Harlequin Shorts Online Part 08

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Runaway Hearts Invitation To A Murder Opposites Attract The Tycoon's Runaway Bride Desert Prince, Bartered Bride The Cowboy Next Door Unfinished Business Living the Fantasy The Doctor Everyone's Talking About A Perfect Match Royal Peril Operation: Second Honeymoon Perfect Passion Sophie's Sheikh Too Close For Comfort His Gambler Bride Nowhere to Run A Christmas Refuge The G.P.'s Christmas Miracle His Christmas Captive Melting the M.D. Red Rock Cinderella Lucky In Love Cowboy All Night Daisy and the Duke One Crazy Kiss Cafe Romeo Bold as Brass Donnelly's Promise Hideaway Hero Whatever Happened To Babycakes? Degrees of Romance: Night of the Living Wed One Perfect Night Titanic: a Date with Destiny Flirting with Fire No End in Sight

By Beth Cornelison By Vicki Hinze By Kathryn Shay By Christine Rimmer By Marguerite Kaye By Linda Warren By Amy J. Fetzer By Joanne Rock By Fiona McArthur by Emilie Rose By Rachelle McCalla By Debra Webb By Day Leclaire By Alexandra Sellars By Jacqueline Diamond By Rebecca Winters By Elle Kennedy By Rebecca Winters By Alison Roberts By Caitlin Crews By Tanya Michaels By Judy Duarte By Muriel Jensen By Tina Leonard By Janice Maynard By Penny McCusker By Kristin Gabriel By Christine Bell By Cheryl St.John By Kathleen O'Brien By Darlene Gardner

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By Michele Hauf

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By Teresa Southwick By Marguerite Kaye By Wendy Etherington

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By Dana Mentink

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Till 332…

* eHarlequin, US ^eHarlequin, Aus rest of them Mills and Boon, UK

** others

#India

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Runaway Hearts By Beth Cornelison Kayla's nine-year-old son, Matt, had run away and now he was alone and lost in the Absaroka foothills of Montana, and night was falling. She had made some mistakes in the past, but this time her son's life depended on her doing everything right. Even if that meant joining forces with her ex, rancher Ben Radley. Kayla was the last person Ben wanted to see again. Ten years ago she'd left him and their small town of Maple Cove for the rodeo—where she'd met and married his wild brother. That wild streak had gotten his brother killed, and Ben feared if he didn't take control of the search, Kayla's own recklessness could endanger her and Matt. But being close to Kayla was a danger all its own. After all the pain she'd caused him, could he put the past aside to rescue Matt in time? Family. Lies. Full Exposure. Don't miss the stories of Cole Kelley and his five siblings in The Kelley Legacy miniseries: Private Justice by Marie Ferrarella—July 2011 Special Ops Bodyguard by Beth Cornelison—August 2011 Cowboy Under Siege by Gail Barrett—September 2011 Rancher Under Cover by Carla Cassidy—October 2011 Missing Mother-to-Be by Elle Kennedy—November 2011 Captain's Call of Duty by Cindy Dees—December 2011

Chapter One "Matt!" Kayla Hamilton Radley called as she scanned the rugged Montana landscape for her missing son. "Matt, answer me!" But she heard no reply. Fear and regret weighted her chest as she flicked her reins, urging her horse to move faster. More than an hour had passed since her nine-year-old son had shouted how much he hated her for moving him to Montana then bolted from her father's ranch house. When she'd heard the engine of the ranch's only allterrain vehicle roar to life, Kayla had run outside just in time to see Matt race off toward the Absaroka foothills. Worried for Matt's safety, she'd immediately saddled Rascal, her father's strongest horse, and ridden out after her son. Since then, she'd searched the rolling hills near Maple Cove, the small town where she'd grown up, to no avail. Matt and the ATV were nowhere to be found. The vast ranch property covered thousands of acres of rough terrain, from rocky mountain slopes to sprawling cattle pastures. She considered all the hazards—wild animals, dehydration, disorientation, exposure. Even the smallest of roots could upend the ATV and trap her son…or worse—and the hazards would only increase when night fell. Finding Matt before dark was urgent. "Matt, where are you?" Her voice echoed through the valley, answered only by the lonely screech of a hawk swooping overhead. She understood why her son was so upset. Losing his father this year had been hard on both of them. Since his father's death in a rodeo accident, Matt had been rebellious, testing his boundaries—and Kayla's patience. Matt was at a precarious age where he needed a male role model more than ever—one of many reasons why she'd moved back home to Maple Cove and her father's ranch. Today Matt had accused her of trying to control his life, and the echo of her past had made her snap at him, unfairly.

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When she heard approaching hoofbeats, Kayla turned in her saddle to see who was coming. She held her breath, hoping the arriving rider was a messenger with news Matt had been found. The sorrel mustang and the man atop it wearing a black cowboy hat were not from her father's ranch. And yet something about the way the cowboy sat his horse seemed familiar to Kayla. A prickle of recognition nipped her neck. "Is there a problem, ma'am?" he called to her. Kayla's heartbeat stumbled. She knew that voice. Intimately. She drew a deep breath, steeling herself as he rode closer. Kayla knew the instant he recognized her because shock flitted across his face for a split second before he tensed his jaw. "Kayla." His tone was flat, unwelcoming. "What are you doing here?" The rich baritone voice belonged to the man she'd dreaded running into since returning to Maple Cove. One of the reasons she'd stayed away as long as she had. The man with the power to break her heart. Her late husband's brother. "Hello, Ben."

Chapter Two Very little could rattle Ben Radley's composure. But Kayla Hamilton always had. And apparently still did. He tried to tell himself that the jolt of adrenaline racing through him was due to the surprise of seeing her after ten years rather than any leftover feelings he had for her. Deep down, though, he realized that was a lie. He'd tried hard to forget Kayla since she'd left town and later married his brother, but he still found himself thinking of her in moments when his guard was down. Gripping his reins tighter and clenching his teeth, he gave her a tight nod in greeting. "I hadn't heard you were visiting." "I'm not. Visiting, I mean. I… We've moved back here." Ben took a moment to absorb her announcement. His gut pitched as he considered the ramifications. Kayla was back. God help him. He arched an eyebrow. "We?" "My son and me. We've moved in with my dad until we can find a place of our own." She glanced away for a beat, her brow wrinkling with concern before she faced him again. Her pale blue eyes still sent shock waves through him, but he quickly doused the spark of desire that crackled through him. He'd learned the hard way what losing Kayla could do to a man's heart, and he had no intention of going down that path again. "Matt's had a rough time dealing with Joshua's death. I thought moving home to Maple Cove would be good for him. But…" She sighed and sent another frowning glance across the horizon. "But?"

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"He's mad at me for taking him away from his friends and moving him to 'the middle of nowhere.'" She aimed a worried frown at Ben. "He ran away. So to answer your earlier question, I'm out here searching for him." Ben scowled. "By yourself?" "I thought I could catch up to him before he got too far." Her horse tossed his head impatiently, and Kayla patted the gelding's neck. "But he took off more than an hour ago, and I haven't seen any sign of him. I'm getting worried. He's too young and inexperienced with this terrain to be out here alone." Ben tapped his hat back and angled his head. "Same could be said about you." She jerked a sharp look toward him. "I'm not going home until I find Matt." Ben gritted his teeth, fighting for patience and questioning the sanity of what he was about to offer. "I figured as much. I'll help you look for your kid." "I didn't ask for any favors." Kayla glowered at him, and he realized his tone had been less than gracious. Sighing his frustration and already regretting that his decision would mean working closely with Kayla for the next several hours, he shoved his hat in place. "No, you didn't. I'm volunteering. You're on Cole Kelley's ranch property now. I've worked with Cole for eight years, so I know this area like the back of my hand." He narrowed his gaze on her, adding, "And in case you haven't done the math, your son is also my family. I'm taking over the search because he's my nephew."

Chapter Three "Taking over?" Kayla bristled at Ben's high-handed decree. "How typically bossy of y—" Ben snapped his reins and took off toward the foothills before she could finish, leaving her to follow or be left behind. Gritting her teeth, she tapped Rascal's flanks with her heels and hurried to catch up. "If you want to help," she said as she pulled alongside Ben, "why don't you head to Cole's ranch and ask for volunteers to broaden the search?" Her words sounded choppy thanks to the jarring ride as Rascal loped to keep up with Ben's bigger horse. "I think it's time we called the sheriff. We're losing daylight, and we have a lot of ground to cover." He cut a sidelong glance at her then shook his head. "No way. I'm not leaving you alone out here. You'll end up lost, and we'll be forming search parties to find you." Kayla growled her frustration. Clearly Ben hadn't changed. Even after all these years, he thought he could tell her what to do. Well, he was wrong! She would do whatever it took to find Matt, and she wouldn't let Ben's controlling nature get in her way. "Ben, we need more—" "Radley to base," Ben interrupted, speaking into a hand radio he'd pulled from a clip at his belt. "Are you there, Cole?" He held the walkie-talkie to his ear, listening for a response. When he raised a reply from Cole Kelley's ranch, he detailed the situation and their approximate location. "Tell them he was wearing a red T-shirt and blue jeans when he left," Kayla said.

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Ben passed on the information, adding, "If the sheriff can round up a search team in the next hour, we might still locate the boy before dark." Before dark. Kayla shivered at the thought of being out here after the sun went down. This far away from the lights of Maple Cove, the rolling hills would be shrouded in blackness. She sent Ben a worried glance. "What if we don't find him before dark?" He stowed the radio on his belt clip then swiped perspiration from his brow. "Then we go home and start searching again in the morning." She shook her head. "No. I'm not going home without my son." "Kayla, be reasonable. You're not equipped to be out here after dark. It gets cold at night and— Hey, slow down on this hill!" They'd reached a steep incline where loose rocks littered the ground, making the footing for the horses more treacherous. She leaned back in her saddle as Rascal picked his way down the hillside. Ben grunted. "Kayla, slow—" With a loud squawk, a pair of hawks took flight from a scrub bush just as they reached it. Tossing his head in alarm and stumbling on the loose rocks, Rascal reared up and Kayla lost both her balance and her grip on the reins. With a startled gasp, she slid from the saddle and fell to the hard ground with a tooth-rattling thud. Whinnying his fright, Rascal bolted down the hill and took off across the open plain at a run.

Chapter Four "Kayla!" Ben's heart leaped when Kayla tumbled from her horse and landed perilously close to the kicking hooves of the startled gelding. His own horse, rattled by the commotion, pranced uneasily and pawed the rocky ground. Ben reined Blaze in and swung down from his saddle, his heart in his throat as he approached Kayla's prone form. "Are you hurt?" She blinked and groaned as she sat up, rubbing her elbow. "Only my pride." Relief shuddered through Ben, followed by a spike of irritation. Kayla's recklessness was exactly the reason he had to stay with her. If she pushed too hard in this unforgiving terrain, she could end up in a wheelchair, same as her father. Or dead…like Joshua, his adrenaline-junkie brother. He needed to rein in her overzealousness on this search, or they could all end up hurt. "I warned you to slow down." "I was going slow enough, Mr. Bossy! It was the birds that spooked—" She rolled her eyes. "Oh, forget it. I remember your opinion of my riding ability." "What does that mean?" He offered Kayla a hand up. When he wrapped his fingers around hers, he couldn't help but notice how small her hand felt in his. The word vulnerable flickered through his brain, but he quickly dismissed it. Kayla might be petite and slim, but she was as self-reliant, headstrong and capable as they came. Even if she didn't know her limits. She glared at him. "You didn't think I was good enough to compete in the rodeo. You thought I was better off staying in Maple Cove." 5

Resentment spurred him. "Wrong. You were good enough, but you were also overconfident and took too many risks, just like your father did before his accident. I didn't want to see you in a wheelchair, too." He'd only been trying to protect her, but in the end he'd made her hate him and driven her away. When she'd left him to ride on the rodeo circuit, she'd called Ben's pragmatic nature and desire to stay in Maple Cove to work with local ranchers boring. He really hadn't been surprised to hear she'd hooked up with Josh on the road. They were a matched set of daredevils. Despite the lesson of the careless ranching accident that had paralyzed her father, she'd always pushed the limits with her barrel racing. Dangerously so. He gritted his teeth, wondering if she still saw him as the staid brother, the dull one. He hauled her to her feet with enough strength to bring her body flush against his. She found her balance by gripping his shoulder with her free hand. Her eyes rose to meet his, her pupils dilating, and she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Heat shimmered in her bright blue eyes, and a familiar crackle of desire arced between them—desire she'd rejected in exchange for the rodeo and freedom from her father and their small town. She wanted excitement? Ben knew just the way to get her hot and bothered. In fact, he'd love the chance to show Kayla the passion she'd passed up when she picked the rodeo, then Josh, over him. As if reading his thoughts, Kayla sucked in a deep breath and wiggled free of his grasp. "Thanks," she said, sounding as breathless as Ben felt at that moment. Stepping back, she looked down the hill in the direction her horse had run. Message received. She still wanted nothing to do with him. Ben shoved down the jab of hurt her rejection stirred. "Now that we only have one horse, I'd say our best move is to head home and start tomorrow with a full search team." She set her shoulders and sent him a determined glare. "No, we'll lose too much time if we ride home then start over in the morning. Matt could be hurt." Her brow creased in worry. She closed her eyes, clearly struggling to stay calm. "I won't let your I-know-what's-best-for-everyone attitude get in the way of rescuing my son." Ben scowled and strode to Blaze with his spine stiff and his pride bruised. "Then we'd better hurry if we're gonna catch up with your horse." His pulse kicked like a bronco when he realized she'd have to ride with him on Blaze…her tush snuggled close to his lap, his arms around her to grip the reins. Torture. Sweet, sensual torment was what it would be.

Chapter Five Kayla dusted her backside and marched over to Blaze, where she hesitated. She shot Ben a nervous glance, realizing what their riding arrangement would be. Get a grip! You can do this. Squaring her shoulders, she raised her chin and swung up on Blaze. As he took his place behind her, she tried to ignore the scent of leather and sandalwood that clung to him. She tried to ignore the memories of 6

that same mellow aroma surrounding her as he held her, kissed her…made love to her. Once. Years ago, before— A flash of color on the hill snagged her attention. "Ben, wait!" she cried, wiggling free of his grasp and sliding out of the saddle. She scrambled up the rocky embankment and grabbed the item she'd spotted. Matt's baseball cap. Her pulse leaping, she spun around to show Ben the hat. Kayla's heart pounded with an odd combination of joy and fear. "We're on the right track," she said, casting a frantic glance around the valley. "Matt was wearing this cap when he ran away!" She turned in a circle to scan the landscape in each direction. "Matt, where are you?" Ben swung down from Blaze's saddle, but instead of helping her search the horizon, he squatted and eyed the ground. "What are you doing?" "Looking for tracks from the ATV or his footprints." He shaded his eyes, squinting against the sun. "If he came this way, his tracks should give us a fix on the direction he went." He cast his gaze around then pointed to where the sparse grass lay slightly flatter than the rest. "See? He drove the ATV there, headed that way." He aimed a finger north, following the path of the tracks. "Looks like he was trying to stick to the valley, so that's where we'll head." Kayla studied the barely visible tracks and goggled at Ben. "How did you notice that?" He gave a dismissive shrug. "I've been trained as a tracker. A useful skill when we're searching for lost cattle in this vast terrain." She gave him an appreciative grin. "Amazing." He winked as he climbed into his saddle. "Told ya you needed me." Despite the warm September sun, Kayla shivered…remembering. Through the years, she had needed Ben for things his brother couldn't give her. A passion that reverberated in her soul. The feeling of completeness and destiny she'd known only with Ben. The sense of security and stability she'd hungered for as her wanderlust faded and her son grew older. In that moment, a sobering truth settled over her—years ago, reeling from the hurt of Ben's refusal to support her rodeo career and desperate to break free of her father's control and this suffocating small town, she'd made a terrible mistake. She'd married the wrong Radley brother.

Chapter Six Ben had made a terrible mistake letting Kayla ride in front of him, he decided several minutes later. Having her bottom snuggled against his groin, the subtle rock and sway as they rode causing a tantalizing friction, was indeed a sweet torture. He gritted his teeth and battled down the surge of lust that spiked in his blood, praying they found her horse soon.

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But an hour later, with the sun dipping low in the sky, they hadn't caught up with Rascal, and they decided the higher priority was to follow the tracks left by the ATV. They followed the tire impressions through the valley that lay between two rocky ridges, but they saw no sign of Kayla's son and received no answer when they called for Matt. As the afternoon wore on, Ben sensed Kayla's growing desperation as tension vibrated through her body and worry echoed in her voice as she called for her son. Speared by sympathy and his own concern, he covered her hand on the saddle horn with his and squeezed. "We're going to find him, Kayla, and he's going to be all right." She craned her neck to glance over her shoulder at him. "You don't know that. Anything could have happened to him. You said yourself it's dangerous out here, especially for someone inexperienced with the area." He sighed and kept his tone calm, reasonable. "Yeah, I said that, but it also does no good to borrow trouble. Worrying yourself sick won't help us find—" He paused when a flash of movement to his left drew his attention. Half-hidden by a chokecherry shrub, Kayla's horse stood nibbling the berries from the bush and swishing his tail. "Well, there's one missing party we can scratch off our list." They dismounted and approached Rascal cautiously, even though he seemed calm now. "Hey, how ya doing, Rascal?" Kayla crooned as she crept up and took hold of the horse's bridle. She stroked Rascal's nose and patted his neck. "Good boy." Taking advantage of the break, Ben pulled a bottle of water from his saddlebag and offered it to Kayla. He watched her tip her head back to drink, arching her slim, graceful throat as she swallowed. The desire to nuzzle that neck and nip the arc of her shoulder kicked him hard in the gut. Muttering a curse under his breath, he averted his eyes to scan the surrounding hills. Why did he have to find everything about this woman so damn sexy? Probably because she was so damn sexy. He'd always thought so. An opinion Joshua had shared. Yet Joshua hadn't been so foolish as to let Kayla walk out of his life. He, on the other hand, hadn't seen her even when Matt was born. She and Josh had avoided Ben for the past ten years, he thought with a scowl. She finished drinking and met his eyes. "What is that look about?" Ben gritted his teeth. "Just wondering… I know things were strained and awkward between us after you got pregnant and married Josh, but…" Kayla's expression grew guarded, as if she realized what was coming and was bracing herself. Ben drilled her with an unyielding stare. He deserved the truth. "Does Matt know I'm his uncle?"

Chapter Seven "Does Matt know I'm his uncle?" Kayla drew a slow, deep breath then shook her head. "He knew Joshua had a brother, but…we never told him any specifics about you." 8

She saw a flash of pain on Ben's face before he schooled his features and glanced away. "Why not?" She firmed her mouth and thrust the bottle of water toward him. "It's complicated." He took the water from her and tipped it up for a drink. Wiping his mouth with his hand, he said, "How complicated could it be? The boy has a right to know his family." She tucked her hair behind her ears. "I think Joshua was jealous of you, of…what we'd had together before…" She sighed. "He asked me once if I wished Matt were your son instead of his." Ben tensed. "And you said…?" "How cruel do you think I am? I couldn't tell him I wished that was true!" she said hotly, angry to feel tears pricking her eyes. Then she gasped, realizing too late what she'd said. Ben's expression told her he hadn't missed her slip, and she spun toward Rascal and shoved her foot in the stirrup. When she tried to climb onto the horse's back, Ben caught her arm, and her heart stilled. "Say that again." Kayla closed her eyes, swallowing hard. She'd known there'd be a day of reckoning if she moved back to Maple Cove, back to Ben's turf. "I said," she began slowly, quietly, "I wish…wished…that Matt were your son." His grip on her arm tightened, and he drew her around to face him. She gathered her courage before meeting his penetrating dark gaze. "Why?" "Because I loved you. Not Joshua." His pupils widened, darkening his eyes even more, and a muscle in his jaw jumped. "Don't get me wrong," she rushed to explain, "I cared about your brother. Deeply. He was good to me, and we had a good life together. But he was never…" She licked her lips, and he tracked the gesture with hooded eyes. "He wasn't you." "If you loved me—" He glanced away, his mouth taut and his nostrils flaring as he sucked in a harsh breath. Warring emotions played across his face—frustration, anger, confusion…and pain. "If you loved me, why did you marry my brother?" "Because I was pregnant with Joshua's baby." The impatient look he gave her said the pat answer was not what he wanted. He wanted—deserved—the truth. The unblemished, from-her-heart truth. "After we broke up and I joined the circuit, I was lonely. I missed home. I missed you, and when I saw him at an event…I was seduced by the little bit of home he represented. I guess I also did it to prove to myself that I was over you, that I could put you behind me and grab hold of the life Josh represented." She sighed and swiped a tear from her eyelashes as she raised her gaze to his again. "Only I never forgot you. I never really got over you." Ben tensed, his body going rigid for an instant. And the next thing she knew, he'd pulled her into his arms, and his mouth closed over hers in a searing kiss. 9

Chapter Eight Heat streaked through Ben's veins as he sated the craving that had dogged him since he'd first spotted Kayla across the grassy plain this afternoon. He groaned his satisfaction when she angled her head, allowing him to deepen the kiss and savor the moment more fully. Who was he kidding? He'd been waiting for this moment for much longer than this afternoon. He'd wanted Kayla back in his arms from the minute she'd walked away from him ten years ago. He'd never forgotten the sweet taste of her mouth, the heady rush of adrenaline when he held her close, or the earthshaking bliss when they'd made love. And if this sample was any indication, nothing about Kayla's fiery passion had changed. Her body trembled as he parted her lips, and she greeted his tongue with hers. He drew greedily on her mouth, and she answered with a soft hum of pleasure, a breathy sigh that taunted him with images of wrapping his naked body around hers. He plowed his fingers into her thick hair, holding her head between his palms, hoping to satisfy his restless hunger for her. But rather than quelling his need, every stroke of her tongue, every gentle tug of her lips fueled a greater, deeper yearning in him. He longed for more than just the physical. He longed for the intimate, spiritual connection he'd had with Kayla years ago. They'd been more than lovers then. He'd believed in his heart that Kayla was his soul mate. Until she'd left him for the rodeo and ended up marrying his brother. Like plunging into an icy pool, the sharp ache of that memory doused the fire in his blood and yanked him to the sobering, cold reality. She'd left him and married Joshua. She was his dead brother's wife. He jerked his head back, abruptly breaking their kiss and thrusting her away from him with a firm push. For a few crazy minutes, he'd lost his head and acted as irresponsibly as his brother used to. He might expect Kayla to follow her heart rather than common sense, but he could not let her sidetrack him from the business at hand. He had a duty to keep them safe, and he needed to find Matt. He couldn't do either if he let himself be recklessly distracted by Kayla's allure. Still clutching the front of his shirt, Kayla raised confused eyes to his, blinking him into focus. "Ben?" Her querying tone and dazed expression asked a myriad of questions—questions he wasn't ready to face, much less answer. He schooled his expression and stepped away. "We should get moving. It's getting late." "No." She folded her arms over her chest—a gesture that drew attention to her cleavage—and frowned at him. "You can't kiss me like that then pretend it didn't happen." Without looking at her, Ben climbed onto his saddle and shoved his cowboy hat firmly into place. "There's nothing to say. It is what it is." Kayla gaped at him and snorted a sarcastic laugh. "What kind of bull is that?" He sighed his exasperation. "Kayla, it was just a kiss. It meant nothing."

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Liar, an inner voice shouted at him. The chemistry is still there. So what are you going to do about it?

Chapter Nine "Look, I kissed you because I wanted to. Simple as that," Ben said blandly, as if he were talking about the weather. "Can we go now?" Kayla squeezed her hand in a tight fist around her reins, her temper spiking. "You can't kiss me that passionately then tell me you felt nothing!" "Fine!" he growled, shooting her a dark glare. "It was a hot, erotic kiss, and I was turned on. Is that what you want me to say?" "I want your honesty. You owe me the truth." He jerked a startled glance toward her, his expression incredulous. "I owe you? For what? For walking out on me? For throwing away what we had so you could marry my brother when he was careless enough to get you pregnant? Forget that, Kayla! I owe you nothing." His tone was sharp and sour, and beneath the anger, she heard the pain he tried not to show. But she knew him better than anyone. He'd rather die than admit how deeply she'd hurt him. A stinging ache lanced her heart, and years-old regret roiled in her gut. "Ben, I'm sorry. I know I hurt you. I was young and stupid and had my priorities all mixed up." He turned his head away, pretending to be searching the landscape ahead for tracks or Matt or…whatever. But his stiff spine and white-knuckle grip on his reins told her he was battling to contain his emotions. She remembered how Ben hated dealing with anything as fickle and unpredictable as emotions. He prided himself on being the responsible, rational brother of the Radley family. "Ben, it's hard to explain, but the thing is…I left you because…you scared me." His eyebrows lifted then furrowed in a frown. "Scared you? How?" "Everything about you was so…intense. You were only twenty years old, but you knew exactly what you wanted from life. You were not only content to stay and work in Maple Cove, but you were talking about raising a family and buying your own ranch here someday. I felt trapped in Maple Cove and controlled by my father. He wanted me to give up the rodeo, but I couldn't let him dictate my life. Then you asked me to quit the rodeo tour, and I thought you were trying to control me, too, so I freaked." She bit her lip and blinked back the sting of moisture in her eyes as bittersweet memories rushed through her mind. "But the scariest thing for me was how much I loved you. I thought if I admitted my feelings and stayed with you, I'd come to resent you. I thought loving you meant giving up my dreams and my wanderlust." "And Joshua?" His tone held a dark, jealous edge. She dropped her gaze to the dusty ground, guilt biting her hard. "I told you, Joshua represented home to me. I was lonely and missing Maple Cove. I know sleeping with him and getting pregnant is just the kind of recklessness you think I specialize in. But for the record, I don't consider Matt a mistake. I love him

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dearly and don't regret a thing about the way he changed my life. Even giving up barrel racing to stay home with him." Ben remained silent and surly. "I know we left a lot of things unsaid, and my mistakes hurt you." She sighed and attempted to gauge how her conciliatory tone was being received. "But I'm trying to make a fresh start, trying to make amends for my bad choices. I want to rebuild my relationship with my father. I want Matt to know his grandfather…and his uncle."

Chapter Ten Ben flinched. Barely. But she saw the telltale twitch. "And," she added, "if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I'd like for us…to be friends." Kayla held her breath, watching Ben's face for his reaction. From beneath the brim of his hat, he sent her an unreadable gaze. "Friends?" Ben glanced away, his jaw rigid, before shooting her another hooded look. "After that kiss we just shared, do you really think we could ever be just 'friends'?" Kayla's pulse scampered, heat flashing through her as she thought about the toe-curling kiss he'd given her just minutes ago. Her lips still felt scorched, swollen…tingling in anticipation of more of the same. "For Matt's sake, I had hoped—" "Kayla," he cut in, "I wouldn't be out here with you now if Matt weren't important to me. I want to be part of his life, but—" He huffed his frustration and left his sentence hanging. "But…?" she prodded. After a moment, he glanced toward her again, the setting sun casting shadows across the sharp angles of his profile. Kayla's heart clenched, and the air caught in her lungs. Ben was so handsome, his face as rugged and breathtaking as the Montana landscape. She'd been such a fool to walk away from him. "But…" he said in a low voice, "when you left me, I moved on. You and I are over, Kayla." Ben saw the hurt and surprise that flickered in Kayla's eyes, and he steeled himself against the twinge of regret that stirred in his chest. Did she really think that after all these years he was still waiting around for her? Aren't you, though? a nagging voice in his head taunted. "I've made a life for myself, ranching with Cole Kelley, saving for my own land and herd one day soon. It's a good life, and I'm not looking for it to change." Was he trying to convince Kayla…or that nagging voice? He scowled and gritted his teeth. "I'm not interested in repeating past mistakes." She lifted her chin and sent him a quasi-confident look. "Would it really be so terrible to be friends with me? Can't we find some common ground for Matt's sake?"

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Ben scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "For my nephew's sake, I plan to do what I can to fill the void left by his father's death." He firmed his mouth and sent her an unyielding stare. "But don't think that means we'll all be spending holidays together like some big happy family." She scowled at him, and he added, "And don't think it means I'll be filling Joshua's place in your bed, either." Now Kayla glared at him hotly. "Did I ask you to? For your information, I've been in Maple Cove for two weeks. If I were here trying to get in your bed, then why haven't I sought you out?" Her question caught him off guard. In fact, the idea that she hadn't come to see him, if only to introduce Matt to him, rankled. He didn't like the jab of irritation that poked him, because it implied that he was the one still carrying a torch for her, despite all his protests and hard-headed denials. Ben muttered a curse under his breath. After all these years, Kayla still had the power to hurt him. He had to face the uneasy truth that she was still firmly rooted in his heart.

Chapter Eleven Seeing a protected overhang of rock on the hill ahead of them, Ben brought Blaze to a stop, though he knew Kayla would hate the decision he'd made. "What are you doing?" she asked. "The space under that outcropping will provide good protection tonight. We'd be wise to make camp here and start searching for Matt again in the morning." He dismounted and held a hand out to help Kayla climb down, which she ignored. "That's it?" She gaped at him, her tone reflecting her dismay. "We're stopping for the day?" He gave a tight nod. "We won't be able to find him in the dark. Our best use of time now is to make camp and gather some wood for a fire." "You make camp. I want to spend these last few minutes of daylight looking for Matt." Ben groaned. "Kayla, I know you're worried about him, but once the sun goes down behind that ridge, it will be dark in a matter of minutes. You'll be completely night blind." "But Matt—" "Trust me on this, please. I know what I'm doing." She hesitated, casting one more concerned glance across the horizon before she slid from her saddle. "I guess you're right." He gave her shoulder a squeeze, pleased that she'd seen the sense of his decision. Maybe she wasn't still as reckless as he thought. "I think there's enough around here for the horses to eat." "What about us? What are we going to eat?" Her worried expression said her real concern was what Matt would eat tonight…if Matt would eat. Her disappointment and anxiety over not finding her son vibrated from her in palpable waves. In the fading sunlight, tears shimmered on her eyelashes, and the proof of her worry landed a sucker punch to his gut.

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"I have a couple of energy bars and some beef jerky in my pack." He fished out the food and handed it to her. "Let's get camp set up before we eat, though." Over the next several minutes, he showed her how to make a protective cavelike shelter from the overhanging rock and a few tree branches lashed together. He built a small campfire, knowing the temperature would drop quickly once the sun set. "Bring the saddle blankets from the horses," he instructed her. "We'll use them to make our bed." Kayla did as he asked then settled beside him as he stoked their campfire to a glowing blaze. She fell silent, staring out into the inky night with a knit in her brow. Ben sighed, sympathy plucking at him. "I know it's hard not to worry about Matt, but there's no point borrowing trouble." "How can I not worry? I'm his mother. It's my job to protect him, but—" Kayla's voice cracked, and her face crumpled as she broke into tears. Ben's heart twisted, and before he could analyze the wisdom of holding her close, he drew Kayla into his arms and pressed a kiss to her hair. He murmured platitudes to her about Matt's safety, promises meant to calm her that he prayed were also true. She clung to his shirt, crying softly, and when she shivered, he wrapped a blanket around them both and cradled her on his lap. Holding Kayla felt good, so good…so right. The years seemed to melt away, and he could have sworn he was twenty years old again, holding Kayla in her father's hayloft while they watched the summer stars. Like that summer night long ago—the first and only time he'd made love to Kayla—he felt swept away by the one-two punch of lust and affection that battered his heart. Ben squeezed his eyes shut and dug deep for the strength to resist the lure Kayla had always held over him. Before he could ever give in to his feelings for her again, he needed reassurance that Kayla had changed, that he wouldn't be setting himself up for more pain. Kayla shifted on his lap, pressing her body more fully against his, and he groaned. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Twelve "I would have married you, you know." "What?" Kayla tipped her head back to meet Ben's gaze. His dark eyes reflected the campfire and danced with a wild and provocative glow. Caught in the spell cast by his penetrating stare, her body hummed with desire. "When you found out you were pregnant. Even though the baby was Joshua's, I would have married you, if you'd come home to Maple Cove. I loved you." Kayla shook her head. "You'd have resented Matt. He'd have always represented my tryst with your brother." Ben shook his head. "I'm a bigger person than that. Your choices weren't Matt's fault."

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She frowned and stroked a hand along his cheek. "Then you'd have resented me. Or Josh. I mean, when we called to tell you we'd gotten married, you were so angry, you couldn't even talk to Josh. There was a rift between you two until the day he died." Ben twisted his mouth in thought. After a moment he asked, "Did you love him? Ever." Kayla bent her head and curled her fingers into Ben's shirt. The intimacy created by their campfire and the tiny cave encouraged confidences and honesty. "Not the way a wife should. Not the way I loved you." Holding her breath, her heart pounding an expectant rhythm, she met his gaze again. "And I don't think he ever really loved me, either. He cheated on me." "So why did you stay with him? Was the rodeo that important to you?" Unlike earlier in the day, his tone held no condemnation. A humorless laugh bubbled from her throat. "Hardly. Traveling with a baby got old really fast. After a while, I stayed home with Matt while Josh toured." Ben scowled and shook his head, his hold on her tightening. "Then my question is the same…why not divorce him if you were unhappy?" "I wasn't unhappy, per se. I got along with Josh, and we had a child together, a child we both adored. And when I married Josh, I took a vow to God and to him that I intended to keep. I wanted to live up to my commitment to him. I wanted to make it work—for Matt's sake, if nothing else." "That's not the Kayla I knew." Ben's brow dented with a dubious frown as he searched her eyes. The intensity of his gaze and the raw emotion on his face filled her with a warmth that chased the Montana night's chill from her bones. "No, it isn't." She traced his lips with her fingertip, and she heard him catch his breath. "I changed. I grew up." "So you did. But…some things don't change." Ben's pupils were wide pools of desire as he lowered his gaze to her mouth. She could feel the crackle of attraction that arced between them. "I still want you more than is healthy for my sanity." Heat flashed through Kayla, and she raised her chin until his lips hovered a breath away from hers. "Sanity is overrated." With a needy sigh, she brushed her lips along his. "I want you, too, cowboy. Make love to me, Ben." A groan of satisfaction rumbled in his chest as he deepened the kiss and laid her back on the blanket to fulfill her request.

Chapter Thirteen Kayla woke the next morning with Ben's arms securely around her, his warm chest at her back and his soft breath tickling her neck. Surrounded by the scent of horse sweat from the blankets, a hard rock beneath her and the first rays of daylight in her eyes, she couldn't think of anywhere she'd rather be. A smile ghosted across her lips for an instant, but her happiness dissipated in a heartbeat when she remembered why she was camping in this cave with Ben. She bolted to a seated position, adrenaline jump-starting a rapid-fire beat in her heart. "Matt!"

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Ben groaned and threw an arm over his eyes, blocking out the bright sunbeams. Kayla nudged him and threw off the saddle blankets. "Come on, Ben. It's daylight. Let's get moving." He grumbled as she gathered the blanket for Rascal and headed down the hill to get saddled up. "Move it, Radley!" she called when he didn't emerge for several minutes. "When I'm done saddling Rascal, I'm leaving. With or without you. Every minute we waste could be the time it takes Matt to run into trouble or get hurt. It's bad enough we couldn't look for him after dark last night. I'm not wasting a second of daylight." She tightened a strap on the saddle then glanced back at Ben, who was groggily picking his way down the rocky slope. When he reached Blaze, he fished an energy bar from his pack and tossed it to her. "Breakfast." She caught the package and ripped it open with her teeth. "I hear a stream over that way," she said, hitching her head farther down the valley. "Before we set out, we need to let the horses have a good drink." He nodded his agreement and said, "So are we going to talk about what happened last night, or are you going to pretend it didn't happen?" She sighed and shook her head. "I honestly don't know what to think about what happened between us last night. Can we do this later?" He grunted. "That's right. It's daylight now, so it must be time for you to retreat. Time to tell me it was a mistake and head for the hills." Sarcasm and pain weighted his words equally. "I didn't say that! I just… How am I supposed to sort out what's happening between us while my son is still missing? I have to put Matt first." Without comment, Ben scowled and led Blaze toward the sound of babbling water. Kayla followed, her thoughts of Ben and Matt and her future tangling together in confusing disarray. Once the horses were drinking from the stream, Ben pointed out a nearby hill. "I should radio the ranch, and that elevation will help re—" Stopping midsentence, Ben grabbed her arm, and with a jerk of his head, he directed her gaze to a spot ahead of them. Kayla turned, scanning the area he indicated…and froze. Fear spiked adrenaline through her blood. No more than fifty yards ahead of them and headed in their direction, a grizzly bear lumbered toward the creek.

Chapter Fourteen "Oh, no! Ben…" she rasped, instinctively shrinking against the solid wall of Ben's chest. But even Ben was no protection against a 500-pound grizzly. His fingers tightened around her arm, and he whispered, "Stay calm and don't run."

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She nodded stiffly. Having grown up in grizzly country, she knew the protocol. Her gaze darted nervously to the scrubby brush around them, searching for loose branches. "We need to make ourselves seem big." "Right." He sent a worried look toward the horses. "She hasn't noticed us yet, so let's back up. Slowly and quietly. I have pepper spray and a gun in my saddlebag." "You can't shoot her!" He shook his head. "Only if she attacks." He tugged her arm. "Come on." Kayla's feet felt leaden as she held her breath and inched away from the bear with Ben at her side. She clung to his arm for balance as she stumbled backward over the uneven ground. She prayed the babbling of the water in the stream was loud enough to muffle their noise. But would the bear smell them? As if in answer to her question, the sow stopped and raised her head, her nose testing the air. Kayla gripped Ben's arm tighter, digging her fingers into his skin. "Steady. I've got you." His breath feathered warmly in her ear, his presence more reassuring to her than any defense spray or weapon. Deep in her marrow, a certainty seeped through her, spreading a calming balm. Ben will protect me. No matter what. Just as he always has. The flash of clarity, viewed through the eyes of a mother who'd do anything to protect her son, jolted her. Was what she'd always seen as Ben's controlling nature really just his effort to protect her? And what about her father's dictates when she was younger? Wasn't she having the same trouble with Matt, only in reverse? Matt considered her love and protectiveness an attempt to "run his life," just as she'd accused her father and Ben ten years ago. The realization made her knees weak, and she sank against Ben's broad chest for support. Ben put an arm around her, holding her up. "Here she comes." Her gut tightening, Kayla looked for herself. The bear had noticed them and was stalking forward. Though her manner seemed more curious than aggressive, the grizzly's interest still ramped Kayla's pulse into the stratosphere. "Grab the horses' reins," Ben said, producing the handgun from his saddlebag. "They may spook." She followed his instructions and gave him a nod when she was ready. His jaw tense, Ben aimed the gun in the air and fired twice. The concussion reverberated in Kayla's chest and echoed off the surrounding hills. The bear jerked, startled, then turned and ran back in the direction she'd come. When Rascal danced and bucked, Kayla clung to his reins. "Whoa. Easy, boy." Ben lowered the gun and nodded to Kayla. "She's gone." "Do you think she'll come back?" Kayla asked with a glance to the spot where the bear had disappeared. 17

"Eventually. But I don't plan to be here when she does." Kayla grabbed her saddle horn and prepared to climb onto Rascal when a sound reached her over the gurgling water. A voice. "Help! I'm here! Help!" Kayla gasped and spun toward Ben. "That's Matt!"

Chapter Fifteen "Matt!" Kayla called as she scrambled up onto Rascal. Ben had already taken off, following the creek and shouting for Matt to answer. With her heart in her throat, she rode downstream, listening for Matt's voice and searching for his red shirt among the green-and-brown foliage and gray rocks in the water. "Help!" came the small voice again. Kayla redirected her gaze and tried to gauge the distance to Matt, but a tree blocked her view. "Down there." Ben aimed a finger at the water. "Hang on, sport. We're here." "Matt!" Kayla dismounted and ran, stumbling over the slick, wet rocks to reach her son, but when she ducked past the tree branches that had obscured her view, all she saw was her father's ATV lying on its side in the creek. "Matt?" Ben was crouched on the other side of the ATV, and he cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting to her over the noise of the water. "He's pinned. We've got to get the ATV off him." Pinned? Icy panic sluiced down Kayla's spine as she splashed into the creek toward Ben. "Matty!" "Mom…" Her son's weak voice reached her the same moment she cleared the ATV and saw Matt lying in the frigid water, his legs trapped under the large machine. Matt's skin was deathly pale, his lips white, and his body shivered violently. "Oh, my God! Matt!" A wave of horror washed through her. How long had he been in the cold stream? She thought of the frigid night just past and wanted to cry for Matt's suffering. She dropped to her knees beside her son and grabbed his hand. "Oh, Matty, I'm here, sweetheart. We're going to get you out." "I heard y-you calling and was trying to f-find you. B-but I hit a b-big rock and f-flipped." Matt's grip was limp, his speech sluggish. "Then you weren't trapped here overnight?" "N-no. Just th-this morning." A measure of relief flowed through her, but Matt's pale complexion still worried her. She sent Ben a frantic look. "He's hypothermic! We've got to build a fire, get him dry, warm him up. Fast!"

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Ben returned a grim gaze. "I know, but first we have to lift the ATV off his legs. Give me a hand." "Lift it?" She gaped at Ben. "That thing's got to weigh a ton! How are we supposed to lift it?" Ben got in position at the side of the ATV and motioned for her to push near the handgrips. "Get a good footing. We're gonna need leverage. Lift with your legs. Once we reach the tipping point, push. Let its own weight rock it back onto its wheels. Got it?" Giving Ben a nod, she took her position and braced her feet. "Ready." Ben counted to three, and they lifted in unison. Kayla's muscles quivered and strained. The ATV rose an inch, then another. Her wet fingers slipped on the metal frame. Forcing down a spike of panic, she gritted her teeth and clung desperately to the front fender. Suddenly, the weight of the ATV shifted, and the vehicle dropped the rest of the way over onto its wheels. Relief washed through Kayla, leaving her knees weak. With a quick grin of thanks to Ben, she turned back to Matt and knelt beside him. "Matty?" Her son's eyes were closed, and he was unresponsive. Kayla tensed, a dark fear crawling through her. "Matty!"

Chapter Sixteen Kayla's terror-filled cry sent a chill down Ben's spine. He stopped checking Matt's legs for broken bones and glanced up at his nephew's wan face. "Kayla, what—?" Matt's eyes opened suddenly, his expression wild and confused, and he screamed in pain. Kayla's face drained of color, and she raised frantic eyes to Ben's. "What's wrong with him?" Ben glanced down at Matt's legs, worried he'd done something to hurt his nephew, when realization struck. "He's getting circulation back in his legs. The ATV had been cutting off his blood flow but now the blood is rushing through again. I've heard that's really painful." As Matt continued moaning in agony, Kayla's expression flooded with sympathy and regret. She clutched Matt's hand to her chest and bent to press a kiss to his forehead. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry. Hang on, sweetie." "Let's get him out of the water." Ben nudged Kayla aside and carefully placed his arms behind his nephew's neck and legs to lift him. "Go get the matches from my saddlebag and gather some small dry twigs to get a fire going." Kayla seemed reluctant to leave Matt's side, and Ben couldn't say that he blamed her. But the boy's condition was precarious, and they needed to work fast to get him warm. Giving Kayla a useful task would also help her to not give in to the panic and concern he knew were threatening to overwhelm her. With one last kiss on Matt's cheek and a murmured reassurance in his ear, Kayla scrambled to the shore and hurried to gather the materials for a fire.

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Ben lifted Matt in his arms and carried him past the shaded creek bank to a grassy spot in the morning sun. Pulling the hand radio from his belt, he tried to rouse someone at Cole Kelley's ranch. "Radley to base. Come in, base." He paused, listening. Not even static answered his call. He checked the handset's volume and still got nothing. "Damn it!" he snarled as Kayla arrived with the matches and first handful of twigs. "What?" Her blue eyes were wide with concern. "I left the radio on overnight. The battery is dead." Kayla's shoulders slumped. "Meaning no help is coming." He pressed his mouth in a taut line and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Kayla. We've got to warm him and get him to Cole's ranch by ourselves." A hard, determined look set her face, even as tears puddled in her eyes. "Then let's do it. I won't let my son die."

Chapter Seventeen Admiration for Kayla's courage in the face of potential disaster swelled in Ben's chest. As he watched her tend to Matt, he realized that what he'd considered recklessness on her part yesterday had in fact been the desperation of a loving mother trying to protect her son. He'd known the same gripping fear, helplessness and need to protect Kayla ten years ago when she'd hurtled around the rodeo arena at death-defying speeds, taking perilous risks in order to win her rodeo events. But his desire to protect her had morphed into an unfair demand that she give up the sport she loved. In trying to protect Kayla, both he and her father had come off as controlling tyrants, all but assuring Kayla's flight from Maple Cove. Now, seeing her motherly concern for Matt and the maturity that had transformed her, he wondered how he'd ever survived losing her…and if, with all the changes in her life, she had room in her life for him. Pushing aside that worry for later, he caught the nape of her neck and tugged her close long enough to press a reassuring kiss to her lips. "We've got this, honey. He's gonna be okay." Kayla swiped at a tear that dripped onto her cheek and nodded, then set to work removing Matt's wet clothes. Ben quickly cleared a space of grass and lit a small fire with the twigs. Once a small flame caught, he located a few larger sticks and added them to the growing conflagration. By the time he finished, Kayla had Matt stripped to his underwear and was buffing his arms and chest with her hands. "We need something dry to wrap him in," he thought aloud, then whipped his shirt over his head, knowing it wasn't enough. Kayla met his gaze with a look of gratitude as she accepted his shirt and draped it around Matt's shoulders. "The saddle blankets."

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Of course. Ben shoved to his feet and ran to collect the quilts from Rascal and Blaze. As he bundled the blankets in his arms and rushed to Matt's side, he prayed their efforts weren't too little too late. For the next several minutes, wrapped in the blankets with Matt, Kayla rubbed her son's hands and arms, hoping to restore his circulation and body heat. Ben busied himself brewing some hot tea over the fire in a small camping pot from his saddlebag. "Ben, look!" Kayla said. "His lips are getting pink again." Ben leaned forward to study Matt's color. "That's a good sign. Very good." Relief and joy bloomed in her chest, loosening the grip of anxiety that squeezed her lungs. "Let's try the tea." Ben lifted a small tin cup to Matt's lips, and Matt's eyelids fluttered open. "Drink some of this, sport. It'll help heat you up." Matt's eyebrows knitted in a frown as he stared at his uncle. "Who are you?" Kayla's heart clenched. She'd hoped Matt could meet Ben for the first time under better circumstances. "His name is Ben. He helped me find you." Her son took a tentative sip then pushed the tin cup away. "He looks a little like Dad." Kayla bit her bottom lip, and her gaze darted up to meet Ben's. Ben tugged his mouth into a lopsided grin. "Really? Your dad must've been a handsome guy, then." "Yeah, I guess." Matt smiled weakly and drank some more tea before sinking back into the blankets with a shiver. "Honey, Ben looks like Dad because…he's your uncle. Your dad's brother. He lives here in Maple Cove and works on the ranch next to Grandpa's." Kayla held her breath, anxious over how Matt would receive the news. Ben gave Matt's hand a squeeze. "I hope we can spend some time together in the weeks ahead. I have lots of funny stories about when your dad was a kid, if you're interested." Matt smiled weakly. "Cool." He shifted his gaze to Kayla, and asked, "C-can we go home now?"

Chapter Eighteen Kayla's heart swelled with a tender ache. Not only did Matt seem okay with learning about his uncle, he'd called the ranch home. Ben tipped his head as if sizing Matt up. "We'll head back soon, but the timing depends on you, buddy. How are you feeling?" "My legs d-don't hurt as bad now, but I'm s-still really cold. And t-tired."

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Kayla was glad to hear Matt wasn't in as much pain, but his color hadn't returned as much as she'd have liked it to before they attempted to move him. Ben twisted his mouth as if in deliberation then lifted the blanket over Matt's feet. "Can you wiggle your toes for me?" Matt wrinkled his nose in concentration, and with what seemed a great deal of effort, he moved his feet and bent his toes. "Good job," Ben said, smiling and giving Matt a gentle pat on the calf. The affectionate gesture and warmth in Ben's expression twined around Kayla's heart. For the first time in many days, she knew she'd made the right choice moving back to Maple Cove. Ben would be a good uncle to Matt, a good male role model. A good father. Her pulse leaped when the stray thought filtered through her mind, and her gaze darted to Ben. He cocked his head and gave her a curious look. "What?" Kayla lowered her eyes and fumbled with the edge of the blanket, embarrassed for being caught with such raw, open emotion on her face. "Not now." But over the next couple hours as they warmed Matt enough to move him then rode back to Cole Kelley's ranch, Kayla couldn't forget that thought. The protective and loving way Ben held Matt in front of him on Blaze during the trip home cemented the idea in Kayla's head that Ben could be more than just a good uncle. Once upon a time, she had daydreamed about having a family with Ben—before fear of her own powerful emotions and a youthful restlessness had led her to give up the man she loved. But she knew now that Ben's responsibility and stability and the security of raising her son surrounded by family in Maple Cove were what she truly wanted in her heart of hearts. The way Ben had come through for her—helping her rescue Matt—proved he was someone she could count on. Last night, making love to him had proved they still shared a magnetic attraction. So why was she fighting fate? Cole Kelley met them in the ranch yard and directed them inside. After Ben had settled Matt on Cole's living room couch to wait for the ambulance, Kayla tugged him aside. "Ben, we need to talk."

Chapter Nineteen Ben's chest contracted when he saw the naked vulnerability in Kayla's face. With her son safe and an ambulance on the way, her apprehension likely had something to do with the two of them. If he was honest, their lovemaking, their relationship, their future had been on his mind throughout the long ride home this morning. The time had come to face the proverbial music. "Here you go, darlin'." Hannah Brown, Cole Kelley's housekeeper, bustled in from a back room with a pillow for Matt. A black dog with a gray muzzle slowly trotted in behind her. Hannah plumped the pillow and put it behind Matt's head on the couch. "Can I get you anything else? I bought a cherry pie from Ira's Diner today. Their pastry chef, Kate Rogers, makes the best desserts in the state. Want a slice?"

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"No, thank you." Matt snuggled into the pillow, clearly enjoying the older woman's pampering. "Well, feel free to watch TV…" Hannah turned on the large flat-screen television, handed Matt the remote then paused to pat the dog's head. "Ole Ace here will keep you company while I fix you something to eat. Just give a shout if you need anything." On the TV, a news anchor recapped the day's headlines, and a name jumped out at Ben, snagging his attention to the screen. "Allegations of extramarital affairs with numerous women continue to plague Senator Henry Kelley. Two more women stepped forward at news conferences today, claiming they, too, had been involved with the senator from California." The image of a beautiful blonde woman at a microphone filled the screen, and Ben scowled. While Senator Kelley deserved the scandal and bad press for his illicit affairs, Ben hated what the revelations in the press meant for Cole. Senator Henry "Hank" Kelley was Cole's estranged father. With a grunt of disgust, Ben took the remote from Matt and changed the channel. "What do you say we find some cartoons for you to watch instead, sport?" Matt shrugged. "Whatever." Trusting that his nephew was in good hands, he followed Kayla to the dining room, where she stopped by a tall window to stare out at the activity on Cole's ranch. "Something on your mind?" he asked, though her furrowed brow and troubled eyes confirmed as much. "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for leaving you all those years ago. For hurting you. I was wrong. I thought I knew what I wanted from life, but I was just scared by my feelings for you. I'd never loved someone as deeply as I loved you." Ben frowned and shook his head. "So you're saying you left me because you loved me too much?" She raked her hair back with both hands. "It's crazy, but that's how confused I was then. But I know what I want now. I know what is truly best for my life and for my son." Ben narrowed a searching gaze on her. "And what is it you want now, Kayla?"

Chapter Twenty Ben held his breath, anticipation tingling along his spine. When Kayla moved closer, sliding her hand over his chest to his nape, a jolt like electricity sizzled through his veins. "I want you, Ben. I've always wanted you." She looped her arms around Ben's neck and leaned into him, a tender appeal in her eyes. "Tell me it's not too late for us. Tell me you'll give me another chance." She caught his lips with hers, and Ben allowed himself to savor the heat in her kiss for several moments…remembering. Then, seizing her shoulders, he pushed her away and gave her a hard stare. "Okay, so we still have sexual chemistry to spare. The fire between us was never the problem. But I have no use for any more broken promises or heartache. If we give our relationship another chance, how do I know you won't change your mind and walk away from me again?" Tears of contrition filled her eyes, but she didn't back down. "Because I'm not the same stupid girl who left you before. I'm a mother. A widow. A woman who knows what is important in life. I understand now that 23

when you love someone as much as a parent loves a child—or as much as we loved each other—that protectiveness and concern shouldn't be mistaken for being controlling." "The risks you took in the rodeo scared your father—and me—to death. I'm surprised you didn't understand that after what happened to him. We couldn't stand to see you get hurt." She sighed sadly. "Or killed…like Josh was." He nodded and kissed her temple. "Well, I understand it now, and my priorities are all different. I want to build a safe and loving home for Matt, establish roots and reconnect with my family. I want all the things I threw away ten years ago." A tear dripped onto her cheek, and she swiped it away with a knuckle. "I know I don't have a right to ask you to believe in me after the way I hurt you, but…I still love you, Ben. That never changed." Ben tangled his fingers in Kayla's thick hair, reflecting on the changes in her that he'd witnessed while they'd searched for Matt. Her dedication to her son, her unwillingness to go home overnight for fear of losing precious time to search, her loyalty to Joshua even though their marriage wasn't a love match, the way she'd handled herself with the bear and how she'd never questioned him in a crisis. The Kayla he'd spent the past twenty-four hours with was someone he could trust his heart to, someone he could build a future with. Someone he still loved with a soul-deep passion. He caught her chin between his thumb and fingers, and his eyes held hers. "We have a lot of years to make up for. I want to get to know Matt, and I want to learn more about this new woman you've become." "Oh, Ben…" A smile lit her face, and he dropped a kiss on her nose. "I never got over you, either, Kayla. I've had a hole in my life since the day you left Maple Cove." Tears of joy sparkled in Kayla's blue eyes. "Does that mean you're willing to give me another chance?" Ben pulled her into a firm embrace and seized her lips in a deep, lingering kiss. A sense of peace and contentment flowed through him, and he knew he was where he belonged. At Kayla's side. "It means I'm willing to give us a chance. The three of us. As a family. I love you, Kayla. Welcome home."

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Invitation To A Murder by Vicki Hinze

Chapter One It’s Emma, Chloe. Marcus wants you dead…

Chloe St. John, Princess of Astoria, principality of Denmark, listened to the voice-mail message from her good friend twice and still couldn’t believe it. But it didn’t change.

And slowly, certainty that it wasn’t going to change pumped through her veins and into her heart, which sank into her strappy red Jimmy Choos.

Marcus Abbot Sterling III, a man Chloe had been certain loved her for herself and not her fortune or title, wanted her dead? Why would Emma say such a thing?

Standing in her airy apartment overlooking Central Park, Chloe squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out her floor-to-ceiling view of night falling over Manhattan. She breathed deeply until her insides stopped shaking.

It was Sunday; her housekeeper was done for the day, and her lifelong driver, Frank, had gone to Madison Square Garden to see a boxing match. She was alone, free to react without damaging her “perfect princess” image. But keeping everything inside was just too ingrained.

She should be outraged, but she was more confused than anything. She and Emma had known each other for years. When Renee-Dalton Sinclair had opened Gotham Rose Club to heiresses and debutantes to raise money for charity, Chloe and Emma had been among its first members.

Of over 200 who had joined, they’d also been among the first of nearly twenty Roses inducted into Renee’s secret spy organization to bring about the arrests of high-society white-collar criminals.

Each Rose had been brought into the secret segment for a specific reason, and Chloe’s was, of course, her title. It gave her access to those mere money couldn’t — as had been proven on her last two assignments, which had resulted in aristocratic arrests.

Why would Emma levy a charge like this on Marcus? It didn’t make sense. Chloe didn’t believe 25

it for a second — Marcus wanting her dead? — but there had to be something to it. Emma wasn’t inclined to overreact.

In the past men had used Chloe, trying to get to her money or title — sometimes both. But Marcus had a fortune of his own, and he couldn’t get her title by killing her, only by marrying her. Of course, he could marry then kill her. But they’d only even flirted with the subject of marriage. Nothing more. It didn’t fit.

In her gleaming cream-and-marble kitchen, Chloe made herself a sympathetic cup of tea and leaned against the countertop, waiting for it to steep. She just couldn’t figure any motive in Marcus’s case.

He was wealthy, established in their high-society social circle. He chaired one of the most widely respected legal firms in the nation, and Rubi Cho, the In the Know with Rubi Cho columnist for the New York Reporter, considered him one of the top two most eligible bachelors in the world — Ryan Greene was the other.

Marcus and Ryan were both drop-dead gorgeous, but Chloe had always preferred tall blondes with broad shoulders and smoky blue eyes. Marcus had both — and everything a man could want. Emma had to be wrong about this. Still, she couldn’t have just dreamed up something so awful.

Chloe sipped from her bone china cup, wisps of anger swirling low in her stomach. She’d been through this, dealt with it, and with the trust issues that came from never being certain a man was interested in her and not in what she had. Nothing could eat a woman alive like those kinds of fears and doubts.

Now, thanks to Emma, they came rushing back. Chapter Two

The phone rang. Heavy-hearted and uncertain, Chloe answered. “Hello.”

“Don’t even think it,” Emma said. “And don’t bother saying you’re not thinking it because I know you are.”

Chloe debated lying but it’d be futile. They’d been friends too long; there was no lying to Emma. 26

“It’s there,” Chloe confessed. “If this is true — and I need some strong evidence to believe it is, Emma — then how can I not wonder what the hell is wrong with me? This ‘use-Chloe’ stuff just keeps happening. But I don’t believe it, Emma. Marcus is different. He already has it all. He has to want me.”

“If he had any sense, he would. But apparently he doesn’t.”

“Why are you saying this?” The pain Chloe should have felt on hearing that Marcus wanted her dead finally hit her full force. She didn’t believe it, but she did have doubts. And she was angry with Emma for raising them. Damn it, she’d finally been happy. Her knees went weak. “Don’t you want me happy, Emma?”

“God, don’t you dare freak out and go stupid on me. You’ll end up dead,” Emma huffed. “We are not going there. Of course I want you happy. ”

“I’m falling in love with him.” Chloe squeezed her cup. “He can’t want me dead.”

“I’m sorry but he definitely wants you dead. I heard him say it, Chloe.” Emma grabbed a shuddery breath. “Fortunately, he has no idea that I know, which means he has no idea that you know. That gives us a chance to stop him.”

She heard him say it? Oh, God. Tears rose in her throat. “What exactly did he say?”

“Well...” Emma searched for words. “It was something along the lines of ‘Princess Chloe will be killed.’ There was more, but that’s the part I heard clearly.”

Chloe thought for a moment, her heart pounding. “That doesn’t sound as if he’s going to kill me...does it?”

“It sounds like it to me! Chloe, I know what I heard. The way he said it...the tone...it was pretty menacing. We need to stop him before he follows through on this!”

Chloe took a deep breath. How could she not trust Emma? “Okay, so we stop him — provided evidence warrants it.”

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“Prepare yourself, okay?” Emma paused. “You know you should strike first.”

Chloe’s heart skipped, then fell like a stone. “You know that if I blow a great relationship with this man and you’re wrong, I’m going to seriously kick your butt.”

“I’m not wrong.” Emma’s voice softened. “I wish I were. I know it hurts...” Chapter Three

More doubt heaped up inside Chloe. Emma sounded so sure. But it couldn’t be true. Chloe would have sensed it. She’d have known something...

“We could ask a few of the Roses to look into it,” Emma said, bringing up the secret Rose agents and their assets. “Although I wouldn’t advertise it to Renee.”

Not tell their boss and fearless leader? “Why not?” Shouldn’t they use all available assets? Hmm, maybe Emma had a little doubt, after all.

“Because you don’t believe me,” Emma said. “I don’t mind saying that from my perspective, that sucks. I’ve never lied to you and you know it. But you love the guy, so I’m overlooking it.”

“Let’s investigate,” Chloe compromised. “If we need the agency, then we’ll tell Renee. But I’m betting Marcus is innocent — and I’m not putting a man I love on her radar without proof he should be there.” That was fair. “Go ahead and issue a Rose Alert. Perrini’s, noon tomorrow.”

Normally she’d call on the Roses first thing in the morning, before their busy social schedules took over the day, but Chloe had an important interview with Jack Quaid — an old acquaintance — at 9 a.m.

“Fine,” Emma said. “We’ll see what Mr. Marcus Abbot Sterling III has to hide.”

Tight-jawed, Chloe hiked her chin. “Yes, let’s.”

****** 28

Jack Quaid was not like Chloe remembered. He was still a solid 6’6” with black hair and gray eyes, but he rode a motorcycle now and had a five o’clock shadow that had to be a week old.

Suddenly the soft cream cashmere tank and sage brocade skirt she’d donned for this meeting seemed too conservative. At least the spiked gold sandals, courtesy of her favourite shoe designer, Jimmy Choo, gave her a boost. Chloe had been crazy about Jack for at least half-a-dozen summers in the Hamptons. Unfortunately, Jack had always been in a long-term relationship, and the simmering attraction she’d felt between them had never gone anywhere.

Now, among other things, he was a reporter with Architectural Restorations and was giving her some press on her pet restoration project — Eleanor Towers, the building she’d bought about a year ago and had recently moved into.

“Princess Chloe?” Jack asked, when she stepped into the garage.

Her attendant had doubted Jack’s authenticity and had called her to come down. She nodded her okay to the attendant and turned her attention to Jack. “Princess Chloe?” She recoiled. “Good grief, Jack. If we’re going to be that formal, I’m not sure I feel comfortable taking you upstairs.”

“It was a test.” Jack brushed a kiss to her cheek. “I was checking to see if you still hate being called by your title.” He smiled. “Clearly, you do.” Chapter Four She smiled back at him. “I haven’t seen you at any Gotham Rose Club functions for months. You’ve been missed.”

“I’ve been out of the country.” He went serious. “Renee and Mother talk, of course. She says you’ve raised a fortune for the New York Women’s Clinic. That’s good.”

Most Gotham Roses had separate and varied careers — Chloe’s was investments — but every Gotham Rose had a special charity she supported with fundraising efforts and her time. This told Renee most of what she needed to know about which Roses had the character, connections, skills and the will to become successful spies.

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Chloe nodded. “I work hard at it, Jack. The women with eating disorders need so much, but their challenges lack the sensationalistic appeal of other challenges, so they often get overlooked. I’m determined to keep that from happening at the Women’s Clinic.”

“Good for you.” Admiration shone in his eyes. “Before we go upstairs, I want to show you something. While I was waiting for you, I noticed some crumbling around the support beams over here.” He motioned left, toward the street. “It’s significant, Chloe.”

“Really?” She walked over, looked. Surprised by the depth of the cracks and the amount of crumbling concrete, she told Jack, “I know Sal Mancuso, the city inspector, signed off on the foundation, but this still concerns me. I’ll call Buzz Denton, the chief architect handling the restoration, and make him aware of it.”

“Good idea.” Crouching down, Jack fingered a deep crack. “They could be just on the surface, but frankly, it doesn’t look like it.” He stood up and swiped his hands clean. Chloe gave Jack the tour of Eleanor Towers. On the advice of Madison Taylor-Pruitt, a real estate magnate and sister Rose who was not one of Renee’s spies, Chloe had bought the building from Marcus. Though she and Marcus had traveled in the same circle for years, it wasn’t until then that they’d become close.

Chloe had essentially gutted the building because, over the years, people had made extensive, haphazard modifications that had to be undone before the restoration work could really begin. Chloe loved the work. So did Jack, and they became absorbed in it, discussing materials and plans.

On the seventh floor, he stopped to look at new plumbing going in, and glanced back over his shoulder at her. “Copper? Very expensive.”

“Yes, it is.” She nodded. “But if you haven’t yet guessed, this project is a labour of love. I want it to be right.”

“I’m sure it’ll be as beautiful as you are,” Jack said and then caught himself. “Sorry, Chloe. I got caught up and forgot why I’m here.”

Certain he hadn’t had to apologise often, she smiled and touched his sleeve. “It’s okay to tell a woman she’s beautiful, Jack. Actually, it’s very pleasant to hear.”

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“These days, it’s hard to tell.” He looked into her eyes. “Some women like hearing what’s on your mind, and others consider a compliment harassment. Either way, most women wouldn’t like being compared to a building.”

“Coming from a man who loves them?” She shrugged. “It’s high flattery.”

“True, but I’m in a work environment and I know you’re involved with Marcus Sterling. I was out of line.” The warmth in his eyes cooled. “But don’t worry. It won’t happen again.”

“That’s too bad.” Chapter Five Chloe tilted her head and frowned. “You have no idea how much a genuine compliment can mean to a woman.” Especially to one who has known so few of them and now fears — despite her determination not to — that the man who professes to love her is planning her murder.

“Still gracious, too.” He sounded surprised, and warmth returned to his eyes.

“Normally, I’m not,” she confessed. “But I’ve always liked you, Jack. You’re as attractive on the inside as the outside, and that’s rare — likely nearly extinct.”

“Ouch.” The skin between his brows wrinkled. “Rough relationships, eh?”

“Aren’t they all?”

“The ones that matter seem to be,” he admitted, then frowned as if worried. “Chloe,” he said, hesitant. “You do know that Marcus and his law firm represent a number of questionable characters, right?”

Very diplomatic. Endearing, that. “Suspected mafia members, you mean.”

“I guess you do know.” That seemed to bother him.

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“Everyone is entitled to legal counsel, Jack. But there’s no evidence of wrong-doing. Marcus can’t refuse representation based on suspicion or rumor. That wouldn’t be right.”

Jack turned the subject. “You mentioned another appointment at noon. I have a few more questions. Would you mind meeting again later to finish the interview?”

A little bolt of pleasure rippled through her chest. She condemned herself as a fool.

Now was a lousy time for a renewed attraction to Jack. Marcus was good and kind and she loved him — even if she was fighting doubts about him.

Thank you, Emma.

Angry with her, Chloe decided to refuse Jack, to offer to finish up by phone. But when she opened her mouth, other words spilled out.

“I’d love to. Why don’t you come by again tomorrow morning, same time?”

He nodded, and she smiled.

“If I could, I’d delay my noon appointment,” she said about meeting the Roses for the alert, “but it’s a meeting I can’t afford to miss...” Chapter Six Seven Gotham Roses sat at a table in Perrini’s best private dining room, a sparkling array of the sharpest of Manhattan’s blue bloods. All were among the Rose agents who performed covert missions for Renee.

The spy segment of the Gotham Rose Club had to be kept top secret because blown covers would render Rose agents useless to Renee and her superiors, and that would jeopardise every Rose agent on every mission — and every future mission.

Renee answered to the Governess, a powerful woman who held a high-level, classified position

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somewhere in the government. Exactly where, or exactly who she was, even Renee didn’t know. Her anonymity was for everyone’s safety and protection.

Chloe nodded at Emma as she walked in. “Let’s get this done, then.” Her heart couldn’t take much more of this doubt — or frankly, of the tension between her and Emma.

Chloe needed the truth.

She wished Madison could be here — she had handled the purchase of Eleanor Towers — but neither she nor Porsche, who had an amazing nose for truth, were agents.

Julia, Samantha and Emma sat on the left of the table. Samantha’s unique style, which included green, spiked hair, stood out among the smooth, high-fashion gloss of the other women. Vanessa, Alexa and Becca sat on the right.

Since Chloe had called the Roses together, she sat at the head of the table. Normally, Roses would chat and share the latest gossip and social events. But not today. Not Rose agents about to discuss Rose business.

“Okay, let’s get to it.” Chloe nodded at Julia. “What can you tell me about Marcus Sterling?”

“His real estate investments are diverse,“ Julia said, “but his client list is even more interesting. Half the mob retains him, yet I failed to find a speck of dirt. So did my associates,” she added, referencing her contacts in the FBI, and other secret organisations in the U.S. and Europe. “Nothing illegal there.”

“I ran some bank records,” Emma said. “Honey, he did not need your money before you bought Eleanor Towers, and he sure doesn’t need it now.”

Samantha looked at Emma through the spikes of green hair that framed her face. “The man’s so clean he squeaks. Are you sure he was serious about wanting Chloe dead?”

“Extremely serious.”

“Is there a chance he’s the Duke?” Samantha asked. 33

The Roses were in constant pursuit of the criminal mastermind they all called the Duke. He was the Governess’s obsession, and the majority of the Roses’ missions involved him. So far, they’d disrupted several of his operations, but he had eluded them. Chapter Seven “Marcus has the assets,“ Chloe said, trying to distance her emotions, “but he doesn’t have the stomach for the kinds of crimes the Duke commits.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Vanessa said. “When I was modeling, I saw men do things that would curdle your blood.”

“I have to agree, Chloe,” Becca said.

“Ditto.” Alexa shifted on her seat, as if her bad leg was bothering her. “Anyone is capable of anything. Just hit on the right motive. That’s all it takes.”

“Usually. But in this case, I can’t see it,” Julia said. “The Duke is all about the dark side. Chloe’s right. Marcus doesn’t have the guts for that kind of business. Bottom line, he’s pretty spineless.” She shrugged. “Sorry, Chloe. I know you love him, but truth is truth.”

Chloe bit her tongue. She wanted truth, and she was getting it. Brutal though it may be. “So far as I know, he’s not into anything on the dark side, and I don’t consider him spineless.” Why did Julia?

“Of course you don’t. You love him,” Julia said. “I don’t.”

She wasn’t being bitchy, just stating what love can do to judgment. Considering Chloe’s reaction to Jack, maybe her antenna did need a little fine-tuning. “If this is true, and he’s not after my money, then he must be after my title.”

“It’s usually one or the other,” Samantha said, triggering grumbles of agreements around the table. “We’ve all been used by men for something.” Samantha paused. “But if it is the title, and he wants you dead, he’ll marry you before he kills you.”

Oh, God. Maybe it was true. 34

Chloe smoothed an unsteady hand down her skirt, playing with the slightly rough pattern of the brocade, reluctant to reveal what she must. “He called me on my way over here. He wants us to have dinner tonight, here — to discuss something extremely important.”

“Oh, no.” Julia groaned. “That’s definitely proposal-warning language.”

Chloe bunched the sage brocade in her hand, mentally apologising to Vera Wang at the unsightly wrinkles she created. This couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.

“Proposal, hell.” Emma lifted her wine glass. “It’s an invitation to a murder.”

Chloe glanced around the table, looking into the other Roses’ eyes. What she saw shot fear through her, and she cringed. They all believed Emma was right.

Dinner was an invitation to a murder. Chloe locked gazes with Emma. “If you all are right, then the murder is mine.” Chapter Eight Chloe arrived at Perrini’s promptly at 8 p.m., dressed for battle in a confidence-raising black silk cocktail dress with a flattering princess neckline.

Not by her favourite designer, Vera Wang, this time, but it had seemed appropriate to emphasise her royal status to Marcus.

When she stepped out of the limo, the hair on her neck lifted up. She didn’t question it, just eased her hand into her evening bag, and gripped her .38.

When she’d come of age and begun living on her own, she’d insisted on no longer having bodyguards. But she suddenly thought that just this once, having at least one would have been reassuring.

“Ah, Princess Chloe.” Lucas Perrini, a silver-haired, father figure of a man for whom she’d developed an affection, stepped forward with a broad smile. “Welcome back.”

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“Chloe, please, Lucas.”

“In my heart, my dear,” he whispered, leaning to kiss her cheek. “But my respect must be voiced.”

Tyres squealed. Startled, Chloe shoved Lucas away from her, spun, and saw a black SUV and a man in the back seat with a scoped rifle aimed out the window. She didn’t have time to pull her gun. The man fired. She dropped to a crouch at the limo’s rear and shot out the SUV’s tires.

The rear tyres blew, and the SUV fishtailed. The gun at the window disappeared, and the car crashed into a limo parked across the street. Metal clashed, glass broke and the SUV slid to a stop. Both doors opened and two men rushed out, hit the ground running.

Chloe charged after them.

“Princess Chloe, no!” Lucas shouted. Already people poured out of the restaurant and into the street.

Ditching her black suede Jimmy Choo heels, Chloe ran barefoot down the street. The driver slipped into an alley. He was the faster of the two, and she had to either shoot him or let him go and pursue the second man.

She needed to know who had hired them, so she opted for the latter, and stuck with chasing the lagger. He slowed down to check her position, and she gained on him, lunged, and they collided.

Falling to the ground, he threw a sharp right to her jaw. Pain exploded in her face. She saw stars, gasped and fought back.

“Chloe!” Julia shouted from half-a-block back up the street.

The man heard her name, hesitated, and Chloe went for his throat. He rolled, twisted away and scrambled to his feet, then took off like a shot and disappeared into the dark street. Chapter Nine

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Winded, more out of breath than she should be — the Roses’ personal trainer, Jimmy, would have a fit — Chloe swept her hair back from her face and looked at her purse. Her favourite black Gucci evening bag was destroyed. “Damn it.”

Julia caught up to her, looked her over. “Well, I’m glad to see you’ve survived, but the bag is definitely D.O.A.”

Samantha ran up next. “Well, Chloe,” she said, finger-styling her green hair back into its spikes. “I guess Marcus was serious.” She pulled a lip-gloss from her sequined hobo bag and glossed her lips, looking both tough and feminine as she did so.

Leave it to Samantha. Pragmatic and unflappable. Wishing for a dose of that, Chloe said, “We don’t know that he had anything to do with this,” and headed back to Perrini’s with one of them at each side.

“Emma warned you, now there’s an attempt on your life, and you’re still going to hear his proposal?” Julia asked. “Tell me you don’t need an assassination attempt by your lover to come off a mountain etched in stone to believe it, Chloe.”

Chloe looked her right in the eye. “Not in stone, no. But I absolutely am going to see if he proposes.”

“Why?” Samantha looked at Chloe as if she’d lost her mind. “Emma is not going to believe this. She’ll have a fit and blame me. Julia, do something.”

Julia clasped Chloe’s upper arm. “Stop right now and tell me why.”

Chloe paused to pick up one of her shoes, which rested toe up on the street. “The path to the truth is in giving Marcus exactly what he wants.” Where the hell had her other shoe landed? She’d left them at the same time.

“Chloe, are you nuts?” Subtle as mud, Samantha grunted. “He wants you dead.”

Julia nodded knowingly and passed the missing shoe.

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“Does he really?” Chloe still had doubts — major doubts. “If he’s after my title, why assassinate me now? He doesn’t have it yet.”

“Obviously they were hired pros,” Samantha said. “But she’s got a point.”

“You need Renee in on this,” Julia said. “It’s past the point of no return.”

“Not just yet.” Not until Chloe indisputably connected events to Marcus. Half the people from all the buildings stood on the street, discussing what had happened, including — God help Chloe — her least favourite reporter in the world.

“Run interference for me with Rubi, Samantha,” Chloe whispered, and made for her driver, Frank, who stood right outside Perrini’s door. Chapter Ten Wiry-haired, Einstein-like, and pushing seventy, Frank looked far too worried for her liking. “I’m fine,” she said preemptively, watching Samantha and Julia intercept Rubi. Naturally, the reporter would be on the street. “What’s the word on the car?”

“Lucas had a friend run the VIN.” Lucas Perrini’s connections were on par with the power of his clientele. Chloe wasn’t surprised that he’d gotten answers so fast. “It was stolen.” Regret filled Frank’s eyes.

“Of course it was.” Well, that limited Chloe’s options. Now, if she wanted the truth, she had no choice. She had to talk to Marcus Abbot Sterling III. “Handle the police for me,” she said softly to Frank. “I have a vital meeting inside.”

He nodded. Chloe excused herself, then walked to the restroom, where the incident hit her fullforce. The bullets fired at her had been real.

When fired on before, she’d never been on her own private turf. And it drove home that, this time, the attack had been personal. There was nowhere safe.

Surely it couldn’t be Marcus. His timing made things look bad, but that had to be coincidence. If those killers had been successful, he wouldn’t have gotten her title. 38

God, just please don’t let him propose. If he doesn’t propose, I’ll know it’s not him. I’ll know it’s a nutcase.

But that it could be him sent fear and doubt screaming through every cell in her body. Her muscles spasmed and she turned clammy.

She splashed some water on her face and pulled herself together. In the mirror above it, she appeared surprisingly undamaged by the scuffle. Amazed by that, she flicked her bangs. He won’t ask me. He won’t.

She went to the dining room, praying she was right.

Marcus stood to greet her, tension lining his face. “Chloe, what happened out there?”

“Nothing,” she lied. Her stomach in knots, she leaned in and pressed a breath of a kiss to his cheek, then sat down and quickly reached for her water glass to rinse out the bitterness burning her mouth. “Drive-by shooting, I guess. I just happened to be close by.”

“How awful.” He sat facing the dining room, looking nervous and deeply troubled. “I heard there were two men. Were they caught?”

Marcus hadn’t gone outside? Odd. Seemingly everyone else had. “Stolen car, I heard someone say.” Her doubt doubled, gnawed at her heart.

Wheels seemed to be turning inside his mind, and from the pained expression in his eyes, his thoughts were dark. But was that because he was responsible for the men who shot at her, or because he was a man about to ask a woman to be his wife? Either could rattle any man to the core. The room settled down, and like the others, they ordered and tried to talk normally through the wait and then their salads — but the strain was obvious. Why was he stressed? Chapter Eleven When the main course was on the table, Marcus turned the topic to Eleanor Towers. “Your interview with Jack Quaid went well?”

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“Of course.” She nodded. “We’ve known each other for years, and Jack loves buildings with character. He’s a fan.” She didn’t mention the concrete.

Marcus gave her a perfect smile yet remained distant and preoccupied. He might be seated at the table, but his mind definitely had wandered elsewhere, and his hand was shaking something fierce. “How is the restoration coming?”

He was afraid, she realised. Of what? “So far, so good.” She sipped from her wine glass, staying intentionally general. No one, especially not Marcus, was going to taint her enthusiasm for the project. “What was your day like?”

“The usual. Legal mayhem and murder,” he said, obviously bitter. “Are you ready for dessert?” He waited for her nod, then added, “I’ve asked Lucas to prepare something special.”

Oh, God. No, no, no! Oh, please, no!

“Are we, um, celebrating something?”

“I hope so.” He motioned and Lucas and two waiters approached the table with a sheet cake large enough to feed everyone in the crowded dining room. On it was written, “Will you marry me, Chloe?”

The diners seemed to collectively hold their breaths. Chloe’s heart shattered and she shook down to her toenails.

It was true. Oh, God, it was true!

She had planned to go along with him to learn the truth, but this proposal was far too public. Everyone, including her parents, would know about it before dawn.

How could she explain becoming engaged like this? It wasn’t acceptable for the perfect princess. Her mother would hyperventilate for six months.

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New situation. Think, Chloe. No tears. Think. Forget your broken heart. The man must want you dead.

If she agreed, he’d milk the engagement for all the publicity he could get while trying to have her killed. Or he’d marry her and then have her killed.

If she refused, she would never discover why he planned to kill her...or he might kill her for screwing up his plans. Either way, she’d be dead.

But by accepting, she could buy time to find out why he was bent on murdering her — and who had tried to kill her tonight. Of course, in a glaringly bald moment she decided, considering her circumstances, that being murdered might be easier to endure than this engagement. Chapter Twelve “Well, Chloe?” Marcus buried his upset and looked at her with the perfect balance of hope and fear.

And everyone in the dining room noticed. Her tattered heart rebelling, she allowed herself tears. Observers would think they were tears of joy not grief. “Yes, Marcus,” she said, her voice soft and hollow. “I’ll marry you.”

The room burst into applause. Held breaths were released, diners gasped and sighed. All around them, people laughed and smiled and lifted their glasses in toasts.

Rubi Cho, the In the Know with Rubi Cho columnist for the Reporter snapped a photograph of Marcus putting a diamond ring on Chloe’s finger.

Ever gallant, he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to it. Then he laughed hard. “Whew!” That struck a familiar chord with the married men and set off another round of laughter.

Chloe slid her gaze to Frank, who stood across the room near Lucas. Both men had special roles in her life, though she never discussed them with others. And both men were looking at her with worry, and as if she’d lost her mind. Unfortunately, she couldn’t reassure them.

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“Darling, will you stand up?” Marcus snagged her attention then added, “Rubi wants to take a few photos.”

Chloe and Rubi weren’t on the best terms and Chloe should refuse. Instead, she asked a question. “How did Rubi know to be here, Marcus?”

He lifted a shoulder, looked her right in the eye, and lied. “I don’t know, darling. Maybe she came in after the drive-by shooting.”

“She was already here.” He’d tipped Rubi off. He wanted the publicity.

“I don’t know then.” His voice was solid, his tone as smooth as only a practiced liar’s could be. “Maybe she was hungry.”

With that remark, he set the rules of the engagement. She looked at Marcus, still playing nice with Rubi, and wondered why she’d ever thought he was attractive, why she’d allowed herself to think she could love him.

She thought of Jack. Since the first time she’d seen him, he’d attracted her on every level known to her — and likely on those as yet unknown.

And suddenly it wasn’t her broken heart, but thoughts of meeting with Jack again in the morning that helped Chloe endure the devastating ordeal with Marcus.

She could see that Marcus was extremely upset. She eyed him suspiciously, wondering... What was he thinking of to get through tonight with her? Chapter Thirteen Thanks to the luxurious down mattress covers and blankets that surrounded her in her king-size bed, Chloe overslept and had to rush to be ready by nine. She walked quickly through her closet, a room about half the size of her bedroom that organised her warm and cool weather wardrobes and showed off every pair of shoes she owned.

She decided on a conservative Ralph Lauren pantsuit. She gave her brunette bob and bangs an extra squirt of shine and dabbed Remember Me, her signature Dior fragrance, onto her wrists. As 42

she slid into black flats, the doorbell rang. A shiver of anticipation rippled through her stomach, and her devastation over Marcus didn’t seem so intense. Jack Quaid had arrived.

She strode into the living room, where she’d asked her housekeeper to show Jack when he arrived. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” They chatted for a few minutes over coffee, served efficiently by the housekeeper. Jack looked terrific, but the animation that she’d seen in him yesterday was gone. Admittedly, she was more subdued, too. “Jack, is everything okay?”

He studied her a long moment. He set down his cup, rattling the bone china against its flowered saucer. Somehow the elegant design only made him look more masculine. “I read about your engagement in the newspaper this morning. Congratulations.”

Chloe stilled. He was saying all the right words, but it was obvious he wasn’t happy about her marrying Marcus, and that thrilled Chloe. She had always been very attracted to Jack, and had sensed innately that she could trust him.

But then, until Emma’s voice mail, Chloe had trusted Marcus, too. And she’d also trusted the two users before Marcus until it had been thrown back in her face. She couldn’t risk being wrong again, especially not now. “Thank you, Jack.”

He scooted forward on his seat. “Chloe, I have to ask. Is this marriage what you really want?”

“Excuse me?”

“Forget it. I’m stepping over the line,” he said with an angry swipe of his hand through his hair. “Did you talk with Buzz Denton about the foundation?”

She nodded, knocked off-kilter by the sudden topic shift. But Jack clearly had closed the personal conversation. She didn’t trust what she was seeing or feeling from him. But if she had, she’d say that her engagement struck Jack too close to the bone and he feared getting hurt, so he’d backed off.

Instinct warned her not to push. “Yes, I did,” she said about Buzz. “He was with Mancuso during

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the inspection. They tested the crumbling and cracks, and they are just on the surface. Everything is fine.”

“Fine?” Jack stood up, paced three steps between the sofa and a chair, then turned back to her. “I had my arm down one of the cracks up to my elbow, Chloe. That’s not a surface crack.”

“The architect and the city inspector tell me everything is as it should be.” She stood up. “What do you expect me to do?”

“I expect you not to marry him.”

She opened her mouth to rebut him, but what he’d said sank in. He was doing it again — changing topics without warning. “Why shouldn’t I marry Marcus?”

Angry and intense, Jack crossed the Persian rug and stood before her, his hands fisted at his sides. “Because when you talk about him, I don’t see the light in your eyes I see when you talk about this building — or when you look...at me. Why the hell are you marrying him? Is it money? A position or power kind of thing? A princess thing? What?”

Torn at seeing him so agitated, she stood and reached a hand toward him. “It’s a thing,” she confessed. “But one I’m not free to discuss at the moment.” She let him see that she cared in her eyes, silently praying that he wasn’t as jaded as she about trust, and asked for what might be the impossible. “Can you trust me on this, Jack? Just for a while?”

He closed his eyes, then opened them and looked deeply into hers. “Whatever this thing is, get it resolved, okay?”

Amazed, she nodded.

“But about the building,” Jack said. “I’m warning you that things are not fine. Promise me you won’t wait for the building to fall down before you investigate further. Promise me you’ll either investigate or move out.”

The urgency in his voice resonated with her. “I promise.”

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She stopped speaking as he pulled her into his arms. “I said I wasn’t going to do this as long as you wore Marcus’s ring, but I’ve waited so long already, Chloe.” And with that, he pressed his lips to hers and kissed her. Chapter Fourteen Chloe sank into Jack’s kiss and returned it, telling him with lips and touch all she couldn’t give him with words. Her breath quickened, her heart raced, and flutters filled her stomach.

His kiss was everything she dreamed it would be during all those summers at the Hamptons, when she watched him and wished, and denied feeling anything at all to keep from infringing on another woman’s relationship with him. And then it was more...

Jack backed away, letting his fingertips float over her lips. He looked into her eyes and searched her face. “I knew you didn’t love him,” he whispered. “I knew it.”

She couldn’t answer. While she sensed that her not loving Marcus was critical to Jack, she knew better than to dare trust her judgment. At the moment, she had no right to ask anything of him — she couldn’t say anything at all without violating his trust.

She squared her shoulders and decided to do what he did best...and changed the subject. “I’m not eager to see a building fall down that I’ve invested a year of my life renovating, Jack, and I’m not opposed to proof. I’ve questioned the architect and reviewed the inspector’s report, looking for it. They say Eleanor Towers is fine. You say it’s not. I appreciate your expertise, but I need hard evidence.”

“You saw the crumbling, Chloe.” Irritation lined his face, making the hard angles harder, and the gleam she’d loved in his eyes disappear. “You saw my damn arm sink down in that crack.”

“Show me.” She grabbed her digital camera from her office. “Right now. Let’s go get proof and take it to other experts. I assume you know some.”

“Yes, I do.” He walked to her apartment door, the tension between them thick and heavy. “For the record, are you ticked off at me?”

“For the record,” she closed the door behind her and joined him in the elevator across the hall.

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“I’m never ticked off at a man who thinks I’m beautiful, and is willing to trust me. Not on Wednesdays, anyway.”

He laughed, and pressed the button for the garage.

When they stepped out of the elevator, they headed back to the same area of the garage where he’d shown her the crumbling and cracks in the concrete. “This is the obvious place to start.”

Near the beam where they’d noticed the most severe crumbling and widest cracks, she crouched down and rubbed a bit of concrete between her fingertips. “It’s an odd texture, isn’t it?” She twisted her hand down into a crack, tested it again. She looked up at Jack, standing hands on hips beside her. “It’s like dust.”

Jack tested it, then moved to a second beam and tested there. “This one is grittier and the colour is different.”

“Strange.” Chloe snapped a few photos, then crouched beside Jack and rubbed at the concrete, checked the colour. Darker. Denser. “Something’s not right.”

“No, it isn’t.” He dusted his hands. “I’ll be right back.” He disappeared around the back bumper of a Jeep, and less than a minute later returned, carrying a tyre iron. “It’s not the perfect tool, but it will do.”

“What are you doing?” Chloe backed up a few steps. When he lifted the tyre iron like a baseball bat, she stepped back farther. “Jack, what are you doing?”

“Wait.” He stepped forward and struck the concrete, then hit it repeatedly, raising a thick cloud of fine dust that had them both choking.

Chloe pulled the front of her blouse up to cover her mouth. Whatever the hell he was up to, it had better be for a good reason. She was powdered in dust from head to toe. “Damn it, Jack, will you stop that and tell me why you’re busting up the foundation of my building?”

He stopped and brushed at something in the hole. His shoulders heaved, but he didn’t look at her. His gaze was pinned on the concrete.

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“Jack?” Chloe stepped closer, around him, and then looked down and gasped. “Oh my God.”

Protruding from the chunks of concrete was a pink polished toenail. Chapter Fifteen The police secured the scene with yellow tape and the medical examiner was on site with a swarm of investigators. Chloe called Madison at Pruitt & Pruitt, who’d handled the purchase of the property from Marcus and had obtained all the permits required for renovating it to commercial on the first floor and condos on all others.

“I need copies of every permit pulled on this building, Madison. Run a records search for the past year. My guess, gauging by what I’m seeing, is one was issued within a month of when I bought the place.”

After the woman’s body had been removed, Jack left to investigate further. They said goodbye and she gazed after him, feeling torn.

Someone tapped on Chloe’s shoulder. She turned around and saw her surrogate-mother and boss, Renee. “What in hell is going on, Chloe?”

Furious. More than furious. Renee was petite, sleek and sophisticated in her green Christian Dior suit, and she never lost her composure — well, rarely. But when she did, hell was coming to call. “Let’s go up to my apartment,” Chloe said. “We’ll talk there.”

Once upstairs, Chloe waved off the housekeeper and walked to the kitchen. “Seltzer?” Renee nodded, and Chloe pulled two from the fridge. “These are two separate things, Renee — Marcus and what’s happening here.” Chloe now had more doubts of his guilt — he had owned the building — and of his innocence. The permits had to shed light.

“Here first, then.” Renee led the way to the living room and sat down on the sofa as if she were queen to Chloe’s princess. “I understand a body’s been recovered.”

Chloe nodded, swearing she’d be seeing the poor victim in her nightmares for the next month. “She was strangled, Renee. The rope was still around her neck.”

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“Oh, my.” Renee frowned, and sympathy for the woman rippled across her face. “Any idea who she is, or how long she’s been there?”

“Based on observation, not long. Three or four months, maybe a little longer.” Chloe plopped down in her favourite chair, reeling from the horrific events in the past two days. “Since I bought the building.”

“Mmm, we’ll have to sort that out.” Renee sipped from her glass. “Now tell me about Marcus and this absurd engagement.”

“Absurd?” Chloe asked, but Renee didn’t respond. Just looked at her in her knowing way, which was more than enough. “Never mind. “ Chloe took a sip from her glass and then set it down. “It appears to some that he’s planning my murder.”

“So naturally you accepted his marriage proposal.” Renee’s sarcasm was thin and quick and sharp.

“I’m trying to find out if it’s true, and if so, then why he wants me killed.”

“Which explains why you called on the Roses, without telling me. And why you were shot at and didn’t report the incident. And why I had to read about your engagement in the newspaper — in Rubi’s column, Chloe.” Renee’s hurt surfaced. “Do you realise how much that upset me?”

“I’m sorry.” She tilted her head. “I’m not sure Marcus is guilty. I wanted to believe he wasn’t, and then Jack came for the interview and I — I —”

“Realised you’re as crazy about him now as you were during all those summers we spent at the Hamptons?”

“Yes!” Chloe couldn’t believe it. “I thought I loved Marcus, but I don’t. Still, that he could want to kill me is devastating, Renee. But I don’t know if it’s true. It appears to be, but I need to know for fact.” She paused, then added, “This engagement is not real. It doesn’t count.” Chloe hated bringing Renee pain. She’d been good to her and deserved better. “When I really get engaged, I swear you’ll be first to know.”

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“I’d better be. And next time, you come to me. I promise not to put anyone on a watch list without proof it’s warranted.” Renee let go of her hurt expression and lifted her chin. “Now, what can I do to help?”

She’d known exactly why Chloe hadn’t gone to her. “Nothing at the moment. Madison is pulling the building permits, and the Rose agents I contacted have been all over Marcus’s assets. There’s pretty much a consensus that he’s after my title, which gives us no motive for an assassination attempt. I have no idea why Marcus would want to kill me....”

“Darling, there is more to this than Marcus. Events reek of mafia tactics.”

“I know, and I’m aware of Marcus’s client list. I’m working as fast as I can to discover exactly what ‘more’ is. Believe me, Renee, I don’t enjoy being a target.” Chapter Sixteen Chloe’s doorbell sounded. Odd. No one had called up from downstairs to get past security. Had to be someone in the building already — or the police. Renee and Chloe waited as the housekeeper opened the door.

Jack walked in. “Chloe. Mrs. Dalton-Sinclair.” He nodded. “Sorry to intrude.”

Renee brightened. “You could never intrude, Jack. It’s wonderful to see you.”

“You, too.” He smiled and shook her hand. “You look well.”

“Thank you.” Renee nodded. “We missed you last summer at the Hamptons, but your mother shared your reports from Africa with us. Compelling stories.”

“It was quite an adventure.” Jack smiled.

“I’m certain it was.” Renee had always liked Jack, too, and it showed in her warmth toward him. “How are your parents? Still traveling?”

“They’re in Nice right now.” He turned to Chloe. “Sorry to change the subject, but I have news. 49

The police have identified the woman, Chloe. Sissy Mancuso.” Jack paused. “Do you want to come with me to talk to Sal?”

“Who is Sal?” Renee asked, clearly not following.

“Sissy’s husband,” Chloe said. “He’s the city inspector for this building.”

Renee lifted a hand. “Why in heaven has his wife turned up dead here?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe admitted, locking gazes with Jack. “But I think it’s critical that we find out. I’ll drive.” ****** “What do you want?” Sal Mancuso answered the door of his Queens town house, looking pale and beaten down.

Chloe dipped her chin. “I’m sorry for your loss, Sal. Jack and I are here to pay our respects, and to see if we can do anything to help your family.” She stepped closer, forcing him to look her in the eye. “I feel responsible. Your wife was found in my building.”

The look in his eyes turned gentle. “It isn’t your fault, Princess Chloe.” He stepped back. “Come in, please.”

They walked into a living room crowded with people. Chloe nodded hello, though she didn’t recognise anyone. Two teenage girls on the sofa had to be Sal’s daughters, gauging by the through-the-years photographs of them on every possible surface. “I’m very sorry about your mother,” Chloe said softly.

The younger of the two’s eyes filled with tears. The elder girl nodded.

Sal directed Chloe and Jack to the rear of the house, into a comfortable and quiet family room. When they were seated, he clasped his hands over his knees. “I don’t know why Sissy was in your building.” He cleared the gruffness from his throat. “She disappeared nearly four months ago. Police had found no trace of her. All we know is what my girls told me. They came home from school and Sissy said she was going to the store for milk and bread.” His eyes glistened. “She never came back.” 50

“That must have been very difficult, Sal,” Chloe said. “The not knowing.”

He nodded. “It’s funny. I prayed every day to just let me find her. I thought then all the questions would be answered.” He looked from Jack to Chloe. “But now she’s found and I still don’t know what happened. She was gentle, loving. Why would anyone hurt her?”

Jack leaned forward on his chair. “There’s a good chance that forensics will pick up some evidence, Sal. We didn’t contaminate...anything.”

Fear flickered through his eyes. Surprise chased it. “I hope so,” he said, though his expression seemed out of sync with his tone. “My girls need to know what happened to their mother. I need to know what happened to my wife.” He grunted. “I guess that sounds strange. Dead is dead and nothing will bring Sissy back, but she was our world.” He blinked hard, his throat and face flushed. “She and our girls — they’re everything to me.” He swallowed hard. “These past four months without her...” He sniffed, dragged a sleeved arm across his face. “Nothing works without her. It just doesn’t work.”

“I’m so sorry, Sal.” Chloe stood up. “I think we’ve kept you from your girls long enough. They need you now.”

“Yeah.” He stood up, sucked in a deep breath that heaved his shoulders. “They need me,” he said, more to himself than to Chloe and Jack.

Chloe extended her hand. “If I can do anything, please let me know.”

He shook it, and then reached for Jack’s. “Thanks for coming by. I appreciate it.” Chapter Seventeen Chloe and Jack walked outside. When they were seated in Chloe’s green Jag, she cranked the ignition, then pushed her sunglasses up on her nose. “I think Sal feels guilty, Jack.”

“Me, too.” Jack snapped his safety belt into place. “Do you think he killed her?”

“Off the cuff, no, I don’t.” She put the car in gear and took off, heading back to the Queensboro Bridge and loving the powerful feel of the sports car. Chloe liked to drive, although in Manhattan 51

it was usually more convenient to have Frank drop her off. This trip to Queens had been a good excuse to take the Jag for a spin.

Down the street, she passed a black sedan. It nudged to the curb at Sal’s. Marcus. What was he doing here? She didn’t point out Marcus’s arrival and hoped Jack wouldn’t notice.

He noticed. “There’s your fiancé. Aren’t you going to stop?”

“No, I’m not.” She didn’t explain, just kept driving down the street, away from Sal Mancuso’s house, and away from Marcus.

“Okay.” Jack didn’t hide his surprise at her avoiding Marcus, but he didn’t ask her why. “So if Sal didn’t kill Sissy,” he said. “Then who did?”

“I don’t know — yet.” She turned left. “But I’m wondering if Sal did something, or refused to do something that someone wanted done.” Someone like Marcus? The former owner of the building.

“It’s possible,” Jack admitted. “Though it could be totally unrelated to Eleanor Towers. That might just have been where the killer chose to dispose of the body. She could have been abducted anywhere.”

“True.” Chloe shifted into third and popped the gas. “But I want to know who killed her, how and where. Right now, I really need to know who did it.”

“Why, Chloe?” Worry lined Jack’s face.

She turned to him, solemn and grave. “Because I could be next.”

Before Jack could demand answers about why she thought someone might kill her next, Chloe’s cell phone rang. Recognising the number, she ignored waiting messages from Emma and Madison and took the call. “Hello, Marcus.”

“Why didn’t you stop?” he asked. “And who was that man in the car with you?”

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“Jack Quaid,” she said. “He’s writing a story about the towers renovation. Why?”

“Never mind. He’s not important,” he said, then switched the subject. “I’ve arranged a small gathering tonight — at Perrini’s, since it’s your favourite.”

Maybe Jack wasn’t important to Marcus, but he was to her, and she wasn’t exactly comfortable at having him watch her converse with Marcus. Jack saw too much; he’d sense her discomfort. “What kind of gathering?”

“It’s a family tradition to publicly ask the elders and parents for their blessings.”

Her skin crawled. Oh, no. Not tonight. “My parents are barely speaking to me because of the way our engagement announcement has been handled.” They had not been pleased to learn about it in Rubi’s column.

“Your mother’s helped me plan this,” he said, overriding her. “Be at Perrini’s at eight, and wear something...not red.”

Red was her favourite colour for eveningwear, and if she had to go to this thing, she should at least feel free to choose her dress. Vera Wang, of course. And, since he’d said not to, one in red. She hung up without another word, wondering how her mother really had reacted to that call. Chapter Eighteen “Pull over,” Jack said, motioning to the curb.

Near the park, Chloe slid the Jag over to the curb, ignoring angry honks from taxis. She put the gearshift in Park, then turned to him. “What?”

“No. No questions from you, only answers.” Jack turned in his seat and clasped her arm. “Chloe, what the hell are you doing with that guy? You just talk to him and you’re upset. There’s no joy in your eyes. What is going on here?”

She couldn’t lie, but couldn’t tell the truth, either. “I asked you to trust me.”

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“I do trust you. But help me understand.” He grunted. “Look, maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’ve developed an attachment here, and with you being engaged, I’m feeling a little like a sucker.”

Her heart softened and she cupped his face in her hand. “I have to go along with this engagement for right now. It’s critical.”

“Damn, you Roses are hardheaded women,” he muttered. “I have a bad feeling, Chloe. Reporter’s instincts. I want you to trust me enough to tell me what’s happening.”

“I can’t.” She kissed him instead. Sweetly, lushly, deeply, showing him that she had developed an attachment, too, and that it wasn’t recent but had been with her for a long time. Dormant for a while, but definitely reawakened.

He pulled back. “Don’t do that again until you take his ring off your finger.” Jack swallowed hard, his breathing ragged. “I mean it, Chloe. I’ll trust you, but you’re not going to play hardball with my heart.”

Because she had no choice, she nodded and turned back to face the steering wheel as he exited the car and walked briskly away.

When she reached to shift into Drive, her cell phone rang. If it was Marcus again, she was going to play the queen bitch. Telling her what not to wear...who did he think he was?

“Hello?” She crooked the phone at her ear.

“Chloe, where have you been? Did you get my message?” Being ticked off at Chloe fell under the panic threading through Emma’s voice. It was palpable.

“What’s wrong, Emma?”

“There’s been a development,” she said. “Get to G.R.C. as quickly as you can.”

Emma didn’t do panic, but she was definitely rattled to the bone now, and that rattled Chloe. She 54

checked her position, then her watch, and then gauged how long it’d take her to get to the Gotham Rose Club. “Fifteen minutes.” Chapter Nineteen On the Upper East Side, at 68th between Park and Madison, Chloe parked in the club’s private garage and entered the Gotham Rose Club. The building was a beautiful brownstone with a white façade that held secret chambers below ground — including a firing range, library and computer workstations, and other areas of importance to the Rose agents that the Roses restricted to street level didn’t know existed. The upper floors were Renee Dalton-Sinclair’s private residence.

Olivia Hayward, Renee’s personal assistant, greeted Chloe, ordered her to hurry, and then disappeared. Chloe walked past the huge fireplace and grand staircase and then into the closet, the entrance to the secret rooms.

She went downstairs to the conference room, where the other Roses who’d responded to her original alert were waiting. Renee wouldn’t be joining them. Chloe had seen her upstairs, talking with a few non-agent Roses about the Club’s latest charity event.

There was no idle conversation; the Rose agents were tense. And as soon as Chloe took her seat, Emma revealed the reason for their concern. “Ryan Greene and Marcus Sterling were joint owners of Eleanor Towers, Chloe.”

Ryan, a real estate magnate, had dated some of the Roses and often went up against Madison Pruitt on land deals, but Madison wasn’t an agent and was therefore not present. Chloe shifted her gaze to Julia, who was a real-estate attorney.

“It’s true,” Julia said. “Ryan sold his interest to Marcus just days before you bought the building.”

“So what are you saying?” Chloe asked. “Both of them are trying to kill me?”

“We think it’s only one person,” Samantha answered. “But we actually have several suspects. As it turns out, Sissy wasn’t a full-time homemaker. She worked for the city, too, issuing permits.”

An uneasy shiver raced through Chloe. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” It had to be; her husband, Sal Mancuso, was an inspector, for pity’s sake.

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Emma tapped a pen to the tabletop. “It would be if they worked under the same supervisor, but they didn’t. Separate offices, separate bosses and separate duties. Yet it is significant, Chloe. The concrete used to repair the towers’ foundation isn’t up to code.”

It all began to dawn on Chloe. “Did Sissy issue the permit for the work done just before I bought Eleanor Towers?”

Emma nodded, the other Rose agents stayed quiet, and a heavy feeling settled in, souring Chloe’s stomach. “So Marcus or Ryan could have killed Sissy because she knew about the bad concrete? Or Sal? Is that what you’re all thinking?”

Samantha lifted a hand. Today her green spiked hair sported pink tips. “Go ahead, Julia, tell her all of it.”

“Why me?” Julia frowned at Samantha, relented, and then shifted to look at Chloe. “Actually, honey, the killer could be Marcus, Ryan, Sal or Buzz Denton. Any of them could have killed and buried Sissy. Buzz handled the work for Marcus and Ryan, and Sal inspected it. Any combination of them had means and motive, considering the concrete is definitely not up to code.”

“But why kill me?” Chloe asked. “That’s what I don’t get.”

Emma speculated. “Before you found Sissy’s body, the motive could have been simply to keep you from finding her. “

“That still makes no sense. Anyone could have found the body and discovered the truth about the concrete.” Chloe stood up. “But we found it, and now the truth is out. So at this point, what possible reason could there be to kill me?”

“That’s a good question,” Julia conceded. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a good answer. We don’t have an answer at all. Nothing fits.”

Chloe began to pace. “Everything to do with Eleanor Towers, and all transactions in which the building played a part, will be under heavy scrutiny. Murdering me doesn’t gain any of them anything.” She tugged her lip with her teeth and shook her head. “No. No, we’re missing something. Something significant.” 56

“Oh, pardon. Pardon.” Samantha pointed her index finger at the ceiling. “Minor detail, oh royal one. If you’re dead, you can’t expose the murderer.”

“I don’t know the murderer,” Chloe insisted, dropping back onto her chair.

“Maybe you do and you don’t realise it,” Vanessa suggested. She drummed her perfectly polished nails on the tabletop, looking like African royalty herself. Chloe knew Vanessa had had brushes with backstabbing schemers during her modeling days. She probably knew more about twisted reasoning than some. “It happens, and maybe the murderer — because he’s guilty — doesn’t realise that you don’t have a clue. Maybe he’s going to kill you for what he thinks you know.”

“Well, Marcus wants you dead,” Emma said. “He’s looking likely as Sissy’s killer, Chloe. Best accept that.”

The evidence agreed with her, but Chloe just couldn’t believe it. Not while others appeared guilty, too. “Well, I hope to hell we find out who and why before he — someone — succeeds.”

“We’ll do our best,” Julia promised.

“Well, excuse me,” Chloe said on a grunt. “But I’d feel a whole lot more comfortable if I heard a couple, ‘Of course, we will. You bet.’ You know?”

The Roses gave her what she wanted, and while her insides were shuddering, she gave them what they expected. A smile.

“That’s better.” Emma stood up. “Chloe, let Jack know about the concrete. He’s calling everyone in the city, turning over rocks, trying to help find the truth about Sissy. I think at this point, the more of us there are aware of the details, the better our odds will be at uncovering someone’s motive to kill you.”

No joke. Frowning, she nodded. Jack had told her he would look into it, of course, and he did need as much information as possible. “I’ll call him right away.” Chapter Twenty

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Chloe left the Gotham Rose Club and headed toward Central Park. Two blocks from Eleanor Towers, she finally reached Jack and told him Sissy Mancuso had issued the concrete work permit just before Chloe had bought the building.

“It’s eleven o’clock now,” he said. “Where will you be after lunch?”

The background noise on his end was horrendous. “At my apartment. I’ve got some paperwork that has to be done before close of business today.”

On two different businesses, actually.

She was a silent partner in Perrini’s and in Adelphio, an up-and-coming line of women’s clothing. The black dress she’d worn the night Marcus had proposed had been created by one of Adelphio’s most promising new designers, and Chloe was happy to give the line a push.

“I’ll do some digging then, and come by with whatever I find.”

A little tickle of anticipation feathered up her back. “Come have lunch with me.”

“Can you give me an hour?”

She smiled. “Sure.”

“I’ll be there, then.” He ended the call.

Chloe dropped by Carmine’s Deli for one of its famous sandwiches and walked into her apartment when her phone rang. “Hello?” She set the bag of food down on the kitchen’s spacious marble-topped island.

”It’s me,” Emma said. “Let’s do lunch.”

“I can’t. Jack is coming over to update me on his findings about Sissy.”

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“Ah. You really like him,” Emma said. “I hear it.”

“I do.” That drove a stake of fear through Chloe’s heart. “But I don’t really trust that he feels the same,” she added, pulling a container of potato salad from the bag. “For the record, I’m not sure Marcus is guilty — it’s the attempted murder before we even became engaged that’s bugging me — but I’m sure he’s not innocent...not with a body turning up in the building I bought from him. I’m wondering if I’ll ever trust my judgment of men again.”

“I can’t say I blame you, but there are some good ones. Jack seems like one of them.” Emma paused. “Damn it. I cracked a nail — and I just left LaBella’s.”

Many of the Roses had their hair and nails done at LaBella’s. It was nearly impossible to get an appointment unless you knew someone who knew someone there, but the Roses all had just that type of connection. The salon had become a haven from prying eyes. Chloe had a standing appointment for a manicure and pedicure every other week.

“You’ll live.” Chloe would love for a cracked nail to be her most significant problem.

“Probably, but I’ll have to go back to get it repaired, and they were booked solid.”

The doorbell rang. “Oops, Jack’s here.” Chloe felt nearly breathless. “Gotta run.”

“Try to calm your enthusiasm just a little, okay? At least until you officially break it off with Marcus. You can’t explain to Jack, and you’ll come across as flighty.”

“Too late.” Chloe hung up the phone and did a quick hair check in the gilded entryway mirror, then answered the door herself. Chapter Twenty-One Their greeting was restrained, full of unspoken feeling. Jack said, “I’m still digging around on Sissy, but I’m hearing that things weren’t all sweetness and light between her and Sal.”

“Really?” Chloe led him through the living room into the kitchen, and pulled the rest of their meal out of the bag. She got plates and they sat at the kitchen island on wooden barstools to eat. She hated eating in the dining room and avoided it unless she had more than one or two guests. 59

“Her co-worker, Millie, says Sissy had even mentioned the big D.” Jack settled onto a barstool. “But when I asked if she’d been serious or just frustrated, she didn’t know. Sissy only mentioned divorce once, and things seemed fine afterward.”

“So it’s likely that she was just upset with him about something.” Women did that when angry — fleetingly thought of divorce. Then they got over the upset and divorce didn’t cross their minds again until the next time they got totally bent.

“Maybe. I’m not sure yet.” He snagged half a corned-beef-on-rye sandwich. “I ran into your fiancé at Sissy’s office.” Jack pointedly looked at her ring.

“Why was Marcus there?” Suspicion ran rampant through her. “Do you know?”

“He didn’t say, but he mentioned that he saw us leave Sal Mancuso’s. He wasn’t happy that we were together.” Jack paused, but Chloe didn’t respond, so he went on. “He said you used to have a crush on me and then invited me to the gathering tonight at Perrini’s.”

“What?”

She didn’t want Jack there. She didn’t want to be there herself, but she especially didn’t want Jack around while she was playing Marcus’s fiancée. What if Jack brought a date? She didn’t want to see him with another woman, either.

“He invited me to come,” Jack repeated. “To celebrate your engagement.”

Chloe tamped her emotions and looked at Jack, seeking some sign of how he felt about that, but his expression was closed and his eyes were guarded. “Are you going to be there?”

He stopped eating, looked her in the eye. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t be?”

“No,” she said with regret. Not without revealing too much. “There isn’t.”

“Then I’ll see you at eight.”

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****** “Chloe, it’s Emma.”

With the phone crooked at her ear, Chloe loaded the last of the reports due by 5:00 p.m. into the fax and hit send. “What’s wrong?” Emma sounded terrified.

“Tatiana found me at LaBella’s getting my nail fixed. She’d just left Ryan Greene’s office and spotted my car. She’d hoped you were with me.”

“What is it, Emma?” Chloe asked. Tatiana Guttmann wasn’t one of her favourite people; she had a fixation on Chloe’s crown and her own lack of one made her do and say totally stupid things. But she was brilliant when it came to money. Pure Midas.

“Don’t go to the gathering tonight. That’s the bottom line.”

Her parents and Marcus’s parents would be there. When she’d finally spoken to her mother about her “less-than-perfect-princess” engagement, she’d been shocked to learn Marcus had charmingly asked her father’s blessing, and her mother had forgiven him for not speaking to her, too. Her mother now thought Marcus was a perfect mate for Chloe. God help her. “Why not?”

“Tatiana was at Ryan Greene’s office today, going over his books.” Tatiana did everyone who was anyone’s books. “Sal Mancuso showed up. She overheard him asking Ryan for help with Marcus. The police have asked if Marcus and Sissy were having an affair.”

“Were they?” Chloe turned from the fax. Marcus...having an affair? That would help make sense of this...and would prove that Chloe had been wrong about Marcus from the start.

“Sal denied it, but apparently one of his daughters recognised a photo of Marcus. He came by the house just before she disappeared.”

“Why would Marcus do that?” Chloe didn’t see Sissy entertaining a lover with her daughters at home, and Marcus and Sal were professional acquaintances. Sal’s kids might know him through that association. Still, why would Marcus visit when Sal wasn’t there?

“Sal has no idea, which is why I don’t think you should be at that gathering. Sissy’s body being 61

found in your building was only part of this, Chloe. I briefed Renee and she agrees. We’re all worried this blessings dinner is a setup for another assassination attempt.”

Chloe just didn’t know if she could take another attempt on her life from people who were inside her social circle. She curled up in a living-room chair. “I think I need to talk to the Mancuso daughters.”

“Samantha figured you’d want to. She’s parked outside, waiting to go with you...” Chloe looked at the clock. If they left now, they might get to Queens and back in time for her to get ready for the evening — if they didn’t get caught in rush-hour traffic. And they would probably just miss Sal getting back from work. Chapter Twenty-Two Forty minutes later, Samantha and Chloe stood on the front porch, waiting for someone to answer Sal’s door. “He won’t like us talking to his kids without his permission.” Chloe had serious misgivings about this.

“If we asked his permission, he’d refuse.” Samantha motioned to the lemon cake they’d picked up at the bakery on the way. “Just shove cake their way and say we’re sorry to hear about their mother. Then this is a normal Gotham Rose Club courtesy call. He’ll say thank you, and that will be that.”

A gangly girl about fourteen answered the door, her hair gelled in six-inch spikes. “Yes?” She looked from Chloe to Samantha and her jaw dropped. “Oh my God, you’re Samantha. “ She looked back. “Melissa, it’s Samantha from Funky Town.”

Slightly younger, Melissa appeared at the cracked open door. “It’s her! It’s her!”

Chloe lifted a questioning eyebrow and Samantha smiled. “Magazine layout for teens,” she whispered.

The girls refused to let Chloe and Samantha inside; their father wasn’t at home, but they came out onto the porch with cans of soda and plates, forks and paper towels for napkins.

Midway through thick slices of tart cake, Samantha changed the subject from the teen magazine to their parents, and finally to Marcus. 62

“He called here all the time,” Melissa said. “But he only asked to talk to my dad.”

“About what?” Samantha asked, licking frosting from her fingertip.

“Work stuff,” Andrea, the eldest said with a bored eye roll. “He came by once when my parents weren’t home. I don’t think Mum even knew him. She never said she did to me. Did she to you, Melissa?”

“Uh-uh.” She downed half a can of soda. “But Dad was always mad when he got off the phone. I hated when that guy called. And Dad seemed upset when we told him Marcus had come by to see him.”

Things were not looking good for Marcus, but it didn’t sound as if he and Sissy had had an affair.

Chloe checked her watch. She had less than an hour to get to Perrini’s for the blessings dinner, and as much as she dreaded it, she had to be there. “Samantha, I’m going to be late.”

They said goodbye and then departed. Seated in Samantha’s car, Chloe sighed. “If Marcus and Sal were at odds, it’s more likely that Sissy wasn’t killed because of her job. She was killed because of Sal’s.”

“Yeah,” Samantha agreed. “I’ll get the Roses on that. You tell Jack so he stays on the right page and can go public with this when we get the answers we need.”

Answers they needed to find...very soon. Chapter Twenty-Three “A small gathering?” Chloe did her best to keep her temper from showing, but she was beyond angry. She was hostile. The entire dining room at Perrini’s was filled with her family — parents and her brother, Prince Erik — as well as scads of friends and far too many acquaintances. She hadn’t agreed to this.

And from the look on Lucas Perrini’s face, he knew it. “I’m sorry, Princess Chloe,” he whispered. “I had no choice. Marcus and your mother made all the arrangements.” 63

“Chloe, darling.” Her mother swept up to her and pressed an almost kiss to each cheek. “Vera Wang? Oh, Chloe. And Marcus specifically asked you not to wear red. Sapphire would have photographed so much better,” she whispered. “I’m so glad that you’ve finally chosen a man suitable for a princess.”

In protest, Chloe spun around as if showing off the brilliantly red, square-necked satin gown with its English net sleeves to her mother. The full-length skirt swirled around her ankles like a waving flag. She didn’t dare to speak. Didn’t dare.

She scanned the crowd of at least two hundred — and saw Jack. He’d looked gorgeous before, but in a tux...breathtaking. He nodded, and she nodded back, then asked her mother, “Why are all these people here for a family blessing?”

“We deemed it appropriate,” her mother whispered. “Don’t embarrass us.”

Us? Her mother and Marcus. Not her mother and her. The anger burned deeper. “Where exactly is...?” She turned to see Marcus standing behind her, his smile forced; he sensed her anger, but there was more. “You said family.”

“It grew.” He kissed her cheek. “Your mother and I started talking, and well, we’re so happy. We wanted everyone to celebrate with us.”

He was lying. Scared and lying. Chloe wasn’t happy; she didn’t want a huge celebration, but apparently, she didn’t get a vote. Didn’t it figure? The first man her mother gives the kiss of approval to, and he’s a lying man likely wanting to murder her. Her mother didn’t know it, but Renee did.

Stern-faced, she came to Chloe. “I need to steal Chloe for a moment.” Not smiling at her mother, Renee tugged Chloe by the arm into Lucas’s kitchen. “What in hell is all this?” Renee asked. “You’re not even supposed to be here.”

“I got the message,” Chloe assured her. “But this was supposed to be a family gathering. I didn’t know Mother and Marcus had formed an alliance and invited the world to make my life a living hell.”

“Well, they have.” Renee paced a short path in front of the door to the dining room. “The 64

Governess is going to flay me. You wait right here. Don’t eat or drink anything and, for God’s sake, do not go back into that room.”

“Wait for what?” Chloe held her voice down, but gestured with her arms.

“For me to come up with a way to save your butt and get you out of here.”

Walking through the swinging door, Jack said, “I can help with that.” He caught and shoved at the door again. It slammed into Chloe’s shoulder.

She fell back against the wall, pain streaming through her shoulder to her spine. “Damn it, Jack.”

“I’m so sorry.” He wrapped an arm around Chloe, looked at Renee. “I’d better take her to the hospital to make sure nothing is broken.”

Renee gave him a huge smile. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

“What?” Chloe stood up. “I’m not hurt.”

Lucas Perrini stepped over from where he’d been conferring with the chef. “Jack, use my car to take Princess Chloe to the hospital. There’s one in Rhode Island.”

“Rhode Island?” Chloe looked at Lucas as if he’d lost his mind.

“Go where you will,” Renee said. “But do it now — and don’t finish doing it until midnight. I’ll tell Marcus that you want him and your parents to stay here and continue the celebration, Chloe, so as not to disappoint your guests.”

“Thanks.” She allowed Jack and Lucas to lead her out of the restaurant through the kitchen door. Chapter Twenty-Four Lucas’s Rolls and his driver, Damien, were waiting just outside it with the engine running and the back door open.

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When she was seated inside with Jack next to her, Lucas bent in to say something to her. “Don’t come back here tonight, Princess Chloe. And keep Damien and Jack close. I know you are capable of protecting yourself, but they are capable of assisting, should you need it.”

More was at work here. A lot more. “What have you heard about tonight?”

Sadness filled Lucas’s eyes. “I regret to tell you this, my dear, but I intercepted a man I have before seen. Chloe, I’m certain he intended to assassinate you tonight.”

She gripped the door. “Why?”

“I don’t know, but he is a professional,” Lucas said without heat.

“Mafia?”

Lucas didn’t answer. “I’m told by my good friends he was not working alone. Renee knows those who belong here tonight. If there are others, we will find them. You will stay out of the way while we do.” He looked at Jack. “Keep her away from here, no matter what it takes.”

Jack nodded that he would and Chloe gasped. “No, I should be here. What if Marcus is innocent? He owned the building before I did,” she said, finally accepting that this was all related to Eleanor Towers. “If he isn’t guilty, then whoever is doing this could also target him.”

“No, my dear.” Lucas was deeply disturbed. “I’m very sorry, Chloe, and I would wish not to have to tell you this most of all.”

“What is it?”

“My good friends tell me that Marcus was being pressured. You were threatened to put him in line. Rather than conform and follow his orders, he chose to sacrifice you.” ****** “Why are you so angry?”

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Chloe reached down and adjusted her shoe strap. “Gee, Jack, I don’t know. Let’s see, Marcus arranges a small gathering with our parents and a few very close friends that turns into a huge three-ring circus. Lucas’s mob friends say hit men are out to kill me as retribution for something Marcus did or didn’t do. Renee yells at me for showing up tonight — clearly she knows more than I know. And then you damned near dislocate my shoulder and whisk me off in Lucas’s car to God knows where — I’m assuming, to avoid the assassin, though I don’t know how you even know about any of that, since I didn’t tell you. And you ask why I’m angry?”

“Sorry to interrupt the argument,” Damien said from the front seat. “But where do you want to go?”

“My place, please,” Jack said quickly. “Don’t give Damien a hard time, Chloe. He’s just doing his job.”

She had twisted her mouth to do just that, stopped, and swallowed. Her hand brushed the butterysoft leather of the seat. The rich feel of the material failed to soothe her. “I want to be back at Perrini’s at one minute past midnight,” she warned him.

Jack nodded, and they rode to his house on Long Island — him silent, her seething. Chapter Twenty-Five The house was an estate on the water, with clean-cut lines and flowering shrubs. There was an old-fashioned widow’s walk three stories up, and within half an hour, Jack and Chloe sat sideby-side in reclining chairs outside on it, sipping mojitos that Jack had mixed and watching the moonlight dance on the water.

“Chloe,” Jack said. “What did Marcus do, or not do? Why did he sacrifice you?”

“I don’t know.” True enough. The breeze felt cool on her heated face.

“Yet you’re not surprised by it.”

“No.” She looked over at him. “I had heard someone wanted me dead.”

Jack paused. “Who?” He shrugged off his tux coat and hung it on the chair’s back. 67

Renee and Lucas had put her in his hands, which meant they trusted him. But she didn’t trust him or herself, or her own judgment. “I don’t know.”

Jack clasped her hand, then went on. “Tell me why you’re engaged to Marcus when you can’t stand him. Tell me why you’ve agreed to marry a man you think wants to kill you.”

“It’s complicated.” She looked over at Jack; let him see the truth in her eyes. He pulled her to him, and she went, sitting on the edge of his chair, her hand still in his, her free hand braced on his chest. “The engagement means nothing.”

She wanted to feel safe and secure, and to kiss Jack Quaid just long enough to forget that a man who supposedly loved her had sacrificed her life for some unknown reason. That other men in the world were willing to kill her, kill anyone, for money.

She wanted to forget everything bad and hurtful and cruel, and to get lost in the sweetness and goodness in life. Just for a moment. Just long enough to remember the good that made the bad worth enduring.

Jack pulled her to him. “I’m crazy about you, Chloe, and I want that man’s ring off your finger. If it means nothing, won’t you take it off?”

She did, and slipped it into her purse, then returned to Jack, who waited with open arms. They kissed, shared the intimate wonder, testing and tasting and bonding, and her heart beat faster, awakening her senses to what was right and good and bittersweet and so long craved and so long denied.

Finally, finally, they were together at the right time and place, and at the right moment in time — their moment in time. She sank deeper into the kiss.

Soon, Jack separated their mouths, and she rested her cheek on his chest, felt his heart hammering. They half-sat, half-lay quietly, letting all that they had sensed, given and absorbed, settle between them.

Minutes later, Jack whispered, “That meant something, Chloe.”

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“Yes,” she confessed, then stilled and soaked in the quiet. The hours passed, with talking and without it; long stretches of being content to be together, stroking his chest, his shoulder, feeling him rub gentle circles on her back, on her nape.

Her mind reeled, but not frenetically, and she just let her thoughts move randomly at will. When the moon rose high, Jack kissed her on the neck. “It’s after midnight.” He led her toward the car. Feeling the rum hitting her hard, she changed the subject.

“Did I tell you that I talked with Mancuso’s daughters today?” she asked. He shook his head and she went on. “I think Sal or his job got Sissy killed. And Sal knows it, Jack.”

“How could he pretend not to know anything for four months, then admit that?”

“He didn’t admit it — I doubt he’d ever admit it, but he does know it.” She walked down the steps and headed toward the Rolls, where Damien stood waiting. “Which brings a great devil’s advocate question to mind. If Sal didn’t know it, then why did he ask Ryan Greene for help in dealing with Marcus now?” Chapter Twenty-Six Jack called Lucas, who said they found no other assassins and that the party was winding down. “It’s safe to bring her back now. I know she’s insisting.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

Chloe could hear both ends of the conversation, and slid Jack a warning look. When they arrived at Perrini’s, Marcus opened the car door, anger apparent in his every move. Chloe stepped out. Jack joined her. Marcus looked them over, his gaze telling her again what he thought of her dress. “Are you all right, Chloe? Renee said you were injured.”

She nodded, and he looked at Jack, disdain tensing his hard-lined face. “It appears that you both need to remember you’re engaged, Chloe.” Noticing she wasn’t wearing her ring, he stared pointedly at her hand. “Jack, consider this a friendly warning. The woman is mine. Forget it again, and I’ll ruin you.”

Jack spread his lips back from his teeth. “That’ll be difficult, Marcus. I work for myself.“ 69

“Today, you do. Perhaps tomorrow, you won’t.” Marcus clasped Chloe’s arm, moved to go inside. “Stay away from him.”

“Let go of her.” Jack’s voice held a frightening edge. “Now.”

“I beg your pardon?” Marcus stopped.

“It’s okay, Jack.” Chloe had a hunch and played it. “I need to talk to Marcus.”

Jack looked wary, so did Lucas, but neither moved to stop her. “Inside, where it’s safe.” Marcus flinched, and neither Jack nor Chloe missed it.

Inside, they sat at a table, Chloe with her back to a wall. Her evening bag in her lap, her hand inside it gripping her gun, she leveled a look at Marcus. “First, don’t ever tell me what to do. I’m responsible for what I do, and what I do will always be my choice.”

“I understand that you’ve been injured, but you’re not being reasonable, Chloe.”

“I’m being perfectly reasonable. If I were being unreasonable, I’d shoot you without caring why you’ve said and done what you’ve said and done to me. But I think you probably got in over your head with some of your clients and your pride wouldn’t accept that you were being controlled.“ Maybe things had gotten rough and he’d doubted they meant what they said, so they were making an example out of her. Then, Marcus would be a believer and he’d still be around to do whatever they wanted. “That’s why I’m giving you this opportunity to explain yourself.”

Anger chased terror in his eyes. “You spend the evening with another man when you should have been here with me, receiving familial blessings, and you tell me to explain.”

“Yes.” Her hard gaze didn’t ease. “Think professional assassins. Think sacrifice. Think Sissy and Sal Mancuso. And then explain it to me, Marcus, because from where I’m sitting, it’s looking an awful lot like you’re guilty as hell.”

He stiffened, starched his shoulders. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

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“I was afraid of that.” She sighed. “You know, Marcus, for a brilliant attorney, you’re making incredibly stupid choices. You typically hide that well. Just not well enough.” She stood up to leave.

“Do not do this to me.” He glared at her. “Humiliation isn’t something I suffer, Chloe, and I warn you, you’ll regret it.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” She dropped his ring on the floor at his feet and then walked away, heading out the door. Her red dress snapped around her legs as if applauding. Chapter Twenty-Seven Frank stood waiting by her limo. “Jack says you’re ready to go home and to tell you he’ll call you in a few minutes.” Frank nodded to his left where Jack and Lucas stood.

She smiled and nodded. “Jack is right. I am ready.” She needed to think.

As they drove away, she felt the tension ebb. She took off her red shoes and rubbed her bare feet. Her cell phone rang and she debated not answering it, but recognised the number as Jack’s. “Hi.”

“Nice workout on the mongrel,” he said. “Productive?”

That depended. He’d sacrificed her; of that she was sure. But for what? “Not really, but he certainly pushed the line.”

“Was that the tinkle of your engagement ring I heard bouncing on the tile floor?”

“It was.” Her heart beat a little faster, and she hoped she didn’t regret her fit of temper. She’d gotten angry, revealed too much, and dropped the plan. Whether or not that was a wise thing to do, only time would tell.

“Ah, good. I never liked him anyway.”

“You’re kidding?” She couldn’t resist a little sarcasm. “Tell me that tomorrow, when I’m over my snit. You didn’t tell me you worked for yourself — I thought they were family businesses.” 71

“I bought them out two years ago,” he said. “You didn’t tell me you had an interest in Perrini’s and in Adelphio, either. I guess we haven’t yet had time to close the gaps in what we know about each other. But we’ll get up to speed.”

An alert button went off in Chloe. “How did you know that about me?”

“I didn’t investigate you.” He laughed, but it was nervous laughter this time. “Renee mentioned one, and Lucas told me the other.”

He was lying. Lucas would die before revealing her interest in Perrini’s and Renee didn’t discuss anyone’s business — ever — because she didn’t want anyone asking about her own. Their work for the Governess was top secret. The Roses were able to investigate high-society criminals because they had access through their A-List status.

No way would Renee open that door. So why was Jack lying? He couldn’t be the missing assassin; both she and Renee had known him and his family all their lives. Had to be journalistic interest. What else was left?

“If you need company, I’ll come over,” he said. “I’m right behind you.”

She looked back and saw him. “You’re following me?”

“Just making sure you don’t have any trouble getting home,” he said. “So do you want me to stop over?”

She did. She really did. “What are you going to do if you don’t?”

“Try to find out what Lucas meant when he said Marcus had sacrificed you.”

Blunt enough, and he’d put together a lot of the puzzle. Thankfully, nothing that led him to the Rose agents. “Do that, then. I need to pout a bit.”

“Chloe, I know it hurts, honey. But a man with sense would never sacrifice you for anything.”

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Tears gathered on her lashes. “Thank you, Jack.”

“For the record,” he added, “I’m so glad Marcus doesn’t have sense.”

“Soon I will be, too,” she said. “But tonight I need to grieve.”

At home, Chloe showered and went to bed, totally exhausted. Tomorrow would be a rotten day. Her mother would be upset about Marcus — everything was pretty much a mess. But just too weary to worry another second, Chloe closed her eyes. Within minutes, she was sound asleep.

And hours later, she awakened just as abruptly...to the biting sting of an injection. Chapter Twenty-Eight Chloe came to with a drug hangover, slumped on a church pew, staring at a candlelit altar.

“Good, you’re awake. Stand up and put on this wedding dress.” Marcus clasped her arm. “We’re getting married, my dear.”

“No.” She fought the groggy feeling and his order to stand up. She was just too sleepy to stay awake. “I have no intention of doing that.”

“Standing up? Or marrying me?” he asked in a voice so pleasant the situation seemed even more surreal.

That sobered her into looking up at him. “I’m not marrying you, Marcus.”

“You will, Chloe,” he said sharply. “Now go put on this dress — it’s Vera Wang, your favourite — or I’ll have my men strip you down right here and put it on you. Not the way I’d prefer to treat a princess, but if you give me no choice, then you give me no choice.”

She looked over and saw three men, standing in the center aisle. They were all huge, bruisers, and they were all armed. Jimmy “the Heartbreaker” Valentine, her trainer for the Gotham Rose spy organisation, had taught her never to attempt a takedown without total confidence of success. In her current condition, she’d never win, so she opted for more subtle tactics.

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“Fine.” She snatched the dress from Marcus. “But I’m not changing in front of them — and I’m not marrying you.”

“Let’s tackle one challenge at a time,” he said. “First, the dress.” He dragged her to the back of the church, around the corner, to an anteroom. “Dress in there — and hurry up, Chloe. I have another errand, and it’s one I don’t want to miss.”

“By all means, go now. I have no desire to keep you from anything else.”

“Are you curious about why I’m doing this?”

“My title, obviously.” He nodded no, and she tried again. “So I can’t testify against you?”

“With your high profile, I didn’t think they’d really go after you,” he admitted. “After the attempt at Perrini’s, I knew they were serious.”

“What do they want you to do?”

“I won’t tell you that. It’ll make you vulnerable.” His eyes burned with regret. “I swear I didn’t believe they were serious. I thought they were bluffing, Chloe.”

“Well, they weren’t bluffing, and I can’t imagine being any more vulnerable than I am already.”

“You can be. Trust me,” he said. “This is the only way to protect you now.”

“Marrying me protects me?” Chloe’s skin crawled. “Have you lost your mind?”

His jaw tightened. “They have an agreement. They never go after wives, Chloe.”

“You’re crazy. Marcus, you’re not part of them — or are you?”

“No. And I’m trying my damnedest not to become part of them. Don’t you see?” 74

“What I see is a man who sacrificed me, calling a bluff. A man that’s in way over his head, got me involved, and now has kidnapped me to force me into a wedding I do not want.”

“They’ll kill you, Chloe.”

Like he wouldn’t? He’d never risk her leaking word of any of this, ruining his reputation. He’d be ostracized by his family, in their circle. He was scared and not thinking straight — and that could be to her advantage.

“Okay, I understand now. I don’t like it, but I understand.” She licked at her dry lips. “But, Marcus, I have to know. Who killed Sissy Mancuso?”

“I have no idea. I swear it.” He blew out a breath, checked his watch. “We’re short on time. Please, change clothes and let’s do this. You’ll be safe. I do love you.” The tenderness left his face. “After we’re done, I have a surprise for you.”

“I believe you do love me,” she lied. “But I’m weary of surprises.” She frowned and held it so he wouldn’t miss it, then grabbed the anteroom door, wishing she had the luxury of slamming it in his face.

“You won’t want to miss this surprise, my dear. It involves your friend, Jack.”

Shock ran up and down her back. “Jack?” Something sinister in Marcus’s expression warned her, made her sick on the stomach. “What surprise could you have for me that could possibly involve Jack?”

“Your construction crew is working tonight, correct?” His smile chilled her blood. “Buzz told you that, didn’t he?”

He had. The crew had been jackhammering since the police had released the scene, preparing to rework the foundation. The concrete was to be poured tonight. “Yes, so?” Marcus smiled. “Get dressed, Chloe. I promise, you won’t want to miss it.”

While fuzzy in the head from the drugs, she was still together enough to know he intended Jack harm. She shut the door, blocking him out. 75

In a small bath at the far end of the room, she splashed her face with ice-cold water, trying hard to clear her mind, and then stared at the wedding dress, a diaphanous creation she would have loved under other circumstances.

Suddenly, the puzzle pieces slid together in her mind. Eleanor Towers. Sissy. Concrete. Jack. Concrete.

Oh, dear God. Marcus might not have killed Sissy but he had buried her in the old foundation — and in the new one, he intended to bury Jack! Chapter Twenty-Nine Chloe had no intention of putting the dress on, although it was a beautiful lace and tulle gown. But Marcus had insisted on checking in to make sure she was getting a move on it, so she’d had no choice.

She peered out the window and saw a man walking the outside length of the building, guarding the church and the window. When he walked by and headed away from her, she climbed through, slid down the wall to the grass and took him out with a swift elbow to the temple.

When he crumpled onto the grass, she took off running, having no idea where she was, and no idea how to get to Eleanor Towers.

At the corner, she paused, but didn’t recognise anything around her — the church, a red light, a bank — she could be anywhere. She crossed over, hiked her dress, and ran full out, wanting to put some space between herself and the church.

Marcus would come looking for her any minute. He wouldn’t wait long; patience wasn’t one of his virtues.

Passing under a street lamp, she saw a ratty green pickup truck parked in front of a convenience store. She’d been heading in the opposite direction, but stopped and turned back. Grand theft auto didn’t hold much appeal, but Jack being buried in a concrete grave held even less.

The truck was running. And its cab was empty. She peeked through the storefront glass and saw two men standing at the counter talking. She inched back to the truck, slipped the gearshift into

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reverse, and stole out of the parking lot, hoping the man held a nice, long conversation. Why couldn’t he have a phone in here?

She rifled through compartments. No loose change with which she could call Renee. She developed a plan: put some space between her and Marcus, then call Renee collect.

She drove east toward a cluster of lights and hoped she’d get her bearings, come by a public telephone, and stay ahead of Marcus and his henchmen.

Three blocks later, she passed a city limits sign. She was at least half an hour from Eleanor Towers — if she hurried. She slammed her foot down on the gas pedal. The old truck lurched, coughed and lurched again, but then it sped up.

A police car moved in behind her. She debated stopping and asking him to call Renee or to help Jack, but what if Marcus had them on his payroll? He’d taken her to this specific place for a reason, and it seemed he covered his bases.

And what if the pickup had already been reported as stolen? She couldn’t risk stopping. She watched him steadily in the rearview, and saw him make a left-hand turn.

The gas gauge was low, but she should make it. At least that seemed to be in her favour. She braked for a red light. A man in the car beside her was talking on a cell phone.

A woman wearing a wedding dress. How threatening could that be? She rolled down the window. “Excuse me? Sir? Excuse me?”

His passenger window slid down. “What?”

“May I please use your phone to call my mother?” she asked, embellishing a bit to put him at ease. “I’m supposed to be at the church and I’m lost.”

He noticed the wedding gown, the veil, but still seemed wary. It was an odd time for a wedding. “Okay, but I dial.”

“Of course.” She smiled and reeled off Renee’s number. 77

“It’s ringing.” He passed the phone through the glass. “Don’t make me sorry I did this.”

“I won’t,” she swore and meant it.

Olivia answered the phone. Chloe nearly choked. “Olivia, it’s Chloe. I’m in trouble. Marcus drugged me and took me to a church in — damn, I can’t remember the name of this place, but I’ll be back in Manhattan in twenty minutes. I think Marcus is burying Jack in the foundation at Eleanor Towers. They’re pouring concrete tonight. Get Renee and the Roses over there, please. I’ll be there as soon as I can, but he needs help now.”

“Oh my God, Chloe, what have you gotten yourself into with him?”

“Not now, Olivia. You can lecture all you want later. Right now, just get Jack some help.”

“All right, I’ll tell Renee right away and issue a Rose Alert,” Olivia said. “Are you safe now?”

Safe? What was safe? “I stole a truck,” she said. “I’m heading home. I — I’m groggy as hell from the drugs, but I think I’m okay. And I’ve got to give this dear man who trusted me back his phone.”

“Be careful,” Olivia warned her. “This might not have started out as a mission, but it’s certainly developed into one. If that fool Marcus Sinclair went to all this trouble, he won’t just let you drive away. He’ll come after you.”

Chloe looked in her rear mirror. “He has. One of his men is behind me now. I’ve got to go.” The light turned green. Had he recognised her? Did he know that she was driving the truck?

“Bless you!” Chloe tossed the phone back to the other driver, then stomped the accelerator. Chapter Thirty Chloe screeched to a halt at the curb and jumped out of the truck. She’d have to run down the block to the building; concrete trucks had the street blocked. Carmine, who owned the deli across the street, was just closing his door. “Call the police, Carmine. Call the police!” She kept running.

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He fumbled with the lock and went back into the store. Chloe stopped at the edge of her building and caught her breath, then inched around to the garage door opening. The crew was working — about a dozen men — and none of them were anywhere near where Sissy had been buried.

For some reason, Chloe felt certain Marcus would have Jack put in the same spot where Sissy had been taken out — to prove that he could. After the stunt at the church, only a fool wouldn’t believe he was that arrogant. That area had not yet been poured and — she scooted around and scanned — Jack was nowhere in sight. God, please don’t let me be too late...

Samantha, Julia and Vanessa arrived all within seconds of each other. “You okay?”

Chloe nodded, then whispered, “I haven’t seen Jack.”

Within a minute, Renee, Emma, Alexa and Becca approached from the other side of the door. Renee lifted her shoulders. Chloe signaled “no visual yet,” pointing her fingertips to her eyes. Renee tossed her a gun.

Chloe caught it. Motioned for them to move in simultaneously on three.

Weapons concealed, they entered the garage, chatting and laughing, and moved toward the elevator, acting tipsy. Startled, the men watched but didn’t move to stop them. They made their way across the garage to the elevator door.

A black SUV pulled up inside, and a man Chloe didn’t recognise got out. He didn’t see them, and jerked open the back door, then pulled Jack out of the back seat. His eyes and mouth were taped shut. His hands were banded with silver duct tape. Chloe’s muscles spasmed at once.

Emma moved up behind her. “Fake it ‘til you make it,” she whispered so only Chloe could hear. “Keep it together.”

Crowding the door to the elevator, the women pretended not to notice the new arrival or Jack, and one of the other men jerked Jack around the corner and out of their sight. The other men, working the concrete that had been poured smooth, hadn’t noticed Jack had been brought in, much less that he was decked out in duct tape. Is that what had happened with Sissy?

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“Un-freaking-believable,” Samantha said.

“Let’s go get him.” Renee grimaced.

“I need another drink.” Emma elevated her voice, stepped back from the elevator and started back toward the garage door. “Where’s the closest bar, Chloe?”

“Me, too. Hell, it’s nowhere near dawn yet.” Samantha joined Emma and they strode side by side.

“We might as well all go,” Chloe said, taking the inside wall, closest to Jack. As they neared the door, she heard the concrete truck start churning. The sounds of concrete sliding down the chute echoed in the garage, and her heart jumped to her throat.

She rounded the corner, and saw Jack, prone beneath the chute, concrete splashing onto his chest. Oh, no! “Where are they? Where are the two men?” She scanned but didn’t see them, ran to Jack and half-pulled, half-rolled him out from under the chute, then tugged the tape free from his mouth. “Are you okay? Jack?” Why wasn’t he answering? Had they drugged him, too? “Jack?”

The Roses pulled their weapons, fanned out, searching inside and out. Renee, Emma and Julia teamed up, looking for the two who’d brought Jack in the SUV. Without a scuffle, Vanessa, Becca and Alexa stopped the workers and lined them up to wait for the police.

Renee came back to Chloe. “Is he all right?”

“He’s breathing fine, but not answering.” She looked up at Renee. “Apparently, they drugged him, too.”

Emma joined them, winded. “The two guys who put Jack under the chute are outside. One of them had the poor sense to piss off Samantha.” Emma dabbed at her forehead. “He’ll be picking bits of his teeth out of everything for the next week.”

“She Jimmy Chooed him?” Renee guessed, her eyes twinkling.

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“Caught the front eight in one kick.” Emma nodded. “Jimmy will be pleased.”

“Chloe?” Jack cranked his eyes open and looked up at her. Decidedly loopy, he gave her a lopsided grin. “Nice dress.”

****** When Chloe and Jack walked into Sal Mancuso’s office, Sal had a look on his face that said he knew the time for truth had come. “Princess Chloe, Mr. Quaid. Please, sit down.”

They sat in the visitor’s chairs near his desk, and he returned to his seat. “I’ve kept quiet because I was afraid, but after what happened to Sissy and you two, I can’t do it anymore.” He paused, swallowed hard, and then went on. “Marcus Sterling knew the concrete was inferior — he knew it wouldn’t hold up. Buzz Denton did, too, but he couldn’t do anything. It was all too closely linked to Marcus’s clients...his connections. The company they were using for the construction was one of theirs.”

“Did Ryan Greene know this, too?” Chloe asked. If so, he wasn’t going to be the Rose darling much longer, even if he and Tatiana were having a good time.

“No,” Sal said. “Marcus bought out Ryan Greene, and then did this. I refused to sign off on the inspection...which could have drawn some unwanted attention.” He looked down, fighting to retain his composure.

Chloe and Jack waited patiently until Sal was ready to go on. When he did, raw pain burned in his eyes. “Then Sissy went missing,” he said. “I worried Marcus had done something to her, but he denied it, and I had no proof. She was just...gone.”

“Until Sissy’s body was found at Eleanor Towers,” Jack said. “You knew then.”

“Yes, I did.” He stiffened. “But I had two daughters to worry about. His mob connections killed my wife. I couldn’t lose my daughters, too.”

“How do you know members of the mob killed your wife?”

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“He made sure I knew. And he swore to me that if I didn’t keep my mouth shut and stand by my report now, my daughters would be next.”

Jack stood up. “Sal, they found Marcus’s DNA on your wife’s body. He is going to be arrested for her murder. Are you sure he didn’t kill her himself?”

“Yes, I am.” He swallowed hard. “Right after I told him I was going to tell the truth, another man came to my office. I — I didn’t know him, but he was really scared. He said he and Marcus were taken to watch two men bury Sissy in the concrete.” Sal paused, wrestled for control, the demons creating images in his mind all too vivid. “They, um, wanted Marcus to withhold evidence on a case so charges would be dropped against one of their people. He refused to do it because he could lose his law license. One of the men cut Marcus’s finger and dripped his blood on my Sissy’s face.” Sal’s eyes filled with tears. “Then he told Marcus he could choose: his license, or his life.”

Chloe imagined the horror of that moment. “I’m so very sorry for your loss, Sal.” Chloe sucked in a ragged, steadying breath. “I understand your need to protect your children. In your position, I well might have done the exact same thing.”

He nodded, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Chloe pretended not to notice them. “Detective Greer will be in to take your statement in a few minutes.” She shook Sal’s hand and passed him her card. “Call me for anything you or the girls need. If I can help you, I will.”

He cleared his throat and stood up. “Thank you, Princess Chloe.”

She walked out of the office with Jack then stepped outside. Chapter Thirty-One “You’re pale, Chloe.” Jack clasped her hand. “You okay?”

“Maybe... Yes... No, I don’t think I am. All of this has been pretty unnerving, Jack,” she admitted.

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“I know.” Jack frowned. “The question is where the hell is Marcus now? According to Emma, he’s eluded police. Do you think his mob friends picked him up?”

“Why would they? They don’t fear him, and he’s definitely afraid enough of them to keep his mouth shut forever.” Chloe thought about it all, and suddenly knew exactly where Marcus had gone. “He’s got to be at Ryan Greene’s, doing his best to con Ryan into covering for him.” Holding her Coach bag to her side, Chloe ran.

In Ryan’s opulent office, his reserved secretary tried to stay Chloe. “No, you can’t go in there, Princess Chloe. Mr. Greene is in a meeting!”

“Don’t even think about stopping me,” she warned the woman, then skirted around to Ryan’s private office. Her hand on her gun inside her purse, Chloe opened the door. A surprised Ryan sat behind his desk. Marcus sat in front of it. She moved quickly and shoved at his chair. “Do not make me ruin another perfectly good handbag, or I’ll shoot you in the face for pure revenge.”

“Chloe, what the hell are you doing?” Ryan started to stand up.

“Sit down and stay out of this, Ryan.” She spared him a glance. “Your former partner here drugged and kidnapped me last night and nearly got me killed by his mob friends. I’m in a really bad mood.”

His jaw gaping, he sat down. Shock rippled through his eyes. “Marcus?”

“Chloe, that’s not true. You know it’s not true.”

“It is true.” Jack walked in behind Marcus, who went statue still.

“Oh,” Chloe said. “Didn’t you realise that your crew failed to kill Jack, too?”

“What?” Ryan looked stunned. “Marcus? I can’t believe this. Marcus say something.” Marcus didn’t utter a sound.

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“Believe it,” Chloe said, then looked down at Marcus. “Call the police.”

Ryan lifted the phone and called Security. Moments later, four uniformed men entered Ryan’s office. “Please deliver Mr. Sterling to the police,” Ryan said. “I believe they want to talk to him.”

Chloe looked at the men. One of them seemed familiar, though she couldn’t place him. He’d probably worked off-duty at some fundraiser or something.

“I’m sorry, Chloe,” Marcus pleaded as he was led away. “I really am.”

“My partner for two years, and I had no idea,” Ryan said, angrily.

Chloe and Jack walked outside just as Marcus was being put into a black sedan by two plainclothes officers who Chloe had seen flash their NYPD badges to the security team.

“I need to let Renee know I’m okay,” she said to Jack. “She’s like my second mother, and I’m sure she’s worried sick.” Chloe dialed and Olivia put her through to Renee right away. Chloe filled her in on events, told her that the police had taken custody of Marcus, then added, “I’m going to take a day or two off, Renee.”

“By all means, darling,” Renee said. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine. Jack and I are going to grab a drink somewhere and unwind.”

“Excellent.” Renee laughed. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“I sense approval in your voice.” Chloe looked at the cars inching down the street. A cabbie blew his horn. The shrill noise didn’t phase Chloe.

“Indeed, you do.” There was a smile in her voice. “I think Jack —“

An explosion sounded in the street a block ahead. “Oh my God!”

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People ran away from the billowing smoke and fire. Chloe and Jack moved toward it. “A car exploded, Renee,” she huffed into the phone.

“I’ll hold on. You run a quick assessment.”

Chloe knew before she got close. “It’s Marcus’s car. It’s his car.” She spoke into the phone, but locked her gaze with Jack’s.

He clasped Chloe’s arm. “Stay here. I’ll see what I can find out.”

She followed him, overhearing a man in an excited tone telling Jack what had happened.

“These guys stopped in their car,” the bent man said. “They jumped out, but this guy in the backseat I see is handcuffed to the door, trying to get out. Then boom! The car blows up. Sucker never stood a chance.”

“Renee,” Chloe said, tears running down her face. The “officers” she’d seen take Marcus away must have been mafia. “The mob just murdered Marcus.”

“I’m sorry, Chloe,” Renee said.

“I know he sacrificed me, but he didn’t believe them.” She let the tears fall unchecked.

“No, darling. He was a very frightened man that let money cloud his judgment. He should have never worked with the mafia. But the price was too good, or so he thought. We will find those responsible, Chloe,” she assured. “Is Jack okay?”

“He’s fine. He’s walking back over to talk to me, so I’ll call you later.”

“If you need me, I’m here.”

“Just find them, Renee. That will help me.” Chloe swallowed hard. “What Marcus did was wrong, but he didn’t deserve this.” 85

“The Roses will be on it within the hour, darling. You have my word on it.”

Jack walked up. “I heard,” Chloe said. “I was wrong.” She gave a little shrug. “I guess they feared Marcus, after all.”

“I guess so.” Jack frowned, then pulled her into his arms and hugged her fiercely.

How did he know that a hug is exactly what she needed? He had known her heart at sixteen, and he knew it now. She closed her eyes, took and gave comfort in the loving embrace.

Emma had been right from the start, Chloe thought, her cheek buried into Jack’s muscled chest. But thanks to Emma and the Gotham Rose agents — and Renee for inviting Chloe into the elite spy club — she’d live to see another day with the man she loved.

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Opposites Attract by Kathryn Shay

Chapter One Jase McKay hadn’t made many mistakes in his life. He couldn’t afford to, given his background. But as he looked across the small chapel in Hyde Point, New York, where his friends Riley and Jillian Sullivan were renewing their vows, he was confronted with a reminder of the biggest blunder he’d ever committed. Molly Kimball, Jill’s sister. Letting her go six weeks, three days and some odd hours ago had truly been the most foolish, destructive, hurtful thing he’d ever done. You didn’t let her go, asshole. You booted her out of your life carelessly and callously. Because he’d been afraid of what she was doing to his orderly existence. Still, he hadn’t realised the ramifications of leaving her - sleepless nights, an inability to enjoy the things in life he’d worked so hard to get, and utter misery every time he saw her, like now. He couldn’t even think about what their abrupt split had done to her. He knew unquestionably that she’d loved him. Telling himself to stop with the pity party, he focused on the Sullivans. He was happy for them. God knew, they’d suffered over their own split a year ago. As Riley’s divorce lawyer and best friend - they’d been college and law school roommates, too - Jase was privy to all of it. Amidst the flickering bayberry scented candles, he listened to their pledges to each other, on the sixth anniversary of their wedding. “Having lost you once,” Riley said in a deep voice, husky with emotion, “I promise never to do anything again to make you leave me.” Blond and pretty, Jillian wiped uncharacteristic tears from her eyes. Of course, she’d come back from their second honeymoon - two months in Paris - pregnant, so that was part of the reason for her sentimentality. “And I promise,” she said softly, “to share myself with you. To let you in, no matter how hard it is.” Jase remembered his own vows, his own wedding seven years ago. Mary Stevenson had been his savior, helping him to build the life he’d planned for himself; he’d loved her deeply. When she’d died in a car crash, he’d wanted his own life to end with her. But he had a son, so he kept going for Tommy. And her parents, Thomas and Thea Stevenson, had been a godsend. They were then, and still were, the family Jase always wished he had. In time, the wounds of loss had healed. As if drawn by a magnet, his gaze settled back on Molly. Just the sight of her made him feel as raw as knuckles scraped on sandpaper. Her waist-length, curly hair the colour of caramels shone in the candlelight; her deep chestnut eyes were misty with joy. And he could swear the scent of 87

wildflowers that always surrounded her wafted over to him. Tonight, her voluptuous body was covered with a coppery brown dress, long and flowing like most of the clothes she chose. Hippie clothes, he’d teased once as he unbuttoned a fringed top with beads on it. She’d grinned. I know. I belong in the sixties. You got that right, lady. He winced at the memory. He’d teased her a lot, but there was always an edge to the words. He didn’t like her clothes. He didn’t like her whole lifestyle, and it had driven them apart. That and her absolute refusal to compromise. In truth, Molly couldn’t accept him any more than he could accept her. Still, he’d been the one to end it. She’d wanted to work on their relationship.... Watch this movie with me. She held up Barefoot in the Park, an old film with Robert Redford and Jane Fonda. We’re like them. Different as snow and sun. But we can make it, Jay, like they did. He’d watched the film and been completely insulted by the comparison of himself to the Redford character. I am not that inflexible...that stuffy.... Hell, they’re so unmatched - why are they even together? Molly had just laughed and tumbled him into bed.... Well, they have this in common. Like us. Her words moved him. He’d brushed the hair off her flawless face. There’s more to us than this, Mol. What is there, Jay? I love being with you. You make me feel things, see things so intensely. I love being with you, too. You...centre me. It hadn’t been enough, though, and after two months on a roller coaster of emotion, he’d broken it off, just before Jill and Riley came home. He’d had second thoughts in those dark days after he’d left Molly sobbing in her apartment. Abject misery had forced him to wonder if they could try harder to mesh their disparate lives. So he’d gone back to her place, two weeks after their split, to tell her he wasn’t sure about what he’d done, he wanted to talk more, that he feared he’d made a terrible mistake. Logan Kane, her friend and goddamned protector, had answered the door in her apartment over the store she operated.

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The guy had growled when he saw Jase.... Get the hell out of here before I beat the shit out of you. I need to see Molly. You can’t. Look, I know you care about her; so do I. Kane had let loose with inventive expletives, then grabbed Jase by the shirt and thrust him against a wall outside the apartment. She’s sick, McKay. She’s been vomiting and shaking and sobbing since you dropped your little bomb a few weeks ago. I’m considering a hospital, she’s so overwrought. I swear to God, if you go near her now, I’ll take you apart. And because Jase hadn’t been sure then that he could give Molly what she needed, that they could make a life together, he’d left. In the weeks since, he’d missed her so much he ached with it. But when she’d recovered and seemed her old self again the few times they’d bumped into each other around town, he did stay away from her. It was the only decent thing he’d ever done for her. Now, though it was pretty colourless in Molly’s absence, his life had gotten back on an even keel. Thomas Stevenson had even introduced him to a new attorney in town, Sarina Matthews, whom he was dating, who was here with him tonight. Molly looked up and caught Jase staring at her. She gave him a half smile that cut him off at the knees. There was no bitterness on her face. No indictment. Only forgiveness. And the wariness a doe has in her eyes when faced with a hunter’s gun. Of course there was. Molly Kimball was well aware of the fact he could - almost had - destroyed her. But as Jase watched Molly, her smile turned into a small gasp and her hand slid to her waist. Her beautiful porcelain skin paled; she closed her eyes. And crumpled to the floor. ****** Molly Kimball opened her eyes to find her sister bending over her, her brother-in-law with his hand on Jill’s shoulder and Logan, her best friend, behind them. They were all in a stuffy little room that carried the faint scent of incense, and Molly was lying on a lumpy couch. Her head throbbed. “I’m sorry,” she said, squeezing Jill’s fingers. “I ruined your ceremony.” “Oh, honey, it was over anyway, except for the kiss.” She smiled, but her face was tense. “You’re sick. You need a doctor, so we -” “No doctor.” Her gaze sought Logan’s. They hadn’t planned on this coming out so soon. Damn. “I...I just didn’t eat.”

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“It’s probably that vegetarian diet,” Logan said, trying to help her out. Unlike Jase, he respected her preference to avoid red meat. Worriedly, Jill glanced over her shoulder. Molly tracked her gaze. Ian Chandler, an OB-GYN and friend of Riley’s who’d been at the ceremony with his wife, stood in the doorway. He shifted uncomfortably. Well, why wouldn’t he? After all, he knew what was really going on. Jill said, “We asked Ian to come in before he and Paige went to the restaurant. To see if you were all right.” Molly drew in a breath, trying to quell the nausea that came when she was upset. Ian cocked his head and didn’t say anything. Logan circled around Jill to stand by the couch and picked up Molly’s hand. A big man, with street-smart eyes, he said, “She’s okay, Jill. She just needs some rest.” As always, Jillian’s lawyer instincts went on red alert. From the skeptical look on Riley’s face, so did his. “What’s going on, Molly? Why don’t you want Ian to check you out?” Jill asked. Logan squeezed her fingers. He gave her an It’s time, I guess look. Oh, hell, it probably was. She couldn’t keep this a secret much longer anyway since she was at the beginning of her second trimester and was having trouble concealing her expanding waistline. Ian approached the couch. “Molly? What do you want me to do?” Poor Ian. “Nothing. It’s okay. I haven’t told them.” “I gathered.” He stepped back. “I’ll just wait outside.” After Ian left, she looked up at Jill. Her sister’s face was pale with worry. It wasn’t good for the baby. None of this was. For either baby. “Sit, Jill.” Instead she leaned against her husband and went from pale to ashen. “Nothing’s wrong with you, is it?” Molly’s smile was bittersweet. “Nothing’s wrong with me any more than with you, sis.” Jill frowned. She didn’t get it. But Riley did. “Holy hell, Molly. You’re pregnant, too?” “Yep.” Jill’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t...” She raised her hands, palms to the ceiling. “You aren’t seeing anybody that I know of.” 90

And that, Molly thought, protectively placing her hand on her stomach, was part of the problem. It had killed her to hear it.... I want to keep this thing between us quiet, Mol. Just for a while. Why? Because of Tommy. He already likes you too much. If it doesn’t work out, I don’t want to get his hopes up. You want to sneak around? No, just be discreet. And you can still see my son. Just not too much... She’d known then that Jase was ashamed of being with her. But she hadn’t objected, hadn’t called him on it, because she was so in love with him, she didn’t want to lose him. And, she thought, foolishly, as he got to know her, he’d love her too - really love who she was and what kind of person she’d become. It had never happened. In fact, things had only worsened. You’re kidding, right? You only eat, like, tofu and bean sprouts.... Don’t you ever tell Tommy something like that is all right again.... Come on, Molly, I’ll buy you some normal clothes.... To be fair, she’d been just as critical.... Do you know what red meat does to your arteries...? Hey, come on, Jase, live a little. Deep six the tie.... Let Tommy be a kid.... Logan sat down on the couch beside Molly. “It’s my child, Jill.” “Yours?” Jill shook her head. “You two said you were just friends.” Using his often well-concealed charm - people said he looked like Pierce Brosnan, especially when the actor played James Bond - Logan gave her a boyish grin. “Well, things changed.” “When?” Molly shrugged. “We got together when you were in Paris.” “Like hell,” she heard from the doorway. 91

Everybody turned. And there he stood, Jase McKay, the love of her life, filling the doorway with those wide shoulders she used to nestle into, with his perfectly styled dark hair that she loved to mess up. And with his beautiful blue eyes, which now were flaming. ****** In the small anteroom of the chapel where the Sullivans had just renewed their vows, Molly’s brother-in-law, Riley, stepped forward at the appearance of his best friend in the doorway. “Jase, what are you doing back here?” “And what do you mean, ‘like hell’ Molly got together with Logan while we were in Paris?” Jill asked. Bells chimed overhead as Jase’s gaze fixed on Molly and never wavered. His piercing stare made her shiver. “I’d like to speak to Molly alone.” Panic clogged her throat, threatening to choke her. She and Logan had discussed this. She couldn’t face Jase alone the first time. The hurt he’d caused her was still too fresh. Her gaze met Logan’s. Subtly, he shook his head and stood up, like the natural-born protector he was. It was why, after all, he’d suggested this little ruse. “You won’t be alone with Molly again, McKay.” Jase drew in a breath. Squaring his shoulders, he strode into the room as close to the couch as he could manage, given Molly’s watchdogs keeping guard. Immediately, his expensive cologne enveloped her. She remembered inhaling it on various parts of his body. “Do you want this to come out in front of everybody?” he asked her. His tone was low and intimate, betraying a closeness that even time apart hadn’t dulled. Because it hurt to be reminded of what he’d so cavalierly given up, Molly let her temper spark. “The secrecy was your idea, Jay.” He paled, but recovered quickly; he had an inner core, one she knew was honed from being the son of a labourer and working himself to the bone to go to Harvard and become a successful and respected lawyer. Too bad his need to keep overachieving drove an unbridgeable wedge between them. “Your choice then.” He faced Logan. “There’s no way you were sleeping with Molly when Jill and Riley were in Paris. She was in a relationship with me. And she sure as hell wasn’t spending time in anybody else’s bed. I know it in my gut.” He stared down at her. “Why would you lie about something like this?” His voice caught on the last word. Because I’m afraid of you, Jase McKay. Afraid of you hurting me again. Afraid of you taking this baby away from me. Afraid of myself, that I’ll change just to keep you... 92

But instead of being honest with him, she sat up and then stood. Linking her arm with Logan’s, she drew in a breath. “This isn’t your baby, Jase. After you...left, Logan was there for me.” She leaned into Logan as she uttered the bald lie. “He comforted me. This is definitely his baby and not yours.” Jill and Riley were openmouthed, literally. They’d known nothing about her relationship with Jase. Nobody had. Logan’s hands fisted. He knew too much. And Jase’s jaw went taut with cold fury. “I don’t believe you would have slept with somebody so soon after...” He didn’t finish. So she did. “So soon after what, Jase? After you dumped me because I wasn’t good enough for you and your standing in the community? After you hurt me so badly I wanted to die?” She tried to keep her voice even, but it trembled with remembered pain. “Of course I’d turn to another man. A decent man, who wasn’t ashamed of me.” That zinged him. She saw real hurt darken his eyes to the colour of midnight. It was because he had cared for her. Just not enough. “Now, I think we all have a party to go to.” She started to brush by him. Before anybody could react, he drew her close and put his cheek next to hers. It was a bit scratchy and so familiar it made her ache. So only she could hear, he whispered achingly, “Please, love, don’t do this. I need to talk to you. I need to tell you -” Because she wanted to sink into him, because she wanted to be part of him, to let him in her body and in her soul, she murmured, “Don’t, Jay,” and stepped away. When he went to grab for her arm again, she shook him off and Logan stepped between them. “Do it again, pal, and I’ll take you down. I’d like nothing better.” As tall and muscular as Logan, Jase nonetheless stepped back. “Fine,” he said, his gaze skimming the other man, then transferring to Jill and Riley. “I won’t ruin your celebration.” He zeroed in on Molly. “But it’s not over, Molly. Not by a long shot.” Chapter Two Kane’s Table was Hyde Point’s most chic restaurant. Painted a forest green - Molly joked it matched its owner’s eyes - with burgundy accents, the snazzy establishment was frequented by all of the town’s elite. Many of them were here now. They were Riley’s crowd. And Jase’s. Logan came up to their table and sat down. She smiled at him. “The party’s lovely. The food was delicious.” His chef had outdone himself with prime rib, crab legs and a Caesar salad to die for.

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“You didn’t eat much.” He gave her a knowing look. “And you can’t wait to crawl into bed.” “God, I’m so tired.” She placed her hand on her waist. “I can’t believe I’m only a couple of months along.” Her friend’s smile was wistful. “Pregnancy takes over your life.” She grabbed his hand. “How do you know that, Logan? Have you had experience with other pregnant women?” After two years, he was still an enigma to her. He’d told her once her acceptance of him without any disclosure on his part meant a lot to him. A little voice inside her nagged, But you couldn’t do the same for Jase. She remembered something.... Molly, please, this is so not me. I’m not comfortable with it.... Come on, grouch. Loosen up. You’re in grave danger of completely becoming the Robert Redford character in that movie.... “Yeah, I’ve had experience with pregnant women.” Logan kissed her hand. “Want me to take you up to your apartment?” “No, actually. Jill’s coming with me.” She rolled her eyes. “Little sister wants answers.” “What are you going to tell her?” “The story we agreed on. If I tell her the truth, it’ll cause problems with Riley.” “I -” Logan’s cell phone rang. “Sorry.” He answered it. “Kane.” Though he was stoic, Molly could tell by the way his jaw tightened he wasn’t happy. “Can’t somebody else do it?” A pause. “Okay. I’ll be there.” He clicked off. “Problems?” “I’ve got to go out of town for a while.” His gaze flicked across the room where Jase was sitting with his in-laws, the Stevensons, and his date, a sophisticated young woman dressed in a Chanel suit. She was perfect for him. “I hate to leave you now, but it can’t be helped.” “It’s okay.” She nodded to the phone. “You can share that with me, you know.” He shook his head, his face darkening. “You’re safer not knowing.” Molly saw Jill coming toward them. “Well, if you ever change your mind, I’m here.” She stood up and kissed his cheek. “Ready to go?” Jill asked. 94

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” She nodded to the back entrance. “Let’s go that way. I don’t want to say a lot of goodbyes.” And she didn’t want to risk facing Jase. Though she knew in her heart that would come soon enough. ****** “What the hell is going on?” Riley had cornered Jase in a private room off the main dining area where he’d gone to clear his head. Turning from the window, Jase stared over at his best friend. “You heard most of it.” “What I heard was not consistent with the man I know like a brother.” Jase looked back out as the September rain patted against the window. “Relationships are hard, Riley. You of all people should know that.” “But you and Molly are so different. What could have brought you together?” He pictured her chestnut eyes sparking with humor and heard her sultry laugh that was more potent than a shot of good bourbon. “I was drawn to her vibrancy. She’s so full of life. She liked my solidness. Opposites attract, I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And then, apparently, can’t coexist.” “Did you hurt her as badly as she said?” The memory ambushed him. He’d gone to her apartment to break it off. She’d rushed toward him, full of her usual energy and gusto for life. Sometimes it had exhausted him.... Oh, Jase, I’m so glad you’re here. Her honey-coloured hair, secured in a ropelike braid, had bobbed with her excitement. I’ve got to tell you something. Something wonderful. I have to tell you something, too. She’d floated into the kitchen, fixing peppermint tea. Mine’s better. I bet it is. At his grave tone, she’d come back out. What is it, Jay? I can’t do this anymore. It’s not working for me. It? You mean us? Yes. 95

Her hand had gone to her waist and she’d looked as though she might be ill.... It hit him, now, in the dim room of the restaurant. “Oh, God.” “What?” “The night I broke it off. She was bubbling around like she’d won the lottery.” A vise gripped his chest. “She was going to tell me she was pregnant.” “Jase, if you broke it off that long ago, how do you know the baby isn’t Kane’s?” The thought of the guy touching her made him livid. He remembered how she was in bed with him.... It’s never been like this with anybody else, Jay. It hadn’t for him, either. But he couldn’t betray Mary’s memory and tell Molly that. Instead, he tried to meld himself with her, steep himself in her, show her with his body what he couldn’t say in words. “What are you going to do?” Riley asked him. “I don’t know.” “Maybe you should just stay away from her.” Determined, Jase straightened. “Remember how you couldn’t leave Jill alone? Even when you thought your differences were too great?” “Yeah.” “It’s the same for me.” He pushed away from the wall and headed out of the room to go to Molly’s apartment. ****** Once they were inside her apartment and Jill had fixed Molly some tea, they sat down on the couch, the slipcover of which was hand-painted. I’m afraid to sit on it. It looks like a drop cloth you used when you painted the walls. Molly had been hurt by Jase’s comment. She’d spent hours on the coverlet. But she’d said the same kind of thing on one of the rare occasions she went to his house....

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Jay, really, this looks like it came over from England on the Mayflower. She’d scanned the living room. This whole place lacks flare. It’s my taste, sweetheart. His tone had said she’d hurt him, too. “All right,” Jill told her. “Tell me what’s going on.” Molly sipped the lemony Earl Grey and watched her sister for a minute. They, too, were different as night and day. Jill had chosen to compete for her rigid and demanding parents’ approval by doing everything right, whereas Molly had totally rebelled. Maybe if she’d been more like Jill, Jase would have loved her. “You know most of it.” “What I know is that you and Jase shot sparks off each other every time you were together during my and Riley’s divorce proceedings.” “We hooked up at your going-away party.” When Jill and Riley had reconciled, Jill still had two months on her leave of absence from their law firm. Surprising everybody, Riley had asked for a personal leave for the summer so he and Jill could go back to Paris where they’d honeymooned. The party had been a wonderful, celebratory send-off. She and Jase had been the last two left.... Think we can make a truce now? he’d said, his baby blues twinkling. I guess. She grinned. He grinned back. Reaching out, he skimmed a hand down her cheek causing her stomach to somersault. This would be a mistake, Jase. I know. Still they’d gone home together, and the lovemaking had been cataclysmic. Molly never would forget the shattering union, the almost mystical intimacy, as their bodies came together. Right from the first time, that bond had made them think they could gloss over their differences. Jill’s sisterly instincts surfaced. “What happened?” She knew Riley and Jase were the best of friends and didn’t want to affect that friendship. So she purposely diluted the nightmare of what had happened. “We’re polar opposites. He admitted the futility of the relationship before I was ready to end it.” What an understatement. The pain had been bone deep. Sometimes, it still was. Oh, God, Logan. What am I going to do? I love him so much. Why couldn’t I have compromised more?

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“I’m so sorry, Mol. I wish I’d been here.” “Jill, I don’t want you in the middle of all this.” She reached out and took Molly’s hand. Hers was cold. “Honey? Is the baby Jase’s?” Here was the touchy part. Nobody else could ever know the truth. Though she hated lying to her sister, if Jase knew the baby was his, he’d want to be part of its life. Maybe even take the baby from her. Their views on child-rearing were worlds apart.... I don’t think Tommy’s ready for kindergarten. He won’t be five until October. The Stevensons think he should go. So little Tommy had started school. Come here, sweetie. Want to read this book? Jase had intercepted Tommy. I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t want him learning about those kinds of things. Molly looked at Jill. “She’s Logan’s baby.” “She? You know you’re having a girl?” “Yeah. Because of my age, I had an amniocentesis at fifteen weeks.” And she’d cried when she’d found out Jase McKay was going to have a daughter. The doorbell chimed, the normally soft sound like a gunshot in the quiet apartment. Jill stiffened. “It’s okay. I knew he’d come sometime. He won’t let it go until we have this out privately.” Jill and Molly rose. Saying a silent prayer for help, Molly crossed the Indian-print carpet and opened the door. Her heart twisted in her chest when she saw him standing in the archway. His face was as ravaged as the day he’d told her they were through. “Hello, Jay.” “Mol.” He swallowed hard, his throat working convulsively. “Can I come in?” “Yes.” His shoulders were slumped as he entered the room. He didn’t sit, just stuck his hands in his pockets and watched her. Her sister glared at him. “Jilly? You need to leave.”

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“Are you sure?” “Yes.” She kissed Jill’s cheek and ushered her out the door. When she turned around, Jase was staring at her. “You okay?” he asked. Looking away, she nodded. “I’m having some tea. It calms my stomach.” “Have you been sick?” “No, not too bad. Tension makes me queasy.” He said, “I’m sorry if I’ve made you tense.” “Are you?” “Of course.” She crossed to the couch, dropped down on the stuffed cushions and folded her shaky legs under her. Picking up her cup, she warmed her hands on it. “Then let all this go.” He followed her and knelt down in front of her. Again, his nearness poleaxed her. His shoulders were so big and solid, his chest inviting her to cuddle. In a gesture that made her eyes sting, he reached out, cradled her stomach - where his daughter slept. “I can’t let this go. You know that.” “Logan Kane is the father of this child.” “You wouldn’t sleep with somebody else so soon.” His tender gaze locked with hers. Gently, he pressed his hand into her. “I haven’t been with anybody, either, since you and I were together.” She didn’t want to know this. “Maybe you haven’t been with someone else because you weren’t hurting so much that you didn’t care if you died.” His eyes turned bleak. “I was hurting that much.” She never expected this. And it made her angry. She pushed his hand away, unbalancing him. Rising abruptly, she stalked to the other side of the room and rounded on him. “Don’t tell me that, don’t you dare tell me that. You broke my heart.” He stood. “I broke my own, too.” “I don’t want to hear this.” “I came back. Did your new boyfriend tell you that?”

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Molly, you need to know something, now that you’re better. McKay came back. He said he wasn’t sure about what he’d done. You were so sick I sent him away. You did the right thing, Logan. He doesn’t love me, and that’s all that matters. “Yes, of course he told me. It doesn’t matter.” “Molly, there’s a baby to consider now. We have to try again. Do better this time accepting each other’s differences.” “No.” “I’m begging you.” “No.” His hands fisted at his sides. “And what if I don’t accept this?” “I’m afraid you don’t have any choice.” “Don’t I?” He crossed to her, and she backed up until she hit the wall. His forehead met hers, and he curled his hand at the back of her neck. Without her mind’s consent, she leaned into him and her hand went to his nape. “I don’t want to hurt you again, sweetheart. But I won’t let you do this.” Pulling back, he kissed her hair. “I made the biggest mistake of my life by walking away from you. I’m not going to do it again.” With that he was gone. Chapter Three Jase’s words haunted Molly for days afterward. She worried constantly about what he’d do. While she was helping a customer, Nora Whitman, the former proprietor of Serenity House, who often frequented Natural Options, she found out. “Try this lotion, Nora. It’s supposed to work miracles.” “I will.” Nora took the cream. “Thanks.” A strange man entered the store and approached the counter. “Margaret Kimball?” “Yes?” He handed her an envelope. “This is a legal summons.” “For what?”

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“I’m afraid I don’t know. Sign here, please, for authentication of receipt.” By rote, she scrawled her signature. He turned and left. Molly ripped open the letter. She read the three lines quickly. And wavered on her feet. “Oh my God.” Nora grasped her arm. “Molly, dear, are you all right?” All right? She was never going to be all right again. ****** “What do you mean she’s gone?” Jase had walked into Jill’s office three days after he’d gotten a judge friend of his to issue a paternity-test order, only to be told Molly had left town. Jill bridled. “My sister’s left Hyde Point.” She held up a paper. “Now, by ignoring this order, she’s broken the law, thanks to you.” His heartbeat speeded up. “Where is she?” “I don’t know. She didn’t tell me, so I won’t be an accessory.” Jill straightened. Her face was pale, and she looked thin and fragile. Riley was going to kill him for causing Jill grief. “Why the hell did you do this?” He raked a hand through his hair, feeling his stomach clamp into knots. “Look, I tried three times to talk to her again after that night in her apartment. She refused to even see me.” In truth, he’d second-guessed his decision to get the order but he was petrified of losing her. And every day, he felt more and more like the insensitive lawyer husband from Barefoot in the Park. “So I decided to force her hand.” Actually, he’d gone to Thomas for advice. Said he had a client who wanted proof of paternity from his estranged wife and asked what would be the best way to get it. “You are an absolute jerk, you know that?’” She tossed the paper on the floor. “God, I’m so worried about her.” “I’m sorry, Jill. This isn't good for your baby.” Tears clouded Jill's eyes. “Or Molly’s baby. She’s running around alone somewhere pregnant with no one to take care of her.” The thought gutted him. “Maybe she’s with Kane. I went to see him, but he’s out of town.” Though he hated that Molly would turn to another man, he’d rather that than she was alone. I’ve been alone all my life, Jay. You had Jill. 101

Jill had her own demons to fight. Besides I left home when I was seventeen because I couldn’t be what my parents wanted me to be. It hadn’t hit him until later that that was one thing they’d had in common. Jase had left a negligent single mother when he was sixteen and graduated high school early to earn his own way in life. “Logan went out of town the night of our party. No, Molly’s alone.” “What’s going on in here?” Riley appeared at the door. He took one look at his wife and said, “Oh, God, Jilly, are you...” He strode over to her. “Honey, is it the baby?” Burrowing into him, she shook her head. “Molly’s gone.” She explained the situation to him. Riley turned to Jase. “Shit, Jase, what were you thinking?” “I want her back. She won’t talk to me, let alone discuss the baby.” “This is a hell of a way to do it.” He cuddled Jill close. “Come on. I’m taking you home.” Before Jase could apologise to his friend, the Sullivans left. He picked up the papers Jill let drop and sank onto her couch. He read the order. Hell, he could see why she’d run. Damn, he’d made another bad decision. He was sitting there thinking how he’d blown things when a secretary knocked on Jill’s door. “Hey, Jase, is Jill here?” “No, Pam. Jill wasn’t feeling well.” Because of me. “Riley took her home.” “Oh dear. Is she all right?” “Yeah, mostly tired.” She held up a FedEx letter. “This just came for her. It says it’s urgent.” “Here, give it to me. I’ll take it over to them.” It was the least he could do. Pam handed him the letter and left. Idly he looked down. It was addressed to Jill. For some reason, he checked the return address. Holy shit. Well, at least he knew where Molly was. He ripped open the letter. ****** Paris was cool on this mid-September morning. Jase had flown all night, landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport at seven a.m., and gotten a cab. Amidst the honking and blaring of early-morning traffic, he’d been deposited at 16, rue Poulbot in the Montmartre section of the city by a taxi driver who didn’t speak English. Jase had no idea how much he’d paid for the ride. 102

He stared up at the narrow stone building, on the cobbled side street three blocks from SacréCoeur, where Jill had stayed with the two elderly shopkeepers when she’d fled here after her separation from Riley. Molly had come to this place because of Jill.... Jill, the note inside the FedEx envelope read. Don’t panic. I’m safe in Paris, boarding with the lovely old couple you lived with. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this, but I was trying to protect you. I can’t stay in Hyde Point. I’ve been in touch with Logan, and he’ll take care of the business when he gets back in town. I’ll call soon. Don’t worry, I’m fine.... God, Jase had driven Molly halfway around the world. What the hell was wrong with him? You know your problem, Jay? You think too much. You never live in the moment. He’d bristled. You want me to act like the guy in the end of that movie, don’t you? Where he has an epiphany and takes his shoes off and walks barefoot in central park to show her he’s changed. I just want you to be a little more spontaneous.... Well, this trip sure as hell was spontaneous. He’d talked to Nathan Hyde, the senior partner of the firm, and said it was an emergency and he needed to go out of town immediately. He’d been vague with the Stevensons, asking them to take Tommy. The hardest thing had been leaving his son.... “Where you going, Daddy?” “I have business in Paris.” “Can I come?” “No, but I’ll bring you back a surprise.” He was hoping it would be Molly. Though they hadn’t spent a lot of time together, Tommy really liked her and still asked about her often. Squaring his shoulders, Jase opened a street-level door and climbed the stairs to the second floor. The hallway was clean, and the wood banister carried the scent of furniture polish. Two apartments faced each other. He knocked on 2A. No answer. He checked his watch. Eight. She might still be sleeping. Pregnant women got tired. And he hadn’t been there to tuck her into bed, to fix her tea, to rub her back when it hurt. Could he ever make up for all this? He knocked again. And again. Finally, the door squeaked open. At least she had a safety chain on it. “Oh, my God.” “Molly.” He could barely see her through the crack. “Hi, sweetheart.” 103

“Wh...” she cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was scratchy, as though she were well acquainted with Marlboros. “I came to see you.” He rapped lightly on the wood. “Let me in, love.” Leaning her head against the door, she whispered, “I can’t do this. Not now.” What did that mean? The door creaked open a slice, and he got a better look at her. Her face was flushed and sweaty, her dark eyes glazed. Fear struck him like lightning. Please, God, don’t let her have come to Paris for an abortion. “Mol, let me in.” She coughed. “Please, you’re sick, aren’t you?” “Yes.” She must have been really ill because she unlatched the door. And literally fell into his arms. He held on to her for a minute, then lifted her up to his chest. Kicking his bag inside, he closed the door and crossed to the couch. He lay her down on it and felt her face. It was warm. “Molly, baby, what happened? “I...caught some bug.” He let out a relieved breath that his child was safe. “Have you seen a doctor?” She licked her lips. They were parched and cracked. Picking up a glass of water, he held it to her mouth. She sipped, than sank back on the pillow. “Uh-huh. The shopkeepers Jill knew took me to their doctor. He says there’s a bug going around. I probably have it.” “Did he give you any medicine?” “No, it’s viral. It’ll run its course.” “What about something for the fever?” She gripped his arm. “He told me to take some ibuprofen, but I can’t, Jay. It could hurt the baby.” “Molly, you can’t let a fever go.” “It’s not that high.” It wasn’t, only a hundred and one when he took it, but she had to be hurting. “You should take something.”

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“No.” Of course she wouldn’t. The woman wouldn’t even eat red meat. She’d be vigilant about this kid. Since he knew it was his, he wanted her to be. But she was clearly suffering. “How long has this gone on?” “I’ve been sick since yesterday.” “All right. We’ll give it today. If the fever doesn’t break, I’m force-feeding you Tylenol.” It didn’t break by seven p.m. Jase was beside himself. He’d been bathing her with tepid water to lower her temperature, giving her liquids, which she miraculously kept down, but the fever hadn’t broken. He came into the bedroom with the medicine. “You’ve got to take this, Mol. Now.” Her eyes still cloudy, her hair damp around her face, she tried to lie. “I feel better.” “No, sweetheart, you don’t. Besides, I checked the Internet on my cell phone. Aspirin or some other analgesic won’t necessarily hurt a fetus.” “No drugs.” “Mol. I won’t take no for an answer. Your health is at stake.” She grasped his hand surprisingly hard. “The health of your baby is at stake.” “You’re not thinking clear -” He stopped. “My baby?” She sank back into the pillow. “Please, Jay, you can’t want me to risk your daughter’s welfare.” Stunned, he just held her hand. “My daughter?” “Uh-huh. I had an amniocentesis.” He laid his forehead against hers. “Oh, Molly.” “Please, hold off on the medicine just a bit longer.” “Okay.” Drawing back, he stood. His legs were wobbly. “I’ll get more water to bathe you.” He kissed her head. “But only a few more hours.” Unsteadily, he made his way to the tiny bathroom, like a man in a trance. He dropped down on the toilet seat, trying to gain control. He was going to have a daughter. Oh, God. He stayed there a minute, then stood. Fine. Now he knew for sure. Now he needed to plan for how he was going to make everything all right. One thing was for certain. No way on earth was he letting Molly or his daughter go.

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Chapter Four Jase sidled up to Molly on the top level of the Arc de Triomphe, a rooflike setting with iron spindles around the perimeter. The structure had been commissioned by Napoleon as a monument to France’s war veterans. Her and Jase’s own private battle had been declared a truce. He’d nursed her through the flu - sans fever medicine - helped her bathe, cooked her vegetarian food and slept on the couch for two nights. Once she’d recovered, he’d begged to spend some time with her. No discussions, no decisions, just time for them both to heal and relax before any more of the war followed. “Here, let me show you.” He pointed out over the sprawling metropolis. Since he’d studied international law in Paris at one point in his college career, he was well acquainted with the city. “Those are the six areas of the city. See how the streets are divided.” They looked like the spokes of a bike, encircling the famous landmark. She couldn’t help but lean back into him. As a soft wind lifted her hair, he secured the fall jacket he’d bought her at Printemps department store more closely around her. “It’s breathtaking up here.” He nuzzled her neck from behind. His mouth on her was familiar. Exciting. “Hmm. You’re breathtaking.” She giggled. “Paris is really going to your head.” “You’re going to my head. Like you always did.” He tugged her around and she burrowed into him. The leather blazer he’d purchased on a side street near the Sorbonne was buttery smooth against her cheek. With his dark hair and dramatic blue eyes, he looked good in it and the black T-shirt and pleated pants he wore beneath it. No doubt about it, Jase McKay was cover-model attractive in what she called his Paris clothes. He held her close. She could feel his heart beat steadily under her ear. “Tired?” “No.” She inhaled him. He wore a different cologne, one he’d gotten here. It was woodsy. “Where are we going next?” “The Musée d’Orsay.” He grabbed her hand and held on tight as he went ahead of her down the narrow stone circular staircase they’d had to climb to get up here. Their feet clattered on the steps. The structure reminded her of a medieval castle. Outside, he hailed a cab, and they arrived at 62, rue de Lille in minutes. Molly gasped when she entered the cavernous, modern structure. Its first-floor entry filled with arches and glass and exhibits was a work of art itself. She perused the brochure and noted the impressionist collection the gallery housed.

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“Jay, you don’t like this kind of art.” “But you do.” “All right. Only if we can go to the Louvre next.” Though she’d never been to Paris before, Molly had read that museum housed mostly classical artifacts. “You’re on, love.” And so they oohed and aahed over Degas’s The Dance Class and Van Gogh’s Bedroom at Arles. Then they went to the Louvre, a stunning structure with a huge glass pyramid as its entrance, to see the Mona Lisa and the Venus di Milo. By the time they got back to the apartment, she was dragging; when he tucked her into bed for a nap, she grabbed his hand and held it close to her heart. “You did this on purpose,” she said sleepily. “What?” “Showed we could compromise.” The backs of his fingers grazed his cheek. “Nah. I just want you to see the city.” The next day they visited churches. Molly was awed by the apse and flying buttresses of Notre Dame Cathedral; inside, the hallowed atmosphere was redolent of incense and filled with the low murmur of Mass being chanted up front. Amidst the ancient statuary, humongous stained-glass windows and one of the biggest pipe organs in the world, she reverently lit a candle. He slid his arm around her and for a moment, he just watched the flame flicker. “What did you pray for?” he finally asked. She shook her head, unable to tell him. At Sacré-Coeur Basilica, near where they were staying, he lit his own candle. “It’s for us, Mol.” Reverently he touched her stomach. “All three of us.” The next night he bombarded her with romance - dinner on the sunset cruise down the Seine on a Bateaux Mouches boat. They were serenaded by French singers and a strolling violinist. Then, outside, they enjoyed the tour down the river, given in six languages, which highlighted the sights: a replica of the Statue of Liberty and a likeness of Charlemagne; houses of famous Frenchmen like Voltaire; landmarks such as the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre and Notre Dame, which were stunning lit up at night.

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On the day before they were to go back to Hyde Point, they visited the Musée Rodin. They both loved the trailblazing Frenchman’s sculptures - they combined progressive thinking and classical overtones. Molly was particularly impressed by the outdoor gallery. Twice-life-size statues surrounded them. You could actually touch The Thinker, have your picture taken with The Burghers of Calais. Inside, they came across the The Kiss, which had always been Molly’s favourite statue. As she stared at the white marble depiction of the man and woman embracing, Molly’s heart hurt. She wanted this with Jase again. Though they were so different, there was some kind of irrefutable bond between them. The statue echoed it. He came up behind her and settled his hands on her shoulders. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Molly nodded and turned to him. Since it was early in the morning, they were relatively alone in the museum. “Kiss me, Jase.” He grinned and tugged her close. “Change your mind about no physical stuff, sweetheart?” Her eyes narrowed on him. “You knew what you were doing. Squiring me all over the most romantic city in the world.” “Me? I just wanted you to see Paris.” He smiled down at her. “But I accept the invitation.” And right there in the main room of the Musée Rodin, Jase took Molly in his arms. His lips were soft at first. And gentle. As always, she melted into him. Then he turned hungry. His whole body went taut and his fingers gripped her tightly. She’d loved it when Jase lost control during sex. It seemed that it was the only time he really let go. Against his mouth, she whispered softly, “Take me home, Jay.” ****** Making love was the same for Jase, but so, so different. Having lost her once, having thought he’d never have the right to touch her again, he cherished the chance to do so. He felt a spiritual reverence he’d never experienced before as he slid her out of the oversize sweater she wore; her skin was rose-petal soft everywhere and feeling it again made him suck in a breath. He tugged off her skirt, knelt to remove her boots and socks and eased off the scrap of lace at her middle. Molly never wore a bra. Even with pregnancy, her breasts were firm, though fuller. “Let’s lay you down, sweetheart. I want to look my fill.” He eased her onto the bed. Stretched her out fully. Placed her hands above her head. Though he was still dressed, he began his exploration. “Your features are so fine. Renoir should have used you as one of his models.” He traced her eyebrows, her upturned nose, her lips; his fingers tingled with the softness he found there. Then 108

he leaned over and kissed each feature. The earthy scent of the lotion she’d used that morning filled his senses. “I missed how you taste, Mol. So honeyed and sweet.” A fierce possessiveness shot through him, for this woman who carried his child. He cradled her breasts, felt them plump in his hands. She startled. “Oh.” He drew away. “Hurt?” God, he couldn’t remember anything about Mary’s body and her pregnancy with Tommy. “No, just tender.” She brought his hands back to her. “Don’t stop - it feels good.” Her eyelids closed as his fingers flexed on the warm, supple flesh. “I...pregnant women... I crave your touch, Jase.” His hand trailed lower, cradling her stomach. Gently, he leaned over and brushed his lips across her slightly rounded belly. “You’re bigger here.” “I’m almost four months pregnant.” “With my baby.” He’d sat up in time to see fear flash on her face. Well, it was nothing he didn’t deserve. Still, it hurt. “Say it, Mol. When you’re not sick and afraid. Say she’s mine.” He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Say you want her to be mine, and nobody else’s.” “She’s yours. I want her to be yours.” His heart sank at the catch in her voice. There were tiny starlike tears in her eyes. “Oh, Mol.” He kissed away the renegade drops when they ran down her cheeks. They were hot and salty against his lips. “It’s okay. I promise. We’ll work this out.” He held her to his heart until she calmed. Then he looked down at her. “I need to be close to you. As close as a man can get to a woman.” He stood and disposed of his own clothes. Gently, he drew her up and seated her on the bed with her feet touching the floor. Kneeling again, he kissed her, slowly losing his sense, which always happened with her. He never liked it, that loss of control, but tonight, in Paris, he let it happen freely and without restraint. He leaned over and suckled her breasts. She braced her arms behind her, threw back her head. He spread her legs, slid her to the edge of the mattress and cupped her. Her entire body flushed, and he could tell she was ready. He eased her down then, and covered her with his mouth. She came almost instantly. Little gasps. An “Oh, Jay.” Then “Oh, yes....” Pregnancy had sensitised her to his touch, but he remembered how easily he could make her spiral even before. How at his mercy, physically, she’d always been. 109

Then again, so was he. At hers. As if to underscore his thought, she tugged him down onto the bed and helped him scoot over. The mattress gave under his weight; his frame was too big and his feet hung off the end. She came up on her knees and began her own exploration of him. She inhaled his scent, murmured, “I missed this so much. I missed you.” He closed his eyes, let himself just feel. Her mouth was everywhere, tickling his chest...tonguing his nipples...nipping the inside of his thigh. By the time she got to the part of him that craved her touch the most, he practically ricocheted off the bed. But she didn’t stop. She loved him fully, and completely, as she always had. And he gave himself over to it. Later, he entered her gently. His back was against the headboard and she straddled him. Her hair was thick and wound around his fingers as if to show him it had missed his touch, too. He tunneled through the glorious mane that had haunted his midnights. “I don’t want to hurt the baby.” “You won’t.” Her eyes were already starting to glaze. “I won’t hurt you either, Mol. I promise.” She raised her hands to his mouth; she had calluses on her fingers from digging in the garden she kept. “Shh. Not now. Just be a part of me again, Jay. I missed this more than I’d miss breathing if it was taken away from me.” So he thrust, careful not to hurt her this way, vowing he wouldn’t hurt her any other way, either. She gasped at his entry. Emotion clogged his throat as he filled her, felt her wet and hot, closing around him. They climaxed together, which they’d always done, easily, without effort. It was earth-shattering. It was holy. It was right. He told her so, hours later, after they napped and she was refreshed. “We have to talk, Mol.” Snuggling into him, she pressed her body the full length of his. “I never liked conversations that started with that phrase.” He kissed her head. Hugged her close. “I want claim to this baby.” ****** Molly stared at the man seated next to her on the 747, which alternately hummed and roared as it flew them back to Hyde Point; he was a stranger, in so many ways. Today, in the suit and tie he’d worn to Paris, he looked so much like the Redford character from Barefoot in the Park that it made her heart clench. She wondered why they ever thought they could be together.... Last night, things had gone from bad to worse. She’d stiffened when Jase said he wanted claim to her baby. “Is that what this was all about?” she asked stiffly, a bone-chilling coldness replacing the warmth his body had given her.

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“No, this was all about you and me.” She hadn’t said anything, reeling from the phrase itself - he wanted claim - and all its ramifications. Reaching over, he’d switched on a light. Gently he tipped her chin up. The slumberous sexual haze was gone from his eyes. “You don’t trust me.” “Why would I, Jase?” “Fair enough.” He took in a deep breath. “I’ll just have to earn back your trust.” She swallowed hard. “You never had it. I don’t know if I can ever give it to you.” His hand slid down between them. Even after their sexual marathon, his touch made her shiver. He caressed her stomach. “Well, you’re going to have to try. You’re carrying my child and that changes things.” He’d seemed surprised when she drew away, slid out of bed and rummaged for a robe. Probably because she was the ultimate nudist; it had always bothered him how she walked around naked. “What’s wrong?” he asked. She tied the belt and went to stand by the window, looking out over Montmartre. Darkness had settled, but the streets were lit up and traffic beeped its way down the narrow cobbled roadways. “Do you realise what you said?” She cleared her throat. “Or rather, what you didn’t say?” “Did I say something wrong? Mol, I’m just trying to make this right.” She turned, holding back the tears. He was sitting up against the pillows amidst the light blue sheets, his dark hair sexily disheveled. “You said you wanted the baby, Jay. Not me. I’ll ask you again. Is that what all this is about?” “How can you accuse me of that after what just happened between us?” “Because of what you left out of your little seduction.” “Is it starting already? The bickering, the divisiveness?” She sighed. “I guess it is.” She looked to the ceiling, studying the small crack in the plaster. “Maybe it’s never going to work between us. Maybe we’re just too different.” With that, she’d turned and walked into the tiny bathroom. In minutes, he’d come to the door and pounded on it when he found it locked. “Open up, Molly.” She’d been crying too hard to move.

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“Open up.” Still she didn’t. She sat on the toilet seat and sobbed. Until he said in an anguished voice, “Please.” Slowly she’d unlocked the door. She sat back on the seat and he knelt in front of her. “I’m sorry.” She just cried. “I’m sorry you’re crying, Mol. But I don’t even know what I did. What I said.” And that, she thought, was the problem. He was able to hurt her so easily and he didn’t even know he was doing it. Having to explain it to him was like asking somebody to tell you he loved you. In the end, he’d coaxed her back to bed. Made empty promises. Touched her like she was spun glass and more precious to him than gold. Once again she’d capitulated.... ****** “Molly?” Reaching out, he clasped her hand. His was big and warm, yet anything but safe. “I asked if you were all right.” “I’m fine.” “We’re almost there.” “Good.” “I left my car at the airport.” “Oh, well, I called Logan.” “What?” “I called Logan about the store when we changed planes in New York. He’s going to pick me up.” “Why the hell did you do that?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Habit, I guess.” He swore then. “I hate your relationship with that guy.”

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She turned her face to the window. The glass was cold, like she felt inside. There were more surprises at the airport. Logan had Jill with him; she went to Molly and hugged her tightly. And Thomas Stevenson had brought Tommy to meet Jase. The child squealed and raced to his father; Jase scooped him up and held him tightly. Molly’s hand went to her stomach. In so many ways, Jase was a good father. Tommy caught sight of Molly. “Molly, Molly.” His five-year-old voice carried out over the airport din. She smiled. “Hey, Tommy Boy, how are you?” He scrambled down and ran to her, throwing himself at her when she knelt down. She cherished the feel of his chubby arms around her neck. “Jeez, Molly Golly, I missed you.” Over his shoulder she saw Thomas Stevenson slant a confused look at Jase. Molly felt his disapproval in the marrow of her bones. God, she thought she was done with letting people’s views of her hurt. “I missed you, too,” she told Tommy. He drew back and grasped a handful of hair. “Were you in Paris with Dad?” “I, um, I was there before your dad came. We met up.” “Neat.” He toyed with the long strands. “Can I come to the store again? I haven’t been there in so long.” He’d loved Natural Options, with its crystals and stones, its home-baked cookies and its astrology section. It also sported a children’s area. I don’t want him believing in that crap, Molly. It is not crap. Stones have psychological properties. Astrology is science. Dear Lord, the bad memories were coming back as soon as they set foot in this town. “You’ll have to ask your dad.” She stood and looked to Logan, a man she knew she could depend on. He came forward immediately. “Hi, honey.” Leaning over, he kissed her cheek. “You okay?” he whispered. “Get me out of here, please.” “That I can do.” He drew back and took her hand. He smiled down at Tommy. “Jet lag is catching up, kid. I’m gonna take Molly home.”

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She saw Jase stiffen. Thomas approached him. “I hope this was all right. After you called to let us know when you’d be in, Tommy begged to come to the airport.” His gaze locked on Molly, Jase said tightly, “It’s all right.” Logan tugged on her hand, then abandoned that and slid his arm around her shoulder. “Let’s go.” “Goodbye, Jase,” she murmured and allowed Logan to steer her to the exit. Once inside his car, she burst into tears. Chapter Five In her bedroom, lit with jasmine-scented candles, Jase held Molly close as her breathing settled down, waiting for his own heart to slow. He hadn’t expected to end up here, in bed with her, when he came to her place after work to apologise for upsetting her in Paris. He’d just wanted everything to be right between them. Once again, she’d forgiven him, and they’d made bittersweet, poignant love. “That was so good, love. When we’re like this, I think nothing can go wrong.” “Me, too.” “I missed you.” He felt her smile against his chest. “It’s only been three days since we got back from Paris.” “Forever.” He kissed her hair. “Are you hungry? I could fix you something.” He glanced at his watch. “No, I have to go.” “You’re not staying for the evening?” “No, the Stevensons are having a party for Tommy’s birthday.” He felt her stiffen. “I see.” “Your party yesterday for him was great. His buddies loved the pudding paint.” Molly had invited Tommy’s friends over to the store and in the children’s area, had set up a big table where the kids could fingerpaint with chocolate pudding - and eat it as they played. They’d been a sight when Jase had swung by to pick them up. Even Jill, who’d come to help, had gotten into it. She and Molly were covered with the confection. “I’m glad they enjoyed it.” 114

“What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” She slid out of bed and threw on a print kimono he’d never seen before. “New bathrobe?” “Logan got it in Indonesia.” “Oh, Logan. Of course.” She ignored the sarcasm. He ignored the fact that she was growing closer to the guy every day. He was her safety net, in case Jase let her fall. God, sometimes it seemed they’d made no real progress since he followed her to Paris. She was still treating him as if he was going to betray her any day now. He didn’t know what the hell she wanted from him. He’d made sure she got to spend time with Tommy. He invited her to lunch in town. They had plans to spend Friday night with Jill and Riley. “Tell me what’s bothering you.” She circled around. “I’m upset about not being invited to this party.” “It’s...” He didn’t know what to say. “I didn’t think you’d want to come. It’s just...” “It’s just family.” “Well, yes.” Systematically she circled the room and blew out every candle. “Fine, I -” The phone rang and she reached for it. “Hello?” A smile. “No actually, I don’t have plans.” She laughed. “Sure. Just a sec.” She covered the mouthpiece. “Will you be gone in twenty minutes?” ****** Jase couldn’t concentrate at work the next day. He kept seeing Molly in Kane’s robe and pictured her out with him last night. Of course, it had been Kane on the phone. He’d wanted to take Molly to some new vegetarian restaurant that had just opened on Main Street, which just further illustrated their differences. Jase hated vegetarian food, and would never have picked the Grilled Asparagus for a date with Molly. But the thought of her out with another man, especially after their lovemaking, killed him. Because of that, and the tenuousness of their relationship, he hadn’t slept well, haunted by the notion that he was losing her again. “Jase, good morning.” Thomas stood in the entryway of his office. “Are you busy? 115

“Still trying to catch up from my trip.” “I’d like a word with you.” His shoulders aching with fatigue, Jase sat back. “Sure, come on in.” When Thomas was seated, Jase said, “Thanks again for Tommy’s party last night.” Though he’d been upset to see Sarina Matthews there - it apparently wasn’t just family, which increased his guilt - the party had been a nice gesture. Adjusting his perfectly knotted tie, Thomas focused his keen gaze on Jase. “I’d like to know what’s going on with you, Jase. With you and the Kimball woman.” “Molly?” “I’ve been a lawyer a long time. I sense dynamics. This trip to Paris was because of her, right?” “Thomas, I’m not ready to get into this with you yet.” “Well, let me say one thing.” “All right.” “That case you asked me about a few weeks ago? I’ve done some research on paternity suits. Custody doesn’t always go to the woman anymore, particularly when the man is well-respected in town. In the case of a child, without the union of marriage, it’s easy enough to prove paternity and get at least partial custody, if not full custody.” He leaned forward. “I also checked into Molly Kimball’s background. I -” Jase heard a gasp in the doorway. Looking up, he saw Jill clutching the doorjamb. Her hand slid protectively to her stomach. Thomas turned around. “Oh, hello, Jillian. Jase and I were just discussing a case.” Her gaze turned flinty. “Yes, I heard. If you’ll excuse me.” Goddamn it, Jase thought. What next? He sought out Molly’s sister as soon as he could. She was behind closed doors with her husband. And they were yelling. He could hear them from the hall. “Stay out of it, honey.” “No. I won’t. Damn it, why doesn’t she answer?” “Jilly, calm down.”

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Knocking briefly, Jase let himself in the office. Riley was pacing and Jill was on the phone. They both looked up. “Well, if it isn’t Benedict Arnold,” Jill said. “Look, you misunderstood.” “I misunderstood? You and Thomas weren’t plotting how to take Molly’s baby away?” Jill’s piercing gaze was so frosty it chilled him. “No wonder she wouldn't tell you you were the father.” He approached the desk. “I’m not planning anything. Thomas made some suggestions is all....” Even to his own ears his explanation sounded weak. “You’re lying.” She crossed to the closet in her office and drew out her coat. “Where are you going?” Riley asked. “To Molly’s house. She needs to know what’s going on.” Jase stilled. “Please, don’t do that. Things are already precarious enough between us.” “And who the hell’s fault is that?” “It’s mine, I guess. I’m sorry I’ve hurt Molly. But I’m trying to make up for it. I’m trying to set this right.” “You want the baby.” “I want Molly, too.” At her doubting look, he added forcefully, “I wasn’t plotting to take the baby.” Jill came over to him. Coat on, she rose up on tiptoes. “You damn well were. But I’ll tell you this. I’ll fight you legally. Molly will make a wonderful mother. I’ll make sure she has the chance.” His voice hiked up a notch and he emphasised each word. “I don’t want to take the baby away from her.” “I don’t believe you.” Jill headed for the door. “In any case, I’m not the one to convince.” “If you tell her what you overheard, she’ll never believe anything I say.” “You should have thought of that before.” With that, Jill turned and walked out. ******

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Jill walked into Logan’s restaurant at noontime, ready to spit nails if her expression was any indication. Molly saw Riley hurrying in behind her, then Jase. She scowled and looked over the bar at Logan. Dressed casually in a green sweater that made his eyes glow like a cat’s, he put down the glass he was drying and came around the bar to stand next to her. “Jill?” Molly cocked her head. “What’s going on?” “There’s something you need to know.” Riley came up behind her. “Jilly, please. This is between her and Jase.” Jase reached them. His face was lined with exhaustion and worry. He said, “At least let me tell her what you overheard.” Briefly, Jill looked torn. Molly felt her stomach pitch. She knew in her heart this was going hurt. Bad. Riley grasped Jill’s arm. “Honey, think if it was us. Wouldn’t you want to work this out with me?” Leaning into him, she whispered, “You’d never do this to me.” Jase turned to Molly. “If you care about me at all, let’s go somewhere so I can clear this up.” Don’t do it, her mind warned. Let Jill tell you. But she faced Logan. He said, “Use my office,” then grasped her arm. “I’ll be right here if you need me.” Molly led the way back to Logan’s office. Like his apartment above the store, it was bare of any personal things. She reached the desk and leaned against it, folding her arms across her middle. Insufficient armor against the blow Jase was about to deliver. “Okay, what happened?” “Jill overheard a conversation between me and Thomas Stevenson this morning. She misunderstood what was going on.” “What was going on?” “Thomas wanted to know what was between you and me. And he said that if I wanted him to, he could help me get partial or full custody of our baby.” Molly’s world dimmed. She grasped onto the desk for support. “Oh, my God.” “Sweetheart, this came totally from Thomas. I never instigated any of it. I’d never try to take our baby away from you.”

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She recalled his words in Paris. I want claim to this baby. “How did Thomas know about the baby, if you weren’t in on the plot?” “It’s not a plot.” He ran a hand through his dark hair and swore. Like a guilty man. “I consulted him about the paternity testing.” “So you did tell him.” “No, I said I had a case where paternity was at issue. He advised me.” At her skeptical look, he added, “I never followed through on the paternity test order.” “Not yet.” “All right, Mol, I know this looks bad. But it isn’t what it appears to be. I told Thomas he was way off base, and I’d never do this to you.” If only she could believe him. Oh, God, her worst fear was materialising. “Look, I have a solution to all this. Let’s just get married.” “What?” “Let’s get married. Then it will be a moot point.” Lawyer jargon. “You mean merge, don’t you, so you’ll have legal claim as a father. Is that what Thomas advised you to do?” “I don’t deserve that. I’m trying to compromise, to make this right for all of us.” Her insides were cold. Numb. But her hands began to tremble. “Are you? Isn’t there something missing from your oh-so-romantic proposal?” “What?” She bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry. “I won’t marry you, Jase. You never said you loved me.” “Of course I love you. What do you think this whole thing has been about?” “Getting claim to a child you don’t think I’m fit to raise.” “Look, I know we have our differences. On life and child rearing. But I was wrong to keep you from Tommy. You're wonderful with him. We can compromise.” She turned her back on him to block out the words that she’d longed for months to hear come out of his mouth. “No.” 119

The wall clock ticked loudly in the tense silence. He came up to her. She shrugged him off. He didn’t step back, so she reached over to the desk and picked up the phone, pressed a button and when Logan answered, said, “Could you come in here? I need you.” Jase grasped her arms. Hoarsely, he said, “Mol, please. Don’t do this.” Like an avenging angel, Logan burst through the door. He jostled Jase out of the way to get to Molly. “Are you all right? Molly leaned into him. “Just make him go away.” Logan straightened and faced Jase. “Get out of here, McKay. For good.” Riley came up to Jase. “Come on, let’s go.” “Molly, please, don’t do this.” She didn’t answer, only clutched Logan’s arm. Finally, Jase turned and headed to the door, where he stopped and pivoted. “One last thing.” His eyes were hollow. “You never said you loved me, either. That didn’t make it any less true.” And with that he was gone. Hopelessly, she buried her face in Logan’s shirt. “God, Logan, he’s going to take my baby.” “No, he’s not.” He tipped her chin. “Look, I haven’t said anything before because I thought you might work it out with McKay. But I’ll say it now. Molly, I’m a powerful man. I have connections. Compared to me, the Stevensons are babes in the woods. Marry me, and I can keep them from ever touching you or the baby.” ****** “Molly, are you sure you want to do this?” Jill watched her in the mirror, as Molly stood adjusting the collar of the taupe-coloured, calf-length wedding dress. Her heart was a leaden weight in her chest and it showed in the smudges beneath her eyes and the strain around her mouth. “Yes.” She practically choked on the word. “I got another formal summons to have the paternity test.” Which she’d discarded without reading. “That about clinches it, don’t you think?” Her sister frowned. “I guess.” She fussed with the flowers Molly wore in her hair, which swung loosely to her waist. The way Jase liked it best. “But I’m having second thoughts about Jase’s motives. And Riley’s convinced he wasn’t trying to take the baby.” “Riley is Jase’s best friend.” Jill grasped her shoulders. “He’s been miserable all week at work. And I finally talked to him. He swears he wants you and the baby. He sounds so sincere, honey.” 120

Molly swallowed hard. “He came to see Logan, too, and said as much. I think even Logan’s wavering.” She sniffed back tears. “It’s still too much to risk. He doesn’t know about tonight, does he?” “No, we promised you we wouldn’t tell him. He’s at our law firm shindig at the country club.” “Probably with Sarina Matthews. Logan heard she’d been at Tommy’s party.” Apparently it hadn’t been just family. That, and the fear that consumed her, was making her do this thing, which now seemed obscene. She faced Jill. “How do I look?” “Like you’re on death row. Molly, you shouldn’t marry a man you don’t love.” You never told me you loved me, either. That doesn’t make it any less true. God, they were both so cautious. No wonder they couldn’t make it work between them. “Logan’s a dream come true for any woman.” “Why does he want to do this? Did he ever say?” “Just that something happened to him a long time ago and he’d never marry because of it. And that with his lifestyle - being away so much - a love match wasn’t going to cut it.” She sighed. “I know in my heart he’s an honourable man and, right now, his protection is what I need. I don’t have much other choice.” “We could fight Jase legally. You and me.” She took in her sister’s pale face. “You’ve been spending entirely too much time on my problems. And you’ve been at odds with Riley. It isn’t good for you two. Now, let’s go. I don’t want to be late for my own wedding.” As they headed out of the little chapel’s anteroom - ironically where Jase had found out about the baby - the pangs of misgiving hit her like a physical blow. She saw Jase in Paris - bathing her face when she was sick, holding her hand down the Seine, driving into her with the force of a man who couldn’t get enough of her. Oh, God, what if he did love her? What if she was making a huge mistake? ****** Staring into the mirror in the bedroom he’d shared with Mary, Jase finished doing up the bow tie of his tux. He looked good for near forty. He was going to have fun at the firm’s party tonight. “Who the hell do you think you’re fooling?” It had been one of the darkest weeks of his life. He thought he was miserable before, but now because he really believed it was over between him and Molly - he was despondent.

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He hadn’t contacted her personally. It was an unselfish act. Jill had said she was worried about all the stress on her sister, so he was leaving Molly alone for her health. And for his daughter’s. He’d also rescinded the paternity test order. He’d had it delivered, along with another document, so she’d finally see he wasn’t after the baby. There was nothing else he could do. “Daddy, this came for you.” He glanced up to see Tommy in the doorway of his bedroom. “What is it?” “A letter. It came after school. Nonny made me promise to give it to you. I forgot.” “That’s okay, champ. Hand it over.” Jase took the letter and after Tommy left, he absently scanned the envelope. No return address. It appeared to be some kind of invitation. Tearing open the flap, he pulled out the sheet and read it. His brain whirled. His heart leaped. And anger surged through him. “Over my dead body,” he mumbled and stalked to the door. ****** Logan looked like something out of GQ, dressed in a tux and with his longish hair trimmed. “Ready, honey?” he asked, taking Molly’s hand. She put her hand in his and they started for the altar. Logan held on tight, though he did glance over his shoulder a couple of times. She stopped before they reached the minister and Jill and Riley. “Logan, if you’re having second thoughts, we can -” “No, it’s not that. It’s...” “Stop right there, Kane.” Molly turned around and froze; Jase loomed in the back of the chapel, big and beautiful in a raven tux and snowy white shirt, which set off his dark good looks. She heard Jill say, “Oh, Rie, you said you wouldn’t interfere.” “I didn’t, honey. Honest.” “Then who...?” With Jase bearing down the aisle, Logan said quietly, “Give me a minute.” He stepped in front of Molly. “Hold on, McKay.” “No way in hell.” Confidence boomed from Jase’s voice. Logan arched a brow. “I’m trained to kill. I can do it to you with a flick of my wrist.”

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Oh, my God. Jase stood tall. “Well, that’s what you’ll have to do to keep me from Molly.” Molly’s jaw dropped as a real and rare smile dawned on Logan’s face. “That’s what I was waiting for, man.” “What?” Molly muttered. “I don’t understand.” Logan glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll be damned, Molly. He does love you.” Drawing in a breath, Molly wavered. Jase pushed Logan out of the way and strode to her. Wordlessly, he bent over and scooped her up, turned and headed down the aisle. Her arms circled his neck for balance...and out of relief. Her heart felt...lighter. “What are you doing?” “Keeping the woman I love from making a terrible mistake.” “Jase, no, this isn’t the answer.” “Marrying a man you don’t love because you’re afraid of me sure as hell isn’t.” Holding her to his chest, he nudged open the door and hurried down the sidewalk to his car. “It’s cool out, but the heater’s on, so you’ll be all right.” He managed to get her in the car. She sat where she was until he circled around and slid inside. Raising his arm to the back of her seat, he faced her squarely and grasped onto her shoulder. “I don’t understand why you’d do this, Mol. Yesterday, I sent you the paternity test rescission order along with a legal document forsaking all claim to the baby. You didn’t have to marry Kane to escape me.” “I -” She shrugged. “I didn’t open it.” Shaking his head, he turned to the wheel. “Women.” He started to drive. “Jase, listen, we need to talk.” “No, we’re done talking. “ “Where are we going?” “To a party.” “What?” “You’ll see.” She did when they pulled up to Hyde Point Country Club, an imposing Tudor structure lit up for the night. “The firm’s having a party. We’re going inside.”

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“Jase, I’m not dressed for this.” “You’re perfectly dressed.” He leaned over and kissed her hard. “For what I have in mind.” Before she could get out of the car, he was around the other side and leaned in and lifted her up again; then he carried her inside. Embarrassed, she hid her face in his jacket. But he didn’t put her down; he stalked into the ballroom, where the party was under way, and headed straight for the band. A sixties song was just ending. At the makeshift stage, he set her on her feet, and took the mike. “Hi, everybody. I have an announcement to make.” People, all in tuxes and gowns, turned to the stage. “This is Molly Kimball McKay.” Molly grasped his arm. “We just got married. I wanted all my colleagues to know.” Spontaneous clapping began. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a honeymoon to begin.” Ignoring the applause, he picked her up again like a real bride and went out the way they entered. Soon, they were in the car. “Jase, please, talk to me.” “No, that’s how we get into trouble. We’re done talking. Actions speak louder than words.” He started the car and drove toward downtown. “We’re not married.” A cocky grin complemented the devil in his eyes, making him look young. “Well, we’re going to have to tie the knot, now. Or you’ll embarrass me so badly I’ll be forced to leave town. And my job. And all my friends.” A small laugh escaped her. “This is so unlike you.” He chuckled. “Yeah, and isn’t it great?” His hand slid over and captured her knee. “But Mol, in some ways, I am like the lawyer in that movie, the Redford character. So, hang on....” “Jase, that’s not important anymore. It’s a stupid movie; those people aren’t us.” “Hush.” They reached the centre of town and pulled up to the park. He stopped the car and went for the door. “Jase, what are you doing?” “Watch.” He slid his legs out, but didn’t get up. Leaning over, he did something then before she knew it, he was out of the car and on the grass. Without his shoes and socks. Just like in the movie.

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From the middle of the park, he faced the car. Arms spread out, he yelled at the top of his lungs, “I love you Molly Kimball. I am a stuffed shirt, but I’ll change. I promise. Marry me!” Molly shook her head and leaped out of the car. She ran across the grass, and threw herself at him. “Oh, Jase. You don’t have to do this. I’ve been wrong, too. I’ve been inflexible. I’m so sorry. I’ll be better.” His arms banded around her and he went still. He met her forehead with his. “Then you’ll marry me?” “Yes, I will.” “Why?” he asked hoarsely, his lips on her ear. Drawing back, she looked up at him. “Because I love you.” “That’s all we need. “ He hugged her close. “We’ll be fine, you, me, Tommy and our daughter.” “I know.” “Yeah, sweetheart...” he kissed her hard “...so do I.”

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The Tycoon's Runaway Bride By Christine Rimmer Department store tycoon Jack McKay had no idea what had made his fiancée run out on their wedding and escape to Thunder Canyon, Montana. But he was going to find out. And then he'd bring Melody Kilkalen home, no matter what it took. Melody knew exactly why Jack wanted her to return to Texas with him—and it wasn't because he loved her. And yet…he seemed so sincere about his feelings for her. She had to know for sure whether Jack truly cared for her. Only this time she would call the shots, this time she was in control…and this time she was the one with the secret.

Chapter One Somehow, he had found her. Melody Kilkalen's pulse spiked. She set down her fork and lowered her hands to her lap so he couldn't see them trembling. Then, slowly, trying to look as though she couldn't care less, she turned her head away from the sight of him sitting there, alone at a table not fifteen feet from hers. She gazed out the wide window at a stunning view of Thunder Mountain. It was so beautiful; the craggy peaks were still crested with snow at the end of May. She watched the lengthening shadows that darkened the mountainside as evening came on. Damn you, Jack McKay. Why had he come here? The question echoed, loud as her own heartbeat, in her brain. What could possibly be the point of tracking her down? Following her? Hadn't her leaving him at the altar a week ago told him everything he needed to know? And how had he found her? She'd fled in her wedding dress right before the wedding march started, grabbing her purse and running, with no idea where she would go. A kindhearted trucker picked her up and took her all the way to Fort Collins, Colorado. She'd checked into a motel and slept for twelve hours straight. The next day, she'd paid the motel maid to get her some jeans and a T-shirt. The maid had admired her Vera Wang wedding dress, so Melody had given it to her. And then she'd called a cab and asked the cabbie to drive her to the nearest car rental place. Once she had a car, she'd been on the road again. She'd driven north until she found herself in a small Montana town called Thunder Canyon. She'd followed the signs to the Thunder Canyon Resort and taken a suite. And she'd been here ever since. The resort had everything she needed—several restaurants, boutiques where she'd bought a whole new wardrobe, a great spa if she wanted to pamper herself. Everything. She'd decided to splurge—she was on her honeymoon, after all. A honeymoon minus a wedding, and without a groom. She'd contacted no one back in Houston—well, except for her parents. Just to tell them she was safe, to ask them to call her bridesmaids and say how sorry she was to have left them at the church, all dressed up for a wedding that wasn't going to happen. She'd had a long talk with her dad, explaining how 126

betrayed she felt that he hadn't been honest with her, that he hadn't told her what he knew about Jack. And then she'd made both her mom and dad swear they wouldn't reveal to Jack where she'd gone. Had they broken their promise? She'd been so sure that they wouldn't. But Jack McKay could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. He might have the face and body of a street-fighting thug, but he was also skilled at turning on the charm. He could seem so sincere when he chose to be. The low-life lying bastard scum. Her parents must have told him where to find her. Or maybe he'd hired some detective to track her down. He'd had several days to work on it, after all. Which brought her back to the real question: Why? Oh, please. She knew why. And it wasn't for her. If a sad little flicker of hope had dared to flare in her heart at the sight of him, well, she needed to stomp it out. He was here because without her, he couldn't get what he wanted. She was part of the deal—in fact, without her, there was no deal. She picked up her fork again. See? Her hands were steady now. Even her galloping heart had settled to a more sedate rhythm. It wasn't right that he'd followed her to the resort, that he'd tracked her down to the place where she'd found refuge from his two-faced betrayal. She liked it here, and she planned to stay for a while—at least for the whole two weeks they would have been on Turtle Island for their honeymoon. All she wanted was to lick her wounds in peace, in the shadow of the craggy snow-capped mountain. Her stomach rolled—no! She refused to be sick here, in the beautiful Gallatin Room, the resort's best restaurant. Not while he was watching, seeking a weakness, trying to find an opening, a way to get to her. She kept her expression composed as she took a bite of tender prime rib. Her gag reflex tried to kick in. She didn't let it. She made herself chew and swallow. And then she ate another bite. And another after that. The food stayed down. Thank God. No way could she afford to reveal that to him. Her secret was her own. And she was glad, so glad, that she'd never shared it with a user like him. She ate the rest of her meal in a calm and unhurried fashion. She did not once glance his way again. And by the end of the meal, she'd come to a decision. She would confront him—which she probably should have done before she ran out on him. She would tell him exactly what she thought of him. And then she would demand that he go home. She would make him realize that he was wasting his time.

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It was over, and he wasn't getting what he'd schemed and lied to get. So he might as well just leave her alone. *** Jack McKay waved away the waiter's offer of dessert. "Just coffee." The waiter brought him the coffee and left him. He sipped, set the cup down and stared at Melody's delicate profile some more. She didn't look his way again. One glance was all she'd given him. So far. She probably thought that she could get rid of him if she refused to admit he was even there. Fat chance, Melody. It had cost him a bundle to find her. The best private investigators didn't come cheap. But he had found her. And now that he had, he was staying right here at this mountain resort in the middle of nowhere— staying on the same floor as hers, as a matter of fact—until she came to her senses and agreed to return to Texas with him. Jack wanted answers and he was going to get them. She'd made a fool of him in front of everyone who mattered in Houston. He needed to find out why she'd left him at the altar and fix whatever the problem was between them so that they could get back together and move on. Jack was not a man who gave up what was his. Melody ought to know that by now. He was a fighter and a winner, in spite of long odds. And Melody was his. He would make her see that, no matter what it took. But he was getting ahead of himself. Before he could convince her she'd made a huge mistake, he first had to figure out how to approach her, this woman who in an instant had turned into someone he didn't know. She was probably the most gentle, well-bred person he'd ever met, yet she'd behaved like a crazy woman. The few who'd seen her running away had said she'd simply come out of the dressing room off the church waiting area, lifted her white skirts high and sprinted out the church doors, running as if the devil himself were after her. Jack had done his research on her and her family before he'd decided to pursue her. There was no history of mental illness. It made no sense. And that meant he had no idea what she would do when he tried to talk to her. Burst into tears? Slap his face? Start yelling—or just turn on her heel and walk away? The possibility that she might behave rationally seemed remote at best. And if she started crying and shouting at him, well, where would he go from there? She was a small, slender woman, with big, innocent eyes. And he was tall and broad-shouldered, with plenty of muscle. If she told him to get away from her and he didn't go, some damn fool would be bound to come to her rescue. 128

Jack didn't want trouble. He just wanted answers and to take her home. How to get what he wanted from a woman who wouldn't even meet his eyes? That was the question. He sipped more coffee and watched her smile at the waiter and sign the check. Should he get up and follow her out when she left? At this point, he wouldn't put it past her to bolt. And he'd have to hunt her down all over again. She pushed back her chair and stood, her baby-fine soft blond hair shining in the light from the chandeliers overhead, her posture charm-school straight. She picked up her small clutch purse and turned toward him. And shocked the hell out of him when she looked straight at him. Her elegantly shaped mouth trembled. She started walking. Right for him. She didn't stop until she stood by his table. "Jack." Her voice was soft as a breath, musical, refined. Something down inside him went hot and tight. "Melody." He let his gaze slide downward to where she clutched her purse against her small breasts in her left hand. "You're not wearing your ring…" Had she ripped it off her finger and thrown it away as she ran down the church steps? Rich girls. They had no damn appreciation for the value of expensive things. Yet it wasn't the money he'd paid for it, he had to admit. In fact, the money wasn't what ate at him at all. He'd chosen that ring specially, all by himself, just for her. When he'd slipped it on her finger, he'd been the happiest man in the world. The thought of her tossing it out like trash, as if it meant nothing to her, as if he meant nothing to her. It galled him. And hurt him. A lot. "No, I'm not wearing the ring you gave me," she said with a civility he hadn't expected—an over-the-top graciousness that set his teeth on edge. "And I will never wear any ring of yours again." Her smile was etched in acid. She added, "We need to talk. Alone." Alone. Perfect. She'd made the first move for him. He smiled, pushed back his chair and followed her out of the Gallatin Room.

Chapter Two Melody got on the elevator and Jack followed her.

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The doors slid shut and she had a moment of pure panic. Was she out of her mind to volunteer to be alone with him? The elevator walls seemed to close in on her. He dwarfed the space, sucked up all the air. She felt small and fragile and insignificant and… No! She would not let her insecurities get the best of her. It had been a good move to take the lead, to face him down. A bold move. She was proud she'd taken the initiative. And this confrontation would be over soon. She would tell him exactly what she thought of him and send him away, and that would be that. At the fifth floor, the doors glided open—on a nice-looking guy named Roger. She'd met Roger the day she checked in at the resort. And he always said hi whenever he saw her. "Roger." She put on a smile for him. "Hi, Melody." Roger was a golfer. He wasn't carrying his clubs right then, but he was wearing a Puma golfer's hat, an argyle polo shirt and Bermuda shorts, probably on his way down to dinner at one of the resort's more casual eateries. "Still hoping to see you on the fairways." "Soon, Roger," she lied, smiling wider, stepping off the elevator, with Jack following much too closely behind her. Roger said goodbye and got on the elevator. Melody heard the soft rumble of the doors sliding shut as she turned down the hallway toward her rooms. She was sticking her card key into the slot when she glanced back at Jack. He stood halfway down the hall, tossing a golf ball toward the ceiling. Catching it neatly in his big hand, he tossed it up again. She tried not to roll her eyes. "Where did you find that?" "Next to the elevator." He threw it into the air once more. "Roger seems to be losing his balls." "You are not the least bit amusing." The lock light blinked green. She pushed the door wide and went in, letting the door swing shut behind her. If he didn't hurry up and catch it, so be it. He could stay out in the hall. That would be just fine with her. No such luck. Jack moved fast when he wanted to. He grabbed the door before it closed in his face and came through behind her. And she had that feeling again—that overwhelmed, trapped feeling. She ignored it. She set her purse on the table near the door, aimed her chin high and led the way into the sitting area. "Something to drink?" "No." He set the golf ball in a small crystal dish on a side table and dropped into a wing chair. She sat on the sofa across from him. Frowning, he studied her through narrowed hazel eyes. "You look tired." Oh, please. As if he cared. "Not your problem, Jack." He sat back and braced his elbows on the chair arms. "So who's Roger, anyway?" 130

"Just a guest of the resort. He came for the grand opening of the new golf course this past weekend." "You're playing golf with him? You hate golf." His eyes held hers. She knew he was remembering. She tried not to, but she was remembering, too. On their third date, Jack had talked her into playing a round of golf with him at Fazio Foothills in the Barton Creek Resort near Austin. In the middle of the game, she'd confessed that she disliked golf and hoped he wouldn't ask her to play again. He'd taken her hand, pulled her into his arms and kissed her, right there on the ninth green—a long, delicious, wonderful kiss. And then he'd ushered her into the golf cart and driven her back to the clubhouse. That was it for golfing when they were together. And why was she remembering that kiss on the golf course? So what if he'd actually listened to her when she told him she didn't want to play? That didn't make him any less of a liar now. "It's still true that I don't enjoy it," she said stiffly. "And no, I'm not playing golf with Roger." "Well, he's way too damn friendly." "He's a nice guy who happens to have a wife and a little boy." "So? A wife and kid didn't stop him from falling all over you." "He did not fall all over me. And Roger's not the issue here. You know it. I know it." His frown turned to a scowl. "All right. You want to get right down to it?" She refused to waver. "Isn't that why you came here?" "Fine, Melody. Let's go for it. I don't know what happened, why you ran out on our wedding, made a fool of me, left me and everyone else in that church wondering what the hell went wrong. I don't know. And it doesn't matter. I just want to work this out so we can go back to Houston and get on with our lives." Go back to Houston and get on with our lives? She wanted to laugh in his face. But she was afraid that if she did, she might start screaming—or burst into tears. She wrapped her arms around herself. Tightly. "You don't know what happened. Hah. That's rich." He leaned forward, intently. "I don't. I think you'd better tell me." "I can't believe you haven't figured it out—in fact, Jack, my guess is that you know exactly what happened. And you're just playing dumb. Since you're a very smart man, I'm not buying your act." "Stop talking in circles." Fair enough. "Think back." "Back to…?" "Two nights before the wedding, Jack. We went to my parents' house. Before dinner, you and my dad had a nice little private chat alone in his study…." 131

Jack's face paled. The sight was quite satisfying. "You heard our conversation." "Oh, yes. I heard. Dinner was ready. I came to tell you. The door was slightly ajar. You men really should learn to shut the door if you want to keep things secret." "Melody, I—" She put up a hand. "I'm not finished, Jack. You and my dad were talking about the little merger you were planning." Jack owned McKay's, a chain of very successful discount department stores. And Melody's family had been in retail for over a century. Kilkalen's was one of the oldest and most respected upscale department store chains in the country. "Kilkalen McKay. It has a nice ring to it," she said sourly. "Strange that neither you or my father ever mentioned any merger to me." "We planned to tell you everything," he said gruffly. "In time. We were still in the negotiation stages." "Were, Jack?" "Cut the crap," he said in that rough way of his. He might dress in beautifully tailored trousers and designer shirts, but underneath, he was a guy who'd come up from nothing, and sometimes he let that show. "Everything's on hold now. You have to know that." "Maybe because my father has his doubts about you now. Particularly given the fact that I ran from the church and kept running until I reached Montana, all so I didn't have to marry you." He was scowling again. "I don't get it. You didn't say a word to me about what you'd overheard. You went right on as though nothing had happened—that night, and the night after, and the day of the wedding. You got all the way to the church before you suddenly decided you couldn't go through with it…?" "All that time I was trying to convince myself that it would be all right. That we would be all right." He dared to look at her with reproach in his eyes. "You should have talked to me." She made a low sound of outrage. "Talked to you? I was in shock. Reeling. Hurt. I…" Tears pushed at the back of her throat. No way would she cry in front of him. She swallowed the tears down. "I thought you were different—better than half my girlfriends growing up, than just about every boyfriend I ever had. I thought you didn't care about my money, about what knowing me could get for you. I loved you. And then, two days before I almost made the biggest mistake of my life and married you, I overhear my dad telling you that he knew you had only gotten close to me to get close to him." He looked away. "Damn it, Melody…" "You didn't even try to deny Dad's accusation," she reminded him through clenched teeth. "And then…then he said he'd watched us together and thought we had something good between us. That he wanted me to be happy, and as long as you were ready to be a real husband to me, he could live with your original motives being…" She paused for a slow breath. "How did he put it? Oh, yes…'less than pure.'" Jack faced her again. "All right. That's true." "Of course it's true," she cried. "You thought you could claim it wasn't?"

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His blunt-featured face looked carved in stone. "I'm not trying to. Yes, I thought a merger with Kilkalen's would be good for both companies. Yes, I set out to meet you, to get to know you—to get close to you— as a way to get on good terms with your dad. Originally. But—" "But what? I'm supposed to just accept all that and meekly go back to Houston with you? I'm supposed to fall into your arms and tell you all is forgiven because you admit that you cheated and you lied." "I did not!" "You lied to me, Jack. It was all a lie." "That's not true. When I asked you to marry me, I wasn't thinking about how I would be Reid Kilkalen's son-in-law. I was thinking that I wanted you to be my wife." "Well, of course you wanted me for your wife. I'm Reid Kilkalen's only child and I stand to inherit a bundle. Not to mention the connections I have because of my name. Marrying someone like me is a pretty big step up for a guy raised in foster homes, a guy who never knew his dad, a guy whose mom died when he was barely out of diapers, a guy who had to claw and scrape for everything he ever got." He squared his powerful shoulders—and tried to take the high ground. "I'm not ashamed of where I came from, Melody. And I've done all right for myself. Better than all right. I never needed to marry you to get ahead." "That's not the point." "The hell it's not. I don't need your money." "No. You were after my connections. And I didn't say you should be ashamed of your background. You have a right to be proud of how far you've come. But the way you manipulated me, well, you could have a little shame for that, Jack. You could have a lot of shame." "Listen, I asked you to marry me because I wanted you—you, Melody. Not Kilkalen's. Not the merger. Not your big, fat trust fund. You." He paused. And then he delivered his best shot. "And if you had listened at your father's study door just a little bit longer, you would have heard me say that." She sat back against the sofa cushions. And she made herself speak coolly. "Actually, Jack. I did hear you say that." That took him by surprise. He even blinked. "You did?" She gave a nod. "I heard it. And I didn't believe it. Why ever would I? You've been lying to me since the day we met." "No, I haven't. I—" She cut him off. "Oh, come on, Jack. Why should I believe a word you say?" "I want to marry you, Melody." "You didn't answer my question."

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He said nothing. He held her eyes for a moment. And then he looked away. He got up and went around the end of the sofa to the window behind her. She turned to watch him. Beyond his tall form, the window provided another splendid view of the snowcapped Thunder Mountain—a shadowed view now. Twilight had come. More softly than before, she spoke to his broad, strong back. "Give it up. Please. It's over and you know it. We both know it. I want you to go back to Houston, get on with your life and leave me alone. Let me…get over you. I mean it, Jack. I never want to see you again."

Chapter Three She wanted him to go. She never wanted to see him again. Jack stared out the picture window in the sitting room of Melody's hotel suite. A trick of the twilight showed him both the snow-covered mountain peaks beyond the glass and also the shadowed reflection of the room behind him. He saw his own face: the broad forehead, the deep-set eyes, the nose that had never been straight—not even before he'd broken it in a school yard brawl. And behind him, he saw Melody. She had turned to look at him. Her sweet brown eyes were bigger than ever. Even in the window's dark reflection, he saw the sadness in those eyes. The hurt. And the disappointment. She watched him, waiting. For him to give up and leave. She really should know him better than that. He faced her again. "You can't tell me you think our entire relationship was a lie." She drew herself up. "Isn't that what I just said a few minutes ago?" "Then you're lying." He said it quietly. Her eyes changed as she remembered. It had been good with them. So good. So right. She glanced away. "That doesn't matter." "Oh, yeah. It matters." He started toward her. And he didn't stop until he stood looking down at her, with only the back of the couch between them. "It matters more than anything." "No." She sounded breathless now. "Yeah." He bent close, braced his fists on either side of her and shamelessly invaded her space. "It's true I had an ulterior motive at the start." She pursed her soft mouth. "So generous of you to admit that now."

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He loomed closer still. Close enough that she gave ground a little, swaying away from him. "You had your say. Now it's my turn—if that's okay with you." He laid on the sarcasm. She leaned closer again, getting right in his face. "Oh, by all means. Go ahead, Jack. Have your say." He wanted to strangle her. He wanted to kiss her. Instead, he continued where he'd left off. "Yes, in the beginning I arranged to be near you to get entrée to your dad. But I never would have married you for a damn introduction. Uh-uh. Right away, the first time I spoke to you—at that party in River Oaks, remember? After that ridiculous charity dinner. You were wearing a silk dress that was both brown and gold at once. Like your eyes…" "Bronze," she corrected in a whisper. "The dress was bronze." "Bronze," he repeated. "Yeah. You wore a bronze silk dress and you were so sweet and shy and beautiful." She bit her lip. "I'm not beautiful. We both know that." He shook his head. "I know what I see. You're beautiful, Melody. And I could tell right away that you were different. That you…would matter to me. So I changed my plan. Because in an instant nothing else mattered. I wanted you most of all. You were the real prize. I swear it to you. I wanted you from the first night we met. I still want you. Give me a chance to prove it, Melody." Her soft lips were a thin determined line. "You don't deserve a chance, Jack." "Maybe I don't. But we do." *** Melody tried to remain unmoved as she gazed up at him. But it wasn't easy. Because, in spite of everything, she wanted to believe him. She looked into his unforgettable hazel eyes and she wished… What? That things could have been different? Yes. All right. She did. She wished that he hadn't lied to her. That there was some way they might start over and do things right this time. Without the lies. He said it again softly, with what she couldn't help but recognize as real tenderness, as honest yearning. "Give me a chance." And she thought of her secret, of the truth she hadn't shared with him. Deep down, she felt more than a little guilty about that. Really, he wasn't the only one who'd hidden important information. Who'd lied. So just tell him. Now. Get it over with.…

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No. She couldn't. How could she trust him with something like this? The words wouldn't come. She might be weakening, finding herself starting to believe that whatever his motives had been at the first, he'd actually started to care about her. She could even almost accept that he'd meant it when he'd promised her father he loved her. But she didn't fully trust him. No way. Not yet. Once she told him her secret, he would have a whole other argument as to why she should become his wife. A very powerful argument. Right now, she couldn't allow herself to give him more ammunition to hurl at her crumbling defenses. He continued, speaking with an intensity and heat that sent a shiver of longing sliding under her skin. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving. Not until you come with me." She shrugged. But refused to give in. "Enjoy your stay, then. Alone. Maybe you and Roger can play a little golf." A muscle in his strong jaw twitched. He studied her for a long time. Finally, he said in a raw voice, "What do I have to do, Melody? Anything. I'll do it. Just say it." Call the merger off, she thought. Tell my father you've changed your mind, show us both that it really is me you want and not the deal. But she didn't say it. That offer was one he had to make of his own accord, not because she bargained their relationship for it. And he hadn't offered to kill the deal. She needed to remember that. He might actually care about her— more than she'd let herself believe when she ran away from their wedding. But he still wanted to merge his stores with Kilkalen's. Very possibly, he wanted that more than anything. More than her. Could she live with that? It shocked her that she could even ask herself such a question. But there was one painful truth that she couldn't get around. The thing she couldn't deny now that she'd seen him again, now that she'd heard his voice, looked into those tempting gray-green eyes. Now that she'd listened to him explain that he did care, that he wouldn't have asked her to marry him if he didn't want her and only her for his wife. Okay, she might as well face it. She believed him, even though her pride kept warning her not to. The painful truth was this: she still loved him. And she was having his baby. As much as he'd hurt her, well, love and a baby had to count for something. Love and a baby were worth more than a merger. They were worth fighting for.

Chapter Four "I want a week," Melody said.

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Jack wasn't following. "A week for…?" "A week of you and me. I want what's left of what would have been our honeymoon. We'll spend it here, at the resort. And in Thunder Canyon, too. We'll…take some time together. A lot of time together. We'll see how it goes." This was sounding really good to Jack. Excellent, as a matter of fact. He couldn't have come up with a better plan himself. If she needed reassuring, he was only too happy to reassure the hell out of her. "Yes. Absolutely. We're on. I'll move my stuff in here right now." He leaned in a little closer across the back of the couch to claim a kiss. Again. At last. She stopped him, laying her hand against his chest—a too brief touch. But one that lasted long enough for heat to blaze through him. And also to communicate clearly that the kiss he wanted was not happening. "Hold on," she said. He tried to look innocent, though he wasn't all that successful at it. Still, he did his best, widening his eyes, relaxing his mouth. "What?" "Get your own room." Damn it. "I already have a room, it just so happens—next door to you." She cast a glance toward the ceiling. "Why am I not surprised?" "I'm a determined man, Melody." "No kisses." She shook a finger at him. "Not until I say so—if I say so." He tried not to be too disappointed. She would be saying so. Very soon. He would see to that. He'd smother her in flowers, shower her with diamonds. "However you want it," he said in a heartfelt tone. "No flowers and no gifts." He had to shut his mouth to keep from gaping. How did she do that—read his mind like that? She'd been able to do it from the first night he met her. It was damn disconcerting. "What's wrong with a few flowers and a little bling?" Her soft mouth was set. "They don't prove anything. They're not what matters, Jack. You and me and trying to work this out. That's what matters." "Fine. Great," he grumbled. And then he went around the end of the couch again and dropped into the chair. "Have it your way. No gifts. No flowers." She faced him. "And that's not all." He had a bad feeling suddenly. He looked at her sideways. "What else?" She smiled. Much too sweetly. "You know, you really did sweep me off my feet, Jack. The diamonds, the pearls…" 137

Two diamond tennis bracelets, several gorgeous pairs of earrings, a triple-strand black pearl choker, with earrings to match. And a number of other pieces he couldn't specifically recall at that point. "I thought you liked them." "I did," she replied. "Very much. Oh, and the orchids…" He had sent her a lot of orchids. "You said you loved orchids." "I did. I do—that's not the point." She sighed. "And all those trips, Jack. Those romantic getaways…" "But you told me you enjoyed travel." "Not the point." "You keep saying that. Just tell me. What is the point?" She sat back on the sofa and spread her arms wide. "The point is that it's my turn." Okay, he was lost. "Your turn to…?" "To decide what we do. To be in control." He didn't get it. "You're going to buy me flowers and jewelry?" She laughed for the first time that night. The sound wrapped around his heart. He loved her laugh. And there had been a few dark moments in the past week when he'd wondered if he would ever hear it again. She continued, "No, I'm not going to buy you flowers and expensive gifts." Gruffly, he replied, "That's fine. I'm not real big on orchids, anyway." She crossed her slim legs, smoothed her skirt and leaned toward him a little. "We're going to do…simple things. Ordinary things. Take walks. Go horseback riding. Window shop on Main Street, right here in Thunder Canyon, arm in arm." It didn't sound too bad. "Whatever you want." "All right, then." She rose lightly to her feet. "I'll see you tomorrow. Good night." He stayed in the chair and frowned up at her. "Just like that? I'm being dismissed?" She held down her hand. "Come on. I'll walk you to the door." He didn't want to go. Not yet. They had a million things to settle first. But then again, well, at least she had some color back in her cheeks. And she'd actually offered him her hand. He took it and stood.

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She tucked her soft little fingers around his arm. "This way…" Reluctant but resigned, he let her lead him to the door. But he hadn't become a retail tycoon by taking no for an answer. Clearly, what she needed was a little more wooing. No problem. She wanted wooing? He'd woo the socks off her. *** At nine the next morning, Jack was on his computer in the middle of a videoconference with his Houston office when the room phone rang. "Give me a minute," he told his assistant and the two executives on the other end. He paused the session and picked up the phone on the sitting room desk. "McKay." "Breakfast," Melody said. He smiled at the sound of her voice. "The Grubstake. I'm waiting." He grunted. "The Grubstake—that's the coffee shop downstairs, right?" "That's it. Are you coming?" He sent a rueful glance at the open laptop. He really needed to finish this meeting. "I'm a little tied up right now…." A silence. And then, in a low, so-sweet voice, "Jack. If we'd gone on our honeymoon, would you be videoconferencing before breakfast?" How did she know he was video-conferencing? She always seemed to know way too much—about what he was thinking and what he might be doing. And he wanted to argue that they hadn't gone on their honeymoon, damn it. Because she'd run away from him. Plus, he had a company to manage. He didn't argue, though. After all, they did have an agreement. And he had a wooing campaign to wage. "Ten minutes," he barked into the phone. "I'm there." "Excellent." She hung up. Five minutes later, he left his room to go downstairs. He found Roger, the guy from the evening before, waiting for the elevator. Roger had a golf bag full of clubs and a boy of seven or eight with him, a Rogerin-miniature. The kid wore an argyle golf shirt and a Puma golf hat—and carried a child-sized set of clubs. "Hey," Roger greeted him, holding out his hand. "Roger Pemley. Last night? You were with Melody, I believe." "I remember." Jack took the guy's hand. "Jack McKay." "And this is Roger Jr.," the golfer said proudly. The kid beamed up at him, showing two teeth missing in front. In his little fist, he clutched a golf ball. "Junior, put that ball away," Roger nagged the kid. Then he 139

sent an apologetic glance at Jack. "He's always losing them. People trip on them everywhere—in the hallway, on the elevator, down in the lobby…" So, then. It wasn't Roger who was losing his balls. "I found one last night." "Sorry," said Roger. He gave his son a threatening scowl. "Put it away. Now." "Aw, Daaaaadddd…" But the kid did put the ball in the zippered compartment of his child-sized bag. The elevator came. Jack let the two Rogers and all their equipment get on first. Roger Sr. chatted like a happy magpie on the way down. He and his family were from Wisconsin. They loved the resort. They were having the time of their lives. Jack listened and nodded and left them on the main floor. In the coffee shop, Melody was waiting for him. She wore a sleeveless yellow shirt and a big smile and the sight of her made him feel like the sun had come up all over again. He sat down across from her and ordered coffee—he'd had breakfast delivered to his room earlier—and watched her put away a big plate of French toast with bacon. She always used to be a picky eater. But the mountain air must agree with her. She ate heartily. And the dark circles he'd noticed under her big bronze eyes last night? They seemed to have faded. He decided to take that as a good sign. She must be feeling better now that they were working things out. Come to think of it, he felt better, too. At least he had found her. And he knew that she was okay. Though he didn't really get how walking around some Podunk, Montana, town side by side, holding hands and looking in shop windows, was going to help her to see that he did care about her. But then, what did he know about how to make her realize what she meant to him? The diamonds and orchids he'd supplied in abundance were supposed to have done that job. But they hadn't, or she never would have run away from him. So all right. He had a thing or two to learn about intimate relationships. He supposed that wasn't really too surprising. He lacked experience when it came to the whole love thing. He'd never had his own family, never even had a brother or a sister to stand with against the world. He only knew that he wanted her, Melody. He wanted her in a deep and elemental way. He wanted her with him. He wanted to see her smile, to hear her musical laughter. He wanted to wake up every morning in the same bed with her. If doing "simple things" together was going to convince her that she really did matter to him, well, okay. Bring on the simple things. Swallowing a mouthful of French toast, she said, "Today, we're going into town—Old Town, to be specific. That's the side of Thunder Canyon originally settled back in the eighteen hundreds. New Town is east of Old Town, and it's—" "Let me guess," he offered dryly. "Newer?"

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She popped a piece of bacon into her mouth and grinned in a very self-satisfied way. "That's right. In Old Town, we're going to explore Main Street, check out the cute shops. Visit the Heritage Museum." "I can't wait." He tried to sound cynical. But her enthusiasm was contagious. Hey. As long as they were together, he didn't really care what they did. Scratch that. Given the choice, he'd rather have her alone in his suite, where he could take off that sunny yellow shirt and everything else she was wearing. He'd rather make love to her all day long. Her mind might hold out against him, but her body knew better. If he could only get his hands on her, he was sure he could quickly eliminate every doubt she had left about whether or not to come home to Texas with him. "I know that look, Jack." She shook her last piece of bacon at him. "Forget it. Not happening." And then she gazed at him from under lashes. "Not today, anyway." He saw his opening and went for it. "Tomorrow, then." She ate the bacon, wiped her tempting lips with her napkin. "I'm making no promises." "Maybe not in words…" She tried to appear stern. "No guarantees. We'll see how it goes." She signed the check with her room number. "All right. You ready?" He reached in his pocket and got out his car keys. "Let's go." "Put those away," she told him smartly. "I'm in control and that means I'm driving."

Chapter Five It was a great day, Melody thought. The sun was shining, the sky a clear, gorgeous faded-denim blue, with the occasional cottony cloud drifting around up there. Melody drove them down from the mountain in her rental car and parked in the lot at the corner where Thunder Canyon Road turned sharply and became Main Street, between a bar and restaurant called The Hitching Post Saloon and a cute little motel named the Wander-On Inn. They got out and started down Main. When Jack reached for her hand, she gave it. Why not? They were trying to work things out, after all. His hand was big and warm and solid as ever. She wove her fingers with his and let herself enjoy the shiver of excitement that radiated through her. Because she was with him. Because the simple touch of his hand seemed to promise so much. Everything. Their future, reclaimed. Their happiness, rediscovered. And really great sex.

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Not that she was going there today. She'd told him she wouldn't. She shouldn't let herself anticipate how wonderful it might be when—no, if—she did. But she did anticipate. She tried not to remember what it was like when Jack held her in his arms. But she might as well have tried to stop breathing. He knew her weakness. And he played on it. He eased his thumb between their joined hands and stroked her palm with it in a light and way-too-tempting caress. As they strolled along Main Street, he took every opportunity to move in closer to her, so their bodies touched. The seemingly accidental contact made her constantly, intimately aware of him. Every brief, brushing touch fanned the banked fires of desire that smoldered between them. She didn't tell him to cut it out. She just couldn't. It felt too good. They visited a couple of cute little gift shops. She bought some souvenirs: a Montana Gold T-shirt, a Thunder Canyon shot glass and a book about Thunder Canyon history called Gold Rush Grooms, written, the gift-store owner proclaimed proudly, by a local author. Farther down the street, Jack stopped in front of a bakery. "La Boulangerie." He read the sign painted on the window, mangling the pronunciation in his own endearing way. "French for bakery, right?" She'd lived in Paris for a year back in her college days and had learned to speak French fluently, though she was a little rusty now. At her nod, he asked, "Remember that time I took you to Paris?" She would never forget. "It was more than a year ago. In early spring. Our first trip together." The first time they'd made love. "I remember everything." He said it with gruff tenderness. She sighed. "The Tuileries gardens were spectacular. All those gorgeous tulips in bloom." He arched a brow. "Feel like a croissant?" Her heart seemed to get lighter inside her chest. He'd brought her croissants the morning after…they'd eaten them in bed, not even caring about the crumbs. He really was trying. And the way he looked at her, well, he didn't seem like a man who was only after her money and connections. "I would love a croissant." They went inside. The French baker behind the counter was not a friendly fellow. He scowled as he waited on them. But one bite of her croissant had Melody deciding that she didn't care if the baker had a lousy personality. He baked the best croissants she'd ever tasted—even counting the ones she'd had in Paris. Jack swallowed a big bite of the éclair he'd chosen and grinned across the round bistro-style café table at her. "So good…" She wholeheartedly concurred. She could have ordered a second croissant. Maybe even a third. Her appetite was huge lately—at least in the morning and early afternoon. At dinnertime, things got rockier. Whoever called it morning sickness didn't know what they were talking about…. And her thoughts had circled back to the baby again, to her dilemma—when to tell him? How? 142

He was frowning. "Mel? What's the matter?" Just do it. Just say it: We're having a baby, Jack. It shouldn't be this hard. But it was. She pasted her smile back on. "Not a thing." *** After the bakery, she took him over to Pine Street, where they visited the Heritage Museum. She kept him at the museum for over an hour, admiring the rooms full of authentic pioneer furniture, the glass cases packed with clothing and tools from days gone by. When she'd finally had enough, she announced, "I'm starving. We need some lunch." He teased, "If you don't watch it, you won't be able to fit into those skinny jeans that look way too good on you…" She laughed. "I don't know what it is. I'm hungry as a horse lately…" But she did know what it was. She was eating for two, as the old saying went. And she was going to tell him about it. Soon. Very soon… Back on Main, she ushered him into a tea shop called The Tottering Teapot. They ordered Darjeeling tea and sandwiches made with whole wheat bread and filled with wholesome ingredients: organic mayonnaise, free-range chicken and locally grown lettuce and tomatoes. He was the only guy in the place. He kidded her about that. "Looks to me like one of those places you should come with your girlfriends. No self-respecting man would be caught dead here." "Should I check your pulse? See if you're still breathing?" He shrugged. "Just sayin'. You're in control." And he sipped his tea from a delicate china cup. Next, they walked back to the little park in the center of Old Town, the town square. They sat on a bench, held hands some more and watched the young mothers play with their children in the grass and on the slide and the rings and the small jungle gym not far from where they sat. Strange how everywhere they went that day, she was reminded of the secret she kept from him. He squeezed her hand. "You seem quiet. You sure nothing's bothering you?" Again, she put on her liar's smile. "Nothing at all."

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He studied her face for a moment, and then he turned back to the play area. "Kids. Look at them. Not a care in the world. I don't ever remember it being like that. Life wasn't…safe for me. Not when I was little. If I ever have a kid…" He shifted and faced her again, pinning her with his gaze. But only for a moment—a little girl on the swings laughed and he focused on the playground again. "If we ever have kids, it's going to be different." A slight smile curved his mouth as he watched the little girl. Her pigtails flew as she swung high. "Our kids will have everything. We'll keep them safe." Her heart twisted. She should say it right now. It was the perfect moment. I'm pregnant. But doubts kept nagging at her. Was he only saying what he thought she wanted to hear? What kind of father would he be, really? He'd never had a family and he was such a driven man. If she told him there was a baby and went back to Texas with him, would he be there for their child? Or would he only use her pregnancy as another way to get her to do what he wanted, to convince her to marry him so he could make the merger happen? She longed to believe in him again. And she did. But not completely. Some small, wounded part of her heart continued to hold out against him. So she said nothing. *** Before they returned to the resort, they dropped in at the Hitching Post Saloon, where a painting of a beautiful woman draped in nothing but a few precisely placed scarves hung over the bar. "That's Lily Divine," said the bartender. "The story goes that back in the 1830s, Lily owned a house of ill repute called the Hitching Post in the original building at this very location. Some say she wasn't really running a whorehouse, though. That what she did was to take in prostitutes who'd been mistreated, or any woman who came to her in need of a helping hand and a way out of a bad life." The bartender gave the lady in the picture a thumbs-up. "I say, whatever you were up to, Lily, you are lookin' good." The pretty woman in the picture smiled seductively down at them. Jack ordered a beer and Melody had ginger ale. Since she'd never been all that fond of alcohol, he didn't question her choice of a soft drink over something stronger. But the truth was that she might have enjoyed a beer with him if she hadn't known she was pregnant—and if she wasn't already feeling her regular afternoon queasiness. They pulled in to the resort around four. By then, her stomach was seriously acting up. "You okay?" he asked her as they entered the clubhouse lobby, with its huge natural stone fireplace and soaring five-story ceiling. "Not really." She tried to make a joke of it. "Must have been the free-range chicken…" He had her arm and was guiding her toward one of the conversation groupings, a leather sofa and a couple of fat easy chairs. "Come on. Sit down. Relax for a few minutes." Not a good idea. She needed to get up to her room—and quickly. "Uh. No. I think I'll just go upstairs and lie down for a while." He frowned, worried. "The resort has an infirmary. I'll take you there."

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"No. Really. I want to go upstairs." She headed for the elevators. By the time they got on the car and started going up, she was absolutely certain she would chuck her cookies right there in the elevator. "Mel. Seriously. I don't like the way you look. What if it's something serious? I think I should take you to a doctor." She would not be sick in front of him. Absolutely not. And she wasn't going to the doctor, either. "I am fine!" She said it too strongly and she knew it. He glanced at her strangely, but at least he quit insisting on a visit to the infirmary. After an eternity, the elevator doors opened. Fumbling in her purse for her card key, she raced down the hallway. He was right on her heels. She reached her door, swiped the key, got the green light and shoved the door open. "Melody…" Somehow she managed not to lose her lunch all over him. "I'll be fine. I'll call you. We'll have dinner…" "But Mel, I don't—" She put up a hand, gently pressed her fingers to his lips to silence him. "An hour. Really. I'm fine." She slipped through the door and closed it in his worried face. And then she dropped her purse and bags of souvenirs on the entry table and ran for the bathroom. She made it just in time.

Chapter Six Jack stared at the door she'd shut in his face. He didn't get it. She'd seemed fine until a few minutes ago. And he'd had the chicken sandwich at that frou-frou girly place, too. Yeah, he would have preferred a chili dog and fries, but he didn't feel the least bit sick. That was how it went with food poisoning, though. Two people ate the same thing, but only one got the dangerous dose of salmonella. Was she okay in there? He lifted his hand to knock, to call out to her and demand to know that she was all right. And then he lowered his arm without making a sound. He turned and slid to the floor in front of the door. He would sit right here, in case she might need him. He'd give her ten minutes. Then he would call her and make certain that she didn't need the resort doctor. Food poisoning wasn't anything to fool with.

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He looked at his Patek Philippe, which was the plainest watch he'd ever owned. And a birthday gift from her. Leave it to Mel to buy only the best. He almost smiled, thinking of her—and then he scowled as he started to worry again. It was 4:15. Ten minutes. And when he called, she'd better be okay. With a grunt of frustration, he let his head fall back against the door. He waited. The next time he let himself check, it was 4:17. Longest two minutes of his life. The remaining eight would take forever. He let his head fall back again and he shut his eyes. The light nudge at his hip made him open them again. He looked down, saw the golf ball that had apparently rolled toward him until it had run into him. He picked it up. And that was when he heard giggling. Roger Jr. peered at him from down at the turn to the next hallway. He brought up his little hand and covered his mouth to stifle the sound of laughter. Kids. Sheesh. Jack rolled the ball back to him. Junior was ready for it. He scooped it up and vanished down the other hall. 4:22. Three more minutes. That was all he had to wait. Those minutes took a lifetime to pass, but at last they were over. He got out his BlackBerry and called Melody's cell. She answered on the second ring. "Jack. I said I would call you." She sounded…pretty good, actually. "Feeling better?" "I am, yes." A pause, then, "Thank you—and where are you?" "Sitting on the carpet outside your door." "Jack." She said his name reproachfully. But kind of sweetly, too. "So shoot me. I was worried." He half hoped that maybe she might let him in. But she only said gently, "I'm fine. Really. If I could just rest for a little while." "You're sure? Salmonella can kill you."

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"It's not salmonella." "How do you know?" "Because, um, I'm feeling better already. And how about this? Dinner. The Gallatin Room. Seven." "You're sure you're up for it? Because we could just—" "I'm sure. Seven, Jack. See you there." And she hung up. He went back to his suite and checked in at the office. Then he handled messages and email. And tried his damndest not to imagine the worst—that she might be lying alone in her room, writhing in pain, desperately needing him, but too weak to auto-dial his number. *** She showed up at the restaurant right on time wearing a little black dress and looking like a billion bucks. So okay. Maybe it wasn't salmonella after all. They got a nice, quiet table tucked away where they wouldn't be disturbed. Her eyes looked so big and soft. And she smiled and laughed and seemed as happy to be with him as he was to sit across from her. He thought about how much he wanted to kiss her. How much he wanted to spend the night holding her in his arms—that night, and all the nights to come. When they went back upstairs and got to the door of her suite, she kissed him, a kiss that reached down deep inside him. Heat flared across his skin. Her perfume, so light and tempting, like dew and roses, was all around him. He gathered her closer, slanted his mouth the other way. But then she pushed lightly against his chest. He lifted his head, demanded, "What?" in a voice very close to a growl. "Good night, Jack." And she turned, slipped her key in the slot and went into her room without him. He tried not to be too disappointed. Tomorrow night would be different. He could wait until then. *** But the next night was the same. A kiss at her door and a soft good-night. Likewise for Thursday and Friday, too. She was driving him crazy. But in a good way. They spent each day together, talking. Laughing. She spoke of her childhood, how she wished she'd had brothers and sisters. He said he understood. And he did. They were both "only" children, though she was born the golden princess of the Kilkalen empire. And he was born with nothing, a kid without a mom or dad, a kid nobody wanted.

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He ached to beg her to come home with him, to be his wife. Something kept him from that, though. Maybe it was the strange feeling he had that she was holding something back. Or maybe it was the agreement they'd made: a week together, to see how it went. Or maybe it was his own realization that he ought to be offering her the one thing that would really matter. He should give up the merger. He knew that if he did that, all her doubts about him would be silenced. She would come to him willingly. They could go home. But he wasn't ready to do that. Why should he? The merger was for both of them. They both stood to gain by it, and her mother and father, too—not to mention every single employee of both the giant retail chains. She ought to see that, accept that. The merger was good for everyone. Yeah, he should have told her what he was up to as soon as he realized he wanted a lifetime with her. He was wrong to have kept the truth from her. But by now it should be clear that he regretted his dishonesty. He couldn't see how, after all they'd shared in the past few days, she could doubt that she mattered to him. She mattered most of all. They went into Old Town again. They took in a movie at the theater in New Town. The resort had a large stable. They rented horses and explored Thunder Mountain's scenic trails, sharing a picnic high up, near the snow line, where the wind had a bite to it. Sometimes he would catch her looking at him and he'd have that feeling he so often had now, that there was something she wanted to tell him. He knew what it was—or at least, he hoped that he did. He hoped she was trying to figure out a way to admit that she believed in him again, that she no longer doubted that he loved her. To say that she was ready to go home with him, to marry him, to become his wife, as she should have done almost two weeks ago now. He was waiting for her to take his hand at her door each evening—and pull him inside. But it didn't happen. They met some people from Midland who were there for a wedding. Rose Traub was in her late twenties, possibly thirty. Her twin brothers Jackson and Jason were a few years older. Another brother, Corey, was the groom. The Traubs were heirs to Traub Oil Industries. Corey and his bride, Erin, lived in Thunder Canyon. Rose invited them to the wedding reception in the resort ballroom on Saturday evening. They dropped in after dinner, after the cake had been cut, when the band was playing and everyone was dancing. Jack took Melody in his arms and they swayed to the music. He tried not to be jealous of the bride and groom, who had married in a local church several hours earlier. He tried not to think about how, right now, he and Melody should have been married. Right now, she should have been his wife. She lifted her head from his shoulder and gazed up at him. Her eyes were shining. And he knew then. It had happened at last. During the past golden days together, she had learned to trust him again. "Jack," she whispered. And then the words that mattered most of all. "I love you, Jack."

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His heart lifted and he kissed her, right there on the ballroom floor, with a hundred other couples swaying around them. And later, when they stood at the door to her suite, she took his hand. She looked up at him, her tender heart shining in her eyes. And then she led him inside.

Chapter Seven Melody planned to tell him about the baby right then, that night, as soon as they entered her suite, before they made love for the first time in weeks. But as soon as the door to her room closed, he took her in his big arms and kissed her. And by then, all that mattered was the heat of him surrounding her, the feel of his body pressed to hers, the scent of that clean-smelling aftershave he wore. There was only the way his lips urged her to open for him…. She did open. His tongue swept in, claiming every secret space. His arms tightened around her and she was lost in the wonder of what they had together. In the pure, sensual splendor. He unzipped her silk dress and peeled it away from her. It fell around her feet and she shivered a little. He trailed kisses down her body as he took all her clothes away, every last stitch that covered her and hid her from his sight. Finally, she had only her high-heeled shoes and her little black panties. He knelt before her. And he wrapped his big hand around her ankle as he gazed up at her through eyes that burned her, eyes that seared her to her soul. He lifted her foot. She wobbled a little, laughed a breathless little laugh as she braced herself on his rockhard shoulder. He took off her shoe. And then he took off the other one. And then, still holding her eyes, he slid those big hands of his upward, skimming the vulnerable flesh of her bare legs. She trembled as he hooked his fingers under the elastic at her hips—and pulled her panties down. Melody sighed. He swayed toward her, pressed a kiss at her navel. She gathered him to her, weaving her fingers in his hair. He didn't stop there. He went on kissing her, touching her. She let her head fall back and she lifted her hips to him as he found the womanly heart of her and played it like a song. Until there was only his kiss and his skilled, knowing touch. Until she shuddered and cried out his name. Then, rising, he scooped her high against his chest and he carried her into the shadowed bedroom of the suite. He laid her down on the bed and stood above her, his eyes green fire, as he quickly, ruthlessly, stripped off his clothes. She reached for him as he came down to her. She enfolded him in her arms and he came into her, fully. Deeply. Completely. He groaned her name against her throat. She gave his name back to him.

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They rose to the crest and went over as one. Later, she held him in her arms as he slept. She stroked his thick, short brown hair with gentle fingers. Tomorrow, she thought. I'll tell him tomorrow… *** In the morning, Melody woke to the sight of him, glorious and naked, lying next to her. Snuggling close, she pressed her lips to the hard bulge of his shoulder. She'd tell him about the baby as soon as he opened his eyes. He opened one eye. "Melody…" And then he pulled her close. She wrapped her arms around him. And then her legs. She sighed in pleasure. There would be time to talk about the baby later…. After an hour or so, they got up and showered together. That led to more kisses. And kisses led to…other things. Finally, around eleven, they debated whether to order room service or go downstairs and have breakfast at the Grubstake. She teased him, "If we don't get dressed and get out of this room, we might never leave it." "Sounds like a great plan to me." She laughed. "Come on. Get dressed. Let's go downstairs." His dress shirt from the night before was a hopeless tangle of wrinkles. They stopped in at his suite so he could change into clean clothes. He kissed her as they were heading toward the door. And it was touch and go for a moment whether they would ever leave his room. But eventually, they pulled apart. "The Grubstake," she said, panting a little. "The Grubstake," he repeated, as breathless as she was. They got out of there and headed for the elevator—which had a big Temporarily Out of Order sign taped to the doors and a little note about how management was sorry for the inconvenience. Jack said hopefully, "Room service?" She shook her head. "Come on. It's only five flights and we'll be going down. Piece of cake." She turned and made for the red exit sign at the end of the hall and the steel door that led to the stairs. "Hey! Wait up." He started after her.

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"Get a move on," she called over her shoulder as she reached the stairwell door and pulled it wide. She should have been looking down, watching where she was going. But it never occurred to her that there could be a problem. Her foot landed on something hard and round—and went shooting out from under her. A shocked cry escaped her. And then she was tumbling, falling, rolling, bouncing like the golf ball she'd tripped on, down the stairs. She landed in a heap on the cold concrete slab of the next landing down. She heard Jack call her name. "Melody! My God…" The baby. She tried to put her hand over her stomach—and cried out as a pain sharp as knives speared through her shoulder. "Melody!" Jack raced down to her, his face white as a bleached sheet. But she was so afraid that it was already too late.

Chapter Eight She looked like a rag doll, broken on the stairs. Jack could hear the damn golf ball that Roger's kid must have left at the top of the stairwell as it bounced its way down the next flight of stairs and the next after that. Jack was already moving. In seconds, he was kneeling at her side. "Melody…oh, sweetheart…" She was still conscious. Was that a good sign? She reached out a hand—her left one. The right one hung at an odd angle. "Jack. So sorry, Jack…" Her soft fingers grazed his cheek. And then her arm dropped away. He probably shouldn't move her. But he couldn't just leave her there while he went for help. And if he stayed and tried to call, how long would he have to wait there beside her, helpless, until somebody came? He got out his BlackBerry. No bars. The stairwell must be blocking the signal. He would have to run back up to their floor to get reception. She whispered, "Don't leave me, Jack…" "Never." She reached for him again. "Jack…" He made up his mind. He put a hand under her neck and one under her knees and he gathered her into him. She didn't cry out. But a soft moan of agony escaped her. She wrapped her good arm around his neck and held on as he rose—that was a positive sign, wasn't it? She was not only conscious, but able to hold on… "Need to tell you…" She moaned the words through clenched teeth. 151

"Shh. It's okay. Tell me later. Not now." "No." Her voice was stronger. "Listen. Hear me." He started down. She said the impossible words as he reached the third-floor landing. "I'm having a baby. Our baby, Jack…" He didn't say anything. What could he say right then? Her words seemed to bounce around inside his head. A baby. My God, Melody. Pregnant. I'm such a damn idiot. I should have known.… There had been plenty of clues, he realized now. The food poisoning incident that was over by dinnertime. The way she sometimes looked at him, with secrets in her eyes. And how many times had he been sure she was about to tell him something important? Ten? Twenty? More? I should have known, should have kept after her to say what was on her mind. Pregnant with his baby. And not sure how to share it with him. And then overhearing him and her father, learning the truth he should have explained to her long before. He saw it all in a whole new light now. And what he saw did not make him proud of himself. No wonder she had run from him. He didn't deserve her. He'd never deserved her. He wanted to tell her…how sorry he was. How wrong he had been. But now was not the time to make amends. He had to get help for her first. So he kept moving. He didn't break stride. He put one foot in front of the other and he held her as gently as he could, tried to keep from jostling her, as he carried her down. At the lobby level, he managed to get the heavy door open and get them through. And then he was calling for the front desk staff, shouting, "Get the resort doctor. And call an ambulance, someone! Call an ambulance, now!" *** "A sprained ankle and an anterior dislocation of the right shoulder, which I've relocated manually with excellent results. Also, several bad bruises," said the doctor. It was past one in the afternoon by then. The doctor and Jack stood outside the private room they'd given Melody after her injuries had been treated. "No broken bones," the doctor added. "And somehow, she managed not to hit her head on the way down that flight of stairs." Jack could almost breathe for the first time since he'd watched her trip on that golf ball. "So you're saying she's okay. She's going to be okay…."

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The doctor nodded. "Yes. She's a very lucky woman." "And…the baby?" Jack swallowed convulsively as his pulse lurched into racing mode all over again. "The baby's fine," said the doctor. "Your fiancée is only in her first trimester; the fetus is very small and well protected within the womb. But we'll keep her here overnight for observation. Just to be on the safe side." "Good. Right. That's wise—can I see her?" "Go on in. She's resting." "I won't disturb her." The doctor pretended to look stern. "Make sure that you don't." Jack slipped into the room and went to the side of the bed. She was so small and still beneath the white sheet. But then she turned her head and tried to smile. "Oh, Jack…" He took her hand, smoothed the silky hair away from her forehead. "You're going to be all right." She caught her lower lip between her even white teeth. "We need to talk." "Later. Tomorrow. After they give you a clean bill of health. Rest now." Her eyes darkened, the gold fading so they turned deepest brown. "Are you leaving?" "No way. They would have to drag me out of here." *** Somehow, that scary day passed. Jack kept his word. He did not leave her room. The nurses put up with him, bringing him a tray, too, when they served her an early dinner. Around five, the Pemley family appeared—Roger, his wife, Midge, and Roger Jr. Roger wanted to apologize for the golf ball that had caused Melody's fall. Junior apologized, too. "I am tho thorry that you fell, Mith Kilkalen," he lisped through the space between his teeth. "I will never play with my golf ballth in the hallway again. Promith." Melody gave him her brightest, kindest smile and told him that he was forgiven. *** That evening, when the lights were out and Jack was just drifting off to sleep in the chair, she whispered his name. "Jack?" 153

"Hmm?" "I never threw my ring away," she said. "I couldn't. It's in the safe in my room at the resort." He had the strangest feeling then. A tightness in his chest, an emotion of equal parts pain and happiness. "You're serious? You didn't?" "I thought about it. But I couldn't." "I'm happy you didn't. But Mel, I…I could understand now, if you had." "Oh, Jack…" "Shh," he told her softly. "We'll talk tomorrow. Now, you need your rest." He heard her sigh. And then nothing more after that, except the soft, even sound of her breathing. *** The doctor examined her at ten the next morning. Afterward, when Jack reentered the room, she looked at him in wonder. "He says I'm okay. Can you believe it, Jack? I'm going to be fine. And the baby is, too." He went to her, bent close, pressed a kiss at her temple. "I'm so glad," he whispered prayerfully. "I can't tell you how glad." Her big eyes had tears in them. "I know I should have said something to you about the baby. I kept meaning to. I just…somehow, the words wouldn't come." "It's okay. I understand. I do, Mel. More than you know. You weren't sure, after the way I lied to you, after how I misled you, that you could really trust me. And I…" He took her hand, brushed his lips across her knuckles. "I've made a decision." She must have seen something in his face, something that scared her. She gasped. "Oh, no. What?" He squeezed her hand. "Relax. It's nothing that terrible. It's good, really, the best thing." "But what?" "It's the merger. It's…not right. I pulled strings to meet you and get close to you with the merger in mind. And even when I realized I wanted a lot more than a business deal from you, I kept that central lie in place. I never told you how wrong I was, never apologized for going after you for all the wrong reasons." "Oh, Jack…" "I'm apologizing now, Melody. Really apologizing. In the only true way I know how. I'm going to give the merger up completely. Even if your dad is still ready to carry on with it, I'll explain to him that it's not going to work. Whatever happens, even if you never feel you can go home with me and be my wife, the merger is off." 154

"Oh, Jack…" The gold lights were back in her eyes again. "Jack, I love you." He gave her a rueful smile. "And I just lied some more. I'm giving up the merger, but I can't give you up. Not you, and not our baby. I love you. I want to be a father to our child. I want that more than words can say. I want the family I've never had and I want it with you. No matter how long it takes for you to trust me again, I'm sticking around, Melody. I'm not giving up." She smiled at him then, a smile that was like the sun coming out after a long, stormy night. "Good. Because I'm ready to go back to Texas, Jack. I'm ready to go back with you, to stand up beside you, to be your wife." His heart stuttered in his chest. "Don't say it if you're not sure." Her bright smile didn't waver. "Oh, I'm sure. I am absolutely positive. I love you, Jack McKay. You're the only man for me—and I trust you. I truly do. Enough that I don't need you to give up the merger. It will be good for all of us." Right then, he didn't care in the least about the damn merger. "Say that again. How I'm the only man for you." And she did. "You're the only man for me, Jack." And then she whispered, "Kiss me…." "I love you, Melody. You are my heart. My soul. The one I've been looking for all of my lonely life." "Kiss me. Please." And he did. He kissed her slowly and tenderly. And she lifted her arms and wrapped them around him, wincing a little at the pain in her still-tender right shoulder. He chided, "Melody, your arm…" "Shh. It's fine. I'm fine. I love you." She held on tight. And, cradled close in her tender embrace, Jack McKay knew at last what it meant to come home.

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Desert Prince, Bartered Bride By Marguerite Kaye Kingdom of Djaradh, Arabia, 1819 As a diplomat's daughter, Silvia Bruntsfield has navigated many sticky situations with her sharp mind and practical nature. Now, a grave misstep by her father could cost him his career and the very tenuous alliance between Britain and the desert kingdom of Djaradh. So Silvia disguises herself as a man to plead her father's case with Prince Munir al-Khashqar, ruler of Djaradh. But nothing prepares her for what happens when the sheikh sees through her ruse and unveils her as an imposter…. Munir is intrigued by the plucky English girl. And he decides to make her a proposition: save her father and the alliance…by becoming his bride.

Chapter One Kingdom of Djaradh, Arabia, 1819 Her heart was racing. Little wonder, with so much at stake. What if her plan backfired? No, don't even think about that! Even this early the heat was searing, but the all-enveloping cloak and headdress she wore to disguise her identity was also welcome protection from the fierce sun. Around her, the city's souks were open for business, the air redolent with the scent of fragrant spices, heady perfumes and roasting meat. Welltravelled as she was as a career diplomat's daughter, she had never seen anything quite so colourful, nor so very exotic. But now was not the time for sightseeing. Her father's entire career was at stake. Silvia tightened her hold on the tasselled reins of her camel, resisting the urge to clutch at the sides of the high box saddle which swayed most unnervingly. Finally, she reached the massive portal to the royal palace. The letter, written in an elegant hand and stamped with the prominent royal seal, got her safely past the ornate iron gates and the impassive guards with their wicked scimitars. A tall bearded man in his fifties greeted her, his expression set in stern disapproval. "I am Bakri, his highness's Chief of Council. He is expecting you, Sir Francis," he said, as he waited impatiently for Silvia to dismount. Head lowered, she followed him along a labyrinth of cool marble corridors and through a pair of heavy double doors, where he bowed curtly and departed. Her heart was pounding so hard she could scarcely breathe. Her mouth was dry. Silvia blinked in the multihued light that streamed down into the long room through a stained glass window. A tall figure, dressed in a royal blue tunic trimmed with gold, was standing on the dais at the end of the room. Prince Munir al-Khashqar, ruler of the kingdom of Djaradh. Silvia's first impression of the man who held her father's fate in his hands was one of almost palpable power. Here was a man accustomed to rule, a man accustomed to unquestioning obedience. Sinking into a low bow, she stole a closer look at him. Younger than she had expected—in his midthirties, she estimated—with no trace of over-indulgence in that hard, muscled physique. A little frisson of awareness rippled through her. Prince Munir was as fiercely attractive as the desert kingdom over which he ruled. "Sir Francis, I bid you welcome," he said.

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"As-salamu alaykum, your highness. It is an honour," Silvia said gruffly, masking her voice. He came toward her suddenly, and, before she could snatch her hand away, knowing it would betray her, he engulfed it in an unexpected handshake. The dark tan of the sheikh's skin made her own seem milky white—and unmistakably feminine. A tingle shot up her arm at the contact. Her startled gaze met his. Dark brown eyes flecked with gold narrowed suspiciously at her. "Your Highness," she began, "I can—" But it was too late. The prince grabbed the igal which held her headdress in place and yanked it free, causing her hair—a heavy fall of burnished gold—to tumble down her shoulders. "Explain this treachery!"

Chapter Two Munir gazed in utter astonishment at the attractive woman dressed incongruously in male clothes, a female who was quite clearly not the British diplomat Sir Francis Bruntsfield. Tall, slim and creamyskinned, there could be no greater contrast between this woman and the sultry beauties who occasionally occupied his harem…yet there was something strikingly attractive about her nonetheless. Perhaps it was those wide-spaced hazel eyes staring at him defiantly, or the determined tilt to her mouth? Regardless, her behaviour was outrageous! "Who are you? Where is Sir Francis?" Silvia had visited any number of royal courts, met countless members of the aristocracy, but none had had the effect on her of this man. There was an edge to him that both attracted and frightened her at the same time. Like the wicked blade of his scimitar, glinting and deadly. Prince Munir could be ruthless when necessary, she knew—the brigands who had embroiled her father in their crime had been summarily executed. He glowered at her, his sensual mouth at odds with his forbidding frown. She took a deep breath. Years of playing the diplomatic hostess came to her aid. "Your highness, there is a perfectly rational explanation. I am Silvia Bruntsfield, Sir Francis's daughter. Unfortunately, my father was taken ill today. Knowing how very gracious it was of you to agree to the meeting, he sent me in his stead." "It is discourteous to send a mere woman on such an important mission!" He spoke the English words softly, his accent smooth as silk, though there could be no mistaking the menace in his tone. But it was his words that made Silvia bristle. "I have no doubt that my father would believe it more discourteous still to have failed to keep this appointment." "He does not know you are here?" She met the prince's gaze defiantly. "He was too ill to be consulted, but he would expect it of me. I am no mere woman. I have acted as his emissary on numerous occasions. I came to plead his cause, since he cannot do so himself. And to return this." Pushing back her cloak, Silvia unclasped the little leather pouch fastened to the belt of her tunic and handed it to the prince. "I swear he did not know its significance. In all the years he has served his country, Papa has never taken plunder, and certainly nothing so valuable. He thought it was a trinket." Munir opened the pouch and extracted the idol. Looking at the huge yellow stone set into its middle, he had to acknowledge that an untrained eye could easily mistake the diamond for glass. "The fact remains 157

that your father effectively stole a priceless artefact. The men who sold it to him in the ruined city of Djaradh-Laskit were brigands, thieves. Your father should have known better than to take any artefact from such a sacred place. There are still many people here in my kingdom who believe in the old ways, that the city is the home of the ancient gods. Were his actions made public, I could not guarantee his safety." "It was wrong of him, and foolish, but…" "Extremely foolish! As a consequence of his actions, I intend to cancel the treaty that would have granted your English government exclusive rights to use our port. I cannot be seen to do business with foreigners who violate our traditions." "I know," Silvia said quietly. "That is why I am here. I intend to make you change your mind."

Chapter Three Munir arched his brow inquisitively. "Change my mind? How, pray, do you intend to make me do that?" "I hadn't quite worked that part out," Sylvia confessed. "Throw myself on your mercy, most likely." The prince laughed. It was an attractive laugh, deep and sonorous with just a hint of devilment. "That assumes I am merciful. You do realize that you have risked death by coming here?" "If I had not come, if I cannot change your mind, my father's life will not be worth living. He will be ruined, the earldom he has been promised for thirty years of dedicated service to his country withdrawn. After so long abroad, he has been looking forward to returning to England, taking up his seat in Parliament and spending time with my sister and her family. My father is an honourable man, Highness. His unwitting crime weighs heavily upon him. I beg of you, do not punish him or his country, nor deprive your own kingdom of what will be a most profitable partnership." Munir could not help being impressed by her daring. She did not drop to her knees. She did not even lower her eyes. Did she know she was being disrespectful? He should call the guards and have her thrown out. If he had listened to Bakri, his Chief of Council, he would not even have granted Sir Francis an audience. But the deal with the English was too lucrative to walk away from without a second thought. His neighbour, Prince Ramiz of A'Qadiz, had made just such an alliance, and his kingdom was already seeing enormous benefits from the increased trade. "You have risked a great deal," Munir said carefully. "Tell me, Miss Bruntsfield, what is in it for you?" Silvia stiffened. "I'm here only for my father's sake. And for my sister, who would be tainted by association," she added, because despite everything, she had never wished Louise ill. Nor Matthew. Despite having just cause. An idea, an outrageous idea, was beginning to form in Munir's mind as he eyed Sir Francis's courageous daughter. She was slim, but the man's tunic she wore could not conceal the curve of her breasts, the length of her legs, the indent of her waist. Desire shivered through him. Her father would be in Munir's debt and could prove a worthy and lucrative ally—particularly if the debt were cemented with an even stronger alliance.

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And yet Munir's idea would undoubtedly enrage the Council. Was it madness to risk estranging them after he had worked so hard to repair the damage his father had done? Or more accurately, Halimah had done? No. The Council would bluster as usual when presented with an idea that was not theirs, but once they understood the manifest advantages, he had no doubt he could win them over. The plan was appealing to him more and more. Munir ran his finger down the curve of the Englishwoman's cheek. "Are you a virgin?" She jerked away. "That is none of your business!" He smiled at the blush that stained her throat. Her reaction told him all he needed to know about her experience—or rather lack of it. She smelled of flowers. A delicate English rose transplanted to the sultry desert heat. The combination could be intoxicating. It was most certainly arousing. "It would be very much my business," he said, "if you were to become my wife." Exhilarated by the quite unaccustomed recklessness of his offer, he pulled her into his arms.

Chapter Four Being enfolded in the sheikh's arms was, if anything, even more unexpected and shocking than his outrageous proposal of marriage. Silvia was so startled that by the time she thought to protest it was already too late. His kiss was like the desert—hot and exotic, excitement spiced with danger. By comparison, Matthew's kisses seemed tame. As Munir's tongue stroked along the soft skin inside her lower lip, a jolt of pure pleasure shot through her, and she opened her mouth to him. His hands were warm on her back, her waist. She felt tense and limp at the same time. His body was hard against her yielding flesh. Solid. She had never been this close to a man. Not even Matthew. Much too late, Silvia struggled to free herself. "How dare you!" Munir released her reluctantly. This haughty Englishwoman had a slumbering passion just waiting to be ignited. In fact, what he wanted to do was to take her on the dais and pleasure her, right here in the throne room. It was an established fact that no one woman could satisfy a man, but he suspected he would not tire easily of this one. It was a wholly unexpected and extremely distracting bonus. With difficulty, he forced himself to turn his mind to business. "You are quite right. There are other, more important matters to be settled first." "You weren't serious about marriage!" Silvia exclaimed, desperately trying to assemble her thoughts into something vaguely coherent. "I never say what I do not mean," Munir replied crisply. He rarely spoke so impetuously, either, but there was no need to admit that. "Tell me, why are you not already married?" "I have no desire to be married," Silvia replied, folding her arms across her chest. Her nipples were hard against the boning of her corset. She felt…she could not articulate what she felt. "Why not?" Munir persisted. "I cannot believe there has been any shortage of willing suitors."

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A veritable procession, many actively encouraged by my father in his obsessive desire to find his daughters an advantageous match, Sylvia thought bitterly. Realizing that she would get nowhere with Munir by prevaricating, she opted for the truth. "I never married because the one man I did love—who said he loved me—married my elder sister instead," she said baldly. "Louise inherited our mother's fortune, and was better connected through her godfather. My father arranged the match with Matthew— the earl of Inverkip, that is." "And as a result, you have rejected any attempts since by your father to find you a suitable husband?" Silvia's smile was twisted. "You make me sound petty. The real reason is that I have no intention of embarrassing myself by falling in love again. I have no wish to subject myself to the pain of that experience more than once. So you can see that your preposterous notion that I might be your wife is doomed to failure." Munir smiled. "In my kingdom, what I want, I have."

Chapter Five "In my kingdom, what I want, I have." Silvia folded her arms across her chest even more firmly as the intimidating desert sheikh held her gaze. "Somehow, I do not doubt that, Prince Munir. So it is well for me that my visit to your kingdom will be a brief one. I will be returning to England with my father as soon as my business here is settled." "You are looking forward to going home?" "Having spent most of my life travelling with my father to his various postings, I don't really think of England as home." "Where will you live?" "With my sister and her family. She has four children. I will no doubt be expected to play the good aunt." Silvia could not keep the bitterness from her voice. "By heaven, you cannot wish to reside in the same house as the man who rejected you for your sister!" "I don't have much choice." "But your concerns are not confined to your domestic arrangements, I think?" His perception surprised Silvia into admitting to her innermost fears. "Moving in the diplomatic circles my father occupies, I've become accustomed to a great deal of independence and to making a contribution. In England it will be…different," she said. "I confess I am afraid that I will find myself somewhat redundant." "If you became my wife, your contribution would be great indeed. You would be facilitating the forging of a bond between our two countries," Munir pointed out. "You would be the first, and therefore the most important, of my wives. The harem would be yours to rule." "The first!" Silvia could not keep the horror from her voice.

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"It is a fact that no one woman can satisfy a man. In England, men have one wife and many mistresses, and it seems to me that in that circumstance all women are treated disrespectfully. Here in Djaradh we respect and honour each of our wives." Silvia bit her lip. She could not argue with the truth of what he said. Not when everything she had seen in her travels—to say naught of her own experience—proved him right. But there remained, buried deep inside her, the illogical, romantic notion that true love could make one woman more than enough for one man. Yet she would never be that woman. And Prince Munir, by his own assertions, would most certainly never be that man. She swallowed hard. Whether she was his first wife or twentieth was of no consequence, what mattered right now was saving her father. "If I did agree to this fantastical notion of yours, my influence would be confined to the harem?" she asked carefully. "You would not consider a more public role for me as consort?" "As prince, I must be seen to rule alone. A prince must be invulnerable, infallible, superior to all men." "And women, apparently," Silvia said dryly. Munir thought of his aunt, Halimah, who in her ruthlessly manipulative ways had played his father like a puppet. He thought of the destruction her ambition had caused. The bloodshed. "And women," he said, more harshly than he'd intended. The Englishwoman's eyes widened at the bitterness of his remark. He took a calming breath and moderated his tone. "Consider the benefits. As my wife, you will have your own palace here. You will not have to return to the man who scorned you, you will have the satisfaction of knowing that you have saved your father's career and will be able to assist promoting your country's long-term relationship with mine. You will also have the honour of being the mother of my sons," he said softly, tilting her chin so that she had to meet his gaze. "And daughters." Munir laughed, as roused by her refusal to be embarrassed as he was by the challenge in her eyes. Marriage to this woman held a most definite appeal. "Sons and daughters. It will be a pleasure." Silvia flushed deeply. Desire hung in the air between them, heady as a perfume. Munir's fingers stroked down the long column of her neck, raising goose bumps, lighting sparks. His eyes darkened. She saw the sharp intake of his breath beneath the silk of his tunic. His blatant arousal was provoking. "What is your answer, Miss Bruntsfield?" he whispered seductively. "Will you be my bride?"

Chapter Six "Your bride!" Silvia pushed Munir away. "You cannot expect me to give an instant answer to such a question, asked by a man I have never met before." "Oh, but I do. Is it really so different from the marital matches your father has tried to foist on you?" Having set upon this reckless course, Munir wanted the deal concluded before her father or his Council had time to interfere. Djaradh deserved prosperity. The kingdom needed an heir. That he personally craved this woman was serendipitous. "The terms are simple. If you accept my proposal I will sign the treaty and smooth over your father's indiscretion. We will be married before he departs for England and a hero's welcome. If you do not, you, your father and your country must endure the consequences." Munir 161

stifled the tiny stab of guilt his ultimatum provoked. He was ruthlessly exploiting the situation, of that there was no doubt. "That's blackmail," Silvia said bitterly, seeming to read his thoughts. Munir's expression hardened. "A barter. May I remind you that you came here, unbidden, with the express purpose of making me change my mind. You implied you would do anything to save your father's reputation. I am offering you the opportunity to do just that." Silvia flinched. The stark choice she faced was of her own making. Her mind raced. To marry a virtual stranger, to commit herself to living in a country where she might be even more suffocated and constrained than she would be in England—it was madness. But to be forced to live in the same house as her erstwhile lover, to see him every day acting the husband to her sister, and to have nothing more to expend her energy on than playing aunt to their growing brood of children. No! That didn't bear thinking about. It may well be a choice between two evils, but Prince Munir's proposal most certainly seemed the lesser of the two. "But I know nothing about Djaradh and its people," she said distractedly. "I know nothing about you." "Djaradh has a history more ancient than any sovereign state in Europe, and our traditions and culture are richer by far than most Western civilizations. All of which you will learn in time. As my wife, you will want for nothing. And as to your knowing little about me…I am a prince and an honourable man. I do not offer love—we are both too wise to place any value on such empty protestations—but I will always treat you with respect. How many English wives can rely on that?" He did not love her. Of course he did not, and nor would he. Besides, she'd told him herself that she had abandoned any thoughts of love, which she had. His offer was tempting…. After all, would sharing a harem with his other wives and their children really be so different from life in England with Louise? Still, Silvia hesitated. Even though she did not love Munir, she didn't think she could live like that. She had no wish to share her husband or her household, and what's more, she wanted her husband to value her for more than her ability to bear him children. But there was a chance that she could prove herself to him, and by doing so, forge a future for herself in this alien country. Maybe, if she had a year… The idea appealed immensely. Silvia relished a challenge almost above all else. Her stomach lurched at the thought of what would happen if she failed, but she had already decided. She smiled, not her usual, quizzical smile, but a real one that lit up her eyes. "Very well. I have an answer for you."

Chapter Seven Silvia examined herself in the long mirrored tiles that formed the wall of the harem's bathing chamber. After the excited chatter and giggling of the army of maidservants it had taken to dress her in her wedding finery, the silence was a welcome relief. In the past week she felt as if she had been in a play acted out at top speed in her head. Her father's initial anger at the news that she was to marry Munir quickly shifted to relief and then astonishment at his good fortune. His talk was all of settlements and spheres of influence. He was so carried away with the consequences of his daughter's astounding betrothal that it didn't occur to him to question her actions. He'd said his goodbyes this morning after the formal signing of the contracts. "I'm damned proud of you. England will be proud of you," he'd said gruffly. After the ceremony, he would leave

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for England, and her last tie with her old world would be severed. Today, she would enter another world entirely. The figure gazing back at Silvia from the mirrored tiles was an alluring creature. Her skin was soft with scented oils, and her hair gleamed like burnished gold against the burnt-orange silk of her kaftan, which was weighted with semiprecious jewels woven into the gold-threaded passementerie. The pantaloons beneath were crimson organdie, full and pleated into her waist, yet almost transparent. Gold bells tinkled on her wrists, ankles and on the headband that held the gossamer-fine veil in place. Her hands and feet were painted with henna. Her kid slippers were embroidered with pearls. Around her neck was an intricately designed gold necklace with a shower of pink and yellow diamonds that Munir had given her. Munir… Custom forbade contact between them in the whirl of preparations before the wedding, and so she had spoken to him just three times since he had very reluctantly agreed to her terms. Tonight he would be her husband. And for the next year, she had made him promise she would be his only wife. "A year to prove that you can be all the woman I will ever need? I look forward to it," he had said with a wicked smile. As she followed her coterie of female attendants from the harem to the main body of the palace, an unsettling thought reverberated in Silvia's head. Before she could begin to erode the barriers that confined her to the harem, she must first prove herself within it. Before she could be useful, she must be desirable. And she had absolutely no idea of how to go about such a thing. With her nerves jangling, she could eat nothing of the feast laid out before her on gold plates. Through the grille that separated the men from the woman in this strange ceremony, she could hear the low rumble of masculine laughter. When they finally led her to the dais where Munir stood, magnificent in gold and blue and even more fiercely attractive than she remembered, her heart lurched. Her moods swung like a pendulum, from exhilaration to agitation, from anticipation to dread. And when Munir finally slipped the ring onto her finger, panic flared. What was she doing! Her eyes flew to his above her veil, sending a frantic message. Stop! Stop! Munir took her hand. He smiled at her reassuringly, anchored her firmly to his side. "Are we married?" Silvia asked tentatively. "Is it over?" He pulled her to him. "It has barely started," he whispered huskily, "for now the honeymoon begins."

Chapter Eight Stars glittered overhead, a thick carpet woven through the inky-black midnight sky. Silvia reined in her camel alongside Munir's. Before she could dismount, his hands were around her waist and he effortlessly lifted her clear of the seat. "What do you think?" he asked. Silvia gazed around her at the inviting cool of the deep, crescent-shaped oasis. A huge tent lit with braziers stood under the shade of the palms that fringed the water. "It's beautiful. Breathtaking." Silence lay heavy as a blanket. "Where is everyone?" Munir smiled. "This is our wedding night. We are quite alone."

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"Oh." Nerves clutched at Silvia like tiny tugging fingers. "Prince Munir, I…" "Just Munir. I am your husband now, Silvia." "Oh." It was the first time he had spoken her name. No one had ever made it sound like that before. So much depended on her doing this right. But suddenly, fiercely, she wanted it also to be special. "Munir, I—I don't know— Will you tell me…what I should do? I want this to— I don't want to disappoint you." She was blushing, but still she held his gaze. He could not but admire her courage and her honesty. Munir raised her hand to his lips. "You won't disappoint me, Silvia. I promise. Trust me." He kissed her palm, licking into the soft skin between each finger. His lips lingered on the wildly beating pulse at her wrist. She tasted delicious. "Trust yourself," he said huskily. "Do as your instincts tell you." All her life, Silvia's instinct had been to use caution. To wait. Think. Evaluate. But this could not be what he meant. She looked up at Munir. His eyes glittered, dark with something that she hoped was desire. What she wanted was for him to kiss her. What she wanted was to see her husband naked. What she wanted… She stepped closer, inhaled his scent. Desert heat. Something very male that made her feel absurdly powerless. In thrall. "Munir," she said in a voice she didn't recognize. She reached up to push back her veil, then she tugged his headdress off. His hair was jet-black and close-cropped, emphasizing the sharp planes of his face. She curled her fingers into his neck, pulling him toward her. Desire flared in his eyes. She heard the intake of his breath. Then she touched her lips to his. Not like before, his kiss. Deep, passionate, dark and hot, it set her instantly aflame. She twined her arms around his neck and he pulled her closer, moulding her against the solid muscle of his body, stroking her back, the curve of her bottom, all the while urgently laying claim to her mouth. Heat surged through her, pulsing out from where he touched, pooling in her belly. He picked her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing and carried her to the tent. She had a brief impression of sumptuous hangings when he set her down, then she forgot all about her surroundings as Munir—her husband, Munir—became the focus of her world as he set about inhabiting every fibre of her being.

Chapter Nine He undressed her slowly, as if he was unwrapping a precious gift. Kissing, stroking, caressing every part of her as it was revealed—her neck, her arms, her breasts. Especially her breasts. His hands moulded them, his mouth licking, sucking, making her moan, a strange sound that aroused her further. He discarded his own clothing at the same time, taking her hands, showing her how to touch him, to learn the map of his body, the contours of his shoulders, his chest, the concave of his belly. Naked now, she resisted the urge to wrap her arms protectively around herself and saw that she had done the right thing in the way he looked at her, with a hint of admiration and a gratifying blaze of desire slashing crimson on his cheeks. His focus intensified. He, too, was naked. She slanted her gaze down to the proud, thick length of his arousal. She burned with wanting and wondered how he could possibly… How they could possibly… 164

"Touch me," Munir said, taking her hand and laying it on his shaft. Hard and silken, so very, very different from anything she had known. So very, very arousing. He laid her down on the low divan and gently parted her thighs, his fingers stroking into the hot wetness between them, making her moan again. "Munir, what should…" He kissed her. "Nothing," he commanded, "you should do nothing. I am your husband, Silvia. It is my pleasure to teach you pleasure." He kissed her again. Her mouth. Her throat. Her breasts. Her belly. Lower. His mouth was on the tender skin between her thighs, his fingers parted her and then his tongue licked in. There! She gasped. Shock. Then a bolt, a surge of heat, as he licked into her again, coaxing and circling, stroking and stoking up the spiralling, clenching, tightening heat until she gasped again and let go because she could not hang on any longer, though she wanted to. She was hurtled and spun into the air, high, higher still and higher, and she wanted only this. To fly effortlessly. Even as she soared, Munir was kissing her mouth again, his body covering hers. Tilting her toward him, he eased himself inside her, riding on the ebb and flow of her climax. Her maidenhood gone, he pushed deeper still, so that Silvia felt herself gathering anew, tightening anew. He paused, waiting. For what? She arched, dug her hands into his buttocks, saw from the tautness in his face that he liked it. She arched again. His hands on her hips, Munir pulled her even closer to him. His wife. His wife! His. So strange to feel so possessive. And for this to be so much more intense than he'd ever experienced, much more so than he had ever imagined. He thrust into her, his length enveloped in her slickness, his movements making her shiver and tighten around him. Harder, higher, deeper he thrust, feeling himself swelling inside her until she let go, and then he spilled himself with a harsh moan, kissing her, clutching at her, lost in the raging tempest of his climax as he had never been before.

Chapter Ten Save for the mysteriously invisible servants who delivered food regularly, Silvia and Munir were entirely alone at the oasis. Seven days passed of blissful, sybaritic pleasure. They bathed naked in the warm, balmy depths of the pool by the light of the full moon, and lay together in the shallows, the water lapping over their skin as they stroked and caressed each other to fulfilment. Silvia exalted in the sensual power she held over her new husband, growing bolder in her touch, in giving as well as taking; her own pleasure increased by the pleasure she saw etched in his face when she sheathed him inside her. "We must return to the palace in the morning," Munir said at the end of the week, as they lay entwined in the cool of the dusk. "I have already been away far longer than I intended." "Doesn't the Council have the authority to act in your absence?" "The authority, but not the will. A legacy from my father's rule."

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Silvia propped herself up on her elbow to study his expression. For the first time since their wedding, Munir had that distant, forbidding look on his face. A week ago, she would have hesitated to ask, but now her desire to know more about the man she was to spend her life with overrode her natural caution. She stroked his cheek. "How so?" Munir sat up, knocking her hand away. "Silvia, I am well aware that you hope to use this year to persuade me to give you a role outside the harem, but it cannot be. Perhaps I should have made it plainer before we married, but the truth is…" He broke off, rubbing his forehead. "It is a painful subject." It was his hesitancy that touched her. Though she knew what he was about to confide was going to be unpalatable, she was moved by his wish to do so. Silvia took his hand. "Tell me." Munir closed his eyes, frowning. Then he nodded several times, something she'd noticed he did when he'd made up his mind. "My father was a very weak man," he said. "His sister, Halimah, was his elder by five years. Halimah means gentle. Never was a woman more wrongly named. She was self-seeking, ambitious, a tyrant who believed her royal blood entitled her to everything she wanted, and she would stop at nothing to achieve it. My father was her puppet, and the Council learned the hard way not to interfere. But her policies devastated the country, and I have spent the entire period of my reign unravelling the conflicts that are Halimah's legacy. Even now, some of our Bedouin tribes live on the knife-edge of war. The least little thing can set them off. There was this one time…" It was as if a wall had been breached. All the painful memories, the vicious arguments that had arisen as he'd grown up and attempted to exert his own authority, the agonies of conscience he'd had as he was torn between loyalty to his kingdom and to his father, it all poured out. Munir talked as the sun rose higher in the sky and the tent grew hotter, and Silvia listened in growing horror and dreadful understanding. "So you realize now why you must confine yourself to the harem," he concluded. "Never again can a prince be seen to defer to a woman." Silvia bit her lip. "You do that when you disagree with me, do you know that?" Munir said. "Do I? I don't know what I think, save that…I thought you valued my opinions. These last few days…" "I do, you have the mind of a man when it comes to politics, but such discussions can only ever be between us." "I see." For the first time since their wedding day, Silvia felt the fluttering of doubt, like a small caged bird trying to set itself free. She wrapped her arms around her husband and burrowed her face into his chest. The rough hair on her cheek, the scent of him, the hard maleness of him beneath her started up the thrumming pulse of wanting. He had pulled back the princely cloak of infallibility and let her into his confidence. It was a step. A big step. It would be enough for now.

Chapter Eleven On the following day they returned to the city, and so, too, did Silvia's doubts as the reality of her situation confronted her. Munir led the way imperiously through the city to the gates of the royal palace. His subjects threw themselves to their knees as their prince passed, leaving Sylvia to bring up the rear, barely 166

acknowledged by the cheering throng. Halimah's legacy had not only been wholesale unrest, she had obviously engendered in Munir's people an innate distrust of royal princesses. Bakri awaited them at the palace. "We did not expect you to be gone from us for so long, Highness. There are many matters now requiring your attention." "Come, Bakri, I am just married. Surely even you would allow my wife to claim my undivided attention for such a short period," Munir replied. "The wife of a great prince must learn not to make demands," Bakri said, making no effort to disguise the enmity in his tone. "My intention is to be a support to my husband, not a hindrance," Silvia said hurriedly, meeting Bakri's hostile glance with a placatory smile. "The burdens of state can be heavy, and I hope…" She stopped, for Bakri was staring at her in horror, and then he spat at her feet. Looking to Munir, she saw his mouth was set in a firm line. "You will excuse me while I see my wife settled in the women's quarters. Then I will be free to conduct our business," he said to Bakri in clipped tones. "Munir! There is no need—" He ignored her protest, sweeping her along the cool corridors, ignoring the hurried salutes of the guards. The harem doors closed, leaving them alone in the square courtyard with its central fountain shaded by lemon trees. Munir released her so suddenly that Silvia stumbled. She could see his pulse beating furiously at the base of his throat. Recalling her very first impression of him, that he was not a man to be trifled with, Silvia felt a flutter of fear. But it was lost as her own temper woke slowly, like a creature that had been hibernating. "What on earth have I said to make you so angry?" "I told you how things were with Halimah. You should not have spoken to Bakri of business." "Business! All I said was—" "I know what you said." "You were the one who made light of it in the first place. If you had not joked that I demanded your undivided attention—" "I am aware of what was said!" Munir cursed under his breath, something he very rarely did. He should have known better than to joke with Bakri, but in this last week with Silvia he had forgotten all his own dire warnings. He was furious with Bakri for the insult to Silvia, furious with Silvia for compounding the mistake, but more furious with himself for having made it in the first place. Snatching off his headdress, he ran his fingers through his hair. "You saw how Bakri reacted. You see now how it will always be." "I see that you will not change it," Silvia replied tightly, too hurt by the unfairness of Munir's anger to guard her tongue.

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"Cannot change it," Munir snapped. "And now, as Bakri pointed out, I have business to attend to. I will come to you when I can." Before Silvia could protest further, the heavy doors of the harem shut behind him.

Chapter Twelve Munir had intended to wait before seeking Silvia out, thinking that by introducing a distance between them it would enforce her understanding of the situation. But after a busy day of official business with every one of his opinions deferred to, he missed the counterbalance of her sharp mind. And after a sleepless night on a divan, which seemed to have grown far too wide, he ached for her body. "I've made a decision," he announced the next morning as he strode into the harem, surprising her at her breakfast. "It will be good for my people to see us together. You were right," he continued in answer to her unasked question, "some things can change. I don't want you following in my wake like a servant as you did yesterday. I will have you treated with respect." "Thank you." The previous day had shown Silvia the extent of the battle ahead of her, and she'd spent the hours since fighting off the depression that had followed. She was delighted at his unexpected change of heart. She had missed her husband—not just his body, but the man himself. Perhaps too much. She would do well to have a care, for it would not do to fall in love with a man who loved only his kingdom. Though when he took her around it, she could easily see why he was so devoted to it. Djaradh, city and desert, captivated her, and her obvious rapture, the questions she plied Munir with, delighted her husband. The hours passed too quickly. Afterward, in the sultry, sensuous ambiance of the harem, their lovemaking took them both to new heights. He needed no encouragement to show her more of the sites the next day. And the next. Over the next few months, he forgot all about putting distance between them. "A new gold mine has been found in the east," Munir said as he sank down on the cushions beside Silvia. Dinner was spread out on the table before them. He had not eaten in his own quarters for some time. Spending every spare minute he had in the harem with Silvia had become a habit. "Unfortunately, it spans the border of some disputed territory. You remember the two Bedouin tribes I mentioned?" "The ones your aunt set against each other? A bidding war over a bride, I seem to remember." Silvia bit into a delicate parcel of pastry filled with spiced meat. "This is delicious." "You are delicious." Munir leaned over to kiss away a tiny fleck of pastry from her lips. "The bride was only part of it. The enmity between the tribes has deep roots. A dispute over ownership of this mine could easily cause war between them." "And you're worried that it wouldn't be confined to those two tribes?" Munir nodded. "Bakri advises us to wait and see." "When does Bakri ever advise anything else," Silvia said wryly. Munir smiled. "Yes, but in this case, he's probably right. There is no dispute yet. And I have more than enough—how do you say it—on my serving dish?" "Plate," Silvia said with a chuckle. She hesitated, but forged on. "You know, I could help you if—" 168

"Please don't. You do help." "But I could do more if you would let me, Munir." "You are my sanctuary. My confidante. And my lover. What more can you want?" Your love. Silvia clasped her hands to her breast, as if to capture the words before they could escape, but already the truth had burrowed itself into her heart. The one thing she had sworn never to do again, and she'd done it all the same. She had fallen in love.

Chapter Thirteen Silvia paced restlessly from one end of the harem's courtyard to the other. She had fallen in love with her husband. The man behind the princely cloak had secured a permanent place deep in her heart. If only she could believe the same was true for him, but at times she felt as if she could actually touch the barriers he had placed between them. Why could he not see that his attempt to protect his kingdom by doing the opposite of what his father had done was only isolating him? He said he trusted her, but always there was a limit to that trust, and without trust there could be nothing of substance between them. Certainly not love. "And it's love I want from him, more than anything," Silvia said to the marble beauty in the centre of the fountain that had become her confidante. "I don't just want to be a helpmeet, a political pawn, a sultry secret hidden away in his harem. I want to be all the woman he ever wants or needs. I want him to see that I could make him so much happier, that with me at his side, he could be so much stronger. I want him to love me as I love him. I love Munir." A warm glow suffused her as she spoke the words aloud for the first time, but the statue, to Silvia's eyes, appeared unconvinced. "I know what you're thinking. Look what happened the last time, but this is different. My love for Munir makes my feelings for Matthew seem like smoke." She bit her lip. "You're quite right, it simply means Munir can hurt me even more. He doesn't love me. Eventually, perhaps even before our year is over, his passion for me will wane. I can't bear the notion of sharing him. I just can't! If he will not love me, and me only, then I must find another way of being by his side. For my own sanity, I must carve out a meaningful role for myself, else I would have been better off to return to England with Papa. Except that then I would not have loved Munir, and I cannot regret that. I have to find a way to convince him. I will." The opportunity to do so arrived when Munir appeared in the harem not long after. He looked tired. A crisis had blown up, the details of which she managed to extract by gentle questioning. Her suggested solution made him smile. "It is an excellent idea. If only I'd thought of it—but it is done now. We settled it another way." "If you'd talked to me earlier, perhaps…" "I could hardly have walked out of a Council meeting saying I had to go and consult my wife!" Munir laughed. "Is it so unimaginable?"

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His smile faded. "You know it is. Let us not go over old ground again. Already, I spend far more time with you than other men do with their wives." "I should be grateful, you mean," Silvia said, frustration and disappointment making her rash. "Grateful? For what?" Munir demanded. "In six months our agreement will be over. You will have another wife to make demands on your time," Silvia said, unable to keep the hurt from her voice. Munir stared at her in astonishment. The idea of another wife, another woman who was not Silvia, here in the harem…he could not imagine it. In fact, he had almost forgotten their agreement. A year had seemed such a long time. "Are you saying you are growing tired of me?" He held his breath while he awaited her answer.

Chapter Fourteen "It is rather you who will tire of me," Silvia threw at him, abruptly losing control of her temper. "It is you who said that one woman can never be enough. You are unfailingly attentive now, but in six months, perhaps earlier…" "I am unfailingly attentive because you are unfailingly satisfying," Munir snapped, unsettled and confused by the way she was looking at him. Even more unsettled and confused by the feelings those looks were rousing in him. He felt as if the rock he'd thought he was standing on was instead turning out to be only sand. Silvia flushed. She was angry, frustrated, hurt. And still she wanted him. She could not understand it, but she could not deny it. She wanted him just as fiercely as he wanted her. In this aspect of their relationship at least, they were equals. Quite deliberately, she ran her palm over her breast. Her nipple budded. "Then we should make the most of it," she said. "In six months…" Munir shook his head. He didn't want to think about what could change in six months. "Silvia, you cannot doubt that I want you." In truth, he could not imagine a time when he would not. "Prove it." It was a challenge he could not resist. Munir dipped his head and sucked on the hard bud of her nipple through the silken barrier of her clothes. Silvia clutched at his shoulders. The air was potent with their arousal, a salty, vanilla perfume all their own. It intoxicated them, making them tear at their clothing, clutch at each other, kissing thirstily. Silvia's nails dug tracks into Munir's back. His mouth bruised her lips. She tore his tunic to get at his chest. Her pantaloons fell to the tiled floor of the courtyard. He bent her over the fountain. She braced herself on its marbled edge, her hair trailing into the cool waters, scattering the silver fish that swam there. His first thrust made her cry out with pleasure. She pushed back against him. Their coupling was like a continuation of their argument, the thrust of one against the other, pushing to the limits, determined not to surrender until finally they came together in an explosive, shattering climax which left them breathless. Shaken by the depths of emotion their union had roused, Munir pulled his ruined tunic back over his head. He had always enjoyed their joining but this…this had been something different. He felt as if they had fought, and he wasn't sure who had won. 170

Silvia's hair dripped water. Her skin was flushed. He wanted to take her in his arms, to sleep curled into her. He had never spent the night in the harem: it was one of the lines he kept rigidly in place and he was not about to cross it now. He turned and strode away. But as he walked toward the harem door, he sensed her behind him, standing bereft. It took all his resolve to keep going.

Chapter Fifteen In the weeks that followed, a distance opened between them that quickly yawned into a chasm. Simple self-protection made Silvia close herself off from her husband. It was an agony, but nothing compared to the agony she would feel if she gave herself to him completely and he took another wife, as she was certain he would inevitably do. She knew it would kill her inside, and so instead she tried to kill her love for him. Their lovemaking took on an edge of desperation. Her retreat confused Munir, and she wished fervently that he would find a way to bridge the gap. But he left her every night, and she lay wide awake long into the morning, so alone. But her love refused to die, and Silvia realized she didn't want it to. So if she could not be his only woman, then she could still at least try to be the most valuable one. It was not enough, but a crumb was better than nothing. When Munir announced that the British Consul was coming to inspect the newly refurbished port, Silvia grasped the opportunity like a drowning man grasps at a rope. "I know Lord Wincester very well. He attended the same school as my father—they are old friends," she told him. Munir dropped onto the cushions beside her. "The trip should take three or four days." "I look forward to it," Silvia said with a bright smile. "You can't come with me," Munir said flatly. "You know how resistant some of the elders on the Council have been to change. Your presence would make it look as if this deal were your doing." Silvia frowned. "But it was my doing, in as much as our marriage facilitated it. And it is a good deal for the future of Djaradh." "A good deal, too, for your England." "It is not my England! My loyalties lie here now, with your kingdom." With you, she wanted to tell him, but could not. Our kingdom, she wanted him to say, but he did not. Instead, Munir shook his head. "Such business is the preserve of men." Silvia's temper flared. "You do not think that exploiting my personal connection to the Consul is more important than nursing your Council's fragile egos?" she asked tightly. "That clutch of children would run in terror at the very idea of making a decision. No wonder your aunt found it so easy to wrest control from them. I am your wife, Munir. Why will you not have me by your side?" "I am a prince first, and husband second," Munir replied, his mouth tight with anger. "I rule alone."

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"Then your destiny is always to be alone, no matter how many wives you take." Silvia dashed her hand to her eyes. She never cried in front of him, she would not do so now. "And I am destined to be a very lonely woman. If you are not willing to let me prove myself then…" An uneasy silence reigned for some moments. "Have a care, Silvia. Think, before you utter another word." The telltale pulse at his neck leapt. Colour streaked the sharp contours of his cheekbones. Silvia clenched her fists beneath the long sleeves of her kaftan. "I want you to leave," she said shakily. Munir stared at her for a long moment. Determinedly, she held his gaze. He turned swiftly on his heel and walked away. Silvia dropped onto the scatter of silk and velvet cushions and let go a storm of tears.

Chapter Sixteen Silvia woke up drained from her crying and the restless night that followed. Why did love have to be so painful? She loved Munir not just with her body, nor even just her heart, but with her soul. She loved him, but Munir would never love her. He ruled alone and he lived alone, inviolate. It was not that she wanted him to change, merely that she wished he would make room in his heart, in his life, for her. But she would always exist on the periphery, in the shadows of the harem. He would not admit to needing another person, for he would be admitting to being as weak as his father had been. Munir blamed Halimah for bringing Djaradh to the edge of ruin. But he couldn't see that had his father been stronger, his aunt would never have grasped power. Munir thought that isolating himself made him strong, but it only made him weak in a different way. He could not grasp that love, true love, could make him so much more powerful. Two days after he left for the meeting with the British Consul, Silvia was wandering listlessly in the palace's main courtyard when a messenger arrived. The gold mine that had been discovered on the border of the two Bedouin tribes was erupting into the very dispute that her husband had been worried about. Prince Munir was most urgently required to arbitrate, for the tribes were upon the brink of war. In the midst of the commotion caused by scurrying, harassed palace officials and an emergency meeting of the Council, Silvia went in search of Munir's junior secretary, Dabir, whom she had befriended in the long hours she spent reading in the palace library. She had already coaxed the full story from him when Dabir, realizing far too late that he should not have confided in the princess, began to retreat nervously. "Wait. Tell me, what has the Council decided to do?" Silvia asked. "They will dispatch a messenger to recall the prince from the port." "But he is more than a full day's travel away. And then it is at least another to the border." "All the more reason for a messenger to be dispatched urgently." "Is the situation really so grave?" "Indeed, Princess Silvia. Apparently hostilities may break out at any moment." "Surely it makes more sense for Bakri to arbitrate in my husband's place?"

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"I am afraid that the Council… They will not act without the prince, Highness." Silvia knew how proud Munir was of the hard-won peace he had established in his kingdom, knew that he feared a dispute like this could quite easily escalate into nationwide war. How could the Council not see it, too? Briefly, she contemplated petitioning them, but quickly abandoned this idea as beyond foolish. They would not listen, she would offend them with her presence and, more importantly, they would have lost precious hours. "There is no time for this. The matter must be addressed now." "Yes, Highness, but Bakri and the Council will not—" Silvia clapped her hands together decisively. "Never mind them. I will resolve the matter personally."

Chapter Seventeen Dabir stared at Silvia, openmouthed at her decision to deal with the political crisis herself. She would have laughed at his expression if her mind hadn't been whirring with possibilities. "I'll need a camel. No, two camels. And supplies. And—" "You cannot! If the prince discovered– Highness, you must not!" "What do you think my husband would prefer? To have war break out because no one took responsibility to prevent it? You know the answer to that, even if the members of the Council do not. I am not afraid of the danger. "Don't worry, I will travel in disguise," Silvia said in a hasty attempt to reassure the horrified secretary. Hadn't she done so once before, and hadn't it paid off? Pushing past Dabir, she hurried back to the harem. She still had the outfit somewhere. Doubt assailed her as she pulled the headdress over her hair and fastened the band in place. She was not only defying Munir, she was publicly usurping his authority. Or at least she would be, if he did not authorize her as his envoy. Which he could do retroactively. Encouraged by the thought, Silvia fastened a leather belt around her waist and slipped a jewelled dagger into the sheath, conscious that she was, with this single act, risking everything. Even if she did manage to broker a deal, even if Munir did place the veneer of authority upon it, it was possible, very possible, that far from being impressed with her resourcefulness, he would never forgive her. She would lose everything. Perhaps he might even divorce her. It was possible in his country. She would be shamed. She would have to return to England. And if that happened, Munir might even renege on the deal he was at this very moment going to discuss with the British Consul. But he had given his word, and that was one thing she did not have to doubt. Was she being foolish? Undoubtedly. Could she live with herself if she did not act? No. This was her one opportunity to make the man she loved see her in a new light. That was worth any risk. Resolutely, Silvia pulled the voluminous cloak around herself and made her way out to the main palace courtyard. Dabir was waiting, dressed for travel. "If I cannot persuade you to reconsider, Highness…" "You cannot," Silvia said, clicking her tongue so that her camel fell to its knees to allow her to mount. "Then I will be your escort," Dabir said. "Thank you, but I cannot allow you to get into trouble on my behalf." 173

"I am already in trouble," Dabir said sadly. "The prince will be angry with me for not preventing you from going. If I come with you, Highness, at least he will know that I tried my best to protect you. And besides, you are right. He would want everything possible done to prevent a war." Silvia hesitated. An escort would undoubtedly be useful, especially one she knew and could trust. "I will intercede with the prince on your behalf," she said. "Fear not." Dabir smiled weakly. His actions might cost him his job. But did the Englishwoman realize she might well lose her head? He could not help but admire her courage. Any man would be proud to have such a wife. Any man, with one notable exception. "May the fates smile on us both," he said fervently, as he followed the princess out of the courtyard.

Chapter Eighteen The missive dispatched by the highly insulted Bakri on behalf of the outraged Council reached Munir early the next morning. Lord Wincester, the British Consul, was with him when he broke the seal of the note. "Something wrong, Highness?" "I must leave at once. I am afraid the conclusion of our treaty must be postponed." "Postponed! But there are only a few formalities, a matter of a mere hour or so…" Lord Wincester spluttered. "A matter of a mere hour or so could be the difference between life and death," Munir said curtly. "My wife's." He blanched as he said the words. "So you will understand…" Lord Wincester fanned himself with his copy of the contract. What was it about these Englishwomen who came to Arabia? First Lord Armstrong's gal, and now this one. "Very well, very well," he said, making no attempt to keep the irritation from his voice. "I will await your Highness's pleasure." But the door had already closed behind the prince. Moments later, he could be seen disappearing out into the desert, a cloud of dust in the wake of his prized white camel the only thing visible, so fast was the beast travelling. Munir did not stop for sleep. He did not stop for food. He drank water from his goatskin flask while his camel pounded out the miles across the sand. Time and again his hand crept to the reassuring weight of his scimitar. At an oasis, waiting impatiently for his camel to take on water, he honed the wicked blade of his dagger on a rock. What was Silvia thinking, putting herself in such danger? She knew how delicate the peace was between these two particular tribes. With a sick feeling, he realized that her understanding of the situation was precisely why she had acted. Because his Council had not! He cursed. Silvia was braver, more resourceful and more courageous than every man on his Council. But she was not a man. Kicking the camel once more into a thunderous gallop, Munir tried desperately to quell the churning in the pit of his stomach. When the Bedouins discovered who they had in their midst, they would not hesitate to use her. She would not just be a pawn in the bartering game, she would suffer for Halimah's crimes. They would… They would… 174

"No!" He bellowed the word out loud at the moon that hovered fat and full over his head. Silvia was his. Only his. Always his. His wife. His heart. His love. "No!" This time the word contained a lifetime of anguish. He loved her. He needed her by his side. She was a part of him. How could he not have realized? Why had he not realized? She was the only woman he needed. The one woman he needed. He loved her. And Silvia—his beautiful, proud, brave Silvia— loved him. He could see that now, understand her retreat from him these past weeks as an attempt to protect herself from the threat of another taking her place. As if any woman could! How close Halimah had come to blighting his life along with his father's. How could he not have seen—as Silvia had so clearly—that his self-imposed isolation was wrong? That Silvia was no Halimah? This bold play of hers, to prevent war, she had done only for the good of his kingdom. Their kingdom. He'd never said it. He did not deserve her. "But I will learn to, if only she is safe," Munir shouted to the wind. He cursed his blindness. He cursed his history, which until today had bound him as effectively as Halimah had bound his father to her will. And then Munir prayed. Let Silvia be safe. Let her still love him. Riding pell-mell across the desert to come to the rescue of his love, Munir cast off the chains of his past. He forgot he was a prince. He was just a man. And he simply wanted his woman back.

Chapter Nineteen As he reached the borderlands, Munir reined in his exhausted camel. Drawing out his scimitar and jumping down from the saddle in one lithe movement, he strode toward the largest of the tents, intent on murder if necessary. But he stopped short as the heavy curtain that formed the doorway was thrown back and Silvia stepped out, wearing a man's tunic and cloak, but no headdress. His heart leapt. Munir ran toward her, sweeping her up in his arms. "Are you hurt?" "Munir, I must tell you—" "Are you unharmed?" She didn't recognize his expression. Anxiety? Fear? No, something else. He looked stunned. Silvia's heart began to beat too fast for her to breathe. She had to warn him…but the words fled. "Munir." She touched his face. Dusty, hot from the sun. "I'm perfectly fine. I promise." "I thought… I thought…" She touched a finger to his mouth. "Munir, please don't be angry. I had to do something to prevent war. It was not Dabir's fault. He could not stop me—no one could have stopped me—so if you must be angry…" "I'm not angry with anyone, save my Council." "Oh." The way he was looking at her made her nervous. He had never gazed upon her like that before. As if… As if… "The gold mine," Silvia said distractedly. "I should explain what's been agreed to so you can formally endorse it. They were only willing to accept me as your envoy if I promised that you would come personally. Dabir told me the Council had summoned you so I hoped—knew you would come. I need to explain, before the head tribesman…" 175

"No." For once, Munir had no interest in either his people or his kingdom. "No, whatever it is can wait. I have something of far more import to tell you." For a terrifying moment, the urgent note in his voice made Silvia fear the worst. He was done with her. As he strode away from the Bedouin settlement to the relative privacy of a rocky outcrop, pulling her along behind him, Silvia wondered if she could bear losing him. She felt nauseous, but gathering up the remnants of her courage, she prepared to fight one last time for her future. For their future. "Munir, let me explain…" His smile stopped the words in her throat. "There is no need. I understand," he said, pulling her to him, pressing her into his body as if he would make her part of him. "You did it for Djaradh. Our kingdom." "Our kingdom," she repeated in wonderment. "Ours," Munir said firmly. "Unlike my Council, you were willing to risk your life to protect it. Our kingdom. I am so proud of you, Silvia. But you must promise me never to risk your life like that again. I could not bear it." "Oh." Munir laughed softly. "It is not like you to be lost for words. Don't you want to know why I could not bear it?" She could not speak, could manage only a tiny nod. Munir took her hands in his. "The clouds have finally been lifted from my eyes. I have discovered that there is something—someone—even more important to me than Djaradh. I love you, Silvia."

Chapter Twenty "I love you," Munir said tenderly. "I love you with all my heart, Silvia. I didn't know. I didn't realize it, but I do now. Say it's not too late." "Munir!" "Say you love me, Silvia. I want you by my side. I want everyone to see you by my side, as my equal. That is where you belong. I understand now that my thinking has been so skewed by the past—but you are different. So very different. You are more than enough woman for me. I could never want another. I beg of you, put me out of my misery!" Tears sparkled on her lashes. The world narrowed, so that it contained only the two of them. "I love you, Munir. I feel like I've loved you forever. I can't believe… Do you really mean it?" She was crying and laughing at the same time. "I have never meant anything more in my life," Munir said. His lips touched hers. There was a tenderness in his kiss that melted her. Silvia wound her arms tightly around her husband's neck, opened her mouth and her heart and let him in.

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It was the cheers from the Bedouin tribesmen that brought them to earth some moments later. Munir colored, grinned, but did not release his wife. "So, diplomat's daughter, tell me, how have you managed to pour oil on troubled waters?" "I wish I could tell you that I had an inspired idea all of my own, that my skills alone brought about this truce," Silvia said, "but the truth is, apart from asking them to treat me as an honorary man and your trusted envoy, I had absolutely no idea what to do. So I asked myself what you would say, and I said that. And it worked. They listened, but only because I promised that you would say it again in person. I knew you would come, because whatever you felt about me, you would not allow war to break out, and—" "I came here for you and you alone, Silvia. You are my kingdom. The only star in my sky." Silvia blinked away a tear. "I was afraid that you would divorce me for disobeying you." His hand tightened around hers. "To be without you would kill me. I will never release you from my side again. And if that means taking you to Council meetings…" "Good grief, Munir, they would expire with shock," Silvia said, laughing with sheer happiness. "That won't be the only shock. I intend to put the majority of them into well-earned retirement. But enough of the Council, let us get the formalities of this treaty you have brokered over and done with. I want to make love to you." The gleam in his eyes made Silvia shiver. He stroked her breast, and heat pooled in her belly. "It is a full moon tonight," she whispered. "A honey moon." Munir's husky laugh gave her goose bumps. "I love you. Every night will be a honeymoon. I have no intention of ever spending another apart from you, I promise you, my wife." And it was a promise, like all his others, that Munir kept all the days of their lives.

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The Cowboy Next Door By Linda Warren Tyler Jakes couldn't believe the nerve of Eden March. Since she'd graduated high school, she'd always been after something bigger and brighter. Tyler had never understood what was wrong with the grandparents or the small Texas town she'd left behind. And now that her grandparents had died, she thought she was going to sell their property and use it for her next scheme? Not if Tyler had anything to say about it. And he did. He'd put all his hopes—and his last bit of money—into using her grandfather's land for his crops. Without it, where would he find the money to feed himself and his daughter…and buy her the clothing she always seemed to lose? There had to be a way to convince Eden that the house, the land, the town and even the cowboy next door were worth another look. And maybe worth a lifetime…

Chapter One She was back. Tyler Jakes reined in his horse and watched Eden March's blue Tahoe stop in her grandfather's driveway. When Ira March had passed away two months ago, Eden had been home just long enough to take care of her grandfather's affairs before she'd left town, much as she was known to do. Staying in their small hometown of High Cotton, Texas, for any length of time wasn't her style. But now she'd returned—and she wasn't alone, he noted as a white Suburban pulled up behind her. He peered closer at the sign on the car: a real estate agent. What the…? If she had plans to sell, he would have a say in that. He'd leased the land from Ira to grow corn and had already plowed and prepared the land for planting. He needed every dime from those crops, and he wasn't about to let Eden cut him out of the deal. Kneeing his horse, Tyler galloped toward the barbed wire fence that surrounded the fifty-acre property. He dismounted, tied Champ to a post and strolled through the gate toward them. Eden was talking to the lady and didn't spot him until they turned and started walking to the house. Pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, she frowned. "Why is it when I come home you're always here?" Her blue eyes flashed with anger as they often did when she spoke to him. Ira had called her his beauty, and she was certainly that, with flowing blond hair and features that had to have been created when God was in a good mood. No question she'd been blessed in the looks department, but in others…he'd always thought she was flighty and irresponsible, constantly flitting from one harebrained scheme to another. While he had to pick up the pieces. He cleared his throat. "I take care of the place." "Who gave you permission to do that?" The sun picked out the silver highlights of her hair and he was mesmerized for a second. "Your grandfather did."

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"Pa isn't here anymore and I'd appreciate it if you'd stay off my property." She marched up to the door, twisted the knob and pushed. The door didn't open. She tried again. No luck. She swung toward him. "It's locked." "Seems like it. Don't you have a key?" The smooth lines of her face crunched into a bigger frown. "I suppose, but I'm not sure where it is. Pa always kept the door open." Her baby blue eyes caught his. "I'm betting you have one." He jammed a hand into his jeans pocket for the key. Strolling to her side, he shoved it into the lock and opened the door. Eden didn't move. She stood right at his shoulder, and a delicate fragrance reached him. For a moment he had difficulty concentrating. She held out a hand, palm up. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what she wanted. He laid the key in her palm. "Thank you. And from now on, please, stay away." But Tyler wasn't leaving it at that. Not when he had so much at stake. He offered his hand to the real estate lady, who seemed to be rendered speechless by the interaction between Eden and Tyler. "I'm Tyler Jakes. I own the property next door." "Mona Parker." The older woman eyed him. "Oh, yes. You're the rodeo guy." "Used to be. I'm a farmer and rancher now." "And he was just leaving," Eden said. Mona looked around. "How many acres with the house?" "Fifty," Eden replied. "That will be a big draw. People like a country setting where they can have horses and ride fourwheelers." "That is not happening," Tyler interrupted. "I lease those fifty acres and no one is riding ATVs over my crops." Eden stared at him, dumbfounded. "What are you talking about?" "I leased the land from Ira." "But Pa is dead, surely whatever agreements he made aren't still binding." "Ira's word is binding to me." Eden paled.

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"This is a problem," Mona said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Do you have a contract, Mr. Jakes?" Tyler was about to respond and make darned sure that he quashed Eden's attempt to sell—or at least stalled it—when he saw Chance Hardin drive into his yard. Chance was the foreman of the Southern Cross ranch. If he was in Tyler's driveway, it probably meant he had a job for Tyler. The large Southern Cross ranch was located across the road from Tyler's small spread, making it easy for him to pick up extra jobs. And since he needed every spare cent, he had to cut this short. "I…I have to go. But I'd love to tell you all about my long-term agreement with Ira. Do you have a business card?" Mona fished in her purse and handed one to him. "We really should get this straight. Ms. March, didn't you say you were in a rush?" Before Eden could respond, Tyler suggested, "How about if we meet here at nine in the morning?" "That's fine with me," Mona replied. Eden stepped to the side so only he could hear. "If you ruin this for me, I'll never forgive you." "Well, Eden, lucky for me that forgiveness is not something I need from you." He tipped his hat to the ladies and strode over to meet Chance. *** After Tyler and Mona left, Eden locked the door and flipped on a light. Her anger at Tyler disappeared as she stood in the living/kitchen area and soaked up the ambience of her grandparents. Two recliners sat facing a huge fireplace and a TV. The scent of Pa's pungent pipe still lingered. A moment of sadness and loneliness hit her. She ran across the hardwood floor, down the hall to their bedroom and fell into a big feather bed. It was soft, heavenly, and she could almost feel her grandmother's arms around her. "Everything will work out, beauty." That's what she'd said when Eden's parents, after ten years of marriage, had decided to divorce and go their separate ways. There was just one problem—what to do with Eden. Without much thought they'd left her with her father's parents. After Eden got over the shock of their abandonment, she realized it had been a good decision. Her parents had argued constantly and her life had been in turmoil. Her grandparents, by contrast, had never argued. They were a stabilizing force for Eden. She went to school in High Cotton, made new friends and started a new life, blooming in the love and attention that her grandparents showered on her. But there was a big, pesky fly in her happiness—Tyler Jakes. He was a child of a single mom, his father having died when he was young. Pa had been an agriculture teacher and Tyler was one of his favorite students—which meant Tyler was at their house asking Pa questions about growing coastal and corn, and what was the best feed his mom should buy for their cattle, and on and on. Her grandfather doted on him. When he was around, Eden felt invisible. 180

Even though Tyler was six years older, they always seemed to be competing for her grandparents' attention. She'd had a brief moment of happiness when Tyler graduated high school and joined the rodeo circuit. But two short years later, Tyler's mom had remarried and moved away, and Tyler quit the rodeo circuit to come home and run the ranch—which meant he spent even more time at their house, soaking up Pa's knowledge. She tried not to be jealous, but there didn't seem to be anything she was good at, nothing that made her feel special. Nothing in High Cotton, anyway. And by the time she turned eighteen, she couldn't wait to get away. She took fashion and design classes in Austin, still unsure what she really wanted to do. Her grandparents always told her how beautiful she was, so she changed courses and devoted every moment to studying acting and modeling. She headed for Hollywood to test her skills, but soon found there were thousands of girls more beautiful, more talented and more driven. But finally she landed a bit in a commercial and called home to tell her grandparents, wanting to prove to them that she could succeed. But they were more excited that Tyler had gotten married. She got a gig modeling for a catalogue and once again called home, only to be met with the news that Tyler and his wife had had a child. Everything she did seemed to pale in comparison to Tyler's life. A bit in a commercial and a brief job modeling did not equal success. But Eden March was nothing if not determined. She'd be a success yet. And now she had the ticket to that success. One day about two years ago, she'd gone to a craft store on a lark, bought supplies and started making her own jewelry pieces. People continually stopped her to ask about them and almost overnight she was making and selling her jewelry to craft stores and boutiques. Around the time her grandmother had passed away, one of the store owners had urged her to go to New York and sell her designs to the fashion industry. Eden knew as soon as the woman had said it that it would be her break. She'd gone home for her grandmother's funeral and to grieve with Pa, but hadn't said a word to him about her new career, wanting to have something to show for it first. Only he'd died before she could even get the money together. But that's why she was home—the sale of the house would give her enough capital to get started. It was her chance to prove to her grandparents, if only in spirit now, that she could be as big a success as Tyler. They would be proud of her. She was so close…and this time she wouldn't fail. She ran her hand over the handmade quilt on the bed. Her grandmother had made it. So many memories were in this old house. Could she let it go? Getting up, she walked into the kitchen and glanced out the window. She could see Tyler talking to Chance Hardin. Tall and lean, Tyler had brown eyes and hair and a swagger that was typical cowboy. She supposed he was handsome in a rugged sort of way. But she had never thought of him in that way. He'd always been her archenemy. And judging from the way he'd seemed intent on torpedoing her appointment with the real estate agent, nothing had changed. But this time, she'd be the one who came out on top.

Chapter Two As Tyler galloped toward his house, he thought of the encounter with Eden. She was home to sell the property. He smiled. Evidently she hadn't read her grandfather's will. She was going to blow a gasket when she found out he had a say in any potential sale.

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Ever since Eden had left High Cotton seven years ago, her trips home had been sporadic. When her grandmother had passed on right before Thanksgiving about a year ago, she'd stayed through Christmas to help Ira adjust. Tyler had stayed out of the way, giving them time together. Almost a year to the day, Ira had followed his wife. Tyler had wanted to comfort Eden in some way, but getting close to her was similar to getting close to a porcupine. She'd made it very clear with sharp barbs that she didn't need him. But now she did. At least if she wanted to sell the house. He dismounted as he neared Chance and shook his friend's hand. "Hey, Chance. What's up?" "Are you in for a little cowboying?" "Always. But don't you have your own cowboys who can do that?" "Yeah. But I got a situation that calls for an expert…so why not ask a national finals champion?" That always made him grin. "What's the problem?" "I got a Brahma bull calf with something in his foot. He's limping, but when we try to get close to the calf the momma charges. It's too far away from the corral and a hassle to take portable pens out there." "And you have a plan?" "The cowboys can cut the calf from the herd for a few minutes, but I need a good roper who can go in quick and get the calf down so I can examine his hoof." "Team roping?" "Yep. I'll be the header, but you'll have to be the heeler. It's going to take some magic to get the rope around his back feet, so that's your job." "I have to pick Jenny up from school in a few minutes. Will tomorrow work?" "Sure. I did mention this could be dangerous, that we only have a few minutes before the momma breaks loose?" He tipped his hat. "I can handle it." Chance glanced toward the March house. "Eden's back." "Yeah," Tyler replied without too much enthusiasm. "Wonder if she'll stay this time." "I doubt it. Her life is not in this small town." His friend watched him. "Still not getting along?"

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"Not even close," he admitted. "If I knew anything about women, I'd give you some advice. Since I don't, I'll keep my mouth shut. See you tomorrow." Tyler waved goodbye and noticed the real estate lady had left. He could go over and try to talk to Eden, but it wouldn't do any good. Once she contacted the lawyer, they'd be enemies forever. Which was fine with him. If the choice was between the money to feed his daughter and Eden March's current harebrained scheme, he'd fight her 'till the bitter end. *** The next morning Tyler was in a rush getting his six-year-old daughter, Jenny, off to school. He brushed her hair and gathered it together so he could loop a band around it. But it was the most difficult task he'd ever attempted. He couldn't seem to hold it long enough before strands slipped out. Roping a steer was much easier. God, he was inept at raising a girl. He was inept at being a father, period. At the third attempt, Jenny scrunched up her face. "What?" "You're not very good at this, Daddy." "No, I'm not," he admitted. "I can do it. I can do it." He handed her the brush. Things were so much easier when his mom was here, but Jenny was his responsibility. His mother had a right to her own life. She'd spent many years taking care of him. Still, being a single father was hell. He'd never expected Denise to run out on them. She'd said small-town life was stifling. They'd argued about moving to a big city, but his roots, land and job were here. Eventually the marriage ended and Tyler had refused to let Denise take his daughter. He'd been surprised when Denise had caved so easily. Oblivious to his dark thoughts, Jenny gathered her hair and whipped a band around it in two seconds flat. "See, Daddy." Big brown eyes stared at him. "It's easy." He hugged her. "You're growing up." But he hoped not too fast. "Now for the million-dollar question. Where's your jacket?" She shrugged. "Jenny." He sighed. "Daddy can't afford another jacket right now." Every time he turned around there was one more bill to pay. He was betting on the crops on his and Ira's land to get him back on his feet. That is, if Eden didn't sell Ira's land out from under him. Searching through Jenny's closet, he found an old denim jacket. "This will have to do."

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After she slipped it on, he gave it the once-over. It was a little tight in the shoulders and the sleeves were too short. His heart sank. He had to do better than this. "Don't worry." Jenny smiled, her two front teeth missing. "Everybody knows my daddy's a cowboy." A broke cowboy who was struggling to raise a little girl. "Let's go, pumpkin, or you're going to be late. I'll check with Mrs. Lofton. Maybe you left your jacket in her classroom." "'Kay." She followed him into the kitchen. "Do I have to stay 'til six today?" "Yes. Daddy has to work." The school had an after school program for kids whose parents worked, which was great for him but Jenny hated it. Once the crops were in from his land and Ira's he'd have more time for Jenny. After dropping Jenny at school and watching her run off in her too-small jacket, Tyler headed for Eden's, ready for battle. *** Eden was showing Mona around when Tyler walked in. He removed his hat. "Morning, ladies." "Mr. Jakes." Mona smiled at him. He seemed to have that effect on women. Damn him. "I was just looking at the house." "It's almost a hundred years old," he said. Eden glared at him. "Pa took very good care of it. He had it painted five years ago and the roof is new." Mona glanced at the floor. "Is this the original flooring?" "Yes," she replied. "Pa said they don't make wood like that anymore." "What a beautiful dining room set," Mona exclaimed as they walked around. Eden touched the dark oak. "It belonged to my great-grandparents." Every holiday they'd eaten at this table. Pa sat at the head, and Gran had her place at the end by the kitchen. Eden's seat was on the side and unless the planets were out of alignment, Tyler had sat across from her. And the conversation centered around Tyler and his accomplishments. Once she'd left for college and Tyler had gotten married, somehow she'd never been back during the holidays. Until her grandmother had passed away. She ran her hand along the surface of the table and could almost smell Gran's chicken and dressing that she'd made in a roaster older than Eden. So many memories. She'd loved cooking with her grandmother. There was so much love in this house. And she had to wonder why at times she felt so unloved. Maybe it had something to do with her parents abandoning her. And the fact she had to compete with Tyler for her grandparents' affection. "How is the house heated and cooled?" Mona was asking. Eden immediately brought her attention back to the conversation, but before she could respond, Tyler spoke up.

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"Window units and space heaters and, of course, the fireplace, but the house is very drafty in winter and hot in the summer." "It is not," Eden denied. "The fireplace warms the whole house and the window units adequately cool the place." Tyler knocked on a wall with his fist. "These walls are single, not double like they are today, so there's no insulation anywhere." Mona scribbled something on her clipboard. "I'm assuming there's a well for water." "Yeah," Tyler replied, "and it's old and tiresome at best. The pump has to be primed—a lot, and in the wintertime it's a headache. You have to keep the pump shed warm or the pump will freeze, and the pipes to the house have to be drained or they'd all bust. It takes—Ouch." She'd brought her shoe down hard on his boot, stopping his unwanted opinion. "Sorry. I didn't notice your foot." His brow knotted in resentment, but he didn't say anything else. "Well." Mona looked from one to the other. "I have all I need. Does the furniture go with the house?" "I'm not sure," Eden admitted. "Ms. March, it seems there's a lot to be decided before we can take this to contract. From the road, it's obvious the land is plowed and ready for planting. A potential buyer will see that, so," Mona shoved the clipboard into her big purse, "you and Mr. Jakes have to work this out. Take a few days and let me know your decision." As soon as the door closed, Eden turned on Tyler. "How dare you." His eyes darkened. "And how dare you. You waltz in here, trying to sell everything Ira and Mavis ever had without a second thought. What about Mavis's quilts and afghans? You gonna sell them in a garage sale? Take the money and run, is that your motto, Eden? How about her china and dishes? Just chuck them, huh? They mean nothing to you. Nothing in this house is of value to you. It never has been. Not even your grandparents. You never called and only visited sporadically. How do you think that made your grandparents feel? They loved you and wanted you here, you never cared about—" Before she knew what she was doing, she'd slapped him hard across the face. The skin-on-skin sound seemed to echo between them. She was horrified. She'd never done anything like that before in her life. "Tyler, I'm so sorry." She pressed her hand to his warm, roughened cheek, softly this time, almost a caress. She'd never been this aware of him. Never noticed that he smelled of a tantalizing mix of leather and sunshine, never noticed that his lips were full and oh-so-tempting… Suddenly, his eyes darkened even more and he framed her face with his hands, bringing her closer to him. In slow motion he brought his lips down on hers in a gentle kiss, but the force of her response made her knees buckle and she went limp against him, trembling. He let her go abruptly and, without a word or a backward glance, strolled from the room.

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After a moment, Eden regained her equilibrium and held a hand to her quivering lips, still feeling his touch, his masculine scent all around her.

Chapter Three The buzz of her phone brought Eden to her senses. She dashed to the bedroom to get it. Since she'd slept in her grandparents' room, she'd left it in there. Snatching it up, she flipped it open. It was her roommate in Hollywood, Paige. Her friend was from Dallas, and they'd hit it off as soon as they'd discovered they were from the same state. They were planning to stay together in New York, too. Eden had had to take odd jobs to pay her share of the rent, but she hoped to remedy her financial situation soon. "Hi, Paige." Her voice sounded raspy. Heavens, she'd been kissed before, but not quite like that—with so much emotion. "Are you okay? You sound funny." "I'm just tired from driving." "I guess you made it home safely then?" "Yeah. I arrived late yesterday." "Any luck in selling the place?" Eden sat cross-legged on the feather bed. "No. I contacted a Realtor, but I might speak to Judd Calhoun this afternoon. It would be much faster. He owns a lot of land here and might be interested. If he's not, I'll have to go with the Realtor and that's going to take time." "But without that money you're not going to be able to stay in New York long and your business is dead in the water." "Mmm." "We've already given notice at the apartment and our flight to New York is booked for just weeks from now. We can stay with my sister who works at Bloomingdale's until we find a place. It's going to be so exciting. I have your new, expanded website almost ready to upload. I hope your jewelry starts selling like hotcakes." Paige was a computer whiz and also a singer. They were both eager to try their talents in New York City. They talked for a while longer and Eden promised to call as soon as she wrapped up things in High Cotton, which, if she had anything to say about it, would be very soon. *** Eden spent the morning going through things in the house. There was so much stuff: the antique dining room set, the armoire Gran had received as a wedding gift from her parents, the wrought iron bed that had belonged to her grandfather's parents, Pa's silver dollar collection, Gran's handmade quilts, Pa's Purple Heart and the feather bed. She couldn't bear to part with any of those items. Tyler had been wrong. These things meant something to her. Storing them would be the logical decision, but first she had to find a buyer for the property. 186

Trying to keep her thoughts off Tyler, she grabbed her purse and headed for her vehicle and Judd's ranch, the Southern Cross. Thirty minutes later she had her answer—Judd wasn't interested in the place, but he suggested she contact Tyler Jakes, whose property joined hers and who already had crops planned for her grandfather's fields. That was not what she wanted to hear As she traveled from the big ranch, she saw trucks parked on the side of the road. At first she thought it was a wreck, but then she noticed several men had gotten out of their vehicles to watch a herd of Brahma cows. Curious, she stopped behind one of the trucks, opened her door and got out. In the distance, she saw a handful of cowboys on horses talking amongst themselves. Her eyes zeroed in on Tyler, looking handsome and rugged, sitting on a chestnut-colored quarter horse with three white stocking feet. Tyler and Chance Hardin, the foreman, seemed to be discussing something. Chance motioned to the cowboys and pointed to the herd. The cowboys weaved their horses through the agitated cows. Tyler and Chance readied their ropes. They were going to rope something. A rush of excitement shot through her. The cowboys worked steadily, trying to get a calf away from his mother. Cows threw up their heads in fear and loud bellows echoed. "They'll never get a rope on that calf," Mr. Hopper—one of the men in the crowd she'd joined—said, leaning on his truck. Rufus Johns, Chance's uncle, joined him. "You just watch, Ben. I taught those boys everything they know." Finally, the cowboys had the calf out in the open and tried to keep the momma in with the herd. Chance immediately bolted out and threw his rope around the calf's neck. In a split second, Tyler followed, standing in the stirrups and sailing his rope in a perfect loop under the hind hooves and the calf went down, bellowing. On cue, Tyler's horse backed up, as did Chance's, holding the calf flat and tight. Chance jumped off his horse and straddled the calf, examining the hooves. Pulling a small pair of pliers from his jeans pocket, he removed something and held it up to Tyler. He tipped his hat, grinning. Her knees felt weak. Then someone shouted and all hell broke loose. The momma cow had managed to get away from the other cowboys. Chance jumped into the saddle and he and Tyler simultaneously loosened their ropes and jerked. The calf was free, but the big cow charged straight for them. Eden held her breath. They kneed their horses and the animals responded beautifully, digging in their hooves and galloping toward safety. Out of harm's way, Chance and Tyler pulled up, watching the cow and calf. The Brahma pawed the ground and snorted, flinging her head from side to side, just daring them to take one step toward her baby. After a moment, the momma and the little one trotted into the woods. Eden noticed the baby limping. There had been something in its hoof.

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She was still reeling from the magnificent show of skill, coordination and horsemanship. No one did it better than Tyler Jakes. Her grandfather had told her that many times, but now something was different. It didn't take her long to figure out what it was. She'd acknowledged his talent on her own. "Didn't I tell ya, Ben?" Mr. Johns said. "Yep. Should have known better." Mr. Johns walked toward his truck and Mr. Hopper noticed her. "Miss Eden, you're home." "Yes. For a little while." She wrapped her arms around her waist. It was getting chilly. "I'll miss Ira. He was a good man." "Thank you." He opened his door. "Call if you need anything." "Thank you," she said again and climbed into her car. Everyone here was so friendly. She would miss that in New York. When she reached home, she carried firewood from the back porch and placed it in the fireplace. She loved making a fire and she had enough wood to last while she was here. As she stuffed old newspapers beneath the logs to light, she heard a tap at the door. It couldn't be Tyler. Could it? Against her will, her heart hammered against her ribs.

Chapter Four She opened the door and found a little girl—Eden judged her to be about five or six years old—standing there. She wore jeans stuffed into cowboy boots. The tops were pink. Her blond hair was in a ponytail. Big brown eyes stared at Eden. "Hi," the girl said, smiling with two front teeth missing. "My name is Jenny. What's your name?" Who was she? There were no cars in the driveway…. "How did you get here?" she asked, figuring it was the best way to start the conversation. Jenny pointed to Tyler's house. This had to be Tyler and Denise's child. Eden drew a long breath. "Does your father know you're here?" Jenny shrugged. "Daddy told me that Pa's granddaughter was here and I wanted to meet her 'cause I'm Pa's granddaughter, too." "What?"

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"I don't have a grandpa and he said he'd be mine. I took him to school for show-and-tell." For a moment she was speechless, but it sounded just like Pa. He had a very big heart. "Are you Eden?" Eden had never been good with kids, and she wasn't sure what to do with this one. Please go away, kid. "I'm sure your dad is worried about you. Maybe you should go home." Jenny shrugged again. "Can I sit in Pa's chair? He lets me do that." "I'm very busy, this isn't a good time." She stepped back and closed the door. The moment she did all she saw was that hurt little face. She yanked it open. "I'm sorry. That was rude." Jenny tried hard to keep her bottom lip from trembling and Eden felt even worse. How could she be mean to an innocent child? "You can sit in Pa's chair." The lip stuck out farther. "I don't want to now." Eden bent down to her level. "I'm making a fire in the fireplace. Want to help?" "No." Eden walked inside, leaving the door open. She found matches on the mantel and lit the newspaper. Soon the fire roared to life. As she was putting the screen in front of it, Jenny trailed in and then made a dash for Pa's recliner and jumped in. She reached for Gran's afghan on the arm and curled up. Jenny looked lost in the big chair, but it was obvious she was familiar with the house. She must have had a loving relationship with Pa. And yet Pa had only mentioned the little girl in passing. Maybe because he sensed Eden had conflicting emotions about Tyler. Where was Tyler? Did he allow his child to run all over the place unsupervised? Not sure what else to do, she left Jenny in the chair and went to the table where she had her jewelrymaking supplies laid out. While she had time, she thought she'd make matching sets of bracelets, necklaces and earrings to sell on the website. Stringing large lime-green and crystal beads with silver spacers onto a flexible professional wire, she noticed Jenny had made her way to the table. "Whatcha doing?" "Making a bracelet," she replied, without looking up. "Like, to wear?" "Yes. I sell them." "Gee. It's pretty." "Thank you." "Are you Beauty? 189

Eden dropped a bead and immediately picked it up. "Why do you ask that?" "'Cause Pa said he called his granddaughter Beauty and I wanted him to call me Beauty but he said there was only one Beauty." "Oh." Her throat closed for a second. "So he called me Cutiepie, and there's only one Cutiepie and that's me." Eden stopped stringing beads as she suddenly saw herself clearly in Jenny—the need to be loved. And the feeling she had to compete for that love. She realized her grandfather hadn't loved Jenny any more than he'd loved her, so why had Eden felt that need to compete with Tyler? The thought was unsettling. "My daddy says Mommy used to call me angel, but then…then she left me," Jenny blurted out. Pa had told her that Tyler and Denise had divorced, but Eden assumed Denise still saw her child. Obviously not. She stared at the little girl, recognizing the pain of a nine-year-old whose parents didn't want her. "My mommy left me, too." "Oh." Jenny's brown eyes opened big. "Did she love you?" Eden rolled a bead between her fingers. "I think so, but she didn't want to be a mommy." "Mine didn't, either, but I got Daddy." "And I had my grandparents." Jenny smiled. "We did good, huh?" "Yes. We did good." Why hadn't she focused on that all those years ago? Eden had felt as if she'd done something wrong, but she knew now that she hadn't. And neither had Jenny. Jenny pulled at the sleeves of her denim jacket, which was noticeably too small for her. "Don't you have a bigger jacket?" "I lost it and Daddy can't afford to buy me a new one." Jenny fiddled with a bead. "Daddy says when he sells the calves and the crops come in things will be better." The crops on her grandfather's land. The land she wanted to sell. Damn. She'd always thought Tyler had the Midas touch and it was surreal finding out that he had faults and troubles like everyone else. It made him human. And appealing. They both heard the pounding of hooves. "Uh-oh." Jenny quickly glanced around. "Where can I hide?" Eden smiled. "He probably already knows you're here."

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"Gee." Tyler knocked on the door. Eden looked at Jenny. "Do you want to get it? Or should I?" Her brown eyes brightened. "You can and I'll run out the front." "No, no." Eden tried not to laugh as she got to her feet. "You stay right here and I'll let your father in." Eden opened the door and Tyler came straight to the point. "Tell Jenny to come out." She waved a hand toward the kitchen. "You might want to do that yourself." "Jenny," he called, walking inside. His presence seemed to fill up the house and warm it more than the fire ever could. Jenny wasn't in the kitchen or the living area. Had she escaped? A blonde head popped up over the top of the recliner. "I'm sitting in Pa's chair, Daddy." "Let's go. I told you not to come over here." Jenny trudged toward her father in boots that seemed as if they weighed ten pounds each. "Yes, sir." "Go home and sit in the time-out chair. I'll be there in a minute." "Yes, sir." When Jenny reached the doorway, she looked back at Eden. "Bye." "Bye." Eden's heart ached at the sad face. Don't get involved. Don't get involved. As soon as the door closed, Tyler said, "I'm sorry if she bothered you." Sweat stained his shirt and dirt caked his jeans, but there was another awareness now. Broad shoulders, tight jeans, boots and a worn Stetson suddenly made her blood race. She never knew she liked cowboys. "How old is she?" "Six." "She's a ball of energy." "Some days she does me in." He raised his eyes to hers. "I'm sorry about earlier. I had no right to say those things." "And I had no right to slap you." 191

He nodded. "We have to talk." "Yes." "But I should get Jenny home. I'll come over later." As the door closed, Eden knew she had a big decision to make. She'd never dreamed Tyler depended on the crops he grew on her grandfather's land for his very livelihood. And Jenny's. But Eden needed the money from the sale of the land to start her business and her new successful life. What could she do?

Chapter Five Tyler went through his back door feeling lower than a snake. He hated disciplining Jenny. It took a little piece of his heart every time he had to. His blood pressure had spiked when he discovered where she was. He didn't want his kid in the middle of his and Eden's issues. God, he couldn't believe he'd kissed her. And he couldn't believe all the suppressed emotions it had generated. He wanted to kiss her again. To hold her, to be with her. But getting involved with Eden was too risky. Like Denise, Eden's life was not in this small town. And he and Eden had business to take care of that required cool heads. In the living room, he saw Jenny sitting in her little chair, facing the wall. He took a deep breath. "Can I get up now, Daddy?" "Yes." He walked to the kitchen table and sat down. She crawled into a chair. "Why did you disobey me, Jenny?" "I…I…wanted to sit in Pa's chair. I miss him, Daddy. Why did he have to go to heaven?" Big tears rolled down her cheeks. He gathered her into his arms, not sure what to say to her or how to make her feel better. Parenting a prayer at a time was the best he could do. He stroked her hair. "Remember you said goodbye to Pa and you gave him a big kiss." "But I didn't want him to go," she wailed. He held her closer. "He was sick, baby, and he was ready. He wanted to be with Mavis." "Uh-huh." He pulled her chin out from his chest. "What did Pa tell you?" "Every time I see a flower to think of him."

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"Yeah. Pa taught you about flowers, vegetables and fruit trees." Jenny nodded. "He knew all about that stuff, Daddy." He poked her chest. "Pa lives right there in you. All you have to do is think about him and all the things he taught you." Her eyes grew big. "Eden, too, Daddy?" For a moment he was thrown off balance. Jenny must have sensed it because she said, "Does Pa live in Eden, too?" "Oh. Yes. Eden has lots of memories of Pa." "Eden makes jewelry," Jenny announced. Tyler was sure his daughter had that wrong. "You mean she wears jewelry?" "No, Daddy, she puts it together with real pretty colors and she sells it." "Oh." He had no idea what Jenny was talking about. Eden was an actress and a model; Ira had raved constantly about how well she was doing. Why would she be making her own jewelry? To sell? That didn't make sense. "Her mommy left her, too." "She told you that?" Jenny bobbed her head. "Yep. And we decided we did good. I got you, and Eden had Pa and Gran." He was stunned. Eden had taken the time and bonded with his daughter over a very touchy subject. Usually Jenny never discussed Denise, but now she seemed happy that someone understood. Maybe Eden wasn't so flighty after all. The idea was jarring, and he decided not to hurt his brain by thinking about it. "Listen, pumpkin. How about this spring we plant a garden with flowers and vegetables? We'll call it Ira's Garden. How would you like that?" "Yeah!" She clapped her hands, her sadness forgotten. He wanted to ask more about Eden but didn't. He had to find out on his own. "Pumpkin, Daddy has to go out for a little while. I'll call Mrs. Hopper to see if she'll sit with you. I won't be long." "'Kay. She reads good stories." Tyler took a quick shower and changed clothes. Opening a desk drawer, he pulled out a large manila envelope. Waiting for Eden to talk to the lawyer about the will now seemed like the coward's way. He owed it to Ira to do it himself. 193

*** Tyler didn't call Eden. He just showed up. He didn't want to give her the option of saying she didn't want to see him. When she opened the door, he caught his breath. Her long silver-blond hair tumbled around her. Her perfect features were relaxed and not tight as they usually were when she was with him. Black slacks and a white pullover sweater showcased her gorgeous feminine body. Red socks were on her feet. "Come in," she said in a polite voice he hadn't heard in a long time. He soaked it up like raw cotton absorbs water. He followed her into the kitchen and stopped short. The table was covered with brightly colored beads, stones and various other things he didn't recognize. He took a seat, as did she. "Jenny said you made jewelry." She lifted an eyebrow. "You sound surprised." She nodded her head. "Oh. You thought I was still acting or modeling." "That's what Ira said." "My grandfather tended to embellish. A bit in a commercial and a gig modeling for a catalogue is not a big money-paying career. I make more selling my original jewelry now." "Oh." Tyler was confused, not sure how to fit any of this new information in with the image he'd always had of Eden. "So Jenny lives with you?" she asked. It took him a moment to concentrate. "Yes. I have full custody." "Oh." He shifted uncomfortably, and laid the papers on the table. Not sure where to begin, he said, "Thank you for being so nice to Jenny." "We have a lot in common. We both love Pa and have mothers who left us." "Even at nine you were very self-confident. It never occurred to me to think of how hard that must have been for you. I'm sorry." "It wasn't confidence. It was self-defense. Talking to Jenny earlier made me realize how desperately I wanted love and attention." "And instead I hogged your grandparents' focus." "It pissed me off…and it hurt me. I could never do anything as good as you."

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"And I could never do anything to make them love me more than they loved you. I lost a parent, too. My mom was a single mother, and didn't always have time to bake me cookies like Mavis, or teach me about planting crops like Ira. I needed their love as much as you did." Their eyes locked. The fire crackled in the living room behind him and she curled her feet beneath her. "They loved us both, just in different ways." "Mmm. We were the ones that made it a competition. We lost a lot of time with them because of it. I'm sorry for that." "You should be," she replied, and then smiled a smile that made his heart beat faster, made this lousy day brighter. She cocked her head. "Well, since we're making heartfelt confessions…what happened to you and Denise?" He swallowed. "Denise's idea of marriage and mine weren't the same. She liked to party and go to clubs. I didn't. She wanted to move to Houston. I didn't. We came to an impasse and I told her she could either stay or go. She chose to leave." "Without Jenny?" "I wouldn't let her take the baby and she eventually left without her. We went back and forth over custody until she met an older guy with money who didn't want kids. His were grown. After a few months, she signed over her parental rights. I have full and permanent custody." "That must have been a relief." "Yes…and no." He rubbed his hands together. "Jenny was barely a year old and I didn't know how I was going to explain what had happened when she got older. My mother advised me to tell her the truth and I did. Of course, I glossed over a lot of it and emphasized how much Denise loved her." "Wise decision." He stared at all the beads and stones on the table. "So your new line of work is creating jewelry?" "Yes. I design and craft the pieces. Clunky and bold is in these days." She moved aside a plastic container of turquoise stones. "I'm moving to New York in less than a month to get the business going in a big way. Only it takes money to start a business. I thought inheriting this house was the answer to my prayers, but… You said the things in the house didn't have any sentimental value for me, but they do. I'm not sure how to part with any of my grandparents' treasures." She glanced at her hands. "But if I don't, it'll be one more failure. Somehow I have to do this—I have to prove the time and the care my grandparents gave to me was worthwhile and that I can succeed at something." "So they'll be proud of you?" She lifted her eyes to his. "Yes, so they'll…love me. As silly as that sounds." "Eden, you never had to succeed to gain their love. You had it every day of your life."

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"I know…now, anyway. But it's too late… They're gone." She brushed away an errant tear, then another, and his heart twisted. He cupped her face for a moment, in awe of the softness of her skin, before his lips touched hers. The world rolled away, and he tasted her sweetness and her pain. He'd only meant to give her comfort, but everything feminine in her lit a fuse deep in him. She moaned and he took the kiss to another level. "Tyler," she breathed against his lips as he pulled away gently. "Shh…Eden. Everything's going to be okay. I'm going to make it okay." He forced himself to get up and walk out the door, the manila envelope clutched in his hand.

Chapter Six Tyler stayed up late going over his books. He had to find a way to make ends meet without the crops he'd planned to harvest on the March property. It was Eden's land. He had no right to it. He'd realized that when she'd talked of her dream in New York. He'd always admired her bravery, her courage to stretch her wings as far as they would go. Eden had a zest for life unmatched by anyone he'd ever met. Ira had wanted her to be happy. Tyler wanted her to be happy, too. So he had to step back and let it happen. He tore up the legal document and threw it into the fireplace. He would recoup his losses somehow and move on. Chance would give him all the work he could at the Southern Cross. Then he'd work his own ranch and plant crops after he signed off there. But he still had to make time for Jenny. It wouldn't be easy, but he wasn't taking anything from Eden that rightly belonged to her. And her dreams. Before he crawled into bed, he thought of the new feelings they'd shared lately—the intimate confessions…the romantic, passionate kisses. For a moment he wished it could lead to a lot more. But like Denise, Eden wasn't happy in small-town Texas. She had big-city dreams. Was he destined to always fall for the wrong woman? The next morning, as they walked out the door, Jenny asked, "Can I go to Eden's this afternoon?" Tyler forced himself not to show any emotion. Last night was still fresh in his mind. He steered Jenny in another direction. "Don't you have a project to finish for Mrs. Lofton?" "Yeah, but—" "Work on it first." "'Kay," she grumbled. He glanced at the March house. It was in darkness—she must be still asleep. He'd talk to her as soon as he dropped Jenny at school. She had to know he wouldn't stand in her way. *** Eden woke up to warmth. The feather bed was so cozy and she didn't want to move, but it was morning. And she had tons to do. In pajama bottoms, T-shirt and socks, she padded into the living room and saw the fire was almost out. She dashed to the porch, grabbed two logs and hurried inside. The temperature was low and she shivered. 196

Quickly she placed the logs on the burning ashes and stoked it. It burst to life. After replacing the screen, she went to make coffee. With a cup in hand, she curled up in Pa's chair and wrapped Gran's afghan around her. She should be making jewelry, she should be packing and cleaning and getting things together. Instead, she was agonizing about what had happened last night. She'd wanted Tyler to kiss her and it was everything she'd wanted it to be—exciting, exhilarating and passionate. She'd wanted to lose herself in him, to feel his arms around her, his hands on her skin. But just when she'd thought they'd go further, he'd pulled away, saying everything was going to be okay. What did he mean by that? Taking a sip of coffee, she stared into the glowing embers. At twenty-five, she'd been kissed before. She should be able to figure it out, but she was clueless. She just wanted to be with him again. Her stomach growled so she went into the kitchen to make toast. Yesterday she'd picked up Pa's mail and it was lying on the counter. It was probably junk, but she took a moment to flip through it. A large manila envelope addressed to her caught her eye. It was from her grandfather's lawyer. Pa had left everything to her so she couldn't imagine what it could be. Ripping it open, she sat down to read. She pulled out a legal document. It was a codicil to her grandfather's will. Her eyes froze on the page. For his dedication to me and my welfare, I, Ira March, hereby grant Tyler Jakes first choice to purchase said property. A legal description followed. For the said price. An amount was listed that blew her mind. Pa had practically given him her inheritance. She'd thought she'd gotten beyond the competition between them, but reading her grandfather's words made everything clear—he'd loved Tyler more. A knock sounded at the door. Tyler. She couldn't deal with him right now. Maybe if she didn't open the door, he'd assume she was still asleep. She didn't move a muscle. "Eden, are you awake?" Darn! She'd forgotten to lock the door. He walked in, bringing the cool January temperature with him. He was awesome in boots, tight jeans and a Stetson. Her stomach fluttered in excitement, even though she didn't want it to. She actually wanted to hit him again. "It's nice and warm in here," he said, holding his hands to the fire. "Why are you here?" she asked, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. She failed. Complete silence filled the room. The fire crackled and suddenly Eden was hot—hot all over—with renewed resentment. She fingered the document. She could feel Tyler's lips on hers and she hated that she'd been fooled so easily. "Could we talk?" He walked into the kitchen. "Have you spoken to Ira's lawyer?" "He asked me to stop by his office when I was in High Cotton. I'd planned to do that Monday. He said it was just a formality." She held up the envelope. "But I guess it's a whole lot more than that."

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"Eden, I'm sorry. I received a copy about two weeks ago." She stared at him. "You do realize the price is staggeringly low?" "I had no idea Ira had this in mind." "I bet you didn't." She got up and placed her cup in the sink. If her jewelry didn't sell, she wouldn't be able to stay in New York. Then where would she go? Tyler would have the only place she'd ever thought of as home. "Eden…" "I'd appreciate it if you'd stay away until I get my mind sorted out. But then there's not much to think about. It's a done deal. You're getting the property at a steal. Is that what you planned all along? Kiss up to Eden and she'll go along with anything?" "I didn't plan what happened with us. That was honest and real." "Oh, please." "I came over to tell you I'm not invoking the codicil." "Why not? Pa wanted you to have this place. You were the son he always wanted. I was just the flighty granddaughter." "That's not true…Eden." He moved close to her and his masculine scent did a number on her resolve. "Please, don't touch me. Leave me with some dignity." She ran from the room, tears streaming down her face.

Chapter Seven In her grandparents' room, Eden quickly dressed and called her grandfather's attorney. She had to have answers. A machine came on. She grabbed her purse, intending to be in Giddings, Texas, where Mr. Spencer's office was located, when he opened the door. Tyler was gone when she went through the kitchen to the door. As she neared the town, she phoned again and Mr. Spencer's assistant answered. Eden informed her she'd be there in five minutes. Mr. Spencer was waiting for her, and she followed him into his office. "My assistant said you sounded upset." Mr. Spencer waved a hand for her to take a seat, and he followed suit. She crossed her legs. "How did the codicil to my grandfather's will happen?" "It was Ira's wish. Since you were out in California, he knew you would never live in the house, and he wanted someone who cared about the place to own it. He wanted to give Mr. Jakes the property outright, but felt it would be a disservice to you, the granddaughter he loved." "Why did he want to give it to Tyler?" 198

Mr. Spencer looked uncomfortable. "Mr. Jakes was always there when Ira needed anything. He wrapped the pipes in winter, kept the well pump from freezing, mowed the grass, cut wood for the fireplace, fixed whatever was broken. And he took care of Ira in the last days of his life." A lump formed in her throat. "I don't understand. My grandfather was healthy until the heart attack." Mr. Spencer's brow knotted in confusion. "Ira had two heart attacks." "What?" "Didn't Ira tell you?" "About six weeks before his major heart attack he phoned and said he had a spell with his heart. I offered to come home, but he insisted he was fine." "He wasn't. Mr. Jakes found him in the yard, called 911 and Ira was life-flighted to Scott & White Hospital in Temple. The doctors wanted to operate but, because of his age, they only gave him a fifty-fifty chance. Ira decided to leave this world just as he came into it." The lump dissolved into tears. "Why did no one call me?" "Ira and I have been friends for a long time. I was at the hospital when Mr. Jakes asked Ira if he had called you, and he said he had." "But he didn't tell me what happened, only that he was okay and I wasn't to worry." Mr. Spencer crossed his hands over the file on his desk. "I'm at a loss at what to say, Eden. Ira had this idea that you were a lot like your father, Geoffrey, always with a big dream, always needing to be free. After your parents deserted you, Ira wanted you to have the best and for all your dreams to come true. He felt that would never happen here." Eden brushed away a tear. "I guess we didn't really know each other." "I think you did. Ira was stubborn and didn't want his beauty saddled with a sick grandfather. He wanted you to be happy." But I wasn't. I was so alone. She brushed away another tear. "So Tyler looked out for Pa?" "Yes. He moved in and took care of Ira." "What?" "Ira was very weak and Mr. Jakes didn't think Ira should be left alone." "What about his little girl?" "Mr. Jakes' mother came and took care of her, but Jenny was there a lot. Ira loved her."

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"How long did this go on?" "About six weeks. When Mr. Jakes saw the end was near, he loaded Ira into his truck and carried him to the hospital, calling you on the way, against Ira's wishes. He felt you should be given the opportunity to see your grandfather before he passed." "I did. I got to say goodbye." More tears flowed. Mr. Spencer got up and handed her a tissue. She blew her nose. All these years she and Tyler had warred for her grandfather's attention, to make him proud—a stupid competition, a trivial thing compared to what Tyler had done for her grandfather. In her heart she knew her grandparents had protected her from the moment she'd come into their lives, encouraging her to be whatever she wanted to be, even if it meant she was far away from them. Pa had done so right to the end. She couldn't be angry because he loved her. He loved me. Mr. Spencer leaned against his desk. "Eden, do you want to contest the codicil?" "No." She rose to her feet. "But I'd like to do something else. Draw up the papers to give Tyler Jakes the property as my grandfather wanted." "Please, think about this," he advised. "I have. It's the right thing to do." "Take a few days." She reached for her purse. "Call me when the papers are ready to sign." Walking out of the office, she felt better than she had in a long time. The truth had opened up the dark corners of her heart. So many wasted years misguidedly thinking her grandparents had loved Tyler more. In reality, her grandparents had loved them both, only in different ways because they'd needed different things—Tyler had needed a father, and she'd needed a home. Pa couldn't have loved Tyler more; love wasn't measured. It was freely given. She'd always known Tyler was special; she just never knew how special until she heard of his devotion to her grandfather. Not many men would make such a sacrifice. She had to have the courage to do something as meaningful. The money from the sale of the property would be a loss, but if she couldn't make it in New York on her own, then she didn't need to be there. *** Late that afternoon, Eden curled up in her grandfather's chair, soaking up his presence by touching the things he'd loved. How she wished she had the chance to tell him his wish would come true—his house and land would belong to Tyler and he would cherish it the same way Pa had. And she would move on to accomplish all the dreams he had wanted for her. Except for the one that could never be. The one that was right here in High Cotton. 200

"Eden?" She turned to see Jenny standing a few feet from her. "I knocked, but you didn't hear me." "Oh, sorry." Her thoughts had been inward. "Whatcha doing?" Without thinking, she replied, "Sitting in Pa's chair and remembering him." Jenny jumped in beside her. "I like to do that, too. We can miss him together." Jenny's face and hands were cold. "Where's your jacket?" She shrugged. "My teacher found it on the playground and I brought it home. But after that… I guess I left it in my room. Pa said Daddy should tie it around my neck." Jenny giggled. "He's funny." Eden tucked the afghan around the little girl and they sat, watching the fire and missing a man they both loved. After a second, Jenny said, "Daddy and me are going to plant a garden and call it Ira's Garden. You can help us." "That's real sweet." Eden wasn't sure she'd be here then, but there was no need to tell Jenny that. "We do missing good, huh, Eden?" "Yes, we do." The future lay before her and she wondered how it would all go. What would she miss when she left? Would she miss this house and the memories? Would she miss the cowboy next door?

Chapter Eight Eden smiled at the little girl on her lap. Since Jenny's two front teeth were missing, her words came out with a "th" sound. It was so cute. She noticed a piece of tattered paper in Jenny's hand. "What's that?" "I have to make something for school. But I'm six years old. I don't know how to make anything. And Daddy's hopeless. He can't even get my hair into a ponytail." Eden took the pink construction paper from her. "What is this supposed to be?" "A crown. I want to be a princess Barbie." She made a face. "But it's ugly. You make pretty things. Can you make my crown pretty?"

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"Let's go see what's in my bag of tricks." Jenny followed her to the table. Eden had bought some rhinestones so she could glue them on a belt she'd worn for a party. She searched for them, finally finding the right tray and pulling it out. Jenny sat close beside her, intently describing how the crown should look. Eden drew the shape on the construction paper and handed Jenny the scissors. The girl painstakingly followed the lines, her tongue sticking out. After that, Eden made a big O in the center and several stars along the sides. She glued on two rhinestones and then handed the glue stick to Jenny, letting her choose the colors, which turned out to be pink, red and purple. Chewing on her tongue, Jenny said, "This is gonna be so beau-ti-ful. I'm gonna win a prize." "Does your teacher give prizes?" "No, but she should." Eden smiled and watched Jenny work until the crown was almost covered. She stapled it at the back and placed it on Jenny's head. "Do I look like a princess?" "Oh, yes, you're a beautiful princess. And a cutiepie." Eden could see why Pa had loved Jenny and Tyler so much. She couldn't help loving them, either. But she wasn't going to analyze that thought any further. "We'll let the glue dry for a bit." "'Kay." "Does your dad know you're here?" Jenny bobbed her head. "I left him a note." "A note? Can you write?" "Yep. I can write my name and Pa's, so that's what I put on the note." "I see." Tyler's job was to decipher the rest. Jenny certainly kept him on his toes. "Where is your Daddy?" "He went to check on a cow. I'm supposed to be doing my homework." Evidently Tyler hadn't come back or he would be looking for his daughter. "I'll walk you home." She had to talk to Tyler, anyway. "'Kay. Can I wear my crown?" "Sure." They walked along a well-worn trail to the Jakeses' house, Jenny proudly displaying the crown. The old farmhouse with a wraparound porch was timeless. Two wood rockers and a sturdy swing decorated the front side. Jenny's bike lay on the plank floor.

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At that moment Tyler rode up to the barn on his chestnut mare. As he dismounted, he noticed them standing in the yard and strode toward them. "Uh-oh," Jenny said. "Daddy isn't happy." Within a few seconds he was in front of them, his handsome face etched into a scowl. "Look, Daddy." Jenny pointed to her head. "Eden helped me with my school project." "You weren't supposed to leave the house for any reason." "Yes, sir. I'll go sit in the time-out chair." "That doesn't seem to be working. You're going to bed an hour early and no TV." "Dad-dy." Tyler pointed to the door. "Go read one of your books. I'll be there in a minute." Jenny stomped inside and Eden could see the pain it caused him to discipline his daughter. She could tell he was a great father. She wished she'd stop discovering all his good qualities. *** Tyler took a breath and turned to face Eden. They had to talk about the codicil. He didn't want the land. It was hers. She sat on the stoop and he joined her. "Don't worry about Jenny coming over. She wasn't a bother," she said, and that delicate fragrance he associated with her relaxed him. "But I agree she shouldn't leave the house alone. That's why I brought her home." "I'm at my wit's end on how to discipline her." "Where's your mother?" "In Abilene with her husband. She worries about me and Jenny and comes about every six weeks to make sure I'm not starving her grandchild." "So it's just you and Jenny?" "Yeah." The sun was sinking in the west and the temperature was dropping. But for some reason he didn't feel cold. "Eden, I'm sorry about the codicil. I'm not exercising that right. The house and the land are yours totally. Besides, I can't afford it."

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"I spoke with Mr. Spencer and he told me the whole story, which my grandfather neglected to do. I had no idea he was so ill. When I'd called, he sounded weak. But he always said he was just tired, and I believed him." Damn! Why had Spencer done that? It accomplished nothing now but to upset her. "Eden…" "I'm glad he had you to take care of him and I'm so grateful." "Are you crying?" He couldn't see clearly as the darkness crowded in on them. "Just a little." He put his arm around her and she nestled into him. "I'm sorry I was jealous of you over the years." "Really? I rather enjoyed going head-to-head with you." "You did not." She turned and looked at him and he lost himself in the glistening blue of her eyes. Against every sane thought in his head, he cupped her face and kissed her softly, gently…until stronger emotions took control. Her hands slipped beneath his Carhartt jacket and he weaved his fingers through the thickness of her hair as the kiss deepened. He'd kissed her before, but not like this. This time they kissed as equals, aware of exactly what they wanted. After seconds—or minutes, or hours, he couldn't gauge—he rested his forehead against hers and his hat fell off. He didn't care about that. He only cared about the woman in his arms. "I have to tell you something," she murmured. "What?" "Pa wanted you to have the house and land, so I'm giving it to you. I just want some items from the inside." He drew back. "No, no! You can't do that." "I already did. I'll sign the papers before I leave town." "You're still leaving?" "Yes. I'm meeting a friend in New York to peddle my jewelry to designers. I'll let you know before I go." He frowned. "Then what was that kiss about?" She touched his face. "Goodbye, Tyler. I'll never forget the cowboy next door." She stood and walked into the darkness. *** 204

Tyler caught up with her. "Eden, I refuse to accept the property." "Tyler, please, this is what Pa wanted." The night wrapped around them and a million stars lit their path. "I believe what Ira really wanted was for us to spend time together so that we could get to know each other and stop competing. And we have. I used to think you were flighty, irresponsible, but I don't anymore. I got a glimpse of the real Eden and I like her—a lot. She's spunky, brave and reinvents herself when life doesn't go according to plan. That takes courage." "What are you saying?" She heard a heavy sigh. "I'm asking you to consider staying. I know you have plans…and this is sudden but… You don't have to be alone anymore." Eden threw herself into his arms and he held her tight. "I always thought you were the golden boy with the Midas touch who could do anything. I know now that's not true. You have troubles, heartache and pain just like everyone else. And you're so compassionate, caring for Pa and Jenny. I never saw that side of you." He kissed the side of her face and she trembled. "We've both learned something in the past few days. Love doesn't come from doing what's expected of you. It comes from the heart." "And achievement doesn't create love, either." "No." He cupped her face. "I was so sure I wouldn't fall in love again, but I'm nuts about you. I'm so afraid, though. Can you settle for a small-town life?" Eden thought about her plans in New York. They weren't so appealing anymore. In the past few days, her desperate need to succeed had been replaced by a need for someone else. A need for family. Everything she wanted was right here, standing next to her. She buried her face in the warmth of his neck. "Is it possible to fall in love this quickly?" "We've been falling for a long time. We just didn't realize it." "Mmm." She stood on tiptoes and met his lips with a fire that left no doubt about their true feelings. After a moment, he cupped her face once more. "Are you sure?" "I've never been more sure of anything. This is where I belong—with you and Jenny." "What about your plans?" "I'll just reinvent myself again. I can make Pa's house into a workshop and create my jewelry here. Paige will understand. Since she's doing a new website for me, I can ship items from the local post office. I really don't need the hectic lifestyle of New York, but I do need you and Jenny." He kissed her briefly. "You know, your bravery has inspired me. Maybe I'll reinvent myself and do something I've always dreamed of doing." "What would that be?" 205

"I gave up the rodeo when my mom remarried. I don't want to go back there, but maybe…I might start a rodeo roping camp. Boys are always asking me to teach them to rope." She snuggled into him. "A great idea, and I'll be here to help." He kissed her long and deep and the January wind blew against them. "I love you," he whispered against her lips. "I love you, too." They'd both found what they'd been searching for—love, right next door.

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Unfinished Business by Amy J. Fetzer

Chapter One South America, Night. The Southern Hemisphere was the pits. The jungle air reeked of rotting vegetation, thick enough to see. Wet enough to taste. That Rick was here, steaming like broccoli, searching for a woman he never wanted to see again, said something about his character. He just wasn’t sure if it was heroic or just masochistic. Crouched in the shadows behind a drape of vines, Rick Callahan held his breath as a guard wearing bandoleers and carrying an AK-47 moved past and headed toward the front of the building. Didn’t these guys sleep? He reminded himself to sit tight, he was being paid to rescue Megan O’Toole. Paid a lot. It was the only reason he was in this hellhole willing to face guerillas armed better than he was to get her back to her cushy lifestyle. Rick ducked out, hurrying to the edge of the slanting building. Crouching, he spotted her through the shack’s only window and feelings he couldn’t name shot through his chest like a blade. He wasn’t going to pick them apart. He had a job to do. Now. Before they both got waxed. Weapon out, with his back to the wall, he peered over the sill. Megan O’Toole, daughter of a billionaire, was in the centre of the room, blindfolded, gagged - a smart move on their part - and tied to a wooden chair. Her head was slumped forward, shoulders limp, and for a second he thought she was dead. And inside, he hurt. Sharp, angry. Then she stirred, lifting her head. He could hear her captors in the front yard, boozing it up and getting comfortable. They should; they’d just made their last demand on Cameron O’Toole, Megan’s father. Rick had negotiated it himself. Part of the service, he thought, and slid over the sill, dropping silently to the floor. He scanned the darkened room, the only light coming from a kerosene lamp on the dirt floor. Slumming for Megan, he thought. She was used to luxury, servants. A doting father who protected her like a dragon protecting its young. Doting enough to dismiss Rick as her bodyguard for falling under her spell. And getting shot. It was a humiliation he was still trying to live down. Holstering his weapon, he moved to her, closing his hand over her gagged mouth and pulling her head back against his shoulder. She fought him, and he tightened his grip to near punishing. 207

“Be quiet or we’re both dead. Understand?” She nodded, but the tension didn’t ease from her body. Letting her go, he cut her gag and ropes, ignoring her raw bleeding wrists and pulling her from the chair to the floor. Megan ripped off the blindfold, blinking. “If this isn’t for real, I’ll make you sorry,” she whispered in a gravelly voice and Callahan’s brows shot up. That didn’t sound like the Megan he remembered. “I’m as real as it gets. Can you walk?” he whispered, and she met his gaze, nodding, looking more angry than scared. He’d give up a lung to know what she was thinking right now. On her hands and knees, nearly nose to nose, Megan searched beyond the green and black clothing, the camouflage face paint that would give a child nightmares, and stared into dark unforgiving eyes. Familiar eyes. And a flood of memories coated her in slick greedy waves. Richard. The last time she’d been this close to him he’d been kissing her into mindless desire. For a second, she could almost feel the heavy warmth of his hands roaming beneath her clothes again, stroking her in places that called to only him, hear his soft erotic words while he was melting her bones with hot wet kisses. Yet with the steamy memories came the trouble she’d caused him. The bullet he’d taken to save her. And while she thought she’d actually meant something to her former bodyguard, he’d discarded her like day-old caviar and never looked back. “Daddy must be paying you a lot of money to do this.” “More than he first offered.” The insult stung, bruising her heart more than her ego. Just how much had it taken for Callahan to come all this way for her? And why had her father asked the one man forbidden to her? “You okay?” he whispered close to her ear, his irritation precise, biting. “Yes, peachy, but the service here is awful,” she snapped. “I shan’t recommend them again.” She could have sworn his lips actually curved in a smile. No. Not Callahan. Smiles would crack his chiseled face. Barely able to see him in the dark, she followed him across the dirt floor to the window. He slithered over the edge like a long black snake, pulling her after him. The sill cut into her hip and she bit down on her tongue to keep from groaning. And alerting her captors. They’d taken sick pleasure in smacking her around when the troglodyte they called a boss wasn’t around. Once outside, Rick grabbed her hand, yanking her ruthlessly into the jungle and running.

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After a few yards, her legs screamed in protest. “Callahan! Good grief, I’ve been sitting in that chair for nearly a week!” Without missing a beat, Callahan picked her up and like a caveman, tossed her over his shoulder. He ran. The air punched out of her lungs so hard she barely noticed his arm wrapped around her thigh, his hand shoved between her legs. She wasn’t going to complain, not that she could with her thoughts draining out of her head with her blood. He ran for what felt like a mile before she heard gun shots. “You just had to be a popular hostage?” he muttered accusingly, running a hundred yards before swinging her down, and setting her to her feet so hard Megan’s teeth clicked together. She shoved her hair out of her face. “Now what?” He was barely winded, damn him. “We run.” “Weren’t we just doing that?” “Not fast enough carrying you.” He forced her round and pushed her ahead. “Go, I don’t get paid for dead.” Good, she thought, that would keep her alive, and she obeyed, ignoring her burning muscles and pumping her legs like mad. Fear pushed her, fear of being hauled back again. Of being terrorised without sleep and food or water. They’d toyed with her. They would torture him. Leaves the size of small animals slapped her face, branches catching her clothing. She tripped and he grasped her elbow. “Keep going, dammit, move!” “I’m doing my best!” “Your best will get us killed.” They’d gone another fifty yards when the explosion came. It shook the earth, and he threw himself at her back. Together, they hit ground, the air leaving her in a hard punch. She spat dirt and said, “You set explosions?” “C-4.” “And warning me didn’t occur to you?” 209

“Nope. Not in the Rescue the Princess Manual.” Callahan flinched as debris hit his back, then he grabbed the waistband of her pants, dragging her to her feet as he stood. “There’ll be more,” he said and pushed her onward. The explosions would give them time, Rick thought. Exactly how much was an art form. “I see your Neanderthal style hasn’t improved.” The remark reminded him of what he didn’t want crowding his mind. “That didn’t stop you from indulging in the seedier side before, eh, princess?” She wished he’d stop calling her that. “That was then. My tastes have improved.” “I can die a happy man now,” he muttered dryly. “Because I don’t need another bullet hole, and the sooner we part company the longer I’ll live.” Stung, Megan gathered her composure before facing him. “Not if you want your precious money, Callahan. You’re stuck with me.” He loomed over her like the devil come to collect her soul. “I’m your only way out of here, so for the next three days, you’re stuck with me.” She swallowed. “Days?” Her horrified look didn’t give him the satisfaction he needed. “We’re farther from the nearest city than you think. If you can keep up, we might not miss the first rendezvous point.” Then he smiled. It was an evil grin, Rick knew. He’d saved it just for her. But in the dark, Megan saw only the bar of white teeth. Like fangs. He’s going to like this, she thought. That she was at his mercy. That she couldn’t survive out here without him. “Perhaps we should continue then?” Woodenly Megan swept her hand for him to lead the way. Rick trotted off and Megan stayed right behind him. She knew she had to, even if it killed her. And she was just about there. She wasn’t going to give him a reason to regret coming for her. He must have wanted the money badly to do this. He’d lost his job and a lot of blood because of her, hadn’t he? He’d never contacted her, and if he wanted to, he could have. Rules didn’t apply to Callahan. He stopped so suddenly she almost smacked into him. “Wait here.” He took a few steps away. She grabbed his arm. “Oh, I don’t think so. Do you know the kind of animals that lurk in this jungle?” 210

“Yeah, I do.” Rick pushed her hand off. “Be still, don’t scream.” Chapter Two Without another word, he moved farther into the forest. Just as cries of midnight creatures threatened her composure, he returned, wearing a backpack and holding a machete. “Let’s move. We have to get far enough away before sunrise.” “Would you happen to have any food in there?” He stared hard, then nodded, removing the pack and handing her some freeze-dried thing in a silver packet. She tore it open. Rick watched her shove the food into her mouth and guilt smacked him. “Good God, Meg. When’s the last time you ate?” Shrugging, she held up a finger, chewing the dry nutrition bar and forcing it down. He handed her a small bottle of water. “Swish it in your mouth first, spit, then drink.” She frowned, about to drink, then did as he said. Spitting was such a vulgar thing to do in front of a man, she thought, but didn’t care. She didn’t care about a lot of things anymore. And that scared her. She handed him back the bottle. “Do you need to rest?” he asked, and the words came out harsher than he’d intended. She lifted her chin. “I can keep up. God forbid we miss that rendezvous.” Rick eyed her, wondering what else had changed about her. The Megan O’Toole he knew two years ago was kind, considerate, and funny, but let’s face it, spoiled. He didn’t blame her or her father for that. If he’d had family, he’d have given them the world. But had a week in the hands of kidnappers really changed her that much? “Earth to Callahan? Rendezvous?” She waved in his face. “No more Meg? Big payoff?” He blinked, then scowling at her smug expression, he turned and hacked at the undergrowth, praying the kidnappers hadn’t survived the explosions. After a couple more hours of chewing bugs and sweating, dawn finally broke above them, yet the sunlight barely made it down between the trees. “Just exactly where are we going?”

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“Exactly? Twelve degree southwest.” Megan smirked at his back. Know-it-all. “Wouldn’t we be better off up there?” She pointed to the mountains. “We could see better.” “They grow poppy up there and unless you want to fight off drug lords too...” He let that hang for a second. “Do they have a bathroom? That might change my opinion.” He glanced back, the machete raised to chop. Then he let out a long-suffering breath and hacked through another spot and pointed. “Go in there.” She stared at the cut in the jungle. “My own boudoir. How lovely.” Then with a regal tip of her head, Meg walked into the forest. Rick sipped water, waiting. “There isn’t a mirror and perfume in there, come on, O’Toole.” She appeared minutes later, her red hair finger-combed back, her dirty clothing righted and smoothed. Fractures of morning light skipped over her face.

Damn, she was still beautiful, he thought, his insides clawing with a sudden sharp need to kiss her. She was under his skin and he didn’t want her there. Not now, not when her life depended on him being objective. He’d paid dearly for falling for her once. He wasn’t stupid enough to let it happen again. “You ready?” he said impatiently. “Yes, but the towel attendant needs a tip and I forgot my purse.” He smirked, shaking his head. ****** His energy was unshakable. He moved with quiet power, his long strides eating up the distance. Her legs were no match for his six-feet-something, yet she followed, trusting him. He fit into the jungle easily, his clothes, his dark hair melting into his black bandana and the camouflage paint concealing his skin. He’d been Marine Force Recon before he’d been her bodyguard. And he’d been her friend then, too. That he wasn’t now left her bleeding inside with a cut that wouldn’t heal. Still, she’d missed him. How she could miss cool black eyes and a lack of humor she didn’t know, yet there it was. She didn’t kid herself in thinking that if they’d made love that last night it would have mattered to him. He was dangerously handsome, and more than one of her friends had tried to draw him into her bed. The night she’d been in his, there’d been an attempt on her life. Almost nightly, she remembered him shielding her, the bullet that pierced through him and into her. Wounded, he’d disarmed the attackers and while she was in the hospital, Richard had disappeared. 212

And she’d never felt so alone in her life. Suddenly he was hauling her up by her arms. “I called you twice. Where the hell were you?” She blinked, hoping he couldn’t see her tears. “Off shopping at Saks, where else? It’s sale day.” Rick’s expression soured. “Stay more alert, O’Toole. Your kidnappers could come up on us easy." “Then I guess you’ll just have to fight them off if you want your payment, huh?" She shrugged off his touch. "God, you’re mouthy." “Forgive me, my debutante behavior got left behind when I was stolen from my bed at gunpoint.” Not for the first time, Rick considered what she’d been through in the past week. He didn’t like the images snapping through his mind. “We’ll bunk here for a while.” “Bunk?” “Sleep, rest, drink water.” Glancing around, Megan saw only thick vines and tree roots. Then Richard pushed back tall ferns, revealing a spot where trees bending to reach the chips of sunlight had cupped the earth. It looked like the Ritz to her. “It’s cooler in there and we’re hidden enough if someone comes along.” “Do you think they will?” Fear clouded her voice and she looked around. “Oh yeah, this is their backyard. And these guys are out their five million dollar package. They’ll want it back.” It. Megan felt suddenly very empty and alone. “Gee, nice to be so...necessary.” The hurt on her face devastated his senses. When had he grown so cruel? “Megan...” She cut him off before he could say more. “I’m a commodity. Like pork bellies or crude oil.” “That’s not true. Not to your father.” “Let’s not dissect this, please. I’m the pawn.” She raked her fingers through her hair and they snagged. “But if the kidnappers knew anything about my father, they’d know he would string

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them along till he got the upper hand.” She met his gaze, her eyes flat. “Which in this case was you.” She ducked inside the enclosure. Rick remained outside for a moment, then followed her. She was seated on the ground, removing her boots. “I didn’t mean it like that.” “Sure you did. You don’t get paid for a dead hostage. I’m a means to the end for everyone. For your money, their money, my father’s satisfaction that absolutely no one will take anything he considers his.” Megan adored her father, but she was twenty-seven and chief executive of South American Operations, yet with regard to her personal life, Dad often treated her like a hormonally challenged teenager. Dad thought he knew best. He didn’t. Or he’d never have fired Richard. “Your father loves you. Or he wouldn’t have hired me.” “Why did he ask you, Richard?” Hearing his name tugged somewhere deep inside him. She was the only one who called him that. It left an intimate calling card, a reminder of the last time he’d touched her. And how much he wanted to do it again. Now. “I’m good.” “Obviously.” She stared up at him for a second, thoughtful. “You’re a mercenary, a gun for hire, aren’t you?” “Sounds illegal when you put it like that.” “But it’s true?” He lowered himself to the ground. “I’m a hostage negotiator and retrieval expert.” That didn’t confirm her suspicions. “Amongst other things, I’ll bet.” “If the pay is good enough, I’m open.” Megan felt struck across the face. No matter how much she wished otherwise, to Richard Callahan, she was an opportunity. She really should be more judicious when she fell in love. “So what did it take for you to come for me, Callahan?” she said quietly, looking down at her hands, at the blood crusting on her wrists. “One million, two? Five?” Fresh blood dripped down her skin like a web and Rick realised when he’d pulled her along, he’d reopened the wounds. “We need to see to those.” He dug inside his pack for a medical kit.

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“It can wait and I’m tired.” She curled down on her side, using her boots for a pillow. His price must have been huge, she thought, and deep in her soul she wished he’d come on his own, for a dollar. “Meg. Those will get infected.” “They can wait,” she said on a yawn. She was asleep in an instant. Rick shoved his fingers into his hair, pulling off the bandanna and angrily snapping it aside. He had the social graces of a rhino in heat. Had he taken this job just for the chance to wound her? Or to show her that he wasn’t good enough for her then and wasn’t now? He was out of her league, and that he’d crossed the line with his charge was unacceptable to him. Her father had trusted him with her. Meg had trusted him and though she was more than willing to play with him two years ago, he should never have broken the cardinal rule. Never get involved with the targets. It would hurt too much when you failed. And he had, he thought, rubbing the old wound. He’d lost more than a job and a little blood that night. A part of his soul went missing, too. Carrying his backpack, Rick left the natural hut and set a couple nasty little surprises for anyone who tried to get past them. He wanted to get far away right now, but Megan needed rest and though he had no choice but to push her hard, it didn’t make him feel any better that she was hungry, bleeding, and he still didn’t know what they’d done to her. The way he found her said they hadn’t given her a single luxury and though most hostages had it worse, her situation had been pretty bad. Traps set, he reentered the enclosure, placing the main sensor before their makeshift entrance. The tiny red light blinked slowly and would hum when the sensor was tripped. While she slept, Rick cut an escape route in the underbrush surrounding them. This country didn’t have too many friendlies; it paid to have a couple of options. He settled down beside her, drinking some water and watching her. The bleeding had stopped, and when she rolled toward him, curling into a tight frightened ball, Rick’s reserve caved. He slid down to the ground, his back braced on the pack and pulled her into his arms. She whimpered, and struggled against him, and he whispered, “It’s all right, Irish, you’re safe.” She relaxed a bit, her fingers gripping his shirt as if he were the last thread in her life. Rick rubbed her back in slow circles, and crushed down memories of her willing in his arms, concentrating on getting them out of here when he knew in a couple hours the jungle could be crawling with guerillas. Men who wanted her for a money trade. Rick wasn’t much different. He might be saving her, but he was exchanging her rescue for cash so he could stop this life.

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And then what? Be alone? a voice asked and he looked down at Megan tucked in his arms. Gently he pushed her hair off her face. He could keep telling himself that it was for the pay, but deep inside, where he kept his secrets of loneliness and the need to end it, he knew he hadn’t come a thousand miles into the Amazon jungle for cash. Chapter Three A couple hours later, Megan stirred, feeling the solid warmth of a man against her. A second later, comprehension gelled and she jerked away, scrambling back on her behind. “It’s okay, its just me,” Rick said, her wide-eyed fear softening to wariness. “Don’t touch me.” Rick leaned on the pack, his arms folded across his chest. “You’re the one crawling onto my lap, princess.” Her face flamed and she rubbed her fist under her nose. “People can’t be held accountable for what they do in their sleep. It’s the subconscious at work.” “So subconsciously you wanted to be clinging to me like a vine?” A really luscious vine, but Rick knew better. He’d heard the whimpers, the pleas for water and rest to her captors. He didn’t doubt they’d kept her awake for days. It was a tactic to wear her down, though she had nothing to do with her release. It had been in her father’s hands and he’d tried to move mountains. “No, I did not. For pity’s sake, stop reading into every little thing.” She started putting on her boots. “You sound like a jilted lover.” “We never quite got to that stage, did we, Irish?” Irish. The old endearment stung and hot piercing eyes glared at him through a curtain of tangled red hair. “Go to hell, Callahan.” “Been there, got the scars to prove it.” “Want to compare a few? You’re the one who disappeared.” “I got fired, Meg.” He stood, gathering his things. “And you let that stop you?” “Your father has a way of making a lasting impression.” “What did he do?” Righteous fury lit her pretty face. 216

“Nothing that I couldn’t handle.” “I’m sure.” Meg could only imagine what her father had done. Money meant power and her father had plenty of both. “I didn’t know, Rick.” He looked down at her as she yanked on her laces. “So you thought I just played house with the boss’s daughter, let her get shot, then left without another thought?” “Didn’t you?” He withdrew his weapon and peered between the ferns and vines. “Well, didn’t you?” she persisted and when he didn’t respond, she yanked him around to face her. “Of course I thought of you. You were wounded because of me." “I was alive because of you. You took the bullet.” “And you wouldn’t have been hurt at all if I’d been doing my job instead of getting you naked.” A smile tugged. “You were doing a fine job of that, too, as I recall.” Rick ground his teeth, fighting the steamy memory clouding his brain. They flooded in just the same, like they did every time he thought of her. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter anyway. I broke a rule, paid the price, end of story.” It wasn’t over or they wouldn’t both be feeling like this, she thought, staring up at him. “We both paid, and you weren’t exactly alone in that rule breaking.” Rick winced, knowing she probably caught holy hell for being with her bodyguard. “My job was based on my reputation and I lost it,” he said, then stepped onto the path, motioning her to remain there. And because of that, she thought, she lost Rick. As Rick retrieved his sensors and traps, the truth bit him again. He hadn’t been worried about himself. Taking a bullet for her had been his duty, his job. But getting fired from the cushiest gig on the planet because it happened while they were in bed, and he’d been too hot for her to hear the intruders was disgraceful. Top that with the bullet grazing her, and he’d failed even more. Her father had been furious that his daughter actually wanted a man like him, but what happened to Meg afterward was a mystery. He’d spent a small fortune hunting her down, only to get close, and then she’d disappear again. After the third try, he’d given up, figuring she didn’t want to be found. What if she had wanted him to find her? he wondered as he returned. She was pacing the small confines. “Let’s go.” 217

“We need to talk,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Not now.” He ushered her toward the second exit he’d made. She could feel Rick close behind, and when the thicket was too dense, he handed her the machete and told her to start hacking. She didn’t know where they were going, but chopping through huge leaves and brush made her feel as if she had some control in a day that was twisting wildly in the wind. She was drenched with sweat in seconds. Anger at her father manifested, and at Rick for bending to the ornery Irishman, though in her heart, she knew if Rick wanted, he took, regardless of the consequences. She supposed she wasn’t worth it, unless, of course, it came with a hefty payoff. Rick glanced behind himself, walking backward a pace, then focusing ahead as Meg slashed through the heavy jungle. When she stumbled for the third time, he knew she’d expended her energy. He tried not to care, but he did. She was doing better than he ever expected. And he was proud as hell of her. “Let me have that.” Rick reached for the machete. She gave it up, flexing her fingers and Rick saw the blisters there. He grabbed her hand, examining the wounds. God, she was a mess. “Dammit, why didn’t you say something?” “The manicurist was off, so why bother?” she said dully and shoved her hands into her pockets. “I have gloves. I should have given them - God, I wasn’t thinking.” “Was that an actual apology?” “Do you actually need one?” His lips curved and from his pack he took out the canteen, and poured water over the blisters. She hissed and tried to pull away, but he held tight, blowing on the wounds. “I’ll take care of this when we’re far enough away.” He wrapped her palm with a green military bandage, taking great care and time they didn’t have. “What did they do to you, Meg?” he asked softly, suddenly. His tone was so genuinely tender, it made her heart drop a beat, and she tried to look under his bent head. Why was he asking? “Does it matter?” “It does to me.” He sounded almost frightened at what she’d say. “They blindfolded and starved me, kept me awake for the first five or six days.” She shrugged. “I lost count.” “Did they do anything else?” She knew what he was asking, and the tension in him had a taste all its own. 218

Rick’s question hung in the air between them for a moment before Meg answered. “No, they didn’t do anything but withhold food and sleep. I put a curse on them and they were too superstitious to come near me.” His lips curved and she thought she saw admiration in his smile. “But the threat of rape was bad enough. It doesn’t matter. Been there, have the scars. Now it’s done.” She took a step in the direction they’d been heading and he grabbed her elbow. She twisted, meeting his gaze. “What?” Rick searched her features. “You’ve changed.” “I told you I -” “Not your tastes in men,” he said sourly. “You’ve changed.” That’s because I’ve lost too much and had to get over it, she thought, but didn’t say it. “I’d ask if that was good or bad, but frankly I don’t care.” She didn’t have the strength to battle with Rick Callahan right now. “That’s it. You used to care.” “Yeah, sure, I cared about appearances, and what others thought. I learned the hard way that only a couple people in my life really mattered.” And Rick had been one of them. Rick pulled her closer. “Who’s on that list? Not me, I know.” She laid her hands on his chest and Rick felt the familiar bolt of heat shoot down to his boot heels. He could barely stand the sweet pulse of it through his blood and not do something about it. “Once upon a time you were the only one who mattered.” “Except maybe Daddy and his money.” Rick knew the instant the words left his mouth that he’d screwed up. Her expression said so. “Is that what you believe?” She shoved out of his arms. “Any reason I shouldn’t?” “No one paid me to crawl into your bed, Callahan. But then again, you were being paid to be my shadow.” “Shadow, yes - lover, no!”

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“Any reason I should believe you?” She turned on her heels, thrashing deeper into the jungle. Rick stared after her, wondering how this got turned on him, when he heard a sound that wasn’t part of the jungle noises. He raced to catch her, grabbing her by the waist and dropping to the ground with her. “We really have to work on your social -” He covered her mouth, and with her locked in his arms, rolled into the jungle and into a gully. Tucking her to his side, he lay on his stomach, his weapon out and aimed toward where they’d come. Chapter Four “I didn’t hear -” He glared and she shut up. Hidden below the ridge of dirt, Rick listened, his hearing tuned to beyond the screech of birds and creatures. Meg heard it and inhaled sharply. Footsteps. Thrashing. “Stay right here. Take this.” He pressed his weapon into her hands, folding her fingers around it. “Shoot anything that isn’t me.” Meg looked at the weapon, exhaled, then cocked the 9mm like a pro. Rick arched an eyebrow. “I’ll pretend it’s a hair dryer,” she said, then shifted to her elbows and focused on the path. He was still looking at her strangely when she said, “What are you going to use?” He rolled to his back. From his boot, he pulled out a wickedly long knife with a serrated base. It had U.S. Marines engraved on the black blade. Megan swallowed. That meant he had to get close enough to them to inflict damage, and worry skipped through her. Rick crawled to the path, then rose to a crouch, praying she wouldn’t have to shoot. If she did, then he’d already be dead. Bugs buzzed around her head as Megan waited, her skin itching with sweat. She didn’t dare put the weapon down and squinted down the sight, wondering if she could actually shoot another human being. She heard a gun shot and flinched, praying it wasn’t at Rick, praying they’d missed. Her mind tortured her with images of him bleeding somewhere out there. Bleeding to save her. Again. Seconds stretched to minutes.

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She flinched when she heard a rustling in the bushes, but couldn’t see anything. The noise grew clearer, then suddenly slow and soft till the sound vanished beneath the blood pounding in her ears. She imagined her captors: smelly losers with nasty guns - and they liked using them. She remembered the blows, the knife poised at her eye until she said what they wanted into the tape for her father. Then she thought of what they’d do to Rick and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. A twig snapped. If it was Rick, he’d say so. Her heart breaking that he was dead, she raised the weapon, shifting back on her knees. A figure appeared, looming over her, and she pulled the trigger. Nothing. She leapt to her feet and ran. Rick chased her, snatching her around the waist and lifting her off her feet as he yanked the gun from her grasp. “Meg!” She fought like a wildcat, clawing at his arm, kicking her feet against his calves. A string of curses he never imagined she knew spilled from her mouth. “Stop, stop, it’s me!” She stilled, twisting in his arms as he set her to her feet. He gripped her arms. “It’s me, baby.” She stared up at him, breathing hard, tears in her eyes. Then she batted his hands off. “I thought they’d killed you and they were coming for me. Don’t do that again, damn you!” She punched his chest. “I hate you for that. I was so scared!” She shoved him with every word. “I thought they’d killed you!” The last came in a long painful wail. He grabbed her against him. “Shut up, Meg.” She blinked. Tears trailed down her cheeks and he’d bet she didn’t know it. To see her come apart made his knees weak. He didn’t get that way often. Except with her. “Shut up? You bastard! I’m terrified for you and that’s -” Grinning all the way down, he slashed his mouth across hers, stealing her words, her temper. Her breath. He loved that she was afraid for him. Loved that he couldn’t think clearly, and sometimes

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with Meg that was a good state to be in. She was sharp and smart, and so much better than he was, but he was tired of lines in the sand and denying himself this woman. God, she tasted like home, like he’d been lost in this jungle and finally found his way to freedom. His tongue slid over her lips, prying them apart and pushing between. And she crumbled in his arms.

****** Megan melted. Right there in the Amazon jungle, she fell apart and came together in one soul ripping kiss. Her moans echoed into the trees, her hands crawled up his chest and wrapped around his neck. She hung on. Because the ground was disappearing beneath her feet. Because when Richard kissed, there wasn’t anything left to do but be absorbed in the thrall of it. “Oh, Richard, I missed you,” Megan sobbed against his mouth, opening herself to the slaughter of feelings pulsing through her, her heart spreading its wings and riding the current with him. “I missed you, too, Irish, damned if I didn’t.” Rick devoured her, his hands fisting in her shirt, pushing her into him, filling the length of his body with her incredible softness. Behind her back he still gripped the bloody knife. “More, more,” she whispered and he took her mouth again, hot and quick, not wanting their surroundings to intrude. He wanted to stay locked in the jungle with her. The squawk of birds pushed good sense back into his foggy mind. They weren’t alone in this territory. He drew back, loving that it took her a second to open her eyes. “What was behind that kiss?” Everything, he thought. “Seemed like a good way to cut through the hysterics.” She was smart enough not to argue that point. “Is that the only reason?” Her voice held a vulnerability he’d never heard before and he knew what he said in the next moment would make the difference between having her in his life again and feeling the biting loneliness again.

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The decision was so easy. He pressed his forehead to hers, his body humming to her tune. “No, Irish, I needed to kiss you, to feel you in my arms again.... Two years is a very long time.” Her gaze brushed over his face as if committing it to memory. “I can accept that.” He smiled, an honest grin. “Good, because I don’t usually kiss people who shoot at me.” Thank God for a safety, he thought. “It was a hair dryer. I was trying to blow you away.” He grinned. “Come on.” He patted her behind. “We have to keep moving.” She nodded, sliding her arms from his neck. She staggered and he flashed her a soft smile, caught her, then rolled his mouth over hers in a thick kiss before he bent and shoved his knife into his boot. Megan saw the blood. Her gaze jerked to his. His expression was unreadable, moments of tenderness wiped clean. It made her see that Richard Callahan was capable of more than she first thought. It didn’t scare her; it made her feel incredibly safe. Her gaze moved over him as if checking for wounds. “I’m fine.” She nodded, knowing it was either the kidnappers or them. “Are we safe?” “Yeah, for now.” Meg let out a heavy breath, and they pushed on. ****** The heat of the day bore down on them like the press of iron. Meg stumbled and Rick pushed food into her hand and pushed her onward. “Richard,” she said tiredly. “Not yet, Meg. I know you’re tired. Just a bit farther and we’ll have a place to hide for the night.” “I hope they have a bath.” “I’ll see if the management will accommodate.” She chose not to respond and concentrated on picking up one leg and setting it down. It was afternoon when the mist of the jungle grew lighter and cooler. She stopped and Rick passed her, chopping through undergrowth. 223

Then she saw it. “Oh my God.” Rick watched the smile bloom on her face and cherished it. Megan looked up and up to the top of the cliff and the glorious waterfall spilling a thousand feet into the river below. Water rushed over rocks with a deceptive power, then calmed to flat glass near the edge where she stood. Eagerly, she walked toward it, but Rick grabbed her arm. “No, not there, the water is too still.” Anaconda, she realised, stepping back. “We head up there.” He pointed to a plateau of rock to the right of the fall. “It’s going to take us another hour to get around that.” He gestured to the heavy vegetation between them and the fall. Vines dipped into the water, strung like lace over twisting trees. “It’ll be worth it. Lead on.” Megan followed, and just the sight of water made her skin scream for moisture and a good scrubbing. Her energy returned and when they had to crawl over tree roots the size of a car, Meg grasped a vine to swing down. “Meg, no!” Chapter Five She swung anyway, and Rick caught her, the force slamming her into him. “That was not smart.” “I was feeling very Jane-ish. You really need to lighten up.” His gaze moved over the terrain, alert. “When we’re out of here, I’ll wear a loin cloth and beat my chest for you.” “My personal savage, I can’t wait.” She smiled up at him. “But then what?” “Huh?” He was staring at her mouth, the rest of his body gearing up for action. “When we’re in civilisation with running water and room service, then what, Richard?” “Then you’re safe.” “And you get paid.” She nodded more to herself. “I forgot, coming here had a price.”

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“Sure it did.” He tipped her head back, gazing into her green eyes. “It was opening an old wound, Irish. It was seeing you again after I’d tried my damnedest to find you and got shot out of the water at every turn.” Her father, she knew without asking. “I’m going to kill Daddy.” “No, you won’t. If my daughter had been caught in bed with her bodyguard and wounded to boot, I’d have done more than send a couple of thugs after me.” “I’m sorry, Richard. No wonder you had to be paid to come here.” She pushed ahead of him, her heart feeling scored down the middle. Damn her father. “If it were me, I wouldn’t have come for anything less than five million.” Hurt painted her voice and Richard raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t give a damn about the money!” He followed her as she thrashed through the forest. “What do you want me to say, Meg? That I should have tried harder to get to you? Yeah, mistake one. That I regret you got hurt when I should have been doing my job? I do, mistake number two.” “That’s an excellent start. Want to try for mistake number three?” “Such as?” What was it? Open season on Callahan? “How about you believing I was on some hero worship trip when I came to your bed?” “You were.” She rounded and slapped him. He blinked, rubbing his cheek. “Feel better?” “No. Actually I’d like to beat the stuffing out of you for being a jerk, but clearly I’m outclassed in my weight division.” “I’d never hurt you, Meg.” “Like you aren’t now?” His expression hardened. “Why are you being like this?” she shouted. “Because I’m not the right man for you!” Her heart crumbled. ****** “Only a fool would presume he wasn’t the right man for me.” Rick sighed deeply. 225

“You’re thinking foolishly, Meg. I can’t give you the life you’ve led till now.” “Mistake number four. Who said I wanted it?” “Dammit, you know what I mean.” He swallowed, feeling like everything in his life was suddenly on the line. “I want more and you just can’t give it without giving up your father’s money.” Meg gave him a dirty look. “Thanks for the vote on my character, Callahan. I haven’t lived off my father’s money since I was twenty-one. I do have a job. Just because it’s in my dad’s company doesn’t mean I didn’t earn it. You know him. Would he give me control if I didn’t deserve it?” His eyes narrowed. She had him there. “Now, Callahan,” she advanced, fury in her bones. “You admit that the only reason you wanted to be with me was because I was forbidden fruit.” “Now who’s insulting who?” he groused, climbing the rocks to the fall. He tossed down his pack and machete, pacing like a caged animal. Overhead, warm sunlight ribboned down over the trees and vines growing out of the rock. Bright coloured birds soared and dipped. “If it was just an offlimits thing, I wouldn’t have searched. Or come here. Or be arguing with you now, would I?” Meg kicked off her boots, toed off her socks, then stripped out of her shirt. “You gave up on us.” “And you tried? I don’t have to get kicked in the teeth to know it hurts, Meg.” She met his gaze. “If you’d called me a week ago, Richard, I would have come running.” She let her pants fall to the rocks and Rick’s jaw tightened, all that lush skin turning him inside out. His gaze locked on her like a homing device, the sun dancing over her round behind in a skimpy thong. She was sunburned in spots, had a fingerprint bruise on her shoulder, but the rest of her was as perfect as he remembered. “If that’s supposed to make me stupid, it’s working.” “Good, don’t want to ruin a pattern, do we? Do you have any soap in there?” She pointed to the pack. Numbly, he dug and slapped the bar into her outstretched hand. “Stop looking at me like you’ve never seen me naked, Callahan.” Callahan. She was really mad, he thought. “I haven’t, not like that.”

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She peeled off her stretch camisole, flinging it aside. Thong panties followed, and his heartbeat rocketed to somewhere near his eyes. “Well, my Nubian slaves didn’t have time to oil my skin this trip.” The intensity of his gaze ripped through her. He stood still, his shirt open and baring carved muscles tanned dark from the sun. “You’re making me crazy.” “Join the club.” With that she dived into the water. Richard watched her swim under the clear water, popping up where the fall spilled into the pool. For a moment she just stood under the hard spray and with a clarity that gripped him in the gut, he knew why he’d come for her. He’d known it the instant he heard her father’s voice on the other end of the satellite com link while he was in another jungle a thousand miles away. When he’d dropped everything and raced to find her. He wondered if he had the guts to tell her. He stripped off his shirt and boots, angry with himself and glaring at the source. Her back to him, she washed her hair, his gaze following the ripples of soapy water sliding over her curves and foaming around her. She looked back over her shoulder and met his gaze. She hid nothing from him and they both knew it. Damn her. His groin thickened, blood throbbing in every cell of his body and Rick folded to the ground. Hunger and temptation burned inside every fibre of his being. Squatting at the water’s edge, he washed the camo paint off his face, then dunked his head, shaking like a dog. It didn’t do a damn thing for the fire crackling through his blood. Raking his hair back, he stood and stormed to the shore, yet his gaze moved back to her. Soap rinsed off her in slick waves, and like a bomb detonating, Rick felt his control snap. “I just know I’m going to hell for this,” he muttered, stripping down to his skin and walking into the water. “Stop right there,” she ordered. He didn’t, his body revealed and hidden beneath the crystal depths. Blood boiled under Meg’s skin, softening her knees, making her insides go liquid and hot. He advanced, bronze and dark and hard. The water deepened around him, his dark eyes skimming her with the power of touch. Already her body was coming apart for him. If she were smart she’d just give up and throw herself at him. But she wanted more. Sunlight gleamed off the scarred bullet hole in his shoulder and the last two years rushed back like a blast of cold air. Her gaze locked with his. 227

“Do you want me in your life or not, Richard?” He hesitated. “Meg.” “I see.” She turned her back on him. It was like a door slamming in his face. Rick reached, forcing her around. “Don’t do this, Meg. You don’t know what you’re asking.” “I know I want more than this day. I have for the past two years.” Grains of hope spilled through him. “Be careful,” he warned. “If you’re with me, Megan, you’re with me completely, forever, got that?” Her heartbeat skipped. “What do you mean?” “There is no halfway between us. There never was.” “So it’s all or nothing?” He nodded. “It works both ways, Richard.” Megan stepped closer, and Richard wondered if his world was about to cave or be resurrected. “I’m not as stupid as I look.” Her smile was tender. “I can’t be with a man who doesn’t love me.” His eyes flared, darkened. “Mistake number five. Why the hell do you think I came here?” Meg reined in her galloping heart. “For money and to exact a little revenge.” “Yeah, even I thought that at first, but it was a damn good excuse to get my hands on you.” “Why?” It was a gauntlet thrown down. He gripped her arms, drawing her closer, and Megan felt her world tilt at the darkly intense gaze locked on her. “Because I couldn’t take a breath without thinking about you. I couldn’t stand another day of wondering if we could have made it.” He plowed his fingers into her hair, tipping her head back and opened his heart “I’m in love with you, Megan O’Toole. Deeply, wildly, so-much-that-I-actstupid in love with you.” Her eyes teared. 228

Rick thought he’d shatter inside waiting. “Irish?” He swallowed. “Silence is not a good thing right now.” Megan smiled and a tear fell. “I’m absorbing the moment.” He made a frustrated sound, his gaze scoring her beautiful face. “I’m in love with you, Richard.” “Yeah?” “Oh don’t make another mistake and doubt me now.” He grinned, and his mouth crushed over hers, the force of his kiss bending her back over his arm. She gripped his bare shoulders. “Richard,” she whispered when she came up for air and he took her mouth again and again. “It’s been too long.” He lifted her from the water, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms around his neck. Smiling into each other’s eyes, Rick kissed her, his hands slicking over her wet body. He cupped her round breast, his thumbs circling her nipples. “We never got this far before,” he said, and anticipation spilled over her skin. “Unforeseen circumstances.” She kissed the bullet scar on his shoulder. Rick’s tongue slicked over the graze on her arm. Suddenly, he couldn’t taste enough, get close enough. He touched her and felt clean, washed of his sins, his loneliness. His hand sculpted her body, dipping, stroking and when she was breathless and whimpering he lifted her higher and closed his lips over her nipple, drawing it into his mouth. Her cry scattered a covey of birds. Cool water and the heat of his mouth spread like an erotic whisper over her skin. Trapped in her limbs, he carried her the few feet to the rocks. His hardness pressed and Meg wanted him inside her, wanted to erase the past two years of missing him and feel alive again. And when he lifted her to the edge of the rocks, Megan knew he meant business. And meant to take care of it now. His mouth trailed over her breasts, his tongue rasping as he dipped and laved. He palmed her body as he moved lower, loving the sounds she made, that she couldn’t keep still. He nipped the join of her thigh, her belly, then he met her gaze as he spread her wider. His expression was predatory, and he’d found his prey. Then he tasted her. Meg burned, her insides fighting their way out, to chase the fire and slick power. 229

He toyed and soothed, pulling her to the edge of rapture till she was pounding his shoulders to take her to the summit. But he wouldn’t, and she arched on the barren rock, pleasures abundant as savage luxury ripped and rode through her body in tremendous climax. She screamed his name and went boneless as her world softened. It wasn’t enough. She clawed at him, reaching. “Come to me now.” Kissing her, he carried her to the bank and laid her on the mossy earth. Water lapped at their bodies. She reached, pulling him between her thighs. His erection pressed to her softness, yet he didn’t move, gazing into her eyes. Meg saw more than she expected in Rick’s gaze - saw everything she wanted. Megan knew those eyes were warning her. Not that coming together would be good, that it would be forever. He didn’t say it, but at this moment, she’d give herself to him and go willingly into the fire. And he knew it, trembled with it. He pushed slightly, letting her feel the thickness of him. Her eyes flared wickedly. “You’re torturing me,” she said, lifting her hips. “You’ve been doing that to me for two years.” She stroked his jaw and he turned his face into her palm. “I love you, Richard. You belong to me. Come home.” He pushed into her, filling her in one hard stroke. Her gasp tumbled into his mouth and he drank it, lacing his fingers with her as he withdrew and pushed deeply. Again and again. His blood boiled, pleasure overflowing, and Rick went with it. There was no use restraining himself, Megan was all over him, her mouth, her hands. Driving him crazy. Then she rolled him to his back, straddling him. She laughed and rode him, never taking her gaze from his, never. The spray from the fall coated her in crystal beauty, her body undulating in the sun, and Rick was enthralled just watching her take him like an Amazon princess claiming her prize. The pulse of her climax clawed through him, gripping, demanding he join her now, and Rick thrust into her and let the wet ride take him over the edge. She leaned back, fused to him and in the South American sun, Rick’s heart shattered and he let it open. And like a fair wind, she swept inside and stole his soul. “I love you, Irish.” “And I love you, Callahan.” 230

Callahan. He gazed into her hazel-green eyes. “Am I in trouble?” “If you stop doing that to me, you will be.” “Next sixty years sound good?” For a second her breath caught and he rolled her to her back, their bodies still locked. She stammered, but no words came out. He laughed softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’ve left you speechless. It’s a good look for you.” When she only stared, he said, “Did you think I was going to let you get away this time?” He brought her hand to his mouth, laying a kiss there. “Marry me, Irish.” She searched his eyes, his face. He tightened his hold, his heart dangling by a string. “One word, Meg, that’s all it takes.” She blinked back tears. “Yes!” she said and he kissed her. With each pass of his mouth over hers, loneliness fled, and roots took hold in their love. ****** Seventy-two hours later, give or take a time zone, Rick leaned against the window frame, staring out at the Brazilian skyline. From the adjacent office Rick heard voices. He and Cameron O’Toole had already cleared the air, but apparently Megan wasn’t finished. Rick turned as Cameron O’Toole, silver-haired with a barrel chest like a prize fighter, came in, looking shell-shocked. “Feeling singed?” “By God, the lass has a temper like her mother.” Rick grinned. “Great, isn’t it?” Cameron laughed. “You’re twisted, lad. But if you love her...” Richard’s expression darkened to menacing. “Never doubt that, O’Toole.” “Daddy!” Megan said from the doorway, glaring at her father, then walked toward Rick. His ring glittered on her finger and despite the tailored blue suit, all he could think of was how good she’d looked earlier this morning naked and draped over him. “That’s a dangerous smile, darlin’,” she said softly, moving into his arms.

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“Make you want to go native in the jungle again?” he said before he kissed her deeply. Her father cleared his throat. Meg looked at Rick. “The money is yours, Richard.” “Got a dollar, Cameron?” Rick asked. Frowning, her father produced one. Rick crossed to him, taking it and shoving it into his pocket. He looked back at Meg. “I’d say we’re square.” Megan smiled brightly. “I pay my debts, Callahan,” her father said gruffly. Rick crossed to Meg, and felt a power like he’d never known in her arms. “Megan took care of that.” She blushed. “You’re so bad.” “Just some unfinished business we needed to conclude.” “Oh, we’re not done,” she said, pulling him toward the door and the priest waiting to marry them. He grinned. “Oh, Irish. I hope not.”

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Living the Fantasy By Joanne Rock Keira Hart was the stuff of every man's fantasy: feisty, passionate and beautiful. Maybe that was why hotel mogul Ryan Murphy had never been able to forget her. Certainly no one since had been able to compare. So when Ryan discovered that Keira was teaching in Fiji, he decided to buy a hotel property in the idyllic country and then maybe discuss a more…personal merger with Keira. But Ryan is shocked when Keira seeks him out first—with a protest sign and a bunch of picketers! Since she last saw Ryan, Keira has devoted her life to teaching underprivileged children in third-world countries. Ryan Murphy and his newly acquired hotel are threatening her school, and she's going to stop him—no matter how sexy he is in a suit. Ryan is willing to negotiate. If Keira stays in paradise with him….

Chapter One The whole place oozed romance. Keira Hart tried not to be distracted by the lush, exotic appeal of the Fiji resort. She was only there for business. But as her simple hand-woven sandals sank into powdery sand outside the elegant Venus Hotel, she couldn't resist taking a moment to breathe in the fragrant gardens that almost hid the main building from view. Birds of paradise clustered near bushes exploding with hibiscus blooms. Bright red heliconia flowers spilled everywhere, the long, chainlike blossoms stretching taller than she was in some places. A few orange doves nestled in the branches of a decorative palm, a bright contrast to the endless turquoise water that lapped at the beach nearby. No wonder this was a sought-after vacation destination for honeymooners. But Keira wasn't here for love. She was here to do battle. Dragging her eyes away from the view of the placid Koro Sea, she marched into the reception area of the Venus Hotel. "I'm here to see Ryan Murphy," she announced to a slim native Fijian woman dressed in a cream-colored suit. By comparison, Keira's wrinkled linen shorts and peasant blouse were a little on the shabby side. But then, that was the idea—she'd dressed to make an impression very much at odds with the highbrow experience offered by the Venus. The clerk peered to her right, where a wall of windows looked out over a courtyard and a landscaped pool. A few bikini-clad sunbathers dotted the area while two men in ties and button-downs sat at a patio table close to the windows. She recognized the one on the left instantly. The thick dark brown hair. A winning smile so adept at making the world bend to his wishes. And, once upon a time, so adept at turning her inside out… "He's in a meeting, miss," the woman behind the reception desk informed her. "Shall I leave your name?" 233

But before the other woman had finished speaking, Keira was already on her way toward the door to the pool. "Thank you, but I'll give it to him myself," she called over her shoulder, half hoping the receptionist would phone for security. Frankly, the more of a ruckus she made here today, the better it would be for her cause. Not sticking around to see what the woman would do, Keira pushed the handle on the door to the exterior and marched through it. Sunlight flooded her eyes, making her lose sight of her quarry for a moment as she walked. She blinked as her vision readjusted. And strangely, by the time her focus cleared, she was staring directly into the sea-glass-green eyes of her long-ago lover. Ryan Murphy. *** Ryan felt the recognition in his veins even before his brain supplied him with her name. It had been eight long years since he'd seen the earthy brunette stunner who'd just appeared on the pool deck of his company's newest resort acquisition. Eight years since his hands had tangled in those kinky, sun-streaked curls. They'd met on a college trip, backpacking around Nepal. For fourteen days, they'd been inseparable, scaling mountainsides and exploring the Himalayas. But she'd been an education major and a junior. He was squeezing in the trip right before graduating with his MBA, a onetime bid to be young and carefree before the responsibility of his family's corporate empire fell on his shoulders. He and Keira hadn't even tried to stay in touch, their lives destined to take very different directions. But he'd never been able to forget her, and recently he'd felt the urge to search for her, since she never seemed to return to her family's home in Boston—Ryan knew because he'd done some checking. A routine search for her had yielded references to a few exotic places around the globe, which made sense since she'd wanted to travel and teach. And when he'd received fresh information that suggested she was in Fiji, Ryan had suddenly had the inclination to investigate hotel purchases in this corner of the world, ultimately finding the Venus. He'd been caught up with the business takeover this week, but he'd planned to seek her out. Now, it seemed, she'd saved him the trouble. "Is everything okay?" the hotel's former manager asked him. They'd been meeting for the past hour, discussing the transition of the hotel into the Murphy Resorts family. The other man turned in his seat to follow Ryan's gaze. "Someone you know?" He started to answer but the question became moot as Keira barreled toward them, curls bouncing on her shoulders. Something about the determined set to her jaw suggested she hadn't experienced the same fond walk down memory lane that he had. She appeared…mad? "Yes. I need a few moments, okay, Jon?" Already on his feet, Ryan prepared to greet her, a surge of anticipation firing through him.

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"Excuse me." She arrived at the table and nodded to the former manager as the man departed. Then, she turned stormy gray eyes on Ryan. "Hello, Mr. Murphy." Mad. No doubt about it. He'd somehow managed to tick off a woman he hadn't seen in the better part of a decade—without even speaking. That was a new personal record. But he hadn't become a hotel mogul by being easily intimidated. And then he saw the sign in her hand.

Chapter Two "Keira." He took in her strappy sandals and short linen shorts that showcased her tanned feet and long legs, then the almost sheer blouse and the assortment of leather thong necklaces she wore around her neck, each necklace bearing a different colored stone. And then the sign in her hand that read Takeover = Tragedy. "It's a pleasure to see you." "I'm not sure you'll think it's a pleasure once I tell you that I've arranged a picket in front of your new hotel." She pointed to the window that led to the reception area. If he looked all the way through the glass wall on the other side of the building, he could see handmade signs and a small ring of protestors. Damn. He couldn't afford that kind of trouble here. Hell, Fijian politics were sticky enough without a protest to make the bureaucrats even more jittery. "Why would you do something like that?" Whatever she was about to say got lost in the shouts of security officers as they plowed through the door to the pool deck. Keira smiled as she saw them, as if she did this kind of thing every day. She hoisted her sign and, before he knew it, three hotel staffers were dragging away the most tantalizing woman he'd ever met. *** For a moment, Keira thought Ryan might really let his security team call the local authorities. And, no matter how much she'd wanted to cause a big stir today, the idea of ending up in a jail cell in a foreign country was frightening. In fact, it was something she'd been warned about as an American citizen who worked as a traveling teacher. So far, Keira had managed to work for eight years in underprivileged parts of the globe without seeing the inside of a prison, and she hoped fervently to maintain the streak, even if she did want to protest Ryan Murphy's hotel purchase. She'd just wanted to earn a spot on the local news and make some waves to draw attention to her school, not be arrested. So when Ryan didn't lift a finger to stop security from taking her away—not even when they tugged her back into the main building—Keira knew a moment's pause for her theatrics. "Wait!" the clerk in reception called to the men who held Keira. The woman had her phone to her ear and listened intently before covering the mouthpiece and shouting more instructions in rapid-fire Fijian. "What did she say?" Keira asked one of the men, a beefy kid who couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen.

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The locals almost all spoke English, and Keira herself spoke a reasonable amount of Fijian, but she'd missed the command that made her captors nudge her in a new direction—toward a cluster of back offices and into an empty conference room. The door closed behind them, sealing them into airconditioned privacy. Visions of a lengthy police questioning made her stomach clench. "What are we doing here?" she asked Mr. Beefy, hoping her twinge of panic didn't show. The door to the conference room swung wide and Ryan strode in. She drank in the sight of him, still knock-your-knees-out attractive. Tall and athletically built, he looked as comfortable in a silk suit as he had in a parka back when they'd been together. She'd always remembered him as a handsome man, but she'd forgotten the potent effect of his personal charisma. When Ryan walked into a room, he was the man everyone wanted to be close to. "Thank you, gentlemen." He nodded briefly to the guards. "You may go, but I would like you to welcome the guests who are carrying signs out front. Please invite them to lunch at the hotel's expense and show them where they can swim and enjoy the views." He moved aside from the door so his personal army of three—along with her sign—could troop out the door past him. Keira knew her picket protest was about to disintegrate, and she begrudgingly admired his tactic. "I'll never get my cause on the news if you're lavishing the picketers with food." Though she found it hard to be angry when she was still reeling with relief that he hadn't called the authorities. "But I suppose you already know that." "Perhaps we could discuss your cause instead." His magnetic green eyes sought hers in the quiet conference room as he closed the door behind the departed security guards. "Why don't you tell me what's behind all this?"

Chapter Three The air-conditioning blowing softly overhead wasn't nearly enough to mask the surprising flare of heat she felt as Ryan stepped closer. She had done her best to put Ryan Murphy out of her mind after their crazy and impetuous affair eight years ago when she'd been a giggly college coed, high on life and clean mountain air. Ryan had been a genius with a map on the daily group hikes. His strong and quietly commanding personality made him a natural-born leader. And while she wasn't usually very good at following, she'd been so out of her element and so eager to simply soak up the once-in-a-lifetime experience that she'd gladly sought him out to ensure she never strayed too far from the group. The long days together had led to long nights sharing…everything—his concerns about the massive shoes he'd be stepping into as his father's heir at Murphy Resorts, her need to change the world by touching the lives of underprivileged children. Funny how easy it was to confide your secrets to someone you thought you'd never see again. Those secrets—both of the emotional and the sensual variety—came roaring back to her now as Ryan reached out to her. To touch her? Her heart galloped, the past melding into the present. 236

"Please." He gestured toward a chair at the table. "Take a seat and we'll talk about this. Why are you picketing my hotel?" Realizing he'd only been trying to be polite, Keira shook off the moment and sat forward in the seat. "When you took over the Venus, the hotel's funding of my school was cut off. Fifty-five at-risk teens and underserved children are now losing their chance at an education thanks to you." *** "You work at the Moving Forward School." Ryan settled into a chair across from her, trying to focus on this cause that was so important to Keira and not his own reaction to her. Because, truth be told, that reaction had been fast and insistent. Even more intense than he'd imagined it might be after thinking about her so much over the past six months, ever since he'd broken up with the last of a long string of casual girlfriends. He'd remembered Keira had affected him differently, but he wasn't sure if the spark would still be the same. Now he knew the truth. The spark was hotter than ever. "I worked at what used to be Moving Forward," she corrected, her light brown eyebrows stitched together in concern. "We now have no budget to run it. The water and the electricity in our building have been shut off. I'm meeting summer students at local tearooms to try and help them finish their programs." "You've always been very dedicated," he observed, remembering how committed she'd been to teaching. "Unfortunately, dedication won't meet the students' needs," she countered, picking up one of the silver pens in front of each leather chair around the conference table. "I'm sorry about that, Keira, but the previous owners of the hotel were corrupt," he told her, hoping she would keep it quiet. "We need to examine their books in careful detail to see where the profits went. The Fijian government wouldn't allow a foreign takeover unless we agreed to transparent accounting. Until we can account for every dime, we have to shut down all outgoing revenue streams." "We're a school!" She leaned forward in her chair, the silver pen clutched tight in her hand. "We spend the support dollars on books and utilities. That's it. We're not even on Vanua Levu," she explained, referencing the more tourist-friendly northern island where they now sat. "The school is in Viti Levu, where poverty is much higher. I can assure you the costs are low." "That doesn't change—" "Look at me." She gestured to herself, rolling her chair back a few inches to give him a long view. "I'm not raking in the big bucks, Ryan. I do this job because I love it." Perhaps she wanted him to focus on her clothes, which were admittedly well worn and simply designed. But his eyes went to her subtle curves and the tan line of a halter bathing suit that she must have worn the last time she went to the beach. He imagined tracing that pale streak with his finger. His tongue. The visceral images, now seared into his brain, weren't the garden-variety diversions a man thought about when looking at an attractive woman. These were far more forceful. And given his recent

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disconnect from women—a hiatus that had gone on for longer than he'd intended—he couldn't help but pay attention. He wanted Keira again. And he could think of no reason he shouldn't have her. A plan started to form in his mind…. "Maybe we can help each other."

Chapter Four "Does that mean you'll reinstate funding to the school?" Keira wondered if this could be simpler than she'd feared. "I know Murphy Resorts has the resources to foot the bill, and the school would be a wonderful addition to the company's humanitarian efforts—" "I can't promise anything." Ryan's arm rested on the conference table, his crisp white shirt cuff folded back to reveal strong forearms and a watch that could probably buy the whole school building back in Lautoka on Fiji's larger southern island. "But I'm open to hearing your arguments. I'll be here for the rest of the week, if you want to stay and spend some time with me." "Spend time with you?" The suggestion was a shock given that she'd interrupted his business lunch and tried to stage a protest in front of his swank hotel. She twirled the pen on the conference table, trying to think through the implications of his offer. "I hear it's a long trip back to Viti Levu and the ferries don't run every day, anyhow. Why not spend a couple of days at the Venus so we can catch up?" He rose to his feet and extended a hand toward her. "Reservations are light this week. You can have your own villa by the water." Sliding her hand lightly into his, she rose a little unsteadily. Ryan Murphy wanted to spend time with her? Catch up? The heat in his eyes suggested he might like more than that. And frankly, she didn't have a good track record for resisting him, either. "I'm not sure." Her voice caught on a husky note as the pleasure of his touch washed over her. With an effort, she retrieved her hand from his. "Wouldn't that make me a sellout? You've already bought the silence of my protestors with cassava cake and coconut fish, I'll bet. Are you trying to make me cave to the decadence of this place?" Ryan grinned. An open, honest smile that didn't strike her as fitting his cagey CEO rep. He looked more like the MBA graduate she'd met in Nepal eight years ago. A guy who had thoroughly captured her heart. "Keira, I'd bet the family fortune that you're made of sterner stuff than that. One night in a posh villa isn't going to make you forget about the kids you teach. So why not enjoy yourself while you're here?" Because it wasn't the night in the villa that worried her. Standing here, caught in the charismatic charm of a man who was as commanding as he'd been all those years ago when he'd led her through the Himalayas, Keira feared that getting to know him better might lead to complications she wasn't ready for. Already, her heart beat like a native lali drum and her hand still tingled where she'd touched him. "I could use accommodations," she admitted. "You're right about the ferries. My return ticket is in three days. I came right here from the boat this morning."

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And she could hold strong against the allure of Ryan Murphy. Especially if it meant she'd convince him to reopen the school. "Great." He ushered her toward the exit, his hand a brief phantom touch at the center of her back before he opened the door for her. "I'll show you where you'll be staying. I've got the villa right next door."

Chapter Five Ryan gave himself a lot of credit for walking away from Keira earlier. He'd showed her to her beach villa—a bure, she'd corrected him—and almost swallowed his tongue at the sight of the open floor plan with the huge four-poster bed in the middle of the space. The bed overlooked the water, the whole structure open to the breezes in the mild climate. She'd obviously been dazzled by the property and the view. He'd been so tense standing that close to both her and a bed that he'd left her alone to be sure he didn't end up drawing her onto that mattress with him. So he'd made the short trek between her bure and his and arranged with the staff for a private dinner—a candlelit meal on a dock out on the water under the stars. He needed to soften Keira up for his real proposal: to explore the spark that still existed between them. He wasn't sure how she'd react to that news, let alone the revelation that he'd purposely bought a hotel in Fiji with the intent of seeking her out. He hadn't meant to cut the funding to her school. That had been the result of the Murphy Resorts' standard bookkeeping procedures after a takeover and the extra pressure from the Fijian government. But he felt sure he could smooth things out with Keira. First, however, he wanted to spend some time with her. "Knock, knock." He spoke the words since the door to the bungalow was propped open to the frangipaniscented breeze. "May I come in?" "Ryan?" Her voice hummed pleasantly along his skin as she drifted into view. A silky blue-and-yellow skirt was tied around her waist, leaving one leg exposed. A lemon-colored tank top went with it, but she still wore all the leather necklaces he'd seen earlier. Her dark corkscrew curls were damp in some places, and the waves were longer because of it. "You look beautiful." In eight years, he'd never dated anyone remotely similar to her. Then again, maybe he hadn't wanted to invite comparisons when Keira was so unique. "Thanks to the hotel gift shop." She picked at the skirt, thumbing the silky fabric gently. "It's the closest I've come to boutique shopping in a long time." Releasing the material, she turned off the overhead fan. "Shall we go? I'm starving." So was he, but he didn't think dinner would help. A spectacular pink sunset painted half the sky as he led her out into the evening. It made a nice backdrop for the small dock out in the water as they rounded a few bushes and stepped onto the beach. "Oh, wow." Keira stopped to take in the sight of lanterns ringing the wood planks and the white luminaries lining the narrow boardwalk down to the private eating area. "This is for us?"

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"For you, actually. I don't normally go to these lengths when I'm traveling for business, but I wanted to make up for the last time I bought you dinner." He took her hand, drawing her toward the long walkway over the water. Her touch was cool and sure, reminding him of all the times he'd guided her over fallen logs or through rocky passes in the mountains. "Who knew there would be meat inside those dumplings?" "It was a poor send-off for a vegetarian, and not exactly how I wanted our last meal together to go." He remembered they'd tried to put a light spin on the dinner, so certain they were all wrong for one another and it was better to say goodbye. Not realizing—at least he hadn't—that they'd found something rare together. But he kept that to himself. For now, he needed her to agree to another proposition. And this dinner was the first step in getting her to say yes. *** An hour and a half later, still picking at a dessert that was a slice of coconut-pineapple heaven, Keira enjoyed the moment and the man even as she waited for the other shoe to drop. She could tell he wanted something. It was in the way he'd avoided talking about her school or how they'd spend the next few days. It was even more apparent in this extravagant meal that felt like it was a part of his corporate mogul facade rather than the man himself. Ryan. She'd known a simpler, less calculating man eight years ago. A man who could start a fire seemingly out of thin air and who would rather take in the mountain views than join the group lunches. There hadn't been a shred of artifice in him or in their time together. It had been so real. So wonderful. And as much as she loved the candlelit dinner in paradise—and especially the coconut-pineapple cake— Keira didn't appreciate this cat-and-mouse game they seemed to have been playing over dinner. "Ryan, I'm having a hard time relaxing," she confessed finally, pushing aside her plate. "Would you feel more comfortable back at your bure?" he asked, instantly concerned. "I'd feel more comfortable if you told me what was really on your mind. Remember when we used to just talk—openly? Without all the maneuvering or the elegant trappings? The dinner was wonderful, but I feel like it's leading up to some scheme, and I can't enjoy myself until I know what it is." His dark eyebrows shot high and she knew her guess had been correct. He pushed aside his after-dinner wine—something dark purple and probably ridiculously expensive. "You're the only person I've ever known who has read me that easily." He leaned back in his chair to observe her, his skin visible in the open collar of his black shirt. He'd removed a cream linen jacket earlier and it now hung on the back of his chair. "Business adversaries have accused me of having the ideal poker face at a negotiating table." "Not with me. Remember, I knew you before you were a business kingpin." She smiled, enjoying that advantage a little more than she probably should. "So what's up? I can't imagine how I can possibly be of any assistance to your company or what I could do in return for your help with the school." 240

"It's not business. It's personal." She had no idea how she could feel the simmering chemistry between them burn hotter just then, but it definitely flared. It danced along her skin like an electrical shock, even though he hadn't moved any closer to her. "I don't understand." She shook her head, fearing she understood all too well. "I want to resurrect our affair."

Chapter Six "I want to resurrect our affair." "Why didn't you tell me that dinner came with strings attached?" Keira pushed away from the table and stood. "There are no strings." He remained in his seat, wary of spooking her when he could see she was already on edge. "I've enjoyed this night more than you can imagine, even if nothing else happens between us. But you pushed me to say what was on my mind before I'd massaged the wording, so there you have it. I want you, Keira." He'd thought it even before he came to Fiji. He'd known it for a fact as soon as he'd seen her this afternoon. But now that they'd spent time together, he wanted her all the more. "This isn't college." She crossed her arms and leaned on the wooden rail spanning one side of the small floating dock. "I don't jump into things like that anymore." She frowned. "I never did, actually—except with you." "And it's still me, so you wouldn't be jumping into anything. I'm a known commodity." He'd negotiated deals all over the world, but he couldn't remember a time he'd ever wanted his persuasive skills to work as much as right now. Then again, maybe he shouldn't think of this as a negotiation, especially since she wasn't impressed with his meteoric rise in business. Would she even like who he was now? While he'd been taking over premiere properties all around the globe to add to the Murphy hotel chain, Keira had been teaching in the poorest countries, seeing a very different world from him, even though they'd traveled to many of the same places. He admired that about her. "You're jet-setting from one world-class destination to another and I'm living in one of the most povertystricken parts of Fiji." She gestured toward the elegant bures and main building of the Venus that dotted the picturesque shore. "The kind of place you'd never buy a hotel. How is that conducive to an affair? We probably won't even be in the same hemisphere for more than a week." "Whether or not I'd buy a hotel near your school doesn't have anything to do with this." He rose and took a step toward her. He wanted to wear away some of her arguments before he introduced the most persuasive one. Just standing next to her felt like being near a magnetic field, the force tugging them together so real it made the hair on his arms stand up. "I think it does." She turned away to look out over the Koro Sea under the moonlight, her elbows resting on the railing. "It means the same things that kept us apart eight years ago are still a problem now."

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"But we never really tested it out back then, did we?" He leaned onto the wooden rail beside her. "We just assumed we couldn't pull it off because our dreams were so big and we couldn't see how to fit each other inside them. But while we're both living those dreams now, we also recognize that there's a dark side— career accomplishments don't keep you warm at night."

Chapter Seven "Career accomplishments don't keep you warm at night." The words made Keira shiver. Partly because they were right on the money, describing her situation with a prescient wisdom that surprised her. But also because she had a sudden urge to be kept warm tonight. By Ryan. Memories of sharing a sleeping bag on the attic floor of a Nepalese guest house flooded her senses. She remembered the woodsy scent that clung to them from a campfire. The cool press of the sleeping bag's metal zipper into her back as they rolled around the plank floor together, their skin slick with heat. "So what do you say?" Ryan took a half step closer so that his shoulder brushed hers. Their forearms aligned and then they touched, too. "We could give it the old college try." At the contact, the attraction that had been simmering between them cranked up a notch to a slow boil. She stared hard at the placid waters below her feet, where the sea lapped the dock, willing herself to cool down and think before she leaped into anything with Ryan. But that didn't stop her from feeling the press of his arm against hers or the slow stroke of his fingers up the inside of her forearm. He'd never been a clumsy lover, not even when they'd been so hungry for each other that they couldn't wait to take their clothes off. Ryan Murphy would make love to her with the same supreme competence he exhibited in every other aspect of his life. He gave a woman his complete focus. After all the hardships she'd endured these past eight years, all the sacrifices she'd made to bring knowledge and a little social healing to at-risk youths, how could she deny herself that kind of pleasure? For that matter, how could she deny herself the chance to fill the lonely part of herself that rarely had time or the resources to socialize? Surely she'd earned a day, a week, even a few hours just for herself. Did it even matter how long? Her school had been closed, so technically she was unemployed. And although she'd been meeting with students in the summer to tutor those who needed help to graduate, they had known about her trip to Vanua Levu to try and reopen the school. They didn't expect her back for days. She needed this. "Maybe you're right," she acknowledged, lifting his hand and his arm so she could slide underneath it. "I could use a break from reality."

Chapter Eight Ryan swept her off her feet.

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Keira smiled at the gesture as he carried her down the narrow dock and back to her bure. She locked her arms around his neck, her breath catching. "I'm pretty sure I could have managed the walk from the beach. I've built houses with my own two hands, navigated third-world ghettos and trekked the Himalayas, after all." She tucked her head to his chest, hearing his heart thrum beneath her ear. "All the more reason you ought to let me spoil you for a few days." He stalked over the dark beach toward the guest cottage where solar lights illuminated a path through night-blooming flowers. "We want a break from reality, right?" "It could be fun to live out a fantasy." "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." "But you live the fantasy every day. Every property Murphy Resorts owns is as beautiful as this one." "Then I guess we'll just have to focus on your fantasies." They reached the deep front porch where a daybed full of cushions and flower petals overlooked the sea. A champagne bucket waited nearby. "I see you've waved your Midas wand here," she observed, overwhelmed by the beauty of the place and his thoughtfulness. "Thank you for this." "My pleasure." He settled her on the daybed and reached for a dimmer switch on the exterior wall. As he moved the lever, the exterior lights around the bungalow lowered and then went out. The only light came from the moon as a warm breeze drifted through the dense foliage all around the porch. When he returned to the bed, he sat on the edge while she lounged like a pampered diva. His arms bracketed her, his fists pressing into the mattress on either side of her hips. He looked into her eyes. Waiting. "I'm not sure if I should talk about fantasies with you. Not when we could be adversaries again three days from now." She didn't know what their future held, but she was certain she wouldn't give up trying to convince him to reopen Moving Forward. "You're okay with an affair, but talking about fantasies crosses a line?" "It's a different kind of intimacy." Although she wondered why she thought she could compartmentalize lovemaking like that. For a moment, she considered pulling back. Reconsidering this night that had her emotions running wild. But he didn't press it, instead leaning away to pull the champagne from the silver bucket on a nearby stand. "Then I'll have to keep running on blind faith and hoping I'm getting it right." He tugged off the foil and palmed the cork. "And I'm guessing you wouldn't mind a toast." Especially not with the kind of champagne he had access to. Long ago in Boston, she'd attended events that would warrant this kind of vintage. Her family was well off. And while she'd turned her back on the 243

self-indulgent lifestyle to pursue different dreams, she'd always had a taste for good bubbly. Her mouth watered. "Just a little, maybe." She accepted the flute he handed her, the fizz creating the lightest rain along her finger. He lifted his glass higher. "To chance encounters." "Cheers." Bringing the golden drink to her lips, she savored the sweetness, knowing it wouldn't last but wanting to enjoy every last drop.

Chapter Nine Ryan couldn't take his eyes off Keira's mouth. As she lounged on the outdoor daybed, her lips glistened from the champagne in the moonlight. Would she taste as sweet as he remembered? Or had he romanticized his memories of her because she was part of a youthful rebellion that had been one of the best times of his life? He'd put his responsibilities on hold and left behind the business and family obligations that ruled his existence 24/7. Only then had he met the beautiful, brash, fiercely independent woman before him. Setting aside his glass, he half feared finding out that he'd built up his sensual memories of her to unrealistic proportions. But he had to know the truth. "It's delicious," she murmured, her tongue darting over her lip as if to capture every drop. "Is it? Guess I'll have to taste for myself." Leaning close, he kissed her. Slowly. Gently. He took her mouth with deliberate care, remembering the soft contours and slick heat. But no matter how softly they connected, the power of that brief touch affected him like a jet in turbulence, knocking the floor out from under him. He grappled for control of himself, needing to rein in the desire that yawned wide inside. Because, yeah, she was every bit as sweet as he remembered. Sweeter even. Complex and exciting and very ready for more. With supreme effort, he drew back. Forced his eyes open. Only to find her staring at him, wide-eyed and…indignant? "I hope you know you can't start something like that without finishing it." Her voice carried a husky note that stroked him like a seductive caress. "And I hope you ate well because I'm going to be using up every ounce of your energy tonight." She arched an eyebrow. "You've never lacked confidence, have you, Ryan? Bring it on." ***

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He'd been so controlled all night. So content to wait and watch her. But Keira could see the moment he shrugged off the hold he kept on himself. There was a shift in his body language, some tension in his muscles that went from restrained to completely engaged in less than a heartbeat. Then his arms were around her. His lips rained kisses down the side of her neck and into the curve of her shoulder. He molded her body to his, her breasts flattening against his chest as he lowered her to the mattress. Stretched out on top of her. Things moved too fast and yet at just the right speed. She couldn't have withstood a slow seduction when her body was so keyed up. She hadn't even been able to wait for him to proposition her at his own pace tonight. All evening, she'd been tense and edgy, and now she understood why. It was because she'd been suppressing the urge for this. What she really wanted. The scent of jasmine wafted up as they crushed the white petals beneath them. Ryan kissed the strap of her tank top off, the fabric falling away until he tugged the bodice lower with his teeth. She moved to help him, her fingers clumsy from lack of blood flow when all sensation seemed centered on her breasts. Her sex. "It's been forever for me," she whispered, hoping to excuse her sudden fervor as she unbuttoned his shirt and splayed her fingers against his hot, naked chest. He untied the knot that held her pareo around her waist, baring her to her panties. "It's been forever since you," he returned, helping her as she tried to work the zipper on his pants. "That's what's killing me. It's been too long, Keira." He had them both naked in another minute, a condom already in hand. Her breath was so sporadic she thought she'd probably lose consciousness, but it didn't matter. It had always been like this between them. A desperate scramble to hang on to something fleeting and impossible. "Please," she urged between kisses, her fingers traveling down his chest, smoothing over hard abs and then over an even harder erection. "Hurry." The night breeze blew over her skin with teasing fingers when he leaned back to roll the condom on. Their gazes locked in the moonlight for a moment before he entered her in one smooth, sure stroke. She cried out, her body already pulsing with the warning spasms of her release. She held herself perfectly still, wanting to wait for him. Arm anchoring her waist, he held her right where he wanted her as he started a slow, steady thrust. Building harder. Faster. Holding back became impossible, and soon she succumbed to the full, lush orgasm that squeezed her muscles, over and over again. Dazed, she could hardly string words together in her mind as the deep, intense pleasure flooded her. But she had enough strength to lock her ankles around Ryan's waist and hold him tight.

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When his release came, the fierceness of it matched and exceeded hers. He held her through it, his hands trembling with the force of what was happening as he tangled his fingers in her hair and kissed her face. Her lips. Slowly. Gently. The moment was so beautiful she didn't ever want the night to end. And she knew whatever had happened between them eight years ago was just the tip of the iceberg compared to what they'd just discovered tonight.

Chapter Ten Three hours later, Ryan had depleted the supply of prophylactics. And despite the smack-talking he'd done earlier about wearing out Keira, he wanted tonight to be about more than sex. He wasn't sure when he'd come to that conclusion. Probably once he'd realized that she was every bit as fantastic as he remembered. Sexy as hell with a generous heart. She wasn't impressed by his family's money or access to five-star properties all over the world. And even though she'd definitely enjoyed the dinner and champagne, he could imagine her forgetting all about things like that for another eight years. If he let her. Right now, with the warm night breeze stirring the last of the crushed flower petals on the porch-front daybed, Ryan couldn't imagine saying goodbye to her again. Not in three days, anyway. He just hoped she wouldn't walk when she discovered their meeting on Fiji hadn't been an accident. Would she write it off as more negotiation and manipulation from the corporate shark he'd become? One more sign that his life revolved around wealth and privilege while she was most concerned with authenticity and people? "Where have you been the last eight years?" he asked as he pulled the sheet over her and smoothed the hair away from her face. Her curls were wild in the moonlight. "Teaching and traveling." She reached into the champagne bucket for one of the bottles of water stored beneath the ice. "I track jobs through an internet community of international teachers. I go to whatever schools attract me the most. Sometimes it's the story of a special student or an area that's really in need. Other times, I've made moves just to see more of the world." His chest tightened as he realized how vastly different their priorities had become. What would he have to offer a woman like her? "So where else have you worked besides Fiji?" "Laos, Bahrain, a few east African destinations that started when I went to Uganda." She sat up enough to take a drink and then set her water on the floor. "Do you ever make it home?" He remembered her family lived in Boston and that her father worked in the finance industry. "Do you see your family much?" "I've been home twice," she answered carefully.

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"Twice in eight years?" "I studied overseas in Morocco for my senior year and then I went home for graduation. My parents don't care to travel to 'questionable' parts of the world to visit me, so I only see them if I go home. I went back for a few weeks a couple of Christmases ago, but it was awkward." "They don't sound very supportive of your choices." "They think I've squandered my opportunities in order to pursue an ill-advised career." He wanted to ask more about her folks and why she didn't get along with them. It must hurt to have your own parents write you off like that. But something about her expression warned him away from the question. "My mom gives all of us a hard time if we don't come home at least three times a year," he offered. "Except for Danny and Jack. They went into the navy so they only have to show up on Cape Cod once a year, although Jack just got out so he'll have to put in his time at home like the rest of us. Mom is pretty hardcore about family." "Any woman who raises five sons and still has enough love and energy left over to foster a sixth would have to be committed to family." "She's great. And now that I think about it, I've got to call her soon. I haven't been home since Christmas." "You have amazing parents like that and you haven't been home since December?" She scraped up a few of the jasmine petals and tossed them playfully at his chest. "Boo. Hiss." "Hey!" He defended himself by trapping her throwing fingers. "If you don't like it, why don't you go home with me tomorrow? Hit Cape Cod for an old-fashioned lobster feast on the beach?" He wasn't sure what demon possessed him to ask—it sure wasn't a burning need to appease his mom. Maybe he just wanted Keira to see the one authentic connection he did have in his life. His family. He might not have formed many deep relationships or changed the world for at-risk kids the way Keira had, but whatever heart he possessed was rooted in his family and his home back on the Cape. And if he took her there, perhaps it would make her see him as more than a corporate shark. "Yes, if I had the Murphy family jet at my disposal I'm sure that would be easy. But I can't even go back to the other island until the ferry returns in three days." "But we do have the company jet at our disposal. And you did agree to spend a few days with me." Maybe the trip would also be a good time to tell her the truth about why he'd come to Fiji. "While I waited for a ferry, I had the option of hopping aboard Murphy Air?" she protested, although the argument seemed a little halfhearted. "Well, the plane's not scheduled to go to Viti Levu with a passenger of one. But it could take both of us to the Cape for the day. We could probably be there in ten hours." He wanted to do this for her even if she didn't set foot in Boston. She'd been working hard for years to make the world a better place. Didn't she deserve a few days of fun and indulgence?

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"You're insane." She shook her head, curls sliding along her shoulders where he wanted to touch her again. "No. I'm your break from reality, remember?" He tucked her closer so she could lay her head on his shoulder. "Come on, Keira. We only have a few days. Let's live the fantasy."

Chapter Eleven "Go fish." Keira rearranged her cards, double-checking that she didn't have a red three. She sat across from Ryan in his posh airplane on their way to Cape Cod. He'd told her the model but she couldn't remember what he'd called it. Her family had money to spare, but they'd never traveled much, so the world of private aircraft was all new to her. As someone who liked to see the world, Keira could definitely appreciate the benefits. Having the ability to tour new sights and jetting off to where she needed to be on a moment's notice would be great. And in their current situation, it felt decadent to drink iced tea and play cards to pass the time while they recovered from their long night together in her bure back in Fiji. "I can't believe this is the only card game you know." Ryan set down a matched set of black tens on the coffee table. "Teaching is the only sedentary thing I do. If you wanted to canoe or fish, I'd be all over it. But I never learned games that didn't involve a lot of activity." He tossed his cards on the table. "Then I've got the perfect game for you." She could tell by the heat in his eyes what it was. "Really?" Using the hand she'd been dealt, she fanned herself as she watched him. "How about a round of show-and-tell?" he suggested, surprising her. "We can ask each other pointed questions and burn off some energy as we, you know, show." Setting aside her cards on the polished oak table, she allowed her eyes to drift lower on his body. "I already know what I want to see." "But since I was winning at Go Fish, I think I get to ask first." She sighed, even though she was having fun with him. She still couldn't believe she'd hopped on a plane this morning with only a small bag of things she'd bought at the gift shop. But being with Ryan again felt like an adventure. She was beginning to realize that it hadn't just been the Himalayas that had made their time together so enjoyable. Ryan's sense of the unexpected—like playing show-and-tell on the plane, or making love under the stars last night—made her feel deliciously alive. "Fine." Edging out from the table, Keira rose to her feet and stood a few feet away from him. Her heart picked up speed as she waited for what would happen next. "What do you want to see?" Spinning a captain's chair toward her, he gripped the arms and made a leisurely perusal of her body. 248

On cue, everywhere his light green eyes touched seemed to come alive. Blood flowed faster, her pulse throbbing. Her mouth went dry while she waited for his request. "I want to see…" She leaned closer. "…your necklaces."

Chapter Twelve Ryan had wondered about the necklaces Keira wore. They were leather and looked handmade. There were probably ten thin strands around her neck, each one leading to a different charm or piece of colored glass. Now, she shook her head as she straightened, obviously surprised he'd used his turn at show-and-tell for a request that didn't involve getting naked. Of course, that would come later. He just wanted to get to know her better first. "You wicked man, making me think you wanted something naughty." "That's for my second question," he admitted, reaching out to cup her hips where she stood in front of him. "But I've been curious about the necklaces." Reaching into the neck of her simple white blouse, she tugged the mass of leather thongs out so that they lay on top of the cotton. "They're gifts from my students in Uganda, where I had my first teaching assignment." He rose from his seat so he could see them better. Fingering a yellow crystal, he watched the light prism through the facets. "Do you wear them all the time?" "Mostly. I like to keep my kids close to my heart. Since I can't wear gifts from each one, these represent all of them." "Each necklace is different." He found a pink charm that he recognized as a brand logo that might have been attached to leather goods. "I gave them the leather early in the school year to make necklaces of themselves. We made paper decorations to string on them. But at the end of the year, one of the girls organized the class to find more permanent objects to re-string them with." She flipped a tiny silver key to the front, the kind that might fit into a jewelry box. "They each found something unique." "You must have been touched." Though while he knew those kids had had an impact on Keira, he would bet she'd been even more of an influence on them. If he'd learned one thing in his hotel takeovers, it was 249

that you always kept the employees who were passionate about their jobs. That kind of dedication and joy in the work was easy to spot. And Keira glowed with it. "Do you have a picture of that class?" "Of course. I only have a million pictures. I don't go into my assignments with much, but I do take a camera. I plan a lot of activities with photographs, too, because the kids don't usually have access to them. I like to make keepsake photos for them with their friends. It helps them remember a healthy, safe place when they…" She cleared her throat as she tucked the necklaces back into her blouse. "When they have to go back to the world outside the school walls." Breathing in her scent and her goodness, Ryan counted himself fortunate to have found her again. And yet seeing how committed she was to children from all over the world, he had to wonder if he and Keira had a future. The same barriers that had been there eight years ago still existed. If anything, she was even more passionate about her work now. And he'd dug in deeper with his father's company, slowly taking full command and earning the CEO position. "You're an amazing woman." Ryan sketched a kiss along her cheek, cupping the back of her neck. She felt so right…but as he held her lightly in his arms, he knew his first doubt about his plan to win her. She didn't care about wealth and privilege—in fact had always sacrificed personal comfort for a job. But he'd built his life around wealth and privilege. Stripped of those, did he have anything left to offer her?

Chapter Thirteen Keira anticipated a bout of nervousness at being back in the same state as her parents. Venturing anywhere close to Boston reminded her of all the ways she'd fallen short of family expectations. She'd gotten past it for the most part, but sometimes she craved the kind of family that Ryan talked about. Still, she'd thought she'd squashed most of the nerves…until she saw Ryan's house. It was a mammoth structure perched on a hill in a little town called Chatham on the southeastern coast of Cape Cod. The home loomed before her as she stepped from the airport cab. Ryan paid the driver for bringing in their bags and she swallowed hard. "It's huge," she observed, wondering why one man needed a house that probably ran upward of four thousand square feet. "Not compared to the other houses on the block." Ryan tucked his arm around her and steered her toward the front door, his touch instantly reminding her of other, more sensual touches shared the night before. "I got it because of its location. My parents live a mile down the beach, which works well since my father and I do a lot of business from his home office. This gives me my own space, but it's close enough that I can quickly get to and from my parents'." His thumb made idle circles on her waist while he opened the lock. Goose bumps traveled over her skin and she wondered how she could want him so soon after all the attention they'd lavished on each other the night before. Or maybe the goose bumps came from seeing the way he'd built a home so close to his family—one of the best signs she'd seen yet that maybe Ryan wasn't all about being a corporate cutthroat. Hints of the man beneath the slick veneer were beginning to bleed through. As they entered, Keira noticed the historical marker on the exterior that said the house had been built in 1900. Inside, she was pleasantly surprised. The home lacked the showy details her parents packed in their living room. No grand piano or marble busts here. Ryan's walls alternated between bookshelves and 250

windows. The bookshelves contained pictures of his brothers—two were in their NHL uniforms, two were in military dress and one wore a suit as slick as anything Ryan had in his closet. But her favorites were photos of the brothers on the lawn of a big house on the water—throwing a football, pounding a volleyball, engaged in a fierce tug-of-war. She should have known the man who'd guided her around the Himalayas wouldn't be completely selfindulgent. He had family. Roots that he obviously cared about. "I like it," she told him honestly, stepping deeper inside where a fireplace nestled near a breakfast nook off the kitchen. "Very welcoming and livable." "Thanks." He tossed his keys on the dining table as he followed her toward the kitchen. "Can I get you something to drink?" "No, thank you." She turned as he reached her, intercepting him. "I'm glad I came." "Yeah? I wondered. You were so quiet on the way over here." "Old ghosts of the state. It will be nice to make some new memories here. Maybe wipe out the old ones." She hadn't said it as a come-on, but she could see by the heat in his eyes he took it that way. "That sounds like a challenge." He stalked closer, backing her toward a heavy column that divided the rooms. "And a Murphy man never walks away from a challenge."

Chapter Fourteen "I didn't mean it as a challenge." Keira toyed with one of the charms on her neck, drawing Ryan's attention to the quick pulse at her throat. He couldn't wait to taste her. "Nevertheless, that's what my brain heard. When you grow up with five brothers, you tend to hear a challenge in everything." His hands skated up her arms, fingers dipping beneath the short sleeves of her blouse to smooth over her shoulders. "So what do you say? Will you let me make some new memories for you?" "I say…" She peered heavenward as if actually debating the question. Then, her gray eyes finding his, she gave him a level look. "More action, less talk." "Yes, ma'am." He took the lead and drew her toward the staircase and up to the master bedroom. He'd barely furnished the upstairs, outfitting his room with just a king-size bed and a big-screen TV. Pausing first at the French doors overlooking the water, he popped the lock and opened them wide, sending a sea breeze drifting inside. "You live very well," she said softly, drawing in the fresh air while he walked her backward to the bed. "Now that you're here—yes. I do." His world was more vivid with Keira in it, and he planned to make sure she never wanted to leave. Starting right now. 251

Capturing her lips, he lowered her to the bed and tasted her. She wound her arms around his neck, short fingernails lightly abrading his skin as she drew him closer. Already his temperature spiked. Blood pounded. She affected him instantly. Not wasting a moment, he slipped a hand beneath her blouse, palming her taut stomach. She was so smooth and warm. Rolling her on top of him, he savored the sight of her. Dark curls spilling down to brush his shoulder. Her eyelashes fanning thickly along the tops of her cheeks. He couldn't get enough of her. The hunger for her grew too fast. Sliding apart the buttons on her blouse, he then turned to the fastening on her shorts and made quick work of those. He cupped her sex through her panties, loving the heat he found there. Stripping off the underwear, he settled her on his pillows and kissed his way down her body for a deeper taste. She cried out at the first flick of his tongue, her legs trembling on either side of his shoulders. He hugged her knees tight, roping them in while he kissed and suckled her. Her fingers tunneled into his hair while she whispered soft, incoherent sounds that damn near undid him. When her release came, he stayed there to work every last spasm from her, his hand cupping her hips. Once she relaxed, he moved up the bed to find the condoms. Sheathing himself, he entered her and thought he'd found heaven. Her body clenched his, legs wrapping around his hips while her sex pulsed with aftershocks. "Ryan." She breathed his name, her fingers gliding up his face. Their eyes met and he was lost. The climax delivered a one-two punch that pummeled him. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through him. Lying there afterward, his whole body high on endorphins, Ryan realized that he'd been hit hard by more than great sex. Something had shifted in their relationship today. Some irreversible knowledge had seeped into his brain when they'd been making love. They'd been making love. The stakes in their relationship had just skyrocketed. He'd fallen for a woman who'd liked him more when he was an MBA student than when he'd succeeded to the heights of the business world. He couldn't undo all he'd accomplished. Nor would he want to. But would Keira ever want the man he'd become?

Chapter Fifteen While Ryan made plans for their lobster feast on the beach that night, Keira settled in a big Adirondack chair by the pool and checked her email. The heated encounter with Ryan had left her feeling more than a little vulnerable, and she was grateful for the diversion. The director of her teaching agency had contacted her to say that Moving Forward would be closed indefinitely after a preliminary investigation by the agency suggested the school had misappropriated grant money. Their evidence? Apparently the new owners of the Venus Hotel had emailed the director to make her aware of the discrepancies. With that information, they could no longer support the school or keep Keira in Fiji, no matter how needy the students were. The director went on to ask Keira how soon she would be ready for reassignment. 252

Murphy Corporation had given her organization damning information about the school? Did Ryan know about this? Confused and worried, Keira closed Ryan's laptop. He had said that the former owners of Venus Hotel had been the corrupt party, but her agency was pointing fingers at her school. Worse, apparently someone at Murphy Resorts had tipped off her agency to the problem, thereby guaranteeing the school would be shut down and her kids left without help or support. How could she have taken a break from reality when the situation back in Fiji was this dire? Worse, could Ryan have encouraged her to leave the island to prevent her from protesting this? What had she been thinking to hop on a plane to the States when her school was in crisis? She had to return. To speak to the school director herself and find out what was going on and how she could help. Her work in Fiji wasn't done. Not when she had students so close to graduating. Behind her, she heard the screen on the French doors slide open. "Wait until you see the size of these suckers." Ryan came out onto the terrace, a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. "I found some great lobsters—" He paused when he saw her expression. "What's wrong?" She opened her mouth to speak and discovered she was too upset to know where to begin. "Keira?" He set down everything he'd been carrying and came closer. "Don't." She couldn't seek comfort from him, as tempting as that might be. Not when she didn't know if she could trust him. "Tell me the truth about your involvement in shutting down my school." "You know I don't have the power to shut it down." The way he clarified that point didn't bode well, in her opinion. "But I did authorize that all funds being sent to Moving Forward be halted until we investigated the irregularities we saw in the accounting." Her jaw clenched. She hated doublespeak. "No money means no school. You shut down the funding—" she'd already known that much "—but did you recently contact my teaching agency to tell them the school was no longer in business? Because I've now officially lost my job. I have to leave my kids."

Chapter Sixteen Ryan hadn't anticipated this. He'd brought Keira here to win her heart, not break it. But the disbelief in her eyes told him he'd messed things up in a way he might not be able to fix. Instead of wooing her with a new way of life back on his home turf, he had her all but sprinting to the airfield to return to that corrupt school. She stood on the terrace near the pool, the wind off the Atlantic tossing around her dark curls. Beside her on an Adirondack chair, the power light to his laptop blinked. That must have been the source of her information—an email from her teaching agency.

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"Keira, I know you hate doublespeak. So I won't point fingers." He believed in accountability. He expected it from other people in his organization, so he wasn't going to pass the buck himself. "I didn't write the email to your agency director, but I'm sure it came from my company. It's standard protocol when we're involved with pulling funding from a nonprofit group. We try to keep any creditors in the loop." "So that I'm assured of losing my job and the school is shut down." She ran frustrated fingers through her hair and he remembered how she'd felt tucked against him this morning. How he'd kissed the top of her head and allowed himself to think about a future with her. "So that you'd be aware you wouldn't receive your next paycheck. Some people count on that money to live on. We believe it's our duty to keep people informed of decisions that will have an impact on them." He couldn't just reinstate the payments to the school simply because she was involved, not without risking the takeover. It wasn't good business. Even though he'd looked into hotels in Fiji to get close to her, he also knew he couldn't walk away from a good deal for Murphy Resorts. "One of my senior students has a job lined up on an Australian cruise ship, but only if he can obtain his high school equivalency before the end of the month." She folded her arms and faced off against him like he was the enemy. "They hire once a year, Ryan. If he doesn't get in now, who knows how much trouble he could get in waiting around for the next chance to be hired." "I understand." It was the whole reason he'd fallen for her. The same reason that other women had never measured up. She cared about something a whole lot more important than boardroom politics and glitzy resorts. And she cared enough to back up her passion with hard work and complete dedication. "I don't think you do. We're not talking about losing a few dollars on overpriced widgets. We're talking about kids who could lose their whole future. Do you know how little it costs to educate them?" "Far less than what the Venus Hotel was paying out to Moving Forward." He reached for her, hoping he could still make her see his side. "Corruption often goes unnoticed inside nonprofit agencies. Traditionally, they don't have the checks and balances that profit-based businesses incorporate into their organizational structure. They're too understaffed. It's been a problem in more than one nonprofit my company has tried to sponsor." He didn't want to let her down. But he also hadn't gone to business school to throw money into corrupt practices. For a long moment, she said nothing. But eventually, she gave a stiff nod to acknowledge his point. "But this isn't the way to remedy corruption, not when the children pay the ultimate price." Her voice cracked. Her eyes were bright. "I understand you need to do business a certain way. But it's so far removed from the way I see the world, I just don't get how you can operate like this." What could he say? He hadn't been the one to work with the kids who would be affected by his decisions. At the end of the day, he still had investors to face. She had impoverished students. "I told you I would listen to your arguments to keep the school open and I will. I'll make the calls right now. But it has to follow due process."

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"That's kind of you." She seemed to nod her thanks. But her voice sounded remote. Distant. "I can assure you, I will find out what's going on at the school myself. If the owner of Moving Forward has been pocketing money, he'll have me to answer to." "That's not necessary—" "It is. I don't want you to think I encouraged an affair just to keep the school open." "And I don't." "Still, if you don't mind calling for your plane, it's best for me to go back where I belong."

Chapter Seventeen Keira didn't have much to pack. It took her only a few minutes to retrieve her toiletries and fold the clothes she'd worn the day before. But standing in Ryan's bedroom where the sheets were still rumpled from the night they shared gave her pause. They'd spent long hours in that bed. Every time she'd said she should get up, Ryan had pulled her back under the covers, insisting she'd have jet lag if she didn't rest more. Of course, his idea of rest had been pleasurable in the extreme. Even after eight years, he could still make her feel like a carefree college coed. How could he be such a corporate-minded shark on one hand and so down-to-earth and caring on the other? Sinking to the bed, she clutched her small overnight bag and smoothed her hand over a pillow, stirring his scent and making her heart ache. She'd known coming back to the States would be a risk. Not because she worried about running into her family, who'd written her off as a black sheep long ago. No, she'd known that spending so much time with Ryan and getting close to him would be a risk to her heart. "Keira?" As if called by her thoughts, he stood in the doorway, a shoulder leaning into the frame. He watched her from across the room, not making a move to come closer. "I'm ready." Standing, she tried not to think about her time in the big four-poster bed—or in Ryan's arms. "Did you call for a cab or should I?" Just asking made her feel unsteady. But getting back to her students—her real life—would make everything right again. Those kids were her world. And yet, while they'd always been more than enough in the past, she knew after this time with Ryan there would be a space in her life that couldn't be filled. "I called. The car should be here in twenty minutes." He took a step into the room. "Can I tell you something before you go?" She nodded, too weary and heartsore to sit in cold silence with a man she'd come to care about more than she ever would have guessed she could in such a short amount of time. Then again, maybe she'd 255

never let go of him eight years ago. Seeing him again had just brought all the old feelings to the surface and magnified them. He dropped onto the edge of the big bed, the only furniture in the room besides the flat screen mounted to one wall. "I came to Fiji for you." On the other side of the bed, Keira felt her knees give way and she ended up seated across from him, a sea of blankets and misunderstandings between them. "You…what?" She must have misheard him. "What happened with your school was a regrettable byproduct of my actions, it was never intentional." He opened a nightstand drawer and pulled out a travel guide to Fiji. "But I did look for a hotel to buy in Fiji because I knew you were teaching there. I'd planned to seek you out once I got the wheels in motion at the Venus." Stunned, Keira wasn't sure what to think. She brushed a hand across the cover of the book, tracing the pictures of palm trees and tropical birds. "You've been looking for me?" She'd been globe-hopping since the first time they'd met. "How did you know—" "I haven't kept tabs on you or anything, but I've scanned the internet a few times over the years to see if your name popped up. About six months ago, after a bad breakup, I realized that my good memories of you had lasted longer than any of my relationships." "You planned all this. Right from the beginning." She thought about the carefully arranged dinner on the water. The candlelit lanterns and jasmine petals on the bed. "You let me believe you were as surprised to see me as I was to see you." "And I was surprised. I knew you taught in Fiji, but not where. It was only when you showed up threatening to picket that I remembered seeing the name of the school on my list of frozen accounts for the hotel." "But you never thought of telling me the truth?" The knowledge felt like a spear to the heart. "I thought we'd grown so close. That we were having so much fun. Why did you even bring me all the way to Cape Cod, all the way to your home? Was that some kind of seduction game for you?" Indignant, she jumped to her feet again, ready to walk back to the airfield herself. "Hell, no." Ryan planted himself between her and the doorway, his green eyes darker than she'd ever seen. "I brought you here because I'm in love with you."

Chapter Eighteen "I'm in love with you." Keira had been so stunned by Ryan's admission that she hadn't known what to say.

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She didn't have much experience with serious relationships since she'd never really been in one. She'd had a few brief boyfriends in the towns where she'd taught, always accepting that they were temporary. So what she felt for Ryan was completely foreign. The churning emotions and pendulum swings from anger and frustration to heart-melting affection were too confusing. In other words, she'd answered his declaration by pleading for time and space. She'd bolted for the cab like a coward. She hadn't been surprised when he'd ridden to the airfield with her. After all, he had business in Fiji, as well, so she'd expected him to fly back with her. But it had been an awkward car ride, and she kept thinking about the lobster she'd come so close to tasting. Now, on the long flight home to Fiji, she tried to reorient herself, but she had no idea what time it was with her internal clock so mixed up. They'd been on the Cape for less than twenty-four hours. And although they'd left at 9:00 p.m. East Coast time, she thought they would touch down at midnight Fiji time, with a day lost somewhere in between. But she'd lost more than a day on this trip. Settling into a couch for a nap after refusing the small bedroom that Ryan had offered her, Keira knew she'd also lost her heart, her job and the only man who'd ever said he loved her. Clutching her necklaces in her hand, she closed her eyes and hoped she could sleep through the rest of the trip. If this had been a break from reality, she'd be better off not indulging in fantasy anymore. *** "These are the best lobsters I've ever eaten." Videoconferencing a call to his brother Jack, Ryan watched as his sibling demolished the remnants of the dinner Ryan had planned for Keira. Jack sat alone in Ryan's dark kitchen with a beer and a bowl of melted butter at the counter island. "I'm glad someone's enjoying them." Ryan kept his voice down since Keira had fallen asleep a few hours ago. He worked in a pod on the other end of the main cabin, a more traditional business-class seat with a computer station and a folding wall for privacy if he wanted to convert the seat to a bed. "Must have been urgent business to make you run out on a meal like this," Jack observed, his short hair and jacked shoulders making him look the picture of a military man. Which he was—he'd gotten out of the navy last week after a four-year stint. It was good to have him home, and Ryan regretted not being able to see him on this trip. "Actually, it is urgent business for a change. Instead of flying off to some can't-miss board of directors meeting, I'm actually tagging after an amazing woman." Jack's eyebrows spiked. He even paused in the steady rhythm of devouring the lobsters. "So is Dad loaning out the corporate jet for chasing girls these days? I thought that was nixed the last time Danny tried to fly that old beater Cessna to see his girlfriend in New York." Jack imitated jerky airplane wings with outstretched arms. Their brother Danny was still in the navy and the wildest of an unruly crew of six. They all hoped the military would settle him out, but they hadn't seen him enough in the past few years to know if that was happening or not.

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"Actually, I'm in charge of the corporate jet, bro." Ryan smiled a little. "Working my ass off for the past eight years has at least won me that much." On the laptop's screen, Jack lifted a beer in salute. "Good for you, man. But you know what they say about all work and no play." "I'm aware." In fact he was quite aware of the consequences now. The thought of losing Keira returned and he felt like a pile of bricks had just been loaded onto his chest. "So why don't you move that computer around so I can have a look at this girl you're chasing." Jack lifted his eyebrow with mock teasing. "If you show me her picture, I'll tell you whether or not you have a shot." Ryan eased back the privacy screen on his pod just enough to see into the rest of the darkened cabin where dark curls spilled over the edge of the sofa. He wasn't sharing that vision with Jack, but he soaked it up for himself in case he didn't have the chance again once they touched down. "I have to have a shot, bro. I have to."

Chapter Nineteen Keira's dream brought her upright in the middle of the flight. Nightmare was more like it, since she'd been dreaming about a life without Ryan in it. He'd said he loved her and she'd walked away like it didn't matter, hung up on the way he'd handled his feelings when she couldn't even express hers. She slipped into the airplane's bedroom cabin to use the bathroom and take a shower, hoping it would clear her head. Half an hour later, no amount of hot water had been able to tell her how she and Ryan could make a relationship work, but it did tell her she was a giant chicken if she didn't go out there and confront him now about what was happening between them. Her hair was still dripping when she knocked on the wall to his pod. "Ryan?" She wore a plain white T-shirt she'd found in the drawer with the clean towels, and she'd put her own shorts back on. The glow from Ryan's laptop illuminated his face in an otherwise darkened cabin. He looked exhausted. His white dress shirt had lost its crispness. His pale blue tie hung halfheartedly around his neck where the top buttons on his shirt were undone. Despite everything that had happened between them, the urge to simply lie down along with him on that reclined chair was a fierce longing. "Are you having trouble sleeping?" he asked, closing his laptop. "I can shut down if I'm making too much noise." "Actually, I'm having trouble understanding why you would go to so much trouble to seduce me. You know, I would have been flattered if you'd just looked me up and came to Fiji to see me." 258

He set aside the computer and shoved away the movable desk. Then he raised his seat and nudged the ottoman closer to her so she could join him. Her heart beat faster, nervous of what he might say. But she sank onto the footrest and waited. "I didn't know how well the news would go over at first, since you were so upset about the school losing its funding." He shrugged. "Maybe there was no good reason not to tell you, but…I'd been looking for you for months before I found you, and I didn't want to risk scaring you off." "Why didn't you just call me? Why buy a hotel in Fiji?" "I wanted to get together, to get to know you again, see if we still felt the way we used to. And my business is hotels, so it made sense to investigate the resort industry in a place where I was planning to spend a lot of time." Her heart softened. He'd wanted to be with her for a while, obviously. Maybe he had put a lot of thought into seeing her again. But that didn't mean he'd been cold or calculating about it, the way she'd originally assumed. "And when you said you loved me last night—" "I meant every word."

Chapter Twenty Ryan debated his next course of action. His heart damn near went into overdrive at the thought of Keira giving him another chance. But should he wait for her to put the pieces together on her own terms and come to him? Or should he lay out his ideas for a future together to entice her closer? "Keira, I don't want you to think I'm a scheming guy, hell-bent to have you. But maybe my work has wired me that way. I see what I want and I go after it—in this case, you. I can't help that." "I'm starting to understand." A small, conceding smile was the sweetest gift she could have ever given him. "But what made you think of me after all that time apart?" Sitting forward, he took her hand in his, grateful as hell just to be touching her. "After my last breakup, I was banging my head against a wall, trying to figure out what I was doing wrong. I'd been with women who were great conversationalists or savvy businesswomen, but I couldn't imagine any of them at home with me on the Cape. With my family." He rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand. "I kept seeing you there instead." "Maybe two corporate sharks in the same house wasn't such a good idea." Her grin was more open this time. More encouraging. "I could see where we are a better balance." "Exactly." The urge to pull her against him and kiss her was so strong he had to close his eyes for a minute to hold it back. "Keira, we could be a great balance. And I've been thinking about how we could be together—"

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"My work takes me away a lot." She bit her lip and he could tell this was a deal-breaker for her. "My job is important to me." "I know. And I wouldn't ask you to ever give it up. But I have a proposition for you to consider if you're interested in finding a way for us to be together." That's what he needed to know, damn it. She mattered to him more than his next breath and he still had no idea how she felt. "Being with you again…" She seemed to search for the right words while he held his breath. "It's made my heart sing." "That's a good thing, right?" She laughed and the joyousness of the sound answered the question even before she flung her arms around him. "It's a beautiful, amazing thing. I've been so happy being with you. Who else would play Go Fish with me? And no one has ever asked me about my students or my necklaces. It's like I'm in college again, sharing secrets with a cute MBA. Nothing's changed. You haven't changed, no matter what you think. I could see myself loving you for a long, long time. Except I can't figure out how I'd ever be a part of that house on Cape Cod with you." She turned worried gray eyes up to him, her wet curls soaking through his shirt. "If you feel that way about me, everything else is easy." He kissed her forehead. Her eyelids. "The rest is nothing." "You mean it?" "If I had to open hotels everywhere you went to be with you, I'd do it. Even if it meant personally turning around the economy of a third-world country. But it's not going to come to that because I have a plan. And if you don't like this one, I'll figure out another. And another." As he said those sweet words, Keira felt her heart slip away. It belonged to Ryan Murphy, always and forever. She'd given it to him without a second thought. He would take good care of it. She was certain. "You were always an excellent planner," she admitted, pulling herself more fully onto his lap, into the cocoon of his arms. "That's really why I started flirting with you back in Nepal. I would have gotten lost without you." "Oh, really?" He smoothed a damp curl away from her cheek. "I thought it was because of the powerful orgasms you knew I could give you." "Well, that, too." She kissed him full on the mouth, grateful there would be more where that one came from. "So when do I get to hear your plan for keeping us together?" "Besides the sex?" He nipped her shoulder with his teeth and then kissed the spot. "My first idea is for you to take over the humanitarian effort at Murphy Resorts." Everything inside her stilled. "Ryan?" She shook her head. "What did you say?" 260

"You've seen firsthand the kinds of problems we run into when we enter a new market and try to make a difference locally. It's part of our company mission to give back, but we want to invest in local schools and charity efforts wisely—" "You would give a job like that to me?" It was the first time in her life she would have applied the word flabbergasted to herself. "I mean, I think I would be able to do it well—" "There is no one I would trust with that job more. And I'm definitely creating the position, whether you want it or not, because we can't afford any more mix-ups like what happened with Moving Forward—" She didn't know what else he might have said. She kissed the ever-breathing hell out of him. When she finally pulled away, she had tears in her eyes. On her cheeks. And a heart full of happiness she couldn't begin to describe. "I take it you like the idea," Ryan observed, wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. "I love it." She kissed him again, wondering how soon she could marry this man who turned all her fantasies into reality. "And I love you, too, Ryan Murphy."

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The Doctor Everyone's Talking About By Fiona McArthur Zoe's Diary: I finally got up the nerve to start a conversation with the gorgeous Angus Raynor—talented surgeon, the hot topic at the hospital and infamous heartbreaker. I'm not worried about his reputation; after years of being treated like a china doll by my overprotective brothers, I'm about to strike out on my own on a round-the-world trip, so I don't want anything serious. But does Angus?

Chapter One Sun, surf and sand-dusted women in droves. Angus Raynor decided the bay at Coogee was a wicked temptress with striped beach umbrellas enticing him like the tips of her painted nails. Come closer. See what I'm hiding: women who haunt your dreams and make you wish you were capable of reasonable relationships. Not to mention the beach volleyball. The move to Coogee Beach was definitely one of his better choices. A pocket-sized dynamo in a polka-dotted bikini dived like a ballet dancer to flick the volleyball into a far corner of the court before she landed in a gloriously disarrayed heap in front of him. He grinned. Temptations like this had to be appreciated! When Angus leaned down to assist, he recognized her from the hospital. Her spiky black hair and sexy gurgle of a laugh had already drawn his attention. Last week. Attraction like an ocean rip that could pull you along no matter how strong a swimmer you were. It was her. She took his hand briefly and bounced into a standing position. Her fingers felt incredibly small in his. "Thanks. Oops. Nearly took you out." He wished. "Worse things could happen than going down in a tangle of limbs." He kept a straight face. She had to have a soft and luscious voice to go with it. Damn. She let go of his hand to brush off the sand then smiled, a joyous salute brighter than the sun over his head. It was about then he realized her mouth had the capacity to haunt his dreams. "Midwives rule." Her partner approached and Angus dragged his eyes from her face to lift his hand in greeting to the other woman, thankful for the distraction. Time for a cold dip. Urgently. "Great save," he said, then turned toward the surf. Not the best parting comment, Angus thought. His lips twitched. He hadn't been thinking about the ball, more the sheer luck that kept delightful body parts from escaping the fall. As he strode away, he heard someone say, "Great dive, Zoe. You guys deserved that one." The girls' voices faded. So her name was Zoe. He glanced over his shoulder as teams separated like fireworks taking off in every direction. Guess the game's over. He dropped his shirt on the sand and dived into a wave. When he emerged from the water twenty minutes later the day continued to improve. Zoe was coming his way.

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"Hello there." When she spoke, his feet slowed as if long sand-crusted fingers had hold of him along with a pair of Coogee-blue eyes. Goodness knows what expression was on his face. She was so damn hot. A swim this morning had been a good plan to get away from the hospital, get away from the feeling that he could have done more, get away from the sympathetic looks of the staff who, even in the short time he'd been there, knew how personally he took failure. Angus picked up his shirt and shook it. Zoe's unfairly cute face reminded him how good it was to be alive instead of disillusioned by the night. If only it were that easy all the time.

Chapter Two Zoe Silver wondered if maybe her brothers had it right when they said she needed some protection. At least Angus Raynor had stopped and looked at her. But what a look. Up close his eyes were like the sea. Fathomless and deep, deep blue like the water under your feet when you're way out of your depth. She persevered. Something she'd become known for. "You work at the hospital don't you?" He smiled cynically and she decided his eyes weren't blue at all, they were black, and as sexy as a pirate's, combined with the loose shirt he pulled on and wicked marauding gaze. She smiled back, unintentionally from the heart, and a dangerous edge crept into his grin, one that made her own smile slip a little. She wondered if it had been a good idea to strike up a conversation. "Yes, I do. And you?" Angus asked, a mocking lilt she didn't understand beneath his words. Zoe frowned. It wasn't the sand under her feet she was feeling. Her whole body was prickling. His voice was deep and low like the sudden heat in her belly. Then his words sank in and she was back to standing in hot sand. He hadn't even noticed her at work. Bummer. She quelled the little coil of disappointment. Too used to being the center of attention at home, my girl, she thought. Such a leveller when the real world intruded. This was why she needed to get away. Stretch her wings. Develop a sophisticated skin that would protect her. Cross the ocean that beckoned every morning from her bedroom window and show them all she didn't need their protection. Zoe had seen him watching her earlier in the game. Bit hard to miss when he was the hottest topic at the hospital and her antennae swiveled every morning to see if he was having coffee when she was. Ruby said that even though Angus wasn't a consultant yet, he was the first the other surgeons called when they struck trouble. "Ruby says you work like a demon in theatres." "Who's Ruby?" "My friend from the emergency department." Ruby also said he was the last man to play with. A heartbreaker. "She said they call you the registrar with the magic fingers." "Spare me." He grimaced and looked away. "Last night there wasn't any magic." Ouch. Poor choice to disclose that, then. Seemed she couldn't do much right today with him, but then again, danger had never stopped her before. 263

She lifted her chin. "Okay. I'm Zoe. I'm a midwife." The words still gave her a glow of fulfillment. "And I love my job." Her passion. It would lead her to a world of experience. And her brothers had said she was too much the princess to do it. "I'm Angus." He held up his hand in a sardonic little salute. "New grad?" He didn't sound impressed. Her face froze a little. So? Not good enough for him? "Got a problem with that?" To her surprise he smiled. A warmer one. He shook his head at her ire. "Youth is grand." She was so sick of people telling her she was young. Red rag to a bull. "Thanks for that, Grandpa." "Grandpa?" He blinked and then grinned. She glanced past his shoulder to the bustling street of Coogee opposite the beach. "Anyway, it's the last half of my grad year. Then I'm off to see the world." He shook his feet free of the sand and moved. "I can see you're a determined woman. Hope the world is ready." Abruptly, he turned and walked away. She watched him go.

Chapter Three Angus felt like smacking himself in the forehead. Zoe Silver was like a ray of light. An innocent Joan of Arc. The last type of woman he needed. New grad! Probably even younger than he thought. Angus scooped up the towel he hadn't used and slipped on his sandals to stride up Hill Street toward the hospital. He resisted the urge to look back. A brisk walk up the incline should knock some sense into him. Curiously, though, in the past few minutes he did feel less weighted down by his failure last night. But that would have had nothing to do with her. It was the beach, of course it was the beach, the place he'd moved to so he could ease his burden. *** "Saturday night. Party at our house." It was three in the afternoon, shift change on the maternity ward, and her volleyball partner and fellow graduate midwife, Tilly, picked up her bag to head home. "Think of something to bring. Or even those gorgeous brothers of yours?" Zoe grinned. "Wouldn't miss it. I so envy your freedom from family." Tilly, Ruby, Ellie from orthopedics and Jess from operating theatres shared a big old house just up from the beach and their Hill Street parties were always a hoot. And nobody cramped their style. Then she remembered. "Won't be early, though. I promised Col I'd do his last hour of beach patrol on Saturday." An active member since her eighth birthday, Zoe loved the patrol, although the shift work of the last year had played havoc with her ability to be consistently available. "You on duty that day, Til?"

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"Yep. So I won't be early, either. See you then." The Hill Street parties didn't start properly 'til after dark anyway. But she wasn't bringing her brothers to supervise. If she so much as looked at a guy they'd be watching. She'd take the margarita recipe and the makings. And wear that slinky little number she'd picked up at the thrift shop. Zoe waved and picked up the notes of the young woman in labor just admitted. "See you then," she said to her friend but already Zoe was focused on the door of the birthing suite. "Hello there." Tessa, her patient for the shift, looked waxen from holding back tears. Zoe wanted to hug her. "I'm Zoe and I'm looking after you." She glanced around at the otherwise empty room. "Is there anyone coming in to be with you?" Tessa sniffed. "My boyfriend's not out 'till Monday." She shook her head in frustration. "If I'd only hung on for two more days he could have been here. I'll just have to manage." Out? As in, jail? "Somehow I don't think that's your fault." Zoe decided women blamed themselves for some strange things but she admired Tessa's determination to cope anyway. "What about family?" Tessa shook her head. "Don't have any." Remorse tugged. And she complained about her family loving her too much. "That must be tough. But we'll be the team," Zoe said it with such absolute confidence Tessa even risked an unwilling laugh. "You're my number one priority. To help you let your body do what it needs to in your labor. To go with it, not fight it. Okay?" "Not much else I can do. I just wish Chase was here." Zoe couldn't do anything about that. But maybe she could distract Tessa for a while. "Why don't you tell me about him? It might make him seem nearer…."

Chapter Four Almost three hours later, Tessa was deep into labor, and though she'd started to gasp with the closeness of the contractions, she was in firm control. Zoe was so impressed with her. Tessa had spent the past two hours in the dim bathroom in the new large bath. Zoe sat beside her on the stool feeding her ice chips and checking mother and baby's progress. The girls had developed a sync that needed few words. Tessa seemed to doze between pains as she passed through the transition stage of labor and Zoe thought she must be almost ready to push. At a quarter to six Tessa suddenly moaned and clutched her left side. She stared at Zoe with fear—stark and unexpected—in her eyes as she tried to speak. "It doesn't feel right."

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Not what women normally say when they're going into the second stage of labor. Zoe took one look at the paleness of Tessa's face and pressed the bell for assistance. Always listen to the mother. Disastrous scenarios flashed through her brain. Emergencies from her training books bounced around in her head. Baby's placenta bleeding and separating? Amniotic fluid embolism? She slid the Doppler against Tessa's stomach and the baby's heart rate was a good twenty beats above normal and climbing. "I can see it hurts and you're scared, Tessa, but I need to get you back to the bed for the doctor." Seconds later the midwife in charge arrived, and after they had Tessa in bed she flew out to call the obstetrician. Within fifteen minutes Zoe was throwing clothes off and jerking theatre scrubs over her head as a room away Tessa was being prepared for an emergency caesarean. How could it all have gone wrong so quickly? What sort of condition was Tessa's baby going to be in when it was born? Were there warning signs she'd missed? Zoe pulled on her over boots and cap and fumbled with her mask, her heart racing the way the baby's had on the monitor. She took a breath and pushed through to the scrub room.

Chapter Five 6:10 p.m. When Angus arrived the operation was a sea of blood. "Mother's BP's falling." He heard the anesthetist's comment as he arrived backwards through the swinging doors of the operating suite. The garbed obstetrician gestured him closer. "That's not looking good for whatever's bleeding in there." Angus slid in between the assistant and the scrub sister. He took the handle of a pair of artery forceps. "I'll hold that." The patient's condition was going down. He didn't even want to think about the risk to the baby. Where was the pediatrician? To the left he saw a midwife waiting for the infant, and just that brief glance allowed instant recognition. Which was ridiculous. A few spikes of black hair and a porcelain forehead when he had trouble recognizing people he worked with all the time in theatre garb. What had she said they called him? Magic Fingers? He hoped he had some today, they just might be needed here. If the ped didn't arrive, Zoe would need some, too.

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The caesarean went ahead rapidly. The baby was as floppy as a pale rag doll when Dr. Fortune handed him onto Zoe's sterile blanket, but in less than a minute a weak baby's cry sounded and loosened a little of the tension in the room. Baby's okay, Angus thought gratefully. Just a few seconds of good assisted ventilation and cardiac massage. Good job, Zoe. Another quick glance and he saw Zoe relax her shoulders. He didn't blame her. Judging by the maternal loss of blood, the infant had been lucky. One good outcome at least, he thought with relief. The ped arrived just then and crossed to Zoe, allowing Angus to concentrate fully on his work. "Any other ideas where she's bleeding from?" "This tear in the lower segment of the uterus is obvious but there must be more. I clamped it but she's still losing a lot of blood," said Dr. Fortune, a hint of panic in his voice. "Blood pressure seventy on forty, pulse one fifty." That from the sweating anesthetist hanging replacement fluids as fast as he could. Angus felt the adrenaline surge. "Maybe a vessel tear? I'll ligate the femoral artery until we have a good look. Give us time." A few seconds later it was done and the team seemed to sigh in unison with the reprieve. The blood stopped pooling and he could see more clearly. "Now lift the uterus out again and I'll find the problem. Hang on, Tessa."

Chapter Six Five minutes after Angus started working on Tessa, the relief in the operating theatre was palpable. Zoe glanced across at the anesthetist who nodded with satisfaction at his monitor. Dr. Angus Raynor—looking more like a shining officer in charge of the cavalry than a pirate now—had found the tear over two minor arteries and repaired the damage. Tessa and her uterus would heal. Zoe glanced down at the little boy who'd begun to shift his head around and blink at the lights. The baby frowned a wrinkled forehead at Zoe as he stared, and she realized he was searching for his mother. Zoe blinked away sudden tears. Relief doused her unexpectedly in a wave of emotion and unobtrusively she sniffed. She didn't feel quite so sick, but the edge of danger Tessa had balanced on left her momentarily shaken. Angus heard the soft shuddering sigh. He flicked his gaze across to Zoe. Why did he feel so keenly the release that emanated from a pair of fragile bowed shoulders six feet away? She looked up, her eyes huge pools of distress and he couldn't help the visual embrace he sent her way. It's okay, he messaged. In case she didn't understand, he nodded, as well. Everything will be fine. Zoe had never felt so reassured in her life. But she hadn't been in many life or death situations, either. Another glance at Angus's bent head felt just as comforting. Tessa would be fine. Unexpected kindness to visually reassure her. Not something she'd noticed about him at the beach. 267

They'd all been so close to disaster, and just like Ruby'd said, he'd been able to pull them away from catastrophe to save the day. Well, she'd been here in that moment and she'd never forget it. Trouble was, this swelling in her chest, the soft smile under her mask and the fact she couldn't take her eyes off him as he said something to lighten the scrub sister's face, all pointed to a growing infatuation. That's okay, Zoe reassured herself. She could deal with that, but as she walked beside the orderly pushing her precious cargo on the resuscitation trolley back to the ward, somehow she felt this was not as simple as an infatuation. Apart from a minute's conversation on the beach she didn't know Angus at all…and yet she couldn't wipe the huge smile off her face.

Chapter Seven Three hours later, just as soon as her patient was awake and well enough, Zoe carried Tessa's son up to Intensive Care to meet her. Unexpectedly, she found Angus Raynor lounging in a chair beside the young girl, talking in a low voice about what had happened as if they'd known each other for years. For Zoe—worried Tessa would be terrified if she awoke alone in a strange ward—seeing Angus there was a relief. Maybe there was a flutter in her chest, as well, but relief was the big one. Honest. "Ah, here's Zoe." Angus stood up and her face heated. He'd remembered her name. "And with your son." He smiled down at their patient. "Congratulations. He's very handsome, Tessa." Then, with a small and slightly satirical smile for Zoe, he was gone. "Gosh, he's gorgeous," breathed Tessa in a post-anesthetic daze and Zoe looked down at the baby to hide her pink cheeks. And so's your baby, she thought. As Zoe slipped the little boy in against his mother's skin she was reminded how close this baby and mother had been to tragedy. Tessa gazed down with awe. "I'm gonna call him Bodie. He's so tiny. You sure he's mine?" Zoe blinked away silly tears and unraveled the little fist to show the blue name tag. Bodie's starfish hand waved at his mother. "Look. See? There's your name. I put those bands on five minutes after he was born while we were still in the operating room. He's been waiting to meet you." As if on cue, Bodie turned his head toward Tessa and opened his eyes wide to circle her face. Then he sniffed her skin and opened his mouth. Tessa leaned forward to shift his position, stopped and held her stomach. "Yowww." "No big movements for a day or two," Zoe advised apologetically as Tessa winced. "I'll try my best," Tessa said with a bitter little twist that made Zoe squeeze her hand. "But who's going to help until Chase gets out?" Zoe thought how sad it would be with nobody to share the responsibilities and baby joy with for the next few days. 268

"We'll all help you." And they would. By the time Zoe carried Tessa's sleeping baby back to the ward it was time to end her shift. After the emotions of the night, she'd never felt less like sleeping. In the deserted foyer of the hospital, the security guard—a friend of her brothers' who always seemed to be there when she finished at eleven—waved his torch at her. "You got a lift?" Zoe grinned. "Just about to ring." Her brothers were adamant she shouldn't take the bus, and she wasn't wasting her money on a car with her trip coming. She was planning on going on a world tour—if she could get her overprotective brothers off her back. They insisted on her phoning them for a lift if she didn't share a taxi with one of the four nurses from Hill Street. She reached for the mobile in her purse as she headed for the door. "Zoe?" She slowed. She knew that voice and her cheeks warmed again. "I can drop you home." Angus appeared out of the lift to her left and jingled his keys. Zoe glanced across at the security guard. He was frowning and she bit back a smile. That little bit of gossip would spread to her house faster than Angus could drive down the hill, but it wasn't going to influence her decision. You betcha. She smiled at Angus. "I live not far, down near the beach. If you're sure?" He didn't seem to mind. The night bubbled with promise.

Chapter Eight "You're on my way." Angus had seen Zoe when the lift doors opened and made a snap decision to ask if she needed a ride home. You'd think he'd have learned not to get involved with someone from work but it had seemed wrong not to reassure her Tessa would be fine. Of course that was reasonable. A few moments later it felt like he'd fallen into the best part of his day just to hand her into his convertible. "It's a warm night. Want the top down?" He leaned forward and pushed the lever he rarely used. "Be a shame not to on an evening like this." His car was like a lot of things in his life that he'd thought would make him happy. But for the first time, thanks to Zoe's delight in the mechanism of a moving roof, he felt like he'd had two beers on an empty stomach. Fizzing and fabulous. Maybe a bit of fresh air might not go astray. "You okay?" The question was probably superfluous because she looked relaxed and happy in the seat next to him with her arm along the door. "Terrific, thanks." The car drove off sluggishly and he frowned and glanced at the dash lights. Good grief. She'd looked so damn good he'd forgotten to take off the handbrake. Definitely another first.

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"It was nice of you to go see Tessa. She was so scared before theatre." Coming from the dimness beside him, even her voice made him smile. Until the words sank in and he remembered the edge of disaster. And why he'd sought Zoe out. "We shared some pretty tense moments today." And afterward her emotions in theatre had played on his mind. "Close shaves like that can shake you." Especially a sweet young thing like Zoe. "You sure you're okay now?" He couldn't help the protective surge. With no family of his own he'd always been the one in the orphanage to watch out for the little guys. "I was starting to get scared for Tessa." "She lost a lot of blood. Tricky blighters, posterior arteries. Tessa seems a really good kid." He heard her sigh beside him. It was a big one. Obviously relaxed with him, Zoe leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes with a smile on her face. "I'm so glad you see that, too. Tessa's lovely." So are you, he thought, and as if she'd heard him, she sat up a little and looked around. "And I think her boyfriend is more silly than bad. She told me that he has issues with authority. Didn't pay parking fines then kept driving his car without a license." She glanced across at him. "I hope you have a license?" "Darn." Angus smacked his forehead. "Meant to do that." When she laughed it made his chest swell with pride. He wanted to hear the sound again. More than anything. Well, almost more than anything. "Fancy a gelato? We could park on the headland and watch the waves while we eat, then I could take you home." He had a brief responsible thought. "Or do you start early? I can take you now." "Ice cream's great." She pulled her phone from her pocket. "I'll just text one of my brothers and let them know I don't need picking up." So she had a caring family. He was glad. He knew what the other side was like. He wondered what they'd think of him snatching their little sister for a night ride. He shrugged. It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. Not likely to be repeated.

Chapter Nine Twenty minutes later, it didn't feel like a spur of the moment thing. Sitting next to Zoe in the dark made Angus feel happier than he had for years. With one hand resting on the steering wheel he looked up at the stars and realized how delightful peace was. The sensation was a million light years from the way he'd felt with every other woman he'd invited out. He'd always felt distant—as far away as the moon, even—with other women. But as he glanced across at Zoe he felt his hand tighten as if to stop itself from reaching out to her. "You look amazing in the moonlight." She smiled. "Thank you, kind sir." The silver glow on her skin made him want to spend the rest of the night just soaking her in. And a bit more than that. Too bad convertibles were hopeless for making moves in. "Would you like to walk a little?"

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"Not tonight. My brothers'll be worried." Such a little girl. What was he doing? The way he was feeling at the moment her brothers should be worried. "Of course." He leaned forward and started the engine. Zoe grimaced in the dark at her own prudery. Wasn't this what she wanted? Darn right, it was! Before he could take the handbrake off—and before she could change her mind—she leaned over and kissed the side of his mouth. A bit of a fumble but worth the rasp of a day's regrowth that had tantalized her since she'd got in the car. She sat back primly. "Thank you for the gelato and the lift." "Mmm, yes, it was nice," he said, and took his hand slowly off the gear stick, though he didn't turn the engine off—in case he scared her? She felt his glance on her face and then her folded hands, and then her face again. "I quite like the aftertaste." His tone was measured with just a hint of a smile. "Hang on a minute—just before we leave…" He shifted in his seat, leaned across and slid his arm gently around her shoulders. When she didn't resist he pulled her toward him. "Not the most comfortable place for this, but… Just one more taste," he said softly and then he kissed her properly. No peck on the side, this one. This was seduction with a long, slow introduction to the type of kissing Zoe had never encountered before. She'd kissed boys and a few men, but not with this sense of homecoming. Masterful yet teasing, nourishing and undeniably dangerous with little flickers of fire shooting away from the center of the world that just happened to be where their lips met at this moment. Zoe forgot about the waves, the moonlight, the soft leather under her—everything except the need to satisfy a starvation she hadn't realized she'd suffered from. The lumpy casing of the seatbelt digging into her side was so dim she barely noticed it. Until Angus eased away with a final, more chaste salute, and she was left unexpectedly bereft. She was sure she could feel his heated gaze on her mouth even though her eyes were shut. Zoe's head fell back against the seat and she slowly opened her eyes. Oh, my. "And on that note, I'd better move now or I'll never leave," he said into the night air. They smiled at each other and he started the car. Angus dropped her at her home and gunned the engine as soon as he was around the corner from her house. What the hell was he doing? Cradle snatching? She was ten years younger than he was and a hundred years younger in life experience. Yet she had an aura of magic that drew him like a lemming to the cliff edge. He who ran a mile from strong feelings. There is a reason for that, you fool. He knew deep inside he wasn't lovable—four foster families attested to that—and he also knew that if he became involved with Zoe he'd only constantly dread the moment she would realize it, too. His mobile phone buzzed in his pocket—the hospital. He grimaced as he pulled over to answer it. He might as well go back to the hospital. There'd be no sleeping at his house for the rest of the night after that little escapade, anyway.

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Chapter Ten Zoe lay awake and stared at the ceiling. The waves on the beach sounded like whispers and the moonlight pointed accusing fingers of light onto her bed. It was the same moonlight that had looked over them in the car. She hugged her pillow close and screwed her eyes shut. How on earth would she look at Angus and not remember the feel of his arms around her or the pressure of his mouth on hers for those incredible few minutes? She rolled over onto her stomach and dug her toes into the bed. How on earth was she not going to blush when she saw him at work? She just wouldn't. That's all. Thank goodness he was an infrequent visitor to the maternity section. Except that when she turned up at work the next afternoon it was Angus who stood at the desk writing up medications. Zoe dropped her gaze to the floor in front of her to hide her hot cheeks. Then a horrible thought intruded. She looked up and tilted her head to read the name on the spine of the folder he'd just sat back on the desk. Tessa's? Embarrassment forgotten. "Is she okay?" "Hello, Zoe. Just bringing her back to the ward from ICU. Hasn't had much sleep with all the blood transfusions." "And she's well enough to be here now? She's stable?" "She is now." He smiled at Zoe but she must have still looked worried because he went on. "She's good. Trust me on this." She did feel reassured. "Of course." On this, anyway. She smiled to herself. They'd both made a move last night. Though his had been better. She had a horrible feeling her emotions were written on her face. She opened her mouth then shut it. She'd just end up deeper in trouble. When she looked up, he had that gleam in his eye that said he was amused by her. Fine, it's like that, then. I can be nonchalant, too. She grinned at him and moved away. "I'd better get into handover." *** Later that night, after her shift, Zoe walked through the foyer. Angus was waiting. Her friendly security guard's eyebrows almost disappeared under his cap. She waved as if everything was normal but her pulse rate said it darn well wasn't. The most gorgeous man in the hospital was waiting for her, again, and she didn't know what to think. "Lift?" In the end there wasn't a lot to think about. "Thank you." Not much was said until he seated her, strode around to his own side of the car and slid in. Then he glanced across the seat with the devil in his eyes. "I enjoyed last night." She couldn't help but smile. "Me, too. But not good for sleeping." 272

He grinned back. "Tell me about it." "And I'm on the early shift tomorrow." "Righto." He leaned forward, started the engine and opened the roof. "I can do direct travel." The car glided out of the car park with the roof still compacting itself back into the boot. "So how was your shift?" She could get used to this. How had they gotten so comfortable so quickly? "Great. We had a woman come in and birth within twenty minutes. Gorgeous boy. She's great, going home in the morning. That's the way to do it." He grimaced. "Not the tough way, like Tessa." "Poor Tessa. She seems pretty philosophical about everything that happened." "We talked about it again." So he'd gone to see her again. He really did care. "She must think it's a miracle to find another person who understands. Your support's really helped her, you know." He looked away. "I'm glad. Someone told me she was in foster care."

Chapter Eleven Foster care… The memories rushed in on dark wings. Unwanted. Oh, how he remembered those miserable years. And what they'd taught him: never rely on anyone. "I know that hell." Had he just said that? Confessed something that he'd never told anyone? Angus hurried on, swearing like crazy in his head, hoping she hadn't heard. "But I'm not the only one who's stood by her. She's had your support throughout." His face felt frozen as he stared ahead. Even if she had heard, hopefully she'd see he didn't want to talk about it. To his relief she changed the subject. Other women hadn't been so understanding. More points for Zoe. "Are you coming down to the carnival on Sunday? The lifesaving club's got our annual fete on." When he didn't respond, still half bogged in the past, she added, "I'm on the kissing stall." He glanced across. He played her words again in his head. Had to look at her after that statement. "You're what?" Zoe laughed. Mischief radiated from her face like a school kid and he remembered how young she was. "Joking. We don't have a kissing stall." She gave him a much older look. "By that reaction maybe we should?" Good grief. "How about you don't." He wasn't sure why—or didn't want to think about why—but the thought stirred up…very strong feelings. Not that he could reveal them to her… "Bet your brothers wouldn't like that." Good comeback, he congratulated himself.

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She shrugged. "I'm sure they'd provide a bouncer if anyone came on too strong." He'd bounce anyone, all right. Angus realized his hand was death-gripping the steering wheel. Thank goodness they were pulling up at her house. "Thanks for the lift." He wondered if she'd repeat yesterday's goodbye, and to his delight she did lean across. He wasn't going to miss the opportunity so he kissed her quickly, harder than he intended with a vestige of the horror that remained from the thought of the kissing booth. Her eyes widened. He softened his mouth in an apology and inhaled the scent of jasmine. Suddenly they were wrapped up awkwardly under the streetlight, lost to the world— Until someone slapped the bonnet. "Hello? Squirt?" A large young man was glaring at them. Angus and Zoe broke apart and his fingers trailed away from her cupped cheek reluctantly. "Squirt?" he queried with a grin. She straightened the hair off her face with her eyes still shut then she opened them slowly with a little sigh. "I'm their pet." She glared at her brother. "Angus, this is my brother, Bruce—almighty." Angus nodded at the young man who stood legs spread at the front of his car. "Bruce," Angus said. Bruce's extreme height and width made the nickname fitting. He bit back a smile. Angus opened his door and moved to the passenger side to help Zoe alight. The way she smiled at him as he reached down made the whole juvenile episode worthwhile. When she stood beside him she glanced at her brother and jerked her head. Bruce sent one warning frown their way and disappeared into the house. "Thank you for the lift," she said softly. "My absolute pleasure."

Chapter Twelve Angus drove away sedately this time, in a dream, until he remembered how hopeless he'd been at letting people close in the past. So how come Zoe was sliding in? What would happen when she realized how useless he was at relationships? He was in trouble. He didn't do fixation on one woman, or sweet nothings or romantic drives without sex at the end. Okay, he was a little old-fashioned in that he liked to pay for meals, open doors for a woman, and if she wanted them, flowers were always a good idea. But with Zoe he felt like shielding her from the world or even just capturing her slender hand in his and never letting go. He could imagine just lying together at night on the sand and talking about the stars. Dumb things like that.

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Teenage stuff he'd never done and wouldn't have known about if one of his foster mothers hadn't dragged him to old Elvis movies and shown him. Actions he'd sworn were not his way at all. Feelings she'd said would find him one day and he'd never believed. He needed a safety net and he needed it fast. *** Zoe finished work at three-thirty the next day and caught the bus back home. Before she left, though, she couldn't help glancing around the foyer in case Angus appeared like a genie. Still, she was glad she had the rest of the weekend away from the hospital after one of those rare quiet Saturday shifts she could have done without. Far too much time to think about Angus and how her stupid big brother had embarrassed her. She couldn't wait to get away from the constrictions of people trying to protect her and run her life. She just didn't have the mean bone to fight for it at home. Leaving was the only option. She'd bet that never happened at Tilly and Ruby's house. Those girls managed fine without family around. She was so looking forward to getting out and going to the party tonight. She wondered if Angus would be there. Lots of young doctors from the hospital turned up. She loved those parties. Zoe almost skipped off the bus outside her house and hurried up to her room to change. She just had an hour of beach patrol before they packed up for the night.

Chapter Thirteen When Zoe arrived at the beach she could see two rips dragging foam out to sea. It was rough today, and too many people were swimming outside the flagged area. She started her patrol, and Col thanked her profusely before bolting for his car and an appointment with his fiancée. Tilly waved and came over. "So have you invited Angus to come tonight?" "Haven't had a chance." She fought back a blush from Tilly's knowing grin. Trouble was she didn't know where he lived, or whether he was on call, or if he'd want to see her again. She smiled. She had gotten the impression that he did when he'd kissed her and said goodbye last night. "Sometimes he looks like he could do with lightening up a little," Tilly said as they both watched the swimmers. "From what I've seen of him, he's fun." Though she had an inkling he might lean toward being overprotective, like her brothers. She hoped not. Tilly walked down to the edge of the flagged area to pick up a little girl knocked over by the waves, and Zoe watched a couple of young boys on bodyboards who were happy to ignore the flags that were set up to designate safe areas to swim. A larger-than-average swell snuck up on one of the boys and dumped him in the deeper water. Zoe winced as he tumbled in the undertow. When his board surfaced without him she signaled to Tilly. They 275

both grabbed rescue boards and splashed through the shallow water, then paddled swiftly out to check he was okay. He wasn't. *** Angus arrived at the beach for his swim and did a double take when he saw Zoe with another girl dragging large rescue boards. They were the lifesavers? He shuddered. Dwarfed by the size of the board, they looked too small out in the vast ocean to save anybody, and Angus shoved down the urge to call them back. He glanced at the tower to see what sort of reinforcements they had. A thickset man in a lifesaver shirt was on his phone, Angus assumed calling in more lifesavers because he was gesturing out to the ocean as he talked. Sickness in his gut, Angus glanced back toward the breaker line and saw that Zoe had reached her quarry, saw the flash of red singlet as a limp body rolled with the shore-dumping waves. He looked at his watch to keep an eye on the time it took to get the unconscious victim to shore. His stomach clenched again as a wave reared over Zoe's head and threatened to dump her, as well, but she managed to cling to her board. Angus jammed his fists against his thighs and strode toward the tower, glancing constantly over his shoulder as he watched her battle against the swell. She should not be out there. This was crazy stuff for a slip of a girl. Where were all the men? Her partner was having the same difficulty, but in a brief lull the girls cleverly floated the boy's limp body onto one of the boards and, with Zoe wedged between his legs, they paddled swiftly toward the shore. About bloody time. Angus glared at the tower. Spinal injury maybe as well as unconscious? He jogged the last few feet toward the lifesaver to see what rescue equipment they had so they could meet the girls at the water's edge. The captain had picked up a backpack and a long board. "I'm a doctor. Anything else to carry?" "Great. Grab the spine board and oxygen. I've got the neck brace in here. Ambulance on the way." When Zoe reached the shore he saw she had to be careful they didn't get dumped off their boards. When she looked up he was there with the chief to steady her cargo. She slid off and they picked up the board and carried their load carefully up to the dry sand and began to work on the boy. The siren of an approaching ambulance wailed in the distance as she bent to help.

Chapter Fourteen Fifteen minutes later, Angus stood with Zoe and watched the ambulance pull away. He'd bet her heart rate was only now settling down to normal. He wondered if she could feel the waves of anger radiating like a force field off his chest. "That was a crazy risk to take." Angus honestly had tried not to say anything. But he couldn't stop himself. She could have died! "If you'd drowned that wouldn't have helped anyone." 276

Her hands went to her hips. "I didn't drown and we did help someone. In case you didn't notice." "I noticed." She'd been amazing. They'd been amazing, he reminded himself, but… "Damn it. The situation was too risky." "And your point is?" Her voice was silky, but unfortunately for Angus he didn't pay attention to the warning. The image of working on an unconscious Zoe was still too vivid in Angus's head for caution. He tried not to loom over her but it was hard when she was so small. "My point is you're five foot nothing and the sea is relentless. Lifesaving's not a job for you." "Thanks for that." She smiled with her teeth and spun around to walk away. "You're angry, too?" He caught up and walked with her back to the tower. It was after five so he supposed they'd pull down the flags now and pack up. Maybe he could help and she'd understand he wasn't trying to order her around. "I'd say that's a fair comment." When she looked at him her eyes were cool and dismissive. Nothing "little girl" about the message she was sending now. More of an outright GO AWAY. "I'm reminding myself I don't need another protector when my aim is to lose the ones I have." "I'm sorry if I've upset you, Zoe. Maybe I did overstep the mark. But I can't believe your brothers allow you to risk your life like this." "Look, Angus. Thanks for your help. This is what I do on my days off." She gestured to the beach. "It's what we all do. And it's my choice. And I'm up to here—" she gestured to her neck "—with people saying I'm too young, too short, too fragile to do what I want. Got it?" Whoa, there. He really had pressed her buttons. Chest heaving, eyes flashing, hands on hips, she looked ready to spit. Damn shame her temper only made her more attractive to him. "I'll go." He tried not to smile at how ferocious she was. "I'm sorry. Maybe we can talk when you've cooled down." He knew as soon as he said it he'd made a mistake. "Don't you dare patronize me. Go before I say something I'll regret." He could feel the chasm between them now and he'd caused it. The ironic part was he'd been looking for a way to stop his growing attraction to her. Looked like he'd found one. Try to protect her and she'd drop him like a stone.

Chapter Fifteen Zoe tried not to watch Angus walk away. She'd asked him to leave. Told him to, actually. Even from behind he made her weak with the urge to call him back. How inconsiderate was chemistry. She really didn't need to be attracted to this guy now. Especially after he'd shown his true colors today. He might as well have called her Squirt. She didn't want to listen to the little voice that suggested she might have overreacted a tad. So much for asking him to the party now. *** Angus turned up at the Hill Street party an hour after Zoe arrived. She'd been almost ready to leave. 277

She'd even brought her brothers for someone to talk to, because she'd known she wasn't going to do anything to upset them that night. Tilly was very pleased with her, but Zoe just wasn't in the mood. She couldn't even smile at Ruby's creative vegetarian dishes, which usually amused her. She didn't see Angus at first. He'd arrived with the senior registrar from the emergency department, who seemed to be eyeing Ruby from the bottom of the stairs. Then she felt someone's attention. When she did see him, he moved across the room straight to her. He had his pirate shirt on and that pillaging smile. "Anyone seen a big, tough lifeguard around here?" Smart Alec. "You looking for one?" "Can't seem to help myself." He glanced at the small space on the lounge beside her. No way was there enough room for him unless she sat on his lap. The idea wasn't altogether unappealing. "May I sit here?" "Not if you're going to tease me." "Perish the thought." He squeezed in and the space miraculously widened as the rest of the people on the lounge squashed up good-naturedly. His arm crept along the lounge behind her and she guessed he really didn't have anywhere else he could put it. "So this is what hospital workers do on their time off, is it?" "Only the sociable ones." She could feel the whole length of his hip against hers and the warmth of his arm building between them. She had to move or she was going to end up leaning across him to steal another one of those spontaneous kisses he seemed to inspire in her. "Let's dance."

Chapter Sixteen He stood first—like a cork from a bottle—off the lounge, and the others sighed in relief. She had to smile. Then he put a hand out to help her up, except that after she stood, neither of them let go. He smiled down at her as he drew her into the middle of the room, where couples danced cheek to cheek in time to a slow ballad. She slipped into his arms, feeling a bit like a jigsaw piece that had slid into place. Snug. Perfect fit. "Your hair smells nice," he murmured. "So does your chest." She couldn't help burying her nose in it farther. She sighed and leaned into him. No use pretending this wasn't exactly where she wanted to be. Though there was no use pretending she hadn't forgiven him, either. "It's been an interesting forty-eight hours since we met." Only she'd seen him before that. "I saw you a week ago in the cafeteria." "And I saw you," he said into her hair. "No, you didn't." She remembered the beach. "You asked if I worked at the hospital."

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He chuckled. "I was being devious." The dance ended and he pulled her gently out the front door and toward the swing seat on the porch. "You two seem to know each other very well." Her brother Bruce appeared beside them as they'd just settled into the seat. Angus didn't look at all perturbed. "We were just discussing the amazing rescue your sister was involved in today down at the beach." "What rescue?" Great diversion, Zoe thought with resignation. She kept it short. "A boy was dumped unconscious in the surf." Bruce frowned. "The sea was rough. I thought you were working at the hospital today." "I did an hour on the beach after work. Col needed to get off at four." She stared her brother down and after a loaded silent message he walked away. She glared at the man on the swing next to her. "Thanks for that, Angus. Usually one of the boys does the same roster as me if they know I'm lifesaving. I didn't tell them about this extra hour." She was so over this. "Sorry. Poor choice to divert him." He stood up. "How about I get you a glass of something as penance and when I come back we can be friends again?" He grinned down at her and she couldn't help smiling back. How did he do that? One smile and she was a puddle at his feet. And she guessed the subject had sidetracked Bruce away from their cheek-to-cheek dance. "I'll think about it." She watched him walk away and couldn't erase the smile. Ruby wasn't smiling when she appeared beside her and sank down into the swing. "Are you insane?"

Chapter Seventeen "No more than usual. Why?" Ruby gestured with her head to Angus as he disappeared. "What if he breaks your heart?" "He won't if I don't let him." "He broke Harmony Gage's heart." "Who's Harmony Gage?" "She worked at Sydney Central, the hospital he worked at before here. And there was a young resident doctor before her. Took them out a few times and then he just up and left. He could do the same to you." She seemed to think about it for a moment. "Of course you're a whole heap nicer than Harmony. But…"

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"Stop worrying. I'm the one who's leaving. Remember?" But she couldn't help feeling the cool draft of being dropped so quickly like that. Even with the few times they'd been out together, it could be excruciating. Ruby just looked at her. "If he asked you to stay in Coogee, would you?" Zoe had to think about that. She hoped not. "Sorry. Don't answer that." Ruby touched her arm and stood up. "It's not like my love life is a success. I'm paranoid. I'm sorry. Just…please be careful." Zoe watched Ruby walk away. Unwelcome advice but true. Maybe she had a point. She was becoming a tad obsessed about a guy she knew very little about. And he was getting all protective on her. She was always spouting off about how she could protect herself. But what if she couldn't save herself from falling for him? "What's wrong?" He was back, and after a puzzled glance at her face his smile slipped. She shook her hair as if she could shake the uneasiness left over from her friend's warning. "Nothing." "Something is. You're different from when I left." He tilted his head and considered her. "And not in the way I'd hoped." She looked up at him and saw him hesitate before he sat down. "Why are you paying attention to me?" she asked abruptly. Angus put the drinks down on the log beside the chair. "Umm. I find you attractive. Where'd that come from?" "I just think it's all happening pretty fast." Whoa, there, Angus thought. "What's happening?" He looked around. He needed a sign to spell out what had changed. "Has anyone seen the girl I left here five minutes ago?" He looked at her again. She still looked gorgeous—but very distant. He hadn't expected this. Though he should have. Whenever things were going well, or he started to care, something happened to take it all away. It had happened as a kid every time he felt like he'd started to fit into a family—and it was the biggest reason he knew he shouldn't try for anything but one-night stands in his personal life. Maybe he had been moving in on her. But everything finally felt right. Things he hadn't felt before. It was so incredibly easy to be with Zoe—like coming home. He cut that sappy thought off and plastered a non-committal smile on his face. He was good at that. It had been years since anybody had seen through it. "No problem." He picked up his own drink. "Catch you later."

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Chapter Eighteen On Sunday Angus didn't come down to the fete. If he had, Zoe thought she might have set up a kissing stall just to annoy him. But he was waiting for her after work on Monday. It was broad daylight and a lot of people saw him cut her off in the foyer so she couldn't escape. But a lot of people had seen him walk away from her at the party, too, and that hadn't been pleasant. He'd upset her and upset Ruby, who'd been devastated because she'd felt partially responsible. "Lift? Maybe we could go for a drive?" "I've got a lift, thanks, Angus." "Where?" "That big blue bus out there. A weekly ticket." "Thought so." He smiled at her and she could feel herself soften. Cave in. Pathetic weakling. Maybe it needed finishing properly. "Okay." Zoe tossed her hair and walked out into the doctors' car park with her head high until he opened her door and waited for her to get in. "Truce," he said as the roof went back. She ran her fingers through her hair. She did love this car. "I didn't know there was a war." "Maybe a skirmish—but all's fair in love and war." He glanced across and that cynical almost-smile made her want to lean over and kiss the real laughter back into him. She sighed at her own weakness. Back to square one with the magnetism of this guy. Maybe he lusted after her as much as she realized she lusted after him. But no one had said anything about love. "I think we need to sit down and talk. Because there're issues in my past that make me behave in a way I'm sometimes not proud of." "Like Saturday night? Dropping me like a hot potato?" "Hmm," he said and they drove for five minutes in silence after that until finally he glanced over his shoulder and pulled onto the side of the road beside the beach. Angus switched the engine off and they sat there in silence for a few seconds watching the waves. Then he turned in his seat until he faced her. "I abandoned ship pretty quick at the first hint of you wanting out. I'm sorry." "Is that what you thought? Are you that insecure?" "I'm not insecure at all if I don't care about someone." 281

Not a bad way to be. She guessed she was the same. The thought that he cared for her sat warmly inside her. "I didn't really want out. Just had a little episode of cold feet. That if we got too serious I might never get to experience standing on my own. Or see the world." "Your trip in six months?" He nodded as understanding dawned. "You'll still see the world." He raised his eyebrows suggestively as if to gauge her reaction. "I could visit." If he was looking for the right thing to say he'd stumbled on a good one there. That fab idea could be thought about later. But there was more to this than that. "I'm a little touchy when people try to protect me from doing what I want." "Maybe I could learn to trust your instincts a little more? As long as you ask when you need help?" This was sounding serious. And reasonable. "I could do that." "And it's not like you don't try to protect people yourself. What about Tessa in labor? You weren't oblivious to worry or making sure she was looked after." He had her there. Funny she'd never thought about it from that point of view. "So tell me why you abandoned ship, as you called it."

Chapter Nineteen Angus ruffled his hair, not looking happy with having to explore the pain in his past, and she wished she could call the question back. "I mentioned once I was fostered." She nodded her head. She remembered. "It was pretty clear you didn't want to talk about it that night." "You were good to pick that up. Not a lot of women would have left it there and I appreciated that." "So don't talk about it now if you don't want to." "That would be the easy way out." He shrugged. "Maybe you make me want to take risks…" Zoe bit her lip. That must have been tough to say, and she admired him for his honesty. He went on in a matter-of-fact tone, "Let's just say lots of families tried me and I wasn't what they wanted." She could hear the self-mocking tone in his voice and she wanted to reach out and take his hand. But she was scared he'd never finish what he needed to say. "My case worker said it was bad luck, not me, but I grew a protective skin and a skill for keeping people at a distance. Apparently that didn't make me more attractive." He looked pretty darned attractive to her. "I don't know about that."

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But now she understood. She felt the answers slide into place. Well, that explained last night. One hint of eviction from her and up went the walls and he was out of there. Zoe did take his hand then and it felt powerful and safe in hers. In complete contrast to his description of his childhood. "A little mix from both of us could be the answer." Angus smiled at her and finally there was no self-ridicule. The sight warmed her. "That's why I love being with you. It's as if you understand me. And it feels amazing. Bear with me while I practice believing you for a bit." She'd never had those sort of worries. The direct opposite, really. She knew her family adored her and only protected her because they cared. Maybe she should just let their protectiveness wash over her. Maybe she needed Angus's help. "So I'll hug you when you need it, and you can help me be more independent without alienating my family." "I could do that. Though I'm still not sure I'm lovable." Now why did she think he was teasing? "That would be my problem not yours." He smiled at her, all devil and daring and dark desire. "So now will you kiss me?" "My absolute pleasure." It seemed with Angus she might not have to take drastic action in order to live an exciting life.

Chapter Twenty Angus walked with Zoe out of the foyer of the hospital on Monday after her shift. He'd dropped into the ward to say goodbye to Tessa but she'd discharged herself before he got there. They found her outside the hospital clutching her baby with tears running down her face. Zoe hurried over and he followed. "You look miserable. What's happened?" Tessa burst into tears. "He's not here. He said at three, but Chase isn't here. He said he'd be here fifteen minutes ago." Angus wanted to strangle her boyfriend. He knew this feeling so well. She hugged Bodie tightly against her. "He doesn't love me or Bodie. Of course he doesn't." Zoe looked at him and Angus said, "I'll take you and Bodie home." Zoe added, "In his fabulous car," but just as the words were out, a large, mohawked man covered in tattoos hurried up to them. Angus glared at him until he saw the guy looked ready to cry, too. Maybe fairy tales did happen. Angus slid his hand into Zoe's and stepped back as the young man tried to hug Tessa still burdened by a huge blue rabbit and a bunch of wilting flowers. "So sorry, babe. I couldn't make the baby seat fit in the car." Tessa sniffed and smiled tremulously as if she couldn't believe he was there.

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Zoe leaned forward without letting go of his hand. "You must be Chase. Here. Let me hold these for a sec." She took the rabbit, which she handed to Angus. Then she took the flowers. "Ta." Chase glanced at Zoe briefly but his eyes were all for Tessa. "Babe. I love you. And our little man." Angus squeezed Zoe's hand and they both looked away to hide smiles. Tessa's Chase had a marshmallow centre. Especially where his lady and his baby were concerned. Tessa turned damp eyes to Zoe. "My lift's here, but maybe Dr. Angus should take you home in his car?" Angus put his arm around Zoe and squeezed her gently against him where she felt so right. "I just might do that." Zoe raised her brows. "And I might just let you." *** Ten minutes later, with the roof down, they were parked under a tree at their favorite beach. Finally they broke apart. Angus stroked her face with his finger as he sat back, and his soft smile made her glow. "So how do I get to be a lifeguard's boyfriend?" That was easy. "Keep kissing me like that." "So where do we go from here?" She grinned. "Anywhere with a more comfortable seat." He reached forward and started the car. No delay at all. "See, I thought you only loved me for my car." "Maybe I love your car because of you?" "As long as you love me." She looked at him. Her gorgeous, slightly insecure, amazing man who so wanted to do everything right for her. "More every day. But you'll have to get used to the boys. I might even have to forgive them because they kept me safe for you." "They're already my favorite people. Next to you…"

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A Perfect Match by Emilie Rose

Chapter One No man should be forced to endure a baby shower.

Tate Sumner fingered the irregularly shaped piece of cardboard in his pocket. He’d been ordered to mingle until he found the guest whose puzzle piece linked with his, and then they were supposed to mimic the way the pieces fit together with their bodies.

Leave it to his matchmaking sister Sandy to turn her baby shower, traditionally a females-only affair, into a dating service. Ha, ha. Hilarious. Not. At thirty-four, he sometimes felt out of sync too young for marriage and all it entailed, but too old for singles games.

In the last hour he’d worked his way through the crowd without a match and without enthusiasm, although he had to admit, there’d been a few amusing tussles as the mostly single, twentysomething guests linked up. No doubt the free-flowing alcoholic beverages had loosened their inhibitions.

He didn’t overindulge anymore. The hell-raising and skirt-chasing days he’d once enjoyed had come to an abrupt end after a building collapse landed him in the hospital last year, making him realise how short life was.

Before that life-changing event, he’d have let one of the blond twins beside him convince him to go home with her tonight. He subtly checked his watch and then shot another glance at the front door. No offense to Tia or Leah, but he’d rather catch the second half of the Braves game.

The doorbell rang. His sister unearthed herself from a pile of torn pastel wrapping paper and waddled to answer as fast as her due-any-day-now pregnant belly would allow.

And then she screamed and launched herself at the poor victim on her welcome mat. With his luck the newcomer would be his match, and he’d be making a human puzzle piece out of himself soon. Not an anticipated event.

His sister dragged the visitor into view, and Tate nearly dropped the glass of spiked lemonade someone had forced into his hand. Faith King. He hadn’t seen her since his youngest sister Sandy had married Faith’s brother, David, two years ago. Faith’s strawberry blond hair hung in a 285

smooth, glossy curtain curling just below her jawline. He missed the tangles he’d created during their passionate night after the rehearsal dinner.

Desire kicked him in the gut. They’d torched the sheets that night, so he hadn’t understood the deep freeze Faith had treated him to the next day at the wedding and reception.

Sure, he’d expected a little morning-after awkwardness since they’d fallen into bed without the usual get-to-know-you dance, but he’d hoped they’d fill in the gaps during the remainder of the weekend. It hadn’t happened. Faith had avoided him as if he’d exposed her to something contagious.

And then, in a fit of wounded pride, he’d had a pint too much champagne at the reception, danced with every female present and shot off his mouth with a lousy toast. Yeah, he’d been a real prize. A prize idiot. Chapter Two “I’m sorry I’m late.” Faith dragged her rolling suitcase over the threshold. “The storm delayed my flight. I didn’t even stop by the hotel. I had the taxi bring me straight here.”

Her slightly husky and somewhat breathless voice sucked Tate right back to their middle-of-thenight tussles. They’d christened his sofa, his bed and even his kitchen counter.

For years he’d craved the carefree bachelor life he’d been denied while helping to raise his younger sisters, but in the days preceding Sandy’s wedding Faith had made him want more than one wild weekend. She’d tempted him to forget the promise he’d made to himself to savour the freedom that came with getting his last sister out of the house and finally being responsible for only himself.

“You have men at your baby shower.” Faith scanned the gathering with a frown, and then she spotted him and his wannabe companions. His heart kicked irregularly as her shock-widened blue eyes inspected him from cowlick to boots.

Her lush lips compressed, and her gaze hit his with the same arctic blast he remembered from their final encounter. After seeing off the bride and groom that day, he’d asked Faith for her 286

number. She’d slammed the car door in his face. Her glare tonight indicated they wouldn’t be sharing a fond reunion. The knowledge slid down his spine like a hot cinder.

His sister Sandy wiggled her fingers, motioning Tate forward. He excused himself from the twins and joined his sister. “You remember David’s sister, Faith, don’t you?”

Oh yeah. Every luscious curve of her. He had no trouble recalling Faith’s scent, the silkiness of her skin, her gasps of passion or the hot, wet clench of her body.

“She wanted to be here for her niece’s arrival.” Sandy’s words dragged him back to the present.

He locked gazes with the woman who starred in his dreams far too often. “Faith.”

“Tate.” Her tone could give a man frostbite, but the blush tinting her cheeks confirmed she hadn’t forgotten what had happened between them, either.

“Faith is checking into the Hilltop Inn for a few days. Next week she’s closing on a brand-new house here in Chapel Hill.” Sandy nudged him. “Put her suitcase in my room for now, would you, Tate? And get her a drink, please.”

His heart pumped harder. Faith would be living minutes away in town instead of eight hours away in Atlanta. He offered her his glass. “Here. Take mine. I haven’t touched it, but watch out for the kick. My twisted sister enjoys watching her guests get sloshed while she stays sober.”

Faith extended her hand. Their fingers brushed as she took the drink and current flowed from her fingers to his. Her eyes widened, but quickly filled with wariness.

“Thank you.” 287

Chapter Three His sister took Faith’s umbrella and propped it against the wall. “Do you have your puzzle piece?”

Faith blinked and averted her gaze. “Yes. It’s in my purse.”

“Dig it out, introduce yourself to everyone until you find your match. Tate can explain the rules of the game. I need to sit down.” Sandy winced, pressed a hand to her lower back and waddled slowly back to her chair, leaving Tate with Faith in the foyer.

“How are you?” he asked. Faith looked incredible - still curvy in all the right places.

She dug in her leather purse and withdrew the puzzle piece. Tate rocked back on his heels.

Interesting.

It didn’t take a fireman who spent too many hours of downtime at the station assembling puzzles to see that Faith’s piece was counterpart to the one in his pocket. His impatience with the stupid party game evaporated, and his blood hummed in anticipation of fitting his body to hers.

Coincidence? Or was his sister matchmaking?

“I’m well. Good to see you again, Tate. Excuse me, I need to mingle with the other guests and find my match. Don’t let me keep you from your friends.” She delivered the words in a polite, but chilly, brush-off.

He produced his piece of the puzzle and aligned it with hers. “No need. I’m your man.”

“Match!” shrieked Sandy from the living room, confirming Tate’s matchmaking theory. God bless little sisters. He took back every negative thing he’d ever said about the baby of the family.

“Know what that means, Faith?” He took the tumbler out of her hand and set it on the credenza.

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She shifted on her feet and bit her luscious bottom lip. “No.”

“It means we get to simulate the interlocking puzzle pieces with our bodies.” Damn, he couldn’t wait. He barely restrained himself from rubbing his hands in glee.

Scowling, she looked at her piece. It had the jutting male projection, whereas his had the indented female shape. The pieces fit together perfectly - just as he and Faith had that night.

A moment passed and then Faith lifted her hands to his shoulders. He cupped her waist, and his heart thumped in expectation of her tongue in his mouth, but then she swiftly lifted her knee toward his groin. He sucked in a swift breath and tensed in anticipation of pain.

She stopped just short of her target. “Need I continue?” Chapter Four Faith King watched the gleam in Tate - the snake’s - green eyes turn from seductive to cautious. She ignored the strength and heat of the thick shoulder muscles beneath her hands, lowered her knee and stepped out of reach before the urge to tangle her fingers in his short dark hair and seal her lips to his won out over common sense.

A muscle ticked in Tate’s rock-hard jaw. “You’ve made your point.”

Two years ago she’d been rapidly cartwheeling into love during her brother’s pre-wedding festivities. Tate had been playing a game...or so Faith had learned when she arrived at the church to dress with the bride and the other bridesmaids.

The women had been laughing about firefighter Tate’s reputation for starting sensual fires all over town, and wagering on which wedding guest he’d go home with that night. No one had known Faith had just spent the most passionate night of her life in his bed.

In seconds, she'd gone from euphorically believing she’d finally found Mr. Right to the sinking realisation that she’d been just another body to Tate Sumner.

Sandy had explained that Tate had wild oats to sow because he’d spent his teens and twenties

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acting as a father figure to his four younger siblings after their father died. If Faith had doubts about Tate’s interest in a long-term relationship, his wedding toast had certainly clarified them.

“I don’t know why any man under fifty would settle for just one woman, but good luck, pal, and by the way, I’ll break your legs if you hurt my sister.”

“You’re moving to town.” Tate’s direct gaze pinned her in place and caused her pulse to quicken. She’d forgotten how good he smelled and how his brawny build made her feel delicate and protected.

She hadn’t forgotten the strength of his arms as he held her, but not for lack of trying on her part. Nor had she forgotten he was a charmer like her father.

“Yes. I wanted to be near David, Sandy and my soon-to-be-born niece. I’ve accepted a position as a physician’s assistant at the hospital.”

“How about dinner tomorrow night?”

She nearly choked. Did he think she’d fall back into his bed as easily as she had the first time? Never mind that Tate had the sexiest, greenest eyes she’d ever seen or strong, capable and talented hands.

She was wise to his seductive ways and had no intention of being sucked in by his charming smile or clever words again. “No thanks. I try not to repeat my mistakes.”

He blinked, briefly covering his eyes with long, thick lashes any woman would envy, but his confident smile didn’t waver. “Your loss, Faith. I remember how hot we were together even if you don’t.” Chapter Five Faith hardened herself against the sexy rumble of his voice and tried to ignore the temptation nipping at her heels. “Perhaps your memory is faulty.”

A wicked grin lifted one corner of his edible mouth and carved a crease in his cheek - a crease she’d traced with her tongue once upon a time. “Maybe you’re afraid you can’t live up to my memories.” 290

Her molars clicked together. “And maybe you’re overestimating your charms and those memories are not worth revisiting.”

His grin faded. “I didn’t hear you complaining. In fact, I could swear your screams of pleasure are what made my neighbour hammer on the apartment wall and ask us to keep it down. He didn’t realise keeping it down around you was impossible.”

Fire rushed through Faith’s veins. She lifted her chin and pretended that incident hadn’t been the most embarrassing and yet hilarious moment of her life. Tate had carried her from the kitchen back to the bedroom where they’d made love with silent laughter.

She’d never had so much fun making love before. “It’s amazing how far a woman will go to bolster a man’s ego. If I remember correctly you needed a little... encouragement.”

Tate’s eyes darkened. “For crying out loud, we’d made love three times in as many hours. Did you expect me to go off like an adolescent each time? And I don’t remember you complaining about the extra action.” He grabbed her suitcase and marched with it toward the bedroom.

Faith fisted her hands and counted to ten. Was she an idiot? Why goad him? Certainly, his stamina had put her previous lovers to shame.

And yes, she’d loved the fact that Tate had unselfishly delayed his pleasure until she’d found her own. And darn it, why couldn’t she forget how good he’d made her feel in bed and out of it?

Swallow your pride and keep it friendly, Faith. Sandy worships her brother, and David is the only family you acknowledge. Exclude Tate and you could be excluded. “Tate, wait.”

She followed him into Sandy and David’s bedroom and then wished she hadn’t. Standing beside Tate and a bed melted her like candle wax. He’d been an amazing lover. Probably because he’d had so much practice, she reminded herself bitterly. “My gift for the baby is in my suitcase.”

His thick biceps bunched as he effortlessly lifted the case onto the bed as if it hadn’t gone over the airline’s weight limit, and then he stepped back to allow her access, but he didn’t leave the room. Chapter Six 291

She wished he had as soon as she unzipped and opened the case. Her lingerie lay on top, and her skin burned as she dug through the colourful bras and panties to reach the gift-wrapped package cushioned beneath them. She shoved a pair of pink panties - the ones he’d pulled off her with his teeth that night - to the bottom of the case.

“Where is the house you’re buying?” he asked.

She closed the case before meeting his gaze. Clutching the gift to her chest she replied, “Rocky Creek.”

“Nice neighbourhood. My district. Station Six. Give me your address and I’ll have the platoon look out for you when I’m off duty.”

Faith shifted her jaw and considered his words. “Are you being nice or are you just trying to get my address?”

“I could get your address from Sandy or David, but I’m asking you. You’re family now.”

Family. Everyone seemed to have their own definition of the word. Faith shoved back her hair and immediately recalled the gentle tangle of Tate’s fingers in the strands. “Why can’t you just accept that night was a mistake, and I’m not interested in a repeat?”

“Because when you lie you get a tiny red patch right here.” He traced a blunt finger over the skin at the top of her breastbone just below her locket. Faith’s breath hitched and her pulse leapt. Her brother had a big mouth. He must have told Tate about the telltale sign. That spot had been the bane of Faith’s childhood. She’d never been able to get away with anything.

Tate’s warm fingers curled around her nape, choking off coherent thought. He erased the distance between them. Heat radiated off his body, and his woodsy scent enclosed her in a seductive fog. “Are you going to deny you’ve thought about that night?”

Deny it. But she couldn’t form the lie. Her mouth watered and her lips dried. What little resistance she had evaporated as his head lowered. Faith pressed her hands against his chest. His heart pounded beneath her palm, and his warm breath swept her lips a split second before his mouth took hers in a slow, lazy kiss.

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He sampled her mouth with lips, tongue and teeth until her knees buckled. One big hand stroked down her spine to cup her bottom and support her weight, forging her to his length.

Wow. She’d forgotten his potency and seriously overestimated her willpower. Her skin tingled and her belly tightened. She couldn’t find the strength to shove him away and was on the verge of dragging him onto David’s bed and making a fool out of herself again when her common sense rallied.

Good grief. Get a grip. He’s just like your father. She yanked free and moved out of reach. “Between playmates, Tate?”

Before he could reply, Sandy stumbled into the room looking nauseated. “Sorry, guys. I think I ate too much guacamole. I need to lie down. Tate, can you give Faith a ride to her hotel?”

Tate’s jaw muscles flexed. His gaze drilled hers. “Be glad to.” Chapter Seven What do you mean you’ve given up my room?” Faith sounded nearly hysterical.

Tate considered diffusing the situation, but he was in the mood to chew nails right now and he’d probably make matters worse by intervening. How could Faith stubbornly deny the attraction between them?

Hell, she’d melted in his arms with one kiss. He hadn’t found that potent a chemistry before or since their night together - not because he hadn’t looked.

“I’m sorry, Ms. King. It’s graduation weekend for both of the local universities, and it’s almost midnight. When you didn’t arrive by seven p.m. as expected we thought you weren’t coming, and we released your room.”

“Then give me another one.”

“We’re at full occupancy.”

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Faith made a noise of disgust. “Are you telling me there’s no room at the inn?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Find one,” Tate barked.

The clerk startled. “Sir -”

Tate straightened to his full six-feet-four inches and glared. He didn’t use his size to intimidate often, but once in a while it came in handy.

“I’ll try. One moment, please.” The clerk picked up the phone and made several calls in rapid succession while Faith paced in front of the marble counter - an action that gave Tate time to admire her legs beneath the just-above-knee-length skirt and to remember how good they’d felt wrapped around him.

Ten minutes later the clerk nervously cleared his throat. “Ms. King, the only room I can find is at the Streetside Motel.”

“I’ll take it,” Faith insisted.

“No way,” Tate replied. “The place is unsafe, Faith. Streetside rents rooms by the hour.”

Her eyebrows puckered and then rose. Wide-eyed, she stared at him. “You mean - ?”

“Yeah. Hookers.”

Her cheeks turned rosy. She studied her shoes. “Never mind. I’ll borrow David’s couch.” Chapter Eight “You could always stay at my place. At least you know my bed’s comfortable.” He couldn’t resist the dig. Not that they’d slept much that night. And he wouldn’t sleep a wink knowing she

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was back between his sheets, alone, but he’d just begun his four-day-off rotation. He’d catch up on sleep tomorrow.

Her spine stiffened and her straight little nose lifted. “I don’t think so.”

“David’s couch it is.” He carried her bag back to his pickup truck, helped Faith into the vehicle and headed back where they’d come from. Five miles down the road his cell phone rang. “Sumner.”

“Tate, it’s David. Sandy’s in labour. We’re on the way to the hospital.”

His stomach bottomed out. His baby sister. A mum. Jeez. Where had time gone? It seemed like only yesterday Tate had been stuck at home babysitting his sisters and resenting every minute of it while their mother worked nights and weekends to support them.

After high school graduation he’d immediately gone into firefighter training instead of college as planned. His dad’s life insurance payment was running out and they’d needed the income. Tate had believed life and fun were passing him by while he juggled the roles of Mr. Mum and man of the house. The building collapse last year had reminded him of what was really important. Family.

The sound of Sandy’s moan through the phone made Tate feel helpless. As a firefighterparamedic, he was trained to dash in and rescue people. He could even deliver a baby if the situation demanded it, but there were parts of his sister he’d rather not become acquainted with. “I’ll relay the news to Faith and then Mum. David, your sister will be staying at my place tonight. The hotel screwed up her reservation.”

Faith squeaked indignantly beside him. Tate sent his love to Sandy, finished his conversation with David and disconnected before turning to Faith. “Sandy’s in labour and on the way to the hospital. I don’t have a key to their town house. Do you?”

Faith pinched the bridge of her nose and scrunched her eyes closed. “No.”

“Then you’re bunking with me unless you have a better idea.”

Her shoulders sagged. “No, no better idea. But I won’t sleep with you. I’ll take your couch.” 295

His mother and sisters would have his hide if he put a female guest in the den. Too bad Mum now lived in Florida with his aunt, and Faith couldn’t use Mum’s guest room. “Not a chance. The sofa’s mine - if you refuse to share my big ol’ king-sized bed.”

“I do refuse. Besides, you sleep in the middle.”

Grinning, he pulled his truck into his assigned parking space and killed the engine. “Only with you, Faith.”

An expression of disbelief crossed her face. “Does that line usually work for you?” Chapter Nine He deserved her sarcasm. Two years ago, a good time was all he’d wanted, but bachelorhood wasn’t as great as he’d imagined, and whether Faith knew it or not, she was the only woman with whom he’d ever spent an entire night.

He usually said his goodbyes before the awkward morning after. He circled the truck and met her beside her door. “It’s not a line.”

She ignored the helping hand he offered. “You have a reputation for starting fires all over Chapel Hill, Tate. Don’t try lighting one with me.”

“Me? I’m a firefighter. I put out fires.”

Her lips compressed. “Not with women.”

Understanding clicked into place. His little sister always had yapped too much.

What had Sandy told her? “I’m thirty-four and single. Am I not allowed a personal life?”

“You might want to warn the women involved that you’re only in it for the fun and games before you take them back to your black leather and chrome bachelor pad.”

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His heart missed a beat. “Were you wanting more than fun and games that night, Faith?”

She snorted. “In your dreams, hose jockey.”

Hose jockey. Slang for the newest recruits. “I’m a captain now.”

She waved a hand and shoved back her hair. “Whatever. It’s late. I’m exhausted.”

He was anything but tired. Adrenalin raced through his veins. He attributed his restlessness to Sandy’s labour...and Faith’s return. “Let’s get you tucked in.” Ignoring her scowl, he hefted her case from the truck bed and led the way to his second-floor apartment.

They’d both been a little tipsy from champagne and overheated from some heavy petting in his truck the last time he’d brought her here.

She’d been twined around him like a kudzu vine with her legs circling his waist and her tongue in his ear when he’d carried her from the parking lot straight to his bed.

He’d been seconds away from detonation and the hottest sex of his life. Too bad tonight wouldn’t be a repeat.

But there was always tomorrow. Chapter Ten Faith reluctantly entered Tate’s apartment. Everything was uncomfortably familiar to her from their long-ago tryst - the sofa, even the kitchen held memories of the intense passion they’d shared...

Returning to the scene of the crime held no appeal for her. The crime? Tate had stolen Faith’s heart two years ago and none of the frantic dating she’d done in the Atlanta singles scene since had repaired the damage.

How could you replace a man who seemed to anticipate your every thought, every need? But

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then, according to Sandy’s bridesmaids, Tate had more experience with women than a librarian had with books.

Anticipating a woman’s needs was probably second nature to him. Faith paused in the doorway of his bedroom. Her palms moistened and her blood raced. The kiss at David’s hadn’t helped the situation. She had to get through this weekend with heart intact and her knees together.

“You remember where everything is?” Tate asked from just behind her. His gravelly voice slid down her spine like the drag of a callused fingertip. She shivered, cursed the warmth puddling in her belly and nodded. “Then help yourself to towels and whatever else you want.”

She couldn’t look at him. Instead, she studied the wide black leather headboard and the black comforter. She’d spent too much time pressed against the first and buried beneath the second first in person and then later in her dreams. “Please wake me if David calls with news about Sandy and the baby.”

“Sure, but it’ll probably be hours. There are extra hangers in my closet, and here’s an empty drawer if you want to unpack.”

The intimacy of the situation made her uncomfortable. She’d never lived with a man. “Do you need to shower while I unpack?”

“That’d be great.” He disappeared into the adjoining bathroom.

Faith struggled to block out the sound of running water and the image of his naked body beneath the spray, but her brain insisted on recalling his slick flesh in graphic detail. Her breathing turned shallow. They’d shared his shower that night. She’d been convinced he was Mr. Right. How could she have been so wrong?

She shoved her underwear into the drawer. It wasn’t like her to tumble into bed with any available male, but she’d been vulnerable before David’s wedding. Chapter Eleven She’d lost her mother six months earlier, her thirtieth birthday had loomed, and her friends had been marrying and producing children at an alarming rate.

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David was moving out. Faith had felt alone. The final straw had been her father’s insensitive request days before David’s wedding. He’d wanted to bring his girlfriend to the ceremony.

Faith sank onto the bed and put her head in her hands. She’d known her father was a liar and a cheat since she was twelve years old. Her parents argued often and after each argument her father would beg forgiveness and swear not to stray again.

Her mother had forgiven him every time, but Faith had seen the pain in her mother’s eyes. Had the pain of betrayal weakened her mother to the disease that had taken her life?

Faith’s head had been reeling when she’d met Tate. He’d seemed so family-centreed and devoted to his siblings - the antithesis of Faith’s selfish father. Had the shattering of her world made her susceptible to Tate’s rugged charm and blinded her to his womanising ways?

A man who belonged on a hunky fireman’s calendar probably had women throwing themselves at him regularly, and the blondes vying for his attention tonight at the baby shower proved he liked women plural, didn’t it?

The bathroom door opened and Tate exited in a cloud of steam. Water droplets clung to bare chest and broad shoulders and sparkled in his damp hair. The towel knotted at his waist revealed his long, strong legs.

Her mouth dried and her blood simmered. She wished the chemistry between them would evaporate along with the bathroom steam.

“Faith, are you okay?” He crossed the room and stopped in front of her.

She was a fool for wanting a man with so much charisma. Tate, like her father, was movie-star handsome. Also, like her father, he worked many hours away from home. Could she trust him? Rhetorical question. Tate wasn’t looking for forever, just for now. “I’m just tired.”

“Are you sure?” He knelt beside the bed and cupped a long-fingered hand over her knee. Heat raced upward from the point of contact. Was the concern in his eyes genuine?

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She didn’t trust her judgment, but she seriously wished she could lean her head on his broad, damp shoulder. Had David told him about their father’s repeated infidelities? She shook her head and rose, displacing his hand. Chapter Twelve Tate stood beside her. “Call if you need anything...like someone to scrub your back.” The teasing glint in his eyes made her stomach flip-flop. Where was her common sense?

“Good night, Tate.” As soon as he left the room she rushed through her shower, trying to forget that just minutes before he’d been naked in the glass stall. She turned out the bedroom light and darkness swallowed her.

She slid between the sheets and his scent enveloped her. Her pulse pounded. Faith closed her eyes and courted elusive sleep.

******

“Faith.” Tate’s rough voice nudged her toward consciousness. She smelled coffee. Were they going to make love in the kitchen again? Last time she’d knocked over the canister and spilled coffee grounds all over the counter.

She nuzzled deeper into her pillow. “We can’t. Not again. Your neighbour will hear us.”

“Faith.” His voice sounded harder, more insistent this time.

”Again? Are you insatiable? Go away, Tate,” she mumbled into the down.

A hand shook her shoulder. “Faith. Wake up. Sandy had the baby.”

She jerked awake and rolled over. Sunlight beamed through a gap in the curtains, nearly blinding her. Tate sat on the edge of the bed. She’d been dreaming. Good heavens, what had she said? She snatched the sheet to her chin. “What?”

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Beard stubble darkened Tate’s jaw and his hair stood on end as if he’d just awakened. He looked delicious. Edible. “Our niece has arrived. Want to go and meet her?”

Comprehension dawned. “Anna’s here?”

His grin was boyishly sweet and oh, so sexy. “Yeah, all eight pounds of her.”

Faith bolted up in the bed and hugged him. The scalding heat of his bare chest permeated her thin gown. She gasped and pulled away, but his hands encircling her waist prevented escape. His green eyes darkened and burned into hers.

Air lodged in Faith’s lungs and refused to circulate. Her heart pounded and warmth suffused her. Why did he affect her this way when no one else ever had?

And why couldn’t she just accept today as it came, the way her more liberated friends did, without needing the promise of tomorrows? Because she wanted a family of her own. “Tate -” “Shh.” His mouth covered hers. Chapter Thirteen He sipped from her lips, nuzzled and nipped until she opened for him, and then the kiss turned ravenous. Hot. Slick. Wet.

Determined to push him away, she slid her hands over his supple skin, but somehow her fingers ended up threaded through the short, crisp hair of his nape. Her breasts tightened and pushed shamelessly against his chest.

His mouth devoured hers and his hands roamed her back, her waist, and finally, he cupped her aching breasts. Faith moaned into his mouth as he plied her flesh.

A knot of need formed between her legs. Last night before drifting off to sleep, she’d created a list of reasons why their affair shouldn’t be repeated. At this moment, she couldn’t recall a thing. She skimmed her nails down his back and reveled in his shiver and groan.

Tate eased her back onto the pillows, following her down. He caught her nipple, gown and all, in 301

his mouth and suckled. One big hand delved beneath the covers, raking up her leg and finding her moist centre.

He stroked her with unerring accuracy, igniting the embers smouldering inside her until flames of need swept through her. Faith gasped. Her body throbbed. She cradled Tate’s bristly face and urged him up for a kiss.

Tate lifted his head and kissed her deeply before drawing back. “You know I’d rather spend the day here with you, but I promised David we’d bring lunch to the hospital within the hour. This afternoon, I’m all yours.”

So much for her vow to keep her legs together.

***** Tate would never understand women. This morning Faith had been hot and his. This afternoon, the ice queen had returned. Déjà vu. But her rejection and his resulting confusion didn’t stop the persistent throb behind his zipper.

In Sandy’s hospital room, Tate cradled his tiny niece. The same surge of protectiveness he’d experienced each time his father had placed one of Tate’s baby sisters in his arms welled up in him today.

His other sisters had married and followed their careers or their husbands’ across the country. They lived too far away for Tate to be a hands-on uncle if they ever had children.

As much as he’d once yearned to cast off the responsibility he felt for his sisters, now that they were gone he missed having them underfoot and making demands on his time. He missed being needed.

One of these days, he’d like to have kids of his own, but first he had to find a woman who’d have him - a woman who engaged his brain, made him laugh and set his sheets ablaze. Two years ago he hadn’t been ready. Now he was.

Was Faith that woman?

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Chapter Fourteen Tate’s gaze met Faith’s and his breath caught at the yearning in her blue eyes. Now that he understood. Faith wanted a baby. From what David had told him about Faith’s work with children as a physician’s assistant, Tate suspected Faith would be a good mother.

He crossed the room and stopped before her. “Want to say goodbye to Anna before we get out of here and let David and Sandy get some sleep?”

Faith took the baby from him. Their hands brushed and a jolt of electricity zapped him. She cuddled Anna and cooed nonsense. Something inside Tate shifted, softened.

In that instant, he knew he wanted to be the man who fathered Faith’s babies. His father’s claim that he’d fallen in love with Tate’s mother at first sight suddenly seemed plausible. Could love explain this powerful push-pull between Tate and Faith since they’d met? He didn’t intend to let the sun set without finding out.

He kissed Sandy’s cheek and shook his brother-in-law’s hand. “Congratulations. Anna’s a beauty. You know I’m only a phone call away if you need anything.”

David’s grip tightened. He leaned closer and spoke in a low voice. “Remember your toast at our wedding? Ditto. I’ll break your legs if you hurt my sister.”

Surprised, Tate rocked back on his heels. He looked from David’s scowl to Sandy’s smile and thumbs-up. Definitely matchmaking. “That’s not in my plans.” But he did plan to get to the bottom of Faith’s deep freeze.

He escorted her back to the truck and headed for his apartment. He glanced at the pleat between her brows and the tired shadows beneath her eyes and detoured down the road toward University Lake.

“Where are we going?”

“I thought you might enjoy a rowboat ride. Twice a week, weather permitting, I row laps around the lake. The exercise clears the garbage from my head and gives me a chance to think.” The dock was deserted on this overcast day. He parked his truck, rented a boat and rowed them out into the centre of the lake. 303

Out here Faith couldn’t escape his questions. Chapter Fifteen “You were very good with Anna.” Faith broke the silence. She sat in the bow, facing him.

“Years of practice. Why haven’t you married and had kids of your own by now?”

Faith’s startled gaze met his. “I’ve been busy with my training, and I haven’t met the right man.”

Could he be the right man for Faith? He reconsidered the days leading up to Sandy’s wedding. He and Faith had been forced together for most of the events.

He’d expected being stuck with her to be a burden.Instead, he’d become addicted to her smiles and her laughter. He’d relished her intelligent, thought-provoking questions.

Leaving her each night had grown progressively more difficult, until they’d ended up staying together that last night.

The chemistry between them today was as strong as ever. Each touch and glance packed a wallop.

Yeah, he was the right man for Faith King, and if fighting dirty was the only way to get her to admit it, then so be it. “Come here.”

Her brows rose. “Excuse me?”

“Sit here. See how relaxing rowing a boat can be.” He scooted back on the flat seat, making a space for her between his sprawled legs. His movements rocked the boat.

She gasped and grasped the sides. “I don’t think -”

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“Don’t think. Just come here. It’s good exercise. Better than those gym machines you city girls use.”

With a distrustful look on her face, she cautiously crawled from her seat to his, turned and scooted into place. “No funny stuff.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He sucked a sharp breath as her butt brushed his groin, and the strawberry scent of her shampoo filled his nostrils. “Grip the oars just above my hands.”

She did as he instructed, but her spine remained as rigid as cold steel. “Now what?” Chapter Sixteen “Follow my moves. Take over when you think you can handle it. Don’t drop the oars or they’ll fall out of the oarlocks and into the lake, stranding us out here.” His bare arms and legs bracketed hers as he rowed them along the water’s edge.

With each stroke his chest brushed her back and his blood headed south. When Faith took command of the oars, Tate shifted his hands to her waist. She stiffened. “Keep rowing, Faith.”

“I said no funny business.” Her voice quivered.

He massaged alongside her spine with his thumbs. Her telling shiver was all the encouragement he needed. Lowering his head, he nuzzled aside the collar of her knit shirt and pressed a kiss in the curve of her shoulder. She didn’t pull away.

“Tate.”

“Shh. Row.” He ignored her warning, pushed aside her hair and nibbled her earlobe. Her breath hitched. “Concentrate on keeping your stroke even or we’ll turn in circles. Don’t lose the oars.”

“No fair,” she whispered in a breathless middle-of-the-night voice. Her spine curved into his chest, and her fingers tightened on the wooden oar shafts until her knuckles whitened. “Why are you doing this? Why me?”

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“Because you melt in my arms each time I touch you, and, Faith, you have the same effect on me.”

She turned her head, and he saw the uncertainty in her eyes. How could she doubt what she did to him; what they did to each other?

He shifted on the narrow seat until her bottom cradled his erection. She gasped and her eyes widened. Her lips eagerly met his.

Conscious of their very public location, Tate kept his hands on her waist when he’d much rather drag his palms over her sleek legs and beneath the hem of her shorts or cup her breasts.

Their tongues dueled. She bit his bottom lip. His pulse pounded.

Thud. He jerked his head back. They'd hit the shore. An overhanging tree provided a thin veil of privacy, but not enough for what he needed. Chapter Seventeen Tate deepened the kiss and slid his hands higher until his thumbs teased the underside of her breasts. She leaned into his touch. “Let’s go back to my place.”

She hesitated, and he expected her to chill him out. “Okay.”

“You’re sure? Faith, if I take you home I’m not going to be happy until I’m inside you.”

Faith’s eyes closed and her swollen lips parted on a shaky breath. When she lifted her lids, the passion in her blue eyes tempted him to say to hell with waiting until they got home.

He wanted her. Here. Now. And damn the consequences.

She licked her lips. “I’m sure.”

Tate battled the urge to pull her close and grabbed the oars instead. “Let’s go. But do me a 306

favour first. Move back to the bow. If you don’t, I have a feeling we might spend the afternoon in jail, and I’d much rather have you in my bed.” ****** Seeing Tate gently cradle baby Anna in his big hands had filled Faith with a need so strong she couldn’t ignore it.

In the park just a short time ago, that need had been matched by a physical desire stronger than any she’d ever known - stronger, even, than it had been during their first meeting. Who was the real Tate Sumner? The man she’d believed to be Mr. Right had swept her off her feet two years ago, pulled her into the crowd of strangers gathered for David and Sandy’s wedding and made her feel right at home.

He’d also made Faith feel like the most intelligent and desirable woman on the planet, and he’d made love to her until she couldn’t lift her exhausted head off his pillow.

She desperately wanted to feel that way again - as if she belonged somewhere and to someone. Did she dare risk it?

But what if the real Tate was the charming womaniser Sandy and her bridesmaids had described? Chapter Eighteen Tate knew how to push female buttons and he liked to play the field. At the wedding he danced with every woman under eighty and made wedding toasts about not settling down until he turned fifty. He, like her father, wouldn’t know the meaning of fidelity.

One was the man of her dreams, the other an express train to heartbreak. Would the real Tate Sumner please stand up? Had she completely fooled herself into believing Tate was a familyoriented guy?

Could she trust her instincts or was she blinded by the powerful attraction between them? Could she cautiously proceed with Tate, but still guard her heart? How would she know if she didn’t take a chance?

But she’d witnessed her mother’s pain at her father’s philandering, and taking that chance scared her spitless. 307

Tate pulled into his parking space and killed the engine. Faith swallowed the lump in her throat. If she was going to play it safe, then now was the time to call a halt to the proceedings. But what if he was the right man and she let the moment pass?

He turned in his seat and examined her face with a gaze so hot and intense she couldn’t breathe. Wow. He caressed her jaw with one lightly callused hand and she shivered. Need pooled in her belly. “Changed your mind?”

Her conflicting emotions nearly paralysed her. She wet her lips and gulped down her doubts. “No.”

Tate’s fingers tangled in her hair. He pulled her into a kiss so passionate her reservations receded farther out of reach.

Faith curled her fingers around his thick biceps and leaned into his chest, reveling in the pressure against her sensitised breasts.

Tate sat back with a groan. “Inside.”

He tugged her across the bench seat and out his side of the vehicle. Hand in hand, they hurried into his apartment. Chapter Nineteen As soon as the door closed, Tate pressed her against the wall and kissed her until Faith’s knees collapsed. He caught her in his arms and carried her to his bedroom without breaking the kiss, and then set her on her feet beside the bed.

Locking his dark green gaze with hers, he reached for the hem of his shirt and yanked the fabric over his head.

Faith mirrored his movements, shucking her shirt, shorts and then shoes. Her heart raced, making her dizzy with desire. This frantic need to get naked was so not like her usual cautious self.

She paused, wearing only her bra and panties. Was she strong enough to withstand the pain of loving Tate and losing him? Please don’t let this be a mistake, she thought to herself. 308

Tate’s gaze burned over her like a flash fire, sweeping her face, her breasts, her legs and back again. “You’re more beautiful than I remembered.”

Faith’s breath hitched. She desperately wanted to believe that wasn’t a practiced line. “I’m not beautiful.”

“You should see what I see.” The gravelly edge to his voice made her tremble.

She visually reacquainted herself with his broad shoulders, narrow waist and washboard abs. Her gaze followed the dark line of hair bisecting his belly to the long, thick ridge barely contained by his briefs.

A palm-sized scar on his upper thigh caused her heart to skip a beat. A burn? Had Tate been injured on the job? Her medical training kicked in. The damaged skin was a shiny pink, not red.

Not new, but not old enough to have faded to white. Before she could ask her questions, Tate’s arms enfolded her, soldering her to the solid heat of his body.

He devoured her mouth with breath-robbing thoroughness while his hands painted a swath of goose bumps over her skin. Faith skated her palms over his muscular back to cup his buttocks. Tate had an amazing butt. Chapter Twenty Tate groaned and then planted a line of openmouthed kisses down her neck. He traced the lace of her bra with his tongue and then her bra was gone, and Tate had her in his hot mouth.

She tangled her fingers in his hair and fought to stay upright as need twisted inside her. Surely something that felt this good couldn’t be wrong?

Tate’s briefs impeded her need to touch him. She shoved the fabric over his hips and then curled her fingers around his hot length.

Tate sucked a sharp breath through his teeth, whisked her panties down her legs and found her wetness with devastating, mind-wrecking results.

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Within moments his deft strokes brought her to the edge of release, held her there for several heart-pounding moments and then pushed her over. Faith collapsed against him, gasping and clinging to his shoulders.

Tate pressed a hard, swift kiss on her lips and then put a few inches between them. He reached into the bedside drawer for protection, which he quickly donned, and then he fell back on the bed, pulling her over him like a blanket.

Her thighs straddled his hips and his erection teased her core. She slid against him, teasing him and herself. His splayed fingers cradled her bottom, stilling her motions.

“You’re killing me, Faith. I need to be inside you,” he said through clenched teeth.

She’d never had a lover who made her feel as powerful, womanly or needed. Faith curled her fingers around him and lowered one excruciating inch at a time.

His growl drowned out her gasp as he filled her. Tate’s grip on her hips tightened, and he surged upward, driving deeper and faster. His hands found her breasts, tweaking her until she felt as taut as an over-wound clock.

She braced herself against his chest, clutched his shoulders and held on as pleasure built inside her.

Tate tangled his fingers in her hair and tugged her down for an explosive kiss that mimicked his thrusting. His hand shifted to the joining of their bodies.

Faith climbed higher and higher with every stroke until she tumbled off the summit in a free fall of rapture. Tate arched off the bed and groaned against her neck as shudders racked him. Chapter Twenty-One Faith’s muscles turned fluid, too weak to remain upright. Tate eased her down beside him, tucking her head into his shoulder and kissing her brow.

The room fell silent except for their laboured breathing. When they were together like this, Faith could almost forget her doubts and fears. 310

Could she trust a charmer like Tate to remain faithful?

The overhead ceiling fan cooled Faith’s sweat-dampened skin, and her pulse returned to normal. Tate’s breath slowed and evened out.

Had she found her soul mate or was she just in heat?

She could almost hear her best friend ask, “Is being in heat a bad thing?” Not if she remembered it was temporary. But Faith didn’t want temporary.

She wanted a family. She wanted forever. And she wanted both with Tate.

The knowledge scared her and left her vulnerable. She didn’t want to go through life alone, but loving Tate meant opening herself up to pain, loss and betrayal.

Faith dragged her hand down Tate’s chest to the scar on his leg. It was superficial and not at all unsightly, but it was a warning flag - a reminder that even if Tate wasn’t a womaniser, she could lose him all the same.

The scar was proof that he could be taken from her at any time, and love, that fleeting emotion, offered no guarantees of happiness.

Did she really want to lose her heart and risk the pain? The weight on her chest told her she already had.

Was it too late to repair the damage? Chapter Twenty-Two Tate rolled over in bed. Empty. He squinted at his alarm clock. He’d slept like the dead for hours. He tossed off the sheet and sat up. “Faith?”

No answer. Where was she?

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He crawled from the bed, checked the bathroom, the kitchen and the deck overlooking the pool.

No Faith.

The same clammy clench he’d felt before entering the building that had fallen in on him, squeezed his gut. Intuition? Tate retraced his steps and looked in his closet and drawer.

Her stuff was gone.

“Dammit. This hot/cold thing is getting old.”

Tate yanked back the curtains. She must have called a taxi because his truck was in its usual spot. How in the hell had he slept through her leaving? Blame it on too many twenty-four-hour shifts covering end-of-the-year fraternity parties.

Tate dug his cell phone out of the pants he’d shed beside his bed and punched speed dial for David’s number. As soon as his brother-in-law answered, Tate asked, “Is Faith with you?”

“No, she left here with you. What have you done to my sister, Tate?”

He understood David’s anger. “Nothing.” Except fall in love with her. He massaged the knots forming in the back of his neck. “Call my cellular if you hear from her. Please.”

“Find her.”

“I will. Count on it.” He disconnected and made another pass through his apartment, this time searching for clues. Where could she have gone?

He found the phone book on the kitchen counter open to the S section of the hotel listings and swore. Thanks to all the graduation ceremonies going on this week, the sleazy Streetside was the only hotel in town with rooms available.

Was Faith willing to put herself in danger to get away from him? 312

Chapter Twenty-Three Tate lifted the phone and called a police officer buddy he’d known since high school. He’d take months of ribbing for his request, but he didn’t know what else to do.

“Jay, I need a favour. My sister-in-law has taken off. I need to find her. Her name is Faith King. Thirty-one. Strawberry blonde. Blue eyes. Medium height. Start with the Streetside hotel.”

“Did she do anything illegal?”

Could their encounters be classified as hit and run? His heart sure felt as if it had been run over. “Nothing you’d be interested in.”

“Want me to bring her in?”

“No. Just locate her and don’t let her leave before I get there. For God’s sake keep her safe if she’s in that dump.”

****** Thirty minutes later, Tate parked his truck beside Jay’s cruiser in the hotel parking lot. Jay led him toward the back of the hotel. “She checked in ninety minutes ago. Room six.”

“I owe you, man.”

“Pizza and a beer should cover your debt, but I’m gonna want details later. You’re usually a little smoother with the ladies.” Jay motioned Tate away from the hotel’s paint-chipped door. “Step aside, Sumner. If you’ve pissed her off she’s not going to open the door for you, but she’ll open for me.”

Tate sighed and flattened himself against the wall a few feet away. The fact that he’d made a fool of himself over a woman would be all over Chapel Hill in a matter of hours, but it’d be worth it if he could work this out with Faith.

Whatever this was. Was it love? What else could explain the sinking feeling in his gut?

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“Deal.”

“And don’t do anything stupid or, friend or not, I’ll have to run you in.” Jay offered the last warning as he lifted his fist and rapped on the door. Chapter Twenty-Four The door eased open. Tate heard the chain catch. At least, she’d had sense enough to use it.

“Faith King?” Jay asked.

“Yes.” Tate hated the fear in her voice. He’d forgotten Jay’s ugly mug could make the Godfather thugs look like beauty contestants.

“Step outside, Ms. King.”

“Is there a problem, officer?”

“That’s what I want to know.”

The door closed. The chain scraped, and then the door reopened. Faith stepped out onto the cracked sidewalk. Tate’s heart slammed against his ribs.

She turned her head, spotted him and her eyes widened. “What’s wrong? Are David, Sandy and Anna okay?”

“Your family is fine, but Sumner needs to talk to you.” Jay indicated Tate.

A different kind of tension entered Faith’s face. “I don’t think we have anything to say.”

Tate smothered his anger, his pain. “You can’t keep running, Faith.”

Her chin lifted, revealing that telling red spot at the base of her throat. “I’m not running.” 314

Jay’s radio squawked. “Can you two handle this now? I have a call.”

“Yes. Thanks again, Jay,” Tate replied.

“There’s nothing to handle,” Faith said simultaneously, but Jay had already turned toward his cruiser. Seconds later he hit the siren and peeled out of the lot. Chapter Twenty-Five “What are you afraid of?” Tate stepped closer.

The quarter-sized spot on her skin glowed like a streetlight. “Nothing.”

Tate circled the splotch on her chest with his finger. “This says otherwise.”

She flinched out of reach. Covering her chest with her hand, she backed into her room. “Go away, Tate.”

Tate followed, kicking the door shut and sealing them in the seedy hotel room. “I rescue people from danger. I don’t leave them in harm’s way. I’m not leaving you here.”

“Why can’t you accept that we had a one-night stand and let it go? You should thank me for not asking for more.”

His heart thumped harder and his mouth dried. “Ask.”

Her lips parted and her eyes widened. “Wh - what?”

“Ask for more, Faith.”

“I don’t want more.” The desire in her eyes and the hunger in her lips when she loved him said otherwise.

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“You’re not a no-strings kind of woman.”

“Says you, and you barely know me. Tate, we’ve only known each other a week total.”

“I can accept it if you think we’re moving too fast and you need more time, but I won’t accept your refusal to give us a chance.”

He saw the flash of fear in her eyes before she looked away. “I can’t. Go back to your other women...and your job.” Chapter Twenty-Six Fear? This was all about fear?

He remembered her touching the scar on his leg as he drifted off to sleep. He’d thought Faith up to the challenge of being a firefighter’s wife. Evidently, he’d been wrong.

“I never expected you to be a coward, Faith.”

“You think I’m a coward?” Faith’s skin prickled at the accuracy of Tate’s remark.

Tate shrugged. “If the shoe fits...”

”I have good reason to be cautious.”

He widened his stance and parked his hands on his hips. “And that is...?”

Where did she start? “Did David ever tell you about our father?”

“Only that he was a jerk.”

Faith winced. “He’s a pilot with charm and good looks to spare. He has a woman in every

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layover city. My mother knew about his infidelities and it broke her heart. I don’t want to live like that. I don’t want to love a man who’ll hurt me over and over and not care.”

Tate’s brows dipped and his shoulders squared. “You’re comparing me to your father?”

“That night before the wedding, I was well on my way to falling in love with you, but you were playing a game. The next day at the church you flirted with every female present.”

He made an exasperated sound. “Only because you blew me off.”

“Are you denying you’d had a reputation for keeping your affairs short and sweet?”

Tate shoved a hand through his hair, making his cowlick stand up. “No.”

“And were you expecting more than a brief affair after Sandy and David’s wedding?”

His jaw muscles bunched. “No.” Chapter Twenty-Seven Faith exhaled slowly and hugged herself. Well, nothing like hearing your fears confirmed. “That’s what your sister and her bridesmaids told me. They took bets on which wedding guest would be foolish enough to fall for your charms. I was too ashamed to tell them that I already had.”

“Remind me to muzzle my sisters.” Tate crossed the room, stopping inches away. His woodsy cologne teased Faith’s senses, and his serious green gaze held hers.

“As far back as I can remember, I was the man of the house. I filled in when my dad was on duty, and after his death my mother and my sisters looked to me to keep things normal. I gave up my dreams of college, and signed on as a firefighter because we needed the money to put my sisters through college. I resented the hell out of it. I was young and all I wanted was to party and get laid. Hell, I was twenty before I lost my virginity.

“Sandy was the last of my sisters to leave home. When Sandy met your brother the year before

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they married I thought I’d finally found freedom, and I was determined to make up for lost time. I tried.” He shook his head with a rueful smile on his face.

“God, I tried. Then I met you, and I panicked. You made me want more than just hot sex. You threatened my newfound freedom. When you blew me off after our night together, I was angry and decided to show you that I didn’t care. I wanted to make you jealous, and I wanted to make sure you knew what you were missing. I’m sorry. I was an ass at the reception.”

“Yes, you were.” But hearing the reasons why gave her a new perspective.

He grimaced. “You were the right woman for me, Faith, but I was too stupid to recognise it. Give me a chance now to show you how right we are together, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

Her heart missed a beat, but fear held her back. “How can I trust you not to hurt me? I need someone who’ll love me forever, Tate, not just when it’s convenient.”

“There are no guarantees in life. You have to set aside your fears or they’ll paralyse you.” Chapter Twenty-Eight That’s exactly what had happened.

Faith yearned for a family of her own, and yet she never dated a man more than a few times. As soon as she began to grow attached, she broke off the relationship.

She’d been envious as her friends married and found happiness, but Faith was afraid to try it for herself. The one time she had - with Tate - she’d been burned.

“Even if you’re not as fickle as my father, any fire call you answer could be your last. Your leg...” She motioned to his thigh and bit her lip as fear choked off her words.

“Any time you get in your car to drive to work could be your last trip, but you won’t see me locking you in my apartment. I won’t deny my job can be hazardous. I was injured in a building collapse because I ignored my training and entered an unstable situation. I figured I had nothing to lose. Now I do.” He brushed a soft kiss over her lips.

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Faith’s breath caught and her resistance ebbed. “You make me weak, Tate. I tell myself not to fall for your charm or your lines, and then I do anyway. Do you know my only goal for this weekend was to keep my knees together around you? And I failed.”

His tender smile tugged at her heartstrings. He lifted a hand and cupped her jaw. “That’s because your heart knows better than your head. And you’re not weak, Faith. The woman I see when we’re together is one who knows what she wants and takes it. It’s your follow-through that needs work.”

“I’m afraid of being wrong, of being hurt.” And she was afraid of being alone, but wasn’t she alone now?

“I run into burning buildings for a living, but nothing scares me as much as losing you.” Tate pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply. Faith clung to his broad shoulders.

Hope flickered to life inside her. Chapter Twenty-Nine The unmistakable banging of a headboard on the adjoining wall startled them apart. Moans of passion followed. Tate released her and grabbed her suitcase.

“Let’s get out of here. I’ll be damned if I’ll propose in this dump.”

Faith’s heart stopped and her mouth fell open. “You’re going to propose?”

Tate yanked open the door and paused on the threshold. “I guess the only way you’ll know for sure is if you find the guts to come with me.”

The door swung shut behind him. Faith stood in the centre of the sleazy room paralysed by indecision.

She wanted a husband who always put family first; a man who made her feel womanly and wise.

She needed a man brave enough to fight his own demons and hers. 319

She pressed a hand over her thumping heart. Tate Sumner was that man.

He offered the love she’d dreamed of and wanted more than anything else in the world, but she had to find the courage to seize it before it was too late.

He hadn’t said he loved her. Did he? Suddenly, Faith had to find out. She picked up her purse and followed him out.

She had so much to lose, but so much more to gain. She was ready to put her heart on the line. Chapter Thirty Tate helped her into his pickup truck without a word. Neither of them spoke as he drove toward the lake and parked in the shade.

He climbed from the cab and headed toward a big boulder on the lake’s edge.

Faith followed and stood beside him on trembling legs as he stood gazing out over the windwhipped water.

“My father claimed he fell in love with my mother at first sight. As a kid I thought that was the dumbest thing I’d ever heard,” Tate said without looking at her, and then he turned his head and Faith’s breath stalled in her lungs at the love in his eyes.

He took her hands in his. “And then I met you, and I knew exactly what he meant. I love you, Faith, and I promise you that I’ll keep on loving you until the day I die.”

Emotion welled within her, spilling from her eyes in big, fat tears. “I love you, too.”

“Marry me. Today. Tomorrow. Whenever you can trust in what I feel for you.”

A watery smile wobbled on her lips. “I trust in your love now, and I think today or tomorrow or as soon as we can arrange it would be perfect.”

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Royal Peril By Rachelle McCalla Arianna Raff opens the backpack at her feet, expecting to find her clothes and travel documents. Instead she finds guns. Too late she realizes her mistake—she opened the bag of the thugs at the table next to hers. And now they aren't just going to let her go. Because Arianna has stumbled into a dangerous plot. The men are more than thugs—they are assassins. Arianna's only ally is Sergio Cana, a soldier from the neighboring country of Lydia. With their pursuers just a breath behind them, Arianna and Sergio race across the Albanian countryside, desperate to deliver their warning…before it's too late.

Chapter One Arianna reached for her backpack and froze. Two identical backpacks rested against the leg of her chair. Not good. She'd bought the red plaid backpack upon her arrival at the Albanian airport after the zipper on her own bag had broken. She hadn't considered that the style might be common in this country. Glancing around the wayside restaurant, Arianna noticed for the first time the burly men who'd taken the table next to hers. The other bag must belong to them, she reasoned, though she had no intention of interrupting them. It wasn't the tattoos or their military clothing that frightened her so much as the scowls on their faces and the way they were arguing in guttural, angry voices. Nope, much easier to peek inside the backpacks. She'd take whichever one held her wallet, passport and clothes. She unclasped the buckle on the backpack tipped nearest her leg and lifted the flap. Papers had been stuffed atop the contents. Were they hers? She'd shoved her itinerary and the directions to her brother's house into her bag in such a hurry, there was no saying where it had ended up. Cautiously she peeled back the papers—and saw the guns. Oh, so very not good. Growing up as a minister's daughter, Arianna hadn't even been allowed to watch television shows with guns, let alone get near a real one. Yet something told her these were serious weapons, not the kind somebody's spinster aunt kept in her bedside drawer. No, the tough guns fit with the tough guys arguing at the next table. Arianna let out a slow breath and clutched her fingers around the firearm-free backpack, then quickly moved to the front counter to pay, hoping to discretely distance herself from the men and their weapons. When she opened the pack, she was relieved to see her own papers and her wallet, nestled next to the toy train she'd brought to surprise her nephew. The sight of the innocent plaything reminded her of why she'd come on this trip—to visit her missionary brother and his wife in time for her nephew's third birthday. She was less than thirty miles from their tiny Albanian village, and according to the bus schedule she'd picked up when she got off the train, her ride would be leaving in ten minutes.

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Perfect. Arianna glanced back at the men and found one of them staring at her, his steely eyes narrowed, his mouth set in a grim line. One of the other men plucked up their backpack. Had they seen her look inside the bag? Did they think she'd read their papers? Stuffing her change into her pocket, Arianna hefted her pack over her shoulder and hurried out the door, trying to get as far away from the men as quickly as she could. Whatever they were involved with, she didn't want to have anything to do with it. She practically ran down the yellow clay road toward the bus station, whose sign rose into the sky two blocks away, one of the few landmarks in the miniscule town. As she approached the station, she noticed a man in a soldier's uniform parking a motorcycle next to the curb, and she instantly recognized him—Sergio Cana. Sergio had been assigned the seat next to hers on the train ride, and they'd struck up a lively conversation. He was from the bordering kingdom of Lydia, and he traveled to this village in Albania every other weekend to visit his Grandma Rosa, borrowing his late grandfather's motorcycle when he visited. "Running errands for your grandmother?" she asked when he looked up and smiled at her. He nodded. "The grocery store closes soon. She's almost out of bread. You're headed to your brother's village?" "My bus leaves shortly." "Ah." He nodded, and something like disappointment flashed across his face. "You should get moving, then. It was nice meeting you." She met his eyes as they exchanged smiles. Sergio seemed like a sweet man, in spite of his imposing size and the biceps that bulged under his soldier's uniform. For an instant, Arianna wished she had more than a moment to spend with him. "I can't afford to miss my bus," she reminded them both before waving goodbye and scurrying away up the sidewalk. She saw that the bus had already arrived at the station up the street, and knew that once it left, there wouldn't be another until morning. As she hurried along, her heart squeezed out a silent prayer. If God wanted her to spend more time with the handsome soldier, somehow their paths would cross again. She looked back, catching a glimpse of Sergio heading toward a small grocery store…and the four burly men leaving the wayside restaurant. They were turning their heads, scanning the street, and jostling each other. Were they looking for her? Arianna could have kicked herself for leaving so hurriedly. Had her abrupt exit made them suspicious? Rather than stick around to find out, Arianna ducked down a side alley that looked like a shortcut to the bus station and picked up her pace, hoping to leave the intimidating men far behind.

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But moments later, the sound of boots pounded up the alleyway behind her. She spun around just in time to see the men running in her direction. Before she could duck out of their way, the one in the lead leapt at her and wrestled her backpack from her shoulder. "No! It's mine!" Arianna grabbed the bag as the burly man tore it away. Wishing she could open it and show him the contents, it was all she could do to tighten her grip on the strap as he pulled her backward. Did they think she had stolen their backpack? Or taken something from theirs? One of the men pulled out a gun. Arianna immediately let go of her backpack and raised her hands in the air. "Please, no, don't shoot!" But the man only growled and raised the weapon, pointing it at her. She flinched and started to duck. A boot sliced through the air, knocking the gun from the man's hand. Arianna looked past the boot to the man who'd kicked the gun free and was now locked in hand-to-hand combat with her attacker. Sergio! With terrifying efficiency, he knocked the first man out cold, just in time for the other three men to leap on him. Three on one. The odds were against the soldier, but Sergio clearly knew how to handle himself. In a flurry of flying boots, he leveled one of her attackers prone at her feet. The man had been carrying both backpacks. With no chance to sort out which one was hers, Arianna grabbed them both and jumped away. While Sergio fought with the third man, the fourth leapt at her. Arianna swung the heavy packs toward her assailant's head, and the solid contents of one bag sent him staggering backward. He tripped over his fallen comrade and smacked into the ground. "Come on!" Sergio reached around her, scooping her close to his body, both backpacks clutched in her hands. "This way." Arianna glanced at the soldier as they ran out of the alley and toward his motorcycle. She didn't really know him. Everything had happened so quickly. Could she trust a man she'd only just met on the train? With a quick, silent prayer, she asked God for guidance. A cross dangled from a chain around Sergio's neck. Did it mean anything? Plenty of non-Christians wore cross necklaces—at least in the United States. But here in Albania? Sergio pulled her toward the motorcycle and thrust a helmet at her. "Hop on. Hurry!" He shoved a key into the ignition.

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Arianna had only managed to swing one leg over the bike before an angry shout went up behind her and another attacker leapt at them, wrestling Sergio to the ground. She ducked back, and to her horror realized that all four men had regained their feet and come after them again. Two rushed her from either side. She tried to jump away, but her legs were caught up on either side of the motorcycle. One man grabbed the heavier, clunkier backpack, and she let him take it. The other had a firm hold on the softly bulging pack she was nearly certain held her clothes, her passport and the train for her nephew. He tried to wrest the bag from her. "No! It's mine!" She yanked backward, wishing she could make him understand. The man swung a hard fist at her jaw and lights exploded across her field of vision. Arianna felt herself falling, and then the rough kiss of gravel against her skin. She blinked, forcing her eyes open, fighting to see. Through bleary eyes she watched the men dragging Sergio's slumped figure away. A van with no windows pulled up and they threw him through the rear doors—along with both backpacks. As darkness closed over her eyes, she heard the van peel away.

Chapter Two Arianna forced her eyes open and lifted her head. Pain shot from the spot on her jaw where the thug had punched her. Pushing up, Arianna crawled the last couple of feet to Sergio's motorcycle. The key still dangled where he'd shoved it into the ignition moments before the thugs had knocked him out and driven off with him in their van. Sergio. He'd come to her aid. The sweet soldier she'd met on the train who visited his grandmother every other week was at the mercy of those four men. And from what she'd seen of them, his captors knew no mercy. What would his Grandma Rosa do if he didn't come back? He'd said she was almost out of bread. Arianna couldn't just walk away when he was in danger. She should go after him. The streets were nearly empty of people, and no one seemed to pay her much notice. A moment's doubt niggled at her. Clearly, Sergio was capable of looking after himself. Her clothes, her money, even her passport could be replaced. Perhaps she ought to kiss her backpack goodbye and get on the bus to her brother's village. But even as that possibility occurred to her, she saw the bus rumble away up the road. She'd missed it. And could she really ignore Sergio's plight? He had tried to help her and had been kidnapped for his trouble. From the looks of the men who'd taken him and the stash of guns she'd seen in their pack, Sergio's life was at stake. Should she go to the police? Even if she found a police station—which didn't seem likely in this tiny town—she didn't speak Albanian, and by the time she communicated the dire situation, the van would 324

have disappeared into the mountains along with every chance of helping Sergio or reclaiming what was hers. As she stood there debating, the van continued to rumble farther and farther away, taking with it the backpack that held her wallet, her passport, her clothes, the toy train for her nephew…and Sergio. He'd come to her aid. She would do the same for him. Blinking away the stars from her vision, Arianna pulled the motorcycle helmet on over her long brown ponytail. She could do this. Her brother had driven a motorcycle all through high school, and she'd borrowed it dozens of times. Of course, that had been nearly ten years ago, but wasn't it just like riding a bike? They said you never forgot. Looking up to where a cloud of dust faded on the mountain road, Arianna realized she'd have to hurry or risk losing sight of the van. If that happened, she might never get the toy train or passport back. She might never see Sergio again. No one might. Ignoring her fears, she revved the engine and rolled the motorcycle forward a few feet, finding her balance on the unfamiliar bike. Then she said a silent prayer for guidance and headed in the direction of the dust cloud. The road climbed steadily into the mountains, quickly leaving the village behind. After half a dozen twists and hairpin turns, Arianna came over a ridge to a long, level stretch of road and spotted the van up ahead. Her heart leapt at the sight of it, and she immediately slowed down, falling back so they didn't see her. Her jaw still stung where they'd punched her. She had no intention of confronting those men again. Night fell as she kept the van just within sight. Twice she thought she'd lost them at a fork in the road, but then she spotted their winking taillights through the trees and caught up to them again. She'd turned off her own lights to avoid detection. It had occurred to her that she could be endangering herself if anyone came up behind her and didn't realize she was there because her lights were off, but no one came up behind her. The mountain roads were eerily empty as they crawled up the winding gravel trail to a place where, surely, only trouble awaited her. As the darkness settled over her with its dank chill, Arianna wondered if she'd been foolish to follow the van. She had no idea where she was anymore. Where were they taking Sergio? If she found him, would he be able to direct her back to her brother's village? She prayed that somehow God would make everything turn out. Beyond that, all she could do was keep the van in sight. When the road gave way to rutted tracks and finally faded completely, the van stopped at a cabin, and Arianna killed the motorcycle's engine. She was still several hundred yards away from where the men leapt from the van, but the engine noise would surely signal her presence. Coming to a stop next to a wide, high-branched tree, she ducked behind its cover and watched. Lights flickered on in the cabin, and she heard the men talking in what had to be Albanian. They opened the twin doors at the back of the van and hauled out the two identical backpacks—hers, and the one full of guns. Then two men carried Sergio's still-prone figure into the cabin. Her heart clenched as his face passed through the beam of light that poured through the front door. Bruises stained his cheekbones and blood seeped from his temple. The men hauled him inside, and she caught enough of a glimpse through the window to see them tie him to a chair. For a moment it looked as

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though he was starting to come to, but one of them boxed him across the head and tied a gag into his mouth. They began to argue amongst themselves, and one of them pointed a gun at Sergio. But another man pulled his arm down. They were planning to kill him—she was nearly certain of that much—but they were fighting over where and when and how. Arianna watched in horror, her mind racing. She had to do something—but what? Should she try to go for help? But who would she turn to, and how would she find her way back—assuming she could locate a town at all after all the twisting roads they'd taken getting here? And what if the men moved on before she could return? Then Sergio and everything in her backpack would be lost. No, she had to do something. But she was woefully outnumbered and outgunned. There were four men— plus all their weapons—and she was just a girl with absolutely nothing on her person to use against the men. As she watched the cabin, her fingers clutching the tree for support, she fearfully licked her lips, which had been dried out by the motorcycle ride. Reaching for the lip balm tube she felt in her pocket, Arianna pulled it out, only to discover the narrow canister of sleeping pills she'd brought for her flight. She'd filled the prescription just before leaving, and had only swallowed one as her plane departed New York. The remaining pills rattled inside the tube. One tablet had knocked her out within minutes of takeoff and she'd slept like a log through the rest of her transatlantic flight. Movement at the cabin caught her attention. The men had a small keg of something perched in the shadows on the corner of the porch, and a man filled four mugs from it before going back inside. Arianna's heart beat hard. Crazy. It was a crazy plan. And yet, as she clutched the tiny canister of sleepinducing pills and stared at the jug on the porch rail, she couldn't help but consider the possibility of what might happen if she could get those pills inside the small keg. There were four men. She had a whole bottle of pills. Assuming the tiny pressed-powder tablets dissolved completely, that was several pills per person, though they'd be diluted somewhat, depending on how much the men drank. How much might those men drink? Another thought occurred to her—what if an overdose of the medicine adversely affected them? In place of the guilt she felt at that, Arianna considered the way the men had beaten Sergio and tied him roughly to the chair. She was willing to risk causing them adverse health effects. But how would she get the pills inside the jug without being seen?

Chapter Three Sergio kept his eyes closed and his head slumped down. Let his captors think he was still asleep—they were sure to knock him out again if he came to.

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He listened as they fought about something, cursing one another in Albanian. Though Sergio, as a citizen of Lydia, spoke English, he'd spent enough summers with his grandparents in Albania to speak Albanian fluently. They were trying to sort out who the woman was—Arianna Raff, that lovely woman he'd met on the train. Two of the men were certain she was a secret agent. They were convinced she'd purposely tried to swap out her backpack for theirs, and they wanted to return to the village and eliminate her. The other two figured she was an innocent tourist who was probably crying on her way back to the United States by now. The men were upset about him, too. He'd seen too much. They were going to dispose of him, but the timing was bad. If his body was found, it could draw the authorities to them at a crucial moment in whatever it was that they were planning. But they weren't about to let him live. They were certain he recognized them. They were right about that. Two of the men, at least, worked at the border crossing. Sergio had seen them often enough to describe them without difficulty. But first he needed to know what their plot was…. As he caught the gist of their conversation, he realized they were squabbling over the proper interpretation of an encoded message. "They must all die. Alfred, if the princess doesn't die in the initial blast, you must dispense with her." What were they talking about? Albania had no princess. But Lydia did. Sergio's heart clenched. Everything made sense. Lydia, a small Christian kingdom, had a royal family, including two princesses. He had landed in the middle of a rebel conspiracy to assassinate the entire royal family. *** Arianna crept through the trees to the porch, stealing through the moonlit darkness toward the jug on the porch rail. Finally, she stood behind the last large tree, not more than ten feet from the cabin. She could hear arguing inside. She prayed silently that she would go unnoticed and free Sergio without incident. And maybe, if God was feeling really generous, she could retrieve her backpack and the toy train inside it in time for her nephew's birthday. Fueled by a sense of urgency, Arianna bounded forward, ducking below the porch rail, eyeing the jug. With trembling fingers, she grabbed the container, happy to discover it wasn't heavy. The men would get a strong dose of the pills—assuming they filled up another round of drinks. Untwisting the lid of the pill bottle, she emptied the tablets into the liquid inside. Then she rocked the small keg to thoroughly dissolve the sleep-inducing tablets inside. Mindful that the men could step outside again at any moment, she hurriedly placed the jug on the railing and crept back into the dark cover of the woods, and waited. 327

Just as she'd begun to wonder if the men would ever fill their mugs again, the front door opened with a creak and one of the thugs headed for the keg. Arianna pinched her eyes shut and pressed her back into the wide tree trunk she hid behind. Would her plan work? Worse yet, what if they suspected something and came looking for her? She listened as the man filled four mugs and then retreated into the cabin with a slam of the door. More arguing. Gradually, slowly, the arguing died down. Though she didn't speak Albanian, Arianna was almost certain one of the men said something about going to sleep. The others heaved commiserative sighs, and one slurred a sentence that hung in the air, unfinished, until it was replaced by a rumbling snore. Arianna waited. She wanted to make sure the men were completely out before she stole her way inside. Finally, when a cacophony of snoring told her all four men were deep in slumber, Arianna crept around to the front door, pressed herself tight against the building and peeked in. One man slumped against a table. Two more stretched out on either end of a couch. The fourth man's head lolled over the back of his chair, his mouth gaping open. Guns spilled from a backpack onto the table. Her otherwise identical bag sat beside it, the train for her nephew tossed aside, her passport documents and the contents of her wallet spread out as though they'd been going through them. Even her clothes poured from the pack. Angry that her possessions had been manhandled, Arianna darted furtively inside. Sergio's eyes followed her as she approached him, and a smile rose to his lips in spite of the gag that bound him. She undid the gag first. By tacit agreement, neither of them spoke. The ropes around his hands were knotted tightly, but she spotted a knife among the guns and slit the cords. He massaged his wrists as she cut through the rope at his ankles and he leapt up as soon as his feet were free, grabbing her train and shoving it into her backpack even as she scoured the spilled contents of her wallet to be certain nothing was missing. She wasn't about to leave the men any way of finding her again. Sergio shoved several papers into her pack as well. She wasn't sure why he wanted them, but she wasn't about to say anything. They needed to hurry. Satisfied she had all her documents, she crammed the last of her possessions into her bag and buckled it, throwing it over her shoulder as they headed for the door. Sergio held the door open for her. She met his eyes silently and saw appreciation in them. Blushing at the almost reverent way he looked at her, she stepped past him into the night. They didn't speak until they reached the spot where she'd left his motorcycle hidden near the rutted path among the trees. He offered her the lone helmet and she hesitated. "It's yours." 328

"You wear it." She didn't argue. There wasn't time. But she did want to know what she was up against. "Who were those men?" She strapped the helmet on. "Rebels. If I overheard them correctly, they're plotting to overthrow the Lydian monarchy." Arianna settled onto the seat behind Sergio and wrapped her arms gingerly around him. She'd held on to her brother countless times, zipping around their hometown on his motorcycle, but holding on to the attractive soldier felt entirely different. Her heart was ramming against her ribs from more than just their narrow escape from the rebel thugs. "But I thought Lydia was a peaceful kingdom." "If these men get away with their plans, it won't be peaceful for long." He started the engine and maneuvered the bike through thick leaves to the rutted path. "They plan to assassinate the entire royal family." Arianna gasped. The two princesses of Lydia were slightly younger than she was. She couldn't stand the idea that they and their brother and parents would be murdered. "We've got to do something—to warn them." "That's what I plan to do." Sergio coaxed the bike to greater speeds as the path leveled off in front of them. Light splashed across the trees. Headlights bore down on them, and Sergio swerved out of the way of a truck headed toward the cottage. "Who—?" Arianna started to ask, but Sergio gunned the bike. "We've got to hurry. Once the men in that truck reach the cabin, it won't take them two minutes to realize where we came from and where we're headed." A door slammed behind them. Arianna looked back at the cottage in time to see a number of men—more than she could count—lumbering through the doorway, shouting and pointing. The rebels split up, some leaping into the van she'd followed earlier and the others raced into the truck. Another two ran behind the cabin, zipping out moments later on four-wheelers. "Hurry!" Arianna urged Sergio. "They're coming after us."

Chapter Four Gunning the nimble bike forward over the uneven ruts of the path that served as a road, Sergio did his best to stay ahead of their pursuers. At the same time, he wondered about the woman who clung to him as they made their escape through the Albanian mountains. Could he trust her? He needed to know more…. "You're American, right?" "Yes."

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She'd told him as much earlier when they'd met on the train, and the thugs had confirmed it when they'd gone through the contents of her backpack. She was Arianna Raff, a schoolteacher from New York—at least that was her cover story. With her wide brown eyes and innocent-schoolgirl look, it was a fitting cover. "Special Forces? CIA?" "Uh, no." She held on to Sergio more tightly and she tensed. "Schoolteacher." "You can tell me. I'm not on their side." "I teach third grade in the Bronx." "Right." Okay, he wasn't going to press. Let her keep her secrets. But it did bother him that she didn't feel she could trust him, even after what they'd just gone through and his attempt to rescue her back in the village. "How did you disable the rebels?" Laughter rippled through her. "I put sleeping pills in their drinks." "Smart idea." "Not really. Those men woke them up." "But we got away." "Did we?" He could feel her glance back, no doubt looking to see how much the rebel thugs had gained on them. "We will." No sooner had he spoken the words than a shot sounded, kicking up dirt on the path ahead of them, just to their left. A near miss. "They're not supposed to be operating motor vehicles for twelve hours after taking those things," Arianna murmured. Her comment brought a smile to his lips, but it was quickly erased as more shots sounded. Hopefully their drugged pursuers wouldn't have very good aim—but that didn't mean the men who'd just arrived wouldn't. "Hold tight." He ducked lower over the handle bars and swerved deliberately as another shot rattled nearby leaves. "Move with me and the bike. On these roads, we have to lean into the turns or risk tipping." Her fingers gripped his midriff more securely. Sergio swerved again and dipped, all the time aware that the more effort he put into evasive maneuvers, the less quickly they'd move forward. The rebels would gain on them. It was only a matter of time. He prayed. There had to be a way out. White moonlight pooled down from the starlit sky, transforming the clay path into a golden trail. Off to his left, up ahead, a mountain stream cut a ravine through the widening valley. Beyond it, glinting like heaven's streets of gold in the moonlight, another road led away. 330

A flock of sheep slept peacefully on the hillside between their road and the stream. Sergio scanned the side of the road where the well-traveled path had worn a ledge half a meter deep in most places. Swerving right, then left, he kept them just ahead of the rebels and the gunshots blasting around them. "Ow!" Arianna flinched behind him. "Are you all right?" "I think that shot hit my backpack." "Are you injured?" Silence. "Arianna?" He could hear the fear in his own voice, and was startled at the meaning that it implied. He cared what happened to this woman. Not just out of Christian compassion; he really cared. She'd been so easy to talk to on the train. He'd felt an instant sense of attraction, and if they didn't live on two different sides of the globe, he might have asked when he could see her again. "Sorry," she responded finally, her shoulders shifting behind him. "I'm trying to figure out just what they hit. I don't think I'm injured, but something hurts." "Hold on tight." "What?" Sergio spotted a place where branching tree roots eliminated the ledge that boxed in the sides of the road, and he pointed the bike up the ramplike slope the roots offered. "Where are we going?" "Across the stream." He picked up speed, frightening the sheep who'd been slumbering so peacefully. The animals ran as a herd for the road, and he could hear their frantic bleating as the ATVs took the ramp onto the hill, as well. "There's no bridge!" "We'll jump it." "Can you do that?" "We'll see." He didn't have to tell her to hold on tight. He didn't have time, anyway. With all his attention focused on making the jump, he surveyed the stretch and prayed as the stream drew nearer. It was wider here than it had looked from the road. He could make the jump alone, but would he make it with Arianna on the bike with him?

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Pushing the bike to even greater speed, Sergio rose so that he was almost standing, his knees slightly bent. He could feel Arianna behind him, mimicking his movements. He aimed for a spot where the ridge formed an upward-angled lip, creating a natural ramp. As he hit the jump, he punched the throttle and let the bike rise up under him. For a second he feared Arianna might panic and throw the bike off course, but she moved with him as he brought the front wheel up to land, and again as he sunk lower, letting his legs take much of the shock of the landing. They came down hard on the other side, and the soil was softer than he'd anticipated. The bike shifted left as they touched down, spilling sideways even as the motor turned at top speed. He pushed off the ground, somehow righting them, and the motorcycle chugged through the soft soil. "Are you okay?" Arianna let out a shaky breath behind him. "My leg." He could feel her tension as she fought the pain. "Hold on. We'll take a look at it as soon as we get out of range of their gunfire. Did any of them try to cross?" Arianna shifted behind him. "One of the ATVs is stuck on this side of the bank. The van and the other four-wheeler are stopped on the other side. The truck is making a run for it. I think he might try to jump it." "What about the stuck ATV? Can he get it free to come after us?" "It looks like he's sliding back down. The truck is spinning his wheels in the stream. I think we're in the clear." "Good. I'll find a place where I can examine your leg." His heart pinched at the thought that she'd been injured. Hopefully it wasn't bad, though the pain in her voice indicated otherwise. But that was the least of his concerns. Though he didn't want to let on to Arianna, there was every likelihood that the rebels would find a place to cross the stream and meet up with their road, wherever it led. He gunned the bike on, glad it hadn't been damaged. They had to stay ahead of their pursuers. They had to warn the Lydian royal family. Arianna shifted behind him. "I don't see any sign of them. Maybe they gave up." "No. These rebels will never give up. From what I overheard, it sounds as though their assassination plot is ready to be carried out. If we fail to get the warning to the authorities, the entire royal family—and likely many other innocent people, as well—will be murdered." "Why are they so determined? Is the royal family corrupt?" "No. They are a good family, a Christian family. As a soldier, I have served alongside Prince Alexander on many missions. He saved my life once. And now I have the opportunity to save his." Sergio fell silent,

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fighting the rest of his fears. Not only would the incident make the rebels more determined, it was bound to make them desperate. They'd only become more ruthless, too….

Chapter Five Arianna peeled up the leg of her jeans, which had begun to stick to the bloody wound on her ankle. The wide hem permitted her to lift the fabric without further irritating her injury—an ugly scrape from the brambles she'd bashed into when their motorcycle had almost tipped. Sergio made a sympathetic sound as he studied the bloody mess of cuts. "None of it looks too deep. Have you got anything to bandage it with?" He pulled her backpack from her shoulders and settled it onto the hillside of the small knoll where they'd pulled off from the road, hoping to stay out of sight of their pursuers behind a thick stand of bushes. The moonlight provided just enough illumination for them to see. "I've got a couple pairs of tube socks. That should hold it for now." She reached for the pack and rummaged through the contents, gasping as she pulled out the toy train she'd brought to Albania all the way from New York to give to her nephew. "What's wrong?" She held out the severely dented train. "It must have blocked the bullet that hit the bag." She reached around and felt the painful spot on her back. "All I got was a scratch." "Let me take a look." Sergio stepped past her, gingerly lifting up the hem of her shirt slightly to examine her back. "How bad is it?" Gentle hands touched close to the tender spot near the base of her spine. "You'll have a nasty bruise from the impact. That die-cast train took the brunt of it—and likely saved your life. The injury on your leg looks far worse. I'm sorry I couldn't keep the bike from tipping." "I'm amazed you made the jump at all," she told him truthfully. "If you hadn't, I'd have far worse than a bruise. Those rebels weren't playing games." "No, they weren't." Sergio took the tube socks she'd pulled from her pack and eyed her leg skeptically. "I wish we had a way of cleaning your injury, although I suppose you've lost enough blood to flush out most of the contaminants. Have you had a recent tetanus shot?" "Two years ago." "Excellent." He wrapped the long socks around her leg like a bandage. "Is that too tight?" "Fine." She glanced around them warily, the light fading as the moon made its circuit across the sky. The deep darkness of the wee hours of morning felt that much darker as clouds crept past, blocking even the light from the stars. "I suppose we should get moving?" "Not now. This road has very few branches, and the cliff sides further down can be steep. If we encounter the rebels on this road, we'll have no escape." 333

"Then what should we do?" "If we lie low here, there's a good chance they might pass by without seeing us. If we continue on in a couple of hours, we'll have a better chance of making it to a paved highway and from there to the Lydian border." He tucked the toe of the last sock under the tightened strip above her injury, attaching it securely. She unrolled her jeans back down over the improvised bandage. Her questions about what was to come rattled like fear through her breath as she exhaled slowly. "Will we be able to warn the royal family in time?" *** As he considered her question, Sergio eyed the remarkable woman who'd come to his aid, only to be injured in the process. How much could he tell her? He still wasn't sure who she was working for. Her story about being a schoolteacher sounded believable enough, but there were too many coincidences— like the fact that the rebels had targeted her and the ease with which she'd disabled them in order to rescue him. He would have set aside his fears had the stakes not been so high. But according to the coded message he'd grabbed before they'd left the cabin, his captors were part of a rebel group, planning to attack the royal family of Lydia. As a soldier in the Lydian army, he had a duty to protect the royal family. More than that, as a friend of Prince Alexander, Sergio would never forgive himself if anything happened to his friend's family. Not when he had a chance to prevent it. "Sergio?" Arianna prompted him softly. Clouds gathered in the sky above them, blocking most of the moon's light. It was fortuitous for them—the low light would make it much more difficult for their pursuers to spot them. He'd covered over the reflectors on his motorcycle the moment they'd first hidden behind the hillside. They were almost invisible. In fact, in the dense darkness, Sergio could barely see Arianna's face. He leaned toward her instinctively. Though spring would soon give way to summer, the night air in the mountains was cool. Arianna wore a jacket and so did he, but as he closed the inches between them, he could feel warmth radiating from her, and was nearly tempted to pull her into his arms. How strange. They'd only just met that day. He'd never been forward with women. And yet, he'd felt an attraction to this American the moment they'd met, and her allure had only grown as they'd chatted on the train ride and she'd enthusiastically shared her plans to surprise her missionary brother, his pregnant wife and her soon-to-be-three-year-old nephew with her visit and the toy train she'd brought. The train that had taken the bullet and saved her life. As he thought about it, he realized her story had to be true. CIA agents relied on body armor—not diecast toys—to protect them. The realization came to him like an answer to prayer. He could trust her. He would tell this woman everything. That way, if anything happened to him, she would have the information she needed to warn the royal family of the rebel plot against them.

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"I'll do whatever it takes to warn them. The Mursia River forms the border between Albania and Lydia," he explained. "There is only one highway connecting the two countries, and an international checkpoint at the bridge." "So we'll have to cross there?" "No. It's far too risky. I recognized two of my captors. They're both border agents—I cross through that checkpoint every other week on my trips to visit my grandmother. It would be foolish of us to hope we could make it through the checkpoint undetected. If the rebels are looking for us—and you can be sure they are—then we don't dare cross the Mursia at the bridge." "But the Mursia River is several times larger than the stream we just jumped, and we barely made it across that. How are we going to get into Lydia to warn the royal family? And if the rebels have men working as border agents, who are we going to send our message to? How will we know who to trust?" A break in the clouds let through a beam of light, revealing her earnest face mere inches from him. Sergio smiled. "You're sure you're not working for the CIA?" She laughed, and Sergio felt a sudden temptation to lean forward and kiss her.

Chapter Six Sergio shook off the temptation to kiss Arianna. What was he thinking? The rebel forces could catch up to them at any moment. He needed to stay focused. The lives of the entire Lydian royal family were at stake. Fortunately, Arianna didn't seem to sense his ill-timed impulse. She answered his question about her background without hesitation. "No, I'm not CIA, or Special Forces, or any of that, although I am flattered that you might think so. I'm just an aunt who wanted to bring her nephew the toy train he's wanted for so long." She held up the battered die-cast locomotive, blasted almost beyond recognition by a rebel bullet that had been intended for them. "As you can see, I've failed at that." Her voice caught with emotion, and tears welled in her eyes. While he knew he shouldn't kiss her, there was no reason not to give the woman a hug—certainly not after she'd saved his life and been injured in the process. He shifted nearer to her on the hillside, but before he even got his arms around her, she leaned into his embrace, sniffling on his shoulder. He pulled her close, surprised by the flood of emotion that washed over him as he held her—and at the same time, not really surprised at all. He'd known she'd feel right in his arms. But he was overwhelmed by just how right she felt. As if she belonged there. "Shh." He quieted her in what he hoped was a soothing manner, aware that, though she needed comfort, they also had to listen for their pursuers' approach. And he had to relay the rest of what he'd learned about the plot against the Lydian royal family. "I'm okay." She sniffled. "It's just been a little too much, with my injured leg, and the train." The last of her words were lost as she fought against her tears. Sergio tightened his hold on her, wishing he could go back in time and erase those painful experiences. But there was nothing he could do except keep her safe from now on. 335

"Sorry." She sniffed back her tears after another minute of crying. "Please, tell me what you were going to say." She moved her head to the side, but instead of pulling away from him, she stayed in his arms, her cheek resting against his shoulder. It was a handy spot because it meant he could whisper quietly and she'd still hear him. It also kept the chill of the night at bay. And, if he was honest with himself, he wanted her to remain close to him for as long as he could keep her there. He cleared his throat and focused on the urgent matter at hand. "From what I overheard the rebels discussing, they're planning to ambush the motorcade as the royal family is en route to the Lydian state dinner. They were carrying a message in that backpack—no doubt that's why they jumped you, thinking you'd intercepted it. Those are the papers I grabbed at the cabin. So now you do have the message in your backpack—instructions for any members of the royal family who are not killed by the initial blast to be dispensed with before the smoke clears." "Dispensed with?" "Killed." A shudder rippled through her. "How do they plan to get away with that? Don't the members of the royal family have bodyguards?" "It sounded as if some of the bodyguards are double agents, working for the rebel forces." "Then how can we possibly warn them? We won't know who can be trusted." Sergio sucked in a long breath. He'd wondered at first whether he could trust her. So far, the information he'd told her, though a delicate matter of national security, wouldn't be news to her if she was working for the rebels. But if he answered her question he would reveal details that could give away the Lydian royal family's only advantage. He prayed silently for God's guidance. "This might sound silly at a time like this…" Arianna shifted in his arms, turning to face him. "But I noticed earlier the cross you wear around your neck. Are you a Christian?" "A devout Christian. Most Lydians are." She smiled. "I'm a Christian, as well." She looked as though she wanted to say more, but held back. "What is it?" He asked after she'd been silent for several moments. "I was thinking…" She began hesitantly. "Ever since I was a girl, when I wasn't sure what to do, or the situation was beyond my control…" She shrugged her shoulders, clearly moving beyond her comfort zone in sharing what was in her heart. "I'd feel better if I prayed." "Good idea." He took her hand and squeezed it. "I should have thought of it sooner." Arianna tipped her head forward as they prayed, and listened to the soothing sound of Sergio's voice as he murmured heartfelt prayers, not only for their safety, but that of the Lydian royal family. Then she joined in, praying for God's wisdom and guidance and protection. When they said amen, she felt the pressing fear that had seized her heart loosen its grip, and a sense of peace enveloped her. It occurred to her that, although she'd been uncertain about trusting this man whom 336

she'd met only hours before, God had provided just the person she needed to save her when the thugs attacked her, and to help her warn the royal family. She laughed a little when she realized how God had already been working through the turmoil of the night to answer her previous prayer. "What?" She felt a blush rising to her cheeks, and was grateful the darkness would hide her embarrassment from him. "Earlier in the village, when I had to leave to catch my bus, I asked God to make our paths cross again if…" "If?" Unsure exactly what she had meant by that, or why she'd been so brave as to confess her feelings to Sergio, she let her voice drop below a whisper. "If we were supposed to see one another again." Sergio's heart warmed. The lovely Arianna felt the same way he did, the emotions only intensifying through the events of the night. He leaned closer to her in the darkness, rethinking his earlier resolve not to kiss her. But a sound like distant thunder divided his attention. Approaching vehicles. In spite of the near-total darkness, he saw Arianna's eyes widen. She'd heard it, too. "Don't move," he whispered. The woman didn't even blink as the noise rumbled nearer. His heart thudded out a prayer so frantic he feared their pursuers would hear its violent thumping inside his chest. As a soldier, he'd experienced many heart-stopping moments on the brink of danger. But never in all those missions had he feared for the life of the woman in his arms. It was true, he had a duty to warn the royal family. But he also needed to keep Arianna safe. As the noise drew closer, Sergio distinguished the sound of two vehicles, possibly more. "What do we do if they find us?" Arianna asked, her voice nothing more than a breath. "We'll have to run for it. If anything happens to me, head for the Mursia River. There's a footbridge eight kilometers north of the border checkpoint. Cross there, then head south. Deliver the message to an outpost in Lydia that goes by the name Sanctuary." Arianna's eyes widened, but she didn't respond. There wasn't time. The vehicles slowed as they approached the spot where the two of them had left the road on their motorcycle. A rough voice carried through the night. "Tracks! They lead beyond that hill!" The men spoke in English—not in Albanian, as Sergio's earlier captors had. Which meant that these were likely not the same drugged men who'd shot at them earlier. No, these men would be more alert—and better shots. Sergio gripped Arianna's shoulder as he waited, ready at any second to pull her up and

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make a leap for the motorcycle if the men came around the hill. How quickly could he get the bike started? Would the bushes slow their pursuers down? How could they possibly escape?

Chapter Seven Terror raced through Arianna as she listened to the sounds on the other side of the hill. Arguing voices and the idling rumble of motors—of how many vehicles, she couldn't tell. Too many. She stared at the hillside, waiting, wondering how her innocent intentions to visit her nephew for his third birthday could have gone so horribly awry so quickly. If their pursuers spotted them, they'd be done for. Sergio gripped her shoulder, her only comfort in the midst of danger. He'd already saved her life at least once tonight. Could he do it again? Footsteps crunched through the undergrowth and two figures appeared from around the hill. The traitorous clouds peeled back from the moon, shining light down upon them. "There!" A rebel drew his gun at them and fired. Sergio pushed her flat to the ground. Between the depression in the hillside and the cover the motorcycle offered, parked between them and the gunmen, she was protected from the shots. With a sickening clink, three bullets hit the motorcycle. Had they crippled it? "Not on foot, man!" one of the rebels shouted. While the men retreated around the hill for their vehicles, Sergio sprang up, tossing her on the motorcycle as he swung his leg over and started the bike. Arianna hauled the backpack over her shoulder and prayed. The engine sprang to life, and Sergio coaxed the bike forward over the uneven terrain. They hit a fairly level stretch and picked up speed. "Where are we going?" "Cross country. I couldn't see what they were driving, but we'll try to lose them in the hills. When it looks clear, we'll hit the road and head for the Lydian border." "How much fuel do we have?" "I filled her up the last time I took her out. We should be able to make it to the border." Arianna tried to feel reassured by his words. Should. Assuming they didn't use up precious gas by zipping around through the hills, or worse yet, have their fuel tank shot out by the trigger-happy rebels. Gunshots sounded behind them. Arianna looked back. Clouds danced across the moon. In the shifting light she saw three all-terrain vehicles behind them. Not good. Though the ATVs wider wheelbase might not be able to fit between every bush and boulder, the ATVs were more nimble than Sergio's aging motorcycle. 338

Arianna prayed and gripped Sergio's waist more tightly, trying to shift her weight with his to keep the bike from tipping, rising off the seat with him as they leapt over rocks and ledges. "Here's a big one!" Sergio braced himself and ducked low. Mimicking his movements, Arianna lifted up as the bike launched into the air. "That had a fence under it," Sergio observed as they landed smoothly. Behind them, Arianna saw one of the three ATVs tangled in the fence wire. "One down, two to go," she whispered, urging Sergio on. "How much longer can we afford to stay in these hills?" "Not long. That stream we crossed earlier connects to another up here. It's too big to jump. We'll have to get to the road and use the bridge." "How much further to that footbridge you told me about?" "Hard to say. From the road, maybe ten kilometers." The sound of gunfire nearly drowned out his words. Sergio dipped and weaved the bike to avoid the shots, but Arianna still heard the sickening thunk of a bullet hitting the bike. Though she couldn't be sure, she feared from the sound of it and the sudden smell of gasoline that the rebels had pierced their fuel tank. "Can we ride the bike across the footbridge?" Sergio didn't respond, but headed straight for a ledge that dropped off into darkness. They went airborne, landing with a thump in the soft dirt. Their pursuers had stopped shooting, their attention apparently focused on keeping up with the motorcycle and avoiding any more entanglements. "The footbridge—" Sergio picked up her question as though nothing had happened "—is from preCommunist days. It hasn't been maintained in decades." "Are you sure it's still there?" Arianna looked back and saw that both ATVs had made the jump and were on their tail again. "It was when I was a teenager. My cousins and I used to dare each other to step out onto it." "So, you've crossed it before?" "Not crossed. Stepped on. But it held my weight then." Arianna's heart sank. "There's no other way across?" "Not unless you want to walk right into the clutches of the rebel double agents at the border station." He zipped the bike back onto the road.

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Grateful for the smoother ride, Arianna held on tight as the ATVs behind them fell back, not capable of the same speed as Sergio's motorcycle. As the bike hurtled down the road, Arianna allowed herself to hope they would reach the footbridge ahead of their pursuers. The sound of the rebels' engines gradually began to fade. Then the motorcycle's engine chugged. "What's that?" Arianna asked as the bike gave another ominous lurch. "We're running out of fuel. Don't worry. We're close. Less than a kilometer to go." The engine gasped and shuddered. The bike slowed. "Now what?" Sergio settled the bike onto its side, blocking much of the narrow dirt road. "Now we run!" He grabbed her hand, pulling her forward. Pain speared from her injured leg as Arianna struggled to keep up. Already she could hear the ATVs drawing closer. "Go on without me!" She winced as her leg throbbed with pain. "You've got to get the message across. You've got to warn the royal family. Go!" She pushed him forward. Instead he surprised her, grasping her about the waist and slinging her onto his back as though she weighed nothing at all. "I'm not leaving you!" Horrified, Arianna realized if she tried to hop down from his back, she'd only slow him down that much more. The ATVs screamed up the road, just out of sight behind the last hill. In the shadowy darkness up ahead, Arianna caught sight of the rickety footbridge Sergio had told her about. Gaps leered between several boards, and far below that, gurgling and roiling like a hungry leviathan, the Mursia River surged with melting mountain snow and spring rains. The river looked icy cold, and far, far wider than she'd imagined. She gasped as Sergio eased her from his back, hoisting the backpack more securely onto her shoulders. "You're lighter. You go first. I'll follow once you reach the other side." Arianna stepped gingerly onto the first board, favoring her uninjured leg. With the sound of the approaching ATVs goading her on, she gripped the fraying ropes of the side rails. Forcing herself to look at the bridge and not at the swirling waters below, she took each step as quickly as she dared, trying not to scream as the creaking bridge swayed with her every movement. "Hurry!" Sergio called from behind her. "They're right behind us! I won't be able to wait for you to cross!" "Come on, then!"

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She felt the bridge rock the moment he stepped onto it, its turbulent swaying exacerbated as he closed the space behind her. Then the ATVs squealed to a stop. A gruff voice shouted. "Don't shoot her here—we need to retrieve that backpack!" Grateful she wasn't about to be shot, Arianna pressed on toward the safety of the other side. Twenty feet more. Fifteen. Ten. She could hear Sergio panting behind her. The thunder of boots on the other side sent the bridge rocking as the rebels tore across at a dead sprint. Arianna clutched the side ropes and forced herself to move forward. Eight feet more. Seven. Six. Over the sound of the roiling river, she could hear the ropes snap behind her. She screamed as the bridge swung free and she swung down toward the water.

Chapter Eight Arianna slammed into the side of the cliff, gripping the rope rails for dear life. Behind her, she heard men screaming. Two thunderous splashes echoed up from the river below, followed by agonized squeals and then, silence. The snapped bridge bounced against the cliff side, then settled to stillness. "Sergio!" "I'm right below you. Can you climb to the top?" Relieved that Sergio hadn't fallen—it must have been the two men who'd chased them—Arianna tried to pull herself up. She felt the backpack sag down her back. "I don't think so." It was all she could do to hold on. "Hold tight, then." Sergio's voice drew closer with each rocking movement of the dangling ropes. A moment later she felt him brush by her legs. "I'll go around you. Then I'll pull you up." "Take the backpack," she urged him as he made his way, hand over hand, up the ropes, as though climbing them required hardly any effort. "That way if I fall, you'll still have the note." "I'm not going to let you fall." Effort carried through in his voice as he moved past her and over the rim of the cliff. "Now, hold tight." Arianna did as she was told, and felt the ropes gliding upward as Sergio pulled the framework of the broken bridge over the high bank to safety. She clutched the earth, crawling forward trepidatiously, panting once she lay flat against solid ground. "What happened to the two rebels who were chasing us?"

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"They went under. The water's frigid. Between the rocks and the undertow…" Sergio extended his hand to her and pulled her to standing. "They never came back up." His eyes met hers. The rosy glow of dawn bathed them both in gentle light, and as Arianna looked into Sergio's eyes, she was tempted to kiss him. But this wasn't the time, she chided herself. "We've got to get this message to the royal family." "This way. Can you walk?" "Walk? Yes." She took a few tentative steps on her injured leg, and found the pain wasn't enough to keep her from going on. "But running might be a bit much to ask of me." "I don't think those two relayed our position before they chased us across the bridge. Assuming the Mursia's frigid waters were the end of them, we just might make it to the Sanctuary outpost." "What is Sanctuary?" "It's an international Christian relief organization which primarily helps refugees find asylum. They're an underground ministry. I wouldn't know anything about them except what Prince Alexander of Lydia told me when we needed the organization's assistance on a previous mission. Since Lydia is a Christian nation, they help Sanctuary's efforts. If we can get this message to the Sanctuary agents at the outpost, Sanctuary can help the royal family." They plodded along until the sun had risen, chasing away the cold and shadows of night. Soon an inconspicuous riverside cabin came into view. "Stay here." Sergio found Arianna a hiding place behind a tree. "I'll check it out." He approached the building from another direction, knocked and exchanged words with the man who answered. Before long, he waved to her to come out of hiding. Arianna hobbled over to join him and they were welcomed inside. There were two agents stationed there who offered them a warm breakfast, hot drinks, access to a telephone—which Sergio used to contact his grandmother—and the opportunity to freshen up. Glad for the chance to wash off the mud and grime, Arianna pulled the coded note from her backpack and left it with the men. Then she took her bag upstairs for a quick shower, and dressed in fresh clothes. She was relieved to find her leg injury wasn't deep, nor did it appear to have grown infected. With bandages and antiseptic she found in the medicine cabinet, she bound the wound. When she went downstairs, Sergio and the men had their heads bent over the coded message, but Sergio quickly approached her. "Do you have somewhere safe you can go?" "I was going to visit my brother, but I don't want to risk leading the rebels to him. Besides, he's in Albania. The bridge was destroyed. We can't get back again." One of the Sanctuary agents spoke up. "If you have a location, we can get you there safely. You don't have to worry about being followed. For your protection, the official story will be that the two men who ended up in the river turned informant and delivered the coded message to our outpost. No one will have to know you were ever involved."

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The other agent nodded his agreement. "It might take us a few hours to pull this together. You can rest upstairs while we get it sorted out." Though she couldn't imagine how they expected to get her safely across the Mursia again, Arianna was too exhausted to worry about it. She found the bunk rooms upstairs and collapsed onto one of the beds. A knock at the door awoke her, and she glanced at the bedside clock, surprised to discover she'd slept almost four hours. She would have loved to sleep longer, but hurried to answer the door. Sergio had showered, shaved and changed into clean clothes, as well. He smiled as she stepped into the hallway, and she couldn't help returning his smile. She had forgotten how handsome he was in the light. "I've got good news. The Sanctuary agents have a helicopter waiting. They'll take us across to Albania, where a car will meet us at a neutral location. From there, we can travel to your brother's village." "We?" The look in his eyes grew tender. "I want to make sure you arrive safely. But I cannot stay with you—I'll return to Lydia to keep the plot against the royal family from succeeding." She was surprised by the deep pang she felt, realizing they would soon be separated. But at the same time, her heart warmed at the knowledge that he wanted to ensure her safety. "I can leave anytime." "Good. Let's go now." She followed him aboard the nimble helicopter. As she settled into her seat for what promised to be a short flight, Sergio pulled something from the bag he carried. "The train!" "It's not the same one," he confessed, "but it was the best I could do on short notice. I knew you didn't want to meet your nephew empty-handed." Tears of gratitude welled in her eyes as Arianna accepted the toy train. "I think my nephew will like this one even better than the one I had picked out for him. Thank you, Sergio." She leaned across the seat toward him, intending to hug him, but he bent his head forward at the same moment and his lips brushed hers. Arianna relished the contact for a moment. Then, pulling back just an inch, she gave him a questioning look. "How long will you be in Albania?" he asked softly. "I thought I might stay the summer." "Good. I… I'd like to visit you at your brother's, if I may." She grinned. "I'd enjoy that very much."

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Sergio unclasped the cross necklace he wore around his neck. He extended it toward her, as though to put it on her. "May I?" "Your necklace?" "My grandparents gave me this when I made my Christian vows as a young teen. I have worn it since then." "I can't. It means too much to you." Emotion simmered in his eyes. "It is a symbol of how much you mean to me, and a promise that I will come back, once I've made sure that the royal family is safe." She leaned forward then, and he clasped it around her neck. The cross settled over her sternum with a gentle, reassuring weight. "You saved my life," Sergio whispered, leaning close. "And quite possibly the lives of the entire Lydian royal family." Not trusting herself to speak, Arianna drew closer to Sergio, and he kissed her, more solidly, more soundly this time. And she felt in that kiss a promise of more to come. Perhaps even a lifetime.

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Operation: Second Honeymoon By Debra Webb A gun battle wasn't on the itinerary.… Lucas Camp and Victoria Colby-Camp had planned a quiet second honeymoon in Mexico—open-air cafés, unique little shops, breakfast in bed and visiting an abandoned town that one of their old investigators was bringing back to life—with all the concerns of the Colby Agency left behind. Until the ambush. Suddenly under a storm of gunfire, Victoria and Lucas found themselves outmanned and outgunned—and they had no idea who their attacker was. Had they made a new enemy…or was the strike planned by someone much closer to home?

Chapter One Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, August 20, 1:00 p.m. Lucas Camp gazed across the table at his lovely wife, Victoria. It was the most beautiful day and yet not nearly as beautiful as she was. Their seventh anniversary was coming up soon. The truth was he could no longer remember his life before she was a part of it, first as his best friend's wife, then as his closest confidante, and finally as the woman with whom he would spend the rest of his days. She was the only woman he had ever loved, had ever wanted to share his life with. "A penny for your thoughts." She smiled and he melted a little more inside. He, Lucas Camp, the master spy who had gathered intelligence in the most dangerous of places, against the deadliest of enemies, got all squishy just looking at her. "I'm simply enjoying the view." "Lucas," she scolded gently, though he heard the delight in her voice his words had aroused, "we've been in Mexico only a few days. There is far too much to savor to be distracted by a sight you see at home every day." She gestured to the mystic city around them that blended the past and present with the skill of an artist layering bold contemporary strokes of color against the historic sun-bleached whites. The small open-air café they'd chosen for lunch was nestled comfortably between a sleek art gallery and an old crumbling church. All accompanied by quiet conversations and the soft roar of the sea just a few steps away. "Let's walk." Victoria rose from her chair, the pastel blue cotton dress she wore providing a stunning contrast to her innate elegance. Lucas left payment for their meal and took his wife's hand. As they strolled to the Malecon, he rubbed the gold band that encircled her ring finger. He would never forget the day he had placed it on her finger or the day she had removed the other band she'd worn for more than two decades. She'd knelt at the grave of James Colby, her first husband and Lucas's best friend, and explained that she was finally ready to move on with her life. She'd carefully buried that golden band at the base of James's headstone. So much had happened since that day. Her son, Jim, had found his way home after nearly twenty years. As a child he had been abducted by an evil man who had sworn vengeance against the Colby family. Since Jim's return, grandchildren had filled Lucas and Victoria's lives. Unfortunately there had also been the typical trials related to their work. Lucas had made many enemies in the world of intelligence gathering and adversary interception, as had the Colbys in their endeavors to right the wrongs done to those who sought help at the Colby Agency. 345

More recently, a newcomer, Slade Keaton, had created a disturbing series of ripples. He'd taken over the Equalizers, Jim's private investigations firm that didn't always play by the rules, and proceeded to insinuate himself into every level of Lucas and Victoria's lives. There was something about Keaton and the way he watched their every move that nagged at Lucas. But Keaton was a forbidden topic on this vacation. Today, Lucas was focused on his wife. They were many, many miles from work. No one here knew their true identities. They were nothing more than a pair of tourists enjoying a late summer day in paradise. No work. No worries. Well, except for the small, carefully hidden weapon he carried beneath his jacket. Even Victoria understood that a man like Lucas would never be caught unarmed. "I'm concerned that we haven't heard from Sloan." Lucas chuckled. "Now who's distracted?" Trevor Sloan lived near Chihuahua with his wife and two children. He had once worked with Victoria at the Colby Agency. He and his wife were, at this very moment, in the process of welcoming baby number three. Victoria squeezed Lucas's hand. "You're right. Sloan will call when there's news." "He will." It was a flat-out miracle the agency hadn't called. But then Mildred, Victoria's assistant, had sworn that nothing outside an absolute emergency would interrupt their long-awaited second honeymoon. "I'm looking forward to the visit to Pozos. The rebuilding Sloan described sounds marvelous." Mineral de Pozos was a small village in the central highlands of Mexico. Once a booming silver mining town, it had been nothing more than a ghost town until a few years ago. But a resurgence, prompted by artists from the U.S. and elsewhere, was underway. Sloan had helped to rebuild a small school there. His enthusiasm had inspired Victoria to suggest she and Lucas take a detour from their itinerary to visit the town. If Lucas knew his wife, and he did, she would be filling those new classrooms with computers and books and most anything else needed. "Me, too. I think we should leave for Pozos early in the morning," Lucas suggested. "Take our time. Stop along the way if we stumble upon something interesting." Victoria paused and turned to him. "Not too early, I hope." She tiptoed and placed a kiss on his jaw. "Sleeping in again would be interesting, too." "Ten or so is certainly early enough." Lucas savored the warmth her slightest touch initiated. A delectable array of fruit and soft, sweet cream from room service would be in order for breakfast. Rich coffee and perhaps juice. He would need his strength tomorrow if this morning was any indication. Contentment settled deep in his bones. This trip was exactly what they had needed. "This is the shop I told you about." She tugged him toward the open doors of a small, lovingly restored stone building filled with sixteenth-century-style pottery and stunningly colored masks. Lucas indulged his wife though they'd explored dozens of shops exactly like this one already. She wandered the carefully orchestrated clutter, her expression filled with admiration as she touched the handmade treasures. Whatever her heart desired was exactly what his heart required. Lucas stood at the large open window and watched the passersby on the street. Most were struck by the beauty of the sea that lapped languidly at the silky white beaches bordering the city. Or, like Victoria, were fascinated by the local artisans. But Lucas was more interested in the people. He was everconscious of his surroundings and those who roused his suspicions. No matter that he was far from work; old habits die hard. 346

A crowd of American tourists—they were as easy to spot as ketchup on a white shirt—strolled past the café where he and Victoria had dined. Hadn't they read the warnings about traveling in Mexico? Don't dress and act like a tourist. Lay off the jewelry and designer wear. Apparently they hadn't gotten that part. As the tourists walked on, Lucas noticed a lone diner sitting at the same table where he and Victoria had been only minutes before. Lucas frowned. The woman studied the menu but something about her profile seemed familiar. As if she felt his attention on her, she turned and looked toward the shop and toward the window where he stood. Their gazes locked across the distance as if it were mere inches rather than several yards. The fragrant sea air evacuated his lungs. Tension exploded inside him. "Impossible." The muttered word startled him despite its having crossed his lips. Lucas hurried out the door, his prosthetic slowing his movements when only this morning he'd felt like a young, virile man half his age. He wove through the crowd that cut off his path in the street. His entire body shook by the time he reached the café. The table was empty save for a stylishly stemmed glass of white wine. Couldn't have been her. Not possible. "Por favor," he said, stopping a passing waiter. "Where is the lady who was at this table a moment ago?" "She had an emergency, senor. I am afraid she left. Was she expecting you?" Lucas shook his head and thanked the man. He struggled to compose himself before walking away. No. It could not have been her. He surveyed the street, the people walking leisurely past. His gaze landed on Victoria, standing in the door of the shop obviously looking for him. Lucas drew in a deep, ragged breath. Victoria waved to him. He waved back, manufacturing a smile. Surely he had only seen someone who merely looked like her. It had been nearly thirty years…. Though the length of time mattered little, Lucas was certain that if he ever actually saw her again, he would know. He smiled for his wife and banished thoughts of the past. Nothing and no one was going to ruin this special time.

Chapter Two Mineral de Pozos, August 21, 5:15 p.m. Victoria Colby-Camp was amazed by the work Sloan and his friends had accomplished. The massive old church-turned-school was ready for attendance, opening in just one week. As she surveyed the

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playground she smiled. Bright, welcoming colors adorned the swings and slides and jungle gym. The children would love this escape from the instruction inside. "We are truly blessed," confessed Salvadore Hernandez, their guide and one of Sloan's partners in the community work continuing in small villages throughout central Mexico. "Senor Sloan has devoted much time and many resources to helping the children of our country." "Sloan is a man of honor," Victoria said proudly. There had been a time when tragedy and loss had left him a hollow shell, but his wife and children had categorically changed that sad fact. As Tasha, Victoria's daughter-in-law, had done for her son, Jim. Love overcame all and would not be conquered. She reached for her husband's hand. He had been distracted today. She knew him too well to be mollified by his insistence that he was simply enthralled by their surroundings and the serenity of these past few days. Lucas felt anxious about something and he refused to share. She hoped the trouble wasn't related to Slade Keaton. Keaton was a fixture in Chicago now. Both she and Lucas needed to get used to the idea that as odd as the man was, so far he had done no harm—at least none that could be connected back to him. Time would reveal the truth. It always did. Until then there was little they could do other than follow an adage that had proven beneficial many times: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. A surprise attack was far less likely that way. "The necessary teachers are in place, you say?" Lucas asked Salvadore. "Absolutely." Salvadore nodded with the same enthusiasm as he did everything else. "Classes begin next week." Lucas looked to Victoria, then to their guide. "A few more computers and perhaps a van that could be used as a school bus would be welcome donations, though. And I know just the donor…." The delight that lit in Salvadore's eyes brought emotion to Victoria's. She longed to be more involved in work like this. Last night she and Lucas had discussed options for pitching in. It felt good knowing the difference their decision would make. The realization that there was so much more to do in so many places had her pondering another concept. The time to consider retirement was coming. Victoria felt confident that efforts like this would be every bit as fulfilling as her work at the Colby Agency. "No question, Senor Camp." Salvadore gestured to the Jeep. "If you and Senora Victoria would like to see our next endeavor, I will gladly provide a tour." Lucas looked to Victoria. "Sure, we have no other plans." She nodded eagerly to their guide. "Perhaps after the tour you will join us for dinner." Salvadore's smile widened. "It would be my pleasure." No plans. No agenda of any sort other than this enlightening and inspiring side trip. Victoria wondered as Lucas assisted her into the Jeep what it would be like to have the days and weeks stretch out before them with no particular schedule. Strangely, she felt as if she could get used to the idea very quickly. Of course, drifting through the days would grow boring equally quickly, but Victoria felt confident that she and Lucas would have no difficulty finding projects. She doubted boredom would ever be an issue. Something to think about, she decided, as they drove west. It was time.

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The sun had settled atop the mountains, its warmth fading with the light. The night would bring the desert chill and the not-so-subtle reminder that nature still ruled. Dinner and drinks at their hotel's fabulous restaurant would help to chase away that chill. She looked forward to the hours she and Lucas would spend in front of a blazing fire in their room afterward. Her husband had checked all three of the newly refurbished hotels in Pozos until he found the one room that included a fireplace for just that purpose. Lucas would never admit as much, but he was a romantic at heart. She'd flipped through a few of the thrillers that were his preferred reading and so far not one failed to include a hint of romance between the main protagonists. She smiled to herself. Just something else she loved about her own private hero. His body was fit, muscles strong and well-toned. No one was a better marksman. Yet, deep inside—where it counted—Lucas Camp was a man of heart with emotions that ran soul deep. Their destination had once been a large monastery. An unfinished church sat alongside the ruins of the monastery. A few decades ago, renovations had been started in hopes of creating a retreat for those in search of solitude and emotional healing. But the endeavor had been abandoned when funding dried up and the place fell into disrepair once more. The architecture was a stunning example of majestic old Mexico: adobe walls, columns and walls set amid the rough, rolling dunes of clumpy brown dirt and scrub grass, with only a single mesquite tree to provide a breath of shade from the harsh sun. In spite of the neglect, prickly pear cacti thrived while desert trumpet vine bloomed a breathtaking pink. "A hospital?" Victoria asked as Salvadore explained the plan for the refurbishment. "Si, senora." He parked the Jeep between the monastery and the orphaned church that had never seen fruition. "There is little in the way of medical care between Pozos and San Luis Potosi. The facility will offer those in the surrounding villages much needed care." Excitement kindled in Victoria's belly. "What a spectacular idea!" She and Lucas exchanged a look that verified his thoughts were forming along the same lines. "We would be very interested in helping," he offered. "Can you tell us what stage you're at with the planning of the hospital?" He gestured to the sky. "Sunset is quite close. Why don't I continue the tour and we can discuss the planning in more detail over dinner?" Lucas and Victoria agreed, and Salvadore led them through the building. The extensive tour and briefing underscored the overwhelming amount of work to be done. The outer walls were crumbling in areas. A massive iron gate welcomed those who dared to enter despite the warning signs posted. Salvadore had closed and locked the gate after they drove through it, explaining that the locks helped to deter the ocupa. Squatters were an issue with abandoned buildings, even one that had little to offer beyond basic shelter. The courtyard sprawled before the massive main structure, which opened to a large front room. Somber steps led to a second level. A separate narrow and winding stone staircase climbed to the bell tower. Long ago that bell had clanged regularly, heralding news and reminders to those who dwelled inside. Numerous other smaller rooms and narrow corridors threaded through the adobe walls of the main floor. Though the burden of transformation was extensive, Victoria could imagine the rooms filled with the equipment and medicines necessary for healing. Salvadore provided an eloquent and detailed story of the broad revitalization plan. Victoria sensed his determination and fervor. The job would get done. Long shadows had fallen, overtaking the high walls around the monastery by the time Victoria strolled back into the courtyard. The cool breeze made her shiver, but inside she felt warm with contentment. The promise of this effort made her giddy. 349

Lucas draped his arm over her shoulders. "Sloan will be pleased we're interested in this project." "He will indeed." Victoria wished their friend would call. The news a few hours ago had not been the best. His wife had suffered complications in delivery and things were touch and go. "I hope he has better news about Rachel and the baby by now." "I'm certain they're in good hands." Victoria knew Sloan—he would ensure only the best treatment for his family. Still, she worried. The distinct, cold sound of bullets exploding from their muzzles suddenly echoed in the air a split second before the hollow crack of rounds boring into ancient adobe shattered the silence. Lucas closed himself around Victoria like a cloaking armor and they tumbled to the ground. "Stay down. Stay down," he murmured in her ear. It wasn't until he'd rolled away from her quaking body that she became aware of moaning to her right. Not daring to raise her head, Victoria scrubbed her face through the dirt in order to turn far enough to see. Salvadore was hit. He lay facedown. Blood spread across the dirt around him in a crimson pool. The deep-throated blasts of a large caliber handgun and the softer thwack, thwack of another lesser weapon filled the air. They had been ambushed. Victoria's heart burst with fear. Where was Lucas? With her next breath her mind calmed and she focused on the wounded man. Lucas could handle himself. Salvadore needed help. She grabbed her courage and began to scoot toward him.

Chapter Three Three shots sent the enemy scattering from the gate. The silence lingered a full ten seconds but Lucas held his position behind the old stone well. The timeworn wooden bucket still hanging from a frayed rope rocked ever so slightly in the cold desert wind. The two men who'd fired through the towering iron gate were still out there. There was no guarantee there weren't more. For now Lucas had gained a reprieve. His heart dropped into his gut when he looked over at Victoria. She dragged Salvadore's lifeless body toward the monastery's open doorway. Lucas's gaze swung back to the gate. Still clear. He scanned the top of the crumbling wall for as far as he could see. If these bastards scaled the wall, he and Victoria would be in trouble. Lucas didn't dare call out to his wife and risk drawing the enemy's attention to her. All the while monitoring the perimeter, he held his breath as he gauged her struggle with the man's weight. The sky grew darker with every passing moment. The night would work to their advantage once they were all safely inside. For now, he needed to keep a distance apart from Victoria in order to draw the fire his way if their assailants regrouped and reengaged. Cell phone service was sketchy at best. Calling for help would be all but impossible.

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Victoria hauled the fallen guide through the entrance of the ramshackle structure that was their only sanctuary. Thank God. Lucas pulled in a breath. He couldn't measure how badly Salvadore was injured. Very, judging by the broad, dark pattern of blood on the ground. Lucas listened for movement beyond the walls. Nothing. His muscles tensed in preparation to make a run for the monastery door. Still quiet. Go! He rushed for the entrance. Two rapid blasts splintered the quiet. Lucas hit the ground. Rolled. He fired once at the gate. The darkness was too thick now to see the gunmen, but their shots had come from that direction. Staying low, he scrambled for the doorway. A third shot plowed into the earth next to him. He dove for the floor inside the monastery. The echo of another shot followed him inside. "I've slowed the bleeding," Victoria called out. "His pulse is still strong." Lucas pushed to his feet and moved toward the sound of Victoria's voice. By the time he reached her side, his eyes had adjusted to the darkness well enough to make out hers and Salvadore's forms. "How bad is it?" Lucas knelt beside the man's still body. Victoria held her cell phone over the man's exposed abdomen. The dim glow from the screen provided sufficient light for Lucas to see that the entrance wound appeared low enough not to have hit a lung or his heart, but it could have hit other major organs that could prove life threatening. "Judging by the exit wound," Victoria said quietly, "I'm hopeful. The head wound was the biggest source of the bleeding." The light roved upward. A plug of his scalp was missing but the bullet appeared to have only grazed his head. Lucas placed a hand on his wife's arm. "Find a place to hide. Do what you can to keep him alive." The rooms and corridors they had explored on the tour they'd taken reeled through his mind, but he couldn't recall a particularly good hiding spot. "I'm going up to the bell tower. I don't have enough ammunition for a proper defense but I'll hold them back as long as possible. I can try to pick them off one at a time if they come over that wall." Victoria touched his face, her trembling fingers trailing across his jaw. "Be careful, Lucas. We still have much to do." He couldn't see the fear in her eyes but he could hear it in her voice. He grabbed her and kissed her hard and fast. "And we'll do it all," he promised. He and Victoria had known each other for more than thirty years. He didn't have to spell it out to her. They were in trouble. Whatever these bastards wanted, leaving survivors would not be a part of their plan. The narrow winding steps that led to the bell tower were uneven and crumbling. Lucas stumbled twice before reaching the top. Moonlight melted down the walls surrounding the monastery. The sallow glow allowed him a degree of surveillance. He'd fired four shots, leaving eleven in the clip. He reached beneath the hem of his trouser leg and touched the bulge in his sock. A second clip waited there. It wasn't much but he was damned glad he never failed to prepare for the unexpected even after retirement. And even on vacation. The training was ingrained far too deep.

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Victoria hadn't been pleased when he'd met with a private arms source after arriving in Mexico. Since traveling by air with weapons was near impossible, he'd armed himself upon arriving. They couldn't travel via the Colby Agency jet because it would have nullified their carefully arranged plans to remain anonymous. It wasn't a perfect world and unfortunately such steps were necessary. If he'd had any doubts, this ambush proved his analysis. A shadow passed the gate. Lucas took aim. "Come on, amigos." He hadn't gotten a good look at the two men, but he felt relatively certain they were Hispanic. Americans, whether traveling on business or for pleasure, were often targets of kidnap-and-ransom schemes. Evidently someone had seen through the security precautions Lucas and Victoria had taken and thought they were good targets. A woman's image flashed through his mind. He shook off the idea. He had to have been mistaken. If she was even still alive… Why would she be here? And if somehow she were, she had no bones to pick with Lucas. She had provided intelligence to him from time to time, for a price. They had shared a brief physical encounter. End of story. This ambush would have nothing to do with her. Another image elbowed the woman from Lucas's thoughts. Keaton. Fury boiled to an instant simmer in Lucas's gut. Victoria would dismiss the notion that he was involved in this. But every strand of DNA in Lucas's being screamed at him to beware the man. His suspicions remained as yet unproven but the facts were shaking loose, slowly but surely. Right now, however, he zeroed in on the shadowy movement atop the east wall. Survival was the single relevant factor. His forefinger tightened on the trigger of his 9 mm. A fierce pop reverberated around him. The shadow dropped to the ground inside the perimeter of the wall. The tension eased in Lucas's muscles. He scanned the courtyard, then the wall and finally the gate. There was no way to guess how many assailants were out there. Two at least. His position provided a full 360 view of the wall and the grounds around the two structures. The old well, the mesquite tree and two half walls that had once divided the courtyard provided potential cover for the enemy. No matter how long this standoff lasted, Lucas couldn't afford the slightest hesitation in his monitoring. Sharp focus was the key. He prayed Victoria had found a decent hiding spot. If the worst happened, he wanted her protected. Without a weapon, her wits were her only means of defense. Lucas would lay odds on her wits any day.

Chapter Four Victoria's heart thumped as the sound of gunfire faded. She prayed Lucas had safely reached the bell tower. She listened for any indication that the gunmen had invaded the walls. The wind whipped furiously, a chilling score to the otherwise silent night. Leaning close to Salvadore, she whispered, "I'm going to look for a place we can hide. Lie still. I'll be back soon." Leaving him was a difficult choice, but there was no other option. Finding some level of protection was necessary. As far as she could determine, Salvadore was not conscious, but just in case, she wanted him to know that she was not abandoning him. As she moved through the darkness, she used her hands and her memory of what she'd seen on the tour to guide her. Each step she made was carefully placed. Reserving the battery in her cell phone was essential. Though on last check the phone was useless as far as making a call, the small amount of light it provided could prove invaluable. 352

She paused at the narrow pathway that led up to the bell tower. Her lips compressed to prevent calling out to her husband. Sparing the time to go up and check on him could cost far more in the end. He didn't need the distraction. Lucas was counting on her to do what needed to be done. Victoria cautiously continued. If she could find a place to hide Salvadore, perhaps then she could help Lucas. Without a weapon? Frustration burrowed deep in her chest. There was little she could do beyond this immediate task. As she moved along each corridor and through each room, she roved her hands over the walls in search of a nook large enough to provide concealment. There were no closets as far as she recalled. A storeroom near the kitchen was too open. She moved on to the kitchen, the largest space near the back of the run-down structure. A rustic and decaying wooden cabinet lined one wall of the kitchen. The open shelves were bare save for dust. The walls were the same cracked and crumbling adobe as all the others. She hesitated in her search, her fingers tracing over the same spot twice, then three times. There was a crack but it was far wider than most of the others. She followed the path of the wider crack. Less than two feet across the top then the narrow divide diverted downward for maybe four feet to the floor. After listening for any sound and checking the open portals that served as windows, Victoria lit the screen of her cell phone to study the anomaly with the aid of its faint light. There was little difference between the cracks, but the pattern— once she scrutinized it at length—appeared to be deliberate. No hinges or handles were visible. Exasperation tugged at Victoria's brow as she allowed the screen to go black. She tried to dig her fingers into the crack enough to pry at the wall it dissected. The section inside the perimeter of the crack shifted but didn't open. Then she pushed. The wall moved inward. She pushed it as far as it would go then crouched down to peer inside. A touch to the cell phone's screen awakened it once more. There was no floor beyond the oddly jagged door. She leaned forward and looked down. Narrow, steep stairs led downward into the darkness. Carefully, Victoria eased onto the top stone tread. After inspecting the back of the makeshift door she found rusty hinges and a handle of sorts. With a deep breath for determination, she closed the doorlike section of wall. She sat and scooted downward, one dusty stone step at a time. The walls around the area were stone. A secret cellar? Maybe. It might very well have been necessary to conceal supplies during raids when the monastery had been occupied. Sheer survival in this remote area likely prompted the need for a hiding place. As she reached the final step, the dank smell filtered through her intent focus, pressing around her like a thick, sickening compress. Leaning forward she touched the floor of the room or cellar. Dirt. A soft whimper echoed in her skull as if someone had screamed in her ear. Victoria froze. Her hand a little unsteady, she held up the phone and nudged the screen to life with her thumb. "Who's there?" Across the ruins of wooden barrels and decomposing boxes, a woman stared back at Victoria. Next to the woman, a small child snuggled closer in fear. Startled, Victoria peered around the cluttered space. If the woman had any other companions they were hidden beneath the rubble. "Are you hurt?" The woman said nothing. Victoria picked her way through the mess. As she neared, the woman's breath caught as if she'd only just realized she and her child were no longer alone. Victoria eased into a crouch. "Are you all right?"

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The woman and child appeared to be Hispanic. Victoria was a little rusty but she managed to repeat the question fairly accurately in Spanish. The woman searched Victoria's face as if attempting to identify a possible threat. The light from the screen faded. "Help me." The words were soft, weary and in English. Victoria touched the screen, reviving the light. "Are you hurt?" She'd noticed no bruises or blood. That the woman had chosen to hide down here with her son suggested that she might be running from someone. Taking Victoria's free hand in her trembling one, the woman pressed Victoria's palm to her belly. "The baby is coming." Dear God. The woman's protruding belly was hard with a contraction. The child beside her, a little boy, made a distressed sound. Since the mother had spoken in English, Victoria assumed she possessed a fair command of the language. "Soon?" "Soon," she confirmed. Victoria didn't need the light to know this was no place for the event to occur. Then again, given the gunmen outside, this might very well be the only safe place under the circumstances. Whatever their attackers wanted, the result would not be good for anyone trapped inside. "Water," the woman pleaded, "please. My Emilio is thirsty." Victoria's heart ached for the child. There was bottled water in the Jeep. Outside. She patted the woman's hand reassuringly. "I'll get water for him." It was dark outside. Victoria could reach the Jeep. As long as Lucas knew to cover her. She needed to brief Lucas, get Salvadore down here, grab the water from the Jeep and then get back down here to prepare for the birth. Victoria swallowed back a rush of fear. Simple. "Who are you?" the woman asked, her voice frail with pain. "I'm sorry." She should have identified herself at the outset. "My name is Victoria. My husband and I are here to see what we can do to help with the new hospital." A low moan rose from the woman. She grabbed Victoria's hand and squeezed hard. Emilio wailed in fear. "I heard stories about the hospital," she said, breathless from the contraction. "We have no doctor in my village. I walked here… I didn't know the work had not even begun." Victoria felt her desperation. So many were without health care in these remote areas. How this poor woman must have felt when she walked all this way only to find a crumbling ruin. "What's your name?" Victoria gave her hand a comforting squeeze. "Lavina." "I'm going for water and help, Lavina. I'll be back soon." Victoria went through the steps in her head again—she would need Lucas's help. Move Salvadore to safety. Get the water. And bring a child into this world.

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All the while praying the enemy outside the walls stayed outside the walls.

Chapter Five Lucas didn't dare relax. Since he'd taken one man down, the enemy had been quiet. At least one was still out there. It was possible the remaining gunman could have cut and run, but Lucas felt confident he would have heard the engine of a vehicle if one had been started. Though his full attention remained on the wall and courtyard surrounding their safety zone, a part of him was with Victoria. Had she found a place to hide? Her safety was his top priority. He'd sent a text to Sloan but the communication had failed. Cell service in the area just wasn't reliable. The Jeep was parked inside the gate, the keys likely still in the ignition, but an escape attempt was out of the question without knowing how many assailants were out there. Though it would take only one lying in wait to lose this battle. Movement on the steps below his position pulled his attention and his aim to the opening that led into the tower. He tightened his jaw and his hold on the weapon. His gaze narrowed. A form rose from the darkness. Victoria. Lucas relaxed, instantly lowering his weapon. His heart thumped with equal measures relief and anxiety. If Victoria had risked leaving Salvadore and coming here, something had changed. "How is he?" "He's conscious and talking," she said softly as she crouched down next to Lucas. "The pain is bad but he's holding up." Lucas wished he could protect her from this. Victoria Colby-Camp had suffered far too much in her life already. She deserved peace and happiness. "How about you?" He scanned the wall and courtyard. "You holding up okay?" If only he could comfort her. He reached out and touched her cheek. She leaned into his touch, sending that sweet, familiar warmth through him. "I'm an old hat at this." She sighed. "I would, however, prefer to be armed." "I only have the one gun, I'm afraid. Any luck finding a place to lay low until this is under control?" He made it sound like a simple operation, but the truth was they were in serious trouble here. All the enemy had to do was wait them out. The chances of someone who might be able to lend assistance or spook the thugs coming to this remote location were zero to none. Odds of getting any sort of communication out were equally thin. They were on their own. His gut twisted with regret. "There's a hidden cellar," Victoria explained. "It's camouflaged enough to work better than anything I expected to find." Lucas felt a but coming. "But…" he prompted. "But," she allowed, "there are complications." Despite the unnamed complications she already had a plan. He knew her too well to believe otherwise. "A woman, Lavina, was already hiding there. She has her three-maybe-four-year-old son with her."

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"Hiding here?" Lucas surveyed the perimeter once more. "Why here?" "That's the sticky part." The burden on his shoulders gained a couple of tons. "She lives in a remote village and she'd heard rumors of the new hospital coming." Victoria sighed. Not a good sign. "She walked all the way here looking for medical attention. She didn't know the hospital was only in the planning stages." "She's ill?" If she needed immediate medical attention, like Salvadore, time had just become an even greater issue. "She's pregnant, Lucas. I don't know how long ago her labor started, but there isn't much time." "What do you need me to do?" A new rush of adrenaline wired his muscles for action. "There's bottled water and a first aid kit in the Jeep. I need them." Lucas was relatively certain that a first aid kit wouldn't provide much support for birthing a child or patching up a bullet wound. The water would be good. But Victoria going after it was bad. Very bad. "It's a big risk." "It is. But it's one I need to take. You can't leave your station. You can cover me." He handed her the weapon. "You hold down the fort, I'll make the supply run." Victoria pushed the weapon back at him. "You're the marksman. Between the two of us, these people's best hope for survival lies with you. I'll get the supplies." If she thought arguing with him was going to do any good, she was wasting her time. He wasn't going to let her walk into the sights of an armed assailant. He took her hand and closed her fingers around the butt of the weapon. "Watch the wall. One already attempted to come over. And the gate." "Lucas," she started to argue. He hushed her debate with a kiss. As he reluctantly pulled away, he reminded her, "Cover me." Lucas moved down the steps before she could toss out another reason he shouldn't go. In the main room he paused to check on Salvadore. "We're moving you to a hiding place shortly. You hanging in there?" "Mr. Camp," Salvadore said, the hint of a smile on his lips contradicted by the faintness of his voice, "as I told your wife, please do not concern yourself with me. Take care of her and the others." Lucas patted him on the shoulder. "Don't waste your breath, my friend." No matter the graveness of the circumstances, Lucas had to smile. Victoria would never walk away from anyone in need. He flattened against the wall next to the massive doors that led from the courtyard to the main entry room of the monastery. This wasn't the only way out, but the back exit would leave him in the open far longer. The Jeep was maybe twelve yards from the front entrance, but anyone approaching the gate would have a clear shot. Lucas took another moment to weigh the risk then he moved. 356

Staying low and close to the wall, he ran quickly to the Jeep. The wind had settled. A quick pause to scan the courtyard, then the interior of the Jeep. Clear. The Jeep didn't have doors, which was handy. No worries about interior lights or creaks. He grabbed the first aid kit from the floorboard, then the two bottles of water they had purchased for the trip. They had been so enthralled with the landscape that neither of them had bothered with opening the water. Tucking the goods under one arm, he moved away from the Jeep. Keeping an eye on the gate, he headed back to the front entrance of the monastery. The distinct sound of compacting sand and dirt bristled his senses. Lucas's fingers tightened around a bottle of water, the only available weapon, as he prepared to spin around. A gunshot fragmented the night.

Chapter Six The man crumpled to the ground. Victoria fired two more shots at the second man as he blasted off rounds from the gate. The bastard ducked for cover. Lucas fell to the ground. Victoria's heart stumbled as an instant passed with him not moving. He rolled then scrambled through the open doorway, escaping into the cover offered by the monastery. Victoria's hands shook as she ordered her grip on the weapon to loosen. A ragged breath rushed past her lips. Lucas was inside. He was safe…unless he'd been hit by the man firing from the gate. Fear twisted in her chest. She couldn't risk leaving her post. She couldn't call out to her husband. Pounding footfalls on the narrow stairs leading up to the bell tower jerked her attention to the right. "Are you all right?" Lucas. Thank God. Victoria dropped the weapon. She hadn't meant to, but her fingers would no longer hold the cold steel. Her arms went around her husband. He held her tightly to his chest. She roved her hands over his body, drew back slightly. "You're not hit?" He shook his head. "You made sure of that." Victoria collapsed into his strong arms, the tears she couldn't hold back flowing like a hot, salty river against the cold harsh reality of their situation. They were supposed to be enjoying this vacation escape. How much longer could they continue to fight this battle of good versus evil? Not just this one, but the ones that appeared to find them on a regular basis? He held her close, whispering soothing words that only opened the emotional floodgate wider. She could not lose him.

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She would not lose him. Victoria stepped from his embrace and squared her shoulders. "We're both going down there and we're staying put. If they want us, they're going to have to come in after us." "You're right." Surprised, she managed a decent breath. "Let's get Salvadore to safety and take it from there." Depending on how long this standoff lasted, they could very well have a baby to deliver, as well. Victoria served as lookout as Lucas helped Salvadore down to the long-forgotten cellar. Lavina moaned softly with the building contractions. It wouldn't be long now. Once Salvadore was settled, Lucas worked to secure the door as best he could with the available decomposing junk. Using the faint light from her cell as little as possible, Victoria cleared a place for making Lavina more comfortable. Her water had broken so time was short. Victoria found an old cotton tarp folded on a sagging shelf. The inside of the tarp would be less dusty than the outside, so she turned the best side up and spread the tarp over the clearing she'd arranged, then she helped Lavina to move there. Lucas offered his jacket for a pillow. Lavina and her son shared one bottle of water while Victoria helped Salvadore to a few sips from the other bottle. "Too bad we don't have any matches." Victoria glanced up just as her cell's screen went dark again. Lucas held his own cell in one hand, the screen glowing, and what appeared to be an old lantern in the other. "Do you think it still works?" Hope dared to prick Victoria's senses. "There's fluid in the base and a wick. I think so." "Here." Victoria turned to Salvadore. He reached toward her and she immediately moved closer. "I wish I had something for the pain," she said. The man was suffering but the first aid kit had offered nothing for pain relief. A small tube of antibacterial salve. Antiseptic hand cleaner and a few bandages. The gauze and tape had provided a dressing for his wounds. But nothing else. "Use this." Salvadore placed a small object in her hand. "I guess my bad habit has finally come in handy." A lighter. Victoria smiled. "Very handy," she agreed. She passed the small plastic lighter to her husband. Within a few seconds he had the lantern lit. Victoria pressed her fingers to her lips, gratitude welling inside her. With what they had ahead of them, the meager light was a true blessing. Lucas pulled Victoria to the side, away from the others. "When they figure out no one is monitoring movement around the courtyard, they'll move in." Victoria nodded. "We took down two, but there's no way to know how many more are out there." "I'm guessing two or three at most." Lucas looked thoughtful for a moment. "If there were more, they would have stormed the place by now. Still, they have to know our resources are limited."

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His point was valid. "We can take out at least one more if they try coming through that door." Lucas had done a fine job of making it a less-than-easy feat considering what he had to work with. "Maybe two if they charge in together." But the enemy knew they were armed. Their retreat to this hiding place would suggest that they were out of ammunition. "I'll listen for signs of their arrival," Lucas offered. "If you need me, just say the word." Victoria squeezed his arm before letting go. "We'll get through this." He brushed his fingers across her cheek. "Yes, we will. You have my word." Her determination and courage shored up, Victoria checked on Salvadore once more before settling next to Lavina. "Are the contractions closer?" Lavina nodded, her face constricted with pain. Her child sat on the other side of her. He held on tight to the sleeve of her blouse. His mother had warned him to be very quiet no matter what happened. "When did you and Emilio get here?" With all that had been going on, Victoria hadn't asked a lot of questions. "This morning." Lavina swallowed hard. "When I find building like this I wanted to go back home," she explained. "But the baby was coming. I look for a place to hide from the gringos who roam the desert." Victoria understood. The men outside were likely nothing more than sand pirates. Bastards roaming the desert looking for tourists to rob or kidnap. Or worse, drug or arms smugglers. "Did you have any difficulties when Emilio was born?" Victoria hoped not. Of course that didn't guarantee she wouldn't have problems this time, but it would give Victoria some understanding of what was to come. Lavina shook her head. "He came fast. No trouble." "Well." Victoria scrubbed her hands with the antiseptic cleaner. "Let's see where we are." Lavina bent her knees and widened them as Victoria tucked the skirt of her dress up to her thighs. Once undergarments were out of the way, Victoria barely stifled a gasp. The baby was crowning. She met Lavina's gaze. "Looks like this one is ready to join us." Lucas waved at Victoria then touched his lips. Her breath caught as she heard what had garnered his attention. Heavy steps overhead. The enemy was searching the monastery.

Chapter Seven Lucas took a position against the stone wall to the left side of the hidden entrance. He'd changed the clip in his weapon to be on the safe side. If the trouble came through that door, they were going down. No way were they getting past him.

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He braced for the worst. A low moan drew his attention to his wife. She leaned forward and whispered to Lavina. Victoria patiently stroked her hair and smiled comfortingly. The small boy sat silently watching. The scene tugged at Lucas's heart. His wife—the woman he loved more than life—was more beautiful now than she had been thirty some odd years ago when they had first met. Though they had no children together, he had been at the hospital when Jim was born. He'd paced the waiting room right alongside Jim's father. Years later Lucas had held Victoria in his arms as she grieved the loss of her first husband, Lucas's best friend. He had never loved anyone, never wanted to be with anyone but Victoria. Having her become his wife had been the happiest day of his life. He didn't intend to miss a moment of the rest of their lives. Together. The thugs tearing through the rooms upstairs weren't going to take that away from him. Lucas listened, tried to determine the number. Two, maybe three. Not such bad odds. He'd been in worse situations. The silence interrupted his musings. The enemy had either exited the monastery or gone still in an attempt to locate their prey. Not good. His fingers instinctively tightened on his weapon. Victoria's gaze lifted to the ceiling. Cobwebs lined the rafters that held up the floor separating the cellar from the kitchen overhead. The abrupt absence of noise had startled her as surely as if someone had tapped her on the shoulder. What were those bastards up to? The possibility that they had given up and gone on their way was too much to hope for. They were still there…watching and waiting. Lavina writhed with the pain of the next contraction. Victoria whispered soft encouragements to her. The baby would be here soon. Lavina pushed harder and the head was out. Joy burst in Victoria's chest. She cradled the baby's head and braced for the next contraction. They had reached the most difficult stage now. Emilio sat quietly just as his mother had told him to do. During the moment before the next contraction, Victoria watched her husband. He was as handsome as ever. Brave. Strong. He would give his life to protect hers, as she would to protect his. She closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer that neither of them would have to sacrifice so much. Lavina's body tensed. Victoria steadied herself, carefully supporting the baby. One long, hard push, then another. Lavina's fingers fisted in the old canvas tarp. Her face contorted with the effort of holding back her cries. The baby's shoulders were out and then the rest came quickly, its tiny arms and legs flailing. No matter the dire circumstances, Victoria smiled. A new life wiggled with promise in her hands. She wiped the baby's face, cleaned her nose—it was a girl. Victoria quickly placed the infant in her mother's arms and helped Lavina open the front of her dress. If the baby cried out… The newborn's wail filled the room. Lavina urged the baby's hungry mouth to her breast. Emilio looked ready to cry himself but he uttered not a sound. Salvadore's eyes had gone wide with both wonder and fear. Rushing footfalls reverberated overhead.

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Victoria ushered Emilio closer to his mother, pressed her finger to her lips and then extinguished the lantern. The room went black. Careful not to make a sound, she reared back into a crouch. She had no weapon, but she would fight to save these innocent lives. Two, no, three voices debated what they had heard. One man was certain he'd heard a child's cry while the other two remained dubious of their comrade's assertion. Victoria strained to make out the words. The man speaking sounded as if he were in charge. Their targets had no children in their company, he insisted. More arguing ensued as the one who'd heard the baby's cry stood by his contention. The man in charge cursed his companions for failing to accomplish the simple task of executing the man and woman more quickly. An icy mass of realization formed in Victoria's stomach. This was no kidnap and ransom attempt. Those men had been sent to assassinate her and Lucas. But why? Who would do this? They had both made their share of enemies, but none who seemed riled up at the moment. How had anyone learned of their vacation plans? They had been so careful. And yet, here they were, waiting in the dark for a deadly confrontation. Her gaze roved through the blackness to where she knew Lucas crouched, poised to protect her and the others. She didn't have to see him to know he would stand, battle ready and unhesitatingly prepared to fight to the death. A bead of sweat slipped down Lucas's brow. He quieted his heart rate, listening, waiting. They were close now. Gathered in the old, run-down kitchen, desperate to find their missing targets. One of the three voices—he had identified three distinct male voices—insisted the woman and two men had escaped and that his colleague was surely hearing things. But the dominant of the three was having no part of that theory. He knew they were still here. Hiding. Thunder seemed to rage overhead as the three started to bang on the walls in search of hidden passages. Lucas slowed his respiration and tightened his grip on the weapon. At the loud sounds, the boy who had until now been so quiet cried out. The makeshift door moved a bit. The obstacles Lucas had put in place held a little longer before the door rammed inward. Someone stumbled but quickly caught himself. The beam of a flashlight floated over the stairs. Lucas held his position. The light wouldn't be able to reach him until the attackers were halfway down the winding steps. He had to make every shot count. There was no margin for error and no room for compassion. His finger snugged against the trigger. He fired. The first of the three tumbled down the remaining steps. Lucas moved forward, putting his body between the path of the flashlight's beam and the others. 361

Gun blasts exploded in the dank cellar. The flashes of light from the barrels of the weapons pinpointing the exact location of the shooters. Lucas fired a second time. Another man fell. The golden beam bobbed in the darkness as the flashlight bounced down the steps. Moaning and wailing filled the emptiness that followed. Then the sound of running steps overhead warned that the third man had opted to flee. Lucas rushed after him. Victoria steadied herself, sucked in a much-needed breath and weaved through the clutter. She grabbed the flashlight and checked the two men who'd gone down, confiscating their weapons. More shots rang out somewhere overhead and fear tightened its noose around her heart. She hurried to Salvadore's side and pressed one of the weapons into his hand. "I have to help Lucas. Take care of things here." "Senora, I believe you should stay." But Victoria was already on her way up the steps before he'd finished his plea. She clicked the flashlight off and eased into the kitchen. The silence crushed in on her. Where were they? She prayed Lucas was safe. Forcing all other thought—and her fears—from her mind, she cautiously moved from room to room. A burst of shots in the distance guided her toward the front of the monastery. They were outside. The stars and moon seemed to light the courtyard like an airport runway after the darkness inside. Lucas stood over the man who had tried to escape. As Victoria walked closer she watched her husband disarm the man and then secure him with his own belt. She glanced at where the other two attackers had fallen, one by the wall, one near the Jeep. Her knees tried to buckle. It was over. This time.

Chapter Eight Hospital Angeles Leon, Guanajuato, Mexico, August 22, 10:45 a.m. Victoria squeezed Lavina's hand. "Your baby daughter is beautiful." Emilio sat at his mother's bedside. He had been so good. Victoria and Lucas had taken him for breakfast once Lavina, the baby and Salvadore were settled into rooms. Now, nearly three hours later, Emilio's cousins were en route to help him and his mother. Victoria had seen to it that Lavina and her little family would have everything they needed until she was on her feet once more. Salvadore would be released tomorrow and his recovery would be a speedy one. The man claimed he had far too much to do to lie around fretting over a mere gunshot wound. "Thank you, Victoria." Lavina offered a smile but her lips trembled with the emotion shining in her eyes. "I wish to name my daughter Victoria, if that is agreeable to you."

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Tears welled in Victoria's own eyes. "I would be honored to have such a beautiful child as my namesake." They talked a moment more and after hugs, Victoria went in search of her husband. He had been called away for more questioning by the authorities. They'd also heard from Sloan. Rachel and their new baby boy were through the danger and all was well. Victoria hadn't burdened him with their encounter. Later, when his wife and new son were home, she would fill him in. Of course, knowing Sloan, he would learn the details and call her before she had a chance to return to Chicago. Home. Victoria missed her family and her agency. She would be glad when she and Lucas were safely back in Chicago. This vacation, in her opinion, was officially over. She'd spoken to her son as soon as they had arrived at the hospital. He'd wanted to rush to Mexico but she had persuaded him to wait until later in the afternoon. She and Lucas would travel back to Chicago with Jim via the agency's jet this evening. Her son had insisted that security had to be top priority. Victoria paused. Lucas stood at the nurses' desk chatting with the doctor who had taken such good care of the three patients she and Lucas had arrived with in the middle of the night. The drive through the desert in that old Jeep had been a long one. Perhaps not really so terribly long but it had felt like an eternity. Lucas's jacket had been forgotten in the cellar back at the monastery. His white shirt was far from white and was torn in more than one place. His trousers showed signs of the struggle for survival. But he looked amazing. Tall, strong, handsome—even with that day's beard growth darkening his jaw. He turned, their gazes met and the world seemed to stop turning. Those gray eyes drew her to him as if he'd issued the command out loud. His arms went around her and she felt safe and so very happy. They were alive. Lucas drew back and ushered her away from the desk. "I hear there's a small café close by that serves the best coffee in all of Mexico." "I'm not so sure they'll want to seat us," Victoria said, reminding him of their disheveled appearance, "much less serve us." They were both a mess. Lucas turned her to face him, and his gaze roamed down her stained and tattered blue dress to the wrecked sandals on her feet and back up. He touched her hair. She'd removed the pins and allowed it to fall around her shoulders hours ago. Though she'd washed up as best she could, Victoria was certain she looked a fright. "How could they possibly deny service to the most beautiful woman in all of Mexico?" She shook her head and wrapped her arm around his. "Fine. Come along." She tugged him toward the elevator. "That coffee is sounding better and better." Mainly she wanted to see the sun and to smell the fresh air. And to be alone, sort of, with her own private hero. She looked up at him as they boarded the waiting elevator car. They had a fireplace back home. At least one bottle of wine somewhere in the house. Tonight would be a new celebration. One of happiness and immense gratitude. Lucas kept his wife close as they exited the hospital and strolled to the nearby café. The sun had chased away the last of the night's crisp air. It felt good to be alive. He glanced at Victoria. And to have her safely at his side.

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The Federales had suggested that yesterday's attack had been just another kidnap and ransom attempt, but Lucas wasn't so sure after what he'd overheard back in that monastery. The man they had captured refused to talk. A records check had confirmed that he had a long history of criminal activity, but he wasn't giving up a single word related to the attack on Lucas and Victoria—not even after the promise of a lighter sentence. As soon as they were back in Chicago, the Colby Agency would initiate an investigation of its own. They would get to the bottom of this mystery. Lucas couldn't help wondering exactly where Slade Keaton had been the past few days. Victoria would be annoyed that Lucas had even taken that mental path, but he couldn't ignore his instincts. "This place is lovely," Victoria said as Lucas pulled out a chair at their table. As soon as one of the nurses had told Lucas about the place, he had known he had to bring Victoria here. That ancient Mexican art and pottery she loved so much dominated the café's décor. He ordered their coffee and settled into the chair across from his wife. "It's still no match to my view." Victoria shook her head. "Lucas, you've always known how to make me feel like the most special woman in the world." He kissed her hand. "You make my work too easy." The waitress delivered their coffee. He and Victoria savored the warm brew as she directed his attention to various pieces of art. He loved just listening to her talk, watching her enthusiasm. There was no one else like her. The image of that other woman, the one at the café who'd disappeared so suddenly, invaded his head. No. He'd been mistaken. She had nothing to do with any of this. Who knew if she was even still alive. No matter what the local authorities said—or anyone else—Lucas knew who he had to watch. Slade Keaton. For today, for this moment, Lucas had something better to do. Enjoy his wife's company. He leaned forward, took Victoria's hand in his, and lost himself to the moment they had both earned.

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Perfect Passion By Day Leclaire Jett St. John had seen the happiness her company's matchmaking computer program could bring. Was it so wrong to want that for herself? And to do it without her father—Justice St. John, the head of Sinjin— watching her every move? Jett didn't think so, so she hacked into the program…and found him. He was successful, smart and gorgeous—in short, perfect. Now all she had to do was fly to a Caribbean paradise and meet the stranger who could make her dreams come true…. John Robert "Trey" Treyhearn had one all-consuming goal—to out-compete Sinjin in every way and take his own robotics firm to the top of the industry. And this match was his chance to do exactly that. But he hadn't counted on the program finding someone who was intelligent, warm and sexy—in short, perfect. How could he choose between the company he'd devoted his life to build and a woman he never dared hope he'd find? Especially when he discovered her name….

Chapter One Lonely. How long had she been feeling that way? Jett St. John frowned in consideration. Months? Years? Or, more likely, since birth, thanks to how awful her life had been before she was adopted. Oh, sure. She now had more friends and family than she could count. Was adored by them and adored them in return, particularly her adoptive parents, Daisy and Justice St. John. But in the ten years since they'd created that family, years in which she'd gone from a cocky, abrasive sixteen-year-old to a cocky, abrasive twenty-six-year-old, she realized she was missing one vital element in her own life. Love. But all that might soon change. Jett pulled out a round glass disc and set it on the table. Checking to make sure her office door was closed and locked, she touched a small button on the disc. Instantly a hologram of a man appeared, standing on the disc like something out of an old Star Wars movie. "PM-5468," the computer chip announced, reeling off the identification code the man had been assigned by the Pretorius Program. The Pretorius Program was the crown jewel of the software branch of Sinjin, Justice St. John's robotics firm. At sixteen, Jett had started working on the program alongside its developer, Pretorius St. John, her father's uncle. Of course, the program had nothing to do with robotics and everything to do with creating perfect matches for business, pleasure or matrimony. Ironic, to say the least, considering Jett's current plan. "Tell me about yourself," she requested. The recording the man had made kicked in, giving her an opportunity to study—and appreciate—the way he moved and spoke. "I gather I'm not allowed to tell you my name," he said, his mouth curving into an appealing half-smile. "Let's see… I'm an engineer in the electronics field and love my job. I have to admit I'm a bit of a workaholic, but I play almost as hard as I work. I enjoy sports, hiking, and prefer reading over TV or movies." He was gorgeous, Jett conceded, his movements clearly those of an athletic man, yet she could see the intelligence reflected in his aquamarine eyes and carved into the stunning planes of his face. But she also 365

caught a hint of wariness there and couldn't help wondering about it. Since she'd made a similar recording for the Pretorius matchmaking program, she knew what questions he'd have been required to answer and asked one from the list. "What are your goals in life?" she asked. PM's hologram flickered and when he reappeared, he lounged against a large desk made from a dark, glassy material that resembled her own desk. "I guess my goal is to be the best." A determined intensity echoed through his words and body language. "To beat out my competitors and be the top in my field." Okay, that reminded her of her father, and not in a good way. "And your dreams?" Jett prompted. The wariness reappeared, as though the question touched a part of him he normally kept hidden. "I suppose it would be to find you…my perfect match." His honesty was devastating, his smile filled with a self-mocking amusement. But it was his quiet stoicism that slipped into her heart and took root. A weariness that told her he expected the rug to be ripped from beneath his feet at any moment, a feeling she was all too familiar with. "Assuming you even exist." "Oh, I exist," Jett murmured. "I just didn't know you did." She hadn't expected him to touch something inside of her, a longing she'd kept carefully locked away. But listening to those brief comments had filled her with a yearning that became a physical ache. She wanted this man. Wanted to meet him. Talk to him. Dig down and find out what he hid behind his stoicism and wariness. A soft, rapid knock sounded at Jett's door and she quickly turned off the disc and tucked it away before unlocking her office door. Her best friend and coworker, Bailey, scurried inside, waving a paper in her hand. "Got it! The flight reservation just came through." "No one suspects PW-5467 is me?" Jett demanded. "You're positive we managed to slip my accessing the Pretorius Program past Dad and Uncle P?" Jett had been hesitant to use the Pretorius Program. Knowing her father, he'd no doubt laced the software code with booby traps for anybody who tried to hack the system. Even her careful search for the perfect soul mate could have set off alarms, warning the system—and her father—that she'd accessed the program. Even though she considered herself an outstanding hacker, there was always the chance they'd discover what she was up to. No way was she going to allow that to happen. "Positive." Bailey swung the door closed, closeting them in the office. "You're booked to head out on Friday for a glorious week on Sinjin's private Caribbean island to meet the man of your dreams." Jett gave what she hoped was a casual shrug to Bailey's romantic statement. "Time will tell." Bailey hesitated then shrugged as well. "Do you want to hack in again and find out who he is?" "I already know who he is." Bailey's eyes widened in shock and for some reason she turned a bit pale. "You do?" Jett smiled. "Sure. He's brilliant. Hard-working." She hesitated, feeling a hint of warmth sweep across her cheekbones. "Among other things." 366

"Wait a minute. You played his disc, didn't you?" Bailey accused. "And there's something else. Something that's making you blush. Is it something you actually know, or something else you've guessed?" "Guessed." Jett thought about her father's basic decency, then confessed, "He'll be nice." "Nice?" Bailey wrinkled her stub nose. "That's so mundane. What about good-looking? Or rich? Or even someone in the business?" "Nice," Jett repeated, though she already knew he was good-looking and in the software business. "A man who'll stick with me during the rough times. A man who might want a family someday. A man capable of love." She gave it a little more thought. "And if he rocks in bed, I can live with that." *** An hour later Bailey swung by Justice St. John's office. Not seeing anyone around, she poked her head in and gave him the thumb's up. "She doesn't suspect?" Justice asked. "Nope. She thinks she pulled off the hack without you guys catching on. She leaves Friday." Justice closed his eyes, hoping like hell he'd done the right thing. "Thanks for your help, Bailey." "Anything for you or Jett. You know that. I just want her to be happy." "Let's hope Treyhearn feels the same way once he meets my daughter." Otherwise, Justice wouldn't just take his main business rival out…but utterly destroy him.

Chapter Two John Robert "Trey" Treyhearn read through the material his PA handed him. "This is all the information they've provided for…" He checked the packet again. "For PW-5467?" "There's a recording. I believe it has an interactive feature," Les replied. "They've also arranged for the two of you to meet and become acquainted in the seclusion of some private Caribbean island that Sinjin owns. You'll stay on the island for one week and if it works out between you, the relationship continues from there. Otherwise…" He shrugged, making it clear that the two would part ways, no harm, no foul. Trey nodded, not really surprised. He'd understood that was part of the process. "Have you been able to track down the identity of PW-5467?" Les shook his head. "I'm afraid not. I was hesitant to try and hack Sinjin's system too far in case they caught me." "Let it go. I'd rather not send up any flags on that front." Trey frowned over the dearth of information provided by Sinjin. He fingered the glass disc. Maybe the recording would tell him more. If he hoped to create a program capable of directly competing with the Pretorius Program, he needed far more information than what he currently had in his possession. "Tell them we won't require flight assistance. Arrange for my jet, instead."

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"You sure you want to go through with this? There are other ways to take down Sinjin." "I prefer this method. I want to go head-to-head with Sinjin on all possible fronts and prove my company is superior in every way." "Then I'll send a confirmation to the Pretorius people," his PA said before exiting. Trey leaned back in his chair. Was that why Justice St. John had requested a meeting with him? Had St. John somehow found out Trey had been attempting to find a match through the Pretorius Program? If so, too bad. Once he analyzed how the program worked, he would develop his own version. If he succeeded in creating a superior program to Sinjin's, he'd be able to out-compete Sinjin in every arena and finally make his company, Dynamic, the number one robotics company in the world. It would give him everything he'd ever wanted. Trey sat and reviewed the information he'd received on his match a final time. The file contained PW's vital statistics. Five foot four, dark hair and eyes, 110 pounds. Software engineer. He put the disc on his desk and pressed the button, initiating the hologram of a woman. "PW-5467," the computer chip stated just before her image appeared. Okay, wow. She was intriguing, to say the least. Delicate, yet he could see her feistiness in both stance and attitude. Her hair was short and dark as a moonless night with eyes to match. She dressed in black jeans and a T-shirt, her thumbs hooked in her waistband while she stood in front of a desk very similar to his own. She gazed out at him, leading with her chin. Fascinating. "Who are you?" he murmured. "My name is—" A smile gave her an impish appearance. "Oh, I'm not allowed to say that." "Fair enough." His eyes narrowed in thought. "What do you do?" The hologram blinked and then the woman reappeared. "Hey, you can read that in the material. I thought you wanted to get to know me." She crossed her arms across her chest, openly challenging him. "The real me." He stood, circled his desk, utterly captivated. "Okay, tell me about yourself." The hologram gave another jump. "I'm not quite sure how to answer that." She hesitated, lounging against the desk, her eyes drifting shut for a moment while she gathered herself. "As uncomfortable as this makes me, I'll be really honest with you." A deep, feminine wariness flitted through her gaze. "I'm lonely, okay? I haven't met a man who's come close to being right for me. I'm not even sure he exists. But here's who I am. I'm intelligent and a bit sarcastic." "I'd never have guessed," Trey replied. She lifted her shoulder in a quick shrug, though he knew it wasn't in response to his irony since the program couldn't interact to that extent. "I guess sarcasm is my shield, something I learned to use as a kid to protect myself." She hastened onward as though she'd betrayed too much. Something about her past, he realized. Something that had had a profound effect on her. "I love nature in all its forms, its colors and shapes and its chaotic way of being. I don't know, maybe it's because the rest of my life is so structured 368

and linear." Now her wariness eased into vulnerability and her voice dropped to a husky whisper. "I want the dream, you know? I want what my parents found. Is that so wrong?" The question hit hard, the longing behind it slashing through his defenses and tugging at a heart he denied possessing. No, it wasn't wrong. He understood her desire, it just wouldn't happen with him. How could it when he didn't believe perfect love actually existed? Despite the Pretorius Program's claims, there was no such thing as perfection. Not when it came to true love or soul mates or whatever else this woman hoped to find. And yet… He gazed at the hologram, the woman's lovely features etched with longing. What if she ended up being his perfect match? Trey laughed. Yeah, right. Not a chance in hell. No doubt he'd have a terrific week with a gorgeous woman with a brain capable of doing more than calculating the latest discount at Bloomingdale's. At least she would if the Pretorius Program worked as promised. Even if she didn't, what the hell? Maybe he'd get lucky and spend the entire week in bed with her. And if she happened to possess any of the other attributes he considered a must-have in the woman he eventually married? Not possible. He'd realized long ago that he wasn't a man destined to know love. He didn't even believe in the emotion. Nor would he find someone who met most, let alone all, of his criteria—a woman who possessed unwavering loyalty. Who understood the concept of honor. Who was brilliant. Was capable of working alongside of him. Respected his work ethic. And yet, who also wanted a family. No, the woman of his dreams didn't exist, and wishing she did wouldn't change that fact. He gave an impatient shrug. Hell, best to be practical. If she rocked in bed, he could live with that. *** Les glanced around to make absolutely certain he wouldn't be seen or overheard. Flipping open his cell phone, he dialed the private number he'd been given. It was answered on the first ring. "Does he suspect?" "No, Mr. St. John. Nor is he aware of the identity of the match. He flies out Friday." "I appreciate your help, Les." "Mr. St. John… He still intends to take you down. He still blames you for—" "I know what he blames me for. But…she's my daughter, Les." "Trey's a good man in every regard except when it comes to you. I'm sure he'd never use her to hurt you." "If he does—" Justice fought to keep his voice even, though his gut twisted at the mere thought. "I will stop him." 369

"He needs closure. It's the only way. This is the only way," Les said. And prayed he was right.

Chapter Three Jett arrived on Destiny Isle late Friday afternoon, the final leg of the journey accomplished by boat. The island boasted a single mountain, which no doubt had been a volcano at some point in its life, but was now covered in banana and coconut palms. Though they approached from the south, they circumvented the island to its western side where she discovered that, rather than being round, the island was actually crescent shaped. A long pier extended from one of the sandy arms as it curved out to embrace a glorious aquamarine lagoon, complete with a powdered-sugar sand beach. The brochure had promised her a snorkeler's paradise and from what she could see it hadn't lied. Tucked snugly between lagoon and mountain sprawled a huge villa. "Why did they put the pier out here instead of in the lagoon?" she asked the boat's captain. He grinned, his teeth a brilliant flash of white against his dark face. "Coral eat da boat." She returned his grin. "That would be bad, right?" "Serious sufferation," he confirmed with a laugh. He pointed toward the lagoon. "No trade winds on dis side. Storms, they come from d'other side. Calm water for swimming and snorkeling here." The minute they docked, the captain transported her luggage to the villa. "We deliver Sa this morning." Sir, she interpreted. "He tallowah." Okay, she was clueless about that one, but considering the approval in the captain's voice, she'd take that as a positive. "Great." He accepted the gratuity she pressed into his hand with another wide grin. "See you inna di lights." She frowned over the words. "I hope that's soon," she said. "Oh, ya mon. Soon." And then he was gone, leaving her to face "Sa" on her own. Leaving her luggage on the wide verandah, she opened the door and stepped inside the villa. Sunlight filtered in behind her, revealing a shadow-draped foyer. She couldn't hear anyone, didn't even sense anyone. Overhead a fan revolved in lazy circles, which told her the island possessed a generator. That meant both A/C, lights and other modern conveniences, thank goodness. She walked farther into the foyer, the heels of her sandals clicking against the pale, bamboo hardwood flooring. So where the heck was Sa? No sooner had she thought the question than she sensed him behind her. Whirling around, she found him, his huge form taking up the entire doorway. With the sun at his back his features were cast in shadow. "PW-5467, I presume?" he asked. She recognized his voice from the disc, soft and deep and deliciously rough as it whispered across the space separating them.

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Jett deliberately lifted her chin in response. "And you must be PM-5468." "Guilty." He stepped across the threshold and walked toward her, pausing a scant foot in front of her. Dear God, he was gorgeous, even more gorgeous than his hologram suggested—and far more powerful and intimidating. How many times had she replayed his recording? Countless. And yet, it didn't do the reality justice. It didn't come close. He had to stand a full foot taller than her, his eyes almost the exact same shade as the water filling the lagoon. Best of all, it confirmed what she'd sensed from his hologram. Not only was he gorgeous, but intelligent. It was written all over him. She continued her appraisal, approving of everything she saw. His hair was a nutty brown streaked with blond highlights, and his face, while cut using a mold off the Beware: Heartbreaker shelf, had been beaten into even more intriguing lines by experience and character. While he studied her, she took her time studying him, allowing her gaze to wander from his face down over a body carved into tight, muscular angles and ridges—not to mention perfect masculine bumps and bulges—that would have left an envious Hercules crying like a little girl. When she looked up again, her gaze clashed with his. His eyes turned incandescent, burning with unmistakable desire. Without a word, he reached for her. His huge hands gently closed around the lapels of her blouse and he tugged her the final few inches separating them, allowing her to discover that all those angles and ridges, every bump and bulge was indeed, rock solid. And then he took her mouth. Set her world on fire and confirmed one key fact. This man would definitely rock in bed.

Chapter Four Trey couldn't explain what had gotten into him, couldn't explain why he'd grabbed her. Why he'd kissed her. Like a throwback to a far distant time in human development, he saw, he wanted, he took. Why the devil did they have to send him a pixie? And why the hell hadn't he realized from the hologram that's what she was? He must have replayed the various recordings a hundred times, unable to explain what drew him to this woman. And yet, for all his viewings, he hadn't realized just how tiny she'd be. He was a total sucker for those small, delicate types. He drew the pixie up, closer still, unable to get enough of her. Her mouth was soft as butter, her tongue a delicious duel, her urgent sigh threatening to blow the top straight off his head. And while she seemed so small and fine-boned within the safety of his arms, the curves pressed against him were all woman. Unable to help himself, he allowed his hands to stray into uncharted territory, mapping them, committing them to memory. Her shoulders revealed sinewy muscle, confirming that the Pretorius Program had proven successful in meeting one of his criteria. She was athletic. His hands drifted lower, cupping the weight of her breasts that fit his palms as though made for them. Her breath escaped in a gasp. "I can't believe this is happening," she said. "You and me both, PW."

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And still he couldn't bring himself to stop, to even pretend he possessed an ounce of sophistication or restraint. His hands slipped farther downward, found the minuscule waist, the soft, slope of her toned abdomen. The sexy curve of hip and backside. And then the heated core of her. One touch and he knew they both were in serious trouble. They broke apart at the exact same instant, dragging air into their lungs in collective gulps. He swore, furious at himself for acting the part of an utter ass. "I'm sorry. That was totally inappropriate." He focused hot eyes in her direction. "I have no idea what the hell got into me." Huge black eyes stared back at him, glazed with a combination of desire and confusion. "The Pretorius Program, I suspect." He smiled. "Okay, I can live with blaming my idiocy on one of Sinjin's programs if you can." Her mouth twitched in response, lush, ripe lips still swollen from his kiss. And then she shocked him again by bursting out laughing. "I have to admit I'm pleasantly surprised. I thought this week would be a total bust." She combed her fingers through her short, sassy black hair in such an automatic, careless manner that he knew she wasn't the sort of woman who obsessed over her looks. Another point in her favor. "Despite your recording, I figured good ol' PP would fix me up with some computer nerd who couldn't tell a woman's processor from her microchips." PP? An instant later, the nickname clicked. The Pretorius Program. "Trust me, PW, your processors and microchips are impossible to confuse." "Yours, too." She held out her hand. "Call me Jett. I prefer it over PW." For some reason the name rang a faint bell but he couldn't think why. "Trey." He took her hand in his and then gave it a gentle tug, bringing her body into his once more. He could see in her eyes that she expected him to lose control again. He deliberately refrained, settling for a slow, gentle joining of lips. Hats off to St. John. He was hitting all the right buttons and confirming Trey's fervent hope. This woman would definitely rock in bed.

Chapter Five Jett dressed for their first dinner together in a floor-length sarong-style gown in a deep ruby red. The instant she'd noticed it in the shop window, it had struck her as the perfect choice for her tropical getaway. She'd been told that a catering company from a neighboring island would provide their first meal and their last, but that she and Trey would be responsible for the rest of their food in order to create as much intimacy as possible between them. Sure enough, when she stepped into the small, cozy dining room, she found the table set with silver and crystal. Candlelight staged the romantic setting while flowers perfumed the sultry air. Like everything else so far, it couldn't have been any more perfect. Trey joined her a moment later. Like her, he'd dressed for the occasion, wearing a black tux that screamed designer and fit him so perfectly she knew it couldn't possibly be a rental. Interesting. That suggested money, though it hadn't been one of her requirements.

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He greeted her with a disappointingly chaste kiss before holding out her chair. "You look stunning, Jett." Then he turned her bones to water by tracing a series of heated kisses across her collarbone, lingering for a long moment at the sensitive curve between throat and shoulder. She struggled to regain her composure while he left her to take his seat, praying her expression didn't reveal how deeply he'd affected her. She waited until they'd been served the first course of their dinner by an unobtrusive waiter. Taking a quick, restorative sip of the crisp chardonnay that accompanied the meal, she asked, "So, Trey, why don't we get the mundane out of the way." She gave him a smile that told him she was laughing at herself. "What do you do? The information provided was a tad vague on that front." He hesitated just an instant too long, warning her that his response wouldn't quite be the entire truth. "Same as you. Software engineer." "In my case I really am a software engineer." She tilted her head to one side and regarded him over the rim of her wineglass. "Something tells me you're a little more than that." "Yes." She laughed. "Okay, fair enough. After all, we've only just met. We don't have to confess all our dirty little secrets during the first dinner together." She deliberately kept the conversation light and casual throughout the rest of the meal, delighted to discover they shared an interest in jazz, had both vacationed in New Orleans on numerous occasions and considered Cajun-style tiger prawns at Boudreaux's Bayou the only ones worth eating. They also both preferred their coffee thick as mud and black as tar, and were inexplicably drawn to blown glass, particularly the otherworldly creations of Josh Simpson. Afterward, they moved to the great room where soft music played in the background and a coffee service sat on a silver tray. As they walked into the room, instead of helping himself to coffee, Trey surprised her by pulling her into his arms and slowly moving her in time to the music. She drifted across the room with him, delighted by how well they moved together. It was amazing that they fit so perfectly in so many ways. Though why should that surprise her? She'd spent a full decade watching the Pretorius Program work its magic. Was it so wrong that she wanted the magic for herself? To believe that it could happen for her, too? She closed her eyes and melted into his body, giving herself up to the rhythm of their movements, the lovely slide of male against female. The embers that had ignited when they'd first kissed flared to life once again and began a slow, hot burn. "This is really nice," she murmured, glancing up at him with a smile. He returned her smile, but she could see something was bothering him. "Tell me, Jett. What are you hoping to get out of this?" He'd grown comfortable enough with her to ask a serious question, she noted. His fingers feathered along the length of her spine while a helpless shiver followed in their path. And he'd grown comfortable with other things, too…. "At the very least, a week of romance," she managed to say. "And at the most?" She shook her head, unwilling to take the lead. "Nope. You first." 373

His hand stilled for a beat. Then, as though unable to resist, he renewed its slow exploration. "Are you after marriage?" Trey's mouth twisted ever so slightly, warning marriage wasn't on his own to-do list. "Happily ever after?" "Not a fan of fairy tales?" she asked lightly. "Not even a little." Though the words contained a hard warning, his hands were gentle and protective, at odds with his statement. For some odd reason it gave her hope. "Then maybe you should answer your own question, Trey. What do you want? Why are you here? What were you expecting to find if not romance or marriage?" His eyes darkened, filled with shadows. Filled with secrets. Compassion flooded through her. Clearly, he'd been hurt in the past, been betrayed on some level. And he expected it to happen again. Her arms tightened around his neck. She wished she could somehow reassure him. Not that she could. She'd learned through her own difficult past that only time would prove to him that she wasn't like whoever had cause that horrible pain and distrust. "I don't expect to find anything," Trey stated abruptly. "But I was hoping for… Well, time will tell, won't it?" Jett's heart went out to him, recognizing his instinct to guard his heart. "Yeah, me, too," she whispered. Maybe it would help if she opened the door to her past a crack, allowed him to see that he wasn't alone. That she understood all about pain and distrust and betrayal. "I was sixteen when my adoptive parents found love. Lucky me. I watched them fall head over heels in love, witnessed how it could be done right versus…" She broke off, the dark memories choking her. He didn't back away from the darkness, which impressed the hell out of her. "Versus what you saw before you were adopted?" "Yeah. It…it was pretty ugly." He hesitated, his understanding sharp and yet, empathetic. "And you're afraid that ugliness is still a part of you, that it means you won't find your own perfect match." "Something like that, yeah." She looked at him, allowing her shadows and secrets to show through. "And you? Did you decide not to have any expectations because then you wouldn't be disappointed when you didn't get what you truly wanted? What do you want, Trey?" she asked again. "I want…you. You've brought me hope that the impossible might be possible." Then he shocked her by sweeping her up into his arms. "I want you, Jett. Now. No pretense. No waiting. Just a straight yes or no. Will you make love with me?" There was only one answer she could possibly give. "Yes." She melted against him. "In fact… Hell, yes."

Chapter Six Trey carried Jett to the master suite. Like the rest of the villa, it was the height of luxury, featuring a huge four-poster bed with a canopy of bridal-white tulle. If there was a bit more silk and lace than a man found comfortable, for some strange reason it suited the woman he held, so he supposed he could live with it.

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He set her on the bed, the deep red of her gown a vibrant splash against the paleness of the comforter. "I hadn't expected to take you to bed." Honesty forced him to admit, "At least, not this soon." "But I'm here now." "Which is convenient to say the least," he conceded. "But I don't want to take advantage of you." He waited, fighting to keep his hands to himself, determined to walk away if she changed her mind. Instead she reached for him and dragged him down. "Then why don't we take advantage of each other?" He'd always considered self-restraint one of his strongest assets, but with that single, softly feminine touch, his control melted away like a rain puddle beneath the hot Caribbean sunshine. He sank into her, took her mouth as he planned to take her body…thoroughly. He found the clasp holding her gown in place and released it. Unwrapped her like she was the most precious of gifts, baring the milky paleness of her skin to his gaze. "You are…" He shook his head, momentarily at a loss for words. "Beyond anything I could possibly have imagined." She tugged at the bow tie of his tux, tossing it aside. One by one, she stripped him of his shirt studs and then shoved his shirt down his arms and off. "Impressive," she said. She traced the width of his chest, her fingers light and tantalizing, causing his breathing to deepen and hitch. She looked at him, her eyes glittering like the stone for which she'd been named. "Very impressive." "Should we consider that another perfect match?" "Without question." He cupped her breast, a perfectly shaped handful with a nipple the color of raspberries. It begged to be tasted. Who was he to resist? She sighed at the first touch of his tongue, the sound a siren's call. Her skin felt just like the silk at her back yet warm and vibrant, quivering beneath his hands. Heat sparked. Caught. Flared. And then exploded between them. They fought, hands clashing in their desperation to strip the other of the rest of their clothing and take care of protection. And then came a brief hush. That moment when artifice vanished and vulnerability crept from the shadows. He reached for her. Gently. Tenderly. And she came to him, opened to him with a womanly softness and unmistakable eagerness. And he took with a man's aggressiveness and unmistakable urgency. Their bodies mated with a stunning perfection. How was that possible? How could a computer program have found a woman who matched him so exactly? She wrapped him up in an unbreakable embrace, moving with him to a rhythm a part of him instinctively recognized, responded to, celebrated. The pounding of their hearts matched the distant pounding of the surf against the shoreline, their sighs echoing the trembling of the leaves beneath the tropical breeze, their cries of climax part of the night's joyous call to the burgeoning moon. Never. Never had he experienced anything remotely similar to what he had this night with Jett. And that created a serious problem. He'd intended to use his experience with this woman to help him better understand how the Pretorius Program worked. After tonight, one thing had become painfully clear. 375

Instead of using her, more than anything he wanted to protect her…even if it was from himself.

Chapter Seven Jett woke to a glorious morning, held safe within Trey's arms, her head cushioned by his chest. "Good morning, gorgeous." His voice rumbled against her ear, laden with sleep and intense masculine satisfaction. She stretched against him, loving the abrasive slide of their bodies together, the solidness and power that made her feel so deliciously soft and feminine in comparison. "You mean, good morning, bed head," she responded with a teasing laugh. "You have spikes. It's cute. Makes you look even more like a wayward pixie." She winced. "Wayward, huh?" "Sure. Like you've wandered out of your natural element, tripped over a bit of fairy moss and found yourself in my bed." His description tickled her, but she wanted to make one fact very clear. "Last time I looked it was our bed." The correction caused him to smile. "Fair enough." She rolled onto her stomach, resting on her elbows, and cupped her chin in the palm of her hand. "Just FYI, you're looking a bit out of your element, as well." Trey speared his fingers through her hair and drew her in for a long, lazy kiss. By the time he released her she'd lost track of their conversation, though apparently he hadn't. "Out of my element? You don't think silk and lace is part of my natural lifestyle?" He flicked a drape of tulle that encircled one of the bedposts. "And whatever this stuff is?" She laughed. "Tulle. And no, I don't think it's part of your natural lifestyle." "Little do you know. My entire office is decorated in…" He made a face. "Tulle." "Liar." Jett tilted her head to one side. "I'd say your entire office is decorated in good, solid wood, all of it matching. Clean lines. Sparse furnishing. Practical and yet high quality." "Okay, I'm impressed. That describes it perfectly. What else?" She shot him a mischievous look. "Not a lot of color." He worked to appear offended. "Are you saying I have no artistry in my soul?" "In your soul, yes. But I question whether it's on your walls or splashed across your furniture." His brows drew together. "Well…hell."

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"Close?" "Nailed it dead-on." He focused the full intensity of those brilliant blue eyes on her. "My turn." "Uh-oh." "I'd say where I lack color, you run amok with it." "Amok?" "I'll get you a dictionary." Clearly in his element, he continued a tad too cheerfully, "I'd also guess that rather than matching furniture you go for something more eclectic. Either because you like the look, the texture or because it's butt-friendly." "Well…hell." His smile appeared downright sympathetic. "Payback's always a bitch." She traced a finger across his chest, drawing seemingly random patterns. "So, it would seem we're both pretty good at reading each other . Sort of surprising considering software geeks are renowned for being socially inept. You aren't. Why is that I wonder? Unless…" She speared him with a direct look. "You aren't just a software geek." "Truth time?" Jett shrugged. "I wouldn't mind." "Fair enough. I actually own the software company." "Impressive." "And you?" "Still a software geek." "But…?" he asked shrewdly. Laughter bubbled free. "But my father owns the software company I work for." She felt a sudden change in him, like the flick of a light switch. It was unmistakable. The stiffening. The alteration of his expression, flashing from relaxed and tender to totally closed over. Tough. Ruthless. Remote. "We never exchanged last names, did we?" "Oh, damn." She escaped the bed, dragging the sheet with her and wrapping it around her. Software. Trey. She was a total idiot. "Trey isn't your first name, is it? It's part of your last name. Treyhearn." "Guilty." He climbed from the bed, his nudity only adding to the sheer intimidation factor of the man. "And I don't suppose your last name is St. John?" "Also guilty." 377

And also a huge, dangerous, impossible-to-overcome problem. Her perfect match was the enemy.

Chapter Eight Trey stared in disbelief at Jett. No, not just Jett. Jett St. John. The daughter of his nemesis, the man he'd do literally anything to destroy. St. John had to be in on it. But why the hell had Justice St. John handed over his daughter on the proverbial silver platter? Why would he put such a powerful weapon in Trey's hands? There could only be one explanation. "This is a setup." Outrage flashed across Jett's face. "A setup? Are you kidding me? How do you figure that?" "St. John is hoping I'll say something indiscreet to you. That you'll get insider information you can use to take my company down." "Oh, yeah? Well, copy that, ditto and right back at you, pal," she snapped, stabbing a finger in his direction. "I had no idea who you were before I came here. In fact, my father didn't even know I ran myself through the Pretorius Program." Not true. Not even close to true, unless he missed his guess. But it did explain why St. John had approached him and asked for a meeting. What would he have said if Trey had agreed? Would he have pleaded for mercy? Offered a bribe? Made a threat? Not likely if he'd gone ahead and allowed Jett to come to Destiny Isle. So… What was St. John's ulterior motive? Trey had better figure it out, and fast. Trey folded his arms across his chest, fully aware that his nudity was unsettling her. Tough. "There's no way you didn't know who I was," he stated. "So cut the crap." "If I'd attempted to access your identity, I'd have tipped off my father and uncle." She grimaced. "They had traps set up everywhere in the program." He held up his hand. "Let's start over. Are you trying to tell me that you didn't come here on your father's request? That you ran the Pretorius Program on yourself?" He caught a hint of impatience flash across her delicate features. "Of course." "Without anyone at Sinjin aware it was you?" The impatience turned to embarrassment. "Yes," she confessed. "You really expect me to believe that story?" A painful vulnerability edged her expression, one that hit him hard and deep. He didn't want to sympathize with her. He wanted to suspect her of trying to deceive him, to know she'd set him up deliberately so that he wouldn't feel the least hesitation about taking her down with her father.

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Then she turned the tables on him. "What about you, Trey? Why are you here? Why would you agree to meet someone matched through a program created by your biggest rival?" He hesitated. "Curiosity." Then he held her with a hard gaze, slowly approached her even though he knew that his size alone made the act seriously intimidating. "Now for the million-dollar question…" She fell back a pace. "Trey—" "You're St. John's daughter. You have every possible advantage. Money. Social status. A job for as long as you feel like working." He paused directly in front of her, cutting off all avenues of escape. "Why would you run your name through the Pretorius Program? What's in it for you?"

Chapter Nine Why would Jett run her name through the Pretorius Program? What was in it for her? Did Trey really have to ask? She lifted her chin and glared at him. "I'd think that would be obvious, even to you." "Sure. You hoped to get insider information on my company that would help your father take me down." Jett started to plant her hands on her hips, then grabbed at the sheet when it began to fall. "Justice St. John doesn't need any help from me on that front. Not if you're as much of an idiot as you're acting." He flinched as though she'd struck him. "You think you can turn this back on me? I'm not the one who got you into this mess. You and your father managed that quite nicely on your own." "If I'd planned to somehow arrange for you to come here to gain insider information into your robotics firm, why would I have told you my real name? Since I'm lying about everything else, why wouldn't I have lied about that, too?" "Hell." He scrubbed his hands across his face, the hint of beard shadowing his jaw creating a raspy sound. "Okay, that's a valid point." "Thank you." His blue eyes pinned her, hot and intense. "Not that you've answered my question." "You know, I'd be a lot more inclined to answer your questions if you were actually dressed. For that matter, I'd be a lot more inclined to answer your questions if I were dressed, too. And had a shower. And a giant mug of hot coffee. So, you'll just have to wait until then to continue this discussion." She turned on her heel, the sheet trailing behind her and dipping low enough on her spine for him to see the delightful curves of her backside. Impatience speared through him and he swore bitterly. What the hell had happened to his legendary self-control? It was one of his defining characteristics, along with his patience. And yet all it had taken was a St. John pixie to totally shred it. Worse, she was right. They'd both handle this situation better once showered, clothed, coffeed and fed. At least, he hoped so. Though knowing her, she'd soon prove him wrong on that front, too. One other key question disturbed him. Whether Jett knew it or not, her father did know that she'd accessed the program…and knew who the program had selected as her perfect match. Why else would 379

he have asked Trey for a meeting? That put St. John in an extremely vulnerable position. It was something Trey needed to think long and hard about. A short fifteen minutes later Trey tracked Jett down in the kitchen, working on the coffee. Fair enough. He could manage some eggs and toast. They didn't speak, but went silently about their self-appointed tasks. Together they transferred breakfast to the dining room and took seats opposite each other. It was a far cry from last night's candlelit dinner. "Eat first?" Jett suggested. "Fine." Gazes locked, they made short work of the food. Downed coffee strong enough to tap dance across the table on its own. They each reached for the pot for a refill at the exact same time. He won that battle, but then filled her cup first. It didn't matter how angry he was, innate courtesy had been ingrained in him practically from the cradle, courtesy of his mother. "Thanks," she murmured. "You ready?" Jett sighed. "I guess." Her eyes wandered to the lush tropical paradise on the other side of the windows, and the wistful sorrow in her expression—something that looked painfully like the death of dreams—threatened to gut him. Here they were in a current-day Eden and a virtual snake had invaded—one carrying the name Justice St. John—preventing them from enjoying their surroundings. "Tell me the truth, Jett. Why did you run yourself through the Pretorius Program?" She looked at him then, bleakness in her gaze. "Because I was tired of being alone."

Chapter Ten Trey slowly returned his coffee cup to the table and stared at Jett. She flinched at the look of utter disbelief on his face. "You ran yourself through the Pretorius Program because you're…you're lonely?" he repeated. Stung, she shoved back her chair and stood. She crossed to the picture windows overlooking the dense rain forest beyond. It humiliated her to have to admit the truth to him now, when he so clearly distrusted her. "Why does that shock you?" Jett demanded. She forced herself to turn and face him. Why did he have to be so gorgeous? So perfect in every way? And why did her heart ache at the thought of "what might have been"? "And don't for one second think I'm some poor little rich girl. I didn't even know how a real family behaved until I turned sixteen. Before then I never had two nickels to rub together, or a soul to call my own. Never felt hope. Even after I was saved from all that, I worked for everything I have. Every last thing." He held up a hand. "Fair enough."

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She paced, unable to contain herself. "I've slogged alongside Uncle P on his program for the past ten years. I've seen what it's capable of. Is it so wrong to want for myself what so many others have experienced thanks to the Pretorius Program?" "No." Why did he have to be so calm and logical? So dispassionate? She stabbed a finger in his direction. "Exactly. No. It's not wrong. And isn't it just as understandable that I wouldn't want my father or mother or uncle running interference? Feeling sorry for me? Trying to fix things for me? Watching what happened every step of the way?" He stood, approached. "It's perfectly natural. You deserve your own happiness, sweetheart." She felt the prick of tears and shoved hard at them. Shoved hard at him. "Don't. Don't call me that. Not when you don't mean it. Not when you won't admit that you want and deserve your own happiness. Not when you think I'm trying to scam you or set you up for my father." He reached for her, caught her by the shoulders and pulled her into his embrace. Why did he have to feel so delicious? Smell as amazing as the tropical rain forest surrounding them? Make her insides melt with a desire unlike anything she'd ever experienced before? Understand her as no one else had. "I get why you ran yourself through the program on the sly." "They'd have interfered if they'd caught me. They'd have meant well, but every last member of the family would have had something to say about it. It would have been…" She squeezed her eyes closed and allowed his warmth to encompass her, surround and sink into her. "Humiliating." His laughter rumbled against her cheek. "I'm with you there." "But even worse, I was afraid…" He tilted her chin up and searched her expression with intense curiosity. "You don't strike me as the fearful type. What were you afraid of?" "That the program wouldn't find a match. It's rare, but it does happen. If everyone knew I was looking and no matches popped…" She shuddered. "That would have been the absolute worst." "How many matches did you have?" "A couple low-level sevens." She caught her lip between her teeth. "And one, only one, first-tier match." "Me." "You," she confirmed. "Which is almost as bad as no match at all. I mean look at us. Perfect in every way except one. And I don't see any way past that one ginormous stumbling block. Do you?" "Not unless we find a way to trust each other." "How likely is that?" "Not very," he confessed.

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"That's what I figured you'd say. And you're right. There's no way it will ever work out between us." He hesitated and she realized he'd come to some sort of serious decision. "In that case, maybe I can help us with that problem." Her eyes narrowed. "Confession time?" "Confession time. I came here for two reasons. One was to see whether the Pretorius Program was capable of finding my perfect match." He wrapped air quotes around the word perfect. A terrible suspicion filled her. "And the other reason?" "To try and figure out how the Pretorius Program worked…and create a superior model." "That's not possible," she said automatically. She should know. She'd worked on it with Uncle P for the past decade. Then the full impact of what he'd intended to do settled in, "Wait a minute… You would have used your match to create your own program?" Outrage filled her voice. His gaze remained on her, level and direct. "No. I'd have used the wrong match to help me create my own, better program. Because that's what I expected to find—an imperfect match that would enable me to create a better product." "But that's not what you found." He blew out a sigh. "No," he conceded. She gently disengaged herself from his embrace. "You realize this only leaves us with one option, don't you? That after what you've told me, it would be impossible for me to trust you." "What are you saying, Jett?" "I'm saying thank you for an absolutely amazing night. I'm saying thank you for being willing to give this— us—a try. And I'm saying…" She fought to keep her tone level, her emotions in check, though more than anything she wanted to weep from the pain of it. "And I'm saying goodbye."

Chapter Eleven I'm saying goodbye. Trey stiffened at Jett's words. "You can't be serious." She gave him a look, one every bit as stubborn as her old man's. "Quite serious. When the boat shows up next, I think we should leave before this goes any further." Before it's too late, is what she really meant. But he had the uneasy suspicion it was already far too late. Whatever had happened between them in the short time since they'd met, whatever emotions were now in play, they were serious and wouldn't easily be set aside. "There's another option," he found himself saying.

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He caught the momentary flicker of hope before she doused it. "I'm listening." "We continue to be dead honest with each other. We put our difference on the backburner, enjoy the rest of our week here and see whether or not we really are a good match." For some reason that elicited a quick smile from her. "In other words, maybe our relationship will suffer a catastrophic failure for a different reason, and then we won't have to worry about resolving the problem of us being bitter enemies, or the fact that you want to create your own Pretorius Program?" Well, hell. "Yeah, something like that." "What do you suggest, we snorkel and sunbathe and…" Her gaze strayed in the direction of the bedroom, a telling glance. "…and other things as though you and my father weren't fierce business rivals?" He shrugged. "Sure. Why not?" "Why not?" She blew out a sigh. "This is insane, Trey. A week in paradise doesn't change anything in the long run. Ours isn't a relationship that will ever succeed. If we stay here together, one of us could get hurt." "Been there, done that?" She hesitated, nodded. "Once before," she admitted reluctantly. The surge of protective fury caught him off guard. Where the hell had that come from? "What happened?" "He was a coworker. Ambitious." Trey swore. He could already see where this was headed. "And saw you as an easy way to a promotion?" She jerked her head in a brittle nod. "Straight to the top via the Jett express." "Did you love him?" "Thought so at the time." Did she have any idea how lost and vulnerable she looked? So fragile. More than anything he wanted to scoop her up and carry her off, wrap her up in some of that silk and lace and tulle while he chased away the memories by making love to her. "In hindsight I realize I was just lonely." "Ouch." For some reason his wince made her perk up. "Maybe that's all this is. I ran the Pretorius Program because I was lonely. Maybe everything I'm feeling for you is due to that. Just like Judd." Okay, he'd take a lot, but that just went one step too far. He came for her, snatched her into his arms. "If you want to go after me because of who I am, or because I'm your father's biggest competitor or because I want to create my own Pretorius Program, that's one thing. That's legitimate. But do not ever compare me to a Judd, to a man who would make love to a woman as an easy way to get ahead. If I were like him I'd never have told you about my plans to create a competing Pretorius program." He lifted an eyebrow. "Are we clear about that?" She nodded. "Crystal." 383

He lowered his head and took her mouth in a leisurely kiss. Her response came fast, giving of herself without thought or hesitation. It told him that despite their differences, she'd already developed feelings for him. Feelings she couldn't quite suppress, any more than he could suppress his for her. He wasn't quite certain how long the embrace lasted. But the expression on her face when she reluctantly pulled back revealed she was every bit as lost as he was. "So what now?" she asked. They could end their brief affair and leave the island, or… "What do you say we go on vacation?" he asked with a wicked grin.

Chapter Twelve The next few days were idyllic as far as Jett was concerned. They were both careful not to mention anything that veered the conversation too closely to Sinjin, the St. Johns or Dynamic. The instant it did, they quickly shifted gears to something more innocuous. Even with those restrictions, they found plenty to talk about. Art. Jazz. Current events. Books. Movies. Food. Favorite travel destinations. In some ways they were complete opposites. But Jett quickly realized that that opposition made Trey all the more interesting and offered a balance to her own idiosyncrasies. And in the areas they were similar she found a compatibility she'd never experienced with another man. They fit cleanly, without uncomfortable adjustment. Smooth and exciting and utterly delicious. Best of all were the nights. When darkness fell and candles flickered, when the night came alive with the lullaby of seduction and their defenses dipped to their lowest point. That's when she opened to Trey, allowing all of her barriers to drop and for him to slip through and in. Those were their most honest moments together. Desire reigned, unbridled. And she knew in her heart that this was the perfect man for her, offering perfect passion, perfect companionship. Perfect love. She recalled her father comparing that sort of relationship—the type of relationship he shared with her mother—to a complex mathematical equation. Some were plain. Some brutal. But others possessed an elegance of form and substance, the symmetry of them quite beautiful. And when two people found that elegance of form it was something to be treasured. To hold on to. Forever. It was during one of those nights of perfect passion that Jett turned to Trey, tracing the width of his chest—a chest she'd come to know so intimately—and asked, "You never mention your parents. Why is that?" "You never mention yours, either." "You know why. And I do mention them." She gave an easy shrug. "Carefully." "True. And as much as I'd rather not think highly of anything Justice St. John has ever done, I'm forced to raise my opinion of him if only because he adopted you." He gave her a quick, hopeful look. "Don't suppose your mother insisted?"

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She balled her hand and gave him a light punch in the arm. "Cut it out. You know it was his suggestion. It was my seventeenth birthday present. Now tell me about your parents. What do they do? What sort of relationship did you have?" "We had a great relationship. My mother is a teacher for special-needs children." "And your father?" "He died years ago." "Oh, Trey. I'm so sorry." "Yeah, me, too. He was a great guy. An engineer. Always coming up with ideas." "Now why does that sound familiar?" she teased. "Is it any wonder that you're a robotics genius like my father?" "Not like your father," Trey snapped back. He pulled away and tossed aside the covers. "Nothing like your father." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means that unlike the great Justice St. John, I have a sense of honor, of integrity. I don't steal, I don't cheat and I don't lie about inventing something I didn't." She shot upright in bed. "My father wouldn't know a lie if it was ten feet tall, purple polka-dotted and covered with stickers that read, 'Warning! This is a lie.'" "Really?" Trey's expression turned cool. Remote. "Then why did he steal my robotics design and claim it for his own?"

Chapter Thirteen "What the hell do you mean my father stole your robotics design?" Jett demanded. "Have you lost your mind?" "There's no point in discussing it," Trey retorted, escaping the bed. "It happened years ago." Jett knelt on the mattress, sitting on her heels, hands planted on her hips. "Hey, you brought it up, not me. You can't just drop a bombshell like that and not expect me to insist on an explanation." He stood in the middle of the room, without question the most magnificent example of the male species she'd ever seen. Why did he have to be so perfect for her in every way, when they sat on opposite sides of a fence that was impossible to scale? She'd known since her teen years how unlikely it would be that she'd find anyone who came close to suiting her romantically. In recent years, she'd finally accepted that painful fact. Until she'd run herself through the Pretorius Program. 385

Until she'd discovered a man who couldn't have been more perfect for her if she'd designed him herself. "Where the hell did I leave my clothes this time?" Trey shot his hands through his hair in sheer exasperation. "And then explain to me why, why by all that's holy, do we always have our most serious discussions naked?" "Maybe because we can't keep our hands off each other." She reconsidered. "Granted, we can't keep our hands off each other even with our clothes on. But that doesn't change the overriding problem. So I suggest you start explaining right now why you're accusing my father of theft." "Because Justice St. John stole my robotics idea." Jett glared at him in defiance. "Not a chance in hell. How, when, where, why?" she shot at him, ticking the questions off on her fingers. "I want facts, Treyhearn." "Fine. I was sixteen. I sent him a design for a robotics idea. In return I received a letter of encouragement from him. Then I learned the design—my design—was part of a prototype robotic system he'd sold to the government." Jett's eyes narrowed. "How did you learn that?" "There was an announcement in one of the tech journals I read. The article didn't say much, but it had enough key information for me to know it was my design." "Did you contact my father and ask him?" "Of course. I even met with him. He denied it." "Because he didn't do it." Trey looked up toward the ceiling and gave a growl of disbelief. Sweeping his jeans off the overhead fan, he yanked them on. Having him somewhat dressed helped, Jett conceded, though not as much as she'd have liked, considering his pants were still unfastened and unzipped, leaving exposed a line of crisp brown hair, a pathway she itched to follow. "He wouldn't even discuss the design with me or explain how his differed from mine," Trey continued. "Instead, he offered a college scholarship with an apprenticeship at Sinjin. I told him to shove it and walked out." She followed his example, getting up and dressing in a simple, lightweight shift. "Sounds like you were quite the hothead back then." "I won't deny that. Though, thanks to your father, I've learned the advantage of restraint. You can't start a business or move it to the forefront of the industry if you're always angry. Self-control became my new best friend, emotion my enemy every bit as much as your father was. Is," he immediately corrected. Her mouth twitched into a teasing smile. "I haven't noticed much of that self-control since you arrived on the island." An expression flickered across his face, a deep and painful need which he swiftly shuttered. "This isn't funny, Jett." 386

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to make light of it," she apologized. "But there has to be a mistake somewhere." "There is. And he made it. Ever since then I've worked to take him down—any how, any way." He took a step toward her, deadly intent radiating from every inch of his body. "Interesting how fate hands you the opportunity when you least expect it."

Chapter Fourteen Jett stared at Trey in disbelief, her black eyes dominating her piquant features. "No." She barely breathed the word. "You wouldn't do that. You wouldn't use me to get back at my father. You're not that kind of man." "No, I'm not," he agreed. "I'm glad you realize that much, if nothing else. I'd never use someone for my own gain the way your father did." "That's not true! My father is an honorable man. He would never steal someone else's design." "You really don't know Justice St. John very well. Maybe because you've only been his daughter for such a short time." She closed her eyes and it was as though she'd slammed closed all the windows and doors to her heart and soul. He saw her shut down, witnessed the painful way she gathered in all the pieces of her personality, tucking them safely away. Safely away from him. It gutted him. More than anything he wanted to swear. Throw something. Smash something. Hit someone. "I didn't mean it like that, Jett." She looked at him then, which only made it worse. Those huge inky eyes stared at him as though he were a stranger. Cool and blank instead of filled with fire. Remote instead of warmly intimate. Dispassionate instead of brimming with an endless palate of delicious emotion. "You think I'm so grateful to my parents for rescuing me that I'm blind to their faults?" She shook her head, the spiky curls trembling with all she'd trapped inside of her petite, vibrant body. "I learned to recognize people for what they were by the time I was five." "Jett—" She cut him off with a chopping sweep of her arm. "No. It's my turn now. You leveled the accusations, now I'm answering them. I know what a thief looks like, the slyness hiding behind the innocence. I've lived with people who have no morals, no values. People who use others for their own gain. Do not dare stand there and tell me that my father is that sort of person. He is not. Somehow, someway, you've made a mistake. Not Dad. You." With that, she turned on her heel and swept from the room. A minute later he heard the distinctive slam of the villa's front door. For the first time since he'd discovered the theft of his design, Trey felt a momentary doubt. Could he be mistaken? Could there be another explanation for Sinjin releasing a design identical to his own? Even after all these years, it seemed too coincidental to be even remotely likely. And yet…Jett was so certain, so passionate in her belief in her father.

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Trey closed his eyes and scrubbed his hands across his face. Damn it to hell. How was it possible that her ferocious defense of St. John could make Trey doubt over a decade's worth of anger and lust for revenge? And what would he give to have someone like Jett in his own corner, defending him the way she'd defended her father? He wanted her on his side. Wanted her to spill that wealth of passion and love all over him, not her father. There had to be a way to resolve their differences. A way that would allow him to have Jett in his life and still extract his revenge against St. John. Suddenly aware that the room had been growing progressively darker, Trey crossed to the set of doors that opened from the bedroom onto the lanai and stepped outside. Dark clouds poured over the mountainside, the size and color ominous. Even as he watched, rain pelted earthward. He stiffened, filled with alarm. Jett was out in this, a storm that looked like it could develop into a bad one. He needed to find her. Now.

Chapter Fifteen Jett was in the middle of walking off her mad when the storm hit, drenching her in five seconds flat. It instantly woke her to her surroundings, making her keenly aware that she'd walked a long way from the villa and she wasn't entirely certain how to get back again. Through the palms and underbrush, she caught the distinctive glint and roar of the ocean. Okay, she'd simply turn around, continue on with the water to her left and work her way back around the island. Eventually, she'd make it to the villa. Jett shivered. The shift she'd yanked on just an hour earlier—was that all it had been?—didn't provide the least bit of warmth or protection. It clung to her, cold and uncomfortable and sopping wet. Well, if she wanted to get warm again, there was only one way. Get back to the villa as quickly as possible. She glanced uneasily around. The roaring wind bent the palm trees, causing the heavy fronds to slap and slash at the air, while the rain hammered at the island like it was intent on driving it back into the depths of the deep blue sea. Something crashed through the foliage farther uphill, causing the nearby trees to shiver in reaction. She had the uneasy suspicion one of the palms' brethren had just met an untimely death. Even worse, the ground beneath her sandals felt boggy, rivulets of water beginning to tumble from the upper reaches of the mountain downward toward the sea, making the going slick and treacherous. Time to pick up her pace. Jett moved as fast as she dared, ducking beneath angry swipes of palm fronds and skirting the painful slash of ferns stirred to a frenzy by the wind. Bits of jungle debris carried on the gusty winds stabbed her skin and plastered themselves to her goose-pimpled flesh. Time and time again, she was forced to pull her sandals free from the gluelike ground attempting to suck her shoes from her feet. After what seemed like an eternity, she began to recognize her surroundings—she wasn't too far from the villa. A more defined pathway opened before her and she began to run. Not much farther now. Around the next turn, over the little bridge and she'd be able to see the villa.

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She rounded the turn, then faltered. The bridge was there, but the water beneath it gushed and billowed around and over the structure. She didn't dare try and get across that way. She crouched in place, hugging herself in an attempt to preserve what little warmth remained in her body. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't. It was just rain on her face, not tears. "Jett!" She froze, not sure if her ears had deceived her. Then she heard it again. "Jett! Where are you, sweetheart? Answer me." She leaped to her feet. "Here! Trey, I'm here." He appeared on the far side of the bridge, larger than life, and the most welcome sight she'd seen in the past half hour. "I'm trapped." "Hang on." He disappeared into the rain forest above the pathway for a brief moment, then came into sight again before vanishing into the rain forest on the other side. This time he didn't reappear. She scanned the section of jungle where she'd last seen him, struggling to peer through dense foliage and an even denser curtain of rain. "Jett!" She spun around at the sound of his voice. He emerged mere feet from her side, somehow having gotten from one side of the flooding river to the other. Without another word he wrapped her up in a tight embrace, warming her in his heat. He lifted her face to his and kissed her. Nothing mattered but this, she realized in that instant. Not the howling wind or the pelting rain. Not the cold, or fear or conflict between them. She opened to him, let him in, gave herself utterly to him. She probably would have been content to remain in his arms until the end of time if a tree hadn't chosen that moment to fall, slamming to the earth a scant foot from where they stood. Trey wrapped a massive arm around her shoulder and shot from the pathway into the jungle, shoving aside ferns and plant life as he went. An instant later he paused beside the enraged river. "What do you say we head back to the safety of the villa?" "I'm game." She looked around in confusion. "One question… How?" He lifted a liana as thick as his wrist. It dangled from a tree on the far side of the river. "Me, Tarzan. You, Jane." Her gaze drifted from the vine to Trey. "Oh, please tell me you're joking."

Chapter Sixteen If Trey had thought Jett was pale when he found her, it didn't come close to describing the blanched white texture of her face now. She stood before him in the ivory shift she'd donned during their argument earlier, but it was now torn and smeared with mud and the rain had turned the cotton transparent. She hadn't bothered with a bra and the material clung to the soft mounds of her breasts, outlining the raspberry nipples the cold had shocked into tight pearls. Her panties were a minuscule triangle that didn't do much to preserve her modesty considering they were soaked through, too.

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Even covered in forest debris she was beautiful. Her dark hair was plastered to her head, making her black eyes appear enormous in her triangular face. The cold had robbed her of the rosy complexion she normally enjoyed, painting her the faintest shade of blue. In fact, she looked like some primeval sprite, part of nature's fury, at one with the riot of jungle at her back. Untamed. More myth than real. A passionate illusion. "Jett, we have to get across the river, no matter what it takes," he said in his most reasonable tone of voice. "And if that means using a vine, then that's what we're going to do. You're freezing cold. You need warmth and you need it fast." She took a hasty step away from him, edging deeper into the rain forest. Her gaze remained glued on the liana he held and she shook her head in disbelief. To his relief, he caught the flicker of outrage, the emotion returning the animation to her face. "You can't be serious. You don't honestly expect me to wrap myself around a vine and swing across that river like some sort of jungle princess. I'm not Jane. And you're not Tarzan. You're crazy, that's what you are." He kept his words calm and even. "No. I don't expect you to wrap yourself around a vine and swing across the river." She dragged air into her lungs and managed a poor imitation of a grin. "Oh. All right, then. For a minute there—" "I expect you to wrap yourself around me and I'll swing us both across the river." Her mouth dropped open and she sputtered for a brief second. Then, "Not a chance in hell, Treyhearn. What if it breaks? We'll be in Mexico before our bodies wash ashore." "How do you think I got on this side of the river to begin with?" He gave the vine a good, hard yank. "I'll test it before we swing back, but I promise, it'll hold us. You saw that tree come down. It's not safe out here. Even worse, you're frozen solid. We need to get you warm and dry." As though to punctuate the comment, another tree crashed to the ground and the wind shrieked in triumph, the bite of it colder still, the punishing shove of it more ferocious than before. Without another word, Jett came to him, gave herself to him. He encircled her hips and boosted her so she could wrap her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Then he snagged the liana and did a quick lift to confirm it would support their combined weight. He felt the slightest give before it held. "Ready?" he rumbled against Jett's ear. She nodded rapidly, her hold tightening. He could feel the desperate flutter of her heartbeat, felt the panicked give and take of her breath. If the vine didn't hold, this wouldn't end well. Chances were they wouldn't survive it. "On three," he warned. "Okay." "One." Her breath sobbed close to his ear. "Two." He heard his name uttered in a desperate, keening cry.

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"Three." Just before he jumped, he heard it. Just three soft words, fighting against the ripping claws of the wind. Fighting to be heard. "I love you."

Chapter Seventeen What had she done? Before Jett had time to consider the foolishness of telling Trey she loved him, or do much more than hope the wind had snatched away the words before he'd heard them, she felt the powerful surge of his muscles, followed by the clench and hoist as he grabbed the vine and sent them airborne. She strangled on the shriek in her throat as they soared through the rain, the wind battering at them in a desperate effort to send them tumbling into the raging water beneath them. Their rush through air and water seemed to last forever. At the last instant, she felt the abrupt give. Trey shifted her within his hold and then they were free-falling. Terror cascaded through her as she waited to be swallowed up by a torrent of water. Instead, she felt a sudden twist, followed by the jarring impact of the ground. It knocked the wind out of her, though she suspected it had been far worse for Trey since somehow he'd spun them so that she landed on top of him and he absorbed the brunt of the fall. They lay cushioned in a bed of ferns, foliage churning around their harbored nest, the trees overhead canopying them from some of the driving rain and wind. "Trey!" She levered backward and swept him with her hands. No blood. No obvious damage. "Trey, say something." He groaned and his eyes flickered open. Right then and there, Jett decided that aquamarine was her favorite color in the entire world. Ever so gently, he cupped her face and drew her down for a kiss. She shuddered at the first brush of his lips against hers. Heat flowed through her, replacing the cold, and she opened to him, moaning at the delicious taste of him. His tongue swept inward, initiating the bittersweet duel that echoed their relationship to date. "Are you all right?" he demanded. His hands swept over her just as hers had done with him and she squirmed beneath the delicious abrasion. "I'm fine. You?" "I'll survive." He hesitated and then he kissed her again. This time when his hands roamed across her body, it was for a far different reason. A far more earthy reason. An affirmation of life and need. And she responded without hesitation. There were no preliminaries. None were necessary. None wanted. He slid beneath her shift and ripped the bit of silk anchored at her hips, allowed the wind to consume it. She levered herself over him, let him fill her. For a brief instant they froze, melded as men and women had been since the dawn of time. Then she moved. Together they embraced the wildness that shrieked around them, wheeled with the wind and danced within the rain. With the earth to ground them and the fire of passion to set them aflame, 391

they rode the storm. Higher they rocketed, hotter they burned while the earth trembled and the rain wept. And then they climaxed, both storm and lovers. For a long moment, they hung there, one with the elements, one with each other. When he looked at her, he seared her in blue flames, drew her in and made her part of him, heart and soul. When he touched, it was with a gentle claiming, as well as a fiery offering of himself, one she didn't hesitate to seize. And when he spoke, it was the ultimate completion, bonding them with the words that had joined men and women throughout eternity. "I love you."

Chapter Eighteen Trey and Jett returned to the villa. She hadn't said a word since he'd told her he loved her. Of course, neither had he, maybe because he'd never said the words to a woman before. Had had no intention of ever saying them. And yet, they weren't something he could deny. He didn't understand how he could have fallen in love with someone so quickly…or so completely. But he had. He also realized that despite the words, nothing had changed. Justice St. John continued to hover between them like a great, dark shadow. If Trey were brutally honest with himself, he'd admit he doubted he could simply forgive and forget the man who'd betrayed him. For Jett's sake, he'd try. He'd do his level best to make peace with his bitterest enemy. But he couldn't help but wonder if the theft of his design wouldn't continue to creep into his relationship with Jett, poisoning it with constant suspicion and a decade's-old resentment. Only time would tell. Because there was no way in hell that he was letting her go. They stepped into the villa to darkness. "Power's out," Trey realized. Jett frowned in concern. "No power means no refrigeration or A/C. And the water is on a pump system, isn't it? That means we lose running water, too, right?" At his nod of confirmation, she asked, "Do you know where they keep the generator?" "Yeah, out back. Let's take a quick look." It didn't take him long to discover the problem. He suspected it had something to do with a tree that had landed on the shed that housed the generator and pump. "Damn. There goes our shower. I guess we can take a quick swim in the pool to get the worst of the debris off." "I can live with that." She kicked at one of the splintered pieces of wood from the shattered shed. "Okay, Tarzan. Tell me that in addition to swinging across raging rivers you also know how to build a campfire." He cleared his throat. "Not exactly." "I'm crushed." She jerked her head in the direction of the kitchen. "Let's see if they have some sort of propane or charcoal grill around here. I can't believe a robotics inventor wouldn't be able to take it from there." Unfortunately, they didn't find a grill, propane or otherwise. They did discover a fire pit and a cord of wood stacked beneath a tarp. "Seems fairly straightforward," Trey decided. "Wood plus match equals fire. Why 392

don't I play with this and you scavenge some food from the refrigerator. See if you can find skewers while you're at it. At the very least, we can wrap food in aluminum foil and burn it that way." Jett grinned. "Burn it?" "Only if we're lucky." As it turned out, their luck was incredible. The vegetables were a tad toasty, but the pork couldn't have been any more succulent. They curled up beside each other, eating with their fingers and feeding each other the choicest morsels. And there by the firelight, they made love again, this time slow and gentle and tender. Afterward, when the night surrounded them in a soft fist, Trey gathered Jett close, loving the strength over delicacy that was so uniquely her. "I'm almost afraid to ask this…" "Then don't," she urged. "But we're out of time. As soon as they realize we're without power and running water, they'll remove us from the island. We need to decide a few things before then." "I prefer the right side of the bed," Jett informed him brightly. He laughed softly. "Funny. I could have sworn you preferred the middle." Then his laughter died. "How do we handle things from here, Jett? Do we try and make this work? Or do we go our separate ways?"

Chapter Nineteen Jett closed her eyes, Trey's questions ringing in her ears. How do we handle things from here, Jett? Do we try and make this work? Or do we go our separate ways? She moistened her lips and gazed at him through the flicker of firelight, praying her desperation didn't show. "If we tried to work it out, what would that entail?" "Seems fairly straightforward to me. I live in California. You live in Colorado. Either I relocate my business or you come live with me. You could even work for me, if you're willing. The real question is whether or not we're both determined to do whatever it takes for our relationship to succeed." He tilted his head to one side and nailed her with a cool blue look. "So…are you willing?" It was possibly the most difficult choice she'd ever made. For the first sixteen years of her life she'd lived under the most egregious circumstances, had lived in pain and despair until her adoptive mom's family— the Marcelluses—had rescued her from all that by taking her in as their foster child. Even after her mom's parents—now her grandparents—had been unable to keep her, her mother, Daisy, had stepped in. Had given her a home, given her love, given her a family. Even more important, they'd proven to her that there were good people in the world, people who knew the difference between right and wrong and respected that difference. And when she'd met Justice St. John and his uncle, Pretorius, she'd found people who were just like her. A little geeky, perhaps, but their brains worked the same way hers did, and most important of all, they looked at life the same way, too.

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Now Trey was asking her to give all that up. To leave the family who'd come to mean the world to her. It was a lot to risk. It terrified her, in fact. The choice loomed before her—her family, or the man she loved, the man who loved her. She'd feared that she'd never be able to find someone who'd want to share his life with her. But she'd been wrong, she'd found someone incredible, someone…perfect. She knew what her parents would tell her. That love could overcome any obstacle. It certainly had with them. Maybe it was an easy decision, after all. Jett turned to Trey. Taking a seat in his lap facing him, she draped her arms around his neck. Then she feathered her mouth across his, taking her time and saying without words how she felt about him. "If you ask me, I'll come live with you. I'll even work for you. And whether you believe me or not, my parents will support my decision without hesitation." Trey lifted an eyebrow. "Without hesitation?" "Okay, they might hesitate," she conceded. "For a couple minutes. But only because they love me and worry that I'll get hurt." Now for the million-dollar question. "What about you and my dad? How do you plan to handle your relationship with him?" He opened his mouth to answer when they both heard it, the high-powered drone of an incoming speedboat. Definitely not the launch she'd arrived in, which could only mean one thing. Jett sighed. "You might want to decide fast, because I have a funny feeling you're going to have to give him your decision in person."

Chapter Twenty Justice St. John sat in the great room of the villa, candlelight flickering within the grim bleakness of his golden eyes. "It's in your hands now, Treyhearn. You know she's my daughter. She's informed me she intends to quit Sinjin and move in with you. Go to work for Dynamic. You know I'm completely at your mercy where she's concerned. That's why I wanted to meet with you before you came here. But now… You can destroy us both with a single word. So, tell me the truth. Do you really love her or have you been stringing her along? Choose. Savior or destroyer." "Tempting," Trey shot back. "Very tempting to say destroyer." Jett rested a hand on his arm, the only thing holding him back from verbally gutting St. John. "Please." She studied her father for a long moment and Trey could see she'd finally put a few pieces of the puzzle together. "You knew I accessed the Pretorius Program." Justice nodded. "Yes." "And you knew that Trey was my only real match." "Yes," he said again. "I asked him to meet me in order to discuss it with him, but he refused."

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Unable to restrain himself, Trey left Jett's side and paced the length of the great room. "You know why I refused. You stole my design all those years ago. You think I had any interest in hearing what you had to say after all this time? What excuses you might offer?" "I haven't been at liberty to say anything…until now," Justice replied, his calm such a brittle thing that Trey didn't doubt it would shatter with a single wrong word from him. "The design you sent me was almost identical to one I already had in production." "Bull!" "I couldn't explain it to you then, let alone prove it, because I was forbidden to do so." "Forbidden?" Trey didn't bother to hide his skepticism. "By whom?" "The government. It was a top secret project. I signed a confidentiality agreement, one I was released from only two days ago. If you want to see the original specs, I've been given permission to show them to you." No. No, it wasn't possible. All these years… All this time he'd been so certain, had built his entire company on his thirst for revenge, to prove to himself and to St. John that he was every bit as good as the robotics legend. Was it possible? Had he been mistaken? Could St. John be telling the truth? "You really have the documentation to prove it?" "Yes." Justice stood, approached. "Please tell me that you really love my daughter. That you weren't just stringing her along to get back at me." Trey turned to Jett. "Did I string you along? Was that my ploy?" He waited, waited to see whether or not she trusted him enough. Believed in him enough. She didn't hesitate. She flew across the room and into his arms. "I told you that I learned at a young age to recognize the criminals and thieves in this world," she told him. "All I see here is honor, both in my father and the man I love with all my heart." Trey glanced at St. John and smiled. "I do really love your daughter and I always will. She's given me more than I ever thought possible—the courage to believe in love." Justice closed his eyes and for the first time since his arrival breathed easy. "I saw your brilliance even at sixteen, Trey. The fact that you could come up with a design so similar to my own, and at such a young age, filled me with admiration. I was desperate to help you as much as I could, but my hands were tied. I offered you a scholarship. A job. The only thing I couldn't offer you was an explanation. But now I'm hoping to offer you something else—a partnership. Our two companies working in concert, instead of opposition." He offered his hand. "I think we could do a lot of good together." Trey took St. John's hand, grasped it firmly and grinned. "Somehow I think we'll both be highly motivated to work out a deal." Justice nodded, clearly overcome by emotion. "Then if you'll excuse me, I'll go make arrangements to have us transported off the island," he announced gruffly.

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The minute they were alone, Trey gave his full attention to the woman in his arms. "Marry me, Jett. I realize we haven't known each other long, but somehow I'm sure that how I feel now is no comparison to how much I'll love you the longer we're together." She smiled up at Trey, her love brighter than sunshine. "I adore you, Trey. I love you now, and I'll love you always. Yes, I'll marry you." She laughed then. "You'd think after all this time I'd stop being so surprised by how well the Pretorius Program works." And it did work well. Perfectly, in fact. Trey lowered his head and kissed her. As impossible as it seemed, a computer program had matched him with the perfect woman. Had offered him the perfect passion. And even more importantly, gifted him with a perfect love. What could be more…perfect?

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Sophie's Sheikh By Alexandra Sellars

What kind of trouble had her identical twin gotten her into this time? Vacationing in the Barakat Emirates, Sophie met Sheikh Sharif al Farid. Passionate and powerful, he attracted Sophie as no other man had before. For her sister\'s sake she needed to keep up the pretense, even when Sharif claimed that they had been lovers — and would be again. ) Chapter One Except for the rider on the black horse, Sophie had the beach to herself every morning. Just after dawn, with the sun climbing majestically out of the sea, she jogged half a mile along the water's edge from the hotel to the rock and back again. In the Barakat Emirates, she had discovered quickly, early morning was the only time cool enough for exercise. Every morning she saw the black horse and its stern-faced rider. He came galloping down from the distant point while she was on her way up, and when she had turned and was about halfway back to the hotel, he passed her again on his return. On the first morning, he had hardly seemed to notice her, galloping past in a swirl of white robes and sand dust. On the second morning, he went by in the water, sending up a spray of droplets that captured the rich sunlight and surrounded horse and man with a glittering net. Sophie lifted a hand in greeting. He responded with a regal nod. On the third morning, he watched her from narrowed black eyes as he galloped past, riding closer than before, his fierce gaze making her catch her breath and stumble in the sand. He must have cut his usual ride short, because he turned and came up on her again from behind, riding even closer and staring hard as he went past, almost as if he meant to frighten her. Sophie wondered if he resented her regular intrusion on his otherwise solitary exercise. She asked again at the hotel and was told the beach was open to hotel guests up to the big rock. So this wasn't trespassing, and she wasn't going to go away just because the stranger wanted the world to himself. It was hard to believe that no one else thought it worthwhile to come out to see the sunrise. She knew there was little tourism in the Barakat Emirates, but such solitude on a beach as beautiful as this was almost unbelievable. Or maybe the dark rider's tactics scared everyone else off. It was the most scenically stunning place Sophie had ever been, or could imagine. The silken sea mysteriously changed from emerald green to rich turquoise to sapphire, as if with shifting moods unrecognised by humans. Behind the beach rose a tree-covered escarpment, whose lush green shadows would offer solace from the burning, beating sun later in the day.

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The beach was softest sand, packed and firm underfoot at the water's edge, accepting the imprint of her feet for only a few minutes before the sea rushed up to obliterate the signs of her passing. The hoof prints of the horse were not so easily wiped away. Those marks went deep into the wet sand, each hoof gouging out a little hillock of sand. When the sea tumbled up over them, instead of destroying the little hollows scarring the shore, the water was captured to form a thousand little pools in a pattern that stretched all the way up to the distant point. Every morning since the first morning she had had the urge to keep going past the hotel's landmark, to follow the hoof prints to their source, to see where the rider came from. Every morning she turned her steps with inner reluctance, as if she were turning her back on something important. On her journey back to the hotel, always her own oncoming prints had already been washed away while those of the horse were still visible. Today was different. This was her fourth morning, and she had almost reached her turning point, but there was no sign of rider or horse. The beach was painted with the rich red gold of sunrise, her shadow stretched out beside her, long and narrow and reaching toward the trees. But there was no mark on the firm wet sand ahead. Maybe he did resent her presence. Was he exercising the horse somewhere else this morning? She was disappointed without knowing it. She had enjoyed sharing the beauty of the sunrise with the stranger, even if he was disapproving. Sophie reached the landmark, and instead of turning, jogged on. It was only a minute or two before she saw the black horse in the distance, galloping hard. He would be on her soon. With the thought came quick foreboding. Was she on private property now? What if he thought she was looking for him? Sophie stopped and quickly turned back. The hotel landmark was not far, but even if she made it before he reached her, her footprints would give the fact of her trespass away. The horse was coming closer. She felt the thunder of hooves in the sand under her feet, felt the vibration shiver up her spine. Foreboding flooded her, and of their own accord her legs shifted pace. She started to run in earnest, as if the dark stranger were a hunter, and she his prey. The rider galloped past her, so close she could hear the horse's breathing, then abruptly pulled up, swinging around so that man and beast blocked her path. Sophie stopped. For a moment they stared at each other, the silence broken only by the shushing of the waves and her nervous heartbeat. She was still twenty yards from the landmark. "What are you doing here?" His voice was harsh, and it matched his face. He looked like something chiseled out of hardwood with an axe. 398

His land or not, his tone annoyed her. How did he know she hadn't made an honest mistake? "And who is asking?" His teeth showed. "I ask! How dare you come here?" She was a total stranger to the country and its customs. She had no idea what it meant to trespass on private property in the Barakat Emirates. Or what an owner's rights were when he found a trespasser. The way he was looking at her, she told herself in grim humor, he might just have the right of life and death. The thought sparked rebellion. "If you want me to get off your land, move your horse out of my way," she said rudely. His dark head snapped up with almost regal fury. He was powerfully handsome, with the air of a desert warrior. She could imagine him taking up a banner behind the great Saladin and marching off to do battle with the infidel. She shivered involuntarily as his gaze stabbed her. "It is not wise for one such as you to use this voice with me," he said, with harsh contempt. In spite of the increasing heat of the sun as it climbed the sky, Sophie shivered. "One such as me?" she repeated. "Is there something a little less than obvious here, or does the mere fact of being a woman disqualify me from membership in the human race?" She turned to walk around the horse, but under its rider's instructions, it moved to block her again. Sophie pressed her lips together and glanced along the beach. No one. "It is not being a woman which does that," he said coldly. She was wearing gray exercise capris and a halter top, perfectly respectable at home in Vancouver. But she was suddenly very aware of how snugly they fit, the amount of flesh the outfit left bare. Her heart began to pound in hard, heavy thumps. He spoke good English, which must mean he was educated, but somehow when she stared up into his dark face all she saw was absolute power. She turned again, and again he maneuvered the black horse to block her path. "Let me go!" she snapped. "You should not have come here. Why did you?" He sat easily on the horse, as if he had been born there, one hand holding the reins almost negligently. But his hand would be firm enough when needed, she thought involuntarily. His other hand rested arrogantly on his hip as he gazed down at her, his mouth curling with disdain. "Maybe you haven't noticed I'm trying to leave your precious land." 399

"I do not mean this beach, and you know it." Sophie looked up. "You mean this isn't your land?" Her fear shifted gears. "Then what's your problem? And what business is it of yours —" He lifted his arm to point into the distance. "My property begins at the point. You know it." "Actually, that information wasn't included in the hotel's orientation pack," Sophie snapped. "Could it be you overestimate your importance?" The dark stranger snorted with exasperation. Her insult hadn't even scratched the surface, and Sophie longed to wipe the self-satisfied contempt off his face. "If you're one of the lords of the earth, I'm one who never got the news. How galling it must be," she added in mock sympathy. "Stop playing this game!" he demanded roughly. "What did you hope to gain by coming here and putting yourself in my way?" "You're dreaming!" Sophie cried in outrage, but she was on shaky ground. She hardly knew why she had continued on past the hotel's landmark, and maybe, unconsciously, it was because she was hoping to meet the stranger. But she wasn't going to admit that to him. She wondered how many smitten women he ran off his land every week. It was infuriating that he now thought she was one of them. "What gives you the right to think I came here looking for you? Are you sure you didn't come here looking for me?" The horse moved its rump around to keep her prisoner again even before she moved herself, so well did he understand her. Now she was standing by his knee, staring up at him with an expression of mingled fear and outrage. Her hair was flame red, and cut short, but she was beautiful still. The high, full breasts were the same, and the rounded hips, the long, curving legs, the slender ankles that he could span with one hand. His gaze ran over her face. Her wide, dark eyes held a sweeter expression than the mental image he carried. The full mouth was softer, kissed by innocence. No wonder he had been taken in. Nothing of her real nature showed. She seemed all a man could want, now even more than before. "Of course I came here looking for you," he said through his teeth. The simple, flat statement both startled and frightened her. Sophie stared up at him. The sun was behind him now, and she was doubly blinded, first by the burning expression in his eyes and then by a halo of sunlight. "Wh-what?" she breathed, torn between fear and anticipation. "I could not believe my eyes when I saw you. I ask again, why did you come?" 400

"What do you want?" she whispered. His eyes went black as he looked at her. "You know what I want." Her breath stopped in her throat. The sun was already hot, but a chill of nervous excitement traveled from her heels to her head. "And no doubt you think you've only got to ask!" she snapped, annoyed with herself for her weakness. "No," he said, with dry contempt. "But since you throw yourself so obviously in my way, I have learned to hope that you want something in exchange. How much? I warn you not to ask for the ridiculous sum you have doubtless calculated on." Her mouth opened in the wildest indignation she had ever experienced. For several seconds she simply could not speak. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she growled. "And who do you think I am?" "I know who you are, Sophie. Much more than I want to know." If he had thrown ice water over her she could not have felt more disoriented. Sophie gasped and jumped backward, panic flooding up inside her. "Wh-what?" she babbled. "Why do you pretend ignorance? Do you think to find me such a fool as that?" Her breath came in with a long, slow, frightened gasp. "Who are you?" she cried. "How do you know my name?" He threw back his head and laughed, but the sound was not pleasant. It was a laugh of pure outrage, and it was menacing. "Leave me alone!" she shouted, and in pure animal instinct, she turned and ran. Thought only caught up with her when she had passed the hotel's landmark. She slowed and listened for the thunder of hooves, but the only sound was the cry of some sea bird she did not recognise. When she glanced back, the beach was empty. Chapter Two "Hellooo," Zoe caroled over the phone. "This is a surprise! Are you having a good time?" Zoe always wanted everyone to have a good time. 401

"You were right, it's fabulous," Sophie told her. She was lying on the bed in her sumptuous room in the Sheikh Daud Hotel. She had spent half an hour trying to make sense of what had happened and then had phoned her sister in Vancouver. "I suppose it's too much to hope you've lost your obsessive virginity already?" Sophie only laughed. Zoe was far more obsessed about the state of Sophie's sex life, or lack of it, than Sophie was. For her it was a simple question of priorities. Sophie wanted sex to be meaningful. More than meaningful — she wanted sex with her husband or her husband-to-be. No one else. "Yup. Too much to hope," she said mildly. "Listen, Zoe, something very strange has just happened." "Oh, good! Was it a man?" "Yes. This —" "I always suspected that you'd be a pushover for one of those dark alpha males. Tell me all!" "Tell me something first…when you were here last year having such a brilliant time, Zoe, who were you?" The gurgle of laughter coming down the wire told her all she really needed to know. Her twin was incorrigible. "Have you found that out already? Did someone recognise you? I borrowed your passport, Soph, I confess it." "Honestly, Zoe, I wish you'd stop doing that!" Sophie exclaimed. "You don't know how unnerving it is." "No," Zoe agreed sadly. "Sometimes I think it would be kind of fun, though, if you would impersonate me, do something outrageous, and then leave me to pick up the pieces." "I'd be a little stretched trying to come up with something you would consider outrageous," Sophie pointed out dryly. Zoe laughed again, acknowledging the hit. They were an almost classic case of Good Twin – Bad Twin, except that Zoe wasn't really bad, just very original. Zoe wanted to have a good time in life, and she had understood very early that to have the time she wanted, she had to marry rich. Her sights had lighted on a man nearly three times her age, one of Canada's richest men, who late in life had decided to run for a seat in Parliament. Fresh out of university, Zoe had gone to work on his election campaign.

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She married him, and when Hamilton Brougham won the election, Zoe was just where she wanted to be. Except for the natural restrictions that came with the position. She had promised Ham when she married him that, whatever she did in private, she wouldn't embarrass him in public. That was where Sophie came in. Every now and then, when Zoe simply had to kick over the traces, she would pretend to be her sober, serious sister. And more than once Sophie had found herself telling a journalist that yes, she was the one in the photo dancing in the city fountain…. "So, exactly what pieces am I here in the lovely Barakat Emirates to pick up?" Sophie demanded dryly now. "Oh, honey, there's nothing like that!" Zoe protested. "I just wanted you to have a holiday." "I'm beginning to see why you were so determined that I should have a holiday just here and just now. Was I a fool not to have figured this out for myself? Yes," Sophie said. "It's not like that at all. Who did you meet? What did they say? It's not the hotel, is it? I paid for what got damaged, and very handsomely, too, so if they say a word, darling, you can tell them — " "Not the hotel, Zoe, they've been discretion itself. A dark, broody type down on the beach. Black eyes, black horse, black mood." She heard her twin's indrawn breath. "Aaaah. I'd forgotten the sheikh." ****** Sophie knew from her tone that Zoe hadn't forgotten the sheikh. "Well, you'd better remember fast, and tell me what I'm on the hook for," she said flatly. "What did you do to him?" Zoe laughed, a long, slightly false peal that did nothing for Sophie's peace of mind. "Do to him? Who could do anything to Sheikh Sharif Wahid ibn Arif al Farid? He's got a heart of stone." At the mention of the word heart, Sophie's eyes squeezed shut with horror. "Oh, God, Zoe, you didn't!" "Come on, Soph, you've seen him yourself. You must have noticed that he's too good to resist." "Zoe, this is — but — are you telling me the man thinks I've slept with him?" Sophie cried. "Tell me, did he show signs of wanting more?" "He showed signs of wanting me off his land." 403

A small gasp. "Well, there's no need for him to be as hostile as that. He's a Cup Companion, by the way. Did he tell you?" "What's a Cup Companion?" Sophie asked, with a sinking heart. "They're sort of like our cabinet ministers. Appointed by the prince. They advise him on various areas of government. Very aristocratic, very influential. That's why I had to be careful. We'd be news if it ever got out." "Oh, great," Sophie said. "So it's goodbye, morning jog." "Unless you want to pick up where I left off. But I advise you to choose someone else. Sheikh Sharif, as you may have gathered already, is a bit hard to handle." "Zoe, how did you make an enemy of him? Please tell me the truth." Zoe's laughter didn't completely conceal her irritation. "Can you believe it? He was deeply offended — quite fierce about it, really — to discover that I was married. As if it was any of his business! I told him he was a prig, but he didn't like that, either." "Gee, I wonder why." Sensing her twin's disapproval, Zoe added hastily, "I assumed that your new hairstyle would put him off the scent, if he did happen to see you." "The hell you did." "Soph, if you do meet him again, please don't blow the whistle on me? Ham would hate it, and you know he's in the running for a cabinet post." Sophie suddenly understood the wild impulse that had driven her to cut off her long blond hair and colour it red. She was tired of taking the fall for Zoe. But it wasn't going to help her avoid Zoe's sheikh, it seemed. She heaved a sigh. "So not only does one of the most powerful and influential men in the country think I've slept with him, he also thinks I cheated on my husband when I did it?" "Isn't it fun? And there you are a virgin!" "Here I am, a virgin," Sophie agreed. ****** Sheikh Sharif al Farid flung himself down off the black horse and thrust the reins into the groom's hands with a muttered word. Then he strode into the house, his face so thunderous the manservant discreetly disappeared. 404

The sheikh moved restlessly to the far end of the elegant room and stood for a long moment in front of an antique enameled cabinet, staring into space. It was almost a year since he had first seen her, surrounded by bemused merchants and urchins in the Sabzi Market, looking terrified. He had gone to her rescue, not that she was in real danger, explaining to the crowd that she was a foreigner, a tourist. "They are not used to seeing hair like yours," he had told her later, in the little café where he had taken her to calm her down. "Does not the hotel's information pack explain that the souq is out of bounds?" "I never obey rules like that," she had said. "They only want to spoil the fun." He didn't know exactly what had drawn him, but she had not hidden the fact that she had felt the pull, too. Only later did he realise how differently they had felt the attraction. And now she was back. He could hardly believe her brazenness. Thrusting herself upon his notice and then pretending ignorance — what was her reason for it? Did she not understand what a risk she ran? Did she think him so complete a fool? Perhaps, believing her disguise sufficient, she had foolishly imagined she could avoid him in her quest for some thoughtless new adventure? She could not avoid him. He had been content to let her go once. But she would not escape him again. He would have justice now. Chapter Three "These gardens were endowed over sixty years ago by King Daud, to honour his beautiful foreign wife, whom he named Azizah," the guide said. Sophie was with a small group in the grounds of the famous pleasure gardens, walking beside a series of pools and channels that descended in several small falls as they walked and climbed. "The name Bostan al Sa'adat means 'Garden of Joy.' The design took twenty years to complete, and still has not reached the perfection that the designers, who planned for the future as well as the continually evolving present, envisaged…." For two days she had avoided the beach completely, and by the third she was seriously missing the exercise. But Zoe was right — there was a lot to see and do in the Barakat Emirates, and if anything could take her mind off Sheikh Sharif al Farid, it was the fabulous fountains and gardens of Sheikh Daud's testament of love. Sophie dawdled behind the rest of the group, entranced by a graceful, multilayered fountain whose waters seemed to sing.

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It annoyed her that she needed anything to take her mind off the man. But the truth was, he haunted her. She couldn't prevent Zoe's sheikh constantly surfacing in her mind, couldn't stop wondering whether she would run into him again, and how she would face him if she did. The arrogance with which he had assumed she was sexually available infuriated her, even though she knew it was Zoe he thought he was talking to. "Good morning, Sophie." Sophie gasped as the dark figure stepped out from under a flower-draped archway as if out of her thoughts, blocking her path while, ahead, the rest of the group passed through a gateway in a high hedge. It was him. A thrill of fear zipped through her as the last stragglers passed out of sight. "Good morning, Sheikh al Farid." His eyebrows went up. He smiled mockingly. "Time has improved your memory, I see. But have you forgotten that you called me Sharif?" She bit her lip. She couldn't imagine calling this forbidding pillar of humanity by his first name, even to save Zoe's bacon. There were no statues in an Islamic garden, she had learned, but Sophie privately thought that the sheikh was a perfect stand-in. Just like a marble statue, he seemed to pulse with warm life. But he would prove cold and immovable if she touched him. Or maybe not. She wasn't sure which would be worse. "It's not really appropriate now, is it?" she said. His teeth flashed while his amused, mocking laughter rang out. She felt the sudden force of his personality, and for a moment, on a primitive, unthinking level, she understood Zoe's weakness. Not that she would ever be so weak. "Are you now concerned with the appropriateness of things? You have changed more than your hair, in that case." "Leave me alone," was all she could say, stepping sideways to pass him. But one strong hand moved and he caught her wrist. Sophie took a soundless breath and closed her eyes. Then, fearing what he might read into that, forced them open. For a moment they gazed at each other in the bright sunlight, and the only sound was the music of the tumbling fountain. In the distance a groundsman wandered among the plants. Otherwise they had the world to themselves. "You do not run on the beach anymore, Sophie?" "You approve the change, of course."

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His jaw clenched. "Do you hope to drive the price up by these tactics? You will not succeed. Beware. What is mine I take, by whatever means are necessary."

****** Sophie's eyes darkened as she stared into his, and his jaw tightened against the stir of arousal as shock mimicked attraction in her brown eyes. "What are you threatening?" she whispered. Sharif was angry and discomfited. He had believed that when he met her again he would see her for what she was. He had remembered the calculation in her eyes and told himself that his own mind had manufactured the sweetness in her lips. But instead of being less than what his memory had conjured up during the past year, she was more. She was too desirable. In retrospect he had told himself that she had used simple manipulation, playing on his ego and her own tricky sexuality to convince him she had depth. Now he saw that she was far more dangerous than that. No guile was apparent in her. Even now, knowing what he knew, he thought he could see a pure heart, a deep, honourable soul. Last year she had stirred his interest, his appetites, and he had felt the faint breath of some greater possibility. Today she aroused a deep, uncomfortable possessiveness in him, and he heard the clear promise of something eternal. He knew it for a lie. He would not be taken in. But against his will, the clasp of his hand tightened, and he drew her toward him. "No," Sophie protested on a gasp. But with the sudden harsh enfoldment of his arms her breath stopped in her throat. She gazed up into his face. Just how angry was he? How deeply had Zoe bruised him? And what was his idea of revenge? Sharif's black eyes burned into her as he bent her back over that steel-sinewed arm and lowered his mouth toward hers. "No," she whispered again, terrified of what might happen if she gave in to the uncomfortable, unfamiliar feeling that threatened her. Like a flash flood, sweeping her away to a territory totally strange to her. He glared at her with all the fury of desire denied. "No?" he rasped. "This is not what you came for?" "Don't flatter yourself that I came all this way to spend more time in your bed!" 407

"Neither of us will be disappointed, then. What do you want this time, Sophie? Will I find it worth the price?" "Price!" she cried, as sudden anger flooded her. "How dare you! Let go of me!" Sharif's passionate mouth thinned as he reined in his hunger and dragged himself back to his senses. It was not what he had intended, and he was angry with himself at this evidence of his weakness. He knew what she was. A cheat. A liar. A thief. And completely unrepentant, or he would have heard from her long before this. He hadn't meant to make love to her. Until the moment when he had recognised her on the beach, he hadn't thought of her for months. He had been convinced that, having been made a fool of once, he was immunised. But in spite of all he knew, she might still ensnare him, even more deeply than before. "You find me as much of a fool as the last time," he admitted cynically. "As ready to fall into your trap as if I had never been there. But you mistake the place. This is not quite the Garden of Eden, Sophie." "And you aren't quite Adam!" Her eyes blazed at him. "Nice for the snake to talk!" "Whatever my own part, we seem to be agreed that you are Eve," he pointed out with a glimmer of humour. "Believe me, if I'm Eve, I have no apples to offer you!" she snapped. Then she wished she hadn't spoken, because his eyes narrowed and his look suddenly made her nervous. "Do you think I forget so easily? You have — an apple, did you call it? — that interests me very much. And believe me, I will not take no for an answer this time." ****** Sophie blinked at him in dismay, and a treacherous little doubt beckoned. She pushed it aside. "I don't know what you're talking about!" she snapped. All trace of humour had left his eyes now. "Do not add to your sins with more lies," he said flatly. "You do know, Sophie. You must know that I know." "What?" she cried, feeling goaded. What could her twin have done that she was afraid to admit to her? Never before had Zoe failed to tell her about any of the adventuring she had done in Sophie's name. "What do you imagine?" He straightened and dropped his imprisoning arm, but his other hand's grasp of her wrist was firm and unforgiving. 408

"Come," he said. She thought she went for Zoe's sake. But afterward, looking back, she knew that that wasn't her reason. ****** Half an hour later they were back at the sea, the sheikh's Land Rover pulling through broad gates in a white wall that enclosed a terra-cotta–tiled courtyard. The sheikh was driving. Sophie wasn't sure what she had expected — wild sports car or expensive limousine — but the ordinariness of the dusty four wheel drive had surprised her. Now, under the arches of a garage, she saw cars more in keeping with her unconscious expectations — a Mercedes limousine and a classic sports car among them. Sheikh Sharif al Farid put his foot on the brakes and stopped the engine, and for a moment Sophie stared around her. Palm trees shaded the courtyard, and except for birdsong, sound seemed excluded. She sighed. After the drive through the heat and noise of the Emirates' capital, the promise of tranquillity was sweet. He led her into the house and into a beautifully furnished room with a row of arched windows facing a shadowed cloister. The house, Sophie saw, was built in traditional Middle Eastern design, around a central courtyard where water and plants in lush profusion softened the harshness of the desert climate. Straight ahead across the courtyard, an opening under an elegant archway showed her the sea. "This is so beautiful!" she breathed. All around her were the kind of antiques you normally only saw in museums or magazine photographs — a group of richly jeweled swords and daggers, beaten brass ewers on minutely inlaid tables, intricate paintings on ivory, tapestry hangings, the finest Arabic calligraphy glinting with gold. She gazed, breathless with wonder, from one to the other. "You have admired my possessions before." His cold voice destroyed her fascinated trance. She flicked a nervous glance at him. Though Zoe hadn't said so explicitly, she had probably spent the night here. How many nights? How familiar was she supposed to be with the place? Sophie grimaced inwardly. "Have I? Well, they're worth a second look," she said simply. This wasn't the first time she'd had to be quick on her feet picking up after Zoe, not by a long way, but somehow this time it felt different. She'd never before felt the real brush of danger. But 409

then, Zoe had never messed with a man like Sheikh al Farid before. He looked like nobody's fool, and he made Sophie nervous. "And a third, and fourth," he agreed blandly, with an expression in his eyes she couldn't interpret. "What does that mean?" But Sharif al Farid was already turning to the servant who had silently appeared, and was giving him some order. She was unconsciously drawn to a magnificent oil portrait of a turbaned man with darkly compelling eyes like the sheikh's. Sharif al Farid smiled. "What game are you playing now, Sophie? Do you imagine that so many women have stood before that portrait that you can convince me I have confused you with another?" She refused to be cowed. "Or maybe I've stood in front of so many ancestors' portraits I've forgotten yours," she suggested. "That I can believe," he said, with so obvious an implication she wanted to hit him. "How is your husband? Do you manage to keep him separate, at least?" Chapter Four "Go to hell!" Sharif al Farid smiled a grim smile and shook his head. "Not for your sake, my temptress." Fear stabbed her suddenly. There was something here she didn't understand. What exactly had gone on between Zoe and Sheikh Sharif al Farid? It was more than the simple one night stand Zoe had implied, it had to be. Why had Zoe sent her here, where she was sure to meet the man, sure to be mistaken for her twin? "Why did you bring me here, Sheikh al Farid? If you have something to say, please say it, because I want to get back to the hotel," Sophie said, in a flat voice, struggling for calm. The sheikh lifted his eyebrows in surprised disdain, as if there were something obvious she was missing. "Back to the hotel?" His chin moved in regal summons, and he crossed to the windows and opened a door. Sophie saw that each of the arched windows along the length of the room was in fact a door. When every door was open, the room would give onto the cloister through a series of arches. She followed him out of the air conditioned room into the sudden heat and then along the shadowy cloister till he paused before another arched door. Sophie couldn't help staring out at the profusion of plants and flowers that tumbled over balconies, climbed around pillars, bowed and nodded over four perfectly geometric channels feeding the magnificent fountain in the centre of the courtyard — water tumbling out of a graded series of bowls held up by stone lions. "Is that a copy of the fountain at the Alhambra Palace?" she asked, forgetting everything except awe. "This has an earlier date." His mouth moved in another humorless smile. "I see you are better prepared than before. What else have you researched?" She clenched her jaw. "What makes you so sure you know everything?" 410

"A year ago you knew nothing of the treasures of the Alhambra, Sophie. Have you forgotten?" She had no answer. Impossible to inform him that she had been majoring in Art and Architecture while Zoe was deep in Political Science. The sheikh opened the door and guided her through into the room beyond. Her skin rippled with sensation as she stepped past him, in a mixture of turbulent emotions — she could detect anger and fear — which she had never experienced before. Then she stopped as if she had hit a wall and stared around the room. It was strewn with her belongings — her empty luggage lying open, the contents in neat piles on the bed or hanging in the open wardrobe. Someone had gone into her room at the hotel to get all her things, and had brought them here. And then, by the look of it, had searched every pocket and nook. Shocked and disbelieving, she stepped back a pace, right against Sharif al Farid's chest. She felt his hands clasp her upper arms with firm possession. Suddenly she could smell the heady mixture of cologne and male sweat that was already familiar to her senses as uniquely him. She jerked to step away, but he held her. Sophie's head swam, and she had the crazy conviction she might faint from fear, or whatever emotion was suddenly enclosing her brain in its terrible mists. Her nerves were alive with tension, a thousand electric currents chasing through her body and mind. Questions tumbled over each other in her head without logical order. "Why have you brought my things here? How did you get them?" she asked at last.

As if from a distance, she felt him lift one hand and carefully, firmly, force her to turn in his grasp. When she was facing him, his hands closed on her upper arms again. She looked up, her lips parting to give her empty lungs oxygen. The sheikh's dark eyes ran over her face with a hunger that made her tremble. With slow inevitability he drew her close against his body, and his arms wrapped her. She put her hands on his chest to hold him away, but she might as well have pushed a wall. He muttered a helpless oath and his mouth came down on hers. Sophie struggled briefly, and then, sensation flooding her, she closed her eyes and gave in to the bone-melting pleasure of his kiss. For one moment of blissful forgetfulness, she abandoned everything except pure feeling. But only for a moment. Then a panicked voice in her warned, this is Zoe he's kissing. He thinks he's already your lover, and he's got a grudge. Though the heat of touching him seemed to burn her palms, Sophie pushed against his chest, hard. But as if he, too, had come to his senses, Sharif was already dropping his arms. She staggered back, and watched the rise and fall of his chest as he regained his self-control. "Did I call you Eve?" he wondered softly, shaking his head. "You are much more dangerous than that. How do you maintain that fiction of untouched softness even with a man who knows otherwise?" A response rose to her lips, but she had to bite it back. "Don't touch me again, Sheikh al Farid," she said instead. "What happened last year doesn't give you the right to make assumptions about me now." "If you have changed, there is a way to prove it," said Sheikh al Farid. "If you've brought me here under the delusion that you're such a wonderful lover I'd be happy to go along with a replay, I've already told you, I'm not interested." She spoke firmly, but inside she 411

was frightened. Not merely about what he intended, but about what his kiss had showed her about herself. "Are you such a fool as to imagine you are here for my pleasure?" Sophie blinked. "You give a pretty good impression of it," she snapped. "Your presence is no joy to me, Sophie. The sooner you leave, the better it will suit me. I said that you are a temptress, but do not waste your time trying to lower my guard again. Even if we made love a thousand times I would not trust you again out of my sight. In this house you will be guarded every second." If we made love a thousand times… "About two seconds in all, then," Sophie retorted, striding to the bed and beginning to throw her things into the open cases. "I want out of here, now!" "And you are very used to having things your own way. But not this time, Sophie. This time you will obey me." Her head went up, but her hands did not pause in their task. "You know nothing about me!" she cried furiously. "Have no fear. What I don't know you will have the opportunity to teach me." She shuddered. "What is it? What do you want?" "I have told you," he said, with a smile that made her light-headed with anxiety. "I want what is mine." "I am not yours!" Sophie cried desperately, chills racing through her so that her teeth almost chattered. "I told you before, I'm married! And if I didn't make it clear, my husband is a very influential man, so if you —" She broke off because of the cold, certain way he was smiling at her, his eyes black with furious contempt. "You?" he repeated with a disdain that set her teeth on edge. "What fantasy is this? It is not you that I want, Sophie. You know very well what it is."

Sheikh Sharif strode back into the long sitting room pushing Sophie in front of him, one hand hard on her upper arm. She was aware of reluctant curiosity. Whatever Zoe had done, it could not be very bad, so either he was making a mountain out of a molehill or he was completely mistaken. He stopped in front of a beautiful antique enamelware cabinet in deep ruby red inlaid with delicately formed black, white and green leaves outlined in gold. He let go her arm and reached out to open the two central doors. Inside she saw another display of treasures, too small or perhaps too precious to be set in the open, each on its own plinth or bed. A tiny, perfectly formed gold horse. A fabulously jeweled miniature dagger and sheath. A delicately painted bowl. A ruby pendant. One plinth stood high in the centre of the display, as if to offer the prize of the collection. It was empty. The sheikh gave her a moment to gaze at his treasures, then turned to her, one eyebrow high. A half smile curled his lips, but it was a long way from showing amusement. For a moment his eyes blazed such anger Sophie took an involuntary step back. "Now," he said, and his voice was grim, "it is not among your possessions here, and not in your safety deposit box at the hotel. I know that you came here with the thought of selling it back to 412

me. I am willing to pay you a reasonable sum, as I said, for its return. Where is the Jade Bowl?" Furious emotion flooded up in her. She was filled with angry disappointment, though she didn't let herself see it. She laid it all at the door of righteous indignation. She could believe many things of Zoe, but that she had stolen anything from this house Sophie would never accept. She glared at him. "Are you accusing my — me of theft?" He almost laughed. "Are you denying it?" "Yes, I deny it! Of course I never stole your bowl! What kind of a bowl is it, anyway?" She wished he would stop smiling in that damned superior way. Sophie was suddenly furious with Zoe for putting her in this intolerable position with a man like him. They both made her sick. "You did not admire it as much as other treasures, I remember. You were surprised that it was considered my family's prize heirloom. A carved jade bowl commissioned by my ancestor from the greatest artist of a golden age made no impression on your mind beside the solid gold horse of a much lesser artisan. "But you knew enough to take it. Was simple punishment in your mind? The loss of the horse would have meant little to me. The Jade Bowl is irreplaceable. Or was gain the motive? Did you sell it, Sophie?" the sheikh asked silkily. "I hope you understood its value." Shivers of danger played up and down her spine in a discordant symphony. "I never touched your damned bowl!" she said again. "I have no idea where it is! You probably mislaid it yourself!" He ignored that as if it wasn't worth a response. "Well, you will have time and leisure to remind yourself." Something in his tone made her stiffen, feeling that the danger that threatened was right outside her door. "What does that mean?" she demanded, choking so that her question was hardly audible. With a sideways glance at her, the sheikh closed the cabinet doors. He turned and put his hand on her arm, then, as if the touch burned him, broke the connection. Sophie put up her own hand to rub her arm. It ached as if in the aftermath of an electric shock. "Isn't it obvious? You are an educated, intelligent woman. You should not have to be told that you will not leave this house until I have in my possession again that which is mine." Late that night Sophie lay sleepless and uncomfortable in the strange bed. Chapter Five It had been a day tossed between dream and nightmare. The house and garden were more beautiful than Sophie could have conjured up in her wildest daydreams, but a constant cloud of suspicion hung over her, turning the mildest expression of admiration into a declaration of intent in Sharif al Farid's eyes. And his eyes were always close, always watching. Not satisfied to put one of his servants as a guard on her, he shadowed her himself. She went nowhere without him, except to her own room. The internal door was firmly locked. Sharif sat outside the door to the courtyard waiting, watching, so that she couldn't rest and was driven back outside into his presence. She hated it. His constant nearness drove her crazy. Her skin twitched, as if she were in a force field. It was like being on the receiving end of a constant static electric shock. Even her hair 413

seemed to stand on end, refusing to obey her comb. And when she complained, he only repeated it remorselessly, like a mantra: "If you do not like it, you know the solution." In spite of what he had said about not wanting her, when his black gaze rested on her, her blood churned up as if in response to his desire. Then she would remember his words. If we made love a thousand times. She told herself it was not Sophie, but Zoe, he wanted. He was remembering their lovemaking, that was all. Zoe was probably a brilliant lover, and if Sophie ever did give in to the attraction, he would find her a huge disappointment. Sophie, realising the direction her thoughts had taken, sat up and angrily plumped her pillow. Give in to the attraction? What attraction? She felt nothing for Zoe's sheikh but totally justified anger! And even if he was attractive, she hadn't kept her virginity all these years to throw it away on someone who despised her, and himself for wanting her. She sank back into the bed again. What was killing her was the knowledge that he was sleeping — if he was sleeping — in the next room. The door was slightly ajar, but she could hear nothing. Was he listening to her toss and turn? Did he imagine she was sleepless for his sake? How long could this go on? He had told her the hotel believed she had gone on an extended tour of the country and would be away several nights. If that was true, she could expect no help from that source. No one would call the Embassy to declare a Canadian citizen missing when a Cup Companion vouched for her whereabouts, she was sure. He would not let her make a phone call, and as long as she could not call Zoe, she could tell him nothing. Although she had at moments been torn with indecision, she knew she could not risk telling the sheikh the truth. Because whether Zoe had or had not taken his damned Jade Bowl, and Sophie didn't believe for a second that she had, the opportunity for this to cause Hamilton Brougham trouble was huge. When she asked him how he was so sure she had taken the bowl, he only gazed at her from those condemning black eyes and shook his head. "You know how I know, Sophie," he said. "When you finally understand that you cannot get away with protestations of innocence, then we will start to get somewhere." In spite of everything he said, she was certain he still wanted Zoe. But however much he yearned to have her back in his bed, Sophie understood that he would not make love to her knowing she was married to someone else. It was part of his personal code of honor. For once Sophie was glad of one of Zoe's lies. Being thought married might be the only shield she had against Sharif al Farid. She frowned as the thought stirred an idea in her. Was there a way of escape here? He had called her a temptress. Would he let her go if he was being tempted too far? Could she make keeping her seem like too much trouble? Early the next morning she showered and dressed in a deep green and black Lycra jogging suit. It hugged every curve like skin, and the black markings on the suit bottom were placed as if to mimic a tiny black thong. She was hoping to catch him still in bed, but the door to the courtyard opened when she turned the handle, and Sharif was waiting as she emerged, a small towel around her neck, water bottle strapped against her hip. "I want to go for a jog on the beach," she said. "I haven't exercised for days on your account, and I'm getting soft." "Never that," he said cynically. 414

It was too late to jog comfortably, the sun was already getting hot, and she had been expecting no more than a violent argument. But when he shrugged and turned to walk across the courtyard, of course she followed. Barefoot and in dust-coloured shorts and shirt, he wasn't dressed for jogging, and she wondered what he intended. He led her through the arched opening and out to a wide, open terrace overlooking the sea. The house was high on the escarpment, and the view was panoramic. She could see all the way down past the point towards the city, Barakat al Barakat, and thought she could even pick out the white of her hotel against the cliff. The smell of the sea came to her on a cooling breeze that probably would not be felt down on the beach. The cliff face was impossibly steep here, dropping sharply down for twenty feet before the incline became easy enough to allow trees to cling. Any attempt to escape this way would be perilously stupid. She wondered for a moment if he intended to have her exercise here, on the terrace. Well, she would argue that. She was going to be as much trouble as she could to Sheikh Sharif al Farid. If he thought she would be an easy hostage, he would soon revise his ideas. But he led her to a heavy, steel-barred wooden door in the high estate wall, unlocked it and went through. A few yards along the cliff edge, he paused, and Sophie looked down the steepest and longest staircase she had ever seen. Without a word, Sharif started down. *** Forty-five minutes later, sweating and gasping, Sophie staggered up the staircase again. Her hair was black with sweat, her suit was soaked, her towel was dripping. Her water bottle was empty. He had jogged beside her, barefoot and easy, down to the point and back up again. Sweat made his dark skin glow, his eyelashes glisten. Every toned muscle of his arms and legs gleamed. Sophie, on the other hand, felt and looked wrecked. Round one to the sheikh. *** "You're happy just to keep me here forever, are you?" she asked irritably that night as they sat over dinner. It infuriated her that he insisted on treating her as a guest, blandly offering her a drink and discussing food with her. "As happy as you are to stay," he observed. "Abdul asks how you like your steak cooked." "If that's true, then you hate it," Sophie said bitterly, and realised only when the words were out that the implication wasn't true. She didn't hate being here with him. She only hated the fact that he regarded her with suspicion and mistrust. She lowered her eyes lest he see the truth in them, and proceeded to hide from it herself. "Why won't you let me go?" "The solution is in your hands. When you tell me where the Jade Bowl is, you may leave. Medium?" "Don't you think if I knew where the blasted thing was I would tell you?" she exploded. "No doubt you hope to drive up the price. Do you prefer rare?" "Oh, for God's sake! I don't care if he burns the damned thing to a cinder! How long do you imagine you can keep me here? My plane leaves in under a week!" "Then you will want to take steps to make sure it doesn't leave without you." "I have a job to go back to!" "I have told Abdul that you prefer medium." "I'd prefer to have your head on a platter!" 415

"I feel sure that to see you dancing the dance of seven veils would even make it worthwhile," Sharif said. Round two, the same. For several days they were at an impasse. They were days in which Sophie learned to love the wonderful house, the heat, the passionate beauty of her surroundings. Only the sheikh, like the serpent in Eden, had the power to destroy her pleasure. In his presence she felt jumpy, edgy, as if the place were too close to a power station. But even that was not a constant. When she could forget why she was here, she enjoyed being with him. More, much more, than she would admit. In such moments she sometimes felt she was in a dream of Paradise. But feelings like that only frightened her when she became aware of them, made her more desperate to get away. She grew more and more anxious, but the sheikh showed no signs of impatience. Sharif was convinced that she would crack sooner or later, it seemed, and he did not mind which it proved to be. "Don't you have a job to do?" she asked once. "This must be a comedown, a Cup Companion acting as guard dog!" "The Cup Companions of a prince are expected to be more than ordinarily flexible," he returned blandly. "Flexible?" she sneered. "How much flexibility does it take to insist you're right no matter what?" He raised his eyebrows at her, inviting more. Foolishly, driven by her conflicting emotions in his company, Sophie went on. "If you'd said deaf now, I could see it! Are Cup Companions required to be deaf to anyone's else's opinions or professions of innocence?" "Not in the usual course of events," he replied mildly, as if her question had been a real one. "Oh, what a pity!" Sarcasm was getting the better of her, but Sharif only watched her, placidly chewing. "That seems to be your strongest suit." Sharif shook his head. "My strong suit is patient watchfulness. When the mouse comes out of the hole at last, I will be there. You have nothing to gain from these delaying tactics, Sophie, be sure of that." But the way his eyes looked at her in unguarded moments belied him. Sophie was almost certain that he found her presence here as much of a strain as she did. He was faking it to convince her that he could outwait her. It was a war of nerves. But Sophie had other weapons in that war. *** She hadn't watched Zoe's flirting all these years without learning how it was done. She never used her sister's tricks herself, because she was too aware that she would not follow through. But nothing like that had ever bothered Zoe. If a man is foolish enough to believe it, that's his problem, Zoe had explained her philosophy once. The men so treated usually reacted in one of two ways — either they danced around Zoe like puppets, or they disappeared completely, unable to stay near what they knew they could not have. Sophie's plan was rather vaguely formulated. It went like this — Sharif wouldn't make love with 'Zoe' now that he knew she was married. But he obviously was still attracted. All Sophie had to do was play up that attraction till he found the strain unbearable. Then he would either do whatever she wanted — let her go just because she asked — or want to get out of her orbit 416

because he couldn't stand it. Either way, she would be a free woman. She was ignoring the still small voice that warned her that Sheikh Sharif al Farid wasn't the kind of man with whom she could play a game like that. Equally dangerously, she lacked the consciousness of her own deep motivation. Sophie's instinctive femininity had been aroused by Sharif al Farid's powerful masculinity, and unconsciously it was urging her to challenge him to prove himself. Sharif al Farid had his own motivations, both conscious and unconscious. He was unlikely to turn away from such a challenge. At least, not one coming from Sophie. Rarely in the history of feminine wiles had there been a plan more likely to backfire. Sophie sat up in the bed, listening. It was the night of the new moon, and the darkness was almost total. Outside the open windows, beyond the deeper shadow of the cloister, starlight kissed a half-closed blossom, trembled on the still water. Some night insect or bird was calling monotonously. Though a faint breeze stirred through the window, the night was warm: a thin sheet was her only covering. Moving as carefully as possible, for Sharif had warned her he was a light sleeper and she believed him, she reached for the water glass on the little table beside her bed, and dipped her fingertips into it. Then she massaged the water into her scalp, all around the hairline, dipping her fingers again and again. She poured water into her palm and splashed it on her chest above the little silk tank top she wore as a pyjama top. Then the back of her neck, her forehead and cheeks. For good measure she sprinkled water into the centre of her pillow. Chapter Six Sophie sat up in the bed, listening. It was the night of the new moon, and the darkness was almost total. Outside the open windows, beyond the deeper shadow of the cloister, starlight kissed a half-closed blossom, trembled on the still water. Some night insect or bird was calling monotonously. Though a faint breeze stirred through the window, the night was warm: a thin sheet was her only covering. Moving as carefully as possible, for Sharif had warned her he was a light sleeper and she believed him, she reached for the water glass on the little table beside her bed, and dipped her fingertips into it. Then she massaged the water into her scalp, all around the hairline, dipping her fingers again and again. She poured water into her palm and splashed it on her chest above the little silk tank top she wore as a pyjama top. Then the back of her neck, her forehead and cheeks. For good measure she sprinkled water into the centre of her pillow.She moaned softly, and began to kick the sheet. ****** Sharif lay awake in his bed for an hour, listening to her soft stirrings in the room next door, tormented by indecision and confusion. What a fool he had been to bring her here. Only now that he was caught in the toils of his own making did he understand how fatally mixed his motives had been.

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She had proven long ago how unworthy she was. Laughing and mocking him in furious rage when he had condemned her. When she had disappeared with the Jade Bowl he had written it off to experience. He had been convinced that he had forgotten the incident. But that had been before she returned. Now he saw that he could never kill his passion for her, nor the irrational conviction that she must be his. Why had he brought her here? Not merely to learn the whereabouts of the family's most significant heirloom, he now realised, though that was what he had told himself. Not even so that close proximity would let him see through the cracks of her facade and into the shallow soul beneath, killing his love with knowledge. He had brought her here for one reason only — because in his heart she was his. Never again would he have the right to call any man fool. He fell asleep at last only to dream of her. In the dream she was all she seemed on the surface, her outward beauty a match for the beauty of her soul. His heart burst with need and cherishing. ****** He stirred from the dream with her soft cries ringing in his ears. Then suddenly he was wide awake. The cries were real, though scarcely audible, coming from Sophie's room. He sat up in darkness as thick as a blanket and stared at the clock. Two o'clock. "No," she begged softly. "Oh, please don't!" He heard a whimpered breath, as if she were crying. "Please!" He swung to his feet and listened intently. Silence. "Sophie?" he called hoarsely, but what came out of his stifled throat was only a rasping whisper. No answer. Only another muted cry. ****** He knew there could be no intruder here, but still — he made it to the connecting door in perfect silence and record time. His eyes had already grown accustomed to the darkness. He sidestepped the little brass-topped table just inside the doorway, and a moment later he was bending over her. She whimpered again in her sleep. "Sophie," he said with quiet firmness, his hand on her shoulder.

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He sank down onto the bed beside her and flicked on the light. Her face and the spiky red hair were damp with sweat, and she had kicked the sheet off, revealing one long, neatly muscled leg. "Sophie," he murmured, on a different note. Her eyelids fluttered and then her eyes were wide open, staring into his. And as they gazed deep into each other, past all the defences that were so strong during the daylight hours, he knew that he was seeing the truth of her clearly for the first time. He clenched his jaw and swallowed, his gaze raking her soul, determined to know everything. Sophie had planned for two contingencies. If Sharif tripped on the strategically placed little table, sending the brass tray flying, she would scream the house down, bringing, she hoped, every member of his household staff onto the scene. How humiliating for him! If instead he made his way to the bed, she would cling to him and sob out her dream, pretending she thought he was her husband, getting him thoroughly sexually aroused. Then she'd "wake up" and push him indignantly away. Either way, he was bound to start to feel she was more trouble than his precious Jade Bowl was worth. But when he sank on the bed beside her in the dark — big, and masculine, and way, way too close for comfort, Sophie lost her nerve. As the bedside lamp went on, she instantly "woke up". Her gasp at seeing him so close wasn't an act. She could have screamed then. But as his gaze probed her, as deep as anyone had ever seen her, the impulse died in her throat. She gazed up at him, and saw her future written in his eyes. "What's the matter?" she cried, sitting up and sliding away from him till her back was against the wall. "What time is it? What do you want?" "Calm down," he ordered quietly. "You were having a nightmare." "A nightmare? Was I?" She felt stifled. Her heart was beating hard enough to choke her. Sweat broke out for real on her forehead. What a fool she was to have started this! His eyes were darkly intent, burning across her skin, as if being wakened so roughly had stripped away a discipline she had only distantly understood he was exerting over himself. Sophie's breath came in little gasps. No one had ever looked at her before with such blatant passion. She seemed to have too much blood suddenly. It pounded through her body and into her head, till she thought it might explode. Her mouth was desperately dry and she licked her lips in an attempt to soften them. She couldn't seem to get the air she needed, and parted her lips to breathe.

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One shoestring strap of her top fell down over her upper arm, and her breath caught as if at a caress, making her breasts tremble behind the pretty silk. She suddenly realised that she had kicked the sheet into such a tangle that one long tanned leg was naked to her hip. The delicate lace of her brief pyjama bottoms made a pale stitchery on her bronzed thigh. She froze, afraid to move to cover it, afraid not to. Sharif's gaze burned along the length of her body, paused on her mouth and came to rest at her eyes. "Or perhaps it was not quite a nightmare," murmured the sheikh. ****** His hand, looking darker and much more powerful in the soft lamp glow, moved to imprison her fine-boned ankle in a warm, pulsing shackle. Rivers of sensation exploded up her leg at the lightly possessive touch. His eyes watched her face, drinking up every whisper of feeling that was recorded there. "Sharif," she whispered, half protest, half invitation. He did not smile. His hand released her ankle to flatten against the sole of her foot, and his heat burned up through her whole body. Then he began to massage her toes, gently, so gently. She was hypnotised. No man had ever started at her feet before, and she was completely unprepared for being so powerfully overwhelmed so quickly. She watched his hand massage her instep, then make its slow, determined way along her ankle again, her calf, her knee. "Aren't you — aren't you forgetting something?" she whispered at last. He smiled at her, the first genuine smile she had had from him, and it melted her. Her heart cried out that it wasn't fair that she had met him under totally false pretences. Might she have had a chance to mean something to him, if he had met her as herself? "What am I forgetting?" "I thought — I thought you didn't sleep with married women." His hand was on her thigh now, melting her into honeyed softness, making her yearn for the might have been. "You are too much temptation," he murmured throatily. "Besides, we are already lovers, are we not? One more night, Sophie. That is all I ask. Then you will go home to him, and we will forget." She felt a twist of sorrow, knowing that Zoe had won again. He was not the first man who had bent his principles for Zoe, but he was the only one whose bending would break Sophie's heart. 420

"Forget?" she murmured, her heart clenching. "Will we?" "Do you doubt it? When we met on the beach, you had forgotten me." She sighed sadly. "So you just want to get me out of your system?" His hand was on her arm now, and his other arm reached to draw her toward him and into his embrace. She could not fight the delight she felt in his touch, body and soul. He drew her upper body across his legs and bent down to gaze into her face. She saw in that look all she would ever want in a man — passion, tenderness, humor, true nobility, honor, and integrity — and a deep, deep hunger for her. His arms held her with a fierce knowing that touched her deeper than she had ever been touched, and her heart burned and twisted with the contradiction of desire and pain. "Get you out of my system?" he repeated, as if that were a ridiculous impossibility. Her heart leapt, but he smiled, and she knew she had mistaken his meaning. "Yes, Sophie, let us taste love just once more." Her lips parted in protest and invitation, and as if he could wait no longer he bent and smothered her mouth in a passionate, drowning kiss. Flames leapt up all around her, tiny hot lashes of white heat that flicked her in every pore. He was murmuring endearments that thrilled her soul. "Sweet, sweet…you are my heart. You are my soul." His hands were embodied flame now, enclosing her head, her back, her breast, trembling over her face. "You are mine, Sophie. Say it. Tell me you are mine." Sophie swooned and sighed. How often had she wondered if it would ever happen for her. And here was her answer. But it was an answer tinged with sorrow. Sharif had compromised his principles for passion's sake, but did that mean she could? ****** To ask the question was to answer it. Sharif only wanted a one-night stand. He did not mean what he was saying in any serious way. The way she felt about him was serious enough. She had only known him a few days, and once, a long time ago, she had believed only months or years would be enough to understand love well enough to know that it was real. But she had been wrong about that. Love could happen in an instant. You could know from the first moment. Even on that first morning, watching him gallop by on the black horse…even then she had somehow known. 421

But loving him was not enough. Could she go through with this, make love to him with all her heart, when all he wanted was her body for one night of lovemaking, when he despised her — or thought he did — in his soul? However sweet that lovemaking promised to be, could she betray herself in such a way? His mouth, with tender and delightful caress, was murmuring over her throat, her cheek, her ear. For one long, bittersweet moment Sophie gave herself up to it, thrilling to his touch and the firm intent she felt in him. "My Beloved," he murmured. "Ahsheqi." Her heart leapt with convulsive pain for what could never be. Then she sighed and struggled, and when he released her, sat up. "Sharif," she said quietly. "I have something to tell you." He was watching her expectantly, no surprise evident in him, only a kind of satisfaction. She wondered distantly if he thought she was about to confess the whereabouts of the heirloom. In the deeper understanding that had come to her over the past few minutes she saw that Zoe must pay for her own sins, if payment was necessary. Sophie could not save her sister from consequences now. She could not merely give him a "no." The price was too high. "I'm sorry, but I can't make love with you," she began. She wondered if he would think what was coming just another lie, another attempt at manipulation. "I know you think we've done this before, but we haven't. I'm not married, either. I'm not who you think I am. And I'm…I'm a virgin." She felt the tension rush up inside him, felt it in the convulsive clenching of his arms and jaw, the tightening of his grip on her. For a moment of what looked like white-hot anger, he stared at her, and she knew that if his passion got the better of him now, she was lost. She would not have the strength to say no a second time to what she was so desperate to experience. And for a wild, drunken moment she wanted that fate, preferred it over the empty future she foresaw otherwise. "A virgin?" he repeated, in a voice like gravel. Sophie swallowed. She couldn't say another word. She could only gaze at him, half hypnotized. His eyes widened and then narrowed with an emotion she couldn't read. She had never seen black flame before. Black heat, she thought, gazing into his eyes. Her heart kicked and leapt. Too late Sophie understood that he was a man who had been made a fool of twice. And she understood him enough to know that he would not take that lightly. ****** "How is this possible?" Sharif demanded. 422

"I'm not who you think I am," Sophie said. "Last year you met my sister." "Sister," he repeated, with a grim smile. His gaze still pierced her. "Which of you is Sophie?" "She's Zoe. We're twins. I cut and colored my hair because…" But there was no need to tell all of Zoe's secrets. His head was close to hers, his eyes searching. As if unconsciously, his grip was still firm. Possessive. But she knew it could not last. When the truth sank in…. "She sent you here? Why?" "For a holiday, she said. But I'm not sure what was really on her mind." Sophie took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. "You didn't guess?" "Guess? I guessed things could not be as I had imagined. I knew that there was some mystery to be understood. You were not the woman I remembered. The longer I was with you, the clearer that became. Either you had changed more than your hair, I thought, or - or you had lied to me before." His hand moved on her arm in a hypnotic caress that sent shivers of need into her blood. "Then tonight I saw the truth. I knew you were a different woman." Sharif's jaw clenched, and with a wrench of regret that made her gasp, she felt his grip loosen. I should have taken the chance when it was on offer, her heart cried, too late. She had passed up forever her chance to taste that burning passion in herself and him. To touch that place of deep connection in her soul. She knew that she was right in what she had always believed - such deep feeling is a once in a lifetime kind of thing. Even if it wasn't reciprocated, you should have taken your chance when you had it, she told herself, in bitter reproach. Sharif al Farid would have been hers for one night, if she had been brave enough to take the taste of paradise fate had offered. She had tossed the cup away without a sip. His eyes still burned her with accusation and blame. As he opened his mouth to speak, on the bedside table, the clock numbers flicked. She couldn't bear to hear his condemnation. Sophie said quickly, "It's yesterday afternoon in Vancouver. I want to phone Zoe and ask her about the bowl." "It will change nothing," he said harshly. But she couldn't believe that. If at least she could prove that Zoe had not stolen the Jade Bowl, it must change something. 423

****** Zoe giggled and gasped. "What, that old green bowl of his? My God, do you mean he's been imagining that I stole it all this time?" But her voice betrayed her. "Where is it, then?" Sophie asked firmly, and Zoe laughed outright, the way she always did when she was caught out in a prank. "Think of the Purloined Letter, Soph," she said tantalizingly, and then, when Sophie didn't bite, said, a little sulkily, "It's in the kitchen. On the top shelf, I think, behind some bigger bowls. I don't think much of his housekeeper if she hasn't found it after more than a year!" "Is that why you sent me here?" "I confess I was a little worried about the bowl. I didn't really understand how much it was worth till I got back here and looked it up. It's worth an absolute fortune, and I did start to think maybe the kitchen wasn't the best place for it. But I couldn't risk going myself, not with Ham in the situation he's in. Someone might have got hold of the story if they'd seen us together." "Oh, Zoe! "Sophie couldn't help complaining. "Don't tell me you're sorry. It hasn't escaped me that you're having this little heart to heart with the sheikh in the middle of the night there. Tell me, did he overcome his precious scruples with you? Did he make love with you thinking you were me? I hope it taught him a lesson!" "What lesson? What did you do it for?" "He was so damned self-righteous," her twin returned. "How was I to know I shouldn't mention my husband? Your darling sheikh practically kicked me out of bed. I've never been so insulted in my life. So what's it like with him? Did I miss the unmissable?" ****** "You threw her out of bed?" Sophie asked in a kind of awe. No man had ever done that before, she was sure. "Your sister exaggerates," Sharif said, with a smile. "As I remember the moment, she was sitting on the sofa, and kicked off her shoes with the casual remark that her husband had bought them for her and they didn't quite fit." "Oh!" They lay side by side on her bed, the light a soft glow enclosing them. She had never felt so safe.

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"She seemed to have no idea that her being a married woman would make any difference to me. She was very angry that it did. So angry that when I saw you on the beach I was half suspicious that you had returned to sell the bowl back to me at the price of my principles." Sophie gave vent to a little laugh. That was probably not far off what Zoe had imagined doing, but of course she wouldn't follow through - not with Ham's career as the price. "Would I have succeeded?" Sophie asked. "I was not happy to discover how tempted I was," Sharif admitted. "And yet you brought me here." "Perhaps because I am a self-deluded fool. But I would rather think that unconsciously I knew the truth. The first time I kissed you, my heart insisted you were innocent," he told her softly. His hand caressed her cheek, her arm, with a self-control that made him tremble. His mouth was tight with contained desire, his eyes blacker than ever. The flame of his need touched her, heart, and body, and soul. Sophie's whole self trembled at the brink of need like a bottomless chasm at her feet. "Yet I knew the opposite was true. I was determined to be on my guard. So I discounted the intuition that promised me you were the one I have been waiting for, all my life. That you belonged to me." A tremulous smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. "You were so angry and suspicious that I thought nothing could ever come of my feelings. There didn't seem to be any point in telling you the truth. But tonight…." His arm was strong and tender against her back, a hold whose possession she could never break. "Tonight, I looked into your eyes and knew the truth about you," he murmured, and now his fingers toyed with a short, bright curl, sending whispers of electricity over her scalp. "It had been there to see from the beginning." "You didn't show any hint of that. 'Only one more night', you said." "I said that to drive you to confess the truth. I knew that you would not make love to me as part of a lie." Sophie smiled dreamily and curled her body into his. "Not as part of a lie, no," she whispered, and had the satisfaction of feeling his blood leap. He bent and kissed her, and delicious melting rippled through her. But he lifted his mouth too soon.

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"Sophie, I will not put pressure on you," Sharif said. "I know that you need time. My love for you is already certain, but it is only natural that you will want to be sure. Will you trust me to wait until you are sure of me, and of yourself?" "I trust you, Sharif," she said softly. "With all my heart. With everything I am, or hope to be." Smiling, she reached up her hand to draw his head down again for her kiss. "And I'm sure."

****** "The green bowl?" murmured Umm Abdullah, the cook, next morning. "Ah, yes! So pretty. I never saw anything so delicate! It was a pity to leave it there, collecting sand dust. It got into all the little petals." "What did you do with it?" asked Sheikh Sharif al Farid. "Why, I took it down to use it, of course! It is too small for a mixing bowl, but I have set it here, where I can admire it. You see that it is just large enough to hold a head or two of garlic." "Yes, I see," said Sharif. "It is the prettiest thing! Look at the rose he has carved, Lord. You can almost smell it! I admire it often while I cook. Do you know who carved it? If you are going to take this one, I would like to pay him to make me another." "You're letting her keep it in the kitchen?" Sophie asked in bemusement. "It holds her garlic," Sharif explained blandly. "But you -" "It is my fate to have been taught important lessons from unexpected sources just recently," Sharif said. "And what lesson did Umm Abdullah teach you?" "That a true eye will always see worth, whatever hides it. When I go to the kitchen and see the Jade Bowl there now, it will remind me not to overlook the jewel I am searching for when it is right before my eyes." His eyes told her what jewel he meant. Sophie laughed a tender laugh, and his mouth covered hers, and her laughter sparkled in his blood.

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Too Close For Comfort By Jacqueline Diamond

Chapter One “I know the cold medicine hit you hard,” said Idabelle Babcock, “but you’re the only waitress on duty today besides me. Take care of that new fellow who just wandered in, would you? I’ve got to get on with my baking or I’ll never be ready for the dinner crowd.”

“You mean the hayseed in the checked shirt?” Rita asked thickly. Usually her New York accent made a startling contrast to her boss’s Texas twang, but today her brain was full of cotton.

With her nose so stuffy, she sounded like a three-year-old who hasn’t quite gotten the hang of consonants. “I hope he’s not going to carry on like the last couple of guys.”

What was it about ranch hands that made them act as if they’d never seen a five-foot-six, blueeyed blonde before? There were plenty of attractive women in central Texas, although Rita had to admit she hadn’t seen any others who dyed the tips of their hair pink or had their eyeliner tattooed on.

“First of all, honey, we’re all hayseeds here in Skunk Crossing. Second, he’s good-looking enough to make the cows give ice cream instead of milk, so if he gawks at you, enjoy it. Go on, now, shoo.” Idabelle waved her out of the kitchen into the cozy coffee shop.

At three o’clock on a Monday afternoon, the dozen tables were less than half-filled. Rita took as deep a breath as she could, given her advanced state of nasal congestion, and strolled at a leisurely pace across the black-and-white tile floor.

Waitressing was her second least favourite thing to do, just ahead of scrubbing floors. At twentysix, she’d hoped never to have to fall back on either one again.

Much as she liked Idabelle, she wasn’t thrilled to be stuck here in this tiny town. The Black-andWhite Café, with its fake red carnations on every table, might smell tantalisingly of bacon and maple syrup, but it was a long way from her budding career as a Broadway actress and singer. Well, okay, Off Off Broadway, but she was working her way up. Rita had planned to beef up her résumé and her bank account with a month long stint at a dinner theatre in San Antonio. Problem was, her rattletrap car had taken its final curtain call en route, stranding her in the middle of nowhere. 427

When she called the dinner theatre producer, he’d informed her he had a policy against advancing money. He’d go with local talent, he’d said, and hung up. Chapter Two Since Rita’s theatre friends were as broke as she was, she’d had to rely on her waitressing skills. Thank goodness the gruff but kindhearted Idabelle had rented her a cheap room at the bed-andbreakfast and hired her on at the café. Even after three weeks, though, she still couldn’t afford the expensive parts her car needed.

Rita whipped out her pad as she approached the well-built man who sat fiddling with the ketchup bottle as if he couldn’t wait to douse something with it.

In his late twenties, he had a rangy, rough-hewn look, with melting brown eyes and hair slightly darker than Rita’s used to be before she reinvented herself as a blonde. The cowboy clothes were low-key and definitely well worn.

If she were casting a rodeo movie, she’d give him the part of the muscle-bound champion. Or, better yet, a nonspeaking role where all he had to do was drape himself picturesquely across a saddle.

“Hi, I’m Rita,” she said. “What can I get you?”

“Well, I’d like some hotcakes and…” The man looked up from his menu and stopped with his mouth open.

His gaze traveled up her figure as if peeling away the frilly white apron and black dress. The guy probably had an X-ray imagination, but then, what sex-starved backwoods Romeo didn’t?

“Like what you see?” Rita meant to be sardonic, but her tongue felt like an Olympic skater trying to perform a triple axel on ice cubes. To her dismay, the words sounded sincere.

“Honey, I sure do,” he said.

She had to admit, she’d asked for that. “What’ll you have with your hotcakes?”

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“I don’t suppose you’re available?”

Rita gave him credit for delivering that ancient line as if it were fresh. He got extra credit for the nice, even teeth, too. Somewhere along the line he’d collided with either a good orthodontist or an exemplary set of genes. “Afraid not. As you can see, I’m working.”

“Nobody works all the time.” The guy’s smile was such an intriguing blend of cockiness and hope that she almost smiled back.

She’d better get her attitude together or she’d never survive when she got back to New York. “I work every chance I get. There are bills to pay.” No point in going into none-of-his-business details. “You want hash browns or grits?” Chapter Three “Grits would be fine.” Without taking his eyes off her, he handed her his menu and the ketchup bottle.

“You can keep that,” Rita said.

He took the menu back.

“The ketchup,” she said.

“Sorry.” The man shook his head at his mistake. “I finished a cattle drive in Montana last week. I nearly forgot how it feels to eat in a restaurant.”

A cattle drive. So that explained the lean physique and the 110-percent sheer maleness of the man. “Just don’t spit tobacco on the floor. The management frowns on it.”

“If I promise not to, will you take in a movie with me tonight? A little female companionship might help to civilise me.” He leaned back in his chair and gazed at her invitingly. The man had guts, she conceded. And a thick hide, since she’d already told him no.

It was the wrong moment for Rita’s nose to get ticklish, because it cut off her natural inclination 429

to put the guy in his corn-pone-eating place. Also, it looked bad if you sneezed on a customer, so she held it until her eyes watered. There was nothing worse than having a cold in August, she thought miserably.

“That’s all right,” said the stud, misunderstanding. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I know I’m a stranger in town, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. My name’s Owen Ryder. I inherited the Twin Star Ranch from my uncle, Charley Ryder. I bet he used to come in here a lot to see a pretty girl like you.”

“No doubt.” Although Rita knew old Charley had died before she’d arrived in Skunk Crossing, she found herself reluctant to tell Owen any details, including the fact that she was a stranger here herself. “I’ll get your coffee,” she said, and made a getaway into the kitchen.

“Your cheeks are burning,” Idabelle told her.

Rita slapped down the order. “That guy is so full of cow manure, he shouldn’t be allowed off the range.” Chapter Four The café owner thumped a ball of dough onto a flour-sprinkled cloth and began kneading it for all she was worth. Her homemade bread was so popular, she could hardly keep enough on hand. “I’d be pleased as punch if a man like that took a shine to me. But then, I’m not some big-city woman.”

“Here’s the funny part. He thinks I’m a shy local girl.” Rita chuckled. “Maybe I’ll let him keep on believing it.”

Idabelle picked up the order form and squinted at it. “That’s strange.”

“What is?”

“What you wrote down,” said her boss. “Hotcakes, great teeth, guts.”

“That’s grits,” Rita said. “Forget the teeth. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

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“I do.” Idabelle made a kissing noise as she turned to pour batter for the flapjacks.

Rita grabbed a pot of coffee and a mug. “I never thought anything of the sort,” she said. “Not about that cowboy.”

They were ships passing in the night. Prairie schooners, Rita corrected herself, and went out to pour Owen some coffee.

With a little luck, maybe she’d spill some down his pants and scald his brains. Chapter Five By the time Owen finished his flapjacks, he’d reluctantly concluded that this stunning waitress had no intention of going on a date with him. Maybe she already had a boyfriend or, more likely, two or three.

He wasn’t the type to give up easily, though, not when he saw something he really wanted. And he liked everything about Rita, from the pink-edged blond hair to eyes so blue they set off a stampede among his red blood cells. He liked her spirit, too.

It was no use worrying about the fact that he didn’t plan to stay in Skunk Crossing, Texas. It would take him months to fix up the ranch he’d inherited so he could sell it for top dollar. As usual in a new place, he’d hang around until he found himself waking up at night raring to pack his bags and move on.

Since he was a teenager, Owen had been driven to search for something he couldn’t name, something that would satisfy him completely, something that probably didn’t exist. He hadn’t found it in the army or at any of half a dozen cities around the West and he knew he wasn’t going to find it in this middle-of-nowhere town.

In the meantime, if beautiful Miss Rita didn’t want to date him, he’d find another way to get to know her. In fact, he had it right in his pocket.

She stopped by again, smelling of the cherry cough syrup he’d seen her swallowing a minute ago, and slapped his bill on the table. “You can stay as long as you want, cowboy, but I’m off.”

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“I thought you worked such long hours you didn’t have time to date,” Owen teased, and then held up his hand to stop the sharp retort she was obviously fixing to launch. ”If you don’t want to go out with me, that’s fine.”

“Glad to hear it.” She had a funny accent, he noticed, but that was probably due to her cold.

“If you need money like you said, how come you’re not working the dinner shift? I’ve heard that usually pays better than lunch,” he said.

“I don’t have enough seniority to get that shift.” She released an impatient breath. Chapter Six “You must hate sitting around with nothing to do when you’ve got all those bills to pay,” Owen said. “Look at what I was about to take over to the Crossing Chronicle.” From his pocket, he unfolded the ad he’d planned to run in the local weekly.

Rita planted one hand on her hip while she read it. Man, she looked great from every angle, Owen thought.

He knew he was playing with fire. A small-town lady like her would expect her man to stick around. Well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

“A housekeeper.” Her nose wrinkled. “You couldn’t pay me enough to scrub your floors.”

That old ranch house needed a lot more than scrubbing. He’d be willing to play it by ear, though, just to have Rita on the premises. “I’ll do the heavy work myself. Mostly the place needs a woman’s touch,” he improvised.

“Do I look like Martha Stewart to you?”

“Honey, you look like a movie star to me,” he said.

Rita thrust the paper into his hand. When they touched, her skin burned against his palm, sending his masculine instincts slamming to attention. 432

“You didn’t mention a salary,” she said.

“It’s hourly.” Although he’d meant to offer eight dollars, Owen had a feeling she’d laugh in his face. Ten probably wouldn’t do it, either. Mentally, he did a quick calculation of the number of hours involved and compared it to his bank balance. No point in haggling, he decided. “Would twenty an hour interest you?”

Those enormous blue eyes swept over him like a vacuum cleaner. Coming to a decision, she nodded. “Okay. I can only work in the evenings, though. And my car’s busted. That’s what I need money for.”

It surprised him that one of her beaux hadn’t volunteered to do the job. What was wrong with the men in this town, forcing a woman to work extra hard when all she needed was a few repairs? Chapter Seven “I was a mechanic in the army,” Owen said. “I’ll haul your car out to the ranch and fix it myself. No charge.”

“It needs parts.”

“I’ll order them sent to my place. It won’t take long.” He might stretch it out by a few weeks, Owen reflected, trying to ignore a twinge of conscience. They needed time to get to know each other. “I’ll drive you to and from town.”

Rita eyed him dubiously. “You’d better not have any smart ideas about getting me alone on your ranch. You pull any funny stuff, buster, and I’ll overhaul your transmission myself.”

He whistled. “Your mama must have fed you hot chilies for breakfast!” Moving to close the deal, Owen added, “Why don’t we go fetch your car right now? I’ve got a tow bar on my pickup.”

She shook her head. “I’ll start tomorrow afternoon.”

“Why’s that?” The prospect of a delay made him edgy. Patience had never been Owen’s strong suit.

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“First, I’m going to check you out,” she said.

“I never lived around here. But sure, go ahead. Uncle Charley probably told people a few things about me.” He’d never broken the law and he’d only gotten drunk a few times in his younger years, so Owen wasn’t worried about what she might learn.

“If you come up clean, I’ll see you tomorrow. And for twenty bucks an hour plus free car repair, I’ll even scrub your floors.” Before he could frame a reply, Rita’s shapely bottom sashayed across the restaurant and out of sight.

For once in his life, Owen stayed where he was, held fast by pure masculine appreciation. Chapter Eight Rita stood in the doorway, gaping at the shambles inside the ranch house. When she’d agreed to work for Owen, she hadn’t figured on needing a bulldozer, a crane, and most likely a game warden before she could get into his home.

In one corner, cobwebs thick enough to catch a buffalo hung from an upright piano. So much paint had peeled from the walls that she could only guess at their colour, and the scarred coffee table listed sharply to starboard.

“Sorry about the mess.” Owen gazed around ruefully. “I didn’t realise it was this bad. Guess I was paying more attention to the rest of the spread.”

“Don’t tell me you sleep in here!”

“I sleep out in the trailer,” he said. “That’s where my uncle must have stayed the past few years, too, judging by the looks of this place. I guess he was in worse shape than he let on. If he’d told me, I’d have come and helped him.”

“I don’t know where to start,” Rita protested, even as her brain began organising a rescue operation. Messy though it was, this house could have swallowed half a dozen overcrowded apartments like the ones where she’d grown up in New York with her mother and her aunt’s family.

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Her dreams had kept her sane. Dreams of onstage glory. Dreams of wealth and vast Fifth Avenue apartments.

Of course, she’d matured since then. In singing and acting, she’d discovered not an avenue to wealth - far from it - but a way to live in the moment, to be truly herself. And as soon as she got her car fixed, she’d be heading back to the life she loved.

“I’ll tell you what,” Owen said. “There’s fence posts to mend and the barn to paint, but I’ll work in here with you until we get things straightened. I promised you no heavy lifting and I meant it.”

To demonstrate, he hoisted the broken coffee table, carted it to the front door, and heaved it into the yard, where it landed with a crash. In the summer heat, his plaid shirt clung to his torso, etching the muscles. When he turned to face her, Rita’s fingers itched to trace their outlines.

“Okay, let’s start with…” She paused, seeing a feathery black-and-white tail wave into view behind an ottoman. What a pretty cat, was her first thought, right before understanding dawned. The nearby town hadn’t been named Skunk Crossing for nothing.

That was when Rita screamed. Chapter Nine Rita’s close encounter with the skunk, which Owen had lured outside using an old bag of cat food, was only the first of her adventures. During the next week, she discovered exactly how badly his late uncle Charley had neglected the ranch house.

There were piglets rooting in the laundry room. Kittens mewling in a doorless kitchen cabinet. An owl nesting in the attic.

For twenty dollars an hour and the chance to get her car fixed so she could leave Skunk Crossing, Texas, she was more than willing to play Dr. Dolittle during the off hours from her waitress job. Besides, the kittens were cute, the pigs had personality, and the owl fascinated her with its knowing stare.

She was almost sorry when it departed for parts unknown.

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“We’ll need to find homes for these,” she said on Saturday as she knelt in front of the barn stall where she’d just moved the little cats. The mother, whom Owen had told her was named Patches, meowed and rolled over for a tummy scratch. “Unless you plan to keep them.” She rubbed the soft fur.

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know what to do with them.” Owen glanced down from the loft, where he’d been pitching moldy hay out the hay doors. The chaff in the air clogged Rita’s sinuses, which had barely recovered from her head cold. Even so, she caught a tantalising whiff of aftershave lotion and tangy male exertion.

In the August heat, sweat gleamed on Owen’s tanned, bare torso above low-riding jeans. There was something almost irresistible about a well-built man with his shirt off, Rita thought.

Absently, she plucked her low-necked blouse away from her steamy skin and then realized she’d just given him a clear view down her shirt.

He was a big boy. He could handle it, she mused, then checked upward and realized he’d grown even bigger since the last time she looked. Well, that was his problem.

“That’s a terrific sty you built for the piglets,” she said, hoping he hadn’t noticed the direction of her gaze. “You’ve got great carpentry skills.”

“I’ve worked on ranches most of my life,” he said. “You’ve got to be your own construction worker, mechanic, vet, whatever it takes.”

It was on the tip of Rita’s tongue to suggest that he’d be handy at building stage sets. She bit back the words. Chapter Ten For reasons she couldn’t explain even to herself, she still hadn’t wised him up to the fact that she was a stranded actress from New York instead of the local girl he assumed her to be.

She’d even caught herself softening her accent without meaning to. Thank goodness he didn’t get into town much or know anyone who might gossip about her.

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Of course, Owen hadn’t shared with her the fact that he planned to sell off this ranch rather than settling down. She’d learned about it by putting two and two together. At the restaurant, Idabelle had recalled old Charley saying that his nephew had a bad case of wanderlust.

Suzette, the local real estate broker, had mentioned Owen asking how much ranches were selling for.

Rita wondered if he was keeping it secret because he figured a small-town lady was more likely to get involved with a man who might marry her. If he only knew that she ran away screaming any time a man tried to tie her down, he might do something about that excitement of his, something she wasn’t sure she would mind.

“Where were you stationed in the army?” she asked. They’d been labouring so hard all week, they’d had little chance to talk about anything more personal than whether to clean the curtains or burn them.

“In Germany,” he said. “After I got out, I fixed cars at a garage in Boise for a while. Working indoors makes me feel like I’m in prison, so I gave it up.”

From the corner of her eye, Rita spotted a dust mouse from her morning’s work in the kitchen clinging to her hair and finger-combed it out. At least the kitchen was clean now, although it still needed painting.

Despite its condition, it felt luxurious after the kitchenette in the Manhattan flat she shared with three other actresses.

“What would you have done if you hadn’t inherited the Twin Star spread?” she asked.

“I was thinking about heading for California.” Owen slid down the ladder from the loft, his boots planted on either side as if he were a fireman scooting down a pole. At the bottom, he opened the cooler, took out two colas and tossed her one. “They’ve got ranches out there, I hear, although not as many as there used to be.”

“What’s so special about California?” After wiping her hands on her jeans, Rita popped the top and took a swig. It was so wonderfully cool that she pressed it to the valley between her breasts.

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“Nothing, except it’s a place I haven’t been.” His can uplifted over his mouth, Owen glimpsed what she was doing and spilled soda down his front.

“Hey! There’s a refreshing idea!” Rita teased.

Spluttering, he tried to brush off the sticky liquid. “Rita, didn’t your mama ever tell you not to distract a man when he’s drinking?” Chapter Eleven “You find this distracting?” she asked archly, and pressed the can between her breasts again.

His sharp intake of breath sent a delicious shiver down her stomach into private places. “I know you’re working for me, and I’m not the kind of guy to take advantage of a woman,” he said.

“But?” she challenged.

“Maybe we ought to take advantage of each other.” His eyes hooded, he set down his soda and shifted toward her.

Rita fought a rapid battle with her better judgment and lost. Instead of heading for the open door, she set her own can on top of the cooler.

Owen’s work-roughened hands caught her shoulders gently. He angled her toward him, scorching her with a hungry gaze. Tipping her chin up lightly with his fingers, he brushed a kiss across her mouth, tilted his head and probed more deeply.

Mesmerised, Rita felt her breasts swell and her knees melt as he gathered her against him. Somehow she’d expected a cowboy to be rougher, quick to pull her onto the fresh hay piled on the floor and nearly as fast as a New York male to whip off his pants. Even though she’d invited their embrace, she’d been prepared to squirm her way free.

Instead, Owen seemed to enjoy every simmering moment as he ran one hand through her blond hair and cradled her cheek against his palm. Taking his time, he trailed his attention down to the vee of her blouse, where he worked a button to reveal more of her cleavage.

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“You sure are lovely,” he said. “Fresh and sweet.”

“Don’t pretend you haven’t turned heads from Montana to…” What was some other Western state? Rita wondered. “…wherever.”

“I’ve had a few girlfriends,” Owen admitted. “There’s something different about you, though. Colours seem brighter when you’re around.”

“You’re full of pan drippings,” Rita shot back. Pan drippings? Where had that phrase come from? Chapter Twelve Owen chuckled. “I’m hot, all right. And so are you.” Talking didn’t hinder his talented hands, she noticed as his thumbs circled her nipples inside her bra. Ripples of pleasure radiated into her marrow, making it hard to remember that she needed to call a halt.“I’d say we’re getting a little too hot to handle.” Catching his wrists, Rita gave them a tug.

Instead of pulling away, Owen bent down and put his mouth where his thumbs had been a moment before. Rita knew she ought to object. And she was going to, any minute now.

That was the last rational thought she had before they sank onto the pile of hay together. ****** What on earth had she let herself in for? Rita mused as she lay half-submerged in hay and glowing with satisfaction. Next to her, Owen released a contented sigh.

His hard body looked so appealing that she almost forgot her doubts about what they’d just done. The man must spend a lot of time in the sun with his shirt off, Rita reflected, because he had a tan to put a surfer to shame, not to mention a build that would bring instant, envious silence to any gym he cared to ramble through.

Outside the barn, the August daylight was fading, leaving a mist of Texas heat. It would be easy to lie here forever. Or to go on doing what she was doing day after day, working mornings at the café and, after hours, helping fix up Owen’s ranch house. Was it really so important to hurry back to New York?

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The hay tickled Rita’s nose and she sneezed. She found her jeans on the ground and pulled out a tissue left over from her recently defunct head cold.

Speaking of pockets, that reminded her of what Owen had produced from his: a condom. Great idea, of course, except that it emphasised that he was a stud. Also, she recalled, he still hadn’t disclosed the fact that he planned to sell the ranch. Chapter Thirteen Like Rita’s father, who’d abandoned his family when Rita was ten, he gave only the illusion of being reliable. The sooner she got on with her life, the better.

That was impossible with her car out of commission. Come to think of it, he’d made no appreciable progress on fixing the thing in the past week.

“Owen?” Rita said.

He rolled over, took one look at her naked body and groaned. “Honey, you can ask me anything you want and I swear, I’ll do it.”

“I’m not in the mood for any more…”

“If you want, I’ll pick you up and carry you to the water tank for a swim. Or what do you say we stroll inside in the altogether and I’ll cook you a Spanish omelette for dinner?” His rich brown eyes widened hopefully.

Rita took a swig from her now-warm can of cola. “What I was wondering was when you expect those car parts to get here from San Angelo.”

“Car parts?” He looked baffled, as if the dirt-streaked white sedan weren’t sitting a few dozen feet outside the barn, where he’d unhitched it from his pickup.

“For my Oldsmobile,” she prompted.

“Oh, right.” Pulling his thoughts together with visible effort, the temporary rancher sat up and 440

reached for his own soft drink. “They’re on back order. There’s a shortage of parts for your model.”

“Have you tried eBay?” Rita asked sweetly.

He choked on the soda. It sounded as if it had gone up his nose.

“That’s on the Internet,” she said with pretended innocence. “Don’t they have that in Montana?”

“I, uh, forgot about eBay.” Owen had the grace to look embarrassed. “Guess you’re way ahead of me, as usual.” Chapter Fourteen Judging by the crimson stain on his cheeks, Rita figured the parts had either already arrived or were likely to be here any day. She hoped she’d shamed him into installing them fast.

His next question caught her off guard. “What’s your rush, anyway? I’m driving you to and from town, and you can walk anywhere you need to go in Skunk Crossing.”

Rita’s hand tightened on the soft-drink can. Until now, she’d let Owen assume she was a local lady without actually lying to him. She hated to spoil the moment after they’d made love by telling him the truth, but what was the alternative? ****** Owen had never seen a woman so unselfconscious about being naked. Or so gorgeous, either. It was a winning combination.

From the way Rita’s pretty mouth was working, though, he could tell his question had hit on a sore point. He finally organised his thoughts enough to reflect that she hadn’t volunteered much about herself this past week since she’d started working for him part-time. Such as, why did she live at the bed-and-breakfast, and where was her family?

He hoped the answers didn’t involve a man, particularly not one who had a claim on her. Such as a husband she’d run away from.

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“I’m not from around here.” Stretching out her long legs, Rita leaned against the barn wall, letting her pink-tipped blond hair tumble around her bare shoulders. “In fact, I was just passing through.”

If he hadn’t been so absorbed in male fantasies every time she was around, Owen realised, it might have dawned on him once her cold cleared up that she didn’t have a Texas accent. “Where is it exactly that you live?” Chapter Fifteen “New York,” she said.

“Upstate?” He’d heard there were farms in that region. Wineries, too.

“City,” Rita corrected.

His brain shifted gears with a subliminal grinding noise. He had to cancel the small-town assumptions and substitute - what?

“Never been there,” Owen admitted. “What sort of work do you do?” Thinking of her job at the Black-and-White Café, he added, “Waitressing?”

“Only when I have to,” Rita said. “I’m an actress and a singer.”

“Like in musicals?” he heard himself say through a sheen of unreality.

Sure, his new girlfriend was beautiful enough to be on stage. Men would probably pay just to look at her. But an actress? Never in a million years had Owen expected to meet such an exotic creature in Skunk Crossing.

“Exactly,” she said. “Mostly I’ve worked Off Off Broadway. I was on my way to a dinner theatre job in San Antonio when I got stuck.”

“Does that pay much?”

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“No,” she said.

He should have figured that, since she’d been eager to clean his rundown house for twenty bucks an hour. “I’d love to hear you sing.” Chapter Sixteen “Get that piano tuned and you can count on it.” Flashing him a dazzling smile, Rita scrambled to her feet and picked up her itsy-bitsy underwear.

“Going somewhere?” He hoped not.

“I’m starving and you promised me an omelette,” she said. “Any chance of eating soon?”

“You bet!” Owen hurried to his feet and grabbed his jeans.

“I never saw anybody take so long to get dressed. You move about as fast as rush-hour traffic,” Rita teased, and marched out of the barn without a backward glance.

Struggling to pull on his clothes, Owen hopped after her toward the ranch house. He didn’t want to let this lady out of his sight.

He’d figured Rita for someone special from the moment he laid eyes on her, but he’d never imagined anything like this. Owen had lived in a lot of places in the ten years since he’d turned eighteen. One thing he’d discovered about his girlfriends, though, no matter where they lived, was that the better he got to know them, the more alike they seemed.

Rita was different. Full of surprises and quick-witted, too. He suspected it would take one heck of a long time to get bored with her. Chapter Seventeen Owen proved to be a good cook, judging by his omelette. “Is this one of the things you cooked over a campfire during your cattle drive?” Rita asked as they carried their empty plates to the sink. “If it is, I might sign on.”

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Her body still hummed.

“We sure could have used an entertainer like you up there in Montana.” As Owen washed the dishes, Rita found herself fascinated by his powerful arms and hands, now that she knew exactly what he could do with them. “It’s beautiful country but after a while, I got tired of all that wideopen space with nobody around.”

“Where I grew up in New York, we knew from the sounds and smells what our neighbours ate for breakfast and which TV shows they watched.” It was a relief for Rita to be able to talk about her childhood, now that she’d admitted she wasn’t a local girl. “My mum and I had great scenery out the bedroom window, too - a brick wall. It had a funny blotch on it. I used to imagine it was a secret sign from my fairy godmother.”

“A secret sign about what?” Owen scrubbed the glasses with a practiced hand. The last fellow Rita had dated had never used anything but disposables, even his knives and forks. He’d been a one-man environmental disaster. A disaster in several other departments as well.

“A sign that my father was coming back.” She could hardly believe she was confiding this. Something about the ranch house, despite its years of hard use, made her feel at home. Something about the man made her feel she could trust him, too, although she knew perfectly well he was a confirmed wanderer at heart. “He left when I was little.”

“You lived alone with your mother?” After Owen tossed her a terry towel, Rita set to work drying.

“I wouldn’t call it alone. We shared a two-bedroom place with my aunt and her kids. She‘s a widow.” Rita loved her family and wished she could summon more nostalgia for happy times in the flat. Instead, all she recalled was taking refuge on the fire escape, dreaming of becoming a Broadway star.

Or, better yet, of having her father come home and never leave again.

“At least you probably had friends around.” Owen dried his hands on another towel. “It seemed like as soon as I made a friend, we moved on. My father was always losing his job and going in search of a new one. I think he liked it that way. My mum didn’t, though.”

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“Where are they now?” Rita didn’t object when he took her hand and led her outside. Darkness had fallen while they ate, and a thousand stars blazed across the sky, brighter than she’d ever seen.

“My dad died while I was in the army. Mum’s remarried and lives in Tucson,” he said. “I want to show you something, Rita. Look up there.”

He pointed at the sky. Not knowing the names of the constellations, she had no idea what she was supposed to be looking at. The important thing was that Owen cared enough to show it to her. “It’s beautiful, whatever it is.”

“Look at that star. Not those faint ones. The bright one, right there.” He indicated a part of the heavens that glittered with lights. “My daddy used to call it the Ryder Wandering Star.

He said he’d discovered it and one of these days he was going to officially put our name on it.” Chapter Eighteen Rita pretended to study it, although she still couldn’t tell which one he meant. “It’s an airplane,” she said at last.

“It is not!”

“Give me a minute,” she said. “If I study it long enough, I can tell you - I knew it!”

“What?”

“It’s a Southwest Airlines flight to L.A. with a stopover in Las Vegas.”

Owen let out a whoop of laughter and caught Rita in a hug. “You’ve got to be the most original woman I ever met!”

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, cowboy,” she drawled. Being held against his broad chest gave her a warm, secure sense.

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Rita was about to suggest they go try out the new bed he’d installed in the house when she felt something brush against her leg. Something small and yielding and…alive.

She let out a squawk. “What is that? Tell me it’s the cat!”

Owen bent down. A whimpering noise greeted him, followed by a sharp yap. “It’s a puppy,” he said. “Half-grown and half-starved, too.”

Rita knelt beside him. Her eyes had adjusted to the moonlight enough to make out the nubbly fur on the darting form as the little dog jumped, desperate for attention. “At least he’s friendly.”

Owen’s expression sobered. “People who get tired of their pets sometimes dump them along the road. They figure the little critters will find a home on a ranch. I wish they could see how sad most of those animals end up.” Chapter Nineteen Rita ran her hand across the matted fur. The puppy licked her eagerly. “He shines with love,” she said. “Like a baby.”

“I wouldn’t figure a performer would have much use for babies.” Owen sounded amused. “Unless you’re planning on starting your own children’s chorus, like in The Sound of Music.”

Maria von Trapp on a ranch? Maria von Trapped was more like it! A shudder ran through Rita. She didn’t know why she’d mentioned babies. She’d seen how tough it was for women like her mother and her aunt when they were left to raise those babies by themselves.

“No babies for me,” she said. “I’ve got to keep my figure in shape for my next performance.”

“Do you have a play scheduled?” Disappointment roughened Owen’s tone as he knelt to scratch the puppy.

“Not exactly,” she admitted. “A friend of mine who’s done some producing wants to cast me in his next play. Pete’s trying to pull together the financing.” He was one of the people she’d called when her broken-down car stranded her in Skunk Crossing. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had any money to lend her. 446

“What kind of friend?” Owen rose abruptly.

Was that jealousy she detected? “Don’t worry, he’s already got a girlfriend and he’s not my type.” You are, Rita thought. If only you lived in New York. But then you wouldn’t be you. “That’s why I need my car fixed. If you can’t do it, I’ll…”

“Sure I can.” He ducked his head. “I put off ordering those parts, hoping you’d stick around longer. I’m sorry about that.”

“No problem.” If he hadn’t delayed her departure, they might not have made love today. Rita knew she would cherish the memory for the rest of her life.

“If that fellow offers you a role, I don’t want to be responsible for you missing your chance,” Owen said ruefully. “I’ve always wished I could figure out what I want from life. I keep hoping that the next place I go, I’ll run into it. You’re lucky to have your dream all cut out and pasted on the wall where you can look at it.”

“That’s an interesting way of putting it,” she said. Chapter Twenty The little pooch let out a high-pitched bark. Owen hoisted the puppy in his arms. “Let me put him in the utility room so he doesn’t wander off, and then I’ll drive you back to town.”

As Rita watched him cut through the darkness toward the lighted house, she almost called out to say that she would stay tonight, after all. She stopped herself. They’d already grown too close for comfort.

She had to go back to Skunk Crossing and, as soon as Owen repaired her Olds, to New York. Today, with their glorious lovemaking in the barn and quiet moment under the stars, had been an island in time, one she probably would never visit again.

Whether she wanted to or not.

******

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Owen had the parts for Rita’s car delivered the following Tuesday. The next two afternoons, while she fixed up the spare bedrooms, he worked on the Olds. It gave him an excuse to stay close to the ranch house, where he could watch her through the windows.

He’d never seen a woman look as good as Rita with a hammer in one hand and paint spattering her T-shirt and jeans. He wished she hadn’t been so insistent on keeping her distance since they made love on Saturday.

If only he could persuade her to stay for another month or two! By then, Owen figured, he’d probably be ready to move on himself. Although inheriting his uncle’s ranch and fixing it up to sell had temporarily given him a purpose, he knew that sooner or later the open road would beckon with its promise of excitement.

Still, he liked being here a lot better now that the fences stood straight, the barn and house bore new coats of paint, and the place smelled of fresh hay. He’d even allowed himself to name some of the animals, including the stray puppy, Baby.

Heck, if Owen ever did want to settle down, he’d probably buy a ranch a lot like this one. Even more important, he’d want to come home every night to a woman as much like Rita as possible. But he’d learned over the years that staying in one place simply wasn’t in his nature.

On Friday morning, he woke up with an idea. Rita wasn’t coming to work for him today because Idabelle needed her to cover the dinner shift at the café. Owen had a whole day and a half to execute his plan.

If he pulled it off, he was sure she’d be back in his arms by Saturday night. Chapter Twenty-One “He’s got it bad,” Idabelle said when Rita came into the kitchen on Saturday to enjoy a cup of coffee at the end of her shift.

The Black-and-White Café had been crammed all morning with ranchers and their families in town to do some shopping. The crowd had barely thinned out by midafternoon.

“Who do you mean?” Slipping off her pumps, Rita propped her feet on a chair and wiggled her toes. She had half an hour to change into casual clothes before Owen picked her up. 448

“That cowboy from Montana,” said her good-natured boss. Although nearly seventy, she showed no signs of slowing down as she kneaded her bread dough. “That handsome fellow who pays you to hang around the Twin Star Ranch looking pretty.”

“You think that’s all I do?” Rita gave an unladylike snort. “I work so hard, my blisters have calluses.”

“You get satisfaction out of it, though,” the older woman said.

“I get satisfaction out of the money he pays me.” Curiosity nagged at her. “What makes you say he’s got it bad?”

“I’ve seen the shine on his face when he looks at you. He’s right around the corner from being in love.” Idabelle didn’t miss much. It was rumoured that she always knew when a townswoman got pregnant even before the woman’s husband did.

She was wrong about Owen, though.

“From what I hear, he’s a rambling man. Sooner or later, he’ll be on his way.” Rita tapped some artificial sweetener into her coffee. “Not that I plan on sticking around, myself.” Chapter Twenty-Two “I’ve never known a rambling man who didn’t get his heart lassoed sooner or later.” Idabelle grinned. “Speak of the devil, there he is.”

Rita nearly fell off her chair. “He’s early!”

“Wait’ll you see what he’s driving,” said her boss.

Rita peered through the kitchen window. There it sat in all its glory, the car whose untimely breakdown had stranded her in Skunk Crossing in the first place. Owen had fixed it, washed off over a month’s accumulated dust, and waxed the white paint until it gleamed. “Fantastic!”

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Before running to greet him, she tugged her hair free from its clip and shook it out. “Where’s my purse? I need lipstick.”

Idabelle handed it to her. “Don’t bother with makeup, honey. You’re a knockout just as nature made you.”

She dug through the contents, pushing aside her cell phone and wadded tissues. No sign of the lipstick. At last, impatience won. “I’ll take your word for it. See you tonight!”

As she flew out of the room, Rita heard Idabelle say, “I wouldn’t count on it.”

Through the rolled-down car window, sunlight picked out golden highlights in Owen’s brown hair. His grin when he spotted her was as wide as Texas. “How do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful!”

“Hop in.”

She hesitated. “I have to change first. I’m not dressed for painting.”

“Forget working.” Owen beamed at her. “We’re taking the evening off to celebrate your car’s rebirth. I’m barbecuing dinner, plus I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“You don’t have to ask twice.” Rita slid into the passenger seat. Chapter Twenty-Three She loved having a man cook for her. As for the surprise, it was probably something silly. Owen had been claiming he could teach one of the piglets, Flirty, to walk backward.

Despite Rita’s scoffing, maybe he’d succeeded.

Foot on the gas, Owen shot off so fast she barely had time to fasten her seat belt. A chicken scrambled out of their path as they roared along the main street of Skunk Crossing. 450

As they zipped past the general store and the tiny post office, people turned to stare, then waved. Rita waved back. She recognised the faces of customers from the café and friends of Idabelle’s. She’d heard their life stories and supposed that, by now, they’d heard hers, too.

Soon they were speeding through open land, where the earthy smells and far horizon made Rita feel at home. Only five weeks ago, when she’d first arrived, she’d felt as if she were driving through an alien landscape.

When they turned onto the Twin Star Ranch, she saw that the welcome sign had been repainted and the double stars, hanging from a frame overhead, glittered with gold paint. “Is that the surprise?”

“What do you take me for?” Owen said. “When I promise a surprise, I don’t mean a little touchup to a sign.”

“Sorry.” Rita stared ahead through the windshield, more eager than she’d expected to be to get back to the ranch after a day and a half’s absence.

The outbuildings, the barn, and the house baked peacefully in the August sunshine as Owen rounded a grove of mesquite trees. Rita’s spirits soared. After a lifetime of cramped quarters, she loved the sprawling expansiveness of the place.

“Where is it?” she asked.

“Inside.” Owen halted at the foot of the walkway.

Without waiting for him to open her car door, a polite habit that had startled Rita the first time he did it, she hurried out. The front door was unlocked, as always. Chapter Twenty-Four When she stepped into the house, she inhaled the familiar scents of lemon oil and cedar. It was hard to believe she’d spent two weeks fixing this place up, and now she was leaving. After all, she’d only been sticking around until her car was ready.

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Then she saw it. “The piano!” With the wood oiled and a broken key replaced, the upright had been moved from the corner to a place of prominence. “Don’t tell me you got it tuned!”

“I had to fetch the piano teacher from Groundhog Station, and pay her plenty.” Standing behind Rita, Owen rested his hands lightly on her shoulders. “You promised to sing for me before you leave.”

That was what this house lacked: music. Children, too, Rita reflected with a lump in her throat as, for a moment, she imagined two towheaded children peeking from behind the couch.

Now, why was she thinking about that? It must be her unconscious mind telling her something, she decided, and took her seat at the piano, already knowing what she was going to play. ****** Rita’s rich voice warmed the old ranch house, filling it with a nostalgia that brought tears to Owen’s eyes.

She’d chosen the song “Sunrise, Sunset” from Fiddler on the Roof. The emotion in her voice carried him into the scene of parents at a wedding, recalling the span of years as their children grew up and wondering how time had passed so quickly.

How many children had been raised in this house during the century since it was built? Owen wondered. How many more would reach maturity between these walls, and would any of them be his? Or was he destined to keep on moving, always searching for an elusive magic that remained beyond his reach?

As he watched Rita’s hands flow across the keys, Owen yearned to sit here forever, listening to her sing. Chapter Twenty-Five Rita had always figured that the only reason people cried at weddings was because marriage was such a disastrous idea. Like her father, most men didn’t stick around.

Yet she found herself wanting to trust Owen. Idabelle had been right. Love shone from his eyes as he listened to her singing.

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When Rita had performed onstage, the enthusiasm of the crowd had never matched what she saw on his face. His joy touched her more than any rush of applause ever had.

Maybe she’d been wrong about him.

People could change, and even a wanderer like Owen might not wander forever.

A sharp, electronic noise interrupted her playing. For a moment, Rita didn’t know what it was, and then recognition dawned. “My phone!” The darn thing hadn’t rung in days. She hadn’t missed it, either.

“Let it go,” Owen said.

“I can’t. Conditioned reflexes.” Digging the phone from the bottom of her purse, she flipped it open. “Hello?”

Her friend Pete’s voice vibrated with excitement. “Our funding came through. The theatre’s ours for a three-week run in October! Like I told you, you’ll love the part.”

She felt as if she’d missed something. “What part?”

“Didn’t you get my email?”

“I haven’t been checking my email.” Guiltily, she remembered the laptop computer sitting in her room, unused.

“It’s a play called Hard Scrabble,“ said the budding producer. “You play a farm wife who takes in a hired hand while her husband’s working in the city. There’s a strong sexual subtext and violence at the end. The critics will love it.” Chapter Twenty-Six Sex and violence? Rita heaved an inward sigh. “I don’t suppose there’s a happy ending?”

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“Are you kidding? Nobody does happy endings these days.”

Rita wanted a happy ending. Not only on stage, she realised suddenly. She wanted a real happy ending, and she wanted it right here in Skunk Crossing, Texas.

What she loved most about acting was the freedom from limits. Playing a role allowed her to shed her fears and inadequacies and become another person. Rita suddenly realised that she hadn’t missed that experience these past two weeks because, at the Twin Star Ranch, she’d been living life instead of acting it.

This was what Rita wanted, not to pretend she was a farm wife but to become one. And she could only do that by sharing her future with the man she loved. The problem was, she didn’t know whether he loved her, too.

“I’ll have to get back to you,” she told Pete.

“We’ve got a tight schedule,” he warned. “I don’t mean to pressure you but if you’re not available, I’ll have to recast the role.”

“It won’t take me long to figure this out,” Rita said. “I’ll call you back.”

“Twenty-four hours max,” Pete warned.

“I promise.”

When she clicked off, she saw Owen watching her with an unreadable expression. Could it be slow recognition that he didn’t want to lose her? Chapter Twenty-Seven “My friend offered me a part in a play,” Rita said. “A terrific part.”

His jaw worked and he ran his tongue across dry lips before saying, “Why didn’t you accept right off the bat?”

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Although Rita preferred to play it cool, she couldn’t afford to. She had to lay her cards on the table. “He wants me to play a woman who lives on a farm. But I don’t want to act like that character, Owen. I want to be her.”

If only Owen would nod eagerly, his face lighting up the way it had while she sang. Throwing himself onto his knees and pledging his undying love would work, too, Rita thought.

In a flat tone, he said, “You want to settle down here?”

“The idea crossed my mind.” Why wasn’t he throwing his arms around her, the idiot? Couldn’t he see that they had something special?

“I was hoping you’d stay for a while, but…” The words trailed off.

Disappointment knotted in Rita’s chest. While she’d been falling in love, Owen had merely been amusing himself.

She felt like a fool, and it hurt. “You’ll have to excuse me.” She heard the edge to her voice, and didn’t care. “We actresses tend to confuse fantasy with reality.”

“You sound angry.” Owen sat glued to his chair. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing I shouldn’t have expected.” Rita stuffed her cell phone into her purse and stood up. She hated feeling like a clingy woman, practically begging a man to marry her. Her, of all people! “Thanks for fixing my car. You can send my last week’s wages in care of Idabelle.”

“You’re leaving?” Finally, the man got to his feet and, for a moment, she thought he was going to block her path. Maybe she hoped he would.

But he didn’t. Chapter Twenty-Eight “You can hire someone local to finish my job,” she said. “I’m sure she’ll work for less than twenty bucks an hour.” 455

“I don’t want anyone else,” Owen said.

“There are other pretty girls in Skunk Crossing.” Rita headed for the door. “Just make sure your next girlfriend knows what the rules are. Of course, some of us know the rules, but we forget them anyway. It’s my own fault. So have a nice life, wherever you end up. California, that’s the next stop, isn’t it? Send me a postcard.”

Leaving him speechless, she hurried out to her car. Owen had left the keys in the ignition, because nobody ever stole a car out here in the middle of nowhere. Well, she was going back to New York, where people sometimes stole cars while you were still sitting in them.

It was just one more reason to be madder than fire at him. ****** That evening, the animals seemed unusually restless to Owen.

So was he.

At midnight, he was still lying awake, replaying his confrontation with Rita in his mind.

He should have said more. Done something. Promised her - what?

She’d caught him off guard with her admission that she wanted to stay on the ranch. Apparently she’d been hoping for a declaration of love and a proposal. The conversation had felt as if it were happening at jet speed while Owen lagged behind in a horse-drawn buggy.

He’d always imagined the future as a long road leading him toward some as-yet-undefined fulfillment. Until now, every woman he’d cared about had lost her sparkle before long and every place he’d lived, sooner or later, had grown wearying.

His chest tightened.

He didn’t want to lose Rita, but how could he be sure this time was different?

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How could he ask her to give up the opportunity she’d been waiting for when he was so uncertain? Chapter Twenty-Nine Far off on the highway, Owen heard a car passing. In the deep silence of the night, it sounded like Rita’s Oldsmobile.

Maybe it was her, setting off for New York. In a few more minutes, she’d be forever out of reach, his beautiful lady with her enchanting voice and a smile like sunrise over the plains.

Owen didn’t stop to think. He jumped up, threw a pair of coveralls over his pajamas and ran to his pickup.

By the time he jounced onto the highway, the car was long gone. If it was Rita, she had to be heading east, so he turned right and stepped on the gas.

Five miles later, the car grew larger and larger through the windshield. It was an Oldsmobile, all right, a dark green one instead of white.

To make sure she hadn’t painted it on a last-minute impulse, Owen drew close enough to see the license plates. They were from New Mexico, not New York.

He eased his foot off the gas, his heart thundering in his chest. Relief flooded him. Slowly, however, it shaded into alarm.

Sheer panic had taught him more than all the rationalisations in the world: He couldn’t bear to lose Rita.

The scary part was that maybe he already had. ****** “I’m real sorry you’re leaving,” Idabelle said as Rita loaded suitcases into her trunk on Sunday morning. “The café customers will be, too, when they find out.”

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“I’ll call you when I get home.” She hoped her makeup hid the traces of tears. “Come visit me sometime.”

“I’d love to see you in a play,” Idabelle said. “Be sure and send me your reviews.”

“Thanks for everything.” Rita gave her a hug. Chapter Thirty A familiar rattling made her swing around, her heart in her throat. A second later, Owen’s pickup jerked to a stop a few feet away and he climbed out, cowboy hat in hand.

Despite the lump in her throat, she loved seeing his muscular body and mischievous grin one more time.

From the truck came an assortment of animal noises. “What on earth?”

Owen lifted down the puppy. “Without you, Baby’s been crying all night.” The instant his feet touched the ground, the dog raced over and jumped at her knees. From a carrier, he retrieved Patches, who circled to give Baby a wide berth before rubbing against Rita’s calves. “The cat yowled something fierce, too.”

A sound that was half squeal and half snort issued from the truck bed. “Who else is in there?” she asked suspiciously.

“Flirty.” Gently, Owen set the piglet on the ground. “Come on, show Rita how you can walk in reverse.” He clapped his hands. After a hesitant moment, the little creature rocked back and stuck out one leg for balance. “You did it!” To Rita, he said, “See, I told you I could teach her!”

“Owen Ryder, what the heck are you doing?” Idabelle demanded.

“Setting the scene.” With a grin, he reloaded the animals into the truck, each in a separate compartment. “A major production needs a supporting cast, right?”

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Rita was in no mood for jokes. “If this is your idea of a farewell production, you can skip it. I’ve got a long drive ahead of me.”

Fighting tears, she started toward her car. Halfway to the driver’s door, Owen caught her. His broad chest looked almost irresistible to lean on, but that was the point, Rita thought.

She couldn’t depend on him.

“There’s something I didn’t see until after you left.” Close to her ear, his deep voice vibrated directly into her core. “The Twin Star Ranch won’t mean anything with one of its stars gone.”

“Why should you care? You’re planning to sell it anyway,” she blurted. Chapter Thirty-One “You knew that?”

“I hear things,” Rita said. “Skunk Crossing is a small town.” “Okay, it’s true, I was planning to sell it.” In his earnestness, Owen talked faster than usual, although not up to New York speeds. “I’ve always had this restless yearning, as if there was something I’m meant to find and someplace I’m meant to be. I’ve been looking for those things all over the West.”

“And?” she prompted, almost afraid to breathe.

“It hit me last night that I was wrong,” he said. “There’s someone I’m meant to be with, and that person is you. Rita, I hope you’ll stay here, because I think we could both be happy at the ranch, but if you’re bound and determined to act in this play, then I’ll come with you.”

“To New York?” He couldn’t be serious!

“They need mechanics in Manhattan just like anywhere else, I’ll bet.”

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Finally, Rita dared to look directly into those honest brown eyes. “I’m not sure I get your point. What are you suggesting?”

“She’s right,” said Idabelle. “Quit beating around the bush, Owen.”

He ducked his head in embarrassment. “I forgot the most important part.” From his pocket, he plucked an old-fashioned ring. The square-cut diamond glimmered in the sunlight. “My uncle Charley bought this for the woman he loved, but they quarreled. He was too proud to admit he was wrong, so she went off and married someone else, and he spent his whole life alone. I don’t want to do that, Rita. I’m asking you to marry me and wear my ring. I promise to buy you a new one, whatever kind you like, as soon as I can save the money.”

The Texas sun warmed her as she gazed at the man waiting anxiously for her answer. “You know what?”

He shook his head and swallowed hard. “What?”

“I didn’t tell you the whole truth,” Rita said.

“How’s that?”

“You envied me because I knew what my dream was,” she said. “Well, I thought I did, but I was wrong. My dream isn’t the theatre. It’s this ranch with a cowboy who’s too sexy for his own good and a bunch of animals so mixed-up they fall in with your crazy schemes.”

A smile played uncertainly across his mouth. “I sure hope that’s your New York way of saying yes.”

“I knew there was a reason I hadn’t called Pete back yet about that acting job,” Rita said. “I guess it had something to do with hoping the man I love would figure out he loved me, too.” In case that wasn’t clear enough, she added, “That’s a yes.”

Owen threw back his head and whooped. Several passersby glanced in their direction. “I sure do love you, Miss Rita Coker!”

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“I’ll take that ring now.” As Owen slid it onto her finger, she admired the stone’s brilliant clarity. “I like it just the way it is. Old-fashioned things are the best.”

“I’m going inside and leave you two alone,” said Idabelle. “Congratulations, both of you.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Babcock,” said Owen.

As she watched her friend leave, Rita realised that everything she’d experienced in her twentysix years so far had been a prologue. Now the curtain was rising at last on the drama, or perhaps the comedy, that was to be her life.

With a sigh of contentment, she slipped into Owen’s arms, her heart swelling with music as Act One began.

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His Gambler Bride By Rebecca Winters We gave five authors from five different Harlequin and Silhouette series the same opening paragraph, and asked each of them to write the rest of the story. The result is five very distinctive individual stories that are compelling, engaging and, of course, romantic!

Chapter One (This is the opening paragraph the Harlequin.com editors gave to all five authors) "And the last bachelor up for bids is..." Alex tuned out the auctioneer’s voice and wondered for the millionth time how he’d gotten roped into this. A bachelor auction was definitely not his style — even on Valentine’s Day. But, he reminded himself, this was for a good cause. Tugging at the collar of his uniform, he shifted uneasily as the auctioneer continued his sales pitch. Should he smile? Pose? He just didn’t feel comfortable up on stage with a blinding spotlight shining on him. He hoped he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. The auctioneer was driving up the bids — but all Alex could hear was the roar of the crowd as women yelled out numbers and cheered each other on. Squinting into the lights, he tried to make out who was bidding on him, but to no avail. Then, before he knew it, the gavel sounded. He’d been sold! But to who...? With her fingers crossed behind her back, Charlotte Janene Willis, known to everyone as C.J., owner of the up–and–coming business Las Vegas Landscapes, waited by the auctioneer for black–haired Alex Curtis to approach the mike. Judging by the earsplitting din of voices and whistles coming from every woman packed into the ballroom of the Taj Mahal Hotel in Las Vegas, he was the favorite bachelor of the night. It came as no surprise to C.J. If you were female, you felt the pull of those dark, brooding good looks. The conservative navy suit and silk tie couldn’t hide his powerful six foot two physique. The rugged–looking, thirty–three–year–old golf course architect who headed Curtis–West Links Design, emitted an unconscious masculine sensuality that had been fatal to C.J. When he’d accepted her company’s bid on his latest project, one glance from those slate–blue eyes and she’d almost forgotten to breathe. That was two months ago. Since then they’d spent full weeks together walking around the property south of Las Vegas where one of the Strip’s hotel magnates planned to build the most fabulous golf course in the world. Expense was no object. He wanted the desert transformed into lakes, creeks, waterfalls, with hundreds of trees and shrubs in all varieties built into the landscape. The more time C.J. spent with Alex, the harder it was getting for her to maintain a professional facade around him. They worked in harmony as if they’d been associates for years. Already he’d made comments that he would like her company to supply the trees and shrubs for his next project in Palm Springs. Though thrilled at the prospect of working with him in the future, she wanted a lot more from him than that. 462

She wanted to fill his every need, day and night. She wanted to be the last woman in his life, with a ring on her finger to prove it. "Alex Curtis? Meet your new owner for the week, Ms. Charlotte Willis!" His eyes flared in stunned disbelief when he noticed C.J. in her usual business blazer and skirt standing next to the auctioneer. At least he didn’t look angry or disappointed. So far, so good. His secretary, Linda, was the person who’d happened to mention there was going to be a bachelor slave auction for charity at the Taj Mahal. Out of Alex’s hearing, C.J. had told his secretary he’d be the perfect bachelor to bring in a lot of money. That was all it took for Linda to sign him up, just as C.J. had secretly hoped she would. Now he was being led like the proverbial lamb to the slaughter. He wouldn’t know what hit him until it was far too late. That was the plan. "Charlotte must want you for her slave very badly to have paid ten thousand dollars for you," the host continued. "That’s the highest bid we’ve had all night! The research charity determined to help find a cure for Sudden Infant Death Syndrome will certainly be glad of such a big sum." The crowd of wound–up females responded with more cheers and clapping, even a few wolf whistles. With her heart galloping, C.J. walked in front of the host and rose on tiptoe to kiss Alex’s hot cheek. It was something she’d always wanted to do. The wonderful smell of the soap he’d used in the shower teased her nostrils. "Relax, Alex," she whispered against the slight rasp of his jaw. "I knew you were afraid some of your ex– girlfriends had heard about this and would bid for you, so I bailed you out. It’s almost over. Just keep smiling." "Thank heaven," he whispered back with fervency. "I don’t know what I’d do without you, C.J." She felt the tense rigidity leave his hard–muscled body. She happened to know he went to the local, exclusive gym before he went to work every morning. C.J. stepped away from him, determined that by the end of next week he’d be telling her he couldn’t live without her. The auctioneer said, "If you’ll exit the right side of the stage, there’s a limousine waiting to escort you to wherever Ms. Willis desires. Happy Valentine’s Night, you two!" More cheers and clapping accompanied them off the stage. C.J. walked ahead of Alex through several hallways and doors to the outside of the hotel, then climbed into the waiting stretch limo. He followed her in and with an audible sigh of relief, he shut the door. The chauffeur spoke through the intercom. "Where do you want to go?" 463

"Take me to my van, please. It’s a white one parked in the west lot. I’m in the furthest row away from the casino, north end." If the driver was surprised, he hid it well. "Very good." As the limo wound its way through the crowds of people, Alex raked a hand through his vibrant black hair. "I presume you used ten thousand dollars from the last draft I gave you for that shipment of trees. I’ll instruct the bank to issue you a check on Monday to make up the deficit." Her stomach muscles tautened. She’d taken the enormous risk of using her own hard–earned savings to buy him, but for the time being she’d let him think otherwise. Last week she’d heard him mutter this was all his secretary’s fault. He’d rather give ten thousand dollars to the charity outright than have to be a part of the slave auction. Glancing at his arresting profile through veiled eyes, she said, "If you hurry, you’ll still have time to make Angela Lowry’s valentine cocktail party. After you left my office this afternoon, she called trying to find you. To quote her, ’I’m expecting him no matter how late!’" He scowled. "I already told her I wasn’t free tonight. She assumes too much and should never have phoned your office. But since you’ve saved me from two close calls tonight, the least I can do is take you to dinner. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving." The last thing C.J. wanted was to be the recipient of a duty dinner where all he did was talk business. The fact that he seemed to want her opinion more and more these days before making a critical decision should have pleased her. It did please her, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly. "May I take a rain check? I already have plans for tonight." He darted a moody glance at her. "You’re not still seeing Grant Seidel are you? He’s old enough to be your father." Well, well. If Alex didn’t care about her on some level besides a professional one, he wouldn’t have mentioned Grant. Her heart raced faster. "I thought he was only a couple of years older than you?" Her comment drew another grimace. But no reply and C.J continued with her goading. "He’s really sweet, Alex, and that’s a plus." In truth, Grant was her confidant who knew she was head over heels in love with Alex and was helping her with her slave auction plan. "Oh — There’s my van! Driver? Stop here, please. When I get out, take Mr. Curtis wherever he wishes to go." Now that she knew he wasn’t going to be with the predatory Ms. Lowry tonight, she was able to flash him her professional smile. "Whose office on Monday morning? Yours or mine?" "Mine!" he declared on such a fierce note, it must have been the reason he grasped her hand, preventing her from getting out of the limo. "Just a minute. I haven’t thanked you for saving me from a fate worse than death tonight."

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She felt the kiss coming before he cupped the back of her head and drew her close. As his compelling mouth closed over hers, a little moan escaped her throat. For weeks she’d yearned to know the taste and feel of him. The unexpected contact fueled her desire. She clung to him, need— "Ma’am? Shall I drive around for a while?" Embarrassed, C.J. tore her lips from Alex’s, wondering how the kiss had happened and afraid she might have revealed too much too soon. "I’m getting out," she said without looking at Alex. After shutting the door she watched the limo drive off. Next week you’re all mine, Alex Curtis. No questions asked. Depending on his reaction, her company might not be the company chosen to finish his project, but she refused to think about that because her life’s happiness depended on his falling in love with her.

Chapter Two Alex’s brows knit together when he’d started on his second cup of coffee and C.J. still hadn’t arrived at his office. It was already nine–thirty on a Monday morning. He couldn’t remember her ever being late before. She might only be twenty–six years old, but she understood the nursery business inside and out and knew instinctively how to work with his designs. Certainly she’d gone beyond the call of duty to rescue him at that damn auction. When the project was completed, he planned to pay her more than the estimate they’d agreed upon at the outset. However, the idea that she couldn’t make it to his office on time because she’d stretched the Valentine’s holiday to include the whole weekend with that divorced lecher, Grant Seidel, put Alex in the foulest of moods. The man might be a successful Realtor who Alex had worked with before, but he’d been pestering C.J. far too long for Alex’s liking. Unable to concentrate, he phoned the manager where he banked. While he waited for a live voice, his thoughts remained on C.J. She’d lost her parents in her late teens and ran the family nursery and landscaping business on her own. With the help of her ailing grandfather who’d recently passed away, she’d built it into a thriving concern that outrivaled her competitors. But she was still vulnerable. When she finally did show up, Alex intended to have a serious talk with her about Seidel, whose predilection for young innocents with baby blue eyes and a cap of golden curls like hers was well–known. "Ross?" he said when his bank manager answered. "It’s Alex Curtis." "Hey — I heard you were one of the bachelors auctioned off at the Taj Mahal over the weekend." Alex let out a groan of exasperation. It was one mistake he was never going to live down. What a fool he’d been to get involved when he could have sent a check instead. The idea of meeting a woman through a slave auction was the biggest turnoff he could think of. "Fortunately I was bought by the owner of Las Vegas Landscapes." "You lucky devil. She’s one good–looking blonde. Between us, what’s she really like?" he asked in a suggestive tone.

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The memory of C.J.’s mouth opening to the pressure of his still filled him with an excitement he couldn’t suppress. "You don’t get it, Ross. She did me a favor by rescuing me. When we left the hotel, we went our separate ways." "You’ve got to be kidding! Whose idea was that?" "Hers. I’m not the slave type. She understands these things." She understood him. "Speaking of favors, will you transfer ten thousand from my personal account to my business account so I can write her a check?" "Consider it done, but I still think you’re nuts to let her get away with it. If she’d set me up like that and then walked off, I would have followed her home and pounded on the door until she let me in." The thought had occurred to Alex more than once over the long weekend, but he wasn’t about to admit that to anyone. "Thanks, Ross. Talk to you later." No sooner had he hung up than he heard his secretary’s voice over the intercom. "Mr. Curtis? Ms. Willis is here to see you." Why didn’t she just walk in his office like she usually did? "Tell her to come in, Linda." "She can’t. She’s in a hurry and wants you to come out here!" He blinked. What was going on? Suddenly Alex experienced a strange foreboding as he recalled the smile on C.J.’s face after telling him Seidel was so sweet. A lot of couples got engaged on Valentine’s Day. Could it be she was wearing a diamond ring and they’d celebrated all weekend? Was that why she was so late? The thought of her kissing Seidel the way she’d kissed him in the limo devastated him, but he didn’t have time to analyze why. Muttering a curse, he levered himself from his swivel chair and stormed from his office to find out what was going on with her. He received his second shock of the morning when he discovered her standing next to Linda’s desk wearing a cinnamon–on–black–paisley coat dress that showed her curvy figure to the best advantage. He detected the enticing scent of her perfume. Her blond curls were styled in a beguiling feather cut. With gold earrings, she looked polished, elegant and, heaven help him, so damn desirable he was speechless.

… This was it. C.J. stood there while Alex stared at her as if she were an apparition. She thought he sounded winded. For sure he looked positively grumpy.

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Good. Already her late arrival had knocked him off balance. That was the way she intended to keep him until she’d gained his complete attention and, hopefully, his love. "Good morning, Alex. How was your weekend?" He moved closer. His eyes roved over her face and body, taking their time, squeezing the breath out of her lungs with their intensity. "I suppose it was all right," he murmured absently. She noticed his gaze go to her hands, then settle on her upturned features. "How was your date with Seidel?" There was an unpleasant twist to his lips. She would let him go on thinking whatever his fertile imagination conjured. "Let’s just say it was the best Valentine’s of my life." Judging by the lines marring his attractive features, he didn’t like her response one bit. He didn’t like Grant. Was he jealous? Oh, if only that were true… She flashed him a benign smile. "We both have a big day ahead of us so let’s not waste time discussing my weekend." His frown turned to a look of genuine concern. "C.J. — I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something important. This has to do with Seidel. Why don’t you come in my office for a minute." "Sorry," she said while she rummaged in her purse. "I’m afraid any private conversation you had in mind on that score is off–limits. In any event, it’s almost ten o’clock and I’m late for a meeting with Ralph about the trees around the lake on the fifth hole. After lunch we’ll be busy discussing the layout of the tamarack stands near the new clubhouse. I don’t expect to be back in my office until tomorrow. "Oh darn it —" she murmured before snapping her handbag shut. "I was in such a daze when I got out of bed this morning, I forgot to bring my cell phone with me. If Grant phones here while I’m out, tell him I’ll call him when I get home this evening." Without pausing for breath, she said, "Linda has typed a list of things for you to do today." She took the paper from his secretary’s fingers and tried to hand it to him. But he stood there like a column of petrified wood, so she gave it back to Linda and started for the door. No sooner had she disappeared outside the building than she heard footsteps behind her. He caught up to her before she reached the parking lot. His chest was heaving. In her new fashionable black three–inch wedges, her eyes could look directly at his sensuous mouth. She loved the view of Alex Curtis at this altitude. "Was there something on the list you didn’t understand?" His thunderous expression was quite frightening. She couldn’t see any blue impaling her from those slate eyes. The beast had been aroused. "What in the hell is going on?" She kept walking until she reached her van and climbed inside. After shutting the door, she opened the window and leaned her head out. "Poor Alex… It was a bad weekend, wasn’t it, starting with that awful slave auction. For such a brilliant architect, I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet."

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She turned on the ignition and drove off.

Chapter Three "Hi… How can I help you?" The salesgirl at the mall eyed Alex with an invitation that said he could get as personal as he wanted. She’d picked the wrong man today. His palm still held the list C.J. had asked his secretary to type for him. What had happened to the woman he thought understood him so well? The person he’d begun to think was the woman for him? He could have sworn C.J. was different from all the other females out there. "I need a pound of Godiva amaretto chocolate truffles." "Would you like a sample while you’re waiting? You can pick anything that looks good to you." "No, thanks." He’d trusted C.J., and she’d made a fool of him by forcing him to be her slave after all. Never mind that he’d regretted letting her leave the limo the other night. By damn, she was going to pay! Tonight he would show up at her apartment to give her the candy and long–stemmed red roses she’d demanded. She could forget dinner at the exclusive Basque Grill, where he was supposed to have made reservations for them. He had a little surprise for her. One she wouldn’t be counting on…

… C.J. peeked out the window in time to see Alex’s sleek black car pull up to the curb in front of the duplex where she lived. If she knew him as well as she thought she did, he’d show up in casual clothes, hand her the gifts and tell her their work association was terminated as of now. Sure enough, as he started toward her door with his arms loaded, she noticed he was wearing chinos and a sports shirt. Straightening her shoulders, she walked over to the foyer and waited for the buzzer to sound. Once again his face underwent a distinct transformation when she opened the door and he discovered her in a pair of jeans, cotton top and sandals rather than formal evening wear. "Come in, Alex." Like someone in a trance, he slowly entered the hall and shut the door, leaning against it as if he needed the support. For the second time today his hooded gaze swept over her in intimate appraisal, thrilling her to the very tips of the toenails she’d painted a dusky shade of pink earlier in the day.

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His dark brows formed a solid line. "Why aren’t you dressed to go out to dinner?" "I changed my mind. Women are known to do that." She flashed him a brilliant smile. "I decided I wanted to stay in and let you cook us spaghetti." C.J. untied the cord on the small gold box and took out a truffle. She closed her eyes as she bit into it. "You can’t beat these, you know?" Drawing close to him, she rose up on her toes and kissed his lips gently, leaving a trace of chocolate on them. "Thank you," she whispered. "Come on in the kitchen, so I can put the flowers in water." As she took the boxes from him, she noticed a little pulse throbbing madly along his freshly shaved jaw. She left him standing there while she walked through the L–shaped living room–cum–dining area to the tiny kitchen. Though he’d never been in her apartment before, he could hardly get lost. Still, it took him long enough to catch up with her. She was already arranging the glorious roses in the vase on the sink when he appeared in the doorway. No chocolate remained on his mouth. Had he wiped it away? Or… "The pot for the noodles is in that bottom right cupboard with the frying pan. Everything else is on the counter or in the fridge." He stood there with his arms folded across his broad chest. Lines had darkened his face. She knew that look. He’d gone into his forbidding mode. "I thought you should know I bought you with my own savings, not the last check you made out to my company for more trees," she said in a quiet aside. His head reared back as if an invisible hand had just struck him. "What did you say?" She lifted the vase. "If you don’t believe me, call the bank and ask for the balance in my company account. It hasn’t changed since I deposited your last check. Now — if you don’t mind moving, I’d like to put these exquisite flowers on the dining room table." His sharp intake of breath reverberated in the enclosed space before he took the vase from her hands and set it back down on the counter. In the next instant his hands gripped her upper arms. His touch sent a spiral of warmth through her electrified body. She could feel the throb of his pulse against her skin despite the fabric of her top. She thought he was going to kiss her. Their mouths were so close. The longing to know his possession created physical pain only he could assuage. "Why would you spend ten thousand dollars of your hard–earned money on me?" he ground out. His question shattered her hope that his desire for her was as great as hers for him. When she didn’t immediately answer him, he gave her a gentle shake, causing her lovely head to loll on the stem of her neck. "You were for sale, and I’m no different than any other woman when it comes to buying an attractive bachelor." "Be serious," he whispered in a shaken voice. 469

"I’m very serious. So serious in fact, I spent more dollars on you than any woman at the hotel was willing to spend for her slave." She’d been in love with him from the very beginning. In desperation she’d seized this seven–day opportunity to make him see her as a woman he could love forever. "Be warned, Alex —" her voice throbbed. "I intend to get my money’s worth."

Chapter Four C.J. finished every last bit of spaghetti on her plate. "That was delicious! Who taught you to use bay leaf in the sauce?" "I don’t remember." Since the heart–stopping moment a half hour ago when she’d thought Alex was going to finish what they’d started in the limo, it had been a one–sided conversation. While he’d fixed dinner, she’d done all the talking. In his dark restless mood, he reminded her of Heathcliff. Through Grant, she’d found out Alex’s fiancée had been killed in a car crash in college. Evidently he’d never gotten over the tragedy. It explained in some part, at least, why he was still a bachelor. C.J. wondered what kind of woman had held Alex’s heart this long. To get him to talk about the past would probably require powers she didn’t possess, but now was her opportunity to try to accomplish the impossible. After swallowing some ice water she said, "There’s a roll of cookie dough in the fridge. If you’ll slice it and put the sections on a cookie sheet, we can have dessert in ten minutes. I’ll turn on the ov — Oh! That’s my cell phone." That would be Grant. It was his idea to make Alex jealous. Anything to help love along. She started to get up from the table, but Alex moved like lightning and retrieved it from the kitchen. She’d thought he’d looked grim before… "It’s Seidel." She made no move to take it from him. "He can wait until I decide to call him back. I talked to him when I got home earlier and told him I was going to be tied up all week." At her remark, something flared in the depths of Alex’s eyes. "Not that kind of tied up, if that’s what your male imagination was thinking. You’re a deep one, Alex Curtis," she drawled, eyeing him with a mischievous smile on her face. "Here I thought you hated the idea of being sold off as a slave for some woman’s pleasure. Underneath, you men are all alike, aren’t you?" she persisted in taunting him. The skin around his lips went a bluish–white showing he was barely restraining his anger. "When you’ve done the dishes and turned off the lights, come in the living room. I’ll be waiting for you." 470

After picking up the box of truffles, she started out of the dining room, then swung around. "Before I forget, give me your cell phone." His searching gaze never left hers as he slowly pulled it from his pocket and handed it to her. "You’re such an obedient slave, I’m convinced you’ve done this kind of thing before. However I think it’s time we established a few ground rules. While you work for me, there’ll be no contact with other people. I always say ’what’s good for the goose is —’ Well, you know the rest." She blew him a kiss. "Don’t be too long."

… As Alex turned off the kitchen light, the sounds of Glenn Miller’s "Moonlight Serenade" drifted through the apartment, vying to be heard above the noise of the dishwasher. He hadn’t heard any big–band music in years. In fact he couldn’t remember the last time he’d fixed a meal for a woman, or been given a chocolate kiss that was sweeter than a vintage Beaujolais wine…. Alex had never lived through a day like this before. C.J. had made a charming home of her apartment, but she lived modestly in order to sink the money from the sale of her parents’ home into the business. It haunted him to realize she’d used her savings to buy him for one week out of a lifetime. There had to be a deeper motive, of course. It couldn’t be for companionship, because she never lacked male admirers. Every damn contractor and worker out on the course took Alex aside at some point and asked him what he thought his chances would be with her. So far Alex had managed to put them off by telling them either they were too old for her or they weren’t her type. But Seidel still hung in there…. That left Alex thinking she wanted something from Alex only he could give. Was he going to find out this was her way of angling to go into partnership with him? More of her grandfather’s wisdom that told her to watch out for herself first? Ten thousand dollars to show him that she was in dead earnest, that she would be the perfect business associate? That he could trust her to do anything for him? Even bail him out of that ridiculous slave auction? It all made sense when he considered how perfectly they worked together. He couldn’t develop a golf course without an expert in trees and shrubs like C.J. to help in the creation. If they did join forces, he supposed it was too much to ask that she stop seeing Seidel altogether. Maybe he provided the father figure missing in her li — "Alex? What’s taking so long?"

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At the sound of her voice, his pulse quickened. He inhaled sharply, then walked through the house to the living room. An old Frank Sinatra song was playing in the background. Only one lamp was burning near the stereo. It made a nimbus around her golden hair. She moved toward him. "I want to dance." Good heavens, she was beautiful! The last thing he remembered seeing before drawing her into his arms was the hot blue of her eyes. Then the other senses took over. The feel of her softly rounded body, the sweet smell of her perfumed skin, the warmth of her breath against his neck. All combined to make his limbs grow heavy with those unmistakable sensations of desire he hadn’t allowed himself to experience for years until the other night in the limo. "C.J. —" he whispered huskily. He was on fire for her. "Call me Charlotte." He swallowed with difficulty. "Charlotte…if it’s a partnership you’re after, I’m all for it." At first her hand stilled against his chest, then it crept up to the side of his face. She lifted her head. Her eyes blazed a scorching blue. "You really mean that?" she cried in a joyous voice. So it was a partnership she’d been after. Disappointment swept over him. Except that disappointment was the wrong word. In truth, her answer pained him to the core. He’d wanted to hear something else…. "I never say what I don’t mean. After working together every day for the last two months, you above all people should know that." "Then kiss me, Alex. Kiss me until neither of us can breathe." His heart kicked against his ribs. Had he only imagined the ache in her voice? "Are you asking me to do that because I’m still your slave?" A bewildered expression entered her eyes. "Didn’t you just ask me to marry you?"

Chapter Five What was the old expression — he who hesitates is lost? Except that Alex was the one hesitating here. It was C.J. who’d lost. From his pause, she realized he wasn’t ever going to be interested in marrying her. She had to face facts, she’d got carried away in the romance of it all — there was no longer any point in carrying on this charade. With her heart lying like a sick shadow on the floor, she grinned up at him. "Just kidding, Alex. You’ve really been a great sport through all this. The best!" She rose up on tiptoes once more and pecked his cheek. "With that kiss, I release you from bondage. You can go back to calling me C.J."

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The baffled look on his face helped her to believe she might just pull off this deception without having a nervous breakdown in front of him. "The moment your secretary mentioned the auction, I couldn’t resisting urging her to get you to sign up for it. I thought it would be a lot of fun to attend, but I didn’t expect to outbid everyone else. After all, I knew you’d be the most gorgeous bachelor up there. I figured some woman CEO with a lot of bucks would double my top offer." His black brows knit together ominously. "Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money for anyone to throw away just for the hell of it." Ouch — He sounded angry, but she wasn’t worried. She’d wounded his pride, not his heart, which had been buried when he’d lost his fiancée. "Agreed, but it was for a worthy cause. Besides, I have a little confession to make. Before grandpa died, he taught me how to win at craps. I got really good at it and won some money. But I never felt right about it. The charity auction seemed the perfect time to repent my sins." She lifted her softly rounded chin. "I can honestly tell you I’ve given up gambling forever." Her voice wobbled, adding credibility to her declaration which was only the truth. She’d taken her last gamble on him, knowing that if it didn’t turn out the way she wanted, she would suffer the emotional consequences forever. If her parents could talk to her right now, they’d tell her it served her right. "You look worn out, Alex. Go home and get a good sleep. Don’t forget your cell phone." She walked to the foyer and opened the door while she waited for him. "See you in the morning at your office," she said in a bright voice when he appeared in the small entry hall. "And don’t worry —" She winked at him. "I’ll be on time." His face looked like an avenging warrior’s before he disappeared outside without saying anything. She closed the door to a crack so she could watch until he got in his car and sped away as if the BMW were a missile.

… On the stroke of nine the next morning, C.J. entered his office. The outer door was unlocked, but his secretary was nowhere in sight. "Hello?" she called out. "Come all the way in, C.J." She jumped. Now that she was here, she was afraid. What was she going to do? After crying all night, her eyelids were so puffy they looked like little pillows. How embarrassing to let him see her like this! "I’ll be there in a minute." "Now!"

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"Are you going to tell me you’ve hired another contractor to finish the job?" she blurted. "Because I wouldn’t blame you if you did." "I’m waiting, C.J." She’d started to shake and couldn’t stop. "I shouldn’t have done what I did. I’ve been thinking about it all night. You were probably hoping the woman who bought you might help you to get over the pain of losing your fiancée. Instead you got me, the idiot," she lamented. "How much longer are we going to talk through the wall?" "I — I’m afraid to see you," she stammered. "C.J. Willis, the powerhouse I’m hoping to make a partner, is afraid?" "Please let’s not talk about that again, Alex. You know very well I never intended to go into business with you."

v "You mean you want to own the whole thing?" his voice grated. "It’ll all be yours if I should die before you." She swallowed hard. "D–do you wish she was still here with you?" C.J.’s voice trembled. "C.J., I can’t change the past. Annette was my first love, but she went on to a better place ten years ago. And now I plan to battle it out for as long as it takes with my new partner in crime." "Well, it won’t be me. As soon as this project is finished, you’ll never have to see me again." "I know. Seidel told me." Her body went hot, then cold. "When did you talk to Grant?" "Last night over cocktails." C.J.’s body weaved in response. She’d thought Grant was her friend, someone she could trust. But if Alex had plied him with a few drinks, who knew what secrets he might have confided? "I — I’m not feeling very well this morning, and —" "Then you need to lie down in my office," came his deep voice. It sounded much closer than before. She spun around to discover Alex standing next to her looking fresh and wonderful in a white knit shirt and khakis. His gaze fused with hers. "I’m glad to see you had an awful night. Proof positive that what Seidel told me was the truth. You are in love with me. Up you come, sweetheart. It’s time I showed you how much in love with you I am." His mouth closed fiercely over hers, then he carried her into his office and sat down on the tufted leather couch. Finally he was doing what she’d always wanted him to do, kiss them both breathless. 474

Much, much later he whispered against her swollen lips, "Did you win the entire ten thousand gambling?" By now they were lying on the couch entwined. "No, darling. Only five hundred dollars." He lifted his dark head so he could look at her. "Then the rest really represented your total life’s savings?" "Yes." Tears turned her eyes into blue pools. "When so many women started bidding for you, the ante went higher and higher. I was afraid I’d lose, so I bid the entire amount from my account to trump theirs. I loved you so much I was willing to risk everything to make you notice me." His eyes blazed with desire. "I noticed you all right, but I kept telling myself and every other man in sight you were too young, even if you did head your own company." She traced his sensual lower lip with her finger. "It used to worry me that I never found a man I wanted to live with forever. Grandpa promised me that day would come when the time was right and I was least expecting it." C.J. tightened her arms around his neck. "The minute you invited me in your office to discuss business, I knew I’d met the man I wanted to marry. I was so staggered by my feelings I could hardly think or talk. It’s a miracle you accepted my bid." He kissed her passionately. "My brilliant little gambler, you were the miracle. You brought the sun and the blue sky back into my world. I’m your slave for life, sweetheart." Then that makes two of us, her heart cried before she had to show him all over again what he meant to her.

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Nowhere to Run By Elle Kennedy Brooke Talbot has finally found a home in Serenade, North Carolina. The scenery is breathtaking, the people are wonderful and her neighbor, Evan McCarthy, is not only sweet, but gorgeous. It would be perfect…except her name is not Brooke Talbot. Brooke Tanner is on the run. In Serenade, she's found a new place to hide and a new name, but she's afraid it's only a matter of time before her abusive husband tracks her down…and kills her. And even though Evan offers her everything she craves—protection, security, comfort—can she trust him? Can she trust anybody?

Chapter One Brooke Tanner's head snapped back from the force of the blow. Blood spurted from the corner of her mouth when her husband's gold championship ring, studded with small rubies, snagged against her lip. The gaudy ring shone in the light bathing their spacious kitchen. Andrew's high school football team had won the state championship decades ago, yet he still wore the thing like a badge of glory. Forget about the damn ring! He's going to kill you! Fight back. Swiping the sleeve of her sweater over her mouth, she tried to stumble to her feet, but her husband was suddenly on top of her, his rock-hard thighs straddling her chest, pinning her to the pristine white tiles. She didn't even recognize the enraged face looming over her. His brown eyes were red, his classically handsome features twisted in anger. Andrew's fist came down toward her face. She blocked it with both hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. He growled, yanking on one of her wrists. A jolt of pain streaked up her arm. Disbelief smashed into her. She still couldn't shake off the shock—how was this happening? "Damn it, Brooke! Stop crying! Don't you get it? I love you." Love? No, this wasn't love. It couldn't be. Andrew was breathing hard, his broad chest heaving from each ragged pant. He had her trapped on the kitchen floor, but now his fists were uncurling and his hands dangled at his sides. Brooke tried to draw air into her lungs, but her husband was a big man—six-one, two hundred and twenty pounds. She couldn't wiggle out from his hold, let alone take a breath. When he noticed her gasping, he shifted so that the pressure of his muscular body was now weighing down on her belly. She sucked in oxygen, refusing to look at his face. From the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of silver. The knife. Andrew had knocked everything off the cedar work island after she'd quietly told him her plans to leave. The onions she'd been dicing now covered the floor like little pieces of confetti. The orange cutting board had slid underneath one of the tall-backed chairs around the kitchen table. But the knife… It was within her reach. All she had to do was stretch out her arm and—

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"Look at me." His big hands cupped her chin, forcing eye contact. Andrew's rage had dimmed, his brown eyes now shining with remorse and more of that love he claimed to feel for her. "I'm sorry, baby," her husband murmured, desperation clinging to his voice. "I lost control. You shouldn't have made me angry, okay? You shouldn't joke about things like leaving me." She opened her mouth, about to tell him she'd been dead serious when she'd calmly informed him of her intention to file for divorce. But she held her tongue. She knew now he'd kill her if she said she was leaving. "You know I'm not a wife beater," he continued, shaking his head in irritation. "I've never hit you before, and I'll never hit you again—as long as you continue to honor the vows we said to each other." That was true—he'd never hit her before tonight. And damn right he would never hit her again. For five years she'd endured Andrew's subtle taunts, his jealousy and control issues, all his passiveaggressive forms of emotional abuse. She'd made excuses for it at first, but she was done making excuses. As far as she was concerned, she'd run out of choices the moment he'd unleashed that first left hook into her jaw. "I'm going to get off you now," Andrew said softly. "And then we'll clean up this mess together, baby. I'll help you clean up your face, too, okay?" "Okay," she whispered. His gaze was intense as it searched her face. "You're not going to leave, right, Brooke? You're going to stay right here where you belong?" She managed a weak nod. A smile lit his face. The same beaming smile he'd donned when they'd stood at the altar exchanging vows. His thighs relaxed, loosening their hold on her lower body. Brooke forced herself to wait. She took another breath. Andrew slowly shifted as he started to rise. Now. Before he could react, her arm shot out, fingers connecting with the wood handle of the sharp kitchen knife. As he realized what she was doing, Andrew let out a roar. But he wasn't fast enough. His arm came up in a desperate attempt to shield himself just as Brooke stuck the blade into his chest.

Chapter Two Two Months Later Serenade, North Carolina

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"Here you go, folks. Two orders of fish and chips, side order of onion rings and two iced teas," Brooke announced as she set the hot plates in front of the middle-aged couple sitting in her booth. She placed their drinks on a pair of bright red coasters, then smiled and hurried back toward the pick-up counter of the diner. The smile faded the moment she was no longer facing the patrons. It was getting harder and harder to keep up the pleasant expression. Especially now that she knew she had to run again. But oh, how she wanted to stay. When her car had broken down on the outskirts of Serenade, North Carolina, she'd planned to ditch the vehicle, hop a bus and continue her journey south. But those plans had changed once she'd gotten a good look at her surroundings. Serenade was the most beautiful little town she'd ever seen. Nestled at the base of the mountains, it boasted lush forests, clear blue lakes and spectacular views. Not to mention a quaint Main Street, pictureperfect houses and the friendliest residents she'd ever encountered. It was the kind of place you wanted to call home. The kind of place where folks said hi to you on the street, where children raced by on their bicycles, where the sun was always shining. For the first couple of weeks, Brooke had kept a low profile, refusing to meet anyone's eyes, or utter more than a few sentences to anyone she met. But soon she'd gotten caught up in Serenade's spell, infected by the genuine goodness of the people who lived here. Now she had this waitressing job at Martha's diner, a small cabin she was renting on the McCarthy property. She even had a few friends. In Baltimore she'd had zero friends—Andrew had made sure of that. God, she wanted to stay. "What are you still doing here?" Martha had just waltzed out of the kitchen and spotted Brooke behind the counter. "Your shift ended an hour ago." "I know." Brooke shrugged. "Didn't feel like going home yet." Martha grinned. "Is McCarthy giving you trouble?" She shook her head. "Evan is a perfect gentleman." A perfect, gorgeous gentleman, she almost added. Martha was evidently a mind reader, because the grin widened, causing the wrinkles around her mouth to stretch. "Handsome, too," the older woman continued. "And quite smitten with you." To her embarrassment, Brooke felt herself blushing. Smitten? No, Evan McCarthy wasn't smitten. Definitely interested, though, which was why she was determined to keep her distance. Evan might be renting her a cabin—and letting her pay for it in cash, to boot—but she couldn't let that man's dimples and sexy gray eyes affect her. She was still a married woman, after all. She clenched her teeth at the memory of her husband. A part of her wished Andrew had died in the kitchen that night after she'd stabbed him. But she was no murderer, and she hadn't been trying to kill him, only incapacitate him so she could flee to safety. And she'd succeeded—with the fleeing part,

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anyway. But safe? Oh, no. The news she'd received this morning made it clear that she would never be safe, not if Andrew had anything to say about it. "Evan is handsome," Brooke said, relenting. "But I'm still not interested." Martha's brown eyes softened. "You can't grieve for your late husband forever, honey." Can't run from him forever, either…. Swallowing, Brooke untied the red apron around her waist and handed it to her boss. Martha might have saved her ass by giving her this job, but that didn't mean Brooke was about to confide in the woman. She planned on remaining the mysterious widow who'd drifted into town one summer morning. Not just for her own protection, but for that of those around her. Who knew what Andrew would do to the people who were unwittingly helping Brooke hide from him? "I think I'll go home after all," she said, edging away from the counter. "I've got some reading to catch up on." With a quick goodbye, she bounded out of the diner, feeling Martha's perplexed gaze burning into her back. Outside, Brooke inhaled the late afternoon air, then took off walking. Her car had been towed to a shop, but she'd told the owner to take it to a junkyard. She didn't have the money to get it fixed, and she couldn't risk selling it because her husband's name was on the ownership. Her license and credit cards were hidden in her cabin in case she needed them, but she knew Andrew could track her if she used her real identity. She was no longer Brooke Tanner—she went by Brooke Talbot now. When she was a few blocks from the heart of town, she drifted into a small park and sank onto a wroughtiron bench, then reached into her pocket for the paper she'd tucked there. Swallowing, she unfolded the sheet and read it again. It was an article from the online edition of the Baltimore Times that she'd printed out at Serenade's public library. She stared at the paper and saw her own face staring back at her. Along with Andrew's. Her pulse sped up as key words popped out at her. Mentally unstable… A danger to others… If anyone has seen my wife… Hotline… The headline was the worst of all. Police Captain Searches for Wife After Brutal Attack.

Chapter Three Evan McCarthy was having a beer on his porch when his new tenant strolled up the dusty path. His pulse kicked up a notch, the way it always did when Brooke Talbot was around. He didn't know what it was about the woman, but she never failed to elicit this strange wave of desire inside him. And she wasn't even his type, damn it. She was too skinny, her breasts too small. Her chin-length brown hair was too short—hardly anything there to run his fingers through. Her features were more interesting than beautiful, and sure, she had flawless creamy skin and great eyes, moss-green surrounded by sooty

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black eyelashes. But she was as skittish as a mouse. More secretive than a CIA agent. Pricklier than a thorn bush. Yet her mere proximity drove him wild. "Hey," he called as she came near. He held up his beer bottle. "Want to join me for a beer?" Brooke shook her head. No surprise there. She seemed to be making a conscious effort to avoid him. "Come on," he coaxed. "You just walked all the way here in this heat. Have a cold one." He had no idea why he was pushing her. Truth was, he was in no position to get involved with anyone. His life was a mess, had been for six months now, ever since his business partner took off with all the money in their account. Evan was still cursing himself for trusting that scumbag Scott Wiley. The two of them had formed their adventure tour operation out of college, and back then, Evan had needed Scott— and Scott's cash. But Evan had gotten a bad vibe about the guy from the get-go, and it was now painfully clear that he should have heeded his instincts. Instead, he'd ignored the warning bells, too eager to get the business off the ground, and the results hadn't been pretty—the IRS coming after him for back taxes that Scott had neglected to pay when he'd been handling the books, and now the FBI sniffing around, suspecting him of tax fraud. It'll be all right. You'll fix this. He clung to the reassuring thought, refusing to consider the alternative. He had enough to pay the mortgage on this property for at least six months, and more money would come in once he finished out the summer season. And there was the cash he got from renting out the cabin to Brooke. When he'd met her at the diner two months ago and heard she was looking for a place to live, he'd realized that having her as a tenant would solve both of their problems. But now that she was living there, he was experiencing a different sort of problem. A hot, uncomfortable one. He didn't miss the way Brooke's gaze darted toward the small A-frame cabin that stood a couple hundred yards away, then back at him. He watched as she bit her bottom lip, as those incredible green eyes filled with dismay. And then she walked toward the porch. Evan blinked. Okay, now he was surprised. He was so accustomed to his tenant shooting down every invitation that he had no idea what to do now that she'd finally accepted one. As she climbed the rickety wooden steps, Evan reached into the cooler at his feet and pulled out a beer bottle. He offered it to Brooke, who reached out, grasped the bottle and unscrewed the cap. She leaned against the wood railing ringing the wraparound porch and eyed him warily. "Thanks," she murmured. "No problem." He swallowed to ease his dry mouth. "How was work?" "Busy." She shrugged. "Martha said the tourist rush lasts until the fall." "Yeah, summer's pretty busy around here." 480

"What do you do in the winter, then? I can't imagine there's a big demand for adventure tours in the snow." "You'd be surprised," he answered. "I've got a dozen bookings already. I usually take groups up the mountain for winter expeditions. Snowmobiling, skiing, climbing. For me, business is booming yearround." And hopefully it stayed that way. Otherwise he was unbelievably screwed. "You should come with me one of these days," he found himself saying. "Do you like white-water rafting? There are some pretty decent rapids around here." When she just shrugged, he said, "Skiing then. Do you ski?" Her expression grew shuttered. "I'm not big on the outdoors." Evan smothered a sigh. "What are you big on, then?" She gave another shrug. "I'm serious, Brooke, what do you do for fun? You've been here for two months, and I still don't know a thing about you." "There's not much to know. I'm pretty boring actually." Before he could press her, she set her half-finished bottle on the railing and edged toward the porch steps. "I've gotta go. Thanks for the beer." Evan opened his mouth to protest but she was already gone, dashing off the porch and practically running toward her small cabin. The sigh he'd been holding slipped out. "Who are you, Brooke Talbot?" he muttered to himself. The muffled sound of the cabin door slamming met his ears. It should have been discouraging, but all it did was harden his resolve. Lord, what was the matter with him? From day one, his head had been shouting at him to let it go, to stay away from Brooke and focus on warding off bankruptcy. And yet his gut kept urging him to get to the bottom of it, find out what was troubling the woman. Those haunting green eyes of hers triggered some sort of weird emotional reaction inside him. Every time he looked at her, he felt the need to protect her. Protect her? Damn, he couldn't even protect himself these days. Still, he'd been fighting this ridiculous inner battle for days—stay away, get close. But he couldn't stop thinking about her. He was growing incredibly tired of obsessing over this mysterious woman who refused to provide him with a single detail about herself. Maybe the beer was messing with his head. Or maybe he just needed a distraction, a way to take his mind off the perilous position his business was currently in. Either way, he planned on getting some answers from Brooke. Tonight.

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Chapter Four Evan McCarthy was too gorgeous for his own good. Brooke's heart thumped wildly as she stepped into her cabin and shut the door behind her. She wished she weren't so attracted to that man. But how could she not be? With that messy sandy-blond hair, sexy gray eyes and lean, muscular body, Evan was a walking fantasy. Athletic, outdoorsy, easygoing. Everything about him teased her senses—his looks, his raspy baritone voice, his clean, earthy scent. She shouldn't have had that beer with him. Should have continued to keep her distance. But the need to get out of her own head, even for a few minutes, had been too strong. She was tired of being scared and paranoid, tired of looking over her shoulder and pretending to be someone else. With a sigh, she put Evan out of her mind and kicked off her sandals. The cabin she was renting was small, consisting of a cramped living room, a miniscule kitchen and a bedroom with a private bath. It wasn't much to look at, either—weathered hardwood floors, shabby furniture. But it was clean and cozy, and the property was surrounded by wilderness, providing a perfect place to lie low. But for how long? She chewed the inside of her cheek as she headed for the bathroom to draw a bath. How long could she keep running? She'd hoped that Andrew would simply give up and file for divorce after she left, but the article in the Baltimore paper told her that her husband would not rest until he got her back. Sinking into the tub, Brooke let the hot water soothe her aching muscles, but it did nothing to ease her weary mind. She couldn't hide forever. She knew that. "A lawyer," she mumbled to herself. So she could file for divorce like she had planned originally? As if Andrew would ever let that happen. He'd see her dead first. He'd already given proof of that. "A new identity," she mused. Right, because procuring one of those was so easy. And with what money? "Suicide?" she asked herself. A hysterical laugh bubbled in the back of her throat. No, that wouldn't happen, either. She valued her own life far too much to end it. But Andrew would end her life for her if she didn't figure out a plan. But what the hell could she do? Andrew Tanner was a respected police captain. He'd won medals for bravery. His staff kissed the ground he walked on. The people he protected worshipped him. Nobody would believe her if she tried to tell them that their hero was an emotionally abusive bastard. That he'd beat up his wife when she'd told him she wanted to leave him. Besides, Andrew would never let the truth come out. He was too proud, too arrogant. He wanted the perfect wife, the perfect house, the perfect life. And he'd told her numerous times what he would do to her if she left—kill her, or have her committed. Sighing, she shifted in the bathtub, just as a faint knock sounded from the front door. Wrinkling her brow, Brooke got out of the now lukewarm tub, dripping water all over the floor. She grabbed a terry-cloth robe, slipped into it, and headed out to the hall. 482

Wary, she walked to the window and peeked out from behind the curtains. Her wariness faded into relief when she saw Evan on the porch, wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt that clung to the rippled muscles on his chest. The relief promptly turned to unease as she opened the door. "Wh-What are you doing here?" she stammered. "I ordered us a pizza." He slanted his head. "You like pizza, right? I've seen the delivery guy walk up the path a few times." "What…you… Why?" "Why did I order a pizza?" He cast her a charming smile. "Because we're having dinner together."

Chapter Five Evan was always up for a good challenge. That was probably why he made his living as a wilderness guide—the satisfaction of tackling a new rapid, climbing a new mountain. Brooke Talbot, however, might be the biggest test of all. She stood there in her robe, staring at him as if he'd grown horns. "We're having dinner?" she echoed. Like it always did in Brooke's presence, his brain snapped into lecture mode, telling him to scrap this foolish plan and get out of there, but he forced himself to stay put and see his plan through. "Yep." His eyes swept over her robe, resting on the droplets gathering at her collarbone. "Why don't you get dressed," he suggested. "I'll just make myself comfortable on the couch." Brooke gaped at him as he brushed past her and entered the cabin. He flopped down on the sofa and shot her an expectant look. "Go on," he prompted. She blinked. Then spun on her heel and headed for the bedroom. He took her absence as an opportunity to glance around the room, and he wasn't surprised to find that she hadn't done a thing to put her own personal touch on the cabin. She'd only had one duffel bag when she'd moved in, and in two months she evidently hadn't amassed any new belongings. When she stepped back into the main room a few minutes later, she wore a pair of black leggings, a loose red tank top and a wary expression. "This isn't a good idea," she announced. "I like you, Evan, but I'm in no place to get involved with anyone, even on a friend basis." "Because you're still grieving for your late husband?" "Yes." "I don't think your husband would begrudge you a friend, Brooke. You look like you need one. And God knows I do."

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Indecision battled across her face, mingled in with a flicker of curiosity. After a moment, she joined him on the couch, sitting all the way at the other end. "Why do you need a friend? You seem like you have no cares in the world." He hadn't planned on confiding in Brooke. Coming here was supposed to be about her, about figuring out why all his instincts started to hum whenever she was around, why the need to help her refused to leave him. And yet, when he opened his mouth, he found himself telling her everything, giving her a play-byplay of all the ways his life sucked at the moment—his bastard of a former partner, the IRS, the FBI, the threat of bankruptcy—everything. "I paid the taxes," he finished gruffly. "And the IRS is off my back now. My lawyer convinced them that I had no idea what Scott was up to." "Oh, Evan, I'm sorry," she murmured. "Me, too." He shrugged, though it felt good to confide in her. "Well, lesson learned. Always trust your instincts. I had a bad feeling about Scott when we met in college, but I ignored my gut." I'm not ignoring it now, he almost said, but held back the words. No matter how much his brain told him to keep his distance from this woman, the overwhelming urge to discover her secrets, to help her, was too powerful to ignore. But then the pizza guy knocked on the door, putting an end to the conversation. Evan paid for the pizza and brought it over to the coffee table, while Brooke grabbed some plates and napkins from the kitchen. Then they settled back on the couch, munching on their respective slices. "You've got sauce on your chin," he told her, grinning at the sight. She swiped at her jaw with a napkin and missed. "Here, let me." Leaning forward, he gently wiped her chin. Her sweet, flowery smell reached his nose, making him inhale deeply, and his gaze moved to her mouth, to those plump pink lips that always seemed to be frowning or nibbled on by her teeth. A current of electricity coursed through him. For the first time since they'd met, Brooke's shielded expression melted, revealing a glimmer of unmistakable heat. She wanted him, too. The realization sent his pulse into a gallop. He could kiss her. Just lean a few inches closer and kiss her. But he resisted the impulse. As much as he desired this woman, he'd come here for answers. So he pulled back, his gaze still locked with hers. "What are you hiding from, Brooke?" he asked. "What's got you so scared?"

Chapter Six Brooke tried to control the rampant thudding of her heart. For a second there, she'd thought Evan was actually going to kiss her. And her body, traitor that it was, had actually responded. Her thighs were still trembling, her palms damp and tingly. 484

But he hadn't kissed her, and the abrupt question he'd hurled at her caught her off guard. "I'm not scared," she lied. Evan looked unconvinced as he dropped his half-eaten pizza slice on his plate. "Whatever you say." "I'm not. And I'm not hiding," she insisted. "Then why won't you tell me a single detail about yourself? Where did you come from, Brooke? Where did you live before you came to Serenade?" "Norfolk. I lived there with my husband. After he passed away, I needed a change, so I got in the car and wound up here." "You just got in the car and drove away," he repeated, looking unconvinced. "That seems rather extreme." He wasn't buying any of it. She could see it on his face. But that was the story she'd told everyone else in town. She had to stick to it now. "It was extreme," she admitted, "but I just had to get out of there. Everywhere I went, everyone I saw, it reminded me of An— Andy." She wasn't lying about that, and Evan must have sensed her distress, because his gray eyes softened. "I think I believe you." "There's no reason for you not to," she shot back. "Okay. What else, then? Were you waitressing in Virginia, too?" She shook her head. "No. No, I was a chef. I worked at one of the finest restaurants in the city." Until Andrew had forced her to quit… A couple of years into their marriage, he'd decided that he didn't like her being away from home. She suspected he didn't like her spending time with the mostly-male kitchen staff. "Sounds cool." Evan grinned. "Maybe you can cook for me sometimes. I barely know how to turn on the stove." Cook for him? As nice as it sounded, Brooke realized she had to stop this before it got out of hand. Evan was gorgeous and attentive and utterly sweet, but she couldn't lead him on. And she couldn't fool herself into believing that they might have a future. "Look, you're a great guy, Evan," she said softly. "But I'm not ready to date. I'm not even in the frame of mind to maintain a friendship with anyone. I appreciate everything you've done for me." She gestured to the pizza box. "And I appreciate dinner. But…I think you should go now." "Brooke—" "I'm serious," she said, harsher than she'd intended. "You need to go."

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Regret filled his eyes. "I see." With stiff shoulders, Evan rose from the couch. Brooke stood up and followed him to the door, refusing to look at his muscular chest, his taut backside, his disappointed face. "I'm sorry if I came on too strong," he said roughly. "I didn't mean to overstep. It's just…you say you don't want a friend, but I think you need one. If you change your mind, I'm here for you." And then he was gone, his tall, athletic frame bounding across the yellowed grass toward the main house. Brooke forced herself not to watch him walk away. She closed the door, then moved back to the couch on heavy legs. Her heart pounded as she realized just how close she'd come to kissing Evan. Oh, God. She had to control this attraction. Getting involved with anyone was a bad idea. She was still married. She was lying about who she was. And she needed to get out of town, now, before someone stumbled across that newspaper article and informed her husband of her whereabouts. Because if Andrew found her, this troubling attraction to Evan McCarthy would be the least of her worries.

Chapter Seven Brooke showed up an hour early for her shift the next day, after pacing the cabin all morning and trying to figure out a plan. The best she'd come up with was hopping a bus and heading down to Florida, but she knew she'd only encounter the same problems once she got there. A new identity seemed like her best option, but that meant she needed to get her hands on some cash. A lot of cash. When she strode into the diner, a familiar female voice stopped her before she could head for the back room. She turned and found Teresa Donovan sitting in one of the red vinyl booths. Teresa grinned and waved, beckoning for Brooke to join her. After a moment of indecision, Brooke made her way to the booth. She had an hour to kill, and no matter what anyone else in town thought of Teresa, Brooke actually enjoyed the other woman's company. "Hey, hon," Teresa said as Brooke slid into the seat across from her. "Why so glum?" Brooke forced a smile. "I'm not glum. Just not in the mood to work today." Teresa beamed. "Then call in sick. Let's drive to Raleigh and get our nails done." She had to laugh. "I can't call in sick. Everyone just saw me come in. I'm sitting in my place of employment, healthy as a horse." "Party pooper." Teresa punctuated her remark with a pout. Another laugh slipped out. She knew most of the other townsfolk despised Teresa Donovan, but Brooke had yet to figure out why. Teresa might be a tad spoiled, and definitely arrogant, but her larger-than-life attitude was contagious. She oozed confidence and spontaneity. And she'd always treated Brooke with nothing but kindness and respect. "How's Evan?" Teresa asked as she reached for her coffee cup. She took a long swallow, then set down the mug. "As sexy as ever, I presume?" 486

Teresa's silver eyes twinkled, and Brooke wasn't sure whether to frown or smile. Teresa's reputation around town was no secret. Brooke had heard many rumors that Teresa slept around and had cheated on her ex-husband, multimillionaire and real estate developer Cole Donovan. Brooke hadn't felt comfortable asking Teresa about the rumors or digging for details about the woman's marriage, but she suspected there was more to it than everyone else believed. "Evan is doing fine." Brooke bit her lip. "He came over for dinner last night. I think he wanted it to be a date, but I set him straight." Teresa narrowed her eyes. "Now why would you do that?" "Because I'm not interested in him. I told you, I'm not over my husband. I'm not ready to see anyone else." The other woman seemed to ponder that, then broke out in a wide smile. "I can't say I'm not pleased to hear that. I could try and convince you to swoop Evan up, but I've had my sights set on him since the day he moved to town." A surprising arrow of jealousy pierced through Brooke's gut. She didn't know why, but the thought of Evan and Teresa together made her stomach clench. Focus, Brooke. You have bigger problems…. "One of these days he'll come around," Teresa was saying. "He insists he's busy with his business, and I understand how important success is to a man, so that's why I haven't pushed him." Brooke looked up absently. "What?" "You're not listening to me, are you?" Teresa's features creased with concern as she clasped her hands together on the checkered tablecloth. "I know something's wrong. I can see it on your face, Brooke." "Nothing's wrong," she lied. Teresa sighed. "You know, you can trust me. From the moment we met, I saw the shadows in your eyes. Something has you scared, Brooke." Scared. Evan had seen the same thing. Apparently she wasn't as skilled at masking her emotions as she'd thought. Teresa reached across the table and gripped Brooke's hand. "Trust me," she urged. "Let me help you." Brooke swallowed. When she didn't say a word, Teresa gently squeezed her hand. "Trust goes both ways, huh?" the ravenhaired beauty said with a sigh. "I want to help you, but you need to let me in. So how about this? I'll go first. I'll trust you with my secrets, if you'll trust me with yours."

Chapter Eight Brooke was about to protest, but the vulnerability flickering in Teresa's normally confident gaze threw her for a loop. She was unable to do anything but lean back in the booth and listen.

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"I know everyone in town thinks I'm some big slut," Teresa began, her voice cracking on that last word. "And I guess maybe I am. It's true—I do sleep around. I just… I get lonely, you know? Have you ever been surrounded by people, yet felt so unbearably lonely that you just wanted to lash out?" "Yes," Brooke whispered. Oh, she knew what that felt like. Every dinner party she'd gone to with Andrew, every law enforcement function and parade and medal ceremony, her husband had been at her side, yet she'd felt so completely alone she'd wanted to cry. "That's how I felt all my life," Teresa confessed. Her eyes darkened to a stormy gray. "My dad ran out on us when I was five, my mother was a drunk, my older sister was overcome with bitterness and still is. And then I met Cole, and I thought life would be different." She gave a cheerless smile. "I had a husband, a man who claimed to love me, a man who said I was the most important thing in his life. But he lied. Cole was always gone, off on some business trip. He didn't spend any time with me. We were newlyweds, and all he wanted to do was work." Well, he couldn't become the president of a successful real estate empire without hard work, Brooke almost pointed out. But she held back. "I was bored. And lonely." Teresa swallowed. "And I cheated on him. Call me heartless if you want, but I was weak. I just wanted someone to love me, you know? I didn't want to be alone." Teresa picked up her coffee cup. "So that's it, my sordid tale. You think I'm confident, that I have everything? That's a lie. I'm still the same insecure little girl who cried when her daddy left. I'm an adulteress, just like everyone in Serenade thinks. And I'm lonely. Still so damn lonely." Although she didn't agree with Teresa's decisions, Brooke couldn't help but feel for the woman. If anyone had told Brooke that she would stab her police captain husband and go on the run, she probably would have laughed in their face. But it had happened. That decision might have been a good one, or a very grave mistake, but she'd done it. And that meant she couldn't judge Teresa Donovan, not unless she judged herself. "It's your turn," Teresa said softly, still clutching Brooke's hand. "Tell me what's got you so scared." "I can't," Brooke whispered. "You can. Look, I know this might not mean much, since we only met a couple of months ago, but I'm your friend, Brooke. I'm here for you if you need me." She paused. "And I can help you. Cole and I might be divorced, but I've got half of his money. I've got his connections." Brooke's resolve began to waver. It was no secret that the woman had received a windfall from the divorce. Teresa did have money. A big pile of it. And a new identity for Brooke wouldn't even make a dent in it. But trust a stranger? A woman she'd only just met? "Let me help you," Teresa said quietly. Brooke clamped her teeth over her lower lip, torn. Then, as her hand shook relentlessly, she reached into her purse and removed the newspaper printout. Without a word, she handed it to Teresa. 488

Chapter Nine Brooke's chest felt a million times lighter as she emerged at the end of the path leading to Evan's property. It was dark out, but the moon was full, illuminating the grassy clearing. As she walked, she didn't even notice the ache in her feet. Her shift at the diner had been a busy one, but confiding in Teresa had been so liberating that she didn't even feel sore. I can help you. Those had been Teresa's parting words, and Brooke believed her. Teresa had been so sympathetic when Brooke told her about her abusive marriage. And Teresa had told her she knew someone who dealt in documents, ordering Brooke not to do anything until she got back to her. With a spring in her step, Brooke kept walking, her entire body overcome with gratitude. Teresa Donovan had the money and resources to get Brooke far away from Andrew, and that notion, that incredible notion, flooded her with joy and relief. As she neared the main house, she suddenly realized that Evan was out on the porch again. Her eyes sought his in the moonlight. With a tired smile, he lifted his beer bottle in an awkward toast, then broke the gaze. Guilt moved through her chest. She remembered how harsh she'd been with him last night, telling him they couldn't be friends, asking him to leave. But she'd been so panicked after seeing that newspaper article, terrified by the knowledge that Andrew would never stop looking for her. You should apologize. Before she could question her own actions, she headed for Evan's porch and climbed the steps. "Hey," she said, fidgeting. "Hey." His voice was husky. Deep and sexy. But there was a pained note in it. A flash of white caught her eye and she glanced down, spotting a crumpled piece of paper on the cedar floor. "What's that?" "A reminder that my life is still as messed up as ever." Noticing the way her forehead wrinkled, he let out a sigh. "The FBI was kind enough to inform me that I'm still a person of interest to them. They'll, and I quote, 'be keeping an eye on me and my business dealings.'" Sympathy constricted her chest. "I'm sorry, Evan." He took a long swallow of his beer. "Nothing to be sorry about. You didn't send the letter." "There is something for me to be sorry about," she burst out. "I feel awful about yesterday. I didn't mean to be so rude." "I understand." He shrugged. "I probably came on too strong." "No, you didn't. I was just having a bad day." She hesitated. "It was actually really sweet of you to buy me dinner." 489

After a second, his mouth curved. "I am a pretty sweet guy." When she smiled back, Evan raised his eyebrows. "Was that a smile? I think that's the first time I've ever seen you do that. I figured maybe your facial muscles didn't work that way." Now she laughed. His brows shot up higher. "A laugh?" he said in mock incredulity. "Now I know something's wrong." "Nope, everything is right," she answered. "Oh, really? What happened?" I'm going to be free. "I just…had a really good day." Evan stood up and strode to the cooler by the door. "In that case, we need to celebrate." He pulled out a bottle and held it out to her. Brooke stared at it, then lifted her gaze to his handsome face. God, this man was so hard to resist. Yesterday she'd acted like a total bitch to him, and rather than holding a grudge, he was shooting her that lopsided grin and handing her a beer, despite the fact that he was obviously upset about that letter from the FBI. And the way he was looking at her… It was as if he truly saw her. As if he viewed her as a woman rather than a prop. To her husband, that's all she'd ever been. She wasn't sure if it was the massive dose of relief pumping through her veins, or maybe the full moon made her lose her mind. But, rather than twist open the beer, she set the bottle on the railing and took a step closer to Evan. His throat worked as he swallowed. "Brooke?" She didn't answer. Simply moved closer, so that they were standing less than a foot apart. She moistened her lips and met his eyes. "This is probably the most foolish thing I've ever done, but…" Lifting both hands, she cupped his stubble-covered jaw and pulled his head down for a kiss.

Chapter Ten Evan's muscles turned to jelly as Brooke's soft, warm lips pressed against his. The kiss caught him by total surprise, but his primal male instincts knew exactly what to do. All coherent thought drained from his mind—the letter from the FBI forgotten, his confusion about Brooke and her secrets gone. His hands found their way down to her slender waist, tugging her against him. Her small breasts collided with his chest, sending a bolt of heat right through his T-shirt to sear his skin. He had no idea what had come over her, but he wasn't about to complain. Truth was, he needed this. Needed the welcome respite that her mouth gave him. 490

He deepened the kiss and she parted her lips for him, welcoming his tongue. As his pulse drummed in his ears, he explored her sweet mouth, while his hands caressed the small of her back before drifting lower to cup her firm behind. Brooke whimpered as their tongues danced. She wrapped her arms around his neck, rubbing her lower body against his, until he was harder than granite. "What's come over you?" he rasped against her lips. "I don't know," she murmured back. She kissed him again. "It's just been so long, so long since anyone has kissed me like this." Her shaky words made him pull away. "Your husband…he didn't…you two didn't kiss?" Her dark green eyes, glazed only seconds before, sharpened into focus. "No. I mean, yes. He did. We did." She was suddenly edging toward the railing. "But he was sick for a long time. More than a year. He didn't have the energy for anything by the end." She was lying to him again. Damn it, it was always one step forward, two steps back with this woman. Last night, her fear had been unmistakable and it was still there tonight. She was struggling with something. Running from something. He wished she would confide in him. "Let me take you on a date," Evan blurted out. Her head jerked up. "What?" "Let me take you out, Brooke. I know you said you weren't ready to get involved, but this kiss confirmed that there's something between us. Or that there could be." He stepped forward and grazed her cheek with his fingers. "Trust me. Let me in and I promise you won't regret it." She moved away from his touch, running a hand through her chin-length hair. "I don't know, Evan." "Yes, you do. You know you want to see what happens between us." "Maybe if circumstances were different…maybe if…" She trailed off, then cleared her throat. "I'm not who you think I am, Evan. A part of me is…broken." His heart squeezed in his chest, the forlorn note to her voice triggering that spark of protectiveness again. Meeting her eyes, he slowly shook his head. "You're not broken, Brooke. Maybe a little splintered, but the pieces are there, ready to be put back together." That seemed to startle her, prompting him to continue. "I see the strength in you, Brooke." "You do?" she whispered. He nodded. "I can't imagine what you must have felt, losing your husband, but it didn't break you. You're strong, and sooner or later, you're going to realize that." She seemed a bit dumbfounded, as if she couldn't believe what he was saying. "So what'll it hurt?" he said, his voice gruff. "One date won't kill either one of us. Say yes." 491

She hesitated. "What'll it be, Brooke—yes or no?" He thought she would say no. He could see her lips forming the word. But then her mouth opened and she said, "Yes."

Chapter Eleven "You are the biggest idiot on the planet," Brooke chided herself as she got dressed the following evening. A date! What was she thinking? Why on earth had she said yes to Evan McCarthy? Because you like him. Fine, so maybe she liked him, but that wasn't the reason she'd agreed to the date. Deep down, she knew exactly why she'd said yes. I see the strength in you, Brooke. His words still floored her. Andrew had knocked her down so many times she couldn't even remember what it felt like to be strong. But…there was a time when she had been strong, when she'd relied on that strength to survive the crappy hand she'd been dealt in life. She'd thought she'd lost it for good, that the woman she'd once been had disappeared during her years with Andrew. But Evan saw that woman. He didn't see a Stepford wife, a woman he could mold or toy with. He saw her. And God, the way he'd touched her… The tenderness of his kiss, the seductive swirl of his tongue. Every inch of his body had been hard, but his lips had been soft, his hands so careful when he'd held her. She wasn't used to that. Andrew had always been rough with her, right from the start. Andrew's lips had been cold and unyielding. Andrew's touch had made her feel scared, not safe. Maybe kissing Evan had been a mistake, but from that one kiss, she'd gained priceless knowledge. The realization that not every man in this world was one she ought to fear. Brooke clenched her fists and was surprised to find a cell phone in her hand. When had she taken it out of the closet? She was only half-dressed, the silky black shift she'd bought that afternoon resting on the bed. While she'd been lost in thought, she must have somehow grabbed the phone. As she stared at it, she suddenly realized what she had to do. Lifting her chin, she headed back to the closet and rummaged around in her duffel until she found the cell phone battery. She'd bought the disposable phone after leaving Maryland. For emergencies, she'd told herself. There was no GPS on it, but she'd removed the battery anyway, just in case. Now, she slid the battery back in place, took a breath, and dialed a number. Andrew answered on the second ring. Brooke exhaled. "Hi, Andrew."

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Silence. Then "Brooke? Where the hell are you?" "It doesn't matter where I am. All that matters is that I'm not coming back." Her hand shook as she held the phone. "I want you to stop looking for me." Another beat, followed by a harsh laugh. "I don't give a rat's ass what you want, you little bitch! Do you think you can just humiliate me, attack me, and run away?" "You attacked me first." Her throat burned. "And you've been attacking me for years, maybe not with your fists, but abuse just the same. I'm not coming back. I'll never come back. I'm just asking you to have the decency to let me go." He laughed again. "You're in no position to make demands. I've got every cop in Baltimore looking for you. And I'm tracing this call as we speak, so you've just made my job easier." "You're not tracing anything," she said coolly. "It's seven o'clock on a Friday. Which means you're at the gym. And I doubt you brought your handy tracing equipment along on your workout." Andrew didn't answer for a second and she knew she'd hit the mark. Of course he'd gone to the gym. No way would her control-freak husband alter his routine. He could preach to the media about the agonizing search for his mentally ill wife, but she knew him better than they did. Andrew sounded livid when he spoke again. "Get your ass home, Brooke. I'm tired of these silly games." "Just let me go." Desperation crept into her voice. "Let's end this peacefully. I don't want to be with you, and I don't think you ever wanted to be with me. So please, Andrew, let's end this." "End it? I don't think so, bitch. This won't end until I have my hands wrapped around your pretty little thro—" She hung up the phone.

Chapter Twelve "I think you've had enough," Evan said in a dry voice. Across the booth, Brooke waved a careless hand, tossed her head back and swallowed her fifth shot. Or maybe it was the sixth. Evan had lost count. He'd also lost control of this date, obviously. He'd known Brooke was upset the second she slid into his beat-up Jeep Cherokee two hours ago. Not even the sight of her cute, short dress or the red lipstick she'd carefully applied could hide her distress. She'd chatted during the car ride to Sully's Bar, but he'd seen through that, too. Something had rattled her, but for the life of him, he couldn't get her to confide in him. Now they were seated in a booth at the back of the dimly lit room, their dinner plates had been carried away by the waitress, and Brooke was proceeding to get blind-ass drunk. Definitely not the first date he'd had in mind. "My father never had enough," Brooke suddenly said.

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Evan looked into her eyes and glimpsed the bitterness there. "He drank?" "Oh, yeah." Her jaw tensed. "And then he hit us. My mom and me. And one day, he killed her." He had no idea what to say. Shock had formed a vise around his throat. And his heart squeezed so tight he thought it might burst. "That's how I met my husband," she continued in a faraway voice. "He was one of the cops who responded to my 911 call. He liked to remind me how he saved me from my domestic troubles." She snorted. "Domestic troubles—sounds so innocent, right? A drunken wife-beater killed his wife in front of their teenage daughter. Isn't that more than troubling?" Evan was on his feet before she could go on. As his heart ached, he helped Brooke up and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "Come on, let's get you home, sweetheart." She looked ready to protest, but then her face collapsed, and Evan's heart promptly cracked in two. "That's a good idea," she whispered. He held her arm as they left the bar, leading her toward his car. After he got her settled in the passenger seat, he rounded the Jeep—only to be intercepted by Teresa Donovan, who'd just hopped out of a sleek Mercedes. Evan suppressed a groan. That woman was the last person he wanted to see at the moment. The maneater, he'd come to call her. Beautiful, yes. But nasty. "What's wrong with Brooke?" Teresa asked immediately, peering through the windshield of his Cherokee. "Brooke is…tired," Evan said evenly. "I'm going to drive her home." Teresa tossed her long black hair over one shoulder, gray eyes twinkling. "I have a better idea. Let's call her a cab and you and me can go in and have a drink."

Chapter Thirteen Evan hid his disgust when he noticed the seductive glimmer in Teresa's eyes. "Thanks, but I'm gonna have to pass. I'm taking Brooke home." Irritation etched into her beautiful features. "I can tell that she's drunk. Let a taxi take her back and she'll sleep it off." Evan headed for the driver's door. "Sorry, Teresa, but no." Bloodred fingernails dug into the sleeve of his button-down. "Come on, Evan," she said in a husky temptress voice. "How long are you going to resist? You know there's something between us, we both feel it." His restraint snapped like an elastic band. "Enough," he said angrily. "How many times do I have to tell you I'm not interested?" Her eyes flashed. "What, I'm not good enough for you?" she demanded. Her gaze moved back to the car, back to Brooke. "You prefer that whiny idiot with her flat chest and damsel-in-distress bullshit?" 494

Evan's shoulders went rigid. "Go back to your millionaire ex-husband, Teresa. I've got enough problems already." There was a deafening silence. And then she flounced off, her high heels clacking against the pavement. Evan released a calming breath as he watched her go. Damn. He shouldn't have spoken to her like that, but Teresa always managed to provoke him. He had no idea what a shrewd businessman like Cole Donovan had ever seen in that woman. And at the moment, he didn't care. He turned back to Brooke. Her alcohol-induced confession had ripped him apart. He'd seen the shadows in her face, but he'd never expected them to be that bad. That dark. Swallowing hard, he slid into the driver's seat, then reached over the arm divider and touched Brooke's silky-soft cheek. Her eyes were closed, but he knew she wasn't sleeping. "Was that Teresa?" she murmured without opening her eyes. His jaw tensed. "Yeah." "She sounded upset." Brooke made a move to unbuckle her seatbelt. "I should go talk to—" "What you should do is stay away from that woman," he cut in, stilling her hand. "I know you think she's your friend, but she's not, Brooke. That woman toys with people, uses them as pawns in whatever manipulation game she's playing." Her eyes opened, confused, but though she looked like she might argue, she finally just sighed. And closed her eyes again. "Evan?" "Yeah?" "Do you think… Could you stay with me tonight? I'm scared to be alone." He stroked her cheek once more. "I'll stay," he said softly. And then he started the car. *** From the door of Sully's, Teresa watched Evan McCarthy's Jeep speed away from the parking lot. Fury coursed through her blood, making her hands shake and her pulse thud. How dare he talk to her like that? How dare he? She'd been married to Cole Donovan, one of the richest men in the country. She lived in a cliffside mansion that Cole had personally designed for her. She had more money than Evan would know what to do with. Her body vibrated with anger as she remembered the way Evan had looked at Brooke through the car window. His gaze had reflected such tenderness, making it glaringly obvious that he cared deeply about Brooke Talbot. Brooke, who was on the run from her husband. Just the memory of Brooke's sob story made Teresa want to roll her eyes. What kind of woman let a man walk all over her like that? She'd feigned sympathy during their heart-to-heart, all the while wanting to

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laugh. If Teresa had been in Brooke's shoes, Andrew Tanner, police captain or not, would have learned his place—and early on. She'd only struck up this friendship with Brooke out of curiosity. She always liked scoping out the new arrivals to Serenade, because really, you never knew when you might need 'em. Within five minutes, she'd pegged Brooke as dull and totally useless. Until she'd seen the way Evan had looked at the woman one day in the diner. After that, getting close to Brooke had been less about curiosity and more about the number one tenet in Teresa's personal philosophy—keep your enemies close. She'd wanted Evan McCarthy in her bed from the moment she'd laid eyes on him, and it grated that he kept brushing her off at every opportunity. His latest rebuff didn't annoy her as much as who he was rebuffing her for. Evan needed a real woman, not a weak fool who couldn't even keep her own husband on a leash. He needed someone like Teresa. Yet he'd chosen Brooke. Time to take Brooke out of the equation. A smile lifted the corner of her mouth. Yeah, it was definitely time to wipe her hands of that boring twit. Teresa reached into her purse and removed the article Brooke had given her, then found her phone. Smile widening, she slid open the phone's keyboard and punched in the number of Captain Andrew Tanner's silly hotline.

Chapter Fourteen By the time Brooke and Evan returned to her cabin, some of the alcohol had left her bloodstream— leaving a rush of humiliation in its wake. She watched as Evan unlocked the front door with the key she'd handed him, wishing she could just disappear. She couldn't believe she'd told him that stuff about her dad. About how Andrew had "rescued" her. She should have cancelled the date the moment Andrew had threatened her, damn it. But she'd needed to get out of the cabin. And truth be told, she'd been looking forward to going out with Evan, and she hadn't wanted to dis