with their breakup, his deployment and then that pervert invading her life? He felt better now that the OSI was investigating the people in her office, but he'd still be looking over his shoulder. While pampering the hell out of this amazing woman he'd been stupid enough to turn away. So he'd suggested an early drive-in movie, the Florida sea breeze perfect for snuggling without freezing. He'd even opted for the sappy Valentine's love-fest he normally wouldn't have watched even if his crew double-dog dared him. And now that he thought of it, this would offer the perfect place for the making out they'd always skipped in lieu of going directly to sex. If she would just give him the okay, thus releasing him from his promise.

327

McKenzie lifted her plastic container of nachos closer to her mouth to keep from spilling the yellow goo loosely known as cheese. "Ohmigod, these nachos are amazing. I don't recall them ever tasting this good before. I wonder what the secret ingredient is?" He'd heard about cravings, but never seen them in action. Her bliss over processed cheese and stale tortilla chips was a sight to behold. "Want some?" she whispered, as if not wanting to miss a second of the movie echoing through the tinny sounding speaker. "Nah, I've got my Raisinettes." He rattled the box. "Raisinettes?" Her eyes lit with interest. He started to offer her the box — and paused. Instead, he dumped a few into his hand and picked up one, reaching to feed her. Would she let him? He wasn't actually mentioning sex. Hesitation flickered in her eyes a second before her tongue peeked out for a slight, slow lick along her plump lips. Her mouth fell open. He popped the candy into her mouth, allowing his thumb the briefest brush along her bottom lip, the hint of blue glow from the big screen filtering through his windshield. Her eyes closed in ecstasy as she chewed. Her lashes swept up again, fast. "Wait. I wanted to talk tonight, a big part of why I didn't want to go to a restaurant." Talk? Send him packing more likely. To hell with waiting. Like McKenzie had said before. A kiss wasn't sex. He popped another Raisinette into her mouth. "I can think of far better things to do with our mouths than talking." Vince shifted, truck seat squeaking as he lowered his head to capture McKenzie's surprise-parted lips.

Chapter Eleven Vince's kiss beat any big-screen equivalent currently blazing from the drive-in cinema. Not that McKenzie had the least inclination to watch the romantic movie any longer. She had her own real-life hero in her arms, stroking broad hands over her while they fogged up his truck windows fast. Her plan to slip past Vince's emotional walls had been derailed by the ever-present temptation to fall into his arms. She couldn't talk to him when they were in a crowd — but she couldn't talk to him when they were alone because she couldn't keep her hands off him. And oh my, were her fingers ever having fun while she enjoyed the taste of Vince mixed with the lingering hint of chocolate from his Raisinettes. Suddenly, Vince broke away. "Holy crap, what was that?" "A great kiss?" "No. That." His hand fell to rest on her stomach in a warm weight. "It kicked me." The baby rolled under his touch — must have rolled before, as well, but she'd been too wrapped up in making out to notice. "Junior moves around a lot these days."

328

His brown eyes went wide with amazement. "I knew babies kicked, but I had no idea how much or how hard. Wow!" As she watched him revel in this first for him as a father, she couldn't help but think how they were forever linked by this child she already loved more than life. And as much as Vince tempted her to try again, she didn't have the luxury of a wait-and-see approach. She had to make the right choice. Her son or daughter deserved stability, which meant she had to find out more about what rumbled around in Vince's head ASAP. Because if she invited him back into her life, she had to be certain that this time he would stay.

*** Vince hunched over his kitchen table with his laptop computer and a breakfast burrito — McKenzie's current craving. Thank goodness for Internet, which he was using to search for date ideas. There hadn't been a call or letter since the McDonald's incident that had damn near driven him insane with fear for her safety. He still didn't want to let her out of his sight any more than necessary. Although living together was giving him a permanent erection. At least the oak dinette table camouflaged just how much she affected him. The way she was shooting down his outing ideas, he could make use of the table's cammo effect for hours to come since they might not be going anywhere. They'd enjoyed an incredible kiss at the drive-in. He'd thought things were going great, and then she'd turned quiet, focusing on her nachos and the movie again. Okay. He could be patient. But he'd followed the How to Romance Your Valentine suggestions to the letter, and so far no luck, with nearly half of his dates past. Too bad the book was clear across the condo, tucked in his sock drawer. Might as well go for the laugh. "What about the 'Big Cat Rescue Two for One Day Tour'?" Choking on a bite, McKenzie swiped salsa from the corner of her mouth. "You're kidding, right?" "Have you been before?" Damn, but her smile turned him inside out. Maybe he should just check email, instead. Given all the pings coming in, it sounded like he was getting spammed. She reached for the sour cream and slathered an extra spoonful on the tip of her burrito. "How about I pick this date?" He watched her wrap her mouth around the burrito, email spam long forgotten, because heaven help him he was turning into a sex-starved lunatic. What had she just said? Oh. Yeah. She wanted to pick their next date. Ah, crap. "Sure. Cool. But just make sure there's enough food for me. I'm not into tea rooms or cucumber sandwiches." "No problem." Her wicked smile tightened his groin as much as his stomach. "I think you're going to like this very, very much."

Chapter Twelve

329

Vince's shout reverberated through McKenzie's ears and darn near deafened her. But choosing this locale had been well worth it to elicit such a boisterous response from him during their outing. No doubt he'd been surprised when she suggested watching an arena football game for their date — surprised enough to put away his laptop computer without even checking email. And wasn't it fun to stun him for a change? They'd enjoyed an awesomely normal date that was drawing to a close. The final period roar echoed off the ceiling as the Tampa Bay Storm finished taking on the Orlando Predators. Who cared which team won? She'd eaten all the nachos she could scarf down and Vince was having fun, relaxing for the first time since he'd landed at her feet in a whoosh of parachute and shock. Hopefully, helping him loosen up would loosen his tongue for talking, as well, during their hour-and-a-half drive back to Tampa from Orlando. Looping his arm around her waist, Vince tucked her to his side as they threaded through the crowd out of the arena, protective and romantic and so hot, hot, hot she struggled to keep her brain engaged. At least she hadn't received a call or letter from her stalker since the McDonald's incident. Of course, Vince took that as all the more reason to stick close to her because he figured his presence had deterred the jerk. Outside, the noise eased, the crowd dispersed into the crisp night and Vince still kept her close. "Christ Almighty, lady, you sure know the way to a guy's heart." She warned herself not to take his words too literally after believing him before when he'd told her she was the one for him, forever. She'd been fool enough to risk her bruised heart again and invest in a stack of Bride magazines. And it wasn't just the breakup that hurt. It was not hearing from him the whole time he was deployed, day in and day out fearing the worst. She knew well the pain of loving someone who died too young. Sheesh. She needed to shake the morbid thoughts or she would never get him to talk. "I figured since you missed the NFL season while you were in Iraq, you might enjoy this all the more." He tensed beside her, thick corded muscles bunching visibly under his jersey. Then, slowly, the muscles smoothed again. "Thank you. You were right." "I imagine a lot of things were tough over there." His head dipped to the side as he studied her through narrowed brown eyes. "Are you trying to shrink me? 'Cause I thought your PhD was in engineering, not psychology." She would never get her answers if she didn't push for them. "You said you broke up to keep me from losing it if you died. Sounds like you were trying to shrink me, too." He stopped by his pickup, planting his hands on either side of her, cool truck at her back and hot Vince in front of her. "Can you honestly say you weren't torn apart when your husband died? Do you realize you've never even said his name in all the time we've dated?" No. That couldn't be right. But it was. Just remembering the pain of losing someone she'd loved that much…ohmigod, the world went wobbly under her feet. Maybe Vince was right to question whether she was cut out to be a military wife. Sure, her husband had died of a fluke brain tumor, but with Vince she would have to worry about health catastrophes and an enemy missile.

330

"Of course I was devastated. I loved him." She forced herself to say the name, "Adam." Okay, she'd said his name, but the ache in her chest stayed. Because of his death, right? Not because of the horrifying image of Vince gone. Pain, fear, and yes, wounded pride from Vince's rejection brought bottled words free. "Yes, I loved Adam. I wouldn't have married him otherwise. Love is the only reason to get married." Whoops. Didn't that sound like a fishing expedition? Vince stayed silent. Ouch. She started to duck under his arm. He rested a hand on her shoulder to stop her, finally meeting her eyes with as much raw emotion in his gaze as she felt churning inside her, like acid eating away at her heart. "Kenzie —" he paused, swallowed hard before continuing "— my dad was military — Army Delta. He died on a mission. I saw what it did to my mother for years afterward. I can't risk doing that to you." Had she dismissed his earlier explanation a little too quickly? Sure, on the surface it sounded too simplistic but only because she hadn't taken the time — or risk — to dig deeper into how it must have hurt him to watch his mother suffer. "Then by that reasoning we definitely shouldn't pursue a relationship." "Not a problem. As soon as my commitment to the Air Force is up, I'm getting out."

Chapter Thirteen McKenzie couldn't imagine Vince out of uniform. Well, technically, she could envision him gloriously naked. And didn't that make her heart race faster than her brain through a quadratic equation? Not a wise thing when they were standing in a crowded parking lot after an arena football game. Grateful for the bracing support of Vince's truck behind her, she tried to wrap her brain around his announcement that he was hanging up his flight suit forever. She certainly didn't want him making that sacrifice for her. Turning away from his call to serve would only bring resentment later in their relationship. "It's really sweet of you to offer, but you should think this over." "I'm serious, Kenzie. I'm not backing down or away. I want you and our baby in my life, and I'll do whatever it takes to make you comfortable with that." He sounded serious, certainly looked it, the sincerity in his eyes shining brighter than the halogen lights illuminating the night. But she kept thinking of all the little ways her husband used to suggest she change — be more outgoing and yeah, her favorite color red was nice, but take a chance on something else. Vince needed to be true to himself or he would resent her as — heaven help her through the guilt — she'd sometimes resented her husband. She shook her head. "This isn't the right way. Do you really want to stop flying?" His face blanked. "I can still fly in the civilian world." "But is that what you want to do? Is that how you see yourself being happy?"

331

"I'm thinking of our happiness." He reached beside her to open the door, a smile filling his face if not his chocolate brown eyes. "How about some ice cream for the pregnant lady?" Subject closed. Her bulldog of an ex-lover had clammed up again. What was wrong with her that she wanted to shake him right now? He was being a prince, attentive, romantic. Still, something was off, missing, and darn it, she wanted it all. And that scared her when she already knew how much it hurt to lose everything.

*** Two days later, Vince sprawled on his sofa with the Valentine's book open, thumbing through for ideas while McKenzie showered — as if he hadn't been tortured enough lately. Their fourth date to the arena football game had started so well — and had ended flatter than a bombed-out munitions dump. He'd forged ahead, but their fifth date had sucked worse, from start to finish. He'd been so jazzed to snag rail-side seats on a dinner cruise — which actually turned out to be fortuitous since she'd spent the evening hurling. He'd never felt so helpless. During the ride back to shore, he could only rub her neck while she hung her head over the side, praying the nausea wouldn't return. She'd refused the ship's doctor's offer to take her to the infirmary. The last thing she wanted was to be below deck. Fresh air helped. At least it wasn't food poisoning, just an old-fashioned case of motion sickness, and she couldn't take anything for it since she was pregnant. Rather than gaining progress, he knew he was losing airspeed fast. And it was tough to think of a way to recover with McKenzie in the shower — naked and soaping herself. His eyes closed, blocking out everything but the image of her ivory skin, the sweet curve of her backside as she bent… The book. Focus on the book and date ideas before he sprinted for her and her loofah. Hot-air balloon ride? Nope. No more motion sickness. Love notes throughout the house? Too much like the letter-writing creep. He should be glad they hadn't heard from the guy. Hopefully, the cretin had backed off now that McKenzie had a man in her life again. But still, Vince couldn't shake the sense that the dude might be secretly seething, jealous enough to act. Edgy, Vince slammed the book closed and reached for his laptop on the coffee table. Maybe, he needed to take a break from thinking about dates and catch up on his freaking email. He never went two days without checking, for God's sake. This mess with McKenzie was really screwing with his mind. Logging on, he clicked his mailbox icon — and yeah, the number confirmed his suspicion of a couple of days ago that he'd been big-time spammed. How freaking obnoxious. The list scrolled out with the same anonymous address. He started to hit delete, but the identical headers stopped him cold. You don't deserve her, echoed down his screen. Yeah, he already knew that, but it didn't stop the cold rage searing through him over what he knew had to be emails from the pervert stalking McKenzie.

332

The telephone ringing broke through his haze of anger. He shook his head to clear the fog, or at least part it enough to function. He reached for his cordless on the coffee table…and got a dial tone. The ringing continued. From McKenzie's purse. Vince bolted from the sofa and yanked her cell phone out. Caller unknown. He saw pure red. He jammed the on-button with his thumb and barked into the receiver, "Listen up, you bastard. If you come near McKenzie, I'm going to nail your ass to the wall!"

Chapter Fourteen McKenzie wrapped a towel around her hair, as well as one around her body, and wondered if some subconscious slip had led her to forget her robe. How weird was it to worry about Vince seeing her in a towel when he'd seen her in so much less? Awareness tingled through her, tightening her breasts — as if they weren't already sensitive enough because of her pregnancy. "Kenzie?" Vince's voice boomed from the living area. "Are you finished yet?" "Uh, yeah." She stepped through the door. He appeared at the head of the hall, his shoulders almost touching either wall, his shadowed face deliciously mysterious. Gulp. Her fingers clenched tighter on the towel to overcome her urge to drop it. Vince extended his hand. Her feet inched forward. Maybe she could just reach and take his — phone? She squinted in the dim hall light to see that he held a cell phone in his grip. "For you. It's Ruthie." Embarrassment burned her bare skin. Did he know how close she'd been to flinging away her towel and restraint? Securing her hold, she took the cell phone in her other hand. "Ruthie?" "Whew," Ruthie gasped through the earpiece, "that man of yours is a hothead as well as a hottie." "Huh?" She leaned against the wall packed with airplane and helicopter prints, Vince doing the same without looking away. "Apparently, he thought I was some kind of obscene phone caller." "Ohmigosh. I'm so sorry," McKenzie gasped, memories of all those other calls flooding her mind and making her long to fly straight into Vince's arms. "Before I could dissuade him of the notion, he threatened to nail my ass to the wall, and while perhaps that could be a pleasurable thing, I do believe he meant it in a different context than my fervent imagination created."

333

Ruthie's ramble scattered scarier thoughts, bringing back happier days, steamier times. McKenzie couldn't help but think of when she and Vince had made love against this very wall. Was he remembering that encounter, as well, when they'd sent one of the framed prints crashing to the ground? She yanked her mind off that distracting image and back to Ruthie speaking. "Not that I think about your guy that way, because he's yours, of course." "Damn straight." Whoops. Another slip alert. And hey…wait a second! What was that about him imagining Ruthie was the obscene caller at first? She would ask him about that later. When she had clothes, and when he wasn't inches away steaming her with his body heat. For now, she needed to finish this call. "What can I say? He's a little protective. Apparently he overstocked on those 'Be Mine' conversation hearts." "Hmm…I'm thinking I should pass along some of those to Carl before our big date tonight." "You and Carl?" Supermodel and the nerd? "Cool!" Out of the blue a memory of her husband flashed, of how his eyes seemed to wander toward the glamour types on the street. He always swore he loved her body just fine the way it was, but hey, guys liked to look. She told herself it didn't matter. But God, she couldn't help but appreciate how she always had Vince's complete attention when they were together. She blinked through the thought that unsettled her already shaky resolve to keep Vince at arm's length unless she was certain. Think. Phone. "Uh, be sure to call and tell me all about the date." "That gal-pal sharing of info runs both ways, 'ya know," Ruthie said. "Meanwhile, I actually called to pass along a message from Judd to contact him tomorrow about the runway renovations." Listening to Ruthie rattle off other stats that had come in, McKenzie noticed Vince watching her like she was the most amazing person ever. His attention was a heady thing that she wanted to trust. Time to take a leap of faith and tell him what she really wanted.

Chapter Fifteen Walking along the shore at sunset, Vince couldn't believe McKenzie had wanted to go shopping. Nowhere in his romance book did it suggest spending a day as mall rats. But how could he tell her no? She'd said they should try a normal day, test out real life, which actually sounded like progress. And they both needed a breather after finding the latest taunt from her stalker. Those emails insisting he didn't deserve her had rattled them. He'd notified the OSI so they could try to track the address. There was nothing more he could do now but stay close to her and watch. Since he worried about keeping her at her place and his — the first places that perv would look — the outing to a neighboring city's mall sounded like a good plan.

334

The outing hadn't been half bad — was really good, actually. They'd bought tennis shoes, a new Crock-Pot and even shopped for a few baby items such as unisex sleepers and impossibly tiny T-shirts. After all that hustle and bustle, a peaceful walk had seemed like a good idea. She'd watched him so intently sometimes, he'd wondered if this was a test. And why wasn't she still pushing for more info about his plans to get out of the military? Did she just not care? Women sure were confusing — this woman more than others. McKenzie scuffed her feet through the sand, each step whistling against the pristine white beach. "Do you know why our feet squeak against the sand when we walk along the beaches here?" He scrambled to follow her conversational shift. There she went, confusing him again. "No, babe, why's that?" "Because the sand here is made of teeny grains of quartz crystal from the Appalachian Mountains." She danced her feet through with an extra whistle/squeak, the perfect mix of super-brainy and surprisingly whimsical McKenzie. The observation was so vintage McKenzie he couldn't stop the grin at her PhD brain always working and reasoning. Then his smile faded. Thing was, logic said they weren't a good match even though he wanted her in his life so much his previously numb heart squeezed tight. He wasn't a quitter. He'd hauled his ass and his crew out of the fire more than once on missions that would have downed others. So shouldn't he be relieved to put that behind for a new, safer job? But he couldn't stop thinking about the difference he'd made, the pride and rush of defending his country. Damn it all, he'd made up his mind. He shifted his focus off the crashing waves and onto McKenzie, her face haloed by the multicolored hues of the setting sun. "You're so damn beautiful." A smile flickered, and even at half wattage, McKenzie outshone anyone else he'd known. "Vince, you don't have to say things like that to me. I'm not an exciting person, which is okay with me because I'm comfortable in my skin. I enjoy walks on the shore and shopping for baby clothes, and my brain's jam-packed with academic trivia. You lead a high-octane life and thrive on the thrills. I'm not sure I'm enough for you, especially if you leave the military." Not enough for him? How could she not know the way she turned a fella inside out? Hadn't her husband told her every damn day what an amazing woman she was and what a lucky bastard he was to breathe the same air she did? Vince didn't need the book to tell him that while she'd loved her husband, apparently the man hadn't been good enough for her. Vince took in the stubborn tip of her chin defied by the vulnerable glint in her eyes and knew he was totally toast. He cupped her face, threading his fingers in her hair to cup the back of her head. "Honey, you are more woman than a guy like me can handle. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to try like hell." He swooped down to take her mouth and damned if she didn't take his right back. Warm, supple McKenzie molded her every curve against him, her sexy little sighs infusing more of her heat into him, searing through his veins, pulsing south, hot, fast, hard. "I need you, Kenzie," he groaned between feverish kisses, "so much." On so many levels. He wanted to tell her, except every time he tried to talk, somehow he screwed things up. But he couldn't let her think he'd pushed her away five months ago because of anything wrong with her. She was damn near perfect, and the parts of her that weren't perfect made her fun and challenging and holy crap, she could do the most amazing things with those flutter-soft fingers under his shirt, her whispers and moans and hungry hands telling him she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

335

They really needed to get a room fast before they were arrested. Hadn't he wanted to stay away from their condos, anyway? And just his luck, flashing in the darkening night blanketing the seaside resort cabins, he spotted the red neon word… Vacancy.

Chapter Sixteen Could she really be standing inside a romantic seaside cottage with Vince? Was she crazy or what? But as McKenzie watched him lock the door, seal the white blinds and click on the conch-shell lamp, she knew she wouldn't walk away, especially after the temptation of their wonderfully normal day together. Hadn't that creepy stalker made her remember nothing in life was certain? How dare he include Vince in his sick games? God, she couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to Vince. She needed this moment with him as much as he did. She would worry about regrets later, because right now, she craved the vitally alive feel of his hot skin under her hands. Turning to her, Vince gathered her into his arms, the scent of his spicy soap and the fresh air from their walk filling her senses as fully as he would soon fill her. The stroke of his hands as he backed her toward the looming bed left her dizzy. Waves rushed outside, echoing the shoosh, shoosh roar of her pulse in her ears — faster, harder, louder. Hmm…delicious words to consider. Between fevered kisses and the tangling of tongues, she tore at his clothes with frantic hands that shook. And took delight in the fact that his hands seemed no less steady in sweeping aside her clothes. The cool night air brushed her skin, sending a trickle of self-consciousness through her. What would he think of the changes in her body since they'd last been together? She'd lost much of her shape weeks ago. He didn't leave her to wonder long. Vince cupped her chest and lord love him, he smiled. "Ahh, the breast fairy's been to visit — and so generously, too." The breast fairy? A giggle slipped free, then dried right up as he lavished more attention with his hands and mouth, sending her brain on stun. At least her fingers worked just fine by instinct, savoring the hard planes of his shoulders, lowering to cup his taut and awesome butt. His broad hands slid lower to cradle her stomach, tenderly, reverently. His eyes glinted with restrained tears. Tears for goodness sake. How could she not melt? She linked her fingers with his and held him in place for a poignant moment, before he smiled, his eyes clearing. Then turning smoky, oh-so-smoky and heated and hungry. "I haven't been with anyone since you, so it's been a long time for me. I'm shaking I need you so damn much, and I don't want to hurt you or the baby by being too rough." He grin-grimaced. "Or too fast." He hadn't been with anyone else? Even with his deployment, she knew there would have been opportunities. That he didn't act on them… She couldn't think about the serious — and convoluted — implications too long or they would start talking, maybe even arguing. And she so didn't want to argue with Vince right now. "My doctor says we're both healthy and that sex is fine. She even gave me a booklet with suggestions for accommodating positions when I get bigger." His eyes lit. "Oh really? I like this doc already."

336

"How about we start with one of those positions right now?" She pivoted them around until his legs bumped the bed — and then shoved. Vince landed on his back, wonderfully naked and ready for her. She hitched a knee up on the mattress and swung her other leg over to straddle his hips. He reached to palm her breasts again, teasing the peaks tauter, tugging the thread of desire tighter within her. "Kenzie," he groaned her name, his erection throbbing an undeniable invitation against her. "I missed you, missed this, us together, so damn much." She held back the same words, but couldn't contain her moan at the magic of his hands, the steely heat of him right there for the…taking. Her moan increased with every delicious inch of her glide down, her body welcoming him back inside with ripples of pleasure. And then he moved under her. How could she have forgotten the incredible sensation of his nerve-stroking thrusts? His rumbling litany of how much he wanted and needed her touched her with his words as thoroughly as his talented hands caressing her. After being apart for so long, she knew she wouldn't last long this time, either. So fast, pleasure swelled through her like the releasing force of the crashing waves echoing outside their haven — intense, elemental, their shouts of completion twining as tightly as their bodies. Aftershocks gushing through her, she sagged onto Vince's chest, his heart pounding under her ear, bristly hair tickling her cheek. And sheesh, her super-smart brain was failing her big time. Because she didn't have a clue what she should say to Vince once the sweat dried on their sated bodies.

Chapter Seventeen Watching the sunrise from their seaside cabin's porch, Vince kept his arms loose around McKenzie as she leaned against his chest, silent. Not surprising. Their night of tantric, intense — and hell yeah, emotional — lovemaking had scrambled his brain, as well. A seriously inconvenient thing, since he needed to keep a step ahead of the smartest woman he'd ever met. She caressed his hands where they rested over the swell of their child growing under her loose red cotton dress. "What an evening to remember," she sighed. "What do you want to do for our seventh date?" Seventh date. His last chance. "Tough to top what we had going for this past one." She tipped her head up, smiling. "Our sixth date has definitely been the best so far." With her feeling so right in his arms, their baby rolling under his hands, the scent of her still clinging to his skin — to his soul — he didn't want to play at the dating game, anymore. He wanted the real thing, and he was scared as hell if he gave her more time to think, she'd bolt. "Marry me. Please, Kenzie, don't make me spend the rest of my life without you." Her pretty blue eyes went wide, but her mouth stayed shut. He swallowed down his disappointment and resisted the urge to kick himself for rushing her. But he couldn't pull the words back. "All right. You're not saying no. A positive sign. Still, could you clue me in about what's going on in that gorgeous head of yours?"

337

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, finally releasing it, turning in his arms and sliding her arms around his waist. "I want to say yes." Thank God. "You do? Then go for it, because I sure as hell want to hear that word." "What about the Air Force?" "What about it? I already told you I'm getting out as soon as they'll cut me loose." Her eyes went serious — too serious. "Because you don't want to worry me." "Yes," he rushed to reassure her. Maybe she only wanted to double-check his intent. "And because I want to be there for you and our kid, and any other kids we might be blessed with in the future." She smiled, her wise eyes somehow sad in contrast. "That's so sweet, and I know you mean it." "But…" "I want you, not this person you're trying to turn yourself into." "You want me? Well, ooh-rah! That's a good thing, because I want you, too, and I'm working my ass off to show you." And yeah, for a second he really did resent jumping through hoops for her. But he didn't resent it enough to walk away. "Relationships are about compromise." She cupped his face in gentle hands. "I've been married. I know all about compromise and working through troubles, but this isn't about leaving the toilet seat up or who pays the bills or even about a job. This is about who you are. And you are a soldier — an airman — a man called to military service. It's not what you do, it's who you are. I think you need to make peace with that after the way you lost your father, before you make any decisions about our future." He forced himself to stay still and silent, when he wanted more than anything to shake her hands off and tell her she was wrong. He could make it work, because he wasn't giving her up. "Yes, I'm terrified that something will happen to you, Vince. I've been through that hell once and," she looked up, blinking fast before leveling her watery blue gaze back to him again, "and I pray I don't have to live through it again. But life doesn't come with any guarantees except that true love endures." "Are you saying that you love me?" His heart lurched in his chest like during a full-out engine stall in midair. "I'm saying I can only marry you if we love each other, real love and acceptance. If I'm going to trust you to love me for who I am, then you have to trust that I will love you for who you are." Wait. She couldn't actually mean she was okay with his job? And if she was, then why was he still dragging his feet? Could she be right that he needed to make peace with losing his father? He stared out over the ocean as if answers might spew from the gushing tide. Instead, he saw only hungry gulls in search of breakfast and a patron opening a truck to leave. Truck. Right where he'd parked last night… What the hell? Someone was breaking into his pickup.

Chapter Eighteen "Get inside the cabin, McKenzie."

338

Vince's order chilled her faster than the early morning wind off the ocean circling her body now that he'd stepped away. He might be pigheaded, but he was never rude. Something must be seriously wrong. "What's going on?" "Somebody's breaking into my truck." He kept his gaze on the parking lot while reaching behind to open their cottage door. She shivered at the trickle of apprehension. "It's just a car. Let him have it and we'll call the cops." "Or it could be the creep who's been hassling you, and if it is —" muscles bunched under Vince's jeans and white T-shirt "— there's not a chance in hell I'm letting him get away." Without another word, Vince backed her inside and shut the door on his way out. All fear aside, she refused to let Vince face her stalker or a possible carjacker alone. But she wasn't an idiot. She knew she had to be careful for the baby. Room phone in one hand, cell phone in the other, she called the front desk and 9-1-1, alerting both. Keeping the cell phone tucked to her ear, she raced onto the porch — to find Vince hauling a man out of the truck cab by his shirt. Panic burned along her skin as she looked around for a weapon to help if Vince needed her. Desperately she searched, and settled on a psychedelic skim board resting against the side of the next cottage. She'd beam the bastard upside the head if he harmed so much as one hair on Vince. Only vaguely aware of the people pouring from their cabins, McKenzie raced toward the truck and wrestling men. Her feet squeaked against the sand. Her eyes focused on Vince dodging a swing from the lean man he'd pulled free. Lightning fast, Vince pinned the towering man with a forearm to the neck, while he slowed the guy's struggling with a fist to the gut. Panting, she screeched to a stop, recognition stilling her. "Judd?" The skim board slid from her fingers to thud on the sand. What was her co-worker doing here? And beside Vince's truck with a white sheet of paper in his hand? Realization kicked her harder than any soccer-player-to-be inside her belly. "You've been leaving those letters? And making the calls?" A vein throbbed in Vince's temple. "Sure as hell looks that way." Judd gasped, his puppy-dog sweet eyes not so heart-tugging when bugging out with fear. "He doesn't deserve you," he spit the words out in a crazed echo of those email headers on Vince's computer. "He never did. I just wanted to be with you." "You scared me to death." She considered whomping him with the skim board anyhow. "But I never hurt you. I would never hurt you." Judd sagged against the truck. "I only wanted you to ask for my help, to notice me. I left my wife for you and did you appreciate it? No — you started seeing this CroMagnon." Vince growled. "Well, this Cro-Magnon knows better than to insult the man who has him in a neck-lock."

339

Judd ignored the menace in Vince's voice and continued, "He has to be an idiot for dumping you, leaving you flat, never calling." Vince's brow furrowed, bar-hold across Judd's throat loosening just long enough for the man to lunge. McKenzie screamed a warning. Vince slammed Judd against the truck again, facedown on the hood this time, arm wrenched up behind his back. Judd jerked and kicked with insane frenzy. "I was the one to pass you a tissue when you cried your eyes out after he dumped you," he babbled, his obsession showing with alarming clarity as a siren blared in the distance. "I was the one who passed you the whole damn box every time the news reported a helicopter crash. You only needed a push to lean on me. I would have given you what you need — a peaceful life." Judd continued his litany of "adoration" and commiseration over her suffering during Vince's deployment. Surely, her pigheaded lover understood the man was unbalanced. And even if Judd's accounting of her grief was true, everything was out of context. Still, she could see Vince soaking in every word about how frightened she'd been for him while he was overseas, undoubtedly confirming his fears of the military life being too painful for her to bear after losing her husband. Slowly, the light faded from the amazing, vibrant man she'd just begun to hope she could marry, after all.

Chapter Nineteen The next day, Vince stood in line at the flight meal kitchen, buying his boxed supper before takeoff for a routine fly around in his Pave Low to keep his stats current. Vacation over. The cupid holiday past. And still no promise from McKenzie to get married. Not that he'd asked her again after the debacle in the resort parking lot. Valentine's Day had been an unmitigated bust in more ways than one. Judd had been hauled away by the cops and promptly locked in a pysch ward. Still, Vince couldn't scavenge sympathy for the bastard after the hell he'd put McKenzie through. Even knowing the man was unhinged, Vince couldn't get past what Judd had said during his frothing-at-themouth rant. McKenzie had been a basket case over his deployment even though he'd broken things off. By the time they'd finished at the police station, the day had been shot. Their Valentine's Day feast? McDonald's carryout. They'd come full circle. Except this time they'd made sleepy slow love before retreating to separate sides of the bed. God, he didn't need this messing with his head before a flight. Providing a welcome distraction, two other pilots joined him in line, friends. It was a small Air Force, the flying world even smaller. Filing in, they picked up their meals for their return night flights to their home bases — Bo Rokowsky, the cargo pilot who'd flown Vince's parachuting mission a week ago, and Joe Greco, a bud from helicopter training days. Bo reached for an extra apple for his meal. "A hangdog look like that must mean you're still having woman troubles." Great. He even looked like a sap. "Do 'ya think? And I'm fresh out of ideas." "Ideas, I've got." Bo grinned. Women loved Bo Rokowsky — all women, any age — which seemed to make the guy some kind of dating advice guru. "It's not about the money or being extravagant. Where's her favorite place to go?"

340

McDonald's. Foreign cuisine restaurants. Arena football games. Seaside walks. She was an amazingly diverse woman. "I already did all that." Bo tossed extra napkins into the food box. "Does she collect something? Sometimes that can clue you in to what makes her tick?" "Hell, if I knew that, I wouldn't be in this mess." Vince dug into his flight-suit pocket for his wallet and passed bills to the cashier. Joe Greco followed with his fried-chicken meal. "'Ya know there are books with suggestions. I keep ideas like that stored in my Palm Pilot along with my favorite jokes, so they're right there when I need them." Bo's eye lit with a gleam that had earned him his bad-boy reputation. "I thought they outlawed those kinds of books in this state." Vince cleared his throat. "I find it interesting that my love life is more fun for you guys than for me." His face smoothing to serious, Joe clapped him on the shoulder. "Have you tried just being her friend? Friends can have the hots for each other, too." He'd thought McKenzie was his friend, as well as lover. Heaven knew he'd missed talking to her as much as he'd missing making love to her — and that was a helluva lot. Forcing a smile, he asked, "If you two are so damn smart, how come you're still single?" Joe shrugged. "The right one's worth waiting for. Catch 'ya later, dude." Watching the two pilots amble away, Vince shuffled their words around in his head, while his in-flight meal grew heavy in his hands. Worth waiting for? Hovering in a holding pattern wasn't his style. But why risk it all just because he wanted things settled with McKenzie by a certain date and time? Well, hell. The answer had been there all along, not in a book, but in a simple shopping spree and walk along the beach. He was being an idiot by setting time limits and thinking love could only happen on Valentine's Day in a romantic setting. Love should be timeless and not dependent on the setting. And ever-brilliant McKenzie was right. Real love was about being honest. She'd made a big sacrifice insisting he stay in the Air Force. It was time for him to give her what she needed, as well. He would have to open up and let her inside his head — even though it scared the crap out of him to get that close, after seeing how his parents' intense love had torn his mother apart afterward. Seemed that he was carrying around more baggage from his father's death than he'd thought, something he needed to start working on — with McKenzie's help. She was also right to insist they both live their lives to the fullest. Every day was a gift, and he now realized his mother wouldn't have traded loving his old man, even to escape the heartache. He fished out his cell phone and dialed from memory, waiting for the pick up, praying she'd be there… Yes! "Hey, Ruthie? It's Vince. Could you do me a favor and make sure McKenzie's standing in her office parking lot in exactly three hours? I know that's after work, but it's really important."

Chapter Twenty

341

Standing in the parking lot outside her office, McKenzie slumped to rest against the quarter panel of her car and tried not to be jealous of Ruthie and Carl's happiness. So what if she was working after hours so they could have a date? Somebody had to wait for the delivery, so it might as well be her since Vince was working late tonight, too. Their vacation week of dates and romance was officially over. So, she waited. And waited. Still no delivery truck. Nothing but the sound of cars on the road and aircraft in the sky. Planes and helicopters, which made her think of a certain pigheaded man. Strong man. Honorable man. God, she loved him. But after the incident with Judd, Vince wouldn't talk to her, just cosseted her and clammed up. They'd even made sweet tender love last night, then stared at the ceiling for hours. Him, not talking. Her, already feeling shut out enough without having him ignore any attempt at meaningful conversation. She tried to imagine her life without him — and couldn't. Her heart now insisted he'd pushed her away before leaving for the Middle East because he was as scared as she was of their growing feelings. He'd obviously regretted breaking up since he'd arranged the parachuting surprise meeting before learning about Junior. She trusted her instincts at work, but this was so much riskier. And so much more important with a kick-butt payoff. How could she have been such a coward? Time to trust her heart, as well, and fight for the man she loved. The helicopter flying maneuvers overhead seemed to applaud her decision with the chop, chop, chop of its rotors. Louder and louder. Go for it. Go for it. Go for it. The chopper seemed to chant in support of one of its own. And she would. As soon as she finished waiting for the darned delivery of…what was it Ruthie had said? It should be on the invoice she was supposed to show when the truck arrived. Maybe there was a number to call on the paper. McKenzie tugged the envelope from her purse and pulled out the folded paper. Spreading it flat on the hood of her car, she struggled to read in the dim parking-lot light. It didn't look like any invoice for office supplies she'd ever seen. In fact, it looked like a handwritten letter. Don't be an idiot this time. Grab that fine man of yours by his equally fine ass with both hands and don't let go. Say what? "McKenzie?" a familiar — and beloved — masculine voice boomed through a loudspeaker. She jolted, her purse smacking the pavement and scattering in a rolling clatter of keys, lip gloss and quarters. She looked around and found no one. "McKenzie, up here," the voice called again a second before a spotlight from the sky snapped on, focused on her — a light and voice overhead from a hovering helicopter. Vince. Ohmigod. There was no delivery truck coming. Ruthie had maneuvered her again. And she couldn't have been happier.

342

McKenzie clasped the paper to her heart with one hand and extended the other to wave, tears blinding her eyes that didn't have a thing to do with hormones or the beating wind from the helicopter blades. "McKenzie Rowe," Vince's voice resonated from above, "I love you more than arena football and sunrises and my own life. Will you please do me the honor of letting all our mail read Captain and Dr. Novak?" Captain. An Air Force aviator. She knew with a surety that he'd embraced his destiny. Now it was time to embrace hers. She flung her arms wide and yelled into the roar of chopping blades, "Yes, yes, yes!" "I can't hear real well up here." Vince's response swelled from the spotlight. "But I'm 'gonna assume that smile of yours is a yes. And if you'll take cover under the porch, I'll come down there to hear your answer in person." As she stumbled back under the overhang, the helicopter descended in a swirl of wind, dust and noise. Holy guacamole, he really was landing in the parking lot. For her. His Pave Low kissed the asphalt, settled, the blades slowing. Again, he'd landed at her feet. In his helicopter this time rather than on his fine butt, with a confidence and surety echoed in her heart. Tossing aside his helmet, Vince leapt through the side door, the copilot staying behind at the controls and grinning big time. Vince's smile was even larger. She raced and met him halfway — what she should have done all week long. "Marry me." "Hey wait, I asked first." His strong arms banded around her, hauling her to his solid chest. "Okay, yes, I'll marry you. Will you marry me?" "Yes, of course, Roger that, soon-to-be wife of mine." He buried his face in her hair, his arms trembling a little. "God, Kenzie, I love you so much. The past months without you have been hell. I am so sorry for doing that to us. The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you, but I swear I'll be smarter this go round." Turning her face toward his, she pressed a kiss to his mouth before giving him the words she knew he needed to hear most. "I forgive you." She kissed him again, lingering, savoring as long as she dared in a public parking lot. He smoothed her hair from her face with tender hands. "I don't deserve to be let off that easy." "Who says you're getting off easy, Captain Novak?" She smiled up at him and enjoyed the joy of being together again. "Junior and I are expecting some serious TLC from you. I've even marked pages in that book of yours you kept hiding in your sock drawer." "My pleasure, lady, absolutely my pleasure." He took her mouth again in that bold but surprisingly gentle way of his that never failed to singe her insides. And as per Ruthie's advice, McKenzie grabbed hold of his fine ass and never intended to let go. Vince's approval rumbled against her lips. "Hold that thought until we get home where I plan to work on creating a lifetime of evenings to remember."

343

The Homecoming by Melissa James Thanks to a drunken driver, Daniel McIntyre lost his football career, his modeling contract and his fiancée, a superficial woman who couldn't love a man with a permanent limp. After he is nursed back to life by his childhood friend and physiotherapist Charlene Winder, he leaves Sydney and returns to the Outback to rebuild his beloved family farm. But without a goodbye to Charlene, the girl who has always loved him from afar. A year later, Charlene comes home to Brindleback herself. And she's not alone…

Chapter One He was in the general store, of all places, when he discovered Charlene Winder was home…and that he was a father. And he heard it from the town gossip, of all people. He'd dreamed of creating a family with her, but in his worst nightmares, he'd never dreamed of finding out like this. Daniel McIntyre wandered through the store, listening to Amanda Bart telling everyone about his son. He had no doubt the baby was his. Charlene's sweet, trusting inexperience had been obvious, and the age was right. "His name's Christopher. He's four months old…and Charlene's not talking about the father." Amanda's mother Janelle said, "Those city men can't be trusted. He probably ran off, or played around on her." "Just shows what happens when you move to Sydney," Amanda added. "A real man, an Outback man, would do the right thing." "The town would make sure of it," Mike Hardy said dryly. "I know that from experience." Everyone chuckled, and alone in the canned vegetable aisle, Daniel wanted to shout, "I would have done the right thing if I'd known!" Hot fury shot through him. All these months, waiting for her to come to him, hoping their time meant something to her. Hoping Charlene wasn't like Sara, ditching him when a permanent knee injury from a collision with a drunk driver ended his six-figure football contract, and the scars from burns on his arms and neck finished his modeling career. Living the past year alone, fighting the daily, hourly urge to call Charlene, just to hear the soft, breathless voice once more… She'd had his child, and didn't tell him. He didn't know what he shoved in his cart, but when he got to the check-out he was in no mood to hear Amanda's teasing on the cans of baby custard. "Is your sister Narelle coming to visit? Kane's two, Daniel, and a bit beyond 'first food' cans!" He paid the bill without a word, slamming the notes down on the counter. Amanda's brows lifted at his rare lack of courtesy, but she said no more, not even about the big news: the upcoming Bachelor and Spinster's Ball in Brindleback.

344

Daniel hopped in the truck and roared off toward Charlene's parents' house at the riverside end of town. He stalked up the stairs to the house on poles, built high against the springtime flash floods, ignoring the throbbing pain shooting up from his knee at the abuse. He all but belted the door down with his knock. "Charlene! Charlene!" The door opened, and the face he'd longed to see for the past year was in front of him—pale, freckled, blue eyed, as gently beautiful as he'd always thought she was. He was with her at last… "Hello, Daniel. Nice of you to show up at last." Her mouth was white rimmed; behind her glasses, her pretty blue eyes were as cold as a Tasmanian winter. He blinked. What? At last? She was angry with him? "Damn it, Charlene, why didn't you tell me I'm a father?" At least five people on the street bolted to their houses and the phones. The news would hit the rounds within an hour.

Chapter Two Daniel was yelling so loud half the town could hear him. So much for thinking he'd be too embarrassed to admit Christopher was his! Though she'd been expecting him the past forty-eight hours, Charlene lost her breath at the sight of him. It had happened whenever Daniel was near her, ever since kindergarten. It had always been hopeless. Charlene Winder would never attract the Daniel McIntyres of the world…even if they both lived in the tiny outback town of Brindleback. Short, fair-skinned and slightly overweight—the perennial twelve pounds she couldn't lose—too-curly brown hair, myopic blue eyes behind her glasses, her only asset was her smile…or rather, her teeth. "You've got great teeth, Charlene," her school friends agreed. Pretty degrading when everyone else had great figures, beautiful eyes or sexy hair. Good ol' Charlene—call her when you need a friend, but easy to forget when she wasn't right in your face…which she never was. She didn't know how people did that—walking over others to get what they wanted. Walking away without looking back when they didn't want it anymore. "Damn it, Charlene, tell me!" With an effort she stared into heavy-lidded green eyes that had haunted her dreams for two decades. "Christopher's asleep. Keep your voice down." His nostrils flared, his eyes flashing, he gave a short nod and stepped inside, his limp a little less noticeable than when she'd last seen him. Her mother came in from the back door, concern on her face. "Hello, Mrs. Winder," Daniel said quietly, without the smile that always won fans for him. "I'm assuming you know I'm Christopher's father?" Her mother, clearly taken aback, nodded. He swivelled to face Charlene, in a worse fury than when she'd been his physiotherapist in Sydney, and she'd had to tell him he'd never walk without a limp, or when his engagement ended. "When was I going to know, Charlene—or don't my rights matter?"

345

"What's going on, Charlene?" her father said as he walked in the room. "Oh, it's you, Daniel? You've come to see your son at last?" Gazing into Daniel's glittering eyes, she knew one of his rare outbursts was imminent. Charlene turned to her parents. "Daniel and I need time alone to discuss Christopher's future." "And your future, I hope," her dad growled as her mum shooed him out of the house. "You've got that right, Mr. Winder," Daniel growled back. "Call us Sally and Dave. We'll go to the pub for dinner. There's a roast cooking in the oven if you're hungry," her mum said, smiling at Daniel with kindness Charlene wouldn't have believed an hour ago, when they'd all thought he didn't care about Christopher. "Well, Charlene?" he snapped, the second they were gone. "When were you going to tell me about Christopher?" She dragged in a breath and snapped right back, "My parents are gone. There's no audience, so stop acting as if you didn't know about him all along!"

Chapter Three After a stunned moment, Daniel spoke through gritted teeth. "What did you say?" She thought he'd known about the baby? Suddenly a lot of things made sense—such as the Winders passing him by in town without a word for the past year. And he'd felt so guilty because he'd slept with their daughter! A small wail came from down the hall. "Be quiet," Charlene whispered, lifting her hands to his mouth. "He's only been down for an hour. He was awake for half the night. He's getting a tooth, I think." Without warning, the memory hit him of another time her hand touched his mouth. After his release from hospital, he'd taken her out for dinner to thank her for everything. A clumsy fan came over and commiserated with him over losing his career and Sara, talking as though his life had ended. When the man left and the bitterness he'd held in for months spilled out, Charlene's fingers covered his lips with a caress so tender it dried up his resentment. Your career never defined you, Daniel. You were always a man to me. And she'd kissed him for the first time… But fourteen months later the son he'd never known about was getting a tooth, and Christopher had never seen his daddy. "So I can't meet my son yet?" Blushing, she moved her fingers from his mouth. "As soon as he wakes, you're welcome to see him. Why do you think I brought him here?" "I wouldn't know, Charlene. You didn't tell me you were coming…among other things," he whispered furiously. "I brought him," she said right over his words, "to meet his father. The father I called three times about my pregnancy, though he never called back." Daniel stopped dead. Her cold fury was too honest to discount. "Why didn't you leave messages?"

346

"I wouldn't have expected you to call if I hadn't left messages." She hunched into herself, as she'd always done when she felt unwanted or humiliated. "Although one 'Hi, Charlene, how's things and thanks for the memories' call might have been nice." "But—I never wanted to…" He felt heat scorching his face. I never wanted to make you feel obligated to come to me…. "Yes," she whispered, shuffling her feet. "It's obvious you didn't want to." His anger evaporated. Stupid, stupid! So caught up in his own inadequacy, he hadn't seen how his silence would appear to her. He reached out to touch her hand, but she jerked back. "When did you call?" She wouldn't even look at him now. "Three times, from early to middle July." July… Daniel cursed himself. Damn it, what could the reason have been— Sara. Of course it would have been her. He hadn't realized he'd said it aloud until Charlene turned away. "Yes, of course it would be Sara, wouldn't it?"

Chapter Four Daniel gripped her shoulders, dark hair falling over his forehead, his eyes burning. "No, Charlie, it's not like that. It's long over!" Yeah, right. Charlene pulled away from his touch, and the bittersweet memory of the nickname only he had ever given her. What kind of idiot was she, coming here to give him another chance when he'd never returned her calls, showing exactly what he'd thought of their time together—nothing? He'd obviously forgotten her, while she'd dreamed of hearing his voice saying, Come home with me, Charlie. A hope that met its expiry date the day he left her. Even now, when he'd just discovered she had his son, he was thinking of his perfect Sara. The gorgeous blonde model Sara—the perfect mate for Daniel. Imperfect and frumpy as she was, Charlene had always known he'd leave her behind. "Sara left fifteen messages a day around then. Some magazine wanted to do a spread on how wonderful she was, taking care of me—'Sara Reyne Stands By Her Man.' She wouldn't stop nagging, so I deleted all messages. Yours must have been among the ones she left." He shook his head. "You must've thought I was the worst kind of jerk—" She interrupted him, her tone flat. "I never thought anything." Except that she'd been a fool letting Daniel into her life those six weeks. Daniel would never stay. Yet even knowing he'd leave her, she'd done it anyway. Oh, who was she kidding? It was inevitable from the moment she'd walked into the orthopaedic ward after his first operation, and his face lit up at the sight of her. Charlie Winder? You're my physio? That's fantastic! But the ending had been as inevitable as the anguish and loneliness that followed the joy of having him all to herself. And it was less the romantic dates, or making love that she missed, but more watching TV together, amicably squabbling over what they liked, holding hands or cuddling on the couch. Even washing up together, walking through the local mall, or driving to the beach, not to swim, it had been almost winter, but to walk, exercising his leg and just talking. Wound through every conversation was Daniel's plan to return home to the farm and take over its management. His dad wanted to retire and move to the beach. Daniel never tried to hide his plans from her;

347

nor did he ask her to come with him, or to visit. She'd accepted the truth: she was his time of healing after losing his life—and Sara. "I expected nothing from you, until I knew about Christopher. Then I hoped for an acknowledgement you were the father, even if you weren't interested in me." "That's unfair, Charlie," he said, coming closer. "I came as soon as I heard." The beautiful pain of being near him speared her. Don't be an idiot. It's over. Accept it! "You're here for Christopher. There's no need to talk about—about anything else. It's dead. No need for an autopsy." "No, it's not dead," he said, hard and aggressive. "Marry me, Charlie."

Chapter Five Daniel knew he'd blown it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Charlene blanched; her pupils dilated till her eyes were nearly black, but not with the passion they held when he kissed her. He took her hand in his. "You should sit down." Unresisting, she sat on the fat old sofa. "What did you say?" she whispered in a slow, halting voice, seeming stunned. He didn't get it. Why was she here if she hadn't wanted, expected him to propose? They were such old friends… They'd been in the same classes since kindergarten, chemistry partners in science, she'd been the scorer for their cricket team, their parents were old friends. But obviously when he walked away, he'd left her thinking he didn't care. He had to make things right here. "Christopher's mine. I want him here at Redlands, acknowledged as my son." Color flooded her face; her eyes flashed. "Thank you. I always dreamed my first proposal—no, my second— would be the stuff of dreams." How much more could he have botched this? "Well, it's only my second proposal, and—" He suddenly frowned. "Your second proposal?" Her chin tilted and she nodded. "Your first proposal made the magazines." Her smile was cold with challenge. "Did you think a shotgunwedding-demand-in-the-living-room was all I deserved?" Daniel counted to twenty, praying for inspiration that didn't come. She was right. He'd given Sara the full red carpet proposal; yet with Charlie, who meant so much more than Sara, he was fumbling and shouting, demanding… Destroying any chance he had with her. Yet she'd come to him when he was at his worst, and made him a man again. She'd not just taken him into her bed, but into her life. Lighting up whenever he was near her. So beautifully vivid when he touched her, smiled at her or cuddled her. Wanting only to be with him, as he wanted her. If only he hadn't been so blindly focused on career and raising money to see the farm through the worst of the drought! It was all he'd really ever wanted—the football career and modeling contract were his means to come home with enough money to save the fifthgeneration McIntyre land.

348

Somehow he must've lost focus on the way, or he'd never have been with Sara. Proposing to her had been the most stupid— Proposal? "When was your first proposal?" he said again, filled with foreboding. She looked at him as if from a long distance away. "Last week," she said quietly. "Jared's been very supportive, always there when I needed someone. He did Lamaze classes with me, too." Fierce jealousy clawed his soul. "I hope you told him where to shove it!" The encroacher had no right! Christopher was his son, Charlie his woman— Except you were eight hundred miles away, deleting her messages. "No." Her eyes met his without shadow, adding fear to the cocktail of angst inside him. "I promised him an answer on Sunday. There's no need to marry me, Daniel…but if you want to keep your son near you, you have five days to convince me to stay."

Chapter Six She'd been practicing the words for three days, yet now she was shocked she'd actually found the guts to say it. What surprised her most was the necessity of the ultimatum. She'd believed it was stupid to hope he'd want them to be a family, until he showed open jealousy at Jared's advent into her life, more than a year after he'd walked out of it. "Right." Daniel stood over her like an avenging angel, then he stalked off. "Thank you in turn. Definitely the kind of answer to my proposal I'd dreamed of from the mother of my son." Her head snapped around so fast it hurt her. He was leaning against the door to the kitchen with tight fists. His face—the open, strong face she'd always loved—was pale, set and hard. His heavy-lidded, smiling eyes stared at her with open hurt. As if she'd betrayed him. She shrugged. "What did you expect? That I'd say 'yes, please' and go running into your arms?" She filled her tone with sarcasm, so he wouldn't know how much part of her longed to do just that. "Expect?" he snapped, as furious as she'd ever seen him. "Right now I'm finding it hard to think at all. You come here, and instead of asking me why I didn't call, you let me find out I'm a dad via the bush telegraph. Then when I offer to do the right thing, you give me five days to get it right?" Anger flashed through her like a fever. "I'm not the one who deleted the messages. I'm the one who went through a pregnancy, labor and the first four months of child-rearing alone!" Just as quick, he turned on her. "True—and you're also the one who left messages like a coward, instead of talking to me. Damn it, Charlie, you're one of my oldest friends. Our parents have known each other all their lives. Surely you knew I wouldn't have left you for a second if I'd known? Did you once think of this from my viewpoint, or was I just the heartless jerk who ran off, because I didn't call?" She jumped to her feet and faced him off. "Why didn't you call?" "Why do you think? What have I got to offer? A crippled has-been with a drought-stricken farm!" he yelled at her. "I'm not her! I never saw you that way," she shouted back.

349

"How would I know? You always knew where I was if you wanted me—if the six weeks we had was more to you than taking pity on the cripple!" Like a line of dominoes tipping over, her series of Daniel-left-me-and-didn't-want-me arguments collapsed, and scattered at her feet. Of course… The professional in her had waited, at the hospital during his convalescence and at her place, for his unending determination and cheer to break. But he'd waited until he was home, alone, to lick his wounds—and to settle into a way of thinking that obviously began before he'd left Sydney. It was only now, fourteen months too late, she knew Daniel's scars hadn't begun to close over.

Chapter Seven He thought she'd made love to him out of pity. Before she could speak, fumbling, inadequate words to a man whose hurt obviously went much deeper than a shattered knee and a few burns, he broke in, his voice harsh. "I want to see my son." She led the way to her brother Finn's old bedroom without a word. What was there to say? As she was about to turn the handle, he said, "Forget what I said—forget the proposal." He sighed harshly and turned away. "Just let me see my son. Go back to your life and boyfriend in Sydney. We'll work out visiting rights and stuff later on, when he's old enough to come here." In a day with too many surprises and not enough sleep the night before, Charlene felt that, in his acceptance of defeat, she'd lost something infinitely precious. Nerveless fingers fell from the door handle; she blinked, and blinked again. "Dan—Daniel…" "Oh, crikey. Come here," he muttered, and drew her against him. "It's been a rough day for us both." She leaned against him for the first time in too long, absorbing his strength by osmosis, and the giving he ladled out so naturally. He let her stay there for a minute or so, then, slowly, his hand threaded through her curls, untangling the mess she could never tame. Just as he'd done every night while he stayed with her, with the exact tenderness that made her feel so…cherished. And so betrayed when he left her behind. But that was done. She couldn't keep punishing him for the same sense of insecurity she'd known all her life. How was she good enough for him beyond the few weeks they'd shared? Strange. Even though they'd known each other all their lives, she knew him as little as he did her, apart from the undeniable wanting that was springing between them, his body hard and hot, hers fluid and yielding. As natural as breathing, and as necessary… Oh, finally, at last she was touching him again. Daniel was burning inside; the feel of her curvy body against his brought him to his knees. He couldn't hold back from touching her hair. He was with her again, with his quiet, beautiful, giving Charlie, and she was melting against him, just as she had the night he left hospital. Don't go to a hotel, Daniel. Stay with me. Please…

350

"Charlie." Husky and needy, he murmured the nickname he'd always used when they were lovers. He turned her face to meet his. Seeing no resistance in her eyes, only a hunger to match the need burning him alive, he kissed her.

Chapter Eight Without breaking the kiss, Daniel drew her closer until her soft roundness was lying flush against him. In moments her arms were wound tight around his neck and she was so close it felt like every part of her, every pore and cell, was part of him. Sweet, needy moans from her throat filled his heart and soul with hope. How could she love that guy if she was kissing him as if…as if she'd been starved of love since he'd left her? The despair inside him vanished. Within minutes of thinking she'd shut the door on his dream of a family with her, he'd found a way to open it again. He'd put his mouth to a far better use than speaking his angry words. She knew what he wanted from her, and now she'd shown him what she wanted. Him. She wanted him… He had no idea how long they stood locked together and kissing, but he wasn't about to try for more, no matter how much his body pulsed and screamed for the joyous loving only Charlene had ever given him. Anything that kept her here with him was enough for now. If he pushed her, she could run back to what'shis-name. He'd learned from experience that tender, arousing touching and gentle kissing always brought Charlie to him, demanding more. And she was. "Daniel," she moaned when he pulled back a fraction, going up on tiptoes to kiss him again. "No, not yet… It's been so long…" Keeping his smile inside, he mumbled "Charlie," and kissed her again, and again. He didn't remember doing it, but he must have lifted her in his arms and carried her back to the sofa, because they were lying twined together, kissing over and over. Thank you, God, he thought, with every kiss. She was clinging to him, one hand twined in his hair, the other caressing his back. Her passionate whimpers filled him with joy. He hadn't been as happy since the day he'd told her he had to go home. Holding his breath, waiting and hoping and praying she'd know he wanted her with him. Praying she'd ask to come. How had he been her friend all his life without knowing she was the one for him, until he found himself in her arms? How could he not see she was more his home than the farm he'd never consider leaving, until he walked away from her…and realized he'd left his soul behind? Why the hell hadn't he fought for her while she still wanted him—while she still had faith in him—before that other guy came on the scene? Well, he had one out of three: she still wanted him, and he was fighting now. He'd take it to the wire this time. Charlie was his woman, and he'd prove it to her, any way he could.

Chapter Nine In some dim region of her mind, she was shouting. Come to your senses, girl! You're making it so easy for him to win. Her rebel heart refused to listen. Charlene held on tighter to Daniel, twined her legs through his and kissed him again. Joy and desire were alive again, not just in her dreams, for the first time in over a year. She'd never felt this beautiful, this wanted and cherished with any other man.

351

And he's going to break your heart again. What was she doing? She wasn't beautiful, wanted or cherished; she was in back La-La Land, thinking Daniel could love her. He wanted Christopher, and the easiest way was through her. Good ol' Charlie, she'd always been always so easy to win over. Give her a bit of affection and she'll take you home, let you leave when you want, and even give you a son. Kiss her enough now and she might even say sure, Daniel, I'll marry you even if you don't love me… He doesn't love me. He wants Christopher… If only she could make a dignified exit! But she was in the crease of the sofa, against the back. He was halflying on her, caressing her face and throat as he kept kissing her. "Daniel…" Oh, darn it, could she sound any more breathless and needy? "Daniel, we have to stop." He opened his eyes, and smiled sleepily at her. That drugged-with-passion look was so magnificently sensual on him, making him more masculine—harder to resist than ever. "Why?" he whispered. "Feels…pretty…good…to…me." He punctuated each word with a kiss, slow and dreamy, deep and hot, with the lush sexuality that never failed to seduce her. It took everything she had to resist. "I can't." His eyes darkened. "It's that guy, isn't it?" The feminine in her rejoiced at his open hostility to Jared because of Christopher, because she'd been his lover first—even if her mind told her it was a dog-in-the-manger attitude, "Partly," she said quietly, looking into the face that was, to her, perfect but sacred. "Jared's a good man." "But do you want him the way you want me?" Daniel growled. "Don't lie to me, Charlie. If you really loved the guy, you wouldn't have come home, and we wouldn't be here now." He moved his aroused body against hers to make his point. She wanted to scream in frustration, because he was right. Even now her body and heart were fighting good sense, and winning. But she had to fight it, or in days she'd be his wife. She'd have almost everything she'd ever wanted. Everything except his love, and without that, almost everything could never be enough.

Chapter Ten "I don't want to talk about Jared. I don't want you to touch me again, either. You wanted to see Christopher. Let's go." Daniel saw the light go out in her eyes, heard the curtness in her soft, breathless voice. He'd done it again; he'd killed her passion by shoving his jealousy in her face. It'd take a freezing shower to even make a dent in his body's demands right now. A year of Charlieabstinence had only left him more addicted. His body screamed in protest as he moved off her lush, warm body, but he had no choice. Right now, Charlie held all the aces, and she was closing him off. Though he'd come here ready and eager to see his son, a sudden shaft of uncertainty filled him. It would take more than their shared sensuality to win her back. If he couldn't bond with Christopher…if the baby liked the other guy…if she liked that guy better…

352

She opened the door to her brother's room. In a room almost unchanged, a teenager's room with football posters and athletics pennants, the cot with its hanging mobile seemed incongruous. The baby seemed impossibly tiny, a sleeping cherub with flushed cheeks, a shock of spiky dark hair and a thumb in his mouth. "He's little," Daniel said, scrambling for something to say. "He looks like you," she said softly, hanging over the cot with adoring eyes. Emotion grabbed his chest, a tight hard ball of feeling, as if he was having a heart attack. "When will he wake up?" he asked gruffly. "I—I'd like to meet him properly." Meet a baby properly. Right. Could he sound any more dorky? She must think him seventeen kinds of a jerk. Yet she turned to smile at him, and he caught his breath with the radiance of it. Apparently he'd said or done something right. "In about an hour." He almost groaned aloud. Another hour of this awkwardness might be more than his fool-mouth could take. Left alone with Charlie that long, he might say something he'd regret, or do something his body might be screaming for, but that might send her bolting back to Sydney. He needed space, and fast. He had to get his head together, and his body's needs under control. "Come to Redlands for dinner," he blurted. "Bring Christopher." Charlene's breath hitched. She fussed with the baby's blanket to hide her terror, needing to ask him something, this man that her heart and body had recognized as her mate, her only one, for years before she'd kissed him. "What do you want from me, Daniel? And I don't mean Christopher. What do you want from me?" He turned her face to his, and looked deep into her eyes before he leaned in, and kissed her very gently, a tiny brushing of mouth on mouth that left her shaken to her soul. "I want those five days, Charlie. I want time with you and Christopher, just the three of us. Give me a chance, and I'll show you what I want."

Chapter Eleven He almost set the tablecloth on fire as his fingers fumbled with the matches. "What am I doing?" he growled, frowning at the ridiculous lengths he'd gone to tonight to impress her. Candles, flowers, wine… Making a fool of himself over a girl he'd known all his life. How had he fallen so deeply for someone he'd once planted "kick me" notes on and made mud pies with? When was the moment she'd become as necessary as breathing? "Sour cream and sweet chili sauce on the table—you've made beer-batter wedges," came the teasing voice from the doorway. "You remembered." "It wasn't hard," he retorted. "You ate 'em every lunch when you dragged me out to the hospital garden." Resisting the urge to rub his neck at being caught out, he turned to her—and his grin died as a dull ache filled his chest again. She'd put on a pretty dress the color of her eyes, emphasizing fuller curves, new since Christopher's birth. Her wild hair was pinned up, and beneath her glasses, she'd put on soft makeup. Their son was on her hip, his hair spiking in all directions, thumb in mouth, fingers on nose and his blue eyes peering seriously at his father. The two people who meant the most in his life—his future—were in his house.

353

It was perfect. Beautiful. "Hi," he said, with a gruffness he couldn't hide. He didn't just want her—he needed her so much it hurt. "Oh." The indrawn breath was touched with awe. "You bought a high chair?" His grin was self-conscious; he knew he was flushed with embarrassment as he grunted, "I got one of those playpen-cots, too." He pointed to the raised, soft-sided playpen with a mattress insert. "Did you buy those toys for him today?" Her smile was tender. He shrugged, feeling like a total idiot. "Some are my old things. I washed them," he added quickly. "I just thought…" Charlene was biting her lip; her eyes shone. "You thought right." She walked toward him. "Christopher, this is your daddy," she said softly, and handed the baby to him. The scent of baby shampoo and silken skin filled his senses; cotton romper, dimples and warm, chubby limbs filled his arms. My son. This is my son. "G'day, little mate," he said, husky with the emotion overflowing in him. Christopher's big eyes contemplated him for a few moments; then his tiny fingers lifted to Daniel's nose, and pulled. Daniel laughed, and blew a raspberry on his son's wrist. A silver-golden chortle of baby laughter came in response; Christopher pulled hard on Daniel's nose again, then threaded his fingers through his father's hair, tugging. "Christopher, what has Mummy told you? No pulling hair. Not Mummy's hair, and not Daddy's hair," Charlene chided indulgently, caressing the flushed satin cheek. Mummy. Daddy. Shaking, he held Christopher against him. The family he'd always dreamed of, here at Redlands; the embodiment of every hope in two words. Charlie and Christopher. And he had five days to convince them to stay.

Chapter Twelve "Um…I have to take Christopher back now." Charlene fumbled the words, seeing the stark emotion on Daniel's face as he held his son. His blank look in response to her words made her blush, but before she could explain, her breasts began leaking right through her nursing pads. He saw the spreading patches of wetness. "Feeding time, it seems." She giggled, a stupid, embarrassed sound. "He wouldn't nurse before we came. I think he caught onto my nerves—" She skidded to a halt, cursed her runaway mouth and closed her eyes, wishing a hole would open in the floor for her to sink through.

354

"I'm glad I'm not the only one who's nervous," he said softly as he lifted her chin, and brushed his lips over hers. Longing swept right through her. "Grandma's rocker might be a good place, unless you want to be private?" His voice was soft and husky. "It's a bit late for modesty," she said dryly. She crossed to the rocker, taking the baby bag with her. Daniel put Christopher into her arms, and she unbuttoned her dress and attached the baby to her breast. "Oh, good boy," she sighed, as he gulped down the milk that was filling her breasts. His eyes were filled with tenderness as he watched his son at her breast. As discreetly as she could she fixed her other breast, a temporary measure until Christopher had his turn there. "He usually doesn't take long," she murmured, full of love. "He gulps it down like it's about to disappear." "Like father, like son." He touched Christopher's face. The baby shot him an angry look and kept feeding, kneading Charlene's breast with possessive fingers. Daniel chuckled. "Oh, he's my boy all right. Don't get between him and his tucker." As if in empathy, Charlene's stomach rumbled. Daniel grinned. "I think I'd better feed you," he said, when her tummy rumbled again. He disappeared, returning a minute later with a plate of wedges in one hand, balancing the bowls of sour cream and sweet chili in the other. "Um, Daniel?" she whispered. "I'm sorry for all the trouble you went to, but I can't eat sour cream or chili. It gives Christopher colic." He gave her a comic smile. "I've got a lot to learn." And he put a wedge, innocent of everything but salt, into her mouth. A memory burst into her mind as she closed her mouth around half the wedge: smash-feeding each other popcorn on her sofa in Sydney, kissing salt and butter off each other's faces, before urgency and passion took over… "Charlie, darlin'." His voice was dark with passionate memory. He leaned forward, taking the other half of the wedge into his mouth as he kissed her.

Chapter Thirteen Christopher's indignant squeak brought Daniel to his senses. He pulled away from the kiss that was getting too deep and hot for where they were. "Sorry." He smiled at her. "Bad timing." Charlie didn't smile. "Daniel—" She shook her head and sighed. "If you want these five days—if you want Christopher to stay—stop trying to seduce me." Seducing her? It was the other way around; a simple smile from her made him feel as if he'd downed that untouched bottle of wine on the table; he was flying high and obsessed with touching her. He closed his mouth before he could say, you were kissing me, too, babe. Scaring her off would lead to visitation rights instead of creating a family with her.

355

For months, she'd thought him a heartless jerk who'd abandoned her and their baby. She needed time—he needed to show her he was the same guy she'd trusted to teach her how to ride a horse and how to play cricket when they were kids. That he was the same guy she'd taken to her bed with such shining trust. He knew her well enough to know she'd never have given herself to him without strong feelings, feelings he still hoped were love, and not a bad mix of chemistry and pity. "Whatever you want, Charlie." He caught the resentment and disappointment flashing across her face before she masked it, and he rejoiced. She was scared he'd hurt her again, but she still wanted him. "Just stay. Dinner, conversation—tell me about my son. I won't touch you, unless you want me to," he added, lifting his hand to her face, and letting it fall. He watched her eyes darken and her chest heave slightly, enough to make Christopher squeak in protest again. "All right," she said quietly. He kept the grin of pure relief to himself. "I'll go serve dinner while you finish feeding him in peace." Charlene watched him go, chest and throat aching. How did she fight herself, him, and her son's need for his father's presence in his life? She couldn't bear it. Wanting and friendship and a baby—while many couples started out that way, it wasn't a basis for a strong marriage in the grim reality of an Outback drought. Where was his heart? She needed to know how he felt for her—the one thing they had never talked about. She knew he'd be faithful, that he cared, but it wasn't enough; it could never be when she'd always been so deeply in love with him, she'd never found her way out. This beautiful tenderness, this patience, couldn't still be real; it was to seduce her, so she'd give him what he'd demanded earlier—Christopher. But Daniel was what he was, and she was…chubby, myopic, cripplingly shy with almost everyone but him. She'd always known their time for what it was: the mating of a swan and a pigeon. All her life, she'd loved him. She'd seen the girls he dated, beautiful, confident girls like Sara—all the things she wasn't, and never would be. No matter what he did, it would take a miracle for her to believe he wanted anything but his son.

Chapter Fourteen Two days later "And this is Mummy's friend, old Fred." In the stables at Redlands, Charlene watched Daniel put Christopher's hand on the horse she'd last ridden when she was seventeen. "She was pretty scared of horses, Chris, though she didn't tell anyone. Mummy isn't always good at telling people what she wants. So I brought out old Fred—he was always gentle. She loved him, and was riding before too long. Now he's yours, when you're big enough." Her throat thickened. She cherished the memory. No one else had picked up on her fear, until Daniel invited her over one afternoon. He'd led her around his back paddock on Fred, until she'd felt confident to walk him herself. As they moved toward the orchard she frowned, remembering what he'd said. Mummy isn't good at telling people what she wants.

356

Had she taken too much for granted? He'd always seemed to know her so well, but she'd never told him how she felt, knowing she wasn't pretty or interesting enough for him. Until after his accident, when he'd needed her, she'd taken the chance… "This is the orchard your great-great-grandmother planted," he told Christopher, his voice filled with affection. "It gave us terrific apples and strawberries until the drought got so bad. But I've planted weeds around it that are supposed to absorb excess salt in the land, and help the soil heal." "Is that what they are?" Charlene asked, pointing to some scrappy-looking low shrubs surrounding the orchard. Right now, she'd say almost anything to try to get him to speak to her the way he talked to Christopher. He nodded. "It's Old Man Saltbush. I've also planted five hundred gum trees, and let the fields lie fallow for a year. I'm lucky," he added, with a wry grin. "My contract payout and compensation from the accident give me time to let the land heal. I'm trying cloud seeding to create rain. Some are against it, but after two years without rain, I'll give anything a shot. I want to give Chris a good inheritance." He'd unconsciously turned his model-perfect profile to her as he held Christopher on his hip as he talked about the things that mattered most: home and family. Instead of wine, fancy flowers or chocolates, he was painting Narelle's old room for Christopher, filling it with baby stuff. And by the pristine state of the farm, he must be working from dawn until midnight so he could spend six hours a day with his son. But he'd barely touched her in two days…and she was going crazy wanting him. Was he keeping his word, or relieved she'd asked him to stop, and he didn't need to pretend to want her any more? Mummy's not good at asking for what she wants… If she didn't know her own mind how could he know what she was thinking? Maybe it was time for a leap of faith, to take a risk… She closed her eyes and said, "I want you come home for dinner tonight."

Chapter Fifteen Somehow he knew tonight was his final chance to get things right with Charlie, and of course, everything went wrong. As he was getting ready, sudden squawking told him his chicken coop had been breached. Spending an hour re-wiring the fence, checking the underground safety walls and binning dead chickens to stop the hungry foxes from returning made his knee give way. He had to swallow his pride and put on the brace, or Charlie would call him on it when she saw his limp. As he was about to leave, his parents called, hurt he hadn't told them about Christopher. They wanted to meet their grandson, and to know the wedding date. He wished he knew, but tonight's invitation to dinner was the only indication Charlie wasn't merely putting up with him for Christopher's sake…and now he was over an hour late. He wore his best shirt and jeans, and brought flowers and chocolates. Time was running out. If he could charm her into changing the status quo, into touching him, he'd do it. When she opened the door, she was too stressed to notice the gifts or how he looked. Their screaming son was flailing his arms, hitting her; she was a mess, covered in food scraps; her glasses lay crooked across her nose. "I expected you over an hour ago!"

357

Keep your patience. "What's wrong?" "He didn't sleep, hasn't stopped screaming for hours, he won't feed and dinner burned while I tried to calm him." And he'd thought he'd had a bad afternoon! He put his gifts on a side table, and brushed a streak of flour from her cheek. "Give him to me." She sighed. "What's the point? You're great with him in a good mood, but can you feed him, change him or calm him down?" "I have a nephew," he said mildly, but he was getting annoyed. Hadn't he shown her his fatherhood skills the past few days? Obviously not. She snorted. "Kane lives two hundred kilometers away, and Narelle and Mark are always around when you see him." "Thanks for your faith," he retorted. "Will you hand him over and give me a chance? Or condemn me without asking why—again?" She flushed. After a slow breath, she handed him Christopher over. "Change him. I'll warm a bottle, clean the kitchen and make something new for dinner." She returned to the kitchen. "So much for seduction," he muttered. He changed a fighting Christopher's diaper, and got kicked and a wet shirt for his trouble. When he finally snapped up Christopher's rompers, Charlie shoved a warmed bottle in his spare hand without a word and returned to the kitchen. Obviously she wasn't in any mood to discuss their future. Tonight was more of the same—back off, don't touch her, give her space, be the good daddy. But time was running out. Sudden panic enveloped him. Even if he got Christopher calm, did it prove anything beyond him being able to cope with visitation rights? Did she know he didn't just want the baby? He was going insane being so close to her and never touching. He wanted her in his bed—in his life—as his wife, the mother of all his kids. No more space. They were doing this on his terms now.

Chapter Sixteen Daniel wandered around as he fed Christopher, singing nonsense songs, using his thumb to stroke the baby's nose. "Puts 'em to sleep every time," Narelle had vowed. Not Christopher, obviously. Though soft, soothing ballads were playing on the CD player, he took twenty minutes to close his eyes. By then Daniel's knee was throbbing, even with the brace on. The moment he put Christopher down, he began fussing and crying again. "Having problems?" Charlie whispered from the doorway. She'd changed into a pretty dress and sandals, swept her hair up and wore a soft scent. She looked beautiful, but so tired. "I don't know what's wrong," he confessed, feeling like a selfish jerk for hoping she'd take over. "He's exhausted, and teething, I think," she said. "I put chamomile in the bottle. That should soothe him. Let him fuss for a minute or two—I can go back in if it doesn't take effect soon."

358

"Oh." Feeling like a total failure, he put the baby down, tucked him in and closed the door, then followed her into the living room. She sprawled out onto an armchair, her face pale, eyes weary. "Do you mind an egg salad?" she whispered. He made an executive decision. "You're not making anything, Charlie. I'll bring something back from the pub for dinner." He looked ruefully down at his wet, stained shirt. "I need to change, anyway. He makes diaper changing an adventure, doesn't he?" "Welcome to parenthood." She gave a very tired smile. "Don't think it's turned me off, Charlie. I want this more than anything. You, me and Christopher," he vowed. Before she could reply, he got to his feet. "And don't even think of cleaning the kitchen without me. Just rest and I'll be back with dinner in half an hour." A tiny nod in response. "Thank you," she whispered, half-asleep. "Don't thank me—this is what families do." He leaned forward and brushed his mouth over hers. "Back soon." He returned almost half an hour later, wearing a clean shirt. It seemed she'd slept the whole time; she smiled sleepily at him. "Christopher?" "I checked on him. He's fine." She smiled still. "He'll sleep for hours now." "That's good." He held out a white paper bundle. "It's only fish and chips. Sorry, it was the best I could do. The pub had run out," he said gruffly, wanting to kiss that drowsy smile into passion. "It's wonderful," she said with a sigh. Instead of heading to the table, she slid down to the floor. "You up for a picnic?" "You bet." With a grin, he sprawled out beside her. He spread the paper wrappings across the rug. They ate in tired silence, both too worn out to talk much, but the soft instrumental CD covered any awkwardness. "I'm sorry I was late," he said once they'd wrapped up the leftovers, and were finishing the dishes. "A fox got into the chicken coop, then Mum and Dad called. I ruined the night—" "No, I'm the one who's sorry. I knew you'd have a valid reason—I know you love spending time with Christopher. I shouldn't have condemned you without asking. I love Christopher so much, but when he gets like that… I needed you today, that's all. I was counting the minutes until you came." She turned into him, laying her head against his shoulder. "Thank you for being here," she said simply, kissing the exposed V of skin beneath his shirt. His body took fire.

Chapter Seventeen Charlene heard his breath hitch, felt his body tense, and rejoiced. He really did want her! But it was time to choose. She shouldn't touch him unless she meant it—unless she knew what she wanted. One thing she knew now: she couldn't marry Jared. Marriage for the sake of companionship and a father for her child couldn't work. She had to love him beyond friendship…to want him as she wanted Daniel, husband and lover.

359

Until the night Jared proposed, she'd blinded herself to the truth, because facing it was too hard. But when he gave her the candlelight, champagne and roses proposal, she'd wanted to weep. Although everything was perfect, his face, so handsome and so kind, wasn't the right face. And she'd come running home to Daniel. She looked up at Daniel, seeing the dark fire in those sleepy eyes, and forgot her doubts. Tell him what you want. "Dance with me," she whispered. Some emotion crossed his face, so briefly she couldn't catch it. He lifted her wrist to his mouth, sweet and lingering, and led her into the living room. Bittersweet and beautiful… All her life she'd dreamed of being in his arms for a slow dance, Daniel wanting her as she ached for him. She was here at last, having done everything the wrong way round during the day from hell; but she was with him, and she wouldn't waste time on regrets. They moved slowly, skin to skin, hands caressing, feet shuffling; her head on his shoulder, not questioning the miracle of being where she'd always longed to be. Drinking in every touch, every movement. Finally, she was where she belonged. "Charlie," he murmured in her ear, his voice aching. "Baby, I'm going crazy. If you don't want this, we have to stop now." When he called her baby, she was gone. She lifted her face to his, and he kissed her with all the lovely hunger inside him, and lifted her body tight to his, but it wasn't close enough… Oh, she loved it when he lifted her as if she weighed nothing… Then she remembered. "Daniel…" "No?" he asked hoarsely. "Tell me now, Charlie, before it's too late." She shivered in longing. "My parents will be home soon, and I'm off the pill. Unless you have protection, I could get pregnant again." "And if I went to the store, half the town and your parents, would know in an hour." He nuzzled her throat. "You don't want more kids?" Her head fell back, begging for more kisses. "Not thirteen months apart. And not—" She stopped, confused, insecure. And not unless you love me. "And not with me? Is that what you were going to say?" Now grim, he slowly put her down on her feet. "Damn it, Charlie, what more do I have to do to make you want to stay?"

Chapter Eighteen Just three words, Daniel. Just give me three little words… The one thing she couldn't ask for. She was terrified she'd get the right answer, but one not from his heart. Charlene tried to move, but her body wouldn't obey her command. "Don't call me Charlie." He'd started calling her that when they became lovers. Daniel moved against her, and a current of hot wanting ran between them. "Too many memories?" he asked huskily. "Nobody else calls you Charlie but me, do they? He doesn't call you Charlie when he touches you, does he? Does he make you ache for him? Does he make you tremble…Charlie?"

360

"There's more to life," she whispered, shivering with yearning. "You have to be compatible in other ways." "You're right. There's years of friendship." He made a checkmark sign in the air. "There's family connection." Another tick. "There's our son, a shared past, a love of the Outback life." Three more ticks. "There's shared interests…and I want you like hell, Charlie," he murmured huskily as he kissed her again, light and slow, until she moaned and kissed him back, deeper and hotter. "You still want me, too," he muttered, keeping her against his aroused body. "I might have believed you didn't a few days ago, even half an hour ago, but not now." His arguments were compelling, and with every passing moment she stayed in his arms she was growing weaker. "Would we be here now if Sara hadn't left you?" she asked faintly. He frowned. "You don't know?" When she shook her head, he softened. "Oh, baby, how could you not know? I thank heaven for my accident. I had the luckiest escape of my life…it led me to you," he said huskily. "It gave me you…and Christopher." "You didn't say that the other day," she whispered, aching to hear the words…aching to believe. "You were so bitter." "Charlie, oh, Charlie." He held her close. "I thought you'd made love to me out of friendship and pity—that you'd never have come back to me without Christopher." Exquisite pain filled her at the mirror of her own insecurity coming from his mouth; at the unashamed passion in his eyes. Could he love her? Could he love plain-Jane Charlene Winder, after she'd waited almost her entire lifetime? How can I ask him? What do I say? Tell me you love me, and you can have Christopher? No matter how she put it, it was the worst form of emotional blackmail… How could she stoop that low? "I'm—I'm not naive, Daniel. Your other girls were nothing like me." "No." He wouldn't let her pull away, and she saw that look in his face again. The longing, the need she didn't dare believe in. "They were plastic, a boy's fun. Like Sara, they wanted the package, not me. The accident changed my life. I'm not 'Dan the Man,' football star, or the model. None of it made me happy the way you do. I don't want plastic girls. I want my best friend, my lover…my sweet Charlie." He tipped her face up. "I'd go down on my knee if I could. Marry me, Charlie. Don't make me live without you."

Chapter Nineteen Daniel held his breath, hoping he'd finally said the words to unlock her heart. Please say yes, darlin', please… When he saw the confusion and pain in her eyes, he knew he'd just lost the biggest gamble of his life. "Daniel," she whispered, with anguish in her voice. Her lashes fluttered down; she looked so lost, so sad he ached to kiss her and swear that whatever he'd done wrong, however he'd fumbled it, he could fix it if only she'd tell him. But if she said she didn't love him— "Daniel, I—" It was obvious she wasn't about to joyfully accept his proposal, and panic jolted him into speech, beating her to it before she said no. "Think about it?" he asked, just managing not to beg. "It's been a hard day. I chose the wrong time. It's okay, take your time and let me know when you've thought it through."

361

With the aching uncertainty in her eyes he couldn't bear to see, she slowly nodded. "I'll get going, then. I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Not to get an answer if you're not ready, but to see you, see Christopher—" He closed his runaway mouth before he did any more damage. "All right," she said, looking at her feet. Kicking her toe against the rug they'd just danced on and where he'd just proposed to her with more emotion than he ever gave any other woman. What did I say, Charlie? What did I do wrong? Just tell me… He didn't dare kiss her, much as he ached to; she'd withdrawn again, obviously needing time alone. "'Night," he said huskily, wishing he knew how to make her smile and say yes. "Good night," she whispered. At the door, he turned to look at her; she was lifting her glasses, wiping at tears. Filled with tender, turbulent confusion, the words burst from him. "I can't let you go, Charlie. I won't let you go." He turned and ran down the stairs before he blew it. Charlene found the flowers and chocolates a minute after he'd driven away. With a tiny sob, she inhaled the scent of the Australian natives, the only flowers they could get out here, but as beautiful as long-stemmed roses, because the man she loved gave them to her. "Just three words, Daniel," she whispered. Mummy isn't good at asking for what she wants. But to ask him was emotional blackmail, and she'd never know if his answer came from his heart. She couldn't marry him without the words…and she couldn't ask. The sound of skidding tires came outside the house. Charlene's heart thudded—had he returned to say the words she needed? Her dad burst into the house, his face white. "Charlene, where's Daniel?" She stared at him. "He left a couple of minutes ago. Why?" He dad hauled her into a rough hug, and foreboding filled her before the words came. "Ron Bain came to the pub to call for bush fire brigade volunteers. There's a fire at Redlands—a bad one."

Chapter Twenty "He'll be okay. He wasn't there when it broke out," her dad said awkwardly as they raced to Redlands. Charlene couldn't nod or smile. She knew Daniel's love for his family home. If he ran inside, trying to save the things his grandparents and great-grandparents had owned or made… They roared into the long driveway, seeing the blaze from a kilometer back. The entire roof was alight, and her brain emptied of everything but panic. The moment the truck stopped, she was out and running. "Daniel! Daniel!" she shrieked, heading for the fire truck and the arcs of water hitting the roof. "Daniel!" The firefighters let her through. She ran past the women serving drinks to the fire-fighters and the local police, screaming his name. She found him as the fire was dying. Two firefighters were holding him while he struggled to enter the side way. He was covered in soot; his eyes were blank with defeat. "Daniel," she cried. He turned, and she threw herself at him. "No, baby, don't risk it!"

362

His arms slammed around her, squeezing the breath from her. "Charlie," he said hoarsely, burying his face in her hair, covering her in soot. "Charlie, it's all gone. I've lost it all because of a freak strike of lightning…and it didn't even rain!" "I'm so sorry." She held him just as hard, shaking all over. He was alive, but she could have lost him, and he'd never have known how she felt. "You lost a house, not Redlands, and you haven't lost me. We'll rebuild the house, replant crops, but I couldn't bear it if I lost you!" He cupped her jaw in tender, ruthless hands, looking into her eyes, stripped of everything but loss and hope and need. "Is this pity, because I lost the house?" She smiled through her tears, free of fear at last. "This is what it's always been. I don't care if I'm not pretty or interesting enough for you anymore. You're my man. We might lose houses or crops or mobility, but we'll rebuild together. I'm yours and you're mine. I'll never let you go." "Not pretty or interesting enough for me?" He frowned in disbelief. "Don't you understand yet? You're everything, everything. More than my career; more than Redlands. All I could think when they said I couldn't save it was, thank God you're at home. If I lost you…" You're everything, everything… Her joyful smile was brighter and more radiant than the dying fire. They weren't the three words she'd wanted…they were far better. "You won't, Daniel, never. I love you so much." She pulled him down for a tender kiss. "We'll rebuild as soon as possible, but we'll get married first, here." He stared at her. "Here?" He swept a disbelieving hand at the devastation around them. "Here," she said firmly. "It's the Outback way, isn't it? This is our home, our future. What better place for a sacred covenant?" "I love you," he said, hoarse with emotion. Their family and friends crowded around them in support, cheering as friends and lovers kissed, not in despair or loss, but celebrating life, in the indomitable spirit of the Australian bush.

363

The Boss's Bought Mistress by Sharon Kendrick Giovanni Cerruti's wealthy family is always in the spotlight…so when his step-sister is headed for a rehabilitation clinic, he decides to work the paparazzi to keep her image from being splashed across the tabloids. With the help of his spin doctor, Giovanni devises a plan to keep the press occupied with another story — a fake engagement to his housekeeper, Misty Carmichael! But will Giovanni fall victim to his own plan?

Chapter One “Wrecked!” screamed the caption beneath the photo of a woman being bundled, glassy eyed into the back of a police car. “Che cosa cha facenda?” His black eyes glittering, Giovanni threw down the newspaper and turned to his spin doctor. “Let’s hope this is the last of it.” “You’ve spoken to the police?” asked Lucas. “Si. The lawyers say charges will be dropped if she goes into rehab,” Giovanni said grimly. “She’s finally accepted that she has a problem. But Madre di Dio — it has taken long enough!” After years of denial, his fragile step-sister had taken the first, tentative step on the road to recovery. But despite the sunshine that streamed through the windows of his beautiful London house, Giovanni couldn’t shake off his disquiet. “But what the hell do I do now?” he questioned, his dark features hardening as he anticipated the troubles ahead. “How do I stop the snappers from camping outside the clinic and bribing patients to sell gossip? My sister needs protecting from the sharks who inhabit her world, and God knows there’s nobody else looking out for her.” “We need to kill the story,” said Lucas, quietly. “How?” “We give the press an even bigger one. A diversionary tactic.” Giovanni narrowed his eyes. “And what could be bigger than this?” “You are.” “Explain,” Giovanni said tersely. “They want a story about your fabulously glamorous family.” “And fabulously cursed,” echoed Giovanni sardonically. “Don’t forget that.” Lucas shrugged. “Drugs are big, but you’re one of the world’s most eligible bachelors. Your engagement story would wipe everything else off the front page.” “Engagement story?” Giovanni sat down and stretched out his long legs as he studied his spin doctor thoughtfully. “What black arts are you concocting now, Lucas?” he murmured. “An engagement of convenience,” replied the other man smoothly.

364

In spite of everything, Giovanni gave a short laugh. “Aren’t you forgetting something? There’s no one who fits the bill. In fact, there’s no particular woman in my life.” Relationships bored him — and scared the life out of him. He’d spent his early years avoiding the fallout of partnerships, which always seemed flawed and ultimately doomed.… “Which is what would make it such a good story,” persisted Lucas. “It would be so out of character.” “I may want to protect my step-sister,” said Giovanni grimly, “but there’s a limit to what I’m prepared to do.” “No one’s asking you to go through with it,” placated Lucas. “Just join in with the game, that’s all. Buy the ring. Play cat and mouse with the cameras. The press will go wild and by the time they’ve finished chasing you, Miranda will be clean and sober. We can get her discharged somewhere quiet and you can call the whole thing off.” Giovanni gave a stare that would have intimidated most men. “And who’s going to agree to be my wife?” he questioned sarcastically. “Any bright ideas?” Lucas smiled. “Oh, come on, Giovanni — you practically have to fight them off!” Giovanni shrugged. It was true. He could have his pick of any woman he wanted — whenever, wherever and however he wanted. If word went out that he was looking for a bride, then they would be lining up around the block. Women flocked to him like ants to jam — attracted to his good looks and legendary sexappeal, as well as his massive bank account and starry address-book. And therein lay the problem. He flicked Lucas a questioning look. “And when it’s all over? What woman is going to take kindly to being dumped?” “Not a one…unless you tell her the truth first. Number-one rule of spin — don’t tell lies; just be sparing with the facts.” “But that would mean trusting them.” “And there isn’t anyone…?” Giovanni gave a brittle smile. A woman he could trust? Were there pots of gold at the ends of rainbows? His teenage years had been spent watching avaricious women bleed his father’s fortune dry. And when Giovanni was just sixteen, one of the women had even come to his room late at night — astonished when the rugged youth had turned down her offer of sex. “No,” he answered shortly. “There isn’t.” The silence that followed was splintered by a smart, seasoned rap on the door. Giovanni stretched and yawned. “Yes, come in,” he said, without bothering to turn round. The woman who pushed the tea trolley into the elegant drawing room was just short of her thirtieth birthday and didn’t really have a job description. In the days when even the aristocracy had the bare minimum of people working for them, Misty Carmichael had a number of skills at her disposal. She was able to cook, clean and serve food and sometimes she was called on to do all three in rapid succession. She looked across at her not-quite-Lord, but certainly her master — the arrogant but drop-dead-gorgeous Giovanni Cerruti. In four years of working for him, she had tried not to love him, or to react to him as a

365

woman. It hadn’t been easy and it still wasn’t, but Giovanni had helped by managing to make her feel as if she was invisible. “Coffee?” she asked. “Please,” said Giovanni absently. “Well, I’ll give your idea some thought, Lucas.” But Lucas did not reply. He was watching the woman as she poured coffee — the steam making her pale cheeks grow pink. Misty offered a plate of tiny macaroons, thinking how strained Giovanni looked. “Would you like a biscuit?” “No, I wouldn’t,” said Giovanni impatiently. “You know I never eat between meals.” Irritated, he glanced over at Lucas. Why the hell was he staring at Misty like that? He followed the direction of his spin-doctor’s eyes and for the first time noticed that Misty’s checked working dress was pulling very tightly across her bottom. Two tight globes thrusting against the man-made fiber. It was as though he was seeing her for the very first time and inexplicably, a nerve began to work in his cheek. Misty glared at them both. What were they staring at? Had her hair suddenly turned green? “Will that be all?” “Er, yes. Thank you.” Lucas turned to Giovanni, who was still staring at Misty’s retreating bottom. “Why not her?” he questioned simply once she had gone. “Her?” Giovanni flared his haughty nostrils, and laughed. “Are you honestly suggesting I get engaged to one of the staff?”

Chapter Two “What’s wrong with getting engaged to a member of your staff?” Giovanni’s jet black eyes narrowed as he stared at his spin doctor. “Madre di Dio! You are proposing that I ask Misty Carmichael? Are you crazy, Lucas? She serves the meals!” “That could be useful,” said Lucas. “And she is a single mother!” Giovanni exclaimed. “So?” “So I have my reputation to think about!” Lucas shook his head. “But this is a bogus engagement, remember? Designed to take the heat off your sister’s spell in rehab. The more unsuitable the candidate, the more press coverage it will get. Think about it, Giovanni.” Giovanni did, his arrogant lips curving with distaste. “She is plain…” he added disparagingly. From the other side of the door, Misty froze. She had just crept back to hear the tail end of Giovanni’s conversation.

366

Plain? She bit her lip and blinked rapidly. Plain? So it was true what they said — that eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves. And how! Listening in to her employer’s conversation wasn’t her usual pastime, but who could blame her on this occasion? The peculiar way that Giovanni and his new spin doctor had been staring at her had been enough to make her feel concerned, and with good cause, she now recognized. “So ring and ask her,” came Lucas’s voice from the other side of the door. Ask her what, she wondered? Hurriedly, Misty pushed the tea trolley back into the kitchen. There was only a second to check her appearance in the mirror before the bell began to summon her back again. Frizzy hair, flushed cheeks and PMS making her tummy look fat. She winced. Plain indeed. Why feel insulted by Giovanni’s description of her when it was nothing but the truth? She rapped on the door and walked into the spotlight of Giovanni’s blazing ebony stare which, unusually, was fixed unwaveringly on her. “I want you to do me a favor, Misty,” he said, his velvety voice tinged with his faint Italian accent. Perplexed by his tone, Misty clasped her hands together at her waist. “M-more cake?” she asked stupidly. Giovanni gave an impatient click of tongue. On many levels, he and his housekeeper understood each other perfectly. She knew his likes and dislikes. When to keep quiet and when to speak. Unusually, he felt he could be himself around Misty, but her question about cake drove home the great gulf between them. How the hell did he go about asking her something like this? Especially with his enigmatic spin doctor looking on… “You can leave us now, Lucas,” he ordered. “Sure.” Misty allowed herself a smug moment as Lucas left the room — he wasn’t so high-and-mighty now, was he? Dismissed like a servant himself! “Sit down,” said Giovanni. Misty was tempted, but she resisted. Something told her she needed all her wits about her, and flopping down onto one of those priceless brocade chairs in her working uniform would surely unsettle her even more. Especially with Giovanni’s long body dominating her line of vision with those strong, muscular legs and the powerful jut of his pelvis. She felt an unwanted prickle of excitement in her breasts, and hastily crossed her arms. “I’m fine as I am.” Giovanni’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he watched her. The unconscious way she had covered her breasts with her arms told him everything. So she wasn’t immune to him — but there again, what woman was? Funny he’d never noticed it before.

367

And when he stopped to think about it, mightn’t her inferior status actually work to his advantage? Because if the woman he involved in his scheme was beautiful and his equal, he might be lured into making love to her — complicating matters more than they needed to be. Whereas there would be zero temptation from this pleasant but very ordinary looking woman… Then he remembered her pert bottom thrusting against the check material of her uniform and once again, he felt the heat to his groin. Damn Lucas for drawing his attention to it! “I want you to pretend to be my fiancée,” he said huskily. There was a momentary, pin-drop silence. “Is this some kind of joke?” she demanded. “No, Misty…” It occurred to him how rarely he had ever used her name before. And what a strange name it was. “No. I am being deadly serious.” “Why?” she shot out. Giovanni expelled an impatient sigh. “I know it must sound bizarre — and it is bizarre. But I need to take the attention off my sister. You know she’s been admitted to a clinic?” “Yes.” “It’s just to give the press something bigger to get their teeth into. You know how dangerous they can be. They are sharks,” he finished. But he had no qualms in throwing her to them! Hiding her hurt, Misty stared at him. “What would I have to do?” Giovanni relaxed. Perhaps this was going to be easier than he had imagined! “Very little,” he murmured. “You would wear my ring, of course. Appear by my side in public.” His mouth curved into a half smile. “And perhaps you could be persuaded to hold my hand and gaze up at me with suitable adoration from time to time?” Oh, but he must think she was born yesterday! That mocking tone didn’t fool her — not for a moment. He was used to adoration by the bucket-load, and no doubt expected plain Misty Carmichael to shovel on a whole heap more. So what are you going to do about it? she asked herself. Let him trample all over you with his handmade Italian shoes? People like you don’t matter to men like him. Remember that. Misty drew a deep breath. “And what’s in it for me?” Momentarily, Giovanni felt wrong-footed. And oddly disappointed. Had he thought she might agree to the plan out of some misdirected sense of loyalty? Well, that just showed how wrong he could be. His mouth thinned into a cynical smile. She was no different from anyone else. “You will obviously be paid,” he said tightly, his eyes boring into her. Misty stared at him, her flippant tone disguising the sudden disquiet she felt. “You may not be able to afford me.”

368

His eyes hardened and so did his voice. “Oh, I can afford anyone, Misty,” he said coolly. His mouth didn’t say it, but his eyes did. Especially you.

Chapter Three Misty forced herself not to react to the dark flash of contempt in Giovanni’s eyes when she mentioned money. Part of her wished that she’d just kept her mouth shut — and yet what did he expect? That she would go through the hassle of pretending to be his fiancée just for the love of the idea? Or the love of him? “So what’s your answer, Misty?” he questioned softly. “Or do you want to negotiate your price first?” Misty shook her head. “You’ve never been anything other than generous. How long would this pretence have to last?” “As long as it takes for my sister to clean up her act and get discharged,” he said grimly. “Two weeks? Maybe three? Could you bear being in close proximity to me for that long?” Misty swallowed. Didn’t they say be careful of what you wish for, because it can come true? Well, now it had. The man she had worshipped from afar for so long was soon to slip a sparkler on her finger, just like she’d always dreamed. Only the reality would be as insubstantial as her dreams. An outsider might have said that she was crazy to want him — but who could blame her? Hadn’t he rescued her and given a home to her and her infant son? The morning she had been interviewed by him, he was wearing a dark business suit and was running late, and frankly she had been surprised that a man so obviously rich and powerful was vetting a would-be housekeeper. “Security is my concern,” he had growled, as if reading her thoughts. “That and loyalty — of which I demand 100 percent from my staff. Can you deliver that, Ms. Carmichael?” Misty’s teeth had just stopped chattering, and she was so glad to be out of the cold and the rain that all she could do was nod her head. And to be honest, she was so desperate for a job that provided accommodation that she would have agreed to dance naked in the middle of the rain-washed street if he’d asked her to. “Y-yes, sir,” she managed. “You don’t have to call me sir,” he said, almost gently. “Giovanni is fine.” His eyes had narrowed as they raked over her hollow cheeks and her thin coat and cheap shoes. “How long since you ate a decent meal?” he demanded. Misty’s stomach turned over and for a moment she really thought she might faint from hunger. But it was pointless getting all fed and settled — not if she wasn’t going to be allowed to stay… “I have a baby,” she said fiercely. Giovanni stifled a groan. Get rid of her. Now. “Will that be a problem?” Misty persisted.

369

He opened his mouth to say yes, but something in her expression stopped him. A sudden look of defiance had injected her defeated air with something approaching courage — transforming her half-starved frame into a feisty little fighter. But Giovanni knew that babies born to single mothers tended to have bad or sad histories. “How old?” “Dominic is ten months.” He ignored the tone of maternal pride. “And what about the father?” “He’s…” Misty bit her lip. “He’s no longer on the scene.” “But maybe he wants to be. What’s to say he isn’t going to turn up here, banging on the door? Demanding to see his son? Demanding to see you?” The pain on Misty’s face came from the reminder that she had been such an appalling judge of character. “No,” she said quietly. “He won’t come round. He didn’t want to know about the baby.” “You’re still in love with him?” Misty shook her head. “No,” she whispered. She had been taken in by a heartless, serial seducer. It had not been love — it had been poor judgment. And then Giovanni saw how close to breaking point she was and wondered how he could have been quite so brutal. Swearing softly, he pushed her down into a chair. “Where is…Dominic now?” “He’s downstairs being looked after by the cook.” Madre di Dio but he had saddled himself with the strayest of all cats! Bringing her litter with her and depositing it in his kitchen! But something of the baby’s plight reminded him of his own childhood — of all the disruption and fighting following his parents’ bitter divorce. At that moment he’d decided to take charge and soon had Misty eating a large bowl of soup and the baby asleep by the range. Somehow — magically — a proper cot and high chair were delivered that same evening and put upstairs in the two rooms he’d allotted them at the top of his large house. What woman in the world wouldn’t have loved a man who had done that for her? Particularly as Dominic had thrived there, like a carefully tended plant. The house was situated in the heart of London and Giovanni insisted that nursery fees were part of her salary — Misty knew that she could never have afforded them herself. And when it had been time for Dominic to start school, Giovanni had made sure there was an allowance for his uniform. Misty’s pride had been fierce when she saw him in his little blue-and-grey uniform, a cap sitting atop the thick thatch of hair. Except that the fairy-tale had stopped there. Things had settled down and Giovanni had taken a step back and become nothing more than her boss. Had she been hoping for more?

370

Yes, yes, yes! Of course she had — no matter how many times she had tried to tell herself that he never even looked at her as a woman. And why would he look at a woman like her? Giovanni knew no more about her than he had on the day she came looking for a job. So maybe this mad scheme made sense. Perhaps it was just what Misty needed to jolt her out of her complacency and her rut. “You still haven’t given me your answer,” said Giovanni softly. “But what will I tell Dominic?” Misty asked him, biting her lip.

Chapter Four Giovanni stared at Misty. “What does it matter what you tell your son?” he demanded. Misty gave a gulp of disbelief. “He’s five years old! Don’t you have any idea what five-year-old boys are like?” “Oddly enough, no,” he answered repressively. “Yet presumably you were once one yourself?” Giovanni leapt on the word like a dog on a bone. “What do you mean presumably?” Misty bit back her instinctive retort — that emotionally he was so cold, someone might have assembled him in a laboratory! “Then surely you can remember back to the insecurities of a little boy?” “I don’t remember having any,” he said slowly, because the question was so unlike any he was ever asked that it didn’t occur to him to answer it anything but truthfully. And Misty could believe that. “Did you go to school in England?” she asked curiously, aware that he had let his guard down and wanting to peep through this rare chink in his armor. He shook his dark head. “I started school in Italy — a tiny school in the mountains — close to my grandmother’s house.” It was all too easy to picture what the powerful billionaire must have been like as a little boy. The ebony hair and solemn dark eyes…and perhaps the beginnings of the elusive smile that would later capitvate legions of women. “Is that where you lived?” “I was staying there,” he answered tightly. “And then where?” persisted Misty tentatively, recognizing that she’d learnt more about him in the past ten minutes than she had in four years. Giovanni stilled. He didn’t revisit the past too often but it seemed that when you started down that road, it gathered momentum and the memories just kept flooding in. “Later I switched between England and Paris, then universities in the States. That’s the beauty of having parents from different countries — you get a varied education, even if they hate each other.” She heard the pain in his voice, and it surprised her.

371

Or did you think that Giovanni’s power and privilege protected him from pain? mocked an inner voice in her head. “Anyway,” he drawled, his whole demeanor changing as he met her eyes. “Fascinating as this is, I’m still not sure what the problem is about telling Dominic. Why tell him anything?” “Do you think he lives in a bubble, and that the parents of his classmates don’t read the papers?” She drew her chin up with sudden determination. “Do you have any idea of what the real world’s like?” Giovanni smiled. She was animated. Feisty. Suddenly, he was taken back to the night she arrived, like a stray cat with her litter. “Why don’t you tell me?” he questioned softly. Should she? Well, why not? She had nothing to lose. “Other women at the school try to befriend me because I work for you.” Giovanni’s eyes narrowed. “Why would they do that?” “Oh, Gio – don’t be dense!” No one had called him Gio for years — and no one had ever called him dense. “Why?” he repeated silkily. “Because you’re sexy, rich and single and they…” Her voice trembled. “They want you!” There was a pin-drop silence. “They want me?” he repeated incredulously. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she moaned. But Giovanni didn’t appear to be listening. “Do you think that, too?” “Wh-what?” He moved closer — close enough for the pale blue from her startled eyes to wash over him. “That I’m sexy?” His sheer magnetism alone was enough to imprison her, but then his arm snaked out to wrap itself around the narrow indentation of her waist and made the prison physical. The kind of prison you’d want to escape from…but she wanted to stay there forever. “W-what are you doing?” she stammered out. He wasn’t sure. The only thing he was sure of was that he now had an erection nudging against his thigh, which was threatening to explode. The pump of blood to his groin was making his head spin and he shook it in disbelief. He had chosen Misty Carmichael to play this role precisely because she was unsuitable as his fiancée. So what was he doing coming on to her like it was real? Like a man who hadn’t had sex in a long time? Giovanni frowned and abruptly let her go. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he grated. Misty prayed for the thundering in her heart to subside. “It was only a hand on my waist,” she said lightly, through parched lips. But it had been more than that — he knew it, and she knew it. And by playing it down, mightn’t he think that she turned on for any man that quickly?

372

“So will Dominic be disappointed that I’m not really going to be his new step-daddy?” he queried coolly. “Hardly.” She gave a thin smile. “I just don’t want to spin him any lies, that’s all.” “How very admirable,” he commented. She met his mocking look with one of her own. “I may not have made a success of many areas of my life,” she said quietly, “but I have always tried to be a good mother.” Her soft dignity made him feel as if he had attempted to score a cheap point and Giovanni felt even more unsettled. What was going on? How come she was making him feel all this stuff? “Is there nowhere he can go, so as not to disrupt him too much?” Misty thought about it for a bit. “I guess he could go and stay with his godmother in Cornwall.” “And you can tell him that Mummy’s going to earn enough money to take him on a lovely holiday!” Maybe Giovanni was trying to be kind, but Misty winced. He made her sound like some kind of hooker. He was staring at her bare face and frizzy hair. “And while we’re at it,” he drawled, “you’re going to need an urgent makeover. Because no one will ever believe I want to marry you, looking like that.”

Chapter Five “Nervous?” Giovanni murmured. Misty turned to look at him, scarcely able to believe this was happening — and to her! That the man at her side just happened to be Giovanni Cerruti, the sexy Italian who was one of the richest men on the planet. And as far as the world was concerned, she was his fiancée! “Surprisingly, I’m getting used to it,” she mused. “Though I’ve never been to a ball before.” Giovanni gave a half smile. He had never met a woman who told the truth quite like Misty. This week at dinner, she had charmed a hard-bitten politician by asking him to show her how to eat an oyster! “Most women wouldn’t admit to that,” he observed softly. She tilted her head to one side. “At least now you know I have an excuse if I let you down in public!” “You won’t let me down, Misty. I’m confident of that.” He drifted his eyes over her. Slowly. “Gio…“ “Mmm?” His black eyes were suddenly soft, and sweet — like dark treacle. She wanted to say don’t flirt with me. Except that wouldn’t be true. She liked it, just like she liked him. Too much. Oh, why had she failed to take her stupid feelings into account when she’d agreed to go along with this sham engagement? And how did she stop wanting make-believe to be real and wondering what it would be like when it was over? “Do I…do I look okay?”

373

“Are you fishing for compliments?” he murmured. “No. Genuinely seeking reassurance before you parade me past the massed banks of press photographers waiting outside and then on to meet the most glittering society in London. Oddly enough, it isn’t a situation I find myself in very often.” He wondered if he was always this insensitive. But he didn’t usually take a woman’s feelings into account — he didn’t usually have to. It was all very confusing, and looking at her was confusing him even more. Because her appearance was so different since the makeover that Lucas had organized. She didn’t look like Misty, anymore. She looked… Gone was the frizzy hair, which he had only ever seen tied back in a ponytail. Now the curls were glossy and touched with blond kisses. Gone was her unflattering uniform and the off-duty jeans he sometimes saw her in. Instead, a silver sheath of a dress clung like syrup to the ripe curves of her body. But it was her eyes that threw him most. How come he’d never noticed those before? That they were the color of bluebells, which had been left out in the rain too long? He swallowed. If this was any other woman, he’d have kissed her into compliance and would have his fingers inside her panties by now. But because it was Misty, he knew that intimacy had to be out of bounds. Intimacy? Surely he meant sex? “Si,” he agreed huskily, his spinning thoughts making him slip into his mother tongue. “You look…okay. And now…you are ready?” Misty nodded. “Yes.” Placing a guiding arm on her shoulders, he pushed open the front door and Misty was transfixed by the force of blinding blue flashing lights that made the nighttime day. She could hear the click of the shutters like a million demented crickets, while the usual insulting questions were shouted at them like hecklers from a crowd. “Hey, Giovanni — what made you fall for her?” “Is this a real-life Cinderella story, Giovanni?” “She isn’t your usual type, is she, Giovanni?” “How does it feel to go downmarket?” He felt her tense. “Smile,” he urged softly, the arm around her tightening protectively. “And keep walking.” With his touch seeming to be the only safe haven in this sea of confusion, Misty pulled her mouth into a kind of rictus as she climbed into the back of the waiting limousine. Giovanni slid in beside her. “Are you okay?” he asked quickly. “They said some pretty hurtful things.” “I’m getting used to them,” she admitted. “But how do you bear it?” “What?”

374

“All that!” She waved her hand at the camera lenses, which were pressed against the car windows like alien eyes as it drew away. “Stupid, unnecessary fuss!” “But press interest goes with the territory,” he defended. “I wonder,” she answered softly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Misty leaned back against the soft leather seat. “Well, I know that Lucas must have tipped them off tonight, and that’s fine because it’s all part of the agenda to take the heat off your step-sister. But you’re no stranger to the papers yourself, are you? There’s always snatched photos of you in the gossip columns.” Instinctively, he bristled against the implied criticism. “You don’t approve?” Misty thought about it. “It’s not for me to approve or disapprove. You’re a millionaire many times over — a shining success in the business world,” she mused. “I just wonder why you bother employing a spin doctor, that’s all.” “Because I have to go out and eat! And I take trips to the theater!” he declared. “Or are you suggesting I live the life of a hermit? It’s better for me to use a spin doctor to manipulate what gets written about me than to leave myself to the mercy of the hacks!” “Then you’re just playing the same game,” she said serenely, though she hadn’t thought about it like that before. “And you can’t complain when it doesn’t go according to your plans.” This was unbelievable! The opinionated little minx was making him sound like some kind of control freak! And isn’t she right? “I hired you to play my fiancée,” he grated. “Not some kind of amateur shrink!” Misty opened her mouth to object that he had asked her opinion, then shut it again. This was not a relationship and it was not equal. He was paying for her company and nothing more. She could see the blazing lights outside the ballroom and yet more waiting cameras. And suddenly, all her nerves vanished. “You’re the boss,” she said demurely. In the half light Giovanni glowered. “Si, cara,” he grated. “I am.” And with that he pulled her into his arms and began to kiss her.

Chapter Six Giovanni’s mouth moved expertly over Misty’s, teasing her lips apart while he reached down to circle his thumb over one nipple with exquisite precision. Misty jerked beneath his touch as a long-forgotten arrow of desire shot through her — the memory of pleasure almost too much to bear. “Gio…” she groaned. And suddenly her hands were beneath his dinner jacket and clawing frantically at the silk of his shirt. “Oh, Gio.” Sweet heaven, but she was hot! Instinctively, Giovanni touched his finger to the fork between her legs, watching her squirm, wanting to tear the dress from her body and to…

375

“Dio, but you are beautiful,” he said brokenly. They were the words that broke the spell. Through the clamor of her starved senses, Misty became dimly aware that the car was pulling to a halt. She tore her mouth away from his, fury lighting her eyes as she looked at his flushed face. “Oh…my…God,” she moaned in disbelief. “How stupid of me! That would have made the most marvellous photo opportunity, wouldn’t it?” “Opportunity had nothing to do with it!” he snapped. “No?” She straightened her dress and then her hair and gave him an icy look. He’d never looked at her twice in the four years she’d been working with him! “Just overcome with passion, were you?” “Si, cara — I was. Very much so. I still am, if you must know.” He saw her mutinous expression and his voice deepened into a sultry whisper. “You must realize how beautiful you look tonight.” But it wasn’t really her, was it? It was borrowed, expensive clothes and a chic makeover — and just like Cinderella, she would be back from riches to rags in no time. “It’s just an illusion,” she said tartly as she climbed out of the car. “Fine feathers make a fine bird!” But Giovanni breathed a sigh of relief to see her heading for the ballroom. After pouncing on her like that, he wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d told him she wanted to go straight back home. And in truth, wouldn’t part of him have approved? So that he could have gone with her…and they could have ended up making love? Or would they? For the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure that he could get a woman into his bed. She was an unknown factor in more ways than one. A surprisingly thoughtful and articulate woman who had transformed herself, who could give as good as she got. Just who was the real Misty Carmichael? He caught up with her, bemused by the glances of the other guests as he ran after her. “Drink?” “Champagne, please.” He took two glasses from a passing tray. “A woman who knows her mind,” he observed. “It’s nice to be on the other side of the tray for once,” she answered lightly. “And please don’t patronize me.” Giovanni frowned. “I wouldn’t dream of patronizng you.” “Wouldn’t you?” Misty questioned wryly. People clustered round, wanting Giovanni to introduce his fiancée to them. There were business colleagues, aristocratic friends of his parents and more than a few ex and would-be girlfriends who’d clearly had their noses put out of joint. But Misty was charm personified, shaking hands and smiling until her face ached. Until Giovanni put a firm and proprietorial hand at the small of her back. “Dance with me.”

376

Enjoying herself hugely, Misty turned to him, her eyes sparkling. “That sounds more like an order.” “I suppose that’s how he’s used to talking to you,” shrilled an over-thin brunette beside her. Misty didn’t miss a beat. “I know,” she smiled. “But the masterful touch is terribly attractive, don’t you think?” Giovanni raised his eyebrows as he pulled her onto the dance floor and into his arms. “She’s a bitch,” he murmured. “But you seemed to cope.” “Why, thank you.” “You’re a fast learner, Misty Carmichael,” he observed softly. She dazzled him with a smile, which hid her heartbreak that this was such a game. “That’s what you’re paying me for, isn’t it?” He wanted to tell her to stop reminding him that this was a business arrangement — but why should he do that? It was exactly that. And maybe he should get his money’s worth.… He pulled her against him and her pale blue eyes widened as she felt the tension and unmistakable heat of his body. “Stop it, Gio,” she whispered. Deliberately, he circled his hips against hers. “Stop what?” he questioned innocently. “We’re only dancing.” “We’re not,” she said weakly. “You know we’re not.” And her head tipped like an over-heavy flowerhead to rest on his shoulder. He pulled her even closer so that he could feel the tightening of her breasts, and he placed his mouth next to her ear. “I’m so hard for you, Misty Carmichael. Can you feel me? Can you?” She should have told him to go to hell. “Yes,” she whispered, through bone-dry lips. “And you want me just as much,” he continued inexorably. “I can feel it in your body and smell it, too. If I threw caution to the wind and kissed you, then I’d be able to taste it, too.” “Gio —” “What?” he questioned, heady now with the sense of sexual power. “This is…inappropriate.” But never had he felt such a delicious sense of excitement. Could that be because it was so inappropriate, he wondered? Or because he was still by no means certain that he could have her? How — given his comprehensive knowledge of the opposite sex — could he ensure that Misty Carmichael would be his tonight? What did every woman in the world fall for? Tenderness. Unseen, he smiled as he touched his lips to her bare shoulder, and slowly kissed his way all up her neck until he felt her shudder with unspoken surrender.

377

“Shall we stay or shall we go?” he questioned. Misty wasn’t some naïve virgin — she knew exactly what that question meant. The sexual chemistry fizzing between them wasn’t in any doubt — just her own reaction to it. And his. But if a man kissed a woman as sweetly as Gio had just done, then surely he didn’t just see her as a sexual trophy? Weak with longing, she nodded. “Yes, let’s go now,” she whispered.

Chapter Seven Giovanni slid down the zipper of Misty’s dress and it pooled to her feet in a silver puddle. “Oh,” she gasped, as he touched her between the legs. “Gio…please!” “Please what, cara?” he gasped back, his mouth roaming greedily over her lace-covered nipple like a man who couldn’t wait. But he couldn’t wait! And his urgency was as unexpected as it was exciting — if only it wasn’t so damned inexplicable. “Please…that?” “Yes!” “And that?” Oh, yes. In the dimly lit hallway of Giovanni’s large house, Misty was torn between hopes and dreams and fears. She wanted to beg her boss to be understanding. And slow — as if he really wanted this and had given it careful thought. “Shouldn’t we go upstairs?” she whispered. “Why not do it here first?” he questioned. “None of the staff will disturb us.” It was a joke about her status as his housekeeper, but it touched a sensitive nerve. And then Giovanni was touching an even more sensitive nerve — sliding her panties down, his finger alighting on the very center of her womanhood with aching precision. “Do you like that, too?” “Y-yes.” “Touch me,” he commanded silkily. Tentatively, she felt the rock-hard ridge of him, her own pleasure increasing as he shuddered beneath her rhythmical stroking. “Do you like that?” she asked nervously. “Do I like it?” In a minute he would burst. “Unzip me!” he rasped. She wanted it to be like the million romantic fantasies she’d ever had about him. But she could see it wasn’t going to happen that way. Swift and perfunctory wasn’t what she would have chosen, but how could she refuse him when she had wanted him for so long?

378

Sliding his zipper down, she whispered her fingertips over the hard edge of him, praying that she would not disappoint. Would he guess how inexperienced she was? “Tell me what you like,” she said. “What you want me to do.” “Just that. Oh…” he breathed on a note of wonder, taken aback by her gentleness and her generosity. He raised his dark head and stared down at her and frowned. Was that doubt clouding her eyes? “Dio! You are not on duty now! Relax, Misty — for tonight we are equals.” But only for tonight, she reminded herself, and Giovanni did not know the half of it. She moved restlessly in his arms as he kissed her, until he suddenly tore his mouth away, scooped her up and began to carry her upstairs. Misty’s eyes snapped open. “Where are you taking me?” “To bed.” “But I thought you said…” “I know what I said,” he returned fiercely. “And I have changed my mind.” “Just like that,” she said weakly. Yet even while she rejoiced at his decision, it only emphasised the fact that he was the master — calling all the shots. He undressed them both, acquainting himself with every curve and shadow of her lush body until he could feel her relaxing beneath his fingers. Misty bit her lip as he moved his dark and golden body over her — her emotions so churned up that she was unable to stop them from spilling out. “You are just so beautiful,” she breathed. Giovanni stilled. Most women played games. They held their feelings back in some kind of sexual power play, but not Misty. Her honesty took his breath away…and yet there was something about her naivete that disturbed him. “There’s still time to change your mind, Misty. Do you want me to stop? Now, before it’s too late?” “Stop?” She curved her hands possessively over his buttocks, shaking her long hair so that it shimmered against his bare chest. “No, I don’t want you to stop.” “Sure?” “Certain.” “Then I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to make love to you, Misty Carmichael. Right now…” And with that, he thrust deep inside her. “Oh, you’re so hot,” he whispered. “And tight. And very, very wet.” His words turned her on even more, and Misty melted. Her body felt suffused with heat and the knowledge that Gio was joined so intimately with her. His lips and his hands were everywhere, touching her in places where she had never been touched — exciting and cajoling her as she felt the tension building and building. “That’s w-wonderful,” she said brokenly, as something she didn’t quite believe began to tantalize her. Like a blurred picture at last clicking into focus. “Please don’t stop.”

379

He gave an odd kind of laugh. “Are you kidding?” And then it happened — wave upon wave of it rocking her into a brand-new and rainbow-hued dimension. Misty dug her nails into his arms and began to cry out her pleasure as she felt him shudder out his own fulfillment. Then the tears began to fall, even though she tried to stop them. Giovanni frowned as he felt their wetness on his shoulder. “Misty? Why the hell are you crying?” She opened her eyes. “B-because that’s never happened to me before.” He felt a chill of foreboding. “What hasn’t?” “An…orgasm,” she said softly. “I’ve never had one before.” “How come?” he snapped. “Because Dominic’s father was…well, selfish, I suppose.” “But there must have been other men.” “No.” “You mean that he was your only lover?” he questioned incredulously. “Until now.” She sighed. “Oh, Gio. It was incredible. You were incredible.” Ice-cold dread now crept over him. What the hell had he done? Had sex with a woman who was light years away from him in terms of experience — a woman naïve enough to start mistaking sexual pleasure for something deeper. And she was wearing his ring! True, it was nothing but a plot to fool the press, but would Misty now conveniently forget that? And if that was the case then how the hell was he going to get rid of her? Swiftly he withdrew, avoiding her flushed face by turning to face the wall and yawning. “Would you mind going back to your own room now?” he drawled. “I have a meeting in the morning and I really need to get some sleep.”

Chapter Eight Misty could scarcely believe what Giovanni was saying. On trembling legs, she climbed out of bed and stared down at the naked body of her employer with disbelief — knowing that she had behaved no better than a whore. Only now he was dismissing her like the servant she really was.… “Leave?” she echoed, curving her lip with pride — which wasn’t easy when she was gathering up her clothes scattered all over his bedroom, and remembering that her dress was downstairs where it had fallen. “Believe me, nothing will give me greater pleasure!” Giovanni was beginning to have second thoughts, for she looked magnificent when she was angry. “Nothing at all?” he teased. “I must be losing my touch.”

380

“Don’t be cheap,” she hissed. “I may be many things, but I’m not cheap, Misty.” So he was even using this opportunity to rub in the fact that he was paying for her time. “That’s a matter of opinion.” Giovanni saw the hurt and the anger, which chased away the rosy flush of sexual fulfillment. And as his body stirred, he began to wonder if he had acted too hastily. “Well, if you promise to let me sleep, then maybe I’ll let you stay here, after all,” he drawled, patting the space on the bed beside him and glinting her a look that had a guaranteed 100 percent success rate. She stared at him in disbelief, realizing that he was serious. “I’d rather sleep on a bed of nails than get back into bed with you!” she spat as she pulled her panties back on. “You can go to hell — you arrogant bastard.” It wasn’t the first time that a woman had expressed similar sentiments, but to see Misty do it was unreal. She’d insulted him when he was used to her unswerving loyalty. Misty — steadfast and loyal Misty. Up until a little while ago, he had seen her purely in the role of domestic helper. A stereotype. But now the real woman had stepped out from behind it. He watched her trying to hook her bra up. And how. “Can I help?” “Don’t tempt me,” she warned. “I thought I just did.” She composed her face into a withering look he had never seen before. “Yes, you did, Giovanni — but fortunately I’m grown up enough to learn from my mistakes. And that one must count as my all-time biggest.” And with that, she flounced out of his bedroom and ran to her own at the far end of the house — in the servants quarters, she thought bitterly — where she spent a sleepless night trying to decide where she should go from here. The following morning, Giovanni paced the house like a caged tiger, and when Misty appeared he searched her face for clues. “Have you forgiven me?” he questioned softly, but just the sight of her was beginning to make him ache again. Misty had spent the night deciding how to play this and she was going to play it cool. She couldn’t go back to how it had been, which meant she had to go forward. She just wasn’t sure where that was going to take her. “I hadn’t really given it a lot of thought.” “Liar,” he taunted softly. “Bet you’ve been awake all night longing for me to do this…” The finger that brushed slowly over her lips was enough to make her tremble, but Misty jerked her mouth away. “Don’t touch me.” His eyes narrowed. “You mean you’re backing out of our deal?”

381

“No.” What a cold and calculating man he was. “I’m keeping to my side of it , and I’d appreciate if you kept to yours. I’ll continue to be your ‘fiancée’ until Miranda’s out of rehab — I’m just taking sex out of the equation, that’s all. But since sex was never supposed to be part of the deal, that shouldn’t be a problem, should it?” “No problem?” he echoed incredulously. “Are you kidding?” She saw frustration darken his eyes and knew a moment of pure triumph before her traitorous body began to ache for him. Ruthlessly, she suppressed it. “Not in the slightest.” She gave a prim smile. “We’ll carry on pretending to be in love, only without any physical complications.” His eyes glittered a challenge. “Want to bet?” And Misty knew that even if the attempt half killed her, she would resist him. She had to protect herself. She had to. “I’m not a betting woman,” she snapped. The front door slammed and Lucas walked in with a stack of newspapers. “What is it?” asked Giovanni impatiently. Lucas put the papers down. “This morning’s are the best yet! Take a look at these.” Misty stilled, astonished to see herself plastered across the front pages of all the tabloids. “Good grief,” she breathed. “Is that really me?” Giovanni moved behind her to look over her shoulder. “It really is,” he murmured, wanting to lift the curtain of curls and kiss her neck again. Misty stared. The photos must have been taken when they were leaving the ball because they both looked flushed and bright-eyed with sexual excitement. Giovanni’s arm was locked around her waist and her nipples looked as though someone had splashed them with cold water. Misty blushed. “And the craziest thing is,” Lucas was saying, “that you really look as though you’re in love. Great acting, I must say.” But it was apparent the look in Giovanni’s dark eyes was lust, not love, and because Misty was a woman, she was in danger of reading too much into it. Maybe he had done her a favor by kicking her out of his bedroom last night — destroying the last of her fantasies with one swift and cruel blow. “It’s going to be weird when it’s all over,” mused Lucas. “We’ll have to work out some kind of plan.” “I’ve already got one,” said Misty quickly. “I’ll be leaving.”

Chapter Nine “Misty, I’m asking you to reconsider.” “Don’t waste your breath, Gio.”

382

Impatiently, Giovanni raked his fingers back through his thick, black hair, frowning as he took in the suitcases that were stacked next to the door along with a lamp, a box of books and a few other sundry items. Misty wasn’t just leaving for a holiday or a few days break while she went to collect her small son from his godmother’s house in Cornwall. There in his hall lay the contents of the home she had made here for the past four years — the home that she was now planning to vacate. “I can’t see why you’re doing this,” he said stubbornly. “Then you’re not very perceptive.” “Why do women always talk in code?” he stormed. “Because we stupidly believe that men have the emotional intelligence not to have everything spelled out for them!” A nerve began to work in his cheek. “Look, Misty — just stay, will you?” Misty shook her head. This was difficult enough. She was willing herself not to start blubbing, and he was making it even harder for her. But she knew that giving in to him would ultimately get her nowhere and she’d be right back where she started. Only worse. Because now she had tasted intimacy with Giovanni. True, like the engagement itself it had only been a sham intimacy, but it still had the power to throw her emotions off-kilter and rock her whole world. And she needed to restore some calm again. Some order. “I can’t, Gio.” She looked at him, her heart turning over and hoping it didn’t show in her face. “You’re too used to getting your own way. That’s half your trouble.” Giovanni scowled, knowing that nothing had been right since the night he’d kicked her out of his bed. Because despite every effort in the book, he hadn’t been able to wear her down and change her mind. Misty had kept her resolve and resisted him, blocking every enticement to have sex with him again. For a man who had never known any kind of rejection from a woman, it had been a sobering lesson. But he had learned from it, hadn’t he? “I behaved thoughtlessly,” he admitted, “for which I have apologized. So how long are you going to keep this up?’ “It isn’t a game, Gio.” “You mean you’re going to stay mad at me?” “You’re forgiven. Okay?” “Then stay.” “No!” She sighed. “You must have realised all along that it would be impossible to go back to the way things were after all this.” “Just because of one night?” Misty shook her head, the curls still loose and sun kissed. “That night has nothing to do with it. The world thinks that we’re engaged to be married and soon that engagement is going to be broken, now that your

383

step-sister is on the mend. Don’t you think it’s going to look rather odd if I slot back into my old position of housekeeper?” “Who cares how it looks?” Giovanni demanded. “I do. And it wouldn’t feel right, either,” she argued. “People would be bound to talk and to question me, and I don’t want to be defined by my walk-on part in the life of Giovanni Cerruti.” That’s what she had been doing up until now, and she needed to be free of it. “How can I go back to serving you meals when I’ve shared them with you? How do you think it’s going to feel when eventually you meet someone that you really do want to marry and I have to start taking orders from her? Don’t you think that could be a little awkward?” “I’m not planning on marrying anyone,” he objected. “Not now, you mean.” “Look, I’m not a great believer in happy-ever-after,” he gritted. “I just know the house wouldn’t be the same without you, Misty. And the sex is dynamic — you know it is.” He shrugged as he slanted her a look of undiluted provocation. “Why stop something that we both enjoy so much?” Misty stared at him in horror as his words reverberated around in her head like a bitter whirlwind. The sex is dynamic. Well, that told her exactly what her appeal to him was. “What Gio wants, Gio gets — no matter what the cost to those around him. Or don’t I count? Is that why you’re so reluctant to let me go? Because having a ‘relationship’ with someone who works for you means that you’re excused all the normal rules? You can treat me however the hell you like because you’re paying me?” Giovanni shook his head furiously. “How dare you talk to me this way. Other women would be bloody grateful to wear my ring and to be seen on my arm.” “Then go and make your delightful offer to one of them!” she stormed back. “I don’t make good choices where men are concerned. I made a mistake with Dominic’s father and I’m damned if I’m going to repeat it.” “And don’t compare me to some waster who dumped you while you were pregnant!” “You only want me because you can’t have me, Giovanni,” she said quietly. “Once you’d got me, you’d get bored and want to disgard me.” And I can’t risk that happening to me. Not with you. Not when it’s so likely to happen. It would break her, and she could not afford to be broken — not with a child depending on her, as Dominic did. Relationships were hard enough. But when there was such a fundamental inequality as that which existed between her and Giovanni, and he had emphatically told her that it was the sex that was great, which he didn’t want to lose.… Well, that was just asking for trouble. Big trouble. Like asking to have your heart broken. “I’m leaving, Gio,” she said. “And I mean it.”

Chapter Ten The beautiful redhead writhed against the sheets.

384

“Do it to me, Giovanni,” she urged, as she touched herself. “Do it to me, baby.” Giovanni froze in the act of unbuttoning his shirt. What the hell was he doing here? He stared at the naked beauty, knowing he didn’t want her. “I’ve made a mistake,” he told her bitterly. Outside, he stared up at an ink-black sky dotted with stars. Every problem had a solution. The question was whether he had the courage to use it. He made himself wait until he was certain and the memory of the naked redhead had been erased from his mind. Then, that sleepless night, he climbed into his car and began the long drive to Cornwall. A sound woke her. In her remote cottage, Misty was used to hearing the caw of birds and the distant crash of the waves, but this sound was different. She looked at her watch and frowned. Three a.m. Who was driving at this time of night? Pulling on a velvet robe, she crept downstairs just as a car pulled up and there was a soft knock on the door. Her heart began to thunder even before she heard the distinctive voice. “Misty?” There was no point in playing games by ignoring him. She didn’t want to wake Dom. She opened the door, steeling her heart against the tall figure sillhouetted in the doorway — but she could do nothing to prevent its painful flutter of joy when she saw his shadowed face. “What are you doing here, Gio?” she whispered. “Are you going to let me in?” “What if I say no?” “Go on. Say it then,” he challenged, his eyes flinty in the moonlight. Wordlessly, she pulled the door open and he stepped past her — strong, warm and virile. Her instinct was to touch him but she fought it. Give me strength, she prayed. Giovanni walked into the tiny room where the embers of the fire still glowed. One of Dominic’s drawings hung on the wall and there was a book open on the window seat. It looked… Giovanni swallowed. It looked like home. He turned around. Her hair was loose and she wore blue velvet. Like a medieval painting come to life. “Why are you here?” she questioned steadily.

385

“Why do you think?” He stared into her eyes and his heart turned over. What a fool he had been. “I miss you,” he said softly. Again, she steeled herself. She had to. “I’d be flattered if I thought there weren’t other housekeepers just as capable as me,” Misty answered coolly, “who can make your coffee the way you like it.” He stared at her incredulously. “Coffee? Madre di Dio! You think I’ve driven all this way to talk about coffee?” “Is it the sex then?” she questioned. “Well, I’m sure the number of women waiting to step into my shoes on the sexual front is even greater.” She made herself ask the question. “How many women since me, Giovanni?” “None.” There was a pause as Giovanni recognized that how he answered this was important. That only total honesty would do. “Other women don’t work for me, anymore,” he admitted softly. “For the first time in my life I can only think about one…and that woman is you.” She bent to throw a log on the dying embers and then blew gently on the fire to start the blaze again. She wanted to believe him — so much — but she didn’t dare let herself. For this time, Misty had much more to lose than her heart. “You only want me because you haven’t got me,” she said quietly as she straightened up to meet his searching gaze. “I’m just another acquisition on the wish list of a man who has almost everything. Once you’ve got me, you’ll get restless and want to move on. It’s the way you are — it’s the secret of your success, Giovanni.” “But that is where you’re wrong, cara mia. Nothing is the same now you’re gone.” He had spent his life building fortunes and defying odds, but putting these feelings into words felt like the biggest mountain he’d ever had to climb. To survive as a child he’d learned to put up emotional barriers — which couldn’t just come tumbling down overnight. He swallowed. “It felt so warm and easy when you were around, Misty. Everything is cold and empty now.” Her long hair shimmered as she gestured around her. “But I’ve built up a good life here. Dominic’s happy at the local school and I have a job working at the local craft shop and I’m good at it. I don’t need you, anymore, Gio, don’t you see that?” “I don’t want you to need me,” he said softly. “I want you to want me — the way that I want you.” His black eyes burned into her. “Do you want me, Misty? Because that’s the only question that matters.” It was one of those defining moments. She could turn him away and her life would be safe…yet Misty recognized it would also be empty and forever filled with an aching regret. Or she could grab this unexpected chance of happiness, and take the risk that everyone had to take when they fell in love. “Of course I want you,” she whispered. “But I’m scared.” He laughed as he pulled her into his arms, closing his eyes as he breathed in the sweet scent of her hair. “You think I’m not? It’s the reason I behaved so stupidly,” he murmured. “But I recognize now that it’s a healthy kind of scared. Like the first time you jump into water out of your depth — as long as you can swim, you’ll be just fine.” He tilted her chin and moved his lips close to hers. “Can you swim, Misty?” She wound her arms around his neck. “Like a fish,” she smiled, as she turned her face to his.

386

He bent and captured her mouth in a long kiss and in seconds she was trembling, robbed of everything but her desire for him. “Gio?” she whispered unsteadily, as the flickering flames illuminated his dark features. “Ssssh,” he commanded, slipping the velvet robe from her bare shoulders. “Come here while I claim you.” “Th-that’s a very old-fashioned thing to say,” she stumbled. He cupped her breast and touched his lips to it. “Sometimes old-fashioned is best.” And Misty wasn’t going to argue with that.

387

Shadow Lies by Linda Conrad Naomi Ayze's daughter Emily has been kidnapped by Skinwalkers, evil shapeshifters that have been terrorizing the Navajo people! Naomi will do anything to get her little girl back, including turning to her high school sweetheart, Junior Gashie, a man she hasn't forgiven for abandoning her seven years ago! Recently returned to the Four-Corners reservation, Junior Gashie is shocked when he finds his first love slumped over the wheel of her car. He had hoped never to see Naomi again—after all, when she went away to school seven years ago, she never looked back. But now, the woman he'd once planned to marry needs his help to find her missing child!

Chapter One Naomi Ayze used her shirtsleeve to swipe away streaming blood and tears from her eyes. With her other hand gripping the wheel, she steered her car down the steep cliff-side road. She'd already done the hysteria bit. She'd cried, screamed and raged until hoarse. Now it was time to get it together and drive out of the mountains to a spot where her cell phone would work. But whom to call? She had no husband. Her parents wouldn't have a clue how to help when help called for action. They were brilliant, but traditional Navajos were set on staying in balance. And Dan, the brother she'd turned to as a child, was off somewhere working on an oil rig. Despite their differences, she would have to call her other brother. Michael belonged to the Brotherhood, that band of medicine men who fight the evil ones. He—they—would be her best hope for saving Emily. A bubble of hysteria threatened to consume Naomi again at the thought of her little girl. Her only daughter, sweet six-year-old Emily, taken by evil Skinwalkers! Just then, she heard an odd sound coming from under the car. When Naomi stepped on the brakes, she got no response. The brake pedal hit the floor as the car picked up speed and careened down the twisting road. And there was no way to stop!

*** Junior Gashie replaced the radio microphone and turned his tow truck around. The call from his office had been about a possible abandoned vehicle up near Tohatchi Lookout, only fifteen minutes away. Junk cars were often abandoned in these hills, and his parts yard could stand a few additions to inventory. So he'd decided to check it out before heading home after a long day. The scarlet rays of another stunning sunset struck his windshield as he turned, reminding him of how much he'd missed this eastern side of Navajoland—the place of his birth. The sage-covered deserts and the russet sandstone cliffs of the "four corners" area. Easily locating the spot where a passerby had seen the car, Junior parked on the shoulder and got out to check the area. Dusky shadows and tall pines obscured his view into the canyon, but he saw the glint of metal sticking out from brush about fifty feet down the hillside. "Ya'at'eeh. Hello." He called out in case anyone was around and heard no response. Dropping over the side, he decided to give the wreck a closer inspection. When he slipped on loose rocks, Junior figured this was going to be a bugger of a job, dragging the car up the hill with his winch. He eased his way closer and thought he heard a moan. Stopping to listen, he heard only the howling winds. Must've been his imagination.

388

As he took his next step, there was the sound again. But this time he knew where it came from. He shoved aside juniper and sage brush, fighting his way to the driver's side door. Someone was inside! In a moment he reached a woman, slumped over the wheel, saved by both her seat belt and the blown, limp air bag. Tugging on the jammed door handle, he yelled at her, "Are you okay?" She groaned and turned her head. Even dazed and glassy, those electric eyes were unforgettable. Naomi Ayze. The one woman in the world he'd hoped never to think of again.

Chapter Two She stirred and lifted her head. "Junior?" "I'll get you out, Naomi. Hold on." She must be dreaming. She had dreamed of him every single night for the past seven years, so why should this be different? The last thing she remembered was being in a car with no brakes and heading over the edge of the cliff. The car accident must've knocked her out and carried her away into familiar and erotic dreams of the man she had always loved. Would always love. Trying hard to pull herself out of the haze, Naomi inhaled deeply and blinked. There was something important she had to do—and it was floating right at the edge of her consciousness. "The doors are locked," a deep, masculine voice called out from nearby. "I'm going to have to break a window to reach you. Try to stay awake, Naomi. I'll need you to pay attention and do what I say." That sounded like Junior's voice. Was she awake? A shooting pain at her temple blindsided her, searing her in a way unlike any dream. Another pain, this time in her ankle, confirmed the worst—she was not dreaming. "Help me," she whimpered. "What happened? It hurts." The face from her dreams, wet with perspiration and scowling with determination, appeared in the passenger window. "Don't try to move," he said with a rasp. "I have something that'll shatter the window so I can reach you. Shut your eyes tight and don't open them until I say." She closed her eyes. Junior. The last time they were together had been to say good-bye. She could still feel the youthful desperation, egging them on toward that one last kiss. That one last touch. They'd eventually given in to teenage lust, all mindless and fierce. And neither one had had even the slightest idea that their good-bye would end up meaning forever.

*** Junior set his jaw. He didn't dare think about this injured woman being his Naomi. The initial surprise had quickly dissolved into steamy memories and heated blood. But such sudden desire was uncalled for and unwise. Sweeping it all aside, he rammed the tool in his hand upward with one heavy thrust. The tempered glass window webbed into a thousand unbroken splinters. Fisting his other hand, he knocked out the whole panel. With the glass impediment gone, Junior reached inside and unlocked the door. At that moment he felt the ground underneath his feet tremble and the disabled car jolted.

389

Why? When he looked, it didn't take a genius to discover the car had been precariously balanced on the edge of another precipice and now was inching toward disaster. Any sudden moves and the car and all inside would go crashing down to the canyon floor a hundred feet below

Chapter Three "Naomi, listen to me," Junior said with more calm than he felt. "Don't move. Don't say anything." He was not about to tell her the whole truth. "There's a little problem. I need to go back to my truck for a moment. I'll be right back. Meanwhile, sit perfectly still, will you? It's important." "How bad is it?" she asked in a hoarse whisper. "Shush." He couldn't lie. Not to her. "It's bad. But I swear you'll be fine. All you have to do is stay calm." She snuffled quietly, but didn't move a muscle. Junior spun and took off up the hill, adrenaline pumping and heart pounding. There wasn't time to think. Almost at the lip of the incline, he slipped against the rocks. Pebbles showered out from under his feet in a landslide of dirt and stone. He caught himself and held his breath, expecting the disturbance to be the catalyst for Naomi's destruction. When the dust petered out before reaching the car, he climbed out of the canyon and made for the truck. No time now to try radioing for help. Not much time for anything. He unlocked the cable and set the winch, readying it to go down the hillside with him. In the next sixty seconds he also set the brakes, blocked the tires and rolled back over the cliff side. Junior knew these hills and cliffs, had climbed through them following his grandfather's goat herds for most of his childhood, but he'd never been quite so careful as he picked his way back down to Naomi's car. At the car, he inched his way under the rear bumper and hooked the cable to the car's frame. Then two minutes later he was up to the tow truck to take the cable off to spool freely. This wasn't the perfect solution, but it had to work.

*** Inside, Naomi felt the car jolt and gasped in surprise. Not sure what her fate would be, she assumed this was it. Daring to open her eyes, she saw Junior easing the door wider. Then he leaned toward her across the front seat. If this was to be her end, she was glad her last sight would be of Junior. "Easy, Smiley." He unbuckled her seat belt. "I'm going to slide you out. Think you have any broken bones?" She concentrated for a second. "Maybe my ankle." "All right. I'll be careful. But we have to get you out of this car now." Naomi wrapped her arms around his neck and gingerly eased both feet out from under the mashed dashboard and steering wheel. A little pain, then freedom. Once more safe in Junior's arms, her head began to clear. Balancing her against his chest, he bent to do something under the trunk. She heard a click and a snap. Then he hitched her higher in his arms and took off up the hill.

390

She watched over his shoulder as the car jerked then rolled, disappearing in the brush. That's when it hit her. The man who'd once hurt her so badly she'd thought she might never recover…had just saved her life!

Chapter Four "You're bleeding." Junior kept a hand on the wheel and gently thumbed the trickle of blood from Naomi's forehead. He'd managed to bring her up the cliff to the truck and buckled her in, but she was groggy and nearly incoherent. He'd tried his cell, looking for help, but got no signal. The radio also wouldn't be useful in these mountains. "I'm taking you to the clinic," he said in frustration. "Just hold on." "Emily," she cried. "Emily first." "Who's Emily? There wasn't anyone else in your car." "Call Michael. Please, Junior. Help me reach Michael." He remembered Michael Ayze only too well and could think of dozens of people he'd rather talk to. "Calm down, Smiley. We'll call your brother as soon as we get out of these hills." Was she in shock? Hallucinating? He was having trouble even believing she was sitting here beside him. She was like a familiar mirage, not quite real. Glancing over again, he tried focusing on her hair. The thick mink-colored silk that he vividly remembered touching, curled around her shoulders. The curve of her neck caught his attention and he remembered placing his lips right at that tender spot. She groaned and shook her head as if to clear it. "What are you doing back in Dinetah? I'd heard you'd gotten married and moved off the reservation." "Yeah," he said carefully, not knowing where the conversation was going. "But my father passed away about a month ago so my son and I moved in with Mother. I'm taking over the family garage." "Your son? How old is he?" "Ted is three. His mother died when he was born. It's just the two of us, but we'll be okay here." "Emily is my daughter." Naomi suddenly fisted her hands and jabbed the air. "She's gone. Oh. My. God. I have to save her." "Easy." He didn't like her panicked tone, and the words were strange. "Save her from what?" "You don't know. You've been away." She started crying again. "What don't I know?" He was really worried now and pushed down a little harder on the gas pedal. "They have Emily. And they tried to kill me." She sobbed and put the back of her hand to her mouth. "What am I going to do, Junior? My six-year-old daughter has been kidnapped by Skinwalkers!"

Chapter Five

391

By the time they reached a spot where Junior's cell would work, Naomi had herself under better control. But Junior was still watching her as if her mind had dropped down into the canyon with her car. Maybe it had. Who in their right mind would believe what was happening on the rez these days—let alone what had just happened to her today? She punched in Michael's number and waited for her brother to answer. He had warned her, and Michael Ayze wouldn't be happy to know she had ignored his warnings. She'd needed to take this shortcut across the mountains just this once. Emily had a dentist appointment and, after all, it'd been broad daylight. But obviously once had been too much for her and Emily's sakes. At the sound of Michael's voice, Naomi found her backbone. She got mad. "They've attacked me and taken Emily," she spat out before even saying hello. "The Skinwalkers. They left me alive but did something to my brakes. I almost went over a thousand foot drop. Junior saved me." Silence. "Where were you when Emily was taken?" Michael finally asked. She told him. "Are you all right?" "Junior's driving me to Raven Wash Medical Clinic. My ankle may be broken." "What the hell are you doing with Junior Gashie?" Her mind wanted to go numb at Michael's harsh words, but she ignored the question and sucked it up. "Michael," she began behind gritted teeth, knowing full well the use of his proper name was against Navajo traditional beliefs. "Find my daughter. Stop worrying about things that aren't your business. Get Emily back." Michael's tone softened while he expressed his sympathy about her child's kidnapping. Then he voiced promises of quick action and said Dr. Ben Wauneka of the Brotherhood would be notified she was on her way to his clinic. At last Michael added, "I'll meet you at the clinic later. Don't leave with Gashie. Get rid of him as soon as possible." "You don't need to come. I'll be fine. You find Emily." Naomi felt the hysteria crawling up her throat, but fought it back once again. "Junior saved my life, Brother. If anything, you owe him your thanks. Naomi knew asking such a thing of an arrogant man like Michael was like asking ice to get friendly with fire. She also knew Michael had a few good reasons to dislike Junior. But those reasons went back seven years. People could change. Times changed. Besides, she needed a way to forget the past to get Junior's help. And if she could forget what happened, then by heaven so would Michael. "I don't want you around him," her brother argued. "Too damn bad."

Chapter Six

392

"Ya'at'eeh." Navajo medicine man Dr. Ben Wauneka greeted them at the door to his clinic. Ben practiced as a western medical doctor and was a longtime friend. Junior clearly remembered how kind he had been during his dad's illness. It was also Ben who'd, years ago, suggested that Junior begin hataalii, or medicine man, training. Junior had been thinking of finishing his training now that he was back in Dinetah. Cradling Naomi in his arms, Junior followed Ben back to an examining room. A nurse met them there as he eased an angry but eerily silent Naomi onto a table. "Give me a few minutes to check her over," Ben told him. "You can wait down the hall in one of those uncomfortable chairs in the alcove with the drink machines. The chairs aren't meant for long-term stays, so I'll be there as soon as I know something useful." Junior walked down the hall, but he didn't need a chair. He paced the old linoleum, thinking of time long past. He remembered sunny, warm days when he and Naomi had been children, roaming the hills and canyons of their homeland. He'd been following his grandfather's herds, and Naomi had come along as the two of them dreamed of what they wanted for their futures. Junior had dreamed of being a respected medicine man. Of stepping out of his humble sheep-camp Navajo roots. Naomi had always wanted babies in her future. Lots and lots of babies she could mother. As she grew older, her family tried to convince her that aspiring to become a professional as they were would be a necessary part of her Big Medicine Clan heritage. They wanted her to become a doctor or a lawyer, or perhaps a college professor like her brother. But those things were never in Naomi's heart. Even as a tiny girl with her dolls, she had never played at being their teacher or their boss. Instead, she'd cradled them and sang lullabies to her little brood of dollbabies. Naomi had eventually grown into a beautiful and strong young woman, and the two of them fell in love. He would've given her the world, so awestruck and helpless had he been. But all these years later, Junior clearly remembered her reluctance and misery when, instead of letting her stay home and get married, her parents sent her off to college in the eastern U.S. To the same university where Michael was teaching at the time. On Naomi's last night at home, their one night, she cried softly in his arms and begged him to run away with her. "Try it for a year," he'd urged. "For tradition's sake, honor your family's wishes for at least that long. If you're still unhappy afterward, I'll come for you and we'll be married. They'd made tender love to each other for their first and only time. Then they cried together and promised to be true forever. He'd touched her. Held her. And let her go. It should've been just a temporary good-bye. Little did he know it would take almost seven years for him to hear from her again. Or that when he did, it would be a cry for help as she dangled off the edge of a cliff. For years he had hated her for taking his heart and never looking back. Now… Now he didn't know what he felt about the girl he still couldn't help calling Smiley.

Chapter Seven

393

Dr. Ben caught up to him as he paced. "Naomi's going to be okay. We've taken X-rays and the ankle isn't broken. It isn't even a bad sprain. We'll keep the foot elevated for the next twelve hours and use ice, and she should be able to walk on it by tomorrow. Gentle walking will be the best thing to keep the muscles from getting stiff." "What about the cuts on her head?" "She was lucky. Doesn't have a concussion. She's bruised and has lots of scrapes, but they're superficial and not deep enough for sutures. Rest should heal her body. I'll treat the cuts with a special medicine man salve once the nurse cleans them up. Then we'll get her settled in a room." "A room? Why?" Was there something Ben wasn't saying? Ben stared at him for a second, then answered, "If I let her leave the clinic, she won't rest. She'll be out looking for her child in the middle of the night. I can't let her do that." "Then what she was saying about her little girl being kidnapped was true? What does the FBI say?" Instead of answering, Ben checked his watch, then tilted his head toward the alcove. "I've only got a moment, but there are some things you need to know. Come sit down." Junior followed the doctor but was confused. Both Ben and Naomi were acting strange, as if some big conspiracy were happening on the rez. And Naomi's use of the word Skinwalker sounded just plain crazy. Once they were settled in the quiet corner, Ben said, "You've been gone from Dinetah for about four years, is that right?" He nodded. "About that time, terrible things began happening here. Rumors of Navajo witches were running rampant across the countryside. It was my aunt, the medicine man's Plant Tender, Shirley Nez who figured out the truth. She discovered a mysterious man had appeared in Navajoland and was forming a new cult of Skinwalkers. No one knows where he came from, but we've found out this new cult has learned the ancient secrets for changing out of human form at night. They've recently begun changing over even in daylight." "You're not joking, are you?" Junior could see that the man he most admired in the world was deadly serious, and it gave him the creeps. All his life he had heard the dark legends of the Skinwalkers. How they were known as the Wolf Clan and were the evildoers in Navajo life. And about how the original Navajo Wolf had been a sorcerer who had changed from a man to a wolf because of his greed and the need to create chaos among the harmonyloving People. But Junior had always imagined that stories of how the Skinwalkers could mimic any animal they chose were just children's boogeyman tales. Werewolves, as white men call them, practicing black magic. Supposedly capable of superhuman strength, mind control and spreading disease so they could cause death. Great spooky stories, but…

Chapter Eight "It's all true," Ben said quietly. "Everything you've ever heard is true. Before she died, Shirley Nez gathered together a band of medicine men. We call ourselves the Brotherhood. We've formed to fight off the new evil cult.

394

"Shirley gave us special herbs and chants to use as weapons," Ben continued. "We were holding our own against them, but this newest kidnapping is another setback." "They've kidnapped children before?" Junior was stunned and horrified. How could he not have known? "Just a few months ago they took a one-year-old. Traded the girl for an ancient map that will lead them to the original Skinwalkers' parchments and the secret to everlasting life." "But the baby was saved? What do they want with Naomi's child then?" "The other baby was recovered due to the Brotherhood's efforts, but the map was lost in the end. Both sides are still searching for it. This time, however, I believe the Skinwalkers have taken little Emily strictly for blackmail. "They've been attempting to dissuade Naomi's father from running for Tribal Council," Ben added with a sad shake of his head. "Hastiin Ayze is a good man who knows all about this new cult. He's too smart for them and would be a thorn in their sides. The Skinwalkers need leverage." Ben hesitated. "When Hastiin Ayze first got the threat, he turned to us for help. Obviously, we've failed to protect his family." "But they won't hurt Emily, will they? Can't you call in the FBI?" "You think the FBI would believe any of this?" Ben asked with a wry smile. "The Brotherhood does have a Special Agent in our ranks—Kody Long. He's sure the Skinwalkers would disappear into their magic world with Naomi's daughter if we put in an official request to the feds for assistance. We can't take the chance." This was impossible. "So what's the Brotherhood going to do? You can't just let them keep Emily until after the election. That's a month away." "They won't hurt her," Ben said soberly. "If they did, their leverage with Hastiin Ayze would be gone. As it stands, he's considering complying and withdrawing from the race. In the meantime we're questioning people who may have seen or know something to lead us to where the Skinwalkers are keeping the child." Junior's mind was spinning. "Where's Naomi's husband? What does he have to say about all this?" Ben shook his head. "She doesn't have a husband. To my knowledge, she never did." "I see." But Junior didn't understand it at all. "Is Naomi still in danger?" "We don't know. They have what they want. She's probably just a nuisance to them. The Skinwalkers believe Hastiin Ayze cares more for his granddaughter than for her, though I doubt that. But…" "What?" "Naomi Ayze is a danger to herself. She's hotheaded. I worry that she'll storm off and do something rash. The Skinwalkers may lose it and kill both Naomi and her daughter if that happens. A rescue needs to be done carefully." Naomi. The thought of her suddenly twisted something in his gut. Something he'd buried ages ago. "May I stay with her for a while? Maybe I can convince her to rest and let the Brotherhood find her daughter." "You can stay. And I wish you good luck."

395

Chapter Nine Naomi was furious. How dare Ben Wauneka try to keep her in his clinic against her will. He'd given her pain medication and was icing her sprain, so why should she stay here overnight? Wait until Michael arrived. She would demand that her brother get her out of here so she could look for Emily. She lay back against the pillows of her hospital bed, started feeling a little groggy but fought to stay awake. Resting was one thing, but she refused to fall asleep until Emily was safe. "How are you doing?" Junior stood in the doorway to her room with concern written all over his face. "Terrible. Can you get me out of here?" He smiled and came to sit by her bed. "Dr. Ben says you need at least one night's rest before you get back on your feet." "Junior, my daughter. She's been taken by—" "I know," he said soothingly. "Ben explained what's been going on in Dinetah. It's hard to believe those old, terrifying stories we scared ourselves with as children have come to life, isn't it?" "Not for me. I saw them." "Quiet now, Smiley. Rest." Naomi stared up into the masculine face she remembered so well. Once she had known that hard-angled jawline and those high cheekbones better than she'd known her own. His gentle dark-chocolate eyes took her back to a place when life had seemed so easy. She could almost smell the soap and the crisp outdoors scent that had always surrounded him. It was as if no time had passed since they'd been as close as any two people—and desperately in love. But so much had happened since then. Too much. Starting with how he had never answered any of her letters. She'd written of her loneliness, of her love, begging him to answer and give her hope. After a few weeks of not hearing, she'd even begun pleading with him to come for her. But there had never been any reply. The anguish and frustration were as clear in her heart now as they had been all those years ago. Still, he had once been her everything. And today he had saved her life. Regardless of their many past mistakes, Junior would help her rescue Emily. At this moment nothing else mattered. "Rest," he said again. "Close your eyes. I'll sit here. Be here when you need me." Fleetingly, she thought of how she'd wished he would've meant that seven years ago, long before her life had taken such big twists. "But what about your son and your business?" she asked instead of saying what was in her heart. "Teddy will be fine with my mother. And I have an assistant who can take care of the garage if need be." Junior reached out and actually took her hand. "Sleep for a little while. You can count on me."

396

Maybe that had been true when they were kids with the same interests and the same dreams. She wanted more than anything to believe it might someday be true again. But she couldn't get past the time when it had really mattered, when her whole life had hinged on him. And he had been nowhere around.

Chapter Ten Junior watched as Naomi fought the sedative. Wanting to help, he held her hand and hummed one of the oldie soft rock songs they'd used to sing together. Back before things had gone so wrong. Finally, she dropped off as Ben had said she would. Junior hoped she'd be out until morning. He knew how hard this must be for her. Knew what he would feel like if someone had taken Ted. Letting go of her hand, he sat back in his chair and tried to get comfortable. He'd meant what he'd said about sticking with her. As much as he'd once hated her for leaving him in her dust, what he felt now was mostly pity. What if she had nightmares about Skinwalkers and woke up all alone? No, he figured he would stay right here through the night. By her side—the same way he'd once thought things were destined to be forever. The clinic's corridor lights were lowered for the night and everything went into shadows. Through heavy eyelids, he watched her sleep. His gaze wandered lazily over her face, tracing each curve. The woman who had once been his best girl had a few new lines around her eyes. But at twenty-six she was just as beautiful as ever. He remembered everything about her, everything about their last night together, as if it were a movie stuck on rewind. When he closed his eyes, he was back there, seeing the indigo-midnight skies all decked out in a zillion stars. Smelling the sage and pine of the late-summer night as the two of them sat on a flat granite boulder high in the cliffs and with the vast Navajo desert spread out below. And tasting … He remembered her sweet and drugging kisses. All openmouthed and primitive. Tongues tangling, warm and wet. They'd drunk lust from each other until the very air surrounding them had ignited in fire. The world seemed so brand-new then. Yet their inexperience had not slowed the sizzle of breathless need, driving them beyond boundaries. His fingers curled with the memories of running his hands through her satiny hair and across the smooth tenderness of her shoulders. How could the memory of touching his fingertips to the hardened peaks of her breasts still seem so fresh and real all these years later? His tongue ran over his own parched lips as he remembered the many tastes of her. The honey of the silken skin right under her breasts. The intimate and salty tastes of hidden places that had quivered under his advances. He couldn't get any of it out of his mind. The traditional Dine Way said that one should go with the flow. Maintain balance. But while adjusting his thoughts, he discovered his body hadn't gotten the message. Shifting, he considered why it all seemed so clear. How long had it been since he and Naomi had been together again? Seven years? As allusive thoughts of time swam through his brain, Junior suddenly began counting months and years. And he at last came around to the proper computations. Ones he should've considered from the start. Just how old was Naomi's daughter?

397

Chapter Eleven Junior heard a noise and blinked open his eyes. Immediately alert, he sat up to check on Naomi. The door to her hospital room eased open. Through the shadows, Junior saw a huge hulk of a man silhouetted in the glow of night-lights. On his feet in an instant, Junior pushed the guy backward, slammed his forearm into the man's Adam's apple and rammed him out into the hallway. The two of them landed against the wall under one of the low lights as the big man began saying medicine man chants, ones Junior had never learned. But he did recognize the voice. "Michael Ayze," Junior muttered. The last thing he needed now. "Ah," Michael said as he cleared his throat and quit struggling. "Junior Gashie. I should've known. I guess my sister couldn't manage to get rid of you." "She asked me to stay." Michael heaved a heavy sigh. "Yeah, she's never been the brightest match in the book where you're concerned." Junior leaned back on his heels. "Your sister and your niece are in trouble. I intend to help. So should you. Whatever it is you've always had against me can wait for another day." "Why?" "Why what?" "Why are you helping Naomi? What's she to you?" Junior wondered about that himself. What did he feel for Naomi? He still wanted her body, no question. But at the moment, his mind filled with lots of questions. Why hadn't he heard from her in seven years? And who was her daughter's father? "She's an old friend and in trouble," he managed. Michael narrowed his eyes to study him through the shadows. "Yeah, well. As much as I've always thought you weren't good enough for my sister, right now she needs someone. I understand Dr. Ben gave you a rundown on what's going on. You still want to stand beside her knowing Skinwalkers are involved?" Junior folded his arms across his chest and gave him a cold stare. "I'm here, aren't I?" Maybe he was staying just to get another chance at touching and tasting her. Maybe it was only to get his questions answered. Whatever the reason, it was still none of Michael Ayze's business. Michael nodded once. "Right. I want you to meet someone then." He turned and indicated another Navajo man who had been lurking way down the darkened hallway. "This is Lucas Tso. He's a member of the Brotherhood and wants to talk to you." Lucas Tso? Junior had heard of him. Who hadn't? The guy was a famous native artesian and was rumored to be able to read minds. But what did he want with him? Michael took his stunned silence for what it was. "Pay attention to what he says, Gashie. I'm going in to talk to my sister."

398

"She's asleep. Ben said to leave her alone until morning." "Perfect. 'Cause it's nearly dawn." Michael broke away and strode into Naomi's room. Which left Junior alone. And facing a weird stranger with stark features and look-right-though-you eyes.

Chapter Twelve Junior gulped back his jitters and greeted Lucas Tso with the regular Navajo handshake, slightly less forceful than a white man's. "I have come with goodwill," Lucas said quietly. "As you may know, my grandmother is a stargazer. She sees the future sometimes, and she sends a message." "For me?" Lucas nodded. "Amá sání has seen the recovery of the child of the youngest child born to the great Hastiin Ayze. She tells me you are the savior and must not falter." "Me?" When had he even decided to go looking? "What else does she see about me, or about Emily?" "It doesn't work that way," Lucas said, smiling wryly. "Grandmother only sees what's there for her to see. But I have come to offer assistance. I can't go with you on your search—it's not in the stars—yet I bring two things that may help." Junior tried to keep the skepticism off his face. "I know you feel doubt." Lucas began digging into his jacket's pocket. "But this journey will happen, so it's best to be prepared." Junior waited for the weapon he expected to see. He wasn't great with a gun, but perhaps another knife would be useful. "This jish has been made for your protection." Lucas held out his hand with a small leather bag. "But I carry my own medicine pouch. I made it years ago and wear it always." "Yes," Lucas agreed, "like all traditional Dine. But this one brings special blessings and cures. The lost child's maternal uncle designed it for your protection from the Skinwalkers." "Michael made this?" Surprised, Junior took the pouch and put it on his belt. Lucas nodded his approval. "One more thing. You are a man of the Fourth World," he said, referring to Junior's years learning about nature as he followed the sheep. "Let that be your guide. But we have allies in our war with the evil ones who may also be of service." "What allies?" "The Bird People. Listen for them. Watch the skies. When you need their help, they will be there." Great yei. Birds? What the hell had he gotten himself into?

***

399

Michael handed Naomi the jish he said he'd made especially for her. "I'd rather you not go out searching for Emily. But if it's destined, as the stargazer says, then you and Gashie must have protection." "You made one for Junior, too?" Naomi's heart took a spin. "Why is he going to help? What have you told him?" "Nothing that is not my place to tell. You must give up your own secrets, my sister." Not just yet, she thought. She couldn't bring herself to say the words to Junior right now. Maybe later. But that would depend on the outcome of their journey. And on the chances for forgiveness.

Chapter Thirteen "Where should we start?" Junior had never done any real tracking; he might not measure up. "Let's try going back to the kidnapping spot. Maybe we'll find something that'll tell us where they went." "I doubt it. I'd bet the Brotherhood has been all over that place by now." Naomi bit her lip with self-doubt. He knew the feeling. Her indecisive move had brought back a time when they'd been so close they'd known each other's thoughts. Back then she'd given him a sense of spiritual and physical connection. But now… "Look," he said soothingly. "It's as good an idea as any. Tell me where you were when it happened." She gave him directions and he almost smiled. "I know the area almost better than I know the names of my family clans. I spent years climbing those cliffs as a kid." "I remember." Those two words speared him with a sense of loss. Turning his truck up the road, he tried to get back under control. It hadn't been his fault that things had gone wrong between them. "What happened to us when you went off to college?" he asked before he could rethink the words. "Now's not a good time to talk about it." Her gaze held a challenge. "I'm devastated about Emily. I'm trying to stay strong, but I can't if you make me all emotional again." "That would make you emotional?" The idea surprised him. It never occurred to him that she might've cared one way or the other. If she had, why hadn't she contacted him? She laughed. Her tone was rusty, but still the sound ran down his arms like a warm touch. "Every time I think of all those unanswered letters, all those millions of tears…" Her voice cracked and she turned her head to stare out the window. "What letters?" Her head whipped around. "My letters to you. The ones I wrote that you never answered." There was a lump in his throat. "I…I never got any letters."

400

"Well, I wrote them. Poured my heart into each one, then carefully put them in envelopes with the right postage and sent them off. But there was no reply." A sheen of tears glazed over those amazing nutmeg eyes. Shocked, he slowed the truck but kept his attention focused on the winding road ahead. "I swear to you, I didn't receive any letters. I just figured you'd decided your parents and brother were right. That a poor sheep-camp Navajo was not the right match for someone so intelligent and in the best clans." "What? Why didn't you trust me? Trust what we'd felt for each other?" Trust. That wasn't something he'd ever been very good at. He hadn't even fully trusted her story. "Why didn't you call me?" he groaned as a reply. She screwed up her mouth and glared at him. "You'd said to write." Naomi's expression suddenly turned to stone. "I gave the letters to Michael to mail. Ask him."

Chapter Fourteen "Michael." Naomi heard Junior's tone, knew what he thought. It hadn't occurred to her until now. "You think my brother sabotaged the mail? Deliberately didn't send my letters? He wouldn't." "Oh yeah? Your brother hates me. Never thought I was good enough for you. When I called to ask about you, he said you were fine and hung up on me." "You called for me?" The anger flamed but was quickly extinguished by guilt. "When did you call?" "About six months after you'd gone. I was a wreck. I couldn't stand not knowing if you were okay." Naomi blinked back the regret. By that time it had been clear she was pregnant—Michael had only been protecting her. She remained silent in her anguish. "Shortly after I called," Junior continued, "I met Dina. We were both on the rebound. Our marriage was probably a big mistake, but I can't regret having Teddy. He's my whole life now." Naomi had felt like crawling into a hole, but his talk about his son brought back thoughts of her daughter. She stiffened her spine and shook off her conscience. Emily was the most important consideration now. She wouldn't discuss anything more about that time or her child with him until she was sure Emily was safe. Junior just had to help her. He had to. She wouldn't take any chances with Emily's life. They pulled up to the overlook where Emily had been kidnapped. Naomi's breath hitched in her throat when visions of those bastards taking her daughter filled her mind. "Do you know what direction they took?" Junior asked softly. She shook her head. "I was knocked unconscious for a few minutes." He put his truck in park and set the brake. "Let's get out and check around."

401

In a few minutes, they'd devised a plan on how to search and where to look. Each of them slipped on backpacks and they set off down into the wide canyon. She tried to keep her mind on the search, and her senses tuned in as Junior had taught her when they'd looked for lost sheep. But she couldn't help noticing the man beside her. He was still hot with those lean, muscular thighs and strong corded back. When he whispered, his voice still held weight. As if he knew everything and could fix anything. She tried to fight those images. Felt she should be focusing on the gnawing fear for her child's welfare. But being hysterical wouldn't help Emily. And thoughts of Junior were keeping her on an intense edge. Ready to roll. When they came to a sandstone seep a couple of miles down the bottom of the canyon, she was surprised. She'd been concentrating so hard on the poison weed and shale rocks around her, and on the man leading the way, that she'd lost track of how far they'd gone. Then suddenly the hot sun dipped behind a cloud and the sound of a hawk screeching overhead changed everything.

Chapter Fifteen The air stilled. Complete silence took over as the sudden noise faded. Junior had never experienced anything like this deathly calm in his many years spent out in the canyons. "What do you think the red-tailed hawk is trying to say?" he whispered. Naomi shrugged. "Beats me. But if I had to guess, I'd say it meant trouble." Another shriek came from above. Naomi yelped and grabbed his arm. "Let's get out of here." Without taking time to consider, he took her hand and set off in the direction the hawk had flown. They angled up through boulders the size of a car, but he could've navigated the familiar shale paths and highwalled canyons blindfolded. After a few minutes, Junior stopped to let Naomi catch her breath. That's when he heard the buzz. Sounding like a high-pitched whine, the noise drilled through his veins and set his blood pounding. "Skinwalkers," Naomi whispered. He pulled her to his chest, dragging them both backward into a thin, hidden slot between two boulders. She buried her face in his chest. Being able to feel her frantic trembling right through their clothes was sending shivers up his spine. Holding her, he carefully reached for the hunting knife secreted in his boot. But as Junior's hand rubbed past the medicine pouch Michael had given him, its touch became a reminder that the best way to fight Skinwalker danger was with medicine man chants and special potions. Trusting Michael to have put the right potion and herbs into the pouch, Junior began saying the one chant he remembered from training that might work on the Evil Ones. He also withdrew his blade, preparing, just in case. Out of the skies straight above their heads came two huge vultures. They were Navajo witchmen in changed form. But right behind them, several large raptors flew in precise formation and dive-bombed their unnatural cousins.

402

The vultures streaked away out of sight, and all the birds disappeared from the narrow patch of sky where Junior last saw them. The skies rang out with brutal screams and calls. Then there was silence—except for the heavy beating of his heart. Naomi took a tentative breath. "We're okay. Your chanting did it. You saved us." Probably not. But when she looked up at him with those round, warm eyes, he lost his balance. The next thing he knew he was kissing her. He hadn't planned it or given himself even a moment to think, just dipped his head and covered her mouth. But once he felt her lips under his, things changed from relief to something else entirely. Memories mixed with wishes as he became bolder, went deeper. Seducing, begging for surrender, he wrapped her in his arms and ravaged. A sure feeling of "mine" sneaked up and hammered him in the gut. His palms were sweaty. His erection throbbing. He wanted back their lost time. And he needed her. All of her…desperately.

Chapter Sixteen Naomi jerked. Pushed herself away. She was shaking. Panting. Her tender nipples strained against the cotton material of her shirt. "What just happened?" She couldn't catch her breath. Couldn't find a footing. Junior narrowed his eyes. "You tell me." Shrugging, she changed the subject. "The Bird People must've won that round for us." Junior raised his eyebrows but put away his knife. Terrified of falling in love with him again, Naomi steeled herself. When she told him the truth, he would hate her forever. But right now Emily needed his help, so Naomi had to stay strong. No matter what her heart said, this was no time to delve into past mistakes. And no time to give in to the most astounding kiss in her entire memory. Junior quietly took her by the arm again and eased them onto the canyon floor. Their previous moment's terror had subsided. For how long, though? "Is there anything you can think of that might help us find Emily?" he asked. "Not really." "What about the last time the Brotherhood rescued a kidnapped child? How did that go down?" Naomi sighed. "The Skinwalkers hired goons to take the baby. They carried her on their backs through the desert to their cavern hideout." "Goons and a baby?" Junior asked with a grave expression.

403

"Well, they'd thought they had the mother, too. And they'd also hired an old Navajo wet-nurse to care for the little one. It turned out the old woman took really good care of the child. "But this isn't exactly the same," Naomi added. "Emily's a big girl. She doesn't need to be carried or nursed." Junior looked thoughtful. "If they want to keep your daughter alive as leverage, they might hire another woman. I wouldn't think they'd want to take a lot of chances on Emily seeing their faces either." "I guess that's right." The idea lifted some of the weight off her chest. "And they wouldn't want to march a six-year-old too far in these canyons," Junior said almost to himself. "Let's go." He swung west and started off down the canyon floor. "I have a good idea where we might find Emily." Naomi remembered some of the landmarks, but she was glad Junior was here. They trekked through deep gorges and past narrow slot canyons. The magenta and tangerine colors of the granite and sandstone would've been amazing if she'd been in a mood to appreciate them. The air was thin and dry. The sun getting hotter. After an hour of walking, Junior led them upward to a point near a summer hogan, supposedly deserted when the clan who lived there moved their sheep to lower pastures for the upcoming long winter, but the smell of cooking smoke was unmistakable. "Quiet," he said. "You stay here while I scout." "Not a chance in hell," she muttered. "If Emily is there, I'm going in, too."

Chapter Seventeen Junior softened his stance when he saw the stricken look on Naomi's face. He'd been more than a little irritated at the way she'd pushed him away after their kiss. Even though he'd been well aware the timing wasn't right. But the longer he thought about Naomi and her child, the more curious he'd become. Was this his child they were trying to find? If so, why had Naomi kept her a secret? His whole life would be different if he'd known he had a daughter six years ago. That thought brought him back to his son. He would never wish away Teddy. Like any good traditional Navajo, Junior should work at finding balance with the facts at hand, not try to force the circumstances to bend his way. "Don't you trust me to protect her?" he asked Naomi softly. "Trust?" Her face turned a pasty shade as she'd uttered the word. "I've spent so long kicking myself for trusting you to stick by your word, and then hating you when you didn't answer my letters that I…" He took her by the shoulders, gazed into her eyes. "Now you know why. Search your heart for true feelings—the ones you'd buried. Trust me." At last she nodded. He urged her to drink water and have a power bar while he went to check the lay of the land. Refusing to think too much, Junior got close to the small hogan without being seen. He crouched behind a boulder and watched as a Navajo woman stood stirring a pot over a glowing fire. It was much too warm a

404

day for her to use the inside stove as was usual in hogans, but that gave him a good opportunity to sneak up to the west-facing window for a look inside. Twenty minutes later Junior was back with Naomi. "Your daughter's asleep inside the hogan. I'll bet she's been drugged. There's only a middle-aged woman with her, but that one's got a loaded rifle at the ready." "Oh." Naomi released a breath and tentatively searched his eyes. "This is good news," he insisted. "Emily's alive and okay. If we leave right now, we can hike to where we can get a signal to call the Brotherhood. They'll be here before the sun drops below the rim of the canyon. She'll be home by tonight." "Leave?" Naomi shook her head violently. "I can't just abandon my child to Skinwalkers." "We can't help her here," he repeated. "It's too dangerous. Let the Brotherhood handle it." She was still shaking her head. "No. Please. I'll do whatever else you say, but I've got to try to reach her." "Don't—" "I'll have sex with you," she blurted. "You still want me. And I'll do anything you say. Just please help me get to Emily." The rush of anger came fast and hard. "Stop it." He shook her. "Don't pretend you could use me like that. It isn't you, and we both know it." Anger lit in her eyes, too. "What if this was your child? Could you walk away then?"

Chapter Eighteen The words came out of his mouth before he could catch them. "Is she? Is Emily my child?" Silence fell between them the way night falls behind a mountaintop. When the question finally came, Naomi had frozen. She'd tried to prepare, but which answer would make Junior more inclined to help? Should she say Emily was his —or not? In either case, Naomi found she couldn't lie to him. So she put on her backpack and walked away. "I'm going after my daughter," she said over her shoulder. "You could come along." She was pleased when she heard his footsteps following hers through the steep rocks. But her heart betrayed her. He was a good man—the best. There was no question about her loving him again. She had never stopped. Fifteen minutes later they were perched on a rock shelf above the hogan, studying the woman keep watch as she worked outside. They devised a plan: Junior would overpower the guard, while Naomi sneaked through the back window and rescued Emily. With her heart in her throat, Naomi climbed down the shale path, keeping her footsteps light as Junior had showed her years ago. She couldn't wait to reach her baby. Junior eased himself down the face of a boulder, making sure not to jar any loose rocks. He was confident he could take this Navajo woman by surprise. She seemed to be paying little attention to her surroundings, but that made him stop and think. Why wasn't she?

405

Just then, a rattler appeared out of nowhere. Larger than any of its brothers, Junior knew it was Skinwalker. He drew his knife and began saying medicine man chants. He was lucky. He got just the right opening and lunged his knife into the snake's eye. Before his own eyes, the unnatural thing changed from snake to man to dust. Quickly turning back to the hogan, Junior crawled on all fours to capture the female guard in a sneak attack. He locked her in a choke hold, and she lost consciousness. But then he heard a commotion coming from the far side of the cabin and took off running. By the time he arrived, the Bird People had killed a Skinwalker weasel and Naomi was already through the window. He climbed in after her. Naomi sat on a stack of Navajo blankets, cradling her unconscious daughter in her arms. "They've drugged her. How are we going to get out of here?" Junior nearly smiled at the picture Naomi and her child made. "This is the easy part." Lifting the six-year-old in his arms, Junior said, "Remember, I was the one who rescued injured lambs that were much were bigger than Emily. No problem. Let's go." After a couple of hours of climbing, Junior began to worry about the child over his shoulder. "We should rest," he said, as he glanced back at her mother. But then he was blindsided by the look on Naomi's face. A look that said she would do whatever he wanted, that she trusted him completely.

Chapter Nineteen A safe place was nearby: Junior's own clan's summer hogan. He settled them down there and they worked to make the child comfortable. "She's okay," Junior said, as he followed Naomi through the door and into the old-fashioned outdoor kitchen in back. "Her pulse is strong and her breathing is good. She'll be fine when the drugs wear off." Naomi looked into his eyes, worshipping. "You've saved her life, Junior." Flustered by that steady gaze, he stood and eased away. As much as he wanted to devour her, he didn't do it. She was still the only woman for him. Saving her child, working together only made him more aware of how much he needed. They belonged to each other. He wanted his life back. But not now. "I think I should hike out to where the cell signal is stronger and call the Brotherhood. You two will be okay alone. I won't be—" Naomi flung herself into his arms, hungrily staking her claim on his mouth, suddenly greedy. With his blood pulsating, he slanted his mouth over hers. Both of their hands went everywhere at once. Instantly he was hard and desperate. "I still love you," she moaned. "Want you." She pulled her shirt over her head. The sight of her made his knees weak and his heart pound. Panting hard, he feasted on one of her nipples. Squirming as he laved, she shoved her jeans down and off, then tore at his zipper.

406

Too fast. His head was spinning as he stroked and aroused them both beyond measure. She reached out, put her hand around him and squeezed. Not fast enough. In a daze, he hitched her legs around his waist, and like lightening he was inside her. Home. With hands firmly holding her bottom, he slammed into her right where he stood. Primal, savage, so full of passion and need, he was beyond civilized. This was no young girl he held, but her womanly fullness and curves nevertheless were like a familiar meal. One he had craved forever. "Junior!" she screamed as he felt her tighten around him. Her nails clawed at his shoulders. She bit him through his shirt. The world stopped as she arched her back in climax. His throbbing erection, so long denied, took him over the edge, too. They were back where they belonged. And there was no way he was ever letting her go. In a few minutes, her body slumped against him, and he was forced to let her drop to her feet. Disheveled but still so sexy he immediately wanted more, she stared up at him with glassy eyes and straightened her clothes. "I meant what I said, Junior. I didn't do this because you saved Emily. Thank you for that. But I do love you. I've never stopped loving you. I'm sorry for…everything." "The past wasn't your fault," he murmured. "And I hope you aren't sorry for what just happened here." Shaking her head, she looked lost. He wanted to hold her in his arms again, but she took a step back. "I was so heartbroken when I thought you didn't love me," she said. "And angry. To spite you I went out with the first guy who asked." She drew a breath. "Turns out he was married. But I can't be sorry, Junior. He gave me Emily."

Chapter Twenty Naomi never really took another decent breath after telling Junior the truth. She deserved whatever she got. He left her and Emily in the small hogan and called the Brotherhood. Michael and Lucas had been close by looking for them and they came back with Junior. By then Emily was wide-awake. Still, she wasn't steady on her feet. Holding back the tears, Naomi introduced her daughter to the man who should've been her father. Michael's face was somber. "My niece is too shaky and will need to be carried. I'll do it." "No chance," Junior told him. "I got her this far. She leaves with me." He picked Emily up and backed out the door without another word. Lucas led the way to the truck with Naomi and her brother following behind Junior. Michael climbed in beside her. "Junior said you told him the truth. I'm sorry if I caused any of this, little sister."

407

She swiped at her welling eyes. "Not sending my letters was your only mistake. That and not trusting me to know who I wanted. But I realize you did it thinking that was what our parents wanted. I've forgiven you — and them. My own mistake was much worse." "He still loves you." "He doesn't." Her voice cracked. "Why would you say that?" "Can't you see it every time he looks your way?" "But how could he ever forgive me? Whenever he sees Emily it will be a reminder of my mistake." "I wouldn't count on that. Look at what's right in front of you." She gazed ahead and saw Junior and Emily with their heads together. Whispering and occasionally laughing, they looked so much like father and daughter she nearly broke down. Her heart stopped, skipped and then danced with hope. Was it possible? Could there eventually be some kind of future for them? They took Emily to Dr. Ben for a checkup. Naomi stayed by her daughter's side, reluctant to let her out of sight. The child had been dehydrated and they were giving her fluids through an IV, but she'd be able to leave in the morning. An hour later, Naomi snuck out of the room while Emily took a nap. Junior stood in the hallway —alone. Surprised, she went to him with hesitant steps. He must've seen the questions in her eyes. "You two still need protection. I've nominated myself for the job." "Oh?" "I'll be joining the Brotherhood, too. Ben is going to help me finish my medicine man training." "Oh." "If you still love me," he began as he gazed at her. "Are you going to marry me like you promised seven years ago?" "But what about Emily?" "She's thrilled about having a new baby brother. Ask her." Naomi collapsed into his arms. "I'm so sorry for the lost years, Junior." He stroked her hair. "Don't be, my love. We've got two fantastic children to show for those years." Four spirits would be joined. A new family begun. And all through the power of love and trust.

408

Loving Valentine by Adrianne Byrd Chanté Morris is working her way out of the small Texas dust bowl she grew up in. Between her job and school, she has no time for romance—besides, she wants much more from life than the local yokels can offer. But when a handsome stranger stumbles up to the café where she works—and into her arms—Chanté does what any woman who's sworn a vow of chastity would do: she kisses him back! Dr. Matthew Valentine is on his way to a conference when his rental car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, namely, Karankawa, Texas. The heat has him seeing things—but the curvaceous woman with the sweet lips sure feels real….

Chapter One "Check engine?" Matthew Valentine stared at the glowing orange warning with a wave of panic. He glanced out of the windows of his rented Lincoln Town Car at the vast emptiness of the Texas landscape. There was absolutely nothing as far as the eye could see. It probably wouldn't be so hot in the Lone Star state if it at least had trees. The car jerked and chugged. "C'mon. Don't die on me. Not now." He looked around. "Not here." The image of a red battery joined the collection of glowing lights on the dashboard. There was a loud pop and the car wobbled on three good tires. Matthew pulled off the two-lane road just as the car gave one final chug and a long hiss. "I don't believe this!" He hit the steering wheel and then jumped when the horn blared back. "What the hell are you so sensitive about? I'm the one stuck out here in the middle of nowhere." He attempted to restart the engine, but apparently it had gone on to meet the big mechanic in the sky. Matthew stepped out of the car and into the sweltering heat. Digging out his cell phone, he discovered satellites didn't roam in the boondocks. He glanced both east and west on the lonely highway and wondered where the other drivers were. How far was it to the next exit? "A missed plane, a lousy rental car and now I have to walk through the Sahara. This is the worse day of my life."

*** Three broken plates, two jerks sitting at table seven and one massive migraine had Chanté Morris contemplating burning Sam's Café to the ground. A great deal of her frustration came from trying to be a fulltime student at Kissessme College while still pulling a full forty-hour workweek, however, it made her feel a lot better to blame her bad mood on the customers. "Hey what does a man have to do to get a refill around here?" "Oh, bite me, Earl," Chanté snapped back, grabbing the coffeepot. "Anytime, baby. Just bend over," Earl retorted with a playful wink. "I got seconds," Rufus shouted from the other end of the counter. "I call thirds," Henry, another regular, jumped in.

409

Chanté shook her head and sloshed burned coffee into Earl's cup. "You know," he said, leaning forward. "If you just agree to go out with me—" "Sorry, Earl, but I haven't given up on the human race just yet." "Ooh," the men at the counter chorused. "That goes for the rest of you yahoos," Chanté tossed in with a wink. "You can't keep saying no forever," Rufus chuckled. "One of us will wear you down eventually." "Nope. I'm sticking to my plan. No time for romance." Her afternoon fan club bobbed their heads and clicked their coffee cups together as if wishing one another the best of luck in winning her hand. "Twenty bucks says she'll be the next Mrs. Miguel Rodriguez." "What's wrong with the current Mrs. Rodriguez?" Chanté asked. "She ran off with my brother José last week. Left me with eight kids." His eyes raked over her curvy figure. "You have some nice child-bearing hips. How do you feel about children?" "It ain't gonna happen, Miguel." Miguel just smiled and laid down his twenty bucks. The other men followed suit. Annoyed, she rolled her eyes and removed her apron. "Sam, I'm going on break." Sam, the café's owner and cook, poked his head up from behind the counter. "What? You still have three orders coming." "Sorry. I have a test to cram for." She glanced at her watch. "It's not my fault Jenny is running late…again." She grabbed her sociology book from under the counter. "Be back in twenty." "Chanté, we have waiting customers," Sam shouted. When she didn't turn around, he added, "I have a good mind to fire you." Chanté's fan club booed and hissed. She smiled and shook her head as she stepped out of the café and into the hot Texas sun. Usually she liked studying in the small confines of her ten-year-old Honda Civic, but today she might actually bake if she attempted such a thing. She started to turn around—maybe she could curl up next to the time clock—but then something caught her eye off in the distance. A man. A tall man with broad shoulders and a confident gait. Chanté shielded her eyes and squinted against the sun. Was he wearing a suit? Either morbid curiosity or sheer fascination kept her rooted before the café's door and staring at the approaching stranger.

410

The closer he came, the more Chanté liked what she saw. Tall, broad shoulders and a lean waist. When he was within fifty feet, she added handsome to the growing list. Karankawa, Texas, was nothing more than a pinprick on a map and Chanté took great pride knowing just about everyone within the town's limits—and she certainly didn't know this man. They didn't grow them this fine in her neck of the woods. When the stranger was within twenty feet, his dark brown eyes entrapped her own. She didn't understand what was happening. Was the man some kind of hypnotist? Why was her heart trying to pound its way out of her chest? Ten feet. She noted the seductive plumpness of his lips. Five feet. How soft would his hair feel if she was to run her fingers along its short strands? The stranger stopped before her. His warm breath rushed against her upturned face. Before she could remember how to speak, he swept her into his arms and kissed her.

Chapter Two This was no mirage. The long walk beneath the blistering Texas sun had edged Matthew close to insanity. He'd lost count of how many times objects appeared closer than they really were or weren't even there at all, which was why he was certain that the curvaceous woman in a adorable pink-and-white outfit was nothing more than a beautiful mirage. However, the sweetness of her lips and the magic of her tongue meant that either he'd died and gone to heaven or the woman in his arms was real. Though her lips were pillow soft and her mouth intoxicatingly sweet, the kiss was hot enough to turn his blood into a fiery river of hot lava. Her light, flowery scent drugged his senses and when a breathy sigh escaped her lips, Matthew's body tightened in response. His dream woman gently placed her hand against his chest, and he knew that she could feel his hammering heart. He deepened the kiss and ran the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips. Her lips opened wider.

*** Chanté groaned as her body melted against the handsome man's. Without thought, her arms slid up and around his neck, but then, slowly, reason crept back into her mind. What in the hell was she doing kissing a complete stranger? Reluctant, but with a great deal of willpower, she broke the kiss and sucked in a deep, ragged breath. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked, her chest heaving from the effort. "The same thing you're doing." He leaned forward. "And I want to do it again." Chanté curved her back and pressed her hands against his chest in an attempt to avoid another taste of his addictive lips. "Get your hands off of me. I don't know you."

411

One final shove and Chanté won her freedom. Escaping into Sam's café, she crashed into a deafening wall of silence and was surrounded by wide eyes and gaping mouths. "Hell, what does a guy have to do to get a kiss like that?" Earl asked, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth as if preparing himself for the possibility. "Down, boy." Chanté rolled her eyes. "Hey!" Her mysterious kissing stranger bolted in behind her and then sighed dreamily. "Thank God. Airconditioning." Chanté shook her head. "Wait. I didn't even catch your name," he called after her. "What?" Rufus adjusted the bill of his trucker cap. "You two don't even know each other?" "Actually, I'm just sort of passing through. I was on my way to a conference in Killeen, but my rental car broke down on the highway a few miles back. Is there a phone around here?" Chanté turned to him. "This is a café, not AT&T." Those full lips widened within the frame of his groomed goatee. "Well, I haven't tasted the food, but this place certainly knows how to make a guest feel welcome." He jutted out his hand. "Dr. Matthew Valentine. And you are?" She opened her mouth to tell him it was none of his business when everyone at the lunch counter answered for her. "Chanté Morris," they chanted. Matthew's mouth sloped into an uneven smile. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman." "Oh, he's smooth," Rufus whispered. "Order up!" Sam shouted. "That is, if you're finished 'greeting' our guest." Everyone laughed. Everyone except Chanté. "Not funny." Chanté stomped behind the counter, giving up any hope of trying to study. "So what kind of doctor are you? Some kind of 'love' doctor, Dr. Valentine?" Earl chuckled and his fellow yahoos joined in. Matthew moved to a vacant stool at the lunch counter. "Actually, that's pretty close. I'm a relationship therapist." Chanté's interest perked. "Hey, Chanté," Henry piped up. "Ain't that what you're going to school for?" "Shut up, Henry," she warned.

412

"So what does a man have to do to get a drink around here?" Matthew asked. "Water, preferably. A jug if you have it." Chanté poured his glass of water. "Twenty-five cents." "For water?" "Need I remind you again that this is a business?"

*** Matthew's pulse quickened. Judging by the fire in her eyes, Chanté could take him in any boxing ring…and win. "Look, there's no need to beat yourself up because you're attracted to me." "What? I'm not— Just because I kissed— You don't know what you're talking about." Matthew smiled and reached for his glass. Chanté moved it away from his reach. "Twenty-five cents." "Oooh," the men at the lunch counter chorused. Still smiling, Matthew reached for his wallet and removed a hundred dollar bill. "This should cover the water…and that wonderful greeting." "Aaah," the counter of spectators responded. Without warning, the gorgeous waitress drenched him with the icy water. "On the house." This time all the patrons in the café exploded with laughter. "Actually, that was quite refreshing," he admitted. "May I have another? This time, if it could remain in the glass, I'd appreciate it." "Chanté!" the cook shouted. Matthew reached for the silver napkin dispenser when he noticed a stack of twenties on the counter. "What's this?" he asked the men next to him. "Oh, we have ourselves a friendly little bet going on who'll win Chanté's heart." "Is that right?" Matthew cut a gaze over at Chanté, who was being berated by the cook. Matthew picked up his soaking wet hundred dollar bill and placed it on top of the stack of twenties. "I'll take a piece of that action."

Chapter Three Matthew had never been a gambling man, but he was smart enough to know that this was one bet he couldn't afford to lose. However, Rome wasn't built in a day and conquering his fiery water-slinging waitress was going to take a little more time, too. Time he didn't have.

413

But all wasn't lost. Rufus, Miguel, Henry and Earl took him up on his bet and actually seemed to be rooting for him. So much so that Earl, the town's only auto mechanic, offered to tow Matthew's rental car to his shop. Matthew agreed, though he was sorry to leave the café—or more accurately, Chanté. "She's a nice girl," Earl yelled over the loud rumbling of his truck's engine. "Seems to have taken a liking to you." Matthew rolled his eyes and kept his doubts to himself. "'Course, I've had my eye on her since she broke up with my nephew, Kevin, a few years back. They'd dated in high school. When he finally got around to popping the big question, she said no and hit the road." Earl shook his head. "Young folks. Always thinking the grass is greener on the other side." "You're trying to date your own nephew's ex-girlfriend?" Earl turned his head from the road to lock gazes with Matt. "A good woman is a good woman." The seriousness in the man's gaze left no room for argument so Matthew politely nodded his head. But after a mile of silence, his curiosity got the best of him. "So she's never been married?" "Nah. Not much of a dater, either. 'Course that might have something to do with the way her father always cleans his gun whenever someone arrives to pick her up." Matthew lifted an inquisitive brow. "Don't worry. I doubt you'll get that far."

*** Chanté was going to fail her sociology test. Ten minutes left on the clock and the only thing she could remember was how to spell her name. The rest of the time, her mind kept replaying that wonderful kiss outside Sam's Café earlier in the day. When she closed her eyes, she could still taste him: warm, sweet and intoxicating. Hell, the man had made her toes curl. That had never happened. Ever. Again, she shook the disturbing images out of her head. The kiss had to be some kind of fluke, or maybe the stress of juggling work and school had finally got to her and she'd imagined the whole thing to be better than it really had been. "Time's up!" Her instructor, Mr. Reid, snapped his pocket watch closed and glanced down at her blank paper. "You do know this test is worth fifty percent of your grade?" Chanté sighed. "I guess this means I'll see you next semester." She gathered her things and shuffled her way out to her car. All the while, her mind kept returning to that kiss. That wonderful damn kiss.

414

If she were lucky, Earl had fixed Dr. Valentine's car and he—and those heavenly lips—were a million miles away from Karankawa, Texas. A man like that could make a woman forget about her goals, dreams and even her celibacy vows. Five years and counting. The funny thing was, when she made the decision to abstain from sex, Chanté didn't feel there was any real threat of breaking it. Most of the men in her hometown were carbon copies of one another, each just looking to tie her down and pump her full of babies. Well, she had no intention of being tied down or living the rest of her life in a town that wasn't marked on most road maps. She had it all planned out. Another year of college and then she was moving to one of the big cities: Dallas, Houston or maybe even Austin. She was going to be a psychologist and make something of her life, no matter how many jobs she had to hold down in the process. "Long class." Chanté's head snapped up at the hauntingly familiar voice. "Matthew." Surprise lit Matthew's eyes as he pushed himself away from her Honda. "You remembered my name." How could she ever forget it? The sweaty suit was gone, replaced with casual khakis and a luminous white shirt. In short, he looked like a black Adonis beneath a half-moon and a blanket of twinkling stars. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "Isn't it obvious?" He stopped before her. "I came to see you." He didn't touch her, but his gaze had a way of caressing her face and causing regions of her body that had long been declared as No Men zones to tingle. "You know there is a word for this sort of thing—stalking." Matthew tossed up his hands and took a step back. "Whoa. That's not the vibe I'm trying to send." "Oh, really?" Chanté cocked her head, amused despite everything. "And what sort of vibe were you going for?" "One that tells you how much I'm really into you." His gaze caressed her again. "One that tells you I'd like to get to know you better." Chanté tilted her head back and gazed into his dark eyes and swore her soul was being pulled from her body. Was it possible to look at a man and actually feel as though you've found a part of yourself? It sounded strange, but that's exactly how Chanté felt at the moment. "What happened to your big conference?" she asked in a shaky whisper. "I'm not going to make it." He gently brushed his fingertips against her cheek. "I'm much more interested in kissing you again. Any objection?"

Chapter Four Any objection? The question floated around Chanté's head and in the very back of her brain came a shout of yes, but she quickly snuffed it out. "No," she answered in a breathless whisper.

415

She wanted another kiss—needed it, in fact. She hoped that it would be as wonderful as the first. Her eyes drifted closed the moment his lips pressed against hers. Instantly, she was lost in a slow, deep, melting kiss that wiped her brain clean of all rational thought. This kiss was better than the first.

*** This kiss—the touch of her hand, her tongue's silky caress and the way her curves fit against his body— confirmed what Matthew had suspected: he'd found his true soul mate. No doubt she could feel the strain of his arousal and knew that he had more on his mind than a moonlight kiss. Suddenly Chanté broke away and panted, "I'd better go." "What…?" Chanté rummaged through her purse to find her car keys. "Look, I can just imagine what you must think of me, and I probably could never convince you that I don't just roam around kissing strangers, but—" "No. No." Matthew rushed over to her as she opened her car door. "I—I don't think badly of you. I think you're wonderful." Chanté lifted an inquisitive brow. "Maybe I should be asking whether you make a habit of shoving your tongue down strange women's throats." "What? Me? No." She lifted her second brow dubiously. "So I was your first?" "As a matter of fact you were." He leaned against the car. She studied him. "I'm tempted to believe you." "You should." His confidence returned, and he smiled. "There was just something about you." Chanté rolled her eyes. "I've had a long day." She slid in behind the wheel. "Good night." She reached to close the door, but Matthew held on to it. "Wait. Don't go." "Look, Dr. Valentine. Whatever you're selling, I'm not interested. I work forty hours a week in a grease trap while trying to put myself through a school I should have gone to ten years ago. But I was like most women in this town and thought I just wanted to get married and have children. Then one day I realized that's not at all what I want. I want more and now I have a small window of opportunity to actually do something with my life, and I don't plan to screw that up. I have to work, and I have to work hard, just to catch up." Matthew met her determined gaze and was more than a little turned on by her passion. With only the best of intentions he said, "Maybe I can help. Maybe I can take you away from all of this." He watched in dismay as her eyes narrowed and she climbed back out of the car. "Is there a For Sale sign stamped on my forehead that I don't know about?" "Uh, no. I didn't mean to imply that—"

416

"What? You think you can just blow into town and buy the first girl you come across?" "Calm down. I didn't mean that the way it came out." Chanté crossed her arms. "Then how did you mean it to come out?" "I meant that…well, that I'm a pretty wealthy guy and as my… You know, there's just no way for this to come out right." "I'm not for sale, Dr. Valentine. And despite living in a poor town, I don't need you to rescue me. I can do that on my own." "Smart, strong and independent." "Is that a problem?" "It's a turn-on."

*** Once again, Chanté met his gaze and felt that strange pull in her soul. "Dr. Valentine—" "Matthew." His smile widened. "I like the way you say my name." She blushed. "Now that's definitely a smile I see." "You're trying to get all charming on me." "Is it working?" It was working but she held her tongue. "Matthew," she corrected. "I don't know you—" "That's why we should go out. So we can get to know each other." "Let me finish," she said, then took a deep breath during the requested silence. "I don't know you and I don't want to know you." "Why?" he challenged. "Are you afraid of your feelings?" Chanté opened her mouth, but Matthew cut her off quickly. "Are you going to lie and tell me that you don't feel anything when I kiss you?" That was exactly what she was going to do. Matthew smiled. "I know I can be pushy—but only when I see something or, in this case, someone I want." Before she knew it she was back in his arms without resistance. Moaning against his lips, Chanté accepted his probing tongue with an eagerness that surprised even her. Matthew stroked a hand down the length of her body, slipped it beneath her pink cotton top and trailed his fingers across her soft skin.

417

Unable—unwilling—to stop him or herself, Chanté moaned again and pressed closer to him. Matthew continued his lazy exploration until he cupped a firm breast and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Admit it," he said, breaking the kiss but forging a trail of smaller ones near her left ear. "You're attracted to me." "I—I'm…" "And you want to get to know me better." He nibbled on her ear. Quivering and unable to speak, she nodded. Matthew lifted his head and gazed down into her clear brown eyes. "You know this is just the beginning. I can make you feel so much more," he said. "Come back to my hotel. Stay the night."

Chapter Five Matthew should have anticipated a slap, but he certainly didn't expect the left hook Chanté hurled his way, nearly knocking him to the pavement. "Asshole!" "No, wait." Chanté jumped back behind the wheel and nearly severed Matthew's fingers when he tried to stop her from slamming the car door. "C'mon, Chanté. I didn't mean that the way it sounded," he shouted the lie through her window as she started the car. Struck with the ingenious idea of launching himself onto the hood of her car to prevent her from driving off, Matthew again, reflectively, should have anticipated that this spitfire would buck him as if they were at a Texas rodeo. Even as he lifted his bruised body from the cracked concrete to stare after a pair of glowing red taillights, he was still fairly certain that he was in love. He just had to figure out a way to get Chanté to realize that she was, too. Without becoming a stalker.

*** Chanté tossed and turned throughout the night. Not because she was angry with Dr. Matthew Valentine, a man that she had known a total of one day, but at herself. Not only had she allowed a complete stranger to kiss her senseless, not once, not twice, but a mind-blowing three times—the last time she'd even allowed him to feel her up! Maybe her sex drought had turned her into a desperate harlot looking for any sort of cheap thrill. It didn't hurt that Mr. Thrill was fine as hell and had great taste in clothes. Hell, that sweaty suit he'd had on earlier today was probably worth more than she made in a month. Not to mention the way he talked and carried himself shouted that he was not just from the opposite side of the railroad tracks, but he was from a completely different set. Why the hell would he be interested in her?

418

Chanté sat up in bed and glanced around the small bedroom she'd had her entire twenty-eight years. Her parents still slept across the hall. It had always been just the three of them, pulling together, scratching out an existence in a small Texas dust bowl. "I have to stick to my plan," she whispered to the comforting dark. The moment she settled back into bed and closed her eyes, she was instantly transported back to the college parking lot, but instead of slapping Matthew for his indecent proposal, she said yes.

*** The Buckeye's Motel, the only motel in a ten mile radius, looked as if it was built as a homage to the Bates Motel and decorated by someone who was clearly color-blind. And until Matthew figured out a way to win Chanté Morris's heart, it was home. "I blew it," Matthew admitted to his oldest brother, Scott, over the phone. "I know I made fun of you when you said it was love at first sight with you and Barbara, but I'm a true believer now." "She's that amazing?" Scott asked. "You can't imagine." Matthew strolled across the puke-green carpet and tried to squint through two inches of dirt on the windows. "But you have to help me. How did you convince Barbara that you weren't some raving lunatic?" Scott, a famed psychologist in his own right, chuckled at Matthew's dilemma. "You know, there's a thin line between persistence and being a stalker." "So I've been told." Matthew turned away from the window and sighed. "Every time I'm around her, my words don't come out right. Me. A psychologist who talks to people every day and who just landed a major book deal." "Love does that to you, bro." "You don't understand. I've all but called the girl a two-bit prostitute. I can only imagine what she thinks of me." "Calm down, Matt. If she is as amazing as you say, then dust yourself off and try again."

*** The minute Chanté pushed through the doors at Sam's Café, her regular lunch crowd was already there and grinning at her like a pack of wolves. "You guys are here early." Earl folded his meaty arms and winked. "We wanted to see if you'd look different this morning." "Different?" "Yeah." He glanced around at his friends. "I, uh, dropped Dr. Valentine off at your school last night for a little reunion." Chanté's face burned hot with embarrassment. "So you dropped him off. That doesn't mean—" Rufus jumped in. "My nephew, Bobby, takes night classes at Kissessme. Said you and the young doctor was tonsil boxing in of front the whole school." Damn. She hated living in a small town.

419

"Looks like the good doctor is going to win that bet after all," Miguel cut into the conversation. Chanté suddenly felt as if she had been socked in the gut. "What bet?" "You know." Miguel shrugged. "That twenty-dollar bet we all made yesterday." "Only Dr. Valentine pitched in a cool hundred dollar bill," Henry added. "Morning, everybody!" Matthew greeted as he entered through the doors, carrying a bundle of carnations. Chanté rounded on him and literally slapped the smile off his face. "Asshole!"

Chapter Six "I take it you don't like the flowers," Matthew said numbly, blinking a few stars from his eyes. "She likes red roses," the men at the lunch counter informed him in unison. "I'll keep that in mind." He rubbed at his smarting jaw. "That's quite a hand you got there." "You tried to get me in bed last night to win some bet?" "No. I tried to get you in bed because I thought we'd have a good time." That didn't come out right. Chanté's hands whipped across his face again. "Ooh," the men chorused. "Seriously, you need to start slapping me on the other side. You're going to knock a tooth out on this one." Following his direction, she slapped him on the opposite cheek. "Damn!" The men jumped in their seats as if they'd taken the blow themselves. Matthew wished they had because he was clearly in the ring with someone who going for a total knockout. "Okay. Seriously. Psychology 101—hitting is not okay." "You have some nerve! Is this how you treat women where you come from? "Where does he come from?" Rufus asked. After a pregnant pause, Matthew filled in the gap. "New York." "New York City?" they shouted like the cast of a salsa commercial. Chanté shook her head, clearly disgusted. "Just get out of here. How many times do I have to tell you I'm not interested?" She turned and then disappeared behind the door marked Employees Only. Matthew's shoulders slumped in despair. "Well, that went well." "Better luck next time, sport," Earl chuckled and then mumbled under his breath. "Easiest hundred bucks we've ever made."

420

Matthew had his answer on who'd told Chanté about the bet. "When will my car be ready?" "Sometime this week. Have to order an oil pump. I'll bring it to the motel when it's ready." "Good. That will give me plenty of time." Matthew turned and exited the café with his tail tucked between his legs—for the moment.

*** Eight o'clock the next morning, he promptly returned to the café. This time with a single red rose he'd purchased from the gas station a mile down the road. Chanté showed up a half an hour later, spotted him and then proceeded to ignore him. The same thing happened the next day. And then the next. By the time Friday rolled around, he sensed he was weakening her resolve. The only thing he had to base that notion on was the fact that she was now giving him refills on his coffee. On Saturday, he finally received his food order just as he requested it. No burnt toast or running eggs or undercooked sausages.

*** Chanté found herself going from annoyed to slightly flattered. Every morning, she expected the persistent doctor to give up his quest to win her over finally and take his butt back to New York. Yet, there was a wonderful thrill at seeing him each morning in the corner booth with his red rose. He was even becoming quite popular with the locals. It didn't help that at night, all she could think about was being back in his arms and relishing the taste of his kiss…and enjoying a few other things, as well. Dr. Valentine wasn't like the other men in her lunch-counter fan club. He was handsome, intelligent and articulate. Plus, there was something about the way he would look at her that made her weak in the knees. "You know, I'm off on Sundays," Chanté finally said late Saturday afternoon. "Oh, really?" Matthew perked up in his chair. "And what do you like to do on your day off?" She shrugged. "Go to church with my parents and then we cook a big Sunday dinner." "Sounds nice." "It is." She splashed a little more coffee into his cup. "You should come." Suddenly the café fell silent and Matthew looked around to see that all eyes were trained on them. "Is this a joke or a real invitation?" "Well, if you don't want to go…" Chanté turned sharply from the table, feeling like a fool. "No. No. I didn't say that." Matthew bounded out of his cheap wooden booth and raced to stand in front of her. "I'd love to come."

421

Chanté bit her lower lip, wondering if she had made a mistake, but then finally said, "First Baptist Church. Two miles down the road. Service starts at eleven." She smiled and maneuvered around him.

*** Matthew watched as she disappeared behind the Employees Only door before jabbing both hands into the air in victory. "Don't get too excited, Dr. New York. Church with the family means you'll be meeting her father." "So? I've met plenty of fathers." The lunch crowd erupted with laughter. "You haven't met anyone like this one. We call him Shotgun Leonard around here. And he's never missed a mark yet."

Chapter Seven It was a humid Saturday night when Chanté joined her mother on the porch swing to snap beans for Sunday supper. This comfortable routine gave the women a chance to catch up with their busy lives. Alice Morris had been a nurse's aide at First Baptist Hospital for the past thirty years. The pay was lousy but she found the work rewarding. "So when are you going to tell me about this young man from New York?" Chanté's mother asked out of the blue. In truth Matthew's name was just on the tip of her tongue, but the question startled Chanté so she just stared at her mother, openmouthed. "Oh, c'mon, Chanté. You know there are no secrets in this town. He broke down on the highway this past Monday and Earl has been stalling on repairing his car. He's a doctor, isn't he?" Chanté finally found her voice. "So he says." "You don't believe him?" "Yeah. I believe him. It's just that…well, we didn't initially hit it off." "That's not what I heard." Alice continued snapping beans, her face void of emotion. Chanté's blazed with embarrassment. How did she not think this information would get back to her parents? "Does Dad know?" "I haven't asked him." Chanté slumped in relief. "But he was cleaning his shotgun this evening." "Damn." Alice stopped snapping beans.

422

Chanté quickly remembered her manners. "Sorry." Her mother just stared at her. "This one is different, isn't he?" Chanté resumed snapping beans and avoiding her mother gaze. "This…doctor…has gotten under your skin." It wasn't a question this time, but Chanté answered it just the same. "I can't stop thinking about him, though he infuriates me and almost always says the wrong thing." "Sounds normal. Men always stick their foot in their mouth." Alice met and held her daughter's gaze. "Do you love him?" "C'mon, Mama. I haven't known the man a full week. How could I know something like that?" Her mother just smiled warmly. "Don't try to rationalize love. Leave your head out of it. What does your heart say?"

*** "I just need you to come looking for me if you don't hear from me after tomorrow," Matthew told his brother over the phone. "You don't really believe the old man will shoot you, do you?" "I laughed it off until one of the guys told me about one boyfriend who'd gone hunting with Shotgun Leonard only never to be heard from again." "C'mon. They're just trying to spook you," Scott laughed. "Yeah, well, this is Texas. Kick up a little dirt if I come up missing." "You got it, bro," his brother chuckled. "Let me ask you something. Is this woman really worth all of this?" "That's just it, Scott. She is."

*** All eyes were on Matthew when he walked through the doors of the First Baptist Church of Karankawa, Texas. And it wasn't just his imagination. He could hear his name being whispered by parishioners as the ushers led him to his seat. His mood lightened considerably when he spotted Chanté and then the equally attractive woman next to her who could only be her mother. However, the tall, formidable gentleman standing next to the women and giving him the evil eye wiped the smile off Matthew's face. When they clasped hands, Matthew had no doubt that Shotgun Leonard could crush his hand with little effort. "Valentine." "Mr. Morris."

423

They stood in a stalemate until Chanté whispered to her father that he was making a scene. Mr. Morris released Matthew's hand and then made room for him in their pew. Throughout the service, Matthew could feel Mr. Morris's gaze burning a hole into the side of his head. Judging by the smile on Chanté's face, she was getting a big kick out of all of this. He survived the service, the whispers and the constant eyeballing to make it to the Morrises' humble home just on the edge of town for Sunday dinner. "I don't think your father likes me," Matthew managed to whisper to Chanté before she left the two men alone in the living room. "Don't worry. He won't shoot you on the Lord's day." She patted him on the back and then scrambled into the kitchen to help her mother set the table. Leonard Morris, however, headed over to his gun cabinet. Five minutes later, there was enough artillery laid out to outfit a small army. "So what are your intentions with my baby girl?" Leonard asked, rolling up his sleeves and eyeing a ninegauge. "Well," Matthew swallowed the large lump in his throat and rolled up his sleeves, as well. "Assuming we actually get around to going on a date, I intend to put my best foot forward and make her fall hopelessly in love with me." Leonard stared him down. "I mean, if that's all right with you." "Love, huh?" He sat down and reached for his cleaning kit. "You probably think that she wants to just settle down and pump out a houseful of babies." "No." Matthew followed his lead and began cleaning one of the guns. "It's apparent your daughter is working real hard to earn her degree. She has dreams and aspirations. I admire that. Falling in love with me doesn't mean she has to give that up." The men engaged in another staring contest, before a smile finally hugged Leonard's lips. "Sounds good, but I think you need to tell her that."

Chapter Eight "Honey, you can't plan falling in love," Chanté's mother advised casually as they set the table. "Who said anything about falling in love?" "You didn't have to. There's enough electricity flowing between you two to set the state of Texas on fire. The question is, what are you going to do about it?" Normally Chanté would have a sharp retort or a smart-aleck reply ready, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. "I have school." "There are schools in New York."

424

"Whoa. We haven't even gone on a date and you already have me moving to New York?" "You can date him after you marry him." "Marry? Mom!" "What?" Her mother laughed at her daughter's embarrassment. "I knew I was in love with your father the moment I laid eyes on him. I'm willing to bet the same thing happened to you. Why else would you let a complete stranger kiss you for ten minutes in broad daylight?" "Ten— How did you know how long he kissed me?" "We've been over this. Small town."

*** Dinner turned out to be a larger affair than Matthew had expected. Relatives and friends showed up in droves until the place looked like one big family reunion. All of them, it seemed, had questions for Matthew. By the time the evening was over, the Morrises knew more about him than his own doctors or parents did. "I have to admit you handled yourself pretty well with them tonight," Chanté said, as she drove Matthew back to the motel. Matthew smiled and glanced over at her. "Does that mean we can actually go out on a real date?" He watched as her smile widened beneath the moonlight. "You know. Just you and me…alone." She pulled into the quiet motel's parking lot and avoided his question by asking one of her own. "Where's your room?" Matthew pointed toward the corner end of the motel. "Well, look there. My rental car. Earl finally fixed it." He laughed. "I was beginning to think he didn't know what the hell he was doing." Parked next to the Lincoln Town Car and shut off the engine. "Guess that means you'll be leaving soon?" Matthew turned in his seat. "Not necessarily."

*** Chanté didn't meet his stare, but nodded and stared at the rental car. Stick with the plan: finish school, build a career, take care of her parents and then look to settle down. Or was her destiny sitting beside her? "Would you miss me if I left tomorrow?" Stick to the plan. Her instant tears not only surprised him but her, as well. "Hey, hey." He unbuckled his seat belt and inched closer. "What are these for?" His fingers gently erased the tracks of her tears. Stick to the plan. "Chanté, talk to me." He moved a few stray hairs from her face and then directed her chin toward him so their gazes could meet. "If you can't come with me, then give me a reason to stay."

425

"Free coffee refills aren't enough?" His soft rumble of laughter broke the tension and allowed her to relax. Yet the voice inside her head remained firm. Stick to the plan. "It just all seems like such lousy timing," she managed to say, pulling her chin from his grasp. Silence trailed her words and filled the car. All the while she hoped he wouldn't reach for the door handle and she couldn't bring herself to ask him to get out. Then his hand found hers to give it an encouraging squeeze. Stick to the plan, she recited in her head. "I had an interesting talk with your father tonight." She smiled. "The guns didn't scare you, did they?" "No." He chuckled. "Well, not after a while." He squeezed her hand again. "Chanté, I don't want to mess up your plans." She tensed. "I just want a chance to love you." "Love?" She pulled her hand back. Matthew's gaze remained steady. "Yes. Love. I knew the minute I laid eyes on you, the moment our lips connected. Didn't you?" Stick to the plan. "Has it all been just my imagination?" he asked. "Should I pack my things and just go?" Stick to the plan. More tears surfaced and Chanté's tongue thickened until it felt as if it was choking her. "I see," he said, and reached for the door. "Don't go." Matthew turned. "It's not just your imagination." She sniffed. "I've known since that first day, too. I just…there's just so much…" "Shh." He slid close and gathered into his arms. "Loving me isn't that hard. It certainly doesn't cost your tears." She smiled. "Come inside with me." At her hesitation, he added, "I'm not going to force you. But if you come, it'll mean that you want to make love to me as badly as I want to make love to you. Plus, it means that you're willing to give love a chance." With that, he turned and got out the car.

426

Chanté watched him as he disappeared into his hotel room and she realized she was at a crossroads. Stick to the plan or take a chance on love. With her hand on the ignition and tears streaming down her face, Chanté made her life's choice.

*** At the solitary knock, Matthew opened the door to reveal a bed covered with red rose petals. "Welcome, my love. I've been waiting a lifetime." Chanté leaped into his arms. "So have I, my love. So have I."

*** From the back of Earl's pickup truck, Chanté's lunch-counter yahoos all lowered their binoculars. "I guess we lost that bet," Rufus declared. Earl nodded. "Damn New Yorkers!"

427

Never Again by Linda Winstead-Jones In the middle of yet another bad blind date, Carla Pierce vows “never again.” She’ll live vicariously through the customers at her bridal shop, buy a talking bird - anything to get out of playing this ridiculous mating game. And while she’s grateful when homicide detective Kenny Henson flashes his badge and gun to rescue her from her latest dating disaster - using the excuse that there’s a killer on the loose to walk her to her car - she can’t help but be reminded of yet another blind-date-gone-bad that she went on two years ago. A blind date with Kenny...

Chapter One Rob’s hand no longer rested on her knee. Carla held her breath as that hand inched up to her thigh. It was bad enough that she had to spend her Saturday night at the rodeo watching animals and men being battered. Now that the evening was nearing a close, her date had decided to raise the stakes. For the third time Carla lifted Rob’s hand and dropped it onto his own lap. Thank goodness she’d met Rob here at the rodeo. Her own car waited across the street in the parking garage. Too bad he sat between her and the aisle; he might hamper her escape once this evening was over. Carla couldn’t wait to get home. Her friend and employee Teri had set up this blind date, and she deserved a late-night phone call and an earful for her trouble. Okay, on first glance Rob wasn’t so bad. He was handsome and well-dressed - except for the cowboy boots, which she sincerely hoped were a concession to the rodeo and not a fashion statement. But once he opened his mouth the fantasy ended. He knew darn well he was good-looking, and he obviously expected Carla to be impressed. Worse, he had hooted loudly several times during the evening. Carla Pierce was nearly thirty years old. She did not hoot, nor did she date men who did. Never again, Carla thought as a cowboy was thrown. She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see the poor man being dragged around in the dirt. Rob’s hand returned to her knee. “Excuse me, ma’am?” a deep voice interrupted Carla’s silent vow to give up men once and for all. She opened her eyes, expecting to find a rodeo fan trying to make his way to a seat. Instead, she looked up at the man who leaned over Rob. He wore a dark gray suit, not jeans and cowboy boots. And he wasn’t smiling. She remembered him too well. Kenny Henson had been yet another disastrous blind date, two years ago. Since her allotted patience for the evening was at an end, she snapped, “What do you want?” “Come with me, ma’am.” Rob bristled. “Mister, I don’t know who you are, but the lady’s with me.” People in the immediate vicinity were listening. They only got more curious when Kenny lifted one side of his jacket with two fingers to display his badge and gun as he glared down at Rob. “So, are you working with her now? Maybe I should ask you to come along, too.” Rob paled and dropped back in his seat. He removed his hand from Carla’s knee. “Hey, I didn’t know you were a cop. I just met this chick tonight. I barely know her. We didn’t even come here together, we just happen to be sitting...” Carla grabbed her purse from beneath the seat and stood. People really were staring now. “What do you want?” she asked in a lowered voice as she worked her way past Rob.

428

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Kenny answered. When she turned toward the exit and began to climb the stairs, he took her arm as if he were escorting her. Officially. Their one date had been a disaster, so when he had called her the next day and asked for another she’d been surprised. Not surprised enough to say yes and subject herself to another humiliating and awkward date, but still surprised. Like Rob, on first glance, Kenny was a keeper. He had dark blond hair. Great blue eyes. Wide shoulders. The man had a face any woman, including Carla, would remember fondly, and he had to be at least six foot two. And he had quite a grip, she noticed as he led her into the hallway where the concessions were located. Gentle but definitely firm. “Okay,” she said as she shook that grip off. “What are you up to?” “Nothing.” Carla stepped back and glared at him. “Then what was that all about?” She pointed toward the door that would lead her back to her seat - if she were so foolish. Detective Kenny Henson of the Huntsville Police Department flashed a smile that other women probably found charming. Other women who hadn’t spent one miserable evening in his company. “I just rescued you,” he explained. “Do you need a ride home?” For a moment Carla stared at him. “What makes you think I needed to be rescued?” “My highly attuned detective skills.” “Maybe I wanted to stay to see the end of the rodeo.” “Yeah. That’s why you kept closing your eyes and squeezing them tight.” Carla opened her purse and dug out her keys. “All right, I confess. I don’t like the rodeo, and this blind date is as much a disaster as the last one.” “I don’t suppose that last blind date was about two years ago?” he asked. “Yep.” Carla turned away from him and headed toward the parking garage. She was distressed to find that Kenny followed. “I never did get a chance to explain about that night....“ “Save it,” she snapped. No explanations were necessary. Her love life in general was one long misadventure. If she believed in fate, she’d concede that it just wasn’t meant to be. If she was into psychology, she’d try to figure out why she kept falling for the wrong men. Not that she’d ever fallen for Kenny, mind you, but there had been a few moments, early on, when she’d been so sure that he had potential. Oh, she’d been certain he had potential! Why was it that some men could make a woman’s heart flutter with a smile or the brush of a hand? Chemistry, she supposed. “I don’t need a ride.”

429

Kenny stepped up to walk close beside her. His legs were long, his stride confident. There was no way she could outwalk him, and running away would be pathetic. “If you’re waiting for me to thank you, then thank you. Good night.” “I thought I’d see you to your car,” he said. Carla tried not to swallow her tongue. “That’s not necessary.” “A woman’s body was found in the park this afternoon. We don’t have the killer yet, so if you think I’m going to let you walk to the parking garage alone, you’re mistaken.” She decided not to argue. As she remembered, arguing with Kenny Henson was a waste of breath. Kenny stayed with her until she reached her car and unlocked the door. She waited for him to walk away, his duty done, but he didn’t. “You know,” he said absently as she sat in the driver’s seat, “I still owe you a dinner. How about...now?” Chapter Two “You want to take me to dinner now?” “I owe you a decent meal, and an explanation to go with it.” For one long minute Kenny was certain Carla would slam the door and drive away. She didn’t look like a woman who was inclined to say yes to anything. She surprised him with a softly spoken “Why not?” It had been two years since their first and only date, but no matter how he’d tried, Kenny had never been able to completely get her off his mind. He wasn’t sure why. Carla Pierce was pretty and she had great legs, but she had a streak of class that definitely put her out of his league. Maybe it was the smile that was too wide to be polished that kept him hanging on. He had only seen it a couple of times, early on in the date, but he wouldn’t mind seeing that smile again. “What time is your shift over?” Carla asked. “Half an hour ago.” Kenny wondered if she would ask if he’d stuck around after his replacement arrived because he’d spotted her in the crowd. He hoped not; he wasn’t ready to answer. He offered his hand palm up for her keys. “I’ll drive.” Ah, there was a hint of that smile he remembered. “Excuse me?” He dropped his hand. “You’d prefer to meet me at the restaurant?” “That makes sense to me, since you must have a car here.” Makes sense, my ass. Carla had met her blind date here at the rodeo. Kenny realized that wasn’t a matter of convenience but a deliberate choice. She’d reluctantly agreed to have dinner with him...but once again she planned to have her mode of escape close at hand. Funny, she didn’t look skittish. “I’ll follow you,” he said. “Do you like Italian?” *** Kenny pulled in beside her, and as Carla glanced through her windshield she realized she should’ve refused his invitation...or at least suggested someplace that she knew would be noisy and crowded. This restaurant

430

was new and it looked expensive. Romantic and elegant and not at all like the dive he’d taken her to last time. There were a hundred reasons why she should’ve refused. Hadn’t she just given up on men completely? Well, she’d been sitting next to Rob when she’d made that decision, so she couldn’t be held totally accountable. No, she’d accepted this invitation because, like it or not, Kenny Henson made her weak in the knees - when she’d first seen him two years ago, and again tonight when she’d seen him standing over her. Total, absolute knee-butter. She wasn’t a woman who went weak in the knees easily or often. There was also the promised explanation as extra incentive. She stepped out of the car and Kenny was there. “I’ve been assured this place is roach free,” he said, “and if the waitress starts to tell us her life story, I’ll arrest her.” He didn’t mention any of the other things that had gone wrong on their blind date. Just as well. Once they entered the restaurant, Carla’s doubts flared to life again. The place was dimly lit, the background music soft. Small tables were occupied by couples who drank wine and whispered and laughed at private jokes. Some of them were surely playing footsie, but it was impossible to tell since white tablecloths hung to the floor obscuring the view. Oh, this was such a bad idea! A smiling hostess led them deeper into the room, and Carla steeled her spine. They’d have dinner, Kenny would make apologies for their disastrous blind date, she’d realize he was a man like all others, and her knees would be her own once again. Simple. As Kenny held out her chair she said, “You mentioned an explanation.” “I was a jerk, wasn’t I,” he replied as Carla took her seat. Not at first. Kenny didn’t immediately move away, as she’d expected him to. He stood there with his hands on the back of her chair, so near she could feel him. His heat. His strength. He was very much a man, not just a large boy playing at being a man. “It had nothing to do with you,” he said in a soft voice. “You were great, disasters and all.” As soon as Kenny took his seat, a waiter appeared to take their drink order. Carla asked for water, and so did Kenny. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who wanted to be in complete control of her faculties tonight. After the waiter stepped away from the table, Kenny flashed a smile. “So, how have you been? Still working in that dress store?” “I own it, it’s a bridal shop not a dress store, and you’re changing the subject.” Her no-nonsense attitude didn’t faze Kenny Henson. “Let’s eat first. Rehashing ancient history can wait.” Carla thought about demanding her answer immediately and walking out if she didn’t get it. But there was something about the way Kenny looked at her that made her want to stay a while longer. It was the same something she had glimpsed two years ago, before everything went wrong. And she did mean everything. “I can’t decide if I should thank you for getting me out of yet another horrendous blind date or be furious with you for making it appear that I was being arrested.” Not that she had seen any familiar faces in the crowd, thank goodness… “Taken in for questioning,” he clarified. “And if you hadn’t looked so miserable I never would’ve bothered you.” “Miserable?” Had she been so obvious?

431

Kenny nodded, and then he smiled. Carla had told the tale of their horrid blind date a hundred times, to girlfriends and her sisters. They always laughed, and she sometimes laughed...but it hadn’t been funny at the time. She’d been mortified. Kenny had gotten grimmer and tighter as the time ticked past. As that night wore on she’d been so sure the universe was telling her that they didn’t have a chance. That she didn’t have a chance. So why did she sometimes remember Kenny fondly? Why did she think of him whenever she saw a police car or a crime story on the news? Why was she staring at him right now...just as he stared at her. He was good-looking, all-male, and he made her weak-kneed. And while his method had momentarily caused a scene, he’d rescued her tonight. He made the Robs of the world look like another species altogether. He’d said she was great. Like it or not, Kenny Henson gave her hope where men were concerned. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so hasty in her decision to give up men. Right here before her was the proof that there were decent guys out there. This evening would be different than the last one. And if he called her tomorrow, maybe she wouldn’t brush him off. Kenny’s smile died as his eyes cut to the entrance. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he muttered. Chapter Three A few patrons behind Carla gasped, right before she heard the command, “Put your wallets and purses on your table and nobody gets hurt.” Kenny glanced down and placed one hand over his eyes, shading most of his face. In a very soft voice he said, “When I say three, you drop to the floor.” Carla turned her head and cut her eyes toward the front of the restaurant. Two armed men wearing ski masks ordered the hostess away from the phone and gathered all the employees together. When that was done, one thief stuffed his gun into the waistband of his jeans and opened a pillowcase to collect their haul. His tall, skinny partner threatened anyone who dared to complain or dillydally. She couldn’t believe it. The restaurant was being robbed. Most of the diners were in a quiet panic, but no one did anything to provoke the criminals. Not yet, anyway. Kenny was so still, so coiled and unnaturally calm. Carla had the idea he was not going to toss his wallet into any pillowcase and let the criminals walk out of here. The gunmen approached, and Carla’s heart started to beat too hard. It hadn’t taken them long at all to reach the rear of the restaurant. Kenny whispered, “One.” He actually expected her to drop to the floor! “Two.” Carla took a deep breath and held it as the thugs reached their table. The skinny one froze as his eyes met Kenny’s. “Henson? Son of a...” “Three.” Kenny came up as Carla went down. Hard. Her maneuver wasn’t at all graceful, and she ended up on the floor several feet away from the action, sitting on her aching backside.

432

Everything happened so fast. Kenny took the weapon from the masked gunman, his hands amazingly capable and so fast the thug didn’t have a chance. With his left hand, he plucked the gun from the waistband of the other thief, while the unworthy adversary cried, “Hey!” and dropped his bag of stolen goods. Okay, she was impressed. Every move Kenny made was smooth, calculated. And strong. He didn’t draw his gun, but then he didn’t need to. He had everything under control. Even her. Unarmed, the thugs were no match for Kenny, and they knew it. They tried to run but didn’t get far. After depositing the confiscated weapons on a table behind him, Kenny caught one of the criminals and tripped the other so that he went sprawling onto the floor. Handcuffs came out and in a flash the two inept thieves were handcuffed to one another. Kenny grasped the tall, thin man by the front of his shirt, while he reached up to remove the ski mask. It came off to reveal...a child, really, not a man at all. Carla would be surprised if he was more than twenty years old. The hostess at the front of the store was already on the phone, calling 911. “Why are you here?” the kid asked. “I swear, I have the worst luck.” “No, you don’t.” Kenny glanced at her when he said that. *** Carla leaned against her car door, purse strap on her shoulder and a decidedly cautious expression on her face. “I would take you home,” Kenny said, “but...” She glanced behind him to the melee of police cars, uniformed officers and detectives that crowded the parking lot and the restaurant. “I understand. You have work to do here, I suppose.” He nodded, and she reached into her purse for her keys. This was it, he thought. If he called her tomorrow she wouldn’t just decline his invitation, she’d laugh at him. “You knew him,” she said softly. “The kid in there.” Kenny nodded. “Yeah.” He’d had run-ins with Ryan many times, before he’d moved into Homicide. Ryan had never been violent, and as it turned, out the weapons he and his partner had been carrying weren’t even loaded. Kenny had suspected as much when he’d recognized Ryan. Last time he’d arrested the kid he’d been wearing that same ratty Garth Brooks T-shirt - and how many six-foot-plus criminals have heavily freckled forearms and weigh in at a hundred and twenty pounds? The last thing Kenny wanted to do was stand there and talk about Chris Ryan. He had a couple of minutes, tops, to smooth things over with Carla. He took her hand gently. She wasn’t surprised and she didn’t try to jerk that hand away. He took that as a good sign. “The last time we went out, I’d been in Homicide only a few weeks,” he said, giving her the explanation she’d come here for. “I thought I was prepared for anything and everything, but I wasn’t. I saw my first murder victim that day. She was... It was bad.” Carla didn’t ask for details, and for that he was grateful. “Why didn’t you just cancel our date?” “I started to, but we made an arrest pretty quick.” The victim’s supposedly loving husband, which had also been a real kick in the pants. Kenny wasn’t surprised often these days, but back then he’d still been vaguely

433

optimistic. Not anymore. “My partner told me to go on, to have a good time, to put the day behind me because there would be more bad days ahead. Actually, what he said was, ‘Get a life, kid.’” “So you put on a smile and tried to pretend that nothing was wrong,” she whispered. Kenny nodded. “When things started going wrong, you got grimmer and quieter. By the time the date was over I was pretty sure you were about to explode and that it was somehow my fault.” “I’m sorry. It couldn’t have been fun for you,” he said with a grimace. “Actually, I was having a good time, until...” Ah, there it was. The smile he remembered. Soft, but very real. There was no telling what she meant by until. It had been an all-around terrible evening. The restaurant his friend Bill had recommended had been a total dump. A roach had skittered across the floor as drinks were served. The waitress was sobbing as she plopped their meals onto the table and by the time they’d left, they knew all about her car troubles, her ex-boyfriend and her blisters. The movie they’d gone to afterward had been really bad...and who wants to sit through not one but two explicit love scenes - one of them employing whipped cream for purposes not listed on the aerosol can - on a first date? Neither of them had been disappointed when the film broke a little more than halfway through. He’d been taking Carla home when a teenager ran a stop sign and clipped his car, and that was when he’d lost it. “You know what the worst part of that night was?” he moved a couple of inches closer. Wide-eyed and ready to run - and no longer smiling - Carla shook her head. “I didn’t get a good-night kiss.” Chapter Four Carla held her breath as Kenny leaned down and in. He moved slowly but without hesitation. Behind him there was chaos. Shaken restaurant patrons, flashing blue lights, police officers. This was not the perfect time for a first kiss, but considering their track record, there might never be a perfect time for anything. She tilted her head and rose slightly to meet him. Their lips met and her eyes drifted shut. Given their past history, she half expected some disaster to intrude. A freak thunderstorm, a drive-by shooting, an urgent summons that would take him away. But the kiss continued without interruption, nothing touching but their lips. Carla finally breathed again, and it sounded very much like a sigh. Kenny moved his mouth over hers, and everything but the long-delayed good-night kiss faded away in a heart-stopping instant. Her knees went weak, and butterflies flapped their delicate wings in her stomach. She grabbed onto his jacket and held on, barely thinking about what she was doing. He moved in close so that they did touch, from knee to chest. He was solid. He was warm and tempting. Oh, my. She could kiss him all night, right here, just like this. The tip of his tongue barely traced her bottom lip, and her stomach fell. No, not all night. The way her body responded to the kiss, she had a feeling it wouldn’t be enough for very long.

434

It was too good to last, and eventually Kenny took his mouth from hers. Since they were in shadow, she couldn’t see his face nearly well enough. But the breath he took...it sounded as desperate as she felt, deep inside. “That was worth waiting for,” he whispered. She wanted to say something brilliant, something Kenny would think about all night - the way she would no doubt think about what he’d just said. But her brain had gone numb. “I have to go,” she said. He nodded, then glanced over his shoulder. “Locke,” he called, and a young uniformed officer glanced their way. “Follow her home.” Officer Locke jerked his thumb to the restaurant. “But I have...” “Follow her home,” Kenny said again, in a voice that left no room for argument. Locke nodded. Carla fumbled with her keys. “That’s really not necessary. I don’t need an escort.” Kenny leaned in, just a little. “Humor me,” he said with a half smile. “It’ll make me feel better.” It occurred to Carla that this was an important moment. She and Kenny had shared one and a half disastrous dates, and one kiss. One very good kiss, mind you, but still... Since she still couldn’t think of anything sufficiently earth-shattering to say, she rose up on her toes and kissed Kenny again. *** She couldn’t own a restaurant or a bakery. Somewhere he could just happen to stop by for something to eat or a cup of coffee. No. Carla owned a fancy shop that had a wide window full of fancy white wedding gowns and colorful bridesmaid dresses with pouffy sleeves and very full skirts. The window was decorated with artificial flowers and gauzy veils and silk ivy and champagne glasses. He was not going in there. Saturday night hadn’t gone much better than their first date. He’d basically snatched Carla from another bad date, and then taken her straight into a crime scene. It had been another fiasco. Except for the kiss. If he’d gotten a kiss like that on the first date, they’d probably be married and have a kid by now. Sitting in his car across the street from Carla’s business, Kenny grabbed his cell phone and dialed the number he had already memorized. The woman he wanted to speak to answered with a sweet “Carla’s Bridal.” “Hi.” “Kenny?” Was it his imagination, or did her voice brighten a little when she recognized his voice? “Yeah. I meant to call you yesterday, but things were really crazy.”

435

“I saw your serial killer on the news last night.” She didn’t sound mad or uncertain. In fact, he could almost swear she was smiling. In his mind he could see it - Carla leaning against the counter with the phone in one hand and that smile on her face. Maybe she’d kicked her shoes off, since it was nearing the end of a long Monday. In any other circumstance, he would have loved to talk about the serial killer and the FBI involvement and the way it had all gone down. He loved his job. He was all about the job. But he didn’t want to talk business with Carla. “We have more important matters to discuss.” “We do?” “Locke says you drive too fast. What were you thinking, speeding with an official escort on your tail?” “I was thinking that it was very sweet of you to want to see that I got home safely, but that since Officer Locke obviously had more important things to do, he probably wouldn’t mind if I drove over twenty-five miles an hour.” “I’m not sweet,” he said. “We might as well get that straight from the start.” “I’ll remember that.” Yeah, he could definitely hear the smile in her voice. He looked at the shop and narrowed his eyes, hoping for a glimpse of Carla. He couldn’t see a thing past the display windows. Fluffy dresses and flowers. Why couldn’t she own a sporting goods store? There was a Fisherman’s Paradise right down the road. That would be perfect. He could peruse the plastic worms while he tried to decide if he’d sound completely and pathetically hopeless if he asked her out tonight. And tomorrow night and the night after that... According to Luther, who had been in homicide longer than Kenny, if Kenny didn’t wait a few days before making his move, Carla would know he was hooked and he’d never have the upper hand. According to Luther, he should play it cool for a while. Take it slow and easy. But Kenny was hooked and at the moment he didn’t care who knew it. And slow and easy had never been his style. Chapter Five Carla held the portable phone in one hand while she reorganized the new display. It had been Teri’s suggestion to carry a small selection of nice lingerie, and it had been a good idea. The items were selling well. Her mind was not on merchandise at the moment. She and Kenny had been talking for almost half an hour. It had been a casual conversation. They’d talked about the weather and a movie they both wanted to see. Kenny had even told her a silly joke he’d heard at work, and she’d laughed. It was very comfortable to talk to him about such ordinary things. Twenty minutes before, Teri had left for the day. In another five minutes, it would be time to close up shop. Carla usually looked forward to going home, fixing dinner for one and putting up her feet. Tonight she felt much too restless for a simple evening at home, but it wasn’t as if Kenny had suggested anything else. And he probably wouldn’t. Their attempts at dating had been so dismal.... A beep interrupted their conversation. “I have another call. Hang on.” She pressed a button with her thumb and managed a very professional “Carla’s Bridal.” “Hey,” a deep voice crooned. “You’re not in jail.”

436

“Rob?” “Yep. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t in serious trouble.” After two days. How gallant. “I’m fine. It was just a joke,” she explained as she arranged a filmy white peignoir set and lifted a red teddy. “Thank you for calling,” she said in a dismissive voice. “How ’bout we try again,” Rob said quickly, before she could hang up. “A friend of mine is driving at the drag races Friday night, and...” “I can’t,” Carla interrupted. “Then how about Saturday?” Rob didn’t sound at all discouraged by her refusal. Behind her, the bell at the shop entrance pinged. Great. First Rob and now a customer just as she was about to close! And Kenny was waiting on the other end of the line. “Actually, Rob, I’m seeing someone else. I can’t go out with you.” Again. Ever. No matter what happens or doesn’t happen with Kenny. “Oh.” He sounded deflated. “Well, if you change your mind, give me a call.” Not in a million years. “Thanks,” she said as she turned to face her new customer. It was Kenny. He studied the red teddy she held, his eyebrows lifted slightly and his head cocked to one side as if to get a better view. She disconnected the call and placed the phone on the display stand. “I hate to be put on hold,” he said softly, and then he looked her in the eye and grinned. “Yours?” He gestured to the teddy. Carla’s mouth went dry. “No.” “Too bad.” Her heart kicked so hard that for a moment she forgot to wonder how he’d gotten here so fast. Then she blinked twice and asked, “Did you call from the parking lot?” “Across the street.” He gave the shop a thoughtful examination, slowly turning in place. “I was sitting in my car, trying to see through the display windows and wishing you owned some kind of business where I could come in and pretend that I wasn’t here just to see you. Sad, huh?” Carla quickly hung the red teddy on the display rack. Sad? No. Sweet. Unexpected. A little terrifying. “I still owe you dinner.” He no longer studied her shop, but once again stared at her. “I...” She choked on her answer. “Unless you’re seeing someone.” He glanced at the phone. “Are you? Or was that just a way to get rid of Rob?” It was much too early to tell Kenny that when she’d told Rob she was seeing someone else she’d been thinking of him. Wasn’t it? “We haven’t had good luck with dinner so far.”

437

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Heavens, he was unrelenting. He looked her in the eye and demanded answers. Oh, he was so out of place here, with his gun, loosened tie, end-of-the-day stubble and overabundance of testosterone. Kenny didn’t fit into her well-ordered life at all, but the idea of going another two years without seeing him was unthinkable. “I’m not seeing anyone. In fact, when you interrupted my date Saturday night I had just given up on men forever.” “Forever?” She nodded. Kenny looked past and around her, his curious eyes taking in everything. “This place was not put together by a woman who would ever give up.” “It’s just a business.” He shook his head. “No. I get the feeling it’s more than that. There’s a lot of you in this place. Flowers and fancy white dresses and veils and -“ his eyes landed on the display behind her “- romance.” He took one step closer, then smiled. “Dinner?” Well, she did have to eat, and she was too restless to go home. And she kept thinking about that kiss. “Maybe we could....” “Yes or no?” Without hesitation this time, she answered, “Yes.” “I think this time we’ll start with the good-night kiss. Just in case.” *** When he wrapped his arms around Carla, she trembled a little. Her eyes drifted closed as she lifted her mouth to meet his. The kiss made it all worthwhile. Coming into this girlie shop. Finding her holding that little red slip of nothing and wondering what it would look like on her. Telling her straight out that he’d come here just to see her. This time there was no one else around. No cops, no recently robbed victims, no handcuffed prisoners. There was just the two of them, soft music playing over an intercom in the ceiling, and row after row of silk and lace. Carla was so soft and delicate, but the way she kissed...it wasn’t entirely delicate. There was heat in the way she kissed him. There was passion and wonder and a world of possibilities. He had to make himself draw away from her. “Dinner,” he said. Carla licked her lips and took a deep breath. “There’s a nice place up the street.” Kenny didn’t really want dinner. He wanted Carla, here and now. But dammit - he had to do this right. “Are you ready to go?” She shook her head. “I have to lock up and close out the cash register. You can go on ahead and get us a table, if you’d like. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” Saturday night Carla had met her blind date at the rodeo. Later, she’d insisted on following him to the restaurant in her own car. Tonight she wasn’t going to have such a handy method of escape, not if he had anything to say about it. More than anything, he wanted her to trust him enough to put herself in his hands and relax.

438

“I’ll wait for you.” He looked around once again. The shop wasn’t just filled with fancy dresses and sexy nightwear. There were wedding invitations, engraved napkins and pairs of champagne glasses. It was every bachelor’s nightmare. So why wasn’t he hyperventilating? “Maybe I can help.” “No, really...” Carla might be skittish, but she didn’t kiss like a woman who’d given up on love. He brushed a strand of dark hair away from her face, then allowed his fingers to trail across her cheek. “I’m not walking out that door without you.” Chapter Six I’m not walking out that door without you. Was that a threat or a promise? The way Kenny looked at her as he awaited a response... A promise, Carla decided. Definitely a promise. That promise didn’t bother her the way it might’ve a few days ago. She could trust him; she felt it in her bones. He took her silence as a refusal, but didn’t argue. “I’ll bring the dinner to us. You go ahead and do whatever you need to, and I’ll take care of it.” As Carla locked the door and counted out the cash register, Kenny made a few phone calls on his cell. One for pizza or Chinese to be delivered, she imagined. The others were probably business. Every now and then he turned his back and lowered his voice. Every now and then he smiled at her, and her heart caught in her throat. When a man wearing a suit and a skeptical expression tapped on the glass, not twenty minutes later, Kenny unlocked the door. The man cast a quick glance at Carla, shook his head and crooked his finger at someone in the parking lot. He held the door open while two men carried in a small round table and two chairs, then went back to their vehicle for a white tablecloth, a fat white candle and a single red rose in a slender vase. The table was set up in a matter of minutes. “This is Luther Malone.” Kenny motioned to the man who held the door open as the workmen left. “Nice to meet you,” Carla said. Luther answered with a soft grunt. “His wife owns a club downtown, so I figured he could get everything we need,” Kenny explained. “We could’ve eaten at the counter,” Carla said. When she’d hesitated about letting Kenny drive her to a restaurant, she had never expected him to go to so much trouble. “Not tonight.” As Luther left he said a few soft words to Kenny. Carla wasn’t sure, but she could almost swear four of those words were “Out of your mind.” Before Kenny had time to relock the door behind his friend, another car pulled up to the door. The young man who got out of that car was not carrying pizza or special fried rice. The delivery man loaded down the table with salads, grilled shrimp, baked potatoes, and steamed vegetables. When she thought he was finished, he went back to the car for two huge slices of chocolate cake, a bottle of wine and two wineglasses.

439

When they were finally alone, Kenny pulled out her chair. Carla approached with caution. A man who went to so much trouble, who resorted to chocolate, wine and a single red rose, was motivated by one of two things. He wanted to sleep with her or else he really wanted to impress her. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said as he lit the candle. “This should be safer than going out, and we deserve one good meal without disaster. Locked in here we won’t have to worry about inept criminals or crying waitresses or anything else.” “There’s no one here to cause a disaster except us.” Carla studied the impressive meal. “How did you know I love grilled shrimp?” “You mentioned it during our first date. You ordered grilled shrimp, but between sobs the waitress said they’d run out.” She stared at him. “That was two years ago.” “Yeah.” “And you remember?” “I remember everything about that night. It wasn’t all bad.” He laughed. “Okay, it was mostly bad, but there was enough good to make me call you the next day.” He gave her an accusing look. “You said no.” “Maybe that was a mistake,” she admitted. “Maybe?” They were about to venture into uncharted territory. She felt it. Not in her bones this time, but in her heart. “Absolutely.” *** So far, so good. Dinner had been tasty and without interruption, Carla didn’t seem at all skittish, and he hadn’t thought about the job once. When Kenny glanced at his watch he was surprised to find so much time had passed. An hour or so ago he’d taken off his jacket and put his gun aside. Carla had kicked off her shoes, something he felt sure she wouldn’t have done if she hadn’t had one too many glasses of wine. They’d abandoned the chairs at the table where they’d dined for the floor behind the counter, where they sat side by side with their backs against the wall. Even from here he could see plenty of the frills that made this shop a fantasy. Not his fantasy, mind you, but a fantasy all the same. “So,” he said, glancing up. Yards of gauzy fabric and silk flowers decorated the wall. “What kind of wedding do you want?” Carla had a glass of wine in one hand and the red rose in the other. If his question alarmed her at all, she didn’t show it. “I have planned my wedding for years,” she admitted. “The perfect gown, the bridesmaids’ dresses, the flowers, the cake...” She sighed. “But to be honest, I think I’d rather elope. Vegas, maybe.” “That would make you like the cobbler who has no shoes,” he teased.

440

She laughed. “I guess it would.” She cut her eyes toward him in a way that was unintentionally sexy. “What about you?” “I’m definitely a Vegas kind of guy.“ Carla stretched out her legs and wriggled her toes. “I drank too much.” “Yeah. I’ll drive you home.” She glanced up at him again. And held her breath. “And then tomorrow morning I’ll pick you up and bring you here,” he said. “I’ll have to return Luther’s table and chairs anyway, and I don’t feel like doing it tonight.” “Okay.” He leaned down and kissed her, soft and sweet, and she kissed him back. When he took his mouth from hers he asked, “What are we doing tomorrow night?” *** Saturday again. Carla checked her reflection in the mirror. What if she was moving too fast? What if Kenny thought she’d lost her mind? No. After a week of almost-disaster-free dates, long conversations, and more of those kisses that made her head swim...it wasn’t too soon or too fast, and Kenny wouldn’t think she’d lost her mind. Dinner tonight would be here at her place, and she’d changed the menu four times in the past twenty-four hours. She wanted the night to be perfect. When the doorbell rang she almost jumped out of her skin. She opened the door, Kenny smiled at her, and any doubts she might’ve had vanished in a flash. She loved him, and while there might be occasional less-than-perfect days down the road, she figured they’d survive. Together. Kenny kissed her. “I have a present for you,” he said, handing over a small, brightly wrapped box. She walked into the living room, Kenny close behind her, and grabbed the bag she’d placed on the sofa earlier. “I have something for you, too.” He took the gift bag and grinned as he reached inside to snag the red teddy with one finger. “You know,” he said as he delved inside the bag to come up with the can of aerosol whipped cream, “something smells good, but I’m really not all that hungry.” “Neither am I,” Carla admitted. Kenny nodded to her gift, and his smile faded. “Your turn.” She unwrapped the small box as Kenny draped the red teddy over his shoulder and uncapped the whipped cream. “You remember that awful movie.” “See, you’re not the only one who remembers....” She opened the box. Two plane tickets to Vegas.

441

Kenny wrapped his arms around her. “I love you,” he said. “I know this is fast, but I don’t want to waste another day not being with you. Say yes.” “Yes.” Without hesitation, without doubt. “I love you, too.” He lifted her off her feet and carried her, the red teddy and the whipped cream toward the hallway. “I should warn you. I’m one of six boys and there’s a history of twins in my family.” She laughed. “Twins?” Kenny stopped outside her bedroom and looked into her eyes. “Scared?” he whispered. She touched her nose to his and held on tight. “Never.”

442

Blue Star by Jennifer Greene Carolina Pruitt knows that her divorce was a good thing—and has come a long way since. She has the job she's always wanted, and has created the perfect home for herself. The only thing that seems to be missing in her life is the ability to connect with another man…sexually. While Carolina starts to work on getting that issue resolved, a tragedy strikes, ripping apart the world that she has so carefully constructed. Through the emotional and affecting process of rebuilding what she once had, Carolina is able to realize what truly matters in life.

Chapter One On the drive home from Daytona Beach to Ormond, the night had turned dazzling, with a mesmerizing full moon mirrored in the ocean and sleepy little waves foaming at the shore. The beautiful July night was a good omen, Carolina Pruitt was determined to believe, even if her hands were trembling so badly she could barely open the door. "Come on in, Ed," she said. "Just wander around while I pour some wine. You're the first one to see the condo since the remodeling. I'm anxious to hear what you think." She slipped off her out-to-dinner heels and headed for the kitchen, but when she reached for the wine glasses, her palms were so slippery she almost dropped them. Darn it, she was more nervous than a virgin with her first lover. Her nerves were so ironic, when at 42, Carolina finally felt in full control of her life. So many dreams had become reality these past couple years. She'd finally been promoted to chief financial officer at Skyline — a major player in the travel business, catering to executive needs. She loved the work, really loved the money, and then last year she'd found the condo on Ormond Beach. Initially the condo had been a fixer-upper, but that god-awful remodeling work was finally done. For the first time in her life, she had a place that was totally hers. Naturally, she fiercely missed Georgia, her daughter who was thriving at Rollins College — but they still saw each other often. Carolina gathered a tray and napkins, musing that so many women suffered hell and a half after a divorce. Not her. The divorce had honestly opened her life. The only emotional bridge she hadn't been able to cross since divorcing Huck three years ago was sex. But then, she was about to take care of that tonight — if she could just get her nerves to settle down. Ed showed up in the doorway. "The place is gorgeous, Carolina. Tasteful and beautiful. Just like you." He chuckled when he saw her battling with the corkscrew. "Here, let me do that." When his hand brushed her arm, she dropped a glass — and could have kicked herself. Enough was enough with these nerves. She not only wanted to sleep with Ed. She was going to sleep with Ed — even if it killed her. "I'll be right back," she said, and escaped to the bathroom. It only took a few moments to brush her teeth, pee yet again, wash her hands and analyze her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She wasn't usually a vain person. Maybe she wasn't still a fresh, beautiful l7-year-old, but she still had good skin and nice bones and the same general slim build. She even had the same blond hair, even if it took some doctoring to keep that color these days. The problem wasn't looks. The problem was exposing those naked looks to a stranger.

443

Not that Ed was a stranger, Carolina mentally corrected herself. He was one of the travel staff. Their jobs weren't dependent on each other, but they crossed paths often enough to become friends. He had a reputation for being allergic to commitment, which suited her perfectly. All she wanted from Ed was a night of pleasure. Darn it, she was becoming a sexual dinosaur. She liked sex. She wasn't about to give up that whole part of life forever. The only thing that had been holding up the Main Event all this time was her. "There you are." Ed handed her a glass as soon as she stepped into the living room. "Wasn't it a great dinner?" "Couldn't have been better." He'd treated her to a fabulous dinner — lobster and crab — which was now tumbling in her stomach like jumping beans. Ed wasn't usually perceptive, but he caught her in the lie. "I wasn't expecting nerves from you," he said wryly. "They'll go away." "They're becoming," he assured her, which was the right thing to say, and yet somehow made her want to smack him upside the head. Of course her nerves weren't "becoming." Neither of them were going to have any fun if she ended up dryer than the Sahara, but hey. She was the one letting herself get all jittery about this. She took a good gulp of the Merlot and then firmly set her drink down. "You're not really thirsty, are you?" "Nope." He put his drink down, too, and reached for her. His mouth found hers with unerring skill. Because he closed his eyes, she tried to close hers. The kiss was nice. Ed knew what he was doing. His arms roped around her without being constrictive. His lips were smooth and experienced. Abruptly, she noticed that a lampshade was tilted — the blue silk one, on the table by the balcony. And then she noticed the single blinking light on the answering machine. After that, for no apparent reason, a sudden itch developed on the back of her right calf. Easy enough to scratch with her bare left foot. Ed tilted his head and kissed her again. Deeper. Longer. More ardently. Man, I love what I've done with the condo, she thought. She'd done the whole living room in pale, pale blue. No mug of beer had ever touched her beveled glass tables. There was no remote control anywhere in sight. A single white rose sat in a sterling vase by the mail — a ridiculous indulgence, but she really loved… Ed dropped his mouth to her neck. She caught his quick frown. "You're into this?" he murmured questioningly. "Oh, I am," she assured him. She promptly quit scratching the back of her calf and mentally kicked herself in the keester. It wasn't as if she didn't know how to do this. She smiled at Ed, slowly, deliberately, and then reached for the hem of her black silk top. Before she could even remotely consider panicking again, she pulled the top up and over her head. Her chin-length blond hair flew back around her face in a gently disheveled tumble. "Aha. We are in the mood," Ed said with more satisfaction, and started easing her toward the bedroom. By the time they'd made it down the hall, he'd unbuttoned and jettisoned his shirt.

444

That was fine, but when he reached for his belt, her gaze dropped to the bulge at his zipper. She felt a hiccup start halfway down her esophagus, make its way up, push into her throat like an air bubble the size of Texas, and then erupt in a noisy, inelegant, "hic!" He smiled. She smiled back. And then she jumped him. Obviously she had to take charge or the Main Event was never going to happen. It wasn't Ed's fault she kept spooking. He obviously intended to take his time and do the seduction right. Heaven knew she'd bought black lace underwear and dressed the bed with 400 thread count sheets because she had the same intent, but now she knew: that cause was hopeless. She just wanted this whole darn thing over with. And Ed had the look of a fast trigger man once he was primed.… "Whoa, honey," Ed murmured. "When you turn on…you really turn on." As stubborn as a hound, she reached behind to unsnap her bra. The bra went. Then her black silk shirt. Another hiccup threatened to emerge when she tried to remove her lace underpants, so she had to ease up and change direction. She kissed. She touched. She rubbed. With relief she realized she'd been right about Ed — he was going to be fast on the trigger, and he was heating up lickety-split now. Dinner was suddenly churning in her stomach like a washing machine on the heavy agitating cycle, which infuriated her all over again. Ed was a nice guy. A really nice guy. It shouldn't be so hard to fake this. She'd been married too many years to think a woman could always be all-engines-go. It didn't matter. Everything wasn't about orgasms. She just wanted…the closeness. To know she could do this. And finally it started going reasonably well. That is, until Ed reached for his belt buckle — and she suddenly smelled smoke. Because she'd been sabotaging the success of this event every step of the way, she assumed she'd imagined the smell and ignored it. Ed pulled off his belt, meeting her eyes. Pulled down the zipper, still meeting her eyes. Before removing his pants, though, he suddenly stopped dead. "What on earth is that smell?" He turned his head. "Damn it, Carolina! Your place is on fire!" She heard the sound of a soft, ominous woosh. So did he. All color drained from her face when she glanced at the doorway…and saw flames.

Chapter Two Carolina watched the fire from the beach wrapped in a bedsheet, wearing nothing beneath it but a pair of black lace underpants. She kept thinking that this just couldn't be happening — not to her, not to her brand-new condo. Behind her, waves peacefully spewed bubbles on the shore. The full moon looked like a priceless bowl of white gold. It was one of those lovers' nights when diamonds danced on the wave tops. How could there possibly be a terrible fire on a night like this? It all happened so stunningly fast. From one second to the next, a whiff of smoke had become thick choking clouds of it. Neither she nor Ed could seem to open the bedroom window. He'd broken it with a chair. Climbing out, she'd cut herself, then collected more bruises and scrapes when she'd landed on the cactus bushes. Thankfully, her condo was on the first floor. Ignoring all that, she'd run pell-mell for the beach, with Ed racing just behind her.

445

Initially, flames shot straight to the sky. She'd heard the scream of sirens while she was still gasping for breath. One fire truck arrived, then a second and third, then cops. Her neighbors piled outside in various stages of undress, although her unit was the only one on fire. Her front door had blown out. So had at least one window. She didn't know what time it was now. It had to be past midnight. Maybe 1:00 a.m. She had no idea how bad the damage was, not yet, but she knew it couldn't be good. No one had ever told her before fires stunk. In the movies, fires looked yellow and bright. The reality was endless amounts of that black, stinking smoke. She'd dreamed of living on the ocean for so long. It seemed impossible that she could lose that dream so fast, so mercilessly.… "Carolina." Ed hadn't left her side. He still had on suit pants, even if he was shirtless and shoeless. "When the fire's finally completely out, I want you to come home with me." "Thanks, but no." "You can't stay here. Even if any part of the place is savable, the smell and water mess alone would make it completely unlivable for tonight, at least. I can't leave you here." "Yes, you can, Ed." Only a few hours before she'd been determined, so determined, to seduce him. She knew now that had been a mistake. Ed was a nice guy. A good guy. But she felt no closer to him than to a casual friend. Hours before, that had seemed precisely the idea — to choose a lover who made her feel safe. She'd been celibate for three years, for Pete's sake. Since the divorce, she'd rebuilt her life from the ground up. Zoomed up the corporate ladder at Skyline, made CFO. Bought her dream condo on the beach, had the place gutted and redone her way. Got Georgia through her high school senior year and then on to Rollins College. Traded in her sturdy Honda for a nicely wicked yellow Mazda RX-8. She'd done everything to remake her life — except find a bedmate. She'd gone out — sometimes misjudging a piker, but mostly choosing serious contenders. Good men. Bright men. Men who should have made ideal partner material — both in bed and out of it. Yet she'd balked every time at the bedroom door. Ed said, "Carolina, you're being stubborn as a stone. Come on, this is crazy. You can't stay here. And I can't leave you." "Of course you can." She reached a hand out of the cumbersome sheet to pat his. "Look, you're being wonderfully kind. And I don't want you to feel bad. It's just…this is my place, with all my stuff. It's completely open to looters now. There's no way I'm leaving —" They both saw a fireman in full turnout gear wend his way down the beach stairs toward them. "Maybe you can talk some sense into her," Ed muttered to the tall, husky man. Bart was his name. He'd introduced himself before. His hard hat was off now, his jacket flapping open. He glanced at Ed politely, but his attention focused quickly on Carolina. "We hope to have it completely out in another fifteen minutes." "Can you tell what caused it?" she asked. "Not yet, I'm sorry."

446

"It's so hard to understand. All the reconstruction — I didn't skimp on anything. I wanted security, quality. I hired Barker." She named the most reliable contractor in the area. "Can I go up to see yet?" "No, ma'am. It's still too hot. We let your neighbors back in their units, once there was no more danger of the fire spreading. But I'm afraid your place'll have some hot spots for a while." He went on, filling her in on a few more details. "I realize you'll worry about someone getting in, so we'll have a police car stationed here through the night. So if you need a ride to a motel or a friend's —" "Several neighbors already asked, so I won't need any help, but thanks." Once Bart tromped back up to his fire crew, Ed stared at her incredulously. "Yeah, you had neighbors invite you to stay over, but you turned down every one of them." "Ed?" "What?" "Please, please, go home," she said, this time more firmly. "You have work tomorrow, and this isn't your problem. I honestly want to be alone." It was hard for men to listen, of course. They all had male ears that had an automatic block button when a woman said something they didn't want to hear. Ed just didn't want to seem like a dishonorable creep, deserting a woman in trouble. But this wasn't medieval times. This was now. And Carolina, all her life, had handled crises better alone. Eventually, she talked him into leaving, but he tromped up the beach with temper in his step. She'd have to make it up to him, but not tonight. Right then, she was finally alone on the beach, could finally let down. She tried to breathe, but she seemed to suck in more of an aching sense of loss than oxygen. There were other beach houses, other condos. It's not like this one was totally irreplaceable. It was just…this was the first place she'd ever had that was totally and completely hers. Naturally, she'd given her daughter total freedom to do whatever she wanted to with her bedroom. But everything else, Carolina had chosen with such care. She'd picked one piece at a time, from the silverware to the washcloths. All those pale blues. Her oil paintings. Her Mikasa stemware. Her salmon bedroom. Her ivory Corian counters. All of it. Every darn inch. She'd chosen everything solely because she loved it, and savored the sheer luxury of not having to cater to anyone else. She'd get over it. She'd rebuild. She'd survive. It was just that right then she wanted to weep a river. She hadn't felt this vulnerable in a blue moon and then some. Above, in the condo parking lot, a car suddenly pulled up near the last fire truck. A man stepped out. She couldn't recognize him in the dark and certainly wasn't trying to; she couldn't care less…until the man suddenly hiked to the top of the beach stairs. For a night that couldn't possibly get more stressful or traumatic, it suddenly did. The man was Huck. Her ex-husband.

Chapter Three

447

Her ex-husband hiked down to the beach with a lithe, light step full of energy — making Carolina want to smack him. She wrapped the sheet tighter around her. Trust Huck to show up when she was half naked and traumatized and at her absolute worst. More humiliating yet, she could feel her pulse zoom at the look of him. Wearing old jeans and a frayed Tshirt, he looked as virile and vital and strong as he'd always been. Even his ruffled dark hair was more wiry than soft, and his deep, dark eyes still had the same snap and awareness. Years ago, Carolina had figured out that Huck's animal magnetism reflected his true character — which was prehistoric. She knew all the reasons they'd divorced, and a lack of love — or chemistry — wasn't one of them. Trying to live with a caveman was. So darn it, why did she still feel that stupid kick in her pulse? "How'd you know about the fire?" she asked before he'd even reached her — but then could have kicked herself. Maybe he was a detective in Daytona and not Ormond beach, but the cop grapevine picked up more chatter than the CIA. Huck would always be clued in on any event that could affect their daughter. So how he'd heard about the fire was obvious — but since Georgia was off at college, she still had no idea why he'd come. Surely not for her? He didn't waste time answering the rhetorical question. "It's still a mess up there, but they're winding down. Let's head up." She walked next to him, but at the top of the steps, had to suck in a breath. Structurally, the condo was still standing, but the damage was heart-stabbing. Moonlight glowed on the scorch marks, the broken glass, the missing front door. Two of the fire trucks had left, proof the fire was safely out, but the stink of smoke still tainted the air. She thought of the fresh, soft-scented rose in her kitchen and wanted to cry — but, of course, she squelched that impulse. Not in front of Huck. He neither expressed sympathy nor commented on her attire of a bedsheet, just kept talking to her in that low, easy baritone of his. "Georgia doesn't know about this yet, does she?" "No. I couldn't call her. My cell phone's in the condo. Along with everything else." Before that thought could overwhelm her, she asked, "Did the guys tell you anything? About what caused the fire?" "No. It's too dark, too soon, even for guesses." He glanced at her. "But believe me, I'll find out." "Thanks." It didn't bite to say it. But on the inside, it bit like a hornet, knowing she trusted Huck more than anyone on the planet. "There's no staying here tonight, Carolina. It'd seem the best idea for you to stay at my place." "Over my dead body," she said cheerfully. "Don't get your liver in an uproar. I won't be there. I'll be here. We'll take your car, so you'll have wheels in the morning. Once we get you settled, I'll get a cop to pick me up. If I hole up here, you won't have to worry about your stuff. The place is wide open — but you know no one's going to loot it if I'm here, and I'll have a chance to look around at first light." She hated feeling massively relieved…but she did. The fireman had already mentioned that a cop would guard the premises, but Huck — whatever his faults — was like having a personal army on her side. "But —"

448

He turned to face her. "Carolina, our daughter's going to hear about the fire shortly. Then she's going to give me hell — and worry herself sick — unless she knows for sure you're in a safe place and taken care of." He paused. "Unless you want me to call Georgia and tell her that I left you half naked on the beach?" She scowled. "That was an ugly threat. Even for you, Huck." "You could go to a motel, but it seems pretty dumb. At my place, you'll have a phone. You'll want to call your work, insurance, get your paperwork going — lots easier to do from a land line and a comfortable chair. The kitchen's got the usual coffee and breakfast stuff, so you won't have to do the restaurant thing. And until you get some clothes, you can at least put on some sweats or a shirt of mine. I think you're going to be hardpressed to shop in a bedsheet." He stated the plan as if it were already law, then moved on. "Let's get you in the car. I'll talk to the guys, let them know where you'll be, what's going on." He handed her into the passenger side of her yellow RX-8. She told herself she was annoyed at his bossiness, but she was exhausted — and there was no point whistling in the wind. It was Huck's job. Managing emergencies. Knowing what to do. Dealing with people in crisis. Why yell because he was great at it? Alone in the dark car, she felt suddenly engulfed by the massive mess confronting her. Right now, the only things she owned for sure were her car, her black lace underpants, and the soot-stained bedsheet. Toothbrush. Shoes. Keys. Credit cards. My God…she wasn't sure if she had anything. Huck returned, slid into the driver's seat. "I got your spare key behind the license plate, so don't let me forget to give it back. And man, this is 'gonna be painful, driving this baby compared to my beat-up Ford." He grinned at her — the old devil Henry Pruitt grin that she'd first fallen in love with. It was such a normal thing to say that the panic receded for a few minutes. It was only a short drive to his place. She knew it well, from all the times she'd picked up their daughter here. His house was small and tidy with a giant backyard pool. Huck could swim like a porpoise. Her memory flashed on their first date — swimming together, the ocean, a hot summer day. She'd worn a pale pink bikini, hoping to both impress and entice Henry Pruitt — she'd been a lowly freshman, where he'd been a cool senior. Somehow she'd wormed out of him that his real name was Huck, an old-fashioned Southern name passed down by the guys in his family for generations. She'd started teasing him, calling him Huck, and he'd chased her through the knee-deep surf…until he'd caught her and suddenly pulled her to him and they'd kissed for the first time. Abruptly, Carolina realized they'd pulled up in front of his house. Huck managed to get her inside, but exhaustion was sucking her under. She was stumbling-tired, crazy-tired. Vaguely, she was aware of entering a bedroom. She heard him say something about toothbrushes and blueberry muffins. She felt a cool pillow on her cheek, a light blanket tucked around her shoulders. She wanted to slap him for taking such good care of her. She didn't miss being married to him. Marriage had been hell. His pride never let up. He'd resented her ambition, her earning more money, her higher education, her so-called privileged background. Eventually, they couldn't have a conversation without fighting…and she'd given up trying. Divorce had been a thrilling relief, so God knew why she was so annoyed with him now. He was being good to her, yes. But Carolina had known for a long time that she'd trust Huck with her life. Just not her heart. Ever again.

Chapter Four

449

At 8:30 a.m. the next morning, her insurance man met Carolina at the condo. A relentlessly cheerful Florida sun beamed down on the destruction from the fire. Even being there the night before — even remembering the flames, the fire trucks, everything — Carolina had to gasp when she first walked inside. "Don't panic," he said reassuringly. "This is exactly why you paid for a good policy." "I just thought…hoped…it wouldn't be this bad." "I know. It's a heartbreaker. And it'll take time to complete all the paperwork, but I'm going to start you off with some help right now.…" Her insurance guy, an angel in another life, had a check in hand. It wasn't the full amount she was owed, but enough of a chunk to get her functioning in life again. He hadn't commented on her wearing a pair of men's shorts, tied with a rope to keep them up, and a large man's shirt. She'd borrowed her ex-husband's clothes. There had been no choice. One of her first priorities today had to be shopping for underwear and shoes and start-up clothes. Yet when her insurance representative left, she wandered around the wreckage and tried to analyze the damage — or that had been the plan. A neighbor stopped by. Then another. Onlookers peeked by who'd seen the fire trucks the night before. And then midmorning, as she continued to sift through her belongings in one of the undamaged areas of the condo, she saw a white Lexus pull up. John Manning, the CO of Skyline and her boss, stepped out. He wasn't a warm, fuzzy kind of guy, but his eyes filled with compassion when he saw the scene. "Good grief, Carolina. Just tell me what I can do to help." She shook her head. "I appreciate the offer, but honestly, I just need to sort this out myself. I'm just sorry to take time off work." July was a pressure cooker, because luxury executive trips were at their peak — and in an ultra-competitive travel climate, Carolina's control on the purse strings could make the difference between profit and loss. "No one could have helped this," John said. "As I'm sure you could have guessed, Victor stepped up to take the ball." They exchanged glances. Victor and Carolina had competed for the CFO promotion, and he hadn't taken it easily when she'd won the job. "I hope I won't need more than a week off," Carolina said. "But I definitely need a few days." "You and I both know he won't do the same job you would. But that's just the way it is. We'll cover for you as long as you need." When he left, Carolina took off, as well. There seemed no end of things she absolutely had to do, but she couldn't even start without some basic essentials. She returned in a few hours, carting in fast food, wearing new shorts and shoes and carrying bags. As soon as possible, she'd hire a cleanup crew, but first, she simply had to examine what was salvageable. She didn't need an insurance report to realize she'd never live here again. The smell was horrendous. Gaping holes in the walls revealed where the fire had attacked wiring. Broken window glass lay everywhere. Carpet had been both burned and soaked by water. Still…everything wasn't completely destroyed.

450

The heat of the day soared as she searched and probed. The living room was a complete wipe, so she didn't dwell there. The kitchen was a dark cave of soot and broken glass, but her grandmother's silver — a precious heirloom — had been protected in a sealed container. Glasses and dishes on the top shelf were smoky but cleanable. Small appliances, the ones kept inside cupboards, were filthy but seemed unharmed. Without power, the refrigerator was already starting to smell, but Carolina had to stay on track. There were only so many daylight hours. She still had no place to stay tonight, and she wanted the savable items in her car before leaving the property again. Several times tears welled in her eyes so thick she could hardly see, but this was a time to get tough, not give in to weakness. The only thing functioning in the bathroom was running water in the sink. Her bedroom had been more ruined by water soaking the mattress and furniture than fire, but it was still mostly a wipe. The long hall closet where she kept most of her clothes…that took another big gulp of strength. Everything was flame and smoke seared. Every outfit. Every suit. Her favorite dresses, her favorite clothes. Losses heaped on losses. She'd called her daughter that morning and it was all she could do not to call Georgia again — but that was just weakness trying to get the better of her. Carolina knew her daughter would come and help in a blink, but then Georgia would miss school, and right now there was no place to even stay. The smartest thing was just to bluster through this and get it done. The spare room — Georgia's bedroom — was the least damaged, yet ironically it was this room where Carolina finally lost it. In the back of a room was a slanted storage closet, the space where she'd stored seasonal things, photograph albums, luggage — all of life's "stuff" that could be stashed out of sight. The closet hadn't escaped the smoke smell. The wiring had burned here, too, so most things had scorch scars or charring…but the boxes in the far back seemed untouched. She pulled out a box of Christmas ornaments…not the new ones, but the old ones — the ones family had donated the first year she and Huck were married to get them started. She opened the lid and immediately saw the blue star…the first ornament she'd ever put on their first tree. The star wasn't particularly expensive or beautiful, but she found herself clutching it. So suddenly, so clearly, she remembered making love with Huck under that first Christmas tree. Beyond that box, she pulled out another. Inside, she found a pair of outdated red heels, a blue satin nightgown, a pink bikini. All reeked of smoke. All reeked of memories. She didn't even remember saving it all…and then she found the album. After the divorce, she'd thrown out tons of photographs, but she'd saved the wedding album — heaven knew why. The bottom edge of the album was charred. She crouched on her knees, turning page after page, unable to stop herself. She told herself she wasn't sad. She was mad. She told herself her eyes weren't brimming from tears of loss, but tears of fury. Damn Huck and his pride. It didn't matter how many wonderful memories they had. The bottom line was still the same. He'd stifled her. He just couldn't seem to get past her family pedigree and education. She'd had to fight constantly for things that should never have been a battle…just to do the work she loved, to earn the money she was capable of earning, to be who she was without apologizing or tiptoeing. But damn. It should be the loss of all the new, wonderful things that hurt her. And instead it was this stuff. Half-burned photographs and a cheap blue star Christmas ornament. "Carolina?"

451

She was so engrossed that the sudden sound startled her. And then she wiped her eyes, fast, and hustled out of the closet — because, of course, she recognized the voice. She hurried out to find out why on earth Huck was here this time…unaware that she was still clutching the blue star.

Chapter Five Huck saw the blue star ornament in her hand. He vaguely remembered his mom giving it to her their first Christmas. It was such a cheap thing that it had embarrassed him, but Carolina had thought it was sweet. Seeing her touched him. My God. He saw her often because of Georgia, but usually her blond hair was snugged back, her makeup flawless. She'd always been the kind of woman who turned her collar just so, who could make a pair of shorts look classy. She woke up dazzling. At least to him. Sometimes, she looked so damned gorgeous he was afraid to touch her. Not today. His pricelessly classy Carolina actually smelled. Her knees had soot stain, her clothes were streaked with water and dirt and her bare face had smudges on the neck and cheek. But the worst…the damn worst…was seeing her eyes all red and stingy from crying. How many times could the same woman break his heart? "I didn't expect to see you," she said. "I didn't expect to stop by, but I figured you had to be here, and I had some news." "What?" No way he was spilling bad news in the shape she was in. The place was hot and airless and depressing, and she looked beyond whipped. "Come on," he urged. "I can't leave." "We're not leaving. Let's just sit outside where there's a breeze. I brought Coke." "Coke?" There. Once he thought it'd take diamonds to win her — and she was worth diamonds. But right then, she was even willing to consort with the devil for a cold drink. She tried to hide the blue star behind her back, put it by some things she had saved near the door. Then they both sat outside on the curb, in the shade. She guzzled one can, then begged for another. For a while they talked about their daughter — always a safe topic between them. It was late afternoon, and surfers were catching the waves. Kids were chasing up and down the beach, teenagers doing the strut, babies carrying plastic pails and slathered in sunscreen. The tang of sand and salt were cleansing after the smoky smells inside. "Naturally, she was upset when I called her," Carolina admitted. "I hated having to tell her how many of her things were ruined." "At least she has stuff at college. And over at my place. She didn't lose as much as you." Carolina gestured, as if that weren't important. "She wanted to rush home. I insisted she stay. I can hire people to get the cleanup done, and there's no point in her missing school, which I told her."

452

"I expect she'll show up by the weekend, no matter what you say." "Yeah. I expect that, too. But in the meantime…you didn't come over here just to chat about our daughter. And the news must be bad, or you'd have told me right away." No way to soft-soap it. "That's right. The news sucks. It wasn't an accidental fire, Carolina. It was arson." She almost dribbled a mouthful of Coke…and Carolina was no dribbler. "You can't be serious! I mean…arson? I'd have to have enemies to do something like that. Or someone who really, really wanted to hurt me. That's just impossible!" He could see her struggling to swallow it. The fire in itself had been devastating. Realizing exactly what she'd lost today had to be even more devastating. But knowing someone had willingly gone this far to hurt her was an assault of a whole different kind. Carolina could look cool on a canoe on the equator, but just then she looked damn well shattered. "There's nothing conclusive, but from the look of the fire last night, the guys figured — so did I — that a flammable substance was planted in the wiring. The fire pattern doesn't make sense, otherwise. I took some prints last night. All those people around figured it was a waste of time, but still gave it a shot, like on door and window moldings, that kind of thing. The thing with prints, though, is that you can't track people who aren't registered somewhere, and it's not as if you regularly invite over a lot of known criminals." He meant it as a joke, but she couldn't even try smiling yet. So he went on. "But there are lots of sources of prints. Like people in the armed services. People who'd had certain government jobs. People —" "For Pete's sake, Huck. I was married to you. You can cut some corners when you're talking to me. I know the talk. What prints did you find?" "What I need you to understand is that nothing could possibly be conclusive this soon. There were prints I couldn't identify. And the prints that were there might mean nothing — you had a ton of workmen running around here while the place was being remodeled, so don't be counting on answers. All I've got are a few names I'd like to run by you." "So shoot." He watched her face as he shot off the few names. "Juan Ortez." She shook her head. "Lowell Winston." Another shake. "Ed Mohr —" "It's not Ed. He was the man who was with me the night of the fire. He was in the military, that's probably how you got the prints —" "Uh huh." Huck didn't want to dwell there. After three years of divorce, there was no reason in hell his wife shouldn't have been in black lace underpants with another man. But he didn't want to think about it. For damn sure, he didn't want details. "Stan Wojiewski —" "He's the carpenter. A darling." "A darling," Huck echoed. "Okay, just two more. Rod Ulrich." She shook her head. "Victor McCauley." She blanched whiter than the pavement. "You can't mean it." "You know this man? He's been to your place?" "I know this man. And no, he's never been to my place. At least he's never been invited here. Oh my God."

453

He knew in a blink they'd identified the arsonist. But that didn't explain why Carolina suddenly looked as if she'd been betrayed. "Tell me," he said quietly. "I work with him. When the chief financial officer retired, Victor and I both applied for the job. I won it." Her eyes were swimming. "I knew he resented my getting the promotion, but I just thought it was sour grapes. He wanted the job, but he also knew I had the credentials, the education and background. He wasn't cheated out of it or anything like that…" "Keep talking." "If some lowlife criminal did this, it wouldn't…hurt the same way, you know? But this is a colleague. Someone who knows me. We see each other every day. Share coffee often enough. Attend the same meetings —" Hell. She was half choking on the words. He made a c'mere gesture with his fingers, not really expecting her to fold into his arms…but she did. He never intended to kiss her. She was just so shaken and vulnerable that he didn't know what to do but hold her, try to comfort her. The kiss was completely accidental. His mouth just seemed to…find hers. Only then…damnation. Fire rose between them faster than lightning — and so did a yearning so fierce it tore at his heart. The basic need burned…to have her again. To have her in his arms, in his life. To have her love him…to have the right to love her. How could he possibly have known that combustible chemistry was still there?

Chapter Six Carolina slid into the passenger seat of her ex-husband's Ford and had to laugh. "I'd know this was your car if I were blindfolded." "Because it's older than the hills?" "Because it smells like cop coffee and French fries." She didn't expect Huck to laugh, but it'd have been nice if he smiled back. This morning was already doomed to be tough; it'd only be worse if they were uncomfortable together. She guessed Huck was extra stiff because of those wild kisses from two days ago. He wasn't the only one who wanted to forget them. Darn it, she hadn't kissed him in three years — or ever planned to. And for darn sure, she resented discovering that the chemistry between them was hotter than ever. Impatiently, she put that problem out of her mind. As Huck pulled into the parking lot of Skyline, she braced herself for a difficult meeting. If anyone asked, the other staff would be given the impression she was here to talk to John Manning, her boss and the CEO, about the status of her work projects since the fire. In reality, Huck was going to talk to John about the arsonist on his payroll. "There's no way this is going to be easy," Carolina said. "That's because you're not used to dealing with creeps. Just try to relax, C. This is my baliwick." But when Huck parked between a BMW and a Mercedes, Carolina could almost see his shoulders tighten up. She knew her ex-husband well — well enough to guess his pride was itching at the row of expensive cars — and even more so at the elegant furnishings in the lobby.

454

Everyone stopped to greet her. She hadn't been here since the fire, and so typically, people were sympathetic and caring. Still, because Skyline's clientele was high income, employees tended to maintain a tasteful dress code. She saw Huck poke a thumb in his collar, walk with a clipped step — all signs, all the old signs, that his blue-collar pride was on high alert. Once John Manning ushered them into his office and closed the door, though, Huck dropped that nonsense. "We don't have the complete case made on Victor McCauley yet, but it will be," he told John. "He's the arsonist. I'm absolutely sure of that. But I don't want him chased to ground before we've got cuffs on him, and Carolina wanted you to know what you were dealing with." John's face, through the whole talk, turned as ashen as Carolina's had. "This is just so hard to take in. That anyone would go this far. All over a promotion he didn't get. Someone we all talk to every day, work with every day —" "I know," she said from the heart. "And that he'd attack you, Carolina. Everyone thinks the world of you. And there was nothing in Victor's background, his references —" Eventually Huck intervened, directing the conversation back to the reasons the police wanted John included in the situation. "If Victor gets an inkling we're onto him before we're in a position to make an arrest, I believe he could fly. Since he's working in a position of trust with you, I suspect he must have some access to your company funds. And if he's thinking about disappearing…" "You think he'd steal from the company." John filled in the blank. "I think desperate people do desperate things. And he's already done something damn desperate to Carolina. So…" Huck outlined what he wanted John to do, then summed up. "Ideally, you want to treat him no differently than you did before. You don't want to let on that anyone's watching him. And especially, you don't want to let on that Carolina knows what he did." John shot her a look of concern. "You think Carolina is still in danger? That Victor might try something else?" "I think it'd be best if your staff believed that Carolina came in here today to ask for a much longer leave of absence. That everybody thinks the company's financial affairs are being handled well by Victor, so there's no reason for Carolina to hurry back. Ideally, she won't return until we've got Victor behind bars, and everything we can do to keep him feeling safe and secure in the meantime is to everyone's benefit." Carolina stared at Huck. They'd discussed this meeting beforehand. She'd understood his strategy about Victor, how he wanted to approach John — everything, except for that last note. She'd never intended to ask for a longer leave. For darn sure she'd never intended to stay home from work until Victor was apprehended, because that was totally an unknown period of time. "I don't understand," she said, once they left the building. "You don't understand what?" "I get it — why it's a good idea for the staff to believe I'm going to be gone longer, that Victor's doing fine on the job. It's a way to keep his defenses down and all that. But I need to return to work pretty soon, Huck." "Now don't get stubborn on me." He started the car, zoomed out of the parking lot. "Excuse me?"

455

He shot her a quick glance. "Come on, Carolina. This guy dropped a gear when you were promoted over him. We don't totally know why he lost it. Maybe the sole reason was you getting the job he wanted, but maybe it was more. Maybe he has something special against you — because you're a woman, or because you're some symbol to him. Or just for some other reason we don't know yet." "You know what? I figured that out all by myself." She was simmering. It used to be Huck who had the short fuse, but not this time. She didn't tiptoe for anyone. Not any more. "I wasn't about to put myself in danger, for God's sake. Victor's scary. But there are always people around at work, and I can't just sit home until he's behind bars. Who knows how long that could take?" "I hope it won't be long. But the length of time doesn't matter." He stopped the car at a red light, turned to look at her. "Carolina…I want you to be safe. I want to be sure that guy can't do anything to you again, and there's no way we can know for positive how many screws he has loose. I'm not trying to be bossy. I'm just trying to take care of you." "Damn it, Huck. That's exactly the kind of talk that landed us in divorce court," she said lowly. "What? What'd I say?" "And that's exactly the point. That you don't get it." He pulled up to the Seafarer's Motel, where she'd stayed the last two nights. She didn't slam the car door. Just got out and aimed for her room. Then fumed. The problem of her arsonist was real. She'd have to be stupid not to be scared until Victor was behind bars. Until that time, she'd be happy to be protected by the entire Florida State Police — including Huck. But for a few brief hours, she thought her ex-husband had changed. She hadn't realized he still cared — until that hornet's nest of kisses the other night. She hadn't realized how much she still did — until that same hornet's nest. But Huck's pride was still the same unclimbable mountain between them. He wanted a "little woman" he could protect. She never wanted a knight. She wanted a mate — a mate who respected the woman she was and wanted to be, or else she wanted nothing. Ever again.

Chapter Seven Carolina rubbed the back of her neck. In the past few days she'd outworked any three men — not that that was exceptionally challenging — and now the real-estate agent had come through for her. It was practically a miracle to find a place this fast, much less a place with an ocean view where she could move right in. Yet somehow she felt fiercely like crying. Stupid. She'd been walking around inside for over an hour, somehow unable to settle down. It was a great place, super windows, a little farther from work but a bigger floor plan. The living-room carpet was green, not her color, but complaining was downright churlish and crazy. The place wasn't just livable; it was terrific. She could change cosmetic stuff such as carpet. "Mom?" She whirled around, stunned to see her daughter in the doorway. Georgia flew straight in her arms, tears splashing out of her huge dark eyes — which, of course, made Carolina immediately stop crying herself. "Hey, you, what a great surprise!" "I couldn't stand it. It was bad enough I didn't come to help right after the fire. But then when you called about finding this new place, I just couldn't leave you to do it all by yourself."

456

"It hasn't been that bad. I'm just so glad to see you!" She hadn't realized how much until that instant. She stroked her daughter's thick dark hair, feeling a wave of love. Georgia, dressed for summer, wore a skinny halter top and short shorts. The hair, the beautiful eyes, were so like Huck's. "It'll all get done." "Yeah. But what a mess, huh?" Georgia was already getting over the tears. "Okay. I've got all day today, and I don't have to drive back until tomorrow late. So what's first?" "Are you kidding? While you're here…shopping." "Aw, damn. Do we have to?" It was the first time Carolina had laughed in days. Just being with her daughter lifted her spirits, and shopping together was gravy on the roast. No matter how great her insurance was, getting set up in a new place was overwhelming. Some things would wait — but others were immediate priorities. The first list included a bed, bedding and towels, TV, hair dryer and basic small kitchen appliances to replace those that had been ruined. By noon, Georgia's old used van was filled to the hilt. They stopped for lunch, then went clothes shopping. Carolina only wanted a few work outfits, a few things for play — just enough to get her started in life again —and it was the kind of shopping the two had always loved to do together. At sundown, the two were sprawling on the living-room carpet with pizza and pop. "So let's plan tomorrow," Georgia said. "The fridge has been plugged in long enough now, right? To buy some food? We need to get a computer set up. And a TV stand and the TV hooked up…" Carolina froze. "Can you do that?" "Me?" The two stared at each other. Neither had the electronic ability of a bat — but neither wanted to stall all the positive forward momentum they'd gained. Her daughter said quickly, "No matter what, we can get a ton done before I have to go back to school tomorrow night. You still need dishes and silverware. And glasses. You've got to have a table to eat on…and at least one chair…and —" "Georgia?" Carolina said. "What?" She just held out her arms and hugged her daughter fiercely. God knew they fought now and then — especially about boys and money. But she and Huck had always agreed that Georgia was unquestionably the joy of their lives. They'd loved being parents from the beginning. Still did. Her daughter had grown up so much, though, and was so obviously enjoying the role of coming through for her that Carolina carefully never said, "It's okay, I can do it." She could. But letting her daughter take charge seemed to be good for both of them. She crashed like the dead, woke the next morning to the unexpected sound of voices. When she walked in the living room, she found Huck sprawled on the carpet, with a huge, petrifying looking box of tools and the new TV — and parts — strewn everywhere. From the kitchen came the smell of fresh doughnuts, and Georgia was pouring good Joe from a long, tall thermos. "Dad's 'gonna do the electronic stuff. So I think we should skip the shopping, get him working on setting up a computer right after the TV," Georgia said enthusiastically. "But we'd better go out and hustle up a TV stand. And maybe a bookshelf. You know, anything like that that has to be put together?" "Hey! How much do you think I can do in a single day?" Huck grumbled.

457

"That'll teach you to make your daughter think you're God," Carolina teased. "She doesn't think I'm God. She thinks dads exist to jump for their daughters." "Yeah, well, where's the news there, Dad?" It was like that all day. Someone fetching, someone cleaning, someone putting something together — a lot of work, but even more laughter. Initially, Carolina felt uncomfortable that Huck was stuck giving up his Sunday for her, but he didn't act as if it were work. He clearly enjoyed teaching Georgia how to run a power drill and screwdriver, and even conned her into reading a direction now and then. Carolina brought in deli sandwiches for lunch and chicken for dinner. They kept going until dusk, when she started fretting about Georgia getting back to school. "I'm going to worry if you don't get started. It's too long a drive, especially after working all day." "Mom, try to remember I'm in college. Nobody goes to bed until two in the morning." "But you've been working nonstop for two days. You have to be exhausted, honey —" Huck said, "I'll let you two argue this out, and in the meantime, I'll head outside and make sure everything's been carried in from both cars." He returned minutes later, carrying a box Carolina had left in the back of her Mazda. Georgia said, "Mom must have meant to throw that stuff away, it's all trash." But it wasn't trash. It was the box of memories she'd saved from the fire, and maybe the items weren't strictly salvageable…but she wasn't ready to part with them. Not yet. The other old Christmas ornaments she'd thrown out — but not the blue star. Beneath that was the scorch-edged photograph album, and beneath that peeked a scrap of blue satin nightgown. Huck looked at her. For the first time all day, there seemed a moment of silence between them. Total silence. And then he said, "Do you want me to throw out this box, Carolina?" "No," she said, thinking: he knew. He knew they were memories of him. Of their first years together. Of the fire they'd brought to each other…once. Georgia said blithely, "Well, I don't get it. Sure looks like junk to me. Anyway…" By then she'd changed to fresh shorts and yet another halter top. She kissed Carolina, kissed Huck, expressed monumental boredom at all their chitchat about driving safe and thanks and all. "Mom, I'll be back next weekend. Or sooner or if you want me." "I always want you, love bug, but you've gotten me over the hump. I'll be functioning tomorrow thanks to you." Another hug and kiss, and then she was off. When Carolina suddenly turned around, she realized for the first time that she was alone — completely alone — with Huck.

Chapter Eight "Why did you save all that stuff, Carolina?" Huck asked softly. She didn't want to answer. She knew the minute Huck came in the door with that box there was going to be trouble. Who'd think an old, glass Christmas ornament in the shape of a blue star would kindle all that emotion in his eyes? Who'd think he'd recognize that satin scrap of nightgown she'd worn their wedding night?

458

When she didn't immediately respond, he pressed, "I'd have thought that you'd have long thrown out the wedding pictures. And I can't fathom at all why you'd try to save them now, when they're half-burned up…" He repeated, "Why'd you save that stuff, C?" He could have asked when their daughter was still there, but no. He'd waited until their daughter was gone. Until the Sunday night sunset had turned the whole world jeweled and soft and quiet. And when she failed to answer yet again, he said lowly, "You want me to try answering those questions for both of us?" She knew darn well he was going to pounce. She just didn't know how soft his mouth was going to be. How warm and evocative his arms were going to feel around her. How wild and willful his kisses were going to taste. Okay, she thought desperately. Okay. Maybe this was what it was going to take to get him out of her system once and for all? She'd bought a new bed, but it wouldn't be delivered for days…yet Huck unerringly found the air mattress on the bedroom carpet, found the lock on her bedroom door, found the catch on her bra. He'd always been good at finding things. He always knew the critical places to find — at least on her. Coming together was as comfortable as a reunion between friends…as terrifying as a dance with fire. He knew what moved her. She knew what moved him. And as if they cared, deeply and irrevocably, they both brought their secret arsenals of knowledge to please each other ruthlessly, relentlessly…exquisitely. For no reason, she woke up in the middle of the night, her heart suddenly pounding. It was her first night in a strange place, of course. And her sleep had been restless ever since the fire. But neither was the reason for her waking up. She was alone. Huck had left — and she fiercely told herself that she shouldn't be surprised. There'd never been a question in her mind about loving him. They just couldn't live together. And his leaving would seem to be a measure that he'd come to the same conclusion. If her heart ached, she knew better than to build her life around a man — any man — even Huck, ever again. And she still had her hands full since the fire. So many chores were time-consuming nuisances, like filing for a new driver's license and credit cards, insurance reports, getting her business email set up again. The new place didn't have a single curtain. And every time she turned around, she needed something she'd taken for granted before — kitchen towels. An alarm clock. Pens. A vacuum cleaner. Two nights later, she carried a sandwich and drink outside. It was that hot, still time of evening when barely a breath of air stirred. The soothing sounds of surf and gulls relaxed her. It'd be weeks before she was completely settled in, but the frantic killer pace of the last week had finally eased. She deserved a few minutes to just…sit. When she heard a car door open, she glanced back instinctively. Maybe her heart sensed it was Huck even before she saw his dark head and brisk smile. "Hi, you," she said, friendly but careful. There was nothing in his face to indicate memories of making love. He spotted her immediately on the lawn chair, hunkered down beside her. "Good news," he said. "I wanted to tell you myself. They put cuffs on Victor about an hour ago." "That's great!" She felt a huge sigh escape from her lungs. She hadn't known until that moment that she'd still felt a lick of fear as long as her arsonist was loose. "Your boss was told, but I doubt any of your co-workers will hear wind of it until morning. You're the one I figured needed the heads-up."

459

"I appreciate it. A ton. You can't imagine…" Vaguely, she heard another car door slam, yet didn't glance at the parking lot until she recognized Ed striding toward her, still wearing a suit, obviously fresh from work. He'd called her several times since the fire. She knew that given the slightest encouragement he'd pick up where the fire had so rudely interrupted them. "Ed, how nice of you to stop by," she greeted him. But she knew — had known since that very night — that Ed was never going to be more than her almost-lover. Not that she didn't care about him as a friend. "Just wanted to see how you were doing." Ed turned his head to acknowledge Huck. Huck had immediately bounced to a standing position. "I'm on my way. I just stopped to give Carolina some news." "You don't have to leave," Carolina insisted, but beyond flashing her a swift smile, he was gone — no temper, no fuss, no expression at all — just in his car and gone, faster than lightning. The old Huck, she mused, would have bristled near another guy. The old Huck would never have concealed his feelings — whatever they were. For that matter, the old Huck would have a lot to say about her friends, her job, the choices she was making since the fire — as if she needed advice or protection from a guy. She had no idea why he was behaving so differently, but it suddenly mattered. Once Ed left, she took a long walk on the beach to think, and then drove to Huck's house. When she knocked on his door, he answered in two seconds flat. "I owe you a thank-you," she said promptly. "For what?" "For taking on the investigation of my fire. For helping me out. For strategizing about the meeting with my boss. For taking the time to tell me immediately about Victor being behind bars." He didn't respond to her comments, just said, "I wasn't sure if you wanted to be with that guy." "I don't." "You were with him the night of the fire." "Not like I was ever with you." She cocked her head. "Of course, a lot has changed since the old days." "Yeah. I lost you. In the old days." Just inside the door, he leaned against one cool wall while she leaned against the other, not touching, just talking. Just looking at each other the way, possibly, they'd failed to for a long time. He continued, "When I heard your place was on fire, it hit me like a bullet of barbed wire — that I really had lost you. And I left you the other morning because I realized something else. That I love you, Carolina. For the woman you are. Not the woman I wanted you to be. Not the woman you used to have to hide from me." He said quietly, "I'd like another chance. To prove I've changed." She looked at him, imagining a Christmas tree with blue stars. Then not. She was too old to think she could "have it all" or to believe that problems between them suddenly didn't exist. But the fire had changed her, too, and reminded her of what really mattered. "Maybe," she said quietly, honestly. And reached for him.

460

Wrong Place, Right Girl by Marie Ferrarella Investigative reporter Chelsea Mack has stumbled onto a lead concerning the whereabouts of the "Disenchanted Duke of Montebello," who may be living the life of an American private detective. A computer expert, Chelsea wastes no time in hacking into the P.I.’s computer to "research" her story. When the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen walks into the office and assumes she’s the detective, she can’t pass up the chance to walk in the duke’s new shoes. But when the bullets start flying, she realizes she may be in over her head!

Chapter One Chelsea Mack kept her smile in place, digging deep for patience as she looked down at the barrel-chested, white-haired man in the wheelchair who was bent on sending her away empty-handed. Yes, you do, you crafty old man. You’re just too loyal to him to admit it. Playing the game, still hoping to coax an admission out of him, Chelsea pretended she hadn’t heard him and repeated, "I’m looking for the former Duke of Montebello. Maximillian Sebastiani." She watched William Ryker’s eyes closely, looking for some kind of a sign that she’d broken through. There was no indication that he was even familiar with the name. "Isn’t he your grandson?" Starting to turn away, Bill suddenly brought his wheelchair around to face her, executing a sharp turn within the confines of the small, first-floor office that would have filled the heart of any stunt car driver with pride. "Duke? Duke of what?" He laughed shortly, gesturing around the two room, L.A. office, as if that would reinforce his denial. "Do I look like the grandfather of a duke to you?" Chelsea never blinked. "Actually, yes, you do. Very much so," she tacked on for good measure. Her solemn affirmation drew a tolerant smile from Bill. He liked people with guts. Even annoying ones, as long as they were pretty, and this one certainly was. She reminded him a little of his late daughter when she was that age. Helen’d had the same stubborn streak, like a bull terrier when she latched on to something. And she had been dearly in love with Antonio — the scum. Bill brought his mind back to the present. Max had a right to his life, a life without nosy reporters trying to track him down just for the sake of a photo op. The boy’d had enough of that when he was growing up halfway around the world. "Sorry, honey, flattery isn’t going to get you anything but a smile from an old man." Bill glanced at his watch. It was almost one. "A hungry old man who wants to clear out and get some lunch, so if you don’t mind —" He looked at her pointedly, indicating the outer door. She was right about this, Chelsea thought, she had to be. Which meant the old man was deliberately lying to her. "You want me to leave," she said. Hands on the wheels of his chair, Bill grinned. "I always did admire a bright young lady." Using his chair as if it were an old-fashioned cow pony, Bill herded the young woman who had walked into his grandson’s office 10 minutes ago toward the door. "Now, if you don't mind, my stomach’s growling —" Chelsea had no choice but to back out the door. She glanced at the lettering across the top. M. Ryker, Private Investigator. Ryker had been the duke’s American mother’s name.

461

Her gut told her she was right. She just had to get someone to verify it. Glancing up and down the corridor to make sure there was no one around to see her, Chelsea skillfully put that long-ago lesson to use and wondered what had ever happened to Larry. Probably serving five to ten for burglary in Soledad, she mused. The door gave. Chelsea smiled as she let herself in. Looking at her watch, she took note of the time. She had maybe 15 minutes at best to find what she was looking for. Some kind of tangible proof that Max Ryker was really Maximillian Sebastiani, the Disenchanted Duke. She already knew that Maximillian himself was out of the state. That much the guardian at the gate had volunteered when she’d asked to speak to Ryker. Which meant that all she had to worry about was the old man’s return. The office wasn’t very large and she went through it swiftly. It was incredibly neat and not what she would have expected from an office run by two men. In lieu of the usual paper clutter, there was a state-of-the-art computer. Everything, apparently, was locked up in its hard drive. Chelsea’s smile broadened. Beneath her short blond hair and small, curvy body beat the soul of a consummate computer nerd. She’d fallen in love with her first CPU at the age of seven and the affair had never ended. There were very few computers she couldn’t get into. Switching the computer on, she saw the customary request for a password winking at her. The obstacle proved to be nonexistent. After several guesses, she’d typed in "Helen," Maximillian’s mother’s name. Access was approved. She lost no time in opening files and surfing through folders. Embedded in a program designed to enhance surveillance photos were pictures of the royal family. Including one of Maximillian with his mother and the late duke. "Bingo." Quickly, she hit the print button, knowing she had used up most of her margin of time. The printer on the desk came to life, emitting a grinding noise. She didn’t hear him until he cleared his throat a second time. Gathering the newly printed photographs together, the sensation that she was no longer alone made her glance up. Her heart launched into a Sousa March. But the person in the room wasn’t the old man, ready to have her hauled away for this clear violation of at least half a dozen criminal laws. Instead, the man standing in the doorway was quite possibly the handsomest man she had ever seen outside of her own dreams. Maybe even inside them, as well.

Chapter Two It was too early in the day for hallucinations. It wasn’t hot in the office and she wasn’t suffering from a fever.

462

Chelsea blinked again, but Mr. Gorgeous was still in the room. Not only that, but he was coming toward her, his hand extended. In his other hand, he held a piece of folded paper and he glanced at it, as if to make sure of an address, before pocketing it. "Hello, I’m Tristan Robertson. Are you M. Ryker?" It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she was anyone he wanted her to be. Her next response was a complete 180-degree reversal, grounded in reality and she began to say that he’d made a mistake. But in that split second her brain quickly telegraphed a message to her. She could revamp her as yet unwritten piece. Rather than merely "Discovering the Disenchanted Duke," why not something along the lines of "Walking a Mile in the Disenchanted Duke’s Royal Shoes"? He was a private investigator, a hired detective, right? The man before her was clearly the kind of client the duke dealt with. If she was going to understand the allure of Maximillian’s American life and how he lived it, what better way than to emulate him? She rose from the desk, a wide smile on her face, her hand extended to his. "Yes, I am." Tristan nodded, relieved. "What’s the M stand for?" Her mother’s name came to the rescue. "Miranda." She noticed the way he was looking at the pin on her lapel. The one with the C on it. "But my friends call me Chelsea." He took the hand she offered. "How do you get Chelsea out of Miranda?" "I don't." Her smile was quick, glib and he liked it instantly. "It’s my middle name. Keeps people from getting me confused with my mother. I was named after her." There, that sounded plausible. "What can I do for you?" Tristan blew out a breath, glancing back toward the outer door he’d closed behind him. "Someone’s after me and I don't know why." Right off the top of her head, she could easily envision at least half a dozen women pursuing this man. He was mouthwateringly gorgeous. The kind of man you rarely saw outside of a movie screen. "After you. You mean like a stalker?" He ran a hand through pitch-black hair that was already slightly mussed in contrast to his impeccable light gray designer suit and bright blue custom-made shirt. "Something like that, except without the romance." He paused. "And with gunfire—" Her eyes widened. Gunfire. Maybe she was biting off a little more than she could safely chew. Chelsea debated retracting her previous affirmation about being M. Ryker. The sound of someone turning the doorknob in the outer office aborted the debate. Her eyes darted toward Tristan. He didn’t look nervous so much as exasperated. "I think they followed me here." She doubted it. Things like that happened in movies. It was probably the old man returning from lunch. Just her luck, he believed in takeout. Chelsea capitalized on Tristan’s fear. "Why don't we just step out this way?" Turning, Tristan saw that the sexy blonde was already opening up the window behind the desk. It let out onto the parking lot. And escape.

463

He was behind her in a heartbeat. These people were not the reasonable sort. If they were, he wouldn’t have been in fear of his life. “You’ve done this before?” he asked, marveling at the agile way she slid out. “Once or twice,” she admitted. She didn’t elaborate that at the time she’d been escaping detection by an angry restaurant owner who hadn’t wanted his grievous kitchen practices or the fact that he was paying off someone at the county health inspection office to come to light. She’d cut her teeth on stories like that, but she had only been the journalist’s assistant then and none of the credit had gone to her. She was only “staff.” Now she was determined to get her own byline. Running toward the parking structure where she had left her car, Chelsea’s innate curiosity had her turning around to look toward the eight-story building they’d just vacated. Someone had come to Ryker’s window. The sun was in her eyes so she couldn’t make out the form, but it appeared to be a great deal taller than a man in a wheelchair – unless the man had somehow stood up. Was there really someone after Robertson? The next second, the silent question was answered. There was a noise vaguely like the sound of a champagne cork exploding out of a bottle. Except that this time, the cork was lethal. The next thing she knew, she was being tackled and thrown to the ground behind a parked car. Mr. Gorgeous was on top of her. Startled, she raised her knee, about to forcefully reposition it where it could do the most good when he looked down at her, concern etched on his tanned complexion. “Are you all right?” She lowered her knee slightly, but kept it tensed just in case. “I will be once you get off me.” Tristan raised his head, looking around the car as far as he dared, only partially moving his body from hers. Chelsea felt heat radiating up and down every inch of her. It wasn’t that warm a day. “He’s not at the window anymore.” Chelsea swallowed. Her mouth was drier than detergent. “That’s nice to know. Who’s not at the window anymore?” Rising, Tristan extended his hand to her. “The man who’s after me. One of the men,” he corrected, then looked at her. “I think there’s two.” At least, that was the number of men he’d seen in the car that had tried to run him down. “Maybe more.” This didn’t sound good. But a story was a story, and in order to write one, she and this man shouldn’t be standing around out here like veritable ducks in a shooting gallery. Chelsea grabbed his hand. “C’mon.” Hurrying, she quickly led the way into the bowels of the parking structure to where she had parked her car. It was at the far end of the first floor. For a moment, the sound of her heels clicking along the concrete was the only detectable noise.

464

And then there was the sound of footsteps behind them. Running footsteps. Something whizzed by her head. It might have been a bee bent on breaking the sound barrier, but somehow Chelsea doubted it. More likely, it was the tall, dark handsome stranger’s playmates. She was not about to waste time making any kind of inquires. Still holding onto Tristan’s hand and vaguely contemplating the wisdom of having told him she was M. Ryker, Chelsea broke into a dead run as if her life depended on it. Because it did.

Chapter Three Chelsea waited until the waiter had placed their coffee and dessert before them and withdrawn before asking Tristan, "Have you gone to the police with this?" Tristan's mouth curved in a self-depreciating smile. He didn't like not being in control of things and he was definitely not in control here. The last 15 minutes and a whirlwind drive through the streets of L.A. had clearly shown him that. But at least they had lost the two men and were safe. For now. "And said what? That someone's shooting at me?" She took a sip of her coffee. "Sounds like a good opener to me." With little information to offer, Tristan knew there would be no way the overburdened police department could help. "Problem is, I don't have anything to follow it up with. I didn't get enough of a look at either of those men to give a sketch artist details to draw anything beyond stick figures." She studied Tristan over the rim of her cup, trying to think of reasons someone would have it in for him. "No jealous husband in the wings?" He set down his cup. She'd lost him. "What do you mean?" A P.I. would be blunt, right? Chelsea forged on, getting into her role. "I mean, are you seeing anyone's wife?" Tristan laughed shortly. Up until a week ago, his life had been a nonstop marathon at work. "I'm not even seeing anyone's daughter. My job keeps me pretty busy." She wrapped her hands around her cup. Maybe he was a spy. He certainly looked as if he could slip into James Bond's suits — and sheets. "What is it you do?" "I'm a senior CEO at Gabrielle." He didn't add that he was newly promoted and that it had taken an almost insurmountable amount of work to get there. "The cosmetic company?" When he nodded, she grinned, thinking of her medicine cabinet. "Small world. I use your products." "The stockholders'll be happy to hear that." He allowed himself a smile. Wrapped up in a moment's respite, Tristan looked at the woman sitting across from him in the dimly lit restaurant she had brought him to. It was as if he suddenly saw her for the first time. Her features were almost perfect. "Although I don't think you'd need to rely on them." His compliment pleased her. It took a second to pull herself back into her role. "Are you working on any big breakthroughs — anything that might spark this kind of, um, 'attention'?"

465

He shook his head. Up until a week ago, his life had been hectic, but predictable. With no surprises. "I'm just the backup man." He wasn't in charge of development at Gabrielle, not yet. The edginess he'd been living with broke through. "Look, what does this have to do with the men who are after me?" "Probably nothing. Just exploring the possibilities." Chelsea lifted a brow, as well as her fork, poising it over the Boston cream pie Tristan had ordered. The slice he hadn't touched. "May I?" He gestured toward the plate. Though he'd ordered the dessert at the woman's behest, his appetite was nowhere in sight. "Be my guest." Sampling a taste, she sighed. "Never could decide between chocolate cream pie and Boston cream pie." "Here." He pushed his plate toward her. "Knock yourself out." Tristan wondered where she put it. The woman certainly didn't look as if she was carrying an ounce more that she should be. Savoring the second piece, Chelsea tried to make sense of what was going on in Tristan's life. So far, he came across like a monk. A very sexy monk. "When did all this start —?" She'd asked him a number of questions already; it was time he asked one of his own. "Then you'll take the case?" Chelsea blinked. Did she forget to say that? "Sorry, I thought that was understood when we were fleeing for our lives back there." She looked more intent on consuming the dessert than she did about her work. "Shouldn't we discuss your fee?" he asked. Other than what she'd picked up on late night reruns of defunct detective shows, Chelsea had absolutely no idea what the going rate for private investigation was these days. When in doubt, hedge. "I'll have my secretary get in touch with you about all that." Finished, she pushed the plate aside and flashed him a smile. "I don't get involved in the money end of it." He supposed that sounded plausible. She knew he was waiting for her to make noises like a P.I. She did her best. "All right, when did all this start?" she repeated. "Last week." He realized he wasn't being specific enough. "Last Monday." The man was not a font of information. "What happened?" she pressed. "I think someone tried to run me down," he replied. Maybe it had been just a drunk driver, she thought, or a careless one, too frightened to stop. "Anything out of the ordinary happen last Monday?" Tristan stared at her. Wasn't that enough for her? "Other than someone trying to run me down?" She smiled, trying to encourage him to loosen up a little. If she was going to go through this pretense, she wanted to do it right. "Yes, other than that." Tristan tried not to notice that her eyes were an intense blue when she looked up at him like that. "I got an office with a view. It went with the promotion," he added.

466

"Well, I doubt anyone would stalk you over a view." Still, maybe there was some kind of connection. "That promotion, anyone else in line for it?" He thought of Evans and Henderson, neither of whom could bench press the weight of an anemic Chihuahua or kill a fly. "Nobody that would kill for it." The shots earlier hadn't hit him and neither had the car. "Maybe they're not trying to kill you. Maybe they're just trying to scare you." That didn't make any sense to him. "Why?" Good question, she thought. "That's the part we need to find out." She nodded a silent thanks to the waiter as he refilled her cup. "Do you owe anyone any money?" He thought in terms of mortgages and loans. "You mean like a bank?" He really was straight, wasn't he? She smiled, amused and more than a little attracted. "No, like a bookie, a loan shark, a drug dealer." Tristan stared at her. She was talking about a whole other world, one he'd never gotten any closer to than in the movie theater. "Do I look like the type of man who would go to a bookie or a loan shark or a drug dealer?" This time, she grinned. "Off hand, I'd say no, but appearances can be deceiving." His eyes swept over her. "I suppose you're right. You don't look like a private investigator." "Oh?" Amusement curved her mouth. "What do I look like?" "Fun." He was more surprised than she at the single-word summation. "Sorry, I didn't mean to say that." The response intrigued her. "No, wait. Explain that." He wondered if he'd insulted her, or somehow managed to trivialize what she did. "You just look like someone who would be fun to be with." Tristan looked away. When had he lost the ability to communicate? "I guess I've been working so hard to get ahead, I forgot why I was working." She took a guess, trying to put him at his ease. "To put a roof over your head?" It was way more than that. "To lay the foundations for a good life. Doesn't feel so good when I can't take the time to enjoy it and don't have anyone to enjoy it with." When he looked at her again, she was looking back. Smiling. "What?" "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were describing my life," said Chelsea. "Yours?" She nodded. "I've been so busy trying to make a name for myself, I haven't had the time to stop and smell the roses." She looked at him for a long moment. "Or get to know the men holding them." Sensuality swirled around him. Hers. "Maybe you should," he said. She couldn't draw her eyes away from his mouth. "Yeah, maybe I should."

467

Tristan had no idea what possessed him. Maybe it was the incredible fact that he was dodging bullets rather than deadlines. Maybe it was because he'd suddenly, at the age of 32, become aware of his own mortality. Or maybe it was because the woman seated opposite him had lips the color of his favorite shade in Gabrielle's new upcoming spring line of lipsticks. Without fully understanding why, Tristan raised her chin with the crook of his finger, leaned over the table, and kissed her. She saw it coming. She could have moved out of the way at the last moment. Could have, if she hadn't willed the kiss into existence in the first place.

Chapter Four By the time she drew her lips away, her head was spinning hopelessly. It felt as if it had been lost in action. It took her a second to focus on his face. "Was that supposed to be a down payment?" "Sorry, I'm not sure what came over me." Yes, he was. He had momentarily lost his bearings. The situation he found himself in was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. That included kissing a woman who tasted of excitement. "I'll take that as a compliment." Her smile seemed to burrow itself under his skin, generating a heat all its own. He tried to remember that he was a man who'd been shot at less than an hour ago, and ridden in a car driven by a woman bent on breaking the sound barrier. "So where do we go from here?" he asked. "Your apartment," she replied. Under any other circumstances, that would have definitely gotten his vote, too. "No, I meant in my case." Her smile was wicked and created delicious sensations all through him. "So did I," Chelsea assured him. *** "You can tell a lot about a man by his home," Chelsea told him as he unlocked the door to his apartment 20 minutes later. She took a step inside, surveying the abject chaos in every corner of the room. "Like the fact that you don't believe in maid service." Tristan closed the door behind him and turned around. "What?" His mouth dropped open before the word had completely emerged. It was a typically ransacked apartment. Cushions, books, and overturned furniture vied for floor space. She picked her way over the debris. The man was obviously not imagining things. "I take it you didn't leave the place looking like this when you left this morning."

468

Stunned, Tristan shook his head. Someone had run his apartment through a blender. "This feels like a bad dream." "This isn't a dream, Tristan." Books that had lined his shelves had been systematically thrown on the floor one by one. Someone was looking for something. "And I don't think this is about any irate husband or boyfriend, either." "I already told you there isn't one." He paused, needing reassurance about the woman he was entrusting with putting his life back on track. "But what makes you say that?" Chelsea turned from the pile of books she was examining. "Because if it were, you'd be trashed instead of your apartment." Maybe this was in retribution for an imagined transgression, Tristan thought. "He might be demented —" What was he saying? There was no "he." He had to get a grip. "If there was someone," he amended. She'd already thought of that. "If this was someone out for revenge, he would have done something really awful." She thought of the first Godfather movie. "Like leave a dead animal in the middle of all this." Chelsea tried another angle, a theme and variation of the first. "How about a spurned girlfriend?" They were going around in circles. He began picking up the books and replacing them on the shelves. "We've already covered that. There's nobody." "It's a shame." Tristan stopped replacing books and looked at her. Chelsea shrugged, realizing that the words had come out before she'd had a chance to censor them. She had no choice but to finish her thought. "Someone's really missing out. Not many men kiss like you." Frustrated, he resumed picking up books. "You've taken a poll?" Chelsea began to automatically pick up several volumes, handing them to Tristan one at a time. "Polls don't tell you anything." How many men had she kissed? Tristan shook off the thought. He needed to find a plausible explanation for all this. One that didn't unnerve him. "Maybe it was a burglary." So much for living in a high-rise, security building, he thought cynically. Her gut told her no. Chelsea took a quick survey of the room. His home entertainment unit looked to be expensive. VCR, DVD, flat screen, all state of the art. All untouched. The painting that was thrown on the floor like a discarded Frisbee looked to be an original. She turned to look at Tristan. "Anything taken?" He set the books he was holding down on the coffee table and looked around. "Hard to tell." And then he stopped as he looked at his desk. "My portable computer." Surprise was on his face as he looked at her. "It's gone." Finally, they were getting somewhere. "What was on it?" He was thinking of the actual value of the item. Her question stopped him in his tracks and had him reassessing. There wasn't anything on the computer that anyone would want. "Aside from one very bad Western novel, just notes from work." Now there's something she wouldn't have associated with the man standing in front of her. You just never knew, did you? "You write Western novels?"

469

"Novel," he corrected, embarrassed. "One." He shrugged it off, looking away. "And it's not finished." He was uncomfortable. She dropped the subject. "Well, I think we can safely rule out the novel as being what they were after." She centered on something hopefully more fruitful. "What kind of notes?" "Notes." He lifted his shoulders and let them drop, frustrated. "Reports. Future products —" She was instantly alert. "Were you working on future projects?" Tristan blew out a breath. It wasn't what she was fishing for. "The color list for next summer's lipstick and eye shadow shades doesn't sound like a reason to come gunning for me." Probably not. She came back to the personal angle. Maybe she'd missed something. "Do you have any photographs of yourself? Albums, a framed graduation portrait, anything like that?" He wasn't very big on saving photographs, other than of his family and those were in a box somewhere in one of the closets. Which, he didn't recall. Maybe this was in retribution for an imagined transgression, Tristan thought. "He might be demented —" What was he saying? There was no "he." He had to get a grip. "If there was someone," he amended. She'd already thought of that. "If this was someone out for revenge, he would have done something really awful." She thought of the first Godfather movie. "Like leave a dead animal in the middle of all this." Chelsea tried another angle, a theme and variation of the first. "How about a spurned girlfriend?" They were going around in circles. He began picking up the books and replacing them on the shelves. "We've already covered that. There's nobody." "It's a shame." Tristan stopped replacing books and looked at her. Chelsea shrugged, realizing that the words had come out before she'd had a chance to censor them. She had no choice but to finish her thought. "Someone's really missing out. Not many men kiss like you." Frustrated, he resumed picking up books. "You've taken a poll?" Chelsea began to automatically pick up several volumes, handing them to Tristan one at a time. "Polls don't tell you anything." How many men had she kissed? Tristan shook off the thought. He needed to find a plausible explanation for all this. One that didn't unnerve him. "Maybe it was a burglary." So much for living in a high-rise, security building, he thought cynically. Her gut told her no. Chelsea took a quick survey of the room. His home entertainment unit looked to be expensive. VCR, DVD, flat screen, all state of the art. All untouched. The painting that was thrown on the floor like a discarded Frisbee looked to be an original. She turned to look at Tristan. "Anything taken?" He set the books he was holding down on the coffee table and looked around. "Hard to tell." And then he stopped as he looked at his desk. "My portable computer." Surprise was on his face as he looked at her. "It's gone." Finally, they were getting somewhere. "What was on it?"

470

He was thinking of the actual value of the item. Her question stopped him in his tracks and had him reassessing. There wasn't anything on the computer that anyone would want. "Aside from one very bad Western novel, just notes from work." Now there's something she wouldn't have associated with the man standing in front of her. You just never knew, did you? "You write Western novels?" "Novel," he corrected, embarrassed. "One." He shrugged it off, looking away. "And it's not finished." He was uncomfortable. She dropped the subject. "Well, I think we can safely rule out the novel as being what they were after." She centered on something hopefully more fruitful. "What kind of notes?" "Notes." He lifted his shoulders and let them drop, frustrated. "Reports. Future products —" She was instantly alert. "Were you working on future projects?" Tristan blew out a breath. It wasn't what she was fishing for. "The color list for next summer's lipstick and eye shadow shades doesn't sound like a reason to come gunning for me." Probably not. She came back to the personal angle. Maybe she'd missed something. "Do you have any photographs of yourself? Albums, a framed graduation portrait, anything like that?" He wasn't very big on saving photographs, other than of his family and those were in a box somewhere in one of the closets. Which, he didn't recall. Tristan took her over to the baby grand. The bench was overturned, the sheet music beneath the cushioned seat had been strewn around, just like the books. "There was one there." He pointed to the top of the piano. Chelsea was already sifting through the papers. "I think I found it." Rising, she examined her find. The glass was smashed and the frame taken apart, but his photograph had been thrown aside like so much litter. He looked over her shoulder. The scent she wore infiltrated his space and his thought process. Aware of the nearness, Tristan took a step back. "What are you looking for?" Turning, she bumped against him. Shock waves danced through her. Think case, not male, she told herself. Chelsea indicated the photograph. "Well, if it was a jealous girlfriend or someone with a fixation on you, this would either be missing or slashed, not thrown aside." She placed the photograph on top of the piano. "Just wanted to be sure we could rule that out. Whoever redecorated your place was obviously looking for something. And from the looks of the place, they didn't find it." Time to get blunt again, she thought. Chelsea turned to him. "Are you holding out on me?" "If I was, why would I hire you?" "Good point." He was about to say something in response when she heard a noise just outside the door. Chelsea held up her hand to silence him. "Are you expecting anyone?" she whispered.

471

He shook his head. Were they — whoever "they" were — back? "No one." "I'd definitely talk to the doorman about security if I were you," she muttered. The doorknob was being tried again. "Is there a back way out of here?" He shook his head. "Do you have a gun?" There was no earthly reason for him to even want to own one — until last week. "No, don't you?" She strained to hear what was going on outside the door. "No." That didn't sound right. Weren't all detectives supposed to have firearms? "What kind of a private investigator are you?" "An unarmed one." Her mind was going a mile a minute. "You play golf?" "No, tennis." What did his choice of sports have to do with it. "But —" She didn't have time for his questions, only answers. "Where's your racket?" He opened the hall closet and took out a racket from the top shelf. Like everything else, the inside of the closet had been ransacked. "Here, but —" She grabbed it and hurried to position herself by the door. None too soon. The next moment, a tall, broad-shouldered man pushed the front door open and stormed in, followed by another man, slightly shorter. Chelsea swung the racket into the first man's face. The gun he held went flying as he fell back into his cohort. "Here we go again," Chelsea moaned as she grabbed Tristan's hand and ran into the corridor. The elevator was standing open. Tristan came to a skidding halt, but rather than get in, he reached inside and pressed for the penthouse. Stunned, Chelsea looked at him. "Saw that in a movie, once," he told her. "Stairs." He didn't have to say it twice.

Chapter Five The seatbelt dug into Tristan's hip as he turned around in Chelsea's car. "I don't see them." The information only made her feel marginally better. "Just because you don't see them, doesn't mean they're not there." Chelsea looked up into her rearview mirror, but other than the signs of normal traffic for this hour of the late afternoon, there didn't appear to be anyone following them. No car weaving in and out, trying to keep up. Nothing out of the ordinary. With effort, she tried to keep her mind on her driving and not on what she was doing — willingly throwing herself in front of an oncoming train.

472

Chelsea glanced at the man beside her. She was in over her head. Pretending to be a P.I. for the sake of a new slant on a story was all well and good, but getting a Pulitzer posthumously had never been in her plans. Besides, if she got herself killed, she couldn't very well write this story, now could she? She debated telling him the truth and just driving to her godfather's precinct to turn the matter over to professionals. She bit her lower lip. Maybe one more try. "You know, for a man who hasn't done anything, you certainly have someone mad at you. Are you sure you're telling me everything?" Exasperated, he repeated his earlier defense. "Why would I want to hire you and then lie?" Stranger things had happened. She made a right onto a major thoroughfare. A little longer and then she'd feel better about losing the angry duo. Chelsea spared her "client" a glance. "I don't know — why?" He turned to face her. "I wouldn't." There was something in his eyes, something that said he was telling her the truth. And that he trusted her. Her conscience chafed, urging her to tell him that she wasn't who he thought she was, that until she'd stumbled onto this story she hadn't investigated so much as a paper cut on her own without assistance. But the man needed help and if she told him who she really was, he probably wouldn't let her help. And she really wanted to. Chelsea pressed her lips together, holding them shut. He felt like a man in the middle of a '60s movie — except that the bullets were real. Tristan searched for order, something that had been the mainstay of his life until all this had exploded. "You know, my car is still in your parking lot." She'd already thought of that. "For the time being, we'd better leave it there." That made no sense to him. "Why?" He wasn't going to like this, she thought. But there was no way around it. "If these people know where you live, they know the kind of car you drive. They might have wired it." She had to be kidding. One look at her face told him she wasn't. "You mean like a bomb?" "Yes." In the past 24 hours, before he'd found her number in the Yellow Pages, he'd examined and reexamined his life, trying to figure out what he'd done to set off this chain of events. And come up empty. He still couldn't believe this was happening. "Why would they want to blow me up?" "Why would they want to shoot you?" she countered. The sobering question sank home. "Good point." She made a sharp left. "I thought so." Trying not to lean into her as they made the turn, he asked, "So where do we go to now?"

473

She glanced in her rearview mirror. Good, no police cars in sight. She pressed down on the accelerator. "Now we make sure no one's following us and then I take you to my place." Tristan held on to the dashboard as she took a hairpin turn, stealing his breath away. He felt as if he was in the front car of a roller coaster. "They followed me to your office. They know who you are. Can't they figure out where you live?" Chelsea grinned. "Not likely." Especially since she had no ties to the office, she thought, other than having walked through its doors 20 minutes ahead of Tristan. Chelsea tossed her purse onto the side table as she walked into her loft apartment ahead of Tristan. "Make yourself at home." Despite the offers of family and friends of loans, outright gifts, and secondhand furniture, Chelsea had been determined to furnish the place on her own. The apartment was fairly empty. Tristan looked around. "Cozy." He was being polite. She appreciated that. "Uncluttered." A whimsical smile flirted with her lips. "But it suits my purposes." There was a sofa in the middle of the room, but he was too keyed up to sit. "You probably don't spend much time here, anyway." "What makes you say that?" Tristan wandered over to the bay window and looked out. There was nothing suspicious in the street four stories down. "Your cases probably keep you away from home a lot." "Right, my cases." She shifted course, momentarily making a beeline for the truth. It was easier to keep track of than lies. "Actually, I fell in love with this place when I first saw it. It used to belong to a dot-com company that went belly up." Tristan turned from the window and crossed back to her. As far as lofts went, it was rather small. "Not a very big company, I take it." The company hadn't needed much. "All you need is a computer. Speaking of which, yours is still missing." She got back to the only tangible thing she had to work with so far. "Besides that novel, what else do you have on it that might make someone think it was valuable?" "I already told you, nothing. I've been going over and over it in my head, but keep coming up with the same answer. There was no reason to take it, other than its street value." She shook her head. If that had been the case, there were so many other things of worth in his apartment to steal. Desperate, she cast about. "Is there any reason someone might want, say, a stock option report, or the minutes of the last meeting?" "That's not on there." "What is? Exactly," she pressed.

474

He ran a hand over his forehead, thinking. There was only one thing that might be even remotely interesting to anyone outside the company. "Mainly next year's plans for expansion. But even that's not worth getting shot over." "Industrial espionage is a big deal, Tristan." It was possible he knew but didn't know he knew. She tried prodding. "Some secret projects in the works? Formulas that someone might think are worth risking your neck for if not theirs?" He shook his head. "No." Tristan threw up his hands, pacing. "Damn it, this is frustrating." He swung back to look at Chelsea, realizing he'd raised his voice. He didn't want to take this out on her. "I want you to know that I'm not used to this sort of thing." Humor filled her eyes, nudging its way beside empathy. "Getting shot at? That's comforting for your tailor." "No, I mean I'm not used to not being able to handle things on my own." He looked at her pointedly, aware that there was something else going on here besides his frustration. A pull, a tension that had somehow gotten mixed-up in all this and was zipping along his body like an electrical current. "Coming to someone else for help is something new for me." Her breath kept insisting on backing up in her lungs and hovering there. She had to keep reminding herself to breathe. "There's a lot to be said for new experiences — as long as they don't leave holes in vital parts of your body." "Funny," he murmured, leaning into her, his eyes on her lips, "I was just coming to the same conclusion." Still breathless, Chelsea felt her heart go into double time. Belatedly, she remembered to take a step back. Which was exactly one full step away from his lips. What the hell was going on here? Tristan desperately tried to collect himself. "Why would someone like you want to be a detective?" "We prefer the term private investigator." She'd heard that line in an old TV series once. More useless trivia, she thought. Like the way she was always going to remember the look on his face right now. And the color of his eyes as they looked at her. Intense and blue. So blue they made the rest of the room fade. Heat began to nibble away at her extremities. "My mistake," he murmured, fighting off the sudden desire to take her into his arms, to feel her, real and alive, against him. "Why would someone like you want to be a private investigator?" She swallowed, mesmerized by what she saw in his eyes. "The excitement." "You like excitement?" The question whispered along her skin, teasing her. "In spades." And right now, she was feeling it, Chelsea thought. In spades.

Chapter Six The next moment, his lips were on hers. Her body fused against his, Chelsea was utterly and blissfully losing her way within the multilayers of the kiss when the annoying humming noise finally penetrated her consciousness.

475

Tristan drew back, looking at her quizzically as he placed the sound. "Do the opening notes of the 1812 Overture always play when you kiss someone?" "Not usually." It wasn't easy keeping the words from coming out on the tail end of a sigh. "Excuse me." Turning, Chelsea pulled her cell phone from her pocket, making a mental note to change the ringer. She fairly snapped, "Yes?" "Where are you, Mack?" Her editor's curt voice filled her head. "In case you've forgotten, you said you were filing your notes on the story today." "Oh, right, the story." She'd completely forgotten all about the story. She did her best to sound confident as she stalled. "Um, there's been a new development in that." She could hear the older man snort. The sound had "I might have known" written all over it. "You were wrong. He's not the duke." "No, I was right and I've got proof." Silence met her declaration, but she knew it wouldn't last long. Hurriedly, she pleaded her case. "But I'm going to need a little more time piecing it together. Please, I promise you, you won't be sorry." "Too late, I'm already sorry. And probably soft in the head," he added before she could say anything in her own defense. "You've got 24 more hours — make that 21," the senior editor amended. "Got it?" "Got it. It'll be there, I promise." She closed the phone and returned it to her pocket. She'd bought herself a reprieve. Tristan couldn't help but overhear the conversation. "Who was that?" "My boss." Too late, she realized her error. "I mean, another client." He thought it was rather telling that she thought of a client as the boss, although she was definitely in control here. "You're working on another case?" This called for some fast footwork, Chelsea thought. Reassurance was the key. "The only case I'm working on is yours. It's a matter of priorities. Gunshots always move up to the head of the line." He looked as though he believed her. Another reprieve. She was on a roll. "Now, where were we?" The taste of her mouth was still on his. It did nothing to relieve the heat he felt. "About to get unprofessional." "Yeah, we were, weren't we?" She bit her lower lip. She'd never been attracted this quickly, this intensely to anyone before. Maybe it was the gunfire. "Maybe I'd better ask you some more questions." He didn't see what there was left to ask. "I've told you all I know." She didn't doubt him. "All you think you know." He looked at her, confusion in his blue eyes. "Ever see Charade?" "The game?" What did a party game have to do with any of this? She shook her head. "The movie. What they were looking for turned out to be right in front of them all along. Hidden in plain sight." There was nothing hiding in plain sight as far as he knew. "You're wasting your time."

476

Not as long as I'm hanging around with you. The thought had come out of the blue and she banked it down. This was about her article, and keeping him alive. Not necessarily in that order. She couldn't afford to lose sight of that. For both their sakes. "I'll be the judge of that." She needed to get him to relax, to get comfortable. "We'll talk while we eat. I can send out for pizza, or you can take a chance on my culinary abilities." Her smile was infectious. He found himself returning it. "How big a chance?" Chelsea shifted over to the kitchen portion of the loft. "Depends on whether or not you have your will in order." He still couldn't tell if she was being serious or not. "You're kidding, right?" "Right." She took out a pan and placed it on the small cooktop. "My boyfriend didn't leave me because he had complaints about my cooking." He couldn't envision any man walking away from her. Not willingly. "What did he have complaints about?" She thought of Shaun. It had been wrong from the start. They were better off going their separate ways. "My career." "The fact that you were a private investigator?" Saying yes would have been the easy way to go, but she found herself wanting to keep the lies down to a minimum with this man. She winked. "The fact that I had one and he still hadn't made up his mind about what he wanted to be when he grew up — besides well fed." He took a seat on a stool, content to watch her move around the abbreviated kitchen. "You know, you're kind of cute when you wink. Actually, you're kind of cute when you don't wink." She turned, a spatula in her hand, a pleased smile on her face. "Are you flirting with me?" "No." The denial had been too quick. "Maybe just a little." He felt compelled to explain. "It's been a long time since I was out with a beautiful woman. Or in with one." When she looked at him like that, she made him trip over his tongue. He wasn't accustomed to that. Trying to remain in character, as well as in her clothes, Chelsea thought of what the duke's grandfather had said to her earlier. "Flattery won't reduce my fee." Right now, money was no object when it came to that. "If you find out who's after me and why, I'll pay you anything you want." She turned to face him, the minuscule counter the only barrier between them. She felt it was safer that way. For him. For her. "I'd be careful the way I throw my words around if I were you. A less scrupulous woman would hold you to that." A smile played on his lips. "And you're scrupulous." "I have scruples to spare." Right now, that was a lie. The words tasted hot on her tongue, but she ignored that, clinging to the thought that it would all turn out in the long run — provided she ran long enough.

477

*** Tristan stretched out on the sofa, feeling more content than he had in a long, long while. "You really are a very good cook." She deposited the last dish into the dishwasher and dropped down beside him on the sofa, a glass of wine in her hand. She'd poured one for him, as well. "And you may very well be the most straight and narrow man I've ever met. No jealous ex-girlfriends, no angry coworkers. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were George Bailey." Leaving the wine where it was, he looked at her blankly. Was that a client? "George Bailey?" "Or Jimmy Stewart." Obviously she wasn't ringing any bells. "It's a Wonderful Life," she added. "Frank Capra story played every year during the Christmas season. Snow, angels, happy ending." A light came into his eyes. "So, far as I can see, the only ripple in your life in the past week has been a new office —" They kept coming back to that. "Where did you say the man who used to be in that office went?" He hadn't said. He did now. "No one knows, really. Richard Elders just disappeared one day. Valuable company man, too, so I'd heard." He looked at her. "You're not suggesting that the office is jinxed, are you, because I don't believe in that kind of thing. I —" She shook her head. They had that much in common. She'd never been superstitious. "No, but maybe there's something that the other man had, something that he might have left in the office. Or maybe the men who are after you think that you're him." She looked at him, running out of options. "Work with me, here. Do you look anything like this Elders?" "I don't think so." It amazed him how, in the middle of a life and death situation, all he could think about at this very moment was kissing her again. He forced his mind back to her question. "I suppose we could pull up a company profile, if they haven't pulled it off the database yet." On her feet, she put distance between them. Before she followed her instincts and threw herself at the man. Served her right for drinking wine, she thought, putting the glass down. Her computer was on a small folding table, already turned on. A cable hookup was one of the luxuries she allowed herself. Sitting down, Chelsea pulled up his company on the Internet. He crossed to her. "I'm not sure we can get into the database," he warned, looking over her shoulder. "You need a pass —" Tristan blinked, recognizing the familiar screen. "You're on." The woman was amazing. "Piece of cake." Chelsea's fingers flew over the keyboard. Richard Elders's profile had no accompanying photograph, only a thumbnail description. She scanned it quickly. Dark hair, blue eyes, 36 years old, 6'2". "From this, someone might mistake you for Elders." He'd seen the man fleetingly. "That's reaching." "Right now, since the rest of your life reads like a Disney fairy tale, it's the only thing we've got." She paused, thinking. "I think the key to whatever is going on is back in Elders's office — your office," she corrected. With that, she hit the keys to close the computer and rose. By now he could read her body language. Especially since her body was heading toward the door. "Where are you going?"

478

"We're going to your office." He crossed to her. "You can't get in. This time of night, you need clearance." "You have clearance," she pointed out. "What about you?" She unlocked the door and walked out, waiting for him to join her. "All I need is a cleaning woman's uniform." "And where —?" He didn't finish. Locking the door, she was winking at him again. The wink that said everything was under control. He was beginning to believe her.

Chapter Seven Tristan looked up and down the corridor of the 15th floor. It appeared deserted. He was alone. But just as he unlocked the door to his office, he heard a grating, rhythmic squeak that seemed to be getting louder with each beat. Turning, he saw a cleaning woman pushing a cart before her heading in his direction. The cart was loaded with all the cleaning products necessary to keep the offices of Gabrielle Cosmetics in pristine condition. Cocking his head, he peered closer. "Chelsea?" In response, the woman with the cart removed the bandanna holding back her hair. He laughed, shaking his head. "Where did you get this?" "There's a woman in the basement right now sitting in her slip, a hundred dollars richer and sipping a diet cola." She indicated the cart. "I promised to have this back in half an hour." That still didn't explain everything. Tristan opened his door and held it for her. "How —?" Chelsea pushed the cart into his office. "I told her my fiancé was working late and I wanted to make sure it wasn't on a secretary." He could only shake his head in wonder. "Does the army know about you? You could be the country's new secret weapon." Behind her, Tristan flipped on a switch, illuminating the office. It looked almost bigger than her loft, and a great deal better furnished. It was evident that the powers that be at Gabrielle thought well of Tristan. "My mother taught me to be resourceful." "Obviously she was a good teacher." He glanced once up and down the corridor before closing the office door. Still no one. He relaxed a little. "Who taught you to hack into a computer?" "I taught myself that. Comes in handy." Chelsea eyed the computer on his desk. "Is there anything on this one that might give us any new insight?"

479

He doubted it, but she'd already surprised him several times today. "There's an in-house program, but it's not anything that I'm privy to." That sounded promising. She pushed up her sleeves. "Who is?" "The chairman and five of the top senior officers on the board." Sounding better and better. "Something to aspire to." Switching on the computer, she turned the monitor toward him. There were a number of icons on the desktop she was unfamiliar with. And time was of the essence. "Can you get me to the program?" Tristan sat down in his chair. "To it, yes. Into it, no." She winked at him, sending wicked ripples through his belly. "Just leave that to me." He pulled up the program in a matter of seconds, then vacated his seat. Chelsea took over. "I don't know what it's even doing on my computer, really. We're not supposed to have access to the password window, much less the program. I found it by accident." But Elders apparently had access to the program. Perhaps for a reason. "Maybe this is where the trail starts, then." He looked at his watch, remembering that she'd said she had half an hour. "Is this going to take long?" Her eyes were on the screen, her fingers flying along the keyboard. "The difficult, I can do, the impossible takes a little longer." She spared him a quick glance. "Why, are you planning on being somewhere?" "No, I thought you might like some coffee while you break into the mainframe. There's a snack area down the hall —" Chelsea made a face and shuddered. "Vending machine coffee? I'd rather drink motor oil. But thanks for the thought." She drew closer to the screen, as if proximity could somehow verify what she was reading. "This is interesting." "What?" He looked over her shoulder. "Did you find something?" And then it dawned on him. She was reading something within the program. "You got in." "Of course I got in." She supposed it was vain, but she couldn't help feeling a little glimmer of pride. "Did you doubt me?" "Not for a moment." And it occurred to him that he really hadn't. On some level, he'd just taken it for granted that she could do whatever she said she could. "What did you find?" "Something a lot more provocative than the latest shade of lipstick." She reread several lines just to be sure. "Seems that your company has a revolutionary formula in the offing that can actually tighten sagging skin on a level equal to that of laser surgery. That's something that could make a lot of other companies nervous, not to mention putting a crimp in the plastic surgery community's retirement fund." It was all news to him and he was cleared for all but the very top level. "Let me see that." Tristan turned the monitor toward himself. She raised an eyebrow, watching surprise spread over his features as he read the report. It was clear he hadn't known about this. "Skip a few meetings?"

480

"This wasn't covered in any meeting I ever attended —" He looked at her, moving the monitor back into place. "And I attend them all." She pointed to the beginning of the last paragraph. "Notice who the chairman is thanking in advance for bringing this formula to the company's attention?" He'd just been getting to that part. The woman was a speed reader on top of everything else. His eyes widened. "Elders." "In advance," she repeated. "That means the formula wasn't in the chairman's hands at the time of the memo. It's dated two weeks ago — that means that as of two weeks ago, the formula still hadn't reached your company." She looked at Tristan. "Maybe whoever is after you thinks you have the formula, or at least access to it." "That's ridiculous." Annoyance furrowed his brow. "I didn't even know there was a formula." "They don't know that. Elders had the formula, or knew where it was and now he's missing and you have his office. This could all be just a terrible matter of mistaken identity. Remember, your description matches his in a cursory way." She was right and he knew it. "So how do I convince them I don't have it?" Chelsea turned, about to answer. Her eyes widened. "You talk — fast —" She pointed toward the door. The two burly men who had broken into Tristan's apartment filled the room. She could feel the pulse in her throat jumping, but did her best not to show any fear. "Drs. Livingston, I presume?" The leader had his gun drawn, a small, formidable piece of weaponry he waved toward Tristan. "Shut up and stand over there and you won't get hurt. We're just after pretty boy here." The man's eyes narrowed. "You have something that doesn't belong to you." Tristan played for time, trying to think. "Who does it belong to?" Both men were coming at him. The second one spoke with a slight Bostonian accent. "Like you don't know. Like you didn't steal it from that nitwit chemist. You went to bed with her for no reason, Elders. We want the formula back." She expected panic, but all she felt was deadly calm. "How's he supposed to give it to you if he's dead?" The first man scoffed. "He can't give it to anyone if he's dead." Now panic reared its head. Her mind worked furiously. "That means you don't get it, either." The second man's glare was condescending and icy. "But we've got the notes the chemist who came up with the formula took." He aimed his weapon at her. "I thought I told you to shut up." She had no idea where the bravado was coming from. Especially since she had a terrible suspicion that the chemist they were talking about was dead. "Yeah, you did. But I don't take orders very well." The next second, Chelsea pushed her cleaning cart at him, completely throwing him off. The gun went off, its shot going wild as he stumbled backward. He hit his head against a corner of the desk as he went down. The man was out cold. Tristan threw himself against the other man, grappling for his weapon.

481

Another bullet went flying, shattering the glass door. The first gunman grabbed Chelsea's hair, pulling her to him. He aimed his gun to her head. "Got anything in your fall line to camouflage the effects of bullet to the brain, Elders?" He glared, triumphant. "Put the gun down and maybe she lives," said the gunman. Tristan had no choice but to comply.

Chapter Eight The very next second, Chelsea ducked her head down as she drove her elbow into the man's ribs. It felt as if he'd ripped out her hair. Pain generated tears that sprang to her eyes. The man yelped, releasing her. Tristan immediately grabbed the weapon he'd dropped and trained it on the gunman. "Are you all right?" he asked Chelsea. Her scalp still felt as if it was on fire. "I'll live." Blinking away tears, she went straight for the telephone, stopping only to pick up the other weapons and to reassure herself that the first man was still out. He was. Tristan cocked the gun he was holding. "Call the police." She pulled the telephone to her on the desk. "Way ahead of you." Tristan never took his eyes off the man he was holding his gun on. Behind him, Chelsea was pressing an awful lot of buttons on the telephone keypad. "Have they hyphenated 911?" Please be there, please be there. "This'll be faster, I promise." She counted off eight rings before she heard the familiar deep voice. "Hello, Uncle Gary? This is Chelsea. I need help." She rattled off the address on the front of the building. "We're on the 15th floor, room 12. And, Uncle Gary, this is official," she added. "Bring your gun." She hung up. It was hard not taking his eyes off his prisoner. "Uncle Gary?" Chelsea bent over the other assailant. He didn't move. She wondered if he had a concussion. "Not really my uncle. He's actually my godfather. Gary Worchester. He's with the L.A.P.D." Tristan could only shake his head. The woman had all the bases covered. "Why am I not surprised?" She came up beside him, relieved that she didn't have to worry about him any longer. And a little sorry, too. "I don't know,

Why?" "Because I'm beginning to believe that you're a magician, that's why." The answer tickled her. Officer Gary Worchester arrived exactly 15 minutes later. Standing 6'7" in his regulation police uniform shoes, the gentle Worchester could create an imposing impression on anyone loitering on the wrong side of the law. Answers from the two men who had invaded the offices of Gabrielle Cosmetics and threatened the life of one of its CEOs were not long in coming. Richard Elders had stolen a formula that Mayflower Cosmetics had

482

been working on for nearly a decade, thanks to a liaison with a rather vulnerable lady chemist with low selfesteem and a high sex drive. No one knew where Elders or the formula was. It took another two hours before everything was squared away and Tristan and Chelsea were allowed to leave the police precinct. Her godfather had even sent a man out to check over Tristan's car. The vehicle was safe. No bombs had been planted. For Tristan the ordeal was over. Walking out of the precinct, Tristan held the door open for Chelsea. The night air felt bracing. He took a deep breath. "Well, that ends that." She nodded. "Except that the formula is still missing." "Right now, I don't think I care very much about 'dramatically reducing wrinkles' and 'sensuously tightened skin,'" he said, quoting the press release that had been uncovered. They walked briskly to her car in the darkened lot. "You might not, but a lot of women do." "Not you." Stopping before her car, Tristan ran the back of his hand along her cheek and watched in fascination as her pupils grew larger. "Not for a long, long time." It took her a second to find her voice. "Never too early to be prepared." Taking a deep breath, she opened her car door. Tristan rounded the hood and got in on the passenger side. Closing the door, he strapped in. "You were right." Chelsea left her keys in the ignition and looked at him. "About wrinkles?" "No, that this was a case of mistaken identity. I wonder where Elders is." She made an educated guess. "Either vacationing in some exotic resort spending his advance — or sleeping with the fishes would be my guess." Tristan nodded, agreeing. "Well, you've been dead on so far." She shuddered. "Please, use another word. I think I'll stay away from 'dead' for a while." Chelsea started the car. He looked at her profile as she backed the vehicle out and eased it onto the street. "So I guess I won't be needing your services any longer." Where had this awful pang come from? An overwhelming sadness draped her. "Guess not." Was it proper to ask your P.I. out after the fact? He had nothing to guide him except the way he felt about her. "By the way, you never did tell me what you charge." She supposed now was as good a time as any to come clean. It was over, right? "There's a reason for that." He remembered. "Right, your secretary handles all those details." Chelsea eased down on the brake as the light up ahead turned red. "No, a different reason." She took a deep breath. "Those two goons thinking you were Elders wasn't the only case of mistaken identity that was going on." This was coming out all wrong, she thought, stumbling over her own tongue. She could feel Tristan looking at her.

483

"I don't follow you." The light turned green. Her foot covered the accelerator. Her heart was accelerating, as well. "I'm not M. Ryker." "You're not?" He stared at her, thrown completely off balance. "Then what were you doing at the computer — are you a secretary?" She laughed, though she didn't find it very funny. "Not even warm." Five minutes ago, he would have said his life was finally back on track; now it felt as if the rug had just been pulled out from under him. Again. "If you're not M. Ryker and not the secretary, then just who are you?" Holding the steering wheel with one hand, Chelsea dug into her side pocket with the other. Pulling out her wallet, she held up her driver's license for him, so that he'd have proof she wasn't lying again. "Chelsea Mack." Closing the wallet, she tucked it back into her pocket. "I'm an investigative reporter." That went a long way in explaining her ability to think quickly on her feet, but didn't make a dent in why she'd lied to him in the first place. "Just who are you investigating?" She slanted a look in his direction. He didn't look angry, but then, that could just be deceptive cover. "Max Ryker." Some of the pieces were beginning to fit together. "Then you were hacking into his computer." "Something like that." Tristan still found the story incredible. "And he let you?" "He's out of the state." She thought about telling Tristan that Ryker was the missing former Duke of Montebello, but decided that it would only make her story sound even more implausible. For now, she'd keep that to herself. "It's for a story for the Times..." Now it was making sense. "And that man on the phone earlier tonight?" "That was my editor. I was supposed to file my notes earlier." And her deadline was getting closer and closer, she realized. This was turning out to be one hell of a day — and night. "Let me get this straight. You're not a P.I." She was hitting all the lights. At this rate, she'd have him back in the parking lot, and his car, in no time. And out of her life. "No." "You're a reporter." Was that anger in his voice, or disappointment? She couldn't tell. She could only be honest with him. Finally. "Yes." He didn't understand and he was getting tired of not understanding. "Then why did you help me?"

484

This part was easy. "Because you needed it. Because someone was shooting at you." She paused, then gave him her original reason. "And because I thought I could get an inside slant on the kind of life Ryker leads if I worked one of his cases." There was a long moment of silence, and then he said, his voice deadly calm, "That's fraud, you know, posing as something you're not." "I prefer to think of it as undercover work." She allowed herself a smile as she looked at him, mentally crossing her fingers. "You could come home with me and find out the difference." And then, to her relief, Tristan's solemn expression melted and he grinned. "I guess I could at that." He saw his car up ahead and put his hand into his pocket to get his keys. His fingers came in contact with a piece of paper. He pulled it out, scanning it. "I guess I won't be needing this anymore." Entering the parking lot, she saw the paper in his hand. "What is it?" "Ryker's phone number and address. I copied it from the phone book." She thought she saw writing on the other side. A gut instinct jumped into play. Chelsea stopped the car. "Wait, let me see that." He gave it to her. She flipped it over, then looked at him. "Where did you get this piece of paper?" "It was stuck on the runner in Elder's closet. I pulled it out this morning and I must have written down Ryker's address on it. Why?" She grinned, holding it up to him. "Look at it." As he took in what he saw, it occurred to Tristan that he was probably never going to be surprised by anything again after tonight. "It looks like a formula of some sort." It did to her, too. "Might be what all the fuss was about. Shouldn't we get it to somebody?" It was past three in the morning. "It can wait. Right now, I'm still interested in finding out what other kind of undercover work you do." A warm feeling slipped around her. "I had no idea you had such a one-track mind." The hell with waiting until they got to her place. He leaned over and kissed her. Slowly. "I have a feeling, Chelsea, that I'm going to be on this track for a long, long time." He searched her face for a sign. "Is that all right with you?" "The engineer has no complaints. Besides," she grinned, "you're the man with the formula that'll keep me looking eternally young." He laughed. "I believe in stacking the deck whenever I can." She had a feeling she was going to be late with her notes after all. "If you feel that way, put your mouth where your money is." He leaned over and undid her seat belt. "Interesting turn of the phrase." The notes were going to be very, very late. "Shut up and kiss me again, Tristan." She didn't have to tell him twice.

485

The Royal Affair by Day Leclaire Five years ago, Princess Diandra Montgomery fled her native Verdonia—and an arranged marriage! Now, as a former palace staff member threatens to publish a tell-all book exposing the travesty of her parents' own contracted union, Diandra is forced to return home to defend the family honor. Can a mysterious ring hold the key to the truth about her parents' relationship? Only one man can help Diandra find the answers she seeks: her jilted fiancé, Jonas Tolken. And Jonas is more than willing to help—for a price!

Chapter One The ring was unlike anything she'd ever seen before, stunning in its impact. The heavy antique gold of the narrow band shimmered warmly beneath the overhead lights. But the stones studding the band were what captivated Diandra the most. The mix of Verdonia's unique amethysts heralded from her European homeland, world-renowned for its exquisitely colored gemstones. In this case, the pink "Celestia Blush," named after one of the three principalities that made up Verdonia, decorated the ring. Two perfect Celestia Blushes sat off-center on either side of a glorious squared Asscher-cut stone that could only be a pink diamond, though Diandra had never seen such a rarity before. Just as amazing, the band fit perfectly, encircling the ring finger of her left hand as though it had been made just for her. Diandra struggled to tear her gaze from the ring and look at her cousin, Prince Merrick Montgomery. "I…I don't understand," she said. "Where did this come from?" "My father asked that I give it to you. I gather he's been holding it until you returned to Verdonia." He lifted her hand, turning it into the light. "It's beautiful." "But why would King Stefan—" "He didn't say where it came from or why I was to give it to you." A slight frown tugged at Merrick's brow. "He's not feeling well, or I'd ask him for you." She shook her head. "No, no. Don't disturb him." "He said he'd been holding this for you for a while, and to tell you—" He hesitated. "Tell me what?" Merrick offered a teasing smile. "That this ring promises to bring the wearer her heart's desire." Diandra felt her gaze drawn to her hand once again. The ring caught the light and splintered it into a dazzling rainbow of colors, as though offering a visual confirmation of Merrick's statement. "Do you suppose—" Emotion had her throat closing over. "Do you suppose this ring could have belonged to my mother?" His gaze softened. "I suppose it's possible." "Oh, Merrick. To have something like this that belonged to my mother, something that connects me to her." Tears of hope filled her eyes. The timing couldn't have been better. Perhaps this would lead her to the proof she needed to counter the fabricated tell-all book that her former governess, Henny, was currently writing about the royal family. All she had to do was interpret its meaning. "It would make sense that King Stefan would hold on to it until he thought the time was right to pass it on to me. After all, Dad was his younger brother. It's something one brother would do for another, isn't it?"

486

"Sure it is." Merrick examined the ring once again. "I wonder what the history is behind it? It has an oldfashioned look to it." "I'd love to find out. Maybe King Stefan—" Her excitement dimmed. "Could you ask him about the ring's origins when he's feeling better?" "I did ask, and I'm sorry, Diandra. It looks like you'll have to find the answers on your own." A touch of desperation swept through her. There was one question she'd always wanted to ask her mother, a question this ring could very well answer. "There must be a way. Someone, somewhere must recognize it." She gripped Merrick's arm. "You're head of Verdonia's Royal Security Force. You must have someone who's experienced in this sort of identification and background research. I know we had people at the museum where I worked who specialized in that." When he hesitated, she pressed. "There is someone. I can tell from your expression there is. Who is it?" "No one you want to deal with." It only took a moment for her to make the connection. "You can't mean…" She fought to hide her dismay. "It's Jonas Tolken, isn't it?" "He's the best there is at search, retrieval and background checks. An assignment like this wouldn't pose any problem at all for him. Not with his contacts." She shook her head before he'd even finished speaking. "I can't. I just can't see him again." "At some point you're going to have to." But not yet. Not until she'd worked up the nerve to face him after that final, disastrous night. "Jonas works for you, doesn't he?" Merrick shook his head. "He's in charge of Prince Brandt's Royal Guard. He resigned from the Royal Security Force shortly after you…left." Diandra couldn't allow him to let her off so easily. "Don't bother painting it in rosy colors. I didn't just leave. I ran away." The irony of now having to confront the man she'd rejected bit, and bit hard. It also lent an air of anguish to her plea. "Are you certain there isn't anybody else? There must be someone on your staff capable of helping me with this sort of inquiry." "Tolken's the best." Merrick's voice held a hint of compassion. "My advice is to get it over with. Dad's birthday ball is coming up. Tolken is bound to be there. You can't avoid him forever. If you approach him about this ring, you can face him in private. Deal with it, Diandra, so you can put the past behind you." As much as she resisted Merrick's advice, it made sense. "Jonas is in Avernos?" she asked, referring to Verdonia's northernmost principality. "At von Folke's palace. And one more thing?" A grimness settled into Merrick's expression. "Don't warn him you're coming." Just great. "That bad?" she asked with a sinking heart. "Worse."

***

487

Diandra spent a full week debating whether or not to approach Jonas. She used the time to do what research she could on her own, but met dead end after dead end until she finally conceded defeat. It was time to face facts. If she wanted to uncover the truth behind the ring King Stefan had given her—something of vital urgency—she needed help. And as Merrick has pointed out, Jonas was her best bet. Giving in to the inevitable, she threw clothes into an overnight bag and headed north. As soon as she arrived at the palace, she requested an appointment with Jonas. It took a solid half hour to work her way through the hierarchy of staff and through the various security measures. Eventually, she was handed off to Prince Brandt's secretary, who ushered her into a private study. It was a beautiful room, filled with built-in bookcases that revealed an owner of eclectic tastes in literature. Each piece of furniture was an antique that, under any other circumstances, would have filled her with delight. But right now, all she could think about was Jonas and how he'd react when he saw her again. She closed her eyes. Of equal concern was how she'd react. Five long, lonely years hadn't changed her feelings for him. Had they changed his? Ten endless minutes later, when Diandra's nerves were stretched to the breaking point, Jonas entered the room. He'd changed, she realized in dismay. He'd always been physically intimidating—tall, broad and every bit as austere as his cousin, Prince Brandt. But during the time she'd been gone he'd also hardened visibly. It was evident in the cold remoteness of his black gaze as it swept over her, and the forbidding set of his jaw and posture the minute he realized who waited for him. This was the same man she had almost married, the man she'd once offered herself to? It seemed impossible. Jonas was the first to break the silence. Sweeping the door shut just shy of a slam, he approached. Diandra locked her knees in place so she wouldn't retreat before his steady advance. His was a deliberate maneuver, meant to intimidate. Unfortunately, it was working. He didn't pause until he was a scant foot away, towering above her. "What the hell are you doing here, Diandra?" he demanded.

Chapter Two Jonas Tolken entered the study, not quite believing that Princess Diandra Montgomery had requested to see him. He'd never thought she'd return to their Western European homeland of Verdonia, let alone track him down to Prince Brandt von Folke's palace. And maybe she wouldn't have returned home if not for the news that a former palace employee was now penning an unauthorized biography. One look assured him the woman in his study was Diandra—the woman who'd once promised to be his bride. The woman who'd deserted him without a word of explanation. He closed the door behind him with a sharp click, closeting them together in the study. Diandra had changed, he realized as he approached her. When last he'd seen her, she'd been all of eighteen, her body soft and rounded, still blurred with immaturity. But in the five years since, it had become honed, ripening in form and beauty, making her blossom into one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. She shared the same leonine hair as her royal cousins, Prince Merrick and Prince Lander, the blonde streaked with every shade of brown from desert sand to umber. She also shared their hazel eyes, hers more green than gold. Right now intense emotion glinted there, a mixture of trepidation and wariness that betrayed her vulnerability—a vulnerability he intended to use to his full advantage. Never again would she betray or humiliate him. Jonas approached, amused by the effort it took Diandra to hold her position in the face of his advance. "What the hell are you doing here, Diandra?" he demanded again, stopping directly in front of her. He was so close he could see the frantic pulse that beat at the base of her throat and the betraying tremor of her mouth. Unfortunately it also meant he was close enough to inhale her unique scent with his every breath and see how the light caressed the pale, supple skin of her face and neck.

488

"I came to ask a favor." Jonas couldn't prevent a bark of laughter. "You're joking." She made a visible effort to gather her self-control. The minute she had, she thrust her hand beneath his nose. "I need your help finding out about this ring. I think it belonged to my mother. Please, Jonas. Merrick said you were the best person to find out where it came from and something about its history. I need some answers before Henny's book about my parents is released." He stared at the ring, instantly recognizing it. Hell. What did he do now? To give himself a moment to think, he paced the width of the room, before turning to face her. "Just out of curiosity…why should I do anything to help you? I would have thought I'd be the last person you'd approach." "You are," she didn't hesitate to confirm. "Maybe that tells you how desperate I am." Desperate might work to his advantage, he decided. He'd have to play this by ear and see. "I understand you've been in the United States for the past five years." He tilted his head to one side. "Columbia University, wasn't it? An art major, I heard." His comment must have stung, because she stiffened and her voice acquired a sharp edge. "It was Barnard College. I spent three full years, including summers, studying my backside off to earn an art history degree. I've been working for the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City ever since I graduated." "And now you're back and want my help." "Yes." "You sound well-qualified for the sort of research you'd need to uncover the history of this ring. Investigate it on your own." "I've tried." Frustration rippled through those two brief words. "I keep hitting dead ends. If the ring belonged to my mother, if it's part of the Montgomery estate, there should be some record of it. But there isn't. I don't understand it." He did. The question was, what would he do about it? He had two choices: He could refuse her request and send her on her way. Or he could agree to lend his assistance and spend the next few days with her. At least that option would give him the opportunity to finish what they'd started all those years ago. "I can help you," he admitted, then added with brutal honesty, "I'm just not sure I want to." Her chin inched up and fire flashed in her eyes. "Do you want an apology for what I did five years ago? Fine. I apologize." "So regal," he marveled. "So gracious." Hot color scored her cheeks. "Cut me some slack, Jonas. I was an eighteen-year-old child. Our marriage would have been little more than a business contract, just like my parents'." It was her parents' relationship that her former governess, Henny, was threatening to reveal in her so-called biography. And it was one revelation in particular—that her parents had secretly despised each other—that Diandra was attempting to disprove. "You can't really believe that?" "Why not?" she countered. "Our engagement was arranged by our families when I was still a baby in diapers. I spent my entire life accepting the inevitable. But one day I woke up and realized I didn't want a marriage based on politics. I wanted to be married for love, not as a means of connecting two principalities

489

that have been at odds throughout most of Verdonian history. So I took the easy way out," she admitted. "I ran." "On the night of our engagement ball," he reminded her. The memory was a bitter one. "There I was all set to announce the big news, only my bride-to-be had vanished. Have you any idea what that felt like?" "I'm sorry." He caught a hint of compassion, and for some reason it roused an anger he hadn't thought himself capable of feeling anymore. "What happened to honor, Diandra? To duty and responsibility? What happened to the promises you made me?" "Was I supposed to sacrifice myself on the altar of Montgomery and von Folke political demand?" She planted her hands on hips that were far more shapely than he remembered. "I guess I was foolish enough to hope for an affair of the heart. But what I got instead was an affair of state." "An affair of state?" he repeated softly. "Is that what our last night together was?" Her mouth quivered for an instant before she firmed it. "If I remember correctly, you called that a mistake." "Should I have taken advantage of your offer? What sort of man would that have made me?" "A passionate one." Her comeback shot him straight over the edge and he came after her. He caged her in his arms, stilling her instinctive resistance. "Do you doubt my ability to be passionate, Diandra?" Her breath quickened and she stared at him with eyes as vivid a green as spring leaves. "Let me go, Jonas." "I did that once. I let you leave. I didn't come after you. I gave you the room you needed to grow up." His gaze swept over her, taking in every inch of the toned, rounded shape of her. "And you have, haven't you?" "Stop it, Jonas." "Coming back was your choice. Coming here was your choice. Don't blame me for taking advantage of your mistake." "I returned to ask for your help. To find out about my mother's ring," she insisted. "And I'll help you." He waited a beat. "For a price." Alarm skittered across her face. "What do you mean? What price?" "It won't be anything more than you're willing to give me. At least…nothing more than you were willing to give me the last night we were together." "You can't mean—" "Yes, Princess. I do mean." Jonas thrust his hands deep into the weighty mass of her hair, anchoring her in place. "The payment I want in exchange for finding the truth behind the ring you're wearing is one night in my bed."

Chapter Three

490

Diandra froze in disbelief. Jonas couldn't be serious! He couldn't really mean that his price for helping her uncover the secrets of the ring she wore was a night in his bed? Jonas continued to embrace her, his hands forked deep into her hair. He held her with a hard gaze. It sat at odds with the way he used to look at her, almost as though he were two different men. And maybe he was. Where once there'd been a softness lurking in those ebony eyes, a gentle patience, now all she saw was a cold ruthlessness. She'd offered herself to this man once upon a time. It had been the day of their engagement ball and she'd wanted, with a painful desperation, to know his possession. To reassure herself that she was making the right decision, that their marriage would be more than one of political convenience. And he'd wanted her every bit as much. Or so she'd thought right up until he'd refused her clumsy advances. Why had he done that? She'd never understood, and he'd refused to explain. But it had been that rejection that had ultimately sent her running. She slid her hands along his arms to his wrists, encircling them. "What are you doing, Jonas?" she asked softly. "Are you this determined to take revenge?" "You gave me a taste of something five years ago. Something I've hungered for ever since. One way or another, I intend to satisfy that hunger." "And in exchange for a night in your bed, you'll find out where this ring came from and its history?" The pinkdiamond-and-amethyst ring she wore flashed in the subdued lighting, symbols of love clashing with the far baser emotions stirring between the two of them. "Yes." He lifted a sooty eyebrow. "Do you agree, Princess?" He smiled at her in a way that told her he expected her to refuse his demand. She might have, too, if she hadn't been so desperate to find out about the ring. If the reputation of her parents and the truth about their marriage weren't at stake. Or was it just the ring that tempted her to accept his outrageous proposition? Diandra couldn't help wondering if some secret part of her was curious to discover what it would have been like if he'd made love to her all those years ago. She shied from the thought. Getting answers about her parents and their ring was more important to her than anything else. She needed to know so that she could counter any negative publicity that her former governess, Henny, might spread about them. But even more than that, she needed to know for herself what the true nature of her parents' relationship had been. Had she been produced to fulfill a royal obligation? Was she a product of love…or duty? To find the answer, no sacrifice was too great, including this one. She answered without giving herself time to consider any further. "Fine. I agree," she told him. "I'll sleep with you." She'd taken him by surprise, though it only lasted a split second. Jonas recovered swiftly, his predatory smile sending alarm jangling through her. "In that case, I want a down payment." Her alarm increased, battling with an illicit excitement. "What sort of down payment?" "Just this." He lowered his head and kissed her. The delicious taste of him exploded on her tongue and caused every last brain cell to short circuit. Oh, God, she remembered this kiss, remembered every nuance and sensation. Always before she'd been helpless beneath the onslaught of desire that his lovemaking had aroused. But no longer. Five years had taught her a lot.

491

She swept her hands upward along his arms and across the impressive breadth of his chest. Had he always been this large, this well-muscled? She couldn't remember. She couldn't remember anything except how wonderful it felt to be held like this again, to lose herself in the moment. No, not lose herself. Meld. That's how it had always been with him—a joining, a connection that went beyond the physical. She sank into the embrace, dueling with him in a delicious give-and-take. If he hadn't pulled back, she wasn't certain she'd have been able to. She regarded him with as much assurance as she could manage. "I hope that will do." "For now." His eyes narrowed. "Why is this so important to you, Diandra? You're sacrificing a lot for details about one simple ring." "It's not a simple ring. I told you. I'm fairly certain it belonged to my mother." For a brief moment, a hint of softness gentled his expression, a look that crossed the years and brought her full circle. "I know they died when you were two. But why would this particular ring be so important? I'm sure there are other family heirlooms. Why this one?" "I was hoping…" She moistened her lips, fighting to maintain her composure. "I was hoping this ring would give me some sort of insight into their relationship." He studied her, his gaze far too observant. "I'm sure King Stefan could tell you all you want to know about them. You don't have to go to this extreme." "Yes, I do. There are…reasons." To her relief, Jonas let it go. "Prince Brandt has offered to let you stay for as long as you'd like. I'll have you shown to your room. First thing in the morning, we'll begin the search." She brightened at that. "Where do you plan to start?" "There's a royal jeweler who retired a number of years ago and lives here in Avernos. I'll give him a call. If this ring was made for your parents, there's a good chance he'll recognize it and be able to give you some background information. I'll set up an appointment for first thing in the morning." Excitement shot through Diandra. She was close. She could feel it. "I'll be ready."

*** The next morning, Jonas drove her into the mountains that were so prevalent in this part of Verdonia. It took about an hour to reach the jeweler's home, a pretty little A-frame set beneath the protective boughs of a stand of conifers. The elderly man, who introduced himself simply as Albert, met them at the door and ushered them into a small study kept snug and warm from the early spring chill by an oak-scented fire. He had tea waiting and spoke at some length about the royals he'd worked for and the various pieces he'd designed over the years. Finally, he reached for Diandra's hand. "May I see the ring you've come about?" He took his time studying it, using a jeweler's loupe, before shaking his head. "This isn't one of my designs. I can give you some particulars about it, if you'd like?" "Please, anything you can tell me would be appreciated." He spared Jonas a brief glance, giving a subtle nod acknowledging their conversation from the previous day. Though Albert knew the origins of the ring, he'd agreed not to share those details with Diandra, just nonspecific background information. "This particular style of ring is called the Lovers' Embrace. It's unique to Verdonia and first came into popularity about a hundred years ago. It's not seen quite as often now, but

492

sometimes a couple will request one." He set the loupe aside and smiled at her. "This ring you have is only half of the whole." Diandra stared in bewilderment. "I don't understand." "The Lovers' Embrace is actually two rings which lock together to form one. As you know, most rings designed in Verdonia mean something. The stones and band tell a story, if you will." "What story does this ring tell?" she asked unevenly. "It's hard to say for certain. The pink diamond is the most rare of all diamonds. This one is unquestionably from Argyle, Australia—the color is too rich to be from anywhere else. It's flanked by two Celestia Blushes. As I'm sure you're aware, Blushes symbolize a contract. So this ring could mean an eternal contract, one that's somewhat rare, like the diamond." "My…my parents' marriage was arranged," Diandra admitted. But she'd hoped this ring might prove something different. "Is there any other possibility these stones could mean anything else?" Compassion touched Albert's expression. "It could also symbolize an eternal love that grew from a contract." He shook his head. "Without the other half of the ring, it's impossible to tell. Unless…" Diandra froze, obviously struggling to control the bubble of excitement. "Unless what?" "Unless there's a clue inscribed on the band." "An inscription? I didn't even think of that." She slipped the ring from her finger and tilted it into the light. Visibly frustrated, she couldn't make it out. "My hands are shaking so hard I can't read it." Albert glanced at Jonas. "My eyesight isn't the best anymore. Perhaps you, Tolken?" Intense trepidation apparent in her expression, Diandra handed Jonas the ring. "What does it say?" she asked.

Chapter Four Jonas took the ring from Diandra's trembling hand. He could tell by the way she looked at him that she was hoping the inscription inside the pink-diamond-and-amethyst ring would give her some clue as to the relationship her parents had shared. That it would answer one burning question: Had their marriage been one of love…or duty? Why had it become so important to her? Why did it matter after all this time? They'd died when she was only two. From everything he'd heard, their marriage had been political, contracted in a manner similar to his and Diandra's. What difference did it make now, if the union had eventually become a love affair? Morning light spilled in through the windows of the small mountain A-frame that belonged to the former royal jeweler, Albert. Jonas shifted his hand so the sunshine hit the ring—half ring actually. According to the retired designer the Lovers' Embrace was two rings in one that, when combined, told a story. But since they only had half of the Lovers, they only had half of the story. As soon as the sun's rays hit the gemstones, rainbow shards of light broke from the pink diamond that was the centerpiece of this portion of the Lovers' Embrace, as well as from the two Celestia Blushes—pink amethysts—positioned on either side of the diamond. An eternal contract, they'd been told, was one possibility for what the ring symbolized. Diandra hoped it might have an alternate meaning, that it might indicate an eternal love that sprang from a contract. If that were the case, it would mean her parents' marriage had been based on love rather than a political connection.

493

Perhaps the inscription inside the band would give an additional clue, though he already knew it would be as ambiguous as what they'd discovered so far. "It says…'An Enduring Contract,'" he told her. "That's it?" Diandra asked unevenly. "That's all it says?" "I'm sorry, Princess. That's it." "I'd hoped—" Without another word, she swept to her feet and crossed to Albert's side. She held out her hand. "Thank you so much for your assistance. I appreciate it more than you can know." Standing, Albert took her hand and executed a graceful bow. "My pleasure, Your Highness. I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help." They didn't linger after that, but headed back to Prince Brandt von Folk's palace. A few miles from the main gates, Jonas turned off on a side road. A short distance in, he pulled up to a small cottage. "What is this place?" Diandra asked. "It's my home." Without a word, he exited the car and came around to open her door. "We need to talk." "There's nothing to talk about unless it's to tell me that our next step should be to find out more about this ring." Jonas didn't reply until they were inside. Then he turned to confront her. "I want to know why you're so obsessed with this ring. Why this particular ring? And why now? Come on, Princess. The time has come for a little honesty. You owe me that much at least." She closed her eyes and nodded. "You're right. The truth is, I was approached by my former governess while working in New York. Henny's writing a tell-all book about my parents. She said…" Diandra faltered for a split second. "She claimed that my parents' marriage was a political contract and that they secretly despised each other. She claimed they were on their way to get a divorce when their car crashed and they died." "But you don't think so?" Diandra shook her head. "Henny told me this once before, years ago. I didn't believe her then and I don't now. I need to find the other half of the Lovers' Embrace and prove her wrong. And I'll give you whatever you want, whenever you want, if you'll help me." He decided to push. "Even this?" Closing the distance between them, he reached for her, tugging her into his arms. He locked her against him, fitting soft to hard, round to angled, melding them together as nature intended. She stared at him with unmistakable desire, the gold in her hazel eyes eclipsing the green. It was all the permission he needed. He took her mouth in a kiss that drew an instant response. She moaned in pleasure and he inhaled it, driven by that small, deliciously feminine sound to deepen their embrace. He guided her toward the sofa and tipped her backward. She sank into the thick cushions, her hair splayed in a halo around her flushed face. Grasping the hem of her lightweight sweater, he yanked it over her head. "This has been coming for a long time," he said. "Five years." He glanced down, fighting back a groan. Her skin was as iridescent as a pearl, her breasts rising sweetly above her low-cut bra. He ran a finger along the lacy edge, fascinated by her instantaneous response. Pinching the front clasp, he bared her to his gaze.

494

Her hands flew to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with impressive efficiency. She shoved the material from his shoulders and he helped her rip it off. And then he lowered himself to her. Cupping her breast, he took the tip between his teeth in a gentle love bite. She arched beneath him, her cry one of intense pleasure. He shifted lower, his mouth drifting downward across her abdomen to the top of her slacks. It took only a moment to pop the button and yank down the zipper. In one smooth move, he stripped them off her legs. She lay beneath him, only a strip of ripe-peach silk clinging to her hips. "Not here," he managed to say. "Not for our first time." A hint of alarm darted across her expression. "You're doing it again?" she asked in disbelief. "You're going to stop again?" It took him a minute to understand. When he did, he feathered a kiss across her mouth. "No, Princess. I'm not going to stop. I'd just prefer a more comfortable venue." Sweeping her into his arms, Jonas carried Diandra through the small cottage to the bedroom in the back. A huge bed dominated one end and he headed straight for it. Quickly he stripped off his remaining clothing. And then he dealt with her one last article of clothing. Hooking his thumbs in the elastic band riding her hips, he fully bared her. She was glorious in her nudity, softly rounded, yet lean. Together, they tumbled onto the silk comforter, and with infinite tenderness he anointed her with his mouth. The warmth of desire infused her skin, and he followed it, from breast to abdomen, to the heart of her womanhood. She writhed beneath him and he caught her hips in his hands, anchoring her. He wanted to slow down, but an insatiable hunger tore at them both. She made an incoherent demand that had him settling over her, each caress growing more passionate than the last. He lost himself in her fluid heat and silken softness. Her legs parted and he sank between them, compelled by a need too powerful to resist. He heard her frantic pleas and couldn't hold back. He drove into her, sheathing himself in her warmth. The moment he'd fully mated with her, he realized that in the five years they'd been apart, she'd never taken a lover, that she was as innocent as when she'd left him. The knowledge nearly destroyed him. It also filled him with a determination to make this moment the most special she'd ever experienced, to give her the release she so desperately sought. He angled her hips upward, then melded his mouth with hers. And then he flew with her, sweeping her toward that ultimate completion. She went bowstring taut beneath him before exploding in his arms. Unable to hang on to his control, he spun over the edge with her. He didn't know how much time had passed before they'd recovered sufficiently enough to speak. Rolling to one side, he tucked her close beside him. "First thing tomorrow I'll speak to King Stefan," he informed her. He felt her stiffen within his hold. "You'll speak to King Stefan about…what?" "About our getting married, of course."

Chapter Five Diandra shot upright in bed and stared at Jonas in disbelief. "You can't be serious," she said. Suddenly aware of her nudity, she snatched the silk comforter and wrapped it around herself.

495

"I'm dead serious," Jonas replied. "First thing tomorrow I intend to see King Stefan and ask for your hand in marriage." "And first thing tomorrow I intend to see King Stefan and tell him I'm not the least bit interested in marrying you." She fled the bed, desperate to put some badly needed space between them. "What's gotten into you?" His own nudity didn't seem to bother him as much as it did her. He stood and came after her. She shuddered at the amazing sight he made, tall and broad and powerful. "You were a virgin. Don't bother to deny it." "I wasn't going to." She found herself retreating a step. "What difference does that make?" "It makes every difference. Honor demands—" Diandra held up a hand, cutting him off. She hadn't thought he could hurt her any worse than he had five years ago, but he'd managed to find a way. If she hadn't been so angry, she would have wept. Stiffening her spine, she aimed for regal iciness, which came as a challenge given her current state of undress. "That's very old school of you, Jonas. And I'm sure I should be grateful that you feel the need to protect my honor. But I'm not marrying you." There was a knowing expression in his eyes. "Are you certain?" She spun away from him. Why was he doing this? Why open a wound she'd thought, if not healed, at least had scarred over. There was something he could say that would change her mind and convince her to marry him. It was the same thing he could have said five years ago…and hadn't. If he took her in his arms and told her he loved her, she'd marry him that very hour. But love wasn't in Jonas's vocabulary. Honor. Duty. Responsibility. Obligation. No question he'd learned all of those and learned them well. Everything it would seem but love. It took her a moment to gather her self-control. The instant she had, she turned to face him. "I've fulfilled my end of our agreement," she informed him in a remote voice. "I've given you what you demanded. Now that you've received payment in full, I expect you to honor your end of the bargain." He jerked as though she'd slapped him. "That's why you slept with me? As payment?" She refused to lie. Not about something this important. "No. I slept with you because I wanted to. That doesn't change the fact that we made a contract and you chose the method of payment. By having sex with you—" "Sex?" He bit out the word, bringing a blush to her cheeks. "Maybe your inexperience is showing, Princess, but that wasn't sex." Her color deepened and she hung on to her composure by a thread. "Whatever it was, it fulfilled our contract. From now on our dealings remain on a business footing. You have a job to complete, and I'd appreciate it if we could focus on that." He swept her a mocking bow. "As you wish, Your Highness. Do I have time to dress before we get back to work?" "I suggest we both dress." She glanced around, only then realizing that aside from her panties decorating the floor, she didn't have a clue what had happened to the rest of her clothes. She cleared her throat. "I don't suppose you know where…?" The question won her an actual smile. "In the great room by the couch."

496

With as much aplomb as she could manage, she snatched up her panties before sweeping from the bedroom. The great room, huh? She could have sworn she'd just left the "great" room.

*** After they'd showered and dressed, they returned to the car and Jonas headed toward Prince Brandt's palace. "We'll be leaving first thing in the morning," he informed her. "Why?" He caught the slight hint of alarm in Diandra's voice. "What do you plan to do?" "I plan to pay King Stefan a visit." She swiveled in her seat to face him. "I thought we discussed that already." "We did." "Then—" "I want permission to look through any jewelry your parents might have left you." "Of course! For the other half of the ring." Excitement replaced her wariness. "I hadn't thought of that. If I'd known there might be a second half to the ring, I'd have done that before I approached you." He spared her a swift look. "And we wouldn't have made love. You realize that, don't you?" Her hands twisted together in a telling gesture and the ring reflected the sunlight brokenly. "Do you regret it?" She hesitated before adding, "Five years ago—" "You were an eighteen-year-old child, and I wouldn't take advantage of you. I couldn't." Was that the reason? The only reason? Why hadn't he told her at the time? "And now?" He didn't hesitate. "The woman I just had in my bed was a full-grown adult, more than capable of making her own decisions."

*** Two days later they were settled in the Montgomery palace. Tolken had made arrangements to have the jewelry removed from the vault and delivered to the sitting room adjacent to Diandra's bedroom. In addition to the innumerable velvet boxes, there was also a catalog with a photo and detailed description of each piece. Jonas watched as Diandra approached the table and simply stood there, looking but not touching. "When's the last time you did this?" he asked. "Never." The softly stated admission betrayed a vulnerability that ripped straight through him. "Why don't we go through each box, rather than rely on the catalog," he suggested gently. "That way you'll also have the opportunity to see the actual pieces." She snatched a deep breath. "That'll take all day." "Then it'll take all day. And all day tomorrow, if that's what's necessary."

497

They worked carefully, wending their way through some of the most stunning pieces either of them had ever seen. Bracelets, rings, necklaces, earrings, even tiaras, were opened and examined, before being carefully replaced. One piece in particular reduced Diandra to tears—a dainty locket with a miniature photo of her as a baby and a snippet of her baby hair. It wasn't until toward the end of the second day that she found a set of rings that were listed in the catalog as her mother's wedding set. "I think this is it," she exclaimed, excitement turning her eyes a vivid green. She opened the box with shaking hands, then sank into her chair. "I…I don't understand." "What's wrong, honey?" She silently handed him the ring box. Inside rested a band studded with diamonds and Celestia Blushes. Nestled alongside the band sat a huge diamond solitaire. She stared unblinkingly at it, curling deeper into the chair. "Diandra?" "Why—" she licked her lips "—why would my mother have two wedding sets? It doesn't make sense. Unless…" "Unless what?" She gazed down at the ring on her finger, her chin wobbling. "Unless this isn't my mother's ring."

Chapter Six "I don't understand," Diandra repeated, staring down at the ring on her finger. She stood and distanced herself from the table. "Why would my mother have two sets of wedding rings? It doesn't make sense. Unless…" She held the hand bearing the ring in question out toward Jonas. "Unless this isn't my mother's ring. King Stefan never said so. I just made that assumption." Jonas took his time studying the wedding set she'd handed him. They glittered coldly from the jewelry box he held. He knew the answer to her question. The issue was how much he should tell her. He flipped open the catalog and turned to the page that identified the rings they'd just discovered. Beside the description he found a photograph of Diandra's parents on their wedding day, her mother wearing the rings they'd just discovered. He stood and showed it to her. "I'm sorry, Diandra," he said gently. "It's clear from this photo that the ring you're wearing isn't you mother's wedding ring. But that doesn't mean your parents didn't love each other, regardless of what a former governess might have to say. Keep in mind, that woman's motive is purely financial. She wants her tell-all to be profitable. Claiming your parents had a contentious relationship is more profitable than a mundane love affair." Diandra gazed up at him with such utter faith and trust it nearly destroyed him. She had the most amazing eyes, the flecks of green and gold mesmerizing in their intensity, changing color with her every emotion. And right now they reflected a full range. Fear. Hope. Pleading. It was as though on some instinctive level she knew he could give her the information she needed. Hope won out. "Maybe my father gave her one set when they got married and the other when they fell in love. Or maybe he gave her the extra set when I was born." He swept a lock of hair behind her ear. Unable to help himself, his hand lingered, following the curve of her cheek. "There's another possibility that might explain the two sets." Diandra seized the suggestion like a lifeline. "What?" She rested a hand on his forearm, though he doubted she was even aware of that fact. "Tell me."

498

The words were torn from him, beyond his ability to control. "I can see a man giving his contracted bride a ring. The sort of ring he's supposed to give a princess. Something dutiful. Something befitting her station. Diamonds and Celestia Blushes. A ring that epitomizes their relationship at that point." He inclined his head toward the table. "Something like what's in that box." She cast an uncertain glance toward the official wedding set. "Go on." His voice deepened. "And then I can see him realizing how much he loves that woman. I can see him waking up one day and discovering that what had started as a political union had become something far more. He'd want to tell her how he really feels. But how? Does he just say the words? What if he's not that sort of man? What if he's not adept with words? Maybe, just maybe, he'd find it easier to show her. So he'd give her a Lovers' Embrace, two rings that join as one, just as the two of them would join together when they married. A ring that would tell her everything he didn't dare." She stared at him, her expression one of tearful elation. "Do you really think that might be it?" She leaned into him, so close he could catch the heady scent of her. He closed his eyes. "As I said. It's one possibility. And that one's as good as any other." Unable to help himself, he cupped her face. "Diandra—" "Thank you, Jonas." She lifted onto tiptoe and kissed him. It started as a tentative brushing of lips, a brief expression of gratitude and appreciation. But the instant their mouths touched the embrace flamed from casual to desperate, spinning rapidly out of control. How was that possible? He'd pushed his feelings for this woman aside years ago, hardening himself to her rejection. Yet, all it took were these few days in her company for the winter-cold part of him to erupt with new life. She was his other half. As much as he resisted that fact, the knowledge continued to solidify within him. She was his and he was damned if he'd let her escape again. No matter what it took, he would find a way to win her back—permanently.

*** Diandra could feel herself falling all over again. How was that possible? She'd pushed her feelings for this man aside years ago, hardening herself to his rejection. Yet, all it took were these few days in his company for that winter-cold part of her to erupt with new life. He was her other half. He just didn't know it. And she couldn't tell him. She'd made that decision five years ago, and nothing since had changed her mind. She would only marry for love, and Jonas didn't love her. He never had. Reluctantly, she pulled free of his arms. "We…we shouldn't. Not anymore. We had our one night together." A slight smile edged the mouth she longed to kiss again. "What's to stop us from having another?" "We've been over that already. You know I won't accept a relationship based on anything other than love." "Except for that one night we shared." She fought to meet his gaze with some measure of equanimity. "Except for that. But I have no intention of allowing it to happen again." "Unless I'm willing to declare my undying love. Is that it?" "Yes." She lifted an eyebrow and forced a light note into her voice. "Are you?"

499

His expression closed over, making it impossible to judge his thoughts. She'd found it frustrating at eighteen, and little had changed since then. "Would you believe me if I did?" She shook her head. "Not even a little." "Then it would seem, Princess, we've reached an impasse." "So we have." She turned to face the table, staring blindly at the stacks of jewelry boxes that littered the surface. "It's late. I have to get ready for King Stefan's birthday ball." "I'll arrange to have your mother's jewelry returned to the vault." "Thank you. Oh, wait." She hastened to the table and pulled out one of the boxes, the one that contained the locket with her baby picture and snip of hair. "I'd like to wear this tonight." She threw Jonas a glance over her shoulder. "Will you be there?" "I wouldn't miss it for the world." He turned to leave, then hesitated by the door. "Save me a dance. There's something I'd like to tell you."

*** It seemed like hours before Diandra could escape the receiving line. She'd seen Jonas earlier when he'd worked his way through the ceremonial introductions, greeting her with formal courtesy. He didn't give a hint of whatever mysterious information he wanted to relay, and curiosity consumed her. His gaze touched briefly on her mother's Lovers' Embrace and a hint of a frown touched his brow. It wasn't until afterward that she realized why. She was wearing the ring on her left hand. He approached the minute she was free from her duties and took her hand in his, running a finger over the ring. "This may have been a mistake." "Why?" she protested. "Maybe someone will recognize it and be able to tell me more about it." "The ring isn't the problem. It's the finger you chose to wear it on." Before she could reply, King Stefan's eldest son, Lander, took the dais to offer his father a birthday toast. It was a witty, affectionate speech that had the guests swinging between laughter and tears. It wasn't until he started to leave that disaster struck. Someone approached and whispered in Lander's ear. With a broad grin, he returned to the microphone. "I understand we have more cause to celebrate. I've just been told my cousin Diandra is wearing Jonas Tolken's engagement ring." He lifted his glass. "Here's to the newly engaged couple."

Chapter Seven Jonas swore under his breath. If he could have gotten his hands on Diandra's cousin, Prince Lander Montgomery, he'd have strangled him. He didn't know who had told His Highness that Jonas's engagement to Diandra was back on, but that error was about to create endless complications. His "fiancée" gripped his arm. "We have to do something," she said in an urgent undertone. "We need to explain—" "We…or me?" His mouth compressed. "I assume it's going to be me again." "What are you talking about? What do you mean 'again'?"

500

He didn't spare her. "Who do you think announced our broken engagement five years ago? You left right before the ball. Someone had to tell our guests that the marriage was off." "I assumed Lander or Merrick had…" She faltered. "You did it?" "It was my responsibility." "Oh, Jonas." There was no mistaking her contrition, not that it changed anything. "I'm so sorry." He maneuvered her into a corner of the ballroom, where they'd have some privacy among the stands of potted plants. Touching her filled him with a forbidden desire, the irrepressible want mingling with a sharp pain that echoed from the distant past. The two emotions battled for dominance. More than anything he felt driven to take this woman and make her his in every possible way, to put an indelible stamp on her that would keep her in his life until the end of their days. But he'd been burned once by her and they'd never fully addressed that. He accepted full responsibility for his part in that previous disaster. He shouldn't have pushed them into such a premature engagement. He should have given her time. But one look and he'd been lost. He'd gone directly to King Stefan and insisted their engagement, which had been arranged when they'd been little more than children, be announced as soon as possible. The king had tried to talk him out of it, to wait a few years, but Jonas had been afraid she'd fall in love with someone else. So, foolishly, he'd rushed her, courting her at a breakneck pace. Well, he wouldn't make that mistake again. This time he'd give her the time and space she needed. This time he'd get it right. "Take it easy, Princess," he soothed. "I'll handle everything." "How are you going to handle it?" "I'll explain it was a mistake, that the ring belonged to your mother and you're wearing it for sentimental reasons, to honor your parents on this special occasion." He took her hand in his and lifted it so the pink diamond and matching amethysts caught the light. "After all, it's the truth, isn't it?" "Is it?" A hint of despair crept into her voice. "I don't know what to think anymore. Not after finding my mother's original wedding rings. I want to believe she'd had two sets—a formal one and this one. Or rather, this half of the set." She touched the ring she wore, incomplete without its mate. "A Lovers' Embrace given to her by my father as a symbol of his love. I just wish we'd found the other part of this ring so we'd have the rest of the inscription and know for sure." Jonas thought fast. "Listen to me, Diandra. You know the one set of wedding rings we found was from when they were married—the wedding photos we saw proved that. If this Lovers' Embrace was given to her later, there could be only one reason." Diandra gazed up at him with a brilliant smile. "Because they fell in love." Jonas nodded. "That's right. You may never find the other half of this ring. You may never know the truth. But I'd say chances are excellent that the inscription that starts with 'An Enduring Contract,' ends with 'That Became True Love.' We know the pink diamond in this ring and the Celestia Blush amethysts symbolize a rare and permanent contract. A marriage contract. I'm betting the other half will have a Verdonia Royal amethyst." "Symbolizing soul mates." "Exactly. And possibly there was another pink diamond. Soul mates forever."

501

She continued to stare at him as though he were offering her the moon and stars combined with the sun thrown in for good measure. "They fell in love, didn't they?" she murmured. "Even if it started out as a political marriage, it ended up being true love." She closed her eyes, no doubt to stem her tears. "My old governess is wrong. Her tell-all book is a lie." Jonas nodded. "Yes, sweetheart. It's a ridiculous fabrication created to sell more copies." Diandra moistened her lips. "They found love, even—" She opened her eyes and they glowed a brilliant greenish-gold. "Even when it was an arranged marriage." "Even then," he confirmed gruffly. She leaned in ever so slightly, the scent of her washing over him and demolishing every bit of intellect he possessed. "Do you think if things had been different, that we—" Before she could finish her question, Prince Lander approached and slapped Jonas on the shoulder before pulling Diandra into a brotherly hug. "Congratulations, you two. I can't tell you how delighted I am that you're together again." Jonas drew back, allowing his moment with Diandra to slip away. He steeled himself for what would come next. "You were given false information, Your Highness," he said. "Diandra and I aren't engaged." He executed a sweeping bow that included both cousins. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get this straightened out before it goes any further." And with that, he headed for the dais.

*** "Aw, hell," Lander muttered. "What happened this time?" He slipped an arm around Diandra. "Did you two have another fight?" Diandra shook her head, struggling to regain her self-control sufficiently to speak. "It's all my fault," she said. "I should be the one straightening this out, not Jonas. Not after what he must have gone through last time." "That was a rough evening," Lander agreed in clear understatement. "Jonas has always been a closed book, even with Merrick—and they're best friends. But the night you left, Jonas couldn't hide how ripped up he was." A tear slid down Diandra's cheek. "I couldn't stay. I couldn't marry him. Not without love." Lander stiffened. "What are you talking about?" "My old governess came to me that night to congratulate me on my upcoming engagement and marriage." The confession escaped in a rush. "Do you remember Henny? She talked about my parents and about how contentious their relationship was. She told me they were on their way to get a divorce when they had the car accident. Henny seemed so surprised that I was willing to risk a similar marriage with Jonas when doing so had destroyed my parents." Lander's words had Diandra flinching. "It's all a lie. Your parents loved each other." He paused. "Just as Jonas loves you." Her heart quickened. "How do you know that?" she demanded. "Your ring, of course." She stared at him blankly. "What ring?" She glanced at her hand. "You mean my mother's ring?"

502

Lander looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "That's not your mother's ring. That's part of the set Jonas was going to give you the night of your engagement ball."

Chapter Eight Diandra stared at her cousin in disbelief. "This ring…" She shoved the confection of Celestia Blush amethysts and the huge pink diamond under his nose. "This ring was the one Jonas was going to give me five years ago at our engagement ball? You're certain?" "Positive," Prince Lander replied. "He practically designed it himself." "No." She shook her head. "That's not possible." "Honey, I thought Albert was going to have a nervous breakdown over all the changes. It had to be perfect. The best gemstones. Just the right inscription. This exact design…" "But we went to see Albert. He said—" She struggled to recall what the retired jeweler had told her. "He said it wasn't one of his designs." "And it wasn't. It was Jonas's." "But Merrick claimed not to recognize the ring, either." "Did he?" She thought back, stunned when she recalled that he'd never said one way or another. "No, he didn't," she confessed in wonder. "I assumed the ring belonged to my mother, and Merrick never bothered to correct me." Lander grinned. "Let me guess. If anything, he encouraged it." He shook his head. "That's my little brother. And that's why he's commander of our Royal Security Force. He knows how to get a job done." Diandra shook her head again. "He pressed me to look into the ring's background and even had the perfect person to uncover the origins." "Jonas." "He told me one other thing." The memory had tears welling in her eyes. "He told me King Stefan said this ring promises to give the wearer her heart's desire." "And hasn't it?" Lander asked gently. Her chin wobbled. "Yes, it has." Her breath caught in panic. "Or it will unless Jonas makes it to that microphone and breaks off the engagement you just announced. I have to go." She plunged into the crowd, intent on reaching Jonas before he ended an engagement that she wanted more than anything in her life. She could see him wending his way across the ballroom, his height and breadth making him easy to spot. The space between them seemed an impossible distance to cover in time. Suddenly King Stefan appeared in front of her. "Problem?" he asked, a distinct twinkle in his eyes. "The stage. I need to get to the stage before Jonas." "Before Jonas ends your engagement again?"

503

She nodded. "Please, Your Majesty." He leaned down and gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. "Uncle Stefan to you. King Stefan to all the others. Being king is what allows me to do this…." Turning, he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and started across the ballroom with a purposeful stride. Instantly a path cleared before them. They reached the dais at the same moment Jonas reached for the microphone. "Tolken," King Stefan greeted the other man. "I believe I've found something you've misplaced." "Your Majesty." Jonas executed a swift bow. "I was just about to make a brief announcement." "I have one to make first," Diandra said, and took the microphone before he could stop her. The gathering fell silent at her appearance and she offered a tremulous smile. "I'd like to make a small correction to Lander's earlier announcement. Jonas and I aren't engaged." A small groan echoed through the ballroom. "Yet," she added. "What are you doing?" Jonas demanded in an undertone. She turned to face him, still clutching the microphone. "You see, I'm not engaged to him, because he hasn't asked me. At least…not recently." The groans turned to laughter. "And I can't accept, assuming he asks, until he gives me the other half of this ring." She held out her hand. The pink diamond and the Celestia Blushes caught the surrounding lights and refracted into multihued sparkles of color. She lowered the microphone. "You do have the other half, don't you, Jonas?" Without a word, he reached in his pocket and retrieved a small, square jeweler's box. "I believe this is what you're looking for." He thumbed it open. Inside was the other half of the Lovers' Embrace she wore on her finger. It was exactly as Jonas had described it. Another pink diamond, with a quartet of brilliant purple Verdonia Royal amethysts guarding the center stone, sparkled from deep inside the box. He took her hand in his and joined the two rings, mating them on her finger. The ring clicked together, the two pink diamonds swirling together in a brilliant dance, while the Royals surrounded the Blushes. "'An Enduring Contract…'" she began. "'That Became True Love,'" he finished. "Pink diamonds for a rare and everlasting relationship. Celestia Blushes to symbolize a relationship that started as a contract of marriage. And Verdonia Royals that represent the love that sprang from it, a love between soul mates." She gazed up at him, filled with hope. "Is that how you really feel?" His look was more tender than she'd ever seen it. "I've always loved you, Diandra. This ring is my way of saying it. I love you. Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow… For the rest of our lives… You are my other half." He took her in his arms and kissed her. Around them, the ballroom erupted in cheers. It was a kiss unlike any that had gone before, maybe because this time she knew it was the kiss of true love.

*** "Have I told you how beautiful you look today?"

504

Diandra glanced over her shoulder to smile at her husband. "Only a dozen times. Not that I'm objecting." Very gently Jonas eased the knife along the seam of her wedding dress. It was Verdonian custom to sew the bride into her gown, just as it was customary for the husband to cut her free. The beaded gown slipped from her shoulders, baring her to his gaze. The locket she wore around her neck gleamed in the subdued lighting, and she traced the swirl of gemstones that had been set into the heart-shaped gold. "I wish…" She broke off and shook her head. "Never mind." "Tell me, Princess. What do you wish? If it's within my power to give it to you, I will." "I wish I could have known for sure whether my parents ever fell in love with each other. Merrick and Lander say they did. So does King Stefan." "You're worrying about that tell-all book of Henny's again, aren't you?" He turned her to face him. "They did love each other. You need to believe that." "But I'll never know, will I?" "Probably not." His eyes narrowed, and his hands slid from her shoulders to cup the locket dangling from her throat. "You know, I never noticed this before." "Noticed what?" Without a word, he reached behind her and unfastened the clasp. Retreating to the bed, he switched on the lamp and held the locket to the light. "Come look at this, honey." She joined him on the bed, peering over his shoulder at the locket. "They're amethysts. Blushes and Royals. So?" "Look at the pattern." It only took a moment for her to see it, to see the smattering of Blushes at the center, to see the Blushes darken and grow as they expanded to the outer edges of the locket, until a stunning border of Royals outlined the heart. It wasn't difficult to read the message the gemstones told. "What started as a contract," she whispered, "grew into true love." "That's my take, as well. This locket was given to your mother at the time of your birth. You were the ultimate expression of their love." She bowed her head. "Oh, Jonas." "It came full circle, love. For them…and for us." And as the night deepened, the lovers completed that circle. They were soul mates, brought together by fate and set free by love.

505

Wild West Kiss by Kate Bridges How could one little kiss land a man into such big trouble? An ex-officer of the North-West Mounted Police, forced into retirement due to a knee injury, Tom Quigley has just opened an Irish pub in the busy prairie town of Calgary. It hasn't been open for more than an hour when in walks Shawna Reid, a woman he left behind on a wagon trail nearly a year ago — a woman who claims he deserted her without a word after one incredible kiss! And now it looks as though Shawna may never forgive him. There's only one thing Tom can do. Kiss her again.

Chapter One Summer of 1890, Calgary, Alberta, NWT Tom Quigley couldn't believe there was a woman inside his pub. The last thing he expected to hear while he and his new bartender bolted his new stained-glass door to the outside of Quigley's Irish Pub was the sound of warm, female laughter coming from within. And it had a slightly familiar ring to it. He couldn't see her from the boardwalk where he stood, but she sounded pretty. And he must be an idiot for coming to such a quick conclusion. But as a former officer of the North-West Mounted Police, and now a Calgary pub owner, Tom knew that women were few and far between on the prairies. So they were amply appreciated. Tom listened to the seductive charm of her muted voice. His muscles tugged in response. He rubbed his jaw with the back of his bulky hand, then turned his looming shoulders toward Pete. "Who on earth is in there?" Pete, as slender as a pitchfork and wearing a Stetson, gripped the dangling door against the wall with his knees. He held it while Tom hammered bolts into hinges. The banging echoed off surrounding pine buildings. Pete huffed beneath the weight. "It's some woman." Tom laughed. With one hand, he easily hoisted the door. The wood felt smooth beneath his fingers. "Well, I figured that much." "She came in twenty minutes ago while you were in the shed gettin' hinges, Mr. Quigley." Pete groaned and tugged. "A sister of one of the officers inside, she said. Wanted to say hello to her brother." "I've been open for less than an hour and there's already a woman inside." "All right, you can let go of the door." Tom stood back and admired their handiwork. Ruby, blue and yellow glass shimmered in the warm prairie sunshine. Still good with a hammer and nails, as his father had proudly taught him to be in Ireland. "It's my good luck charm," Tom said, amusement rippling through his throat. "My beautiful new door from Ireland brought in a woman." Maybe what had resulted from his disastrous injury — being forced out of police duty months ago due to his injured knee, and opening this pub — might offer some hope, after all.

506

"Hello, Tom." The banker's daughters brushed by on the boardwalk, floating past him in swirls of rich fabric. They flashed their eyes and smiled. Tom knew they were both spoken for and he'd never cross the line of decency, but he nodded and smiled back, enjoying the lovely view. "'Afternoon, ladies. May I invite you to come back next week when we've got the restaurant in operation? I hired a mighty fine cook. He's French, direct from Montreal." They waved and promised they would. Tom spun around to enter his pub and meet the woman inside. He limped into the large space. Damn his knee. It had stiffened more as a result of the hammering and bending. He was told he'd never have complete use of it again. Two tables full of Mounties, off-duty constables in off-duty clothes, jumped up to greet him. "Sir," some simply said while others declared, "Staff Sergeant Quigley." He grumbled. "At ease. Please, sit down. There's no need to address me so formally. I'm no longer…" He could barely say it. "I'm no longer your commanding officer. Call me Quigley, or simply Tom." "Yes, sir, Quigley, sir." They sat. One asked, "How's the knee?" "Fine for walking. Still can't ride." It was the awful truth. A man who could no longer ride a horse was useless as a Mountie. He couldn't bend his knee fully, due to the scarring and partially missing kneecap. And there was nothing the fort's surgeon could do to help. At least by opening this pub, Tom was providing a watering hole and a fine, adjoining restaurant where he could keep his ears open to police activity, or give advice to fellow officers if any of 'em should want it. Retired in his early thirties. Retired. Tom didn't even like the sound of the word, let alone its meaning. Then he spotted her across the room and his thoughts turned more congenial. Sunshine poured through the front windows and around the back of her curvy outline. Tom lowered his hammer behind the walnut bar top and watched her. He could only see her from behind, but she enthralled him. She stood near the corner table, the men sitting on tall stools around her, talking and laughing. Her wavy black hair touched her waist. A long gray skirt swirled about her high-heeled boots, and a polka-dot blouse rippled like silk from the back of straight, feminine shoulders. It was nice, watching a woman move. She lifted a tray of ale, which Tom found curious. Did the customers have to get their own drinks? Where was the other bartender? The man suddenly appeared from the back hallway, adding another dark ale to her tray. "I think I'd enjoy being a barmaid," she said to the officers, and Tom realized she was simply joking with them. "Wouldn't I make a good one, Travis?" Mitchell Reid and his brother, Travis, both Mounties, shook their heads. "No sister of ours is going to serve ale in a pub. You'd better stick to the library you intend on opening." Oh, no, thought Tom. She wasn't here to say hello to one brother but to two. That made her Miss Shawna Reid. He straightened to attention. His pulse quickened, remembering Shawna Reid.

507

Shawna Reid and that incredible kiss. Guilt tightened his muscles. Maybe he was a hound to have left her as he had, but he'd done it for a good reason. From her point of view, though, she likely wouldn't see it as clearly as he had. But it had happened late last summer, and surely she wouldn't hold a grudge. She'd been out of town all these months, first on the cattle drive to the southern fort with her father, then, Tom had heard, she stayed in the south to visit friends. But her family owned one of the massive cattle ranches here in Calgary and Tom had suspected — dreaded — that sooner or later, he and Shawna would meet again. With more laughter and still with her back to Tom, Shawna slid the drinks off the tray and set them on her brothers' table. The two other men seated with them toasted her for organizing and starting the town's first library, set to open in two weeks. So she'd done it, thought Tom. She'd talked his ear off about her books even last summer. "We've got one too many ale." Shawna finally turned, so Tom could see her face. As clear and full of life as he remembered. She returned the tray and extra drink to the bartender at the other end of the bar, fifteen feet away from Tom. Tom braced himself, wondering how she'd react when she spotted him. "I wasn't sure if you'd like one, too, Miss Reid," the bartender replied. "Ack. This lady doesn't drink. I've come in for lunch with my brothers, but it's unfortunate your restaurant isn't open yet." She looked up and saw Tom standing there. "Well, if it isn't Miss Shawna Reid." She froze. Her hand slipped from the tray resting on the bar. Her dark eyes sparked and her ruby lips tightened. He inhaled the air between them. His square, rough body towered over her hourglass shape. He enjoyed looking at her pretty, oval face, despite the temper in her gaze. "Don't you remember me, Shawna?" "I remember you well." Fury laced her words. "Thomas Quigley." He moaned. She was holding a grudge. But then he wasn't surprised. He wouldn't be surprised if she reached out and slapped him. One, because maybe he deserved it. Two, because she wouldn't be able to help it. She'd always been a physical woman, quick to display her sentiments with her body. "Staff Sergeant Quigley," said a man respectfully in passing. "Hello, sir." Tom groaned and nodded. Turning back to Shawna, he added softly, "Please let me explain. I know how it must have looked to you." Shawna's gaze flickered over Tom's soft denim clothes. "You were a constable when I knew you. You weren't an officer then. Hardly a man held in such high regard." Before he could stop her, Shawna snatched the mug of cold ale off the bar, marched toward him and poured the ale down the front of his pants.

508

Chapter Two Shawna didn't stop to listen to the shouts of the men behind her, and most especially not to Tom's. She stalked out of the pub onto the crowded boardwalk with skirts flailing. How dare the man stare at her as if nothing had happened between them? He just received what she'd been itching to give him for ten months. A mug of cold ale down his pants! "Lordy, did you see that?" one of the old men hollered from behind her. "Reckon the staff sergeant made a fatal error where that woman was concerned." And from her brothers came "Shawna! He's an officer!" And finally from the man himself, who ran behind her and grabbed her by the elbow moments after she'd pushed through the stained-glass door. "Shawna! Why did you do that?" She whirled around, long black hair whipping the air, feet braced apart. She wrung herself from his hold and glared up at the dark devil. "Because you had it coming!" "What did I do that deserved…" he sputtered, his black hair falling across his brow, brown eyes galvanizing her to the spot "…that deserved this?" He gestured to his soaked legs. "You left me in the middle of nowhere!" The feeling of abandonment washed over her, as it had the morning she'd awoken and raced to his tent only to discover Tom had left without a word. Without so much as an explanation or a kind gesture. As if their hours of talking the evening before had meant nothing to him. As if the kiss had meant nothing. She must have meant nothing. She watched his body tense beneath the denim. Lord, he was larger than she remembered. Try as she might, she couldn't suppress the memory of his body pressed close to hers and the feel of his rough lips. He hiked his large hands to his waist. "I didn't leave you in the middle of nowhere. There were twenty other people on that wagon train, including your father and his guards. And a hundred head of cattle. You were in safe hands." "You left me, Tom Quigley. You know you did." Her mood darkened. So help him if he tried to refute her claim. "And you know what I mean." Sunshine splattered his face. His stare was bold. He seemed on the verge of disclosing something. Her heartbeat intensified. No man had the right to treat her as if her feelings weren't important. As if she gave away kisses to any man who asked. She'd been so wrong about Tom, but looking into his familiar enticing eyes, her heart ached. On the trail, Tom had been ordered to escort them to the southern fort so their cattle could be used for Mountie consumption, In his blazing red uniform Tom had deluded her to thinking that he was trustworthy and brave, and seeking the company of a good woman. One night around the campfire, ribbed by the other men, he'd even mentioned that he sometimes thought of marriage, that he wondered if he'd ever meet the right woman.

509

Well, Shawna obviously wasn't that woman. She had replayed this meeting in her mind for ten months, and here was her chance to tell him what she thought. There'd be no going back to trusting a scoundrel. Tom yanked in a deep breath, but he couldn't seem to control his panting. "All right. It's about that kiss then." She felt her face tighten into a scowl. "Was it just a kiss to you?" "A kiss on the lips between a man and a consenting woman, who happened to find some free time to spend together on a two-week journey." "Well if that was just a kiss, then consider the ale just a little spill." Laughter emanated from behind the stained-glass door. Shawna looked down to see someone's boot propping it open from the inside. The men inside were listening. And heads were turning on the boardwalk. She hadn't noticed all the people strolling by, but Calgary was a growing frontier town and it was Friday, a busy day for shopping. Tom muttered and kicked the door closed. The man behind the door yelped. "I'll not be airing my laundry in front of these men," Tom declared. His Irish brogue sometimes appeared, coloring his words when he got emotional, she knew. Then he narrowed his eyes, looking at her with suspicion. "You must have seen the large sign hanging above the door." He pointed to the green and gold lettering above his head. "It was installed last week and clearly says Quigley's Irish Pub." "I don't care for your sign." She stepped back and rubbed her arms, ready to run. "My point is you must have known I'm the owner. You must have known if you came inside today, you'd find me here." Her gray skirt swished at her ankles. When his gaze lowered down her hips to her feet, her skin tingled. "What does it matter?" "It matters because you came looking for me. Knowing I'd be here. Wanting to pour a drink down my lap for some reason." She ran her tongue along the inside of her dry mouth and deliberated. Maybe before she left she should give him a piece of her mind. An honest piece. "Actually, I did expect to find you here. I was hoping I'd find you." "Aha. I knew it. To lash out at me." Her stomach fluttered with nervousness. "To — to prove to myself that I could calmly walk in and pretend I didn't remember you. That I didn't even recall your name." He didn't seem convinced. "And what happened to that plan?" "When I saw the smirk on your face, I felt the urge to smack it." More laughter sounded from the pub. "Shawna Reid, you'll never change." "And Thomas Quigley, I hope you do."

510

Indignant, she reeled to leave. Cigar smoke drifted past her nostrils. She hadn't noticed, but half a dozen folks had gathered behind her, leaning over the railing as if watching the riders trotting past, but she suspected they were listening to the argument. A blush crept up her face. She called to Tom behind her. "I said what I came to say. Goodbye." Unexpectedly, his firm fingers grasped her waist. She let out a choked cry of surprise, but he gripped her tighter and slammed her backward into his chest. "Since you find the need to insult me in front of my men, perhaps we can call it even after this." He swung her around to face him. To her shame, the crowd tittered. She gasped at his obvious intentions. It didn't stop him. Tom swooped in low, locking her in his embrace and lowering his dark face to kiss her. "Now this is more like the hello I was expecting."

Chapter Three In the moment before his lips came down on hers, Shawna couldn't believe Tom had the gall to kiss her. In front of a crowd! Her eyes widened and her jaw must have fallen, for Tom took her chin in his warm hands and gently tilted it up toward him. His deep brown eyes gleamed with mischief and something stronger — desire — and then she felt his mouth. She wanted to object. She wanted to push him over the railing into the water trough, but it happened too quickly, and she made one critical mistake. She closed her eyes. Shawna closed her eyes and the intensity of his touch seemed to magnify. It rippled right down to her toes. His kiss was warm and gentle, a tender hello, a greeting between a man and woman who'd shared an intimate past. It was the crowd and their catcalling that brought Shawna back to her senses. She splayed her fingers over Tom's solid chest and pushed hard. He rocked back on the boardwalk. He was laughing. Already. The twinkle in his eyes and the way he struggled for breath made her blood pound beneath her ribs. She felt a tide of humiliation. "I agree," she said recklessly, "your kiss is laughable." He stopped laughing. He lunged forward, grabbed her by the shoulders and tugged her close. She fell against him, a solid wall of masculinity, and felt his lips again. His kiss was rougher this time. More demanding. Coaxing pleasure from her core and a response from her heart. When her body melted against his, she forgot about everything else and recalled a similar kiss, ten months ago beneath the swaying branches of a cottonwood in the middle of the night. They finally parted. Neither spoke. Even the crowd this time was silent, as if aware the second kiss held more serious meaning. Shawna was stunned at the feeling his kiss had evoked from her.

511

Tom stepped back, but she knew he was deeply affected. The tug of his lower lip, the rawness of his gaze, the tight way he held his shoulders. Tom Quigley had been affected by Shawna Reid, and that was just the way she wanted it. Let him be the one to ache at night, to lie awake and listen to the prairie wind blowing over fields of grass. Let him be mesmerized by the sound of emptiness. But somehow, getting even with Tom didn't hold the satisfaction she'd hoped. It made her feel more hollow. When he stepped back once more, framed by his massive, colorful door, she noticed him limp for the first time. He looked embarrassed that her eyes had flickered over his knee. She wondered if he was in much pain. Quivering with regret, Shawna turned away and left him.

*** "Shawna, you can't ignore your father forever. He wants you to join him in the kitchen and explain your side of things." Standing in the study across from her mother, Shawna continued sorting her donated books. Not even immersing herself in a good novel had worked this time to mask the pain of seeing Tom. She slid A Tale of Two Cities on top of Geography of North America. She couldn't erase the memory of Tom standing on the boardwalk, peering down at her with that expectant smile. Or erase the maddening fire of his kiss. She studied her mother's wrinkled brows and the lines of concern etched into her broad, Irish face. Shawna was weary of fighting the staid choices of men her father and brothers always introduced her to and usually ignored their questions, but she'd be kind to her mother. "The rumors have been blown to ten times the size of the truth. I won't go anywhere near Tom Quigley again. Don't worry." Her mother ran her fingers along the spine of Webster's An American Dictionary of the English Language. "Your father wants to know exactly what did and didn't happen between you and Officer Quigley. He wants you to explain what happened three days ago with that kiss outside the pub. And last summer during the cattle drive." "I know the whole town is talking about it," said Shawna, "but there's no need for the Reid men to get involved." "Darlin', you know your father. He listens carefully to everything his only daughter says. But your brothers…" Her mother opened the heavy oak door to leave, her apron pinching her thick middle. "They think it's a matter of your honor. They're proud men. They're Mounties. There's talk of forcing you two…" Shawna felt her rib cage squeeze. "Forcing us to what?" Surely not forcing Tom's hand. Surely not taking a shotgun and forcing them both to the church. "You'd best come into the kitchen and reason with the men yourself."

*** It was difficult to concentrate on pouring liquor, tossing a game of darts with his friends or making decisions about the new menu when all Tom could see in his mind was one fiery, black-haired woman lifting her lips to his. Tom left the crowded bar and entered his back office. The air was cool and smelled of fresh paint. Sitting behind his desk by the door, he took out his ledger and stared at columns of numbers. After he'd left her on the cattle drive, the first two months of separation had been the hardest. Or so he'd thought, till seeing her three days ago when her reappearance had felt like a kick to the gut. He'd repeatedly

512

gone over it in his mind — how he'd received new police orders the day they kissed but how he hadn't bothered to explain it to Shawna, how he'd saddled his horse at the break of dawn the next day, and how he'd walked straight past the wagon where she'd slept without saying goodbye. She wouldn't have wanted him to leave. But in his tent after a restless night of thinking about that kiss, Tom had known his decision was best. He was more than ten years older. He knew what a kiss like that meant. And the truth was, he hadn't wanted things to progress as quickly as she had. Not that Shawna had said anything about pushing him, but he'd felt it. He'd wanted separation so they'd both have time to think about what they expected, without being swayed by the moon and stars. After he'd been shot in the knee by the bloody whiskey traders he'd been chasing, Tom had been too ashamed to go back to her. It would have been a coward's way to return, injured and in need of help, unsure of how he was going to provide a living for himself, let alone a wife or children. And here she was. Even more beautiful than he'd remembered. A light knock sounded on the back door, interrupting Tom's thoughts. He glanced at the wall clock. Nine. Too late for a delivery. He opened the door. Travis and Mitchell Reid stood there. They were out of uniform, but they wore their guns. He didn't like that. "We've got to talk to you, Quigley. And it's got nothing to do with police business." Their demeanor was gruff. Tom didn't like that, either. "It's about your sister, isn't it?" Tom asked. "Yes, it is. Are you going to come out here, or do we have to do this in there?" Tom knew he couldn't stop whatever it was they wanted to say, but he wouldn't be pushed around by any man. He'd tell them to go to hell if they pushed too hard. He reined in his temper, but his fists grew hard. "I'll come out." Horses' hooves thundered in the alleyway. He stepped into the brisk night air as Shawna rode in. Her horse began to rear. She held tight till the mare settled, then hopped off in a blaze of loose hair and skirts. Hell, she looked wild, thought Tom. And he felt that same sharp kick to his gut. "Who do you think you are?" She glared at Tom first, then her brothers. "There won't be any discussion about me, without me being present!"

Chapter Four Fuming, Shawna planted her hands on her hips. Her brothers were unbelievable! Blazes, how could they think she'd allow them to force their unwanted opinion on either herself or Tom, on the heated debate of marriage? Peering at Tom who stood across from her brothers in the alleyway, she felt like a breathless girl of sixteen. By the dim light of the moon, she caught the cold glimmer of fury in his expression, the hardened tone of his muscles beneath his black denim shirt. It was strange, but she felt closer to Tom as a result of being on the same side of this argument. Neither of them wanted a shotgun marriage. "Shawna, this doesn't concern you," said her older brother, Travis. He straightened next to Mitchell, both of them big and intimidating.

513

But she wouldn't be threatened. "Tell me you're pulling my leg. It's the two of you who should ride back to your barracks and leave me be. This whole discussion is about my future!" "Nothing's been said yet," said Mitchell. "And I don't think you should say it." Tom, silent until then, stepped forward. Shawna studied the lean, dark face. Her feelings for him toppled her reasoning. How could she be so mad at Tom, yet so caught up in him at the same time? This was the first time, she realized with restraint, that she'd had any compassion for his point of view. "We've got to say it." Her older brother hitched a hand into his jacket. "You've compromised our sister. Kissing her in the street like she was some — some — wench you found in the pub. And some of our father's men have spoken up and told us what they witnessed on the cattle drive last summer." "Stop right there," threatened Tom in a grizzly voice. "You don't know what you're talking about." But to Shawna's dismay, her older brother continued. "Quigley, you had a tent to yourself on the trail. Some of the men think she slept there with you." "Travis!" Shawna exploded. "How dare you talk like that?" But Tom was even quicker to respond. To her horror, he lunged at her brother. Tom swung first and hit her older brother in the gut. Travis groaned and swung back but Tom ducked to avoid it. In that one petrifying fraction of a second, she recalled that Tom had once confided he enjoyed boxing as a sport. But that was before he'd been injured. "Stop it!" she shouted. Mitchell dashed to her side and pulled her back. "Two men against one isn't fair, so I'll sit out." "Stop them, Mitch!" "I can't." Shawna buried her face in her hands, pivoting from the fighting, but shuddering with the sound of fist on flesh. "You'll marry our sister!" "I won't be forced by you or any man to marry any woman!" Tom hollered back. She stilled, pretending she wasn't going to interfere. Her quiet plan worked, for when Mitchell's hands slackened on her arms, she broke free and flung herself between the fighting men. "Animals! Stop this!" They came to their senses. Bedraggled, her brother lowered his fists. He swiped at the cut on his lip and swore. His shirt was ripped at the shoulder. Almost afraid to look, she turned toward Tom. His shirt hung out of his pants and his face pounded with anger, but his mouth wasn't cut. His shirt wasn't torn. A flush of pride filled her.

514

"What do you think, Mitch?" asked the older brother. "Well, he certainly held his own. A bit slow on his feet, but he used his head and let you do the circling, which shows some intelligence. He's got a mean right punch. He's certainly not an invalid like we feared." Shawna gasped. "You were testing him?" Mitchell shook his head. "Not exactly. We meant every word we said. And did you notice, big brother, the crowd going into his pub tonight? I do believe he can afford the care and upkeep of our fine sister." Then he shouted to Tom, "We insist you marry her. We'll give you two days to think about the when and the how. And not a day more." "Go to hell, both of you," growled Tom. Mitchell laughed and turned to Travis. "I like that about him." "Yeah, me, too." The older brother turned and headed down the alley toward their horses, hitched in the main street. "Mount your horse, Shawna, and we'll escort you home." "You'll do no such thing. I'll get home on my own." "I'll ensure she gets home safely," added Tom. Travis sighed and looked at Mitchell as their boots crunched on the pebbles. "Do you see what I mean about them?" Mitchell grumbled. "It's a good thing we came." Shawna turned back to Tom, still furious at her brothers and entirely caught up in those emotions. "I apologize for my brothers. They think they know best about my life." "They both need a good thrashing." Tom lowered his fists to his sides, clenching and unclenching his fingers. He rubbed his jaw with a sliced hand, twisting his mouth from side to side. She tried to shut out all awareness of him, but was suddenly mindful that they were completely alone. In the dark with no witnesses this time, with no barriers to what they might say to each other. She inhaled the comfort of his nearness, for she had a lot to say. But he beat her to it, dashing the longing in her heart. His black hair shone in the moonlight, messy from the fight. "I won't be forced to marry you, Shawna. I'm a man who makes my own decisions." She pulled away. Did he think she'd sent her brothers here? There had never been talk of marriage between them. It was only her brothers who'd brought it up, and she didn't care for the manner in which they'd treated her, speaking about her as if they were negotiating for the sale of a hog. But the one hurting truth that had come out of this was that Tom obviously didn't want to marry her, even if someone put a gun to his head. She hadn't expected marriage from Tom, but the fact that he was doing everything in his power to let her know he didn't want her hurt. "Step inside the second door." Tom pointed to his left, to the entry that was attached to his pub. "That's the back door of my house. I'd like to clean up and then I'll get the bartender and his wife to escort you home. But first I think we've got a few things to say to each other." Too upset to move or agree, Shawna watched Tom hitch her horse to the post. She would have appreciated a smile, but he offered none. Hesitant but realizing they'd better talk and agree on how to handle her brothers, she climbed the two steps into the warmth of his home.

515

It was a mistake. She should have left, she thought, peering at the quaintly carved furniture of Tom's large kitchen, peering at the man himself bending over a bowl of water and rolling up his sleeves. It was torture to be this close to Tom and have to keep her distance. His deep voice startled her. "There's a lot going on here, Shawna." He rubbed a thick towel across his wet black brows, finished drying his hands, then came to stand in front of her, firm and persuasive. "So let's get this said and done between us."

Chapter Five Tom knew it was dangerous to bring Shawna into his home, for her to possibly be seen again, alone with a bachelor. But he knew no one had witnessed them coming indoors, so her reputation wouldn't be further sullied. And therefore her damn brothers couldn't blame him for more trouble. Tom's chest muscles ached from the fight. His bad knee had twisted and he could barely move without wincing, but he returned the towel to its keg on the plastered wall without complaint. "I figured my home would give us the space and freedom to talk." He'd already lit the kerosene lamp and it filled the room with an intimate, orange glow. It cast shadows on the curves of her face and added depth to her hips and waist. She skirted past him, her face flushed with color. "It seems we have nothing more to say." Lifting a square box made of mahogany wood, she ran her fingers along the polished edges. It was a trinket box his sister had sent from Ireland and one he cherished. "The wood's silky smooth. It's captivating." She was captivating, standing there caressing it. With her sparkling black hair blown back from the wind, her top button undone at the collar exposing a flash of creamy skin, she was something to look at. He leaned a limber shoulder against the wall, noting how feminine she was compared to his bulk. "You may not have anything more to say to me, and I don't blame you, but I'd like to start with an apology." She lowered the box to the sideboard and her protests faded to a hushed stillness. "Dammit, Shawna, I can't even jump on a horse to escort you home. What proper way is that to court a lady?" "I've heard you can still drive a buckboard. And a buggy. That you can straighten your leg in those and ride for miles." Still, he felt so inadequate. So much less than he used to be. He moved to bridge the distance between them, but she escaped him once again, preferring to peer into the glass case filled with his collection of beer steins. "Is it so bad?" she whispered, turning her head and focusing her attention on his knee. "Only when someone tries to wallop me." "Sorry about that." They dismissed the subject of his permanent injury, but he knew it held great importance to them both.

516

"I'd like to apologize for leaving you last summer without an explanation." He detected a throbbing pulse along the base of her throat. "I wondered what happened to you. What I'd done to scare you off." Regret washed through him. "I had orders from the commander to join the troops at the southern fort. The whiskey traders going back and forth across the border were getting out of hand." "But as I understand it, you received those orders the day before. The morning of the day we spent together. Before you kissed me." "That's true." "So you had an opportunity to explain it to me. But all day you sat on your hands. You said nothing when we played cards with the cook and his wife, and then when we went riding over the crest to see the owl's nest." Her words brought another tingle of shame to his brow. "And when I made you tea, you were silent. And when you helped draw water from the river to wash my hair. Later, when you shared your book of short stories with me, you laughed as if we didn't have a care in the world." "True. It's all true. But I'm more than ten years older than you are, Shawna. Your father expected a lot from me. The commander expected more. I saw the need to pull back to give us both time to think about where it was headed. I planned on meeting up with you again when your wagon train arrived at the fort. When a bit of time and distance clarified how we might have felt about each other." "But you never came back." Bitterness spilled into her voice. "And I think you were a coward not to face your feelings." There it was, out in the open. The skeletal truth. Tom struggled to maintain his composure. "Two months later when my duties were completed, they promoted me but I could no longer walk. How could I return to face you? In my work, I tried office duties for a while, but sitting behind a desk wasn't for me. I didn't have anything to offer you. It's not easy for a man to lose his job." The air clouded with unease. She was the first to break the cool silence. "Did you catch the whiskey traders?" "Yeah, we caught all nineteen men." He gestured to his knee and his voice grated. "But they're the ones who left me with this parting gift." Shawna looked at him with such gentle empathy in her dark eyes that he was struck with a physical force, and the realization that he'd left her with a parting gift as well. The pain he'd caused may not have been a physical wound, but to a woman opening up her heart, sharing her thoughts about life and family and stories of growing up, she must have felt abandoned. He could see in her eyes how much he'd hurt her. "I'm sorry," he murmured, coming closer.

517

She slid out from his rough grasp, causing him to moan at her escape. But relentless, he pursued her along the darkened hallway. Grabbing her shoulders from behind, he circled his arms around her and lowered his face to her hair. "I'm sorry, Shawna. I didn't realize." He felt her stiffen. While he rocked her gently from side to side, with his chest pressed against her back, her tenseness faded. They stood together, drifting back to a night that had been so powerful in its grip on his heart that he'd felt the need to escape. He inhaled the scent of her hair, fighting control. His large hands slipped up her arms, over the soft cloth, exploring the muscles beneath. He ran his fingers along the inside hollow of her elbow. She relaxed and leaned backward, letting out a low moan of pleasure. "What are you doing to me, Shawna?" he whispered into her hair. "What are you doing?" Unable to stop himself, he kissed her ear. She tilted her head in response and he felt his stomach tighten. Lost in the rapture of wanting her, he brushed his hot lips against her throat, nuzzled his nose against her skin, puckered her downy flesh with his mouth. Sliding his hands up her waist, he caressed the curve of her abdomen, enjoying the smooth feel. With pulse leaping, he cupped the swell of her bosom. Her breasts were encased in a corset that pushed them up toward the sky. She felt tantalizing beneath his touch as he conjured images of disrobing her. When he felt the sharp tug of her breathing in response to his gentle rub, he knew he was a goner.

Chapter Six When Tom kissed her throat, Shawna tried but couldn't break away. Everything was new to her. His touch. His kiss. The way he wove his fingers behind her neck. She dare not think of how she'd feel if her brothers knew, or what others would say. She was allowing Tom to kiss her, to touch her breasts and hold her tight with no promises of matrimony. It was irresponsible. Standing in the dim light of the hallway, he clung to her from behind, tracing her breasts with his fingertips. She closed her eyes and savored the current that connected them. Her heart turned over in response with every touch, every stroke. Lower, below her back, she felt him grow rigid. He pressed his straining shaft against her buttocks and she leaned back, savoring the feel of him, letting him know how affected she was, and how much she wanted him to make love to her. "This is insane," he murmured, kissing her cheek and finally spinning her to face him. "Do you realize where this is leading?" "I do and I want it." He groaned aloud and her excitement surged. Looping her hands up around his neck, she inhaled his scent. She felt the thudding of his heart against her breast. She studied his dark profile, the silhouette of his straight nose and firm lips. His broad shoulders heaved with his breathing and she was drugged with pleasure. He lowered his smooth forehead against the plane of her brows, kissing her eyelids lightly then seeking her mouth. She didn't hold back. With one large hand, he held her face. The other he planted on her backside. The combination of his soft mouth exploring hers while running his firm hand along her buttocks made her pulse race.

518

When he lifted her off her feet, her breathing tripped. When he carried her to the darkened parlor and set her down on the sofa with his lips warm at her throat, her stomach fluttered. She felt much more for Tom than any other man she'd known. He brought her a feeling of fulfillment. They shared a joy in simple details. He made her laugh in his observations of the world and everyday folks. And the respect he received from his men was remarkable. He pulled a thick feather comforter beneath her body and made her soft and warm. His fingers found the buttons of her blouse. She entwined her own with his and they eagerly unfastened it. A shaft of light from the kerosene lantern in the kitchen penetrated the darkness of the hallway and bathed one side of them in golden rays. His cool fingers traveled down her throat and along the top sphere of one breast. His touch felt delicious, overwhelming. He kept going with his finger, grazing the tip of her nipple through the cloth until she gasped. "It feels as if you've set me on fire." He smiled and she was lost again. "You make me wild." "Please tell me," she said in a moment of seriousness, "that from this moment on you'll always tell me the truth." "I promise." He circled one nipple and then the other. And then with a firm tug at her corset, he exposed her breasts. He growled when he saw her soft pink nipples, which pleased her to no end. Lowering his mouth, he bathed her breasts with love. He clawed at her skirt, undoing the button and sliding it over her ample hips. He tugged off her pantaloons and then rolled off her stockings, taking his time to enjoy the view. She undid his shirt, undoubtedly driving him crazy with the slow pace, but feeling the need to take her time. When they were both naked, he sat her on the sofa again, planting her bottom on the soft featherbed so she was nestled in a bed of down. Then scooping her in his embrace, he lowered his body to hers and slowly entered. She was a virgin, so he took great care in coaxing her through the initial pain to try to please her. And for two wonderful hours, he became the man she remembered on the trail. Caring, laughing, attentive. "Let's stay like this forever, Shawna," he whispered as she reached her peak. Brimming with life and feeling, she collapsed in the splendor of his world.

*** An hour later, after sleeping on and off in the intimate warmth of the blankets, they made love again. "I finally have you naked in my arms." "Hmm," she murmured, smiling beneath him as he kissed her breasts.

519

He loved the way she pressed against him as if needing his protection. Maybe he shouldn't have walked away from her last summer. She was a loving, independent woman with a head on her shoulders. And during the cattle drive, when it came to family and children, he'd admired her compassion. A sheen of perspiration coated his chest as he built steadily toward another climax. They hit the mark together this time then, laughing, snuggled beneath the covers. "It's getting late, Shawna, and I'm not sure how to get you home without stirring trouble with your brothers." "They'll be at the barracks." She stared up at the ceiling, entwining her warm toes with his. "My father is a sound sleeper, but my mother will no doubt hear me come in late. But she thinks my brothers are bringing me home, so we likely don't have to worry." "Then let's get you up and dressed. Your mare is still outside and we need to get you home, so I'll have my friends escort you by horseback. I'd like to do it myself, but I can't figure out —" "Shh," she said. "It's all right." While they dressed, he watched her. His private emotions had taken him by surprise. He hadn't realized the depth and intensity of his need for Shawna. Her eyes glistened. She still hadn't spoken about her own sentiments, and he wondered if she felt as strongly as he did. He took hold of her hands and looked into her face. "Shawna, I want to be with you. I want to show you the great depth I've always felt for you, but I won't be forced into anything by your brothers. Especially not marriage." She quirked her brows. "Now what sort of thing is that to say?" "You wanted me to always speak the truth." "You could have kept that part to yourself." "We'll work this out, I promise. But privately. It wouldn't be fair to you to think my hand's been forced. Your brothers aren't —" "Stop right there. I don't want to hear another word about those two. And I never said anything about marriage. Everyone else keeps raising the topic but me. It's not that I'm against it. As a matter of fact it might be rather wonderful. But, for heaven's sake, do you realize that every time you kiss me or demonstrate your affections, you end it by either deserting me or telling me you're not going to marry me?" So she still hadn't gotten over her feelings of being deserted. How could he make it up to her without succumbing to the pressure of her brothers? Dammit, he was his own man and he'd make his own decisions in his own good time. Fully dressed, she ran her fingers through her hair. "Put yourself in a woman's place, for crying out loud!" "I've never been in a woman's place, so I can't imagine —" "That's quite enough. I've no wish to argue with you." "But no one's going to force me —" "I think I've overstayed my welcome."

520

She flew through the back door. Before he could call for an escort, he was standing in the wake of a swirling cloud of dust left by her galloping horse. Tom cursed the bloody night air. Couldn't he ever do anything right by Shawna Reid?

Chapter Seven The day after her argument with Tom, Shawna glanced out of the ranch house window every hour on the hour, half expecting to see him coming over the hill. But every time, her stomach clenched tighter with disappointment. It was no longer a kiss they were arguing about. They had made love to each other, and it stung more to be rejected after that than after any amount of kisses. They had been with each other, and Tom shouldn't care about her brothers' opinions; he should only care about hers. If he truly wanted to be with her. On day two, Shawna promised herself she wouldn't look at all for a buckboard with a tall, dark-haired Irishman, and didn't till noon. One of the ranch hands helped load her boxes of books into the wagon so she could deliver them to town for the library's upcoming opening, then they broke for lunch. It was the longest hour she'd ever experienced, sitting on the porch swing, shooing away the flies, taking a bite now and again and always, always, with her gaze drifting to the empty hill. At the end of the second day, she realized that Tom Quigley had won. Her brothers hadn't been able to force his hand. They threatened to, of course, but Shawna's sullen expression must have convinced their mother to order the men to be still. Shawna didn't know what decision her brothers had come to, and she didn't care. There was no Tom on day three, four, five or six. And then Shawna realized he would never come. On day seven, Shawna awoke with the rooster's crow. She propped open her bedroom window. The summer morning breeze rolled through, cooling her naked skin and causing her to dress quickly. She heard the clatter of men beginning their work outside. And then a holler. Her mother shouted from below. "Shawna! Come here! Looks like you've got a visitor coming!" Shawna dashed to the window and skewed her face to the glass. It was Tom, sitting in a bold new buggy, pulling up to the house. "I don't care for visitors!" she shouted. But Tom was already knocking on their door. She heard the boom of his voice, saying good morning to her mother and asking for the whereabouts of her father. That he wished to speak about Shawna. Shawna raced to the upper landing and hollered down. "There won't be any discussion about me without me being present!" Tom glanced up and smiled. Large and impressive, he cut a fine figure of a man, and she couldn't deny that. His hair was neatly buffed and his leather duster new. He clutched a bouquet of wild pink roses. "And a good morning to you." Shawna's mother grabbed her shawl and raced out the front door, saying she was going to fetch her husband from the stables. Then Shawna's brothers, Travis and Mitchell, sauntered out from the kitchen, each with a red apple in hand. Shawna knew whenever they were on patrol in the area, watching for rustlers and outlaws, they dropped in briefly to say hello and check on the herd.

521

Tom's face hardened at the sight of her brothers. "This doesn't concern you," he blasted them. "It's between me and Shawna." To Shawna's great pleasure that shut them up. Her brothers bit into their apples, chewing and watching but not saying a word. Tom glanced up at her and smiled. "Come down here where I can see you." She stalked down the stairs. "I don't want anything to do with stubborn fools." Tom tried to explain. "I thought that waiting seven days would give everyone the chance to simmer down." "Right," she snapped. "Because you're ten years smarter." Tom laughed and pulled her into the crux of one arm, overpowering her with his size. He kissed her cheek. His touch felt warm, but she wouldn't be swayed to trust him again. "Now hold on, Quigley," said her older brother. "You haven't asked for permission yet." Shawna thought she must have colored to her boots. Not because of the kiss, but because of all she and Tom had already done without permission. She yanked out of Tom's arms to the other side of the hallway. He winked at her, causing further embarrassment. "If you think I'm going anywhere with you after these last seven days, you're mistaken." Her older brother finished his apple. "That's a nice two-seater buggy you've got there. Spiffy. Looks like a racer." Tom smiled approval and ran a hand along his chest. "Shows intelligence," said Mitchell, "buying a buggy. And now we'll be on our way." "Thanks be to the stars," said Shawna. "I'll go with you." "And by the way, Quigley," said her older brother as he slid out the front door, causing Shawna's temper to flare again, "we knew you were the one when she poured that drink down your lap." "Get out!" Shawna hollered. They did and she followed, racing down the steps and panting for air. Her brothers mounted their horses and galloped away to continue their patrol. Tom's horse neighed in her path. It was a good-looking buggy, red leather and shiny silver rivets, but she had no intention of agreeing to anything Tom had to say. "Now hold on," he bellowed from the porch. "What's this? I came to visit and every single one of you is racing off!" "Because we know you're trouble!" Shawna answered. But he caught up with her beneath the shady cottonwood. "I need to say a few things. Please listen." She turned to face him. He stood rooted, dressed in his leather duster that reached to his knees, his white shirt glinting in the sunshine. The breeze lifted her hair, and from across the fields, brought the scent of fresh-cut hay.

522

"Do you like roses, Shawna? I brought you roses." She loved the way he said her name. It was almost lyrical when it rolled off his Irish tongue. His brogue was coming out again, which meant he was getting sentimental. Taking the bouquet, she pressed it to her chest. "They smell nice." "It struck me this week that I haven't been very good to you. But I've come to tell you that I love you." He paused. "I love you, Shawna." Stunned, she gripped the flowers. That's how he felt? He said it with such calm self-assurance, as if he'd known it all along. A tremor raced through her heart. He continued. "I need you by my side. I've never met a woman like you, who has the ability to make me hope that I live to be a hundred." She smiled, finally. Her soft words hummed through the air. "And I've never met a man who can so quickly turn my anger into laughter. And the other way, too." While they stood beneath the cottonwood, the leaves murmured above them and she was reminded of that bountiful kiss they'd shared on the prairies, beneath a similar tree, one evening in the moonlight. "I promise to do my best to make you happy. I'll never leave you again, or make you wonder how I feel about you." He reached out and stroked her cheek, and the tingle inside of her deepened. "Please tell me how you feel. Tell me that you love me. Will you marry me, Shawna?"

Chapter Eight "I do." Two weeks later, Tom listened with unbridled emotion as his new bride finally said the words. Shawna still hadn't told him precisely how she felt about him, but he reckoned it would come with time. She was stubborn about admitting she loved him, although he felt it in her gaze and the way she came near whenever he entered a room. Shawna was as stubborn as her brothers. Maybe, thought Tom with a slight grin, as stubborn as he himself. They stood in the hushed church, surrounded by family, Mounties and neighbors, two hundred beaming faces in total. Shawna made his pulse race with her bewitching smile, walking down the aisle in her flowing white gown, with a train so long he feared he would step on it before the evening was through. She wore ivory ribbons in her black hair, and tiny wild roses that set off the glow in her skin. But it wasn't the clothing that enthralled him. It was the woman. For his part, he was dressed in the scarlet tunic of the North-West Mounted Police, and proudly so. "You may kiss the bride." With tenderness, Tom lifted Shawna's pretty face and kissed his wife. Her lips were sweet and exciting. Tonight, he'd show her how thrilled he was that she'd chosen him. As they turned back to the priest, he couldn't help but give her an extra little pat on the rump, because he knew her brothers were watching.

523

When the ceremony was over, they raced hand in hand out the church and down the steps. The evening sun warmed his face. "Hold on to your bouquet," he whispered, then scooped her into the air. She squealed with soft laughter. "Where are you headed?" "To the pub for our reception." "You can't carry me all the way there." "Yes, I can." "But your knee." "Just watch me." His knee was feeling much better since he took to wrapping it every day, and practicing his boxing on the leather bag he'd hung in the pub's back room. The extra support from the gauze padding in addition to the exercise gave him what he needed. He'd never be able to ride horseback again, but his limp had eased. And Shawna felt like a light wisp of cotton in his arms. Friends raced behind them on the boardwalk, laughing and eager to keep up with the happy couple. When Tom reached the stained-glass door of Quigley's Irish Pub, he smiled then carried Shawna over the threshold. When he set her down, he nodded to the colorful panes. "This door is my lucky charm. It brought me you." "Now don't go talking silly. You've got such crazy notions in your head." But Tom could see she was pleased. The pub had been decorated especially for the day. The restaurant had opened last week, so the pub was divided into two tiers. One tier contained the bar and a small stage for weekly performers; the other was used for dining. For the wedding reception, neighbors had hung white streamers from the walls and had decorated the dining tables with rose petals and dried herbs. Tom had his French chef prepare the finest braised beef, the finest soups, the finest pastries. All drinks were on the house, and Tom had even managed to secure three bottles of dry champagne. He'd hired a small band, and they wove their magical notes through the air — flute, guitar, fiddle and accordion. Shawna's father, gray-haired, six feet tall and almost half as wide, came to shake Tom's hand. "Congratulations, son. I think Shawna's got herself a fine man." Nothing could have made Tom prouder. When the meal was over, the toasts made, and the dancing had gone well into the night, Tom pulled her aside. "Let's go to bed, Mrs. Quigley." "But we can't just slip away." He stole a kiss. "They'll understand. It's been a long day. We'll say good night and go home. I don't want to wait any longer." She smiled in the provocative way that always charmed him, and agreed.

524

Fifteen minutes later, he carried her through the back door. Someone had tied rattling tin cans and cumbersome ribbons to the knob, so it was difficult and noisy to open the door. Beneath his breath Tom vowed he'd pay her brothers back tomorrow, but for now, he thought only of Shawna. With the muted sounds of a fiddle and guitar playing through the wall, Tom laid Shawna softly on his bed. He'd bought new white sheets and blankets for their marital bed, and had his housekeeper scrub the floors. "You look beautiful in your gown tonight. I'm proud of you, Shawna." "You took a lot of care in the fine details, Tom, and I thank you." "I'd like to make it clear that you'll never have to work in the pub. It was something your family was concerned about, that I'd use you as a barmaid." "I won't be leaving the library. It's just getting started and every day people bring me another book or two." She ran her fingers along his black breeches and let her warm hand linger on his thigh. Her touch drove him senseless. "But I'll also be a barmaid if I want to be a barmaid." She spoke firmly. "And that decision will be totally up to me. It's proud work and nothing to be ashamed of." "That's my Shawna." He ravished her neck. "May I undo your buttons?" "I thought you'd never get to them." Slowly, he unwrapped her as if she were a gift sent from heaven. He unbuttoned the dozen tiny beads winding down her bosom, beginning with at neckline and grazing past her starched wedding corset. Her scent lingered in his nostrils, of fresh bath oils and lemon soap. And then Shawna, equally generous, unbuttoned his red jacket and ran her fingers along the inside, down his chest, over the soft cotton of his sleeveless undershirt. Entwined together, they made love. It was a long, seductive night neither one of them would forget. "Thomas Quigley," she whispered at three in the morning, making his heart stretch to the mountains. "Do you know I love you?" His throat tightened. He buried his face against her hair, blissful that she finally felt cherished enough to say the words he craved to hear. And what a fine one hundred they would live to be.

525

Caught Off Guard by Kathryn Shay Riley and Jillian's marriage was troubled from the start. Associates in the same law firm, they were both too competitive, and too into getting their own way — at work, and at home. Raised by demanding but emotionally distant parents, Jillian was used to seeing love as something that had to be earned. And though he fell hard for Jillian, Riley was never really able to get to know his wife, even after five years. Then, 10 months ago, Jillian made the worst mistake of her life... But with three days before their divorce becomes final, Jillian has returned home a changed woman to ask Riley to forgive her, and to take her back. She hopes that if she catches him off his guard in the home they once shared, she can remind him of all the good times they had. Will Riley be willing to risk his heart and give their failed marriage another try?

Chapter One Jillian Kimball exited her rented car amidst the eerie glow of the streetlamps. She stood before her home on North Boulevard in the sleepy town of Hyde Point, New York, and willed her hands not to shake. The house looked the same as it had ten months ago when she walked out of it. But she wasn't the same. She was so different, sometimes she didn't recognize the old Jillian: Yale graduate, hotshot lawyer, unfaithful wife. Shaken by being here, and by what she was about to do, she summoned the words of wisdom that had brought her back to town, words given to her by her husband's grandfather, whom she loved dearly. When you grow old, little one, you'll regret the things you didn't do, not what you did do. Drawing the key from her purse, she hefted up the travel bag she carried and began the precarious trek back to salvage some of her old life — the old life she'd so cavalierly given up. And only had a few days to recover. She made her way up the sidewalk and onto the porch. Big pillars flanked the entryway. She remembered designing them with her husband, Riley. I want the pillars tall and massive, she'd told him. It's overstated, he'd retorted. Although building their first house together had been fun, there, too, was the struggle for control. It had been painful, the need to dominate that both she and her almost-ex shared. Even though the tiffs had usually ended in bed, where everything had been glorious. Keeping that image in her brain, she faced the front door of the two-story contemporary. No lights shone downstairs, but peeking in the foyer window, she noted a faint yellow glow from their bedroom. Was Riley home? Was he alone? She angled her chin. It didn't matter. She couldn't have called; if she'd warned him she was coming, he wouldn't see her. And she believed her success in this mission depended on catching him off guard and keeping him there for the next three days. Coincidentally, the finalizing of their divorce came at the same time of their law firm's annual outreach work. Every year, businesses in Hyde Point sent their employees for a stint of do-gooding. This spring's project was giving the city's home for troubled girls a face-lift. Serenity House was a facility that had taken in troubled teenage girls for the past 15 years. Hyde Associates represented them, and when Nathan Hyde had taken a leave from his firm to run for Congress, Jillian had asked to fill in as Serenity House's attorney. She loved working with the proprietor, Nora Nolan. Consequently, Jillian had seen this opportunity as the perfect time to come home.

526

Of course, she also hoped to convince Riley not to divorce her. Going through the three upcoming days, and facing the person she'd been, and what she'd done to the only man she ever loved, scared the hell out of Jillian. But there was only one way to find out if he'd take her back. And that was to ask him. Well, that and be around so he'd remember the good things. Quietly, she let herself into the house. It smelled like spaghetti sauce — his favorite. If you cook for me tonight, I'll make extra-special love to you. It's your turn to cook for me. She shook her head. She'd give her eyeteeth to be able to cook for Riley again. She set her bag down on the tile floor. Stiffening her spine, she climbed the winding oak staircase. At the top, she drew in a breath and headed to the master suite. The door was ajar and she could hear the TV on low. I hate when you watch television in our bedroom. I like it. Use your earplugs. She stepped inside. The brass bed was messy, the covers askew. She heard water running in the bathroom. She was standing just inside the doorway when Riley came out. Naked. He froze when he saw her, his arms arrested in the act of drying his wheat-colored hair with a thick royal blue towel. His chiseled features went from startled to puzzled, to completely and utterly contemptuous. He drew in a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and lowered the towel, knotting it around his waist. His blue eyes burned cold fire. "Well, if it isn't my long lost wife." He glanced at the Rolex he always wore. "For a few more days, that is." "Hello, Riley." His voice like death, he said, "What do you want, Jillian?" Not Jill, what he usually called her. And certainly not Jilly, which he only whispered in bed. Her heart raced in her chest and her palms got clammy. But she threw back her hair and said, "I want another chance, Riley. I want to give our marriage another try." *** Riley Sullivan was dumbstruck by the sight of his wife standing in their bedroom. For a minute, he was transported back to when they were together, when they shared the events of their days, their hopes and dreams, their bodies in this very room. He'd been poleaxed when it all ended. But soon, the pain started again, like a little bud of agony blossoming whenever he remembered what she'd done to him.

527

He started to laugh. Even to his own ears it was an ugly sound. "Well, now, sweetheart, that's the best joke I've heard in ten months." Her face shadowed. Those big brown eyes were like a wounded deer's. She'd changed physically — gained weight, which looked good on her, and let her hair grow. It seemed lighter. Is it natural? he'd asked one night when they'd sat in front of the fireplace in his apartment and he rubbed strands of her blond hair between his fingers. They were just getting close, and had been dating for a month. Leaning over and grazing his ear with her mouth, she'd said, There's only one way to find out. Because she'd meant to tease him, because she'd tried to get the upper hand in their relationship from day one — and had succeeded — he'd flipped her to her back and slid her jeans down before she had time to think. It was natural. As natural and right as the lovemaking that followed. "This isn't a joke, Rye." He swallowed hard at the nickname only she called him. She added, "I want to get back together." She seemed sincere, but then she always had, even when she was cutting his soul to ribbons. To steel himself against her, he crossed to the dresser and pulled out pj bottoms. His back to her, he dropped the towel and slid into them. Then he turned around. Folding his arms over his chest, he leaned against the built-in wall unit. "On the outside chance you might mean that, let me make myself perfectly clear. There isn't a reason on this earth, a possible explanation or excuse that could make me consider that proposal. So why don't you just skulk away in the night like you did ten months ago and let me get some sleep." He crossed to the bed and dropped down on the new covers. He'd torn the others apart, literally, when she told him she'd slept with another man. I'm sorry, Rye. Please forgive me. He'd sprung at her, grabbed her roughly. Where? When? She'd trembled violently. When you were away on the Caruso case. At the Boxwood Inn. He'd shook her hard. I can't believe it. Rye, please... He'd practically flung her across the room. Get out. Now... "Riley, did you hear me?" "No. I was thinking about the last time you were in this room." Her light complexion reddened. But she raised that chin. "I said I'm not leaving. I'm staying here for the weekend." "What?" "I still partly own this house, for a few more days at least."

528

His heart pounded now. All right, he'd play it out. "Why, Jillian? Why are you here? Why are you doing this?" "Because I made a mistake. And I want to rectify it." She drew in a breath. "And because I love you."

Chapter Two "What the hell is she doing here?" Jase McKay asked on Saturday morning when Jillian walked into the meeting room where tasks for the weekend work at Serenity House would be assigned. "She came back to town last night," Riley told his best friend. "She's still got two months on her leave of absence from the firm. What does she want?" Riley drew a cup of coffee, which he needed like a junkie craving a fix. For obvious reasons, he hadn't slept well. "She says she wants me." "What?" "My sentiments exactly." Riley dropped down into a chair. "Did you tell her to go to hell?" Thinking about her stance last night — This is still my house until Monday, and I'm staying in it — he got mad all over again. What right did she have to prance in here and disrupt his life? Losing her last year had almost killed him and he was just getting his equilibrium back. "I tried booting her out. She does still own half the house." "Son of a bitch." "Look, I —" "There you are, my boy." Riley turned to find his grandfather behind him. One of the few things that brought a smile to his face during this difficult year was this man who had raised him. Still big and burly, Mick Sullivan was almost eighty and retired, but he showed up every year to partake in the firm's charitable work, doing whatever he could to give back to society. "Hi, Grandpa." Hell, he hadn't thought about Mick's reaction to seeing Jillian. At one time, the old guy thought she walked on water. So did you, buster. Well, they were both wrong. "Mick, I've got to tell you something." Riley stood and slid his arm around his grandpa's shoulder. "Come sit down." But Mick had glanced to the back of the room before Riley could warn him. "Oh, good God." For a split second, everything froze. Looking fragile in painter's pants and a T-shirt, with her hair tied up in a youthful ponytail, Jillian stopped dead in her tracks. Then, she flew across the room and, stunning Riley, launched herself at his grandfather. Mick caught her, and scooped her up in a big hug. "So, little one, you came back."

529

Jillian nodded. Riley was further shocked when she pulled away and there were tears in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. This from a woman who had no time, or use, for tears. "It's so good to see you." "Shouldn't have left in the first place, girl." His grandfather tried to sound stern, but Riley could hear the joy in his voice. Damn her. She'd hurt a lot more people than just him when she hit the sheets with Rafe Santilli. To avoid the sight of her gone all soft and feminine, Riley walked out of the room, out of the house, and onto the porch. Fresh air made him feel better. Dropping down onto the wooden swing, which needed sanding and restaining, he sipped his coffee and tried to harden his heart. "Want to talk?" Jase had followed him. Riley shrugged. Jase leaned against the railing. "You okay?" "I'm numb. Pissed." And something else. The smell of her had lingered in the bedroom after she left last night, and the sound of her moving around down the hall had called to him. And then he'd dreamed about her. How her skin felt. How she whispered, "Rye" when he was inside her. He'd slept fitfully, and awakened hard and hungry. For Jillian Kimball, a woman who'd been his wife for five years but refused to share his name, always kept a part of herself invulnerable and never let herself go with him. Jase was talking. "Well, the divorce is final Monday. I'll make sure she signs the papers." Also a lawyer, Jase represented him. "Yeah." The thought of that final act of severance made Riley's heart constrict, as if he were about to lose a limb. "You gotta hold out till then." "Yeah," he repeated. "Anything I can do?" "Just be my friend, like you have the last year." When Jillian had broken his heart, shamed him in front of the entire firm, and changed him irrevocably. Best to remember all that.

*** The May sun beat down mercilessly on the peaked and gabled roof of Serenity House. Her face damp, her hair limp and sweat running down her back, Jillian lifted the hammer and pounded one of the shingles into place. Her shoulders ached and her fingers were numb. From not too far away, Riley mirrored her actions, but kept darting glances at her. He looked tired today. She'd heard him prowling around last night, had wanted to go to him and soothe him, like she used to. Let me put you to sleep, Rye. Hmm. Sounds good.

530

I love you. I love you, too. "Ouch." Damn, she'd missed the nail and hit her finger while she was daydreaming. "What's wrong?" Riley yelled over. "Nothing. I just hit my hand." His face reddened with pique. "Damn it, you shouldn't be up here." "Why?" She angled her chin. "Don't tell me you've gone chauvinist in the last ten months?" "I've changed a lot, Jillian." His tone, and the finality in it, chilled her. She focused back on the shingle she held, ignoring the throbbing in her hand, and the jagged pain in her heart. "Why the hell are you up here? You used to be afraid of heights." Hard work, the kind you sweat at, clears the head, and heals the soul. She'd taken Mick's words to heart when she was away, and had done a lot of volunteer work. Among other things, it had brought her to where she was today. She hissed in a breath as the hammer found the same finger again. Swearing vilely, Riley crossed to her. Precariously — they were twenty feet up and on a slope a mountain goat would have trouble navigating — he knelt down beside her. "Let me see." Her immediate reaction was to resist. To say she could take care of herself. But that was the old Jillian, the old relationship. She held out her hand. He whipped off his gloves, then one of hers. His hands were beautiful, long, tapered, sprinkled with dark blond hair. She remembered what magic they worked on her body. "Shit, Jill, your hands are all swollen." "I'm fine." He stared down. "What happened to the fancy manicures?" "They stopped. Like a lot of things for me." She drew in a breath. "I told you, I've changed. It's why I came back." "Where'd you go?" He looked up, his blue eyes tumultuous. This was hurting him, and she regretted it. But she had to try to rectify the horrible mistake she'd made. "To Paris." His face shadowed. They'd spent their honeymoon there. "I stayed at the Hotel du Frontenac for a while." He gripped her hand.

531

"It wasn't the same without you." He shook his head. "That was the best time of my life." "Mine, too. It's why I went back. I wanted to find what we had there." Like it was a live wire, he dropped her hand. "You weren't going to find it there." The pain on his face, the rawness of his voice, killed her. He stood and anchored his feet on the slope. His jeans were threadbare, gloving his thighs. His hips were narrow. His shoulders broad. And up here, on the roof of Serenity House, she sucked in her breath, she wanted him back so much. "You lost what we had in Rafe Santilli's bed, sweetheart. And you're never going to find it again. Why don't you just go away and stop whatever it is that you're trying to do with all this." Gingerly, he made his way to where he'd been working. Jillian watched him, seized by fear. What if she couldn't convince him to take her back? What would she do? Damn it, she wasn't giving up. You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don't take, little one, Mick had written her. Mick was right. She might lose Riley, but she wasn't giving up yet. She still had two days to convince him.

Chapter Three Riley sat on a stool in Rascal's, a Hyde Point bar that catered to the older crowd, and scanned its rich mahogany wood, its dim lighting, and a scattering of tables around the dance floor. Anything to keep from watching the door to see if Jillian would come to the firm's traditional Friday night after-work gathering. All of the outreach workers were joined by regular staff and some of their spouses. "Where is she?" Jase's voice came from behind him. Turning, Riley shook his head. "God, am I that obvious? It's bad enough she cast me as the cuckolded husband ten months ago. Now I'm cryin' in my beer in front of our whole firm?" "Nah. I just know you, buddy." Jase sipped his Molson. "Besides, everybody at Hyde Associates digs you, and thinks she's a bitch." The comment caused Riley to wince. In one of the few times he could get her to talk about their relationship, Jillian had made a comment about how Riley was so well-liked, so personable, she often felt as though she was struggling to catch up on the popularity ladder. When he'd made partner, and she hadn't, everything started to fall apart. "So, is she coming tonight?" Jase asked. "I don't know. She took Mick home." "Mick? As in your grandfather?" "Yep. The old guy always loved her. Treated her like the prodigal daughter when he saw her today."

532

He'd always treated her like a daughter. Again, Riley was hit by a memory that made him stop and think. Jillian's words about Mick: It must be so nice to have unconditional love like that. Has he been that way since your parents died? Yep. I take it for granted, I guess. She'd been quiet. So he'd asked, You never got that from your mom and dad, did you? Are you kidding? Unless I had As in every subject, was captain of the soccer team, and made all honor rolls and activities, they were distanced. Until I'd measured up again. Riley remembered thinking at the time that maybe that was why she was so competitive, so reluctant to share herself. At first those traits had challenged him, then her distancing began to eat at him and he wanted more from her. "Don't look now, but Mary Magdalene just walked in." Jase added, "With her bitchy sister." "Molly? Bitchy? I never thought that." "Yeah, well, we went a few rounds about the divorce when I called her trying to find Jillian." Riley was about to comment when his wife came into his line of vision. Once again, he was stunned by what the sight of her did to him. Tonight she wore a pretty peach dress that hugged her curves and highlighted her complexion. You look so freakin' sexy in that color, he'd once told her. She'd gone out and bought the naughtiest underwear and nightgowns, all in varying shades of peach. Damn her. She wore that dress on purpose tonight. The women made their way down the bar. Riley wondered if Jillian noticed the murmurs when she came in. He was sure she'd realized she was treated like a pariah today by everybody working at Serenity House. No one but Mick would even eat lunch with her. They blamed her for hurting Riley. Interesting, nobody had blamed Rafe. Once he'd reconciled with his wife — apparently he'd confessed, too — it was business as usual for the man Jillian cheated with. As she came toward them, Riley could see she looked tired. But her hair shone and the sun had lured out her freckles today. Again, he noticed she'd gained weight, all in the right places, which were showcased — intentionally he was sure — by the dress. "Hi, guys." Her casual tone didn't fool him. He heard the underlying tremulousness in her voice. "Jillian." He nodded to her sister, who'd always liked him, until he and Jill split. Then she'd lit into him. You know, you bear some responsibility here, too. Me? I didn't cheat. No, but you never really knew her. She's fragile. As a shark. That's what I mean. You don't know the real Jill. Well, lady, if I never knew her, it's because she didn't let me.

533

You'd think in five years of marriage you could have figured out a way to breach her defenses. He said, "Hello, Molly." Molly's dark eyes burned angrily. "Riley." And spit fire when she turned them on Jase. "Jase." His buddy spit right back. "Molly." Riley set down his beer. "I'm going to go play pool." He looked at Jase. "Come on, buddy. I'll bet I can beat you by ten." At those words, his eyes locked with Jillian's He remembered a good time in their marriage. They'd just bought the pool table for their house. Come on, babe, let's play strip billiards. Every time I sink a ball, you have to take a piece of your clothing off. Rye, we're married. You don't have to think up excuses to get me naked. Yeah? Well, sweetheart, if I win, you gotta stay that way all weekend and be at my beck and call. By Monday, he could hardly walk. It had been a hell of a weekend. He tore his gaze away from her and stalked to the pool table, vowing not to remember the good times like this, not to feel bad for her. Even when he heard "She's a bitch" and "She's got nerve" from just about all the Hyde Associates he passed.

*** Jillian could take the cold stares. She could even take the snide comments she'd gotten all day. But she wasn't ready for seeing Rafe Santilli's wife as she came out of the stall in the rest room. Marietta stood there, as if she was waiting for her. "Hello, Jillian," the pretty mother of three said calmly. Nodding, Jillian said, "Hello, Marietta." "I'm surprised to see you." Over the woman's head, Jillian noticed a woman come out of another stall and go to the waiting area. It was the firm's receptionist — and the biggest gossip at Hyde Associates. Jillian wanted to apologize, but she didn't want to hurt Marietta in the process. "I hope my showing up here doesn't make you too uncomfortable." Marietta watched her. "It doesn't. Rafe and I are doing fine." "I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that." She raised her chin. "I'm sorry for the grief I caused you." The woman cocked her head. "Fine. Apology accepted. Especially since we worked things out. Our marriage is stronger now." "I'm glad." Jillian bit her lip. Another woman joined the receptionist in the waiting area, and they stood there, eavesdropping and not apologizing for it. "Can I ask you something?" "Yes." "How did Rafe convince you to forgive him?"

534

"Is that why you came back to Hyde Point? To ask for Riley's forgiveness?" "I came back to Hyde Point because I want to stop the divorce." "I see." Marietta thought for a moment. "To answer your question, Rafe told me you were together only one time, you'd both had too much to drink, and were in bad places professionally and personally." Like her, Rafe had been passed over for the partnership. And he and Marietta had been fighting, too. Marietta smirked. "He also told me the sex wasn't even very good, and afterward, you both were sorry. That's when you decided to confess to your respective spouses and beg our forgiveness." "And you forgave him." "Well, I didn't right away. It took a while. But we have three kids, and..." The woman's eyes clouded. "I love him." Jillian felt her throat close up. "I'm so sorry." "So you say." Marietta threw back her shoulders. "I no longer bear you a lot of ill will, Jillian, but I really can't wish you the best in life." She turned around and caught sight of the women behind her, who promptly scurried out the door. "Oh, dear." She looked back at Jillian. "I'm afraid this wasn't very private, but then the whole affair leaked out, so..." "It's okay." Word of her apology would get back to Riley. Maybe it would take away some of the sting of how she embarrassed him. After Marietta left, Jillian sat down on the lounger to still the shaking of her hands. When she garnered her courage, she left the rest room. It was an hour later, as she sat with Molly and tried not to watch Riley dance with other women, that he approached her. "Come outside with me. I want to talk to you." He didn't sound happy. He stalked ahead of her out the door to the parking lot, to his car. She'd surprised him with the sporty Miata as a thirty-fifth-birthday present. When they reached the car, he rounded on her and grabbed her roughly by the forearms. His fingers bit into her. "What are you up to with all this shit?" "All what shit?" "Damn it, Jill. You had to know it would get back to me. Groveling to Marietta." "All right, I did know. I wanted to make up for embarrassing you in front of our colleagues." He shook her, his face lit with anger. "You can never make up for what you did to us." "Please, let me try." "No. Not even if you did confess your sins in front of the firm's receptionist, who's broadcasting it from here to eternity." Jillian closed her eyes. How could she change his mind?

Chapter Four

535

Suddenly he pulled her close. "And what did she mean, the sex was lousy? Didn't you enjoy having his hands on you?"

That brought moisture to her eyes. "No, I didn't. The only touch I ever enjoyed was yours." She moved in close. Aligned her body with his. Felt his respond. "I crave your touch, Rye. Only yours." "Damn you," he said as his mouth came down on hers. It was a punishing kiss. At first. He was rough and angry. But then the tenor changed to desire. His arms banded around her, and his hands closed over her bottom. He grasped her tightly, and consumed her. His tongue was everywhere, staking claim to her mouth. He moaned, sunk deeper into her, ground his body into hers. Jillian was lost, finally being in his arms again. She gripped his shoulders, whimpered when he took her mouth voraciously. Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. He yanked himself back and thrust her away from him. "I'm not going to do this." She just watched him. He raked a hand through his hair. The stars twinkled down on him, and the moon highlighted the dark gold strands and outlined every tense muscle in his body. "Is this what you planned? To seduce me into taking you back?" She faced him squarely. "I'll do anything to get you back." "Well, it'd take a lot more than a few hot kisses and a couple of cheap feels to do that, sweetheart." When she continued to stare at him, he said silkily, "Surprised that you can't bring me to my knees like you used to?" "I don't want to bring you to your knees. I just want to love you." His eyes widened and his hands fisted at his sides. "Go to hell, Jillian." Yanking the keys out of his pocket, he flung open the car door, and slid inside. Then he tore out of the parking lot. Jillian raised her fingers to her mouth. It was swollen from his kisses. She savored the feel and taste of her husband as she watched the taillights of his car disappear into the night. Mick's words in one of his last letters came to her. The hardest thing in the world is to watch what hurting the ones we love has done to them. It takes real courage, little one, to face that. For the first time since she made her decision to return to Hyde Point, Jillian wondered if she had the courage to see this through.

*** "Riley didn't come home last night." Jillian sipped a cup of coffee and stared at the paintbrush in Mick's hand. On this bright and beautiful Sunday morning, she'd volunteered to do the trim on the back portion of the house and Riley's grandfather was helping. "He didn't?" She shook her head. "He spent the night at Jase's. I heard them joking about it — how it was just like old times when they were roommates."

536

"Can't let him avoid you if you want to break down his defenses." "I know. I didn't plan on him not coming back to the house." She raised sad eyes to Mick. "What if I can't change his mind, Mick?" The old man stood and held out his arms. "Come here, girl." She went into his embrace, wishing just once her father would have given her this kind of comfort, this kind of support. Maybe she would have turned out differently. Mick smoothed down her hair and crooned to her. "You've got to give it your best shot. That's all you can do." "I know," she mumbled into his shirt. "What's going on back here?" It was Riley. His tone was gruff. "Nothing." Mick held her neck when she tried to draw back. "Jill here was just feeling a little light-headed." She managed to pull away and face Riley. If she was overwrought, he looked ravaged. He stared hard at her, then glanced at the ladder. "Then stay off that damned thing," he said and stalked away. Mick mumbled, "Mmm. Looks like he's not so immune. Maybe I can feed the fire." "Don't, Mick. He'll just get mad at you." "I love that boy. I'll be damned if I stand by and let him make the worst mistake of his life." He cleared his throat. "Now, let's get to work." Jillian was on the top rung of the high ladder painting trim in the midafternoon sun when she did indeed feel light-headed. Time to stop. Mick had gone for something to drink and she was alone. She didn't want to break her neck. Placing the brush in the can, she gripped the rails of the ladder. For a minute, she rested her head on one of them. "Get the hell down from there. Mick's right. You're a stubborn broad." Drawing in a breath, she descended the ladder. When she got near the bottom, she felt strong hands grip her waist. And then she was lifted from the rungs and set on the ground. He held on to her. "What are you trying to prove?" "What do you mean?" His hands flexed on her waist. They felt so good there. "Mick said you weren't feeling well. You shouldn't be up on that ladder." "I'm —" She was about to say she was fine, but his hands were still at her waist and so she decided to take advantage of his closeness. She leaned back. "I, um, I'm just tired. And not used to this heat." She could feel his muscles against her back. He was almost a foot taller than she, and his chest was big and safe. She sucked in a breath at the feel of him. She'd given up so much. "Jill?" "I'm fine. I —" She pivoted and his arms seemed to automatically encircle her. She stared up at him. "I miss you so much, Riley. Especially when you're close like this."

537

His blue eyes gave the sky competition. They were crystal clear today, but sad. "It's no use, Jill. Like I was telling Jase last night, even if I wanted to give our marriage another shot, I could never trust you. What kind of relationship would that be?" "Maybe —" "Rmmm. Rmmm." Startled, Riley looked up. Jill saw a little boy about five with two sticks in the shape of a cross come around the side of the house. Jase's son, Riley's godchild. "Hey, Tommy, where's your dad?" Riley asked. "You know he said to stay close." "Went to pee." Riley chuckled. He let go of Jill and crossed to the boy. Bending to one knee, Riley whispered something in his ear. The boy said, "Oops, sorry ma'am." Jill tried to smile, but the sight of her husband with the child robbed her of breath. They should have had a baby. Like Rafe and Marietta, maybe they wouldn't have given up so easily. Riley had stood and was looking at her, as if he'd read her mind. Then Tommy took off and Riley followed him without saying more. I could never trust you. Slowly, she crossed to a table to get some water. She poured a glass and sat down. She was thinking about how she would lose everything if she couldn't convince Riley she'd changed, when little Tommy zoomed back around the house. This time he carried two makeshift planes and was pretending to fly them. Leaning against the picnic table, she watched him. He was about ten feet away, farther back in Serenity House's yard, where they'd piled the leftover shingles from the roof. Tommy ran in circles, then veered off. Right toward one of the stacks. "Tommy, don't —" Her warning to stay away from the building materials hadn't even left her mouth when he sideswiped the shingles. It seemed to happen in slow motion.… The stack wavered, Tommy looked up...and Jillian bolted to him. She heard a male shout just as she reached the boy and scooped him up and out of the way. Hard heavy shingles tumbled down behind her as she managed to dart clear of them. But momentum carried her too fast, right into bags of cement that were stacked off to the side for the new walkway. Turning her body, her right shoulder hit them, sending pain splintering down her arm. She and Tommy tumbled to the ground to the sound of a voice yelling, "Jill.…"

Chapter Five Nora Nolan, the supervisor of Serenity House, stood in its kitchen with Dr. Paige Kendrick, a former resident of the home, as the doctor checked out Jillian. Riley sat on a chair across from her, his heart still in his mouth.

538

"I'm fine, Paige, really." Jillian winced, though, as Paige probed her shoulder. "Gotta lift this shirt up, Jill." From where he sat, Riley could see Paige tug at Jillian's T-shirt. Underneath, she wore a pretty peach bra. Beneath the right strap a bruise fanned out to either side, discoloring quickly. "Well, you got a hell of a black-and-blue mark." Gently, Paige examined her. "But that and your leg look like the worst of it." She pulled down the shirt. "You're going to be sore, though. You took quite a tumble, from what Riley said. Use ibuprofen for the pain." Jill glanced at him. He'd never forget the sight of her, racing to Tommy, scooping the little boy out of harm's way and heading for the pile of cement bags. They didn't have much give and she pivoted quickly to take the brunt of the contact. She'd willingly risked her own safety for Tommy. Nora frowned. "You should go home, dear. The day's work is almost over. I'd be glad to drive you. I think you're a little woozy to be behind the wheel." "I'm headed back into town," Paige said. "I could take you." Riley stood. "I'll take her. She's staying at my place anyway." Nora and Paige exchanged quick looks. Hyde Point was small; it was common knowledge that Jill had cheated on him and he'd kicked her out. But today, with the images of her in physical danger imprinted on his mind, he didn't much care what anybody else thought. Not that Nora or Paige would gossip. Jill stood and winced again. She glanced at Riley. "I'd appreciate the ride." Paige snapped her bag shut. "Good to see you again, Jill, though not under these circumstances." She smiled. "Are you back from your leave of absence?" Jill had done some legal work for Paige's medical practice. "I don't know." She shook hands with Paige. "Thanks for checking me out." "I'm glad I decided to stop on my way back from the med school and see what was happening here." When Nora and Paige left, Jill and Riley were alone in the kitchen. He watched her. "Thanks for what you did for Tommy." "Anybody would have done it." "You risked your own safety. Jase is grateful. He almost broke down when he found out what happened." "Maybe he won't hate me so much now." "Maybe." "Maybe you won't either." "I don't hate you, Jill." "No? Then prove it."

539

His uh-oh detector went off. "How?" "Take me home." "I said I would." "Have a beer with me." "Okay." "And give me one last chance to change your mind. About us." He had a vision of her naked and under him. It was not at all unpleasant. "How?" "Let me tell you why I think I did what I did and explain what I've learned from it, how I've changed. If you still want the divorce after that, I'll sign the papers." "Jill, I —" "Is that too much to ask, Riley? Another hour of your time? We were together five years." "All right. But I warn you, I don't think it'll do any good." Her shoulders sagged; she wavered and gripped the end of the table. He was beside her in seconds, sliding an arm around her waist. "Come on, let's go home." *** Jill leaned her head back against the Jacuzzi and let the steaming water ease the aches she felt everywhere. The huge bruises on her shoulder and leg had caused Riley to gasp when she came downstairs from changing. This hot tub was just what the doctor ordered, though it had had many uses in the past. They'd made love out here several times. The sliding doors hissed open. Riley had hooked two beer bottles by their necks with one hand and closed the door with the other. In the six o'clock sunlight, he looked absolutely gorgeous. The hair on his chest was a few shades darker than the sandy strands on his head, and he was more muscular than he was months ago. "Here you go." His tone had lost its edge since she'd kept his godson from harm. "Thanks." She took the beer and sipped it. He climbed in the tub, making the water swish around her neck. Sighing, he closed his eyes. "I can't fathom what it would have been like for Jase if something happened to Tommy. Since Mary died, the kid has been his world." Jase's wife had been killed in an accident right after Tommy was born. He opened his eyes and smiled sadly. "We should have had a baby." "I was thinking about that earlier." "You wanted to wait." "I wish we hadn't. I wish we had that to bind us together."

540

He stared hard at her. "I never understood.… I just couldn't believe you'd cheat on me. I know we had problems in our relationship — we were both so hardheaded and inflexible about things — but it didn't warrant turning to another man." "Of course it didn't. The cheating was totally my fault." His tone was soft, resigned, when he said, "Why'd you do it, Jill?" It was time to bite the bullet. "I was always afraid of you, Riley." "Afraid, why?" "You were so well liked, so sure of who and what you were." "So were you." "No, I wasn't. I wanted you to think I was, but I wasn't. I'm not using this as an excuse, but my parents' approval and love were always so hinged on what I did, how good I was at things, that I never felt worthy of love unless I earned it." "Did you feel you had to earn it with me?" "Yes, of course." "I never knew that." "It's why I felt so competitive with you, that you couldn't best me in anything or somehow, I wouldn't have your approval." "Jill, that's crazy thinking." "It wasn't conscious. I didn't admit it at the time." "When did you realize it?" She took a swig of beer for fortification. "Mick helped me see it." "My grandfather?" "Yes. Mick and I corresponded while I was gone." "No, that's impossible. He would have told me." "I asked him not to." She could see anger color his face. "He shouldn't have done that." "Well, I'm glad he did. He really helped me to see how I was behaving with you, and why. He'd been around for our whole relationship and I'd talked to him about my dad. So he knew my background." Riley let out a breath. "You should have talked to me. You should have let me in." "I wasn't good at letting people in."

541

"I was your husband, damn it." "I know. I'm sorry." He sighed heavily. "It doesn't matter anymore. What you did can't be taken back. Goddamn it Jill, you slept with another man because I got a promotion and you didn't. Do you know how that makes me feel?" "As I said, I was afraid if I didn't measure up, if I wasn't perfect, you'd stop loving me, too. Or withhold your love, like they did." "You sold me short. The only thing that could have made me stop loving you was your turning to another guy." Mick had written something to her in a letter. It's amazing how we manage to bring about exactly what we fear in life by trying so hard to prevent it. It's like when you're driving a car and you tell yourself not to steer across the white line; but if you concentrate too hard on the white line, the next thing you know you cross it. "I've learned from my mistakes, Riley. I'd be a different kind of wife now." "You mean you wouldn't cheat again if we got back together." "Of course I mean that. But I also mean that I wouldn't keep myself closed off. I'd share more with you." He gulped his beer, then looked her in the eye. "I'm sorry, Jillian. It sounds like you're sincere, and that you may have changed, but I can't take the risk." Tears clogged her throat. "Won't you even consider it?" "No. It's too much to ask. You don't understand how devastated I was when you went to Rafe. I thought I'd never stop hurting. Now that I have, I can't give you another shot at me. I wouldn't survive it if you cheated again, or if this change in you wasn't permanent." He stood and climbed out of the tub. "Don't stay in here too long, after your injury today." And he walked into the house. With him went the one last hope Jill had. She waited until she heard the door close before she let the tears come.

Chapter Six "I hope she's gone." Liar. Liar. Liar. "Shut up," Riley told the inner voice that contradicted him as he pulled into his driveway at two a.m. He'd gone out before Jillian came inside from the hot tub; he'd left her a note telling her he wanted her to leave tonight and spare them both a wrenching goodbye scene. She could call Molly, retrieve her car, and be gone from his life. He entered through the kitchen. Slowly, he made his way upstairs, feeling so overwhelmingly sad he could barely contain it. "See, you were right to send her away," he told himself. She'd been in town 48 hours and had managed to make him feel excruciating pain again. He refrained from checking the room where she'd slept. Instead, he strode directly to their bedroom and stepped inside. It was dark; he crossed to the bed to switch on a light. Click.

542

And there she was. Curled up on top of the covers, like Goldilocks. Suddenly his heart swelled with desire for her. He wanted to wake her, shake her for what she'd done, then kiss her and drive himself into her until he stopped hurting. Damn. Damn. Damn. For a long time, he just stood there. His presence...the light...the palpable mixture of anger and desire that emanated from him...it all must have awakened her. Sleepily, those gorgeous brown eyes opened. "Rye?" He jammed his hands in his pockets. He noticed she was dressed in jeans, a shirt, and a light sweater. She wore shoes. "What are you doing here?" She sat up and winced. "Oh, God." She pushed her hair back. "I...I was leaving. Like you asked me to. I got dressed, and my shoulder hurt. So I came in here to find some ibuprofen. I was so tired. I just lay down for a minute." "It's two a.m." "Oh, God, is it?" He stepped back. "Jill, you've got to get out of here." Her eyes widened; hurt darkened them to the color of mink. "I said I was going." Caught off guard by the force of his feelings, he knew he had to get away from her. He crossed to the other side of the room to the windows. Staring out at the wooded backyard, he held himself ramrod straight. "Please, Jilly, just leave. Now." Silence. "What's wrong, Rye?" "I don't trust myself to be near you. This has all been too much." More silence. A rustle. He sensed her approach. Felt her hand on his shoulder, then her arms slide around his waist. Her head rested on his back. The embrace was so right he wanted to weep. "You don't have to be strong now." And then she whispered achingly, "Make love to me." Every cell in his body electrified; he felt as if they were burning him from the inside out. "I can't. I meant what I said about not getting back together." "All right. I'll accept that. Make love to me anyway." "Jill, please, don't do this." "Make love to me one more time, Rye. Please. Then I'll leave. No more explaining, no more begging. I promise I'll leave then." He couldn't do this. He couldn't not. Slowly he pivoted around. Her face was shining with so many things: love, desire, surrender. He watched her for as long as he could. And then he raised his hands to the buttons on her blouse.

543

It had been so long since Riley had touched her like this, she startled when his hands skimmed down her shirt, opening it, disposing of it, gently kissing the bruise on her shoulder. He made quick work of her jeans; gripping his shoulders, she was overcome with such a sense of loss, she had to battle back the tears. But she would not cry. If this was all she'd ever have of him again, she would not ruin it with tears. He knelt down and removed her shoes. His mouth skimmed the skin he bared at her stomach, and lower. "I couldn't forget how you smell," he said, his teeth nipping the tender skin. "Or how you taste." His face nuzzled her curls. "Jilly, I've missed this." She buried her hands in his hair. "I've missed it, too." The pressure of his mouth increased. "Rye. Oh." He clasped her bottom. "I always thought you were made just for me." "I was." She drew his head back; he stared up at her from the floor. "I love you, Rye. I never stopped." He stood but said nothing. Her hands went to his shirt. Her fingers fumbled at the buttons; parting the cotton, she brushed her lips over his bare chest. He sucked in a breath as she tongued a nipple. "Mmm. The same cologne." He chuckled. She'd bought him the expensive designer product and every time he wore it, she wanted to jump his bones. Some things had been so good. She followed the scent down his body. On her knees, like he'd been, she buried her face in his stomach. He moaned. Then she went lower. "Oh, baby, no. I'll go off." Forcefully he drew her up. He kissed her like he loved her, a sweet, soul searching kiss that curled her toes. She felt herself being lifted, and held close to his heart. She belonged there. How could she ever have thought differently? When she remembered this was only for tonight, and the aching loneliness would return tomorrow, she stiffened. Gently placing her on the bed, he watched her as if reading her mind. "Shh. Just think about now." She did. She focused on his weight pressing her into the mattress, though he did that, too, gently, ever mindful of her bruises. "I love how you feel on top of me." He brushed back her hair. Kissed her nose. "I was always afraid I'd crush you." "This always made me feel so...feminine." "Oh, you are." He moved lower, began caressing her breasts, first with his hands, then his mouth. She was squirming by the time he sat up and back. Still between her thighs, he stretched out, and spreading his legs, drew her up so she sat half on the mattress and half on him. "You loved this position." "I know. " She braced her hands behind her. "I was surprised," he said, skimming his knuckles over her intimately. Her world dimmed. "You're so exposed, so vulnerable to me." She felt her whole body flush with heat. "It's how I really wanted to be with you." She gasped. "It seemed like this was the only time I let go with you." She captured his gaze. "Come inside me." "Ah, Jilly." He entered her. Fully. At the feel of him totally possessing her, she had to swallow back the tears. "Rye."

544

He was touching her everywhere now, inside and out. She tried to savor it, savor the intimacy, but with the clever ministrations of his hands and body, all thought fled. Sensation prevailed and then her world exploded and all that existed was her connection with this man. Riley watched her face as she reached her climax. Making love, seeing her come apart, had been one of the most special times in their marriage, had given him a bond with her that they couldn't seem to achieve anywhere else. And here, on their bed, in the position they loved best, he felt himself drown in the sight and sounds of Jill, completely and utterly his. He could enjoy her only briefly, though, then his whole body tensed. As he felt the spasms begin in her, as she clenched him from the inside, his heart began to pound. His head filled with her, his body was consumed by her, and soon — too soon — he erupted inside her. Darkness, sensation, pure pleasure consumed him as he gave himself over to her. They dozed, locked in a lovers' embrace. Riley held on to her, waking intermittently to see the red numbers on the clock ticking away their time together. As if she sensed it, too, she stirred. He eased up to a sitting position and lay back against the headboard. Knowing what was coming, she raised herself up and let him bend his knees and then cradle her head in his lap. Once again, she was totally exposed to him in another position they favored. Slowly he began the familiar ritual. He combed her hair back with his fingers. "Close your eyes." She did. He massaged the shoulder that wasn't bruised. "Relax." She picked up one of his hands, and kissed it, almost reverently, then put it to her breast. He kneaded there, explored her, leaned over to kiss her. Methodically, lovingly, he kept up the sensual exploration until she was writhing. Then he took her swiftly. They dozed again, and the next thing he knew, he was on his stomach and she was straddling him. His hands pillowed under his head, he let the feel of her strong fingers, the intimate contact of her lower body, soothe him. She rubbed his neck, kissed the indentation between his shoulder blades, tongued his spine. She kneaded his buttocks and he groaned. From before, she knew every part of him, knew what she could elicit from him, and proceeded to call it from him. Slowly, she ministered to him like a harem slave, wanting to please her master. She leaned forward on him and sensuously aligned her body over the length of his, sliding from side to side, tightening her thighs against his, and grazing his back with her breasts. They made love one last time. In the morning, when he awoke, she was gone.

Chapter Seven Riley knew she'd left him, after the sensual feast of last night, when he turned over and found her gone from their bed. He sighed and grabbed the pillow where her head had lain. Bringing it to his nose, he inhaled the scent of her. Damn. He'd never, ever forget what it had been like making love to his wife again. His wife, who in a few hours, would no longer be legally his. As soon as he signed the papers today, the divorce would be final. The knowledge cut like a surgeon's knife. He ordered himself to get out of bed, but he didn't move. Instead he lay back and, clutching the pillow, pictured Jillian as she'd been last night.…

545

Her body had slid over him, more female and more womanly than he remembered. I can't get enough of you, he'd told her.… She'd worked her way down him, relishing every plane and angle, inhaling him, as if she was trying to absorb him. Just before she took him in her mouth, she whispered, I want you so much. I've never, ever wanted you this much. He'd felt the same. Later, bracing his arms on either side of her, he'd brushed the hair off her face. You complete me, you make me whole. I haven't felt this way since you left. She'd hushed him with fingers on his mouth. Shh, don't talk about that. Just now...just now exists. The feel and taste of her had erased all thought, eclipsed all anger and resentment at what she'd done to him. Now, he was startled to realize he'd never once, during their hours of sex, thought of her letting another man touch her. But, in the brittle light of day, reality intruded; she had let Rafe Santilli do those things to her. Because the images of her with someone else were ugly and obscene, they sent him to the shower. It was over between him and Jill. Nothing could change what she'd done. He'd go to work and start forgetting her again. Aches and pains from his exertion last night kept her memory with him as the hot spray pounded him, as he dressed, and when he trundled downstairs. The coffee was brewed; he couldn't help smiling as he remembered how she couldn't function without it. He crossed to the pot. A cup was out, as was the sugar he craved. His heart twisted in his chest at that little consideration, today and in the past. She'd always teased him about his sugar addiction, but fixed his coffee as he liked it almost every morning and brought it to him with a kiss. Now, the memory brought pain. The pain escalated to acute agony when he saw what was next to the pot on the counter. He picked up the papers, needing to see them. Needing a dose of reality. It slapped him in the face. She'd signed the legal divorce decree. He gripped the document and stared at the signature. His throat clogged as he read Jillian Kimball Sullivan. As far as he knew, that was the first time she'd ever used his name. Making him remember their fights over it... She'd been confused. That doesn't make sense. A lot of people, particularly women who had a career previous to their marriage, keep their name after the wedding. That's not why you're doing it. This is another distancing measure. Riley, can't you let anything go without a fight? Not this... The irony of her using his name on the divorce papers weakened him further. It still haunted him as he entered his office at Hyde Associates a half hour later. The offending documents were in his briefcase. He was at work only a few minutes when Jase came in. "Hi, buddy. How are you?" There was something about his friend's tone. "I'll survive." He noticed the single sheet of paper Jase carried. Jase caught his stare. "She came to the office just a bit ago, Riley. She called me and asked me to meet her here."

546

"Why?" Jase held up his hand. "To give me this." Swallowing hard, Riley leaned back in his chair. "What is it?" Jase just handed it to him. He took the typed paper, scanned it, and felt like his world had crashed and burned. "She resigned." He looked up at Jase. "She had a few more months on her leave. Why'd she resign?" "She said she'd given up." Jase dropped to a chair. "I tell you, buddy, I've never seen Jill like that. She was always so strong, so sure of herself. " He didn't want to know, but he had to ask, "Like what?" "She was jittery, as if she was going to fall apart any minute. And her eyes...they were stricken. She was hurting bad, buddy." Riley tried not to react. Tried to block out the images of his wife suffering. Jase studied him when he said no more. "Are you sure this is the right decision? You look just as bad as she did...like you've lost your best friend. " "Maybe I did." "Then don't divorce her yet. Think about it some more." Angry and confused, Riley pounded his fist on his desk. "You're just feeling generous toward her because she saved your son from getting hurt." Jase shook his head. Suddenly he looked old, and weary, too. "No, I'm remembering when my wife died. I knew then that I'd give anything to keep her with me just a little while longer. I had no control over that. You have control over this. Fate took Mary away from me. You can alter this thing with Jill." Riley just stared at him. Jase stood. "Well, think about it anyway. Oh, and Mick called. He asked if you could come over." "To his house?" "Yeah, as soon as you got in." "Do you think Jill's there?" "I don't know, Riley. But the look on your face tells me I'm right about reconsidering the divorce." With that, Jase left him alone. He wouldn't reconsider divorcing her, or at least he tried not to. He got out some work, made some phone calls — not to Mick — and refused to think about Jill. Stricken. Jittery. Damn it! About ten, he got up and went to the break room for more coffee. Where he bumped into Rafe Santilli. The guy was pouring some of his own brew, and stepped away from the pot when he finished. He and Riley had been forced to be civil to each other because they were colleagues, but the sight of Jillian's lover made Riley ill. Usually Santilli made himself scarce. Not today. Instead, he leaned against the wall, and checked out the area. No one was around.

547

"I heard," Santilli said, his voice gravelly. No use pretending. "About her resignation?" "Yeah." Riley would give the man credit; he didn't look away. "I feel bad about all this," Rafe said awkwardly, in that way men had when talking about personal things. "It's water under the bridge." "No, not since she came back last week. Marietta said Jill told her she wanted another chance with you." "It's too late for that." "I'm sorry, man. " He ran a hand through his thick hair. "I don't know what I would have done if Mar hadn't forgiven me." Riley swallowed hard. "You're one of the lucky ones, I guess." "Yeah, I guess." He started to walk away, but turned at the doorway to the break room. "She cried, you know." "Who? Your wife?" "No, yours. Afterward. She was horrified at what she'd done. So was I, but she was almost destroyed by it. She told me how much she loved you, asked why we'd done something like this. Something neither of us really seemed to want." Riley's heart clutched in his chest. "Why did you?" "Because we were confused. And stupid. And human, I guess." He hesitated. "I know those reasons can't account for what we did. Marietta already told me that. Still, in the end, she forgave me. All I can do is spend the rest of my life trying to atone for my actions with Jill." He stared hard at Riley. "I wish you'd give her the same chance." Rafe left the break room, and shortly Riley followed him out. When he got back to his office, he was surprised to see that his grandfather was there, by the window, staring out. Mick faced him. "Why the hell didn't you come over like I asked?" he said angrily. Shaken by his conversation with Rafe, Riley crossed to his desk. "I'm raw. I don't want to talk about Jill." But it was a lie. He did. "Well, that's too bad. I've got something to say and you're going to listen." He glanced at his watch. "I just hope it's not too late." "Too late?" "She's leaving town this morning. She was headed for her sister's and then the airport." "Where's she going?' "Back to Paris." Paris, where they'd spent their honeymoon. And promised to stay together in sickness and in health, in good times and bad...

548

"Her plane leaves in a couple of hours." Mick's expression was pitying. Riley swallowed his disappointment. "What do you want to say to me?" The old man reached down and picked up his briefcase. From inside he withdrew something. "First look at this."

Chapter Eight In his office, standing by his desk, Riley stared at the stack of letters Mick held in his old and weathered hands. There had to be at least fifty of them there, tied up with string. "What are those?" Riley asked. His grandfather straightened his shoulders and placed the pile on Riley's desk. "Jillian's letters to me the last year." Mick and I corresponded while I was gone. Riley was astounded by the volume. Mick said, "Sit down and read those, boy. Maybe it will knock some sense into your head. I'll go get coffee." Mick left him alone. With Jill's letters. Riley dropped down at his desk. Gingerly he untied the stack and picked up a letter. It was dated October. A month after she left. He opened the envelope. It was handwritten, not typed, and so it was more personal. Her lovely feminine scrawl made his heart clench. So did what she'd written. I hurt so much, Mick. What have I done? How could I have cheated on the only man I ever loved? Another, a week later... I can't stop the pain. Is he feeling this bad? Help him, please. I can't stand the thought of him suffering like this. Slowly, he perused some of the others. Why is it that you don't realize what you had until you lose it?... I keep thinking about all the good times and wondering why we let the problems get so out of hand.… Riley had wondered that, too. Some things had been so right between them. He read another.… I can't bear the thought of going out with anybody else.… Is he dating?... Does he ever talk about me?... Riley had tried dating, tried to get close to other women physically. But it didn't work for him. Or for her, apparently. Another letter... This morning, I saw a little boy by the Seine. He looked so much like Riley I cried all day thinking about never having his baby.… They should have had a child. It would have forced them to stay together, forced them to have been more flexible and understanding with each other. They should have been able to accept their differences. He read several more, then found the last ones.… I'm beginning to feel better, stronger...but I'll never get over him.… I've been giving your suggestion a lot of thought…. Do you really believe I should come home before the divorce is final? Is that what's best for him, Mick? Riley looked up, his eyes stinging, his throat tight. Mick had come in and was standing on the other side of the room drinking from a mug. "This was going on the whole time she was gone?" "Yes." He tried to sound stern, but even to his own ears, his voice was raw. "Why didn't you tell me?"

549

"You weren't ready to know." "You suggested she come back. To Hyde Point." "Yep." "You knew it would hurt me." "I knew you were making a mistake. I raised you from the time you were six, boy. I have a right to try to keep you from ruining your life." He glanced at the clock. "So, if you're going to rectify this whole situation, you'd better get to the airport. She'll be gone soon." Riley swallowed hard. Could he do this? Could he risk his heart again with the very woman who had trampled on it?

*** "Don't do this, honey." Molly's voice pierced the daze Jillian had been in since she'd left Riley this morning. She preferred the fuzzy lack of awareness to the pain that settled upon her as soon as her head cleared. "I have to leave. It's the least I can do for him." She sat back in the blue vinyl chair, her eyes gritty, her shoulders aching from fatigue. She tried to relax, but every time she let her mind go, she thought of last night and Riley's tender ministrations, his need, his passion. She was caught off guard by the sense of loss. "Just stay for a few weeks. Give him a chance to reconsider." "No, that wouldn't be fair." Damn it, she would leave here. Just as she promised him she would. Because she had changed. She wasn't the selfish young woman of ten months ago who didn't put Riley's needs above her own. He wanted her gone and she'd go. She'd do this if it killed her. Which it very well might. Molly grasped her hand. Her eyes were worried. "I don't think you should give up." "He's given up, Mol. After all I've done to him, I don't blame him." She gripped her sister's hand. "Now, I've got to get to the gate, and you can't come that far without a ticket." They stood and Jillian felt her knees wobble; she reached out and hugged Molly hard. "Come see me soon?" Molly's voice was threaded with tears. "I will. Take care, sis." Jill couldn't answer. Instead, she headed through the terminal, endured the search and baggage check of the security monitors and made her way to the plane. It was all so final she could barely contain her feelings. She reached the gate just as the PA came on. "Flight 786 to New York and on to Paris is now boarding. First class passengers..." Jill tried to listen to the directions, tried to blank her mind of Riley. Maybe once she got out of Hyde Point, she'd start forgetting him. What his face looked like just before he kissed her. How his baby blues darkened when she touched him intimately. The way he turned to her in the night. Arrgh...she had to stop this. She made her way to the counter; she'd just gotten to the entrance and handed the flight attendant her boarding pass when she heard, "Jill!" Her whole body froze.

550

"Miss, are you all right?" the attendant asked. Jill pivoted. And couldn't believe her eyes. Riley stood about twenty feet away. But that couldn't be. He couldn't get this far in the terminal. She blinked. He was there. Coming closer. His big masculine strides quickly ate up the distance between them. "Miss, you'll have to board or step aside." The attendant's voice was concerned. Jillian obediently stepped aside. Riley stopped a few yards from her. He looked beautiful, dressed in a lightweight navy suit, white shirt and tie. His hair was windblown, his cheeks ruddy. From running? And those eyes...they were shining...with something she didn't dare name, didn't dare hope was in them. She said simply, "Rye?" He held up his hand. "I had to buy a ticket to get in here." She gulped. "Why...why are you here?" "Because...I couldn't...I need..." He shook his head, let the ticket fall to the floor and dragged something out of his breast pocket. "What's that?" she asked. Slowly, his big hands, that had loved her so tenderly just hours ago, ripped the papers in half. In quarters. Soon the sheaf was in shreds. Like confetti, he tossed them into the air, astounding her with the mess he made. "They're our divorce papers." Emotion erupted from inside her. Her eyes moistened and she began to tremble again. He held out his arms. "Come here, Jilly." He didn't have to ask twice. Dropping her stuff, she bolted to him. He grabbed her and lifted her up. Her arms headlocked him. Her legs clamped around his waist. He held her like a drowning man finally finding purchase. Kissing her hair, her jaw, the fold of her neck, he pulled her so close she almost couldn't breathe. She clung back, wanting to sink into him, crawl inside his skin. Like that, they stumbled to the chairs on the side of the terminal. He sat down, still holding her, and nestled her on his lap. She was crying now, and she felt the tremors go through him, too. For a long time, they just held on to each other, her face nuzzled in his chest, his buried in her hair. Then he whispered in her ear, "Don't go. Don't leave me. Ever. I want to try again." She cried so hard she soaked his suit. She clutched at his lapels, probably ruining them. He soothed his hand down her hair. "We'll do better, okay? We'll talk, we'll share our fears." His voice was throaty. "We won't be stubborn or stupid about things that don't matter." Unable to speak, she just nodded, but kept his head hammerlocked. "We'll go back to Paris, and start over." His mouth found her ear, his breath as sweet as his words. "Maybe we'll make that baby there."

551

Jillian looked at him. There was so much love shining in his eyes, on his face. But she had to ask. "Can you...?" She choked on the words. He pulled her close to his heart again. "Can you forgive me? What I did?" she mumbled into his big, safe chest. Leaning back so he could see her face, he whispered the second-best words in the world. "I already have." Then he said the first best. "I love you, Jilly. I always have and I always will."

552

Nate's Anatomy by Roz Denny Fox Nate Ramsey has always felt inferior because he's a physician's assistant and not a real MD. So he immediately goes on the defensive when Dr. Kim Matsui blows into town and demands to see his records. Is the beautiful doctor looking to discredit his work—or does she have plans to open a practice of her own, complete with Nate's patients? Kim Matsui needs Nate Ramsey's help to continue vital research—but the PA is nothing if not ornery! Not one to take no for an answer, Kim has every intention of making herself at home for as long as it takes, much to the delight of the local, lonely buckaroos! Too bad the only man Kim has eyes for is Nate…

Chapter One Nate Ramsey, physician's assistant, heard the buzzer on his clinic door. Not another emergency! Busy sewing up a local rancher who'd torn his arm on barbed wire, Nate awkwardly leaned out of the examining room. "Have a seat," he called, "unless you've got a head injury or are hemorrhaging." "If you're Nathan Ramsey," said a woman who stepped into view, "I'll wait to have a word with you." "Okay." His lips automatically formed a silent whistle of approval for the attractive stranger. Her voice was melodic with a trace of an accent Nate couldn't place, and in this remote southwestern corner of Idaho women dressed in trim navy suits only for funerals. He retreated, thinking she must be an eager-beaver drug company representative who had his clinic in her territory. Most never ventured this far, more the pity. He liked her sleek black hair. Nate finished stitching Percy Lightfoot's arm and gave him a shot. "Have Winnie change the dressing tomorrow. Any redness or swelling, I want you back here ASAP. I'm surprised you were stringing wire." "Unstringing." Percy eased into his shirt. "Somebody fenced my herd away from the south fork of the Owyhee. I figure pissed environmentalists or ATVers since Ben negotiated us another year of grazing leases from the Bureau of Land Management." Nate walked Percy out, past his visitor. He rotated his shoulders as he turned back. His day had been a series of drop-ins, beginning with a hot appendix he sent on to Boise. Grimacing, he stripped off his surgical gloves. "You may as well follow me. I'll clean up while you peddle your wares." "Pardon?" Her sharp tone halted him. "Sorry, I saw your briefcase and assumed you're a detail rep for one of the drug companies." "I'm Dr. Matsui." She popped open the case, extracting a business card that read, Kim Matsui, MD, FAAVR. Nate pocketed it, wondering what a doctor, a Fellow in the American Academy of…something, wanted with him? She wasn't smiling, so he didn't. "Then may I ask what brings you to my humble clinic?" "Your failure to send a victim of a brown-recluse-spider bite and the specimen to the laboratory in Boise. Dr. Severson has your initial fax, but the patient was never seen at the hospital, and there was no record of any follow-up. I'm here for—" she checked her notes "—Clover Trueblood's records, and to investigate the case further."

553

Investigate? Nate stiffened. Ben Trueblood had elected alternative methods to treat his daughter after Nate had told him to take her to the hospital in Boise. Did his supervisory board think otherwise? "Clover Trueblood was bitten during a snowstorm. The first of some bad weather that's kept me very busy. I'm the only medic in this community." She shut her case. "If you'll direct me to the nearest motel, I'll pick up your report tomorrow. But I'd like to take the specimen now—to corroborate your diagnosis." Corroborate his diagnosis? What the…? That was twice since she barged into his clinic that Nate felt his competence was in question. "Tell Severson I'll fax a follow-up." He edged Dr. Matsui out onto the front stoop. "Our town has no motel. And I'm afraid I don't have signed authorization from Clover's guardian to release her records or the specimen. Sorry you made the long drive. If you leave now, you should make Boise before dark." Nate quietly closed his clinic door and turned the lock.

Chapter Two Kim blinked at the white door with the circled red cross on it. Heavens, she hadn't handled that well. She tightened her grip on her briefcase, and considered whether Ramsey would come back if she knocked. Probably not. Stepping on rocks to avoid the mud left by recent rains, Kim returned to the silver Toyota she'd left in the parking lot. She got in and spent a moment contemplating her choices. It sounded as if the PA still had the specimen; it was rare for anyone to lay hands on a brown recluse. She'd been quite excited when her computer program monitoring hospital records had turned up this case. She started her car and backed onto the main road. Maybe she should have been up front with Mr. Ramsey and told him she studied venomous insects and snakes all over the world in her quest to develop a universal antidote. But, in research of this type, sharing that information could be risky. Too many people in her field went to great lengths to steal already complied data and claim it as their own work. Impatient because she was nearing the end of her two-year grant with the World Health Organization, Kim made a snap decision. She went back, parked, got out and pounded on PA Ramsey's clinic door. He opened the door in a rush of wind and seemed honestly shocked to see her standing on the stoop. "I heard you drive away." He glanced over her head at the compact car she'd left running. "Are you having car trouble?" "No. I'm having trouble understanding your unwillingness to hand over your slides, any lab tests and your notes on the child who was bitten…in November, I believe." "You should be familiar with a patient's right to privacy." "Perhaps we could bypass that if you'd phone Dr. Severson and ask him to vouch for me." Nate extracted a cell phone from the pocket of his wrinkled lab coat. "I just did try to reach him. He and his family left on vacation yesterday. It's his children's spring break from school." Kim crossed her arms and stubbornly tapped her toe on the cement stoop. "This is the most ridiculous runaround. Frankly, Mr. Ramsey, I'm beginning to think you must have made a mistake in your initial diagnosis. Was the girl even bitten by a brown recluse or was it a flea or some run-of-the-mill nonpoisonous spider?"

554

Nate's jaw tightened. He said coolly, "Frankly, Dr. Matsui, I think you should go back where you came from and quit wasting your time and mine. I owe Dr. Severson a follow-up on Clover's condition, which I'll send after I see her at her next appointment." Kim closed her eyes for a moment. Slowly she descended the steps, and hesitated at the bottom. Glancing up, she said, "Someone in this town knows what you're hiding. And someone must rent rooms to travelers. Like it or not, Mr. Ramsey, I'm not going anywhere right now."

Chapter Three Nate stood in the clinic doorway and watched the doctor get on the highway, then head into town. He should have just given her the damn spider and records. It was her attitude that irked him. Slamming the door, he went into his office and pulled Clover's file. Who was he kidding? What bothered him was the string of letters after Dr. Matsui's name. Digging out her card, he stared at the MD, FAAVR. What in hell did VR stand for? Vampire Rituals? His laugh sounded more like a snort, sobering him. High time he was honest with himself—he envied those titles, but knew very well that getting them took schooling and dedication. Still, he loved this job. If Kim Matsui had the power to cause him trouble with his superiors in Boise, he wanted her gone. Where in town might she be? Pulling out his phone he dialed Della Quimby at the post office. "Della, it's Nate Ramsey. Ah, yes, I've met Dr. Matsui. She asked what? Why would she inquire about empty stores on main street? I though she was interested in finding a room for one night. Competition?" Nate's dry laugh sounded rusty. "Wait, Della, did she say something to make you think she intended to open a practice in town?" "Well, Nate, we've got a full-time teacher now, and Ben was able to resolve the rangeland leases with the Bureau of Land Management. We've all been hoping the town will start to grow again. Besides," she added, a gentle prod in her voice, "I figure a nice-looking, single man like you would be begging everyone to make a good impression on a woman as pretty as Dr. Matsui. She wasn't wearing a wedding ring, or didn't you notice?" He had noticed. And she was pretty. But what was she really after? The town had trouble paying his salary. "Pretty is as pretty does, Della. I guess I'm not as quick as you to put out the welcome mat." "She seemed nice and friendly. But I 'spect you're the only one in town who can say if she's a good doctor. When I met her, I said to myself there's been times it would've been nice to have a choice whether to see a male or female doc. Know what I mean?" Nate did. "Don't get your hopes up, Della. I don't think Dr. Matsui intends to hang a shingle here." After they signed off, Nate started to worry in earnest about the doctor's real purpose for showing up and for being so quick to stick around. It was plain she'd bear watching.

*** Kim Matsui had stopped at the post office first. The woman in charge, Mrs. Quimby, had seemed friendly, and had directed Kim to Delgado's Burgers for something to eat and to mingle with locals who may have a room or a store to rent. Delgado served a great veggie burger, but the patrons who came in stayed in their groups; they didn't exactly mingle. They watched her, and maybe even whispered about her. So far, outside of the woman at the post office, Kim hadn't experienced the kind of cooperation the chief of staff in Boise led her to believe she could expect from Nathan Ramsey and others here. Hunky Nate Ramsey. What was his problem?

555

Kim didn't discourage easily. She'd researched venoms in some pretty hostile environments all around the world. The secret to currying assistance in tight-knit societies was to build trust. It was a matter of finding one willing person. For the chance to obtain firsthand information on the brown recluse, Kim could afford to spare a week fostering goodwill. The background information she'd researched indicated Clover wasn't the first person in this area to have been bitten by the most poisonous spider. It would be worth renting a place to set up a portable lab and do a little spider hunting herself. So there, Mr. Yummy Medic! Cutting short her meal, Kim gathered her purse and briefcase. She recalled passing an empty storefront next to Rosie's Antiques. And she loved antiques.

Chapter Four Ben Trueblood had told Nate over the phone that the scabs on Clover's arm were barely visible now, but he brought her by so Nate could judge for himself and close her case as he said he needed to. "What's the flap I'm hearing about a new doctor in town?" Ben teased as Nate scribbled in Clover's chart. She'd gone outside with her stepbrother, Danny, so Nate felt free to lay his concerns on the line to Ben. After listening to Nate's version, Ben stood, thoughtfully dusting a thumb across his lips. "I hope you know we'll stand behind you. But I should tell you that Winnie Lightfoot phoned Kate right after you called. Winnie said the doctor rented office space with a sleeping loft above from Clay Bonner." "She did?" Startled, Nate glanced up after locking Clover's chart in a desk drawer. "Call me paranoid, Ben, but why would she do that unless she's trying to put this clinic out of business?" "Don't know. The kids and I are hauling supplies out to Bobbalou and my buckaroos. Why don't you go see what the doctor told Clay?" "I'll do that. By the way, will you return this notebook on natural Native medicines I borrowed from Bobbalou?" Lou Bobolink, fondly called Bobbalou, had practically raised Ben Trueblood and Percy Lightfoot. Few knew the old man was an herbal healer; Nate did, and he'd begun implementing a mix of treatment methods. Ben took the dilapidated notebook, Nate locked up and the two men went their separate ways. Clay Bonner owned the Furniture Barn, and his wife, Rosie, the antique store across the street. Sure enough, Nate noticed blinds on the once empty store next to Rosie's. The minute Nate entered Clay's store, a guilty flush stained the merchant's face. "Nate, howdy. Hee, listen. Della mentioned you're not real comfortable having a new doc move in, but with business slow as it's been, and with the baby coming, Rosie and I can't turn down that rent money." "I'm not blaming you, Clay. It's a free country." Not only that, Nate knew Rosie had already miscarried twice and it was possible she may need to close her shop and stay off her feet a while. "Did the doc say she plans to see patients?" "Nope. I helped her carry in equipment—microscopes and something she called a centrifuge. All the same, and no offense, Nate, but I'm glad to have her next door, what with Rosie's condition." "Hm. I wonder if Dr. Matsui's delivered preemies before? Think I'll go have a professional chat with the good doctor." Now he really wondered what the woman's motive was for settling here. Was she planning to check on Nate's treatment of patients other than Clover?

556

Leaving Clay, Nate crossed the street. He opened the door, its paint peeling off, and found Kim Matsui on her knees lifting a big microscope out of a case. "Hey, let me help." She eyed him speculatively, but didn't object to his muscle. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?" she asked when the item was securely in place. "Did you bring the report on the Trueblood girl? Rumor has it you called her in for an examination." "I did. She's my patient." Nate winced, hearing how childish that sounded. But it did dawn on him that if Dr. Matui had ulterior motives, he'd be better off keeping a close eye on her. "Actually I dropped by because I heard you found a place to rent. I have a heavy schedule of school athletic physical exams coming up, plus I'll be dealing with the usual emergencies. It's probably a long shot, but I could use some volunteer professional help for a week or so. Interested?" That was the last thing Kim expected to hear. It'd be difficult to say which of them was most shocked when she smiled, stuck out a hand and said, "It's a deal, Ramsey. Name the days and times."

Chapter Five Nate didn't linger after stammering out the time of his first appointment the next day. He did notice Dr. Matsui had cases of slides, test tubes, some expensive microscopes and a centrifuge. His clinic had basic equipment for blood and urine tests. He grew simple cultures and studied them via a computer hooked up to Boise's lab, which was how Dr. Severson had diagnosed Clover Trueblood's serum. Nate knew from looking at the punctures that she'd been bitten by a spider. Schooling didn't teach a person diagnostics the way hands-on fieldwork did. Out here he dealt with all kinds of ailments and accidents. He'd pit his expertise against that of most city emergency-room docs. Dang, there was that feeling of professional inferiority rearing its ugly head again. He wasn't an MD, and until Kim Matsui rolled into town he'd managed to forget the disparity between MDs and PAs. Nate slept badly that night, and wished to hell he hadn't opened his big mouth and invited the "real" doctor into his territory. On the other hand, he thought as he shaved the next morning, over the past year especially he'd been busy enough for two people. Then, too, as Della had pointed out, Kim Matsui was easy on the eyes. Having her around wouldn't be such a hardship. He grimaced at his reaction in the mirror. Don't be getting those kinds of ideas, he warned himself. High-powered doctors wouldn't look twice at a lowly PA. Kim was punctual. She arrived early even. Nate felt out of sorts from the lack of sleep. Kim, on the other hand, looked chipper in her pristine lab coat. And she smelled good, like some exotic flower. "I haven't done clinic work in a while. Thanks for asking me, Nate. Uh, may I call you that? I heard the man who just left." "Some call me Doc. I hope that won't offend you." "Why would it?" she said. "I've been on sites in Asia and Africa where the title doctor, no matter whom it's applied to, is one notch under God. Patients don't give a darn about titles. They're grateful for any care." "Any care? Listen, maybe this arrangement won't work. I happen to feel I give the folks here top medical care."

*** Kim's smile fled. She might've asked about the chip on his shoulder, but the first of his student physicals arrived—Dave Hyder, then Terry Goetz. Kim noticed that Terry's parents had the PA on a pedestal.

557

Nate saw Kim's curious look and, after the exam, murmured, "Terry's brother, Jeff, had appendicitis, and I caught it the morning you hit town. The surgeon in Boise said if I hadn't, Jeff's appendix might have ruptured. Marge and Ray are appreciative." Kim snatched one of the brownies Marge had left. "Lord, this is sinful. If all of your patients pay you in rich desserts, why don't you have an ounce of extra fat?" "I'm called to tramp around the ranches. I'm on call twenty-four-seven." She polished off the goody, secretly admiring his leanly muscled frame. He had rumpled whiskey-blond hair that suited him, too. "How old are you?" she asked. "Thirty-six. And you?" "Thirty-one." The door opened. Ron Quimby and Mike Delgado came in for their physicals, which put an end to personal exchanges.

*** The entire week they worked hard. Two girls, Shelly Bent and Meg Wheeler, were glad Dr. Kim handled their physicals. Buckaroos who came in off the range with vague complaints ogled Kim, but they back-slapped and joked with Nate. By Friday she'd witnessed a more charming side of him. Yes, Nate was competent, but the charming part threw her. It was as if she was falling for him, for the clinic and for the small, friendly town. But that couldn't be happening. She couldn't afford to get butterflies in her stomach over Nate. Her grant was running out, and she'd made a commitment to develop a universal venom antidote. Kim watched Nate when the phone rang. He leaned forward, all business now. It hurt to look at him and long for things that could never be for her. She'd made her choice for science a long time ago. Scientists couldn't afford fluttering hearts. But hers felt heavy as she gathered her medical bag, sure that she had dallied too long at something far too enjoyable. It was imperative she put Nate Ramsey out of her mind, finish the job she came here to do and then go back to the life that had been mapped out for her.

Chapter Six As the week ended, Nate noticed with increased frequency how Kim's cheerfulness and quiet efficiency affected his daily outlook. Okay, yeah, she was beautiful, too. Only when alone did he admit to erecting a shell, and now he didn't want to see her sojourn end. All Friday afternoon Nate gathered the courage to broach extending their deal. The bad part—he knew she was disappointed that he hadn't discussed Clover's encounter with the spider. Likewise—although Kim actually hinted this—he hadn't produced the dead spider. Nate figured the minute he handed the specimen and file over, Kim would blow town. They had a lull around four, and he'd reached the point of clearing his throat and saying, "Kim, I…uh…would you…" when the front door banged open and in sauntered two of Ben Trueblood's buckaroos, Zach Robles and Justin Padilla. Nate tensed. Justin and Zach were slicked up in Sunday shirts and pressed jeans. Both had been in earlier in the week with trumped-up ailments. Nate knew full well they'd ridden in off the range to check out rumors. Single women were few and far between; it didn't take a Mensa-high IQ to know these two had zeroed in on Kim.

558

Seriously annoyed by their arrival, Nate insinuated himself between Kim and the men, who were flirting outrageously. "What brings you boys into the clinic again?" he asked. Justin, the biggest ladies' man, barely glanced at Nate. "By golly it must be those ATVers have polluted the air out by the river. Me 'n Zach have terrible headaches." Nate rolled his eyes when he saw the concerned way Kim sat them down and opened clean plastic covers for the ear thermometer. "They're faking," Nate declared, lifting the thermometer from Kim's grasp. "Your headaches, if you have them, are probably a result of Joe the barber shearing your winter hair. Or else you're allergic to the half bottle of shaving lotion you each drowned in." Caught, both men grew as red as radishes.

*** Feeling sorry for them, Kim elbowed Nate aside. "I think you look very handsome." She sniffed. "Aramis," she guessed and smiled. "Always reminds me of a log cabin tucked deep in the woods, maybe a fire burning low." Nate stomped off. "Brother! Light a fire around the alcohol used to make that stink and they'll go off like Roman candles." "Nate…" Kim shot him a dirty look. So did Zach. And Justin bounded out of his chair. "Whatever caused my problem, it's gone." "Funny, so's mine." Zach leveled soulful, dark eyes on Kim. "You wouldn't take pity on two lonely buckaroos and join us for a steak over in Jordan Valley? We hear they have live music tonight." Biting her lip, Kim waited for Nate to object. He had his wire-rimmed glasses on and was busily writing in charts. "I'd be delighted," she said finally. "If you'll give me a minute to put on dancing shoes."

*** Nate battled a burning in his stomach as the three left. He heard Kim's bell-like laughter mingle with the men's deeper voices. That's when he realized he'd posted twice to the same chart.

Chapter Seven Kim had some reservations about leaving town with the brash, rough-hewn men. And yet they seemed nice, in a big, overgrown-kid way. "We rode our horses in, so we borrowed an SUV," Zach said when he couldn't find the vehicle's light switch. "Uh, there's no need for us to drive anywhere. I'd be fine with one of Mr. Delgado's veggie burgers." "Veggie burgers in cow country? You've gotta be kidding." Justin leaned over from the backseat to point to the light switch. "Tonight Lou, Zach's brother, and Enrique are tending the herd and remuda. It's rare we get time off, especially to dance with a pretty lady. Don't deprive us, please." Kim sat sideways. "Is what you do a hardship? I admit I didn't know men still lived on the range with their cows. That's what Nate said. Was he exaggerating?"

559

"We live like our grandfathers did," Zach said. "Nothing beats trailing a herd or sleeping under the stars. Our kind are disappearing, though. Ben bought us a couple more years in court. But the life we love will soon be a thing of the past." "Ben…is that Ben Trueblood? It's his child who was bitten by a brown recluse?" "Yep." Justin adjusted his seat belt and scooted forward again. "Are you here to close our clinic because Bobbalou, not Nate, cured Clover?" Kim went poker-stiff. "Where did you get that idea? Who cured the girl's necrosis if not Nate? I wonder…is that the basis for his reticence about letting me have her records?" "Dang, Kimmie girl, you use big words. Lou Bobbolink—we call him, Bobbalou—is Paiute like Ben. I'll swear Paiute medicine is good stuff. Lou's cured us of snakebite, frostbite, hangnails and toothaches, to name a few." Justin raised a hand, palm out. "Really? Would Lou would consent to talk to me about his medicine?" Kim inquired, displaying her excitement. "Hon, he probably will if you ride out to our base camp. I reckon Bill Hyder can rent you a horse. When we get to the steak house, I'll draw you a map." Kim could hardly contain her high spirits throughout the evening and after the buckaroos dropped her off. Finding anyone who could treat snakebites and spider venom was almost too good to be true. Nate had left a note on her door asking her to extend her volunteering at the clinic. Maybe she would—after she interviewed Mr. Bobolink.

*** When she failed to show up at the clinic on Monday morning, Nate went in search of Kim. He couldn't believe she'd rented a horse with the intent to find Bobbalou. Nate had grown to like Kim a lot, but he worried that with her Stanford and Harvard degrees, she'd scoff at Lou's natural methods. The old Paiute was mentoring Nate, who'd swear that a tea Lou taught him to make had kept Rosie Bonner from losing her baby thus far. Hurriedly canceling his morning appointments, Nate saddled his gelding, Coal Dust, and galloped off after Kim. Hopefully he'd be in time to ward off a clash of ideologies.

Chapter Eight Kim started out enjoying the crisp spring morning. A miserly sun painted the canyon walls violet and gold. About the only problem with the day was that she hadn't ridden a horse in a very long time. Nor had she packed the proper clothing for such an outing. Her black rayon slacks kept snagging on prickly bushes that clogged what passed for a trail. And her sneakers lacked a heel to stop her feet from sliding through the stirrups. Maybe her mind had gotten lost in planning how she'd approach Mr. Bobolink, because all at once Kim realized she'd passed this drooping tree before. She remembered that she'd admired its bright green buds. The ability to memorize rapidly had always been a source of pride for her, but now she wished she'd stored Justin Padilla's crude map, drawn on a steak-house napkin, in her pocket instead of putting it in the backpack with the research notes she'd collected from several continents.

560

Tessa, the mare—a buckskin, Bill Hyder had said—was feistier than Kim liked. She'd asked Mr. Hyder about that as the horse seemed skittish in the corral, but the man had assured Kim that the tan animal with the black mane and tail had an easy gait. He said Kim would see as soon as Tessa shook off her winter kinks. Tessa tossed her head and danced sideways, scraping the bare part of Kim's legs on the underbrush as Kim attempted to rein in so she could dismount and check the map. Kim had it in her head that by now she ought to have reached the river. Justin and Zach had told her to follow it to where she'd see the canvas tepees of their camp. Kim called them on that—she thought they were putting her on—but they insisted their sleeping tents were round, one-man tepees. Her horse trotted around a bend and Kim's heart lifted; the sparkling river fanned out ahead of her. Just as Kim was feeling more confident about being on the right trail, several things happened simultaneously. Another horse whinnied behind them, out of sight around the bend. Tessa answered back, flattened her ears and reared on her hind legs, catching Kim off guard. And out of a granite-strewn arroyo that dropped off on Kim's right, roared and bounced three men on mud-spattered quads. The black-visored helmets they wore made them look like horribly grotesque bugs. Suddenly launched through the air, Kim felt the reins slip through her fingers. Her scream joined the mocking laughter of the three men on the ATVs.

*** Nate saw the whole debacle as his gelding rounded the last set of boulders. The assholes on the quads skidded past him and he was left choking on their dust—through which he witnessed Kim sailing from the mare and tumbling down a rocky slope leading to the river. His lungs threatened to explode from fright as he dismounted, and with his heart slamming up into his throat, he ran and slid down the incline after Kim.

Chapter Nine Kim's mount clattered past Nate's horse, but Nate's sole concern was Kim. Her fall ended when her head struck a slab of granite. Blood dripped down her temple, and reddened her silky black hair. It scared hell out of him when neither his touch nor shouts brought her around as he hastily checked her over for broken bones. When Nate partially lifted her, he saw an ugly goose egg rising to the right of one delicate eyebrow. She could have a skull fracture. Worried, Nate struggled to carry her up to his horse. Wanting to rush back to the clinic where he had equipment to better check for a fracture, he boosted Kim aboard his horse and kicked Coal Dust into a gallop.

*** The uneven bouncing caused Kim to stir. Feeling her head cradled against unfamiliar muscles, she blinked up at Nate Ramsey's clean-shaven chin, and tried to sit up, but the saddle horn dug into her hip. Her elbow landed in his stomach. Nate slowed his horse and gazed down into Kim's cloudy eyes. "Thank God you're waking up. I worried you had a depressed skull fracture." Bits and pieces came back to Kim. "Wh-why were you out there?" "I followed you when I heard you planned to visit Lou Bobolink." "That was your horse on the trail behind me? You spooked my horse."

561

"No, it was those idiots on the ATVs. I need to tell Ben. The court confined their riding to certain marked areas." She frowned and rubbed her head, trying to remember. "I heard a horse whinny, then my mare reared. Whwhat happened to Tessa?" Feebly punching at Nate, she leaned away from him. "You scared my horse on purpose to keep me from talking to Mr. Bobolink about that spider bite." "Don't be ridiculous. If my horse spooked yours before those guys on the quads burst over the hill, I'm sorry. You can't believe your fall was anything but an accident." The clinic came into sight and since Kim had begun shifting around, making riding double difficult, Nate nudged his horse into a canter. Reaching the path that led to the clinic, he reined the gelding in that direction. "Let's get you inside so I can put ice on that knot on your head and examine you for a concussion." She grabbed the reins. "I'll take care of my own injuries. Drop me off at my rental." "That's silly." Kim tried to wiggle and slide out of his tightening hold. "Silly is the lengths you're willing to go to keep me from seeing Clover Trueblood's chart. I know you weren't the one to heal her, Nate." "I never said I was." He saw Kim touch her bloody temple, sighed, then trotted his horse on into town. "Let me help you upstairs," he said after dismounting. "I'll help myself. If you want to help," she said, shrugging out of her backpack, "make sure my horse got back to Mr. Hyder." With that, she unlocked her door and went in, leaving Nate kicking the toe of his boot on the wooden sidewalk.

Chapter Ten Nate knew Kim was probably as capable, if not more so, as he was of healing her injuries. But as fine boned as she was, having landed hard on granite, she had to be hurting, he thought later that day. Not giving a damn about the rumors he'd surely start around town, he bought Kim a soft stuffed cat and a small vase of violets at the general store. Rosie Bonner grinned wickedly when she let Nate into Kim's lab. Ignoring her, he marched straight up to the loft and pounded on the door. "If that's you, Nate, go away." He shifted the violets and turned the knob, not surprised to find the door unlocked. Walking into a sparsely furnished room, he spotted Kim reclining on a sagging overstuffed couch. When she lowered the ice pack she held over the goose egg, Nate saw the injury had almost closed that eye, and a purple bruise stained the chin she stubbornly lifted. "Did you come to gloat?" "You look like hell," he said. "Sheriff White caught those ATVers. They admitted making your horse rear. But I'm damn sorry all the same. I dislike that you'd think I'd want to cause you harm." Bending, he tucked the stuffed toy in the crook of her arm. After glancing around and finding no better place to put them, he set the violets on a scarred coffee table. His blue eyes skimmed her features with honest sympathy. Her fingers stroked the cat's fur. "I'm guessing you hurt all over."

562

She nodded. "Do you have pain pills?" She shrugged. "Never mind, I'll bring you some." Backing away, he reached for the door latch. "You don't need to, Nate," she called, but he was gone and she heard him descending the stairs.

*** She was dozing when he barged in again two hours later, carrying a bottle of inflammatory tablets and two sacks brimming with groceries. "I'm making you supper," he said around her sleepy protest. Kim saw that it rattled him when she sat up and the quilt fell away exposing a row of colorful bruises on her left arm. It crossed her mind to let him stay, because with a whole evening stretching before them, him oozing empathy, what better opportunity to convince him to hand over that blasted spider? Immediately she felt guilty. Underneath it all, overriding her reasons for coming to this town, she liked the idea of spending a social evening with Nathan Ramsey. Hearing him thumping around her utilitarian kitchen, Kim hugged the gift cat, and she traced the petal of one violet. She didn't readily identify the warmth stealing over her. From the moment she chose her profession, her life had lacked time for relationships other than those cultivated for furthering her research. Oddly, she didn't want tonight with Nate to be in that category and that shocked her.

Chapter Eleven When Nate had the time, he enjoyed cooking. Tonight he chose to fix a quick beef stroganoff, a recipe he'd begged from Marge Goetz after she brought it to a town potluck. The beef, poured over white rice, with a salad and hot bread made a fast meal. With Kim being on pain medication, he'd passed on bringing a bottle of Merlot. Her eyes were closed when he carried two steaming plates to the coffee table. Seeing the way the soft white cat cradled her cheek sent a stab of yearning through Nate. He hadn't realized until now how lonely his evenings had been since he'd taken over the clinic. He swallowed a lump in his throat and set down the plates. Slipping to one knee, he feathered a kiss over her bruise, then brushed his lips across hers. Kim's eyes flew open and she scrambled to sit up. Nate soothed her with a stroke of his hand. "I brought a tray from the clinic for you. I'll sit on the floor." He indicated the table he'd pulled close to her sofa. "Uh, fine." She filtered a hand through her hair. "I must have drifted off. I dreamed you—" "Sleep's the best healer," he said quickly. "I won't stay long after we eat. I hope water is okay. You probably don't need coffee, cola or wine." "The water here is sweet. Some places I've been," she said, "I've hated drinking water boiled with Clorox or laced with quinine." She adjusted the tray on her lap. "You've traveled a lot? Idaho's it for me," he said, sitting cross-legged.

563

"This is your lifelong home? Is your family here?" "I grew up in Lewiston. Up north," he said when she stared. "I aspired to be a general practitioner." Her stillness compelled him to add what few knew. "My folks hit a truck in a blizzard my last year of college. My three sisters needed a pro-tempore parent." "Nate, I'm so sorry. Was there no way for you to go to medical school, too?" "The only way the state would let me have the kids was if I worked part-time jobs around their school schedules. I managed to get my degree gratis taking online classes." "So your sisters were a lot younger?" "The youngest was twelve at the time. It was seven years before I had them settled. At twenty-eight I still might've given med school a shot, but scholarships eluded me. It's not surprising," he said, digging a crater into the rice under his stroganoff. "Admissions didn't take online degrees seriously. After all, they can pick from the cream of universities. It's their loss. Anyway, I found a school that offered a good physician assistant program." Her eyes were big on him and shimmering with tears. "Hey, eat up while the food's still warm. I didn't mean to throw a wet blanket over our meal." Nate tucked into his food and finally induced her to eat. They'd finished, and he was stacking the plates when it dawned that he'd monopolized the conversation. As a result he knew nothing of her history. "No fair making me unload my baggage. Tell me how Kim Matsui came to be an MD and a fellow. In the American Academy of what, by the way? What does the VR stand for?" he asked around a teasing grin.

Chapter Tweleve "I assumed you knew VR is venom research." Kim interrupted any comment Nate might make. "I know, it's an unusual field for women. Everyone in my family is an overachiever, Nate. Mom and Dad are renowned geneticists. My older brother is a Nobel physicist and my sister, a brilliant neurologist on staff at Bethesda." He whistled. "That's impressive." Kim gave a twisted smile as he removed her tray. "Heaven forbid anyone in my family be ordinary." "Are you saying you don't like what you do?" She studied the ceiling. "I showed early aptitude for microscope work. I recall going home after high school career day, excited, armed with dozens of brochures on lab tech courses." Kim grimaced. "You can't imagine the shock waves that created. Dad decided I'd be a doctor and then go into some kind of research career. Venom studies came about after my uncle, a World Health Organization doctor, was bitten in Guyana by a Crotalus durissus." "Sounds awful. What is that exactly?" "A rattlesnake. Its venom contains toxins that act on both the tissue and nervous system. He died for lack of an effective antidote." "I'm sorry. Is that venom similar to the brown recluse's?"

564

"All venom has some common characteristics. I developed an antidote for the Crotalus. Then I wondered about a more universal antidote. Doctors and missionaries could carry one kit instead of guessing which to take." "I probably can't help. I would've sent Clover to Boise for treatment." "Which may not have worked. Europe has an antivenin for the recluse toxin, but the U.S. doesn't. I'm close, I believe, to a multivenom serum. But there's only a few months left on my grant—I doubt it'll be extended. Research grants are competitive. Every field has vocal opponents." "And…this fall today set you back. I shouldn't have let you go off alone." Nate's conscience stabbed him uncomfortably. He hadn't helped her, and now it looked as though he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion when it came to Kim's purpose for being in town. She hiked a shoulder. "I've ridden donkeys, camels and even an elephant to gather insect and snake poisons worldwide. I can't let a willful horse stop me." "Next time, ride one of mine." Rising, Nate circled the coffee table and sat beside her. Tenderly he pushed aside a lock of hair that hid her worst injury. His nearness, combined with his soft touch, halted talk but sparked instant awareness. Kim breathed out, drawn toward his lips. Nate hesitated a fraction before sliding a hand around her neck and settling his lips over hers. They both shifted for better access only to jerk apart when someone pounded on Kim's door. Nate opened the door to the third of Ben's buckaroos. Enrique Quijada carried a box of candy and a bouquet of wildflowers. "Della Quimby said you fell. The guys worried when you didn't show up to meet Lou today." Enrique passed Kim the gifts, and she thanked him sweetly. Nate took their dirty dishes to the sink and ran water over them. Dressed in his buckaroo garb, Quijada cut a dashing figure. All the women in town claimed he had a ready wit Nate knew he didn't possess. He shrugged into his jacket. "I've been here longer than planned. Bye, Kim."

*** Confined to the sofa, Kim felt helpless. She would much rather have Nate stay than Enrique, but she didn't know how to ask him.

Chapter Thirteen A few days later Kim was out and about, her bruises fading. She stopped in at the clinic, but it was as if her brief romantic interlude with Nate had never happened. He was his old, controlled self, and that left Kim feeling awkward. Immersing herself in work to take her mind off Nate, she decided to pay a visit to Ben Trueblood's ranch. "Ben's out on the range," his housekeeper told Kim. "He probably wouldn't mind if you talked to Clover. She's at school. Kate's the teacher. That spider was in her woodshed. She and her boy, Danny, were here when that old coot Bobbalou conjured up his black magic." The older woman sniffed derisively. Kim thanked her and headed for the country school, unsure if she should continue on or call it quits and write this venture off. But she'd met some effective witch doctors and curanderos in her travels.

***

565

School was on lunch break when she arrived. Kate greeted Kim warmly. "That's Clover and my son, Danny, hanging from the monkey bars." She summoned a pretty girl with silky black hair and gorgeous eyes. Kim was delighted to see they looked normal. "Bobbalou put stinky black goo on my arm," Clover told her. "Where that old spider made holes in my arm is all better." Kim examined the healed lesions. "That's astounding for…five months ago, you said?" "Approximately, yes," Kate said. "I'll vouch that Lou used all natural ingredients. You really should see him. Wait, here's Ben. I think they moved the herd off the high plateau today. He can direct you to Bobbalou." Kim felt dwarfed by the tall rancher, but she liked that he didn't hide his love for Kate, and kissed her openly and unabashedly. "I heard you took a header off Bill Hyder's horse," Ben said, his black eyes narrowed on Kim. "Horseback's the only way to reach our grazing camp." "If you'll provide directions, Nate offered the use of his horse this time." Even as she spoke Kim was assailed by doubt. Her memories of the rearing mare remained vivid. "Better yet," Ben said gruffly as he sketched a rough map on paper Kate handed him, "talk Doc Ramsey into riding out there with you." Kate's son, Danny, who'd bounded up, said, "When I moved here, Ben told me a person shouldn't go riding around alone 'cause it's dangerous." Kim smiled at the boy. "I have the bruises attesting to that. I was lucky Nate followed me." "He told me how ATVers scared the crap out of your horse," Ben said, handing Kim the map. "I reckon you couldn't have had a better man than Doc around when you fell." Kim nodded, but as she left the school she weighed whether or not to ask Nate to escort her into the wilds. She wished she hadn't told him about her highly educated family. Ben had just called Nate Doc, but Kim thought it bothered Nate a lot that she had that sheepskin and he didn't.

Chapter Fourteen Kim made up her mind that it was foolish not to ask Nate to accompany her. But she was surprised to find he had a full waiting room of kids who must have come in on the school bus in the parking lot. "Hey," she greeted Nate, poking her head in an examining room. "I came to see if I could borrow a horse to visit Mr. Bobolink. Ben drew a map." She produced it and waved it so he could see. "I was hoping you might ride along. It's a glorious day, the warmest since our shower a few nights ago." Glancing over his glasses, Nate gestured with his otoscope. "I'm a little busy." "I see that." Kate partially withdrew. "I got a frantic call from the Silver City school nurse," he said, referring to a town up the road. "A retired doctor there generally does physicals so these kids can go to baseball camp, but he has pneumonia. Camp starts tomorrow. I agreed to do the physicals."

566

"I could pitch in," she offered. "Maybe we'd still have time to go see Mr. Bobolink. Or postpone going until tomorrow." Nate frowned. "The other night you said time's running out on your grant. Last thing I want to do is hold you up. You go on and interview Lou. Later, when you return my horse, stop in. I'll give you the jar with the spider." Kim shifted, tempted to ask for the spider now. She could examine it in her lab and extract any venom that may remain on its fangs. But results could take days. It'd be smarter to debrief the man who had neutralized the toxins. The ingredient or ingredients native to this area could provide the last link to a broad-based antivenin. Nate noticed she still hovered at his door. He'd been listening to his patient's heart, and now lifted one earpiece of his stethoscope. "Do you need help saddling up? Ask the kids. Oh, and take the chestnut mare. She's ten and has a mild disposition." "Thanks. Well, I'll get out of your hair." Retreating, she hoped he'd change his mind. Dumb. He was busy and this was her project. A gangling red-haired boy volunteered to saddle and bridle the mare. They made small talk. Finally, because she wanted to make the round-trip in daylight, Kim rode off. Reaching a rise overlooking the town, it struck her she'd lost some of the enthusiasm she'd had at the start. And, she mused, she could be happy living here.

*** Nate finished his last physical close to three. He was restocking examining rooms when Joe Delgado, owner of Delgado's Burgers, rushed in with a burn sustained from his deep fryer. "Glad I caught you before you went riding," Joe exclaimed. "I'm not going riding." "Oh, isn't that your saddled horse at the gate?" Nate ran to the door. His mare, Belle—the horse he told Kim to take—whinnied. What was the horse doing back alone—where was Kim? A hole opened in his stomach. He owed first allegiance to patients, but Nate was guilty of rushing and fumbling through Joe's treatment.

Chapter Fifteen Nate had heard in town the previous day that Ben Trueblood and Percy Lightfoot were both moving their herds after signing new lease agreements with the BLM. He didn't have the foggiest idea where those pastures were. He tried Ben's home phone and got no answer. But thinking about phones, he recalled Kim having a cell. Hoping if anyone had her number it would be Clay Bonner or Rosie, Nate hurriedly phoned Clay. His relief at getting the number was colossal. Grabbing a medical bag he got ready to travel, ran outside and clambered up on the waiting mare's saddle. Urging her to trot, Nate's hand shook as he tapped in the final digit on his cell phone. "Hello, Kim? Thank God. Where are you?" There was a sob at the end of her almost incoherent statement. "Nate, oh, Nate, I phoned the clinic. I did something stupid, stupid, stupid." "I don't pick up the regular line when I'm with patients. You should have called my emergency number—it rings my cell. Calm down, Kim. Tell me where you're stranded. I can't believe you fell off my horse, she's so gentle."

567

"I didn't…fall. I didn't know you had an emergency number," she panted. "I'm near water. Not the big river like before. More like a…stream." Nate urged Belle at a gallop up into the foothills. Between her hooves striking gravel and his pounding heart, he had to strain to hear Kim's faint voice. "I got hot. There's no shade on this trail. We reached the stream and the mare plainly wanted a drink. I got off to drink, too, and check the map. I should've noticed she acted odd, pulling away, baring her teeth and making panicky noises. I moved closer to grab tighter hold of her so I could remount. My right foot landed on a nest of rattlesnakes." "Rattlers? A nest? One bit you?" "Two, maybe more. I let the horse go and crawled upstream. I'm cold-packing my ankle. But I'm really hot all over and, Nate, I feel dizzy." Pain stabbed between his eyes. Kim had said a nest of snakes. That could mean young ones. And young snakes had more potent venom than older ones. "Kim, elevate your leg. Get it higher than your heart. Hang on, I'm coming as quickly as possible." "Nate…Nate," she called, and tried to wrap her fuzzy-feeling tongue around the right words. "Go by my lab. In the portable fridge, are…four…vials of my antivenin. They're the only red-topped tubes." "Sweetheart, I'm already out of town. I have my bag, including a snakebite kit." She wanted to tell him her serum was better, stronger than the usual snake combatant, but the phone slipped out of her sweat-slick hand, and by the time she hauled it out of the gurgling stream, it was dead. Feeling herself growing woozier, she endeavored to do as Nate said and prop her leg on a rotting log. Kim imagined it housed spiders and other poisonous insects. Hysteria took hold, then she blacked out.

Chapter Sixteen Nate pressed Belle to go faster through land devoid of all but sagebrush, natural grasses and God's tougher creatures. Nate prayed Kim Matsui was one. There. He spotted her red windbreaker down a steep slope at the edge of Jacks Creek. He might've ridden past her had Belle not shown the nervous behaviors Kim relayed earlier. Pulling up, Nate tied Belle, grabbed his medical bag and plunged down the incline. "Kim, I'm here. Strip out of a sleeve." Nate didn't like how her eyes had a glassy look and the way the hair framing her face dripped with sweat. She stretched her arms aloft, not complying with his request, but slurring something that sounded like, "It's close, so close, but I can't reach the sun." Nate's fingers shook as he broke open a snakebite kit and popped the top off a syringe. He ripped a sterile swab open with his teeth and tore the sleeve of Kim's windbreaker. He administered the antivenin quickly, and was gratified when she swatted at his hand, saying, "Ouch…" A cursory exam of her ankle revealed it was hot and swollen. There were two punctures above her low sock and marks that could be from a third bite in the flesh above the back edge of her sneaker. He removed the shoe pinching her swollen foot and dipped her sock in the icy stream, securing the cold compress over her wounds. All the while she flopped around like a rag doll. Nate spared a precious moment to trace a gentle hand over the face he'd tried not to let haunt his dreams. "Upsy-daisy," he murmured in an unguarded display of emotion. "Hauling you uphill is getting to be a habit," he teased, scooping her up.

568

She flung her arms around his neck and kissed the underside of his jaw. Nate considered that a good sign. At least she was a bit more coherent. Again, getting the two of them onto the saddle was the hard part. But it was just as well she went limp for the ride home. His clinic wasn't set up for overnight stays, so he carried her straight into his apartment at the rear. "Kim, I'm elevating your leg and then leaving you for a minute to contact Boise hospital's snakebite unit. Do you understand?" She acted as if she wanted to speak, but spewed garbled nonsense. Afraid her fever had risen, Nate ran to contact a toxin specialist via satellite. "Nate, I hate to say you've used the best antivenin available." Following that depressing news, the doctor voiced Nate's first fear that deaths from rattlers in Idaho were all a result of bites from young snakes. Nate signed off, closing his eyes. This was Kim's field of expertise. Assuming she knew her stuff, Nate phoned Clay Bonner. "Clay, I have Kim at my place—snakebite. There are red-topped vials in a portable fridge in her lab. Will you bring them to me on the double?" After they said goodbye, Nate crossed his fingers that there were directions on the vials, and that he wouldn't kill Kim administering her antivenin on top of his.

Chapter Seventeen The vials were unlabeled; Kim's leg had turned purple. Nate debated administering her experimental serum against taking her to Boise. She could die on the drive. Decision made, he gave her the same dose as he'd used at the creek. Then he sat and held her hand. When chills racked her body, he covered her with quilts he'd bought at the local fair. He removed them each time her fever climbed. Della Quimby and Marge Goetz brought homemade soup. The minister stopped to offer a prayer. Throughout the evening others slipped in offering moral support. Winnie Lightfoot came about eight. "Winnie, I had Rosie Bonner bring one of Kim's nightgowns, but with Rosie's delicate pregnancy I didn't want her lifting Kim. I'll change her sweat-soaked sheets if you get Kim into the gown." "A doctor who cares about patient modesty?" Winnie clucked but she pitched in and made Kim more comfortable. Nate busied himself with the sheets. "Kim's the doctor, not me." "Humpf. What you are is a man in love." Nate straightened slowly. He didn't say anything as Winnie eased Kim down on the fresh linens. "She's really sick, Winnie. I've run out of things to do for her. I went online even, but didn't turn up any cure newer than Kim's own serum. She rallied once but it didn't last. And she's afraid to try a second dose of her antivenin. There's so much poison in her leg her skin's splitting." "Bobbalou made medicine that took the fire out of Clover's arm. Percy's been bit by rattlers on the range a couple of times. Lou cooked up a cure." "Was Percy bit by baby snakes? That's what got Kim. Powerful venom."

569

Winnie went to the door. "Ben and Percy are in Boise at a horse auction, but call Ben on his cell if you don't have the radio phone number for the cook wagon." Technically he needed Kim's authorization to try alternative treatments, but she was picking nonexistent flowers out of thin air after Winnie left. Nate wasn't using the L-word, but he really cared for Kim. And he had Bobbalou's number. So he went into his office and called his friend. "A nest of rattlers? Shave the core from a new branch of ponderosa pine. Cook it with the dried white mushrooms I gave you. Use gloves and pick a batch of nettles, oh, and five or so dandelion leaves with the bud from the flower head." He named several other ingredients, including pitch. "Mix a thick paste, slather it warm on her skin. Make sure you cover the fang marks with each application." Nate cleared his throat but stammered out his skepticism. "Time's wasting, son. Alternate the salve with a poultice of hot green tea between now and when the sun rises." "What's your percent of guarantee?" A tone in Nate's ear signaled that the old fellow had already hung up. Rejoining Kim, Nate again watched her raving. A catch in his throat, he brushed a kiss on her lips. "Sweetheart, I'll do anything to save you."

Chapter Eighteen It was after dark when Nate dashed into the woods behind his apartment to gather the last few ingredients by aid of flashlight. Simmering the concoction in vinegar made his eyes water and it smelled ghastly. He explained what he was doing to Kim, but she'd slipped into a deep sleep Nate refused to call a coma. It was the poison creeping through her system. With hands far from steady, he rolled a portable oxygen tank into the apartment from the clinic and drew up medication to counter her convulsions. He'd been right in his initial evaluation. She had three sets of puncture wounds. Last spring, in a nearby county, a rancher had died after he'd pulled a stump and had been bitten by two rattlers nesting at its roots. Nate had treated two snakebite victims in the time he'd been running the clinic—both men lived to work another day. "Lord, if you hear me, let my record go unblemished." Sickbed vigils in what Nate termed the witching hours were always the most difficult. But he could no more sleep than he could let go of the notion that he could will Kim to live. At approximately 2:00 a.m. she woke up, squeezed Nate's hand, smiled and said weakly, "Are we winning this game?" "I sure hope so." His heart cracking, he lifted her knuckles to his lips. Not five minutes later her fever spiked again. She thrashed about so violently the next time her body gave way to chills, Nate feared she was at the brink of death. He removed the cool tea bags that he'd wrapped in a pillowcase around her ankle. As he applied the horridsmelling salve, judgmental thoughts pricked his conscience. "What are you doing?" he muttered. "A real doctor wouldn't resort to this." There it was, plain as could be. "If I'd found some way, any way, to attend medical school, then I'd be better equipped to save the life of the woman I love." Nate jerked upright, blinking at his greasy hand. Whoa! That had been plain, too, he thought as he set the pot of salve back in the warming oven.

570

After washing and drying his hands, he pulled his chair nearer Kim's bedside. "I'm sorry as hell that I stonewalled your efforts to see Clover Trueblood's record and hindered your testing the brown recluse that bit her. After you took that first spill off Bill Hyder's horse, I knew I should take you to see Bobbalou. But, dammit, I was afraid if you got the information you needed that you'd leave town." Nate picked up Kim's hand and kissed her knuckles. "It was selfishness on my part. I discovered I like having you around. I liked us working together at the clinic. Not just as medical partner, but…well, personally." Clinging to her hand, which alternated between feeling sweaty and feeling icy, Nate stroked her forehead and brushed hair off her cheek. "If you live, Kim, I swear I'll help you get whatever you need. If you live…I'll explain to Severson or anyone on my supervisory board that I used unapproved treatments on you. Please, God…if you let her live," he said huskily, bending his head and curling Kim's limp hand against his forehead, "I'll do…anything. I'll give up everything I have."

Chapter Nineteen Sunlight crept in thought half-open miniblinds, rousing Nate from his all-night vigil. His eyes felt gritty and he must look like hell. But his personal grooming took a backseat to Kim's needs. It was time to remove the tea compress and redo the salve. Was she improving since the last switch? Hoping it was a sign that all treatments he'd used were working, Nate went to inspect Kim's wounds. To his trained eye the area looked less red and swollen. He was bent over applying the warm salve when Kim stirred. He looked up and met her eyes watching him. "How l-long have I been like this?" she asked, her voice dry and scratchy. "Near as I can tell, you startled those snakes between three and four yesterday. Do you know how happy I am to hear you making sense, Kim?" She leaned up on an elbow and the quilt fell away. "I'm not in my bed. But this is my nightgown." She plucked at dainty front tucks. "You missed a few worried folks paying respects. Rosie Bonner raided your closet, and Winnie Lightfoot made you comfortable. Your slacks were filthy and your blouse wet with sweat. I tore your jacket getting the first antivenin in you. I'll gladly replace it. I won't lie, Kim—you're lucky to be alive. I don't know if your serum or Bobbalou's remedy turned the tide. What I used didn't do squat." She digested his admission. "I…remember the rocky slope, the stream, and…not heeding the mare's warning. I phoned you but got no answer…or did we talk? How else did you find me?" "Not easily. My fault. I try to give patients my emergency number. But I never expected to treat you professionally." "Nate, stop right there. It's fuzzy—maybe I dreamed it—but I remember hearing you bargain for my life. And…" Her forehead pleated. "It wasn't a dream, was it? You think your supervisory board will fault you for using herbal treatments. That's so not true. I came to further my research, and a big part of it has been tribal healing arts. I should have admitted it when we met, but I've learned to be careful about who I tell. To protect my sources from other researchers. Nate, you're as skilled as any doctor I've met. Heavens, where would I be if you hadn't taken the initiative?" She sat up straighter. "Is that axle grease?" "It's Lou Bobolink's secret potion." "As soon as I can walk again I want to meet that man and pick his brain. Will it bother you, Nate, if I extend my stay in town yet again?" she asked carefully. "Uh, why would it?" He backed away to set the pot of salve on the stove. If, in some twilight phase of toxin coma, Kim had heard all she relayed…what else had she heard? His lovesick ramblings?

571

"I like your bed," she said, dropping back on the pillow. "Um, nervous as you are all of a sudden, I suspect I also didn't dream those mutters about you not being equipped to save me." Kim heard his breath huff out, and she smiled.

Chapter Twenty "A man's liable to say just about anything during a deathwatch." Weak but wanting to pin him down so she could be sure they were on the same page, Kim levered herself up on one arm, capturing his full attention. "Even make bargains with God." He fidgeted and stroked his jaw. "I liked us working together. Liked having you around. The thought of maybe losing you made me realize some things." "Such as?" "Well, that it's dangerous for a community to have just one medic. And, on a more personal level, my life's too solitary and lonely." "Would it be too forward of me to point out I could correct both of those deficiencies?" Rounding the bed in a flash, Nate scooted her over and gathered her close. "You can't know how much that appeals to me," he said, nibbling her lips. "But I don't want you making promises out of gratitude because right now you think I saved your life." She wedged a space between them, and smiling through tears, outlined the features she loved about his face. The laugh lines fanning out from his clear blue eyes. The more serious lines that appeared when he listened to his patients' heart and lungs. "I was thinking in terms of sticking around town before you saved me, Nate. I must confess, that day I fell off Bill Hyder's horse, my mind wasn't on what I was doing, but instead on how much I enjoyed helping you at the clinic." "You'd give up finding a universal antivenin?" "It's very likely your friend Bobbalou can provide the final piece to that puzzle." Nate shifted his hold on her, but a light entered his eyes. "What will your overachieving family think of you staying in rural Idaho?" "I think my mother especially will be relieved to hear I've found someone I love enough to give up my globetrotting ways." "Really? You can love a simple country medic?" "Can and do love a brilliant, compassionate man named Nathan Ramsey, who happens to be a dedicated, hard-working PA." Before it was time to switch to the green-tea poultice, Dr. Matsui added "tender and creative lover" to the list of attributes describing Nate.

*** Several weeks later, after her recovery seemed complete except for tiny scars left by the rattlesnakes' fangs, Nate agreed to accompany Kim to Ben Trueblood's summer range so that she could sit and talk with Lou Bobolink.

572

Kim fell in love again. This time with a dear leathery-skinned man who wore his hair plaited in a single white braid. "If I take your ingredients, Lou, add them to mine, and turn out a serum to counter even eighty percent of the world's venoms, it'll be a big accomplishment. Together we can save a lot of lives." "Will it make us rich?" the old man asked, breaking into a wrinkled grin. "No. I signed away private rights to personal gain to the World Health Organization, which sponsored my grant. But I don't regret that," she murmured, her eyes straying to where Nate stood laughing with the buckaroos who weren't really sad over giving up courting her. "Because I've found riches here that money can't buy."

573

The Venetian's Defiant Woman by Susan Stephens British art conservator Charlie Bennett has arrived in Venice to advise Venetian billionaire Orlando Rossi on his most recent acquisition. Before meeting the mogul, she heads to the Rialto Bridge to do some sketching of her own. While making a caricature of the most imposing man she sees, Charlie is shocked when she is accosted by the man’s bodyguards! And she is even more surprised to learn the identity of her subject….

Chapter One “Get off me!” Fear streaked through Charlie as one man snatched the sketch pad she had been working on, while another man hauled her to her feet. A third man—the man she had been sketching—remained motionless, his proud Latin profile etched against a washed-out Canaletto sky. Artists had always gathered on the banks of the canals in Venice to capture the local scene, and she was just one more, so why the drama? Her eyes were blazing fire by the time his men brought her in front of him. “Explain yourself!” The man’s voice was cold in contrast to his red-hot Latin looks. “Explain myself?” For all her bravado, Charlie shivered inwardly; she was half his size. “How dare you set your men on me?” “How dare you,” he countered, “invade my privacy.” He held up the sketch she had been working on, a caricature that exaggerated his features, capturing the essence of the man and revealing a hard individual. She had sketched a good likeness, Charlie thought grimly. “Take her.” He turned and started walking. “Come back here!” Charlie”s voice tore into the tranquil scene, but the man ignored her and strode away. She tried to struggle and escape, but his bodyguards soon recaptured her arms. Could this be the same magical city where her best friend, Nell Foster, had met a handsome Venetian? Dottore Luca Barbaro must be a very different breed of man to this one, Charlie concluded, as her captor’s henchmen marched her along. She was surprised when they brought her to the side door of the hotel where she was staying. Was she was being deported? Had they brought her back to pick up her things? The bodyguards refused to answer her questions and stared ahead as the steel doors of the elevator slid shut. When they opened again, it was on another world, a world where even the six-star hotel situated immediately below them seemed tacky and tasteless by comparison. A horrible realization crept up on Charlie as she walked across priceless rugs. The fabulous apartment could belong to only one man, and he was waiting for her just inside the door. In spite of her determination not to be intimidated, she started shaking. She knew she was innocent, but she had offended Orlando Rossi, a man she had only dealt with over the Internet and by letter, previously; a man

574

who owned not just the building they were standing in, but half of Venice and that city’s treasures, too. The man she had come to Venice to meet. This was the worst possible outcome to what should have been a successful business trip. She was a highly respected British art conservator, and she’d hoped to develop her career internationally. That didn’t look likely now! Professionally she was finished, her reputation lay in tatters at his feet. But as Charlie met the man’s dark, watchful gaze, a different kind of response raced through her. It was a heated situation, and she was upset, Charlie reasoned. And aroused.

Chapter Two “My name is Orlando Rossi, and I own this hotel….” For once Orlando Rossi was being modest. Charlie had known who he was from the moment his bodyguards had frog-marched her into his apartment. And all for sketching a caricature of their boss, a drawing, Charlie noticed now, that had a place of pride in the center of his desk. The man couldn’t be anyone else. Who else in Venice possessed such arrogance, such striking good looks? Who else was as cursed as this man with a coldness that chilled her to the marrow?

*** Did this young woman really think she could steal his image without his authority? He guessed her next move would be to approach some tawdry journal and sell it. How the financial papers would love that! Billionaire property developer Orlando Rossi reduced to a cartoon. He’d be a laughingstock! At first it pleased him to see her tremble. So she should. There were more than enough scam artists and pickpockets in Venice waiting to fleece an unwary tourist, and he had relished the opportunity to bring at least one of them to book. But before he decided her punishment, he would find out more about her; whatever else he was, he wasn’t a bully. The anger inside him was battling with a more primitive desire to protect and defend. Why? Because he was accustomed to sophisticated women who cruised the glamorous world he inhabited like sharks looking for their next meal, and this girl was little more than an urchin in her cutoff jeans and flimsy top. But though he might be revising his opinion that she was just another gold digger, he noticed with interest that her green eyes held defiance, plus the set of her chin and that luscious red hair promised fireworks. She wasn’t as young as he’d first thought. Probably late twenties. And though her build was slight, her breasts were full, which gave him an instant tug of arousal. “Sit down,” he instructed. He resented the preliminaries and wanted them over with so he could take her to bed. When he drank her excited cries into his mouth, she would lose that defiant look. “Tell me your name,” he spoke more gently to prepare the ground.

575

“Charlie,” she answered him, scowling. “Charlie?” He angled his head, waiting for the surname, thinking of the moment when he would stroke and pleasure her in preparation for sinking deep. “Charlie Bennett,” she told him, tight-lipped. “And I want to call the British Embassy right now! You can’t—” “What did you say?” he interrupted. “You can’t hold me here—” “Not that—your name?” “You heard me.” Her recovery was so rapid it astounded him. “Is this some sort of joke?” Her jaw firmed as she looked at him. “No joke, Signor Rossi. We’ve been in contact for some time. My name is Charlie Bennett, and I work as an art conservator in—” He cut her off with an impatient gesture. “Don’t be ridiculous! You can’t be Charlie Bennett. That’s impossible!”

Chapter Three “You can’t be Charlie Bennett!” Orlando Rossi repeated. “I can assure you I am,” Charlie said, holding the contemptuous Latin’s gaze. She had been quietly sketching on the Rialto Bridge in Venice when his bodyguards had dragged her in front of him, and now the sparks were flying between them. It was a little late, here in his fabulous apartment, to curse the impetuous nature that had prompted her to join the other artists on the bridge. “Charlie Bennett is an experienced conservator of important works of art!” he scoffed. True. After six years of training, and three in the field, there wasn’t much she didn’t know about art. “You have already approved my qualifications, Signor Rossi—” “Assurdita!” Charlie had to tilt her chin to confront that blaze of fury, but she stood her ground. Orlando Rossi, Italian billionaire and avid collector of old masters, was no stranger to Charlie by reputation. She had come to Venice at his express request to view his latest acquisition, a famous painting for which he had paid millions at auction. When it was restored, he intended to hang it in the lobby of his hotel, where she had been staying up to now at his invitation. But not for much longer, Charlie suspected, as Orlando gave a contemptuous shrug. “Look at you!” he snarled. She would admit that dressed in her off-duty clothes she hardly looked the part. Cutoff jeans and a casual top couldn’t compare with the neat suit and court shoes she generally wore for work. But unfortunately, those were in her hotel closet several floors below them.

576

“You’re an opportunist who thought to sketch me and sell your work for profit!” Snatching up her half-finished work, he held it in front of her face. “And you insult me in the bargain!” The real problem, Charlie guessed, was that Orlando Rossi couldn’t conceive that a woman could be an expert in anything, let alone art, an area in which he considered himself an authority. “If you won’t believe me, why don’t you call reception and ask to see my passport?” she suggested. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t I test your expertise?” As he brushed past her on his way to the door a charge flashed between them. But did he feel it? Charlie hoped not. She wasn’t used to trembling with awareness when she worked, and could only see it as a threat to good judgment. “Why are you hesitating?” Orlando demanded crushingly. “Are you frightened I’ll expose you as a fraud?” “There’s not a chance of that,” Charlie retorted, stung by the insult. “Perhaps it’s me you’re having difficulty with?” His eyes narrowed speculatively as he stared at her. “Don’t flatter yourself, Signor Rossi. My only purpose in coming to Venice is to examine your painting. You don’t interest me at all—” “Is that so,” he murmured, raising all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck as she walked by.

Chapter Four How had she got herself into this? As Orlando Rossi led the way out of his fabulous penthouse, Charlie could only rage inwardly as his bodyguards urged her after him. They had seized her, along with the caricature of him she had been making, and had brought her to him as if she were some criminal to be judged. Her only crime had been to make a lighthearted sketch of the most vital man she’d seen on the Rialto Bridge that morning. How was she supposed to know that certain things in Venice were out-of-bounds, and that Orlando Rossi was one of them? As the steel doors of his private elevator slid open and his bodyguards muscled in between her and Rossi she felt like screaming. What did they think she was going to do? Attack him? She was an expert in art from London who had come to Venice to give her opinion on an old masterpiece he’d bought and nothing more. But Orlando Rossi refused to believe she was that expert and now intended putting her to the test. She was so angry, her heart was practically beating its way out of her chest. And there was another reason for her agitation. In the quiet world in which she worked, Orlando Rossi’s brazen masculinity had come as a violent shock to her, and the pulses of sensation it had induced were hardly the best aid to concentration!

*** Was Orlando Rossi going to allow himself to be fooled by some chit of a girl? He dismissed this thought in an instant. As a property developer and leading hotelier in Italy, he was accustomed to reading features about himself in the financial papers, but he had no intention of migrating to

577

the social pages of some down-market journal thanks to a clumsy scam attempted by this young woman. A young woman who professed to be an expert in art! He would have laughed in her face had he not formed a better plan. He would expose her as a fraud, and then enjoy his triumph in the fullest sense. They both would. Her darkening eyes and the swiftness of the pulse throbbing in her neck all promised an enjoyable conclusion to a regrettable event. As if agreeing with his thoughts she gasped when the elevator slowed abruptly, and she swayed toward him. His waved off his bodyguards. Fraud or not, her scent enthralled him — wild flowers, innocence and unslaked desire… As he took in the cascade of copper-gold hair, the gamin face and slender frame, he briefly regretted that experience had made him cynical. How different this moment might have been if countless women before her hadn’t found inventive ways to gatecrash his life. It was time to put such thoughts out of his mind. He would put her to the test, as he had first intended. He was an expert, too, in his way, and though her chin remained firm, her wayward body was telling him another story.

Chapter Five Orlando drove Charlie in a sleek black Lamborghini to a ravishing house overlooking a lake. They didn’t speak until he came around to open her door, and then it was merely a brisk acknowledgement on Charlie’s part that he had found some manners at last. Her heart was pumping furiously as they crunched over the gravel and climbed the sweeping steps. She had never been in a situation like this before. Charlie Bennett, art expert, lived quietly alone and never grew emotionally attached to her wealthy clients, let alone allowed herself to be kidnapped by them. For what else could you call this? From the moment the Italian billionaire Orlando Rossi had taken offence at the caricature she’d sketched of him, her life had been turned upside down. Refusing to believe she was the expert he had been dealing with over the Internet, he intended keeping her close until he could put her to the test! After a lengthy journey alone with Orlando in the intimate cabin of his throbbing Lamborghini she knew she'd fail the test. Instead of blocking out the sweet sensations the ride induced, she had enjoyed them, and now her mind was completely preoccupied by the man who could arouse her with only a glance. She would never be able to concentrate on the painting in this state. As his butler opened the door and stood back to let them in, Charlie thought she must be entering Aladdin’s cave. She had never seen such a wonderful collection of art in a private home before. “Where are you taking me?” she asked with suspicion, as Orlando dismissed the man and started up the stairs. “To my bedroom…” He paused briefly to look down at her from the curve of the magnificent marble staircase, and the look in his eyes made her tremble. “No, Signor Rossi,” Charlie said firmly. “You’ll do as I say,” he snapped as if to remind her she was in his world now. “If you want to start exercising that expertise of yours, then that is where you must begin—” “I must do nothing,” Charlie called up the stairs, making no attempt to follow.

578

“But the masterpiece you came to see is hanging in my bedroom.” “In that case, you must have it brought downstairs….”

*** His hand tightened on the silky hardness of the mahogany banister, the only sign that he had never encountered such defiance before. And from a girl whose first consideration should be holding on to her career—in the unlikely event she turned out to be who she said she was! “Shall I ask your manservant to show me to a room where I can wait, Signor Rossi?” They would play out this charade on his terms. But his legendary control eluded him as his mind filled with images of losing control inside her until that measured voice found release in cries of ecstasy. He saw her pale as if she had read his mind. Holding her gaze he walked slowly downstairs again.

Chapter Six “You will regret making an enemy of me, Ms. Bennett.” Orlando Rossi put just enough emphasis on her name to warn Charlie he would never believe she was the Charlie Bennett, the art expert he had been expecting to call on him in Venice. “I have no intention of making either an enemy or a friend of you, Signor Rossi,” Charlie assured him. “As far as I’m concerned, this is strictly business.” So why was she here, inside Orlando Rossi’s sumptuous pleasure palace in the foothills of the mountains surrounding Venice? Was it because he drew her like a moth to an erotic flame? She could hardly pretend it was business that had brought her to his country estate, when Orlando’s eyes called her a liar, and her own heart did, too, thundering so loud she was sure he must hear it. To date all the dealings between them had been by letter and over the Internet, and nothing could have prepared her for meeting Orlando Rossi in the flesh. And now that she was here, it was one thing proving she knew what she was talking about where art was concerned, but another agreeing to view Orlando’s priceless painting in his bedroom. “You must have it brought downstairs for me to see,” she told him. “Or I might as well leave now.”

*** She was so young, so naive and so desirable, and as she tilted her chin to issue her demands, he wanted her there and then against the wall at the foot of the stairs. Art could wait. He had other pleasures on his mind, like meshing his fingers through that thick red-gold hair. Like taming her. He might forgive her everything then, even her deception and the outrageous sketch she’d made of him that his men had seized on the banks of the Grand Canal. She gasped as his arm shot out to block her escape, but then, just as he expected, her eyes darkened. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and there seemed no point in denying themselves. “It’s time you learned some respect,” he murmured, threatening delicious punishment with a look. “It’s time you learned some, too!” she retorted.

579

As she tried to slip past him, he dragged her close. “Are you going somewhere?” he said huskily against her lips. When she didn’t try to pull away he added, “I don’t think that’s what you want, is it?”

*** The truth was, all she wanted was to have Orlando Rossi make love to her. The urge to touch and taste him and to be stroked by him intimately in return was seething inside her… “Let me go!” She struggled fruitlessly, rejoicing in the fact that he was so much stronger than she was. “Kiss me if you dare!” she provoked furiously against his mouth. “All right,” he said, running his hands down her arms until she shuddered with desire. “I will…”

Chapter Seven She melted in his arms. She could fight him, but she couldn’t fight herself. She had wanted Orlando Rossi from the first moment they’d met. No, even sooner than that, Charlie admitted silently. She had wanted him when she first saw him silhouetted against a watery sky on a bridge in Venice…. The Rialto Bridge had been crowded, but she had seen only one man and had started sketching him right away with fast, sure strokes to create a lasting image to enjoy at leisure. Since then, all she could think about was being kissed by him, held by him, and she had imagined the scent of his cologne, which she now knew was sandalwood laced with amber. “Why, cara, you are whimpering and nuzzling me like a kitten wanting more…. Do you want more, carissima? Do you want me to pleasure you?” She was too aroused to answer, and could only manage to sigh and writhe against him. She had anticipated how hard his body would feel beneath her searching fingers, but it was even stronger than she had imagined. Her intuition told her he would know everything a man needed to know about lovemaking, but his eyes promised even more. She had dreamed of this moment since their first fiery encounter. And Orlando was right; she needed this. She had lived without passion for far too long. When he held her in his arms and looked deep into her eyes, she felt sure she had been wrong about him. The passion he aroused insisted she was wrong. She wanted him. Why deny it? And yes, while Orlando was rasping words against her lips in his own language that promised all types of erotic pleasure, she was prepared to believe anything. “You’re such an innocent,” he murmured, sounding pleased as he swung her into his arms. She wanted to please him and relaxed against him with a sigh as he carried her up the stairs to his room. He set her down carefully on a fabulous Persian rug, and when she looked up, she saw the bed took center stage in the room. It was on a platform, and was sumptuously dressed with a crimson quilt decorated with gold thread. It was the perfect setting for seduction, and as Orlando brought her close, holding her so that the soft swell of her buttocks pressed against his hardness, she arched back against him, longing for his kiss. “Do you like it?” he said. “Oh, yes,” she murmured, lost in an erotic trance.

580

“Then tell me what it is,” Orlando ordered, his voice hardening. “Tell me about my painting—” She came to and saw it then, hanging over the bed. Orlando was every bit as bad as she’d thought him. He had deceived her into coming upstairs with him. “You tricked me!” she accused, stiffening with humiliation “As I said, you’re an innocent,” Orlando mocked. “Now tell me what you know about my painting, or get out of my house!”

Chapter Eight “You’re a heartless man!” Charlie was furious with herself knowing she had almost allowed Orlando Rossi to make love to her—though of course it wasn’t love. Anything but! Her mind was in turmoil as she searched for possible explanations for her behavior. She had only dealt with the Italian entrepreneur in writing before and could never have predicted the erotic power he exuded. This was her first, and hopefully her last, brush with an alpha male. She was an expert in art, a conservator; her world was quiet and circumspect, and people knew how to behave. They didn’t kidnap one another on the Rialto Bridge in Venice, or bring them to a fabulous lakeside home and attempt to seduce them. Not that she would have taken much seducing, though Orlando’s henchmen had seized the sketch she’d made of him and dragged her before him against her will. And now she was in his bedroom, where Orlando had wanted her to be—not to make love to her as she’d thought, but to expose her as a fraud when she attempted to assess the priceless painting hanging on his wall. “Take your time,” he said without a shred of tenderness. “Take all the time you need.” To fail? Orlando fully expected her to fail, and why should he think any better of her when she was still throbbing from his touch? “I can’t concentrate with you standing at my shoulder,” she told him firmly, needing space. “Then I’ll wait over here.” He strolled across the room, completely at ease having left her in shreds. How was she supposed to think straight while he was loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves? “Well?” he snapped, jerking her back to full attention. “I can’t conduct a proper investigation here. I need the picture taken down and transported to a laboratory where I can study it in detail.” “Really?” he said skeptically. “Well then, that is exactly what you shall have.” He thought he was calling her bluff, when in fact she was relieved at the prospect of conducting a proper investigation somewhere other than Orlando’s bedroom. He had tricked her into coming upstairs with him, and it was hard to believe she had risked everything she had ever worked for just for the promise of a few moments of pleasure. A laboratory was familiar territory, and she would feel much safer on neutral ground. “Do you have a driver who can take me back, or shall I call a taxi?” “Do what you want.” He flicked his wrist dismissively.

581

“Where I come from it’s customary for a host to ensure their guest arrives home safely.” For a moment Charlie thought Orlando might laugh or worse, but he contented himself with a lengthy stare. “Don’t trouble yourself!” she said, finally losing it. “I can look after myself.” She turned on her heel and didn’t see him come after her.

Chapter Nine Orlando caught Charlie to him and kissed her in spite of her protestations. And the crazy thing was, after all that had happened, she still wanted him. “Let me go!” She pummeled his chest, but even as she did so her body pressed closer and twisted against him, seeking relief.

*** Easing her down on the bed Orlando kept his hand between her legs, working it firmly and persuasively. He didn’t pause to remove her cheap cutoff jeans; he didn’t need to. He could feel her moist heat reaching him through them. She whimpered with excitement as he soothed her in his own language, and it only took him a few welljudged strokes to tip her over the edge. Now he had her where he wanted—temporarily sated but vulnerable because soon she would want more. As she gasped for breath, struggling between the urge to reach for him or push him away he did nothing to help her. Leaving her on the bed, he allowed time for the powerful waves of pleasure to subside so she could recover her composure. “Are you ready to evaluate my painting now?” he said then. It pleased him to see the way she looked at him. The cool, clearheaded art conservator had been caught yet again by the man she believed was cold and calculating. How did she think he had reached the pinnacle of success? By being an emotional fool? She shook her head as she looked at him incredulously. “You’re a hard man—” “And you’re a foolish woman,” he observed with satisfaction. “Not as foolish as a man who spends ten million on a fake—” “What?” His gaze traveled past her to the painting. Art was his passion, his only love in life, and he never ever made mistakes. “You can’t be right!” “I know my job, and if you have the painting transported to a laboratory in Venice, I’ll call in a dozen experts and prove it to you.”

*** It was fortunate Venice was full of museums and experts for Charlie to summon. By late that evening they had all agreed with her assessment, and as they filed out of the door of the laboratory, she flashed a look of triumph at Orlando before following them. He caught up with her on the cobbled walkway overlooking the Grand Canal. “No one walks out on me—”

582

“And what will you do if I ignore your warning, Signor Rossi?” Take her to bed, he thought, as her green eyes flashed fire. His mouth softened in a grim smile. “Take you to dinner,” he amended wisely. “You must be joking!” “I can assure you, I’m not. But, of course, if you don’t have the good grace to accept my apology…” Sexual tension sparked between them, and with any other woman he would have been confident in her reply, but Charlie Bennett was very different from other women, and he could only wait and see what she would say.

Chapter Ten “Dinner?” Charlie looked at Orlando suspiciously, remembering how easily she had fallen for his sexual appeal, and how willingly she had lost control in his arms. She had no intention of making another mistake. She was here in Venice on business—his business—and would do better to remember that if she wanted to hang on to her career. And yet… The idea of resisting Orlando was always so much easier than actually doing it. She was here to evaluate a work of art he’d purchased, not fall into bed with him, Charlie reminded herself sternly as her body responded on cue to Orlando’s deep, searching glance. She had exposed his painting as a fake, forcing him to acknowledge that she was the expert she said she was. Why would she put her credibility at risk now? Maybe because his suggestion that they have dinner together to discuss the opportunity to work for him on future projects was hard to resist. And why should she? She had stood toe-to-toe with him before, and the truth was the thought of the battles ahead excited her.

*** Dinner would be a pleasurable way to make up for doubting her. And the possibility of using Charlie’s expertise in the future was a genuine possibility. His collection of art was constantly expanding, and having an expert on hand would bring undoubted benefits, especially when that expert was Charlie Bennett. But she was still hesitating, and he wasn’t accustomed to waiting, especially for some scrap of a girl whose crowning virtue was that she was as honest as she was desirable. He was still stinging from the discovery that the painting he’d paid a king’s ransom for was worthless, but he would swallow the loss. At the end of the day it would hang in the lobby of his hotel on the Grand Canal just as he had planned, and no one would be any the wiser. “You will have to declare the painting a fake, of course,” Charlie said. “I beg your pardon?” He looked down at her innocent, earnest face. “The painting,” she explained. “Brand it a fake so no one’s misled.” Was she mad? He frowned at her naiveté. He’d paid a fortune for it. “With you to guide me, I’m sure we’ll come to some arrangement…” “It’s not up to me, Orlando. I’m not on your payroll—”

583

“Yet.” “No.” Charlie shook her head. “I’m happy as I am advising you on the occasional project.” No? Did she know whom she was talking to? Clearly not! But there were more ways than one of getting what he wanted. “Fake or not, I love that picture,” he said persuasively. “I think it must have been a case of love at first sight— What?” he said, seeing her look. “You don’t think I’m capable of being romantic?” Of being manipulative and ruthless, yes, Charlie reflected silently, but romantic? “Why don’t we discuss the concept of love at first sight over dinner?” Orlando suggested.

Chapter Eleven They were walking along the cobbled calle above the Grand Canal on their way to a working lunch, with the living museum that was Venice smiling down on them. “So, do you believe in love at first sight?” Orlando asked Charlie. When Orlando stopped and turned to look at her, she couldn’t stop staring at his lips and remembering how it felt to be kissed by him. But, of course, he had only kissed her to lead her on, to make her think he wanted to make love to her when nothing could have been further from the truth. Why would a Venetian billionaire want to make love to a penniless art conservator? And a plain one at that! “Well?” Orlando prompted. Was he mocking her? She wanted to believe in love so badly, but a man like Orlando loved power, and if he should ever guess how deeply she had fallen in love with him he would only think her naive. “Shall I repeat the question?” As he spoke, his gaze slipped to her lips. It was vital to keep reminding herself that this was the man who had refused to believe she was the Charlie Bennett, an expert in art, with whom he had been conversing with via e-mail, and whose bodyguards had seized her and dragged her before him as if she were a criminal for doing nothing more than a lighthearted sketch of him. He was not an ordinary man she could risk flirting with. “Love at first sight?” he pressed. Their faces were very close, her senses were full of him. How she yearned for him. Her body answered before her lips could form the words. Even here in the street her nipples burned for him, and the pulsing at the apex of her thighs was a constant reminder of what could be. It took all she had to drag herself out of the erotic trance and answer him. “I believe some people are lucky enough to meet their life partner and know it right away, while others are not so fortunate…” She looked away in case he saw the hunger in her eyes. “And what of us?” he pressed. “Us?”

584

Charlie stared incredulously at Orlando. She was a mouse, a nobody, while Orlando Rossi was a lion among men. Even in Venice he stood out with his menacing air and striking good looks. His presence alone made other men seem insignificant by comparison. “You want me, don’t you?” he murmured. Her throat constricted. The truth must be written in her eyes, on her face, in every breath she took. “We’re very close to the hotel,” he pointed out. There were so many things she should have said, but she remained transfixed and silent. “Shall I feed you until you fall asleep in my arms?” Orlando suggested. His dark head was so close his lips were almost touching her mouth. This was the moment she should tell him no…but the truth was she didn’t want to.

Chapter Twelve Charlie was as fragile as a china doll, which forced Orlando to behave with restraint as he carried her though his apartment in the hotel. He laid her gently on the bed, thinking how delicate, how fragrant… Straightening, Orlando stripped off his tie and jacket, knowing that what had started out as a cold-blooded seduction designed to bend Charlie Bennett to his will, had turned into something much more. She had changed him, and he didn’t know if he liked this new eager, softer Orlando; he didn’t know if he could trust him. It might have been different if he hadn’t married so young, only to have his bride lured away by an older, more successful man. The experience had turned Orlando to ice, but it also accounted for his rapid rise in life. He had vowed never to be at a woman’s mercy again, until Charlie Bennett came along and tempted him to break those rules. It was becoming harder every moment to remind himself that Charlie was in Venice to provide a service for which he was paying her. She was an art conservator; they were employer and employee, nothing more. And yet his brother, Santino, had married the hired help and couldn’t have been happier with his choice of bride, which left Orlando in the same quandary as before! The only thing he was sure about was that he wanted Charlie, and that she wanted him. “Why are you smiling?” Charlie stared into his eyes as he sat down beside her on the bed. Linking her arms around his neck, she looked at him trustingly. “You make me smile,” he admitted, dropping a kiss on her neck that made her sigh and quiver. “Is that a good thing?” “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “You’ll have to help me find out.” “I want you…” she murmured sweetly, innocently. “That’s all I know.” “And I want you.” And he would draw back at the first sign that she was trying to lay claim to him. But neither of them had the power to stop what happened next. They ripped at each other’s clothing, desperate to remove anything that kept them apart.

585

“Caro Dio! You’re so beautiful,” he exclaimed, seeing her naked for the first time. “Make love to me, Orlando. Forget everything except this…” It was an easy promise for him to make. “I won’t hurt you.” She kissed his shoulder passionately, not realizing he was talking about taking her gently because he was so big and she was so small. When they paused at last she touched his face in wonder, forcing him to turn away. “What you said to me before Orlando, about love at first sight—” He kissed her because he didn’t want to talk about love. It was something she believed in, and he wasn’t sure he was capable of doing so. She deserved better. “Don’t you want to make love to me again, Orlando?” How could he refuse her?

Chapter Thirteen They had parted happily after breakfast, and Charlie had returned to the laboratory where she had first uncovered that fact that her lover’s work of art was a fake. Her lover… Charlie paused as she worked, hardly able to believe what had happened, and how a cold, hard man had changed into a tender, considerate person, who had lifted her into another realm, another level of consciousness, where all the differences between them melted away. She was passionate about her career as an art conservator, but now she was passionate about Orlando Rossi, too, and would do anything to make him happy. Sitting back, she smiled in triumph. It was just as she thought. Orlando was so impatient, he hadn’t given her chance to air her suspicion that there might be another painting beneath the one she had exposed as a fake. And this one was worth a fortune. “Charlie? What are you doing here?” “Working on something for you…” Her face softened at the sight of the man she had fallen so deeply in love with, but something in his voice rang an alarm bell in her head. “I gave instructions the painting must not be touched.” “But—” “Your contract is finished. You’ve proved the work a fake, why can’t you let it end there?” “I haven’t come here to gloat, Orlando.” Ice sluiced through Charlie’s veins as she looked into his eyes and saw the expression in them. “If you will give me chance to explain, I have discovered—” “What is it?” he said impatiently.

586

“There is another painting beneath the one you bought. It’s genuine,” she told him, seeking solace in her professional role, “and worth a lot more than you paid for it.” “Then forgive me. I should thank you.” She looked at the hand he put out for her to shake and felt her heart break. “So that’s all I mean to you?” Maybe she should have kept quiet and held on to her pride, but she couldn’t help herself. “You’re very good at your job, and I’m offering you a compliment.” He seemed bemused. “But we made love last night-” “We had sex,” he amended. “You said you loved me.” Orlando held her gaze until Charlie realized her mistake. “I see. You loved me for as long as it took to have sex with me.” “My driver will take you back to the hotel while I make sure the painting is stored away securely.” He made her feel like a thief. Walking away, Charlie stopped, resting her hand against the cold steel door. “I feel sorry for you, Orlando.” He brushed her off dismissively. “I’ll think of you in your lonely existence, sharing your life with a collection of pictures.” “Come back, Charlie!” Her defiance infuriated him. He should be used to it by now, but her quiet strength always took him by surprise. He wasn’t used to feeling like this; he didn’t know how to handle it. Damn the woman! He’d have to go after her.

Chapter Fourteen “No, Orlando! You can’t come in here!” “This is my hotel!” he reminded her. “I could call security and have you thrown out.” “Are you threatening me? Go away! I’ve got nothing to say to you.” “But I’ve got plenty to say to you.” He forced his way past her. “I’ll call the police,” Charlie threatened as Orlando quietly closed the door. “And say what? That the man who employs you as an art conservator was concerned to discover you were working alone at the laboratory in the maze that is Venice, and wanted to be certain you returned safely to the hotel?”

587

“We both know that isn’t true. And if it had been, you could have called me on the phone.” “Let’s move past the niceties to why I’m here—” “Yes, why are you here, Orlando? You made it pretty clear back at the laboratory how you felt.” “I’m here because no one walks out on me!” The passion in his Latin soul burned into her eyes. “My employees certainly don’t—” “But as you were at such pains to point out, Orlando, I no longer work for you. My job’s done! So presumably, I can do as I like— Don’t touch me!” She whipped her face away when he cupped her chin, but he could already feel her melting beneath his touch and knew how quickly her body would respond to him. “I was wrong, cara mia. I shouldn’t have shouted at you.” “No, Orlando!” But she was in more danger from herself than from Orlando. She was still broken, weak and vulnerable from discovering he didn’t love her. She had continued working on Orlando’s painting out of love. She had gone to bed with him out of love. She still wanted to believe they had made love when Orlando didn’t have a clue what love was. What she had to get through her head was that Orlando loved sex—he loved it a lot. What she needed now more than anything was space to recover. “Go back to your treasures, Orlando, or count your money! I’m sick and tired of—” “Of what, carissima?” She hated her body for betraying her. Orlando’s voice was so seductive it made tiny tremors quiver up and down her spine. “Please go, Orlando. We both know this is just a game to you, a game you cannot bear to lose….” He proved her right, taking hold of her arms so that a sigh escaped her lips. “Was that a complaint?” he murmured against her love-bruised mouth. The truth was she welcomed his persuasive warmth, and the heat had already transferred to every part of her. “Come to bed with me, Charlie…” Orlando added more words in his own tongue, words she could only guess the meaning of, though she knew they were of pleasure beyond her wildest imagining… And pain, too. “Leave me, Orlando. I’m begging you. There’s nothing here for you now.” “Except you,” he said huskily, swinging her into his arms.

Chapter Fifteen “No, Orlando!” Tears streamed down Charlie’s face as she backed away from the man she loved. They weren’t tears of grief or fear but disillusionment and anger because she had believed Orlando loved her.

588

Orlando loved sex, Charlie knew that now, and his expertise was such she had found him impossible to resist. Up to now. But now she had to draw a line beneath their relationship and remember that she worked for him. Charlie’s work as an art conservator had allowed her to expose Orlando’s most recent purchase as a fake, but by working diligently on little more than a hunch, she had found a second work of art beneath the first. “Have you come to reward me for the discovery of the masterpiece by taking me to bed?” “I wouldn’t dream of touching you. I thought I was speaking to an equal, but now I realize I am dealing with a frightened child—” “Dealing? Speaking? You can call what is between us anything but love, can’t you, Orlando?” He gave the orders. He always had. He was accustomed to receiving respect, not impassioned criticism, especially from a woman. “It’s a mistake for you to think me weak, Orlando! I may not have your glamour, wealth and confidence, but I’m no fool, and I won’t be treated as one.” “I never thought you a fool…” His softer tone brought the pain back to her eyes. “Please go.” She turned away so he could no longer see the expression in her eyes. “I will return to London tomorrow. You need never see me again.” That didn’t suit him. He would not live his life according to anyone else’s timetable. “You work for me until I say the work is over. You signed a contract.” Her mouth had firmed by the time she turned to face him, but she didn’t argue. “Your professional reputation demands you stay to complete the restoration,” he reminded her. “My integrity demands that,” she said proudly. “Something I imagine you know little about.” Latin pride made his dark eyes glitter. “You will stay to work on this new painting.” The brief light in her eyes jerked a resentful response from him. Far from finding his words a threat, she looked forward to working on the painting. She was passionate about art but not him; he had let that precious passion slip through his fingers. “If you’re going to be working for me we should at least be talking.” She hugged herself defensively. “I can’t see a way back from here.” “Of course you can,” he insisted. They were both made of sterner mettle than that. “Then what do you suggest?” she said suspiciously. “Lunch tomorrow.” And when she hesitated, he added, “In a neutral setting of your choice.” “Agreed.” She’d caved in sooner than he thought.

589

“We’ll have a picnic, something well out of your comfort zone.” “Perfect,” he agreed readily without a flicker of emotion.

Chapter Sixteen It was unlike Orlando to arrive anywhere early. But in this instance… “Orlando.” Charlie greeted him at the door of her hotel room. “I must apologize,” he said as his gaze swept over her. “I can see I’m a little early. I will return when you’re ready—” “I am ready,” she said coolly. “Shall we go?” His first impulse was to say, “Not until you’ve changed into something more suitable for an outing with me.” “Orlando?” Wisely, he kept his opinion to himself, but did she know what she looked like? His women made more effort. He didn’t expect them to wear a simple sundress and sandals that might have come from a market stall. His driver was outside in the boat launch with a gourmet picnic hamper from the best delicatessen in Venice. “Here, carry this, will you?” she said. He gazed in astonishment at the moth-eaten plaid she was handing him. “What’s this for?” “We have to lay our food on something—” “You’d better give that to me,” he said impatiently, sensing things were getting away from him as she hefted the strap of a cold bag onto her shoulder. “Why do we need this?” “For our picnic.” “But I’ve already ordered food from the best—” “And I went out shopping at the market early this morning—” she walked past him “—so I can assure you, we won’t go hungry.” As she spoke she gave that same steady stare he was growing used to, and instead of making him angry this time, it made him smile. “Very well, let’s go. If you’re sure you’ve got everything?” “I’ve got everything I need,” she told him confidently. Emotions stirred inside him as they left the hotel. Where had this confidence come from? Was this the same woman whose heart he had supposedly broken, the woman he had mistaken at one point for a scam artist on the Rialto Bridge? It was hard to believe when this beautiful woman now had the composure of a queen. His lips tugged up as he watched her stride away. She was tiny and vulnerable yet so stubborn and strong. Apparently he had a lot to learn about Charlie Bennett, and the first lesson seemed to be, she was a match for him.

590

“Come back here,” he said, but this time he spoke softly and with such longing, he felt sure she wouldn’t hear him. But they were more keenly tuned to each other than he knew, and she stopped as if even the sound of his heartbeat was no secret to her. “No,” she said, turning to face him. “You come here, Orlando.” “What?” He stared at her in bemusement. “I said…you come here.” She tipped her chin at the defiant angle that was so much a part of her. “We’ll walk together,” he said. “And while you’re making a feminist stand, you can carry this.” He held out the rug to her. She hesitated and then smiled.

Chapter Seventeen She had hired a gondola in his hometown of Venice. “You needn’t have gone to this expense,” he pointed out, “I have—” “I know,” she interrupted him. “A private boat. Several, probably. But don’t you think this is more fun? I know I like to experience things I’ve never done before.” His impulse was to put her over his knee, but they might have enjoyed that a little too much, and with a gondolier watching them… Orlando contented himself with a raised brow. His mouse of an art conservator had turned into a mischievous imp, which both aroused and amused him. She was full of surprises; he never knew what was coming next. He wasn’t accustomed to women taking the lead. They served one purpose and one purpose only, or they had in the past. He refocused on Charlie as she sighed. “This is lovely,” she said, turning her freckled face toward the sun. “I shall be so sorry to leave Venice and return to London.” But not because of him. He felt a stab of jealousy, but knew it was his own fault that Charlie had come to love his city more than him. The city never changed, while he was accustomed to showing one face to the world and keeping another to himself. “Well. How are we going to pass the time?” she asked him bluntly. He gave her a sardonic look. That had never been a problem for them before, but then, when she hadn’t been working on his paintings, they’d been in bed. Conversation saved the day. It was such a simple solution he felt like punching the air. He never listened and discussed, he issued orders and solved problems because that was his role in life, or had been up to now. But Charlie was a good listener, and so was he, he discovered. The paths that both of them had taken to reach this point were fascinating. “To the point where Orlando Rossi is prepared to eat a simple picnic like any other tourist traveling by gondola on the Grand Canal,” she said. As she smiled at him his heart soared. “Pâté?” he invited.

591

“Chocolate,” she said with a wicked smile. Their roles were reversed. He was being sensible while Charlie was being self-indulgent, and for some reason that felt like a victory. Was he falling in love with her? The thought hit him like a thunderbolt. “We’ve arrived at the hotel,” she said, jolting him back to the present. “I hope you enjoyed the picnic, Orlando.” She had no idea. “See you tomorrow at the laboratory.” She had stepped nimbly ashore before he could stop her. He smiled. The chase was on again. They had been given a second chance, and this time it would be a very different man and woman taking part. He paid the gondolier double what he asked, feeling it had been worth it. And then, taking his time, he followed Charlie into the hotel.

Chapter Eighteen The phone call from Charlie took Orlando by surprise. She had finished her work on the painting and wanted him to see it now that it was fully restored. When he arrived at the laboratory he was overwhelmed, both by the skill of the young art conservator with whom he had fallen in love and by the treasure she had revealed. “It’s priceless,” she told him in a reverent voice. “And so are you.” “Even in paint-stained rags?” “Even in paint-stained rags.” He drew her into his arms. She came to him like a small boat berthing after a long journey. They had shed a lot of misconceptions about each other along the way. Orlando Rossi, the Italian billionaire who’d never known a tender emotion in his life was a different man. “You’ve changed me,” he murmured against her mouth. Their kiss deepened and quickly became so much more. It was a passion neither one of them could ignore. “In the laboratory?” she panted, laughing excitedly as he backed her toward the door. “Can you wait?” That question was redundant now that her legs were locked around his waist. It was the greatest feeling on earth. He held her off the ground, relishing her cries as she gripped his buttocks. She urged him to move faster and the first climax hit them both almost immediately. “I want more,” he said as soon as he could speak. He made sure the door was locked, and then, cradling her in his arms, he carried her to the small sofa he’d had put there for her relaxation. He’d never imagined this—making love to her over and over again. He was

592

really making love to her, and she knew it. Her eyes were filled with love for him, which was something he would never forget. They were basking in the afterglow when he remembered something, and turned to her. “I want you to be part of the ceremony when the picture is hung in the hotel.” He was so sure she’d be delighted, he wasn’t prepared for her to pull away. “You can’t be serious.” The mood between them shattered into a thousand pieces. She dragged on her clothes like a suit of armor, putting distance between them. “That painting is so important, so valuable, it belongs to the whole world, not just the privileged few. Surely you can see that?” Frankly no, he couldn’t see that since he’d paid so much for it. “You can’t hang it in your hotel,” she insisted fiercely. “It must hang in a public gallery—” “Impossible!” “What?” She looked at him tensely. “Tell me you don’t mean that, Orlando.” “I’ve never been more serious in my life.” The blood drained from her face, taking all the love she felt for him with it. “You said I’d changed you—” “And so you have.” He reached for her, but she eluded him. “Where are you going?” “Back to London as I always intended. My work’s done here.”

Chapter Nineteen She restored ancient works of art and believed in idyllic love, the type of love artists captured on canvas. That one perfect moment, Charlie reflected as the plane taking her home to London banked over Venice. But life was never that simple. She had lost her heart to Orlando Rossi, a man familiar with extreme wealth and power but a stranger to love. She had restored a painting for him that she saw as a legacy for the world, whereas he wanted to hang it in his fabulous hotel where only a privileged few would ever see it. She and Orlando had parted on bitter terms, though her love for him would never die. He was right—they came from different worlds, and she should have known better than to expect those worlds to merge and allow them to go forward into the future together.

*** No one walks out on me! But she had. And now Orlando couldn’t rest. He called the airfield and told them to expect him.

***

593

Orlando entered the lecture hall anonymously, shielded by a horde of students. He felt a rush of pleasure that Charlie could attract such a crowd. He listened with rapt attention like everyone else as she talked. She was inspirational. He watched the glowing faces of the students as they left the hall and knew she had fired them up. The only time he got a response from the wealthy and powerful guests who stayed at the hotel was if they had a complaint to lodge against his staff. The moment he got close enough to attract Charlie’s attention, he told her, “You were wonderful.” “Orlando…” She paled, and the world shrank around them. The students disappeared, sensing something big was taking place. “Can we go somewhere?” he asked, “Yes, of course.” She took him to a tiny cubbyhole he supposed must serve as her office. “What brings you here?” “You,” he said simply. “Orlando, I—” He put his finger over her lips. She held his wrist away. “No, Orlando. If you’ve got another picture for me to restore, I can tell you right away, I’m not interested.” Tilting her chin she stared him directly in the eyes.

*** This was agony. She wanted him as much as ever. But Orlando’s sole reason for following her to England had to be because he refused to accept defeat, whether that was in business or his personal life. His world was different and there were no bridges. “Charlie, you’re being selfish.” That was only the first surprise. “I changed for you,” he said, “but how have you changed for me? I admit I was shocked when I discovered how much the painting was worth, but if you’d stayed, we might have discussed alternative plans. You never gave me that chance. I’m asking for it now…” It wasn’t hard to see why this fiercely handsome man enjoyed such success. “You’re a consummate negotiator, Orlando.” “No, I’m a man in love,” he argued, taking hold of her.

Chapter Twenty Charlie had missed Orlando so much in the short time they’d been apart. Life was too precious for them to be parted for even a moment.

594

Orlando took her to a central London park where they stopped on a bridge to watch the river sweeping away toward the sea. “Orlando Rossi, the man the world sees only as a successful businessman, is a man like any other. He feels,” he said. Charlie smiled with happiness as Orlando tapped his chest with his clenched fist. There was a time when he would have been incapable of making such a statement. “I have been thinking about all the things we could do together—” “Together?” Charlie blushed. All she could think about now was Orlando making love to her. “Are you listening to me, cara?” She had to resist the temptation to show the love she felt for Orlando. The one thing Charlie was sure about was that they were worlds apart. But try as she might, she found herself slipping into the easy relationship that had developed after their picnic on the gondola. “I’m not talking about money or paintings, I’m talking about us,” Orlando explained, “and what you and I can achieve together.” He grasped her arms in his enthusiasm. She longed to share his dream, but… “With your help I’m going to build an art collection such as the world has never seen. It will be called the People’s Collection, and it will be housed in one of my palazzos on the Grand Canal in Venice.” One of his palaces? Didn’t that emphasize the gulf between them? Still, the dream was tempting. “Are you serious, Orlando?” “I’m certain,” he said with a fierceness that reminded Charlie yet again that nothing was ever done halfway where Orlando was concerned. “Well?” he demanded, cupping her chin to stare into her eyes. “Will you help me, Charlie? Will you be my partner in life, in work, in everything?” “That’s quite an offer…” “If you’re not up to it…” He shrugged expansively—very Latin, very sexy. “I need you, Charlie Bennett,” he said, “every bit as much as you need me.” “No—” Orlando stopped her with a kiss. “You don’t have to ask the question—I do believe in love at first sight. How could I not? So tell me. What’s your answer? Will you leave me to my locked rooms of paintings, or will you rescue me?” “But I’m not rich or beautiful or special in any way.” “How wrong you are,” Orlando argued. “Marry me, Charlie Bennett, and save me from myself.”

He grinned. “You’re not supposed to start laughing at a moment like this.”

595

“I can’t help it, I’m so happy.” “But I haven’t given you my answer yet.” “But you will.” Yes, she would, Charlie realized, suddenly overwhelmed by the rightness of it all. The sun dipped behind the horizon as they left the bridge, and by that time two very different worlds had merged effortlessly into one.

596

Assassin Study by Maria V. Snyder Yelena, the heroine of Maria V. Snyder’s stunning debut novel Poison Study, is on her way to her ancestral homeland of Sitia to be reunited with her family and to learn more about her magical powers. An order of execution hangs over her head should she ever return to Ixia. But her true love, Valek, quickly learns that an assassin has taken it upon himself to make sure Yelena doesn’t reach her destination…. As Ixia’s chief of security, and a highly skilled assassin himself, can Valek track down the killer in time to save Yelena’s life? Cast your vote to determine the outcome!

Chapter One Valek gazed at the mess on Mogkan’s desk and sighed. It would take him days to go through all the papers, but Commander Ambrose wanted him to fully investigate the extent of Mogkan’s involvement in General Brazell’s plans to seize control of the Territory of Ixia. Plans that had been thwarted. With Brazell incarcerated and Mogkan dead, only the tiresome chore of tying up the loose ends remained. As he scanned the various documents and notes on the desk, Valek was sickened by the details of horror Mogkan had wrought on the orphans in Brazell’s care. It was a wonder Yelena survived Mogkan’s magical torture. And it troubled Valek greatly that a rogue Sitian magician could live in Ixia for fourteen years without his knowledge. The fact that Brazell had sheltered Mogkan was no excuse. Valek was the chief of security for all of Ixia; it was his responsibility to know these things. Children had been tormented. Valek’s thoughts returned to Yelena. An icy finger of loneliness touched the emptiness inside him. She was in Sitia, where she needed to be to learn about her magical powers, but she had taken his heart with her. Cursing himself for being melodramatic, he concentrated on the grim task at hand. An unfamiliar name—T. Daviian—was written multiple times on various papers. When he found the line T. Daviian—My Love—paid 6 golds, Valek guessed T. Daviian had been the Sitian assassin who had poisoned the Commander’s drink with My Love during the trade treaty negotiations. Daviian was the name of a plateau in Sitia. As far as Valek knew, the plateau was uninhabited. A knock interrupted his musings. “Come in,” he called. Ari opened the door and entered. “How’s Janco?” Valek asked. Ari’s partner had gotten skewered with a sword during the battle to free the Commander from Mogkan’s magical control. “Driving the nurses crazy. This morning he pretended to be dead. When the night nurse reached for him, he grabbed her arm.” Ari shook his head. “Good to hear he’s feeling better. Do you have a report?” “Yes, sir. All of General Brazell’s aides have been accounted for. The Commander is conducting interviews with them.” A glint of appreciation flashed in Ari’s pale blue eyes. “It’s amazing how the Commander can get a confession from an advisor using silence. I felt compelled to confess all my boyhood crimes during the deadly quiet.” “How many advisors were involved with Brazell’s plans?” “Two so far. We’ve stopped for lunch.” Valek doubted they would find more. His spies hadn’t picked up on the illicit activity, which usually meant a small number of people were involved. Either that or his scouts had been compromised. An intensive

597

investigation into his intelligence network would be prudent before he could trust anyone besides Ari and Janco. “What’s the status on Brazell’s soldiers?” Valek asked. “Everyone on the roster is accounted for.” “Good.” From the uncertain expression on Ari’s face, Valek knew the man was troubled. “Something else?” “Yes.” Ari paused as if debating what he should say. “Our initial count of General Brazell’s army had one extra person, but when we matched names to the list, it worked out.” “Perhaps a servant or an aide was counted by mistake?” “That’s what I thought, too. But…” Valek waited. He, too, knew the value of silence. Ari flinched as if he suspected his next words would anger Valek. “I’ve heard rumors in the guard house. There’s been a lot of boasting about who’s going to murder Yelena.” Which was expected. There was no love for her among Brazell’s people; she had killed his only child, Reyad, and had played a major part in the General’s arrest. “Go on.” “The boasts have stopped, but bets are now being made on when Tam will kill her.” “Who’s Tam?” “A lieutenant. That’s all I know.” T. Daviian? Valek wondered. A Sitian assassin? “Is Tam on the roster?” “No.” “When did the bets start?” “This morning. Orders?” “Get me more information about Tam. Don’t be subtle.” “Yes, sir.” Ari saluted and hurried from the room. Valek abandoned his task and dashed to the stables to check if there were any horses missing. All was quiet. Perhaps Brazell’s guilty advisors would have some information. He returned to Brazell’s manor house. The sprawling building resembled a minicastle, and Valek remembered the King of Ixia’s brother used to live there before the Commander’s takeover. The Prince had been just as corrupt as his brother, and Valek had had the pleasure of assassinating him as well as the entire royal family. Valek headed to the dungeons. Unfortunately he was familiar with the location and layout of the underground cell, but he couldn’t suppress a grin. Even though they had been locked within the foul darkness, he and Yelena had found a moment of pure joy.

598

One of the Commander’s aides intercepted him. “The Commander wishes to see you, sir.” When Valek hesitated, the aide said, “Now.” Impatient with the delay in his investigation, Valek rushed to the Commander’s office. Ambrose had commandeered Brazell’s workplace. He had stripped the opulent decorations from the room, but kept the broad ebony desk and high-back leather chair. “Valek.” The Commander gestured him closer. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve assigned an assassin?” “For what?” Ambrose’s powerful gaze bored into Valek. Most people would be reduced to a quivering mess by the Commander’s ire. Valek remained unaffected. “Yelena. The order for her execution is gone,” the Commander said. Fear coiled around Valek’s throat. “I didn’t assign anyone. When did you last see the order?” “You were supposed to assign—” “When!” Ambrose said nothing. Valek drew in a deep breath. “I apologize, sir.” “The order was on my desk this morning. It wasn’t there when I returned from lunch. If one of your assassins didn’t accept the order, then who did?” “Permission to find out, sir?” The Commander contemplated. Valek willed his body to keep still. “She’s safe in Sitia, Valek. The order only applies if she’s found in Ixia.” Unless it was a Sitian assassin after her. He lacked proof but, he vowed, not for long. “Permission granted. You’re dismissed.” With time running out, Valek searched for Ari; he found him in the soldier’s barracks. Ari’s strong hands were wrapped around a guard’s neck. The trapped man’s face turned purple. “Report,” Valek ordered. “Just having a nice chat with my friend. Seems Tam had been recruited from Sitia by Mogkan and, out of a misguided sense of duty, is now after Yelena,” Ari said. “My friend was on the verge of divulging when Tam left. Right?” He relaxed his grip. “About…two…hours…ago,” the man said, gasping for air. Yelena was in danger. A second of mind-numbing panic and worry gripped Valek, but he suppressed all emotion. He needed to think and plan. Tam was on foot with a two-hour head start, traveling due south. The assassin was still in Ixia. On horseback, Valek could arrive at the border before Tam and set up an ambush, or he could follow Tam into Sitia and find out more about the assassin’s intentions.

599

Chapter Two Valek made his decision. He informed Ari of his plans and hurried to the stables. According to the stable master, Onyx was the fastest horse in the barn. Valek spurred the aptly named all-black horse into a gallop when they exited the manor house’s grounds, heading south to the Snake Forest. The thrumming vibrations from Onyx’s hooves echoed in Valek’s chest. He worried over being too late and missing the assassin. Any delay would put Yelena in lethal danger. Snake Forest was a thin strip of green that undulated from east to west between the northern Territory of Ixia and the southern lands of Sitia. The official border was located about one hundred feet past the Snake Forest’s southern edge. Valek knew the border’s location presented myriad problems for both countries’ border patrols, but he had used the cover of the forest to his advantage many times. And today would be no different. He arrived at Military District 5’s (MD–5) patrol station in the heart of the forest two hours before sunset. Just enough time for him to get into position. “Sir?” The station’s captain stood at attention. “A person of interest is going to attempt to cross the border tonight,” Valek said. “Should we increase our patrols?” “Yes, but not in section twelve. And I want your guards to be visible, but not be obvious about being visible.” “Sir?” “I want your soldiers to herd the person toward the unguarded section so I can mark him and follow him into Sitia. Understand?” “Yes, sir!” By sunset, the beefed-up patrol made subtle noises along the edge of Snake Forest, and Valek, wearing a camouflaged jumpsuit over a Sitian disguise, waited in section twelve. His current location was based on logic. If he planned to cross the border without being detected, this tight deer path would make a perfect route. Crouched on a tree branch, he smiled at a memory. When Yelena had played the role of a fugitive in this forest, she had glued Cheketo leaves on her uniform shirt to cover the bright red color. Her homemade camouflage worked, and she had been able to elude capture during the day-long exercise. Then, she had been aware that soldiers searched for her; a lone assassin would have the element of surprise. If Valek couldn’t mark Tam, he would find Yelena and track her until she was no longer in danger. He huffed in amusement. She had the unique ability to attract danger even when in benign situations. Perhaps he should amend his plan and just watch her until he neutralized the assassin. Darkness settled over the forest. Calls of an owl and the hum of insects punctured the silence. A furtive rustling in the underbrush drew his attention. He studied the area and soon spotted a figure. The person clung to the shadows and, at Valek’s distance, it was impossible to see his face in the gloom. A skilled opponent. The assassin ghosted under Valek’s tree. Valek waited for a few heartbeats before easing to the ground and following the assassin. Part of him was pleased that he had guessed right, but another part worried over the

600

ease with which he found Tam. Occupational hazard, he supposed. Without the habit of analyzing every situation from all angles, he wouldn’t be alive. By daybreak, the assassin had crossed the border. Valek stopped for a moment to wash the camouflage paint from his face and to hide his jumpsuit. He darkened his pale skin to match the tanner Sitian hues, and smoothed his white cotton tunic and sand-colored pants. Pulling his shoulder-length black hair back, Valek tied it. The heat would increase each day until it reached unbearable levels. Sitia wasn’t the best place to be during the hot season. The assassin headed toward a small village in Sitia’s Moon Clan lands. Surrounded by farms, the village contained one inn and a single tavern, which Tam entered. Valek circled the building. Only one exit. He waited a few minutes before going inside. Animated conversation filled the tavern. A joyous mood rippled through the crowded room and it wasn’t long before Valek heard snatches of the stories. “Fourth Magician, Irys Jewelrose…” “Ten children!” “Kidnapped from us. Taken north…” “Fourteen years!” “Rescued from right under the Commander’s nose…” “Soldiers chased them across the border…” “Fourth Magician saved their lives!” “Returning them home…” Already exaggerated, the stories failed to mention the Ixians’ help or that a rogue Sitian magician had started the trouble in the first place, but the gossip did reveal Irys and Yelena’s next stop—Fulgor, the Moon Clan’s capital. Traveling with a large party, Yelena’s progress would be slower than that of a single person. They had left yesterday morning, and it would take them two days to reach Fulgor, where they would probably stay and search for families who had lost a child. It appeared the assassin was in no hurry to catch up. Tam remained at the bar until nightfall, talking with a few locals and drinking ale. Valek paid his bill, and waited outside to avoid suspicion. When Tam left and checked into the inn, he seemed relaxed and showed no signs of being aware of Valek’s presence. Valek managed to get the room next to Tam’s. He would have liked to do a little investigating, but couldn’t leave Tam alone. During the long hours of the evening, Valek wished he had brought Ari with him. Eventually he dozed in a chair by the wall he shared with Tam. Each slight noise roused him from sleep. In the middle of the night, Valek woke on his feet. He crouched with his sword in hand without any memory of moving. All was quiet. He sheathed his weapon. “Hel…” a muffled voice sounded outside. Valek glanced out the window in time to see four men drag a woman from a house. The men carried the struggling victim down the street.

601

He paused for an instant. At one time in his life, he would have ignored the woman’s plight and stayed focused on the assassin. But not now. Not since Yelena entered his life. And never again. Valek opened the window and shimmied down the drain pipe. He pulled his sword and raced after the four men. They cut down a small side street and entered a warehouse on the left. A few shrill screams escaped before the door shut, the click of the lock audible in the sudden silence. Peering through a dirt-streaked window, Valek saw the men lift the woman onto a table. Just enough moonlight reached inside to glint off a knife held above the victim. No time left to consider all options. Valek yanked his picks from his breast pocket and popped the lock in seconds. Rushing into the building, he grabbed the nearest man and flung him to the ground, knocking him unconscious with his fist. The three remaining men drew their swords; ringing steel echoed. The woman jumped to her feet on the table, brandishing a long knife. Triumphant smiles spread on all their faces. Ambush. Valek looked over his shoulder. Six more armed men sidled behind him. When his gaze returned to the original group, there were two more. Twelve against one. Bad odds, but not impossible. Crates and equipment littered the room, ropes and pulleys hung from the ceiling and broken windows could all be employed for his purposes. “You’re under arrest,” the woman said. “On what charge?” Valek asked. “Espionage, assassination, trespassing. Take your pick.” Valek considered. If arrested, he could escape later when he had better odds. “Will you surrender?” she asked.

Chapter Three A fight against twelve would be impossible in normal circumstances, but the littered and uneven terrain of the warehouse tipped the odds in Valek’s favor. Plus the delay of having to escape from jail if he surrendered could put Yelena in greater danger. He sheathed his sword. The ambushers surrounding him relaxed slightly. Good. “No,” he said to the woman. “I won’t surrender.” Valek jumped onto the table. The woman—who had played the part of victim so well—stabbed her long knife at his chest. He grinned as he turned sideways, letting the blade go past him, then grabbed her arm. Knife fighting was his forte, but he wouldn’t have time for a proper match. Pity. Instead he twisted her wrist. The knife clattered to the table. Valek spun her and dropped her onto the men who crowded around them. He leaped and seized a rope hanging from the rafters then swung over to a pile of wooden crates. His plan had been to climb down the crates and dive through the broken ground-floor window, but the other men rushed to intercept him. The attackers swarmed like bees. They yelled and called to each other. Too many. Valek knew it was only a matter of time.

602

Change of plans. He reached for the rope and pulled himself above the swordsmen’s range. The rope ended at the underside of a catwalk near the ceiling. Valek grasped the edge of the walk and hauled himself up. He lay on his stomach and surveyed the situation. The building was only three stories high. A wooden staircase clung to the back wall of the warehouse. Boots pounded and dust fogged the air as the ambushers rushed up the stairs. Four men remained at the base of the rope. Smart. Valek crawled to the edge of the catwalk and hopped down to the third-floor landing. He ran to the closest window, hoping for a way down. Otherwise he would have to surrender. Using the hilt of his sword, he shattered the windowpane. He smiled when he saw the fire escape. The drumming of his pursuers’ footsteps grew louder as Valek stepped onto the metal staircase. The men shouted to their companions on the ground floor. It wasn’t the clatter of feet above him that made Valek pause about halfway down but the loud metallic groan. He looked up in time to see two more men push out onto the fire escape. Top heavy and rusted through, the staircase screeched and broke away from the building. Valek braced himself, but the jolt shook him loose. And his forehead slammed into the edge of a stair when it bounced. By the time he regained his wits, he was entangled in the fire escape and surrounded by three armed men. Their sword tips hovered mere inches from his chest and throat. Before he could say a word, another man came close and the last thing Valek saw was the dangerous end of a club.

*** Stabbing pain woke Valek. His head felt as if a blacksmith was using it as an anvil. Every muscle in his body ached and a fire burned along his shoulders and back. His arms quivered with strain until he realized he was hanging from his wrists. He positioned his feet under him and stood. Chains clanked as he moved. With his feet chained to the floor and his arms chained to the ceiling, Valek could only shift a few inches. He glanced around the cell. Carved from stone, it had one man-made wall with iron bars. The lock on the door was recognizable. Easy to pop if he could get at it. He wore his own clothes and knew, even if the guards had done a thorough search, he still had a few toys left. No one has been able to find everything he carried. So far. He would have to wait for an opportunity to escape. Unfortunately his jailers wouldn’t give him any openings. They refused to speak to him. They squirted water into his mouth, standing at a distance even though he was chained. Their actions alarmed him. Usually once he was in a cell, his captors were overconfident and made mistakes. The reason for their caution became clear when Valek had his first visitor. “I should hire a painter so I’ll always have a picture to remind me of your pathetic predicament,” Tam said. Pure malicious glee lit his grey eyes. His black hair was braided into one long rope down his back. “I’ve warned them about you, but I really didn’t think it would be this easy. You’ve lost your edge. Gone soft. The old Valek wouldn’t have risked himself for a woman.” “I’ve no regrets,” Valek said. Tam huffed in amusement. “We’ll see if you feel the same way when the noose is tied around your neck.” “Still angry over the lack of work in Ixia, Tamequintin?” Now that he could see him up close, Valek recognized the man. Tam had been a popular and well-paid assassin for the Ixian monarchy and a

603

colleague of Valek’s. When the Commander gained control of Ixia, Tam hadn’t been content to be Valek’s second in command. He disappeared soon after. “I never lack for work. In fact, a certain magician paid me very well to come to Ixia and deal with a problem for him.” “Mogkan’s dead.” “True. But it was the first real challenge I’ve had in a long, long time. And yet I was very disappointed.” Tam gestured to Valek. “Captured with the first effort.” “So all this was for me?” Relief pulsed though him and he almost laughed. “Initially, yes. Then I heard about an order of execution sitting idle on the Commander’s desk. If I was going to get rid of you, then the Commander would need a new security chief. How better to show the Commander my unique qualifications by assassinating his former food taster?” “The order isn’t valid in Sitia,” Valek said. His heart rate increased. Yelena remained in danger. “But it will showcase my knowledge and contacts in Sitia so well, I’m sure the Commander will understand. And I’m sure you’ll understand if I don’t hang around to gloat during your hanging. I’ve hunting to do.” Tam made to leave, but paused. “The authorities are well aware of your abilities, so they won’t transfer you to the Citadel for a public execution. Instead the Sitian Councilors and Master Magicians are coming here. Enjoy your short stay.” Tam waved jauntily and left the cell. Frustration coursed through Valek’s blood. He should have brought backup with him. He could have sent Ari after Tam, keeping Yelena safe. Should haves and could haves wouldn’t help him. Pulling on the chains didn’t work, but it was better than just standing there. The day passed slowly. Muffled sounds of hammering reached him, grating on his nerves. The town probably had to build gallows. His guards kept their distance, and Valek realized his only chance to escape would be when they took him to be hanged. Later that night, a second shift of guards came on duty. But when one of the guard’s came into the cell, Valek felt magic. Even though he was immune to magic’s effects, he sensed it as if the air in his cell had thickened and pressed against his skin. The guard was a woman, but she used her magic to disguise herself as a man. Valek saw through the illusion. “I can help you escape,” she whispered, “but you have to promise to do one thing for me in exchange.” “What do you want?” “Promise first.” “I won’t harm or endanger Yelena, and she’s my first priority.” “The promise has nothing to do with her. Time is not a factor. Will you promise?”

Chapter Four

604

Valek considered the woman’s offer. He’d been in worse situations over the years, but now time was a critical factor. He couldn’t wait until the perfect opportunity to escape arose. Not when an assassin hunted Yelena. “I promise,” he said. The magician’s tight expression eased, and she flashed him a smile of relief. Moving quickly, she unlocked the metal cuffs on Valek’s wrists and ankles. He rubbed his arms as a stinging pain rushed through them. “Here.” She handed him a set of lock picks. “Wait about ten minutes before you use them. I’ll distract the others when you get to the guard room, and rendezvous with you on the road to Fulgor.” “Hurry up, Justus,” a guard yelled. “My tea’s getting cold.” She turned to go. “Hold on. What’s the promise?” Valek said. “No time. Later.” “At least tell me your real name.” She paused by the cell’s door. “Ziva.” Her voice was a whisper. “Ziva Moon.” Slipping through the door, she pulled it shut behind her. The loud clang echoed in the stone cell, followed by the distinct click of the lock. Valek spent the next ten minutes stretching to return flexibility to his stiff muscles. His stomach rumbled with hunger, and he tried to ignore the pangs. Instead, he focused on the task at hand—escaping. The cell’s lock popped without trouble. Easing open the door, he glanced down the prison’s hallway. Empty. For now. One of the disadvantages of being brought in unconscious, Valek didn’t know the layout of the building. However, most prisons had the same basic design—cells underground and a guard room between them and freedom. Valek turned left and moved without sound. A few cells were occupied; soft snores floated on the damp air. The hallway ended at a staircase. Lantern light flickered through iron bars that blocked the top of the steps. A thick metal plate covered the locking mechanism, leaving only a slender hole for the bolt’s key. He heard murmured voices and chuckles. The guard room. Valek listened for a while. He counted six separate guards. Climbing the rough stone staircase, he calculated how quickly the guards would notice him working on the lock. With luck, Ziva would divert their attention long enough for him to open the door. He peered through the bars. Five heavily armed men occupied the room, which appeared to be the office, as well. Ziva remained in disguise. She met Valek’s gaze and nodded. Walking over to the window, she glanced out. Magic pulsed in the air. She grunted with effort. After a few moments, she cried out in alarm, “The gallows are on fire.” The men rushed to the window, and Valek opened the lock during the commotion. He waited. Orders shouted, three men raced from the office, leaving two men and Ziva behind. She slumped under the window. The sticky feel of magic vanished as the illusion disguising the magician disappeared. “Justus, what’s the matter?” One of the guards hurried over to her. Valek eased through the door. “What the—”

605

Using the guard’s shock over discovering Ziva wearing Justus’s uniform, Valek rammed into the man and pulled the guard’s club from his weapon belt as he fell. A temple strike later and the guard ceased to move. Valek turned in time to engage the remaining guard. Club against sword would be horrible odds if the guard had any refined skills. Fortunately for Valek, only two quick moves were required to render the man unconscious. Without thought, Valek scooped Ziva from the floor and rested her slight weight over his left shoulder. He grabbed a sword, then dashed outside. Bright orange lit the night sky as fire consumed the gallows. Crazed activity surrounded the blaze as the townspeople tried to organize a bucket brigade. Valek smiled at the scene before slipping unnoticed into the shadows. Once the sky began to lighten, he stopped to rest. He had traveled west through the forest, paralleling the road to Fulgor. Ziva stirred when he laid her on the ground. Long brown strands of hair had escaped from her tight bun. She pushed them aside and squinted at their surroundings. Her pale blue eyes widened as she made a realization. “Not the rendezvous location you’ve hoped for?” he asked. “Why didn’t you leave me there? If I was arrested, you…” She swallowed. “Wouldn’t have to keep my promise?” She nodded. “A tactical decision. I’d already managed to get into enough trouble without having a backup plan. I hoped perhaps you could help me again.” “How?” “Your knowledge of Sitia for one. And your magical abilities.” “Limited,” she said. “I thought I could light a fire and keep my disguise, but the effort exhausted me. You might want another partner.” When Valek didn’t reply, she continued, “So I help you in exchange for my rescue? And your promise?” “Still valid. Although I am curious what I have promised to do.” He waited while she fidgeted with the buttons on her uniform. “A very powerful magician has taken my child, and I want you to get her for me.” His surprise must have showed because she rushed to explain. “He is…was my husband. His love and affection for me ceased and transferred to her the moment she was born. After that day, he viewed me solely as a breeding mare, coming at night, demanding…” She drew in a steadying breath. “Eventually I ran away.” “The authorities?” Valek asked. “I had no legal recourse. He accused me of abandoning the family, being a bad mother. No one believed me.” “You want me to kill him?”

606

“No! I just want my child.” “But he’ll come after you. You said he was powerful.” “I’ll figure it out. I just can’t pierce the magical protection he has surrounding her, but you can.” Valek mulled over the situation. The rescue of her daughter would be relatively easy and would honor his promise, but he doubted she would know how to disappear properly so her husband couldn’t find her. It would be a challenge. One that he would enjoy. Ziva had been watching his face. “You’ll help me, right?” “Of course. Let’s go.” “Where?” “To Fulgor. I have an assassin to stop.” He pulled her upright and they followed the main road to Fulgor. They arrived in town near dusk. Once he had ascertained Tam hadn’t caught up to Yelena, Valek rented a room at Staffa’s Star Inn and ordered a large meal. After eating, Ziva went in search of information on Yelena’s group while Valek contacted his spies. He had assigned three members of his corps to every major city of Sitia and had six members living inside the Citadel. The spies kept an eye on the cities and reported any interesting news to Valek. One of the Fulgor spies had seen Tam near dawn. “I recognized him from the old days,” Lysa said. “Thought he might cause trouble and tailed him to see what his plans were. He bought a horse and had asked the stable owner for directions to Delip. Then he left town.” “Where’s Delip?” Valek asked. “In the foothills of the Emerald Mountains. A small Cloudmist Clan village.” “How do you get there?” “The best way is to follow the border of the Avibian Plains east until you reach the mountains, then head south. It’s faster to cut through the Avibian Plains, but no one goes that way.” “Why not?” “Sandseeds. They live on the plains and don’t like strangers. Their protective magic attacks are unwelcome to travelers, confusing their sense of direction until they die of thirst.” Lysa gave Valek a map, and he thanked her. He met up with Ziva at the inn. “Fourth Magician and Yelena are headed for Delip,” she said. “They left around midmorning. Seems one of the girls may have family there.” Interesting. Tam had left ahead of the group. He told Ziva about Tam’s actions. She thought for a moment and said, “Yelena will be nicely protected on the road to Delip. It’s not well traveled and no towns are along the way. Fourth Magician will know if a stranger is within a mile of them.” So Tam planned to ambush them in Delip. On horseback he would arrive in plenty of time to prepare.

607

Unless Valek used the shortcut through the plains and set his own ambush for Tam. Or he could catch up to Yelena and warn her.

Chapter Five “How much time will we save if we cut through the Avibian Plains on horseback?” Valek asked Ziva. “None. The Sandseed Clan’s magic will…” The skin between her eyebrows creased as she thought. “It won’t affect you, but it will confuse me. Unless your immunity to magic extends to someone with you?” “It doesn’t, but I can tie your reins to my saddle to keep you close. Will that work?” “I guess. As long as we don’t run into Sandseeds.” Ziva estimated they would save a full day by traveling through the plains to the town of Delip. After securing horses and saddles from Valek’s Fulgor spies, they left the city. At the border of the plains, they stopped to attach her reins to his horse. The plains' long grass and rolling terrain stretched before them. “Head directly southeast. In a day you’ll see the Emerald Mountains, and if you continue southeast for another, it will bring us right to Delip,” Ziva said. When they crossed the border, Valek felt the sticky strands of the Sandseeds’ protective magic trying to find a weak spot; moving through the magical barrier required effort. Ziva’s emotions cycled from confusion to panic to paranoia. She kept insisting they were going the wrong way. When she tried to dismount in midstride, Valek halted the horses and tied her down to her saddle. By the time evening descended, he wished he had left her behind. Not able to trust her to stay with him, he pricked her with one of his darts after they ate dinner. The sleeping juice worked fast, and he faced a quiet night. Unfortunately, it was too quiet. Valek had been dozing next to their campfire when the insects ceased humming. The heavy pressure of magic lifted. He listened for a moment. The soft slide of legs brushing along grass stalks sounded to his left. The muted crunch of bare feet on sand came from his right. When a bowstring creaked, Valek rolled. An arrow slammed into the ground where he had just been. Once he was away from the firelight, Valek stopped. He pulled his knife and crouched low in the grass, scanning the plains. Three dark figures approached him; the weak moonlight glinted from their scimitars. Two others stood to his right near the campfire. Another creak sounded behind him. Valek spun in time to see a person loose an arrow. He dodged, but it nicked his shoulder. He glanced left. Two more men; eight in all. No time to play nice. Valek yanked a dart from his belt and flicked it at the figure with the bow and arrow. He didn’t wait for the potion to work before rushing the injured man. Knocking him flat, Valek kept going. He needed to be clear of the circle of attackers to counter so many opponents. Stopping abruptly, he swung around and threw another dart at the closest man before pulling his sword. As the man collapsed, two of his companions reached Valek, swinging their scimitars at his head. He fought them until they dropped to the ground in exhaustion.

608

The remaining four figures waited out of range. Confused, Valek peered at them. Why hadn’t they joined in the fight? “Excellent,” a man’s deep voice said. “You fought despite the odds.” “Which could have been worse,” Valek said, gesturing to the four. “That would have been unfair.” “And attacking me in the middle of the night wasn’t?” “No. You are trespassing on our lands.” He stepped closer. A foot taller than Valek, his onyx-colored skin was bare. Glancing at Ziva’s prone form, he frowned and magic pulsed in the air. Ziva stirred. “We thought we would have to fight both of you.” Powerful muscles sculpted the Sandseed’s body. “Why are you here, Ghost Warrior?” “Ghost?” “Magic does not see you, therefore you cause a dead space in our protective web. Tell me why we should not exterminate you?” “Because he is on a Jaydai Quest,” Ziva said, coming to and sitting up. “He is not Sandseed,” their leader said. “It does not apply to him.” “The quest is for a Sandseed cousin,” she said. “Is he worthy of the honor?” The big man closed his eyes. A bubble of magic exploded from him. Knives rained from the air, all headed toward Valek. With a combination of instinct, skill and luck, he dodged, ducked and deflected the blades. His arms stung with multiple cuts, but he suffered no major injuries. The Sandseed smiled. “A true warrior. Go with our goodwill and save our Zaltana cousin.” The visitors left without sound. Valek waited for the return of the protective magic, but the air remained clear. “Do I want to know what a Jaydai Quest is?” Valek asked Ziva. “No. It’s better you don’t.” “Interesting people.” “You have no idea.” They encountered no more trouble as they finished their journey to Delip. The immense snowcapped Emerald Mountains formed a gorgeous backdrop to the tiny town. A quick survey revealed Tam hadn’t arrived yet. They rushed to set their plan in motion.

*** His disguise in place, locals paid off and Ziva on lookout, Valek mucked out the stables with no qualms. All was ready.

609

When Ziva slipped through the side door and hid, he continued to fill the wheelbarrow with soiled straw. The drumming of hooves grew louder and stopped. A creak of leather and a jingle of metal indicated the rider dismounted. Valek scooped another shovelful. “Boy, come get this saddle,” Tam ordered. Annoyance laced his voice. Valek turned. His disguise was adequate, but wouldn’t hold under close scrutiny. “Sorry, sir. Busy day.” He rushed to loosen the straps. Ignoring him, Tam scanned the almost-filled stables. “Got some visitors, I see. Anything new?” His tone was casual, but Valek could sense the tension. “Yes, sir. You missed the commotion.” Tam’s gaze snapped to him. “Really?” “Yes, sir. The infamous Valek was spotted nearby last night. Caused a panic.” The assassin’s confusion lasted a mere second before he drew his sword. “Are you sure it was him, boy?” Tam’s skills with a sword were formidable. Valek didn’t care to engage him in a sword fight. And he held far too much respect for his old colleague not to allow him a fair match. So Valek stared past Tam’s shoulders and let fear show on his face as he backed up. Too smart to turn his back on Valek, Tam smirked. “Come on, give me a little credit.” “Why should I, Tam?” Ziva said in Valek’s voice. She stood behind the assassin. Tam shifted to the side so he could see both of them. Ziva’s magic thickened the air. She looked and sounded exactly like Valek. Her special skill. “You ambushed me with twelve locals. I figured your one-on-one skills have gotten rusty.” Ziva brandished a sword. Tam immediately forgot about the “stable boy” and stepped to meet her attack. Valek moved. Coming from behind, he pressed his knife into Tam’s throat. “Drop your weapon,” Valek said. Tam’s sword clattered to the ground. Ziva picked it up and released her disguise. The assassin grunted with surprise. Valek pushed him away and threw a knife at him. Snatching it from the air, Tam grinned. “Cocky aren’t you? Considering I taught you everything you know about knife fighting.” They circled each other, searching for an opening. Well matched, Tam countered his thrusts with ease. Then Valek stepped up the pace, increasing the speed of his attacks. Tam scrambled to block. “Yelena has taught me a few tricks,” Valek said as he followed a jab with a spinning kick, knocking Tam’s knife from his hand. “Wait,” Tam panted. He pulled a folded paper from his pocket. “Yelena’s execution order. Take it. I won’t go after her again.” “I know you won’t.” Valek’s arm blurred as he threw his knife into Tam’s throat.

610

The assassin gurgled once and collapsed. “Ziva, could you take the paper and put it in my saddlebags?” She shot him a questioning glance, but he wasn’t about to explain his unwillingness to touch the order. “Time to go,” he said. “We should be well away before Yelena’s group arrives.” Shock bleached Ziva’s face. “Don’t you want to see her? Tell her…?” Valek wanted to see Yelena more than anything. His arms ached with the desire to hold her. Yet he knew her focus should be on learning about her magical powers, and he was needed elsewhere. He would see her again. Of that, Valek was certain. He grinned. “No. I have a promise to keep.”

611

The Pirate by Lyn Randal On her way to Portugal and an arranged marriage, Lady Anne Lithgow was kidnapped by pirates! After cleverly making her escape, Lady Anne takes refuge with a band of gypsies who agree to transport her to her betrothed in Lisbon. But Alejandro Castillo, gentleman pirate, will not give up his prize that easily! Is it merely the ransom money from Anne’s father that he’s after—or has the lady herself stolen his mercenary heart?

Chapter One October 10, 1487 Northern Spain In the camp of the Zincali, Gypsy fires were burning. Fires to dispel the darkness and ease the chill of the mist that swept in, covering the wild terrain of Galicia with the sea. As she stood before one of those fires, Anne Lithgow shivered and pulled her thin wrap more tightly about herself. “You’re quiet tonight,” her companion said, turning an intent gaze her way. “Are you all right?” Anne wasn’t actually, but she doubted the young Gypsy woman Dulcinea would understand. “Too much upheaval,” she said. “I need time to sort through it all.” The woman’s expression softened. “Poor thing. Sent to a foreign land to marry a man you’ve never met, then captured at sea by pirates! I’d say you’ve had enough upheaval for a lifetime in only the past three weeks.” She touched Anne’s hand gently. “But at least that nightmare’s over now. How fortunate that in your escape you crossed paths with the Zincali. We’re also bound for Portugal, and you’ll travel with us in safety. Soon we’ll have you back to your betrothed in Lisbon and all will be well.” How could Anne dispute that? And yet, tears misted her eyes. It was true she now had every reason to rejoice. She’d managed to miraculously outwit her captors. They’d not missed the key she’d stolen, hadn’t heard her when she’d eased out onto deck, hadn’t noticed that the ship’s apprentice was missing a change of clothing. They’d not heard the creak of ropes when she’d lowered the small boat into the sea or the solid thunk when she jumped into it. The watch in the crow’s nest must have been asleep. She had every reason to be proud of her daring and thankful for her freedom. So she surely hadn’t expected this profound attack of melancholy. She could hardly believe her own thoughts. She was Lady Anne Lithgow, daughter of an earl and a member of the royal family. No lady of her rank should admit to what she now felt. She longed for a man she hardly knew. And not just any man. A pirate. Surely it had been the right thing to do—to leave him, to flee from his imprisonment, to risk all for freedom. It must have been the right thing, but the dull ache inside told her differently. A shout from nearby startled her from her thoughts. Dulcinea hissed a warning, grabbed Anne’s arm and pulled her deeper into shadow.

612

There was a chaos of activity on the other side of the encampment, loud voices in question and reply, a flurry of color and motion as several guards wielding torches and swords led in two strangers, their hands resting on top of their heads. The guards pushed them into place before the largest fire and the wiry, goldtoothed Gypsy named Simon, recognized by all as the leader, the count, of this small band. The woman beside Anne spoke in a hushed, almost reverent voice. “Well look at that. Visitors to the camp, and my, what a visitor! Who is that, and what does he want, and do you think I might could get it for him?” Anne did not speak, though she knew the answer to at least two of the three questions. The man and his companion were not looking in her direction, but she didn’t have to see their faces. She knew them, especially the dark-haired, handsome one. She was well acquainted with that arrogant stance, the breadth of his shoulders, the narrow hips and those lean, straight legs sheathed in boots of fine leather. Her pirate had come.

Chapter Two He could feel her somewhere behind him. Even as he stood, surrounded by swords, trying to find a language in which he and the Gypsy leader could communicate successfully, Captain Alejandro Castillo was aware of her presence, of her eyes upon him. It was unnatural, this connection with her. It was something otherworldly, almost spiritual—and the main reason he’d been enraged that she’d fled. “This woman you seek,” the Zincali count said with a dark, enigmatic smile, “she must be special for you to brave this dark night and the storm that approaches.” Aye, she is. Her eyes flash emerald fire and woman’s desire, her hair smells of sunshine and her lips are like sweet Spanish Madeira… “She has something of mine,” Alejandro said tersely. “Something I value and want returned.” Thunder clapped in the distance. The count glanced up at the night sky before returning his attention to Alejandro. “And that something is…?” “A sword. My best one, crafted in Toledo of the finest steel.” The Gypsy clucked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk. And you let a mere woman steal such a weapon from you?” Ah, but there’s nothing “mere” about this woman. You cannot imagine the depth of her intelligence, the breadth of her courage. I should have been more wary, but God knows, I wanted her in my bed so badly… “She took it, yes.” Alejandro met the smaller man’s gaze directly. “Is she here?” “That depends on whether or not you have the proper coin.” “Whatever coin is proper, I have it or can get it,” Alejandro growled, ignoring the amusement that came into his companion’s face. Barto, the steward aboard Alejandro’s vessel, was a huge African Moor and had long been his most trusted friend. But damn if Barto didn’t look as if he was restraining a smile. Just what was so comical? It wasn’t as if Alejandro was in love or any such fool thing as that. He was aggravated, that’s what he was. Madder than hell and ready to tell her so.

613

The Gypsy named an amount. Alejandro took a leather pouch from beneath his cloak, counted out the coins and put them into the man’s hand. The smaller fellow laughed as he closed his hand around them, then swept his arm around in an expansive gesture. “The woman you seek is indeed here, m’lord Pirate. And I’ll give you even more for your money than that upon which we’ve agreed.” He turned to a guard who stood nearby and spoke quietly. “Take him to the lady’s tent. Soon she’ll be forced to seek shelter from the storm.” He leveled a sharp gaze on Alejandro and lowered his voice. “One night with the woman. At dawn, you’ll be escorted from my camp. One night, m’lord Pirate, among the Gypsies, surrounded by darkness and the wildness of storm. One full night to take back all she’s stolen from you.” Alejandro nodded, already knowing that it could not be done.

Chapter Three “They’re taking him to your tent.” Dulcinea laughed softly. “Carlos will bring him wine shortly, and you know what that means.” “No, I don’t.” “The captain’s a busno. He doesn’t belong here among the Zincali, and he shouldn’t have come. By morning, when he awakens far from here, bereft of his fine sea cape and boots and purse of gold, he’ll understand that the count doesn’t care for intruders.” Anne frowned. “He’ll be drugged and robbed?” The Gypsy shrugged carelessly. “They won’t harm him.” “No. I don’t want him to suffer because of me.” “You don’t? Even though he—?” Anne’s gaze met the Gypsy’s. Dulcinea studied her intensely for a moment. “So that’s the way it is. Well then, you must act quickly because once he sips that wine, there’ll be no further remedy.” Anne gathered her skirts and hurried across the encampment to the tent. Carlos rounded the corner just as she placed her hand on the door flap. “Hold,” she said to the swarthy man. “Don’t you dare give the captain any of your wine. Or his companion, either.” Carlos studied her for a long minute before he lifted an eyebrow. “As you wish, my lady. I’ll tell Simon you’ve asked this favor for the busno captain. But it’s already too late for the big African who came with him. The Moor was thirsty from their long ride.” Carlos chuckled. “He sleeps on the ground beneath the chestnut tree.” Thunder rumbled in the distance again, and Anne glanced skyward. “Take the Moor to shelter and see that none of his possessions are disturbed. I will, of course, make it up to you when I am reunited with my betrothed. Don Pedro has enough gold that even the count won’t regret losing the captain’s.” Carlos nodded and hurried away. Anne turned and mentally prepared herself for the confrontation to come, then ducked into the tent. If she had thought the tent comfortably sized, even cozy with its fanciful carved furnishings and colorful embroidered textiles, that was before Alejandro’s tall frame filled the space. He lounged on a folding chair in

614

decadent sensuality, well-muscled legs stretched before him, his blue sea cape flung with roguish abandon over one shoulder. His hair was damp with dew, the droplets glistening like stars. His gaze found hers, his eyes as blue as the Mediterranean and as piercing as the sword he held. She caught her breath at the anger within them, but couldn’t control the heat that slashed through her at his nearness. She halted. It took a moment to find the words. “Why have you come?” Alejandro stood and moved toward her, his movements deceptively languorous. “Why do you think?” he asked, when he stood before her. “You want the ransom you hoped to gain from my father,” she said, her voice not much more than a whisper. “I want that, yes,” he said. “I want that, and I want more than that.” Anne swallowed hard. “You want your sword back.” “I do.” He moved even nearer. “I want my sword, and I want its sheath.” Alejandro reached up to caress the smooth line of her jaw, his touch delicate although it sent frissons of excitement coursing downward to her breasts, which suddenly seemed heavy and aching for the pleasure Anne knew he could arouse. “I want the sheath for my sword, querida, the fine and lovely sheath for my sword.” Her voice was too husky, too breathless. “I cannot give you that.” His eyes glittered with hurt. “And there’s my problem,” he said gently, his finger moving to tease her lower lip, torturing her with the sensuous foreplay. “You cannot give it, and I, though I am a pirate, could never take it from you by force.” He sighed and stepped backward, his hand dropping away. “You came here to tell me this?” His laughter was soft and made her insides clench. “No, mi cara. I came to convince you that you are wrong to withhold it from me, from us.” As always, his honesty startled her, infuriated her and aroused her. She should call for the guards to take him away. She should demand that he leave her tent immediately. But she could only stare into mesmerizing eyes of warm blue, sinking, drowning, needing to swim and unable to, a mermaid caught in a tightening net of emotion.

Chapter Four Alejandro knew that Anne was not displeased to have him in her tent. He’d been unsure at first, but when she’d stepped in and their eyes had met, he’d seen there all he wished to see. It had made him weak with relief. During the three days he’d searched for her, he’d known gut-wrenching fear. Fear that harm would come to her. Fear that he’d wounded an innocent soul. Fear that he’d been wrong about her feelings. But looking again into her eyes, he knew. He’d not been wrong. Within that green gaze, he saw the yearning that had made her run.

615

It was a struggle not to close the distance, to pull her into his embrace, to touch her as intimately as he had the night she’d fled. He remembered the way her breasts had shone in the moonlight with the soft luster of pearls, and her moans as he’d licked at them had made him hungry and far too rash. Maybe he’d spent so much time as a pirate that he’d forgotten how to be the aristocratic gentleman his father had wanted. Maybe he’d been too long among coarser women. Whatever the cause, Anne had panicked and fled his embrace. He’d swallowed his hurt and slept alone, determined to right the wrong in the morning. But by then, Anne was gone. He’d cursed himself and every unobservant seaman aboard his vessel, but in his heart, he knew why she’d run. Now her eyes told the same story. She was a woman of strong passion. She had wanted to give herself to him. She wanted that still. But she was also afraid. She was chaste and betrothed. The match with Don Pedro was important to her father. God above, how Alejandro hated the ways of the aristocracy! Always dictating, confining, forcing sons and daughters into unbearable marriages for wealth, for power, for their noble names. He understood this better than most, and hated it worse. He hurt for Anne—he could not change her fate. But perhaps she could know true passion and warm feeling with him before she was imprisoned forever. Her voice brought him back to the present. “We can have nothing together, Alejandro,” she said softly, turning away. He hesitated a moment before speaking. She had the most beautiful backside, her neck long and graceful, her back and shoulders slender. He wanted to kiss the curve, taste her skin. “We can have everything together,” he whispered hoarsely. “Don Pedro is an old man. He’ll not be able to give you all I can.” “He’ll give me a home. Children. Honor.” She pinned a searching look on Alejandro. “You are a pirate, Alejandro. A reckless criminal.” The words stung even though they were true. He crossed the room in two long strides. “I will give you memories, querida. I will give you this.” His lips descended. She did not struggle or seek to end the embrace. Passion exploded, as fierce and hot as any sea battle and as full of danger and pain. She tasted so sweet, so damned sweet. Her tongue slid across his like honeyed velvet. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only pull her body into full alignment with his, soft curves to corded muscle, pulsing against her soft entrance with the hard ridge of his sex. When he lifted his head, her eyes were wide. She breathed as hard as he, panting the same cruel desire. Their lips met again. This time he kissed her gently, pouring into her all the longing of the past three days, letting her savor the sweet hurt. She must have understood because her arms tightened around his neck, her fingers speared through his hair, her nipples hardened against his chest. “Oh, Alejandro,” she moaned. He captured the sound, tasting her desperation.

616

“I will be gentle with you,” he whispered. “As God is my witness, I will be gentle with you.” She couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “Yes.” She weighed no more than a child as he lifted her into his arms and moved toward the small bed. He placed her gently upon it. As he looked down into her beautiful face, into her innocent gaze, he prayed she’d someday forgive him for that which he was about to do.

Chapter Five A storm approached the Gypsy camp, but the thunder that rumbled long and low outside was nothing compared to the storm that now held Anne within Alejandro’s dark gaze. Lightening arced between them and flashed within his eyes, and she wanted this man, wanted him, even though such desire was madness. It had been this way from the beginning, when his seamen had dropped her onto the deck before him. He’d reached down with utmost courtesy and helped her to her feet. The moment his lean hands had touched hers, she’d been scorched by erotic fire, burning her and melting her so that all thought of honor receded into nothing, a mist burned away by the heat within his eyes. For three weeks she’d played with this fire, puzzling over the mysteries and intrigued by them. Alejandro was a pirate who acted like a courtier. He was a powerful man given to command, yet for her sake, he held himself in severe restraint. He was forceful but never unkind. Demanding but he laughed easily. He treated her as a lady, but he wanted her as a woman. He protected her from his rough sailors, but then ravaged her himself with kisses that shook her soul. She’d come far too close to falling, and had desperately wanted to fall. She’d fled the night she realized she loved him. But he had come for her, and now stood over her—her pirate, her beloved—his eyes touching her everywhere. “I will be gentle with you,” he repeated softly, reaching out to stroke the curve of her jaw. “And I will demand nothing but that which you willingly give.” She nodded, unable to speak. She wanted him to come to her, to hold her against his hard body, to still the trembling. “Alejandro, please.” He came alongside her then, carrying her down with him onto cool sheets. “I’ll honor the betrothal made with the other man,” he said. “God knows it’ll be the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I’ll not breach your maidenhead, querida.” She couldn’t answer, she was so lost in sensation. Alejandro’s scent surrounded her with the clean tang of soap and earth and heated man. His body was firm against hers, his touch soft. It was so sharp, the rush of feeling. The longing, it so sweetly hurt. Tears clouded her eyes. He kissed her, mating his tongue with hers, possessing her with slow thoroughness. She gave herself up to his mouth, to the wonder of tasting him and touching him. Her hands could not be still. They tugged at his linen shirt until she could slide her palms against his hot skin. The sound of his swiftly indrawn breath pleased her. “God Almighty,” he cursed softly. “You torment me to madness.”

617

Her hands found the warm column of his neck and drew his lips to hers again. “Revenge,” she whispered against them. “Revenge for the madness with which you’ve tormented me.” His lips tasted her, then slid away, moving down the column of her neck. His breath heated her skin. “Two can play at this game, querida. Let me show you how sweet such torment can be.” His fingers tugged at the ribbons of her bodice. Breathing became difficult. Alejandro took his time with the task, the back of his hand teasing one erect nipple. He hesitated, finding her gaze. The question hung between them, unspoken, rife with yearning. “Yes,” she sighed, knowing he would part the garment, knowing his head would lower to her unveiled flesh and his lips would both ease the hurt and inflame it more. Soon she’d be lost to the storm that thundered between them. Soon she’d be burned by the lightening that seared their two souls.

Chapter Six Alejandro hardly dared to breathe. Like one who stood in reverence before a gold-washed image of La Virgen, he swallowed down his awe. He concentrated instead on the flicker of candlelight, on the shimmer and sway of cloth as he lowered Anne’s bodice. “Dios mio,” he said when he could find words. “You are so beautiful.” Her golden lashes fluttered upward and her lips parted with a tremulous smile. Suddenly he wished he could always make her smile like that. It transformed her face, made her look like an angel. Would her betrothed make her smile like that? Alejandro cursed silently. The candlelight fired her hair into gold flame. Her skin glowed in the warm light. It seemed a sacrilege to touch her, but unrepentant sinner that he was, he could not deny himself so fine a plunder. Instead, he prayed to savor the moment, thinking a pirate’s thoughts of silk and velvet, of luminous moonlight and the luster of pearl as his palm slid around one perfectly shaped breast. Anne gasped at his touch. His body jerked hard in response to the sound. What was it about this woman? It would be too easy to lose himself in her, so easy to forget honor. “Alejandro.” She met his gaze. He understood the silent request and took her nipple into his mouth, sucking at her gently, twirling his tongue around the supple flesh. She cried out and lurched against him. Even through their clothing he could feel her curves, and that they were fitted perfectly to him. The room was suddenly too hot. To do what he’d come to do would be harder than he’d imagined. But sweet hell, who would have believed she’d lie like this beside him, inviting his kisses and his caresses? The surprise had nearly undone him. And now she stroked his chest and all he could think was how wonderful it would be if he were skin to skin with her. “What are you doing?” she asked when he sat up abruptly. He didn’t answer, only removed his shirt. Her eyes widened at the sight of his bare chest, darkening with something that looked very much like desire. But when he took her again into his arms, he could not mistake her trembling. He pulled back to look into her face. “Are you afraid?” he asked her quietly. “No.” But her voice was unsteady. She refused to meet his gaze.

618

Compassion filled him. “My sweet angel. You are afraid.” “No,” she whispered. “I want this. Alejandro, I want you. It’s only that…soon there will be no turning back.” She reddened a little beneath his gentle laughter. He kissed the tip of her pert little nose before he rose from the bed. “You’re not leaving me?” Her words contained an edge of panic. As if he could turn from a treasure so rare. “No.” He found his leather satchel, fumbled within it for a minute, then returned to her. He held out a silver flask. “Fine English brandy,” he said. “It will calm your nerves.” She shook her head. “I don’t think I need it. I’m unaccustomed to spirits and wouldn’t want to be too drunk to enjoy—” He chuckled. “You are adorable,” he said, pulling her into his embrace and kissing her brow. “And so innocent of vice. Trust me, there isn’t enough in this flask to make a babe drunk, but it will help relax you.” He lowered his voice. “I promise it will make this night more pleasurable.” She lifted an eyebrow. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips in a display so unwittingly devastating that Alejandro wanted to groan aloud. “Well then.” She smiled at him. “I’ll drink it. I have much to learn of pleasure.” She lifted the flask and drank deeply. “Oh,” she said, her eyes widening. She coughed delicately and wiped the back of her hand across her lips. “It’s warm.” He smiled. “You like that?” He pushed the flask toward her lips again. “Have a little more. It will heighten all your senses, querida, and make what is to come that much more memorable.” Her eyes found his and held. And for once, Alejandro Castillo, pirate and unrepentant sinner, knew the keen prick of a guilty conscience.

Chapter Seven “You were right,” Anne said in a husky, slurred voice. “That brandy has made me quite relaxed.” She snuggled deeper into Alejandro’s embrace, her lips grazing his nipple. “Yes,” he said quietly. “It’s good that way.” “Your voice,” she murmured. “I like it. It’s so warm and deep. A manly voice.” Alejandro laughed softly. “It makes me feel things.” “Oh?” “Wicked things. Things I should never feel.” Alejandro smiled, lifted her chin and kissed her. To his amazement, she responded passionately, using her tongue with surprising expertise and lack of inhibition. He almost gasped at the heat that knifed through his loins.

619

“And there’s another thing,” she said, tracing his lips with one finger. “Those kisses of yours. I like them far too much. I want them all the time. I want them everywhere.” “Everywhere?” Her laugh was sultry. “Oh yes, everywhere. Is that wicked of me, do you think?” Sweet angel, you don’t even know the meaning of the word. What is wicked is this thing I’m doing to you. Alejandro looked away into the flame of a candle so that he could not see the feeling shining in her drugglazed eyes. “No, querida. To feel a woman’s passion is not wicked. It can be a beautiful thing, worth much to the man you love. It will strengthen him, give him comfort. Was it not for this reason that the Creator gave woman to man in the beginning?” Her heavy-lidded eyes met his. “And there’s another puzzle, Alejandro. Sometimes you speak like a religious man, as if you were brought up in the Church.” “I was brought up in the Church.” She pointed at him unsteadily. “I knew it. At other times you speak as an educated man.” “I am an educated man.” “Of the nobility?” Alejandro frowned. “No.” “Were you?” “Perhaps.” She sighed heavily and lay her head on his bare chest. “Too many mysteries. There are too many mysteries. And I’m so tired.” Alejandro held the flask to her lips. “Take another drink, querida. It will make you feel better.” She frowned. “I do feel somewhat awful, Alejandro. I don’t believe I shall kiss you again. I don’t seem to have the strength for it.” “Then I will kiss you. And afterward, you will rest in my arms and sleep.” “Yes.” She sighed deeply. “But don’t leave me, Alejandro. I never want you to leave me.” The words made him hurt for her. Their time together would be so brief. Soon he’d have to let her go. He kissed her gently, watching her eyelids fall. “Sleep,” he whispered. “I will hold you. I won’t leave.” She didn’t open her eyes, but her lips curved into a smile. Alejandro waited until her breathing grew deeper and more even, then he lifted her from his embrace and laid her gently back against the pillows. He drew her bodice together and laced it. He stood and pulled his own shirt over his head. Then, knowing he was the worst sinner in all of Christendom, he blew out the sputtering candle and waited.

620

Chapter Eight Alejandro sat in the darkness, listening to the night sounds, and waited. Before long, he heard what he wanted to hear—Barto’s sharp knife ripping through the thick fabric at the rear of Anne’s bender tent. He turned his head toward the newly made entrance just as the huge African stepped through, his shape a hazy shadow in the dimly lit space. “What the hell took you so long?” Alejandro asked. Barto’s laughter was soft. “I thought to give you as much time as you needed with the little English senorita. I do hope you two had a good time together ere she chose to nap.” Alejandro snorted in response. Barto moved toward the sleeping woman. “She’s out good, I take it?” “Sleeping like a baby.” “She and all her Gypsy friends. I took care of that.” Barto scratched his head. “Good thing you’d spent time in a Romany camp yourself and knew better than to drink their wine. It was a good trick and easy to turn to our advantage. They thought me asleep, and so weren’t expecting me to drug their wineskins.” “The horses are ready?” “Of course. And I suggest we leave immediately. The storm isn’t far away now. Already lightening flashes, and the wind has picked up and blows cold from the sea. We might be hard-pressed to find refuge once the rain begins.” “There’s a town not far from here, and I saw a small stone church there. Surely the good padre will not deny a night of sanctuary and a hot meal to three stranded travelers.” “And how are you going to explain that you’re traveling with an unchaperoned English senorita?” “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll say I’m her brother.” Barto laughed. “Piracy. Abduction. Lust. You must want to truly deserve every bit of the punishment you’ll someday get in hell, mi amigo. Go ahead and add lying to the list then.” “It’s either that or risk the lady’s reputation.” “Like you haven’t compromised that already?” Alejandro felt Barto’s searching gaze in the darkness. “Do you honestly hope that her betrothed will believe her virtue remains unstained? Even after weeks spent aboard a pirate’s vessel? My guess is that he’ll set her aside, maybe cart her off to a convent somewhere, at least until he can know for certain that her belly won’t soon be swollen with a randy pirate’s bastard seed. Ah, Alejandro, if you’re hoping her life can return to what it was before you came along, then you really are a poor, deluded fool.” Alejandro’s jaw tightened. He knew Barto didn’t mean to hurt him, but the truth bit into his soul like a barbed arrow. He glanced across to where Anne slept so innocently on the bed. He hadn’t touched her. Despite the lustful imaginings of his own wicked heart, she remained a chaste and untried virgin. But he knew the things a man thought, the way her betrothed would think. Barto was right.

621

Damn it, Barto was right.

Chapter Nine By the time Alejandro and Barto guided their horses through the muddy lane that formed the main street of the small village, the storm raged around them. Alejandro carried the sleeping Anne across his own saddle, close to his warm body, with his thick woolen sea cloak thrown over her. It was little enough protection from the cold rain, and soon both of them were thoroughly drenched. That she shook with cold and moaned in her sleep made him worry. He didn’t have a change of clothing for her. He’d hoped to ride hard for the coast and be on his own vessel by morning. But now the storm had caught them unprepared, and the last thing he wanted was for Anne to become chilled and feverish. He was thankful that the priest who met them just inside the doorway of the church was a kind man and not overly annoyed by having been roused from his sleep to attend to the needs of three bedraggled travelers. The young priest had, instead, welcomed them in the name of the Holy Savior, and sent two nuns scurrying for warm blankets and bowls of hearty mutton stew. “Padre Francisco,” he had introduced himself. “May I ask, sirs, to where you travel on so dark and unpleasant a night?” “We’re heading for the coast,” Alejandro said, volunteering no more than necessary. Padre Francisco studied the young woman held so tightly against his guest’s body. “And the girl? She is ill?” Alejandro shook his head. “No, Padre. Merely exhausted.” He smiled gently, looking down at Anne’s face, so lovely in repose. “It’s been a long and difficult night for her, I’m afraid.” “It’s not good for any of you to remain in your wet clothing. I can spare rooms for you to change into dry garments and beds for you to rest in comfort.” Barto threw Alejandro a worried look, which the priest immediately noticed. Alejandro cursed silently. “Your kindness is more than appreciated, Padre,” he said, giving the priest his most reassuring smile. “But we have just rescued my sister from a heathen band of Gypsies who abducted her and freely availed themselves of her possessions. She has no dry clothing.” The priest looked concerned. “I’ve heard the Zincali were in the area, but I had no idea they’d do something so vile.” He touched Anne’s cheek gently. “Poor child. Perhaps the sisters here can find something. Will you allow them to take her to their room and a warm bed?” Alejandro was reluctant to let Anne go, but even he could not be so selfish, not when she shivered almost violently in his arms. “Take good care of her,” he said quietly, “and I will recompense you for whatever garments the good sisters can spare.” Alejandro followed the priest through a narrow hallway, past several doorways, toward a dimly lit room at the far end of the corridor. Before much longer, the two nuns had taken charge of Anne and pushed both men from the room so they could undress her, chafe her chilled limbs and tuck her beneath warm bedclothes. Padre Francisco smiled at Alejandro as they closed the door behind them. “Your sister will be much better by morning,” he said. “By the time you see her again, she’ll be eating her breakfast and talking happily to us all.” And that, Alejandro thought grimly, was just what he most feared.

622

Chapter Ten Thunder awoke Anne sometime in the darkest hours of the night. The smells were unfamiliar, and when lightening seared across the sky, she could see the room and that it, too, was unknown to her. She sat up with a start—it was the wrong thing to do. Her head pounded as terribly as the torrents of rain that beat on the outside of the narrow window set high in the stone wall. Her stomach rolled. She lay down quickly, fighting the queasiness by swallowing hard, but not before she realized she wasn’t alone in the room. Two women shared a bed on the opposite wall, snoring softly. And she realized with horror that she was naked beneath the blankets. Breathing heavily, she struggled to quiet her thoughts. Where was she? How had she come to be here? She tried to remember, but the last thing she could recall was being in the camp of the Gypsies, Alejandro in her tent and she in his arms. He had held her, had kissed her, had stroked her hair as she’d fallen asleep— Alejandro! It could have been no other but him, abducting her again so he could demand ransom money from her father. And he’d made her feel, made her want… Oh, that serpent! Such wicked magic arrayed in such handsome civility. She didn’t know where she was, but she didn’t doubt that Alejandro was somewhere nearby. She wanted nothing more in this moment than to scratch out his eyeballs. She rose from her bed, shivering when the cold air hit her naked skin. Her groping hands found her clothing draped across a chair, and though it was still slightly damp, she put it on anyway. She slipped quietly through the door, determined to find Alejandro, determined to make him pay. She found herself in a long, dark and quiet hallway, but a light burned at the far end and she made her way toward it. Pushing the door open, she found herself in a church lit with candles and occupied by a priest who knelt at the altar, facing a crucifix of silver. He turned at the creak of the door. His face was young and very kind, his dark eyes sweeping over her with obvious concern. “My daughter,” he said, rising from his prayers. “You are well?” “Yes,” she said. “But please tell me, Padre. Where am I? And how did I come to be here?” “You are in a village not far from the port of Vigo. Your brother brought you here, seeking protection from the storm.” “My brother?” “Yes. He was very protective of you, very concerned for your welfare. He and the big Moor who traveled with him.” Anne drew in her breath. So it had been Alejandro. Almost she had hoped it would not be true. That hope had now been shattered. “Padre,” she began, meeting the priest’s kind gaze. “I must speak honestly with you.” He nodded. “Of course.”

623

“You do not understand. That man, the one who brought me here…that man is not my brother.” The priest’s eyes widened. “Dios mio! Not your brother? But he said—” “He lied.” The priest’s scowl darkened. He gestured toward the nearest pew. “Sit down, my child, and tell me what is going on here. Spare no detail. I will listen.” Anne sat and began to explain. And as she talked, the face of the gentle priest grew more and more grim.

Chapter Eleven Alejandro had just returned from an early morning trip to the jakes, halting inside the doorway to the chapel to wipe mud from his boots, when Padre Francisco spoke quietly behind him. “I must speak with you, senor.” “I’m sorry, Padre. I haven’t the time.” The padre met his gaze unswervingly. “I must, however, insist. Come with me.” The sanctuary was quiet, cool and lit by a single candle. The priest gestured for Alejandro to sit. Padre Francisco gathered his robes and took a seat. “I’ve learned much about you, Alejandro Castillo, and am disturbed about you, disturbed about the state of your eternal soul.” Alejandro groaned inwardly. “I spoke with Lady Anne.” “Then you know she’s not my sister.” “Yes. And also that you’re a pirate. That you abducted her for ransom. That she’s been aboard your vessel for some three weeks without a proper chaperone. And that you’ve just aborted her attempt to escape.” “Then you know all.” “Not quite all. I don’t know why.” He turned and looked Alejandro full in the face. “Tell me why.” Alejandro snorted. “Why does anybody pursue such a life? Take such risks? Because I need the money, Padre. Or rather, I need Anne’s father’s money and as quickly as he can pay it.” “Greed is a sin, especially so when it compromises the virtue of an innocent.” “I haven’t compromised her virtue.” Francisco’s gaze bore into Alejandro’s. “And yet you have attempted to do so. Dare you deny it?” Alejandro drew in a long breath. “I dare not. But she does remain a virgin.” “Will her betrothed think so? Her family and her friends?” “I cannot help what they think.”

624

“Ah, but you are responsible, Alejandro. You cannot dance lightly into a woman’s life, twirl her around in your arms and then sidestep away, leaving her circumstances forever changed. You cannot, in clear conscience, so damage her reputation.” “Then I’ll do so with an unclear conscience, if I must. A conscience as black as hell.” There was a long silence. “Then let me speak, so your wicked soul may be stained yet more. The lady would not take me up on my offer of sanctuary, though I did implore her. I suspect she loves you.” This was more than Alejandro wanted to hear. It made everything harder, more complicated. It brought on guilt, harsh and unholy, and he had enough of that already. “She’s young. She’ll forget such foolish notions in time.” The priest shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. And what of you, Alejandro? Will you be able to let her go? Would you see her wed to another man?” Alejandro’s jaw tightened. “What choice have I?” “You might forsake your wicked profession and return to life among the nobility.” Alejandro glanced up in surprise. The priest’s gaze upon him was gentle. “Yes, Alejandro. I surmised this. You speak as a nobleman, comport yourself as a nobleman, dress as a nobleman. You can read and write. You command as one born to it.” “It matters not.” “Ah, but it does. The Almighty chose a high position for you. Why do you turn away from it?” “Because I’d rather hang as a pirate than waste my life as my father did, abusing the poor to enrich my own coffers, drinking and gambling and womanizing while the peasants who work the land go without food and warm clothing.” “Now there’s something I never thought to see—an honorable pirate. Aye, and an idealistic one.” “Do you mock me?” “No, but I do challenge you. If you would do the right thing, then do it also for Lady Anne. You’ve compromised her honor. Although I could arrange safe passage for her and smooth the situation with her betrothed, I don’t think that’s what she wants. You must decide. Either wed her yourself or let her go.” “I can’t marry her. I’ve nothing to offer.” “Not as a pirate, no. But as an aristocrat, you would. Change your circumstances, Alejandro. Use your high birth for the betterment of others, as God himself intended.” “No.” “Then let the lady go.” Alejandro stood abruptly. His eyes met the priest’s. “I’m sorry, Padre. I can’t do that, either. Now if you’ll excuse me, my companions and I must be on our way.” Alejandro pivoted on one heel and hurried from the room, trying to ignore the sharp stab of conscience.

625

Chapter Twelve Anne stood on the deck, looking out at the purple and gold sunset and the gently undulating arc of waves. Masts and ropes creaked above her head, and canvas sails snapped. She’d heard the seaman say they were making good time, but to where? She had no idea, and Alejandro hadn’t said. In the past two days, he’d not spoken more than basic courtesy demanded. Maybe she’d made a terrible mistake not to have listened to the padre. She could have been halfway to Portugal by now, or on her way home to England. Instead, against all good sense, she’d rashly chosen to stay with Alejandro. She only knew that when the priest had asked the question, “Can Alejandro’s soul be saved?” her heart had cried out the answer: Yes, yes, oh yes! She’d somehow believed she could make the difference, but now she doubted. Alejandro had distanced himself from her, though he’d also acted strangely with everyone. He’d been curt and taciturn with the entire crew. They never questioned him or his ill humor, but they looked at him with open confusion. Barto had told her only that something fierce was gnawing at his capitán. He hadn’t said what that something was. As if her uneasy thoughts somehow conjured the man himself, she heard Alejandro’s rich voice behind her. “You seem lost in thought, my lady. Is everything all right with you?” She turned and nearly lost her breath at the sight of him. He stood, legs braced apart to steady himself against the roll of the deck. His blue eyes studied her with an intensity that made her ache. Wind ruffled the layers of his black hair and flattened the cloth of the loose linen tunic against his muscular chest. Her eyes were drawn to the corded strength of his neck and to the crisp curl of hair just below that. Almost against her will, she remembered the sight of his bare chest as she’d seen it in her Gypsy tent, his supple skin illuminated by candlelight. Something tugged hard at her body. “If I know disquiet, I have good reason for it,” she answered, forcing herself to turn away from him. He stepped forward, so close now that she smelled his warm and erotic male scent, like wind and earth and spice. Anticipation raced along her spine, mocking her. A man who scarcely talked to her would not touch her or hold her and surely not in the presence of his ship’s crew. “Perhaps your disquiet will soon ease. We are near our destination.” “And that would be?” “The island is some distance from the African coast and quite beautiful. It has sheltered coves and a most favorable climate. I’m taking you to paradise, querida, and hoping with this offering to relieve your plight for a while.” He stepped to the rail, gripping it lightly, and looked toward the dark sea. “My men are not happy with me for this choice.” “They are not?” “No. This isle is our home. To take you there will breach the secrecy and security of our haven.” Alejandro’s gaze slid carefully across her before returning again to the sea. “You could bring our destruction with what you’ll learn of us shortly.” “You’re afraid I’ll give away the location? Alert the authorities and bring their wrath down upon your heads?” “Perhaps.” “Then why make yourself vulnerable to me in this way?”

626

Anne held her breath. Alejandro turned to her, his gaze finding and locking with hers. The pain she saw within them surprised her. He held out a hand. She placed hers within it without hesitation. He drew her closer. She shivered when their bodies made contact. His breath was warm against her ear. “Because I cannot help myself. I want you to know me, querida. To see me as the man I truly am. I want to share my home with you, to give you paradise before I lose you forever.” He tilted her face upward with a gentle fingertip, and soon Anne knew that paradise was not the island they were nearing, not something she would possess in the future. It was the kiss Alejandro gave her, a kiss so full of anguish and passion that she understood all his words did not say. Alejandro might withhold his thoughts from her, but he could not withhold his heart.

Chapter Thirteen Alejandro had left the ship early to make preparations for their arrival ashore. He’d left Anne in Barto’s care, a task the Moor relished. The enormous African had always been solicitous, but now he fussed like a mother hen, scolding the seaman when they were too careless with their glances. Now he stood beside her on deck, his shadow protecting her from the heat. “I wouldn’t worry about what the men are saying,” Barto said. “It’s normal for them to be wary. Pirates who are not so don’t live very long.” Anne didn’t need the reminder. Already she worried about Alejandro and feared the moment when he sailed again. “I’ll keep his secrets, Barto. I admit it’s strange of me to feel compassion for Alejandro when he’s abducted me and demanded ransom, but I can’t help myself.” Barto sent her a sideways glance. “Is compassion all you feel for him?” Anne’s face heated. “I—I don’t know.” “Oh, I think you do know. And of course you’re confused and anxious.” He leaned closer. “But the capitán is an honorable man who deserves all the love you feel. When you see him here on this isle, you’ll understand better.” Barto’s words only added to Anne’s confusion, but once they’d rowed ashore to the large, well-constructed building visible from the pristine beach, everything began to make sense. “What is this place?” Anne asked Barto. “All these men?” “This is Alejandro’s home, and these men, they’re his family.” Barto smiled. “Alejandro realized not long after he entered the seafaring life that there was a serious need for a place of sanctuary for seaman of advanced age, or for those wounded or scourged by illness. This place has become that sanctuary.” Anne looked around, stunned by the revelation. “They do such work as they’re able,” Barto explained. “Alejandro insists that life here be clean and orderly. Strict discipline is maintained. They’re encouraged to be productive.”

627

He stopped before a small circle of men, seated in the sunlight that streamed in an open window. “You see this? These men are taking the silks, laces and jewels of our captured booty and transforming them into a work of incredible beauty.” Anne stepped closer, drawing in her breath when one of the men held up a gown of exquisite workmanship. It was of shimmering burned-gold silk, with a skirt wide enough for the farthingales worn by aristocratic ladies. Its bodice was adorned with embroidery and flawless handmade bobbin lace, and further embellished by an array of gemstones that sparkled amid the floral design. “Oh, my,” she breathed, almost afraid to touch the garment. “This is the most elegant gown I’ve ever seen. It is absolute perfection!” The men who’d been working on it beamed with satisfaction. “Yep, she’s a beauty,” said a grizzled old seamen, his crinkled face cracking into a smile. He pushed his needle into a cushion and winked at her. “The capitán, he thinks to sell it to the new queen of Castilla, or maybe to the wife of one o’ them grandees. An’ it ain’t gonna come cheap, neither. We’ve worked on this ’ere gown for more ’n a month.” “It’s quite lovely,” Anne said softly, brushing her hand across the sleeve. Barto took her elbow and escorted her away. She glanced at him. “This is why Alejandro needs my father’s money, isn’t it? To provide this home for these men?” “Yes. It’s why he chose piracy over a more ordinary life as a ship’s captain. The reward was greater.” “But so is the risk.” “That’s true. But for Alejandro, it’s a risk worth taking. These men matter to him. They’re his fathers, his brothers, his friends.” “He never mentions his true family.” “His mother’s dead. He’s estranged from his father. Frederico Castillo is a harsh, abusive man whose selfishness caused Alejandro to turn from him and all he represents long ago. He’s never once looked back. Not until now.” “Why now?” Barto met her gaze. “Because now he’s met you.”

Chapter Fourteen Anne did not see Alejandro until the following day. He was busy with the docking and unloading of his ship. But the following morning, she was surprised to find him at her bedroom door even before the breakfast bell had rung. His eyes darkened at the sight of her disheveled hair and the bare feet peeking out from beneath the hem of her robe. “Forgive this early call,” he said. His voice, as always, awakened all her senses. She could scarcely breathe. Alejandro held out a package wrapped in cloth and tied with a narrow white ribbon. “I have something for you. I hope it will increase your comfort.” Before she could put aside her surprise, he bowed and hurried away. The small package contained a simple linen blouse and bright skirt embroidered around the hem, along with simple undergarments and well-made leather sandals. That Alejandro seemed to care that her clothing was too ornate and too thick for such a warm climate amazed and delighted her.

628

She met him again at the breakfast table, pleased with the masculine smile that reached all the way to his blue eyes. He lifted her heavy golden braid, which she’d twined with the narrow ribbon, and slid it across his cheek. “Ah, querida. Your beauty needs nothing more than this simple garb.” She curtsied prettily, wondering if her eyes glowed as did Alejandro’s, full of feeling neither of them dared admit before all the men who now watched them. After the meal, he escorted her out to the courtyard. “At last I can be alone with you,” he said huskily. “I missed you yesterday, but hope Barto proved an adequate host.” “Yes.” She smiled. “He gave me the grand tour. You have a lovely home. But I am distressed to find all these seamen here.” Disappointment flitted across his aristocratic features. “I’m disappointed to find them here, when they should be welcomed and cared for in Spain. And in England. And in Portugal and Italy and every other land that so pridefully boasts of naval prowess.” Alejandro’s relief transformed his face. “Then you understand why I chose this life?” He released his pent-up breath. “My greatest worry has been that you’d always and forever cast me into the role of villain. But I swear…I never meant harm to you.” “I know, Alejandro. Whatever I thought of you in the beginning has been supplanted by sincere respect.” Anne was surprised to realize that the words were true. Four weeks earlier she’d have eagerly spit into his face. But then she’d seen the kindness with which he treated captured seamen, and the fair discipline he imposed upon his own. She’d seen his smiles, heard his laughter, tasted his kisses and tested his honor. She had grown to love him. Alejandro searched her face as if he were nearly incapable of believing her words. For long moments they gazed into each other’s eyes, both reluctant to break the connection. “Come with me,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “There’s something I desperately want to show you.” She placed her hand upon his forearm, feeling the tight muscle beneath the cloth. “Yes,” she whispered. She wondered if he sensed her excitement, and if the thing he’d show her would fulfill all her most closely held fantasies. Because with Alejandro, her beloved pirate, such fulfillment would be more thrilling than any fantasy.

Chapter Fifteen “We call it La Cascada,” Alejandro said. “The Waterfall. The most beautiful place on this island, and fortunately, a long distance from the cove.” “Fortunately?” “Yes. Because, querida, we are alone.” There was no mistaking the invitation in Alejandro’s blue eyes, or the need. Anne’s core melted and quivered. When he held out his hand, she hesitated only a moment. His laughter when he pulled her close was soft but triumphant. “Your kisses should be outlawed,” she whispered a few minutes later, after Alejandro had thoroughly ravaged her mouth. “The effect they’re having on me is criminal.”

629

“The feeling is mutual,” he growled softly, in between nips as his teeth and tongue eased down the sleek line of her throat. “You enslaved me the moment I saw you.” Anne made a small sound of disbelief. “Of course. And that’s why you were able to so easily set me aside in the Gypsy tent.” “Ah, my sweet. What beautiful love we almost made that night. If I hadn’t been so intent on keeping my angel with me, I would have helped her soar to the heavens.” Alejandro’s hand tugged at the ribbon which secured her blouse while his eyes captured hers and held her. “Yet I grieved the loss. For days now I’ve suffered because of that memory.” He dipped his head and lifted one pale breast from her blouse. “Will you let me make it up to you now?” She uttered a small cry as his mouth touched her volatile skin. His lips and tongue were gentle and forceful at once, and her nipples throbbed their sensitivity to the rhythmic laving. As if he understood that her bones had all turned to mush, Alejandro’s arms banded around her. But that, too, became more torture than sweet delight, because now she felt the hard ridge of his manhood through her thin peasant skirt. She arched her hips against it, pulsing in an instinctive way that both appeased the need and aroused it more. Alejandro must have felt the same. His hands thrust her hips hard against his loins, alternately clutching and soothing her buttocks. It was a delicious sensation, his large hands exploring her so wickedly. His tongue returned to her mouth to capture her moans. “I want you, querida. Please…oh sweet mercy. Please…” Anne wanted to be against him, skin to skin. She saw his eyes widen in surprise when she stripped off her blouse. He sucked in his breath when she tugged his shirt up and shamelessly rubbed her own pebbled nipples against his chest. “Let me see you, Alejandro,” she whispered. He captured her hand and pressed it to his loins. She explored him through his clothing, but that wasn’t enough. “I want to touch you,” she said. “Let me touch you.” He unfastened and lowered his hose. Soon he stood before her, gloriously robed in sunlight. His muscles gleamed, so firm, so beautiful. Anne stared boldly at that which made him distinctly male, and struggled against uncertainty. Alejandro saw the fear in her eyes and pulled her close against his heart. She could feel its steady throb beneath her cheek. “I won’t hurt you,” he said. “We’ll halt whenever you say. You have my word of honor. I’m yours to command.” But his kisses were arousing, and her body hummed a strange new song. Surrounded by forests, she became one with the earth, as rich and elemental as the soil. As the waterfall poured like music over rock, life’s song now poured through her, flooding her with sensation. Alejandro’s hands were like warm sunshine, and somehow—she wasn’t sure how—they were both naked and straining against each other, slipping down together to a bed of moss beneath the dark trees. It was sinful and beautiful, his parting her thighs and slipping between them, meeting her hunger with his lips and tongue until she was crazed with pleasure. He laughed softly when sunlight splintered all around her. When she finally opened her eyes, he smiled down at her. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

630

She flushed and looked away. He kissed her. “I did not use you carelessly. You still remain a pure, untouched virgin.” But Anne knew the truth. Her soul was less than pure. And her heart was far from untouched.

Chapter Sixteen Barto was overseeing a rousing game of poque in the shaded courtyard when Alejandro arrived back at the house in late afternoon. Barto said nothing in front of the other men, but followed Alejandro into the house. “Where have you been?” Alejandro tried not to smile, but he doubted he could hide the happiness in his eyes. He’d just had the most enjoyable day of his entire life. Anne. Sweet Lord, have mercy. Even the thought of her made him tremble. She’d made him laugh. They’d swum naked in the pool, told their life stories, kissed and caressed and tasted. He’d not actually consummated his desire yet. He’d rushed her once before and frightened her away. Better to take it slow now and savor the whole experience. She would let him know when she was ready. And Alejandro intended that soon, very soon, she’d be ready. He knew seduction of a virgin wasn’t honorable. Like all good Spaniards, he’d been reared in the Church and knew fornication to be wrong. But what other choice had he? He’d soon have to give her up for ransom money. Perhaps he’d be able to endure that, if he could only love her first, could give her—and himself— beautiful memories enough for a lifetime. Barto’s voice jerked him back to reality. “It’s a damn fool thing you’re doing, Alejandro. Will you send the lady back to her papa with your seed growing in her belly?” “Stay out of my business.” “Like hell I will. You’re getting tangled up in emotion, and you need somebody to help you think straight. It won’t do to fall in love with the senorita, not when she’ll have to go back soon.” “I know what I’m doing. Besides, who can say how long she’ll be with us? It might be a while yet.” Barto shook his head and pulled a white envelope from his shirt. “No, it won’t. Remember that letter you sent to her daddy? Well, Capitán Mendoza arrived back in our harbor this afternoon, and he’s pleased to report that the fellow’s most obliging. The ransom money’s already in a chest on the ship. This letter tells you how and where to return the girl. Alejandro suddenly felt as if the sun had fallen from the sky.

*** Anne was in her room when he found her. For a moment, he could only stare at her. The sun had already begun to color her skin, giving her a healthy glow that was natural and beautiful. Her eyes sparkled more brightly, and her lips…oh, the remembered taste of her already needled his groin. He wanted her again, right here in this room, in that bed there, with the last rays of the day illuminating her smooth skin and the golden curls of her feminine mound.

631

But first they had to talk. It was a matter of honor to Alejandro that he explain the situation as dispassionately as he could. He did not want emotion, either hers or his, to cloud judgment. But it was damn hard when every word he spoke dimmed the light that had given life to her eyes. “I suppose I should be thankful for this?” she asked him. “Pleased that you wish me to stay with you? Pleased that you’re offering to make me your mistress?” The hurt in her voice did not bode well. “I will adore you, querida. You’ll never regret it. I give you my heart and all I have.” “What you’ll give me is dishonor and a bastard child.” “I know you care for me. What we have… Oh, my angel. You know you’ll not feel this for the old man waiting in Portugal.” Anne shook her head. “No, Alejandro. I will not, much to my sorrow. Yes, I love you, but you cannot offer me what I most desire. A good name. A home. Children born of legitimate marriage. My answer is no.” Alejandro studied her for a long moment—his angel, his beloved angel—seeing her as he’d seen her during the afternoon, naked in the pool, alive with passion. She’d made her choice. But how on earth would he be able to let her go?

Chapter Seventeen Alejandro was hell-bent on getting drunk. But damn it, the bottle was already half-empty and he still hurt. Paradise had never felt so much like perdition. Barto found him, though Alejandro didn’t know how the big man had known to look for him here. “You’d better be careful,” Barto said, gesturing toward the waterfall. “Drunks and deep water don’t usually go well together.” “I’m not in the mood for your sarcasm,” Alejandro growled, his voice slightly slurred. “So what are you in the mood for? Death by rum?” Barto snorted. “I never thought to see you brought so low by a woman.” Alejandro took another long swig from his bottle. “So tell me, Capitán. When did you fall in love with her?” “Hell if I know.” “What are you gonna do about it?” “Nothing. She won’t have me.” “And you’re full of manure. Anybody knows better than that. She loves you. It’s in her eyes, written all over her face.”

632

“I asked her to stay with me. She said no. She wants marriage. Legitimate children.” Alejandro made a soft sound of disgust. “I hope for her sake the old man in Portugal is still able to rut.” Barto looked incredulous. “What’d you do? Ask her to be your mistress?” Alejandro took another drink. “Hell.” Barto shook his head. “No wonder she turned you down. What self-respecting lady would not?” “I can’t give her marriage, you know that. I have nothing to offer her. I’m a pirate.” “Yeah. A pirate who also happens to be heir to one of the most noble houses in all of Spain.” “I don’t want that.” “But you do want Anne and she wants that.” There was a long silence. Alejandro considered taking another drink, but he was suddenly feeling sick. And dizzy. As if the earth had shifted beneath his feet. “My father—“ “Is a selfish ass. But you are not your father.” “And what of my men? My obligation to them?” “They could only benefit from knowing a powerful grandee. One with influence at court and who’d use his family’s wealth to make life better for every Spaniard—peasant or nobleman, old Christian, converso or Jew.” Barto drew in a long breath. His gaze searched Alejandro’s face. “Don’t you see, Alejandro? You could have it all.” “Maybe I’d miss the adventure.” Barto laughed. “Marriage to a spirited woman like Anne would be an adventure.” For a moment, Alejandro let himself imagine it: Anne smiling into his eyes as he kissed her good morning—every morning. Her hair loose around her breasts, making his nights sensual and warm. Her face soft, her belly large with his child. Anne laughing in the courtyard as she played with the precious little ones he wanted to make with her. It could be a sweet life. One that would be worth the sacrifice. One he’d never have if he let Anne return to England now. He drew in a deep breath. “My father wouldn’t know what to think were he to hear from me after all these years.” “I suspect he’d be glad of it. He’s aging, and you’re his only heir.” “I’ll not apologize to him. Don’t ask me to do that.” “I’m not, and I doubt he’ll care if you don’t. What’s past is past. You can only go on from here.”

633

Alejandro pushed the cork into the bottle. “Help me up, would you? I’m not too sure I can walk straight. But if you’ll somehow get me back to the house, I guess I’ll write a letter to that stubborn, old fool.” Barto rolled his eyes as if to say that maybe Alejandro had inherited a little of that stubborn foolishness himself, but he said nothing as he slipped an arm around Alejandro and began the awkward job of helping his capitán stumble home.

Chapter Eighteen Something strange was afoot. And Anne, the outsider, didn’t know what it was. During the past two weeks, she’d often caught seamen whispering and casting furtive glances in her direction. But there was no way they could know about her wanton behavior. Besides, it appeared there’d be no more of it. The pirate was keeping his distance. Logically it was for the best. She couldn’t become his mistress, but that didn’t stop her heart from yearning, and that path could lead only to folly. Yet it irked her that he seemed happier somehow. His face, his whole manner, seemed more youthful. Was it her imagination or did he laugh more these days? He certainly seemed pleased enough to have her out of his way. Not at all flattering and…well, strange. Then Barto had asked her for an afternoon walk on the beach. She’d hoped he’d discuss his captain; he hadn’t. He’d mentioned only unimportant things like the weather and books and dancing and the nightlife of Sevilla. Then this very morning, the cook, who usually growled at anybody who dared come near his pots and pans, had sought her out to ask her what particular foods she enjoyed. All this made her uneasy. The discomfort only increased when Santiago, a sailor who’d taken a particular liking to Anne, joined her as she sat beneath a shade tree with her embroidery. She looked up. “The capitán sent me to give ya this.” He held out the golden gown that the seamen had made. Its jewels sparkled in the morning light. “Give it to me? Whatever for?” “He wants ya to put it on. We gotta see if it needs anything else done ‘fore he goes to sell it. We’re in the big dining room. Just come in there once ya get dressed in it.” Anne placed her embroidery in her basket and rose with a sigh. “Give me a few minutes. It’s not easy to dress in something this elaborate without a proper lady’s maid.” “I’ll tell that to th’ capitán.” Santiago shrugged. By the time Anne had wrestled herself into the gown and coiled her hair into an appropriate coiffure, she was hot and annoyed and tired of being ignored by Alejandro Castillo until he needed her for something. But the sound of the guitarra and a cantaor singing a love song in Spanish made her stop in surprise at the dining room’s open doorway. All Alejandro’s seamen were gathered there, dressed in neat clothing, their faces scrubbed clean. They turned to her.

634

Anne stepped in and lost her breath at the sight of Alejandro, so immaculate and handsome was he, dressed like a Spanish nobleman in expensive, well-sewn clothing of contrasting black and white. She’d never seen him look so fine, and his eyes…they were the color of blue flame. He moved toward her with lithe grace and took her hand, kissing it like a practiced courtier. She stared in amazement, suddenly envisioning him standing in a grand ballroom or bowing before a monarch. “You’re beautiful.” His eyes swept over her. “The gown seems made for you.” “It’s lovely. You’ll have no trouble selling it.” “Actually, I’ve already sold it. To a Spanish grandee who wants his bride to wear it on their wedding day.” “A fine choice. She’ll be beautiful in it.” “Yes, she will. However, this grandee has a problem. He’s never formally asked the lady for her hand and so, does not know whether she’ll accept.” Anne glanced up. “Perhaps she’ll not refuse him when he does ask.” “I hope not. Because you see, he’s already obtained a priest, prepared the wedding dinner and invited all the guests.” Alejandro swept his hand in an elegant motion. It was then that Anne saw Padre Francisco smiling at her from the front of the room. She stood stunned, the realization seeping in. Her gaze found Alejandro’s. “You’re a grandee?” “I am. But I’d be far more pleased to be your husband, if you’ll have me.” Never had two words been more difficult to say. Her heart had tangled in emotion. “I will,” she finally managed. “Oh, Alejandro, I will.” He loosed the breath he’d been holding. “Then come, my love. The priest awaits.” And with her hand in his, Anne let herself be led to the makeshift altar to speak vows she meant with all her heart.

Chapter Nineteen “This was a marvelous idea,” Anne said, looking around at the candlelit space. Alejandro turned toward her. “What? The wine? Or the lace-edged sheets? Or the ship?” “All of it.” Anne laughed happily, hugging her arms around herself. “Oh, Alejandro. I can hardly believe we’re truly wed, much less alone together aboard your ship to enjoy all that should naturally come next.” Alejandro drew her into his arms. “I can assure you, querida. Good Padre Francisco made certain of the first. And I…” he nibbled playfully at her ear “…I made certain of the latter. Once this night is done, there will be no way to seek an annulment. No one will dare take you from me. Not your father, not your betrothed, nobody.” “I’m sorry my father could not have seen me wed you,” Anne said quietly. “He never really wanted me to wed Don Pedro. He always hoped I’d have what he had with my mother. They were very much in love.”

635

“Then I should be able to appease his anger with the straightforward truth and a generous financial gift to offset the dowry lost with the breaking of the troth.” Anne’s palms slid down his cheek. “I’m certain of it, Alejandro. So ease your mind.” “We’ll be returning to Spain before long,” he said quietly. “I have written to my father that I’m coming home.” “I’m glad,” Anne said, hugging him tightly. “Your place is no longer here.” Alejandro’s intense blue eyes found hers. “My place is wherever you are.” Anne lifted her lips. “Then, my love, let me welcome you into the safest harbor, the most calm bay. The place that will always, always be your home.” Alejandro understood the sensual invitation and took her lips with a groan. “Oh, Anne.” She met his passion with passion of her own, without restraint. Alejandro’s face showed an odd tension when he pulled away from her after the searing kiss. “I am at such a loss, querida. Though I would woo you gently on this most sacred of all nights together, you are tempting me sorely with such passion.” “The vows have been spoken and sealed by the Church. I see no more reason to hold back. Do you?” A slow smile spread across Alejandro’s lips. “I knew you’d let me know when you were ready.” “I’m ready.” Anne clutched her hand into his garment and pulled him hard against her body, smiling into his smoldering eyes. “Believe me, I am more than ready.” The sound Alejandro made in that moment was guttural and harsh, the feral sound of a man who needed to consummate pent-up desire. And his hands, how hot they were! How bold they were in touching her, making her desperate with arousal. Within a short time they were both naked, their skin sliding like hot silk against each other. Her world was spinning hard upon the axis of desire that she wanted to scream with frustration when Alejandro pushed himself away from her, his eyes as dark as a stormy sea. “What are you doing?” she asked when he walked, in glorious, full arousal, to the other side of the small cabin. “I need a drink,” he said. “I’ll pour you one, too. It will steady us.” She frowned at him when he brought it back. “Seems we’ve been here, done this, at least once before.” He laughed. “Aye, but not quite. This is sweet Spanish Madeira, perfect for this first night of love. I will taste it on your lips and savor the taste of both woman and wine.” “And for me?” His eyes darkened. “It will lessen the pain of the rending of your virtue. For in truth, my angel, I do not want to cause you pain.” “I welcome it, Alejandro,” she whispered. Their eyes caught and held. “I will cherish even that if it makes me your woman for all eternity.”

636

“Merciful Savior,” he breathed, his eyes closing. “The things you can do to my heart.” He opened them again, and Anne saw an agony of love there. “Take one long drink of it then and there shall be no more waiting.” Anne tried to do as he said, but even so sweet a wine could not be measured against the taste of her anticipation.

Chapter Twenty Alejandro and Anne drank the wine as lovers, locking arms, sipping from the same place on the rim, licking droplets from eager lips with eager lips. Yet the moment held a sacred quality that culminated when Alejandro’s lean fingers lifted the goblet and set it aside. Their gazes met and joined in solemn understanding. “It’s time, querida,” he whispered hoarsely. She came to him without hesitation, and he lifted her into his arms. The bed dipped beneath their weight. It was a pleasure almost too wonderful to be endured, to have Anne’s body stretched alongside his, her soft curves bared to his hard muscle, hearing her breathless sighs as his fingertips stroked her skin. It was almost too wonderful to have her meet his every touch with one of her own, to feel her delicate hands upon him, seeking out his sensitive places. The candlelight was soft, their voices muted. Love words were murmured, scarcely heard, thoroughly understood. Time hung still, breathless with unsung harmonies, an ancient song sounding through endless ages to reach full crescendo for them in this evening of rare and marvelous discovery. And Alejandro understood love for the first time. He wanted to weep beneath the tender ministration of her hands, wanted to cry out his joy. Anne’s taste lingered on his tongue. Her scent caressed him. No one person had ever mattered to him more. By the time his knee gently nudged her thighs apart, he understood the significance of the marriage night and gladly surrendered himself to it. He would pour all of himself into her, imparting the very essence of his soul, sealing the covenant. It would be life to him and death to him, consuming him in sacrifice and completion. He tested her and found her moist and ready for his penetration. Her eyes, heavy-lidded, sultry with passion, met his as he rose above her. “Yes,” she whispered. “I want to be yours.” “You always have been.” She gave him a beautiful smile. He drew back and thrust into her, destroying the final barrier. He held her until the pain subsided, until her body accepted his possession. He felt her sigh against his chest. “You’re so gentle,” she whispered. “And I love you so much.” His heart wanted to burst with feeling. Instead, he moved against her, within her, telling her with his body the things he had no words to say.

637

Slow. Love was beautiful when it was slow, with skin slipping against skin and the air tasted of their mingled smell. Yet joy would not be contained. It pushed him, danced with delight around him, urged him faster. And love was beautiful in exuberance, too, when the music of Anne’s sighs became a chorus of female pleasure cries. She neared climax, and Alejandro wanted her to soar, to leap, to fall into pleasure. “Yes, angel,” he urged her. “Fly to paradise.” As if his words broke earthly chains, she screamed his name, clutching him hard against her as he also pulsed and groaned and fell into sensation. Joy beat hard through his veins, killing him, healing him, bringing him to a place of peace. Bringing him home. He was still thinking of safe harbors and Anne’s warm arms when she laughed softly. “What’s so funny?” he asked, pleased that joy lit her eyes. She traced a fingernail down his chest. “I just remembered something I forgot to tell you.” “That you adore me? Love me with every breath until your dying day?” She pushed at him playfully. “No, Alejandro.” “What? You don’t adore me?” “No. I mean, yes…I do adore you, but I forgot to tell you that it’s likely you’ll sire twins. They seem to run in my family. Almost every woman in my line has borne at least one set.” Alejandro groaned and nipped at her ear. “Now you tell me. After I’ve just seeded your womb with plenty of possibilities.” Anne looked momentarily worried. “Would it have made any difference?” “Absolutely not. Unless it would have made me more eager. Because, sweet angel, I want desperately to be father to all your children.” Her eyes grew soft. “Oh, Alejandro.” The kiss she gave him was a seal to the promise. Alejandro tasted his wife and prayed they might be so blessed. For nothing could please him more. From a pirate to a padre… Life with Anne was going to be an adventure.

638

Somewhere, My Love by Ingrid Weaver Thanks to a bequest from her late grandmother, American Claire Lambert is on the vacation of a lifetime, a Mediterranean cruise. When her ship docs in Naples, Claire makes a pilgrimage to the place where Grams experienced true love—and ultimate heartbreak. But when the practical, reliable Claire has an encounter with a handsome—and strangely familiar—Italian, she is determined that history won’t repeat itself….

Chapter One It was probably a trick of the light, a stray drop of water catching the afternoon sun at the right angle and giving the illusion of movement, but Claire Lambert could have sworn that cherub had winked. She braced her hands on the edge of the fountain and leaned closer. The stone was cool beneath her palms, worn smooth by centuries of weather and generations of lovers who might have stood in this very spot to make a wish. Water gurgled from the cherub’s pitcher and splashed into the basin beneath with a sound like distant laughter. The timeless aromas of geraniums, baked bread and garlic filled the secluded courtyard. The scene was exactly as her grandmother had described. Except for the wink. Grams would have mentioned it if the cherub had been cheeky. Claire squinted through the spray, but of course, there was no life in the granite. Like love, or like any illusion, it had disappeared under the smallest amount of scrutiny. What she’d seen had been a silver coin, that was all. It was wedged into a nook in the carved laurel that wreathed the statue’s forehead. Evidently someone had been trying to make a wish, had tossed a coin into the fountain and had missed. Wishes are worthless, Claire. Men will promise love, but don’t believe a word of it. A smart woman takes control of her life. Her grandmother’s voice was so clear in her head, Claire was on the verge of responding before she caught herself. Little wonder she would imagine the voice now, since she’d searched all day for this spot with the sole purpose of paying her respects to the past. The fountain might seem little different from many of the others that dotted Naples, and the smiling cherub in the center might seem ordinary, but it was part of family legend. It was here, seventy-one years ago, that the faithless Donatello Morcone had broken Ethel Teske’s heart. Not the most uplifting place to visit while on vacation, was it? But Claire felt she owed it to Grams to locate it. The events in this place had changed the course of Ethel’s life. The lesson she had learned here as a teenager had turned her into the no-nonsense matriarch who had ruled the Lambert family with a will of iron. It was hard to believe that such a vibrant woman had been gone for over a year. Even harder to believe that she’d ever been young and in love. The breeze puffed through the falling water, kissing Claire’s cheeks with moisture. She wiped them with the back of her hand, embarrassed to realize that some of the moisture was from tears. She’d never seen Grams cry over anything, especially not her ill-fated love affair. When she’d spoken of it, it had been acceptance, not sadness, that had colored her voice. She’d never hinted that she’d wished things could have been different. No pining or moping for Grams, no siree. We can’t change our fate, Claire. You’re like me. You’re the most sensible member of this family. Sensible, responsible Claire, that was her all right. She was well on her way to becoming exactly like her grandmother, except Claire was far too levelheaded to have experienced a grand passion of her own. Her only frivolous act so far was to treat herself to this once-in-a-lifetime cruise of the Mediterranean. Which reminded her, she really should start heading back to the ship; it was due to leave for the next port at sunset.

639

Yet somehow she couldn’t stop looking at the coin that was caught on the cherub’s wreath. It was a wish gone astray, like a metaphor of the past. Seventy-one years from now, would the grandchild of some other jilted lover stand in this very spot and wonder what had gone wrong? Would she have been taught not to believe in love? Would she watch her days slipping past in a nice, orderly, sensible, stifling life sentence…? Afterward, Claire could never explain what possessed her next. She wiped her eyes and climbed onto the edge of the fountain. Before she could think, she stretched her arm across the water and plucked the coin from the cherub’s head. “Ciao, bella.” The man’s voice made her start. She hadn’t heard anyone approach over the sound of the falling water. Her shoes slipped on the stone rim, and rather than dropping the coin into the fountain’s basin as she’d intended, she grasped it reflexively in her palm. “Signorina!” She would have been fine if he hadn’t shouted. The alarm in his tone made her turn her head, which caused her to lose her balance. She windmilled her arms, trying to stay upright. She was sure she would have managed that eventually, but before she had the chance she was grabbed by the hips and yanked her off her feet. She fell backward, bracing for impact with the stones that paved the courtyard. Instead, she collided with a solid male body. He let go of her hips and wrapped one arm in front of her shoulders. A stream of Italian words stirred the hair over her ear. She also felt the words rumbling through his chest and into her back. She couldn’t understand a thing he was saying, but his tone was very expressive. So was his touch. While he held her firmly with one arm, he ran his free hand along the side of her skirt and over her waist as if checking for injuries. And like a fool, she stood motionless and allowed the caress. Because that’s what it felt like, a caress. Combined with the impact of the male warmth surrounding her and all that musical Italian speech tickling her ear, she didn’t care what he said. His voice was so romantic, she could listen to it forever…. The thought startled her. Where had that come from? “I’m fine,” she said. “Thank you for your concern, but I wasn’t about to fall in. Even if I had, the water was too shallow to drown in, and besides, I can swim, so your gallantry, while appreciated, was quite unnecessary.” He drew a breath. She could feel that, too, since he still hadn’t released her. “You are English.” It sounded as if a smile had crept into his voice. Or maybe anything he uttered with that fabulous accent would convey the warmth of a smile. “I’m American,” she said. “Now, if you don’t mind…” He moved his hands to her shoulders and turned her to face him. “You are a tourist.” For the life of her, she couldn’t think of a response. Not a verbal one, anyway. He could have called her a moonwalking ax murderer and she wouldn’t have contradicted him. How could a mortal man have eyes like that? The color was too exotic to describe as simply brown—it was chocolate streaked with caramel, set off by luxuriously thick sable lashes. His hair was dark and rich and practically screamed an invitation to plunge her fingers through it. And as if that wasn’t enough visual bounty, he had a classic Roman nose, firm cheekbones, a square jaw…and his mouth, oh, it was incredible. His lower lip was lush and his upper one puckered just a little, like the smile in his voice. He was without a doubt the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen…and yet…he was oddly familiar. Good Lord, he was more than familiar. She recognized that face. She’d seen it before in a dog-eared photograph at the bottom of Grams’s jewelry box.

640

This stranger was the spitting image of Donatello Morcone, the man who had broken her grandmother’s heart.

Chapter Two “Are you all right, signorina?” Claire realized that her jaw had dropped and her mouth was gaping in a rather unattractive manner, but she couldn’t help herself. She was looking at an image from the past, as if her preoccupation with her grandmother’s unhappy love affair had conjured up the man who had jilted Grams almost three-quarters of a century ago. But that was impossible. The stranger’s resemblance to an old photograph had to be the result of the power of suggestion, a consequence of her day tromping around Naples and dwelling on love gone wrong. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.” She stepped back, breaking the contact with his hands. As soon as she did, the sun seemed to dim… Well, of course the sun had dimmed, she thought, glancing around the courtyard. It would set in another few hours. She looked at her watch. “I must be going. I don’t want to be late.” He took her hand and tilted her wrist toward him, as if he were reading her watch, too. “Late? Do not tell me you are meeting a lover, my beautiful golden-haired lady, or I will be devastated.” His looks, his delicious accent and the warmth that flowed from his body might have stunned her momentarily, but the compliment was just too much. It broke the spell. She gave a surprised laugh. “What’s this?” he asked, lifting her hand higher. “You have a coin. You make a wish at the fountain, yes?” She focused on her fingers, only then realizing she was still holding the stray coin she’d climbed onto the fountain to retrieve. Completing someone else’s wish gone awry had been a silly idea. She certainly wasn’t about to explain it to a stranger. She slipped her hand from his, took her purse from the edge of the fountain and dropped the coin into the pocket where she kept her loose change. “Wishes are worthless,” she said, quoting her grandmother. “No, bella signorina. Wishes are wealth. Without wishes a rich man is no better than a beggar.” She rolled her eyes, trying to counteract the effect of his marvelous voice. He was preposterously handsome as well as Italian, so flirting, especially with American tourists, was probably in his genes. She shouldn’t take it personally. “Perhaps another time,” she said. She hooked her purse strap over her shoulder and turned toward the entrance of the courtyard. “Well, goodbye.” He splayed one hand over his heart and followed her to the street. “I am wounded. It is a lover you go to meet. You have the glow of a woman in love.” “Or a blonde who forgot her sunblock.” “If you were my lover, you would not need to meet me. I would never leave your side.” Oh, he was good, she thought, fighting another laugh. “As it happens, I’m meeting someone named Alexandra, who is very large and very impatient and won’t wait one extra second if I’m not there so—” “Your lover is named Alexandra?” “Her full name is Alexandra’s Dream. She’s a cruise ship.”

641

“Ah!” He fell into step beside her. Smoothly, as if he had every right, he took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “Now I understand. You desire to go to the harbor. I will take you there.” “That’s really not necessary, Mr.…” He smiled. “I am Antonio Avellino.” Her steps faltered. That smile was deadlier than his voice. It brought out angelic dimples—dimples!—in his cheeks and a devilish sparkle in his eyes. It could make even a sensible woman entertain fantasies of a holiday fling. No wonder her grandmother had fallen so hard… What on earth was she thinking? Antonio’s resemblance to the faithless Donatello Morcone was only coincidence, but that was no reason for Claire to repeat history. She withdrew her hand from his arm and increased her pace. The streets in this neighborhood were narrow and winding, a maze dotted with shadowed archways and sudden bursts of slanting light between the buildings. She became more conscious than ever of how late it was getting. “Thank you, Antonio, but I’ll find my own way.” He kept pace with her easily. “I will escort you. Or is your lover waiting on the ship?“ She wished he would stop talking about lovers. “Don’t you have something better to do?” “What could be better than walking with a beautiful lady?” “Will you stop calling me that? I’m really not interested in—” It happened so fast, she had no chance to react. She’d been focusing all her attention on Antonio—what red-blooded woman wouldn’t?—so she hadn’t realized anyone else was nearby until she heard rapid footsteps behind her. She felt a hard tug on her shoulder. Seconds later, a plump man in a denim jacket was racing away from her with her purse hooked over his arm. “Hey!” Claire shouted, breaking into a run. “Stop!” Antonio snagged her elbow and brought her to a skidding halt. Her momentum spun her into his chest. “No. Do not risk yourself. It is only money. Let him go.” “Are you crazy?” she cried, twisting to keep the thief in sight. “He’s got my camera. My phone. My—” She was wasting time. She shook off his grip and resumed her pursuit. “Bella, wait!” Claire ignored Antonio’s shout and kept her gaze on the man in the denim jacket. He wasn’t that fast, and the sensible walking shoes she’d put on this morning were proving fine for running. Despite her delayed start due to Antonio’s interference, she was already closing the gap. Why would such a slow man decide to become a purse snatcher? How could he think he would get away with this? Unless he had an accomplice… The realization made her stumble into a lamppost. She righted herself quickly, her sudden anger giving her a burst of strength. Right. A solitary female would seem an easy target for a pair of thieves. While one distracted her with his charm, the other could swoop in for the kill. Damn, she should have realized there was a purpose behind Antonio’s flirting. Now it was starting to make sense. The thief leaped up a short flight of steps to duck into a narrow alley. Before Claire reached the steps, Antonio sprinted past her. “Stay back!” he said. “I will help you.”

642

“Forget the charade,” she gasped, following him into the alley. “I figured out your game. You and your partner are welcome to the cash, but leave the rest, okay?” He glanced back at her over his shoulder, his brows drawn together as if he hadn’t understood what she’d said. And because he was no longer looking at the man in the denim jacket, Antonio didn’t see him pull out the gun. Claire screamed a warning just as a bullet ricocheted off the wall beside her head. Crumbs of brick sprinkled her hair. Antonio yelled something that she couldn’t understand, then spun away from the gunman and launched himself at her in a flying tackle. He wrapped his arms around her, carrying them both to the ground. And that was when she realized that Antonio couldn’t have been the purse snatcher’s accomplice. Because while he sheltered her with his body, the next bullet didn’t hit the wall, it hit him.

Chapter Three Claire couldn’t move. Antonio was lying on top of her, his large body a motionless deadweight…. No, he wasn’t dead. She could feel the rhythmic pressure of his chest against her breasts. He was still breathing. Thank God! The echoes of the gunshots faded, along with the sound of retreating footsteps. The purse snatcher must have run away. Claire tried to raise her head to look past Antonio’s shoulder, but her hair was caught beneath his arm and was pinning her down. She strained to free her hands, but they were crushed against his chest. She had to get help. He needed a doctor. “Bella? Are you hurt?” She turned her head as far as her hair would allow. Antonio’s eyes were open, his face scant inches from hers. In the sepia shadows that cloaked the alley, his resemblance to the man in Grams’s old photograph was more striking than ever. “No, I’m fine,” she said. She strained again, trying to slide out from underneath him, but it was no use. He didn’t budge. “We need to call the police. You have to get to a hospital.” “It’s nothing. I do not need a doctor.” “Antonio, you were shot. I felt you jerk when the bullet hit you.” She grunted and finally managed to slide one arm free. She ran her palm along his side and over his shoulder. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault. You were hurt because of me. You were right, I shouldn’t have chased him. I can buy another phone. I don’t need my camera, I can get postcards instead.” “Shh.” He pressed his mouth to her cheek. “Do not cry. You are safe. That’s all that matters.” The sensation of his lips against her skin stole her breath. Her pulse, already pounding from her mad dash through the streets of Naples, thudded even faster. “You have to try to let me up. You could be bleeding to death.” “One more moment.” He licked a tear away from the corner of her eye and kissed her temple. He murmured something in Italian. “What did you say?” she asked.

643

“I said you taste good. Like the rain in springtime.” Was he delirious? She moved her hand to his head and sifted her fingers through his hair. “You must have hit your head when you fell. You could have a brain injury. Please, Antonio, if you could just roll over…” He sighed loudly, then shifted his weight to his side and sat up. There was blood on the sleeve of his white shirt. She was on her knees in an instant. They were alone in the alley—the purse snatcher was indeed gone, along with Claire’s purse. The windows in the buildings on either side were shuttered, but she glimpsed movement on the street at the other end. “Wait here,” she said. “I’ll get help.” “No, do not leave.” He clamped his fingers around her wrist before she could rise. His grip was remarkably strong. “We will go together.” “This isn’t the time to get all macho and Italian. You need—” “Bella, look at me,” he ordered. The note of command in his voice startled her. Until now, his words had been coated by a thick layer of charm. She sat back on her heels and did as he asked, not from obedience but from curiosity. He didn’t appear to be in pain. In fact, the way he sat with his long legs bent and one forearm draped across his knees, he looked completely at ease, as if getting shot was nothing unusual. There was a small tear on his left sleeve, and the fabric around it was darkened with blood, but she could see no sign of blood anywhere else. “The thief was not a good shot, and his weapon was small,” Antonio said. He let go of her wrist and reached for the buttons of his shirt. “It does not feel as if he did much damage.” He peeled his shirt off his shoulder to his elbow, baring his upper arm. “There, you can see. It is a mere scratch. It needs only to be cleaned.” The wound wasn’t nearly as bad as Claire had feared. It consisted of a long, shallow line, not a hole. The bullet appeared to have merely grazed his biceps. Relief made her sway. She breathed deeply a few times to steady her nerves, then placed her fingertips below the scratch. “Does it hurt?” “It is like the sting of a bee,” he said. “Not worth even one of your tears, beautiful lady.” Some of the charm had returned to his voice, but not all. He sounded more…real than he had before. She shifted her attention from the drying blood on his skin to the curve of muscle where her fingers rested. His arm was shaped as perfectly as one on a classic sculpture, yet it was warm and vibrant beneath her touch. “I had thought your injury was much worse.” “You are strong as well as beautiful. Many women scream at the sight of blood.” “I’m far too sensible to do that,” she said, dipping her fingers into the tempting angle beneath his biceps. “Sensible, responsible Claire, that’s me.” “Claire,” he repeated, drawing out the word as if he were savoring the sound. “It is a lovely name.” She’d always thought her name was as plain and ordinary as the rest of her, but spoken in Antonio’s rich accent it sounded almost sensual. She stroked the crease of his elbow with her thumb. “I was so worried when you weren’t able to move…” She paused. “Antonio, if this scratch is your only injury, why didn’t you get up right away?”

644

He smiled, treating her to a glimpse of his dimples. “Forgive me, Claire. I was selfish. I wished to enjoy the feel of your body beneath mine as long as I could.” “Why you—” He covered her hand with his, holding it in place as he flexed his arm. “As you also enjoy touching me, yes?” With her hand caught in midcaress, she couldn’t very well deny what he’d said. Besides, the man had risked his life for her. He’d literally swept her off her feet. Twice. They were no longer strangers. She returned his smile. “Yes, but these are exceptional circumstances.” “Exceptional,” he repeated, rolling the word on his tongue the same way he’d savored her name. He caught a lock of her hair between his fingers and leaned forward to rub it against his cheek. “This is true. When I saw you at the fountain I was struck by a thunderbolt from a blue sky. Never have I felt this way before.” He sounded so sincere, Claire found it difficult not to be affected. His touch, his voice, the look in his eyes short-circuited her reason. Perhaps this was how the faithless Donatello Morcone had charmed her grandmother… At the reminder, Claire’s smile faded. She withdrew her hand and stood. “I’m glad you’re all right, Antonio, but I should report this robbery to the police before my ship sails.” His expression sobered. He shrugged his shirt back on his shoulder and rose to his feet. “There is a station on the way to the harbor. I will take you.” “Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly impose—” ”Many things are possible, Claire.“ He cupped her shoulders and looked at her. “Why do you wish to hurry our parting?” The intensity in his gaze should have alerted her. So should have the way he was leaning toward her. She could have stepped back, turned around and run for the street. Instead, she stared, spellbound, as he brought his lips to hers.

Chapter Four If Antonio’s eyes were the color of chocolate and caramel, then his kiss had a flavor better than both. It was incredible, intoxicating. Claire parted her lips, no longer wanting to go anywhere. She was thirty years old, she’d kissed men before, men she’d known for years and trusted. The experiences had been pleasant, like eating a cream puff during a Sunday picnic, or nibbling a sugared orange slice at the Lambert family Christmas party. She’d always had a weakness for sweets. But this, this…oh, it was something else entirely. It was like quenching her thirst by lifting her face to a thunderstorm, or sinking her teeth into a steak when she was starving. She put her hands on Antonio’s chest, delighted to find that he hadn’t refastened his shirt. The fact he’d undone his buttons to see where a bullet had grazed him seemed irrelevant. So did the shadowed alley around them and the ship that was waiting in the harbor. She didn’t care where they were or when it was. She didn’t want this feeling to end.

645

She flattened her palm over his heart, absorbing the feel of the beat against her skin. He was a flesh-andblood man, not a figment of the past or a fantasy conjured up from an old photograph. She wasn’t going to repeat history. Or was she? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the thought. Her grandmother’s holiday fling had resulted in heartbreak. Claire knew better than to make the same mistake, didn’t she? Antonio cupped her face in his hands and moved his lips over her cheeks. He kissed her nose, each eyelid and her forehead, murmuring things in Italian. But the words didn’t sound like endearments, they sounded like curses. She blinked to bring his face into focus. He was frowning. “Antonio?” “I’m sorry. You make me forget who I am.” He grasped her wrists and pulled her hands off his chest. “This has never happened to me before. People talk of it, but I did not understand.” “What do you mean?” He released her and stepped backward, colliding with the building behind him. “We have never met. I have never seen you before today. But I know your taste.” He touched his fingers to the moisture on his lips. “How can this be?” There was no vestige of charm left in his voice. His tone was as confused as the look that he gave her. Claire backed away until her shoulders came up against cool brick. She stared at Antonio across the width of the alley. She hadn’t been the only one to be affected by that kiss—he’d felt the power between them, too. This had to be more than just a casual flirtation. He was a charmer, Claire, I’ll give him that. The most beautiful man I have ever seen, and I’ll wager he knew it. He played me like a pro. I was only nineteen and on vacation with my parents for the summer… Grams’s voice stole into her mind. This time, Claire didn’t try to shut it out; she couldn’t. She’d heard the story so many times the words were engraved on her memory. That was good, because if there ever was a time she should be remembering Edith Teske’s lesson, this was it. His name was Donatello Morcone. I met him one morning at a fountain near the hotel where we were staying. I was throwing coins into the water and wishing for love, like any teenager on her first trip away from home, and he was delivering geraniums on his bicycle. He was quite ingenious—he had fastened flat baskets to the front and the back so he looked like a moving flower bed. He saw me watching him and stopped to tuck a bloom behind my ear. We met there every day after that, and he always brought me a different flower. My parents never knew of our rendezvous or they would have stopped me, but I fancied myself in love. Donatello gave me my first kiss by that fountain. Then he took me to his home above the flower shop and taught me the passion between a man and a woman. I was caught up in the magic of the holiday. The mere sight of him made me feel as if lightning had struck me from a clear sky. Claire realized that Antonio had said almost the same thing about her. A thunderbolt from a blue sky. She pressed her hands to her cheeks. Her fingers were shaking. I didn’t want to go home with my parents at the end of the summer. Donatello and I planned to elope and live in that tiny apartment above the flower shop for the rest of our lives. The day before my ship was to sail, we were to meet at the fountain at dawn so I packed my suitcase and waited for him. I stayed there all day. I didn’t dare leave to eat or drink for fear he would think I had changed my mind, but he never came. When it got dark I finally went to look for him but the flower shop was locked and his apartment was empty. He was gone. My parents found me the next day on his doorstep where I had fainted. They took me to the ship, we went home and that was that. I never heard from him again.

646

Claire felt tears fall on her fingertips. Grams had never cried when she’d related her story, but Claire always did. Love isn’t real, Claire, it’s a fantasy. Your grandfather and I had no illusions when we married. It was a partnership, and it worked well. You’re a sensible girl. Don’t believe a man when he talks of love. Antonio shoved himself away from the wall and crossed the alley to wipe away her tears. “Please, do not weep, Claire. I was…overcome. We must talk. There are things about myself I must tell you.” At his touch, her knees buckled. She grasped his forearms to stay upright and the scent of his body curled around her like an embrace. Was this the same kind of passion her grandmother had felt? Was it happening to Claire seventy-one years later? But Antonio’s resemblance to Donatello had to be coincidence. So was meeting him at the same fountain… Or was it? What if fate was trying to even things up? What if the coin Claire had taken from the fountain was completing a seventy-one-year-old wish? Why else would Antonio have been there? Why would he have followed her? The thought was crazy, and yet what other explanation could there be…? “I’m sorry, Claire.” “No, don’t apologize, Antonio,” she said. “The kiss was wonderful.” He shook his head. “It is not the kiss I’m sorry for.” All at once, Claire became aware of a commotion at the end of the alley. She turned her head in time to see a police car screech to a halt. Two uniformed policemen strode toward them. The one in the lead nodded crisply to Antonio. “Commissario Avellino.” Commissario Avellino? Claire looked at Antonio and waited for him to correct the man. He didn’t. Instead, he issued what sounded like a series of orders to the officers, then fastened his hand around Claire’s wrist, led her from the alley and locked her in the back of the police car.

Chapter Five Commissario Antonio Avellino. It was written right there on his office door. Even reading it backward through the frosted glass, she could tell what it said. No wonder he’d looked so puzzled when she’d accused him of being in league with the man who had snatched her purse. And now she understood why getting nicked by a stray bullet hadn’t bothered Antonio. But she still couldn’t fathom why he hadn’t immediately told her he was a policeman. “I apologize for the delay, Claire,” Antonio said, stepping into his office and closing the door behind him. “It could not be helped.” He had bandaged his wound and changed his shirt; instead of the blood-streaked white cotton, he was wearing a black one. It brought out the caramel swirls in his dark eyes, making his gaze more compelling than ever. For a heartbeat, she was adrift, remembering his kiss, his taste, the feel of his skin beneath her palms…

647

“My ship sails in less than half an hour,” she said. “I don’t care about reporting the purse snatching anymore. Why did you keep me here this long?” “I needed to contact the captain of Alexandra’s Dream. He confirmed you are a passenger with them. I also contacted Interpol. They reported you have no criminal record in America.” “I don’t understand this, Antonio. I’m the one who was robbed. Why am I being treated like a criminal?” “Do not be angry with me, Claire. It’s my job to confirm that you are who you said you are.” He moved past the wooden armchair where she sat and leaned on the edge of his desk. “But I did not bring you here because your purse was stolen. It’s because of what you did at the fountain.” “The fountain? But I didn’t do…” She trailed off and regarded him in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. Is this because of the coin I took?” “Yes.” “Good Lord, I didn’t know Naples had fountain police. The brochures don’t warn about that, but I imagine it must be vital to public safety to protect all that loose change from marauding tourists like me. You’re very dedicated to your work, Commissario Avellino. Unfortunately I can’t return the coin I stole from that cherub’s head since it is still in my purse, which as you know, was also stolen.”

Chapter Six Donatello begged me stay, Claire. He vowed he had fallen in love with me the day we had met, and I believed I had loved him at first sight, too. In hindsight, I suspect it was a case of overactive hormones. After all, he was my first lover and he was exceptionally skilled. His bedroom always smelled like a garden because of the flower shop below it. I remember once he surprised me with rose petals on the sheets. Crimson petals for passion. He didn’t have any trouble convincing me not to go home. What a fool I was. Claire shuddered at the warm tickle of Anthony’s breath on her ear. Regardless of his deception, and despite the time that was slipping away, there was a part of her that wanted to stay where she was. Perhaps she’d inherited her grandmother’s weakness for Italian men. There was a sharp rap on the office door just before it swung open. One of the policemen who had met them in the alley stepped inside, a sheaf of paper in his hands. “Commissario Avellino—” He stopped abruptly, his gaze flicking over both her and Antonio. Without loosening his hold on her, Antonio lifted his head and nodded toward a file cabinet beside the door. He waited in silence as the policeman put the forms on the cabinet and backed out of the office. As soon as the door clicked shut, Antonio turned Claire in his arms so that she faced him. “My men suspect I have gone mad,” he said. “Then insanity’s contagious,” she muttered. “I think I have a touch of it myself.” He smiled. His lean cheeks creased into dimples, his eyes sparkled and the pucker in his upper lip became more pronounced. “It is my job to deal with evidence. I believe only what I see, but I cannot explain what is unfolding between you and me.” “I can. It was all part of your cover act.” He drew her closer. “The way your body fits against mine is not a pretense, Claire. The way the taste of your mouth haunts me is no act. I did not lie to you. Something happened when we kissed. Tell me you felt it.”

648

“What do you expect me to say, Antonio? That you’re a good kisser? Fine, you are. That I’m attracted to you? Okay, I’m guilty of that, too. But don’t insult my intelligence by pretending this is more than an ordinary physical attraction. It can’t be. I hardly know you.” “That can be remedied. What would you like to know? Ask me anything.”

Chapter Seven Claire rubbed her eyes hard, then looked at the harbor. Against the streaks of sunset that colored the sky, the lights of Alexandra’s Dream glittered like tiny stars. The sound of the cruise ship’s engines was a distant throb. Already it was halfway out to the sea. “Oh, my God!” she cried. “It was here a minute ago. How could I have missed it?” Antonio lifted her hair aside with his index finger and kissed the side of her neck. He murmured something in Italian. She shuddered. “You did this deliberately!” He kissed his way along her jaw. She could feel a smile on his lips. “What did I do, cara?” “You distracted me.” She broke away from him and stumbled backward, bumping into the hood of his car. “You kissed me so I would miss my ship!” “You were the one who kissed me, Claire.” He placed his hands on either side of her. “You made your choice. You wanted to stay.” “I didn’t mean to. I’ve paid for the cruise. My luggage is onboard. The ship has my passport and my travel papers. I don’t have a dime on me. I couldn’t stay here even if I wanted to.” “I am a policeman. I know people who will help you obtain a visa so you can remain as long as you like. But you will need no money if you come home with me.” The heat from his body was surrounding her, tempting her, making it difficult to think. She looked at the ship. She knew the captain wasn’t going to turn around a vessel that size for one person. The only way she would get onboard would be to catch up to it at its next port. “How long would it take to drive to Rome? No, I mean the port. Civitavecchia. Could we get there by morning?” He grasped her waist and lifted her from the car to bring her face level with his. “You have nothing to fear from me, Claire. I will never hurt you. I want only to love you.” Antonio’s declaration should have sounded absurd, like a clumsy pickup line. It was crazy to mention love; they’d known each other less than a day. He had to be talking about sex. But how had he managed to sound so sincere? “Someone has broken your heart,” he said softly. “That is why you’re afraid.” She shook her head. “I’m not a coward. I’m trying to be sensible.” He folded her into his arms. “My wonderful Claire. You had the courage to travel halfway around the world and tour a strange city by yourself. You did not hesitate to chase the man who stole your purse. You were shot at and did not panic. You were brave when you believed I was injured.” He pressed his cheek to her hair. “I know you are not a coward, yet you want to run away when a man speaks of love.” Men will promise love, but don’t believe a word of it.

649

Love isn’t real, Claire, it’s a fantasy. You’re a sensible girl. Don’t believe a man when he talks of love. She clapped her hands over her ears to shut out Grams’s voice. Hadn’t she listened to it enough already? It wasn’t Claire’s heart that had been broken, it had been her grandmother’s. Edith Teske Lambert had made sure that her granddaughter wouldn’t repeat her mistake. She’d lectured her over and over on the hopelessness of following her heart. She’d meant well. She’d wanted to protect her. “Stay in Naples tonight,” Antonio murmured, tugging Claire’s hands away from her ears. “We will do whatever you want. If you still wish to leave tomorrow, I promise I will drive you to Rome in the morning.” Claire looked at the ship again. If she’d made it onboard, she would be spending the evening in the library or the movie theater, or maybe standing at the railing alone, endeavoring to ignore the couples who strolled the deck or kissed beneath the stars. This was supposed to have been the vacation of a lifetime for her. “Tell me what you want, Claire.” She put her fingertips on Antonio’s cheek and forced herself to be honest. She realized there had been no destiny involved in their meeting, just an ordinary police investigation and her overactive imagination. It made no difference. He was the most fascinating, outrageously charming man she had ever known. Besides, this was only one night, not forever. There would be time enough to be sensible once she went home. “Would you take me back to the fountain?” she asked. “I’d like to see it one last time.” They drove to the tiny courtyard where they had met. It looked smaller in the darkness. Moonlight flowed in streaks of silver across the buildings that surrounded the square, making the air shimmer. And just as it had for centuries, the stone cherub stood on its pedestal and poured water from its never-emptying pitcher. Claire glanced at the shadows. She could see no movement or sign of anyone lurking. Antonio had called the police station on the way here and had assured her there would be no risk of encountering any smugglers this time. Apparently they had realized this drop point had been discovered; they wouldn’t be using it again. Antonio slipped his arm around her shoulders as they reached the edge of the stone basin. “Claire, something puzzles me. You are an honest woman, so why did you take the coin the smugglers had left here?” She looked at the cherub’s wreath. She’d been too embarrassed to admit the truth before, but it wouldn’t hurt to tell him now. “I had thought the coin was someone’s wish gone astray. I wanted to drop it into the water so the wish of whomever had put it there would come true.” He laughed. “Then it’s lucky I interrupted you. I would not want you to help the criminals.” He thrust his free hand into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of coins. “Take these,” he said, piling them in her palms. “Make wishes of your own.” She picked up a coin and turned it over in her fingers. “This feels silly. I was raised not to believe in nonsense like wishes.” “I am the opposite. My family are romantics. They all believe in…” He spoke a few words in Italian and squeezed her shoulders. “Love at first sight. Is that how you say it? They had begun to despair that I would never find my special woman.” She leaned back to smile at him. “When I first met you, I thought you were a hopeless flirt. Obviously I was right.“

650

“When I first saw you, Claire, I thought you were my destiny.” He nuzzled her hair. “The men in my family have a weakness for blond Americans.” “Really?” He pointed to the edge of the fountain. “My grandfather met his true love in this spot. He said she had hair the color of sunshine.” Her pulse leaped. Grams had been blond once… No, it had to be a coincidence. Claire wasn’t going to indulge in that foolishness again. “Your grandfather? Do you mean the one who tangled with the camorra?” “Yes.” He kissed her ear. “Perhaps I should not have mentioned him. It was an unhappy story. His lover went home to America and married another. He married my grandmother at the urging of his parents, and they had a good life, but he never forgot his true love.” Coincidence. There was no point pursuing this further. But dear God, her heart was pounding so hard she had to ask. “Antonio, what was your grandfather’s name?” “His name was Donatello Morcone.”

Chapter Eight Donatello Morcone. “He was my mother’s father,” Antonio explained. The coin slipped from Claire’s fingers, bounced on the rim of the fountain and fell into the basin with an echoing splash. The others she’d been clasping in her palm struck the paving stones. Some bounced over her shoes and rolled across the courtyard. A few spun in wild blurs of silver, then tinkled to a stop. Throughout it all, water continued to chuckle from the cherub’s pitcher. Claire swayed on her feet. Antonio grasped her arms. “Claire! What’s wrong?” She parted her lips, but she couldn’t catch her breath. In the moonlight, his face looked exactly like the one in the photograph from Grams’s jewelry box. God God! The resemblance wasn’t coincidence, it was inherited. “Cara?” She staggered, then sat heavily on the edge of the fountain. The stone was cool, worn smooth by generations of lovers who had met here to make wishes…. I met him one morning at a fountain near the hotel where we were staying. I was throwing coins into the water and wishing for love. “Are you cold? I will take you inside. My apartment is not far.” She grabbed his hand. “Tell me about him, Antonio.”

651

“Who? My grandfather? It is not a good story, Claire. Let’s talk of more pleasant things.” “No, I have to know. Please!” She tugged him down to sit beside her. “It’s important. You said he loved an American woman. What happened? What went wrong?” He clasped her hands in his. “They had planned to marry. The night before they were to meet here at this fountain, thugs from the camorra came to Donatello’s flower shop. They tried to extort money from him, but my grandfather refused to pay. They beat him into unconsciousness. When he awoke in the hospital two days later, he learned his lover had gone home to America.” I packed my suitcase and waited for him. I stayed there all day. I didn’t dare leave to eat or drink for fear he would think I had changed my mind, but he never came…. Claire blinked at a sudden rush of tears. “Didn’t he try to follow her? Why didn’t he explain what had happened?” “Both his legs had been broken—he could not travel for months. He wrote her many letters but they were returned unopened.” My parents never knew of our rendezvous or they would have stopped me…. They took me to the ship, we went home and that was that. I never heard from him again. Claire’s head was reeling. Grams’s parents must have intercepted those letters. They would have meant well; they would have wanted to protect her. “What happened then?” Antonio wiped her cheeks with his thumb. “When my grandfather was well enough to go to America, he learned he was too late. Her parents told him she had married another man. They said she was happy and had refused to see him, so Donatello came home.” Everything Claire had been told, the picture of the past she’d been raised with, was transforming into something entirely different. Claire sobbed and pressed her face to Antonio’s shoulder. Poor Grams. She’d never known her love had been true. She had died believing that Donatello had jilted her. “This is all wrong! It’s not fair!” “Come, cara.” He laced his fingers with hers and eased her to her feet. “It has been a long day for you. Let me take you home.” Dazed, she pressed close to Antonio’s side as he led her out of the courtyard. He left his car where he had parked it and guided her through a series of narrow alleys and short staircases to an old two-story building. A row of shops, their doors closed and windows dark, were tucked beneath broad arches along the ground floor. Antonio unlocked a door at the corner of the building and took her up a flight of stairs. The moment they stepped through the doorway of his apartment, Claire was surrounded by the scent of roses. He switched on a lamp, revealing low, black-leather furniture, a wide-screen TV and the typical male clutter of newspapers and empty dinner plates. There wasn’t a flower in sight. Where was the smell coming from? “You’re trembling.” Antonio snatched a knitted blanket from the sofa and wrapped it around her. “Rest. I will fix us something to eat.” She clutched the front of his shirt before he could move away. “Antonio, what’s downstairs?” “Beneath us? It’s my sister’s flower shop. She took over the business when our grandfather retired.“ A fresh surge of tears spilled down Claire’s cheeks. “Of course. This was Donatello’s home. It would have to be.”

652

“I’m sorry the story upset you, Claire.” He tucked the blanket more firmly around her shoulders. “Don’t cry for what happened so long ago. The past has nothing to do with us.” She dried her eyes on his shirt. “You’re wrong, Antonio. The past has everything to do with us. It made us who we are. You said your family are romantics. They believe in love at first sight. That’s because of Donatello, isn’t it?” “Yes. He taught his children that love is too precious to lose. Our souls recognize the one we are meant for. My mother did not hesitate when she met my father. They married after only one week. My sisters did the same.” Edith had done the opposite. Her unhappy affair had turned her into a cynical, no-nonsense woman. She had taught her children—and her granddaughter—not to trust their hearts. Yet her story had always haunted Claire. That was why Claire had felt compelled to find that fountain in the first place…. The picture of the past continued to expand. “You became a policeman because of what happened to your grandfather. And it’s because you’re a policeman that you were at the fountain on a stakeout.” He kissed the tip of her nose. ”I captured far more than I had expected.” She drew in a breath that was part sob and part laugh. “Don’t you see? Everything has led us to this moment. I think fate was trying to make up for the past. We were meant to meet, Antonio.” “Of course we were, cara. You are my destiny.” It was no longer absurd; it was the only logical explanation. In truth, her heart had recognized this man the instant they had kissed. She’d been worried that she was going to repeat history. She wouldn’t. She was being given the chance to correct it. Claire grinned and shrugged off the blanket. “Ethel shouldn’t have given up. She should have waited longer. She should have had faith in Donatello. Falling in love wasn’t her mistake. Not believing it was possible…that’s where she went wrong.” Antonio tilted his head to study her. “Claire, how did you know the name of Donatello’s lover?” Laughing, she plunged her fingers into his hair and pulled his face down to hers. “It’s a long story, Antonio. Someday we’ll tell it to our grandchildren.”

653

Desire Calls by Caridad Piñeiro Vampire elder Stacia craves something she's never had: true love. When she is reunited with Blake, a lesser vampire who possesses a spirit she's found lacking in men—both mortal and immortal—for centuries, she thinks she's met her match….

Chapter One The piazza always provided a fine selection for dining, Stacia thought as she sat on the railing along the edge of the Bernini fountain in Rome's Piazza Navona. She gazed at the choices available in various spots around the square. French. German. Italian, of course. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. It had been a day since she had eaten. Placing a hand over her belly, she rose and sashayed toward her first pick, but as she neared the Frenchman, she realized he was beyond loaded. The stench of cheap wine clung to his shirt and oozed from his pores. Shaking her head, she thought of the oft repeated adage all those television chefs used: If it's not good enough to drink, it's not good enough for cooking. Or in her case, for eating. That cheap stuff just left a bad aftertaste in her mouth along with a wickedly nasty buzz. She preferred something cleaner on her palate tonight. Which definitely had her bypassing the Aryan god she had noticed just a short distance away from the Frenchman. Germans were always a trifle heavy in her belly. However, the broad set of his shoulders and well muscled chest made her reconsider. She loved her men big and strong and so she lingered by the front of the outdoor café where he was seated. Even made eye contact with him for a moment. Amazing crystal-blue eyes twinkled with interest. That much was clear. Stacia smiled back, thinking that maybe he might be worth a nibble after all. Maybe they might actually even click, finally providing her with true pleasure after nearly two thousand years of undead life. Mr. Tall, Blond and Brawny rose from his chair, seemingly intent on making a move in her direction, but suddenly an equally tall, blonde and muscled woman joined him. Seeing that his attention was on Stacia, his companion began a harangue loud enough to make heads turn. The man plopped down into his chair, looking like a dog with its tail tucked between his legs. No spirit. That was so not good, Stacia thought and moved onward, still in search of something to satisfy her hunger. She needed a man who could not only take a lickin', but gave as good as he got. And not just when he was in a fight. It had been a good long while since any man had really satisfied her in bed, one of the downsides of having lived so long. Of being a vampire elder. Even her own kind avoided her at times, aware that with her age came not just vast power but also vast hunger. For blood. For sex. For control over lesser vamps. She didn't want to admit that, in her case, she still hungered for love. For real passion and desire. Things she hadn't felt in way too long. Some of the other elders said she was foolish to yearn for such things. That she should let go of the last little bit of humanity within her that prompted such desires. Then, and only then, could she truly relish the immense vampire power that her age provided.

654

Stubbornly, though, Stacia refused to relinquish that lingering trace of humanity. For want of something more than an eternal existence filled with only… A fine-looking American caught her eye as he laughed at the antics of his rowdy friends in front of one bar. He was as big and blonde as the whipped Aryan she had bypassed earlier, but as his gaze met hers, she saw steel there. Luscious grey eyes were framed by a sheath of shaggy, sun-bleached hair. Stacia circled Mr. Surfer Dude, making eye contact and clearly letting the young man know that this might just be his lucky night. It worked without her using even a bit of her vampire power. A flirtatious smile and her feminine wiles had been enough. He approached, leaned down from his greater height and, in awfully accented Italian, asked, "Parla inglese?" "Do we need to talk?" she said with a sexy wink, and inclined her head in the direction of a nearby alley. The young man smiled broadly and after a quick glance back at his friends, who hooted and carried on at his "score," he took hold of her hand and followed her. Stacia led him farther back into the narrow alley, although not so far that he would think anything was amiss. Just far enough that he would believe a strong shout could still be heard out in the piazza. Not that she would give him the opportunity to call out. Toward the middle of the alley, the night closed in around them, with only the dimmest light from the full moon above. Clothed in darkness, the young man surprised her by becoming the aggressor, grabbing her forcefully and pinning her to the jagged brick wall. "Like it rough, do you?" she said, but he didn't answer since, with quick hands, he had already undone the laces on her leather vest and was gazing down at her breasts as they spilled free. When he bent to suck at them, she moaned, thinking that he was exceptionally gifted with his mouth. Between her legs, the throb of human desire rose up, aching for fulfillment. She quickly undid his jeans, reached past the loose folds of denim to the boxer shorts below. How she loved this new fashion that made it so easy to free him. To stroke the rather magnificent length of him. He bit down on one nipple as she caressed him, dragging a gasp from her. "Sorry," he mumbled as he lifted the almost nonexistent hem of her black leather miniskirt, cupped her bare buttocks and urged her upward. With a surge, she jumped up and wrapped her legs around him, then drove down, crying out as the long, thick length of him penetrated her. He was deliciously big, much like the rest of him. His own groan was from the gut as she leaned back against the brick wall and he pounded into her, all finesse forgotten as he strove for release. He looked down and watched the play of his hips against hers as if fascinated by the sight. Of his blonde curls brushing the naked skin between her legs. Stacia considered the emotions flitting across his face. Passion rose, dilating his eyes into shards of slate grey. Almost charcoal grey, she realized as he met her gaze before dipping his head down again to suck on her breasts.

655

Inside her, heat built. Desire awakened the demon that hungered for so much. She threw her head back, allowed the beast to emerge slowly so that it could experience it all. The dark of the night enveloped them in its secrecy. The strength of his youth brought her closer and closer to completion. The musky smells of their lovemaking pushed her over the edge. She called out her physical completion and laid her face against his. Bent her head and kissed the crook of his neck. His skin was damp. Salty. His blood surged, singing through his veins as his pulse quickened while he worked for his own release. Sweet, sweet blood. Pulsing beneath her lips. In a heartbeat, she finally loosed her restraints on the beast. Her fangs burst forth and pierced the fragile skin of his neck. He called out then in a strangled cry laced with pain, but also with the acknowledgement of passion like no other he had ever experienced—the passion borne from a vampire's kiss. Blood spilled onto her lips from her fangs as she drank, experiencing the surge of strength and lust that came from feeding. His sweet, young blood brought the rush of life to her undead body. He tasted like the ocean and sun. Salty. So tasty that Stacia could have kept on going until she drained him dry, only he had done well by her tonight, satisfying one hunger while leaving another unfulfilled. The young man's knees weakened from the loss of blood, and Stacia hopped off him. With her greater vampire strength, she gently eased him down to the uneven pavement. He was rather handsome, she thought, gazing down at him as he stared up at her, disoriented. The bite mark at his neck was already healing and come morning, he would remember nothing. Feel no worse off than if he had a bad hangover, she thought as she quickly closed up her vest. And she would feel— Still alone, she thought, hurrying from the alley as if by doing so, she could escape the bleakness of her existence. Once out in the piazza, she realized that it was time to move on. She would not find satisfaction here. As she strolled through the square, it occurred to her New York would be good this time of year. Lots of fine dining there and the wannabes at the Blood Bank were always good for a laugh. Imagine, wanting to be human again, she thought. What good was that? she asked herself, ignoring the little voice in her head which reminded her that with humanity came… Love.

Chapter Two The Lair was hopping as it always was on a Saturday night. Not that Blake was a regular at the club, preferring the Blood Bank with its edgier clientele and higher volume of vampires. The people here—not even serious vamp poseurs—were just interested in flirting with the dark side, as if visiting an undead Disneyland. They loved the look of the place, from the faux-stone walls to the hundreds of realistic bat bodies clinging to the ceiling above which created the illusion that you were in an underground cavern. Even the bar fed into the macabre fantasy: the letters on the sign for the Lair seemed to drip blood onto the bar's gleaming stainless-steel surface.

656

Blake chuckled at the crowd, thinking that they paled in comparison to those true believers at the Blood Bank, where a bloke could be guaranteed a nice shot of blood or a nip at a willing neck. His friend Ryder, the owner of this club, had no blood of any kind on the drink menu. Not even some hearty beef blood. Worse yet, he had a strict No Bite policy for the real vampires who dropped by occasionally. A shame, Blake thought, as one rather attractive young woman bumped into him and smiled, sending the clear signal that she was interested in his rather fine punk self. He ignored her, glancing through the murky light to the luminous steel counter of the bar, where his former love labored, either unaware of his presence or ignoring him. He suspected it was the latter since, as her sire, they were irrevocably connected. But that didn't mean they were meant to be together, he had realized some months ago. Blond, green-eyed and beautiful, Meghan stood behind the counter, smiling as she poured drinks and took money. Blake remembered that smile well. Recalled the night they had met at the Blood Bank, where Meghan had gone on a dare with a group of her coed friends. Even done up in her version of Goth, with black denim clinging to every luscious curve of her youthful body, her brightness had shone through. She had clearly been intrigued by his swagger and Cockney accent. They had gone off alone, just to talk at first because after more than a century of life, he found it wasn't all that easy to find someone to connect with. Bullocks, they had definitely connected, he recalled. She had made him laugh. Made him remember just how wonderful spending time with someone could be. That hadn't happened in…forever. When Meghan had agreed to go with him to one of the back rooms at the Blood Bank, he hadn't intended to sire her. He had just wanted to savor her sexy All American looks, lithe body and the promise in her forest green eyes. Revel in the way her sexiness was laced with humor and light after his long life in the dark. But somewhere along the way, he had lost control. The wonderfully sexy and too human interlude had awakened a longing he hadn't acknowledged for some time. When he released the demon, he told himself it was just to take a nibble of all her goodness. To savor a little longer the lovemaking that had been so fulfilling, so alive with light and passion and just sheer fun. Her skin had been soft against his lips as he bit down on her neck. Her scent, so fresh and clean, had obliterated the earthier odor of the blood. And her body… She had screamed out at his possession, but not just with pain. When she clutched him to her, he realized that he hadn't wanted the moment to end. Ever. Blake had nearly sucked her dry. By the time the extent of his feeding registered, he had been left with a painful choice: let her die or sire her. He had taken too much blood for her to survive. So Blake had turned her, earning her hatred as Meghan fought the reality of her new existence. In the past year he had redeemed himself by saving her life and that of her guardian, but things would never be right between them. Which was why he lurked in the shadows, wishing that he would find someone else who could bring light and love to his life. Someone else to connect with again since his chance encounter with Meghan had shown him that love was still possible for someone like him. You're a pitiful bloke, he told himself, straightening and pulling his black leather jacket closed. It was time he moved on and found another young thing to satisfy him. He couldn't spend the rest of his life worrying about the little chit who would be forever twenty one thanks to his actions.

657

Most women would be pleased by that possibility, vain creatures that they were. Turning on his heel, he left the Lair in a burst of vampire speed, exiting out onto the streets of Tribeca. Leaping up the landings of a nearby fire escape until he was on the rooftop of an adjacent building. The moon was full, bathing New York City in silvery light. A nip lingered in the early-spring air, not that it bothered his vampire thermostat. But he was a mite peckish and needed a bite of something to ease that hunger. He leaped from one rooftop to the next until he arrived at the familiar alley before the Blood Bank. Blake slipped down from the roof, landing noiselessly on the cobblestones. He sauntered to the door and flashed some fang at the bouncer who let him in past the long line of people waiting to enter. Inside it was as dim as the Lair, but without all the theatrical touches. Worn chairs and tables bore the scars of the violence for which the Blood Bank was known in the undead world. Opening his vampire senses, he recognized the hum of power that said there were others of his kind here. But more importantly, he detected the commanding vibrations from an elder. A very familiar elder, he thought and glanced toward the bar. Stacia in all her glory. The night had finally taken a turn for the better, Blake thought and walked toward the bar.

Chapter Three With a rather bored sigh, Stacia placed the glass filled with blood from a nouveau yuppie fresh from Chelsea on the gouged counter before her. She had been hoping to run into some familiar faces, but other than Foley, the owner of the bar, the night had been quiet, until… She swiveled on her stool as she sensed a familiar vamp energy and took note of him as he approached. Blake. In his best Billy Idol getup. His chain-studded jeans tight against lean hips, black leather jacket strained against his broad shoulders. Playfully spiked blond hair revealed a face with marvelous bone structure. As he realized he had her attention, the swagger in his step increased. A broad smile spread across his face and swept up into his deep blue eyes. Stacia found herself smiling back, even if it was just Blake. When he stood before her, he placed his hands on his hips, drawing aside the jacket to reveal a black Tshirt that clung lovingly to his muscles. "Blimey, luv. It's been too long since you've visited." "Been missing me? That's a surprise," she said, and with a wave of her hand, signaled for the bartender to bring Blake a drink. "Why would that be a surprise, luv?" He slipped onto the open stool beside her. When the bartender placed a glass of blood before him, he raised it and offered a toast. "To old— We're definitely old, but are we friends?" Stacia laughed harshly and picked up her glass but didn't return the toast. Eyeing him over the rim, she said, "A gentleman wouldn't mention a lady's age, and as for being friends… Why aren't you afraid of me?" Blake, ever confident and even more playful, leaned toward her and whispered close to her lips, "Should I be?"

658

Raising her hand, she inclined her head toward the direction of the vampire bartender and made a fist as if she was squeezing something. The bartender suddenly dropped the glass he held and grabbed at his throat, fighting for air. "Should you be afraid?" she asked, almost hoping that Blake would prove her right and make a fast exit as so many of the vamps at the Blood Bank had done upon her arrival. "A man's got to face his fears," Blake said calmly and sipped his blood, barely glancing in the direction of the barkeep whose sallow vampire skin was starting to turn slightly blue. With a flick of her hand, Stacia released her hold on the vampire and examined Blake, sensing something different about him. Something a bit more…intriguing. He had changed since the last time she had seen him. "So you don't fear me…" "Should I?" he asked again. "Do you have some nefarious plan for me, luv?" His voice was laced with humor and not a whit of the anxiety she usually inspired in other lesser vampires. When he gestured in the direction of the back rooms, she chuckled. "Get real. Me and you? Do I look like I'm slumming?" With a careless shrug, Blake slid off the stool and with a nod said, "Well, then it's goodbye, I guess. " Stacia controlled her surprise at his seeming nonchalance and watched him walk away, his swagger drawing the attention of quite a few women. Stupid human females who didn't realize that to Blake, they were just a possible snack. When he actually sidled up to one, bent that peroxided head and said something to the young woman that had her laughing, annoyance flared through Stacia. She didn't know why. At best, she and Blake were longtime acquaintances, not friends. Elders had few friends, not even other elders. There were usually too many power plays going on to permit true friendship to develop. Blake's attitude was therefore…refreshing. As he and the young woman headed onto the dance floor and plastered their bodies against each other, Stacia decided it was time she had some fun, as well, instead of just sitting there, moping. Moping was so pitiful. Scoping out the crowd in the bar, she noticed one young man seated at a booth along the far wall. Big and powerful. The black T shirt he wore clung to the thick, large muscles of his arms as they rested on the edge of the booth. Artificially black hair punched up the paleness of his face which had obviously been enhanced with makeup, as had his thick, dark eyelashes. Like her, he had an earring through his brow, although his was silver. His ears also sported a variety of piercings and when he smiled, the wink of silver in his tongue promised her more pleasure. A vamp wannabe? she wondered. Or just out for a night of play? Finishing her blood, Stacia rose from her stool and walked toward the booth, but didn't immediately engage the young man. While the direct approach generally worked best, sometimes the hunt and chase were much more stimulating. With the slightest glance his way—although enough to let him know he had been noticed—she sauntered past him to the dance floor, making sure to stay in his line of sight.

659

Once there, she released herself to the music, shifting to the hard beats. They were almost violent in their volume, the strength of the sound driving against her body until it was as if the throb of the bass had melded with her heartbeat. She moved her hips, gyrating in rhythm to the pulse. Raised her hands, which lifted the hem of her black leather vest to expose the pale expanse of her flat midriff and the woven ring of gold through her navel. Warmth came against her skin as a hand snaked around her waist and dragged her to a rock-hard body. Looking up over her shoulder, she smiled as she saw the young Goth man behind her. Felt the strength and size of his physique against her petite frame. As she moved her backside, pressing into him, she realized she had made a good choice. He was just what she needed to welcome her to New York City.

Chapter Four Okay, so Stacia had basically dissed him. That still didn't change the fact that she was absolutely stunning. A goddess. Considering she was an elder, maybe that wasn't so far from the truth; in the vampire world, the elders were like gods. From the corner of his eye, Blake took in all of her. The black leather she wore looked as if it were painted on the womanly curves of her body. Her nearly black hair was a shock of dark against the ivory of her skin. Sleek and cropped close to her skull, her hair exposed the perfect shells of her ears, pierced with an assortment of golden earrings. As she twirled around the rather large Goth, laughing and playing her sexual games, the golden ring at her brow winked enticingly as did the ring through her navel. She was something to behold, he realized, although nothing like Meghan, who was like the light of the sun to Stacia's dark night. Fun to Stacia's fear since, despite his earlier denial, on some level he was afraid of her. Stacia could take his life with a flick of her finger. He would be foolish not to respect her and yet… There was something different about her tonight. Something almost…human. He tuned out the young woman next to him and kept an eye on Stacia. Not that she needed protection. The young man with her might be a mountain of muscle but he was mortal. Blake knew that much from the lack of power that came from the Goth. He was no match for Stacia, even if she was such a little thing. He liked his women petite, Blake realized, recalling Meghan. Stacia was of similar height, but much more womanly with all those delectable curves. Not that he was interested, Blake thought. He had enough problems with women in his life, and without a backward glance, abandoned his dance companion. Unlike Stacia, who seemed to have few problems finding a man, he thought as he stalked back to the bar, wondering why Stacia's intense dance with the Goth was bothering him so. Maybe because Stacia's idea of a dance was…

660

He gulped, fighting the thrum of power she was releasing as she played with the Goth. He wasn't the only one feeling it, he realized as a surge of awakening told him that the other vampires in the club were also experiencing it. Tapping into the spill of her elder power like chum for vampires. Only the price to be paid for fully experiencing a kiss of that power could be lethal if the elder was so inclined. Tonight Stacia seemed intent on satisfying other needs, Blake thought, sipping his wine as he watched her sway against the young man. Run her hands up his arms and over his exaggerated muscles. He glanced down at his own arms. Lean and mean, he had nothing to be ashamed of, he thought, and returned his attention to the antics of Stacia and the Goth. The young man was clearly smitten, unaware that beneath the body he was so eagerly moving his hands all over was destructive power. Strength beyond that of anyone else in the room. Lust and desire that would ensnare you in its grasp, but then drain you dry if you gave into it. Blake sucked in a shaky breath, feeling the pull of her even across the distance of the club. Feeling himself harden and rise from the spillover of her ardor. But he was not alone. As Stacia faced the bar, their gazes connected and he realized that she sensed his awakening passion. Passion stronger than that of the puny mortal with her. While facing him, she raised her hand up to caress the Goth's face. Blake felt the sweep of her hand as if against his own cheek. So soft. Cold. She shifted her hips back and forth, and he had to grip the edge of the bar as that movement transferred itself to him and his erection strained painfully against the tight fabric of his jeans. All the time, Stacia kept her gaze locked with his, clearly conscious of her effect on him. Increasing her caresses and movements until he was nearly undone and she finally broke free from the Goth, done with his weak mortality. She began to head his way, well aware that the pleasure of Blake's body and blood would surpass that of any puny mortal. And Lord help him, he was ready to give in to her despite knowing it would be a mistake. A major mistake. Stacia could never love anyone. But love was highly overrated anyway, wasn't it? Blake thought as he rose from the stool and walked toward her. The Goth clearly didn't like being left behind wanting. He grabbed hold of Stacia's arm, spun her around so he could voice his displeasure. With the barest movement of her arm, Stacia broke free from the young man and raised her hand. The Goth dropped to his knees, his face reflecting disbelief at his seeming inability to control his own body. Blake approached and, despite his better judgment, laid his hand over Stacia's. Barely half a foot taller than she, it took little for him to bend down and whisper in her ear, "Let the young fool go, luv." Stacia shot him a look, but beneath his hand, the hum of power surging outward warmed his palm. The young man was swaying and beginning to turn blue, but Blake couldn't tell just what Stacia was doing to him until she broadcast the vision she had in her mind.

661

He saw it then, compliments of Stacia's power. She was encircling the Goth's heart, slowly crushing the life from it. If she didn't release her hold on him, the foolish boy would soon be dead. "If you finish this—" "When I finish this," she corrected, and almost as if for the fun of it, gave the young man a shake. "Let him go. You've proven your point," he urged, and surprisingly she did as he asked. "Thank you," Blake said, but Stacia shook her head at his words. "Don't thank me, Blake. If you don't know by now, I expect payment for that request," she said, and was about to walk away when the Goth's friends surrounded them. As two of them helped their friend back to the booth, another two blocked their way. Their stances were fight ready, their looks surly. Blake raised his hand. "You don't want to do this," he suggested in a low tone. "That's right. You don't want to do this. At least, not here," Foley, the owner of the bar, said as he approached the group. The two young men looked at Foley, and one of them nodded and said, "Let's take it outside." Blake was about to protest that there was no need, only Stacia and the two men were already stalking away to a back exit to the alley. Shit, he thought, following them. He hated being a hero.

Chapter Five Anger pushed her to rashness. So not a good thing, Stacia thought as she thrust open the back door of the club. It rebounded against the wall with a loud clang before she stepped into the alley. She reminded herself that too many a vampire had let emotion lead them to a stupid act that cost them their lives. But she couldn't let these two go unpunished. A little infliction of pain would suffice to satisfy her honor and temper. Bright moonlight spilled onto the cracked cement walls and the asphalt on the ground in the alley. The better to see their blood with, she thought and turned to face the two young men as they took up positions on either side of her. Blake had followed them out, as well, but merely leaned against the wall by the door and crossed his arms nonchalantly, a bored look on his face. The stupid-looking muscle bound one called out to him, "Are you just going to stand there while we kick your girl's ass?" "Bullocks, mate. That woman is so going to make you suffer. I'm just here to make sure you're still breathing when she's done," Blake said, and after, wagged a finger in Stacia's direction. "None of your nasties with these children. We wouldn't want Mum and Dad to have to spend too much money on therapy," he teased and actually dragged out a chuckle from her, but that humor was short lived. The thick necked oaf and his friend clearly didn't think it funny because they suddenly decided to advance on Blake, until she grabbed the hand of one as he walked away from her. With a deft flick of her wrist, she had his arm bent back at a painful enough angle that the young man slowly sank to his knees.

662

His friend, seeing that he needed assistance, immediately swung a punch in her direction, but she caught his fist in her hand, stopping him midswing. Exerting pressure, she reveled in the wince he gave a second before she used her vamp strength and sent him flying back against the brick wall. His body impacted with a dull thud and, momentarily stunned, he sank down onto the floor next to where Blake stood. Blake looked down at him in amusement. "Score two for the little chit." "Bitch," his friend shouted, and despite her painful grip on his arm, he, too, attempted a punch. A second later, he found himself lying on the ground beside his friend, groaning. "Had enough, mates?" Blake said, bending down to talk to the two, but they refused to quit the fight. Since Blake was the closest target, the first youth rose and wrapped Blake in a bear hug, easily picking him up with his much-greater size. He waddled with him in his grasp until they were close to Stacia, but by then Blake had broken free. Blake placed his back against hers as the two men circled around them, not that she needed his protection. As the men came at them time and time again, Stacia and Blake struck out, inflicting damage. It was a little odd to have Blake watching her back; no one had done that in a long time. It was almost…reassuring, she thought as the two men swarmed them, darting toward them and back out like nasty gnats. Annoying but harmless. "This is rather ho hum," she said to Blake as she cut short a jab to her face and followed up with a sharp blow to the youth's nose. Stacia smiled at the satisfying sound of cartilage cracking, not that it stopped her attacker. From behind her came the sound of the meaty impact of a fist and Blake staggered against her. "Just dandy, luv. I always enjoy getting my face kicked in by some nancy boy," Blake muttered. She chuckled again, but it distracted her enough that her assailant landed a punishing blow to her ribs. The anger she had been trying to corral broke free. With a surge of vamp speed, she landed multiple blows to his face until the young man dropped his arms and just stood there. He seemed stunned for a moment, blood running down his face from the assorted cuts her fists had opened up and from his broken nose. His blood was bright red against his skin. Glistening in the moonlight. Flowing freely. When he recovered from his temporary daze and came at her again, the blood was all Stacia smelled. Warm on her hands as she connected with his face time and time again. Each blow drawing yet more blood. Inflicting greater pain until, with one last shot to the man's ribs, he staggered to his knees. Stacia didn't waste a second, grabbing him from behind and yanking his head to the side to expose his throat. Her fangs burst forth from her mouth, eager for the taste of him. She sank her fangs deep, enjoying the rich taste of his life. Over and over she pulled at his throat, the heat of his blood warming her. Filling her undead body with energy. She savored the moan he gave, tinged with both pain and desire from her vampire's kiss. Between her own legs came an answering throb as his blood and desire awakened that part of her, as well. She wanted more, she thought, sucking even harder while snaking her hand down and finding the young man's rock-hard erection. She wanted to ride him until she heard his last gasping breath of life.

663

But suddenly Blake was there, yanking her hand away and trapping it in his. Thrusting his arm between her and the young man, who dropped to the ground, alive but unconscious. The ragged bite on his neck already beginning to heal. She turned on Blake, shocked at his intervention. "You dare to challenge me?" "Luv, I couldn't let you do it," he said, the tones of his voice low and conciliatory but insufficient to assuage the frustration caused by his meddling. Fisting her hand into the soft leather of his jacket, she picked him up off the ground and held him in the air. With a shake, she said, "Then you'll take his place, beloved."

Chapter Six He had never seen her in such a fine anger, Blake thought, while dangling nearly a foot above the ground. Trying to placate her, he said, "Stacia, please—" With a flick of her hand, he flew across the alleyway and into the wall. His head connected with a loud crack and stars swam before his eyes. He struggled for a hold on the wall, but soon found himself sliding down to sit on the cold stone floor. His vision wavered and he forced himself to focus on something as he tried to regain his senses. Her boots. Black. Shiny. Pointy. Coming toward him in a wicked, quick beat. Giving him no time, he thought, as she once again grabbed the front of his jacket and picked him up as if he didn't weigh a thing. With him in her grasp, she entered the bar. His head was still whirling and something wet ran down the back of it. She walked with him without laboring, her immense elder power giving her strength beyond his. As he shook his head to try to clear his senses, a lot of other things came to him about what the elders could do to him, creating a cold knot of fear in his stomach. You can't even begin to guess. Stacia's thoughts entered his head as she obviously knew what he was thinking. I didn't want any problems for you. Things are different now, he offered in apology, but Stacia's only response was to motion with him to the door before them. Even in his dazed state he recognized the entrance to one of the back rooms in the Blood Bank. Foley kept them for his special visitors who would pay a fee for the use of the specially equipped rooms. Not that Foley would dare ask a fee from Stacia or, for that matter, stop her from doing what she would with Blake in that room. "Stacia, please—" "Don't beg, beloved. It's so unbecoming," she said as she raised her hand and thrust open the door without even touching it. She strode in, shut the door with another flick of her hand and tossed him onto the metal cot along one wall. He wouldn't beg again, Blake thought, even as Stacia exerted her elder's power to keep him immobile as she shackled him to the sturdy iron frame. Blake watched as she walked to the far wall, which was equipped with an assortment of toys and other devices. As Stacia stood there considering what to choose, her mental hold on him relaxed, and he pulled against the leather cuffs that had him spread-eagled on the bed, but couldn't free himself.

664

The cuffs and bed had clearly been chosen with a vampire in mind since they were thick and sturdy. He realized he could not get loose and bit back his concern as Stacia turned and displayed a rather large and nasty-looking dagger. She sauntered over, the blade held upright in her hands, plainly visible as if to inflict some mental torture. "Do you know what you did, Blake?" He wouldn't show her he was worried. With what he hoped was a careless shrug—which was kind of difficult when one was lashed to bedposts—he calmly said, "I was only trying to help." Stacia laughed harshly. "Help? You helping me? That's rich." "It's the truth. Things are changing around here," he said again, but Stacia would hear none of it. She brought the blade down to his cheek. The metal was cold against his skin. Leaning close, she said, "Since when do we care whether we drain a human?" "Since maybe some of us know that it's wrong?" he shot back, remembering all too painfully what had happened with Meghan. Stacia was too omnipotent not to pick up on what he was feeling. Bringing the knife to his wrist, she slipped it beneath the leather and said, "Intriguing. You actually feel…regret and love? You fancied yourself in love?" He felt the prick of the knife lightly against his skin and then the cool air of the night as she sliced open one sleeve of his jacket, then reached over and quickly did the same to the other sleeve. He met her gaze as she paused, the knife poised above his midsection and directly above a most delicate area. As she slid the blade beneath the hem of his T shirt, he shivered from the cold and from the anxiety he couldn't contain. One little slice of the knife— Not yet, beloved. I'll have my satisfaction first. "Well, that's good, luv. I'd hate to pass without at least getting a look," he said, determined to not let her be totally in control. "What? A look? You want a look before I geld you?" she asked with an uneasy chuckle, and the knife wavered against his midsection. "If that's the price to be paid for a slight misunderstanding, the least you can do is let me see if what's beneath all that sinful black leather is as beautiful as the rest of you," he said, and surprisingly he meant it. Stacia was a remarkably stunning woman with her exotic almond shaped eyes, dark and filled with so much emotion. Right now, a slight furrow marred the space above her brows and that one golden earring. But then a glitter crept into her eyes and was followed by a wide smile across her full lips. "You are ballsy." He chuckled, shot a look down at his naked parts and said, "Definitely." She laughed out loud at that, strode away from him and back to the wall with all the assorted gadgets and accessories. She placed the dagger back into its holder, paused for a second before turning to look at him. She tapped her lips with one finger. "You've been naughty, Blake. Very, very naughty."

665

Blake sensed the change in her. The playfulness in her tone that said he had reached past her anger to something else. Something way more interesting, he thought, wondering about the complex creature that she was. As she turned away from him and toward the wall, he realized she was working at something with her hands. A second later, she shrugged off the vest she had been wearing, exposing the long, slender line of her back. The perfect expanse of creamy skin that he suddenly itched to touch, wondering whether it would feel like smooth alabaster beneath his fingers. He had been so drawn to that sight that he didn't realize she had grabbed a cat o' nine-tails from the wall until she stood before him, the weapon in her hand. But even then his mind was not so much on the pain she might inflict as it was on the truly rewarding sight of her naked. Her breasts were full. Her nipples hard with her passion and the shade of golden honey, a surprise given her dark coloring. He wondered how they might taste and didn't even realize he had asked the question until she said, "You wanted to see and now you want to taste?" He salivated at the thought of it, but couldn't voice anything else as she brought the cat-o'-nine-tails to rest on his thigh, which immediately grabbed his attention. "You are…engaging," she said as she slowly trailed the leather strips studded with small metal balls up his thigh until they rested against his erection. The contrast of the smooth leather snaking around him together with the cold of the hard metal balls was a shock. "I could be much more engaging if you let me go," he said, because all he could think about was having her even if there would be pain afterward. Hell, with women there was always pain afterward. Do you fear nothing? she asked silently as she continued to fondle him with the cat o' nine-tails, yanking a moan from him with the caresses. Blake met her gaze and he thought he caught a reflection of something familiar. Something they might share. "I fear living the rest of my life without love." She stopped her strokes and a spark of anger came to life in her eyes. "What do you know about living without love? You've been undead but a second compared to me." "That's right. But at least I've had a taste of it. Can you say the same?"

Chapter Seven Stacia wanted to lash out at Blake. Shred his flesh and cut his manhood to bits for reminding her of all that she did not have. Only… There was something about him she had never noticed before, besides his marvelous body. As she had walked toward him, she had realized that not even Michelangelo could have done a better job of sculpting the chiseled lines of his body and face. He might be of average height and nothing like the men she normally preferred, but his body was definitely not average. From those lean, defined muscles to his truly extraordinary erection, Blake was an exceptional specimen. Physically, that was. And now it occurred to her that he was remarkable in other ways. That he had the kind of spirit she had found lacking in men for nearly two thousand years. Because of that, she wasn't about to pass up this opportunity.

666

Tossing aside the cat-o'-nine-tails, she replaced it with her hand and said, "Do you think you can show me love, Blake? Do you think you have what it takes?" His amazing blue eyes, now nearly the color of sapphire from his passion, trained on her hand as she stroked him. "Do you think that's what it takes, Stacia?" She stopped and yanked her hand away as if punished, but then raised her chin defiantly. "What do you want, Blake?" "Let me loose, luv, and I'll show you." Stacia wavered, torn between setting him free and her original plan to geld him. The latter would be much safer for her emotions, she realized, but not nearly as satisfying as the former. But both options unsettled her, making her wonder if the other elders were right in saying that she should let go of that last vestige of humanity that created such disquiet within her. She took a step back from him, torn between violence and desire. Between allowing herself respite in his arms or the satisfaction of vengeance. "Don't run, Stacia," he said, and yanked at the shackles holding his arms as if sensing her sudden indecision. But even as he repeated his entreaty, she was grabbing her vest and running out the door, chased by the sound of his voice as he called out, "You can't run forever, luv."

*** Stacia stalked back and forth across the parquet floor in Diego's living room, her heels striking a sharp staccato beat with each step. "Amor, I'm going to have to refinish that floor if you keep that up," Diego said with amusement. She whirled to face him. He sat at an angle in a large wing chair, one leg tossed over the arm, the other stretched out before him. A glass filled with a rioja from his native Spain dangled from one hand. He was the picture of an indolent royal, which naturally, he had been in another life. Maybe that was why, out of all the other wannabe humans at the Blood Bank, the two of them understood each other the best. In past lives they had both been part of the cream of society. It was how they had met nearly three hundred years earlier. And of course, they had both become vampires due to a loved one's betrayal. "He's absolutely insane, Diego. Do you know that?" She snapped up the hand that held her glass of wine and took a long sip. "You know those English fops. Forever lamenting lost love like they do in those awful poems—" "Bloody awful," she confirmed, and began her pacing again, but at a much slower tempo, taking an occasional sip of wine every now and then. "Matches his bloody awful hair and that wardrobe with all the black…" Diego paused as he took in her attire—yet another ensemble of black leather, only this time decorated with finely wrought silver filigree. "Sorry, mi amiga. I forgot your penchant for cowhide," Diego quipped and finished off his glass of wine.

667

"As disagreeable as his clothing may be, Blake has that certain bad boy charm that humans are so susceptible to," she said with a disdainful sniff. "But not you, amiga? So you don't care where he's been hiding himself the last few days?" Diego asked with an arch of a sandy colored brow and a knowing gleam in his grey eyes. "He's smart to make himself scarce because the two of us have something to finish. When I do find him—" "You'll make him suffer?" His question hung unanswered and as she examined his face, she realized her lordly friend might actually like to see Blake tormented. "You have issues with him?" The shrug Diego gave was an attempt to be carefree, but the movement was a trifle stiff, plus she could sense the angry vibes mingling with his vampire power. "Thanks to his betrayal, Esperanza was kidnapped and killed." "And yet you let him live?" she questioned and walked to the sofa beside Diego, sat down and trained her gaze on his face, unable to believe that her friend would not have sought vengeance for his lover's death. "In the end, he nearly died to save my life and that of my charge, so I tolerate his presence." "Your charge? As in Meghan? The child I've seen around here?" she asked, pondering why Blake would play the hero since, in all the decades she had known him, Blake had only thought of himself. Diego shook his head and tsked. "She's a child to you with all your years, but to everyone else…" "And why would Blake…" She stopped as a look came to Diego's face that explained everything. "He fancied himself in love with her." She tried to tamp down the jealousy she felt with that realization. After all, what she and Blake had shared… But they hadn't shared it. She had run away, unwilling to risk exploring the feelings Blake roused in her. "Do you think he can love? After so many years—" "Anyone can love, Stacia. They just have to be willing to open their heart to it." Heart? she thought. Most would say she hadn't possessed a heart in a long time and yet… "So where has Blake been hiding? At that new club?" "The Lair?" Diego asked, and shook his head. "He's probably holed up in his tiny room, waiting for you to calm down." "I'm calm now," she told her friend, only he just chuckled. "Sì, I can see how cool and composed you are. So are you going there?" "Going where?" she asked, leaning forward to snag the bottle of rioja from the coffee table and pour herself another glass. "To Blake's room. It's right next to Gramercy Park. Probably makes him feel like he's in proper old England," he scoffed, and held out his glass so she would pour him some more wine, as well.

668

She eyed him, wondering what her friend was about. "Why are you telling me this?" Diego smiled but there was nothing friendly about it. "Because in the nearly three hundred years that we've been friends, you've never left any business unfinished. Especially a challenge to your power." Chuckling, she brought the glass to her lips and took a sip. The rioja was spirited and refreshing, reminding her of Blake surprisingly. Not that Diego wanted to hear that. She suspected he was only too eager for her to finish her business with Blake because he thought it would include inflicting some punishment on the punk vampire. But as she sipped her wine, it occurred to her that she had much better things in mind for him. That maybe, just maybe, he might be the one to make a difference in her life for the first time in a long time. Downing the rest of her wine in one big gulp, she rose from the sofa. "So are you going to give me directions? I'd hate to disappoint you by not settling my score with Blake."

Chapter Eight Blake had thought it best to avoid the Blood Bank and Stacia for a few days. Hopefully the time would give her the opportunity to cool down and give him a chance to figure out just what he was feeling for her. It was insane really to be feeling anything but fear. She was an elder. She could end his life by exerting only the smallest amount of her power. Only she hadn't. Even with her extreme anger the other night, she had spared him. She hadn't even truly harmed him, except of course, for the humiliation of being found naked and bound by one of Foley's people and, of course, for the desire for her that had gone painfully unsatisfied. A desire that called to him every time he thought of her. Remembered how magnificent she had looked with her breasts unbound after she had removed her vest. The lean lines of her body and, as he had noticed when she danced with the Goth, the ring of gold threaded through her belly button. He grew hard just imagining kissing her there. Tonguing that golden ring and then moving lower until— A sharp rap came at his door, disrupting his fantasy. He wondered who it could be since he didn't get many visitors up on his rooftop. He stalked to the door, eager to be rid of them and back to his musings about Stacia. Throwing the door open, he was alternately surprised and fearful to see her there. "Well, luv, fancy that. I was just thinking about you and here you are." "Really? And you're not in the least bit worried about why I'm here?" she asked, one brow arched in a way that made the ring of gold there almost wink at him impudently. He stepped aside and held out his hand in invitation. "I'm assuming you're here to finish up our business of the other night." Stacia chuckled as she sauntered in, the sway of her hips in all that black leather mesmerizing. Once she was inside, she placed her hands on her hips and looked around, taking note of the collection of castoffs in his small rooftop home. On the floor were thick Oriental rugs that had seen better days, but were ruthlessly clean and of high quality. Rich mahogany furniture filled the small space, from the oddly matching tables, which held an assortment of candles, scattered here and there to the jewel in his room—a large four-poster bed piled high with a sumptuous collection of linens.

669

"Very nice," she said, and headed to the French doors he had picked up from a nearby demolition site and installed to give him access to the rest of the roof. She opened the doors and stepped outside. He followed, walking with her to the edge of the building, which was directly across from Gramercy Park. In the early-spring night, a sliver of moon illuminated the park where the branches of the trees were still bare of any growth. She looked at him and then around to the wrought-iron chairs and table on the roof, as well as the assorted pots for plants. "I didn't take you for a nature boy," she said, and laid a hand on his chest, stroking him through the thin cotton of the T-shirt. Blake shrugged as he said, "My family had a farm before…" He stopped, sensing it wasn't the time for recollections about his lineage, but when she looked up at him with her fathomless eyes, he sensed she wanted a connection. He picked up his hand and cradled her cheek, cold as the night and smooth. Like satin. "You're very beautiful," he said, and traced the edges of her full lips with his thumb. "Do you think you're the first man who's ever told me that?" she said, a hint of scorn in her tone even as she raised the hand on his chest to cup his jaw. "No, but I'd like to be the last," he said with a broad grin. He was irresistible, Stacia thought. Handsome and full of spirit. Passionate. Desire rose up, urging her to take the risk. To seek out the solace he might bring to her heart, and so she inched up on tiptoe and kissed him. His lips were cold. Firm. He met her kiss tentatively at first, but then relaxed, and soon his mouth opened on hers, tasting her. Begging her to open and allow him more, which she did, leaning into him as his tongue darted out to lick the edges of her lips and slip into her mouth. Dancing with her tongue until they were both straining against each other, needing more. Arms wrapped around each other, they staggered back into his room and toward the bed, but at its edge he stopped and stepped back a bit. Looking down at her from his slightly greater height, he said, "I've waited too long to rush this." "Me, too," she confessed. With a nod, he slowly undressed her, his fingers skimming her skin as he slipped each button of her silk shirt free. She was naked beneath, and as she shrugged off the shirt to expose herself to him, he gasped at the sight of her beauty. Blake cupped her breasts in his hands. Strummed his thumbs across her nipples until she mewled a protest. Then he replaced his hands with his mouth, sucking at her gently at first, but then just a bit harder as she cupped the back of his head to her. Then he slowly sank to his knees, kissing a line down her abdomen. His hands held her hips as he dipped his tongue into her navel and, after, playfully tugged at the golden ring there with his teeth. That tug sent a direct signal to the center of her. She moaned and sat back on the edge of the bed, her knees almost weak from the desire he had awoken. "Easy, luv," he said as he worked open her black leather pants and then slipped his hands beneath to drag them off.

670

Blake paused to admire all that he had revealed. To marvel at the pale skin between her legs. At his perusal, she parted her thighs, exposing the deeper coral of her lips, glistening with her need. With a half glance at her, he slipped between her legs, kissed her there. She let out a ragged sigh, but cupped his head to her as he pleasured her with his mouth and tongue, until he felt the quickening beneath his fingers and his own erection twitched to remind him that it, too, needed more. Vamp speed was a good thing, he thought, as he tossed off his shirt and jeans and returned to give her one last lick before he rose and positioned himself at her opening. Stacia watched the emotions splash across his face as he gazed down at her, hesitating as if asking permission. With the slight shift of her hips, she invited him in. He moved slowly, restraining himself so he could satisfy her. Conscious of her every need as he slipped his hands up her body to caress her breasts. Bent and took her mouth with a kiss that mimicked the motion of his hips until she was gasping for breath and her heart thundered in her chest. She picked up her knees and cradled his hips, increasing his penetration. He quickened his tempo then, strengthened the force of his thrusts until she had to hold on to his shoulders to keep with him, nearly panting with the intensity of his lovemaking. As his gaze locked with hers, she realized he was striving for something besides physical satisfaction. Something was lacking within him as much as it was within her. And so she raised her lips to his, wanting to give him that. Wanting to take it from him, as well. "Love me, Blake." With one arm braced on the bed to keep his weight off her, he cupped her head with his free hand and whispered, "You have it, Stacia. You have it, luv." The kiss that followed sent them both over the edge, but even as they lay there afterward, damp and sated, she needed more and he gave it. Time and time again they made love until the first fingers of a rosy dawn crept into the night sky and the sounds of birds tittering out in the park reminded them that it was time to rest. Blake snuggled her against his side and she went there willingly, satisfaction both physical and mental granting her peace for the moment. As she lay there, savoring the lean lines of his body and the comfort of his arms, Stacia wanted to ask if this was forever, but after two thousand years of existence, she knew forever was promised to no one. So instead she said, "Is this love, Blake?" A boyish grin slowly blossomed on his face and traveled up to his deep blue eyes, which sparkled with promise. "I certainly hope so, luv." The smile shook something loose inside of her and for the first time in centuries, Stacia imagined love was possible for her. Inching upward, she whispered against his lips, "So do I," and kissed him.

671

The Playboy's Seduction by Lucy Monroe Bethany's plan was to travel to Rome, find a gorgeous Italian, have a week long affair and return home reassured she was not the passionless prude her ex thought she was. When Andre, a luscious business tycoon, crosses her path, it seems her plan is set in motion. But is there more to this fling than just what's between the sheets…?

Chapter One Bethany rushed back toward the quaint but expensive café where she'd eaten lunch, hope, frustration and worry playing an out-of-sync symphony along her nerve endings. She'd been in Rome three days. Beautiful, warm days during which she'd spent more time getting lost than sight seeing and not one of which had taken her a single step closer to her goal. The plan to come to Italy, meet a sexy man, have a week long fling and go home with the certainty she was not the passionless prude her ex-husband had accused her of being, had been crazy from the start. Her mother hadn't agreed of course, having come up with the plan to begin with. She'd also given Bethany the all-expenses paid trip to Rome along with a boatload of advice on improving her image and a strong recommendation to have a nostrings affair. Coming from the rather conservative, shy woman who had spent thirty years married to the same man, the suggestion would have been hilarious if it hadn't been so shocking. Not wanting to hurt her mom's feelings, Bethany had taken the self-improvement advice. She'd spent a hundred dollars having her mousy brown hair shaped and high-lighted, another thirty on a "Belly Dancing in a Box" kit, and several nights using the castanets and tips included to try to get in touch with her more sensuous side. She wasn't sure how much good it had done, but she now knew how to roll her hips with the best of them. She'd also had her very first pedicure so her toenails looked good in sandals. None of which appeared to have done a bit of good in making Bethany appear any less boring to the opposite sex than her ex had accused her of being. Shoving open the door to the small café, she propelled herself inside and ran smack into a wall. She didn't remember there being a wall opposite the entrance when she'd been here earlier. Dazed, she contemplated that oddity as the wall shifted and two warm hands came down on her shoulders. "Scusi. Siete guisti?" She lifted her head, and met dark brown eyes in a face angels would envy. She'd never met anyone this gorgeous in her life. Not even her ex, Kurt, was a patch on this guy. He'd been pretty boy handsome, but this Italian Adonis was all masculine maturity. Not that he looked old, quite the opposite. He couldn't be more than thirty, but there was a wealth of sophisticated knowledge in his gaze she doubted she would have when she was ninety. "I'm sorry. I mean, perdonilo prego," she said, repeating one of the phrases she'd learned from the set of Italian tapes her mother had insisted she listen to on the plane ride over. "You are English?" The sexy voice reached a place inside that hadn't been touched in two years of marital intimacy and it was all she could do not to shiver. "American." His hands squeezed her shoulders, but he did not push her away and she made no effort to move back. "You have no need to apologize." "I wasn't looking where I was going."

672

"For this, I am grateful." He smiled, the implication of his words and look of male appreciation in his eyes unmistakable. An invisible vacuum sucked all the air from her immediate surroundings, leaving her light headed and incapable of response to his flirtatious comment. "You are in a hurry?" he asked. "I am?" His smile grew, sending her heart rate into the stratosphere. "You came through the door very quickly." "Oh, yes. I am, in a hurry that is… I forgot my purse here earlier and didn't realize it until I was at the subway station wanting to buy a ticket," she babbled. His expression turned grave. "This is not good." "No." But at the moment she couldn't quite remember why. Someone said something behind him and he turned, his hands dropping from her shoulders. He apologized for blocking the exit and then slipped an arm around her waist as naturally as if they'd known each other for years, and used it to guide her away from the door. A couple walked past them. The woman, a glamorous brunette who resembled a young Sophia Loren, gave Bethany a look of speculation tinged with envy as she passed by. Considering the fact she was with a pretty fine specimen herself, the envy surprised Bethany. But she didn't dwell on the strange look long. She couldn't, not with his hand still attached to her waist. Sparks of excitement shot from where his fingers rested against her ribcage to the rest of her body in an electric reaction she'd never experienced before. She'd read about instant sexual attraction, but she'd never felt it and nothing she'd come across in books came close to conveying the sensations zinging along her nerve endings right now. She could barely breathe and it was a safe bet her brain wasn't functioning properly. That was probably why she still hadn't done anything about reclaiming her purse. "I need to…" Her voice trailed off as their gazes met again. "I will ask about your bag." "Thank you." He took her with him, his hand firmly curled around her waist…and she let him. The possibility he did not feel the overwhelming sexual chemistry dominating her senses tried to form as a solid thought in her head, but she rejected it. Something this powerful could not be one-sided. Could it? The owner, a short, rather round man with a friendly air, produced her purse with a big smile and voluble Italian when her companion asked about it. Handing her the pink and black bag barely bigger than a wallet, he admonished, "You should take better care, signorina." He shook his head. "What would have happened if I had not seen it sitting on the chair, I will not guess at." "It would no doubt be gone by now," the man by her side replied. She shot him a sideways glance, wondering if he thought she was some kind of idiot for leaving it behind, but his expression was serious, not condemning.

673

"I don't keep my passport or most of my money in it," she said in her own defense. "Just a few Euros, my driver's license for identification and a credit card." "Look to see it is all there. Antonio may have seen your purse after someone else did." She nodded and then did a quick rummage through the contents. She wasn't worried about the make up and other girly stuff she'd only taken to carrying since her arrival in Italy, but none of it appeared to have been disturbed either. She looked up at the café owner and smiled. "It's all here." He nodded, puffing his chest out. "I see it almost the moment you get up from your table and put it behind my counter." "Thank you." She took some money out to give Antonio as a thank you, but he waved it away. "No, signorina. It is my pleasure to help such a beautiful woman." She laughed, shaking her head at his typical Italian exaggeration. "Well, thank you, anyway." "You do not believe him?" "That it is his pleasure to help? I don't doubt it. He seems like a very nice man." And she smiled again at the proprietor. "You've really saved me a lot of hassle. Thanks." "Ah, so it is the part about your beauty you discount?" her knight errant asked teasingly. She shrugged, the feel of her arm brushing his torso as she did so temporarily waylaying the synapses connecting her brain to her mouth so she had to remember what he'd asked before she could answer him

Chapter Two "I'm hardly Miss America material, but then few women are." Was she fishing for compliments? Andre stepped back from her and let his gaze travel slowly up her body from her feet to the top of her head. "I would not mind seeing you dressed in an evening gown. It is part of the pageant, yes?" He brushed his chin with his thumb and forefinger, looking at her with a connoisseur's eye. "Or perhaps in a swim suit… " "What?" Andre almost laughed out loud at the comic look of disbelief on the lovely woman's face. He didn't, of course. She already looked ready to bolt. Shy uncertainty radiated off of her and a little used urge to protect roared to the forefront of his consciousness like a storm wave crashing over the bow of a ship. "I'm sure this could be arranged if you asked her to dinner. Take her someplace very nice and she can dress up for you. Then maybe tomorrow, you will take her out of the city, someplace nice to bathe." Antonio's heavy-handed suggestion brought the sensual heat of Andre's thoughts to boiling point. Her flirty sundress revealed the sort of curves that fueled his nighttime fantasies. The thought of seeing them in a skimpy bikini while they swam was enough to make his trousers fit extremely tight in places. "But I… That's not necessary. You shouldn't… " She sounded like she was strangling on her own tongue trying to get the words out. "Antonio, you are embarrassing her," Andre admonished the older man.

674

"Do not be stupid." His father's oldest friend made a sound of disgust. "The young. I am helping you out here. Can you not see that? In my youth, I would not have needed an old man to suggest I ask such a pretty girl out. You just ask your father." Before Andre could reply, she was tearing herself from his side and moving away, a phony smile pasted on her face. "I'd better be going." "You have plans?" He moved toward her, swallowing the small distance she'd put between their bodies, craving even such innocent intimacy on a level that shocked him. "You are meeting someone?" "Uh… no," she admitted, her gray eyes wide. "I don't have plans exactly, but I wanted to try to see the Forums. If finding them is anything like finding the Sistine Chapel, I'll probably get lost again. You'd think it would be impossible, wouldn't you? I mean, I bet everyone in Rome knows where they are, but I've already managed to get on the wrong bus twice." She started edging back toward the door, her expression pained. "If I don't leave now, I won't make it before they stop giving tours." He reached out and grabbed her arm before she could run into the occupied table behind her. "Be careful." She looked behind her, saw the table and then back at him, her face going pink. "I didn't realize… Uh, thank you." He reeled her back in, not understanding this need he had to touch, but willing to feed it. "You wish to see the Forums?" "Yes." She sighed, the blush on her cheeks intensifying. "There's so much I want to see, but I've spent hours every day trying to find things. I guess I sound like an idiot." She sounded and looked like a woman who should not be on her own in such a large city. "It is a big city. Getting lost is easy." "I bet you never do." "Of course not." Then he grinned. "But I do have the advantage of knowing the city quite well even though I do not live here." He waited to see if she would take the bait and ask him for directions, or even better, to show her the way to the Forums. "I could live here for years and still get lost, I'm afraid. Kurt used to say I could turn around in a bathroom and forget which direction to go when I came out." "Who is this Kurt?" The idea of another man in her life bothered him more than it should considering he did not yet even know her name. "My ex-husband." "Ah. A man foolish enough to let you go can have no opinions worth remembering." She laughed and shook her head as she had earlier when Antonio had called her beautiful. "My mother says the same thing." "She is a smart woman." "Yes. She wouldn't get lost trying to find Rome's biggest attractions. She thought I should take a tour." A frown marred the sweet lines of her face. "Maybe I should have."

675

"This I do not believe. Had you come with a group, I should not have met you." "Oh…" She stared at him as if trying to comprehend his words. Since his English was excellent, he didn't think the problem was translation. "I will take you to the Forums." Her eyes lit up and then turned troubled as she flicked a glance at Antonio. "But…" "It is alright, signorina. This is Andre di Rinaldi. He is a good man. I have known his father since we were boys on the same football team. He comes often to Rome on business and visits this old man." She did not look appreciably reassured. "I did not tell you about me getting lost in hopes you would offer to take me yourself," she blurted out. "But why not? Have you no wiles, child?" Antonio asked, sounding scandalized and amused at the same time while his eyes told Andre this woman was something special. He had already figured that one out for himself. "I would not have offered if I had not wished to take you." "Are you sure you have the time?" she asked. "I have no appointments today. This is not usual for me. It must be Providence." She stared at him for several seconds, chewing her bottom lip, her eyes cloudy with uncertainty. He waited, not wanting to pressure her, but knowing if she turned him down he would probably go to ridiculous lengths to discover where she was staying and engineer another meeting. He'd never felt this compulsion to be with a woman and as much as he liked her, he didn't like feeling so little control over his own desires. There was also a small part of him, the cynical man who had been raised in wealth and to expect people to try to take advantage of him, that wondered if any woman could be as sincere as she appeared. He allowed none of these conflicting emotions to show on his face, however. With a short little sigh, she put her hand out in the small space between them. "My name is Bethany Dayton and I would be very grateful if you would help me find the Forums without getting lost again." Giving into the urge that had been riding him since she'd first propelled herself into his arms, he pulled her body flush with his and bent down to kiss both her cheeks. Her skin was soft and she smelled of spring flowers and warm sunshine. She hung, suspended in his arms, making no effort to be released, her lips parted as if waiting for a much more intimate kiss and it took all his self-control not to give it to her. "It is good to meet you Bethany."

*** Bethany couldn't string two syllables together to make a reply after he'd all but kissed her. Well, he had kissed her, but not on the mouth. Who knew that lips touching cheeks could cause such unsettling reactions in her feminine places? It was a good thing her dress was made of opaque fabric or the stinging tightness of her nipples would be more than a minor physical discomfort. It would be downright embarrassing.

Chapter Three

676

Bethany concentrated on getting her physical reactions under control as Andre said goodbye to the café owner. It didn't help that as he led her from the restaurant, he kept her hand clasped in his. He stopped beside a black car, slung low to the ground. It was some kind of sports car and looked expensive. It also looked too small for such a tall man to get inside. However, after leaning over her to buckle her into the passenger seat, making her breathing pattern resemble that of a marathon runner on his last mile, he had no problem sliding into the driver's seat. Unlike the taxi ride from the airport to her hotel when she'd spent the entire time cringing at how close they got to other cars, she barely noticed the traffic. She was too busy soaking in every detail about him. She couldn't quite believe she was here with him, not only because he was a virtual stranger, but because he was the kind of man that made women swoon. He turned and smiled at her. "You are watching me." "Does it bother you?" "To have a beautiful woman look at me? You are talking about an Italian male here." He grinned. "Of course I like it, even if it makes driving difficult." "It bothers you to have people watch you drive?" "Having you look at me takes my attention from where it should be. It puts thoughts in my head not related to the other cars on the road." "Like what?" she asked before having a sudden revelation about what he could mean and wished she'd kept her mouth shut. She could feel her face flame as his laughter filled the car. "Do you really wish me to answer this question?" "Uh… no." His expression was all confident, sexy male. "Perhaps we can discuss it over dinner tonight." "You want to have dinner with me?" "Sì, carina." Pretty one. She liked that. Warmth curled around her heart even as heat pooled deep in her belly at the thought of what he might want to discuss. "I'd like that."

*** He took her to an expensive restaurant just as his friend had suggested. It gave her an excuse to wear the ridiculously expensive, ruby red dress her mom had talked her into buying the week before she'd flown to Rome. It hit mid-thigh, which was not her usual length, but the look of blatant male appreciation in his eyes when she walked into the lobby of her hotel made her glad she'd gone for daring rather than drab. However, at the table in an exclusive hotel dining room twenty minutes later, she had to struggle not to squirm as the clingy fabric barely covered everything important when she sat down. The fact her now bare thighs were covered by the tablecloth did nothing to increase her comfort because the expression in Andre's eyes said he knew her predicament and had x-ray vision to see the results. He'd been like that all day, teasing her and reminding her of feminine sensuality. The hours they'd spent at the Forums had been incredible. Not only had he gotten her there without getting lost, but then he'd given her a personal tour of several monuments, showing an unexpected knowledge of Roman history that enthralled her. "You are doing it again, Bethany." "Doing what?" "Staring at me."

677

She started and flushed with embarrassment. She had been. He was just so gorgeous and in his business suit, he looked like some kind of tycoon — not a guy she'd met in his father's friend's café. "I can't help it," she admitted. He smiled, making her heart do crazy things while the thighs that felt so exposed quivered. "You are very forthright." "Because I admit I like looking at you?" She didn't have the sophistication to play male-female games the way her ex-husband had done and Andre was so clearly expecting. "You do not do the hard-to-get thing. I like this." "I'm not very good at playing anything." "I do not believe that." The wicked twinkle in his dark eyes let her know exactly what he was referring to and it had nothing to do with psychological games. "You're right. I can play some things." She smiled mischievously as his dark eyes heated with desire. "I am glad to hear this." She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes in an obvious parody of a vamp. "Actually, I've been told I'm very good with my mouth." His jaw dropped in shock and she had to hold back a shout of laughter as she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "I play the tuba." His laughter drew the attention of the other guests and a censorious glance from the head waiter. He shook his head, his eyes still glowing with humor. "The tuba?" "I had to lift weights to stay in shape for marching band, but I was at a distinct advantage during cold weather. My instrument acted as a wind barrier." "Do you still do weight training?" "Actually, yes. I enjoy it. See?" She lifted her arm and flexed her muscles. She wasn't anything like the professional women body builders, but she was tone. He lifted his hand and ran a finger slowly along her bicep. "I do see and it's lovely." She gasped as feelings fizzed through her, making her toned muscles turn to jelly. His brow rose quizzically. "I can't believe the way I respond to your simplest touch," she admitted. Smiling lazily, his finger trailed to her shoulder and slipped under the spaghetti strap as her arm dropped. "No touch between a man and woman who are attracted to each other is simple." She liked the attracted to each other part. "I guess so, but this is a little overwhelming. My whole body is reacting to what should be a casual caress, for goodness' sake." "I have noticed this." His dark gaze lowered to her breasts where she knew hard points had formed under the clinging material of her dress. "And I delight in it."

678

The self-satisfaction in his voice combined with his all too knowing expression made her feel vulnerable, which in turn made her angry. This trip had not been about her becoming receptive to yet another sexy, experienced man. She was on a mission to reinforce her own sense of feminine power. It was all very well to say they were attracted, but she was the one whose desire was on display for the world to see. Pulling away from his touch, she crossed her arms protectively over her chest and tried to draw her defenses around her. The smile slipped off Andre's face to be replaced by an almost fierce expression. "Do you think it is only one-sided, this powerful response? I could not stand right now to save my life." Her gaze flicked questioningly toward where the table hid his lower body from her sight. "Exactly," he said grimly. "If your body is susceptible to this thing between us, so is mine. I am not a hormonal adolescent any longer to be excited by the mere brush of my finger against a woman's bare skin." Yet he had been.

Chapter Four "It is not something you should fear, carina, for I am at its mercy as well." "It?" "This sexual need that is so strong it drowns out all logic and reason. Do you think I make it a habit to pick up strange women and spend the day with them, no matter how beautiful?" "I don't know. You said it yourself. We're strangers." "I assure you, I do not. No more than you would normally have dinner with a man you had never met before today." "How do you know?" He stared at her, his brown eyes seeing too much. "I know." Her mind balked at the belief that a man as incredible as the one sitting across the table from her could be as affected by her as Andre claimed to be, but her heart beat with the necessity for his words to be true. "This kind of thing is impossible. I don't believe in love at first sight." Especially after her disastrous marriage, which had been the result of a whirlwind courtship. "Deep, abiding love between two people must grow." The words agreed with her, but his tone and expression questioned both their assertions. "Yes," she stressed. "Like a plant. It takes lots of water, sunshine and healthy soil to make a flower bloom. Real love can't just happen in an instant." "But there are plants that grow in a day. They are unique, extremely rare, but no less real than their more conventional counterparts." "What are you saying?" "I do not know, but this thing that is between us — we cannot dismiss it as nothing."

679

"No, we can't do that." Her voice was husky because the emotions coursing through her tightened her throat and made it hard to breathe. He reached out once again, this time taking both her wrists in his grip and tugged. "Do not hide from me." She resisted, her mind at war with her heart and her body until she saw in his face a mirror of the need and conflicting feelings raging in her. She let him pull her hands toward him across the small table. His thumbs caressed her inner wrists while his eyes remained locked on her face. "It is physical, Bethany, but that is not all it is." And she believed him because she felt it too. "I know." They danced after dinner, her body pressed tightly to his. She could feel the affect their closeness had on him, but he made no move to take her someplace more private. They talked in quiet murmurs. She told him why she'd come to Italy, about her short, but awful marriage and subsequent divorce. He told her about his older brother and a woman who loved him. He spoke so glowingly of this Gianna that Bethany began to stiffen in his arms. He rubbed her back soothingly, while holding her with tensile strength against him. "I have no desire for Gianna. She is like a sister to me, I think to Rico also, but she feels differently." "You wish he did too?" "He's engaged to a mercenary bitch the whole family is hoping he'll have enough sense not to marry. Gianna would be a vast improvement." "Mercenary?" "She wants only what his money can buy her and the status he can give to her. She has no love in her heart." "Your brother must be pretty well off." "My father has gone into semi-retirement. Rico is the president of the Rinaldi Bank." There were Rinaldi Banks all over Italy. "Do you mean he manages one of the branches?" "My family own the banks." This time she managed to jerk out of his arms. "You own a bank?" "I own shares in the bank, as do my father and brother and several cousins." He grabbed her and pulled her back into his arms. "Relax, Bethany. It is no big deal." "You don't run the bank?" "No." She breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed against him. "I am Chairman of the Board. My brother and I run it together."

680

Before she could go tense again, his lips landed against the base of her throat and started doing amazing things to her equilibrium. "What I am does not matter so much, does it?" "Your lifestyle must be so far removed from mine, we might as well live on separate planets. I bet you eat in places like this all the time. I don't. In fact, I've never ordered off a menu without prices before. I drive a Ford Escort and take myself out for a latte when I want to celebrate. You probably keep a bottle of expensive champagne chilling in your office for that kind of thing." He stopped trying to dance and stared down at her, his expression so serious, she could not make herself look away. "Yes, I grew up around wealth and I've seen what it does to people. My brother's fiancée is typical in our set and that is not the kind of woman I want to spend my time with." "There are nice rich women." "Yes, my mother is one of them, but I've never met a woman like you, Bethany and I don't care if you dance topless for a living, I want to be with you." "I work in a title insurance company." "Good. My mother might have had a problem with the topless dancing part." He'd told her a lot about his parents and she realized they weren't all that different from her own. They cared about their children and from the things he'd said, she could see his mother doing the same kind of crazy things her mom did to make her children happy. "Your family sounds wonderful." "They are." The love he felt for them made his voice rich with feeling and another big chunk came crashing down from the defensive wall around her heart. They danced until the music changed to something with a faster beat and then Andre paid for their dinner and took her for a walk. Not many stars could be seen in the night sky. The light pollution around Rome was too great, but it was incredibly romantic nonetheless, or maybe it was her companion that was so romantic. "So, you came to Rome with the intention of having a hot affair?" Her hand twisted nervously in his. "It sounds terrible when you say it out loud." "No, merely interesting." She didn't ask what he meant by that. He'd spent the entire day and evening showing her he wanted her and how much. The only question was whether or not she could go through with it. She hadn't expected to become emotionally involved, not in such a short time and the risk of intensifying that emotion with lovemaking scared her. "I'm not sure I was thinking straight when I told my mom I'd give it a try." "But you are thinking straight now and you want me, Bethany." She didn't answer, silence her only defense against the truth. He stopped her and pulled her around to face him. Looking down into her eyes, he asked, "Do you want me?" "Yes." "Do you want to wait?" Andre asked the question, unsure what he would do if she said yes.

681

"You haven't even kissed me." Her soft gray eyes mirrored bemusement. Did she think he had to kiss her to know he wanted her? "If I start, I may not be able to stop." "Really?" "Really." "Are you usually so lacking in control?" "You know I am not." "Yes. You told me." And she had believed him. He liked knowing that. She licked her lips, her chest rising and falling with short shallow breaths. "I want you to kiss me."

Chapter Five Andre could not believe Bethany had said yes to the kiss after he had made clear the probability it would lead to much more. "Let me take you back to your hotel." "All right." "Do you know what you are inviting?" Did he? He never did crazy things like this, but he knew she told the truth. About everything. She'd only been with one man, her ex-husband — the bastard stupid enough to cheat on her and then let her go. The only risk they would take in making love was pregnancy and he fully intended to use condoms. He was besotted, not stupid. "I know," she whispered. "Then let us go."

*** Her hotel room was not the luxury she was sure he was used to, but he said nothing as he followed her inside, the intensity of his desire surrounding her. The double bed dominated the smallish room, or perhaps it only felt that way because what she planned to do there consumed her thoughts. She dropped her purse on the dresser and turned toward him, need that was much more than merely physical beating a sharp tattoo in her breast. "Do you want anything?" He locked his hands on her waist and pulled her unresisting body flush with his own. "Only you, carina." Then he lowered his head until their mouths met. Skyrockets went off at the first touch of his lips against hers. She pressed her hands against the rock-like wall of his chest, enthralled by the heat emanating through his shirt. It called to her on a wholly elemental level. His smell, his taste, his very essence captivated her senses, telling her primitive mind he belonged to her and always had, long before she had met him. No reticence belonged in this coming together and her body seemed to know it from the top of her head that felt ready to explode with desire to her fingers busy undoing buttons on his shirt to her toes curled in her

682

spiked heels. Everything about him was right for her. Everything about her was right for him. How she knew this, she could not fathom, but she knew. This was no one-night stand or the beginning of a short fling that would end with her return to the States. This was something far more. His tongue pressed against her lips and she parted them without hesitation. He possessed her mouth with a sensuality that left her dazed and shaking as she leaned against him, unable to stand on her own. Perfect. She'd never experienced anything so perfect. His hands moved from her waist to her bottom and he touched her, squeezing her, caressing her, making her crazy with want before moving lower. Skilled fingers found their way under her skirt to the highly sensitive flesh along the backs of her thighs and up her buttocks. It felt so good, incredible. She moaned, finally getting her own hands inside his shirt. The hair covering his chest was an unknown to her. Kurt had kept his chest shaved, but she loved the rich textures of Andre's skin and hair, the way he felt so much like a man. She could touch him like this forever. Impossibly, he deepened the kiss while using his hold on her bottom to press her into the heat of him, making her supremely aware of his arousal. The way he moved his body against her, the masculine groans coming from low in his chest, the strength of his fingers against her bottom - they all bespoke of tenuous control and she wanted to push him over the edge. The knowledge she could excite him like this turned her on as nothing else could have. She was no passionless prude with this man. He pulled her bottom a little higher and without conscious thought, she separated her legs so she could wrap them around his waist. He made his approval of her move known with the flexing of his hips and guttural sounds of pleasure. His mouth tore from hers and he said a bunch of words in Italian, most of which she did not understand, but the words beautiful and perfect were in there. "I want you, Andre." "Sì. You shall have me." Their clothes disappeared from their bodies as frantic movement accompanied impassioned pleas from both of them. By the time they fell together naked to the bed, she was ready to expire from the almost painful desire wracking her body. She arched her hips up. "Take me now, Andre. Now." He fumbled with a condom and then he was doing as she'd demanded, filling her body with one swift, powerful thrust. Silken tissues stretched to their limit as she sought to accommodate a lover unlike any other. Her muscles went rigid with tension from the effort. "You can take me, mi amorino. We are made for each other." "Yes," she hissed as her feminine flesh relaxed and contracted around him, pulling him further inside until he touched her womb. They made love, fast and furiously, climaxing together with so much power she lost touch with reality for several seconds. When she became more wholly aware he was kissing her all over her face, whispering words of approval and admiration against her skin. She caught his lips with her own and it started all over again, the touching and pleasuring, but this time he kept the pace slow, bringing her to one more climax before once again taking her on a journey to the stars with him.

683

They got very little sleep that night and spent the next day together, in and out of bed. Two glorious days went by during which they were inseparable. He had his things moved to her hotel room and then proceeded to show her Rome as she had only dreamed of seeing it. On the third day, he had a bank meeting he had to attend. It was to be followed by a dinner and drinks after. "I cannot get out of it, carina, but I will send a car for you so you can accompany me to the dinner." After two days being made love to and told she was the most beautiful woman in the world, there was little room for nerves in the face of meeting his associates. "I'll be ready." "Wear the pink dress. It is perfect on you." He'd taken her shopping the day before and insisted on buying her whatever caught her eye. She had balked at first, but he'd been adamant, telling her it gave him far more pleasure than it gave her.

*** "I'm sorry, Signor di Rinaldi, but there is an urgent call for you. From New York. A family matter… " Andre looked up at the young man whose hushed voice had stopped the conversation around the conference table. The only family in New York at the moment was his older brother. His parents were on an extended cruise to celebrate their anniversary. "I will take it in the manager's office." Ten minutes later he put the phone down, disbelief warring with cold fear inside him. Rico was in a coma in a New York hospital. Andre rapped out instructions to his assistant. He would need a take-off slot at the airport, his jet ready and fueled and some clothes from Bethany's hotel room. He called her, but she was still out sight seeing. He'd hung up before he realized he should have left a message. It could be his last chance to talk to her for many hours. He wanted nothing more than to take her with him, but she was not carrying a cell phone and he could not wait for her to arrive back at the hotel. Every hour could count in seeing his brother alive.

Chapter Six While Andre was busy with his meetings, Bethany visited the Vatican, but she spent more time thinking than sight seeing. Today was her last official day in Rome, but she and Andre had not discussed the future. She wasn't even sure if he knew she was scheduled to fly out tomorrow. She hadn't wanted to think about it, but now she could think of nothing else. Would he ask her to stay? Would he invite her to come back? Would he come to the U.S. if she invited him to visit? She knew that if he asked, she would chuck her job and stay. It was impossible. It was crazy, but she'd fallen in love and it was a deeper, more consuming emotion than anything she'd felt for her ex-husband. The thought of leaving Andre made her feel like someone was trying to rip a hole in her chest. She had no desire to find out what it would feel like to actually go. But for all the wonderful things he'd said to her, he'd never once implied their relationship was permanent. He had not said he loved her, though he called her his little love frequently. Was that simply the Italian way, or did he mean the endearment in a literal sense? If his only interest had been in enjoying a brief affair while he conducted his business in Rome, she could hardly stay on, clinging to a relationship that was not there. She could barely believe she'd fallen in love with him and if the emotions roiling through her weren't so powerful, she wouldn't. It was a huge jump to believing the same might have happened to him, no matter how mutual their attraction. Things felt real with him. Permanent. More real than anything she had ever known, but feelings weren't fact and she was terrified hers were the only ones engaged.

684

She was so lost in thought; she was late getting to the room and only had a few minutes to dress before Andre's car was scheduled to arrive for her. She frantically rushed around getting ready, which was why she did not notice the emptiness of the hotel room until she went to grab a pair of hose from the drawer. No male socks reclined in neat stacks beside the few pairs of hose she'd brought with her to Rome. She opened another drawer, unable to comprehend the meaning of the missing socks. His swim shorts were gone too. She looked around the room, taking in details that had escaped her earlier. His suitcase was gone. Everything of his was gone. She searched for a note, but did not see one, called the front desk, but there was no message. The fact his car did not show up for her at the appointed time was almost anti-climactic. Andre had left her. The tenuous hold she had on her heart snapped and it fell to shatter in a million pieces around her.

*** Fatigue burning his eyes, Andre rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger. He'd been flying for eight hours and anticipated touching down in New York in less than one. He could only hope he would find his brother alive when he reached the hospital. He'd spent the flight trying to work, knowing the responsibility of the bank would lie heavily on his shoulders for a while, even if his brother came out of the coma. His thoughts wouldn't stay focused though. Memories of his brother and growing up together in Milan spun through his mind, forcing out the less emotive numbers and business proposals printed on the pages in front of him. Rico had to live.

*** Andre went straight to the hospital from the airport. A call from his cell phone on the way there confirmed that his brother was indeed alive, though still in a coma. When he reached the hospital, he learned from the nurse that Gianna had been sitting by Rico's bedside for hours without eating or drinking anything. Andre brought sustenance to her, knowing Rico would be furious if Andre allowed her to become sick in her vigil watching over him. He refused to contemplate the possibility that his older brother would not come out of the coma now that his condition had stabilized. Once he'd spoken to the doctors and taken care of Gianna, it was too late to call Rome. Bethany would be sleeping, but he could not wait to call first thing in the morning her time. He desperately wanted to hear her voice, to tell her about his brother and find the comfort he knew would be waiting for him in her tender heart. Needing a shower and a change of clothes, he went to the hotel his assistant had checked him into. It wasn't until he was looking for something to wear after the reviving shower that his sleep deprived brain latched onto the fact that all of his clothes had been moved from the hotel. Porca miseria! Bethany would think he had left her without a word. What had his assistant been thinking? Had the man even thought to leave a message? Andre called only to discover he had not. A furious glance at the clock revealed it was still the middle of the night over there. He could not yet call her and Gianna needed him to share her vigil beside Rico's bed. He returned to the hospital, counting the hours until he could talk to Bethany. He called at midnight, thinking she might still be asleep, but willing to take the chance. Punch drunk from lack of sleep, he reeled in shock when he was told Bethany had checked out. Had she gone because she'd been hurt? He hated the thought, but could not dismiss it. He realized he didn't even know when she was scheduled to return home or where her home was. She'd told him about her former marriage, about her family and even her job, but she'd mentioned the town of her origin only once and had never told him what state she lived in. As impossible as it was to believe, they had spent only a few short days together, not long enough to learn everything important. He had not asked for contact information because he had had no intention of letting her leave Italy or him. And damn it, he was sure she had not wanted to go. Now he had to find her.

685

*** Bethany finished checking the loan documents for her next appointment and set the neat pile of papers to be signed in the center of her desk. She'd been back from Rome for over a week, but she still wasn't adjusted to her old routine. Just when she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in work, her concentration was shot. The abrupt ending to her relationship with Andre had been playing havoc with her emotions since the moment she realized he wasn't coming back to the hotel. She'd barely slept that night, not at all on the plane and when she'd arrived home, her stubborn heart had insisted she try to contact him. She'd called his bank in Milan, where he said he lived most of the year. The receptionist hadn't been willing to put her call through to his private voice mail. When Bethany asked to leave a message, she was informed Andre had flown to New York and was not expected to return for some time. Obviously something had come up business-wise, but the way he'd left without a word made it clear she meant nothing to him. She'd been so sure it was more than mind blowing sex; that they were meant to be together. She'd been wrong. It was over.

Chapter Seven Bethany swiped at angry tears, refusing to allow the emotional pain burgeoning inside her to take over. She should have learned from her first marriage that gorgeous playboy types couldn't be trusted. She was telling herself that she was better off without him and having a miserable time believing it when the front receptionist buzzed to say Bethany's next appointment had arrived. She took a deep breath and prepared to meet the young couple buying their first home. She'd gotten more than pain from her time with Andre, she reminded herself. She'd learned she was capable of incredible passion. So, she'd accomplished what she set out to do with her trip to Italy. If it had come at a price she had not been prepared to pay, she had no choice but to soldier on and accept the bad with the good. It was late in the day when the phone on her desk rang. She picked it up. "Bethany Hayden speaking." "Bethany." No. It wasn't possible, not after a week of complete silence. "Andre?" "Sì. Bethany, it is so good to hear your voice." Right. She wasn't falling for any of his practiced lines this time. "Are you still in New York?" "You know about my trip?" "The receptionist at your bank told me when I called trying to find you." "This is good. I am surprised. Our policy of confidentiality is strict, but I am very glad she ignored it in this instance. When my assistant took all my things without leaving a note, I was sure you would be hurt. How could you think anything but the worst in such a scenario?" "You're right. How could I?" "But now you understand."

686

Apparently he hadn't figured out yet that understanding and accepting were not the same things. She'd understood her husband's serial infidelity — Kurt had been a man incapable of faithfulness — but she had not accepted it. "Why did you bother tracking me down?" "Surely you know. I wish you to join me in New York." "I don't think so." "I will send my jet for you. You need not worry about procuring an airline ticket." "I'm not coming to New York in your plane or anyone else's." "You refuse to come? At all?" He sounded shocked by her denial, bewildered even. As well he might be. Apparently, he thought she was a real push over. She may have been once, but she was through being stupid and she'd had an entire week shoring up her defenses. Even so, the sound of his voice was detrimental to her recovery and she had to cut this call short. That or she was going to do something unforgivably idiotic, like agree to be his convenient mistress and offer to fly to New York as soon as his jet could arrive. "Look, Andre, it was fun while it lasted, but it's over now. I'm not interested in having a repeat of Rome." "You do not wish to continue our relationship?" She wouldn't call it a relationship, not with him looking for nothing more than uncommitted sex and walking away whenever he wanted. "No, I don't." "Bethany, I could not help leaving you. I was needed here." "I'm sure you were." He was an important man, but she couldn't stand being with him if she wasn't as essential to him as he was to her. "I had thought you would understand." His voice had grown husky with tiredness, as if the conversation had taken his last bit of energy. He must be working very hard. She squashed the thought that bordered on concern and said, "You were wrong." "I see that." "Was there anything else?" "No, nothing else." The phone clicked in her ear as tears burned a path down her cheeks.

*** Andre hung up the phone, a sense of desolation destroying the joy he had felt upon discovering the extremely expensive international detective agency he had hired had found Bethany. Even his relief Rico had woken from his coma was muted by his despair at learning he had been wrong about Bethany, that he had lost her. She'd told him she was looking for confirmation of her feminine power. He'd given it to her and now she wanted nothing to do with him.

687

How could he have been so mistaken about a woman? Could her compassion truly be so lacking? After days without adequate sleep, he did not have the mental energy to grapple with the problem. He had enough to worry about without allowing his personal emotions to take precedence. Rico had woken paralyzed from the waist down. The doctors were hopeful he would walk again, Gianna was certain of it, but Andre's optimism was tempered by concern for his brother he did his best to hide. Andre could not afford to dwell on his loss or it would cripple him, leaving him useless to both his brother and the bank he had to run while Rico tried to get better.

*** Bethany picked up the magazine in the doctor's office while she waited to be called in to hear her test results. She knew what the doctor would say, however. Her body's symptoms were unmistakable and home pregnancy tests were 98% accurate nowadays. She was carrying Andre's baby. He had used a condom each and every time they made love, but he'd still managed to plant his child inside her. All birth control had a risk factor, but she'd thought a condom had to break before it didn't work. Remember some of the ways he'd pleasured her, she could maybe see how it had happened, but how would Andre react to hearing he was going to be a father? For she had to tell him, and a tiny part of her rejoiced at the excuse to see him again. She stared unseeingly at the magazine in her lap, her feelings a conflagration inside her. She'd spent five weeks wondering if she'd been more of a fool to trust Andre in the first place or to refuse to see him again and hear why he'd left her without a word. The longer she'd thought about it, the more convinced she became that it was the latter. She'd given up too quickly on their relationship and it had taken her several days to face the fact that she'd done so out of fear rather than necessity. She'd been afraid of the overwhelming feelings she had for Andre. Kurt had hurt her so much, but she hadn't felt one tenth the emotional connection to him that she'd felt to Andre after their first night together. She sighed and went to flip the magazine shut when a face on the page caught her attention. It looked like Andre, but it wasn't. Was it? The caption read, Banking Tycoon Rico di Rinaldo Rocks the Financial Community When an Accident Leaves him Paralyzed. The article said he'd been hit by a car while preventing a mugging and spent five days in a coma. The date of his accident was the same one Andre had left her. Nausea made her stomach cramp as she read about the man's fight for his life, his paralysis and the necessity of his younger brother taking on additional duties with the bank while Rico went through physical therapy. Andre had needed her and she had refused to go to him. She jumped up and rushed to the bathroom, making it just in time to be sick in the sink.

Chapter Eight Bethany's nerves were like shattered glass as she walked up to the receptionist desk in the main branch of the Rinaldi bank. She'd checked into a hotel after the long flight over, but she'd taken minimal time to freshen up before taking a taxi to the financial district in Milan. She could not believe she was back in Italy. When she left Rome seven weeks before, she'd been hurting so much, she had thought she never wanted to come back. She was hurting now, but not for herself. Compassion for Andre and what he must have gone through tormented her. She had come to apologize and tell him she was pregnant with his child. What he did after that would be his call. She had to see him, but she was terrified he would reject her as coldly as she had dismissed him.

688

When she gave the receptionist her name, the other woman looked at her with speculation as she rang Andre's assistant. She spoke in rapid Italian and then hung up the phone. "Signor Mercado will be here shortly to escort you to Signor di Rinaldi's office." Bethany couldn't believe how easy it was to get through this time when before, the woman hadn't even been willing to give her Andre's voicemail. Maybe it was a different receptionist. A young man wearing a business suit and a grim expression touched her shoulder less than five minutes later. "Miss Hayden?" "Yes." "Signor di Rinaldi said he would see you in his office." "He knows I'm here?" "Yes." Now, even the man's tone was grim. "Follow me, please." She did, her heart beating her to death on the long elevator ride to the top floor. Andre was on the phone when she was led into his office, a huge room beautifully decorated with dark woods and classic artwork on the walls. She bit her lip, looking around. His life was so far removed from hers and yet they had connected as if none of the trappings mattered. Would he remember that, or only her fear-induced cruelty? He hung the phone up and stood. "Bethany. Has your mother bought you another trip to Italy?" She shook her head, her thirsty heart drinking in the sight of him with great gulps. "I came because I had to see you." "The last time we spoke, you made it clear you did not wish to see me again." "I was wrong." Her throat closed on tears she couldn't bear to shed in front of him and she had to breathe deeply for several seconds before she could talk again without exposing him to the burden of her pain. "I'm so sorry. I was stupid and I'll understand if you never want to see me again, but I love you and I need you and I'll spend the rest of my life making up for letting you down if you'll just give me one more chance." His expression rock-like, he didn't say anything. "I didn't know," she explained in a choking voice, "about your brother. I thought you'd gone to New York on business and left me behind without a word. When you told me your assistant hadn't left a note, I thought I wasn't important enough for you to deal with personally. It hurt." She paused, gathering her thoughts, trying not to go off on a tangent. "I know if I'd trusted you then, I could have avoided a lot of pain for both of us, but you already had such a hold on my heart. I thought if I saw you again, gave you a bigger one, you could destroy me with what I thought was your indifference." She searched his face for a clue to what he was thinking, but he didn't so much as blink. "Andre?" His jaw tautened, but he didn't say anything and she dropped her head in despair. How could she tell him about the baby now? Maybe she should just write to him. It wasn't exactly news he was going to rejoice in and she wasn't sure she could deal with seeing the horror in his expression when he realized she carried his child. She turned to go. "You did not know about Rico?" She stopped halfway across the carpet. "No." "It was in the papers." He was right behind her now, though she hadn't heard him move.

689

"I don't read the papers." "When did you find out?" "Three days ago." "You came very quickly." "But still too late." His hand cupped her shoulder and he turned her toward him. "Too late for what?" She looked up at him, her love almost suffocating her with its strength. "To be there for you when you needed me." "I always need you." She couldn't have heard right. "You said you loved me." His eyes bore into hers as if testing the truth of the words. Unable to believe she was allowed to touch him, her hands came up to clutch at his shirt. "I do love you, so much it scares me." "And this fear made you turn me away?" She couldn't fight the tears any longer. Relief and hope flowed through her in too powerful a wave. "Yes." "We had little time together, not enough to cement what we meant to each other." She swallowed and nodded, unable to speak past the lump of emotion choking her. "I love you also, mi amorino." "Even after I rejected you?" His lips answered her and she'd been so starved for the feel of him that she went up in flames with that one kiss. She discovered he had a small apartment accessible through the back of his office when he took her there and made love to her with a hungry desperation that mirrored her own. She snuggled into his warm, hard body afterward, so happy she was almost sick with it. He had forgiven her. He loved her. He would be happy about the baby. She was sure of it. "This time we marry as soon as possible. No more misunderstandings." "I would like that very much, but there is something I have to tell you." She brushed his hairy chest, her fingers tingling with joy at the ability to do so. He tilted her chin upward. "You are nervous. What is it?" She swallowed. What if he didn't trust her like she hadn't trusted him? What if he thought the baby wasn't his? What if he thought she'd done it on purpose? Refusing to let the terrifying possibilities intimidate her, she took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant."

690

He went so still, she wasn't sure he was even breathing. "Prego?" "I'm carrying your child." "This is why you came back to me?" She couldn't tell what he was thinking, but she shook her head. "No. I mean, yes." She didn't want to lie to him, even by omission. "I was planning to come when I realized I was pregnant, but once I found out about your brother, nothing could have kept me away even if I hadn't been. In fact, if I'd known how to get a hold of you in New York, I doubt I could have stayed away regardless. I needed you, Andre, and it was killing me by inches to stay away." "The separation, it was killing me also." He looked down at her still flat stomach and touched it with reverence. "Mi bambino rests here." "Are you glad?" He looked at her and the joy shining in his dark eyes was so intense it brought tears to her own. "Can you doubt it?" "I love you, Andre. Always." "I love you, my Bethany, until they lay me in my grave."

*** They were married in a small, secret ceremony a week later, but when Andre's family found out about it, his mother insisted they have a double blessing with Rico and his wife, Gianna. Signora di Rinaldi even sent all the way to Greece for a mantilla that matched Gianna's for Bethany to wear. Bethany's parents flew over for the ceremony and the celebration lasted late into the night after both brides announced their pregnancies. Gianna and Bethany agreed the di Rinaldi men made excellent husbands because they were so easy to love and so very good at loving in return.

691

Girl Gone Solo by Joanne Rock Casting agent Kasey Dunlap has a knack for finding the perfect men — in a strictly professional capacity, that is. But after being stood up at her own engagement party, she vows not to cast herself in another reallife romance. Little does Kasey know, Myles Rivera, her one-and-only one-night stand, wants more than a walk-on role in Kasey's life when he learns she's suddenly solo!

Chapter One There were several benefits to being stood up at your own engagement party. Kasey Dunlap swiped a finger over the whipped cream frosting of her black forest cake and decided that not having to share the chocolate confection topped her list. No matter that the words "Kasey and Ben" were outlined in glossy red decorator frosting along the top of the decadent layers. The dessert was hers by default. Sighing, Kasey slumped deeper in her velvet-covered chair at the banquet table and stared down the rows of empty champagne glasses awaiting the bubbly celebration that would never take place. She'd obsessively planned tonight's party at Miami's exotic Club Paradise, ironing out every last detail with the hotel's caterer to ensure everything would be perfect. Which reminded her of the second benefit of attending her engagement party solo — not having to share top-shelf champagne. Easing out of the chair where she'd spent the past hour in utter shock at having Ben stand her up, Kasey skirted through the vacant Lovers Lounge, her silk halter dress sliding against her legs with a seductive swish. Because she hadn't wanted witnesses to the party her fiancé had called off, Kasey had sent everyone home with the help of the hotel's catering staff, even her nearest and dearest friends. Now she claimed a bottle of Cristal and popped the top, not caring if a little spilled on her brand-new designer dress. She was fairly certain she had every right to torch the outfit she'd been wearing during her night of public humiliation, so a few alcohol stains didn't bother her in the least. "To me." Kasey lifted a toast in her honor, determined not to waste another moment of rental time on the famed Lovers Lounge, a sensual haven within a provocative hotel. She'd come here to party, damn it, and that's exactly what she planned to do — with or without the man who'd proposed two weeks ago and then called ten minutes before the event to say he'd gotten cold feet. Savoring her champagne, Kasey decided Cristal made a very nice chaser for unwanted doses of reality. In fact, the smooth fizz of cold bubbles compelled her to lift her glass for another toast. "And to life on my own terms." She mulled over the idea as she slid behind the vacated DJ booth still stocked with stacks of records. Flipping on a red power switch, she jumped as the bass line of a funky new dance tune thudded through the speakers. She'd come to Club Paradise to celebrate, right? Whooping out a party animal yell, she grooved her way over to the empty expanse of hardwood that served as a dance floor. "From now on, I'm going solo." She gulped the rest of her champagne to that sentiment, then set aside her glass. Closing her eyes, she let the rhythmic pop music take her far away from Ben, the failed engagement party and all the stupid expectations she'd piled on herself over the past few years. What did it matter if Miami's best-known casting director couldn't seem to cast herself in her own romance? Kasey was still good at her job, with or without the seemingly perfect man by her side.

692

And honestly, Ben had leaned more toward "seemingly" than perfect. She might be a master at making things look great on the outside, but her relationship with Ben taught her she didn't know squat about seeing beneath the surface. At least she knew how to dance. Right now, as the music pulsed through her veins and set her hips into motion without a conscious thought on her part, Kasey decided that was enough. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she enjoyed the sensual swing of her hips and tried not to think about the sex one needed to forego in the solo life. How long could dancing alone satisfy a woman? A twinge of rogue heat rolled through her midsection as she admitted to herself there were probably a few drawbacks to attending your engagement party alone, too. Abruptly ending her dance, Kasey wasn't expecting the deep masculine voice — the voice she thought she'd never hear again — from the other side of the room. "Don't stop now, Kasey. Things were just getting interesting."

Chapter Two Myles Rivera had never been into South Beach's thriving club scene, but the Latin blood in his veins meant he didn't mind cutting the rug on occasion. Especially when there was a beautiful woman involved. And Kasey Dunlap wasn't just any beautiful woman. She was a red-hot blast from his past, a mouthwatering feast for any man's eye, especially when she moved her hips with the kind of decadent abandon he'd just witnessed. He'd searched for her for a few weeks after their one-night fling two years ago. Had even called around a couple of production companies trying to find the woman who'd told him she worked in the film business. But no one had recognized her name. When he'd overheard some waitresses dishing about an engagement party gone bust, he'd shut out the words as idle gossip. Until one of them said the client in question was a local casting director. He knew it couldn't be her, but part of him had wondered if the woman from his past might be at the party. Soon he found himself taking the long way out of the building just so he could pass the reception rooms. And now there she was. Dressed in a silvery outfit designed to make men drool, Kasey possessed curves other women paid big bucks to re-create. Long, honey-blond hair had been twisted into a knot at the back of her head, a rhinestone clip rapidly losing the battle to keep it in place. Light blue eyes widened in shock as she realized who'd been watching her from the open door to the private lounge. "Myles?" His name fell from her lips with a breathless quality that reminded him of another time she'd whispered in the dark. "What are you doing here?" Moving deeper into the room, he took in the empty place settings and fresh flowers, the barely eaten cake with "Kasey" scrawled in deep red frosting beside another man's name. Where the hell was the dumb-ass named "Ben" who should have been here right now, grateful for landing a woman like her? "I might ask you the same question since your answer promises to be far more interesting." He couldn't help but stare at her finger where no engagement ring rested. "But I'll go first since I'm a gentleman and let you know that I'm just dropping off some brochures for my charter boat business. I usually land a few clients a week from Club Paradise." He owned a small fleet of boats and rented some while serving as captain on others. He'd lived on one of the boats when he met her, but now he had a house in the city, too.

693

The song that had been blaring through the lounge speakers faded into silence, the needle bouncing into the record label over and over again until Kasey moved to shut down the system. Myles followed her deeper into the lavish red room steeped in crimson velvet furnishings with elegant cherry wood accents. Chaises dripped with tasseled silk throw pillows in an array of colors, giving the room a Middle Eastern appeal. Banquet tables were dotted throughout the room, set for about fifty people. "Well?" He waited for her answer, wondering where she'd been hiding for the past two years since they'd met. "You did such a good job of disappearing after our last…encounter…. I don't plan on letting you out of my sight this time." In fact his gaze seemed to be seared to her now, a phenomenon enhanced by heated memories of this woman with whom he'd spent one unforgettable night. Kasey's cheeks colored, an event he remembered was very easy to inspire in this woman, who looked so perfect on the outside yet harbored a very wild streak on the inside. "I'm — um — sorry about any confusion." She flipped a strand of honey-colored hair from her eyes, as her elegant upswept style slid slightly from its knot. "I was a little embarrassed over the whole thing. And I don't normally — actually, I've never in my life — partaken in that kind of thing with a man I hardly know." "Yeah?" Hell, that made up for a lot. Myles had hoped that night was special for her since every moment of it was stored in full-color detail in his own memory. But when she'd left while he was sleeping, never to be heard from again… Frankly, the sting of her disappearance still ached two years later. "'That sort of thing' you're referring to was probably —" there was no probably about it "— the best sex of my life."

Chapter Three No. No. No. Myles Rivera could not be here, at her engagement party from hell, possibly the worst night of her life. It didn't help that he could make any woman's pulse pound. Dark hair, dark eyes and bronzed skin were obvious blessings of some kind of Latin heritage. Add to that the fact that he loomed above her with broad shoulders and a lean, well-cut bod, and it was only a matter of time before she'd start swooning. In a word — yum. And who wanted an old flame to witness their most mortifying moment? The only other time that had come close to the engagement party debacle on her personal hurt meter had been the day she'd left Myles, following the most incredible night of her life. She'd regretted that move for days — no, weeks — on end, until she managed to convince herself that their time together hadn't been as magical as it'd seemed. She had to admit, the hurt she felt now at Ben calling off their engagement had more to do with social embarrassment than any kind of deep-seated regret. She'd been so caught up in solidifying the perfect relationship, she hadn't really paid attention to how happy she was. Or Ben either, for that matter. Thankfully one of them had been smart enough to put the brakes on a relationship that looked great on the outside but hadn't delivered much substance beyond the comfort of knowing you'd always have a date for corporate shindigs. God, she was such a loser. How shortsighted could she be? Then again, Ben surely could have found a less hideous time to realize he wasn't in love. "Myles, I'm really sorry about what happened two years ago, but this isn't the best time to rehash —" "I'm not." He stepped closer, plucking the open bottle of champagne off the banquet table near the DJ booth. "I'm glad to see you again, Kasey, because there were days when I wondered if I dreamed the whole thing."

694

He poured two glasses of champagne, using a couple of the fifty empty flutes that no one had needed tonight. Handing her a glass, he flashed her a small-scale version of the grin that had wooed her right out of her clothes once upon a time. "Cheers to the fact it wasn't a dream." He clinked his crystal flute to hers before taking a long sip. "You care to tell me why you left?" "That's why I left." She pointed to him, remembering what had caught her off-guard about the man she'd met at a friend of a friend's beach party long before she'd met her ex-fiancé. "You have an uncanny knack for ignoring everything around you to focus on the things you think are important." His dark eyebrows lifted as though he hadn't a clue. Anger — old hurts from her parents steamrolling her into a marriage she wasn't ready for, new frustrations from an ex-fiancé who didn't give a crap about her feelings — rumbled through her as she remembered why she'd run the morning she woke up in Myles's strong, warm arms. "Look around you." She gestured wildly toward the shambles of her love life, the Lovers Lounge a lavish paradise echoing in its emptiness. "Aren't you even mildly curious what went on here today? Doesn't it occur to you that something must be horribly wrong for you to find me here all by myself in the most sex-drenched exotic resort in South Beach? Yet you pick up a two-year-old conversation between us like it was just yesterday and ask me why I left." She hadn't understood this man then, and she sure didn't understand him now. He followed no recognizable social rules, while she took care to order her life by them. At least, most of the time, she ordered her life by them. There had been that one night of obvious exception, of course. Myles set his glass on the banquet table, his tall body leaning over hers as he reached down. Kasey backed up, closer to the table, only to find he'd followed her. When her backside hit the table, she stopped, trapped between him and ten china place settings. "I picked up on an old conversation because it's the only thing that seemed relevant to me right now." The brush of his thighs against hers brought back a wealth of memories she would have been better off forgetting. "How do you figure?" Her pulse hammered faster in recognition of this man and all the delicious things he could do to her. "I'm not oblivious to what must have happened here tonight." He gestured vaguely toward the case of buckets of chilled champagne and the cake bearing Kasey's name. "But as far as I'm concerned it happened for a damn good reason since you still have unfinished business with me."

Chapter Four Since when could silk feel so hot and stifling? Heat crawled through Kasey's veins, kicking up the temperature in every region of her body. She resisted the urge to fan herself as she stared up at her only one-night stand. "Do you mean to imply that I shouldn't be getting married because of you?" It had been two years since they'd laid eyes on one another. "Hell, if I'm only implying it, then I'm doing a poor job of communicating. I mean to say, flat out, you've got no damn business getting married."

695

"Unbelievable." The man had gall to spare. And dear God, but he had as much sex appeal as gall. No wonder she'd run in the other direction last time. If she had any sense right now, she'd do the same thing. "What?" Myles appeared lost in thought and distracted, his dark eyes taking in every detail of the silvery silk dress she'd chosen because it made her light blue eyes look more gray and interesting. Damn it, why did she warm to that intrusive gaze of his when she should be putting space between them? But she'd spent hours looking for the perfect dress, and this simple silky party frock fit as if it had been custom-made for her awkward assembly of generous curves and narrow waist. Could she help it that her vanity danced a few pirouettes at his obvious male appreciation? Scrounging up her indignation at having her engagement party written off as though it was of no consequence to him, Kasey sidestepped him, her thigh brushing against his as she moved away. Her skin tingled there, the patch of skin hotter than the rest as if Myles had the power to make her blood simmer wherever he touched. "How dare you suggest that my fiancé was just a way of marking time until we found one another again. If you think back to that night we shared, you'll recall that you were just as evasive about us seeing one another again as I was. It seemed a mutual decision not to let each other get too close." "Is that what you thought?" His gaze shifted, eyes darker than before as if clouded over by frustration. Anger? She couldn't be sure. But she did remember all at once how making love to Myles had been so simple because she could see all the shades of emotion — pleasure — register in those expressive brown eyes. "You couldn't be any more wrong about me, Kasey, and I think the moment has arrived for us to understand one another better." He stalked closer, startling her with the sudden purpose of his steps. "And this time there's going to be more to it than sex."

Chapter Five Frustration churned through Myles as he watched Kasey fidget with the skinny silk-and-rhinestone belt that knotted at her waist. The ends of the belt dangled along her thigh and she brushed them absently over her leg through the thin fabric of her dress. How could she have written off what they shared? "Do you have any idea how many times I tried to track you down after that night we shared?" He'd kicked himself for not finding out more about her, but the attraction had been so strong, so fast, they hadn't talked much beyond the preliminaries. "I don't use my real name in my profession." She twirled one end of her belt around her finger as she shrugged. "It goes on enough credit rolls and press releases that I thought it would be safer to use a pseudonym. Most people probably know me as Kassandra Matthews." "And the friend you came to the party with? Brianne someone or another?" He'd tried to track down her, too, since the host of their private party hadn't known Kasey, but he'd known Brianne, who was a film producer. "She was just down here to shoot a documentary and she flew back to New York shortly after that. We had wrapped production earlier that day and when she asked me to go to the party with her, it sounded fun." "No wonder I couldn't find you." He'd driven himself crazy looking for her those first few days. And after the first few days, he told himself she'd come around eventually. She knew where he lived. "I called every Dunlap in the book, but no luck."

696

"I'm unlisted. And I'm from Indiana originally, so I don't have any family down here." She reached over the DJ's turntables and flipped through a stack of records until she found a well-worn copy of "Rosemary Clooney Sings the Music of Cole Porter" and slid the album onto the high-tech record player. "I thought about coming out to your boat a few times, but I told myself it had just been a one-night deal and that I'd look pathetic if I showed up on your dock. Do you still own the houseboat?" Strains of "I Get a Kick out of You" filled the lush lounge. Myles regretted the lost time he could have spent with this woman who'd bowled him over from the moment they'd met. She wasn't so wrapped up in her career the way other women in Miami seemed to be. She'd taken time to delight over every inconvenience his houseboat had to offer, declaring it charming when he knew damn well the old boat had been on its last legs. But she had seemed genuine, a rare optimist in a cynical world. "I do. In fact, I've since bought a few other boats and now I've gone into the charter business." He watched her sway to the orchestra music and wondered how he could convince her to leave her failed party and escape the shadow of her worthless ex-fiancé. "But I don't want to talk about me anymore. What do you say we blow this joint and find someplace more private?"

Chapter Six Leave her engagement party that wasn't meant to be? Kasey pivoted away from Myles Rivera's heart-fluttering good looks to peer around the Lovers Lounge. "I suppose it is getting late." She looked at her watch and realized the party would have been over by now if they'd gone through with it. She was glad they hadn't. Glad Ben had realized they were making a mistake getting engaged just because they looked right together on paper. In real life, they just didn't add up. "But I need to meet with the caterer to pay a portion of the bill even though the party never took place." Myles gestured toward the door. "We'll find her on our way out. I'll drive you home." That sounded dangerous in her lonely, heart-sore condition. Especially when her attraction to Myles — senseless though it might be — loomed as sizzling hot now as it had two years ago. "I don't think that's such a good idea. I need to sort through what happened tonight and I've got to get up early to scout a location for a new soap commercial." Along with fifty other "must-do" tasks before she went back to the office on Monday. She always hated carrying over assignments from the week before, preferring to toil away on the weekends so that she could stay ahead — although this year it seemed as though her weekends were turning into a series of work-fests. She wandered over toward her seat at the head table, where she'd set her purse earlier. Time to leave this night — and Ben — behind her. "You planned to go to work early the morning after your engagement party?" He had followed her toward the head table, where he now stood staring down at her black forest "Kasey and Ben" cake. "Ben and I both placed a certain amount of importance on our careers." Ben had actually planned to fly out of Miami for a business meeting in New York tomorrow, so he would have had to be home even earlier than her. "That much importance?" Myles frowned as he smeared Ben's name into a red blur with a knife before cutting two slices of cake and handing her one.

697

"Maybe we should have seen the warning signs earlier," she admitted, welcoming the chocolate fix in lieu of what she really wanted to taste. Her gaze tracked Myles's mouth as he licked a patch of frosting from his thumb. "Yeah, like two years earlier." He lifted his cake as if to toast her with sugar. "Here's to new beginnings." Nodding, she agreed with him in theory, but it was difficult to have your cake and eat it, too, when she kept wondering about the flavor of Myles's kiss. "What's the matter?" He set down his cake when he noticed she wasn't smiling. Tracing a finger over her mouth, he seemed to understand the heat in her gaze. His voice grew husky and low. "Cat got your tongue?"

Chapter Seven A gentleman wouldn't have kissed her tonight. And a gentleman probably would have given her a day to put all thoughts of her former fiancé from her mind before making a move. Fortunately, no one had ever accused Myles of being overly sensitive. Stubborn, maybe. Independent to a fault. And, now that he thought about it, maybe even a little on the superstitious side because something about seeing Kasey here alone tonight had him thinking fate wanted them together. His thumb slid over her mouth, remembering the feel of those soft, lush lips. Her eyelashes fluttered for a moment before she set aside her cake and reached up to curve a hand about his neck. He needed no more invitation. He pressed her lower lip aside as he bent to taste her. Clean and slightly sweet from champagne, the flavor of her came back to him with perfect clarity. He nipped gently at her lip, savoring her soft warmth at the same time she sank into him with her generous curves. Her scent hadn't changed. The hollow of her neck smelled sultry and floral, a tropical haven for a man who spent most of his time at sea. He licked his way closer to that scent, relishing the pounding of her pulse beneath her creamy skin as he tasted his way south. Her body shifted against his, her silk dress enhancing the feel of her curves and providing precious little barrier for hands determined to wander. His fingers traced the curve of her hip as he gathered her closer, explored the line of her panties through the clinging silk. She still wore high-cut bikinis. And she still sighed with pleasure when he cupped her round bottom. "Let me take you home." He whispered the word against her fragrant neck, no closer to identifying that elusive scent she wore. "I can't." She murmured the words even as she arched closer, those voluptuous curves making his mouth water to taste more of her. But damn it, that's how he'd gotten in trouble last time. He'd followed the heat between them to its natural, bone-melting conclusion and wound up hugging nothing but a damn pillow the next morning. Sighing, he pulled away by a fraction of an inch. He couldn't let her leave without figuring out how to see her again. "Then when can I see you tomorrow?" Her tongue darted around the perimeter of her full lips. "I have to scout locations tomorrow, remember?" Too damn tied to her work. Myles remembered to be thankful his job involved skimming across open water, feet planted to the deck of his own boat.

698

"What exactly are you looking for?" Maybe he could help. He'd lived in Miami all his life. And come to think of it, he had an eye for beauty. Witness the gorgeous woman in his arms. "A waterfall. We're filming a soap commercial and —" "I've got just the place." "There are really a lot of particulars that I need to make it work." She blinked, the heat sliding slowly from her eyes as she thought about her job. But this time, damn it, he wouldn't let her shove him aside. This time, he planned to insinuate himself into her life — even, if need be, her work — so that she couldn't walk away without remembering exactly what they'd been like together. Kasey Dunlap had ignored her own needs long enough. "Trust me. This is the best waterfall you've ever seen. I'll take you out there tomorrow so you can decide for yourself." Suddenly, getting her to say yes was more important than any charter trips he might have planned for the next day. He could shuffle anything aside in order to be with her. She bit her lip, staring up at him uncertainly. "I guess I need to start somewhere. Are you sure it won't be too much trouble?" "Not at all." In fact, Myles was already counting on it. He would make sure tomorrow would be a trip Kasey would never forget.

Chapter Eight "I hope you're keeping the ring." Giselle Cesare, Club Paradise's resident chef, read Kasey the riot act over the phone an hour later. Kasey had finally managed to convince Myles she didn't need a ride home because she would be staying at the hotel anyhow. The room had already been paid for as part of the party package she and Ben had chosen before he'd decided she wasn't the woman of his dreams. Of course, Myles had still insisted on walking her back to her room, a scenario that required major willpower once she got to her suite. But how could she leap into another relationship when she was still stinging from the mess she'd made with the last one? Didn't she need to learn something useful from the Ben incident before she moved on? And furthermore, hadn't she decided going solo was the best course of action this time? Good thing tomorrow's trip to the waterfall would be business only. "Kasey? Hello?" Giselle sighed on the other end of the phone. She'd been friends with Kasey since high school, where they'd immediately bonded because Giselle's overprotective big brothers wouldn't let her get away with anything, and Kasey had been too conservative to be a bad girl. "Keep the ring and put the diamond in a big, fat necklace that you can wear around as a talisman to ward off men who aren't the real deal. Now why don't you let me come up with a tray and we'll eat chocolate and man-bash for an hour or so before I head home? I don't know why you were so stubborn about not letting anyone hang out with you after Ben backed out of the party. I think your mom really wanted to stay." "My mom is disappointed because she thought Ben was perfect for me." Actually, her mother thought they were both perfect for each other because they were equally driven. And okay, maybe a little uptight. Kasey's go-with-the-flow parents had never understood their ambitious daughter, but her mother had been certain Ben was the ideal man to keep pace with Kasey — to the point that her mother had made several sales pitches in his favor to make sure Kasey decided to tie the knot.

699

"Besides, I wanted to get my head on straight before any well-meaning friends started telling me what I should think and how I should feel." Kasey twisted the phone cord around her finger as she flopped into a chair on her balcony overlooking the beach. "You know I adore you, Giselle, but I can't be too mad at Ben because I know he did the right thing. And I'm definitely giving back the ring." "I still say chocolate would make it better." Giselle harrumphed as strains of Frank Sinatra drifted over the phone line. Kasey knew her friend loved Ol' Blue Eyes, but he'd been the only man in Giselle's life for too long. "Listen, don't worry about me. I'm already bouncing back anyway." The more Kasey thought about it, the more she realized Ben had saved them both from making a really big mistake. She had no business getting married when she didn't even know what it took to be truly happy. What if Myles had a point about her putting too much emphasis on her career? And why on earth had she ever thought it would be a good idea to go to work early the morning after her engagement party? On a Saturday, no less? God, she was pathetic. "Bouncing back?" Giselle banged pots and pans as she worked in the kitchen. "Do I detect another man in there somewhere, you wicked woman?" "Me?" Kasey had to laugh. She'd never done anything remotely scandalous, let alone juggle two men. "Hardly. I just ran into a guy I used to know tonight. He was at the hotel promoting his charter boat business." The clank of metal pots paused. "Not Myles Rivera?" "Why?" With Kasey's luck he had a wife at home. Or he still lived with his mother. Or he'd get cold feet and ditch her ten minutes before going public with their engagement. "You know him?" "Honey, every female employee of Club Paradise knows him. We look for that cute butt of his every month when he comes around to promote his charter business. I think there might even be a betting pool in place where you lay odds on who'll be the first to…um…get close to him." "Really?" A wave of possessiveness rolled through her at the thought of other women jockeying for position. How could she sit back and let that happen when just the thought of his kisses made her thighs shiver? "Well you can put your money on me, girlfriend, because I'm going to be first to the finish this time."

Chapter Nine Kasey didn't feel nearly so full of herself by the clear light of day the next morning. Who was she to brag about being first in line to boff the sexy charter boat captain? She hardly knew the man, except for one hot, toe-curling night that had colored her fantasies more often than not. Now, as she searched the private marina dock for Myles's boat, she reminded herself why she'd run so fast and hard from the man the first time around. He was pure fantasy. The kind of man that had no business in Kasey's life since, even though she'd always been a bit of a romantic, she knew that lasting relationships should be based on more practical grounds like fundamental compatibility, common interests and values. That's what made her so successful as a casting director. She knew how to put believable characters together on-screen. She put together people like her and Ben — both successful, career-oriented people with common goals and dreams. Her feet paused on the planks of the wooden boat dock, the soft swish of rhythmic waves and the swirl of Saturday morning marina activity fading into the background as she wondered how she and Ben could look

700

so great on paper and still fail so miserably in real life. What if she'd been basing her relationships on all the wrong things? Maybe she owed it to herself to at least take a walk on the other side and see what happened. What if she cast the fantasy man with the everyday, average workaholic just to see how it went? "Kasey!" The deep masculine voice rolled over the row of boats bobbing gently in the water. "Over here." Her breath caught at the sight of him in his sinfully sexy khaki shorts and a half-buttoned dress shirt that looked as though it had never seen a tie, much less a corporate boardroom. But the white sleeves were rolled up to reveal bronzed forearms, and somehow his shirt looked just right even with a navy blue ball cap settled on his dark hair. Urging her feet forward toward a masculine temptation no red-blooded woman could resist, Kasey wondered how long she would survive with this man if her breath kept catching in her throat like that. How could she enjoy her fantasy man if she keeled over from lack of oxygen? "'Morning." She closed the distance between them, hoping she didn't sound as nervous as she felt. After the kiss they'd shared the night before, her sensual impulses seemed to have been switched into overdrive until she ached just standing next to him. "Thanks for offering to show me the waterfall today." "My pleasure." The barely noticeable roll of his r whispered over her senses like a feather flicking across warm skin. "Are you ready to go?" She licked her lips in anticipation, eager to follow this fantasy wherever it led. "I was ready ten minutes ago, Rivera. Take me where you will."

Chapter Ten "We'll be able to see the waterfall once we round that next bend in the path." Myles pointed to the place where the trail disappeared into a thicket of trees. After taking the boat to a tiny island off the coast of the Bahamas, they'd docked in a deserted inlet near a waterfall he remembered from a long-ago trip. They trudged deeper into the snarl of tree roots and sandy terrain toward the sound of rushing water. "Can you hear it?" He reached back to give Kasey a hand over a rocky patch, hoping she didn't mind the short hike to find the hidden spot. He'd only remembered her wild side from their long-ago night together, not realizing she maintained a far more civilized — and citified — side. He'd seen plenty of that conservative streak today, but he refused to let a few inhibitions stand in their way. Especially when she practically trembled every time he touched her. Like now. As she took his hand to step over a gnarly tree root, she almost vibrated with restrained energy. Passion? Hell, he couldn't wait to find out. Just the sight of her denim shorts hugging her soft curves was enough to make him want her. "I hear it." She went still beside him, tensing at the sound of the cascading water. Turning light blue eyes on him, she smiled. "It sounds bigger than I imagined." "I didn't want to oversell it when I was describing this place to you, but I think you'll be pleased." He couldn't wait to get there. Was it just a guy thing that images of rushing water incited thoughts of a sexual nature, or was there a chance the view would inspire Kasey, too? Either way, there couldn't be a more ideal setting for a tryst. If he failed to solicit a few more kisses today with such an idyllic backdrop to aid his cause, he had no one to blame but himself.

701

And damn, but he wanted her. Conservative streak and all. Maybe that good-girl side made her all the more appealing, actually, since it made him realize how rarely the bad girl came out to play. He hoped maybe she saved that wild side only for very special occasions. Holding aside a tree branch for her as they rounded the last bend, Myles positioned himself so he could watch her face when she first glimpsed the narrow falls. "Oh!" Her cry of surprise didn't come close to capturing the wonder in her blue eyes as she took in the scene. Water spilled from a wide rock crevice down into a natural pool, the force of the rushing stream causing a perpetual spray of mist to rise in a soft white cloud all around the grove. Tropical plants sprouted all around, the wealth of water nourishing bright, exotic flowers and trees heavy with lush foliage. But the best part of the waterfall was the inky black rock ledge beneath the cascade, as if nature had conspired to create the ideal showering place for anyone bold enough to brave the pounding stream. "It's absolutely perfect." Kasey's eyes glowed in warm appreciation, but Myles couldn't be sure if she simply liked the location for her upcoming commercial shoot or if she found the raw beauty of the scene as sensually inspiring as he did. He didn't have to wonder for long, however. "So what do you think?" She toyed with the strap of her blue tank top and flashed him a naughty grin. "Are you ready to get wet?"

Chapter Eleven Kasey didn't bother to look back to see if Myles was following her. She took off toward the waterfall and the ledge beneath it as soon as she issued her brazen invitation. Her skin was on fire from too much Caribbean sun and too much Myles Rivera. She needed that waterfall. Her feet slipped on the damp moss as she approached the crashing water. She didn't know when she'd turned into such a sensual creature, but the moment she'd laid eyes on that misty grotto beneath the rushing stream, she knew she had to feel the force of that pulsing water herself. "Easy." Myles's voice reached her the same moment his arm slid around her. He held her steady when she would have lost her footing on the treacherous moss. "I've got you." His hand on her waist, his arm around her back nearly undid her. She'd almost unraveled in his arms the night before, but she'd held up by a thread, knowing her failed engagement party was not the time or place to rekindle the spark between her and Myles. But her body had been on fire for twelve hours straight since then and now that his hands were on her again, she didn't have a chance of letting him go. She turned in his arms to get closer to the tall male strength of him. Muscles bunched and flexed beneath her hands, her belly, where she touched him. His body loomed, solid and warm, against hers. "Come with me." She wanted him in that deluge of water with her; she needed his hot strength to hold her steady against the relentless spill of slick, cold liquid. "My pleasure." He rolled out that ticklish Latin r again, and this time the sound vibrated against her skin as he whispered it into her bare neck. A world of want swirled through her as his mouth opened onto her skin, tasting her. She arched into him, a willing feast for his searching tongue.

702

And then they were moving, backward toward the falls. Myles's steps were sure and swift as he crossed the moss, and she danced along with him somehow, her feet gliding along to the rhythm he set. Mist enveloped them as they neared the falls. The rumble of water grew loud in her ears, drowning out the sound of her sighs. She wanted to venture deeper into the heart of that crashing water until it swept her away from all thought and annoying reason. Today, she didn't care about shared goals and values, and she didn't give a rip about compatibility. She only wanted the fantasy.

*** Myles had hoped to lure out Kasey's inner bad girl, but he never thought he'd have this much incredible success. Her hands trailed everywhere, fingers dipping beneath his shirt after she flicked open the buttons, her short nails skimming his flesh. He needed her — badly — but he didn't want to push her when she was just coming off a broken engagement. If he dipped her beneath that waterfall right now and peeled off their clothes, would that make him big-time insensitive? As they reached the edge of the waterfall, he pried his mouth from the warm skin at her throat, forced himself to confront her before they reached the point of no return. "Are you sure you're okay with this?" He let go of her long enough to look into her blue-gray eyes, and in those scant few seconds, she tugged off her tank top. His brain checked out, leaving nothing but raw, underutilized sex drive to handle the situation. Had he been saying something? With the enticement of soft, full breasts now bared to his gaze, he couldn't remember a damn thing but how much he wanted her. Now. "I'm very sure," she whispered, arching up on her toes to confide the word directly into his ear. Yes. He cheered her knack for being well prepared even as his blood pounded thick and hard through his veins. There would be no stopping them now, and nothing to hold them back until he was deep inside her. Would it be as incredible with her as he remembered? Her breasts pushed up against his chest as she leaned into him, the taut peaks demanding touches he was all too glad to give. He cupped them together, circling each rosy nipple with his thumbs. They puckered and tightened even more, darkening to a deeper shade of pink. Bending closer, he savored each of them, stroking the beaded peaks with slow laps of his tongue. Delicious. He vowed to win over this smart, sensual woman who didn't realize how good they could be together. Starting right now.

Chapter Twelve Kasey couldn't wriggle out of her shorts fast enough when she got an eyeful of Myles in broad daylight as he stepped out of his clothes. Her fantasy was hot and hard and…hung. Did it make her utterly wicked that she noticed? But she couldn't help but notice when the man loomed large and luscious and close enough to touch. She reached for him, but at the same moment, he backed them out onto the ledge beneath the waterfall. A cool deluge sluiced down over her shoulders, dousing her warm skin. Squealing at the sudden shower, she clung

703

to Myles and threw her head back into the spray, letting the water flow through her hair and over her whole body. The erotic downpour cooled her sun-warmed skin, but it didn't help the other form of heat rapidly taking over her senses. Myles licked the water from her breasts, his hands curving around her hips and gliding over her slick skin. His big hands grazed her back, pressing her abdomen against the hard length of him. Her insides melted in the flare of heat he spurred, everything inside her turning to hot liquid. Her hands roved over him, absorbing the strength of rock-hard muscle encased in slippery smooth skin. And beneath the cool water streaming over him, she felt the heat of his body simmering warmly. He let her go just long enough to roll the condom on. Long enough for her to delight in the sight of his bronzed muscles glistening with moisture in the dappled sunlight streaming through the curtain of water. Her breath caught again, and she would have most certainly expired from heart palpitations if he hadn't come back to her then, lifting her high enough in his arms to wrap her legs around his waist. He cupped her bottom, guiding her to the impressive length of him. She contracted around him even as he entered her, her body quivering with the thrill of his thumb pressed gently against her sex. He tilted her chin up to taste her lips as he drove deeper, filling her completely as water pounded down on their shoulders. Every drop conspired to push her closer to the sensual edge she sought, the heat inside her unbearable until he found just the angle she needed to send her careening into sensual spasms. Her whole body tightened, squeezing him until he found his release. And as the spray poured over them, drowning their cries with the relentless crash of water, Kasey decided that just this one time, the fantasy had been absolutely real.

Chapter Thirteen Two days after their slippery encounter under the waterfall, Myles waited for Kasey and a film crew to arrive at his boat, which they'd chartered for the afternoon. Kasey hadn't run completely this time, but she'd definitely retreated into corporate mode, tossing all kinds of barriers up when he'd suggested they see each other the next day. The South Beach sun blazed hot and relentless already, glinting off rippling waves as Myles checked his watch and searched the docks for signs of Kasey and his other passengers. He nodded at the gangly teenager he regularly paid a few bucks to deliver ice to his boats every day and whooped appreciatively at a marlin one of the local fishermen dangled in front of him for approval. Finally, there she was, high heels clicking across the wooden planks of the dock as she led the way toward his boat. Two men and a woman rolled assorted dollies and camera equipment down the dock, the wheels thumping at regular intervals as they made their way down the pier. A tall, slender woman trailed behind them, a light backpack strapped to her shoulders as she talked into a cell phone and waved off a shorter woman dotting her nose with powder. Myles had the taller woman pegged as the talent for the soap commercial Kasey's crew would be shooting today, and although his male eye recognized the balanced proportions of her slim body and angular face, he couldn't help but think Kasey's kick-butt curves and sweet smile held ten times more appeal. "'Morning." Kasey greeted him with too much reserve, even though she did lean in to kiss his cheek. He had the feeling in her business, cheek-kissing was the equivalent of a handshake, however. Where was the woman who could unbutton his shirt in ten seconds flat? Content to bide his time until they could speak more privately, Myles greeted his passengers and helped them store their equipment for the crossing to the island. He planned to seek her out while the camera crew did their shooting, since he assumed she must take a smaller role during the actual filming.

704

But twenty minutes away from their destination, she surprised him by making an appearance in the cabin on the upper deck. "Hi." She gave him a half smile, her cheeks touched with enough pink to make him wonder if he made her nervous. "I thought I'd see how much longer until we reach the island. The natives are getting restless, if you know what I mean." The back spray doused them as the boat slapped through the water, the drops dotting Kasey's dress and reminding him of their waterfall encounter. How could he survive this day being around her and not touching her, not asking for a repeat of their incredible time together? "Cell phone connections are sketchy once you're out on the open water. I think some people don't know how to fill their time if they're not connected to technology every second of the day." Myles wondered if Kasey fell into that class. She hadn't seemed bored the day he brought her out here, but then they had the spark of explosive chemistry to keep them entertained. Did she need to access her work all the time when she wasn't occupied by passion? He'd seen too many of his friends' relationships go down the tubes because they were married to their jobs. "Our model is having a meltdown because she can't confirm her bookings for tomorrow." Kasey's eye-roll assured Myles she wasn't tied to her technology, after all. He wondered what she'd think about taking a few weeks off from work to tool around the Caribbean with him, explore more islands, hunt for hidden waterfalls. He was about to propose the idea when she withdrew a few papers from a folder she carried. "I also thought I'd come up here to ask if you've ever given any thought to advertising your charter business." Venturing closer, she left the papers on one of the seats near the captain's chair. "I took the liberty of putting together a few notes for a possible storyboard if you're interested. A commercial could really boost your visibility." Myles wrenched his gaze from the horizon and turned on Kasey, wondering how they could have a milewide gap between them in the eight-foot-square space that housed the cabin. "You don't get it, do you?"

Chapter Fourteen Kasey hugged her file folder closer to her chest even though she knew there was no way Myles could be mad. She'd spent half the night working on a proposal for his business at absolutely no cost to him. Her premise for the TV spot would appeal to locals and tourists alike, a surefire plug for Rivera Charters. "Actually, I think I do 'get it.'" She straightened, not sure why Myles would have a problem with advertising. "I've come up with a concept with a lot of appeal, and commercials are known to have a strong impact on consumer decision-making. Something like this could really help your business." "I already have a very successful small business." He squinted into the sun as he peered back at her, then tugged a navy blue ball cap down further over his eyes. "I like the hands-on time. But if I transform it into a big company, I'll be chained to a desk in no time, losing what I like best about my work. I like the freedom that comes with this business, the ability to take time off whenever I want it." Mulling over that bit of logic, she frowned. "You can hire other people to manage while you take vacations." "But then I have all the more people depending on me, all the more company to oversee." His hands moved over the controls, dropping the engine into a lower gear as they neared the island.

705

Kasey suppressed a sigh as she remembered how smoothly those same hands had moved over her controls, handling her with a deft, knowing touch. Her throat dried up along with her thoughts until she forgot what they'd been talking about. "Besides," he continued, steering the nose of the craft toward an inlet. "I don't want to be trapped into a business where I take a once-a-year vacation. I like the freedom to wander whenever the mood strikes, to search out new adventures. You can't do that if you're tied to a job where everyone expects you to be Joe Corporate. That's not me." Kasey couldn't remember ever encountering anyone who didn't care about getting ahead. Except maybe her parents, who'd drifted aimlessly through life for so long she doubted they'd ever had any real sense of direction. Their hands-off approach to life had made Kasey all the more determined to keep her direction on course. But Myles clearly wasn't like her family. He wasn't disorganized or lacking in focus. He just didn't care about growing a bigger, better company. The notion seemed utterly foreign to her. "Do you always need to be searching for new adventures?" She hadn't planned on asking the question — it just fell from her lips. "Maybe that was part of my appeal for you the last two years. I was a mystery. An adventure of sorts. Now that you've found me and you've come to see I'm an uptight corporate type, maybe I won't be so interesting anymore." She was surprised to realize how much the notion stung. But somehow, she wasn't surprised that Myles couldn't refute her words.

Chapter Fifteen Myles had been too stunned by Kasey's accusation to answer at first, but when she turned on her heel to go, he realized she was absolutely serious. She thought he'd only wanted her because she seemed unattainable. "Kasey, wait." He would have reached for her, but there was the matter of docking the boat to consider. He couldn't just cut the engines here without causing a stir on the main deck. "I can't." She shook her head impatiently, her loose blond waves bouncing in emphatic time to her answer. "I've got to help the crew unload." "I need to talk to you today." He steered toward the same cove where he and Kasey had parked before. "Alone." "I've got a lot of work to do." She edged closer to the stairs leading to the main deck. "Damn it, when don't you have a lot of work to do?" She'd worked all weekend, only taking off a few hours to attend her engagement party. How could she be happy with that kind of lifestyle? "You can't accuse me of pursuing you just because you were a mystery and then not give me a chance to talk to you." She stared back at him for a long moment, her blue-gray eyes searching his for answers. Finally, she gave a clipped nod. "I'll see what I can do. You're going to stay at the island until we're ready to go back later?" Hell, yeah, he was staying. "I can guaran-damn-tee you I'm not going anywhere now that I've found you again." Without bothering to respond, Kasey's low heels clicked down the metal steps to the main deck, leaving Myles to wonder if there'd been any truth to what she'd said. It was true enough he liked the thrill of the

706

chase. But didn't he fulfill that on the water, chasing the winds with his sailboat or hunting down the best game fishing in the gulf? Surely he didn't need to chase women just for the hell of it. There hadn't even been many women since Kasey. Two brief affairs, to be exact, which wasn't much considering it had been two whole years since he'd last seen Kasey. But maybe there was some facet of his personality that feared settling down. He'd always loved the illusion of freedom he felt from being out on the open water. Maybe he'd never gotten involved with any woman seriously because he hadn't wanted to be landlocked. Who wanted to be tied up at dock when there was so much to explore? Still, Kasey had provided him with plenty of excitement. If he ever settled down, he could see her being the kind of woman he'd want by his side. Now all he had to do was prove the thrills between them weren't just a fluke. They were real — the product of major chemistry between them. He simply had to prove it to her.

Chapter Sixteen "Cut!" Kasey welcomed the director's cue that signaled the lunch break later that day. Her nerves were frazzled after hours of watching the mostly naked model soap herself enthusiastically in a waterfall full of private memories for Kasey. She couldn't look at the tropical haven without experiencing an onslaught of sensual longing for the man who'd shared this magical place with her. Part of her regretted offering it up as a shoot locale to her production company. Selfishly, she wished she'd kept it as her own little erotic secret. An electric tingle hummed through her veins, a feeling that seemed to go hand in hand with Myles. And sure enough, as she gathered her storyboard notes to join the others for lunch, she spotted him coming toward her. She'd been so certain that he had offended her back on the boat this morning. His lack of interest in the television commercial had stung her professional pride, causing her to strike back with the jab about him not taking interest in her now that the mystery of her identity had been solved. She hadn't intended to reveal her secret fears like that, but anger did strange things to a tongue sometimes. Especially where sexy fantasy men were concerned. Ready to clear the air between them, Kasey figured she would just apologize for jumping to conclusions and move on. No harm, no foul. There was no point having him think she cared too much. "Do you have time to talk now?" He gathered up the last of her papers strewn on the ground, one of fifty different shot ideas compiled by her company's artistic staff. Funny how even now she was juggling mounds of paperwork for the commercial when she technically didn't even belong on a shoot as a casting director. Her part in the commercial should have been complete once she hired the talent. Yet her company was a small, up-and-coming business where everyone chipped in to get the job done. The atmosphere had been fun for the first few years, but maybe Myles had a point about how much overtime she dedicated to the business. Filing away the notion as she tucked the papers into her clipboard, Kasey couldn't deny she was glad to join Myles for lunch instead of eating with the film crew.

707

"I've got some free time until they finish up lunch." Talking to Myles fed another kind of appetite altogether. She would gladly trade cold sandwiches for the taste of this man's hot mouth on hers. "Good." He offered her his arm, turning away from the crew tackling the coolers they'd brought. "I did a little fishing this morning while you were working. How about you join me on the beach for a bite and I can tell you my latest idea?" Her belly grumbled in reply. Having lunch and Myles at the same time was simply too delicious to deny. "Sounds great." Sliding her fingers around the sun-warmed arm he offered her, Kasey soaked up the male strength of his solid biceps. "I wanted to apologize to you for what I said on the boat earlier today anyway. I didn't mean to play amateur shrink and tell you what you were thinking with the comment about me losing my mystique now that you've found me." "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that, too." "Really?" Oh, great. Now he was going to tell her he really had lost all interest? She stumbled on a root as they picked their way through the rocky island terrain. Myles tucked his arm around her waist to anchor her up, the heat of his body permeating the knit sundress she wore for the shoot. He paused as they reached the beach, his arm curling her closer to face him. "I think I know a way to prove to both of us that the thrill hasn't come close to wearing off yet."

Chapter Seventeen Myles could feel the rapid rate of her pulse beneath his fingers. Her warm skin smelled like coconut sunscreen, the heat of her body intensifying the scent as they faced each other on the beach. "You —" Kasey seemed to be grappling with her words. "What?" He slid her clipboard out from underneath her arm, tossing her notes on the stump of a fallen palm tree. "I want to prove to you that the excitement hasn't worn off for me now that I've found you." He slid his finger beneath a hair the wind had blown across her eyes. "This heat between us isn't a fluke. It's not going to just fade away. And neither will I." Kasey struggled for a few last scraps of logic before Myles kissed her. And he was going to. She could tell by the way that warm chocolate gaze of his fixated on her lips. She shouldn't indulge in something so private while she was working. Her business associates were eating lunch on the other side of a rocky hill. But then again, no one could see them on this isolated stretch of beach, except for an occasional seagull. And when had she ever put herself before her work? She arched up onto her toes to meet his lips with her own, her hunger solely focused on Myles now. He tasted clean and salty, like sea air or maybe a beer he'd sipped while fishing. But as she sampled more, she recognized a flavor that belonged only to him, a primal male essence as unique as any one person's scent. She arched closer to the taste of him, her body coming alive at the feel of him against her. She remembered the hard planes of his chest, the solid ripple of muscle in his abs, and she wanted to feel them again. No, she wanted to savor them with her lips and tongue, to explore every inch of him with her fingers and mouth.

708

"I don't want you to fade away either," she whispered, breaking away long enough to shove his T-shirt up his impressive chest. Did he get those ripped muscles from working on his boats? Whatever it was that gave him such a prime bod, Kasey was all for it. "Should we take this out to the boat?" Myles stilled her questing fingers long enough to peer around their quiet stretch of beach. "I don't want to compromise your professional image, and you're about to get very naked if I have my way." "Oh." Her limbs trembled at the promise inherent in those words. "Ooh. Yes, please. The boat would be nice." Her work could wait until later, couldn't it? She'd gone above and beyond the call of duty even to be here on another weekend shoot when her job description only entailed a nine-to-five gig. Surely she could afford to try out a few afternoon delights with Myles, the man who'd starred in plenty of her fantasies these last two years. She squealed as he lifted her off her feet, sweeping her up in his arms to carry her closer to the rowboat that would take them out to the bigger boat. She nipped his bare shoulder with her teeth, hoping she wouldn't regret her bold decision. "This time, I'm going to make sure forgetting me is no longer an option for you."

Chapter Eighteen Myles barely recognized the wild woman who tackled him the moment they reached the privacy of the cabin below deck. She slid out of her sundress with the flick of a couple of straps, giving him an eyeful of bright pink cotton lingerie and curves even more generous than he'd remembered. Kasey Dunlap could inspire a major meltdown in any man, causing brain function to cease and animal instincts to take over. And maybe that's what Myles liked about her so much from the first time they'd met. She gave one hundred and ten percent to everything she did. Including sex. Once she made up her mind to be with him, she transformed from driven workaholic to determined sex fiend with delicious results. Making him wonder, how could he complain about the way she dedicated herself to her job when he loved the way she dedicated herself to him? Was that being hypocritical? But then her bra went flying over his head to land somewhere on the bed behind him, and he couldn't contemplate the issue anymore. Reaching for her in the dim light afforded by a single porthole, Myles hauled her onto the double bed in the boat's only private room. Hands running over her silky skin, he appreciated every soft curve with slow thoroughness until he'd touched every inch of her except for the places covered by her pink, lace-trimmed panties. And then he couldn't wait a second longer. Especially now, when Kasey sighed and twisted beneath him, tugging his hand toward the cleft between her thighs. He peeled off the last scrap of cloth covering her lush body, not sure how long he could restrain himself. Just touching her was enough to make him out of his head with hunger for her. He slid out of his shorts, so damn ready for her he felt light-headed. The scent of her — warm woman and sweet coconut — filled the small cabin, whetting his appetite for a taste of her. She lay there on the bed so sweet and luscious with her eyes closed he couldn't staunch the urge to surprise her with an unexpected touch. Bending close, he licked the heated center of her, startling a soft scream from her lips. She was hot. Wet. And very ready for him. Yet he wanted more. More of her taste in his mouth, more of her sighs filling the tiny room.

709

He nipped and tasted until her sighs turned to pants, and finally she cried out in time with the spasms traveling through her so hard her thighs trembled with the force of them. And damn, but he loved that. As he reached for a condom, he realized some primal male need in him was utterly fulfilled by those soft cries of hers, some hunger to possess and be possessed. To love and to be loved. It was his last thought before he buried himself deep inside her. And even though he couldn't pull together any more rational thoughts with Kasey warm and willing in his arms, he made love to her this time with the knowledge they were meant to be together. The two years they'd been apart had given him enough time to recognize what was important in life, and it wasn't about boats or business or even complete freedom to do whatever the hell he wanted. For him, nothing was more important than keeping Kasey in his life — now and always.

Chapter Nineteen Kasey was still seeing stars later that afternoon when the sounds of celebratory whooping echoed in her ears from a far-off distance. At first she thought it must be her gloating Sex Muse conducting a little victory dance after her third orgasm of the afternoon. But then, as the sound repeated, she realized it was the routine cheer the production guys hollered when they wrapped a shoot. They must be done for the day. "Oh my God." She bolted up in bed, edging out from under Myles's heavy thigh as she peered at her clothes strewn around the cabin. "I need to get back to the island." Apparently not comprehending the seriousness of her request, Myles propped a pillow behind his head as if to have a thoughtful discussion. "I thought you said this sort of thing wasn't really in your job description." Vaguely she remembered talking about her work earlier that afternoon, possibly between their trip above deck to grill a fish and their sprint back to the cabin to make love for the third time. Had she just thought of it as making love? Sex, Kasey. No matter how tender her emotions for this man, she was going solo this time in order to protect herself from relationship hell. No ifs, ands or buts. And no sexy boat captains determined to wreak havoc with her career. "Maybe not technically, but I've been with this company since its inception and we all pitch in to make it work." Although there was a good chance she pitched in more than the rest. But she'd always possessed a perfectionist streak, a will to make sure everything she did was a success. Peeling her bra off a small bureau, she scurried around the room to retrieve her clothes, occasionally flinging some of his things at his broad chest. "So what happens now? Something tells me if you're so busy on the weekends, you'll be twice as busy tomorrow once you're back in the office." His frown furrowed deep lines into his handsome face. "It does get a little hectic, I suppose." Which would be a good thing considering she wasn't going to cast herself in the couple role again anytime soon, right? Then why did her heart ache at the thought of walking off his boat? She walked up the stairs to the main deck slowly, afraid of what might happen once their day together was over. "But my career means something to me." Still frowning, Myles slid into the shorts she'd tossed his way before he followed her up the steps. She couldn't deny the pang in her chest at the thought of not seeing him like this again. Their afternoon together had been…perfect.

710

"Does it mean everything to you?" Not sure where he was going with this, she slowed her frantic rush across the deck long enough to hear him out. "What do you mean?" "You're spending days, nights and weekends on your job. Are you content with that? And what's more, do you really want a man who would be content with that?" His dark eyes searched hers in the fading daylight that bathed the sky in muted shades of pink and blue. "Damn it, Kasey, don't you want to be with someone who wants to spend some time with you?" "Does that mean —" Flustered and confused, Kasey tried not to fall into those endless dark eyes while she sorted through his words. "Are you saying you want to spend more time with me?" "Hell, yes, that's what I mean." He wrenched into the shirt that she'd thrown aside earlier. "I would say today proved that the mystery hasn't worn off for me. I still want you as much as ever. No, scratch that. I want you even more than ever now that I've had more time to get to know you." Panic tickled her insides even as hope built in her wary heart. Then again, maybe the panic and the hope were opposite sides of the same emotional coin. How could she trust her heart to a man who loved to wander, a man who didn't understand her drive to work hard and get ahead?

Chapter Twenty "I don't know, Myles." Her soft words were barely audible over the sudden din of the production crew tugging their gear down the rocky hill onto the beach. "I do want to carve out a private life for myself again. You're right about me working too hard and too often. But I'm so scared of screwing up another relationship. I promised myself I wasn't going to jump into another relationship after the slap in the face of getting dumped at my own engagement party." Kasey couldn't allow herself to romanticize men anymore, even if Myles's tousled dark hair was the stuff romantic fantasies were made of. Even if he had the staying power of a sex god and the kind of grounded calmness that soothed her frenetic need to work hard and perfect everything in her path. "Hey, Kasey!" Shouts emanated from the beach beyond them. "Where've you been?" A bunch of whistling and hollering began as the production crew arrived at the water's edge with all their gear. While Kasey hoped they were too far away for anyone to see her disheveled state in much detail, Myles ignored the ruckus, his dark gaze searching out her secrets. Her feelings. He turned her chin back to him, seemingly unfazed by their audience some fifty yards away. "Look at it this way. You're not jumping into another relationship." "I'm not?" Her skin tingled where he touched her, every nerve ending alert to the smallest shift of his hand on her jaw. "We're fixing an old one that never got the fair shake it deserved." Threading his hand through her hair he cupped the back of her neck, tilting her gaze up to his. "But we're both a little wiser now. And I don't think either of us is prepared to walk away from something so undeniable it wouldn't let go of us for two years." His thumb reached forward to skim over her lips. Kasey kissed the rough skin there, feeling as though she had all the time in the world for this man, no matter that her co-workers were waiting for their rowboat ride back to the bigger boat. "I don't want to walk away," she admitted, the panic lessening at the certainty in Myles's eyes. "And I felt things today — with you — that I've never felt before."

711

Myles grinned. "It was pretty good, wasn't it?" "Besides that." She jabbed a finger lightly below his rib in a spot she'd learned was just a little bit ticklish for him. "I felt it, too, Kasey, for the first time in my whole life. And it was strong enough to make me want to plant my feet on dry ground to be with you wherever you are." The last shreds of any remaining panic disintegrated as hope flared hot in her heart. "Honestly?" "I love you, Kasey. And you can take as long as you need to figure out if you can feel that way about me, too. All that I ask is for you to give me — to give us — time together." "Oh!" Emotions clogged her throat, making articulate speech impossible. She settled for flinging herself into his arms, heedless of their rapt audience still watching from the beach. Another cheer went up as she kissed Myles with everything she had, and as she reluctantly pulled away, she couldn't help but smile. She had a very good feeling about this. "I never forgot that night we spent together," she whispered in his ear, thinking maybe a casting director with such a good record of matching up couples on-screen ought to give one last try to matching up herself. "Not even when I got engaged. I love you, too, Captain." Bending down to kiss her, Myles nudged her toward the rowboat. "I'm going to make you ten times happier than you ever dreamed of being — right after you take your first turn as Mrs. Captain." "Me?" She wondered if he was teasing, but she didn't think so. Something warm and steady in his brown eyes told her he meant every word. A warm shiver stole over her at the magic in the air. "I don't even know how to drive this thing." "That's okay," he assured her as he handed her down into the smaller craft. "Because I don't plan on ever leaving your side." And filled with the warmth of true love, Kasey took her place next to her one-and-only leading man.

712

Very Hush Hush by Jo Leigh Janice Foster is the general manager of the soon-to-be-opened hotel Hush. New to the city, she hasn’t had the chance to do anything but work — until she finds herself face-to-face with the sexy, young carpenter she’s been flirting with for months! Lucky for her that at Hush, regular rules don’t apply.... "You know," Janice Foster said, "I've had some weird days at the office before, but I think this takes the cake." Piper Devon, the owner of the hotel Hush, arched a perfect brow. "’Ya think?" Janice smiled as she studied the array of adult toys laid out on her desk. There were so many kinds. Some shaped like rabbits, some like what you'd think, some she wasn't quite sure were meant to do what they were supposed to do. And, of course, there were the battery types, the plug-ins and ones that looked like they could take the chrome off a bumper. "I'm thinking let's go middle of the road. Something that won't scare the bejesus out of our guests. " Piper nodded as she picked up something in the shape of a bear. "No animals." "Definitely." Janice removed everything that looked scary or had eyes and put them in a large box on the floor. "I think two is the limit. Replacing them daily is going to cost a pretty penny." "The volume is going to help." Piper chose one that looked anatomically correct, and wasn't so large as to create panic. "I think I dated this guy." Janice felt the giggles coming back. When Piper had brought in the big box, they'd laughed for half an hour as they put them all on the desk. She fought the urge, knowing this wasn't a joking matter. Hush was something totally new in Manhattan. Maybe in the world. A hotel for lovers, complete with amenities that would curl her poor mother's stick-straight hair. But that was the point. Hush was unabashedly about sex. The celebration, the exaltation of two consenting adults in the mood for whoopee. Every room had a cabinet of toys, of lotions, potions, leather and lace. Every bedside drawer had a copy of the Kama Sutra and a fur glove. They also had cameras, DVDs, bathtubs for two and the softest sheets on the planet. Nothing tawdry. First class in every way. It was a hotel for adults who weren't ashamed of being sexual, sensual beings. Hush was already causing a major stir, and it wouldn't even be open for another two months. So this decision had to be made now. The order had to be placed, and jeez, the order would be huge. "This one takes two double A batteries," Piper said. "So maybe we should include a plug-in." By the time they'd made their final decision, two hours had gone by, and Janice was so tired she could hardly think straight. It was almost 10:30 p.m., and she'd skipped dinner. Again. Thank goodness she was staying in one of the penthouse suites, because she couldn’t add commuting to her crushing schedule. Piper was in a suite, too. As the owner, she was checking every detail herself. But as general manager, Janice knew if something went wrong, it would be her ass. Piper, damn her, still looked as fresh as she had at six this morning. Poor thing had to. As the heiress to the Devon fortune, she was the darling of the tabloids and the paparazzi followed her everywhere. It wasn't pretty, although Piper was. Gorgeous, actually. And young. And smart as a whip. Which would have been horrible if she also hadn't been incredibly nice.

713

"You didn't have dinner, did you?" Janice shook her head. "I have some snacks up in the room. I'll be fine." "If you don’t take care of yourself, who's going to run my hotel?" "All right, sheesh. I'll take my vitamins like a good girl." "An even better idea," Piper said, "is for you to go upstairs and make sure we've made the right decision about these wonderful toys." Janice didn't even blush. In fact, the idea appealed. She'd only been in Manhattan for four months and she hadn't made many friends, let alone met any men. It had been all work, all the time. "There's a lot to be said for a battery-operated boyfriend. It's the only kind I have a hope in hell of getting into my bed." Piper grinned. "Excuse me, but I've seen you with that guy." Now she blushed. "What guy?" "Oh, please! That carpenter. Damn, I'm so bad with names. The gorgeous babe with those blue, blue eyes and that broad, broad chest." "Mick is a baby." "Mick. That's right. You're right, he's a total babe." "Baby. He can't be over twenty-five." "And?" "I'm almost forty, for God's sake." Piper blinked her flawlessly made-up eyes. "I still don't see the problem. You're gorgeous and sexy and smart. He should be so lucky. Besides, it's incredibly obvious he's panting for you. And you're panting right back." Janice opened her mouth to argue, then realized there was no point. They had been flirting outrageously for weeks now. It had been her biggest thrill, her only thrill, but she couldn't fool herself into believing it was anything more than a harmless game. Sighing, she got her purse from her desk drawer. "I'm leaving now. I'll see you tomorrow." "Come on, Janice. Seriously. What do you have to lose?" "Piper, I'm the general manager. He's a carpenter. Not to mention that he's ridiculously younger than me." "Darlin'," Piper said, giving her that million-dollar smile, "you're in Hush now. The regular rules don't apply." *** He was almost there. Almost finished with the cabinet he'd worked on for six straight days. That was after the design stage, handpicking every piece of teak, measuring until he went cross-eyed. And now it was complete except for one thing. Bending low, he took his awl and scratched out his initials. He'd have preferred putting his entire name on the piece, but that ritual was reserved for his private customers. So far there weren't many custom pieces that bore the Mick Randall signature, but that would change soon. Another few months of working his butt off in Manhattan and he'd have enough of a nest egg to take off for his dream home.

714

But he really couldn't think about that right now. It was late. He shouldn’t even be here. The rest of the crew had left hours ago, but he hadn't been able to leave the cabinet unfinished. He wiped the last bits of sawdust off the cabinet, then stood straight, his back complaining. He debated the whole idea of going home, but once he looked at his watch, he decided he'd spend the night here. Not in any of the penthouse suites, of course. That was for the brass. There was a cot in the basement that some of the guys used from time to time. It was way too short for his six-four frame, but he was so damn tired it didn't matter. He got his tools and stuck them in his belt, grabbed his hardhat from the edge of the bed, and headed out. The elevator dinged just as he was reaching to push the button. The doors opened and the woman inside nearly plowed right into him. She gasped, jumped back and dropped a rather large...dildo. He stared at it for a second to make sure he wasn't insane, then jerked his head up. Whoa. Janice Foster. The general manager. The woman who'd been driving him nuts for weeks. My, my... "Oh, my God," she said, still breathless. "What are you doing here?" "Working." "It's almost eleven." "I had something to finish." "You scared me to death." "I’m —" He stuck his hand between the doors to stop them. "I'm sorry. I had no idea anyone was still here." She breathed deeply for a moment, her hand still at the base of her throat. He liked her with that flushed look about her. With her red hair and her long neck, she was damn fine, something he'd noticed his first day on the job. As the weeks had gone by he'd found even more to appreciate. More to want. Janice stepped out of the elevator, giving him a wide berth. "Have you finished?" He stepped back, startled, then realized she meant his work. "Yeah, I have. Just." "Well, then." "Right." He nodded. His grin turned south as she turned and hurried away. He should stop her, but — He lunged for the elevator doors once more, then he bent and got the uh, thing she'd dropped. His smile returned as he stepped into the hallway. "Janice?" She'd just gotten past the Pop suite and at the sound of his voice she stopped dead. When she turned, it was real slow. "You forgot your..." He held up the very lifelike rubber toy. He wasn't close enough to distinguish the shades of red on her face, but he did see the wince. After another deep breath she headed back to him. Which meant that he couldn't blow it. Not now. Not when he held the perfect opportunity right in his hand. "Thank you," she said, her voice strained to breaking.

715

"Sure." When she held out her hand, it trembled and he felt even worse. He liked Janice. She was fair, efficient, had a sense of humor. And she was totally hot. She tried to put the thing in her purse, but it didn't fit. And then her shoulders started shaking. Trembling. He moved toward her, clueless as to what to do, how to make it all go away. When he touched her shoulder, she looked up. She was laughing. Not crying. Laughing damn hard. He couldn't help it. He started laughing, too. "It's not what you think," she said, finally. She stuck the dildo under her arm and dug into her purse, retrieving a tissue. "Really?" She dabbed her eyes but cracked up again. "Oh, crap. This is just the perfect end to a perfect day. God, I need a drink." "Want company?" Her wide, green eyes stared up at him, a crystal tear teetering on the edge of her lashes. "Company?" He nodded, not at all sure what had come over him. She was the GM of the hotel. Why would she want to have a drink with him? But something told him not to leave. Not yet. Janice blinked, not able to process this conversation. Not believing that she was holding a damn rubber dick under her arm. Why Mick? Why now? Why hadn't the humiliation simply burned her to a crisp right here on the gorgeous maroon carpet? She cleared her throat, although it didn't help one bit. And then she just thought, screw it. "Sure. Why not?" His smile did something wicked to her insides and she turned in case he could see. Did he have an inkling of her attraction to him? Would he laugh even harder if he knew? They walked to the McCartney Suite and she opened the door. He held it for her and the very first thing she did, after she turned on the lights, was throw the damn dildo across the room. It bounced. But just the once. Then she headed for the bar. Fully stocked, thank you, and while she thought about just chugging the bottle of tequila, she paused, remembering that her mother hadn't raised a heathen. "What can I get you?" "You have a beer in there?" She nodded and pulled out two. "Glass?" "Naw," he said as he walked over to the large wooden cabinet near the far window. Her gaze went right to his butt. No problem. Not an issue in any way. She walked to him and handed him his beer. "It's beautiful," she said, meaning his rear end, but knowing he thought she meant the cabinet. "Thanks." "You made it?"

716

He nodded. "It was the first piece I did for the hotel. I think it came out all right." "I'm incredibly impressed. It's stunningly crafted." "That's nice to hear," he said, looking at her in a way that made her grip tighten on the chilled bottle. "It must be so satisfying, to create something so intricate." "It is. I never figured I'd be doing this kind of work for a hotel." "This isn't just any hotel." He laughed. "I'll say. I saw some of the...amenities in the Pop suite. Wow." "Wow is putting it mildly." She laughed again. "I spent my afternoon choosing 'amenities' for the rooms." "Ah, so that's why..." She felt her cheeks heat again. "So, how about them Yankees?" His smile broadened as he touched the small of her back. "Let's sit." They settled onto the buttery couch, him sitting close enough that they touched from hips to knees. Even she could decipher this strange man code. The question was, should she let things lead to things? When he slipped his arm over her shoulder, she knew that this was it. The moment of decision. Did she really want this? Oh, yeah. Was she brave enough to throw caution to the wind? Why not? She was in Hush, for heaven's sake. In one of the most beautiful suites in New York, in a palace built for carnal pleasures. She'd been working like a dog for months with no respite in sight, and damn he was the most gorgeous creature. It didn't have to mean anything. Except, she hoped, a really great night. She turned to face him, smiling with courage she almost felt, and was mesmerized by his face. His hair was thick, dark, wavy and inviting. Begging, actually, to be touched. So she did. Two fingers, just above his ear. The texture smooth and soft, the thrill of her daring hitting her low and hard. His brows arched slightly as he squeezed her shoulder. Message received, evident in the darkening of his blue eyes. It had been so long since she'd been here. Where desire met fulfillment. "I've thought about this a lot," he said. "What?" "Being with you." "Why?" "What do you mean why? Have you met you?" She laughed. "Well, thank you. But come on. Surely you have your pick of the beautiful babes that seem to grow on trees out here." He brought his beer up, but instead of drinking, he touched her chin with his extended finger. "Tag, you're it." Janice sighed and let her head fall into the crook of his neck. "It's Hush," she whispered.

717

"What?" "Hush." "Ah, yes." He shifted them both so he was inches away now, his lips level with her own. "Hush," he said, his breath warming her, and then he kissed her. Softer than his hair, softer than his whisper, he let her get used to the idea, to the feel of him. Yet when her hand found his chest, the rapid beat of his heart told her everything. He wanted this. Her. And she wanted him. A lot. Deepening the kiss, she parted her lips. His tongue snuck inside and the temperature shot up ten degrees. God, she was doing it! Making out with the most gorgeous man she'd ever seen. A man young enough to be her...younger brother. But there was nothing brotherly in what she wanted to do next. He pulled back, his breathing harsh, his eyes dark as the night. "There's a bed in this joint, isn't there?" She laughed. "You could say that." "Take me," he said, as he stood, pulling her up with him. He towered over her. She wasn't even that short. "Just how tall are you?" "Six-four." "Wow." "I look shorter lying down." She felt her cheeks heat again. She wasn't a blusher. She'd never have made it at the Hard Rock Hotel if she hadn't been completely inured to the shenanigans of celebrities, which was, in large part, the reason for getting this job. The things she'd seen...she could write a book. But none of those wild escapades involved her on a personal level. And she'd certainly never gotten naked. Not even once. "Bed," Mick said. "You're sure?" He blinked at her. "I don't think I could be less subtle about it. I'm pretty sure the next step would be stalking." She breathed again, and led him through the magnificent suite into the even more magnificent bedroom. The stuff of dreams, with the floor-to-ceiling window looking out over Manhattan. A huge four-poster, sheets so soft it felt like sleeping in clouds. Of course, she wasn't planning on sleeping. Mick reached for the light, but she stopped him. This was her fantasy and she didn't want anything to spoil it. Yeah, she was in shape, but she was just this side of forty, and he didn't need to see the details. Instead, she went for his tool belt, letting it drop with a muffled thunk on the plush pale carpet. When she reached for the button on his jeans, he stopped her, lifted her chin with the side of his hand. His eyes were vivid in the moonlight. Vivid and hungry.

718

"Let me," he said, his gaze never wavering as he slipped her jacket from her shoulders. Then his fingers went to her blouse. As he unbuttoned it, his knuckles brushed against her breast. If he'd look down, he'd see how hard she was, and she wondered if he was in the same condition. Only one way to tell. She pushed forward with her hips. Oh, yeah. He definitely was into this. Into her. He tugged her blouse out of her skirt. His large hands touched her, carefully at first, and then with enough urgency to spur her into getting out of the rest of her clothes. So quickly, in fact, that she got to watch him lower his jeans. "Well, okay then," she said, a bit breathless with the view. "Any more questions?" he asked, his grin as wicked as his erection. "Not a one." And then he kissed her, pulling her onto the bed, right on top of him. Now it was her turn to explore. Jeez, she'd never been with anyone like Mick. The men she dated tended to exercise their brains more than their bodies. He was like a great big old carnival and she wanted to try every single ride. It seemed Mick had no objection. Not when she rode him like a roadhouse mechanical bull, and not when she had him do all the work until she was a crazed, totally satisfied puddle in the middle of the sheets. But now, after all the playing and the explorations, it was down to this. A wonderfully sensitive man making love to her. One more time, his gaze had locked onto her own. His breath warmed her lips. His touch gentle and sweet. It wasn't what she'd expected. Not even close. *** Mick leaned against the pillows as he struggled to get his breathing under control. Janice was nestled against him, her head in the crook of his shoulder, her hand splayed on his stomach. He wondered if her eyes were closed. If she had any idea what she'd done to him. It was stupid, really. It was one night. A thing. Nothing more. Just a crazy flirtation that had somehow ended up here. With this amazing woman in his arms. It was nuts, this feeling that wouldn't go away. Familiar in an odd way, like when he'd been a kid and it was time for him to open his Christmas presents. There was no getting around the fact that she was a beauty. Her skin, that incredible red hair. Or that her laugh made him want to slay dragons. But this lingering excitement was outside his experience. He wasn't the one-night-stand type, although he'd succumbed on more than one occasion. Even with his past girlfriends he'd never felt this...thing. He didn't want the night to end. Even though he had to be back to work in five hours, he didn't want to sleep. He wanted to stay just like this. Close. Naked. And he wanted to know every damn thing about her. "Mick?" "Yeah?" "Holy cow." He laughed. "I'll say." Her fingers dragged lightly up his stomach, following the trail of dark, curly hair. When she reached his chest, she circled his right nipple with her bright red nail. "Tell me about you," she said.

719

He found himself petting her hair, the rich red strands like silk beneath his hand. "That's funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing." "Why don't you go see what kind of goodies you can find in the fridge. I'll meet you back here and we'll talk." "Deal," he said. But he didn't move. Not until he'd kissed her. Until her soft moan made him hard and aching. They didn't get to the talking part until much, much later. *** Janice finally finished her meeting with the head of housekeeping at 10:15 p.m. She'd had to struggle to keep her focus. The hotel was only two weeks away from the soft opening, and she couldn't blow it now. But what was waiting for her upstairs was, for her at least, more important than any job. And it was all coming to an end. She got her purse, took a moment to pull herself together before she headed to the elevator. It was impossible to believe she could feel this strongly about a man she'd known for such a short time. But since that very first night, being apart had been unthinkable. She'd never talked to another human being more honestly. She'd told him her hopes, her fantasies, her dreams. And he'd shared the same. She knew all about his cottage in Oregon. How he'd saved every penny to build his nest egg. How all he wanted was to make custom furniture, get out of the city, live close to nature. Which left her out in the cold. Even if the age thing wasn't an issue, a move to Oregon wasn't an option. She had a contract, but more than that, she had a career. One she'd worked hard for. And Hush was the mother lode. She loved it here, loved the whole concept of Hush. In so many ways, this was her baby. Certainly her future. One that was looking lonelier by the moment. Tonight was goodbye. The end. There were simply no more things for him to build. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't. *** Mick checked the bedroom one last time. The flowers were on the bedside table. His gift, wrapped by the nice concierge, was in the middle of the bed. The bottle of champagne was chilling in the stand. Tonight was the end. Tomorrow would be a new beginning, and he was scared out of his wits. Everything was crazy, not at all what he'd planned. It had all changed that first night. The moment he'd kissed her. He heard the door open in the other room. As he ran a quick hand through his hair, he went to meet her. *** Janice held it together all through the in-suite dinner, catered by the chef at Amuse Bouche. They talked about their day as if it wasn't the last time. He even made her laugh. But when he walked her into the bedroom, she lost it. Mick wrapped her in his arms, pulled her close and safe against his amazing chest. She heard his soft whisper, "Hush, honey, it's okay." But she wasn't okay. Not even close. "Damn you, Mick. What the hell have you done to me?" He eased her back. "What?"

720

She sniffed, knowing her eyes were a nightmare in black. "I can't feel like this. We haven't known each other long enough for this. It's —" she wiped her cheek with the back of her hand " —it's horrible. And it's all your fault." He opened his mouth, then closed his eyes and shook his head. "Horrible? Gee, and I thought it was the best two months of my life. What an idiot I am." She hit him. Not hard. "You're not." "Clearly I am," he said. "Because while you've been suffering, I've gotten to know this astonishing woman. Who's beautiful and confident. Sexy and smart. She makes me laugh at all the wrong times. Not to mention the fact that every time I'm near her..." She sniffed again. "What?" "Naw, it's too horrible to say." "Mick!" He kissed the tip of her nose. "Do you see anything strange in this room?" "Huh?" "Look around. What do you see?" She stepped back, still shaky, still sadder than she could bear, but she noticed the flowers. She'd mentioned, once, a month ago, that she liked calla lilies. Great. He was even more perfect. That would make saying goodbye easier. "Keep looking." Really curious now, she saw the champagne bottle, noticed that it was the really, really good stuff. The crystal flutes on the silver tray and, oh. The box. "Oh." "Well? It's not going to unwrap itself." Her sniffing was even annoying her, but she wasn't about to take a detour to the bathroom. Not now. But she couldn't seem to move. Mick picked up the skinny box with the great big bow. He handed it to her, not looking at her hands at all. Just her eyes. With shaking fingers, she somehow got the package undone. It took two tries to take off the lid and push back the tissue. But her questions weren't answered even then. "A receipt?" Mick nodded. The way he was staring at her... She picked it up. Turned it over. "It's a credit slip." He nodded again. "From American Airlines?" He smiled. Such a smile.

721

"Mick, what is this?" "I'm not going." "What?" "Oregon. I'm not going." "But your house. Your dream. Randall's Creations. You had the cards printed! I don't understand." He carefully lifted the receipt and the box from her fingers and then he pulled her down with him so they were sitting on the bed. "Yes, you do. I'm sure of it. You've changed everything. I never expected to feel this. But I do. I'm not sure where we're heading, but there's not a chance in hell I'm not sticking around to find out." "But your dream..." "New York's a big city. Lots of folks need a carpenter." It was hard to breath and she didn't know if she wanted to laugh or cry. She still could hardly believe what he was saying. All she knew for sure was that she wanted him. Wanted this. Wanted to learn this man forever. “It really doesn't matter to you, does it?" "What?" She shook her head. "Nothing. Forget it." "Jan? Talk to me." She looked at the receipt in his hand. He'd cashed in his ticket. He'd told her everything that was in his heart. "You sure you want to give up Oregon?" "Oregon's not going anywhere. And neither am I." Turns out, she wanted to laugh and cry. And kiss the man she loved.

722

Just Her Luck by Debbi Rawlins Renee Stevenson’s day is going from bad to worse. First she loses out on a big promotion to a suck-up colleague, then she loses out on the jackpot in the Georgia State Lottery by just one number. But her luck may be changing when a familiar face appears at her local bar: her best friend from college—and secret crush—sexy Jim Lydel!

Chapter One “I’ll have a gin and tonic. And don’t be stingy with the olives.” The bartender at the Georgia Peach smiled cheerfully as he set about his task, but Renee Stevenson couldn’t muster more than a halfhearted nod in return. Normally she wouldn’t stop at a bar on a Thursday evening, but today was special. It wasn’t every Thursday that Renee was passed over for a promotion she’d busted her butt to get. Especially not to that weasel Bob Nelson. The suck-up. Damn, she’d promised herself she was going to be calm about this. She’d been working at Travis and White advertising for five years, giving them some of their biggest successes, but when it came right down to it, Travis and White had sold her out. Given the plum job to one of the boys. Well, there was nothing to do but get her résumé together. Start over. Hell, maybe she should get out of Atlanta altogether. New York. That’s where the big jobs were, the real agencies. It would be exciting. Challenging. Right? “Here you go,” the bartender said, setting down her drink. Next to it, he placed another glass, this one filled with olives. “Enough?” “Enough,” she said. “Thanks.” He left. She drank. Never a big fan of alcohol, she shuddered as she swallowed, then popped a fat olive in her mouth, but it was poor solace. She’d really wanted that promotion. Badly. She’d made plans, chosen her new office chair, picked out a new car. She drank again and with the grimace, her gaze moved to the wide-screen TV perched on the back wall. White numbered balls twirled in a tumbler, the familiar logo of Georgia’s lottery swirling across the screen. Renee reached into her purse for the lotto ticket she’d bought yesterday, and rolled her eyes at her own momentary blip of hope. Hadn’t she learned her lesson? Wishing for the impossible was just that— impossible. She slipped another olive into her mouth and signaled for the bartender.

*** At the back of the bar, in the farthest corner he’d been able to find, Jim Lydel kept typing on his laptop, answering yet another e-mail from a long list of e-mails that had dogged him from New York to Philadelphia, Los Angeles and now Atlanta. His company had finally released the latest edition of PSL GameSpill, software that made game playing a lot more real and a lot more expensive. Despite the fact that they’d simplified a lot of processes, everyone had questions. In the cities where he’d made personal appearances, Jim had been taken to dinners, taken for drinks, kept up till all hours by CEOs with huge expense accounts. His days had been filled with demos and lectures. He hadn’t had much time to take care of the regular business of running PSL, so tonight, his first on his own in weeks, he’d found a friendly looking bar that served hot appetizers and cold beer and gone to work. He didn’t mind the bustle. It reminded him of his office, where staff barged in at the drop of a hat and there was always music blaring somewhere.

723

Of all the aspects of his job, going on the road was his least favorite. Not that he wasn’t pleased PSL was doing so well. But at heart he was still a programmer, a gamer, so the business of running the business fit uncomfortably, like a borrowed coat. Soon, though, in four days he’d return to New York, to the madness of the day-to-day job. He’d sleep in his own bed, wake up to his morning run with Jessie, his two-year-old Weimaraner, then head to the office, his real home. He reread the sentence he’d just typed and quickly deleted the whole thing. He’d been working for an hour and his concentration had waned, making him sloppy. Maybe he should just quit for the night. The weekend was coming up, and thank God, he had no obligations lined up, so he could finish up then. Although he had planned on doing a little sightseeing, even that plan had lost its luster. Being alone in a strange city used to be fun, exciting. Maybe if he’d had someone to sightsee with… A yelp from the bar caught his attention. A woman, short and slim, stood among the mostly male patrons, clutching a piece of paper, staring at the wide-screen TV in the corner. She was watching the lottery numbers role out of a tumbler, and he could see the excitement in her body language. He smiled, mentally crossing his fingers for her. As he watched, however, something about her tickled the back of his mind. She turned, just for a second, in his direction and that glimpse was all he needed. Memories exploded rapid-fire as he said her name aloud. Without conscious choice, he rose to his feet, his laptop forgotten on the table along with his beer. “Renee,” he said again, softer this time, as he slipped back to a time before PSL, before success, before the real world had pulled him into the fast lane. He made his way past the tables and customers, remembering the day he’d met her, his first week at Stanford. She’d been in front of him in the cafeteria line, and he remembered his first impression of her as if it had happened five minutes ago. Her dark hair, a mass of curls pulled back in an unsuccessful ponytail. Her intensity as she made the difficult choice between the cottage cheese or the bratwurst. She’d been chubbier back then, and her clothes had been shapeless and baggy, but her face had captured him so thoroughly he’d had no choice but to follow her to a table and snag the seat beside her. She was slimmer now, and her hair was tamed, but it was still Renee. And once again, after all those years, she compelled him in a way no woman before or after had.

*** Renee’s heart had gone into overdrive at the fifth number. God, what if… She stood by the bar stool, her gaze shifting from the TV screen to the lottery ticket in her hand, even though she always played the same numbers and knew them by heart. She tried to tell herself it was only five, that she still needed to match the sixth number and that wasn’t going to happen. Couldn’t happen. Not to her. Not today. She double-checked, no, triple-checked the numbers in her hand. Yep, five for five. And now, here it was. The final number, the one number that would make her rich beyond her wildest dreams. The one that would let her tell Travis and White just where they could stuff their promotion—come on number four! Seventeen. The world deflated along with her hopes. One more time she’d missed the brass ring by an inch. She’d been a fool to even hope. Once again she was a day late, a number short. It was just her luck. “Renee?” The man’s voice behind her made her shiver, gave her goose bumps, but she didn’t know why until she turned around. “Jim,” she whispered. She smiled, because she couldn’t help it, but inside she steeled herself for yet another disappointment. She’d loved this man once upon a time.

724

Oh, who was she kidding? She’d never stopped.

Chapter Two Renee had just lost the Georgia State Lottery. This, on top of losing the promotion that would have set her career on fire, and yet all she cared about right this second was that Jim Lydel, the only guy she’d ever loved, was standing not a foot away. “Wow,” he said, smiling as if finding her was a real treat. “I can’t believe it’s you.” She reached across the small distance and brushed the side of his arm just to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. “It’s me,” she said. “Same old Renee.” Jim shook his head. “No. Definitely not. You look incredible.” What should have been a compliment hit her low in the solar plexus. Because of what he didn’t say. That she wasn’t still the fat, ugly chick from college. The buddy who was just one of the guys. No use blaming him for stating the obvious. “Nope, I’m eight years older, my hair gets straightened professionally now and I’m stunned to find you here.” She looked around the Georgia Peach, one of probably a hundred bars in the state named just that. It wasn’t a tourist trap or even a saucy, hip hideaway. The only reason she knew about it was because it was a half mile from her apartment. “I’m pretty stunned to be here,” he said, stepping a little closer. “I was heading for Peachtree Plaza, but I got lost.” “I’ll say. You’re looking good.” She studied him unabashedly and was surprised to note that his slacks were really well tailored, his hair was nothing like the floppy mop he used to sport at Stanford. He’d been cute in college, but he’d turned into something close to stunning. Was it possible that Jim Lydel, the geek who’d embraced his inner pocket protector, who’d known every episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000 by heart, had buffed up? That he’d come out from behind his computer to actually live in the real world? “Really good,” she said. “Through no fault of my own.” Before he could explain, he took one more step, put his hand firmly on her arm and said, “This place is crazy and noisy, and I want to catch up. Have you had dinner yet?” Renee knew he’d said something, asked something, but her brain was too busy trying to process both the feel of his hand, which had sent every single nerve ending into overdrive, and that “no fault of my own” business, which had to mean he was married, and his wife had molded him into a man who wore Italian leather shoes. Her gaze shot to his left hand, and while a tiny part of her noted that his nails were manicured, the main event was the lack of a wedding ring. Was it possible…? “Renee?” She looked up at him, into his big dark eyes. Those hadn’t changed at all. They were still rimmed by thick lashes, still reminded her of the color of café au lait. The memory of their first meeting came to her fully formed, complete with sights and sounds and the smell of hot dogs and mustard that haunted the old cafeteria. She’d been new to Stanford, scared and about as alone as a freshman could be. He’d come to her table and sat down right next to her. She’d reached for her tray, but then he’d asked if he could join her, so it hadn’t been a mistake, she hadn’t trespassed. She’d nodded, then blushed, then looked at her cottage cheese, wondering what he wanted from her. It must have been a trick or a hazing ritual or something equally heinous that would be revealed all too soon. Because the guy smiling at her was a major babe. Not like a jock or a movie star or anything like that, but it was all there—the eyes, the lips, the height, the way he moved and smiled.

725

Right then, while stealing yet another glance, she’d fallen into a crush that was to take her through her freshman year. The crush had ended when she was a sophomore, replaced by something much deeper, much more painful. By then she’d gotten to know him. Really well. And fallen hopelessly in love. “Is everything okay? Renee?” She blinked, smiled. “Everything’s fine. I was just trying to figure out if I could weasel my way out of tonight’s meeting at the office, but I can’t see how. I’m so bummed. I would have loved to catch up.” “I understand,” Jim said, surprised at the depth of his disappointment. “I’m going to be here for a few more days. How about tomorrow?” A flash of wariness crossed her face, quickly replaced by a smile he knew well. The hair might be different, but there was so much that was uniquely Renee that he felt as if only days had passed since he’d seen her, not years. “Call me. I’ll do my best.” He nodded, waiting as she gathered her purse. She stuffed the paper she’d been holding into her wallet, then pulled out a card. She blushed just a little when she handed it to him. “Advertising. That makes sense.” “It was supposed to be something else, remember?” She leaned back against the bar, making her dark green blouse stretch across her breasts. “I should be handing you a copy of my great American novel.” She lowered her head as she chuckled. “I was gonna slay the literary world, and you…” she didn’t lift her head, just her eyes “…you were going to be the king of all computer games.” Now it was his turn to blush, which was something he hadn’t done in forever. He wasn’t the king, of course, but if forced, he’d cop to being a prince. “Hey,” she said, leaning toward him, eyes wide. “You’re all pink and shiny like a little girl.” That took him straight back to the dorm. To late nights with horrible wine and music that never stopped. To Renee, cross-legged on the floor, a bandana in her hair, baggy jeans curled up at the cuffs. They’d laughed until they couldn’t breathe. Talked until they’d solved the problems of the world, only to start the next night from scratch. “You are the damn king of computer games, aren’t you?” He opened his mouth, but he wasn’t quick enough to form a decent lie, which was weird. Not that he couldn’t come up with a lie, but that he wanted to. Shouldn’t he be proud? Shouldn’t he be jonesing to tell his old buddy Renee that he’d hit the big time? “Well, crap,” she said. “Now we have to have dinner tomorrow night.” He laughed. “Pardon me for making your life so miserable.” She slugged him in the arm. “You know what I mean.” “Yeah, I do. So we’re on?” She nodded. “Call me. I’ll take you somewhere magnificent.”

726

“I’d settle for burgers as long as I’m with you.” He didn’t hear her gasp so much as he witnessed it, and that was as confusing as all the rest. Tomorrow night couldn’t come fast enough for him. “Look, I’ve gotta—“ “Sure,” he said, wondering how to end this first meeting. A hug? A kiss? A wave? She solved the problem for him as she slammed up against him, nearly toppling him into the table behind. She squeezed hard, and he felt her breath on his shirt, the heat of her skin, the softness of her breasts. Then she pulled back in every sense of the word. She grabbed her purse and paid the bartender, inching farther and farther away. He didn’t understand it, but he respected her need for space. Taking two steps back, he lifted his splayed hand. “Okay, then. Tomorrow. I’ll call. It’ll be like old times.” She looked at him sharply, catching him off guard yet again. This time he saw pain in her eyes. Real pain. But why? What the hell was going on here? Tomorrow. He’d find out tomorrow. For tonight, he turned, headed back toward his computer and his e-mail. But there was still one thing he had to know. “Renee?” She had made it to the end of the bar. She slowly turned to face him, and her smile seemed weird. “Yeah?” “You married?” She did that blinking thing again. “No.” “Good,” he said. Now he could work. He could fill the next twenty-four hours with a million things. At least he didn’t have to wonder about that.

Chapter Three Renee watched Jim walk to the far end of the bar. She lost him in the crowd, but his last question still reverberated. Jim, her first, biggest and only love, whom she hadn’t seen in eight years, who had never once thought of her as anything but a friend, had wanted to know if she was married. That wasn’t half as bizarre as his reaction when she’d told him she wasn’t. He’d said good and then he’d smiled. Smiled as if that was the best news he’d heard all day. What the hell? She hadn’t changed that much. She’d lost weight, but not enough to make a difference, and she wasn’t allergic to the idea of being a girl anymore. Hair, makeup, hell, whatever worked was all right by her. But just as she still saw Jim as Jim from the second-floor dorm, he had to still see her as chubby, weird Renee. The one who’d helped him not look like a dork when he asked Lena Charles out. Who’d smiled when Lena had insinuated herself into their circle. Who’d died each time she watched Jim touch Lena, not to mention kiss her. A bump from the back propelled Renee to move. She left the bar and drove right to the little market by her apartment building. All she needed was a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and she was back in the car, heading home. She’d lied about having a meeting tonight. Not that she made a habit of that, but she needed time to adjust, to wrap her head around his being here. So she’d thrown out the first thing to cross her mind when, in fact,

727

there was just her bed, her cat, a spoon and a lot of thinking on her personal docket. She had a decision to make. Should she really have dinner with him tomorrow night? Just seeing him brought back so many conflicting emotions. He’d been her best friend for three years until he’d graduated a year ahead of her. He’d been there for her when she went out on her few disastrous dates, but he’d never once asked her out. Or kissed her. Or given her any indication he thought of her as anything more than a friend. She’d probably been a fool to continue the friendship, but she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of not seeing him. She got home, fed Cooper, who loved her unconditionally as long as she provided food, and got into her most comfy pajamas. Then, with the TV off and the lights dimmed, she ate spoonful after spoonful of Cherry Garcia until there was none left. By the time she threw out the carton, she’d decided to meet him. Even after twelve years, she was still incapable of turning him away. And yes, she understood fully that he would break her heart. Again.

*** Jim got to the restaurant ten minutes early. He’d spent the day wandering around Atlanta, but the sights held little interest for him. All he could think about was dinner with Renee. She’d made college one of the best experiences of his life. She’d been his biggest cheerleader, encouraging him to trust that computer game design was something that would pay off, not the waste of time his father never failed to caution him about. Renee had helped him believe in himself, that he could accomplish anything. It was that belief that had been the genesis of PSL and had led directly to his success. He wished he understood what was going on with her. Why she’d been so…odd. Was it guy trouble? Work? The more he thought about it, it made sense she’d gone into advertising. Her quick mind and unique point of view would give her a big edge over the competition. But maybe she was disappointed with herself for not writing that novel. She’d chosen the place—an Italian joint in a strip mall that had been easy to find, but, as she’d warned, nothing much to look at from the outside. Inside wasn’t much better. Just a bunch of wooden tables with checkered tablecloths and the always popular Chianti-bottle candleholders. She was already there, looking fresh and pretty in a white shirt and blue jeans. Her smile did something to his insides as he made his way to the table. “Got some sun, did you?” she asked, as he sat across from her. He nodded. “Forgot the sunscreen. Now I’m going to have a big red nose when I give my presentation on Monday.” “I’ll need to hear all about that,” she said, “but first, let’s get some vino, okay?” He nodded, still disconcerted to actually be here with her. It hit him all over again. Renee. Sitting right across from him. They ordered and chatted about his sightseeing until the waiter brought the wine and the antipasto. Finally they were alone, and he stretched his legs under the table, comfortable to hear all about his friend’s life. “So, the presentation?” He shook his head. “I’m boring as hell. You first.”

728

She shook her head, and it was hard to believe this was the same Renee. Her curls had been legendary, at least in the dorm, and she’d been defiant in her dedication to her own outrageousness. Now her hair looked soft and silky, moving gently against her shoulders. “You can’t possibly be as boring as me,” she said. “Although I probably should get extra points for how much my job sucks.” “Naw, come on.” “No, really. I was at the bar yesterday because I’d just lost a big promotion. I completely deserved it, too. It’s all politics and bull, but still, it matters. Now I have to regroup and go a different way, and the idea of interviewing gives me hives. So, yeah. I win at the sucking part.” He leaned forward and took her hand in his. “I know, without even knowing what your company does, that whoever runs it is a moron. So screw them. Go somewhere you can be appreciated.” Renee laughed. “Damn, I’ve missed that.” “It’s just the truth. You’re smart and funny. You see the world in a way that’s totally yours. What ad firm wouldn’t count you as their biggest asset?” Renee slipped her hand from under his and gripped her wineglass. His words thrilled her, and yet… He didn’t know her. He was looking at her through nostalgia-vision which was fine, but not accurate. She wasn’t all that, and being passed over for the promotion proved her case. “You can’t have changed that much,” Jim said. “People don’t. I mean, you can change goals and dreams, but who we are in college is pretty much who we’re going to be for the rest of our lives. All the important stuff like values and morals and work ethic, that was all there then, and I don’t see, unless something really huge happened, that it would—“ His eyebrows came down and his lips thinned for a moment. “Did something huge happen? Did I just stick both feet in?” You happened, she thought. You spoiled me for all other men. I compared each one to you, did you know that? “No. Nothing happened. No big losses, no big wins. Just the daily grind and too many disappointments. Which is why I want to know about your presentation.” He looked at her for a long time. Long enough for them to get their food and to take a few bites. Then he told her about his life, and as she listened, all the reasons she’d fallen for him came trotting back. For her, Jim was the one. Always had been. Always would be. Just her damn luck.

*** She’d parked a block away, and Jim being Jim, he insisted on escorting her to the car. She tried to tell him she was perfectly safe, but he wasn’t having any of it. She didn’t know how to take his persistence, whether she should read anything into. Maybe all he really wanted to do was be a gentleman and walk her to her car. “I’m really sorry about the job,” he said. “But maybe this is going to be your big chance. Have you thought about leaving Atlanta? Trying your luck in L.A. or even better, New York?” Now that she knew he lived in New York, that had been scratched off her list. But after the “even better” remark, she didn’t know again. “Maybe L.A. They’ve got some good firms there.” “See? That’s what I’m talking about. They’d be lucky to have you.” “You’re right,” she said, actually believing it. They’d talked for hours, and some time during her second glass of wine, she’d stopped thinking about the past and focused on the present. No matter what, she liked Jim.

729

He was here only for a moment, and what a fool she’d be to let her romantic nonsense get in the way. “That’s mine,” she said, pointing to her two-year-old BMW. He gave it no more than a cursory look, but she couldn’t say the same when he turned to her. “I’m not leaving for a few days,” he said. “I want to see you tomorrow, so can you cancel anything you have?” She had to smile. He may look all suave in his expensive shoes and his buffed chest, but he was still Jim. Telling it exactly the way he saw it, no matter what. “Okay,” she said, seeing no need to tell him there was nothing to cancel. “Call me, but not too early because I intend to sleep in.” “We could sleep in together.” “We will. You at your hotel and me in my apartment,” she said, and tried not get all gushy at his deep and throaty laugh. She unlocked her car, and when she turned back, he was already stepping away. “You remember how to get back to your hotel?” He nodded. “Okay, then. Great. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I had fun tonight.” “Me, too. Sleep well.” She wouldn’t but she smiled anyway. “You, too,” she said as she opened the car door. She felt him behind her even before his hand touched her shoulder. A second later he’d turned her around. When she looked up into his dark eyes she saw something she’d never dared hope to see. Passion. Fire. Then she felt his lips touch hers, and she lost the ability to think.

Chapter Four Jim wrapped his arms around Renee’s body as he kissed her, holding her tight as they stood in the street. At first she felt stiff, awkward, and he almost pulled back, but then her lips parted, the muscles in her back relaxed and… There. This was how it was supposed to be. Renee, pliant and willing, tasting of wine and memories. He wanted her to understand, to know how much she’d meant to him. It was her faith that had changed everything, that had given him courage and strength. It had been her laughter that had helped him see that not everything was life or death, and that a mistake wasn’t the end of the world. She’d worked her magic on him all that time ago with lessons he’d never forgotten, but he’d always wished things could have been different. He had no illusions that one kiss would change her world. Just that it might change his. Abandoning thought, he focused instead on the way she felt pressed against him. How eagerly she thrust her tongue into his mouth, and how her fingers gripped the back of his neck. He should have found her before this. He should have kissed her on one of those long nights. What in the hell had he been thinking?

*** Renee pulled back just enough to take in a steadying breath, then met his lips once more with her own. She could scarcely believe they were kissing. She’d dreamed of this moment for so long, she wasn’t sure it was real. If it were a dream, she never wanted to wake up.

730

He ran his hand over her back, and like the good student she was, she followed his lead. His body wasn’t thin and lanky anymore but firm and muscled. She wanted to touch his skin, to feel all of him, but she would take what she could get. He moaned, then moved his mouth to her neck, nipping, licking, then to her jaw and with a sweep of hot tongue, back to her lips. She opened herself to him, willing herself just to be here this second, to not let her foolish thoughts jump ahead to the end. Every time she slipped up, when she pictured him leaving, he would pull her back to the present with his hands and his heat. She wasn’t sure how long they kissed. Only that he let her know he wanted more when his hand went to the small of her back to hold her steady as he rubbed against her. He was hard. Hard for her. He wanted more than a kiss. Hot tears filled her eyes as she let the thought sink in. This was the man of her fantasies, the man she’d loved since she’d understood what love was. But would it hurt more to have him in her bed, in her, and watch him leave? Or would the memory of one night be enough? “Stay with me tonight,” he whispered as his hand moved to the front of her blouse where he found and cupped her breast. The touch made her arch with want and need, and it was impossible to say anything but yes. He stepped away as if it hurt to part. “My car is right by the restaurant.” “I’ll wait here.” He grinned in that I’ve-fixed-a-huge-computer-program-bug way, then he kissed her hard and quick. He left with a bounce in his step that made Renee feel wonderful and strange. She watched him until he disappeared around the block, her heart kind of fluttery and her pulse kind of fast. Her head, now that wasn’t “kind of” anything. She was in an alternate reality, one that was filled with more magic than her world allowed. It would have been a little more understandable if she’d had one of those TV makeovers. Except for her straighter hair and a more grown-up wardrobe, though, she was just the same Renee as always. Still a little chubby, average looking. One of the millions of women who have to earn their way through life with brains, persistence and tenacity because counting on her looks wasn’t in the cards. Jim on the other hand had changed. He was so self-assured. She could see him leading a big presentation, selling everyone in the room on him if not the product. He exuded success, which made her wonder again what the hell? She got into her car and checked herself in the rearview mirror. Nope, she was still her, shiny nose and all. And in a few minutes she was going to be in her bedroom with Jim Lydel. Getting naked. The enormity of her mistake hit her just as Jim pulled up behind her. She needed to call the whole thing off. Now. Naked? With Jim? Who was now disgustingly in shape? Who didn’t even wear glasses anymore so she couldn’t count on his faulty vision? No. No, no, no. A tap on the window made her jump so hard she almost hit the roof of the car.

731

Ten lies came to her in two seconds, all of them lame enough to make her blush. She needed time to think, but he kept signaling her to lower the window. “Hi,” she said, trying to sound as if nothing was wrong. “What’s going on? Is something wrong with the car?” She hadn’t thought of car trouble, but then how far would that get her? He probably worked on cars as a hobby. “No. Car’s fine.” “Are you?” There’d been a time she could have told him the truth. Okay, that was total bull. She’d never told him how much she wanted him, how she loved him. She’d lied and lied and lied, and it was twelve years and a whole lot of heartache later and she still wanted to lie her ass off. “Renee?” “I’m having second thoughts,” she said. At least that part was true. His disappointment was so raw it stole her breath. “Well, sure,” he said. “Perfectly understandable. I mean, yeah. It was presumptuous of me…“ “Jim.” “…to even ask.” He stepped back from the car. “You’ve got this whole life here and—“ “Jim.” He stopped. “It has nothing to do with any of that. I’m embarrassed, that’s all. The whole naked thing. I mean, with you. Especially now that you’re so…” She looked away, her face flaming. “You’re worried about that?” She nodded. “Stupid, yet true.” He came back to her window and crouched down until they were eye level. When he looked at her, his gaze held nothing but honesty and concern. “You’re not stupid. And if you don’t want to do this, I completely understand. I just can’t walk away until I tell you that this is something I’ve wanted to do since the first week I met you.” Renee’s breath caught in her throat and her eyes blurred as she tried to comprehend what he’d just said. But it was too much, too big, and it couldn’t possibly be true. Because if it was… Oh, God.

Chapter Five Jim watched her face carefully after his confession. What he’d said was completely true—he’d wanted to be with Renee since he’d first met her in college. It had never worked out, but now, after all these years apart, he realized those feelings he had in college had been more profound than he could have guessed. He wanted her.

732

What he didn’t understand were her tears. She could have laughed at him and he would have accepted it. She could have looked horrified or uncomfortable. All perfectly reasonable responses. But tears? Not just damp eyes, but full-blown crying. His first impulse was to back away, to not do any more damage, but he needed to get through this. To know what she was thinking. Renee wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving black marks around her eyes. He forced himself not to grin. This wasn’t the time for teasing. “Ignore me,” she said with a sniff. “Impossible.” She looked away, but he could see her shoulders shake as she cried harder. “Renee? Have I done something really stupid here?” She shook her head, but she didn’t turn to face him. “Do you want me to leave? I will even though I don’t want to.” “No,” she said, her voice cracking in the middle of the single syllable. “Just to your car. You can follow me, if you still want to.” He stood. “I’m right behind you.”

*** Renee watched in the rearview mirror as he jogged back to his rental. She wished she could stop the crying already, but what he’d said had turned her world upside down. He’d wanted to kiss her, sleep with her, since the first week of college? That couldn’t be right. It couldn’t. She’d have known. He’d have done something that would have given her a clue. She put the car in gear and headed toward her apartment, glancing in the rearview mirror to reassure herself every few seconds that Jim was following. It was simply impossible to wrap her mind around his statement. She’d loved Jim Lydel with all her heart and soul, and it had been completely one-sided. She’d ached for him to touch her and not like a pal. She’d died inside each time he went out with a new girl, especially Lena. How many hours she’d spent listening to Sarah McLachlan in her ennui or Alanis Morissette in her fury. Till this day, hearing either one pulled Renee back to those days at Stanford in the most visceral way, although now she’d have a new picture of Jim in her head. She couldn’t have been that mistaken. No, it was definitely his problem, not hers. She swung into the parking lot of her building, making sure she left Jim a space nearby. By the time they were heading toward the stairs, she felt much more under control. Of course it would hurt for him to remember how it really had been, but she owed it to her friend to set the record straight. He hadn’t ever wanted her except as a friend. Period. Her determination, however, didn’t stop the feelings that swamped her as they walked side by side. She kept skittering over to the dream, to pretending what he’d said was true. Insanity, pure and simple. Especially when he brushed the back of her hand with his own.

733

Did he want to hold hands? Like lovers do? Thankfully, before she could find out one way or the other, they got to her place. She opened the door, and went straight to hostess mode, which was the safest place she could find. Jim didn’t want a drink. Or a snack. Or even to sit in the living room. He stood by the fireplace, hands in his pockets, and watched her as if she might do something crazy. Like touch him. Or kiss him. “Renee, honey. Talk to me.” She wanted to shout “Don’t speak to me like that,” but she held her tongue. “I guess I freaked you out,” he said, taking a tentative step toward her. She’d put her purse on the dining room table so she had nothing at all to hide behind. Maybe she should go get herself a glass of wine. Yes, that would— “Maybe it was selfish, but I needed you to know how I felt. I’ve thought about you a million times since we said goodbye. I knew you were in Atlanta, but I didn’t have the balls to look you up, probably because I figured nothing had changed. That you could only see me as a friend. Nothing more.” “Me?” She hadn’t meant for her voice to sound so sharp, but now that she’d spoken, she couldn’t stop herself. “I’m not the one who wanted to be friends. It killed me that you never asked me out. I’ve been in love with you for years.” She stopped, horrified at what she’d admitted. But her mortification changed as his expression shifted from confusion to utter bewilderment. “You’ve been in love…” Nothing held him back this time. He came up to her and took hold of her shoulders. Stared straight into her eyes. “Every time I tried to ask you out, you cracked a joke. When I touched you, you backed away. I tried everything I could think of, and every time you shot me down.” “No,” she whispered. “That’s not true.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Think back.” She did. And her heart nearly stopped beating as the memories hit her. It was a good thing he held her because her knees weakened and she surely would have fallen. He had tried. Only, she’d been so certain he couldn’t want her that she’d made it happen. Even that very first meeting, when he’d sat next to her in the cafeteria, he’d flirted. She’d seen none of it. Her guard had been up for so long, protecting her from any hint of cruelty, she’d been blind. “Oh, my God,” she said. “I never…” “Christ, Renee,” he said, as he pulled her to him. “What a horrible waste.” Tears welled once again, but this time she didn’t try to hold them back. She could see now, with painful clarity, that she’d been her own worst enemy. Lots of reasons came to her, but none of them mattered. She’d lost so very much. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes once more. “I think we’ve wasted enough opportunities, don’t you?” She sniffed again as she nodded. Jim swept a tear from her cheek, then lowered his lips to hers. Her first thought, despite the physical thrill that chased through her body, was that she didn’t deserve him. Her second was that a bigger fool had never been born.

734

They had wasted too many opportunities. She had spent too many years in her self-imposed prison. Tonight was a new beginning. She had the man she’d loved forever in her arms. The hard part was over—he’d told her how he felt. All she had to do was believe. She parted her lips and welcomed him into her body. It was a small step, but only one of many. She ran her hands down his back, awash in this heady knowledge that he wanted her touch. Wanted her. Just the way she was. Inch by inch, she relaxed into the sparkling new universe. When she rubbed against him and felt the press of his erection on her hip, she took his hand in hers and led him straight to her bed.

Chapter Six He didn’t want to embarrass her or make her uncomfortable, but damn, he was anxious for the undressing part. How often had he pictured Renee naked? From the first postadolescent fantasies that were an amalgam of pictures he’d seen in Playboy to the refinements he’d added as he’d seen actual naked women, Renee had been in his head now for twelve years. After college, after his disastrous relationship with Lena, he’d hooked up with several women, all of whom were great. Their only real problem was that they weren’t her, despite the fact that they all reminded him of Renee in some way. Catherine had that familiar sense of humor. Jody had encouraged him with Renee’s ferocity. Annette, well, all she’d had was a wild head of curls. They were all substitutes and stand-ins. Now that he had the real deal, he felt oddly nervous. As if he were back at Stanford, a recent virgin who barely knew what went where. She stopped in front of her large bed and he was startled to see this room was nothing like her dorm. Of course it wasn’t—the dorm was years ago. And yet, when he’d pictured the two of them in front of a bed, it was that awful twin with the batik bedspread. The walls had been covered by posters, a mixture of rock stars and political movements. To see her in this pale green room with matching wooden furniture and actual art on the walls was as disconcerting as her straight hair. “What’s wrong?” she asked, and he could hear her anxiety in the two words. “Nothing. I just always pictured us in the dorm.” She laughed in surprise, if that hand covering her mouth was any indication. “I always pictured us at the beach.” “We never went to the beach.” “What can I tell you? I guess I saw From Here to Eternity one too many times.” “What?” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” He put his hand behind her neck and pulled her carefully forward. “You matter.” “So you pictured us. This. Us.” “All the damn time.” “I promise this isn’t denial speaking, but why didn’t you tell me I was being a horse’s ass?”

735

He grinned, then kissed her forehead. “I was too busy being young and inexperienced. It never occurred to me that I was your secret.” “Boy,” she said, laying her hand right over his heart. “Were you ever. I can’t tell you how many nights I cried myself to sleep.” “I’m sorry. I wish it had been easier. For both of us.” She leaned back so she could look into his eyes. “Can I ask you one more thing?” “Anything.” She sighed, and her eyes grew troubled. “I’m not fishing,” she said. “I swear. But why? What did you see?” He started to answer, but cut himself off. “Let me show you,” he said, just before he kissed her. As his tongue plunged inside the heat of her mouth, his hands went straight to the buttons of her blouse. He had to slow his impulse to rip the silly things off, and his patience paid off quickly when the back of his hand brushed the smooth skin just above her breasts. She inhaled sharply, and he felt that, too. They breathed each other’s air, trembled with the same anticipation. If she only knew that his hard-on felt exactly as it had when he was in political science class, sitting in the back row so he could hide his condition, barely listening to the lecture as his concentration was solely on Renee. When he felt her hand on his zipper, he was the one to gasp. He pulled back, needing his heart to slow down, his cock to settle. “Wait,” he said. She pulled back in alarm. “Hey, I just meant that if we don’t slow down, I may embarrass myself.” “Wha—oh.” “Yeah.” She giggled, and he knew that was a sound he’d never get over. She used to giggle a lot in the old days. Mostly at him, at his insistence that everything in life was deadly serious and that one misstep would be in his permanent record forever. She’d busted him enough times that he’d had to give it up. And that, as they say, had made all the difference. “What is that grin for?” He didn’t answer because the explanation would be so lame, but he did finish unbuttoning her blouse. Even with the bra, plain, white, clearly not one of Victoria’s secrets, he felt flushed, anxious and privileged. Her skin was beautiful, her body lush and enticing. God, how he loved the look of her. He couldn’t wait to touch everything.

*** Renee had to keep reminding herself that Jim was looking at her. That those eyes, that expression was a reaction to this body. The one she barely tolerated. The body that had taken all the blame. Not just for Jim, but for every disappointment, every failure. How crazy she’d let her life become, with a convenient fall guy built right in.

736

“You’re amazing,” he said. “But I want more.” Braver than she’d ever been, she let her blouse slide to the floor. Then she unzipped her pants and they fell as well. She wished she’d worn prettier underwear, but then again, wasn’t that the old thinking? Look at him, she thought. He thinks I’m beautiful. Right here. Right now. There was never going to be a better moment. She reached behind and unhooked her bra. As soon as she let it drop, she lost the panties. And then she stood up straight. Naked and new. She looked into his shining eyes and she forgave herself. For cheating herself out of years of happiness. For blaming her body for so much. For the walls she’d built that had never protected her from a damn thing. He studied her as if she were a work of art, and damn if she didn’t start feeling like one. She stood still, letting him look, letting him see. And when he took off his clothes, she returned the favor, gulping in his stunning physique, the chest, the tummy, the generous and flattering erection. When he came to her, pulling him against his hard, hard body, she sighed as it hit her yet again that this wasn’t a dream or a fantasy. It was her Jim. Quite literally in the flesh. “My God, you feel so good,” he whispered. His warm breath brushed against her temple. She touched him. Her fingers traced the contour of his back. She felt his muscles, his very sinew as he moved. His hand brushed from her back to her waist, making her tremble. Or was it this astonishing sense of freedom that was the cause? She rested her cheek against his shoulder and breathed in his scent. Clean, soapy, wonderful. He petted her hair with his left hand as he continued his exploration with the right. But he was finished with the outside – now he was going for the juicy parts. His hand was at the edge of her very neatly trimmed bush, making her so glad that she’d done the upkeep. And then she dismissed all thoughts of trimming because his fingers had slipped inside. They gasped at the same time, her because it was Jim inside her, and him, well, she hoped it was because it felt smooth and warm and welcoming. Her eyes fluttered closed as he touched and rubbed. She let herself touch him in her search for his cock. It all felt fantastic, but the smooth, hard/soft heat of him as she gripped his length, that was beyond the moon. “I can’t take this much more,” he said. She squeezed him just a bit. “This?” “All of it. I need you on the bed. Now.” She kissed the curve of his neck, brushed the head of his cock with her palm, then pulled away. It was awful, that space between them, so she hurriedly pulled back the comforter and climbed between the sheets. He was on her heels, and in a whirlwind of activity, her head landed on the pillow, his fingers were back inside her and his tongue, well his tongue had found the most perfect of places to play.

Chapter Seven

737

Jim stiffened his tongue as he swirled it around Renee’s nipple, moaning as it budded in his mouth. He felt as if he were drowning in pleasure. The smell of her, so sweet and powdery, the taste of her skin, the incredible softness gripping his fingers. It was a banquet, an orgy of sensations. All made more delectable by her accompanying squirms and whimpers. He’d imagined this moment a thousand times back in college, but he’d paid her short shrift. He never could have imagined all of this all at once. If women only understood the power of their softness… He pumped his fingers again into the tight heat between her legs. There was no sensation like it. None. Not the purest silk, not the warmest cream, nothing felt exactly like that, especially when it wasn’t just fingers. That thought alone made his penis jerk, and he knew that as incredible as the appetizer felt, it was nothing compared to the main course. But he was a man who’d learned the art of delayed gratification. Not by choice, but the lessons had stayed with him. He moved his mouth to her other breast and shifted his thumb to her clit. He circled both perfect nubs and sighed as she gasped. He’d known she would be responsive like this. That she would abandon herself to the pleasure. She’d hate it if he told her, but he used to get totally turned on watching her eat. She took such pleasure in her food. Her eyes would sparkle, she’d lean back, making her breasts jut out, and God, the sounds. She used to joke that a perfect crème brûlée would give her a tiny little orgasm. He didn’t think it was so funny. She’d given him a preview of what things could be like between them. Then, when he touched her, she slipped away. Always beyond his reach. It didn’t seem possible that she hadn’t gotten his signals. But then he’d been young and clumsy, so maybe it was all his fault. There was no way to go back to fix things, so he’d have to make up for it now. He wanted her orgasm to blow the roof off the building. He wanted her to want him again and again. He stopped at that thought. He hadn’t planned on seeing Renee ever again. He’d convinced himself that it was a college crush—an unrequited one at that. So this was a treat, a surprise, a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Or not. Her head came up from the pillow. “What’s wrong?” He smiled at her look of concern. “Not a thing. Except that I’m not quite the kid I was, and I don’t think I can hold off much longer.” She grinned back. “I’ll give you a chance to recover a bit. I’ve got condoms in the bathroom. They should still be good. They’re in the first drawer as you walk in.” “Ah, smart girl. Although I wish…” “Yeah. Me, too.” He kissed her nipple, gave it one last lick, then somehow made it to his feet. He looked down at the tent pole sticking straight out, but he didn’t really mind how ridiculous he looked. Well, her laughter made him mind a bit. The box of condoms was right where she’d said, and being an optimist, he brought the whole box back to the bed. She hadn’t moved much except to plump the pillow under her head, the better to watch him. “I remember you without your shirt,” she said. “You definitely didn’t look like this at Stanford.”

738

“I have a home gym.” He sat on the edge of the bed, aching to touch her again, but first he had to pay attention to the mechanics. Once he got the box open, he pulled out a small packet. “And a personal trainer who has no mercy whatsoever.” “When you get home, you tell him Renee says thanks.” Jim laughed, but his smile faded as he realized his trip to the bathroom hadn’t done a damn thing to diminish his hard-on. He needed to think of something, anything, that wasn’t Renee if he wanted this to last more than thirty seconds. Damn, he should have gotten into baseball when he’d had the chance. No wonder so many guys loved the game. The stats gave them a perfect way to trick their overstimulated brains. He opened the package and slipped the cool rubber over his very hot flesh. Once on, he looked at the beautiful woman laying in wait, and he knew that no amount of statistics, baseball or otherwise, was going to help him. Not this first time. Twelve years he’d waited for this moment. Damn shame it was going to be over so fast, but then, there was always take two, right? “What are grinning at?” she asked, looking at him through narrowed eyes. He moved closer to her on the bed, put his hands on either side of her pillow so he was up close and personal. “I want this to be perfect,” he said, “but the odds of that happening are about a billion to one.” She blinked her long lashes. “You’re joking, right?” His breath caught, and he tried not to let her see his panic. “Well, hey, you know, I wanted to at least try even though—“ Her fingers went to his lips. “No, you idiot. I wasn’t— It’s already perfect.” It was his turn to blink. To let her words sink in. So that’s how it happened. All those misunderstandings came from wanting this so badly. From the fear that a word or a gesture could ruin the most important thing in the world. “You’re right,” he said. “You are already perfect.” To put a finer point on the sentiment, he kissed her. Kissed her as if it was that first week of college. As if he’d just asked her to the prom. As if they had always been together.

*** Renee kissed him back, and the wonder struck her yet again. His kiss. Jim’s kiss. Jim’s tongue. Jim’s body, naked, his legs pressing against her knees, begging her to spread herself. Jim, ready to make love to her. To Renee, the kid from the dorm. The one who’d cried when she listened to all that music. She opened herself to him. Her mouth, her thighs, her heart. If this was it, the one magical moment allotted by whomever makes up the universe, she would give it her all. She hadn’t been around that many blocks, but she did know that chances like this didn’t happen often, and they tended to disappear with only regret in their wake. Not this time.

739

She touched him everywhere she could, tasted his tongue his lips, his neck. She moved her whole body against him, wanting to remember the exact sensation. And when he moved his hand to get himself in position, she tried like hell not to anticipate the moment of entry because that was maybe her favorite thing—to be fully alive, fully present. He grunted and moved inside her just a tiny bit. Just the head of his penis. She opened her eyes, which surprised her because she didn’t remember closing them. He was looking at her, his face only inches away. His smile filled her with such happiness. It was almost perfect. Almost. She pushed herself up, forcing him to go deeper, to fill her. All the while with her eyes wide-open. “Say my name,” she whispered. “Please.”

Chapter Eight “Renee,” Jim said as he looked at her with such need it made her eyes fill with tears. He entered her then, slowly. It was difficult to keep her eyes open, but she had to. She had to mark this moment. This was her one chance to be part of him. This man whom she’d loved for so long, whom she’d never stopped loving. She arched her back, pressing into him as his body and hers became one. It was corny as hell, but she didn’t care. She’d tried for years to become cynical, to pretend that love was no big thing. It wasn’t. It was everything. “Jim,” she whispered. “Oh, my God.” He chuckled low, the deep sound weaving a spell. When he moved, slowly pulling back only to fill her again, it was as if she’d never done this before. “You feel so good,” he said. “So soft and warm.” She opened her mouth, but no words came. Just an inarticulate moan of utter satisfaction. She wanted this to go on forever. Damn, she was so screwed. She’d thought this one time would be enough. That she’d gather the moments and keep them in a box near her bed. But memories would be nothing. They would only remind her that she’d had a perfect night. “Whoa,” he said. “What happened. Come back to me.” She opened her eyes, once again surprised that she’d closed them. “I’ve just loved you for so long,” she confessed. “All those years, and I thought—“ “I’m here now,” he said. “We’re here together. Let’s not be anywhere else.” She nodded, knowing he was right. There would be plenty of time for regrets. Tonight, there was no room for anything but joy.

740

He kissed her again, softly, as he made love to her. She held on to him with her arms and then her legs, wrapped up around his back. She loved what he was doing to her, but she also wanted more. Wasn’t that just like her? Not seeing the truth in the moment, but projecting, always projecting. She zeroed in on his face as he pulled back. She studied his face, noticed a hundred small changes that made him a man instead of the boy she’d known. It wasn’t just his body that had grown up; he had come into his own. There was a sureness about him, a maturity that could stand up to any storm. Had she done as well? Despite today’s setback she was proud of her work, and yes, she could leave Atlanta behind and make her mark in a bigger arena. So she supposed her confidence had increased. But maturity? Perhaps more than satisfying an old itch, Jim’s sudden appearance in her life was the beginning of a new age for her. Now that she understood she’d missed all his signals, she could look at other areas of her life where she might have done the same. There was no fear in the thought, only excitement at what she might learn. “There you are,” he said. “Stay with me. I want to remember this. You.” She nodded, then gasped as he picked up the tempo. He continued to take her breath away as the man inside her slipped from gentle to demanding. Her whole body tingled as he took her. The muscles of his back bunched and released, his breath came in short, hot gulps, and his eyes, those eyes! They seared her with passion. Her legs dropped, unable to keep up with him. All she could do was anchor herself to the bed and let the feelings overwhelm her senses. “I love your body,” he said, his voice even lower, huskier. “It’s what I dreamed of.” He said this as he braced himself with one hand and swept the other over her skin with a possessiveness she’d never have imagined. “You’re perfect, Renee.” She struggled to believe him, but only for a moment. There was no doubt he was telling her the truth. The second she accepted his words, she came. It wasn’t like any orgasm she’d had. It was a whole new climax for an entirely new woman. She’d been reborn and her body trembled with the truth of it. He pushed and pushed, and his expression turned fierce and beautiful as he came. They strained together, and when it was over, they melted into each other as if they’d traded bones for liquid heat. For a long time, the only sound was their mingled breaths. He was heavy on top of her, but she didn’t mind. When she could, she rubbed his back. He finally lifted his head. “Damn,” he said. He kissed her hard, then rolled over. Before she could complain, he reached down for the blanket and pulled it over them both, then he snuggled up beside her. “That was amazing,” he said. “Just way the hell too fast.” “Do you hear me complaining?” “No. You’re too nice to say anything.” “Ha. I’ve never been that nice.” He nodded. “True.”

741

She pinched his side, and he pouted in the most masculine of ways. It felt good to laugh. To tease. To just be with the best friend she’d ever had. “So I was thinking,” he said. “About that whole job thing.” The teasing she knew was over. A new sensation filled her with equal parts dread and hope. “Yeah?” “There’s lots of advertising agencies in New York. I work with several, and I’m thinking you might find one good enough.” “So you think I should move to New York,” she repeated. “For work.” He turned on his side, resting on his elbow. His expression was open, excited. “Not just for work, no. The truth is, I don’t want this to be over. It took too damn long to find you again.” That was it. She’d never dared hoped to hear those words, not even in her dreams. She burst into tears, hating that she was being such a girl. “Renee, oh, man. Please tell me those are good tears, okay? Please.” “Good,” she managed to mumble. “Very, very good.” “Oh, thank God. So you think there’s a shot? That you might like to at least try New York?” She sniffed, then realized that wasn’t going to cut it. She sat up, grabbed some tissue from the bedside table. It took some doing, but finally she felt as if she could face him. Of course, she was wrong about that. The moment she looked at the hope in his eyes, she lost it again. But this time, she didn’t let it stop her. “There’s more than a shot. I’ll turn in my resignation tomorrow. I’ll let the landlord know I’m moving.” “You’re sure? This is big,” he said. He shifted on the bed, made a face and said, “Hold that thought.” Then he headed for the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Renee took advantage of his absence and blew her nose. Then she tried to wipe some of the mascara off her face, and pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. He wanted her. For keeps. He wanted her to move to New York and… And then what? Find an apartment? Move in with him? Oh, God. This was too much, too big, and how could she make this kind of a decision when she was punchdrunk with love? The bathroom door swung open and Jim walked back to the bed. Still beautifully naked although not quite at full salute. Not to say his enthusiasm had waned. “I have a brownstone,” he said. “It’s really big. You can redecorate if you want, I don’t care. Just so I can keep my office the way I like it. Other than that, it’s all yours. Unless you want us to find another place.” She burst out laughing as he plunked himself down on the bed. “What?”

742

“It’s going to take us both a minute to get used to this, I think.” “You don’t have to live with me. I guess I’m going too fast here, but I—“ Once again, she put her fingers to his lips. “I want to live with you. I’ve always wanted that. It’s just that my savings account isn’t exactly filled to the brim. Moving and all—“ “It’s not a problem. I can take care of it.” She leaned over to kiss him. “You might be able to, but no. I’ll figure out a way. Damn, if only I’d gotten all six numbers.” “What?” “Last night’s lottery. It was worth millions. But I only got five out of six.” He pulled his head back and gave her the strangest look. “Have you ever played the lottery before?” “A couple of times. Really. I’m not a compulsive gambler or anything.” ”Have you ever read the rules?” “No, but I’m over twenty-one, so—” “Renee, honey, you won.” “No, I got five out of—” “Five out of six wins. Not the megamillions, but a sizeable chunk.” “How sizeable?” “I don’t know. Do you have today’s paper?” She was halfway to the living room before the sentence ended. His laughter followed her, but she was too anxious to find out what this meant. She didn’t even know where to look, so Jim took over. He found the page, folded the paper and read. “Well? “How does two-hundred-forty-thousand dollars sound?” “What?” she said, only her voice was this tiny little squeak. “Please tell me you didn’t throw away the ticket.” “No, I’ve still got it. But can I see?” He showed her where it said the amount, and she read it over and over until it sank in. “And here I thought it was just my luck to lose the promotion and the lottery all in one day.”

743

“Well, you didn’t get the big prize,” Jim said. She took his face in her hands and kissed him square on the lips. “Are you kidding? I totally got the big prize.”

744

Where the Boys Are by Kathryn Springer Writer Julianne March lives a well-ordered, solitary existence, and she likes it that way. But when a handsome widower and his rambunctious twin sons move in next door, her quiet life is turned on its head! Chris Rhodes was a driven corporate executive before his wife’s death. Now with a deepened faith and different priorities, he has moved back to his home town to raise his sons. While their country house is being renovated, the three boys move in with a relative—and immediately upset their new neighbor, a children’s book author who doesn’t seem to like children….

Chapter One Julianne March was being watched. She could feel it. Closing her laptop, Julianne rose to her feet just as a rock arched gracefully over a hedge of wild roses and landed with an impressive splash directly in the center of her fishpond, spraying her with water from head to toe. Her shriek launched a flock of purple finches into the trees. Two identical faces poked cautiously around the hedge, and Julianne blinked. No, she wasn’t hallucinating. Two tawny heads. Two pairs of wide brown eyes. The only significant difference between them she could see was that one of the boys sported a Band-Aid above his left eyebrow. “Where did you come from?” Julianne demanded. The boys exchanged uncomfortable looks. “She’s old. You’d think she’d know that by now,” the one with the bandage muttered. Julianne felt the strangest urge to laugh, but she didn’t. She’d moved into the neighborhood six months ago and knew no young children lived in the vicinity. The row of Victorian homes on Rose Street, as quaint and pretty as charms on a bracelet, were occupied by people who didn’t care about whirlpool baths, oversize garages and how close they were to the school and the hospital. Those people built new homes in the subdivision cropping up on the outskirts of town. It was one of the main reasons Julianne had chosen this neighborhood. The other reason was that she’d immediately fallen in love with the turn-of-the-century carriage house that Stella Rhodes, her elderly landlady, had decided to rent out. “Where do you live?” Julianne emphasized the last word so there was no mistaking her meaning this time. The boy with the Band-Aid shrugged. “Here.” Julianne took a deep breath. Patience. “That isn’t true.” “We do, too.” Identical scowls puckered their foreheads. Maybe she hadn’t sounded as patient as she thought she had. “I live here—” She started to correct them, but the scowls suddenly disappeared and the boys charged forward. Julianne braced herself for an attack, but they streaked past her. “Is that your dog?”

745

Julianne shot a panicked look over her shoulder and saw Lily, her yellow Labrador retriever, lumbering toward them. “Can we play with her?” “What’s her name?” “Her name is Lily,” Julianne said distractedly. “And no, she doesn’t play. She’s too old.” Three pairs of toffee brown eyes focused on her in disappointment. Julianne clapped her hands and Lily reluctantly padded over and sat down beside her. But her tail continued to thump out a cheerful message to the boys in canine Morse code. “Now.” Julianne winced. She sounded more severe than patient. But she had a deadline to meet and five precious minutes had already been spent on the pint-sized criminals who’d launched a missile into her pond. “What are your names?” “Josh.” The one without the Band-Aid inched closer to Lily and extended his hand. His extremely grubby hand. “Ben.” The other boy lifted his chin in a way that clearly told Julianne she wouldn’t get any more information out of him. “And you came from—” Scratch that. “Why did you say you lived here?” “’Cause we do.” Ben’s eyes narrowed. “We live with our Aunt Stella.” “She’s our great aunt.” Taking advantage of Julianne’s shocked silence, Josh flopped down and wrapped his arms around Lily’s neck. Lily looked a little self-conscious, but gave his cheek a friendly swipe with her tongue anyway. It couldn’t be true. Stella wouldn’t—couldn’t—do this to her. She knew about Julianne’s looming deadline. She knew she needed peace and quiet. And two boys lobbing rocks into her pond certainly didn’t qualify for that! “Josh? Ben?” A muffled but definitely masculine voice penetrated the hedge. “Where are you guys?” Julianne didn’t know much about children, but guessed the sudden tension in the boys’ shoulders meant they were about to flee. She clamped one hand onto each shaggy head just as a man stepped into view. It took Julianne only a split second to match his features—his grown-up, drop-dead gorgeous features—to those of the boys wriggling in her grasp. She steeled herself not to return the stranger’s warm smile as their eyes met across the pond. She arched a brow at him. “I believe these belong to you.”

Chapter Two Several thoughts collided in Chris Rhodes’s head. Julianne March didn’t look a bit like the quiet, reclusive children’s book author his aunt Stella had described. For some reason, he’d expected someone much older. And she was beautiful, her glossy sable hair pulled back in a neat twist that accentuated classic features. Features enhanced by a pair of stunning green eyes. She didn’t look like the carefree, artsy type, either. She wore a conservative white blouse and knee-length floral skirt…spattered with murky brown water spots.

746

The spots could only mean one thing. She’d been formally introduced to the twins. Chris glanced at his sons, who stood frozen in Julianne’s grip. As usual, Ben’s eyes sparkled with defiance—a sure sign he’d been the ring leader of this particular misadventure—while Josh dipped his head and refused to look Chris in the eye. Guilty. No doubt about it. He knew he needed to smooth things over. Fast. “You must be Julianne March. I’m Chris—” “Your…boys…threw a rock into my pond—” Julianne cut the introductions short as she released them. The twins bolted to safety and attached themselves to Chris’s leg like barnacles. “We didn’t throw it.” Ben dared to contradict the woman now that he was beyond her reach. “We catapulted it. I made this really cool catapult—” “Be that as it may.” Julianne’s voice could have kept a gallon of milk cold for a week. “I have fish in the pond and the rock could have—” “Fish? Like trout?” “I have a fishing pole. Can I get it?” “Dad cooks them in butter with their heads still on—” Chris saw the color drain out of Julianne’s face and held up his hand to prevent Ben from launching into a detailed description of how Chris cleaned a fish. The boys could be a little overwhelming even to someone used to the way they spoke in high-definition surround sound. Maybe moving in with Aunt Stella while their new house was being renovated hadn’t been such a good idea. It was going to be a challenge to keep his active sons out of trouble. And, from the looks of it, away from the neighbor they’d be sharing a yard with. “You can’t fish for them. They’re koi, not trout,” he said. Julianne looked confused at the sudden change in topics. Welcome to my world, Chris thought wryly. If it wasn’t for his daily conversations with God and frequent requests for strength and patience, Chris knew he wouldn’t stand a chance. “So?” Ben’s frown clearly said a fish was a fish. “So they’re like…pets,” Julianne explained. Identical faces wearing identical expressions of shock tipped toward Chris. And both questioned their new neighbor’s sanity. Julianne’s eyes accused him of being responsible for this gap in his sons’ education. “They have names. And they swim to the edge of the pond and they eat out of my hand.” “No way.” Ben said under his breath. Chris hoped she hadn’t heard him. At the ripe old age of seven, Ben was starting to develop an edge. This was one of the reasons Chris had decided to leave Chicago and move the boys back to his hometown. Not that Silver Falls was without problems, but it was the kind of place where people still left their doors unlocked and looked out for one another. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to change my clothes and get back to work,” Julianne’s expression communicated exactly how she felt about the interruption to her day. And the cause of it.

747

“Boys.” Chris’s soft prompt let his sons know he expected them to apologize. “We didn’t mean to get you wet,” Josh said quickly. “Yeah. Sorry,” Ben muttered. “But it was a cool catapult.” For a moment, Chris thought he saw a smile tip the corners of Julianne March’s lips. But then her eyes met his over the twins’ heads and the message in their cool green depths didn’t exactly say welcome to the neighborhood. More like private. Keep out. No trespassing. Chris buried a sigh. Strike one against the Rhodes family.

Chapter Three Julianne pivoted sharply, and Lily, with an apologetic look at the boys, fell into step beside her as she walked back to the house. She glanced at her watch. Now she’d have to take time to throw her clothes in the wash and find something else to wear. Thanks to her laptop, the spare bedroom or one of the comfortable chairs in the flower garden served as her office, but dressing in business casual put her in “work” mode and helped her focus on her daily page goal. “She’s crabby.” The childish declaration, delivered by the boy named Ben, came out louder than his apology. Julianne sucked in a breath. Well, how did they expect her to respond when they launched a rock into her fishpond? It could have ended up in her lap. She blamed their father. Chris. If he kept a closer eye on his boys, maybe they would have gotten off to a better start— Start? Julianne caught herself. There was no start. She had to talk to Stella and find out what was going on. A terrifying thought whipped through her mind. Stella was close to seventy. Had she sold the house to her nephew? Was Chris going to be her landlord? His son had sounded quite emphatic when he told her that they lived there. If they were just visiting for a day—or a weekend—wouldn’t he have said so? And if the little hooligans built working catapults, who knew what other creative inventions they could create that had the potential to disrupt her life? “I like her dog.” Josh’s voice—a clear soprano—carried across the yard. Julianne looked down at Lily. “At least you scored some points.” Lily grinned. Just as Julianne got to the door, a large hand tinted brown from the sun, reached around her and opened it. Startled, she spun and found herself looking directly into Chris’s eyes. Eyes the same color as the expensive chocolates her mother put out at Christmas.

748

From the expression on his face, he knew she’d heard his sons’ comments. Julianne’s face burned. She told herself she didn’t care if they thought she was crabby; maybe they’d keep their distance. And she’d get to finish her manuscript. “I just noticed you’re carrying a laptop. It didn’t get wet, did it?” Chris glanced down at the computer tucked under her arm. He was probably worried he’d have to replace it. “I closed it…right before the geyser blew.” Chris’s lips twitched. “I can tell you’re a writer. Julianne looked at him suspiciously. Why? Because of the computer? Or because he thought she was exaggerating? She decided she didn’t want to know. If she didn’t make her goal today, she’d have to skip lunch. “It’s fine. Thank you for your concern…” Her voice sputtered and died. Chris was staring at her lips. Julianne couldn’t remember the last time a man had stared at her lips. Ah, possibly never? She tried to move, but Lily wedged her wide doggy frame between Julianne and the wall. Which had to be the reason Julianne suddenly had trouble breathing. “I…ah…” Need some air. That was it. She needed air. Chris’s hand lifted and his thumb brushed the curve between her lower lip and her chin. Julianne choked. Chris reacted as if Lily had bit him in the ankle. “Ah, you had some…dirt…there.” He backed away. Quickly. “Habit. You know. The boys hate it when I do that. Sorry.” He made a quick getaway. Julianne escaped into the house and sagged against the wall. Maybe she’d been foolish to think that Chris Rhodes’s sons were the ones who were going to turn her life upside down!

Chapter Four Chris couldn’t believe he’d brushed a smudge of dirt off Julianne March’s chin. Her prickly personality didn’t exactly invite a person to get up close and personal. One more black mark against him on their new neighbor’s list—somehow, Chris knew she had a list. She reminded him of someone else who’d been a slave to their day planner. Someone else who’d become so focused on a goal that everything else faded away. “Dad?” Josh darted up to him, Ben close behind. “Do you think she’d let me take Lily for a walk?” Chris hated to crush Josh’s hopes, but the phrase “when pigs fly” seemed to be the most appropriate answer to that question. “I think we need to talk about it.” “That means no,” Ben predicted. Chris shot his older-by-three-minutes son a meaningful look. Ben never minded crushing Josh’s hopes. In his mind, that was what brothers were for. “It doesn’t mean no. It means we have to set some guidelines.”

749

Ben scowled. “Rules.” “We already have to floss our teeth every day.” Josh looked pained. “And make our beds.” “Yeah, I know I ask a lot of you guys,” Chris said dryly, “but hear me out. I’m not sure we made a very good impression on Miss March.” “She didn’t make a good impression on me, either,” Ben mumbled. Chris grabbed him in a headlock and ruffled his hair. “You remember what we’ve been talking about during campfire time.” Josh heaved a sigh. “Love your neighbor.” Chris smiled. God got the credit for the flash of inspiration Chris had had during an unexpected mutiny over bedtime prayers one evening. He’d been trying to memorize simple verses from the Bible and had encouraged the boys to do the same, but they resisted anything remotely resembling homework. So campfire time was born. With the landlord’s permission, Chris bought a fire pit—complete with safety screen—and set it up in the courtyard. He picked a verse from Proverbs, or a parable, and he and the kids talked about it while they roasted hot dogs and marshmallows. After that, Chris closed their time together with a simple prayer asking God to help them live out what they’d learned. “But that was easy when we lived next to Max and Jenny,” Ben said, referring to the elderly couple who’d been their neighbors in Chicago. “Jenny made cookies, and Max watched football with us.” “God didn’t tell us to love our neighbor only if they do nice things. Or if they’re nice people. It starts with us, guys. All you have to do is watch for opportunities.” “Like what?” Josh asked. “Maybe giving her some time to adjust to having new neighbors.” Who catapult rocks into her fishpond. “And respecting her privacy.” “He wants us to leave her alone,” Ben translated. Josh scuffed a furrow in the grass with his toe. “Okay.” Chris detected their reluctance, but decided not to push the issue. In spite of their boundless energy, mixed with a healthy dose of curiosity, he trusted the boys to follow the rules. Aunt Stella waved to them from the porch. “Your contractor just called, Christopher. He said there’s a problem with the electrician.” “Thanks, Stella. We’ll take a drive over there.” A cloud of his aunt’s rose-scented perfume surrounded Chris as he reached the bottom step. Everything in the house was either pink or smelled like Stella’s favorite flower. That morning, Ben had refused to take a shower with soap shaped like roses. Chris loved his father’s twin sister, though. And he knew the boys would, too. As a child, Chris had spent a lot of time at her house, but after he’d left for college and then settled in Chicago, he hadn’t kept in close contact with her. But she’d faithfully sent birthday cards and Christmas letters. Then, after Nicole died, Stella’s frequent phone calls and encouraging notes had helped him through the worst days. He was glad his boys would have the chance to get to know her. “Did you get acquainted with Julianne?” Stella asked.

750

Something in her way-too-innocent tone made warning bells go off in Chris’s head. Stella wouldn’t be trying to play matchmaker. Not between him and Julianne March. Would she? “She is such a gifted young woman. And pretty, too. Don’t you think so?” Chris stifled a groan. On second thought, maybe she would.

Chapter Five “I’m sure I mentioned Christopher and the boys were moving in for a few weeks,” Stella frowned as she dropped a sugar cube into a delicate teacup and handed it to Julianne. Julianne was sure she hadn’t. That in itself was odd. Not only was Stella in good physical health, she was also as sharp as the proverbial tack. Julianne had never witnessed any lapses in her landlady’s memory. Until now. The minute Julianne saw the black pickup truck ease out of the driveway, she’d made her way across the yard to Stella’s house, maneuvering through a veritable minefield of sports equipment and catapult-making tools, to politely inquire about her new neighbors. “It’s just the three of them now.” The lines mapping Stella’s face deepened. “Nicole, Chris’s wife, died in a car accident several years ago. Such a loss—and those sweet little boys only four years old at the time. I have to tell you, it was an answer to prayer when Chris called and told me they were moving back here. He grew up in Silver Falls, you know.” Julianne hadn’t known. She may have rented the carriage house from Stella Rhodes, but she’d been careful to keep her distance. On purpose. They exchanged friendly waves if their paths crossed in the gardens or on their way to the mailbox. On the rare occasion Julianne accepted Stella’s invitation to join her for a cup of tea, she deliberately kept the conversation from becoming too personal. Julianne tamped down the rush of compassion that welled up inside her at the thought of Chris raising his sons alone, and reminded herself that it was his job to keep his children under control. She’d signed a yearlong lease with Stella because she needed a place to work. Without distractions. If she’d known two active little boys hung upside down from the branches of Stella’s family tree, she might have looked for another place to live. “Chris bought a place on River Road just outside of town,” Stella chatted on, assuming Julianne would be interested in his plans—and she was—but not for the reason Stella thought! “The farmhouse needs some work, but the contractor promised Chris it would be finished by mid-July.” Julianne tried to hide her relief. A few weeks. She could survive a few weeks. True, her manuscript was due close to the same time, but Stella knew Julianne didn’t like to be interrupted. Even though Chris Rhodes might be a little on the lackadaisical side when it came to keeping the boys out of trouble, Stella would be there as a buffer. “The timing is perfect.” Stella lifted a plate of delicate shortbread and offered one to Julianne. “They’ll have the whole house to themselves while I’m in New York City.” Julianne choked. “New York City! You’re going…away?” “Oh, dear.” Stella blinked. “Did I forget to mention that, too?” “Yes.” Julianne forced the word out through gritted teeth.

751

Stella had jumped shipped. How…convenient. Julianne gnawed on her lower lip. For a multitude of reasons, she hadn’t been able to write a word since the fishpond incident that morning. Lily, ordinarily content to laze the day away in a patch of sunlight, had paced the living room floor and whined at the door. And the noises coming from the other side of the hedge—the dull thud of a hammer, the scrape of a saw and the cheerful serenade of someone whistling—only broke Julianne’s concentration and not the case of writer’s block she’d been suffering from for the past few days. Julianne took a deep breath. “When are you leaving?” “Day after tomorrow. My friend Gloria has been after me for years to go to the Big Apple with her. I finally gave in.” Julianne’s eyes narrowed. What perfect timing. Stella chuckled. “But don’t worry. If you need help with anything, let Chris know. I’m sure you’ll be good friends by the time I get home.” I don’t want a friend, Julianne wanted to argue. Instead she scraped together her good manners and managed a smile as she rose to leave. Before Chris and his sons returned. “Enjoy your trip.” She’d simply barricade herself in the house for the next two weeks. She wouldn’t have to deal with little boys. Or catapults. Or damaged clothing. Or the warmth in Chris Rhodes’s smile.

Chapter Six Chris looked down from the roof, where he was fixing some loose shingles for his Aunt Stella, and saw Julianne crossing the yard toward the house. For the fourth time in the past two days. Usually the twins were slinking along behind her, their chins practically scraping the grass. This time she was alone, but Chris still doubted it was a social call. Okay, Lord, I need some wisdom. Or else double the size of the hedge between our houses. Not that it would prevent the twins from finding a way around it. No matter how busy he tried to keep the boys, they managed to slip away the second his back was turned. And for some reason, Julianne’s tiny square of yard, neatly hemmed in by rose bushes, acted like a magnetic field to Josh and Ben. He sighed, wondering what they’d done this time. The misdemeanors kept piling up. Monday she’d caught Ben and Josh feeding their grilled cheese sandwiches to her koi. The day before, she’d informed him the boys were building something in the maple tree overlooking her patio. Which explained why his hammer and a box of nails had mysteriously disappeared. Chris usually took the twins on a daily outing to check the progress on their new home, but the landscaping team had decided to reseed the entire yard, and they’d made it clear they didn’t want little footprints decorating their work. Julianne reached the ladder and looked up. The sunlight picked out threads of mahogany in the glossy curtain of hair framing her face and the bottle green eyes held a hint of panic.

752

What now? The last time he’d checked on Ben and Josh, they’d been engrossed in a video game he’d rented for them that morning. Chris hooked the hammer in the loop on his tool belt and made his way down the ladder. “I…Lily is missing. Have you seen her? I let her out a little while ago and now I can’t find her.” Chris heard the undercurrent of worry in her voice. One of the things he’d quickly figured out about Julianne was that she and her dog were inseparable. In fact, judging from the lack of activity on the other side of the hedge, Chris wondered if Lily was Julianne’s only friend. “No, I haven’t. But I’ll ask the boys.” “She never leaves the yard,” Julianne fretted, following him around the house, where the boys had converted Aunt Stella’s three-season room into their own private hangout. Chris pushed open the door and spotted Ben still camped out in front of the television, his gaze riveted on the racetrack he was navigating. “Where’s Josh?” Ben shrugged. “I don’t know. He took off about ten minutes ago.” A stab of dread slid between Chris’s ribs even as he dismissed his suspicion. Josh wouldn’t have gone somewhere with a dog that didn’t belong to him. Especially Julianne March’s dog! “I can’t find Lily. Have you seen her?” Julianne’s fingers twisted together at her waist. “Nope.” To Chris’s astonishment, Ben shut off the game. “But I’ll help you look for her.” Julianne’s eyes widened. “Thank…you.” “Why don’t you go home and see if she came back,” Chris suggested. “Ben and I will take a quick look around the block.” “All right.” Julianne caught her lower lip between her teeth and the troubled look in her eyes made Chris’s breath hitch in his chest. He’d gotten used to those eyes shooting sparks at him…and seeing her lips press together in a tight seam after she brought yet another crime to his attention. But now she looked…approachable. And suddenly way too attractive for his peace of mind. Chris groped for the door, knocked off center by the first spark of vulnerability he’d seen in her since they’d met. “Ben…why don’t you take your bicycle—” “I don’t think that’s necessary.” Julianne’s voice had iced over. And Chris saw the reason why. Josh was walking up the driveway, as carefree as you please. Accompanied by a very cheerful-looking Labrador retriever.

Chapter Seven The grin on Josh’s face faded when he saw everyone gathered together in the yard, waiting for him.

753

“You’re in trouble!” Ben shouted to his brother. Julianne hurried to collect her dog. Lily danced around Julianne’s feet and barked, as if trying to explain things from her point of view. Chris caught up to them quickly, not wanting Julianne to scold Josh before he had a chance to explain. Although Chris couldn’t come up with any explanation that wouldn’t result in Josh being grounded for the rest of the week. Or the month. Or what remained of summer vacation. “Josh, why did you take Lily out of Miss March’s yard?” Josh’s dirt-smudged face was the picture of innocence. “You told me to, Dad.” Julianne turned to stare at him in disbelief and Chris strove to keep his voice even. “Josh. You know I didn’t tell you to take Lily for a walk.” “Yes, you did.” It was rare to see Josh’s chin take on the stubborn tilt that reminded Chris of his own childhood photos, but there it was. Chris’s mind quickly connected the dots. Love your neighbor. And Josh had taken the lesson to heart. “You and Ben go inside. I’ll be there in a minute,” he instructed quietly. One furtive peek at Julianne’s expression and both boys sped toward the house. Chris didn’t say anything until the screen door snapped shut behind them. “I don’t know what that was all about, but I hope you make sure the punishment fits the crime.” Julianne’s voice shook. “And please make it clear to your sons that they can’t take Lily out of my yard. Or play with her. She’s too old to keep up with…that level of activity.” Chris took a breath, counted to ten and reminded himself the anger in Julianne’s voice stemmed from her fear that something had happened to Lily. “I’ll talk to Josh. I know he should have asked you for permission.” “He took her without asking because he knew I wouldn’t give him permission,” Julianne retorted. How much to tell her? Chris had no idea where her heart was when it came to issues of faith. Would it explain his son’s actions or offend her even more? He decided to risk it and tell her the truth. “I’ve been encouraging the boys to live out the verse in the Bible that tells us to love our neighbor. Josh decided that was how he’d show you. He knows you take Lily for a walk every day at ten and four. He must have seen you let her outside and realized you were too busy today. So he took her for you.” Julianne’s gaze shifted to a point over his shoulder. “I don’t understand,” she said stiffly. “An act of love.” Chris didn’t know how else to put it. Julianne stilled. Did he imagine the softening in her expression? “Maybe…Josh…was trying to help,” she finally conceded. “But the truth is…I don’t like being disrupted. I rented the carriage house because I need peace and quiet to work. And to tell you the truth, I haven’t gotten much of that this week.”

754

“I understand.” And Chris did. All too well. There’d been a point in his own life when his world—and his perspective—had shrunk to the size of his Blackberry. Until Nicole died and he’d realized he barely knew the four-year-old boys that clung to him after the funeral. Silently asking him for things he had no idea how to give. And most days found him still trying to figure it out. But the difference was, now he wasn’t alone anymore. The friends Nicole had made at the church she and the boys attended had surrounded him after the funeral. Answering the phone. Delivering meals. Keeping Josh and Ben occupied. They didn’t hit Chris on the head with their beliefs—they lived them. And in the end, that was what had drawn Chris into a close relationship with God. “I’ll remind the boys that “love thy neighbor” translates to “leave thy neighbor alone.” Chris had meant to lighten the moment but he found himself talking to Julianne’s retreating figure. Strike three, Lord. I think the Rhodes team is out.

Chapter Eight Julianne couldn’t concentrate. Not because it was too loud, but because it was too quiet. She’d heard Chris’s pickup truck leave shortly after she walked Lily back home. For the first time Julianne could remember, her faithful Labrador retriever had balked at the door, refusing to go inside. The longing look the dog cast toward the house on the other side of the hedge swamped Julianne with an emotion that felt suspiciously like guilt. But why should she feel guilty? Josh, Chris’s son, took Lily out of her yard without permission. So maybe the little boy had done it with good intentions, but Julianne’s heart still hadn’t quite resumed its normal rhythm since she’d discovered Lily missing. And what kind of excuse had Chris given for his son’s behavior? He’d been encouraging the boys to act out the command to love their neighbor? To love her? Julianne closed her laptop and took a restless lap around the living room decorated with an overflow of Stella’s eclectic furnishings from the main house. She winced as she remembered Chris’s parting comment. The humor that backlit his eyes told her he’d meant it as a joke, but Julianne felt as though she’d been slapped. She wasn’t sure why it was suddenly important that Chris understand her need for solitude. And why she’d reacted so strongly when she discovered Lily missing. The truth was, Lily was more than a pet. She was Julianne’s first act of rebellion against the confines of a strict upbringing and, in a very real sense, the reason for her success as a children’s author. Not to mention the only one in Julianne’s life who accepted her exactly the way she was! “What’s wrong with being focused?” Julianne said out loud. “It doesn’t mean I’m some kind of robot, does it?” Lily’s eyebrows wiggled in sympathy. Not at all. “So maybe I do order my day a certain way. I’d never get anything accomplished if I goofed off.” Like a certain someone in faded blue jeans and scuffed tennis shoes. A certain handsome someone. Who, from what evidence she could see, didn’t even have a job. “And maybe we do go for a walk at ten and four. What’s wrong with that?” Right away Julianne realized her mistake. Lily’s ears twitched at the word walk. “All right. You can go outside for a few minutes.” Julianne gave in and opened the door.

755

And smelled smoke. Without thinking, she sprinted through the garden and careened around the hedge. “Oh.” Julianne skidded to a stop as three tawny heads turned in her direction. “I thought something was on fire.” Like maybe the neighborhood. Chris smiled at her. A warm smile of welcome that nudged her pulse from its comfortable, even cadence into a carefree, giddy skip. “”We’re going to roast marshmallows. Would you like to join us?” He sounded sincere, but why would Chris want her company after the uncomfortable incident that afternoon? Julianne’s gaze moved from Chris to his sons, settled cross-legged on the ground by the portable fire pit. She expected to see resentment on their faces, but to her amazement, they smiled at her, too. “I’ll find a stick for you,” Ben offered. “I don’t think—” Before Julianne could finish the sentence, Lily bounded over to the twins, accepting the invitation on their behalf. The strange thing was, Julianne found herself wanting to join them around the campfire. Which made her want to turn tail and run back to the safety of her house…. “Please.” Chris’s husky voice compelled her to agree. “We’ve got plenty to share.” “All right.” She gave in, but didn’t move. Chris’s lips quirked. “The best way to roast a marshmallow is over the fire.” Julianne’s shoulders stiffened as she searched his eyes. But Chris wasn’t criticizing her, he was teasing her. Something unfurled inside her, making her feel curiously lighthearted. As Julianne settled onto the ground, her shoulder brushed against Chris, coaxing the clean, masculine scent of his cologne into the air—a double hit to the senses. Speechless, she looked at Chris and saw her startled look reflected in his eyes. He’d felt it, too. Julianne started to rise to her feet, her mind scrambling to come up with an excuse to leave. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t let her defenses down. Couldn’t care about someone. Not again. She wasn’t ready for it. And she knew that she didn’t deserve it.

Chapter Nine Julianne scrambled to come up with an excuse to leave. It was too dangerous to be in Chris’s company any longer. How had he slipped through her defenses so quickly? Ordinarily, when she retreated, people simply gave up and left her alone. “Look, Miss Jules! Lily wants to play.” Josh’s delighted laugh momentarily thwarted her plans for escape. “Lily doesn’t like to play anymore. She’s too old…” Julianne’s automatic response faded when she spotted the ragged baseball clamped between her dog’s teeth. “I think she disagrees.” Chris winked at her, and Julianne felt it clear down to her toes.

756

Lily trotted over to Josh and dropped the ball at his feet. Apparently the two of them had bonded during their afternoon escapade. Julianne wavered, reluctant to crush the hopeful look in both of their eyes. “I won’t make her tired,” Josh promised, taking advantage of her indecision. “I’ll just throw it a few times.” Julianne gave a jerky nod, and the boys whooped in delight. “Here. You can have this one.” Ben handed her the stick and dashed away. Julianne looked helplessly at the charred blob on the end of the stick and then at Chris, who was trying hard to keep a straight face. “I’ll take that one,” he said. “Unless you like your marshmallows well done.” “No.” Still on edge, Julianne’s gaze slid away from him as she kept a watchful eye on Lily, who was chasing after the boys as if she were reliving her puppyhood. “The boys have been begging for a dog for years,” Chris said, carefully threading a row of gooey marshmallows onto another skewer. “We lived in a condo, though. No pets allowed. The boys turn eight at the end of September—I put down a deposit on a pair of golden retriever puppies for their birthdays.” Two active boys. Two active puppies. Julianne could only imagine the chaos. “You’ll have your hands full.” Chris shrugged easily. “It’s good practice.” “Practice for what?” Julianne asked before she could stop herself. Chris smiled. “Aunt Stella didn’t tell you? I’m the new math teacher at Silver Falls Middle School. I have to confess, though, this is my first year teaching. In my other life, I was the CEO of a corporation and lived in an office on the tenth floor.” Chris kept his voice light, but Julianne didn’t miss the shadow that skimmed across his face. In his other life. Somehow she knew Chris was referring to the time when his wife was alive, but why make such a drastic change? Chicago to Silver Falls? CEO to middle-school teacher? “Did the company…downsize?” As soon as she asked, Julianne chided herself for her blatant curiosity. For someone who placed a high value on privacy, she’d just crossed a line, but Chris didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he laughed softly. “You mean, did I get fired? No. I quit. Someone I respect told me that some things are important and some things are urgent, and when you stop and look at them, they’re usually not the same things. So you have to make a choice. For a long time, I made the wrong one.” “There’s nothing wrong with doing something you love.” “No, there isn’t,” Chris agreed. “But I didn’t love it. I took a career-interest test in high school, figured out what I was good at that would make the most money and went to college. Nicole, my wife, used to tell me, ‘people before projects, Chris,’ but I blew it off as one of those nice little bumper sticker quotes. And then, one day…I realized I worked more than sixty hours a week to pay for a life I didn’t take time to live. Crazy, huh?” Julianne swallowed hard. Crazy was discovering that Chris’s honesty had started to peel back the layers of insulation around her heart, threatening to leave it exposed. She stumbled to her feet. “I should go.”

757

“Whoa. Wait a second. Was it something I said?” He looked concerned. “Those deadlines you mentioned.” Julianne forced a polite smile and saw the concern change to disappointment. She steeled herself against it. That’s what happens when you get close to people, remember? You end up disappointing them.

Chapter Ten Chris watched Julianne call her dog, and they disappeared into the shadows between the two houses. He silently kicked himself. He hadn’t intended to bore her—scare her? — with his life story. She’d asked questions and he’d answered them. Honestly. He’d gone through too much over the past three years to care about dissembling. But Julianne’s reaction made him wonder what he’d said that struck a nerve. She probably thinks you’re crazy to give up a six-figure salary and a nice retirement package to teach middle-school kids. Chris heard a branch snap and knew he was under surveillance. Just as his sons barreled out of the shrubs, he twisted around and grabbed them. The twins’ laughter echoed through the neighborhood as he lifted them up and spun them around. This was the kind of crazy he could live with, but it wasn’t for everyone. One of the first lessons Chris had learned was that children forced a person to be flexible. They got sick. Their laughter broke the sound barrier. They forgot to mention a science project until the night before it was due. They somehow managed to get toothpaste on the ceiling. And when they wanted to talk, you had to be around to listen. And he’d thought his career had been challenging! “Bedtime, you two.” Chris checked the slumbering coals one more time and herded them toward the house. His sons’ protests turned into yawns halfway there and died altogether after they took turns in the shower. Josh climbed into bed and pushed a handful of Hot Wheels under his pillow. “I think she had fun, Dad.” “Who had fun? Lily?” Josh was totally taken with Julianne’s Labrador retriever. “Not Lily.” Josh snickered. “Miss Jules.” Fun? That might be stretching it a bit, but the memory of Julianne’s cautious acceptance of their invitation came back to him. And so did the startled look in her eyes when they’d accidentally touched. If Josh hadn’t distracted her, she would have bolted. Chris could relate. He hadn’t expected to be attracted to her. He hadn’t expected to like her. Especially when she made no secret of the fact that Josh and Ben disrupted her routine—in duplicate. And from the frosty looks she’d bestowed on him since they’d met, she thought his parenting skills seriously lacking.

758

So why had she accepted their invitation to roast marshmallows? Why did you ask her? Chris scowled as a mischievous voice in his head turned the question around. Because he was trying to set a good example for his sons, that’s why. To practice what he preached, so to speak. He couldn’t encourage the boys to love their neighbors if hei held a grudge against them. And maybe because, in spite of Julianne’s talk about peace and quiet, he sensed she was…lonely. He’d felt it often enough to recognize the signs in someone else. She’s alone because she wants to be, Chris reminded himself ruthlessly. Her quick exit had proven it. He’d given her an honest glimpse of his life—a huge decrease in the old paycheck, a fixer-upper in the country and two boys who could spend an entire day building something just so they could demolish it. No doubt about it. He was the perfect match for a woman who never had a hair out of place and didn’t like disruptions— The air rushed out of Chris’s lungs. Match? Not possible. Well-meaning friends had offered to set him up in the past and he’d turned them down. After Nicole’s death, that part of his heart had gone dormant. But he had to admit it. Somewhere, somehow, Julianne March had stirred those feelings back to life.

Chapter Eleven “Maybe we could take Miss March fishing with us!” Josh’s eyes brightened while Chris tried to process the stunning realization that Julianne March had gotten under his skin. “And she could bring Lily.” Chris remembered promising his sons a fishing trip to keep them away from Julianne’s pond. He’d found them searching for a net the day before and had a hunch they were itching to see their neighbor’s koi…up close and personal. “She’s too girlie,” Ben chimed in, not unkindly. “She is not. She’s just…clean.” Josh folded his arms across his chest. Chris, a little unsettled by the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one who wanted to spend more time in Julianne’s company, silently had to agree with Ben. It was hard to imagine Julianne tramping through the underbrush to their favorite trout stream. Every time he saw Julianne, she was dressed as if she were on her way to the boardroom. Another reason to question his wayward feelings for her. “Night, guys.” Chris ended the debate by tugging the blankets over their heads. He could still hear them giggling as he closed the bedroom door and made his way down the stairs. Deciding to check the fire one more time, he stepped outside. And almost tripped over a large object on the porch. A large, yellow object. Lily. “What are you doing here?” Chris peered through the shadows to see if Julianne was anywhere in sight. “You are going to be in big trouble if she finds you here.” And so will I.

759

Lily’s tail thumped in agreement. “Come on.” Chris sighed. “I’ll take you home. But I expect you to do the explaining.” Lily followed him, the tags on her collar jingling. There was no sign of Julianne, but he could hear the unmistakable sound of jazz music filtering through the window screen as he neared the house. “Not classic piano?” He arched a brow at Lily. She winked at him, as if to say, yeah, who would have guessed it? Chris knocked on the front door. No response. He followed the music to the back of the house and saw the screen door propped open by a small cement statue. At least now he knew how Lily had ended up on his porch. Chris barely tapped on the door and it swung open. The music washed over him as he stood in the doorway, his gaze settling on a barefoot woman wearing loose, paint-spattered bib overalls over a raspberry pink tank top. She stood at her easel, her back to him. Chris took an awkward step backwards. “Sorry. I was looking for—“ Julianne. He gaped as the woman whirled around, paintbrush in hand. Chris’s gaze moved from the tousled dark hair to the dabs of green and blue paint on her straight little nose and then traveled down, pausing on the toe ring adorning one slender bare foot. “Chris? What are you doing here?” It was Julianne’s voice. But it was coming from a woman who didn’t look anything like Julianne.

Chapter Twelve This was the second time Chris had caught her completely off guard. Not only did Julianne feel exposed, dressed the way she was, but she was afraid somehow he’d know she’d been thinking about him. She’d fled his company earlier because it had been too dangerous to stay. His honest assessment of his life had only served to shine a light on the shadows of her past. She knew if she let it, Chris’s smile could work its way into the dark corners of her heart. And she was afraid of what he’d see there. “Lily decided she’d pay us a visit.” Chris’s gaze lingered a few extra seconds on her bare foot, and Julianne’s face heated as glanced down and saw what had captured his attention. The toe ring. A moment of whimsy—a gift to herself after her publisher had accepted the fifth book in her Lily the Labrador series the summer before. She’d forgotten she was wearing it. Until now. Julianne lifted her chin. Dignity, Julianne. “Thank you for bringing Lily home. If you and the boys were staying longer, I’d have to think about putting up a fence.” Even as she said the words, she winced inwardly at their harshness. But she couldn’t take them back; they were her only defense against her conflicting emotions. She needed Chris to leave. She wanted him to stay longer. The things he’d shared about his life when they’d sat together by the campfire had only made her want to know more about him. Every time she was with him, it was getting harder to walk away.

760

“You have paint on your nose.” Chris grinned, scaling the walls around her heart as if he’d been training for it. “Can I see what you’re working on?” Julianne anticipated his intent and mirrored his step to the side, blocking his view of the canvas. “It isn’t done yet.” “And that means…” Chris paused, waiting for her to fill in the gap. She frowned. He still didn’t understand. She’d spend hours on it until she was satisfied with the results. “I don’t let anyone see my work until it’s finished.” “Why?” The simple question rattled her. “Because it isn’t going to look…right. It may be completely different by the time I’m done.” “I’m not an art critic, Jules.” “Jules?” She made a face as she repeated the shortened form of her name. A meaningful look at her foot. “Julianne just doesn’t…fit at the moment. Sorry.” He didn’t look sorry. And he didn’t look as if he was going to leave until his curiosity was satisfied. She stepped to the side. “Go ahead.” The grudging words brought a smile to Chris’s face as he stepped around her. “The flaws detract from the finished project, but the scene is going to be Lily’s birthday party.” She felt the need to point it out. “What flaws?” “The flaws in the painting.” “It’ll all come together at the end. There may be some areas that need more attention, but I wouldn’t call them flaws.” Chris flashed an easy smile. “A work in progress, I would say.” She’d never thought of it like that before. From her perspective, she’d always focused on the end result, the finished painting. Anything that slowed her down was an obstacle to overcome. She got impatient with what she saw as imperfections. Especially in herself. It was one of the reasons she pushed herself so hard. “God gave you a gift.” As if Chris had read her mind, he took her hand and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for sharing it with me. Now, I have to get back to the boys. I’m sure they’re sound asleep, but—” “They could be digging a tunnel underneath the house as we speak.” Julianne chuckled. The response in Chris’s eyes wasn’t laughter. Julianne’s throat closed. For one brief moment, she wanted to lean into his embrace and accept the promise there. But she couldn’t. “Please. Go.” The words barely broke above a whisper. “What is it?” Chris searched her face. “What are you thinking?” “I can’t do…this.”

761

“I don’t understand. You can’t spend time with me and get to know me better?” He made it sound so simple. Julianne turned away. “It’s not just you, though, is it, Chris?” Silence. And then his answer came when the door closed softly behind him.

Chapter Thirteen Over the next few days, Chris did his best to respect Julianne’s wishes while trying to convince himself it was for the best they keep their distance. Their lives were too different. Julianne, with her set schedules and need for solitude, simply wasn’t compatible with a single dad raising a set of energetic seven-year-old twins. I can’t do this. His last conversation with Julianne, stuck in his head like a bad love song from the eighties, replayed in Chris’s mind as he made the boys breakfast. He knew he should be thankful for her honesty before his feelings got in the way of his common sense. Right. Because you weren’t stupid enough to cross that line. But Chris couldn’t stop thinking about her. His brain kept downloading the image of her in the studio that night, barefoot and wearing baggy overalls, her perfectly styled hair in disarray and her face speckled with paint. He kept trying to match that Julianne March to the one who was always rigidly controlled. Someone who seemed to prefer the company of her dog to people. After Nicole died and Chris recommitted his life to God, he hadn’t changed only his life by switching careers, his attitude had been restructured, too. He no longer viewed his sons as simply a part of his life—raising them well had become his major focus. He’d never entertained thoughts of remarrying, but if he ever did, the woman he fell in love with would share his commitment to family. The night they’d roasted marshmallows together and Julianne had allowed the boys to play with Lily, he’d thought her attitude had softened. And the sparks of electricity he felt weren’t one-sided, either. But then, just a few hours later, she’d sucker punched him with the truth. The barriers preventing them from getting to know each other better were three and a half feet tall. “I don’t feel so good.” Josh wilted against Chris’s leg, effectively yanking him back to the real world. “He ate a bag of gummy worms.” Ben, the roving reporter, was on assignment again, ready to give an update on his twin brother. Josh did look pale. Chris made use of the old standby thermometer—the palm of his hand—and flattened it against Josh’s forehead. He didn’t feel warm. “Lie down for a few minutes, Josh. I have a meeting at the bank in half an hour, and you both have to go with me.” It was the final meeting with the loan officer, and Chris was anxious to get things wrapped up so he and the boys could move into their own home. His aunt Stella had told him they could stay as long as they needed to during the remodeling process, but it was getting harder every day for Chris to keep the twins out of trouble and away from Lily. As if the yellow Lab and the boys had a secret pact, the three of them constantly gravitated to one another near the hedge that separated the houses. “Dad!” Josh tugged on his arm. “Can I stay home? Ben can take care of me.” “You aren’t old enough to stay alone.” “But I can dial 911.” Ben’s face was earnest. “I’ve done it before.”

762

Chris decided there were times when the old adage “ignorance is bliss” was appropriate. “The meeting shouldn’t last more than an hour. Josh, finish your scrambled eggs and crash on the couch for a while. Ben, please pick up the yard before we leave.” With identical long-suffering looks, they disappeared. When Chris glanced out the window a few minutes later, he saw Ben playing with Lily in the yard. Great. He cranked open the window. “Ben? Send Lily home.” “Miss Jules said I could play with her,” Ben called back. Chris sighed and went outside to deal with the situation so he didn’t have to continue to shout through the screen. Lily bounded over to greet him, and Chris rubbed the Lab’s silky ears. “You know Lily isn’t supposed to be over here, Ben.” “It’s okay, Dad. I asked Miss Jules if she’d stay with us while you went to your meeting, and she said I could play with Lily until she got here.” “Let me get this straight.” Chris couldn’t believe he’d heard his son correctly. “You asked Jul—Miss Jules if she’d babysit you while I’m gone?” And she’d said yes?

Chapter Fourteen Julianne didn’t miss the undercurrent of disbelief in Chris’s voice, not that she blamed him. A thousand times over the past few days, she’d wished she could have a do-over of their last conversation. But what would she say? How could she explain her feelings to Chris when she couldn’t understand them herself? Scared to death by the growing attraction between them, she’d needed an escape route. So she picked the one guaranteed to make Chris walk away from her and not look back. Not only had she rejected his offer of friendship, she’d rejected his sons. She just hadn’t expected to miss them so much. All three of them. There were times she was tempted to peek through the rose bushes, just to make sure they still lived next door. To add to Julianne’s guilt, Lily’s forlorn gaze followed her everywhere, silently asking where her new friends were. It was obvious Chris was doing his best to grant her the peace and quiet she’d demanded. His truck rattled out of the driveway early in the morning and didn’t return until late afternoon. She no longer heard hammering. Or whistling. Or the low sound of voices around the campfire. You got what you wanted… And it was driving her crazy. Maybe that was why, when Ben showed up, she’d practically pulled him into the house to find out what had brought him to her door. “You don’t have to do this, Julianne. I realize you’re working now.” The warmth in Chris’s voice was genuine. “I can always reschedule the meeting.” “I don’t mind. It’s only for an hour.” Julianne realized she shouldn’t have been surprised that he wasn’t holding a grudge. He was the kind of man who lived his beliefs. It was one of the things that had drawn her to him in the first place.

763

The weighted look Chris gave his son made her a little uneasy. Just what could the twins could accomplish in an hour? But it was too late to back out now. What stunned her was discovering she didn’t want to. “Thanks. I really appreciate this.” He sounded a little bewildered by her offer to help. To be honest, so was she. Julianne waited until the truck backed out of the driveway before walking up to the house to check on Josh. “Wow. You did it!” Josh was constructing a fort out of the sofa cushions. He seemed to have made a miraculous recovery in the five minutes since his father had left for the meeting. “Be quiet!” Ben leaped across the room and tackled his brother. Julianne watched them roll around on the floor for a few seconds before she put her fingers between her lips and split the air with a piercing whistle. The boys parted instantly, staring at her in awe. “Can you teach us how to do that?” Ben asked. “Maybe later, but first I want to know what’s going on.” Julianne crossed her arms over her chest and waited. “We miss Lily,” Josh admitted. “And Dad won’t let us visit you anymore.” “Yeah. He says you’re too busy. But you should take a day off once in a while,” Ben’s eyes regarded her solemnly. “Dad used to work all the time, too, and he says he needs us to remind him to have fun.” “You can still have fun even when you’re grown-up.” Josh nodded sagely. Julianne choked back a laugh. The little schemers. They’d set the whole thing up! She wondered how Chris would react when he found out. “I don’t know.” She pretended to consider. “I haven’t had fun for a long time…” Ben elbowed his brother. “See. I told you,” he muttered. “What would you suggest we do for an hour?” Julianne tried not to chuckle. “Let’s go to your house!” “My house?” Julianne looked at the sofa cushions scattered on the floor and the plastic racetrack that wound around the entire living room. “I don’t think there’s much to do over there.” “We can find something. Can’t we, Josh?” Josh’s smile assured her that they could. That’s what Julianne was afraid of.

Chapter Fifteen Chris glanced at his watch and felt his blood pressure kick into overdrive. He’d promised Julianne he’d be back in an hour. Thanks to a computer glitch, he’d been tied up at the bank for almost three hours. He’d tried to call the house several times but couldn’t get an answer.

764

Worried gnawed at him, and Chris wasn’t the worrying kind. Had Josh gotten worse? He’d complained of a stomachache, which was why Julianne was keeping an eye on the boys while he kept his appointment. Chris still hadn’t gotten over that, and he wasn’t sure what shocked him more—that his seven-year-old son had boldly gone to Julianne’s house and asked her to stay with them, or that Julianne had agreed! Especially after she’d flatly refused to get to know him better. Chris was still picking up pieces of his pride after that conversation. She’d made it clear she didn’t have room in her life for anything but her career. But there’d been times she’d lowered her defenses. Let him catch a glimpse of a woman who could laugh. Someone oblivious to paint on her nose. Who listened to jazz. Someone who’d resurrected feelings he’d thought were buried forever. If he hadn’t seen that side of Julianne March, it wouldn’t have been so difficult to respect her wishes and give her the solitude she said she wanted. But he had. It convinced Chris even more that something was pushing Julianne—and it wasn’t a deadline. After talking to God about the situation, Chris had decided that if she needed a friend, he’d be there. If she ever spoke to him again. Julianne planned her day around a disciplined, orderly schedule. His meeting had inched past lunchtime and was chewing out a large chunk of the afternoon. She was probably going crazy… Chris launched himself out of the truck, practicing his apology on his way to the house. It was empty. No sign of Josh or Ben. Or Julianne. He looked for a note on the chalkboard by the refrigerator, but the only thing written on it was a reminder to pick up a jar of peanut butter. He crossed the yard and heard music filtering through the thick hedge of rosebushes that formed a barrier between their houses. Jazz. And laughter. Feminine laughter. Chris followed it to its source and found the door to Julianne’s studio wide open. And what he saw inside stripped him of his ability to speak. Apparently Josh had made a speedy recovery. He and Ben stood side by side in front of a portable easel, armed with paintbrushes and slapping blotches of color on a large canvas. Julianne hovered close by, her slim figure shrouded in a denim apron and her hair tied back with a colorful silk scarf. As she instructed them, her paintbrush swept the air, directing the boys like a maestro’s baton. “Dad!” Ben spotted him and rushed over, leaving a trail of green paint drips on the floor. “Hi, Dad.” Josh turned and grinned. “How do you like our picture?” “It’s great.” He forced his gaze away from Julianne to admire the boys’ work. “We’re painting Lily,” Ben said, pointing to the Labrador retriever dozing on the rug. Chris glanced at Julianne but she refused to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry I’m late.” Chris said softly. “I’ll take them home so you can get some work done. Do you want us to help you clean up?” That’s not—”

765

“Julianne. What on earth is going on?” An elderly couple stood framed in the doorway, but it was the woman who’d spoken, her lips pursed in distaste as her gaze swept over them. “Mom.” Julianne’s paintbrush clattered to the floor. “What are you doing here?” “Your mother and I came to take you out for your birthday.” The man’s gaze dipped to Josh and Ben and lingered pointedly on Chris. “Unless you have other plans?” Josh and Ben crowded closer to Chris, sensing the chill in the air. Chris saw Julianne force a smile. “Of course not.” She looked as if she were about to shatter. Chris touched her arm and she flinched. For a second, he saw the panic swirling in her eyes. And something else. Something that looked a lot like fear.

Chapter Sixteen As hard as Chris tried, he couldn’t forget the five minutes that followed the Marches’ unexpected arrival. Julianne had made the correct introductions, her emotions smoothly covered by a polite mask. The words her mother and father spoke out loud were different from the ones Chris read between the lines. ”Julianne, aren’t you supposed to be working?” Why are you letting these people disrupt your schedule? ”Is that your latest piece? It’s not finished yet, is it?” You can do better than this. ”We’ll wait in the living room while you freshen up and change clothes.” You don’t want to be seen in public like that. ”Oh my—” a meaningful sniff “—I can tell you haven’t taken that dog to the groomer recently.” Now Chris knew why Julianne preferred solitude. It was all he could do not to take her hand and run for cover. Even the boys were subdued as they walked back to the house. Josh confessed to faking the stomachache; Ben confessed it was his idea. At Chris’s prompting, they told him Julianne had made peanut butter sandwiches for lunch and that she let them have root beer instead of milk, but they had to eat carrot sticks to make up for it. She’d dabbed paint on both their noses and told them now they were “real” artists. “I don’t think Julianne is going to have a fun birthday.” Ben made the gloomy prediction as he scrubbed off the paint on his hands at the kitchen sink. “Not with them.” Josh rolled his eyes. “They probably didn’t even get her a cake.” Chris silently agreed. He tried to imagine growing up in a household where words were delivered with the same sharp, dispassionate edge as a scalpel but left deep cuts on the soul.

766

“And I bet they’re not going out for pizza.” Pizza happened to be Ben’s favorite birthday dinner. Chris had an idea. “I think we can at least make sure she gets pizza and a cake. Are you guys in?” Josh and Ben slapped their hands together in a sudsy high five. “Okay.” Chris winked at his sons. “Let’s see if we can find where Aunt Stella keeps the key to the carriage house.”

*** Julianne’s parents dropped her off, and she stumbled up the cobblestone walkway. Her parents never came for a visit; they came for an inspection. She’d spent the last two hours explaining why she hadn’t finished the manuscript due at the end of the week. During the course of the meal, her mother kept rerouting the conversation, bringing it back to Chris and the boys. Why couldn’t Chris have asked someone else to watch his sons? Where was their mother? A widower with two little boys? Julianne had to be careful or he’d be asking her to watch them all the time and she’d never get anything done. Because that’s what people did. They took advantage of you and left you to face the consequences. Had she forgotten? It had been her parents’ mantra, but Julianne knew Chris didn’t buy into that cynical outlook on life. He spoke so easily about his faith. Her parents insisted on going to church every Sunday, but not once did she remember them attaching the things they heard to their daily lives to their actions. Julianne paused and cast a longing look at the lights still on in Stella’s house. What was Chris doing? Were the boys asleep? The temptation to knock on the door rushed through her. When he’d touched her arm and looked into her eyes, she was afraid he’d read her thoughts. And knew what a complete coward she was. It was best to go home. Alone. “Lily?” Julianne’s eyes adjusted to the dim glow in the room. Lily’s toenails clicked against the floor as she padded up to her. But when Julianne reached down to scratch the dog’s ear, her fingers brushed against something peculiar. “What…?” She fumbled for the wall switch and flipped it on. Lily barked, proudly displaying the colorful, cone-shaped birthday hat on her head. “Surprise!” Josh and Ben burst into the room. Chris was right behind them. Carrying a birthday cake. Julianne couldn’t help it. She burst into tears.

Chapter Seventeen “Hey.” Chris set the cake down on the counter and gathered Julianne into his arms, aware of Josh’s and Ben’s shocked expressions. “Not the response we were hoping for.”

767

Julianne’s shoulders shook. Chris hoped it was a muffled laugh and not the kick start of another bout of tears or else they’d take the record for the shortest birthday celebration in history. “We’ve got pizza.” Ben’s tone conveyed his belief there was nothing that pepperoni couldn’t cure. Julianne shifted, and Chris let her go. Reluctantly. She fit into his arms as if she belonged there. “I wasn’t…you didn’t have to do this.” Julianne blotted the moisture on her cheeks with her fingertips. “You wouldn’t have had a good birthday if we didn’t,” Josh said with a shrug. Julianne choked on a laugh. “You’re right about that.” Her response to their surprise gave Chris the encouragement he needed. And the tears had washed away the haunted look in her eyes. He retrieved the gaudy tiara he’d found while shopping for party decorations with the boys. “You have to wear this since you’re the birthday girl.” “I don’t think I’ve ever had a birthday party before,” Julianne ventured. The boys exchanged horrified looks, and Chris linked his arm through hers. “It’s never too late. Let the Rhodes men show you how it’s done.” Guessing that Julianne’s birthday dinner had taken place in the quiet, dignified setting of the country club, Chris deliberately tried to put some fun into the rest of the evening. After they ate pizza, he coaxed her into playing old-fashioned party games like pin the tail on the donkey and musical chairs. Ben and Josh put up a mild fuss, insisting they were too old for those games, but gave in when Chris pointed out that someone needed to teach Julianne the rules. When yawns began to punctuate the boys’ speech, Chris organized a quick cleanup before they left. He thought he saw a flicker of disappointment in Julianne’s eyes as they got ready to leave. “I thought I’d make a fire after the boys go to bed.” Chris wanted to draw out the evening and spend more time with her. “Care to join me?” A shadow skimmed across her face. “I don’t…think that’s a good idea.” Chris wanted to argue with her about that. She’d laughed with the boys, and he’d felt the tentative touch of her hand on his as they’d sat together on the sofa and watched Lily wrestle with Josh. She enjoyed their company—he could see it in her eyes. So what was holding her back? An hour later, when Chris came outside to pick up some of the toys the boys had forgotten to put away, he saw smoke curling into the air. And found Julianne sitting cross-legged on the ground beside a blazing campfire. He stood in the glow of the firelight, waiting for her to invite him to join her. She didn’t. God, how much rejection is a guy supposed to take? Julianne stared into the fire. “I came out to say thank you for the party. I’m—I’m going away for a few days.” Chris dropped to the ground beside her. “The boys and I can move into the house this weekend. I’m sorry having us so close has been hard on your work schedule—” “It’s not the boys. Or you.” Julianne interrupted. “It’s me. I’m the kind of person who does better on her own. That way I can’t…”

768

Chris reached out and took her hand. Was she running away from him? Or from herself? “Can’t what?” Julianne was silent so long, he didn’t think she was going to answer him. “Disappoint anyone.” Chris thought about her parents’ litany of criticisms and exhaled quietly. “I’ll tell you what I see in you, Julianne. A woman who is dedicated to her career, but bends her schedule to have tea with a lonely woman next door. Someone who shares her best friend with two little boys who feed grilled-cheese sandwiches to her fish. Someone who’s creative. Disciplined. Someone who writes stories for children because she understands them.” Julianne tried to pull her hand away, but Chris kept it anchored in his own. “You don’t know the truth.” Her eyes were dark when she looked at him. “I gave up my chance for a—a family.” Chris’s eyes reflected his confusion. “When?” “When I gave up my son.”

Chapter Eighteen Chris had backed Julianne into a corner, leaving her with no weapon except the truth. Maybe it was the only thing that would convince him she wasn’t the person he thought she was. She’d never told anyone her secret. Only her parents knew she’d had a baby at the age of seventeen. A baby boy they’d insisted she give up for adoption. And to minimize what they had calmly referred to as the “damages,” they’d sent her to live with relatives during the length of her pregnancy. “So now you understand.” Julianne kept her voice controlled, waiting for Chris to stand up and walk away. Now he knew. She wasn’t the type of woman he’d be interested in pursuing a relationship with. Chris didn’t move. Maybe he didn’t understand. “I got involved with someone my parents didn’t approve of when I was in high school. When I found out I was…pregnant, he wanted to get married, but my parents refused to consider it. I was underage, so they pressured him to leave me alone. My father intimidated him and his family to the point where his parents shuttled him out of town. My parents’ plans for my life didn’t include a child. I’d always had a hard time standing up to them so I…I gave my son up for adoption.” “Jules.” Chris murmured her name and instantly tears banked behind her eyes; Julianne refused to let them fall. She didn’t want him to feel sorry for her. She wanted him to understand that she’d made a choice and now she had to live with it. “It was easier to do what they wanted. I’m a…coward. I came back home and went to the college they’d picked out. My parents own an art gallery, and they’d been grooming me to eventually take over. My senior year of college, a friend took me home with her for the weekend. She lived on a farm and her dog had had puppies.” Julianne paused, the memories crowding out everything else. “Lily?” Chris prompted. Julianne nodded and the comforting press of his fingers on her hand gave her the courage to finish the story. “The runt of the litter. I was graduating in a few weeks and I just knew she belonged to me. I asked my parents to keep her until I was done with school, but they said I had to give her back. They wouldn’t keep her and neither could I. I was supposed to move back home and start working at the gallery, but something inside me just…broke. I kept Lily and moved into an apartment. Mom and Dad said they wouldn’t support me if I kept making such poor decisions, but at that point, I didn’t care.” She could see the tiny studio apartment again, the furnishings compliments of a secondhand store. Lily had been her comfort during that time—the puppy’s playful antics had been the only thing that brightened her day. “I worked at a coffee shop to pay the bills, but I did some charcoal sketches of Lily and showed them to

769

a friend of the family who’d had several shows at my parents’ gallery. I’d sketched and painted for fun, but I’d thought if I had had any real talent, my parents would have encouraged me. My friend suggested I come up with a story idea to go with the drawings, and used some connections to get an editor to look at my work, and they loved it.” A smile touched her lips at the memory of the phone call that changed her future. “I try to reach out to my parents, but it’s still…hard. I’m not the daughter they’d hoped for. They visit a few times a year, but I don’t think they’ve ever really forgiven me for not taking over the gallery.” It didn’t seem to matter how successful she’d become as a children’s book author. Throughout dinner, she’d heard subtle references to their retirement. Reminders that she’d failed them. That she could have been so much more. The crackle of the fire was the only sound between her and Chris. Julianne tried to withdraw her hand again and this time he let her go. Pain stripped the breath from her lungs. She knew what was coming. But she hadn’t expected it to hurt so much.

Chapter Nineteen Julianne tugged her hand away, and Chris let her go, sensing her need for space. From the expression on her face, it was clear she didn’t share this story often. Maybe she hadn’t ever shared it with anyone. She’d told him the truth about her past to scare him away, but for the first time he saw a glimmer of light on the path to the future. Their future. Chris asked God to help him find the right words. “I think you’re an…extraordinary woman.” Julianne turned away, but not before he caught the sparks of anger in her eyes. “Didn’t you hear anything I said?” “I heard everything you said.” And everything you didn’t. “And I think it took incredible strength to break away from your parents and start to live your own life. God gave you an incredible gift and He wouldn’t want you to ignore it.” “Strength?” Julianne repeated the word bitterly. “If I was strong, I would have stood up to them the first time.” And she’d been paying penance ever since with her self-imposed exile. Banished by guilt. “You were a teenager,” Chris could only imagine how alone Julianne had felt during that time. That the baby’s father had abandoned her would have only added to the fear and confusion. “You can’t punish yourself for that decision for the rest of your life. You can’t be afraid to let people in.” He remembered what that had been like. If it hadn’t been for the members of Nicole’s church, who refused to let him isolate himself, he might have done the same thing. “After Nicole died, I couldn’t escape the guilt, either. I thought I had failed as a husband and a father. I got so caught up in my career that my wife and sons simply became part of the image. Their picture on my desk was an icebreaker when I met a new client, not a reminder of how blessed I was. There was no way I could make it up to Nicole and it ripped me up inside. If it hadn’t been for the boys—and my faith—I wouldn’t have been able to move forward.” “You’re a great dad.” The sincerity—and something else—in her voice made Chris’s pulse jump. Maybe he was getting through to her. “Even when I provide the boys with instructions on how to make a catapult?” He smiled at her change in her expression.

770

“That was your idea?” “I didn’t know they’d test it in your pond. It may not have been the best of introductions, but I’m not complaining.” The peach glow rising in Julianne’s cheeks wasn’t from the warmth of the fire. “Chris…” She swallowed hard. “I don’t know why you’re still here. Why haven’t you run as far away as you can?” Because that’s what everyone else did when you put up your defenses. “I meant it when I said I wanted to get to know you better. To spend more time with you.” “But after what I told you—” “I mean it even more.” Julianne lifted her hand and she tentatively traced the curve of his jaw. Then she leaned forward and the soft pressure of her lips against his drove away every coherent thought. Before he could react, she rose to her feet and started to walk away. Chris found his voice right before she disappeared into the shadows. “What was that for? Thank you? Good night? Goodbye? Good luck?” Julianne’s laugh stirred the evening air. And his hopes. Until the next morning…when he found out she was gone.

Chapter Twenty Julianne parked her car at the end of the driveway and checked the address on the slip of paper taped to the dashboard. Under ordinary circumstances, the charming two-story farmhouse with its wraparound porch and cheerful green trim would have lifted her spirits. But, she reminded herself, these weren’t ordinary circumstances. Lily’s breath fogged up the window and she cast Julianne an impatient look. This is it. Let’s go! “Easy for you to say.” Julianne’s nerveless fingers fumbled with her seat belt. “At least you know that you’re going to get a warm welcome.” She wished she knew what kind of welcome she was going to receive. The last time she’d seen Chris, he’d listened while she poured out her heart about her past failures and her fears and then he’d put something back into it. Hope. But he didn’t know that because she’d left the next morning. It had taken two weeks for Julianne to sort through the tangled skein of emotions their conversation had created and return to Silver Falls. And to Chris. If he hadn’t reached the statute of limitations on forgiveness. Stella Rhodes, Chris’s aunt, insisted he hadn’t. In fact, when Julianne had gathered the courage to knock on Stella’s door, her irrepressible landlady had told her not to wait until morning to talk to him. Now Julianne was rethinking her impulsive decision to take Stella’s advice. But she had some things to tell Chris and she wasn’t going to run away or hide anymore. Even if he rejected her this time. As soon as Julianne opened the door, Lily jumped down and trotted up the driveway as if she’d been there a hundred times.

771

Julianne scanned the spacious yard as she followed the retriever. The only signs of life were the bicycles abandoned on the grass, an assortment of sports equipment and the wooden shell of something resembling the framework of a pirate ship. Her lips curved into a smile. Chris encouraged his sons to be curious. He didn’t mind if they laughed too loud or whistled off-key. He wanted them to live. She doubted he knew that in the short time they’d known each other, he’d challenged her to do the same thing. Lily’s nose was even with the ground as she followed an invisible path through the grass. Julianne had to jog to keep up with her. “Lily, wait!” Lily rounded the corner of the house and disappeared. Seconds later, Julianne found the dog dividing sloppy kisses between Josh’s and Ben’s identical faces. When they saw her, they rushed into her waiting arms and she gave them a fierce hug. She couldn’t believe how quickly they’d worked their way into her heart. Just like their father. “Where’s your…dad?” “He’s in the barn.” Josh pointed to a weathered building a hundred yards away, and Ben grabbed hold of her hand and began to tow her in that direction. She didn’t argue. Chris had met her more than halfway. It was her turn to take a step forward. Help me find the right words to say, God. That she could talk to God so easily was another gift Chris had given her. His words that night had fanned the tiny embers of her own faith into flames. And who would have known that turning to Him would burn away the guilt she’d struggled with for so many years? “Dad’s almost done,” Ben said. “You’re going to like it.” Julianne didn’t have time to question him because the boys suddenly streaked ahead of her. “Dad, Dad! Julianne is here!” Julianne drew in a breath and walked into the barn. She’d expected it to be full of dust and shadows, but it wasn’t. It was clean and airy. Skylights in the roof flooded the building with sunshine. Her eyes locked with Chris’s and she saw the smile on his face. It went straight to her heart, and Julianne didn’t wait for him to take a step forward. She closed the distance between them. And ended up in his arms. “I thought this would make a good studio,” he murmured in her ear. “Is there enough light?” “A studio?” Julianne looked around in wonder. “But…how did you know?” “I didn’t.” Chris tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled down at her. “But I hoped. Hope is always a good place to start, don’t you think?” Julianne smiled. It was a very good place to start.

772

Take a Chance on Me by Ann Roth Psst! Rumor has it that Forest Glen's favorite son — famed movie director Garth Henderson — has come home at long last! Is this Hollywood heavyweight really trying to escape the media glare after his recent divorce from a certain screen siren? Or could it be that he's looking for a second chance at love with his high school sweetheart, Iris Norton? After all, guess who's just enrolled his canine companion in Iris's obedience school?

Chapter One "Iris! Guess what I just found out?" Iris Norton smiled at her breathless assistant, who'd started talking before she was even halfway out of her late model sedan. "That today is April Fool's Day?" Queenie, the female mixed breed Iris had rescued from the pound was very attuned to the humans around her. Yipping, her funny little part-spaniel, part-boxer tail quivering, she danced around Shelley as they stood in Iris's gravel driveway on the crisp, sunny morning. As if to say, Hurry and tell us, Shelley. Iris calmed her dog with hand signs and a voice command. She couldn't do that with Shelley, who looked ready to hyperventilate. "What happened? Did somebody play a trick on you at the post office, or maybe at Dobson's General Store?" Shelley caught her breath at last. "No tricks. This is real. You'll never guess who's back in town." She barely gave Iris time to think before she blurted out the name. "Forest Glen's own golden boy — Garth Henderson." "Oh?" Though the air seemed to whoosh from Iris's lungs, she managed to hold on to her smile. Queenie shot her a worried look then whined softly. Iris leaned down to scratch behind her ears. I'm fine, really. Oblivious, Shelley grinned. "You two dated in high school, right?" At twenty-four, she was six years younger than Iris, but everyone in tiny Forest Glen knew that Iris had once "gone steady" with the now-famous movie director. "That's so hot." It certainly had been. She and Garth had loved each other. They'd lost their virginity together in the backseat of his car, and had talked about getting married someday. Then Garth, who was a year older than Iris, left for college. During Christmas break of his freshman year, he'd seemed tense and unhappy, and they fought continuously. When he suggested they take a break from each other, Iris feared he no longer loved her. After a few strained emails and phone calls, she knew she'd been right, and the break had turned into forever. Garth had stayed away from Forest Glen, even to visit. Until now. Shelley popped the trunk of the sedan. "Word is that he divorced that actress. Now he's building a house on the creek, with plans to live in it between movies. How awesome is that?" Ages ago Iris had stopped reading stories about Garth and his various actress girlfriends. "I hadn't heard about the divorce," she said. "It's true. Supposedly he's working on a script for a movie he's wanted to make for years. But all the production people are in L.A." Shelley gave a puzzled frown. "His parents divorced and moved away years ago. Why in the world would he come back to Forest Glen, especially now?" "I don't know and I really don't care." Iris scooped up two fat, brown paper packets from Shelley's trunk.

773

Shelley grabbed the remaining two and they headed for the remodeled garage Iris used as her classroom, which stood a convenient dozen yards from the small bungalow she'd inherited from her father. Certainly Garth's moving here had nothing to do with her, Iris mused. Aside from the flowers and sympathy card he'd sent after her father's death three years ago, she hadn't heard from him in close to twelve years. She'd spent a good portion of those years caring for her father and getting over Garth. He'd gotten over her far more easily. As they headed into the classroom, Shelley glanced at Iris. "What are you going to do if you run into him?" "Well…" Iris considered the question. Given that there was only one general store, one bank, one post office and one restaurant in town, coming face-to-face with Garth was a likely event. Dread filled her at the thought, but she was over the man, and had been for a long time. "I'll probably say 'hello,' the same as I would with anyone." Then we'll go our separate ways. Unwilling to discuss the subject further, she opened the metal storage cabinet behind her battered desk. As she stowed the packages, she sniffed the air. "Liver and chicken, right?" "Yep, and these biscuits are nice and fresh, just the way you like them." "Not me," Iris corrected with a grin. "The dogs." Dogs: large and small, mixed and pure breed. Tonight was the first session of the three-week-long dog obedience class she taught. Meantime… "I promised to take Mrs. Henry to lunch today, and then to see her cardiologist. She's not supposed to get upset, and you know how she worries when I'm late. I'd best leave now. " Mrs. Henry, a widow with no family, had been Forest Glen's kindergarten teacher for forty years and a friend to all. When Iris's mother had died twenty years ago, the teacher had stepped in to help Iris and her father. She'd quickly become like family, celebrating holidays and birthdays with them, and later helping Iris take care of her father after his stroke. Now long retired and in frail health, the eighty-year-old remained fiercely independent, refusing to move in with Iris or live in an assisted living facility. So Iris stopped by her tiny apartment often — cleaning, cooking, running errands and visiting. Mrs. Henry had been the one to teach Iris how to knit, and still enjoyed the hobby herself. She often helped make the dog sweaters Iris sold online. Since business was brisk, Shelley made them, too. "You'll set up the room for tonight and check the web site for orders?" Iris asked. Shelley nodded. "And finish the sweaters for those firehouse Dalmatians in Minnesota. If all goes well, I'll pack them up and mail them, too. Send my regards to Mrs. H, and see you tonight."

*** Hours later, back from an enjoyable visit with Mrs. Henry but a worrisome doctor's appointment — the woman needed bypass surgery but stubbornly refused to have it — Iris set aside her concern and prepared to greet her new class of seven humans and their dogs. She always began the one-hour session promptly at seven. By six forty-five, with Shelley helping, all participants had paid and checked in. This was a small town. Iris already knew everyone, and they all knew each other. But as was her custom, she welcomed and talked with each human and each animal. Warm conversation and doggie greetings filled the room. At seven sharp, as Iris, Shelley and Queenie headed for the front of the room to start class, a tall man and his dog stepped through the door. Iris recognized him immediately — Garth Henderson. Her jaw dropped and her heart seemed to stop.

774

Abruptly the room quieted, and everyone went still.

Chapter Two Outsider that he was, Garth Henderson stood at the back of the classroom while Iris and everyone else, dogs included, stared at him with open curiosity. As a movie director, he met with stars and bigwigs all the time. Yet he'd never felt so nervous. He hadn't seen Iris in a very long time, and they hadn't parted on the best terms. That'd been a lifetime ago, yet standing here looking at her, it seemed like yesterday. She still wore her chin-length, copper-color hair tucked behind her ears, and the familiar smattering of freckles dusted her cheeks. But the slim girl he remembered had become a woman with full, round curves and more natural beauty than any movie actress. He tried a smile. "Hello, Iris." The attention in the room shifted again to Iris, who offered a somber nod as she studied him through the same cornflower blue eyes that always had captivated him. "Garth." At least she didn't fawn all over him. He was sick of Hollywood grovelers and pleasers, and had come to Forest Glen to get away from that. But he hadn't expected such a chilly welcome, either. Wondering whether he was a fool to be here, Garth shifted his weight and cleared his throat. "It's good to see you." "What are you doing here?" "You mean, why did I move back?" He was here to find meaning in what had become a colorless life. He might be rich and famous, but at the ripe old age of thirty-one, something was missing. "He and that actress got a divorce," a woman said. Garth squinted at the plump, mature face, trying to recall the name that went with it. "Missy Jensen, the high school secretary," she reminded him. "Welcome back, and may I have your autograph?" Everyone laughed — except Iris. Other men and women called out greetings. At least they were glad to see him. He promised them all autographs. "Iris knows about the divorce," said the blushing young woman standing next to her. "And that you're about to make a movie from your own script." Her assistant, Garth figured. "That's right," he said. "I'll be commuting back and forth for a while." "What she wants to know is —" "I can speak for myself, Shelley." Iris narrowed her eyes. "Why are you here, in my classroom?" His marriage had failed, with his ex accusing him of holding something back from their relationship. He was distant, she said — a complaint he'd heard from more than one woman. After much-needed soul-searching, he thought he understood why. He still had feelings for Iris. He was here to find out if that was true, and if she was his key to a meaningful existence. But he couldn't tell her, not this soon, and not in front of these people. At a loss for what to say, he rubbed the back of his neck.

775

Then Lucky woofed softly, reminding him. "The vet told me about your class today when I took Lucky in for his shots." He patted his six-month-old pup, a vizsla-golden retriever mixed breed he'd adopted, both for company and because he loved dogs. When he'd found out Iris taught an obedience class, he couldn't believe his luck. That was the reason he'd chosen the name "Lucky" for his dog. "I got Lucky at the pound. He needs to learn a few things, and I don't know how to teach him. I'm counting on you to show us both what to do." Iris glanced at the pup. Her expression softened, and Garth was certain they were in. Grinning, he tugged Lucky's leash and started forward. Just like that, the warmth evaporated. Iris tightened her mouth, her closed look stopping him. "You're too late. The class is full." "No, it isn't," Shelley said. "Only seven people signed up. We have room for eight." Garth didn't miss the dirty look Iris shot her assistant. She didn't want him here. Her rejection made him all the more determined to get back into her good graces. While he searched his brain for some way to persuade her to let him and Lucky into class, his dog sat down on the cement floor and whined, training a mournful look on Iris — the same look had convinced Garth to choose him from the dozens of dogs at the pound. No one could resist that look, not even Iris. She sighed. "All right, for Lucky's sake, you can stay." She wouldn't meet Garth's eye, and instead spoke to his shoulder. "You can pay and fill in the needed paperwork after class. Shelley handles that." She turned away, effectively dismissing him. Warming that cool attitude wasn't going to be easy, but over the next hour Garth intended to do just that — with Lucky's help. Because he definitely wanted to get to know Iris again, in every way. "I can't stay after class," Shelley whispered in a voice everybody heard. "I have a date with Pete." She sent a longing glance Garth's way. "I wish I could, though." Iris rolled her eyes. "I'm sure Garth will give you an autograph next time." Laughter broke out, and Garth offered a good-natured grin. "You can take the paperwork with you and bring it back Thursday," Iris told him. "Right now, I have a class to teach. This is Beginner Education for dogs ages five months and older with no previous training," she said as her gaze traveled from person to person. "Over the next three weeks, using reward training — that means dog biscuits — you and your dog will learn simple commands and hand signals that will make everyone's life easier. We'll meet Tuesdays and Thursdays at seven, and I expect you and your dog to practice your lessons every day. Questions?" Garth had only one question, which he'd save until after class. Would Iris give him a second chance?

Chapter Three During the one-hour class, though Iris made certain to pay equal attention to every person and every dog, she was keenly aware of Garth. Over the years glamorous Hollywood photos had catalogued his transformation from a tall, lanky boy into a solid man, the boyish face honed into strong, masculine features. But no picture adequately captured the lively glint in his chocolate-brown eyes or his irresistible charm. Willingly or not, she was attracted to him.

776

Even when she turned her back on him, she felt his gaze on her. That made her nervous and self-conscious. The man was rich and famous. He could have any woman in the world, in any glamorous city. So, what was he really doing back in Forest Glen? Lucky was adorable, and the fact that Garth had found him at the pound rather than spending piles of money on a pure-breed was particularly endearing. Man and dog worked hard to master "sit" and "down," the two commands the class practiced. She couldn't help but admire them for that. Also difficult to ignore were the nosy looks from everyone when she stopped to help Garth or compliment Lucky. Iris wished she could control the blood flow to her cheeks, which felt continually flushed. After a while, she let Shelley work with Garth and Lucky. Trouble was, for some reason — maybe because both dogs came from the pound — Queenie liked Lucky more than the other animals. She kept glancing at the pup and whining softly. Lucky seemed to feel the same fondness for Queenie. The kinship between the animals only fueled the knowing grins. By the time class ended, Iris was exhausted from pretending she didn't notice or care. So was Queenie, who moved to her favorite spot, the braided oval rug beside the desk, and collapsed. "See you Thursday, and don't forget to practice every day," Iris reminded the group as they filed through the door — except for Garth, who hung back. She waved at Shelley, who was in a hurry to get home. "Have fun on your date." "Oh, I will." Shelley glanced from Iris to Garth, then winked. "You have fun, too." Iris frowned to let her know what she thought of that idea, but Shelley was gone. So she frowned at Garth, who hung his thumbs from his belt loops and widened his stance as if he wasn't going anyplace. "Didn't you hear what I said at the start of class? You can fill out those forms at home and bring them back Thursday. Unless you'll be in Hollywood then. And by the way, how in the world are you going to make it to class if you're busy with your movie?" "Actual production won't start for a while. We're in preproduction, which is mostly boring meetings." He offered a crooked grin no woman could ignore. Slightly breathless, Iris eyed him coolly. "What about class?" she repeated. "Lucky and I plan to show up for most of them," he said, "though we may miss one or two. But I will be here this Thursday with the forms and a check. " "Good." So what did he want? He looked straight into her eyes. "I want to talk about us," he said as if he'd read her mind. Oh, what that look did to her. Her breath caught and time seemed to stop. Unnerved and upset by her pounding heart — she was no more interested in Garth than she was in old Mr. Carlson, who ran the post office — Iris scoffed, "There hasn't been an 'us' since high school." She was over Garth, and rehashing the past would only open old wounds. Wishing she could escape, Iris glanced longingly at the door. "Do you have a date, too?" Garth asked, his jaw suddenly tense. Though she hadn't dated in a long while, she considered making up a boyfriend. But she never had been able to lie. She shook her head.

777

He exhaled. "Excellent." Lucky woofed softly and cocked his head as if to ask, "What's going on here?" Iris wondered, too. Not to be left out, Queenie rose and sashayed to Garth, nosing his thigh for attention. Flashing his thousandwatt grin, he hunkered down and rubbed the dog's back. A jealous Lucky growled, and Queenie stiffened. Garth stood up. "Knock that off, Lucky. Sit." Looking confused, his pet remained standing. "Use hand signals with your voice, and bribe him with a biscuit, like I showed you," Iris reminded him. "Sit," he repeated, following her advice. His dog obeyed. Queenie padded back to the braided rug. Moments later Lucky jumped up and followed. Jealousy forgotten, the dogs stretched out side by side. "What a cutie," Iris said. "He knows it, too." Silence. Rocking on his heels, hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, Garth seemed as nervous as she felt, which was ridiculous. They were two adults, acting like…the teenagers they were the last time they faced each other. "Mind if we sit down?" He nodded toward the circle of chairs the class had used. They had nothing to say to each other, and the thought of sitting and talking was unsettling. "I don't have that much time," she said. "Suit yourself." He shrugged, and she couldn't help noticing how his broad shoulders framed his flannel shirt. Or his long legs. He wore his jeans snug, and her gaze darted to the healthy bulge… "Like what you see?" Cheeks hot, she jerked her attention to his teasing grin and gave him a dirty look. "Get to the point, Garth. What do you want?" He sobered instantly. "For starters, to say how sorry I am about your dad." "Thank you." Iris dipped her head. "Thanks for the flowers and sympathy card. That was very thoughtful." Biting her lip, she again looked at him. "I'm sorry about your divorce." "Don't be. Getting married was a mistake for both of us. We parted as friends. It wouldn't be so rough, but with the tabloids and paparazzi chasing the story…" He shook his head. "So you're here to hide out," Iris guessed, wondering what that had to do with her.

778

"Partly." Again he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I owe you an apology for the way I treated you that Christmas. I acted like a jerk." "It was a long time ago, and we were both young and immature." Iris waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "I got over it." Mostly. Standing here now, she realized she was still angry over what had happened. At the same time she couldn't help longing for what might have been. Sharing her bed and her life with Garth. Children filling the days with joy. At thirty, she was beginning to wonder whether that dream would ever come true. "I'm not sure I did. I never explained what happened." "You said you needed a break," Iris reminded him, pleased with her emotionless tone. "But I didn't tell you why. If you remember, at the time my parents were still married." He glanced at Iris and she nodded. "When I came home that Christmas things at home were tense. My dad kept picking at my mom, and they screamed at each other all the time. It was especially bad at night, when they drank." He shook his head, then rubbed the space between his eyebrows as if he had a headache. "They should've split up decades ago." Iris remembered how badly Garth had wanted a close, loving family, and how his parents were too wrapped up in themselves to bother with their only child. She'd never liked them, but this… "I didn't know," she said. "Why didn't you say something?" His mouth twisted. "Too ashamed. The worst of it was, I started picking at you the same way. I felt like I was turning into my old man, and I didn't know how to stop. I didn't want to put you through the same hell he put my mother through." He blew out a heavy breath. "And there you have it, the ugly, unvarnished truth." Iris felt his pain, her heart twinging in sympathy. "I never imagined. You're not at all like him." "I know that now. I never meant for us to break up for good. I only wanted to figure out where I was going wrong and straighten myself out." He gave a humorless laugh. "We both know how that turned out, and here we are." At least now Iris understood. She wasn't about to forgive and forget, though. There'd been too much pain for that. "Thank you for explaining." "Thank you for listening." Something — his tone or that soulful look — had her yearning toward him, primed and ready for whatever happened next. A small voice in her head cautioned, Be careful. She frowned. "Is there something else?" Garth nodded, his gaze fastened on hers. "I think I still have feelings for you, Iris. I'd like to find out whether you do, too."

*** Everything, everything hinged on Iris. Garth held his breath. "Let me get this straight," she said, her voice cool. "After twelve years of silence, after you sleep with countless women and even marry and divorce one, you march back into town, apologize for the past, spotlight your movie-star smile on me, and expect me to swoon." Eyes blazing, she lifted her chin. "I appreciate the apology, but you broke my heart. Frankly, I don't want to suffer like that ever again." Feeling lower than a dog flea, Garth winced. "I'd give anything go back in time and change my behavior, but all we can do is move forward."

779

"Exactly. Things change. I've changed. I don't have feelings for you, anymore," Iris said, without quite meeting his eye. When she fibbed, she never looked a person in the eye. Even after all this time, he remembered that, and it gave him hope. "Letting you go was a terrible mistake. The biggest of my life," he said with sincerity. "You want to know why I move from woman to woman, and why I got a divorce? Because I should have married you. Give me a chance to prove myself." "There's too much history between us. I could never trust you." Iris fiddled with the sleeve of her turtleneck. "We'd best leave things as they are." Garth hadn't gotten where he was by backing away from a challenge. "I don't plan to give up. I will win you back." At last she looked up, glaring at him. "I'm not some prize you can take home and put on your mantel. My life is exactly the way I like it, calm and peaceful. No fights or arguments. I want it to stay that way." "Who says it won't? Let's get reacquainted, Iris. You'll see that I've changed." "Don't you listen? I-am-not-interested," she stated, enunciating each word as if he were from another planet. He knew how to turn that less-than-friendly attitude around — take her in his arms and nibble the sensitive place under her ear until she forgot all about not trusting him. But right now regaining that trust was the most important thing in his life. So he kept his hands to himself. "Got it. You'll only see me in class." "I'm glad we understand each other," Iris said, looking relieved. "So that's settled." Nothing was settled. During the next two and a half weeks there were five more one-hour classes. Surely that was enough time to win her over. Whatever it took.

Chapter Four "I hear Garth Henderson is back in town, and that he enrolled his dog in your obedience class," Cora Henry told Iris Thursday afternoon. They were sitting on the older woman's faded chintz sofa, knitting twin red, white and blue doggie sweaters for a pair of Welsh corgis. Queenie, who adored Mrs. Henry, lay contentedly at her feet. Iris adored her, too, and trusted her completely. Mrs. Henry knew everything about Garth and had spent countless hours comforting Iris after their rocky breakup. "Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded, her gnarled hands adeptly wielding the knitting needles. Sometimes she acted like a bossy mother. "I was about to," Iris said, "only you beat me to it. You won't believe what he said…" Behind bifocals, Mrs. Henry's surprisingly bright, gray eyes winked with excitement. "Try me." "After all these years he apologized for the way he acted. Now he wants to get together again." Though Iris scoffed, she had considered the idea more times than she could count. But Garth had walked away before. What was to stop him from doing the same thing again? Besides, she was a small-town girl, neither sophisticated nor exciting like the other women he'd dated since. Iris pulled more yarn from the skein on her lap. "Can you believe that?"

780

Mrs. Henry's knitting needles click-clacked several times before she spoke. "Do you still have feelings for him?" "No." Over the years Iris had managed to tamp down the hurt and forget Garth for long stretches of time. Today, even though she didn't have the husband or children she longed for, Queenie, friends and work filled her days comfortably enough. But now… Mrs. Henry glanced up from her work, eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Are you certain about that?" She knew Iris all too well. Iris sighed. "I don't know," she admitted. "What I do know is that I don't want to get hurt again." And she didn't want to talk about Garth, anymore. "How are you feeling today?" "Not bad," her friend replied, her sallow complexion and thin frame at odds with the words. "I wish you'd reconsider the doctor's suggestion. Bypass surgery will make you feel worlds better…" "You know I lost my John on the surgeon's table. I won't relegate myself to the same fate." "But that was a long time ago, and this is a better doctor," Iris reasoned. "I want you to live a long time. Won't you at least think about surgery?" The older woman pursed her lips stubbornly. "The subject is closed." The cuckoo on the wall chimed. "Don't you have to get ready for class?" Iris threw up her hands. "All right, I give up. I'll see you later."

*** Unfortunately, Shelley had caught the flu and wouldn't be in class that night. Without her, Iris wasn't sure how she'd manage the one-on-one attention she liked to give each owner and dog, but she intended to try. She also needed to set up the room, so after a quick dinner she leashed Queenie and opened the front door. "Come on, girl, let's head for the garage." The evening air was chill and she strode rapidly across the grass, Queenie clipping beside her. As Iris unlocked the door, a black Jaguar pulled up the drive, wheels crunching over the gravel. No one around here drove such an expensive car, but Iris knew the man behind the wheel as sure as she knew her own reflection — Garth. As he opened the door and unfolded his long denim-clad legs, her traitorous heart gave a joyous kick. Masking her pleasure at seeing him, she frowned. "Class doesn't start 'til seven. You're way too early." "I heard about Shelley." He opened the back door, leashing Lucky before letting him out. "We came to help." Iris wasn't surprised that he knew about Shelley. Most likely, so did everyone else in class. What did surprise her was his offer of help — which she didn't want. She shook her head. "No, thank you." "Aw, Iris, come on," Garth said, with a round-eyed look that was hard to resist. "I'm here, so you may as well put me to work." He seemed so eager, she gave in. "There's not much to do," she said as she opened the studio and flipped on the lights. "But since we won't be using the chairs tonight, you can push them against the wall." He nodded. "You want me to help you out during class, the way Shelley does? "

781

"I don't know. Can you handle me telling you what to do?" "I sure can." The low, intimate tone put her on alert. She shot him a suspicious look. "What do you expect in payment?" His eyebrows lifted. "I get to decide?" He chuckled, the sound warm and musical — and contagious. "Let me think on that." She couldn't help smiling. "Just don't ask for something I can't give."

*** After class Garth helped Iris straighten up, while Lucky and Queenie snoozed on the rug together like old friends. He nodded at his dog. "You worked him hard tonight." "I worked you both hard," Iris said. A warm smile curled her lips. "Thanks for being my assistant." "I enjoyed it." Garth meant it. He also hoped he'd earned a few brownie points. "It is fun, isn't it? Helping the animals and their owners build on what they learned in the previous class, watching as each pair grows.… I love that. Just think what Lucky has learned so far — 'sit' and 'lie down' and 'heel' and 'halt' — I'm so proud of him." Excited by her work, with her eyes sparkling and her cheeks rosy, Iris was more beautiful than ever. She'd put shiny stuff on her lips that made them look soft and sexy. Suddenly Garth knew exactly what he wanted in payment. But that would have to wait until he regained her trust. "Why didn't some great guy marry you?" he asked as he emptied leftover dog treats into a plastic container. "Dad was sick for seven years, and I was too busy taking care of him to think about dating," she said. "Then after he died…" She offered a thin smile. "There aren't a lot of single men around here. I've dated a few guys, but nothing serious." He was glad to hear that. "Where do you keep the broom?" "In the closet." Iris gestured at the door on the side of the room. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, holding the dustpan while he swept. Because she'd finally warmed up and he wasn't ready to leave. "I'm filling in for Shelley, remember?" He finished the job and returned the broom and dustpan to the closet. Unfortunately, now there was nothing left to do, and he couldn't think of another reason to stick around. He glanced at the door. "Guess I'll be going." "Wait," Iris said. "I want to pay you. You don't exactly need the cash. What would you like — a week's supply of dog biscuits?" He hadn't intended to collect any payment, but suddenly a great idea popped into his head. "That's tempting, but I want something else — to take you to dinner tomorrow night. Martini's is still around." The only Italian restaurant around, where he'd first told Iris he loved her, was located at a ski resort fifty miles away. "You still like Italian food, right?"

782

"I love it. But take me out for dinner, as in you pick up the tab?" She shook her head. "Since I owe you, that won't work." "Sure it will. If we have a good time, maybe you'll go out with me again. That's payment enough." Iris shot him a the-hell-you-say frown. "I thought I made myself clear. We're not going to date. Period." Garth wasn't giving up, but he knew better than to pressure her. "I still want to eat at Martini's and see if the food is as good as I remember. How about it?" Women never had been able to resist his big-eyed, soulful look, and Iris was no different. She sighed. "All right, but let's clarify a few things. Dinner's on me. And this is not a date. It's payment for your help tonight." As long as she went out with him, Garth didn't care who picked up the tab. He wanted to shoot his fist in the air and let out a "Yes!" but settled for a subdued nod. "Great. Pick you up at seven." "You're okay with me paying?" She looked impressed, which pleased him. "I know I wouldn't let you do that when we were in high school, but now I'm an enlightened man. If you're sure Martini's isn't out of your budget." "No problem. Just don't go getting any ideas about us." "I won't," Garth lied, his head swimming with ideas. For starters, a call to Federico, owner of the restaurant. To arrange a romantic walk down memory lane, which Garth would pay for on the sly. Iris might be treating him to the meal, but he planned to fund the extras that would charm and woo her. With any luck, by dessert tomorrow night, she'd be halfway in love with him and ready, willing and eager to give him a second chance.

Chapter Five Awestruck diners in Martini's restaurant jabbed each other and whispered as they noticed Garth Henderson, but Federico seemed more interested that Garth was with Iris. "It's been a long time since you two were here together," he said as he smilingly led them to a linen-covered table in front of the mountain-view picture window — the very table where Garth had told her he loved her. Iris marveled at the sixty-something restaurant owner's memory. During their high school years she and Garth had eaten here exactly twice. After so many years, how could Federico possibly remember? She, however, recalled every moment of the night the very stars seemed to shine on her. The night Garth had pledged his love. Nostalgia struck, and for one long moment she was back there, her heart warm and full while they happily planned their future together, and later in the backseat of his car, as they sealed their bond in passionate, though clumsy lovemaking. Less than a year later, Garth had asked for a "break" that effectively ended the relationship and crushed her dreams. He hadn't truly loved her, after all.

783

Remembering the pain was the key to protecting herself from future heartache. Iris silently renewed her pledge to keep an emotional distance from Garth. They were causal acquaintances now, and after tonight she would see him only in class. They sat across from each other in comfortable chairs, the flickering candle in the center of the table adding a soft, romantic glow. Garth faced the window so Iris could people watch, a favorite habit of hers he remembered. Tonight every person's attention was focused on Garth, the famous movie director. Iris understood completely. Despite her best intentions, she didn't want to look at anyone but Garth, either. Dressed in a tailored suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly, he looked successful and handsome. But for her, his appeal had nothing to do with his clothes or his fame. "You look wonderful," he said, echoing her very thoughts about him. "That's a great dress." He nodded at the mint green sheath she saved for special occasions, his eyes warm with appreciation. With that one avid look, she was lost. Breathless and daunted by her intense feelings, she lowered her gaze to the menu. "Thank you." Federico took their orders, returning shortly with a bottle of wine. "On the house," he said, "because I am glad to see you here together." He and Garth exchanged looks. What was that about? "Don't get any ideas," Iris warned them both. "We're only here because I owe Garth this meal." "Your reasons do not concern me," Federico said. "You are here, and that is enough." He served the wine with a flourish. "I'll be back with the salads." He left, and Garth raised his glass. "To the future." His eyes were dark with intent, and for one moment Iris let herself imagine a future with him — a future that easily could turn into a painful repeat of the past. Suddenly frightened, she wanted to rush home. Then maybe she could breathe normally. But Martini's was a place for leisurely dining, and Federico took his time. While they waited for their salads and later, their veal parmesan, Iris fought to steel herself against Garth's charm. Difficult to do, with him asking questions about her life and listening closely to her every word. So different from high school, when most of the conversations had revolved around him and his dream of making movies. Iris told him about Mrs. Henry. "She needs a bypass operation but refuses to have surgery. I've tried and tried to convince her and so has her doctor, but no luck." She sighed. "I'm worried sick about her." "That's a shame," Garth said. "She was one of my favorite teachers, and always seemed so rational. What happened to her common sense?" "That's still intact. The problem is, her husband died on the operating table, and she's afraid the same thing will happen to her." "Fear often holds people back," he said, looking straight into her eyes. Iris agreed. She was scared, all right. Of getting involved with Garth. Resisting the urge to look away, she held his gaze. "Sometimes fear is a good thing." Before he could argue she changed the subject. "Tell me about your new movie."

784

"It's about a neglected kid who grows up determined to be noticed through fame and wealth, and the mishaps along the way that turn him in a new direction," he said. "In the end, he figures out that love is the key to happiness." "Sounds interesting." Somewhat biographical, too — at least the part about the neglected boy. She wondered whether Garth was aware of that. He told her about the actors he wanted, his commitment and boyish enthusiasm contagious and irresistible. Easy to see why he'd become Hollywood's darling. "I have a lot riding on this movie — money and my reputation," he went on. "At the end of next week I'll sit down with the people involved and move things forward. I plan to stay in L.A. a few days after to tie up loose ends." He shot Iris an apologetic look. "That means Lucky and I will miss two of your classes, but we'll be back for the last one." That first night he'd mentioned that possibility, so his announcement came as no surprise. Yet Iris couldn't stem her disappointment. "If you miss two in a row, you and Lucky will fall way behind. Can't you postpone the meeting, or teleconference instead?" "Teleconferencing won't work for this. We need to sit down together and hammer out the details. Sometimes that takes days, or even weeks. You have no idea how rough it's been to schedule even one meeting with all the players at once. My assistants have worked months to set this up." Garth shook his head. "There's no way to postpone it. Maybe you'll give Lucky and me a couple of makeup sessions," he said, raising his eyebrows. The suggestive warmth in his eyes flustered Iris. The very thought of working alone with Garth with no one else around unnerved her. "Sorry, I don't give private lessons." "Can't blame a guy for asking," he said, his mouth quirking. "Guess that means Lucky and I will have to learn a few things on our own." Federico appeared to refill their wine glasses. When he left, Garth turned the conversation to her. "In high school you talked about getting your teaching certificate, just like Mrs. Henry. What happened?" "Life. I went to college and graduated, but then Dad got sick." Recalling that dismal time, Iris stared at the crystal stem of her wine glass. "I never did use my degree. Instead, I got my dog obedience certification and remodeled the garage so I could run the business from home. That way, if Dad needed me I was close by." "You could teach now." "There aren't any teaching jobs around here. I'd have to move away," she said. "This is my home and I don't want to leave. Besides, I am teaching, and I love my work. I also like to knit, and run an online business selling custom-knit sweaters for dogs." "A woman of many talents." Garth's eyes glinted warmly in the candlelight. "I know more than a few stars who'd pay good money for that sort of thing. Give me your web site address and I'll pass it along." "I will. Thanks." "I'm glad you're happy and doing well," he said, "but I still think you sacrificed a lot for your father." "I don't see it that way. After my mother died, he raised me with love and kindness. Returning the favor was the least I could do." Now Garth looked impressed. "I hope he appreciated you."

785

"He did." Bud Norton had let her know he loved and valued her, and that he hoped she'd find her soul mate, get married and be happy. She had found her soul mate — Garth. Unfortunately, she hadn't been his. Iris gave a sad smile. "I miss him." "I'll bet. I always envied your close relationship." Iris hadn't realized that, but given Garth's self-absorbed mother and father, it made sense. "Are things better with your parents now that you're a big success?" "Well, they're both sober now, and that's good. Mom lives in Sedona with her second husband, and Dad moved to Florida with his latest girlfriend. We talk on birthdays and holidays, and sometimes when they need money. That's about it." Life with a loved one was precious, and Iris couldn't imagine not connecting whenever possible. "You don't see them?" "Not if they can help it." "I'm sorry to hear that," she said with sincerity. Garth shrugged. "I'm used to it." But she saw the pain flit across his face. Her heart ached for him. She wanted to erase the hurt, cup his cheek and smooth back the lock of unruly hair that had fallen over his forehead. She ached to hold him close and… The strength of her feelings terrified her. She was not getting involved with Garth again. She wasn't. Tonight was a mistake. She had to go home, before she said or did something foolish. She laid her napkin beside her plate, and within moments Federico appeared. "Dessert and coffee?" he asked as he collected the plates. "No, thanks," Iris replied before Garth could. "I need to get home." Where she'd lock herself safely in the house.

*** By the time they headed back to Forest Glen night had fallen. On the dark, hour-long drive through the curving road that cut through the Cascade Mountains, they made small talk. Even laughed. The air between them was easy and warm. Like old times. Iris didn't want to feel this good, not with Garth. She lapsed into silence, and during the last twenty minutes of the drive home neither of them spoke. Garth didn't seem to mind the quiet, another surprise. Years before, long stretches of silence had made him uncomfortable. But now… "We're not talking, and that doesn't bother you," she commented. "You've changed." In the dark she couldn't see his face, but somehow she knew he was smiling. "That's what I keep telling you." As he pulled into her driveway, he glanced at her. "I had a great time tonight," he said in a tone as rich as the dinner wine.

786

"So did I." Garth slid out of the car. He would have opened her door, but not wanting this to feel more like a date than it already did, she jumped out. "I didn't get my coffee and dessert," he said as he walked her up the front steps. In the dim porch light, shadows played over his face, masking his expression. "How about a rain check some night soon?" Fool that she was, she actually wanted to spend another evening with him — the man she ought to avoid. Iris shook her head. "I don't think that would be a good idea." He looked so disheartened, she had to do something. "I'll bake you cookies, instead," she offered. "Do you still like chocolate chip?" "Homemade?" Garth brightened immediately. "I sure do. Why don't I pick them up tomorrow night?" Unnerved at the thought of Garth inside her house on a Saturday night, she said, "I have plans." As in figuring what vegetables to plant in the garden, but he didn't need to know that. "I'll bring them on Tuesday and give them to you after class." After all the other participants had left, so they wouldn't jump to conclusions about her and Garth. "If that's what you want." He peered past her, into the house. "I haven't been inside this place in years. I could come in…" Her fear must have shown on her face, for Garth scrubbed his hand through his hair. "That's right, you don't trust me." Disappointment flitted across his face before he set his jaw. "Guess you need convincing." His eyelids lowered a fraction, making him look dangerously sexy. "I want a kiss." The sensual warmth in his voice skittered over her skin, making her yearn for him. But giving in would be a huge mistake. "I don't see how kissing you will make me trust you," she said. "You'll have to take that on faith." His heated gaze dropped to her mouth. "One kiss." Of their own volition her lips parted, and every nerve in her body tensed with expectation. Unable to fight her need, she gave in. As long as she was in control… "Just one," she echoed.

Chapter Six "Let's get this over with," Iris said, her bored tone at odds with the promise in her eyes. She raised her face and puckered her lips slightly, signaling Garth to kiss her. He'd wanted to taste that mouth all evening. Now he would prove to her that in this small way, he could be trusted. Though he itched to haul her tight against his body, he masked his fierce need and reached for her slowly. Holding her in his arms was a real turn on. She felt the electricity, too — her arms twined around his neck, her eyes drifted to half-mast and she let out a soft sigh. The instant his lips touched hers, he was home. He'd forgotten how good she tasted, how perfectly her soft body fit his. From her enthusiastic response, he knew she was enjoying this, too. She wriggled closer, teasing his groin. Desire roared through him. He wanted more, a lot more. But tonight was about trust, not sex. Mustering all his willpower and then some, Garth broke contact and backed up a step.

787

Iris blinked, her eyes dazed. "What's the matter?" "Not a thing," he said, his breathing labored. "That was dynamite." They both glanced at the erection straining his pants, Iris flushing, and Garth amazed that one kiss had aroused him so fully. "But I thought I was in charge," she said, looking as if she wanted more of the same. He stifled a groan. "You were, but we agreed to one kiss." He couldn't stop himself from touching her cheek, stroking her soft skin with his thumb. "As much as I want you, earning your trust is more important." When she nodded and offered a sweet smile, he knew he was on his way to a second chance.

*** "Is it true Garth took you to dinner Friday night?" Shelley asked the following Tuesday when she stopped by to pick up the six doggie sweaters made by Iris and Mrs. Henry, and boxed by Iris for mailing. The flu hadn't dampened her nosiness. Iris knew that whatever she told Shelley would be all over town in no time, so she spoke carefully. "It's not what you think. Garth helped me in class last Tuesday when you were sick. So I took him to dinner as payment." No need to mention the passionate kiss that had opened an emotional door long closed and had left her restless and confused. She'd never kiss the man again — too dangerous. Shelley studied her closely. "I know you, Iris, and I haven't seen you look so mooney-eyed since…never. You like Garth, don't you? I don't blame you. He's a babe." Her eyebrows raised knowingly. "Have you carried a torch for him all these years?" Before he moved back to town, Iris had thought she was over him. She certainly didn't want to care about him, didn't want to get hurt again. Shelley was waiting for her answer. "He's…okay," she hedged. But oh, that kiss… She touched her lips. Understanding dawned on Shelley's face. "He kissed you, didn't he?" Iris opened her mouth, but her friend cut her off with a gleeful sound. "Omigawd, he did!" "It wasn't anything," Iris said, hoping she sounded convincing. "Just one little kiss." Later, while she baked chocolate chip cookies for Garth, she replayed the whole thing in her mind — the feel of his warm, strong arms wrapped around her, the heat of his lips so eager on hers. All the warm, melting feelings rushed back, and she ended up eating tons of chocolate chips. Which, no doubt, went straight to her rear end. She refused to wonder why one night out and one kiss from Garth had turned her edgy and aching and craving chocolate. That night in class he didn't act any different than usual. But Shelley and the others were more obvious, the women sighing and the men smirking. Iris pretended not to notice. Garth seemed genuinely oblivious. With the same single-minded focus he'd shined on her at Martini's, he concentrated solely on working with Lucky.

788

At first Iris was relieved. But as the hour wore on, relief morphed into irritation. The way Garth was acting, they might never have shared an evening together, let alone a passionate kiss. Had he changed his mind about her? She told herself that if he had, that was for the best. All the same, she couldn't help feeling disappointed. Sensing her low spirits, Queenie bumped against her thigh. Thankful for the dog's concern, she offered a reassuring pat and an extra dog treat. After class, as dogs and humans filed through the door, Garth hung back. Beside him, Lucky wagged his tail. Shelley cast a curious look at them. "Um, Pete said he'd drop by later. If you don't mind, I'll be leaving." Iris nodded and her friend beat a hasty retreat. All evening Garth had treated her like nothing special. Now his gaze connected with hers, his eyes dark with heat. Her nerves went on red-alert. If he dared try to kiss her, she'd…she'd…let him. Heart pounding, body primed and ready, she waited for him to make his move. But he didn't touch her. Frustrated and at the same time relieved, and thoroughly disgusted with herself, she pivoted toward the storage cabinet. "Here are your cookies," she said, taking the foil-wrapped goodies from the shelf where she'd hidden them. "Thanks." Garth signaled Lucky to sit, then peeled back the foil and bit into a cookie. "Delicious. Want one?" Iris shook her head. "Now that you have your cookies you can go. Good night." Still working on a mouthful, he held up his finger, signaling her to wait. "I thought you should know that Cora Henry called me this afternoon. She invited me to tea tomorrow." He grinned. Wondering what her meddlesome old friend was up to, Iris bit back a groan. "Why would she do that?" Garth shrugged. "Said she wanted to see me. I'm supposed to bring you along." With or without an invitation, Iris would have shown up. She had no idea what Mrs. Henry intended to do or say, but no doubt it involved both her and Garth. The retired teacher always had been blunt, and Iris meant to be there to stop any damage before it happened. "I thought you were flying to L.A. tomorrow." "Since I own the plane, I can leave anytime. I scheduled an evening flight. After I leave Mrs. H's, I'll drop you off and then drive to Boeing Field." A two-plus-hour drive. "What time is tea?" Iris asked. "Four o'clock. I'll pick you up at three forty-five."

Chapter Seven Mrs. Henry cast a fond smile at Garth. "So you're leaving tonight to work on your movie." They were sitting in her tiny living room, Garth in an old maple rocker and Iris and Mrs. Henry on the faded chintz sofa. All three sipping herbal tea in pink flowered, china cups. Iris had warned him that the retired teacher was ill, but he hadn't been prepared for this. Though behind her glasses her gray eyes sparkled with the same intelligence he remembered, her once apple cheeks were sunken and pale. "Actually, this is a preproduction meeting," he corrected. "A key part of the movie-making process. If things go the way I anticipate, we can get rolling with a production schedule and the actual filming."

789

"Very interesting." She sipped her tea. "I'm awfully proud of you." Her approval pleased Garth. He grinned. "You're partly responsible for my success. Way back in kindergarten you told me I could do anything I set my mind on. I took those words to heart." He glanced at Iris to see whether she understood his meaning. A flush climbed her face and her gaze darted away. She seemed on edge about this afternoon. Probably because of Mrs. Henry's failing health. "Iris tells me your doctors want you to have surgery," he said, aiming to talk the woman into doing just that. "I think you should listen to them." Iris gave him a grateful look. "So do I." Mrs. Henry compressed her lips and sent them both a flinty-eyed stare. "I didn't invite you here to discuss my health. Far more important are your intentions regarding Iris. What exactly are they?" Iris gasped. "Mrs. Henry!" "Well, everybody in town knows he kissed you." She winked at Garth. "Personally, I'm glad of it." He'd found an ally. Garth chuckled. "Thanks, Mrs. H. My intentions are to do everything I can to show Iris I've changed. I hope she'll give me a second chance." "Hello," Iris said. "I'm sitting right here, pouring more tea." She refilled Mrs. Henry's cup from the matching china pot on the coffee table. "Thank you, dear," the older woman said, but her attention remained on Garth. She studied him several seconds before giving a satisfied nod. "I believe you're serious about this." "Never more so," he replied. Now she trained a shrewd gaze on Iris. "Either you hold your heart safe forever and simply exist, or you take a risk, open your heart and live. Which will it be?" She reached for her cup. Incredulous but not surprised, Iris gaped at the woman. "This really isn't the time to —" A groan slipped from Mrs. Henry's lips, cutting off the rest of Iris's words. The teacup fell from her hand and she clutched her chest. "I think…I'm having…a heart attack." Iris shot Garth a stricken look and scooted toward the woman. "Call 911." He was on his feet before she finished.

*** Hours later in the hospital located miles away, Garth sat beside Iris in the waiting room outside intensive care. Mrs. Henry had suffered a heart attack and at last had consented to the open heart surgery that could save her life — if it wasn't too late. She was weak and her prognosis iffy. Garth never had seen Iris so upset. He meant to stay by her side for as long as she needed him. Though the situation was grave, he felt more alive than he had in a long time, and he knew why. He was in love with Iris. There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted her in his life forever.

790

"This reminds me of when my father died," she said. "Only then, Mrs. Henry sat here with me." She bit her lip. "She's like family to me. I hope she makes it." "Me, too." Garth wished he could have comforted Iris when her father was sick. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you then," he said. "But I'm here now." "Thank you," she said, a bleak smile on her face. He wanted to shield her from everything that could hurt her, but that wasn't possible. What he could do was offer comfort. He put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. Her hair smelled clean and fresh, a welcome respite from the antiseptic odors of the hospital. Iris released a sigh and snuggled closer as if she trusted and needed him. Upset as she was, she probably wasn't aware of her actions. Yet Garth's chest expanded with feeling. "Why don't you get some sleep," he murmured. "I'll wake you when the doctor comes out." She looked up at him through red-rimmed eyes. "Don't you have to get to that meeting in L.A.?" He didn't even pause to think about that. "I'd rather stay here with you."

Chapter Eight Five days later, on Monday afternoon, Mrs. Henry went home to private, round-the-clock nurses, courtesy of Garth. He was relieved to see her on the mend, and happy to help in this small way. But Iris worried him. Despite the quality hospital staff, she'd refused to go home. She'd asked Shelley to take care of Queenie and Lucky, cancel last Thursday's obedience class and bring her several changes of clothes. She'd slept and showered at the hospital, pushing Garth to go home and rest. After two exhausting nights, he'd done just that, returning refreshed in the morning. Now, despite the top-notch nurses, despite the shadows of fatigue under her eyes, Iris seemed determined to stay at Mrs. Henry's apartment. "Stop being a pest," Mrs. Henry insisted, sounding like her old self. She looked healthier, too. Color brightened her cheeks, and every day she seemed stronger. "Garth needs to get to Hollywood. Let him take you home so you can catch up on your rest and he can head for Boeing Field." Missing his meeting had been Mrs. Henry's big concern, and Garth had reassured her that he planned to leave for Hollywood that day. Though some of the people he needed to meet with no longer were available, his assistants were hard at work, trying to set up another all-inclusive meeting. For now Garth would sit down with those who could make it. "You're sure you want me to leave?" Iris asked Mrs. Henry. She nodded. "When you get back from your trip, Garth, come see me. You're a one-in-a-million man. If I were fifty years younger…" She sighed and arched her brows Iris's way. "You're just the right age for him, dear. Have you decided whether to stay safe and exist, or take a risk and live?" Anxious to know, Garth crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Iris rubbed the back of her neck. "I —" "Don't tell me," Mrs. Henry said. "Tell Garth." Eyes twinkling, she waved her hand toward the door. "Now go on, you two. Fill me in later." "I'm sorry you missed your meeting," Iris said on the drive to her place. "I know how important it was to you."

791

Missing the meeting had thrown off the production schedule and was costing him a bundle, but he didn't regret staying with Iris when she needed him. "Being here for you was more important," Garth stated. "I appreciate that." A grateful smile brightened her somber face. "These past few days, I don't know how I'd have survived without you. You've been wonderful." Her words filled him with hope. He knew Iris cared about him. But trust him enough to try again? As he braked at a four-way stop he glanced at her. "Wonderful enough that you'll give me a second chance?" "Things are happening so fast." She bit her lip. "I need time to think." Not what he wanted to hear. His spirits dropped, and neither of them spoke again. As he pulled into her driveway, Garth decided to tell her exactly how he felt. Today, before he left town. He'd dropped Lucky off earlier, and both dogs were penned in the backyard, enjoying the cool spring air. Both animals woofed excitedly as Garth and Iris exited the car. Iris let them out, and they raced ecstatically around her and Garth. While Iris joyously greeted Queenie and Garth rubbed Lucky between the ears, he gathered his thoughts. At last Iris headed for the front door, Queenie at her heels. "Thank you again, Garth. For everything." Shooting longing looks at Iris and Queenie, Lucky waited with Garth. It was now or never. Garth signaled to his dog and followed Iris. "Wait," he said. Standing on the front stoop, chin angled a fraction, she eyed him. Suddenly scared out of his mind — he was about to share his deepest feelings and Iris could reject him for good — his gut clenched. Garth cleared his throat. "Since I came back to Forest Glen, my life has new meaning. The truth is, for the first time in twelve years I feel like a whole man. Because of you." Letting his feelings show, he searched her face. "I love you, Iris. I have since we started dating in high school." He swore he saw tears in her eyes. Was that good or bad? He didn't want to know. She opened her mouth to speak. Afraid of what she might say, he cupped her face and gently kissed her. After a long moment she sighed and sank against him. His body roared to life. He ached to deepen the kiss. But now was not the time. Breaking contact but still cupping her face, he hooked his gaze with hers. He saw confusion there, but also warmth. That gave him hope. "I want a future with you," he said, "but I know you need time to think. Lucky and I will be back in time for the last class on Thursday. Until then, I'll leave you alone."

*** Graduation from obedience school was always an enjoyable, fun-filled event, complete with punch and cookies for humans, and biscuits for the dogs. Iris usually handed out diplomas accompanied by short, humorous speeches about each animal and master. Tonight, she wanted only to get through the evening so she could give Garth her answer. True to his word, he'd left her alone, if you didn't count the fancy collar for Queenie, and the imported cashmere yarn he'd air-expressed to apologize for missing one class. But his warm words of love stayed with her, filling her mind and making her heart sing. She'd fallen in love with him all over again — or maybe she'd loved him all along. Once she admitted the truth, Mrs. Henry's question was easy to answer. Iris wanted to take a chance, open her heart to Garth, and live.

792

Whether he'd change his mind later…that was a risk worth taking. Tonight she would tell him the truth. That she loved him. Half an hour before class, she and Shelley met to organize the refreshments on an oilcloth-covered card table. In high spirits, Iris joked and laughed with her friend. She didn't even object when Shelley snuck a doggie treat from the platter and tossed it to Queenie. "Somebody's extra happy." Her friend's brows arched. "Does this have anything to do with Garth?" Iris wasn't about to admit to anything, not until she talked to Garth. She shrugged and offered her version of a Mona Lisa smile. "So that's how it is." By five minutes to seven, the room was crowded with dogs and their masters, everyone except Garth. Since that first class he had always arrived on time, and for one heart-stopping moment, Iris panicked. What if he's changed his mind? No, she trusted him. "Where's that handsome Garth?" Missy Jensen asked, casting about the room with obvious disappointment. "He missed Tuesday. I thought you said he'd be here for sure." "He will be," Iris said with certainty. Suddenly, he strode into the room, Lucky leashed and beside him. His eyes met hers, questioning and loving at the same time. "Sorry we're late." Iris smiled. "I knew I could trust you to show up." With a happy heart, she handed out ribbons and diplomas, calling up each adult and dog. Tonight her speeches were especially clever, and everyone laughed. She saved Garth for last. "I have a special announcement," she told the class. "I'm wild over Garth Henderson." The room grew pin-drop silent. Holding back nothing, she focused on the man she adored, letting the love shine from every pore. "I love you, Garth. I want you in my life as my friend, my partner and my lover." He blinked, as if he couldn't believe his ears. Then a grin lit up his whole face. While Lucky and Queenie eyed their owners curiously, and Shelley and everyone else cheered, Garth pulled Iris into his arms. "I love you right back, Iris, and I swear on my very life, I'll never let you go." Filled with joy, Iris smiled into his eyes. "That makes two of us."

793

Bound By Love Prologue Five years earlier Sheree Hamilton sat on the hardwood floor of her one bedroom apartment, meticulously painting her wellpedicured feet. She skillfully applied the second coat of the silver nail enamel on toes that were separated by white cotton balls. A gold-toned pendulum clock on the wall said 11am. Sheree should have been at work today, but she’d asked for the day off. A maintenance worker was coming to fix the vanity in her bathroom and she wanted to be there when he or she arrived. Although her new apartment was in a gated community with trusted staff, Sheree just didn’t feel comfortable with a strange person being in her home while she was away. So here she was waiting for him or her. And whoever it was, was over an hour late. Earlier Sheree had decided against phoning the main office to report the delay. She certainly wasn’t interested in creating a disgruntled relationship with someone who may have to fix something else for her in the future. As a form of distraction from her increasing ire, Sheree continued to slowly paint her nails. From her outer appearance, she didn’t look angry at all. The ice blue, V-neck tank shirt and matching draw-cord shorts Sheree wore made her look like the lady of leisure today. Only her flashing hazel eyes gave her real feelings away. Only they alluded to the unspoken truth that she really couldn’t afford to miss work, today or any other day. Sheree needed the money. Yet even though a missed day at work might set her back a bit, there was no way she was going to ask her family to reinstate her sizable allowance. Especially after she’d recently made such a big fuss about being independent. Sheree was determined not to be like her older sister, Kelly, who was content to let their wealthy parents take care of her forever. Kelly already had five college degrees and no job to speak of yet. It seemed obvious that she wanted to be a perpetual student. Sheree lost track of which degree her sister had in what. Although her older sister didn’t seem in the least bit interested in cutting their parents’ purse strings, Sheree was and did. Which was why she hoped that this repair job wouldn’t take more than one day. In all honestly, she wished that it wouldn’t take the rest of this day. She’d already been home all morning waiting and she really didn’t want to be locked up in the house all evening, too. She had a class to go to tonight. Sheree was in her last year of dental school and was eagerly looking forward to passing her boards and establishing a patient-friendly dental clinic, much like the one she worked for now. Sheree finally painted the last toenail, tightened the silver polish top, and leaned against her golden pillowback loveseat to let her nails dry. The raised woven leaf design of the loveseat felt cool against her cinnamon skin. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply, trying to release the tension that been building since 10am. Opening her eyes, Sheree looked around the room for something else to do once her nails eventually dried. She smiled at her surroundings. Sheree liked her modest apartment with its well placed mirrors of different shapes and sizes that gave the room a sense of light and space. In her living room sat a comfortable golden loveseat and chair atop of a cinnamon-colored rug. Most of the things in her apartment were along the earthen tones. Browns, beiges, and specks of gold had always been soothing colors for Sheree. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Sheree leaped up and waddled to the door. Her nails weren’t fully dry yet. When she opened the double bolted safety door, she was confronted with eyes the color of winter gray clouds, mahogany skin the color of a rich coffee bean, and muscles that seemed to be carved out of stone. The man before Sheree was six feet of gorgeousness. And the sight of him caused her breath to catch in her throat.

794

Sheree wasn't the only one unexpectedly affected today. When Graham Leverett rang the doorbell, he was all ready and prepared to explain the cause of his delay. But when that door opened, his mouth was slammed shut. He couldn’t say anything as he took in the beauty facing him. The woman at the door seemed to be engulfed in a billow of brownness. Her skin was cinnamon stick brown and her wide innocent eyes were hazel. And her hair. The woman’s sandy brown locks were parted on the side in cheek-length strands in the front, but were stylishly cut very close to her head in the back. Everything about her, except for her clothes was some shade of brown. For a good ten seconds neither of them said a thing. They just stood there, gawking at each other. Finally, Graham spoke. “Uh... Ma’am, I’m sorry for the delay. There was a busted pipe in another apartment that I needed to deal with right away. I came as soon as I could.” His voice was deep and husky like Barry White’s, which made the woman across from him wonder if he could sing as well. Still saying nothing, Sheree just nodded as her previous anger flew rapidly away. He was definitely worth the wait, she mused, moving out of the way to let the man enter her apartment. As Graham walked past her, Sheree caught a whiff of his cologne. It was slightly masked beneath the smell of pipe sealant, but her sensitive nose could sniff out the faint traces of Contradiction for Men. She remembered reading an ad for the fragrance that said, ‘it embodies the many dimensions of the modern man.’ Suddenly Sheree wanted to explore every dimension this man had. And he’s bowlegged, too, she thought, staring at the man’s legs as he walked towards her bathroom. Sheree also couldn’t help noticing his round bottom. If her friend Tiffany could see her now, she would be shocked. Sheree was the virgin in the bunch. The ‘twenty-five-year-old prune’ as they all liked to call her. Even she could hardly believe that she was thinking these things about a man she didn’t even know. For all she knew, he could be married with children. As a result, Sheree desperately tried to get a handle on herself as she silently followed him. In the bathroom, Sheree finally spoke. But when she did, she wished she hadn’t. “Thanks for coming.” That was stupid. The man hasn’t even started the job yet and already I’m thanking him, she mused, mentally kicking herself. Sheree decided to try again, hopefully with some sense this time. “I understand about your delay. A busted pipe is certainly more important than a couple of loose door hinges on a vanity.” She smiled at him through the tri-view mirror on the white top-lighted medicine cabinet. A lump formed in Graham’s throat as he put his black tool box on the counter. The woman in his midst was exquisite with a voluptuous body to boot. Graham loved his women full-breasted and hippy. Both of which this stunning woman was. What is her name? he mused, glancing down at the yellow work order taped to his tool box. Sheree Hamilton. The name definitely goes with the face - beautiful and sexy, Graham thought, suddenly wanting to hear his name on her lips. “By the way, my name is Graham Leverett,” he said, extending his hand as he turned to face her. Sheree took his strong, capable hand and shook it. “Very nice to meet you, Graham. I’m Sheree.” As she wrapped her mouth around his name, her voice was soft and mellow like whip cream on sweet potato pie. “How long have you worked for this company?” “Three years.” Graham’s deep voice seemed to vibrate the air in the space between them. His presence filled the room. Still they held hands. Neither seemed ready to let the other go.

795

Sheree shuddered as the effects of Graham’s voice coursed through her body. Quickly releasing his hand, she promptly folded her arms across her chest to hide the evidence of her desire for him. She hoped he didn’t notice. He had. Graham had noticed everything about Sheree since she opened that front door. He was aroused, too, and he wanted to kiss her so badly. His hands ached to touch her. He quickly shoved them into his jean pockets, lest they do just that. Sheree had been paying attention to some things, too. She immediately noticed the effect she’d had on Graham when he put his hands in his pockets. That action only made the tight jeans he wore even tighter, thus thoroughly emphasizing the rigid change in his body. Sheree gasped and blushed at what she saw. That was her cue to leave. “Well, let me allow you to do your work,” Sheree said as she quickly vacated the room. The cotton balls on Sheree’s feet were long forgotten as she practically ran back into the living room. However, she remembered them as soon as she sat down and tried to gain control over herself. Taking deep, calming breaths, she slowly removed the white balls, one by one. Although she’d rushed out of the bathroom, Sheree actually wanted Graham to take as long as he needed. Longer even. She was in no rush for either of them to leave now. *** In the bathroom, Graham did take his time. He wasn’t ready to go, either. The damage to the vanity was minor, only requiring a little glue and a few select screws to put everything back in place. He stretched out his time by replacing the bulbs in Sheree’s medicine cabinet and then readjusting its shelves. Next, Graham checked all of her bathroom pipes. One can never be too sure, he mused, still not ready to go, still stalling for time. In actuality, he was trying to build up the nerve to ask Sheree out. Finally, when Graham had done all he could in the bathroom without arousing suspicion, he called for her. “Sheree…uh…Ms. Hamilton, can you step back in here for a moment?” Sheree had to force herself not to run as she re-entered the bathroom. As soon as she crossed the threshold, she immediately noticed that the room was much brighter than before. Did Graham change the bulbs? Or was his smile that illuminating? As Graham bent down to show Sheree what he’d done to her vanity, she noticed how straight his hair was in the tight ethnic braids he wore. Does he have a perm? she wondered, wanting to know that and more about him. Then Sheree did the most unexpected thing. “Will you go out with me tomorrow night, Graham? That’s if you’re not married or already seeing someone,” she blurted out in a rush, as if she had no control of her tongue. Realizing what she’d just done, Sheree snapped her mouth shut. Why did I do that? she thought with horror. Graham went from smiling to grinning like a Cheshire cat, exposing straight white teeth and healthy gums. Then that magnificent voice said, “I’m not married or involved with anyone.” As he leaned closer to Sheree, his gray eyes twinkled. “At least not yet,” he added. He might as well be honest. Graham was very interested in becoming involved with Sheree. Only Sheree. Sheree got his message loud and clear. Again, she fought with herself, this time she fought not to kiss that delectable mouth of his. Graham’s full lips were the perfect color of her favorite mocha cappuccino. I wonder if they taste as good, she mused with a smile.

796

Aloud she said, “Is 8 o’clock okay?” “That’s fine. I’ll be here to pick you up at 7:59pm on the dot.” Sheree laughed. “That’s great, but I’ve just changed my mind about going out.” When she noticed the crestfallen look spreading across Graham’s face, she immediately clarified herself. “I mean, I’ve just decided to cook dinner for us here. I still want to see you again, Graham,” Sheree said, feeling oddly very comfortable in his presence. Instantly, his smile returned. “Good. You had me nervous for a minute there. I really want to get to know you better, if you’ll let me.” He locked his tool box and grabbed the sturdy handle. “I will,” Sheree replied. Then acting as if they’d known each other for years, she reached for his other hand and walked towards the living room with him. This would be the first class Sheree had ever missed. But Graham was so worth it. Three weeks later they were married. Chapter 1 Five years later Dr. Sheree Leverett sat in her office contemplating whether she should drive or fly to Handley, Georgia for her mother-in-law’s funeral. Actually, Betty Leverett was her ex-mother-in-law. Sheree and Graham were divorced four years ago. But for the year that they were married and the years following, Betty had been like a second mother to her, always willing to lend a listening ear, always willing to be there for Sheree in any way she could. Sheree’s closeness with Graham’s mother started during the early days of their marriage. It was then that Betty reached out to her and embraced her as one of her very own. She even led Sheree to the Lord. On top of that, Betty and her daughter, Juanita, also planned a women’s weekend with Sheree in mind. That was the weekend that all of their husbands had gone on a hunting trip, leaving the women to entertain themselves. And they did just that. During the day, Sheree was taught how to cook every last one of Graham’s favorite dishes. Betty took her time walking her daughter-in-law through each step until the new wife was confident in her culinary skills and was equipped with all kinds of delicious recipes to fix for her husband. Those recipes proved to be invaluable and they helped to draw Sheree and Graham closer together. At night, Sheree and her new sister-in-law shared a bedroom. They grew very close as they stayed up late every night, talking about their childhoods and, of course, men. Juanita told Sheree how she met her 6’5 husband, Harvey. She was a cheerleader in college and he was the captain of the basketball team. Harvey liked how outgoing and feisty she was. Juanita liked his take-charge attitude and the way he matched her strong personality, beat for beat. With Harvey, Juanita had found her equal. Sheree, in turn, shared how she and Graham had met. How their attraction for each other had been unmistakably overpowering for the both of them. How even though they had gotten married so quickly, she hoped that their marriage would last forever. But it hadn’t. Over the years, the older Mrs. Leverett continued to maintain contact with Sheree, despite the divorce. Sometimes it seemed as if Betty never even acknowledged the fact that there had ever been one. Up to the day she died, Mrs. Leverett called Sheree her daughter and had steadfastly believed that the young woman would one day reconcile with her son. Sheree had seriously doubted that back then, even more so as the years continued to roll on. But while Betty had lived, she dared not dash her hopes.

797

Then two nights ago, Horace Leverett called to say that his wife of forty years had died in her sleep at the hospital. Sheree had felt a great sense of loss at that news. Betty had truly been someone special to her. In all honesty, so had her son, Graham. Sheree still loved him after all these years. It was almost unbelievable how that could be possible now. Yet there were signs of it everywhere. One potent sign was the fact that she’d kept Graham’s last name. At the time Sheree made that decision, she reasoned that that was another way to symbolize her independence from her father’s controlling behavior. But on the inside, she knew that she’d really kept Graham’s name as a means to hold on to at least one small piece of him. Another indication that Sheree’s love for her ex-husband was still prevalent was her pitiful romantic life. She’d been dating a guy named Hunter Lott for the last eight months and she still hadn’t exchanged more than a few lackluster kisses with him. Hunter was tall and attractive with the kindest dark brown eyes Sheree had even seen. He was also a junior partner in her father’s law firm. But no matter how nice or attractive he was, Hunter just didn’t ‘do it’ for her. Sheree suspected that her bland feelings towards Hunter had something to do with the fact that her father liked him. That was part of it, but the major reason was the fact that Hunter just wasn’t Graham. Besides her spiritual convictions, Sheree just couldn’t see herself sleeping with someone she didn’t love. And she didn’t love her current beau at all. Lately, she’d been thinking about breaking it off with him. Hunter deserved to have a woman who could love him the way he should be loved. Sheree just wasn’t that woman and she knew that she couldn’t make herself be that woman, either. As Sheree went home to pack for her trip, she decided that calling it quits with Hunter really was the best thing to do for the both of them. She purposed in her heart to tell him about her decision as soon as possible. Unfortunately, Hunter was out of town on business this week and she didn’t want to do it over the phone. Especially not while they were in other cities. Thus Sheree decided to wait until after they both returned home to officially dissolve their relationship. Yet in her heart, it was already over. Suddenly, Sheree made another decision. She decided to drive to Handley instead of fly. I’m gonna need my car to get around once I get there, she deduced, ignoring the main reason she wanted to turn this journey into a road trip. Sheree needed time to mentally prepare to see Graham again. That four-hour drive would give her that time. *** Once she was all packed and ready to go, Sheree got back in her car, turned her favorite CD on, and headed towards Graham’s hometown. She had bittersweet memories of Handley. It was the first place she’d acted and lived independently of her family. It was also where Sheree had attended dental school. But most of all, it was the place where she'd met Graham Leverett. As Barry White sang, ‘Whatever we had, we had,” Sheree thought of her ex-husband. Their love had been intense from the very beginning. Then when they eloped, it had only intensified. They couldn’t seem to get enough of each other. Although money had been tight throughout their marriage, they didn’t seem to mind as long as they had each other. In fact, Sheree and Graham stayed in marital bliss for nine months straight with very few problems, very few disagreements. They were proud of their growth as a couple and when they progressed to the point of buying their first home, they were ecstatic. True, the house was a handyman’s dream, but Graham was more than up for the challenges it presented. On the extended family front, Graham and Sheree spent a lot of time with his folks. Because the Leveretts thoroughly embraced her as one of their own, Sheree found that she actually wanted to be around them all the time. She even got along better with her sister-in-law, Juanita, than with her own blood sister, Kelly. Everything was lovely and Sheree and Graham naively thought that it always would be.

798

The newlyweds’ problems started when Sheree tried to initiate the same kind of unity with her own family that she’d experienced with the Leveretts. Her first and last attempt to incorporate her family into their married lives failed miserably. It was the year of Sheree and Graham’s first Thanksgiving together. They’d decided to spend it with the Hamiltons in Caramel City, Alabama. Trouble seemed to start from the moment they arrived. And it started with Sheree’s father, Allen. Allen immediately began to interrogate Graham about his plans for the future. He was thoroughly frustrated when his new son-in-law refused to allow him to steer him towards a more lucrative career path, specifically – land development. By the second day, it was obvious that Mr. Hamilton had a strong dislike for Graham. This was one more person in his life that refused to be dominated by him and Allen couldn’t stand it. He saw Graham as just a simple handyman, totally unfit to join the prestigious Hamilton clan. In short, someone who was completely beneath his daughter. However, his wife, Harriet, adored Graham and that seemed to anger Allen even more. On the third day, the battle lines had been drawn and Sheree found herself smack in the middle of a family feud. Harriet stayed neutral while Kelly and Grandma Emma clearly chose the side with the money – Allen’s side. The boiling point occurred when two of Sheree’s high school friends came to town for the holidays and wanted her to go shopping with them. Sheree knew that she had little money to go shopping with, but she decided to join her friends anyway. On her way out of the house, her father stopped her in the hall and slipped her a wad of spending money. There was no way Allen was going to allow his daughter to go out with her wealthy friends without at least $3,000 in her purse. He had a reputation to protect. Unwittingly, Sheree took the money from her father. It was an involuntary action, one that she’d repeated many times during her teenage years. But at the time, Sheree had no idea how that one act would affect her husband, how that one act would threaten the very existence of her marriage. While she was out with her friends, Allen took that opportunity to rub it in Graham’s face how inadequate he was as a husband. He chided the young man about not being able to take care of Sheree in the manner to which she was accustomed to. Allen taunted Graham with the fact that he couldn’t even afford to finance his own wife’s shopping spree. Those words pierced Graham deeply as he had already been struggling with strong feelings of that nature. Then when Sheree came back beaming from ear to ear and bearing expensive gifts in her hands, Graham just went off. He insisted that she return everything. When Sheree stubbornly refused, he stormed out of her parents’ home and drove off in their car. Because it was a mild November night, Sheree waited up for her husband on the veranda, not even changing out of the stylish animal print caftan she’d worn shopping. She just could not go inside. It was as the walls of her parents’ house were stifling. Plus, Sheree really didn’t want to look at her father’s disdaining face or hear his condemnatory words about her husband. It was well after 2am before Sheree saw Graham again. And when she did, it was obvious that he’d been out drinking. She wanted to immediately try to talk things over with him, but by that time her father had been informed about Graham’s inebriated reappearance and refused to allow her husband back into their house. In fact, Allen insisted that he leave their property altogether. That set another chain of events into motion as Graham then demanded to talk with his wife. When Sheree tried to go with him, her father physically restrained her. A tug of war began. Her husband grabbed one of her arms while her father held the other. Both were squeezing her wrists so tightly that tears instantly sprung to her eyes.

799

When Graham noticed Sheree’s pain, he immediately released her. Her tears had halted him in his tracks. Although intoxicated, he couldn’t stand to see his wife in any pain. But her father still held her tightly. Allen refused to let his daughter go, no matter how much it hurt her. Then Graham said something that continued to haunt Sheree to this day. His demeanor was suddenly completely sober as he stared at her intently. “What’s it going to be, Sheree? Me or your family?” His gray eyes turned almost a dark blue with emotion. Suddenly, Sheree jerked away from her father. She became lit with anger. She was angry at herself for ever accepting her father’s money in the first place. She was angry with her father for interfering and making her husband feel so inadequate. Sheree was also angry with Graham for overreacting and going out drinking instead of staying to talk with her. But most of all, she resented the ultimatum he’d just given her. It sounded too much like her domineering father. When Sheree finally spoke, it was out of her sweltering ire. “I’m not going anywhere!” As soon as the words fall out of her mouth, she regretted them. Graham’s face went from shock to dismay, then finally to anger. He’d thought for sure that his beautiful wife would choose him. When she didn’t, he fought hard to hide his devastation behind the only emotion that he could still have with any dignity – anger. Graham’s pride wouldn’t allow him to beg, which was what he really wanted to do. Instead he turned around and walked off the colonial style porch and strode silently into the darkness. Graham didn’t even take their car. Why would he? The tan Mercedes had been yet another thing Allen had given Sheree during their marriage. Plus, it had served as a constant reminder of Graham’s inability to care for his wife in the manner to wish she’d been raised. Never mind how many extra hours he had to put in at work, just to pay for the car’s costly repairs. Graham hitchhiked all the way back to Handley. With each mile that he rode on the back of various trucks and jeeps, his anger grew. When he finally made it home, it was late Thanksgiving evening. Although he was dog-tired, he checked the phone messages. When he realized that none of them were from Sheree, his anger increased even more. Graham spent the rest of that day eating cold cereal and sulking. He didn’t even call to tell his parents that he was back in town. Over the course of the weekend, Graham didn’t shave or bathe. He just sat by the phone, waiting for his wife to call. But she never did. Chapter 2 As Sheree remembered that painful time, she switched the current CD. Barry White’s voice just reminded her too much of Graham for comfort right now. Although classical music now played, her mind still returned to that fateful Thanksgiving Day. Sheree had waited all weekend for Graham to call her. When he didn’t, she grew angrier and depressed. By Monday, she’d finally given in to the poisonous words her father had continuously poured into her ears since her husband’s departure. In short, Sheree had become convinced that her marriage was over. Why else hadn’t Graham contacted her yet? Soon after that, Sheree’s father quickly drafted up divorce papers. He also sent someone to her home in Handley to collect her things. The house itself would remain with her husband. Two months later, Sheree was a divorced woman. Sadly, she never saw Graham again. By March of the following year, she’d found a new job. Sheree had also found a new place to live. Although she’d allowed her father to step in when she was hurt and confused, she quickly grew weary of his endless controlling behavior and decided to try to reestablish her independence.

800

When Sheree finally separated herself from her father’s control, Allen stubbornly declared that she was cut off from his money altogether until she wised up and acted like a true Hamilton. Someone who married the right man and, of course, stayed pliable to his influence. More precisely – someone like her sister Kelly. Sheree shook her head in the car as she switched back to her Barry White CD. If she was going to think about Graham anyway, she might as well listen to her favorite CD where doing it. Yet before Sheree allowed her mind to focus completely upon her ex-husband, she took a moment to think about her sister. Sheree disapproved of the way Kelly had sold herself short by marrying for money. To this day, her sister was thoroughly miserable with the man their father handpicked for her. Jeremy Wright was a wealthy lawyer from Allen’s law firm, but he was completely bankrupt in backbone. Jeremy was clearly their father’s yesman. He was also the biggest wimp Sheree had ever met in her life. Jeremy would never challenge Allen on anything. Sheree suddenly smiled. Graham had certainly challenged her father. And he had definitely been his own man. Sheree sighed wistfully. A part of her wished that he were still her man. But as Barry White said, ‘Whatever we had, we had.’ It was over between them. On the last stretch of her trip, Sheree stopped at a small roadside diner to rest and eat. She ordered one of her favorite meals - corned beef and cabbage. As she applied salt and pepper to her food, she remembered the first time she’d cooked this same meal for Graham. It had been on their first date. *** That long ago and fateful night of their first date, Graham had arrived at Sheree’s apartment at 7:59 sharp just like he’d promised. He’d worn a white knit shirt and a pair of navy slacks. His braided hair shined with luster and it smelled like cinnamon. Upon entering her home, Graham kissed both of Sheree’s hands and handed her the single red rose he’d brought for her. It was received with pleasure. Sheree exhaled deeply of the flower and ushered him in. As Graham followed her swaying hips inside, he had to fight with his body for control. The brown bamboo print dress Sheree wore emphasized just how curvaceous she really was. After she put her flower in a small vase of water, they sat down in the living room and made small talk, conversing like old friends. After awhile, she brought dinner out and served it. In the small dining room, Graham and Sheree sat across from each other and held hands as they said grace. Their touch was electric. Sparks seemed to jump from one hand to the other, sending their pulses racing. Amen couldn’t be uttered quickly enough. As they promptly started to eat their meal, Sheree found it increasingly hard to concentrate. Suddenly she wasn’t hungry anymore. When she looked up from her plate, she discovered that Graham wasn’t hungry anymore, either. His gray eyes were watching her intently, focused on her lips, not his food, as she selfconsciously licked them. That innocent action prompted Graham to clear his suddenly dry throat. He reached to take a sip of his drink just as Sheree reached for hers. Again, their fingers touched, but this time there was no stopping the inevitable. Sheree moved her chair closer and leaned into Graham’s lips. Even while it was happening, she couldn’t believe that she’d made the first move like this. Around him, she seemed to always make the first move. Graham couldn’t believe it, either. He had come quite prepared to exercise some restraint all night, but with Sheree kissing him like this, he didn’t know what to do. Yet after the second delightful smack, his instincts took over and he scooped her up into his arms and took her to the bedroom, never even breaking the kiss. Inside of the brown-colored room, Graham and Sheree rapidly tore at each other’s clothes. They couldn’t undress fast enough. Suddenly time seemed to stand still as they became trapped in a dreamlike state as they stood there looking at each other’s magnificence. Wanting to savor the moment, Graham withdrew a bit so that they could really look at each other.

801

The meal on the table was now long forgotten as his gray eyes roamed Sheree’s stunning birthday suit. “You’re so beautiful,” Graham said as he moved closer again. Yet as soon as he looked up into her face, he suddenly stopped short. The wide-eyed way Sheree stared at his rigid body spoke of inexperience and that unsettled him. Graham had to ask, “Are you a virgin?” His tone was soft and gentle just like the touch of his hand on her cheek. Sheree nodded as her face flushed with color. Now feeling self-conscious, she reached for the robe that lay draped across the wicker chair by the door and started to cover herself. “I’m…sorry,” Sheree began, not sure if she was apologizing for remaining virtuous or for leading him on like this. Graham removed his hand from her cheek and brought her to his pounding bare chest. When he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about, Sheree. I appreciate your honesty. In fact, I’m glad you told me, because that is one gift that’s better off given in marriage.” Then right there in Sheree’s bedroom, on their very first date, Graham dropped to his knees and proposed to her. “Will you marry me, Sheree?” Of course, she said, “Yes.” *** Sheree finished the rest of her meal, smiling as she remembered how fast she’d said ‘yes’ to Graham’s proposal. The only reason they waited three weeks later to elope was because he insisted on giving her an expensive ring that he’d picked out for her. He needed the extra time to finish several odd jobs that he’d taken on to pay for it. Graham was always willing to do things like that to please her. As Sheree paid the elderly waitress for her meal, along with a generous tip, her mind stayed on Graham. That man sure loved me, she mused. Then she shook her head to clear it. But that was then and this is now. Who is he loving now? Then after visiting the facilities, Sheree went out to her car and started on her way. This time she let the Barry White CD play continuously. Chapter 3 When Sheree finally arrived in Handley, she immediately went to her former home on 515 Ridgehall Drive. Because Graham couldn’t stand to stay in the house that had once held so many of his marital hopes and dreams, he’d asked his parents to move in shortly after his divorce was final. Sheree couldn’t really blame him. It would have been hard for her to stay there as well. Especially since that house lived and breathed the evidence of their love. Five years ago, the Ridgehall neighborhood had contained several rows of older Victorian style homes. Those houses had been ripe for renovations and someone to give them a hefty dose of T-L-C. Graham had completed several odd jobs for quite a few of the owners and had gotten a tip about the property at 515 Ridgehall Drive. Then at the first opportunity, he’d pooled together his resources and bought the house for his wife. When Graham presented the house to Sheree, she immediately saw its potential. The rotting wood floors, rusty kitchen and bathroom pipes and peeling walls that screamed for fresh paint, did nothing to deflect the joy that they both felt at owning their first home. Now the Ridgehall area was some of Handley’s prime real estate. It was clear even back then that Graham had an innate ability for spotting valuable property. Sheree parked her red Camaro on the street in front of the two-story brick house. She’d reserved a room at a local hotel and didn’t want to get her car blocked in with the many guests that were sure to arrive soon.

802

Betty had been deeply loved by everyone that knew her. She was known all over town by those she’d helped during her many years as the director of her church’s ministry to the homeless. As Sheree walked across the beautifully landscaped lawn, she wrestled with whether or not she should ring the doorbell or just walk on in. She wasn’t sure which was appropriate for her now. Finally, she decided to just ring the doorbell and then let the family decide how it should be handled from that point on. Sheree pressed the lighted rectangle by the door and inhaled deeply of the purple pansies that were planted by the front walk. That had been one of the first things Graham had planted just for her. It was nice to see that they were still there as a symbol of the love they once shared. Graham’s older sister answered the door and immediately engulfed Sheree in a big bear hug. However, they couldn’t hug too long or too tightly, because Juanita was eight months pregnant with child. When they withdrew, Sheree smiled tenderly at the woman who had the same classic dark chocolate features as her mother, Betty. Juanita even had her mother’s gray eyes. Graham had those eyes as well, although he had his father’s complexion. “I see you are finally giving Harvey what he wanted,” Sheree said as the hug ended. “Girl, don’t you know it.” Juanita grinned wide, patting her protruding belly in the powder blue maternity dress she wore. “Sister-in-law, come on in. And from now on, you don’t have to ring that doorbell. Shoot, let me find Daddy, so you can get your key. You’re home, girl.” As usual, Juanita made Sheree feel just like one of the family. And it did feel like home. Juanita had always treated Sheree like a lovable little sister and protecting her seemed to just come naturally. One time Juanita had even gone so far as to fistfight one of Graham’s old girlfriends on Sheree’s behalf. Apparently a gorgeous, mocha-skinned woman named Trina Flood had gotten news of Graham’s impromptu nuptials and decided to come to his parents’ house to protest. It was a Sunday and everyone was there for dinner. When Graham insisted that Trina stop making a fool out of herself and leave, she retaliated by throwing malicious insults at his new wife. Sheree had simply shrugged it off and gone back inside the house with her husband, leaving the irate woman outside by herself. Trina didn’t matter to Sheree. Why should she? Sheree had Graham now. But Trina obviously mattered to Juanita. Because before anyone could stop her, Graham’s sister had charged their unwelcome visitor and dragged her by her long curly hair all the way back to her car. A few minutes after her utter humiliation, Trina got into her black sports car and left with a few scrapes and a badly bruised ego. They never saw or heard from her again. However, black paint was found on Sheree’s tan Mercedes a month later when it sustained damage from some anonymous person hitting it while it was parked outside of a grocery store. *** Fortunately, there were no catfights going on today. Today was a day of consoling fellowship. Inside of the Leverett house, there were a group of people already seated in the spacious living room. Sheree courteously waved at them as she followed Juanita towards the kitchen area. She knew every inch of this place. She’d watched her delicious husband shape and mold every nook and cranny of this house. It was going to be a house of loving parents surrounded by many rambunctious kids. We never got to the having kids part, Sheree mused, sighing with regret. The way she and Graham ended their marriage seemed so stupid now. If they had just waited a little longer, cooled off, dropped their pride and stubbornness, they would still be together now. Only if. When Sheree and Juanita entered the kitchen, Horace was fixing drinks at the oak island that had been hand-carved by his son. Secretly, Sheree knew that their initials were carved underneath each shelf.

803

Graham had lovingly put ‘GL loves SL forever’ in hundreds of hidden places all over this house. The same house they were supposed to grow old together in. No wonder Graham moved out of here. It must have been torment for him, Sheree mused with a deeper understanding of her ex-husband’s pain. Just then, Horace came over and hugged Sheree. Then he kissed both of her hands. Graham used to do that, too. “Hello, baby girl. We missed you.” Then without asking, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver keychain. “Here’s your key back.” It was as if he’d been waiting to return that key to its rightful owner. Just as Sheree received the keychain from Horace, the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stiffened. Graham was in the room. She knew it without even turning around. Her senses had always been extra sharp concerning him. Slowly, Sheree did turn around to face her ex-husband. But he wasn’t alone. There was a striking woman with Graham and she had her arm linked possessively through his. Sheree’s mouth instantly went dry. She grabbed a drink from the tray Horace had and took a huge sip. The iced tea felt good going down her parched throat. “Hello, Sheree.” Graham untangled his arm from his companion and walked over to his ex-wife. He hadn’t seen her in over four years and she still looked just as good as the day they met. Better, he decided as his gray eyes continued to feast upon her loveliness. Sheree’s sandy hair was longer all over and arrayed in a multitude of curls that seemed to caress her face with love. Her voluptuous figure was immaculate in the rust-colored silk pantsuit she wore. Graham especially paid close attention to the way the pants hugged her shapely hips. And those feet. Sheree always paid special attention to her feet. Today they were painted golden brown to match the buttons on her outfit and the golden open-toe heels she wore. During his rapt admiration of his ex-wife, Graham completely forgot about the woman he came with. Sheree looked up into her ex-husband’s gray eyes and lost herself for a moment. She wasn’t aware of anything or anyone else around her as she relished Graham’s presence. He looked good in the black pleated slacks and white crewneck shirt he wore. His hair was now free of braids and cut very close to his head. Sheree inhaled his fantastic scent. Graham always smelled so wonderful to her, but now he smelled even better. Especially since she hadn’t seen him in years. When Sheree put down her glass and the house key, Graham held both of her hands and bent to kiss each one slowly. Her body tingled as she felt the first touch of his lips on her hands. She looked down as he paid sweet homage to each hand. At the same time, Graham looked up into Sheree’s beautiful hazel pools and their eyes locked together. It was just for a moment, but it seemed like forever, and then they both knew. They were still bound by their love. Liquid love still flowed between them and there was no restraining it. Sheree and Graham’s love was a sacred bond that had kept them tied to each other even after all these years. They were connected on a level that transcended the physical. Suddenly, they heard someone in the background announce, “Graham, darling, aren’t you going to introduce your fiancée to your father’s guest?” Fiancée? Did she just say she was Graham’s fiancée? Sheree mused as she quickly emerged from her trancelike state. She blinked rapidly to refocus before looking over at the bronze-skinned petite woman standing in the arched doorway. Graham’s fiancée had on a classy, silk geometric two-piece suit. The coral color looked great against her bronze skin. She had thick black hair that cascaded loosely down to her mid-back, causing her to look like a young Diana Ross. Teonna Jackson was gorgeous.

804

Graham reluctantly made his way back to where Teonna stood. As soon as he did, the woman immediately linked her arm through his again. This time it was even more possessive. Graham looked solemn all of a sudden as he prepared to make the proper introductions. “Teonna, this is my wi...my ex-wife, Sheree. Sheree, this is Teonna Jackson,” Graham said, discreetly omitting the fiancée part. Everyone in the room noticed his omission and slip of tongue, but said nothing. What was there to say about the matter? Horace spoke up at that point, tactfully changing the subject. “Son, I was just giving Sheree back her key to the house. Can you please go outside and get her luggage out of the car?” Then the gray-haired man turned to Sheree. “Baby girl, give Graham the keys to your car. Uh…which car is it this time?” Horace grinned, teasing her. Sheree was known for switching cars every two years. She seemed to be addicted to the new car smell. In actuality, that was one of the few habits she picked up from her father. Allen always had to have a new vehicle. Besides the prestige involved, he deemed new cars as more reliable and requiring less maintenance. Sheree found that to be true as well. The only drawback was when the car got into an accident and needed costly repairs. “It’s the red Camaro,” Sheree stammered out. “But, Dad, I have a hotel room. I hadn’t planned on staying here.” She nervously licked her lips. Horace looked towards Graham who had moved closer to him. “We may as well tell her now, son.” He looked over at Sheree again. “Betty left you the house, baby girl. After the divorce, Graham gave it to her as a birthday present. But she later stressed in her will that she wanted you to have it back after she was gone. Everyone knew about it.” Horace stretched his mahogany arms out and gestured around. “As you can see, Betty didn’t change much. She didn’t feel the need to. After all, it’s your house, baby girl. Betty always said that.” Then Horace took Sheree’s hands and patted them affectionately. “So you see, it would be foolish for you to stay at a hotel when you already have a place of your own to lay your head down.” “But...I.” Sheree turned to look at Graham who only nodded in agreement. Then she reached into her pocket and handed over her car keys to him. As Graham went to get Sheree’s luggage, Juanita escorted Teonna to the living room. This way, her father and sister-in-law could talk privately. Without non-relatives present. When everyone was gone, Sheree began again. “Dad...” Horace hushed her. “Shh...don’t worry about me. I’ll be moving into one of the many other houses that my son owns.” He winked playfully at her and added in a whisper, “The boy is loaded now.” “Dad, you know I never cared about that.” Sheree’s serious face now also bore admiration stemming from what she’d just been told. I knew Graham had it in him. I knew he’d make a success out of his career, she mused, putting the house keys in her pocket where the car keys had once been. Horace acknowledged her words with a nod of approval. “I know, but it’s a great thing for you to tell your father when you see him again.” He grinned wider. Sheree laughed. “I’ll make sure that I pass that information along.” She could just see her father’s face fall now. He’d been so wrong about Graham. “Now he wouldn’t dare stand in your way this time,” Horace continued, holding onto the same vision that his wife had. He wanted Graham and Sheree to reconcile, too. Sheree was puzzled by that last statement. “But, Dad, Graham’s engaged now.”

805

Horace laughed. “That’s what she likes to tell people, because they’ve been dating off and on for a year. But don’t worry, everything isn’t always what it seems. And now that you’re back, we probably won’t be seeing much of Teonna anymore.” He seemed quite happy about that. Sheree grew silent as she tried to process all of the things she’d heard today. Horace obviously didn’t want Teonna as a daughter-in-law, but she wasn’t sure how Graham felt about the pretty woman. That was left to be seen. In the meantime, Sheree would remain quiet and observant. She didn’t want to cause Graham any more pain. Even if it meant that she couldn’t have him back, she still wanted him to be happy at all costs. *** Teonna wanted Graham to be happy, too, but she was not quite as selfless as Sheree. Teonna only wanted him to be happy with her. But Graham’s behavior tonight quickly showed her that he was more than capable of being happy with someone else, particularly his ex–wife. I got to nip this in the bud, Teonna mused resolutely as she moved to where she could sit and stare out the picture window at her beloved as he unloaded Sheree’s car. Chapter 4 Outside, the sun was setting. The purple and orange streaks in the sky seemed to promise a calm night. Graham didn’t know about that. He was nowhere near calm. Besides being extremely affected by his exwife, he was downright angry at his female companion. What came over Teonna? Graham wondered, thinking that she knew full well that they were not really engaged and might never be. Yes, he’d let her tell her married friends that when they were at a recent party. But that had only been to save face. Particularly Teonna’s face. During that gala, Teonna’s inquisitive friends had cornered her by asking when she was going to get married. She was the only single friend left out of the six of them and they never let her forget it. Every man Teonna dated was scrutinized by her five girlfriends for his husband potential. Even the blind dates they fixed her up with weren’t exempt. Only Graham seemed to have met with their satisfaction. Teonna’s friends knew that she had been seeing Graham for awhile, although sporadically, and they had left her alone for months about it. But that day of the party they blindsided her once again with that same stressful and annoying question - When are you getting married? Teonna had been flabbergasted as she quickly tried to think of something to get them off her back. That’s when Graham had walked up just in time to hear her say that they were engaged, but hadn’t set the date yet. Then when he’d been asked to confirm it, he looked in Teonna’s pleading eyes and agreed. Although Graham wasn’t in love with her, she was still his friend and he didn’t like seeing her embarrassed. Thus, he became Teonna’s ‘pretend fiancé’ whenever they were around her girlfriends. However, they hadn’t been around her girlfriends this evening. No, Teonna had obviously pulled the phony fiancé hat out of her bag of tricks to deflect Sheree. Graham would have to find out her exact reasons for doing so later. But Teonna wasn’t the only one acting a little strange today. With his mother’s recent death and now Sheree’s reappearance in his life, Graham felt as if his whole world had been turned upside down. When he walked into that kitchen, he almost forgot to breathe. Sheree was just that beautiful to him. Yet that was just the thing. Graham had always known how beautiful Sheree was, so his reaction should not have been so severe. Plus, he’d known that she was going to be here today. Nothing could have kept Sheree away from paying her respects to his family during this time. She’d loved his mother dearly, of that he was sure.

806

But I wonder what kept her away from me? Graham thought as he unlocked Sheree’s trunk. His heart was still singed from the blistering heartbreak he’d suffered four years ago. Graham removed the Gucci bags first. Then he went around to the left side of the car to get the rest of the luggage. As soon as he opened the door, he smelled Sheree’s exotic floral scent and a stirring began in his loins. Graham still recalled the name of the perfume she used - GoodLife Woman. Boy, I do miss the smell of this woman, he thought, inhaling deeply of the wonderful scent, as if doing so would somehow reunite them again in some small way. Even now Graham could recall how he used to sit between Sheree’s legs while she braided his hair. He would close his eyes and just relax in the sweet scent of her body as she greased his scalp and then twisted his locks into another braided masterpiece. He missed those times, too. Graham shook his head to clear his thoughts. That was the past. He had to concentrate on getting through the next few difficult days. Then he gathered the rest of Sheree’s baggage and went back inside. *** In less than an hour, more people had come expressing their sympathy. Pretty soon the whole downstairs was full. As they moved about the room, fellowshipping among the guests, Sheree and Graham tried hard not to look at each other. The harder they tried, the more they wanted to. Finally fed up with the avoidance game, Sheree decided to go outside for some fresh air. In the dimly lit backyard she sat on the wooden swing, completely surrounded by colorful fall garden mums. The yellow and pink flowers were still visible even at night. They were another act of love from Graham. He’d planted them that last fall they were together. Sheree sighed remorsefully as she rocked back and forth, allowing the motion to soothe her. She and Graham used to rock like this at night during the summer months of their marriage. With the cool autumn air feeling good on her skin, Sheree leaned her head back and smiled in contentment. Momma Leverett used to love this swing, too. God, I miss that woman, Sheree mused, sighing again. Suddenly her tranquility was interrupted. “A penny for your thoughts,” said a deep voice from behind her. Soon the body of that voice emerged from the shadows. It was Graham. I wonder how long he’s been out here, Sheree mused as she abruptly sat up and halted the swing with her feet. Her pulse was running a marathon. Not a race motivated by fright, but one solely motivated by excitement. “I was just thinking about your mother. She was truly a special woman,” Shelly finally answered as she made room for him on the swing. He nodded and sat down, giving the swing a push off with his left foot, setting it back in motion. “Yes, she was.” Graham paused and let out a long, sad sigh. “I have mixed feelings about her death though. On one hand, I wish she was still with us. But on the other hand, I’m kind of relieved that she’s no longer in any pain.” He turned to look at Sheree with glistening eyes. “Is it bad to think like that?” Sheree stopped the swing completely now and inched closer to Graham. She instinctively put her arms around him. “I don’t think so, Graham. People grieve in different ways. I think it’s perfectly okay to feel relief that a loved one is finally free from pain.” “Really?” Graham asked, his soul needing that answer like his body needed her arms about him right now. “Really,” Sheree confirmed. Then she withdrew a bit and tenderly stroked his face in comfort. When some of Graham’s tears spilled down his cheeks and upon her fingers, Sheree tenderly wiped them away. As she did, her heart became conflicted and an internal war began.

807

A strong part of Sheree wanted to kiss away all of Graham’s pain. But another part of her feared where that might lead if she did. She honestly didn’t known what to do. As Sheree continued to battle within herself, Graham had already made up his mind. He was going to kiss her. He had to kiss her. Now! Graham grabbed Sheree’s hands and slowly lowered them from his face. As he did, he bent to kiss her lips. They both moaned with pleasure from the contact. That kiss began light as a butterfly. It was feathery and the downward stroke tickled oh so good against the skin. It was delicious, too, like a small sample of a delightful meal. Suddenly the kiss deepened into a voracious feast as Sheree initiated several fiery probes. And the kisses she returned were from a reservoir of pent-up emotion, which was why they were equally fiery. Sheree loved Graham. Oh how she loved him; and this was just one way she sought to show him. Graham cupped Sheree’s face gently in his hands as they continued to play a sensual game of tongue-tag. He gave, she received. She gave, he received. He could hear his heart pounding loudly in his ears as he ravished her mouth. Graham loved Sheree. Her smell, the feel of her against him was overwhelming, staggering, almost surreal. Was this really happening? Was the love of his life actually in his arms, kissing him as if her life depended on it? The answer to both questions was a resounding ‘yes’. Unexpectedly, the love that was in Sheree’s heart soon spilled out of her mouth. “I still love you, Graham,” she murmured softly against his lips. She’d always been candid about her feelings towards him. Tonight was no different. Her words sank deep into his heart and prompted his own honest declaration. “I lo...” Graham words were suddenly cut off by the sound of angry footsteps clomping on the Bermuda Calypso brick walkway. Those footsteps almost sounded like a horse leading a buggy on an old southern roadway. “Graham, are you out here?” It was Teonna. She was squinting, trying hard to see what they were doing in the darkness. Sheree instantly pulled away from him and sat up straight as the pretty woman quickly made her way over to them. I hope my lipstick isn’t still on his lips, she mused, stealing a quick glance in Graham’s direction. It wasn’t. They’d long since kissed all of that off. And besides, it was too dark to really tell anyway. The only light in the area was near the back door and that was several yards away. Teonna walked up to them and stood in front of Graham, completely ignoring Sheree. Her hands were placed firmly on her hips. “Graham, I’m ready to go. Now!” Barely able to control the jealous rage bubbling up inside of her, Teonna bit her bottom lip to keep from cursing. She’d seen their shadowy embrace from a distance and wasn’t sure if they’d been kissing or consoling one another. Either way, she didn’t like it. Especially when she was here to give Graham all the comfort he needed. Graham took a deep breath and exhaled. Teonna was behaving even stranger now. What is with this jealous act? Aloud he said, “Tee, I’ll be with you in a minute. Let me just say goodnight to Sheree.” Teonna stood there for a brief silent moment, glaring at him, wanting to say more but not sure if she should risk it. Then without another word, she turned around and stomped back off towards the house. A few muttered curse words escaped her lips, but they were too indistinguishable to be offensive to the hearers. Meanwhile, Graham shook his head and waited until Teonna was well out of earshot before turning to face Sheree again. His face was apologetic. “I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.” Sheree smiled in understanding. “I do. She’s just trying to protect her territory. You are her fiancé, you know.” A fact I definitely forgot about a few minutes ago myself, she added silently.

808

Graham dropped his head and shook it again. Now he definitely regretted ever agreeing to that lie. “Sheree, there are some things that you don’t know...” he began to explain, looking back up into her eyes. Sheree held a finger to his lips to silence him as she stood to her feet. “No need to explain. I’ve been out of your life for years now and I couldn’t possibly expect you to just put your life on hold.” Like I have, she added to herself. Aloud Sheree continued. “Actually, I don’t blame Teonna for acting that way at all. You’re quite a catch, Graham, always have been. But she doesn’t have to worry about me. I’ll not stand in her way of happiness. This won’t happen again.” She paused and smiled. “By the way, I like your hair that way, too.” Then before Graham could say anything else, Sheree planted a light kiss on his forehead and went back inside. Graham stayed outside for a minute longer. What a mess, he thought as he massaged his aching temples. Chapter 5 While Sheree was back at the house helping Horace and Juanita clean up after the guests, Graham was driving Teonna home in his teal Cadillac. As soon as they pulled into the parking lot of her upscale condo, he turned off the car and faced her. Teonna continued to stare straight ahead, pretending that she didn’t know this confrontation was a long time coming. “What was that all about?” Graham’s deep voice rumbled with offense. Teonna turned to him with feigned innocence, her dark eyes wide as if in surprise. “What ever do you mean?” Graham grew angry. “Cut the crap, Tee. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Why did you say that we were engaged back there? And why in the world were you acting all jealous tonight?” Teonna’s calm face quickly grew angry as well. “You know why, Graham. That woman hurt you deeply and I didn’t want to see her hurt you again. What kind of woman would let someone as wonderful as you get away in the first place? I figured if Sheree thought you had someone else in your life, then that would discourage her from trying to make a fool out of you again.” When it seemed as if Graham was accepting her logic so far, Teonna’s tense face relaxed. Graham relaxed, too. “I understand. But I just don’t like lying to Sheree. I never have.” Thanks to all those childhood Bible study lessons his mother taught him about the dangers of bearing false witness, Graham never really liked lying to anyone. Teonna looked at him tenderly. “It’s only until after the funeral. Then I’m sure she’s going to be on her way back home.” At least I hope she will, she thought as they said their good-byes. Teonna secretly wished that Sheree had never come back to Handley in the first place. She wanted the woman out of the way and as far away as possible from the man they both loved. Yes, Teonna had seen that look of love in Sheree’s eyes tonight. It had been pretty hard to miss. As she unlocked her front door, Teonna thought about how deep her own love for Graham was. How she’d been in love with him since they became friends in real estate school. How that love had grown deeper over the years. When Teonna first met Graham, it was right after his divorce. He was a heartbroken man, looking for something to occupy his lonely hours. Teonna had been a lonely woman, looking for someone to share her life with as she climbed up the ladder to success. She was still a lonely woman, despite her current success. At first sight, Graham’s looks alone were enough to attract Teonna to him. Yet it was his keen eye that had really drawn her to his side. The latter was also what made him one of the top students in their class. As

809

much as Teonna could tell from interacting with his family over the years, Graham seemed to have inherited his love for handyman work from his father. During his many years as director of maintenance at the local school board, Horace Leverett spent much time pouring his vast knowledge of carpentry, plumbing, painting, and mechanics into his son’s enthusiastic young mind. He would often allow Graham to help him during the summer breaks as he worked to make sure that each school building and its equipment was safe and operational. Then when Horace retired six years ago, Graham’s passion for that type of work only increased. Soon he searched for and found a new way to continue doing what he loved and make a decent living at the same time. Graham’s immense knowledge and understanding of house structures, foundations, and expertise in home improvement made him one of the top agents in his field. He had the unique ability to look at a piece of property and assess its value - past, present, and future. In fact, Graham would take an old and dilapidated house, buy it at way below cost and nurture it back to a state of beauty. As a result, his properties were some of the most elegant and well sort after in town. At thirty-two-years of age, Graham was already a multi-millionaire and a master member of the real estate million dollar club. He also owned a lucrative home improvement business in town. Best of all, Graham shared his wealth with others. Besides giving generously to his church, he also sponsored free health screenings at the recreation center he built in his old neighborhood. Seeing Graham’s talent and observing his wise business sense, Teonna often followed his advice and example to advance her own career. Now she had her own repertoire of prime real estate, making her a very wealthy woman in her own right. As a result, there was no doubt in Teonna’s mind that being close to Graham had greatly enriched her life in more ways than one. If only she could get closer still. These days many women tried to get next to Graham. Why wouldn’t they? He was truly a hot commodity in every sense of the word. He was good-looking, rich, and very sensitive to the needs of others. And his bowed legs were simply magnificent. Those were just some of the reasons Teonna loved him so much. Another reason was that he’d been the best lover she’d ever had. And although it had just been that one time, it had left her longing for more. Much more. If only Graham’s heart had healed as rapidly as his business had grown, then maybe he and Teonna could have a real romance going instead of a fake one. With Graham still on her mind, Teonna undressed and ran a hot bath. She was careful to pour the right amount of bath beads into the whirlpool bath. On second thought, maybe I ought to take a cold shower instead, Teonna mused as memories of that one night with Graham gave her a sudden heat flash. Almost two years ago, Teonna and Graham had attended the same real estate conference in Atlanta, Georgia. After the last session on the last day of training, they went to have a drink in the hotel bar. They found each other very easy to talk to and before long Graham had shared with Teonna the painful details of his marriage and also his mother’s fight with breast cancer. After a few drinks, they decided to retire to their separate rooms. But when Graham walked Teonna to her suite, she took that opportunity to invite him in for a nightcap. To her surprise, he agreed. He didn’t seem to want to be alone that night, either. Shortly after their drinks arrived, Teonna did something she’d desired to do since they met – she kissed Graham right on the lips. Then when he didn’t flinch or reject her, she kissed him two more times. Within minutes they were locked in a passionate embrace on her bed. That night Graham made love to Teonna with what seemed like all the tenderness in the world. He did not, or rather would not stop until she had been thoroughly satisfied. From that moment on, Teonna vowed to make him hers forever. The next day Graham apologized for his ‘indiscretion’, but Teonna wanted no apology. Although she didn’t tell him that, she didn’t regret what happened between them at all. In fact, she wished that it would happen again. But Graham would not repeat that wonderful night for anything, no matter how much Teonna hinted otherwise. She also noticed that he stopped drinking after that night, so she couldn’t even entice him that

810

way. Graham continued to try to just be her friend. Although that infuriated Teonna, she did accept his friendship. She had to have some access to him. Lately, Teonna thought that he was beginning to soften to the idea of having a romantic relationship with her, especially when he agreed to be called her fiancé. But now all of that was threatening to change. All because of Sheree. Teonna couldn’t wait to see the beautiful woman go. The thought of Graham’s ex-wife made the muscles in her neck tense. I think I’m gonna need that relaxing bath after all, Teonna mused, pouring in more bath beads. *** On the drive home, Graham thought about tonight’s events and the fact that his emotions were still in an uproar. And not only from the loss of a beloved parent, either. Sheree was at the root of his current tumult. Graham foolishly thought that he’d gotten over her. But after seeing Sheree today, he didn’t think that he ever would. He still loved her and he definitely still wanted her. But Graham felt so distant from her now. He knew nothing about Sheree’s current life and had no idea what she’d been doing these last few years. The most Graham knew about Sheree now was that she appeared to still want him. And he definitely heard her say that she still loved him tonight. Oh, what those few simple words had done to Graham’s closely protected heart. They’d successfully burrowed through several thick layers of romantic apathy that he deliberately put there in order to protect himself from future emotional damage. Now he felt raw and exposed. As Graham continued to think about the powerful affect that Sheree had had on him tonight, he suddenly grew apprehensive. Maybe Teonna was right. Maybe another relationship with Sheree was just too risky for him to try to venture into. Maybe he would be a fool to try to reconcile with a woman who’d let him go so easily. And for what – daddy’s money? Graham had plenty of his own money now. If Sheree had simply waited a little longer, he would have been able to give her everything her heart desired. Although Graham hated how his ex-father-in-law had treated him, that experience with Allen had given him the extra motivation he needed to work even harder to be successful. Graham never wanted to be financially inept again. Whenever he remarried, his new wife would be well taken care of. “Remarriage? Yeah, like that’s ever going to happen,” Graham scoffed into the empty car. He had to get completely over Sheree first. Chapter 6 Sheree said goodnight to Juanita and Harvey – the last of the guests. Afterwards, she stood in the big downstairs picture window watching as Harvey lovingly helped his pregnant wife into their burgundy minivan. Sheree smiled with approval. That was the perfect car for the large family Juanita and Harvey wanted. Sheree sighed out loud as she recalled how she and Graham had wanted a lot of children, too. Then a voice from behind her said, “What’s on your mind, baby girl?” It was Horace. The hoary-haired man came towards her and draped an arm across her shoulders. He looked almost exactly like Graham, except for the fact that his eyes were a dark brown and his hair was white. “Nothing really,” Sheree replied as Horace joined her in watching the burgundy vehicle drive away. “You’ll have that again one day, too,” Horace said, giving her shoulders a squeeze of encouragement. He’d discerned her true feelings very easily. Sheree turned and looked up into his dark eyes. “I sure hope so.” Though inwardly she had her doubts. She hadn’t found it again in all these years and now that Graham was engaged to be married to Teonna, Sheree seriously doubted if she would ever find true happiness again. That knowledge saddened her.

811

Sensing her need for a distraction, Horace changed the subject. “Come on, let me give you a tour of what has changed around here.” Then he led Sheree to the kitchen where he showed her the new polished brass cabinet door pulls and hinges that Graham installed recently. Those minor replacements seemed to sparkle against the dark oak spice cabinetry. “Although my son owns that home improvement business, he still won’t let anyone work on this house but him. This house is special to him.” Then Horace pointed to the floor. It’s special to me, too, Sheree thought as she looked to where he pointed. The previous white tiles had been replaced with a Mediterranean slate ceramic tile that was ideal for moderate traffic. Its warm natural shade complemented the brown kitchen decor to perfection. Next, Horace led Sheree to the downstairs bathroom. The tile in there had also been replaced. Instead of the old eggshell white, it now sported a vibrant blue tile in semi-matte. Sheree gasped in delight. “Oh, it’s so beautiful. Who thought to do this?” Horace smiled. “Graham. He put it in during the time when he was experimenting with different colors in some of his properties. He thought his mother would enjoy this one.” Suddenly, Horace’s eyes misted over. “She did. That boy sure loved his mother.” He paused and said more quietly, “I did, too.” Shaking his head to clear the fog of despair that just descended upon him, Horace ran a weathered hand across his grief-filled eyes. He didn’t know what he was going do without his wife. He missed Betty already. Sympathetic to his pain, Sheree reached for Horace’s free hand and together they walked back into the white, blue, and gray themed living room. Her eyes went upwards and she realized that Graham had also replaced the single white light fixture with a blue and white pewter four-light ceiling fan. “Betty knew how much you loved her. She used to tell me that all the time,” Sheree recalled as she sat on the blue and gray embroidered couch. Horace sat in the gray easy chair opposite her and used the universal remote control on the armrest to click the TV on. His hand paused on the black remote at Sheree’s words. “I believe that. A day never went by that me and Betty didn’t confess our love for each other.” Horace took comfort in that. Then he turned to stare pointedly at Sheree and added, “Do you believe that Graham still loves you?” His mahogany face was somber as he asked that question. Sheree answered honestly. “Yes, I do.” She’d seen it in his eyes earlier tonight. She’d felt it in his kiss. Then she sighed. But it was too late. He was already spoken for. “But that’s all I’m willing to talk about on that subject tonight. Goodnight, Dad.” Then Sheree got up and kissed Horace on the forehead and retired to bed. Respecting her right to privacy, Horace didn’t push the issue. Instead his mind took him back to the first time he met Sheree. Graham had brought her to their house a week after meeting her. From the moment he saw the sweet-spirited young lady, Horace knew that she would be his daughter-in-law. Graham had never brought any girl home to meet them so soon. At first, Horace and Betty thought that their son was moving too fast. The two youngsters barely knew each other, but then as they observed how smitten Graham and Sheree were with each other, it became obvious to everyone that she was ‘the one’. How else could they explain the fact that Graham and Sheree voluntarily asked them to chaperon most of their dates to reduce their level of temptation? Or the fact that Sheree (after she became born again) had their son going to church again after years of absenteeism? Horace smiled as he remembered how much Betty loved that last part. His wife strongly believed in a family worshipping together and when Sheree entered their lives that became a reality again. Graham hadn’t missed a Sunday service since.

812

Yes, Sheree, Horace mused to himself as he focused his attention on a Lakers’ game that he’d found. You still are ‘the one’ for my boy. *** Meanwhile, Juanita and Harvey rode in silence most of the way to their house. She was tired and he was very thoughtful. Two blocks away from their home, Harvey’s thoughts began to spill out of his mouth. “Baby, I think your little brother is going to reconcile with Sheree. Teonna is history and she doesn’t even know it yet. Did you see the way Graham and Sheree were looking at each other all night? Or rather trying not to look at each other?” “I did.” Juanita nodded and sighed, trying to ignore the dull pain in her lower back. Ever since her mother passed, she’d been having moments of sporadic cramping. I wish Momma was here, she mused. “I hope he does get back together with Sheree. She helps bring Graham out of his shell,” Juanita continued, trying to remain focused on the subject at hand. Juanita used to hate how reserved her little brother was. How he always had a soft spot when it came to women and thus couldn’t stand to hurt their feelings. Unfortunately, some of the women in Graham’s life knew about his kind heart and would often take advantage of it. During their teenage years it was especially bothersome. In fact, there were many times that Juanita had to be the one to tell her brother’s ex-girlfriends not to call their house anymore, because they just wasn’t getting or accepting the message from him. Graham would tell the females that it was over between them and then turn back around and send them birthday gifts and Christmas cards. He didn’t seem to realize that his benevolent actions were giving the ladies the wrong impression. They thought he was trying to get back together with them. Then just when Graham finally learned the art of cutting relationship ties completely, he let the wrong one go. Juanita often verbalized her displeasure at the fact that he hadn’t pursued Sheree after their breakup. Unfortunately, her brother often turned a deaf ear to her, not wanting to admit to the enormity of his mistake. You just don’t let the love of your life go that easily, Juanita mused, convinced that her brother should have run after Sheree until running after her did him more harm than good. Now she just hoped that Graham would seize this opportunity to reclaim his true love and let nothing stand in the way of that goal. Chapter 7 The next morning, Sheree awakened in enough time to fix breakfast for Horace. Today was going to be a rough day for everyone, but especially for him. Horace barely ate the cheese and mushroom omelet she fixed for him. Sheree didn’t blame him, she wasn’t really hungry, either. And on top of that, it rained. By noon, the rain had stopped and all the immediate family had arrived, dressed in all black, of course. When it was time to load up in the three black funeral vehicles designated for close relatives, Sheree experienced another awkward moment. She didn’t know where she belonged. But Juanita quickly solved that problem. She grabbed Sheree’s arm and pulled her into the first car with Horace, Graham, and her husband, Harvey. Sheree was relieved that Juanita had done that. She’d wanted to ride with them, too. However, the fact that Teonna wasn’t riding with them tugged at the back of her mind. Why wouldn’t the man’s fiancée be with him in his time of need? But one look at the deep grief on Graham’s face caused Sheree to quickly forget about all that. Sitting silently beside him, she felt compelled to reach across and hold his hand in comfort. To Sheree’s unspoken joy, Graham gave her hand a quick squeeze of thanks. Then he looked up into her soothing hazel eyes and attempted a smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” Graham said softly.

813

“I am, too,” Sheree replied as those around them nodded in approval. After that, no one else said anything as they slowly progressed to the church. *** After the funeral, everyone came back to the Ridgehall Drive house for the repast. Again, the house was full as people who’d known Betty congregated and ate a hearty meal in her honor. Sheree found herself thrust into the role of co-hostess as she busily assisted Juanita and Betty’s sister, Eva. She stayed so busy that she had little time to wonder where Graham or his fiancée was. By the time most of the guests were gone, her feet were screaming for relief. She couldn’t wait to go up to her room for a time of serenity. Sheree occupied the second room on the left or as she liked to call it – the brown room. This was the one bedroom that Graham had allowed her to decorate completely in diverse shades of brown. The room almost looked like a sand aquarium with its varying earth tones. Its soothing color scheme reminded Sheree of autumn leaves assembled under a big oak tree. The kind she and Graham used to rake up together in the backyard. It was to Sheree’s extreme delight yesterday to discover that Betty had kept everything in this particular room the same. That meant a lot to her. Kicking off her black pumps, Sheree plopped down on the soft-as-suede brown comforter and rubbed her feet together. It was pure luxury to her skin as it touched the plush material underneath that was punctuated by gleaming, gold-colored studs. Truly the studs give the bed a dramatic impact. Sheree lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. Suddenly, she heard something that sounded like a child whimpering to her right. She instantly sat up and looked to where the sound resonated. Her mouth fell open as she beheld Graham, weeping like a baby near the bay window. The dark brown window treatment almost hid him from sight, which was why she hadn’t noticed him before. What is he doing in here? Sheree wondered. That thought was discarded very quickly as she immediately went to Graham’s side. It no longer mattered why as she slipped her arms around his waist and held him in a loving embrace. Sheree didn’t know that her room was the only room Graham could have gone to in order to openly grieved for his mother. It was the one room that always brought him the most comfort in the whole four-bedroom house. This was the room he’d cried in when they’d gotten divorced many years ago. It was also the room where the two of them had christened their new home. Sheree continued to hold Graham tenderly from behind as he continued to sob heartrending tears. She cried, too, as they stood mourning together. After many minutes of this, Graham turned and faced her. His gray eyes were red and puffy. The white handkerchief he had was completely saturated with moisture. When Graham tried to speak, he choked on a sob and the tears flowed again. He was just too raw inside right now for words. Sensing that he needed a minute to pull himself together, Sheree immediately went to the private bathroom. There, she retrieved the floral box of Kleenex from the brass vanity table. When she returned, Graham had moved to the embroidered chair by the bed and was looking just as haggard as he felt. He still wasn’t ready for words yet. Sheree handed the box of tissue to him and sat down on the bed opposite him. As Graham’s tears subsided, he wiped his face and threw all of the used tissue in the trash. When he returned to the bed area, he took a deep breath and reached out for Sheree’s hands. Looking intently into her eyes, Graham began to whisper some of the most precious words on earth. “Thank you so much for coming, Sheree. Momma would have wanted you here.” Graham paused and took another deep, strength-gathering breath. “You already know that I want you here. But I wonder if you know that I want you. That I still love you, Sheree. That I always have and I always will,” he continued, not able to hold his true feelings inside any longer. He had to tell her.

814

Sheree’s mind wrapped around the fact that Graham really did love her. Her soul embraced that knowledge like a life raft. She’d felt it last night, but now he’d said it. Suddenly Sheree thought of seizing the moment. Betty’s untimely death taught her that life was just too short not to be with the one you loved. With that sense of urgency fueling her actions, Sheree leaned over and kissed Graham square on the lips. It was like water to a parched desert land. Graham immediately pulled her into his lap and began to kiss her with all the love that he had in his heart. He ravished Sheree’s mouth over and over again until they both ached with desire. When that was no longer enough to satisfy, he laid her on the bed. Hearing someone’s laughter filter upstairs, Graham got up to quickly lock the door. When he returned to the bed, he lay beside Sheree and started to caress her beautiful body. His hands were everywhere and so were hers. They forgot about everybody and everything, except for this moment, the present, now. Pretty soon their clothes started coming off with eager hands. Graham inhaled sharply as he beheld Sheree’s voluptuous birthday suit for the first time in years. She still looked exquisite, just as good as the day they first made love on their honeymoon night. In fact, this moment felt as if they were still that happily married couple. Tossing the last of his clothing aside, Graham drew Sheree into his arms. She seemed eager to enter the embrace of the only man that had ever possessed her body. The only man that could ever touch her in a way that made her want to cry for joy. In Graham’s embrace, Sheree was able to see and mostly feel how he’d kept his beautiful mahogany frame in excellent physical condition. Rippling muscles were everywhere. Sheree’s hands couldn’t help but roam those muscles. Though aching to be one with her even more now, Graham restrained himself. It had been two years since he’d had a woman and even longer since he’d been with the woman he truly loved. Thus, he positioned himself above Sheree with the intention of paying true homage to her luscious body in an unhurried manner. Using his hands and his lips to slowly bring her to a point of sharp readiness, Graham relished how deliciously Sheree writhed beneath him. Every delightful touch drew them both closer to ecstasy. When Sheree arched her body in preparation for his complete possession, Graham quickly protected them and prepared to give her exactly what she wanted. What they both wanted. Just as he was about to join Sheree in united bliss, someone knocked on the door. “Sheree, have you seen Graham? Teonna is back from her trip to the store and she’s looking for him.” It was Juanita. Her distinctive high pitched voice seemed to jerk the two lovers out of their passionate haze. Sheree lay frozen. She didn’t know what to do or say as reality came rushing in. That was soon followed by an inner conviction that she had successfully been able to ignore up to this point. God, what is wrong with me? Sheree mused. She figured something must be wrong in order for her to be so willing to throw four years of celibacy down the drain. And especially with a man who was currently engaged to be married to someone else. Graham immediately shifted to Sheree’s left side and got up to find his pants. Knowing that he could trust Juanita to be discreet, he whispered, “Sis, are you alone?” “Yes,” the pregnant woman answered, this time a little more softly. Juanita understood exactly what was going on now. Sheree was missing, Graham was missing, and now her brother was whispering with the door locked. “Don’t worry, I’ll find something else for Teonna to do. You got ten minutes, little brother. And, Sheree, you go, girl,” Juanita added with a chuckle. Then she was gone. Graham and Sheree silently re-dressed in record time. Neither of them said anything about what almost just happened. What was there to say? When they were fully clothed, Graham walked over to her and hugged her tightly against his chest for several long moments. If only Sheree knew how glad he was to have her back in his arms, in his very life.

815

“I don’t regret it,” he said finally and ever so softly against her tousled hair. Then releasing her, Graham lifted both of Sheree’s hands up to his mouth and kissed them before leaving the room. Sheree stood there benumbed by what just occurred and by the fact that despite her convictions, she had so little regrets, too. She’d wanted to make love to Graham. And had Juanita not come when she did, she would have gone all the way with the man who still held so much of her heart. *** Sheree stayed up in her room for the rest of the evening until every visiting car had departed. She hadn’t wanted to run the risk of seeing Graham and Teonna together. She hadn’t wanted to be reminded of how treacherous her earlier behavior had been. Sheree never liked women who violated committed relationships and she definitely didn’t want to be one of them. After she’d taken a long, hot bath, Sheree went downstairs to get a snack. The house was quiet as she padded through it in her brown Chenille robe and bare feet. When Sheree passed by the den, she saw someone asleep on the couch in front of the TV. Assuming that it was Horace, she continued to the kitchen. After she piled a white plastic plate full of leftovers from the repast, she proceeded to go back upstairs. On her way up, Sheree paused and decided to go turn off the TV in the den. No use wasting electricity when no one was watching it. When she entered the den, she immediately discovered that the sleeping person was not Horace at all. It was Graham. Sheree stopped short in her tracks. How many years had she imagined seeing his sleeping frame again? How many years had she imagined Graham waking up in bed beside her? Four long years to be exact. As if sensing her presence, Graham’s gray eyes suddenly fluttered open. He sat up. “I know you must be wondering what I’m still doing here. All I know is that I couldn’t leave. Tonight I needed to be somewhere that I could feel close to my mother,” he explained, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Graham left out the fact that he’d needed to feel close to Sheree, too. And that even if they weren’t in the same bed, being under the same roof with her went a long ways towards comforting his grieving heart. The plate in Sheree’s hand suddenly became extra heavy as her hands started to tremble. They trembled from the shock and from the joy of finding her ex-husband still here. She’d never felt so nervous in her life. Graham quickly assessed the situation and came to Sheree’s rescue. He took the plate and beckoned her to sit down on the sofa next to him. When she did, he sat the plate safely in her lap. Then while Sheree calmed down from her shock, Graham told her about the details of his life since the divorce. He even told her about meeting Teonna and the truth about their ‘alleged’ engagement. Although he was very honest about the nature of their relationship now, he failed to divulge that he’d slept with the woman in the past. As a result, Sheree was left with the impression that Graham and Teonna were just very good friends. While they talked together, Graham and Sheree also ate together. Soon the food in her lap was gone and she had disclosed the contents of the last few years of her life as well. It was a very peaceful time, despite Graham’s omission. Chapter 8 On Friday morning, Sheree awakened to delightful sunbeams pouring into the room from the window and the sound of baby birds chirping in their nest. The big oak tree in the backyard had housed families of birds for generations. When she and Graham first purchased this home, they installed wooden triangle-shaped birdfeeders to try to encourage the birds to return each year. And their winged friends always did, sometimes bringing more birds with them. Today they all seemed to welcome Sheree back home with a delightful morning song.

816

After awhile Sheree got up and did her morning stretching exercises. Then she went to brush her teeth for two full minutes on each side. Afterwards, she flossed. This had been her routine every since grade school. That was when she’d met Dr. Myron Leader. Dr. Leader was the new family dentist that Sheree’s mother took her to see at the tender age of eight. Sheree had her first cavity and she was afraid to go get it fixed, largely because her previous experiences with dentists had not been pleasant ones. She hated the way their offices smelled and she especially hated all of the menacing looking dental equipment that awaited her in the back rooms. It was downright frightening for an eight-year-old kid to descend down the narrow halls and enter into a white, unfriendly room of pain. When it was her time to walk down those halls, Sheree would take itty-bitty steps, walking as slow as possible until her mother had to literally drag her to the room. Then once she got in the dental chair, the tears would roll and she would be inconsolable. Finally, Harriet Hamilton had grown frustrated with Sheree’s behavior and decided to do some research. She had to try to find a competent dentist who could calm her fidgety daughter. After asking and calling around among her friends and associates, Harriet finally found a dentist who claimed that ‘he catered to cowards’ and that ‘he could turn dental cowards into champions’. She immediately made an appointment for her daughter. Right from the start, Sheree sensed that there was something different about Dr. Leader. First of all, his practice was located in a renovated house that was beautifully transformed into an office building. Sheree felt as if she was going to visit someone’s house instead of a dental office. Secondly, the waiting room smelled of fresh potpourri, not disinfectant spray. And most of all, the entire color scheme in each room was warm, friendly and inviting. The colorful dental chairs were comfortable and even the dental instruments that were arrayed on the stainless steel tray were covered with a sanitized white cloth so that the client didn't have to see them. Then as Dr. Leader skillfully worked on Sheree’s teeth, he cheerfully explained what he was about to do ahead of time. His soothing voice and comforting manner made her instantly relax. Before she knew it, the cavity was filled – pain free. That experience made such an impact on Sheree that right then and there she decided to become a dentist when she grew up. Sheree wanted to ease the discomfit of others the same way that Dr. Leader had done for her. These days she was known as one of the most gentle and qualified dentists in Caramel City. Her successful private practice was never at a loss for patients. *** After Sheree showered and changed, she went downstairs for breakfast. To her delight, Graham was still there. She’d hoped that he would be, especially after last night. Sheree was also pleased to learn that he and Teonna were nothing more than friends. Now the field was wide open for the ex-spouses to reconcile. Besides feeling good this morning, Sheree looked good. Today she wore a leather, snake-print tank shirt and matching pants. The brown outfit accented her shoulder-length sandy hair and sparkling hazel eyes to perfection. When she walked into the kitchen, Graham was at the porcelain coated range cooking. He immediately turned to her and smiled. She could see the love radiating in his gray eyes and that warmed her soul. Then Graham told her about his father. Horace hadn’t slept well, so he’d gotten up earlier and went to inspect one of the houses he was going to move into soon. His best friend and golf partner, Larry Gordon, had gone with him, so they didn’t have to worry about how he was getting along. Larry always kept Horace laughing. When Sheree realized that they had the house to themselves, she suddenly became anxious. Graham, who knew her so well, instantly addressed the issue. “Don’t worry, Sheree. Nothing will happen until the time is right. I just want us to take this time to rediscover each other again. Is that all right with you?” “Yes, that fine.” She smiled and exhaled slowly with relief. Slow walking into reconciliation sounded better than fine to her. It sounded great. They’d rushed so many things in their relationship - the marriage, the divorce. Yes, it was time to take things slow for a change. Going to the fridge, Sheree poured herself a glass of juice. Then she carried her drink to one of the wooden island stools and sat down. Graham turned back to what he was cooking.

817

“What took you so long this morning? I heard you moving around at least an hour ago.” Then he remembered. “Oh...I forgot about your morning routine.” Graham turned back around to face her. “Let me see your teeth.” He laughed when she grinned wide, exposing healthy teeth and gums. “Woman, you are something else.” Sheree laughed, too. It was a glowing, heart-warming kind of laugh. A long overdue, so-glad-I-found-youagain kind of laugh. “You know me so well, Graham. By the way, what are you cooking over there? It smells good.” She sniffed animatedly in the air and smiled with pleasure. Graham flipped the pancakes over, then removed them from the griddle. “Blueberry pancakes - your favorite.” He raised his eyebrows, winked at her, and added, “You bet I know you.” He turned off the stove and brought the plate of hot food along with the maple syrup over to her. Then he sat on the stool next to Sheree and watched as she commenced to eating each and every one of the syrupy treats. When Sheree was finished, she reached for a napkin to wipe her hands. But Graham would have none of that. He knew she’d been raised with strict etiquette and would not normally lick syrup from her fingers, but surely she remembered how much he liked licking them for her. Promptly grabbing her hands, Graham leaned over and proceeded to lick each digit. Sheree closed her eyes in pleasure. She’d forgotten how much Graham liked to do that. This man always made her feel so good. “Oh, Graham,” she moaned, feeling herself rapidly surrendering to passion again. When Graham finished with her fingers, he held up one hand at a time and continued to plant kisses all the way up her arms. Finally, he reached her lips. By then, Sheree was breathing raggedly and he was pulsating with desire. His thoughts raged within him. I said we’d wait. We’ve got to wait, Graham mused, intent on planting a light kiss on her lips before stopping altogether. Yet when he placed his mouth upon hers, his world suddenly shifted. Soon he was ravishing Sheree’s delicious maple mouth until she was slumped against him with need. Now Graham didn’t want to wait. Furthermore, he was even choosing to ignore all of the flashing red caution lights going off within him. With his decision to wait thoroughly reversed, Graham picked Sheree up and quickly carried her back upstairs to her bedroom. She felt safe in his strong arms. Never had anything felt so right before. Again, it was as if the divorce had never happened, as if they were still married and that what was about to happen next was their rightful due. And the fact that Teonna and her fake engagement were no longer deterrents made this moment feel that much more right. *** In the bedroom Graham placed Sheree on her feet and slowly began to undress her. As he unzipped her shirt and slipped it over her head, he realized that she’d worn nothing underneath. Graham inhaled sharply and commenced to having a field day with her full cinnamon delicacies. “Oh, baby. You’re so beautiful. Perfect,” he muttered against her skin. Next to come were Sheree’s pants. Graham took great pleasure in sliding them down her curvaceous hips and thighs. When she stepped out of them, he inhaled sharply again. From outerwear to underwear, everything she’d worn today had been snake-print. “Turn around and let me really see you, Sheree,” Graham said, his deep voice was husky and full of desire. Sheree knew exactly what he wanted. She recalled only too well. She moved back two steps and began to slowly turn around. When her back was to Graham, she parted her legs and relaxed them, causing them to take the form of an elegant bow. That action was enough to extract a loud groan from him this time. Graham loved when Sheree stood back in her legs. He liked the way her bottom rounded to a perfect point above her thighs. How those same thighs led the eye down a curvaceous path to her dancer-shaped legs. Though he loved every profile Sheree had, this was his most favorite out of them all.

818

Suddenly Sheree began to do something else Graham loved. She began to dance slowly, erotically, shaking her body to music only she could hear in her head. Graham’s eyes were glued to her moving frame, his hands firmly on her hips as she turned around and began to move seductively against him. Each movement wreaked sweet havoc on his senses. Sheree could feel his readiness as her hands roamed up and down his frame. Graham couldn’t take it any longer. He pulled her closer to him and kissed her hard. As Sheree’s arms embraced his strong neck, his hands explored the fullness of her curves while they moved together. Mouth to mouth, heart to heart; they sizzled together, aflame with the heat of passion. Soon Graham found it insufficient to just move against Sheree like this. He wanted to move inside of her. Breaking the kiss, Graham stared down into her hazel eyes. “Sheree, I love you. I need you so much, baby.” Completely sold out by now to satisfying the needs of her flesh and not her spirit, Sheree cupped Graham’s face and said, “You can have me, baby. Every part of me is yours. There’s been no one else, but you. There’s been no one else since you. You’ve always been the only one for me.” Graham closed his eyes as he absorbed her words. No one else since me? he mused as guilt began to prick his heart. At the same time, a drop of conviction finally emerged within him as well. Fortunately that conviction quickly swelled to overflowing and ushered in the necessary fluid of strength to quench the fervent heat of this moment. For Graham there had been one other since their divorce. Teonna. He exhaled slowly, feeling his passion quickly wean. He had to tell Sheree about that encounter. But how? Graham had already told her that he and Teonna were just friends. How could he explain why he’d left out the fact that they’d slept together? Sheree instantly felt the change in Graham. “What’s wrong, baby?” She smoothed the frown out of his mahogany forehead. Graham shook his head and opened his eyes. “Nothing. I just think that maybe we should take it slow as planned. Not rush into anything. I know we got a little ahead of ourselves today and I take full responsibility for that. I just couldn’t resist licking your fingers. But, baby, please forgive my error and let’s go back to our original plan. Okay?” Sheree dropped her hands to her sides. She didn’t know whether to feel dejected or flattered that he’d decided to stay on the slow path to love. Either way, Graham was definitely worth waiting for. “Okay,” Sheree finally consented, inwardly hoping that the wait wouldn’t be too long. Now she was starting to think that maybe those four years of celibacy had been a breeze because Graham hadn’t been around. How else could she explain how easily she’d surrendered to passion over the last forty-eight hours? While Sheree redressed, Graham scolded himself. You coward, why didn’t you just tell her the whole truth? But he already knew the answer to that question. He was scared that he would lose her again. Graham believed that he needed more time to woo Sheree, to court her properly. More time to let her know that it was okay to be with him again, that he could take care of her. More time to show her that she would never need her father’s money again. More time to get up the nerve to explain why he still had a woman that he previously slept with hanging around him all the time. Graham didn’t even understand the answer to that last thing himself. Chapter 9 All weekend Sheree and Graham spent time together, going to a few new restaurants, a couple of movies and even to the local carnival that recently came into town. They talked a lot about his mother and at other times they talked about their plans for the future. On Sunday they went to church.

819

Today Rev. Guilford preached about the importance of letting go of the past and reaching forth with gusto towards the future. He encouraged the congregation to make their plans for the future under God’s guidance and direction. Sheree saw this message as a word in due season. She and Graham were just starting to put the past behind them and were finally beginning to map out a new life for themselves, one that involved them being together again as a couple. We’re definitely going to need God’s guidance in order to avoid the same pitfalls that plagued our last marriage, Sheree acknowledged, committing to memory the sermon. She wanted to discuss it at length with Graham later, the way they used to do when they were married before. Whether Sheree chose to acknowledge it right now or not, she and Graham were also going to need God’s help in order to avoid the sin of fornication. They’d had so many close calls to intimacy already that without His continual intervention, they’d be in a world of trouble. *** Towards the end of the service, Sheree looked around the growing congregation and realized that besides Rev. Guilford and his family, she hardly knew anyone there. On occasion she would catch someone looking at her with a question in their eyes, but they would discreetly look away. There were so many new members now and most of them had come in family groups. It was apparent that Handley Christian Fellowship was fast becoming one of the city’s largest churches. Many of the people there did wonder about Sheree, largely because of Teonna. The other woman had attended services with Graham on several occasions and by the way Teonna talked, people got the impression that she would be his next wife. As a result, the new woman with Graham today got some inquiring minds pumping. But out of respect, no one said anything to them. As soon as Sunday services were over, Graham took Sheree to see one of his new properties. He’d already showed her most of his other listings, but this particular one he’d saved for a special treat. When they pulled up to the peach-colored, ranch style house, Sheree fell in love with it immediately. “Graham, it’s wonderful. Did you do the work yourself?” she asked as he opened the car door for her to exit. As soon as she stepped into the midday sunlight it shimmered off of the rhinestones aligning the seams of her brown linen dress. But nothing sparkled quite as brightly as Sheree’s hazel eyes. She was thoroughly impressed with what she saw and it showed. Graham smiled. He was glad she liked it. “Yes, and it’s also all yours.” He handed her an envelope with the deed and the key inside. “It’s for that dental clinic you always wanted to have. This area is zoned for business and residential.” Sheree squealed with delight as she received the brown envelope. Then she started jumping up and down excitedly for a few seconds before hugging Graham tightly with joy. “Thank you so much, baby. Oh, Graham, I love you. You’re so good to me.” Then she grabbed his hand and tugged. “Come on, let’s go inside.” She literally ran to the door to open it, pulling him behind her. The three inch heels seemed like sneakers on her joyous feet. Remembering how much he always loved her enthusiasm, Graham’s smile was wide. Inside his grateful heart prayed. Thanks for giving her back to me, Lord. Inside of the five-bedroom house, Graham listened intently as Sheree gleefully discussed her future plans for the property. He pulled out a small notepad and pencil from his blue jacket pocket and began to take careful notes as Sheree continued to tour the house and sprout forth ideas. When they finally made it back to the front of the house, Sheree asked, “Why did you do this for me, Graham?”

820

His eyes gazed steadfastly into hers. “Truthfully, I did it for both selfish and unselfish reasons. I wanted you near me and I wanted to be a part of your childhood dream. I wasn’t able to do these kinds of things for you during our marriage and I wanted to make up for what you missed out on the first time you married me.” I wonder if she’ll get the hint, Graham mused, feeling a quick sense of exhilaration at dropping this not so subtle clue to his proposal of marriage. Although she didn’t catch on to Graham’s covert proposal, Sheree’s eyes glossed over from the emotional impact of his other words. She moved closer to him and cupped his face. “Graham, my love for you was never about money. You gave me everything I really needed. Don’t you know that?” Her voice was soft and sweet like white confectioner’s sugar on a donut. His gray eyes turned a dark blue. They glistened with moisture. “Then why didn’t you come back to me?” His deep voice was laced with pain. The memory of their divorce opened an old wound. A lone tear stubbornly escaped his eye and slid down his left cheek. For the moment, Graham forgot all about his unique form of proposing. “Stubbornness, pride, immaturity. I wanted to prove that I had my own will. I didn’t want to cower down to you as I’d watched people do to my father for years. Baby, when you gave me that ultimatum, I just snapped. It was like standing up to my father all over again. I wanted to prove to you that I was strong enough to make my own decisions about my life. Instead, I lost the best thing that ever happened to me.” Tears were rolling down her own cheeks now. Sheree’s voice rose an octave higher, thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry that I hurt you, that I hurt us. I should have come home, called, or did something to try to save our marriage. But I just acted like a child and let my father handle my business.” Suddenly Graham began to rain butterfly kisses on her lips. His own tears mingled with hers as he spoke in between smooches. “We both were to blame. I shouldn’t have gone drinking that night. I should have stayed and talked things out with you. And I could have called, too. I just felt so inadequate because I couldn’t provide for you the way your father could. I was jealous of his ability to finance a simple shopping trip with your friends. I should have been the one who’d met your every desire.” “Baby, you were. You still are.” Then she smiled through her tears. “It wasn’t long after our divorce that I moved out of my parents’ house again. That time for good. I should have never let my father interfere with our sacred bond. Will you please forgive me?” Graham smiled, too. “Only if you forgive me, too.” He drew her gently to his chest. That chest suddenly felt lighter, considering the fact that a heavy weight from the past had just been lifted off of it. “It’s a deal.” Then Sheree chuckled. “By the way, my father basically disinherited me when I left that last time. It was rough for a minute, but I’m doing pretty well for myself now.” She leaned back and looked up into Graham’s face, beaming with happiness. “Thanks to God, my practice is booming.” “I’m glad to hear that. I knew you could do it. And don’t worry, baby. You don’t need your father’s money. You can have as much of mine as you want,” Graham said, giving Sheree another hint as he hugged her again. The first time you married me? You can have as much of mine as you want? Wait a minute, Sheree mused as bits and pieces of Graham’s statements finally started to come together in her mind like a well-puttogether jig-saw puzzle. Sheree suddenly pulled back from him again. Her eyes narrowed in question as she tilted her head to the side. “Are you slyly trying to ask me to marry you again, Graham?” He hugged her tightly to him again. “You betcha. I was wondering when you’d catch on.” He laughed, pleased that she’d finally pieced the clever puzzle together. “But this time we’re going to have a big wedding. I think Momma would’ve liked that. I just wish she was here to see it.” Graham’s voice held a touch of sadness in it. Sheree relaxed in his embrace. “Me too, baby. Me, too.”

821

*** When Sheree drove back to Caramel City she was euphoric. She couldn’t wait to get home, call her mother and tell her the good news. Harriet always liked Graham and she would be happy for them. Allen was another story. He probably would hit the roof, but Sheree didn’t care. She was going to remarry Graham no matter who objected. She’d been unhappy long enough. Suddenly Sheree remembered that she still needed to officially break things off with Hunter. “Oh boy,” she breathed into the empty car. Hunter was such a nice guy that she just hated to hurt him. But it had been over between them way before she left. Plus, the decision to end their relationship had been made before she ever saw Graham again. He’ll be the first person I call when I get home, Sheree thought, wanting to get this thing with Hunter over with as soon as possible. Chapter 10 Hours later, at her modest two-bedroom apartment, Sheree picked up the phone and called Hunter. He answered on the first ring. Even at 11pm at night he was alert. Hunter was always alert. That was the lawyer in him. Ironically, Sheree never called him once while she was down in Handley, even though he would have always welcomed her call any time of day or night. In fact, calling Hunter from the Ridgehall Drive house never even crossed her mind. “Hunter, its Sheree. I wanted to let you know that I was back. I also wanted to talk to you about something.” She shifted uncomfortably on her brown and gold embroidered sofa. Maybe I should’ve done this in person, she mused, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. Yet it was too late now. The stage had already been set. “Okay, let me have it,” Hunter said unsuspectingly. Let him have it. I don’t want to let him have it. He’s such a nice guy, Sheree mused, wincing at his words. But she knew she had to let this man go on with his life. Hunter deserved to know the truth. Taking another deep breath, Sheree began. “Hunter, I think you should pursue other women. I realized a long time ago that we weren’t really clicking together romantically and I just didn’t know how to tell you before. I’m still not over my ex-husband and I don’t think it’s fair for me to hold up your life any longer.” Especially since Graham and I are getting back together and since there was never a real chance of me and you making a love connection anyway, Sheree added to herself, deeming it unnecessary to tell Hunter all that. No need to inflict needless pain. Sheree clenched the brown phone tighter to her ear and continued. “You need someone who will love you the way you deserve to be loved, Hunter. Unfortunately, I’m not that person. I’m so sorry.” Her voice was contrite, yet sincere. Hunter exhaled slowly, feeling a huge weight fall off of his shoulders. “Whew! You said quite a mouthful there. Listen, Sheree, I understand and you’re right. Underneath it all I knew it, too. And look, don’t be so hard on yourself. We just weren’t meant to be.” Then after he and Sheree promised to stay in touch as friends, they rang off. Like Sheree, Hunter had known for months that they were incompatible. Yet he hadn’t said anything, either. Especially since the woman he really loved was already married, and his respect for the sanctity of marriage wouldn’t allow him to touch her, not even to share a kiss. Though his beloved was unhappily married, in Hunter’s eyes, she was still off limits to him. His guilt had been compounded at the thought of stringing Sheree along while he pined for another woman. Now that that was over, he felt a lot better about things. ***

822

Sheree felt better about things, too. In fact, she felt twenty pounds lighter after that call. With that behind her, she headed to her bedroom and called Graham. She needed a good dose of his love right now. Dialing his home number, she was delighted when he, too, answered on the first ring. “Hello, Sheree?” Graham sounded anxious. His feeble attempt at eating the grilled cheese sandwich and fries on his plate were evidence of his current anxiety. Only a few fries were missing and the sandwich only had two bite marks in it. “Yeah, it’s me, baby. You sound funny. What’s wrong?” Sheree unzipped the turquoise tank dress she wore and slipped out of it as she cradled the phone in the crook of her neck, trying to keep it attached to her left ear. Graham’s voice relaxed, suddenly his appetite returned. He grabbed a handful of cold fries and commenced to eating them. “Woman, I’ve been answering the phone like that ever since you left. I was worried about you, but now I’m all right. How was your trip?” He got up from his seat at the oak kitchen table and carried his plate and the black cordless phone into the living room. “The trip went fine and I’m sorry that I didn’t call you right away. There was something I had to do first.” Sheree went over to her mirrored, walk-in closet and hung the dress up; putting it in the area marked with a red label entitled ‘enroute to dry cleaners’. Graham was intrigued. “What did you have to do?” He sat down on his black leather couch and put the plate of food beside him, fully prepared to talk to her for hours if need be. The ice maker in the kitchen could be heard in the distance. It had irritated him earlier, but now it was a welcomed sound of normalcy. As he sat there waiting for Sheree to answer his question, Graham looked at his surroundings and immediately realized that this place had never felt like home to him. Although the three-bedroom patio-styled house was what his colleagues considered to be the perfect bachelor’s pad, Graham had never treated it that way. It had just been a place to live until he could get back to his true home on Ridgehall Drive. Sheree’s presence had made that place a home to him and as soon as they were remarried, he was moving back there. This current house was as good as listed on his next quarterly report. Should I tell him? Sheree pondered in her heart for a few silent minutes. Her heart said ‘yes’ and she decided to follow its advice. “I had to say goodbye to a nice guy that I’ve been sort of dating for the last few months.” Using only one hand, Sheree pulled a dark blue satin nightgown out of her chest of drawers and prepared to slip it over her head. The other hand held the phone. Graham sat up abruptly, almost dropping the food on the floor. “Say what?! You didn’t tell me you were dating anyone. Who is he?” His pulse was racing, his strong nose flared. “Just calm down, baby,” Sheree said softly as she quickly slipped the nightgown over her frame. “His name is Hunter Lott. He’s a nice guy that works at my father’s law firm. We went out for about eight months, but there was never any real connection between us other than friendship.” I can’t believe he’s ‘this’ jealous, she mused, going over to the cherry-wood sleigh bed across the room. All the furniture in her bedroom was made out of cherry wood. “So you dated this ‘nice’ guy for eight months, huh? Did he touch you?” Graham felt murderous. He just couldn’t conceive Sheree with another man. She was his. Only his. Sheree laughed, trying to deflect some of Graham’s anger. “Stop being jealous, boy. The only thing we exchanged was a few tired kisses. It’s not like I had sex with him or anything.” She leaned back on the dark brown comforter of her bed. She still held the phone to her ear, wishing that Graham was right there beside her.

823

Without knowing it, Sheree’s words had cut Graham to the core. He calmed all the way down now. How can he be upset with her over a few measly kisses when he’d gone all the way with Teonna? And he still hadn’t told Sheree about that yet. Suddenly Graham knew what he had to do. “You’re right, I was jealous. I’m sorry. Listen, there’s something I wanted to tell you, too...” Just then, his phone clicked. Someone was on the other line. “Hold just a minute, baby,” Graham said, then he answered the other call. “Graham, we’re at the hospital. Juanita went into premature labor. We need you to pick up your dad and get here as soon as possible,” Harvey said in a rush. As he talked, he ran his hands anxiously through his thick mass of black hair. His bronze skin was flushed with emotion. “Okay. I’ll be right there. And, Harvey, Juanita and the baby are going to be just fine. They’re both tough,” Graham assured him, then he clicked back over to Sheree. “Baby, I got to go. Juanita has gone into labor and I have to go get Dad.” Sheree sat upright with concern. “Sure, honey. Go do what you have to. But remember to call me and let me know Juanita’s condition. My prayers are with you all.” Suddenly she had a great idea. “No, I want to do a little more than that. I want to be there, too. I’m coming back down there tomorrow. I haven’t had a vacation this year and I’m taking it now. Just let me make some provisions for my patients and I’m as good as there.” Graham was more than pleased with that news. “I’ll have a ticket waiting for you at the airport.” With one hand, he slipped on his shoes and jacket while holding the cordless phone with the other. Then he took the plate of food to the kitchen and quickly placed it in the fridge. “But what about my car? I’ll be there for at least a week.” “You’ll drive one of mine. Listen, woman, I really got to go now. I’ll call you from the hospital, love ya.” Then Graham blew a kiss through the phone and hung up. Sheree is coming back, he mused. Now he knew that everything had to be all right. Chapter 11 After nine long hours of labor, Juanita gave birth to a six-pound baby girl with bronze skin and thick black hair like Harvey. The baby was named Betty Hope Roland. The first name was given, because she reminded Juanita of her mother with those beautiful gray eyes. The second name was given, because the child had given them all new hope that life could be sweet again. When the hospital staff had properly ministered to both mother and daughter, they were taken to their private room where the rest of their family awaited. Although Juanita was tired, she made time to kiss all of the special men in her life. In turn, she kissed Harvey, Horace, and Graham. They all received a kind word with their kiss. Then as Juanita and Betty Hope slept, the three men went outside to talk. In the long white corridor, Horace informed them about Eva volunteering to come help out with the baby for two weeks. “You know she’s retired now, so she can stay even longer if need be.” “Good,” said the proud new father. “My mother and sister also said that they would cook and freeze a month’s worth of meals for us. And you know we can get anything else we need from one of the stores.” “And Sheree’s coming back soon, I’m sure she’ll be glad to help out, too,” Graham piped in. “Oh, that reminds me, I need to call her.” Then he reached into his pocket for his cell phone and dialed Sheree’s number. As he waited, he looked at his watch. It was now 8am in the morning. No wonder I need a shave, Graham mused, rubbing beard stubble with his free hand. Sheree answered on the second ring. “Hello?” She’d already been up since 6am, trying to rearrange her calendar. By 7am all of her patients had been either rescheduled or referred to other trusted colleagues.

824

“Hey, baby,” Graham drawled huskily in response. Her voice just did something to him. Horace and Harvey looked at each other and shared a knowing smile. By the silly look on Graham’s face, they knew that he would be on the phone for awhile. Then deciding to give him some privacy, the two onlookers walked down the hall towards the elevators. They were going to get breakfast. Meanwhile, Sheree slid her feet into a pair of black streamlined pumps as she continued to talk with Graham. “Graham, why didn’t you call me before now? I was starting to get worried.” Now that he had finally called, she would be on her way to her parents’ house to tell them the good news. “There wasn’t much to tell you before. Juanita just had my beautiful niece about forty-five minutes ago.” He walked to the reception area and sat down in one of the sturdy orange-colored chairs. “Oh, a baby girl. That’s wonderful. What’s my niece’s name?” Sheree was excited now. She reached on the mirrored dresser for her wide-toothed comb and began to attend to her hair. She said my niece. I like that, Graham thought with a smile. Then he corrected his previous statement. “Our niece’s name is Betty Hope Roland.” He said our niece. I just love that, Sheree silently noted with a smile. Aloud she said, “That’s so wonderful. She’s named after your mother.” As Sheree talked, she bent her head forward to make sure that her middle part was straight. It was. Then she combed her brown tresses down on each side. It was a flattering look to her round face, emphasizing her high cheekbones. Sheree put the comb down as she remembered something she’d forgotten – nail polish. Graham laughed. “Everything’s wonderful this morning, huh? That’s the second time you’ve said that.” He waved hello to a familiar intern in blue hospital scrubs as he passed by. Ronnie was one of the people who routinely helped with the health screenings at the recreation center. “You bet everything’s wonderful. After everything your family has been through over the last two years, you guys deserve some happiness. Betty Hope is just the person to give it to you, too. Babies have the ability to bring great joy.” Sheree walked to her open suitcase and put in several bottles of nail polish from the drawer. Can’t leave home without these. Graham got up and walked further down the hall until he found the family waiting room. It was now empty. He sat on the paisley fabric sofa and got comfortable. “Speaking of babies, when we remarry, I’d like to start as soon as possible. Is that all right with you?” Sheree chuckled. “That’s fine with me. We have four years to make up for. Do you still want lots of kids?” Inwardly, she was glad that she stopped taking birth control three years ago. Back then, Sheree thought it was pointless to continue pumping chemicals into her body when she wasn’t engaging in any sexual activity nor was interested in such activity. Now that decision would pay off for her greatly. No doubt she would get pregnant very quickly. Graham smiled. He was pleased with the way their conversation was going. “Yeah. I still want five, any sex will do.” Sheree closed and zipped her suitcases. All of her packing was finally done. “Then five it is. Listen, baby, I’m happy that Juanita and little Betty are doing fine, but if I’m going to make it back there, I need to get off this phone. I still have to go tell my mother about us.” “All right, all right. I’ll let you go for now. By the way, I always liked your mother. Kiss her for me, will ya?” Then after they reaffirmed their love once again, they rang off. ***

825

Kelly Hamilton-Wright lay resting at her parents’ house. She always stayed with her family when her husband was out of town on business. Her father had gone with him this time. Since Grandma Emma was out of town on a seniors cruise, only Kelly and Harriet were in the house now. In the lavender canopy bed, Kelly tossed and turned. She was having that dream again. The one in which she was trying to get to her true love, but couldn’t because she was still tied to Jeremy Wright by a pair of heavy chains. But these were not chains of love that no man wished to escape, these were chains of disappointment and dashed hopes that all sought to be free from. And most sadly of all was the fact that even in her dreams Kelly couldn’t cry out her beloved’s name for fear that Jeremy would find out. No one could find out, most of all Sheree. Kelly awakened in a mass of sweat. Her pulse was racing as if she’d been running. She got up to take a quick shower. “This is ridiculous. I can’t live like this any longer,” she said to herself amidst the brisk spray. Kelly now knew exactly what she needed to do. And at this point it didn’t matter what her father or anyone else thought about it. Ever since she was a little girl, Kelly had been consumed with trying to please her father. She hated to disappoint him in any way. Unlike her younger sister, Kelly would do nothing without Allen’s approval. She was the daughter that he could count on to remain pliable to his influence – no questions asked. Each time she would allow him to make major decisions for her, Allen would reward Kelly with a new car, trip, or whatever else her heart desired. So eager to please her father, Kelly even married the man he handpicked for her. She gave no thought to the fact that she didn’t even love Jeremy. For that act of obedience, Allen brought his oldest daughter a beautiful chateau out in the country made of stucco and brick. It was a magnificent wedding present. Unfortunately, that house lacked the love that would have made it a home. Kelly and Jeremy barely spoke to each other there, except to discuss social events. And they rarely made love, if one could even call what they did together love. It was more like two bodies going through the motions. As a result, Kelly always made sure that she practiced good birth control. There was no way she was going to reproduce in such an unhappy union. Because her marriage was so unhappy, Kelly always looked forward to Jeremy’s business trips. When he was gone, she could at least pretend for awhile that she wasn’t lonely, wasn’t sexually frustrated, and was free to marry the man she truly loved. Kelly sighed aloud in the shower as she turned off the water spray and reached for a towel. Then as she dried off and changed into a long red georgette dress, she thought she heard her sister’s voice in the house. Quickly slipping her feet into a pair of red mules, Kelly went downstairs to investigate. Chapter 12 Sheree and Harriet were hugging each other tightly, shrieking with joy, and jumping up and down with glee at the bottom of the white spiral staircase. Sheree looked great in the black and gold, silk shantung pantsuit she wore today. But she wasn’t jumping up and down about her new outfit. Sheree was ecstatic about her upcoming wedding day. Harriet Hamilton wasn’t excited about her clothing, either. Even though she was exquisitely dressed in a navy jacket dress with a matching sheer silk duster, she was more excited about her daughter’s good news than any material things. Harriet always liked Graham and was glad that he would be back in the family again. She couldn’t wait to plan the wedding, despite the protests that were sure to come from her husband. Allen is just going to have to deal with it, Harriet mused as she determined in her heart to talk privately with him as soon as possible. At least one of our daughters will finally be happy, she thought, releasing her youngest child with a smile. At that sudden reminder of just how miserable her other daughter was, Harriet forced herself not to frown. This was a happy moment and she didn’t want to ruin it with unhappy thoughts.

826

Sheree couldn’t stop smiling as she looked at the older mirror image of herself. Her mother was still a knockout at age fifty-six. Harriet’s cinnamon stick face had remained smooth and practically wrinkle free over the years and her hair was still basically black all over with only traces of gray at the top. The only difference in the two women was Harriet’s gentle temperate. Kelly got that trait whereas Sheree was just a bit more outspoken. Yet despite Harriet’s usual cooperative manner, when she did choose to openly disagree with her husband, Allen normally listened with all ears. Mr. Hamilton loved his soft-spoken wife dearly and literally drooled all over himself whenever he looked at her. Both of the Hamilton daughters had grown up witnessing their parents’ unique love for each other. Kelly, in particular, had wanted that kind of love for herself. Yet she hadn’t gotten it with Jeremy and probably never would. Their marriage had been a big mistake. Huge. “What’s all the excitement about?” Kelly asked as she quickly descended the staircase. Sheree squealed. “I’m getting married!” Kelly thought that her heart would pound out of her chest as she took deep, calming breaths to steady her nerves. Sheree and Hunter are getting married? But I thought... he said... Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted. “Yes, Sheree and Graham have finally found their way back to each other. I always liked that young man. Especially because he used to look at my baby girl as if he worshipped the ground she walked on,” Harriet said excitedly, clapping her hands together with joy. Then Kelly’s face widened into a full-fledged grin. Sheree and ‘Graham’ are getting married, not Sheree and Hunter. She was immensely relieved. Then she ran over to her sister and hugged her tightly. “That’s great, Sheree. Oh, I’m so happy for you.” Kelly kissed her sister’s cheek. Sheree pulled back from Kelly a bit to look at her. Her brows arched in question. “What’s gotten into you, girl? You never even liked Graham.” Kelly nodded. “I know and I’m sorry about that. I only disliked him because he was poor. Yet even I could see how much he loved you. Plus, I’m learning that money isn’t everything.” Sheree and Harriet looked at each other in amazement and then back at Kelly. Sheree spoke first. “You’ve changed, Kelly. It’s a good change, too.” Then she smiled. “Some things about Graham have also changed.” She paused and looked from her mother to her sister, before adding, “Graham is a multimillionaire now.” Sheree’s voice was very soft, humble even as she spoke. She was still in awe about that herself. Graham had accomplished so much in such a short period of time. Harriet and Kelly’s eyes widened. “How? It’s only been about four years. He didn’t get it illegally, did he?” Kelly asked, revealing that everything hadn’t changed about her. She still had a narrowed view of life and people in general. Sheree laughed as held up her hands in a halt/stop gesture reminiscent of a crossing guard. “Girl, you are crazy. There are many ways for a black man to make an honest fortune in America, so don’t even go there. Graham made his money in real estate and home improvement.” Harriet nodded her approval. “Oh, that’s nice, dear. Now he’ll be able to take care of you properly. Your father and grandmother will be so pleased.” Harriet was pretty pleased about that herself. She liked knowing that her children would have no money worries like she had when she was a child. Sheree frowned. “Mom, I can take care of myself properly. I don’t need a man for that.” Then her face softened into smile. “And Mom, know that this is surely no sign of disrespect, but I’m really not interested in

827

pleasing Daddy or Grandma. I love Graham. I always have and I am not about to miss out on this opportunity to be his wife again. I won’t allow anyone, not even Daddy, to come between us ever again.” Sheree was resolute in every way about that. Harriet came and hugged her youngest again. “I’m sorry if I upset you, dear. You’re right. You should grab any chance at true happiness that unveils itself. Life is just too short to spend it being miserable.” If only my other daughter would finally listen to me, she added silently. Suddenly it became crystal clear that Kelly had finally listened. “I’m glad you said that, Mom, because I’ve just decided to divorce Jeremy.” Then she went on to explain how tired she was of being in a loveless marriage. How she was tired of trying to please her father at the expense of her own happiness. Kelly conveniently left out the part about being in love with another man. She would reveal information that much later. Then Kelly reached for her sister’s hand. “It’s time for Daddy to learn how to love us both unconditionally.” Sheree nodded in agreement. Harriet eyes misted over with love for her daughters. They were right. Now she couldn’t wait to have that heart to heart talk with her husband. Allen didn’t know it yet, but his mind was going to soon change about a lot of things. *** In Handley, Teonna placed a call to Graham. She usually called him at least once a day for her daily dose of deep baritone. Hearing his voice always made her feel better and helped to brighten up her day. Graham answered on the first ring. “Hello?” he said expectantly. “Wow! And hello to you, too,” Teonna said with a smile. Now that’s the way to answer a phone, she added silently. Graham’s tone involuntarily changed with barely veiled disappointment. He’d hoped the caller was Sheree. “Oh, hi, Teonna. What’s up?” Teonna’s face fall at his disenchanted tone. Still she spoke in a calm voice. “Nothing, just a few closings. What’s up with you today? Going to check out any new properties?” As she talked, Teonna propped her small feet upon her mahogany desk. Outside of her office window, the sound of construction could be heard. A new bank was being built across the street. Teonna sighed irritably. She wasn’t sure if her current irritation stemmed from the noise outside or from the knowledge that Graham wasn’t excited about her call after all. Probably both. “No, I took off today. Juanita presented me with a niece earlier this morning. So I’m gonna hang close to the hospital for most of the day.” “Oh, that’s great! I love babies. I want tons of them,” Teonna said, knowing full well how much Graham wanted a large family. She actually only wanted one child, but she was willing to say anything to make him happy, willing to do anything to draw Graham closer to her. Besides, he’ll find out the truth after we’re married, Teonna mused optimistically. “Me, too,” Graham replied. He planned to have at least five with Sheree real soon. “Give your sister my regards and tell her I’ll stop by after work today,” Teonna said as she received the note her secretary handed her.

828

The pink memo read, ‘Please call your mother.’ Teonna groaned inwardly and quickly made up some excuse to get off the phone. After she hung up, she continued to stare at the note in her hand for a few seconds. Teonna dreaded calling those seven digits, because she knew that her mother, like her friends, would eventually enter into a ‘Why aren’t you married yet?’ speech. If only they knew how hard I am trying to get married, they’d let up, Teonna thought. Yet the beautiful realtor couldn’t just marry anyone. Only Graham would do for her. Chapter 13 Sheree arrived back in Handley around 5pm on Monday evening. The air was crisp; making it clear that fall was in full bloom now. Graham met her at the airport and drove her straight to the hospital to see Juanita. By now, the new mother was recovering quite nicely from her labor and delivery. She’d slept well most of the day and was now up for visitors. This was good, because Juanita certainly had many people waiting to see her and the baby. When Sheree and Graham finally made it to the hospital, most of the visitors were leaving. The only people that remained now were Horace and Harvey. As Sheree and Graham entered the room, they heard Juanita’s tall, slender husband on the phone making calls to his office. Harvey’s family owned and operated a chain of grocery stores in Handley and the surrounding cities, all of which he headed up. Juanita was their public relations director. Harvey was a very busy man, but it amazed Sheree how quickly he made arrangements to take off from work just to be there for his wife. As she and Graham cooed over the baby, it was obvious that Harvey also knew how to delegate well. By the time the proud father finished his call, he’d scheduled himself a full month off with pay. Sheree liked his style. While Sheree talked with Juanita with her back to the door, she failed to see the pretty woman that entered the room. But Juanita saw her. Her gray eyes saw a lot of things. The new mother looked to where Teonna now stood next to Graham by the baby. There was something familiar about the way the woman looked at her brother. It was as if Teonna knew him – ‘knew’ as in the biblical sense of the word. That possibility deeply disturbed Juanita. Then as she noticed how Graham seemed to stiffen at Teonna’s nearness, realization set in. Something did happen between those two, Juanita mused with a frown. I wonder if Sheree knows. Juanita shot a quick glance at Sheree and immediately got her answer. Her brother’s real fiancée didn’t know or suspect a thing. In fact, Sheree seemed quite comfortable with Teonna in the room. Oh, little brother, please don’t mess this up again, Juanita mused, purposing within her heart to talk to Graham as soon as possible. She was going to make him come clean, even if she had to choke him to do it. As Horace prepared to leave, Sheree volunteered to walk him to the elevators. She wanted him to know that he didn’t have to move out of the house after all. Even though he had another home to go to now, she and Graham had agreed that if Horace wanted to stay with them, he could. The house was certainly big enough to accommodate all of them, plus any children they would have. While Sheree was gone, Teonna was never two feet away from Graham. And her eyes stayed on him constantly, even while she conversed with others. She’d heard about his recent engagement from one of their mutual colleagues, who’d received notice that Graham was putting his private house on the market and why. Now Teonna was inwardly in a state of panic. She was also very hurt by the fact that Graham hadn’t had the common courtesy to tell her about his upcoming wedding plans during their conversation this morning. But Teonna would quickly get over that hurt. She just didn’t want to lose Graham, not as a friend and especially not as a potential life-mate. Since learning of his reconciliation with Sheree, it seemed as if Teonna wanted him even more. But she didn’t know what to do about it.

829

It was obvious that Sheree had Graham’s heart in a way that Teonna never did. All Teonna had had was Graham’s body. For one exhilarating, breathtaking, and sensual night she had access to his beautiful mahogany frame with all of its wonders. For now she’d settle for just that again. Teonna would vie for Graham’s heart later. *** By the elevators, Sheree hugged Horace as they concluded their talk. Then she waved goodbye to him as the elevator doors closed with him inside. Sheree was so happy that Horace agreed to continue living at the house. It would be nice to have someone there while she traveled back and forth, trying to bring her practice to a close in Caramel City. As previously agreed upon, Graham wouldn’t move back in until after they were remarried. Having Horace in the house would also go a long ways towards helping them adhere to the other thing they’d agreed upon – no sex until they were officially husband and wife again. As Sheree made her way back to Juanita’s room, she saw Graham coming towards her and smiled. Ooo…I just love those bowed legs of his, she mused with a rush of heat enveloping her. Graham smiled in return. When he noticed the flame of desire flicker in Sheree’s eyes, heat also enveloped him. He couldn’t wait to make her his wife again. “I was just on my way back,” Sheree said, walking faster until she stood right in front of him. “No need to go all the way back just yet,” Graham replied as he swiftly escorted her into the empty family waiting room on the right. Inside he kicked the door closed behind them and pulled Sheree into his arms. Unfortunately, Graham’s kick hadn’t completely done what he intended, because the door was still slightly ajar. However, Graham didn’t notice the door or anything else but Sheree right now. “I love you so much, baby. Thanks for being here,” he said as he began to plant sweet butterfly kisses upon Sheree’s forehead, eyelids, and then on to each cheek. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Sheree replied with her eyes closed, relishing his caresses. Progressing slowly to her full lips, Graham took his time savoring the taste of her with each and every flicker. Sheree’s lips tasted like honeycomb and he couldn’t get enough of them. Pulling her closer, Graham deepened the kiss as he inhaled her floral scent. Mmm…this woman smells so good, he thought. She felt even better. Sheree roamed her hands over Graham’s short straight hair and down to his strong neck. She began to move against him almost instinctively as her body molded to his. Although they’d agreed to wait, she wanted him now and she didn’t mind telling him so. “I don’t know if I can wait, baby. I want a taste of you now,” Sheree said breathlessly against him. Her body was pulsating furiously with want. Graham was feeling the effects of their passion as well. His body was also aching excessively with desire. Withdrawing just a bit from Sheree’s body in order to put some space between them, lest he pop, Graham made the following concession, “Let’s move the wedding date up. What about two weeks from now? Can you pull it together in that amount of time?” As he spoke, his voice was hoarse with need. But Sheree didn’t want any space. And she let Graham know that by continuing to press her body against his time and time again, extracting moan after moan from him lips. “Two weeks? Why not tomorrow?” Graham choked out. “I...wanted you…to have…a big wedding.” Sheree’s grinding movements were rapidly demolishing his resolve. He swallowed hard. “Sheree, baby, please. I don’t know how much more I can take.” In his own way, Graham was trying to convince her to stop.

830

But Sheree wasn’t hearing it. Instead she quieted his lips with another wave of deep probing kisses. Each kiss and corresponding movement chipped further away at Graham’s resolve until finally he lifted her up and backed her up against the wall by the door; fully prepared to possess her completely. The black skirt Sheree wore rode up her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She continued to move tantalizingly against Graham as they sizzled together against the wall. Their union was now imminent. “Sheree.” Graham moaned as he slid one of his hands beneath her skirt and found a sacred treasure ready to be discovered again...by him. “Give me what I want, Graham. What we both want,” Sheree whispered against his mouth, beyond caring where they were or about anything else. “Yes, baby. I can do that. I can do that right now.” Graham moaned again, unable to refuse her anything at this point. Then he adroitly unbuckled his belt and prepared to take her. Stopping of their own will was beyond them now. If Graham and Sheree were going to adhere to their decision to wait, they needed something stronger than themselves to stop the inevitable. They needed a way of escape to be made known now, quick! Just then, someone knocked on the door. “Graham, are you in here?” It was Teonna. Chapter 14 Graham immediately stood still at the sound of Teonna’s voice. His passion evaporated quickly like a puddle on a hot sunny day. “Yes, I’ll be right out,” he said, allowing Sheree to slid down his body and stand upright again. “You sound funny. Is something wrong?” Teonna asked. “No, everything is all right,” Graham replied, smiling lovingly at Sheree as he deftly fixed his belt and clothes. Sheree returned that smile while she tended to her own clothes. Everything was all right now. Once they were presentable again, Graham grabbed her hand and together they entered the hallway. While Graham and his real estate colleague talked, Sheree went back to Juanita’s room. It annoyed Teonna that although Graham was facing her, his eyes were clearly looking at his ex-wife’s derriere as she sashayed away. I doubt if he’s even listening to me at all, Teonna mused angrily. Yet it wasn’t as if she was saying a whole lot anyway. She’d simply chosen that time to knock on the door and initiate a conversation with Graham. Teonna had been in the hallway for a while now, watching the two lovers through the breach in the door. She’d seen the way Graham had looked at Sheree. The way he’d held her, even the way he’d touched and kissed her. Everything Graham had done with and to Sheree had exuded tenderness. Teonna had been spellbound, unable to move, as she watched them together. And as she’d watched them, she realized that what she received from Graham that long ago night was nowhere near what he could give a woman that he truly loved. Ironically, when Graham and Sheree had moved out of eye view, Teonna suddenly found the strength to move after all. In fact, she had knocked on the door with both hands. There was no way Teonna could let Graham and Sheree consummate their love. If she did, her own plans to marry him would be over for sure. It had taken Graham years to get over Sheree the first time. If they connected now, he was lost to Teonna forever.

831

After Teonna finished talking to Graham, she left the hospital. She needed time to think. On the drive home, she thought about how easy it had been for Sheree to get Graham to move up their wedding date. Two weeks. That’s hardly enough time for me to do much of anything, Teonna mused, becoming even more determined to do whatever she could to ensure her own happiness. As Teonna spent the rest of the drive contemplating her next move, she rued the day that Sheree Hamilton was ever born. *** Back at the hospital, Sheree and Graham prepared to leave also. But at the last minute, Juanita asked to speak with her little brother alone. Sheree assumed that Juanita wanted to discuss their father, so she joined Harvey by the elevators and waited for Graham there. As soon as Sheree and Harvey left, Juanita let into Graham. “You slept with her, didn’t you?” she hissed under her breath, careful not to wake the sleeping baby in the pink bassinet by the bed. Graham was taken aback as he saw his sister’s flashing gray eyes. He couldn’t understand her anger. “Slept with who?” Juanita got right to the point. “You slept with Teonna, that’s who. That’s why she’s always sniffing behind you. The girl is whipped, just like Trina Flood was!” Graham’s face fell. He nodded, reluctantly confirming the truth. Now he didn’t what to say. But he had to try to say something. Sitting down in the burgundy chair next to Juanita’s bed, Graham leaned over to explain. “It only happened once. It was two years ago at one of those real estate seminars we normally attend together. I had too much to drink that night. I was depressed about Momma, still angry with Sheree. Combine that with the fact that I hadn’t been intimate with a woman since I was married and there you have it.” Graham paused as he remembered that time in his life and just how down he was back then. “The next morning I felt horrible. Right then and there, I made a decision to quit drinking, even socially. I also apologized to Teonna for putting her in that position. I had no intention of using her that night, nor have I violated our friendship since. We’re just friends now, honest.” His honorable eyes said that he was sincere. Juanita knew that her brother spoke the truth. Graham never lied to her. However, there was still something he needed to know. “Little brother, you may be Teonna’s friend, but she is definitely not yours. No woman can truly be a friend to a man she wants as badly as Teonna wants you. I watch her as she watches you, Graham. The woman is obsessed with you.” Graham’s eyebrows rose at that last statement. “Obsessed?” “Yes.” Juanita nodded. “And I don’t want you or Sheree to get hurt behind some psycho chick mess. I assume you haven’t told Sheree?” Graham shook his head. “No, every time I try to, we get distracted or interrupted. To be honest with you, I really don’t know how to tell her.” Juanita patted his hand in comfort. “You’ll find a way, little brother. But I pray that you don’t take too long. Secrets have a way of leaking out.” Then she looked intently into his eyes and added, “And with someone like Teonna around, it may leak out sooner than you expect.” Juanita had long since realized how volatile Teonna was. No woman in her right mind would put her life on hold for four years just to wait in the wings for a man who was clearly in love with someone else. Despite the fact that she was a great realtor, Teonna’s emotional stability was highly questionable.

832

She’s definitely not sister-in-law material, Juanita mused. My brother needs someone stable and solid…someone like Sheree. “I hear you, big sis, and thanks for looking out for me.” Then Graham left to take Sheree home. *** During the drive home, Graham was noticeably quiet. When Sheree inquired about his change of mood, he simply said that he had a lot on his mind. By the time they made it to her house, a seed of doubt had begun to form in Sheree’s mind. Then when Graham barely brushed her lips with a goodnight kiss, her mind was attacked again with the assumption that he was starting to have second thoughts about them. When Sheree ascended the stairs that night, it was with a heavy heart. She didn’t know what was wrong with her man and Graham didn’t seem to be too willing to tell her, either. Feeling left out of the loop, Sheree prayed for wisdom and understanding before she went to sleep. Somehow she knew that she would need them both in the days ahead. *** Unable to sleep, Graham sat on his living room couch, watching TV or rather allowing the television to watch him. He couldn’t tell you what was happening on the screen or even the name of the movie that he was supposed to be watching. Just then, the doorbell rang. When Graham looked out the peephole, he was surprised to see Teonna standing there. It was well after midnight. After quickly throwing on a black t-shirt to hide his bare chest, Graham answered the door. “Tee, is something wrong?” he asked, instantly noticing how troubled she looked. How shiny her eyes were. “I need to talk to you, Graham. Can I come in?” Teonna said, quickly looking behind him into the house. She was trying to see if Sheree was inside. After what she witnessed at the hospital earlier, she thoroughly expected the other woman to be there. I know I would have been here tonight, Teonna mused, adjusting the third button on the top of her black silk pajamas. Wanting to refuse, but moved by the woman’s glistening eyes, Graham reluctantly consented. “For just a minute.” Why is she wearing pajamas? he thought warily as he opened the door wider for her to enter. A minute was all Teonna needed. In no time she was sitting on Graham’s comfortable sofa, crying fake tears, claiming that her mother had been recently diagnosed with breast cancer. “She just told me today and I’m just so scared for her. For my whole family. I came here because I knew you’d understand how I felt. By the way, I’m sorry about the hour and about not getting dressed before I came. But the walls at my house seemed to be closing in on me and I just had to get out of there in a hurry.” Formerly standing up, Graham sat down beside Teonna and tried to offer her some form of comfort. “I’m so sorry for you, Tee. I know how devastating news like this can be to a person, to an entire family,” he said, patting her hand in consolation. But a hand pat was not what Teonna was looking for tonight. She wanted more. In short, she wanted what Sheree had been privy to earlier today. Throwing her arms around Graham’s neck, Teonna initiated a kiss, licking his lips through her tears. But to her utter dismay, Graham instantly recoiled from her and jumped up from the couch. “No, Tee! I’m sorry about your mother, but I can’t make the same mistake twice,” Graham said, removing the evidence of her kiss with one quick wipe of his hand. Red lipstick now rested upon four of his five left hand fingers. But he didn’t care. All Graham cared about was getting Teonna out of his house.

833

Teonna was outraged. “Mistake! Our night of love was never a mistake. It was the most precious moment of my entire life.” Her voice shook with emotion. Graham shook his head, regretting that he’d ever opened his door tonight. I should have slept at the other house tonight, he mused, wishing that he could take back a lot of things, including that fateful night with Teonna. “Like I said before, I’m sorry, Tee. Sleeping with you tonight would be wrong on so many levels,” Graham said, trying to let her down gently. Teonna stood to her feet, pointing at him accusingly. “Don’t you dare try to get all spiritual on me now, you hypocrite! I guess fornication is only all right when it’s with someone you love, huh? I saw you and Sheree at the hospital today. You were seconds away from having sex. If I hadn’t interrupted you, you would have given everything you had to a woman that didn’t even love you enough to come after you.” Teonna’s comments were not only unexpectedly hurtful; they brought along a level of conviction, too. Graham had been about to sin with Sheree earlier today. That much was true, but fortunately they were stopped in the nick of time. However, he was definitely not going to sin with Teonna tonight, no matter what she said. After taking a deep breath, Graham calmly said, “You’re right, Tee. My behavior with Sheree was wrong today, no matter how right it may have felt. And yes, I still believe that sex should only be practiced inside of marriage. And I can tell you with all certainty now that the next woman I have sex with will be my wife. And that wife will be named Sheree. Now I think it’s time for you to go, Tee.” With that said, Graham escorted Teonna out of his house and hopefully out of his life for good. I bet her mother ain’t even sick, either, he deduced as he turned off the TV and went to bed. Graham was right. Teonna’s mother was as healthy as a horse. In fact, Mrs. Jackson was so healthy that she was scheduled to visit her daughter for a few days, bringing along her own unique brand of torture. As Teonna drove home in quiet desperation, she could just hear her mother’s voice now. “Why aren’t you married yet?”

Chapter 15 After Horace went to pay golf the next morning, Sheree received a call from her outraged father. Allen had returned home and he’d heard all about her plans to remarry Graham. He spoke of being disappointed with both of his daughters now since he’d also heard about Kelly’s plans for a divorce. By the time Sheree got off the phone, her head was pounding and she needed something to help her relax. Deciding to take a long soak in the tub, Sheree promptly went to the bathroom. The heated water soothed her body tremendously and her headache left almost as soon as she submerged among the pineapple scented bubbles she’d added earlier. Yes, this is exactly what I needed, Sheree mused, leaning her head back in bliss. *** Teonna slammed the phone down. This was the third she’d tried to reach Graham today with no progress. He either wasn’t answering his phone or he was strictly avoiding her. Recalling that he was on site at a new house he was renovating, Teonna decided to go there. As sure as she pulled up in front of the stucco-styled house, she saw the love of her life. Graham was talking to a group of workers on the left side of the house. Teonna blew the car horn and waited for him to come over to her.

834

Reluctantly, Graham walked over to the black towncar. If last night hadn’t happened, this wouldn’t have been a problem. But since last night had happened, Teonna’s presence on his worksite was totally out of line. As a result, Graham warily bent down and looked cautiously through the open passenger window. “Ms. Jackson,” he said, addressing her professionally instead of using her nickname. “Why are you here? I thought you understood that last night was the end of our relationship.” Keeping her face neutral, Teonna forced herself not to respond to Graham’s cool professionalism. Instead she said, “I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night. I wasn’t myself and I’m sorry if I offended you.” Then Teonna swallowed hard to get ready for her next statement. It would require more fortitude than she had before. “I also wanted to come by and wish you and Sheree a happy life. And to ask if you and I could still be friends. I value your friendship, Graham, and I don’t want to lose it.” I also don’t want to lose you, Teonna added to herself, hoping that he was buying her attempt at sincerity. Just then, one of the workers called Graham, distracting him from the conversation. After quickly addressing the work related issue, he turned back around and addressed the Teonna issue. “I heard everything you said and I hope you’re sincere, Tee. Because I really don’t need any toxic people in my life right now.” Seeing his words and the reuse of her nickname as a positive sign, Teonna smiled and exhaled with relief. “Thanks, Graham. You won’t regret this.” And I won’t, either, she added to herself, now ready to proceed to her next destination. “I certainly hope not,” Graham replied a bit on the hesitant side. He still wasn’t sure that this was the best thing to do. His mother hadn’t been buried a full week yet and things seemed to be spinning out of control. Already Graham was back to his old way of dealing with clingy females. If ever there was a time to cut a relationship tie, this was it. In fact, Graham needed to cut Teonna off with the sharpest scissors he could find. *** When Sheree finished her bath, she decided to give herself a pedicure. That very act made her feel even better. The yellow tank skirt-set she wore was loose and free flowing – the way she felt now. Suddenly, the phone on her nightstand rang again. Sheree hesitated to pick it up. She wasn’t in any mood for another one of her father’s tirades. On second thought, it might be Graham, Juanita or Horace, she mused, picking the phone up. “Hello?” Sheree answered, painting the last toenail before propping her feet up on a pillow to rest while her nails dried. “Hello, is this Sheree?” asked a female voice. “Yes, may I help you?” Sheree replied, thinking that the voice on the other end sounded very familiar. “Sheree, this is Teonna. I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute.” Sheree was puzzled. What does she have to talk to me about? Aloud she said, “Uh...sure. What do you have on your mind?” “Well, I really don’t want to discuss this over the phone. Can I come over?” Please say yes, Teonna willed through the phone. “I…guess so,” Sheree hesitantly replied, before they rang off. I ask the question again: What could Teonna possibly have to talk to me about? she mused as she got up from the bed.

835

*** The doorbell rang no later than five minutes after that phone call. With her nails almost completely dry, Sheree slipped on a pair of open-toed mules and went downstairs to answer it. When she opened the sixpanel steel door, she was surprised to find Teonna at her house already. “That was quick,” Sheree said, narrowing her eyes a bit. Something didn’t feel right here. “I was right outside when I called you,” Teonna explained, attempting to produce a genuine smile at her enemy. Inwardly, she hated the fact that her gray, two-piece business suit looked tense and boring compared to Sheree’s bright, cheerful attire. Is that what Graham loves about her? If so, I can be upbeat, too, Teonna thought desperately. Sheree’s cheerful disposition was only part of her charm. Truthfully, Graham loved everything about Sheree. He especially loved how good she’d been to his family and the why she genuinely cared about people. It had been Sheree’s idea to build a recreation center and provide free health screenings for the needy. And while his mother had lived, Sheree had even helped her with the homeless mission. Whereas Teonna only gave to the poor when she could get some type of recognition for it. Sheree tried to return Teonna’s smile, but something inside kept it from reaching her eyes. “Well, it’s a nice day outside, so let’s talk at the gazebo.” There was no way she was going to let that woman inside her house again. Sheree had learned early in life to trust her instincts and right now her instincts were telling her that Teonna was up to something. Chapter 16 The pentagon shaped mini-gazebo stood adjacent to the house. All around it were shady pecan trees preparing to release their harvest. Sheree and Teonna sat on opposite sides of the gazebo on thick beams of wood. The sun was shining and a cool breeze scattered some of the leaves in the yard. Sheree glanced leisurely around the lawn, following a few of the brown and orange leaves with her eyes as she waited for Teonna to state the reason for her visit. Inwardly, Teonna was wrestling with the fact that Sheree had taken away a part of the control by insisting that they talk outside. She had wanted to corner Sheree in a more private setting. One where the chance of an audience was less. All the same, Teonna would go through with her plan to drive a thick wedge between Sheree and Graham. She had to. Her own happiness was at stake here. Teonna took a deep breath and began. “I wanted to talk to you about Graham and I.” With those words, she saw how quickly she had gained Sheree’s full attention. All ears now, huh? Teonna mused sarcastically as she continued with her own unique version of the truth. “Yes, there was, still is a Graham and I. We slept together and we were going to get married until you came back in the picture.” When Sheree simply remained silent, the suppressed rage inside of Teonna suddenly threatened to come out. She felt like wrapping her hands around Sheree’s seemingly indifferent neck. The other woman’s face was literally expressionless and that infuriated Teonna. Fortunately, Teonna was able to successfully squash that violent urge as she realized that her venomous words had indeed found a crack in the other woman’s armor. Why else would Sheree’s eyes suddenly widen? Why else would her mouth part ever so slightly as if she wanted to say something, but was fighting not to? But Sheree’s lackluster reaction still wasn’t enough for Teonna, so she continued to sprout her poison. “I told Graham just last night in bed that he should tell you about us, but he refused. He said that he wanted to pay you back for how you hurt him four years ago. But my conscience just wouldn’t let me stand by and watch

836

you get led on like that.” Teonna paused to look into Sheree’s pain-filled eyes before throwing her last fiery dart. “Graham told me that in two weeks he plans on leaving you at the altar in front of everyone.” Two weeks, Sheree mused, recalling how Graham had mentioned that same timeline to her last night as well. How would Teonna know that? They hadn’t told anyone of their change in plans yet. Having suddenly heard enough and having her proper upbringing to kick into gear at that exact moment, Sheree raised her hand and shooed Teonna away as if she was a bothersome pest. She was. “I don’t need to hear anymore. You can leave now,” Sheree said, holding her peace, the way her parents had raised her to do when faced with adversity. She was as cold as a block of ice now. Teonna was incensed that she was being so coldly dismissed. She resented the fact that Sheree didn’t cry, yell, or even try to strike out at her. What is wrong with this woman? Is she frigid or something? But Teonna already knew the answer to that – no. She’d seen Sheree in action just last night, so she knew that the woman was far from frigid. No ordinary woman could have reduced Graham to putty so quickly. That fact became another reason for Teonna to hate Sheree. Feeling as if she’d been denied complete victory, Teonna glared at her enemy and said, “When you’re left looking like a fool at the altar, don’t blame me! I tried to warn you.” “Well, I guess this means that both of our engagements to Graham were fake,” Sheree replied coolly, not batting an eye. At that reminder of her own faux pas, Teonna stomped off towards her car and sped away, lest she commit a homicide on Ridgehall Drive. *** Now safely back inside the house, Sheree could finally let her guard down. With trembling hands, she called Graham on his cell phone. Fortunately, he was now in his car, so she was able to get him on the first ring. “Graham Leverett.” Sheree got straight to the point. “Graham, Teonna was just here. She told me that you two slept together. That you two are still sleeping together as recent as last night, and that you plan on leaving me at the altar in two weeks to get back at me for hurting you. Is this true?” Sheree felt herself unraveling into a ball of raw emotions. Hold it together girl, she told herself as she paced the floor with the phone in hand. Graham couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You fool! Why didn’t you just tell Sheree about this mess days ago? And why did you ever give Teonna the benefit of the doubt? he scolded himself as he pulled into the parking lot of a nearby gas station, lest he crash. Deciding to tell it all now, Graham replied, “No, not all of it.” He was being very open now, which was something he should have been earlier considering all the opportunities he’d had recently. Sheree was adamant. “Which part is true?” “Baby, now just listen...” “Just tell me which part is true, Graham!” Sheree screamed into the phone. She had no time for pretty words. She needed to know the naked truth, no matter how ugly.

837

Graham was silent for a full thirty seconds before answering. “Teonna is the only woman I ever slept with since the divorce. I slept with her one time two years ago. But it has never happened again and it never will. Everything else she said is a lie.” It was then that Graham decided to finally end all contact with Teonna. Liars were just too dangerous to keep around. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? Didn’t you trust me to understand? I guess not.” Sheree scoffed among her free falling tears. “And you had the nerve to be upset with me over a few measly kisses with Hunter.” With a guilt-ridden Graham now speechless on the other end, Sheree used that moment of silence to collect herself. I don’t have to put up this, she mused, thinking that she’d made it okay without Graham before. She could do it again. And this time, Sheree would force herself to get over him. No more dwelling on the past for me. When Sheree finally spoke again, her voice was calm. Too calm. “Goodbye, Graham.” Then she hung up the phone and went upstairs to pack. Purposefully ignoring the phone that started ringing off the hook as soon she hung up, Sheree quickly packed and scribbled Horace a letter. In the letter, she signed over the house to him as a gift from her. She also left the deed to her future clinic along with all sets of keys on the wooden island in the kitchen on her way out. She would send Graham’s black Lexus back to him later. She needed it now to get away. Chapter 17 Graham slammed the phone down in the car. He’d been calling Sheree back ever since she hung up and he was frustrated about not being able to reach her. All of a sudden, he had a thought that she was about to leave him again and neither his heart nor his mind could bear it. I just lost my mother. I can’t lose Sheree, too. Not again, Graham mused with anguish as he quickly restarted the car and hurried to the house. He prayed for green lights all the way there. Miraculously, he got them. *** Sheree’s departure was delayed with all red lights, a long train, and even a traffic jam. As she waited in the car for the slow moving lunch traffic to disperse, she had time to think. Time to really think about what she was doing. Instantly, the words that she’d spoken to her mother came to mind. I love Graham. I always have and I am not about to miss out on this opportunity to be his wife again. I won’t allow anyone, not even Daddy, to come between us ever again.” Sheree was suddenly ashamed of herself. She now realized that she was acting immature and foolish again. But most importantly, she was about to mess up the best thing that had ever happened to her. Surely she didn’t expect the man to have waited for her all these years. She’d been the one to divorce him, remember? Sheree was actually surprised that there hadn’t been more women than that in Graham’s life. She was also grateful. Besides, Graham wasn’t a car that she could trade in every two to four years. He was a flesh and blood man, and loving him would require Sheree to put in some work. But that’s what loving someone was about. It was about doing what’s necessary to maintain a good, healthy, fully functioning relationship. And right now, Sheree needed to work on forgiving Graham. It was not only what God would want her to do; it was the right thing to do. Slowly, she turned the car onto the first exit she came to and went back home. Home to 515 Ridgehall Drive. Earlier Sheree had been in a rush to leave it, but now she couldn’t wait to get back to it. For at that house she had hopes and dreams to fulfill. Children to bear and raise. School lunches to fix, holiday meals to cook and Christmas trees to trim and decorate with the man she loved. ***

838

By the time Sheree arrived back at the house, Graham was already there. When she rang the doorbell, he quickly answered it, having heard the car pull up outside. Graham couldn’t hide the fact that he’d been crying if he wanted to. His gray eyes were puffy and red, and his nose was congested. Sheree immediately flew into his arms and hugged him tightly. “I’m so sorry, baby. I just couldn’t leave you again. I love you too much. Please forgive me.” Her tears stained the white oxford shirt he wore, but Graham didn’t care. He was just so glad that she was back. Graham held Sheree closer as he said a silent prayer of thanks. Then he withdrew a bit and looked down into her tearstained face. “You will be my wife today. Right now,” he declared. His deep voice rumbled with thick emotion as he spoke. Then Graham grabbed Sheree’s hand and escorted her across the street to Judge Justin Rolle’s house. He’d sold the judge that beautiful tri-level home two years ago at a very special price. Now he was ready to call in a favor. Fortunately, Graham remembered seeing the judge’s gray Ford Expedition parked out front, so he knew the man was home right now. Sheree asked no questions as she silently followed her man to the red brick house across the street. Upon entering Judge Rolle’s home, in a matter of minutes, Graham had arranged for them to be married immediately. Then within the hour, Sheree became Mrs. Graham Leverett again. As soon as their nuptials were over, Graham escorted Sheree back to their home across the street. It was time for the honeymoon. Once they were inside, the groom locked the front door and then swiftly scooped his bride up into his strong arms. As Graham carried Sheree upstairs, neither of them said anything in this potent moment. Inside the bedroom, Graham laid his wife down on the bed and then locked the door. As Sheree lie watching him slowly undress, everything else in the brown room seemed to disappear, except for the two of them. Finally, Graham spoke to her again. It was the first time since he said ‘I do’ in front of the judge a few minutes ago. Each word he spoke was laced with thick desire. “Take the phone off the hook, baby.” It was a gentle, yet unquestionable order. When Sheree readily complied, Graham continued. “There will be no interruptions this time. We’re going to make sweet, delicious love right now and we’re not going to stop until all doubts are gone, and only love and trust remains. Do you hear me, woman?” His gray eyes pierced through hers. Sheree nodded and began to unbutton her shirt, but Graham stopped her. “No, I’ll take your clothes off. And as I remove each item, let each seed of doubt leave your heart and mind.” Then as he undressed her, he spoke words of affirmation with each piece of clothing that was removed. “You are the only one for me, Sheree. There will never be another. No woman can compare to you, ever. Do you hear me?” Again, Sheree nodded. She was mesmerized by the slow, sensual way that Graham was undressing her. She literally trembled with anticipation. Soon they were both equally bare. With hungry hands and lips, Graham began to love on Sheree until she lay writhing on the bed beneath him, begging him to possess her. He even kissed her feet, lingering on each painted digit like they were a delicacy. There was no part of her that he didn’t tenderly attend to. Graham kept himself in check the whole time he ministered to Sheree. There would be no rushing this time. This was his woman and he was determined that she would remain his forever as he prolonged each movement, savoring every moment he was with her. In the midst of everything else that was going on now, Graham had a profound revelation about his relationship with Sheree. Their union was never meant to be outside of marriage. And it was never meant to occur while there were secrets between them. That’s why they’d had all the distractions and interruptions before. Now that those obstacles were removed, they could finally and truly be as one again.

839

When they connected at last, Graham began a slow ride to ecstasy. Just being one with Sheree again was happiness in itself. He watched as her hazel eyes fluttered open and closed in pleasure. She was obviously enjoying the sensation of their union as much as he was. When Sheree arched her body for more, Graham gave more until he had no more to give. “Say you won’t ever leave me again, baby,” Graham said, adding words to his actions. Sheree was euphoric as she responded in word and deed. “I won’t, baby. I’m yours forever.” “Say it again. I need to hear it again.” His gray eyes glistened brightly with emotion and passion. “Oh, baby, I’m here to stay,” Sheree uttered, barely above a whisper as she clenched at his muscular back and held him closer to her. She was nearly out of her mind with love now. “That’s right. Now take me to that place that only you can. Take me there now, Sheree.” Graham’s deep voice was strained as their passion heightened in speed and intensity. After a year of marriage, he knew exactly what his wife was capable of giving and that’s what he craved now. Sheree was more than willing to give Graham what he required. Especially since she wanted the same thing. Using four long years worth of pent-up passion to fuel her volcanic response, Sheree swiftly sent them both soaring over the edge of ecstasy. She ended up giving her husband way more than he requested. Yet there were no complaints from either party. Graham was the first to speak after they descended from passion and were breathing normally again. Brown bed covers were everywhere as they lay cuddled together with Sheree resting comfortably in the nook of his arm. “Are all doubts gone now, baby?” Graham asked, looking intently down into her eyes. She smiled up at him. “Every single one.” He pulled her closer. “Good, because our baby is going to need his mother and father together.” Graham lovingly stroked her flat cinnamon stick belly as he spoke. Sheree pulled back a bit to look up into his face again. She noticed that his gray eyes were misty. “What are you talking about?” Graham smiled down at her. “I’m talking about you receiving my seed today. Nine months from now, we are going to have a baby. Just wait and see.” “But how can you be so sure?” Even though they hadn’t used any contraceptives today, how could he be so certain that this specific union - their first intimate encounter in four years - had produced a child already? “I believe that when the doubt left, it left room for us to conceive,” Graham said confidently. It was that same confidence that stunned Sheree into silence. “Now get some rest,” he continued, pulling the covers around her bare frame. “You’re going to need all of your strength for the next phase of our honeymoon.” A few minutes later, Sheree felt herself starting to drift off into a sweet sleep. Like many other days this past week, her thoughts turned to her mother-in-law. Betty was right about us after all. Graham and I are meant to be together, Sheree mused, before floating into dreamland. *** As it turns out, Graham had been right, too. Nine months after their second honeymoon, a son was born to them. Graham Devon Leverett Jr. was just the beginning of the large family that Graham Sr. and Sheree intended to have. Everyone who knew them knew that there would be at least four more children to come.

840

Horace, who still lived with them, helped to entertain Sheree’s whole family when they came down to see the new baby. Kelly and her new husband, Hunter came also. They were all happy for Sheree and she them. Even Allen had warmed somewhat towards Graham. Sheree wasn’t sure if her father’s new attitude was the result of the joy of seeing his first grandchild or the impressive tour of properties Graham took him on. Either way the Hamiltons and the Leveretts were finally starting to become a real family and for that Sheree and Graham was eternally grateful. As for Teonna, and to her mother and friends’ delight, she finally got married. Her husband was a man that she met at an anger management class. After many months of counseling the woman, Frasier Stefan fell madly in love with Teonna and now they work side by side in helping others to overcome toxic feelings and toxic relationships as well.

841

The Prince's Housekeeper Bride by Carol Marinelli When Prince Benito Fortesque of Contarini pays a visit to the island of Niroli, palace maid Alisa Moretti is assigned to the role of his housekeeper. Orphaned as a teen and left to care for her younger sister, Alisa desperately needs this job to make ends meet and pay for an education that will lead to a better life. But her employment is quickly at risk thanks to her outspoken nature—and her dangerous attraction to the playboy prince!

Chapter One “You need to smarten up, Alisa!” Arranging the tray, Alisa did her best not to get upset by Maria the cook’s pertinent observations. “Prince Benito likes his staff to look immaculate—you won’t keep this job if you don’t make more of an effort.” “I will,” Alisa attempted an assured nod. “It was just such a rush to get here. I only just found out I’d been offered the job. I had to race home to sort out care for Marietta—” “Don’t use your child as an excuse, Alisa,” Maria scolded, “A woman in your unfortunate position is lucky to have been offered the position of Prince Benito’s housekeeper here in the villa. There are plenty of other palace maids who would only be too happy to take your place! You should present with your hair neatly tied back and maybe a little makeup—you’re not scrubbing the fireplaces now! You have to look the part. “ “I will, Maria…” Picking up the tray, Alisa headed down the long corridor, her new, shapeless white uniform swishing as she did so, the bulky, rubber-soled white shoes she had been issued not making a sound on the highly polished marble floors. Alisa added smarten up to her endless list of urgent things she had to do. Had to do. She needed this job. Even if the hours were impossible, even if keeping up with Prince Benito’s exhausting, glittering schedule meant she would hardly see Marietta while he was here in Niroli, surely it would be worth it. Alisa saw her hand was shaking slightly as she put it up to knock on the bedroom door. As a palace maid, Alisa was used to glimpsing royals and their lavish existence, but it was always from a distance—laundering their sheets, washing their plates, scrubbing their floors. Unnoticed and utterly dispensable. Until now! Prince Benito had made his spectacular entrance to Niroli just three nights ago. A guest of his cousin, the very adored, if rather reprobate, Prince Luca Fierezza of Niroli, Benito had sailed his hundred-and-seventyfive-foot yacht from the neighboring island Contarini, and in the short time he’d been on the island he’d more than made his presence known, as was usually the case during his frequent visits. Whispers had been echoing down the palace corridors about wild nights of gambling and partying, and the first casualty of his reckless ways had been the villa’s loyal and hardworking housekeeper Bianca, sacked for supposedly rolling her eyes at the excessive requests of his latest girlfriend, Victoria. The second casualty had been Victoria herself—dumped by the prince, it was gleefully rumored, for rolling her eyes at one of his more excessive requests. Hopefully the third victim wouldn’t be Alisa. Two gentle knocks on the door, a pause for modesty’s sake, and Alisa entered, holding her breath as tightly as she held the tray and taking a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

842

“Your coffee, Your Highness.” Apparently he didn’t like needless chatter. A brief greeting had been her instructions—his coffee to be poured while he awoke and placed on the table beside him, then the curtains opened and his bath drawn. Then she could breathe normally again. Only, it wasn’t his royal status that daunted Alisa as she made her way over. It wasn’t that she desperately needed this job to work out. No, it was actually something rather more basic that had the twenty-one-yearold trembling with nerves as she hesitantly stood over him. It was that she’d never been in a man’s bedroom before—at least not while the owner was present. Had never stood watching as a man slept. Benito was lying prone on the vast bed, pillows tossed on the floor, his hand over the side as if he were on a lilo and trailing the water below. Even in semidarkness he was beautiful, more beautiful than the pictures she had seen. Broad shoulders, jet hair, the sculpted and chiseled perfection of his cheekbones and straight Roman nose and full, slightly parted lips. His beautifully arched eyebrows frowned slightly at the intrusion as Alisa quietly set about pouring his morning coffee—an apparent must before he even considered surfacing.

*** Where the hell was he? He stretched out his long legs and encountered nothing; he was unused to an empty space in his bed. Still hungover, he opened one eye, but instead of orienting himself, Benito fought wakefulness, enjoying the sweet, soapy, feminine fragrance filling his nostrils, the soft voice lulling him from sleep, watching long, slender fingers shaking slightly as they poured his morning coffee. “What time is it?” “Eleven a.m.” Her voice was coming from the other side of the room now. Benito turned toward the sound and sat up, observing as she pulled open the heavy drapes. Dark curls, loosely tied back, trailed down the back of her dress, the shapeless, voluminous cut of the material serving to accentuate her slender arms and legs and, not so idly, Benito wondered what she’d look like from the front. “Would you like me to run your bath now?” When she turned around, the sun behind made her face almost unreadable, but as she walked toward him, slowly she came into delicious focus. A riot of curls framed her pretty face, dark eyes shyly averted, her full rosebud mouth moved awkwardly as she addressed him and, he noted, the yards of material that swamped her frame couldn’t quite stifle the splendid curve of her breasts. Wishing he was still on his stomach, Benito pulled his knees up as she leaned over and handed him his coffee. He saw that those dark eyes weren’t actually black but the deepest green, and that soapy fragrance was momentarily overriding the strong scent of coffee and having the most disturbing effect on him. “Would you like a bath?” she asked again. Taking the cup from her hand, Benito promptly decided that he needed to get out more—three nights of sleeping alone and he was attracted to the maid. “Please.” His nod should have dismissed her—had it been Bianca, his old housekeeper, it would have—but clearly unsure of her role, she stood there uncertainly, her straight white teeth nibbling nervously on her bottom lip as she plucked up the nerve to address him again. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

843

A very wry smile dusted his lips as a terribly inappropriate thought occurred—she was seriously gorgeous! Benito was tempted almost to pull back the sheets and tell her exactly what she could do for him, and for the first time in probably a quarter of a century, he actually blushed at the depravity of his thoughts. “Sort out the bathroom.” He flicked his hand now to dismiss her. “There is a lot of clutter, women’s stuff. I want it all cleared out. I am tired of looking at her trash. Bin it, please.” “Of course.” Running his bath, adding oils and placing his towels, Alisa caught a sight of herself in the vast bathroom mirror, cringing at her untamed curls and flushed complexion, wondering how she could smarten up without a single tool of the trade. Everything she earned was more than accounted for, what with rent, Marietta’s medicine, books for night school, oh, and on a good week, food! What if she didn’t “bin it”? Taking the lid off a lipstick, Alisa, lost in thought like a child rummaging through her mother’s makeup, wound it up and held it beside her mouth, oh so tempted to try it on. “What are you doing?” Guilt made her jump. Alisa didn’t know how long he’d been standing there watching her, just a towel slung around his hips. He walked behind her and stared at her reflection, staring at every flicker of her reaction as she burned with mortification, not just at being caught, but at what must surely follow. Her time as his housemaid was no doubt over before it had even started.

Chapter Two “I’m sorry!” Alisa’s guilty eyes met his. “I wasn’t going to…” She knew how bad it looked, knew that she’d been caught just thinking about stealing. “I would never…“ Her voice trailed off helplessly as he stood silently, watching her flounder. “It seemed such a shame to waste it when I’ve been told I have to smarten up—” “Who said you needed to smarten up?” “Maria the cook—all of them. They say that if I am to work for you I must make more of an effort.” Tears were filling her eyes, and she lowered them in shame and misery. “I don’t have any makeup, I don’t have anything…” “Try it then” Dark blue eyes met hers in the mirror, just a glimmer of a smile on his cruel mouth. “Who knows? Maybe if you do smarten up, I will keep you.” Bastard. She wanted to turn and run, but since that would find her facing his naked chest, Alisa had little choice but to comply. She’d never put on lipstick; the cool waxy pad felt strange against her lips as her unskilled fingers tried to press it on. “Like this.” He turned her rigid body around, took the golden pen from her clasped hand and painted the color slowly on using tiny featherlight strokes on her lips. She closed her eyes in shame, sure he was laughing at her, playing with her, like a cat taunting a bird before the kill. What the hell was he doing?

844

Christ, he didn’t care if she took the makeup. After all, he had no need for it! Benito knew he should have directed her out and firmly closed the bathroom door, but she was so adorable…. Those startled, fearful eyes enthralled him, the rapid rise and fall of that glorious bosom had hardened him again, and now here she was, the soft skin of her cheek in his palm, damp lashes fanning her cheeks as she closed her eyes against tears. And that mouth! That full, sultry mouth all dark pink and shiny, and here he was, naked, except for a precariously placed towel, with this beauty in his hands. When she opened her eyes and stared fearfully into his, never had he so badly wanted to undo his own handiwork, so tempted to kiss it all off. “There.” He turned her around to face the mirror, observed silently as she viewed the transformation. He felt kneed in the groin with longing as she pouted slightly, then ran her lucky tongue along unfamiliar lips. “What do you think?” “It is what you think that matters.” He watched her swallow, watched as a salty tear spilled from the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry. I can assure you nothing like that will happen again.” “Good.” His voice was suddenly gruff. “What is your name?” “Alisa.” “Well, Alisa, you do not need lipstick to—” He didn’t finish what he was saying, his whole line of thinking completely inappropriate. “That will be all.” He stood stock-still as she gave a hurried nod, then turned her flaming face from him and hurried from the bathroom. In her haste, she forgot to close the door. Only, he didn’t call her back; far easier instead to do it himself, to drag out a long-held breath and lean his weight against the jamb for a moment. She was truly beautiful. Lowering himself into the soapy water, Benito tried to block out her features from his mind, but even with his eyes closed, her face was all he could see, those full lips a mere few inches away from his as he’d caressed her cheek. “Cristo!” Unwashed, unsatisfied and spun out on lust, Benito hauled himself out of the bath, dried and dressed himself in rapid time, then punched some numbers into the phone. “Pronto, Luca…” he greeted his cousin warmly. “What are you doing calling so early?” Luca laughed. “It is not even lunchtime.” “Shame to waste the day in bed.” Benito shrugged. “Do you want to take out the boat?” Luca suggested. “I can have it arranged—” “No,” Benito quickly interrupted. “I think I might go and look at the casino, see how my investment is doing.” Luca Fierezza was the major owner of the Niroli Casino, but as a silent partner, Benito had a keen interest in the place. “Of course,” Luca agreed. “I will have the accountant set up the books for you to see. Do you want to meet there in, say, half an hour?”

845

“That is not what I am interested in—I should have made myself clearer. It is a shame to waste a day alone in bed.” “So the rumors are true—things are definitely over with you and Victoria!” Luca let out a low growl of laugher. “You know there will be many women only too pleased to help you get over this tough patch.” “Good,” Benito responded, replacing the phone, glad that Luca understood him. Luca was more like a brother than a cousin. Or more like a brother should be, Benito thought as he stuffed his wallet with cash and credit cards. His own brother, the much-older King Alessandro of Contarini, was more a disapproving father figure than the friend and confidant Luca was. Not that Alessandro approved of the friendship—their wild youth had more than kept the two palaces’ spin doctors dancing on their toes. But what was new? Benito thought, heading to the bathroom to douse himself in his own signature fragrance, catching sight of the discarded lipstick. His very birth had been turned into PR exercise—he was the “sticking plaster” baby of Contarini, conceived many years after his siblings in an attempt by his parents to salvage their marriage. His father and Alessandro had been too busy running the struggling country to bother with a bored and curious child. Only his sister Francesca had really given a damn, inviting him to stay on the richer Island of Niroli over the years, giving him a teasing glimpse of how a prince should really live. And live he did! He picked up the internal phone to summon his transport, and stalked out the bedroom, only pausing momentarily when he saw the lavish brunch Alisa and some other servants were setting up on balcony overlooking the beach. “I’m eating out today. I shan’t be back till late—if at all…” He could see that her eyes were swollen from crying, and knew that, no doubt, she was awaiting the axe to fall. Something twisted inside him. “I have left some mending for you in a basket on my bed. See that you properly take care of it.” “Certainly, Your Royal Highness.” “Benito,” he corrected curtly. “When I am at home, I like to be called Benito.” “Since when?” Alberto the butler huffed the second the front door slammed closed. Then, picking up a pastry from the table, he took a bite. “You should go home and see how your wife is doing,” Maria suggested. “Spend some time with Anna while…” Her voice trailed off helplessly, time the one thing Alberto’s wife had little of left. “The rest of us can take it easy for the rest of the day! Not you.” Maria frowned at Alisa as various staff appeared from the shadows, all delighted to feast on the cold meats and pastries that Benito had left untouched. “You heard His Royal Highness—you’ve got his room to attend to, and then you’ve got some mending to be getting on with.” Picking up the endless damp towels Benito had thoughtlessly tossed aside, Alisa set to work making the crumpled bed. But as she plumped the pillows, her hands lingered, lifted the heavy cool fabric to her face and inhaled his scent, replaying details in her mind, not the fear and humiliation this time, but the feel of him. The feel of such a stunning man, holding her, his breath on her cheeks, his naked skin that had forced her eyes closed, that trill, low, low in her stomach as he had stood so close. Shameful, wanton, unfamiliar thoughts stirred in her troubled mind as she pictured him lying in that bed. Don’t be daft, Alisa scolded. She had no right to even entertain such thoughts. He was a royal prince. He could have—did have—any woman he wanted. With a sigh she picked up the basket, frowning at its heavy weight, and headed back to her own spartan room, but as she lifted a shirt her eyes widened in shocked wonder at the contents beneath—every perfume, every cream, every piece of makeup her greedy eyes had devoured was there…was now hers.

846

“See that you properly take care of it.” Benito’s husky words rang in her ears as Alisa set about her tasks, as she dragged herself through the day and anticipated tonight. Anticipated his face when he came home, wondering, wanting to see just a glimmer of masculine approval in those decadent eyes when he saw the change in her.

Chapter Three The single light in her room was impossible to study by—the words in her book blurred and, her head drooping with exhaustion for the hundredth time, Alisa was tempted to close it. Then what? She had to stay awake. Had to greet the prince if he appeared and hope to God he didn’t notice Alberto wasn’t here. Since their first encounter Alisa had hardly seen the prince. Her newly rouged lips and kohl-rimmed eyes barely merited a glance during one of his rare appearances. She’d sit in the hallway, Alisa decided. The light was so much better there, and if she did fall asleep, if he did choose to come home, then she’d be awoken by the sound of the car…. “Your Highness!” Blinking, smiling a little too brightly in the hopes he wouldn’t hear the fog of her voice, Alisa jumped to attention as Benito pushed the front door open. “Where’s Alberto?” He frowned, clearly less than impressed at having to let himself in. “And I already told you—I prefer Benito.” “Can I get you anything…Benito,” Alisa stumbled. “A light supper?” “You can answer my question. Where is Alberto?” “At home.” Cringing, she was desperate to look at the floor rather than him, but for Alberto’s sake she tried to hold Benito’s haughty glare. “I know it is irregular, but his wife was taken very ill this afternoon. He will be back first thing in the morning.” “If his wife is suddenly sick, then of course he should take some time off.” Benito waved, striding toward the lounge as Alisa nervously followed. “She has been sick for a while—today she got worse…” Her words were tumbling out, the book she should have hidden, in her hand as she pleaded for the sake of her colleague. “She only has a week or two to live. I hope you can understand—” “You think I am that much of an ogre?” He swung around. “You think because I am royal I have no feelings?” “Of course not.” “Alberto can return to work when he is ready. If it causes problems with the palace I will even tell them that. Until he returns, I do not need a butler!” “No” The forbidden word to royalty came out of her mouth before she could stop it. Her heart jumped to her throat as his eyes formed two dark slits, the air thick with tension as she fought to retract her comment, yet

847

willed herself to continue. “That would not help Alberto. I know you mean well, Your Highness, I mean, Benito, but you fail to understand—” “I. Fail. To. Understand?” Each word was like a pistol shot, her words clearly enraging him further. “I come home to no butler, my housekeeper half-asleep with her head in a novel—” he grabbed at her book and waved it in the air “—and instead of firing you both I come up with a solution.” “I was studying…” Alisa begged, her hand grabbing for her precious book, but he held it too high. “Please, I need my book.” “For what?” “I told you—I am studying.” “Tourism.” He frowned at the title. “You have big dreams! Is that why you do not fit in?” As he handed the book back to her he registered her grimace. “I have seen the way the other staff talk to you, that you choose to go to your room rather than—” He gave a small shrug. “You think you are too good for them?” “No, but that is how they think I feel.” Alisa admitted. “They say I should be happy with my lot, honored to work at the palace.” “You think it is beneath you?” “Of course not.” She began brushing the floor with her foot. “I am grateful for the work, but yes…one day I hope for better. Please, Benito,” Alisa screwed her eyes closed, could scarcely believe the mess she had made of things. She couldn’t bear the thought of facing Alberto in the morning…and it was that thought alone that gave the nerve to continue. “Your offer for Alberto is incredibly generous—” “I will not be patronized by a maid.” Benito sneered. “Have the guts to finish what you started. Tell me what it is that I do not understand.” “A-Alberto needs the work,” she stammered, her eyes glassy with tears as she told him the truth. “If he has time off, he will not be paid and now, more than ever, he needs the money.” “Surely he should want to be with his wife.” “Want and need are two different things.” Somehow her words hit, only not the mark she’d intended. The vast airy room was suddenly stifling and warm… And even when she remembered her place, even when she added a respectful “Sir” to the end of her sentence, it did nothing to release the sudden tension. “Surely they mean the same.” His voice was low, the anger gone from it, but it was just as dangerous. The lateness of the hour, the fact it was just the two of them in the villa trickled into her consciousness as surely as it did into his. “Come on. You are the clever one who is studying. Tell me—what is the difference?” “I don’t know.” Alisa moistened her dry lips, her mind whirring as she attempted to answer him. “Want is…desire, craving…” “And need?” “Need is…” She could feel her cheeks flaming under his scrutiny. She attempted to hold his unwavering gaze, but was sideswiped by untoward thoughts as she struggled to keep control, “Go on.” “Need is about obligation, about doing what is necessary.”

848

There was an interminable silence, her heart hammering so loudly surely he must hear it. Her fate— Alberto’s fate—was held solely in his manicured hands. “You can cover his shortfall? If Alberto is not here, you can make up his duties without my having to inform the palace.” “Of course,” Alisa breathed, wondering if she dared to tell him now about Marietta, that she had to dash home each evening to kiss her and give Marietta her medications, but Alberto needed this so much that Alisa chose not to. “When I am out, when the other staff are gone—” her breath was hot in her lungs as she awaited his demands “—you can use the study, the computer.” The tiny gasp that escaped from her lips was unavoidable. The precious money, the time she would save typing up her work rather than laboriously handwriting her assignments or using the library computer, was way beyond anything she could have expected. And yet there was a strange thud of disappointment, too, in that tiny slice of time her mind had danced dangerously. “Thank you.” How paltry that sounded. “Really, thank you.” “You should go to bed now.” Benito’s words dismissed her, but his eyes still held hers. “Do you want supper?” “I am fine.” She knew she should turn and go, thank him again on the way out, but instead she stood there, mere inches separating them. Benito was the one who spoke first. “I cannot decide if makeup suits you.” Alisa gave a little laugh. “I cannot decide, either. It seems a lot of trouble to go to and my pillow…” she halted herself, but Benito pushed on. “Tell me.” “I forgot to take off my lipstick one night…” She didn’t elaborate, knew somehow they were both crossing a line, especially when she held his gaze, especially when, after the longest pause, Benito voiced his wicked thought. “Lucky pillow.”

Chapter Four “Hush, Marietta,” Alisa soothed, holding the angry, coughing bundle tightly to her body. “You have to take your medicine. She ought to see the doctor,” Alisa added to her neighbor and trusted friend Bella, who hovered nearby. “You have given her an extra dose of medicine,” Bella pointed out. “That is what the doctor will tell you to do, and charge you for the pleasure. She is just missing you.” “I miss you, too,” Alisa breathed, hugging her sister more closely as her eyelids grew heavy. “Tomorrow, after Sunday school, we will have the whole afternoon together.” “You sound tired.” Bella’s voice was sympathetic. “Are you very busy?”

849

“Not really—there isn’t much work to do. Benito lets me use the computer when he is out so I have been catching up with my studies.” “Benito?” Bella frowned. “That is what he likes to be called.” “Why is this man doing you any favors?” “Because he’s…nice.” Alisa gulped, glad for once of Bella’s fading eyesight so she couldn’t see dull blush on her cheeks, the blush that was ever present whenever she so much as thought about Benito. She’d fled to her bedroom after his provocative words, had tried and failed to ignore the sizzling tension between them, struggled to remind herself she was a mere maid, that he was a prince, that nothing could ever come of it, but the opportunity to talk about him was just too tempting to pass up. “Really nice sometimes. You know, Bella, despite all the scandal attached to his name, he’s actually a very kind man.” “A man who’s used to getting what he wants!” Bella said, unusually sharp. “Watch yourself, Alisa.” “As if he’d even look twice at me!” Alisa attempted a casual laugh, but Bella wasn’t about to be swayed. “You’re young, you’re beautiful,” Bella said, “and you have a heart of gold, a heart he would use, then cast aside without a second thought. Don’t go getting fancy ideas in your head, Alisa…if he is being nice, you can be assured it is just a means to an end for him.” “Perhaps,” Alisa conceded. “No perhaps about it!” Bella insisted. “I know you well, Alisa. You always were a dreamer, and you are doing it now. One night in his arms would not be enough for you. You deserve more than the dregs Prince Benito Fortesque would give you.” “You should see how he lives, Bella—I’ve never seen such waste. Why should he get everything and Marietta has nothing?” “She has you,” Bella said wisely. “Once you finish your schooling you will be able to give her the things you want to, the things your parents would have wanted you both to have.” At the mention of her parents, Alisa felt her throat thicken. Even after five years she missed them terribly. “They would be so proud of you,” Bella said softly. “It would have been so much easier to let the authorities take Marietta—instead you have taken her on as your own. Suffered the unfair shame of raising an illegitimate child here on Niroli. I know it hasn’t been easy.” “I couldn’t have done it without you.” Alisa hugged the elderly woman. “I will pay you back. As soon as I can afford it, I will fly you to the mainland and you will get your eye operation.” “Dreaming again!” The old lady gave a weary shrug. “Nice dreams, though,” Alisa countered. “I have to go. It is only me on tonight, and if he comes back and no one is there…” “It’s Saturday night,” Bella laughed. “Why would Benito be home?” Why indeed?

850

*** Walking into the darkened lounge, Alisa almost shot out of her skin as she saw him sitting in the chair, a dark, foreboding expression on his face that had her heart quickening. “I had to make my own supper!” He stared at her accusingly. “I came back a dark house and no staff. You said you would cover for Alberto. I was about to ring the palace!” She should have apologized, should have begged his forgiveness if she had a hope of keeping her job, but Marietta’s sobs were still ringing in her ears; Bella’s plight, her warning, still buzzing in her head. And the shame of wanting him too much… Instead of scaring her, his reaction enraged her—gave her, if not the strength, then the stupidity to say her piece. “Poor Benito,” she purred, but it was laced with venom. “Poor Benito had to open his own door, had to turn on the lights by himself and then, my goodness, fix his own supper! My heart bleeds for you.” “That is no way to talk to me.” He stood up caught her wrist and spun her around. “I am your boss.” “Not now.” Alisa spat. “So don’t humiliate me by insisting on an apology when you will dismiss me a second later. I am not sorry that I went home for half an hour to kiss my—my daughter good-night.” “You have a child?” “I have a life, Your Royal Highness. A life you’re about to ruin, so get it over with.” He should—Benito knew that was exactly what he should do. Her insolence, that she hadn’t been here to tend to him, were good enough reasons—not that he needed them. But the anger that broiled him now wasn’t because of that. She had a child. He couldn’t fathom why it mattered, only knew that it did. She had a husband waiting at home, missing that long-limbed body each night, just as Benito would miss her. Hell, he’d hit the casino, had gone to the clubs and the bars, spent the past three days trying to lose himself in all the glamour Niroli could offer, only he hadn’t been able to. He could think about only her, Alisa, the little spitfire in his arms now. “You need this job?” His eyes held hers. “Of course.” “What if I let you go home to kiss your child every night?” He saw the hope that flared in her eyes disappear almost instantly as doubt impinged when he spelled out his terms. “And then you come back to kiss me?” It should have been the most abhorrent of offers—from anyone, anyone else it would have been—but staring deep into his eyes, feeling the pad of his fingers on her leaping pulse, awareness coursing through her body, it was anything but abhorrent. Too stunned to respond, too shocked to question, she stood there as his lips found hers, moved gently on her resisting flesh as her mind begged for reason. He was skilled. If he’d moved too fast she’d have backed away, would have slapped his cheek with her tense hands, but instead her head arched slightly backward as his lips trailed down her neck, his tongue making its debut only then. He kissed her skin slowly, moving back up to the little piece of flesh at the base of her ear. She shivered beneath him. “Or,” he offered more generously, “I kiss you.”

851

It wasn’t a teasing taste this time—his thorough mouth was hot on hers, his tongue delicious. Her whole body flared, a tiny shift was all that was required till it pressed against his. His hands were off her wrist now, knotting into her thick curls as he devoured her, his manhood hard and urgent against her. It was bliss to lose herself for the first time in the longest time, to not think, to just feel… “I want you,” he gasped the words between kisses. “From that morning when first I saw you…I have wanted you. I will not get rid of you if you…” His words propelled her from ecstasy to hell, the crude terms of his offer glaringly laid out. Breathless and angry, she pushed him away. “I will not be your puttana!” She spat the words as she ran out the door. “I scrub you floors, Your Highness, so I can stay off the streets, not the other way around.” Trembling with rage she slammed her bedroom door, pulled off her uniform and jumped into bed, pulling the sheets around her body, reeling with shock at her bold words and all that would surely ensue. For Marietta’s sake maybe she should have just tended to his obvious needs. Her obvious needs. Her nipples felt like thistles against the starched, scratchy sheets, the space between her legs hot and heavy with insatiable desire. Alisa closed her eyes as full horror hit. The words he’d uttered in passion might just as well have been her own; he’d dammed the intimacy because he’d spoken her impossible truth. From that morning when first I saw you…I have wanted you. She wanted him, too. But she wanted more than just one night with him. She wanted the impossible.

Chapter Five Sailing was Alisa’s one passion, one indulgence. The small, repaired boat belonged to the palace and was made available to staff. While Marietta was safe at Sunday school, Alisa took the opportunity to forget her troubles. Being out on the ocean, feeling the wind whipping her hair and the sun on her body was normally soothing, just not today. Climbing onto the jetty, dragging the heavy rope, Alisa wondered what to do with the rest of her morning. She was scared to head back to the villa and hear her fate, but wondered how she could appear cheerful for Bella and Marietta. Last night she’d wanted Benito’s hands on her, had wanted him to make love to her, and no doubt she’d have been rewarded. So why hadn’t she? Because she’d wanted more than that from him—she wanted him not just for sex, but as a lover and an equal.

***

852

Restless, dressed only in shorts, Benito paced the yacht, toying with the idea of taking it out or perhaps heading back to the casino. He’d been up since dawn—had been awake all night, really—knowing he should fire Alisa, that he had to get her fired. Only, he didn’t want to. He’d seen the anger in her eyes, the disgust that had flared there, and he was ashamed of himself. For the first time in his indulgent life, Benito danced on the edge of introspection and didn’t like what he saw one single bit. His frivolous ways, the endless women, the partying, the gambling. Sure he earned his own money—he had businesses all over the globe and didn’t live off the fat of the land like some royals—yet he made it his business to get whatever he wanted. And last night, child or not, husband or not…he’d wanted her. At first he didn’t recognize the dark beauty dragging in the tiny boat. Khaki shorts accentuated her long, olive legs, worn leather sandals and a small red bikini top left little to the imagination. But the head of dark curls jerked him to recognition. Free of the tie she usually wore, her hair danced in the morning sun as she stood up and walked along the jetty. Her pretty face looked troubled as she was lost in her own thoughts. She glanced up with a frown when he called her name. “Alisa, I want to talk.” “Why?” She stared at him boldly, the sun forcing her to squint. “I am sure there is little to say. I am going back to the villa now—no doubt to be delivered my marching orders.” “I have not had you fired.” “And I have not changed my mind about last night’s request.” He beckoned her with a short nod, and only a fool would have refused his summons, so she made her own way onto the boat, staring at her feet, acquiescing when he suggested they go below deck. “I was thoughtless last night—my words…my actions.” Was Prince Benito actually blushing as he addressed her? “I know how I made it sound, but the truth is I wanted more than a kiss.” “You made that perfectly clear!” Alisa retorted, but it was she who was blushing now. “Yes, I wanted that, but I wanted you, too, Alisa. I wanted to talk to you, to get to know you better.” “There’s little to know.” “I don’t believe that…” He shook his head. “I see how proud you are, how hard you work!” Confused, troubled eyes jerked to his. “I see distaste in your eyes when you look at me, and I wanted to right that. I also thought I saw…” he closed his eyes “…I thought there could be something between us. Clearly I was mistaken.” “You weren’t!” Her voice was thick with tears, the words shouted out on a sob. Emotion, frustration, confusion boiled to the surface as she told him her simple truth. “The cost for one night with you would be too great to me.” “What if it wasn’t just one night?” His low, measured words halted her. Glimpses of what he was offering, dizzying her like a merry-go-round as her eyes slowly came to focus on him. “If I were to come to Niroli more often…” He held her in his arms now, his fingers wiping away her tears as Alisa imagined a future as Benito’s mistress.

853

“I could take care of you.” “People would…“ Her words faded as his thumb played with her bottom lip. Every nerve in her body screamed for the same attention, the air so thick with lust she could hardly breathe. “If I kiss you now, Alisa, would that be need or want?” “You already know the answer.” She closed her eyes, almost angry at him for the passion he ignited, weakening her body and mind with desire. “Say it.” “Want.” Full, moist lips delivered her bold answer, the word barely out before his own mouth met hers, every molecule in her body shifting as unhurriedly he devoured her. The taste of him on her, so forbidden it could only be divine. “I will care for you.” Benito was kissing her neck now—fervent, hot kisses—her head circling as dormant wishes awoke. His tongue circled the shell of her ears, then moved down, her breasts swelling against his naked chest, her throat closing in delicious shock as he claimed one swollen, mahogany-colored nipple and suckled her deeply. “I will look after you…” His fingers toyed with the zipper of her shorts, then slipped inside, parting her and playing with her beating jewel as his mouth worked its magic and his other hand slid her shorts down over her bottom. “I can see you when I am in Niroli. We can be discreet.” There was nothing discreet about his erection nudging at her entrance, and nothing discreet about her want. Maybe she could be his mistress, maybe she could be loved some nights, adored by this beautiful man, taken care of just a little bit for the very first time. He guided her to the royal stateroom, kissing her each step of the way, skin on skin as his mouth touched her everywhere. Desire matching desire, frenzied hands discarding clothing, warm legs parting at the blissful weight of him on top of her. But want, no matter how fierce, couldn’t rapidly prepare virgin flesh for the first deep stab of him. Biting his chest as he seared inside her, Alisa was unable to stifle the sob that welled in her throat, torn between want and agony as he swelled deeper within her tight, intimate space. “No…” The reluctant word was a sob, a muffled scream as her thighs straightened in a regretful reflex as she tried to accommodate him. “I’ve hurt you?” His withdrawal was as rapid as his embrace, his shocked features taking in her tears as he scooped her against him. “I thought you wanted—“ “I did…” she murmured. “I do…” She was crying now, scared and sore but still shamefully wanting, “I’ve never done this before…” Wincing against him, Alisa could almost hear his mind asking impossible questions. “I didn’t tell you the truth. Marietta isn’t my daughter.“ She sobbed trying to cover herself, grabbing a sheet, terrified at what she must now admit to this very powerful man. “She’s my sister.” “Your sister?” He stared down at her, confusion lacing every feature. “Why?” He shook his head. “Why would you lie to me? Why say she is yours?” “Because they would take her away!” Her tear-streaked face turned to his, her eyes pleading for his understanding. “But you and your husband can surely—” “There is no husband! I raise her alone.”

854

“When?” As if she were on fire, he dropped her, emphasizing the very question Alisa had often asked herself. “When do you raise her?” “I have to work.” Alisa gasped. “I have to pay for her medicines. Benito, she is unwell, she needs medicine— ” “Is it any wonder?” The harshness of his voice was like a slap. His dark eyes looked at her with utter distaste. “You are never there for her. And on your one day off you are out sailing and screwing—” Grabbing at her clothes, appalled at his reaction, she ran from the boat, but there was no hiding from the truth. His terrifying words taunted her over and over as she raced along the pier until, breathless and dizzy, she arrived at Sunday school to collect her sister. “Maybe she would be better off without you.”

Chapter Six “He’s right.” Alisa shivered in misery. Once again Marietta’s sobs and coughing still had not abated despite the lateness of the hour. “I am not here for her enough.” “You love her, though,” Bella pointed out. “As soon as you have your qualifications, you will be there for her each morning, at home in the evenings—” “Dreams!” This time it was Alisa who gave a weary shrug. “How can I study when I have no work to pay our bills?” “You don’t know that yet, not until you go back to the villa…” Bella attempted to be optimistic, but it was hopeless, they both knew that. Alisa had seen the anguish on the old lady’s lined face when, sobbing, Alisa had told her the story. “Hold your head high when they fire you, Alisa. He had no right to say those things to you. How could a man of his status possibly know how hard it is?”

*** He didn’t want to know. Benito didn’t want to think about her life because then he might have to examine his own. Didn’t want to ask himself why it was easier to sleep with an unfaithful wife than a virgin aunt. Pacing the floor of the villa, a thousand times he halted by the phone, even picked it up a few times to arrange her dismissal as he had done to others so many times in the past, for a spilled glass of wine on his expensive suit, for the fire not being lit when he’d arrived home unannounced. The knot of self-loathing didn’t loosen as he downed a whisky in one gulp as, over and over, he tried to convince himself he was right. He worked hard! So had they. He deserved respect! Why? “Because I am royalty!” he said it aloud, walked out onto the balcony and stared out to the inky waters of the Mediterranean, to the islands that were his playgrounds, where his reckless, lonely youth had been spent.

855

Lonely. It was not lonely… Benito sneered at his own thoughts. There had been caregivers, nannies and, later, endless parties, women. Yes, his parents, his brother, had been too busy running the country to bother with him. Francesca, his sister, had tried…until the very day she had died she had indulged him, spoiled him. But when had she really been there for him—when had any of them? Who was there for Alisa’s little sister? Benito closed his eyes in bitter regret, furious with himself, with her, with everyone. He held the empty glass in his hand so tightly it should surely shatter as he recalled Alisa’s stifled sob as he’d entered her. The pain she been willing to endure—had endured—to provide for her sister searing at his dignity. Had Alisa even wanted him at all? “Prince Benito…” Her voice did nothing to soothe him now, his face black as thunder when he turned to look at her. “I understand if you must dismiss me. I just ask that you do not reveal…” He watched her swallow, watched that beautiful mouth strain as she tried to form the words. Benito didn’t want to remember the feel of her in his arms, tried and failed not to want her. “I beg you not to reveal the truth about my sister.” “There are rules, Alisa. I see the contempt in your eyes for the royalty of Niroli, but they do provide well for their people. Your sister will be given an education, fed properly, looked after—” “Kissed good-night?” Alisa challenged. “Loved even when she is so very difficult to love at times?” He didn’t answer so she did it for him. “No one will love her more than I do. Soothe your conscience if you must, believe she is better off with a full belly and devoid of love—I do not have to agree.” “You are not there for her.” “My neighbor is.” “Your neighbor?” Benito sneered, but still she stood proud. “Bella is a good woman. A good woman who will lose her sight in the next two years because she cannot get the surgery she needs. I will care for her then as she cares for Marietta now.” “There is a hospital. Your royal family ensures its people—” “The hospital does not do the surgery Bella requires. Will your family pay for her ticket to the mainland, for her appointments and then for her operation?” Alisa gave a mocking laugh. “You choose not to see the disparity, Benito, well that’s your choice. Believe the propaganda you have been fed, if it makes you sleep better at night.” “I sleep very at well night.” He stared at her coolly. “I leave after the ball on Saturday—you will continue to work for me till then, but there is one condition.” He watched her flounder as he delivered his offer, “You will attend the ball with me.” “No!” She shook her head. “That is as good as firing me. Surely you know that will alienate me. I could never work here again if I attend the ball with you. If you leave afterward, then the whole of Niroli will know—” “That is my intention!” A muscle leaped in his cheek as he absolved himself of her problems. “I will give you enough money so you do not have to work for a couple of years, so you can attend night class and still be there for Marietta.” “Why do you care about her?” Alisa rasped, tears streaming down her cheeks. Oh, it sounded like a dream offer, but he was changing her world, changing everything and walking away to leave her to deal with the

856

fallout. Asking her to be his discreet mistress was one thing, but to take her out publicly and then walk away? “You have never even met her.” “She reminds me of someone.” Benito gave a dismissive shrug. “So what is your response. Do you accept my offer?” “I assume I am to spend the night with you afterward?” “Of course.” Again he shrugged. “I deserve some compensation.” “So do I.” The disgust in her eyes mirrored how Benito felt, so rather than face her, he turned away as she upped the terms of his offer. “You will pay for Bella’s surgery, too.” “You are in no position to make demands on me!” He stared at her now. Just who the hell did this little woman think she was? “Oh, I mightn’t be in the best position now…” Slowly she walked toward him, hating him, loathing him, not for what he was, but for what he refused to be—the man she was sure was there beneath the pomp and title. Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her lips against his rigid ones, took his hand and guided it toward her, his fingers taut as they attempted to resist, his breath ragged on her cheek as he tried to appear unmoved, but the steel of his erection told her otherwise as she wiggled against him provocatively. “As you know, I’m not very experienced with these things. I guess you’ll have to show me the position you want me in after the ball!” Her voice was a throaty whisper as boldly she stroked him, toying with his zipper for a moment, then, with a surly shrug of her own, dropping her hands, breaking all contact. Only her glittering eyes staring up at his as she reiterated her demands. If her actions were shameless she didn’t care—Alisa knew she had something Prince Benito wanted badly, and she intended to use her power wisely. Use it for the people she loved.

*** Not even limitless funds could ensure a booking at the Niroli Day Spa on the day of the ball. Anyone who was invited was someone, which meant the appointment book had been filled months in advance and read like the rich list of Europe. But when it was Prince Benito himself making the booking, insisting in his royal voice that every expertise and treatment was to be made available for his date, after first dropping the receiver in surprise, the booking clerk made a very smart decision and promptly assured him there would be no problem fitting in Alisa Moretti. And though not one of the staff who tended to her that day dared voice their misgivings, as she discarded her clothes and wrapped herself in a dusky pink gown, as her body was wrapped in Niroli volcanic mud, as her skin was buffed and oiled and her hair cut and tamed, as every feature was beautifully accentuated under skillful hands, Alisa could see the question in their eyes. The same question that had been in the eyes of the personal shoppers yesterday, the same question that had been loudly voiced by Maria when she had found out what was going on. “You?” Her red face was appalled. “Why would he take you?” “He just is.” Through white lips Alisa attempted to explain the impossible. “He just said that he wanted to take me on Saturday, that I am to dress up for him.” “Dress up for him behind closed doors then!” Maria shouted as Alisa gave a shocked gasp. “You think I am blind? I have worked in the palace for forty years—you think I don’t know what goes on?”

857

“You don’t understand,” Alisa started, but when Maria burst into tears—Maria, who had always screamed at her, always taunted and shouted at her—and actually came over and wrapped her in her arms, Alisa was stunned. “I understand that it happens, but you have to be discreet, Alisa. After the ball he will be gone, and you will not be able to work here anymore. Even if a decent man was to want you after this, he could never publicly admit it.” “I already have a child,” Alisa sobbed. “I don’t see the men queuing up anyway! This way I can go to the mainland perhaps, start over again where no one knows me.” She’d really thought about it. In the painful week leading to the ball it was almost all she thought about. She’d see Bella through her operation, then, with Marietta as her sister not her daughter, she would study hard and start again…. “You do what you have to.” Maria shook her head sadly. “Anyway, it is probably too late to say no to him now.”

Chapter Seven Back in the villa, Alisa lifted her silver gown from her wooden single bed, sliding it over head and wrestling with the zipper. She stared at the scratchy gray blankets that wouldn’t house her tonight—instead she’d lie on silk. Lie with Prince Benito and give to him not just what she had promised, but what she wanted to give. No matter how she fought it, how she tried to think otherwise, despite the circumstances, the clinical exchange that underpinned tonight, despite herself, she wanted him still. Wanted him to be the one. Closing her eyes she relived the feel of his hands on her body, saw those arrogant eyes softened with desire, heard the endearment that would spill from his lips for the very last time. “Alisa?” Two knocks on her door, and it was Benito who was pausing for modesty. Only, she was positive his hands weren’t shaking as hers had been that first morning. Tonight she was just another woman to him, another conquest, another toy to play with for a little while…. Her throat tightened with tears that she swallowed down, wanting so badly to tell him how she really felt, but as the door opened and he stood there—exquisite in formal wear, his dark hair brushed back to reveal perfectly chiseled features—she closed her mind on telling him her truth. What did it matter to a man like Benito that she might very possibly love him?

*** He’d always known she was beautiful. From the second he had awoken to her voice, he had known that. But seeing her tonight, black silken ringlets piled high on her head, jade eyes flashing beneath the makeup, that mouth expertly made up this time, she was more than beautiful… She was royal. Befitting any Prince or King and, Benito thought pensively as they rode the short distance to the palace in silence, more deserving of any title than he was. Even if her world was smaller than his, even if she had offered her services tonight, her intent was noble— Alisa, a woman who would sacrifice herself for her family, used the power vested in her wisely to forge a better life. How, Benito thought as the car turned toward the palace, he wished he could say the same for himself.

858

The streets were lined with onlookers, young and old, all jostling for a glimpse of their beloved royals, waving the Niroli flag as each car swept up to the palace entrance, cheering and applauding when the elegant couples stepped out. Cheering her. The gossip had spread like wildfire through Niroli; Maria’s family, personal dressers, booking clerks gleeful whispers, all fanning the flames as the rumor spread from village to village. A housekeeper was sleeping with a prince. A poor housekeeper with a bastard child had stolen Prince Benito’s heart. The shock, the scorn, the scandal were pushed aside as he led her like a lamb to the slaughter up the impressive palace steps, his hand guiding her softly, his low voice telling her to turn around and wave. “Did I tell you that you look beautiful?” “Never.” He watched as curled eyelashes blinked back emotion, her skillfully painted lips forcing a brave smile as she waved to the cheering masses. Never had he hated himself more. Tonight, Benito realized as he stared out into the ecstatic crowd, she was a princess in waiting, yet the moment he left, the same people would be jeering her. Tomorrow she would be a whore.

*** She was a dreamer. And even if it got her into trouble at times, tonight it helped. Helped to close her eyes and pretend that this was forever, made it easier to imagine that the arms that were holding her tonight would still be there tomorrow, that this sensual, complicated man could be hers to love always. Feasting on the delicacies, dancing to the music, laughing softly at private jokes, lost in their own world, they made the most beautiful couple. Alisa, demure yet somehow bold, brave enough to make small talk with dignitaries. For the first time Benito questioned the impossible. Could he have her, not as his lover or mistress, but as his wife? For the first time in his shallow existence, Benito wasn’t thinking about himself, or his royal duty or whether his family could accept her. Holding her in his arms, feeling her heart flutter against his chest, feeling her so delicate but so strong beneath his fingers…Benito was thinking about her. If this stubborn, fiery, proud woman could actually accept him. “I need to talk with you about our arrangement.” Benito said. “I thought we would be too busy for talking?” “Alisa, don’t…” His eyes implored her to listen, his arms wrapped around her as they danced. “I am the same—one night is not enough for me.”

859

The pause between dances was suddenly welcome. Tears flashing in her eyes, Alisa walked off a touch too quickly. “You do not walk away from me!” Benito met her at the edge of the dance floor as she accepted a glass of champagne. “I’ll try to remember my place,” Alisa snapped. “But you’ll have to remind me where it is, Benito. Am I supposed to be making your bed or lying in it?” “Don’t talk like a tart!” “But that’s what you make me!” Her face was white beneath her makeup. “You dictate the terms, you tell me how much you are prepared to give and I am supposed to demurely accept—” “Benito! Come sta?” Prince Luca Fierezza, a pretty blonde thing on his arm, either didn’t notice or didn’t care that his cousin was clearly having words with his date—no doubt it was par for the course with this pair. “Signora Moretti, I am sorry to intrude,” Giovanni, one of the waiters, a man Alisa had worked alongside for years, was wooden and formal now when he approached her, as unsure of her new status as Alisa was. “What’s wrong, Giovanni?” Alisa asked. “There is a call for you…” He gave a small cough, and Alisa’s world stopped when she saw his expression. “It is your neighbor calling from the hospital. She knows she should not disturb you tonight—she says she is aware how important it is that you stay—but she thinks it is only right that you know. Marietta has just been hospitalized.” Alisa’s only thought was to get to her. It didn’t matter that she was at a grand ball; it didn’t matter that this was her ticket to a better future. Without Marietta there was no future. The last piece of her family, the one person she had in the world, was ill and scared and needed her. As Alisa fled out of the ballroom, for a moment it did enter her head to tell Benito where she was going, but what was the point? His face blurred as she dashed past. She could see him talking with Luca—two rogues, two playboys, together. What did they care about the real world? Benito wanted her body, not her problems. He’d made that perfectly clear.

*** “She seems upset!” Luca drawled as Alisa ran from the ballroom. “Very careless, Benito. Usually you wait till morning to tell them it is finished.” “I was trying to tell her otherwise.” Benito took a deep breath. “Unfortunately for me, I choose to fall in love with the one woman in Niroli who fails to be impressed with my title.” “She will soon come around.” Luca shrugged. “Being a prince’s mistress has its perks.”

860

“I don’t want her as my mistress.” Benito gave a wry smile at his cousin’s shocked expression, but Luca soon recovered, and with acquired skill, palmed off his date and collected a glass of champagne as Benito braced himself for the scorn. It never came. “Why are you still here?” Luca asked. “I have never run after a woman.” “You’ve never needed to.” Need. There was that word again. What was it Alisa had said? Need was about obligation, fulfilling one’s duties. He had no obligation to her. Her duty was supposedly to him…and yet…he’d expected contempt from Luca, a derisive laugh. Luca, who should be the last to understand how he felt, actually was the first. “I’m sorry, Your Highness!” Giovanni apologized profusely as he approached to the two princes. “I would never normally interrupt on such an occasion, however, when I heard the child’s health was so critical, I felt I had no choice—” “The child!” Benito’s face was as pale as his shirt. “Marietta?” “She stopped breathing.”

*** Benito knew the hospital well. Even though he lived in Contarini, many events had seen him rush along these corridors: his sister’s horrific boating accident, royal births, deaths… Yes, Benito knew the polished floors of the hospital too well… Or he thought he did. The incredulous face of the nurse as he swung into the dimly lit children’s ward would stay in his mind forever. His dark eyes scanned the two rows of beds as the contrite nurse scuttled behind him. “I thought she had stopped breathing, that she…” “She did.” Alisa held the pale hand of her sister’s more tightly. “But she is better now.” “Where’s the doctor?” “I don’t know.” “What did he say?” “I don’t know.” “What do you mean?” He raked a hand through his hair, struggled to keep his voice and breathing regular. Where the hell was everyone? “He must have said something?”

861

“Not to me!” Her worried jade eyes met his, bitterness soaking her words. “We’re not in the royal wing. The nurse says that Marietta is to rest. She needs to have medicine through a drip. Had I bought her here sooner…” “It’s not your fault.” For the first time Benito noticed the elderly lady sitting quietly in a chair. Saw her face turn unseeing to Alisa’s. “I was the one who said to wait.” “And I was the one out dancing and…” Alisa didn’t finish—couldn’t—her eyes closing in regret as elusive doctors, administrative staff and porters all scrambled like fighter pilots toward Marietta’s bed. Now that royalty was here, she didn’t have to wait. And for Benito, utter realization hit. The disparity Alisa had eluded to had never been more apparent than it was now. Staring down at little Marietta, the strain and effort in her tired face as she struggled to just breathe, he asked himself, Why was this small life less precious?

Chapter Eight Living off Benito’s scraps mightn’t be so bad. Seeing Marietta’s usually pale face rosy and laughing as she sat up in bed in her private room, playing with the doll Benito had bought her, Alisa knew, not for the first time, she’d been too hasty declining his offer to be his mistress. Even if her heart bled for the other twenty-nine children lying in the children’s ward, even if the injustice enraged her, Alisa knew she couldn’t change the world. But she could change Marietta’s. “Come back to the villa,” Benito suggested. “Have a bath and lie down…” “I don’t want to leave her.” “Prince Benito is right.” Bella’s voice was insistent. “You have sat by her bed for two days now. You need a little rest.” Rest! Alisa managed a wry smile at Bella’s innocent statement. Benito’s eyes had been on her all morning. Unshaven, dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt, he looked so sleek and brooding, so taut with tension she could feel the restless male energy that filled the room. Bed maybe on his agenda for her but sleeping certainly wasn’t!

*** It felt surreal having the front door opened for her. A butler she didn’t recognize led her straight to the royal bedroom. “Alberto is spending time with his wife,” Benito explained. Bizarre, too, to sit shivering on the edge of his chaise lounge as Bianca ran her a long, hot bath. “I thought she had been fired.” “I had her reinstated.” Benito answered. “You seem to have taken on a lot of charity cases.” Alisa’s smile was tight. “There is much to put right.”

862

Alisa didn’t dwell on his statement as she headed for the bathroom. Grateful to peel off the rags Bella had bought her to change into, she was not too tired to be mortified at her own reflection—her hair was still stiff with lacquer from Saturday’s ball, and her eyes were two black circles of exhaustion and old makeup. The oiled, scented water was blissful on her tired, aching body—too soothing, though, Alisa thought wearily. She was nowhere near ready for the sexual marathon Benito clearly had in mind. She wished she could recapture the fervor that had gripped her on the boat, reminding herself over and over that, in a few moments, she would be in the arms of the man she loved. Levering herself out of the bath and bypassing the vast bath sheet and robe that had carefully been laid out for her, she instead wrapped herself in a small towel. Combing her hair, squirting scent on her neck and bosom, Alisa took a deep breath and prayed that today her goods were, for Benito, good enough. “Thank you.” He was still standing where she had left him, his eyes looking somewhere over her shoulder as she crossed the room toward him. “Thank you for taking such good care of Marietta…” Nervously she stood in front of him, wishing he would take the lead and take her in his arms, but knowing it was probably her turn to now. “For taking such good care of me.” On tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his, closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck, wishing he would reciprocate, wishing he wouldn’t make this so dammed hard. Drawing on ten minutes’ experience, she tried to duplicate their past kiss, her tongue probing his lips, trying to part his rigid mouth. “Stop!” His voice was sharp. Two hands grabbed at her wrists and pulled them down to her side. “The guest room is being prepared, clothes are being bought for you now. Put on your robe, and I will summon the butler.” “I don’t understand…” Alisa said. “I thought you wanted—” “I don’t want duty.” He was practically shouting, his hands on her shoulders literally shaking her with frustration. “This is no way for a prince’s bride to behave….” “Bride?” She laughed, actually laughed, at the impossibility of it. “I told you I wanted to talk, I told you—” “You were going to ask me to be your wife?” “What did you think I was going to ask?” He shook his head in exasperation. “I know I have been a selfish. I know I am spoiled and careless with people. I understand your doubt. All I can promise is that I will change, that I see now that I have ignored the true duties in being royal. I want you beside me, Alisa. I want you to show me what is wrong and right—to make things better. I will move to Niroli if that is your concern…I will arrange Marietta’s care, Bella’s surgery…“ She could scarcely take it in. Benito wasn’t offering her his dregs. He didn’t want just a bride, but a partnership… If it wasn’t so impossible, if it wasn’t so unfeasible, she could almost believe that he… “I love you, Alisa.” His words were like a welcome kiss, a warm blanket engulfing her as she fled from a storm. “I love you because you are you, because you would give everything you have to make other’s lives better, because you make me laugh and you make me see sense…“ She looked up at him. “I can’t.” When he closed his eyes in regret, Benito missed out on her tiny smile. “As you know, I don’t care much for duty and for what’s expected, so I hope you’ll understand when I say I can’t possibly go to the guest room now!”

863

He loved her. Hands that were still shaking, but for entirely different reasons now, worked their way to his beautiful, haughty face. The sexual energy she had found almost impossible to summon earlier flowed through her veins readily, making loving him so much easier when it was all that was wanted. “It is not the right thing…” He closed his eyes as she rained butterfly kisses on his face. She heard his low growl of frustration as he struggled to resist. “As my future wife you should stay in the guest room…” Who was this woman? Alisa wondered as her fingers slid beneath his top to the taut planes of his chest. Who was this daring, wanton being, who had Prince Benito pleading for mercy? Rather than dutifully leaving, she insisted they arrive. “Can’t a princess like it, too?” “You’re going to love it.” He halted her amazing progress with demands of his own. His throaty promise leaving her trembling, the skimpy towel a white puddle on the floor as he sank to his knees and repeated his proposal this time. Then, with every stroke of his tongue, every measured touch of his hands ensuring that this time when gently he slid just a little inside her, Alisa was not only willing but pleadingly ready, his caution unnecessary but delicious. “I’ve missed you.” With a deeper thrust, he entered her body and her soul felt healed. “All my life I have missed you.” “I’ve missed you, too…” She had missed, without ever knowing, the importance of being important in another’s life. With every tender thrust he completed her. The heady balms of their orgasm shared but somehow private. Both entering home for the first time.

864

True Confessions by Marin Thomas I, Patrick Felch, confirmed bachelor, have been having impure thoughts about my hot new neighbor, Dolly Mathews. She’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, and has a body that…well, anyway Father, I can tell she’s not the type to be interested in just a fling, but how do I keep myself from asking her out and trying to get her into bed? After all, there’s no way I’m looking for a serious commitment, not this guy, no way!

Chapter One "She's left the house. Heading East on Walnut." "How many?" Patrick Felch whispered into his cell phone. "Three…no, four. Didn't see the little guy on the end." Then, Mr. Rotelli, Pat's landlord threatened, "You chicken out this time and I'll raise your rent." Pat cringed at the reminder of his botched attempts to introduce himself to Dolly Mathews, the new neighbor on the block. He didn't take his landlord's threats seriously. Mr. Rotelli had played the role of surrogate uncle, big brother and father figure since Pat had rented the second-floor apartment of Mr. Rotelli's Brownstone in Queens New York City three years ago. "She's almost there." "Wish me luck." Pat snapped the cell phone shut, counted to ten, took a deep breath, then stepped around the corner of O'Malley's Meat Market and promptly became entangled in four dog leashes. "Yikes! I'm so sorry!" Dolly Mathews apologized, attempting in vain to untangle the leashes from Pat's legs. "Hey, no problem." Pat intentionally spun the opposite direction, creating a bigger mess. For the past month he'd had his eye on the dog walker who'd moved into the house down the block from Mr. Rotelli's. When word got around that the vet technician also boarded animals in her home, Mrs. Kowalski, the block busybody, threatened to call in a disturbance complaint when dogs barked on occasion. Mr. Rotelli threatened to shoot out Mrs. Kowalski's front window if she called the police because he insisted Dolly Mathews was the prettiest thing to set foot in their neighborhood in the past thirty-five years and no one was chasing her off. Each day Pat had stood in front of the living room window salivating over Dolly's curvaceous figure, short red hair and heart-shaped freckled face as she walked past with her menagerie of dogs. But each time he'd intended to introduce himself, he'd lost his nerve. "If you'll hold still, I can…" Dolly bent over and tugged at the Chihuahua's leash, offering Pat a glimpse of her curvy fanny. Then the black poodle jumped up on Dolly's thigh and she pitched forward, the top of her head colliding with his crotch. Pat wasn't sure if the loud gasp came from him or Dolly. He stumbled back, then jumped forward again when one of the bigger dogs yipped. "Sorry, fella," Pat apologized. "Oh, good grief." Dolly tugged on the leashes. "I'm Pat by the way. Patrick Felch." He shifted sideways, but the blasted dogs wouldn’t stop sniffing his crotch. Shoot, Dolly would think he didn’t wash his underwear regularly. "I know. Mrs. Kowalski gave me the 4-1-1 on all the neighbors when I moved in. She said you work with rubbish."

865

Thank you, Mrs. Kowalski. "More like demolition." Mrs. Kowalski knew darn well Pat's employer, Parnell Brothers Rubbish Removal Company, wasn't an ordinary garbage company. "I'm Dolly Mathews. Nice to meet you, Patrick." She offered her hand and when Pat shook it, his knees locked in place at the sharp zap of awareness that passed between them. And if the way her pretty blue eyes widened was any indication, she'd felt it, too. "When did you move in?" As if you haven't kept track of the days—24. "A few weeks ago. I'm a vet tech." She nodded to the animals. "But I board dogs and cats on the side. Mostly for friends and family." Pat didn't know what else to say. He wanted to ask her out on a date but his gut said Dolly was a good girl— the kind a man takes home to introduce to his mother. And since Pat no longer had a mother and he had no intention of ever marrying, he'd always set his sights on naughty girls. "Could you please step over this leash?" Dolly indicated the strap attached to the poodle and Pat lifted his leg free. 'Whew, I think you're finally untangled." The four dogs heeled at her side, tongues hanging out of their mouths. Dolly peeked up at him, her blue gaze sliding away when he made eye contact. Cheeks tinged with pink, she said, "Well, see you around." Wait. What if he was wrong? What if Dolly wasn't the kind of woman who wanted happy-ever-after? He opened his mouth to ask her out to a movie but felt something warm and wet soaking his shoe—Chihuahua pee! Great. Even the dogs sensed Pat's intentions toward their caretaker weren't honorable.

Chapter Two "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned." Pat winced inside the confessional booth when a pebble, left behind from the last visitor's shoe, dug into his knee. "It's been a year since my last confession." "What sins have you committed, my son," Father Baynard asked. "Well, it's not really a sin. At least not yet," Pat hedged, then grimaced when he noticed the Father's startled expression through the privacy screen. Normally Pat confessed his sins to the younger Father Smith, who manned the confessional booth Saturday mornings at St. Mary's church. Since Father Smith was out of the country for the month, the elder Father Baynard had taken over the other priest's confessional duties. "Then you're contemplating committing a sin?" "No. Yes. I don't know." The priest expelled an exasperated breath. "Spit it out, Patrick." "You know my name?" "I recognized your voice. You sing in the choir Saturday evenings." So much for anonymity. "I really want to date this girl I met, but I'm afraid."

866

"Afraid of what?" Pat swallowed hard. "Afraid I'll try to get her into my bed on the first date." "Sex before marriage is a sin." "I know that, but I don’t plan to get married, Father." "Many men lead a celibate life for one reason or—" "No!" Pat cringed when the organist paused a few seconds, then continued practicing. "I don’t intend to remain celibate." "What do you have against marriage?" "Never mind, Father. It's a long story. My gut tells me this girl is really special, but she's got a knock-out body and I can’t stop thinking about having you-know-what with her." "Does the young lady realize how you feel about her?" "Heck, no. We just met for the first time this morning." "And you're already engaging in immoral thoughts?" "If you could see her, Father, you'd be dreaming—" The priest cleared his throat. "I doubt it, son. Well, I must say this has the potential of turning into a serious sin." Pat recalled Dolly's pretty blue eyes. "I don’t want to hurt her, Father. I want to get to know her better, but I can't trust myself to keep my hands off her." He glanced at his watch. He'd been in the confessional over ten minutes—nine minutes longer than he'd intended. "What will my penance be, Father?" After a lengthy silence, the priest said, "Your penance is to do five Godly deeds for this young woman and report back to me next Saturday." Five Godly deeds? What the heck? "I don't understand." "You will help this woman because by doing so, you will prove to yourself that you can be with her without—” the priest cleared his throat “—contemplating any hanky panky." "I have to be nice to her for…for nothing?" He couldn’t even try to kiss Dolly? "Show God that you can be with this woman without evil thoughts and you will be forgiven." "And if I can’t stop my evil thoughts?" "Then return to confession and I will impose plan B." Pat didn’t even want to know what plan B was. He had a feeling Plan A was going to kick his butt sideways." "Go with God, Patrick."

867

You mean run like hell from the Devil. Patrick stumbled from the confessional and made a bee-line for the church doors.

Chapter Three "Oh, my gosh, it's him! He's coming over. I gotta go," Dolly hung up on her sister and backed away from the window where she'd spotted Patrick heading toward her house. She waited for him to ring the bell, then sucked in a deep breath, opened the door and smiled. "Hi, Patrick." "Hey, Dolly. You busy?" "No. C'mon in." She tugged at the collar of Izzy, the golden retriever staying with her and moved out of the way. Pat remained on the porch. "Ah…" "Yes…?" He's acting awfully weird. Maybe he didn't feel the tingle I felt when he shook my hand a few days ago. "I noticed the back gate is broken and I thought I'd fix it for you." Dolly's chest tightened painfully. He stopped by because of the fence, not because he'd wanted to see her. "The last time I looked, the gate was fine." "When was that?" "A half-hour ago when I let Izzy outside." "Maybe you should check again." Oh, for heaven's sake. Leaving Patrick standing on the porch with the door wide open, she returned to the kitchen and glanced out the window above the sink. The gate hung at a crooked angle as if one of the hinges had broken. "You're right," she announced when she returned to the living room. "I don’t know how that could have happened." Or what you were doing in the alley behind my house. "I'll have it good as new in no time." He turned to leave, but Dolly snagged his arm. For a second her fingers had a mind of their own and danced across the soft blond fuzz on his skin. She was a sucker for blondehaired men. "It's faster if you go through the house." She led the way into the kitchen and out the back door, aware of Patrick's gaze on her backside. The man was horrible at hiding his interest in her, not that she minded. She hadn't caught a man's eye in a long time. For a grown woman of twenty-six, her relatives stuck their noses in her business far too often— especially her uncle, who had a tendency to scare off boyfriends. They reached the gate and Dolly stepped aside while he examined the hinge. "Here's the problem." He picked up a screw from the ground. "Easy fix." Dolly's mind raced with a way to stall him. "How about a glass of lemonade," she offered, hurrying inside the house before he could turn her down.

*** I hope you appreciate this, God. Pat sank to his knees and lifted the gate, then inserted the screw and twisted it in place. For the past two days he'd fretted over how to help Dolly. Nothing came to mind, so he'd decided to break something just so he could repair it and scratch one penance off his list. As soon as he

868

arrived home from work he'd hid in the alley behind Dolly's house and waited for her to take out the dogs before loosening the screw on the gate. Then he'd walked around the block and rang Dolly's doorbell. Had he known she'd open the door wearing a tight T-shirt and a pair of short-shorts he'd have worn a blindfold. What did you expect, idiot? It's August and hotter than Hades.. "Here you are," she called out. Stupidly he glanced up. Her breasts jiggled and bobbled as she bounced down the back steps. .Knock it off. Remember what Father Baynard said—no bad thoughts. Boobs definitely qualified as bad thoughts. Today Dolly wore her red hair in a messy style and he swore her freckles looked bigger under the bright afternoon sunlight. He'd never seen a cuter girl this side of the borough. "Thanks," he muttered, accepting the drink. He hated lemonade. Holding his breath, he swallowed the contents in four gulps, then handed the glass over. "Would you like more?" "No!" Pat winced when he realized he'd shouted the answer. "I have to leave or I'll be late for work." "You work at night?" Night? What's she talking about? "It's six-o'clock. I thought you worked during the day." Feeling stupid, he lied, "I do, but we're in the middle of a job and the boss is making us put in overtime." Oh, swell. He'd committed another sin by lying. "That's too bad. I was hoping you'd stay for dinner." No way. If he stayed for supper the only item on the menu he'd consider eating would be Dolly.

Chapter Four "What's eating you?" Eryk Gorski asked when Pat entered the locker room at Parnell Brothers Rubbish Removal Company. "Nothing," Pat grumbled. He grabbed his work gloves from his locker. Today he and the others were scheduled to gut a house in Long Island—not that ripping down paneling and tearing out plumbing would keep his mind off Dolly and the way he'd bumbled things with her yesterday. "Girl trouble?" Leon Bauer guessed. That obvious, huh? "Yeah, Felch. You look like you've been dragged across the bottom of the Hudson River." Gorski punched Pat's arm. "Women have that effect on men." 'What's the matter? She won’t go out with you?" Leon asked. If only the situation were that simple. Caving in to the urge to unburden, Pat explained, "I need to do something nice for my neighbor but I'm out of ideas."

869

Leon frowned. "You .need to or you want to?" Need. Pat had no intention of sharing the details of his talk with Father Baynard. "She's new on the block and I thought she'd appreciate…you know…a welcome-to-the-neighborhood kind of thing." Damn, he sounded like an idiot. "Maybe you ought to ask Anna," Gorski suggested. "Ask Anna what?" Anastazia Nowakowski waltzed into the locker room unannounced with an armload of freshly washed towels. The office manager-pseudo-sister hovered like a mother hen over the men. Not that any of them complained. Pat had a soft spot for Anna because she bragged about his choir voice to anyone who would listen. Pat gave Leon the evil eye but the older man ignored him. "Pat wants to do something nice for a girl but he isn't sure what," Leon explained. "Oh, gosh there's lots of way to help her, Patrick. Change the oil in her car. Mow her lawn. Power wash her sidewalks. Fix a leaky faucet or—" "That's good, Anna," Pat cut in. He'd noticed Dolly's dirty driveway when he'd messed with the gate. He'd ask to borrow his landlord's power washer and clean the cement tomorrow. Fridays the guys knocked off early, so he'd have time to complete the chore before Dolly returned home from work. Two down three to go.

*** Dolly pulled into the alley behind her house, then slammed on the brakes. Oh, my. Patrick Felch stood in her driveway wielding a hose, wearing nothing but a pair of blue swim trunks with big white flowers on them and a pair of flip flops. He had the body of a runner—all lean sinew with sculpted muscles. There wasn't an ounce of excess fat on the man—lucky dog. He shifted sideways and Dolly noticed an iPod attached to the waistband of his trunks. Dolly had been sure she'd read Patrick's signals all wrong when he'd rushed off after fixing the gate. Maybe he was just shy. He must like her a little bit or why would he be cleaning her driveway? And why in a swimsuit— unless he'd intended for her to catch him wearing almost nothing… Dolly grabbed the sack of groceries from the front seat of the car and got out. Not wanting to startle him she hollered his name twice but he didn’t hear her. Intending to grab his attention, she picked up a small plum that had fallen from Mrs. Kowalski's tree and flung it at his back. Oops, bad idea.

Chapter Five Pat felt a thump against his back and whirled. The water from the power hose hit the grocery bag Dolly held in her arms, knocking her off balance. She stumbled backwards, landing in the grass along the driveway. By the time Pat recovered from his shock and turned off the hose, Dolly was crawling to her knees. He rushed over to her. "Damn, Dolly. Are you all right? I didn’t know you were behind me." He turned off his music. "Obviously." She pushed wet clumps of hair off her face and then blinked water droplets off her eyelashes. Pat grimaced at the groceries strewn about the ground. Then his gaze returned to Dolly and he almost swallowed his tongue.

870

"What?" she asked, brow furrowing. Pat couldn’t stop staring at the front of Dolly's vet-tech uniform. The yellow material with brown puppy faces was soaked and plastered to her breasts, showing off their size and shape— perfect. Dolly glanced down at herself, then muttered, "Help me up." Face turning a pretty pink, she held out a hand. Oh, man did he have to touch her? Couldn't he grab a fistful of her top and yank her off the ground instead? Before he had time to figure a way out of this newest dilemma, Dolly grasped his hand and tugged, nearly pulling Pat off balance. While she brushed off bits of grass and dirt from her clothes, Pat collected the groceries—refried beans, a box of macaroni and cheese, tomato paste, seasoning salt, Tampax—Tampax? Feeling his neck heat, he shoved the box behind the other food items and suggested, "Grab the door and I'll carry these inside." Dolly hurried ahead. He had to turn sideways on the narrow cement stoop in order to enter the house without bumping into her. After depositing the food on the counter, he said, "I'm almost finished, then you can park your car." Proud of himself for keeping eye contact with her face instead of her chest, he fled the kitchen. "Patrick, wait!" Dolly followed. "Why are you cleaning my driveway?" He shifted under her direct stare. Then to his relief—or maybe not—her gaze dropped to his chest and zeroed in on his boobs, err…pecs. If he didn’t come up with a believable answer, she'd suspect he was attracted to her. And if Dolly ever decided to turn up the heat around him, he'd kiss Father Baynard's five Godly deeds good bye and try to score with Dolly. "Didn't you hear?" he said. "Hear what?" "About the block-beautification program." "What block-beautification program?" "I received a flyer saying we need to clean up our properties. I volunteered to wash everyone's driveway." The white lie slipped easily off his tongue. "I never got a flyer, but thanks all the same. Let me cook you dinner." "I have to…" "Work?" Dolly crossed her arms under her breasts, lifting the mounds higher in the air. He swore her nipples winked at him. Wishing he had on jeans instead of swim trunks, he stammered, "Ah, yeah. More overtime." He waved good bye, intending to flee, but Mrs. Kowalski blocked his escape. "Patrick Felch, I'll expect you to wash my driveway tomorrow." How long had the old woman been standing on the other side of the fence? Probably long enough to observe Pat drooling over Dolly's body. He was tempted to inform the retired school teacher that the block ended at Dolly's house, but Dolly remained on the stoop, listening. "Sure thing, Mrs. Kowalski." "You're a nice young man, Patrick." Pat eyed the juicy plum near his foot. You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I was thinking right now.

Chapter Six

871

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." Pat swallowed a groan as he faced Father Baynard through the privacy screen in the confessional booth Saturday morning. "It has been seven days since my last confession." "How did things go, Patrick?" Father Baynard asked. "Not too good." "Did you accomplish your five Godly deeds for the young woman?" "Only two." Pat hated admitting defeat. "And when you were doing these two Godly chores was your mind of a pure state?" "Ah, well." Damn. With God hovering overhead he'd never get away with lying. "No, but it wasn't my fault," Pat insisted. "I was washing her driveway and she snuck up on me, then I turned and the hose got her shirt wet and…I'm telling you, Father Baynard, the woman is stacked. There was no way I could not notice her breasts beneath the wet material. I mean—" "I get the picture, son." "It's not going to work, Father." "Keep trying, Patrick. Finish the three remaining penances. I don’t want to see you at confession again until you do." "Yes, Father." "And it wouldn’t hurt for you to say ten Hail Mary's this week." "Yes, Father." "Go with God, my son." As Pat left the confessional, he got a weird feeling that God had suddenly take a few days off and Satan was filling in for the big guy in the sky.

*** "Dolly, what are you doing here?" Patrick asked, when he opened his apartment door Monday evening. "My bathroom faucet has a leak and I was hoping you'd come over and take a look at it." Dolly crossed her fingers behind her back. She'd loosened the pipe under the sink a few minutes ago in hopes that she could convince Patrick to check it. Once he was inside the house she'd insist he stay and help her eat the pizza she'd ordered as take-out from Mimi's Pizzeria. "Sure." Patrick quietly walked down the block with her. She made small talk and he murmured appropriate responses but she sensed he was on guard around her. What had she done to make him so nervous? "It's in the bathroom." Dolly escorted him through the house. When they reached the bottom of the stairs leading to the second floor, she noticed that Patrick had stopped in the doorway. "What's the matter?" "I assumed it was the kitchen sink."

872

"No, it's the upstairs’ bathroom. C'mon." The bathroom was tiny and both of them barely fit inside the space. "There's a bucket under there catching water." She pointed to the open cabinet below the sink. Patrick dropped to his knees and stuck his head inside the cabinet. "Pipe came loose. I'll need a wrench." He scooted back. "I have one." Dolly held out the tool she'd used to loosen the pipe in the first place and smiled benignly at his suspicious stare. Wrench in hand he tighten the pipe. "Run the water, would you?" Dolly complied, then crouched down and wedged herself in next to Patrick. Her hip bumped his. Faces inches apart, she asked, "Is it fixed?" "Yep. Just a loose pipe." This close, Dolly could see the blond stubble on his face. His breath puffed against her chin and his eyes glazed over as he stared at her mouth. Kiss me…kiss me… "I have to go." Forgetting he was under the sink, Patrick went to stand and smacked his head against the top of the cabinet. "Are you alright?" Dolly scrambled to her feet. "Oh, dear." She pointed to the back of his head. "What?" He winced when he rubbed the tender spot. "You should get ice on that right away." Ignoring his protest, Dolly tugged his arm, leading him downstairs and into the kitchen. She made him sit at the table, then retrieved an ice pack from the fridge, wrapped it in a paper towel and held it against his head. "The least I can do is share my supper with you." "What's cooking?" he asked. Dolly had been counting on Patrick's appetite to stall his departure. "Mimi's pizza." "I suppose I can stay." Dolly watched his reflection in the kitchen window above the sink as she rinsed the pizza cutter. His lessthan-enthusiastic response didn’t fool her. If he wanted her to believe he wasn't attracted to her, then he ought to stop staring at her fanny.

Chapter Seven Pat slouched in the chair and rubbed his stomach. "That hit the spot, Dolly, thanks." "In my opinion, Mimi's has the best pizza in Queens." "I'm on a recreational basketball team with the guys at work and we stop by Mimi's after our games." Dolly began clearing the table and Pat got up to help. She waved him off. While she stored the leftover pizza he studied her trim figure, thinking that being alone with her hadn’t been as difficult as he'd imagined. Dolly didn't fill each moment of silence with stupid chatter the way some women did. And he liked how she'd helped herself to three slices of pizza instead of just one before claiming she was full. Maybe Father Baynard had been right. Pat needed to hang out with Dolly to prove to himself that he had his hormones under control. As a matter of fact, he'd sat through the twenty minute meal without once thinking about Dolly in a sexual way.

873

"Coffee?" A smile accompanied the offer, drawing Pat's attention to her mouth. Should he or shouldn’t he? "Sure, if you're having some." She set two cups on the table. "Mrs. Kowalski said you've lived in the neighborhood for a few years. Did you grow up in Queens?" "No. Long Island. My parents divorced when I was a kid." "Brothers or sisters?" "One half-brother and two half-sisters, but they moved out of the area." He hadn’t blamed them. Neither he nor his half-siblings had been close to their mother. "I've got two older brothers who are both married with kids and a sister. Our family is pretty tight. We do all the holidays together and I baby-sit the nieces and nephews from time to time." The affectionate tone in Dolly's voice reinforced Pat's initial impression of her--a home-and-hearth kind of woman. Home and hearth wasn't in Pat's future. His mother's seven marriages had turned him off on the institution. "How old are you, Dolly?" "Twenty-six. And you?" "Twenty-nine." Wanting to steer the conversation back to her, he asked, "How long have you been a vet tech?" "Three years. I work at the animal shelter. I ended up bringing injured dogs and cats home with me when they needed round the clock care and that turned into a pet-sitting service on the side. I try not to board more than three or four animals at a time. Most days I bring the critters to the shelter with me, so they're not cooped up in the house all day." He glanced around the room. "Speaking of boarders…" "Two cats. They're hiding under my bed." Dolly sipped her coffee and Pat cursed his eyes for straying to her mouth again. He should just kiss her and get it over with. Suddenly they ran out of conversation and Pat didn’t know where to look—the clock in the shape of a cat hanging above the kitchen sink. The ruffled curtains over the lower half of the backdoor window. The animal magnets on the front of the fridge. Then he noticed the pictures of kids. "Those your nieces and nephews?" "Last year's photos. My brother phoned yesterday and said Michael's Little League portraits came in." "Do you go to their games?" She nodded. "I'm a big fan of sports. I'm not any good at playing sports but I love to sit in the stands and cheer." "Why don’t you come to my game this Friday night at the YMCA." Oh, man. Had he just asked her out on a date? "Thanks, I'd like that. You've given me a legitimate excuse to cancel my shopping trip to the mall with my sister."

874

Excitement shot through Pat. The fact that she'd choose his basketball game over shopping must mean she liked him. Now all he had to do was convince Father Baynard that providing Dolly an out with her sister counted as a Godly deed.

Chapter Eight "Anna." Pat grabbed the company office manager's arm and tugged her aside in the YMCA gym. "I invited a friend to the game. If you see a girl with short red hair and…" his words trailed off when he realized he couldn’t very well say, a hot body. "Anyway her name is Dolly. Would you invite her to sit with you and the other women if she shows up?" Anna flashed her trademark smile. "I'll keep an eye out for her." "Thanks. Better go warm up with the guys." Pat took off for the other end of the gym where his teammates shot free throws. He'd been tied in knots since inviting Dolly to watch him play. He wanted her to be here, yet he didn’t. If she showed up, then what? Pizza at Mimi's. Then what? A short time later Pat forgot about his date and the game began. The first few minutes he ran hard—in case Dolly walked in. He played tight defense and stole the ball, then threw it down the floor to a teammate who scored a layup. Next he grabbed a rebound and put it back in the hoop for a basket. When the first quarter ended, an exhausted Pat walked off the floor with ten points. "Hey, guys. How much you want to bet Pat's playing out of his head because of a girl?" Eryk teased. Pat didn’t respond—he couldn’t. It was all he could do to breathe when he spotted Dolly hovering in the gym doorway. The rest of his teammates followed Pat's gaze to the gym door. Antonio let out a low wolf whistle. "She's one hot babe." Pat's ego appreciated the compliment although he wasn't positive he approved of his co-workers thinking that way about his girl. Your girl? Isn’t that stretching it? "I'll sit out this quarter," Pat volunteered. If he played now his racing heart would explode inside his chest. Besides, he had a feeling he'd be all thumbs out there knowing that Dolly was eyeing him. Half way through the quarter he glanced over his shoulder into the stands. His gaze landed on Dolly's bright red hair. She must have sensed his stare. She quit talking to Anna and glanced his way, then smiled and waved. The halftime buzzer sounded and the players filtered into the stands to chat with their friends and families. Before Pat could make up his mind to join his teammates, Dolly appeared at his side. "Hi." "Hey, thanks for coming." What he really wanted to say was, Thank you for being late and not seeing my stellar performance. "I met your co-worker, Anna. She said you had a great first quarter. I'm sorry I missed it. I got stuck at the clinic helping the vet operate on a cat." Okay, so she has a good excuse. "No problem. Glad you could come. We're headed to Mimi's afterward. If you're not sick of pizza, want to tag along with the group?" "Sounds great." Halftime ended and Dolly touched his arm, sending tingling ripples through his system. "Make a basket for me," she whispered, before returning to her seat. Make a basket? Hell, he'd light the rim on fire.

875

Chapter Nine "Congratulations on the win," Dolly said when Patrick walked off the court and joined her in the stands. She had a difficult time keeping a straight face when he'd played horrible the second half of the game. The other wives and girlfriends had bragged how well he'd performed the first quarter and for his sake she'd hoped he'd make at least one basket. Instead his three shot attempts had ended up air balls. Dolly could have cared less. She was thrilled he'd invited her along tonight and hoped his lousy second-half play wouldn’t ruin the rest of the evening. "Hey, Pat! You two heading over to Mimi's?" Eryk hollered from the exit at the end of the gym. "Yeah, we'll be there!" Patrick glanced at Dolly. "You haven't changed your mind, have you?" "Nope. I'll wait here while you change." Patrick grabbed his gym bag and went into the men's locker room. Five minutes later, he walked out wearing a pair of jeans and a clean T-shirt. Dolly stood on tiptoe and sniffed his neck, her nose bumping his Adam's apple. The faint scent of cologne clung to his warm skin. "You'll do." With a cocky grin he bent his head and nuzzled her neck. "You'll more than do," he whispered against her throat. Okay, now they had to get going. Turning each other on inside the YMCA gym was not an option. They took a few steps toward the door when Patrick stopped and faced her. "Just so were clear. This isn’t a date." When she didn’t respond, his brow furrowed. "Is that okay with you?" No. Good grief. When would he stop fighting his attraction to her? She shrugged. "Sure, friends." "Yeah." He grinned. "Just friends." Then he slipped his hand in hers and they left the building.

*** "We were so excited to see that Pat had invited a friend to the game," the woman named Anna said. Dolly glanced at the men who sat at a separate table dissecting the game play-by-play. Patrick must have sensed her stare because he glanced up and offered her a shy grin. "Why?" Dolly asked, returning her attention to the women. "Am I the first girl he's invited to one of his games?" Eryk's wife, Pam, leaned forward. "Maybe we need to clarify that. You're the first respectable woman Pat's invited to a game." Respectable? Her confusion must have shown because, Pam explained, "Patrick is terrified of commitment. The only women we've seen him date are well…" Dolly got the picture. "Not like me." "How did you two meet?" Anna asked. "I moved in down the block from Patrick and one day I was out walking the dogs when he came around a corner and ended up with the leashes wrapped around his legs." Dolly nibbled on her pizza. "He's been such a help. He fixed my broken gate, a leaky faucet and even washed my driveway."

876

"Oh, really?" Anna murmured. Maybe she was being paranoid, but Dolly had a hunch there was more to Patrick's helpfulness than simple good-neighborly intentions. Helga, Leon's wife raised her beer glass. "A toast. To Dolly. Pat's first respectable date." Dolly didn't bother correcting the misassumption that she and Patrick were on an official date tonight. Dolly clanked her beer glass against the others, thinking she'd better do something about her respectable image or she wouldn’t be receiving the kiss from Patrick that she'd been dreaming of for days. Respectable…blah. Look out, Patrick Felch. If Dolly has her way tonight's this-isn't-a-date would end with nothing-less-than-a-kiss.

Chapter Ten "I'll follow you home," Pat insisted when he and Dolly left the restaurant. He was relieved Dolly had driven her car to the game. He didn’t think he'd be able to keep his hands off her if she sat next to him in the front seat. He walked her to her car, then jogged across the street and hopped into his truck. He'd use the ten-minute trip to their neighborhood to calm his raging hormones. Watching Dolly with the other women tonight had been pure torture. Each time he happened to glance her way he'd caught her attention and she'd smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. He'd taken a ribbing from the guys but he sensed they approved of Dolly—more evidence that she was the kind of woman he had no business being with. She deserved better than a man who only wanted now not forever. Dolly turned into the alley behind her house and parked in the driveway. Ignoring the urge to wave and burn rubber, he pulled to a stop behind her car and got out. She'd come to his game, the least he could do is walk her to the door. Then…? Remember what Father Baynard said. You have to prove to yourself that you can be with Dolly without thinking about sliding between the sheets with her. Besides, he hadn't finished his penance yet and he doubted the priest would consider a good-night kiss helping out a neighbor. Right then Dolly's keys slipped from her hands and clunked against the ground. Before Pat had an opportunity to retrieve them, she bent over, offering a whoa view of her cleavage. An image of those luscious mounds in his hands popped into his mind and he moaned. Was Dolly seducing him? No, she's not that that kind of girl! "Ready?" She gazed at him and he swore desire flashed in her eyes. C'mon. You can do this. No, he couldn't. "If I walk you to the door, I'm going to kiss you," he admitted, then shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans to keep from reaching for her. "I was hoping you would." He ran his fingers through his hair. "You're not making this easy for me." "Should kissing me be difficult?" Her sassy smile made his knees shake.

877

"A lot more difficult," he insisted, then grabbed her elbow and marched her up the porch steps. He waited while she unlocked the door and flipped on the kitchen light. Then she faced him, her gaze zeroing in on his mouth. Father, forgive me because I sure as hell intend to sin. Soft. Plump. Sweet. Her lips parted slightly when he pressed his mouth to hers. Slow, Pat. Slow. A chaste kiss. Don't swallow her face. Dolly had other ideas. She snuck her tongue between his lips, catching him by surprise. Dumbstruck, he froze, his mouth sagging. She took advantage, stroking her tongue against his until a big fat groan rumbled through his chest and broke free. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed her body to his. If he couldn't touch her breasts with his hands he wanted to feel them against his chest. The plump softness set him on fire. Just when he thought he could take no more, Dolly did the unthinkable— she thrust her pelvis against his crotch. He broke off the kiss and stumbled backwards down the steps, then ran for his truck as if the hounds of hell were nipping his heels.

Chapter Eleven "Forgive me father for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession and no, I haven’t finished my penance yet. I have two more good deeds to do for my neighbor." "Tell me about the third good deed," Father Baynard urged. "I fixed her leaky sink, but I believe she loosened the pipe on purpose." When the priest didn't comment, Pat added, "Not that I minded. She fed me pizza and we had a nice talk. You know, Father, not once during supper did I think about sex or kissing or anything like that." "That's progress, Patrick." "I thought so, too, until I made the mistake of inviting her to my basketball game." "Go on, I'm listening." "When I walked her to the door she dropped her keys— again, on purpose— and when she bent to pick them up, I looked down her shirt. I'm telling you Father, not only is she nice and pretty and sweet and smart she's H-O-T. By the time we got to the door there was no way I could not kiss her. And, oh, boy, what a kiss. Our lips were on fire." Pat stopped, then cleared his throat. "Sorry, Father. Probably more detail than you wanted, huh?" "What did you say this young woman's name was?" "Dolly. She's a vet tech for the humane-society shelter. She also runs a pet-boarding business on the side. "Patrick you must stop seeing this woman immediately. It's clear you have no control over your desire when you're around her. If you're intentions are not honorable, then it's up to you to do what's best for her." "But I still have two deeds—" "I'll speak with God. He'll understand." "I'm sorry; Father, but there's no way I can stay away from Dolly. I know I told you I never intend to marry but I've been thinking it might be okay to be in a committed relationship. I've never been with the same woman more than a month or two. As long as Dolly doesn’t want marriage, I don’t see why we can’t be together."

878

"Need I remind you that sexual relations outside marriage is a sin?" "But God's a forgiving man. If he saw Dolly he'd sure understand how hard it is for me to keep my hands off her. Father, Dolly feels the same way about me. She gives out more signals than a flag man on a roadconstruction crew." "You appear determined to pursue a relationship with this woman. Since you've decided on this course of action, I might suggest that you concentrate on getting to know one another better by officially dating without succumbing to sex." "A real date, huh? Okay. I'll do my best to keep my hands off of her. But no guarantees." "Never lose faith. God will help you, my son."

*** "Hey, Dolly. It's me, Pat." Dolly pressed the phone closer to her ear. "How've you been?" It was Thursday night. Almost a week had passed since she'd last seen Patrick. The days had dragged by and Dolly had contemplated breaking a window just so she could ask Patrick to replace it. "Had a busy week. How about you?" he asked. "I've had an easy week. I'm temporarily out of four-legged borders." "You ever go bowling?" "A long time ago when I was teenager. Why?" "Thought maybe you'd like to roll a few games tomorrow. Friday night is adults-only bowling at Fairfield Lanes." Darn. She'd agreed to baby-sit her nieces and nephews tomorrow night. Maybe her mother would watch them. "Okay, sure. What time should I be ready?" "I'll pick you up at seven and we'll stop at the Burger Hut for dinner on the way." "Sounds good. See you then." After disconnecting the call, Dolly punched the air with her fist. "Yes!" She hadn’t been wrong. He'd enjoyed their kiss as much as she had. Excited that this would be a real date, Dolly decided she'd go all out and have her nails and hair done and maybe her legs waxed… in case things between her and Patrick went beyond a good-night kiss.

Chapter Twelve "Wow, you look… wow, Dolly." Pat stared at the red sequins across the front of her white blouse. The stones sparkled and winked, daring him to touch. The blouse was tucked into a pair of jeans with fancy stitching on the pockets that drew his attention to her fine fanny. It must have been a trick of his imagination because her short legs looked a mile long in the denim. Tonight, she wore her hair in a sassy style that framed her face and made him want to slide his fingers through it. "I'm excited about bowling." He tore his gaze from her mouth and the cinnamon-colored lip gloss she wore. Had he known she'd look this good he would have thrown his Godly deeds out the window days ago and asked her out on a date. The

879

drive to the bowling alley took longer than expected due to a fender bender, so they decided to skip dinner and grab snacks at the alley. "I hope I remember how to bowl," Dolly commented, while waiting in line for shoes. For all he cared, she could throw gutter balls all night and he'd be happy watching. "It usually isn’t this busy on Friday." "Do you come here often?" She sniffed the shoes that were handed to her and wrinkled her nose. "I've never brought a date here." Her cheeks became flushed at his statement and Pat decided he had to find something else to say tonight to make her blush, just so he could watch her freckles pop off her face again. After they put on their shoes, they picked out balls and headed to a lane near the end of the alley. Perfect. The lighting in the area was dim and if he was lucky, he'd be able to sneak a kiss or two from Dolly. "Hey, are you a gambling kind of girl?" he asked. "Depends on what the bet is." She winked and his body temperature shot up ten degrees. "A kiss for every strike." She pressed a finger against her mouth. "Hmm." Less than a second later she agreed, "Okay, you're on." Oh, man. "You're up first." He sat back and enjoyed the unobstructed view of Dolly's curvy behind as she swaggered up to the line. Mesmerized by the left-right-left movement of her fanny, he paid little attention to where the ball landed. "Patrick…hey, earth to Patrick," she called. Shaking his head, he muttered, "Sorry. What?" "I threw a gutter ball. Will you watch and tell me what I'm doing wrong?" This time, Pat paid attention. Dolly had horrible form. If he didn’t do something to help, she'd never throw a strike— which meant he'd never owe her a kiss. When the machine reset the pins, he stood behind her. Her perfume went straight to his head and he had to force himself to concentrate. "Aim for the arrow to the right side of the center mark." "Okay." She nodded, the top of her head bumping his chin. "When you follow through, make sure your arm stays straight." "I think, I've got it." Dolly crouched, her fanny bumping his hip before she stepped forward and threw the ball. Sassy girl. This time Dolly knocked down three pins, but Pat's thoughts careened toward the gutter as an image of him helping her out of her designer jeans flashed through is mind. Someone cleared their throat— loudly— and abruptly put an end to his fantasy. "I believe we're sharing this lane, young man." Three old grannies placed balls on the ball return. Dumfounded, Pat glanced across the lanes. There was an open lane in the middle of the alley. Did the old biddies have to bowl at his lane? Couldn't the kid behind the counter tell that he and Dolly were on a date?

880

Dolly shrieked, "I threw a spare!" She turned with a big smile on her face, then her eyes widened when she spotted the women. "Well, hello Dolly. What a nice surprise," the tallest of the geriatric group greeted. "Mrs. Blumball? What are you doing here?" Dolly's smile went from happy to strained. "It's widows' night out, dear." Mrs. Blumball motioned to her friends. "You know Ethel Crane and Beatrice Walker." "Nice to see you, Mrs. Crane. Mrs. Walker." "Won't you introduce us to your friend?" Mrs. Walker nodded at Pat. Great. Just great. . Nothing like a date with a hot babe and three blue-headed busybodies.

Chapter Thirteen "You know them?" Pat hissed in Dolly's ear after the three old ladies headed to the rest room together. "They attend my church." Widows night out— right. Dolly had a sneaking suspicion her uncle had sent the women to spy on her and Patrick. Darn. When would her uncle get it through his head that it was too late to follow in her mother's footsteps—to become pregnant at sixteen and have to marry the father. "How many games do you want to bowl?" Patrick's mouth drooped and Dolly wanted to laugh at his hangdog expression. "Let's bowl one more, then we'll make up an excuse and leave." He perked up at her suggestion. "Sounds good." He went to retrieve his ball and Dolly slid onto the chair behind the scorer's table. Patrick appeared at her side and when she glanced up he planted a big kiss on her mouth, then grinned. "What was that for?" she asked. "For the strike I'm about to throw." He glanced toward the restrooms. "And because the old farts are on their way back." A moment later, Mrs.Blumball sat next to Dolly and whispered, "Really dear, that kind of behavior in public? Your uncle wouldn't approve." .I knew it.. "My uncle sent you to spy on me, didn't he?" Mrs. Blumball's face flushed and, she sputtered, "Oh, my turn." Dolly fumed. She intended to have a nice long chat with her uncle. She was twenty-six years old. She didn’t need a chaperone. When Pat finished throwing his second ball, Dolly announced, loud enough for the others to hear, "I'm not feeling well. Will you take me home, Patrick?" "Ah, sure, Dolly." Dolly slipped out of her bowling shoes and offered a civil "Good evening" to the widows. When she and Patrick stood outside the bowling alley, she apologized.

881

"I'm sorry about the evening being ruined by those nosey women." Dolly's mood had soured. She'd never find a nice man to marry if her uncle kept sticking his nose into her affairs. Ever since her father had passed away, her uncle had assumed the role of father and she couldn’t make a move without him knowing. But she'd been so careful this time not to mention Patrick to her mother or even her friends at work. How had her uncle known she'd had a date tonight? "Feel like grabbing an ice cream cone at the Vanilla Twirl?" Not really. "Sure." Maybe if she tried hard she could forget her uncle and salvage what was left of her date with Patrick.

*** Pat and Dolly sat in the front seat of his truck, eating king-sized vanilla cones. Dolly seemed to be in a funk and his two attempts at joke telling had fallen flat. "Want to talk?" he asked. "About what?" He lost his train of thought as he watched Dolly's tongue lap up the ice cream. Her tongue ought to be declared an illegal weapon— one she could use on him anytime. "You okay?" she asked. "Yeah." He pulled his eyeballs back into his head. "You're still ticked about the widows showing up at the bowling alley." "I'll get over it. How about a game of twenty questions?" she suggested, the sparkle back in her blue eyes. Twenty? That many questions would lead to trouble. "How about three?" Her eyebrows lifted. "I'm guessing you have something to hide?"

Chapter Fourteen "I'll go first," Pat announced, hoping to distract Dolly. "What made you become a vet tech?" "My dog Scruffy got run over by a car when I was a little girl and I couldn’t save her. I held her limp little body in my arms and promised her I would never let another dog die if I could help it." Great, Pat. Your first question was a real winner. "My turn," she insisted. "How many serious relationships have you had, including marriages?" How did she do that? Ask two questions in one? "None." He opened his mouth to ask his second question when Dolly held up her hand. "You've never been committed to a woman for any length of time?" She stared at him as if he were deranged. "No…" "You're not gay, are you? I mean some guys are and they don't know it."

882

Affronted, he snapped, "No, I'm not gay." Dolly hadn’t licked her cone in a while and the ice cream melted onto her fingers. He motioned to the drip and five licks later she had the mess cleaned up. "Then are you afraid of commitment?" she asked. Bingo! He shrugged. "I guess I never hooked up with the right woman. You're cheating." She shook her head. "Follow-up questions don’t count." He had a hunch Dolly made up the rules of the twenty-questions game as she went along. He insisted he didn't care but asked anyway, "What about you? Ever been serious with a guy?" She held up three fingers. Three men? "Michael Mahoney in first grade. I fell in love with him because he had red hair like mine. Then Fang in ninth grade." "Fang?" Pat grinned. "Was he a cat?" "No. He ran with a street gang. I thought I loved him but realized that I was acting out because my father had just died." "I'm sorry. That had to be tough losing a dad so young." At least she'd had a dad for a while.. "My dad was pretty cool. But fortunately my uncle stepped in and helped my mom keep it together and watch over us kids. Unfortunately, he hasn't accepted the fact that we're all grownup now and don't need his interference." "Who was your third love?" Jealousy twisted Pat's gut. A teenage love interest and a dog he could deal with. This next guy, he wasn't too sure. "Joe and I met at the community college. He was a business major." When Dolly didn’t expand, Pat became suspicious. "What happened between you two?" "My uncle happened." "I'm not following." "My uncle thought I was getting too serious with Joe and not concentrating on my studies so he made trouble for us and Joe cut out." "I guess it's a good thing we met as adults and don't have to worry about your uncle." Hoping to take her mind off her relative, he reminded her, "Your turn." "Tell me about your job. You said Parnell Brothers isn’t really a garbage company." "Parnell Brothers Rubbish Removal is a demolition service. We do tear downs." "What are tear downs?" "People who buy property and want the house gutted for renovation. We remove everything. Strip the linoleum off the floors, tear out the plumbing fixtures and countertops." "You must be pretty handy with fixer-upper projects."

883

"I know my way around a tool box," he boasted. "You'll make some woman a great husband." Husband? "Think of all the remodeling projects she'll be able to do?” Dolly continued, apparently taking his look of distress as confusion. “And the money she'll save. I'd love to buy an old brownstone and renovate the inside." "You would?" Pat pictured him and Dolly tearing down walls and painting kitchen cabinets. She'd be a messy painter and then he'd tease her and she'd tease him back and one thing would lead to another and then they'd end up in… "I get to ask my final question," Dolly insisted. Hadn’t she already hit her limit? He braced himself. "Shoot." "I want a do-over. Will you go to the movies with me tomorrow night?" Now that was a question he was more than willing to answer. "Name the time and I'll be there."

Chapter Fifteen "Sorry, I'm late, Father." Pat collapsed to his knees inside the confessional Saturday morning. "I never lost faith in you, young man. Did you finish your penance? "Sort of. You know, Father, I think I'm learning to control myself around Dolly. We went bowling last night and these old ladies showed up at the alley and ruined the fun, but that's beside the point. Dolly and I grabbed an ice cream cone and talked and got to know each other better. Only once did I think about jumping in the sack with her." "You're making progress." "Yeah. Dolly talked about her family, mostly how her uncle oversteps his bounds all the time. She said he wrecked her one serious relationship with a guy. If you ask me, she's still miffed at him for that." "You sound serious about this young woman." "I don't know about that serious. But I really like this girl, Father. I like her smile and the way her blues eyes sparkle when she laughs and the shape of her…never mind." "What are your intentions toward her, Patrick?" "I've been thinking that even though I don’t ever want to get married I'm not opposed to dating a woman exclusively and then well, after some time if we're still hitting it off we could move in together." "And does the young lady have a preference between marriage or living in sin?" "I don't know. That's pretty far down the road, don’t you think? We've only gone out on one official date. Tonight we're going out on our second date. I'm taking her to the movies." "Sounds as if things are moving quite fast between you two."

884

"Not to worry, Father. I have everything under control."

*** Dolly leaned closer to Patrick, pretending she had trouble seeing around the big head of teased hair two rows in front of them. What on earth is an old woman doing watching a slasher movie by herself? Patrick put his arm around her shoulders and held up the tub of popcorn. "Help yourself." She picked a buttery piece off the top and pressed the kernel to his lips. She could care less that the killer in the movie hid outside the bedroom window, waiting to pounce on the woman getting ready for bed— Patrick's lips were more interesting. The tip of his tongue snatched the popcorn from her fingertips. While the woman in the movie was being murdered, dismembered and buried in her backyard, she and Pat fed one another popcorn, their heads inching close…their eyes clinging…their lips almost touching… A bright swath of light blinded Dolly and she jerked back in her seat. "What the heck?" Patrick mumbled. The light disappeared and Dolly opened her eyes. A theater employee stood in the aisle, frowning. "We've had a complaint about you two," he stated. "What?" Patrick hissed. The kid motioned to the woman two rows down. "That lady said your behavior is disturbing and repulsive." Disturbing and repulsive? "We're not doing anything but watching the movie," Dolly argued. The kid shrugged. "Manager says you gotta stop the romantic stuff or leave. Sorry." He walked away. Dolly had had enough. She slipped from her seat and joined the old woman. "Hello, Mrs. Crandall," she whispered so that Patrick couldn’t overhear. "Oh, hello, Dolly. Imagine seeing you here?" "My uncle sent you, didn’t he?" The soft gasp confirmed Dolly's worst fear. Her uncle was up to no good— again. "You tell my uncle he'd better stop or…or…what could she say…"or else." "Everything okay?" Patrick asked, when she returned to her seat. "No. My uncle sent that woman here to keep an eye on us." "Maybe I should have a talk with your uncle. Once I assure him my intentions are honorable, he'll be fine with us dating." "I suppose you could give it a try," Dolly agreed. "Who's your uncle?" Pat shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth. "He's the priest at St. Mary's church. Father Baynard.” Popcorn exploded from Pat's mouth and Dolly watched in horrifying fascination as the half chewed kernels headed right for the back of Mrs. Crandall's head.

885

Chapter Sixteen "Holy hell, I can't believe this." Patrick swore under his breath as he paced alongside his truck in the movie theater parking lot. "Your uncle is a priest?" "I don’t know why you're upset. So what that he's priest. It doesn’t mean you have to rush me out of the theater in the middle of the movie," Dolly complained. "Oh, yes it does. And you know what else? It means I have to get you home right away." Dolly was fighting her own case of anger toward her uncle. Tomorrow, she intended to speak to him. It was time he stopped treating her like a child. "I'll handle my uncle, Patrick. It's not a big deal. I'm sure once he meets you he'll see that you're a kind, caring, responsible—" "Oh, no, he won't." He held open the passenger door. "C'mon, hop in." Dolly had little choice but to get in the truck. It didn’t escape her notice that Patrick avoided touching her. It was happening all over again. As soon as a man discovered there was a priest in her family they hit the ground running. She'd thought Patrick was different—the thought that he was like all the others made her heart ache. They rode in silence to her house, then he walked her to the door. Dolly wanted a kiss good-night, but he remained on the bottom porch step and she on the top—even in the best of times their lips couldn’t stretch that far. Grasping at straws, she announced, "I noticed the handle is loose on my closet door. Would you have time to drop by tomorrow after church?" Once she had Patrick in her bedroom she'd do more than talk—she'd show him they were meant to be a couple. "I've got plans," he hedged. "If your plans change, I'll be hanging around the house most of the day." Tired of the distance between them, Dolly descended two steps until they stood eye-to-eye…mouth-tomouth. "Usually when a man takes a woman out on a date he tries to kiss her at the end of the evening," she whispered. A groan sounded in Patrick's chest and Dolly shivered. He might insist he shouldn’t date her but he was attracted to her and Dolly intended to use the chemistry between them to her advantage. "Do you want to kiss me?" He nodded, his gaze fixated on her mouth. She licked her lower lip, pleased when he grunted loudly. "Kiss me, Patrick." He did. Not a polite, I-just-found-out-your-uncle-is-a-priest kiss, but a hot-wet-lots-of-tongue kiss that curled her toes. His mouth moved over hers in a possessive, aggressive onslaught. When his fingers threaded through her hair, Dolly's heart melted. After making love to her mouth, he moved his lips to her cheek, her eyelids, her neck and the tip of her nose. When he finally pulled away, she was more convinced than ever that not only did Patrick care about her, he cared a lot. "Can I ask you something?" "Sure." "We never talked about religion. What faith are you?" "Catholic."

886

"Really? I attend Sunday morning mass at St. Mary's. What church do you go to?" "The evening mass at…St. Mary's." "Then…" Oh, dear. "You know my uncle, don’t you?" "Better than I'd like, yes." "What does that mean?" "I've been going to weekly confession and he's been in the booth." "But I don’t understand, what has--" "I told him I want to have sex with you, Dolly!" Oops.

Chapter Seventeen Dolly grinned, her heart thundering with excitement. That Patrick admitted he wanted to have sex with her was more than she had hoped for. As far as she was concerned, their relationship was progressing nicely. "It's nothing to smile about," Patrick grumped. Attempting a straight face, she amended, "I guess I can see where my uncle might have been a little upset by your confession." She pictured her uncle's face turning different shades of red and purple. "A little? I suspect Father Baynard is at the church right now, condemning my soul to hell." "Don’t worry, Patrick. Let's attend mass together tomorrow morning and afterward, we'll speak to my uncle." "I don’t think that's a good idea. As a matter of fact, I think we ought to cool things between us, Dolly. I'm beginning to believe it was a mistake to get involved with one another." What? "I sing in the choir at the Saturday evening service and I don’t want to make waves and ruin--" "You're choosing your choir spot over me, Patrick Felch?" "No!" he protested. Dolly appreciated that she rated higher than the church choir. "Maybe I should join another church," he muttered. As if that would solve their dilemma? "What about us?" "There isn’t really an us yet, Dolly. We've only gone out on two dates." Two dates and three repair visits. Dolly silently fumed. "Besides, your uncle is only trying to protect you from me." "Why do I need protecting from you?"

887

"Because. I told him that I don't intend to marry. When I met you all I could think about was…" "Sex." He hadn't been the only one thinking along those lines. "Then I told your uncle how my feelings for you were changing and even though I still didn’t want to ever get married I wanted to be with you for however long you wanted me." All the anger drained out of Dolly in one breath. "Then why are you running away?" "Because you deserve more than a fling." "Is that what you're offering—a fling?" He winced. "More like a steady relationship." "What if that's good enough for me?" she asked. He backed up. "I can’t take the chance that I might fall in love with you, Dolly." Dolly's heart broke as she watched Patrick make a dash for his truck. Her eyes welled with tears—angry, sad, happy tears. Patrick was the first man in her life she could envision a happy-ever-after with. She suspected he wasn't as intimidated by her uncle as he claimed to be. What had happened in his past to make him fear commitment? She entered the house, locked the door and headed for the bedroom, where she intended to hold an allnight vigil with God. Hopefully he'd help her find a way to make things work between her and Patrick. Tomorrow she'd deal with her uncle.

888

Chapter Eighteen "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. And intend to sin again once I get my hands around my uncle's neck," Dolly hissed through the privacy screen. "Dolly, dear is that you?" Uncle Baynard asked. "Who else would threaten a priest other than a family member?" "You sound upset, dear." "How could you do that to me, Uncle Baynard?" "Do what?" "Stick the church patrol on me and Patrick." "I did it in order to protect you." "Protect me?" "Patrick Felch doesn't have your best interests at heart." "If you're referring to the fact that he told you he wants to have sex with me, then yes, I know that." Dolly wasn't worried about frank talk with her uncle. He'd been the one to give her the birds-and-the-bees talk because her mother had been too embarrassed, and he'd wanted to make sure that his nieces didn’t end up like his sister— a mother and wife at age sixteen. "Patrick might mean well, young lady but he confessed he has no intention of ever marrying. There's no future for you two." "Just because two people don’t get married doesn't mean they can't fall in love and have a meaningful relationship, Uncle Baynard." "You're not that kind of girl, Dolly." "You're afraid I'll turn out like my mother, who by the way was pretty darn happy married to my father all those years." "That's beside the point," he protested. "I'm twenty-six years old. You can’t keep butting into my life." "I feel responsible for you and your siblings. You're like my own children." "Then stop doing things to push us away. I came to tell you that I intend to do everything I can to convince Patrick that I'm worth risking yours and God's censure. You have to promise to let Patrick and me find our own way. If you can't, then I'm leaving this church." When her uncle didn't respond, Dolly sighed. "Patrick makes me happy, Uncle Baynard. Please give us a chance." "Go with God, my child. I'll pray for you."

889

"Thanks, Uncle Baynard. I trust my soul is in good hands."

*** "Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It's been—" "That's enough, Patrick. I can’t help you," Father Baynard interrupted. Stunned, Pat didn’t speak immediately. Then he gathered his courage and said, "I wanted to apologize for— " "I'm going to speak to you as Dolly's uncle right now and not a Catholic priest. First of all, I was warned by my niece to butt out of her affairs, which I intend to do after our chat today. Second, I may only be Dolly's uncle but I love her like a daughter, and third, if I hear you speak to anyone outside this confessional booth about wanting to have sex with my niece I'll be paying you an unpriestly-like visit. Understood?" "Yes, sir." "I believe my niece has serious feelings for you and you return those feelings, otherwise you wouldn't be torn up about having to control your baser instincts around her." "I agree, Father. That that's why I came here today to tell you that I'm not going to see Dolly anymore." Pat heard the priest mumble a curse under his breath. He'd expected Dolly's uncle to be relieved not upset. "Is this what you truly want?" Father Baynard asked. Be honest. "No. But family is important to Dolly and I don’t intend to make problems for her." "You're important to my niece, Patrick. You must tell her why you're against marriage." When Pat opened his mouth to explain, the priest held up a hand. "Don't tell me. I promised to stay out of her affairs where you're concerned. As of right now our confession sessions are finished. Go with God, Patrick and I will pray for you and Dolly that together, you find the right path to take." The confessional door opened and Father Baynard disappeared, leaving Pat more confused than ever. Had the priest just given him permission to sleep with his niece?

Chapter Nineteen "Patrick!" Dolly exclaimed when she walked into the waiting area of the animal shelter in downtown Queens. "What are you doing here?" Even though his smile was reserved, Dolly's heart sped up. She hadn't seen nor heard from him since their movie date two weeks ago. His showing up at the shelter gave her hope that he wasn't ready to call it quits yet. "Do you have a minute to talk outside?" He held open the door for her. "Sure." When she slipped past him, she caught the hint of cologne and male sweat. She suspected he'd spent the day tearing down walls someplace in town. She smiled, her gaze making contact with his and her breath caught at the heat in his eyes. No matter what happened between them, knowing that he was attracted to her soothed her battered ego. She sat on the small stone bench to the side of the door. Pat joined her, his thigh bumping hers. "What's on your mind?" she asked. "I wanted to apologize for the way I handled everything that night at the movie."

890

"You don’t have to." His hand touched her leg, which was more effective in shutting her up than words. "First, I want you to know that what I feel for you is more than like, more than lust and scares the hell out of me." Dolly's nerves jumped all over the place and her heart raced. "Marriage has never been in the plan for me, Dolly. My mom had several marriages, all ending in divorce and that's not what I want." "But I've never brought up marriage," she protested. "You didn’t have to. It's written all over your face." He caressed her cheek. "That doesn’t sound very complimentary." "Believe me, it is. From the moment I saw you I knew you were special. And I could hear how important your family was to you when you spoke about them. I can't give you that, Dolly and I don’t want to hurt you." "Is that why you began going to confession?" "Yeah, I guess I wanted someone to tell me to stay away from you because I sure in hell couldn't make myself. Your uncle insisted that I should prove to myself that I could be around you without wanting to have sex with you." "That's what the broken gate and the clean driveway were all about?" Dolly smiled. "The whole time I was spraying off the driveway I was entertaining x-rated thoughts about you." They laughed together, then Dolly asked, "So where do we go from here?" "I don’t know. I want to be with you. I care a lot about you. But I don’t know that I'll ever be ready for marriage." "What if we keep dating and just see what happens? If down the road one of us gets antsy and wants to move on for whatever reason, we call it quits." In Dolly's mind it would never be that easy. Pat left the bench and paced along the sidewalk. "It won't work, Dolly. You see once I have you, I don’t know that I could ever let you go." Dolly glanced at her watch and stood. "Then I guess you have a decision to make. Walk away or stay." She stopped at the door to the shelter. "And just for the record, I'm worth taking a chance on."

Chapter Twenty Eryk Gorski nodded across the locker room at Pat. "Girl trouble again. Talk to him, Leon." "What do I know about women? Helga's not speaking to me." "Why not?" "Because I won't obey the doc's orders and cut back on my sugar intake. If a man can't eat a honey bun when he wants one, then what's he got left in life?"

891

"So don't tell her you're eating honey buns." "I've never lied to Helga and I won't begin now." Pat listened half-heartedly to his co-workers' bantering. In his opinion, the truth didn't always make things better. He'd told Dolly the truth—that marriage wasn't in his plans and look what that got him—lonely and missing her like hell. Right then the locker-room door opened and in walked Father Baynard. "Father? What are you doing here?" Pat stood. Eryk and Leon gathered their belongings, nodded to the priest, then practically ran from the room. "We need to talk, Patrick." "I've kept my word and stayed away from Dolly." "I know." The priest motioned to the couch along the wall. "Mind if I sit down? "Sure." Pat returned to the bench in front of his locker. "I came to apologize." Father Baynard frowned. "Don't look so surprised. Priests are human, too." He clasped his hands between his legs. "Dolly's mother, Margaret, is my sister. She got pregnant at sixteen and I blamed myself. Our parents worked two jobs and I had been given the responsibility of looking after my siblings. I never kept track of Margaret's whereabouts and one day she came to me in tears and said she was pregnant. After Dolly's father passed away, I vowed that I would watch over my nieces and nephews and make sure what happened to Margaret never happened to them." "But Dolly's not a teenager. She's twenty-six," Pat pointed out. "That's why I came today. I'm in the dog house with my family and parishioners. Dolly cries to her mother every day because she misses you." Dolly cries over him? "My sister refuses to speak to me. And Mrs. Blumball misses your voice in the choir." Pat's chest swelled with hope. "Make things right between you and Dolly. And whatever right is for the two of you, well, you have my blessing." As soon as Father Baynard left, Pat headed for his truck.

*** "Hold on to your britches!" Dolly called. Someone— most likely the UPS man-- had gotten their finger stuck in her doorbell. She flung open the door and gasped. Patrick stood on her front porch with a huge bouquet of white daisies. He peeked around the edge and his eyes widened. She smiled and her face cracked, reminding her of the clay mask drying on it. She hadn't seen Patrick in weeks and now he shows up and she looks like the little green man from Mars. "Don't go away." She ran upstairs, rinsed her face and returned in less than two minutes.

892

"Can I come in?" he asked. "Oh, sure." As soon as she shut the door, he handed over the bouquet. "These are for you." "What for?" she asked, then amended, "I mean they're beautiful." She accepted the flowers and gave them an obligatory sniff. "I was wondering if you'd go out with me this Friday night." "But I thought you broke up with me?" He cupped her face in his hands. "I'm miserable without you, Dolly. I hate waking in the morning, knowing I'm not going to see your smile or hear your voice. I hate going to bed at night, knowing that I didn’t get to kiss you or hold you close during the day." "Me, too." She sighed. "I don't know where our relationship is headed, but I do know I want to be with you for however long you'll keep me." "What if I want to keep you forever?" Her heart stopped beating as she waited for his answer. "Forever's a long time." "I know," she concurred. His mouth inched closer. "Then I'm yours forever." His kiss was the stuff made of dreams. She'd give Patrick all the time he needed to come to terms with the fact that they were meant to be together. "What changed your mind about us?" she asked when he ended the kiss. "Father Baynard." He grinned. "He convinced me it would be a mortal sin to let someone like you get away."

893

Naughty Mamselle by Jina Bacarr In Paris, 1889, an orphaned young woman must take what honest work comes her way in order to survive. But when shop girl Juliette Dumont’s employer catches her writing erotic love letters on the job, she’s given the sack, and soon finds herself on the street. Can she put her unique talents to another, more profitable use, and still remain faithful to her one true love?

Chapter One Paris 1889 "Spread your legs, mamselle." The foreman's hard gaze pierces through my black apron with a yellow border and number on the collar, making my nipples harden. "Monsieur?" I squeeze my legs together, my rough cotton pantaloons chafing my inner thighs. "That's what you wrote, n'est-ce pas?" He waves a wafer-thin paper in the air filled with perfect wavy handwriting. My handwriting. "It's a letter to a…friend." Luc. My love, my life. I feel a tightening in my chest. So handsome he is in his blue uniform and red trousers, he takes my breath away. "I will spread my legs so you can drink my juices, so hot, so sweet, and only for you," reads the foreman, flaunting my words at me while I stand shivering in the smelly back room of Aux Trois Quartiers, the elegant department store where I work as a débitrice or shop assistant. My ears burn, but so does mon minon, my pussy, heating up with desire for the soldier I love. I can't go on listening to Monsieur Goby reading words meant only for Luc, how I wished he'd raise up my skirts and slip his hand through the slit in my underwear and insert his fingers inside me. I knew something was wrong when the foreman ordered me to come to his office after closing time, but I never expected this. My job is a humble one, a lowly position, wrapping the customer's purchases and receiving no commission. The clerks are forbidden to speak to each other during working hours, so I write letters to Luc when I have no customers. I never imagined the foreman would steal my letter from the drawer under my counter. "The management doesn't take kindly to employees writing such dribble on company time," he says. "I understand, Monsieur Goby, but it's been raining all day and no one was at my counter smelling the perfume or running their hands over the chiffon scarves or trying on the feather hats, so I wrote a letter to my…friend. He's a soldier…" How can I tell him I met Luc at a local parish fair in Belleville? Mussed-up hair. Tall and lanky, broad shoulders, and the brightest pair of blue eyes I'd ever seen. And that uniform. Brassy gold buttons. Straight, tight pants. What's a girl to do? "…and he's so lonely." The foreman ignores me, squinting his dark beady eyes as he reads and rubs his crotch. He clears his throat and continues: "I long to feel you inside me, thrusting, my body bucking under you until I can no

894

longer hold back…" He pauses, the bulge in his pants growing. I fear what perverse thoughts race through his mind. "May I go now, monsieur?" I ask, eager to leave. "The hour is late and Mimi is waiting for me." "Mimi?" His eyes light up. "My kitten. She's a stray I found and she needs me." He growls. "I need you, too, mademoiselle." "I—I don't understand, monsieur." I step back, knowing he has a reputation for soiling the virtue of the girls who work for him. "Pull up your dress, mademoiselle—" "I can't do that, monsieur." "I said, pull up your dress or I'll rip it off you!" My hands shake, but I do what he asks. What choice do I have? A peek is all he's after, I tell myself. How many times have I seen his eyes shine with the same need when he walks by my counter and stares at my breasts or watches me when I bend over? "Insert your fingers inside your drawers—" "No!" He rips my sleeve and pulls it down my shoulder, then he rips the other, but I refuse to cringe before him. "Do as I say or I'll—" He grabs a lit candle and holds it close to the bare skin on my arm. Fearful he will burn me, I insert my fingers inside the slit in my crotch. "Bon. Now move them back and forth…back and forth…" My fingers find my clitoris, hot and moist, though my mind is on Luc, only on Luc. I do this against my will, but try as I might, I can't stop the heat building up in me until it spills over into a riding wave of pleasure. I cry out, my voice husky, raw. I hear Monsieur Goby grunt. I gasp loudly when I see he's dropped his pants and he's holding his meaty dick, hard and erect. "Bend over the desk, mademoiselle, so I can fuck you." "No, monsieur, I can't. I won't." The thought of the man's dirty, calloused hands touching me, then entering me, repulses me. I race out of the room and down the long hallway and out into the rain. Large drops splatter onto my face, stinging my eyes so I can't see, but I ignore them. I run back to my attic room on Rue du Sommerard, my heart pumping, my lungs bursting. I don't care what happens. I'm never going back. Never.

*** "Me-ow."

895

"There's no more milk, ma petite." I pick up the tawny ball of fur scampering out of the dark and nuzzle my face in the kitten's soft coat. "Monsieur Goby has sacked me and I've no money to buy more." I sit down in the rickety chair by the dying fire and Mimi snuggles in my lap. Two days have passed since that horrible night in the foreman's office. I haven't left my room in Madame Poulin's boarding house since I raced up all four flights, tracking mud on her fraying, pomegranate-hued carpet. Thinking, thinking. What am I going to do? The next morning Old Jimmy brought me a message with folded-up franc notes inside. My salary. Dismissed with no notice, the note said, the excuse being my work needed improvement. Fine mess this is. I've no job and my rent is due. I had to give Madame Poulin my salary to clean the carpet. I couldn't tell her what happened. I can't tell anyone. Especially Luc. He doesn't understand I want to work. I don't want to end up like my mother and be dependent on a man. I rub the belly of the round ball of rusty golden fur nuzzled in my lap. The kitten loves to sleep in the folds of my wrapper. In spite of the anguish welling up inside me, I have to smile when Mimi turns over and mews softly, then licks my fingers with her tiny tongue, looking for more milk. How did it come to this? I, Juliette Dumont, had such dreams when I put behind me the memory of my mother trying to care for me and my drunken father. I was born in a Paris slum under a staircase and I watched my mother struggle for years to keep body and soul together on my father's government pension of five francs a week. She had no education and after he died, she worked at low-paying menial jobs until the angels claimed her. "We're both orphans, Mimi, n'est-ce pas?" Knock, knock. I jump up and Mimi scratches me. I ignore it. In a loud whisper, I ask, "Who is it?" "Luc." Luc. My heart races wildly. What's he doing here? Men aren't allowed past the ground floor. I race to the door and yank it open. "Luc!" "Juliette, mon amour, how I've missed you." He pulls me into his arms, crushing Mimi between us. She purrs softly. "What are you doing here? Madame Poulin will toss us both out if she sees you." "She won't. I bribed Old Jimmy to sneak me upstairs." He kisses my neck, my throat. "I had to hold you in my arms, touch you, kiss you. That last letter you wrote to me set me on fire, my love." I stiffen. I've written him several erotic letters. Now they're my undoing, but I can't tell him what happened and ruin this moment. In spite of my restlessness, I'm full of energy, wide awake, astutely aware of the special feeling I have for him. His strength, understanding, the fading scent of his clean manly smell, the firmness I feel when I grab his arm. I can't deny I'm in love with this handsome soldier. I'll never forget how he carried my dying mother in his strong arms until we could get her into a hansom cab. Then he stayed with me when we took her to the charity hospital so she could pass from this earth in peace. I touch his face. His cheeks are warm. Then I feel him pressing against me. His cock is hard. I don't protest when he picks me up in his arms and lays me down on the straw pallet in the corner. He removes my wrapper then lies beside me. The embers in the fire flicker and wood crackles in tune to the

896

sound of our breathing as I lie in his arms, his bare chest rubbing up against my exposed nipples. Hard and brown, they yearn for the bite of his teeth, the caress of his tongue. I, naked as the day I was taken from my mother's belly, and he, wearing only his tight uniform pants, lie side by side, teasing each other with our lips, our fingers. I moan in anticipation when my soldier unbuttons his pants and guides my hand inside his trousers until I feel the huge width of his throbbing cock— "My regiment leaves soon for maneuvers, Juliette." "Luc…" "When I return, you will marry me?" "Yes, Luc. I'll be waiting for you." "Then kiss me, ma chérie. And say you love me." "Je t'aime." Breathing hard, I open my body to him as he thrusts his cock into me, his hands grabbing my breasts, twisting and pinching my nipples, his manly vigor taking me away. Far, far away. When he comes inside me, I shudder, the smell of our bodies mixing together in a heady perfume I'll never forget. I call it paradise.

*** "You ungrateful girl!" yells Madame Poulin, pushing me out the door and into the street, tossing my few possessions tied-up in a bundle after me. "Old Jimmy told me what happened with you and that boy." "But, madame—" "You shop girls are all alike. Opening your pussies to the first man who asks you. It will get you nowhere but a trip to hell." "We're to be married, madame! Listen, please …" She ignores me. "And what's this I hear about you losing your job?" "I'll get another job, madame. I promise." "Doing what?" "I can read and write, and I know mathematics." She studies me for a moment, then: "Come back when you've got a job. Until then, out with you!" "Please, madame, I've nowhere to go." "That is none of my affair, mademoiselle." She picks up the squealing kitten by her fur and tosses her out. The tawny creature lands at my feet. "I don't need another mouth to feed. Now off with the both of you!" She slams the door shut.

897

I scoop Mimi up into my arms and hold her close to me. Then picking up my bundle, I start walking. I won't let them beat me. I won't. I will marry Luc. He's a good man and a good soldier. A bit impetuous at times, but he has a good heart. Up the grand boulevard I walk, then onto the narrow streets, then back on the boulevards until dawn breaks. I'm going nowhere. I must find work. A gentleman drops a cigarette next to me and two beggars push me out of the way, throwing themselves upon it, fighting over the stub until spilled blood stains the sidewalk. Fear pushes at my mind. Will I also be reduced to fighting and scrambling in the street? "Ain't you a pretty one?" says the man who won the cigarette. He grabs me around the waist and Mimi flies out of my arms. I struggle, but the man's strong grip keeps me captive. "Hey, Claude, look what I found." "Eh, she's a beauty all right." The man named Claude slams me up against a wall and lifts up my skirt, then fumbles with my petticoats. I grit my teeth when his friend snaps the buttons off my bodice and squeezes my breast. Then Claude grabs my crotch and rips my cotton pantaloons. I scream. I realize with heart-stopping clarity they're about to rape me.

Chapter Two I struggle with the man named Claude, his stubby fingers squeezing my thigh as he inches higher under my petticoats. The other man holds me captive by the wrists. I squirm, but I can't stop him from fastening his mouth to my bare breast, then biting my nipple. I scream again, all the while not believing I've gotten myself into this situation because I wrote an erotic letter to Luc, my love, and lost my job. "Take your hands off her, monsieur!" Who said that? I strain my neck and see a hunched-over creature carrying a lantern in one hand and a sharply pointed hook in the other, defying these men. A chiffonnier, a ragpicker. "Mind your own business, you old hag," Claude spits at her. "Hag, is it?" She shifts her wicker basket heavy with her night's pickings strapped to her back. "Mathilde don't take that from the likes of you." I watch in amazement as the ragpicker snakes her long hook around the man's neck and pulls him off me, nearly strangling him. His friend tries to grab her, but I take the opportunity to kick him between the legs with my pointy toe shoe. Hard. "Ye-oow! " "Keep your filthy hands off me, monsieur," I yell, "or I'll—" "You'll do what, mademoiselle? Set your scrawny cat on me? It's your pussy I want." "Forget her," urges his friend Claude, coughing and rubbing his neck where the hook grabbed him. "Mamselle's got important friends." He nods toward the old ragpicker, waving her hook around, ripe epithets oozing from her lips as she taunts the men. The woman reeks of a rancid stench and a fouler mouth and I'm not sure which sends them running down the street. Snarling, she chases after them, ready to impale them with her hook, her wicker

898

basket wobbling on her back. The scene is comical, but I refrain from laughing. Instead, I bend down and pick up Mimi, who is shivering and mewing. "You poor thing." I look around at the smoky gray rooftops, the wet-slicked pavements. Music from a nearby barrel-organ evokes a melancholic mood. I blink several times, shaking the weariness from my eyes. The warm moisture on my cheeks can't be tears, I tell myself. Merely the early dawn dew. "We're safe, Mimi." I hug the kitten close to my breasts. "But for how long?"

*** "Can you help me find work, madame?" Talking in loud whispers, I huddle next to the chiffonnier underneath the overhanging span of the Pont Neuf, squatting on the cold ground around a small fire burning in a trash receptacle. I'm grateful for the warmth of its orange and yellow flames. The glint of light from the fire reflecting off the water of the nearby Seine is the one tiny sparkle in this world underneath the bridge. "Call me Mathilde." She puts the dirty butt of a cigarette into her mouth and lights it from the fire with a piece of trash. I watch her suck on it, her full lips nearly invisible with each puff. Her eyes study me, making me shiver. "Can you sew?" The cigarette smoke swirls around me. I cough. "Alors, I have no talent for the needle." "'Tis a pity, mademoiselle. There's plenty of work for them that's got les petits mains." I nod, stroking Mimi's soft fur. She means the girls who sew intricate underclothes for les horizontales, courtesans. "But I imagine a girl as pretty as you has other talents." The gleam in her eye unnerves me. She puts out her cigarette and lays her hand on my leg. I stiffen. I blurt out: "I can read and write." "Oh?" She squeezes my knee. I jump up and the woman's hand falls away. Mathilde laughs and wipes her nose with her filthy muslin petticoats. "And do mathematics," I say with pride. "Who taught you, mamselle?" She snickers. "A gent with a fine nose for—" She sniffs me. "—figures?" Looking her straight in the eye, I say, "No, the nuns at the charity school." Mathilde laughs, then flicks sparks from the fire off her dress, its once-colorful patches dulled by the lack of joy in her life. "Don't worry, mamselle, Mathilde will find you a job." She pulls on Mimi's tail and she meows. "And you, too. Allons Let's go." Before I can say no, the sharp point of the chiffonnier's hook pierces through my cotton dress. She prods me up the stairs to the bridge, then past the tiny renaissance building and chiming clock with its carillon of bells ready to announce the hour.

899

"Where are we going?" I ask. "To Madame Chapet's." "Does she have a shop?" "She sells the most expensive goods in Paris." My eyes widen. "Silks? Velvets?" Mathilde laughs and slaps me on the backside with her hook. "Something more precious than that, mamselle. You'll see."

*** Girls everywhere. Lounging in the salon, eating sweets and giggling. Chasing each other up and down the stairs, their backless slippers making no noise on the plush white carpeting. And me, Juliette Dumont, standing in the parlor of the infamous House on Rue des Moulins in my underwear. The bustle of excited voices, flasks of lavender water, and swirling mist of rice powders tells me where I am. In a brothel. I should run out of here, but where will I go? Back on the streets? I might not be so lucky the next time someone tries to take advantage of me. "She's pretty enough, Mathilde, but a bit bony. And that ugly corset." Madame Chapet pulls my cotton lacings so tight I can't breathe, then she measures my waist. Blowing wispy yellow curls out of her eyes, she mumbles, "Eighteen inches. Could be smaller, but she'll do." "What does the size of my waist have to do with my job keeping your books?" I ask, the musky scent of powder and tart perfume of toiletries wafting around me. La madame scowls at the ragpicker, busy helping herself to marzipan on a tray. "What did you promise her, Mathilde?" Talking with her mouth full, the ragpicker garbles her words, telling la madame she hinted I could find a job here doing the woman's accounts, adding I wouldn't be tempted to sample the goods like the last bookkeeper. Madame Chapet laughs, her heavy breasts heaving up and down in her too-tight purple taffeta dress, her big pearl choker squeezing her neck. "Mathilde's right. Put your clothes back on, mademoiselle, you've got the position." I smile. I have a job. But what will Luc say?

*** "You're not staying in that place, Juliette." Luc's breath is hot on my neck, his fingers digging into my arm. I want to turn around and grab him, but I can't. Not in la patisserie Ladurée. I asked him to meet me here when Madame Chapet sent me to the pastry shop to bring back her favorite carrés aux framboises, puff-pastry sandwiches filled with raspberry jam.

900

"I have no choice, Luc." "I demand you leave there immediately." "You demand?" I spin around, my hands on my hips. "Where can I go? At least there I have food to eat and a real bed with springs to sleep on." "But you're working in a brothel." "It's an honest job, Luc. Besides, we need the money if we're going to get married." He ignores my mention of marriage, making my heart sink. Instead, he says, "Everyone's talking about the female bookkeeper Madame Chapet hired." "So that's it. You don't want a woman with a brain. You'd be happier if I picked up trash as long as I didn't do something that requires me to use my mind." "That's not true, Juliette. I admire how hard you worked to finish your schooling like you promised your mother before she died. It's just that I'm worried about you and—well, you know what goes on there…" I lower my head, ashamed. I shouldn't have let my emotions run away with me. Luc was raised in an orphanage and he has no one but me. That's why he's so protective, but he doesn't understand I need to make my own way. He lifts my face up close to his and I part my lips as if to kiss him. "But you are a woman." His eyes move up and down my body, stripping me naked and making me tingle. "A very beautiful woman." "Please, Luc, not here." I turn my head right then left, noticing the curious eyes staring at us. And listening, too. Luc leads me toward a quiet corner in the shop near the kitchen. The aroma of freshly baked cakes and pastries mixes with his musky smell, making me sway with want. He whispers, "I won't have you associating with those—those…" "Tart?" I tease him, picking up an apricot confection dripping with soul-melting juices. "Delicious and so tasty." I lick my lips with my tongue, circling my mouth slowly. "You drive me crazy with your letters, Juliette, and now you're acting like a fille de joie, prostitute." "You liked it well enough when I got down on my knees, naked and sweating, and polished your boots until you could see my bare buttocks in them when I wiggled my arse at you." "That was before you quit your job and—" "Quit? I was fired." "Why, Juliette?" "I—I…" I can't tell him Monsieur Goby tried to make me bend over the desk so he could plunge his cock into me. Luc would pummel him and get into trouble. "I thought so. I know what goes on in that house of pleasure." He pauses, then, "Is it true the girls who work for Madame Chapet have gold rings in their nipples?" I push out my breasts. "Pinch my nipples and find out."

901

"You tempt me, Juliette. This time I won't resist." Standing in the shadows, he holds me close to him, grabbing my breasts in his big hands, his lips brushing my hot cheeks, his hard cock pressed up against my hip. I feel such wonderment at his touch, such joy surging through me, I forget we're standing in a pastry shop with paneled walls, gilded moldings, black marble-topped tables and lavish murals of cherubs chasing each other on rose-hued clouds. I'm walking on a cloud myself. Nuzzling his face in my hair, he whispers, "Then you'll do as I ask and leave the brothel?" "I can't, Luc. Not until we've saved some money." I feel his body tense. "Orders came down today. My regiment moves out next week." He holds me at arm's length and glares at me. "I want you out of there and back at your old job at the department store before I leave Paris." "I can't do that, Luc." "Can't…or won't?" "You don't understand." "I think I do, Juliette. " He releases me then picks up the apricot tart, smells it, then puts it back down. "It's not to my taste." Then he turns and stomps out of the shop, leaving me alone with an aching heart.

*** One week later… "You're a thief, mademoiselle!" I jump out of bed and Mimi leaps into the air when Madame Chapet bursts into my room, yelling and waving her accounts ledger. The black leather binding rips and the pages fall onto the worn wooden floor. Mimi races over them, leaving dirty paw prints all over the white pages. "What did you say, madame?" I grab the kitten then pick up the ledger pages and look them over. My pulse races. Someone changed the numbers. "You cheated me out of five hundred gold louis," la madame screams. Huffing and puffing like an overstuffed goose, she grabs me by the hair and pulls hard. "You'll pay for this, mamselle!" "Please, madame, you're hurting me." She lets go, but my scalp throbs and my heart pounds. "I didn't steal your money." What am I going to do? It's my word against hers. "I've notified the préfecture de police. You're going to Prison St. Lazare—” "No, madame!" I collapse on the bed, holding Mimi close to me. The tiny kitten is shaking and so am I. I planned to go to Luc's barracks and make him listen to me. If I go to prison, he'll never find me. "There must be something I can do to change your mind." La madame smiles, her made-up face cracking around the mouth. "There is one way you can work off your debt." "How, madame?"

902

"Strip off your clothes." "Madame!" Her eyes narrow with intent. "I need another girl for a ménage à trois."

Chapter Three "Are my girls not the most beautiful in Paris, Monsieur de Trémont?" purrs Madame Chapet, tapping her fan on my bare backside and making me wince. The old harridan tricked me. All along she planned to force me to go upstairs with her customers. Now I'm standing half-naked in a fancy room with silvery green paper shimmering off the walls. A gentleman walks around me in a circle, inspecting me. He's older with a trim physique, his dark moustache ribbed with gray. He's not handsome, but he's masculine. The girl next to me giggles. A plump brunette with big breasts. We're both wearing pale-colored silk corsets, white stockings, and black button-up shoes. Pointing to me, the gentleman says, "I want this one first." I shiver when he runs his gray-gloved hand up and down my cheek, then traces his fingers around my bare breast before twisting my nipple. In spite of my discomfort, I moan. "Don't be shy, mamselle," he says, his voice rich and dark with intense curiosity. "Be careful, monsieur," I blurt out. "La madame will charge you more if you damage the goods." Madame Chapet scowls at me, then says in a shrill voice. "I'll leave you to enjoy your afternoon treat, Monsieur de Trémont." Then, with a swish of cheap taffeta, she's gone. "I want you girls to play a game." Monsieur de Trémont pinches the plump brunette's buttock and again she giggles. "Pick out a book, Clarice." Squealing, she pulls out a red silk book from madame's bawdy collection and hands it to him. "A Maid and Her Master." He smiles, his manner pleasant. "Excellent choice." I draw closer to him, his sophisticated manner and elegant lime scent attracting me. "Read a scene out loud, Clarice, while I fuck…what is your name, mamselle?" "Juliette," I stammer, my face sweating, my heart beating madly. A delicious heat erupts in the pit of my belly, awakening a compelling flicker of anticipation that startles me. What's happening to me? "A pretty name for a pretty mamselle." The dapper gentleman in the top hat, gray morning coat, burgundy silk vest and gray gloves requests I unbutton his trousers while Clarice fumbles with the slim tome. Sliding my fingers over the covered buttons on his pants, I tremble when I find his hard cock begging to be freed from his tight-fitting undergarment. Perspiration drips from my nose onto the finely-woven silk. I wipe it away as I unfasten the button overlap in front. My eyes widen. His cock is huge. A throbbing between my legs makes me clamp my thighs together. And is that a damp stickiness I feel between my bare thighs? I can't let this man fuck me, yet my body betrays me. "Read, Clarice!" His voice is anxious, filled with need. Still wearing his top hat, he jumps up and his erect cock pops out in front of him. With one quick movement, he puts on une capote, a condom, then grabs my hips and pulls me to him, the purple head of his engorged cock teasing the outer lips of my pussy and

903

begging entry. I toss my head back, his touch driving me wild with desire. Too many nights I lay alone in my room, wishing Luc was inside me. My body is ripe for sex, but not like this. "I—I can't read, monsieur," Clarice mumbles. "I can." Before he can stop me, I grab the book. My hand trembles, but my voice is steady as I read: "The Viscount de Ville ordered the maid to remove her clothes while he masturbated. When she stood naked before him, he grabbed her and fucked her with abandon—" I toss down the book. "What awful writing. No emotion, no passion." "I asked you to read, mamselle, not be a critic." Frustrated, Monsieur de Trémont plops down into a winged chair, his cock bouncing up and down. "I suppose you can do better." "I can, monsieur." Thinking, I say, "While the Viscount de Ville sipped his warm brandy, his other hand cupped her pussy, making the maid gasp. He worked his fingers between her lower lips, peeling her open and exposing her daunting pinkness to his experienced eye. 'You're wet…and so succulent.' He eased his fingers up inside her, exploring her, and making her moan with a growing excitement." "Amazing, mademoiselle." Monsieur de Trémont regards me with a look that has nothing to do with passion. "Write that down for me, please." "Why, monsieur?" "I have a…a friend who publishes erotic stories. I have no doubt he'll like yours."

*** Weeks later… Alors, I'm now an author of erotic tales. Or so Monsieur de Trémont tells me when he visits me every afternoon and takes whatever pages I've written with him. He insists I write down everything I see in the brothel in my own words. There's Simone: "…a crafty girl who spends as much time sucking a woman's creamy seed as she does a man's. Her favorite game is to entertain at a mock dinner party by getting under the table and treating the gentlemen and the girls to a warm and velvety kiss." And who can forget Marie: “…who smothers her face in paint and saturates her body in scent. With her carnation red lips and kohl black eyes, she's known for her charming wit and never unlaces her stays until the gentleman gives her a tip. Only then does she allow him to sample the sweet moistness oozing down her smooth inner thighs." But no one is more beautiful than Lillie: "…blonde and buxom with her purred requests in feminine French vowels, soft and childlike. She's clever in the feminine way, changing her moods to fit the moment, and is known for her theatrics—she can hold a cigar for a gentleman between her pussy lips, and later ride the stallion all night." Fascinating, Monsieur de Trémont tells me, insisting we keep our secret from Madame Chapet. She has no idea what goes on between us. As soon as she leaves us alone, Gaston—he insists I call him that—kisses me, presses his lips to the curve of my neck, just below my ear, then licks and sucks on my breasts before he inserts his fingers into me, but he doesn't fuck me. He tells me an artiste must be hungry for a man's cock to write her best stories. To make sure of that, he pays la madame well, making her promise no one takes me upstairs but him. Though he's years older than I, I'm becoming quite fond of him. He's kind to me and to Mimi, who has a habit of making her presence known by jumping into my lap when Gaston is kissing me and playing with me. Two pussies are better than one, he jokes.

904

If I wasn't in love with Luc, who knows? My heart tightens in my chest when I think of Gaston, how when he removes his fingers from inside me, I can feel his tongue lap at my inner thighs and then wriggle into me, sucking up my juices with eager intensity. The other girls tell me his hunger for female flesh is well known, yet he holds back his passion when he's with me. That touches me deeply. He said someday he will teach me the art of love, but first he's promised his friend more stories from me. For now, he pays me many folded-up francs. I'm saving them in an old stocking I keep hidden under my mattress for the day when I can buy my freedom from Madame Chapet. Until then, I write my erotic stories under a pen name, M.M. Gilbert. I squeeze the worn stocking filled with franc notes between my breasts. Wait until I tell Luc I'm a writer. Just wait.

*** "He won't see you, mademoiselle." "Tell him it's important." I adjust the silk ribbon on my bonnet, my eyes lowered, my breasts heaving up and down. Standing outside the burnished, yellow brick barracks, I observe the young private's growing arousal in his pants. What did Luc tell him about me? Two nights have passed since his regiment returned from maneuvers and he hasn't come to see me. Why? I remember how he helped me when my mother died, taking up a collection among his fellow soldiers so she wouldn't have to be buried in a nameless grave. What's changed between us? I must make him understand I have no choice but to stay in the House on Rue des Moulins. I've written him several letters explaining my position in the brothel. No answer. I sigh. The thin, whispery tissue paper I hold in my hand blows in the wind, as if I can will my words to fly to him. I step through the door, daring the guard to stop me. He doesn't. The stench of tobacco permeates the small, dim entryway. "Give him this, monsieur, please." I hold out the letter, but before the young private can take it, a large hand looms out of the darkness and grabs it from me. "I will take it." A tall man glares at me. Tingles of desire shoot through me as I see his handsome face glow under the flaring gas-jet lantern fastened to the wall in a square vent-hole. Luc. "Why haven't you answered my letters?" I ask him, the sight of him in his tight uniform overpowering me, making me want to rush into his arms. I don't. "I'm not in the habit of receiving letters from a brothel." He tears up my letter into small pieces and tosses them on the floor, grinding them on the stone with the heel of his battered black boot. I notice it's lost its shine. And so have I. Without a word, I turn my back and walk out the door.

***

905

One week later… "I can't go upstairs with the customer, madame," I plead. "Monsieur de Trémont pays you well to keep me for himself, n'est-ce pas?" "I am in charge here and if I tell you to service a customer, you'll do it or out on the streets you go!" "But, Madame Chapet—" She sneers into my face, the smell of cheap wine on her breath. "Or would mamselle prefer the tender kiss of Sappho within the walls of St. Lazare?" "No, madame." I lower my head, refusing to let her see the anguish in my eyes. "I will do as you ask."

*** "Put your hands behind your back, mamselle." Cold, raw voice. That's all I know about the man in the black domino. Rose-colored light from a candle sconce set against a pink wall panel casts an eerie glow in the upstairs room. I can't see his face or his body, even his hands are gloved in black. He cracks a whip with a black jet handle against the red leather divan, giving me no choice but to do as he asks, allowing him to tie my hands together and cover my eyes with black silk. I'm nude except for my plumpink corset, green stockings, and soft pink slippers. My bare breasts beaded with sweat wiggle, my nipples are tight like hard currants. "Get down on your knees." Blindfolded, I kneel on the plush violet carpet, keeping my head high. I refuse to show total submission to him. Moments later, I gag when he tries to shove the round head of his cock into my mouth. Sputtering, I turn my head away. "Put your lips around my cock—" "No, monsieur." "Do as I command—" I flinch when I hear a loud whoosh so close to my face it fans humid air on the back of my neck, then a loud whack as it strikes the carpet. "—or next time you'll feel the kiss of my whip on your bare arse." "I won't do it." Even as I say the words, I can't stop the quivering in my belly, the anticipation making me shiver. What dark magic has bewitched me? "I warned you—" The hiss of leather fills my ears, making me tighten my muscles as I brace myself for what is yet to come.

906

Chapter Four Crack! I jump and let out a shriek that shakes the core of my being. My pubic muscles constrict as I hear the man in the black domino bring down the whip with all the power of a thunderbolt cutting through the air with a seductive hiss. My skin crawls with dread, waiting for the supreme moment when the pain echoes through me… But I feel nothing. Who is this man with the whip? Why did he insist Madame Chapet send me for his macabre pleasure? Blindfolded, my hands tied behind my back, I hear the supple leather hitting the curved arm of the red divan. I imagine it branding my flesh with its fierce kiss. I quiver, not from fear, but from something I don't understand, though I fight against it. It's as if my natural resistance to its sting melts away with each passing moment. Fighting to gain control, I squeeze my thighs together, yet I can't stop my clit yearning for release. I curse this man who has awakened such devilry in me. Glowing with an inner fire, I try hard to still my breathing. I can't. I can't stop this subtle awakening in the pit of my belly, my body begging to experience the provocative taboo I've heard whispered about in the house on Rue des Moulins. How can this happen to me? I must be mad, insane, my soul hungry for pain because I've lost my love, my Luc. Black silk cloaks my world, but I can hear the man step back and flex the whip again. A hush comes over the upstairs room decorated in reds and pinks. I shiver, knowing the cat-o'nine-tails, whip, paddle, flogger and strap all lay in readiness to inflict painful pleasure. I flinch when I hear his ragged breathing, a groan erupting from deep within him, as if he's torn between making me his submissive and feeding my angst with the power of anticipation. Why is he torturing me like this? Damn Madame Chapet. She promised Monsieur de Trémont only he would take me upstairs. I should have known I can't trust her. Fearing the worst, I think of Luc and pretend his arms are holding me, but it's only a dream. He's abandoned me, though my heart tells me he'll come back. Will it be too late? I can't stop the tears from welling up in my eyes. Why wouldn't he listen to me? I know he's young and wild, a soldier who lives by rules and orders, but I'm doing this for us, for our future. I'm grateful the black silk presses against my wet lashes to absorb my show of weakness. Why did this stranger come tonight? Why now when I have nearly enough money saved from selling my erotic stories to buy my freedom from la madame? Why? I strain to listen, my senses alert to the slightest movement. Nothing. The air around me is still. Has he gone? Left me to fuel my anxiety with untamed, sensual imaginings while he moves on to find satisfaction with one of Madame Chapet's girls? Before I can surmise what mad desire drives him, he pulls me to my feet and shoves me up against the wall. My back strikes the curved wainscoting, sending a sharp pain through me. His hands move up and down my

907

shoulders. I should find his hands menacing, abrasive to my nerves, conveying a sense of unnatural pleasure filling me with despair, not knowing what perverted act he intends to inflict upon me. Instead, a strange desire fills me and I tremble under his touch. Basking in a sensual glow, I feel a familiar heat and excitement rising from deep within me as his big, strong hands sweep up and down my bare breasts, then tighten around my waist pulled in by the corset. My pubic muscles contract, sending waves of pleasure throughout my body. I swear I can see a trail of pink stars glimmering before my eyes, though black silk shields me from seeing his face. I don't want to know who he is, as if not knowing gives me the freedom to indulge in the pleasure of his touch, wishing he were Luc. I lean my head back, allowing my body to relax and enjoy his soothing strokes, lifting my hips slightly as if to meet him, but not giving in completely. That makes him stiffen, surprising me. Letting out a moan, he unties my hands, though by the pressure of his fingers on my wrists, he indicates he wishes me to keep the black mask in place. He lays me down on the thick carpeting, then spreads my legs, a gloved finger teasing at my pussy, holding the lips open. I feel the head of his cock nudging at my pink flesh, then— "I can't do it, Juliette," he says, panting, his voice hoarse. "I won't take you against your will…" That voice! Not cold, raw, but deep and loving. I rip the black silk from my eyes. "Luc! My darling, I was dreaming it was you. How? Why?" "Can you forgive me, my love? I've been insane with worry and I couldn't stay away, no matter what I had to do to see you." He brushes his lips against my neck and his rich male scent overwhelms me. He kisses me behind the ear, nibbling gently on the lobe, then under my jaw before lingering on my bare shoulder. "I must make love to you." I don't wait for him to remove the domino. I press my hips up into his, sweeping aside the black hooded cloak with my eager hands. I gasp. He's naked underneath. I let out a sigh at the sight of his cock bobbing out in front of him. His erection is so hard, the foreskin is pulled taut down the shaft, exposing its shiny head, glowing deep-red in the erotic pink lighting. My pussy aches for him, my nipples throb and the soft pink lace from my corset scrapes against my skin, teasing me. He reaches out and pulls on the pink ribbons of my corset, but I can't wait for him to unlace my stays. I take him into my mouth, the heat from his cock making my tongue tingle. I lick all around the head then linger on the sensitive underside, moving my tongue back and forth and driving him mad with desire. Moaning, he grabs my long hair and runs his hands through it. "It's my turn, Juliette." I shudder when he parts my thighs and puts his head between my legs. He cups my pussy with his lips then begins licking me with his tongue, back and forth across my hard bud, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. When I feel myself on the brink of losing control, he lifts my legs around his waist and slides his cock into me. I shudder. I'm wet, my juices flowing. Instinctively, I lock my calves around his back as he thrusts into me. I open my eyes and reach out to him, his bare chest and shoulders glistening with sweat, black silk flying around him like a medieval sorcerer's cloak, his well-toned muscles flexing in the mesmeric lighting. He raises up my hips to meet his, tensing his massive biceps, his raspy breath echoing in my ears. Deep inside me, I feel the first jagged spasms of his approaching climax as he writhes and moans, thrusting deeper and deeper into me. Our bodies rock back and forth in unison, arching and twisting until I can take it no longer and wave after wave of pure pleasure crashes through me, its sheer energy sending me to a place where I've never been and driving away everything, every thought except one.

908

How much I love him.

*** "It cost me a whole month's salary to spend an afternoon with you, Juliette." "Was I worth it?" I tease. We lie naked on the pale violet carpet, side-by-side. My corset, stockings and slippers sit on top of the black domino lying in a heap on the carpet. "You vixen…I'll fuck you again and show you." In a more serious tone, I ask, "Why wouldn't you answer my letters, Luc?" "I was too full of foolish pride to admit how much you mean to me and so afraid of losing you I went crazy." He explains how he never had any intention of striking me with the whip, but it was the only way he could see me without revealing his identity. He didn't mean to frighten me, but he let his anger overcome his reason. Stroking my hair, he continues, "My regiment is being transferred to Orléans for temporary duty." I stiffen, the thought of not seeing him for months dampening my mood, though I try not to show it. He holds me tightly, no kissing, just holding. Finding my voice, I whisper, "When do you leave?" "Tonight. On the midnight train from Gare d’Austerlitz." He holds me closer, so close I can hear his heart pounding. "Now you know why I was desperate to see you. I've got to get you out of here, help you escape—" Shaking my head, I pull away from him. "No, Luc, I must pay my debt to Madame Chapet or I'll never be free." I explain how she tricked me, then tell him I have a new job. "Does la madame pay you to—" He stops, not able to say the words he doesn't want to hear. "No. I've made love to no man but you." Do I see the tense lines around his mouth relax? Then why do his eyes still question me? I must make him believe me. I say, "That's why I came to your barracks—" Are those footsteps I hear? Is someone running up the stairs? Madame Chapet went shopping…then who? “—to tell you about Monsieur de Trémont and how he…" The footsteps are closer, just outside the door. Luc is impervious to the noise. He grabs me and stares at me, his mood dark. "Who is this man? Your lover?" "You don't understand, Luc, he has a friend who—" Before I can finish, the door bursts open and in rushes Monsieur de Trémont followed by la madame's little seamstress, Delphine.

909

"I told you, monsieur," she cries out, wringing her hands on her white apron. "Mamselle Juliette is entertaining a gentleman—" Monsieur de Trémont ignores her. Instead he glares at Luc and me, naked and holding onto each other. His words cut into me when he says, "You once told me Madame Chapet would charge me for damaged goods, Juliette. I see now you were right." Luc jumps to his feet, his fists raised, ready to hit him. "Take that back, monsieur." "No, Luc!" I cry out. The gentleman snarls. "I will do no such thing." Luc swings at him, but he ducks. I grab onto Luc's arm. "Stop, Luc, please! Straightening his vest, Monsieur de Trémont holds his ground. "If I were twenty years younger, monsieur, I'd call you out, but at my age, women are like fine wine. A fragrant bouquet when savored, but not worth losing your head over." He turns to me and tips his top hat. "Au revoir, Juliette, I shall leave you to your afternoon's entertainment." "Please, Monsieur de Trémont," I plead, "it's not what you think." Ignoring me, he turns on his heel and leaves. The little seamstress runs after him, begging him not to tell la madame what happened. I grab the black domino, throw it over my nude body, then start after him. Luc grabs me by the arm, holding me fast in his grip. "Where are you going, Juliette?" "I must explain to Monsieur de Trémont about us." "Explain what?" he demands, his voice rising. "That you fucked us both?" "That's not true." Exasperated, I say, "You don't understand, and I haven't time to explain." He grabs me by the shoulders, his eyes boring into me. The intensity of his pain makes me shiver. I sense he's fighting something deep within himself. "Who is more important to you, Juliette?" "Luc, what are you saying?" Gritting his teeth, he releases me. "Make your choice. Him or me."

Chapter Five "Monsieur de Trémont!" I call out, running down the stairs. I see him open the front door. "Gaston!" He turns, his eyes heavy with an emotion far more hurtful to me than jealousy—sadness. I realize then how much our relationship means to him. "I'm sorry it had to end like this, Juliette."

910

"Gaston, please let me explain." I rush my words, telling him how I lost my job and how Madame Chapet forced me to become one of her girls, and that Luc and I planned to be married. All the while, my mind is reeling, not believing Luc would ask me to choose between them. Monsieur de Trémont attempts a smile. "No doubt the young man loves you, ma chérie. I could see that by the heroic way he defended you." He takes a deep breath. "Alors, I also love you. However…" He takes a letter from inside his coat and hands it to me. "Business is business." I scan the paper quickly, my eyes widening, my heart pounding. "For a collection of my stories published by Ravenne Presse, I will receive royalties and an advance in the amount of—" I read off a number that makes me gasp. "Your advance, mamselle." He hands me the money wrapped up in white linen and tied with a ribbon. I don't know what to say. Why wouldn't the publishing company send their representative to see me? Unless— "You're the publisher, Gaston," I say, "n'est-ce pas?" He nods. "I'd hoped someday to also be your protector, Juliette, but I won't stand in your way." "Could you explain to Luc…about us?" He smiles and touches my cheek with his gloved fingers. "I must admit, I'm jealous of your young man, but for you, Juliette, I'll do it." He takes my hand and kisses it. "Merci…for everything!" Stepping on my tiptoes, I kiss him on both cheeks, then race up the stairs, waving the letter and yelling out, "Luc, Luc!" When I get to the top of the stairs, I stop, my heart pounding. The door is open. Luc is gone.

*** "More wine, Juliette?" asks Madame Chapet smiling, but with no warmth in her eyes. "I'm celebrating, so why not?" I answer, laughing, stroking Mimi's fur as she snuggles in my lap. I paid off my debt to la madame in full with the receipt safely tucked into my tied bundle of belongings. I'm free. Free to see Luc before he leaves tonight on the midnight train and tell him about my book contract. He'll understand then about Monsieur de Trémont. He must. Holding the carafe of wine, Delphine hesitates. It's obvious she wants to say something, but holds back. "Pour the wine, Delphine," orders la madame. Shaking, the girl refills my glass, my third. "Merci, Delphine." I sip the wine, though my heart is heavy. Why didn't Luc wait? Delphine told me he threw on his pants and boots and ran out the service entrance without putting on his shirt. No wonder I didn't see him. Madame Chapet keeps the back door locked so customers can't leave without paying, but the cook left it open after she tossed out the slops. "We will miss you here," trills la madame, adding, "Your old job is open." "And have you cheat me again?" I drip wine onto my fingers. Mimi sniffs it, but turns up her nose and jumps out of my lap. What's wrong with her? "No, madame, I have a better offer."

911

"Whatever it is, mamselle, I'll double it!" I shake my head. "No…I'm…not stay—" I put my hand to my head. Why does la madame look like she's melting? All purple and yellow flowing together like a rainbow dissolving. I blink and rub my eyes. Oohh, my head hurts. Delphine tries to take the glass out of my hand, but Madame Chapet grabs her wrist. "Mamselle Juliette hasn't finished her wine." "But, madame, she looks ill." "I’m not ill, Delphine," I protest. "I—I…" Weaving from side to side, I lean over to pick up Mimi, meowing and nipping at my ankle. The room around me spins— …and I pass out.

*** Darkness. So dark I can't see no matter how hard I squint. Dampness. Creeping into my bones like a soggy rain that won't let up. The stench of moldy rags. Covering my mouth, the foul odor rising up into my nostrils makes me gag. Where am I? My head pounds, excruciating, stinging pain. I try to move, but my hands are tied behind my back and my ankles are bound together. I kick out my feet, trying to find a wall or door when I hear— Me—ow! Mimi. Where is she? A sense of relief floods me when I feel the kitten's furry tail trailing across my face. I try to wiggle the gag free but to no avail. What's to become of us? Has la madame left us here to die? I refuse to accept my fate. I must get free or Luc will leave Paris, never knowing how much I love him. "Mamselle Juliette—" I hear someone whispering my name. "Are you in there?" Thrashing about, I struggle to make a noise. Meowing and scratching, Mimi comes to my rescue. I hear the sound of a key turning in the lock— and the door opens. Delphine stands in the doorway, her hand to her mouth. "Mon Dieu!" Without wasting a moment, she removes the gag and unties my wrists, apologizing for not being able to stop la madame from drugging me with the sleeping drought. "It's not your fault, Delphine," I tell the young girl, my eyes smiling with gratitude for her help. I pick up Mimi and she licks my face. "Madame Chapet is trying to frighten me into staying, but it won't work. I'm taking Mimi and we're leaving now." I pause. "What time is it?" "Nearly ten o'clock." Rubbing my wrists then my ankles, I stand up. I'm wobbly, but I'm not hurt. "I still have time to get to the train station and see Luc." "Madame Chapet is downstairs in the salon, feeding leftover veal to her two terriers. She'll try to stop you, mamselle."

912

"What about the service entrance?" She shakes her head. "La madame locked it herself and stuffed the key down the front of her bodice." "I must leave tonight, Delphine—" The girl bites down on her lower lip, hesitating, then: "I have an idea, mamselle, but—" "But what? Tell me!" "You must take off your clothes again if you want to escape from the House on Rue des Moulins."

*** "Will you help me, Monsieur Borquet?" I see interest in his eyes. It's no secret Paul Borquet is always teasing la madame with his games and magic. Is he in such a mood tonight? "I'm just a poor artist, mamselle, here to find a model for my painting." "Choose me. I'll be your model." Rolling about on the large four poster bed with Lillie and Clarice, pinching and biting on each other's breasts to the delight of the handsome artist, I pose for him. "He's already chosen me, Juliette," Lillie hisses in my ear, pulling up her rose-colored silk stocking. Ignoring her, I say, "Please, Monsieur Borquet, I must get to the train station to see my fiancé." "Ah, so you're in love," says the artist. "I can never fall in love…" Do I hear a wistful sigh in his voice? "But who am I to deny a beautiful mamselle who tells her story with such passion?" He turns to Lillie. "Get dressed. We're going to a studio in the Marais district." "What about me, monsieur?" I ask. "And Mimi?" The kitten meows, then scampers under his voluminous black cloak. "You're going, too…both of you." "How, monsieur?" He sweeps off his cape and smiles. "Wrapped up In this."

*** "I'm delighted you've chosen Lillie for your model, Monsieur Borquet," I hear Madame Chapet say. "Mon plaisir, madame," says the artist, keeping his cape closed around us both. Hunched over, I'm covered from head to toe in the heavy black cloak as we walk in tandem. I'm carrying Mimi and the tied bundle with my belongings, while the artist swings his cane out in front of him and prods Lillie to keep moving. As long as she gets paid, she'll keep quiet. We're almost to the front door when— —I hear la madame's dogs growl at Mimi, shaking in my arms.

913

"Be quiet, my darlings," Madame Chapet says, oozing with charm. "Monsieur Borquet, wait!" I feel the artist stiffen. He says, "Madame?" "There will be an extra charge for the second model." I hold my sides to keep from laughing. I'm wearing Clarice's shoes, but the plump brunette is upstairs asleep, snoring. The artist laughs. "I should have known I couldn't fool you, Madame Chapet." I hear him open the front door and the night wind rushes in, welcoming me into its embrace. I step through the portal of the House on Rue des Moulins for the last time.

*** Standing on the crowded platform, I see the midnight train sitting motionless on the tracks in the station at Gare d'Austerlitz, its pure white steam mixing with the mist billowing up around the nose of the snorting engine. An anxious churning rushes through me. I must find Luc. Side-stepping the porters loading luggage and the mail clerks heaving great sacks, I scan the passengers filling the windows of the train, waving handkerchiefs. Where is he? A whistle shrills and the sudden grinding of brakes on the next tracks send numerous pairs of anxious eyes in that direction. I see a familiar face appear at a window. "Luc…Luc!" He sees me, smiles, then disappears only to reappear on the platform moments later. He swoops me up in his arms and twirls me around. "Juliette, you're here!" He kisses me on the mouth. Hard. We cling to each other for the promise of what we had, while our lips search to find it again. Breathless, I have to ask, "Why didn't you come to the brothel before you left?" "I did, Juliette, but Madame Chapet said you'd left…with a gentleman." "She lied, Luc. I'll never love anyone but you." I show him my book contract and explain everything to him. His eyes look misty and his mouth quivers. He's trying so hard not to show weakness in front of me, but he's kept his feelings wound up so tight inside him, he had to let them go. "Ah, my Juliette, even when I thought I'd lost you…" He pulls out a packet from inside his uniform jacket. "I had your letters." "I'll write to you every day, my darling. I promise." "What about your stories?" "Luc, you must understand…" "I do, Juliette." He laughs. "I admire your spirit and I'm so proud of you. You deserve this opportunity." Tracing my face with his big hands, he says, "I'm just a humble soldier with a new chevron on his sleeve—" He points to the insignia on his uniform. "—but will you marry me?" "Yes, Luc, yes!"

914

"As soon as I get leave, I'll speak to Père Gabriel about announcing the bands of our marriage." He holds me close, neither of us wanting to let go. "Nothing can keep us apart." The train whistle blows and the great wheels turn. Luc kisses me again and I sigh with pleasure, his kiss consuming me. "Je t'aime, Juiliette," he whispers, then jumps onto the moving train. "I love you, too, mon chéri." Waving, I remain there long after the train disappears.

*** "Twenty-two Rue du Sommerard, monsieur," I tell the hansom cab driver waiting for me. I pick up Mimi, sleeping on the black leather seat, and hold the kitten close to me. "We're off to Madame Poulin's, Mimi. We have enough money to get our old room back." Looking out over the Seine as the cab speeds through the streets of Paris, I remember the day I came to the brothel and how my fortunes have changed. But what about the other girls at Madame Chapet's? What future do they have? I imagine Mathilde still haunts the boulevards, luring unsuspecting girls to the brothel. Girls like me. If it hadn't been for the artist, Paul Borquet, who knows? A genius, they say, yet I sense a deep loneliness in his soul. I giggle. Lillie and her charms will make him forget his pain. I wonder what erotic adventures await Monsieur Borquet this evening? I wonder…

915

Whose Wife Is It, Anyway? by Stevi Mittman Decorator Teddi Bayer has a knack for getting into trouble wherever she goes. And it appears an industry conference in Atlantic City is going to be no exception. Although Teddi thinks sharing a suite with her tagalong mother for three days is going to be the most unbearable part of the experience, the trip quickly goes from bad to worse when she stumbles upon a possible kidnapping! Can Detective Dreamboat bail her out this time?

Chapter One Many adventures start out with the heroine stepping out of a limousine. You know—short black skirt, one long leg in a silk stocking, a stiletto heel touching the pavement. I wish I was in one of those adventures instead of this one. Oh, I had the limo, courtesy of my mother. But then, I also had my mother. Frankly, if I’d had anything sharper than my Treo’s stylus with me, this adventure would be taking place at some police precinct halfway between Long Island and Atlantic City, right around the spot I realized it was either her or me. One of us wasn’t going to make it to the first annual “Using the Web to Increase Your Decorating Business” convention. I don’t know what I was thinking allowing her to come along anyway. Maybe by some miracle of latitude or weather conditions, we’d suddenly get along. Not. More likely, it was my father’s offer to pay for the conference, upgrade my rack room to a suite, hire a limo to get us to the hotel and treat us to dinner and a show on his credit cards while he stayed home to watch my children. Maybe it was the way he begged. Still, I can’t claim I didn’t know what I was getting into. After all, Dad was willing to foot the bill for all of that for a weekend without Mom wasn’t he? You’re right. I was too gullible, too naive. I wanted to believe it when she promised she’d disappear to a spa every day while I got to escape my kids, my ex and my bills for three days of seminars for people more at home with a paint roller than a keyboard. I admit it. But the moment we climbed inside and the driver shut that limo door, I could tell it was a mistake. Bobbie, my business partner and best friend, warned me. Drew, my…uh…my… Oh, alright, alright! My boyfriend—wow that sounds juvenile coming from a nearly forty year-old— warned me. Even my kids warned me. Did I listen? Or did I think I could handle the woman, think it would be nice to have someone across the dinner table, think this would be the time we found “common ground.” Okay, yes, I admit it. Trite as it sounds, I thought this could be the time we bonded. Little did I know that even Industrial Strength Super Glue wouldn’t have done the trick. Somehow we managed to survive the packing, barely, Mom telling me what not to wear like an ad for the TV show. But then, in the limo, when she actually asked the driver whether any of the rich men he chauffeurs might be interested in me, reality set in. This would be the longest three days of my life. Asking wasn’t bad enough. She then tried to slip him my phone number, telling him to find someone who was good looking, rich, and kind to mothers-in-law. I reminded her that Drew was in the picture, but she made some crack about deleting that picture, burning the card, throwing out the camera, and she started putting her order in with the poor driver.

916

“I’m not in the market for a husband,” I assured him, which reminded me of an e-mail joke about a woman going shopping at the New Husband Store, where you can buy husbands, but only if you obey their very stringent shopping rules: you can only shop at the store once and you can only go up to the next floor by forgoing the opportunity to return to a lower floor. On the first floor there is a sign that says These men have jobs. The woman is intrigued, but she continues to the second floor, where the sign reads: These men have jobs and love kids. Thinking that while that’s nice, she wants more, she continues upward. The sign on the third floor reads: These men have jobs, love kids, and are extremely good looking. "Wow," she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going. She goes to the fourth floor, which reads: These men have jobs, love kids, are drop-dead gorgeous and help with housework. She can hardly stand it, but still she goes to the fifth floor, where the sign reads: These men have jobs, love kids, are drop-dead gorgeous, help with housework, and have a strong romantic streak. She is so tempted she almost stays, but in the end she goes up to the sixth floor, where the sign reads: Floor 6—You are visitor #31,456,012 to this floor. There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please. Thank you for shopping at the Husband Store. Right across from the Husband Store there is a Wife Store. Same rules. Different signs. The first floor has wives that love sex. The second floor has wives that love sex and have money. The third through sixth floors have never been visited. My mother howled when I related it to her, and the limo driver nodded his head vehemently, like this joke was profound. She told him we’d settle for one of the men on the second floor. Finally we pull up to the hotel, where she makes a big show of getting out of the limo. It’s not easy to make a show in Atlantic City, where the hotels are overwhelming and even the doormen are dressed to the nines. At least the Town Car suits the hotel, which is one of the fanciest ones on the strip. The doorman grabs our bags while Mom loudly informs him that her daughter is a very successful decorator and staying in hotels that look like they were built to impress a queen is nothing out of the ordinary for me. She’s right. I stayed at a Motel 6 last year that was just like this. Except for the doorman, the lobby, the rooms, the amenities and the location.

Chapter Two I head directly for the conference registration table, suggesting that Mom check into the hotel. She ignores me, sticking to me like she’s been Gorilla-Glued as I take my place in line behind a man who is fiddling with Jaguar keys and bouncing in his Geox loafers. He has on a casually elegant golf shirt with a high end logo, freshly pressed chinos and an alligator belt with a monogrammed silver buckle. On his wrist is a Patek Philippe watch that makes my mother’s jaw drop. She elbows me in the side. When I don’t respond, she makes small talk with him herself. “You’re not a decorator, are you?” she inquires, trying to hide any trace of a Long Island accent which tends to bring to mind people of Joey Butafucco’s ilk. “I only ask because everyone knows that they’re all gay.” The man looks at me, clearly amused, and I smile feebly and shrug my shoulders as if I don’t know who this woman is either. I wish. “Oh, not the women, of course,” my mother says when she catches him assessing me. “They’re straight. Not that I can speak for all of them, but my daughter is.” She gestures toward me with her chin. So much for pretending I don’t know her.

917

“Would you mind holding this for me a moment?” my mother asks. I go to reach for the spa brochure she’s picked up and suddenly found too heavy. Rather than hand it to me, she hands it to the gentleman. As he reaches for it, I see her study the third finger of his left hand. He sees it, too. “Do you still want me to hold this?” he asks, chuckling as he takes it. He’s clearly enjoying my mother’s antics a good deal more than I. Of course, if it was someone else’s mother I’d probably be wishing for a Poise pad right now instead of a hole in the floor into which I could crawl. “Are you Catholic?” my mother asks him. “Or is divorce a possibility?” Mortified doesn’t half cover my situation but the man laughs, perhaps a little too heartily and tells her that he’s Jewish. My mother touches his arm intimately. “Of course you are,” she says. “I could tell by the watch.” She continues to flirt with him on my behalf while I die a little more with each second that watch ticks off. The line moves up and the man handing out the welcome packets behind the desk—who is handsome, wellgroomed and just a little too polished to be straight—hands my mother’s new friend his folder without asking the man’s name. Then he looks at me, expectantly. I make some little joke about how I’m disappointed that he doesn’t know my name, too, but he just grimaces and waits. “Teddi Bayer,” I supply, and he fishes out a folder and hands it to me. I turn and stumble over my mother, who is breathing down my neck. She, in turn, bumps into the man she’s hoping will divorce the wife he already has to marry me. He knocks into a flower arrangement the size of a small country, causing pollen dust to sprinkle down on anyone in the vicinity. Several people sneeze. When I do, my folder slips from my grasp and the contents spill out on the prettily tiled floor. My next husband bends down gallantly to help pick up the pieces while my mother, teetering precariously in higher heels than she usually wears, loses her balance and almost falls over him. He reaches out to steady her and leads her to a chair. While he’s securing her, I pick up his folder, mine, my mother’s brochure, several stargazer lilies whose stems have been broken in the mayhem, the handles to my luggage as well as my mother’s. I stumble toward the throne he’s ensconced her in looking like a sherpa following with the mule. Only I’m the mule. Once we are both convinced that she is fine, I hand him his packet and leave her flirting with him while I head for the hotel registration to check us in. Waiting in yet another line I glance back over my shoulder to check again on Mom and catch a look that passes between her knight in shining armor and the guy handing out the registration packets. It’s electric. Anticipatory. I can’t help but wonder if his wife knows about his affair.

Chapter Three As promised, my father has upgraded our room to a suite. It’s perfect in every way except that my mother is occupying the bed next to mine. Unless, she reminds me, I find someone with promise, in which case she is happy to spend the night in the casino. There are probably weirder things than your mother wishing you’d shack up with someone you just met, but at the moment I can’t think of any.

918

She calls my father and complains about the flight, the limo ride and the hotel. I take my cell into the bathroom, call Drew and complain about her. To his credit, he doesn’t use the words I told you so, but his laughter says it loud and clear. When I emerge she has ordered two diet cokes from room service, which costs more than a case of them at home. Actually, more than two cases. We spend a few minutes hanging clothes that would otherwise wrinkle. Okay—that are already wrinkled in my case. I’m hoping the wrinkles will simply hang out because I can’t remember the last time I ironed anything besides my kids’ costumes for school plays—and that only when they wouldn’t hang out in the bathroom after running a hot shower. My mother insists this is not something to brag about—this from a woman who hasn’t ironed since the day she gave birth to a son (my older brother David) and my father hired live-in help for her as a reward. I offer to put the rest of her belongings into drawers and her toiletries in the bathroom and suggest that she go check out the hotel. She can see what’s playing in their theater, scope out the casino and find the nearest spa. I’m sure she’ll want to rest instead, but she surprises me. After reminding me I’m not getting any younger and I’d better make the most of the few days I have left before I fall over the hill and roll toward old age and spinsterhood, she leaves me in peace. Or in pieces. I throw my stuff in the lower drawers and carefully put her fancy underwear and ecru knit tops in the upper drawers before climbing up on the king-size bed with my conference packet, ready to make a plan. Every seminar sounds the same to me, and choosing which ones to attend is no easy task. Mastering Dreamweaver, Mastering FrontPage, Mastering WebBuilding. Where’s something useful, like Web Building for Dummies? There are lots of promotional materials stuffed into the folder’s pockets. Cleverly suited to interior designers, they are printed on tape measures, small paint palettes, mini calculators. There’s a DVD, and I haul out my laptop, fire it up and pop the disk in the drive. Blue isn’t one of my favorite colors, but the room that comes up on the screen is a knockout—the palest turquoise wall soothes as it excites and the taupe Chesterfield couch that sits in front of it makes for a kind of zen serenity. There’s a deep turquoise raku floor vase next to the couch, with pale green reeds that soar toward the ceiling. A black coffee table with clean lines has several candles glowing at one end. At the other end is what looks like a pistol. If you don’t have this room, just shoot yourself? If you’re not this good a decorator, you might as well just do yourself in? I take a screen capture because I think that this room is exactly what one of my clients is looking for, and while I wouldn’t copy it exactly, I could at least ask if this is what she has in mind. The camera pans to the side chair, a modern club chair in suede with those enormous rolled arms that make you feel safe and cosseted. In the chair is a woman, bound and gagged. Across the screen come the words:

SINGLE SEATER SOFA: $2200. CUSTOM CHESTERFIELD SOFA: $6800. WILLIAM MORRIS VASE: $32000. GETTING YOUR WIFE BACK ALIVE: PRICELESS. WE’LL BE IN TOUCH.

Chapter Four Downstairs, the buzz from the conference is spilling out the doors of the ballroom where a Welcome Reception is in full swing. A woman, whose job it is to guard the door apparently, pats the card hanging from a beaded chain around her neck, which I take to mean I need my ID badge to gain entry. Her badge is covered with little pins that signify awards she’s won, conferences she’s attended, etcetera. Mine, which I fish out of the bottom of the Louis Vuitton purse my mother insisted on loaning me, is completely unadorned. I smile apologetically and explain that I’m a “conference virgin,” as I pin the card to my new navy suit—which I thought would be perfectly appropriate—and now I realize is not. I look like a representative of the hotel

919

coming in to check on the bar supplies. Serves me right for not listening to Bobbie, who kept telling me casual elegant, casual elegant. I look like corporate uptight. The woman raises an eyebrow at my tag—maybe offended by my reference to being a virgin, or to the suit—and reluctantly waves me in. “Listen,” I try to ask her, “have you watched the DVD that came with your welcome packet?” But she is already talking to the person behind me in line and I’ve been dismissed. I unbutton the top two buttons of my blouse, hoping for a more casual look and push the sleeves of my jacket up my arm as far as they will go for the same reason. “You, too?” a woman with a tag that reads Debra’s Divine Designs ask me as she fans herself. She’s got twenty years on me, easily, or so I want to believe. “I hear black cohash helps, but I’m thinking real hash would do me a lot more good. Might not stop the damn hot flashes, but I sure wouldn’t care,” she says with a laugh. I don’t bother telling her that I’m way too young for “power surges” as some of my clients refer to them— because I’m afraid she won’t believe me. Instead I ask her about the DVD as we take our place in line for the cash bar. “Mine had a kid’s room on it,” she tells me. “Strictly Pottery Barn. But my roomie’s had a County French media room that was to die for.” To die for? I ask if either of them had anything strange on them. “Like what?” she asks. “Something…I don’t know, mildly threatening?” I try. Debra looks at my tag suspiciously. Okay, I’ll admit Teddi Bayer is a funny name, but it’s usually a conversation starter, not ender. “Mine had a woman who was tied up—” “Oh,” she says with a laugh. “You’re new, aren’t you? It must have been Jack Murphy’s room. Last year he did a bondage bedroom. Ostrich feathers, handcuffs, a leather collar and mask. Very kinky.” From the amused look on her face, I suppose my eyes are bugging out. “I didn’t realize Brian had hired someone to replace his wife already,” she says, and asks where he is, looking around. “Did Brenda not even come this time?” “Brian?” I reply. While I talk I can’t help staring at a woman draped in shimmering cloth and painted entirely in gold. She is wearing a lampshade on her head and handing out cards to everyone in the line. Debra seems to be putting things together. She seems pleased with herself, as if she’s guessed right. “So then.…Peter finally convinced Brian to get rid of her. Took him long enough. And then he hires a woman to replace her in the business. Again, probably Peter’s idea—after all, a woman wouldn’t be competition, right?” She asks again where Brian is and I have to admit I have no idea who or what she’s talking about. She taps the ID card on my chest. “If you don’t know Brian Baylor, wanna explain why you’re wearing his name tag?”

Chapter Five

920

I tip my badge so that I can read it and find that I am Brian Baylor. And I figure that somewhere in the mass of people milling around in the ballroom, Brian Baylor is walking around with Teddi Bayer on his chest. I ask Debra’s Divine Designs what Brian looks like and she describes the man from registration. We must have switched packets when they fell on the floor. Okay, I must have switched the packets after I all but fell over him. I head for the doorway where I find both my mother and Brian Baylor. “I figured you had my badge,” he says, and I see my mother glance toward the ceiling. I think they call that a “tell” at the tables—some move that gives you away. “They must have gotten switched when we collided,” he says diplomatically. “We should—” “Kismet,” my mother says. “You two were meant to—” she makes a gesture with her hands I don’t even want to describe, never mind interpret— “mingle.” “You remember your promise?” I ask her under my breath. “What promise, dear?” I glance at Brian Baylor and grab my mother by the elbow, attempting some privacy. “The one about my not even knowing you were here?” “Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “You didn’t believe that, did you?” Several people cover their mouths to hide grins. A couple of people cough rather than laugh out loud. “Go find a spa,” I say through gritted teeth. “And why don’t you and I go grab a drink?” Brian asks. “Then we can go upstairs and—” “Because you’re married?” This is followed by “Ouch,” as my mother pinches the inside of my upper arm. “Because I don’t even know you?” “I was just going to say we could go upstairs and exchange folders,” he says, amused, while I’m having a sudden flash of the video I saw—that I now realize was probably meant for him. “I would love a drink,” I say, returning his smile. A little piece of me, the one that was rejected by my exhusband, can’t help wondering if this very rich, very handsome man is genuinely interested in me. Not that I’m interested back but the flattery is very welcome. Of course, I could be so out of practice I’m misreading the signals. I mean, the man isn’t just married, but, if Debra’s Divine Designs is right, he’s got something on the side with Peter, the guy from the registration table. So what does he need me for? Mom, insisting she just wants to wet her whistle before finding a spa, reminds us that “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. The same goes for Atlantic City, I’m sure,” she adds, taking a seat in the booth behind ours. Brian makes a comment about my mother being a handful. I cut to the chase. There’s no reason to alarm the man if that disk was just some sort of advertising malfunction. On the other hand… “What does your wife look like?” I ask.

921

A flash of recognition seems to light his eyes before he hides it. “Despite your mother’s plans, I’m really not—” he starts. “I know. But do you have a picture of her?” I press. He tells me he really isn’t interested in me in that way, that this is just a drink, blah, blah, blah. And he starts to get up. I put my hand over his, stopping him. “This may be a matter of life or death. Your wife’s. Did you view the DVD in your welcome packet?” Even though he shrugs, shakes his head and says, “Not yet, why?” he doesn’t convince me he’s completely clueless. I tell him that I did, and that I think it was meant for him. It takes him a minute to respond with a shy smile. “Did my wife slip in one of those x-rated DVDs again?” Nice cover. Quick thinking. But whatever he’s selling, I’m not buying. Of course, it could be a bondage thing. I didn’t watch it through to the end. “Does she star in them?” I ask. Now he’s up from the table in a shot. “I think this conversation is over,” he says, and you can almost see the steam coming from his ears. “Please sit down,” I beg him. “And you better have a drink. Because, from what I saw, I think she may have been kidnapped.”

Chapter Six He sits back down, his hand shaking as he reaches for the scotch he’s ordered. “If this is some sort of joke—“ he starts. I ask again to see a picture of her. He pulls out his wallet and flips it open. I imagine the woman in the photograph with a gag, and have no doubt it was her. My mother stops at our table as we have our heads together and asks to borrow my phone to call home. “I’ll check on things for you,” she says as I hand her my cell, and waves as she sails from the table. “Ta ta!” she sings as she goes. I don’t know where she picked up that expression, but I’d like to strangle the woman who passed it on. Once she’s gone, I try to tell Brian about the DVD I found in his packet. He assures me it’s just some sort of practical joke. “Brenda was always pulling these sort of pranks,” he says. I don’t miss the fact that he speaks of her in the past tense. I catalog that to tell Drew when I talk to him. I know he’ll tell me my imagination is working overtime—he always tells me that…just before I figure out who the actual murderer is—but I don’t think so. I suggest that Brian give his wife a call, just to make sure she’s fine. “Brenda put you up to this, didn’t she?” he asks, his shoulders easing down, his face visibly relaxing into a smile. “You really had me going there.” I swear to him that she didn’t, that I don’t even know her, that I’m dead serious and that if he doesn’t reach her by phone, we should call the police and show them the video that’s still in my laptop in the fancy schmancy suite I’m sharing with my mother.

922

He doesn’t make a move for a phone. Instead, he asks if I really expect him to believe that we just happened to collide, switch packages, etc. Brenda had to be behind it. I tell him that no, it really was a coincidence. At which point my mother appears at the table, hands me my phone and announces that she’s made an appointment for a massage at six. She suggests that Brian and I have dinner together since it would be a shame if I had to eat alone. And I see the thought cross his mind as clearly as if it’s HDTV. “Impossible,” I assure him. After all, my mother and his wife would be at cross purposes. “Improbable,” he answers, coming to the same conclusion on his own. Then he says he’s left his cell phone in his suite and he’ll go call his wife from a pay phone in the lobby. I offer him mine, but he’s already gone. A few minutes later he returns and says, “No go. I’m sure she’s just out shopping.” Sure, I think. For flying pigs. I leave him in the bar while I go retrieve my laptop, dialing Drew on my cell phone as I go. Instead of my nice, I’m-missing-you,stay-out-of-trouble-willya-Drew, I get Mr. Surly. “What are you so grumpy about?” I ask when he humphs at me a second time in as many minutes. “I thought this was supposed to be for your business,” he says in response, and all I can do is look at my cell phone and wonder how he could already know about the ransom DVD. “So did I,” I tell him, “but then I got the damn disk and I can’t exactly ignore it, can I? I mean, a woman’s life might be at stake.” Drew asks what in God’s name I’m talking about and I try to fill him in as I walk down the hall to my suite. “There’s something going on here,” I tell him as I slide the card key into the lock and wait for the green light that allows me to open my door. “The guy whose wife is on the video swears that she’s a prankster, but I just know—” My door jerks open before the light goes on. “Mom?” I say. And then everything goes black.

Chapter Seven I swim my way to consciousness from a black hole deeper and darker than I’ve imagined even in my nightmares. A pain in the back of my head makes it hard to open my eyes and make sense of the cacophony of sounds and words that come at me like assault weapons. “Where’re the paramedics, already?” someone says. “Raise her legs. Raise her head. Raise your voices…” No, no one could have said the last.

923

I open my eyes. Half a dozen people are leaning over me. I don’t recognize any of them, but I know their names. How can that be? Oh, they are all wearing little nameplates. Hotel employees. I am in a hotel. And then it all comes back to me. “My laptop,” I say, trying to sit up and being held to the ground either by gravity or someone behind me. “Is my laptop still here?” “Yes, sir,” someone hovering above me says into a telephone. “She’s coming to, sir. Yes, sir.” He leans down and holds the phone to my ear. “Teddi? Are you alright?” “Drew?” I feel as if I’ve missed something here. Something important. “Who called you?” He tells me that I did. That I was on the phone with him when he heard me scream and then he heard a scuffle. He called security at the hotel and they rushed up. A long distance save. Leave it to my hero. That’s what I should say, only all that comes out is, “Oh.” I sound like someone who just woke up. Oh, wait. I did. “I don’t see a laptop,” a pretty woman in a blue suit that looks a lot like mine, says. Bobbie was right. I look like hotel personnel. “I don’t suppose you put it in the safe as is recommended?” “I left it on the bed,” I admit. Probably means that now the hotel isn’t liable for the theft. She shakes her head sadly. “Drew?” I say into the phone, surprised to find that he is still there. “They stole the laptop with the disk in it.” Drew says he’ll buy me a new laptop and that I should go to the hospital and make sure I don’t have a concussion. I tell him he’s missing the point, but I don’t want to go into the whole thing in front of all these people. If Mrs. Baylor’s kidnappers are anything like the ones on TV, telling the wrong people could result in her death. In fact, telling him could. Maybe that was why Brian pretended that it was all a prank. Maybe he was afraid he’d never get Brenda back alive. And anyone in the room now could be a spy. Could be the kidnapper. Could be the one who is responsible for the splitting pain in my neck. “Is your mother there?” Drew asks. Drew and I are always on the same wavelength. I don’t even have to mention aloud the pain in my neck for him to think of my mother, who—speak of the devil—lets out a scream when she comes into our suite and finds me on the floor. “My god, Teddi!” she cries out. “What have you done now?”

Chapter Eight The hotel staff insists I let the paramedics take me to the hospital. The fact that I’ve been attacked and that I’m now being sent off with strangers in a city where I will have no idea if the ambulance is actually headed

924

for the hospital or to some cabin out of town where they will torture me until I tell them everything I know and who I’ve told it to is lost on everyone but me. For some reason, when I say that, it only convinces everyone around me that I’ve got a concussion and I should have it checked out. And because the pain in my head is increasing exponentially, I go. Six hours later, I am released from the hospital with a prescription for Tylenol with codeine—something my mother carries with her everywhere, along with Valium and a bunch of other prescription drugs she or someone she knows might have a use for. I could have taken hers without ever having left the hotel. I call Drew from the cab on my way back to the hotel and as I pass small hotels with huge blinking signs bigger than they are advertising wedding chapels, I ask him if he thinks it’s okay to talk to him over an unsecured phone. “They said you weren’t concussed?” Drew asks. I remind myself that he isn’t seeing ribbons and bells on every sign. “Don’t say it,” I warn him. He does, anyway. “How could they tell? I mean, what did they use for ‘normal?’” There’s an edge to his voice that takes the humor out of his comment. In response, I say something sarcastic about how I’m so glad he isn’t worrying about me despite the ransom DVD, the attack, and the danger I still may be in. A white limo drives by, neon outlining its roof, its horn tooting “Here Comes the Bride.” “What’s the matter? Can’t the guy you’re with take care of you?” he asks. I deny being with a guy, unless he means Elvis. “Dark hair, dark eyes. Looks like your mother picked out his clothes…” I laugh. “She picked out more than his clothes,” I say, then stop myself. “How do you know, anyway? Don’t tell me you’ve got Mom spying for you.” “Wasn’t that the point of sending me the photo?” he asks. “So I’d know it took you twenty minutes to find someone to hang with?” I pull my eyes from the chapels and take the phone away from my ear to stare at it. I press a button or two and sure enough, there’s a picture of Brian Baylor and I cozy as you please, looking at his wallet over drinks. “You do have a spy,” I say. “Her name is June Bayer, and I don’t think her goal was to make you jealous.” “Photo came from your phone,” he says, not willing to let go of the idea. “Let’s just say I got your message.” “Really? Then why am I calling you?” I ask. “It’s the homicide thing,” he tells me. “You’re a junkie.” The truth is, I do seem drawn to crimes and crime solving. Not that I’d admit that to Drew. Instead, I explain how my mother “borrowed” my phone. Eventually he relents. “So,” I say, sitting back against the seat and letting the darkness envelop me. “Can I tell you my theory?’

925

“Sure,” he says. “I’ve got an hour before I’ve got to catch the Jitney to the Hamptons.” “People are hitting me over the head and you’re going to the Hamptons?” My voice cracks with outrage. He assures me that I’ll still be able to reach him by cell phone. “Except for a while on the bus,” he adds. “You know there are some dead spots way out on the Island.” None of this makes sense to me. Why isn’t he driving out? Why is he going at all? But he distracts me by asking about my theory. “I think,” I whisper into the phone, so that the driver won’t hear me,” that there’s something fishy going on. I mean it may not be exactly as it seems.”

Chapter Nine As the cab crawls down the street, I tell Drew about how Brian and I collided and how I wound up with the packet intended for him. Drew doesn’t say it exactly, but he responds with something akin to a likely story. “Okay,” I say, watching the city lights go by, crowds of people jostling for room on the sidewalks and spilling over into the streets. “Do you think it was just a coincidence that I told Brian I had the DVD in the laptop in my room and a few minutes later I am hit over the head and the laptop is stolen?” “Brian is it now?’ he asks with a lilt, like suddenly he’s Irish. I ignore the innuendo as I watch the fountains in front of a hotel dance to the music that filters into the cab. “And how about how he claimed his wife was a prankster? Was. Not is, but was. No one else here so much as mentioned that, even though they asked me about her. They were all just surprised that Brian hired me to replace his wife, since he’s clearly involved with Peter—” “He hired you?” Drew asks so loudly I have to hold the phone away from my ear or lose my hearing. “To replace his wife?” he asks as the cab driver chuckles. I explain about the mixed-up badges and how he hadn’t hired me at all, but that people assumed since I was wearing his badge— Drew loses interest quickly and asks why I can’t be normal. I tell him he wouldn’t love me if I was. I pay the cab driver and alight from the cab at the circle in front of the hotel, where a scaled-down version of a maharaja’s pleasure dome sits waiting for me. Drew has plenty of time to agree with me, but unfortunately, he chooses to say nothing in response. “Fine,” I say, letting it go. “But I think that Brian—Mr. Baylor—may be involved somehow in this kidnapping.” Drew tells me that I’m letting my imagination run away with me. That he’s checked and there is no report of any kidnapping and no reason to believe any crime has been committed. I remind him of the other times he’s said that and it’s turned out I’ve been right. He suggests that I rest on my laurels and not endanger my great record. “Besides, your mother is there and you really don’t want her following you down this road, do you?” I don’t want her following me anywhere, but that hasn’t stopped her from walking into the bathroom when I’m in it, dogging my steps around the design and software displays, pushing me at various men… “I’m going to just check out this Brian Baylor,” I say thoughtfully. “Ask around a little, inconspicuously…”

926

Drew claims I couldn’t be inconspicuous if I painted myself the same color as a wall and plastered myself to it. “Stay out of it, Teddi. I mean it,” he says in that brooking-no-argument voice he uses when he’s really fed up with me. “I’m just going to chat up some of the regulars,” I say, mentally make a list of questions to which I’d really like some answers. Like how well Brenda and Brian were getting along the last time anyone saw them together. And whether Brenda knows about Peter, the registration guy. “Find out if anyone else got a strange DVD.” “Couldn’t you just go to the seminars and learn about promoting your business on the web?’ Drew asks me. “You know, do what you’re actually supposed to be doing?” “Maybe you could call the Atlantic City police and—” “—Have you arrested? Don’t think I haven’t thought about it, Teddi. Keep butting your nose in someone else’s business and it’s bound to happen.” Before I can come up with a good comeback, he adds, “And when it does, Toots, don’t call me.”

Chapter Ten My mother is holding court in the lobby when I return from the hospital. She makes a big show of fussing over me as if she was terribly worried about me while I was gone. Since she’s got two Big Gulp cups full of silver dollars she didn’t have when I left, I’m thinking—Not. “She’s all right, everyone,” she announces to the small crowd around her. Several people smile at me, a couple say they are glad I’m okay, and that it wasn’t worse than it was. The management, which has apparently been plying my mother with drinks to keep her quiet—or at least quieter— asks after my health and offer me whatever I might like from the bar. All I want is to go upstairs and lie down, and I say as much. I ask about my laptop and am told it hasn’t turned up yet. They doubt that it will. From nowhere, Brian appears at my side. “Your mother thinks it would be a good idea if I walked you to your room,” he says. “You know—make sure no one’s there.” “You don’t want to know what else my mother thinks is a good idea,” I tell him, but from the look on his face I’m guessing she’s made her other wishes clear to him as well. I’d decline his offer just to spite her if I wasn’t so interested in finding out more about Brian and Brenda and hear if he’s managed to reach her. I let him fall in step beside me without saying as much. “So your boyfriend’s a New York City detective,” he says as we enter the elevator. I correct him, telling him that Drew is a Nassau County cop, that Nassau is on Long Island, and that my mother was no doubt trying to impress him with the big city. “Well, it worked. I’m impressed,” he says as he pushes the button for my floor without my telling him. “Have you spoken to your wife yet?” I ask as he stands just a little too close to me and I begin to hug the elevator wall. “Actually, no, but I got a text message from her that she’s gone to visit her mother for a few days,” he says.

927

Rather convenient, I think. “I’m really upset about missing the seminar this morning,” I lie. The whole conference is paling in comparison to a kidnapping. “Did you go?” “I did,” he says, telling me it was very informative and it was a shame I missed it. The elevator doors open on my floor and I think several thoughts at once. I don’t want to go into my suite again. My head still hurts from the last time. And I don’t want to ask Brian in because I don’t want a critique from my mother when the bed isn’t mussed, and the bed will so not be mussed. On the other hand, I’m sure Brian is hiding something and I want to know what it is. Is he in on the kidnapping, or is he just trying to keep me off the track to save his wife’s life? It occurs to me that I could probably learn more in Brian’s room than in my own. “You don’t happen to have any notes from the session, do you?” I ask as I walk really, really slowly toward my door. “Sorry,” he says with a shrug. “But there were handouts. I have a copy in my room. I could have them duplicated if there aren’t any extras laying around.” I tell him that I’d like to see them, and fish for an invitation to his room. “Sure, sure,” he says, steering me back toward the elevator. His grasp on my arm tightens. “And then you can tell me what it is you really want.”

Chapter Eleven Playing coy isn’t one of my talents but Brian doesn’t seem to notice. He slips the key into his door and me into his room in one slick motion. “So how serious is it with you and this detective?” he asks me, taking the cardigan that’s draped over my shoulders and tossing it on the bed. “Why? Are you looking for some sort of outside help?” I ask him. He looks befuddled, so I add, “about your wife? I’m sure Drew could—” He sits heavily on the bed and takes both my hands in his. “Can I really be honest with you?” he asks, looking up into my face. “Absolutely,” I say. “Maybe I can help you. I’ve been involved in a couple of murders and I—” “Murders? Are you offering to get rid of my wife?” I don’t know which of us is more shocked. “Of course not. I’m offering to help find her,” I say, trying to pull my hands out of his grasp. This is not going the way I want it to. “Are you asking to have her killed?” He runs one hand through his hair. “For God’s sake, no! Look, my wife isn’t lost. And she’s not at her mother’s even though that’s what I told you. The fact is that I know exactly where she is and what she’s doing.” I wait for him to explain.

928

“She’s having an affair. Not her first. Not her last. Every time I’m out of town, her mother conveniently takes ill and Brenda visits her. Also, conveniently, Brenda can’t use her cell phone in the hospital, so I can’t call her. That’s why I didn’t jump to call her yesterday when you asked me to. I knew I wouldn’t be able to reach her.” I ask if she couldn’t really be visiting her mother. “Not without any charges from Texas on the bill. Not without charges for tickets. None on our joint cards. And then I open a bill for a card I don’t know about with charges for a motel in the next town from ours. Restaurants. A place called Dirty Sadie’s Dirty Underwear.” His shoulders sag and he sniffs. “Of course, the bill was addressed to her. I wasn’t meant to see it.” “Okay, but if you’d just seen that video,” I tell him, “You’d know that this is serious. Not that a cheating wife isn’t serious. Believe me, I know. I had a cheating husband. But I really think—” “Then you know what it feels like to be made a fool of,” he says. “She used to come with me to these conventions and everyone here knows her. They all ask me why she isn’t here. I know they’re talking about me behind my back.” “Not about that,” I say before I can stop myself. “I mean…” “What?” he asks, and looks at me until I squirm. “Oh. That.” I don’t say anything. All that comes to mind is Jerry Seinfeld saying “not that there’s anything wrong with that…” “It’s not true, of course. Peter and I are just friends, but people love to talk.” I nod, because what else am I supposed to do? And I ask if I can use his powder room. He begs for a moment to straighten it up, and vanishes into the bathroom, closing the door. This gives me a moment to look around his room, check on two dirty wine glasses, neither of which have lipstick smears. I slide open one drawer and find nothing interesting. I think he says something and I ask him “what?” but get no reply. I finger another but the bathroom door opens and Brian says it’s all mine. “Sorry for the delay. I live like a pig when I’m alone.” I slide past him into the john and shut the door behind me. Everything looks tidy and in place. Only one shave kit on the sink and one brush on the vanity. The phone rings in his room and I hear him answer it just as I’m peeking behind the shower curtain where a bunch of towels are piled haphazardly. A moment later I hear a knock. “Good news,” he says through the door. “They found your laptop. It’s downstairs.” “Great!” I shout back to him, flush the toilet and run the water while I look for I don’t know what. “How do you know?” Brian says he called downstairs to check for me. “So now you can show me that video,” he says. “Unless it was all a bad dream.”

Chapter Twelve

929

We’re caught going out of Brian’s room together and raise a few eyebrows in the hallway. Brian seems inordinately pleased and makes a point of saying hello to several women by name, as well as the maid as he takes my elbow and guides me toward the elevator. Once we’re in the elevator he remembers that I’ve left my sweater in his room. “I’ll get it and meet you down there,” he says, slipping out before the doors close. I punch Drew’s automatic dial on my cell phone to bring him up to date, but get his voice mail. I can’t help but wonder if he’s going to the Hamptons with someone else. Is he staying at someone’s beach house? Whose? In the lobby I realize I have no idea where to pick up the laptop, so I just go to the concierge desk and explain that the computer’s been found. The manager appears out of thin air and seems surprised. “Really?” he asks. “I hadn’t heard it was recovered.” For ten minutes people scurry around and open doors I didn’t realize were in the back wall of the registration area making phone calls to desks five feet away from where we are standing. No one has a clue about my laptop. Finally Brian shows up and asks if I’ve gotten the computer yet. I tell him no one seems to know where it is. “They have it at the information desk at the conference,” he tells me. “Didn’t I tell you that?” “No, you didn’t,” I say over my shoulder as I hurry to one of the ballrooms to pick it up. I’m greeted at the information desk by a woman who could pass for one of Charlie’s Angels—the one with all the hair flying away from her face. It seems suspended in mid air, like she’s just left a wind tunnel. “So you’re Teddi Bayer,” she says. “I love your web site!” She leans over the desk and whispers, sotto voce, “I copy your tips all the time!” I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond to that. While I know that “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” I’m more pissed than flattered. Since you can’t stop people from ripping your ideas off the Net, I manage to say “thanks” without choking on it. “Your mom won a trip to a spa down the block this morning,” she tells me. “Technically she wasn’t allowed to enter, but she said she was representing you…” “And I take it she’s representing me at the spa, too,” I say. So far I’ve had my ideas ripped off, my prize ripped off and my computer ripped off. Which reminds me… “I understand someone found my laptop,” I say. It’s more of a question. I just leave off the “where is it, you airhead who thinks nothing of stealing?” “You lost your laptop?” she says, like it’s a cool thing to do. “Wow. Wish I’d found it! Bet there are a million great ideas in it. I loved the one about changing the knobs on your bathroom cabinets to give the place a totally retro look.” Brian, clearly as ticked as I am by this point, reaches around the desk and pulls up my laptop. “Here you go,” he says. “That’s yours?” the woman says. “And it was here all along? And I didn’t even see it? Wow. How is that even possible?”

930

Since my name was on it in three places, I’m wondering the same exact thing.

Chapter Thirteen “I think he took it,” I tell my mother when she gets back from the world’s best spa—which I really must try sometime. Or so she says. “The laptop. And I think he’s the one who returned it—after he removed the disk.” “You should tell someone then, Teddi,” my mother says. She’s checking her wrinkles in the mirror and hasn’t noticed that I am telling someone. Her. While she fusses with her hair, upset that it’s been mussed by her facial, I tell her I have a plan. She does her patented eye roll. “And it involves you.” Her hands freeze mid-air. “You remember To Catch a Thief?” I ask her. She nods her head, intrigued. “You remember how Grace Kelly’s mother got involved investigating Cary Grant?” “I’ll be Grace Kelly,” my mother says. “Be grateful I’m not asking you to be Cary Grant,” I almost say. Instead, I admit it’s not exactly the same, but just mentioning Grace, Cary, and rich people at a casino seems to have hooked her. “What do you want me to do?” she asks. I explain how I need her to occupy Brian Baylor for an hour or so while I search his room. “And you have to keep his friend Peter with you, too. Can you can do that?” My mother huffs. She takes out a pack of cigarettes despite the fact that the hotel and I have both declared this a no-smoking suite and lights up. “Baby, I can do that with my eyes closed. When do you plan on doing this?” I tell her as soon as possible, which gets delayed an hour while she gets ready for her “performance.” While she dresses, we plot. When we eventually wind up downstairs, we find the men at the bar. They jump apart as we enter the room. I sidle up to Brian and order a Black Russian from the bar. “Have you heard anything from Brenda?” I ask. He shakes his head as if he doesn’t care. My mother elbows her way between the two men and glances at the wine list on the bar. “Champagne. Bollinger Blanc de Noir,” she tells the bartender when he delivers my drink. According to the menu, that goes for $750 a bottle. Before I can stop the bartender, he’s scurrying off to get it while Mom crooks her pointers at both Peter and Brian, drawing them in closer and closer until they are nearly touching her cheeks. “I broke the bank,” she says, pretending to whisper. She puts a finger against to her lips. “Our secret, right? Like when someone wins the lottery?” They both assure her that her secret is safe with them and they look at me for verification. I smile a little smile that implies I’ve swallowed not just the canary, but the whole damn pet shop. “A couple of glasses for my friends here,” my mother tells the bartender, gesturing to the pair. “And Maseratis.” “Mom!” I shout. “Maybe you should come upstairs.” I tell the men she’s already had a few upstairs.

931

Mom shakes her head, which wobbles a little as she feigns intoxication. She’s nearly got me convinced, and I’m in on the plan. “You go upstairs,” she tells me angrily. “She’s been like this for hours,” I tell Brian. “I had to disconnect our phone to stop her from ordering everything on QVC.” “Teddi needs a mink coat,” she tells Peter, gesturing toward me. “Every woman should have a mink coat.” “I can’t take it anymore,” I tell the two men who are happy enough to drink one of the world’s most expensive champagnes. I can’t imagine what we’ll tell my father. “Could you two watch her for a little while? Make sure she doesn’t buy the whole hotel? She keeps talking about investing in something.” Like shooting fish in a barrel, or whatever that expression is, this is almost too easy. The guys don’t even notice when I leave the bar. Upstairs, on Brian’s floor, I locate the maid he said hello to earlier and tell her that I’ve locked myself out. “But isn’t that the gentleman’s room?” she asks me. I look at her shyly, barely able to meet her eyes. “He sent me up ahead to…put on something…you know…comfortable.” I shake the little bag in my hand like it contains a secret from Victoria instead of my little camera, gloves, and a bug I hope to plant in Brian’s phone. Nothing like having an ex in the security business and a boyfriend who’s a cop. She lets me in and I quickly lock the door behind me. Ten minutes later I’ve located the DVD in the player under the TV. I take it out and go to put it in my bag just as the door opens…

Chapter Fourteen “Sit,” Brian says, and behind him there is a man filling the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for me to comply. He has a nose like a hawk and beady grey eyes to go with it. He wears the same navy suit as the rest of the hotel employees, but his pocket bears no name badge. “The police are on the way.” “Oh, sure,” I say. Frankly, I don’t know how many times I’ve used the same ruse. It never works. “And who’s this? The house detective?” Sadly, that is just who he turns out to be. I claim to be able to explain, but when they give me the chance, it isn’t easy. I start with the DVD, pulling it out of my bag—a maneuver that nearly gets me taken down on the floor by the house detective—and beg them to play it. Brian takes it from my hands and heads for the television. At the last minute he veers to the left and smashes it on the edge of the desk. It shatters into several frightening looking shards. “Look at that!” I shout. “Now there’s a weapon! Do you realize you can take DVDs on planes, but you can’t take tweezers? Someone should do something about that, don’t you think?” They both look at me like I’m a lunatic. I’ve forgotten that it’s only Drew who is used to my babbling incoherently when I’m nervous. These men just think I’m crazy.

932

“His wife is being held hostage,” I tell the hotel dick. Great. Now I’m suddenly Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca—the hotel dick. Next I’ll have them rounding up the usual suspects. Oh, wait. That would be me. I fight to stay calm and recover my composure. “I saw his wife on a DVD, bound and gagged, with a ransom note—” “You know his wife?” the dick…er…detective asks me. I admit I don’t, just as two uniformed cops show up at the door. “Thank God!” I say, grateful the cavalry has arrived. “This man’s wife—” I start for, I don’t know, maybe the hundredth time. “This woman broke into my room,” Brian says. “ She’s been following me around the hotel, she talked her way into my room earlier, and then she planted a DVD and claims that I…” He points at the broken DVD and shakes his head as if he can’t quite comprehend what’s going on. “Planted it?” I say. “I—” The dick, acting like one, tells me to “shut it.” He signals for Brian to continue to fill the cops in. “I thought she was just a kook. She seemed hard up for a man, and her mother went after me like a homing device locked on my watch or something.” He waves the arm with the Patek Phillippe like it isn’t worth more than my house. “She kept making wild accusations about me, and then about my friend Peter. Again, I thought she was just a bit loopy. Then she started in with my wife being kidnapped. I’m embarrassed to admit I ignored her.” “I told you I saw her on the DVD you broke—” I start, but he interrupts me. “Yeah. Well, now the fact is, my wife is apparently missing. And this woman, who’s been after me from the moment I got here, knew about it—knew way too much about it—before I had any idea. Before it happened, I believe. She managed to bump into me at registration where I think she tried to plant that disk she keeps talking about in my welcome packet. Only her mother—who is clearly in on it—screwed it up and she wound up with it. I think,” Brian says, pausing for a deep breath, “that if there is a kidnapping, if my wife really is being held, this woman may have engineered it.” I’m too stunned to respond. “Look,” I finally say, casting a sharp eye at the house detective as I address the police. “Just call my…Detective Drew Scoones of the Nassau County Police Department. He will vouch for me and tell you that I know what I’m talking about.” The police look at me like I’m speaking in tongues. It goes from bad to worse as they suggest I accompany them to the station house. “If you’ll just call Drew,” I plead with them. “You can come willingly,” one of the officers says. “Or I can start reading you your rights.”

Chapter Fifteen “Just Google me if you don’t believe me,” I tell the two police officers I’ve been locked up with for what feels like a week of interrogation but is probably just a couple of hours. “Or put my name in the Newsday search engine. Really. I help the police.”

933

That they are not impressed is an understatement. I ask if I need a lawyer. “Why would you need a lawyer? Unless you’re actually involved in this kidnapping?” the younger one of them asks in response. I think somebody got the NYPD Blue box set for Christmas. “So then there was a kidnapping?” “So you say,” the older cop answers. We’ve been at this for hours and we’re getting nowhere. “Have you tried again to reach Detective Scoones?” I ask. “Yeah,” they tell me. “No luck.” “Listen. After I got the DVD I went downstairs to the conference and asked a bunch of people if they got weird DVDs. Would I do that if I was the kidnapper? Send myself the DVD and then go around asking people if they got one like it?” It’s a simple question. Their look gives me a simple answer. They think I would. “Well, I wouldn’t. And I didn’t even know Brian or his wife until I got to the conference.” “And yet you were in his room,” the older cop says. “Twice.” I don’t respond, and so they elucidate. “Earlier in the day, when one of the maids and several other people saw him leading you out of his room by the arm and then again, after telling the maid that you were—” “I know what I told her,” I say. I just didn’t know they knew. Must have been how Brian and the house detective knew I was in his room. I should have tipped her when she let me in, I guess. “I just made that up so she’d let me into his room so I could look for the disk—which, let me remind you, he destroyed. Don’t you find that odd?” “We find a lot of things about this case odd,” the older cop says. “A lot seems to be ‘made up.’” He puts quotes around the words with his fingers. “Yeah,” the younger cop says. “Maybe you’re making this up.” I know how good cop/bad cop works. Only neither seems to be the good cop. “Or that crap about you solving lots of crimes in New York.” “It’s easy to check me out,” I say. “Call the Second Precinct. They all know me.” They may not love me, but they sure know me. They concede that the Nassau Police know me. This doesn’t seem to work in my favor. I’m worrying about my mother. Can I call her and let her know what’s happening? I ask. They nod, and after I pull out my cell phone, they ask if they can have a look at it, since I’ve produced it. I’m well aware that being innocent doesn’t mean you should just let the police go fishing, so I try to think if I made any calls that might make me look guilty. I don’t know anyone in Atlantic City, so I say, “sure,” trying to appear cooperative, and I hand it over. They offer me a precinct phone which I take. My mother isn’t in our room. I try her cell while the boys in blue—actually gray in Atlantic City—fiddle with my phone.

934

She answers cautiously. “This is June Bayer. I can’t take your call, blah, blah, blah. Beeeep.” There’s plenty of noise in the background so I figure she is in the casino. “Mom, it’s me. And that was the phoniest beep I’ve ever heard.” “Teddi? Where are you? I’ve been looking all over for you. Someone said you were arrested, but I can’t believe that. You aren’t under arrest, are you?” she asks. “Not yet,” is the best I can do. I tell her to keep trying Drew until she gets him, but she is sure that Drew Scoones is not the answer to my problem. My father, she says before hanging up, is calling Jersey lawyers. And the good times just keep rolling. The police officers jot down a phone number on a pad and ask me why I called it yesterday. I have no idea who it belongs to. A restaurant? One of my mother’s spas? “Try Brenda Baylor’s house,” one of the officers says. “Wanna tell us why you called the Baylor house if you don’t know them?”

Chapter Sixteen I deny ever having called Brenda Baylor while my phone, nestled in the detective’s hand, says otherwise. They are skeptical—and I can’t blame them—that I dialed the number by mistake. “Did you loan your phone to anyone?” One of them asks as he is scrolling through my dialed calls. It would be so easy to say I handed the phone over to Brian and he called home. Only I didn’t. And there are calls to various Atlantic City numbers preceding and following the call to the Baylors’ house by seconds, including one to local information. The last call in the sequence is to Drew and shows a picture attachment. Ah. The obvious answer must show on my face, which has been known to telegraph every thought that passes through my head. “Remember calling now?” the detective asks. “You could have been—” There’s a knock at the door and he gets up to answer it. I can hear my mother’s voice demanding to see me. Now if these cops are true to TV cops, they’ll put my mother in another room and play us off against each other. Or at least try to. “Why don’t you take Mrs. Bayer into Room Three,” the detective says, like he, too, has read the script. He adds that he’ll be in shortly to ask her a few questions. “Lawyer up, Mom,” I shout, which turns out to be the last words I get to say to her—maybe ever. The cops start talking about mother/daughter scams and grifters and partners-in-crime. “The only crime my mother is guilty of is trying to get me married again,” I say. “And while I do think that’s a hanging offense, they’ve yet to put it on the books.” My patience is about exhausted and I’m getting ready to demand my one phone call. I’m not counting the one I made to my mother, since the call is supposed to be for help! Of course, I think that one call rule only kicks in if you’ve been arrested, which I haven’t been. Yet.

935

There’s another knock on the door and this time when the detective opens it I hear male laughter coming from the squad room. The detective excuses himself and shuts the door behind him. Five minutes go by. Ten. Long enough for me work myself into a snit worth of the Bayer name. I intend to give this entire precinct—this entire city—an extra-strength headache they won’t forget. The door opens. In strolls the first detective, smiling. In walks the second detective, snickering. In walks a third detective with a smirk on his face I know only too well. I know the face, too. And the swagger. And the parts he’s swagging. “Drew!” It takes everything I have not to run into his arms. And then I remember all the laughter in the squad room. “How long have you been here?” He looks at his watch, but doesn’t give me an answer. Someone offers to get my mother and Drew and I both say, “No!” at the same time, but it’s too late. We know it when we hear the shrill sound of my mother’s voice. “Spoonbreath! I should have known you were behind this. I’m surprised we weren’t executed.” I assure Mom that Drew is here to get us out. “Aren’t you?” I ask, suddenly realizing that no one’s said I’m free to go. “Who needs his help?’ my mother asks. “It’s not like you haven’t moved on…” Drew glances at me and then gets a mock-alarmed look on his face, like he’s taking my mother seriously. “Oh, right,” he says. “The guy in the photo.” The detectives don’t bother hiding their smiles. “Laugh,” my mother says. “You’ll be laughing out the other side of your face when she’s Mrs. Brian Baylor…” “Mother,” I say over some raucous laughter from just beyond the open doorway. “I think the man is involved in his wife kidnapping, and he may be about to murder her for all we know.” I look pointedly at the detectives who have yet to take me seriously. “Well,” my mother says calmly, a smug smile on her botoxed face. “Then he’ll be available, won’t he?”

Chapter Seventeen With Drew beside me, it doesn’t take more than a few minutes to convince the Atlantic City police that Brenda Baylor truly is in danger. Drew vouches for my uncanny ability to sniff out trouble. Okay, maybe not exactly. What he says is that I have an uncanny ability to attract it, wind up in it, and sometimes even get myself out of it. I’ve never seen him play to an audience the way he’s playing to these cops. He should have gone into stand-up. I convince my mother that the events of the day have taken a toll on her latest face lift and that she really should go back to the spa for another facial. The entire department seems sorry to see her go, and several of the officers argue over who will get to take her back. Okay, that, too, is a bit of an exaggeration. They fight over who will take her back, but it’s the guy who draws the short straw who has to do it.

936

I go over all the facts as I know them, up to and including Brian breaking the disk so that my evidence is gone and the police throwing up their hands, saying that unless she’s reported missing, or until a ransom demand is made, there is nothing they can do. I’m not certain if this is true, or if they are just trying to get rid of me so they can check it all out on their own. It doesn’t matter, because once we leave the precinct Drew asks for all the details again and he, at least, is on the case. It’s too hot to sit in his rental car and talk, so we go back to the hotel, where the “Using the Web to Increase your Design Business” convention has folded its tents and been replaced by several hundred fifteen year-old cheerleaders competing for best… squad. A porno videographer’s dream, Drew calls it, but I notice his head is on swivel and I have to elbow him in the ribs when the elevator doors open for us to go in. Three floors and a hallway later, I open the door to the suite I share with my mother, and Drew lets out an appreciative whistle. I’m grateful he didn’t do that in the lobby with the cheerleaders. “How long will your mother be undergoing reconstruction?” Drew asks, eyeing the two king-size beds. “There’s a kidnapped woman,” I remind him, but he’s kicked the door closed behind him and he’s doing this incredible thing with his tongue on the back of my neck. Not to mention he’s close enough for me to feel just how much he’s missed me. Nice. “We don’t really know that,” he murmurs against my ear as he bunches up my skirt until it’s around my waist. “No stockings?” he says, fingering the edge of my panties. “Hot in Atlantic city in July,” I tell him. “I’ll say,” he agrees, and before you know it I’m welcoming him to Atlantic City big time. “Oh my gosh,” I say suddenly, trying to sit up despite 185 pounds of hunger tempting me to leave my hips exactly where they are. “I saved the room!” “Saved it from what?” Drew asks. It comes out “faved infum fut?” since his mouth is…um…occupied. “Not from,” I say, twisting out of his grasp and scooting off the bed. “On! Saved it on my hard drive. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that sooner. God, I hope they didn’t erase it.” I rush to the desk and fire up the laptop. Drew doesn’t bother finding his pants. He comes and stands next to me, his privates sadly accepting “at ease.” The laptop—I really do have to name this baby—springs to life, and there it is. I twist her around so that Drew can see the screen. He admits it’s a nice room, but since I captured the frame before Brenda was in the picture, pointing to just beyond the screen and shouting, “she’s right over there, in a chair,” doesn’t convince him of anything. The gun on the table, though, does.

Chapter Eighteen “I’ve seen that couch somewhere else,” I tell Drew, enlarging the photo until I can see the little flowers printed on the fabric. “I just can’t remember where.” He tells me to “think” like that isn’t exactly what I’m doing. It might help if he put his pants on. “Shouldn’t you call the police?” I ask. Drew loves it when I say that—Not. He thinks I’m implying that he isn’t exactly that, even though he knows I mean the local police.

937

“We haven’t got anything new to give them,” he says, staring at the picture as if he’ll remember where I saw the couch. “In a magazine?” he suggests. “We have the fact that you believe me now,” I say, to the first statement, and, “no,” to the next. “The gun could be just a prop,” he says. He finally realizes that he’s bottomless and reaches for his jeans. All good things, I suppose, must come to an end. “And the woman tied, looking terrified could be…?” I say in response. “We don’t have the woman here, do we?” he asks, accusation tingeing his voice and making him sound like he’s the only one who regrets that as we both stare at the laptop. I close my eyes and try to picture the couch somewhere else, somewhere other than the room on the screen. People are walking by the couch. Someone is sitting on the couch. Someone…someone… My mother! “Here,” I say. “Downstairs. One of the room set-ups.” Drew studies the picture. Behind the couch is a window. The curtains are drawn, but you can see light coming through them. “I don’t think—” he starts to say. “If we knew whose set up it was, we’d know who has her, wouldn’t we?” I ask Drew. “I mean, they must have had the couch somewhere else—where they’re holding Brenda—before they brought it here for the show, right?” “There could be more than one of these couches,” Drew says. “Couldn’t there?” I tell him that technically, yes, there could be. But, I ask him, what are the chances that two Chesterfields were done in the same cotton mini-print? He shrugs. “One in a…?” “No one does Chesterfields in mini-prints. Especially not Scalamandre mini-prints. Taupe Scalamadre miniprints, at that. I’d bet my life it’s the same couch.” That seems to be good enough for him. “Who did the set-ups downstairs? Was it your friend Brian?” “Brian is not my friend,” I say and he gives me a look that says yeah, yeah. “Lots of designers had their work downstairs. The software companies were using the set-ups to show how to post your work to the Net.” “So more than one?” he asks. “Maybe a dozen.” I smile because I realize how I know that. The show brochure listed all the exhibitors. And included a map. If I could remember where on the floor the couch was… “Or a name,” Drew says as I look for the brochure among the gazillion handouts I still managed to acquire— without actually attending a single seminar. I pull it out from the pile. “Baylor’s name there?” I scan the map. “Nope. But his friend Peter Radcliff’s is,” I say, and Drew types Peter Radcliff, interior designer into Google. “Looky, looky,” Drew says, pointing at the monitor.

938

Peter Radcliff’s address is listed as Atlantic City, New Jersey. Drew maps the address, stands up, and heads for the door. “You stay here,” he tells me when I grab my purse. “I’ll pick up a couple of uniforms and head over to Radcliff’s.” I’d argue with him, but having spent the better part of a day with the Atlantic City police, I think I’ve had my fill so I let him go. I am sitting in my chair, studying the map on the screen when my cell phone rings. “Teddi?” I hear my mother say. “It’s me. Brian has worked out the nicest surprise for you. Wait until you see it. What are you wearing?” “Are you in the hotel, Mom? Is Brian with you?” “At least three carats,” my mother whispers. “Not a ring, but—” “Where are you?” I ask, panic raising my voice several octaves. “What’s the address here?” I hear her ask. “You have to hurry over, darling. And for God’s sake, Teddi, wear something fabulous.” They’ve drugged my mother if she thinks I own anything fabulous. And then she reads me the address I am staring at on the screen.

Chapter Nineteen As soon as I hang up, I call Drew’s cell. Ring… Ring…. Drew’s is probably the only phone that still has an ordinary ringer instead of some classic melody, freight train rumble or hot new song. Maybe that’s standard police issue. Ring… Ring…. Of course, I shouldn’t be hearing it ringing, unless Drew is hiding under the bed. I follow the sound of the phone and find only it and not its owner. I figure it’ll take him a good twenty minutes to get to the police station. In that time, my mother could be dead. So I grab my purse, head on out and grab a cab that drops me a block away from Peter Radcliff’s Design Studio. No sign of the police yet. From the Google map I know that there is a small bungalow behind the studio. I figure that’s where they’ve got my mother—and Brenda Baylor, too. I also know they’ve tricked my mother into summoning me here to shut me up—something that, in my case, could only be accomplished by killing me. I am bound and determined to wait for Drew and the Atlantic City Police, but the fact that my mother is in danger makes me a little reckless. All right, all right. Yes, I’m always a little reckless. I walk close to the buildings, sidling up against the hot bricks, trying to be inconspicuous as I near the bungalow. When I reach the side of the bungalow I stop to listen. There are voices coming from just around the corner.

939

“Our little Teddi should be here any minute,” one of them says. “Then we can get the whole thing over with.” “I’m not comfortable with this,” another voice—Brian’s—says. “Now there are three of them to get rid of. Why can’t we just do the ransom, like we planned? Daddy pays the eight million— ” “—and Brenda gets it. And not only will she hold the purse strings, but she’ll hold the scheme over our heads forever. ‘I’ll tell if you ever see Peter again. I’ll tell if you don’t do exactly what I say.’ She’s bad enough now, isn’t she? And she’s only got the old man’s trust fund, so far. Remember what she made you do for the Jaguar? You remember Pam? Besides, this Teddi chick knows too much.” “But three of them?” “Look. This is even better. We kill them here, drive the truck out under the bridge and set it on fire. In a week or so, I report the van stolen and we get the insurance money for that, too.” “Keep your voice down, for Christ’s sake. Brenda’s got ears like a wolf.” “Don’t worry. The old lady’s talking her ears off. And Brenda’s giving her the bit about how she’s happy to divorce you and take the generous settlement. Like you’re rolling in dough and there’s plenty for all of them.” “If only that damn disk—” “You’re the one that dropped the package, Bri. Now I gotta clean up the mess.” “Don’t go blaming this on me. If you’d just given me the disk to begin with, but no, you wanted it authentic. ‘It should come in the packet,’ you said.” “It should have. I had it all planned out.” There’s a pause and then, “She should be here any minute. We better get back in the studio so we’re there when she walks in. Brenda will keep an eye on the mother.” “We actually might wind up not having to kill her, after all,” Brian says. “The old lady might just talk her to death!” Their laugher fades as they head for the showroom. Once I hear the door to the main building close, I figure it’s safe to peek in through the window. My mother is sitting on the taupe sofa from the video, Brenda is across from her. They appear to be having tea. I move to where only my mother will see me and put my finger to my lips to silence her. “Teddi!” she says, clearly in the dark about the danger she’s in. I should have known better. Now we’re both in that danger. Brenda turns and smiles at me, motioning for me to come around to the door. I figure I have about two minutes to convince her that her life’s in danger and get the three of us out of there. Only the fact that she is now standing beside me with a gun in her hand makes me think I’d better talk fast.

Chapter Twenty “Listen to me,” I tell her, as she motions me into the bungalow. “They’re planning to kill you, too.” “Teddi!” my mother says as I step inside. “Wait until you see—” She senses something is wrong, but she hasn’t seen Brenda’s gun yet. “Lock the door so they can’t get in,” I tell Brenda. “Give me two minutes and I’ll tell you their whole plan.”

940

Brenda waves the gun at me, signaling me to join my mother on the couch. “What are you doing?” my mother asks Brenda. And then she blanches. “Oh my God. Teddi, what have you gotten us into now?” I assure my mother we’re going to be all right. “Drew is coming with the police. They should be here any minute.” Brenda rolls her eyes. We’ve all seen too many cop shows, it seems. “Peter and Brian are lovers,” I tell Brenda. “And they aren’t planning a ménage a trois.” I tell her what I’ve overheard, and I can see that she is unsure. “They’re going to get your father to pay the ransom, but you’ll already be dead.” “That’s ridiculous,” she says, but I sense that one little chink in her armor. “You don’t know—” “Remember Pam?” I ask, wondering if Drew and the Atlantic City Police will arrive in time. And hoping that Brenda doesn’t call my bluff. “What Brian did for the Jaguar? Did you think he wouldn’t resent it?” I strike a nerve. “How do you—” I see Brian and Peter out the window, heading for us. Quickly I tell Brenda, “I told you. I heard them. You have to believe me—your own life depends on it.” I see her wavering. I see the waver begin to edge toward panic. “Tell them to get the truck ready. To clear out anything that might be traced to them,” I say. “But—” “Listen to her,” my mother says. Her voice is strong and sure. “My daughter knows what she’s doing.” She shoots me a look that asks if she’s right. I nod. Brenda opens the door a crack. “We’re just having some tea,” she says brightly. “Everything is under control. You better get the truck emptied.” From behind the curtain, I watch Brian climb into the back of the truck. He hands two teak 50s lamps down to Peter. Hands down a few more things. “Isn’t there anything heavy in there?” I ask Brenda, and then see Peter climb into the truck at last. I rush out the door and slam the truck doors shut. Brenda and my mother rush out after me and lean against the door while I slip the padlock into place just as we hear sirens wailing closer.

*** “You happen to see the chapel on the way over here?” Drew asks me later as we sit in the hotel bar having a drink. “Chapel?” I ask innocently. “Wedding chapel. You know.” He takes my hand in his. “I hear you can get married here with no waiting period.”

941

“I think you have Atlantic City confused with Vegas,” I say, taking a gulp of my White Russian like it’s a milk shake. “Mmm hmm,” he says, snuggling up a little closer to me. “You were really incredible today,” he says. “No,” I admit. “You’re the one who was incredible, coming down here after me, convincing the police to listen to me. My ex-husband wouldn’t have gone two blocks out of his way to change my tire, never mind save my neck.” He reminds me that he’s not my ex-husband. Something in his voice says more than that and I race over it to tell him that I was just lucky. “If I hadn’t overheard Brian and Peter talking, I’d be toast under the bridge right now.” “I wouldn’t have let that happen,” he says, and he looks at me as if he’d move the world to keep me safe. But I know better than to count on that. From behind us we hear, “If she had to rely on you—” and we both turn around, surprised to see my mother. “I thought you were upstairs resting,” I say. “A mother never rests,” she says. “Especially a mother with a daughter like you, Teddi,” she says, placing herself between Drew and me. Drew offers to buy my mother a drink. “No thanks,” she says, waving to a man at the end of the bar and signaling him to come over. “Max is buying. He is the CEO of a Fortune 500 Company and he’s anxious to meet Teddi after what I’ve told him about her.” “Really?” Drew says, using that you-don’t-say voice that means he isn’t buying what my mother is selling. He calls over the bartender and orders us some champagne so as not to be outdone. As the man comes closer I realize there is something vaguely familiar about him. I try to place him. “The limo driver?” I say as he shakes my hand. “His twin brother,” my mother shouts, trying to be heard above our laughter and the clinking of our champagne glasses as we toast each other.

942

The Sheriff's Wife by Anna DeStefano Amelia Reed loves being a mother to her young son, but she is also passionate about her career as a teacher. Her husband, Dillon, resists her decision to go back to work because of an agreement made years before, making Amelia feel that his faith in her is lost. Can't he understand that she loves their son just as much as he does? Why can't he see that, like him, she needs to do what makes her happy? Sheriff Dillon Reed is in love with his wife, but is disappointed that she wants to go back to work after they had decided she would stay home with their son. Concerned for their child's well-being, Dillon finds it difficult to understand why his wife can't see things his way. All of the arguing with Amelia forces Dillon to leave their home, but he knows deep down that there still might be a chance for them to be a family once again. Will he be able to make Amelia see things his way? Or will one seed of doubt force their relationship to end?

Chapter One "Not now, Richardson." Sheriff Dillon Reed looked up from his paperwork and scowled at the deputy standing in his office doorway. It was 7:30 a.m. on a picturesque October Monday in Pineview, Georgia, and Dillon had been at work for hours. The earlier he got to the office the better these days. "But sir… " The deputy didn't step into Dillon's office. No one much did anymore without an outright invitation. The other man jingled the ever-present change in his pocket. He was searching for words, nervously shuffling standard issue, so ugly they could only be worn with the uniform shoes. "I thought you'd want to know…" "I'm working on payroll, Richardson. Spit it out." Dillon returned to the timesheets he'd been signing. He wasn't even supposed to be clocked in for another thirty minutes, and whatever administrative snafu needed his attention at the moment could wait. "Distract me now, and you might still be looking for your check next month this time." "Yes, sir." The respectfully delivered sir sounded a bit like Richardson wished he could flip his boss the bird instead. Which was fine with Dillon, except the man still looked downright determined to deliver whatever message he was there to deliver. "I thought you'd like to know, dispatch just sent fire and paramedics out on call…" Dillon checked the watch his wife had given him on their last anniversary. "It's a bit early, but there's nothing unusual about that. Where's the fire?" "Well, it's your house, sir." "What?" Dillon shot to his feet. "A fire was called in from your house." His house, where his wife and son would just now be getting up and ready for school. Dillon's brain reengaged with his body. He blew past Richardson at a dead sprint. Ten minutes later, he skidded his cruiser to a halt beside the emergency vehicles parked in front of the house. Heavy duty hoses snaked across the driveway, where water was running down and puddling at the curb by the fire engine — confirmation of an active fire. Dillon threw open the cruiser door.

943

"Amelia?" he yelled, dodging the rescue personnel and equipment blocking his path as he made his way to the house. "Tyler?" "Sheriff!" Ralph Flanders, the Pineview Fire Chief, hustled over to him. "They're okay." "Where are they?" Dillon grabbed the man's arm. "My wife and son, where are they?" "They're fine, Dillon. They're over at the neighbors while we finish up here. There was a fire in the kitchen, it seemed to have spread there from the utility room off the garage —" Dillon set off for the Jackson's house next door without waiting for the rest. He didn't give a damn if the whole house burned to the ground. He needed to see his family for himself. "Daddy!" Tyler's crooked grin widened as he caught sight of Dillon from the neighbor's front porch. He jumped off the top step, flying into Dillon's outstretched arms. "Daddy, you're here!" Dillon curled his son's body close, burying his head in the sun-bleached blond hair the child had inherited from his mother. "Dillon, I'm surprised to see you," the mother in question said by way of a greeting. Amelia sat in a wicker porch chair beside Mrs. Jackson. No smile, no excited hello. She looked as elegant and refined as ever in the long, gauzy skirt and fluttery blouse she'd chosen for the school day. Her hair was pulled back in soft waves. Her porcelain complexion and moss-colored eyes were make-up free. She'd always been perfect just the way God made her. The perfect wife and mother — or so he'd thought. Dillon loosened his grip on Tyler as the boy squirmed to be put down. Amelia was clearly surprised to see him, surprised that he'd drop everything to be by her side during an emergency. And that's when the reality of Dillon's sorry life returned to him in a moment of painful clarity. He couldn't remember the last time he and his wife had spoken, except to discuss Tyler. The house smoldering behind him hadn't been his home in months. In every way but legally, his marriage and the family life that he'd built his whole world around were over. Well, a nagging voice chided from deep inside him, maybe it's about time for that to change.

Chapter Two "Hello," Amelia Reed's too-handsome-for-her-piece-of-mind husband returned. Dillon looked so good. He always had. Six-foot-plus of dark haired, lean-muscled man that still took her breath away, just as he had when they were in high school. Amelia fought the urge to launch herself into her husband's arms the way their son had. Tyler was practically dancing at the man's feet now. She made herself stay in her chair. She'd been so busy distracting Tyler so that he wouldn't run back next door to help the firemen, she hadn't seen Dillon drive up. A part of her had been wishing her husband was there, taking charge in that solid way of his. But when he'd actually come barreling through the Jacksons' hedges, her joy at seeing him had been an unwanted reminder of just how dangerous her proximity to Dillon Reed was. At least the firemen seemed to have whatever was still going on at the house under control, so Dillon could head back to work soon.

944

"Sheriff, it's good to see you." Elderly Lily Jackson shook his hand with feminine gusto. "Could you do something about those hoses running through my rose bushes? The fire chief won't listen to me, and I'm hoping to enter my American Beauties in the State Fair this year." Amelia swallowed her smile as a tell-tale muscle ticked in Dillon's cheek. He rested a foot on the bottom porch step and rubbed the underside of his jaw, his chest expanding on a calming breath. "Mrs. Jackson, I'm sure the firemen are being as careful as possible." "We'll have our equipment out of your yard as soon as we can, ma'am," Chief Flanders said as he and one of Dillon's deputies joined them. "We're clearing out now." "What happened, Ralph?" Dillon asked before Amelia had a chance to speak. "The smoke seemed to be coming out of the laundry room off the kitchen," she interjected, standing and stepping to the edge of the porch. The chief gazed between Amelia and Dillon. With a wry smile, he gifted her with his full attention. "Yes ma'am, best we can tell without more time to investigate, there was a short in the electrical box in your utility room." "What does that mean?" "Looks like a spark from a loose wire set the fire off, maybe from the line leading to the dryer —" "Did the breakers trip?" Dillon asked. "Seems that way, but only after the spark ignited the wall between the kitchen and the smaller room." Ralph pointed behind him with his thumb. "We've turned the power off at the pole for now. You'll have to get an electrician out here to tell you where to go from there." "But the house is safe, isn't it?" Amelia asked as her son fiddled with the equipment hanging from the fireman's belt. "Tyler, baby, come up here with me." "Well, it's livable, if you don't mind the smoke damage in the kitchen, but…" "There's no power, Amelia." Dillon's level gaze held hers as what the men were saying sunk in. "No lights, no hot water, no refrigerator. You and Tyler can't stay there until we make some repairs." Until we make some repairs. How could word as tiny as "we" have the power to make Amelia want to burst into tears? "That's no problem," Deputy Rowdy Lewis said from beside his boss. "The Sheriff's got plenty of space at his new place. You and Tyler can stay with him there." Lord deliver them from the town full of well-meaning people determined to keep throwing her and Dillon together until they reconciled. Dillon silenced Rowdy with a look that had claws. "Yipee!" Tyler jumped up and down, landing more than once on Amelia's sandaled feet. "We're moving in with Daddy!" "What a wonderful idea," Mrs. Jackson beamed.

945

Not her, too. No way would it be a wonderful anything for Amelia and Tyler to move into the tiny house Dillon rented across town. She and Dillon had quit trying to work things out three months ago, when he'd moved out, and it hadn't been a moment too soon. Tyler hadn't needed to see his parents fighting all the time, and she couldn't have stood another moment of watching the man she loved falling out of love with her. "Actually," Amelia hedged. "We'd probably be better off staying with a friend —" "Mom!" Tyler complained as he stopped bouncing. "But it would mean so much to the child," her meddlesome neighbor tut-tutted. Rowdy had the nerve to smile as if he were enjoying the mess he'd caused. It was no secret that just about everyone in the department wanted her and Dillon back together, if for no other reason than to get their once easy-going sheriff off their backs. And from Dillon, there came only a deafening silence, once again making Amelia the bad guy. "I said no, Tyler," she affirmed. "We're not staying with Daddy tonight. It would only make things harder for everyone." "Harder for everyone?" Dillon finally said, in that calm way of his that made it impossible for her to guess what he was really thinking. "Or harder for you?"

Chapter Three Dillon took in his son's ecstatic antics, his wife's steaming expression, and his deputy's knowing smirk, and bit back a curse. The situation was totally out of control. And damn it if Dillon didn't almost feel grateful for his deputy's meddling. "Daddy, please can we stay with you tonight? Will you make spaghetti for dinner?" Tyler leapt from the steps and tugged at Dillon's uniform pants. Spaghetti. Dillon's only specialty. His son's favorite, that they'd once enjoyed making together at least once a week. It was suddenly difficult to breathe. "Tyler," Amelia began. "We —" "You bet, buddy," Dillon said over her. "Spaghetti at my place it is." His wife started to voice an argument, then she froze at the determination she read on his face. The only thing they could still agree on these days, it seemed, was that they'd do whatever it took to make their break up as easy as possible for their son. And Tyler had his heart set on the two of them staying at Dillon's. "I… I guess we could give it a try, at least for tonight." Her bright eyes squinted, the way they always did when she was thinking hard. "We'll have to pack Tyler's sleeping bag. You only have one bedroom, right?" One bedroom, in a house too small for Dillon to be sharing with the woman he still wanted with every fiber of his being, no matter how hard he tried not to. A blush spread across Amelia's petal-soft cheeks, telling him she was thinking along the same lines. Sexual attraction had never been their problem. They'd dated in high school, then had lost touch when he went

946

away to college as he was two years older than her. But they hadn't been in the same room for more than ten minutes at a homecoming function ten years ago before they were in each other's arms dancing. And they'd been together ever since. In sync. Wanting the same things from life. Until now. "I…" she stammered. "Why don't I call you when we're done at school, and Tyler and I will drive over to your place?" "Not in that car back there, you're not." Chief Flanders, chewing non-stop on his gum, hitched a thumb toward the garage attached to the still-smoldering house. "Your Mazda's not going anywhere. The garage ceiling clean caved in under the weight of the water we had to pump into the attic to keep the fire from spreading. You won't want to move anything 'til your insurance adjuster has a chance to look it over." "I'll give you a ride," Dillon offered, throwing Rowdy Lewis' raised eyebrow a we'll talk later scowl. "You can find your own way back to the station." With a chuckle, Rowdy turned to respond to a call coming through on the radio hooked to his belt. "Yipee!!" Tyler clapped, thrilled as always at the prospect of riding in the squad car. "No." Amelia's head shook emphatically. "I'll get a ride with someone from the school." Lily Jackson's long-suffering sigh and Tyler's pout didn't seem to make a dent in Amelia's determination. But she flinched when she met Dillon's gaze. It made no sense, but Dillon seemed disappointed she'd turned down his offer of a ride. He'd been the one to walk away from their marriage. Once he'd realized their differences were a chasm they'd never be able to cross, he'd done the responsible thing and left before the next fight broke out — for Tyler's sake. Amelia had begged him to stay, to try harder to understand the changes she needed. But he hadn't seen the point, when all they'd do is continue hurting each other and their son. Now she was the one pulling away, and he felt like begging. "Sheriff," Rowdy interjected as he rejoined the group. "There's another disturbance call from out at the Gleason place. Carol Gleason phoned in asking for you. You want dispatch to send someone else?" "No." Dillon rubbed a hand across his face, forcing himself to focus on something besides his fractured personal life. Carol and Gary Gleason's drag-out excuse for a marriage was slowly disintegrating into violence, and he was more familiar with their situation than anyone else in the department. "I'll take a drive out there. Ride along with me." Dillon knelt and hugged his son. "See you later tonight, buddy," he said in a voice full of how much he'd missed holding his son close each and every morning before school. Then he made himself walk away from his family, determined that if he accomplished nothing else today, he was at least going to keep the Gleasons from killing each other.

Chapter Four "You're actually staying with Dillon tonight?" Brenda Tate asked once she and Amelia had dropped Tyler at his classroom. Brenda taught PE to the first through third graders, and she, like Amelia, didn't meet with her first group of kids until 9:00. So it hadn't been a problem for her to swing by Amelia's to pick them up. "You should have seen Tyler's face when his dad agreed to it. It would have broken his little heart if I'd said no." Amelia's heart didn't feel too safe at the moment, either, as she remembered Dillon's disappointed

947

frown when she'd refused his offer of a ride. Knowing he was hurting just as much as she was made her confusion over everything that had happened even worse. "But Dillon did offer to have you stay at his house. Maybe he's coming around. Sounds like maybe he misses you." Amelia turned the corner into her room. Brenda followed and hovered beside the desk as Amelia flipped through her planner to refresh her memory on which children were on her plate today. Brenda, glorious red hair pulled back haphazardly by what looked like a rubber band, always seemed to be hovering, perpetually in motion. "Dillon misses his family," Amelia corrected. Her husband's devotion to the life they'd made together was both what had made her so fiercely love him, as well as what had ripped their lives apart. "If I'd agree to go back to the way things were, I'm sure the man would move back home in a heartbeat." "Don't you want him back?" "Of course I want him back!" Amelia felt like screaming as frustration and useless hope ate away inside her. She remembered a time when all she'd felt was peace when she thought of her husband and the rock-solid love they shared. "But only if he's willing to talk things through rationally and see my side of the story. I know we agreed I'd stay home once we had Tyler, and I thought I could. But I missed this, Brenda." She lifted her arms to encompass the room where she helped so many young minds, where she touched the lives of kids from their community who needed the special attention she could give them. She'd taught elementary school for five years before they had Tyler, working as a math specialist with third through fifth graders, and any kids who needed extra help. And she'd been so sure she was ready to walk away until Tyler was older and didn't need a hands-on parent so actively involved in his life. "You miss your husband and your family, too," her friend reminded her. "Everyone in town can see how much you two still want to be together. There has to be some kind of compromise you can agree on." "Yeah, I used to think there was. But my returning to work seems to be the one thing our good sheriff is incapable of compromising on." "Well the man did have it rough as a kid." Brenda scuffed her sneaker along the floor, then she perched on the corner of the desk and folded her hands in her lap. A couple of years older than Amelia, she and Dillon had been in the same grade all through school. "His folks both had to work just to keep food on the table. I'm not sure Dillon ever had anyone home in the afternoons once he started school. His parents never came to any of his school stuff or ball games. Even when he made captain of the varsity football team. The man pretty much raised himself." "I know all that." Amelia followed her friend's lead and eased into her desk chair. "Dillon and I talked about it a lot before we got married, and I don't want Tyler to have the same experience. But for heaven sakes, Brenda, I'm only at work when Tyler's in school. And I'm home every afternoon. I'll do whatever it takes to make this work. Dillon's the one who's being unreasonable. He's the one who gave up." He was such a good man. Such a good father. Why was he so convinced that her need to return to her career meant she was dissatisfied with her life with him and Tyler? He acted like she'd betrayed him somehow, because she had interests outside the home. "Well it doesn't exactly sound like he's giving up now." Brenda pushed away from the desk and checked clock that hung over the door. "The man's got you and Tyler moving your things into his house. That sounds promising to me." Promising?

948

It was an ugly word. One that felt too much like hope to Amelia. She couldn't go to Dillon's tonight hoping that they would finally talk things through and find a way to compromise. She couldn't open her heart up like that again. It hurt too much each time Dillon disappointed her. Brenda's raised eyebrow mocked Amelia's lack of response. She was one of Amelia's best friends. She always called things the way she saw them, and more often than not, she saw the truth long before others did. Dillon couldn't really be ready to work things, could he?

Chapter Five "I don't want to keep coming out here to break things up between you two." In one corner of the small patch of grass that constituted the Gleasons' entire front yard, Dillon stood toe-to-toe with Gary Gleason. Rowdy was several feet away, his grip firm on Carol's shoulder as he restrained the woman from jabbing her finger in her husband's face again. Dillon and his deputy had arrived to find the Gleasons conducting their latest squabble outside. Their raised voices could be heard from one side of the trailer park to the other. Several neighbors had left their own double-wides to watch the show, and the Gleasons' little girl, at home this time of day because she was still too young to be in school, was nowhere in sight. No doubt she was hiding somewhere inside, poor kid. And all because, from what Dillon could gather from her parents' sputtering explanations, liberally interspersed with curses, Gary had slept the morning away once again rather than pounding the pavement looking for a job like he'd promised his wife. "How am I s'posed to feed my little girl if he can't keep a decent job for longer than a week?" Carol struggled to free herself, but Rowdy held firm. "And I've got to get myself some sleep!" The muscles in Gary's arms bunched as he jabbed his hands on his hips. "All the noise around this damn place, it's no wonder I'm so tired all the time. Can't go on no job interview when I can't get no sleep." "You've been tired every day of your adult life," Carol spat back. "What you need is a spine, not another nap. You got a family depending on you, and all you can think about is how tough things are for you." "That's enough, both of you," Dillon said, his gaze shifting between the feuding husband and wife. This was the department's fourth call out here, and the fourth time either Dillon or one of his officers had diffused the situation before things got out of hand. Dillon had known Gary Gleason since high school, and the man could be a mean SOB. And Carol knew just how to push her husband's buttons. One of these days, the department wasn't going to get someone here in time. But until blows were exchanged or someone filed formal charges, there wasn't much else Dillon and his people could do but race to beat the clock. "Carol, where's Stephanie?" His frustration at the couple's never-ending battles blossomed into an angry kind of fear for the little girl who was living her parents' problems right along with them. Kids deserved a childhood, and parents had no right to take that away from them. Carol checked over her shoulder then pointed to the trailer's front window. "She's peeking out at us right now." "Get on back to your room, girl," Gary yelled at the four-year-old. Dillon gritted his teeth as Stephanie vanished from the window like a ghost.

949

"I don't want to hear about any more disturbances out here," he said. "Stephanie and the rest of the trailer park deserve a break from the two of you going after each other. If you can't live together peacefully, then one of you needs to find somewhere else to be. Because if I have to come out here again, I swear I'll manufacture a reason to lock one of you up until you come to your senses." "You got no right, Dillon. This is none of your business," Gary growled. "Carol shouldn't have called you out here in the first place." "You two are making this my business by not dealing with your own problems before my department has to get involved. If Carol hadn't called, one of your neighbors eventually would have. If you want me out of your hair for good, fix things yourselves." Both Gleasons looked momentarily subdued, which meant Dillon had done all he could do. With a jerk of his head, he motioned for Rowdy to head back to the car with him. "Not exactly Mayberry over here, is it?" Rowdy commented. This was the kid's first introduction to the Gleasons' version of all-American home life. "You gotta feel for their little girl. Kind of makes you grateful for all the happy kids we see around town, like your boy, Tyler. He was tickled pink about him and Amelia staying at your place tonight." Dillon grimaced as he settled his nightstick against his thigh and eased behind the steering wheel. "That little stunt you pulled this morning has already bought you a week of night shifts. If you're gunning for week two, just keep pushing." "Come on." The younger cop chided, all twenty-four years of him not the least bit phased by the threat of lost sleep. "You mean to tell me that the Gleasons' antics don't make you wonder if your problems with your wife are really such a big deal after all?" "Deputy —" Dillon warned. Rowdy Lewis may have grown up living next door to Dillon, but even small-town friendships could be pushed too far. "All right!" Rowdy threw up his hands in surrender as Dillon pulled the cruiser away from the house. "It's your business. I'll stay out of it." Thank God. Only the kid was right. Dillon had been second-guessing how he'd handled things with Amelia. It had been all he could think about for weeks now, as he sat alone each night in his quiet, empty house. And after what might have happened to his family in the fire that morning, his sense of urgency to make things right was raging even stronger. He'd jumped to a lot of conclusions when Amelia first mentioned wanting to go back to work. Everything he'd missed out on as a kid had come instantly to mind, and he'd felt betrayed by his wife's desire to work outside the home, when financially they didn't need her to. At least Dillon's mother had had a reason to put her work before her child. She either worked, or they didn't eat. Once he and Amelia had started fighting, things had disintegrated faster than should have been possible, considering how much they'd loved each other. Finally, Dillon had been left wondering if he even knew who his wife was anymore. "Damn it," he said out loud to no one as he headed back to the station. Not for the first time, he longed to go back and fix what he couldn't believe he and Amelia had messed up so badly. Was tonight really the second chance he'd been secretly hoping for?

Chapter Six

950

"That's good, Tammy," Amelia said to her favorite student as they worked through the child's homework after school. She was tutoring the second grader three afternoons a week, trying to get the little girl back on track, and hopefully ready for third grade. "See how many mistakes you can catch yourself, if you go back and check your work before turning it in?" Tammy nodded and bent her head back over her paper, her enthusiasm and progress reaffirming the difference Amelia was making in the lives of her kids. How impossible it would be for her to walk away from her responsibilities, just to accommodate her husband's inflexibility. And the thing that had never added up was that Dillon Reed was the least chauvinistic man she knew. He'd always been so proud of the Masters degree that enabled her to work as a curriculum specialist. And for years, he'd watched her put up with the long hours and minimum pay that came with a career in teaching, all so she could help children reclaim their self esteem and succeed, often after they and their parents had begun to think things were hopeless. "But teaching's your work, not your life, " Dillon had argued when she'd first talked about her desire to return to her career. "Tyler needs you more than the kids at school do. Isn't that more important to you?" "Mrs. Reed?" Tammy asked. She was holding up her finished paper for one last look. "Great job, sweetie." Amelia checked the time and began tidying up. "Your dad's probably outside waiting for us. You be sure to show him how much you finished today." The little girl nodded and stuffed her things into her backpack, and then they headed for the front of the school, where parents picked up their kids. With each step, Amelia pushed thoughts of her husband and her failing marriage further from her mind. If Brenda was right, and Dillon was finally coming to his senses, then maybe they would have a chance to talk things through tonight. But for now, she had a parent to update on his child's progress, and she owed the man better than being distracted by her own mess of a life. "Tammy's doing great, Mr. Holden," Amelia said as she helped the little girl into her family's run-down Toyota. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Dillon walking toward them on the sidewalk. Every nerve-ending in her body began to tingle, as if to warn her of approaching danger. "She… she's making a lot of progress. I can tell you've been working hard with her at home." Tammy's father grunted as he settled his daughter's seatbelt around her. "Does that mean you're going to pass her at the end of the year?" "Well… um…" Dillon was standing behind her now, far enough away that he wasn't interrupting her conversation, but close enough for her to catch the frown pulling at his full lips. She'd seen that look before, after he'd had a particularly tough day. And as always, the part of her that would always love the man and his commitment to protect and serve their small town wanted to smooth away the hurt. "Mr. Holden, the final decision about promotion is up to your daughter's teacher. I'm just Tammy's math specialist." Amelia squatted so she could better see through the open passenger window. She smoothed a hand down Tammy's hair. The little girl was staring at her hands, her shoulders hunched. "But I know Tammy's doing everything she can to catch up on her basic skills. If we keep working a little extra each week, I think she'll be on the right track." "I have to take time off from work to pick her up like this and drive her to daycare. Her mamma can't get away from her job 'til six. We don't have time for this if it ain't doing any good, so what's it gonna be?" Amelia felt Tammy cringe. She was also intensely aware of Dillon taking a step closer at the sound of the other man's raised voice. "I can't give you a guarantee, Mr. Holden, except to say that we'll place Tammy next year where we think she'll have the most opportunity to learn."

951

"Yeah, well, I don't know how much more of this after school pick-up I can do. She's either cutting it with all this extra work, or she's not." He paused, grumbling to himself. Then he said, "I guess we'll try it for bit longer…so she'll see you again tomorrow?" "Yes." Amelia beamed at Tammy, who was clearly embarrassed by her father's impatience. "I'm looking forward to it, sweetie." "You okay?" Dillon asked as the car pulled away in a puff of exhaust fumes. His touch at her elbow turned her to face him. Whatever had been troubling him when he arrived faded away as his expression softened with concern. "Are all the parents like that?" "They don't all blame the teachers for their kids' problems at school, no. But the ones that do make up for the rest in spades." "It's not your fault, Ame," he said, using his pet name for her for the first time in months. His fingers smoothed along the sensitive underside of her arm. "I know you're doing everything you can for that little girl. You're a good teacher." Amelia felt her muscles tense in response to the admiration in her husband's voice. His too-little, too-late praise was dissolving the earth from beneath her feet, and it made her fighting mad. "So now I'm a good teacher?" she pulled free of his touch. "But not a good mother, right? Not the perfect wife you thought I'd be when you married me?" Maybe he actually had been trying to support her work for a change. But she wasn't in the mood to be grateful. Not after all this time. Dillon's jaw clenched. "I know I deserve that. That's why I got off work early and came over here. I thought maybe this would be easier than waiting for you and Tyler to get to the house. We need to talk things through, Amelia." "Talk?" she responded in a tone nowhere near agreeable. So he really was having second thoughts. Granted, the reasonable time to work through their issues would have been three months ago, when he'd walked out. But she wasn't exactly in a position to be choosy. "Okay." She motioned for her husband to precede her into back into the school. "Let's talk."

Chapter Seven Dillon almost stumbled over his wife as she skidded to a halt just outside her empty classroom. "Brenda's watching Tyler in the gym while I tutor," Amelia said, her gaze locking onto something over Dillon's right shoulder. "And she has an appointment she needs to get to. I don't have much time." When Amelia didn't continue into the room, Dillon realized she was avoiding being alone with him. "I'll take whatever time you can give me." Actually, he'd be happy to just stand beside her for the rest of the afternoon. After his brush with the Gleasons that morning, just being close to Amelia soothed him. He let himself drink in the sight of her. The soft cotton blouse she wore was one of her favorites. It had lace at the neck and wrists. Staring at her now, he wanted to unbutton the thing and see if her beautiful breasts were covered in lace, too.

952

"Why do you want to talk all of a sudden?" Her forehead wrinkled as she frowned. At least she wasn't spitting mad anymore. "I still can't believe you suggested that we sleep at your place tonight, when you're the one who's been so adamant that we can't work things out." "I've been thinking a lot lately. About the things we've said to each other. How everything fell apart so quickly. We were so good together, then everything just blew up." "You blew up, Dillon. You completely checked out on me." "I had real concerns about how your going back to work would affect our child," he argued before he could bite his tongue. "And I still do. But after what could have happened to you and Tyler in the fire this morning… " He sucked in a breath, then released it. "I realized I can't leave things the way they are. I know I haven't handled this well, so I'm asking for another chance. A truce, just for tonight, so we can talk some things out." Amelia's head was already shaking. "What's there to talk about that we haven't already covered? I think we have already established that you think because you were unhappy when your mother worked, that automatically means Tyler will be, too." "I wasn't unhappy, Amelia. I was neglected. From the age of six, I cooked for myself and got myself to and from school. When I was hurt, there was no one to go find the Band Aids but me, until both my parents got done with their shifts at the factory. And even when they did, they were both so exhausted, I barely knew they were around. Except for signing my report cards, my parents left me alone to deal with my life. They were barely making it handling their own." He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "They didn't have much of a choice. But we do. And I want better for our son." "So do I, Dillon." Disappointment and hurt flashed across her face. — hurt that he was one hundred percent responsible for. "I can't believe you don't know me well enough after all these years to understand that. Maybe you were right when you walked out on our marriage — if you don't have more faith in me than that, there's no amount of talking that's going to change this." "Don't say that." Dillon wasn't a man prone to fierce mood swings, so the desperation flooding him at that moment left him feeling downright shell-shocked. He had no idea how they could fix what was broken between them, but at that moment he knew for certain he couldn't let Amelia go. He gripped his wife's shoulders, fighting the urge to pull her closer to him. This smart, sassy woman was finally giving up on their relationship, just when he'd wised up enough to realize what he was throwing away. "Don't quit on me now, Ame. Please." He felt her quiver beneath his touch. To his surprise she nestled closer, until the breasts he'd been daydreaming about only moments before were pressing against his chest. He could have sworn he felt the texture of lace through the layers of their clothing. His hands dropped to her waist, and their bodies aligned with exquisite perfection. It seemed like it had been forever since he'd held her. "I'm not the one who quit, Dillon," she whispered, the break in her voice telling him she was as lost to the moment as he was. "You holding me in your arms again is what I've wanted all along." This was a bad idea, the logical cop inside him warned, even as he lowered his head. They weren't going to fix anything this way. In fact, giving in to their physical desires when there was so much unresolved between them could only make things worse. But Dillon didn't care. If he didn't kiss his wife that very second, he was going to go lose his mind.

Chapter Eight

953

Amelia buried her hands in the thickness of her husband's dark hair. She recklessly buried all her questions and worries beneath her need to get closer, to feed from Dillon's kisses and forget that the amazing marriage she'd once treasured might be irrevocably broken. He smelled like warm, southern sunshine. He tasted like home. She let her hands roam the hard muscles bunching in his arms as he hauled her closer, and she shivered when he groaned into their kiss. She'd missed this closeness, and from the swiftness of his reaction, so had Dillon. The heavy weight of him against her felt so good — how had she managed to live without it? Because you had to, Amelia. And the reasons for that haven't changed. Realizing she was losing all sense of perspective, that she wanted too desperately for the physical chemistry between them to mean more than it really did, Amelia forced herself to pull away. "We've got to stop, Dillon." She wiped at the lone tear sliding down her cheek. When her husband reached for her again, she flinched and stepped back. "Please stop touching me." "You didn't seem to mind me touching you a minute ago," he muttered. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and grimaced. "I'm sorry. That was a really bad idea." "Yes, it was." She folded her arms across her chest. It was either that or throw herself at him again. What had she been thinking? "Until we settle things, I think the smart thing is to keep our hands to ourselves." His gaze hardened. "Why does that sound more like you're giving up than playing it smart?" "If I'm giving up, it's only because you went there first, Dillon." The tension between them took on a hard edge, consuming the warmth of what they'd just shared. And the pain washing over Amelia was nothing less than she deserved for her colossal lapse in judgement. "I hear you saying you want a second chance," she continued. "But there's too much at stake to think a few kisses are going to solve anything between us. If you really want Tyler and me at your house tonight, you've got to promise this won't happen again. No more touching, no more kissing. This isn't about romance or the way we make each other feel physically. For our son's sake, I'm not going down that road with you again. Not unless I'm sure something real is waiting for us on the other end." With that, she made herself head for the gymnasium to pick up Tyler. But no matter how hard she fought them back, tears continued to slip from her eyes — testimony to her fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, the confusion and pain of the last few months were finally coming to an end.

*** Dillon followed closely behind Brenda Tate's slow-moving Chevy. The woman's scrupulous attention to the speed limit was jumping up and down on his last nerve. He had Tyler with him, and the little boy was jabbering on and on about getting to ride in the back of the squad car. But Dillon's attention was trained on the car in front of him. Amelia had agreed to let him drive Tyler, but at the same time she'd pounced on her friend's offer of a ride. She hadn't been able to get away from Dillon fast enough. He never should have initiated that kiss. Amelia was off-balance, as if she couldn't decide whether to trust him or refuse to see him ever again. Now, he had some serious backtracking to do, if he could get her calmed down enough to talk again.

954

Brenda braked at the curb in front of the house. Dillon pulled into the driveway. With a backwards wave to her departing friend, Amelia hefted her suitcase and Tyler's sleeping bag and headed up the short walkway to the house. "Let me get Tyler started on his homework, then I'll help with dinner," she called to Dillon. Tyler bounded through the front door ahead of them. "That would be great." Dillon's eyes lingered on her face. He took her bags and led the way inside, determined to do whatever was necessary to put her at ease in his home. But after swinging the door shut behind them, he followed the direction of Amelia's stare, and he knew in an instant that his plans for a calm evening were history. Before them, in the open space that doubled as both den and dining room, Dillon's table had been immaculately set — complete with linen, candles and crystal Dillon knew for a fact he didn't own. Savory aromas wafted to them from the kitchen beyond, complete with the sound of humming. He checked the table again, and noted that it had been set for just two people. Sudden understanding of what was going on made him groan out loud. He cast an apologetic wince in his wife's direction. "Cool," Tyler exclaimed, running over to inspect everything with busy, less-than-gentle fingers. Cool wasn't the word screaming through Dillon's mind. Taking small-town matchmaking to the point of breaking and entering, someone had decided to create a cozy dinner for two, clearly in hopes of sparking a reconciliation between Pineview's most popularly estranged couple. "I'm out of here," Amelia said, retracing her steps to the door.

Chapter Nine Amelia bit back a squeak as Dillon's hand grabbed her arm and prevented her from leaving. She cast him a scathing look, not sure which was worse: being held captive in a situation she was confident she didn't want any part of; or the fact that her husband's touch was already warming in a far too welcoming way. For Tyler's sake, she came to her senses and stopped struggling. Nevertheless, she disengaged herself from Dillon's grasp. "Oh, you're home," an elderly woman said as she bustled in from the kitchen to great them. "I was hoping to have everything ready to surprise you." Amelia had absolutely no idea what to say to the grandmotherly figure. "Mrs. Potter," Dillon said, his shock equally apparent. "What — " He stepped to the table to pull Tyler's hand away from a flickering candle. "What is all this?" "I'm Gretchen Potter," the woman said to Amelia. She completed the introduction with a genteel handshake. "Dillon's neighbor. I play bridge with the mother of a young deputy of his every Thursday night. And when Edna told me you and your son would be staying here tonight, I just knew you young people would appreciate a home-cooked meal waiting for you." "Edna Lewis?" Dillon queried through clenched teeth.

955

"Why yes. Rowdy stopped by his mother's for lunch today, and filled her in on the whole story. It's such a relief to hear that the two of you trying to patch things up." The woman winked at Amelia, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was the only adult in the room feeling relief at the moment. "Since the sheriff's parents don't live in town anymore, I've taken it upon myself to look after him a bit since he moved in next door." Amelia got the impression that their sheriff was plotting the demise of one of his best deputies. "Well." Mrs. Potter began tidying the table where Tyler's inquisitive hands had moved things aside. "As soon as I heard you and this adorable little boy there would be staying over, I figured you adults could use a few hours to yourself. So I have a lovely dinner in the oven, and I'm offering myself up as babysitter. That is, if Tyler would like to have some pizza over at my place?" "I couldn't ask you to do that," Amelia blurted out a little too forcefully to be polite. A cozy dinner for two was the last thing she and Dillon needed after what had happened at the school. "Cool!" Tyler chirped, a grin spreading across his face. "Mom, you and daddy get to go on a date." He wiggled his little-boy eyebrows, his not-quite-there-yet attempt at winking. He'd always gotten excited when a sitter came over, and Amelia and Dillon left for one of their date nights. "Tyler — " she began. "Son, your mom and I — " Dillon joined in. "Oh, please, Daddy," Tyler wheedled, taking first his dad's hand, and then grabbing Amelia's. "Can't you guys go on a date again, just this once. I didn't want spaghetti, anyway," he assured them. "I want to have pizza." "Ame?" her husband queried, his warm brown eyes reeling her in. "It would mean a lot to him." As much as Amelia didn't want to give Tyler false-hope for a reconciliation that might never happen, it had been such a scary morning for them all, and he was so excited. "I don't know… " she said, and she really didn't. "Please, Mom?" Tyler begged. "What could it hurt?" Dillon asked with a shrug. Amelia glanced between the romantic table, her son's hopeful expression, and her husband's outrageously handsome face. Oh, it could hurt a lot.

Chapter Ten "At least try to relax," Dillon coaxed his wife, as he in turn tried not to inhale the pot roast Gretchen had left. Canned soup and peanut butter had been the staples of his diet lately. "It was kind of Mrs. Potter to go to all this trouble." "Kind?" Amelia almost choked on a mouthful of food. "What's kind about setting Tyler up for even more disappointment? That's what all of this is, Dillon. Him and me staying here, this dinner we let ourselves be talked into…our son was finally getting used to the separation. Now he's going to be confused all over again!"

956

"Well, maybe Tyler not being used to us being apart isn't such a bad thing," Dillon countered, carefully laying down his fork and knife on his neighbor's china plate. His wife blinked as seconds crawled by. "What exactly are you saying?" "Maybe… " Dillon cleared his throat and tried to put into words what he'd figured out on the ride over from school. Amelia wasn't exactly in the mood he'd hoped she'd be in when they talked, but at least they were talking. "Maybe I don't want to be getting used to it anymore, either." His wife dropped her own silverware with a clatter. She shook her head, looking like she couldn't find the words to tell him just how ridiculous he was being. Then she grabbed her plate and glass and struck out for the kitchen. So much for dinner. Dillon followed, determined to see this through. If he made Amelia so mad that this turned out to be the last real conversation they had, so be it. But he had to try. "What happened this morning shook me up, Amelia," he said to her back as she washed and rinsed Gretchen Potter's dishes. "And I heard everything you said at the school. I know you've said it all before, but I really heard you this time. And I wanted… I want you to know how sorry I am, for making all of this so difficult. I want to talk things through, to try and figure something out that doesn't require us to live on opposite sides of town." She turned, the tears in her eyes hitting him like the hardest punch he'd ever taken. "Do you really think it's that easy? You just get to say you're sorry now, and it will make everything better?" "No." He knew better. "But back at the school, before we… Back at the school, you said you've wanted us to be together all along. All I'm asking for is the chance to figure out how to make that happen. I promise, no more arguing. No more accusations." He stepped closer and took her hand, brought her palm to his lips to kiss her right where he knew she was most sensitive. The catch in her breath gave him hope. "I'll really listening this time. To whatever you need to say. I'll try to understand." "Dillon, I… " She was shaking her head, and he couldn't bear to hear her say no. He brushed his lips across hers. "Please, Ame. God, I can't believe I was stupid enough to think I could let you go. I've seen broken marriages, broken homes." Memories of the morning's call out to the Gleason's returned to him, memories of a family on the verge of violently imploding on itself. "There's good stuff left between us, honey, I know there is. Please give us one more chance." He was clinging to her the way their son did, when he desperately wanted something. Wheedling. Pleading his case. "Please, honey. Help me make this right." He kissed her again, harder this time. And instead of shying away from his touch as she had all night, Amelia's mouth opened beneath his, sparking the tension raging between them into a desperate need they could only quench together.

Chapter Eleven Amelia had let herself forget what it was like to feel cherished, to feel secure in her husband's arms. She'd made herself forget, when he'd left her.

957

But as she lay in Dillon's bed, in the aftermath of their lovemaking, his body curled around her, his breath still ragged from his own release, she knew she'd only been kidding herself. You didn't forget the kind of connection they'd once shared. You didn't move on from your heart's desire, just because it hurt too much to want it anymore. She felt the tears coming. Tears of anger at her own weakness. She'd known where this day was leading. At Mrs. Jackson's house that morning, when she'd let herself be talked into staying here. When she'd walked in on Mrs. Potter's misguided attempt at being neighborly. Even as she'd softened at Dillon's words in the kitchen, and then at his touch. A part of her had wanted this moment for three lonely months. The part that still needed to believe that the differences between her and Dillon weren't hopelessly insurmountable. The part that would do almost anything to have her husband and her family back. Pushing away from the warmth of Dillon's touch, she pulled the sheet around her and sat with her back pressed to the headboard. "Amelia?" He tried to pull her close again. "Honey — " "Don't." She raised a shaking hand to her mouth. How could she have been so stupid? "Don't say anything, please." He winced as she wiped at her eyes. "Honey, what is it? Did I hurt you?" "Hurt me?" She stumbled to her feet, tearing the sheet from the bed and wrapping herself in it. Dillon sat sprawled before her, nude and stunned. "How could a replay of a life that no longer exists hurt me?" "No longer exists? What we just did seemed pretty real to me." "That was sex, Dillon. Great sex. We've never had any problems with sex. But it was a mistake, and we both know it." "I don't know anything of the sort." His face hardened. With unnerving calm, he stood and clothed his powerful body in his uniform pants, zipping them, but not bothering with the button. "I told you downstairs, I want to work things out between us. I want to try and make this right. I thought maybe that's what you still wanted, too. If you'd already written us off, what the hell were the last thirty minutes about?" Her spine stiffened at the unfairness of his accusation. "None of this would have happened if I'd held my ground and taken Tyler to Brenda's tonight. And I would have, if I'd known that your idea of talking things through was an all-out sprint into bed." "You wanted this as much as I did, Amelia." His hands were braced on his hips now. "I'll take the blame for walking away from our marriage. But I'm here now, and I think there's still something between us worth fighting for. What we just shared was real. Admit it." "It was a temporary fix," she parried, even as she cringed at her own lie. A lie was a small price to pay, when the truth hurt so badly. And she'd been hurt enough by this man. "What did you expect? That sleeping together was going to magically wipe away everything else?" "I… " Dillon bowed his head. The tension leaked out of his body. Tears she'd never seen in his eyes before glistened when he looked up. "I thought maybe us being close like this could be a start." "The start of what?" She shook her head sadly. "Of you trying to convince me yet again of what my marriage and my life should be like? That I should make up for the family you never had as a child by sacrificing my own needs now."

958

"No — " "Because I haven't changed, Dillon. I'm still the woman who wants things you don't understand. I need to grow as a person and do more with my life, and you can't deal with that. All I hear is you saying you want things back the way they were before, and I can't live that way. Neither one of us can." "Ame, please listen — " "Don't call me that. Don't do this. You have no idea what loving you and then watching you walk away did to me the first time around. What it did to Tyler… " Her voice breaking into a sob, she slipped from the room and headed for the kitchen in search of her clothes. She forced herself to move. To face facts. She'd let their separation drag on too long, because she couldn't bear the alternative. But for herself and her son, even for Dillon, it was time she found the guts to do what she'd known she had to do from the start. "Amelia, please give me a chance to explain," Dillon said as she scooped her blouse and skirt from the kitchen's tiled floor. Her bra and panties were strewn across the counter. She grabbed them too. "I realized something today," he continued. "Yeah." She slipped her things on as best she could while still holding the sheet around her. "That you were horny." "No." Anger clipped his words and flushed across his cheeks. "That I still lo — " "I want a divorce," she rushed to say over his words. Words that would only make doing the right thing harder. "You hear me, Dillon? I want it over and done with, before we tear each other apart even more. I want a divorce." A gasp drew their attention to the doorway leading back to the dining room. Amelia's pounding heartbeat careened to a stop at the sight of their son and the crushed, disbelieving look on his face.

Chapter Twelve Amelia stared, stunned, at her son in the doorway. She couldn't believe he had just heard the words that had come from her lips — that she wanted to divorce her husband, his father. "Tyler —" she began to explain. "Son —" Dillon sank to his knees beside his little boy, cursing himself for making such a mess of the entire evening. "No! I don't want a divorce," Tyler yelled, backing up and around Mrs. Potter. He glared at first Dillon and then Amelia. "I hate you. I hate you both." Amelia moved to follow him, but Dillon grabbed her arm. "I'll go," he bit out. "Why don't you…" He snatched his wife's dainty sandals from the floor and pressed them into her hands. "Why don't you finish getting your clothes on." Then he hurried after the sound of crying coming from somewhere in the back of the house.

959

"Oh, dear." Mrs. Potter pressed a hand to her flushed cheek. She shook her head apologetically at Amelia. "I'm so sorry. I knocked on the front door, and we heard voices, so I figured it was okay to come in. I had no idea —" "It's not your fault." Amelia eased around Dillon's neighbor and headed for the tiny half bathroom near the front door. "If you'll just excuse me for a moment…" She locked the door behind her, though why, she couldn't imagine. It wasn't like anyone in the house was likely to come looking for her anytime soon. Her son, and the neighbor no less, had just walked in on her half-naked and shrieking at her husband for a divorce. And she wasn't sure who had been hurt worse by the finality of her words, Tyler or Dillon. Both had looked like she'd just ripped away everything that made their worlds go around. Could she have been wrong about Dillon? Was he finally, truly committed to working things out? Was that why she wanted to follow him and Tyler down the hall, wrap her arms around them both and beg for the second chance she'd just thrown back in her husband's face?

*** Dillon sat on the edge of his bed and smoothed a hand across Tyler's shuddering back. His little boy was sobbing his heart out, and Dillon almost envied him the relief. Amelia had been right to doubt every word he'd said. Why shouldn't she? She wasn't the one who'd given up. He'd let his compulsion to have the perfect family he'd dreamed of as a kid contaminate the life he'd been blessed with in the here and now. He'd walked out on his marriage rather than giving Amelia the chance to help him understand what she needed to make things work. He'd blown it entirely on his own. And it wasn't her fault it had taken the scare of that morning's fire to finally smarten him up. It wasn't her fault it was too late. "Shh…" he whispered to his son. "It's going to be okay." Now if only he could believe that himself. "Don't want…" Tyler took a shuddering breath. "Don't want a divorce." "I know, buddy." Dillon was finding it hard to take in air himself. "Mommy's so mean. I —" "No, Tyler." Dillon urged his son onto his back. "This isn't Mommy's fault." "But she said —" "She was upset, and she didn't know you were standing there." "Then you're not getting a divorce?" Watery hope filled his eyes. Dillon almost let himself lie, but that would only postpone the inevitable. He made a living protecting the innocent and defenseless from harm, but when it came to sheltering his son from watching his parents grow further apart, Dillon was powerless. "Things are going to be changing a lot, buddy," he found the courage to say. He clearly wasn't what Amelia needed to be happy now. The least he could do was not hurt his family further by putting them through more

960

of this for his own selfish reasons. He'd already been selfish enough. "But whatever happens, I want you to remember how much Mommy and Daddy both love you. We're never going to stop loving you." Tyler's sad nod, his silent faith in his father, did Dillon in. Swallowing a sob of his own, he pulled his son close. He'd let the past that had damaged him leak into the present and lay siege to all the good things he'd finally found in his life, and his family was paying the price. He'd driven them all to this point of no return, because he'd been afraid to trust the woman who'd taught him everything he knew about unconditional love. Now, no matter how much he wanted things to be different, he had no choice but to face facts. He owed Amelia a quick end to the pain he'd caused. It was time to finish this.

Chapter Thirteen Amelia was dressed and trying desperately to look composed when she heard Dillon retracing his steps down the hall. Mrs. Potter had left once Amelia convinced the other woman she didn't mind cleaning up after dinner. "Tyler's taking a bath," Dillon said, and from the back of the house Amelia could hear the sound of running water. "I… I got him calmed down, I think. He's taking it pretty hard." "Dillon," Amelia said from where she'd perched on her husband's couch. "I can't believe I lost it like that. That Tyler walked in and heard me say…" "He heard you say the truth, Amelia." Dillon sat as far away from her as he could get and still be on the couch. "It's about time he heard it from one of us. You were only being honest. More honest than I've let myself be for a long time." "Dillon…" She was about to ask him if he really thought they had a shot at repairing their relationship, when he held up his hand. "I'm going to find somewhere else to stay tonight," he said, dousing the ridiculous hope flickering within her. "After that I'll… I'll move in with a friend until things are ready for you to return to the house. I should hear from the electrician and the insurance adjuster sometime tomorrow. There's a lot of rewiring that needs to be done… and the fire damage to the kitchen and the utility room needs to be taken care of. It may take a few days to get a contractor over there. And… and I'll call the lawyer." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'll start working with him on details for the divorce. I'm sure there's a lot — " "Dillon," she said quietly, stopping his painful rambling by taking his hand. A spark of awareness zinged through her, as it always did from his touch. Sadness followed in its wake, for all they hadn't been able to save. And all she'd hoped he might be willing to fight for, just one more time. "I'm so sorry." He squeezed her fingers, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "It's time, Ame. Dragging this out for longer isn't good for any of us." He stood and picked up the duffel bag she hadn't seen him carrying. "I'll be at the Hunter's Lodge if you need anything tonight," he said, speaking of the only motel in town. His brown eyes were the saddest thing she'd ever seen, and sad was about the only thing that Dillon Reed didn't wear well. "I can stop by in the morning to give you a ride to school. Around 7:30, right?" "Yes… no," she corrected herself. "I'll have Brenda pick us up again. I'm sure she won't mind. " "Right," he said. "Probably a good idea." Then with a nod and a weak imitation of his trademark wink, the man of her dreams walked out the front door.

961

Again.

Chapter Fourteen "Did you put your own self in the doghouse or something?" Rowdy Lewis poked his head into Dillon's office around 5:00 the next morning. "It's the butt-crack of dawn, man. Even you don't get into work this early." "Laugh it up, kid." Dillon continued typing, even though he was making a mess of the quarterly status report he owed the city council's secretary by Friday. He'd been at his desk since 3:00 a.m., after he'd fled his oppressively silent motel room and given up trying to sleep. "Isn't today your first taste of pulling double shifts?" Dillon had found time to talk with the scheduling sergeant yesterday about rotating the ever-helpful Deputy Lewis onto the late-night schedule. There was an immediate opening, and as it turned out Rowdy was already working this morning's early shift. Which meant the kid would be spending most of the next twentyfour hours chained to the job — and hopefully not poking his nose into Dillon's personal life. Rowdy shrugged off the extra hours to come then his playful expression sobered. "Look, Sheriff. I talked with my mom last night. I had no idea she was planning dinner for you and Amelia. I'm sorry if she —" "Save it." Dillon grimaced as he backspaced over the last three sentences he'd written, all of which he'd managed to mangle into gibberish. "Just do us all a favor and keep your mind on the job today, rather than trying to fix things that are none of your business." "Yes, sir." Rowdy blew out a breath and contemplated the creases pressed down the front of his uniform pants. "But, the thing is…" His deputy's hesitation pulled Dillon from his paperwork. At twenty-five, Rowdy Lewis was young, but he was an up-and-coming force to be reckoned with in their small-town sheriff's department. Self-assured. Cocky. Damn good at his job from his first day out of the academy. Dillon couldn't remember the last time he'd heard the young man sound unsure of himself, or anything else for that matter. "The thing is what?" Dillon demanded evenly. He was pretty sure they were about to take another step over the line of professionalism they'd managed to respect until lately, despite the friendship they had built over the last couple of years. "Well, there's been some talk around the department lately." "Talk?" Dillon shoved away from the computer. Rowdy cleared his throat. "People are saying your personal life's falling apart, and maybe it's starting to affect your ability to run this department." "People?" " Come on. You don't think people are wondering why you're here all hours of the day and night, whether you're on duty or not? You're not sleeping. You're testy as all get out. For the last few weeks, you've been biting everyone's head off, not just mine. And that's not like you." Dillon forced himself to take a deep breath. "You think I can't do my job? Is that what you're saying?" "No, sir." Rowdy shook his head. "In my experience, you've always found a way to get the job done, no matter what distractions you're dealing with." The respect ringing from every word soothed Dillon's temper, even as he wondered if the other man's faith was well-founded.

962

"But you're starting to have a problem with some of the others here," Rowdy continued. "The state of your marriage is no secret. And you seem…well, distracted. Some of the officers are wondering how much longer it's going to be before your family problems start affecting you on the job." Dillon's gaze flicked to his report. He'd totally missed the growing concern amongst his deputies, maybe even amongst the people he answered to at city hall. "Well, after last night, everyone can rest easy." He attacked the keyboard once more, typing out the next paragraph. "My marital issues have been resolved, so the whole damn town can get back to worrying about their own problems." "You're back together with Amelia?" "Amelia and I are getting a divorce," Dillon corrected. He looked up to catch his friend's shocked concern. "Things have been dragging on for too long. We decided it was time." Rowdy swallowed, looked like he wanted to argue the point, but in the end he simply shook his head. "So, if that was all…" Dillon dismissed his deputy with a nod, wishing as the other man walked away that ridding himself of his second thoughts could be as easy. Divorcing Amelia was the only solution that would fix this for everyone involved, no matter how much he didn't want it. Fury churned the misgiving inside him, creating an unfamiliar, out-of-control urge to pound something until he stopped hurting. It was going to be an endless day, and the morning hadn't even started yet. How was he going to make it through?

Chapter Fifteen "Have you brushed your teeth yet, honey?" Amelia asked Tyler later that morning as she watched her little boy struggle into his school clothes. His sleep-mussed hair was sticking straight up in a rooster tail she'd have to tame before they left. "No. I wanna do it after my Froot Loops," he groused, as if she'd lost her mind for suggesting otherwise. It was the only complete sentence her son had uttered since waking up. She was clearly still in trouble for what he'd witnessed the night before, regardless of how much smoothing over Dillon had tried to do. Dillon. He was everywhere she looked in this tiny, tidy house. For a man, Dillon had always been tidy. Determined and exact and organized, especially when it came to getting what he wanted. That's how he'd courted her. He'd been a man on a mission. And that's how he'd ended things last night. He didn't want the divorce, she could tell. But she'd convinced him it was for the best, and once he made up his mind to do something, it was done. No muss, no fuss. No going back. "Come on, sweetie," she said, leading Tyler to the kitchen. She began pouring his favorite breakfast, the cereal Dillon loved just as much as his son did. He always kept it on hand in the pantry. "No, Mommy. I want to pour it!" Tyler grabbed for the box and missed, sending the bowl and the cereal already in it skidding across the counter.

963

"Tyler!" she exclaimed, grateful she hadn't added the milk yet. "I didn't do it," her son fired back. "You did. It's all your fault!" He picked up a handful of cereal from the counter and actually threw it at her. "Tyler! Stop that." She picked the artificially colored rings from her hair. "What's gotten into you?" "It's all your fault!" His half-shout, half-whimper cut straight to Amelia's heart. "Daddy's not here anymore, and it's all your fault." "Oh, honey." She knelt and pulled his resisting body into her arms. "You know if there was any way to work this out, I'd be the first one to ask Daddy to come back." Tyler melted into her hug. "Then call him," he said in a watery voice. "Call Daddy and tell him it's okay now. Tell him you want him to come home." Amelia gently eased her son away. She waited for him to look her in the eye. "Tyler, sometimes things aren't going to be okay, no matter how hard we try." When he attempted to pull away, she held fast. "And sometimes mommies and daddies have to make tough decisions, no matter how much we don't want to. When things can't be okay the way they were, that means we have to make a change." Tyler's eyes watered again. "I don't want things to change." "I know." She hugged him again, relieved that he was no longer struggling to get away. Tyler had never acted out before about her and Dillon's separation. The fact that he did now told her just how clearly he sensed the finality of what was happening to his parents' marriage. Holding her son while he cried, Amelia looked about her husband's kitchen at the little things that stamped this room as Dillon's — his favorite coffee mug from college sitting by the sink, even the way he liked to drape the kitchen towel over the counter, no matter how many times she'd fold it back over the handle on the stove. She hugged her son tighter, fighting with all her strength not to pick up the phone as Tyler had asked, call Dillon and beg him to try just one more time to make their marriage work. Was ending her marriage the right thing to do?

Chapter Sixteen "You're kidding me," Brenda whispered less than quietly to Amelia as they ate their lunch in the teachers' lounge. "You can't be divorcing Dillon!" "Please, don't start." Amelia had only fifteen minutes to finish the sandwich she didn't really want to eat, then her afternoon was full of scheduled lessons and another after-school tutoring session with Tammy Holden. "I don't want to talk about it." "'Cause you know I'm right." Brenda swiped her spoon through the kid-sized cup of pudding that was included on the school's menu that day.

964

How the woman managed to stomach the cafeteria food, Amelia couldn't fathom. But her friend almost never packed a lunch from home like the rest of the school staff. "It's easy for you to say we should fight harder to work it out," Amelia responded, shoving her ham and cheese back into its baggie and concentrating on peeling her orange. "You've haven't been the one fighting on her own until yesterday. I know Dillon means well, and if I thought for one minute he could actually change the way he feels about me teaching, I'd keep fighting. But I really don't think he can, and obviously he doesn't, either. Why else would he have agreed to a divorce?" "Maybe because you screamed at him to give you one?" Amelia shot her friend a nasty glare. Brenda tipped her head to the side and glared right back. "The man's job is to protect people, Amelia. You made love with the guy, started crying all over him then told him he'd ruined your life. Maybe he deserved it. But if getting back together was what you really wanted, I'm thinking you went a bit too far laying on the guilt." "I wasn't crying all over him. And I wasn't trying to make him feel guilty!" Amelia realized her voice had risen above the normal hush in the teachers' lounge. Colleagues had stopped their own conversations to tune in to the melodrama her life had become. "I wasn't trying to do anything —" she whispered this time "— but be honest about how I felt." "Well, honesty's one way to go." Brenda saluted her with her now-empty pudding cup. "At least your conscience is clear." Amelia watched as her friend rose and walked to the corner to throw away her trash. She ripped at the remaining skin on her orange, peeling the rind away with enough gusto to send juice squirting across the table, landing in the salad that Mrs. Lester, the school secretary, had just begun to eat. She mumbled an apologetic "sorry" toward the woman, then beat a hasty retreat to the trash can that Brenda was still standing beside. "I feel as bad about the divorce as Dillon does," she said, tossing away her lunch. Her tone, and the pensive look she gave her friend, begged for understanding. "But he's decided he's through, Brenda. We tried the separation. We gave ourselves a break to figure out what we wanted. If Dillon doesn't think there's any hope of working things out, then I'd be crazy to keep hanging on." "What's crazy is the two of you not being together. You and Dillon and Tyler are a family. In my book, you don't mess with that, not when it's as good as what you guys had. A family like that's worth fighting for, Amelia. No matter how long it takes to work things out." Amelia knew Brenda had longed for a husband and a family of her own for years, but the woman was hunting for the man of her dreams, and she refused to settle for anything less. And that made watching Amelia and Dillon's split even more difficult for her to accept, given her high opinion of the town's sheriff. Amelia put her arm around her friend as they left for their respective classrooms. "And sometimes you've got to know when to let go of what can never be, Brenda," she said just as much for her own benefit. The wisdom in her words made sense to her mind. If only her heart would wise up and listen. Because learning how to stop loving Dillon Reed was a lesson Amelia wasn't sure she'd ever master.

Chapter Seventeen Dillon wanted to be anywhere but returning to the Gleasons' home to break up their second domestic dispute in as many days. He checked his watch as he and Rowdy Lewis drove over. It was after 2:00 p.m.,

965

and where he wanted to be was on his way to the school to see Amelia and Tyler. Just like he had yesterday this time. Like that would solve a damn thing, he thought to himself. It's over, Dillon. You've got to let go. Only, he wasn't sure he ever could. He pulled the cruiser into the Gleasons' mobile home park and braked beside the trailer. Rowdy called in their location, and then they both adjusted their side arms as they headed up the narrow steps to knock on the door. Rowdy looked on edge, and Dillon couldn't blame him. A neighbor had placed the disturbance call this time, when she'd heard the little Gleason girl wailing for what seemed like hours after another one of her parents' fights. Now the place was eerily silent. Something didn't feel right. "Sheriff's Department," Dillon announced as he knocked on the door. "Mr. and Mrs. Gleason, it's Dillon Reed. Open up." He tensed at the shuffling sound on the other side of the door then relaxed at the feminine, "Just a minute," that came in reply. The lock released and the door cracked open. A cautious, bloodshot eye peered at Dillon for a long moment before the door swung a tad wider. "Good Lord, Carol." Dillon's indrawn breath hissed between his teeth as he took stock of the woman's swollen eye. "Did Gary do that to you?" "No." She wouldn't let him see all of her face. "It's fine. I just… there was an accident, and it's fine now. Thanks for stopping by, but everyone here is okay." Dillon's hand stopped her from closing the door. "We got a call from your neighbor about another fight over here. Looks to me like you've had a bit more than just an accident. Is Gary home?" "He's in back, sleeping," Carol said in a shaky voice. "We're all napping." Dillon wasn't buying it, but if Carol didn't want to finger her husband for using her as a punching bag, there wasn't much Dillon could do about it. The safety of the couple's daughter, however, was another matter. Nausea rolled through his stomach as a memory flashed of Stephanie Gleason's glistening red hair framing her elflike face, complete with china-blue eyes. "Where's Stephanie?" he asked. "We've been through this before, Carol. I need to see all minor children before I can close out a disturbance call." "She…she's sleeping, too," the shaking woman said evasively. "Now why don't I believe you?" Dillon sighed and rubbed a finger across his jaw. "You know Deputy Lewis and I need to come in there and take a look around. If it's Gary you're afraid of —" "No." The woman's desperation made Dillon's heart clench. This wasn't the day for another family to fall apart right before his eyes. "I'm not afraid of my husband. I'm not afraid of anything." "Then let me in," he replied sternly. "If there's nothing wrong, it won't take me a minute to check things out and be on my way." And in the mood he was in, God help Gary Gleason if everything wasn't okay.

966

Carol hesitated, then the door swung open, permitting Dillon and Rowdy to enter.

Chapter Eighteen Carol Gleason kept her head down and her gaze averted. Dillon placed a consoling hand on her arm as Rowdy took a tour of the tiny den that swallowed half the trailer's width. "Are you okay?" Dillon asked, waiting for the woman to look up. When she did, he cursed at the sight of her two swollen eyes and split lip. "Where's Stephanie, Carol? Where's your little girl?" A shuffling to his right caused Dillon to spin, his hand poised over his still-holstered gun. What he saw in the dimmest corner of the kitchen made him curse again. That son of a bitch! He silently motioned for Rowdy to keep an eye on the hallway in case Gary was stupid enough to make an appearance, then he approached the little girl huddled by the refrigerator. "Stephanie?" he cooed, inching closer to the pixie-faced darlin' he'd gotten to know a little during his other visits to the trailer. He tried not to wince, tried not to curse another blue streak as he took in the little girl's fat lip and tear-streaked face. "Sweetheart, how about you let me put some ice on that boo-boo? I bet we can make it feel a whole lot better." The little girl's lip quivered, reminding Dillon of Tyler's heartache from just last night. With a nod, Stephanie inched closer to him. "You get the hell out of my house!" came Gary's angry voice from behind them, followed by the sound of Rowdy preventing the man from getting anywhere near his wife and daughter again. "There's nothing to see here. You have no right — " Stephanie began crying again, big gulping sobs of fear and helplessness that drove Dillon over the edge. He wheeled on the abusive pile of nothing being held firmly in his deputy's grasp, grabbed two handfuls of the man's stained T-shirt, and had him pinned against the trailer's flimsy wall before Rowdy knew what was happening. "You bastard! How could you do something like this to your wife and kid?" "Sheriff, turn him loose!" Rowdy pulled Dillon away as Carol edged around the perimeter of the room to curl her cringing daughter into her arms. When Gary moved to follow, Rowdy stopped him in his tracks with a dead-cold stare. "I wouldn't," the deputy said as he hesitantly let go of Dillon and fished his handcuffs from his belt. He turned Gleason to face the wall and began securing the man's hands behind his back. "You're under arrest for assault. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right… " Dillon barely heard Rowdy. He stumbled out of the trailer, grappling to subdue the anger raging inside him. He'd never lost control on the job before, no matter how much a suspect had provoked him. He'd stayed cool in countless high-stress situations that surpassed Gary Gleason's violence toward his family. But today was different. Last night Dillon had finally made himself accept the loss of his own family, and he'd been off balance ever since. If he was being honest, he'd been off balance for months now. Rowdy and the rest of his deputies were right to be concerned. Something had broken inside Dillon the minute he'd stepped away from his life with Amelia and Tyler. Nothing made sense without them. And he suspected nothing ever would.

967

And it was that realization that sent him striding to the squad car. He called in backup for Rowdy, and as soon as it arrived, he jumped into his squad car and headed for the school. He had to see his wife.

Chapter Nineteen "Please sit down, Mr. Holden, and I'd be happy to discuss this with you," Amelia said, trying to pacify the annoyed parent standing beside her desk. Tammy Holden looked mortified that her father had interrupted their tutoring session that afternoon, instead of waiting out front for them to finish. Chet Holden sat, not returning Amelia's encouraging smile. "As I said yesterday," Amelia began again. "I have no way to guarantee that Tammy will be promoted to second grade. That decision is her teacher's, and it depends on a host of other requirements in addition to math. What I can tell you is —" "That's a load of bull," the man blustered. Tammy winced at her father's raised voice. "My girl's doing fine in all her other subjects, and you're supposed to be the math expert in this school. You either know how Tammy's doing or you don't. If you can't tell me if all this extra, after-school work is paying off, then maybe they need to find themselves someone else to do your job?" "Well, that's going to be pretty tough to do," a rough voice said from the open doorway. Dillon stepped into the classroom, glaring at the other man. When he turned his gaze toward Amelia, though, his deep brown eyes singed her with a wave of pride she'd never seen before. "Mrs. Reed is hands down the best teacher I've ever run across, so I don't see how the school board could possibly afford to replace her." "Now look here, Sheriff," Chet said, as he fidgeted in his chair. "I wasn't meaning nothing personal —" "Of course not." Dillon rested a hand on the back of Amelia's chair. Just the sight of him, after her almost unbearable need to talk with him all day, momentarily robbed her of the ability to speak for herself. "You were trying to do what was best for your child, Chet. And I admire that. But what you have to understand is that that's exactly what Mrs. Reed is doing. Helping Tammy is her number-one concern. You've got to trust that she's doing what's best." Chet swallowed. Tammy buried her head in the arms she'd folded across her desk. Amelia wasn't sure exactly how to react. Hearing Dillon say she was irreplaceable at the school, hearing him say how much she should be trusted to do the right thing — it was like a dream come true, a dream she wasn't sure how to believe. Chet sighed, then he stuck out his chin. "I still need an answer 'cause I can't keep taking time off work if this after-school business isn't doing any good." "Oh, but it is," Amelia said, finding her voice for the sake of the embarrassed little girl who'd remained silent throughout her father's tirade. "Tammy, show your daddy your math test from class today." Tammy's head poked up, and after a nod of encouragement from Amelia, she fished a rumpled paper from her knapsack. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and hesitantly passed the graded addition test to her father. Chet blinked. He looked up at Amelia and a grin split his face as he beamed at his daughter. "A ninety-five!" he exclaimed. "Tammy, that's great. That's really great, darlin'." Tammy fell into his open arms, smiling with pride at both her accomplishment and his praise. Tammy was going to be okay, Amelia assured herself. As long as the little girl had her parents' support and encouragement, she was going to be fine.

968

As Chet helped his daughter gather her things to leave, Amelia looked up into her soon-to-be-ex-husband's eyes and marveled at all he'd just said about her. What was he doing here? "I'll see you tomorrow, Tammy," Amelia said over the lump in her throat, as the father-and-daughter pair left. She smiled in response to Chet's gruff thank you and waved a final goodbye to the little girl, and then found herself alone with her husband in the classroom. Dillon wedged himself into one of the small chairs set around the kid-sized tables. Staring at the tabletop, he seemed to be chewing on whatever he'd come to say. "Dillon, thank you for —" "Don't," he interrupted her, his tone so harsh she flinched. "Damn it, Ame, don't thank me. Slap me upside the head, yell at me some more, do anything but thank me. I didn't do anything just now but finally let myself see the truth about everything you do here, and why it's so important that you keep doing it. For kids like Tammy, and for yourself. I can't believe I asked you to give this up." "I…thank you…I…I don't know what to say." She felt like crying and squealing with delight all at the same time. She was almost dizzy with the conflicting emotions. "Say it's not too late," he demanded in a shaky voice she'd never heard her brave husband use before. "God, say you really haven't given up on us for good."

Chapter Twenty "Wh-what?" Amelia asked. Dillon wanted to believe the look his wife was giving him was one of hope. "We've already been down this road." "I know." Trying to shift his lower body beneath the absurdly small table, he banged his shin against one of its legs. "I know you've tried to get me to understand what you need. And I've been too stubborn to listen. I even understand why you think it's too late to go back and change things." His wife raised an eyebrow as he paused for her to respond. "If you're waiting for me to disagree with you, don't. I've tried to tell you a hundred different ways that I haven't returned to teaching because I feel like I'm missing something at home. I'm here because —" "I know." He sighed. "You're here because you're good at what you do. Damn good. And you missed helping these kids. You missed making the kind of difference you do in their lives. I get that now, Ame. And I can't begin to tell you how proud I am of you." The tears clouding her eyes killed him. "I get exactly how big a mistake I've made, walking away from what we had without giving you a chance," he continued. "That's what I wanted to talk with you about last night. But then I went and messed that up, too, by pushing you into doing something you told me you weren't ready for. I've been such a jerk. I had no reason to doubt your commitment to our family. I swear, I never meant to hurt you. I was just… It was this thing with me and my family —" "I know all about you and your family, Dillon." She wiped her eyes. "I understand why you want something different for Tyler. I've known from the start how important me staying home with our son is for you. But somewhere along the way, I realized I needed to be doing more with my life. And my needs aren't going to magically change, any more than yours are. That's why —"

969

"Please," he begged over the resignation creeping into her voice. "Please, Ame. Let me try and make this up to you. Let me try to make this right for you and Tyler again." She was shaking her head. Dillon's heart sank. "You can't do this for me and Tyler," she said. "It would never work that way." "Ame —" "No. Let me finish." She stood and settled daintily into the chair beside him. She took his hand and smoothed her fingers across his in a gesture of comfort they hadn't shared for far too long. When she looked up at him, a fragile kind of hope was shining in her eyes. The kind he'd seen once before, when she'd first asked him to understand why she wanted to return to teaching. When he'd first let her down. "Don't want our marriage back for me or Tyler, Dillon," she said. "You have your own needs, just like I do. If me teaching, and our relationship changing to accommodate that, isn't something you can be happy with, then don't ask me to try again. We can't work as a family if one of us is pretending to be something we're not. I'll love you, Dillon, for the rest of my life. But I can't change who I am and what's important to me. And you shouldn't have to, either." "I don't want you to change." Dillon forced himself to focus past her declaration of love, and his need to hear her repeat it. "I can't promise the impossible. I'll still be hardheaded and stubborn at times, you can count on it. But not about this. You were right when you said I was expecting you to fit into my vision of the perfect wife. But now I know I had perfection in my arms all along, and I want you just the way you are." He brushed at the tears still sliding from her eyes, drowning in the happiness radiating from her smile. "Amelia Reed," he said as he whispered a kiss across her lips, "I'm nothing without you. I can't be the man I need to be, the father I need to be, or this town's sheriff for that matter, without you in my life." Her laugh warmed him. Her hug as she launched into his lap was the promise of tomorrow he hadn't thought he deserved. "Well then, Sheriff Reed," she said, taking his mouth in a soft, lingering kiss. "I think it's time for you to come back home to your family, where you belong."

970

Read My Lips by Jane Sigaloff Assistant television producer Holly Frederick is not having a good day. First she overslept, then she left her book club book on the subway, and now she’s got to pull together a brilliant idea for a new show in the next four hours if she ever hopes to get a promotion. To top it all off, her long-term, live-in boyfriend—the one she wanted a “break” from, the one who was supposed to come crawling back, promising to stop pestering her about marriage—has made a decision. And it’s not the one Holly was expecting.

Chapter One Holly moved through the open-concept cubicles of All Talk TV trying to exude the air of someone returning from a breakfast meeting as opposed to someone who was late. Even for the television business, 10:45 a.m. was late. Shrugging off her coat as she reached her desk, she saw her voice-mail light flashing. She hoped David wasn’t in a disciplinary mood. Her boss firmly believed that making examples of employees’ wrongdoings was good for the soul or team building, or something. But she needed to keep her job. Someone had to finance her Starbucks addiction, provide her with free pens and notepads and keep her warm and dry during the day. In a single movement, Holly slipped into her chair and turned on her computer. However, stealth employee she apparently was not. Her phone rang immediately, displaying Sarah’s extension number. “You okay?” “Nightmare. Overslept.” The two girls whispered into their handsets in an attempt to make their conversation inaudible. “I thought you were supposed to be having an early night.” Sarah’s cube was diagonally opposite Holly’s, everything but her hair was masked by a partition. Even with twenty-first century anti-frizz products, Sarah’s unruly curls lived at the mercy of humidity. “I did, but apparently my alarm clock ran out of juice at 3:57 a.m., but I clearly hadn’t run out of sleep for another five hours. Then I picked the most uncomfortable bra I own, I left the book I still haven’t quite finished reading for our book group tonight on the subway, I can’t find my Softlips anywhere even though I always have one in my coat pocket and one in my purse, and I’m starving but can’t pop out for breakfast because I’ve just lied to David’s secretary, who caught me sneaking in, so I told her I was just back from a breakfast meeting.” Having shared her debacle of a morning with her best office friend, Holly instantly felt better. “Okay, breathe,” Sarah said in a calming tone. “I have Oreos and rice cakes in my drawer, French Vanilla and Vitamin Enriched Softlips in my purse and, if you can find a minute to read today, you’re welcome to borrow my copy of Mr. Marriage.” Couching the phone between her shoulder and ear, Holly freed her hands to log on and open her email account. “I am so lucky to have my own in-house Jewish mother.” “Hey! Make that sister! A heads-up—David has requested a meeting with all the assistant development producers at 3 p.m.” Holly scribbled a reminder on a Post-it note and added it to the collection framing her computer screen. She had only four hours to come up with a new idea for David’s latest project. His suggestion of a “talk show meets reality TV” had been given the thumbs-up by the network brass. Now the production team had to turn the pitch into real program ideas. Coming up with the perfect concept would make the positive impact she

971

needed to get on the shortlist for a promotion. At this rate, she wasn’t going to get her house-by-the-beach lifestyle while she still looked good in a bikini. In career terms, she’d started out at the bottom and had only worked her way to the crowded middle. Booking and researching guests for talk shows was hardly going to win her an Emmy. But David was giving her a chance, letting her develop her ideas, and she had to make the most of it. “Before you start panicking again, I think you’ve got some good ideas. David’s going to love them,” Sarah added. “Thanks.” Holly smiled to herself as she caught sight of her printed proposal at the top of the pile of her inbox. Sarah never collected anything from the printer without reading it. “Gotta go. Other line is flashing.” “Holly Frederick.” Holly started to scan the rest of her inbox for anything urgent. “Hol, it’s me.” “Will?” Holly’s vital signs went into free fall. Focusing on the facts, she managed to rein herself in. He was calling two days early. Which could only mean good news? His voice didn’t sound upbeat. “I’m glad I caught you in person.” Would he really have left his decision on her voice mail? Holly gripped the phone tighter. Will cleared his throat. “I—I just wanted to say that I think it would be better if we ended it.” No Hello. No How are you? No This is really hard on me. Maybe voice mail would have been gentler. “I—I… You…” Holly had to force herself to complete a sentence. “I thought we’d agreed that we had until the end of the month.” She should’ve known that today was going to be The-Day-It-All-Went-Wrong. It wasn’t as if the day had started off well. “Which gives us two more days, but I don’t see the point in making this any more drawn-out than it has been already.” Will’s voice was emotionless. Powerless against the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, she tilted her head back fractionally to keep them in check, her nostrils flaring as she struggled to keep her breathing as normal as possible. “So, this is it?” “There’s no need to be so dramatic.” “We’ve been dating for five years, living together for two. I think that means I can be as friggin’ dramatic as I like.” Despite wanting to yell it at him, Holly kept her volume to a minimum. That’s as undramatic as she was prepared to get—and even then, it was only for the sake of personal privacy. She couldn’t believe how composed Will sounded and how ridiculously inside-out she felt at his pronouncement. It’s not as if she’d wanted to marry him. “Look, you were right. We needed a break,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. Besides, she had wanted to be the one making the decision. The whole point of initiating a break was to make Will miss her like crazy and finally understand her point of view. Just because she didn’t get the whitedress thing didn’t mean she couldn’t love him. “I’ve done a lot of thinking and from where I’m sitting there’s no going back. Too much has changed.” “So we’re done?” Holly could fake pragmatism with the best of them.

972

“Are you okay?” “Sure.” More like anything but. “I’ve got to go.” Hanging up, she grabbed her cell and walked to the bathroom as calmly as she could. This was shaping up to be the worst day of her entire life—and it wasn’t even lunchtime.

*** Holly splashed more cold water onto her blotchy face. Within minutes, despair had replaced shock, and now anger was settling in. She’d planned to suggest they make one last-ditch effort before giving up on five relatively happy—okay, maybe four of them were relatively happy—years together, but she’d been so shocked to hear from Will before the deadline that she’d completely forgotten her well-thought-out argument. Besides, begging just wasn’t her style. What’s worse, Will was probably right, damn him. And he’d changed. Drying her face, she took a long look at herself in the mirror. Her hair needed highlighting, she could do with a tan—fake or otherwise, her mascara clearly wasn’t waterproof despite its advertising claims, and her horrible bra was giving her breasts an unnatural shape. That said, she knew she wasn’t unattractive. And she was going to be fine. She had several Destiny’s Child albums, an unopened tub of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food in the freezer and—Holly forced herself to take a deep breath—five people coming to her apartment for drinks and a book group discussion at 7 p.m. If only Will had called her at home this morning: a) She might not have overslept. b) She could have invented a urinary tract infection, called in sick, canceled the book club meeting and been able to self-indulgently wallow in pajama-clad heartache. She straightened her shoulders and forced a smile on her reflection in the mirror. A night with the girls was exactly what a newly-single gal needed. The double-beep of her phone threatened her improvised positive attitude. With trepidation, Holly peered at the incoming text message. PS NEED 2 HEAD 2 APT 2 FETCH SOME THINGS L8R THIS AFTERNOON HOPE IS OK SPK SOON W The man was a coward. Holly resisted the urge to hurl her cell phone against the tiled interior of the bathroom, not least because right now she needed to call Laura and make plans. Thirty-one years old and she had just been dumped by her boyfriend. Time to call the same person she’d called every time she was dumped since she was thirteen.

*** Holly sprinted out of the elevator, through the minimalist lobby and out of the revolving door, straight into the other man in her life. David. “Holly? Is everything okay?” Steam snaked out through his Starbucks lid, its rich aroma reminding Holly that she still hadn’t had breakfast. “Sure,” Holly lied.

973

“All set for the meeting this afternoon?” “You bet.” Holly tried to appear as though she were rushing out on urgent business, despite the fact the only thing she carried was her cell phone. “Great. Great. And I gather you had a breakfast meeting earlier…” Holly could feel him studying her. She just held her lips in the same forced smile. “Impressive.” David nodded. “And your work on last season’s show was terrific. But go easy. I don’t want you to burn out before the New Year.” “Thanks.” Holly made sure she pressed Save on the moment. A compliment from David was as rare as finding a matching pair of shoes that fit in the sale rack. Though his smile was kind, his eyes were searching hers for an explanation for her mad dash outdoors. Holly started to walk away. The last thing she needed right now was David Brooks being uncharacteristically interested in her every move. Assertively, Holly marched away from All Talk’s office in Times Square, her cell clamped to her ear, preparing to sound as buoyant as possible and thanking the real estate gods for making the Palmers and the Fredericks neighbors in the ‘80s. “Laura Palmer, please.” “Who’s calling?” “Holly Frederick.” Relishing the feeling of cold air on her face but wishing she had her tweed coat for the rest of her, Holly headed east on 42nd Street and made straight for a bench in Bryant Park. Laura’s sunny tones flooded through Holly’s cell. “Hi, gorgeous. I’m so glad you called—you must be psychic. You won’t believe what just happened to me!”

Chapter Two Laura had just stolen Holly’s line— “you won’t believe what just happened to me” —although it sounded very much like Laura’s news was going to be a lot better than hers. “Remember Christopher?” Laura’s energy was almost infectious. “Your boss?” Holly suppressed a shiver and switched her cell phone from one ear to the other. It was a perfect New York City fall day: high pressure, clear blue skies, glorious sunshine, but breathtakingly cold. What’s more, her new tweed coat was currently keeping her office chair warm. The chair she was supposed to be sitting on instead of this bench. “Christopher with the apartment in TriBeCa, parents with a house at the beach?” Compared to Laura, Holly had clearly made it only into the Little League of dating so far. “Exactly. He asked me out.” “I thought you two have been having a thing for a while?” Holly sighed. She had called wanting her best friend to commiserate with her; instead Laura’s positivity was threatening to spoil the desolate mood. And, unfortunately, the faint annoyance in her voice was masked by the New York street sounds all around her.

974

“Okay, so there have been a few unofficial moments. And before you say it, I know it isn’t really ethical, but since I’ve been promoted I don’t report directly to him…and you have to admit, he’s such an improvement on some of the dates I’ve been on before. Well, I mean at least I’ve actually met him.” Laura laughed and Holly recalled her friend’s recent blind-dating and speed-dating disasters. Sex and the city wasn’t quite as easy as the television show claimed. “Anyway, he sent me flowers this morning and then asked me out. And just when I thought there were no gentlemen left in Manhattan. It’s all I can do not to skip to the watercooler.” “That’s great, Laura.” Placing her free palm over her eyes, Holly attempted to block out the rest of the world and her day. “Christopher is no less than you deserve.” Despite her genuine delight for her best friend, she knew that her enthusiasm sounded more wooden than Pinocchio. “Does he have a brother by any chance?” “Holly? Are you okay?” “Oh, fine.” Suddenly overcome by exhaustion, Holly wasn’t even sure she could dredge up the energy to explain. Except that if Laura didn’t know, it hadn’t really happened, since her childhood friend was privy to everything. “I mean apart from the fact that I overslept this morning, I’ve got a huge deadline and Will called me to tell me it’s over. He’s going to the apartment this afternoon to pick up some stuff.” She absently rubbed her now aching forehead. “Any chance we could meet for a quick drink or nine before the book club? Ha ha.” It was meant to be a laugh, and it had started well, but ended as more of a sob. “Oh my God, Holly. Where are you? Never mind. I can’t leave work until the London financial markets have closed. Darling, are you sure you’re holding it together?” Even though Holly and Will had had nearly five good years together, Laura was no doubt wishing she had never introduced the two of them. “Really—” Holly sniffed “—I’m fine. Absolutely shittily fine, but alive, kicking, in denial, relieved and distraught all at the same time. You don’t need to worry.” “Of course I’m going to worry.” “I just wanted you to know.” “And here I am, going on and on about my new guy. You should have stopped me.” “It’s great news for you.” “Will must be insane to even consider letting you go. Can’t you dump work and go home? Maybe if you could talk to him face-to-face?” “Uh-uh. I’ve only just got in, and I’ve got a big meeting at 3 p.m. Plus, I probably don’t need to watch Will decimate our CD collection.” “So that’s it then?” When Holly’s phone beeped in her ear for the third time, she decided she couldn’t continue to ignore the rest of the world. Peering at the screen, she saw that the number was blocked. Maybe Will was on someone else’s phone? Maybe he had lost his keys? Or maybe George Clooney had heard that she was feeling a bit down, was in town for the afternoon and wanted to volunteer to appear in a couple of her shows and then, of course, take her on the dream date of a lifetime. “Laura, can you hold for a second?” Without waiting for a response, she pressed Send to accept the new call. “Holly Frederick.” “Where are you?” Sarah whispered. “David’s looking for you.” A police siren drowned out her next words. “…outside?” Sarah couldn’t have sounded any more disapproving. “Have you started smoking again?”

975

“Of course not.” The idea did suddenly seem appealing, though. “Look, if you see him again, tell him I’ll be ten minutes, max.” What was it with him today? Holly hung up and switched back to Laura. Clearly she should’ve checked her horoscope—or should that have been horrorscope? —this morning. Mars and Saturn must really be pissing Venus off at the moment.

*** Panting, Holly ran up the stairs up to her second-floor apartment. Not only was this day determined not to end, she was now late for her monthly book club meeting. At least she’d burned a few hundred calories during the rush home, which was good because she’d felt the need for two restorative shots of caramel in her non-skinny latte earlier. She’d been practically hallucinating about a bottle of wine since she’d stepped foot out of her cubicle. When the going got tough, this girl craved calories. Laura greeted her at her own front door. “I’m so sorry, Laura.” Holly tried to even out her breathing, and peeled off several layers as her body did its best to regulate her temperature. “Only David would delay a meeting by two hours and then expect everyone to be available. Thanks for coming early to let everyone in. I owe you big-time.” “How was the meeting?” “Not bad. To be continued tomorrow. Too many ideas to get through.” “Which can only be a good thing, right?” Laura was a banker. Ideas in her office were reserved for what designer items to spend your bonus on. “I guess.” Holly hung her coat on one of the hooks next to the front door. “So, is everyone here yet?” She could hear the murmur of voices coming from the living room. Laura nodded before enveloping Holly in the sort of bear hug reserved for best friends in a crisis. Just as she felt her emotions begin to surrender to the stress of her day, Holly wrestled herself free. “Not now.” Laura took a step back and pretended to fix her hair instead. “Got it.” Holly glanced at her best friend. Something was different. “What’s going on with your chin?” Reflexively hiding her chin with her fingers, Laura blushed. “Can you still see it?” “They might be a little on the puffy side today, but I still have eyes.” Laura giggled sheepishly. “Is it an unidentified dating injury?” “I guess my sensitive skin just isn’t used to Chris’s five o’clock shadow.” Holly smiled. “The rest of you, on the other hand, looks fabulous.” Her best friend was glowing. “So,” Laura hedged, “please don’t take this the wrong way—I mean, you look amazing all things considered, but you’ve looked better.”

976

Holly nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ve felt better, too. Although I can’t help feeling that after months of uncertainty and emotional yo-yoing, at least we can now both move forward.” “That’s my girl.” “I just wish I’d been the one to break up with him. That said, I don’t want to tell everyone yet. Well, not tonight at least.” “You don’t?” Laura asked. “Not really. I’m not sure I’m ready to have my relationship picked apart by everyone yet.” Laura nodded but looked distracted. No doubt thinking of her own situation. “Look, I may not be entirely myself this evening but deep down, I know it’s not the end of the world. It’s definitely for the best. I mean, I could have married him two years ago when he asked.” “Except it’s not what you wanted. And you don’t believe in marriage.” “It’s outdated. I’m not interested in belonging to anyone.” “Holly Frederick, superfeminist.” “Or at least I’m not interested in belonging to Will,” she admitted aloud for the first time. Laura nodded. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” “Never say never, and all that, but I just can’t see myself doing the aisle thing.” “Maybe if you meet the right man…” Holly smiled at Laura’s new date-related optimism and applied a fresh coat of Softlips before entering the arena. If only her life could be as reliable as her lip balm. “Meanwhile, just think of the money you’ve saved. One white dress equals a hell of a lot of footwear.” Holly let out a genuine laugh for the first time that day. Laura had always managed to find a silver lining in everything. She squeezed her best friend’s arm gratefully as she prepared to make her entrance. “Thanks for being you, Laura.”

Chapter Three “To Holly.” Katie stood, brandishing her glass of white wine so assertively that the upward force almost caused the wine to splash over the rim. “Holly.” The other members of the book group joined in the toast. Ambushed in her own living room. As Sarah handed her a glass of chilled wine—the only remedy she hadn’t been able to procure from her desk drawer at the office—Holly resisted the overwhelming urge to glare at Laura. “Because you’re much better off without him.” Ella, Holly’s upstairs neighbor and founding member of their book group, couldn’t have been more enthusiastic. “Just think you’ll never have to watch another Vin Diesel film.”

977

Holly was slightly surprised at her fervor. Ella had always seemed to get along well with Will. Two struggling artists in an unjust world. “Or the Mets.” Katie was a die-hard Yankee fan. Or at least she preferred their logo. “Or order deep-crust pizzas, or listen to Nirvana.” Her designer glasses propped atop her head to keep her long blond hair off her face, Katie seated herself in the armchair and started flicking through a magazine as Holly reminded herself that her little sister was only trying to help. “We could always leave the discussion until next month. You know, if you think it might be too hard on you.” Mona’s concern was wide-eyed. Her messy short dark hair the only clue that she had two small children, she looked immaculate in fashionable jeans and a sweater, and her manicure was the best in the room. “No, really, I’m fine.” Holly knew Mona less than the others and yet her empathy was tangible and threatened to send her over the edge. “I’m much better when I’ve got something to do.” “I just wish we’d picked a different book now.” Laura grinned, as if hoping to disperse some of the tension. “I think it’s pretty fitting, actually.” Holly suddenly felt very up to discussing the book. “Maybe the battle of the sexes has really gone full circle. Now that women have realized the extent and the diversity of their abilities, maybe they don’t want to limit their potential by settling down to look after a man. I, for one, don’t blame them.” Ella, still single at forty-two, whooped approvingly, the bangles on her wrist jangling as she punched the air. “You go, girlfriend.” As Holly took her place on the couch, she couldn’t help but notice the others watching her every move. “Hey, we were already on a break and things hadn’t been good for a few months. And if you were wondering, yes, Laura has a very red chin because she’s been kissing a new man…” Diversion tactics seemed the best course of action at this point—and they had the added bonus of reaping some revenge for blabbing. Mona giggled as Laura blushed. Katie replaced her glasses to peer at Laura’s chin before rummaging in her bag and silently handing over her Touche Éclat. To Holly’s amusement, Laura took it gratefully. “I’d just let it breathe.” Sarah, ever practical, was the first with real advice. “Until you next see him, of course. You should also seriously consider buying him one of those extreme razors for Christmas.” “I’d make it Thanksgiving. I’m not sure your chin is going to make it until the end of December.” Ella laughed heartily at her own joke. She seemed to be even more high-energy and louder than usual, something Holly hadn’t considered possible. “Thanks for the advice. Now, can we please move on?” Laura poked Holly’s arm just a little bit too hard for it to be merely an affectionate gesture. “You didn’t think you were going to get away keeping any secrets with Ella in the room, did you?” Holly grinned. “I just thought I’d get in there before she did. Besides, read-my-lips,” she enunciated slowly, “I’m fine.” “Well, I’m glad to see you’re so upbeat.” Mona raised her glass to Holly. “Relationships can get pretty messy.” She took a sip before continuing. “At least Will never got your name wrong when you were in bed together.” “What?” Ella’s voice stretched the one-syllable word into an octave.

978

Suddenly shy, Mona studied the floor, nervously twirling the hair at the nape of her neck. “It only happened one time. Joe and I hadn’t been together for that long and you should have seen the look on his face when he realized he’d shouted out the wrong name. But I guess everyone makes mistakes.” “There are mistakes and there are mistakes.” Clearly shocked, Sarah was still doing her best to be diplomatic. “I would have walked out.” Katie shook her head incredulously. Like all college students before her, she was sure her generation was the most assertive yet. “What are you, some sort of martyr? Where’s your selfrespect?” “Hey, easy there,” Ella cut in. “Life’s complicated sometimes.” Holly had always thought that Ella would have been the perfect Oprah if Oprah hadn’t gotten there first. Instead, she did voice-over work, assistantmanaged a bookstore and performed the occasional bit part in off-Broadway plays, eternally waiting for her big break. Holly kept silent, grateful to Mona that the attention was no longer solely on her. Turning toward the kitchen, she noticed an enormous and beautiful bunch of flowers dwarfing the breakfast bar. Probably from Laura. Plus enough cookies and bottles of wine to replace any heartache with a heart attack. She was surprised “I Will Survive” wasn’t playing in the background. Despite herself she was grateful not to be alone. There’d be plenty of time for that, starting tomorrow. And there really was no time like girl-time. “It sure is.” Mona said, sitting up straighter. “And there are always two sides to every story,” Sarah said, empathetic as ever. Katie made a retching noise. “Oh, puh-lease. Surely you would be out of there in a flash if you had any selfrespect.” “Hey, this is my life you’re talking about. Wait until you’ve been around the block a couple more times.” Katie examined her cuticles in a gesture of tacit apology. Holly wished her sister would just come out and say sorry, but Mona, apparently satisfied, continued. “It wasn’t cut-and-dried,” Mona said in her own defense. “Sarah’s right. Plus, we have children. And marriage is for life, not just for Christmas.” Holly decided to break up the witches of the Westside before it got nasty. None of them knew Mona well enough to be playing judge or jury. “Don’t forget, men are simple creatures. We all know they can only concentrate on one thing at a time. I mean Will couldn’t even chew and change the TV channel simultaneously.” This breakup ordeal was looking better and better all the time. Mona flashed her hostess a grateful smile as the group shared a laugh. “Jonathan can’t read the paper if the radio is on,” Sarah said with a grin, “whereas I have been known to mentally write a shopping list while having sex.” She looked as if she wanted to take them back as soon as the words left her mouth. Despite being only in her late twenties, she was the most prudish of the group, and they all knew it. Holly came to her rescue. “Life indeed seems to be less of a rich tapestry and more of a patchwork quilt. But I guess that’s what keeps it interesting.” “Right.” Ella, group member with the loudest voice and the clearest diction, waded in to get their evening back on course. “Has everyone got their copy of the book with them?” Four dog-eared copies of Mr. Marriage were pulled from bags around the room. Sarah moved closer to Holly so she could share her copy.

979

Mr. Marriage had shot straight to the top of the New York Times bestseller list and stayed there. A MANual for the twenty-first century, it claimed that men were now keener than women to tie the knot. Speculation over its anonymous author had prompted debate from coast to coast, shore to shore, book club to book club. Its distinctive red-and-blue cover could be seen everywhere. “Well, I really enjoyed it,” Sarah started. “And it was pretty accurate, too. Jonathan was dying to get married long before I was and we were only twenty-five when we did.” “Freaks,” Katie half muttered to herself as she eased off her Ugg boots and tucked her feet underneath her. At twenty-one years old, her longest relationship had lasted five months. Holly knew she couldn’t imagine volunteering to spend a lifetime with someone until she was at least thirty. And that was forever away. Ella glared at her then focused on Sarah. “Why do you think you and Jonathan decided to get hitched so young?” Sarah shrugged. “Wanting to have a family before we’re thirty, wanting to enjoy being married before we had kids, plus, both our parents married young.” “Do you think we all base our expectations for marriage on our parents?” Ella looked thoughtful. Laura was the first off the mark. “Definitely. Mine are divorced and I no longer look at marriage as the be-all and end-all. I figure if you’re married for ten to twenty years that’s pretty good.” Mona nodded. “My parents’ divorce made me more determined to make my marriage work. But I think the author makes some very valid points. Marriage isn’t high on most women’s agenda anymore until their early thirties, when they start thinking about having children. With guys, it’s like they have a checklist of accomplishments and a wife is one of them. If they’re falling behind their friends, they start to panic.” “Until, of course, another beautiful woman comes along.” Holly couldn’t help it. She and Katie had watched their father lust after women throughout their parents’ marriage while her mother, trapped and resolutely determined to be a good mother, had pretended not to care. Men might want to be married, but did they really want to be faithful? A thoughtful murmur rippled through the group. Holly paused for effect before continuing as Mona started to fiddle with her watch strap. “And men are definitely keener to have children earlier, probably because they don’t have to actually do anything except have sex. If men had to give birth…well, for a start they’d want danger pay and a maternity leave that rivals Sweden’s.” Holly downed what was left in her glass. “So…” Ella seized control of the discussion as Sarah refilled everyone’s glasses. “Do we think the author is a man or a woman?” “I think she’s a woman.” Laura was emphatic. “There’s a lot of emotional intelligence in the book.” “But why bother keeping your identity a secret?” The concept of anonymity was clearly wasted on Katie. Growing up in the era of celebrity overexposure, she felt it was her right to know everything about everyone in the public eye—preferably with a selection of revealing photos alongside, too. Laura was the first to offer a reply. “Keeping the author anonymous was great PR. Look how fast it’s selling.” Mona shook her head. “I don’t think it’s about PR. I think it’s a matter of hurt pride. If you’d been rejected several times and had bared your soul on paper, do you think you’d want to admit to it? Maybe writing the book was the author’s way of dealing with what had happened to him. I think it’s got to be a man behind it.”

980

Laura shrugged her shoulders, unconvinced. “Even more reason to come out and tell all. Unless…” Laura had a new theory “…it was written by a public figure.” “Most public figures can’t get enough publicity.” Katie might have been the youngest there, but she definitely understood celebrities and media frenzies. Holly zoned in and out of the discussion. As her gaze flitted around the room, she realized her apartment was intact. The bookcases were still overflowing; the CD collection was still towering precariously next to the fireplace. The only things that seemed to be missing were a few photos, and their absence was bound to be due to tactful tidying by Laura and Katie. Holly bet Will hadn’t noticed them for months before he’d moved out for their break. The discussion paused mid-sentence as a familiar noise, initially barely audible over the lively debates, caught everyone’s attention. The telephone. To pick up or not to pick up—that was the question. There was no such thing as a quick call with her mother and anyone else could probably wait or would call her cell. After the fourth ring, the answering machine kicked in and seconds later, Will’s voice filled the apartment.

Chapter Four “Holly? Please pick up if you’re there. It’s me.” Will’s familiar voice echoed through the sudden silence. Five pairs of eyes observed Holly as she stared at the answering machine in the corner of the breakfast bar. “Your cell is off and…damn…” A sharp intake of breath. Holly wondered if he’d started smoking again. He’d only really given it up because she did. “I really need to talk to you.” For a man who’d left a career in banking to become a professional writer, Will had turned out to be lousy at communication. For the first time since getting home, Holly wished she was on her own. “I need to collect some stuff.” An awkward pause. “This evening if at all possible…” Holly shook her head, words deserting her. If she hadn’t thought so earlier in the day, she certainly knew now that the man’s timing was dreadful. “If you’re not around, maybe I could get Ella to give me a hand. Anyway, I don’t know why I’m just talking to this tape. I guess I thought, well, you know, you’d be at home.” “Life goes on, you egotist.” Laura had clearly meant to think it. Luckily answering machines didn’t offer twoway communication. Suddenly, Ella pounced on the handset. “You’ve got a lot of nerve—” Holly wanted to tell her to go gently, and then again she didn’t. Ella was capable of being far more terrifying than Holly could ever be. “You can’t just expect to turn up whenever you feel like it. This isn’t your home anymore. Your choice.” Grateful for the mildly anesthetic properties of white wine, Holly felt no need to intervene. As Ella wandered down the hall, away from her audience, Laura linked her arm in Holly’s. “Want us all to leave?”

981

Holly shook her head numbly. “Sure?” Holly really didn’t know what she wanted. While she could honestly cope with the thought of Will and her being over, she couldn’t even begin to deal with the concept of him coming over to the apartment to pack up his stuff while she was there. Mona and Sarah gave up pretending to study the book jacket intently and started to pack up their things. Katie sat tight, as unobtrusively as she could. It was a well-known fact that one of the best things about having an older sister with an apartment in Manhattan was always having somewhere to stay. And right now, there was free entertainment, too. This was just as gripping as anything Holly had worked on for TV. “Right, well, that’s taken care of.” Ella was back in their midst. “Hey, just a minute.” She stood between Sarah, Mona and the door to the hallway. “Where do you two think you’re going?” “I think—we think—we should do this another time.” Sarah cradled her gaily printed and obviously overloaded canvas shoulder bag against her like a shield. “Maybe next week if we can find time. Meanwhile Mona and I are going to grab a drink somewhere nearby…” Sarah nodded encouragingly at Mona, who completed the thought. “Everyone’s welcome. I personally could do with a little more girl-time and group therapy before I go home.” Holly was oblivious. “How is he? How did he sound?” she couldn’t help asking. “I hope you weren’t too hard on him.” Ella folded her arms across her ample chest, and Mona and Sarah stopped in their tracks to hear Ella’s response. “He’s a grown man, he can deal. Besides, you can ask him yourself in a minute. He’s only a couple of blocks away. He needs to swing by and collect a few things.” “Right now? But I thought…” Holly had never liked surprises. Ella shrugged. “Apparently he’s leaving town tomorrow for a few days.” Holly’s brain struggled to stay on board the roller coaster that in one day had become her life. One thing she knew for certain: She was pissed about being the last person to know everything. Laura got to her feet. “Right, I’m with Mona and Sarah on this one. But I have a better idea. Why don’t we just move to your apartment, Ella? Leave Holly down here to face him on her own and then she can come up and join us afterwards if she feels like it, or just shout if things get tricky. I don’t think we all need to be sitting here when he arrives. This isn’t Jerry Springer.” “He already knows we’re here.” Ella sat down and picked up her copy of Mr. Marriage, looking ready to continue with the book club despite everyone else. “Besides I’m sure it’ll help Holly not to be all alone.” “Come on. Be reasonable. This is her crisis, not ours. Let’s go.” She motioned to the rest of the group to support her. Apparently irritated by Ella’s insensitivity, Laura went to the kitchen in search of her bag. “I’m not sure that invading my apartment is such a good idea.” Ella was definitely stalling. Laura was definitely losing her temper. “What’s the problem?” “Well, for one, the apartment is a mess…” “Who cares. We just want a place to sit.”

982

“Plus you have no kids and no puppy. Your mess won’t even register on my scale of untidiness.” Mona sidestepped Ella and joined Sarah nearer the door. “It’s just, well, tonight isn’t really appropriate.” Holly was sure she could see a pink tint in Ella’s cheek. “I’m sort of seeing someone later. In fact, they might have arrived already,” Ella finally admitted. “You have a girlfriend?” Without so much as a second thought, Katie asked the million-dollar question that none of the others had ever had the gall to ask. To their collective surprise, Ella laughed. “No, although I guess I understand the question given the state of my previously nonexistent love life.” A proud smile played at the corners of her mouth. “I have a boyfriend.” “You’re dating someone?” Holly hoped she hadn’t sounded too incredulous but Ella wasn’t normally the secretive sort. And how had this new paramour escaped her attention? The woman lived a floor above her. Maybe she’d bought him on eBay? Or met him online. Perhaps he’d never visited her apartment. Normally Ella shared every little detail of her life with the group, whether or not they actually wanted to know. “We don’t bite.” Laura seemed even more determined to move to Ella’s apartment. She apparently wanted a look at this mysterious boyfriend. “It’s just, well, it’s all quite new and, it’s complicated…” Ella couldn’t believe that, at forty-two, she still hadn’t learned to think before she spoke. Katie folded her arms. “What is he, married?” Her tone was accusatory. “No, no, nothing like that.” Holly watched Ella fiddle nervously with her necklace, sliding the emerald pendant backwards and forwards along its gold chain. Something was going on. The group’s attention was hijacked as a snivel escaped Mona and she sat back down on the sofa, apparently defeated. “Mona? What’s up?” Holly crouched down beside her. Mona blew her nose loudly on an immaculately folded Kleenex she produced magically from her sleeve. “It’s Joe. He’s been seeing someone else.” See, this was why Holly never wanted to get married. “Are you sure? Maybe he’s just really busy at work.” Holly racked her brains for other best-case scenarios. “It’s who he’s busy with that worries me. I didn’t want to talk about it.” She blew her nose again. “Or at least I didn’t think I wanted to talk about it. We’ve been having some problems. The name mix-up was more recent than I suggested. But we’re a family. And I want us to stay that way.” “Every couple has problems.” Sarah joined Mona on the couch. “And you’ve been married for a while.” “Five years.” Mona blew her nose again. “I thought I was handling it all. Clearly not.” “So the seven-year itch is a little early.” Visibly grateful at Sarah’s efforts to lighten the tone, Mona sat up and pulled herself together. “I know, and we’re talking about it, which is helping everything. We’ve even started seeing a counselor. I’m sorry.” She managed a watery smile.

983

“Don’t be ridiculous. These things always seem much more manageable when they’re out in the open.” Sarah should have been a therapist, not a secretary, Holly thought for the second time that evening. Mona nodded. “Can we keep this between ourselves?” “Nothing you have told us leaves this room. Right, ladies?” Sarah received four nods in response. “It’s just that he’s so angry with me,” said Mona. “Angry with you?” “Worse, it’s not wholly unjustified.” “You’re having an affair, as well?’ “No, no, nothing like that.” “Well, what?” “You have to promise, really promise me, you won’t say a word to anyone.” Mona looked around at her captive audience. Katie sat up, applying her Cool Cherry lip balm slowly, deep in thought. “You’re a pole dancer?” “Of course not. But I have been leading something of a double life.” A momentary silence engulfed them all. Holly was only too happy to have been temporarily drawn into Mona’s crisis. What other dirty secrets would be revealed tonight? “Mona,” Sarah interrupted, much to Katie’s and Ella’s annoyance. “I’m coming right back to you but press pause, just for a second. Will is going to be here any second and Mona has a big confession to make. Time isn’t on our side so, Holly, what’s the plan? Do we stay or do we go?” Holly shrugged. Sarah retied her big hair, pulling it away from her face. “We can easily reschedule the book club meeting. I’ll send an e-mail first thing tomorrow, when we’ve all got our Outlook calendars in front of us.” Instead of deep thoughts about Will, all Holly could think of was how she missed paper calendars. “And the rest of us can just find a bar now.” Sarah picked up her bags again and gave Holly a hug. “You really don’t need us here, honey. I’ll see you at the office. Or call me anytime on the cell if you want to chat. Mona, Laura, Katie, Ella, come with me. I think we need to talk this through.” “Thanks, Sar.” Mona and Holly exchanged glances as they simultaneously expressed their gratitude. A key sliced into the lock on the front door. The women looked at each other, then around Holly’s onebedroom apartment. Too late. There was nowhere to hide. Ella held her hand up in front of her. “Look, he knows we’re all here, so I suggest we all just sit back down and get on with it, instead of standing around like some awkward not-so-welcoming committee.”

984

Holly’s heart rate increasing, she stood a few feet inside her own front door and watched it open in slow motion as Will, still attached to the keys on the other side, stepped into her hallway.

Chapter Five Holly hadn’t seen Will for nearly a month and while she might not have admitted it, even to herself, she’d hoped that he hadn’t been coping well without her. His appearance, however, told a different story. His blond hair had been stylishly cut, his shabby Timberlands had been replaced with loafers, his leather jacket was new and he was even wearing aftershave, something that in five years she had failed to encourage him to do. The selection of bottles she’d donated to the cause were still collecting dust in their— her—bathroom cabinet. “Sorry to interrupt your evening like this.” If Will was fazed by the scene before him, his disguise was perfect. With every woman in her apartment clutching a copy of Mr. Marriage, she was sure Will must have been thinking he’d stumbled across a convention of wanna-be-Desperate Housewives. But she was fine. Really. Well, she was going to be just as soon as he got out of her personal space. “Your timing has always been lousy.” It felt good to say it. “I totally meant to come over while you were at work, but I got delayed in a meeting. And I’m leaving town tomorrow for a bit.” A bit of what? Holly didn’t want to know. And then again, she did. All day she’d been coming up with questions for Will and now that he was there, she couldn’t articulate one of them. Will scratched the back of his head. “So…” Five years reduced to awkward monosyllables. He gestured in the direction of their room. “Do you mind if I pack a bag or two?” Holly folded her arms across her chest. “Help yourself.” She was still wearing her deformed-breasts bra. And she hadn’t had time to wash her hair this morning. Damn.

*** “So, do I get any reasons, any clue?” Closing the bedroom door behind her, Holly confronted Will. She knew she was supposed to take his decision with dignity and poise, and she would, in a minute. “As for calling me at work, that is championship cowardice. And then nothing—no discussion, not a word of explanation.” “Knowing you, given the opportunity, you might have tried to talk me into trying to be happy with mere cohabitation one more time.” Will sighed. “But it hasn’t been right for months and you know it. We want different things.” Will removed a few shirts from their hangers and put them in a new leather duffel bag. Holly nodded. He was right. She’d thought about calling an end to the relationship several times. But somehow it had always been the wrong moment. And now she’d had to relinquish control, which she hated as much as anything. “We’ve just been going through the motions. We’d become a habit. And not a particularly good one.” He stuffed a pair of jeans in the bag. “You know how much I hate goodbyes, but this is definitely the best thing for both of us.” Will’s confidence and apparent lack of emotion infuriated Holly more than his actual decision. Finally, Holly found her voice again. “So where are you going tomorrow?”

985

“So, we’re okay? This is okay?” Will’s eyes searched Holly’s for acceptance, but he didn’t answer the question. “I think ‘okay’ might be pushing it.” Holly experienced an unexpected wave of relief. The wavering back and forth over what to do was over. “But I’m not going to hire a hit man if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m mostly furious that you’ve handled this so badly.” “I’m sorry. But this really isn’t the time or the place to go into it all.” Will started packing his collection of sneakers. “I would have thought it was a perfect opportunity.” Will shook his head. “For a start, there are probably five other people listening to every word.” Will closed the closet door. “I promise I’ll call you from London in a couple of days. We can talk then. And you’ll have had a bit more time to get used to the idea.” “You’re going to London?” Holly couldn’t have been more shocked. Will’s expression clouded over as he realized his mistake. “But we’ve always talked about going there…” She clamped her mouth shut, not wanting to appear too wistful. “I know.” Will hesitated. “I just thought I’d go and clear my head.” Holly watched him avoiding making eye contact with her. “Are you going with someone?” Will shook his head. “A change will do me good.” How many changes did a man need? Holly folded her arms. “You’ve barely been earning enough to live on, and now you’re about to fly across the Atlantic. Plus, look at you—a whole new wardrobe. Did you win the lottery?” Will finally met her gaze. “I’m going with work. They’re paying for everything.” “Surely the Beer Tap doesn’t have a branch in London?” Will smiled. Three nights a week behind the bar had given him time to write and some spending money while waiting for his big break. “Of course not.” “Well then, last time I looked you were an impoverished writer.” Will ran his hand through his hair distractedly. “That’s half the problem.” “It was your choice to give up your job in the city. And I respected you for that.” “The problem wasn’t the writing. It was the fact that you hadn’t looked at me, really noticed me, for months. Things have changed. They’re changing all the time.” “No shit.” Holly’s cocktail of relief and remorse was fast returning to anger. She should have ended their relationship months ago when she’d first started having doubts, instead of worrying about how he’d manage without her and giving him the opportunity to have the final say. Another life lesson learned the hard way.

986

Will rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think you’ve ever understood me properly. You’ve been great to me—there is no doubt, and I love you for that.” “Don’t even think about patronizing me.” Will expelled a breath of frustration at her stubbornness. “We just want different things.” “Is this all because I didn’t want to marry you? You know I don’t want to marry anyone.” Realizing her volume, Holly took it down a couple of notches. “So you really shouldn’t take it so personally.” “It was only one factor.” Holly paused. Everyone knew men didn’t just leave, didn’t just want to be on their own, unless there was football on television and a beer in their hands, or… “Have you met someone else?” Holly shook her head in disbelief. This was the sort of conversation that happened in films and in soap operas, not in her apartment. Plus, she’d always vowed not to be the jealous or the desperate type. “Don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter.” “It doesn’t?” Will sounded surprised. “It’s over. I’m not your keeper or your mother. But this isn’t your home either, or cheap storage. I want everything out of here.” “I’ll arrange to get everything as soon as I get back.” Holly glanced at her watch. “Why not now?” Will shook his head. “There’s barely room for my toothbrush at Russell’s.” “There’s not much anyway. A few clothes. Your espresso machine. Books, DVDs, CDs.” “I’ll buy new ones.” “Have you found a Sugar Mommy?” Sounding like the jealous type again, she thought, but couldn’t help herself. Besides, it was natural to be curious. “Please, I don’t want us to fight.” “Easy to say when you’re calling the shots.” Holly threw herself on the bed and head-butted her pillow in frustration. “I know you’re keeping something from me.”

Chapter Six Holly sat up on the bed and looked Will in the eye. “I know you’re keeping something from me,” she said again. “Holly, please…” Will closed his suitcase and stuffed a few more sweaters into his duffel before coaxing the zipper across the top. “Let’s talk in a couple of days.” Giving Holly a kiss on the forehead, he left the room and her apartment. It was the sort of farewell you would expect from your father if he was leaving to get a paper, not from an only-just-ex-boyfriend about to fly across the Atlantic. Falling back onto the mattress, Holly closed her eyes. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. She heard Will walk through the apartment as the book club carried on an improvised animated discussion about Mr. Marriage. The second the door closed, the charade ended. After a few moments of silence,

987

everyone started talking at the same time, all trying to ease the pressure of the situation. Holly guessed no one was prepared to discuss what had actually just happened. “So I was reading about this new hair treatment…” Sarah was apparently going for the mundane “…which is supposed to be amazing. You know, there only has to be a glass of water in the room and wham, I have a perm, so I thought maybe I’d give it a go unless any of you have heard any scary stories. I think it originated in Japan.” “Hey, I saw that feature in Jane last month.” Holly had always thought Katie felt being a college student meant it was her divine right to read every magazine on the shelves. Holly listened to their chatter from her bed. When she next opened her eyes, Laura was standing over her, with a sympathetic pout. Holly propped herself up on her elbows. “Hey, you, stop it with the big eyes. I’m fine.” “And I’m Cindy Crawford.” “He’s going to London.” “We heard.” Laura perched herself on the edge of the bed. Holly frowned. She should have known her conversation with Will had not been private. “And he’s keeping something from me, something big. His whole mood was different, his demeanor, his sudden wealth— everything.” “It’s not really your problem now, though, is it?” “I guess not.” “Come on. Get up and join us. Ella’s about to start dissecting Chapter Three.” “What’s that?” Laura smiled. “‘Settling Down Versus Settling for Less: Does Age Matter?’” Holly rolled her eyes long-sufferingly. “Of all the books we could have selected this month.” Laura shrugged. “Hey, it could have been The Joy of Sex.” Holly laughed and followed her best friend back to the couch.

*** “I think the author has a point. Marriage is all about timing.” Ella had taken charge, as usual. “Very romantic.” Said Katie wryly. “Face it. It’s all about babies now. No one gets married until they’re thinking about having a family.” Ella leaned in. “Mona, do you mind me asking if you found it hard adjusting to being a kept woman after you had kids?” Sarah butted in. “I can’t wait!”

988

“Sarah? Are you trying to tell us something?” Holly asked, breaking the silence that had descended. Sarah colored. “Damn.” “Wow! No way.” Holly supposed she shouldn’t be so surprised, but she was. Everything was changing. Will was gone. Her best office friend was having a baby. Ella had a boyfriend. She was single… “I do actually have sex, you know.” Sarah’s grin soon turned to an expression of dismay. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone yet.” “I thought sex stopped straight after the honeymoon.” Ella laughed. “Well, congratulations.” Holly raised her glass at her office buddy. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to cope without you in the cube opposite me every day, though.” “I’m not going anywhere for a while. I’m only six weeks.” “And you’ve been drinking.” Holly flinched. Mona was the only actual mother in the room and her tone had definitely been friendlier. “I’ve been pretending. Just filling up all your glasses. You’ve been far too busy drinking and, well, absorbing the conversation to notice.” Mona relaxed and steered the group back on track. “In answer to your question, Ella, it is hard when you’ve been financially independent for years. Not that I’ve really ever leaned on Joe entirely. That’s been half the problem—I’ve never missed working in an office and I love my babies to bits, but sometimes I felt, I feel, that I just need more…” “So…?” Katie encouraged. “So I just started doing some work from home.” “And that’s what Joe was mad about?” Sarah asked. “Not the fact I was working, but the fact that I didn’t tell him. And, well, it’s probably not exactly what he’d been hoping for me.” “Surely what you do in your own time is your business?” Holly had never liked having to explain herself to anyone. Will hadn’t understood that. “Even if I write erotic fiction?” Katie giggled. “You do not!” Mona did not flinch “I use a pseudonym.” Ella arched an eyebrow. “Excellent. Well, maybe we should discuss one of your books next month.” “I don’t think that’s such a good…” Mona closed her mouth. Holly was impressed, if surprised. “But you’re just so…” “So what?” Mona demanded.

989

“So, well, motherly…” Holly finished. Ella had invited Mona to join their group after meeting her in the bookstore, where Mona had been distributing flyers for an infant yoga workshop. Holly was trying to wrap her head around the Mompromoting-infant-yoga and Woman-Writing-Erotica connection. “And mothers can’t write about sex fantasies?” Holly laughed, the tension instantly diffused. “Of course. Anyway, so how did he bust your cover?” “Joe found some drafts when he was hunting for something on my computer. I wasn’t hiding it from him, and I really didn’t think it would be such a big deal.” “But you hadn’t told him, either.” Sarah was asking all the probing questions. Holly was sure she could add attorney to her list of prospective careers. “That’s exactly what he said.” Ella interrupted. “Ah, the joys of double standards.” “Hey!” Holly jumped to Mona’s defense. “I’m entitled to my own opinion.” Ella loved to be provocative. “It’s just that we all want everything on our own terms these days. What if he’d been writing porn? Would we all think that was acceptable?” “Erotic fiction isn’t porn.” Laura, after a few glasses of wine, had an opinion on everything. “It’s a pity so many men just don’t know when they’ve got a good deal. I mean Will clearly couldn’t cope with a beautiful, intelligent, generous girlfriend.” “But—” Ella closed her book firmly “—I’m sure he had his reasons. And it sounds like he and Holly were both ready to move on. They hadn’t really been happy for ages. It’s just always difficult making a change.” Holly wondered at what point she was going to be consulted about her side of the story. Laura hadn’t finished yet. “You know he was always was a bit too selfish. Some people call it confidence but in his case, I’m not sure. You’re going to be far better off without him, Holly. I know I shouldn’t say this, as I was the fool who introduced you two in the first place, but you can do better. You deserve to be appreciated for who you are. Settling is not allowed.” Holly sat on the floor and leaned back against a couch, opposite Laura. “I didn’t settle. If I had, I’d probably be playing wife, and Will would be coming home at the end of the evening instead of going to stupid London.” “I don’t think Will was selfish. He just had focus.” Ella was firm. “And it’s not easy trying to make it in life as an artist. I should know.” “Whose side are you on?” Laura’s tone was combative and not really wanting to get in the middle of anything, Holly got up to get her a glass of water. It was definitely time to start diluting the white wine coursing through Laura’s veins before she said something she’d regret. “It’s not about sides. It’s about society.” Ella was determined to hold her own. “Hey, you can’t generalize. Women, like men, aren’t all the same.” Laura hadn’t given up yet. “I mean Christopher, my new guy, the one with the exfoliating stubble—” she giggled “—he’s far more of a romantic than I am and I love that.”

990

“No one said anything about everyone being the same. You just meet different types of people at different times in your life. I’m the eldest here, unmarried, childless and having a bit of fun dating a younger guy, yet I have no intention of trying to pin him down or marching him up any aisles.” Ella stopped. Holly returned with a glass of water and handed it to Laura before sitting back down, this time opposite Ella. “Come on, time out, you two. And I, for one, want to know a bit more about this mystery man. If I hadn’t had such a crap day today I’d almost be offended.” Ella shrugged nervously. “My luck had to change eventually, I guess.” Ella opened her copy of Mr. Marriage. “Let’s get back to the book.” “Let’s not,” Holly said playfully. “Time for show and tell. Or at least tell.” The other women closed their editions as Ella nervously emptied the rest of the wine bottle into her glass. “What does he do? Where does he live? Where did you meet? How much younger? Mona and I are tired of talking about ourselves.” Holly sat back expectantly. Stalling, Ella addressed the coffee table. “Well…” As Ella hesitated uncharacteristically, Holly felt a horrible sinking feeling. She was putting one and one together and she didn’t like the answer she was getting. Then again, she’d always been a bad math student. Color rose in Ella’s cheeks as she downed the contents of her glass in one gulp. “You’ve met him before.”

Chapter Seven “He promised he would tell you.” Ella probably hoped that having an audience might stop Holly from resorting to physical violence. “You and Will?” Holly’s tone couldn’t have been any more incredulous and was rising steadily towards yelling. Will and Ella. Ella and Will. Love thy neighbor had taken on a whole new meaning. Mona, Katie and Sarah sat on the second couch as though they wished to be invisible. Laura stood up and then sat down again, shaking her head. “No wonder you didn’t want us to go up to your apartment.” “Well, in my experience, and as Sarah said earlier, it is definitely healthier to have everything out in the open.” Mona walked over to the breakfast bar to get another bottle of wine. “Since Joe and I started being honest with each other, there’s been a definite improvement.” Holly wasn’t ready to calm down yet. “How long has it been?” Ella met Holly’s gaze. Her expression seemed to convey remorse. Holly wasn’t sure Will or any man, was worth this. “Not long.” Ella replied. “Well, on and off for nearly four months.” The look on Holly’s face must have made her immediately regret her candor. “And mostly on for the last four weeks.” Her voice was uncharacteristically small. “And yet you’ve still been popping in to see me, pretending to be my friend. You’re a better actress than I thought you were.” Holly’s tone was acidic.

991

“I guess I was hoping that this could all work out. I know it’s not exactly a regular situation, but there are worse forms of dysfunction out there.” Holly was no longer cool, calm or collected. Indeed, she was furious and her emotions were all over the map. “How could you sit here and listen to me talking about our problems?” “I never meant for anything to happen.” “Don’t tell me—you were helpless, powerless to resist. What is Cupid using these days, an AK-47?” “I asked Will to help me with a read-through one afternoon and we talked, I mean really talked, and I guess, well, one thing led to another.” “Well, that’s lovely, isn’t it.” Holly paced around her sitting room, apathy and ambivalence—and their audience—forgotten. “I think you’d better go.” “I’m not going anywhere until we’ve talked this through.” “This is my apartment. You don’t decide anything.” “It’s bad karma to walk away in the middle of something.” “It’s bad karma to sleep with my boyfriend.” Ella absorbed the last round of blows. “Please, Holly, sit down.” Reluctantly, Holly retreated to the arm of the couch. Her arms were folded; her chest was tight. “I don’t blame you for being furious.” Ella said softly. “In your position, I think I’d be a lot less understanding.” “You think this is understanding?” “Just think about the fact that you two hadn’t been right for months. You started talking to me about moving on almost a year ago and if things had been great between you, you have to believe me when I say none of this would be happening.” Holly didn’t reply. “Okay, I might have been a catalyst, but I definitely wasn’t the cause.” Ella got to her feet. “And I really don’t want to lose our friendship.” “So you thought the three of us could all just be friends, did you? Men are from Mars, women are from Venus, and you are from the moon, clearly.” “I doubt he’s going to stick around. I’m not what he wants. But he needs to have lots of different experiences. He’s an artist.” “No, he’s a banker. Calculating to the last.” “I don’t blame you for being angry at us…” Holly bristled at the use of joint terminology.

992

“He needed to spread his wings. And so do you. Plus, it won’t be long before he wants to nest.” Ella fidgeted nervously. “You shouldn’t be surprised that he wanted out. Will was Mr. Marriage. You weren’t even Miss Thinking Long-Term.” Holly froze. Surely Ella didn’t mean… As Holly reached for Sarah’s copy of the book on the coffee table, she noted that Katie, Mona and Laura were all hurriedly flicking through theirs. “Are you telling me Will wrote this?” Holly studied the cover for clues. Ella nodded silently. Holly’s brain was doing its best to keep up. The publishing phenomenon of the year had been living with her and sleeping with the woman upstairs. “But he told me he was writing a thriller.” “He was at first, but no one was interested. The market was saturated. One of the publishers suggested he’d be better off writing what he knew. And it turns out, she was right. You were the best thing that could have happened to him—professionally, at least.” “This is unbelievable, Hol.” Katie sounded impressed. “You’re a muse.” Holly wasn’t listening. “But why didn’t he tell me?” “He was going to and then you asked for a break. Besides, he wasn’t expecting it to take off like this.” “So he’s going to London with the book?” Ella nodded. “It’s flying off the shelves there, too. You should be proud of him.” Holly shook her head in quiet bewilderment. “I guess I understand why the author chose to keep himself anonymous now.” “The anonymity thing was the publisher’s idea. It was all about creating hype. But now that it’s sold beyond his wildest dreams, he’s going to start doing interviews, publicity, build his brand, his audience, his profile…” Katie interrupted. “Hey, Holly, maybe it’s time to tell your story? Just think how much the papers would love that: Mr. Marriage meets The Bachelorette. There could be some money in it for you, too.” Trust her to have a sister majoring in media, communications and psychology. “I don’t think so.” The doorbell buzzed. Holly looked at Ella. “So, what’s this, the next installment? Did he forget to take you with him on his way out?” Ella shrugged. “Like I know what happens next.” The doorbell rang again. Katie got to her feet impatiently and picked up the entry phone to buzz in the visitor. A few seconds later she was standing at the apartment door peering down the stairwell, footsteps echoing noisily as they ascended the stone staircase.

993

Chapter Eight “Who is it?” Holly asked the question everyone wanted to know. Had Will come back? And had he come back for her—or Ella? Katie shrugged. “A delivery.” “At ten past nine?” Holly wondered whether Katie was missing a common-sense gene. It would certainly explain her choice of corduroy miniskirt in November. “This is New York. You don’t just let people into your building. Or, should I say, into my building. I’ve had a bad enough day already without adding homicide to the equation.” “Is it nine p.m.?” Sarah checked her watch. “I really ought to be going home.” “Hello.” A tall slim man, breathing increasingly heavily as the number of stairs caught up with him, stood in the doorway, a curtain of dark hair obscuring half of his face. His green eyes were barely visible. He stared at Katie. “Holly? Holly Frederick?” Twenty-something? Thirty-something? Holly studied the new arrival. It was difficult to tell. Shaking her head, Katie stepped to one side and pointed at her sister. Holly nodded wearily. “That’s me.” “Sean Herbert. Pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand and then pulled it back to rummage through his canvas knapsack until he pulled out Holly’s dog-eared copy of Mr. Marriage. “I think this must be yours. It has your name in it, or at least a postcard with your name and address on it. I found it on the subway this morning and, just in case you thought I had nothing better to do this evening—” he flashed a disarming and apologetic smile “—I was in the area.” Sean’s voice was bigger than his frame suggested, and his accent was an interesting mix of Irish and American. The group was captivated. “So, what, you’re a professional guardian angel?” Holly had been through enough already. Nothing would faze her now. “Sadly, merely an interfering psychology graduate who’s just started a Ph.D. on fate, destiny and consequence.” A student, of course. Holly couldn’t believe she hadn’t guessed sooner. That would explain the jeans, just a little bit too long and with a watermark at ankle level, where they had soaked up a couple of puddles. “I hate to ruin your thesis but I’m off men for the foreseeable future.” Holly reached out for her book. Sean stammered, “I wasn’t…I mean I didn’t…” “Well, thank you.” Holly took her book and returned it to her coffee table. Mission accomplished, but it didn’t look as though Sean was going anywhere. Apparently, he couldn’t take his eyes off Katie. “Would you like a glass of wine?” Katie came to his rescue. “Are you sure I’m not interrupting?”

994

“Don’t mind us. It’s book club night. We could do with some light relief.” Katie, for one, was evidently suddenly bored with the all-female company. Sean stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him. Much to Laura’s and Mona’s amusement, they watched Katie run her fingers through her hair, pinch her cheeks and apply a fresh coat of lip balm in the kitchen, as she went to fetch a clean glass for Sean. Judging by his reaction when she returned, her effort didn’t go unnoticed. Cautiously, Sean took a sip of his wine, his eyes darting around the apartment over the rim of his glass. Mona was the first to make a move. “I’d love to stay, but I can’t.” Mona kissed Holly on both cheeks. “Joe’s cooking a late dinner. All part of the counselor’s idea ‘to create more mutual moments’ and I don’t want to screw up. Thanks for having us all over. Great evening.” Holly cocked an eyebrow. “Hey, it was good to share and tonight sure beat everything on HBO.” Sarah nodded her agreement as she decided to make her escape, too. “I’ll see you tomorrow. You okay?” Holly gave herself a moment to check and nodded. “Surprisingly fine.” “Good. Well, David will be delighted you’re back on the open market.” “David?” “Haven’t you noticed that he likes to spend as much time in meetings with you as possible? And he’s often asking me about you. Pretending it’s just casual conversation, of course, but, well, I have my suspicions.” “Really…?” Never one to miss a syllable, Laura’s voice came wafting out of the kitchen, where she’d gone to turn on the kettle. “She’s just trying to make me feel better.” Holly shouted her response so Laura could hear. “We’ll see.” Sarah kissed her good-night on both cheeks before following Mona out the door. “Well, Hol, bosses are all the rage.” Laura appeared with two mugs of herbal tea and winking, gave one to Holly. “So it would appear.” Holly accepted the mug gratefully. “Along with neighbors.” Ella was still sitting on the couch. Holly wanted her apartment back. “That’s it, we’re done. Do send Will my congratulations on the book.” “I’m not sure I should be seeing him again.” “Might be difficult, might it not, seeing that he’s probably upstairs waiting for you?” Holly took a sip of her peppermint tea. Ella flinched. “I’m sorry this is all such a mess…” “Well I certainly don’t want to see either of you for a while.” Sean watched the exchange from behind his curtain of hair, and Katie watched him watching. “So, Sean, do you want to grab a beer away from the war zone?”

995

“Sure.” Katie grabbed her coat—which was only fractionally longer than her skirt. “Come on, let’s go. I’ve had quite enough estrogen for one evening.” Ella crossed her legs and leaned forward in earnest. “So, what do you think I should do?” Holly wished she would just leave. “I can’t believe you’re asking me.” “I don’t want to make things worse.” Holly smiled. “I’m not sure there’s anything else that could go wrong with today.” “What are you going to do?” Ella was still in interview mode. “Go to bed?” “I mean about Will, about the book, about…everything.” “Who knows, but you’ve all given me your opinions, so I’ve got plenty of advice to ponder.” “Living your life by committee doesn’t work. You have to do what you want to.” “I know, but sometimes it would be nice to be able to delegate responsibility.” Holly’s mind went into overdrive. Or at least it finally started working. She’d just had a great idea for David’s new show.

*** Holly came out of her bedroom and stretched before slipping her laptop back into her briefcase. “Thanks for all your support today.” Laura looked up from the couch, where she was watching reruns of Friends, waiting around in case her best friend needed her. “What have you been doing in there? Writing yourself a happy ending?” “Something like that. Any sign of Katie?” Laura shook her head. “I think it’s a student thing.” Holly smiled. “I think it’s a Sean thing. Well at least something good came out of today. In fact, two things. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your news. Do you want to stay over? Pajama party?” Laura shook her head. “If you’re okay, I’m going to head home. I’m sure Katie will be back eventually, plus I’ve got a date with Christopher tomorrow night, and I really would like to at least be wearing clean clothes.” “You’re such a traditionalist.” Holly gave Laura a hug. “Thank you.” “What for?” “For being here for me, for not sleeping with Will, for keeping your perspective in a crisis…” “You are better off without him.”

996

“I know that.” “And life’s messy.” “I know that, too.” “And just think—you’re a bestseller! Well, sort of.” Holly laughed. Thank God for Laura.

*** A buzz of excitement pervaded the studio as the recording started. “Hello and welcome to Jury of Friends. My name is Ella and we’ve got a great show in store for you.” Holly ran her tongue over her lips and tasted her Softlips. The new daytime producer for All Talk. Now she had a title to live up to. Everything was going to plan, but she was still nervous. “For those of you who haven’t tuned in before, we invite one of our viewers to join us with a group of his or her friends, colleagues and family and help to resolve a problem. This is the only show where you get to be part of the jury, and your vote counts so let’s welcome our first guest this evening. Let’s meet Anne.” As the applause died down and she watched the camera pan across the studio audience revealing Laura, Sarah, Mona, Katie and Sean in its midst, Holly realized that she was no longer alone at the monitor. Out of the corner of her left eye, she could see David pretending to be engrossed in the output, his hands deep in the pockets of his chinos. Noticing her noticing him, he looked up. “Well, Frederick, you’ve nailed it. Talk meets reality. And Ella is just perfect. Are you still not going to tell me where you found her?” When his dark eyes met hers, the intensity of his gaze forced her to look away. They’d spent hours in development meetings together recently, but something felt different. Holly shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe me.” “Well this could make her a household name. She owes you one.” “Let’s just say she owes me a couple.” “Good job, Holly. And I’m delighted you’ve accepted the promotion.” Did people turn down promotions? “I’m looking forward to the new challenge.” Overtly, Holly took his compliment in stride, yet beneath her merino wool V-neck, her chest swelled. “So how about dinner sometime? To celebrate.” “The show?” “The show, the year, a new chapter, a new you, professionally…and personally.” Holly raised an eyebrow. “Sarah told you?” “She might have mentioned something, about two months ago now…”

997

Holly rolled her eyes and David smiled, almost coyly. “I’d been asking after you. I was worried.” “You had?” “Sure, you had a lot going on.” And Holly had thought she had handled herself like a pro. “Not that you let it affect your performance.” Holly wondered if he was being sarcastic. The phone bill from her extension must have been enormous. She’d made a few lengthy long-distance calls to England, plus Will’s stuff had been couriered to his new apartment on the All Talk UPS account. She’d been meaning to offer to pay but… “Since then you’ve been busy, and I’m not the sort of man who wants to make a fool of himself. So I might have checked in with Sarah now and then to see how you were doing. Just to make sure I wasn’t being inappropriate.” Still smiling, David met her gaze. “So how would you like to go for Italian tonight?” Holly smiled. “I thought your family was originally from Poland?” “Actually, they’re from Brooklyn. But I was thinking pasta, not Pisa.” David laughed. “Umm…” “Come on. It’s only dinner.” “And you’re only my boss.” Point made, Holly tried to keep the conversation as light as possible. “Whereas you’re just bossy. How about I meet you in reception when we’re all done with the recording and we can take it from there?” “Well I guess a girl has to eat.” Holly returned her attention to the monitor before looking up and flashing David a smile. “So I guess I’ll see you there.” She grinned despite herself as she heard him leave. It seemed her appetite was back.

998