Harlequin Shorts Online Part 04

137 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*

Outback Crisis The Setup Bedroom Window Voodoo Darkness Betrayed The Moments Mason's Kiss Demon Seduction Song of Marwey A Fool For Love Hooked Up A Season for Miracles Murder at Last Chance Ranch And a Dead Guy in a Pear Tree Dangerous Redemption Christmas Evie The Medici's Pregnant Mistress Road Taken An Enduring Love Million-Dollar Dad Street Life Billionaire's Baby Spring Fling Diamond Affairs The Diamond H.O.T. Mountain Grayson Prentiss's Seduction Hold the Date Marked by Evil Will of Her Own Catch of the Day Home on the Range Captured Hearts Making It To 25 The Italian MD's Secret Family Small-Town Romance

By Melanie Milburne By Jasmine Cresswell by Amanda Stevens by Maggie Shayne By P.C. Cast By Holly Jacobs By Sheri WhiteFeather By Pat White By Robin D. Owens By Susan Mallery By Nancy Warren By Cynthia Rutledge By B.J. Daniels By Leslie Kelly By Roxanne Rustand By Karen Templeton By Robyn Grady By Megan Hart By Jillian Hart By C.J. Carmichael By Rochelle Alers By Leanne Banks By Lenora Worth By Isabel Sharpe By Diane Gaston By Cindy Dees By Bronwyn Scott By Shirley Jump By Amanda Stevens By Darlene Gardner By Carla Cassidy By Elizabeth Bevarly By Kylie Brant By Janice Kay Johnson By Alison Roberts By Arlene James

2 21 38 68 88 117 139 164 190 212 223 243 275 298 330 356 377 396 418 441 470 510 534 563 586 613 635 666 685 705 732 753 772 795 818 844

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

Finding Home Safe Harbor Winner Takes All Flash Storm At Midnight The Last Stand In a Cowboy's Arms

By Cindi Myers By Carla Cassidy By Joanne Rock By Jill Shalvis By Debra Webb By Brenda Novak By Marin Thomas

863 885 902 924 948 971 983

Till 179…

* eHarlequin,US

^eHarlequin, Aus

** others

rest of them Mills and Boon, UK

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Outback Crisis by Melanie Milburne Newly qualified Dr. Alex MacDonald is thrilled to have received a 6 month contract in Australia’s Outback. Eager to start a new life, she can’t wait to get the clinic up and running. Imagine her surprise when she arrives to find the position already filled by Dr. Alex MacDonald—a very male, very handsome Dr. Alex MacDonald!

Chapter One Now isn’t that just typical, Alex thought as she drove into the Kingfisher Crossing Medical Clinic car park. There was one space marked “Doctor Only” but it was already taken, she presumed by a patient who hadn’t realized the new locum would be arriving today. She parked in the meager shade of a wilting peppercorn tree, the sweltering heat of the ground burning its way through her sandals with every step she took towards the weather-beaten building. There was a semidetached cottage on the left which she assumed from the documentation she had received was to be her residence. And just like the clinic, the paint was cracked and peeling in spots and the garden, for lack of a better word, looked as if it—like the rest of the arid landscape she had driven through to get here—could do with a shower or two of decent rain. All in all it was a particularly unwelcoming sight and even the floorboards on the wraparound veranda protested volubly as she moved across them to open the screen door to reception. “I’m afraid if you’ve come to see Dr MacDonald you’re two days early,” a woman in her late fifties said from behind the small reception counter. “Dr MacDonald isn’t seeing patients until Monday morning.” “I know,” Alex said with a smile. “I’m—” “That’s unless it’s an emergency of course,” the woman carried on as if Alex hadn’t spoken. “Mind you that’s just what we don’t need out here—another emergency. After what happened to Dr Carter we’ve been without a doctor for nearly three months. I don’t know how the town has survived it.” “How is Dr Carter?” Alex asked politely. “I heard he had a nasty car accident on the road between here and Marraburra.” The older woman gave her a grim look. “He won’t be coming back to Kingfisher Crossing,” she said, “or at least not to work as a GP. He’s decided to spend time with his family in Fremantle. To tell you the truth I don’t blame him. He’s done ten years out here, that’s more than some people get for armed robbery.” “Er…yes…” Alex said, momentarily stuck for a response. “No one wants to work in the outback these days,” the receptionist went on. “It’s too hot, it’s too isolated, it’s too everything.” “Yes,” Alex agreed. “I know it’s very difficult to fill outback posts but I thought—” “The thing is I can’t see why someone with Dr MacDonald’s qualifications would want to come way out here,” the woman cut Alex off again. “I mean there’s no money in it, is there?” “Um…no, but that’s not the reason I—” “Of course if you want to get away from someone back home this is the place to come to,” the receptionist said and giving a little laugh added, “I mean who would find you way out here?” “There is that, I suppose,” Alex said with an element of wryness in her tone. This short term post was exactly what she needed; it was her very own version of relationship rehab: Getting Away from Garry, Stage Two.

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“Anyway, I suppose you want to make an appointment with Dr MacDonald, right?” the older woman asked as she reached for the appointment book. “Er…no,” Alex said with slightly sheepish smile. “You see I am Dr Alex MacDonald.” The receptionist blinked at her in surprise. “But…but…you can’t be Dr MacDonald.” Alex frowned at the older woman’s expression. “Why can’t I be?” she asked. “Because Dr Alex MacDonald is already here,” the receptionist said. “He arrived three hours ago.”

Chapter Two “He?” Alex gasped. “Yes,” said a deep male voice from behind her. “I’m Dr Alexander MacDonald. How can I help you?” Alex spun around to see a tall dark haired man in his mid-thirties standing there, his eyes a piercing and somewhat steely grey-blue. “But I’m Alex MacDonald,” she said, still frowning. “I’ve been appointed to this position for six months. I’ve traveled all the way from Melbourne to get here in time.” “Then you’ve made some sort of mistake. You will have to turn around and go back,” he said curtly. “This town only needs one doctor and I am it.” Alex pulled back her shoulders and locked gazes with him. “I’m not leaving,” she said. “I’ve been appointed to this post—I have a letter to confirm it. You’re the one who’s made a mistake. You will have to leave.” His eyes hardened into chips of blue ice. “I have no intention of leaving,” he said. “It’s me who has a letter of appointment, and I can assure you I am who I say I am. And, I have already moved into the doctor’s cottage next door. There’s nowhere else to stay in town apart from the caravan park.” “Ahem,” the receptionist diplomatically cleared her throat. “Can somebody please tell me what’s going on?”

*** Mack looked down at Shirley Griffiths sitting behind the desk. “Shirley, I can only assume there’s been some sort of clerical error,” he explained. “By some quirk of fate it appears Dr MacDonald and I have both applied for and been given the same job.” Shirley rolled her eyes. “Now isn’t that just typical?” she mused. “We’ve had no doctor for nearly three months and now we’ve got two.” She tut-tutted and added, “I swear to God out here it never rains but it pours.” Mack looked back at the young blonde woman who was standing with her arms folded across her chest, her chin hitched up and her bottomless dark brown eyes holding his in a combative challenge. “Look,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “You can’t possibly stay. I meant what I said. This town isn’t big enough for both of us.” An insolent gleam came into her eyes as they warred with his. “So it’s to be pistols drawn at dawn is it?” she asked. “How incredibly quaint.”

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Mack felt a lightning bolt jolt of attraction go through him at her pert tone and demeanor. Her mouth kept drawing him like a magnet, the fullness of her lips with their glossy sheen of lip-gloss reminding him of how long it had been since he had felt the soft press of a woman’s kiss. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared her down. “I’ll speak to the town clerk when the office opens on Monday and have you reimbursed for any travel expenses,” he said. Her chin went up to a pugnacious level, her chocolate-brown eyes still locked on his. “I don’t think you heard me, Dr MacDonald. I didn’t travel all this way for nothing. I rented out my apartment for the next six months so even if I did turn around and go back I would have nowhere to live.” “I’ve got an absolutely brilliant idea,” Shirley piped up, her dark bird-like eyes beginning to sparkle. “It’s only for six months and we’ve been without medical assistance for so long. Why don’t you both stay?”

Chapter Three “You mean like job sharing?” Alex asked. “Yes,” Shirley answered. “My daughter lives in Darwin and that’s what she does with a friend. They both have children and don’t want to work full time so they share the one job.” “It is not up to us to make that decision,” Mack said folding his arms across his chest. “We’d have to submit a proposal to be approved by the town clerk and he’s away until Monday. And anyway the doctor’s cottage is barely big enough for one person let alone two.” Alex turned to face him. “Has it got two bedrooms?” she asked. “Yes but—” “I’m prepared to give it a try if you are,” she said. “As Shirley said it’s only for six months. We can both work part-time and then if there’s anything serious to handle we can help each other out.” Mack silently ground his teeth. The last thing he needed was a housemate, especially one as attractive as Alexandra MacDonald. Living with someone blurred the boundaries. He liked his own space, especially now. The court case over the death of Isaac Freeman had hit him hard. Coming out to Kingfisher Crossing was part of his personal rehabilitation program. He’d figured that this far out in the bush there would be no distractions so he could concentrate on getting himself back on track. But then job sharing might very well be the way to get some more time to himself, he thought. He could do some bushwalking, chill out a bit instead of thinking about work all the time. “I think it sounds like a good arrangement to me,” Shirley said, “Just lately there’ve been a couple of clinic break-ins between here and Marraburra. Having two doctors on sight will be much safer all round until the police catch the culprit. I’ll let Tony Hallum the town clerk know about it. I bet he’s the one who made the mistake about the appointment. He’s far too old for the job but what can you do?” “No,” Mack insisted. “I’ll speak to Mr Hallum myself on Monday. In the meantime Dr MacDonald can stay for the weekend until a formal decision is made.” “I guess it might be confusing for the patients though, mightn’t it?” Alex said. “I mean, we both have the same name.” “My name isn’t Alexandra,” he said with a little curl of his lip. Her chin went up even higher. “Nor is mine.” “What is it then?”

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“Alexandria,” she said. “But everyone calls me Alex.” “I’m Alexander but everyone calls me Mack,” he returned. Alex couldn’t help thinking he looked exactly like a Mack. It was an abrupt, matter-of-fact sort of name, no hint of softness about it. But then she suspected there was little softness in his personality. Even his features had a hard edge to them, his jaw though lean and chiseled and cleanly shaven had an unmistakable hint of intractableness about it. He was clearly a man used to getting his own way. His riveting grey-blue eyes had a gleam of cynicism in them and his mouth looked as if it found the task of smiling both tiresome and unnecessary. “So,” she said, giving him an arch look. “When do we start?”

Chapter Four The clinic door screeched in protest as it was opened in a hurry. “Has the new doctor arrived yet, Shirl?” a male voice asked. Alex swung around to see a man in his early forties with his right arm cradled against him, his face looking pinched with pain. “Yes,” Mack said stepping forward. “I’m Dr MacDonald.” Alex took a step forwards. “So am I.” The man ignored Alex and addressed Mack. “I’ve broken my arm,” he said. “If you can fix it for me here I won’t have to travel all the way to Geraldton. I can’t afford the time away from the farm right now.” “It will need to be X-rayed to see how bad the break is,” Mack said. “There’s a portable machine in my room.” “Did you drive here?” Alex asked keen to be involved. “Yes,” the man said frowning slightly. “Why?” “You’ll need to be sedated in order for me to set your arm,” Mack explained. “Is there someone you can call to drive you home?” “My wife’s at home with the kids, the youngest was having a nap but he should be ready to wake up soon,” he said. “But I don’t need sedating, Doc. I’ve had much worse than this, haven’t I, Shirl?” Shirley’s rolled eyes and weary sigh spoke volumes. “Mack, this is Dougal Mason. I swear to God he’s got more stitches in him than a hand-made quilt.” Dougal grinned. “No blood this time, Shirl, just a clean break. A log rolled off the back of my ute and onto my arm.” “I’ll give Ruby a call to tell her to come and get you,” Shirley said reaching for the phone. “You can organize the ute to be picked up in the morning.” “Come this way, Mr Mason,” Mack directed. “I’m Mack by the way.” Alex sent Mack a caustic glare. “Excuse me but aren’t we supposed to be sharing this job?” Dougal looked momentarily confused. “Are you a doctor as well?” he asked.

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“Yes,” Alex said with a stiff little smile in Mack’s direction. “I’m hoping to be here for six months. Dr MacDonald and I are considering sharing the position.” Dougal whistled through his teeth. “How about that, Shirl?” he said looking back at the receptionist with another boyish grin. “It’s raining cats and docs out here.”

Chapter Five Mack was still smiling at Dougal’s comment as he turned back to Alex. “Would you like to assist me?” he asked. Alex hadn’t realized until that moment how much a man’s face could be transformed by a smile. Her stomach gave a little flip-flop of surprise and it was a second or two before she could get her voice to work. “Um…yes…that would be good…” she said and followed him into the treatment room with the patient. She stood to one side as Mack set up the X-ray machine, positioning Dougal’s arm across the plate. “Hold that arm steady for a moment while I take the pictures,” Mack said as he joined Alex behind the radiation protection screen. A few minutes later he held up the X-ray to the illumination machine on the wall. “So what’s your diagnosis, Dr MacDonald?” he asked. Alex stared at the X-ray trying not to notice how close his broad shoulder was to hers. His light but tangy aftershave drifted towards her, the subtle grace notes reminding her of sun-warmed lemons. His left arm was still holding the X-ray to the board; the cuffs were rolled back past his wrists revealing lean but strong forearms, the deep tan of his skin and the pepper of dark masculine hair making her stomach give a little wobble of womanly reaction. “You have seen a broken wrist before haven’t you, Dr MacDonald?” he asked into the palpable silence. Alex swiveled her head to meet his sardonic look. “Yes of course,” she said, pulling her mouth tight. “That’s a classic Colles fracture, with about ten degrees of forward angulation.” His eyes went to her mouth and she felt her stomach shift sideways again. “Do you want to reduce it or administer the sedation?” he asked as his eyes came back to hers. Alex rolled her lips together to moisten them. “I’ll do the sedation.” “Right then, Dougal,” Mack said as he turned to where the patient was waiting. “What we’ve got here is a relatively simple fracture but 10mg IV midazolam will take the edge off the pain. Dr MacDonald will administer that to you while I straighten the fracture and set the arm in plaster. It will make you feel a bit sleepy for an hour or two so I don’t recommend you drive or operate machinery until tomorrow.” Alex applied the tourniquet, found a suitable vein and inserted a canula, and then administered the midazolam. Within seconds Dougal relaxed enough for Mack to pull on the arm and manipulate it back into line. Dougal’s wife Ruby arrived soon after Mack had plastered the arm and supported it in a sling. She was accompanied by three young children, one of them not much older than six months. After brief introductions Ruby said, “I’m so glad we’ve finally got a female doctor at Kingfisher Crossing. No offence to you, Dr Mack but what this place needs is a feminine perspective.” “It hasn’t yet been established whether or not Dr MacDonald will be staying any longer than the weekend,” Mack said sending Alex a challenging look.

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Alex managed to scowl at him and lift her chin at the same time. “I’m staying,” she said and added silently: you just try and stop me.

Chapter Six “And this is the kitchen,” Mack said half an hour later as he showed Alex around the small doctor’s cottage next door to the clinic. “It’s pretty basic as you can see.” Alex hoped her dismay wasn’t showing on her face. She hadn’t been expecting much in the way of modern appliances but preparing meals on a single hot plate and shoe-box sized toaster-oven was really going to stretch her capabilities. Hadn’t they heard of microwave ovens way out here? “We can share the cooking until things are finalized over whether you stay or not,” he said. “One of the locals brought some basics around earlier so at least we won’t starve over the weekend.” “Fine but I think I should tell you—” “By the way there are no fancy restaurants or posh delicatessens or off licenses out here,” he said as he led the way to the bathroom. Alex scowled at his broad back. “I wasn’t expecting any.” “Good,” he said as he opened the bathroom door. “Besides, I’m not out here to cook,” she said meeting his gaze again. “I’m out here to save lives.” Something moved behind his eyes, like a rippling shadow but he had turned away before she could make sense of it. “There are some lives that can’t be saved, Dr MacDonald,” he said. “This isn’t the city where specialist backup is just a suburb or two away. Out here the tyranny of distance is always going to be the biggest challenge.” “Yes I realize that, but that’s part of the reason I’m here. I want to prove to myself that I can work under any conditions, the tougher the better.” “So what did you do?” he asked with a smile that leant more towards a smirk. “Throw a dart at a map?” Alex pursed her mouth at him. “No, as a matter of fact I happened to go to Medical school with one of the doctors now stationed at Marraburra. She was a few years ahead of me but we became good friends after working on the same ward. She loves it out there and is getting married soon to one of the local cops. I was kind of at a loose end and decided it was time to do my bit for the bush.” A three beat silence passed. “So why did you come out here?” she asked. A shutter seemed to come down over his features as he shouldered open the sitting room door. “I was looking for some space and Kingfisher Crossing seemed to have plenty of it,” he answered. She wrinkled her brow at him. “Space for what?”

Chapter Seven Mack frowned as he thought about how he should answer. Alexandria was from Melbourne so she might not have heard of the Brisbane court case, although he knew for a fact the national press had run it for a couple of days. He hated the look people gave him when they finally realized who he was. “Oh that Dr MacDonald,”

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they would say. He wasn’t sure if it was pity or suspicion that lingered in their gaze, he didn’t usually hang around long enough to find out. The intrusion into his private life had been unbearable, the press had hounded him day in and day out in the lead up to the hearing. His deeply ingrained reserve had been invaded in such a way that he knew it would take many months, if not years to really trust anyone again. “Mack?” she prompted. He looked down at her upturned face, the creamy curves of her cheeks petal-smooth except for a tiny dusting of freckles over the bridge of her pert nose. “I felt a bit stifled in the city,” he said somewhat gruffly. “You know how it is, all work and no play.” He watched as her lips shifted with the weight of a sigh. “Yes I do know,” she said. “I hate to be the one to tell you this but it might be a whole lot worse out here.” “I am sure it will be no more than one well qualified doctor can handle. Her very white teeth snagged her bottom lip. “I guess when it comes down to it I’m probably not as experienced as you. I’ve only been qualified a few months…” He felt a frown pull his brows together. “You’re EMST-trained, aren’t you?” “Yes…” She gave him a little sideways smile. “It’s kind of weird about the mix up, don’t you think? I mean, how many Dr Alex MacDonalds are there out there in the world?” Mack felt his body tense all over. “I have no idea,” he said. “Now let me show you the rest of the house.” Alex was assigned the only other bedroom which was right beside Mack’s. She tried to ignore the sudden flutter in her belly at the thought of him sleeping so close by but she felt her colour begin to rise all the same. “Of course if you’d prefer the double room while you’re here I can always take this one,” he offered in what she felt sure was a grudging attempt at gallantry. “No it’s fine…really. I’m used to sleeping in a single bed,” she said, her cheeks firing up even more as his dark brows rose every so slightly. “Well that’s settled then,” he said. “I’ll leave you to unpack.” “Mack?” She waited until his eyes meshed with hers. “You didn’t tell me where you’re from.”

Chapter Eight “Queensland.” “What part of Queensland?” Mack drew in a shallow breath. “Brisbane. Riverside.” He waited for the penny to drop but she just gave him a small self-conscious smile as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I guess I should have a shower before dinner,” she said. “Um… Where will I find a towel?” Mack reached past her to open a cupboard and taking out a taupe-colored towel handed it to her, his fingers meeting hers in the briefest of touches.

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She stepped back as if he had burned her. “Thanks…” Mack’s fingers were still tingling when he heard her click and bolt the bathroom door a few moments later…

*** Alex grimaced as she saw her face in the speckled mirror above the green 1930’s pedestal basin. Her hair was sweaty and lank from the heat and her face looked drawn and tired from hours on the road. She slipped out of her dusty clothes and stood under the hit-and-miss spray of the shower, trying not to think of Mack’s tall, hard body standing in the same spot just hours before. Naked… She tugged herself away from her thoughts, more than a little shocked at her wantonness. But as her hand cupped the smooth creamy pearl of the soap to her wet body, her skin began to crawl with electrifying sensations as if those long, tanned fingers that had accidentally touched hers a few minutes ago were now exploring her in intimate detail… There was a short sharp rap at the door. “Alexandria?” Alex dropped the soap with a little thud. “Y-yes?” His voice was faintly muffled through the door but it still made all the fine hairs on her naked body lift to attention. “There’s a drought out here, remember? Go easy on the water.” “Oh…right…” she said, feeling foolish as she turned off the tap and reached for the towel. “I’m coming out now.”

*** Mack felt his nostrils begin to flare as soon as Alex walked into the kitchen where he was assembling a salad. The faint trace of wisteria—or was it honeysuckle?…toyed with his senses. So too did the sight of her dressed in a short sundress with tiny shoestring straps over her slim, lightly tanned shoulders. Her small but perfectly formed breasts were unrestrained; he could see their slight movement beneath the close-fitting cotton as she reached for a stool to perch on close to where he was working. Too close.

Chapter Nine “What can I do to help?” she asked. Mack kept his gaze focused on the Spanish onion he was peeling, but all he could think of was removing Alex’s clothes layer by layer. Not that she wearing that many. She probably only had a pair of tiny lacy knickers on under that dress… He gave himself a mental shake. Cool it. She’s not your type. “Do you like steak?” he asked glancing at her. Her face fell a little and her teeth sank into her bottom lip in a rather engaging way. “Steak?” He put the knife down beside the onion, his gaze steady on hers. “Yes, you know, as in red meat.”

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She pressed her lips together and gave him a sheepish look. “I don’t eat red meat,” she said. “In fact I don’t eat any meat. I tried to tell you earlier. I’m a vegetarian.” There, what did I tell you? She’s not your type, Mack thought as he resignedly put the T-bones one of the farmers had brought around earlier back in the fridge. “Well how about fish?” he asked, as he came back to the work bench. “I’ve got a couple of cans of tuna somewhere. Do you eat that? Some vegetarians do, others don’t.” She grimaced as if she knew he wasn’t going to like her answer. “I don’t.” “Well then,” he said, scraping a hand through his hair. “That certainly narrows it down a bit.” She watched as he washed his hands before going back to the salad. “Have you got something against vegetarians?” she asked. His grey-blue eyes met hers. “No, but you do realize this is cattle country, don’t you?” A flicker of uncertainty came and went in her eyes. “Um…” “Apart from mining out at Meekatharra this district is mostly pastoral,” he went on. “You’re going to have a hard time at barbeques turning up with tofu.” Alex sneaked a ring of cucumber from the bowl and took a tiny bite before she asked, “Do you think I’ll be able to buy tofu out here? I only saw one shop on the way in. It didn’t look tofu-friendly.” He gave her a grim look. “It’s not. It sells the basics. Fruit and vegetables are brought in twice weekly. Anything exotic you’ll have to order in specially and it might if you’re lucky arrive within a week or so.” “I’ll manage,” she said with an optimistic smile. “It’s only for six months, right? I’m sure I won’t starve.” Mack had to drag his eyes away from the temptation of her cleavage. His deep abdominals clenched as he thought about her bare nipples pushed up against the cotton of her dress. She was leaning forwards slightly, her body so close he could have reached out and touched her…

Chapter Ten The sound of his mobile ringing shattered the silence. “Dr MacDonald?” a young male voice asked. “We have an emergency. I know you’re not officially seeing patients till Monday but my brother came off his bike. Mum and Dad are with him now. We’re not game to move him in case…” Sitting so close Alex could hear the hitch pitch of panic in the young man’s voice and quickly found a pen and a piece of paper and pushed it towards Mack. He gave her a grateful glance and began to scrawl down the details of where the patient was located and any obvious injuries he had sustained. “Stay calm and we’ll be there as soon as we can,” he said to the young man as he ended the call. “Is it serious do you think?” Alex asked as they rushed out to Mack’s four wheel drive with their doctor’s bags. “I’m not sure,” he answered, pulling down his seatbelt and snapping it into place. “Hopefully it’s just concussion. There’s no external bleeding but that doesn’t mean he’s not bleeding internally.” Alex tried to keep calm and controlled as she ran back through the Primary Survey routine she had learned at her Early Management of Severe Trauma course. She had only ever been at the scene of one accident before but no one had been seriously injured. Bike accidents were notorious for blunt injuries and out in the bush where the use of helmets wasn’t too strict, severe head injuries were always a possibility.

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Mack tossed a local map in her lap. “Find Wattle Flat Road,” he said. “I think it’s near the turn off to Kingfisher Creek.” Alex fumbled with the map, her eyes blurring as she tried to read it while the car rocked over corrugations in the gravel road. A wave of car sickness assailed her but she fought it back down. “Have you found it yet?” he clipped out. “I’m still looking,” she said trying not to panic. What if she couldn’t find it? What if because of her pathetic attempt at navigation the young man died? He was probably bleeding out from his spleen right now, his blood pressure plummeting while she lamely struggled to identify one of the few streets out here. What if— “Come on, Alexandria,” he said with a brittle edge of impatience. “A ten year old child could read that map. There are hardly any streets out here.” Alex felt her hackles rising. “If you would stop jerking the car all over the road maybe I would be able to find it,” she snapped back. “Anyway, what if I wasn’t here? You’d have to find it yourself.” He snatched the map out of her hands and propped it against the steering wheel. Keeping one eye on the road he glanced down and located the turn off and the road he was looking for, gripping the spot between thumb and finger. “There it is,” he said handing the map back. “Keep me on track. We have to take a left turn soon into a property called Karoo. Keep a look out for it. There’s a sign above the cattle grid or so Nick Ellis said.” Alex glanced back at the map and looked up just in time to see the Karoo sign flash past on her left. “There it is!”

Chapter Eleven Mack slammed on the brakes. “Where?” She pointed behind them and grimaced. “Back there. I didn’t see it until it was too late.” He let out a short sharp curse and put the car into reverse, his left arm stretched out along the back of the seat close to the back of her neck. “Has anyone ever told you you’re absolutely hopeless at navigating?” he asked. She glared at him in affront. “Has anyone told you you’re a complete and utter bastard for pointing out such obvious inadequacies?” He suddenly smiled as if her rapid fire response had totally disarmed him. “It’s not such a great map,” he acceded. “And the sign is rusty.” Alex settled her ruffled feathers back down with a little shuffle of her shoulders. “It’s all right,” she mumbled. “I can’t read in a moving vehicle without getting car sick. You were lucky I didn’t upload my lunch all over your lap.” He frowned as he put the car into forward gear. “You should have told me.” Alex squinted as the sun hit her full on. “I think I can see something,” she said pointing to the left. “Is that them over there?” “Looks like it,” Mack said as he turned the car off the driveway towards the small cluster of people in the distance. There was a farm vehicle as well as two motorbikes, one of which was lying on its side next to a straggly gum tree.

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“Should we have called an ambulance or something?” she asked. He gave her an ironic glance. “This isn’t the city, Alexandria. If this guy is seriously injured we’ll have to fly him out. The nearest Flying Doctor base is at Meekatharra. I called and put them on standby while you were getting your doctor’s bag. If things turn out to be serious they could be here within an hour. No point calling them out unless it is warranted.” Alex looked yet again as if she had failed some sort of test. “I hope he’s not already dead,” she said. “I will never be able to forgive myself…” Mack felt his gut tighten. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.” He did his best to reassure her as well as himself. “He’s probably woken up by now and wondering what the fuss is all about.”

*** Mack was partially right, Alex decided a few moments later. Brad Ellis was now conscious but hyperventilating, and complaining of severe pain in the left upper quadrant of the abdomen. His parents and younger brother hovered close by, their faces ravaged with their worry. “I’ll run the assessment, Alex,” Mack said taking control as he examined the patient after quickly gloving up. “Airway’s fine, he’s talking, but he’s struggling to breathe. Steady his neck while I open my trauma bag.” Alex noted Mack’s trauma bag was a Thomas Pack, which opened out to reveal colour coded equipment for each component of the primary survey. He had obviously done his homework, which made her feel hopelessly ill-prepared for her stint in the bush given her bag was just a standard model. Mack reached for his stethoscope and listened to Brad’s chest. “Reduced air entry on the left,” he said, “and that side’s hyper-resonant to percussion.” “Pneumothorax,” Alex said, feeling for Brad’s trachea while holding his neck steady. “His trachea’s deviated to the right, it’s a tension pneumothorax.” Mack reached into the blue section of his bag and pulled out a 14 gauge IV canula. “Brad, you’ve probably cracked a rib and punctured a lung. I’m going to put a needle in your chest to help you breath, okay?” Brad panted shallow puffs of air, grunting agreement, his dusty face screwed up in pain as Mack began to cut away his T-shirt. Alex could feel the distress of the young man’s family; the hot thick dusty air seemed full of nothing but their anguish. Even the crows in the trees overhead, which moments ago had been cawing incessantly, had now grown eerily silent; their glossy black feathers seeming to Alex to be just like the somber dark suits of undertakers…

Chapter Twelve Alex looked at Mack, who was swabbing Brad’s upper left chest with alcohol before inserting the14g needle into the second intercostal space in the midclavicular line. A hiss of air escaped as the needle punctured the pleura and after a minute or so the young man’s breathing deepened and his respiratory distress abated. “Alex, put on this hard cervical collar,” Mack directed, handing her an adjustable cervical collar from the red section of his pack. “Then I’ll need to put in a chest tube. Can you take his pulse and BP and put in a large bore IV line?” “Of course,” Alex said and looking up at Brad’s father asked if he could help support his son’s head while she attended to the tasks Mack has assigned her. At least he had given her something to do, she thought, trying her best to put her resentment aside for the patient’s sake.

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Joe Ellis crouched down in the dust, his weather-beaten features looking haggard with fear, his throat moving up and down as if he was trying to swallow a boulder lodged there. “Is my son going to be all right?” he asked Mack, completely ignoring Alex. “We need to get him to hospital,” Mack said. “Once I’ve got this chest drain in I’ll call the Flying Doctor on the satellite phone. Is there anywhere on the property they can land?” “We’ve got a strip cleared near the homestead,” Joe informed him. “We’ve only used it once about ten years ago when one of the jackaroos came off one of our horses and broke his back. That’s why we shifted to bikes, not as dangerous, or so we thought…” “There’s danger in just about everything,” Mack said by way of comfort before addressing Alex. “I’m going to call for back up. Put in an IV line and run a liter of normal saline.” When he came back Alex reported tachycardia and hypotension, which was responding to IV fluids, but which indicated intra-abdominal bleeding. “It’s probably from his spleen,” she said. “We need to get him out of this blistering heat,” Mack said sweeping his gaze around for something suitable to use as a spinal board. His eyes narrowed as they settled on a flat sheet of roofing iron about fifty meters away near a water trough. Alex followed the line of his gaze, and keen to show him how innovative she could be, leapt to her feet. “You take over monitoring him while I get the sheet of tin.” The tin was partially covered with strips of eucalyptus bark and the red ochre dust of the outback and as she turned it over she leapt back in shock, her blood-curdling scream echoing across the shimmering-with-heat paddocks. “Snake!”

Chapter Thirteen The common brown snake was a meter and a half long and wasn’t too happy about being disturbed. It raised its small head and flicked its tongue a couple of times before uncoiling itself and slithering away into the scraggly bush. “Are you all right?” Mack asked as he quickly strode over. “Did it bite you?” Alex gave a shudder and shook her head. “No, but it easily could have. I had no idea it was there.” “I should have warned you,” he said frowning. “Snakes are attracted to water. He was probably hunting for mice under that tin.” “Mice?” She gave another shudder. “Ewww. I hate mice even more than snakes.” Mack’s mouth tilted in a sardonic smile as he kicked at the sheet of tin before picking it up. “You’re in the country, Dr MacDonald,” he reminded her as he led the way back to the patient. “You’d better get used to all creatures great and small or go home while you’ve still got the chance.” Alex scowled at him. “I’m not going home,” she said, but a few minutes later when the Flying Doctor plane landed she was sorely tempted to jump on board and never once look back.

*** The cottage was in darkness by the time they returned, but the heat of the day was still trapped inside. It came out in a hot thick wave as Mack opened the front door and wrapped around Alex like a heavy woolen blanket. She fanned her face and gave him a rueful look. “How on earth do the locals survive this climate? It’s positively stifling.”

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“It might be cooler out on the back veranda,” he suggested. “The sun’s been on this part of the house for most of the afternoon. Go out and sit down and I’ll bring a drink out in a couple of minutes. What would you like, white wine, beer or something soft?” “A glass of white wine sounds lovely.” It was more than lovely, Alex thought a short time later as she savoured the hints of gooseberry and passionfruit in the sauvignon blanc as she listened to the night music of crickets and frogs in the background. She couldn’t remember the last time she had heard nothing but the sounds of nature nor could she recall the last time she had seen the pin holes of so many stars in the dark blue blanket of the night sky above. The veranda rail creaked as Mack leaned his forearms on it beside her, the rattle of ice cubes in his glass tinkling like tiny bells. “You did a good job out at the Ellis’s,” he said turning his head to look at her. “From what you said about being newly qualified I wasn’t sure how you’d cope, but you did really well.” She sent him an arch glance. “So you don’t think I should pack my bags and go straight back to the city?” His gaze meshed with hers in the semi-darkness, holding her captive for endless seconds as the silence pulsed with erotic promise around them…

Chapter Fourteen Mack knew he should step back from the temptation of her mouth, but the urge to feel the soft whisper of Alex’s lips against his was too strong. He slowly closed the distance between them, touching her lips in a feather-light caress that should have been enough but somehow wasn’t. He lifted his head, and registering the flare of attraction in her chocolate-brown gaze, touched down again, firmer this time, his tongue stroking her lips apart to search for hers. Alex felt her whole body jolt in reaction as he deepened the kiss, her skin shivering with anticipation as his free hand moved from the veranda rail to cup the nape of her neck. She felt as if every fine hair located there rose to greet the warmth of his palm, her spine losing its wary stiffness as she melted further into his embrace. It was a kiss like nothing she’d ever experienced; it was electric and passionate, hard and soft, warm and tender and totally captivating. He pulled back from her after a breathless moment or two, his eyes still dark with desire as they held hers. “I really don’t know why I did that,” he said, grimacing ruefully. She arched her brows at him. “You don’t?” His eyes went back to her mouth. “Well yes I do, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again.” “Have you got someone else waiting for you in Brisbane?” Alex asked. The sound of the frogs in the background made the silence all the more intense. Croak. Croak. Croak. Mack shifted his gaze from hers. “My fiancée called off our relationship six weeks before our wedding.” “Mack I’m so sorry,” she said softly, her hand resting on his arm next to hers on the railing.

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He looked down at her lightly tanned fingers against the deeper tone of his skin. “I should have known it was coming,” he said, absently running the point of his index finger over the back of her small hand. “The court case dragged on and on and she got tired of trying to pretend she agreed with my defense team.” “Court case?” Alex swallowed. “What were you accused of doing?” His grey-blue eyes turned to meet hers; the shifting shadows of the night making them appear dark and mysterious. “I was accused of being responsible for the death of a child.”

Chapter Fifteen “But you were cleared?” Alex asked, unconsciously holding her breath. He gave her a twisted smile but there was no humor in it. “Yes but not until I had my name and reputation ruined by the press.” “What happened?” He released a sigh. “A three year old boy was brought in to me with vomiting and hematuria. I found an abdominal mass and suspected a nephroblastoma, and wrote a referral to see a paediatric oncologist. I stressed to the parents the urgency and they seemed to understand. I made the appointment for them, even pulling a few strings to get them in as soon as possible. But apparently they decided to treat their son with alternative therapies instead. A letter never came back from the specialist, and after two weeks I tried to ring the parents, but they’d apparently moved, and left no forwarding address with anyone. I rang the specialist, but they had never turned up for their appointment. Six months later, after they had apparently tried a stack of pseudoscientific gobbledygook, the child died. The paternal grandparents decided to sue me for not ensuring the child was properly followed up and treated. They felt I should have done more to ensure the parents of the child followed my instructions.” “But that’s hardly your fault!” Alex insisted. “You followed the normal procedure. Doctors can’t chase up every single patient otherwise they’d never get through the normal workload. And besides, it sounds as though you went out of your way to expedite specialist care.” “Yes and that’s what the court finally decided. But you know what the press can do with these sorts of cases, and once mud starts getting thrown around, some of it sticks. It’s a litigious climate, Alex. Some people see a chance to make a small fortune out of an adverse outcome and they don’t care what it does to the professionals involved, or their families for that matter.” Alex chewed on her lip. “There are those few cases where there is real incompetence.” she said, thinking about a recent case in Mack’s home state involving a doctor whose surgical qualifications were not properly vetted, resulting in several patients dying from incompetent surgery before a courageous nurse went over the heads of hospital management to state authorities to expose him. “Mud sticks all right. Even after I was completely exonerated from any negligence, about a third of the patients dropped out of the practice. I even got hate mail. A lot of people just weren’t interested in the actual facts—they’d just heard that I was embroiled in a case involving the death of a child and concluded there must be something to it, and I was best avoided.” “So your fiancée broke off your engagement because of the case?” she asked with an incredulous frown. Mack suddenly realized he was still touching Alex”s hand and pulled his away. “Yes. She worked in the same city practice. But I think if I was to be honest with myself it wasn’t just about the case.” “What do you mean?”

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He let out a sigh and looked down at her again, the soft bow of her mouth and the melting warmth of her browner than brown eyes picking the lock on his hardened heart. “We had drifted into the relationship. I don’t even remember officially asking her to marry me. It was just something we assumed was going to happen but I realize now something was missing.” “What was missing?” she asked, her breath a soft caress dancing on his lips. “I think this is perhaps what was missing,” Mack said huskily and bending his head brought his mouth back to hers.

Chapter Sixteen Alex sighed with pleasure as Mack’s lips commandeered hers in an explosive kiss that sent tremors of reaction to every part of her body. Her spine tingled as he thrust through the soft barrier of her lips with his searching tongue; the action so erotically charged she felt her body prepare itself with the silk of desire. Her breasts were aching for his touch, the nipples tight against the thin cotton of her dress, her legs feeling as if the bones had turned to liquid. She pressed herself closer; wanting more of his touch, her need for him something she couldn’t explain. She wasn’t a one-night stand type of person. She had never been a casual dater. Even her relationship with Garry Harrison had been a relatively long term one until she finally realized she didn’t love him enough to continue their association and it had taken her the best part of a year to convince him it was over. But something about Mack made her feel things she had never felt before—instant combustible desire. She felt it inside and out, the thrumming pulse of need that craved assuagement from him and him only. Mack’s mouth left hers to kiss along the fragrant skin of her neck, his tongue tasting the satin smoothness of her collarbone before going lower. He slid the shoestring strap of her dress aside, his mouth burning to taste the pert curve of her breast he had exposed. He cupped the gentle weight of the creamy globe of her breast in his hand, his thumb passing back and forth over the dusky erect nipple, his body growing taut with need. She was so soft and warm and tempting, her body seeming to come to life under the touch of his hands and mouth. He wanted to explore her in detail, to taste her sexy saltiness, to feel her convulsing around him as he filled her with his life force. Alex snatched in a prickly breath as his mouth closed over her breast, the sucking action so intensely pleasurable she felt her knees begin to sag under the weight of her desire. She closed her eyes and sighed as he exposed her other breast, the slight rasp of his tongue and the gentle scrape of his teeth setting her on fire. Shockwaves of exquisite feeling coursed through her body as he suckled on her, the sight of his silky black head pressed so intimately to her naked breasts making her legs tremble as she thought of him moving even lower to where her body secretly pulsed for his ultimate possession. His mouth came back to hers, subjecting it to a passionate onslaught that left her totally breathless. She quivered in his arms as he deepened the kiss, his unshaven jaw rasping against the softness of her face, reminding her of all that was different between them. He was male. She was female. They were intensely attracted to each other and they were totally alone…

Chapter Seventeen Alex pulled back from him with an effort, her chest still rising and falling as she shakily hitched her strap back over her shoulder, her eyes barely able to hold the glittering heat of his. “Sorry,” she mumbled in embarrassment. “I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression. I’m not a sleep around sort of person. I don’t even kiss on the first date.”

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He brushed back his hair with the fingers of one hand. “No harm done,” he said with an attempt at a wry smile. “That is unless you’re involved with someone back home. I would hate to be stepping on anyone’s toes.” Alex compressed her lips but she could still taste him. “No, I’m not involved with anyone,” she said. “I know it sounds pathetic but my last official date was nearly a year ago.” “It doesn’t sound pathetic at all.” His grey-blue gaze softened. “Was it a nasty break up?” “No, not really,” she said. “Although it took a while to convince him I was serious about ending it. That’s sort of why I came out here. I wasn’t in love with him, far from it. At the start we went out occasionally, more for the sake of convenience. When we progressed to a physical relationship I realized I was deluding myself about our suitability.” “So there was no spark?” Alex felt her cheeks coloring. “No not even a flicker.” He turned back to look out at the sliver crescent of the moon on the horizon. “I don’t want to give you false hope,” he said. “That kiss—” he paused as if he was revisiting it in his mind, “—it was one of those things that probably shouldn’t have happened and wouldn’t have on a different day.” “Probably…” He swung his gaze to look at her again. “You can’t stay here, Alex, surely you can see that.” “I don’t see why not,” she argued. “You said it yourself—I handled things well out at the Ellis’s. I don’t see why we can’t share this job for six months.” Mack could think of some very good reasons they shouldn’t share anything, much less a house and a job. “You might not be here past the weekend,” he reminded her. “Tony Hallum might withdraw funding.” She leaned forwards on the railing, her slim arm brushing against his, every hair on his forearm lifting in response. He could smell her perfume; it was filling his senses, making him think of passion-filled nights with his body erotically entwined with hers. “Do you really think both of us staying here would be a problem?” she asked. “Being so isolated it would be safer as Shirley said, and we do work well together. You could help me build up my confidence a bit.” She smiled up at him and added, “And you could even give me map reading lessons.” “I don’t know,” he said looking back at her. “What do you think?”

Chapter Eighteen The trouble was, Alex couldn’t think when he looked at her like that. Those gorgeous grey-blue eyes did something to her insides every time they locked on hers. “I’m fine with it if you are,” she said. He looked at her for a suspended moment. “You’re not worried about the drop in income?” She shook her head and gave him a wry smile. “I wasn’t coming out here for the money and in any case, there are practically no shops. Besides, won’t we be saving heaps by sharing a house?” Mack turned to look at the moon again, his forehead wrinkling in a frown. “Have you ever lived with a man before?” he asked.

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“You mean as in a romantic relationship?” He turned to face her once again. “Yes.” Alex felt her cheeks turning pink. “No. That was one of the problems with my ex. He was keen to share my apartment but I could see myself being sucked into suburbia before I was ready.” She let a little breath escape before continuing, “They do it really tough out here in the outback. It doesn’t seem much to ask newly qualified doctors to come out and do a few months or even a couple of years, don’t you think?” Mack felt himself drowning in those big brown luminous eyes of hers. What was it about her that made him react in such a way? He couldn’t remember feeling anything like this level of attraction in all the months he had been involved with Deborah. But then he realized Alexandria MacDonald was everything Deborah Philips was not. Alex hadn’t thrown a tantrum about the mix up over their appointment; instead she had applied herself with great courage under trying circumstances. She was flexible and enthusiastic which were incredibly important qualities in a country-based doctor. And she was exquisitely beautiful. Her blonde hair and brown eyes were a heart-stopping combination, not to mention her slim, finely toned build. His palms could still feel where her nipples had poked against him, his fingers aching even now to cradle those tender curves so he could taste her sweetness all over again. Alex suddenly stiffened beside him. “Mack?” she whispered, her eyes wide with apprehension. “Did you hear that noise?” He looked down at her and frowned. “What noise?” he asked. She pressed a finger against her lips in a shushing gesture. “Listen.” Mack strained his ears for a lengthy moment and then he heard it. There was the unmistakable creak of a floorboard as someone moved inside the house behind them…

Chapter Nineteen “Stay here while I check it out,” Mack commanded softly. “Why don’t you call the police?” Alex whispered back, clutching at his arm. “Hasn’t anyone told you there’s no police officer stationed in Kingfisher Crossing? The nearest station is in Marraburra.” Her eyes went even wider and her fingers tightened their hold. “No police?” she gasped. “What if there’s a murderer in there or something?” Mack rolled his eyes and led her quietly but firmly off the veranda to the shelter of the water tank at the side of the house. “Stay here out of sight. It’s probably a possum looking for food. Did you leave your bedroom window open earlier?” Alex bit her lip. “Um…maybe…” He unpeeled her fingers from his arm and gave the back of her hand a little reassuring pat. “I won’t be long,” he said and melted away into the darkness. Alex leaned back against the cool corrugations of the tank and tried to get her heart rate to settle. The night sounds she had delighted in earlier now made her feel terribly isolated. Apart from the medical clinic next door, there wasn’t another house for at least half a block. When Mack had shown her around before they had been called out to the Ellis’s property, he had mentioned something about one or two of the neighbors

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moving to the coast to escape the heat and persistent drought. The small general store and service station were in the street behind them, but she knew neither would be open at this time of night. Alex peered around the side of the tank and looked for any signs of life but the only house she could see looked deserted, its windows like black eyes staring sightlessly into the night. An owl suddenly hooted in one of the trees nearby and Alex nearly choked on her heart as it leapt into her mouth. She shrank back against the water tank, her breathing shallow and erratic, and her legs feeling as if they were made of wet cotton wool instead of sinews, muscles and bones. She held her breath as she heard another sound of movement in the house, her senses on such high alert she felt light-headed from the adrenalin charging through her system. The suspense was killing her. Why hadn’t Mack come out if it was just a possum in there? And why hadn’t he turned on the lights for pity’s sake? With her back still pressed against the blessedly cool surface of the tank, Alex stealthily edged her way around to the other side, and came face to face with a man with a gun aimed straight at her.

Chapter Twenty Alex had seen hundreds of movies with exactly this sort of scene but she had never once considered how accurately the actors had portrayed the stomach-churning fear she was currently feeling. Her whole body froze as if sprayed with instant-setting concrete; she couldn’t even get her throat to open enough to scream, and her heart was threatening to pop out of her chest before the shadowed figure could fire a bullet into it. “Where are the drugs?” the man asked. Alex looked at the gleam of the gun and swallowed a tight knot of dread. “D-drugs?” “This is the doctor’s house, isn’t it?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “I heard Dr MacDonald was arriving today. You’ve got narcotics in your bag, now where are they?” “My bag is…” Where is my bag? She wondered in rising panic. Had she brought it in from Mack’s car or— The man nudged her in the stomach with the gun, his eyes glazed with murderous rage. “Get me the bag. Now.” “B-but I’m not Dr Alexander MacDonald,” Alex said, mentally crossing her fingers that she could stall him long enough for Mack to come to the rescue. The man frowned. “Alexander MacDonald?” “Yes,” she said shakily. “Dr MacDonald is a he not a she.” “Then who the hell are you?” the man asked, absently lowering the gun. “I’m…er…” Alex suddenly saw Mack coming up behind the gunman, his movement so stealthy it was mere seconds before the man was restrained, and the gun safely out of reach. Mack marched the man to the house holding him up by the back of his shirt, the man’s feet barely touching the ground, and informed him the police weren’t far away. The Western Australian authorities had apparently been tailing him for a couple of days following a spate of medical clinic robberies along the coast and the outback.

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*** Within an hour, the two police officers from Marraburra had arrived and loaded the offender into the back of the police van, and took statements from both Alex and Mack. It was the first time Alex had met the sexy sergeant her friend Amy Tanner had fallen madly in love with and it made her realize love could find you in the remotest of places. When the police left, Mack took both of Alex’s still shaking hands in his. “Are you all right, sweetheart?” he asked, his grey-blue gaze tender with concern. “Hey,” she said giving him a wobbly smile. “You just called me sweetheart.” He smiled crookedly and stroked his thumbs over the backs of her hands. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” “Did you have any particular reason for calling me that?” she asked with a flicker of hopefulness in her eyes. “Yes I do actually,” he said. “But you’re going to have to wait until the six months is up before I tell you.” Her eyes brightened even further. “You mean you want me to stay?” He kissed the tip of her upturned nose and smiled. “What do you think, Dr Alex MacDonald?”

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The Setup by Jasmine Cresswell An up and coming costume designer in L.A., Daisy can’t afford to take time away from her career. But when her grandmother is injured in an accident, Daisy has no choice but to return to Omaha—even though she knows Grandma Ruth is bound to have ulterior motives for summoning her: namely, to set Daisy up with another “perfect” future husband! Mr. Right aka financial planner Steve Greeley is one of Grandma Ruth’s better picks, but Daisy quickly realizes that appearances can be deceiving

Chapter One It started raining just as Daisy Vernon left Eppley Airfield, a torrential downpour more suited to monsoon season in India than September in Nebraska. Her plane had landed in Omaha three hours late and the car rental company had lost her reservation causing another half hour delay, so the storm simply made a rotten end to a miserable day. In fact, this entire trip to her grandmother’s house might have been designed to confirm Daisy’s suspicion that her stars had recently moved into such a malign orbit that the smart course of action for the next several days would be to go to bed and pull the covers over her head until the universe sorted out its problems. There was no good time for her grandmother to fall and break her ankle, of course, but the timing of Grandma Ruth’s accident couldn’t have been worse in terms of Daisy’s work schedule. The rainstorm was heavy enough to be intimidating, but Daisy had survived six years of Los Angeles traffic, so she decided she could cope with the worst Omaha had to offer. Setting the windshield wipers on high and her mood on defiantly optimistic, she headed toward her grandmother’s quiet, suburban neighborhood. At least at this late hour the streets were almost deserted. She heaved a sigh of relief when she reached the outskirts of Elm Village, but between the darkness and the sheeting rain, her problems still weren’t over. In the moonless, leaf-blown bluster of the rainstorm, the road signs were invisible and the tidy, landscaped streets looked like so many clones of each other. Despite the fact that she’d practically grown up here, Daisy somehow managed to miss her turn. With a sigh of resignation, Daisy lowered the window and stuck her head out, craning for a closer look at the signs. Rain blew into her face with gleeful force, and the sleeve of her cream cotton sweater took no more than thirty seconds to absorb what felt like at least a pound of water. Her hair—the bane of her existence— turned from ash blond shoulder bob to wet yellow frizz in the blink of an eye. So much for returning home and dazzling everyone with her sleek, California sophistication, Daisy reflected, giving a rueful shove to her sopping curls. And judging by the sag in her sleeve, the super-expensive sweater she’d splurged on as a reward for working four 60-hour weeks back-to-back seemed likely to end up with one side stretched to accommodate a three hundred pound gorilla. At least she could now read the street signs, which was some small repayment for the ruined sweater and frizzy hair. Apparently she was at the intersection of Oak Lane and Bridge Street. That meant a quick U-turn would bring her to her grandmother’s house in less than a minute. Cheered by the prospect of soon seeing Grandma Ruth, her favorite relative in the world, she checked in her rearview mirror before making the turn. About to swing hard right, she realized a silver BMW sports coupe was pulling up behind her. The driver of the coupe stopped the car, leaving his headlights on. A man immediately got out of the car, walking toward her with a purposeful stride. He was tall, with an athletic build that was all too familiar. Daisy’s stomach sank as she recognized him. Matthew Beauregard.

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Good grief, what had she done to deserve an encounter with him, on top of every other disaster? Why in the world was he in Omaha, tonight of all nights? Talk about bad Karma. Clearly she had been an evil person in a previous existence and was now being punished for sins she wasn’t even aware of having committed. She contemplated putting her rented Chevy in gear and driving off full speed ahead, but since Matt had lived in Elm Village most of his life, he would know that she needed to turn around to get to her grandmother’s house. In the circumstances, staying put and being icily polite seemed a better choice than driving off and proving she was too chicken to talk to him. She had the family honor to think about, and her grandmother had been feuding with the Beauregard family for thirty years. The feud was no less intense for having been caused initially by a dispute over trash collection—a dispute that had been resolved approximately twentynine years and eleven months ago. Grandma Ruth would expect Daisy to hold her ground and fight, at least metaphorically. She might stand a scant five feet tall, and that was when she cheated by lifting her heels off the ground, but she pretty much defined the word feisty. Matt came alongside Daisy’s car and gave her a casual salute. The rain that had turned her into a sodden version of Little Orphan Annie hadn’t penetrated his leather jacket and he looked entirely at his ease. More rain streamed off his chiseled features, highlighting the Brad Pitt perfection of his profile. Daisy registered the impossible sexiness of him and tried to think of anyone in the world she would like to see less at this moment than Matt Beauregard. Short of a coked-out rapist, nobody came to mind. Matt gave her one of his trademark glances, cool and utterly self-possessed. He followed his inspection with a faint smile—the sort of smile indulgent uncles gave when confronted by a spoiled little niece who was likely to explode into a tiresome temper tantrum any minute. Daisy gritted her teeth and exercised huge amounts of self-control in order to avoid living down to his expectations. At moments like this, it was tough to avoid the conclusion that life truly sucked. “Hey, Daisy, I thought I recognized you.” Matt’s voice was deep and smooth. Daisy had been assured by all her girlfriends that he only had to speak a couple of sentences and they instantly imagined themselves naked in his bed. Daisy, however, reacted to his voice the same way she reacted to his smile and everything else about him: she developed an immediate and almost irresistible urge to run far, far away. “Hello, Matt.” Her throat was oddly dry, so her voice, far from sounding smooth like his, came out as a husky mumble. “What are you doing in Omaha?” “My grandmother sent for me. She’s planning to sell her house and apparently is in urgent need of my advice.” “Lucille is selling her house?” Daisy was astonished. How come her grandmother had made no mention of this momentous piece of news? Given that Ruth Plumrose and Lucille Beauregard had been in a state of war since before Daisy was born, the fact that Lucille planned to move must surely loom large on her grandmother’s horizon. Despite a childhood filled with stories about the wicked Beauregards, Daisy secretly rather liked Lucille. More to the point, she was afraid her grandmother would be lost without her favorite enemy to add spice to her days. “I hope Lucille isn’t ill?” she said. “No, she’s fine. In fact, for a woman of eighty-two, she’s in fantastic shape. Apparently, she just wants to spend less time keeping up her house and more time traveling before she’s too old to enjoy a vacation. But she’s from a generation that wouldn’t dream of making a big decision without a male relative to tell her it’s okay. So here I am.” Matt pushed his fingers through his short, cropped hair and rain drops scattered. “What’s up with you, Daisy? If you’re having trouble with your car, can I help?”

Chapter Two

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Daisy tried to mimic the cool sophistication of Matt’s smile, which wasn’t easy with rain dripping off her nose. She gave another useless swat to her hair. “No, thanks, I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with the car. I missed my turn in the dark.” Matt didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow, much less make any smart-ass remarks about her inability to find the house where she’d spent every summer of her life between middle school and college. Unfailing politeness was one of Matt Beauregard’s more annoying characteristics. He merely gave a brief nod of acknowledgment, already walking away. He knew as well as she did that they had nothing to say to each other once the basic courtesies were over. “I’ll back up my car so you can turn around,” he said, over his shoulder. “Thanks.” Daisy drew in a deep breath, aware that she couldn’t let him leave without at least mentioning his award at last week’s Emmys. Her personal history with Matt might be humiliating, but professional integrity required that Daisy acknowledge his huge achievement. “Congratulations on your Emmy, by the way.” She was too honest not to tell him the truth. “The writing on your show is terrific. You deserved the win.” He stopped and turned to look at her again. “Thanks.” His smile gleamed white in the light spilling from his car. “I spent so long telling everyone it was an honor just to be nominated that I haven’t quite absorbed yet that I actually won.” “Getting kissed by Jennifer Anniston can’t have been all bad, either.” He grinned, and this time it seemed to Daisy that his amusement was genuine. “The kiss was a definite bonus, although I was numb with shock so I didn’t get to appreciate it as much as I should have done.” “Next time you’ll be better prepared.” “Right now, the chances for another nomination seem remote, to say the least. I’m having to fight the network every damn week to prevent them from subverting my story lines.” Matt turned abruptly. “I’ll move my car so that you can make the turn,” he said again. Daisy wondered why on earth the network would want to meddle with a show that was successful enough to blow away the competition week after week. Matt was senior writer and co-producer for Orlando Nights, an innovative one-hour drama that had single-handedly changed conventional views of Orlando as a destination strictly for family vacations. The show revealed the glittering, tropical underbelly of a city that catered to thousands of conventioneers each year and also had enough foreign visitors to provide cover for every sort of international crime. The scripts were suspenseful and rich with dark humor. In addition, Matt always incorporated just enough heart-tugging emotion to hold the attention of both men and women. Reviewers and audiences alike lavished praise on the sharp, edgy dialogue and tightly woven plots, so it wasn’t stretching in the least to visualize another Emmy in Matthew Beauregard’s future. Still, his problems with the network were no concern of hers, even if she couldn’t help feeling a sneaking sympathy for his situation. It was well known in Hollywood that shows became successful because of cutting edge new approaches—at which point the networks usually became scared of protecting their new franchise and demanded that the writers scale back on all the elements that had made the show a standout in the first place. But Daisy wasn’t about to start sympathizing with Matt, not even about his work. She dismissed him from her mind as he passed her car, leaving the narrow road clear for her to make her turn. He belonged in her past and she had every intention of leaving him there. Buried somewhere very deep, where he retained no power to hurt her.

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Right now, she needed to stay focused on the task ahead which, she suspected, would involve a lot more than helping Grandma Ruth cope with a broken bone in her foot. Her grandmother would never invent an injury just to entice Daisy to Omaha. However, she was more than capable of using the broken foot as an excuse to achieve her real goal, which for the past several years had been to get Daisy married off, the sooner the better. If she’d arrived on time, the odds would have been excellent that a candidate for the role of Daisy’s husband would be waiting to greet her when she arrived at her grandmother’s home. Ruth Plumrose might be among Omaha’s more forward-looking seventy-eight year olds, but she had decidedly old-fashioned views on the question of marriage. She regularly reminded Daisy that human beings were always happier when involved in a committed, caring relationship and she made no secret of the fact that she looked forward to cuddling at least one great-grandbaby before she died. Since Daisy was her only grandchild, the duty of producing said baby rested squarely with Daisy. Not that Daisy was opposed either to getting married or to having babies. Not in the long term. But for right now, she was concentrating on her career as a costume designer for movies and television and the field was so cut-throat she still felt precariously perched on the lower rungs of her career ladder, despite six years on the job. She’d recently been promoted to the coveted position of assistant to Karen Karvitz, but keeping that job wasn’t going to be easy. Karen was the president of her own company and a major star in the Designers’ Guild, but she was the sort of demanding boss who made Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada look like a warm and fuzzy pushover. Daisy figured that if she could survive Karen for another six months, the world of costume design would be at her feet. After that, with her career established, she could start thinking about marriage and children. She was still only twenty-eight, for heaven’s sake! Her grandmother sometimes acted as if Daisy’s biological clock had already started ticking down the last few seconds to Doomsday. Daisy drew to a halt in her grandmother’s driveway. Maybe there was a silver lining to the storm cloud that had delayed her arrival, she reflected. She was so late getting here that Grandma Ruth’s latest candidate in the Find-Daisy-a-Husband contest would almost certainly have given up and gone home. She could only hope. Slinging her travel bag over her shoulders, Daisy ran through the pelting rain, seeking the shelter of the front porch. The door opened within seconds. Warmth and light radiated out, illuminating the stocky figure of an unknown, dark-haired man with handsome regular features. Daisy groaned, too tired and frustrated to choke off the sound. Even if she hadn’t been wetter than your average drowning victim, even if she hadn’t just spent ten hours traveling, even if she hadn’t just survived an encounter with Matt Beauregard, she was so totally not in the mood for coping with her grandmother’s latest offering in the Husband Sweepstakes. The unsuspecting potential bridegroom—at least she assumed he was unsuspecting—grasped her hand in a firm shake. ““Hi, you must be Daisy, Ruth’s granddaughter. I’m Steve Greeley. I’m new to Omaha and your grandmother has been such a good friend. Come on in, she’s waiting for you in the living room. I’m afraid the injury to her foot is making it difficult for her to move around.” He seemed like a nice enough guy and Daisy gave him the warmest smile she could muster to make up for the fact that she wished with all her heart that he wasn’t there. “It’s kind of you to wait this late, Steve. My plane was delayed—“ He nodded. “I was just about to leave when you called Ruth from the airport. Since it’s real hard for her to get up, I figured I should hang around for a while. It was no trouble, believe me. It’s always a kick talking to your grandma.” “She’s led an interesting life,” Daisy agreed. “Has she told you about her stint as a nurse with the army in Korea?” “Man, has she ever! What a spitfire she must have been. And so romantic meeting her husband when he was brought into her hospital tent on a stretcher.”

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Many people had said the same thing, although Daisy had never quite grasped what was so romantic about meeting your prospective life partner when he was suffering from an infected bullet wound to the groin. Still, despite this difference in viewpoint, Steve seemed to be one of her grandmother’s better picks as far as husbands went. He was a little on the stocky side for her taste, but his jeans fit just right, he was wearing a pleasant, woodsy cologne, and he had apparently been very kind to an elderly lady. She was willing to forgive him a lot in exchange for that.

Chapter Three Daisy gave Steve another smile as she walked past him into the living room, then promptly forgot all about him when she saw her grandmother seated in the Queen Anne chair next to the fire. A pair of crutches had been stacked against the arms, and Ruth’s right foot rested on a low stool. Daisy almost ran the few yards separating them, her breath catching when she realized how frail her grandmother looked. Ruth enveloped her in a talcum-scented hug. “Daisy, you poor child, you’re soaked. What can I get you to eat? I know they never feed you on planes these days. And it’s such a miserable night for a long journey!” Ruth reached for her crutches, beaming with pleasure at the sight of her only granddaughter. “No, don’t get up, Gran. You look so comfy. Besides, I’m not hungry. I ate at the airport while I was waiting for the rental company to find me a car.” Daisy kissed Ruth’s soft cheek before bending down to take a closer look at her grandmother’s ankle. There was an ugly gash visible above the splint, and several dark bruises as well. Her grandmother had clearly downplayed the severity of her injury. Daisy tried not to show her anxiety. “Are you in a lot of pain, Gran? Have you been able to get any sleep?” “Well, the doctor gave me plenty of pain pills, so it’s not too bad. Getting up and down stairs is a bit difficult, but otherwise, I’m fine.” Ruth smiled brightly. Translation: her injury hurt like hell. Daisy took her grandmother’s hand. “Next time you decide to walk downstairs in the middle of the night, will you please switch on the light?” “I promise,” Ruth said humbly. Only severe pain would account for such astonishing meekness, Daisy thought. “Are you following the doctor’s instructions, Gran? I mean all of them, not just the parts that happen to agree with what the ladies in your bridge club recommend.” “Do you think I’d be sitting here with my foot up and these dratted things getting in my way if I wasn’t doing just what the doctor ordered?” Ruth thumped the crutches on the floor for emphasis and then smiled. “Anyway, let’s not talk about my silly injury. Did you notice the lovely fire Steve lit for us? It’s my first this year, and that’s always a treat. Sit down next to me for a moment and enjoy the warmth while you dry off.” “The fire is lovely.” Daisy pulled up the ottoman and sat down close to her grandmother, extending her hands to the blaze. “The whole room smells of pine.” “I like to listen to the crackle. Somehow, those little sparks and splutters make the whole room feel alive.” Ruth gestured to Steve, who was hovering barely inside the doorway, apparently reluctant to intrude on the reunion. “Come on in, Steve, and join us.” Ruth beckoned in welcome. “I don’t want to butt in—“ “You’re not. On the contrary, I need you for back-up.” Ruth’s eyes twinkled. “I need you to tell my granddaughter how quiet and well-behaved I’ve been these past two days.”

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He laughed, taking a seat on the sofa across from them both. “I wouldn’t say quiet, Ruth, but I can reassure Daisy that you’ve been a model patient.” “I’m delighted to hear it.” Daisy pushed the ottoman a little further away from the fire. “How long will you have to keep the cast, Gran?” “Oh, a week, maybe a bit longer. I’ll be running around in no time.” Steve shook his head, quietly chiding. “I know you’re the Wonder Woman of the Senior Citizen circuit, Ruth, but you need to take the time to heal.” He got up to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze, and then turned, speaking directly to Daisy. “The doctor said it was a stress fracture, not a complete break, but your grandmother’s bones are fragile and she could end up with a real problem if she doesn’t respect her limitations. It’s going to be a while before she can walk without crutches.” “Don’t worry, there’s nothing Daisy likes better than ordering me around.” The affectionate glow in Ruth’s eyes removed the sting from her words. “She’s a dictator at heart, you know.” “Then I’ll leave her to do some dictating,” Steve said, chuckling. “I have an early start tomorrow morning and I need to get going. Goodnight, Ruth. I’ll call tomorrow afternoon, just to get a progress report.” “Come to dinner,” Ruth said. “I owe you a home-cooked meal after all the attention you’ve given me these past two days and we’d love to have you join us. Daisy’s a wonderful cook.” “Movie star beautiful and she can cook, too!” Steve clasped his hand to his heart in a melodramatic gesture. “At last I’ve met the woman of my dreams!” Daisy rose to her feet, her anti-matchmaking antenna on full alert. “My grandmother is exaggerating. My major talent in the kitchen is pushing buttons on the microwave—“ “But you’ll come anyway, right, Steve?” Ruth’s smile was sweet, but there was no mistaking her steely determination to get Steve and Daisy seated together at the same dinner table. “Let’s eat early, shall we? How about six o’clock?” “I wish I could, but I’m working at the literacy center tomorrow night. I’ll take a rain check, though, if you’ll let me.” “Of course.” But Ruth looked disappointed at the failure of her plan. “You’re a teacher?” Daisy asked, escorting Steve to the front door. He shook his head. “I’m a certified financial planner, but I volunteer at the literacy center downtown. I’m tutoring a class of new immigrants, helping them to learn English. There are a couple of kids in the class who could break your heart, one from Afghanistan and the other from Kosovo. They’re great kids, both of them. Battle scarred, but determined to succeed.” Daisy was impressed by Steve’s commitment to such a worthy cause. He was certainly a major improvement over her grandmother’s last candidate for a husband, who had been a neurosurgeon and probably the most self-absorbed man Daisy had ever met. And that was saying something, given that she worked in Hollywood, surrounded by models and actors for whom self-absorption was the bedrock of their being. She said goodbye, and when Steve commented that he would look forward to seeing her again soon, she astonished herself by saying, “That would be great. I hope you can join us for dinner some time this week.” He grinned. “Now that you’ve asked, I’d love it. Have a good night, Daisy. I’m glad you’re here.”

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She grimaced. “You haven’t tasted my cooking yet.” He laughed. “You may be a lousy cook, but you’re even more beautiful than your photos.” He was gone before she could find a reply.

Chapter Four “I’ve decided to sell my house,” Ruth said, as she and Daisy were eating breakfast the next morning. “The Realtor’s coming around this afternoon so that I can sign the papers.” Daisy set down her glass of juice and stared open-mouthed at her grandmother. “But you’ve lived here for thirty years! You and Grandpa always loved this house.” “I still do. It’s full of happy memories. It’s also way too big for one person.” Ruth pushed aside the remainder of her toasted breakfast muffin. “I have to be practical, Daisy. The truth is, my knee joints aren’t what they used to be and I have trouble with the stairs even when I don’t have a broken ankle. The washing machine is located way down in the basement, there’s half an acre of yard I have to pay someone to take care of and there are three bedrooms nobody is sleeping in. This is a house for a young family, not for an old woman living alone.” Her grandmother’s logic was irrefutable, but Daisy was still shocked. “What brought on this sudden decision, Gran? Is this because of your fall?” Ruth shook her head. “I made the decision a while ago. My accident just confirmed to me that it was the right one.” Daisy searched her grandmother’s face. “Does the fact that Lucille Beauregard is selling her house have anything to do with your decision?” Ruth looked momentarily taken aback, then her eyes narrowed. “How do you know Lucille is planning to put her house on the market? Who told you?” “Matthew Beauregard. Her grandson,” she added, in case her grandmother didn’t remember the name. “I know who Matthew is.” Ruth sounded a little exasperated. “And if I’d forgotten, Lucille Beauregard would have made sure to remind me.” “I thought you and Lucille never spoke?” Ruth gave a little snort that somehow managed to sound entirely ladylike. “Lucille made an exception to the No Talking rule as soon as her grandson was nominated for an Emmy. You think that woman hasn’t told me and everyone else in the entire state of Nebraska that her grandson is the famous scriptwriter who’s coproducer of Orlando Nights?” “Well, I guess that’s something any grandmother would be proud of.” Daisy felt defensive of Matt’s professional achievements, perhaps because she also worked in the entertainment industry and recognized the months of hard work that lurked behind the glamorous moment of running up on stage and collecting a golden statue. “Winning an Emmy is a pretty big deal.” “I didn’t think you and Matthew ever saw each other even though you both live in L.A.,” Ruth said. “You hardly know each other, do you?” Daisy managed a casual shrug. “L.A. is a big place. It’s not surprising that we almost never run into each other.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. In the past two years, they’d encountered each other five times at various industry functions. The fact that they’d seen each other a lot more often when she first moved to California

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was irrelevant. The fact that they’d once been lovers was totally, utterly and completely irrelevant to everything. “So when did Matthew Beauregard tell you about Lucille putting her house on the market?” Ruth, unfortunately, was not a woman who lost track of where the conversation had been headed. “We met by chance last night and he mentioned that his grandmother was planning to move.” Daisy changed the subject, before Ruth could delve any deeper into the subject of Matt Beauregard. It was a measure of her desperation that she willingly introduced Steve Greeley’s name even though in other circumstances she would have worked hard to avoid talking about Ruth’s latest candidate for the role of grandson-in-law. “Steve Greeley seems like a nice guy,” Daisy said, taking another sip of juice. “How did you meet him, Gran?” Ruth slanted a satisfied glance in Daisy’s direction. “Hah! I wondered when you’d get around to mentioning Steve. You like him, then? “Based on the half dozen sentences we exchanged last night, he seems okay. More than okay, actually.” “Sometimes half a dozen sentences are all it takes. I knew I wanted to marry your grandfather from the first moment he opened his eyes on that stretcher and looked into mine.” Daisy reflected that her grandparents’ courtship had been getting shorter and more passionately romantic the further it receded into the past. When she first heard the story, her grandfather had been in rehab and physical therapy for almost two months before he asked her grandmother out on a date. Now, apparently, passion had flared within seconds. She hid a smile. “Does Steve work for your bank?” she asked, deciding not to express her doubts about the amazing shrinking courtship of her grandparents. “No, he’s an independent financial advisor who’s just moved here from New York.” Daisy frowned. “Don’t financial people usually try to move from Omaha to Manhattan, not the other way around? If they’re any good, that is.” “Steve says that with today’s technology, you can live anywhere. After all, it doesn’t take any longer to send e-mail from Omaha than it does from New York City.” “True, but I thought financial types liked to hang out together. Meet for lunch and give each other tips about hot stocks and so on.” “Steve already has a great network he can tap into. He’s really informed about the market and all the new ways there are to make money. He’s quite sure he can make a lot of money for me. He says banks and other institutions are so conservative they miss a lot of the best opportunities—“ Daisy felt a sharp twinge of alarm. “I don’t know, Gran. Isn’t it a bit risky to get involved with a financial planner who has no established corporation to back him up?” “If you can’t take risks at my age, when can you take them? What have I got to lose?” “Your life savings?” Daisy suggested. “Oh, my goodness, don’t be such a pessimist! Steve has recommended I should invest in this private partnership he’s promoting. He puts together associations of small investors and then leverages the capital to buy out private companies with neglected assets.” Ruth spoke as if she were repeating a lesson she’s

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learned by rote. “He’s shown me the prospectus and the success rates are amazing: people have been doubling their money every eighteen months or so.” It all sounded pretty hokey to Daisy, although she had to admit the sum total of her knowledge about capital markets could fit on one decent sized note card. “You should remember what Grandpa always used to say, Gran. If it sounds too good to be true, then it probably is. Making money isn’t easy, I guess, otherwise we’d all be millionaires. I’d be careful about trusting this Steve person too much.” “For heaven’s sake, Daisy, you can trust me to make good judgments about people. I’m not naïve, you know. By the time I was twenty, I was in Korea keeping half-dead soldiers alive long enough for a doctor to get them onto the operating table. I was married at twenty-three and giving birth to your mother ten months later—“ “I know, Gran.” Daisy grinned. “Real life started a lot earlier when you were young.” Ruth laughed, visibly relaxing. “All right, you’ve made your point. I know how annoying it is when old people climb on their hobby horses and start spouting off about how much better everything was back in the good old days. But Steve is absolutely right about one thing: you need money to make money. Part of the reason I’m selling my house is so that I’ll have enough money to give Steve—“ “That sounds like a seriously bad idea to me, Gran.” “Why?” Ruth didn’t wait for Daisy to list the dozens of reasons why handing over her life savings to a stranger might be considered the height of folly. “We’d finished paying off the mortgage before your grandfather died,” Ruth continued. “That means this house represents a wonderful nest egg—except right now it’s no use to me whatsoever! What’s the point of having thousands of dollars of capital if you can’t use it? I need to put my assets to work for me.” It seemed to Daisy that her grandmother was parroting Steve’s words without having fully digested the implications. “You don’t think you’d miss your garden if you sell? And all the neighbors you’ve known for so many years?” “There is that,” Ruth acknowledged. “But my best friends are all in my bridge club or my book club, and when it’s my turn to be the hostess, I expect they’ll be just as happy to meet in a spiffy new condo as they are to meet here.” Daisy suspected there was more to moving from the house where you’d lived for thirty-five years than notifying your bridge club that they would be convening in a new location. But her grandmother was a smart woman, showing not the slightest sign of losing her wits, and she had every right to put her house on the market if she wanted to. The truth was, Daisy thought ruefully, this house was her home—far more so than anything she’d ever shared with her parents, who were anthropologists perpetually flying off on academic safaris into the African desert or riding donkeys across the steppes of Inner Mongolia. Her reluctance to see this house sold probably had as much to do with her personal sense of loss as it did with her niggling worry that Ruth was placing a lot of trust in Steve Greeley, a man she barely knew. “Don’t look so alarmed,” Ruth said cheerfully. “I’ve investigated Steve’s background. I know exactly what I’m doing. Trust me, Daisy. This is all for the best.” Daisy wished she shared her grandmother’s confidence. Unfortunately, she was more cynical than Ruth and she was starting to wonder exactly why Steve Greeley had been so kind to her grandmother. She was afraid she might not like the true answer to that question one bit.

Chapter Five

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The phone rang a few minutes after the real estate agent arrived to consult with Ruth about listing the house for sale. “Could you get that, Daisy?” her grandmother called out. “Sure.” Daisy picked up the phone and almost dropped it again when she heard Matt Beauregard’s voice on the other end of the line. Two encounters with Matt within the space of eighteen hours were more than she was equipped to deal with. “Can your grandmother hear what you’re saying?” he asked as soon as she’d identified herself. Daisy moved out into the hall. “Not any more.” “Good. I have something I need to discuss with you. It concerns my grandmother and yours as well.” “This isn’t about their crazy feud, is it?” “No. Unfortunately, this is more serious than a feud that’s kept the pair of them happily entertained for thirty years. I’m afraid they’re both about to get ripped off by a fast-talking, so-called financial planner—“ “Would that financial planner be a man called Steve Greeley by any chance?” “Yes, that’s the guy. Have you heard about him, too?” “Not only have I heard about him, I actually met him last night,” Daisy said. “He’s charming when you meet him in person.” “I guess he wouldn’t be much good as a con man if he was a pain to have around.” “Do you really think that’s what Steve is—a con man?” “Seems that way from what I’ve managed to dig up this morning. Look, Daisy, I know you consider spending time with me about as much fun as checking an alligator for tooth cavities, but we need to talk. I’m parked two houses down from Ruth’s place. Would you come out and meet me?” There were very few things that would persuade Daisy to meet willingly with Matt Beauregard, but protecting her grandmother was one of them. “I was getting ready to go for a run,” she said. “Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll be there.” She joined him wearing the sweats she’d planned to run in, topped by a loose sweater, since the weather remained gray and damp. She’d pulled her hair ruthlessly away from her face, partly so that it wouldn’t curl, and partly because she had no intention of primping for Matt Beauregard. When she’d found herself applying blush and eyeliner before going out, she’d been so annoyed that she tossed her makeup back in her purse without putting on even a dab of lipstick. Matt had his pick of Hollywood’s A-list beauties as she’d learned the hard way, and she had no intention of trying to compete. Not any more. Matt was already out of his car and looking his usual devastatingly attractive self. Daisy had no idea how he managed to exude sexual promise simply by leaning against the car door, but somehow he did. He smiled as soon as he caught sight of her, his gaze locking with hers. Her stupid, ridiculous heart performed a couple of back flips just to prove that it was still as unreliable as ever. Two years had passed since she and Matt broke up in a blaze of pain and anger. By now, for heaven’s sake, they surely ought to be able to meet without her body undergoing some weird chemical reaction that left her mind a jittery blank and her body a mass of zinging nerve endings. She greeted him curtly, more annoyed with herself than with him. She was so over the whole ridiculous mess of being in love with him. Why couldn’t her body at least try to cooperate with this entirely sensible decision?

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“It’s too cold to stand still,” she said. “Shall we head for the pond?” “Sounds good.” Matt straightened, falling into an easy stride alongside her. “Thanks for coming to meet me, Daisy. I appreciate it.” “You said you wanted to talk about our grandmothers.” She needed to keep this conversation tightly focused. Straying off into byways or wandering down memory lane was likely to lead them somewhere she didn’t want to go. She felt Matt’s gaze resting on her face, but she wasn’t going to fall into the trap of looking at him. She thought she heard him sigh before he spoke. “When my grandmother called last weekend and said she was planning to sell her house, it seemed straightforward enough. But the moment I arrived here, I knew she was hiding something. At first she stuck to the story she’d given me over the phone—“ “That her house is too big and she wants the freedom to take more vacations?” Matt nodded. “Yeah. Then, gradually, she admitted the real reason she’s selling is because she needs the money if she’s going to invest a quarter of a million dollars with this Steve Greeley person—“ “A quarter of a million!” Daisy squeaked. “Good grief, that’s a hefty chunk of change!” “It sure is, and she says your grandmother is planning to invest the same amount.” Houses in Omaha didn’t command anything like California-level prices, so handing Steve Greeley a quarter of a million dollars would probably wipe out everything Ruth and Lucille netted from selling their homes. No wonder Matt was worried. She was right there with him, she realized. “Gran is with a real estate agent right now, signing the papers to put her house on the market.” Daisy shook her head in bewilderment. “Why in the world would these two smart women suddenly decide to part with most of their life savings to a man they scarcely know!” “My grandmother feels she knows Steve quite well, that’s the problem.” Matt sounded as frustrated as Daisy felt. “She met him at church and he immediately volunteered to work on one of her committees. Next thing you know, almost before you could say con artist, he was bringing tubs of flowers for her front porch and she was baking him oatmeal cookies. He was clever enough not to mention financial planning or investments until he’d impressed her with his hard work on the committee—and the fact that he donated five hundred bucks to the homeless shelter, my grandmother’s cause.” “Five hundred dollars is a tiny investment if he’s going to walk away with half a million,” Daisy pointed out. “Yes, and when my grandmother voiced a few reservations, he sent her to his website. I checked it out this morning, and it’s really impressive. He has glowing references from dozens of satisfied investors who make him sound like the next Warren Buffet.” “But, of course, anyone can write whatever they please on a web site,” Daisy pointed out. “There’s no way to be sure any of those investors actually exists.” “Absolutely. I also wonder how many other lonely widows he has dangling on his hook,” Matt said. “There must be plenty of elderly women in Omaha who are a lot more vulnerable than Ruth and Lucille. I’m guessing Steve Greeley tries to find victims with no family to look out for them, in which case Lucille and Ruth might have appeared ideal targets. They’re both elderly widows, living alone. He’s probably furious that the two of us turned up just when he was about to close the deal.” “No wonder he was so anxious to behave perfectly last night.” Daisy had assumed Steve was being tactful when he hovered in the doorway to the living room, not saying a word. In hindsight, she wondered if he had actually been observing her relationship with her grandmother, silently assessing whether this newcomer was likely to be a danger to his plans.

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“You didn’t suspect anything was wrong?” Matt asked. “Even though men in their thirties don’t usually hang out with women who are almost eighty?” “I suspected the wrong thing,” Daisy admitted ruefully. “I assumed my grandmother had Steve lined up as the next candidate for my husband, so I never questioned why he was there with her, or why he was obviously so much at home in her house.” Matt’s voice deepened with wry amusement. “How lucky for Steve that Ruth is still determined to get you married off.” “Is your grandmother still equally enthusiastic about playing matchmaker?” “God, is she ever! Despite the amount of time we’ve spent discussing Steve Greeley, she’s already made it quite clear that she has three lovely girls she expects me to take out to dinner before I go back to L.A.” Daisy laughed. “Good luck dodging those bullets.” She was so sympathetic she looked straight Matt’s eyes, totally forgetting how dangerous that was.

Chapter Six Matt’s gaze met hers, the blue of his eyes more intense than usual in the misty afternoon light. The air between them thickened with tension. There was almost a foot of space separating them and he made no effort to close the gap, but Daisy felt his physical presence as powerfully as if he’d put his arms around her and dragged her against his body. “I missed you at the Emmys,” he said softly. “When I went on stage to collect my award, I wanted you to be there with me. I wanted it in the worst way.” His words wrapped around her in a seductive coil. Somehow, Daisy resisted the urge to melt into his arms and forget about the several excellent reasons why she hadn’t been at his side. “You had Zita Moralis as your date for the Emmys.” She hoped her voice sounded casual and faintly teasing. “What more could you want than the star of this summer’s hottest movie? You were the envy of fifteen million American males as they watched you escort Zita along the red carpet. The only thing that would have made them more envious is if she’d actually had the wardrobe malfunction her dress seemed to promise.” “Zita is a nice person and a talented actor, but she isn’t you.” His gaze still held hers, demanding and yet seeking at the same time. “Did you watch the entire broadcast, Daisy?” “Yes, I did.” She hated the husky, breathless sound of her voice but she could do nothing to control it. She shook her head, determined to break the spell. “I always watch the Emmys; they’re such a great spectacle. It’s one of my favorite nights of the year. Not to mention that it’s professionally important for me to see what everyone is wearing.” “Is that the only reason you watched? Because it’s professionally important?” It was a second or two before she found the courage to reply honestly. “No, it wasn’t the only reason.” She hesitated again then admitted the truth. “I wanted you to win.” Matt turned away, seemingly absorbed in watching a family of ducks that hadn’t yet flown south for the winter. A late flight to winter warmth and fresh food supplies was risky behavior for ducks, but no more risky, Daisy thought, than allowing herself to get involved in this conversation. “I was a fool two years ago,” Matt said finally. “A total and complete moron.” “Yes, you were. Do you expect me to disagree?”

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“No.” Her mouth felt dry and her stomach cramped at the hurtful memories. “You weren’t just a fool, Matt. You were cruel and you were unfaithful. You stood me up on my birthday so that you could take Jessica Portman to that movie director’s party, and then you made sure the betrayal was complete by having an affair with her that was so torrid the gossip columnists fed on it for weeks.” Matt had stopped watching the ducks, but his expression was now shuttered even though he turned to face her once again. “Does it make things any better if I tell you that Jessica and I never slept together? That our relationship was all a PR stunt?” “The pair of you seemed to be generating plenty of sparks for a supposedly business relationship.” “If we were generating sparks, it’s because we cordially disliked each other. We barely spoke unless there was a photographer somewhere in the vicinity.” Daisy turned away, since it was too painful to look at him. “No,” she said finally. “That doesn’t make it any better, Matt. It means you pushed me aside for a cheap publicity stunt instead of for hot sex with the latest “it” girl. How in the world is that supposed to make everything okay?” Even now, she couldn’t understand how Matt could have thrown away their relationship for something as trivial as a few weeks of tabloid publicity. The ache of his rejection squeezed her lungs making it hard to breathe. “I thought you loved me, Matt. I thought what we shared was the real, happily ever after kind of a thing.” She fought against the tears that clogged her throat. “It wasn’t much fun to discover that I was just the hometown stopgap until Hollywood’s power elite noticed you.” “You were never a stopgap,” Matt said, his voice low and fierce. “Daisy, you’re the woman I’ve loved ever since we were college kids sneaking out of our grandparents’ homes to meet in secret because of their crazy feud. I never stopped loving you. I still love you—“ Wincing, she held up her hand, warding off his words. The trouble was, she wanted to hear them too much. “No, don’t go there, Matt! It’s way too easy to claim that you loved me. If that’s true, what can love possibly mean to you? Nothing very important, that’s for sure.” “What does love mean to me?” He tilted his head to one side, giving her question careful consideration. “It means caring and trust and friendship. It means loyalty and having someone to share things with.” He gave a faint grin. “Happily, in our case, it also meant lots of incredibly wonderful sex.” “And you tossed all that aside for a PR stunt?” Daisy didn’t attempt to hide her scorn. “Yes, I did.” Matt’s smile became self-mocking. “I was crazy, okay? But it’s a heady experience writing for the number one new hit TV show and knowing that you have the power to keep twenty-six million viewers a week hooked on your story line. Success inflated my ego to the point where I couldn’t see around it. You were my anchor, but for a few crucial, insane moments I wasn’t sure I wanted to be anchored. So I lost my bearings and you along with it. Jessica Portman was a power trip, an excursion into fantasy land. It took me about a week to realize what I’d done to our relationship and by then it was too late. You wouldn’t see me, you wouldn’t answer my calls. You threatened to get a court order against me for harassment…” “What choice did you leave me? Don’t you see, Matt? I couldn’t trust you any more. And without trust, there was nothing worthwhile left of our relationship. You were harassing me…” She didn’t realize her tears had spilled over until she heard Matt’s sigh. “Ah, Jesus, Daisy, don’t cry. I was such a stupid prick. I’m sorry. You’ve no idea how sorry I am. I have my head on straight again now, I swear.”

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She felt his thumbs brush gently against her eyelids, and then she felt the wet of her own tears on his fingers. Dammit, she was through with crying over this man! She jerked away from him but he put his arms around her and pulled her hard against him. His head lowered and his mouth touched hers, softly at first and then with all the passion pent up during two years of separation. Daisy felt torn between a burst of anger and instant sensual response. The anger flared because she apparently still couldn’t resist Matt, and the sensual response flared because…because she was an idiot who had spent the past two years yearning to make love again with a man who couldn’t be trusted. Humiliatingly, it seemed he only needed to take her into his arms and her protective cover was blown away. How had she managed to trick herself into believing that her feelings for Matt were under control? She would never have been running away so frantically if she hadn’t suspected her defenses wouldn’t be strong enough to stand up to a meaningful encounter with him. Matt’s hands tangled in her hair, tugging it free from its band. She felt the soft strands twining around his fingers as his tongue searched deep in her mouth and his body pressed hard against hers. Doubts and questions vanished as the taste of him swept over her, transforming the last remnants of her anger into a desire that was all the more powerful for being edged with something darker. She forgot Matt’s betrayal and her own determination not to get involved with anyone again until her career was on track. She forgot everything but the heat and strength and passion of the man who was kissing her as if his life depended on her response. Her desire intensified as she felt the increasing urgency of Matt’s demands. Their bodies both burned, but she wasn’t sure who generated the heat. She wanted him, needed him, craved his touch—and she knew at some deep level that he experienced the same needs, the same wants, the same cravings. The hunger to be with him had never ceased during their time apart, had never been satisfied by anyone else. She had often wondered if he experienced the same harrowing sensation of perpetual emptiness. As he kissed her, she knew that he had. When they broke apart, there was no point in trying to pretend that nothing had happened. She had just provided irrefutable evidence of the fact that she was still physically attracted to him. She felt disoriented, and no doubt looked thoroughly aroused. She was hot, panting, her nipples were hard, and her skin felt on fire with sexual tension. If they hadn’t been in a public place, Daisy knew they would have ended up on the nearest available horizontal surface. She wasn’t sure whether to be devastated or relieved that they happened to be in Elm Village Park, where someone could walk past at any minute. Matt stepped away from her, breathing hard. “God, I knew I missed you, but I forced myself to forget how much. Let me back into your life, Daisy. This time, I promise not to mess up. Spend enough time with me to let me convince you we should get married.”

Chapter Seven Daisy had no idea how to answer him. The protective devices she’d developed over the past two years were at war with the reality of what had just happened between them. Everything was happening too fast, and she was in a state of utter confusion. In the end, she took refuge in evasion. “We can’t deal with our relationship right now. We have to deal with Steve Greeley and the risk to our grandmothers. Houses sell fast in this neighborhood and they’re both stubborn enough that they’ll hand over the cash proceeds unless we can provide proof that Steve can’t be trusted.” Matt wasn’t about to let her get away with that sort of equivocation. “Whether or not Steve Greeley is a thief has got nothing to do with whether or not you want to start seeing me again when we’re back in L.A.” He took her hands and lifted them to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles. “Don’t be scared, Daisy. We can take things as slowly as you want. I’m a lot smarter now than I was two years ago and I can wait for however long it takes.” Going out with Matt again would be a huge risk because he had more power to hurt her than anyone else she knew. But waking up each morning and getting out of bed involved risks, Daisy thought. That’s what life was about: measuring risks and then calculating which ones were worth taking. Dating Matt was definitely

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high risk, but the rewards could be correspondingly great. What was the point of settling for second, or third, or fourth best, when there was a chance that she and Matt could really make things work between them? Her body suddenly felt light, as if a two-year old straight-jacket had been ripped away and her emotions were once again free to soar. Laughing, she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “Yes, yes, yes! I’ll go out with you again when we get back to L.A.” “Thank God!” Matt put his hands at her waist and swung her high. “Where’s a drum roll when you need it? And isn’t this a cue for the clouds to part and the sun to come out?” “Only on TV, I guess.” At that moment the clouds parted and a few watery rays of sunlight appeared. They both burst out laughing. “And no more sneaking around this time,” Daisy said, when Matt finally set her back on her feet. “It’s crazy that we never let our grandmothers know we were together. We should tell Ruth and Lucille the truth. They need to officially declare an end to that insane feud of theirs.” Matt rolled his eyes, tucking her hand through his arm as they walked back toward home. “Are you sure you understand what you’re suggesting? I agree our grandmothers ought to be told, but they’ve both been so determined to get us married off they won’t even care that we’ve crossed enemy lines to find a partner. Far from playing a tragic scene from Romeo and Juliet, it will take the pair of them about a minute and a half to declare the war over and start making plans for our wedding.” He was absolutely right, Daisy realized. And yet keeping her relationship with Matt a secret seemed flat out silly. Okay for college students, but not okay for a woman of twenty eight and a man already past thirty. “We’ll just have to stand firm and let them know that we’re seeing each other, but that’s as far as it goes for the moment, and they’re not to nag.” “Great plan,” Matt said. “Except that it doesn’t have a chance in hell of working. I figure we’ll have about twenty-four hours before Lucille and Ruth are comparing calendars and drawing up lists of wedding guests. In fact, as soon as we’ve told them the truth, we might as well go out and choose an engagement ring. And we should put in the order for our wedding rings while we’re in the store. Probably with a rush order on the engraving to meet our grandmothers’ accelerated wedding schedule.” Daisy laughed. “They’re two elderly ladies, Matt. You need to get some backbone. We can stand up to them.” “Hey, I’m a man of steel. I can stand up to anything the toughest sons-of-bitches in Hollywood can throw at me, but I’m smart enough to know when I’ve met my match. It takes everything atom of strength I’ve got to resist my own grandmother once she gets an idea into her head. With both of them campaigning for us to get married, we don’t stand a chance.” Daisy frowned. “What is it?” Matt asked. “I just had an idea,” she said. “Maybe we can strike a bargain with them. We’ll get married in Omaha and they can help plan the wedding on the condition that they don’t invest any money with Steve Greeley.” Matt looked at her strangely, the laughter fading from his face. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s the matter?” “Do you realize what you just said? Daisy, you just agreed to marry me.”

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Her eyes widened in shock. She stared at Matt, waiting for the panic to strike, waiting to be swept by the sensation of having made a huge mistake. Instead she felt a surge of utter and complete happiness. “I guess I just did,” she said, and rested her head on his shoulder. It turned out to be a perfect fit.

Chapter Eight Having left Matt to drive home and break the news to Lucille, Daisy hurried into the living room and found her grandmother seated in her favorite armchair with the latest issue of People magazine open on her lap. “Sorry to have been so long,” she said. “Can I get you anything, Gran? A snack? Something to drink?” “Nothing, thanks. I’ll be fine until dinner. Did you enjoy your jog?” “My jog? Oh, yes. It was fine. I…um…went to the pond.” “You seem nervous, my dear. Is something bothering you?” “Not exactly.” Daisy drew up the ottoman so that she could be close to her grandmother when she broke the news that Lucille Beauregard was about to pay them a visit. “I met Matt Beauregard when I was out,” she said. “You seem to be bumping into him rather frequently these days,” Ruth said. “I guess I am. The thing is, Gran, Matt is planning to bring his grandmother over here for a visit. He’d like to come more or less right now, if that’s okay with you.” “I’m sure I would never be impolite to a neighbor.” Ruth raised an eyebrow. “However, I can’t imagine why you would expect me to have anything to say to Lucille Beauregard and that arrogant grandson of hers.” “You don’t know Matt. He’s not in the least arrogant,” Daisy said. “In fact, he’s pretty neurotic and insecure when he’s trying to write.” Ruth’s other eyebrow lifted. “And you know all these details about Lucille Beauregard’s grandson…how?” Daisy swallowed and then swallowed again. “Actually, we’re seeing each other,” she said. “So you just mentioned—“ “No, not seeing each other as in accidental meetings. I mean we’re going out. We’re dating.” Daisy sucked in air. “Matt and I had been a couple for a while, and then we broke up, and now we’re back together other again.” “Is that so?” Ruth’s lips were drawn into an ominously tight and compressed line. The doorbell rang and Daisy heaved a sigh of relief as she ran to welcome reinforcements. “I’ll get that. It must be Matt and his grandmother.” She opened the door and discovered Lucille Beauregard standing on the doorstep, looking fierce. Matt stood behind his grandmother, looking harassed. Daisy suspected she looked pretty much the same as Matt. “Hello, Mrs. Beauregard. Would you please come in? My grandmother can’t get up because she’s broken a bone in her foot.”

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“So I’ve heard.” Lucille, all five feet two inches of her, swept past Daisy and headed straight for the living room. “She looks as if she’s on the warpath,” Daisy whispered to Matt. “Is she angry that we’re seeing each other?” He took her hand. “I haven’t a clue. She’s been behaving strangely ever since I told her about us.” They followed Lucille into the living room, where she stood in the middle of the room, hands crossed in front of her rather ample abdomen. “Well, Ruth, my grandson tells me that he plans to marry your granddaughter.” Ruth looked over her glasses at her old enemy. “Daisy indicated something along those same lines to me. Although she didn’t actually bring herself to utter the M-word.” “My grandson seems to believe that he can get her to the altar.” Ruth looked from Matt to Daisy and back again. “I should certainly hope so after all the trouble you and I have taken to get them together again.” “What?!” Matt and Daisy exclaimed in unison. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Matthew.” Lucille clicked her tongue impatiently. “Do you really think I’m so incompetent that I can’t decide whether or not to sell my own house without asking you for advice? Ruth and I have been watching the pair of you make a total and complete mess of your relationship for long enough. We decided it was time to put a stop to it.” Ruth nodded her agreement. “My broken foot just made it a little bit easier to get you here, Daisy. I must say it’s rather gratifying that you managed to get your acts together a little sooner than Lucille and I anticipated. We were both getting extremely tired of being polite to that wretched Steve Greeley person.” Daisy wondered if her mouth was really hanging open or if it only felt that way. “You mean, you aren’t planning to sell your homes and invest the proceeds with Steve?” “We’re planning to sell our homes,” Lucille said. “We just don’t plan to give the money to Steve.” “We’re going to buy a condo together,” Ruth added. “Naturally, neither one of us would be foolish enough to invest money with a man who has con artist written all over him.” “We’ve reported Steve Greeley to the police,” Lucille said. “They’ve started an investigation into his affairs and it seems he’s run this same sort of scam on elderly widows in several states.” Daisy and Matt exchanged harried glances and then burst out laughing. “Daisy and I are going out to buy an engagement ring,” Matt announced, taking her hand and tucking it through his arm. “When we get back, would you be kind enough to let us know the date we’re getting married?” “It will be our pleasure,” Ruth said. “Absolutely,” Lucille agreed. “I brought my calendar.”

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Bedroom Window by Amanda Stevens The Gallaghers and the O'Roarkes have been Chicago's version of the Hatfields and the McCoys for generations. So when Dylan O'Roarke, a member of a reformed crime family, and Kaitlin Gallagher, a cop's daughter, eloped, they soon learned that happily-ever-afters don't always come naturally. Anxious to prove himself to Kaitlin and her family, Dylan threw himself into his work as an attorney, but in the process, he's come close to losing the one person he loves most. Kaitlin is tired of being caught in the middle — between the family she loves and the husband she adores. Moving into a friend's apartment has opened up a whole new world for her, a world in which she has to learn to stand on her own, without Dylan. She enjoys the view from her borrowed bedroom, but soon learns that someone else may be enjoying the view in it even more….

Chapter One Kaitlin O'Roarke reclined against a stack of pillows and watched her cousin's reaction with amusement. "Well? What do you think?" "Quite the decadent little boudoir, isn't it?" Fiona Gallagher did a slow three-sixty, her expression ranging from shock and dismay to outright wonder. "Did you know about your friend's — shall we say — unusual tastes when you agreed to apartment-sit for her?" Kaitlin grinned. "No, but I like what she's done with the place." Fiona shot her a look. "You do not." "I do, too. And furthermore? If I decide to get my own apartment? I'm calling her decorator." "Where do you expect to find him? In the Yellow Pages under Fetishes R Us?" Fiona ran her hand along the telescope that was mounted on a tripod in front of a wall of windows framing the Chicago skyline. "Dollars to doughnuts she doesn't use this for stargazing." "Maybe she likes to watch the boats on the lake." "You can barely even see the lake from here. And stop trying to convince me you actually like this Kama Sutra nightmare. I know you too well. Down deep, you're still the same little Katie Gallagher who eloped with the first guy she ever slept with." "All right, I won't try to convince you." But in the week since Kaitlin had first moved into the apartment, she really had come to appreciate the lavish colors and sumptuous textures, the erotic beauty of the artwork displayed on walls and in niches. The décor was so far removed from the house she'd fled in the suburbs that Kaitlin had welcomed the change — any change — with open arms. What she hadn't been able to adjust to quite so easily, however, was the mirrored ceiling. She'd broken her foot that morning, and keeping it elevated meant that she had to spend a lot of time on her back. The woman who stared down at her from that mirror looked a little too lost and forlorn. A little too haunted by memories. Fiona bent to the eyepiece on the telescope. "Your friend is obviously into some naughty stuff here, Kaitlin. Voyeurism is the word that comes to mind." "Just because she collects erotic artwork and has a telescope in her bedroom doesn't mean she's...you know...kinky."

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"Doesn't mean she's not, either.... Hello. What have we here?" Fiona adjusted the focus ring. "Seriously hot naked guy at twelve o'clock." "Seriously?" "No, wait. He's wearing pants. Damn." She didn't seem to appreciate the irony of her disappointment as she left the telescope and came to stand by the bed. "And speaking of hot guys, I was a little surprised to find your hubby here." "Knowing how you feel about him, I'm a little surprised you'd admit that he's hot," Kaitlin said dryly. Fiona shrugged. "Other than the horns and the cloven hooves, he's not so bad." She was joking, but Kaitlin hadn't found anything remotely amusing about her family's feud with her husband's for a long time. The Gallaghers and the O'Roarkes had been enemies for generations, ever since William Gallagher and James O'Roarke had had a bitter falling out over a woman — Fiona and Kaitlin's grandmother, Colleen. William's sons and grandsons had followed him into the police department while James had gone on to found what would become one of the most notorious crime families in Chicago. The O'Roarkes had long since mended their ways, but there was still no love lost between the two families. And now with Fiona a prosecutor and Dylan a defense attorney, they'd carried the feud over into the courtroom. Which left Kaitlin, as usual, caught in the middle. "So what is he doing here?" Fiona persisted. Kaitlin tried not to sound defensive. "He found out about the accident and came to check on me." "And?" "And nothing." "Kaitlin, the man has set up a temporary office on the dining room table. He doesn't appear to be going anywhere anytime soon. That kind of defeats the purpose of a separation, doesn't it?" "He's just staying for a little while in case I need anything. And stop looking at me like that," Kaitlin grumbled. "It doesn't mean...what you think it means." "Are you sure?" "Of course I'm sure. Look, we were married for seven years. We still care about each other. We just don't love each other anymore." "So that's why you walked out on me," Dylan said from the doorway. "Thanks for the explanation, Kaitlin, because I never was too clear on your reason."

Chapter Two Even after everything they'd been through, the sight of Dylan in the doorway, tall, lean and incredibly handsome, still had the power to jump-start Kaitlin's heart. No matter what else they'd lost, the attraction was still there, sometimes stronger than ever. Kaitlin suspected that was because her husband had once again become a stranger to her. A man she hardly knew. A forbidden lover for whom she'd once been willing to sacrifice her mind, body and soul.

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But no more. Kaitlin had awakened one morning to the realization that she could no longer go on the way they had been. The ugliness between the O'Roarkes and the Gallaghers had put a terrible strain on her and Dylan's relationship. Where once the hostility between their families had served to bring the two of them closer, now it was merely another broken stitch in a marriage that was fast coming apart at the seams. Sensing the sudden tension, Fiona gathered up her coat and purse. "I need to be shoving off, but I'll see you soon, okay? Oh, I almost forgot. A little something for the invalid." She handed Kaitlin a plastic shopping bag from a movie rental store. Kaitlin peeked inside. "Hitchcock! All my favorites, too. I can't believe you remembered." "What are cousins for?" She shrugged into her coat, then blew a kiss from the doorway. *** Dylan waited for the sound of Fiona's exit before he came slowly into the bedroom. He tried to keep his cool, but he felt as if he'd just been sucker-punched in the gut. "So we don't love each other anymore. When did you come to that conclusion?" Kaitlin lay back against the pillows. "I don't want to talk about this right now. I'm tired." Her cool dismissal made him so angry he had to wait a moment before he could speak. "And it's all about what you want, isn't it? You need some space. You need to find yourself. You need your independence. So you walk out on me and seven years of marriage without even once bothering to ask what I want." She glared up at him. "Don't play the martyr, Dylan. If Aunt Maggie hadn't called you about the accident, you probably wouldn't even have noticed I was gone." "Oh, I don't know. Coming home to find you packing your suitcases was a pretty big clue," he said with an edge of sarcasm. Kaitlin shoved back her hair. "Okay, so I exaggerated. But you know what I mean. You put all your time and energy, your every waking hour into your career. And on the rare occasions when you are home, you're either on the phone or sequestered in your office going over briefs or depositions. And that's fine if it makes you happy, but what am I supposed to do? Sit around waiting for the walls to close in on me?" "I didn't expect you to walk out." She sighed. "It can't have been that much of a surprise. Things haven't been right between us for a long time. We were nothing more than polite roommates leading two separate lives before I left. We didn't even share the same bedroom anymore." Because you made me feel as if I was no longer welcome in your bed, he thought defensively. "I started sleeping in the guest room because I didn't want to wake you up when I came in late." "Did it ever occur to you that I might want you to wake me up?" "Did it ever occur to you that by the time I got home, I might be too exhausted to cater to your every whim?" he shot back. "Cater to my —" Her eyes glittered with angry tears. "You think wanting to have a conversation with my husband is a whim? Wanting to share my day with him, wanting to share my life with him, is a whim?" "And do you think I enjoy spending fifteen and sixteen hours a day at the office? Damn it, Kaitlin, I do it because that's what it takes to become a senior partner at the firm. I'm trying to build something for us. Trying to provide for our future. I thought you understood that."

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"I do understand," Kaitlin said in a wounded tone. "But what good is providing for the future if we're miserable in the here and now?" Miserable? She'd been miserable? Dylan drew a long breath. "So what's the next step here, Kaitlin? Divorce?"

Chapter Three Divorce? The word was like an arrow straight through Kaitlin's heart. "I never said anything about a divorce." "Come on, Kaitlin. We both know where this is headed. A couple has to live separate and apart for a minimum of six months before a divorce can be granted on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. And that's only if neither spouse contests the petition. Don't tell me you didn't familiarize yourself with Illinois divorce laws before you moved in here." "I didn't." "Then what were you hoping to accomplish?" he asked with a frown. "Did you want me to come running after you? Beg you to come back to me? Promise to give up my career if it would make you happy? What is it you want from me, Kaitlin? Because I sure as hell don't know anymore." I want you to be my husband again, she silently cried. I want things to be the way they once were when you could look at me and make me melt. I want you to look at me that way again. I want you to hold me, kiss me, touch me the way you used to.... But instead, she said sadly, "I don't want anything from you, Dylan. You're not responsible for my happiness. I realize that now. I didn't move into this apartment to establish a separate residence from you. I moved in here because I need to prove to myself that I can stand on my own two feet. That I can be alone without falling to pieces. And that maybe, just maybe, I can be happy again someday." "Without me, you mean?" She closed her eyes briefly. "I don't know. I just know I can't go back to the way things were." He shoved his hands into his pockets as he turned to stare out the window. "You know what your problem is, Kaitlin? You still think our lives should be this great Romeo and Juliet love affair that defies all odds. But real life is more than just star-crossed lovers and fairy tales. It's mortgages and car payments and planning for a secure future." She sighed. "I know that. And you're a wonderful provider, Dylan. You always have been." He glanced over his shoulder. "Just a lousy husband, right?" "I didn't say that." "Actions speak louder than words, Kaitlin." The bitterness in his tone brought fresh tears to her eyes. She'd never meant to hurt him. But after seven years of marriage, this is what they'd come to. "Look, you really don't have to stay," she said. "I'm fine. You must have things you'd rather do." He came back over to the bed. "What'll you do about dinner?"

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"I'll fix a sandwich or order a pizza. I'm not completely helpless, you know. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and it's time we both realized that." "That's the difference between us, Kaitlin. I've always known it." Their gazes met in the falling darkness, and Kaitlin's heart constricted. "Don't," she whispered. "Don't what?" "Be nice to me." "It's too little too late anyway, isn't it?" He turned back to the window. Kaitlin cleared her throat. "If you insist on staying, maybe we should talk about something besides us." He shrugged. "I'm open to suggestions." She searched for something innocuous. "Tell me about work. You have a big case coming up, don't you?" "I don't much feel like talking about work." Kaitlin stared at him in shock. He lived and breathed work. "Okay, then. Tell me what you think of Jane's apartment." He took a moment to study some of the erotic artwork on the walls, and when he glanced at Kaitlin, she saw something dark and knowing in his eyes. Something that made her shiver. Something that made her remember a time in the not-too-distant past when they had shared the same bedroom. And so much more. "It's interesting. I'll say that for it." He leaned over to gaze through the telescope. "Do you ever use this thing?" "No, not much." She paused. "Dylan, why do you think Jane has a telescope in her bedroom? Do you think she's a voyeur?" He looked slightly taken aback by the question, as if surprised Kaitlin would even think such a thing. "I don't know. But if she had a habit of watching someone, I'd say the chances are pretty good that someone was watching her back."

Chapter Four Kaitlin cast an uneasy glance toward the windows. "Do you think someone could be watching us right now?" Dylan shrugged. "It's possible. I doubt your friend is the only one who uses these high-rises as her own personal peep show. And no blinds, I notice." "That bothered me, too, at first. But you could do a striptease in front of those windows and it wouldn't matter how many people saw you because none of them know you. You'll never see them in real life." Dylan looked simultaneously annoyed and intrigued by the notion. "Are you speaking from experience?" "No, but I've thought about it," she admitted. "Ever since we were married, I've felt as if I were being pulled in a thousand different directions. It's hard to be the perfect wife and the perfect daughter when your husband and your father hate each other. No matter what I do, I always end up hurting someone I love. But it's different here. No pressures. No expectations. No one even knows me. Anonymity can be a very liberating experience."

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"I never realized you felt so imprisoned by our marriage," Dylan said bitterly. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to hurt you, but I'm trying to explain how I feel. Why I'm here. If there's any hope for us, we have to be honest with each other, don't we?" "Maybe. But right now, I think I've had all the honesty I can stomach for one night." He strode across the room to the door. "Dylan —" When he turned, Kaitlin bit her lip, not knowing what to say to him. "Where are you going?" "To get you some dinner." "You don't have to do that. I can —" "Take care of yourself. Yeah, I got that, Kaitlin, so relax. I'm not trying to put a ball and chain around your ankle, okay? I'm just ordering you a pizza." He slammed the door shut behind him, and Kaitlin lay in stunned silence. She'd never seen him so angry. Or hurt. Her first instinct was to go to him, but she knew that would be a mistake. He might get the wrong idea, and then she might lose her resolve. And they'd both end up back where they started. Reaching for her crutches, she got up and limped into the bathroom, taking great care to avoid the mirror over the sink as she washed up. She'd become adept at brushing her teeth, fixing her hair, even putting on makeup without ever really looking at her reflection. Without ever really seeing the unhappy woman who stared back at her. That was why she had such a problem with that mirrored ceiling. It made it hard to avoid the truth. Maneuvering back into the bedroom, she turned off the lamp, then stood at the bedroom window and studied the skyline. The view was breathtaking, the city lights so beautiful she could watch them forever. There was something at once isolating and intimate about all those windows. Gazing through the telescope, she shifted the tube until she found the apartment she wanted. The lens had been fixed on the window directly across from hers when she'd moved in, but Kaitlin had come to think that it must have been by accident. In the week since she'd been there, the apartment across the way had remained dark. The unit was either empty or the owner away on business or vacation. But to her surprise, a light was on tonight, and she could see a man inside. He was dressed all in black, and the way he paced back and forth reminded her of a caged animal. He had a phone to his ear, and suddenly he whirled and threw it against the wall with such force that Kaitlin could almost hear the crash. A shiver of unease crept up her backbone, but she couldn't turn away. She watched, mesmerized, as he stalked over to the window, and for a moment, he appeared to be staring at her. Even though it was dark in the bedroom, Kaitlin shrank back. He couldn't see her and he didn't know who she was, but gooseflesh prickled along her skin just the same. She bent to the eyepiece again and saw that he'd rescued the phone. He lifted it to his ear and, evidently hearing a dial tone, punched in a number.

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And then the phone in her bedroom started to ring.

Chapter Five The phone rang only twice before the answering machine kicked in. A dark, sensuous voice said on the tape, "Jane, if you're there, pick up. I have to talk to someone before I go crazy...." The anxiety in his voice sent another chill up Kaitlin's spine. She bent to the eyepiece, and sure enough, the man in the apartment directly across from hers was still on the phone. Still pacing back and forth. Kaitlin had no way of knowing if the voice on the answering machine belonged to him or not, but somehow she thought that it must. They seemed to fit. The timbre of the voice was deep and velvety. The man in the apartment was tall and sleek, with glossy black hair that brushed his shoulders and dark, smoldering eyes. He was the antithesis of Dylan. Her husband had light brown hair clipped very short and eyes that were as blue as an Irish sky. And Dylan would never lose control the way this man had. He would never sound so...desperate. Kaitlin could never imagine Dylan dressing all in black, either, let alone in a silky shirt opened at the neck and pants so tight they fit the man like a second skin. Fit him so well that she could see the definition of his sinewy muscles and his... "Jane, please pick up...." Dylan wore custom-made suits, starchy white shirts and silk ties knotted so perfectly they sometimes set Kaitlin's teeth on edge. That made her feel as if she needed to go back and start all over with her own appearance. "I need you...." Kaitlin watched him through the telescope. He was facing her now, and she could see his features as clearly as if he were standing in the same room with her. Tall, dark, and handsome... The cliché could have been written for him. And yet he wasn't perfect. Kaitlin sensed that he was flawed somehow, and that made him even more attractive. She wondered if he was an artist or a writer. There was something eccentric about the way he dressed, something exotic about his looks. Something blatantly sexual about the way he prowled the apartment. "If I don't talk to someone, I swear I'll go out of my mind." He lifted a hand to gracefully drag it through his dark hair, and Kaitlin's stomach quivered in awareness. "When I think about her with him, it kills me inside." There was so much emotion in his voice...so much passion.... What would it be like to have a man love you so desperately? Kaitlin wondered. A man who wanted you so badly? Dylan was upset and hurt at the moment, but deep down, Kaitlin suspected her leaving was more of an inconvenience to him than anything else. After he had time to get used to the idea, he might even be relieved.

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"Jane..." The voice on the answering machine lowered. "You have to stop me. I'm afraid of what I might do —" The machine beeped. In the apartment across from her, the man lifted his gaze to the window. For the longest moment, they stared at one another, although he couldn't know for sure she was there. But somehow Kaitlin thought that he did. Somehow she could hear his silent appeal through the glass and distance that separated them. And for the space of a heartbeat it was as if they were the only two people in the world. Two needy souls reaching out in the darkness. And then Dylan said from the doorway behind her, "Kaitlin? What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Chapter Six As Kaitlin spun to face Dylan, she lost her balance and her weight came down hard on her injured foot. Yelping in pain, she tried to compensate by shifting to the other leg, but it was too late. Her knees buckled and she tumbled to the floor, banging her head on the velvet chaise near the telescope. Dylan's heart leaped to his throat when he saw her collapse because he knew he couldn't get to her in time. It was like the slow disintegration of their marriage, he thought in a flash. He could see it coming, but he was powerless to stop it. He dropped to his knees beside her. "God, Kaitlin, are you okay?" "I think so." She winced as she struggled to sit up. He put his hand behind her back. "Here let me help you." "I can do it myself!" He sat back, wounded by her harshness. "Sorry." "No, I'm sorry," she said contritely. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I just need to know that I can do this by myself. What if you hadn't been here?" "But I am here." "I know, but you won't always be." A knife twisted in his heart. "Can I ask you something?" "What is it?" She gritted her teeth as she reached for her crutches. "Do you consider me weak?" "Of course not, Dylan. We both know you're a rock. You can handle anything." He ignored the edge of resentment in her tone. "If I found myself in your position," he said slowly. "I'd want your help. Would that make me weak? Would that make me too reliant?"

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She slanted him a glance. "Look, I know what you're getting at, but I think the point here is, you would never find yourself in my position. You wouldn't have your head in the clouds and miss an icy patch on the sidewalk and embarrass yourself in front of half a dozen pedestrians." "Don't be too sure. Everyone slips now and then." "Not you, Dylan." He stared at her in surprise. "You don't remember the time I fell off a ladder at home? We thought my leg was broken. I couldn't put any weight on it. You practically had to drag me to the car and then you drove me to the emergency room. I couldn't have made it without you. Did that make me weak?" She sighed. "No." "Then why is it such a big deal to let me help you now?" "Because — "Look, Kaitlin." He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "I don't pretend to understand everything that's going on with you, but all I want to do is help you back to bed. No hidden agenda." She bit her lip, then nodded. "Okay. I could use a hand." Dylan lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He half expected her to protest, to insist that he put her down, but instead she buried her face in his chest. And when he placed her gently on the bed, she clung to him, their lips only inches apart. And as she gazed up at him, something stirred inside Dylan. She looked so small and vulnerable on the bed. So beautiful and sexy and desirable. And so lost, somehow. He knew better than anyone what their marriage had cost her. In a very real sense, she'd lost her family because of him, and Dylan had made himself a promise on the day they'd eloped. He would spend the rest of his life making it up to her. He would take care of her, give her the kind of life she deserved, the kind of life he wanted her to have. But instead, he'd made her father's prophesy come true. He'd made her regret the day she'd ever met an O'Roarke. As if reading his mind, she put a hand to his face. "It breaks my heart when you look that way," she said tenderly. He cleared his throat. "What way?" "Like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders." He wanted to kiss her. At that moment, he wanted to kiss her more than he'd wanted anything in his life. And he could have sworn he saw the same hunger in her eyes. Their gazes held for the longest time, and then, as he lowered his head, the phone on the nightstand pealed loudly, a harsh intrusion that caused them both to jump.

Chapter Seven Kaitlin lurched for the phone, although she didn't know why she was so frantic to answer, why she didn't want Dylan to hear the stranger's voice on the machine. "Hello?"

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Nothing but silence. "Hello?" More silence. And then a deep, seductive voice said in her ear, "You're not Jane, are you?" The line went dead so abruptly Kaitlin started. And then it occurred to her that the stranger might not know who she was, but he knew who she wasn't. And he knew where she lived. "Wrong number?" Dylan asked, as he moved to the end of the bed. "Some guy calling for Jane." Kaitlin couldn't quite meet her husband's gaze. Why did she feel so guilty when she hadn't done anything wrong? "Whoever he was, I'm sure you gave him a thrill before he hung up," Dylan said unexpectedly. Her gaze shot to his. "What?" "Your voice is a real turn-on, Kaitlin. In fact, whoever that guy was, he's probably fantasizing right now about having phone sex with you." She gaped at him, speechless. "I used to fantasize about it myself," he said calmly. "You fantasized about...having phone sex...with me." Kaitlin found that revelation shocking on two levels. That Dylan had fantasies, and that she was in them. His gaze on her intensified, so much so that it drew a shiver up Kaitlin's spine. "Sometimes when I'd be in a meeting with the senior partners, discussing my future with the firm or an upcoming case, my mind would wander and I'd find myself daydreaming about taking a phone call from you. I would imagine myself acting perfectly natural in front of the partners as I listened to you describe in graphic detail what you were wearing, what you wanted to do to me, and what you would make me do to you in return." "Make you —" This man wasn't Dylan. This was some pod Dylan who'd done away with the real one. This Dylan was making Kaitlin's heart beat way too fast. "Are you telling me you not only fantasized about having phone sex with me, but having me..." How could she put this delicately? "Assume the dominate role?" "Why is that so surprising?" "Because you're always so in control, so strong. So...masterful in the bedroom. You're always the one —" "On top?" She cringed at that. "In a manner of speaking, yes." "Maybe that's because I'm the one who always had to initiate sex between us."

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"That's not true." "Yes, it is. Think about it, Kaitlin. When did you ever make the first move? When did you ever let me know that you wanted me? I was the one who always had to put myself out there for rejection. It's understandable, I guess. You were a virgin when we started dating so I thought I had to be the one in control. The one who had to take care of you. But now it seems like I'm being penalized for playing a role that we both cast me in. And I'm not just talking about our sex life." She couldn't believe he was speaking so candidly. Dylan had never been one to talk about his feelings. "Why are you telling me all this now?" He looked suddenly angry. "Because I think you're right. I think it's time for a little honesty between us. You no longer want to play the damsel in distress? Well, maybe I'm a little tired of playing the stoic hero." He turned then and left the room, and Kaitlin could do nothing but stare at the closed door in astonishment. Why had they not had this discussion weeks ago, months ago, years ago? Why now, when it just might be too late? Now, when they'd drifted so far apart, Kaitlin wasn't sure they could ever find their way back to each other? She wanted to go to him and try to make things right, but she knew that would be a mistake. She couldn't afford to rush into anything. She didn't want to act on an impulse that she might end up regretting tomorrow. Words were easy. Living by them was harder. When the phone rang a third time, she turned to stare at it, but she didn't answer. Somehow, she knew that if she lifted that phone to her ear, if she let the dark-haired stranger into her life, even from a distance, it could be the final blow that severed her relationship with Dylan. But Kaitlin couldn't seem to stop herself. She reached out and slowly lifted the receiver to her ear.

Chapter Eight There was nothing but silence at first. Then, after a moment, that velvety voice said in a near whisper, "You must be Kaitlin." She gasped. "How did —" "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to freak you out, but Jane told me you were coming to stay in her apartment while she's in Europe." A shiver ran up Kaitlin's spine. He not only knew where she lived, but he knew who she was. So much for anonymity. Hang up! a little voice commanded. Instead she gripped the phone tighter. "You have me at a disadvantage," she said a bit breathlessly. "You know who I am, but I don't know who you are." "Yes, you do." Her gaze flew to the telescope. Did he know she'd been watching him? "We've met before," he said. "That's impossible. If we'd met before, I'm sure I would have remembered you."

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"How do you know?" "Because I —" Kaitlin's gaze was still on the telescope, and she closed her eyes, realizing she'd almost given herself away. "You have a very distinctive voice. I don't think I would have forgotten it." And suddenly something Dylan had said earlier came back to her. "In fact, whoever that guy was, he's probably fantasizing right now about having phone sex with you." Now she understood perfectly what he'd meant by that. The stranger's voice was doing odd things to her insides. She felt herself blush in the darkness. "I should go —" "No, wait. Don't hang up." The teasing quality left his voice as desperation crept in. "I know this may sound a little strange, but do you think...would it be possible for us to...just keep on talking for a little while? I'm finding myself a bit on edge tonight." Kaitlin imagined him in his apartment, pacing back and forth, dragging a hand through his dark, glossy hair.... "You have to stop me. I'm afraid of what I might do —" And then she thought about all those long nights she'd waited on dinner for Dylan, only to find herself eating alone in front of the television set. She thought about all the anniversary and birthday plans they'd had to cancel because of an important case, all the vacations that had been put on hold because of a trial date. All the family celebrations she'd missed because she'd married an O'Roarke. Kaitlin knew about being on edge, that breathless, panicky feeling of having the walls close in on you. She knew about desperation and loneliness and needing to reach out to someone for a little understanding even if that someone was a stranger. "Are you still there?" he asked softly. "Yes." "Shall I tell you why I'm on edge tonight?" "Only if you tell me first where we've met before." "I don't think I can do that, Kaitlin." "Why not?" He gave a low, masculine laugh. "Because I need to keep you guessing for a while. It'll make things so much more interesting later on."

Chapter Nine A cold chill coursed through Kaitlin as she suddenly realized she might be playing with fire. "I'm really not in the mood for games," she said. "So if you're not going to tell me who you are or where we've met, I'm hanging up." "I saw you with Jane a few weeks ago," he said, "At a restaurant on Michigan Avenue. I was meeting her there for dinner, and when I came in, I saw you two talking in the bar. But you left before I made it through

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the crowd, so I confess, we haven't really met. But Jane told me so much about you that I feel as if I know you." Kaitlin knew the night he meant. She'd run into Jane, an old college friend, by accident at the restaurant, and the two of them had gotten to talking while they waited for their dinner partners. Jane had mentioned that she was going to Europe for several weeks and was looking for someone to apartment-sit for her. And before Kaitlin had quite known what she was doing, she'd volunteered. The separation had been building for months, but Dylan standing her up yet again that night had been the catalyst for her leaving. She remembered what Dylan had said to her earlier. "Then what were you hoping to accomplish? Did you want me to come running after you? Beg you to come back to me? Promise to give up my career if it would make you happy?" In all honesty, a part of her might have been hoping for all of those things. A part of her might have been hoping to shake him up enough that he would reevaluate his priorities. But another part of her had realized that she'd simply reached the end of her rope. "So how do you like the apartment?" the stranger asked her. Was that amusement in his voice? Kaitlin wondered. Had he been in Jane's apartment before? In her bedroom? Just exactly what was their relationship? "It's very comfortable," Kaitlin said. "What do you think of the view?" Her gaze went back to the telescope. "It's different from what I'm used to," she murmured. Then realizing the implication, she added quickly, "The city takes a little getting used to." "Not as quiet as the suburbs, is it?" How did he know she lived in the suburbs? "...Jane told me so much about you that I feel as if I know you." Kaitlin couldn't believe she'd let the conversation go on for as long as it had. "I really need to be going," she said. "I have...someone here." "Your husband?" Gooseflesh prickled along the back her neck. How had he known that? Okay, enough. Kaitlin put her finger on the off button, but before she could disconnect, that silken voice said in her ear, "Do you know what it's like to feel as if the walls are closing in on you, Kaitlin? To feel as if there is no one in the world who can understand what you're going through? To have people look at you and think, what a fortunate person she is. She has everything anyone could possibly want. A beautiful home. A loving husband. No good reason for her to be so unhappy. And yet...they can't see inside you, can they? They can't know what's going on in your mind and in your heart and in your soul. Do you know that feeling, Kaitlin?" Her hand tightened on the phone. Yes, she knew that feeling. But how had he known? "We're like kindred spirits, Kaitlin. Soul mates. That's why I understand you so well." The chill inside her deepened. "You don't even know me," she whispered. "I know you like to watch."

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Chapter Ten Kaitlin shivered at the stranger's tone, at his words. At his insight. And then she looked up to find Dylan watching her from the doorway. She had no idea how long he'd been there or how much he'd overheard. But all he said was, "The pizza's here. Shall I bring you in a tray?" "We're like kindred spirits, Kaitlin. Soul mates. That's why I understand you so well…. I know you like to watch." She shoved back her hair with a trembling hand. "Could you just put it in the oven? I'm really not hungry right now." Dylan came slowly into the room, his gaze never leaving hers. "Is anything wrong?" "No. Why?" "I don't know. I get the impression whoever was on the phone just now upset you." "It was just someone calling for Jane," she lied. "Same guy as before?" "I think so." "Kaitlin, if he's harassing you, you need to tell me about it." "Why?" she lashed out. "What could you do about it except turn off the phone? I'm perfectly capable of doing that on my own. And besides, I thought you were tired of playing the stoic hero." "Then someone is harassing you." "No! Look, I'm just tired, okay? There's nothing wrong. No one's harassing me. I'm fine." "You're sure?" "Yes! Dylan, you have to stop doing this." "Stop what?" he asked angrily. "Stop caring about you?" "Stop fussing over me. Stop worrying about me. Stop —" "Being your husband?" "Stop putting words in my mouth, okay?" "Has it really come to this, Kaitlin? Can we not even have a civil conversation without you getting all defensive?" "Me? I'm not the one who —" Kaitlin stopped herself short. Dylan's gaze narrowed. "What were you about to say, Kaitlin?"

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She closed her eyes briefly. "Nothing." "Something is obviously on your mind. Why won't you tell me what it is?" "When have we ever been able to communicate?" she asked bitterly. "Are you blaming me for that, too?" She drew a long breath. "We're both to blame. We've let something precious slip away from us, Dylan. We've let too many things come between us. Your work. My family. Sometimes it just seems like nothing we can do will ever make it right again." He frowned down at her. "You've never been a defeatist before." "I don't think I've ever felt this tired before." A shadow flickered in his eyes, an emotion Kaitlin couldn't quite define. "They've finally gotten to you, haven't they?" "I don't know what you mean." "Your family. They've worn you down. They've finally accomplished what they've been after for the past seven years." "What are you talking about, Dylan?" His features hardened. "They've turned you against me. They've made me a villain in your eyes."

Chapter Eleven "That's not true." One brow lifted. "No? Not even when those two thugs broke into our house last year? Not even when your father did his best to convince the investigating officer that the perpetrators were somehow connected to my family? Not when he stood in my own living room and tried his damnedest to persuade you that you would never be safe as long as you were married to me? Are you telling me none of that had an effect on you, Kaitlin? None of that had anything to do with your decision to move out?" "Of course it didn't." "Are you sure? Because you were jumpy for weeks after the break-in. And I would see a certain look on your face at times when you didn't know I was watching you. I saw the doubt in your eyes." "That was your imagination," she said softly. "Was it? I don't think so. But you know what hurt me the most, Kaitlin? It wasn't just having your father imply that I was responsible for putting your life in danger. It was his accusation that I couldn't protect you. And he was right." His hands balled into fists at his side. "But if I'd caught those creeps that night, I swear I would have killed them with my bare hands." Kaitlin had never heard him talk that way before. She had the oddest feeling that she was no longer listening to her husband but to a stranger. A man capable of violence. And as he turned to face her, she caught her breath. In the dim light from the window, he no longer even looked like her husband. Dylan frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

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"Because of what you just said..." Kaitlin put a hand to her throat. "It didn't sound like you at all." "What do you mean?" "You still seem so angry. The break-in was months ago." His scowl deepened. "I'm not allowed to still be upset that a couple of street punks broke into our home and scared you half to death?" She shook her head, her gaze still on him. "It was the way you said it. Like you meant it. Like you really could have killed them. I don't think I've ever heard you talk that way before, Dylan. You're always so in control. It's like...you're a different person suddenly." "That's ridiculous. I'm the same man I've always been." But in the dim light, he didn't look the same at all. He'd removed his jacket and tie, and his shirt was open at the neck, his cuffs rolled back. Even his hair was slightly mussed, as if he'd been running his fingers through it in agitation. This was a Dylan she'd never seen before. A complex, driven man with deep emotions and dark secrets. A man who might very well fantasize about having phone sex with her. Who might even be willing to kill in order to protect her... "Sometimes I wonder if I ever really knew you at all," she murmured. "What's that supposed to mean?" "You try so hard not to be an O'Roarke. Sometimes I wonder if you even know who you are." He sighed. "I have no idea what you're talking about. But I guess that's part of the problem, isn't it?" He turned back to the windows, staring into the night with a brooding frown. "Can I ask you something, Dylan?" He shrugged. "Go ahead." She bit her lip. "What first attracted you to me?" He gazed over his shoulder in disbelief. "Are you kidding? You see yourself in the mirror every day." She felt a tingle of pleasure at his words. "I'm not talking about physical attraction. I mean, what made you fall in love with me? What made you want to marry me so quickly? We eloped after we'd known each other for only a few weeks. What made you decide I was the one?" He gave her a long scrutiny. "What is it you're really asking, Kaitlin?" "Was the fact that I'm a Gallagher part of the attraction?" "Meaning?" "Come on, Dylan. My family has been out to get yours for years. My father was one of the cops who helped send your cousin Daniel to prison for a murder he didn't commit. He and my uncle even suppressed evidence in that case." Dylan's features tightened. "The evidence they suppressed wouldn't have cleared Daniel."

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"No. But it could have made my own brother a suspect," Kaitlin said. "When the truth came out, my father got little more than a reprimand for what he'd done, while your cousin sat on death row for years. Can you honestly say that a part of you, maybe a very small part, but a part of you, nonetheless, didn't marry me out of revenge? You had to know what it would do to my father." He walked slowly toward the bed, his eyes glittering angrily in the darkness. "If you believe that of me, then you're right. You never knew me at all."

Chapter Twelve Anger still gleamed in Dylan's eyes, but there was something else there, too. A terrible hurt that he'd buried so deep Kaitlin hadn't been able to see it until now. And suddenly she realized what their marriage had cost him. All those years of knowing that no matter what he did, what he accomplished, he would never measure up. He would never be trusted, and for one simple reason. Because of his name. After the break-in at their home, her father had made some terrible accusations. Kaitlin knew that a lot of it had been a result of his fear and frustration. He was a cop, but he hadn't been able to protect his own daughter. He'd had to lash out at someone, and the animosity between the Gallaghers and the O'Roarkes had made Dylan an easy target. It had been a difficult, emotional time for all of them. Things had been said that could never be taken back, hurtful allegations that had only widened the gulf between Kaitlin and her father. And between her and Dylan because neither of them had been able to talk about their feelings. To express to each other their own fears and frustrations. She gazed up at him now with tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry for everything my father said to you that night. For the way he's treated you all these years." Dylan sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hands in his. "I can handle your father, Kaitlin, as long as you know that I would never intentionally put you in danger." "I do know that." He squeezed her hands. "I've done some things I'm not proud of. And God knows my family hasn't been innocent of every crime they've been accused of. But I'd sooner take my own life than cause you pain." A tear spilled over as she nodded. "I know that, too." "And as for why I was attracted to you...why I'm still attracted to you..." He lifted a hand and gently wiped away her tears. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever known. And I'm not just talking about physically, although you do take my breath away. You're beautiful inside, too, Kaitlin, and that was something I'd never known before. The moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew there could never be anyone else for me." Kaitlin drew a quivering breath. "Why have you never told me that before? You don't know how badly I've wanted to hear you say that to me." He shrugged helplessly. "I guess I'm not that great at expressing my feelings." "But if you'd just come to me..." Kaitlin trailed off. The time for placing blame had long since past. Especially considering that they were both guilty of keeping their true feelings suppressed. "Sometimes I wonder if the difficulties in a Gallagher and O'Roarke union are just too great to overcome." "Do you really believe that?"

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"I never used to. But the animosity from our families, especially from mine, has put a terrible strain on our relationship. I've always thought that was the main reason you've thrown yourself into your work the way you have. You've tried so hard to live down your family's reputation, to prove to my father that you aren't just another O'Roarke —" "You think I did that for him?" he asked with sudden anger. "I've never given a damn what your father or anyone else thinks about me. The only opinion I've ever cared about is yours." Kaitlin closed her eyes as a wave of emotion swept over her. She thought about what she'd told Fiona earlier. "...we were married for seven years. We still care about each other. We just don't love each other anymore." How could she ever have believed that? How could she ever have considered for even a moment that her love for Dylan had somehow faded away? Because at that moment, she'd never loved him more.

Chapter Thirteen Dylan gazed at her so tenderly, a painful lump rose in Kaitlin's throat. She put a hand to his face and gently stroked the masculine roughness of his beard. He turned his head and kissed her palm. "I've missed you so much," he whispered raggedly. "I've missed being with you. Holding you..." Kaitlin's breath quickened at the look in his eyes. In those blue depths, she could see the intimate secrets that they'd shared and the darker, more erotic mysteries that were still to come. She cupped her hand around his neck, drawing him to her, kissing him in a way that had him groaning against her mouth, that had both their hearts pounding when they finally broke apart. She ran her fingers through his hair. "We haven't kissed that way in years." "I'm not sure we've ever kissed that way." He seemed almost in awe of her as his gaze darkened. And then they were kissing again. Long, deep, soul-shattering kisses that made Kaitlin's heart flail against her chest like a trapped bird. That made every nerve ending in her body dance with fiery anticipation. She wanted Dylan as she'd never wanted him before. She couldn't figure out what was so different about him...about her...but something had changed between them. For one thing, her inhibitions were gone. Even after seven years of marriage, Kaitlin had still been a bit reserved in bed. Had still waited for Dylan to take the lead. But no more. In this apartment, away from their past, away from their family, away from all the hurt and disappointments and disillusionment, Kaitlin somehow felt free. Liberated.

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She quickly unfastened the buttons on Dylan's shirt and then shoved it down his arms. Shrugging out of the sleeves, he flung the garment aside, and then he was over her in a flash, bending to kiss her again. When she fumbled with the zipper of his pants, he put his hand over hers, helping her ease it open. Slowly, she slid down in bed, kissing his chest, his stomach, ringing his belly button with her tongue before sliding even lower.... Dylan gasped. "Kaitlin..." She kissed him again and again, touched him so intimately she knew he was about to lose control. She worked her way back up to his lips, and when they broke apart again, he stared down at her for the longest moment, trying to catch his breath. "What are you trying to do to me?" Her laugh was a soft, throaty sound that seemed to arouse him even more. He glanced toward the windows. "Maybe there's something to be said for all this anonymity after all." "Do you suppose anyone can see us?" she whispered. "The lights are out. I don't think so." He paused for a moment, his voice almost painfully hesitant. "Do you think we should stop?" She didn't answer, but instead began to unbutton her pajama top. When he tried to help, she pushed him away. "No," she murmured. "Just watch." And he did. He lay on his side, propped on his elbow as she rose to her knees and slid her top slowly down her shoulders. The bottoms came next and, because of her cast, less gracefully, but Dylan didn't seem to mind. His gaze on her was dark and hungry. "I've never seen you like this," he said reverently. "Really? Because you haven't seen anything yet." Slowly, Kaitlin looked up at the mirror. Dylan glanced up, too, and even though it was dark in the room, she could see his reflection. She knew that he was watching her, watching them both, as she moved over him. With his hands on her hips, he guided her exactly where she needed to be, and then with her head thrown back, she watched them, too.

Chapter Fourteen Keeping her cast dry while they showered was a bit tricky. Kaitlin wouldn't have been able to manage without Dylan. He'd been helpful in so many ways, she thought with a knowing smile as she watched him dress. He glanced up as he finished buttoning his shirt. "Are you sure you don't want me to spend the night?" Kaitlin wanted him to stay more than anything, but she didn't think it would be a good idea. It would be too easy to pretend all their problems had just magically disappeared after a night of great sex, but she knew from experience that come morning, very little would have changed. It some ways, sex only complicated the issues. "We've got a long way to go before we're okay again, Dylan. I think right now we could both use a little distance. Some time to think. It would be too easy to fall back into our old pattern, and I don't want that." "I don't want it, either." But he frowned as he sat down on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes. "I just don't like the idea of leaving you here alone."

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"I've been here by myself for almost a week," she pointed out. "I know, but you didn't have a broken foot until this morning," Dylan said. "I have my crutches. There's a pizza in the warming drawer. A Hitchcock movie in the VCR. I'll be fine." "Sounds nice and cozy," he said wistfully. "And here I have to drive all the way home, catch a few hours' sleep and then drive right back here first thing in the morning —" He broke off at the look on her face. "What's the matter? What'd I say?" She was gazing out the window. "Nothing. It's just...I guess I was thinking about how big our house is. How empty it seems sometimes." "Do you know what it's like to feel as if the walls are closing in on you, Kaitlin?" She shivered as the stranger's words came back to her. Dylan reached over and took her hand. "Don't." Kaitlin glanced at him. "Don't what?" "Don't look that way. As if you already have regrets." She squeezed his hand. "I don't." And she didn't. Not really. What she and Dylan had shared earlier had been...amazing. For a few moments at least, they'd never been closer, and Kaitlin suspected that was because, for the first time, they'd completely let down their guards. They'd been so open and trusting with one another that it was almost hard to imagine how far apart they'd drifted. But one night wasn't going to bridge that gap, no matter how much they both might wish it to be otherwise. Dylan finished putting on his shoes, then leaned over to kiss her. "We'll do it your way, okay? Maybe you're right. Maybe some time apart is exactly what we need to put things in perspective. I know it's made me do a lot of soul-searching about my priorities." "Me, too." He smiled down at her. "But I still hate leaving you alone. Will you call me if you need anything?" "Will you stop worrying about me?" she asked in exasperation. "Yes." He bent to kiss her again. "The very moment I draw my last breath." *** After Dylan had gone, Kaitlin found his cell phone on the dining room table, where he'd been working earlier, and she wondered if he'd left it there on purpose, to have a reason to come back. Such an obvious ploy didn't seem at all his style, but then, as she'd learned tonight, there were facets — intriguing facets — to her husband's personality that she'd yet to discover. After making several trips to and from the kitchen, Kaitlin finally had everything in place and then, swallowing her medication, she settled back against the pillows to eat her pizza and watch her favorite Hitchcock film. But the opening credits had barely begun to roll when the phone rang. Freezing the frame, Kaitlin reached for the phone, wondering if Dylan had stopped somewhere on the road to call her. She knew he hadn't had time to make it all the way home.

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"Hello?" There was silence at first and then that dark, silky voice whispered, "She has to die, Kaitlin."

Chapter Fifteen Icy fear shot through Kaitlin's veins as the phone went dead in her ear. "She has to die, Kaitlin." Who? she thought frantically. Who had to die? The woman he'd left the message about earlier? What had he said about her? "...when I think about her with him, it kills me inside…. You have to stop me. I'm afraid of what I might do —" Okay, maybe he was just being overly dramatic, Kaitlin tried to reason. Or maybe she'd even misunderstood him. Maybe the painkiller she'd taken right before he called was already having an effect on her. The medication could be impairing her senses, making her hear things that hadn't really been said. Making her imagine things... She did feel a bit strange, Kaitlin realized. Her stomach was queasy, too. But what if it wasn't her imagination? Or the drugs? What if that man really was planning to kill someone? Shivering uncontrollably, Kaitlin turned her head to stare out the window. Was he out there in the darkness? Was he watching her? "She has to die, Kaitlin." What should she do? Call the police? And tell them what exactly? Kaitlin didn't even know who he was. The caller ID hadn't displayed his name or his number, which probably meant he was unlisted. Or he'd been calling from a cell phone. And she couldn't even be sure the apartment across the way belonged to him. Besides, he hadn't actually threatened anyone. Kaitlin was a cop's daughter. A cop's sister. She knew better than anyone the legal limitations in situations like this. There was nothing the police could do until he made an overt threat, and sometimes not even then. Sometimes they were powerless to act...until it was too late. Her heart pounding, Kaitlin struggled to her feet and reached for her crutches. A wave of dizziness swept over her, and she waited for the room to stop spinning before she maneuvered over to the telescope. She bent to stare through the eyepiece, but the apartment across the street was pitch-black. She couldn't see anything. She watched for several more minutes, then lifted her gaze from the telescope to stare out into the night. So many lights...so many windows...so many invisible eyes watching from darkened apartments... Her thoughts were drifting toward paranoia, she realized, and when the phone behind her started to ring, she whipped around but made no move to answer it. She let the machine pick up, hoping again that it might be Dylan. "Kaitlin," that silky voice whispered. "I know you're there. I can see you."

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The hair at the back of her neck lifted as she glanced around the room. The lights were off. There was no way he could see her. He was just trying to get under her skin. He was one of those sickos who got off calling strangers. Fighting off a wave of vertigo, Kaitlin bent to the eyepiece and shifted the tube. His apartment was still dark, too. She couldn't see anything. "Kaitlin." His voice was a singsong on the answering machine. "Pick up. I need to talk to you. We're kindred spirits, remember? Soul mates. No one understands me the way you do. No one ever will." This had gone beyond creepy, Kaitlin thought with a shiver. This was downright scary. Terrifying... "Pick up the phone, Kaitlin. Let me tell you how I'm going to do it."

Chapter Sixteen A wave of nausea rose so strong in Kaitlin's throat that she barely made it to the bathroom before she became violently ill. She sank to the floor, hugging the sides of the toilet. But even after the nausea subsided, her heart continued to race, and the vertigo kept her on the floor. Leaning back against the tub, she pulled up her knees and buried her face in her arms. She kept telling herself that the voice on the phone was just playing with her. A cat and mouse game designed to terrify her. There were people like that. The world was full of sickos. But what if he meant it? What if he really planned to kill someone? And why was he telling Kaitlin about it...unless he wanted her to somehow stop him? "You have to stop me. I'm afraid of what I might do —" Was that it? Were the phone calls a cry for help? First to Jane, and now to her? Kaitlin had no idea how long she sat there before she was finally able to lift her head without the dizziness. She glanced at her watch. Dylan hadn't had time to make it home yet, and she couldn't call him in the car since he'd left his cell phone. All she could do was leave a message on the recorder at home. Balancing herself with her crutches, she struggled up from the bathroom floor. And as she hobbled back into the bedroom, the phone started to ring. She hesitated, then picked it up, hoping that it was Dylan. "She's coming over tomorrow night. I'm going to do it then." Kaitlin gripped the phone. "Who are you?" she asked in desperation. "Why are you telling me this?" "Because I want you to watch, Kaitlin." She put a hand to her mouth as nausea rose inside her again. "Watch what?" He laughed softly. "I thought it would be Jane, but since she's gone, it has to be you." Kaitlin's heart was pounding so hard she could barely breathe. "What are you going to do?" "I don't have to spell it out for you, do I?"

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She closed her eyes. "Who is she?" "It doesn't matter who she is. What matters is that she betrayed me...just like all the others." The hatred in his voice sent another spasm of fear down Kaitlin's backbone. How had she ever thought his voice seductive? She drew a deep breath, trying to rein in her terror. "If you want me to watch, you have to tell me who she is." "Why? So you can warn her? So you can call the police? It won't do you any good. They won't believe you. It'll be just like in that movie. You know the one I mean. Rear Window. The police didn't believe Jimmy Stewart, either, remember?" Kaitlin spun toward the VCR, where a little while ago she'd put in the very movie he was talking about. But he couldn't know that. There was no way he could know that.... Unless he was watching her... When the phone had rung earlier, Kaitlin had frozen the frame rather than stopping the movie. It should have started playing again by now. But the TV screen was dark. Someone had turned it off. He'd been in the apartment while she'd been in the bathroom. He might still be inside, calling from a cell phone.... A scream rose in Kaitlin's throat, but she tried to swallow it back. She had to keep calm while she figured out what to do. "Tell me something, Kaitlin. Have you taken your medicine tonight?" The phone went dead, and Kaitlin dropped her gaze to the nightstand where she'd left her bottles of medication. She'd taken a painkiller and an antibiotic tablet earlier, right after Dylan left. And a little while later, she'd started to feel dizzy, then nauseous. Oh, my God.... Had he tampered with her medicine? Kaitlin grabbed up the painkillers, but her hands were shaking so badly, she couldn't work the childproof top. When the lid finally came off, the pills went flying. She watched as they scattered across the nightstand and some of them rolled onto the floor. Were they the same? She couldn't tell — A noise outside the bedroom drew her gaze to the door. As quietly as she could, she picked up the cordless phone and carried it with her into the bathroom. She locked the door and, with shaking hands, dialed 911.

Chapter Seventeen "No sign of a forced entry and nothing appears to be missing." Detective Doggett shrugged as he gazed around the bedroom. The two patrol officers who'd arrived on the scene first were still searching the rest of the apartment. "Not much to go on, I'm afraid."

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"But I'm telling you he was in this apartment," Kaitlin said desperately. "He tampered with my medication. Put something in one of the bottles that made me sick." Doggett walked over to examine the pills scattered across the nightstand. Then he read the label on the bottles. "Demerol," he muttered. "Some pretty strong stuff. Might make you imagine all sorts of things." "I didn't imagine anything." "So let me see if I understand you correctly then. You think he came into the apartment on two separate occasions tonight. He switched the pills while you were in the shower. Then he came back a second time while you were sick in the bathroom and turned off the TV." "And probably switched the pills back. Look, I know how all this sounds." Kaitlin tried to suppress the quiver in her voice. "But I'm telling you the truth. You have to believe me. He plans to kill someone tomorrow tonight." "And he wants you to watch." Doggett walked over to the telescope. "You watch him often, do you?" She gasped. "I don't watch him. I only saw him once." Doggett turned his laserlike gaze on her. "And then he started calling you. Telling you he plans to kill someone tomorrow night. A woman." "Yes." "But you don't know who this guy is or the name of his intended victim. You don't know what she looks like so you can't give us a description. You're not even sure the guy on the phone is the same guy you saw in the apartment across the street. Does that about sum it up?" "You're not going to do anything about this, are you?" "There's not a lot we can do, I'm afraid —" "Kaitlin!" Dylan suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Are you okay? What happened? My God, when I saw the police cars outside —" "What are you doing here?" Kaitlin asked in shock. "I left my phone and decided I'd better come back for it." He glanced up at Doggett. "What's going on here?" "Maybe you'd better tell me who you are first." "Dylan O'Roarke. I'm Kaitlin's husband." Doggett's brows lifted slightly. "The attorney? Your reputation precedes you." The two shook hands. "Could I have a word with you outside?" Dylan turned back to Kaitlin. "I'll be right back, okay?" When he came back a few minutes later, Kaitlin asked anxiously, "What did he say to you?" "Come and sit down. You need to get off that foot." Dylan pulled her down to sit on the edge of the bed. "Kaitlin, why didn't you tell me about these phone calls? I asked you earlier if someone was harassing you. You denied it."

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"He wasn't harassing me then. We were just talking —" "You've been carrying on phone conversations with a complete stranger," he said incredulously. "And Doggett said you've been watching this guy through the telescope." "For God's sake, don't look at me like that, Dylan. I'm not some weirdo." "But you've been acting differently ever since you moved into this apartment," he accused. "He said the police wouldn't believe me," she whispered. "But I never thought you'd turn on me." "Turn on you? What are you talking about, Kaitlin? I'm just trying to figure out what the hell is going on here." "You think I'm crazy. You think I imagined all this." "Just calm down —" But Kaitlin was becoming more worked up by the moment. More frantic. She knew she sounded crazy, but she couldn't seem to help herself. "A woman is going to be murdered tomorrow night, and no one believes me. No one is going to help me stop him." Dylan sat back and stared at her for a moment. Stared at her as if she were a stranger to him. Then he saw the pills scattered across the nightstand, and reached over to pick one up. After a moment, he said, "How many of these did you take tonight, Kaitlin?"

Chapter Eighteen "Kaitlin? Are you awake?" She tried to open her eyes, but the effort was too great. She sank back into sleep. "Kaitlin! Come on now. Rise and shine." The voice was annoyingly persistent. When Kaitlin finally managed to open her eyes, the sunlight streaming in through the windows was so bright, she had to squint. Someone was standing over her bed. "Honey, are you okay?" As her visitor's red hair and vivid blue eyes slowly came into focus, Kaitlin stared up in confusion. "Fiona? What are you doing here?" "Dylan had to be in court first thing this morning so he asked me to come by and check on you." Kaitlin pushed herself up on her elbows. "How'd you get in?" "Well, when you didn't answer my knock, I was all prepared to use my womanly wiles on the super. Or offer him a bribe. Whichever worked. But then I found this." Fiona held up a key. "Not too smart of your friend to leave this over the door." Kaitlin stared at the key as realization hit her. That's how he'd gotten in last night. He'd known about Jane's spare key. "Kaitlin, what's wrong? You look as if you've seen a ghost." She shook her head. "Nothing. What time is it?"

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"Just after nine. How about some coffee?" "I want to get dressed first." Kaitlin swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her crutches. "Aren't you supposed to keep that foot elevated?" "If I don't get out of this room, I'll go stir-crazy," Kaitlin grumbled. "Okay. I hear you," Fiona said. "But if Dylan says anything, this was your idea. You know how he feels about me." "Same way you feel about him," Kaitlin muttered. "Well, he is an —" "O'Roarke," Kaitlin said with a sigh. "I was going to say asshole in the courtroom, but yeah," Fiona agreed. She rummaged in the closet, then tossed Kaitlin a pair of black pants. "I think these are stretchy enough to fit over your cast." Kaitlin grabbed a sweater, underwear and socks and headed for the bathroom. By the time she'd washed up, brushed her teeth and struggled into her clothes, she felt as if she'd put in a full day's work. Exhausted, she came back into the bedroom to find Fiona peering through the telescope. "What did Dylan tell you when he called this morning?" Kaitlin asked. Fiona looked up from the eyepiece. "Only that you'd had a rough night. I assumed he meant you were in pain. But I'm getting the feeling now that something other than your foot was bothering you." Kaitlin glanced out the window. "See that apartment directly across from this one?" Fiona frowned. "Yeah. What about it?" "What if I told you that the man who lives there plans to kill someone tonight if I don't find a way to stop him?" *** Fiona glanced uneasily over her shoulder. "Tell me again why we thought this was a good idea." "Because we saw him leave the building carrying a briefcase," Kaitlin said. "He got into a cab. He'll probably be gone for hours. This may be our only chance." Getting inside the building across the street had been almost too easy. A man had been coming out, and he hadn't thought twice about holding the door for a tall, good-looking redhead and a blonde on crutches. Kaitlin counted the doors. "This is it," she said with a shiver. "This is his apartment." Fiona shivered, too. "Okay. We'll knock on a few of his neighbors' doors and see if we can find out who this guy is. And while we're at it, maybe we can learn the name of the chick he plans to off tonight." Kaitlin shot her a look. "I know you're just humoring me, but I appreciate your coming with me anyway." Fiona gave her a wry smile. "Who better to track down a psychopath than me, right?"

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But their plan didn't work out as they'd hoped. Only two people answered their doors, and neither of them was very helpful. One even threatened to call the police. "Obviously, we need to regroup here." Fiona glanced at her watch. "Unfortunately, I have a meeting.... Kaitlin, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Kaitlin lifted one of her crutches and ran it across the top of the doorframe. When a key fell to the carpet, they both stood staring at it for a long, tense moment.

Chapter Nineteen "We can be in and out in five minutes," Kaitlin said. "He's bound to have an address book or a photo. Something that will tell us who this woman is." "I can't go breaking into a man's apartment," Fiona said as she inserted the key into the lock. "I'm an officer of the court. Sworn to uphold the law." The door swung open. "Oh, dear. Look what happened." She stepped into the entryway, then stopped so abruptly, Kaitlin bumped into her. "What's wrong?" "Nothing. It's just...creepy being inside his apartment. Especially if this guy is as big a whack job as you seem to think." Fiona glanced around. "Shall we start in here?" Fiona was right, Kaitlin thought with a shudder. There was something creepy about the place. Something...evil. The hair rose on the back of her neck as she thought about the stranger pacing back and forth, in this very room, contemplating murder. How had she ever thought him sensuous and sexy? How had she ever compared him to Dylan? "Kaitlin." Fiona touched her arm. "Are you okay?" "Yeah. I guess I'm just getting a little freaked out myself." She tried to shake off her uneasiness. "You search in here, and I'll take the bedroom." "Okay, but make it quick. We have about three minutes by my watch." Kaitlin headed down the narrow hallway. The layout was similar to Jane's apartment, so she assumed the door at the end of the hallway was the bedroom. She entered slowly and turned on a light. It was some kind of study, all sleek and masculine with wood paneling and leather upholstery. Kaitlin started toward the desk, but the telescope at the window drew her gaze. She limped over and bent to the eyepiece. The lens was focused on her bedroom window as she'd somehow known it would be. He'd probably been watching her for days. "...Jane told me so much about you that I feel as if I know you…. We're like kindred spirits, Kaitlin. Soul mates. That's why I understand you so well…. I know you like to watch." Abruptly, she pulled away from the telescope and turned back to the door. And that's when she heard it.

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A whimper. A soft, terrified cry. It was coming from somewhere nearby, but Kaitlin couldn't quite pinpoint the sound. She maneuvered over to the door and called down the hallway to Fiona. "Hold on a sec," Fiona called back. "I may have found something." "Me, too," Kaitlin muttered as she listened for the sound again. She was beginning to think it had been her imagination, her nerves playing tricks on her, when she heard it again. It was coming from inside the wall. She pressed her ear to the paneling and called softly, "Is anyone there?" The whimper grew louder, more desperate. For a moment, Kaitlin thought it was a kitten that had somehow gotten trapped in the wall. And then she realized that a door had been so cunningly placed in the paneling as to be all but invisible. She ran her hands over the surface, searching for a latch or a catch — There! She felt it! She pressed the tiny button, and the door sprang back so abruptly she almost fell trying to get out of the way. Regaining her balance, she stepped up to the opening and glanced inside. She could see nothing but darkness at first. There were no windows, and when she felt along the wall, no light switch. Kaitlin knew she should wait for Fiona. But the whimpering was so loud now she couldn't ignore it. She limped inside, and as her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she saw a woman lying on a narrow bed. She was bound and gagged, and as Kaitlin moved toward her, the woman's gaze rounded with terror. Her whimpers became even more frantic. "So," a dark voice said behind Kaitlin. "You came to watch in person."

Chapter Twenty Kaitlin spun. "Don't bother calling for your friend," he said. "She can't hear you." Fiona. Oh, God, Fiona... He grabbed Kaitlin then and dragged her back into the study. He shoved her roughly to the floor, and Kaitlin screamed in agony when she fell on her injured foot. She gazed up at him in terror. "Why are you doing this?" "Because it's so much more fun with an audience, Kaitlin. I learned that a long time ago."

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As he started toward her, Kaitlin grabbed one of her crutches and swung it with all her might, striking him at his knees. He went down hard, howling in pain. She scrambled toward the door, but he grabbed her cast and dragged her back. Kaitlin screamed, in pain and terror, as he rolled her over, pinning her arms at her sides with his knees. She saw then that he had a knife. His eyes gleamed with madness as he lifted it over her chest. The first bullet caught him dead center in the forehead. The second in the heart. He fell to the floor without a sound. Kaitlin turned and saw Dylan in the doorway. Slowly, he lowered the gun. *** As they walked out of police headquarters and stepped into the sunshine, Kaitlin drew a long breath. Dylan was beside her, holding on to her arm to help her down the steps. She paused at the bottom and glanced up at him. "Have you heard from the hospital?" He nodded. "Fiona's going to be fine. She has a mild concussion, and your aunt Maggie said she'll probably be released within twenty-four hours." "And the other woman?" "Physically, she'll be okay, too, but emotionally —" he broke off. "Who knows?" Kaitlin shuddered. Emotionally, it would take them all some time to get over this. "Why do you think he targeted me, Dylan?" He shrugged. "Who can really understand the motivations of a psychopath? I think he had probably been stalking Jane for months, and then when she left and you showed up, he simply improvised." "He knew so much about me," she whispered. "That's how they lure you in. It's a form of seduction. A game. Playing with the victim is half the pleasure. I have a feeling before this investigation is over, the police will find a string of dead women." Dylan closed his eyes briefly. "God, Kaitlin, when I think about what could have happened to you —" "But it didn't happen," she said softly. "Because you believed me." His blue eyes glittered with anguish. "I should have believed you from the first. I should have been with you instead of Fiona." "You were there when it counted the most," she said. "You've always been there when it counted the most." "If that were true, you never would have left me," he said grimly. "We've both made mistakes, Dylan. We're both to blame for what happened to our marriage." He gazed off into the distance for a moment. "Do you believe in second chances, Kaitlin?"

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"After what I've just been through, I believe passionately in second chances." She lifted her hand to his face. "But it won't be easy, Dylan. Let's not kid ourselves." "I know that. But if I've learned anything from your leaving, it's that all the success and partnerships and corner offices in the world don't mean a thing without you. I've loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you." "I love you, too, Dylan." Sometimes it left her breathless how much she loved him. He bent and kissed her again, kissed her so deeply that Kaitlin almost lost her balance and he had to catch her. They both laughed, and then he kissed her again. When he pulled away, Kaitlin said, "Can I ask you something, Dylan?" "Anything." "Where did you get the gun? Where did you learn to shoot like that?" "I'm an O'Roarke, Kaitlin. Do you really want answers to those questions?" She smiled ruefully. "No. Maybe not." "What do you want, Kaitlin?" he asked softly. "You," she whispered. "I want you." Now, and for always, she thought.

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Voodoo by Maggie Shayne Tessa and her sister Tricia are having the vacation of a lifetime in naughty New Orleans. They've partied on Bourbon Street until the wee hours; visited the famous cemeteries; wandered around the historic French Quarter; and visited the Voodoo Museum. They've even taken a tour of the haunted corners of the grand old city, led by a sexy, mustachioed guide in tall black boots. But when they learn that their elegant old hotel was once a house of ill repute, and was ravaged by fire more than 100 years ago, resulting in the death of several women, something in the steamy night air changes. Tessa, who is not one to let her imagination run away with her, feels a chill, and can't stop thinking about the mysterious tour guide. And when she peers out her window late one night, there he is...

Chapter One "Do you believe what that tour guide said about this hotel?" "About the complimentary continental breakfast?" Tessa asked smiling, knowing full well that wasn't what her sister meant at all. "I'd believe just about anything a man who looked that good said to me, to be honest. God, what he did for those black boots…" "I meant about this hotel being haunted? There really is a chill in here. Can't you feel it?" Tricia rubbed her outer arms, looking cautiously around their room. It was an incredible room in a small, three-story building in the French Quarter. It included an antique fireplace with scrolled hardwood mantel that must have been two centuries old, elegant hand-tooled woodwork, and tall narrow windows. French doors opened onto a balcony with wrought iron filigree railings and wicker furniture. "There is a chill. Don't you feel it?" "I think you took that Haunted Tour a little bit too seriously. And if you're feeling a chill, it's because you just stepped out of air the approximate temperature and consistency of boiling pea soup, and into one of the few rooms in New Orleans that comes with AC." Tricia shook herself. "AC and an antique oil lamp," she said looking at the lamp on the mantel. "But, no, that's not it." "Honey, does this place really look like it was once a whorehouse? Hmm? Or that it burned in a horrible fire, trapping some of the women inside?" Tessa parted the curtains, peering down into the narrow streets below, where people walked around drinking beer from plastic glasses and wearing Mardi Gras beads even at this ungodly hour. "They could have jumped from here and barely bruised themselves, and we're on the top floor." "So were they, according to the tour guide. They were supposedly trapped." "I think the tour guide was just giving us a little New Orleans scare to spice up our visit." She wiggled her eyebrows. "Though if he really wanted to spice up my visit, I could think of better ways." Tricia laughed, grabbing a pillow from the red velvet settee and throwing it at her sister. "Okay, fine, I'm overreacting," she said. "Maybe the cemeteries, the Voodoo Museum, and the Haunted Tour were a bit much all in one day. I'm gonna take a cool shower and go to bed." "I'm next. Gosh, it's three a.m. Time flies when you're doing Bourbon Street, huh?" Her sister nodded on her way into the bathroom. But once the door was closed, Tessa stopped smiling, and looked around the beautiful room. Something was off. Something…she couldn't put her finger on. And unlike her sister, she did not have a tendency to let her imagination run away with her. She took the camera from around her neck, and set it on the bedside stand. Then she wandered to the window again, parted the curtain to stare down at the street.

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He was standing there. His long black hair was pulled into a ponytail, and his moustache connected to the closely cropped black beard. Trimmed, neat. He was still completely in character, just as he had been when he'd walked their group through the French Quarter on that guided tour. He wore a long black coat with a tab collar, and his tight-fitting pants were tucked into tall black boots that whispered naughty suggestions into her mind. He was alone. Just walking along the dark street. And as she watched, he stopped, paused just a moment, then turned to look right at her. His eyes burned into hers, made her painfully aware of just how long she'd been without a man's touch. Then he smiled, very slightly, as if he could read exactly what she was thinking. She backed away from the window, letting the curtain fall, pressing a hand to her chest to still the hungry beat of her heart. Then, slowly, cautiously, she looked out again. But he was gone.

Chapter Two Tessa woke with a start. All night she'd been dreaming, but from the moment she opened her eyes she couldn't remember what she had dreamed about. Something intense. Something that left her skin damp and her heart palpitating. She took a second to ground herself back in the firm, solid world of reality, and finally slid out of bed and slipped into the bathroom. She ducked into the shower to start the day as she would inevitably end it — wet. It was perpetually hot and wet here in July. But already she felt as if she were getting used to it. When she came out of the bathroom she was dressed and ready for a full day of playing tourist. But as she glanced at her sister still in bed, she frowned. "Hey, sleepyhead, wake up. Daylight's burning." Tricia lowered the covers enough to squint at her sister. "Would you be totally bummed if I begged off this morning?" "Are you sick?" Tessa went to the bed, pressed her palm to her sister's forehead. "No, just drained. I'll just lie here and sleep till noon, then I'll be good to go. Promise." "You sure you don't mind staying here alone?" "Not during the day," she said. "Go on, go have beignets or something. Come back for me at lunchtime." "Okay, if you insist." She wasn't worried about Tricia — her sister had never been a morning person. Tessa grabbed her straw hat and matching bag, her sunglasses, and her camera, and headed out. The first thing she did when she got far enough from the hotel, was turn back to face it to take a photo of it, which she couldn't believe she hadn't thought to do before now. But when she depressed the shutter, nothing happened. Frowning, she turned the camera toward her, looking at it. Every shot had been used up. "Well the hell? I could have sworn.…" Then she shrugged, and headed into the small souvenir shop down the block. She dropped her film off there for two-hour developing, picked up a couple of fresh new rolls at tourist prices, and went on her way again. It was nine a.m. and already well above 90 degrees. Sweat beaded, but didn't evaporate. There was no such thing as a breeze on the streets. Only a few tourists were out and about this early. The horse-drawn carriages hadn't even begun carrying groups of them around the Quarter yet, and most of the shops were just opening for business. She walked. She loved to walk. She walked all the way from Rue Royale to Jackson Square as the sun beat down on her, and her clothes and skin grew damp. Café du Monde was open, and already many of the tables were filled. It was covered, for shade, but the place had no sides. A lone musician, a man in a white suit with dark skin, was setting up outside it, unpacking his saxophone lovingly from its case, setting up a

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display of his own CDs and tapes for sale. She chose the table closest to him, so she wouldn't miss a thing, dropping a bill into the saxophone case as she passed. "Well, thank you, pretty lady. Can I play something special for you this beautiful mornin'?" "Something heavy and mellow," she said. "Like the air here." He smiled as if understanding, put the horn to his lips, and began to play. Tessa ordered beignets and coffee, leaning back in her seat and letting the sweet music wash over her. Until something tingled on the nape of her neck, and she sat up again, turning and looking…and she saw him. The tour guide.

Chapter Three The mysterious tour guide stood outside a small gift shop staring at her. She stared back for a long moment, her body heating, melting, aching in a way that was completely foreign to her. Then he broke eye contact to pick up a book from a rack that stood outside the gift shop. He flipped through it, then put it back again, very carefully, very deliberately. Again, he looked at her, his eyes burning and intense, as if he were trying to tell her something. A large group of tourists passed between them then, blocking him from her view, and when they cleared, he was gone. Tessa left her table to run across the street to where he'd been standing. She looked up and down, but he was nowhere to be seen. And why was she so hoping to see him anyway? What was she planning to say if she did see him? How could she explain what happened to her every time she met his eyes? It was as if parts of her that had been dormant, came screaming to life. It was as if her insides melted and pooled low and deep inside her. Her skin tingled, her heart sped up, and she thought about things she never thought about. She supposed it was desire. She'd always been lukewarm to the advances of men until now, but for some reason, probably some inexplicable chemical attraction, she kept having the urge to rip her clothes off for this man she had barely met. Maybe it was the hot flavor of New Orleans bringing her inner vixen to life in her loins. Or maybe it was something about him. It was probably, she thought, those damned sinful boots he wore. Idly, she glanced at the rack of magazine-size tour books that stood outside the shop, trying to see which title he'd been perusing. She was certain he had picked one from the topmost slot. When she saw her own hotel on the cover of one of the books, and read the title, she felt her heart skip a beat. Haunted Inns of the French Quarter. Blinking she picked up the book, flipped through the pages, then stopped when she came upon the image of a nude woman who looked exactly like her. It was a photograph of a painting, and it was stunning. She read the caption. "Prostitute Marie St. Claire was a favorite model of New Orleans artists for a 10-year period during the mid1800s. The man who painted her most often was Marcus Lemieux, whose self-portrait appears on the next page," it read. When she could tear her gaze from the nude portrayal of herself, she flipped the page, and found herself staring at the very face of the tour guide. "Oh my God," she whispered. "My God, what can this mean?" "You wanna buy that book, cher?" a woman asked slowly.

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She had propped the shop door open and was smiling a welcome at Tessa. "Yes. Yes, here." She handed the woman a twenty, muttered "Keep the change," and hurried back across the street to the table where the waitress had already delivered her order.

Chapter Four Tessa ate the sweet beignets, dusting herself in powdered sugar, while reading the tragic story of Marie St. Claire. The tour guide had left out a lot of details. Yes, he'd spoken of the prostitutes who had died in the fire, trapped in the third-floor rooms, unable to escape. But then he'd veered into tales of hauntings, things tourists had reported and experienced in the hotel since. He had left out many of the details. The fact that Marie St. Claire had been a model, that one local artist, Marcus Lemieux, who could have been his own twin, had painted her more often than any other. Lemieux had attempted to rescue her from the fire, and become trapped himself. He had survived, but his hands had been burned so badly that he had never painted again. She closed the book, surprised to feel tears welling up in her eyes. Her chest hurt, and she found it hard to breathe. Leaving money on the table to pay her tab, she slid the book into her straw shoulder bag, wiped the sugar from her blouse, and left the place. She was going to talk to that tour guide if it was the last thing she did. The tour had left from one of the popular voodoo shops along Rampart Street, not far from the hotel. Tessa figured that was as good a place to begin as any. When she stepped inside, she was surprised at the blast of cool air filling the place. It was a small shop, very high ceilings, walls of darkened wood. Every inch of it was lined in shelves loaded down with items. Voodoo dolls, candles in varying shapes and colors, cigars, and books and carved wooden images of tribal gods and Catholic saints, all mingled together. The air smelled of cigar smoke and incense. She walked up to the counter, looked at the girl behind it. "I'm wondering if you can help me find someone." "If you want a reading, go through there," she said pointing to a doorway filled by beaded curtains. "Mamma Celia's in today. She's very good and she's free right now." Tessa shook her head. "No, that's not what I meant. I'm looking for someone specific. The tour guide, from the Haunted Tour that leaves from here?" "Which one? There are a dozen tour guides." "He had long dark hair, ponytail, mustache and beard." She drew the pattern of his whiskers on her own face. "He wore these boots...." "Oh, you mean Rudy. You don't know how many women used to come in here looking for him after a tour. But he don't work for us anymore. Hasn't in...oh, five years now." "That's impossible. He guided the group I was in just last night." The girl frowned over the glass counter at her until Tessa had to let her gaze fall. She found herself perusing the selection of tarot decks inside the case. "Do you know who did guide the nine-thirty tour group last night?" she asked. "Lemme just check." The girl opened a book. "That would be Victor Carre." "And do you know where I can find him?" she asked. "He's leading another group in a half hour. He'll be out front a few minutes before then." Tessa nodded her thanks and turned to go, but the rattling of the beaded curtains at the back of the room stopped her, and then a woman's voice said, "You, girl. Come. I need to read for you."

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Tessa turned, stared at one of the most beautiful faces she had ever seen. The woman's brown eyes gleamed, and she reached for Tessa with a long, slender hand that bore rings on every finger and bracelets that jangled when she moved. She wore a silky turban of purple and blue. "I don't really want a reading," Tessa said. "No matter. You need one. Come." And she drew Tessa back through the beaded curtains into a tiny room that smelled of sandalwood smoke.

Chapter Five "Sit, pretty one. Relax. There is nothing to fear." The woman jingled as she moved around the small table in very cramped quarters, to sit in the chair on the other side. The table was draped in silk scarves in jewel colors. Candles lined the room, on the windowsill, and mounted in holders on the walls. There were at least a dozen of them burning, providing the only light in the place. Atop the scarves on the table, crystal stones were scattered about, and a deck of cards sat neatly stacked at the ready. Tessa sat down in the chair opposite the woman. "Your name…no wait, don't tell me. It's…" She closed her eyes, a slow smile spreading over her face. "It's Marie." Tessa's throat went dry. "It's Tessa. But I'm curious. What made you say Marie?" "It's what spirit calls you, child. I have no idea why, but you own the name. Give me your hand." Her cool brown hand clasped Tessa's wrist, drawing it across the silk, palm up. She bent over for a closer look, the fingers of her free hand whispering over the lines in Tessa's palm. "You've lived many lives. In this one, they collide." She lifted her head. "You've spent a great deal of time in New Orleans. This city is in your blood." "This is my first visit." The woman was so far off base Tessa wondered why her words were hitting her so hard, stirring up such odd feelings in her, making her want to nod and whisper, "Yes, yes, that's right" to everything she said. "Interesting." She continued staring at Tessa's hand, then lifted her head to meet her eyes. "Why am I seeing fire?" "Fire?" She nodded. "As if your home has burned, and you with it." Tessa jerked her hand away from the woman, jumping to her feet. "I have to go. I have to go now." "Don't be silly, child, we haven't even consulted the cards yet." "I have to go." She reached for her purse. "No charge. Go. He's waiting for you." She stared at the woman, but she was clearly finished with Tessa. She sat silently, contemplating a candle flame and idly shuffling her cards. Tessa hurried out through the beaded curtain, where the girl behind the counter smiled. "That was fast. Just as well, Victor's here." She nodded toward the doorway. Tessa saw him from behind, the black coat was the same. Stiffening her spine, she went to him.

Chapter Six

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Tessa stepped out of the shop, and into a wall made of hot liquid air. Her shoes hit the sidewalk, and the tour guide turned to face her, and her stomach clenched. But it wasn't him. This man was entirely different. Only the uniform was the same. He didn't even have the boots. "I take it you're Victor?" "I am. Are you here for the tour?" She shook her head, left then right. "No. Actually, I took the tour last night. I need to speak with the man who guided it, but according to the girl in the shop, he hasn't worked as a tour guide for five years." His eyebrows went up and he glanced quickly around, as if to determine who was within earshot. "According to the books, you guided the tour I took last night," Tessa went on. "Only…you didn't." The man gripped her upper arm, leading her a few steps farther from the open shop door. "Keep it down, okay? You're going to get me fired." "I don't have any intention of causing you trouble, Victor. But I need to know who he was. And where I can find him." He nodded quickly. "Look, he's a friend. He…was passing by when the tour group gathered, and all of the sudden he wanted to guide the tour." He shrugged. "I saw no harm in letting him take the group around for old times' sake. Hell, he knows the drill. I gave him 10 minutes to go change clothes, and then I let him have at it." She nodded slowly. "Has he ever asked to take one of your groups before, since he quit working here?" Victor shook his head slowly from side to side. "You're not going to turn me in, are you?" "Not if you tell me where he lives," she said. Victor looked her up and down, maybe trying to determine whether she could be any threat to his friend. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. "I'll tell him you want to talk to him, see if it's okay with him for me to give out his number. Okay?" She thought about threatening to turn him in, but then thought better of it. It would still be an option later. Besides, she didn't want to seem like some kind of stalker. "All right. I'm staying at the Rose." She took a pen and a scrap of paper from her bag and scrawled her name and room number. When should I expect your call?" "Tonight, okay? I can't be more specific. He can be tough to reach." "Okay." She nodded firmly. "Okay." Then she turned and continued her walk back to the hotel, a thousand questions spinning and whirling through her mind. She walked right past the shop on the corner, before remembering her film, and did a quick about-face to go pick up her photos. She paid for them, tucked the envelope into her bag and hurried across the street and a block up to her hotel. She took the antiquated elevator with its decorative gates, rode it up to the third floor, then got out and walked down the hall to the corner room, which was hers. When she walked in, Tricia was just coming out of the bathroom, dressed in a white terry robe and toweling her hair. She met Tessa's eyes, and smiled. "Yes, I'm finally up. How was your morning?" "It was…weird." She tossed her hat and glasses onto the bed, then sat on the settee and tugged the photos out of her purse. "But I did get our pictures developed." She opened the envelope and began flipping through the shots while Tricia hurried to sit beside her to see.

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Tessa flipped past the cemetery shots, the ones they'd taken at the Voodoo Museum, and then her hands came to a sudden frozen stop on a photo that she could not have taken. It was of the two of them, sound asleep in the twin beds of this very room.

Chapter Seven "Oh, that's very funny, Tessa." Tessa's hands were shaking. She couldn't take her eyes off the picture even to look at her sister. "A good one. Really. You know I believe the stories about this place a little too much, so you have someone take pictures of us in bed sleeping. What am I supposed to think, that one of the ghosts did it?" "Tricia…" Tricia took the stack of photos from her sister's hands, going through them. "Oh, look there are more. This one was taken from the balcony, this one from over by the fireplace, and this one — oh, look at this one. From right beside your bed. Creepy, Tess." "Tricia, shut the hell up." Her sister stopped talking, and when Tessa looked at her she saw the smile die very slowly. "Come on, Tess, you're scaring me." "I'm sorry. I put the camera on the nightstand last night. I thought there were several unexposed shots left on the roll, but when I took it out this morning, they'd all been used up." "Tessa, this isn't funny." "I know it isn't." "Okay. Then…then someone's messing with us." Tricia swallowed hard. "I'm going to see the manager. If they think they can sneak around our rooms in the middle of the night just to perpetrate their ghost stories and increase business, they'd better think again." Tricia stomped back into the bathroom to put her clothes on. But Tessa could only sit and stare at the final photograph in the stack. There was a mirror behind the bed, and while the camera had been aimed at her, herself, asleep, that mirror had been captured in the shot as well. And in it was a vague image in the darkness. A woman's face, all white, pale, and luminescent. Thin and transparent. It looked like Tessa's own face, painted in pale mists on the darkness.

Chapter Eight The hotel management, naturally, denied any knowledge of the photos, or how they had come to be. Tricia said they had attempted to prove their case by showing her reams of videotape taken by the surveillance cameras in the third-floor hallway. No one had come in through the door all night. That only left the balcony. Tessa swallowed hard. "It's New Orleans. People party hard. Probably some kid decided to play a practical joke and climbed up the trellis or fire escape or something. I wouldn't worry about it." "Maybe we should go to another hotel."

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Tessa couldn't do that. She needed to be here, though she didn't know just why. "Everything's booked," she said softly. "I already checked." She realized that she had just done something she never, ever did. She had lied to her sister. She covered it quickly, plastering a smile onto her face. "Come on, let's go out. I want to take the trolley into the Garden District today, and explore. And at the end of the run there's a restaurant I want to try for dinner. Then we'll come back and go play at that karaoke bar on Bourbon Street, all right?" "You're going to make me drop from sheer exhaustion before we get back home, aren't you?" Tessa took her sister's hand. She really wished she could send her home, get her out of here. Something was going on, she could feel it right to her toes. She was coming alive inside, in ways she could not explain. They toured, and walked, and took the obligatory photos of Anne Rice's house. They visited shops and museums and spent more money than was probably wise. They visited Lafayette Cemetery without a tour guide, something they had been warned not to do. While there, Tessa suffered a dizzy spell that left her weak and queasy. But she recovered soon enough, and blamed it on the heat. They walked along the sidewalks of Canal Street, looking up at the Mardi Gras beads that dangled from every tree and power line in sight, even months after the party. When they found some hanging low enough to reach, Tricia insisted on snatching them from the tree as a souvenir. Beads tossed during the parade were way better than the ones you could buy in any shop in New Orleans, she insisted. They had dinner very late, and then rode back to the French Quarter, and did some drinking and bar hopping on Bourbon Street. When they finally returned to the hotel it was just after eleven, and the message light on the phone was blinking. Tricia didn't notice it as she headed straight for the shower. As soon as the water was running, Tessa picked up the phone and retrieved the message. Victor's tape-recorded voice played in her ear. "He says he'll meet you at midnight in the street below your balcony. That's the best I can do."

Chapter Nine She waited until her sister was sound asleep, then slipped out of the room as quietly as she could manage. She hated leaving Tricia, knowing how nervous the room made her. Especially given the odd photos that had been taken of them sleeping last night. But she left the balcony doors open. If anything happened to frighten Tricia, Tessa would be able to hear her. And she could be at her side within a few seconds. She tiptoed through the hall, took the stairs instead of the elevator, and then moved through the deserted lobby as soundlessly as if she were the ghost. When she opened the heavy, ornate wooden door, she could smell the night. She stepped out into its hot, sticky embrace, silently loving it. But there was no one in sight. Tessa walked a few steps along the sidewalk, looking in either direction, seeing no one. But then far in the distance, she heard the slow, steady clip-clop of hooves over stone. Straining her eyes to see, she stared down the street, unsure of the direction, because the sound seemed to echo from everywhere at once. But then an ebony horse seemed to emerge from the darkness, slowly taking shape as it came closer. The carriage was as black as the horse that pulled it, covered and closed, not open like the buggies she'd seen traversing the Quarter by day. This was different. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she couldn't seem to catch her breath as she stepped out of the street, up onto the sidewalk, and waited. It moved so slowly. As if the man in control was enjoying his power over her. Drawing her tension taut as a bowstring. Plucking it with every step of his horse's hooves. It was right in front of her now. The black horse stopped and shook its mane, tossing its head and blowing hot air from flared nostrils. The form sitting in the driver's seat, high above, was completely swathed in black. She couldn't even make him out. Then the carriage's door swung open, and a deep, hauntingly familiar voice said, "Get in." She looked into the darkness inside the carriage. She couldn't see him. "I can't. I can't leave my sister alone in that room." "It's not your sister the spirits want, Tessa. She'll sleep peacefully and undisturbed until you return." "How can you be sure of that?" She blinked rapidly. "And...and how do you know my name?"

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"I will answer all your questions if you will come with me." "But —" "Come." A gloved hand emerged from the inky darkness within the carriage, reached toward her and drew itself slowly back in. She felt as if it was pulling her along with it, and she obeyed, stepping into the carriage, into the heart of darkness. She got in, turning and sinking automatically into a soft velvet seat. The door slammed behind her, and the carriage lurched into motion as she looked up and straight into his eyes.

Chapter Ten "I have waited a very long time for this night." Swallowing her fear, Tessa held his piercing black gaze, unable to look away. He sat in the seat across from her, staring into her eyes. She felt him probing the depths of her mind, her soul, though she had no idea how. Why did just being near him make her tremble this way? Why? "H-how could you have been waiting? You only met me two nights ago." "We met more than a century ago." She shook her head in denial, not questioning what he meant by that, maybe because she was afraid of what his answers would be. "I saw you last night. Below the balcony." "And yet you didn't come to me. You wanted to. Why did you resist your own soul's yearnings, Tessa?" Her stomach clenched into a knot. "I… Someone was in my room last night. Someone took photographs…." "I know. I found a set of them in my bedroom this evening." She blinked. "How could that be?" "The spirits. The ghosts who haunt that hotel wanted me to find you. As if I wouldn't have known you from the moment I set eyes on you without their assistance." "I don't know what you're talking about," she whispered. "You will. Trust me, you will." He reached a hand across to her, touched her cheek with his gloved hand, gently brushing her hair aside, and as he did, his eyes fell closed and a sigh stuttered from his lips. "Will you do me the honor of sitting here beside me?" She blinked at him in the darkness, then at the seat he patted. "I mean you no harm, Tessa, I swear it on my soul. But if I can't touch you soon I think I may die." "T-touch me?" Her heart slammed her rib cage as if trying to break free. "Hold you. Close to me. That's all." He drew an unsteady breath. "Please?" She wanted nothing more than to feel him touching her. As the carriage rocked, she changed seats, joining him on the softness, sitting very close to his side. Her body stiffened in anticipation as he slid an arm around her shoulders, and then he sighed softly, leaning back, pulling her closer, so that she lay cradled in his arms, her head on his shoulder. With his free hand he stroked her hair. "Promise me something, ma cherie," he whispered. "Promise me you will hear the story I have to tell you, all of it, before you make a choice."

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"A choice?" His crooked finger came beneath her chin, lifting it, turning her face up to his. "Yes, there will be a choice. One that will alter your life forever. But not yet. Not yet." His lips were so close to hers she could feel the breath of each word. She wanted him to kiss her. She felt it suddenly, with everything in her. More than she wanted to draw another breath, she wanted to feel his lips on hers. As if he knew her every thought, he bent just a little closer.

Chapter Eleven His lips brushed across hers, and every nerve in her body came to life at the sweet, brief contact. But then the carriage came to a halt, and he drew away. "Come. We are here." "Where?" "Lafayette Cemetery. You were here today, but you didn't see what you came to see. I thought you might stumble upon it. Led, perhaps, by sheer instinct. But, no. Perhaps you were not ready." She remembered the dizzy, sick feeling that had swamped her when she'd visited this place before. He got to his feet and climbed out of the carriage, reaching back in for her. He took her hand, helped her down. She felt oddly out of place in her jeans and simple blouse. She felt as if she should be wearing a bustled gown with a matching hat. He led her through the opening in the wall that surrounded the cemetery. Every tomb was a small crypt. No one was buried here, she had read, because the water table was simply too high. Instead the graves were above ground, tiny cement tombs with peaked roofs, ornate with carved angels or crosses, names arching across the tops. Rows of them, like miniature villages. Villages of the dead. He led her between the rows, toward the very depths of the place, the center, and there he showed her a tall narrow crypt. The name across the top was "Lemieux." Underneath were two other names. Marcus and Marie. Tessa stared up at him, blinking, feeling a bit of the same dizziness she had felt here before. "The artist and the prostitute?" "Then you know something of them already." She felt a death chill, standing there staring at a cement crypt that held the remains of a woman who could have been her twin. "I picked up the book. The one you wanted me to pick up. I read about them." "The book only tells you part of the story." "But you're going to tell me the rest?" He nodded. "Marcus was an artist. His father was a French noble who was driven out of his country in shame, and came to live here because it reminded him of home. But he lived in constant fear of being shamed again." She looked at her tour guide, into his eyes. "What shamed him in France?" "He was cuckolded. His wife ran away with a commoner. It was the talk of Paris at the time. Quite the scandal. He was a proud man, too proud to live that way, so he came here, where he was treated almost as royalty."

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"And then his son fell in love with a prostitute." "The father forbade it, of course. Still, Marcus was a stubborn man. And he loved her deeply. Painted her often. He would sit for hours just staring at her image, when he couldn't be with her. Some said he was obsessed, others that she had bewitched him." "He was in love," Tessa whispered. "Madly in love. They were secretly wed. Marcus had only to collect his things, slip away with a horse and a carriage, and pick her up. They were to run away together that very night." "The night of the fire?" Tessa asked, her breath catching in her throat. Staring into her eyes, he nodded. "Marcus arrived to see the entire building engulfed in flames. He could hear his Maria's screams." He lowered his head, shuddering, and Tessa thought there were tears in his eyes.

Chapter Twelve "He went inside to try to get her out," Tessa said, filling in the parts of the heartbreaking story that she already knew. "Yes. But it was too late. He was nearly killed himself. Neighbors, firefighters, they came, pulled him out of the fire, doused him in water, saving his life. But he screamed, begged them to let him die with the woman he loved." Tessa's eyes were wet now, her throat tight. "Marie died." "Yes. But there was another woman there that night. The most powerful woman in New Orleans, watching, weeping. Marie St. Claire's mother had named her for this woman, because she had been unable to conceive a child until the elder Marie helped her." "The elder Marie?" He nodded, his eyes intense. "Yes. Marie LaVeau." Tessa blinked in shock, backing up a step. "This is getting very difficult to believe." "Why?" he asked. "It shouldn't. Helping barren women to conceive was a common request of voodoo practitioners. LaVeau was a queen, the best known, most in demand. And she was good at what she did. The woman had real power. Real power." "How do you know?" Tessa whispered. He met her eyes. "Because I'm here. And you're here. It's just as she told me it would be." Blinking, Tessa shook her head. "Marie LaVeau died long before you were born." He shook his head slowly. "She was there that night," he said. "And she shouted her curse and her blessing. She put her hands on Marcus, who was so distraught he was barely aware of the damage the fire had done to him, to his hands and arms." Tessa nodded. "I read that he could never paint again."

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"For a long time, he couldn't. And by the time he could, he no longer wanted to. His inspiration, his muse, had been consumed by fire." Tessa swallowed back her tears. "What was Marie LaVeau's curse?" "Whether it was curse or blessing remains to be seen," he said. "She raised up her hands, tipped back her head, and shouted above the roar of the flames and the cries of the dying, 'My namesake shall live again! And her lover will live as well, never to age, nor die, nor leave this city, until that time when she returns to him and they find the love that was stolen from them this cursed night!' Then she howled like the very voice of death." Tessa imagined she could hear the sound. There was wind, where there had been none before, and it seemed to carry that ghostly wail. "The younger Marie's cries stopped, dying with the witch's howl," Marcus said. "Most believe she died at that very moment, only able to release her hold on life once she had the promise that she would find her love again." He lowered his head. "Then LaVeau went to Marcus, embraced him, and whispered that he must be strong, that he must be patient. She told him the other women who had died in the fire would guard the place as sacred, and would see to it that he knew when his wife returned for him." He looked Tessa in the eyes. "That's why they took the photos, and brought them to me, you see. To let me know that you had finally come back."

Chapter Thirteen He was holding her hands in his, staring deeply into her eyes. A passing breeze gently dried the dampness from her skin and her cheeks. She said, "What are you talking about? I'm not Marie." "No, you are Tessa. But in that lifetime, you were Marie. My precious Marie." She blinked, not understanding. "You're talking about reincarnation?" "Yes. Of course." "Then you…you believe that you were reincarnated, too? That you were Marcus in that lifetime?" She knew the answer to the question before she asked it. Before he slowly shook his head left and then right. "I told you LaVeau's curse. That Marcus would live on, would never age, not until his Marie returned. And now you have." "Are you saying that you are Marcus? That you never died, that you've been living here waiting for me for more than a hundred years?" "One hundred fifty-one years, two months, fifteen days." He glanced at the watch he wore. "Seventeen and a half minutes." When he looked at her face again, his wore a slight smile, sad humor tingeing his eyes. But when he saw the doubt in hers, his smile died. "I can prove it to you, my love. Please, you must give me that chance." Shaking her head, stepping backward again, she said, "I think I've had enough for one night. I'd like to go back to the hotel now." He closed his eyes, lowered his head. "You're afraid of me now. You think me insane." "I'm sorry, I —" He held up a hand. "No. It's all right. I should have expected it. The story is far-fetched, particularly in this age when magic is seen as impossible superstition."

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"It's just that — at the voodoo shop they told me your name was Rudy." He nodded. "I have changed my name many times. I've had to leave here for years at a time, although thanks to Madame LaVeau's curse, I could never go far. But I would go into hiding and return years later, pretending to be another of my own relatives, taking up residence again in the family home, using another name." She blinked, her head spinning. "And what about the tomb? It has your name on it." "Look closer." He ran his hand over the woman's name, the dates carved beneath it. Born 1827, Died 1850. Then his own, or the name he claimed as his own. It had a date of birth, 1825, but there was no date of death chiseled into granite. Swallowing hard, she lifted her gaze to his face. "I'm sorry. Even with that, it's just too much to believe." "I know. But there is one more thing I can show you.…" Holding up his left hand, he slowly peeled off the glove that he wore to cover it. Clouds skittered away from the face of the moon, allowing its milky light to spill down on the badly scarred hand he held up before her. And even as she watched with her breath caught in her throat, he peeled off the other glove to reveal the right hand, which was even more damaged than the left.

Chapter Fourteen "Oh my God." She backed away from him, then turning, she ran through the darkness, along the row of tombs. She darted to the left, then right, running full speed, having no idea which way to turn. She couldn't see beyond a few concrete crypts in any direction. Only those dark shadowy peaks in the village of the dead. Finally, she stopped, breathless, panting, more light-headed than before. "I've frightened you." The words came from behind her, making her jump and spin around. "It's the last thing I wanted to do, Marie." "Tessa ! My name is Tessa." He closed his eyes, lowered his head. "I know, I'm sorry. Forgive me, I…" He pressed a hand, gloved again now, to his forehead, rubbing slow circles there. "To me you are one and the same." "But not to me." "I'll try to remember that." He lifted his gaze, met her eyes. "Come back to the carriage. I'll return you to the hotel." She hesitated, watching him, painfully aware of how alone she was here, how difficult it would be to summon help. There were houses nearby, yes. Wealthy homes so large and well built she doubted anyone within them would hear her cries for help even if she screamed with everything in her. And even if they did, how could help find her in this maze, in time to prevent — "You have nothing to fear from me, Tessa," he assured her yet again. "I would die for you. Nearly did, once. Would have if the others hadn't pulled me from the flames." She licked her lips, lowered her head. "You do realize that what you're saying is impossible. You would be nearly two hundred years old."

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"Nothing is impossible, Tessa. I've learned that over the years." She shook her head in denial. "You've been drawn to me since you first set eyes on me, when I saw you and took over the tour group that night. You couldn't explain why, but you couldn't get me out of your mind." She held his gaze, saying nothing. Finally, he sighed, lowering his head. "I'm pushing too hard, too soon." He looked up, past her left shoulder. "The carriage is that way. Come." Then he walked past her, easily locating the open part in the wall, beyond which that black carriage sat in the street, its shrouded driver sitting at the ready. Marcus, or whatever his name was, went to it, opened the door for her. "Good night, Tessa." "You're not riding along?" She stood between his body and the open door, staring into his eyes because she couldn't seem to do otherwise. "I've frightened you enough for one night. I would ask one promise of you, though I realize I have no right to ask anything at all." "What promise?" "Don't leave New Orleans without…at least saying goodbye." He had a card in his hand, which he tucked into her jeans pocket. She bit her lip, nodded. "I suppose…that's not so much to ask." "And…" "And?" "And this…" Leaning closer, he curled his arms around her waist, pulled her tight against him, and kissed her.

Chapter Fifteen Tessa's mind told her she should be deeply offended. She should feel violated. She should tear herself free of his embrace, slap him, upbraid him for the uninvited invasion. Why, then, was she kissing him instead? Why had her arms twisted around his neck, her fingers twined in his hair as her mouth made love to his? Why were there tears running down her cheeks while her entire body trembled? One salty tear reached her lips, and his, she thought, because he broke the kiss abruptly, blinking down at her, concern etched on his face. "Tessa?" he asked. Shaking her head violently, she climbed into the carriage and tugged the door closed behind her. The vehicle rocked into motion, and she buried her face in her hands, weeping softly all the way back to the hotel. She had no idea why being in his arms had felt like a long-awaited homecoming. She had no idea why it had nearly broken her heart to leave him there, alone, in the night. It wasn't as if she believed any part of his story. It was sad, heart-wrenching, and it touched her, but it wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

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She got out of the carriage as soon as it stopped, and it set into motion once more the moment her feet touched the street. She didn't bother looking after it. Instead she hurried inside, rubbing her tears from her face on her way up the stairs, and finally reached the haven of her room. She dug in a pocket for the key, but as she lifted it toward the lock, the door swung slowly open. Catching her breath, she looked up and saw her sister standing there. Only — it wasn't. Her face was pale, and her eyes — her eyes were the wrong color. They were jet black, with a soft glowing light coming from within them. "You must remember. You must," she said in a voice that was not her own. "Tricia?" "Unless you remember, it was all for nothing," Tricia went on in that strange voice. Then she reached up, her hands clasping Tessa's shoulders like claws. "Remember!" she shouted, shaking her violently, with surprising strength. "Remember, damn you!" "Tricia!" Tessa planted her palms flat on her sister's chest and shoved with everything in her. Tricia's grip was broken, and she staggered backward. "Remember," she whispered, and then she collapsed on the floor.

Chapter Sixteen Tessa rushed forward to help her possessed sister, falling to her knees beside her. "Tricia. Tricia, come on, wake up!" She lifted Tricia's upper body, patting her cheeks. "Come on, wake up." Tricia's eyes fluttered open, and she stared up at her sister. "What? What's wrong?" "You were…uh, sleepwalking. Or something." "I was?" Tricia sat up, looking around the room. "Wow, I ended up on the floor huh? Geez, that's odd. I never sleepwalk." "You don't…remember anything?" "No. Nothing." She smiled at her sister. "Hey, you're still dressed." "Couldn't sleep," she said. She wondered if her sister would notice the door standing open behind her and ask where she had been, but when she glanced at it with the thought, she saw that the door was closed. "Come on," Tessa said, helping her sister to her feet. "Let's get you back into bed." She shook off the feeling that someone else was in the room with them, or had been. She told herself she must have closed the door herself. But she knew right then what she had to do. She had to get the hell out of New Orleans. As soon as possible. This was no longer just affecting her, it was getting to her sister, and she would not allow that. She didn't sleep that night. She did put on a nightgown and slide into bed, but she never closed her eyes. She sat awake to protect her younger sister from whatever might be lingering in this place. There was something. God, it made no sense to her. She didn't believe in ghosts, but she could feel them with every cell in her body. She could almost hear them whispering to her. "Remember." In the morning, over breakfast in The Rose's dining room. She tried to put on a carefree expression as she told her sister, "Honey, how do you feel about expanding our vacation a little bit?"

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"Like — how?" Tricia asked. She seemed none the worse for wear. Her appetite was good, while Tessa found herself unable to choke down a bite of the luscious omelet or the delectable pastries. She could barely swallow the coffee and it was the best she had ever had. "Let's get out of New Orleans," she said. "Let's rent a car and go driving out into the countryside. We can tour some of the old plantations, take a look around the bayou, maybe visit some of the historic battlefields." Tricia frowned, tilting her head to one side. "But there's still so much we haven't seen right here," she said. "Honey, you're not getting all wigged out about the ghost stories in this place, are you? I mean, my sleepwalking last night probably had more to do with the spicy meals we've been eating than with any ghosts." Lowering her head, Tessa said, "I just don't like it here. I need to get out, Trish." Her sister frowned. "All right, if you feel that strongly about it." She tucked into her omelet with relish, and didn't bring the subject up again.

Chapter Seventeen Tessa hurried to make arrangements, using the phone in the room while her sister flipped through the pages of the entertainment guide. Trish looked up only when Tessa slammed the receiver down with an aggravated sigh. "What's wrong?" "It seems the entire universe is conspiring to keep us here." "Permanently?" Tricia asked, a mischievous eyebrow arching in question. "Every car rental place I called is booked. The earliest we can get a car is first thing tomorrow morning. And the innkeeper insists twenty-four hours' notice is required in order to check out early — if we leave today, we get billed for tonight anyway." Tricia shrugged. "Maybe we should stay then. Hell, Tess, one more night won't kill us." Tessa licked her lips. "Besides, look what's opening tonight at the Saenger Theatre." She handed to Tessa the paper she'd been reading, and Tess saw the half page ad. A production of The Phantom of the Opera. Oh, hell, it couldn't have been anything else. Her sister was a Phantom-nut. She had collectibles, CDs of the music, playbills from every production of the show she had seen, and that was no small number. "Come on, sis. Just one more night? We'll leave first thing in the morning." Tessa sighed. "I don't feel good about this, Trish." "Tess, this is my vacation, too. But if you feel that strongly, go ahead. You go on ahead without me. I'll see the show, spend one last night here, and meet you wherever you say in the morning. Okay?" Tessa looked up fast with wide eyes. "I can't leave you here alone!" Tricia frowned deeply. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?" She shook her head rapidly. "Fine, fine, you win. One more night. But we're out of here in the morning, all right?"

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"Okay." Tricia smiled. "Meanwhile, I've made us lunch reservations at Emeril's place. And there's a museum we haven't visited yet. They have a special exhibit featuring the work of Marcus Lemieux. I was reading about him in that book you bought yesterday. He's the artist who was involved with that prostitute who died in the fire here." Closing her eyes slowly, Tessa nodded, fingering the card she held in her pocket, racked with guilt for her intent to break her promise, and already having second thoughts.

Chapter Eighteen Tessa gritted her teeth with expectation when they went to see Marcus's display at the museum, but she was relieved that not one painting of that long-dead woman she so resembled was included in the exhibit. She wondered why, but then she knew. Marie's paintings were private. He had probably kept them. Maybe they still hung in the home of the beautiful Lemieux descendant who called himself Marcus. She knew, suddenly, that they did. That he spent hours staring at them, longing for the woman they depicted. No wonder he'd become obsessed to the point of delusion. The work on display touched her. A mother, holding the hand of a small child. Two lovers, on a bench beneath the moonlight, entwined in a gentle embrace. A church, with flowering wisteria creeping up its outer walls. She walked with her sister, admiring the work, then suddenly stopped and sucked in a breath, her hand flying to her chest as if to still her pounding heart. It was the self-portrait. For an instant she had thought she'd rounded the corner and come face-to-face with him. But she hadn't. It was only a portrait, life-size, and accurate to a fault. His eyes seemed to stare at her, so filled with sadness she nearly wept. "Hey, doesn't this look a lot like that tour guide you were so into the other night?" Tessa nodded, but found herself unable to speak. She couldn't tug her eyes from his. God, she couldn't leave without saying goodbye. She just couldn't. That night, after her sister left for the theater, Tessa pulled the card from her pocket, and with hands that shook violently, she picked up the telephone and dialed the number on the card. His voice when he answered was soft and deep, and achingly familiar. It caressed her ear when he whispered her name, knowing who was calling before she told him. "Tessa?" "Yes, it's me," she said. "I…I'm keeping my promise. To let you know before I left New Orleans." "You're leaving?" God, the pain contained in those two simple words. "I have to. I'm sorry." "When?" "In the morning." There was a long moment of silence. Then he said, "I'll come to you then. Tonight." "Marcus, I don't think that's such a good idea. This is already difficult enough, and I —"

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"God help me, Tessa, but I can't let you go without seeing you one more time. Please, say you'll see me tonight." She hesitated. "Please…" "All right." It made no sense, but she could hardly speak around the lump in her throat, and she was as desperate to see him again as he seemed to be to see her. "Outside the hotel, just as before?" "Yes. I'll wait beneath the balcony." "I'll come down," she said. "Is an hour too soon?" Did that sound as eager to his ears as it had to her own? "More likely too long," he told her. "I'll be there soon. And Tessa?" "Yes?" "I love you."

Chapter Nineteen Tessa told herself it was insane to fuss, but she couldn't seem to help herself. She chose a dress that was flowing and white and mostly sheer. It looked Grecian, and she'd always loved it. She took it into the bathroom with her, hung it on a rack while she stepped into the shower, and rinsed away the dust and sweat of a day's touring. And if her heart and her body tingled in anticipation, she couldn't help it. This thing had moved beyond her control. This was the last time she would see him. She was doing the right thing. Surely that was good enough to appease the practical, logical part of her mind. Surely she could at least enjoy this one, final encounter. Finished in the shower, she stepped out, toweled down, and pulled on the dress. It was soft on her skin. Then she leaned over the bathroom mirror to arrange her damp hair. She pinned it up loosely, letting tendrils fall around her face and tickle her neck and shoulders. Then she applied makeup. But almost as soon as she began, the light in the bathroom flickered out. Frowning, Tessa flipped it on and off several times, then tried the other lights in the room to no avail. Snatching up the phone, she dialed the front desk. "Just a brief outage," the manager promised her. "It happens from time to time. Feel free to use the oil lamp on the mantel until we get it fixed." She hung up, went to the oil lamp, found the matches beside it, and set the thing alight. By its light she glanced at her watch. Only minutes until he was due to arrive. She hurried back into the bathroom, taking the lamp with her, and put the finishing touches on her face. Then she carried the lamp back to the bedroom, set it on the mantel, and went to the French doors. Stepping out onto the balcony, she looked at the street below. He was there. He looked up at her, met her eyes, lifted a hand toward her in greeting. "I'll be right down," she called softly. And she knew he heard her, knew he would know she had taken pains to look beautiful for him, and she didn't care.

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She turned and walked back into the room. But when she had gone no more than four steps, the French doors slammed behind her. Tessa jumped in alarm, turning back to stare. "What in the world?" She went back, reached for the handles, tugged on them, but they wouldn't budge. Suddenly frightened, she crossed the room to the only other exit, the one that led into the hall. But when she tugged, that door wouldn't open either. Turning, facing the room's center, she looked around her. "What's going on? Please, just tell me what you want from me!" The oil lamp floated from the mantel to the center of the room, hovering there. "Remember!" a woman's voice demanded. Then the lamp was hurled by unseen hands. It exploded on the floor in a pool of yellow fire.

Chapter Twenty Tessa ran forward, yanking a blanket from the bed, and trying to use it to douse the fire. But the flames spread unnaturally, slowly surrounding her. She stumbled toward the French doors, reaching for them, but she couldn't get past the wall of fire, even to hurl herself through the glass. She shrieked in terror. And then, through the curtain of fire, she saw him on the street below, the horror in his face as he realized what was happening. She saw him racing toward the building to come for her, and suddenly it all returned. Everything. Her love for him. God, it was an all-consuming, all-powerful love. His father, yes. Yes, it was his father who had started the fire all those years ago. She'd seen him leaving, but it was too late. Already the flames had been licking around her bed. She'd tried so hard to escape. To get to Marcus. Tried so hard to cling to life, even as the fire seared her flesh. The flames raged higher, engulfing the room. The windows exploded. She screamed and screamed, and she no longer knew which parts of this night were happening now, and which were parts of her memory. But the pain was so great, so intense. Her hair was on fire, her dress blazing, her skin melting from the bones and yet she clung to life. For him. For Marcus. And then she heard a voice shouting from the streets far below. It was the voice of the woman who had read her palm in the little voodoo shop. And yet it was a voice she knew from another lifetime. The voice of Marie LaVeau. "My namesake shall live again! And her lover will live as well, never to age, nor die, nor leave this city, until that time when she returns to him and they find the love that was stolen from them this cursed night!" Then her cry echoed through Tessa's mind and she knew it was time to let go of the pain, to leave the agonizing prison of her body, to move on. And she could, but only because she knew she would come back again. She would return to Marcus one day. And he would be right there waiting when she did. She closed her eyes, and sank to the floor amid the flames. Two things woke her. The first was the feeling of water spraying her face, cool, blessed water. The second was the sound of the door being kicked in. Tessa opened her eyes. She was lying on the floor in the center of her room. The sprinklers in the ceiling were dousing her and the entire place with water. And then Marcus was there, on his knees beside her, cradling her in his arms. "I thought I saw flames. My God, are you all right?"

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Thought he saw flames? But the entire room had gone up… Sitting up, blinking, Tessa looked around. There was a small ring of black on the floor where the oil from the lamp had spread, and burned. But nothing else in the room was damaged. Not the curtains or the bedding. The windows were intact. Even the dress Tessa wore was perfectly unharmed. Marcus was stroking her damp hair away from her face. "Tell me you're all right, my love, please." "I'm all right," she whispered, staring up into his eyes, paying no attention to the others in the room, the hotel staff, and some firefighters who had just arrived. "More than that, Marcus, my beloved Marcus…I remember." He searched her face, her eyes, his own filling with moisture. "You remember?" "It's been so long, my love, so long. I love you. I love you, Marcus." He gathered her close, and kissed her as his tears of joy spilled over. And Tessa knew that she would never, ever be apart from him again. Neither in this lifetime, nor those to come.

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Darkness Betrayed by P.C. Cast Aine knows she was destined to take up the post of Healer at Guardian Castle. But she just can’t seem to get used to the stark place or its dreary people, and she longs for the beauty of Partholon. Her only companion in her new home is a centaur huntress, Maev, another outsider. But when Maev is involved in what the warriors call an accident, Aine begins to realize there may be evil forces at work in the castle! And when she is led by her Goddess to an injured winged man—one of the Fomorians Guardian Castle was built to protect against—Aine is forced to make a life-altering choice…

Chapter One Aine liked the irony of using a funeral urn to draw water for the herbs in her healer’s garden. It was a beautiful urn, large and graceful, with a ridged lip and a curved handle balanced off one side. The scene painted around it was framed in black, as was typical for Epona’s funeral urns, but it seemed to Aine that there was something especially lovely about this one. The Goddess’s Chosen reclined with her outstretched arm motioning regally to the line of supplicants that stretched around the urn before her. A riot of auburn hair cascaded like water down the priestess’s back. It was ridiculous that something so beautiful be relegated to the dreary job of pouring libations on graves, or worse, holding the ashes of the dead. So Aine had “rescued” it. Too bad there would be no one to rescue her from the dreary job she’d taken. “No,” Aine muttered. “It’s not the job that’s dreary. It’s the place.” She sat at the edge of the herb bed and looked around her. She’d been at Guardian Castle for a little over five full passings of the phases of the moon, but she still wasn’t used to the overwhelming grayness of everything. The castle was gray. The pass through the mountains the castle had been built within was gray. The autumn sky was gray. Aine sighed. “Epona’s shield! Even the people are gray.” She understood that the castle had been built for one specific purpose: to keep the pass between the Wastelands and Partholon guarded so that the demonic Fomorians who had been banished to those Wastelands would never enter Partholon again. Even though there hadn’t been a Fomorian sighted in generations, still their purpose was to be on guard. So beauty and color and the things that made the Partholon such a lovely goddess-blessed land weren’t exactly priorities here at the edge of the civilized world. Protection and defense was the focus. It was just so hard to get used to this stark place after four full seasons of studying the art of healing at the exquisite Temple of the Muse, where Aine had been surrounded by all the most talented, beautiful and brightest women of Partholon. Camenae, her mentor, had warned her against accepting the austere post, but Aine had known that Guardian Castle was where she belonged. Just as she had known that it was her destiny to be a Healer. But since Aine had arrived at Guardian Castle she’d felt so uneasy that she’d begun questioning that intuition, that knowing which had served her so well all her life. Restless, Aine picked at a few sprigs of mint, breathing deeply of the distinctive scent of the plant. She had to stop second guessing herself. It wasn’t her intuition that was the problem. The problem was the people here. They felt wrong. They were as colorless, inside and out, as the landscape surrounding them. Well, the human people that is. Aine had only made one friend since she’d taken up her position as Healer of Guardian Castle. She and the centaur Maev, who had only recently been posted as Huntress for the castle, had instantly clicked. “Probably because we’re the only bit of color hereabouts. Maybe that’s why I believed so strongly that I needed to come here—to spread some color around.” Aine picked up a raven-colored curl that had fallen over her shoulder. She smiled as the wan sunlight made her hair shine with flashes of mahogany and a

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black so dark it almost appeared blue. With her dark hair and startlingly sapphire eyes, and Maev’s blazing copper hair and shining roan equine coat, the two of them definitely stood out amongst the dish soap, milk toast complexions of the stone-faced warriors and their equally boring women. It was just so odd. She’d had no idea before she’d arrived how washed out everything—everyone would be. But then, why would the rest of Partholon know? Besides families of the warriors and a few traders, people rarely visited Guardian Castle. Aine couldn’t help but compare the people of Guardian Castle to sleepwalkers. Or worse—they were like the stories told to frighten children about people who had been led astray by darkness and who ended up wandering the earth as soulless husks eternally searching for but unable to ever find the light within them that had been bled away by… “Aine! There has been an accident. You’re needed!”

Chapter Two Aine startled at the appearance of the stern warrior she thought was called Edan, but she had been well trained and recovered quickly. She was on her feet and running for her Healer’s basket in an instant. Then instead of heading to the infirmary wing of the castle, the warrior called, “This way!” and began jogging towards the massive rear gate that opened to the Wastelands side of the pass. She stifled her questions, concentrating instead on keeping up with the silent warrior as they ran out the raised, iron-toothed gate. The instant Aine passed beyond the walls of the castle she felt the change. It was as if the air had solidified. It pressed down upon her, thick…heavy…cloying… Aine stumbled. Edan grabbed her arm to steady her. “We only have a short way to go.” He jogged down the narrow, slatecolored pass. Aine rushed after him. The path took a sharp turn. Not far ahead of them Aine could see a warrior standing in front of a pile of something that was lying in the middle of the pass. She caught the scent of fresh blood and centered herself so that she would be calm and able to think clearly in the whirlwind of emotion and activity that accompanied injuries as surely as blood and death accompanied them. The warrior turned to her and Aine looked beyond him to see— “Maev!” She gasped and dropped to her knees beside the centaur Huntress, instantly assessing the gaping slash wounds that appeared to cover her body. Her friend was unconscious. Her breath was shallow and her skin, that which was not covered with blood, was so pale it appeared colorless. “We found her like this. She was hunting wild boar today. One of the beasts must have attacked her,” said the Warrior, pointing at the centaur’s terrible wounds. Aine glanced up at him. “She’s been unconscious the whole time?” “Yes.” “She needs to be moved to the infirmary.” Aine snapped the order, the steadiness of her voice completely belying the tumult within her. “Get a stretcher and more men.” Aine was vaguely aware that Edan nodded and rushed off. All of her attention was focused on her fallen friend as she pulled linen strips from her basket. She had to stop the bleeding. But there were so many wounds…so much blood lost. Aine was leaning over the centaur’s torso, pressing a linen cloth to the ripped flesh of her neck and trying to staunch the flood of her friend’s lifeblood when Maev, eyes still closed, lips barely moving, whispered “Send him away.”

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Aine drew in a shocked breath, but before she could respond further, Maev’s strained whisper continued. “Do not betray me.” Used to relying on her instincts, especially during emergencies, Aine made her decision quickly. She turned to the warrior. She didn’t know his name, but she recognized his heavily lined face as one of the senior guards. “I’m going to have to close some of her wounds before we move her. I’ll need everything in my large black surgical box in the infirmary.” When the warrior didn’t move, Aine lifted her chin and said, “Now.” Expressionless, the warrior hesitated for only a moment more before he turned and sprinted down the path towards the castle. Maev’s eyes opened instantly. “Must listen to me.” The Huntress was growing weaker by the moment. She struggled to speak as the breath gurgled wetly in her throat. Aine wanted to sooth her friend—to tell her to save her strength, but she’d already seen the end written in the color of Maev’s skin and the copious amount of blood she’d lost. Even a centaur Huntress couldn’t survive such terrible wounds. “What is it Maev?” The centaur’s eyes widened and she coughed, raining scarlet down her chest. “It—it’s come here. The darkness…the claws and teeth in the darkness.” “Maev, I don’t understand.” The Huntress gripped Aine’s wrist. “Don’t let my pyre be built here, or inside the walls of that tainted castle. Send me to Epona from the forest of Partholon.” “You’re not going to die,” Aine lied. “Rest now.” “Promise me!” “Yes, of course, I promise.” She soothed. “What did this to you, Maev?” “The warriors know! They know.” “About what?” “Fomorians.” Maev spoke the name and then, as if the dreaded word had taken her soul with it, her eyes went wide and blank, and the Huntress died.

Chapter Three “You said a boar did this?” Numbly, Aine watched the warriors put Maev’s body on the stretcher and carry her back to the castle. Edan nodded. “Urien found the tracks of the beast not far down the pass. He said there were signs of a great battle between it and the Huntress.” Deep in thought, Aine followed the warriors and their bloody burden. Guardian Castle’s Lord and Chieftain of Clan Monro met them at the rear gate. “It is the Huntress,” he sighed wearily and shook his head. “She was too young and inexperienced to tangle with a wounded boar.”

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“Those gashes don’t look like any boar goring I’ve ever seen,” Aine heard herself saying. The Monro’s sharp eyes locked on her. “Aine, is it? Our new Healer?” She nodded. “Yes, my Lord.” Aine had been presented to the Chieftain when she’d arrived, but their paths had rarely crossed since. Actually, this was the first opportunity she’d had to study the Monro closely and she was surprised by how gaunt and unhealthy he appeared. A wasting sickness…The thought had her pitying him. Until he spoke again. “How many boar wounds have you tended?” His words were thick with sarcasm. “You couldn’t save the centaur, could you?” “No,” she said softly. “I couldn’t.” “It appears you’re as young and inexperienced as she was. See that you come to a better end. Perhaps you should begin by leaving the details of hunting and such to those who are older and wiser.” He turned his back on her and spoke to the warriors. “Send a runner to notify her herd, and then build a pyre near the burial mounds within the east wall. We will fire it on the morrow.” Aine drew a deep, fortifying breath and stepped in front of the Chieftain. “That’s not what she wanted.” The Monro raised his brows at her. “Indeed?” “Yes, my Lord, Maev asked that her pyre be built out there.” Aine pointed towards the distant forest that spread south of the castle and marked the beginning of Partholon. The Chieftain snorted. “Partholon is also within the walls of this castle.” “She was a Huntress. She deserves to be sent to Epona from the forest.” The Monro shrugged. “It matters naught to me, but if it means so much to you, Healer, then you see to it. I’ll not interfere.” *** It took the entire next day for Aine to prepare Maev’s pyre. The Monro had been true to his word. He hadn’t interfered with her. He also hadn’t ordered any of the warriors to help her. At least Edan had aided her in loading and then unloading the cart with boughs for the fire. He’d also gathered enough warriors to carry Maev’s body to the bier. They hadn’t liked that she’d picked a spot in the middle of a clearing that was quite a ways from the castle. Aine hadn’t cared. She’d known Maev would have wanted to be far enough away so that the gloomy walls wouldn’t be visible above the pines. It was almost dusk when everything was ready. Aine faced the south—the direction of Partholon and the Centaur Plains beyond. She was nervous. A Shaman should be doing this, but there was no Shaman living at Guardian Castle and the taciturn warriors who stood restlessly beside her certainly weren’t going to evoke the Goddess’s blessing. “Epona, centaur Huntress Maev of the Hagan Herd, was my friend. We laughed together a lot, even when things felt really grim. She died too soon and I’ll miss her. I ask that you welcome her to your verdant meadows so that her spirit will gallop free by your side for eternity.” She touched the torch to the pyre. With a whoosh the oil-soaked boughs caught fire. Well done, daughter.

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Aine jumped and gasped when the Goddess’s sweet voice drifted through her mind. And now prepare yourself, my child. I have need of you.

Chapter Four “Aine, won’t you return with us?” Edan asked, hanging back when the other warriors headed back to the castle almost immediately. “N-no,” she stuttered, running a shaky hand over her forehead. Had she really heard Epona’s voice? “I’m going to stay with Maev for a little while.” “It’s not safe in the forest after dark, so you don’t have much time. I’ll leave the horse and cart for you,” he said. Aine nodded absently, paying little attention when he left. All of her concentration was focused internally. “Epona?” she whispered, feeling foolish. Listen, daughter. One who needs you is near. Aine’s body trembled with excitement. The Goddess was speaking to her! Holding her breath, she listened. A low, painful moan seemed to drift on the cool night air, mixing with the scent of death and smoke and pine. Aine turned into the breeze and followed her Goddess’s urging. The panting sounds of pain weren’t hard to track. Aine was amazed that she and the warriors hadn’t heard them earlier. She’d walked only a few feet into the surrounding pines when she came to the gully. What she saw at the bottom of the trench in the earth had her freezing with shock and disbelief. The winged creature lay crumpled on the ground, its leg caught gruesomely in an iron trap so large it must have been set for the vicious brown bears that liked to lurk close to the castle. It is your choice, daughter, whether you aid him or not. “But he’s a Fomorian!” Aine said. Epona didn’t respond, and Aine could feel that the Goddess’s presence had left her. At the sound of her voice the creature’s head snapped up. With eyes glassy with shock and pain he stared at her. “Are you a goddess or a spirit?” His voice was a surprise. It was deep and beautiful, almost musical in quality. And he sounded frightened. “I’m neither,” she replied. Then she pressed her lips together, thinking that it was madness that she was speaking to him, to it, instead of running screaming for the warriors. “You look like a goddess,” he said. Then he smiled and even as Aine cringed back from his fangs that glistened in the dying light, she felt drawn to the unexpected gentleness in his eyes that so perfectly matched his expressive voice. “You’re a Fomorian,” Aine said, as if to remind herself. “And you’re a goddess.”

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“Fomorians are demons!” she blurted. “What could you know about goddesses?” “Some of us know of Epona. Some of us…” he trailed off, sucking in his breath as a spasm of pain shot through him. Responding automatically to his pain, Aine was halfway down the gully before she realized she’d moved. The Fomorian had closed his eyes to ride out the wave of agony. His forehead was pressed to the ground and he was breathing in shallow, panting gasps. Just like any man in terrible pain, she thought. Then his wings, which had been tucked along his back rustled in restless agitation and she stumbled to a halt mere feet from him, eyes riveted on those dark pinions. They weren’t made of feathers, but seemed to be a soft membrane, lighter on bottom than top. They were huge, and they proved what he was—what he must be. A demon. This was what killed Maev! The knowledge rushed through her mind and she stumbled back. “My name is Tegan.” At the sound of his voice she stopped. His eyes were open again, and even though his face was shadowed by pain he tried to smile at her once more. “What is your name, goddess?” “Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “I meant no disrespect. I only—” “You killed Maev!” she interrupted.

Chapter Five “I have killed no one” he insisted. Making an involuntary beseeching gesture, his arm lifted and Aine saw the short sword sheathed at his waist. “I don’t believe you. How could I? You’re a Fomorian. A demon. My enemy.” Aine’s stomach knotted as she looked frantically around. “Where are the rest of your people?” “It’s only me. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have sneaked through, but I wanted to see it.” “It?” “Partholon,” Tegan spoke the word like a prayer. “But there are more of you?” “Of course. In the Wastelands.” Aine started backing away again. “I have to warn the Guardian Warriors. Your people have to be stopped.” “But it’s only me who is here,” he said. “No… you killed Maev.” Then the Huntress’s words lifted from her memory. The warriors know! They all know. What was happening? How could the Guardian Warriors know about the Fomorians? Then all of Partholon should know. Maev was dying. She’d been almost incoherent. Or things had been happening so

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quickly maybe Aine had misunderstood. Shaking her head she spoke more to herself than the fallen demon, “It doesn’t matter. I have to tell them.” “Please don’t leave me.” Even though she was well beyond his touch, he reached out for her and then moaned, crumpling to the ground again. It is your choice, daughter, whether you aid him or not. As if battling against Maev’s warning, Epona’s voice filled her mind. The Goddess had led her to this creature. Surely she had brought her to him so that Aine would return to the castle and tell the men. But then why had Epona said that there was one near who needed her? When she’d followed the moans Aine had had no doubt that she was supposed to help whoever had been injured. All right. Couldn’t she do both? She could dress his wounds and then go to the castle and warn them that Fomorians were near. Aine glanced down at Tegan’s trapped leg. He might be injured so badly that he’d still be here when she brought the warriors back. Was there rope in the cart? Perhaps she could tie him up. She drew a deep breath and looked from his wound to his eyes. “How do I know you won’t try to kill me if I help you?” “I’m not a killer,” was his instant response. “You’re a demon,” she said. He frowned. “Is it because I have wings that you keep calling me that?” “It’s because your people betrayed the good faith of my people and tried to slaughter them that I call you that.” “How long ago?” he asked quietly. “What?” “How long ago was the war between our people?” Aine moved her shoulders restlessly. “It’s talked about in our legends. The bards sing songs about how demonic and hideous your people are.” She closed her mouth, then all too aware that even though the winged man trapped so painfully on the ground in front of her might be a demon, he definitely wasn’t hideous. “Three hundred and twenty-five full passes of all four seasons have gone by since my people fought yours,” he said. Tegan paused to grimace in pain. After several short, panting breaths he continued. “So it is for something that happened between people long dead that you hate me.” “I don’t hate you,” Aine said automatically. “Then help me. Please, goddess,” he said.

Chapter Six “Stop calling me a goddess,” Aine said, beginning to walk slowly towards him. “I don’t know what else to call you,” Tegan said. “Aine. I’m a Healer,” she said briskly, kneeling beside his bloody leg.

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His sudden laugh surprised her. What especially surprised her was that the infectious sound of it caught her attention more than a second glimpse of his fangs. “A Healer! And I believed all luck had deserted me.” She frowned at him, thinking that luck was certainly a relative thing, and then fell into her normal pattern of distracting her patient through conversation. “How did this happen?” “I was foolish.” He paused sucking in his breath as she began her examination. Through gritted teeth he continued. “I know better than to step into a gully filled with leaves. My attention was elsewhere and I made a mistake.” “Your attention was on what?” Aine was intrigued by Tegan’s physiology. His leg appeared human, but it ended in a taloned foot that reminded her of the old stories she’d read about Partholon’s long extinct dragons. “My attention was on this.” Tegan gestured weakly at the pine forest surrounding them. “It’s so green and alive. Everything here is so much more beautiful than the Wastelands.” His eyes met hers. “Everything…” Clearing her throat, she broke eye contact with him and continued her assessment. The trap had closed just above his left ankle. There was a lot of blood on it and in the leaves, but the bleeding appeared to have stopped. The odd-looking foot was already swelling, though, and his skin… she glanced up his body. His skin was paler than a human man’s, but it seemed to glow faintly, as if it had been lit from within by a mooncolored light. His body was very man-like. He was tall and muscular and well-formed. His hair was so silver blonde that it reminded her of the moon, too. His eyes were slightly slanted and an unusual light amber color. He was, she realized, exotic and odd-looking, but not an unattractive man. Aine shook herself mentally. Men didn’t have down-lined wings that tucked against their bodies. “I need to open this trap, but I’m worried about the bleeding that might happen once your leg is free.” He nodded. “I understand.” “I need something to…” she paused, considering. “The leather tie that holds your hair. I need it.” Tegan started to reach back, but the movement made him stiffen with pain. “I’ll get it.” Businesslike, Aine moved to his head. Forcing herself not to hesitate, she untied the thong. His silver hair was long and felt like silk against her fingers. She could see that his ears were surprisingly small for such a large being, and slightly pointed, as if the fairy people had touched him there. By the Goddess! Fairy people? This creature is a demon, not a harmless sprite. She moved back to his leg, glancing up but not meeting his eyes. “I’m going to tie a tourniquet above the wound, but hopefully you haven’t severed a major blood vessel.” “It can’t hurt much more than it does now.” Tegan tried to smile again, but only succeeded in a small grimace. “You’re wrong about that,” Aine said grimly, tying the tourniquet in place. Then she did meet his gaze. “Ready?” He dug his fingers into the ground and Aine thought she caught the flash of more talons. Then he nodded. “Ready.”

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Aine positioned her hands on the trap, drew a deep breath, and forced apart its fang-like jaws. Tegan screamed, but she hardly heard him. As if a dam had broken, his leg was spurting the scarlet of a severed artery. She grabbed a small piece of wood, twisting it into the tourniquet to attempt to slow the flow, but it made little difference. “It must be cauterized. That’s the only way,” Aine murmured to herself, wishing frantically that she was in her well-stocked surgery with a variety of metal irons already heated and awaiting her use. Her gaze lifted unerringly to the short sword sheathed at his waist. Aine ignored his wing, which fluttered weakly as she leaned over him and pulled the sword free. “I’ll be right back.” Tegan nodded, although he didn’t speak or open his eyes. Aine ran back to the hotly burning pyre. Shielding herself against the blaze with the edge of her cloak, she thrust the sword into the fire and then stepped back. “Hurry… hurry…” she whispered, as if the flames could hear her.

Chapter Seven Aine wrapped a piece of her cloak around the hilt of the glowing sword and pulled it free from the flaming pyre. Then she sprinted into the woods. Thankfully, Tegan wasn’t far away. It was almost fully dark and Aine would have hated to have to search for him in the thickness of the forest. Goddess, there was so much blood! Tegan was lying perfectly still in a growing pool of scarlet. She called his name, but he made no response. She dropped to her knees beside him and felt quickly with her fingers. He didn’t respond to her touch. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the hot blade of the sword flat against the severed blood vessel. Tegan’s body jerked in automatic response, although he didn’t regain consciousness. The smell of burnt flesh was nauseating, but when she pulled the sword away the fountain of blood had dried and blackened. Aine looked up at Tegan’s face. He was so still. She might have been too late. It took so little time to lose a life-threatening amount of blood when a major vessel was severed. Then shock set it. Often that killed as easily as blood loss. Shivering, Aine took off her cloak and covered him with it. Tegan was wearing a worn linen shirt and patched leather breeches—no coat or cloak. Did Fomorians feel the cold as humans do? She knew so little about them. Aine bent to rest her fingers against the side of his throat, feeling for the pulse that should throb there. She had to press hard before she found a slight flutter. He might be dying, and there was little more she could do to help him. Perhaps I shouldn’t have helped him at all. Epona had led her to him and given her a choice, and then the goddess had left. Had this all been a test, and had Aine’s choice made her fail it? Aine was pulling her hand from Tegan’s neck when his eyes opened. They glowed a terrible golden color. With a movement so fast that it blurred, he grabbed Aine’s wrist. She tried to twist away from him, but his other hand shot out and a vise-like grip closed behind her neck. “Stop! Let me go!” Aine choked and struggled against him, but he was amazingly strong. “Impossssible…” His deep, musical voice made the word a seductive hiss as he pulled her down to him. His lips touched the place where her neck sloped into shoulder before his teeth claimed her, and she shivered, only this time not

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from cold. His touch was a delicious poison, seeping cloyingly into her body. Then his teeth broke open her skin and she moaned. There was no pain. Only dark pleasure coursed into her body as Tegan sucked the blood from her. His lips and tongue teased her skin as his hands gentled on her, caressing where they had been bruising. “No…oh Goddess no…” Aine whispered, even as her own arms wrapped tightly around his broad shoulder and she pressed herself more firmly against his hard body. As Aine’s vision began to gray, Tegan shifted, so that he was on top of her. Her last sight was of his massive wings rippling and then spreading erect over them as if he was a mighty bird of prey.

Chapter Eight Tegan came back to himself locked to Aine’s body, drinking her lifeblood. “No!” he cried, releasing her instantly and scrambling back. The pain in his leg jolted through him, but he gave it little notice. How much had he taken from her? In control again, he dragged himself to her, touching her face and neck, calling her name. “Aine! Aine you must awaken.” But he knew she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. He’d almost drained her. Already the healthy flush had faded from her cheeks. He could feel her heartbeat getting weaker by the moment. “You can’t die. I can’t bear it if I killed you.” Later he told himself he’d had no choice. That wasn’t the entire truth. Yes, what he did next he’d had to do to save her. But he’d only had to save her because he hadn’t sent her away or warned her about him. He’d foolishly thought he could control the urge to taste her. Instead, he had been wounded too deeply and the instinct to take that which would heal him had been too great. Tegan had known it, even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself. Or to her. Tegan searched around in the leaves until he found his short sword. Then he ripped his shirt and with one quick slash, opened the skin over his left breast. Gently, he lifted Aine’s unresisting body and pressed her slack lips to the bleeding cut. “Drink, Aine. Save yourself.” At first blood trickled from her mouth, but as some of it washed down her throat, Aine swallowed. The change within her was instantaneous. Her eyes remained closed, but her arms lifted, encircling his torso so that she could press her lips more firmly against him. Tegan groaned in pleasure as her arms brushed the sensitive underside of his pulsing wings, and her tongue flicked across his skin. He’d known that the exchange of blood was an intensely erotic experience, something shared only by a mated couple because of the side effects of such intimacy, but he had no mate, nor had he ever expected to. As Aine drank from him, Tegan thought how inaccurate the dispassionate descriptions the elders had given for bloodlust had been. Then Aine’s eyes opened. With a terrible cry she lurched away from him. She was scrubbing the sleeve of her dress back and forth across her mouth, her eyes wide with disgust and horror. “Aine, wait. Let me explain.” He spoke softly, as if she was a frightened fawn. “There’s nothing to explain.” She got shakily to her feet. He made no move to stop her as she grabbed the sword from where he’d dropped it, holding it defensively in front of her, and backing away from him. “I tried to help you. You tried to kill me. That’s obvious.”

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“I’m sorry. I thought I could control myself, but I was dying.” “So you tried to kill me to save yourself?” “It’s true that I needed your blood to save myself, but I would never have killed you.” He passed a hand over his face. “That’s why you had to drink from me. You saved me, little Healer, and in return I restored you.” “Restored me? You used me!” Aine whirled around and started to run up the side of the gully. “Don’t go, Aine—” Tegan tried to stand, but his leg gave way and he crumpled to the ground. At the same instant Aine cried out and fell to the ground, too. Deathly pale, she stared wide-eyed at him. “I feel your pain. What have you done to me?”

Chapter Nine “We’ve shared blood,” Tegan said. “I know that, and while it’s disgusting it doesn’t make this understandable.” Aine pointed to her ankle where the pain that had spiked through it was fading, but still entirely too real to have been a hysterical hallucination. Tegan looked away from her, sighed, and then reluctantly met her gaze. “The sharing of blood is part of how my people mate. It binds us together.” “That is not possible.” “Listen with your heart and you will know the truth.” “Listen with my heart? That’s ridiculous.” But even as she spoke Tegan’s eyes seemed to trap her. Aine felt pulled within their amber depths. Before she realized what she was doing, she’d taken a couple steps towards him. She came to herself suddenly and stopped so abruptly it was as if she’d slammed into a glass wall. “This can’t happen.” Tegan cocked his head to the side, and gave her a sad, slight smile. “Do you find me so repulsive?” He hurried on. “I thought you a goddess when I first saw you.” “You’re a demon. If there’s a bond between us it’s an evil spell you’ve placed on me.” Tegan sighed, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m too tired to place a spell on you. Evil or otherwise.” Her eyes narrowed. “So you admit you worship a dark god.” Aine thought she saw something flicker in his amber eyes. “I do not worship darkness.” “Why should I believe you? You did just try to kill me.” “I did not try to kill you. I’m sorry I drank from you uninvited, but my intention wasn’t to harm you—it was to save myself.” “At any cost.”

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“No. Not at the cost of your life. I stopped before I…” he trailed off, unwilling to continue. “Before you killed me. And then you did this to me!” “I’m sorry,” he said somberly. “But what I did can’t be undone.” “What! You mean I’ll always feel your pain?” He didn’t speak for a moment, and when he finally did that rich, musical tone was back in his deep voice. “It isn’t only my pain you can feel, Aine.” His voice…his eyes…they drew her. Aine took another step forward. And then another. “This bond we’ve forged,” he said. “It’s not so terrible. It’s how my people mate—how they love.” The attraction Aine felt for him was raw and strong. Even lying there, wounded and battered, she could see the powerful male creature he was and be drawn to the mystery of him. It’s because I drank his blood! Aine took a step back, shutting her mind to the fact that even before he’d forced her to drink from him she’d been intrigued enough by Tegan that she’d chosen to help him. “I’ve done all I can for you. Leave. Return to wherever you came from. Just hurry because as soon as I get back to the castle I’m going to send them after you.” Aine closed her mind and her heart. Resolutely, she turned her back on him and began to retrace the short path to Maev’s pyre. She’d taken up the reins of the cart and had pointed the horse’s head down the road to the castle when the first of the pains speared down her leg. Aine gritted her teeth and clucked the horse into a sluggish trot. The next pain made her gasp. He’d fallen. She could feel it. He was trying to walk and he couldn’t. Not by himself. “You shouldn’t care.” Aine told herself. But care or not, she was a Healer, and the suffering of others affected her—it always had. “Epona!” She called into the night. “Help me. What should I do? Did you lead me to him so that Partholon could be warned or so that he could be saved?” The silence of the night was her only answer. Aine closed her eyes. She did her best to shut out the phantom pain from Tegan. I need to follow my instinct. So what did her instinct tell her to do? The answer came at once with all subtly of a rampaging wild boar. Her heart, her soul, her body, all were screaming at her to return to Tegan. It was only her mind that called her a silly, stupid girl as she turned the cart around and urged the horse to take her back to him.

Chapter Ten Tegan wasn’t difficult to find. He stumbled into the clearing where Maev’s pyre still smoldered when Aine pulled the carthorse, who was suddenly acting uncharacteristically skittish, to a halt. He collapsed to the grass, not bothering to look up at her.

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“Were you trying to follow me?” Aine climbed from the cart and approached him warily, wishing the piercing pain in her leg would stop. He drew several gasping breaths before he answered her. “Not following you. Just trying to get back.” He did glance up then, motioning vaguely in the direction of the castle. “By the Goddess! To Guardian Castle?” His brow wrinkled and he gave her a look that clearly said he thought she might be soft in the head. “Of course not. My cave is in the Trier Mountains. I’ve stayed clear of the castle.” Then his gaze focused on the pyre and understanding widened his expressive eyes. “This is Maev. The woman you thought I killed.” “She was a centaur Huntress,” speaking slowly, Aine corrected him. Then the truth hit her. Tegan hadn’t killed Maev. She felt it just as surely as she felt the pain in his leg. “I didn’t kill her,” he said. “I know.” She made her decision quickly. “Get in the cart. I’ll take you back to your cave.” “And then you’ll bring warriors there to kill me?” “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do about you,” she said truthfully. “If I touch you—help you into the cart—will you bite me?” The slight, sad smile touched his lips again. “Do you want me to?” “No.” Aine said firmly, rubbing at the bruised spot on her neck. “You are safe from me, little Healer. I lost control before only because I was on the brink of death. Your blood strengthened me. I am in no danger of dying, so you are in no danger of me drinking from you.” He paused before adding, “Unless you wish it.” “Then I’ll be safe from you forever,” she said under her breath as she went to him and offered him her hand. Moving slowly, Tegan let her help him to his feet. She sucked in her breath when he stood beside her. Goddess, he was tall! He loomed over her blotting out the darkening sky. His wings were at rest, tucked neatly against his back, but he still looked like a wild, masculine bird of prey. “You’re so small,” he said suddenly. “I’m afraid I’ll crush you if I lean on you. Maybe you should find me a branch I could use as a crutch. Or bring the cart closer and I’ll hobble to it.” They stood there staring nervously at each other while he balanced precariously on one foot. Finally, she had to stifle the urge to laugh—albeit a bit hysterically. Could he be as scared of her as she was of him? “I’m stronger than I look,” she said. Aine moved to his injured side and put her arm around his waist. His arm went instantly over her shoulders. She led him to the cart, careful not to go too fast. His body was warm and strong, and she could feel his wings behind her like a living mantle. She hadn’t noticed his scent before, but it came to her now. He smelled of the forest and sweat and man. He also smelled vaguely of blood—his and hers. Aine was disconcerted to realize that the she found the scent alluring. “I can only take you part of the way in this.” They’d managed to get him into the flat bed of the cart and she had started the horse down the castle road. “I’ll have to stop before the walls are in sight or the warriors might see us.”

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“So you’ve decided not to betray me?” Aine looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m betraying Partholon by keeping you a secret.” “No you’re not. I mean no harm to Partholon. I’m not dangerous to your people.” “Just rest while you can. You’ll need your strength to get yourself back to that cave.” Tegan closed his eyes and cradled his head in his arms. He hated lying to her.

Chapter Eleven “I can’t take you any farther. The castle is too close.” Aine pulled the carthorse to a halt. “I understand. If you can find a branch I can lean on I will be able to make it from here on my own,” Tegan said. Aine gave him a doubtful look, but hurried to the side of the dirt road, searching under the ancient pines until she found a sturdy branch. When she returned to him, Tegan was already standing beside the cart. She handed him the branch and readied herself for the pain they would share. “You can lessen it.” Meeting her questioning gaze he continued. “The pain—you don’t have to feel it with such intensity. Close yourself to it, much like you would close yourself to an annoying sound.” He paused, thinking, then his lips tilted up. “Like a screeching blue jay. Ignore it. Tell yourself it’s not there, and soon it will fade from your consciousness. Also, it won’t be so strong when we aren’t together. Our nearness intensifies the bond.” Aine grinned at him. “Yes, I’ll think of you as an annoying bird.” “Not me. The pain in my leg.” He touched her cheek. “You should smile more.” She should have pulled away from him, but his hand was warm and it felt so right against her skin. Her body liked his nearness and she found it difficult not to lean into him. “Thank you for saving my life,” Tegan said. “You’re welcome,” she managed. “I shouldn’t ask anything more of you, but I must. Give me a chance to prove that I mean you no harm. Let me earn your trust.” “I don’t know how you could do that.” He framed her face with both of his hands. “You know I didn’t kill your centaur friend, don’t you?” “Yes.” “I can earn your trust in the same way. Our bond will strengthen and you will be able to tell beyond any doubt if I lie or if I tell the truth in all things.” “I don’t—” Aine began but his thumb pressing gently against her lips stopped her words.

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“I am alone in Partholon. No other Fomorians are with me. Listen with your heart. Do you believe me?” Aine stared up into his eyes. It was full dark by then, but Tegan seemed to be illuminated with a light of his own. She could see into him and she knew that he wasn’t lying to her. He was truly alone in Partholon. “I believe you.” He let loose his breath in a rush of relief. Impulsively, he pulled her into his arms. “Thank you, my little healer.” Just for a moment Aine let him hold her. It felt good to be in his arms—too good. Clearing her throat, she began disentangling herself from him. He let her go, but only to an arm’s length. “Say you will come to me tomorrow.” “I don’t know if I can.” “You must. My leg will need your care. I have no herbs or potions for healing in my cave.” Aine frowned, looking down at his offending leg. It was torn, swollen, and blackened from the cauterization. It was a miracle that he was standing at all. A man would have been completely disabled by such an injury. Clearly, Tegan was stronger than a man, but would he be able to recover if it festered? Or would he suffer and die slowly, with Aine feeling every bit of it? “How do I find you?” His smile was so joyous that Aine hardly noticed the sharpness of his fangs. “I could find you anywhere, but it would be easiest for me if you would walk to the west, as near the mountains as you can and think of me.” “On the Wastelands side or the Partholon side of the mountains?” Tegan’s expression sobered. “Never on the Wastelands side. It’s too dangerous. The weather changes instantly. Instead of sweet deer and fat sheep there are wild boar and mountain lynx.” Aine felt a shiver of foreboding at his warning. She sensed that there were things he wasn’t telling her. It was on the Wastelands side of the pass that Maev had been killed… “You have nothing to fear from me. I will never drink from you against your will again, and I will protect you against anything,” he said. She wanted to question him further, but his head snapped up. He scented the air. “Men from the castle approach!”

Chapter Twelve “Go! Now!” Aine pulled away from him and climbed up on the cart seat. “I’ll meet the warriors and keep them away from here.” “Tomorrow, Aine. Come to me tomorrow!” Tegan called after her. Aine didn’t take even a moment to look back or respond. She urged the horse into a brisk trot, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and Tegan before the warriors found her.

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Edan was the first of the warriors to reach her. He galloped up to the cart, looking irritated and sounding worried. She noticed the other four men just seemed bored and annoyed. “Aine, why have you not returned to the castle?” She blinked several times, putting on innocent surprise. “But I am returning to the castle.” “It has been hours, and it is fully dark,” he said, now sounding more irritated than worried. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to leave Maev.” “Maev is dead. Nothing more can happen to her, unlike you,” Edan said severely. “I’m sorry,” Aine repeated sheepishly. One of the warriors who she didn’t know made a scoffing sound and told Edan, “You see? The Monro said she didn’t need a watchdog.” For the rest of the way to the castle none of them spoke and Aine focused on thinking of the pain in her leg as an annoying bird—her not thinking of it. Even though she didn’t consider Guardian Castle her home, Aine felt a very real sense of relief when the cart passed under the iron front gates and entered the square courtyard. It was almost not dreary with all the torches lit and the scent of food coming from the Great Hall. “Developing a liking for the forest, Healer?” The Monro stepped out of the shadows. Reeking of strong spirits, he blocked her way back to her chamber adjoining the infirmary. Caught off guard, she wasn’t sure what to say to him. Then her promise to meet Tegan the next day jolted through her. “Yes. I, uh, I’m homesick and the forest reminds me of the Temple of the Muse. The pine trees are the same,” she finished inanely. “A word of warning—this isn’t the neutered forest that surrounds the Temple of the Muse. Ask Maev.” The Chieftain’s words were slightly slurred and his smile was cruel. “I’m mistaken. You can’t ask her. She’s dead.” Chuckling to himself, he walked away. *** Tegan collapsed on the floor of his cave. He needed rest. He needed blood. He needed Aine. He closed his eyes, concentrating on slowing his breathing and controlling the pain in his leg. She could feel it, and he didn’t want to cause her any more pain than he’d have to. He hadn’t planned on meeting Aine—he hadn’t planned on meeting any Partholonians. He’d only wanted to escape what was coming and live out his life in peace. The loneliness of it had been inconsequential. The alternative was so much worse. Until Aine—she had changed everything. He must warn her—ready her. But how? She didn’t trust him. If he told her the truth now, she would turn from him. And he couldn’t bear that—not after being bonded to her.

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He shook his head, amazed anew at what had happened between them. Tegan had given up the idea of ever mating years ago. Aine was a miracle—his miracle, and he wouldn’t lose her. Their blood bond drew her to him, but Tegan knew that were it not for that exchange of blood she would have run from him, probably betrayed him to her people. So he must win her trust. Perhaps her love would come later. He would have to act quickly. That time was running out was one thing of which Tegan was certain.

Chapter Thirteen With Epona’s urn clutched in her arms, Aine walked through the front gate. “Healer, where are you off to?” Aine sighed at the sound of Edan’s all too familiar voice. Carefully, she covered the open top of the urn with an edge of her cloak. Her face a mask of polite neutrality, she turned to look up at where the warrior called down at her from the gate watch station. “I’m going to Maev’s pyre to collect some of her ashes. Her Herdsmaster will most likely send for them, and it would be respectful to keep them ready for him.” “You’re probably right.” He glanced up at the morning sky. “At least you have plenty of time until dusk. Be sure you’re back by then. I’m hunting in Maev’s place today. I won’t have time to come fetch you.” Edan smiled, showing that he was no longer annoyed with her. Aine nodded, smiled, and called “Happy hunting” to him before turning away. Edan’s newfound attention was ill-timed. Until he’d taken notice of her no one, outside the few minor injuries and illnesses she’d dealt with, had had much to do with Aine. The men ignored her; the women made no friendly overtures towards her. Actually, the women were particularly odd. Instead of loosening up and accepting her, they seemed to do the opposite. The longer she’d been there, the less she’d seen of the women. That was yet another reason why she and Maev had become such good friends so quickly. Maev…she felt terribly guilty about using her as an excuse. I will collect her ashes she promised herself as she stepped off the road and entered the forest. Circling around until she was out of sight of the castle, Aine left the forest and headed to the edge of the austere Trier Mountains. Aine thought of Tegan. It was easy to think of him. She’d done little else since leaving him. She should have been terrified of Tegan, or at least disgusted by him. Aine was neither. Of course it was because of the blood they’d exchanged that she felt like this. Aine’s stomach fluttered as she remembered his lips and teeth against her skin and the erotic pull of him drinking from her. Her mind insisted she was only going to him to treat his wounds. Her body had a different agenda. The pain in her leg had just become impossible to ignore when he spoke. “Aine! Over here my little Healer.” Tegan’s voice led her into the rocky recesses formed at the base of the mountain range. He appeared before her like something out of a dark dream—mysterious and tantalizing. He held out a hand, beckoning her deeper into the shadows. Aine hesitated, struggling to sort through the wash of emotions that seeing him again filled her with. “I can not come out there to you. Direct sunlight is harmful to my people, and in my weakened state it would cause me much pain.” His lips tilted up in that alluring half smile she remembered so well. “It would cause us much pain, and I would rather spare you that.”

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She joined him in the shadows. They stared at each other. Aine was more than a little shaken by how badly she wanted to touch him. “Have you lost the ability to speak?” he asked softly. “No! I—I see that your leg is better,” she blurted, even though her eyes had not left his face. “I brought medicines.” Aine nervously held up the urn. Tegan didn’t even glance at it. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.” “I had to.” “To heal me?” “Yes.” And to touch you and be with you and see you smile again. “Come, my cave is close.” Tegan led her through a crevasse that cut deeply into the slate colored mountains. He moved slowly, heavily favoring his injury. Because of the narrowness of the path she couldn’t walk beside him, but followed close behind. His wings mesmerized her. They were huge…dark. She’d never imagined anything like them. She had only brushed against them briefly last night and she wondered what it would be like to touch them on purpose—to stroke them. She almost ran into Tegan when he stopped abruptly. He looked over his shoulder at her. She felt a breathless thrill at the passion reflected in his amber eyes. “I can feel your desire. It’s making it very difficult for me not to take you in my arms.”

Chapter Fourteen Aine forgot to breathe. “Your wings are beautiful.” She watched them shiver, as if her words had been a caress. Surprised, she took an involuntary step back. “Please don’t fear me. We are bound, you and I. I would tear these wings from my body before I harmed you.” “Could you do that?” She stared at his wings. “They seem so much a part of you.” “To my people wings are the seat of our soul. Destroy my wings and you will probably destroy me.” He’d given her the gift of his vulnerability and it frightened her terribly. Not for herself, but for him. What would have happened if the bear trap had closed around one of his wings and ripped it off? It made her sick just thinking about it. “Aine, are you worried for me?” She pulled her gaze from his wings and met his eyes. “It’s just that they’re so…out there. If your wings are that important you’d think they’d be better protected.” Tegan laughed. “You’d be surprised. I’m not usually this helpless.” Still chuckling to himself, he continued down the narrow path. They hadn’t gone much farther when Tegan told her, “You’ll have to bend down to enter the cave, but it widens soon.”

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She watched him crouch and then disappear into what looked to be nothing more than an ordinary niche in the side of the mountain base. She ducked and went after him. After only a few feet the entrance spilled into a large, oblong room. There was a round opening in the ceiling, but it only let in a weak, indirect light. Mostly it served as an escape for the smoke from the well-banked fire that gave soft light and ample heat. She heard falling water and saw that the rear wall was wet with a steady waterfall which ran out through a crack in the rock floor. Along another wall were strips of smoked meat interspersed with drying herbs. The cave smelled pleasantly of pine smoke and spice. “How long have you been here?” she asked as she began to unload the urn. Tegan was gingerly lowering himself onto a pallet of furs. “Two full passes of the seasons.” She blinked in surprise. “And no one knows?” “Only you. I rarely go out into the Partholon forest, and was only there yesterday because winter is coming and the hunting there is better than the Wastelands side of the mountains.” Aine began examining his leg. “So there are really no other Fomorians here with you.” “You said you believed me yesterday.” “I did. I do. It’s just that this is all so incredible.” He sucked in a sharp breath as she poured a cleansing solution over his wound. Aine grimaced, but didn’t pause until the leg was clean and dressed. Then she sat back, breathing as heavily as Tegan. She studied him with Healer’s eyes. His wound was better today, but he looked worse. There were bruised shadows under his eyes and his skin had lost much of the luster it had the previous day. “I’ll be better now that you are here.” She frowned at him. “Stop reading my mind.” “I’m reading your face, not your mind.” Tegan smiled. “Sit beside me and tell me about yourself.” Aine sat, noticing that the tip of his wing was almost touching her knee. “I’m a Healer,” she said, trying to keep her attention from his wing. “I grew up at Laragon Keep. The women in my family have been Healers for generations.” “A legacy of kindness and strength.” Tegan covered her hand with his as if was a completely natural thing to do. “I have been given such an amazing gift in you.” Aine was going to pull her hand away, but then she felt it. His pulse against her skin. And in that pulse she also felt the beat of his need for her. “You want to drink from me again.” Aine’s voice trembled. “I do. I will always want you.” “Your need is especially intense now because of your injury.” She concentrated on him, staring into his eyes. “It would help you heal, wouldn’t it?” “Your blood has the power to heal me, body and soul.” She did pull her hand from him then, rubbing at the spot that was still warm from his touch.

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“Aine, I gave you my word I would not drink from you against your will.” “What if it isn’t against my will?”

Chapter Fifteen “I want you to drink from me and be healed. Then I want you to return to your people,” Aine said. “You want…” Tegan began, trying to reason through the haze of desire her words had caused to pulse through his body. Then all of what she’d said broke past his need. “No. I won’t leave you.” “You have to. It’s only a matter of time before the Guardian Warriors find you. They’ll kill you. They won’t care that you’re not a monster—a monster is all they’ll see.” He touched her cheek. “Then I am not a monster to you?” “How can you be? You’re in my blood. I feel what you feel. I’d know if you were a demon, and you’re not.” Aine pulled a small knife from within the urn. Without looking at Tegan she drew the blade down the inside of her forearm. Then she turned to the winged creature beside her, offering him her arm. “Drink.” “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.” Tegan’s voice was rough, but he cradled her bleeding arm gently in his hands. “I do. I can feel it, too.” With a moan of ecstasy, Tegan leaned forward to touch his tongue to the narrow slash in her skin. At the first taste of her, his wings shivered. “So beautiful…” Aine breathed the words. She ran her fingers along the soft down that covered the underside of them. He gasped her name. Pressing his mouth against her arm he sucked and licked, causing pleasure to ripple through her body. She lost herself in sensation, thrilled by the power in the wings that were unfurling over her. Tegan continued to drink from her as he pulled at her clothing. Dizzy with need—both his and hers— Aine helped him, until she was naked. Tegan took his lips from her arm. Reverently, his hands glided over her body, pausing to cup the fullness of her breasts. “I’ve never known such sweet softness.” He touched his tongue to the pink tips of her nipples. As Aine moaned with pleasure he sucked the delicate buds into his mouth, gently grazing them with his teeth. “Tegan, please.” Aine’s hips lifted to rub herself against the hardness sheathed in his pants. Tegan pulled away from her so that he could look into her eyes. “I can stop now. I will if you wish it. You must know that if we do this—if we join—then we will be fully mated, and I will not, can not leave you.” Aine tried to think, but all she could do was feel. She felt his passion and need, along with the heat of her own desire. Then she realized that she could feel something more than raw lust. Aine could feel Tegan’s kindness, and along with it she sensed a soul deep sadness born of loneliness and isolation. “How long had he been alone?” “Longer than you’ve been alive.”

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“No more,” she whispered. She felt his despair before she saw it reflected in his eyes. He pulled out of her arms and turned away from her. “You don’t see me as a demon, but that does not mean it is your wish to be mated with me.” “You misunderstand.” Aine sat up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and drawing him back to her while the tips of her fingers splayed across the inside of his wings. “I meant that you will be alone no more.” Tegan kissed her with such fierce joy that it made her cry out. He released her instantly. “Did I harm you?” He smoothed her hair back, peering anxiously into her eyes. “No, love. Always remember, I’m stronger than I look.” She smiled as she worked the ties of his breeches, finally pulling the throbbing heat of him free. Aine stroked him with her hands, marveling at the thick stiffness and length of him. He moaned her name and she straddled him, slowing impaling herself. Aine closed her eyes and arched back, taking him fully within her. With a snarl, Tegan wrapped his arms around her and shifted their bodies so that he was on top of her. Aine bared her throat to him, pulling his mouth down so that he could drink from her as her hips thrust up to meet his again and again. With wings spread erect and pulsing over them, Tegan claimed Aine as his mate and spilled his seed deep within her.

Chapter Sixteen “Don’t go,” Tegan said sleepily. Aine looked up from lacing her dress. “If I don’t return the warriors will come looking for me. They may be able to track me to you.” “Then we’ll find a new place—deeper in the mountains. Just don’t go.” Aine stroked the downy underside of his wing. It quivered, causing Tegan to close his eyes and moan softly. “I will come back to you.” She kissed him. “Tomorrow?” “I’ll try. Rest and finish healing. I have a plan.” He raised a brow. “A plan?” “I’m going to tell the Lord of Guardian Castle that I’m not happy there. They’ll have to find a new Healer. It won’t surprise any of them. Maev was my only friend, and now that she’s gone there’s really nothing for me there.” “Then you will come to live with me?” Tegan rolled a dark lock of her hair around his finger. “Yes.” She was unable to keep the sadness from her voice.

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“Why does the thought of being with me sadden you?” “My family is going to have to believe I’m dead. That’s what makes me sad.” Tegan didn’t speak. There was no other way. With what was coming no one would accept their love—Aine wouldn’t even accept it if she knew. That was why he had to get her away from here—before what they had was destroyed by an evil he couldn’t stop. “Perhaps you and I will begin a new family.” She looked startled. “Can we?” He smiled and shrugged. “After the miracle of you, I believe anything is possible.” Tegan thought she looked a little dazed as Aine wrapped her cloak around her shoulders. He stood up, flexing his leg, pleased at how good it felt. “It’s much better,” she said. “Because of you.” Even when they couldn’t walk beside one another, Aine and Tegan made sure their bodies touched. She brushed his wing with her fingertips. He stopped often to pull her into his arms. By the time they came to the edge of the mountains, dusk was near. “I have to hurry.” Tegan kissed her once more, long and possessively. “Come to me tomorrow.” “I’ll try,” she assured him. He watched until he could see her no longer. *** “Healer! Where have you been?” The Monro’s gruff voice accosted Aine as she slipped quietly inside the front gates, thinking she was well hidden in the deepening shadows of dusk. “I went to—” Aine paused. She’d left the funeral urn in Tegan’s cave! Thinking quickly, Aine glanced around them. They were alone with no Edan nearby to contradict her. If she was lucky, he’d been hunting all day and hadn’t even spoken to the Chieftain. “I went to Maev’s pyre and offered more prayers for her.” “You should have been here. You’ve been needed.” “What is it?” Aine frowned. The Monro’s words weren’t slurring, but he smelled like a pub. How could the Chieftain of a Clan, and Lord of Guardian Castle be a drunk? “The warrior Edan was wounded while he was hunting. It was that same Goddess-be-damned boar.” “Edan! Is he in the infirmary?” Monro’s drunkenness forgotten, Aine began hurrying through the castle grounds.

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“No. We thought it best not to move him. His spine may be broken. You’ll have to go to him. He’s not far outside the rear gate.” “Oh, Goddess! I’ll need my surgical box and a board to brace his back.” “Those things already await you.” Aine jogged beside the Chieftain down the path that emptied into the Wastelands side of the pass, feeling a terrible sinking in her stomach. The air was thick, oppressive. This was too much like what had happened to Maev. Then she noticed that Monro was wheezing and dropping behind her. He stumbled and almost fell. Aine paused, but he brushed off her aid. “Go on.” He motioned feebly down the path. “Take the first right hand fork. Edan and the rest of them are waiting. I’ll catch up.” Aine nodded and jogged away from him. Pathetic. Before I join Tegan I’ll get a message to the Muse. Guardian Castle needs a change in leadership. When she came to the fork in the road, she sprinted to the right, finding her second wind. In the thickening darkness she almost fell over Edan. He was lying in the middle of the path—alone. He had been disemboweled and his throat had been ripped out.

Chapter Seventeen Aine sank to her knees beside Edan. She didn’t have to touch him to know he was dead. Her surgeon’s box was sitting neatly beside the body, just as the Monro had said it would be. There was no back brace, though. “He doesn’t need it,” she whispered numbly. “Ahhhhh, there you are Healer.” Aine looked up into the eyes of evil. A Fomorian stood before her. Several other creatures were behind him, carrying torches. The flickering light slicked off Edan’s blood, which covered the leader’s hands and face. He smiled and his dark wings rustled. There was blood in his fangs. “I have need of a Healer,” the Fomorian said. “Who are you?” “You may call me Nuada…or master.” His laughter was horrible. The creatures behind him echoed it, making the sound bounce eerily off the walls of the pass. Aine sprang to her feet and ran. Nuada opened his wings, gliding easily to cut off her retreat. He grabbed her arms, sinking his claws into her cruelly. “I need your services, but that does not mean that you must remain completely undamaged.” He bared his fangs at her and bent down, but he didn’t complete the attack. As he got near her skin his almost colorless eyes widened. He seemed to consider, and then pushed her so that she stumbled back towards Edan’s body. “Take her to the camp, but treat her carefully. We wouldn’t want our Healer broken.” His laughter followed Aine as the others grabbed her and dragged her along the pass.

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Aine studied the Fomorians as they traveled. She forced herself to be dispassionate and use medical logic to assess them. Physically, they were similar to Tegan. They were the same species. That was obvious. But these males were different. They looked more insectile. They were taller, thinner, and their claws were more prominent. Some of their fangs were visible even when their mouths weren’t open. Their leader, Nuada, was the most grotesque of the group. He was larger and stronger than the others. That they feared him was obvious. Her Tegan was not like these creatures. These were the beasts of nightmare stories—what she had accused him of being. Instead of rejecting her mate, she understood what it was that had driven him into lonely exile. He didn’t belong with these demons any more than she did. *** The Fomorian camp was laughably close to the castle at the bottom of a ravine. Maev’s dying words came back to her, The warriors know! They know! Fomorians had killed the centaur, and the warriors of Guardian Castle knew they were here. Not Edan, though. Aine knew in her heart that he had not been corrupted. That was why they had killed him. Nuada grabbed her arm and dragged her to a tented structure that was guarded by several Fomorians. “Healer, I expect you to make sure they live for at least as long as it takes the young to be brought forth.” He shoved her inside the tent, throwing her surgical box in after her. Aine blinked, trying to accustom her eyes to the sudden brightness. The opulently decorated tent was lit by hundreds of candles. Women lounged on cushions, sipping wine and eating pastries. She recognized several of them as women who had ignored her when she had first arrived at Guardian Castle. They were all pregnant. “Oh, good. You’re finally here.” A blonde with a bulging abdomen motioned regally at Aine. “I’m having some discomfort and the wine is not dulling it. I need you to give me something to relieve the pain.” Aine stared at her, swallowing down her fear and revulsion. Those creatures out there were not Tegan, just as she was not these women. “You’re pregnant with a Fomorian’s child.” “Of course.” “Why?” Aine said, not hiding her disgust. The blonde’s eyes went cold and mean. “That is not your concern. You’re here for us.” “We’re bringing a new species into this world,” a plump redhead said dreamily. “An army that will worship us and our beautiful, three-faced god.” Aine felt sick. They worshipped evil; they reveled in it. “Quiet! She’s only here to stop our pain.” The blonde gave Aine a cruel look. “Now, do you brew us something or do I call Nuada and tell him we don’t need you after all?” Aine pulled opiates from her surgical box while she concentrated her mind on one thing, over and over: Tegan, be wary, but come to me…

Chapter Eighteen Tegan arrived with the next dusk.

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His sword slicing through the rear of the canvas tent made a distinctive sound. He held open the flap and offered his hand to her. Aine looked at the women she’d drugged one last time before taking his hand and turning her back on them. They didn’t speak until they were well beyond the Fomorian camp. “Did you know about them?” Aine was facing him, arms wrapped around herself as if anticipating a physical blow. “I knew my people had given in to evil. I knew they were planning an attack on Partholon. I did not know about the women.” “They’re dead,” Aine said in an emotionless voice. “The women?” “I killed them. They were all completely mad. I gave them an easy death before they could bring more demons into this world.” Tegan’s head shook back and forth over and over. “You shouldn’t have killed. The darkness taints you like that.” “And what should I have done?” Aine was weeping openly. “Run away? Hide?” She rounded on him, shoving hard against his chest. Tegan made no move to defend himself against her. “You’re not like them! You’re not a demon, but you did less than nothing. You didn’t stay and fight. You let evil win.” His voice was hollow. “If I’d have stayed I would have become what they are. The darkness infected them. I left because I wanted to live without darkness.” “You left and let darkness rule. What did you think would happen to Partholon if you stayed silent? What did you think would happen to us?” “I wasn’t thinking about Partholon when I exiled myself. I just wanted to be free of evil and death. I didn’t expect to meet you. I didn’t expect to love you.” Mocking applause sounded from the darkness. Nuada stepped out of the shadows. “What a moving speech, brother.” Tegan stepped between Nuada and Aine. “We’re not brothers anymore,” he said. “We still share the same blood.” Nuada’s smile was feral as he looked beyond Tegan to Aine. “I see more blood that I’d like to share with you.” “You’ll have to kill me first.” “As you wish.” The shadows behind Nuada stirred. Aine saw at least a dozen Fomorians awaiting their master’s command. Then Tegan changed before her eyes. His wings unfurled. His fingers became talons. His eyes blazed with anger. “Run and live! I will find you.” He told her in a voice magnified by power before he leaped forward to meet Nuada’s attack. Aine ran, but only until she understood no one was following her. She doubled back, creeping quietly along the mountain paths until she heard an odd sound. It was out of place in the night, and it reminded her of something. She almost didn’t identify it, but just before the screaming started she realized that it sounded much like Tegan’s sword slicing through the canvas tent.

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With the first scream the pain hit her, driving her to her knees. *** Aine didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious. She woke up in the gloaming of predawn with a single thought: find Tegan. Her body felt heavy and off balance as she stumbled, drawn forward by a relentless invisible thread. When she found him it was too terrible for her mind to fully comprehend. She could only stand there, immobilized by despair and loss. They’d cut his wings from his body. That sound she’d heard had been metal slicing through the flesh of his soul. Then Tegan moaned and the Healer in her took over. She ignored everything: the raging pain that seared through her body in tandem with his and his pleading to let him die. Aine worked methodically. She pulled him into the shadows. Calling on strength she didn’t know she had, the Healer half-dragged, half-carried Tegan to his cave. Then she went to work with his sword, trimming the ragged edges of his eviscerated wings. She used the same sword to sear the flesh that wouldn’t stop bleeding. Finally, she filled Epona’s funeral urn and bathed his body, mixing cool mountain water with her tears. His eyes opened when it was all over. “You should have let me die.” “I couldn’t,” she said. “He took my soul.” “No, love, he couldn’t. Your soul is safe with me.” Tegan closed his eyes against the tears that streamed down his pale cheeks. Aine did the only thing left to her. She prayed.

Chapter Nineteen Aine used Epona’s urn to pour a libation circle around her. Then she knelt in the middle of the cave under the round opening that showed a night sky filled with the brilliance of a full moon. The Healer spread her arms wide and lifted her face to the heavens. “Gracious Goddess Epona, please hear me. I have nowhere left to go. No one else to turn to. Forgive me. I killed those women. I love a Fomorian and I’m too weak to leave him, even after I’ve seen what he could become. Goddess, I’ve felt you throughout my life, even before I heard your voice. I used to believe I only knew your presence when I healed someone, but I’ve come to understand that you were always closest to me when I failed. I don’t deserve your love or your help, but I’m asking for both. And I’m asking for Tegan, too.” The sky above Aine shifted. The stars that littered the night began to whirl wildly, funneling into a shimmering cone that rained light through the roof of the cave. Aine heard Tegan’s gasp of shock as the figure of a woman materialized in the air above them. Aine’s eyes stung with the effort it took to gaze upon the Goddess. With a gentle smile, Epona passed a hand before her visage, and her divinity dimmed and became bearable. Aine felt the raging pain as Tegan struggled to lift himself so that he could bow before Epona. She started to move to help him, but the Goddess was there before her.

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Epona knelt. She took Tegan’s face between her hands and kissed him gently on the forehead. The phantom pain in Aine’s back instantly cooled. “My Goddess!” Tegan cried. His body was trembling, but his eyes were no longer haunted with pain and grief. “Forgive me for not being stronger.” “Tegan, my son, your strength is a deep, quiet well that rests within you. It nourishes without drowning your judgment. And when it’s needed, you pour and pour from it. I am well pleased by you.” Then Epona turned to Aine. The healer began to kneel, but the Goddess’s hand on her arm stayed her. “Not long ago I gave you a choice, my daughter,” the Goddess said. “As with the mate of your soul, I am well pleased by you.” “I killed those women.” Aine’s voice was choked. “You did. Again, you had a difficult decision to make and you followed your heart. Would it help you to know that the people of Guardian Castle made their own decisions, and because they invited darkness into their midst they have been corrupted by evil. For many years to come they will pay the consequences of their choices. The ones whose spirits you set free are lucky. Their death was painless. Others will not be.” “So you forgive me for it?” “You had my forgiveness before you asked it.” The Goddess smiled. “Your life has been short, but you have a strong spirit and you are ready for the journey ahead of you. So Aine, Healer and daughter, I give you one last choice.” Epona took Aine’s hand and led her over to where Tegan sat looking strong and whole again, though he no longer had his beautiful expanse of wings. The Goddess joined their hands before she continued. “I give you the choice of your destiny. You may warn Partholon of the coming Fomorians or you may escape from this world into one where technology rules and the beings here are merely stories of myth and magic. If you stay in Partholon you will not be safe and your love will not be accepted. If you escape to the world of technology, you will begin new lives and grow old together. Know before you choose that I will bless your decision either way. I give all of my people free will—even my champions.” Aine met Tegan’s eyes. She didn’t need to ask him. Their bond told her that his choice was the same as hers. She didn’t blame him for it. It was who he was in the deepest well of his soul. She should know —she held that soul safe for him. Aine looked into her Goddess’s eyes. “We choose Partholon.”

Chapter Twenty Epona’s smile was blinding in its brilliance. “Well done daughter! You have passed my final test. And now you will need this. It is your destiny to keep it safe until the day Partholon has need of it.” The Goddess made a graceful gesture with her hand and the funeral urn floated to Aine. Startled, the Healer reached for it, but it slipped through her hands to clang against the floor of the cave. Chagrined, Aine hastily picked it up, horrified to see that a hairline crack had appeared in its base. “Forgive me Goddess!” Aine cried. Epona laughed joyously. “Little Healer, you couldn’t be more perfect. I want you to remember this urn. The next time you see it you will know that the time of your destiny is near.” “I don’t understand,” Aine said miserably.

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“You will. Just remember that this urn must return here with its likeness, and you and Tegan will be the ones to ensure that happens.” Before Aine could ask any of the many questions swarming through her mind, the Goddess placed one hand on her forehead and one on Tegan’s. “Go with my eternal blessing.” Aine, Tegan, and Epona’s urn disappeared. *** Fifty years later. Northwest Oklahoma not far outside the town of Locus Grove. The enormous mansion was a sprawling Victorian, as out of place in the Oklahoma countryside as it would have been on top of a slate-colored mountain range. It was once beautiful, but age had cracked and crinkled it until it reminded some people of an old smoker’s skin. The ancient couple who had lived there loved it. “Do we really have to leave this place?” the old man asked his wife. “I hate to see all of our things auctioned off like this.” “It’s better this way—easier,” she said. “Besides, our job here is almost over. Look, it’s already happening.” She motioned for her husband to join her at the window. Together, the two watched the scene in the backyard unfold. “My God! What the bloody hell is this?” a man with an accent cried, placing the item haphazardly back on the table. Another man picked it up and blanched in horror as he, too, saw the hairline crack in the urn’s base. “Sir, you are correct. Please accept my apologies for this damaged merchandise. Your bill will be corrected immediately.” The old woman smiled as she watched a beautiful girl with wild red hair approach the man and speak with pretended nonchalance. “Excuse me, but what will happen to the pot now?” “It will be re-auctioned, as is, of course,” the man said. The couple continued to eavesdrop on the events of the auction, but only until the redhead bought the urn and drove off their grounds with it tucked into the seat beside her. “She did look amazingly like the Incarnate on the urn,” the old man said. “That’s because she is the Incarnate on the urn, or at least she will be very soon.” “Hard to believe someone so—” he paused, trying to decide on the right word “—modern is going to stop the Fomorian invasion.” The old woman laughed. “At first she’s going to believe that she’s divine by mistake. As if Epona makes mistakes!” “The Goddess’s ways are not always clear,” he said. “No, but they are always interesting,” she said. “Shall we finish this, love?”

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Instead of answering her, he approached his wife. Facing her, he took both her hands in his own. “It has been a long, full life, hasn’t it Aine?” “It has been, just as our Goddess promised.” “Because through her will we were able to escape and save Partholon,” Tegan said. Not only through my will, but also through your strength and willingness to sacrifice yourselves to defeat evil. Epona’s voice filled the room with ripples of magic and love. Now, my children, it is time you came home. Still grasping hands, the old couple’s bodies began to shimmer, and then their crooked, wrinkled forms fell away, leaving a beautiful dark haired woman with eyes the color of a spring sky, and a tall, lean man whose wings unfurled majestically as he threw back his head and laughed with absolute joy. Tegan took Aine into his arms and kissed her passionately as they faded from the modern world to reappear in their Goddess’s verdant meadows, where she welcomed them with song and laughter and love.

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The Moments by Holly Jacobs Olivia Conway’s mother always told her that life is made up of the small moments, punctuated by the big ones. But “Livie” has no doubt that one day, she’ll have a fairy tale wedding that will be the biggest, grandest moment of them all. She’s had the whole thing planned since she was a little girl. Now all grown up, all that remains for Livie is to find the perfect groom to share her dreams with. But life has a way of turning out differently—and sometimes better—than we ever could have imagined…

Chapter One “My mother always said life was made up of the small moments and it was punctuated by the big ones.” ~Livie Conway in The House on Briar Hill Road “Livie, I don’t wanna be the bridesmaid, I wanna be the bride this time.” Livie Conway looked at her best friend, Delia Walker. Delia had just moved in three doors down, right next to Livie’s Nana’s house. They’d been playing Barbies all summer, but Delia still didn’t get the rules. “Delia, the wedding dress is mine, so I’m the bride.” “My mom says you’ve gotta share when you play with friends.” Delia got that stubborn look on her face that Livie was starting to recognize. “I share,” Livie insisted patiently. “I let you ride my bike, and I always let you go first on the tire swing, ‘cause you’re company and Mom says it’s polite, but Delia, it’s my wedding dress. Everyone knows you don’t share wedding dresses.” Her friend looked as if she was going to continue the argument, so Livie added, “But I’ll let you use my black sparkly dress if you like.” “Really?” Delia didn’t look as if she quite believed Livie. Livie sighed. It was hard to be a good friend. She didn’t want to share the black dress, either. Nana had bought for her last year when she’d turned eight. It was long and sparkly and came with a matching cape. She only let her Barbie wear when it was a real, real special thing. But keeping a friend was real special, she guessed. “Sure, I mean it. She can even wear the cape.” “Thanks, Livie.” “You’re welcome. Let’s get them dressed and play.” Sometimes when they played Barbies, they had a hard time figuring out the game. But playing wedding was always easy. There was nothing to figure out. Livie Conway knew just what she wanted for her Barbie’s wedding, and for her own someday in the far away future. “Malibu Ken’s wearing his bathing suit and a shirt, but when I get married, my husband will wear a tux, just like my daddy did when he married my mommy.” Delia had heard this story before, so she said, “You’re so lucky. I didn’t go to my mom and dad’s wedding.” “Yep, I was real lucky that Mommy and Daddy waited ‘til I got big to get married, that way I got to come and sit with Nana and watch it. Oh, Del, I wish you lived here then and you coulda come, too. It was so pretty. And my husband will wear a tux just like Daddy did. And I’ll have a dress just like my Barbie’s and Mommy’s. Big and white and froofy. I’ll get married at the biggest church in Pittsburgh, you can be my bridesmaid and

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everyone will be there. Even the Mayor.” Her daddy worked with the mayor, so Livie knew he was a very important man. “Why would the Mayor come to your wedding?” Delia asked. “’Cause I’m gonna be famous.” Livie finished snapping the wedding dress onto Malibu Barbie. “Famous for what?” Delia finished putting on the black sparkly cape and Livie tried not to be annoyed. “A famous singer.” Delia snorted. It wasn’t a very friendly thing to do. To make it worse, she said, “Livie, I’ve heard you sing, and I don’t know—” “Do you want me to take back my black dress?” Oh, yeah, Livie wanted to take the black dress back. People who snorted about her being a famous singer shouldn’t get to put it on their Barbies. Delia looked at her Barbie in the beautiful sparkly dress and sighed. “No. You can be a famous singer.” “Thanks. With a rock and roll band. You can be in it,” she offered. “Can I be the drummer?” “Sure.” “Cool. I can’t wait for your wedding.” Delia looked longingly at Livie’s Barbie. “Me, either.” Livie knew one day she’d get married to the most wonderful boy in the biggest church and everyone important would be there, even the mayor. Ten Years Later “Del, did you get in?” Livie waved her class schedule at her friend. Delia grinned. “Yeah.” Livie’s senior schedule was crammed. She had calculus, physics, anatomy, English lit, French four, senior humanities. All were guaranteed to keep her at her homework long after she’d like. But there was a silver lining. A big one. “I was so afraid we wouldn’t get into Marriage Encounter.” “Me, too.” Marriage Encounter was a one term class, open only to seniors. It taught things like budgets and shopping, there was even a section on having a family. But it was the final project for the class that Livie couldn’t wait for. Planning a wedding. She was going to plan a dream wedding, with everything from the menu to the flowers. Oh, she’d have to come up with a budget and there were other academic parts to the project, but Livie was finally going to plan her wedding. “Go on, tell me again,” Del said in the manner of all good friends who’ve heard a particular story a thousand times, but realize their friend needs to tell it a thousand and one times.

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“It’s still going to be in the St. Paul’s Cathedral—” “The biggest church in Pittsburgh,” Del supplied. “How about the famous singer part?” She laughed as she asked. Livie offered her a rueful grin. “I sort of gave up on that.” Del laughed even harder. “And the world is glad.” “But you’ll be there—” “Dressed in a sparkly black bridesmaid’s dress?” “In whatever kind of dress you want. I’ve decided my attendants should wear whatever they’re comfortable in. No one size fits all pastel dresses for me, well, for you. You pick whatever you want.” “Thanks,” Del said, then prompted. “And your groom?” “Will be wearing a tux, just like my dad did. He’ll be a quiet man who loves me more than anything. We’ll never argue or fight. He’ll bring me roses and jewelry. We’ll go on a fabulous honeymoon afterward. Somewhere exotic. Maybe Africa.” “Good luck with your budget in Ms. Roger’s class.” Del snorted. Livie had grown used to her friend’s snorts over the years and didn’t take offense. “I’ll make it work. I’ll eat macaroni and cheese for a year in order to get the wedding of my dreams.” Del suddenly got serious. “When I told my mom I was taking this class, she said I should worry less about a wedding, and more about the marriage.” Livie’s enthusiasm dimmed. “I know that it’s the marriage that matters most.” Livie knew it better than most. Last year, she’d been afraid her parents going to divorce. They’d been through a bad time after… No, she wasn’t going to think about that. Her parents were fine now. Their marriage rock was solid again. She didn’t have to worry about them anymore, which meant all she had to do was concentrate on this class. She’d waited to take it since her freshman year. “The marriage matters most, but mine will be perfect, because my husband will never fight with me. He’ll be quiet and he’ll listen when I talk. He’ll think I’m the most beautiful woman ever.” Del snorted. “Remember when I tried to talk you down from your singer aspirations? Well, Livie, you’re very pretty, I mean, boys like your red hair and all, but I’m not sure you’ll ever be the most beautiful woman ever.” “It won’t matter that I’m not. I said he’ll think I am.” He’d think she was beautiful, and she’d think he was the nicest man in the whole world, next to her father. Someday, Livie was going to have the most perfect wedding, the most perfect husband and the most perfect marriage. She was sure of it.

Chapter Two Five Years Later

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“What on earth did you do?” Livie Conway charged towards the big dark-haired man who looked more like a linebacker than a physician as he stood at lounging near the nurse’s station flirting with Sharon, one of the sweetest nurses on staff. “I just came from Aubrey Kelly’s room. She said you turned off her IV fluids.” The new intern looked annoyed, but his annoyance couldn’t even begin to touch Livie’s. She was known throughout the Philadelphia Children’s Hospital as a pitbull when it came to her patients. It was a reputation she was proud of, one that she didn’t hesitate to reinforce when the occasion warranted it. And this occasion definitely did. Sharon, the object of his flirting, beat a hasty retreat. “I’ll call you later,” Dr. Palmer called after her, before turning to Livie, superiority evident in his expression. “Nurse, I’m not in the habit of being spoken to in that manner. Either get yourself under control, or just leave.” “Dr. Palmer,” she said in her calmest voice between gritted teeth. “Yes, Nurse?” he asked with saccharine sweetness. “You could at least learn our names. You’ve been on the floor two weeks. I could give you a list of all our names. Maybe that would help? For instance, the woman you were flirting with was Sharon. I’m Olivia. And while I’d be happy to help you learn our names so you’ll stop calling out nurse in that obnoxious fashion you so often use, first we need to discuss the fact that you just turned off Aubrey’s IV fluids. They were connected to her Picc Line, and you didn’t clamp it off.” He nodded. “I knew she was Sharon, and it’s nice of you to introduce yourself, and yes I turned off Aubrey’s IV fluids. She didn’t need it any longer.” “Did it ever occur to you to consult me first?” “Nurse…” he paused and added, “Olivia, I don’t mean to be condescending, but I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around.” “Listen, you—” she cut herself off, since the list of adjectives she’d like to use to describe him weren’t overly professional. “Doctor, I was flushing out Aubrey’s line. She’s just finished a round of chemo and you turned off the IV fluids before the flush finished.” A Picc line was very much like an IV line. It was set in a patient’s shoulder and ran into a major vein. It allowed the doctors to deliver medicine, and even take blood, without sticking the patient. This was particularly important on a pediatric floor where needle sticks were just another medical trauma the kids had to go through. Shutting off the IV fluids that were connected to a Picc line wasn’t normally a problem, unless the line itself hadn’t been flushed properly and still had the medicine in it. Then the line was prone to clotting—especially if the IV machine had been turned off, and everything else was left connected—making the line useless for future procedures. “She was eating and drinking. I didn’t think—” “Yes, you did. You thought you knew what you were doing. But even though you’re an intern, this is your first rotation. I’ve been here two years. If you’d condescended to ask me, I’d have told you what the saline was for. I just spent the last two hours working on it, but the line’s occluded. Nothing’s moving through it.” “Did you try TPA?” TPA was a drug that busted up clots. They used the medication on stroke victims to dissolve the clots that caused so much damage, and it could sometimes dissolve the clot that occluded a Picc line. “Yes. Nothing worked. Aubrey will need a new line.”

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“Then you’ll have to get it put in.” He took a step, as if he’d settled the matter in his mind and was ready to get on with his day. Livie stepped in front of him, blocking his means of escape. “I don’t think so. You ruined this line, you put the new one in.” “Nurse—” “Aubrey’s only six,” she said softly. “She’s desperately afraid of needles. Desperately. Even my working on her line, which didn’t cause her any pain, has left her a wreck. I’m going to sit with her and hold her hand, and you can put the new line in. Maybe if you see what happens when you’re careless, you’ll think twice and ask questions next time.” She paused, then added, “And if you don’t think that’s going to happen, let me call your resident. Regan will set this to rights.” From Dr. Palmer’s expression it was clear he’d already gotten a taste of Regan’s acid tongue. “Fine, we’ll do it your way.” Livie should have felt victorious, but really all she could think of was her patient. She’d been there when they’d put the first line in and knew how hard this was going to be on the little girl. She looked at the big doctor. If he was going to be any kind of a physician at all, the experience was going to be hard on him as well.

*** Lou had only inserted a Picc line once before, but it had been on an adult. Working on Aubrey was harder, even with Olivia’s coaching. The little girl’s veins were much smaller. He could have coped with that. But her crying—that’s what ripped him apart, piece by piece. Olivia had been right. If he’d only stopped to ask, Aubrey wouldn’t have spent ten minutes squeezing Olivia’s hand, while tears streamed down her little freckled face yesterday. The memory had weighed on him all last night, which is why he stopped in the little girl’s room as soon as he got on the floor. “Hey, Aubrey.” She eyed him warily. “Hi, Dr. Lou.” “I brought you something.” He handed her a doll he’d stopped and picked up on his way home from work last night. “I found her all alone. I asked where she belonged, but she said she hadn’t found her home yet. I was hoping maybe you’d look after her for me.” “Dolls don’t talk,” the little girl said with certainty. “This one does.” He pulled over a chair and sat right next to Aubrey’s bed. “If you’re very, very quiet and listen, maybe you can hear her. She’s a good listener. I was telling her how bad I felt about making you cry yesterday, and I felt better after I talked to her, but I’m still very sorry, Aubrey.” She shook her head. “Livie says that the doctors and nurses only want to make me better, that it hurts them when I hurt.” “Livie’s right. I’m so sorry for yesterday.” “That’s okay.” She beckoned to him with her little hand. He leaned closer and she kissed his cheek. “Thank you for the doll. I know she doesn’t talk, but she does make me feel better.” “I’m glad.” He opened the door and found Olivia standing just outside it, blatantly eavesdropping. “That was nice.”

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“I assume Livie’s short for Olivia?” he asked. “My friends call me Livie, the rest of the world calls me Olivia.” She looked him and added, “You get to call me Olivia.” “Then I’ll have to live in hope that someday you’ll allow me to call you Livie, Olivia.” She snorted in a way that would have made Del proud. “I wouldn’t hold my breath.” She started into the room, but he took her hand and pulled her back into the hall. He merely meant to tell her thank you. She’d taught him a very important lesson yesterday, one that would impact his career for the better. That’s what he meant to do. What he did instead was kiss her. It wasn’t a lingering sort of kiss, just a firm buss on the mouth. When he released her, he started, “How about dinner tonight so I can thank you properly—” but didn’t get any further. “I’d rather eat with my brother, Doctor. Beck doesn’t chew his food, he inhales it. But his lack of table manners would be preferable to your lack of manners all together.” And with that she stormed into the room. He watched from the door as her entire demeanor changed. “Hi, Aubrey. Who do you have there?” He gently shut the door. Maybe he could convince Olivia to let him take her out for that thank-you-dinner. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to kiss her like that, but he didn’t regret it at all. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to do it again. And maybe if he was really lucky, she’d let him call her Livie.

Chapter Three Two Years Later Livie had always known that there was something magic about the house on Briar Hill Road. Her grandmother had lived there years ago, and now her parents did. Of all the places in the world, it was the one that said home to her. She’d missed home enough that she’d only stayed in Philadelphia long enough to finish her graduate courses. As soon as she had her degree in hand, she started applying for jobs back in Pittsburgh. She didn’t mention it to her parents. She wanted to surprise them. And because she hadn’t mentioned it made the fact she got the job at the same hospital her mother worked at even sweeter. She knew she’d gotten it on her own merit, that her mom hadn’t pulled any strings. When she showed up on their doorstep of her parents’ house four months ago, bags in hand, her surprise had been as perfect as she’d hoped. She was working as the nurse practioner on St. Bartholomew’s pediatric cancer floor. When she was in school, she’d known she’d wanted to work with cancer patients. She’d planned on working with breast cancer patients, but she’d found herself drawn to pediatrics. For her, the kids were everything. For four months, she’d looked for her own apartment, but her parents had told her again and again not to hurry. They loved having her back on Briar Hill Road, and truth be told, she loved being back in her old room that still had posters on the walls and her case of Barbies in the closet. She’d met Del for lunch more than once, and their friendship felt as if there had never been years they were apart. Yes, everything was perfect in Olivia Kathleen-Rose Conway’s life. Everything but…

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She eyed Dr. Lou Palmer down the hall, flirting with one of the nurses and was rewarded with a sense of deja vu. Been here. Done that. Got the T-shirt. She’d heard they were getting a new doctor on the floor to replace Dr. Squelia, but she hadn’t expected him. She’d avoided him so far. Three days—well, really just one if you counted her days off. But that was one day of not having to deal with the arrogant, opinionated, annoying doctor who seemed to feel kissing nurses was an acceptable business relationship. But her lucky streak was at an end. He wasn’t just orienting, he was working today, which meant she had to deal with him. She knew it wasn’t Joannie’s fault that the most annoying doctor in the universe was working at St. Bart’s, so she pasted a smile on her face as she entered the seventeen-year-old’s room. “Hey, Joannie, what’s new?” “Well, the last of my hair is gone. I’m liking the look, what about you?” She gave Livie a cheesy, supermodel smile. “I’ve heard skin is in this year.” “Me, too.” Joking aside Joannie added, “I thought about using a wig. There’s some organization that offered me one. But I said no.” “Why?” Livie asked as she checked Joannie’s Picc line. “Because I’m fighting a battle, and I’ll be darned if the leukemia’s going to win. When guys go into combat, they wear special clothes, uniforms that say, ‘I’m ready to fight.’ Well, I refuse to think of hospital gowns as my uniform. They’re too ugly. But my bald head…well, every time I look in the mirror, it reminds me I’m fighting a battle, and I’m going to win.” Livie had been working as a nurse for three years and as a nurse practioner for the last four months. She knew every one of her patients was special. She tried to treat them as such. But every once in a while one came along who took up residence in her heart. Joannie was one of those. “You know I’m here, fighting right beside you.” “You and Dr. Lou. He’s taking over my case and came in to introduce himself yesterday. I like him.” Livie worked very hard to maintain her smile as she said, “I’m glad you like him.” “Did I hear my name?” boomed a voice. Abrasive, annoying, argumentative…and those were just the A’s. She could probably manage to use the whole alphabet to describe Dr. Lou Palmer if she had to. She sighed. She’d known she couldn’t avoid him forever, but a girl could hope. Yet there comes a time when reality must be faced, and reality was standing right behind her, so she turned and faced this particularly unpleasant reality head on. “Doctor,” she said, stretching her lips into the best imitation of a smile that she could muster.

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“Nurse.” For a moment, she was just another nurse to him, but she could see the moment recognition set in. “You.” “Me,” she assured him. “Olivia,” he said, stressing her name, “I though you were in Philly.” “Doctor, I could say the same about you. And I could express my sincerest regret that you’re not.” He had the audacity to laugh. “Ah, so I see bygones are not necessarily bygones.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Doctor. I assume you want to check over Joannie?” “I sure do. How’s my favorite patient today? Is the new medication helping with your nausea?” “I ate two crackers and a banana this morning.” Joannie grinned, as if this was a huge accomplishment, and given her recent inability to keep anything down, it was.” “That’s my girl. I brought you something.” He pulled a book out of the shoulder satchel he carried. “Stephan King’s newest. It’s huge. I haven’t had time to read it yet, but my sister’s a big fan and she’s bugging me. I though if you read it, you could give me enough of a hint about it that I can fib and tell her I read it.” “I love his stuff.” “I remember seeing a couple of his books on the nightstand, so I figured. You don’t mind being my crib sheet?” Her whole face crinkled in delight. “I think I can manage.” “And if I were to bring you a shake this afternoon, do you think you could manage that? You have to keep your weight up.” “I’ll try for you, Dr. Lou.” “What flavor?” “Chocolate. Is there any other flavor?” He smiled. “I’ll be back after rounds with it.” “Thanks. I’ll start on this right away.” He walked out of the room and gave Livie a regal nod she recognized as a command to follow. “I’ll be back in just a bit, Joannie.” “Take your time, I’ve got reading.” Joannie sank back in her pillow and opened the book. Livie found him waiting in the hall. “I guess there are cases when your impressive flirting abilities do have their uses,” she opened with. He ignored her version of a salutation, and instead simply said, “I wasn’t really surprised to find you here. I’d heard you were working here.” “Oh?” “Yes. As a matter of fact, I heard—” “Dr. Palmer, 403. Stat.” He let the sentence drop and started running down the hall. He called back over his shoulder, “I’ll see you later.”

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“Not if I see you first,” Livie muttered. Yes, everything had seemed perfect since she moved home… Dr. Lou Palmer put an end to that.

Chapter Four “Livie, dinner,” she heard her mom call up the stairs. She’d had the day off, but hadn’t spent any time relaxing. She’d run around the greater Pittsburgh area looking at apartments again. She thought she’d found the perfect one in Southside. It had an open floor plan for the living areas, but a separate bedroom. It was on the fourth floor and had a balcony that overlooked the city. But the selling feature, in her opinion, was the massive bathroom with an old-fashioned clawfoot tub. As a bonus, it was just a ten minute commute to work. She’d miss seeing her parents every day, but she was close enough to be underfoot a lot. And though they’d made her feel welcome, she was starting to itch to be back on her own. “Livie,” her mom called again, “come on. We’ve got company.” “Coming, Mom.” Her mother never seemed to change, she thought as she followed her into the dining room. Her hair was still dark brown without a hint of gray. Livie wasn’t sure if that was nature or Clairol, and didn’t ask. Her father showed his age more readily. His hair used to be brown streaked with grey, but now it was grey streaked with brown. As she looked at both of them, she was struck again by how glad she was to be home with them. Even when she moved out of the house on Briar Hill Road, she knew it would always be home. “Where’s Becker?” she asked as she walked into the dining room. She’d been almost college age when her brother had been born. Other than the first few summers she’d been home, they’d never really shared a house. It seemed Beck was making up for lost time. He’d shortsheeted her bed, hidden her car keys, and insisted on eating the breakfast cereal he knew she liked. It should have driven her crazy, but instead, he amused her, which was not his intent. “Your brother’s spending the night at Keith’s.” “When’s our guest arriving?” “Right here,” said a voice from behind her. A voice she recognized. A voice attached to a man she’d tried to avoid at work, and never imagined she’d have to try and avoid at home. “Livie,” her mom said. “I don’t know if you’ve met yet, but this is our new doctor, Lou Palmer. Lou, my daughter, Livie.” She turned and said, “Doctor,” by way of a greeting. “Olivia,” he countered. Her parents seemed oblivious to the tension, which seemed odd to Livie, since she thought it was thick enough to cut with a knife. “Let’s sit down everyone,” her father said. “Lou, do you want to open the wine?”

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Her mom had set a casual table, the kind that said, ‘I just know we’re going to be great friends.’ But her mom didn’t know Lou Palmer the way Livie did. The month long rotation he’d spent on her floor in Philly had started bad and ended worse. He seemed to derive some twisted pleasure out of needling her. Once her mom got to know how overbearing and power-tripping he was, she’d change her tune and Dr. Lou Palmer wouldn’t be invited back, Livie was sure. “You two have met?” her mom asked. “Yes.” Livie knew her mother would frown on her being rude to a guest, so she vowed to keep her responses as monosyllabic as possible for the evening. “Actually, Olivia and I met in Philadelphia,” Lou said smoothly as he started pouring the wine in the four glasses her mom got out, “when I was on my pediatric rotation.” “Livie, you never mentioned you knew Lou.” “Just in passing.” She shot him eye daggers, daring him to disagree. “Hardly worth mentioning.” Lou could see that Livie wasn’t happy about him coming to dinner. He’d tried to warn her yesterday, but he’d been called away. And after that, she’d done a great job avoiding him the rest of the shift. Then she was off today. So it wasn’t entirely his fault his arrival was a surprise. He’d hoped that spending a casual evening together would soften her attitude toward him, but given her expression, he wasn’t holding out much hope. “Yes, I worked with Olivia for a few weeks. Your daughter made a huge impact on my career.” “As her father, I might be biased, but she does tend to leave an impression.” “Mom, can I have the salad over this way? I’m starved.” Lou knew that Livie thought to deflect him from talking about Philly, but since he didn’t have anything to lose if she got annoyed, he planned on talking about it here, and hopefully later in private. Maybe, if he told her just how she’d affected him, she’d soften towards him. “Pediatrics was my first rotation. I’ll confess, I still had a lot to learn. Olivia taught me how important it was to treat patient care as a team effort. To consult the nurses about the patients. And I’ve learned to listen to the parents as well. After all, they know their children better than anyone.” Livie—he though of her as Livie even though he would never call her that name until she invited him to— frowned in his direction. Her mother, Hayden, smiled at him. “You know, all the nurses have been talking about how easy you are to work with. You seek them out and get their assessments and opinions on patient care. You’ve made an impression.” “You can tell them that Olivia’s the reason.” ”Good for you, sweetie,” said Brian, wearing the look of a proud father.” Let’s have a toast, to new friends and my very smart daughter.” Lou raised his glass along with Livie’s parents. With all three of them staring at her, she didn’t have a choice but to follow suit. After the toasting was finished and the meal started in earnest, he changed the topic to golf. “Do you golf?” Lou asked.

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“I’m rather new to the sport,” Brian admitted. “Which means, he’s not very good,” Hayden teased. “Maybe we could play sometime? I could give you some pointers.” “Dad, I’d take Dr. Palmer up on his offer. After all he’s rumored to be an expert at everything.” “I know it seems that way, Olivia. It’s a curse I’ve learned to live with, but I’m not an expert on everything. However, golf I can help your dad out with. I went through college on a golf scholarship, so I may be able to give him a few pointers.” “That would be great,” Brian said. “I’d really appreciate it. Name the day and time, and I’ll be there.” “I’m off this weekend. What about Saturday morning?” “Sounds great.” He had a date with Livie’s father. And while that was all well and good, Brian Conway wasn’t who he hoped to date. He watched Livie, and couldn’t figure out just why he was attracted to her. She was pretty, but had a temper that matched her red hair. And it was obvious that she held a grudge. But she was wonderful with the kids, knew her stuff, and as the meal progressed, every now and then she’d forget she didn’t like him and laugh. At those moments there was no doubt in his mind that she was the one. After dinner he visited a little longer then glanced at his watch. “I’d better go. I’ve got to be at the hospital early.” “I’m so glad you came,” Hayden said. Brian nodded his agreement. “I’ll see you Saturday. Livie, why don’t you show our guest out while I help your mother with the dishes?” She looked as if she’d like to argue, but it was clear she respected her parents too much to actually do it. “Fine,” was all she said. She walked silently next to him to the door. “Thanks for coming to dinner.” He knew it was just good manners on her part, not a genuine pleasure over sharing a meal with him. “Olivia, would it make any difference if I said I was sorry.” “You don’t have to apologize to me.” “Maybe not. But I do have to thank you. I meant what I said at the table, meeting you and Aubrey changed me…for the better, I hope.” “You remember her name.” She seemed to soften. “Really, I’m glad. Medicine shouldn’t be about a pecking order, about who’s the boss. It should be a team effort to serve the best needs of the patient. Sometimes everyone forgets that. I’m sorry if I’ve been a little…” she paused. “Testy?” He smiled. “This is where I get to play the gallant and say I never even noticed.” She offered him a reluctant smile. “That’s very kind of you.” They stood a moment in silence. “I guess I should go.”

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“You have to be at the hospital early. “ “Right.” He opened the door and started out, then stopped and turned around. “Listen, after I golf with your dad on Saturday, maybe we could go out to dinner.” “I’m sure mom and dad would like that. Mom’s quite taken with you.” “No, not them,” he clarified. “You and me.” “I don’t think that would be wise.” “No, but it could be fun. Say yes, Olivia. Let me show you I’m not the man you think I am.” “Almost every other available woman at the hospital would jump at that invitation and more than a few of the unavailable ones as well. Why ask me?” “Because, maybe I can convince you to let me call you Livie.” She blushed. “You remember that, too?” “I remember everything about you.” “I’m sure you don’t.” “Come out with me Saturday night and let me prove it.” “Fine. Just to prove I don’t hold a grudge.” “Great. Saturday then.”

Chapter Five “So, where are we going?” Livie asked. Lou had never felt so nervous about a date. He wasn’t sure what it was about Olivia Conway. She was the prickliest woman he’d ever met. But there was another side of her, one that he’d only seen when she was with her patients. Kind, empathetic, sweet. When she smiled at her kids they smiled back, no matter what treatment they were going through. He wanted her to smile like that at him. He wanted her to invite him, after all this time, to call her Livie. He wanted her. “I thought about wining and dining you at one of Pittsburgh’s finest restaurants,” he said as he wound through the not-quite familiar streets. Livie caught his wording. “You thought about it, but from the sound of it, that’s not what you decided on.” “No. You see, I tried impressing you once with my masterful doctoring and ended up making a complete fool of myself. I figured I'd get to one of those fancy places and spill the wine on myself, or worse on you. So I came up with a safer, albeit simpler, plan.” “Which is?” she asked.

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“I’m cooking for you.” “Oh.” She paused, then asked, “Do you cook?” “Wait and see for yourself. You tell me.” “This isn’t some nefarious scheme to get me to your apartment?” She laughed. Lou’s spirits rose at the sound. “No. If there’s a nefarious element at all, it’s that I’m hoping you’ll finally forgive me for being an ass back in Philadelphia and invite me to call you Livie.” “You can—” He cut her off. “No. I don’t want any charity, Livie. I want you to want me to call you Livie.” As he glanced across the car, she was looking at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a very strange man?” “A very strange man who’s going to make you dinner tonight.”

*** Livie looked around Lou’s apartment. Aesthetics weren’t his primary concern—that much was evident. His living room was Spartan to say the least. A couch, a coffee table and a television. They say you can tell a lot about a person by what they read, but all Lou had on his coffee table were medical journals. Some were dog-eared, some folded back to one article or another. But other than the journals, there was no other reading material. There was no clutter in the room whatsoever. Lou came back out of his kitchen. “Come out to the balcony.” She followed him out and found a small table with a lamp and table settings there. “I thought you might enjoy the view. Everything’s ready.” The view from his Mount Washington apartment was every bit as stunning as her new apartment’s. He had a table set there, complete with spaghetti, salads, a bottle of wine and a loaf of Italian bread. “You went to a lot of trouble.” “Not so much. My grandmother taught me to cook, and I’ll confess, I don’t do it often, but I do enjoy it.” They ate dinner and talked. Not about anything big and monumental. They talked about their families, about the hospital, about patients who’d touched them. When they’d finished eating, she helped do the dishes, over his objections. “I can’t cook to save my life. But I can dry a plate,” she argued. “I could teach you to cook, at least a few simple recipes.” She stopped drying, mid-dish. “That would mean we’d have to do this again.” “I’m willing, if you are.” “I guess I am, on one condition.” “What?” he asked.

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“You call me Livie.” “I thought you’d never ask.” He took the half-dried plate from her hand, leaned down and gently placed a kiss on her cheek. It was sweet, but suddenly Livie wanted more than sweet. She turned her head sharply, bringing her lips to his and kissed him back. Not some platonic little buss, but a full-out kiss. “Wow,” he murmured when they broke apart. “Wow, what?” She gave him the look her mother used to give her when she wanted her to remember her manners. “Wow, Livie?” She laughed. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because for the first time in a long time she’d met a man who gave her a sense of possibilities.

Chapter Six “Livie, I want to talk to you…” Lou stopped and looked at himself in his office’s bathroom mirror. This was absolutely ridiculous. He was a grown man. It wasn’t as if he was asking Livie to marry him. Hell, he didn’t know what he was asking. He just knew he wanted more than their very casual dating. If he were still in high school, he’d be asking her to go steady and handing her his class ring. If he were in a better mood, he’d have smiled at the thought. But he wasn’t. What he wanted was some clarification. They’d been dating for three months, and Livie seemed bound and determined to keep him at arm’s length. “Livie, we have to talk…” he tried again. Pathetic. He was pathetic. Furious with himself for being such a putz, he stormed out of the bathroom and almost ran Livie down. She smiled. “I was looking for you. Are we still getting something to eat? I’m famished.” “I don’t know what we’re doing, Livie. I guess that’s the problem.” He was pretty sure it didn’t take any form of ESP to see that he was angry. To be honest, he wasn’t sure if he was angry with Livie, or angry with himself. Her happy smile faded. “Come on, Lou, not again.” “Give me something, Livie. Something more than an occasional meal and haphazard phone calls. Let’s go away for a weekend. Just you and me.” “If you want a weekend of wild sex, we can—” “You think that’s what I want? Sex?” A nurse walked by and he forced himself to lower his voice. “Livie, sex is easy for us. What I want is for you to let me in.” “I don’t understand why you can’t just keep this casual. I don’t fuss if you don’t call. I don’t complain if you run late. I don’t breathe down your neck and try to make us one of those couples who no longer have their own identities. I don’t want to be Livie-and-Lou. I like being Livie and Lou. Two separate people who like spending time together now and again. I don’t need grand gestures and baring of souls.” “Maybe I do. Maybe I need some sort of indication that this relationship is going somewhere other than the bedroom and an occasional date.”

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“What if I say I’m not sure I can promise you that?” “Then maybe it’s time we both rethink what we’re doing.” He turned and stormed down the hall.

*** “Well, no problem, then. I’ll just starve,” Livie muttered to herself as she went back down the hall. What was a problem was what to do about him. She enjoyed his company. He was fun and she was surprised to find that he was sweet…well, except when he wasn’t. Or maybe it was that she wasn’t sweet. Either way, they did tend to raise each other’s hackles from time to time. But not like this. Their first major fight was over football. She of course, cheered for the Steelers and he was all about the Eagles. The Eagles? Livie found it hard to swallow that she could be dating, even casually, a man who liked the Eagles. What started off as some friendly kidding got a bit heated. Then there was the now notorious door-incident. Livie claimed she didn’t need any man opening doors for her. She was more than capable. Lou claimed his mother brought him up right, and was she implying his mother didn’t? Round and round. Theirs was not an easy—she searched for a word to describe what they had. Relationship? The word made her stomach clench. But whatever they had, it wasn’t easy. Maybe that’s why Livie held back. At least that’s what Lou kept saying she was doing. He claimed she only let him come so far then she pushed him back. That’s what this today’s fight was about, she was sure. She didn’t admit it out loud, but she realized he was probably right. Her parents had a great relationship now, but there was a time when she thought she’d be a child of divorce. A period when they’d all been broken. Her mother and father hadn’t had the loud rows she had with Lou, but rather they’d quietly shut each other out. And they’d shut her out in the process. In her head, she knew it was a stupid excuse for holding back from Lou. But her head didn’t carry much weight with her heart. She should probably go apologize and promise to try harder. She didn’t want to lose him, but she wasn’t sure how much more she could give him. “Hey, Sarah, have you seen Dr. Palmer?” she called to a coworker. “I think he’s in with Joannie.” Livie started down the hall towards Joannie’s room. The girl was between rounds of chemo, and should be home right now, not stuck in the hospital. She’d come in with a fever a week ago. But they seemed to have the infection under control. Her fever had finally come down to 98.6—right on the money. But Joannie hadn’t finished her course of antibiotics, so she was still here. Still stuck in the hospital instead of at her prom. Livie wondered what she could do to make the night easier on Joannie. She was still pondering the question when she walked in the room. She didn’t see the girl, just her mom. “Hi, Sylvia,” she said to Joannie’s mom, who looked to be in uncharacteristic high spirits. “I was looking for Dr. Palmer. Is he with Joannie?” The gray-haired woman pretty much radiated happiness. “Dr. Lou said he had to go to the doctor’s lounge for a surprise and Joannie’s in the bathroom changing.” As if on cue, the bathroom door opened and Joannie came out wearing a beautiful dark blue prom dress. “Oh, Joannie, you look lovely. But how…?” “Dr. Palmer’s discharging me, just for the night. Well, until my next dose of antibiotics at midnight.” She twirled around, sending the full-skirt billowing. Joannie was even more excited than her mom. “I’m just like

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Cinderella. I have to be back here by the stroke of midnight. But Livie, at least I’ll have gone to the ball.” Livie gave the girl a hug. “I’m so glad, Joannie. Really.” In her excitement, Joannie kept talking, a mile a minute. “And, Dr. Lou’s coming to chaperone, just in case I get sick. Isn’t he the greatest? I have to wear a stupid mask, and Mom ran out to buy a wrap so I can cover where the Picc line is. Despite it all, I’m going to my prom. And I swear I’m graduating with my class. Dr. Palmer’s the greatest,” she said again. At that moment, Livie realized he was. All her worries, all her nagging fears about drawing too close were stupid. Lou Palmer was the greatest, and she’d be a fool to let her fear stand in their way. Emotions she’d tethered for so long burst loose, and she managed to squeeze out the words, “Yes, the greatest.” “Can you go find him?” Joannie asked. “Joey will be here soon.” Joey was all Joannie talked about. The boy spent as much time as he could visiting her. He didn’t seem put off by Joannie’s lack of hair, or by her illness. He genuinely loved her. Maybe it was just a puppy love, or maybe, despite their ages, it was something deeper that would last. The quiet romantic in Livie hoped it would. She realized Joannie was waiting for an answer. “Yes, let me go find Dr. Lou.” She hurried down to the lounge and opened the door to find Lou hunched over one of the tables, a couple bottles next to him, and a blue square in front of him. He was muttering to himself. “Problems?” she asked. He turned and offered her a tentative smile as he saw her approach. “You know, I didn’t become a surgeon for a reason. I don’t have the hands for it. And it turns out I don’t have a hand for hot glue, ribbons and glitter either.” And that’s when she saw what he was doing. Gluing ribbons and glitter onto the hospital mask. Something huge that she’d started to let go when she realized what Lou was doing for Joannie, welled up in her chest, growing even bigger. She just stood there looking at this man who looked more like a linebacker than a doctor. A man who felt she couldn’t open her own car door, a man who rooted for the wrong team. A man…she loved. Looking at him, more glitter covering his lab coat than the mask, she wondered how she’d missed the fact that she was absolutely crazy about Lou Palmer. How had she thought she could keep him at arm’s length, when all she wanted to do was hug him? “I know. It’s stupid,” he said. “I just thought she should have something beautiful to go with her dress.” He reached for the mask, as if he was going to crinkle it up. Livie reached out and stopped him, her hand holding his lightly. “Don’t. It’s wonderful.” “It is?” “We can fix this,” she said. Years of scrapbooking made her an almost pro. With Lou’s help, they soon had a mask that looked better. “There. It’s still a mask, but it’s a pretty mask at least.” “Thanks, I’d never have managed it without you. About the fight. I’m sorry. I try not to push. I promise myself over and over again I’ll give you time. It’s only been months. But Livie—” “Stop. Lou. I came in here because I heard you were going to the prom?”

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He looked unsure. “Yes. Joannie’s just getting over the infection and I want to keep an eye on her and I figure they can always use another chaperone.” “Then, Dr. Palmer, since you stood me up for our dinner date, I was wondering if you’d go to the prom with me? Or rather, could I go to the prom with you, unless you’ve already asked some other girl?” “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather go with.” He took her hand. “We’ve got a mask to deliver.” “To our Cinderella?” “Cinderella?” He looked confused. “Going to the ball, in by midnight for her dose of antibiotics, Cinderella.” He smiled. “Yes, I guess she is.” As they walked down the hall, Livie wondered if she was going to be able to manage not blurting out, I love you. The words practically begged to be said. But she wanted to wait until they were at the prom, dancing under a disco ball—oh, how she hoped there was a disco ball. She wanted to whisper the words in his ear and maybe kiss him. She told him she didn’t need any grand gestures, but maybe Lou did. Maybe he needed something to show him that she really cared. Yes, she’d hold onto them a bit longer, but a bit was all she could manage. They got back to Joannie’s room and Lou stopped before going in. “Why don’t you give it to her.” Livie could sense his embarrassment. “Your idea, you do it.” He sighed the sigh of a man who was uncomfortable with the sweetness of the gesture, but he smiled when he saw Joannie, still prancing around in her dress. “I feel like a princess,” she told them both. “I know a mask isn’t going to be the look you were going for, but I…” Lou just shoved the mask toward her. “Dr. Lou thought a prettier mask might make wearing it more bearable,” Livie added. “Oh, man, it’s great. Well, as great as a hospital mask can be.” Joannie held it up to the deep blue of her gown, then snatched up the silk wrap her mother brought. “Look, it matches the wrap and really coordinates with the gown.” “The glue’s still a little tacky, but it should be dry before Joey arrives,” Livie told her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to clock out and run home and change.” “Hot date tonight?” Joannie asked. “It seems I’m going to the prom with Dr. Palmer.” Joannie launched herself into Livie’s arms and hugged her. “You’re coming to watch out for me, too? You guys are the best.” Livie hugged the girl. “No, sweetie, you are.” She started out the door, still feeling uncharacteristically choked up.

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“Livie?” Sylvia called. “Yes.” And Sylvia, who’d held together better than any parent with a sick child should, broke down, sobbing uncontrollably in Livie’s arms. “Thank you both for making this happen.” “It’s Dr. Palmer. I wouldn’t have the authority to sign her out.” “But you’re going along, too. I won’t have a thing to worry about.” Livie looked at the big man, patiently letting Joannie bubble her excitement all over him. “It’s okay. You see, Dr. Palmer owes me a dance.” And she had three little words to whisper in his ear.

Chapter Seven Five Months Later, Halloween “I have a present for you.” Lou handed Livie a Target bag. Once upon a time she’d dreamt her perfect man would bring her roses and jewelry. Lou did bring her gifts, but nothing like that. She wondered what this gift would be. “I love the wrap job this time,” she teased as she opened it. “Oh, Lou, they’re perfect.” She held the pair of orange scrubs with little white ghosts all over them and examined them. “Just perfect. I’m going to go change.” Before she did, she stood on her tip-toes and kissed him. “I love Halloween, and I love you, too.” “I noticed Halloween took first place.” “Well, I have loved Halloween longer than you—” She kissed him again. “But not more.” “I can’t fault your logic,” he said with a laugh. “Go change. Can you meet me in the lounge at two?” “Sure. Coffee at two with Lou. I can remember that.” She started to leave but stopped, turned around, kissed him again, then hurried out of the room calling, “See you at two,” over her shoulder. Lou smiled as he watched Livie run from the room. He had to change as well. And there was a whole host of other things to attend to. Livie had told him so many of her family stories, sharing moments that meant so much to her parents and herself. There was a story about a Halloween in particular… Well, he was hoping today rivaled that one in her memory someday. Right now, he had things to do.

*** Livie changed into her new scrubs. Given her red hair, orange wasn’t normally her best color. Some redheads complained about their hair color, but Livie never did. She’d inherited her hair color from her grandmother, and every time she looked in the mirror it was a reminder of Kathleen Conway. So she never

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wished it away, and today, she didn’t care if the orange scrubs clashed with her hair. They were a gift from Lou, and he’d think she looked beautiful in them. That was enough for her. She knew some women held out for the expensive gifts, but personally, a gift from the heart meant so much more to her and that’s just what this was. She’d known she loved Lou Palmer the night of Joannie’s prom. It had been a big moment, a memorable one. But dating Lou wasn’t filled with those milestone moments, but rather little ones. A pair of hospital scrubs. A trip to the zoo. Or, the day they drove up to Erie and he took her to Presque Isle. She’d told him about her family’s one very special vacation on the lakeshore in Southampton, Ontario, and since neither of them had enough time off to make that long trip, he thought the two hour jaunt to Erie might be the next best thing. She’d whispered, it’s even better then she’d kissed him. And it was better, because he’d been with her. No, she didn’t need grand gestures or big moments. For her, it was the little ones, a spaghetti dinner he cooked himself, the time he’d pulled over at the side of the road to pick her daisies in a field, just because she’d exclaimed that they looked beautiful. Livie took one last look in the mirror. Yes, spaghetti, daisies and orange scrubs were the moments she treasured most. Her mom was coming into work at noon. Maybe she’d ask her to stop and pick up some donuts. Lou had a sweet tooth, and glazed twists were his favorites. Oh, and apple cider. It was the perfect treat for Halloween. It wasn’t quite the same as ghostly scrubs, but she was pretty sure he’d be pleased. She made the call, and after securing her mother’s promise, she started her rounds. It was going to be a great day. She loved Halloween. It was just before two when her mother found Livie coming out of Becky Watson’s room. “Hey, sweetie. Love the scrubs.” Livie did an exaggerated pirouette. “They’re from Lou. The donuts are my thank you. Want to come in and join us?” “I don’t mind if I do. Are you coming over tonight?” “You couldn’t keep me away. Handing out the candy isn’t quite the same as trick-or-treating, but Lou’s coming with me, and with you and Dad there, well, it will be fun.” Handing out Halloween candy on Briar Hill Road—it was another sweet moment to savor. The lounge’s door was shut. When Livie twisted the handle, she found it was also locked. “What the heck?” She knocked. Joannie opened the door. “Livie, you’re here.” Joannie’s blond hair had grown back. It was still short and baby-fuzzy, but the style gave her an elfish cuteness. “Yes, I’m here. I work here. You’re not back… ?” Her heart sank at the thought of Joannie’s cancer returning. Joannie laughed. “No, I’m fine. Just visiting my favorite nurse and…” She threw the door open. The lounge looked as if someone had bought out a Halloween supply store: jack-o-lanterns, orange and black streamers with little ghosts dangling from them, and an assortment of witches and black cats filled the room. “What on earth… ?”

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That’s when she saw him. Lou. He looked as if he’d just left his outlaw biker gang. Black jeans and a black vest that was a bit too snug, over a black t-shirt. “Livie, come on in. We’re having a party.” “I can see that. For what?” She spotted her father in the corner. He grinned and gave her a little wave. Her father? Joannie? “What’s going on?” “Olivia Kathleen-Rose Conway,” Lou sank to one knee in front of her. “Will you marry me?” She flung herself at Lou, who given her precarious position on one knee, toppled. She didn’t care. She just fell over with him, then kissed him hard and long. “Is that a yes?” he asked as they broke apart and sat back up. “I mean, I didn’t even get a chance to show you the ring. You might hate it and not want to marry me after all.” “It was a yes, and although I’d love to see the ring, nothing would make me change my mind.” She’d been wrong. This wasn’t another quiet little moment to store away. It was a big one, and though she didn’t need those all the time, she’d take this one. Just in case he had any doubt, she said it again. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” She’d found her perfect man. When she was young, she’d thought she’d never fight with Mr. Perfect, but as an adult she realized how unrealistic that was. She and Lou did fight, but he listened to her side, and she tried to listen to his, so she did get that part right. They’d even come to terms with each of them rooting for the “wrong” team. And he thought she was beautiful, which was good because she thought he was the most beautiful man she’d ever met, though if she were telling him that he’d probably take offense at the word beautiful. She’d have to substitute the word handsome, but it wouldn’t be enough. Lou was beautiful to her. Suddenly it hit her… not only was she engaged to the most perfect man of her dreams, now she’d get to plan the most perfect wedding ever. The kind of perfect wedding she’d dreamed about as a little girl. She couldn’t wait to start. But first, she tried on her ring and kissed him again. The wedding planning could wait a while longer.

Chapter Eight They planned a spring wedding. Or rather Livie planned it. Lou was content to let her have her way in everything. Livie had dreamed of this day since she was a little girl playing Barbies with Del. Oh, she’d changed a lot of those childhood plans, but she was sure that this was absolutely the wedding of her dreams. She glanced down at her dress and smiled. She’d wanted a dress just like her mom had worn. That had been the easiest part of the wedding to plan. She’d simply worn the same dress her mother had worn so many years ago. She remembered playing Barbies with Del and telling her that people didn’t share wedding dresses. Turns out, shared dresses were the best, at least in her case. “Are you ready?” her father asked. She kissed his cheek. “Yes.” Yes, she was ready to start her life with Lou.

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Del, wearing a sparkly black bridesmaid’s dress was her only attendant. Her friend threw open the chapel door and walked down. Her father, in a tux so like the one he’d worn to his own wedding, took Livie’s arm in his as they walked into the chapel and down the aisle. Just like she’d dreamed, the most important people in Pittsburgh were in attendance. Not the mayor, but the children she and Lou spent so much time with. Because rather than the big Cathedral in Pittsburgh, they’d held the wedding in the hospital chapel so their kids could attend. Rather than Sunday best, most of the guests were dressed in hospital gowns or scrubs. Some were wearing masks, some had no hair… and they all looked beautiful. She saw her mother standing in front of the first pew, with tears in her eyes. Beck stood next to her, looking uncomfortable in his suit. Yes, the most important people were at her wedding, despite the fact she’d never become a famous rock star, just as Del had predicted, and she hadn’t even dreamed of inviting the mayor. She reached Lou, and he took her hand in his, and the Reverend started. “Dearly beloved…” Yes, this was the perfect wedding to the most perfect man ever. After they’d been pronounced husband and wife, they went to the reception in the hospital cafeteria. Livie was pretty sure she’d hugged the Chief of Staff three times, but he didn’t seem to mind. She’d hugged everyone. Joannie had brought her iPod and Joey had rigged them up to speakers, so there was even dancing. As she tripped the light fantastic with her husband—she loved the sound of that—Lou whispered, “I love you, Mrs. Palmer.” “I love you, too.” And that’s when his beeper went off. “Stay, I’ll be back.” Livie found a quiet corner but Del came and found her. “Where’s Lou?” “He had a page, but he’ll be back.” “This isn’t the wedding you planned,” her friend said, sympathetically. “Are you disappointed?” “This is exactly the wedding I always planned,” Livie argued. “After all, you’re here, wearing a dress of your choosing. We’re surrounded by the most important people in Pittsburgh, our friends and family. I’ve even got the perfect dress. But most importantly, I’ve found the perfect groom.” “I thought the perfect one would never argue with you?” Del, who’d witnessed more than one of her tiffs with Lou, teased. “I might have been wrong about that one little part, but otherwise, this is just how I planned it.” Del laughed. “Yes, I guess you’re right. This is the wedding you always dreamed of. So, what about the honeymoon?”

*** Lou hurried back to the reception, which was winding down. “Are you ready?” he asked his wife. Livie smiled at him and nodded. “Should we change?” “No. Maybe we’ll change somewhere on the way, but let’s just enjoy being the bride and groom a bit longer. Rumor has it you’ve planned for the day for a very long time.”

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“By rumor, I’m sure you mean Del.” She laughed. “But she was right, and I would like it to last a little longer. Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?” Lou had let Livie plan the wedding, but asked to be allowed to surprise her by planning the honeymoon. He knew that when she was younger, she’d dreamed about a honeymoon at some exotic location, but after listening to her stories, and consulting with her parents, he thought he’d found the perfect surprise. “I’ve rented us a cottage in Southampton for a week.” He knew the lakeside town in Ontario held a special place in her family’s hearts. Tears glistened in her eyes and he was afraid he’d made a mistake. “Livie, if you’d rather, we can go somewhere else. I didn’t want—” She threw herself into his arms. “You are the most perfect man. The most perfect groom and the most perfect husband.” “No one’s perfect.” “Okay, you’re almost perfect. After all, as an Eagle fan, there is no true perfection possible for you.” After they got settled in the car and he started up I-79, Livie started planning their honeymoon. “You’ll love it there, Lou. I swear, you can almost hear the sun hit the water some nights. And every evening we’ll walk from the cottage into town. I’ll get a root beer at the store and you’ll get?” “Last time I was in Canada, I had the most amazing cream soda. Think they’ll have it there?” Livie melted all over again. “I’m sure they will.” Livie’s mother used to say that life was punctuated by big moments, but made up of the smaller ones. Today had been a big one, but she was looking forward to the root beer and cream soda moments in Southampton. To waking up next to this man every morning for the rest of her life. To glittered masks and Halloween scrubs. To a lifetime of moments…a lifetime of love.

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Mason's Kiss by Sheri WhiteFeather Beverly Clark has a secret...one she must keep at all costs. So she’s thrown for a loop when an accident on a desolate country road throws her together with handsome winemaker-in-training, Mason Sheppard, who has returned home to Napa Valley from France to visit with his family. Mason can’t deny the attraction he feels for the mysterious Beverly, but she knows she can’t give in to temptation- not if she wants to keep her secret safe! Can Beverly follow her heart and keep the truth hidden?

Stunned, Beverly sat behind the wheel. She’d just rammed her Karmann Ghia into the side of a truck. And on a wine-country road, no less. A lush, hilly grade in Napa Valley, California. Her hideaway. Her sudden nightmare. She knew the collision was her fault. Her mind had been wandering and she’d taken the right-of-way at a four-way stop. But she should have yielded to the other driver. He climbed out of his vehicle, a big, black Dodge. He stood tall, over six feet, with rebellious blond hair, frayed jeans and scuffed boots. He was about her age, she guessed. Twenty-five, give or take a year. She prayed that he wouldn’t insist on filing an accident report, because that would mean calling the highway patrol. And flashing her counterfeit ID to an officer of the law. What if her license didn’t pass the test? What if she was hauled in for questioning? Beverly glanced up, and the other driver appeared at her window. She gathered her wits and rolled down the glass. He leaned forward, giving her an unobstructed view of his face. His eyes were an electric shade of blue, and although stubble darkened a rough-hewn jaw, the rest of his features held a boyish appeal. She suspected that his cheeks dimpled when he smiled. Of course he wasn’t smiling now. “Are you okay?” he asked. She merely nodded. “Are you sure?” “Yes.” She reached for the door handle, and he stepped back, allowing her to exit the car. She needed to prove that she was fine, even if her knees threatened to buckle. “I’m so sorry. After you get an estimate, I’ll pay for the damage to your truck. In cash,” she added, discouraging him from contacting his insurance company. She had plenty of money tucked away, even if she was careful not to flaunt it. Together, they walked over to the point of impact. Both vehicles had gotten by with just a couple of dents. Beverly breathed a sigh of relief. She had expected the front of her yellow Ghia to look like a squashed daisy. Taking care of business, they exchanged information. He said his name was Mason Lucas Sheppard and that he lived on an estate called The Vines. “My family owns Lauret Vineyard,” he explained. “It’s here in the Valley, but I spend most of my time in France, traveling and studying. I’m a winemaker-in-training.” He smiled, and her prediction came true. He

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had dimples. “It’s the best job in the world.” He moved closer to her. “But don’t tell anyone that I get homesick once in a while. It’ll kill my international image.” He was very forthcoming with details, she thought, especially considering she had just smashed into his truck. She tried to return his smile, but she couldn’t find the strength to put on a show. She could feel him gazing into her eyes, searching with concern. He placed his hand on her shoulder, lightly, gently, nearly stilling the breeze that fluttered between them. “Are you sure you’re all right? That you aren’t hurt?” His touch, his compassion, went straight to her heart. She’d been hurt more times than he could possibly know. “It’s just been a crummy day.” He caught her gaze again, and she realized they were standing in the middle of a vacant road, staring at each other. She imagined how pale she must look, her dyed black hair accentuating the lightness of her skin. He, on the other hand, looked big and strong and secure. “Will you let me take you to dinner?” he asked. “Something to make up for a crummy day?” Oh, God. She teetered on her feet. He was inviting her on a date. Her. Beverly fraudulent Clark. She wanted to go out with him, to dream, to pretend that a handsome stranger could change her life. But she shook her head, instead, declining his offer. Keeping herself under lock and key. Mason studied his companion. He wished she hadn’t turned him down. He wasn’t ready to let Beverly Clark go. Everything about her intrigued him. Her unconventional beauty struck him like a match to flint, like an instant flame. She wore a long black skirt, a gauzy blouse and a denim jacket. Around her neck, a scarf, the color of a full-bodied merlot, fluttered like a veil. Her hair, cropped short and fringed with bangs, was too dark for the fairness of her skin. It made her seem ghostly, gothic. But her eyes captivated him the most, with a hint of mystery. Mason had only been home from France for a day. One breathtaking Napa Valley day. He loved the wine country and all its glory. Trees, grass, vineyards... Grapes, he thought. Jewels of the earth. He gazed at Beverly again, wondering how long she’d lived in the Valley. And then a thought hit him. “Did I just step on another man’s toes?” he asked. “A boyfriend? Fiancé? Husband?” “No.” She closed her jacket, buttoning herself into it. “I’m not involved with anyone.” “Then why won’t you have dinner with me?” he asked before he could stop himself. A second later, he winced at his own persistence, hoping he didn’t seem like a total idiot. “Sorry. That was pushy.” She actually smiled. A barely there smile, but a positive reaction just the same. “You’re aggressive,” she agreed, “but I think you mean well.” He let out the breath he’d been holding, touched by the softness he saw in her eyes. “It’s a habit, I guess. My parents spoil the loving hell out of me. Sometimes my brothers and sisters cater to me, too.” “You must be the baby.” He nodded, reminded of the simplicity of his roots compared to those of his brothers and sisters. His halfsiblings carried the notorious Ashton name- a curse, as far as Mason was concerned. He was glad he didn’t

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have Ashton blood running through his veins. “They’ll vouch for me. Talk me up. Tell you I’m capable of changing your life.” The wind blew, rustling her scarf, making it billow. “Would they really say that?” “The females in my family probably would.” He decided that she was an only child. That she must not have any brothers or sisters to believe in her. “But they’re biased.” When they both fell silent, Mason shifted his stance. There was something hauntingly familiar about Beverly, something he couldn’t quite name. Was it the sound of her voice? The way she moved? The shape of her mouth? The colorless lip gloss she wore? “Do you speak French?” she asked. He nodded. “Do you?” “A little,” she admitted. “But not very well.” When she took a step, one heart-thundering step toward him, Mason hoped that she would decide to have dinner with him, to explore the chemistry he was feeling between them. To him, their accident seemed like fate. And Beverly Clark, with her gothic beauty and merlot scarf, seemed like part of his future. A woman he was destined to meet. Beverly soaked in the tub, then rummaged through her closet and chose an Edwardian dress, a soft linen garment trimmed in textured embroidery and a hint of lace. She could have skipped the citrus-scented bath and worn the same clothes she’d had on earlier, but she wanted to feel fresh, to look old-fashioned and feminine. Not that she had any business going on a date. When she’d altered her appearance and changed her name, she’d promised herself that she would avoid getting close to anyone. That she would live in seclusion until Darby Quinn faded from the limelight. But that was before she’d met Mason Sheppard. Before he’d charmed her, intrigued her. Anxious, she glanced at her watch. Too late to cancel. He would be there any minute. Unsure of what else to do, she fluffed the decorative pillows on the couch, smoothing the tassels. She lived in a cottage that was tucked away in the hills, a gingerbread-style house that Darby’s cosmetic surgeon had helped her find. A knock sounded on the door. Beverly took a deep breath and answered the summons. There stood Mason, tall and blond, with his jaw cleanly shaven and his blue eyes twinkling. She invited him inside, and he handed her a bouquet of lilac roses. For a long, drawn-out moment, she froze, unable to move. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “No.” She struggled to regain her composure. Did he know what giving lilac roses to a woman meant? What the color symbolized? “These are my favorite flowers.” “They are? Then I got lucky, I guess. I just thought they were pretty.” “I’ll put them in water.” She went into the kitchen, and he followed her. She could hear his footsteps on the ceramic tile. She found a clear glass vase and arranged the de-thorned roses, placing them on the dinette set.

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“You look beautiful, Beverly.” She turned and saw him watching her. “Thank you.” She motioned to the flowers, grateful that he wasn’t aware of what they indicated. That he wasn’t making a deliberate statement. “For the bouquet, too.” He smiled, and she pictured him living in France, learning his craft, traveling to different wineries, eating at quaint cafés, enjoying the company of beautiful women. “How long are you going to be in Napa Valley?” she asked. “Two weeks.” He reached out to touch her high-neck collar, fingering the lace, appreciating the delicate finery. “Why? Are you going to miss me when I’m gone?” Yes, she thought, her skin tingling at his closeness. She would miss the Prince Charming spell he’d begun to cast, the uncharacteristic way he affected her. Darby had taught her not to believe in fairy tales, but Beverly couldn’t help the way Mason already made her feel. “I barely know you.” “That doesn’t mean you won’t miss me.” He walked over to the table, snapped the stem of one of the roses and tucked the flower behind her ear, brushing the petals against her cheek. “Or that I won’t miss you.” Suddenly, Beverly couldn’t think straight. When he lifted his gaze and looked into her eyes, her heart struck her chest. Lilac roses: love at first sight. Mason took Beverly to a restaurant that showcased wines from local vintners. They sat at a rustic table with a nighttime view. A fat white candle flickered between them, the flame dancing on air. He watched the wax melt, wishing his heart wasn’t moving so damn fast. As he sat across from Beverly, Mason wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and devour her with a kiss that would leave them both breathless. “You were right.” She sipped an award-winning cabernet sauvignon from his family’s boutique winery. “This is perfect with pan-grilled steak.” Mason didn’t respond. The beef was seasoned with sprigs of rosemary, enhancing the herbal qualities of the wine. But that hardly mattered. He hadn’t consumed a single drop of alcohol, yet he was lightheaded. For the first time in his life, he was getting drunk on a woman. Madly, strangely, stupidly drunk. She cut into her steak again, taking another bite. Was she calmer now? he wondered. Had the rich red cabernet soothed her nerves? Earlier she’d seemed edgy, unearthed by the flower he’d tucked behind her ear. The lilac rose she still wore. “Tell me about your family,” she said. “The folks who spoil me?” “Yes.” She scooted to the edge of her seat, seeming genuinely interested in what he had to say. “I have two half sisters and two half brothers,” he told her. “They’re my mother’s children from a previous marriage. Mom’s first husband was a bastard. He forced her into relinquishing her estate. And after he screwed her over in the divorce, he deserted their children.”

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“That’s awful.” Her voice went hollow, distant. “There’s so much cruelty in the world. So much pain.” Mason gauged her response. Had someone hurt her? Someone like the man who’d wounded his family? “My mom bounced back, and so did my brothers and sisters.” “How?” “By meeting my dad. He married Mom and raised her children as his own. He was their salvation- exactly what they needed.” She looked up from her plate. “And then you were born? The little brother? The baby?” “Yes.” He was still wondering about her, anxious to unlock her mystery. “Sometimes they forget that I’m not a kid anymore. But it’s only because they love me.” “That must be a comforting feeling.” “It is.” Mason glanced at the candle. The flame was still dancing, still burning bright. He knew how lucky he was. “I’ve never had to think twice about it.” “What are your brothers’ and sisters’ names?” Beverly asked, prodding him for more information. “Eli, Cole, Mercedes and Jillian.” He lifted his knife and cut into an asparagus spear. “Their father has other grown children. But my brothers and sisters don’t have anything to do with them.” “Do his other kids live close by?” He nodded. “They were raised in the estate he stole from my mom.” “How unfair.” She buttered her bread, paused, and then made a curious expression. “And complicated.” “A lot of people’s lives are.” But his wasn’t. At least, not until today, not until he’d met her. “Now I want to know about you, Beverly.” He leaned forward. “I want to know who you are.” Mason stared at Beverly expectantly, waiting for her to speak. “There isn’t much to tell,” she said quickly. Too quickly. Although she tried for a casual air, an unaffected shrug, her effort fell short. She was giving the worst performance of her life. Yet this was supposed to be her skill, her forte. Somewhere deep down she wanted to be honest. But Darby wouldn’t let her. She could hear Darby’s voice in her head, warning her to be careful, to not reveal too much. Mason searched her gaze, probably seeing the indecision in her eyes. Could he see the outline of her contact lenses, too? The opaque tint that changed her natural blue eyes to brown? “Tell me something. Anything.” He stopped eating, pushing away his plate, clanking his silverware. “How long you’ve lived in the Valley. What kind of work you do.”

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“I’ve been here for a month.” She’d arrived after the scars on her face had healed, after the postsurgery bruises had faded. “And I ended my career. I left it behind.” He blinked at her, waiting for more. When she didn’t offer anything else, he prodded. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” “Yes.” She couldn’t bear to lie to him, to recite a phony background, to deceive him any more than she already had. Nor could she discuss her work with him. Not without betraying Darby. He ran his hand over his jaw. Candlelight flickered across his skin, shadowing the angles of his face, making him look even more handsome. When a strand of his hair fell forward, it slashed across his brow, razor straight and surfer blond. She thought about the beach house where she used to live, the Malibu sun, the scatter of seashells glistening on the sand, the childhood memories that always crashed with the shore. “What about your family?” he asked. “At least tell me about them.” “My father is dead.” “And your mother?” She fell silent. She couldn’t bring herself to talk about her mom. Or about the man who’d hurt two innocent little girls. “I assume you don’t have any brothers or sisters,” he said. Her youth assaulted her, making her memories even more painful. His assumption was wrong, but she kept quiet, letting him believe that she was an only child. Mason tilted his head, observing her reactions. “You’re so complicated.” Beverly wasn’t about to argue. She didn’t know how to behave like an everyday person. But Darby had been lousy at that, too. Of course, Darby hadn’t lived an ordinary life. “Maybe you should take me home.” “And call it a night?” He made an empty gesture. “Just like that?” “We’re both done with our meals,” she pointed out. “I think we should finish the date,” he said. She removed the flower from behind her ear, setting it on the table. “Why? What’s left?” She indicated the pastry cart in the corner, where éclairs, cream puffs and chocolate delicacies beckoned. “Dessert? Coffee?” “Yes. But there’s more. Maybe a moonlit walk...and a kiss,” he all but whispered, making her breath catch. “A romantic way to say goodnight.” After dessert and coffee, Mason drove Beverly to her cottage, taking the winding stretch of asphalt ribbon in silence. She looked out the window at the scenery that passed by. The pitch of night shrouded the forested hillside and dappled the road. To her, the area seemed enchanted. And so did the man beside her. She’d never met anyone like him. Tall, strong, idyllic Mason. She was anticipating his kiss, thinking about his lips on hers.

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By the time they reached her cozy little rental, her heart tumbled to her throat. He parked in the graveled driveway, and they turned to look at each other. “I like complicated women,” he said. In the darkness of his truck, his eyes seemed gray, the bright blue color difficult to discern. But the honesty in them was raw, real, something Beverly wasn’t accustomed to. Her world had never been true. Lies, deceits and falsehoods had followed her like a pack of fang-bearing wolves. She itched to touch him, to run her fingers through his hair. He wore it long in front, letting it fall in natural disarray. “I feel like I never know what to say to you.” “Because you’re keeping secrets.” He touched her hair, instead, tousling the choppy layers. “At first you reminded me of a beautiful ghost; a gothic creature who could haunt a guy’s dreams. But now that I’ve seen where you live, I think maybe you’re a wood nymph.” She knew what a wood nymph was: a beautiful maiden, a Dryad in Greek mythology, who inhabited ancient trees. “I am hiding from my past... I have to.” “I know. And at some point, you’ll tell me why.” He made it sound so easy. But if the press uncovered her true identity, her life would be a living hell, the way it had been before. “I can’t make any promises.” “I can. I’m good at keeping my word.” He grazed her cheek with his calloused fingertips. The passionate winemaker, she thought, as the roughness of his skin abraded her. She envisioned him pruning plants in the winter, training the vines, harvesting his beloved grapes by hand. He leaned into her, slowly, slanting his mouth over hers. When their lips made contact, she latched on to him, drinking him in, sampling the rich masculine flavor. His tongue sought hers, and she shuddered in his arms. Warmth spread through her belly, and the truck seemed to be spinning in rapid arcs, taking her pulse with it. She never wanted it to end. The moonlight he’d mentioned during dinner appeared like a dream, drifting through the windows, creating a lunar glow. They kissed, over and over again, a man and a woman seized in a mindless moment. Finally, when they required air, they stopped, breathing like marathon runners. “Damn,” he said. “Double damn,” she parroted, making him smile. They left the confinement of his truck, and he walked her to her door. As they stood on her stone porch, she feared he was an illusion- magic that was sure to slip away. “You better go inside,” he said reluctantly, as he tugged on her shawl. “It’s cold out here.” Beverly didn’t care if the wind was whipping through her bones. Her feelings for this man were hitting her...hard. She didn’t want to lose him, to watch him drive off into the night. But then what should she do? she asked herself. Invite him to stay? To spend the night with her?

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Beverly stood on the porch and weighed her options. Mason was going back to France in two weeks, and she was hiding from the world. The odds weren’t in their favour. But she wanted him. God help her, she did. As he released her shawl, the fringe at the bottom of it fluttered. “You should go inside,” he said, warning her once again that she wasn’t dressed for the weather. “Not yet,” she told him. He removed his sport coat and slipped it over her shoulders. “What am I going to do with you, Beverly?” She gave him a shaky smile, her heart fighting an irrational beat. “I was wondering the same thing about you.” She couldn’t pretend that sleeping with him would change her life. Yet being in his arms felt so good, so right. “Will you hold me?” she asked, still wanting him, still battling her emotions. “You know I will.” He embraced her, and she nearly melted against him. She could feel his muscles bunching beneath his shirt. The power of who he was, of his strength. He backed her into a corner of the porch, sheltering both of them from the wind. But as close as they were, she noticed he was careful not to rub against her, to take advantage, to entice her into bed. The thought made her laugh. Confused, he stepped back. “What’s so funny?” She looked up at him. His hair was falling over his forehead, getting in his eyes. “You. Me. I was debating on whether I should invite you to spend the night, and you’re trying to be so good.” He blinked, pushed his hair back. “Now you’ve got me aroused.” She bit her lip to keep from laughing again. “You were already aroused.” “Yeah, but now it’s worse.” “Go home, Mason.” She returned his jacket. “I can tell that you were born to be a gentleman. You’ve got to be the sweetest guy I’ve ever known.” “Sweet?” He made a sour face. “I’m no Boy Scout.” No, she thought. He was a gorgeous, hot-blooded American male. And he’d probably had sex with half the women in France. “Will you come back tomorrow?” “What for?” He cracked a smart-aleck smile. “Cookies and milk?” “Breakfast,” she countered. “Pancakes.” “Fine.” He roamed his gaze over her. “But I’m bringing condoms.” Was he joking? Teasing her? At this point, she couldn’t tell. Self-conscious, she closed her shawl, wrapping the crocheted cover-up around her virginal dress.

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“Bring some orange juice, too,” she told him, trying to sound as cavalier as he looked. He tossed his jacket at her. “Your teeth are chattering.” And her nipples were hard, but she wasn’t about to admit it. She caught the sport coat. The fabric smelled like his cologne. Erotic. Woodsy. “I don’t need to keep warm. I’m going inside.” “Keep it anyway.” He turned and stepped off the porch, heading for his truck. But he didn’t leave right away. He waited for her to unlock her front door, to enter her cottage, to disappear into the shelter of her home. Once she was alone, she flopped onto the sofa and pressed his jacket against her body, anxious for morning to come. Mason awakened at the crack of dawn, thinking about his surroundings, the place where he grew up. The Vines was a French country-style home constructed of rustic gray and white stone, a dark slate roof and steeple-like peaks. Aside from the main house, the grounds held a winery, a carriage house, a guest cottage, stables and a small man-made lake. Even as a boy, he’d appreciated the Old World charm. Ready to start the day, to see Beverly, he took a shower and got dressed, choosing comfortable jeans and a blue sweater. He combed his hair straight back and splashed on some cologne. He glanced at the bedside clock in his room and realized Beverly hadn’t specified what time he was supposed to go over. Which meant what? That he could show up at his leisure? He slipped on a pair of distressed-leather boots. Mason liked casual clothes with a stylish edge. He liked pretty girls in vintage dresses, too. A moment later, he grabbed a fistful of condoms and shoved them in his front pocket. With an anxious breath, he went downstairs to boost his system with caffeine. He entered the kitchen and discovered that his brothers were at the stove, preparing some sort of massive omelet. “Where were you?” Eli asked. Mason gave him a dumbfounded stare. “In bed.” “He means last night.” This came from Cole, a man with short dark hair and the Ashtons’ green eyes- a trait possessed by all the siblings. “You missed a family dinner.” Mason poured himself a cup of coffee. “I had a date.” “That’s what we figured.” Cole grated a mound of cheese. At 36-years-old, he was a year younger than Eli and eleven years older than Mason. “Anyone we know?” Mason shook his head. He wasn’t prepared to talk about Beverly, not with a handful of condoms burning a hole in his pocket. “Are you going to see her again?” “Maybe.”

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“Maybe?” Cole moved closer and grabbed the neckline of his sweater, stretching it for a quick sniff. Mason tried to pull away, but he wasn’t fast enough. “Fancy cologne,” Cole confirmed. “Our boy has another date.” “I wonder if we should tell him about the birds and the bees,” Eli said, chuckling at his own wit. A rarity, considering his serious nature. Mason rolled his eyes. His brothers were in fine form this morning. “As if either of you have room to talk. At least I’m not a candidate for Viagra.” “Smart ass.” Cole made an overzealous attempt to swat him with a dish towel, missed and hit the salt and pepper shakers, spilling them onto the counter. Eli went into his caveman mode and tried to protect the grub he was cooking while Mason abandoned his coffee and seized a towel of his own, twirling it, getting ready to snap it at Cole. “Good morning, boys.” Their mother’s voice stilled the horseplay. Caroline Sheppard entered the kitchen, looking warm and graceful. Although she carried a few extra pounds, she never seemed to notice or care. When she flashed a sweet smile, Mason knew she enjoyed having her sons close by, behaving like the kids they used to be. She peered at the overstuffed omelet and made a curious face. “Is that supposed to be for all of us?” “Not me.” Mason replaced his towel, folding it neatly in the drawer. “I’m having breakfast somewhere else.” He remembered the orange juice Beverly had requested and removed an unopened carton from the fridge. “Can I take this?” “Of course you can.” His mother gave him a kiss on the cheek, then recited the same words she’d been saying to him since he was in high school. “Stay out of trouble.” “I will,” he repeated automatically, knowing damn well that he was headed for the worst kind of trouble. Falling in love. As Beverly busied herself with the pancake batter, she could feel Mason watching everything she did. He sat at the dinette set, observing her with what seemed like appreciation. Of course, Beverly had been admired before. No, she thought. That wasn’t true. Darby was the one who’d attracted attention. The angelic-looking blonde had been revered by strangers. But most of those people had turned on her later. Last week, the tabloids had reported that Darby Quinn was dead. That she’d committed suicide, even though her body hadn’t been found. This week, she’d been spotted on a beach in Cancun. Beverly cracked an egg into the bowl, wondering if Elvis had been sighted there, too. Darby had always identified with Elvis. Not because of his fame, but because he had a twin brother who’d died at birth. Dead or alive, a twin was a twin- part of yourself that stayed with you forever. Darby knew that better than anyone. “Are you focusing on the pancakes?” Mason asked. She looked up at him. “What?” “You seem so intense.” He left his seat and walked toward her, stopping when he was only inches away. She tried to relax, but his sudden proximity was creating topsy-turvy sensations. “You’ve been staring at me.”

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He remained close, much too close. “I can’t help it. I’m obsessed with you.” The way the public was obsessed with celebrities? She gazed into his eyes, praying that he understood the consequences, the ache that came with obsession. “That’s not a safe word, Mason.” “I know, but there’s nothing safe about the way I feel.” She struggled for an appropriate response. She’d never experienced anyone like him. “You’re so honest all the time.” “What’s there to lie about? I’m an open book.” So was Darby. Literally, she thought. Only the bestselling biography had been a deception, a horrible, painful facade. But worse yet was the author of the book. The woman who’d penned all those damaging words. “I won’t pressure you, Beverly.” She sucked in a barely controlled breath. “About what?” “About your secrets.” “Thank you,” she said, even though she knew that his patience would only take him so far. Clearing her mind, she glanced at the half-stirred batter. “I need to finish this.” Twenty minutes later, the pancakes were done, along with a side of fried eggs and ham. Mason set the table, where the lilac roses he’d given her created a centerpiece. When he discovered her ancient plates, he tilted his head. “Is everything you have old?” She watched him examine the slightly chipped china. “I like things that survive the test of time. Antiques, collectibles, thrift-store treasures.” “Like your car. It’s vintage, too.” She brought the food to the table. “Speaking of cars, when are you going to get an estimate?” “Soon, but I don’t want you to pay for it.” He filled their glasses with juice. “I’ll take care of it myself.” “But I hit you. I damaged your truck.” “I know.” He held out her chair for her. “But that accident changed something inside me.” She took the proffered seat, felt her heart stumble. “Because of us?” He nodded. “Because we’re going to be together.” He dug into his pocket and removed a glittering array of condoms, scattering them around the flowers. “Or I hope we are.” Beverly gazed at the foil packets. Last night she’d wondered if Mason had been teasing her. But now she knew he wasn’t. This was his way of asking her to make love with him. They ate breakfast with the condoms on the table. Eggs, pancakes and prophylactics. It was, Mason thought, strange, sexy and surreal. Silence engulfed them, but it hardly mattered. He was too busy watching her eat. He liked the way she poured the syrup, the way she drenched her food. Every time she licked her lips, his zipper turned tight.

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He imagined her using that gorgeous mouth on him. “You’re making me nervous,” she said. “Sorry.” He grabbed his orange juice and took a thirst-quenching swallow. He wanted to use his mouth on her, too. She lifted her napkin and blotted her lips. He struggled to sit still, to keep himself from pulling her onto his lap, from kissing her senseless. She wore a caftan, a loose-fitting tunic that reminded him of his international travels. He’d been to a Moroccan wedding where the bride had worn a similar garment, fancier, but the same style. He’d attended a French wedding, too. In that ceremony, the groom had escorted the bride to the chapel while children stretched white ribbon across the road. Why was he thinking about that, he wondered. He wasn’t looking for a wife. At least, he hadn’t been. “Have you ever been in a committed relationship?” he asked. She shook her head. “No. Have you?” “No.” He paused, frowned a little. “I date a lot. Play the field, I guess. But when I go back to France, it’s going to feel strange doing that again.” She toyed with her ham. “Because of me?” He nodded. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? Getting attached to someone this soon?” “Sex is going to make it even more difficult.” She glanced at the foil packets. “For both of us. You live abroad, and I’m struggling with issues from my past. I’m not even sure how long I’ll stay in Napa Valley. I might decide to disappear, to go somewhere else.” He fought the ache of what losing her would do to him. He’d assumed she would remain in her cottage. That he could visit her whenever he returned. “We’ll have to think of this as a once-in-a-lifetime affair. We’ll have to accept it for what it is.” She looked at him, deeply, tenderly, and he wished he knew her secrets. She was as elusive as the wood nymph she reminded him of, as a fabled goddess. “Which one is your favorite?” she asked, running her fingers over the condoms, scattering them even more. He gave her an anxious smile. “I’m okay with all of them.” He’d just grabbed a bunch from a variety pack. She reached for a shiny blue packet, teasing him with it. “This one says extended pleasure. Is that true?” Unable to hold back any longer, he leaned over to kiss her, to slip his tongue into her mouth. She returned his kiss, and he dragged her onto his lap, just the way he’d imagined. He didn’t care if they made love on the kitchen table. He was willing to do it anywhere. But, instead, she took his hand and led him to her room, where he found her bed was unmade, with fluffy white sheets and an antique quilt. Soft, he thought. Delicate. An invitation that humbled him. And made him want her even more. Beverly closed her eyes. Mason’s touch felt so warm, so seductive. He removed her caftan, and she released the condom in her hand, letting it drop to the floor. He skimmed his fingers along the sides of her

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body, sending sweet chills up her spine. She opened her eyes and saw him gazing back at her. She stood before him in her panties and bra, in white lace and simple cotton. He unhooked her bra and took down the straps, sliding them off her arms, and then began to rub his thumbs over her nipples. When he smiled, she pitched forward a little. She couldn’t have dreamed this moment if she tried. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. Her panties came next. He discarded them, then dropped to his knees, leaving her completely naked and vulnerable to his seduction. His lips. His tongue. He kissed her there, between her legs, taking what he wanted, making the room spin. He sipped her, the way he would taste nectar from the vine, a silky pinot noir, a rich merlot, an herbal cabernet sauvignon- the wines he created. She tunneled her hands through his hair. Her Mason. Her lover. He was still fully clothed, still wearing his sweater, his jeans, his boots. Unable to stop herself, she rocked against his mouth. Intimate foreplay. Dangerous heat. Sensation slammed into sensation, deep and slick and carnal. He licked; he laved; he drove her half mad. He looked up at her, and her knees went weak. The fear of falling in love hit her like a long-lost pain. She’d never let herself get this close to anyone, not emotionally, not where it counted. As her heart reacted, her body followed, creating a dizzying effect, a crashing motion. She climaxed, tugging at his hair, pulling him closer. When it ended, when her vision stopped blurring, he rose to his full height and kissed her, pushing his tongue into her mouth, dragging her into another mind-altering sensation. By the time they separated, she needed air, a gust of soul-scorching oxygen. She breathed deeply and grappled with his clothes, yanking his sweater over his head, baring his chest. They stumbled to the bed, falling onto rumpled sheets. He kicked off his boots which landed on the floor with a thud. Beverly opened his zipper, nearly breaking the metal teeth. He wasn’t wearing underwear. No boxers, no briefs. “Mason.” She said his name, and he rolled over, pinning her beneath him, cuffing her wrists with his hands. Making her his prisoner. Mason gazed into Beverly’s eyes. His fantasy, he thought. She looked so beautiful, so pure and real. He liked the fairness of her complexion. Its milky whiteness made her nipples stand out. The lines of her body captivated him, too- the column of her neck, the curve of her hips. She was everything he craved, everything he wanted. But he didn’t do anything but keep her pinned to the bed. He wanted to remember this moment, the prelude to lovemaking. She glanced down at his fly, at his open zipper, and heat spread through his loins. He was already hard, already imagining all the positions they were going to engage in, all the slick, sultry sex.

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Finally, he leaned forward to inhale her skin, her soap, her powder, her perfume. Then he rubbed against her, arousing himself even more. His jeans rustled, the denim chafing her skin. She arched, bending her body like an acrobat, then she broke free of his bonds. In the instant that followed, they rolled over the bed, tugging at his jeans, taking them all the way off. She stroked him, tracing the shape, making his heart bang against his chest. Still exploring him, she lowered her head, getting ready to do what he’d done to her. “You don’t have to,” he said. “I want to,” she countered, darting her tongue, taking catlike licks. If she purred, he was going to lose his mind. He toyed with her hair, waiting for her to go deeper, to take him in her mouth. But she didn’t. She kept teasing him, making him suffer. He watched her, wondering how he was going to survive. She caressed every inch, circling the head of his penis, tasting the glistening beads of moisture. Every stroke, every naughty little lick made him groan. He grabbed on to the brass rails of the headboard and lifted his hips. And then she did it. She sucked him, hot and hard and deep. Over and over, creating friction. Finally, before he lost control, he pulled her up, desperate to be with her. “Where’s the condom?” he asked, his pulse still pounding between his legs. She peered over the side of the bed. “I dropped it.” They tore apart the clothes they’d left on the floor, looking for the foil packet. Mason found it under her panties. While he ripped it open and battled the latex, she touched him, running her hand along his thigh. He fought his next breath. All he wanted to do was thrust inside her, to make the ache go away. They made love in every position he’d imagined, until he was on top, looking into her eyes. He couldn’t get enough of her. The more he took, the more she gave, the more he wanted. She attacked his shoulders, digging her nails into his flesh. He welcomed the lust-driven pain, the turbulent thrills, the heart-surging adrenaline. She was his goddess, his nymph, the lady clawing at his sanity. He slid his hand between their bodies and rubbed that sweet, sensitive little spot. “Don’t stop,” she said. “I won’t.” Not yet, he thought. She quivered beneath him, on the verge of a climax. He could feel it rising like a wave. And when it happened, he kissed her, holding her close, absorbing every breathy pant, every orgasmic shudder. Then he closed his eyes and let himself fall, as far and deep as he could, unable to deny what he’d been afraid of all along. That he was falling in love with her. Mason went to Beverly’s bathroom to dispose of the condom. Afterward, he gazed in the mirror. Frustrated, he splashed water on his face, thinking he was an idiot.

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He’d only known her two days. Two days. Yet it wasn’t a mistake, an error in his mind, a glitch in his heart. He was falling in love, damn it. He knew he was. He returned to her room. She was sitting up in bed, with the sheet loosely draped, concealing her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, the parts of her body he wanted to touch and kiss all over again. She met his gaze, and he grabbed his jeans and put them on. Being naked around her wasn’t a good idea. Not now. Not while he was cursing his stupidity. She tilted her head. “Do you do that all the time?” He zipped his pants. “Do what?” “Not wear underwear.” He fumbled with the snap. “Why? Do you think it’s strange?” “No. I think it’s sexy.” She smiled, making him weak. Her lips seemed memorable, as though he’d seen her smile a thousand times before. Her eyes haunted him, too- they were a familiar shape, but the wrong color. “Do you mind if I light some incense?” she asked. “Go ahead.” He glanced at the brass burner on her nightstand. Aromatherapy was an ancient practice, used by healers, gurus, priests and wizards. Why not a mysterious woman, too? As scented smoke filled the air, he sat on the edge of the bed, watching it curl, drift and dance. “Making love with you was incredible,” she said. Unable to resist, he reached out to skim her cheek, to absorb the texture of her skin. “For me, too.” Their gazes locked, and he searched her eyes, trying to see if she wore contact lenses. She did. He caught a glimpse of their edges. But that didn’t unravel her mystery. Her familiarity went beyond the surface, beyond the changes she’d obviously made to her appearance. Somewhere in the back of his heart, he felt as if he’d loved her before. “I should get dressed.” She broke eye contact and leaned forward. The sheet fell, exposing her nakedness. Mason watched her slip the caftan over her head. No bra, no panties. She remained bare underneath, like him. She adjusted the flowing tunic. “Should we finish breakfast? I can reheat our plates. We can eat in bed.” “Sure. That sounds nice.” Cozy. Romantic. The kind of sexual aftermath she probably needed, and Mason wasn’t about to deny her. “But let me help.” They went into the kitchen together and prepared a tray. She tossed a few condoms on it. “For later,” she told him. Blood rushed straight to his groin. “I like the way you think.” He noticed the Sunday paper sitting on the counter and placed it on the tray, as well. To him, sharing the newspaper seemed like something a couple should do. He’d seen his parents divide the Napa Valley Register a zillion times.

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They returned to her room, sat on the bed and ate their leftover meals. Mason thought it tasted even better the second time around. While they lingered over coffee, he unfolded the paper. “Do you have a preference?” “How about the front page?” He gave her the news section and he went to the community pages. When he came across familiar faces, he frowned. Spencer Ashton and his current wife were hosting an upcoming charity event, making themselves look like the duke and duchess of the Valley. “He’s such a phony.” “Who?” He pointed to the black-and-white photograph. “The bastard who abandoned my brothers and sisters.” She glanced at the picture. “He’s their father?” She gave Mason an accusatory look. “Why didn’t you tell me that your family was connected to him?” “I just did,” he responded, confused by her reaction. “Besides, why does it matter? You don’t even know Spencer.” He stalled, examined her gaze. “Do you?” Mason stared expectantly at Beverly, waiting for her to reply. She shook head. “No. I don’t know Spencer Ashton, not personally.” “Then what’s the big deal? Why are you acting so strange?” Because your connection to one of the most prominent families in the country could put my identity in danger, she thought. Aloud, she said, “I read about Spencer in Fortune magazine. He runs a highly successful investmentbanking firm in San Francisco, and on top of that, his Napa Valley vineyard makes a bundle.” She glanced at the older man’s picture. “People flock for tours of his winery and couples clamor to get married on his estate.” “So he’s mega rich. So what?” “He’s not just rich, he’s famous. He stirs the press.” She lifted the Register. “He makes the papers. His wife is a socialite. She thrives on being celebrated.” “Lilah?” He said the woman’s name with distain. “She’s nobody, Beverly. She used to be Spencer’s secretary. He cheated on my mom with her.” “Maybe so, but she carved a niche for herself among high society. The haut monde,” she added, using her limited French. “And what does any of this have to do with you?” He shifted on the bed. “Are you a runaway socialite?” “No.” But if the media discovered that she was sleeping with a man associated with the Ashtons, they’d have a field day. Mason’s life, and hers, would never be the same. He realized he would get nothing more from her on the subject.

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Nervous, she lifted the breakfast tray with their empty dishes and put it on the nightstand. Incense still burned, filling the room with patchouli-scented smoke. She breathed in the mossy fragrance, the deep, earthy aroma. “You seem familiar to me,” he said, making her heart nearly stop. He moved closer to her, reaching out to touch her face. “Maybe we’re reincarnated lovers. Maybe we knew each other in a past life.” His romantic speculation made her ache. He was grasping at supernatural straws, trying to make sense of something he didn’t understand. He traced the outline of her jaw. “You seem the same yet different. Your eyes, your lips, the way you smile. It’s as though you’re someone who once mattered to me.” She fought the urge to cry. She didn’t want her old self to matter to him. She didn’t want the woman she used to be to come between them. “What you’re feeling isn’t real. It’s an illusion, Mason.” Her past coming back to haunt her, she thought. “We weren’t lovers in another life. And in this life, we only met two days ago.” He followed the fullness of her lips, using the tip of his finger like a pencil, as though he were drawing her in his mind. “Then why are you so familiar?” he asked. “Why are you haunting me?” “I don’t know,” she lied, even though she suspected the reason. “I’m falling in love with you, Beverly. I know it sounds crazy, but I am.” The tears she’d been trying to hold back misted her eyes. “You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed about.” The man stealing her soul. “But you’re mixing me up with someone else.” “That doesn’t make sense.” Yes, it does. To her, it made perfect, painful sense. A riddle she didn’t want him to solve. Mason sat on the dock at The Vines, gazing at the lake, analyzing his situation. A week had passed. Seven days of an affair, of making love day and night, of spending countless hours with Beverly in her enchanted little cottage. Of wondering who she was. Of wishing he could piece together the puzzle. “Are you okay?” He turned to the sound of Jillian’s voice. His 32-year-old sister gazed at him. She was tall and slender, with light brown hair and the Ashton’s signature green eyes. Cultured and well spoken, she was the senior wine educator at Lauret Vineyards. She was also a widow. Her husband, Jason Bennedict, had died two years ago. Prior to that, they’d been married for five years. Not that Jillian ever confided in Mason about her marriage. Her private life had always been a bit of a mystery to him. A lot like Beverly. “I’m fine,” he said, shrugging off his solemn mood. He and his sisters had agreed to have coffee on the dock, to spend a little time together. “Where’s Mercedes?”

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“She’ll be here soon. She’s bringing the cappuccino.” Jillian sat next to him. The wind stirred her chin-length hair, fluttering the soft strands around her face. She wore jeans, an oxford-style blouse and a camel-colored jacket- casual clothes that looked classy on her. “Cole told me you’re dating someone.” He tried for a nonchalant air. “I’m young. I’m supposed to have a social life.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Playing around, are you?” “I always have.” He wasn’t about to tell his sister that he’d fallen in love. What would he say if she questioned him about the woman he loved? That she refused to talk about her past? Ten minutes later, footsteps sounded on the dock. They both turned. Mercedes approached, carrying an oversize thermos, three plastic cups and a leather purse. She was just as pretty as Jillian, with the same green eyes. Her curly brown hair was pinned up, exposing the angles of her face. She was part of the family business, too. She worked as the director of marketing and public relations. “It’s about time you showed up,” Mason said. Mercedes didn’t live at The Vines anymore. She had her own place, her independence. He supposed they had that in common. “Keep it up and I’ll leave.” “Not with the cappuccino, you won’t.” She sat on the other side of him. “Brat.” He knew she was kidding. He grinned and planted a loud, smacking kiss on her cheek. He’d barely seen her during this trip. “Hey,” Jillian complained. “Sorry.” He laughed and kissed her, too. After that, the three of them drank the mocha blend, sipping lazily and gazing at the water. “Oh, I almost forgot.” Mercedes reached into her purse. “I brought this for you.” She handed Mason a magazine. “There’s an article about Darby Quinn. I remember how much you adored her. Your first crush.” She leaned against his shoulder. “It’s sad, isn’t it? What a disaster her life turned out to be.” A sudden chill sliced his spine. “What do you mean? What happened to her?” Mercedes shook her head, as if he’d been living on the moon. But he figured France was close enough. He didn’t pay attention to American movie stars, not anymore. “She disappeared,” Mercedes finally said. “She got caught up in a scandal and that was it. No one has seen her since.” He flipped through the magazine and came to Darby’s picture. The actress’s smile, the tilt of her lips, nearly knocked him off his chair. It was Beverly’s smile, the smile that had been haunting him. “Did you know she had a twin sister?” Mercedes asked. He shook his head, his pulse racing out of control. He didn’t know anything about Darby’s family. Not until now.

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Beverly opened the door and saw Mason staring at her. Just staring, as though he were looking at a ghost. Anxiety gripped her hard and fast. Had he figured it out? Did he know who she was? “Hi,” she said, making a lame attempt to break the tension, to survive the awkward moment. “I wasn’t expecting you today.” She stepped back so he could enter the cottage. He moved forward, and she could almost hear his heart thumping against his chest. Or was that her heart? She noticed that he was dressed for the January weather. He wore varying textures of denim, and his jacket, belt and boots were the color of the earth, the soil that grew vintner’s grapes. His hair fell across his forehead, and his eyes were a forceful shade of blue. Like the sky on a tremulous day. She wished he would smile. She wanted to see his dimples, the boyishness that had first drawn her to him. Suddenly, she glanced down and caught sight of the magazine rolled up in his hand. It wasn’t a tabloid, but that didn’t mean Darby wasn’t featured in it. Legitimate publications printed exposés about her, too. “Say something, Mason.” He handed her the magazine. “Mercedes gave this to me.” She didn’t open it. She kept it curled, the way he had done. “Why?” she asked. “Why did she give it to you?” “Because she thought the article about Darby Quinn might interest me. I used to have a crush on Darby. I spent a portion of my youth watching her on TV and going to see movies she was in.” He paused to take a breath. “She always seemed a little lost to me. Soft. Angelic. A girl I wanted to protect.” Another pause. Another breath. “Like you.” She prayed that he hadn’t told his sister about her. “Are you upset?” “No. But I’m confused. I don’t know how much of the article is true.” “Neither do I- I haven’t read it, and I don’t want to.” She tossed the publication onto her coffee table, where the pages fluttered like a geisha girl’s fan. “I need answers,” he said. She nodded, knowing she couldn’t deny him the truth. Not that she had ever denied anyone the truth. She’d told her side of the story to the media, but they’d sensationalized the lies instead. The book- The Ingénue. “I’d prefer to talk outside.” The walls of the cottage were starting to close in, making her claustrophobic. “Let me get a coat and shoes.” He agreed, and she went into her bedroom and removed a leather jacket from her closet. Next she chose lace-up boots, similar to the ones Mason was wearing. The forest that surrounded the cottage was hilly, with dirt paths and indigenous foliage.

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She returned to the living room, where Mason waited. For a moment, their gazes locked, and she wanted to take refuge in his arms, to pretend that he could sweep her into a fantasy world where the paparazzi didn’t exist. But she knew better. She had to cope with her own problems, with living in the here and now, with hiding from the press. “Ready?” he asked. “Yes.” She sensed that he wanted to touch her, too. But he was wary, cautious not to get too close, to jumble his emotions even more. They went outside and walked among the trees, the wind jostling leaves to the ground. And then Mason turned toward Beverly, stopping her in her tracks. “Are you Darby Quinn?” he asked. “Or are you her sister?” While Mason waited for Beverly to answer his question, he thought about Darby Quinn’s sister. Her name was Tracy- a girl he didn’t know existed until today. But he hadn’t spent his youth gathering facts about Darby. His affection for her hadn’t taken him that far. “My sister died a long time ago,” she said. “When we were nine years old, she dashed across the street and got hit by a car. I was on the other side, waiting for her to cross.” He could see the pain in her eyes, the raw memory of watching her sister die. But that still didn’t explain who she was. “In the article I read, it said that some people think it was actually the twin named Darby who died and that you, Tracy, took her place. That you became her. Fooling everyone, even your own mother.” It sounded absurd to him, but at this point, he didn’t know what to believe. She shook her head. “It was Tracy who died. We were dressed alike that day. We always were. And when our mother heard the squeal of brakes and came out of the house, she was too shaken to know which daughter was lying in the road. I had to tell her it was Tracy.” She paused, looked into his eyes. “I didn’t steal my sister’s identity. I’m Darby. And now I’m Beverly, the woman who’s been trying to disassociate herself from Darby. But I’m not, nor have I ever been Tracy.” He moved closer. The wind tortured her dyed black hair, scattering the short, choppy layers. Darby used to be an ethereal blonde. He remembered wanting to touch her hair, to feel it. His crush on her had started when he was going through puberty, when he was struggling to grow up. “How did that rumor get started? Who came up with the scenario that you’d assumed Tracy’s identity?” “I don’t know, but that story started surfacing after my mother’s book was released.” He wasn’t surprised that she’d mentioned The Ingénue. According to the magazine article, her mother had written an unauthorized biography about Darby. “Do you think that book perpetuated those rumors?” “Probably. Mom claimed that I dominated my sister. That Tracy was unnaturally attached to me.” As far as Mason was concerned, the author of The Ingénue had betrayed both of her daughters, the living and the dead. “I’m sorry, Beverly.” “So am I.” She walked over to a tree and sat beneath it. As the wind kicked up again, the fringe on her vintage jacket rippled. “Tracy was an actress, too. We started appearing in commercials when we were babies. But we never got our own show when we were small, not like the different sets of twins who played Tabitha in Bewitched. Or later on like the Olsen twins. We never had that kind of success. Not together.” He sat next to her, with leaves falling like intermittent snow. “But both of you kept trying?”

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“Our mom drilled it into our heads. It was all we knew. It was the focus of our childhoods.” “But it didn’t happen. Not for Tracy.” “No, it didn’t.” Her voice turned soft, sad, lonely. “And it didn’t happen for me until I was twelve, until I landed a role in a primetime series.” Nostalgic memories floated through his mind, drifting like fog, creating familiar images. “I used to watch that show every Tuesday night.” And now he understood why Darby’s vulnerability had struck him, why he’d longed to protect her. She’d been missing her sister- the little girl who was supposed to share her fame. “I adored you. You were everyone’s angel.” “Not everyone’s,” Beverly said. “Not my mom’s...and not Alan’s.” Mason frowned. That name had been mentioned in the magazine article. “Alan Gray?” “Yes,” she told him, shuddering at the sound of his name. “The man who caused so much pain for Tracy and I.” “He hurt you?” Mason asked, putting his hand on her knee. “Isn’t he your mother’s husband?” “Yes. But he was our manager, too. He managed our careers, mine and Tracy’s, even before he married Mom.” She was grateful that Mason was sitting next to her, touching her, giving her the kind of support only a trusted friend could give. “Alan was- and still is- a major force in Hollywood. Mom thought that having him in our corner was better than winning the lottery. She was in awe of him. To her, he could do no wrong.” “A man who could walk on water?” “Exactly. But in the beginning, he didn’t make much of a difference in our careers. We weren’t getting any prime roles. Alan blamed us for that. He convinced Mom that it was our fault. That we weren’t trying hard enough. We weren’t driven the way we should be.” He shook his head, anger vibrating his voice. “You were just children.” “But we were supposed to be reaching for the stars, to become the most beloved children in Hollywood.” “What happened?” he asked. “What did that bastard do to you?” “He started hurting Tracy first. She was gentler, easier to manipulate.” Beverly picked up a fallen leaf, holding the fragile foliage in her hand. “If he didn’t think we performed well at an audition, he punished her afterward. He pulled her hair. He twisted her arms back. But then it got worse. He did all sorts of things that made her cry.” Mason was watching the leaf, too. “Where was your mother during all of this?” “At work. She trusted Alan to be alone with us, to take us on our auditions. And later she married him, so he was around all the time.” He dug his heels into the ground, unearthing a ripple of dirt, scattering it beneath his boots. “Was there sexual abuse?” “No, but after Mom married him, sometimes he came to our room at night to inflict his punishment, to hurt Tracy. I tried to protect her. I did everything I could to keep him away from her. As sisters, we had an incredible bond, but this brought us even closer. I was all she had.”

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“Did you tell your mother?” “No. Tracy begged me not to. Alan threatened us to keep quiet, the way dangerous adults do. Besides, we were afraid Mom wouldn’t believe us. Alan never left marks on Tracy’s skin, so there was no proof.” Mason asked another question, his gaze locked on hers. “When did he start hurting you?” “He was always threatening me, but he didn’t actually start to hurt me until after my sister died. I was distraught, overrun with grief, so I guess he thought I was an easy target by then. But I found a psychological way to fight back. I decided that I would try even harder to become a star. And when I got rich and famous, I would fire Alan, cast him out of my life.” She placed the leaf on the ground, careful not to crush it. She remembered how Tracy had loved playing in the forest, at the park. “I would prove that I was more powerful than him.” “Did you fire him?” “Yes. I let him go on my eighteenth birthday. Alan played the wounded hero, and my mother called me a traitor. At that point, I’d had enough. I told her what Alan had done to Tracy and me.” “But she didn’t believe you, did she?” “No. And she insisted that my career was going to falter without Alan. Which it did. I had a tough time making the transition from child star to adult actress. I had to prove myself all over again.” She heaved an emotional sigh. “Alan and my mother ignored me after that. They thought I was washed up. That I’d never be successful again.” Mason’s hair blew across his forehead. “You didn’t tell the press what he did?” “Not then. I told them later, after Mom wrote that book, but by then it was too late. Most people didn’t believe me. They thought I was lashing out to get back at my mother.” “Why did she write The Ingénue?” he asked. “You were already estranged from her. What was the point? What was she trying to accomplish?” “I think she did it out of spite. I’d just gotten my career back on track and she was jealous that I’d done it without her and Alan.” Beverly felt her chest turn tight, clenching with a pain that remained fresh, a betrayal that had broken her heart. “That book destroyed me. She twisted everything. She made me look like a bad seed; a girl who tried to ruin her mother’s marriage, who was spoiled and difficult and tainted by her fame. After that, the paparazzi swarmed like killer bees. No matter where I went or what I did, someone was taking my picture, making up trashy stories about me.” She frowned, preparing to recite the worst part. “Remember the movie Mommy Dearest? Well, The Ingénue is going to be made into a movie, too. And they’re actually considering calling it Daughter Dearest.” He reached for her hand. “Why did you decide to change your appearance? To become someone new?” She linked her fingers with his. “I needed some peace. I needed to live a normal life. To escape the insanity.” “I understand, Beverly. I do. But how long can you keep hiding? Running like a fugitive? What you’re experiencing isn’t a normal life.” “Yes, it is. For me, it is.” “No, it isn’t,” he countered. “Come home with me. Meet my family. Be part of something real.”

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She blinked back a flood of tears. Decent, kindhearted Mason. She could see how much he cared. But his suggestion wouldn’t work. “Don’t you realize the damage that could cause? For your family? For you? For me?” “Why would it?” he pressed. “No one knows who you are.” “You figured it out. And if I’m seen with a prominent family, someone else is bound to figure it out, too.” She held his hand a little tighter. “The Ashtons, the Sheppards and Darby Quinn. That’s a media frenzy waiting to happen.” It was the worst scenario she could imagine. Mason didn’t look happy about her decision, but Beverly couldn’t bear to involve his family. Dragging the people he loved into her mess didn’t seem fair. His brothers and sisters had been wounded enough; they’d been abandoned by their prominent father. They didn’t need her complicating their lives, drawing the media to their door. “Has it been difficult to disassociate yourself from Darby?” he asked. “Sometimes. But I try to think of her as a separate person. Someone I used to know. Someone whose life has influenced mine.” “It’s strange to look at you and know you used to be her. The girl I had boyhood fantasies about.” He studied the changes in her, as though he were searching for her scars. “But it’s Beverly I fell in love with.” “What you felt for Darby wasn’t real.” “Not in a tangible sense. But it was real in the sense that she was part of my youth. That I admired her from afar.” Her eyes misted, tears of longing, of wishing she and Mason could be together forever. But she knew better. She knew there was no simple solution. “I’m sorry I’m making things so difficult for you.” “You’re not doing it on purpose. You’re not trying to hurt me.” “No, I’m not. I love you, Mason. What I feel for you is just as strong as what you feel for me.” He smiled at her. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.” For all the good it did, she thought. They were still going to lose each other. “Who altered your face?” he asked. “Who made you look different?” “His name is Dr. Forester. He’s a well-known Beverly Hills cosmetic surgeon, but he has a dangerous reputation. People say that he helped a mobster disappear.” “And that’s why you went to him?” “Yes. I was desperate. I didn’t know where else to turn.” She looked into Mason’s eyes, into the deep blue color. “Dr. Forester wasn’t nearly as dangerous as his reputation. He told me that the rumor about the mobster wasn’t true. But he was capable of helping me disappear, of becoming someone new.” She paused, releasing a soundless breath. “Not only did he alter my appearance, he obtained counterfeit documents for me. A birth certificate, a social security card, a driver’s license, a passport in case I needed to leave the country. He helped me find a place to live, too.”

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“Your enchanted hideaway.” He glanced in the direction of her cottage. “I don’t know of any public figure who’s taken such drastic measures and disappeared the way Darby did.” “John Kennedy, Jr. wanted to,” she said. “Not that I ever knew him. But I heard that he used to talk about changing his face, running away, living a normal life. He got so tired of being in the public eye. Of being followed everywhere he went. When his plane was missing, one of his friends thought that maybe he’d actually done it. That he’d disappeared on purpose.” She glanced up, at tree branches climbing toward the sky. “But that isn’t what happened.” Mason glanced up, too. Then he shifted his gaze, looking directly at her. “I don’t want to go back to France. Not without you. Come with me, Beverly. You’re not famous there. You’ll blend in. Your chances of anonymity are better there. You can get your own apartment. We can be discreet.” Her heart turned tight, an ache she feared would never go away. “What about your friends and family here?” she asked, making him consider the sacrifice, the obstacles. “Can you continue to keep me a secret from your parents? Your brothers and sisters? High school buddies you grew up with? Can you lie to the people you love? Come home every holiday by yourself? Pretend to be single when you’re in a committed relationship with a woman hidden away in France?” For a long, drawn-out moment, he just stared at her, leaving her questions unanswered. Then he responded, his voice much too raw. “I don’t know,” he said. “I honestly don’t know.” After dark, Mason arrived at Beverly’s cottage with a bottle of wine. He never failed to surprise her. Once again, he’d showed up unannounced. But she was more than happy to see him. By now, a five o’clock shadow dusted his jaw. He looked strong and lawless, and she considered leading him to her bed, making their affair- their beautiful, torrid affair- last as long as they both could endure. He handed her the wine. “This is Lauret Vineyard’s new chardonnay.” “Are we going to get drunk?” Drown their ache with a young vintage? “No, we’re going to celebrate you going to France with me. Well, not with me exactly. We’ll book separate flights.” His lips tilted into a boyish smile. “Or we’ll take the same plane and pretend we don’t know each other. That’d be kind of sexy, don’t you think?” He went into the kitchen and she followed him, her heart beating triple time. He removed glasses from her cabinet, retrieved a corkscrew from her cluttered utensils drawer, then opened the bottle and poured. “It’s slightly chilled, the way a California chardonnay should be.” He handed her a glass. “You’re supposed to take the time to notice how it evolves.” She sipped slowly, even if she wanted to down the contents as quickly as she could, to find a way to still her rapid pulse. “You’re not going to tell your friends and family about me?” “No, I’m keeping our relationship a secret. My brothers and sisters know I’ve been dating someone, but I led them to believe that I’m just playing around. They’ll never suspect I’m taking you to France. And neither will my parents. I haven’t talked to them about you.” She fought to keep her knees from buckling. “Can you really do this, Mason? Can you live a lie?” “It’s not a lie. It’s justice. I’m going to make your mother choke on that damn book.” He looked into her eyes. “I’m going to help you find a way to prove what Alan did to you and Tracy. To make him pay for hurting two little girls.” She wanted to fall into his arms, to cry for the sister she’d buried, for the pain they’d suffered. “You don’t know how much I love you for saying that. But there’s no proof. It’s just not possible.”

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“Anything is possible, Beverly. Anything and everything. I doubt you’re the only kids he hurt. He managed other child actors, didn’t he?” “Yes, but no one came forward when I told the media my side of the story. No one accused him of anything but me.” “Maybe they were afraid to speak up. They saw what going public did to you, to your career. But I’ll find a way to solve this. I’ll come back to the States as often as I can. I’ll conduct a private investigation.” “That could take years.” “I don’t care. You’re worth it.” He set his glass on the counter. “And someday, when this is over, you can meet my family. We can tell them everything. Then we face the rest of the world. You can restore your reputation. Your career, if you want to.” This time, she let her tears flow. “I don’t want to be an actress anymore. I just want a normal life- with you. With the man I love.” “And that’s what you’re going to have. Of course, I’ll have to do a bit of acting.” He dried her tears and made her smile. “I’ll have to seem like I’m still playing the field in France.” He tipped her chin up, studying her features, tapping the end of her nose. “Maybe you can wear different disguises. You can be a blonde one week, a redhead the next.” She laughed. “That’s kinky, Mason. But it’s a brilliant idea.” He kissed her, deep and warm and slow. “Of course it is. No one will be the wiser. But we’ll both know there’s only one woman in my life. The lady I hope will marry me someday. ” She held him, welcoming the sensation, the rhythm of his heart beating against hers. He’d just asked her to be his wife. Mason Sheppard. Her champion. Her knight. The secret love of her life.

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Demon Seduction by Pat White Ash Demon Marcus has been dispatched from the dark realms to find and seduce Elizabeth Burke. He is to learn what she knows about PCell, a top secret division of the British Secret Service intent upon eliminating creatures of the paranormal—and use that information to destroy PCell! But Marcus has felt a connection to Elizabeth for a long time, ever since he rescued her from being ravaged by his cousin ten years ago! Can he go through with a plan that calls for him to do essentially the same thing—without falling in love with her?

Chapter One The explosion slammed Marcus's mortal body against the riverbank before he could fly to safety. His enemy was on the hunt, firing his blaster at random, hoping to make his para kill for the night. Instead, the PCell agent discharged his weapon into the ground, sending shockwaves across the English countryside. Marcus could have been destroyed because he'd been distracted by a pretty face. That pretty face. Was his intense attraction to her a side effect of the conversion from his Ash Demon form to human flesh and bones? It had to be. It wasn't like Elizabeth Burke was breathtakingly beautiful. He'd seen prettier. "Are you off your trolley? You could have gotten yourself killed." The not-so-pretty Elizabeth, with her red-streaked hair damp from the rain, stood over him, pinning him with her golden eyes. "Come on, then. We've got to get you out of here. You walked into a bloody mess." In a helpful gesture, she grabbed his arm and Marcus fought back his resentment. He was Ash Demon, a race superior to mortals. He hadn't been physically wounded and didn't need assistance from this petite creature. Standing, he wavered, struggling to regain his strength. The conversion had weakened him more so than usual. Or had a salt bullet from the agent's blaster actually grazed his skin? Elizabeth led him away from the river that weaved through the lush, rolling countryside, away from certain annihilation if he'd been caught by a PCell assassin. Correction: not caught, executed. PCell's sole purpose was to destroy paras of all kinds, without thought, without reason. "What's your name?" she asked. She seemed awfully trusting, but then they'd met before, even if she didn't consciously remember the encounter. They'd met, he'd defended her, and he'd held her in his mortal arms until she'd fallen soundly asleep. She'd been the only woman he'd held that way, and back then she was just a girl, terrified by Marcus's demon cousin who'd wanted to slake his need with a human virgin. "My name is Marcus." Even his voice sounded weak. "Easy then, Marcus. My auto is just beyond those trees. I'll give you a lift out of here. I was finishing up when I heard the blast. What were you doing anyway? The enchanted forest is dangerous for people like us." People like us? The girl had no idea she was walking beside an Ash Demon, a creature from the dark realm sent to find her, seduce her, and use her knowledge to destroy PCell. A mission he did not relish, yet would fulfill in order to save his kind: paras of the dark realm.

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She didn't realize the danger of being in Marcus's presence because Ash was the most highly evolved of the demon race. Having been created from human ash of the Great Fire of Rome, Ash could assume human form better than any other creature of the dark realm. But the mortal seed running through them also made Ash more susceptible to the horrific emotions of compassion and love, two vulnerabilities that could strip an Ash Demon of his identity if he succumbed to their charms. "It's lovely out this evening," he said, his voice returning. "I decided to take a stroll and lost my way." "Ah," she winked. "Must be having girl trouble." She had no idea. His mission was to fill her with his demon seed against her will, the very act he'd defended her from when she was but sixteen. No, he was nothing like his cousin. Marcus would make her want him, make her feel loved before he took her. "Hold it!" a male voice ordered. Elizabeth turned, but didn't raise her hands. "Aw, Mickey, I should have guessed that was your blaster destroying my eardrums." Marcus turned and faced off with a PCell agent, blaster in hand. Agents were recruited by the British Security Service to destroy any and all paras, no questions asked. Marcus automatically raised his hands in surrender. "Put your hands down, he's not going to shoot you," Elizabeth scoffed. "Bloody hell, Lizzy." The agent stormed up to the girl. "You've got to stay out of our business or you're going to get yourself killed. Who's your friend?" The agent eyed Marcus, who struggled to look harmless and innocent. But then in Marcus's present form the agent wouldn't be able to identify his origin by sight. "This is my friend, Marcus. Leave him alone," the girl said. "What did you find tonight? Any good…" she paused, "leads?" Her eyes brightened. Marcus sensed her enthusiasm about the paras of the enchanted forest. "It's top secret business," Mickey said. Marcus wondered why the bloke didn't use the long-barreled clicking device to check the area for paras, or at least use it on Marcus. Did he believe the girl's story that Marcus was her friend? "So this is where you bring your dates then?" the agent said. "On your stalking expeditions?" "I'm not stalking you." "What would you call it? I've got a job to do, Lizzy, a dangerous job and I don't need daft little girls interfering." "I'm twenty-seven, you bloody twit." Marcus sensed her frustration. He'd sensed a lot about her since he'd been in her presence, including her inquisitive nature and gentleness of spirit. A shame he'd have to strip that gentleness in order to achieve his goal. "I'm going to save your life one day, and you're going to eat those words," she said.

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"Yeah, and how are you going to do that, by rescuing gents like him? No, I'm putting an end to this right now. Give me the backpack." "I will not." The agent reached out to grab her pack and Marcus stepped between them. "You'd best be minding your own business, mate." With a smile, he shoved the butt of his blaster into Marcus's stomach. The wind knocked from his body, Marcus fell to his knees. "Mickey, you wanker, what'd you do that for?" Elizabeth kneeled beside Marcus and stroked his back. "Breathe, that's it." Then she was jerked away as the agent ripped off her pack. Struggling to fill his lungs, Marcus couldn't do much more than glare at the bastard. "You're done, Lizzy, hear me?" The agent threw the pack to the ground and pulled out a handgun. "I can't be wasting good salt ammunition on this, now can I?" He fired multiple shots into the bag. The girl shrieked and wrapped her arms around Marcus. He'd been here before, only he'd been the one with protective arms around her. The shooting ceased. "All done," the agent smirked. "Now stop trying to follow in your father's footsteps. You're not a part of this. Go find yourself a husband to take care of you." The agent marched off into the glen. Elizabeth sat back on bent knees and searched Marcus's eyes. "You all right?" She didn't seem frightened, yet Marcus' heart was pounding. Probably because he feared Mickey would discover his identity and blast him to pieces. "My ears are ringing," Marcus said. "It'll pass. Let's get you home." "What about your backpack?" She glanced at it and sighed. "Doesn't look good, does it? Bastards, they're afraid to let women join their group. Like we'll contaminate it or something. I'll go through what's left of my equipment when I get home. Can you stand?" She helped him to his feet. "I suppose you're wondering what this is all about?" "I am a bit curious." She grabbed what was left of her backpack. "I can't tell you specifics because it will put you in danger. Just know that there are other forces, dark forces out here that agents like Mickey protect us from. My advice to you is to forget this whole affair." "Sounds like you should as well," he offered. They approached a small beat up car. She tossed what was left of her pack into the trunk and unlocked his door. "I want to do my part in the fight against evil, but they all think I'm some kind of weakling who can't take care of herself."

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He could see why they'd think that. He'd thought that very thing ten years ago when he'd held her in his arms. "You don't think I can either, do you?" She was staring at him. "I'm sorry?" "Hey, I saved your arse tonight, that's got to count for something." "And I appreciate it, tremendously. I'm a bit addled is all. This is a lot of excitement for me." "Right, sorry. You don't need to be dragged into my melodrama. Let's get you home." They settled in the car and she drove off, down the dirt road that led to his remote cottage fifty miles southwest of London. "Down about two kilometers and turn by the broken oak tree," he directed. "Must have been serious girl trouble for you to wander so far," she offered. "No, no girl trouble." Not yet anyway. She chatted away, talking about the countryside, the mechanical issues with her car, even about the unseasonably warm weather. She seemed so bloody trusting and fearless. "What did that bloke mean, about your father?" Marcus asked. "Oh, that was just a below the belt." "I'm sorry?" She gripped the steering wheel tighter. "I'm trying to make father proud is all." Proud? No, there was something more behind her words. "What's he about, your father?" Marcus pushed. "If you don't mind me asking." "He's a brilliant man, a consultant who developed specialized weaponry for…" she paused as if catching herself, "for the military. I've invented a device that's even better at tracking the enemy, yet the service ignores me. I'm a big joke." "I can hardly believe that." She smiled. "Thanks. Nothing like compliments from a stranger." She hesitated. "But then you have to say nice things because I saved your life. A good thing I was out tonight." Yes, a very good thing. And an even better thing that he knew exactly where to find her. Elizabeth Burke had remained on Marcus's radar since their first encounter more than ten years ago. He kept this fact a secret so it wouldn't be misinterpreted by Grigori, the rulers of the dark realm. He didn't want them thinking he'd grown fond of her or had assigned himself her personal protector. Staying apprised of her activities was simply a way to keep track of her father's work against paras. They turned down the dirt drive and headed for the cottage, invisible in its present state. He'd have to release the spell to make the structure visible, lure her inside and finish his mission. A part of him wished they were meeting for a different reason. Remember your goal: seduce her and learn what she knows about PCell so you can destroy them.

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"Let me off here," he directed. "I'd like to walk the rest of the way." "You sure you're up to it?" "Quite." He had to get far enough ahead to cast a visibility spell without her witnessing it. He opened his door, a plan forming in his mind. "Thanks again. Good night," he said. He started up the path and staggered, putting on a good show. "You all right?" she called from the car. He waved her off and stepped behind the weeping willow. He cast the spell to bring the cottage back into view. "Bloody hell!" he called out. He went to the cottage and leaned against the front door. "What? What is it?" She raced up to him and placed a comforting hand against his back. Odd how every time she touched him a sharp pain lanced through his chest. Must be the physical connection to a mortal. "A bit woozy," he muttered. "I'm fine." "You are not fine, and it's my fault. Mickey socked you too hard because you were defending me. Come on, let's get you settled." He handed her the key and she opened the door. Perfect. She'd be drawn to his vulnerability, not sensing the threat of seduction. He knew once he got her inside, she'd be defenseless against his charms. With any luck he could finish his assignment in one night, one very full night of seduction, passion and mating.

Chapter Two Elizabeth didn’t feel threatened exactly, yet her nerves skittered as she stepped into the quaint cottage. She helped Marcus to the couch and glanced around the room. A hearty fire crackled in the fireplace and she wondered who’d tended it while he was on his walk about. Glancing at the walls, she noticed worn classic novels lining wooden bookshelves and an oil painting on the opposite wall. Created with warm, red tones it featured a naked man and woman in the throes of passion, the woman’s head tipped back as her lover brushed his lips against her neck. Elizabeth’s skin warmed. “I’m sorry, it embarrasses you?” Marcus said. She ripped her attention from the painting. “Of course not.” He didn’t have to know how utterly prudish she was, how innocent and naïve. She was rather inexperienced because typical blokes didn’t appreciate her qualities of focus and determination, nor did they fancy a girl who dressed in baggy jeans, a knee-length slicker and combat boots, with a fifty-pound pack of equipment strapped across her shoulders. Elizabeth didn’t fool herself. She wasn’t sexy or alluring, and that was fine by her. There was work to be done in the fight against creatures of the dark realm. “Please, sit,” he offered. “I could warm water for tea,” she said.

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“That would be lovely.” He smiled. Her stomach did a back flip. She snapped her attention from those fascinating blue-green eyes of his and went to put the water on. Truth was, she hadn’t taken the time to properly size up his looks, what with all the excitement of paras in the woods and Mickey’s confrontation. She sighed. The destruction of her equipment wouldn’t stop her. She kept back-up materials at her flat in London. Later, she’d think about that, after she eased her conscience and tended to Marcus, the innocent bystander. She glanced over her shoulder to get a proper look at her host. He was striking, with high cheekbones and an angular face. Yet he had a friendly look about him as well. Curious. Maybe that’s why she didn’t feel threatened. No, it was something else that put her at ease. He ambled to the fireplace. “You’re feeling better?” she asked, placing a pot of water on the stove. “Much. Just being home puts it all right.” She took off her slicker. “How long have you lived here?” “The cottage has been in my family for centuries.” She grabbed a kitchen towel and squeezed the moisture from her hair. “Elizabeth?” he questioned. She glanced up. “I have a confession to make.” His gaze drifted to the mantle where his fingers stroked a statue of a scantily dressed faerie with long, wavy hair and soft wings sprouting from her back. Back and forth, his thumb brushed the faerie’s hair, down to her hip, to her naked thigh. Elizabeth’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. “What confession?” she whispered, because right now her thoughts were heading in a rather inappropriate direction. “I’m not who I pretended to be, out there in the forest.” “I’m sorry?” As she watched him trail his thumb up the faerie’s torso, to her chest and lips, Elizabeth suddenly itched to feel this man’s hand on her skin, stroking her, setting her body afire— “I lied,” he announced. “I didn’t just happen to wander into the forest. I knew it was there. I knew it was dangerous.” He snapped his hand from the statue. Elizabeth took a step back, catching her breath. “You knew it was dangerous?” she questioned. “But you went out there anyway?” “Yes, I’m looking for someone, someone I lost years ago in the forest.” “Your true love,” she whispered. She didn’t know why she’d said it, but it made sense.

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He glanced at the fire. “It’s not like that,” he paused, “exactly.” She suspected it was. “Why did you come out tonight?” she asked. “The full moon. Legend has it that ten years would pass and on the full moon she would be released into the forest where I could rescue her.” “How did she end up in the dark realm to begin with?” “She was taken by a para, a demon, I think.” Elizabeth leaned against the solid stone wall to ground herself. “Poor girl.” He blinked and glanced away. Did he blame himself? “I thought I could save her by offering to exchange information about PCell to the creature that held her captive.” She stood straight. “You know about PCell? And you were going to betray your country?” “No, I was going to lie. Make something up.” He shrugged. “A demon would know you were lying. He’d kill you on the spot.” “I had to risk it.” “Yes, I guess you would.” Elizabeth wished a man had cared so much about her that he’d risk everything to love her. “But now,” he hesitated. “I’ve lost my chance. When I saw you in the forest, I thought maybe you could help me find her with your instruments. But the PCell agent ruined that possibility when he destroyed your equipment. I must accept that it’s over.” Marcus ambled to the sofa and collapsed, staring into the burning embers. She couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand that a bloody demon had taken this man’s true love. Her mobile rang, jarring her from her sympathies. “I’m sorry, excuse me.” She ripped the phone from her belt. “Burke here.” “Elizabeth, I cannot believe you defied me and went hunting again.” “Hello, father.” “You have no business wandering about the countryside. It’s a good thing Mickey stopped you before you did real damage.” “He did all the damage. He killed my equipment.” “Good, now you can forget your foolish pranks, return to London and get back to work at the plant. That’s more your speed.”

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She cringed at the thought of her boring job at father’s printing plant, one of his many businesses. She’d failed out of university thanks to sleepless nights tracking paranormal activity. “I was trying to help the cause,” she explained. Silence, then, “Lizzy, you will never be one of us and that’s final.” The line went dead. His words rang hollow in her chest. She’d never be a favored Burke, but didn’t know why, didn’t know what she’d done to be cast aside as the frivolous, unimportant daughter. Her younger brothers, Thomas and James, were given family responsibilities and encouraged to reach their full potential. But not Elizabeth. She’d had her chance at university and mucked it up. If she didn’t get back to London immediately her father would take her job as well. “Trouble?” Marcus queried. She appreciated the furrow of his brow and concern in his voice. “Father’s upset again.” “Because he knows you’re with a strange man?” He smiled. “Because I was out hunting. He’s ordered me to come back to London and forget this nonsense.” He moved to her side, placing his hand on her shoulder. Warmth spread down her back. “Do you want to go?” he asked. The intensity of his eyes caught her off guard. She couldn’t break the connection. “No. I need to prove I have something to contribute.” “Of course.” He grazed her cheek with his fingertips and she automatically closed her eyes. What in God’s name was happening to her? “I have an idea,” he offered. So did she. And it had nothing to do with tracking paras. Back off, Lizzy. This bloke’s taken. She opened her eyes and he was smiling at her. “I’ll help you,” he said. “What do you need to prove your worth to your father?” “I can’t involve you.” “You saved my life tonight. I could have been blasted by that Mickey character.” “He would have figured out you weren’t a para and sent you on your way.”

***

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But Marcus knew differently. If Mickey had pointed that tracking device at him, Marcus wouldn’t be standing here, safe in his cottage near the enchanted forest, chatting with this beguiling creature. She’d developed into a fascinating young woman. He struggled not to be distracted by her charms. “I’ll repeat my question. What must you do to prove yourself?” He trailed a strand of auburn hair from her cheek. He noticed her pulse speed up at his touch. Take it slow, earn her trust. Then she will give herself to you willingly. “Demons are the most dangerous,” she started. “PCell has been trying to discover their crossing over point, something called a traiectus. I think it means passageway in Latin.” “If they find this spot?” he asked, but knew the answer. “They will destroy the demons as they come through, before they can hurt us.” “What will this mean for you?” She turned and paced the cottage, her excitement making him hard, making him want her. “I’ll finally earn their respect,” she said. “I’ll be the hero and I’ll have saved innocent lives, and PCell will have to accept me and father will…” Her voice trailed off. “Your father will?” “Respect me.” She glanced at the worn floorboards. Marcus knew she didn’t crave his respect as much as she ached for his love. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her you can’t force someone to love you; she would never love Marcus, thanks to their differences. Yet that part of him, the mortal blood that raced through his veins had always felt something akin to love for this girl ever since he’d held her in his arms. “Do we know each other?” She studied his eyes and he warmed under her scrutiny. “Why do you ask?” “There’s something familiar about you. I’m sorry. It’s silly. This whole plan is silly. I can’t find that portal any more than my father can stop me from wanting to save the world.” “But I think I know where it is.” Her eyes sparkled with renewed interest and desire rushed through his body. “Just before I was knocked to the ground I noticed an orange glow coming from the forest,” he said. “I believe that could be the passageway you’re looking for.” “Thank you!” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Sweet Elizabeth,” he whispered against her ear. She released her hold on him, but didn’t move away. He reached out and stroked her cheek. She turned into his palm he pulled her against him so she would feel his need. “I shouldn’t be letting you touch me this way,” she breathed. “You, you’re heart is spoken for.”

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He leaned forward, his cheek brushing against hers. “It’s not like that. I feel responsible for her, but it’s been years since I’ve wanted to touch a woman like this.” He kissed her and to his surprise she parted her lips as if wanting to take him inside of her. Satan’s tears, she tasted sweet, like vanilla tea. “You are too beautiful to be out chasing spies and ghosts,” he said. “Hmmm,” she moaned against him. With one hand framing her cheek, he trailed his other down her arm to the front where he could graze her breast with this thumb. Even through her thick T-shirt he felt her nipple peak with wanting. A moan vibrated against her throat, tickling his tongue. He broke the kiss, breathing heavily against her cheek. “You are such an amazing creature,” he said. “Once we achieve our goal, they will be ashamed they never believed in you.” “I will be the hero.” She started unbuttoning his shirt. “When we find the passageway you should call agents to be ready with their blasters.” He kissed her cheek, then down, to her neck. “Yes, I’ll call them.” And an army of Ash Demon would be waiting, would encircle and ambush the murdering PCell agents before they could discharge their weapons. “I suppose we should go find the passageway,” she whispered. “Daylight is best.” He reached between them and pulled her shirt from the waistband of her jeans. He slipped it up and over her head and tossed it to a nearby chair. She spread his shirt wide and layered kisses against his chest. Bloody hell, he was a fool to think he was completely in charge. He’d only tasted female demons, never mortals, for fear he’s lose himself completely. And now he realized how right he’d been. But this was an assignment directly from Grigori. Find the girl, mate with her, control her. She kissed his nipple, then licked it with her hot, wanting tongue. His hands tightened around her upper arms. Who was controlling whom? “Elizabeth,” he said. “I’m not, this isn’t like me…usually,” she confessed, nuzzling his chest. “I’m usually a good girl.” Yet now she was bad, very bad because she was going to have sex with a stranger. She was going to give herself to Marcus, not because she cared about him, but because a mortal female could not resist an Ash Demon. Marcus realized he was no better than his cousin.

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He gripped her shoulders and gently held her away from him. Glancing up, her golden eyes were filled with desire, yet tinted with confusion. “Elizabeth, we shouldn’t do this.” Her eyes darkened with shame. She nodded and wrenched free, grabbing her shirt from the wood floor. She put it on, then searched the room. “Time to get some air.” She put on her coat but still hadn’t looked at him. “Elizabeth?” “The tea, the water should be boiled. I’ll take English Breakfast if you’ve got some. I just want to, I mean, need to—“ She rushed past him out the front door and slammed it behind her. What was the matter with him? He should have taken her. It would have been the best screw of her life. It’s what she wanted. And he wanted to complete this torturous assignment. He marched to the door, ripped it open and heard a woman scream just as a bullet hit him in the shoulder.

Chapter Three Marcus fell to his knees, clutching his wound. Thank the devil it hadn’t been a salt bullet or he’d be dead in minutes. Which meant his attacker didn’t think him a demon. “What is the matter with you, Mickey!” Elizabeth cried, rushing to Marcus and stroking his hairline. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.” Mickey pulled her to her feet. “Leave him alone. You’re coming with me.” “You can’t leave Marcus like that.” “I’ll radio for an ambulance. Your father ordered me to bring you in so you’ll stop interfering in government business.” “Let me go.” She struggled against him as he dragged her to the truck. “Marcus is helping me find the spot where demons cross.” Stumbling back into the cottage and leaning against the sofa, Marcus struggled to remain conscious against the pain. He could do little but watch the events outside. “What, that wanker? He couldn’t find his own fly to take a piss if he had to. Look at him.” “That’s because you shot him, you idiot.” “Shut up and get in the truck.” “No!” She stomped on his foot. Swearing, he spun her around, cuffed her wrists and tossed her into the truck. She screamed in protest. Mickey climbed in and, Marcus guessed, shoved something into her mouth because she stopped screaming.

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After Mickey got back in the cab, the truck groaned up the dirt drive. Marcus pushed to his feet and staggered to the kitchen. He turned off the boiling water and reached for a sharp knife. He could heal from a mortal wound but only if he removed the bullet from his flesh. Blinking back the pain, he dipped the instrument into the water then edged the knife tip into his skin. “Argh!” he groaned as he dug out the bullet. Within minutes he’d put a healing agent on his wound, bandaged it and was redressed…for battle. He wore a tight fitting, lightweight jacket in case he had to fly and didn’t want excess material to slow him. He slipped into boots for kicking the hell out of Mickey if it came to that. The image of Mickey tossing Elizabeth into the truck like a bag of garbage made his insides burn. How could he be so heartless? Oh, not like Marcus, who had just tried to seduce her in order to make her help him destroy her own kind. Assignment aside, Marcus had to help the girl. That would earn him more trust. And wasn’t that his objective?

*** Elizabeth was going to choke to death, all because her domineering father had ordered a PCell goon to drag her away from her frivolous activity and bring her back to London. She struggled to breathe, her eyes watering against the panic attack brewing in her throat. When her eyes watered, her sinuses filled, making it nearly impossible to breathe through her nose. She had to calm herself, talk herself down. But the image of a wounded Marcus ripped at her conscience. Mickey had no intention of calling emergency, and that innocent man would probably die in his family’s cottage. A man she was intrinsically drawn to for no sensible reason. What had she done? The back door of the truck flung open, followed by a rush of cool night air. How could that be? They hadn’t stopped. The handsome, angular face of Mysterious Marcus filled her vision. He slipped the rag from her mouth and she coughed. He put his finger to his lips, encouraging her to be quiet. But she couldn’t stop coughing. He placed a silver flask to her lips. “It will soothe your throat.” She took a sip, believing in his warm blue-green eyes. She leaned back and he cradled her head in his hand. “How did you get here?” she said, then her eyes caught on the blood staining his shirt beneath his jacket. “My God, you’re bleeding.” “I’ll be fine. But we’ve got to get out of here.” He sat her up and she burst into another coughing fit. The truck stopped. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. He put his index finger to his lips and faded into the shadows. She lay back down, feigning unconsciousness.

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“What in the bloody hell happened here?” Mickey accused. He grabbed her foot and dragged her out, leaning her against the truck. “Well?” “How do I know?” “Where’s the gag?” “I spit it out. You twit, I could have choked to death. I have asthma.” “Ah, stop your talking.” He pulled off a glove and balled it up. “Mickey, please don’t, I’m serious. I can’t breathe with something in my mouth.” “I’m tired of listening to ya’.” “No!” she squirmed, trying to evade the gag. He shoved it into her mouth anyway. Her eyes watered and she struggled for air. Mickey cocked his head to the side as if he heard something inside the truck. He pulled out his handgun and took a few steps to investigate. Elizabeth grew light-headed. “Come out of there!” Mickey ordered. Elizabeth’s legs weakened. Breathe, have to breathe. Her legs gave way and she slid to the ground. Gunfire rang in her ears; the ground trembled. Stars danced across her vision. She was dying. But instead of angels floating on clouds, she saw that handsome face again. Marcus removed the glove from her mouth. “You’re safe.” Chills shot across her shoulders at his familiar words. He helped her to her feet and unlocked the handcuffs. “You son of a bitch, what did you do to Mickey?” cried a second PCell agent. He must have been in the truck all along. He fired at them and Marcus shoved Elizabeth to the ground, out of harm’s way. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her ear. “But I can’t let them hurt you.” In one quick movement, he cast a lightening bolt to the ground and the PCell agent catapulted backwards. Suddenly Marcus and Elizabeth were floating above the truck, away from danger. Floating? More like flying. Mortals didn’t fly, paras did and only one type of demon could shoot lightening from his fingertips: an Ash Demon. And she’d just been both rescued and manipulated by one. “No! Take me down!” She couldn’t stand being held by him, touched by him. To think she’d nearly… No. That wasn’t her, it was a demon spell he’d cast on her mind. They landed near the edge of the forest and she took off, back towards the truck. “Elizabeth, they will hurt you again,” he called. She ignored him, couldn’t stand the thought that she’d almost been with a demon, one of the very creatures she’d sworn to destroy so she could make father proud. She spotted Mickey in the distance. “Help me!” she cried.

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Instead, he pointed his gun, his salt gun, at her. And fired. Marcus plucked her from the earth and flew away from the PCell agents. Another bullet soared past her. She heard a third shot and Marcus jerked at the sound. They landed in the rich, green forest and took cover beneath a weeping willow. Marcus held her against his chest as she shivered with fear. He was demon, a bad guy, yet the good guys were shooting at her. She couldn’t make sense of it, nor could she make sense of the fact that she felt safe in his arms. “I saw them drop over here,” Mickey said in the distance. “You’re a bad shot,” his partner accused. “I won’t miss next time. Aim for the girl. The demon seems to be protecting her.” “Shoot the old man’s daughter? He won’t like that.” “Ah, if I were him I’d be relieved to be rid of her,” Mickey said. The truth of his words pierced Elizabeth’s heart. Father probably wouldn’t care if she was accidentally killed because… …father didn’t love her. There, she finally admitted it. She whimpered against the demon’s jacket. “Shhh. They can’t see us,” he assured her. She wasn’t worried about the PCell goons finding them. She struggled with the painful truth in Mickey’s words. No, she’d prove him wrong, she’d prove that deep down father cared for her, he just didn’t know how to show it. Was it too much to ask to be loved? “Face it, we’ve lost them, Mickey. That creature’s probably taken her to Scotland by now.” “No, they’re out there.” “C’mon. We’ve got to report back.” Elizabeth peeked beyond her captor and saw Mickey and his partner get into the truck, hesitate, then drive off. In the far distance she could make out the demon’s cottage, smoke drifting up from the chimney. “What do you want from me?” She pushed away from Marcus and his body went limp. He fell back against the soft earth. “Demon?” she said, poking at his chest. He coughed and gasped for breath. He must have been hit by one of Mickey’s salt bullets. Was he dying? No, demons didn’t die, did they? They just recycled or something. They weren’t like human beings, they didn’t even feel compassion or love. Love? She had a thought. What better way to earn her father’s love than to present him with a captured demon?

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She pulled out her mobile and pressed the speed dial. Marcus tore at his shirt, as if trying to get air. Why didn’t he teleport, or whatever they did, to the dark realm? Surely back in the dark realm in his demon form he wouldn’t die, right? “Lizzy? Is that you?” her father’s voice squawked over her mobile. “Father?” she said. “I’m here. I’ve captured a demon for you. Aren’t you proud of me?”

Chapter Four “Nonsense! Have you gone mad?” her father accused. Sure, she had to be mad because in father’s mind there was no way she was bright enough to capture a demon on her own. “I’m quite sane, father. I’ve caught a demon for you. Little Lizzy, all by herself.” That wasn’t the complete truth. She’d caught him by accident, because the demon Marcus had been trying to save her life. Why? Her gaze caught on the medallion around his neck and she gasped. It was the same symbol she’d embroidered on her backpack for luck in tracking paras. She’d designed it herself. Hadn’t she? “Give me your location and I’ll send a team,” her father ordered. She barely heard him. She couldn’t rip her attention away from the medallion. It hit her like an express train at full speed: she’d first seen the Celtic-like symbol years ago when she was a teenager. She’d been terrified and alone, calling out for her father, for someone to rescue her, as the monster stood over her bed with those hideous eyes. But no one came to help. Not her father, anyway. Just as the creature was about to do unspeakable things to Elizabeth someone shoved him aside and made him disappear. She had closed her eyes, her body shaking uncontrollably. Then she heard his calming voice, felt the strong, warm arms embrace her. “You are safe,” the man had consoled. “Focus on my medallion. It represents peace.” She’d stared at the metal charm and dug her fingers into the thick material of his jacket. As she steadied her breathing she felt a cocoon of strength wrap around her shoulders. She’d never felt more safe or more loved. “Who are you?” she whispered, as she watched Marcus clutch his shirt with desperate fingers. “Lizzy! Answer me!” her father ordered over the phone. Instead, she ended the call and shoved the cell phone into her pocket. She eyed Marcus. “This can’t be. Demons are evil. You want to destroy humans.” “No,” he gasped. “Want to protect…our kind just as you…want to protect yours. Is that,” he swallowed. “Wrong?” She had no answer. She’d been so focused on becoming a PCell agent, on hunting and destroying paras, especially demons, that she hadn’t given much thought to the fairness of the situation. Marcus coughed and writhed in pain. He looked more human, acted with more integrity than the PCell agents she had so admired. She went to him and stroked his forehead. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “Go,” he wheezed. “Get away before they…find you.”

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He was more concerned about her safety than his own? “I won’t abandon you, Marcus.” Especially when she had so many unanswered questions. “Tell me how to help you.” “Go, just go…and be safe.” “What’s all this?” a woman’s voice asked. Elizabeth jumped back, shielding Marcus’s body with her own, fearing what a mortal would do to this wounded demon. “I’m Edwina.” The woman smiled. “What’s happened to your friend?” “He’s been shot, I think.” The woman wore a long, beige tunic, and colorful beads around her neck and wrists. She didn’t seem at all shocked by the situation. “Maybe I can help.” Edwina kneeled beside Marcus. “Are you a doctor?” “I’m a healer. I live in an estate just north of here.” She pulled out a round, clear stone and slowly ran it up his torso to his forehead. Her brow furrowed. “We need to get him to the healing pond. Quickly.” She helped Marcus into a sitting position and encouraged Elizabeth to grab his other arm. They helped him up and took a few steps. “Can’t…” he groaned and wavered. “He’s got minutes before he’s gone,” Edwina said. He’d die, or disappear, or whatever happened to a demon because he’d put himself in danger trying to save Elizabeth. “Come on, Marcus. Don’t give up,” she said, guiding him forward. “Just a little further. I know you can do it.” He took another few steps. “That’s it. We’re almost there,” she encouraged. “Eliza-beth,” he gasped. With a burst of adrenaline, she was able to get him to the edge of the water. He collapsed and Elizabeth made him comfortable by placing her rolled up jacket beneath his head. The healer dipped her hand into the green, murky water and it glowed like a firefly. “My God,” Elizabeth said. “Take off his shirt so I can access the wound.” Elizabeth did as ordered and noticed a wound on his upper right arm. The skin burned as if doused with acid. “It just grazed him,” Edwina said. “There’s still hope.”

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Elizabeth found herself hoping with her whole heart that they could save this creature. It felt like the right thing to do. At least if he was pursued by PCell, Marcus would have a fighting chance of defending himself. The healer chanted in an unfamiliar language, then splashed water onto his wound. “Argh!” Marcus cried, and went still. Elizabeth grabbed his hand and brought it to her lips. She’d caused him pain and brought him near death because she’d been trying to prove something to her father, trying to earn his respect by hunting and helping to destroy demons. Marcus didn’t seem like a vile, dangerous creature. If he was so ruthless why did he continue to protect her? Because they had a connection. She’d felt it the moment she’d spotted him sprawled across the riverbank. “It may take five or six hours before he’s completely healed,” Edwina said. “You’re not afraid of him?” Elizabeth blurted out. “Afraid? Why, because he’s different? I’m different. Do I frighten you?” “No, but he’s demon.” “And someone told you demons are horrific creatures, I suppose?” Elizabeth nodded. The healer smiled. “Life is a curious experience. One thing is certain, when you act from a place of fear, you’ll never see the truth.” She stood. “Keep him quiet until he’s able to fly. That’s the true test that he’s completely recovered.” She turned to walk away. “You’re leaving?” Elizabeth said. “I’m sorry, but I must.” “I don’t even know where I am.” “You’re in the enchanted forest of St. Yve Wood. Paras are everywhere, but they won’t bother you if you as long as you stay beside your demon friend.” She smiled and disappeared into the forest. “Thank you,” Elizabeth called after her. Marcus squeezed her hand. “Elizabeth.” His blue-green eyes blinked open. “You’re still here,” he said, as if he’d expected her to abandon him. She’d nearly done something far worse than that. She’d nearly turned him over to his enemies in this vulnerable state. That wasn’t like her. She wasn’t naturally cruel. Then again, she was a Burke. “The cottage,” he whispered. “You’re not strong enough.” “If you wander off…you could get lost and…I could not protect you…” his voice trailed off and he passed out.

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Once again, Elizabeth struggled with the paradox that it was more important for Marcus to protect her than heal himself. “Don’t worry,” she whispered, bringing his hand to her lips. “I have no intention of leaving you.”

*** Marcus surfaced to consciousness and inhaled crisp, fresh air. He could breathe again. His lungs had opened; he must be on the mend. He remembered being hit by a salt bullet, touching down in the forest, holding Elizabeth in his arms. I know you can do it. Her voice echoed in his mind. He opened his eyes and was staring up at the lush green foliage of St. Yve Wood. Something pressed against his chest, a woman. He eyed the top of Elizabeth’s auburn hair. She nuzzled his chest, her steady breath warming his skin all the way to his fingertips. She felt so exquisite against him. Yet she was his assignment, a means to an end. No, not anymore. Something had shifted. Although he’d been sent to mastermind a way to destroy PCell by using the sweet Elizabeth, his integrity couldn’t rationalize being so cruel. Not to Elizabeth…his love. He closed his eyes. Devil save him, he’d fallen into the mortal abyss called love. He hadn’t a choice in the matter and realized only now it had started ten years ago when he’d held her, comforted her, and left a piece of himself with the girl. She moaned and stroked his chest. He ached for her. “Elizabeth,” he whispered. “Marcus?” She sat up and looked at him. “How are you feeling?” “Better. Are you…?” He wanted to ask if she was appalled at waking up beside a half-naked demon, but by the way she’d been touching him he suspected not. “I’m fine. Confused, but fine.” “We need to get back to the cottage.” She reached out to help him up, but Marcus stood easily, brushing off his trousers and plucking his shirt from a nearby tree branch. “Flying frightened you before, but it’s the quickest way.” He tucked in his shirt and reached for her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and they took off, soaring above the enchanted forest as dawn was breaking over the English countryside. In seconds they were back at the cottage. When they got inside, the magical fire was still burning, taking the chill out of the air. “You must be hungry,” he said. “Why do you do that?” She pinned him with those golden eyes of hers. “Do what?”

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“Care about my needs.” “Why wouldn’t I care?” “You’re demon. You’re supposed to be manipulative and cruel.” “I’m Ash Demon.” “Meaning what?” She stepped closer, studying him as if he was a bug under a microscope. “As an Ash Demon I am vulnerable to certain mortal traits, like compassion.” He glanced at the fire. “And love.” “Is that why you saved me, repeatedly?” His gaze snapped up to study her. Did she remember? “That was you, wasn’t it? You held me all night. You chased away the,” she paused, “demon.” “He was foolish and arrogant.” “He was going to have sex with me.” “Yes.” “You protected me. Why?” “I have no answer.” “I do.” She kissed him on the cheek. He gripped her arm, his control crumbling. “Elizabeth.” “In your arms,” she whispered. “I felt safe and…loved.” “This cannot happen. We are from two different worlds.” “Different doesn’t mean bad.” “Your mortal friends will hunt us down and kill us.” “Then I will create a device to warn of their approach.” She gazed into his eyes and he swallowed hard. This was like no spell he’d ever experienced. “I am smart, regardless of what father thinks,” she said. “And I’m sensible. I know what’s right and it’s not right to hunt and destroy something simply because we don’t understand it.” “You’re so…enchanting.” “Kiss me,” she said. “I,” he hesitated. “We shouldn’t.”

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“Because your heart is taken?” Her pleading eyes searched his. “No, there is no other woman. I lied about that.” He looked into her eyes. “The truth is, I was sent to seduce you and use your knowledge to help my kind destroy PCell. I’ve been using you, Elizabeth.” “What were you using me for ten years ago when you protected me?” He went to the window, looking out onto the evening mist. “I don’t know what compelled me to do that.” She came up behind him, ran her hands across his shoulders and brought them around front to hold onto him. That knifing pain in his chest grew to an unbearable ache. “I have never loved a man because I think my heart always belonged to you,” she said. He turned abruptly, breaking her hold. “Do you hear what you’re saying? I’m demon. I’m meant to fight my tendency to feel love and compassion, not embrace it.” “But your mortal side is honorable. That’s what made you protect me ten years ago.” “And my demon side demands I do this.” He grabbed her shoulders and kissed her. Hard. She squeaked, but didn’t push away. She pressed her body against him, her hands grabbing onto his shoulders, her hips shoving into him as if she were trying to mount him. He broke the kiss and looked into her eyes. He no longer recognized