Firefly Promise

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Firefly Promise ISBN 9781419914904 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Firefly Promise Copyright© 2008 Nikki Soarde Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower. Cover art by Syneca. Electronic book Publication March 2008 With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/) This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

FIREFLY PROMISE Nikki Soarde

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Armani: GA Modefine S.A. Barbie: Mattel, Inc. Formica: Formica Corporation Gucci: Gucci America, Inc. Honda: Honda Motor Co. Nike: Nike Inc. Versace: Gianni Versace S.p.A. Yves Saint Laurent: Yves Saint Laurent A.G. (S.A.) (Ltd.)

Firefly Promise

Prologue “Mr. Coleridge, I’m Constable Anderson.” The officer walked forward, his face and hands scrubbed clean, but his uniform reeking of smoke and dust and death. His eyes and his stench told the story long before he spoke. “I’m very sorry to inform you that there’s been an accident.” Caleb sat bolt upright in bed, the sweat dripping from his nose and soaking his sheets. He sucked in huge lungfuls of cold night air. He left the window open whenever possible. His bedroom seemed to shrink at night, and an open window alleviated the claustrophobia. He swung his feet off the bed and was gratified by the shock of cold hardwood on his bare toes. It was April and still cold enough sometimes to frost up the windows on his car and make his fingers numb. He didn’t mind. He liked that feeling, craved it. Had considered hiking across the South Pole in order to achieve it completely. Dying in a cold Antarctic crevasse didn’t sound so bad. You just got very tired, he’d heard. Fell asleep and never woke up. There was no pain. No sense of panic. No screams, no aroma of burning flesh. And no anguish that ate away at the soul. But a painless death was far better than he deserved so he had abandoned the idea. He’d chosen instead to kill himself slowly, drawing out his pain over months and years. And decades. Last night had been one of his famous gasps for breath, a pathetic attempt to break free of the shackles he’d bound himself with and feel human again. An attempt that was born of desperation and pain, but that invariably left him feeling just a little bit more miserable, a little bit more pathetic. And a little bit more certain that he deserved everything life had dished out to him so far. Furious with himself, he lurched from the bed and stalked into the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face in an attempt to wash the nightmare from his mind. He didn’t look in the mirror. He knew too well what he would find there—a square jaw, disheveled black hair and bloodshot blue eyes that were as empty as his home. He glanced at the clock. Five o’clock. Too early to head to the office, but not too early to hit the streets for a run. Ten kilometers sounded about right and would leave enough time for a few rounds with the heavy bag down at the gym. He reached for his jogging suit, and as he did so he caught a glimpse of the small framed photograph that hung beside the door. He stared at it, held captive by laughing eyes, and the unfulfilled promise of youth and love and happiness. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to his ghosts for the thousandth time. “I’m so, so sorry.”

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Chapter One Pumped from his workout and from the still-fresh image of Charlie Wellington clutching a towel to his bleeding cheekbone, Caleb burst into the office with even more than his usual vigor. He grinned to himself. Charlie had insisted, after all. He’d had a fight with his wife the night before and wanted to let off steam. He could take Caleb. He had thirty pounds on him—thirty pounds of solid fucking flab—and he didn’t like the way Caleb strutted around that gym like he owned the place. So they’d climbed into the ring and it had taken all of a minute-forty for Charlie to find himself on the mat writhing in pain and soaking his t-shirt with his own blood. It was good clean fun, and Charlie had been asking for it. Literally. Caleb had no remorse. At least not for that. “Hey, Caleb, my man.” Gene Bledsoe, who was standing by the coffeemaker, stuck up his hand for a high-five as Caleb walked through. Gene was a fellow project manager at Ellis & Edison. Gene wore Gucci shoes, an Yves Saint Laurent shirt and an Armani tie. Gene was broad-shouldered and had a jaw of granite. He worked out four times a week and had insisted that his twenty-three-year-old, size-three wife get a boob job and a tummy tuck so that all the guys at the office would envy him. Gene was a forty-year-old peacock, an asshole—and Caleb despised him. “Hey, Gene,” Caleb replied with as much gusto as he could muster. He even managed to pull off the high-five. He grabbed his coffee mug out of the cupboard and proceeded to fill up. “How’d the Leafs do last night? I didn’t catch the game.” “Oh, for chrissake, forget hockey. I wanna know if you got laid last night.” Caleb added half a teaspoon of sugar to his coffee and a dash of milk. “I don’t quite see that it’s any of your business, my man.” “Ah, come on. I know how you live and how the women throw themselves at you. Give an old married man a break and let him live vicariously through you for a while.” Caleb sipped from his coffee and wished for some real cream. “You’ve been married less than two years, Gene. You’re still supposed to be on your honeymoon.” Gene snorted. “Seriously. Did you get laid?” Caleb smiled sweetly and the words fuck off were just forming on his tongue when he heard his name being called. Saved from alienating a man he often had to share contacts and resources with, he held his tongue and turned to watch Delilah, one of E&E’s numerous hotter’n Hades secretaries, walk his way. She wound her way through cubicles, the early morning sun that spilled in through the windows lighting her strawberry-blonde hair on fire.

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“Hi, Lilah,” he said when she reached him. He sipped from his coffee. “You wanted me?” She smiled, arched an eyebrow and said silkily, “Always, babe.” Behind him he heard Gene’s cell phone go off and Gene’s soft curse as he clicked on and walked away with it plastered to his ear. “You wanted me pretty bad a couple of weeks ago,” he said under his breath, stirring his coffee. “That’s for sure.” “But I didn’t get you.” He looked up in surprise. She’d gotten him, all right. Twice. She smiled. “Or at least, not enough of you.” “Well…” He took another casual sip, glanced at the clock. “I don’t have a meeting for another hour…” Her eyes remained mischievous. “Thanks for the offer, but actually you have a meeting right now.” His smile fell away. “Great. What does Greg want now?” Greg Ellis was one of the co-owners and the man that Caleb reported to. He was also a perfectionist and verged on paranoid. Caleb had a constant battle on his hands to keep control of his own projects, but usually his stubbornness, competence and sheer force of will won out. “Not Greg.” She picked a mug out of the cupboard. “Kim. She’d like to see you ASAP.” Caleb waited until Lilah had filled her mug and then followed her back through the maze of cubicles to the offices that banked the far side of the room. Lilah’s deep maroon skirt brushed her knees, but hugged every curve. Caleb appreciated bold colors. He also appreciated a well-fitted skirt. “And what does the manager of HR want with little ole me?” “I wouldn’t know. I’m only the secretary.” They reached her desk and she sat down. “Honey, you’re not an only anything.” Her smile was genuine, but was it his imagination or did he see a trace of pity behind it, lurking in her eyes like a phantom? “You’re so sweet, Caleb.” He laughed but only to cover the painful twist of his heart. “I won’t be sweet if I get told my pension plan is getting cut.” “I don’t think that’s it.” “Well, then what is it?” “I don’t know, but it’s nothing nearly so banal as pension plans. She seemed very…distracted.” He stared at her, trying to discern what that might mean but she just nodded toward the door. “You can go on in.”

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He considered the door for a moment before knocking once and stepping through. “Good morning, Ms. Arbor,” he said, closing the door softly behind him. “You wanted to see me?” Kim Arbor looked up from her computer screen and scowled. “Cut the Ms. Arbor crap and sit down.” Snickering, he did as he was told and watched with appreciation as she removed her rimless glasses, stood and rounded the desk. Kim was more than ten years his senior, but she took care of herself. She worked out at the company gym, and colored and styled her hair to cover gray and keep her looking youthful and hip. But her toned figure, gold-streaked hair and full, pink lips paled next to her incisive green eyes. Which were cutting through him now. She leaned a hip against the edge of her desk. “I’m worried about you, Caleb.” He scowled. “Thanks, Mom, but I’m fine.” “You messed up the Peterson job, and there was no good reason for it.” Caleb launched from his chair. “What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t mess anything up. Gene told me he looked after contacting that cement contractor. How was I supposed to know he’d given the guy the wrong fucking schematics?” “Please don’t use that kind of language around me.” But he didn’t flinch. In fact he moved in closer, close enough that he could smell the subtle hint of roses that was her trademark perfume. “I thought you loved hearing the word fuck.” “Stop it.” But she said it without conviction. “And this is exactly what I’m talking about.” At last she seemed to find the strength to pull herself together enough to move away from him. She walked to the window and whirled to face him. “You’ve got to stop hitting on everything in a skirt. It’s distracting you, and interfering with your work. I heard that you were even flirting with one of the inspectors a couple of weeks ago. The reputation of the company is at stake.” He was incredulous. “She complained?” She cleared her throat. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it complaining, but—” “This is bullshit, Kim. My social habits are not interfering with my work. I do my job as well as I ever have. Maybe even better since I don’t have anybody to—” He cut himself off, hating that he’d even thought it. “Since you don’t have anybody to go home to.” He glared at her. “This is none of your business.” Turned around and returned to his chair. He sat down heavily. “I know, Caleb,” she spoke softly, in that sympathetic tone he hated. It stank of pity. And pity pissed him off. “I know you put in more hours now, that you run yourself ragged. But I also know that at night you go out and drink and pick up women. Your antics here in the office are a concern, but it would be manageable if that was all it was.” “Antics?” 8

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“You’re running yourself into the ground.” She knelt in front of him, laid a hand on his knee. “You’re on all the time, not giving yourself a chance to stop and think and…” she sighed, “grieve.” “You have no idea what I’m feeling,” he growled. “Maybe not,” she conceded. “But the question is, do you? How do you know what you’re feeling if you never take the time to find out?” Feeling cornered, and angry—and all kinds of things he couldn’t begin to name—he took the only out he had. The only escape. The only effective means he’d ever found for drawing attention away from his loss, his grief, his guilt. The only thing other than his job that, lately, he seemed to be any good at. To have any passion for. Sex. He placed his hand over hers. “How about you, Kim? What are you feeling right now?” She looked up at him, blinking in surprise. “Caleb. Please. This isn’t the place.” But he noted she hadn’t pulled her hand away. He ran his fingers up the length of her arm to her shoulder, where he teased the soft ends of her hair. “I appreciate the concern, Kim,” he said her name low in his throat, accenting the deep bass notes of his voice that he knew turned so many women into quivering jellyfish. “But I’m fine. And really, my work is all that matters.” He trailed his fingers across her shoulder and up her neck, threaded his fingers through her hair. “But, Gene…” She swallowed, tried to focus on him. “You should have known better than to trust him.” “All right, that was poor judgment. I’ll grant you that.” He cupped her head with both hands, holding her firm and spreading his knees to draw her between them. She rested her hands on his thighs and sent little jolts of electricity to his groin. “But I’ve learned that lesson, and it won’t happen again.” He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, and felt the pressure as her hands squeezed his quads. Her eyes expressed conflict, but she made no move to leave. “Let Gene make his own mistakes,” she offered. “Yes. And let me make mine.” And he kissed her. Soft and slow and sweet. He kissed her because she was sexy and he wanted her. And he kissed her because he knew it would distract her from the subject at hand. Caleb rarely talked about himself. And he never talked about his pain. Sex covered pain, he’d discovered. And it made him feel alive. However briefly. At this moment, Kim made him feel alive. The warmth of her cheeks against his fingers. The soft, wet heat of her mouth beneath his own. The sharp intake of breath and the soft sigh that followed as she submitted to her own desires. Spurred on by both her acquiescence and the inherent risks, he deepened the kiss, ground his lips against hers and thrust his tongue past her teeth. She let out a soft moan

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and he knew he had her. Gently he broke the kiss, and urged her to stand. As she rose he shifted forward on the chair and directed her to straddle his knees. He held on to her with his eyes, his gaze a magnet that kept her spellbound as he slipped his hand between her parted thighs and found the damp hem of her panties. He slid past the barrier, and when she opened her mouth to protest he cupped the back of her head and dragged her mouth back to his. He plumbed her mouth with his tongue, teased and demanded even as his fingers did the same to her pussy. He alternately tickled her clit and slipped inside to massage the walls of her channel. She moaned softly, her mouth becoming molten sex beneath his lips. Her entire body seemed to liquefy in his hands. Her essence coated his hand and she moved her hips against him, seeking the fulfillment she couldn’t quite achieve. “Do you want my tongue?” he whispered, his fingers embedded deep within her and massaging her G-spot. “Oh God. I shouldn’t.” Of course he knew that meant that she wanted it desperately. Withdrawing his hand from her pussy, he gripped her waist and lifted, quickly dropping her panties to her ankles before setting her ass on the edge of her desk. He spread her thighs and knelt on the floor between them. “The door. What if someone comes in?” He inched her skirt up her legs, his thumbs brushing the delicate skin. “They won’t.” “But—” His tongue brushed her clit and her words dissolved into a helpless moan. Her head fell back and her entire body vibrated as his tongue did its devilish work. He laved and licked, thrust deep and massaged. His cock swelled, pressing uncomfortably against his fly as her arousal incited his own. “Caleb,” she breathed, “I think—” He thrust two fingers inside her, ground his tongue against her clit and she came in a gush of fluid and suppressed screams. He grinned up at her, licked some of her essence from his fingers and enjoyed the post-orgasm euphoria that radiated from her face. Her body was limp, only her arms braced against her desk keeping her upright. “What about you?” she whispered weakly. He shook his head. “I have work to do. We’ll finish this some other time.” She nodded and accepted the panties he handed to her. “Better put those on,” he said, his hand already on the door. “Or not.” He winked and slipped out, satisfied that he’d done what he had to do, and that he’d evaded another meddling do-gooder who sought to help him work through his grief. He had no interest in working through it. It was all he had left. 10

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Chapter Two Joss stepped through the door of her parents’ home and took a giant leap back in time. The cabbage-rose wallpaper in faded peaches and greens, the lace curtains and doilies under every lamp and china figurine, the chintz-covered couches and French provincial coffee table—all of it was exactly as she remembered. None of it had changed in thirty years. It was as if her mother had set up a memorial to the days of Ward and June Cleaver. Shaking her head and sighing with resignation, she set her bags aside and slipped out of her shoes. She sighed with relief as she stretched and wiggled her toes. She may have fallen backward into the Fifties, but this was home and she could already feel the perpetual knots of tension in her tummy loosening. “Joss?” called Miriam from the kitchen. “Is that you?” She appeared in requisite floral-print apron and pearls, a pair of faded jeans her only concession to the world’s entry into a new millennium. “Oh, honey,” she crooned, opening her arms for her daughter. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Joss gave her mother a hug and noted that she’d lost weight since she’d last visited Joss in Vancouver a year and a half ago. Her already thin frame was verging on gaunt, and Joss thought she could feel ribs beneath the thin cotton of her mother’s blouse. Miriam struggled with Crohn’s disease and Joss worried that she’d been more sick than she’d let on. “How’ve you been, Mom?” asked Joss, pulling away and brushing a strand of saltand-pepper hair from her mother’s forehead. “Have you been keeping your appointments with Doc Hollywood?” Her mother blushed at the mention of her specialist. “Oh, stop it. You shouldn’t talk about Dr. Shaw like that.” Joss looped her arm through her mother’s and led her back toward the kitchen. She’d caught a whiff of something and fully intended to investigate. “Why not? As I recall, he’s a very handsome man.” “And I’m a married woman.” “Married does not equate dead, Mom.” They reached the kitchen and Joss spotted the object of her lusts. She made a beeline for the island in the middle of the huge country kitchen, and popped a fresh chocolate chip cookie off the pan. It was still so hot she had to juggle it to keep from burning herself. She took a bite and sighed in ecstasy. “Speaking of marriage, where is the old coot?”

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“And you shouldn’t talk about your father like that!” But there was a grin in her mother’s pale blue eyes. Joss just chewed, savored and waited. Miriam sighed and reached for her hot mitts. She began flipping cookies expertly off the pan onto a plate. “He’s down at the woodworking shop. He’ll be back soon.” Her father had retired three years ago and still hadn’t quite accepted his life of leisure. He kept busy doing yard work, swimming laps in their pool and making birdhouses and game tables to sell for charity. The money went to the Crohn’s and Colitis Foundation. “Good,” said Joss around a mouthful of chocolate and sugar. “I can’t wait to see him.” She finished her cookie and was reaching for another when she caught her mom staring at her. Miriam rounded the island and grasped Joss’ hands, the strength in those small, frail bones surprising. “How are you, Joss? I mean, how are you…really?” Joss swallowed against the lump that instantly formed in her throat. She wished her mom had let her live in the fantasy of stepping back into her childhood a little bit longer, but the dream shattered in a heartbeat. “I’m…coping.” Her mother tried to smile, but Joss couldn’t ignore the tears that welled in her eyes. “I miss her so much.” She turned and Joss caught sight of the picture tacked to the refrigerator. A chocolate-smeared grin and laughing brown eyes. “I miss my granddaughter.” “Well, how do you think I feel, Mom?” The anger flared hot and bright. “How the hell do you think I feel?” Miriam stepped back, obviously chastened, but now that she’d started, Joss couldn’t seem to stop herself. “You think I don’t miss her? I haven’t seen my daughter for twenty-one months. Strike that. twenty-one months, two weeks and three days. I keep count, you know. I’ve been counting the days since the moment he took her. But I can’t do it anymore, Mom. I can’t have my life revolving around a phantom that I can’t see or touch or talk to. I can’t.” She paced to the window on the far side of the room, but when she looked out through the layer of pristine Scottish lace, she could see nothing beyond the curtain of her own pain. “I have to move on. My whole life has been tied up in finding her, and it’s gotten me nowhere.” She whirled. “Terrance may be a liar and a kidnapper, but he loves Susanna, and he would never let anything bad happen to her. I have to trust in that.” She blew out a breath, the anger melting away into desperate acceptance. “I have to trust in that or I’ll go insane.” “I never liked him,” muttered Miriam. “He was always a bit too full of himself for my taste. He always thought he was so smart.” “He is smart, Mom. Too smart to get caught. And thanks to selling his company for a tidy two million dollars, he’s got the money to stay in hiding indefinitely. I’ve finally realized that. I’ve accepted it.”

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She met her mother’s eyes, and in that moment felt something pass between them. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she hoped it was a modicum of understanding. Miriam picked up a cookie and held it out to her. “So you came home looking for chocolate chip cookies?” Joss stepped forward and accepted it. “No. I came home looking for security and comfort.” She bit into the warm, soft treat, savored the taste of home and security. She mumbled, “The cookies are just an added perk.” Miriam laughed. “How long will you stay with us?” The rest of the cookie vanished. “My lease on the new apartment doesn’t start until the first of the month. So you’ll have to put up with me for almost two weeks.” “I think we can manage. Your room is ready for you. Other than cleaning it I haven’t touched a thing since the last time you were here.” Joss felt another pang of grief as she remembered the reason for her last visit almost two years ago. “How is Caleb doing?” she asked softly. “Do you know?” Miriam shook her head. “I’m not sure, honey. We used to see Gwen’s dad down at the farmers’ market every Saturday. He had a booth there for his metal sculptures. But he hasn’t been there since…the accident.” Joss nodded absently, remembering her childhood friend Gwen, and mourning her passing all over again. She recalled the funeral, and the desolate image of her grieving husband. Strong, handsome, broad-shouldered Caleb Coleridge had seemed so small that day. So small and alone. Her heart twisted in her chest, but for once the sorrow wasn’t her own. It was good to remember that she wasn’t the only one in the world to have experienced pain and loss. It put things in perspective. “I guess not.” “At least you know your daughter is alive and safe,” offered Miriam. “You’re right. There should be some comfort in that.” “And that’s what I try to focus on.” “There’s my girl!” boomed a deep bass voice from the doorway. “Come here and give your father a hug.” Grinning, Joss fell into her father’s arms and told herself again that coming home had been the right decision. She needed her family around her now. But she couldn’t spend all her time enjoying hugs and chocolate chip cookies. Besides remembering what it was like to be held and comforted, she also needed to get out in the world and remember what it was like to have fun. What it was like to be a woman. And she fully intended to do that. Starting tonight.

***** Caleb handed his jacket across the counter. “There ya go, Paula.” He dropped a five in the pewter tip bowl. “I brought a jacket just so I could see you.”

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Paula accepted the light spring jacket and gave him a shy look over the rims of her glasses. The quintessential girl next door with her short, blonde bob and wire-framed glasses, she was not even close to Caleb’s type. At twenty-two she was also far too young. But she was sweet and pretty and she’d had a crush on him ever since she’d started working the coat-check room here at The Cerberus. She was also working her way through college and he liked to support that. She took her time working the hanger into the sleeves of the coat. “Thanks, Caleb. You here alone tonight?” “I am.” He was already scanning the crowd. “But I hope to remedy that shortly.” He turned back to Paula and winked. “I landed a new job today, and I’m here to celebrate.” Shortly after leaving Kim’s office he’d been called in to see Greg Ellis. Apparently his performance hadn’t been nearly as shoddy as Kim had led him to believe because Greg offered him a plum new contract. Apparently Gene had been in the running as well, but Gene’s screwups were becoming too noticeable. Caleb was to be in charge of construction for the new digs of DynaMax, a local electronics firm that had experienced a sudden boom in sales and were in need of new offices to accommodate their expansion. They would be breaking ground in two months, and Caleb had a lot of work to do before then. But the job would be a huge feather in his cap, not to mention a challenge. He liked challenges. They kept his mind off ghosts. With a wink and a smile he left Paula and passed through a pair of etched glass doors into the main lounge. The Cerberus boasted marble tile, leather couches and a long, polished oak bar. It featured gargoyles and sculptures of various mythical beasts from unicorns to a startling rendition of its namesake. The three-headed dog snarled ferociously at Caleb as he passed the “gates” to the bar, and entered the only club in the Waterloo region that catered to a classy over-thirty crowd. Despite the fancy façade it was still a meat market but, of course, that was exactly why Caleb was there. He sidled up to the bar beside a familiar face. He thought the guy’s name was Dan. Divorced Dan with the penchant for argyle socks and spiced rum. Last names rarely surfaced here, and Caleb preferred it that way. “The usual?” asked the bartender. Caleb nodded and a moment later a scotch and soda was plopped in front of him. “How’s the crowd tonight?” he asked Dan. Dan shrugged. “Pickin’s kinda slim, but the night is still young. I’m gonna let the babes fill in around me.” “Yeah.” Caleb glanced at his watch and noted the time. Ten thirty. Three years ago at this time on a Friday night he would have been snuggled up on the couch with his wife’s head on his chest while they watched an old Alfred Hitchcock movie, sipped wine and munched on caramel corn. His little boy and girl would have been safely

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tucked into their beds, and all would have been right in the world. Instead he was here scouting for “babes”. He pushed the memories aside and winked at his friend. “Good plan. Let them find us.”

***** Joss paused in front of the full-length mirror in the women’s bathroom, and wondered at the woman before her. She’d gone shopping that afternoon, looking for the perfectly understated “little black dress”. Instead, she’d come home with this. The deep emerald green silk with the plunging neckline and the dangerously jagged hem hugged every curve and showed off the months of aerobics and weight training that had followed her ex-husband’s betrayal. She’d needed to vent her frustration somehow, and had found her release in good, honest sweat. The fact that she had shrunk from a size ten to a size four had been an unforeseen bonus. She lost her smile, acknowledging that she’d gladly trade in all her sexy new outfits for burlap sacks or canvas tents if it meant she could have just a few moments with her daughter. But then she squared her shoulders and thrust out her chest. There was no sense in dwelling on pointless wishes. She was here to enjoy herself, and God forgive her if she took advantage of her sultry new appearance. She reached in her purse and pulled out a small brush to touch up the silky strands of cinnamon-streaked hair. She applied a little more mascara and a touch of liner to highlight a pair of big brown eyes. A final touch of shimmering gold lip gloss and she was ready. She headed for the door and almost tripped on her four-inch heels. Maybe they hadn’t been such a good idea, she thought, chuckling to herself. But she’d get used to them. She could do anything, she decided. Anything she set her mind to. She exited the washroom and melted into the throng of hot, needy bodies. It took an effort of will and sheer muscle to forge a path for herself, but at last she reached the bar—the bar that was ringed by attractive, eligible—and decidedly hungry—wolves. “Scotch on the rocks,” she said, deciding she needed something stiff to loosen the bolts of tension in her neck. “And make it a double.”

***** “You’re kidding me!” The blonde slapped Caleb’s chest playfully. “You’re in charge of building our new office building?” Caleb’s eyebrows arched. “You work for DynaMax?” he asked, hopeful that he’d finally found something of interest to talk about with this woman. So far they’d covered her choice of perfume, the tragic news that her tanning salon was closing and her dilemma over whether it was acceptable to tan nude on her roof. 15

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“Yup,” she said with a tipsy snicker. “Been there almost three years now.” “What department? Sales, maybe?” “Oh, no. I work in HR. I’m an admin assistant.” Perfect. A secretary in the fluff-department. He should have known. “But I’m really excited about moving,” she was saying, “I just hope they pick out decent colors for…” She rattled on and Caleb completely lost track of the conversation because at that moment he saw her—he saw the woman he would have tonight. The flash of green was what caught his eye first. It was a vibrant shade that screamed out style and independence. It took courage to wear something so flamboyant in an environment where black spandex and blue denim were the norm, and Caleb respected that kind of audacity. But for as much as the color and the cut of the dress, and the toned figure beneath it caught his attention, it was the face that held him. The enormous brown eyes set deeply above a pair of delicately chiseled cheekbones held his gaze like magnets. And when, at last, he finally caught her eye, he felt her gaze like a lightning bolt zinging directly to his soul. She looked away too quickly, but he had already made his decision. He had to meet this woman. He had to speak to her, and he had to do it immediately. “Hey!” called the secretary whose name he’d already forgotten. “Where you going? I thought we were going to dance?” “Sorry,” he called back just because it was polite. “I just remembered I have an appointment.” Under his breath he added, “With destiny.” He heard her mutter “asshole”, but was already halfway to his target and had no intention of being delayed. Although she must have known he was focused on her, the lady in green kept her attention riveted to her glass. He smiled, wondering if perhaps, despite the façade of flamboyance, she was actually shy. He’d find out soon enough. He leaned against the bar beside her, and allowed his gaze to travel slowly up and down the full length of her. She kept her eyes straight ahead until, apparently, she decided his rudeness warranted comment. “What the hell are you staring at?” she shot out. He sipped from his drink and answered coolly, never averting his gaze. “An anarchist, apparently. I’ve never seen one in here before, and I think you warrant study.” That stopped her. She blinked those enormous eyes several times before giving in and asking the inevitable. “Anarchist? What are you talking about?”

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He frowned, tilted his head her way. “Well, just look at you. Your choice of attire, your choice of beverage—you obviously have no regard at all for the conventions and protocols of the meat-market scene.” Incredulity quickly shifted to intrigue. Apparently getting into the spirit of things she raised her glass and held it up to his. “So, it’s all right for men to drink whiskey, but not women, is that it?” “Exactly. Women drink Irish cream or Zinfandel. They do not drink scotch on the rocks.” She took a moment to consider that before skimming a hand down her dress, over the soft swell of breast and rib cage, to rest at the delicate indentation just above her hip. The move was innocent, yet sensuous and surprisingly provocative. His cock began to throb. “And the dress…” She gave him a coy look. “It’s…too much?” “Definitely. Way outside the acceptable black to beige palette of shades.” She sipped from her drink, apparently considering his comments. “And all this has led you to the conclusion that I’m an anarchist.” “Yes. But don’t get me wrong. I have only the deepest respect for anarchists.” “Really? Are you a closet anarchist, by any chance?” “No, actually. I’m quite forthright about my political agenda. I belong to an organization.” She barely suppressed a snort of laughter. “An anarchy organization.” “Exactly.” “With a political agenda.” He nodded, his expression stoic. But he couldn’t hold it for long. He met her eyes and a moment later they both burst out in giggles. “Well,” she said when she’d caught her breath, “that has got to be the most original pick-up line I’ve ever heard.” “Us anarchists are nothing if not original.” “Oh, stop,” she said, laughing all over again, “and tell me what you really think of this dress.” She slid off her barstool and turned, very slowly, for his viewing pleasure. The back of the dress was no less surprising than the rest. It dipped low, to within a centimeter of the crease of her ass and he had to make a concerted effort not to reach out and caress that firm, perfect curve. She completed her turn and when she faced him again, she stopped, her breasts barely a breath from his chest. “I think,” he said on a low growl, “that if we don’t dance or do something, that perfect dress is going to wind up in a perfect pile of silk on the floor at your feet.” “Oh. Well, then I guess we should dance.”

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“Yes.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her mercilessly toward the dance floor. “We should definitely dance.” And he could dance. She remembered Gwen telling her that. During their long telephone conversations Gwen would often rave about her husband. Telling Joss how, even after ten years of marriage, she and Caleb still enjoyed going out on “dates”. At least once a month they would get a sitter so they could spend a night on the town enjoying good food, fine wine and really hot music. Gwen’s voice always got all…fuzzy when she talked about her husband, telling Joss how sexy and talented Caleb was. Never having met her friend’s husband face-to-face, Joss had always thought Gwen’s opinion was slightly tainted by her love for the man. And perhaps that was part of it, but now she saw the truth of it all. Dressed simply in jeans and a black t-shirt, Caleb was, indeed, one of the sexiest men she’d ever met. And one of the saddest. Even now, as he danced like the devil, his hips moving in sexy sync with the music, his smoky gaze riveted on her, she could see it in his eyes. It lurked there, like a ghost. Or perhaps, more accurately, like three ghosts. Unexpectedly he reached out and wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her in tight against him and forcing her to follow his movements. “I’m Caleb,” he said over the music. “I’ve never seen you here before.” So that confirmed it. He didn’t recognize her. Of course it had taken her several minutes to make the connection as well. The realization had come on her gradually as they’d talked. She’d felt a sense of familiarity, a vague feeling that she knew him from somewhere, until at last the connection had dawned on her. Off balance and a little uncertain how to handle the information she’d continued the conversation without interruption, wondering if he would recognize her and be the one to speak up. But obviously he hadn’t. And perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised. Yes, they’d talked briefly on the phone and he’d seen countless pictures of his wife’s childhood friend, but pictures didn’t tell the full story. Add to that the fact that she’d lost several dress sizes, gotten laser surgery to correct her vision and updated her hair, and it was small wonder. “Joss,” she said, offering him the shortened form of her name. Gwen had always called her Jocelyn. It was only after her move to Vancouver that she’d begun using the nickname. “And I’ve just moved back to town. I’ve never been to The Cerberus before.” The song ended and the music shifted to something slow and sweet. His hold on her grew more intimate, taking her left hand in his as he led her slowly but expertly around the floor. He whispered in her ear, “So, Joss, what do you think of our local meat market?” She grinned. “I think it offers some prime Grade A beef.”

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She realized they’d reached the edge of the dance floor because suddenly she was being pressed against the wall. The planes of his body sandwiched her firmly against the polished woodwork in a dimly lit corner away from the crowd. His lips nuzzled her ear, and sent shivers skittering down her arm. She could also feel his erection nudging her hip and felt herself grow wet. With his tongue he drew a line along her jaw and she closed her eyes in delight. When his lips met hers, she was startled, but undeniably captivated. His kiss was gentle at first, his mouth sipping at hers like he might sip a forty-year-old scotch. He deepened the kiss, his mouth turning hungry and insistent and making her moan with pleasures she’d almost forgotten existed. It was he who pulled away first, and at last she realized the enormity of what she was doing. Suddenly ashamed of herself, and unsure what the hell she thought she was doing flirting and necking with her good friend’s widower, she was about to push him away and put a stop to the whole thing, but his next words caught her off guard. “So is it a good enough quality beef to take some home tonight?” She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been a blatant offer of casual sex. She tilted her head back slightly and met his gaze, but even as a scathing retort formed on her tongue she looked into his eyes once more and in that moment she understood. And in that moment she relived another conversation she’d had more than fifteen years earlier… She and Gwen were sitting on the dock at her parents’ cottage, their feet dangling in the cool water as they watched the stars pop out and savored the last few moments of a perfect summer day. They were sixteen and so innocent, and had been daydreaming and diligently planning their weddings to men they had yet to meet. They’d stopped talking, each reliving the fantasy they’d just created right down to the taffeta gown and white satin shoes, when suddenly Gwen let out a little yelp. “What?” asked Jocelyn. “What is it?” “A firefly.” Gwen pointed to the bit of dock between them and Joss saw it. A small firefly, its light blinking gaily, was buzzing its wings, trying in vain to take flight. But it must have been injured because it was having little success. Gwen reached down and picked it up, cupping it in her hand. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those up here. I wonder where it came from?” Gwen studied the insect for a long time, as darkness fell and its light seemed to brighten before their eyes. “It must mean something.” “What do you mean?” “I’m not sure. A sign or—” Then suddenly Gwen looked at her and, her expression earnest, asked, “Will you promise me something?” Thinking that Gwen was about to ask her to pledge to be her maid of honor, Jocelyn answered easily, “Of course. Anything. You’re my best friend, Gwen. I’ll do anything for you.” “If anything ever happens to me, will you promise to look after my family?”

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Jocelyn had stared at her, shocked at this unexpected development. “What are you talking about?” Gwen turned her face to the stars, her face earnest as she held that helpless insect in her hand. “I mean it, Jocelyn. Really. When my mom died my dad had nobody. No brothers or sisters, no friends or anybody who was there to help him, or to help me. It was just the two of us, and it was so hard.” Tears filled her eyes. “It was so hard for me to watch him be so alone.” “Don’t be silly. Nothing’s going to happen to you.” But Gwen had been adamant. “But if it does, will you? Will you be there for them? For my kids? And for their dad? You’re my best friend. You always will be. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I need to count on you.” Of course Joss had agreed. It had been a ridiculous promise, after all. One she would never be called upon to keep. After that day she’d forgotten all about it, and not even at Gwen’s funeral had the memory surfaced. Caleb had been such a distant figure that day. He’d had family around him, and friends to lean on. They hadn’t even spoken and she doubted he’d been aware of her presence. She also doubted he would have appreciated her walking up to him and announcing that she was there to keep a girlhood promise to her best friend. But he was no longer distant, and he no longer had an army of family around him. She wondered now if all that had indeed been illusion. When she looked at him she could feel his loneliness like a physical presence. And his request had just reinforced it. He had holes that needed filling. Enormous holes. And perhaps she was the one who needed to figure out how to fill them. “You move pretty fast,” she said finally, hoping to talk him into going out for coffee instead. She ran her hand up his chest. “Shouldn’t we get to know each other a bit more first?” He shook his head. “I’m not looking for any strings, Joss. You gotta know that up front. You’re sexy and stimulating and for tonight that’s all that matters. I don’t need any more conversation to figure that out.” Holes, she thought again. Huge holes that need filling. And if he didn’t take her home, it seemed that he would just find someone else. And she would have lost her chance—her opportunity to make a difference. She traced a finger along his jawline and made her decision. What better way was there to get close to a man, after all? She granted him a coy smile. “Make it so, Number One.”

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Chapter Three Caleb’s condo was tastefully decorated in chocolate browns and soft taupes with the occasional flash of teal for contrast. The artwork was abstract, the furniture modern and chic. The glass coffee table gleamed in the moonlight that filtered through the balcony doors, and the room smelled of furniture polish and soap. It had obviously been cleaned recently, and she suspected the thorough work of a service. But even had there not been the faint scent of citrus she would have gotten the same impression. The condo was too orderly, too perfect, too…unlived-in. It felt sterile. Like a showplace. And perhaps that was exactly what it was. “For God’s sake, take off your shoes,” he was saying. “You looked absolutely miserable in the elevator and those things are ridiculous.” “Thanks. I was.” She slipped off her shoes and her feet sank into silky Berber. She felt human again. “And they are.” She crossed to him and accepted the glass of wine he’d poured for her. “But they do make me feel sexy.” “I won’t argue that point.” His expression underscored his feelings on that as they clinked glasses and each took a sip. “But for as much as I appreciate a woman in heels, you’re just as sexy without them.” He moved in closer—close enough that she had to shift the glass out of the way to make room for him. “Maybe sexier.” “Oh? How’s that?” She sucked in her breath in surprise when he pushed the hair off her shoulder and bent to nuzzle her neck. “It’s one step closer to naked.” She heard the faint click of glass on glass as he set his wine down on the coffee table. His other hand was now free to sneak around her waist and caress the small of her back. He nibbled on her ear, brushed his lips down her neck. His breath on her throat was so warm. Silky. Hypnotic. She mustered her will. “C-Caleb.” “Mmm?” Vibrations from his lips sizzled through her. “Uh…we haven’t finished our wine.” “Later.” He kept her occupied with kisses down her throat and over her collarbone while his other hand skimmed the curve of her ass and cupped it firmly. “There’ll be lots of time for that later.” She wanted desperately to slow things down, but he would have none of it. And if she was honest with herself, she wanted it as badly as he did. It had been more than two years since her divorce and she’d only had one lover since then. A misdirected fling with a colleague that had ended in disaster. It had been short-lived and completely lacking in passion. 21

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She’d never wanted a man quite this much. And she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so wanted. She pushed aside the tiny voice that said she had no business wanting him at all. Gwen had been gone two years and guilt was pointless. In fact, she suspected, guilt was the enemy. For both of them. He abandoned the delicate nibbles and lavished a hungry kiss on her lips. He cupped the back of her head and held her firm as his tongue plundered her mouth. He stole her breath even as he lifted the wineglass from her fingers and set it delicately on the table beside his. He broke the kiss and bracketed her cheeks in his hands. “Do you want me? Do you want this?” He was gentleman enough to make sure he wasn’t coercing her into anything. And she was brazen enough to admit her desires. “Yes. I want you.” She found his erection and stroked it through the denim. “I want all of you.” He growled, skimmed a hand down her chest to steal inside the neckline of her dress. There was no bra to hinder him, and the touch of his lightly calloused fingertips on her breast sent tiny shimmers of pleasure through her belly. He didn’t grab or massage, or even tweak a nipple. Instead he traced the curve with a gentle caress that expressed adoration and wonder rather than lust, and that made her knees weak. Gently, he pushed aside the shoulder strap of her dress and the material fell away to expose her breast. He bent his head to taste her, his tongue following the same torturous path as his fingers had a moment before, but then moving on to tease her nipple. He laved and sucked and distracted her so completely with his oral attentions that she’d barely noticed his other hand that had crept beneath the hem of her skirt. He cupped the curve of her ass, explored and squeezed, obviously enjoying that part of her anatomy just as much as her breast. Just as she was reaching the end of her patience and a cry of desperation was forming on her tongue, he pushed the strap from her other shoulder and allowed the dress to fall to the floor. “Nice,” he said, stepping back and studying her from head to toe. “Very nice.” “That’s not fair. You still have everything on.” With a smile of compliance he whisked his t-shirt over his head, revealing a chest and abs she’d barely imagined. And then the jeans were gone, pushed quickly past narrow hips to drop to the floor and reveal the full magnitude of his desire. She stepped forward, hands eager to touch—but he stopped her. “No. Not yet.” She frowned, not bothering to hide her disappointment. “That’s a very pretty G-string.” He nodded toward the emerald green piece of underwear she’d found to match the dress. “I’d like you to slide your fingers underneath it and touch yourself.” Surprised, but smiling her understanding, she did as he asked. Taking her time, she touched her breasts first, skimmed the lines of her torso and hips before finally sliding

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her right hand beneath the soft silky wedge of material. She dipped inside to coat her fingers with her own essence before massaging her clit. She kept her eyes open at first, intent on watching him watch her, but as the sensations built they closed of their own accord. “Fuck, that’s hot.” And in the next moment he had grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand to his mouth. He drew her slicked fingers into his mouth, his naked body pressed to hers. His cock was wedged in her cleft, her G-string the one thing remaining to separate them. She rubbed herself against him, savoring the action of his tongue on her fingers, and the way his eyes never left hers. There was a fire in those eyes. A fire that kindled a spark in her own soul. “What do you want?” he asked softly, his hand finally finding its way beneath the material and seeking out her sex. The touch of his finger on her clit almost sent her through the roof. “Do you want my tongue here?” He massaged and squeezed, and then slipped inside her. “Or here?” “No.” She groaned, already astonished at what she was about to say. “I want you to fuck me.” She wrapped her hand around his cock and was thrilled with the size and thickness of it. She’d been with men who never seemed to get completely hard, or fully erect, but there could be no complaint of that here. This cock was meant for fucking. “With this.” “I should get a glove.” “Wait.” The thought of separating from him for any reason distressed her. “Are you clean?” He nodded, his cheek rasping lightly against hers. “Just tested.” “Then just fuck me!” Apparently that was what he wanted to hear because the next instant her G-string had been torn away and tossed in a tattered heap on the floor. He picked her up and impaled her on his cock, handling her as easily as he might handle a Barbie doll. “There,” he said, pressing her against the wall. “Is that what you want?” She could only manage a nod as he drove himself into her again. And again. His cock filled her, and his assault overwhelmed her. It was as if she’d unleashed something. Something passionate, fierce. And angry. But she took everything he dished out, thrilled to it. She wrapped her arms around him and held on tight. She lifted her mouth to his and he responded with a kiss that was just as intense as his thrusts. One hand still wrapped around her hips to hold her up, he fisted his other hand in her hair to anchor her against his onslaught. She’d never had a man take this kind of control before. Be capable of such tenderness—and such brutality. But rather than frighten her, it intrigued her. And excited her.

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Sweat coated his back, and her hands became slick with it. An orgasm loomed for her just out of reach, and from his accelerating movements, she sensed that he was on the brink as well. “Touch me,” she breathed when she managed to break the kiss. “I need you to touch me.” Apparently sensing exactly what she meant, he released her hair and slid his free hand between them. He found her clit, slippery with moisture, and pressed it beneath two fingers. That was all it took to send her careening over the abyss. The climax stole her breath and the aftershocks left her gasping—and milked him to his own. He let out a primal cry that echoed through the room and sent shivers racing down her spine. “Christ,” he said, dropping his head to rest on her shoulder. “That was fuckin’ hot.” “I thought it was hot fuckin’.” He lifted his head to grin at her. She felt something warm trickle down her leg. “If we’re finished, I’d like to use your bathroom to clean up.” He released her and set her shaky legs on the floor. “Oh, you can clean up. But we’re not finished.” He slid his hand between her thighs and pressed his lips to her ear to whisper, “Not by a long shot.”

***** Caleb watched her through the glass shower doors. They were clear and unpebbled so as to afford him an excellent view. Not that he hadn’t seen all of her already, but when a man found a good wine he didn’t stop after a single glass. And Joss was certainly…good. Excellent, in fact. Even the way she moved in the shower was provocative. Of course that was due, in no small part, to the fact that she obviously looked after herself and was in fine physical condition. She had invited him into the shower with her, and he’d seen the disappointment when he declined. But he didn’t do “sex showers”, and had no intention of explaining why. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the show. He studied the flex of her quads as she shifted from leg to leg, propped her foot up on the edge of the tub to allow the water to sluice over her pussy. A nicely shaved pussy it was, too. Smooth and supple, with delicate folds that begged to be explored more thoroughly. And that was exactly what he intended to do. She’d been in there too long. Three minutes was definitely too long. Without preamble he strode across the room, slid open the door and reached in to lift her, squealing, out of the tub. He didn’t bother to dry her off, had already lined the

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bed with towels. So when he tossed her onto the mattress, she cried out in surprise and outrage. “Hey! I wasn’t done.” “Neither was I.” He grabbed her ankles and tugged her into the position he wanted, spread-eagled amidst the array of mocha-colored towels. She propped herself up on her elbows. “What the he—” She groaned and dropped back onto the towels when his tongue touched her clit. She tasted of sweet water, fragrant soap and musky sex. He tickled her clit, massaged it, explored it. He drove his tongue deep into her channel, savoring the essence of a woman whose desire was as fierce as his. He drew his tongue along her folds, used his fingers to separate and stroke. And drove them deep inside her to add the pressure he knew she craved. Her soft moans and the arch of her hips confirmed it. His tongue continued its torture as he reached beneath the bed and found the item he’d stashed there while she was in the shower. He inserted the lifelike dildo into her vagina and flipped the switch. “Holy fuck!” she squealed, rearing up in a pleasured agony. “What is that?” He grinned at her, working her mercilessly. “I always carry a spare.” “What? In case you get a flat?” She groaned, angling her body into the motion of the vibrator. “Something like that.” “Right. As if.” “Are you asking me to stop?” “God, no.” “I didn’t think so.” He continued to work the vibrator, pleased that there was no need for a lube since she appeared to have no shortage of her own. Every few seconds he added the texture of his own tongue to the mix, but for the most part allowed the vibrator to do the work. That allowed him to enjoy the vision of her body moving in sensual rhythm to his actions, savor the absolute rapture on her face. Her breathing accelerated, halted. Accelerated again. He could see the tension gather in her face, and spread through her. She was on the brink of coming. So close. Almost there… At the final opportune moment he tossed aside the dildo and mounted her, thrusting his cock into her, and relishing the way the walls of her sex contracted around him. The strength of her contractions surprised and thrilled him. As did the strength of her grip on his body. Her arms flew up to wrap around him, and her nails dug deep into his back as the orgasm racked her body and left her breathless and spent.

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When at last she collapsed back onto the mattress in a tattered heap of pleasuresoaked flesh, he just lay there for the longest time—watching her. She opened one eye. And then the other. “What?” “You’re really very beautiful when you come.” “I bet you say that to all the girls.” “Yes,” he admitted, rolling off her and propping himself up on an elbow to continue his study. “But I don’t always mean it.” He trailed a finger lightly down her chest, traced the curve of breast and then circled her nipple. She shivered and that made him smile. This was power. This was joy. This was the one and only way he felt truly alive. If only he could hold on to that feeling. But then he admitted that he didn’t really want to. He had no right to feel alive. To feel joy. He didn’t deserve it, and every encounter with a woman reinforced that for him. It also sent him hurtling deeper into the abyss of guilt, and in a way that punishment comforted him. It was a strange, twisted cycle of guilt and absolution, pleasure and penance. He acknowledged that, but had no idea how to change it. Nor did he have the desire. The motions of her chest gradually lost the urgency of a body in desperate need of oxygen and replenishment. The movements relaxed, each breath soft and peaceful, her face serene and radiant. “You enjoyed that, I think.” He dropped a kiss on her shoulder, enjoyed the light saltiness of her skin. “Oh yes.” She opened those big brown eyes and studied him. “You’re very good at that.” He laughed. “Just call me the toy master.” But she shook her head. “No. At taking control. Taking charge.” She licked her lips. “I liked it. A lot.” Taking his cue, he sat up and straddled her hips, grasping her wrists and gently pressing them back into the mattress. He bent low over her, low enough that his breath caressed her lips but that he didn’t quite touch them. “You’re into that, are you? You go for the dominant male?” She licked her lips. “Actually, it’s a surprise to me. I always thought…” Her words trailed off and she looked away. He was surprised to see a hint of sadness creep across her features. “Hey…” He released her wrists and dismounted her, lying down beside her and grasping her chin when she tried to turn away again. He forced her to look into his eyes. “What’s wrong? What did you always think?” She shrugged. “You don’t really want to hear this.” “Yes. I do.” He wasn’t sure why. He rarely allowed himself any emotional involvement with his “dates”, and never allowed himself to continue any relationship past three or four encounters. But Joss compelled him. Maybe it was those eyes that 26

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were as big and dark as the midnight sky. Not that it mattered. He just knew he wanted to know more about her. She hesitated only a moment, apparently deciding to believe him. “I always thought I was attracted to the cerebral, academic type. The kind of man who read Kipling and cultivated a taste for fine wines.” She shrugged. “Maybe shaved his head, and wore glasses and used a pocket protector.” He arched one eyebrow. “You had a thing for Jean–Luc Picard.” Her comment in the bar had caught his attention. He didn’t often run into women who were Star Trek fans. “You know, I never thought of it that way. But yes.” She sat up, hugged her knees to her chest. “I guess my ex-husband was a lot like Captain Picard.” She chuckled. “Come to think of it, a girlfriend of mine once told me that, but I just laughed it off at the time. I had forgotten all about it.” Caleb stared at her, her words tweaking a memory of his own. A long-forgotten conversation he’d had with Gwen years and years ago. She’d just come home from visiting her childhood friend who lived in Vancouver. She’d gone out there to stand up for her friend at her wedding. He remembered her saying that the ceremony was very brief and understated. A “quickie” done in the presence of a justice of the peace because her fiancé had no use for religion or the pomp and circumstance that went along with church weddings. She’d also said that her friend’s new groom had reminded her of Jean–Luc Picard. Her friend whose name was… “Oh my God!” he roared, leaping off the bed and stalking to the far side of the room. His blood had turned to acid in his veins, the fury bubbling inside him so strong it threatened to explode. He whirled on her, making an effort to keep his feet still and his hands at his sides lest he succumb to the urge to leap on her and strangle her. “What?” she asked, obviously startled. “What is it?” “You’re Jocelyn.” He kept his voice low and even. “You’re Gwen’s friend.” She blinked in surprise then swallowed in obvious discomfort. “Yes.” “You knew?” He said it far too loud and had to make an effort to calm himself again. “You knew that and still you came into my home? You came into my house and seduced me?” Now that he really looked at her he could see it. Yes, she’d changed, but he’d seen enough pictures. He should have known. He should have seen it! She stiffened. “You came on to me, if I recall. I hardly dragged you here kicking and screaming.” He shook his head, not wanting to accept her words. “How could you? How could you do…” he motioned toward the bed, struggling for words, “that?” “I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to help.” “What? You thought fucking me would help?”

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“I wanted to talk to you, but you wouldn’t have it. You made it very clear that you were looking for casual sex and nothing else. I just wanted—” “Get out,” he growled. He couldn’t deal with this right now. Had no idea what he was feeling or why. All he knew was that his emotions were a tornado of rage, guilt and confusion and he needed time to sort it out. Time alone. “We have nothing to be ashamed of,” she persisted. “Gwen’s been gone for two years. You’ve mourned long enough. She loved both of us and would be thrilled to see us together.” “Where are your clothes? Where the fuck are your clothes?” He headed for the living room, remembering that was where this had all started. He rooted around until he had found everything. Not that there was much. A dress and a G-string. He wadded them up in a ball and held them out, stiff-armed, as she approached. “I just wanted to help,” she said, now blinking away tears. “Gwen asked me years ago to look after—” “Who the hell do you think you are? I don’t need your fucking help!” He hurled the clothes at her. “And I don’t need anybody talking to me about Gwen.” When she made no move to put on the clothes, he took a menacing step toward her. At last she got the hint and started to wriggle into the dress. “I don’t need anybody, understand? I’ve got a very busy career and I don’t have time for relationships right now.” At last she stood, fully clothed in front of him. “You’re terrified of them, you mean.” He ignored that. Pretended she hadn’t said it. “Least of all relationships with whores masquerading as friends of my dead wife.” Anger clouded her face. “That was uncalled for. You’re just angry and confused and if we could just talk this out then—” “Get. Out!” He poured every ounce of rage he possessed into that word and it came out as a bloodcurdling scream that made her jump back in fear. He watched in satisfaction as, at last, she grabbed her shoes and torn G-string, and scrambled for the door. She didn’t bother to look back as she rushed into the hallway, leaving the door hanging open behind her as she scurried toward the stairs. When at last the echoes of her footfalls had faded away, he crossed the room and slammed the door behind her. Then he leaned against the wall, sank to the floor—and cried.

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Chapter Four “What’s wrong, honey? You haven’t touched your pancakes.” Joss stabbed a fluffy piece of her mother’s creation and swept it through the puddle of maple syrup. She loved her mother’s pancakes, had been fantasizing about them for weeks before coming here. But today they tasted like cardboard. “I’m sorry, Mom. I must’ve drunk too much last night.” Miriam tsked. “That’s what you get for partying until two. Martinis and dancing can really take it out of a soul.” But then she grinned. “Not that I’m speaking from experience.” Her father’s laugh rumbled from the doorway. “Oh, listen to her. She was a party animal. A regular tigress, until I came along and tamed her.” “Oh shush. I used to go square dancing for Pete’s sake.” “Is that what you called it back then?” His eyes twinkled as he sat down and accepted the stack his wife handed him. Miriam just rolled her eyes and headed for the coffeepot. She returned to the table and reached for Joss’ mug. “Oh Mom, you don’t have to do that. I can get my own coffee.” “Nonsense.” Miriam handed her the sugar bowl. “I haven’t seen you for so long. I want to pamper my little girl.” On her way back to the coffeemaker she dropped a kiss on Joss’ head and added in a whisper, “And today you certainly seem to need it.” Joss suddenly found herself battling tears. “Thanks for the pancakes, Mom, but I need some fresh air. I’m going to take my coffee outside, okay?” She picked up her mug and headed for the back door. There was no word of protest but she could feel their concerned gazes on her all the way outside. She wasn’t sure she deserved their concern. Or even their respect. Ever since leaving Caleb’s apartment—strike that—after fleeing his apartment, she’d been beating herself up, going over everything again and again in her mind. What had she been thinking? She’d been crazy to think she could get through to Caleb by getting into his bed. Maybe she’d just been rationalizing, looking for any excuse to follow her libido. Would Gwen really have approved? Or was she just deluding herself because Caleb was one of the most attractive men she’d met? Not to mention the most sexually gifted. She sat down at the side of the pool, dangled her legs in the water and groaned softly at the memory. It had been a fresh and exciting experience. Being with a man who took such complete control of the situation, who knew how to pick up a woman and

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throw her onto the bed and then make her wild with desire—it had been unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She’d always gravitated toward the cerebral type. The academic. The nerd. They were sweet and sensitive and knew how to pamper a woman. She’d had a couple of bad experiences with jocks in high school and that had been enough to turn her off “macho” men for years. She’d married the ultimate geek. He treated her like a princess, cried with her at movies, put her through school and made her happy. Until his business took off and he decided he didn’t need her anymore. He only needed their daughter. Or, perhaps, more accurately, what he had needed was control over their daughter. The realization had come upon her gradually. The further into the marriage they got, the more obstacles and hurdles they had to face as a couple, she had eventually begun to see the other side of Terrance’s personality. The intelligent, confident, cerebral man she had fallen in love with was a sham—a façade to hide a multitude of insecurities garnered over years of facing schoolyard bullies and their adult businessworld counterparts. Even his monumental successes as a computer engineer and programmer had been ineffective at giving him the self-confidence to venture out of that corner of the playground where he perpetually cowered in fear. Whether in the workplace or in their own neighborhood, Terrance was easily intimidated. Easily threatened. And Joss, being an assertive, intelligent and successful person in her own right, had eventually proved the greatest threat of all. Arguments had broken out over the pettiest household matters. Over money and sex. But most of all over how to rear their daughter. It didn’t matter what Joss said, he seemed to need to contradict her merely as a matter of course. Merely as a way to assert his authority. It had become intolerable and Joss had requested the divorce. When he disappeared, Joss had understood immediately. That was the ultimate show of his power. If he had stayed he’d have had to deal with the continued fulfillment of the custody agreement. He’d have had to pay child support and adhere to an entire list of rules and regulations. He’d have been forced to accommodate Joss, simply because that was the way a civilized society handled divorce. And Terrance would have seen that as a threat to his tenuous hold on control and authority. Her one comfort through all this had been that where Susanna was concerned Terrance’s parenting techniques had never been overly strict or outrageous. He had shown her love and affection and the disagreements had really never been major ones. They’d merely been inflated by his absolute inability to compromise with his very strong-willed wife. She figured that as parents went, Terrance was a good one. He was actually probably a better one now that he didn’t have the daily power struggle with Joss to deal with. Of course that didn’t make what he’d done any less heinous. Or make her grief any less painful.

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“Damn it!” She kicked angrily at the water as if that would stop the memories and regrets from constantly resurfacing. She needed to get over all those old regrets. She had a whole new batch to deal with, after all. She picked up her coffee and was startled to realize her hand was shaking. She set the mug down again and sighed, thinking of Gwen and how she’d looked the last time she’d seen her. She’d been beautiful, radiant. Their youngest had started grade one and at last Gwen had the time to devote to her career. She’d landed her dream job, teaching grade two full time, and had come out to Vancouver that summer to celebrate with Joss. They’d gone swimming in the ocean and eaten ice cream on the boardwalk, and Gwen had met four-year-old Susanna. It had been idyllic, two weeks that reminded them of the days they’d spent lounging by the lake in their teens. And a year later Gwen and both her children were dead. There were days when it still didn’t seem quite real, when Joss had trouble accepting that her friend was really gone. She’d never gotten that sense of closure that came with seeing a loved one’s face for the last time. There had been no viewing of the bodies. Only gleaming caskets, flickering candles and the soft echo of weeping to convey the sense of deep and enduring loss. She had wanted to honor her friend, remember her in a way that was worthy of the trust and friendship they’d shared. So she’d slept with Gwen’s husband. At the time it had felt right, like the only option, but obviously it had been a mistake. An enormous one. She’d acknowledged that. She’d accepted it, but was there any point in going over it ad nauseam? She’d learned from bitter experience that lashing herself over her mistakes was pointless. It was self-defeating and paralyzing. She was through with being paralyzed. Yes, there were things in her life that she couldn’t change, that she couldn’t fix. But maybe this was different. Maybe this was something she could actually make better. Maybe she could fix it. The only question was…how?

***** Caleb flopped down on the grass, rolled onto his back and stared up at a sky that was an eye-searing blue. He sucked in huge breaths of air and savored the throbbing beat of his heart in his chest. The grass felt cool against his burning skin, but nothing could relieve the burning in his brain. He’d run five kilometers, pounded grass and pavement, sweated a gallon and grazed his elbow avoiding a pissed-off poodle. And still he couldn’t get her out of his head. Jocelyn Maxwell. Just who the hell did she think she was, anyway? Waltzing into his life like that, not to mention his bed. And to do so under false pretenses. She knew who he was the entire time, had taken complete advantage of his ignorance. Perhaps she’d even planned the whole thing. Set out to lure him into her bed and… 31

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And what? That was what was driving him crazy. It didn’t make sense. What possible purpose could she have for doing such a thing? He’d never met Jocelyn in person, but they’d spoken often on the phone. She’d seemed intelligent and sincere. And Gwen always spoke so highly of her, had such fond memories of their time as teenagers together. And when Gwen had come back from visiting Jocelyn in B.C. she’d been on a high that had lasted for a full month, and completely overshadowed her nervousness over starting teaching full time. Jocelyn—or Joss as she now seemed to want to be called—seemed to genuinely care about her friend. So why would she take advantage of Caleb’s grief? What the hell had she been thinking? “I wanted to help,” she’d said. And then she’d said something else that he’d barely registered at the time, but that had continued to gnaw at him. She’d said something about Gwen asking her to do something. What could she possibly have been talking about? Suddenly he sat up in the grass, closed his eyes and raked his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t let it go. As much as he wanted to just forget he’d ever run into Joss Maxwell, he couldn’t. She was a connection to a past that he couldn’t let go of, nor could he forget. And he had to know why she had come looking for him. He had to know what his wife had said.

***** The tap on her bedroom door nudged Joss toward wakefulness. She blinked rapidly, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and glanced at the window. The sky was still gray, the pearly light of dawn just beginning to gleam on the horizon. She took note of the time. 6:30. “Jocelyn, honey?” Her mom peeked in the door. “Are you awake?” Joss groaned and resisted the urge to bury her head under the pillow. “I don’t have to work today, Mom, I—” “No, no, honey. I’m sorry to disturb you.” Her mom stepped farther into the room. She hugged herself, cocked her head to the side. “I know you wanted to sleep in, but…” “But what?” Joss propped herself up on one elbow. “What is it?” “There’s someone here to see you.” Five minutes later, still clad in robe and slippers, Joss padded down the hall to her parents’ kitchen. She stopped in the doorway and studied the man sitting at the table. His back was to her, a mug in his hand as he sipped coffee and stared out the patio doors at the blooming sunrise. With that dark head of hair, broad shoulders and rigid bearing he cut a noble figure. Her heart lurched in her chest and she felt something twist inside her. 32

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“Your mother makes a mean cup of coffee.” He said it without turning around. She headed to the coffeemaker and filled a mug. “I know. She adds a secret ingredient.” “Oh? And what would that be?” “I have no idea. It’s a secret.” He watched her intently as she reached the table and pulled out a chair to sit down. His eyes seemed to drill right through her, making her stomach flutter and her hands shake. She set the mug on the table and cradled it between her palms to hide the jitters. “It’s six thirty in the morning. A little early for a social call, don’t you think?” He shifted his chair so that he was facing her more directly, leaned back, propped his ankle on the opposite knee and tapped the table with the fingers of his right hand. “I have a meeting at seven thirty and a full day after that. I didn’t want to leave this until tonight.” “I see.” She stared at him, waiting. “And what, exactly, is this?” she asked when the silence felt like it would shatter. “Are you here to finish screaming at me? You were doing such a fine job of it before, I thought perhaps you were here to continue the experience.” He stared at her for another full minute before saying, “Your mother is a lovely woman.” “Pardon?” “We had a nice chat before she went to wake you.” “Did you?” She was baffled as to where this was going and why he would want to talk to her mother in the first place. “She told me about you. About your ex and your daughter.” She felt her hackles start to rise. “She shouldn’t have. That’s none of your business.” “Maybe not. But she told me and now I know.” “You say that like it matters. Like it makes a difference to you.” Another lengthy silence during which he studied her like she was a specimen in a Petri dish. “Your daughter is out there, alive somewhere, and you’ve chosen to stop looking for her. To give up on her.” Her hackles inched up another notch. “Do you have any idea how to carry on a conversation? Generally people respond to each other in a logical manner.” “You didn’t answer the question.” “I didn’t hear a question in there, anywhere. It sounded more like a blatant judgment.” His jaw tensed. “Okay, then. Why did you stop looking for her?” “Didn’t my mother tell you that part?” “She did. But I’d like to hear it from you.”

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One part of her mind screamed fuck off! She didn’t have to answer to or justify herself to anyone, least of all a self-righteous bastard like Caleb. But still she found herself answering. “Because it was consuming my life and getting me nowhere. My ex is far too smart and has left virtually no trail. He’s also got a lot more money and resources at his disposal than I do. I decided I couldn’t spend the next twenty years chasing a ghost I had no chance of catching. Terrance loves Susanna, and despite everything I know that he’ll take good care of her. He was a shitty husband, but he was a great father. I have to let myself have faith in that. I love her and think of her every moment, but I have to let go just a little. I have to let myself get on with my life.” He set down his mug that he had sipped from while she spoke, stared at it a moment and then nodded. “I see.” Anger swelled in her. “Fuck you.” She erupted from the chair. “I don’t need approval from you or from anyone. And just for the record…” she poked his chest, “at least I’ve learned how to move on with my life. You’re so bogged down in guilt and grief you’ve become completely paralyzed by it.” The tension snapped into him, clenching his jaw muscles and making every muscle hum, but to his credit he didn’t launch himself at her. “You know nothing about me.” “I know enough. I know what I see, and I know what Gwen told me.” “And what is that?” “A stubborn, distant man who can be judgmental and opinionated, and who has convinced himself he doesn’t need anybody, but that it’s all a façade to hide a marshmallow heart and a sensitive soul who craves love and acceptance as much as anyone.” She leaned down so that her face was right in his. “You were a fuckin’ yo-yo the first two years you two were dating. You wanted her and then you pushed her away. You loved her and then you didn’t. But she saw right through you. She knew how scared you were of being rejected, of not being good enough, and she also knew what a wonderful man you were and stuck with you.” She poked his chest. “And now that she’s gone you’re terrified that she was the only woman who could love you like that, so you use women for physical release and don’t let anyone get close to you. Because if they do, they’ll surely figure out who you really are and reject you.” Even as she said it she was amazed at her own insights. Somehow being face-to-face with him made it all clear. Yes, he was grieving, but there were bigger reasons that he wasn’t letting himself be happy. And talking to him was all it took to make her understand that. He stared at her, his eyes unreadable and cold, the tension continuing to seep from him and poison the air. She stepped away from him, pulled her robe about her and crossed her arms across her middle. “Now I think you should go.” He took several deep breaths, obviously calming himself. Or perhaps digesting what she had just said. He seemed to be gearing up to speak and then abruptly looked

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away, focusing his gaze on the breezy spring morning outside. And Joss wasn’t sure, but she thought, perhaps…she saw a tear glisten in his eye. At last he returned his gaze to hers. “I haven’t gotten what I came for yet.” “And what is that? My head on a platter? Sorry, but my mom doesn’t have any swords in her knife block.” “No. An answer.” “Well, ask a question that isn’t laced with malice and I’ll see what I can do.” “Why did you seduce me?” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Just for the record, you approached me. You asked me back to your place, and I distinctly recall trying to steer you toward coffee and a chat rather than bedroom acrobatics. When I went to The Cerberus I had no idea I’d find you there, and it took several minutes for me to realize who you were.” “But you did recognize me, and you didn’t say anything. Why?” “Because I wasn’t sure how you would react. And I didn’t think you’d completely be yourself if you knew I was Gwen’s friend.” “And why did that matter to you? Why did it matter that I be myself?” She shrugged. “Maybe…I don’t know. It was just important to me that I talk to you, I guess. I wanted to touch someone who knew her, and I wanted to help someone who was so obviously in pain.” “Obviously?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “Yes.” She smiled at his absolute blindness to his own issues. “Obviously.” “So, how did you think sex would help me?” “I don’t know. It just seemed like all there was at the time.” “So, you weren’t attracted to me?” She laughed. “Well, now I wouldn’t say that. You’re an extremely sexy man.” He leaned forward, braced his elbows on his knees, his gaze intent and probing once again. “You said something just before you left. Something that I needed to understand.” “What?” “You said something about a promise you made to Gwen.” She swallowed, suddenly uncertain about sharing this with him. But she knew she couldn’t avoid it, and probably shouldn’t try. “It was something we talked about when we were kids. She made me promise that if anything ever happened to her I’d look after her family.” “Me, specifically?” She shook her head. “No. She hadn’t even met you yet. We were sixteen.” “Why the hell would she say something like that?”

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“I have no idea. She said it had something to do with her father, but maybe there was more. Maybe she had a sense of what would happen. Maybe it was just the random ramblings of a hormone-ravaged mind. We’ll never know for sure. But what I do know is that I made a promise to her that day. And when I saw you I remembered it.” He sat back in his chair again, once again relaxed, the tension gone from his features. “We shouldn’t have had sex.” “Why not? You realize that feeling guilty about that makes absolutely no sense.” He stared at her, shrugged his shoulders slightly and shifted his gaze to the patio doors. Apparently he had no answer for that. Sensing that he needed a moment to digest everything that had been said, she decided she needed some fresh air to clear her head. Wordlessly, she unlatched the patio door and stepped out onto the brickwork. The morning air was fresh and laced with the scent of dew and lilacs. She leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes and soaked in the innocence and freshness of the day. She was startled to feel his hand on her cheek. She opened her eyes to find him gazing down at her, something indiscernible in his expression. “You are very beautiful, you know. Gwen used to rave about how gorgeous you were, and she was right.” Suddenly he dropped his hand from her face, stuffed it in a pocket and stepped back. “I don’t know where to go from here.” Joss wasn’t sure if he meant where to go in his relationship with her, or just in general. He was lost in so many ways. That was obvious, too. She opened her mouth to respond, but her mother’s call from inside the house interrupted her. “Jocelyn, honey. The phone’s for you!” She frowned. “I didn’t hear a phone ring.” Caleb shrugged, apparently agreeing with her, but they must have been oblivious to the ring because a moment later Miriam pressed a cordless handset into her palm. “Who is it?” asked Joss. “It’s Leon.” Miriam clasped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “He has a lead on Susanna.”

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Chapter Five Caleb watched with interest as Joss accepted the phone from her mother. She held it tentatively, staring at it for a moment before lifting what appeared to be a confused gaze to her mother. Miriam frowned. “Go on, honey. Didn’t you hear me? He said he had a lead!” Judging from the conversation, Caleb had to deduce that this Leon was an investigator of some sort who had been looking into the daughter’s disappearance. Joss nodded, and finally put the phone to her ear, but rather than glowing with excitement, her expression more closely resembled apprehension. “Hi, Leon.” She cleared her throat. “What’s up?” She listened for several moments, her expression remained static, her eyes wide with that deer-in-the-headlights look about them. “I see,” she said at last. “Florence.” Caleb’s eyebrows arched, wondering offhandedly if Miriam had a sister named Florence and if so, what she could possibly have to do with this. “Okay.” Joss glanced at him, started as if he’d stung her. She swallowed. “I’ll…I’ll get back to you in a few hours with my decision.” She clicked off the phone, looked at Miriam—and said nothing. Miriam wrung her hands anxiously. “Decision? What decision? What did he say?” Joss walked to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. She took a shaky sip of coffee. “I need to decide whether to go to Florence.” Go to Florence? wondered Caleb. And then it hit him. “Florence, Italy.” “Yes.” Miriam crossed the room and sat beside her daughter. “He thinks they’re there? He found something?” “Yeah. Something.” Miriam frowned, glanced at Caleb. He shrugged. “Well?” persisted Miriam. “Aren’t you going to—” “No, I’m not.” Joss slammed the phone onto the table with enough force to make Caleb wince. She stood. “I’m not getting sucked into this again, Mom. I don’t know what Leon thinks he’s doing, anyway. I told him to stop worrying about me, to stop asking people about it. That I was giving up. He knows how I feel, so why the hell would he—” She stopped herself, apparently realizing that she was yelling, and that her mother hardly deserved it. 37

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She wrapped her robe a little more tightly about herself and set her jaw. “It’s pointless. I’m not going.” And without another word she strode from the room. Caleb watched her go and listened to the sound of her feet pounding furiously up the stairs. “What the hell was that?” he asked after the echo of her slamming door had faded away. Miriam shook her head sadly. “She’s been disappointed so many times. Gotten so close, only to find that she was weeks, or even days too late. But even those tidbits of hope have been nonexistent lately. The last tip was nine months ago. She’s convinced herself it’s hopeless and that she needs to move on.” “I understand all that, but this sounds promising.” “Does it?” Miriam picked up the coffee mugs and headed to the sink. “Leon didn’t tell me anything. I have no idea how promising it is. I can’t tell my daughter what to do.” She set the mugs in the sink and turned to face him. “She’s been through too much, and I have no right to question her choices now.” Caleb considered that. He considered what Joss had told him that morning, and he considered his own loss. “Well, maybe you don’t. But I think I do.” “What? What are you talking about?” But Caleb was already halfway up the stairs. He was going to be late for his meeting, but he no longer cared. Sometimes a man had to set his priorities. And this was definitely one of those times. He didn’t even bother knocking, merely burst into the room and cared little that he’d caught her in bra and panties. Her robe had been cast haphazardly in the corner. “What the hell are you doing?” she squealed. “Get out of here!” “No.” He slammed the door behind him and took only three steps to close the distance between them. He stood close enough that the satin of her bra brushed his chest, and she had to lift her chin to meet his gaze. “We’re not finished.” “Yes. We are.” She tried to step back but he wouldn’t have it. He grabbed her by the shoulders and held her firm. “Your daughter is out there somewhere, needing you, and you’re not going to look for her?” “I explained all this to you,” she shot back. “I’ve been on enough wild-goose chases to last a lifetime. I can’t do it anymore…” On those last words her voice broke, and out of compassion he let go. He watched as she sank to the bed, tears streaming down her face. “Joss…” “No.” She swiped impatiently at the tears. “I’ve had enough sympathy to last a lifetime too. Enough pity.” Slowly, he sat down beside her. Enduring pitying glances was one thing he did understand.

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“It’s so…isolating,” she continued. “So lonely. And not just because I’ve lost my husband and daughter. Being out there, chasing and searching and doing it all alone is…” She sighed. “It’s consuming, draining. Exhausting.” She stopped and he realized she was looking at him. He met her gaze. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be holed up in a little motel room in the middle of some foreign country? To be out there knocking on doors and talking to people who barely understand you. To ask stupid questions and show strangers old pictures, and try to understand the answers. To go back to the motel room and wait. To wait for that phone call. That knock on the door. That…something that will herald the return of your loved one? And then it comes. And you’re so excited because you think, finally, this is it! Only to be disappointed again.” She looked away. “And when that disappointment comes it’s crushing, and there’s no one to pick you up off the floor when you’re done crying.” Only when she’d finished and the silence hung like a presence in the room, did he realize he’d wrapped his arm around her and was holding her tight. “I can’t do it,” she whispered, her tears soaking his shirt. “I can’t fly to Florence and do all that again. I just can’t.” “What about your parents? They seem very supportive. Couldn’t they go with you?” “No. My mom’s health is so fragile with her Crohn’s disease. She could never attempt a trip like that.” She shrugged. “And even if they could, I’m not sure it would be…enough.” Caleb thought, perhaps, he knew what she meant. Even if their health wasn’t a concern, her parents were in their sixties. They’d never traveled abroad, and would, in many ways, be dependent on her to cope with a strange culture. The last thing she would need in a situation like that would be to have someone to worry about. “You still should go,” he said, even though he did have some understanding of her plight. He didn’t have a solution but he knew that she could not let this opportunity slip away. She stiffened in his embrace, pulled away. “Pardon? Did you hear a word I said?” “You can’t let your daughter down.” Her gaze hardened, and abruptly she stood. “Fuck you. And while you’re at it, get out.” She crossed to the door and yanked it open, apparently showing him the way out. He followed her but pushed the door closed and held his ground. “I’m not leaving.” And even as he said it he wasn’t sure why he cared so much. But he did. “Like hell you’re not.” She reached for the knob again but he grabbed her shoulders and backed her up against the door. “What are you doing?” She struggled, trying to free herself, and he had to press his body against her to hold her. Suddenly she stilled.

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He cupped her cheek, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. “Do you want your daughter back?” “Damn you.” “Answer me.” “Yes, damn it. Of course I do.” Fresh tears brimmed in her eyes. “But—” He pressed his thumb to her lips. “No buts. You have to go. You have to finish this.” “You have no right to tell me—” “I’ll go with you.” It was out of his mouth before the idea had fully formed in his brain. But even as he said it he knew that he meant it. She had to go, and he had to go with her. He wasn’t sure why it was so important. But it was. “What?” “You heard me. You don’t want to be alone, and I don’t blame you. So I’ll go.” She licked her lips. “I don’t recall asking.” “Are you refusing my offer?” She stared at him for a moment then dropped her gaze. When she spoke again, her voice was thin and fragile like a thread of spider’s silk that’s been stretched to breaking. “I’m just so tired. I don’t know if I can do it anymore. I don’t know if I’m strong enough.” “I’ve got enough strength for both of us.” Again she lifted her gaze to his. “Why? Why would you do this?” He brushed his thumb down her cheek, was suddenly aware of the heat of her body seeping through his clothes. Of the gentle press of her breasts against his chest. He swallowed thickly. “Because I need to.” And it really was as simple as that. For now. “I…I don’t understand.” He lowered his head and breathed, “You don’t need to understand.” He kissed her gently, a whisper of lips and heat. “You only need to accept.” He ground his erection against her mound and was thrilled with the answering tilt of her hips and soft groan of desire. A need he didn’t even begin to understand had taken root in him, and screamed to be fulfilled. He kissed her again, harder this time, funneling all that need through his lips and into her mouth. Her hands fisted in his shirt, her pussy ground against his cock, and when she opened her mouth and drew his tongue in deeply, he thought he’d burst on the spot. His hands fumbled with her bra and a moment later her bare breasts filled his hands. “This is crazy,” he said, bending his head and taking one ripe nipple into his mouth.

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“I know.” She moaned the words as his hand slid inside her panties and found her wet and ready. “But I don’t care.” And then she was fumbling with his shirt buttons. He straightened and allowed her to undo them while he massaged her clit and nuzzled her throat. “Jesus,” she breathed when at last his shirt hit the floor. And then she undid his belt. Because he was in just as much of a rush as she, he helped her, and a moment later his pants and briefs hit the floor. He stepped out of them, toeing off his shoes as he did so. He pressed her back against the door, his aching cock hot against the cool skin of her tummy. He devoured her mouth and savored the hard points of her nipples against his chest. “Bed?” he asked simply, breaking the kiss for a much-needed breath. She shook her head. “Too far.” And that was all the permission he needed. He tore away the final remnant of her clothing, grasped her hips and lifted, impaling her on his cock. She sighed with relief. He felt so good, slipping inside her like that. His hands on her body were hot and commanding, his chest and everything about him hard and unyielding. Even his kiss demanded rather than asked. And she found herself eager to give, to open herself in ways she’d never imagined. Maybe it was the emotional upheaval of the last few days. Maybe it was the uncertainty and loneliness that had consumed her life over the last years. Maybe it was just who he was, and who she was when she was with him. Not that any of that mattered. At this moment, it didn’t even matter that her parents were eating breakfast just a few feet away. All she knew was she needed, and he was prepared to give. Or maybe they were both taking. But those complex thoughts quickly faded, driven away by the powerful motions of his body, the insistent thrusts of his cock. “Shit,” he said, stopping suddenly. “What? What is it? Why did you stop?” But he didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he said, “Keep your legs locked around me.” “Okay.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, his cock still embedded snugly in her pussy as he turned and walked back to the bed. “That door isn’t tight,” he explained when he reached the bed. “It was banging on its hinges.” “Oh.” He laid her sideways across the bed, never losing the link that bound them. Her legs spread and he settled between them, gripping her wrists and holding them against

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the mattress above her head. “I like your parents, and I’d rather not flaunt our fucking in their face.” “Right,” she breathed as he started to move inside her. “No flaunting.” His thrusts were slow and torturous, his cock thick enough that every motion made her clit hum. She tilted her hips slightly to accentuate the effect. He nuzzled her throat, sank his teeth in lightly, kissed her ear. “Can you take it, baby? Can you take what I’ve got?” She nodded. “Yes. Please.” He rammed himself into her, deeply. So deep that he nudged her womb and made her catch her breath. “Am I hurting you?” “No. More.” He growled, tightened his grip on her wrists and proceeded to pummel her with his body. His thrusts were hard and fast and unrepentant. Sweat beaded on his face and slicked his chest. She felt the pressure build, but couldn’t quite seem to find her peak. She groaned and shifted her hips again, seeking that elusive spot that would bring her fulfillment. “Here,” he whispered. “Let me help.” He released her wrists and shifted his hands to her hips. He slid his hands under her ass and tilted her up at an angle that she couldn’t achieve herself. “How’s that?” “Mmm.” “How about that?” And he slipped a finger inside her anus. “Oh.” She was surprised. Breathless. He pushed deeper, adding an internal pressure to his already powerful thrusts that just about sent her careening out of control. She found her hands wrapped around him, her fingernails digging into his back. His grip on her ass tightened, the pressure exerted by his finger intensified. “Come for me, Joss.” His whisper was strangely intense, and for some reason hearing him use her name in that tone was all it took to send her spiraling. She arched her back and stifled the moans as the waves of pleasure crashed over her. The contractions seemed unusually strong, perhaps exaggerated by the pressure inside her ass. “Oh,” he groaned as his own body tensed with release. “Holy fuck.” The last eddies of pleasure still rippling through her, she opened her eyes and was rewarded with a fierce and hungry kiss. A moment later he collapsed on the bed beside her. They lay there, shoulder to shoulder, quietly replenishing their breath and savoring the soft breeze that the open window allowed in. Fragrant with the scent of lilacs, it brushed across their bodies, drying sweat and cooling burning skin. 42

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The moment lingered, and eventually Joss turned to look at him. “You had a meeting. Aren’t you going to be late?” He pursed his lips, but didn’t look at her. “I guess I am.” “That doesn’t bother you?” “It looks like I’m going to be missing a few meetings over the next few weeks. They’ll just have to deal with it.” She turned on her side and propped herself up on her elbow. “Will they let you take time off? This is a huge sacrifice for you, Caleb. I can’t ask—” “You didn’t.” He got up and crossed to the door where his clothes still lay in a heap. “I offered.” He pulled on his briefs. “I haven’t taken vacation in three years. I think I’m due.” “Yes,” she agreed, watching with appreciation as he donned his pants and shirt. “I’d have to agree.” She was still lying naked on the bed when he finished dressing and put his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll call you later today to let you know when I’ll be able to leave.” “Okay.” She sat up, and hugged her knees to her chest in a feeble attempt at modesty. “I won’t book tickets until I hear.” “You can fill me in on details on the flight.” “Of course.” He nodded solemnly, his hand still gripping the knob. He made no move to go. “Caleb?” “I’m sorry about…” he nodded toward the bed, “that. I don’t know where it came from.” “Don’t be sorry. I don’t know either, but I think we both needed it.” “Yeah. I guess.” The door closed firmly behind him.

***** “You want what?” “You heard me.” Caleb sat in Greg Ellis’ visitor’s chair and watched dispassionately as his boss paced the length of the room—and steam shot out of his ears. “I have almost two months of vacation built up, and I’d like to take some of it. Just last month Kim practically begged me to take some and I refused. Well, I’ve decided to take her up on her offer.” Greg stopped in his tracks and turned his frustrated glare on his top project manager. “This is not a good time.” “It’s never a good time.”

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Greg took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself. “Look. You just started the DynaMax project. You’ve done all the groundwork and the company is comfortable with you.” Caleb said nothing. “Let’s put it this way. There has never been a worse time. You can go when DynaMax is complete.” Caleb snorted. “That’s a six-month contract. At least! Give the job to somebody else. You’ve got half a dozen competent guys who were drooling over that job.” “I want you. You’re the best. You finish that and you can have a full two months if you want. Hell, I’ll give you three as a bonus.” “No. I need to go now.” Color began to creep back into Greg’s cheeks. “Vacations are booked ahead of time, Coleridge. Usually months in advance. You can’t just drop the ball and take off on a moment’s notice.” Caleb erupted from his chair. “I can do whatever the hell I want. This is my life. You don’t own me.” Greg stepped up to him, nose to nose. “As long as you work here I do.” “Well, maybe I don’t want to work here anymore.” Greg blinked in surprise and Caleb felt a startling rush of satisfaction. He had the sudden and unfamiliar sensation of having control over his life for a change. He hadn’t even realized he’d been missing it until he’d tasted it again. It tasted good. “You can’t be serious. You can’t quit over this.” “Watch me.” Caleb turned and walked to the door. His hand was on the knob when Greg’s voice reached him. “What the hell is so important that you’re willing to throw away such a promising career? Is it some woman?” He hesitated, smiled softly to himself and replied, “Yeah, I guess it is.” But as he walked out the door he acknowledged that he wasn’t sure exactly which woman he was doing this for. Joss? Or her daughter? Or his own sweet Serena, long buried but never forgotten. Or maybe he was doing it for himself. Not that it mattered. He just knew he had to do this. That it was critical somehow. That in a way he didn’t quite understand, his very life depended on it.

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Chapter Six Joss accepted a plastic cup full of cola from the flight attendant. She unscrewed the cap from the tiny bottle of rye and dumped a generous amount into her drink. She took a sip and sighed gratefully as the liquor hit her stomach and soothed her jangling nerves. “I didn’t peg you as an upper-atmosphere alcoholic,” said her seatmate, his tone no less caustic than it had been all the way through the booking and security process at the airport. “Am I going to be treated to hours of booze-induced giggles and bad jokes? Or will you just fall asleep and slobber on my shoulder?” She glared at him but allowed herself one more sip before replying. She was pleased that the shaking in her fingers was barely noticeable. “It’s been a long day, and it’s going to be a long flight. I just wanted one drink, for chrissake. Is that so much to ask?” He glared back at her and she determinedly held his gaze. She focused on those deep blue eyes and did not allow herself to dwell on the penetrating drone of the engines, or the way the plane seemed to wobble beneath her seat. She tried not to think about how thin the air felt in her lungs or the way her body had been wedged into the constrictive confines of the narrow bucket seat. They were in the center section, however, so the window was two seats away, at least. Thank God for small mercies. She took a deep breath, told herself she was being ridiculous—as always—and turned her attention back to her drink. “What’s with you, anyway? You’ve been a bear ever since we met at the airport.” She asked even though she had a pretty good idea what was going on. This was exactly how Gwen had described his behavior twelve years ago. He was here, yet didn’t quite understand why. He felt threatened—and didn’t quite understand why. He responded by covering his anxiety with irritation. “I’m fine.” But his tone was decidedly not fine. “Did you have any trouble getting time off work?” “No.” She tossed him a sidelong glance as she took another soothing sip. “Are you going to be Mr. Personality all through this flight? Because if so, I think I’m going to need another drink after all.” He turned that famous glare on her once again, but after a few moments his gaze softened. “I’m sorry.” He allowed his head to fall back on the padded headrest. “This whole thing just has me on edge. I deal with high-pressure situations all the time, but this…this is different.” “All par for the course for me, I’m afraid.”

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She picked up her cup and was keenly aware of him watching her as she downed the last few swallows. “Your hands are shaking.” She held her cup in both hands and fought a fresh rising panic. “N-No, they’re not.” “Yes, they are.” “It’s just the turbulence.” “There’s no turbulence. It’s been smooth as glass the whole way.” “It has? I could’ve sworn I felt…” Her voice trailed off because she realized she had no wish to finish that statement. He frowned, and she decided she could no longer face that incisive stare. She turned her attention elsewhere. Her gaze accidentally found the window, she caught a glimpse of cloud and averted her gaze, but it was too late. Her stomach twisted and tumbled—like a woman falling from thirty-thousand feet. “You’re afraid of flying.” She forced out a chuckle and persuaded her stomach to stay where it was. “That’s ridiculous. I fly all the time.” “Maybe so, but you’re obviously terrified by it.” “I’m a grown woman, Caleb. And I don’t appreciate—” “Stay there.” Stunned by his forceful tone, she watched in confusion as he undid his seat belt and stood, heading for the flight attendant station at the front of the plane. Frowning, she watched as he engaged in a quiet conversation with the woman who appeared to be in charge. She seemed concerned at first, then frowned and shook her head. But a moment later she was smiling, nodding and, to Joss’ infinite irritation, blushing. She said something to Caleb and turned to pick up the phone on the wall, and the next thing Joss knew Caleb had returned to her seat. He reached down to undo her seat belt. “Come with me.” “What? Where? What are you talking about?” He grabbed her hand and drew her out into the aisle. “I want to show you something.” “But—” “No buts. Come with me.” They reached the back of the plane and found another stewardess waiting there for them in front of a heavy velvet curtain. “Mr. Coleridge?” she whispered when they reached her. He nodded. “Okay. You’ve got fifteen minutes. But please, no longer or we’ll get in trouble.” “That should do. Thank you.”

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She pulled aside the curtain and let it fall closed behind them as they stepped through and Caleb led her up a small flight of stairs. They reached the top and she blinked in surprise when she found herself in the middle of a small but luxurious lounge. “What the hell?” “While we were waiting to board I was reading some of the airline’s literature.” She arched an eyebrow. “You’re kidding. People actually do that?” He ignored her. “And I noticed that the plane we were booked on had a second deck with a small first-class lounge.” “But we’re flying coach.” “They won’t be opening it to the first-class passengers for another half-hour and I persuaded the stewardess that your need was…dire.” Still holding her hand he led her farther into the lounge, weaving through plush chairs and glass tables, and stopping beside the one large viewing window. Certain that he didn’t realize how much that view scared her, she kept her focus on him. She licked dry lips. “Need for what?” “I told her you had a phobia of flying and a little space would help immensely.” She shook her head, did not notice the clouds scudding by beneath them, or the patchwork quilt of land far, far, far below. Soon it would be ocean. Nothing but miles and miles of cold, deep, black water. She felt a wash of nausea. “That’s a nice thought,” she managed to squeak out. “But breathing space isn’t the issue.” She took a deep, shaky breath and dragged her gaze away from the window. “In fact there’s a little too much space up here, if you know what I mean.” “I know.” “Good. Then let’s go.” Her legs feeling unsteady, she started back toward the stairs. He grabbed her hand and dragged her back against him. “We’re not done yet.” His body was hard, his grip on her firm, and she wanted to lose herself in it. She wanted to forget the lack of air, the drone of engines and the fact that there was nothing between her and a gruesome death but miles of cold, empty air. But she couldn’t forget. Not that easily. “Done? What does that mean?” He grasped her shoulders and turned her around so that she had no choice but to look out that enormous window. Her back wedged firmly against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her waist. He held her tightly against him, but even that wall of warmth and security couldn’t assuage her fear. The window seemed as big as she was. As if all she had to do was take one step forward and she’d fall through it—directly into the abyss. She could already feel herself falling…falling…tumbling…screaming… Suddenly there was no oxygen. She closed her eyes and turned her head away. “Please, Caleb. I-I can’t breathe. I need to go.”

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But he held her firm, bent his head and whispered in her ear. “You should really open your eyes. It’s beautiful. The sun is setting and the colors are breathtaking.” She shook her head, and only then became aware of the fact that his hand had crept under her t-shirt. When he popped the front clasp of her practical cotton bra and his hand cupped a breast, only then did her eyes fly open. “What are you doing?” He fondled her breast, tweaked a nipple, all the while caressing her neck with his lips. “Do you see the sunset?” He sought the other breast, massaged it lightly. Rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “I…” She was only vaguely aware of the purple and gold splashed across the sky, drizzled along the clouds. “Uh.” His teeth raked along her throat, nibbled her ear. And then his hand left her breast and coasted down her tummy to the waistband of her jeans. “Caleb…” she breathed as he undid the snap and his hand snuck below. “We…can’t.” “Of course we can. We proved that just the other day.” “You know what I mean.” “Do I?” He’d breached the hem of her panties and his fingers were already slicked with her arousal. He massaged her clit and she groaned, her eyes drifting closed. “Caleb…” The word was a plea, but she wasn’t sure for what. “Keep your eyes open, baby.” His whisper was soft but commanding. “That’s the deal.” Her mind was fuzzy, a muddle of conflicting images, pleasures and fears. But she heard him clearly enough that she understood and managed to drag her eyes open. Her eyes feasted on the blooming sunset as his fingers stroked her clit and slid deeply into her channel. Before she realized it her jeans had slipped to her ankles and she had the laughable urge to cover herself in front of the window. Who would see her? A passing seagull? She found herself smiling, and barely had time to question her shift in mood before she felt the heat of his bare cock. Somehow he’d managed to undo his own jeans and his cock was nestled in the crease of her ass. He pressed firmly against her, sliding himself up and down between her cheeks to build his own arousal and enhance her pleasure. His fingers never ceased their merciless torture of her pussy. She felt moisture seep down her leg. “You want me to fuck you?” he asked, his voice no longer a whisper. She nodded. “Are your eyes open? Are you watching the sky?” She blinked, focused, noticed that the colors were already waning as night seeped across the horizon. “The colors are fading,” she said. “It’s getting dark.”

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She thought she heard something just then. Faint. Like a sharp intake of breath, but she didn’t have time to worry about it because his next words drove all other considerations from her mind. “Let’s see if we can make some fireworks, then.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and bent her slightly forward, plunging his cock into her and stealing her breath with the force of his assault. His thrusts started slow, each one a stroke that teased her to the edge of fulfillment. His fingers never ceased their attentions. His arm around her waist was possessive. “Christ, you’re tight like this.” “I’m sorry.” The moment she said it, she realized how silly it was, and she smiled at herself. “Baby, you have a hell of a way of apologizing.” And she abruptly forgot the joke as his tempo accelerated and his thrusts took on a fierce urgency. She had to brace her hands against the window to keep her balance, her face mere inches from the glass—and the abyss. The abyss. His hands. His cock. His heat. Creeping darkness. Her entire body swollen with excitement. Starlight. Hovering on the edge of black infinity. She fell, the climax exploding in the dark like a rocket. A flash of bright light, followed by a shower of sparks in a rainbow of colors. She smiled at the cliché, even as her legs turned to jelly and threatened to buckle beneath her. The last contractions shimmered through her like the last few sparklers drifting across the sky. “Mmm.” He held her tightly against him, saving her from sinking to her knees and allowing her to savor his strength. “I think you saw fireworks.” She nodded, managed to catch a breath. “Did you come?” “No, but you did. That was the whole point.” Her legs began to feel solid again and she managed to stand upright. His hold never loosened. Her gaze remained riveted to the window. “It’s dark.” “Very. Night falls fast at thirty-five thousand feet.” She suddenly realized the window wasn’t nearly as large as she’d originally thought. Barely two feet square. “But I’ve never seen stars look so bright.” He nuzzled her neck. “We’re over the ocean now. They really shine out here.”

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She shifted so she could look straight down. Far, far below she could see the glitter of moonlight reflected on the water. Her tummy lifted just a little, but the terror was gone. She covered his hand that was wrapped around her waist with her own. “We should get back to our seats.” “Yes,” said a woman’s breathless voice from the far side of the lounge. “I suppose you should.”

***** Caleb accepted a sandwich from the attendant and popped open the cardboard container. When he flew for work he always flew business class, and frankly he missed it. Coach sucked, but he was hardly one to be picky now. He was owed his vacation time, and that would cover him for a couple of months, but after that… His career was a good one and very versatile, but positions like the one he had just ditched didn’t exactly grow on trees. His life, it seemed, was one big question mark. But maybe it was long past time he started asking the tough questions. Or rather, answering them. “Why did you do that?” Joss had already downed a third of her sandwich. Apparently sex enhanced her appetite. “What? Pick turkey instead of beef? I’ve never been overly fond of mustard.” She rolled her eyes. “You know perfectly well what I meant.” “I was horny.” “Won’t wash. You didn’t come. And you didn’t seem to care that you didn’t. You did that for me.” He shrugged. Not wanting to talk about this, and not sure why. “I’m not nearly as nervous as I was, and I’d like to know what made you think to do…that.” “I just wanted to initiate you into the mile-high club, that’s all. If it somehow managed to alleviate your anxiety, so much the better.” “Uh-huh.” She tore off another hunk of her sandwich and chewed—watching him. “I see.” He cleared his throat. “How’s the beef?” “Dry. Needs more mustard.” “Doesn’t seem to be affecting your appetite.” “I know. I seem to be very…hungry.” The twinkle in her eyes had him distinctly uncomfortable again. It was time to change the subject. “So, are you going to fill me in?” She stopped chewing. “In? On what?” “On Leon and what’s going on in Florence.”

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“Oh. That.” She put down the last remnant of her sandwich and reached for her glass. She finished off the last of her tepid tea and seemed hesitant to begin. “Is Leon a private investigator?” She shook her head. “No. I had one for a while, but they’re way too expensive. I couldn’t keep it up for long. But the PI did hook me up with Leon.” She shifted in her seat to face him more directly. “Leon is an art dealer. Among other things.” She smiled, shrugged. “Anyway, he travels around Europe, buying and selling pieces of art, visiting artisans and artists, and encouraging new talent.” “I don’t see the connection.” “Terrance is an aspiring artist.” “Ah.” He nodded slowly. “And you think he’s in Florence?” “Well, I’ve always had Florence in mind. Just because Terrance is a huge fan of Michelangelo and that was where he spent much of his life.” “Wouldn’t that be a tad obvious? I mean, Terrance knows you know that, and so—” “True. And I never counted on anything. But it’s been almost two years now, and I’m wondering if his lust for the Florentine culture may have overcome caution. Even if he doesn’t live there, he may choose to…visit.” “So, how does Leon fit into all this?” “Leon has a daughter that he is never allowed to see, and let’s just say he’s sympathetic to my cause. Even though I’m not paying him anything, he agreed to keep an eye out for any…suspicious pieces of art. I showed him some photos of Terrance’s work, and he thinks he has a feel for it. He’s good at that kind of thing. You know, spotting an artist’s style. It’s his business.” “Of course.” She nodded. “Right. Sorry. Anyway, he always said that if he saw something come on the market that looked promising he’d let me know.” “And he spotted something.” “Yes. It’s a series of paintings recently acquired by a gallery in Florence. The artist’s signature is, of course, different, but the style screams out Terrance Maxwell. He asked the gallery owner where he got them but was stonewalled. That was as far as he was prepared to go.” She fiddled with her bundle of plastic wrap. “He’s a very busy man.” “And you think you can find out more.” “Not really. I don’t really know what I’m doing, and I don’t have much hope.” She lifted her gaze to his. “But it seems I was somewhat coerced into going, regardless.” He felt something inside him harden. “You really don’t want to be here?” She sighed heavily, shifted in her seat so she was facing forward again. “It’s not that I don’t want to find Susanna. You have to understand that.” “You don’t want to face disappointment again.”

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“It’s a little more complicated than that but…yes, that’s basically it.” She picked up her empty cup and stared into the depths. “You don’t think much of me for that, do you?” “It’s not that I’m judging you.” “Aren’t you?” “Look, Joss—” “You know, I don’t get it.” She held up a hand when he moved to speak and he remained silent. “How can you be so nice to me? Make love to me like you care one minute, and then call me a bad mother the next.” “I never said that!” “Not with your mouth, maybe.” He set his jaw, willed his blood pressure to steady. How was it she could wiggle her way so deeply under his skin? “Let’s call a truce. You don’t understand me, and I don’t understand you. Let’s just accept it, and go on from there.” “What about fucking?” “What about it?” She growled, deep in her throat. “Should we stop until we figure this thing out?” He considered that for all of three nanoseconds. “Definitely. No more fucking until we figure this out.” “Good. Deal. I feel better.” She settled back in her seat and closed her eyes. “I’m going to take a nap.” Of course they both knew it was a lie, but hell if they both didn’t seem to be experts at fooling themselves. But at the moment all that mattered was finding Susanna. And that was all that Caleb intended to spend the next six hours thinking about. The stewardess walked by, tossing him a wink and a knowing smile. She was the one who had caught them. Or, more accurately, had observed them. Caleb knew the exact moment she’d ascended the stairs and it had been several minutes before Joss’ climax. She’d remained silent, however, watching them. And now, remembering that, and remembering the way it had felt to be inside Joss with the stars glittering just out of reach and her body so hot against him—it set his groin to pounding all over again. He hadn’t been fulfilled, and that didn’t help matters. All he wanted to do was grab her, rip off her jeans and have her ride him right there in his seat. His face between those beautiful firm breasts, his hands gripping her ass— “Christ,” he said aloud, hailing the attendant who had winked. She came over immediately. “Yes?” She leaned over, allowing long blonde hair to brush over his face and affording him an enticing view of cleavage that did nothing to alleviate his problem. She glanced down, no doubt noticing the bulge in his jeans. She smiled. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

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“Scotch,” he grumbled. “And make it a double.”

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Chapter Seven Joss stepped across the hotel room threshold and said softly, “I’m home.” She took five steps, dropped her bags on the cool tile floor and fell across the bed. It boasted an intricate wrought iron headboard, the king-size mattress covered with a quaint patchwork duvet. It must have had an extra layer of down because it felt soft as a cloud. It was the most beautiful bed she’d ever seen. Of course it could have been stuffed with corn husks and covered with burlap and she would have felt the same way. After an eight-hour flight with one stopover, customs, and trying to find a cab into Florence from Aeroporto di Firenze, she was that tired. Her eyes closed and with the gentle Tuscan breeze wafting over her cheek from the wide-open window, she almost thought she could fall asleep that instant. If the world would stop spinning, of course. “Grazie, signore.” Eyes closed, she heard the click of heels as the bellhop accepted Caleb’s tip. “Goda il vostro soggiorno.” “Yeah, sure.” She heard the door close. “Whatever.” His shoes clicked softly as he crossed the room. “Complimentary champagne? What the hell’s that for?” She opened one eye, took note of the silver ice bucket, and the pair of crystal flutes, and the bouquet of lilies. “They…uh…sort of think we’re on our honeymoon.” His eyes went wide. “Are you insane?” Then he looked around, took in the antiques and the artwork. The porcelain and the tile and the lace curtains. The room was bright and airy with a set of glass doors and a small balcony that that looked out over a garden and a series of terra cotta rooftops. “Is this the honeymoon suite? How much are we spending, anyway?” She resigned herself to not getting her sleep anytime soon, and propped herself up on her elbows. “This is a two-star hotel. It’s only forty-five euros a night.” He blinked in surprise, obviously taken aback. “However, you’re right. This is the honeymoon suite.” “Christ.” He sank onto a chair that looked almost too delicate to hold him. “Why?” “It was the only room they had left, and Leon had to pull a few strings to get us in.” “Why? Why did it have to be Hotel Bonoli? Is this the only hotel in Florence or something? And if Leon is so busy why is he pulling strings for you?” “He wanted to help. Booking a hotel hardly seemed unreasonable.” She kept her voice even despite a bubbling temper and fatigue-frazzled nerves. “And no, it’s not the only hotel in Florence. But it’s beautiful, reasonable, close to the galleries and most of the staff speak fluent English.” She flopped back on the bed. “I’d think you’d be grateful

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to Leon, for God’s sake. We need all the help we can get. But I guess you’re not very good at saying thank you.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” She rolled over, pulled some of the duvet over her and closed her eyes. “It means I’m tired. Jetlag always lays me flat, and I need to sleep.” She was just drifting off and thinking that she really should take off her shoes and shed a few clothes before she climbed all the way under the duvet, when Caleb spoke up again. “What about the champagne?” She gave him a half-lidded look. “Now? Are you crazy?” “Well, it’s cold now.” “Aren’t you tired?” “No, actually.” And as if to prove his point he got up and paced to the window. “I’m wired.” She glanced at his crotch. “You need…something to help you sleep?” “Christ, no!” But the vehemence of his response made her smile. No doubt that was it. He was sexually frustrated and too proud to admit it, or heaven forbid, masturbate while she was in the room. She slipped off her shoes and wriggled out of her jeans. She snuggled under the sheets and sighed with delight. “Well, then take a shower to help you relax. We’re meeting Leon for a late dinner, and if you don’t sleep a bit now you’re going to be useless.” “I’m never useless.” She accepted that in silence. Closed her eyes. “There’s only one bed.” “Very good,” she mumbled. “He can count.” “Jesus.” And at last he stormed from the room and slammed the bathroom door behind him. Remembering her t-shirt, she peeled it off and tossed it on the floor. Deciding to keep the bra, she burrowed back under the sheets and wondered idly exactly how long it would take him to finish himself off in the shower. And then she wondered how he would react to Leon. Because if there was one thing you could say about Leon it was that people…reacted to him. But before she could explore that notion any further she had slipped into oblivion.

***** Caleb turned on the water and stepped under the spray. He bowed his head, allowing the water to pelt his scalp and sluice down his face. He tried—he tried so hard to hold it in, but it was like holding back the wind. He covered his face with his hands and let out a strangled sob. 55

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“Daddy?” “Yes, peaches?” He slapped the two pieces of bread together and noticed that the jam had oozed down the sides of the bread. Gwen hated messy sandwiches. He grinned and tossed it on a plate. Gwen and Kyle were due back from soccer practice any minute. They only had a few minutes to sit down to a quick lunch before Caleb had to head out. “Why do you always call me peaches?” He looked down to find his little imp gazing up at him, the sun glinting off hair the color and consistency of spun gold, her complexion a silky combination of cream and roses. Her silverblue eyes were a startling mirror of his own. He knelt down and skimmed a finger over her cheek, delighting in the sheer wonder of her. “Because peaches are sweet and fuzzy and perfect just like you.” She smiled, clutched her well-worn teddy a little more tightly to her chest. “You say that every time.” “And you like hearing it every time.” She grinned, the game a familiar one. “Can we see a movie today? That one about the dragon?” He frowned. “Since when do little girls like dragons?” “I like you, don’t I?” “Hey!” He blinked in surprise and then swept her up in his arms. “I’m no dragon. I’m the knight who slays dragons!” She gave him a look that said she knew the truth. “Can we, Daddy? You promised last week.” “I know I did, peaches.” He hitched her on his hip and pulled the milk out of the fridge. “But last week my team wasn’t in the finals. I have to play today. They need me.” “I need you.” “Oh, honey.” She sniffled. “You promised.” “Tomorrow. We’ll go tomorrow.” “Tomorrow is Grandma’s birthday. And I’ll have to wear a dress.” She said it like she was talking about chains and shackles rather than satin and frills. His little tomboy. “Oh. Right. Next week, then.” She didn’t answer. Her pout and the disappointment in her eyes was answer enough. Answer enough to make him feel like a heel. “Forget it.” She wriggled until he was forced to set her down. “We can get it on DVD.” “Next week, Serena,” he said, the guilt squeezing his heart. “I promise.” She shrugged. “Sure.” And he knew she didn’t believe him.

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He turned his face to the spray, allowing the water to wash away the tears that didn’t seem inclined to stop. He’d sunk to the floor of the tub because his legs lacked the strength to stand. He barely had the strength to breathe. Because that was the last memory he had of her. Her tiny body nested on his hip, her beautiful eyes full of disappointment—because her daddy had let her down. He’d left for his rugby match that afternoon and that night she was dead. If he’d done as she asked. If he’d kept his promise to his little girl, they would all still be alive. And he would still be whole. “Caleb?” The curtain swished aside and Joss was kneeling beside the tub, looking beautiful and concerned. “Oh my God, Caleb. What’s wrong?” He swallowed, sucked in a breath and battled his grief into submission. “Get out,” he breathed. “I don’t want you here.” “Please, Caleb. Please let me—” “Get out!” She started at the rage in his voice and a moment later was scrambling out the door. “Damn it.” He raked his fingers through his dripping hair. “God damn it all to hell.”

***** Leon rapped sharply on the apartment door. Waited five seconds and did it again. “I’m coming!” yelled a muffled voice. He heard a scuffling sound, a loud bang and a curse as Randy no doubt navigated the chaos that was his home. Leon sighed and shook his head. Artists. At last the door swung open. “Yes?” He blinked. Blinked again. “Leon? You’re early. You’re never early.” “I’m just one big surprise after another.” He stepped across the threshold, pushed the door closed and grabbed Randy around the waist for a deep, luxurious, longoverdue kiss. He smelled of clay and tasted of Gavi wine. Randy melted against him, every hard plane of sinew and muscle turning liquid and flooding directly to Leon’s libido. Regretfully he broke the kiss, but didn’t release his hold. “Damn, why do you have to be so sexy?” Randy arched one brow, his Swiss chocolate eyes soft and enchanting behind the small wire-framed glasses. “I haven’t even showered today.” No doubt the truth, since he was still wearing pajama bottoms, and doubtless nothing else. “I hardly feel sexy.” Leon’s hand sneaked beneath the waistband of the pajama pants to squeeze Randy’s ass. He was right. Nothing else. “Well, you know how I love the rugged, disheveled look.” At last he released his hold, turning immediately to the mirror to confirm that nothing was out of place. “Although I would prefer if you didn’t live like a pig.”

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Randy leaned against the doorframe and watched him. Leon loved to be watched. “I take exception to that. I’m hardly rugged.” Leon laughed as he adjusted his jacket and hooked a strand of rakishly engineered hair behind his ear. “Jesus,” said Randy. “You are such a fucking peacock.” “I’m an exhibitionist,” corrected Leon. “And it comes in handy for the modeling gigs.” “You only do those for the clothes.” “And the attention.” He turned and struck a pose, unbuttoning the nipped-waist jacket to show off the rococo silk shirt and the tailored silk pants. The ensemble a shimmering silver-white monotone that offset his tan and set his blue-green eyes on fire. “What do you think? It’s Donatella Versace.” Randy stepped forward and ran his fingers lightly over the material, sending shivers skittering over Leon’s skin and making his cock throb all over again. “Gorgeous.” He stepped back and whirled, heading toward the kitchen. “But isn’t it a little much for dinner at Don Carlo’s?” Leon followed him. “No. It’s just right.” Randy laughed, picked up a half-full glass of wine from amidst the stacks of dishes on the counter and lifted it to his lips. “You like Joss. You like to impress her.” “Maybe.” Leon went to the fridge and pulled out an open bottle of Pinot Grigio. He didn’t want to risk spilling red wine on his suit. Knowing he’d never find a clean glass in time, he took a swig directly from the bottle. “You’d like to fuck her.” “Of course I would.” Anger flared in Randy’s eyes. “Jealous?” “No.” “Liar.” He took another swig. “Not that it’s likely to happen. Especially considering the reason for this visit. And her companion.” Randy leaned against the counter and crossed his ankles as he sipped. “I’d like to meet her. And this guy. I wish I could come. I’ve got a craving for Don Carlo’s pesto chicken.” “You know full well that’s impossible. You have to remain…invisible. For now.” “I know. Doesn’t mean I like it.” He took another sip of wine. “Or that I like this whole thing. I don’t like taking advantage of people.” “We’re helping people. Not taking advantage of them.” “Uh-huh.”

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“Well, you don’t have to like it.” Leon shrugged, checked out his reflection in the microwave and wondered if he’d used too much gel. “And you’ll get paid. You’ll get money for the art supplies you need so desperately. That’s all that matters.” “Can’t you tell me any more? Like who, exactly, we’re helping? And why? I’d like to know the big picture.” “You know enough.” “So mysterious.” Leon grinned. “It’s part of my charm.” Randy set down his glass. “Will you come back here after dinner?” Leon crossed to him. He stood very close, bracketing Randy with his arms and wedging him against the counter with his body. “Of course.” He nuzzled Randy’s neck, breathing in his musky scent and wishing they had time for a quick kitchen-counter fuck. “I couldn’t stay away.” “How long will you stay this time? Two weeks?” “Maybe.” He trailed his tongue along Randy’s collarbone. “Maybe less.” Randy’s cock grew hard against Leon’s crotch. He groaned. “I miss you when you’re gone.” “I know. And that’s exactly the way I like it.” “You’re a bastard.” “And you love the bastard in me.” He brushed his lips over Randy’s and whispered, “I’d like to use the cuffs tonight.” He flicked out his tongue, tasted sweat and wine. “Nice and tight. Would you like that?” “Yes. Please.” “And the whip.” Randy’s chest heaved. “Okay.” “That’s my boy.” And then he kissed him.

***** “How much farther?” “Maybe three blocks,” said Joss. “And would you mind slowing down a bit? I can’t walk that fast in these heels.” He slowed his pace. Marginally. “We should have gotten a cab.” He glanced at her feet. “And you’re overdressed. You should have worn flats.” “This is Italy,” she offered as explanation for her fashion choice of a filmy cocktail dress in a lemon yellow and matching slingback sandals. Although the truth was she figured Leon would be dressed to the nines and she didn’t want to be outdone. “And I wanted to enjoy the ambiance of the city. I thought you’d enjoy a walk too. I thought it might clear your head.” The evening had fallen and the natives had come out to play.

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The streets were alive with flowers, music and the aromas of roasting garlic and spices. And people were everywhere, milling about, laughing and populating the numerous sidewalk cafes and bistros. They crowded around small tables, enjoying their pasta and espresso along with lively conversation and good wine. “You can stop worrying about me, Joss. I’m fine.” “You didn’t look fine in the shower.” The moment she said it she regretted it. He pulled up short, stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, glaring at her. “I don’t want to talk about that.” “I wanted to apologize for intruding, Caleb. That’s all.” She’d been unable to fall asleep because her bladder had demanded attention. Considering their previous intimacy she’d thought nothing of popping into the bathroom to use the facilities while Caleb was in the shower. But the moment she opened the door she knew something was wrong. She’d never heard a man cry like that and it had wrapped around her heart and squeezed. How could she have ignored that? How could she have walked away? “All right. Apology accepted. Now can we move on?” “What was it? Did I say something that—” “No. It had nothing to do with you.” “Then what?” She knew he didn’t want her to push him like this. That he wanted to horde his grief and keep it locked up inside, but she knew better. He needed to let it out, to talk about it, to let go of it. “What was it that upset you?” “All right. If you must know, I saw a little girl in the lobby when we checked in. She was sitting on her father’s lap and laughing and she reminded me of Serena. There. Happy now?” He turned away from her and resumed walking. She had to sprint to catch up. “No, I’m not happy. But I’m glad you told me.” “Glad enough to shut up about it?” “You should talk about them more, Caleb. You need to talk about them.” “Who the hell are you to tell me what I need?” “Gwen asked me to look after you. And that’s what I’m doing.” “By making a pest of yourself?” “If necessary, yes.” “Jesus. Is there anything I can say to make you stop looking after me?” “No.” He pulled up short, checked the street sign. “Well then, look after me by reminding me where we’re going. Is this our street?” “Yes.” She checked the number on a nearby building. “It should be right…” she spotted the restaurant and pointed, “there.” This time she took the lead, walking briskly and beating him to the entrance by several steps. The maître d’ approached and greeted them with a smile. “Leon LaRocque, per favore?” 60

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The middle-aged man nodded. “Sì, signora. Lui ti aspetta.” He motioned her to follow as he led them through the maze of tables. Caleb trailed behind her in silence. When they reached the table, Leon was deeply absorbed in the menu. Or so he would have had them believe. “Signore?” prompted the maître d’. “Sì?” Leon looked up, and a smile broke across his face. “Joss, my angel. It’s so good to see you.” He burst from his chair and kissed her on both cheeks before enclosing her in a fierce hug. She was wrapped in a wall of sculpted muscle, designer silk and expensive cologne. At last he released her, holding her at arm’s length and raking his eyes over her. “You look delicious as always.” “You’ve only ever seen me once before in person.” “I’ve seen you on web cam. It’s the same thing.” “But you, Leon…” She shook her head in wonder. “You look like heaven.” He glanced down at himself. “Do I?” “Of course you do.” He laughed. “Stop it now, or you’re going to make me blush.” He turned his gaze on Caleb who, to Joss’ utter delight, looked completely star-struck. “And speaking of heaven, who, may I ask, is this little piece of paradise?” Caleb cleared his throat, and extended his hand. “Uh…Coleridge. Caleb Coleridge.” Leon grabbed his hand but used it to drag him close for the traditional European greeting. “Wow,” he said when Caleb had been suitably embarrassed. “You smell as good as you look.” “Uh. Thanks.” Joss suppressed a snicker, but did feel sorry enough for Caleb to intervene. “Shall we sit down? We have a lot to discuss.” “Of course, of course.” Leon motioned for them to be seated. “I took the liberty of ordering us some wine. I hope you don’t mind.” He glanced at Caleb. “You look like you could use some.” Caleb’s eyes were still wide, but at that he shook his head and laughed at himself. “I’m sorry. I guess you’re just a little different than I expected.” Leon proceeded to fill Joss’ glass. “Let me guess. You were expecting middle-aged, three-piece suit, paunch and glasses?” He filled Caleb’s glass. “And, oh yes, let me guess, sexually repressed?” “Uh. Yeah. Something like that.” Caleb took a sip of wine. “Well, I’ll let you in on something, Caleb. I’m thirty-three. I have twenty-twenty vision. I have a six-pack and…” he leaned in and whispered, “I am definitely not sexually repressed.” He sat back in his chair and winked. “I may even be gay.” He slid a look at Joss. “Now and then.”

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Laughing, Caleb shook his head. He looked at Joss out of the corner of his eye. “Why didn’t you warn me?” “And spoil Leon’s fun? Never.” Leon swirled his wineglass and said coolly, “So, what do you think, Caleb? Do you find me attractive? Could I interest you in a little…dessert later?” “Leon,” scolded Joss, secretly wondering how Caleb would respond to the advance. “He barely got off the plane. Let the man catch his breath.” “Oh Joss, my sweet, I like them tired and weak. That’s when they’re the most vulnerable.” “I may be tired, but I am never weak. And contrary to popular belief,” Caleb tossed Joss a look that should have turned her wine to solid ice, “I can look after myself just fine.” “So is that a yes?” said Leon hopefully. “That is most definitely a no. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to get down to business.” Leon looked crestfallen, but Joss was secretly impressed that Caleb hadn’t thrown a punch. “Oh no. I don’t think so. That is not the way we do things here. First we order, we enjoy the fine cuisine this establishment has to offer, we exchange a few more pleasantries. And then we get down to business.” “That’s ridiculous. I—” “Leon’s right,” said Joss firmly. “There’s no need to rush this. We can’t do anything before tomorrow anyway, so we may as well enjoy ourselves a little.” Caleb frowned. “I’d think you’d be anxious for news of your daughter.” Joss’ voice turned frosty. “She’s been missing for almost two years. A few hours isn’t going to make a difference. And I don’t appreciate your implication.” He was undaunted, turning his self-righteous attention on their host. “But I thought Leon was so busy. How is it he has time to kill shooting the breeze with us?” “Business is business. And pleasure is…a necessity. In other words, there is always time for fine wine and good conversation.” He raised his glass to them and then drank deeply. “Now let’s order. I’m famished.”

***** Caleb twirled the last bit of linguine around his fork and stabbed the one remaining shrimp. Once the food had been placed in front of him he’d been surprised to find he, too, was famished. It didn’t hurt that the sauce was delicious, the air fragrant and the company disconcertingly charming. Truth be told, Leon was attractive. Startlingly so. In fact, Caleb would have referred to him as stunning, if that was a term that could be applied to a man. Not that he had any sexual interest in Leon. He’d ventured a little ways down that road in college, done

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some experimenting—and decided it wasn’t for him. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate a fine piece of art when he saw one. And he acknowledged that was what Leon reminded him of. A fine, perfectly proportioned sculpture. Almost too perfect to be real. And for that reason Caleb was on his guard. “So, can we talk shop now?” Leon set down his fork and sighed. “Single-minded, isn’t he?” he said to Joss, his subtle French accent showing through. It had surprised Caleb, who had assumed Leon was Italian. But of course the European community was a diverse one, and he should have known better than to assume. “You have no idea,” replied Joss. “Very well.” Leon reached into his jacket that he’d hung over the back of his chair, and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to Joss. “Those are the paintings I was telling you about.” Joss shifted her chair closer to Caleb and pulled out the photos. Caleb grimaced at the abstract and distorted renditions of the human form. The colors were bold and unnatural, the entire effect surreal. Not to his taste at all. “Would you agree they look like Terrance’s work?” She flipped to the next photo and nodded. “Yes. They’re new, but very reminiscent of his style.” Caleb watched her flip through the others. “Are you telling me people pay good money for this stuff?” “Some people. Yes.” “I don’t get it.” “Obviously.” Leon leaned back, crossed his legs and sipped the last of his wine. “The gallery acquired them about a month ago, and they’ve generated a lot of interest. They expect them to go quickly. The only drawback is the artist insists they be sold as a set, and that limits buyers considerably.” “And the gallery wouldn’t give you any information on the artist?” “None. He’s known only as Calliope and they refused to give me any contact information.” He shrugged. “That was as far as I could go.” “Calliope?” Caleb turned to Joss. “Does that mean anything to you?” She pursed her lips. “It’s some sort of instrument, isn’t it? Like an old steam organ? I have no idea what that would mean to Terrance.” “She was also the goddess of epic poetry in Greek mythology,” supplied Leon. She considered that, and nodded. “He studied mythology as a minor in university.” Caleb was incredulous. “Computer technology with a minor in Greek mythology?” “What can I tell you? My husband was a super-geek.” “I’ll say.” 63

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To Leon, Joss said, “So you think we’ll have better luck with the gallery owner?” “Yes. He doesn’t know you. And I’m afraid he knows me,” he grinned, “a bit too well.” “Scorned lover?” guessed Caleb. “Something like that. Let’s just say he is disinclined to do anything I ask of him. Other than take my money, that is.” “But you’re sure this is Terrance’s work? You think he’s close by?” asked Joss, showing the first flicker of excitement that Caleb had seen in her. “I have no idea, angel. I’m just saying it’s a starting point. And, if you’re right about his fascination with Michelangelo, then it’s a good possibility he’s here in the city. Or at least the region. But don’t hold me to that.” He shifted his gaze to Caleb. “You, however, can hold me to anything you like.” Caleb kept his face deadpan, although in truth, he found Leon’s advances somewhat flattering, and highly amusing. For a moment he thought of how ole Gene back at E&E would have reacted to such an overture, and the phrase pulmonary embolism came to mind. He smiled at that image. “Thanks, but I’ll just hold you to your word, Leon.” “I’m not sure I’ve given anyone my word on anything.” “Yes. I noticed.” Leon picked up Joss’ hand and kissed it. “Watch out for this one, angel. He’s the suspicious type. And, I would think, dangerous.” Joss studied him intently. Intently enough to make him uncomfortable. “I’d have to agree, my friend. I’d definitely have to agree.” Caleb decided to sidestep that one. “So, do you have any suggestions, Leon? For how to approach the gallery, I mean?” “Yes. As a matter of fact, I do. And if you’ll be so kind as to treat me to some espresso, I’ll share them with you.”

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Chapter Eight Joss looked up as Caleb walked into the room. Still damp from his shower, with a towel wrapped around his hips and his hair a mess of wet spikes and knots—he was easily one of the sexiest things she’d ever laid eyes on. However, there was no use in entertaining those thoughts. They’d gone cold turkey. And, frankly, spending an entire night snuggled up to him, even with his underwear and her oversized t-shirt between them, had been sheer hell. She’d barely slept, and it hadn’t been due to jetlag. She had finally drifted off in the wee hours, and had awoken to find his arm draped around her waist and his morning erection nestled against her hip. She’d quietly extricated herself and taken a very long, very unsatisfying shower that ended well before he dragged himself from bed. With a sigh she plucked a bit of brie from the plate of fruit and cheese that room service had provided, and returned her eyes to the book on the small desk in front of her. “What are you reading?” he asked, coming up behind her and leaning over her shoulder. The skin of his stomach brushed her arm. “It’s a book on contemporary art.” “Where’d you get it?” “Leon had it messengered over. It came while you were in the shower.” She flipped a page. “We should seem at least a little bit knowledgeable when we walk into that gallery.” “Hmm.” Thankfully he retreated and went to sit on the bed. He toweled his hair vigorously. “That Leon thinks of everything, doesn’t he?” She picked up her coffee and shifted in her seat to face him. Something in his tone set her on alert. “I thought you liked him.” “I do.” He gave a final rub and tossed the towel at the bathroom door. It fell about three feet short. “I just don’t trust him.” “Because he’s gay?” He scowled at her. “No. Because he’s too smooth. And I did not deserve that.” She bit her lip. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Actually I was impressed with how you handled him. Very cool in the face of having your masculinity threatened.” “Being hit on by a gay man is hardly a threat to my masculinity.” “But allowing yourself to cry is?” He went very still, his eyes riveted to her like a pair of blue lasers. The room crackled with tension and she was about to apologize when he finally said softly, “My

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masculinity has nothing to do with it.” He stood and walked to the patio door that led to their small balcony. He stepped outside and leaned against the railing, looking all hard and masculine, and infinitely vulnerable. With a sigh she poured a second cup of coffee and added some cream. After refilling her own cup she stood and carried both to the balcony. She joined him at the rail and offered him the coffee. He glanced at her, obviously surprised, before accepting it. “Thanks.” His voice lacked the gruffness she had expected. They both sipped in silence for a time, enjoying the view of the gardens, the fragrant breeze and the soft sounds of the city morning hustle and bustle building around them. “It’s not about being macho,” he said at last, his eyes trained on the horizon. “It’s just about being me.” “I’m not sure what that means.” He looked into his half-empty cup. “Only one other person in the world has ever seen me cry.” “Your mother?” she asked, thinking he was referring to when he was a child. “No. I have no memory of my mother. I grew up with my dad and men didn’t cry in that house. Actually, neither did women. My older sister left because my dad was such a hard-ass about shit like that.” Joss nodded. That certainly explained a lot. “So it was Gwen, then?” He nodded. “Yes. And that was only in moments of extreme pain or vulnerability.” A bold little sparrow alit on the railing beside Caleb and gave him an inquiring look. Perhaps it was looking for a handout, but they had nothing to give it. Disappointed, it flew away. “Serena’s birth was…difficult. And when she finally came out, all healthy and pink and with ten fingers and ten toes, I was so relieved…” Joss closed her eyes against the emotions that image evoked. “Anyway,” he continued, “there were a couple of other times. Like when my father died, but the only reason I allowed Gwen to see it was because we’d built something. And I trusted her.” He turned to look at her. “And I’m sorry to be blunt, Joss, but I don’t trust you. Not like that.” “And I invaded your privacy.” “I know it wasn’t intentional, and I’m sorry for my reaction. But…I had no intention of sharing that with you.” She shook her head in wonder. “So even after they died. Even then, no one saw you cry. Not even at the funeral.” He shook his head.

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She thought back and realized it was true. He had been a lonely figure, certainly. Grief-stricken and somber—and distant. There had been no tears. Only an all-pervasive sense of despair. “You were wearing a cast,” she recalled. “I don’t think I ever heard what happened.” He looked like she’d just stabbed him with a knife. His body tensed and his face registered pain. She laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Caleb. What did I say?” “That goddamn cast was the fucking reason they died.” “What?” But he’d already gone, walked staunchly into the room leaving her alone and confused. She took a final sip of coffee to fortify herself before following him back inside. He’d thrown his suitcase on the bed and was standing beside it, nude, as he rummaged through it, apparently looking for underwear. “What does that mean? How can a cast kill people?” He stopped, glared at her. “Why are you doing this? Why are you pushing me?” “Because you need to be pushed.” “Fuck.” He pulled out a pair of black briefs and stepped into them before storming over to the tray of food and picking up a strawberry. He bit into it, glaring at her the whole time. “You know you’ll tell me eventually. You know you need to talk about it to somebody, and I knew Gwen better than most. Why not me?” “Why the hell are you so convinced I need to talk about it?” She propped her hands on her hips. “Because you need somebody to tell you how utterly ridiculous it is for you to blame yourself—or some stupid piece of plaster—for the deaths of your family.” “How do you know it’s ridiculous?” “So tell me and let me judge for myself.” He continued glaring at her, his chest heaving, the strawberry stem clutched in his angry fingers. “I copped out of a promise to take my little girl to a movie that afternoon so that I could play in a stupid rugby final. I got hurt. I was tackled and my leg was fractured. I was taken to the hospital and I was fine, but I needed someone to pick me up. Gwen decided to make a day of it, pick me up and we’d go see the movie before we came home.” He stopped there and allowed Joss to connect the dots. “They were on their way to the hospital when the tanker truck crashed into them.” “Give the girl a cigar.” The words were light but the tone had an edge like shattered glass. She threw up her hands in outrage. “See? I told you.”

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“Told me what?” “That’s ridiculous. It’s ridiculous for you to blame yourself for their deaths. They died because that driver was overtired and made a poor judgment call. They died because his truck flipped and exploded. They did not die because of you.” His expression remained hard. “That’s not the way I see it.” “Well, that’s too bad because that’s the way it is.” He turned away from her. “I need to get dressed.” She crossed to him and grabbed his arm just as he pulled on a pair of jeans. “We’ve got two hours before our appointment. There’s plenty of time.” He whirled on her. “Time for what?” “For me to convince you how ridiculous you are.” “I’m not ridiculous!” “No. You’re not. You loved your family deeply and there’s nothing more noble or admirable or tragic. But blaming yourself for their deaths is ridiculous.” He pulled his arm from her grasp. “I need to go for a walk.” “You’re running away?” “Damn right I am.” And he was out the door. He left the room in bare feet and with no shirt, wearing nothing but jeans and his rage. She sighed. He wasn’t going far.

***** Caleb was halfway through the lobby before he realized his predicament. He stopped. His bare feet cooling on the smooth Italian marble, he tried to decide what to do. “Mi pardoni, signore?” prompted the concierge from his tiny desk. “Ti posso fare qualche cosa?” Caleb shrugged. “Sorry. Only speak English.” “Of course, sir. I asked if there was something wrong.” “I wanted to take a walk,” said Caleb, feeling helpless and stupid. “And I forgot my shoes.” To his credit the concierge didn’t bat an eye. “Perhaps the hotel gardens, sir. They’re not overly large, but they’re lovely, with tall hedges and lots of soft grass.” He smiled. “Right. Which way?” He pointed to a side door. “Thanks.” Caleb headed that way. “Of course, sir. Enjoy.”

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After Caleb left, the desk clerk approached the concierge and asked in flawless English, “What was that about?” “The honeymooners,” replied the concierge, as if that in itself was an explanation. “Lovers’ quarrel?” “No doubt.” He frowned. “He had that…look.” She nodded knowingly and a smile twinkled in her eyes. “Twitterpated?” “Yes.” He gave a half-smile. “Definitely twitterpated.” Caleb stepped out onto cool, lush grass and dug in his toes. He breathed in the scents of lilies and spring blossoms and enjoyed the warmth of the sun. And realized too late that it wasn’t what he needed at all. What he really needed was to go for a run. A ten-kilometer run would do him a world of good. Or maybe a round with a heavy bag. Or Muhammad Ali. But none of that was likely to happen. He couldn’t run without shoes. And he couldn’t fight without an opponent. The only opponent he had these days, it seemed, was a fiery-tempered female with big brown eyes, long blonde hair and the most delicate hands he’d ever seen. He couldn’t hit her, so instead, he chose to beat up on himself. He began to walk through the gardens, trying to focus on the flowers and the plants, the sights and the scents, and forget what had sent him fleeing out there. But it kept coming back to haunt him. He couldn’t run from it, and he couldn’t fight it. What did that leave? He found a bench, nestled among the flowers and shaded by a pair of tall, purpleleafed bushes, and because he had nowhere to go, and had no idea what to do—he sank down onto it. He braced his elbows on his knees, dug his toes into a bit of cool, damp earth, and rested his head in his hands. “What am I supposed to do, Gwen? What the hell am I supposed to do?” He wasn’t sure how long he sat there before he heard her voice. “Caleb?” He didn’t respond. Had no idea what to say. He’d known she’d follow him out there, and he should have been prepared. But instead, he was at a loss. She sat down beside him, and in the silence that followed he became aware for the first time, of the gurgle of a fountain just a few feet away. It was made of stone, or perhaps marble, he wasn’t sure. But the figure was familiar—a replica of Michelangelo’s David. “When you didn’t come back I got worried. I mean, what with you not having any shoes.” He said nothing, stared at his bare toes. “But the second I stepped into the lobby the concierge nabbed me and told me where to find you. He was very sweet. Said he hoped we could patch things up.” The fountain gurgled, and the breeze blew. 69

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“He still thinks we’re newlyweds. I feel kind of guilty.” “Guilty,” he murmured. “You’re funny.” She sighed heavily, laid a hand on his thigh and sent electricity dancing through his body. It wasn’t sexual, however. It was…something else. Something he couldn’t quite define at the moment. “I’m sorry. That was the wrong turn of phrase.” “That’s okay.” He blew out a slow breath and finally lifted his head to look at her. “I don’t have a monopoly on fuck-ups.” “True. But if we combined our resources I bet we could corner the market pretty fast.” He smiled. Or rather, he tried to. His gaze fell to his hands once more. “It wasn’t your fault, Caleb. You must know that.” He shook his head, battled the tightening in his throat. “If it wasn’t for me—” “No!” She grasped his chin, turned his face to hers. “It wasn’t. Your. Fault. You have to let go of the guilt and move on with your life. You have to let go or it will eat you alive.” “No. You don’t understand.” “What? What do you mean?” “I can’t let go.” It had suddenly become so clear to him. “I can’t because it’s the guilt that’s keeping me alive. I have to hang on to that because…” His voice cracked. “Because it connects me to them. It’s all I have left.” He had to move. He tore himself away from her touch and stood, walking briskly to the far side of the garden, stopping beneath the shade of a tree that looked like it was covered with pink fuzz. It was hidden behind a tall shrub. It gave him the illusion of isolation. Joss followed him, as he knew she would. He plucked off a bit of fuzz. “What kind of tree is this? It’s very unusual.” “I don’t know.” “I didn’t think you did,” he said, rubbing the soft, frothy substance between his fingers. “It was a rhetorical question.” “Caleb…” He shook his head. “Please don’t. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” “Then listen. I just have one thing to say.” She laid those tiny hands on his chest and gazed up at him with those soft brown eyes. “It’s not all you have left. You have memories and a heart full of love. You just need to allow yourself to give it to someone else.” She touched his cheek. “You have to allow yourself to be happy.”

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His heart beat a rapid tattoo against her palm, his skin cool but clammy. His blue eyes, looking down at her, were full of emotions that she couldn’t begin to define, and she wondered for the thousandth time if she knew what the hell she was doing. The kiss came out of nowhere. Hungry and fierce, it was laced with both passion and desperation. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. His bare chest crushed her breasts, his tongue thrust past her lips. She was unprepared for it, her defenses down, and she immediately lost herself in the ferocity of his passion. He fisted his hand in her hair, tilted her head back and proceeded to devour her throat. She wanted to speak, but only managed a low moan of confused acquiescence as his mouth moved lower. He pushed her flimsy silk blouse aside and feasted on her breast. His tongue circled her areola, flicked at her nipple before he covered her completely with his mouth and sucked hard enough to elicit a groan of sweet agony. She felt helpless, swept away by his need, and when his hand found its way beneath her skirt and slipped inside her panties she was already soaked and swollen. His mouth left her breast and returned to her lips as his fingers cruised over her clit and pushed inside her. He undid his zipper, grasped her hand and guided it inside his jeans. His cock was thick in her fingers, hard and eager, and she began to massage it. She found a bead of cum at the tip—and only then did she begin to come to her senses. “Caleb,” she pleaded, “we shouldn’t.” “I need you.” He groaned when her hand ceased its movement. “Now.” He tilted her hips forward, thrust his fingers deeper, seeking her G-spot. She closed her eyes as an orgasm loomed, but refused to give in. “Caleb, please. It’s the wrong time.” “We’ve still got time before our appointment.” His hand was slicked with her essence, her clit throbbing with need, but she could not do this. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it!” With that she placed her hands against his chest and shoved. Hard enough to send herself stumbling backward, and make her feel like an idiot. He, on the other hand, was solid as a brick wall. He stood there, staring at her, chest heaving, and cock jutting out like a beacon. “Then what do you mean?” Anger had replaced desperation and she tried to remember where it was really coming from. She didn’t have to work to sound indignant. “We agreed we weren’t going to do this anymore. And less than an hour ago you told me you didn’t trust me enough to cry in front of me. Now you want to make love to me?” “It wasn’t making love, it was fucking.” “Nice,” she said with a knowing smile. “But we both know that’s not the whole truth, either.”

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He worked his cock back into his underwear and did up his jeans. “Then what is the whole truth?” “It was another form of escape. You were just running away all over again.” “Oh yeah? From what?” “From me. From your grief. From the truth. Take your pick. You’re doing what you always do. Using sex to cover up the pain and avoid dealing with it.” She straightened her skirt. “Now I’m going back to the room to study until we have to leave.” And with that she turned and stormed back toward the hotel. Over her shoulder she called, “Whatever you do, don’t be late.”

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Chapter Nine Caleb took a seat beside Joss on the polished stone bench in front of the hotel. The sun was at its peak, and had driven away all traces of the freshness of the morning. The air was thick with the perfume of the dozens of rose bushes that lined the hotel walkway. The day felt too heavy for May. Or perhaps it was just his mood. Joss’ rejection had stung. Or at the very least had stung more than it should have. Her accusation that he used sex to escape, to avoid dealing with his own emotions and issues hit just a little too close to home for comfort. For the last year he’d been telling himself he used sex to feel alive. To try to recapture some sense of feeling human and normal again. But if that was the case, why did he always hate himself just a little bit more after every encounter? He hesitated to believe that she could be right about him. His grief and his life were his own. She had no right to know him that well. “They’re calling the taxi. It should be here any minute.” “Good.” She didn’t look at him. “It’s only a twenty-minute walk. I don’t know why we couldn’t—” “I told you. I want to look professional and wealthy, and there’s no way I’m negotiating the cobblestone sidewalks in these heels. Walking back from the restaurant last night just about killed me.” Only then did he take the time to really look at her. She did look professional, he thought, in a billowy blouse the color of lilacs and slim-fitting white skirt. She looked like spring. “And you do,” he conceded. “You look beautiful.” She lifted her gaze to his, her eyes wide and a smile tugging at her mouth. “Why, thank you. I think that’s the first time you’ve told me that since the night at The Cerberus.” Not wanting to dwell on that, he focused his attention on the item she’d been holding and studying ever since he sat down. “What’s that? Crib notes?” He bent down to see better, but instead of scribbled notes on contemporary art, he was greeted with laughing brown eyes and a mop of unruly blonde hair. “Susanna,” she said softly, tracing the outline of the girl’s jaw with a polished fingernail. “She’s grown since this was taken. I can’t imagine how much. It’s the last school photo taken before she disappeared.” “You mean before he took her.” “I suppose.” Her voice sounded distant, as if she were lost in another time. His heart twisted for her. “She looks like you.”

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“So they tell me.” “You know, that’s the first time I’ve seen a picture of her.” She looked at him sharply, frowned. “Is that some sort of dig? Are you implying that I don’t think about my daughter?” “No!” He honestly had not meant to upset her. “I just—” “Because I have boxes full of pictures of her. CDs crammed with digital pictures. I do love my daughter, you know. Just because—” He covered her lips with his fingers. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Joss. Really. I have no doubt you love her. I’m sorry if I ever sounded like I doubted it.” She blinked slowly, brown eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears. “I do, you know.” A matching pair of tears spilled down her cheeks as she stuffed the photo back in her purse. “The fact that I stopped searching for her doesn’t mean I stopped loving her.” He had no doubt she was trying just as hard to convince herself of that fact as him. “The taxi’s here.” She stood and walked to the small white car that had pulled up in front of them. “Let’s go.” Ten minutes and an astonishing eight euros later they strode in the front door of the Galleria del Giglio. They moved past an enormous bouquet of calla lilies gracing the entryway, their heels clicking sharply on the polished marble tile. Caleb wondered idly if marble was as easy to come by here as hardwood was in North America. There was certainly no shortage of it. They paused to study the enormous painting that graced the wall just behind the bouquet. Caleb was no art aficionado, but it appeared to be Renaissance art. No doubt one of the masters. “Michelangelo,” confirmed Joss. “An original?” “I have no idea.” “Buon giorno,” said a man’s voice. They turned to see a man in black slacks and a pale blue sport jacket striding toward them. Caleb guessed his age to be mid-forties, but he obviously took care of himself. His shoulders were broad and his waist narrow, his hair, however, nonexistent. He offered his hand in greeting. “Benvenuto alla Galleria del Giglio. Come vi posso assistere?” “I’m Janelle Watkins.” Joss allowed him to kiss her hand. “We have an appointment.” “Of course,” he replied in flawless English, shaking Caleb’s hand. “Welcome. I am Roberto, and I am so happy that you have chosen to deal with The Gallery of the Lily.” He finally released Caleb’s hand, but Caleb had the odd feeling that the handshake had lingered just a moment too long. Roberto’s eyes lingered on his as well. “It’s a lovely gallery,” said Joss, soliciting Roberto’s attention once again. “But, of course, we had little choice but to come here.”

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“Of course.” Roberto clapped his hands in apparent delight. “The Calliope collection. You would like to see them, yes?” She smiled warmly. “Yes. Please.” “Right this way.” Roberto led them through a labyrinth of small rooms and sections peppered with paintings and sculptures in a variety of styles and, no doubt, from a variety of periods. Even Caleb’s untrained eye, however, could discern that each area seemed to reflect a certain theme or mood. At last they came to a section obviously dedicated to the very modern and abstract. The colors were bright, the lines bold and, to Caleb’s thinking, completely without form. He gave a mental shrug. Obviously some people liked this sort of thing. “Here we are.” Roberto stopped beside a series of three paintings. The canvas sizes ranged in size from approximately fifteen inches in diameter to forty. The pictures all obviously related, a progression of some kind, but what they depicted was a mystery. All Caleb knew was that the dull, muted colors, indefinite structures and hazy lines left him with a vague feeling of sadness. Simply put they were depressing as hell. “Do you mind my asking how you heard about these pieces?” “Friends of ours visited a few weeks back, and thought we would appreciate them,” replied Joss, moving in as if to examine them more closely. “And I would agree. They’re incredible, just as our friends described.” She stepped back, tilted her head to the side. “Reminiscent of Mazzetti, don’t you think?” “Yes, I agree,” replied Roberto. “Very exciting for a new artist to be compared to such an established talent.” Joss continued to study the paintings, taking them in from various angles, nodding and making noises of approval in her throat. Honestly, Caleb was impressed. He didn’t think he could work up that much enthusiasm, even if it was for a good cause. “Very nice,” she said at last. “And the price tag is certainly right.” “Well, the artist is just making a name for himself. I have no doubt they will be an excellent investment.” She smiled. “That is the point, isn’t it?” “Would you like them delivered?” She held up a hand. “Oh, I’m not ready to pull out the credit card quite yet.” “Oh?” Roberto didn’t even bother to try to hide his disappointment. “Would you like to see some works by other artists?” “No, no. It’s not that.” Caleb picked up on his cue. “We’d simply like to know a little bit more about our investment.” Roberto turned his attention to Caleb. “In what way?” “We’d like to meet the artist.” “Oh.” Roberto frowned.

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“It’s sort of a policy of ours,” added Joss. “We love to encourage new talent, but insist on meeting the artist and confirming his or her—” “Commitment and passion,” Caleb was on a roll now, “before investing my hardearned inheritance.” He winked, and Roberto smiled knowingly. “I see.” “It gives us a better feel for his work,” he added. “Enhances our confidence.” “Mmm.” Roberto’s frown was deep. He tapped his chin pensively. “I can certainly see your point. However…” “However?” prompted Caleb. “Is there a problem?” “Well, I’m afraid this artist is rather…reticent.” “I’m not sure I understand.” “He’s a very private man. Has no wish for his identity to be made public.” “That’s puzzling,” said Joss. “Don’t most artists seek recognition for their work? It really is the only way to make money in this business.” “This artist merely wishes to share his talent with the world. Money is not an issue.” Caleb laughed aloud. “Money is always an issue.” Roberto lifted his nose and said haughtily, “Not in this case.” “Look.” Joss stepped forward and laid a solicitous hand on Roberto’s arm. “Even if it’s not about money and he merely wants to share his work with the world, it is still about publicity and recognition.” “True. That is definitely the goal of any artist.” “Depending on how this set is received back home, we may be interested in displaying more of his work. Perhaps featuring him in an exhibit.” Roberto chewed on his lower lip. “Oh. I see.” “But we must speak to him personally about it,” added Caleb. “If we don’t meet him the deal is off.” Roberto remained quiet, pensive, obviously considering the options. His eyes shifted from Caleb to Joss and back to Caleb again, where they lingered. He sighed, and at last shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry. I can’t. Calliope was emphatic in his wishes.” Joss threw up her hands in exasperation, whirled and walked to the far side of the room. When she spoke her voice was laced with a desperation that Caleb doubted was feigned. “At least speak to him for us. Ask him if he’d consent to meet with us.” “I know what he would say. It is pointless.” “Then don’t ask him.” Caleb lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and stepped close to Roberto. He pulled out a wad of a hundred euros. “Just tell us where to find him. He never has to know where we got the information.” Roberto stared at the euros for a full minute before lifting his gaze to Caleb’s. “I am a man of honor, signore. These artists trust me with their work and their passions. I 76

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don’t take that lightly.” He licked his lips, allowed his eyes to roam to Caleb’s shoulders and chest before returning his gaze to Caleb’s. “I cannot be bought…for cash.” The implication was clear and disturbing. Caleb suppressed a shudder and stepped back from the sexual energy that had suddenly sprung up between them. “I see,” was all he could manage to say as he crumpled the euros in his fist. “Well then, we’re done here,” said Joss grabbing his arm. “Come on, honey. I’m afraid Calliope will have to find other buyers.” She dragged him toward the door. He was still blinking in shock when they stepped out into the bright afternoon sunshine. “Did what I think happened just happen?” “Uh-huh.” She led him off down the cobbled sidewalk back toward their hotel. “Apparently you’re a hunk-magnet. At least more of one than I am.” “But what do we do now?” “We go back to our hotel and think of something else.” “Right. Something else.” They would definitely have to think of something else.

***** “You did what?” ranted Leon into the phone. “That was not part of the arrangement.” “Oh, but he was so sweet. So handsome,” lamented Roberto. “So sexy. How could I resist?” “Fuck.” “Yes,” said Roberto on a sigh. “I would like to.” “Well, it won’t be happening, caro mio.” He said it with a sneer. “He is not gay, and he is not interested.” “What’s going on?” whispered Randy, sneaking up behind him. He wrapped his hands around Leon’s waist and snuggled in tight. His cock nudged Leon’s ass as he began to nibble on his bare shoulder. The phone call had interrupted a particularly enthusiastic romp complete with champagne and plenty of olive oil, and that did nothing to diminish Leon’s irritation with the entire scenario. “How can you be so sure? Perhaps he will change his mind.” “If he’s not attracted to me he sure as hell won’t do you.” “You are such an egomaniac, Leon. I don’t know why I put up with you.” “Because I’m so damn gorgeous.” Randy’s hand slid lower and caressed his cock. “And you can’t live without me.” “It is true, damn you.” And Roberto laughed. “Oh Jesus.” Randy’s well-oiled cock pressed against the crease of Leon’s ass. “Look, you call them back in a few hours and tell them you made a mistake. Tell them you did

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speak to Calliope and he’s willing to consider meeting with them. On his own terms. You know the rest.” Randy’s hand massage became more enthusiastic, his cock teased Leon’s selfcontrol. He had to suppress a groan of ecstasy. It wouldn’t do for the very jealous Roberto to know Leon was two-timing him—again. Leon had sworn he would be with no one else until this situation was resolved, and if successful he would give Roberto an entire weekend—two days and nights to fulfill all his fantasies. The promise had been a penance of sorts, an offer made to make up for past…infidelities on his part, hence the one-sided nature of the pledge. It had also been necessary in order to seal the deal, but Leon had never had any intention of keeping it. “All right,” said Roberto grudgingly. “I will call them after closing.” “Good.” Randy drew his tongue along Leon’s shoulder, sank his teeth into his neck. God, Leon loved that. Nobody did foreplay like Randy. “You be sure and do that.” “And we’re still on for dinner tonight, sì?” “Yes. I—” Randy’s cock was so hard against his ass and Leon wanted like hell to get off the phone. He didn’t know why he’d gotten himself into this. “I’ll call you later.” He hung up and whirled around, grabbing his lover and drawing him in for a deep hungry kiss. “God damn it, where were we?” he asked when he came up for air. “Right here.” Randy sank to his knees and took Leon in his mouth—and Leon promptly forgot everything but that wonderful tongue.

***** Joss flopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling. She started to giggle. “What’s so funny?” Caleb had headed directly to the champagne bottle and was in the process of unwinding the wires that held the cork. “You.” She propped herself on her elbows. “Getting hit on by two hunks in two days. I think you should change colognes.” “Very funny.” The last of the wires came off and he was slowly working at the cork. “What are you doing?” she asked, incredulous. “What are we celebrating?” “We’re not celebrating.” There was a loud pop and the cork hit the opposite wall. A tiny bit of mist wafted from the mouth of the bottle, soft and seductive like a siren’s call. He set down the bottle and searched for the glasses they’d set aside the night before. “Well then, what’s with the champagne?” He found the glasses and filled one. He didn’t offer her any before proceeding to guzzle half of it down in one huge swallow. “I need a drink. I’m going to have to be at least half sloshed to do what I have to do.” She stared at him, and then abruptly sat bolt upright on the bed. “What? What are you talking about?” “I’m going back.” He downed the rest and refilled his glass.

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“What? You can’t be serious!” “Of course I’m serious. What choice do we have?” “Plenty of choices. We could…” “Yeah? What?” “We could break in tonight and search through his records.” “Commit a felony?” He took another large gulp of fizz. “In a foreign country? I don’t think so. Besides, we wouldn’t have a clue where to start looking.” She fought a rising panic. She couldn’t let him do this. “Well, you’re not going to sleep with him! I won’t allow it.” “Oh really? Since when do you have a say in my sexual habits?” She vaulted from the bed and strode over to him, ripping the champagne bottle from his grip. “All I mean is, I won’t let you make that sacrifice for me.” He laughed, but it sounded strained to her. “Don’t worry, I have no intention of compromising my virtue with the likes of Roberto.” Relief washed over her. “I just intend to let him think I will.” He reached out and snatched the bottle back. He sat down at the desk and poured some more in his glass. “And if I seem drunk it’ll make it that much more convincing.” “Well, then why not just act drunk?” He shrugged, took another large gulp. “Because I may have to…do some convincing.” He blinked, blew out a slow breath. “And I don’t know if I can do that sober.” Understanding dawned, and she sank to her knees in front of him. “You mean you may have to kiss him. Or touch him.” “Yup. That’s what I mean.” More champagne went down the hatch, and she could hear it in his voice. “Caleb, please. You don’t have to do this. I don’t want you to do this.” “It’s the only way, Joss. It’s for Susanna, you know. Not just for you.” “But—” “No buts.” He downed the rest and refilled again. “I won’t change my mind.” She gripped his hand before he could take another swallow. “Why, Caleb? Why are you so dedicated to this? She’s not your daughter. Why do you care so much?” He looked down at her, his eyes already bleary from the booze and said simply, “Because I need to. I need to care about something again. It feels good.” Her heart twisted as she watched him take another huge swallow. At last he set down the glass and the bottle and stood. “Okay.” He didn’t sway, but his voice was unsteady. “Now, I’m going for a run.” She shook her head. “Now you’re really confusing me.”

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“Going for a jog is a good excuse to get a little time away from my wife.” He winked and she understood. “You’re scary.” “Uh-huh. Scary.” And he headed for his suitcase. “That’s me.” She watched as he stripped and changed quickly into a pair of track shorts and a muscle shirt. “And sexy. You go waltzing into his gallery like that and poor Roberto won’t know what hit him.” He waggled his eyebrows. “That is the idea.” And he bent down to lace his shoes. He had his hand on the doorknob when she grabbed his arm. “Caleb!” “What?” He hesitated, turned toward her. “I…” She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know where to begin. He smiled. “You’re welcome.” And then, to her utter surprise, he wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her in tight for a ferocious kiss. Her head was still spinning when the door closed behind him. “Oh God,” she said softly, heading off in search of some champagne for herself. God knew she needed it. “Why does life have to be so complicated?”

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Chapter Ten Caleb pounded the pavement and realized that if he wanted to keep his buzz going he wasn’t going to be able to run as far as he would like. He did only two kilometers— just enough to work up a good sweat—before heading back in the direction of the gallery. It wasn’t easy running through the streets of Florence. The sidewalks and streets were narrow, the buildings packed together like sardines. There were flowerpots and sandwich boards everywhere, making the whole thing feel more like an obstacle course than a true run. Not only that, but he had to deal with the odd looks people tossed him as he passed. He guessed that few people chose to run through the city for those very reasons, and he was drawing unwanted attention to himself. But it couldn’t be helped. He’d decided on a plan of action and intended to stick with it. At last he stood in front of the gallery doors, sweaty and hot, and he hoped with just enough alcohol on his breath to be convincing. It was ten minutes to closing time, so perhaps it was a good thing he hadn’t run longer. He took a deep breath, girded up his loins—whatever the hell that meant—and pushed through the brass-framed glass doors. The cooled room air began to dry his sweat almost immediately. “Hello?” he called, deciding a half-drunk potential lover wouldn’t worry too much about discretion. “Roberto? Are you here?” A shiny bald head poked out from around a partition almost immediately. “Yes? Who is—” He blinked, smiled and stepped around the wall, his expression one of abject confusion. “Uh…Mr. Watkins. Is there something wrong?” “Caleb,” he said, tossing a nervous glance at the door. “You can call me Caleb.” There was no need to lie about his first name. Joss’ ex didn’t know him from a hole in the ground. “And no, there’s nothing wrong. I just…wanted to stop by.” “I see.” Roberto was staring at him, no doubt trying to discern his motives. Caleb licked his lips, glanced again at the door and moved farther into the room— closer to his mark. “I told the wife I needed to go for a run.” He let out a nervous laugh. “It was a good excuse. If you know what I mean.” His heart was pounding so hard he didn’t have to feign the nervousness. Roberto stared at him for several moments before saying slowly, “You’d like to…discuss the paintings some more, yes? Perhaps…in my office?” “Uh…yes. It’s almost closing time, isn’t it?”

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“Sì.” Roberto nodded slowly and headed for the door. “I’ll close up right now, so that we can…” He flipped the sign around to display “Chiuso/Closed” to the world. When he turned back to Caleb, the drool was all but dripping from his chin. “Talk.” His heart pounding and fresh sweat slicking his palms, Caleb managed a nod before following Roberto back through the maze of dividers, canvases and sculptures. Caleb’s runners were almost silent, but Roberto’s heels clicked, the echo strangely ominous in the empty rooms. “So, your wife doesn’t know you’re here?” Roberto stopped in front of a door at the back of the shop, his hand on the knob. “Uh. No. I thought it best.” “Yes, I agree.” He opened the door and led Caleb inside. “She didn’t exactly seem open to…negotiating.” “Negotiating. Good word. No, she doesn’t like the idea of me negotiating with anyone else.” The office was small and tidy. Desk, computer and filing cabinets were the only furnishings and the desk clutter-free save for a few neatly arranged photographs in simple pewter frames. Several paintings dotted the walls and a stack of posters leaned against the filing cabinet in the corner. He started at the sound of the door closing. “Nervous?” Roberto had moved up behind him, his mouth very close to Caleb’s ear. “Uh…” Caleb retreated, turned around and leaned against the desk. “I guess so. A little. I’m really not sure about this.” “So you have never negotiated with a man before?” He grinned at the joke. “Well, actually—” Roberto was at his side in a heartbeat. “So you have.” His fingers slid up Caleb’s arm. “This is not all new to you.” Caleb held his ground. “It was a long time ago. You know, in college. Back when I was young and stupid.” He managed a strangled laugh. “And very drunk.” “I see.” Roberto’s hand crested his shoulder and began a suggestive dance down his chest. “Speaking of which.” Caleb shifted away just a moment before Roberto reached the waistband of his running shorts. “You got anything to drink in here?” Roberto’s smile was knowing. “No, I’m afraid not. But I think, perhaps, you have had enough already.” Caleb nodded, secretly pleased that his little ruse with the champagne appeared to have paid off. For some reason that gave him an added boost of confidence. Wiping his sweaty palms on his shorts, he turned his attention to one of the paintings on the wall. “This one reminds me a bit of the Calliope collection.” “Does it?” Roberto moved up behind him, close enough that Caleb could feel the heat of his chest against his back. “It is contemporary and abstract, but beyond that 82

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bears little resemblance, I’m afraid.” He moved in closer, his hands sneaking around Caleb’s waist and his erection pressing against Caleb’s ass. Caleb swallowed thickly and forced himself not to move. He was having a reaction to the situation and frankly it surprised him. He wasn’t sure if his growing arousal was due to the forbiddenness of it and the adrenaline rush, or merely the way his nerves were jangling, or whether he was actually having a sexual reaction to Roberto’s toned physique and subtle cologne. Or perhaps it was a combination of all three. If that was the case he didn’t feel threatened by it, but more a sense of curiosity. He did know, however, that his reaction and attraction to Roberto wasn’t strong enough to merit a full exploration of his feelings, but it was enough to add credibility to the ruse. And he intended to take advantage of it. “Sorry,” said Caleb, his gaze still on the painting. “I admit I’m no art expert.” “That’s all right.” Roberto’s hands slipped beneath his shirt to caress his chest. His lips brushed Caleb’s shoulder. “You know what you like, and that’s what matters.” Roberto’s hand cruised lower, brushing over Caleb’s cock through the fabric of his shorts. Caleb let out a soft groan of pleasure. “Yes. I do.” Roberto shifted his hips forward, pressing himself more firmly against Caleb. “But you are here to discuss official business.” Without moving away, Caleb abruptly turned around. His gaze level with Roberto’s and with their chests brushing together, he could sense the crescendo in sexual energy. “Yes,” he said, his lips a breath from Roberto’s. “I’d really like that information.” He slid his hands around Roberto’s waist. “It’s…” He pulled Roberto close. “Really.” He dug his fingers into Roberto’s back. “Very.” He brushed his lips across Roberto’s in a whisper of flesh against flesh. “Important to me.” Roberto responded with a groan of frustrated pleasure. “Kiss me,” he breathed. “So I know you’re sincere. So I can feel how much you want me.” Caleb licked his lips, gave Roberto a look that he hoped dripped with desire. “I want to. But I don’t have much time. And if we start…” he ran his tongue along Roberto’s bottom lip, “we’ll want to finish.” “Yes.” Roberto abruptly shifted his body aside so that his hand could sneak inside Caleb’s shorts. “We will definitely want to finish.” Caleb sucked in a breath of surprise but didn’t break contact. His cock responded without his consent. “Oh my,” said Roberto, his hand wrapping around Caleb’s cock. “You do want me.” “Mmm.” Caleb closed his eyes and groaned. “Yes, I do. But I’m running out of time.”

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“She will miss you?” Roberto’s hand traveled up and down the length of him, massaging expertly and teasing at the edges of Caleb’s sanity. Not to mention his selfcontrol. “Is that it?” “Yes. Since we got nowhere with you she is determined to leave immediately. She was not impressed that I insisted on going for my run. And I think she may be suspicious.” “Ah.” He teased Caleb’s balls, his mouth brushed over Caleb’s lips. “But if you come back with the information you will stay? You will be able to…” His hand moved higher and he caressed the sensitive tip. “Come back and finish?” Suddenly Caleb grabbed Roberto’s wrist and pulled his hand away. He took a deep, calming breath. “Please stop.” Roberto feigned a pout. “You were not enjoying it?” “You know I was.” Roberto’s lips twisted into a smile. “Sì. I do.” “I can’t stay, but if you give me the information on Calliope—” “You’ll come back? Soon?” “Yes.” Caleb brought Roberto’s hand to his lips and, his eyes never leaving Roberto’s, drew Roberto’s finger into his mouth. He sucked it languidly, tasting the salt of his own arousal along with Roberto’s unique masculine flavor. “Very soon,” he said, hoping the lie didn’t flicker in his eyes. “All right.” Roberto’s chest heaved. He drew his hand away, pressed his palms to Caleb’s chest. He nodded. “I will get you the information.” Caleb smiled, relieved and pleased with himself. “Good.” “However, I have one requirement.” Caleb frowned, instantly suspicious. “Requirement?” “A kiss.” His hands fisted in Caleb’s shirt. “I can tell everything from a kiss.”

***** Joss’ running shoes padded quickly across the cobblestone. She glanced at her watch and almost ran into a cafe owner who was writing the evening specials on his sandwich board. “Scusi,” she said, skirting around him. He said nothing but frowned at her as she scurried away, and she wondered if it was because she’d said something insulting instead of the “I’m sorry” she’d been aiming for. Or whether it was because her ensemble of semi-formal business attire plus Nike runners offended his Italian fashion sense. Not that it mattered. Her watch had told her it had already been too long and she needed to boot it if she wanted to rescue Caleb from a dubious fate. She’d fretted and paced the length of the hotel room for almost twenty minutes before she’d finally decided that she just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t allow Caleb to 84

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make this sacrifice, no matter how important it was to her. Or, more accurately, to him. She’d suddenly felt like the whole excursion was spiraling out of control and she’d been consumed with guilt for putting him in this untenable position. Yes, Susanna was important. She was everything, but Caleb shouldn’t have to compromise his values and who he was in order to seek out a girl he’d never even met! Joss was glad he’d come to care about Susanna and she appreciated his efforts more than words could say. But she wouldn’t have been able to live with herself if she allowed Caleb to go through with this. He’d said he would only go so far, but knowing him as she had come to, she suspected that if the situation called for it and he truly felt that it was the only way to get the information, that he would do whatever it took. And she had little doubt that dear Roberto would do everything in his power to get what he wanted as well. Not a good combination, she thought. Not good at all. She pulled up short at an intersection, and tried to remember which way the taxi had turned. It had been a short trip, but she’d been distracted and hadn’t paid attention. She had double-checked the address before leaving the hotel and confirmed that she had reached the proper street. Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned right and sprinted toward number 437. “Hold on, Caleb,” she said, the sweat from her exertion and the heat of a late Italian afternoon taking their toll. “The cavalry is coming.”

***** A kiss? Of course Caleb could do that. A kiss was nothing, after all. A few moments. A joining of the lips. Nothing more. He’d kissed his friend in college, he remembered. And that was how it had all started that night after the frat party had left them both drunk and curious and insanely horny. Then again… A kiss was intimate. A unique expression of passion that was, perhaps, even more personal and revealing than the sex act itself. You could fuck someone without emotion. You could fuck a doll or a toy if you so chose, and you could do so without any trace of emotion save the need to satisfy a physical need. You couldn’t kiss without emotion, however. It was too personal. Too expressive. A kiss wasn’t nothing. A kiss was everything. Even so, Caleb could do it. He felt enough lust at that moment to carry it off. To fill his kiss with desire. But what if Roberto was right? What if he could discern the truth in Caleb—or, more accurately, the deception—by the simple act of his kiss? Then again, did he have a choice? “Come now, Caleb,” Roberto nipped at his lips. “Don’t tease me any longer. Surely you—” 85

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Caleb cupped Roberto’s face in his hands and covered his mouth with his own. The kiss was tentative at first, but Roberto groaned in pleasure and melted against him, his mouth yielding and pliant as he accepted Caleb’s tongue. His chest was firm and hard, his heart pounding a poignant counterpoint to Caleb’s. His lips were lush— almost as lush as Joss’… And in that moment he knew what he had to do. He wrapped his arms around his partner and pulled him close, losing himself in that kiss. His tongue was fervent and hungry as it thrust deeply into his partner’s mouth. Fire spread through his veins and concentrated in his groin. His cock grew thick and hard with need and he groaned softly in frustrated passion. The kiss continued, grew deeper and more ardent. More fierce. Until at last Caleb grabbed Roberto by the shoulders and shoved him away, breaking the kiss and leaving them both breathless. “Christ,” gasped Roberto. “That was amazing.” He stepped forward again. “I want to fuck you right now.” Caleb placed his hand on Roberto’s chest and held him at arm’s length. “No. I said I can’t stay.” “But—” “No buts. The information. I must have it now.” Roberto’s chest heaved several times before he replied. “All right.” His movements brisk and efficient, he moved to the file cabinet at the far end of the room. He yanked open the top drawer and pulled out a small ledger. He returned to the desk, flipped it open and quickly scribbled a name and address on a piece of paper. He thrust it at Caleb. “There. That’s all I have. A last name and phone number.” Caleb glanced at it, and smiled when he saw the name Maxwell. “It’s his home?” “I don’t think so. I think it’s his studio and I really don’t know how much time he spends there. He doesn’t need to paint for a living, so he may only go there on occasion. I believe he has a residence elsewhere in the city, but that’s all I know.” Caleb nodded, folding the paper and shoving it into his pocket. “It’s enough. Thank you.” He moved to go, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. “Not so fast. There’s one other thing.”

***** Chiuso. The sign clearly said Closed even though the times on the placard indicated it should be open for another ten minutes. “That’s not good,” Joss muttered, peering in through the glass. “That’s really not good.”

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Joss needed to get in there. It had already been too long, and she didn’t like to think about what could have happened in that time. Or what could be happening at that moment. She pounded on the door. “Hello? Signore?” She peered inside, saw only soft lighting, expensive art and the bouquet of pristine white lilies. “Caleb?” she yelled again, louder this time. She knocked hard enough to bruise her knuckles. “Are you in there, you two-timing son of a bitch?” Still no response. No sign of any movement at all beyond the glass. “Shit.” Thinking that, perhaps, she might find a back door, she walked around to the side of the shop, but found only a very narrow alleyway that led to a very high, very impenetrable, very locked gate. She shook the gate, yelled again and swore in frustration. She returned to the front of the gallery. Stared at the door and, in an act of sheer frustration, kicked it. It bounced on its hinges and opened slightly. She stared at it. “What the hell?” She grabbed the handle and, laughing at herself, yanked the door open. Dear, sweet, horny Roberto had forgotten to lock the door. She stepped through and yelled for her errant “husband”. “Caleb Watkins! I swear to God if I find you here…”

***** “Roberto, please!” Caleb’s shorts were down around his ankles. His back was pressed tight up against the wall, and his balls were in the hand of a madman. Roberto’s other hand had sneaked under his shirt and was caressing his chest. “You’re amazing, you know that? Leon is handsome, but he’s too perfect. More like plastic than flesh and blood.” “I have to go. If I don’t go—” Roberto twisted his testicles and Caleb yelped in pain. “But you…” Roberto teased a nipple, caressed a rib. “You’re a man. You’re what a man is supposed to be. Raw. Rugged. Real.” “I’m gonna be in real trouble if I don’t get back to the wife.” “Just one blowjob. I just want to put my lips—” “Wait!” Caleb’s whisper was urgent. He cocked his head. “Did you hear something?” “Stop stalling. I know all you wanted was that address. I’ll never—” “No! I mean it. I swear—” Suddenly the door burst open and Caleb saw the sweetest thing he’d ever laid eyes on in his life. “Caleb Watkins, did I hear your pathetic little yelp in—”

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She stopped, her hand gripping the knob, her eyes wide and unblinking. The tableau would have been comical if it wasn’t so painfully embarrassing. Then her eyes narrowed, and he could almost see the flames spurting out her ears. Damn, she was good. “I knew it. You two-timing son of a bitch! I knew you’d come back here looking to get laid by this penny-ante pussy-reject.” “Mrs. Watkins.” At last Roberto released Caleb’s balls, and made a show of pulling up his shorts. “I’m so sorry—” “Just keep your grubby paws off my husband from now on.” She crossed the room like a lightning bolt and grabbed Caleb by the arm. “And keep your mouth—and your fly—zipped!” She dragged Caleb toward the door. “And I’ll deal with you when we get back to the hotel.” “Honey,” said Caleb, playing the repentant husband, “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.” “Help, my ass.” They were outside the office, walking through the gallery, leaving a gaping and sexually frustrated Roberto in their wake. “You were just following your cock, as usual. I swear if I ever catch you…” She was still running off at the mouth, playing the outraged and jealous wife when they stepped outside into bright Italian sunshine. And blessed freedom.

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Chapter Eleven They tumbled into the hotel room, out of breath and laughing hysterically. Joss fell across the bed and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling as she labored to catch her breath and suppress her giggles. Caleb plopped down beside her. “Penny-ante pussy-reject? Where did that come from?” “I don’t know,” she laughed. “I guess I was inspired.” “You sure were. You were amazing, Mrs. Watkins.” “Was I?” “Uh-huh. To come waltzing in there with flames spurting out your nostrils and rescue me like that…” He shook his head in wonder. “You even had me convinced.” She propped herself up on her elbow and turned to face him. “Well, it wasn’t difficult to act shocked, what with walking in and finding you in flagrante delicto with Roberto.” She grinned. He grimaced. “It may have been flagrant, but it was hardly delicto.” “He had his hand on your dick.” “Believe me. It could have been worse.” He winked. “You missed much worse.” She blinked in surprise. “Oh my god. You didn’t. I mean. You shouldn’t. I mean—I knew I waited too long. Oh, Caleb, I’m sorry. I should never have let—” “No, I didn’t. Not quite, anyway. And you can stop worrying about me. I’m a big boy. I know what I’m doing and I can take care of myself.” His tone was light and teasing, but she could only focus on one part of what he’d said. “What did you mean by not quite? What exactly happened in there?” “Nothing, sweetie. Nothing for you to worry about.” He planted a kiss on her forehead before pushing himself off the bed. “However, I do feel the need for a shower. I feel so…” he made a show of shuddering, “dirty.” “Caleb! Please. What—” He laughed. “I’m teasing you, Joss. Now stop worrying.” Joss wasn’t so sure. Despite the “teasing” she had the underlying sense that more had gone on in that office than Caleb was comfortable with. And that gave her a sick, sinking feeling in her stomach. “I can’t help it,” she called to him in the bathroom. “I worry. And I don’t like that you did all that for nothing. I’m sick about it.” “Who said I did it for nothing?”

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She blinked. “What?” He poked his head out the bathroom door. “I guess I forgot to give you this.” A piece of paper dangled from his fingers. “Give me what?” “Come and get it and see.” When she didn’t respond, he frowned. “Joss?” She stared at him for a moment—at the piece of paper he held—and finally forced her body into action. Slowly, she crawled off the bed and crossed the room to him. She gently plucked the paper from his fingers and looked down at the scribbled bits of information. “Maxwell,” she read. “Is this what Roberto gave you?” “Yeah.” He seemed puzzled by her reaction. Not that she could blame him. Nothing about this situation made sense. She felt lost. Uncertain. Nothing about it felt right. But she felt trapped, committed to seeing it through to completion. No matter what she gained—or lost—in the end. “Roberto thinks it’s the number for his studio rather than his home, so it may take a while to catch him there.” She stared at the paper. Envisioned Susanna. And she hoped for the ten-millionth time that her daughter was all right and that she was doing the right thing. “Okay.” “I figure we’ll start tomorrow. Use the number to determine the address and go from there.” She nodded. “I know it’s not perfect, but it’s a starting point. It’s more than we had when we came here.” “Yes. It is.” There was a prolonged silence. She kept staring at the note and was keenly aware of him staring at her. “You okay?” he asked at last. “I thought you’d be happy.” She shook her head. “I am.” Looked up at him. “But I’m also scared.” “Of what? Disappointment?” “Maybe. I…I don’t know, really. I just—” She stopped when she felt his fingers on her cheek. He cupped her jaw and tipped her face up to his. His eyes looking down at her were so blue, so intense, so full, it made her heart ache. “We’ll find her, Joss. This time won’t be in vain.” “But I don’t—” “No buts. And no disappointments. You’ve never had someone helping you who really cares before. You’ve never had me before, and I promise I won’t rest until she’s back in your arms.” The tears that sprang to her eyes were hot and fierce.

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Caleb immediately drew her into his arms. “Hey,” he whispered, his mouth pressed to her ear. “What’s wrong?” She shrugged, unable to form words and unsure what to say if she could. No one had ever spoken to her like that. Been so determined to be there for her. Terrance had loved her once, but he’d been her friend and confidante. He’d never played the role of protector or defender. She hadn’t thought she’d needed him to. She was perfectly capable of looking after herself and had always scoffed at the fairy tales of knights and damsels and men who draw swords to protect their ladies. But here he was. He may lack the shiny armor and the snow-white steed, but he had a sword of steel and flame and he was holding it high for her to see. She’d heard the ring of steel as he’d drawn it from its sheath as clearly as she could hear her own pulse pounding in her ears. And she loved it, she admitted to herself. She wanted to be protected like that, to be cared for, pledged to. Was she a fool for being that weak? Or had she been the fool for not acknowledging that in herself sooner? One thing was certain, however. She was a fool because surely as he’d drawn his sword, she had no doubt that one day he would turn it on her. Because she wasn’t what he thought she was, and eventually he would see that. And he would come to mistrust her for it. Possibly even hate her. Just as she was beginning to mistrust and hate herself. He stroked her back and allowed her tears to flow freely down his chest. “After I clean up we’ll go out for a nice dinner, okay? To celebrate. Maybe we can even have some cold champagne for a change.” She smiled against his skin and breathed in the scent of him. She soaked in the warmth of his body and banished her doubts to the dungeons of her mind. The tears waning, she said weakly, “Sure. That…would be nice.” “Good.” Reluctantly he separated from her, but their gazes refused to let go so easily. “We’ll do that then.” The moment stretched. Neither of them moved. As if he were being pulled to her by an invisible magnet he bent low and lavished a sweet, lingering kiss on her lips. She was still rooted to the spot, her body still tingling when he turned on the spray and stepped into the shower.

***** Caleb stepped onto the mat and began to towel off. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and realized with astonishment that he’d caught himself smiling. And then he realized that the entire time in the shower he’d been thinking about his little misadventure with Roberto, about the little girl that he was so focused on helping and, of course, on Joss. In fact, in the last couple of hours, he hadn’t thought once about Gwen. 91

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Perhaps to some that wouldn’t sound odd at all. But for him it was momentous. Since their deaths it seemed like he couldn’t go more than a few minutes without one of their faces flitting through his mind, without a pang of regret tugging at his gut, or without a sense of intense loneliness twisting around his heart. The only times he’d been able to even come close to forgetting about them had been when he’d thrown himself heart and soul into his work, concentrating on multiple logistical problems at the same time, or, of course, in the final throes of sexual arousal and climax. But even then, it was like they were always there. Their ghosts never quite completely left him, and the few moments that he did manage to forget invariably left him with an even heavier feeling of guilt. But this was different. He felt focused on something outside himself, something positive. Something based in love and growth rather than remorse and pain. And even now, as he realized that he hadn’t thought about his family, he felt no sense of guilt or shame over that. Instead he felt an almost detached sense of curiosity about it, and that was mixed with a warm sense of affection, remembrance and even—dare he believe it—hope. Hope that maybe he could move on with his life and make something of it again. Hope that maybe he could find happiness again. And hope that perhaps, he wouldn’t be sentenced to spending the rest of his days alone. He wrapped the towel around his hips, combed his fingers through his mop of wet hair and realized that he had one person, and one person alone, to thank for that. He stepped out of the washroom and instantly focused on her. She was standing on the balcony, staring out over the gardens and rooftops. She’d donned a gauzy sundress in a whimsical shade of mauve. It was the perfect complement to the golds and pinks that were splashed so carelessly across the western horizon. The material was so thin he could see the silhouette of her hips and thighs through it, and he thanked the gods that women no longer worried about linings or bothered with slips. Framed by a palette of pastels, her blonde hair at the mercy of the late afternoon breeze, she was a beautiful sight, and the longer he gazed at her the more his need grew. The more his body tingled with awareness. The more his soul stirred to life. He crossed the room and joined her, leaning against the wrought iron rail and soaking in the breeze—and her essence. “Hey,” he said softly. “You better be careful out here.” She turned a puzzled look his way. “What? This railing is strong. I won’t fall.” He smiled, brushed a tendril of hair from her forehead. “That’s not what I mean. I mean you’re giving the sunset a run for its money, and God might not take kindly to the competition.” She stared at him for a moment before a soft blush rose to her cheeks. She chuckled. “Wow. Two compliments in one day. I don’t know if I can take it.”

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“Do you think you could handle three?” She tilted her head. “What do you mean?” “When I was in the office with Roberto I did some things that I didn’t really intend to do.” Her face fell. “Oh, Caleb. I’m sorry—” “No, no. Let me finish. Nothing so horrible, and nothing I haven’t done before, but I did have to kiss him, and I knew that I had to make it convincing or the whole thing would blow up in my face.” “But you weren’t really attracted to him, right?” “No. Not like I wanted him to think I was, anyway. So I realized that I had to be creative, that I had to go somewhere else in my mind. So I decided to imagine he was someone else to help my acting seem sincere.” He cupped her jaw. “And the first person that came to mind was you, Joss. With you in my mind I had no difficulty pouring sincerity and desire into that kiss.” He whisked a thumb across her cheek and watched with pleasure as her eyes filled with emotion. “I had no problem finding my passion.” She was staring at him, her eyes full and her lips slightly parted, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. He decided more words were unnecessary, and drew her mouth to his. He sipped at her lips at first, lightly and tenderly, the kiss as delicate and elegant as the colors still dappled across the sky. He drew his tongue along her lower lip before slipping it inside and covering her warm, full mouth with his own. Her hands fluttered to his chest, her fingers hesitant and uncertain as they skimmed over his still-damp skin and finally found purchase against the muscles of his back. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her in close, his mouth never leaving hers. His tongue sinking deep and tasting a passion the likes of which he never thought he’d experience again. Her dress was so soft, her body delicate and fine. It was like holding on to a whisper. Like tasting the rain. Her fingernails dug into his skin and a low moan of indescribable desire welled up from his chest. He lowered his hands to her hips and tilted her more tightly against him so that she could feel how much he truly wanted her. “Caleb,” she breathed, breaking the kiss. “I don’t understand.” She said it even as her hand sneaked past the small of his back, to dip beneath the towel. “What’s not to understand?” He nuzzled her throat, breathed in her perfume. “Wh-what about dinner?” “We’ll go later. Or get room service.” He nibbled on her neck and pushed the strap of her dress off her shoulder. Her breathing was coming in soft, short gasps and a fine sheen of sweat coated her skin. He lapped at it with his tongue. Who needed food? “But what about our promise, Caleb? What about that?” 93

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He tore his mouth away from her shoulder and met her gaze levelly. “Things have changed.” “What things?” Her eyes were a storm of confusion and desire. Because he needed her to know how much he wanted her, he loosed the towel from around his waist and let it fall to the balcony floor. “Everything.” She stared at him, studied him, soaked him in. Nude and bathed in the golden light of the sunset, he looked glorious. He was a sculpture of flesh and blood and passion. And she did see passion in his eyes—passion and desire. But more than that she saw warmth. The kind of warmth that could melt a heart of marble. It overwhelmed her. “Do you want me?” He asked the question as if he actually doubted the answer. She nodded, trying to find solid ground. It was as if the concrete balcony had turned to quicksand beneath her feet. There was so much to say and absolutely no time to say it. With a few well-chosen words she could begin a dialogue and completely kill the moment that hung like a firefly in the air between them. Or she could say nothing and savor this little piece of paradise that was being offered to her on a silver platter. “Yes,” she said, her hand coasting over his chest and skimming his arousal. “I want you.” When his mouth found hers again the kiss was patient and sweet. A sigh of flesh. A wordless seduction. His erection, however, pressed firmly against her cleft, was anything but patient. It was hard and insistent, and left no doubt as to what he wanted. She tilted her hips, ground herself against him and made sure he understood her needs as well. He uttered a soft, low moan and the tenderness in the kiss evaporated. It turned fierce and hungry. His tongue thrust into her mouth and plundered deeply, taking possession of her soul just as surely as he was taking possession of her body. He began to grapple with her skirt, bunching it up in his fingers until he could touch the bare skin of her ass. Smiling, she drew her mouth away. “Are you going to fuck me right here? On the balcony for all of Florence to see?” His tongue lapped at her ear even as his finger slipped inside the crease of her ass. “Do you want me to?” The response wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d expected him to come to his senses and take her back inside the room where they could enjoy each other in discreet privacy. But not only did his insinuation surprise her—so did her own reaction. She shivered with forbidden pleasure at the notion. And before she could stop it the word “yes” had shuddered past her lips. “Christ,” was his only response before her gripped her shoulders and turned her around to lean against the sturdy balcony rail. He bunched her skirt up around her hips 94

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so that her ass was bared but material still hung down in front, affording her a little bit of modesty should anyone happen to glance up from the gardens below. Not that she saw anyone, but the mere possibility of discovery sent a fresh ripple of pleasure skittering through her. Without ceremony he ripped away the scanty G-string she had chosen to avoid panty lines beneath the gauzy skirt. His hand slid between her thighs to explore and massage and finally slip inside her channel. “You’re so wet,” he observed, his lips against her shoulder. But she hardly needed the reminder since she could already feel the dampness seeping down her thighs. “That means I want you.” She pressed back against him, angling herself so that his hand could penetrate deeper. “In a hurry?” Two fingers penetrated her, reached deep. “Afraid we’ll be seen?” “Just…want…you…” His cock was a tempting presence, nestled between the cheeks of her ass. “Inside me.” “Here?” he said, pushing a third finger inside her and making her moan with frustrated pleasure. “Or here?” He shifted and gently pushed one damp finger inside her ass. She sucked in her breath in mingled surprise and pleasure. “Oh.” “You like that?” He penetrated a little more deeply. “Y-Yes.” She closed her eyes, allowed her head to drop forward. He added another finger and she felt her body hesitate. “Relax, baby.” And she did. Her breathing came in soft, but deep gasps. “You want me to fuck you like this?” She considered for a moment, nodded. “Good. And I will.” And then his fingers were gone and his cock had thrust inside her pussy with enough force to make her squeal. “But not yet.” His thrusts were fierce and fast, and she had to brace her arms against the rail to hold herself up against his onslaught. He wrapped an arm around her hips to help support her and that gave her enough purchase to let go of the rail with one hand and reach around to touch him. She found the hard muscles of his thigh and dug in her nails to hold on. “Am I hurting you?” he asked. She shook her head. “No,” she managed in between gasps. “It’s good.” And then she lifted her head and saw them. A young couple stood, barely visible, beneath the branches of a flowering tree in the corner of the garden. They were just standing there, holding hands—and watching. Caleb lowered the hand that was bracing her hips, found his way beneath her skirt and touched her clit. And that was all it took. The climax came out of nowhere and sent

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her spiraling. She didn’t have time to stop the scream that welled up in her chest and exploded from her throat. The contractions were hard and strong enough to send Caleb careening over his own precipice. He thrust deep and held her there so that every shudder of his pleasure passed through his body into hers. “Jesus,” he murmured, wilting over her back. “Yeah. Jesus,” she echoed, watching with fascination as the young couple disappeared from view. He withdrew from her body and straightened her skirt before turning her to face him. His eyes, when he looked at her, were full. Because she didn’t know how to react to that she said, “We should go in.” “Yeah. We should.” “We could still make dinner.” He shook his head slowly. His smile was scandalous. “Oh, no. I don’t think so.” “Why not?” “Because I’ve barely gotten started.”

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Chapter Twelve Joss’ tummy was still fluttering when Caleb slipped his arm around her waist and drew her back into the privacy of the room. “Are you all right?” he asked, hesitating just inside the doors. She let out a soft laugh, leaned against the jamb. “Just a little weak in the knees. You really take it out of a girl.” “Really?” He moved closer, whisked a finger down her cheek. “I really prefer to put it in.” She met his gaze, blinked—and they both laughed. “Sorry. That was a bad pun.” “Is there such a thing as a good pun?” The laughter had relaxed her. Her knees felt a little stronger now, her tummy had a few less butterflies. She allowed herself to touch him again, to whisk her hands over his chest, to touch his face. “Mmm.” He closed his eyes at her touch. “I don’t know about puns…” He opened them again and in them she saw the first embers of a fresh fire. It glowed in his eyes, the blue-hot center of a flame. “But I do know about pleasure. And I intend to give it to you.” “I thought you already did.” One corner of his mouth sneaked into a smile. His eyes, however, burned into her soul. “That was nothing. A prelude. An appetizer. And a rather selfish one, at that. Now it’s your turn. It’s time to focus on you. To explore and savor. And to give you more pleasure than you’ve ever imagined.” He slipped his fingers into her hair and bent his head, but didn’t quite kiss her. His lips remained a breath away from hers, his body torturously close but not quite touching. “Do you believe me?” God, she wanted those lips on hers. At that moment she wanted him to kiss her more than she’d ever wanted anything. But she didn’t move. She gave him the power, the control. Knew that therein lay her truest desire. Her highest pleasure. “Yes,” she breathed. “I believe I do.” His tongue teased her lower lip. He brushed a stubbled cheek across hers until his lips rested next to her ear. “You want me to kiss you, don’t you?” Her chest heaved. “Very much.” A hand skimmed up her arm to her shoulder where he toyed with the strap of her dress. He didn’t slip it off as she’d hoped, but instead eased his hand down her chest to cup her breast through the fabric of the dress. He held it so lightly, brushed a thumb across her nipple before tracing the lower curve with his fingers.

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“But anticipation is key. Expectation heightens awareness.” At last he slid his hand beneath the fabric and she sighed with relief when he finally held her bare breast in his palm. She opened her eyes to find his face, once again, mere millimeters from hers. “Wouldn’t you agree?” She nodded, remembered to breathe. “Good.” He withdrew his hand and stepped away from her. Even though they’d barely been touching, the separation drained her. It was as if he pulled part of her soul away with him when he left. She wilted, grateful that she still had the doorjamb behind her for support. “Then come with me.” He held out his hand and she took it gratefully. “Where?” He didn’t answer her. Instead, he led her in silence to the suite’s spacious bathroom. He had her stand in front of the vanity and the large, gilt-edged mirror that hung over it. “Don’t move,” he said, before turning his attention to the large, tiled shower stall. He turned on the water and took his time adjusting the temperature. “Are we going to shower together?” “No.” Apparently satisfied, he allowed the shower to run and turned to face her. “You are. And I’m going to watch you.” It gave him deep pleasure to watch the way his words affected her. The soft shimmer that passed over her. The way she pressed a hand to her tummy, without even being aware she was doing it. This was all new and fascinating to her, and he was thrilled to be the one to help her explore this side of her sexuality. He’d finally come to realize he’d been a fool for dodging his own feelings for her. Somehow coming to this city, being with her here and helping her search for the one thing that meant more to her than life itself had allowed him to step outside his own guilt. It had opened the doors to his own self-understanding. And allowed him to see her for who she truly was. She was fiery and intelligent. Sincere and passionate. She was so sexy and beautiful. And she needed to know that about herself. To really believe it. Or rather to know that he really believed it. He leaned a bare hip against the vanity, facing her. Studying her. She swallowed, apparently a little disconcerted by the intense examination. “What are you—” “Do you know how beautiful you are?” Her eyes widened and a subtle blush rose from her shoulders to her neck. “I suppose.” “No supposing. It’s true. Now look in the mirror and see for yourself.” The staccato of the shower was like the sound of the rain, and the first tendrils of steam began to slip through the air, giving the room an ethereal aura. “Go on,” he urged when she seemed not quite sure of what he wanted of her. “Look at yourself.”

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And she did. She turned her full attention to the woman staring back at her from the mirror. “Do you see her? Do you see that luxurious mane of golden hair? Those big brown eyes that a man can sink into like a pool of rich, Swiss chocolate?” “Caleb,” her tone was edgy, embarrassed. “The shower is running.” He ignored her. “Do you see those toned shoulders and lush breasts?” “I nursed a baby. They’re hardly lush.” “Joss!” Her eyes widened, the pupils dilating in surprise. “Your breasts are beautiful. Small and perfect and lush. Do you see that?” Slowly turning back to her image, she studied herself and, with only a hint of hesitation, nodded. “Good. Now let’s see more of you. Very slowly, slip the left strap off your shoulder. And now the right.” She followed his directions and he could see a light sheen of sweat building on her skin. “Now peel the dress down slowly until it can fall to the floor.” Her eyes fixed on herself in the mirror, she did as he asked. And then some. She skimmed her hands down her body first, brushing over her breasts and coasting over waist and hips, before returning to the bodice of the dress. She gripped the edge of the material and drew it down slowly, baring one breast, and then the other. Shifting her gaze to his, she peeled it to her waist and then, abruptly, let go. It fluttered to the floor, pooling around her ankles and leaving her completely nude. He smiled. “Now get in the shower.” Delicately she stepped out of the puddle of material, picked her way over the small lip of ceramic tile and directly under the spray, turning her face upwards to allow the water to soak her hair and sluice down her body. He moved closer, leaning against the wall to fully enjoy the display. He’d set the showerhead to the “rain” setting, and watched with pleasure as the fat drops of water pelted her body, shimmered over her skin and highlighted every feminine curve, every well-toned muscle. “Lather yourself,” he said, surprised at how hoarse his voice had become. Without a word, she reached for the puff that hung from the wall. “No. Use your hands.” With a hooded look, she reached for the bar of soap he held out to her, her fingernails scraping lightly across his palm as she took it. She worked the bar into a lather and, starting at her ankles, proceeded to spread the suds over every inch of skin. She was enjoying being watched, he could tell. Her movements were slow and deliberately sensual as she traced the outlines of her body, and admired the way the water and soap added a glossy sheen to her skin. Every once in a while she would

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glance at him from beneath eyelashes glittering with water droplets, and although her lips didn’t curl, he could sense the smile behind her eyes. And when she looked down to take note of his growing erection that was gradually becoming uncomfortable in its urgency, her movements slowed even further. She lingered over her breasts, lathering them, tracing her pale pink nipples and then cupping them to catch the drops and rinse away the bubbles. Her hair was a golden stream down her back, her skin a pale amber in the muted light of the washroom. His arousal was already verging on painful when she finally reached between her thighs and began to soap her pussy. “Fuck,” he said softly, giving in to his urges and reaching down to touch himself. “You enjoying yourself?” she asked, her finger obviously embedded deep inside her vagina. He growled his answer. “Prop up your foot so I can see you.” “I’ll do you one better.” And then she lay down on the tile. Legs parted and knees bent, she angled her pussy toward the showerhead, allowing the spray to enhance the experience even as she toyed with her clit—and his sanity. Her pussy was pink and wet and swollen with arousal. He wanted nothing more than to touch it. To bury his face in it, and sink his tongue into her wet, velvet heat. But that wasn’t his intention here. He had a plan—a plan to draw out her pleasure as long as possible—and he intended to stick to it. Her head fell back as her arousal grew and he knew she must be on the verge of climax. Suddenly, she stopped. Her chest heaving, she glanced at him, her expression a question. “Make yourself come. I want to watch you come.” With a soft groan she closed her eyes again and increased the tempo of her massage. She worked herself hard, massaging in tight circles and then sinking her fingers deeply inside herself. She began making little mewling sounds that zinged directly to his cock and might have made him come if not for the self-control he determinedly held on to. When she came she arched her back, every muscle tensed, and she let out a long, low moan that sounded like it came from another realm. She was still in the throes of her orgasm when his mouth finally found the satisfaction it had been craving. Deciding it was long past time to set aside his vow to never indulge with anyone else in what had been his and Gwen’s Friday night tradition, he crawled between her legs and sank his tongue deeply into her channel. He lapped up her essence, making her squeal and squirm in surprise. But he held her hips firmly and indulged his own appetite until she was lulled by his mouth and the hypnotic spray of water. She relaxed, melting beneath him as her fingers sank into his hair. “Oh God.” She sighed. “What are you doing to me?”

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The water was beginning to cool, and he knew they were going to have to move soon. Regretfully he dragged his mouth from her pussy and traced his tongue up her belly, between her breasts, and up her throat until his mouth hovered above hers. “I’m just enjoying you,” he said, whisking a featherlight kiss over her mouth. “And making sure you enjoy yourself.” “Are you going to really kiss me now?” she asked, arching her neck in search of more. “I thought you’d never ask.”

***** “You’re lying,” growled Leon. Roberto continued to lounge on his couch. The piece of furniture was a scandalous waste of fine calfskin done in an eye-searing cacophony of mauve and black. It was obviously intended to come across as cutting-edge art, but all it managed to convey was a sense of expensive and tacky. Much like Roberto’s white suit which was a pathetic imitation of the one Leon had worn a few nights earlier. It stood out in stark contrast against the room’s kaleidoscope of tawdry colors. Roberto waved his hand regally. “Oh no, mio amico. I most certainly am not lying.” Sipped from his Pinot Grigio. “He is a fine specimen and owns a very talented pair of lips. Take my word for it. I know.” His Cheshire-cat grin irked Leon far more than it should. He could feel jealousy’s bony green fingers wrapping around his throat even as he paced, and had to make a concerted effort to pry them away enough to breathe. He had wanted Caleb more than he had wanted anyone in quite some time, but had soothed his ego with the knowledge that the man simply didn’t swing that way. Being faced with the possibility that he did like men, but just didn’t care for Leon, tipped Leon’s reality on its end and, like an enormous hat pin poised to strike, threatened his overinflated ego. He whirled on Roberto. “He was just playing you. He was using you to get the information.” He stepped closer, glaring at his associate. “Information that you were supposed to have forked over in the first place!” Roberto was unfazed. “Perhaps that was part of it. But there was no feigning the sincerity in that kiss.” He licked his lips. Sighed. “Or the hardness of his cock. He was full of lust, Leon. He wanted me. Make no mistake.” Leon growled. “Then why didn’t he take you? You were certainly offering.” “Because the woman showed up. I have little doubt that if she hadn’t burst in he would have been fucking me into next Tuesday.” He grinned at his clever use of the English idiom. “You’re fooling yourself, Roberto.” He whirled and walked to the wide picture window that looked out over the city, over terra cotta rooftops and lush green hillsides. God, he loved this city. He loved it almost enough to keep him here permanently, but he

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loved money and ambition more. One day he would go to America and make it big in New York. He was almost there. He just had a few details to iron out and then he’d have everything he’d ever dreamed of. Everything Roberto was able to afford. Roberto did a good business at the gallery, but it was the drugs he sold on the side that netted him this nice little lifestyle. Leon resented the hell out of him for that. He drew the line at drugs, but the temptation of Roberto’s flagrant indulgences never ceased to taunt him. Why was it that having scruples invariably led to poverty? He ignored the fact that he had closets packed with designer suits and a wine cellar full to bursting with exquisite vintages. He was in the mood to pout, and intended to do it thoroughly. Leon always indulged himself. He heard the soft creak of leather and sensed Roberto move in behind him. Leon did not turn around. “He didn’t want you, Roberto, he wanted something from you.” “Well, be that as it may, I had a taste of him, and you didn’t.” “Must you gloat?” “Apparently.” His hands were on Leon’s bare arms, skimming his way up over forearms and biceps to rest on his shoulders just below the strap of the black muscle shirt Leon knew so flattered his physique. “I love these jeans on you,” Roberto crooned, one hand sliding down to explore the topic of discussion. “You have the most amazing ass.” “So now it’s flattery, is it?” “You’re a god, Leon. It’s not about flattery. It’s a simple statement of fact.” “I’m no god.” But he allowed the words to soak in and soothe his tattered ego. And, because it felt good, he allowed Roberto’s hands to roam. Roberto’s lips brushed across his shoulder. “You are to me. Let me worship you.” Abruptly Leon whirled, grabbed Roberto’s wrists and held them so tight the skin beneath turned white. “And what of Caleb? Is he a god, too?” “Ah, Leon. Don’t be like that. He was a distraction. He is nothing next to you.” “I don’t think I believe you.” Feeling like punishing someone, he released Roberto and gave him his back. He walked to the kitchen, jerked open the stainless steel fridge and pulled out the remnants of a decadent chocolate cake. It had been someone’s birthday. No one ever made Leon a cake for his birthday. He plunked the cake on the counter, dug a fork out of a drawer and without bothering to cut a slice, stabbed the fork directly into the cake. “Please, Leon.” Roberto had followed him like a little puppy and his pleading tone gave Leon some comfort. His little jealousy ploy hadn’t worked, and now he was resorting to begging. Leon appreciated begging, had done his share of it at times in his life and had no regrets since it had gotten him to where he was today. But now he was in the position of power. He intended to enjoy the moment. Roberto continued, “You promised me that—” 102

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“I know what I promised you. But I’m not really in the mood. Why don’t you go find your other new friend and seduce him again?” “I don’t want him. I want you.” “Really.” Leon chewed, swallowed, savored the rich dark chocolate that slid down his throat like sweet velvet. “I’m not sure you deserve me.” “What can I do to make it up to you?” Leon enjoyed another mouthful of cake, and considered that. Caleb had slighted him. No matter what his motivations or intentions, he had, ultimately, insulted Leon by turning him down and then turning around and making a pass at Leon’s lapdog. Leon had his own goals and objectives, and he had no intention of compromising them, however that didn’t mean he couldn’t also get some personal satisfaction out of the situation. That didn’t mean he couldn’t make Caleb suffer for his error. Just a little. Leon took a forkful of cake and dumped it on his palm. He held it out to Roberto. “You can eat this out of my hand.” Roberto’s eyes gleamed as he bent his head and proceeded to nibble, chew and swallow. His tongue drew slowly over Leon’s palm, lapping up every bit of sweet, sticky icing, before drawing Leon’s fingers into his mouth and sucking each one slowly clean. Leon’s breathing accelerated and his cock throbbed. This time he dug his hand directly into the cake and held it out, but when Roberto moved to take a bite, he snatched it back. “And then you can help me with a little plan I have for Caleb’s…amusement.” Roberto’s grin was sly. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.” “Good.” Leon held out the cake again and enjoyed the actions of Roberto’s lips and tongue, along with the sense of being in a position of power over someone else who so desperately wanted something from him. “You made a mess,” he said, indicating the litter of crumbs on the floor. Roberto frowned. “I’ll get the broom.” Leon’s hand lashed out and grabbed Roberto’s lapel, yanking him close enough that their lips were almost touching and their breath mingled. “No. I want you to clean them up with your own tongue.” His hand sneaked down to slip beneath the waistline of Roberto’s slacks and grab his ass. “But first take off your clothes.” Roberto’s breath was coming in sharp, heaving gasps. His eyes were glazed with lust. “If I do that will you fuck me?” Leon squeezed and fondled, slipped a finger into the crease of Roberto’s ass. “If you lap up every crumb and leave the floor spotless. Then maybe. Just maybe. I will.” “All right.” He was angling his head, begging for a kiss, for just a touch of Leon’s lips. But even though he was finding his own desire piqued as well, Leon asserted his control. He moved back.

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“Clothes off.” He watched with satisfaction as Roberto began to strip. “And we’ll take it from there.”

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Chapter Thirteen Joss’ world had turned pitch black. “Is it too tight?” Caleb was referring to the blindfold he had just fashioned out of one of his black t-shirts. The material was soft and well-worn, and every breath brought a whiff of his cologne. And him. “No. It’s fine.” She reached up to touch it, but he caught her wrists. “No.” He laced his fingers with hers, the grip soft but unmistakably possessive. He leaned in close enough that his breath tickled her ear. “You remain absolutely still, remember? Let me move you. Direct you.” He nipped at her earlobe. “Use you.” A shiver skittered down her spine, and it had nothing to do with the cool evening breeze that drifted in through the patio doors to skim her naked, burning skin. She stood at the foot end of the bed, and except for the blindfold and a pair of stiletto-heeled sandals, she was completely nude. He was standing close to her. Close enough that she could feel the heat of his body radiating against her breasts, but not quite close enough to touch. “Are you still okay, with this?” He ran his fingers lightly up her arms, and the surprise of his touch made her tummy clench. “This is what you want?” “Mm-hmm. Very much.” She was already thrilling with anticipation for the unknown delights he had in store for her. “Good.” He traced his fingers along her jaw and down her throat. Over her shoulders and between her breasts. “You’re perfect.” He touched the indentation of her waist, grasped her hips. “I can’t seem to get enough you.” She sucked in a breath in surprise when he kissed her tummy. His tongue tickled her bellybutton, lapped at her skin before he buried his face in the lush fabric of her abs. “I could just eat you up,” he murmured, his deep voice sending vibrations directly through her. And then when his lips hovered at the crest of her mound, and she was holding her breath in anticipation of the moment his tongue touched her pussy, he asked, “Are you hungry? Would you like a strawberry?” Slightly off balance, she didn’t answer. She was still trying to gather her thoughts about her when she smelled the fruit and felt its damp flesh pressed to her lips. He had ordered a tray of goodies and treats from room service, and had been very mysterious about the contents. She opened her mouth and bit deeply, allowing the juice to run down her chin as she chewed. He licked the juice and offered her another berry, but this time when she bit into it, she realized he held it in his own mouth.

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It was a decadent delight to join with his mouth and savor the succulent flesh together. His lips connected with hers, and his tongue swept into her mouth, carrying with it the sweetness of the berry along with the taste of his desire. She languished in the kiss, groaning softly when his hands cupped her breasts and his cock nudged her pussy. Dampness seeped down her thighs and at that moment she wanted nothing more than to have him inside her. But then he was gone. Reflexively, she reached out for him and brushed across what she thought was a shoulder. “Okay, that determines it,” he said. “Determines what?” “You can’t keep your hands to yourself. I’ll have to help you with it.” “What does that mean?” “Lie down on the bed, and you’ll find out.” “Huh?” But a few moments later, she knew. “Cuffs?” She was incredulous, tugging at the soft leather restraints that held her wrists together and had been hooked around the wrought iron headboard. “Where did you get these?” “When I told the concierge that I wanted to give my new bride a night full of surprises, he fell all over himself to help. He was very thorough. And very efficient.” “Hmm. I knew there was something seedy about him.” Caleb’s laugh was rich and throaty, and she giggled under her breath. “He’s not the one you’ve gotta worry about, babe.” She heard a soft pop, like a lid being opened, and then the subtle aroma of vanilla reached her nostrils. “Mmm. What’s that? You planning on putting something else in my mouth?” He chuckled again. “In time, hon. In time.” And then she felt his hands on her feet. They were warm and slick with oil, and his fingers glided over her soles with the kind of firm tenderness that could have turned the Venus de Milo to a puddle of melted marble. “A foot massage,” she said when she could find words. “You are evil.” “Shh. Less talking. More touching.” He dug his thumbs into her arches and made her sigh with pleasure. “Or I’ll have to use that gag the concierge included.” Her head jerked up, but she had enough of her wits left about her to not verbalize the epithet that had formed in her mind. “What? No witty retort? No attempt to put me in my place?” She just shook her head, and listened to him chuckle again. “Very good. She’s learning.” 106

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Her feet tingled with awareness and sweet relief. It seemed that the sense of stillness radiated out from her feet to every part of her body—until he started sucking on her toes. Involuntarily she jerked her feet away, barely managing to stifle the squeal. “Hey, hey. None of that,” he said, his voice infuriatingly calm as he grasped her ankles and pulled her legs straight once more. His grip was like iron, and she had no hope of squirming out of it. He tickled her toes with his tongue, and then, very methodically, took each one into his mouth and suckled it. He made soft noises in his throat that reverberated through his mouth and into her, and the half-day’s worth of beard rasped across the pads of her feet. The sensations were so focused on that tiny part of her anatomy and yet they overwhelmed her. The threat of a gag was the only thing that kept her lips firmly shut, and it took every ounce of self-control she possessed to manage it. At last he released her, and a moment later she felt the gentle touch of his oiled hands on her calves. Touching, tickling, massaging, he worked his way higher. Inch by torturous inch, until he brushed just the tips of his fingers over the sensitive skin of her inner thighs and just about sent her spiraling. Her muscles twitched beneath his touch, and her pussy ached for attention. “Do you know why I’m doing this?” He tickled her inner thigh, creeping closer with every pass until he brushed across her feminine lips. The touch was delicate, barely grazing the surface of her clit, but she’d been waiting and wanting and aching for so long, that she thought she could come if he just breathed on her a little too hard. She bit her lower lip and shook her head. “Because I want to make you feel good.” As if he’d read her mind, he blew across her pussy, ruffling the small V of neatly trimmed hairs. “Because I want to draw out your pleasure as long as possible.” At last he drew a line up her inner thigh that ended at her clit. His touch was gentle but firm and she let out a soft groan of relief. “And because I want to show you how I feel about you.” His tongue found her and if not for the incredible gentleness of his touch she would have come immediately. But he circled and laved, increasing the pressure and the attention gradually until she hovered on the brink of a climax. And there her body hesitated, in limbo, waiting for fulfillment. “Mmm, you’re wet.” She heard a click followed by a soft hum, but barely had time to wonder what it was before she felt the touch of the vibrator. “Oh God!” she said as he eased it inside her. It touched someplace unexpected and she felt a gush of fluid that, to her amazement, was not due to an orgasm. “Good Christ. I thought you were wet before!” She felt his tongue lap at the moisture on her inner thighs. His growl of pleasure was almost as gratifying as the vibrations

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pulsating through her pussy. He angled it higher, massaging her clit with his fingers as the small protrusion on the vibrator massaged her G-spot. “Oh Jesus,” she breathed, completely forgetting her pledge of silence. She pressed her hips forward, seeking the orgasm that loomed. He let off just a bit. “God, Caleb.” She was almost in tears for wanting. “Please!” The abrupt and intense pressure of his tongue and the vibrator sent the climax flashing through her like a thunderbolt. Her body felt both full and light as the sensations throbbed through her and her pussy contracted. And then the vibrator was gone and his cock was thrust inside her. “God, you’re beautiful when you come,” he said, the motions of his body flooding her senses and filling her soul. “I want to see you,” she breathed. “Please.” He tugged off the blindfold and a moment later her hands were free as well. She met his gaze that was as deep and warm and blue as a tropical ocean. She wrapped her arms around his waist, gripping him tight and savoring the bunch and play of muscle, the sumptuous decadence of sweat-slicked skin. “There.” He smiled down at her, whisked a kiss across lips that were aching for ravishment. “How’s the view?” “Amazing.” Her heart rate had been just starting to calm again, but the rhythmic movements of his cock inside her were playing havoc with her pulse once again. “Did you enjoy the toy?” He pumped himself in and out of her, his cock a piston. “Mm-hmm.” She remembered her need for oxygen and breathed. “But I enjoy you more.” He laced his fingers through her hair. “You do?” He fisted his hand in her hair and tugged her head back so that he could feast on her throat. Her moan of pleasure was loud and involuntary, and the rhythm of his thrusts accelerated in response. His lips found her ear. “I’m no mind reader, but I’m guessing you enjoy that too.” “Fuck me.” The words were strange to her mouth and came out as a strangled whisper. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.” “Fuck me!” “Now that’s what I like to hear.” And that’s exactly what he did. He lifted her legs so that her knees hooked over his shoulders, gripped her hips—and fucked her. Her eyes on him, focused on the pleasure he was so obviously taking from her and her body, her own arousal built again. “Touch yourself,” he directed.

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It only took a few circles over her clit to bring her to another climax. Not as gutwrenching as the last one, but strong enough to send him spiraling to his own. He thrust himself deeply into her, barely suppressing a primal cry that sent fingers of excitement skittering up her spine. At last he collapsed in a heap of heat and sweat on the bed beside her. “Hey,” he whispered, laying a hand gently on her breast. “You okay?” She turned to him and, all seriousness and solemnity, said, “No. I won’t be okay until you kiss me.” He smiled. “I do like a woman who knows what she wants.” He wrapped his arms around her, drew her close and lavished the softest, sweetest, most indulgent of kisses on her wanting lips. “There,” she said when he was done. She lay her head on his shoulder and soaked him in. “Now I’m okay.” “Oh, honey. You’re okay like I’m a horny bastard.” She laughed. “In other words I have a gift for understatement?” “Among other gifts, baby.” He kissed the top of her head. “Among so many others.”

***** “Mmm. I love brie.” Caleb watched with fascination and a growing affection as Joss savored another morsel of cheese, took another sip of wine. They were propped up on a mound of pillows on the bed, their nude bodies exposed as they savored the breeze from the balcony doors even as their palates savored the treats room service had provided. He tore off a hunk of Calabrese bread, dipped it in a puddle of flavored oil and bit deep. “Why? Because it’s tasteless and bland?” She shot him a look, her eyes shimmering with sparks. “No. I love it because it’s smooth and nutty, creamy, decadent and very…” she sank her teeth into another slice, closed her eyes in ecstasy as she chewed, “very sensual.” “A sensual cheese.” “Uh-huh. And anyone who thinks brie is dull and bland is an uncultured swine.” She held up a finger. “Nay! A veritable savage.” He frowned, dipped his finger into the oil and smeared it over her nipple. He bent to lick it clean. His lips still hovering over her breast, he looked up at her with his best I’m-a-scoundrel-and-you-love-it grin. “I thought you liked the savage in me.” “That’s beside the point.” “No.” He set down his bread, levered himself out of his lounging position and straddled her legs. He cupped her breasts, tweaked her nipples with his thumbs. “I think that is exactly the point.” 109

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She groaned, giggled, groaned again. “We should get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.” “I never knew you were such a pragmatist.” He bent low, drew his tongue along her collarbone. “At the moment my mind is far too fuzzy to know what the hell a pragmatist is, but all I know is we have plans for tomorrow.” “That’s right. We’re going to find your daughter.” He rolled her nipples in his fingers. “After we fuck again, that is.” Her eyes opened and he saw something in them that was too much like sadness. “Hey.” He touched her cheek. “What’s wrong?” “I miss her, Caleb.” Her eyes filled with tears and he realized the time for fucking had passed. The time for loving had come. He crawled off her, and drew her into his arms, stroking her hair and whispering softly. “I know you do.” “I want her back. I’ve always wanted her back. I don’t want you to ever doubt that.” “Shh. Let’s sleep and tomorrow everything will be all right.” She shook her head. “I don’t think so.” He pressed his lips to her hair, wished there was something he could say to wash away her doubts. Make her believe he would do what he said he would do. That he was who he said he was. “You’ll just have to trust me, Joss. I’ll take care of everything.” But she didn’t seem assuaged. Instead she buried her face in his chest and sobbed quietly, her tears sliding down his skin. Unsure what else to do he held her. He held her until she fell asleep, and his own eyes began to droop. “We’ll find her,” he whispered more to his own ghosts than to her. “And when we do everything will be all right.” He pulled up the sheet to cover them. “I promise.”

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Chapter Fourteen Caleb lay back on the blanket. The sun was hot, but the shade of the ash tree was lacy and fragrant. This small park was a cool oasis in an area of the city where houses and apartment buildings were packed in so close there barely seemed room to breathe. Propped up on one elbow, he reached for the loaf of bread and tore off a hunk. His eyes never left the door to the small apartment building across the street. It made sense that Terrance would pick such a nondescript and, no doubt, inexpensive area of town for his studio. It was close to the downtown galleries and art supply stores, but easily missed amidst the stacks of other starving-artist apartments and studios. “How long should we wait?” asked Joss. He turned to look at her, noticed that she was staring quite intently at the glass of wine in her hand. She looked fresh and sweet in a pair of loose-fitting cotton shorts and a billowy white shirt that showed off her tan. With her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and her face scrubbed clean of makeup she looked young and innocent. Yet a sense of sadness hung about her. It had clung to her ever since they’d left the hotel that morning. She’d seemed sad and distracted and no amount of joking or cajoling or flirting on his part had made a stitch of difference. He sighed, frustrated. “We wait for as long as it takes. If we have to come back tomorrow, we come back tomorrow.” That morning they had called the phone number Roberto had given them. An automated female voice had answered, asked politely that the caller leave a message and assured him that the call would be returned within a couple of days. There had been no confirmation of a name, address or identity. And definitely no sign of the elusive Terrance Maxwell himself. Not that they’d expected it to be that easy. Caleb had left his cell phone number along with a message indicating that he had an interest in Calliope’s art, and would like to meet personally to see more samples and discuss the possibility of hosting an exhibit of his work at Caleb’s home gallery in Switzerland. They’d pulled Switzerland out of a hat, hoping it was obscure enough in the art world to sound plausible, and to be far enough outside Terrance’s social circles to not feel threatening to a man who was, essentially, in hiding. However, not wanting to leave things to chance, or place all their hopes in a phone call, they had decided to increase their odds by setting up a little surveillance post. So they had camped out at this handy little park across the street from the address that had come up in their search of the number, in the hopes of seeing him arrive and possibly catching him before he even got the message.

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“You knew this could take a few days, Joss. We just have to be patient,” he added when she still didn’t look at him. He touched a finger to the bottom of her chin and tipped her face up to meet his gaze. He wasn’t sure what he read in her eyes. Confusion? Doubt? Fear? Whatever it was it tore at him to see her looking so unhappy. “I know it’s hard to wait, but you just have to have faith. Have faith in me.” She held his gaze for a moment, then abruptly looked away. She bit off a hunk of cheese, took a gulp of her wine. He was startled to realize she was trembling. “Joss, baby. What is it?” She shook her head, stood and walked away a few steps to lean, stiff-armed against the trunk of the tree. She whirled to face him. “Caleb,” she said, her voice as unsteady as her legs. “There’s something I need to—” The squeal of tires out in the street cut her off. They both whirled to see a blue Honda Civic scream to a stop in front of the apartment building. A man erupted from the car, slammed the car door and bolted in the front door of the building. Caleb didn’t have time to see much, but he’d caught a glimpse of a slight man in a baseball cap and glasses. He wore a white shirt and jeans, but beyond that Caleb couldn’t have identified any other details. His mind racing, Caleb turned to Joss. “Was that him?” Her eyes were so wide he could see the whites all the way around her irises. “Joss,” he spoke a little louder this time. “Was that Terrance?” She blinked rapidly, her eyes still trained on the front of the building. “I…I don’t know. I barely saw him.” Uncertain, Caleb followed her gaze back to the building. “Well, could it have been?” “I…don’t know. I’m not sure what’s going on.” Caleb leapt to his feet, his decision made. “Well, no point in wondering. I’m going in there and knock on his door.” To his surprise he felt her hand lock on to his shirt. “I don’t think you should.” “What? Why?” She let go and dropped her hand to her side. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Reading fear and uncertainty, he took her gently by the shoulders. “It’s okay, Joss. It’ll be fine.” Not waiting for a response, he let go and sprinted across the street, dodging an irate cyclist as he ran. He pulled open the front door and dashed up the stairs to the second-floor unit he’d already checked out early that morning. He stopped in front of the door, took a moment to catch his breath and compose himself before raising his hand to knock. But when his fist made contact with the wood, the hinges squeaked and the door swung in. It hadn’t been latched. A little disconcerted, Caleb hesitated. “Hello?” he called out, inching his toe over the threshold. “Is anyone here?”

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“What?” A man’s head poked out from behind the door. He still wore the baseball cap, a fringe of brown hair peeking out the back. His shirt, stained with several shades of blue paint, was half tucked in, his hair disheveled and his eyes were wild. They darted from Caleb out to the hall and back again. “What do you want? Who are you?” Startled by Maxwell’s appearance and demeanor, it took Caleb a moment to compose himself. “Are you from that detective agency?” Caleb stared, more confused than ever. “What? Detective? No, no. I’m just here to talk about some of Calliope’s paintings. Your paintings. I left a message on your machine.” Terrance stared at him for a full minute. “Paintings? Paintings? Are you insane? I can’t talk about art when my daughter—my…my Susanna is missing!” And he slammed the door in Caleb’s face. Caleb stood there, staring at the door as shock warred with disbelief. His daughter was missing? His Susanna? Well, that certainly proved this was the man they were looking for. But the girl was missing? Caleb kept saying it over and over in his mind, unable to believe or absorb what the words were telling him. He must have heard wrong. Or Maxwell was confused. There had to be a misunderstanding of some sort. There was only one thing to do. He raised his fist and knocked again. The door burst open almost instantly. “What?” Maxwell blinked. “You again? I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t have time to talk to you. Please leave.” He moved to slam the door again, but this time Caleb was ready. He stepped in and blocked the door with his shoulder. “I just need a minute.” “I told you. I’m looking for my little girl. I don’t have time to talk about my art!” “Are you Terrance Maxwell?” That stopped him. His brown eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. “B-But how—” “I can help you.” Caleb had absolutely no idea if that was true. But until he found out exactly what was going on he couldn’t be sure one way or the other. The one thing he did know was that he couldn’t go back to Joss with this kind of news. He couldn’t go back without some answers. And he intended to get them. “How? How can you help me? How can you possibly help me?” “Let me in and we’ll talk about it.” Maxwell licked his lips, his gaze darting from Caleb to the hall and back again. He was obviously expecting this detective he spoke of. That probably meant Caleb didn’t have much time. “I know who you are and where you’re from,” Caleb pushed, fearing his options were limited and that the truth—or at least a partial truth—was his best option. “I know why you’re hiding, and I may be able to help you.” Maxwell’s eyes went wider. “Fuck.” 113

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“You can’t trust many people here, can you? You certainly don’t want to involve the police. You need all the help you can get.” Maxwell clenched his fists. “All right.” He swung open the door and motioned Caleb inside. “Get in here. Jesus. I can’t believe this is happening.”

***** Joss sat on the blanket, hugging her knees to her chest and staring at the front door of the apartment building where Caleb had disappeared. What was going on in there? What were they talking about? And what would happen when he came out again? She felt sick. Her stomach was in knots and her palms had started to sweat. She downed a gulp of wine, thinking that might actually do something to calm her nerves, but she figured she’d probably have to guzzle the entire bottle to make any difference at all. She set the glass back on the blanket and watched resignedly as it tipped over and the remaining wine soaked into the grass. She pressed her forehead to her knees. “What am I doing?” she whispered to herself. “What the hell am I doing?” She lifted her head and stared at the building once again. “This is crazy. I can’t do it anymore.” Her fingers trembling, but her decision made, she reached for her cell phone and punched in the numbers. She waited anxiously for the other end to pick up.

***** Maxwell led Caleb through the apartment toward the kitchen. The furnishings were minimal. A few wooden chairs and one tattered old couch that looked like it had been shipped there directly from 1974. But despite the lack of furniture the rooms were full to bursting. Half-finished canvases, soaking paintbrushes and clay sculptures in a variety of stages of completion cluttered every available space, barely leaving room to walk or move. It smelled of oil paint and strong coffee. At last they reached the tiny galley kitchen. There were no signs of artistic endeavors here, but the counter was stacked with dishes and wineglasses. A couple of stools had been pulled up to a small island. There was no table. Maxwell reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. He took a swig directly from it before offering it to Caleb. “Uh. No thanks.” Maxwell took a long, deep swallow. “Okay, so how is it that you know who I am?” “I was hired to find you.” Maxwell stared at him. “By whom?” The precise use of grammar struck Caleb as oddly out of place. Few people spoke that way naturally, and spending energy worrying over objective pronouns when a

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child was in jeopardy struck him as ludicrous. Yet perhaps not surprising. “Who do you think?” “Joss? My ex-wife hired you?” Caleb nodded and Maxwell wilted against the counter, looking completely dejected and despondent. Then, abruptly, he let out a bark of laughter. “Well, isn’t that rich?” Caleb said nothing, hoping he would elaborate on his own. “After all this time, she finally tracks me down, and whaddaya know?” “What?” “I’ve lost the one thing she wants.” Maxwell lifted the bottle as if in a toast. “I lost Susanna. Ain’t that a bitch?” “What do you mean, you lost her?” “Went to pick her up at school today, and she wasn’t there. I was just five minutes late. Five minutes. And she was gone. Somebody must have taken her. Somebody took my little girl.” He turned away, hiding his face behind his arm as he broke down into hysterical sobs. “But why? Why would they have taken her?” “I don’t know. For money? For blackmail? They must know who I am, and that I can’t go to the police.” He shook his head, his eyes still hidden by his arm and his voice muffled. “I am so fucked.” He wasn’t the only one. Caleb couldn’t believe this was happening. He’d poured so much into this quest, invested himself heart and soul. And he’d made promises to Joss. Promises he was so sure he could keep. And now this? They were on the cusp of success—so close to finding her little girl, only to have her literally snatched out from under their noses? It felt like he’d lost his own family all over again. But at least this time there was hope. Susanna was still out there somewhere. Alive. And she needed him. No matter how fucked up this whole thing was, it still felt good to be needed. To have a purpose. To have something to care about. “But you said you hired a detective.” Maxwell sniffled, nodded. “Yeah. Fat lot of good that’ll do.” “I’ll help too. I may have some ideas of who might be behind it.” Slowly, Maxwell lowered his arm. “You do?” Caleb considered. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know for certain, but it’s worth checking.” Maxwell stared at him. “So, you’ll help me find her and then turn me over to the authorities? Give Susanna back to Joss? I don’t think so.” Caleb granted Maxwell a sly, knowing smile. “Come on, Maxwell. You know better than that.” “Huh?”

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“Money, babe. It’s all about money. The little girl goes to the highest bidder. It’s as simple as that.” He shrugged. “You pay me enough and I tell the wife I couldn’t find you. Simple. Easy. And we’re both happy.” Maxwell took another large gulp of wine, glared at Caleb. “But how much is enough?” “We’ll negotiate that when we find her. I get nothing if she stays missing. It’s in my best interests to help you find her, no matter which way this thing goes.” “I don’t—” He groaned. “I don’t know.” He set down the bottle, groaned again and pressed a hand to his stomach. Concerned, Caleb stepped forward. “You okay?” Maxwell shook his head. “I feel sick. This whole thing is making me sick.” You deserve to be sick, you selfish, twisted bastard, thought Caleb. But he kept those sentiments to himself. Instead he said, “Anything I can do?” Maxwell doubled over. “Get out of the way. I gotta get to the toilet!” Caleb stepped out of the way just in time as Maxwell rushed past and headed down the hall to the washroom. He wilted against the counter, raked his fingers through his hair and told himself to breathe. They’d find her. They had to. Joss would get her daughter back and then Maxwell would pay. For his complicity and deception. But most of all for keeping a little girl away from her mother. As he stood there, considering all the ways that Maxwell deserved to be punished— a vague sense of unease settled over him. He looked after Maxwell, toward the bathroom door, his brow furrowed in concentration. There was something… Something about Maxwell seemed out of place, but what? He just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He was just starting to wonder if he should check on Maxwell when a knock sounded at the apartment’s door. “Shit.” It was probably the detective. He waited, fingers gripping the chipped Formica along the edge of the counter. He was expecting to hear Maxwell come out or at least yell something from the bathroom, but there was nothing other than the sound of water running. He mustn’t have heard the knock. Then Caleb realized this was a prime opportunity. Perhaps the detective already had significant information and if Caleb could coax it out of him… He strode quickly to the door and yanked it open. “Yes? Can I help—” His mouth dropped open. “Joss? What the fuck are you doing here?” He glanced back over his shoulder to make sure Maxwell had not yet emerged. “You can’t be here!” He moved to step out into the hall and pull the door shut behind him, but she was already pushing her way past him. “No, Caleb. I need to be here. I have to be here.” She was already halfway down the hall heading for the kitchen. “What? You’re not making any sense.” 116

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“Just trust me.” She stopped, turned and only then did he realize she was shaking and that her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed. “I have to talk to you, Caleb. I have to…tell you something.” Frustration and confusion built inside him like a volcano. “What? Tell me what?” “Where’s the man you followed in here?” “Maxwell?” He pointed. “He’s in the bathroom.” She crossed to the door he’d indicated and pounded on it with a clenched fist. “Come out of there. I need to talk to you.” But the water just kept on running. There was no response. She pounded again. “Answer me, damn it! I need to talk to you.” Still nothing. She looked to Caleb, frowned. “You sure he’s in there?” Caleb’s stomach twisted with concern. “I was. I saw him go in there.” “Well then?” “Here. Let me.” He nudged her out of the way and yelled, “Maxwell! What the hell is going on?” When there was still no reply, he backed up, took aim and hit the latch with his best karate-style kick. The door burst open and they both rushed in. The tap in the sink had been turned on full blast—and the window pushed wide open. Caleb rushed to the ledge and looked outside. Directly below him was the fire escape. “Jesus fucking Christ! He’s gone.” His adrenaline spiking, he started to scramble out the window in hot pursuit, but Joss grabbed his arm and yanked him back. “No.” “What do you mean, no?” “Don’t go after him. You can’t go after him.” “Why the fuck not?” he blasted. “Because that was not my ex-husband. That was not Terrance Maxwell.”

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Chapter Fifteen “What? What are you talking about?” Joss put out a hand, pressed it against the wall to steady herself. The confusion in Caleb’s voice hurt her but the anger that had crept in around the edges was what really tore her apart. She didn’t want to make him angry. That was the last thing she wanted. What she did want was for him to be happy and fulfilled. She had wanted him to find peace and joy, and maybe even hope. But now that he’d achieved that he had to know the truth. Unfortunately, she feared that what she had to say would ruin everything. That telling him the truth would undo all the healing he’d found here in Italy. But no matter how much she feared that—dreaded it—she had to be honest with him. She’d put it off long enough. Too long, she acknowledged. She’d let her own fears and silly hopes get in the way of what needed to be done. But the time for secrets and deceptions had passed. She had to tell him everything. No matter how much it hurt him to hear it. No matter how much it killed her to say it. “Well?” He stepped forward, his posture rigid, his tone frustrated. “Are you going to explain?” She patted the air between them, took a deep breath. “Just… Just give me a minute. I need to catch my breath.” His jaw set and his eyes stormy, he folded his arms and remained silent. She licked her lips, not able to bring herself to meet his gaze. She swallowed and blurted it out. “This is a ruse, Caleb. I set it up in order to give you something to focus on to help you let go of the guilt and pain of losing your family.” Nothing. He said nothing, the silence in that little room as heavy and cold as a mantle of snow. She forced herself to lift her gaze to his. “Caleb?” “What the fuck are you talking about?” He didn’t yell. Instead he whispered, the words a cold arctic breeze that shivered over her skin. She rushed to explain. “Well, it didn’t start out that way. When Leon called me…at first it was sincere. He’d found these paintings by this Calliope. And he thought—I mean—they reminded him of Terrance’s work. He thought maybe it was him.” “But it wasn’t?”

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“No. Just before we took off he called me. He told me that he’d found this Calliope. He was an old man living in Florence, and had come up with the pseudonym and the elaborate mask of secrecy as a marketing ploy.” “But you chose not to share this information with me.” His voice was hard, his eyes cold. “We were in the airport, Caleb. He called me on my cell while I was in the washroom. You were so exhilarated by what we were doing. So focused and so hopeful. How could I just pull the plug on all that? The tickets had been bought. In a sense there was no going back.” She struggled for the words to make him understand. “I know it’s crazy. I know it. But you had been so sad, and so…consumed by your loss, but this seemed to lift you out of it. I thought this was what you needed. Something drastic to shake you out of your grief and make you realize that you still had something worth living for. That you have no reason to feel guilt and that you have the capacity to move on with your life. This seemed like the perfect way to show you—to make you believe— that it’s okay for you to be happy.” He kept staring at her, the frost in his gaze turning her fingertips blue. She rushed on, desperate to make him understand. “I had seen your reaction to the possibility of finding Susanna. A lost child was exactly what you needed to touch your soul and wake up those feelings of hope and purpose again. So I—” “So you sucked Leon in to help you pull off this…farce.” “He wanted to help. When I explained what I was thinking he—” “Let me get this straight.” His voice had an edge like a steel blade and it cut off her words cold. “Are you telling me that you set me up? That you used your little girl’s disappearance as some sort of…seduction technique to get me into your fucking bed?” The outrage she felt at that accusation gave her strength. “What? No! I did this for you, Caleb. Not for me! The fact that we ended up together wasn’t part of the plan at all. It just happened.” “Then why, god damn it? Why the fuck would you concoct such a crazy scheme to take me all the way to Italy?” “I told you. Because you needed something to focus on. You needed something to give you hope. You needed…” She bit her lower lip, struggling for a way to express what she had known in her heart would be Caleb’s salvation. “A child who needed you. A child who could actually be saved.” Those words hit him. Hard. She could see it in the softening of his eyes. In the way he drew in a soft, short breath. But then he got control again. His gaze hardened, and she could almost see him rebuilding his walls brick by brick. “And why would you feel such a compelling need to help me? To go to this kind of trouble and expense to…help someone you hardly know?” “Because of Gwen.” “What?”

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“Because I made that promise to her all those years ago. And when I saw you again I remembered.” She lowered her eyes. “And I realized that I had forgotten my promise. That I had let her down.” Silence hung between them once again, and when at last she lifted her gaze to his she had hoped to find understanding there. Acceptance and, possibly, forgiveness. But she saw only cold, hard judgment. Suddenly his eyes went wide, he snapped his fingers. “That’s it!” He turned his head, cursing softly. “What? What’s it?” “Hair.” “What?” “I knew there was something off about this Maxwell character, and I finally figured it out.” He turned that glare on her again. “This guy had hair.” She said nothing. Her own confusion over what had happened over the last halfhour completely overwhelming her. He sneered. “Jesus, Joss. The least you could do is get the physical attributes straight.” “I had nothing to do with this imposter, Caleb. You’ve got to believe—” “I don’t got to do anything. I’m leaving.” He strode past her, out the door and down the hall toward the entrance to the apartment. “Caleb!” she cried, rushing after him. She grabbed his arm and managed to stop him just before he stepped out into the hall. “Where are you going?” He whirled on her. “I don’t quite think that’s any of your business.” “Don’t you believe me? I’ve told you the truth. Honestly, I—” “Truth? What the hell is truth? I don’t know anymore. Maybe your daughter was kidnapped and maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she’s in Italy. Maybe she isn’t. Maybe Leon’s gay. Maybe he isn’t.” He raised his hand, stopped it in midair. Clenched it into a fist. It wasn’t a move to violence, but an act of utter frustration. Tears scraped at the backs of Joss’ eyes. She couldn’t find words. “One thing I do know,” he said, his voice tight as his fist dropped back to his side. “Is that you manipulated me. You’re a liar, and I can’t trust anything you say.” “I did it for you.” Tears and desperation coated her words. “Maybe it was misdirected, but I thought it was what you needed.” And it was, damn it! It had been exactly what he needed. He’d been happy here. He’d found something in himself that he’d lost. If only he could see that for himself… “If your motives are so selfless. So…holy, then why let it go this long? Why let it go this far? Why draw it out and put me through the anguish of hearing that Susanna was kidnapped?”

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Joss stared at him. Blinked. Tried to make sense of what she’d heard. “What? What are you talking about?” “You know what I’m talking about.” “No. I don’t!” “Maxwell—or whoever the fuck he was—gave me some song and dance about how Susanna had been taken from school and he didn’t know where she was. What the hell was the point of that?” Shock came first, but was very quickly displaced by anger. Rage began to simmer and boil away the shame she had begun to feel. “Leon,” she growled, more to herself than to Caleb. Leon had betrayed her. He’d taken it upon himself to complicate the scenario and fabricate the story of Susanna’s supposed disappearance. But to what end? Why on earth would he jeopardize their mission like that? “What? Leon had something to do with this?” She nodded. “Yes. I’m quite sure the man you were talking to is a friend of Leon’s, and—” “Fuck!” He said it so loudly she jumped backward, hitting her head on a low-hung light fixture. “Of course he did. What an idiot I am.” “He was just trying to help me. But he gets confused, distracted. He—” “Help you?” He laughed, shook his head. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists. “Forget it. I don’t want to hear it. I’m getting a headache. Just forget the whole fucking thing.” He was already out the door and halfway down the stairs before she had the presence of mind to run after him. She dashed out into the hall, leaned over the railing and screamed after him. “Caleb! Wait! I had nothing to do with what happened here today. I didn’t tell you sooner because…” The outside door slammed shut, the echo booming through the stairwell like a death knell. “Because I was afraid of what you’d think,” she finished softly. “I was afraid you would hate me.” She walked back into the apartment, closed the door softly behind her and sank down onto a small stool that sat just inside the door. She stared into space and let the tears come. Caleb couldn’t possibly hate her as much as she hated herself at that moment.

***** Caleb walked. He walked fast, but his heart pumped as if he were running a marathon. He was angry. Furious. Outraged. But more than anything he felt betrayed. And he didn’t like that feeling. Rage was an active emotion. When you were angry you went out and did something about it. You pounded the pavement, or pounded a heavy bag. Or pounded the person who made you angry. And then you felt better. But betrayal was different.

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Being betrayed was a helpless feeling. It implied that he’d been deceived and used, and those were not terms that Caleb was used to associating with himself. He’d never allowed himself to be used. And he should have been too smart to allow himself to be deceived. He should have seen it, somehow. He should have seen the signs of deception, caught her in an inconsistency. Seen it in her eyes. But there were no signs to catch, he yelled silently. She had been so sincere, so earnest. So…real. How could it all have been an act? And for the tenth time since he’d left her he asked himself again, why? All this for a promise? To a woman who had been dead for two years? Of course he remembered her mentioning that, but…to take it to this extreme? To go to such radical measures just to try to knock some sense into him? He drew up short, his breath heaving in and out of his chest like a bellows. The heat of the Mediterranean sun beat down on his head, soaking his shirt with sweat. He stood there—and considered. He’d been so involved with his own misery. So…committed to it. What would it have taken to shake him out of it and make him look at things from a new perspective? But then he cursed and shook his head. She wasn’t even here and she was sucking him into her twisted little fantasy world. All he had to do was remember the lies, the deceptions. The way his heart had twisted for that little girl when he’d heard that she had disappeared again! He thought of those things and the rage came back in a tidal wave. He started moving again. He found that walking wasn’t enough, so he broke into a run. His feet hit the pavement like he was trying to beat it into dust. His fists pumped at his sides and the sweat poured down his face. He needed release. He needed to do something. He couldn’t vent his frustrations on the one person who really deserved it. Not only could he not physically harm Joss, but he simply couldn’t be with her right now. He couldn’t even yell and scream at her. He couldn’t begin to express the turmoil of emotions that she had stirred up in him. After what they’d shared the night before… He simply couldn’t look at her. Leon. He turned that name over again and again in his mind. He was someone who deserved Caleb’s wrath as much as anyone. But where to find him? Caleb had no idea where the man lived, or even what his phone number might be. Then it hit him. He skidded to a halt, sucking in huge lungfuls of hot, afternoon air as he considered a new name. Someone who had obviously been in on the plan as well. Someone who had used and abused Caleb in ways too heinous to mention. Someone who had an art shop in downtown Florence and whom Caleb could find easily. Roberto.

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His anger somehow eased by his sense of purpose, he set off at a leisurely jog. He and Roberto had things to discuss.

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Chapter Sixteen “Leon!” Joss pounded on the door again. Harder this time. “Leon, you no-good, two-faced son of a—” The door burst open. “Joss, cara mia. Won’t you come in?” Snarling epithets, she pushed past him, ignoring the fact that he was clad in nothing but a towel—draped around his neck. Obviously fresh from a shower, his hair was a towel-tousled mess, his skin still glistened with water. She hated that she felt a stir of sexual awareness for him. Hated it even more when she found his lover in the living room. Equally nude, damp and sexy, he was sitting on the couch sipping from a glass of white wine. Even with the hair he did resemble Terrance to a startling degree. Then her eyes dropped to his shoulders, chest—and lap—and she reconsidered. Terrance had never looked like that. She dragged her gaze back to Leon. He smiled sweetly. “So glad you could stop by.” She closed her eyes, clenched her fists and counted to ten. “Would you like some wine?” asked Leon, strolling in behind her and heading to the glass that he’d apparently left sitting on the glass coffee table. “No, I would not like any wine.” “Suit yourself.” Leon rounded the coffee table, plopped down beside his lover— Randy if she remembered correctly—and laid his free hand on Randy’s thigh. “So, what can we do for you?” Trying to contain the steam that she was sure was spewing out her ears, she kept her voice as even as she could manage. “Why are you being such an asshole, Leon? What the hell is going on?” “Whatever do you mean?” “Cut the crap. You know exactly what I mean. You did not stick to the plan.” “I liked my plan better.” There was a distinct pout to his voice which she decided to ignore. “You’re not making sense. I asked so little of you, Leon. Only to set things up with Roberto and have Randy available if needed to draw things out.” “And I did that.” “Yes, but you didn’t stop there! Why on earth would you come up with this crazy disappearing-daughter ploy?” He shrugged, sipped from his wine, stroked Randy’s thigh and she saw Randy’s cock swell a little.

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“For God’s sake, will you two cut it out? Go put some clothes on so we can have a civilized conversation.” “I’m comfortable,” retorted Leon. “Well, I’m not.” She turned to Randy. “Randy, would you mind, terribly, getting some shorts or a couple of robes.” That would also give her a few moments alone with Leon—the real Leon. Not the Leon who put on airs, strutted around like a peacock and puffed up in order to impress his lover. Or whoever else happened to be nearby. Randy glanced at Leon who merely shrugged and look bored. Apparently, Randy took that as assent. He eased himself off the couch and without a word headed for the bedroom of Leon’s posh loft apartment. With a little luck he’d get lost in the mammoth closet she knew Leon kept. He’d shown her pictures over the Internet, and she’d commented once that you could lose a small child in there. He’d laughed at that. Now it wasn’t so funny. With the distraction gone, Joss rounded the coffee table, snagging a throw pillow on her way by the love seat, and sat down beside Leon. She dropped the throw pillow into his lap to cover his groin. “Too tempting?” he said coyly. She rolled her eyes. “Now talk to me. What happened?” He shrugged again, looked away from her. And in that moment she saw evidence, once again, of the shy, insecure little boy who had been abandoned by his mother at age five, only to be shuffled from one foster home to another until he hit sixteen. They’d had some very intimate chats over the ‘net in the years since Susanna’s disappearance. She’d come to know him and, heaven help her, trust him. And that was largely because of the depth of intimacy they’d come to share. “I thought we were friends,” she said softly. “We are.” “Friends can trust each other.” He kept his gaze averted. “I trusted you with something very important to me. You let me down.” His shoulders sagged. “And I’d like to know why.” “He’s not worth it, you know,” he said at last. “He’s not worth all this trouble you went to.” She frowned. “And what would make you say that?” He set his jaw, glanced toward his bedroom as if hoping for rescue. “Come on, Leon. Spill it!” He toyed with the tassel on the corner of the pillow. “Do you find me attractive?” She blinked, stared. Blinked again. “Attractive? Are you kidding? Of course I do.” “But he didn’t.” 125

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“He? What do you mean he? I don’t—” And then it hit her. She wilted against the back of the couch. “Oh, Leon.” Randy walked back in, clad in denim cutoffs and carrying a terrycloth robe. Joss stood, snatched the robe out of his hand and snapped, “Thanks. Now get lost.” “Hey! I don’t have to take that.” Leon stood and slipped into the robe. “Actually, Randy, would you mind fixing us some cheese and crackers or something?” Randy gaped for a moment before striding off in a huff worthy of Joss’ Aunt Beatrice.

***** Roberto stumbled backward, tripping over the base of a large marble sculpture as he scrambled to remain upright. “Caleb! Stop it!” “What’s wrong, Roberto? Why are you running from me?” Caleb advanced, watching with satisfaction as his prey scurried out of his path. Scurried like a rodent. He had slipped into the shop just minutes before closing time, and had found Roberto in this small display room in the back. It held mainly brass and marble sculptures, along with a few delicate pieces made of porcelain and glass. “Just yesterday, you couldn’t get close enough.” “You’re angry. I don’t know why you’re so angry.” “Why am I angry? Why am I angry?” Caleb stopped, but only because he had nowhere left to go. Roberto was backed into a corner, a brass sculpture of a nude couple on one side, a slender oriental vase on the other and Caleb directly in front of him. Caleb braced his arms against the walls, bracketing Roberto in and effectively sealing his prison. And his fate. “You lied to me, Roberto. You misled me, and I don’t tolerate that. Not from anyone.” “It…it wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t my idea. None of it. I just did what I was told.” Caleb ran a finger down Roberto’s lapel, lightly. Sensuously. Before fisting his hand in the material and squeezing. “And we both know who told you to do it, don’t we?” Roberto averted his eyes, bit his lower lip. “Leon was in charge of this little operation, wasn’t he?” “He only wanted to help.” “Bullshit!” Roberto cringed, shrinking beneath Caleb’s furious glare. But then Caleb rethought his approach. Reined himself in. He released Caleb’s lapel, softened his gaze. “I’m sorry. You’re right. He did only have my best interests at heart. He was only doing what Joss asked of him.” Roberto gave him a sideways look, a skeptical nod. “Exactly.” Caleb smoothed the material that had crinkled inside his fist. “And for that reason, I’d like the opportunity to thank him. To show him my gratitude—properly.”

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“Uh. I don’t think—” “You know where to find him, Roberto. Don’t you?” Roberto licked his lips. Shook his head. “No. I don’t. Not really. I don’t know anything.” He was lying. It was painfully obvious that he was lying. “Oh yes, you do.” Caleb reached out and grasped the lip of the vase. He gripped it lightly between his thumb and forefinger, drew it off its pedestal and held it precariously at shoulder level over the floor. “And you are going to tell me.”

***** Leon belted his robe and sank back into the soft leather couch. “He’s been really pissy ever since I told him I lied about getting paid for all this. I promised him new art supplies.” “He’ll get over it. And, anyway…” Joss sat down beside him. “You deserve better.” He snorted in disgust. “You mean like Caleb?” She covered his hand with hers. “Leon, he didn’t reject you because you’re not attractive! He just doesn’t swing that way.” “That’s not what Roberto tells me.” “Oh, for chrissake. He was playing a part. He was trying to get information.” “Roberto said it seemed very sincere. You can’t fake something like that.” She pressed a palm to her forehead. “Leon…” “He hurt me and I’m so sick of people hurting me. For once—just once—I wanted… I wanted…” He hesitated, drew in a deep breath and when Joss tossed him an inquiring look, all he could say was, “I guess I’m not really sure what I wanted.” She picked up his hand, squeezed. “I guess that goes for both of us.” “Huh?” She shook her head. “Nothing.” He sat forward, balancing on the edge of the seat, his eyes all earnestness and sincerity. “I’m sorry, baby. It was stupid and I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to him too if you want.” “No. That’s okay. It won’t make any difference. It doesn’t matter.” “What do you mean? Of course it matters.” “No. It doesn’t.” She moved to stand, but he gripped her hand and pulled her back down. “Why? Why doesn’t it matter?” “He hates me. I lied to him and deceived him, and because of that he hates me. Not that I should expect anything different. I deserve it. I was so stupid. I let it go too long. I should have told him the truth this morning when I realized that I’d accomplished

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exactly what I wanted to. But…it was just so hard. I couldn’t bring myself to disappoint him or…” she sighed, “to end the fantasy.” “His fantasy? Or yours?” She shrugged. “Both, I guess. His fantasy of who I am and everything that we had together. And my fantasy of feeling useful, and loved and…like I matter again.” She contemplated her hands. Clasped them together, broke them apart. She studied her fingers and remembered another set of fingers slipped between her own. So tiny. So vulnerable. “You never feel quite so important, so full of purpose as you do when you have a child. I was everything to Susanna. Her provider, her guide, her protector. When I lost her, not only did I fail her, but I lost all that as well. That sense of purpose and direction. Remembering my promise to Gwen gave me that again. I guess, maybe, I did it as much for me as for Caleb. Probably more. And that’s why I took it as far as I did. Too far.” She clenched her hands into fists. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.” “It was a pretty crazy plan. That’s for sure.” “Yeah.” “But misdirected or not, it worked, didn’t it? He really cared about Susanna. He was looking forward again. He had passion again. He had purpose. Randy told me he could feel it.” She looked at him. How had she come to share such a strange, yet intimate bond with this man? He had agreed to help her out of the goodness of his heart. He’d been keeping watch all over Italy for art pieces or other clues that might lead them to Terrance. And he’d refused to take a dime. He’d had such a harsh childhood, so tarnished with disappointment and trauma. And he wanted so desperately to help her get Susanna back. To try to help spare another child the years of anguish and wondering about a mother she barely remembered. And then when she’d shared her crazy scheme with him, he’d jumped right in with both feet. Had insisted on helping and not taking payment. He had such a big heart, with such lofty goals, but his fragile ego and volatile temper kept getting in the way. He was so vulnerable. So prone to selfish immaturity and tantrums. A little boy who had never quite grown up. “Yes. I think it worked,” she said softly. Honestly. “Well, then he should be kissing your feet thanking you.” She tried to laugh, but the smile hit a brick wall and crumbled. “He doesn’t see it that way.” He cupped her chin in his palm, drew her face to his and studied her. “Oh. My. God.” “What?” “You’re in love, aren’t you?” “Don’t be ridiculous.” She pulled away, stood and strode to the other side of the room.

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“That’s it.” Leon stood, shed the robe and propped his hands on his hips. “What’s it? What are you talking about?” “I’m going to go talk to him.” He glanced down at himself, grimaced. “After I find a killer outfit of course.” She grabbed his hand on the way by. “You most certainly are not!” They both started at the loud rap on the apartment door.

***** Impatience and anger sizzling in his gut, Caleb raised his hand to knock a third time. “I know you’re in there, Leon! Your stooge ratted you out.” He pounded on the door. “Don’t make me—” The door burst open and in a heartbeat all the rage evaporated. “Make you what?” She stood there, all squared shoulders, clenched fists, and fiery eyes. “Make you behave like an absolute Neanderthal?” Startled and disconcerted as much by her appearance as by his own reaction to her, he tried to scrape his rage and resolve back together again. He had not expected to find her here and found his feelings warring between relief at seeing her, and outrage over having her alliance with Leon flaunted in his face. “I might have known I’d find you here.” “Leon is my friend and I won’t allow you to threaten or abuse him on my account.” He managed a sneer. “How noble of you.” “Anything you have to say you can say to me.” “I have nothing to say to you.” “Then you might as well leave.” He stood there, on the threshold of the apartment, sensing that it was the threshold of so much more. She said she had done all this to help him. And yet she had hurt him and lied to him. How could he enter into any kind of dialogue with her? Let alone consider forgiving her? Not that she was asking for his forgiveness at the moment. She wasn’t asking him for anything. “I guess you’re right.” Feeling strangely trapped by his own actions, and not knowing what else to do, he turned to go. He was hesitant to acknowledge the wash of relief he felt when Leon’s hand clamped on his arm. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not going anywhere.” Caleb yanked his arm out of Leon’s grasp. “Don’t touch me, you lying, conniving son of a bitch.” “Fine.” Leon dropped his hand and took a step back. “Loose your venom on me all you want. I don’t care. Say whatever the hell you want to me. If it makes you feel good so much the better.” 129

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“Good, because I’ve got lots to say.” “The thing is, I’m not the one you should be talking to.” “Leon, please.” Joss stood behind him, just to his right, her eyes barely peeking over his shoulder. “This isn’t helping.” Caleb frowned, confused and a more than a little unnerved by Leon’s obvious concern for Joss, as well as the intimacy that little exchange implied. “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Are you two…together?” “Oh, for God’s sake. Get a grip.” Leon fisted his hands on his hips and somehow managed to look imposing despite the fact he was clad in nothing but a short terrycloth robe. Perhaps it was the fire that had suddenly leapt to his eyes. The fire of his own righteousness. “If you’ve come here to loose your rage, pummel me to within an inch of my life, or even just take a swing at my questionable manhood, that’s fine. You’ll get your chance. But first you’ll listen.” Caleb arched his brows in surprise and vague amusement. “Oh really?” “Yes. Really.” Leon stabbed a ring-clad finger at him. “You were a mess, Caleb. A fucked-up, guilt-ridden, sexually screwed-up mess—” “How the hell do you—” “Don’t interrupt.” Absolute astonishment had his mouth snapping shut. Satisfied, Leon continued. “I know because Joss told me. Because she knew I’d understand. And because I know what friendship means.” Caleb snorted at the mention of “friendship” but managed to keep his thoughts to himself. Apparently, however, Leon had the ability to read his mind. “Yes, she’s my friend. And she’s yours. But more importantly she was Gwen’s friend. She did this because she knew it was the only way to scare your sorry ass out of the pit of despair that you’d dug for yourself. And it worked, damn it. If you’d take a half a minute to really look at yourself, you’d realize that.” He narrowed his eyes. “You might even have figured it out already. But the big question is can you admit it? Can you admit that she was right and that you needed a good kick in the balls just like she gave you?” He paused dramatically. “The bottom line is, are you a big enough man to admit all that?” Caleb clenched his jaw as well as his fists before he turned to Joss and addressed himself to her. He didn’t want to face Leon’s accusations, so chose not to. He focused on the one thing—the only thing—that was truly important to him. Trust. “The bottom line here is that I was lied to and deceived. The end, as they say, does not justify the means. How can I trust someone who’s treated me that way? So how can I even consider forgiveness?” “Then don’t forgive me. That isn’t important. I’m not important.” But the tears that brimmed in her eyes told a different story. “What’s important is that you can move

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forward. If you can walk away from me and find happiness and a new life, then my job is done, my promise to Gwen fulfilled.” “You don’t care if you never see me again.” “No. I don’t.” He didn’t believe her. “And what about your daughter? Do you care if you ever see her again?” He said it for no other reason than because he knew it would hurt her. Because he was hurting and he wanted—no, needed—to share the pain. But what he saw in her eyes made him regret the words. It made him regret a lot of things. But there was no taking it back. And there was no going back. “Are you finished?” asked Leon, his voice tight with emotion. “Yeah. I guess I am.” More confused, uncertain and unsatisfied than he had been when he came, he turned and walked away. He’d go back to the hotel and pack his things. And after that… He didn’t have a clue.

***** An hour later Joss stepped back into her hotel room. She had hoped to find Caleb lounging on the bed or perhaps scrubbing off in the shower. She’d even fantasized of finding him on bended knee, penitent and solicitous with a bottle of wine and a wedge of brie, having come to his senses and seeing the true value of what she had given him. But that was, indeed, a fantasy. All she found in the hotel room was a rumpled bed, and her own empty suitcase still cast in the corner where she’d left it. His clothes and luggage had disappeared— leaving behind nothing but the echo of her own regrets. She sat down on the bed and stared out through the balcony doors, wondering what she should do next. She could stay in Florence, see the sights that she’d so long dreamed of seeing. She could scour the other art shops and galleries looking for a clue to Terrance’s whereabouts. But her heart wasn’t in it. Her heart wasn’t in any of it. She may as well just go home, start her life over again and try very hard to remember that whether he hated her or not, she had accomplished what she set out to do. She had given Caleb a new reason to hope. A new reason to live. And she had fulfilled a promise to a dear friend. There was comfort in that. Somewhere. There had to be.

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Chapter Seventeen Two months later

“More potatoes, Joss?” Joss set her fork on her plate, the clink of silver on fine china a soft chime that echoed through her mother’s kitchen. Outside the summer air was warm and thick with humidity, but the breeze blowing in through the patio doors was fragrant and surprisingly cool. It reminded her of Florence. “Joss?” “Huh? Sorry.” She dragged herself out of her reverie, focused on her mother. She looked better than she had two months ago, Joss thought. She’d benefited from her daughter’s presence in her life again. She got out more. Got more exercise. Ate at better restaurants. Joss had been spoiling her, partly because her mother needed and deserved to be spoiled. And partly because Joss desperately needed someone to spoil. Someone to take care of. “It’s good, Mom. You know your mashed potatoes are legendary. But I’m full.” Miriam frowned, obviously not convinced. She’d been inviting Joss over more and more lately and hadn’t been shy about the reason. While Miriam’s health had been improving and her scale had been creeping steadily higher, Joss’ appetite had been faltering. She’d lost ten pounds in the last several weeks, and according to her mother could ill afford it. This particular Sunday diner had consisted of all her favorites. Pot roast, mashed potatoes and her mother’s famous butter bean and almond salad. “How about some pie? It’s elderberry. Your favorite.” “Mom, I ca—” “I do not want to hear the word can’t escape your lips, young lady.” Her father’s voice boomed through the room. “Your mother made that pie special. And you will not insult her by turning it down.” Joss slanted him a look. “Since when are you so eager to share your pie? If I don’t eat, that leaves more for you.” But to her surprise her father didn’t respond with a witty retort. He didn’t even smile. Instead he reached out and covered her hand with his own massive one. “You’ve got to eat, honey. Your mom isn’t the only one who’s worried about you.” She sighed. “I’m fine, you two. I wish you’d stop worrying so much.” Her mother plopped an enormous slice of pie down in front of her. The deep purple filling oozed out from between two layers of flaky, golden brown pastry. It should have made her mouth water and her tummy growl with desire. It didn’t.

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She hadn’t felt desire for anything for weeks. There were only two things in this world she truly wanted. Without them everything else left her feeling empty. “You’ve got a great new job down at the newspaper. You’ve hooked up with lots of old friends, and you even have that handsome young man nosing around. That reporter. What’s his name again?” “Eric?” she said, flabbergasted. “You think Eric is handsome?” “Oh, for God’s sake. Of course he is. Not everyone can be a Caleb Coleridge, Joss.” Joss opened her mouth to retort, then promptly snapped it shut. Apparently the fact that every man she’d met in the past two months fell far short of the Caleb Coleridge measuring stick hadn’t been lost on her mother. “The point is,” continued Miriam, “you have every reason to be happy. And you need to stop moping around and beating yourself up for things you can’t change, and get on with the business of being happy.” She picked at her pie. “It’s not that simple.” “You can choose to be happy.” Marion dropped down into her chair. “It’s only as complicated as you make it.” And maybe that was it. Maybe she had just chosen not to be happy because she didn’t feel she deserved it. She just needed time, she kept telling herself. How much, however, remained to be seen. She picked up her fork and dug into her pie. Even if her stomach protested it was preferable to dealing with her mother’s stern looks. She was halfway through her slice and had almost convinced her stomach to accept the rest, when the front doorbell rang. “I’ll get it!” “You most certainly will not. You’ll finish that pie and you’ll enjoy it.” Miriam folded her napkin and placed it beside her plate. “George, watch her.” And with that command she stood and strode from the room. “I think your mother’s feeling better,” said George on a chuckle while Joss chewed. “Yeah. I know. I think I’ve created a monster.” “Joss!” Joss looked up to see her mother peering out from between the stems of an enormous bouquet of calla lilies. She sat there, blinking in astonishment. “Well?” Miriam shifted the bouquet from one arm to the other. “If you don’t claim them, I will!” “Th-they’re for me?” “Of course they are. You think I’ve got a secret admirer stashed away somewhere?” “They could be from me,” sniffed George. The soft lift of Miriam’s eyebrow said it all.

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At last Joss gathered her wits about her enough to drag herself from the chair and gather the bouquet from her mother’s arms. They smelled fresh, like spring and rain— and hope. “Here’s the card that came with it.” She stared at the envelope Miriam held out to her. Speaking of hope. Did she dare? The lilies were a poignant reminder of Florence. But it could just be a coincidence. “Well?” Miriam shook the envelope impatiently. “Do I have to open it?” “Just a minute. Let me put these in water.” Before she could flee in search of her grandmother’s crystal vase, her dad had erupted from his chair and whisked the bouquet from her hands. “I’ll look after that. You open the card.” “Oh. I… Okay.” Miriam pressed the envelope into her hands and Joss was shocked to realize her fingers were shaking as she ripped open the paper and pulled out the card. It was a simple, ivory-toned card with a gold-embossed edge. She frowned. “It’s an invitation.” Miriam peered over her shoulder. “To what?” Joss flipped open the card—and smiled. “To dinner at Caleb Coleridge’s apartment. Tomorrow night. At seven.” “Is that all it says?” “Uh-huh.” “Well…” Miriam’s brow furrowed. “What does it mean?” “I don’t know but…” She stared at the gold-lettered invitation. The embossed lilies that adorned the corners. The simple invitation that gave no hint of the sentiment behind the words. It had been two months and she hadn’t heard a word from him. Even Leon had been uncharacteristically silent. As far as she knew up until that day, Caleb hadn’t even returned from Europe. Whether he’d decided to take an extended vacation or had found work over there and made the move permanent she didn’t know. Was he back for good? Or just back to settle his affairs before he returned to some quaint new villa in Tuscany? Was his intent to say he had forgiven her? Or to say his final goodbyes? The questions were torturous and pointless, but that didn’t stop them from parading through her brain. Just as they had been for the past two months. She lifted her eyes to meet her mother’s. “I guess I’ll find out.”

***** Caleb lit the final candle and stepped back to review his handiwork. Italian cut crystal caught the flickering light and made it dance across the ceiling. A new set of art deco dishes in vivacious reds, blues and greens set off the pristine white tablecloth and 134

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the soft gleam of sterling silver completed the ensemble. A bouquet of pink daisies were an incongruous addition to the center of the table, but they had been a special request. How could he say no? He smiled to himself as he checked his watch for the fifty-second time. Still five minutes to go. Plenty of time. He adjusted a fork that was slightly out of line before checking his watch again and heading to the kitchen to stir the soup. He lifted the lid and breathed in aromas of fresh tomato, basil and Grade A beef. Bread was warming in the oven and a pot of marscapone risotto sat on the stove, ready to serve. He’d wanted the meal to be simple but hadn’t been able to resist the urge to finally try out some of the recipes he’d accumulated over the past two months. The clock was ticking. Would she be late? What if she didn’t come at all? If not then he’d just have to march over there and— The soft knock on the door released a flurry of butterflies in his gut. He set down the spoon and noticed with chagrin that his hand was shaking. He had no reason to be nervous. He had accomplished everything he had set out to do, and everything was going just as he planned. She would be happy to see him. Thrilled with all he had to tell her. Ecstatic over the plans he had made. There was no question in his mind. And yet, as he walked to the door, he had to wipe his palms on his jeans to dry the sweat that had gathered there. He had been out of contact with her for a long time. You just never knew. He took a deep breath and pulled open the door. She was a vision. Her hair had grown in the months since he’d seen her. The blonde waves cascaded over her shoulders and skimmed the curve of breast that peeked out from the bodice of her dress. A shimmering silver that caught the candlelight and turned it into a rainbow of subtle hues, the dress hugged every curve and highlighted her slim, willowy form and pale complexion. Too slim, he thought. And too pale, especially for the middle of summer. And perhaps he was to blame. But he’d done what he had to do. There was no denying it. “Am I too early?” she asked at last, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “I…could come back.” He shook his head impatiently. “No, no. I’m sorry. Come in.” He stepped aside and motioned her inside. “I was just…stunned.” She entered the room, stopped and turned on heels so high and delicate they might have been icicles. “Stunned?” He closed the door, the latch clicking softly. He stepped toward her. Stopped. And shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yes. I had almost forgotten how beautiful you are.” “Oh. Well…” She blushed, lowered her eyes. “I wasn’t really sure what to wear. The invitation seemed kind of formal, so—”

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“It’s perfect.” He had stepped forward, moved to grasp her hands and then thought better of it. “You’re perfect.” She lifted her eyes to his. They stood barely a foot apart, and yet the distance between them felt vast. How did he bridge that gap? Where did he begin? She took the first step for him. “Caleb, why am I here?” He hesitated, however. Still unsure how to say all the things he needed to say. “You’re here for dinner, of course. I…picked up a few things while I was in Italy. I wanted to share them with you.” He strode toward the kitchen, lifted the lid off the soup. “I hope you like minestrone.” “I…well…of course I do. But, Caleb. I don’t understand. Have you forgiven—” She stopped so abruptly, he had to turn to see what had interrupted her. She was staring at the table. “Pink daisies? What would make you choose pink daisies?” He said nothing. Waited, as her eyes roamed over the china and crystal. “Three? You’ve set places for three. Is someone joining us?” He could hear the uncertainty in her voice. The hesitant hopefulness. She wanted to believe but couldn’t let herself. “Yes, actually. That’s the other thing I picked up in Italy that I wanted to share with you.” She stared at him, brown eyes growing bigger by the moment, and gradually filling with tears. “No. You can’t mean…” “Susanna! Would you come out now, honey?” “Mommy?” At the sound of the young girl’s voice, Joss whirled on her impossible heels and bent to catch her daughter in her arms. Joss was in a dream. She had to be. But her daughter felt so warm, and firm and real. She smelled of soap and shampoo and bubblegum, and Joss squeezed her tighter, hoping desperately that she wouldn’t dissolve in a puff of smoke. Her t-shirt felt soft and worn beneath Joss’ hands, and her heart beat strong against Joss’ chest. Her hair tickled Joss’ cheek, and at last she believed. Tears streaming down her face, she managed to peel herself away just far enough to really look at the little girl standing before her. “Oh my God,” she breathed, brushing a wisp of golden hair from Susanna’s cheek. “It really is you.” Susanna’s face was radiant behind the tears. “I didn’t forget you, Mommy. Daddy wanted me to, but I couldn’t. I thought of you every day. I sent you pink daisy wishes every day.” “I sent them to you too.” She leaned in to kiss a warm, wet cheek. To feel the touch of skin that she had long ago given up hope of ever touching again. She whispered, “Every single day.” “Caleb told me you hadn’t forgotten me. He said you never gave up.”

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Fresh tears filled her eyes—tears of joy, confusion and gratitude—as she turned her gaze on the man who had given her the greatest gift of her life. “Caleb,” she whispered. “How…” His smile was warm and knowing. “How about we eat? I put a lot of effort into this meal, and Susanna tells me my risotto is the best thing since bubblegum.” He winked at Susanna, and her grin told Joss just how well they already knew each other. She had questions. So many questions. “And besides I happen to know somebody is hungry.” “It’s true, Mom. He cooks better than you!” Joss stood, Susanna’s hand lodged firmly in her own and turned to study the man in the royal blue golf shirt, neatly pressed jeans and broad capable shoulders. So they would talk later. They had much to discuss…later. “Does he, now? That sounds like a challenge to me.” “Oh?” He arched an eyebrow. “Well, come sit down and see for yourself. Homemade minestrone comin’ up!”

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Chapter Eighteen Joss tucked the blanket in snugly around Susanna’s shoulders. She stroked a finger down a peaches and cream cheek, and admired the lacy fan of lashes that fluttered ever so slightly as Susanna dreamt. Behind her she heard the soft whine of the DVD player as Caleb collected the Disney movie they’d been watching from the slot and switched off his home theater system. They’d been eating popcorn, halfway through The Lion King, when Susanna, snuggled between them, had begun to snore softly. Not wanting to disturb her they had eased her down onto the velvety cushions of Caleb’s couch and made her as comfortable as possible. Joss felt him approach, and without forethought reached out a hand. He grasped it and moved in close. “Sleeping soundly?” “Mm-hmm. She must have been exhausted.” “Yeah, well, we only got in last night. More like early this morning, actually. And she’s still on Switzerland time.” She turned a questioning gaze on him. “I thought we should wait another day before contacting you, but she insisted. She couldn’t wait to see you.” “Caleb…Switzerland? I don’t…” Joss frowned, sighed, shook her head in wonder. “How?” He studied her for a moment before pressing a finger to his lips and motioning for her to follow him. Her hand still tucked in his, he led her away from her sleeping angel to his bedroom. He flicked on the light and shut the door softly behind them. He released her hand and walked to the far side of the room, whisking aside the curtains and opening the window to allow the evening breeze to clear out the stuffiness left by the day. She crossed the room to join him. She stood by the window, but ignored the sparkling lights of the city and the low-hung moon. She kept her gaze trained exclusively on him. “You mentioned Switzerland. Was that where you found her?” “Yes. Eventually. It was a rather…lengthy process.” She shook her head in wonder. “I still don’t understand how—” “Leon helped.” Her eyes went wide. “Leon? But I thought you hated him.”

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“My feelings for him were irrelevant. I realized very shortly after I left you that I would need him to help me. And I knew, instinctively, that he would agree. He owed it to me. To you.” “So, you stayed in Europe all this time? You spent the last two months looking for Susanna.” “Yes. Those paintings by Calliope turned out to be a good lead, after all. Calliope was far too old to be Terrance, but he was still alive and living in Rome. We tracked him down, and when we interviewed him we found out that he’d had contact with Terrance about a year earlier. Terrance had seen a piece of his art in a gallery and had been impressed because the style was so similar to his own. “At that time Terrance was living in Tuscany. This man didn’t know an address but he knew the neighborhood. It took weeks of interviewing people, legwork and plying various police municipalities for information, but we finally tracked him to a small town in Switzerland.” He snorted with derision. “He’d used up almost all his money, already. He hadn’t sold a single painting, but thought he had a bottomless pit of the stuff, and was just realizing how shallow it actually was when we found him. When I threatened him with possible extradition, and all sorts of criminal charges, he folded like a house of cards. The bastard took me at my word that I was acting on your behalf, and handed Susanna over with barely a word of protest. I think he’d realized dragging a child all over Europe, while trying to evade authorities and maintain anonymity, wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.” He shook his head, turned his gaze out to the stars. “The man may be smart, but he’s a consummate arrogant fool.” Joss had been listening in rapt awe. “Wow. Caleb. I…don’t know what to say. That’s incredible.” He shrugged, said nothing. “But, what I don’t understand is…why? Why go to all that trouble? After everything…why would you want to help me? You didn’t owe me anything.” “Yes, I did. I made a promise. And I always keep my promises.” His expression was soft in the moonlight. Reflective. “I never would have held you to that, Caleb. You know that.” “Just like Gwen never would have held you to your promise?” She opened her mouth to respond, then, very slowly, closed it again. “I want to show you something.” He turned away from her and moved to his dresser and the small cardboard box that sat there. He popped off the top, and after a moment pulled out a small book with a plain pink cover. The number 1990 was written neatly across the front in black marker. A diary. There was a slip of paper tucked into the pages, and he opened the book to that page. “I remembered I still had the diaries Gwen kept as a teenager. I called home and

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asked a friend to ship them to me in Italy. I found what I was looking for.” He handed it to her. “Read this.” She accepted the book and began to read the entry he’d indicated. I had the most horrible dream last night. I dreamt that I died and left behind a husband and baby girl. They were so sad. So lonely. So lost. I cried in the dream, but not for me. I cried for them because they missed me so much and didn’t know where to turn. When I woke up I just knew I had to help them somehow. I know that’s probably silly. The whole thing is silly. I’ll probably never even get married, but…just in case…I’m going to ask Joss to look after my family if anything ever happens to me. When I do that I’ll feel better. Joss is the one person in the world I know will understand. She’s the only one I can trust. Tomorrow we’re going to Firefly Lake together. It’s so beautiful there. I can’t wait. An intense, and strangely indefinable, pressure building in her chest, she lifted her eyes to Caleb. “She didn’t write again for several weeks. She was like that. She’d write diligently for a month or two, and then forget about it again until something notable happened.” “So she never actually wrote about that day. The day she asked me.” “No. She didn’t need to.” He sighed. “And in all honesty, I didn’t need to see this either. I had already accepted the truth of what you had told me. Of your promise, and the sincerity of your commitment to her.” “But I lied to you.” He quirked a half-smile. “How can I fault you for that, when I spent so much time lying to myself?” “About the guilt you felt for their deaths?” “No.” He reached for her then. He grasped her hands in both of his and drew her close. Close enough that his chest brushed her breasts, and that his breath caressed her cheek. “About how I feel about you.” She blew out a long, slow breath. Hesitant to ask. Even more hesitant to believe. “And how do you feel about me?” “I think…” He frowned, his head tilting slightly to the side. “I think I may be falling in love with you.” “Oh.” She wasn’t sure if it was the words or the look in his eyes that stole her breath. “And why would you think that?” He released one hand to stroke a cheek. “Because the whole time I was away you were all I could think about. All I could dream about.” He cupped her chin and drew her mouth to his, tracing his tongue along her lower lip and sending a flash of heat through her blood. He whispered, “All I could taste.” She swallowed past a tongue that felt thick with the desire to taste him back. She wanted him desperately too. Wanted to sink into him. Savor his warmth and his strength and the passion she saw in his eyes. But part of her hesitated. Should it be that easy? 140

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She traced a finger down his chest. “You were gone a long time, Caleb. You never called me. You left me thinking that you hated me. That I’d never see you again.” “You’re right. And I’m sorry about that. But I was consumed with what I was doing in Europe. And I wasn’t really sure until…” She lifted her eyes to his. “Until what?” “Until I saw you again. Until I saw you with Susanna.” She smiled, warmth spreading through her at the mention of her daughter. She had her back. It still didn’t seem real. “There.” He captured her chin, drew her attention back to him. “That’s what I’m talking about. The look on your face when you saw her. The absolute joy you felt when you were reunited with her. The fact that every wall you had erected to protect yourself from the loss you felt crumbled and fell away—that was what I needed to see. It was at that moment I knew…I knew I wanted you. Not just for a moment or a day. But forever. For as long as the gods are willing to give us.” She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. His words surrounded her, seduced her, sucked her in and made her believe—believe in things she’d long ago given up on. Hope. And love. And happiness. “Now just one question remains.” She managed a strangled whisper. “What’s that?” “Do you want me?” “Yes. Oh God, yes.” The words came out on a rush of breath that he captured with his mouth. The kiss was sweet, his lips gentle and persuasive. When he wrapped his arms around her, drew her in tight, she melted against his chest. When he deepened the kiss and sank his tongue into her, every muscle turned to liquid gold, every nerve ending sparked to life. The ridge of his erection pressed against her cleft and she tilted her hips in eager acceptance. His hands skimmed up her back, rested on her shoulders. “This dress is beautiful,” he whispered in her ear. “But it’s got to go.” He slipped the straps from her shoulders and the dress slithered down her body to congeal in a shimmering silver cloud at her feet. “No bra,” he said, smiling down at her as he traced the curve of her breast, explored a straining nipple. “You anarchist, you.” She smiled at the reference to their first meeting, quickly popped the button on his jeans and slid her hand inside. She found hot skin and hard cock. “Commando. Seems you have some anarchistic tendencies as well.” “I guess us anarchists should stick together.” “Yeah. I guess.” She pushed his jeans over his hips and sank to her knees in front of him, taking him deep in mouth and caressing him with her tongue. 141

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“Oh. Christ.” To her utter delight he almost lost his balance. His feet trapped in the legs of his jeans, he had to lean against the wall for support as she worked her lips up and down his shaft. Suckled the tip, and laved her tongue slowly over his balls. “You better stop that.” His knuckles whitened as he clenched his hands into tight fists. “Mmm.” Her lips vibrated against his cock and she added her hands to the mix. She felt his balls tighten beneath her fingers and was sure he was close to climax when suddenly he growled, grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her to her feet. “Not yet,” was all he said before he whisked her off her feet and stepped out of his jeans to carry her the four steps to his bed. He tossed her on the mattress and gripped her ankles to prevent her squirming as he raked his eyes over her. “Damn,” he breathed, his gaze like fire on her skin. “I’d almost forgotten.” She propped herself up on her elbows to watch him as he settled himself between her legs on the bed. But he pushed her back onto the pillows. “Lie down,” he commanded. “And don’t move.” He began skimming his hands up her legs. Starting at her ankles, he teased her with a featherlight touch that threatened to drive her mad. “Remain perfectly still.” His voice was a notch above a whisper. “And allow me to admire you.” He reached her thighs, his thumbs skimming the delicate skin just below her pussy. “Explore you.” She tensed when he reached the apex, touched the fabric of her thong. In that same hypnotic voice he repeated, “No. Stay relaxed.” He brushed across her pussy. “Perfectly relaxed.” She wanted so desperately to move, to touch him, to participate. “I can’t.” He bent low and kissed her belly. “Yes, you can.” He traced his tongue along the edge of her thong, his hands gripping her thighs firmly enough to warn her not to try to move again. “Can’t you?” Something about the request and the insistence in his demeanor made her want to comply. “I…can try.” “You’ll have to do better than try.” He tugged down her thong, brushed his fingertips across her feminine lips, barely grazing her clit. “You’ll have to do.” She nodded, felt dampness soak into the duvet beneath her. “Close your eyes and just…be.” He circled her clit with his tongue, massaged it lightly with his fingers. “Belong to me.” Those words seeped into her, flooded her with warmth. She’d never felt like she belonged to anyone before. So completely desired and possessed. “That’s it, baby. That’s it.” He increased the attentions from his tongue, and simultaneously sank his fingers into her channel. She kept her body motionless, her muscles relaxed, and somehow the sensations were exaggerated. The motion of his tongue grew more rapid, the pressure from his

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fingers more intense. She wanted to arch her back, press her pussy against his mouth, but resisted, focusing exclusively on her body, and her reactions to him. “Mmm,” he groaned, drawing out the word and adding the vibrations of his voice to the incredible actions of his tongue. An orgasm loomed, but she didn’t seek it, work toward it. Instead she let it come to her, allowed him to bring it to her. It approached softly, starting like a ripple on the ocean, but swelling and growing, its hidden power making itself known. “Oh,” she said, her voice betraying her as he thrust deeper, laved harder. “My God!” Despite her intentions she reared up, arching her back and thrusting out her chest as the waves of climax washed over her. He didn’t let up, kept his mouth on her and his fingers inside her, drawing out the orgasm until it had wrung every breath, and every bit of energy out of her. At last, spent, she collapsed onto the bed, and almost before her back hit the mattress he was inside her. She opened her eyes and gazed into his blue depths, sparkling like the stars outside the window. Although his cock was thick and hard, his thrusts were slow and contemplative. Sweet and teasing. “That was beautiful.” “Was it?” She was surprised she could speak. “You know I love to watch you come.” He brushed some hair off her forehead, kissed one cheek, and then the other. “I want to watch you come again.” “I…don’t think…I can.” She groaned, closed her eyes, savored the weight of his body on hers, the firmness of his chest against her breasts. “Oh yes, you can.” He kissed her deeply. “All you have to do is trust me.” Another thrust, and another kiss. “If you trust me, we—all three of us—we can do anything.” She opened her eyes and studied him as her excitement grew anew. “Do you, Joss? Do you trust me? To love you? To take care of you? To make a family with you?” “I do, Caleb,” she said, accepting it, and knowing instinctively that, at last, he truly trusted her as well. “I do.”

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About the Author Nikki lives in a small town in Ontario, Canada. In the midst of the chaos that comes with raising three small boys, working part-time as a lab tech in a hospital blood bank, and caring for her ever-adoring husband, she dreams up her stories. Nikki's work is an eclectic combination of romance, mystery, suspense and humor with characters that have plenty of room to grow. Nikki welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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Also by Nikki Soarde And Lady Makes Three anthology Balance of Power Duplicity Jagged Gift Package Deal Phobia Roguish Hearts Wild Oats

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