Harlequin Shorts Online Part 01

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Along Came Joe

By Marie Ferrarella

3

2

Wife For Real

By Kate Walker

26

3

Whirlwind Wedding

By Lillian Darcy

49

4

Wedding In Venice

By Lucy Gordon

68

5

Walk On The Wilde Side

By Anne Marie Winston

104

6

The Wedding Expert

By Darcy Mcguire

127

7

The Tycoon's Surprise

By Katherine Garbera

148

8

The Spy Who Loved Her

By Marie Ferrarella

171

9

The Secret Wedding

By Liz Fielding

203

10

The Runaway Mistress

By Sandra Marton

221

11

Love Letters

By Barbara Mcmahon

249

12

The Prince's Proposal

By Carla Cassidy

272

13

The Marriage Secret

By Kim Lawrence

295

14

The Heart of Riverbend

By Judith Arnold

321

15

The Greek Tycoon's Baby

By Lynne Graham

346

16

The Duke's Dilemma

By Margaret Moore

368

17

Taking A Risk

By Brenda Novak

379

18

Sugar and Spice

By Lynette Kent

402

19

Single In San Francisco

By Cara Summers

419

20

Roped into Romance

By Alison Kent

440

21

Outlaw Hearts

By Elizabeth Lane

458

22

Night Moves

By Jeanie London

471

23

Mistress Of His Heart

By Deborah Hale

492

24

Mistaken for a Mistress

By Jane Porter

514

25

Miss Ex-Girlfriend Pageant

By Melissa Senate

538

26

Millionaires Don't Count

By Sophie Weston

558

27

Midsummer Masque

By Deborah Hale

592

28

Marrying Mary

By Lori Foster

610

29

Marriage Overboard

By Christine Rimmer

637

30

Manhunting Masquerade

By Joanne Rock

659

31

Made To Measure

By Joan Elliott Pickart

671

32

Kissing Cupid

By Holly Jacobs

691

33

Just One Kiss

By Jessica Hart

702

34

Indulge Me

By Joanne Rock

721

35

In Bed with the Boss

By Sharon Kendrick

741

36

Hot Flash

By Donna Kauffman

771

37

From Lust to Love

By Cathy Williams

790

38

For Love Or Money

By Liz Bevarly

815

39

Dr Protector

By Jessica Andersen

839

40

Double Destiny (incomplete)

By Caroline Anderson

862

41

Doctor's Orders

By Bobby Hutchinson

876

42

Diamond Affairs

By Isabel Sharpe

889

43

Designer Sex

By Heather McAllister

910

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44

Cherokee Christmas

By Sheri Whitefeather

935

45

Pulse Point (Charlotte's Angel)

By Catherine Spencer

964

46

Breaking News

By Gina Wilkins

974

47

Bayou Reunion

By Rebecca York

994

Till 47…

* eHarlequin, US

rest of them Mills and Boon, UK

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Along Came Joe by Marie Ferrarella In need of cash to save the family ranch, single dad Joe competes in a reality television show! Unfortunately, beautiful Theresa Knight is just as determined to win... Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| Chapter One “Why didn’t you tell me?” Joe Cooper demanded. “Don’t yell at your mother.” A sad, bemused smile curved Elaine Cooper’s lips as she looked at her firstborn. She knew he only meant well. “Sets a bad example for your son.” Joe lowered his voice, exasperation echoing in every syllable. “Jesse’s upstairs, trying to figure out how to be a rock star so he can impress some girl in his class. I am not yelling and don’t try to change the subject. You should have told me the county was asking you for back taxes on the ranch.” He wouldn’t have known now, if he hadn’t stumbled across the letter in the den while looking for an old photo album. The bill had been for the astronomical sum of three hundred and forty-five thousand dollars, payable in a month’s time. Or else. Elaine shook her head. After all this time, he still didn’t understand how mothers worked. “And what, casually toss it on top of all the trouble you were having? Your wife was dying, you were going bankrupt and trying to hold civilized life as you knew it together for Jesse’s sake. Did you expect me to pick up the phone and say, ‘Hello, son. How are you and, oh, yes, by the way, can you spare a truckload of cash because some idiot realized they’d been taxing my land at the wrong rate and now if I don’t pay them, I’m going to lose the old homestead?’” “Something like that.” He dragged a hand through his deep brown hair and looked at his mother. “So what are you going to do?” Elaine sighed. “I don't know. Going to bed with the county assessor doesn’t seem to be the way to go. He’s gay.” She saw the incredulous look come shooting across her son’s face. “I’m kidding. Not about the county assessor being gay. He is.” She glanced at an oil painting of her late husband hanging over the living room fireplace. Lord, but she did miss him. He would have known what to do, no matter what. “Wouldn’t want to add insult to injury.” Humor had always been his mother’s way of dealing with things. It used to be his, as well, but he had long since lost the ability to laugh over things. Life had gotten much too serious for him in the past year. “I’m assuming you haven’t called the guys about this, either.” She looked at him sharply. “No, and I’m not going to. And neither are you,” she warned. “There’s nothing Max, Sean and Ryan can do, anyway. The back taxes come to almost three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” Why was she being so stubborn about this? “There’s money being held in trust for each of them. Almost a half a million each according to the terms of Dad’s will,” he reminded her. He’d already gotten his share, but Sandra’s medical bills had cleaned him out. But there was more than enough still waiting for his brothers. “If any one of them had access to their resources -” “Exactly,” his mother cut in. “Their resources, not mine. Four hundred thousand dollars for each of them — same as you.” A small woman, she straightened and squared her shoulders. “I couldn’t ask them for it. Besides, they won’t even get it until after they’re married and from what I know of my sons, even with that

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incentive dangling in front of them, none of them is anywhere close to tying the knot. I can’t expect them to grab some woman off the street and run off to get married because I need money.” Joe fixed her with a look. “You’ve always been there for us.” Elaine waved away his protest. “Sticking Band-Aids on scraped knees doesn’t quite come with a price tag of four hundred thousand dollars each for services rendered.” “You did a hell of a lot more than that and you know it.” She was the glue that had held the family together through the lean years, the one who had instilled such a strong sense of family within him. She couldn’t expect him to just back away from that now. “I’m sure June Cleaver wouldn’t have expected Wally and the Beaver to fork over a couple hundred thousand each, either.” Elaine smiled fondly. “More than likely, they’d throw together a lemonade stand. If you wanted to go sell lemonade on my behalf, I wouldn’t stand in your way.” “What I want to do is save the ranch. For all of us.” But mostly for her. This was her home, he thought. The only home she’d ever known since she’d come to the Virginia horse ranch as a new bride. Elaine sighed, looking out the bay window that faced the back of her property. The view stretched out forever, taking in the stables, the lush grass, the corral where she and her husband and then her sons had trained the horses. How much longer was she going to be able to see it? How much longer was this going to be hers? She didn’t want to think about that. “So do I, dear, so do I. But right now, I am fresh out of ideas. The tooth fairy doesn’t leave that kind of money under the pillow when she makes her rounds, and I certainly can’t get a loan from the bank.” And it went without saying that he wasn’t exactly a candidate for floating one, either. At least, not for the kind of money it would take to placate the county tax assessor. There was a little more than five hundred dollars in his bank account. What the stock market hadn’t eroded from his holdings, Sandra’s medical bills had eaten up. They had exceeded by far anything that their health insurance was contracted to pay out. That was why he and Jesse had to come back to the ranch to stay after her death. He’d sold everything to get out of debt and had nowhere else to turn. His mother had welcomed them both with open arms, telling him that this was their home and always would be. Apparently, “always” was going to have a finite duration if the county had its way. Joe frowned. He felt like someone caught up in an old fashioned melodrama. He needed to save the old homestead from being sold right out from under them. That the responsibility wasn’t solely his had never crossed his mind. He was the oldest; it was his job to look out for his mother and her interests. At bottom, that was what he was about — making sure those he loved were cared for, were all right. Right now, he wasn’t doing his job very well. He’d spent months helplessly watching his wife deteriorate without being able to do anything to change that. Impotently watched as bills ate his money, money that had been earmarked for Jesse’s college education, for a better life for his son. He hadn’t been able to help Sandra, hadn’t been able to keep his inheritance from eroding, but there damn well had to be something he could do here. He tried to think of options and found himself facing nothing but a brick wall. But people scaled walls. He used to as a kid. “There’s got to be a way to raise money.”

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Elaine nodded. She placed her hand on his arm, trying to mutely tell him it was all right, that this was her fight, not his. “Maybe there is.” They both turned to see that Jesse was standing in the doorway, his worn sneakers planted on the highly polished wooden floor. His son was clutching a newspaper in his hand. “Don't you know any better than to come sneaking up on your dad and grandmother?” Joe asked. “I wasn’t sneaking,” the eight-year-old said defensively. “You were talking loud.” Elaine gave Joe a look that all but audibly declared, “See?” Joe beckoned his son over to the sofa. “How could you hear me over that guitar you’ve been torturing?” Jesse ignored his father’s question. Instead, he held up the newspaper he’d brought down. There’d been an ad for a video game he wanted in it, but what he’d heard had made him forget about something so selfish. “I can earn the money for you, Grandma.” Elaine hugged the boy to her. “I’m afraid I can’t wait for you to become a rock star, honey.” Jesse gave her a look that said he knew that. “No, but I can go on TV and win the contest.” “What contest?” Joe wanted to know. “The Journey. They’re coming here and looking for people.” Jesse held up the front page of the section he was holding. “It says right here they’re looking for outdoor types.” He grinned at his grandmother, looking exactly like his father had at his age, Elaine thought. Jesse pounded his chest with a small fist. “I’m an outdoor type. I can win the contest and give the money to you. You’ll be rich.” Elaine could only laugh. It served to keep back the tears. “I already am rich. I’ve got a big, strong, handsome grandson who wants to take care of me.” “Let me see that.” Joe took the paper from his son and began to scan the article. Elaine looked up sharply. She knew what a private person her oldest son was. She also knew all about reality shows. This would be tantamount to living in a fishbowl. “Joe, you’re not thinking -” “Yes,” he told her, “I am.” He turned the paper around so that she could see the title of the article: Winner to Get a Million Dollars. “That should take care of all your problems,” he pointed out. “And there’d be more than enough left over to stake me to a new life.” “You going to try out for the contest, Dad?” Jesse wanted to know. “No,” Joe said. “I’m going to win the contest.” Chapter Two “Looks like every man and woman in Virginia came to try out for this show,” Joe commented as he got out of the car. Elaine slid into the driver’s seat, taking his place behind the wheel. “Joe, why don’t you forget about this and just come home?”

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“Because I want to keep coming home and it won’t be home if I don’t win this.” He looked across the street at the ever growing crowd in front the Body Beautiful Fitness Center. This was where the producers of The Journey, the newest reality program to catch the country’s attention by storm, were looking for contestants. The irony of the situation made him smile. He had to be the only one in the country who had never watched a reality show. Even his mother was a faithful viewer of one of them. And now here he was literally betting the farm, or in this case ranch, that he could come up a winner on this one. According to the article he’d read, twenty contestants were to be chosen. It looked as though several thousand had shown up. It was going to be a long afternoon. Joe leaned over and kissed his mother’s cheek through the open window. “I’ll give you a call when it’s over.” He winked. “You can pick up the pieces.” Knowing she couldn’t talk her oldest son out of something after he’d made up his mind, Elaine wished him luck and then drove off. Joe braced himself. It looked as if he was going to have a long wait ahead of him. Taking out the portable mp3 player Sandra had given him the last Christmas they’d had together, he attached the small headphones then placed them on his ears. He slid the almost flat player into the back pocket of his jeans. When he’d gotten the gift, he’d laughed and said it was just something else he wasn’t going to use. But now that Sandra was gone, he played the memory stick full of tunes she’d selected for him often. It made him feel closer to her. Crossing the street, he approached the end of the ever growing line. Another would-be applicant came up from the rear at the same time he did. Since the laws of physics hadn’t been amended and two objects weren’t capable of taking up the same space at the same time, Joe found himself colliding with a very soft, yet at the same time firm, surface. An athletic-looking young woman with short, curly black hair and eyes the color of a rich chocolate sundae recovered herself in time to keep from ignobly meeting the pavement. The earphones were still on his head. The woman was saying something to him, and her lips were definitely not in sync with what Toby Keith was singing about into his ear. Joe slid the headphones off, leaving them hanging around his neck. He flashed an apologetic grin. “Hey, sorry.” Neither the grin nor the abbreviated apology appeared to do it for her. The woman looked summarily annoyed. “Look, mister, if you haven’t learned how to walk and pay attention to where you’re going at the same time, maybe you shouldn’t be trying out for the show.” Her eyes widened as she heard the tune he was listening to emanating from the headphones around his neck. She didn’t recognize the song, but was apparently familiar enough with the mode of music to allow a smirk to cross her generous mouth. The chocolate eyes rose to meet his face. “Country and western — well, maybe that explains it.” He wasn’t a big fan of country and western music — that had been Sandra’s thing. But he didn’t care for the woman’s superior attitude. Normally polite to a fault, he felt annoyance taking hold of his tongue. “And what’s your excuse?” The mark of a fighter about her, he watched the woman’s chest swell indignantly. He had to admit, despite the confrontational situation, it was a rather attractive sight. It surprised him to feel something stirring inside. “Inside” had been dead for a very long time.

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The woman looked ready to tangle with him right then and there. Her chin shot up as several people around them began to pay attention to the exchange. “What?” “You walked into me just as much as I walked into you,” Joe pointed out. She found his voice annoyingly low and controlled. It only made her more irritated. “Look, cowboy -” “Is there a problem here?” A burly-looking man wearing a short-sleeve shirt and short, stubby tie that definitely looked out of place with his bulging muscles and size-eighteen neck seemed to materialize out of the crowd. His manner labeled him as being with the producers and the talent scouts. His job was security or, more to the point, to keep the peace. Joe became aware of another man standing behind the first, holding a camera, apparently filming the potential contestants standing out in eighty-seven degree weather. Obviously the powers that be were anticipating short tempers and shorter fuses. The woman tossed her head, her dark curls bouncing. Her firm breasts seemed to rise up a notch. “No problem. Nothing I can’t handle.” The man turned his attention to Joe. Joe inclined his head toward the woman. “What she said.” With a huff that was meant to be taken as a warning, the man withdrew, taking the cameraman with him. The latter drifted over to another section of the endless line. Joe reined in his temper, regaining control over it. He wasn’t out to make enemies, just to get this over with. Leaving bad feelings to fester was only going to make things worse. “Joe Cooper,” he said, putting out his hand. Surprised, the woman with the picture-perfect, taut body looked at him a second before finally placing her own hand in his. “Theresa Knight.” Her eyes locked with his. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being challenged on a very basic, earthly level. Theresa was nothing if not the picture of confidence. “And I’m going to win this thing.” A beat passed. He realized that he was still holding her hand. Joe opened his fingers, letting go. “First you have to qualify,” he told her quietly. “That’s already a given.” Theresa shifted slightly, aware that his eyes were washing over her. Was that judgment she saw? It wouldn’t be the first time, but she always reacted as if it were. “What? You think I’m too small to go white-water rafting and rock climbing? You think just because you’re a guy and bigger than I am that for some reason —” “No.” He cut short whatever tirade was in the making. He hadn’t come out here to argue with anyone. He hadn’t even come out here to compete against anyone. He’d just come out here because his mother needed the money and this was the only thing he could do in short order. That he had to win was not a question. It was a statement. With that, he turned and faced forward. Picking up the headphones, he slipped them back on his ears and drowned out everything else that was going on around him.

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Including the rather stunning woman fuming at his back. Chapter Three Standing out in the hot sun for the past three hours had come close to draining him. Joe suspected that was exactly the intent of the reality program’s talent scouts. It served as the first round for weeding out the lesser contestants, separating the starstruck from the serious. The next few rounds, he had a feeling, were going to be far more grueling. By the time he got into the shade of the building, he felt as if he’d lost five pounds of water weight. He and the others who were admitted at this point were all given bottled water to quench their thirst. He drank his sparingly. His whole life had been about pacing himself and this was no different. As the oldest in the family, he’d been born older than the others. More serious than the others. It was his job to set an example, his job to shoulder responsibilities and if, at times, he grew damn weary of his “job,” at other times he realized just how lucky he was to have a family that looked to him for support, that offered support to him those few times he found himself in need. He thought of his mother, trying to ease his burden by keeping the news about the ranch’s reassessment to herself. There was no way he was going to allow the ranch to be taken from her, he thought. Joe took in his surroundings. The woman who he’d collided with was still there. By her bearing and manner, he’d already figured out that it would take a lot more than just discomfort to make Theresa Knight voluntarily drop out the way about a hundred or so would-be contestants had before they ever reached the physical fitness center’s red double doors. There was a determination about the woman he recognized. It was the same look he’d seen in his own mirror. Once inside the building, they were herded into a large communal room, a hundred candidates at a time, to await the first of several interviews with the talent scouts, followed by a battery of endurance tests to see if they had the stamina for the contest. As he found himself being shuffled from one place to another en masse, he began to understand what cattle went through as they were being herded. He was glad the ranch he’d grown up on raised racehorses. Not for much longer, he thought ruefully as he staked out a place for himself and sank down to the floor. Not if he couldn’t win this. Taking another swig from the water bottle he was holding, Joe looked around, trying to get a feel for what was ahead for him. The article Jesse had found had summoned one and all to an old-fashioned test of “grit.” “Grit” didn’t begin to describe the kinds of things he was going to be up against. The only other clue was that they wanted contestants who could hold their own outdoors. And he could do that. “Scoping out the competition, cowboy?” He didn’t have to turn around to know that the question came from the woman who was already critical of his choice of music. “Just getting the lay of the land.” Since she had initiated the conversation, he decided to try to satisfy his own curiosity. “You have any idea what they expect us to actually do in this contest? Exactly what are we up against?” “Each other.” For a moment, she looked as if she was going to leave it at that. And then, thinking better of her quip, she added, “I heard there’re going to be twenty people, broken up into teams of five. You work with your team and against it.”

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That sounded like a direct contradiction. “What does that mean?” She wondered if this man had any true idea of what he was getting himself into. Most of the people trying out today didn’t. But then, they didn’t have her advantage. Theresa sat down next to him. “It means, cowboy, that only one person, not a team, gets the prize money. You work with your team to beat out the other three teams, then you work for yourself to beat out the other four people in your group, some of whom, if you’re lucky, have already been disqualified by that time.” He’d never subscribed to the every-man-for-himself theory of operation. “Not exactly the great American way, is it?” Just how innocent was this guy? He wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes in her old neighborhood. Fairness was seen as a weakness, not a plus. Still, she had to admit that on him, it seemed a little sexy. But if he was a stickler for being fair, Theresa judged she was going to be able to beat him easily. It was almost a shame, given that he was one of the better-looking specimens of manhood she’d seen here so far. “Sure it is. It’s looking out for number one.” Joe frowned. “That wasn’t the principle on which this country was built.” Unable to contain herself any longer, she stared at him. “Where did they find you?” “They didn’t. I found them. Or Jesse did.” And if it wasn’t that he was convinced that there was no other way to save the ranch, he would have been out of here like a shot. Hell, he would have never been in here to begin with. “Jessie,” Theresa echoed. “That your significant other?” “In a manner of speaking.” At least, there was no one else who figured more significantly into his life than Jesse. “Jesse’s my eight-year-old son.” Was he kidding? What cave had this man come out of? “‘Significant other’ means mate, cowboy, not kid.” Pausing, Theresa gave the man beside her a long once-over, taking in the fact that even though the man sounded like a throwback to another era, maybe even another planet, he was damn good-looking in a very rugged sort of way. She wondered if he knew what to do with those muscles of his. And if there was anyone to appreciate them. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she decided. “Is there a Mrs. Cowboy waiting somewhere around here?” Even after all these months, it was still hard not to think of Sandra in the picture. He could feel the ache forming in his chest even before he said, “I’m a widower.” The way he said it, he hadn’t been one all that long. Theresa felt a little uncomfortable that she’d intruded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stir up any bad memories.” “You didn’t. All my memories of Sandra are good ones. Except for the end,” he added quietly. Restless, he looked around. At the other end of the large room, people were trickling out through a door one person at a time. Probably to be interviewed. At this rate, he was going to be here until after the county seized his mother’s ranch. He looked back toward Theresa. “So you don’t know what kind of things they’re going to have us doing?”

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She shrugged, her shoulders moving the straps of her white tank top. She moved them back into place. “Hiking, fishing, climbing, things like that. Audiences like to see people sweat.” He really didn’t care for that part of it. For being on display. But his back was to the wall. “Is the whole thing going to be televised?” “The best parts. Ratings.” She paused, studying him. She knew a little something about the kinds of people who turned out for these things. And he didn’t fit the category. “Why are you doing this? You don't seem like the type. I mean, you look rugged and all, but you look more like the forest ranger type.” He didn’t see the contradiction. “Isn’t that what you just said they were looking for?” “Forest ranger,” she elaborated, “as in working somewhere with a lot of trees and not that many people.” Joe shrugged, not wanting to get into his real reasons. “I want the prize money.” She laughed shortly. “Don’t we all?” Joe crossed his arms before him, taking measure of the woman. She was wearing a white tank top, hiking boots and denim shorts. Her body was taut and sinewy. She was right about him. He generally kept to himself. Questions about other people rarely occurred to him, but they were occurring now, about this feisty, sensual woman. “What would you do with it if you won?” Theresa’s answer was honest. “I’ve got a personal-training business that could use a jump-start.” “Is that what you are, a personal trainer?” She certainly had the body to advertise her techniques. Because she’d grown up the hard way, with failure grasping to pull her down at every turn, she was immediately defensive. “Why? Don’t I look it?” He held up his hand. “Every inch. But your short fuse could use some work,” he added. So the quiet cowboy thing was just an act. She’d met guys like him before. “And you’d be just the guy to help me work it, right?” “No,” he said. His answer caught her off guard. “But you might do well to know that not everything someone says is a challenge.” “Cooper, Knight, Jones, Conrad, Swartz.” The names were announced over the loud speaker. Their discussion tabled, Theresa rose to her feet quickly, ready to head out. “Looks like we get to hang out a little longer. Until you wash out,” she added with a grin. Joe said nothing as he followed her toward the man standing in the doorway with a clipboard in his hand. He saw no point in declaring that he had no intentions of washing out. Actions, he felt, always spoke louder than words. Chapter Four “You made it!” Jesse squealed when he returned with his grandmother later that evening to pick up his father. Joe lowered himself into the passenger seat, waving his mother back when she began to vacate the driver’s side. “You drive. I’m too tired. If I drive, we’ll wind up in an accident. I don’t have enough energy to lift my foot from the gas to the brake.”

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Elaine looked concerned as she watched her son strap in. “Joe, what did they have you doing?” “Everything,” he groaned. Joe leaned back against the seat, trying to absorb the comfort. On the verge of collapsing, it was still hard for his body to relax.He felt as if he’d been folded, spindled and mutilated. “We were competing for most of the day. Running, swimming, weight training - you name it, we did it. Over and over again. Did it until we dropped and they made their choices.” Jesse grabbed the back of his father’s seat. “But you didn’t drop, did you, Dad?” Joe exhaled deeply. “No, but I sure wanted to.” Jesse was fairly bouncing in his seat. “And you won, right, Dad?” “Not yet,” Joe reminded him. “But I’m one of the twenty who can.” It had been round after round of disqualifications all day long. There were times when he thought he wasn’t going to make it, but somehow he always managed to qualify. In the end, there were just twenty of them left. Five women and fifteen men. It didn’t surprise him that Theresa with her can-do/go-to-hell attitude had wound up being one of the final contestants. What did surprise him was that a part of him had been rooting her on. The next week was going to be really interesting, he decided. The competition was to last as long as it took one of them to reach destination’s end, the center of a ghost town accessible only over rough terrain. By the producers’ estimates, The Journey would most likely take at least the next week. And every step of the way was going to be immortalized on tape. The footage would then be edited and ultimately shown over five weeks, one hour a week. They had all been required to bring in signed statements from their doctors, testifying that they were in good health and could withstand a rigorous regimen. They were required to sign pledges of secrecy, saying that they would not disclose to anyone which of them had not made it to journey’s end until after the final show was broadcast. They would have no contact with friends or family while filming the show either, which Joe knew would be the hardest part for him. Joe packed a suitcase, and his doubts, two days after he’d tried out for the program and got on a plane bound for California, along with the other nineteen contestants. They were taken out on the town for one last night in “civilization,” told to “eat, drink and be merry,” because on the morn, all bets were off. Being “merry” included capping the evening off with dancing. He’d meant to only be an observer, but no one was allowed to stand on the sidelines, so he asked Theresa for a dance. It was the end of the evening, and the dance was a slow one. He was surprised by how easily she fit into his arms. She seemed to read his mind. “Don’t get too close to anyone,” she advised. “I’m game. Why?” She looked up at him. “Because you might have to double-cross them in the end.” She was putting him on notice, he thought. Amused, he smiled at her. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Theresa lay her head against his shoulder. A ripple went through him as he felt her breath slowly penetrate through his shirt and warm his skin.

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At the crack of dawn, they were all driven to the Colorado River, which boasted rapids the caliber the producers were looking for. “Okay, let’s go over the rules,” Benjamin Reed, the head producer, announced. At five-four he looked like a modern-day Napoleon as he moved amid the contestants, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression intense. “You and your team are to cross the rapids, climb up the side of Mt. Evans, hike through the forest and reach Cimarron, a ghost town located smack in the middle of nowhere. “The journey is roughly — and I do mean roughly — two hundred fifty miles of utterly inhospitable terrain.” His intense blue eyes took in every face around him one at a time. “You can only accept help from your team, no one else. Something goes wrong and one of the camera personnel or health facilitators are called into action, you’re disqualified. “You lose your rations, your tent, you’re out unless one of your team members steps in and shares theirs with you. As you approach the end of the journey, I want you all to start thinking for yourselves about yourselves. Any friendships you’ve formed are only going to work against you as you reach the ghost town. First one into the town’s square wins.” He paused dramatically as he looked at each one of them again. “And there’s only going to be one winner. Understood?” A smattering of low voices gave him the answer he expected. Joe looked at Theresa. She, along with three other men, a salesman, a premed student and an unemployed engineer, made up his team. “Doesn’t exactly breed brotherly love, does he?” Theresa looked at him with a shake of her head. Still the innocent. How could a grown man not know any better? Still, in an odd way, there was something gallant about that. She shut the thought away. “That’s not the object of the game, now is it?” It seemed more like cutthroat competition than a game to him, Joe thought, but he kept his opinion to himself. Reed continued talking. The roar of the rapids in the distance seemed to underscore his words. “Okay, that said, if you get into trouble, signal.” It was an order, not a suggestion. “We’re not looking to have anyone get hurt or killed here. It’s a friendly game,” he reminded them. “You’ve got cameras in your gear, cameras trained on you at all times no matter where you go. We’ll be there faster than your next thought if something goes wrong.” “Those cameras on us, um, does that include, um, nature breaks?” one of the women asked nervously. Reed grinned. “You can turn the camera off then. But only then.” He addressed the rest of them. “Now I want you to go out there and remember, have fun.” “Is that before or after we beat out everyone?” Theresa wanted to know. Reed made eye contact with her. Joe watched the exchange and wondered if the two had known each other before The Journey’s talent scouts had descended on the city. There seemed to be something familiar passing between them. “Before if you want,” Reed answered. “Definitely after.” The four teams moved to the side, getting out of the camera crew’s way as the latter group set up for the initial shot. In the background, a helicopter crew was ready to take off to capture the aerial shots. Joe was aware of Theresa standing next to him. She seemed so charged with energy, if she were a firecracker, he was positive she’d already be shooting out beams of lights from her fingertips.

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The thought that had occurred to him last night on the dance floor made a reappearance. She was a stunningly beautiful woman. But he reminded himself that he was a man whose soul had been burned away, so whether or not she was beautiful was supposed to hold very little meaning for him. Still, she was easy on the eyes. “Okay, we’ve divided you into teams, trying to balance out all four groups.” Rafts were being set up on the ground in front of each set of five. “Good luck,” Reed told them. “And may the best man — or woman — win.” Raising the starter pistol over his head, he squeezed the trigger. The sound was absorbed by the roar of the distant rapids. Five teams grabbed hold of their rafts and ran for the river amid shouts of “Geronimo” and similar cries to battle. The Journey had begun. Chapter Five When measured in miles, the section of the river that comprised the rapids seemed almost negligible. When calculated in breath-stealing seconds and heart-stopping tosses and turns, it seemed endless. All that was missing was a whirlpool. During this leg of The Journey, it felt to Joe as if time had stopped and eternity beckoned. Not today. He did his best to keep the latter at bay. Every single muscle in Joe’s body felt as if it had come alive, straining to the limit as he paddled hard in order to keep the raft he and the other four people were on from capsizing. Joe absolutely refused to be part of the first team to be disqualified in total. He’d navigated rapids only twice before in his life. Once with his father and brothers, Max, Sean and Ryan, and once with Sandra on their first married vacation. Either his memory had gone sentimental, or it had just gone, he thought, because neither time had felt as if it were a life-and-death struggle against foaming water and rock formations that seemed to appear out of nowhere, ready to do their damnedest to tip the raft over, or worse, disable it. His concentration so intent on the struggle, Joe was hardly aware that there were three other rafts around theirs in close proximity. For that matter, he was hardly aware of the people on his own raft. Except for the woman. The muscle formations on Theresa’s arms were prominent, fairly bulging as she fought with the river to hang on to her paddle. Water kept crashing over them. Her body glistened beneath the hot sun as the rapids waged a battle not only for control of the paddles, the raft and the people in it, but also to displace them within the raft with its own volume. All of them were drenched in a matter of seconds after they encountered the first set of rapids. She looked good wet.

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The thought burrowed its way into his head in between the strategies that were ricocheting through his brain. Strategies and random thoughts of not just failure but the dangers of miscalculation. It wouldn’t do to get too confident. The river could knock that confidence right out of you with a well-aimed wave. Joe wrapped his fingers more tightly around the paddle. They already hurt beyond aching. His concentration was shattered as he thought he heard a scream above the roar of the rapids. His head jerked around toward the sound in pure reflex. Theresa looked as if she was suspended in midair. In less than a heartbeat, her body would be over the side of the black rubber raft. Despite all the safeguards and precautions taken, she could be lost or killed in a matter of moments. Joe didn’t think, he reacted. Hooking his arm around her waist the second he saw her leave her seat, he dragged Theresa back down. For one horrible moment, she thought it was all over. She envisioned herself going down beneath the rapids, being pushed under by the swirling waters. And then suddenly, she was being pulled back down. She landed hard in the very space she’d vacated a second ago. His arm still wrapped around her waist, Joe could feel how fast she was breathing. So fast he couldn’t even begin to count the breaths. His own breathing wasn’t exactly moderate to mild, he thought. Adrenaline was doing double time through his veins. Theresa turned her head and looked at him, horror and shock plastered on her face, along with the ends of her curls. He couldn’t quite fathom the look in her eyes, but there wasn’t time to ponder it. All he knew was that it reached out to him where he lived. Something akin to an electrical shock had passed between them. And was still passing. “Breathe slower,” he ordered, “or you’ll hyperventilate.” The next second, he released her as the river became treacherous again. Her paddle gone, Theresa used her hands to try to move the raft along. The action, he knew, was futile, but there seemed no sense in pointing it out. All his attention was diverted to keeping them from capsizing. And then, as suddenly as the river had transformed into the spin cycle mode, it became calm. So calm that it seemed as if the whole section behind them was nothing but a mass hallucination. They were to continue paddling until they reached the next checkpoint. “Anyone know if there’re any more rapids up ahead?” The question was nervously posed by Jason, the premed student and easily the smallest of them. David, the real estate salesman, nodded. His short blond hair already beginning to dry as he blew out a long breath.

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“I think there’s another section up ahead a few miles.” He glanced at Joe, then at Theresa. “Nice catch.” Ed, the unemployed engineer, carefully avoided looking at Theresa as he said to Joe, “You were supposed to let her go overboard. That’s how the game is played.” They’d been assured that someone from the film crew would rescue any contestants who went into the river. Joe, on the other hand, wasn’t so sure. And when it came to a human life, he wasn’t about to hang back and play the odds. “That’s not how I play the game,” Joe said firmly. He turned his mind toward business. “We lose anything?” “A paddle,” Theresa said ruefully. “Mine.” “Anything else?” Joe asked. “A tent,” Jason called out, taking a quick inventory of the items that were clustered together in the center of the raft. “Hey, weren’t those things supposed to be tied down?” Ed wanted to know. “Yeah, well, so were we,” Theresa pointed out. “And my strap broke.” Silently, she upbraided herself for having somehow miscalculated and taken the wrong seat. But she’d gotten turned around when the raft was being lowered into the river by the crew. “Whose tent?” David asked. Since she no longer had a paddle, Theresa checked the remaining tents to see what names were on them. She raised her eyes to look at Joe. “Joe’s.” They knew the rules. If a tent was lost, the person who it belonged to was disqualified unless someone on his team chose to share theirs with them. It was a way of winnowing down the contestants. For a long moment, there was nothing but the sounds of the river. And the echo of more rapids directly up ahead in the distance. Damn, Joe thought, for him the contest was over before it had hardly begun. What the hell was he going to do now? Theresa looked at the other men in the raft. All three suddenly became taken with their paddles and the water, avoiding eye contact. She knew what she was supposed to do. But then, so had Joe and he’d chosen not to follow instructions. Maybe she’d need him along the trail, she decided, trying to justify her next move. Knowing she was going to have to eventually. “You can share mine,” she told him. He didn’t seem to hear her. The offer had been made quietly and the river had stolen her words from her, swallowing them up whole as the volume went up around them. Theresa put her hand on top of his.

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The contact surprised him. That same sort of sizzling current passed through him. He looked up, stopping midstroke. “You can share my tent,” she said, raising her voice to be heard as she enunciated each syllable. He smiled his thanks as relief washed over him. The next moment, the river came alive again. They were headed for another set of rapids. “Hold on,” he ordered. “Here we go again!” Theresa braced herself. For more reasons than one. Chapter Six There were two more sets of rapids before the river finally turned peaceful. By the time they reached the designated area where all the teams were to set up camp, it was late afternoon and, to a man and/or woman, the contestants were all completely exhausted. They were also more than an entire team shy. Joe watched as two other teams dragged their rafts out of the water, parking them beside theirs on the riverbank. He and his team had been the first to make it to land, managing to arrive a little more than ten minutes ahead of the next team. That meant that tomorrow, they got that much of a start on the others. Of the fifteen people in the game besides his own team, he saw only nine. He turned toward Theresa, curious. “Where’s the fourth raft?” Theresa shook her head. “I’ll go and find out,” she volunteered. Hands shoved into her back pockets, she headed over to Reed. The producer was sitting in a director’s chair, watching over the proceedings like Nero presiding over his less than pleased subjects. He took to the role like a duck to water. oe dropped on the grass a few feet away from their raft, too tired at the moment to move or to even think about eating. A quick scan of the inside of the raft told him that it looked as if none of their packs had gone overboard. Which was damn lucky, he thought. Grateful or not, he sincerely doubted that Theresa would have gone so far as to share her food with him. Thinking about it, even her sharing her tent seemed like a stretch. He’d seen the look in her eyes the afternoon they’d been told that they had made the cut. Triumph instead of pleasure. As if she’d expected it. The woman was aggressive and she wanted to win. At all costs. Which was why her sharing the tent with him was strange. All she had to do was say nothing and he would have been disqualified. But maybe, he argued, she would have felt just too guilty, since he had saved her. Whatever the reason, he was glad that he still managed to remain in the contest without having to sacrifice any of his principles. Propping himself up on his elbows, he contemplated getting up again. The food wasn’t going to just pop into his mouth.

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Maybe just a couple of more minutes to pull himself together. He noticed that no one else appeared to be doing much moving, either. The all too real life-and-death struggle with the river had taken a great deal out of all of them. The next thing he was aware of was Theresa depositing herself on the grass beside him. Her leg brushed against his and if he wasn’t so damn tired, he would have sworn that another shock wave of electricity had accompanied the fleeting contact. It looked as if the river had taken more out of him than he’d thought. Otherwise, why was he feeling things now, in the middle of what was supposed to be a life-and-death contest? “The last team won’t be coming,” Theresa informed him. There was that triumphant look again, he thought. She reminded him of a warrior queen he’d seen in a docudrama on one of the public TV stations. Magnificent in her confidence. That was the word for her, he decided. Magnificent. “Their raft turned over. They had to be rescued.” She wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her head on her knees. “So did Holden.” Something strong and urgent stirred inside him. Joe banked down the urge to run the back of his hand along her cheek. Instead, he focused on what she was saying. “Holden?” “The guy in that team,” she pointed out several people close by. Grouped and immobile around their raft, by his count there were only four people on the grass. Which meant that one of their number had dropped out. “He didn’t have anyone on his raft willing to catch him.” It struck him as odd to have two such accidents occur at the same time. Especially with the safety precautions they’d taken. Everyone had strapped in the second they were in the raft. “Wasn’t he strapped in?” “Yeah, but his belt broke.” She raised her eyes to his. “Just like mine.” Was she insinuating something? “Think it was done on purpose?” She shrugged carelessly, even though she knew the answer to that. “Who knows? The producers like to throw curves at people.” His eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?” She looked at him sharply, but there was no accusation in his eyes, only the vague question shimmering between them. She told herself she was being too paranoid. Theresa allowed herself a small smile. The man was easy to smile at. “Don't you watch reality programs?” He shook his head. “Never touch the stuff.” It was an odd admission for a man embroiled in the middle of the newest reality show slated to hit the airwaves. “What do you watch?” “Police dramas. An occasional comedy when I think it might be funny instead of dumb.” He paused, then admitted, “Saturday morning cartoons with my son. You?” “I don't watch much TV — except for a couple of the reality programs,” she added quickly. “I’m usually at the gym, teaching a class or making up a workout for a client.”

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He’d seen her in the gym when they were being tested. She was a thing of beauty. Her body moved like poetry. It took effort to remind himself that he was a prose kind of person. “What do you do for fun?” He was sitting way too close. And she was thinking things that were completely out of line for what she needed to do. Twilight was stirring things up too much, she decided. Making her feel strangely vulnerable. That had never happened before, not even once. Theresa deliberately scooted back on the bank. “Sleep,” she finally said. “I’m usually dead tired by the end of the day.” He thought of his life ever since he’d returned to the ranch with Jesse. Filled end to end with either work or his son. That didn’t leave much time for him. “I know exactly what you mean.” The air seemed to stand still between them. Urges began to move through her. This wasn’t the time and it certainly wasn’t the place. At best, they were misguided. She’d been vulnerable back there and Joe had rescued her. What she was feeling now was strictly a knee-jerk reaction to the situation. Problem was, it wasn’t just her knee that was involved. The problem got worse. Maybe volunteering to share a tent with Joe hadn’t been such a good idea, Theresa thought. The tent was small, the space crammed. It was filled with arms and legs and a hell of a lot of tension that seemed to be left over from their life-and-death struggle on the river earlier. She could tell by his breathing that he was awake. “Joe?” “Yeah?” His voice was low, sexy in the dark. “You’re not asleep, are you?” She heard the soft laugh. “Doesn’t look like it.” “Why did you rescue me today?” Turning, she propped herself up on her elbow. His face was mostly in shadow. She could just about make it out. “Don’t you want the money?” “Yes, but I’m not about to sacrifice who I am to get it. Besides, you could have gotten hurt.” His words, his concern, thrilled her. She didn’t want them to. She wasn’t here for that. “They had rescue teams standing by.” He’d never been one of those people who could just stand by and let things happen without trying to do something about it. “By the time one of them reached you, a lot of things could have happened.” She smiled to herself as she shook her head. “Have you always been this decent?” She saw him shrug. “It’s a congenital thing.” Desire flared up another notch. She needed to diffuse it a little. “Don’t take this the wrong way.” He braced himself for some flippant assessment of his code of ethics. “Okay.” Instead of words, he found her leaning into him. Felt her breath along his face. Her lips softly pressing against his.

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The graveyard that had been his soul suddenly experienced life. Vividly. He felt something warm unfurling inside his belly. Long, golden fingers of light reached out, probing through all the darken corners of his being. “I don't think it’s possible to take that the wrong way,” he murmured when she finally moved back. She smiled. “I just wanted to say thank-you.” With that, she lay down again and turned her back to him. It took a long time for his pulse to settle. Even longer for the rest of his body to catch up. He was going to feel like hell in the morning. Maybe that was even her intent, he thought, recalling what she’d said to him on the dance floor. He didn’t know. All he knew was that for now, he felt pretty damn good. Chapter Seven His body was still humming the next day. Whether it was because of his tent companion or the challenge that he knew lay ahead of him, Joe wasn’t certain. For the sake of argument, he was willing to assign equal blame. Joe forced himself to focus. The next leg of their journey took them to Mt. Evans. And then up Mt. Evans. As far as mountains went, it wasn’t one to top any lists as to degree of difficulty or height or danger. That didn’t negate the fact that it was still a mountain and they still had to scale up the side of it with harnesses, winches and ropes. And their fingertips. Rock climbing was the next challenge to be faced. He secretly blessed his father. While other men golfed, his father sought relaxation in pitting himself against nature like a modern-day Kit Carson. Camping, rock climbing, white-water rafting, trailblazing, hunting...all of this had been second nature to his father. And he had passed on his survival traits to his sons. Except maybe to Max, he thought. Max was far more comfortable in a boardroom than the wild. For safety reasons, each team had an experienced rock climber at its head, hired by the studio. The threat of injuries and law suits was a very real concern on the part of the producers, even though the audiences who ultimately watched the contest would never be privy to that part of the show. Joe followed Frank Jessop, his team leader, up the side of Mt. Evans. Theresa elected to take her place behind Joe. “You’ve been lucky for me,” she told him when he gave her a quizzical look as she began to hook up her harness to his. To her surprise, he placed his hand in the way, preventing her from making the connection. “I was going to say you might do better at the end of the line.” He expected her to take immediate offense at the suggestion. She didn’t disappoint him. Why?” she demanded, bristling. Joe knew that the notion that there was a physical difference between men and women as far as strength was concerned was distasteful to her, but it was true. Even though she might have been in better physical

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condition than the other members of their team, when it came to raw body strength, he had a feeling she’d come in last. It wasn’t so much a matter of protecting her, he silently argued, as it was in keeping anyone from getting hurt. “Because if there’s a problem with any of the climbers, I don’t think you have the body strength to help pull them back up.” He didn’t think, he knew, but to phrase it that way would only get him drawn into verbal combat. And they were wasting time. “That would make you a liability.” Her eyes narrowed at what she felt was an insult. “I can pull my own weight,” she snapped. He thought of the weight she’d pressed at the gym. It had been impressive. “I don't doubt it. But you can’t pull David’s, Ed’s and Jason’s.” And if she was ahead of them, that was exactly what she might have to do. “One wrong move on your part, or theirs, and it’s like a domino effect.” Her hands were on her hips, her whole body challenging him. She’d spent years fighting her way up and she resented even a hint of the years that had gone before, when people tried to keep her down. When they didn’t see her, but where she lived. She hated sweeping generalities. “Well, aren’t you the expert.” His smile was slow, easy, and she found it completely unsettling even though she was angry. “As a matter of fact, I am.” Theresa stewed a minute. Damn him, he was right and she knew it. Muttering under her breath, she turned on her heel and went to the back of the line. They lost two from their team. By the time they reached the top of the mountain, David, the real estate salesman, had missed his footing during the climb, panicked, missed it again and wound up spraining his ankle. Jason, their pre-med student, tended to it before announcing that he was dropping out from the race, as well. “It’s too risky,” he told Joe when the latter asked him why. “I’ve got my whole life ahead of me with a great future. I want to be a surgeon and who knows what could happen on this so-called journey? David sprained his ankle. I could break the bones in my hand.” Jason held up his right one to emphasize his point. “And then where would I be?” He rose to his feet. He was going to accompany David when the man was airlifted back to a hospital. “It’s just not worth it to me.” “And then there were three,” Theresa pronounced as she watched Jason hurry off beside David’s stretcher as two paramedics carried him to the helicopter. “Nine,” Joe corrected, nodding at the other teams that were still in on the race. “From the looks of it, they’ve had people dropping out, too.” It had taken them four hours to climb to the top of Mt. Evans, with several rest stops worked into the test. His entire body ached from head to foot. But sitting at the top of the mountain, as Joe looked out on the panoramic view, it almost seemed the incredible effort it had taken to get there was well worth it. Theresa came up behind him. “Breathtaking, isn’t it?” He looked at her over his shoulder. The same words could be applied to her, he thought. The wind that was a permanent resident up there was playing with the ends of her hair, teasing him. Making him want to run his hand through it. “You might say that.”

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She felt his eyes on her. Was he flirting with her? No, Joe Cooper wasn’t the kind of man who flirted. He was meat and potatoes, Mom and apple pie. And all the things she’d aspired to when she was growing up on the wrong side of the tracks in L.A. Looking for that chance to break out. To be someone else. And not die as a statistic, the way so many of her friends and family had. Joe roused himself before he let his mind get carried away. “What’s for dinner?” “I don't know about you, but all I’ve got left are power bars.” Squatting down beside her backpack, she opened it and rummaged around in it. “I’ve got my choice of melted —” she held up one “— or not melted.” She held up a second bar. That pretty much mirrored what he had in his own pack. They were going to have to find their own supplies tomorrow. “Take the melted. It’ll save you the trouble of having to chew.” “Always looking out for me, aren’t you?” Theresa laughed. And then the laughter died when she looked into his eyes. Again, she felt something stirring. “You want to get a head start getting through the woods?” Ed asked, coming up behind them. “We lost some time on the climb because of David. I thought we’d get it back if we went as far as we could through the forest before nightfall.” Taking out one of the granola bars, she closed her backpack. “Okay with me.” Joe nodded. They’d come in first during the run over the rapids and had gotten a head start climbing, but as Ed had just pointed out, that had been lost when David had gotten injured. “Let’s go.” “Just let me make a pit stop,” Theresa requested. Not waiting for an answer, she hurried off with her backpack to one of the three portable toilets that had been brought out for them. There was no cover up here and everyone had an inalienable right to relieve themselves when nature called without the benefit of an audience. It was part of the contract they signed. The moment she got into the portable toilet and closed the door, Theresa slipped her Palm Pilot out of her pack and turned it on. The device was also a two-way communicator and the person on the other end listened intently as she began to speak in a low voice. Chapter Eight Theresa looked beautiful by the firelight. They’d been on the trail for two days now and with each evening, Joe was increasingly more grateful that the engineer was still part of their team. Otherwise, he would be sitting out here alone with Theresa and that might not be a good thing. He wasn’t sure that the knowledge that he might be captured on film at an inopportune moment would stop him from ultimately giving in to the desires that were growing inside him like weeds after a spring rain. Especially when moonlight wove itself through her hair and slid invitingly along her skin. But with Ed sitting across from them, finishing up the last of the rabbit he’d caught for them after turning a stick into a hunting spear, Joe felt relatively safe. Until he heard the shriek pierce the air.

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Sitting crossed-legged beside him on the ground, Theresa tensed, her eyes wide as she scanned the immediate area. She seemed to instinctively leaninto him. “What was that?” Joe listened intently. The shriek came again. Closer this time. A chill went over him as he recognized the sound. “Mountain lion.” Ed jumped to his feet, petrified. “Here?” Close, Joe thought. Very close. On his feet, Joe felt adrenaline surge through him. Again. “This is their terrain, we’re the trespassers.” “I don't find that very comforting.” Theresa was standing so close to him, she edged out his shadow. “You didn’t happen to whittle a gun and bullets while you were making that spear, did you?” He shook his head, his eyes trying to penetrate the dark. Looking for the mountain lion. “Sorry.” The spear used to secure their dinner had been turned into a spit. The rabbit had been mounted on it over the small fire and roasted. Grabbing it now, Theresa shoved the spear at him. “But you can still get him with this, right?” Taking it from her, Joe shook his head doubtfully. “It’d be like using a toothpick on a wild dog.” “Well, do something,” Ed pleaded. “Where the hell is Security?” He didn’t know. Joe was acutely aware that they were all alone. “Maybe they’re watching on their monitors.” “Getting mauled to death is not supposed to be part of the entertainment.” Ed’s words ended in almost a sob. And then suddenly, the mountain lion was there, standing just on the perimeter of the campsite. Panicked, Ed bolted. The cat looked as if it was about to give chase. Ed didn’t stand a chance. Moving quickly, Joe placed himself between the fleeing man and the wild animal, shoving Theresa behind him. Lifting his hands over his head as high as he could and using the spear as an extension, unearthly, guttural noises rose from deep within his gut. It almost sounded inhuman. After a moment’s hesitation, the mountain lion turned and ran in the opposite direction. Away from Joe and Theresa. Away from the campsite and Ed, who had disappeared. Theresa realized that she had been holding her breath, afraid to exhale. She exhaled now, then sucked in more air, struggling to keep from throwing up. And then she turned toward Joe and did some yelling of her own. “Are you out of your mind?” He could have been killed, getting in front of the mountain lion like that. He knew it had to seem crazy to her. Joe tossed down the spear. “No, actually, I’m not. That’s what you’re supposed to do when you come face-to-face with a mountain lion. If you run, he’ll only come after you and he’s a hell of a lot faster than anything human. He would have made a late-night snack out of Ed.” “Speaking of Ed, where is he?” There was no sign of the engineer. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called, but got no answer.

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“He’s probably still running,” Joe guessed. “Lucky thing they put those tracking bracelets on us.” He looked down at the one a member of the crew had snapped on his wrist at the start of the contest. She’d forgotten about that. The encounter with the mountain lion had made her forget about everything. Except what a brave man Joe was. “I guess they’ll find him.” Joe thought of a potential problem. “If they know enough to look for him.” “They’ll know,” she replied. “With all those cameras trained on us, they’re bound to know our every move.” Even as her words died away, one of the film crew came out of the darkness and walked into the campsite. “We’ve got Ed on our radar,” he assured them. “Don’t figure he’s going to want to get back to the game, though.” The crew member was right. Ed was the next one to drop out. By the time the last leg of the journey was in play, there were only five of them left. And then four. And then three. Until finally, it was just Joe and Theresa. Somewhere in the back of his mind, from the moment he’d first seen her, Joe had known it would come down to this. He’d felt it in his bones. The woman was too stubborn to drop out and he was too determined. A line about the immovable object meeting the irresistible force went through his head. The night before the end of the journey, after religiously checking every conceivable hiding place for cameras, Joe and Theresa turned in. When she zipped up the tent’s front flaps, he looked at her quizzically. She’d never done that before. “Privacy,” she explained. The word hummed between them as she began to unbutton her shirt. Joe felt his heart come to life. Turning, he shut off the lantern. Eliminating their shadows on the tent. “Privacy,” he echoed, reaching for her. He undid the rest of the buttons. They made love. Slowly. With feeling. It was as inevitable as the tide. The life-and-death encounters they’d experienced over these past few days had packed a lifetime into them. It had made Joe aware that life moved forward. And so did he. Morning came creeping in softly. When he reached for Theresa, he found her space empty. She was gone. So was her gear. He bolted upright, upbraiding himself for his own stupidity. He’d let his guard down. “Damn.” He told himself that it was to be expected. The woman was out to win.

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But what Theresa had on him in time, he could make up for with speed. It took him less than five minutes to get dressed and hit the trail. He figured that his best bet was to track her. Because time was of the essence, he left his backpack behind, needing to travel as light as possible. He took only a knife and a rope, plus his canteen. The ghost town and journey’s end was not that far away. He heard Theresa before he ever saw her. “Help me. Please help me.” The cry seemed to be coming out of the very ground. And then he saw it. A hole about three feet in diameter, partially hidden in the earth. He would have missed it if it wasn’t for her cries. Coming closer, Joe realized that the hole was actually what was left of a well. It was obvious that in her hurry to reach the center of the ghost town, Theresa hadn’t seen the hole until it was too late. Joe knelt down over the opening. Theresa was some ten feet below him. And apparently angrier than a hornet. He couldn’t help grinning. Any anger he might have felt over betrayal faded. What goes around comes around, his mother always liked to say. Nice to know it was true. “Hello, Theresa, fancy running into you here.” “Oh Joe, thank God you found me.” She was leaning against the wall as if her legs couldn’t fully support her. “Get me out of here!” He made no move to rescue her. In his estimation, she deserved to stew a little. Especially after last night. He’d thought it had meant something to her. The way it had to him. She’d gotten his guard completely down. Had that been her intent from the start? “If I do that, what’s to stop you from finding a way to trick me out of the prize?” “I can’t. I twisted my ankle, just like David. Joe, please, get me out! There’re snakes down here!” He paused a moment longer. There’d never really been any question that he was going to get her out. “Hang on.” Uncoiling the rope, he dropped the end down to her, then, braced, she took hold and began to climb. Grabbing her by the arm, he managed to pull her out the rest of the way. The second Theresa was out of the hole, she scrambled to her feet and began to run. Stunned, he sprang up and gave chase. “You said you sprained your ankle.” “I lied!” she tossed over her shoulder. She reached the square a little more than two steps ahead of him. And won the contest. The center of the ghost town immediately filled with people. The producers were all there, as was the camera crew.

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Choice words ran through Joe’s head as he watched Benjamin Reed hand a symbolic check for the prize money to Theresa. But there was nothing he could do about it. Like the good sport he’d always been, he came up and congratulated her. “Not the way I would have run it,” he admitted. “But congratulations on winning the race.” His mouth fell open as she handed the check to him. “Take it,” she prompted. “It’s yours.” She smiled warmly at him. “Good guys don’t always finish last, cowboy. Sometimes they finish first.” The producer made no effort to take the oversized check from him. Joe shook his head. He looked from the six zeroes to Theresa. “I don’t understand.” She grinned, although she hesitated for a moment, not sure how he was going to react to the news. “I’m a ringer. The producers paid me to stir things up and make sure everyone was being tested to the limit.” She took a breath. “You didn’t have any limits. You threw us all a curve.” And then she added something personal. “You’re the first honest man I’ve ever met, cowboy. And the best,” she added more quietly. Gratitude had him catching her up in his arms and kissing her. And then gratitude slipped away, to be replaced by something deeper and more lasting. He was going to be able to save his mother’s ranch. And he’d discovered that he still wanted to stay in the game, to live life. Because of Theresa. “Want to throw them another curve?” he asked when he finally drew his head back and looked at her. Her heart was hammering hard enough to imitate a drumroll. She was afraid to guess what was on his mind. “Such as?” He’d learned a great deal about her in the past five days. Things that told him he wanted this woman at his side for the rest of their lives. Last night in her tent had been the clincher. He knew he was putting himself out on a limb, but just like the contest he’d just won, some things were worth taking risks for. “Will you marry me?” “Will I?” she cried. She couldn’t say any more. Her mouth was otherwise occupied. For some time to come. And the cameras just kept rolling, recording it all for the pleasure of their audience.

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WIFE FOR REAL by Kate Walker Eight years ago, Louise spent the night in the arms of her first love, Alex, the illegitimate son of her family's housekeeper. She awoke to find herself alone, and soon learned that her stepmother's jewelry had been stolen during the night. She angrily accused Alex of the theft. After Alex was cleared of the charges, he left town, never knowing that Louise was already carrying his child.… Alex has never forgotten the pain Louise caused him when she wrongly accused him of committing a crime. After discovering his real father was a Spanish aristocrat, Alex went to live with him, vowing never to return to England or to Louise. He's made his fortune in Spain, but when he receives an anonymous message concerning Louise, he can't resist the temptation to return once more to Helpcote Manor.… Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| Chapter One "So you're my wife, are you? Well, that's interesting!" Eyes the color of a storm-heavy sky raked over Louise's slender figure as she stood in the doorway of her cottage, so transfixed by shock that she was unable to move. Even the jeans and warm cherry-red sweater she wore were suddenly no protection against the cold. "Tell me, mi esposa —" he laced the words with dark satire "— when exactly were you going to inform me of this fact?" "I wasn't.…'" It was all that Louise could manage. In the moments since she had opened the front door in response to an imperious and impatient sounding knock, she barely recognized her world in the center of the emotional tornado that whirled around her. But she certainly recognized the man who stood on her doorstep. Eight years was a long time, but she would always know Alex anywhere. His sort of superb bone structure only got better with age. He was too tall, too dark, too imposing — too devastating physically — ever to forget, even if she didn't have deeply personal reasons for never being able to put him out of her mind. "You weren't?" The darkly satirical tone deepened on the question. "You weren't going to tell me — your husband — of this secret marriage? Didn't you think that would be wise, or at least courteous, querida?" "No." It was the honest truth. She had certainly never thought that her foolish and impulsive declaration would ever have been believed by anyone. And she had definitely never thought that it would reach the ears of Alex Anderson — Alex Alcolar, as she supposed she must now think of him since he had taken his father's name. He was hundreds of miles away, living his new life in Spain. He would never hear of her, or spare her a thought, let alone give a damn about the unthinking cover-up she had used in a moment of crisis. But it seemed that he had. And what had been purely and simply an impulsive act of defence had turned into another unneeded complication in her life. The worst sort of complication of all. She did not want Alex back in her life.

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"I wasn't going to tell you any of it. So who did?" Alex shrugged broad shoulders under a fine leather jacket. "I don't know. I received an anonymous letter, posted in this village, telling me that I was neglecting my wife. The wife I didn't know I had. So naturally I came as quickly as I could." "But you must have known that the 'marriage' wasn't a real one. And that it had nothing to do with you." "Nothing?" His echoing of the word was riddled with scepticism and mockery. "If you're using my name, claiming to be my wife, then I think it has everything to do with me. As I recall, when you knew me before, your father didn't think I was fit to associate with your family, and you ended up swallowing everything he said. Now suddenly you're claiming to be married to me! So I think you'd better start explaining. Start by telling me where, exactly, this wedding took place." "You don't really need me to answer that do you?" Louise tossed at him, hazel eyes sparking defiance. "Because you know where — exactly. Nowhere! The wedding didn't take place anywhere. As you are only too aware, there was no wedding ever!" To her surprise he actually smiled, the curve of his lips and the light in his clear gray eyes brightening his whole face and making her stomach turn over, her pulse quicken in instant response. "I'm glad to hear that. I was beginning to wonder if my mind was going. Or at least my memory — because I have no recollection…" "Of course you don't! And there's nothing wrong with your mind, as you know only too well. You've not forgotten anything. In fact, you must have known that all this was nonsense in the first place — so why, exactly, are you here now? What on earth made you travel all the way from — from…" "From Andalusia," Alex supplied. "That's where I live now." "Of course. That's why you're suddenly littering your conversation with Spanish phrases!" The Alex she had once known hadn't spoken a word of Spanish. He hadn't even known that he had any Spanish connections — that the blood of a Spanish aristocrat ran in his veins. It had only been after his mother had died that he had discovered the truth about his father. "I am Spanish," Alex put in coldly. "At least, half-Spanish. My father is Spanish. My home and my work are in Andalusia. Most days I speak nothing but Spanish." "Which makes it all the more puzzling why you've bothered to come here.…" And that was a question that he had been asking himself for days, Alex admitted. Why was he travelling to England on what was little more than a whim? Why had he snatched at the smallest excuse to get on a plane and head straight back to the village where he had grown up? The village that he believed he had left far behind in his past, where it belonged. He thought he'd shaken the dust of the place from his feet and that he would never, ever go back to the woman who had once almost destroyed his life — and yet now here he was. So why? Because he couldn't help himself.

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"I wanted to meet the woman who claimed to be my wife." His beautiful mouth curved into a smile that made Louise's blood run cold. "I wanted to see what had become of you." "Nothing exciting as you can see. In fact nothing at all!" The rather wild hand gesture took in herself and her surroundings, betraying more than she wanted to reveal. These were not at all the conditions in which she had lived in the past. And she knew from the way that Alex's eyes narrowed swiftly that he, too, was remembering how it had once been. "What happened?" It was cold, crisp, incisive. She didn't want to answer, but she knew he wouldn't let her dodge the question. "Do you mean why am I here, in this cottage, instead of up at the manor house where I used to be? Things change, Alex! Nothing remains the same." "You have," he put in sharply. "You haven't changed. You're still as beautiful as ever." It was the last thing she expected, and it hit her with the force of a blow to her chest, driving all the breath from her body. And what made matters worse was the new and disturbing darkness that hadn't been there before in those gray eyes. A darkness that spoke of physical arousal and a smouldering sensuality that stirred memories she had thought long buried. Memories she wanted to stay hidden. "No…" she managed huskily, not at all sure precisely what she was saying no to. "Yes," Alex countered, the single word rough on his tongue. "You're just as lovely as you always were. More, if that were possible…" The single step he took forward broke the spell that seemed to have coiled around her. It brought him too close. Too near. Another couple of movements and he would have been right here in her house — her home — and that would be more than she could bear. "No!" she cried, much more emphatically this time. And whirling she dashed into the cottage, slamming the door right in his face. "Go away!" she shouted, praying her words would reach him through the thickness of the wooden barrier. "I don't want you here!" The silence was unexpected and disturbing. Could he really have gone? Could it have been that easy? It wasn't. She barely had time to even think about relaxing when a faint sound from the back of the house had her stiffening again. The dash through to the kitchen must have only taken seconds, but she was still too late. The back door opened and Alex stepped into the tiny room, kicking the door shut and leaning back against it. "All right, Louise," he said. "Don't you think it's about time you started explaining?"

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Chapter Two "Well?" Alex demanded when the seconds that had ticked away since he had asked the question grew into minutes and still Louise hadn't answered him. "Are you going to tell me just what's going on?" "Nothing. Nothing that would interest you anyway." "Ah, but there you're wrong. I am interested. And you have to admit that I have cause. After all, why would you suddenly claim to be my wife when we haven't seen each other for over eight years? When all that there ever was between us was an adolescent fling that was over before it started?" Liar! His conscience reproved him. It might have been an adolescent fling to her, but to him it had been the forming relationship of his life. The relationship against which he had measured every woman he had ever met since — and found them lacking. And if he wanted the reason why he was here, back where he had sworn he would never be again, then it was quite painfully simple. It could be summed up in two short words. Louise Browning. He had never forgotten her. Never been able to get her out of his mind. And given half an excuse to come back and see her again, he had been on the plane before he had even had time for second thoughts. "So what I want to know is just why you should lay claim to the name of a man you hated, a man who…" "I never hated you!" Louise broke in sharply, unable to let that go. "No?" "No!" And it wasn't just "an adolescent fling," she wanted to add. She had adored him. Loved him with all the strength of her young heart. And he had broken that heart when he had walked out of her life for good, leaving her alone and pregnant. Oh no — no! She could not — must not — think of Gabrielle. To do so would destroy her. Especially now, with the living example of her daughter's heritage standing right there in front of her. If her baby had lived would she have had Alex's dark coloring, those beautiful gray eyes…? Desperately she forced her attention back to the present. "Well, you certainly gave me the impression that you couldn't stand the sight of me," Alex drawled. "That you wanted me out of your life for good.' "As I recall, you were the one claiming that it was over and done with." She had come to him to tell him that she was carrying his child, and he had refused to listen. "You were on your way out to your new life — your new family in Spain." "Louise, I had nothing to keep me here. My mother was dead." You didn't want me.…

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"My father had suddenly decided to acknowledge my existence. I was barely twenty-one and a whole new future suddenly offered itself. I had lost my job, narrowly avoided ending up in prison…" Alex pushed himself away from the door and came to stand in the middle of the room, his hands on his hips. Looking at them, Louise felt shivers of sensual awareness slide down her spine. It was impossible not to recall the pleasure those hands had given her in the past. "Tell me, did you really think that I was callous enough to have left you asleep after making love to you and gone though your parents' house, helping myself —" "I didn't know what to think. I woke up and I was alone." "So would you have preferred that I stayed? And been found there when your father came home? That would have been fun." "But then I found that all my stepmother's jewellery had gone…" And foolishly she'd swallowed her father's belief that Alex wasn't to be trusted. "So you told your parents everything. You must have known they'd hit the roof.""I couldn't just keep quiet." "No, you did the one thing guaranteed to raise your father's blood pressure even higher. You let him know that I had taken his precious daughter's virginity. Tell me, Louise —" Alex levered himself away from the table and began to prowl round the small kitchen "— did you really think that would help me get a fair hearing?" "I didn't know what else to say," Louise admitted edgily. She wished he would stand still — or sit down — anything other than this disturbingly restless movement. He seemed too big, too powerful, too elemental to be enclosed in the confined space of the tiny room. And her own guilt and the bitterness of her memories blended uneasily with the potently sexual appeal he seemed to project without any effort to produce a dangerously explosive combination. "I felt hurt — more than hurt. I felt betrayed! I thought you'd used me. I was only nineteen. If it makes you feel any better, when I found out that Geoff Thornton had been caught trying to sell the jewellery, I hated myself. I had never thought they'd sack you anyway." "No?" Alex had come to stand in front of her, looking down into her pale face surrounded by the tumble of soft brown hair. Those changeable eyes were deep mossy green in this light, clouded with anxiety. "What did you think they'd do? Welcome the gardener — the housekeeper's son — into the family? The Brownings of Helpcote Manor? You were young, Louise, but not that foolish." Moving this close to her had been a mistake, Alex admitted to himself. A big mistake. When he'd kept his distance he'd also been able to keep control of his feelings. But up close like this he could see the peachfine texture of her skin, smell the faint floral scent of some soap or body lotion she had used. They said that scent was the sense most likely to evoke powerful memories, and right now he could well believe it was true. Sensual hunger clawed at him instantly and cruelly and the burn of it roughened his voice when he spoke, though this time on a very different note. "We were both young then. But we've grown up since. I know I have, and you…" He reached out and closed both hands over the delicate bones of her shoulders.

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"You've changed from a lovely girl into a beautiful, desirable woman…" Not this. The words sounded in Louise's head but she couldn't force them out onto her tongue. Her throat seemed to have seized up, her lips frozen, and all she could do was wait for the kiss that she knew was coming. The kiss that she could read he wanted in the darkness of his eyes. It was his gentleness that shocked her. The almost delicate, slow taking of her mouth brushed away her doubts, her fears, her hesitation on a sigh of sheer delight. She felt her senses swim, her heart kick up a beat. The last time he had kissed her they had both been so young, not much more than adolescents. He had kissed her like a boy, with a boy's urgency and impatient hunger. Now he kissed her like a man — a man who knew exactly how to treat a woman. He made her feel intensely female, totally sensual, all woman. And she wanted more. With another sigh, a very different one this time, she moved closer, slid her hands up around his neck, pulling his head down toward hers to deepen the kiss. She let her tongue dance with his, heard the heavy thud of his heart, felt the heated pressure of his desire against the softness of her stomach, and the no that had formed in her thoughts melted away into a deep and totally submissive yes, oh yes "No!" It was Alex who spoke this time. And his tone made it plain that there was no room for argument, no chance of debate. His body spoke more clearly than his words, stiffening and pulling away from her, twisting free of her clinging hands and leaving her feeling cold and lost and desperately alone. "No!" he said more forcefully this time. "This is not going to happen." The fight he was having against the demands of his senses made it sound far harsher, more brutal than he had actually intended, but perhaps that was just as well. In the past he had let his physical responses to Louise drown out the warning cries of his thoughts — and look where that had got him. Homeless, unemployed, and facing possible criminal charges. Well, he'd learned his lesson. Things had to be very different this time. "This is not what I came here for." "Oh, isn't it?" The misery of rejection forced the words from her. "I thought it was exactly what you wanted!" "Well then, you thought wrong. The only thing I want is an explanation. I want to know why you're using my name when you have no right to." Chapter Three "You want an explanation! You want to know why I'm using your name! A name I have 'no right to!' You've got very arrogant since you exchanged Alcolar for Anderson!" "If you mean I don't bow and scrape to the lady of the manor anymore," Alex tossed back, "I don't do that for anyone. So are you going to explain why you're suddenly claiming to be my wife?"

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"I told you…" Alex's wide, sensual mouth twisted cynically as his gray eyes flicked over her dismissively. "You told me, 'nothing's going on.'" Then, just as Louise nerved herself for more, he suddenly shocked her totally by switching on a smile. But it was a smile that was totally lacking in warmth; his eyes were shards of ice. "Okay," he said. "If that's the way you want it…" And to Louise's horror he turned and headed straight for the door. Would she let him go? he wondered. Or would she weaken and call him back? He had seen the shadows in her eyes and wondered privately just what had put them there. Another step or two and his fingers had closed over the door handle. Turned it. Behind him he heard Louise draw in a deep, raw-edged sigh and let it out again in a despondent rush. "Alex. Please…I — I need your help." *** "Where exactly are we going?" Alex's patience was rapidly wearing thin. When Louise had admitted that she needed his help, he had thought that at last they were getting somewhere. But she hadn't explained a thing. Instead she had snatched a coat from the hook in the hall, told him to come with her and headed out into the biting wind and threatening rain of a January afternoon. "You'll see when we get there." All right, let her be mysterious. He didn't have to stick around if it didn't suit him. But this journey was bringing back memories. Memories that told him they were heading for the manor house. He'd walked this way often enough in his youth. The journey from the village had been one he had made almost every day when he'd worked in the gardens there and his mother had been the housekeeper. But of course he'd made the journey with Louise at his side. Their brief, passionate relationship had had to be conducted in secret, for fear that her parents might find out. "Is this car really yours?" Louise knew she was only speaking to fill the awkward silence. She was sharply, disturbingly aware of Alex's size and strength beside her in the confined space. The rangy youth she had known had grown into a powerful and intensely masculine man. The wild wind outside had tossed his black hair over his forehead and tiny diamonds of raindrops sparkled in the jet-dark strands. "Well, I certainly didn't steal it if that's what you're thinking." "I never thought any such thing!" But her conscience told her that she had only herself to blame for the cynical dig.

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"I should have trusted you," she blurted out before her courage deserted her. "What?" Louise snatched in a sharp, calming breath, trying to suppress the million butterflies that had suddenly started beating frantic wings deep inside her stomach. "I should have known that you wouldn't have stolen my stepmother's jewelry." She should have listened to her heart instead of her head. But wasn't the truth that her weak, foolish heart had been totally untrustworthy, too? Her heart had told her that in Alex she had found the love of her life, the man with whom she wanted to spend all her tomorrows. But he had had what he'd wanted from her and then he'd turned his back on her. She should have realized what was coming that morning — the morning after he'd taken her virginity — when she'd woken up and found herself alone. What was it he had said when she'd gone to him to try to tell him about the baby? "It was fun, darling — but not that special." And then he'd left. He'd gone to live his new life in Spain, and he hadn't spared her a single thought. "Melissa was spitting nails, as I remember." Alex's casual tone belied the tautness of his jaw, the way that every hard line of his profile was pulled tight over his stunning bone structure. Louise's lack of faith in him had been a betrayal that had savaged his soul. "I think she was truly disappointed to discover that it was Thornton who actually had all her diamonds." He steered the car carefully around an awkward bend. "So where is she now?" Louise shifted awkwardly on the soft leather seat, the movement bringing a wave of soft, floral scent that stirred his senses cruelly. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "In Australia. She married again soon after my father died." "Yes, I heard about that. I'm sorry. " "It was very sudden. A heart attack." "That must have been hard on you." Louise managed a mumble that might have been an agreement. Her father's death had been a terrible shock, but she hadn't been prepared for the problems that had followed after it. She hadn't really had time to mourn him before her world had collapsed around her. "Turn here," she said, as much to distract herself as to direct him. "I gathered this was — What the hell…?" Alex slammed on the brakes with nothing like his usual care or skill. As soon as the car had come to a halt he was out of the car and standing, staring around him in disbelief and confusion.

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The big old house that had once been so loved and cared for now stood empty and neglected. The ivy that climbed up one wall was overgrown and wild, as were the lawns that edged the gravelled driveway. Weeds poked up from every flowerbed, and the rose garden that had once been Louise's father's pride and joy was just a tangle of withered blooms and unpruned branches. But what shocked him most of all was the large, roughly painted sign: Private property. Keep out! Trespassers will be prosecuted. "What happened here?" Louise got out of the car and came to stand beside him, looking very vulnerable and lost as she huddled into her coat. "Geoff Thornton happened," she said miserably. "When he got out of prison he came back here." "And?" Alex prompted harshly, because there had to be an and "And he managed to make some money — legal or not, I don't know. He set himself up in a casino." Her hazel eyes, sheening with unshed tears, slid to the desolation of the old house, and Alex thought he understood. "And your father —" "No!" she interrupted him, shaking her head emphatically so that her soft brown hair flew around her pale face. "Not my father — Melissa. My stepmother got hooked on gambling. She lost — heavily. My father found out and paid her debts once and she promised it wouldn't happen again." "But it did?" "Yes." It was low and miserable. "It happened again. Much worse this time. She lost a fortune, and Geoff Thornton wanted his money. I think it was the shock of the demand that brought on the heart attack that killed my father. She'd lost everything. There was no way we could repay him except…" "Except by letting him have the manor?" "Yes. And he didn't even want it to live in. He just let it go to rack and ruin. I think he just wanted to have his revenge on us for putting him in prison that time." But Alex wasn't listening. He was fighting the red haze of fury that was raging inside his thoughts, destroying his ability to think. The house that had been in the Browning family for centuries. Louise had always loved the manor. She had once said that she would do anything to keep it. Anything. Including claiming to be married to him? She hadn't thought him worthy to be with her before. But now that he was rich and could afford a house like this.… He felt sick — furious — used. "This help you need, querida…does it involve saving the ancestral family home?"

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It involved much more than that. She had had such dreams for the manor.… But she didn't dare to tell him the rest. "Yes it does," she said hesitantly. "And what do I get in return?" Louise swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet the darkness in his eyes. "Anything," she croaked. "Just ask. If I can manage it, I'll do it. What did you have in mind?" Alex's smile was cold as the sleet-laden wind that swirled around them. "Oh, I'm sure that I'll think of something." Chapter Four Alex drew his car to a halt outside the cottage and sat for a moment, scowling through the windshield at the other vehicle already parked outside Louise's cottage. Someone had got here before him, and he wasn't in the mood for polite conversation. There were questions he wanted answers to — and fast. And they weren't the sort of questions he wanted to discuss in front of anyone else. For a moment or two he considered turning around and driving away again, but then he changed his mind. He wanted this business over and done with as soon as possible. Done with? Face it, he told himself as he got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. Nothing about Louise had ever been "done with." He might have thought that he had been "over" her when he had left the village and gone to live in Spain, but he had been deluding himself to believe so. And coming back here had just proved it. In five minutes flat she had got under his skin as strongly as ever, and he had been forced to admit that nothing had died. Seeing her had simply revived all the hunger that he had felt when he had known her before. Revived it so strongly that he spent his nights enduring wild, erotic dreams about her, waking up hard and aching. And when he was with her he felt as if he had lost all the years in between, being once more reduced to the yearning, lustful state of the nineteen-year-old he had been when he had first met her. That was why he was here now. He had told himself that now that he knew exactly what Louise wanted from him, he would pack his bags and get out of there — fast. All she saw him as was a wealthy man who could restore her precious manor — and along with it the status of the Browning family — to its former glory. So was he going to let himself be used like that? No way! At least that was what he had told himself three days ago. He was getting on the next plane back to Spain and… And here he was at Louise's front door again.

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He had cursed his stupidity, told himself he was every sort of a fool. But he hadn't been able to get Louise Browning out of his mind in eight long years, and he might as well face the fact that he wasn't going to be able to do it now. The door was slightly ajar, and as he raised his hand to knock he heard the sound of raised voices from inside the cottage. "But I told you…" "I know what you told me, darling, but it just wasn't true, was it?" Louise's light tones and another, rougher, very masculine voice that he recognized instantly even after the length of time since he had heard it. The man he had once thought his friend, but who had proved himself to be the exact opposite. "Can't you give me another few days?" Louise looked up into the disturbingly cold face of the man before her, quailing inside as she saw the ruthless cruelty stamped on it. "You've had all the days you're getting! You pay by the end of the month or else." "But I told you —" Three days ago she had hoped…but since then she hadn't seen or heard from Alex, and the one tiny chance of a solution that she had had seemed to have shrivelled into ashes, like paper in a flame, disintegrating totally. "Oh, I know what you said, darling. You made some ridiculous claim about being married — to Alex Alcolar, of all people! He'd sort this all out, you said. And quite frankly, I don't believe a word of it. If Alex is going to come riding to your rescue like a knight on a white charger, then he'd be here by now." "You told him! You wrote that letter!" "I wrote — but nothing happened. If he's your husband, as you claim, then where the hell is he?" "Here." The single word came from behind them both, making Thornton spin round in shock, a violent curse escaping his lips. Louise couldn't even manage that much. Though her mouth opened, no sound came out. "Sorry I'm late, querida...." Alex moved swiftly into the room, bypassing Thornton with only a coolly disdainful glance. Coming to Louise's side, he stunned her even further by dropping a swift, totally unexpected kiss onto her vulnerable mouth. "I had a last-minute phone call just as I was leaving." If she had been capable of thinking of any reply, that kiss drove it totally from her mind. That and the use of that word, querida, along with the apparently genuine warmth in his tone made her head spin in disbelief. When he moved to her side and slid a strong arm around her waist, she welcomed its support with gratitude, her legs suddenly feeling weak as cotton wool beneath her.

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"So —" At last he turned and surveyed the man before him, slate-gray gaze cold and impenetrable. "Shall we get down to business?" "Alex…" Louise tried, but he silenced her with a smile and a swift shake of his head. "No, amada…" The softness of the words was threaded through with unyielding steel. A steel that was matched by the warning flash of those dark eyes, cautioning her not to overstep the invisible line he'd laid down. "We agreed. I would deal with this. You can leave it to me. What I would like you to do is to make me a coffee. I'm parched.…" The none-too-subtle push he gave her left her no option but to head for the kitchen as he wanted. Any attempt to disobey would only result in an undignified struggle; one Alex would undoubtedly win with ease. So she gave in — for now. She even made herself fill the kettle and switch it on. But the water boiled totally ignored as she struggled to listen to what was happening in the dining room. The thickness of the door and the space of the hall between them blocked the words, so that all she could hear was the indistinct murmur of the two different voices, Thornton's loud and blustering, Alex's smooth and totally impassive. Louise found that she was clenching her hands tight in an attack of nerves, nails digging into her palms. And then just as she thought she couldn't bear it any longer, she heard the front door open and close on a loud and obviously angry slam. The next moment a car roared into life and sped away down the lane. Alex or Thornton? A swift glance out of the window gave her the answer. Alex's car was still parked opposite the cottage. A rush of feeling swamped her, but even she couldn't have said whether it was relief or the opposite. Alex had got rid of Thornton, it seemed — but did that mean that she could say goodbye to all her problems, only to welcome in a whole new set of difficulties? The phrase "out of the frying pan and into the fire" sounded ominously inside her head as she forced her reluctant feet across the hallway to the dining room. Alex was standing by the big open fireplace, staring down into the flames, a brooding expression on his stunning face. But he swung round as he heard the door open and Louise hesitated on the threshold. "He's gone," he said, anticipating her question. "And he won't be back." "Can you be sure? How do you know —" "I know," Alex broke in curtly. "He's had all the money that he's getting out of me, and I made it clear that if he tried anything again there was plenty of information that I could hand over to the police — information that could put him back inside if I chose to reveal it. Yes, you can be sure he's gone." But that's wonderful!"

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Impulsively she took a couple of steps forward, her hands coming out — then froze as she looked into his handsome face and saw the blank, opaque look in his eyes. "He's gone," he repeated. "You're clear of him. Now you'll have to deal with me." Chapter Five "I'll have to deal with you?" Louise's heart jerked, seemed to stop, then lurched into a rough, unsteady beat. Nervously she swallowed hard. What had Thornton told him? Just how much had the other man let slip? Oh, why hadn't she defied Alex's command and stayed in the room? "What do I have to do?" Once more Alex's smile was the opposite of warm. "'Anything,'" he drawled. "'Just ask. If I can manage it, I'll do it.'" It took Louise a couple of shaken, bewildered moments to grasp just what he meant. And when she realized that he was quoting her own words back at her, reminding her of her promise to do anything she could to thank him if he got Thornton off her back, her head spun in something close to real panic. "You've — you've decided what you want." "I have." "And what is it?" It was too late now to regret her rash promise. Too late to acknowledge that she had blundered in without thinking, and so landed herself between the devil and the deep blue sea. She had promised, and Alex had delivered the goods, so now she had to do the same. "I want you to come back to Spain with me." "Spain?" He couldn't mean it! And even as she told herself that, she felt the sudden desperate rush of a longing for him to really want her to go to Spain with him. To be with him. As it had once been. But of course that was not what he wanted. "But I can't! I mean — I can't just walk out on things here. I have a job." "A job? As what?" "I'm a nurse. In — in the premature baby unit in the local hospital." And that was coming way too close to memories that were painful even after all this time.

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"A nurse? You?" Suddenly, unexpectedly, the disbelief in his expression changed to something new and very different. There was a speculative light in his eyes as his cool gray gaze swept over her, a hint of a sexy grin curling the corners of his sensual mouth. "I can just imagine you in the uniform…" Louise's sigh was a blend of exasperation, relief and a hint of teasing amusement. At least this was safer ground. "Don't tell me you're one of those guys who are turned on by the thought of a nurse's uniform. We don't wear the starched hats or the…" Her voice faded, her throat drying, tension clutching at her heart. The atmosphere in the room had changed, moving from calm, even relaxed, to nerve-tightening apprehension in the space of a heartbeat. But it wasn't a fearful apprehension, more an anticipation. A need. A longing. "I wouldn't need a uniform to turn me on," Alex said, and the same sensations that were tugging at her nerves were there in his voice, in the darkening of his eyes that held hers transfixed. "You can do that all on your own. You always could. All I need is you." "Alex…" "Luisa, come to me…" And when he held out his hand it was as if he were a magician who had cast a spell over her. She couldn't resist, had no will to resist. She didn't want to resist. She wanted to be in his arms. It was the only place she had ever wanted to be. And as their warmth and strength closed around her it felt like coming home. And then it didn't. Because Alex bent his head and took her mouth in a kiss that seared her soul. And then it felt as if she was venturing out into new and dangerous territory. But she knew she could never turn back. Because this was what she wanted. What she had missed so much in all those long lonely years. "Luisa…querida…amada," Alex muttered roughly against her mouth, and the words made her tremble in need. She didn't care if he meant them or not. She only knew that they were part of the whirlwind of sensation that assailed her, and she needed them as she needed his kiss, the heat of his hands on her, smoothing, stroking, awakening the hunger that had always lain just below the surface whenever she was with him. She desperately wanted to feel the heat of his skin, and her fingers were clumsy with need as she tugged at the hem of the sweatshirt at his narrow waist. With a rough laugh low in his throat, Alex helped her, shrugging off the soft material and coming back to her with the heat and hardness of his torso crushed against her upper body. And somehow he seemed to know that she so longed for him to follow suit and rid her of her own clothing, but he didn't put her out of her misery at once. Instead he let those knowing, tormenting hands move everywhere. They slid under her sweater at the neckline, sending shudders of response right through her as his long fingers stroked the upper curves of her

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breasts, the sides. Then his hands moved away again to tangle tightly in her hair, pulling her face closer as he deepened and prolonged his kiss. "Alex…" It was moaning protest, a sound of impatience, and hearing it he soothed her gently. "No rush, querida; we have all day.…" But even as he spoke the words, Alex knew that he was deceiving himself. No rush! Who was he kidding? He might have wanted to take this slowly, but he knew it was impossible. From the moment that he had felt the softness of her body in his arms, the taste of her mouth on his and the scent of her skin in his nostrils, the hot and heavy pulse of desire through his body had taken over, pushing him to the edge of his control. He skimmed the pink sweater from her in one swift movement and captured the warm weight of her breasts in his hands, cupping them through the flimsy lace that was their only covering. His thumbs stroked the delicate crests, rousing them to urgent hunger. Louise moaned again, writhing against him, feeling the heat and hardness of his need for her against her hips. Her breath caught in her throat, her whole body stilling as his mouth touched her shoulders, moved down, down, to close over one tight nipple, warm and demanding, his tongue tracing wildly erotic circles over her aching flesh. "Amada…" his voice was raw and husky. "Tell me, your bedroom is…?" "Too far away. It would take too long. I want you here and now." Her tone was as rough as his. And as she spoke she was drawing him toward the open fire, drawing him down onto an old-fashioned rag rug before the hearth. On her knees before him, she tugged the fastening of his jeans free, slid the tight denim down the length of his legs and then made a raw, choking sound in her throat at the sight of his lean, muscled maleness in the firelight. "Alex…" she muttered, and reaching out she closed her fingers around his hardness. The soft touch shattered what little was left of his control. Pushing her back onto the rug, he came down on top of her, urgent hands lifting her skirt, tugging down the white lacy panties beneath it. The flickering, changing light of the fire played out an endless succession of patterns on the pale limbs splayed beneath him, gilding his chest and arms, shadowing his face as he slid between her thighs, entering her on one long, slow, sensual thrust. "I have waited so long for this," he muttered against her yearning mouth. "Too long. Far, far too long." "Too long…" she echoed on a broken sigh. But then as he moved inside her the sigh changed to a cry of delight, rising to a note of loss of control, and finally of total fulfilment as she lost herself completely in his arms. And as she arched in total abandonment against him, Alex too gasped out her name as felt himself shatter in the hot, silken warmth of her body. It was the start of a long, lingering, erotic afternoon. What they had begun by the heat of the blazing fire, they later continued, more slowly, in the deep, welcoming warmth of her bed. And as a result it was a long, long time before any sort of rational thought made its way back into Alex's mind.

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But when, in the early hours of the morning, a degree of memory returned, it was the last words that Thornton had flung at him on the way out the door that slid coldly into his mind. And made him wonder if he had made the worst mistake of his life. Chapter Six Alex’s home in Andalusia was quite the most beautiful place Louise had ever been to in her life. But it was also the loneliest. Even years ago when Alex had left the village and gone to take up his new life with his Spanish family, when she had found herself alone and pregnant, she had never felt as desolate as this. The closest she had come to this sense of desolation had been in those terrible days just after she had lost the baby — Alex's baby — and had felt that she would never know happiness again. She had come to Spain because she had to. She knew now that she had never stopped loving Alex. Would never stop loving him. That first time she'd had to let him go because she'd had no alternative. But this time he had asked her to come with him. And after that day when they had made love she had known that it would kill her to let him walk out of her life again. So she had annoyed the hospital by taking all the holidays she had available at the shortest possible notice. And she had come with him. But something had changed. Alex was no longer the man he had been. The ardent, passionate lover seemed to have vanished, and in his place was a cold, withdrawn man. A man who no longer even seemed to want her. A man who hadn't even kissed her or touched her in the three days since they had arrived here. He had made every effort to make sure that she was more than comfortable. Every need she had was met; every whim answered almost before she had a chance to express it. Every luxury that she might want, and some she had never even dreamed of, had been provided for her. But all that did was to emphasize how little Alex gave her emotionally And that lack of emotion was breaking her heart. "Luisa? What are you doing? My family will be here any minute." "I'm coming." She forced herself away from the window just as he pushed open the door and came into the room. And just the sight of him, his bronzed skin dark against the crisp white shirt, long legs sheathed in the black tailored trousers, was enough to make her heart jerk in uncontrolled response. She loved him so desperately, but she had no idea how he felt about her — if, in fact, he felt anything. "Is there something wrong?" "Wrong? No." The lie brought stinging tears to her eyes so that his face blurred before her. "Then why are you hiding yourself away up here?" His tone was so sharp that she knew he wouldn't easily be distracted, that she would have to offer him some plausible explanation or he would never let the subject drop.

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"All right then. If you must know, I'm nervous about meeting your father. He's given you so much.… No?" she questioned as Alex shook his dark head angrily. "But I assumed that your father…" "Well then you assumed wrong. My father gave me nothing but the start I wanted. The place at university. The position in his company where I could start out. Everything else I have I earned." That was so typically Alex that she couldn't hold back a small, soft smile. His pride would never have let him just have things given. Even though his father could well afford everything, he had to earn whatever came to him. "What have you told him — and your brothers and sister — about why I'm here?" What could he tell them? Alex wondered privately. How could he explain something that he didn't understand himself? If he knew why she had come with him then things would be so very different. Or would they? Wasn't the truth of the matter the fact that he didn't want to know the answer, in case it turned out to be the opposite of what he'd hoped for? "I've told them nothing," he answered honestly. "Nothing except that you are a visitor from England — someone I once knew." Someone I once knew. It had such a desolate sound to it. There seemed no hope of any future in those words. "Did — did you tell them about the manor? About —" "That's our secret. It's just between you and me." "I'll never be able to thank you, you know. If you hadn't come to my rescue, I don't know what I would have done." "Thornton certainly wanted more than I'd ever dreamed." Alex struggled to control his voice, keep the words even. "Why didn't you tell me how bad things had got?" "I — I didn't dare. To tell you the truth I couldn't believe myself. Melissa must have been signing IOUs day and night. I knew I could never pay it. I was really beginning to think that I was going to be forced to take the only way out that Thornton had offered me.…" She shuddered expressively at just the thought. "'The only way out.'" Alex pounced on the words like a tiger on its prey, bringing her up short in horror at the thought of what she had just inadvertently revealed. "And what way was that? Louise!" he added warningly when she backed away, shaking her head in refusal to speak. "Tell me!" "I — I can't.…"

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"No," he said grimly. "But Thornton did. He wanted you to become his mistress. To pay him with sex. I almost killed him.… I could still…" "Please — no — it's over." Over for her, Alex admitted to himself, but now he had to live with what this news meant for him. He had paid Louise's debts for her. He had got her precious manor back, and had made sure that Thornton would never trouble her again. And then he had taken her to bed. He had done it because he loved her. Because in all the years they had been apart she had never truly been out of his thoughts. He had tried to forget her, but the truth was that he had never been able to. And she had gone with him willingly. She had given herself to him without holding anything back. But had she only done so because she felt it was the way that she could thank him? That, as Geoff Thornton had insinuated, this was the way she had expected to pay for her freedom, and all that had changed was the man to whom she owed the debt of gratitude? His stomach heaved at the thought, and he couldn't bear to look into Louise's lovely face for fear of what he would see there. Instead he whirled away, planning on heading for the door. On getting out of here before he said something that would give away what he was feeling. But the suddenness of the movement created a whirling draft that caught some papers lying on the bed, lifting them and dropping them onto the floor. "Perdón. I —" Automatically he stooped to pick them up. "No!" Louise lunged forward, reaching desperately. But she was too late. Already those sharp gray eyes had scanned the first page. She saw him stop dead, flick a sudden, shocked glance in her direction, then go back and reread the page with a new and frightening intensity. And she knew it was too late. Chapter Seven Alex read the letter through once more then turned blazing eyes on Louise's ashen face. "The Gabrielle Alcolar Memorial…Louise, what the hell is this?" "It's —" Twice she tried to answer. Twice her voice failed. But she didn't really have to explain. Alex's swift, incisive brain had assessed the contents of the letter and come to the right conclusion. "Gabrielle Alcolar. Were you pregnant? Did you have a child? My child?" Louise could only nod miserably.

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"And you didn't deign to tell me? To let me know —" "She didn't live long enough for anyone to know her!" Louise burst in, tears flooding down her cheeks. "She was born too early, and she died too early as well. She wasn't even a day old.…" "Oh, Luisa!" Suddenly she was in his arms, her head pillowed on his chest, her tears soaking into his shirt. And he just held her. Held her and let her weep, his voice murmuring soft, comforting words in gentle Spanish, as if in the emotion of the moment all his English had deserted him. It was only when her sobs eased, when she drew in a deep, shuddering breath that he put one hand under her chin and lifted her face so that her hazel eyes met the dark intensity of his steely gaze, and shockingly saw the revealing glisten of his own tears in its depths. "And this memorial — the home — this is what you wanted the manor for." Sniffing inelegantly, Louise managed to nod agreement. "I wanted somewhere that mothers who had lost their babies this way could go. Somewhere they could have some time to recover, to convalesce. When Gabrielle died I spent hours just walking in the countryside around the manor, or reading in the library. I think it saved my life. I wanted others to have the chance, too." "I see." There was something in his voice that jarred. He was looking at the other document. The one that Louise knew was Gabrielle's birth certificate. "You do understand. It was so very important to me." "Oh, yeah." He couldn't drag his attention away from the words that were on the paper in front of him. Gabrielle Louise Browning. Born May 9. Gabrielle Browning. When his daughter's birth had been registered, she hadn't even been given his name. "I see now how important the manor was to you." She'd lost him somehow, Louise realized. The long, lean body was stiff with rejection, held rigidly away from her. Outside, the sound of a car pulling up alerted them to the fact that the first of their guests had arrived. Alex snatched at the excuse to escape. "My family is here. I'll go down and let them in. You take the time you need. Come down when you're ready." But then, just as she managed a smile of thanks for his thoughtfulness, he drove it right away again with his next words. "And don't worry about what they'll think of why you're here. I'll explain it's just for a short visit. Tell them that you're going home again tomorrow."

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It was not a suggestion but a command, Louise realized dazedly as the door swung shut behind him. He was telling her that she was going home again tomorrow. Dismissing her from his life — permanently, by the sound of it — and she didn't have the faintest idea why. *** As Louise watched Alex's family drive away from the house, she felt her stomach tighten into hard, painful knots. She had been nervous at the thought of them arriving. Now she wished that they were staying for much longer. Would Alex carry out his threat and send her home? Was he already wishing that she was gone? But the man who walked ahead of her back into the cool tiled hallway was silent and withdrawn. She was going to have to be the one who opened the topic. "I like your family," she managed hesitantly. "Your brothers are so like you. It's easy to see that you share the same father." Both Joaquin and Ramon Alcolar were every bit as tall, dark and stunning as their half brother. But neither of them stirred her senses or made her feel the way the man before her did. "And Mercedes…" For the first time, Alex's face softened at the mention of his half sister. "Mercedes is a chatterbox," he said. "She never knows when to shut up." "It makes her easy to get on with." She prayed that the uneasiness in her mind didn't show in her voice. Mercedes had spent some time alone with her, and what Alex's sister had told her had unsettled her terribly. She had also found it impossible to believe. "So…should I start packing? It was part question, part challenge. But Alex didn't respond to either. "If I'm to leave tomorrow, I should.… But, Alex, I don't want to go!" That got a reaction from him. He had been heading into the kitchen, but now he whirled round. And something in his face, some shaken look in his eyes just before he managed to mask them again told her that her comment had hit home. But he covered his mistake quickly. "Why not?" he asked coolly. Not coolly enough, Louise decided. He had definitely been shaken. And that, combined with what Mercedes had said, gave her a new determination. She was not about to be dismissed without at least a fight. "I don't think I'm prepared to say — at least, not yet. Not until you've answered a question for me." It was there again. A tiny flash of wariness that, sensitive to everything about him, she caught where someone else might not.

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"Louise, is this important?" "Yes. I think so. It could be the most important thing I'll ever ask." She really had his attention now. Those slate-colored eyes were fixed intently on her face, watching her closely. "Then ask," he said huskily. Chapter Eight Louise licked her painfully dry lips, wondering where to start. Ask, Alex had said, giving her the chance she so desperately wanted. But now she was terrified that she would make a total mess of things if she didn't tread very carefully. "Mercedes said — she said that you once told her something.… She was teasing you, saying it was time you got married, and you told her that you'd already met the one woman who could ever be your wife." "Like I said, Mercedes talks too much." "But was she telling the truth?" Her answer was there in his face. He didn't need to speak a word. Louise's heart gave a little kick of excitement but she fought to keep calm. She wasn't out of the woods yet. "That's what I told her." Alex was clearly hedging his bets, too. "And the woman? Who were you talking about?" But she'd pushed him too far. His face changed, his jaw setting hard, and he shook his dark head violently. "No. No more questions. It's my turn for some answers." "Okay, ask away." She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. "When Gabrielle — when our daughter was born — why...?" "I didn't register her birth." She anticipated the question that was burning in his mind and answered without it needing to be asked. "I didn't do it. I was too distressed to do anything. My father was the one who put the name Browning on the certificate." "But you were the one who called her Gabrielle Alcolar on the documents for the memorial home?" He took her silence for the assent it was. "Why? Because I was no longer plain Alex Anderson? No longer the housekeeper's son, but a member of the powerful Alcolar family? Because I could afford to buy —"

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"No! Oh, Alex, is that what you thought? Because if it was, then you couldn't have been more wrong. Your money — your position now — doesn't mean a thing to me." "No?" The cynicism in his eyes stabbed at her like a knife. "No! I always wanted Gabrielle to have her real name — your name. You were her father; she was your child. That was what mattered. If you'd read the letter properly — all the details — you'd have seen that the home was always going to have your name right from the start. Whether you helped me or not." "So the manor…" "The manor is only a place. I wanted it to be a memorial to Gabrielle — to our child. But I wanted it to be named for you too. Because…" No. She didn't dare to admit that she loved him. Not yet. He still looked too wary, too unsure. She had to wipe away the scepticism, convince him somehow. But how? When inspiration struck suddenly, it was impossible to suppress a grin of pure delight. Impulsively she held out her hand. "Alex, come with me." Alex eyed her suspiciously, wondering just what had put that glow into her face. "What are you up to?" "Please, trust me." When she turned those wide hazel eyes on him like that, and put the pleading note into her voice, then he would go with her anywhere. Do anything she asked. He couldn't stop himself. And so he put his hand into hers and felt her soft fingers close around his. She led him up the stairs and into a bedroom. His bedroom, not the separate single room where he had insisted that she sleep since their arrival at the house. Once there, she released him, left him standing in the middle of the room while she perched on the end of the big double bed. "Louise, what —" "No talking." She held up a hand to silence him. "Just do as I say. Take your jacket off." For a second she thought he was going to refuse. But then suddenly he shrugged his broad shoulders, slid off the jacket and tossed it onto a nearby chair. "And your shirt."

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He frowned his confusion, but surprisingly he obeyed her without a word. "Now what, señorita?" Alex asked dryly, his attention totally focussed on her. "Don't tell me…" Strong brown hands gestured, indicating the black leather belt at his waist. "That's right." The tightness in Louise's throat made her voice croak embarrassingly. She expected rebellion, but surprisingly he obeyed her without a word. Perhaps something in her face had given her away. Perhaps he had sensed just how much this meant to her. With the last garment of all, her nerve failed her. But Alex took the situation right out of her hands, stripping off the shorts to stand proud and unembarrassed in his nakedness before her. "Isn't it about time you told me what all this is about, querida?" Her heart thudding wildly, Louise got up from the bed and walked to stand beside him. With a hand that shook noticeably she reached out and touched him softly on the cheek, looking deep into his darkened eyes. "Now you're what I want," she said clearly, confidently. "Now you're all I want — everything I want." "Not the money…?" Where her voice had gained a new strength, Alex seemed to have lost some of his pride, his selfpossession. "Or the —" "Not the money. Never the money. Not the manor or the name or anything…but you." Louise assured him. "You're what I need. Just you, nothing more. Just this one special man…" "And you're all the woman I need. The only woman I want," he told her. And to Louise, the words sounded the most wonderful she had ever heard in her life. "Then will you answer my question?" She didn't need to say which question. He knew exactly what she meant. "Yes," he said, his voice deep and husky with emotion. "Yes, you were the one I told Mercedes about. Yes you are the woman I love. The only woman I would ever want by my side. So please, amada, please tell me that you'll marry me and be my wife — for real, this time." "Oh, Alex, there isn't anything I'd love more in the whole world. Oh, yes…" The words were silenced by his kiss. A kiss that promised the world and a glorious future together. "Wife for real," Louise echoed softly when he finally let her breathe again. "Could anything be more perfect?" "Just one thing," Alex told her, his eyes gleaming silver with a blend of delight and need. "But you have rather too many clothes on for what I have in mind." "I do, don't I?" Louise teased, joy lifting her voice, putting a bubble of laughter into it. "Perhaps you'd like to help me with that?"

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Whirlwind Wedding by Lillian Darcy You are cordially invited to the wedding of Melinda Duncan and Ryan Courcy. Serving as bridesmaid, and threatening to steal the spotlight away from the bride, is Melinda's sister, Shallis, the reigning Miss Tennessee. Also attending are the groom's parents, who haven't been in the same room in eleven years. We do hope you'll be able to attend, despite the short notice. The invitations couldn't have been sent sooner: the bride and groom only met seven weeks ago! And, please, be on the lookout for any uninvited wedding guests that threaten to tear the couple apart before they even say their "I dos"….

Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| Chapter One "Star Moment, honey, don't forget. This is a huge Star Moment for you." "It's okay, Mom, I get that." And, thanks, I really needed you to make me more of a gibbering nervous wreck than I already was. "Just let me smooth the back of your dress." "My dress is fine," Melinda answered. "Go sit in the church." "And your tiara..." "Will — you — please — go — sit — in — the — church!" "Ahh, sweetie." Sunny Duncan's eyes misted. "You look just beautiful!" "Sunny, will you darn well do what your daughter is asking you to do?" Bob Duncan growled. "She's going to pass out from pure terror any second." He grabbed Melinda's trembling arm and glared at his wife, who nodded, smiled and scuttled into the cool dimness of the church on her three-inch peacock blue heels. Melinda took a deep breath. If this was bridal nerves, then she had a near-fatal case. She hadn't expected to. All those years when she'd dreamed of marrying Jared Starke, had planned on marrying him, down to the very last detail, bridal jitters had never figured in the picture. Now, she was about to marry Ryan Courcy, a man she'd known for just a few short weeks, and she felt more like she was lined up on a hospital gurney waiting for major surgery. In real life, she'd never been a great success at the big occasions — the Star Moments — her mother loved "Ready?" her father asked. "Give me another five seconds." Her sister, Shallis, younger by five years and looking stunning this afternoon in ice blue satin instructed her, "Drop your shoulders, Linnie. Lift your chin." As this year's reigning Miss Tennessee, Shallis was a lot more comfortable in the spotlight. Melinda had tried to be, during her own less than successful beauty pageant years, but — but — "Ryan's waiting for you," Shallis added softly. "Yes. He is. Okay. Let's do this. Dad?" She held his arm more tightly.

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The aisle of the church hadn't seemed so long since Melinda had first learned to walk, twenty-five years ago. As the organ groaned into life, Ryan turned to gaze at her down the length of worn red carpet. He was miles away, and he looked so different today — intimidating in his dark suit, his face set and steady. He hadn't yet smiled at her. Melinda's heart beat faster. Friends and relatives crammed the church. Dozens of pairs of eyes locked on her face. Sentimental females sniffed into their handkerchiefs. Fidgety males cleared their throats. A little Courcy cousin said loudly, "I wanna go home!" Yeah, little guy, can I come with you? How had a flat tire on a lonely, rain-sodden farm road, seven weeks ago, led to this? Melinda had almost gotten the tire changed successfully by the time Ryan had pulled over to offer his help. She should have told him she was fine and waved him on, out of her life. Instead, one look at those piercing blue eyes, those strong shoulders, those locks of dark hair getting rapidly soaked with rain, and she'd felt as if her own personal prince had ridden up on his gallant white charger to rescue her. She'd let him change the tire. She'd let him feed her hot coffee from a flask and sour-cream-and-onion potato chips from a packet. She'd found out that he was a professional horse breeder and trainer who hoped to have his own stud farm one day, and had told him that she was a substitute teacher, returning from a teacher's day from Hell, at a tiny country school. She'd even let him put his rain jacket around her shoulders while they'd sat together in the cozy front seat of his SUV. You're soaked," he'd said, "in that thin dress." "I can't take your jacket." "Take my phone number, too, then you can call me so I can arrange to get the jacket back." He'd had a slow, measured and thoughtful way of speaking that she'd liked at once, but there was nothing slow or measured in the way he'd courted her. And she'd given him the right encouragement, phoning about the jacket the very next day. "I want to marry you," he'd said, on their fourth date. "Ryan —!" "I'm not asking you. Not yet." He'd grinned, and her stomach had dropped like an elevator filled with wild butterflies, around fifty floors. She hadn't known it was possible to fall for a man this fast and this hard, to feel this right and this confident. Almost as confident as he was. "I'm just giving you fair warning of my intentions," he'd said. Two weeks warning, in fact. Swept off her feet by his quiet certainty, by the way he talked about their future, by his effect on her senses, by the promise of the home and family she'd always wanted, she'd said yes without hesitation.... "I said I wanna go home!" the little Courcy cousin yelled. A woman whispered at him, pulled him up onto her hip and clattered out of the church through a side door. Rattled by the incident — as if she needed another reason to get rattled! — Melinda tripped on the floorlength front of her silver-white satin gown. She heard a ripping sound. Her father said, "Whoa, honey!" and the congregation gave a collective gasp.

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Ryan frowned and took a step forward. Without turning around, Shallis hissed at Melinda, "It's okay. It's just the tulle. The underskirt. I can tell by the sound of it. Don't catch your toe in the tear." I'll try." What made me think I could do this? Ryan kept on frowning. He didn't take his eyes from her face. Melinda tried to gain some support from the steadiness of his regard, but she couldn't. She was too busy working out how to not catch that toe on what she feared must be a gaping tear. The church aisle stretched out a further six miles, but she reached Ryan at last. She wanted a word from him, a reassurance, but nothing came. He took her hands, but they were so shaky and damp that he let them go again almost at once, and the frown on his face etched itself deeper into his high forehead. He ran his fingers down her bare arm, but she hardly felt it. A commotion came from the far end of the aisle at that moment. Fast, confident footsteps. Murmurs and exclamations. And then a voice. "Linnie? Linnie, am I too late?" A minute ago, the aisle had been twelve miles long. Now it shrank to a few yards. Melinda knew that voice, and when she turned, she knew the rangy silhouette and the handsome face, lit from an angle by rays of sunshine filtering through stained glass and falling on a sleek shock of sun-blond hair. "Thank heaven I'm not too late," Jared Starke said. Ignoring Ryan, Shallis, the best man, the minister and the whole congregation, he pulled Melinda into his arms and held her there. "You can't marry him, Melinda Duncan. I know this is my fault. I'm an idiot. I always thought I had plenty of time, through law school and beyond. But you know it, don't you? You've always known it. You have to marry me!" Chapter Two A hot wave of confusion flooded Melinda's already overheated body as she stared at Jared, the man who'd just interrupted her wedding. "Jared... Marry you?" She echoed his words on a husky squeak. "That's what I said." He smiled, his lips parted slightly. She remembered that smile. She remembered those lips — on hers, searching for her innocent teenage response, seeking to inflame it to the point of no return. He'd succeeded, too. Over Jared's shoulder, Ryan — her fiancé and her groom — said nothing. Why didn't he speak? If ever there was a time for one of her mom's favorite Star Moments, this should be it. Ryan should act. Decisively. The way he'd acted the first day they met. But he didn't. He just watched her, waiting, and she couldn't read his face. Jared Starke held the focus of the entire congregation as though a fragile flower was cupped in his hand, and he knew it. "You know this, Melinda," he told her. With his arms still wrapped around her, lazy, loose and oh-soconfident, his golden-brown eyes were just inches from her face. "You know what we always had together. Since high school. I was crazy to take it for granted, to send back the ring you gave me five years ago."

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A ring? Ryan thought. His whole body felt frozen in place by the sight of his bride's face. What was she thinking? How did she feel? Melinda had told him about Jared Starke — how they'd dated in high school and college. But she hadn't told him that she'd given Jared a ring, nor that he'd eventually sent it back. She had spoken of Jared as if five years ago was half a lifetime ago, and as if they'd drifted apart and he'd never been truly important. But now... "When I heard you were getting married today..." Jared's words trailed off. He swallowed, shook his head. Melinda's eyes were as wide as a child's. She should be angry, and she shouldn't hesitate. She should sting the guy's cheek with the flat of her hand and order him out of her life. But she didn't. Instead, she listened, and stayed in his arms. The entire congregation held its breath, waiting for the most scandalous wedding ceremony in Hyattville in a decade. Ryan knew that his cousin Lorene was here. If Melinda Duncan ran off with Jared Starke, leaving her fiancé at the altar, Lorene would turn the story into a gossip's tour de force that she'd retell for years. It would take courage for Melinda to walk out of her wedding and step into a minefield like that. Courage, or the heart-stopping certainty that she loved Jared after all and that she didn't love Ryan. "Jared..." Melinda sighed again. *** She looked so beautiful today. Her golden brown hair was piled on her head in gleaming tendrils and coils. Her wide-set gray eyes shone. Her satin dress hid the long, tanned legs Ryan loved but shaped itself closely over her upper body, showing the tuck of her waist and the rounded swell of her breasts. For the first time in his life, Ryan understood how his father must have felt when his mother had cheated. For the first time, he felt for himself the rip of jealousy and suspicion in his gut, like the turn of a rusty knife, and he didn't like it. Mom was here today. He'd glimpsed her earlier, although they hadn't yet had a chance to speak. His parents hadn't been under the same roof together in more than eleven years — not since Ryan's twenty-first birthday party. Mom had taken a cab ride out of her twenty-two-year marriage that night. She'd checked into a nearby hotel and only returned to her marital home to collect her things. She lived four hundred miles from Hyattville now and, though Ryan saw her occasionally and spoke to her by phone, he couldn't claim they were close. If Melinda hadn't insisted, he would have gone with what Dad wanted and left Belle Courcy off the invitation list. *** "Sorry, buddy." Jared released Melinda at last, grinned crookedly at Ryan and spread his hands. Melinda took a shaky breath and tried to reorientate the universe, as her former sweetheart turned to the man she was about to marry. "Ryan, isn't it?" Jared said. "Ryan Courcy," he replied on a growl. "That's right." "Nothing personal. No hard feelings. But this woman belongs to me."

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Melinda's frozen muscles knotted into action at last. "No! No, Jared, you're wrong. I don't!" "Linnie —" "Please —" she sucked in another jerky lungful of air "— leave. Now. I'm here to marry Ryan. You shouldn't have done this." The golden gleam of light in Jared's eyes grew brighter. "I flew in from Chicago twenty minutes ago, and had the cab driver scream around every bend to make it here in time," he said. "I would have come from the ends of the earth if I'd had to. What more do I have to do? Should I throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here?" "N-no. You should just leave. I'm going to marry Ryan." She reached her hand out to her groom, the way she might have gripped a fence in a hurricane. But who or what was the hurricane here? Was it Jared? Or was it her own past? Her seventeen-year-old certainty that Jared Starke was The One? She'd been certain of Jared for four years. She'd known Ryan for just seven weeks, and she'd agreed to marry him a month ago. Yes, but she was twenty-six now, not seventeen. She knew so much more about what she wanted and what she felt. Certainty settled over her, after the terrifying moments of doubt, like some warm, magical blanket. She loved Ryan. She wanted to marry Ryan. Why hadn't she told Jared so right away? No, why hadn't she ignored Jared altogether and told Ryan himself? With words in his ear and a whisper of touch against his square jaw, a press of his arm. Why had she stood here for so long? Because she'd had doubts. No use pretending. She had. She'd weighed up the four years against the seven weeks. She'd remembered all those months of crying into her pillow over Jared every night, hoping he'd come back to her, hoping for a dramatic Star Moment like the one he'd just delivered. For a crucial few minutes, she'd wondered if marrying Ryan was a mistake. Jared thought he'd won. Even now, as he backed off and charmed his way into a seat in the front row, he still acted like the man who'd won. Melinda didn't like it one bit. What did he know that she didn't? Ryan's hand rested in hers, cool and solid and dry. She pivoted the three-quarter turn to face him. Too shaken up to smile, she murmured, "Can we just say our vows? Just do it?" He nodded slowly, and at last the ceremony began. For Melinda, it passed in a blur, and when they'd exchanged their wedding bands, she felt as if a huge gate had just clanged shut behind her — a gate that didn't imprison her, but made her safe. She was married to Ryan, and that was all she wanted. "You may kiss the bride," said Reverend Gray. A thrill ran through her, and as Ryan leaned forward, she smiled up at him at last. But the touch of his lips on hers was stiff and brief, not filled with its usual sweet seduction.

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"Ryan?" she whispered, looking up at him. His blue eyes glittered with tangled emotions and his mouth was hard. "We'll carry it through for today," he muttered. "But tomorrow...Monday at the latest...we should talk to a lawyer." "A lawyer?" "About what's required for an annulment…or a divorce." Chapter Three Bubbles danced through the air as Melinda and Ryan came out of the church as newlyweds, hand in hand. Shallis blew a long string of them from the wedding-cake-shaped plastic bottle she held. They gleamed with rainbow colors in the June sunshine before they burst in a spray of tiny droplets. Shallis laughed, and several cameras clicked, capturing Hyattville's biggest celebrity enjoying her sister's wedding day. Melinda wasn't sorry to see the focus shift away from herself and her new husband. Even Jared Starke, she saw, had his eyes trained on Shallis's honey-gold hair and huge Miss Tennessee smile. You hardly would have guessed, at this moment, that Jared had tried and failed to derail the wedding just forty minutes earlier. "Hold her, Ryan. Heads close together," said the photographer they'd hired to capture their day on film. His heavy professional camera clicked. Ryan did as he was told, and Melinda leaned against his strong body, knowing that she risked falling without his support. Her legs had no strength right now. She felt so much better in his arms, enveloped in his familiar warmth, his unique, musky scent, the aura of rock-solid masculinity that he gave off. "I don't want an annulment or a divorce, Ryan," she told him. Her voice came out thin and shaky — inaudible, she hoped, over the happy noise of the wedding guests. Ryan didn't reply. He wasn't a flamboyant, emotive speaker like Jared. He used words sparingly, carefully, and she'd always had the confidence that if he said something, he meant it. Just now, he'd talked about divorce. If he'd meant that... Her stomach lurched and she felt ill. If she lost Ryan because a figure from her past had turned up at the most dramatic possible point... Mom was wrong about Star Moments. Life wasn't about things like that. Love wasn't. It went so much deeper. "Hey, you two," the photographer said. "Stop looking as if someone died. You've gotten through the hard part. You can have fun now. Look down at her, Ryan. Melinda, lift your face. Better! That's nice! Can you hold that?" "You weren't sure," Ryan muttered. "You stood there. It felt like an hour. And you weren't sure. I could see it in your face." She could tell he was wounded, and that he was angry, and she understood both emotions. During that crucial window of time, with everybody looking on, she'd had doubts. She'd let them show — to Ryan, to Jared, to the whole congregation — and she somehow knew that Ryan wouldn't want a glib insistence that her doubts had disappeared. When he weighed his own words so carefully, a hasty, effusive speech from her now would only make things worse. But what else could she do? How could she prove he was wrong?

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She'd never seen him angry like this, but she couldn't blame him for it. Only the fact that she'd gone through with the ceremony in the end had saved him from complete humiliation and hurt. Is that why he thinks I did it? Just to save us both from the scandal? "Ryan. My wonderful son." An attractive older woman with a strong face and a husky voice like Lauren Bacall's came up to him and touched him on the arm. A cream-and-gold trouser-suit showed a figure that had filled out by just a few pounds since her youth, and her hair was its natural silver-gray. "Mom," Ryan said. "I didn't get a chance to talk to you before." "I planned to get in last night, but I got so tired from driving on my own, I had to check into a motel. Melinda, honey, this is such a wonderful gift for me. I wasn't sure I'd ever see Ryan marry." Belle Courcy held Melinda in a hug and kissed her cheek. Melinda hugged her in return, wondering if the double meaning to her new mother-in-law's words was intended. Belle hadn't known if Ryan would marry? Or she hadn't known if she would be there to see it? Ryan hadn't talked to her in any detail about his parents' split, or the reasons behind it, but she knew he sided mainly with his dad. After knowing Jack Courcy for just a few weeks, Melinda wasn't yet at ease with her new father-in-law. She sensed a restless bitterness in him, which his son's loyalty and support didn't appear to assuage. "It's so great to meet you," she told Belle. "We'll talk later. I know you have to focus on the photos right now." "No, don't move away, Mrs. Courcy," the photographer said. "Let's have the wedding party all together, and the bride's and groom's parents." Where was Mom? Oh, with Shallis, tidying her hair. Standing near them, Dad looked tetchy and impatient, the way he always did when Mom fussed over makeup and hair and clothes. Her parents had been married for nearly thirty years, but were they really happy together? Melinda didn't know. She felt Ryan's grip on her hand tighten, and squeezed him back. For the moment, the tension between them had eased. She laid her head on his shoulder and inhaled the mingled scents of skin and cloth and soap and shaving cream from his tanned neck. Her pulses throbbed and her bones began to melt. This was their wedding day. Did she really have to prove that she'd married him for love? "Mom," he said to Belle. "The photographer's going to want you and Dad standing together." Melinda heard a note of warning in his voice. "You didn't bring a guest, did you? A man?" Belle's face stilled. "I came alone, Ryan," she said quietly. "I told you that. I'll have no problem standing with your father. He's the one you need to ask." Ryan nodded. He let go of Melinda and walked away as if he'd forgotten her, heading toward the edge of the milling group of guests, where his father stood. Even from this distance, Melinda understood the outcome of the short, tense conversation. Divorced for nine years and separated for two years before that, Jack Courcy still wasn't prepared to stand beside the mother of his son at his son's wedding. Coming back to Melinda, Ryan said low in her ear, "We're going to have to mix up the couples for this. Would Shallis stand with Dad, while Mom partners Tom?" "Does Tom like older women?" Melinda teased, trying to squeeze some lightness back into the atmosphere, trying to put a smile on Ryan's face. When it didn't work, her heart sank.

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"Tom understands the situation," Ryan told her, his jaw jutting square and hard. He'd been close friends with his best man since grade school. "Maybe I should ask him about it then," she answered. "Because I don't." Ryan looked at her and his face softened suddenly. "Ah, Linnie," he said, "I know you don't. I'm sorry. That's wrong, isn't it? We've had so much to plan. And we've been so happy planning it. I didn't want to cast a shadow. Their divorce was about as bad as it gets. Dad will never get over it, nor forgive my mom." "Forgive her?" "She cheated. Dad's not the easiest man to live with. Maybe she felt that gave her enough of a reason. But she cheated on him for years, flirted with her lovers in plain sight, and when she left, it was to follow a married man." Chapter Four "At last, we get a chance to talk!" Shallis breathed out a whooshing sigh. "We've been standing next to each other, on and off, for nearly an hour," Melinda answered, amused. She was used to her younger sister's dramatics. They helped, while her mind still reeled with concerns she'd never expected to have on her wedding day — concerns like Jared Starke showing up at the altar, demanding she run off with him instead of marrying Ryan, and Ryan's revelation, an hour ago, that his mother's infidelity had blown his parents' marriage apart. Just from the way he'd spoken, she could tell how much this event had shaped him. "We've talked plenty," she added to Shallis. "You know what I mean. A-l-o-n-e," she spelled out. The afternoon shadows had begun to stretch out from the trees in Hyattville's prettiest park. The wedding guests would be enjoying cocktail hour at the nearby Grand Regency Hotel. The bridal couple, maid of honor and best man, however, had spent this time caught in the camera lens, against a backdrop of roses in bloom, vistas of trees and the splashing Memorial Fountain. Now, Tom and Ryan helped the photographer carry his equipment to his vehicle, leaving Melinda and Shallis to trail behind in their long gowns, toward the waiting limo. "It was so dramatic, Linnie!" Shallis said. "Jared storming in like that." "He didn't storm. It wasn't dramatic. It was horrible." "For a minute, I thought you were going to go with him. I could see him sweeping you up in his arms and carrying you off." "Don't, Shallis." "Oh my gosh!" Shallis squeaked. "Are you regretting that you didn't do it? You thought about it. I could see it in the way you hesitated and looked at Jared then looked at Ryan. And then you —" "It was the worst mistake of my life. The worst. I'm afraid I'll pay for it, at some hidden level, forever." "Marrying Ryan? The worst mistake?"

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"No! My Lord, no, Shallis! Listening to Jared. Even for a second." "Linnie, sweet heaven, don't cry!" "It's worth crying over, isn't it?" Frantically, she scraped at the heavy skirt of her dress, in search of the "something borrowed" lace handkerchief she'd tucked into the "something blue" garter on her thigh. Looking down, she saw the tear in the tulle underskirt from when she'd tripped in the church. Tiny. Inconsequential. "Isn't the worst mistake of my life worth crying about?" She dabbed at her eyes. "No, I mean because of your makeup. What mascara did you use? I sincerely hope it's waterproof!" "Oh, Shallis!" Melinda had to laugh, and she was still laughing — and crying, too — when they reached the limo. Ryan and Tom were waiting for them. "I made her cry, Ryan," Shallis announced. "Now I'm handing her back to you." Ryan stood close and brushed a strand of hair away from Melinda's face, while Tom and Shallis climbed into the back of the limo. "You okay?" he asked softly. "Do I have to yell at your sister?" "I'm okay." As long as you're touching me, as long as you're looking at me like this, I'm okay. But I'm not kidding myself that we've gotten through this, yet. As if he'd read her thoughts, Ryan told her, "This has to be about what you want, Linnie. I love you. You know that. But maybe I rushed us both into this. And I'm not going to live through a marriage where you're never sure you did the right thing. I've seen the anguish my father suffered. I'm not putting myself through that. I'm not waiting day after day for the ax to fall. If you have doubts, I need us to cut out of each other's lives now. This weekend, not later." "It's not going to be enough, is it, for me just to say it? To say that I don't have doubts, and that I love you?" "If it was that simple, you wouldn't have given Jared a second glance. You have things to work out, Linnie, about why you reacted the way you did." "And don't you, too?" She was angry. "I'm here. I chose you. I married you. Shouldn't you trust what that means? Do you honestly think I would have done it if —" "A wedding is a pretty powerful engine when it gets up to full speed. Takes courage to stop it in its tracks." "You think that's why I went through with it? Because I didn't have the courage to hurt you in front of all those people?" "Think about it. That's all I'm asking." "And I am thinking about it. I'm not sure who comes out worse in your scenario. Me, for lack of courage, or you, because you apparently think that I don't think you're strong enough to take public rejection. I don't doubt your strength, Ryan." They glared at each other, and a rush of need and desire hit both of them at the same time, with the force of a loaded truck.

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"Melinda..." Ryan's voice went hoarse. "Hell, when you look at me that way, I can't think straight. I can't even see straight. Who was I kidding that we should have held back on this marriage and waited longer? I want to make love to you so bad. I want to fall asleep in your arms every night and wake up beside you every morning, and I don't want to wait another hour." "I know. I know." She reached for him, tear-blinded, and laced her fingers against the back of his neck, pulling him down to her. If Tom and Shallis were getting impatient, it didn't matter. If they were hitting the limo's minibar and watching the satellite TV, all the better. The first touch of Ryan's lips came with the touch of his hands at her waist. He spread his fingers across the slippery satin then brought them higher, cupping her breasts while his mouth ravished hers. *** The wide-set straps of Melinda's dress slipped from her shoulders, dragging her strapless bra lower, and when Ryan opened his eyes to look at his beautiful bride and saw those tender mounds threatening to spill, he brought his mouth down and kissed the crescents of each darkened areola until she gasped and arched and moaned. Blood charged through his body, heaviness filled his groin and his hands gentled and softened, the way they gentled on a high-strung thoroughbred filly. Linnie, his wife, was the most precious being in the world. With a big wedding to put together in a month, they hadn't had enough opportunities for this. Making love together was spectacular, explosive...and rare. Ryan ached for it as he'd been aching since the day they'd met and he'd first been captivated by the combination of strength and vulnerability that he loved in Linnie. She had looked like a half-drowned animal, but she'd almost finished changing that tire, and he'd wanted to kiss her rain-slicked lips within five minutes of pulling over to offer his help. Raising his head from her breasts, he found her mouth again. Linnie's mouth, so perfect, so responsive, so warm. But was it fully his? How would he know? Dad had believed that Mom was his for years, and he'd been wrong. Ah, hell, that didn't count right now. Only Linnie counted. Only the two of them. "If I could make love to you right now, sweetheart..." he whispered, branding his mouth on her lips, her closed eyes, her hair. "Would it solve anything, Ryan?" She eased away from him, looked into his face. "Isn't that where we made our big mistake? We made love, and we planned our wedding, but there was a whole lot of other stuff we never talked about and never gave ourselves the chance to work out. How much will we have to pay for doing that?" "I don't know, Linnie." Chapter Five "How did you get this venue at such short notice?" Melinda flinched at Jared's voice beside her. She turned and found him leaning on the bar. He must have been watching her circuit the huge, noisy ballroom, at first with Ryan and then alone, as they took care to speak to as many of the two hundred guests as possible before the appetizers arrived. She hadn't noticed him, and she'd never expected him to show his face here. "There was a cancellation," she answered. "Oh, so weddings do get cancelled sometimes, huh?" The innocence of the question only made her bristle more.

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"Why are you still here?" she demanded. "I talked to Luisa, at the church. Remember Luisa?" "Since she's one of my oldest friends, yes!" "She said her boyfriend couldn't make it, so there was a spare place setting. Seemed a pity for it to go to waste." "What was today about for you? What was that stunt you pulled during our ceremony all about, Jared Starke?" "It was about you, of course," Jared said. "About us." "Give me a break!" She could see Ryan on the far side of the room. His grandmother Courcy had gotten hold of him. She was a wonderful woman, Melinda had heard, but she could talk and talk and talk. Melinda saw Ryan's glance arrow to his left and find her in seconds. He raised his hand in a tiny wave and shot her a smile, which soon drained into a watchful expression when he saw that she was with Jared. "It wasn't about us at all," she told her one-time sweetheart angrily. "It was about wanting to win. That's all you care about, isn't it? It took me years to see it and, heaven help me, today for a few minutes I almost forgot, but you like to win, Jared, and if you can't do it by coming out on top in an honest contest, you'll do it by crippling the rest of the field. I'm not going to let you destroy my marriage!" He didn't get a chance to answer, or even react. An ice blue satin whirlwind descended on him at that moment, squealing and stretching out a pair of graceful arms. "I don't believe you haven't said hi to me yet, Jared Starke!" Shallis said. "Is it possible you don't even recognize little Shallis Duncan now that she's all grown up?" She snuggled into his arms with a saucy shimmy of her shoulders. "I'd be pretty slow on the uptake if I didn't recognize the bride's beautiful sister," Jared answered. "Especially when I've seen her in the newspapers with a sash and a crown, calling herself Miss Tennessee." "Oh, that?" Shallis slapped him playfully on the shoulder and the slap turned into a caress on his neck. "That's not important. Tell me about what you've been doing with your life." She gazed up into his eyes, practically batting her lashes, and neither she nor Jared seemed to notice when Melinda eased away to go meet Ryan, who was coming toward her. "We should sit," Ryan said. "The waiters want to serve the bridal table first. Everything okay?" Chapter Six Ryan hardly heard the swell and roll of the music, couldn't remember more than a couple of the classic love songs he and Melinda had chosen for the band to play in a medley as their bridal waltz. He had Linnie in his arms, and that was all that mattered. "Oh, Ryan..." She sighed against him as they danced, pillowed her head on his shoulder, reached up to stroke his neck and pulled his head down to kiss his lips. "Linnie. Sweet Linnie." "I love you."

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"I can't even say it. My heart is bursting." The tempo of the music shifted and slowed, and he held her more tightly, feeling the press of her breasts against his body, holding her hips through the slippery fabric of her dress. He could feel how nervous she was. She'd told him she hated moments like this. All eyes upon her, any clumsiness on public display. But they hadn't known each other long enough for him to have experienced her reaction in person, up close, before today. He had nothing to compare it with. Was all of it nerves and her dislike of the spotlight? Or was some of it about Jared? Ryan couldn't believe the guy was still hanging around. He'd been tempted to co-opt his best man and each of them grab one of Jared's arms to throw him bodily from the Grand Regency Hotel lobby, into the street. Why hadn't he? Tom would have backed him up. Alternatively, the hotel had security staff. He could have called on them. Jared was an uninvited guest. But Ryan hadn't acted, and Jared was still here. Why? Oh, he knew. In his heart, he did. want to watch Melinda and Jared when they're together. He wanted to see how they behaved, see if they touched. Hell, he hated seeing this motivation in himself. It reminded him too much of his dad. He hadn't become aware of the way his father watched his mother until his late teens, and even then, he hadn't understood it. He hadn't understood until after Mom had left and Dad had told him the truth — that he'd watched his wife with other men because he felt compelled to know which were her lovers. It made sense. But Ryan had wondered, all the same. He still did. Dad had been obsessive, merciless. Ryan would wake in the night to the sound of him interrogating her, it sounded like — loud and intimidating and angry. What had a certain man said to her? Why had they been on the phone for so long? Who was the guy she'd spoken to at the grocery store? Mom's voice had always been low and placating in reply, and Ryan could never make out the words. He wondered, though. He couldn't imagine that Mom had had an affair with the father of Tom, his own best friend. The knowledge that Mom had been unfaithful had made Dad lose perspective. Some of his accusations, at least, had to have been wrong. Dad had never been an easy man to live with. This was why Ryan hadn't broken contact with his mother. He found it impossible to believe that the fault was all on Mom's side. Marriages didn't work like that. A couple of times he'd almost asked her about it. Tell me why you did it. But he'd held the question back for complicated reasons, which he was only now, at thirty-two, beginning to understand. He hadn't wanted answers from Mom that would have forced him, irrevocably, to take one or other parent's side. And if Mom had slept with the fathers of his friends, he didn't want to know.

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"You're miles away, Ryan," Linnie murmured. "Just thinking about Mom and Dad." v"I know. I was, too, before." "I feel like I'd do anything in the world to avoid getting to that point with you. How could the two of us ever get to that point? Skirting the edge of the room to make sure we don't cross paths, not even able to look at each other..." Ryan pressed his forehead against hers. Melinda closed her eyes, then felt his kiss on her mouth. She returned it with a depth of need that frightened her, in the context of Jack and Belle Courcy's antagonism. "How do we stay on the right road?" Ryan muttered. "I don't think love's enough." "With honesty?" She looked into his eyes. They seemed clouded still. "Okay, Linnie, if honesty is all it takes, tell me honestly what was going through your mind while you listened to Jared. What pull did he have on you?" "The pull of the past," she answered, trying to keep her words as simple and true as possible. "The pull of all the tears I cried over him. I couldn't help thinking about how quickly my tears would have dried, at twentyone, if I'd known then that Jared would come storming into my wedding to tell me he loved me after all." "You never told me you'd exchanged rings." "There are a lot of things we haven't told each other yet." The band brought its medley down to a quiet rhythm in the background, and the emcee announced the three other couples in the wedding party who would now take the floor. Again, Ryan and Melinda had had to partner the group carefully. Tom with Sunny, Belle with Bob, Shallis with Jack. After just a few minutes, the invitation to dance was extended to everyone, and Grandma Courcy cut in on Melinda quite shamelessly, to claim her turn with Ryan. "You've done your duty," Mom told their best man at the same time. She patted Tom on the back, then came and hugged Melinda. "Happy, darling?" Dad stepped forward and twirled Belle beneath his arm at that moment, just as Shallis steered an awkward Jack Courcy in the same direction. Belle and Jack both began to apologize, until they suddenly saw who they'd bumped into, at which point Jack turned on his heel and barged from the dance floor. His head of steel-gray hair hung low between his hunched shoulders. "Of course I'm happy," Melinda answered Mom. They'd both seen the uncomfortable incident. I should never have said "of course." It's like "trust me" — the more strongly you say it, the less true it sounds. "Honey, I want to talk to you," Mom said. "Can we slip away for a few minutes?" "Not too far." Melinda didn't want Ryan unsure of where she was. They compromised on the telephone alcove near the rest rooms, and Mom didn't waste any time. "I saw what happened at the altar today." "Everyone did, Mom." "I saw your face. Honey, whatever you do, don't settle. If you married Ryan for the wrong reasons, it's not too late to do something about it. Better to get a divorce now than to wait until you're meshed together by a house or, worse, kids. I'm telling you this from the heart, because I know. The worst thing you can do is settle for less than the love of your life."

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"Sunny?" "Bob? I didn't see you." "I've been looking for you to see if —" Melinda's father shook his head, as if his original reason for seeking out his wife was totally unimportant now. "What the hell are you telling our daughter?" He strode forward, electric in his anger. Melinda had never seen him look this way before. Her Mom turned pale. "I —" "Are you saying that you settled when you married me?" he challenged. "The hell you did!" He pulled her into his arms and glared down at her. She seemed mute. "Don't you remember?" he demanded. "Think back, for just a minute. Just think about the way it was for us, think about the way it could still be if you'd let it. Dance this dance with me, and then see if you can still tell me you settled, damn it!" Chapter Seven Mom didn't seem able to take her eyes from Dad's face as they danced together. Watching them, leaning a hand against the same pillar that had hidden Dad's approach from view a few minutes earlier, Melinda was awed. Her parents really loved each other. Their love was overgrown by a tangle of day-to-day distractions and petty differences of outlook, the way an old house could be overgrown by creepers and vines. Beneath the disguising growth, however, the structure of their marriage stood as solid as ever, and Dad just wasn't going to let Mom get away with an ill-thought sense of disappointment. They loved each other. He knew it, and Mom had only temporarily forgotten. Shallis linked an arm through Melinda's, and watched, too. "Dad can be pretty impressive sometimes," she murmured. "He sure can." "You're like him, Linnie. You cut to the heart of things. You don't get distracted by the surface sheen." "I hope you're right. Mom just told me I shouldn't settle. She's afraid I've settled for Ryan. I'm not sure if she was suggesting she'd settled for Dad, but he overheard her, and he took it that way. Now he's on a mission to prove to her that it isn't true." "And is it true for you, Linnie?" "No!" She said the word so forcefully that it stung her throat. "Dear Lord, no, it isn't true, Shallis!" She blinked back tears. "And does Ryan know that?" "I've tried to tell him. I've tried to show him. But I don't think he believes it, and I'm not sure what more I can do."

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They switched their focus to Ryan. Grandma Courcy had let him go after their dance, and he'd found Melinda across the now crowded dance floor, his gaze arrowing to her unerringly, as it always seemed to do. He smiled. "He's coming this way. Go meet him," Shallis urged her, but before Melinda could move, she saw Belle claim him — not to dance, but to sit at her table and talk. The chandeliers had dimmed by this time, replaced by whirling disco lights and a mirror ball. Waiters moved unobtrusively through the room, clearing away dishes and glasses. A few of the guests looked as if they'd made too many trips to the bar. Soon it would be time to cut the four-tiered cake that sat on a special table in the corner near the band. And then it would be time for the bridal couple to leave.... "Talk to your mother-in-law," Shallis said. "You and Ryan have spent too much time apart tonight." But Melinda shook her head. "Their conversation is private. I can see that. And it's serious. I won't interrupt." "Jared has left. I thought you'd like to know. That'll make things easier on all of us." "Will it? I'm not sure. Even if he'd never showed up at the reception, he did all the necessary damage at the church." *** "I can see that something is wrong between you," Ryan's mother said to him. "I've been so afraid that your father and I would leave you with this kind of legacy." "Is that what you think is going on here?" Ryan glanced toward his father, who stood with his elbow propped on the bar. Dad had done his duty as father of the groom for a while, but then he'd retreated into himself. He seemed to prefer the company of the stranger who served his beers to that of his relatives and friends. "It's what I'm afraid of. Trust her, Ryan. Believe what she tells you about what happened today in the church. If she has to live day after day with the knowledge that you don't trust her to the very depth of your heart, it will kill her love long before it kills yours." Ryan shifted in his seat, disturbed by the intensity of his mother's words. "Is that what happened to you and Dad? Tell me, Mom. Tell me your side of it. I've wanted to know. I've come to doubt that all his suspicions and accusations have been true." "Why haven't you asked before this?" "Why haven't you told me if you have a case to put? I guess I haven't asked because I've thought that if you had any defense, you'd have told me without my asking." "I needed to wait until I thought there was a chance you'd believe me." "And that's now?" She gave a shrug. "Love can change things. If you love Melinda in the right way, it will make it easier for you to understand. I never cheated on your father, Ryan." "You left your marriage, on the night of my twenty-first birthday, to follow Ruthie Miller's father to Florida." His mother gave a tired smile. "Ruthie Miller was having a great time at your party, and she didn't want to leave, so when her dad came to pick her up, he had coffee and we chatted for a while. He told me he was moving to Florida with his work, going ahead of the family to find a house to rent. When the party was over, your father turned on me, the way he had so many times before."

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"Yes, I used to hear..." Ryan's mother gave another sad smile. "And I used to try so hard to keep your dad's voice down, so that you wouldn't." "What did he say that night?" "Oh, the usual, on and on. Was I sleeping with John Miller is what it added up to. And I cracked. I realize in hindsight that the night of your birthday wasn't the best night to choose, but I just couldn't take another night of your father's pathological mistrust. I went to Florida because I'd always wanted to live somewhere warm, and I went to Pensacola. I'm happy there. The Millers moved to Boca Raton." "In the church today, I felt as if I understood Dad — how he must have felt, what it must have been like. It frightened me at the time. Now it frightens me even more." "Why, Ryan?" "I don't want to end up like Dad. I care about him, but I can see what he does to himself. And I'm too much like him in some ways." Ryan's mother stayed silent, watching him, her fading blue eyes deeply troubled, and he realized that she wasn't going to come out with some glib reassurance or wise advice. Solving this was up to him. He stood, looked for Linnie but couldn't see her. A moment later, she appeared beside him and he wrapped his arms around her, aching with the force of what he felt. He brushed his cheek against her piled up hair and inhaled. "You smell good," he said. Nothing clever, nothing persuasive, but sometimes maybe the simplest words were the best. She held on to him, nuzzled him like a cat, and they kissed, their lips clinging together in a blast of brief, sweet heat. "We're supposed to cut the cake," Linnie murmured. "Forget that," he answered. "We need to talk first. Alone." "Right now?" "Right now. I'm not going to ruin another minute of our wedding day with any uncertainty between us." He took her hand and almost dragged her out of the crowded room, wondering just how many pairs of eyes followed their progress. So what if it was a hundred? Not for a second did he give a flying fluke about what anybody thought, except the woman beside him. Chapter Eight The summer darkness was mild and filled with nighttime sounds resembling soft music. Ryan held Melinda's hand as they walked across the grass to the tiny rose garden beside the hotel. She wanted to hug him closer, but didn't dare to yet. They had to talk first. Her heart beat faster, and she searched her mind for the right words to convince him that her feelings for Jared were truly in the past. She sensed that he wanted to be convinced of it, that he would listen with the right kind of ear, but still she felt as if she was on trial. How could she plead her case? Rehearsing the words in her head felt terrible, so she began to speak them out loud, deciding to trust that the right phrases would come. "Ryan, I want to tell you —"

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"Hey... No." He turned her into his arms and looked down at her, his eyes smoky and hard to read in the blue darkness. He brushed the ball of his thumb across her lower lip, and she took in a hiss of breath, aching to feel his mouth there instead. Need and desire coiled deep inside her. What he did to her was magi , so strong. "I know what you want to say, but you can't," he told her. "Ryan, I —" "I mean, you mustn't. I won't let you. It's my turn, now." "Okay." "I was so wrong to talk about divorce — to threaten you with it, punish you with it, the way I did. I heard my father's voice coming out of my mouth today, and it terrified me. I was wrong about everything I said. I'm not going to ask you for proof or assurances or anything. Mom and I talked...." "I saw you. I didn't want to interrupt. It was good to see you looking as if you were getting closer to her again." "I'm not going to tell you what she said right now. There's time for that. Our whole lives, I hope." His arms tightened around her. "I hope so, too, Ryan." Her voice fogged. "I trust you, Linnie. That's the only thing I really need to say. I trust the choice you made today. I trust that you wouldn't have made it if you didn't know that the right feelings lay behind it. And I trust your courage. If you'd wanted to go with Jared, you would have had the courage to go." He shook his head. "I — I want to say more, but I don't think there is anything more. There's just this. Trust. And love." "Mm." Melinda couldn't speak. Her eyes brimmed. She closed her lids and tears ran down her cheeks. Ryan bent and kissed them away, his lips tickling and feathering her lashes, and when his mouth closed on hers, she could taste the salt. They needed sugar to take the taste away. "Is that cake calling to us?" she murmured. "Not until I've kissed you for a whole lot longer." "Yes, please..." His mouth was so slow and lazy on hers, you'd have thought they had all the time in the world. His tongue painted her lips with flame, and his fingers braided her nerve-endings into a web of electric sensation. Her whole body was a sigh, a ripple, a song. She anchored her hands to his hips, feeling the strength in him, enveloped in its aura. Her breasts began to tingle and swell, and heat and heaviness pooled deep inside her, making her throb. She rocked her hips against him and felt how hard he was. Soon she'd have his satin skin beneath her hands and they'd heat each other to the breaking point. She could hardly wait. "Linnie," he said on a ragged breath. His fingers combed her hair, scooped down to her jaw, lifted her face higher so he could kiss her more deeply. "I want — "So do I. So much!"

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Under the onslaught of his hands, her hair came tumbling down to her shoulders and they both laughed. "Everyone will know...." she protested. "Good. How about you loosen my tie and unfasten a button or two on my shirt? I want people to know this about us. That we can't keep our hands away. That we melt together when we touch, and the whole universe shifts when I'm inside you. That we belong to each other." He buried his face between her breasts, and she arched and shuddered, clung to his shoulders, closed her eyes. "Oh, Ryan..." "What's the tradition on this cake thing?" he muttered. "Someone else can cut it, right? Your sister? The band?" She laughed again. "No, Ryan. We have to do it ourselves. Together. With your hand over mine." "That bit sounds good." "And you should probably refasten your shirt." She lifted her hands to her hair, intending to check the damage, but he took them away before they got there. "Leave it," he said. And she did, knowing he was right. Back in the hotel ballroom, they found Sunny, Shallis and Belle locked in an agitated triangle of consultation. Empires might fall, apparently, if that cake was not cut soon. Shallis swooped down on Melinda and whispered in her ear, "Is everything okay?" "Everything's great." Mom elbowed Miss Tennessee aside. "You are your father's girl. It really hit home to me tonight. And I'm so proud of you! Are you all right, honey?" "I'm fine. I'm fabulous." A couple of feet away, Belle hugged her son. "I knew you would get it right with your bride. Be a friend to your dad now that you know the truth. You don't take after him nearly as much as you think. Soften him a little if you can." "I'll try, Mom." The band had detected the return of the bridal couple to the ballroom. With all eyes riveted on them from the moment of their entrance, detection hadn't been hard. The musicians struck up some introductory bars of music, which quickly died away. Melinda barely heard the announcement about the cutting of the cake as a waiter wheeled the cake table forward. She took the knife, with its ribbon-tied pearly handle, and Ryan's warm hand curved over hers. They made the first cut together, releasing the rich scent of chocolate into the air from below the thickly piped white frosting. Melinda scooped the first square morsel in her fingers and lifted it to Ryan's mouth. Their eyes met as he took it between his lips and licked every crumb of chocolate from her fingers. Then it was his turn. She opened her mouth, and the flash from the photographer's camera caught her stretching forward a little to meet Ryan's symbolic offer of food. The ballroom erupted into applause, and they laughed and kissed. "Is this what your mom means by a Star Moment?" he whispered.

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"No, this is what I mean by a Star Moment," she answered. "Even though everyone's looking on, this is just for us, and we'll have moments like this to share forever." "Forever," he echoed. "If that's how long you want." "That's at least how long I want," Melinda answered, as the band began to play once more.

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Wedding in Venice by Lucy Gordon Ever since her parents divorced when she was a child, Justine has prided herself on being unromantic. She's not opposed to a little a male distraction, when she can find the time, but she'll never give herself completely to any man. Though she doesn't approve of the way her friend Dulcie was dazzled into love by a charming Venetian aristocrat, Justine has agreed to come to Venice to photograph their impending wedding. But she is determined not to get swept up in the romance of the city herself. Will all that change when she meets Riccardo, a gorgeous Venetian hotelier with an overwhelming lust for life? Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| 9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14| 15| 16| 17| 18| 19| 20| CHAPTER ONE Your trouble is that you never take risks," Dulcie said. "Who? Me?" Justine queried, her face full of innocent indignation. Below them was a flash of sun on water as the plane from England circled Venice Airport before coming in to land. "I'm always taking risks," Justine said firmly. "I nearly broke my neck last month, hanging over that cliff to get a picture of a gorilla." "Oh, gorillas! Cliffs!" Dulcie dismissed all such trivial dangers. "You're a professional photographer. I know you take that sort of risk. I'm talking about people." "You mean men," Justine said frankly. "Fine, let's talk about men. They're great fun — in their way." "When you've got time for them, you mean," Dulcie teased. "I'm always dashing off on assignments. I have to fit male distractions into my schedule. It's just common sense." "You have too much common sense," Dulcie reproved her. "It's getting in the way of your life. When are you going to let your hair down and throw caution to the wind?" "Like you, you mean? One wink from a gorgeous Italian and you were a goner." "Guido isn't Italian. He's Venetian," Dulcie corrected. "Does it matter?" "Yes," Dulcie said, considering this seriously. "They wink differently. It's more intense somehow. You'll find out for yourself." "Not me," Justine said firmly. "I won't keel over just because an Italian — sorry, Venetian — gives me the eye. If he winks at me, I'll wink at him. If he looks me over, I'll look him over. Then I'll decide if he's up to standard. What I won't do is simply go weak at the knees." Dulcie laughed. "Just wait until you meet a Venetian." When they left the plane Dulcie cleared Customs fast, racing straight into the arms of her fiancé.

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Justine took her time, checking that her photographic equipment was undamaged. She was in Venice to take pictures of Dulcie's wedding. As she emerged from Customs she could see the other two locked in a passionate embrace. Justine grinned. Since Guido lived in Venice and Dulcie in England they hadn't seen each other for weeks, and she guessed this bit was going to take a while. To pass the time, she took out a mirror and checked her appearance, which had survived the flight in good condition. Her hair was red, not auburn or sandy, but a true, blazing red. She grew it long, but wore it swept up. It made a striking effect with her green eyes. The lovers finally drew apart, laughing and happy, and Dulcie introduced Justine. Guido greeted his fiancée's friend warmly and led them out of the airport, which was built on the edge of a large expanse of water. "This is the lagoon," he explained. "Venice is out there in the center, so we reach it by motorboat. The barges you see there are collecting goods to supply the shops and hotels." One barge was being loaded just next to them. On the quay stood a pile of boxes filled with bottles of wine. Getting them down should have been a job for two men, but one man was tackling it alone. One foot on the barge, one on the narrow stone steps, he swung up to lift a heavy box, then down to lay it in the boat. He looked to be in his early thirties, was tall and lithe, with an easy grace and a strength that treated the heavy weights as nothing. Justine noted his very short black denim shorts, which revealed long, powerful thighs. He wore nothing else. His feet were bare, and so, she noted with interest, was his broad chest, which glistened in the sunlight as he dipped and stretched to reach the boxes. His black hair was a little too long, and was shaggy and damp from his efforts, clinging to the heavy muscles of his neck. It made her smile just to look at such intense, masculine beauty. Then he looked up and caught her gazing at him. It was too late now to pretend that she wasn't studying him. He didn't seem fazed, though. Perhaps he was used to women's admiring glances. His grin seemed to confirm it. He had a wide mouth, which gave the biggest smile she had ever seen. It was blazing, glorious, lusty with life. And he aimed it straight at her. Then he winked. And Justine gasped. Dulcie was right. They did wink more intensely, a blatant invitation that said, "Come on in." And suddenly she didn't know what to do. CHAPTER TWO The boatman's expression and the whole attitude of his athletic body was an invitation to the party of life, and for a moment Justine was stunned. She turned to Dulcie to see if she had noticed the bold boatman, but her friend was busy helping Guido load their bags into the motorboat. Stop dithering, she told herself. You enjoy a good party. She pulled herself together and winked back. His returning smile said, Message received and understood, which irked her slightly. She, herself, wasn't quite sure that she understood.

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But she wouldn't be seeing him again, and perhaps that was just as well. He was just a little too sure of himself. They were almost ready to go. Justine settled herself in the back of the boat and Guido started the motor. The sudden churning of the water made the barge rock, knocking the stranger off balance and overboard. Immediately he climbed back aboard, pushing the soaking hair back from his eyes, visibly cursing, but unhurt. Justine had a last glimpse of him, covered in water, shining in the sun. Then she was speeding across the lagoon, looking about her in breathless wonder as Venice came into view. Suddenly she realized that the barge was overtaking them. At the back stood the man, almost dry now from the effects of the wind, which blew his dark hair straight back from his face. It was a powerful face, Justine realized, slightly saturnine, yet still with the quality of humor. The chin was stubborn, the nose slightly hooked. Not a conventionally handsome face, but one that would be remembered when pretty boys were forgotten. He turned his head to give her that marvelous grin again, and she had a strange feeling that he had caught up especially for her. She mouthed, "Are you all right?" But then remembered that he probably didn't speak English. But it seemed that he did, for he raised a thumb and nodded. "È Riccardo," Guido yelled. The man in the barge waved at him, then sped up and passed them. Justine, who was sitting behind Guido and Dulcie, called, "You know him?" "Yes, he's —" the rest of the words were drowned out by the noise of the motor. Then she forgot everything as the boat slowed and they entered Venice, gliding along narrow waterways between ancient buildings in a quiet rhythm unlike the harried tempo of most cities she knew, until they finally reached the Grand Canal. Here was the Palazzo Calvani, where Guido lived with his uncle, Count Calvani. The count was away until the next day, so Guido entertained them alone. At dinner he was charming company, but he was shooed away when Maria, the dressmaker, arrived late in the evening with Dulcie's wedding gown. "I came out to Venice for one fitting a few weeks back," Dulcie told Justine, "but this is the moment of truth. Let's go upstairs." The dress was an extravagant confection in white satin and lace, with a long, wide skirt and floor-length veil. Justine snapped madly with her digital camera as Dulcie turned in front of the mirror. When the dressmaker had gone, Justine got out her laptop and began downloading the pictures from the camera. Dulcie gasped when she saw them on the screen. "Tomorrow I want to go outside and take more pictures of you wearing this," Justine said. The photographer in her was at work now, picturing this gorgeous dress against the canals, the picturesque buildings.

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As she worked, she asked casually, "Who was that man who passed us on the water this morning, the one Guido called Riccardo?" "I've never met him," Dulcie said. "Guido has a lot of boatman friends, so he's probably one of them." Justine let it go. It would be a mistake to seem too curious. *** They set out next morning so that Justine could photograph Dulcie in the lovely dress against the background of Venice. She took picture after picture, exhilarated by the beauty she was capturing. "Just one more," she said at last as they stopped in a little square by the water. "Stand by that fountain." She arranged her shot, focused and took a step back, then another, and another. Totally absorbed, she failed to notice that she was getting closer to the canal. Dulcie's cry of warning came too late, and the next moment Justine was stepping back into nothing, and falling. She gave a yell of despair as she thought of what the water would do to her precious camera. But there was no water. Instead she landed on something that felt relatively soft. Sprawled inelegantly on her back, she had a grandstand view of the man she'd seen yesterday, standing over her, regarding her with recognition and delight. He gave her a mock bow, reaching forward to pull her into a sitting position, and saying, "It's a pleasure to meet you at last." CHAPTER THREE It was definitely the boatman from the previous day, wearing slightly more today: a sleeveless black vest and a pair of threadbare jeans that ended just below the knees. Close up, he was even more overpowering. Justine had to resist the temptation to stare like a dizzy schoolgirl. He shouldn't be allowed, she decided. That tan, those white teeth, the strength she could sense in his hand, with its hint of even more strength leashed, the glint of the devil in his dark eyes — there ought to be a law against him. But if there was a law, he would ignore it. She knew that already. He would ignore anything that didn't suit him. At the moment it seemed to suit him to keep hold of her hand, although she was sitting upright now, and there was no need. He sat down beside her. "Are you all right?" he asked. "That was quite a tumble!" "Not as bad as the one you took yesterday," she reminded him. "But I landed safely in the water." "Well, I landed safely on — cabbages? I'm sitting on cabbages?"

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"And onions and potatoes and lettuces. This barge belongs to the Hotel Busoni, and I'm taking supplies to the kitchens." "Well, I'm very glad you were passing just then, or it could have been really nasty. The water wouldn't have done my camera any good." "Then I'm happy to have been of service," he said with an air of chivalry that sat oddly with his threadbare clothes. He squeezed her hand gently between both of his. "I hope I haven't squashed the vegetables," she said, reluctantly disengaging her hand and feeling around gingerly. "I don't want to get you into trouble." "Please don't worry about me," he said gravely. You're sure your boss will be okay?" "Let's say I can handle anything he's likely to throw at me." "Hey, how do I get out? That ledge is way above me." "Because this is low tide." "You mean I'm trapped here?" "Only until we reach the next flight of steps." He pointed to where she could see steps cut into the stone, about ten yards ahead. "But we're not moving," she said. "That's because we've hit a traffic jam," he pointed out, indicating several other barges, bent on the same errand, that were blocking their way. "Where's Dulcie?" she asked, looking around. "Your friend is back there. We moved on for a bit after you fell." Justine could just make out Dulcie standing by the water, at the place where she had gone in. She waved and caught her attention. Dulcie doubled up with laughter, and indicated that she would walk along the canal's edge to join her, but Justine firmly waved her back for fear of damage to the lovely wedding dress. Dulcie nodded, agreeing to wait. "I'm taking the pictures of Dulcie and Guido's wedding," Justine explained. "You know Guido, don't you?" He grinned. "Everyone knows Guido. He's crazy." Seeing her puzzled look he added, "In Venice, that is a compliment." "I see — at least, I think I do."

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He extended his hand again. "I am Riccardo Gardini." "I am Justine Bentley." They shook hands. "Will you remain in Venice for long?" he asked. "I don't know. I've got a few days before the wedding, then I'll stay on to get some shots of the city, but I'm not sure just how long that will take." "It will take a lifetime," he said at once. "You will never come to the end of Venice. There is always one more beauty to be seen, one more mystery to tease you. So you must stay here forever." "Well, it's beautiful enough, I agree, and I really want to see it all." "Then I shall arrange it so that you do." The lordly way he said, "I shall arrange it," made her lift her eyebrows. Just who did he think he was? And what did he think she was? An easy pickup? "Say that you will spend some time with me," he coaxed. He was the most dangerously attractive male that she'd met in a long time. Did anything else matter? vAnd then she saw something that drove everything else out of her mind. "Oh my goodness, look at that!" she breathed. "Maria Vergine!" he exclaimed, looking around. "What's the matter?" "That!" she said, pointing over his shoulder. "Oh, help! I've got to get out of here, fast." CHAPTER FOUR "Where's the fire?" Riccardo demanded, looking around to see what had agitated Justine. "Dulcie!" Justine cried. "Look at her! Oh, how can that happen and me not be there?" Turning to look behind him, Riccardo saw Dulcie standing by the canal in her wedding dress. A sudden breeze had arisen, whisking the long veil high, so that it seemed to stream up to the sky, making a perfect gauze halo about her. Dulcie's face was raised and she was laughing with delight. It would have made a glorious picture. And Justine was missing it. "Can't you take it from here?" Riccardo asked. "I am," she said, snapping away madly, "but it won't be the same. I need to get close, but how can I while we're stuck here?" "Like this," Riccardo said, placing his hands on her waist and hoisting her up.

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She had a brief sensation of flying, as though she were no more than a bag of feathers he was tossing. Then she landed and scrambled to her feet, almost in one movement. "Thank you," she gasped, beginning to r n. "Good luck!" he called, but she was already beyond hearing. Riccardo watched her, wryly aware that she had completely forgotten him. Only a moment ago the air had seemed to sing with the intensity of something that was starting between them. He had asked her to spend time with him. She had hesitated, but his well-honed instincts told him she was about to fall into his net. But she had escaped at the last minute through one of those twists of fate that even the best fishers of women could not anticipate. And she hadn't even glanced back for a last look at him. Faced with a good picture opportunity, she'd wiped him from her existence. Riccardo wasn't a conceited man, but this was not what he was used to. Honor demanded that he did not leave matters there. They had unfinished business. As he went on his way, he was smiling. *** "I can't believe that happened," Justine wailed as Dulcie's veil floated back down to earth. "That would have been the shot of shots, the big one. Aaaarrrgh!" "It's not fair," Dulcie agreed sympathetically. "Still, you got some lovely pictures before that." But Justine couldn't be consoled. As they made their way back to the Palazzo Calvani she was still mourning "the one that got away." It was Riccardo's fault, of course. If he hadn't kept her talking she would have been back to work in moments. I hope his vegetables rot, she thought grumpily. As soon as they reached the palazzo, Dulcie changed out of the wedding dress and settled it on its stand to await the big day. Then she went to Justine's room, and found her downloading the morning's work. "Guido's gone to collect Uncle Francesco and Liza from the airport," she said. "I'm longing for you to meet them." "They're getting married the day before you, right?" "Right. It's such a romantic story. They've been in love for fifty years, but Liza wouldn't marry him because he was a count and she was his housekeeper. After all this time, she's finally agreed. It's so sweet to see how much they love each other. Guido and I are going to be exactly the same when we're old." Justine gave a brief, wry smile that made Dulcie cry out, "What's that for? I know you pretend not to believe in love, but even you have to agree that it's a beautiful story." "I do believe in love," Justine said. "Love is real. It's the 'eternal' bit that I can't swallow."

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"Fifty years sounds pretty eternal to me." "Sure, a fifty-year courtship!" Justine chuckled. "I believe in that. But you know as well as I do that it's when people get married that things start to go wrong." "Let's be glad the rest of the world doesn't know it," Dulcie observed, "or the human race would die out. Three cheers for men and women getting together." "Ah, getting together. That's different," Justine said, her eyes twinkling. "I believe in that." "That's them," Dulcie said, at a sound from below. She vanished. Justine waited, giving her friend time to greet her new family. Just when she was thinking she should go down and be introduced, Dulcie came flying back. "You could be right," she said, sounding agitated. "Maybe love doesn't last. Uncle Francesco and Liza have had the most terrible quarrel." "After all this time? What about?" "I don't know, but from the way they're glaring at each other there's big trouble. Maybe there'll only be one wedding after all." CHAPTER FIVE Count Calvani was a tall, handsome man in his early seventies. Liza, too, was tall, thin and frail-looking, but with an indomitable face. Just now, as Dulcie had warned, both faces were glowering. They both greeted Justine warmly, and Liza summoned wine and cakes from the kitchen. But she and the count carried on the battle in low voices. "They're talking Venetian dialect, which I don't understand," Dulcie said. "Guido, whatever's happened?" He grinned. "Uncle was thinking of having a last-minute party the day after tomorrow, then he changed his mind, thinking it would be too much work for Liza, with the wedding feasts as well. He was being considerate but she's mad at him for 'not having faith in her.'" "But can't a hotel do the catering?" Justine asked. "What about —" inspiration seemed to strike her from the blue "— what about the Hotel Busoni?" Guido's eyes lit up and he immediately spoke to his uncle in rapid Venetian. Dulcie smiled and gave her the thumbs-up sign. "What an inspiration," she told Justine. "The owner is a friend of Guido's. The hotel hasn't been long, and he needs all the work he can get." Justine was amused when Guido turned his charm on Liza, putting his hands together imploringly. At last the old woman smiled and gave him a light slap, clearly telling him to stop his nonsense. Guido grinned and leapt for the telephone. A swift conversation in Venetian ensued, after which Guido said, "He's coming over after dinner, before Liza changes her mind. Hey, Justine, fancy you thinking of the Busoni!" "It's the only Venice hotel I know," she said quickly.

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Over dinner she had the chance to observe the count and Liza when they weren't squabbling and had to admit that they made a charming couple. The handsome man was so dotingly in love with the plain woman that Justine's cynicism took a knock. But she settled it back into place, reminding herself that she didn't believe in eternal love. She couldn't afford to believe in it. They had coffee in the garden overlooking the Grand Canal, with a clear view of the floodlit Rialto Bridge. Justine fixed her eyes on it, concentrating on the beauty so that she didn't have to think too closely about what she had just done. What had possessed her to suggest the Busoni? Who said that Riccardo would be making the hotel's deliveries anyway? And what did she care whether he did or not? "He's here," Guido said, jumping up and heading toward the building, from which a figure was just emerging. "Riccardo!" Guido yelled. "Justine," Dulcie said excitedly, "isn't that the same man who —?" "Yes," Justine murmured. "It is." The light and shadow contrasts of the moonlit garden emphasized everything about him that had made an impact on her. He was just as she remembered, but more so. "Justine," Guido said eagerly, "do you remember this guy from the journey yesterday?" "Oh, we've met since then," she said, extending her hand to Riccardo. "I fell into his barge this morning, and I can promise you, his cabbages are the best." "I'm saving money on staff by doing some of the donkey work myself," Riccardo said. He was talking to Guido but his eyes were on Justine, and his hand held on to hers longer than necessary. "I would have told you the truth this morning," he said, "but you ran away without giving me the chance." "Plus you enjoyed having a joke at my expense." "Well — yes," he admitted. "To think I was worried about getting you in trouble with your boss!" "I did tell you that I could handle anything he threw at me," he reminded her. "Hmm, so you did!" He grinned. "You don't trust me?" "Where would you get an idea like that?" she asked ironically. "From your voice, your eyes, your face. It's an interesting question for the two of us to explore. Unfortunately, it must wait until my work is finished."

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It was reasonable for him to put work first, but his lordly assumption that she would wait like a doll on a shelf riled her. "That's sounds fascinating," she said, "but it's been a long day. I'm sure everyone will forgive me if I go to bed." Riccardo's eyes gleamed, acknowledging a round to her. "You are wrong," he murmured. "I will not forgive you. But I can bide my time." CHAPTER SIX Justine slipped away alone the next morning. This was a working trip, and as well as photographing the wedding, she wanted to explore Venice. She called Dulcie to say she wouldn't be home for lunch. "I'm in St. Mark's Square. I'll get something to eat here." "You should go to Florian's," Dulcie told her. "It's a genuine eighteenth-century café, and Casanova used to go there because it was the only one in Venice where women were allowed." Justine found Florian's and sat in the window drinking a sinfully delicious concoction of coffee, chocolate and cream, and listening to the four-piece orchestra playing just outside. The surroundings were still as they must have been two hundred years ago. If she closed her eyes she could see Casanova, a tall, elegant man in powdered wig and knee breeches. In her vivid imagination, he paused a moment, smiling before he spoke. "Can we talk for more than two minutes this time?" His voice was familiar. Justine opened her eyes to find "Casanova" pulling up a chair beside her — in the form of Riccardo. No wig or knee breeches. Just black jeans and a black shirt that showed tanned, muscular arms. In these sedate surroundings, his look of having just stepped off the brig of a pirate ship made him riotously out of place. He hailed a waiter and ordered something for himself and a repeat of her order. "You shouldn't have done that," she said urgently. "I swore I'd only allow myself one." "I think you can afford the calories," he said with an admiring look at her tiny waist and long legs. She was used to that kind of look, but this was different, as though he had taken in everything about her in one instant. She hoped she didn't look self-conscious. "I'm sorry about my little deception," he said. She gave a rueful smile. "You don't expect to find a hotel owner collecting his own vegetables. And you were so convincing as a bargee. You swung me up onto the bank as if I weighed nothing."

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He laughed and flexed his biceps theatrically. "No problem. I developed these tossing sacks of potatoes around." She joined in his laughter, but regarded him wryly. "I see. Women, potatoes — it's all one, huh?" His eyes gleamed with pure mischief. "Oh, no! Not at all. Between a sack of potatoes and a woman — well, one is a lot more fun than the other." She felt a sudden flicker of self-consciousness, and was annoyed at herself. For Pete's sake, she was a woman of the world, not a blushing violet! She'd known where this might lead as soon as their eyes met on the lagoon the first day. But the word "fun," signposting the way ahead, had almost caught her unaware. Yes, he would be fun, she thought, considering him. The whipcord strength of that easy, loose-limbed body, the sensual light in his eyes, his air of devilment. Fun. But also a great deal more. "It's early days for the hotel," he said, apparently not seeing her turmoil, or choosing not to see it. "I turn my hand to most things. Tomorrow night I shall be serving food at the Calvani party." He watched as she sipped the sweet drink he had ordered for her. "You never really answered my question yesterday," he said. "How long do you mean to stay in Venice?" "You practically answered it yourself." "Yes, I told you that you should stay forever. I'm afraid I tend to arrange people's lives for them, like a dictator. But only the ones I like." "I don't know how long I'll be here," she said, not answering this directly. "Is there nobody waiting for you at home who will object if you stay away too long?" "No," she said wryly. "There is nobody who will object if I stay away too long." "There ought to be. Please excuse me — I told you I was a dictator. To me it is so clear that you are a woman who should not live alone —" "But perhaps it's my choice, and then you really are being a dictator." "Is it your choice?" "I'm divorced," she said abruptly. "Your wish or his?" "He slept with someone else. I threw him out. End of story." "Had he been faithless before?"

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"If he had, I'd have thrown him out before." "You didn't want to try to save your marriage?" "There was nothing to save," she said tensely. "It was over." "So quickly? So easily? So ruthlessly?" The last word was like a dagger. "I really have to go," she said, rising. "Thank you for the coffee." "Are you offended with me?" "Yes. You have no right to — Never mind." She fled without a backward look. CHAPTER SEVEN Justine spent the rest of that afternoon in St. Mark's Basilica, judging angles, working hard to put Riccardo out of her mind by sheer force of will. But when she returned to the Palazzo Calvani, Dulcie was bubbling with the day's events. "Riccardo came this morning to check things for the party. I was just talking to him when you called." So their meeting had been no accident. He had known where to find her. The thought gave her a strange feeling. *** The palazzo was filling up with guests. On the day of the party several of the count's cousins arrived from distant parts of Italy. Once, looking out of a window, Justine saw Riccardo arrive in a barge laden with food and two members of his staff. She turned away quickly. She did not want to think about him. He had left her thoughts in turmoil with his casually cruel remarks. So easily! So ruthlessly! What did he know? "You look upset," Dulcie said. "It's just that I found myself talking about Neil yesterday. Now I wish I hadn't." "Do you regret divorcing him so fast?" "Not you, too! I did what had to be done. That was it." More guests arrived and Dulcie went down to greet them, leaving Justine with her thoughts.

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It had been a mistake to marry Neil — she'd known that even on the wedding day. They were in love, but she didn't believe in love — not the lasting kind. How could she when her parents' divorce had left her homeless? Both of them had remarried, and she had been shunted around to a series of aunts, "until things settle down." But things had never settled down. Eventually she'd realized that there was no place for her in either home. After that she had set her face against the world. She had an eye for shape and color, which had made her a success as a photographer. As her success grew, so did her social life. She was beautiful. Men wanted her. And that was fine, as long as they didn't ask for her heart as well. She had locked that up in a safe, bolted, barred and labeled Do Not Touch. With Neil she'd taken the risk, and it had been a mistake. Luckily they'd both seen the light in time. They'd had a nice, civilized divorce, and in future she would stick to adventures. Riccardo should have been an adventure. But he wouldn't stay in his right place. A few moments of alarming insight had turned him into a threat. For dinner she put on a figure-hugging cream dress cunningly contrived to be demure and enticing at once. Around her neck she wore a chain of solid gold. With her dramatic red hair, the effect was striking. "You'll have them all at your feet," Dulcie had predicted earlier, chuckling. But the first one at her feet was Riccardo, literally. He was waiting at the foot of the grand staircase as she descended. He was more formally dressed now, in black trousers, snowy shirt and black tie. As she neared, she waited for his grin of lusty appreciation, but tonight his demeanour was grave and gentle. "I won't keep you a moment," he said quietly. "I had to tell you that I'm sorry for having distressed you yesterday." "You're very kind, but I wasn't distressed," she said, trying to sound cool and indifferent. "Forgive me, but I know that you were, otherwise you would not have run away." "I did not run away," she said, her temper rising as she began to feel threatened again. "I had work to do. End of story." "Do you know how often you use that expression?" he asked softly. "Always you try to bring the story to an end at the moment of your choosing. But nobody can do that. The story ends when it ends." "And do you know how often you lecture me?" she asked, speaking in a furious whisper. "I'm sorry. Yes, that is a fault of mine." "Why do you think you have the right?" "Because you matter," he said simply. No, I do not matter to you, and you do not matter to me. Please let me pass." He stood back and inclined his head politely.

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"As the signora pleases." She stared, shocked. He'd reminded her that tonight he was here as a servant. Perhaps he thought she was a snob who'd cold-shouldered him on that account. But before she could tell him he was wrong, Dulcie called back from the door, "Justine, come and meet somebody." She smiled, hurried across to where boats were drawing up at the palazzo's landing stage, and was engulfed in cheerful greetings. When she next looked, Riccardo had gone. CHAPTER EIGHT A party in the Palazzo Calvani was a step back into an age of elegance. Thirty people dined at the long rosewood table, eating off Sèvres porcelain and drinking from crystal etched with the Calvani crest. Riccardo had prepared a banquet fit for a king. It was served by the palazzo servants, but under his eagle eyes. As he had told Justine, tonight he was the headwaiter. It was Justine's first experience of Venetian cuisine, and she promised herself it wouldn't be the last. A dish of sardines in onions, pine seeds and sultanas was only the start. After that there was squid in tomato sauce, pork loins with Swiss cheese and shallots, with pears in hot chocolate to follow. Clearly, whatever else he was economizing on, Riccardo had hired a superlative chef. There was more to him, she realized, than a lusty charmer. There was also a serious businessman who knew exactly what he was doing. She tried to smile at him to show her appreciation, but discovered that it was impossible. He never came near her or met her eyes. Obviously he'd blanked her out because of his absorption in his work. In which case she could hardly complain, she thought wryly, because it was exactly what she had done to him. And she would be glad to believe that was the only reason. She didn't like to think of what the other one might be. After dinner there were toasts, then everyone drifted into the garden to drink coffee under trees hung with colored lights. There were more toasts to the two brides. Justine watched Liza and Dulcie standing together against the background of the canal. They were the two happiest women she had ever seen, because they loved their men and were loved by them. Justine's eyes blurred. Just for a moment, it was hard to remember that love was only an illusion. The evening was breaking up. The guests who were staying in the palazzo began to yawn. Those who had to travel were making movements to leave. Justine went out to the hall, meaning to go, with everyone else, to the landing stage on the Grand Canal, where the glossy motor boats were waiting. From here she could see the other landing stage, round the side of the building, where Riccardo was preparing to leave, packing his things into the barge. He was alone, having sent his staff on ahead to the hotel. She knew she must talk to him before he left. As he came inside to collect more boxes she approached him. "That meal was a masterpiece," she ventured.

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"The signora is too kind." "Don't talk to me like that," she begged. "What I said before — I didn't mean it the way I think you took it. You were right. I was upset with you, and I ran away. Then I was even more upset because you noticed." The gentle look was back in his face. For a moment she thought he was about to say something, but then — "Riccardo!" Liza was calling him, hurrying toward him with her arms outstretched. "You did a wonderful job," she said warmly. "Dear Liza!" He embraced her back. "I couldn't have done it without your help." Liza laughed and indicated Justine. "Here's the one you should really thank. She told Guido to give you the job." Riccardo turned puzzled eyes on her. "I suggested a hotel to help Liza," she said hastily, "and the Busoni was the only name I knew at the time. I had no idea that it was yours." "Nonetheless, I am in your debt, Signora. Good night. Good night, Liza." He turned away and jumped down into the barge. He was going, and she knew that if he left like this she would not see him again. And she must. The barge engine was starting up. She had only a split second to decide. The next moment Liza gave a little shriek as Justine went running out onto the landing stage and leapt. CHAPTER NINE This time there were no comfortable cabbages to break her fall, but Justine managed to land on her feet at the bottom of the barge, steadying herself by seizing hold of Riccardo. He swiftly put his arms about her. "Signora," he protested, "you cannot go on hurling yourself into my boat whenever the mood takes you. People will talk." "If you'd waited I wouldn't have had to throw myself at you," she pointed out with impeccable logic. She was feeling light-headed and in good spirits. The crazy impulse had improved her mood. The barge swerved and with one hand he hastily seized the tiller, which he'd abandoned to clasp her. But he kept his other arm about her. He did not ask why she had done such a thing, nor did she explain. She would have found it hard to do that, even to herself. Although it was late, there were still lights on the banks of the Grand Canal. Their reflections glowed in the black water, shivering and dancing as the last boats went home. "Are you cold?" he asked, looking down at her bare shoulders.

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"Not at all." The night air was growing cool, but she was pervaded by warmth. Down the long curve from the Rialto Bridge to St. Mark's Square they glided until at last Riccardo pointed upward to a building with an ornate front, and the words Hotel Busoni in neon. "Mine," he said proudly. "At least, it will be when I've paid off the bank." "Shouldn't it be the Hotel Gardini?" she asked. I'll change the name when I feel a little more confident of success." That touch of diffidence surprised her. Riccardo had seemed confident enough for anything. He swung left into a tiny canal and tied the boat up at the landing stage. When he had climbed out with one box, she lifted the next one up to him. "You can't help me with this," he protested. "Yes, I can," she said firmly, hoisting up another box. There was a trolley by the landing stage. He piled the boxes onto it and led her down a narrow corridor to the hotel's rear entrance. It was late and only a few staff were about. The kitchen was empty. By now it was no surprise to Justine when he put on a large white apron and began unpacking the boxes. "This is something else that you do yourself?" she asked. "Night staff is expensive. When the last shift has gone home I finish up whatever there is to do." "You have to work late here every night, all alone?" "Yes, but I wouldn't have it any other way. This is my best time, when I feel this place is most completely mine." She found another large apron and put it over her dress. He did not protest this time, but gave her a smile that was different from any smile he had given her before. It was no longer the "come-on" look of the pirate, but the secret signal of a conspirator. It welcomed her into his world. And she was beginning to feel as if that was where she wanted to be. While he emptied the washing-up machine of the load that had finished, she scraped plates and handed them to him to fill it up again. "There's still plenty left to do," she said, "so we'd better do them by hand." She got busy at the sink, working vigorously, until she looked up and found him regarding her strangely; not with a smile this time, but with a look that was half rueful, half wistful. What?" she asked. "This is not how I planned our first evening alone together to be," he said.

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"But you told me yourself, you plan too much," she reminded him. "Sometimes it's better when things just happen." He nodded. "You are wise." Still he stood there, eyes fixed on her, until she said gently, "Would you hand me that plate, please?" "What plate?" He sounded dazed. "The one just next to you." He gave it to her. Justine turned back to the sink and got to work, but only half her mind was on what she was doing. The skin at the back of her neck and halfway down her spine seemed to have come alive with the awareness of him behind her. He was going to kiss her just there, she knew it. The hairs were standing up on her neck with the sense of him moving toward her. But nothing happened, and when she looked around, he was gone. CHAPTER TEN Riccardo was back in a moment, carrying plates. Justine had returned to work at the sink, apparently unconcerned. But she was aware of him now in a new way. A moment had come and gone, and something sweet and indefinable had happened. She washed, he dried, and in about an hour they had finished. "Let me show you my home," he said. He took her hand and they wandered through the quiet building. It was a beautiful place, furnished in the eighteenth-century style and, apart from a man on the night desk, they were alone downstairs. "But up there, every room is full," Riccardo said, looking up to the ceiling. "When you said your home, does that mean you live here?" "Actually, I do, but I meant more. This building used to belong to my family. I was born here, but when I was six my father lost money on bad speculations and had to sell the house. That was when it became a hotel. Ever since, I've dreamed about reclaiming it, and in the end I managed to raise the money. Now I have to keep it." "Will that be very hard?" she asked. "Yes, but it's all I want to do." "So that's why you double as your own dogsbody? I suppose you live in an attic, too?" His eyes gleamed. "I live under the stars." It soon became apparent that Riccardo meant exactly what he said. His home was a tiny apartment at the top of the building, but on top of it he had built a square balcony. Brick pillars went up through the roof, supporting a wooden platform surrounded by a trellis fence on which roses flowered.

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"Here we are up among the stars," he said, "and all around us, Venice is sleeping." Down below she could just make out the sloping roofs, the little streets, called calles, where faint lights still glowed. Straight ahead was the softly lit bell tower of St. Mark's, the only other thing that rose this high. Beyond it, in the far distance, the faint glimpse of water glittering under the moon. "Wait here," he said, and disappeared back down through the trapdoor that led down to his apartment. Left alone, Justine looked about her at the dark blue night, with its faint lights winking like jewels against velvet, and marveled at so much beauty. In the distance she could hear the echoing cries of gondoliers going home, calling warnings to each other as they approached corners. It was an unearthly sound, like the music of the spheres. After a moment Riccardo returned with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. "I think we've earned this," he said. She sat down on one of the seats he indicated, and found that it stretched back to become a recliner. "I often go to sleep out here," he said. "On warm summer nights it's the best place." "I can imagine," she said, sipping the champagne he offered her. "It's so perfect — almost too perfect." "Why do you say that?" he asked quickly. "Well, nothing is ever as perfect as it seems, is it?" "Perhaps it is, once in a blue moon. But even if not, shouldn't we enjoy the illusion of perfection while we can?" "I think that's dangerous," she said quickly. "Why store up disillusion for yourself?" "Why deprive yourself of all faith in beauty?" he countered. "Or don't you believe in beauty, either?" "Of course I do. How could I do my job without it? I believe in it but…I suppose I don't trust it." She walked to the railing and stood sipping champagne, looking out into the blue and silver night. Now words felt like an intrusion. She wanted only to let the night, and the beauty, take possession of her. She sensed him coming to stand behind her. This time, she knew that he would not go away unless she told him to. He laid his lips softly against the back of her neck, and the feeling shivered through her. He kissed her there for a long moment, while she stood quite still, savoring the sweet sensation, the pleasure and the happiness. She drew a long breath. The situation was slipping out of her control, and of all feelings that was the one she dreaded most. Somehow she must be strong enough to leave him now, or it would be too late. Or perhaps it was already too late. She turned to face him. CHAPTER ELEVEN It was Justine who turned the embrace into a kiss, putting her arms about Riccardo's neck, so that he could be in no doubt of her intentions. "Justine," he whispered, "Justine…"

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Everything he wanted from her was in his voice. He wanted her, in every way, and at this moment she would have given him all that she was, if only — If only she was a different person, a woman who wasn't afraid to give her heart, afraid of her own self, her own feelings. Dulcie had said to her, "When are you going to throw caution to the wind?" But she had learned that caution over a lifetime, and it was too late for her now. He murmured her name again against her lips, deepening the kiss in a way that was part plea, part demand. She responded fiercely, longing for the moment when emotion and sensation would take over. But it didn't come. Try as she might she could not force her heart to rule her head. The knowledge made her want to cry out in despair, but she couldn't change anything. "What is it?" he asked, sensing her inner struggle and loosening his grip. "Have I misunderstood? You do not feel as I do?" "I don't know how I feel. How can I know so soon? How can you?" "I do know." "You can't," she said desperately, trying to make it true by the force of her assertion. "Don't tell me how I feel," he said quietly. "But we've only known each other a few days, and we've hardly talked at all." "Perhaps it's as well. Talking is when people make mistakes about each other. I have made no mistake. I know what I feel about you. But if you wish, I'll wait a little while before saying it." "And then I'll be gone," she said, suddenly wistful. "You must not go before I tell you that I love you." She surveyed him wryly. "That's very clever," she said. "Very subtle. Very Venetian." "What do you know of Venetians?" "I'm learning fast. You're great talkers." "And you think it means nothing?" "It means whatever you want it to mean at the time, and then tomorrow it means something else." She attempted a teasing tone. "You can tell me you love me tonight, if you want to." "Can I indeed?" "Yes, except that I won't take it seriously. By tomorrow everything will change. But tonight is fine." "Do you think I need your permission to love you?" His voice was still quiet.

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"Hey, lighten up," she said, still trying to turn it all into a joke. "We've got the moon and the stars and Venice. Why spoil it by getting serious?" He didn't answer, just looked at her strangely, like a man trying to comprehend a baffling enigma. Justine went very deliberately to the recliner, sat down and reached out to him in invitation. After a moment he came to her and took her hand, then knelt beside her and gathered her in his arms. Now it would happen, she promised herself. Now the attraction that had drawn them together from their first glimpse outside the airport would take over so completely that she could forget caution. He kissed her slowly, one hand beginning to trace a path from her face, down her neck to her throat. Excitement leapt in her like fire, sending its message in all directions, to her very fingertips, to the heart and depths of her. As his hand began to drift lower she took a slow breath, eagerly yielding to her sensations. And then, just as the world began to dissolve, leaving behind only him, it was all taken away. She felt him freeze, then withdraw from her. Reluctantly Justine opened her eyes and found him looking at her tensely. His breathing was harsh and uneven, and she could feel the strain that racked his whole body. "What is it?" she whispered. "What's the matter?" "The matter is that this is not right," he growled. "How can it be wrong if it's what we both want?" "Is it? Can you look me in the eyes and say that you truly want me, as I want you? Or are you saying to yourself, I've gone too far to turn back now? Tell me the truth, Justine. I need to know." CHAPTER TWELVE Riccardo's words made Justine feel as if he could see right into her. She couldn't bear that scrutiny, and closed her eyes. Understanding everything in that gesture, he rose sharply to his feet and moved away from her. "This is not how it must be between us," he insisted. "Why do you have to analyze everything?" she cried. "Leave the inside of my head alone. What happens in there is nothing to you." "If you were just a brief fling that might be true. But you matter. I want to make love to you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life, but it has to be all of you, your heart and your mind, as well as your body." "Maybe I don't have all that to give. Why can't you be satisfied with what there is?" "Because you're worth so much more," he said simply. He went to the trapdoor and held out his hand to her. "Come." "Where?" "I'm taking you home."

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There was nothing to do but agree. The night was suddenly dead. On the way down he collected one of his jackets, and slipped it about her shoulders. "Where are we going?" she asked, for he didn't turn toward the landing stage. "It's only a short walk. The boat brought us almost in a circle, and now the palazzo is just a few streets away." "How quiet everything is," she said, listening to their feet echoing on the flagstones. "This is the best time," he said, "when the people have gone in, and the ghosts come out." "Ghosts?" "Venice is full of ghosts. They haunt the corners and the little alleyways in the twilight. But don't be afraid. They're friendly ghosts. In Venice they have known love, and been happy, and now they cannot bear to leave it." She tried to be sensible. It would be easy to become drunk with the words of this charming dreamer. But being sensible didn't really seem very important any more. What was important was to stroll through these narrow alleys, letting him weave magic spells around her. There would be time for common sense later. After a while he fell silent, but the magic continued in the unearthly quiet of a city where there were no cars. His arm was around her shoulders, drawing her close so that she was intimately aware of the warmth of his body. The stress of the evening fell away, and a blessed calm fell over her. Desire had passed into tenderness, giving her a space that she badly needed. "Here we are," he said at last. "Where?" "The Palazzo Calvani. This is a side door. You must ring the bell, but not just yet." He stroked her face with gentle fingers. "When the weddings are over, promise me that you will not leave without seeing me again." "I promise," she whispered contentedly. After the evening's stormy, unfulfilled passion, he now kissed her like a boy on his first date, lips caressing hers almost uncertainly, if such a word could be associated with this man. She relaxed into the warmth and tenderness that he offered, not wanting it to end. It was he who drew back. "Good night," he murmured. "Good night," Justine whispered back — with just a hint of wistfulness. He rang a bell by the door. "The porter will let you in. Good night." He moved away swiftly and was out of sight before the porter admitted her. Justine hurried up to her room.

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At the turn in the stairs there was a half-open window that looked out over the street where they had said goodbye. She could see the place where they had stood together, and wondered where he was now. Then she saw something that might have been a shadow, standing by the corner. She blinked, and the shadow vanished, only to reappear. Surely it was her imagination? For a moment she had thought the shadow was familiar, and that he was gazing directly up at the window, as though reluctant to leave her. But when she looked again, he was gone, as elusive as a ghost. CHAPTER THIRTEEN Guido's cousin Marco arrived from Rome, bringing his English fiancée, Harriet. Marco was one of the most handsome men Justine had ever seen, but, while perfectly civil, he had a distant air. "Harriet and Marco are rather cool for an engaged couple," Justine observed to Dulcie. "They're not like you and Guido." "It's not precisely a love match," Dulcie said. "Harriet is the granddaughter of his mother's oldest friend." "You mean they're not in love?" Dulcie chuckled. "They think they aren't." The last one to arrive was Leo, Guido's half brother, an amiable young giant whom Justine liked immediately. He arrived in Venice direct from Texas, where he'd been visiting a ranching friend, enjoying himself riding and "fooling around" as he put it. Justine gathered that he'd also met Selena, a rodeo rider who'd made more of an impression on him than he wanted to admit. Dulcie and Harriet promptly settled down to grill him about her, until he grinned sheepishly and escaped. "I'll swear he was blushing," Justine chuckled. Dulcie nodded. "I don't think we've heard the last of Selena." She seemed to be floating to her wedding on a tide of serene happiness. Liza, by contrast, was in a state of nerves, suddenly declaring that she needed help with the food. "But she wouldn't hear of it the first time," Justine protested. "I know," said Dulcie, "but she liked Riccardo, so I think it's an excuse to send some more work his way. Also," she added with a significant glance at Justine, "I think she may be doing some matchmaking." "I can't imagine why," Justine said stiffly. "Well it's your own fault. If you will hurl yourself into a boat driven by a ludicrously attractive man, spend the night with him —" "I did not spend the night with him — not the way you mean, anyway." "Well, you came home with the dawn."

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"I bet you were all hanging out of the windows," Justine said wrathfully. Dulcie chuckled. "Let's just say it's not a secret." "So he'll be coming here to talk to Liza?" Justine asked, trying to sound indifferent. "I'll tell Liza you want him," Dulcie said mischievously. "You do and you're dead!" Justine said quickly. Her own heart was hidden from her. Did she want to see Riccardo or not? He was dangerous because he wouldn't be pigeonholed, and he wouldn't let her take control of their relationship. But that was the only way that she felt safe. That day she took her camera and went to explore Venice, thinking that when she returned he would be gone. But suddenly she felt distressed at the thought of missing him, and ran all the way back. Then, disgusted with herself for shilly-shallying over a man, she refused to go anywhere near the kitchen, where he probably was, and sought the garden. And there he was, talking and laughing with Guido, Marco and Leo. Worst of all, when the three Calvanis saw her, they immediately vanished with a speed that told her what the palazzo gossip was. "I had hoped to find you here," he said, when they were alone. "I have a lot of pictures to take," she said. "I'm hurrying to get everything done before the wedding." "Of course. I, too, have much work to do, but I couldn't leave without seeing you. Does that make you angry?" "Of course not. Why should it make me angry?" He gave his wry smile with the wicked hint of mischief, and she had to work hard not to be melted by it. So much that I do seems to annoy you," he said. "I've learned to tread carefully. I'm really very scared of you." "Don't be absurd," she said, laughing despite herself. What could you do with a man who talked like this, except smile back at him and feel that the day had become brighter? To give herself a moment she turned away to lean on the railing overlooking the Grand Canal. Riccardo came to stand close behind her. "There's something I must tell you," he said quietly. "What?" "That I've thought about nothing but you since we said good night." CHAPTER FOURTEEN "Nothing but me?" Justine asked lightly. "I hope you gave some thought to the food as well."

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Riccardo didn't answer at first, but turned her to look at him. "It's no good," he said at last. "You can't make a joke of it. That won't solve the problem. And somehow we have to find a way to solve it." "So you admit it's a problem?" "Of course it's a problem when a man has fallen in love with a woman, and she —" "Don't you dare say that I'm in love with you," she spit out. "How can I? I don't know, any more than you do. I only know that you're fighting it — fighting me. And you're angry with me. Can't you tell me why?" "You know why," she murmured. "I don't want to feel what I'm feeling. I've got my life in such good order, and you're threatening everything." "No, I'm only threatening the bolts and bars with which you try to imprison yourself." "You think I want to be locked in there?" "Partly, yes. Prison can be a very comforting place. You know where everything is. But I won't let you cling to it. When the wedding is over, I shall be back, knocking on the door." "And you're so sure that I'll open it for you?" "No, I'm not sure at all. I'm never sure with you. Perhaps that's why it has to be you and no other." The sound of voices from inside the building drew them back to reality. "I must go," he said reluctantly. "But I'll be back." He would have turned away, but Justine detained him with her hands on his shoulders, just long enough to kiss him gently. "Yes," she said. "You must come back." *** The next day saw the first wedding, that of the count and Liza, a small, private occasion that took place in a side chapel of St. Mark's Basilica. The day after, it was Dulcie and Guido's turn. No city in the world staged a wedding like Venice. It was normal for a bride to go to the church in a gondola, but Guido sometimes amused himself by being a part-time gondolier, and many of his friends had turned out for the occasion. At least twenty gondolas escorted Dulcie down the Grand Canal from the Rialto Bridge to the landing stage at St. Mark's. Justine took pictures to her heart's content, traveling just ahead of the convoy in a motorboat. Landing first, she was able to witness Dulcie's arrival at the great church. *** When the bride and groom emerged from the basilica together Justine took her final pictures and raced for the motorboat, to be whisked back to the palazzo and start frantically downloading. When she'd finished, she joined the reception for her final shots, which she took between mouthfuls of wedding cake.

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At last the tables were cleared away for the dancing to begin. Dulcie and Guido took the floor, to applause. Gradually the other guests joined them, until everyone seemed to be dancing, except Justine. The music was sweet and sensuous, disturbing her vaguely. Nobody should listen to music like that without dancing to it. "You look tired," said a sympathetic voice at her shoulder. She turned and saw Riccardo holding out a glass of champagne to her. She drained it thankfully. "Hey, Riccardo" came Guido's cheerful voice as he danced past with his bride in his arms. "Your duties are finished. From now on you're our guest. Riccardo smiled and nodded, taking Justine's hand. "Dance with me," he said. As if in a dream she circled the floor with him, feeling the movement of his legs, the closeness of his body to hers, and knowing that she had been waiting for this all day. She had expected him to talk, trying to dazzle her with words again, but instead he looked at her tenderly, in silence, until she could sense that he was caught in the same dream. Then there was a small commotion. Marco and Harriet were dancing together, absorbed in each other as she hadn't seen them before. Justine remembered Dulcie's prediction that they were more in love than they thought, and reckoned it might be true. Everyone else thought so, too, because suddenly they were crowding around them, demanding that they set the date for their own wedding. Justine didn't stay to hear what happened. Riccardo had clasped her hand and was drawing her out into the garden. CHAPTER FIFTEEN The garden was flooded with light from the colored lamps hung between the trees. Guests milled everywhere. "Let us escape them," Riccardo said, drawing Justine beneath the trees, and not stopping until they had reached the furthest part of the garden. Once there he wasted no time before taking her into his arms. Justine went willingly. It was no use pretending to herself that she didn't want to kiss him. She wanted it passionately. He had said he'd thought of nothing but her, and she knew now that everything that had happened to her in those few days, everything she'd seen or heard or done, had simply been another way of waiting for him. Once before she had come alive in his arms, high on the roof, under the stars. Some part of her was still living in that moment, ready and eager for his touch. The words he wanted to hear were hard for her, but her mouth spoke to him just the same, caressing his with skill and joy, saying things that could not be said aloud, and eliciting a response that thrilled her. She could feel the excitement mounting but was no longer sure whether it was his or her own. Where did he end and she begin?

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"I mustn't kiss you too much," he said at last, huskily, drawing back. "It's dangerous." She laughed recklessly. "What's wrong with a little danger? I thought you were the kind of man who enjoyed it." "Don't provoke me, Justine, I'm almost at the end of my control already." "Then let's be sedate and well behaved," she said, forcing herself to back away from him. It was hard because she was as fired up as he. She went to the stone wall and looked out over the water. "Look there," Riccardo said. "Do you recognize them?" A solitary gondola was gliding out from the palazzo. Justine could see Dulcie reclining in her wedding gown, while Guido took the oar. "He's got a tiny apartment tucked away somewhere," she said. "Dulcie said they're spending their honeymoon there, away from the world. What an incredibly romantic way to end a wedding!" "Romantic. Meaning that you disapprove?" "I wish them well. I hope they'll be the one couple in the world to prove that it can work the way it's supposed to. "Don't forget the promise you made me, not to leave without seeing me again," he reminded her. "I've seen you twice since then." "Not the way I meant. I'll call for you in the boat tomorrow morning and take you — well, wait and see." "I may have other things to do tomorrow." His answer was to wrap his arms tightly about her, taking her prisoner. "No," he said firmly. "You haven't." "Oh, yes, I have," she retorted playfully. "Oh, no, you haven't," he assured her just as playfully. "Well then, I guess I haven't." She smiled. He kissed her briefly and released her. "I'll see you tomorrow." He slipped away before anyone could see them together, and Justine wandered back to the wedding, where everyone was toasting Marco and Harriet. *** She dressed for boating in dark blue trousers and a white silk top.

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Riccardo was waiting for her in Guido's motorboat, borrowed for the occasion. He was dressed in black shorts and shirt, the black stark against the brown of his skin. He reached up to help her into the boat. teady, careful," he said. "I'm not breakable." She laughed. "I could simply jump in. Or fall in. I've done it before." "Yes, twice," he agreed with comical gravity. "It's causing talk. If you do it a third time you'll have to marry me." She shook her head, her eyes dancing. "A terrible fate." "Do you think so?" "I meant for you. Imagine having to marry me for a reason like that." "I'd marry you for any reason if I thought I could talk you into it." CHAPTER SIXTEEN For a while Justine concentrated on enjoying the day out as Riccardo gently urged the motorboat down the Grand Canal and out into the lagoon where there were miles of open water, bounded on the far side by the long islands of the Lido. "Where are we going?" she asked, standing beside him at the wheel. "We're going nowhere," he replied, putting his arm about her and drawing her tightly against him. "Where's nowhere?" "Wait and see." That was fine with her. Who could ask for more than to drift across the water, going nowhere with him? "There's some champagne below," he said. She went down and found the boat less cramped than she had expected. There was a large cushioned space, almost as big as a double bed. In the picnic hamper she found champagne and glasses, and took them up. He stopped the boat within sight of some of the smaller islands, and they drank contentedly. "If this is nowhere, I love it," she said. He nodded. "The most peaceful place on earth." He brushed her face gently. "I love you." She shook her head. "Don't." "Do you find it so hard to believe?" "So quickly? Yes, it's hard."

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His shrug had a touch of helplessness that sat oddly with his usual air of confidence. "I, too, was taken by surprise. You see, I'm like you. I plan my life ahead. I had not planned for you, and yet there you were, at the airport. "Justine, I don't understand what's happened to us any more than you do. I only know that it has happened, and there's no going back. To say that it's too soon, that we've barely met, is easy. I admit it, but it changes nothing. "That day I went to the airport, I had nothing on my mind but collecting supplies. Then I looked up and saw the woman I'd been waiting for all my life. She was red-haired and glorious, and she looked me straight in the eye in a way that said, 'Fool with me at your peril.' "I'd never had a challenge that thrilled me more. There and then I decided to fool with her. And the more I knew her, the more I knew it had to be for the rest of my life." "Don't I get a say?" "Of course. Tell me what you want from me. A brief adventure? Fine. We'll have an adventure. And afterward you will stay with me forever." "Then it wouldn't be an adventure," she countered. "An adventure is brief. That's why it's an adventure." "And you don't think that spending your life with one man might be an adventure?" That's just clever words." "What you really want is a fling, but flings are for people who can't commit themselves." "You forget I've been married." "No, I don't forget. But I don't think you committed yourself to that marriage, otherwise you wouldn't have 1cast it aside at the first hurdle." "You know nothing about it," she cried, on the defensive again. "Then tell me. Show me that I'm wrong." "I don't have to explain myself to you." "Not to me, but to yourself. Have you ever tried to do that, beyond believing that all your prejudices had been proved correct?" "I don't have to listen to this." "Fine, run away." Justine looked all around her. Water everywhere. "Well, I can't, can I?" she seethed. "I'm trapped out here now." "Ah, yes! I never thought of that." "Like hell you didn't."

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He grinned. "Will you please start this engine and take me back to Venice?" "I've got a better idea," he said. "Why don't we go below and have something to eat?" For a moment she glared at him, then relented. "All right, but it's under protest!" "Of course. You'll find the smoked salmon tastes just as good under protest." She aimed a friendly punch at him. It was too glorious a day for anger. The picnic hamper was full of the very finest from the hotel. As she unpacked and they reclined against the cushions, she asked, "How is it you were able to take the day off?" "I did well out of those catering assignments, so I could hire some extra help for a few days. This is more important." As he'd promised, the food was exquisite. For once she forgot about healthy eating and indulged herself. Afterward she was suddenly sleepy, and when he drew her back against his shoulder she nodded off at once. She awoke to find him watching her and had a sudden conviction that he'd been doing that all the time. v"Now tell me about yourself," he said. "I want to know everything." CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Held in the safety of Riccardo's arms, Justine struggled with memories that usually she tried never to think of. "Until I was eight years old I thought I had a happy home. I knew my parents loved each other more than they loved me, but there was love to spare for everyone, or so I thought." Justine let out a sigh. It was difficult for her to talk about this. "My mother used to say that being in love was the most important thing in the world, and nothing mattered more than being true to your heart. "But then she fell in love with another man, and he became the most important thing in the world — enough for her to leave us to be with him." Justine gave a little wry smile. "She had to be true to her heart, you see. Well, she was. She made a fine romantic heroine, giving up everything for love. But one of the things she gave up was me." Riccardo was watching her with shocked intensity. "She didn't take you with her?" "But how could she?" Justine asked in a rallying voice. "Romantic heroines can't have eight-year-old kids in tow." He gave her hand the smallest squeeze, as if to show that he understood her irony. "So you stayed with your father?" he asked. "For a while. Then he dumped me on one of his sisters while he went out on the town. He didn't want me cramping his style, either. In due course he fell in love again.

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"They sent me to boarding school for a while. Then there was some mix-up about who was supposed to be collecting me for Christmas. In the end, neither of them did. I spent Christmas in the care of the Social Services." Riccardo swore violently. Justine didn't understand the words, but from his tone she guessed it was a profanity. She felt vaguely comforted at the fierceness of his empathy. "I never lived with either of my parents again," she went on. "Neither of their new marriages lasted. My mother is currently being true to her heart in South America with a man ten years younger. We don't keep in touch." "So that's why your views are jaded," Riccardo said. "And who could blame you?" "As far as I'm concerned love is just an excuse for selfishness." "In selfish people, yes. But love doesn't make us what we are. It merely reveals the truth about us. Selfish people love selfishly, generous people love generously. Your parents were spoiled brats, but don't blame love. It didn't make them that way." "It gave them the excuse," she said stubbornly. "But you were married. Didn't you love him?" "So much that it scared me." "Ah. I see." "Don't say that. You don't see anything. I wanted our marriage to work, but — I can't explain —" She could never explain the fear that had pervaded her. Too much happiness, she had thought. one day it would be snatched away. Watch for that moment, be ready for it, go to meet it with a smile, and don't let anyone know you care. Never, never let them know that. No, she couldn't put these things into words. But then, looking at Riccardo's face, she knew she didn't have to. He understood everything. He'd seen into her soul with eyes of love and seen the turmoil of rage, bitterness and misery that was insidiously driving out everything else, until the best had all gone. "He wanted a child," she said abruptly. "I didn't. Not then, anyway. Who am I to be a parent? So we started to quarrel. One day — one day, I realized that the quarrels were destroying us." "So you quarreled harder, to drive him away," Riccardo said. "You reckoned that would be less painful than waiting for the breakup to occur naturally." She stared. "How did you know that?" "It's not magic. Attack sometimes seems the best form of defense. But it leaves you with nothing." "I can cope with nothing," she said desperately. "It's what I'm used to. What I can't take is believing in something and then learning all over again that it's an illusion." "I know," he said gently, tightening his arms and drawing her against him.

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In the comfort of his embrace it was easy to fall asleep again. When she awoke it was night, and they were speeding back across the lagoon. "Where are we going now?" she asked, coming to stand beside him at the wheel. "Home," he said. She didn't ask where he meant. A few minutes later they had stopped in the small canal that ran by the hotel, and were climbing up to the stars. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN The dawn came softly and quickly, ushered in by the bell of St Mark's campanile. Justine stood on the balcony on top of Riccardo's apartment, and marveled at the beauty of the morning. She had spent the night in his arms, not making love, but enclosed in safety. Instinctively he had known what she needed, and had given it to her. A generous man, loving generously. He came up through the trapdoor, bearing a cup of hot tea. "You're a magician," she said. "I'm just ready to murder for a cup of tea." She sipped blissfully, looking around her and down into the narrow alleys. Then she stiffened. "What's that? It looks like water in the streets." "It is," Riccardo sighed. "It's high tide and the lagoon has flooded. It used to only happen in winter. Now it can be at any time." The photographer in her spoke at once. "I must get my camera." He grinned ruefully. "How did I know you were going to say that? Come on, I'll take you home." Outside she found the whole aspect of Venice transformed. Wherever she looked the narrow streets seemed to be lakes, and although the water was only four inches deep the effect was still staggering. Running like children, hand in hand, they splashed their way back to the palazzo and secured all her equipment. "First we go to St. Mark's Square," he said. "It's an astonishing sight when this happens, and it won't last long because the tide will turn." It was like that all day. He acted as her caddy and her advisor, telling her where to find the best shots. "I love this city," she said as they finally sat together at Florian's, drinking chocolate. He was clever enough to say nothing, letting her work out the implications for herself. When they came out, the water had gone, and they strolled contentedly back to the hotel. While he saw to some business in the hotel she went up to the apartment and took a shower. He arrived upstairs later to find her swathed in one of his towel dressing gowns, drinking tea. He held out his hand and led her to bed.

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His loving was like himself, generous, skillful, unpredictable. Relaxed at last, Justine responded wholeheartedly, and discovered that she too was unpredictable. It was like finding that you'd turned into a new person. Dozing in his arms afterward she found her mind traveling along new paths of discovery. Much of her business involved traveling abroad. She could run it as well from Venice as from England. She woke to find him planting soft kisses on her face. "Stay with me always," he begged. It would be so easy to say yes, to believe in the bright dream. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him. Now the last leap seemed not only possible but easy, inevitable. But before she could speak her cell phone shrilled. "Answer it," he said. "There's time enough for what we have to say to each other." It was Dulcie, calling from her honeymoon hideout. "Blissful," she said in answer to Justine's question. "I can recommend marriage." Justine laughed. "That's very interesting." "But something sad has happened. Harriet has left Marco." "What? But they were setting the date," Justine protested. "I know. Now it's all over." When the call ended Justine slowly replaced the receiver, feeling stunned. "What has happened?" Riccardo asked, with foreboding. "Harriet and Marco have broken up. Two days after it was going to last forever." In a daze she saw the bright dream disintegrate and fall with tinkling shivers around her feet. So much for love eternal! What had she been thinking of to believe in such stuff? She began to laugh, falling back on the bed, contorted with mirth. "Is it funny?" Riccardo asked. "Of course it is, don't you see? Oh, what an idiot I've been!" "Justine, this has nothing to do with us." "The hell it hasn't! It has to do with everyone who buys into that pretty fantasy. And I came so close — but not anymore. I got confused, but I've seen the light now, and I'm going home before I make a bigger fool of myself than I already have. Don't try to stop me Riccardo." She waited for him to argue, but there was only silence. It seemed he had accepted her decision and, illogically, she knew a little ache of desolation. If he would only speak a word to dissuade her —

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"I'll take you home," he said. CHAPTER NINETEEN Justine's flight was at noon the next day. At ten, while she was finishing packing, Liza looked into her room to say, "The boat is here for you." The old woman bid her an affectionate goodbye, not hiding her disappointment that Justine was leaving Riccardo. The count also embraced her exuberantly, and escorted her out to the landing stage, where his staff had already piled Justine's bags into the motorboat. She gave them both a last kiss and, turning, put out her hand for the boatman to help her aboard. "Buon giorno!" Riccardo said. "You?" She felt a flash of dismay. They'd said their goodbyes last night, devastated and defeated on her side, quiet and strangely resigned on his. Why couldn't he leave it there? But in the same moment she knew she hadn't wanted him to do that, and the greater pain would be to leave without seeing him again. His hand tightened over hers and he drew her into the boat. When he had seen her seated he swung away down the Grand Canal, then across the lagoon to the airport, reversing the journey of the first day. But something was different this time. Suddenly the engine spluttered and died. "We seem to have a problem," Riccardo said. "I don't believe it," Justine said, jumping up and coming to stand beside him. "There's nothing wrong with that engine." He shrugged. "Let's just say there are things I want to say before you leave. You may ignore them. You probably will. But I can't let you go without saying them." Before he could say more, a large wave made the boat rock, knocking her off balance so that she had to cling to him. He was as steady as a rock. "You see?" he said. "The boat lurches but we don't fall because we cling to each other." "Pretty words, but only words," she said desperately. "You were right when you said that I don't trust love. How can you trust something that's built on such shifting foundations?" Riccardo's answer astonished her. "What's wrong with shifting foundations?" She stared. "Everything's wrong with them. You can't use them to build something that will last." "You can say that after what you saw yesterday, when we had to wade through high tide? You're wrong, and Venice is the proof that you're wrong. No city was ever built on shakier foundations than this one.

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"A thousand years ago our ancestors fled into the tiny islands of the lagoon to escape the barbarians. Here they thrust wooden stakes down into the mud and built a city on top of those stakes that has been the glory of the world. "You've heard that Venice is sinking, and yesterday you saw it for yourself. She's been sinking for centuries, but she's still here. Why? Because those of us who love her fight and struggle to keep her afloat. "Does the lagoon flood? We'll build barriers. Does the humid air rot the pictures? We'll restore them. We never stop patching the old girl up, and she's still with us." "But love isn't like that —" "Love is exactly like that. People change all the time, because life alters them. The man and woman who fall in love are not the same people they will be when their first child is born, then their first grandchild. "If the love lasts it's because they've struggled and adjusted to the endless changes. When the foundations move, they move with them, and so the love survives. It alters. After many years it looks different, but it's still there, and it's still love. Don't you see?" "Yes," she said sadly. "I do see. And you're right." "Well then —" "My darling, please try to understand. I see everything you want me to see. But I can't do it." Silence. Only the lapping of the water against the boat. His face was sadder than any human being's she had ever seen. At last he released her and started the engine again. Soon they were skimming across the water. Gradually the airport came into sight, growing larger every moment, until he slowed and eased into the jetty. In a few minutes she would be gone, and everything would be over. Her heart was breaking, but she had no idea how to stop what was happening. CHAPTER TWENTY Riccardo carried her bags from the boat to the airport buildings and piled them onto a trolley. "I'll say goodbye now," he said briefly. "Won't you come with me to the check-in?" "There's no need." "You can't wait to get away from me." "I thought it was you going away from me." Justine made a helpless gesture. She was beyond speech. "Listen, amor mio," he said, taking gentle hold of her shoulders. "I thought there was still a chance for us, but there's something in you that I can't get past — fear or stubbornness, or just that you don't really love me —" "Don't say that," she cried passionately. "You know I love you."

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"But it isn't enough, is it? Too many ghosts haunt you, and I can't dispel them. I wish I could, because now I, too, have a ghost that will haunt me all my life." "Venice is a city of ghosts," she reminded him. "You taught me that." "Yes, but I didn't want you to be a ghost. I wanted you to be my reality. Instead, you'll be a 'might-have-be,' and that's the worst kind of ghost there is." She nodded. She couldn't deny it. But neither could she stop what was happening. It was like being carried on by the irresistible tide that flowed through the lagoon. "So," he went on, "I won't come any further. I won't watch you get onto the plane, and wave as it vanishes into the sky, because I couldn't bear to." "It isn't that I don't love you," she said huskily. "Please believe me. It's just that I can't take any more risks. "What do you mean 'any more'?" he asked with sudden anger. "You've never taken a risk in your life. Even your marriage was hedged around with safety barriers, and they were what destroyed it. "Do you remember my saying that if you jumped into my boat a third time you'd have to marry me? Do it now. Risk it. Take that third leap, and find my arms outstretched to catch you. Because they always will be." "I know," she choked. "But it's how I am. I can't help it." "Then there's no hope for us?" She shook her head. "Goodbye, amor mio," he said softly. "I shall never forget you." He took her face between his hands and kissed her with a tenderness that broke her heart. "Goodbye, goodbye," he whispered. She clung to him, wanting to prolong the moment forever, but unable to change her mind. He walked away from her toward the jetty. She waited for him to look back, telling herself that until he did that, it wasn't over. But he didn't look back, and she realized that he wouldn't do so. He wasn't sentimental, just a man with a powerful, loving heart that she had rejected. She began to push the trolley toward the check-in, but every step seemed forced. She had made her decision and must stick with it. Even if the rest of her life was desolate. And it would be. That wasn't a risk. It was a certainty. "Defense is the best form of attack, but it leaves you with nothing." "I can cope with nothing."

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Not anymore. In a few moments he would be gone forever. It only needed a little courage and a lot of faith. "Take that third leap, and find my arms outstretched…." She looked around wildly. It was almost too late. She began to run. Outside she could see the water and the queues waiting for motor taxis. He was there, just getting into the motorboat, starting it up. "Riccardo!" she screamed. "Riccardo, wait for me." But he couldn't hear her. The noise of his engine drowned her out. She began to run, frantic as she saw the precious chance slipping away. The boat was drawing away, but at the last moment something made him look back. Justine saw his face, alight with love and joy as he realized what she meant to do. "Wait for me, my love. I'm coming. I'm coming!" The onlookers parted to let her through. She sped the last few feet and took a flying leap off the jetty, soaring high into the air before falling into the arms that were outstretched to receive her forever.

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BREAKING NEWS by Anne Marie Winston Ethan Wilde's mission, should he choose to accept it: very possible and very satisfying. After making his fortune mining in Brazil and living the fast life in New York, Ethan has returned to the quiet town of Bell Gap for his high school reunion — and an excuse to see Lindy Melton! Lindy was the quiet bookworm to his Wilde Man, and Ethan always regretted never asking her out. But Lindy has her own ulterior motives. Clueless with men, she never got Ethan's signals — or anyone else's. And she doesn't want to be the only 28-year-old virgin at her reunion, especially when her ex-fiancé arrives with the woman he left her for. That's where Ethan comes in...

Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| CHAPTER ONE Ethan, is that you? Ethan!" Ethan Wilde turned from the trunk of the rental car, slinging his long duffel bag over his shoulder. He barely had time to register the woman's presence before a small, warm female figure hurtled into his arms. He staggered backward a step, his arms coming up to catch her reflexively. His heart began to beat faster as he recognized the unique scent of the one woman he'd never forgotten: Lindy Melton. Just the woman he'd wanted to see, and here she was in his arms before he'd even gotten into his old house. Maybe this trip hadn't been such a stupid impulse after all. "I can't believe you're here!" Lindy said. "I figured you were never coming home again." She wore her hair in a too-severe grown-up twist now instead of the bouncy ponytail of high school years, but he'd know her anywhere. Behind her glasses — small rimless ones instead of the big bug-eyed violet ones she used to wear — her eyes were the same changeable shade of gold and green. Her skin was still the smoothest, satiny-looking skin he'd ever seen on anything other than a peach and her face was still a delicate heart shape with a jaw that was just a bit too firm for her to be the quiet wallflower that everyone assumed she was. "Lindy." She had been his neighbor all through his childhood. They'd been best pals since kindergarten, or at least, they had been until junior high, when she'd started to back off from the bad boy of Bell Gap. She'd been the one person who could rein him in from some of his worst ideas. Even so, they hadn't called him Wild Man for nothing. "I've missed you," he said. It was a gross understatement. He took a deep breath, knowing he needed the answer to the most important question first. "Is there a husband around who's going to give me a knuckle sandwich if I kiss you hello?" She rolled her eyes big eyes. "Are you kidding? There's no husband." Still holding her, he leaned back and studied her face for a moment. Then he dropped his head and gave her a quick, correct peck on the cheek. Lindy. He hadn't been able to get her out of his head since he'd gotten the invitation to their ten-year class reunion two months before. Before that . . . he'd thought of her too often. But because he was the biggest coward this side of the Mississippi, he hadn't ever gotten in touch. Are you home for the reunion?" he asked. She was still slender, still slim and too-inviting in his arms. Not that she'd invited him to do anything like this in high school. He hadn't been this close to her since . . . the Valentine's Day dance in seventh grade. And his mother's funeral six years ago, when she'd hugged him. Twice.

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"I still live here." She was busy pushing herself out of his arms and tidying her skirt, her narrow, graceful hands moving restlessly as she indicated the house behind her. "I'm the librarian now." Ethan chuckled, absently wondering what she'd have done if he hadn't let her go. The job was a perfect fit. "The librarian." He shook his head. "I should have put a bet on that before I left town," he said. She made a small pout of dissatisfaction. "Was I that boring?" He'd swear her voice quavered, and he quickly tried to amend his bald words. "That wasn't what I meant. You're the smartest woman I've ever met. You were the class valedictorian. Makes sense to me that you'd find your niche helping other people to appreciate books." Her expression lightened. The sudden smile that stole across her face was so stunning he simply stopped and stared. He'd always thought she was the most quietly beautiful woman he'd ever known and it appeared she hadn't changed. Clearly, neither had he, he decided ruefully as his heartbeat kicked up a notch. "That might be the nicest thing you ever said to me," she told him. He pretended shock to hide his reaction. "No way. When you fell and skinned your knees chasing me home in second grade, I told you your scabs were terrific." She laughed, displaying a small dimple and straight white teeth. "I've missed you, too, Ethan. Nobody else could ever make me laugh like you could." Great, he thought. Just what he wanted to be — the guy that made her laugh. "So how's your dad?" he asked. Lindy's mother had died when she was small and she'd been raised by her father, a stern man decades older than the fathers of most of their friends. Immediately her face clouded over. "Daddy passed away last year," she said. "God, I'm sorry. If I'd known, I'd have come home." Impulsively he reached out and squeezed her hand. His own mother had died in a car accident six years ago. It had been the last time he'd been back to Bell Gap, the last time he'd seen Lindy. She'd made the arrangement for his mother while he was unavailable in Brazil but once he'd flown in, she'd faded into the background and made herself quietly indispensable taking care of a million small details. Lindy nodded. "Isn't it weird that we're both orphans?" "Yeah." He shrugged. "Stuff happens." Then he smiled at her again. "So tell me about the reunion. Who's in town?" And just like that, her expression closed up. "I really don't know," she said stiffly. "I'm not planning to attend." "Why not?" he demanded bluntly. "I . . . it doesn't . . . oh, fine," she said, "if you want the real truth, here it is: the man I was engaged to ditched me for Mandy Briggs, and I don't particularly want to go and spend a whole evening feeling totally humiliated." She'd been engaged. He was unprepared for the denial that reverberated through him, though he tried to keep his voice steady. "Mandy Briggs. Cheerleader? Bleached blonde? Big, ah, attributes?" As he'd intended, he'd made her smile again. "Yes, yes and most definitely yes." She grimaced. "I couldn't compete with that."

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He guessed she meant men preferred women with hooters the size of watermelons. "You don't need to," he said. "You're ten times more interesting than Mandy Briggs." Her eyes narrowed and she shot him a skeptical look. "You didn't seem to think so in junior high." "You can't judge a man by his behavior during adolescence," he informed her. "It takes us a while to figure out that our brains aren't in our pants." To his relief, Lindy smiled. "And some are faster learners than others." She glanced past him to the car he'd just crawled out of. "Did you come alone?" "Yeah. No family ties yet." "Well, welcome home." Her eyes flickered away from his. He felt like he was boxing shadows. What was she thinking about? Then he remembered the original topic of conversation. And just like that, he realized what he was going to do. He'd come here hoping to see her at the reunion, maybe have a neighborly chat across the back fence if he were lucky. He'd kept his expectations low. "Why don't you go to the reunion with me?" he suggested, trying to sound casual. It was Fate. And he wasn't one to spit in the eye of Fate, not after some of the things he'd seen. Lindy's eyes widened. "Oh, no, I couldn't — you don't want to —" "I do." He reached out and took her hand, ignoring her obvious start of surprise. "I might not remember anyone after ten years away." "Right. We're twenty-eight, not eighty-eight, Ethan." "I'd really like it if you were with me." He smoothed his thumb over the soft skin on the back of her palm. Still she hesitated. "I'll think about it."He nodded. It wasn't the most satisfactory answer, but he sensed that if he pushed her, she might back off even further. "Okay." "I'd better let you get settled in." She slipped her hand free and started to back away, then stopped again. When she didn't speak, he lifted an eyebrow. "Would you like to come over for dinner around six?" Her words were rushed, as if she needed to get them out before she changed her mind. "If you don't have plans, that is?" CHAPTER TWO See you at six. Lindy took a deep breath as she drizzled herb butter over the marinated chicken and pushed it back into the oven. Her heart had been doing a happy dance for the past two hours, ever since she'd seen Ethan Wilde step out of that car. At first, she'd thought it was her lonely imagination working overtime. But he was real. And even better, he was coming over for dinner! She took a deep breath, willing the butterflies in her stomach to settle. He'd asked her to go to the reunion with him. In fact, he'd seemed quite insistent. If she didn't know better, she'd almost let herself believe there had been a gleam of . . . interest in his eyes.

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Ethan. She poured a glass of white wine and swirled it dreamily. He'd been her fantasy since she'd grown old enough to look at him as a man instead of a childhood pal. But he'd been handsome and popular, a bad boy who drew girls like the library's annual picnic drew flies. She'd been a studious little geek, the very last girl he'd ever have looked twice at. It had been too painful to watch him with girl after girl after girl, so she'd gradually faded back more and more. By the time they were sophomores in high school, they'd moved in such different circles she'd been lucky to catch daily glimpses of him in the halls at school. She'd lived for those glimpses. But now he was home after ten long years, if she didn't count his mother's funeral. Still single, her heart reminded her. It was a sign, she decided. A sign that the crazy thoughts that had been swirling around in her head ever since she'd received that invitation to her ten-year high school class reunion weren't so crazy after all. Last week, she'd promised herself she wasn't going to die a virgin, even if she never had another proposal of marriage in her life. And although she'd meant it, she hadn't had any idea how to go about changing her status at the time. Now . . . now Fate had intervened. An opportunity had presented itself and she was going to take her courage in both hands. If Ethan wanted her to go to the dance with him, he was going to have to do her a favor, too. Her whole body clenched in involuntary reaction as she dared to think it: she was going to ask Ethan to make love to her. *** "You want me to what?!" Ethan whirled around from the rail of Lindy's deck, where he'd been studying her riotously blooming flower gardens. She stood in the middle of the deck, tiny feet planted side by side, hands clasped demurely in front of her. Her face was the color of the red roses that climbed one of the porch pillars, but her eyes were steady and her words were anything but demure. "I don't want to be a virgin anymore. I would like you to help me change that condition." He was going crazy. She couldn't have said . . . but she had, in a ridiculously prim little way that told him she wasn't kidding about either her virginity or her desire to lose it. Ethan's body wasted no time in rising to the challenge, but he forced himself to ignore it. "Why?" Her eyebrows snapped together and she frowned. "Why what? How many men would question a proposal like this?" He stalked toward her. "Plenty. Now talk." Her lower lip came out in that adorable pout she'd made earlier in the day. He felt his breath quicken as he wondered what it would be like to touch his tongue to that full lower lip — "All right." Lindy retreated as he closed the space between them, dodging around the small glass-topped table. Now it was her turn to look away. "I'm not exactly an object of lust," she said in a barely audible voice. "That's not —" "It is true," she said sharply. "In high school, you didn't even know I was alive." Ethan stopped in his tracks, too shocked to respond to that. She thought he hadn't been interested? Good God. How blind could a woman be? He was sure he'd given her plenty of signals. But she'd just stuck her head deeper into her books and ignored him. "I don't blame you," she said more softly. Her hands plucked restlessly at the sedate skirt she had changed into. "I'm nothing exciting to look at. And that's the problem." She swallowed and raised her gaze to his. "I'm

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a virgin. I'm twenty-eight years old and my single chance at marriage didn't make it to the altar. I don't want to live the rest of my life without knowing what it's like to make love." He didn't know what to say. He was fairly sure that if he told her she excited him and always had, that the mere thought of being her lover had him as hot and bothered as he'd been back when he was a randy teenager, she'd accuse him of making fun of her and send him away. He could hardly believe it, but the ring of truth in her tone convinced him she wasn't kidding. Lindy was smart as a whip. She was pretty in a quiet, understated way that the Mandy Briggs of the world would never be, but she thought she was plain. Plain. He couldn't believe it. Carefully, he said, "Are you sure, Lin? Your virginity might be a precious gift to the right man some day. I don't think you've thought this through —" "You don't want me." Her eyes shone pure emerald through the tears that welled and began to make silent tracks down her cheeks. "It's okay, Ethan. Can we just forget I ever brought up this stupid topic? I'm sorry for embarrassing you." She turned away from him and he saw her small hands clench on the rough wood of the rail. He wanted to shout Whoa, woman! Let's find the nearest mattress! But as hard as it was to accept, he realized she truly despaired of her appeal. Crossing to the railing, he stepped up behind her and set his hands on her slender shoulders. The muscles beneath his hands felt like the knotted rope he'd carried on his descents into the diamond mines and he gently massaged them as he spoke into her ear. "If you're sure it's what you want, I'd be honored to be your first lover." Merely saying the words aloud sent a shiver of pure sexual anticipation running down his spine. What would it be like when he actually had her bare and blushing in his arms? Lindy went still beneath his hands. "Are you sure? Because if you don't want to you won't hurt my feelings — " "If I don't want to?" He couldn't prevent the note of honest incredulity in his voice, but he didn't care. He slid his big, rough hands down her arms to her much smaller ones, lifting them carefully from the railing. Turning her, he set her hands at his shoulders and slipped his arms around her, drawing her soft, slim frame up against his, shifting her so that his hardening body was cradled in the sweet vee of her thighs. It was such an exquisite realization of his wildest dreams that he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he could continue. "Does this feel like a man who doesn't want you?" he asked hoarsely. "What —" Her eyes widened. "Oh!" Ethan chuckled, grimly hanging onto control. She was so innocent. How could she have stayed that way for all these years? Slowly, he reached up and took her glasses off her straight little nose, setting them on the table beside him. "I'm going to kiss you," he informed her, looking down into her face so tantalizingly close to his. "A-all right." She immediately closed her eyes and tipped her face up to his. A surprising wave of tenderness swept over him. He started to lower his mouth to hers, but he got sidetracked by the sweet little shell of her ear. He nuzzled her there, pressing small kisses against the tender flesh, drawing her earlobe into his mouth and gently sucking and nipping until her hands slid up the back of his neck into his hair. He pulled her more firmly against him, cradling her head against his shoulder as he worked his way from her ear to her temple. He slid his open mouth down along the fine line of her jaw. "Do you know," he murmured against her skin, "how many years I've wondered what you taste like —" He nipped just beneath her jaw and felt her shudder — "right here?" Lindy made a small sound in her throat. Her fingers clenched in his hair and he allowed her to drag his mouth to hers. As his lips settled over hers, he traced the gentle bow of her lips with his tongue, then urged

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her mouth open, slipping his tongue into her, abandoning his careful caresses and plunging deep after the sweetness she offered. Her response was instantaneous. He felt her go boneless as her body sagged against him, completely surrendering to his control, and he felt an incredibly politically incorrect surge of pure male possessiveness. Lindy was going to be his. With a slow, sure touch, he ran one big palm over her back and around her torso to cover the soft, warm mound of a breast — And Lindy jerked away from him with a startled sound, her eyes wide, the pupils expanded so much that they looked almost black. Good God in Heaven. He'd completely forgotten about the need to go slowly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pull away." The words tumbled out as Lindy stepped toward him again. She gestured helplessly. "You just startled me a little." Despite his discomfort, he had to smile. He was huge and hard, so aroused that it was actually painful to release her and step away, but he forced himself to do it anyway. "We're not going to jump into bed tonight." His voice sounded like a stranger's, dark and rough, and he wasn't sure who he was trying to convince, her or himself. "You're — uh, we're not?" Her tone was dismayed. Her mouth was red and swollen, her eyes still soft and dark. He knew just how she felt and his hands curled into fists with the effort it took not to reach for her again. "No," he said firmly, "we're not. I'm not rushing you into this. A woman's first time should be special. Memorable. And I don't mean in the back seat of a car," he added, forcing a grin. She still looked dazed, though she smiled slightly. Her mouth was slightly open, her breast heaving as she touched the tip of her tongue to her top lip in a seductive motion he was pretty sure she didn't even realize she was making. "So, um, when are we going to...?" But he shook his head. "That's for me to know and you —" He couldn't resist a quick kiss on the end of her perfect little nose — "to find out in good time." CHAPTER THREE Lindy worked the next day as usual, although she was sure her feet never touched the ground once. Ethan was home...and they had a date for the reunion...and he was going to — they were going to — make love. Her honest nature balked at that one a little. After all, Ethan was going to teach her about sex. Their agreement had nothing to do with love. That thought slightly deflated the bubble of anticipation and happiness that threatened to burst right through her skin. Don't be silly, she lectured herself. Yesterday you were resigned to being the old maid librarian of the town. But yesterday, she realized, she'd thought Ethan had left Bell Gap forever. Her heart had been in storage most of her life, because she'd never wanted to give it to anyone. Except Ethan. The truth was a brutal blow. How long had she been dancing around it? Ignoring it? She'd probably have continued on in stoic avoidance mode until they carried her away in a pine box if he hadn't come back to Bell Gap —

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"Belinda, there's someone to see you." Her youngest assistant poked a head into her office, where she'd been looking over the children's librarian's wish list for the next fiscal year. "And he's totally hot." Lindy's pulse doubled. But before she could say anything, she heard a bellow — a loud, completely unlibrarylike masculine voice — calling her. "Lindy? Help! Get out here and save me." Hastily she rose and stepped into the area behind the desk. Ethan stood in front of the checkout counter, his hands folded gravely in front of him like a chastised child, while Miss Flora Giddings stood in front of him shaking one gnarled finger vigorously beneath his nose. "I knew you were that Wilde boy the minute I saw you step through the door. You were the scourge of my tomato patch once upon a time. Hope you've changed, because I've got a load of buckshot waiting to greet you if you haven't." Ethan was grinning, the engaging aw-shucks grin that made his dimples dance and his blue eyes twinkle. He gave Miss Giddings the full effect of his attention, and his blond hair, left just a little too long to be conventional, caught the light and gleamed like an angel's halo each time he nodded his head. Some angel. "Miss Giddings. I thought I had changed until you mentioned your tomatoes. Nobody in Bell Gap grows better tomatoes than you." He continued his smooth patter until Lindy was astonished to hear the grouchy old Giddings widow offering to give him a bag of tomatoes if he stopped by. She shook her head in reluctant amusement and Ethan raised his head then, distracted by the movement. Their eyes meet, caught, and held, and suddenly the room seemed too small, the air too thin, her clothes too restrictive on her oversensitive skin. "Lindy." Ethan could talk, which was beyond her for the moment. He glanced at his watch. "I came to walk you home when you get finished here." She checked the clock on the wall and almost sighed with relief. Eight o'clock. The library was open late on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, and the day had seemed interminable. Then his words registered. He'd come to walk her home! She smiled at him. "I'll be just a minute." Five minutes later, she locked the door of the library behind them and smiled up at him. "It's nice of you to come down here." Ethan reached for her hand, sending a shock wave of want deep into her belly. His big hand engulfed hers, the skin tough and callused, so utterly male. "I didn't like the idea of you walking home in the dark." Lindy smiled with real amusement though her heart stuttered at the possessive note in his voice. "I've done it for years." "Yeah, but now I'm here and you don't have to." "It's pretty safe, Ethan. You're in Bell Gap, remember? People still sit on their front porches here." "Sorry. I haven't been anywhere where people look out for each other like they do here in a long time." "No?" She'd like to know more about where he'd been, what he'd done. "Where did you go? Nobody ever knew." Ethan slowed his pace. "I was in Brazil for about 18 months after I first left here. Hunting diamonds." "Ever find any?" He turned his head and looked down at her and she could just see the flash of his grin. "A few."

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"What's a few?" She sensed he was teasing her. "Enough to buy my own mine. Sold it last year for a nice profit." Lindy stopped walking. "Are you serious? Then you're — you're —" "Rich." His voice was definitely amused now. "Yeah. I could buy every house in Bell Gap and have money left over." She cleared her throat. "Bell Gap must seem pretty provincial to you now." "No." He looked down at her and his gaze was serious. "Bell Gap seems too good to be true. In the diamond mines, men's lives aren't worth a lot. Accidents are common. Fights are daily occurrences and more often than not, somebody winds up dead." She shivered at the flat recital. "New York is a walk in the park compared to diamond mining, but there's no community, no neighborly spirit. If you get mugged, I guarantee at least half the passersby will avert their eyes and keep right on going." "You live in New York now?" The only time she'd ever been to New York was with the high school band when they marched in Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. He nodded. "I've been there for about seven years. I have a firm that imports diamonds." Imports diamonds? He imports diamonds for a living. Well, no, she thought, not for a living. Because he was wealthy enough that he probably would never have to work again unless he wanted to. Their lives couldn't have been more different now. She couldn't begin to compete with the slick sophistication of the women he would be surrounded with every day. Her spirits, so high a moment ago, plunged into a dark abyss of disappointment. Then, as if he'd divined her thoughts, he said, "I dreamed about you for years, you know." Cautiously, she repeated, "About me?" He raised their linked hands and kissed her knuckles. "About you." She wanted to ask him to elaborate, but her innate reserve just wouldn't release her tongue. He probably hadn't meant it in the flattering way she hoped. Predictably, their walk took forever because Ethan was recognized repeatedly by both friends and former foes. "Wild Man!" she heard over and over as cronies from his hell-raising days caught up. "Remember when you sat on top of that telephone pole for three days to win that bet?" "Old man Truitt damn near took your head off with that baseball bat. Good thing you ducked or you'd be a memory now." "You wouldn't recognize Chrissy Lestin if you fell over her. She has five kids now — can you believe it?" They walked on. "So," said Lindy as the rows of houses gave way to a long shady street where enormous old oaks blocked the streetlights and shadows were thick and deep. "As you can see, this place doesn't change a whole lot. We've got Internet service providers but it's still the same little town that has a living crèche in the town square at Christmas."

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"I like it." He turned to face her, setting his hands at her waist. "Lindy, I know you think I'm different, but I'm still the same Wild Man you remember." "Ethan," she said breathlessly. "What?" He began to walk her backward. "You were always Ethan to me." A moment later she felt the rough bark of one of the solid trees at her back, halting her motion. Ethan kept coming, though, and slowly, slowly, he pressed his weight against her, trapping her between the tree and the unyielding strength of his big body. He lifted his hands and plunged his fingers through her hair, scattering pins and wrecking her tidy twist. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her arms, and once again he put his hands on her, though this time he lightly gripped her hips. "I thought about this all day." His voice was a low growl. "About how you made that little sound in your throat." He paused, so close that she could feel the sweet whisper of his breath against her cheek. "I want to hear that noise again." Then his mouth rocked onto hers and she couldn't think. All she could do was clutch the iron-hard muscles of his shoulders as his tongue invaded her mouth until her toes curled up in her summer sandals. His hands stayed at her hips as his mouth plundered hers, and she began to twist restlessly against him, feeling an almost desperate desire to have his hands on her aching, throbbing breasts. Last night he'd wanted to touch her there. Did he still? Tearing her mouth from his, she panted, "You can...touch me." He stilled, though he didn't move away. "I am touching you," he said in a low, gravelly tone. "I mean," her fingers brushed lightly over his, "where you touched me last night." He still didn't move. "Where's that?" He took her hand lightly. "You'll have to show me." CHAPTER FOUR Ethan looked down at Lindy. She seemed dazed by the sensual promise implicit in his low voice. She hesitated, and he registered the moment when she realized what he wanted. Slowly, she leaned her head back against the tree trunk, closing her eyes. Amusement floated at the edges of his consciousness. How a woman her age, who looked the way she did, could be so completely unused to a man's touch was beyond him. The men in this town must be blind. She raised the hand he still held, and his attention focused on her upturned face. Her eyelids fluttered, her lips were softly parted and her breasts rose and fell with the quickened pace of her breathing. It was all he could do not to haul her into his arms but he wanted her to feel safe with him. To trust him. Turning her hand over to guide his, slowly she pulled it up and in, between their bodies until finally, finally, she spread his palm flat over her breast. They both sighed, and he felt her body relax. "You want me to touch you here." Ethan lightly traced a circle around her breast, then brushed his thumb lazily over the sensitive peak. She inhaled sharply. "Yes."

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He brought his other hand up then, and while he continued those easy, desire-fueling caresses, he deftly unbuttoned her blouse. On the dark corner of the deserted street, he knew no one would see. He tugged it free of her skirt and spread it wide to expose her plain white bra. "Ah," he whispered. "Sweet. Do you know what I want to do?" "Wh-what?" "I want," he said, "to kiss you right here." He slipped his palms inside her bra and cupped her bare breasts, and she made a soft sound in the back of her throat. His big hands easily covered her and he loved the firmness of her small, taut breasts in his hands. But she had tensed again, and given her comments yesterday, he was pretty sure he knew why. Ethan leaned forward and lightly kissed her mouth as he rotated his palms over her breasts. "You are perfect," he whispered. He trailed his mouth down the line of her jaw and as he kissed her throat, he felt her swallow. "I'm not," she said in a low, dull voice. "I'm...flat." He couldn't help smiling and he wondered if she felt it against her skin. Gently, he cupped her breasts and lifted them free of her bra. "Flat," he said, "you definitely aren't." He kissed the base of her throat, then slid his mouth down the midline of her chest until his face was directly between the two warm mounds. "Shall I go left," he whispered, "or right? Your choice." He felt her body heave as she chuckled. "Some choice." But her voice was thready and she lifted one small hand and laid it against the right side of his face. He willingly moved to the left, licking a steady path around her, slowly decreasing the circle until he closed his mouth over her nipple. Lindy arched against him as he drew on her gently, suckling and tonguing the turgid peak. Her hands speared into his hair and she held him against her. God, he wanted her. For one insane instant, he actually considered dragging her around behind the big old tree, and the very notion was enough to draw him up short. Her first time was going to be somewhere private and comfortable. Somewhere she could shed her inhibitions, let down her hair, and be the woman he was sure lurked beneath her demure, buttoned-down façade. With genuine regret and a minor adjustment of the uncomfortable fit of his pants, he slowly drew his mouth from her, carefully pulling her bra into place and rebuttoning her blouse. He left it untucked. With her hair down, no one could see much of her upper torso anyway. Lindy stood still and pliant. She'd opened her eyes when he'd stopped kissing her, and her gaze was wide and dark in the shadow of the tree. "You didn't have to stop," she said. "Yes," he said positively, "I did. Or you'd be up against that tree with your legs wrapped around my waist." Her eyes widened in shock. "Come on," he said, taking her hand again. "Let's go watch old movies and neck." Lindy laughed and the sound was music to his ears. "Sounds like a plan." He courted her. That, she decided, was the only word for it. On Wednesday, a ridiculously large bouquet of delicate, fragrant freesia arrived at the library for her in the morning. The tiny card tucked among them read: These reminded me of you. That was it. He strode in again just before closing.

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At the front desk, Lindy forced herself to greet him with the same calm friendliness she showed to the rest of the world. "Hello. Thank you for the flowers." She allowed herself to smile at him with just a shade of intimacy. Last night, they'd made popcorn and watched movies, and he'd talked about his business. She would have welcomed more of his dizzying kisses but he'd been surprisingly restrained, leaving her at 11:00 with only one last kiss at the door. "You're welcome." Before she fathomed his intent, Ethan reached for her chin, leaned forward and touched his lips to hers in a brief kiss. One of the other librarians giggled, and Lindy shot him a look that promised discussion later. "It's five o'clock," she announced. She followed the last patrons to the door and locked it behind them. "See you in the morning," she said to her staff as everyone gathered their things and headed for the back door they normally used. After a flurry of farewells, everyone was off. Lindy turned to Ethan, who stood patiently behind her. "What was that?" she demanded. "What?" His tone was pure innocence. The same tone he'd used when the principal had accused him of putting tadpoles in the faculty lounge water cooler. "You know what," she said, narrowing her eyes. "That kiss." "Too short," he pronounced. "How about we try it again and triple the contact?" "Not here," she said immediately. "Why not?" "Because," she said, "I am not planning to provide this town with tomorrow's gossip." "Lindy —" his tone was patient "— I think they've seen people kissing before." "Yes, but they haven't seen me kissing before." Was she crazy, telling the object of her whole life's desire that she didn't want to kiss him? "Good." The single word rang with satisfaction. "May I hold your hand?" She sighed. "Of course." "So I take it you have held hands in public before?" He twined her fingers with his and they started walking. "No," she said, "but there's a big difference between kissing and holding hands." His eyebrows rose. "I thought you were engaged." "I was." And this really wasn't a topic she wanted to discuss. But if she knew Ethan — and she most certainly did — he'd hound her until she told him what he wanted to know. "His name is Ira Morris and he's a minister. He came here from Philadelphia five years ago when Reverend Quinn at First Presbyterian retired." "A minister." "If you laugh, I'll hit you." He lifted a hand to his face and smoothed away his smile. "Not laughing. Honest. Tell me the rest."

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"We dated for two years and he asked me to marry him." "Lin?" When she paused, he asked, "If you dated this guy for two years and you know for sure he's not gay, how come you two never got naked together?" "I've asked myself that a million times." She sighed. "I don't think he ever was interested in me — attractedinterested, I mean. I think he thought I'd make a perfect pastor's wife." "He didn't know you very well, then." She should have been insulted but the comment actually warmed her. "The wedding was set for about a year away but three months before it, I walked into his apartment unannounced one day and caught him and Mandy in the act." Funny how she didn't mind telling Ethan this. "Actually," she said, "they looked pretty silly. He's only about two inches taller than me, and skinny. Mandy Briggs is...an Amazon." "So I can't even go beat the tar out of this guy because he's smaller than me." Ethan's voice didn't hold a trace of amusement. Startled, she glanced up at his set face. "No, but I appreciate the thought," she said lightly, putting her other hand on his arm. Then she realized the muscles were rigid beneath her fingertips. "Ethan, it happened almost three years ago. It's old history." "He hurt you." His low voice carried a savage undertone. "Only for a little while," she said. "I don't think I really loved him or it would still hurt. Now I'm just thankful Mandy got stuck with him instead of me." She shook his arm lightly. "Let's not talk about him anymore. He's not important." They walked the rest of the way in silence. At her side, Ethan's presence felt brooding and dark, unlike last night when she'd felt so...connected to him. It was a lonely feeling, and she didn't like it. On the sidewalk in front of their houses, he slowed to a halt. She stared up at him silently, unsure of how to react to his strange mood. "Lindy," he said. "Ethan." She smiled, trying for lightness. "I don't want to hurt you." Startled, she said, "You haven't." "I can't stay. You know that." "It never occurred to me that you would." That was true. She had known from the moment she'd seen him getting out of his car on Monday that he was only visiting. And she wasn't going to think about it until after he was gone. Then she'd have the rest of her life to cry. "I want you." He pulled her around to face him and drew her against him. "I know." She put her hands up to each side of his face. "Kiss me." "Inside." His voice was hoarse. "I'll kiss you inside." He paused, and she felt his broad chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath. "We're not stopping with kisses tonight, Lin."

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CHAPTER FIVE Ethan scooped Lindy into his arms. He sought her mouth with his, and she willingly wrapped her arms around his shoulders and returned his deep kisses. She felt him fumble with the latch on the gate outside his house, then they were through and he was setting her down on the doorstep. His mouth never left hers as he fished in his pocket, but when he finally came up with the house key, he tore himself away. "Sorry," he said. "Needed a free hand to find that key." "That's all right. It's probably bad luck to carry a woman over the threshold if she's not a bride." The moment the words left her mouth, she was sorry. They made her sound pathetic. But Ethan didn't appear to notice. He unlocked the door and ushered her in, flicking on low lights as he went. Lindy followed behind him. His home hadn't changed much from the days his mother had lived here, except that there was a sterile feel to the place now. She knew he'd had someone in to clean regularly, but it still seemed kind of sad, as if the house were waiting for a family again. He stopped in the kitchen and opened a cupboard, grabbing two wineglasses, then got a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator and led her back down the hall. "Champagne?" she asked. "Is there something to celebrate?" "You could look at it that way." He paused outside the closed door of the bedroom that once had been his. Even though she knew his mother had eventually turned it into a generic guest bedroom, she supposed he'd still feel most comfortable there. Then Ethan opened the door and urged her forward. He flicked on a lamp just inside the door and Lindy gasped. The room was filled with flowers. He set down the wine and walked around the small space, lighting a variety of candles, then came back to her and turned off the lamp, leaving them in the warm, flickering light of the tiny flames. She felt tears sting behind her eyelids. Now she knew why she'd waited. Every girl should have a first sexual experience like this. "Oh, Ethan," she breathed, "thank you." "I haven't done anything yet." He grinned at her, and she melted. Tugging on her hand, he pulled her into his arms. "You have on too many clothes." "So do you," she whispered. Today she'd worn a simple sundress that buttoned down the front. It was quick work for Ethan to unbutton it and push it off her shoulders, leaving her standing before him in her bra and panties. He took her glasses, as well, setting them atop the dresser. She fought the urge to cover herself with her arms, and slowly lifted her hands to his knit shirt, opening the few buttons and pulling it free of his pants. When the backs of her hands brushed against his bare stomach, he inhaled sharply. "How about if I help a little?" In just a moment, he stood before her in nothing but a pair of snug-fitting navy briefs. He was already aroused and the stretchy front of the fabric outlined the hard ridge of flesh beneath. Lindy felt her breath come faster. Her whole body was warm and as he reached out and drew her to him, she fitted herself against him as closely as she could with her head cushioned on his firm, muscled chest. He reached up and took down her hair, running his fingers through it until it rippled around them. For a long, sweet moment, he simply held her, his big hands gently stroking up and down her back.

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Finally, she couldn't stand it any longer. Turning her face slightly, she nuzzled his throat, actually daring to lick him there, where his pulse beat fast and strong. Ethan groaned. She felt him unhook the clasp of her bra with one hand and then he stepped back, tossing it away and kneeling to strip away her panties. She froze. His face was inches away from her...her...and then she jumped as he blew a stream of hot breath through the nest of curls there. She put her hands down to draw him up to her, but he leaned slightly forward and she felt his tongue touch her intimately and she was so shocked she forgot what she'd been about to do. "Ethan," she gasped. "Let me," he murmured, and his breath was a caress on her sensitive flesh. He put his hands on the insides of her thighs and pressed lightly until she complied, widening her stance a little. And then he kissed her. There. On the very spot that was throbbing and needy and — "Oh, God." She clutched at his shoulders as his mouth grew bolder. Then her hands were in his hair, pressing him closer and closer as he used his tongue in ways she had never quite realized a tongue could be used. She cried out, and as if it were a sign, he withdrew from her and rose to his feet, lifting her easily and carrying her across the room to the bed, where he'd already pulled back the sheets. Gently, as if she were made of glass, he laid her down. Then, still standing beside her, he put his thumbs in the elastic of his briefs and pulled them down and off. He was huge. Dark and silky-looking, and without thinking she raised her hand and dreamily encircled him. He groaned, and his hand came around to cover hers. "Like this," he whispered, guiding her into a steady rhythm. But she'd barely begun when he pulled her wrist away. "Sorry." His grin was crooked. "If I let you do that, you're going to stay a virgin longer than you'd like." He turned away for a moment and she watched as he rolled protection into place, then he lowered himself onto her, using his knees to spread her legs. He took her wrists and anchored them both above her head. She felt helpless and exposed, and unbelievably aroused. She arched against him, feeling him hard and ready against her belly, but he only laughed. "Not yet, baby. Not yet." He lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth and she nearly came off the bed at the intense sensation that shot straight from her breast to her womb. "Ethan, please...please..." She knew exactly what she was pleading for, and when he raised his hips and she felt him fall heavily between her legs, she opened her thighs wide and wriggled until she felt the smooth head pushing at her. "Now," she panted. "Easy, baby. We have all —" "No. Now!" Driving her heels into the bed, she shoved firmly upward, and with shocking ease, she suddenly felt him fill her. She felt a pinching discomfort for a moment, but she repeated her motion and it was gone, swept away in the wondrous moment of becoming one with the man she loved. "Lin — are you all right?" She understood his anxious tone and he propped himself on his elbows to study her face. "I'm fine," she said, drinking in every second of his lovemaking. She met his blue eyes and smiled invitingly. "Will you please move?" "Your wish is my command." He grinned, that familiar cocky grin that always made her heart turn over, and as he lowered his head and began to kiss her, he established a smooth easy rhythm with his hips, rocking the bed beneath them. She felt an unfamiliar tension rising, and she lifted herself to meet his thrusts as he increased his speed, almost sobbing as each impact shot her higher, tighter, until she felt like a drawn bow —

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And then the tension burst into exquisite circles of pleasure that jolted her body spasmodically. She felt him stiffen and arch against her, pumping himself deep within her body, and for one insane instant, she was sorry he'd remembered to use birth control. When the last spasm had shaken them and he lay heavily over her, his head on the pillow beside hers, she turned her head and kissed him. "Thank you." "No," he said in a thick, slow voice, "thank you. I've never felt...like that before." She was so touched, tears came to her eyes and she closed them. Ethan heaved himself up and slid to her side, gathering her into his arms, idly playing with her hair. "What now?" she asked. Then a huge yawn overtook her. "Nap," he said. "Then...we start all over again." CHAPTER SIX Ethan walked Lindy to work a little early on Saturday morning. She liked to get in and get organized before the rest of the library employees arrived. Especially today, since she'd taken yesterday off and spent the entire lazy day making love with Ethan until he had objected that he would make her sore, tossed her in the shower, and taken her out to dinner in a neighboring town. She unlocked the door and got the whole way into her office before she realized he was still close on her heels. "I'll see you this evening," she said, turning and stretching on tiptoe for a kiss. "Umm." He caught her against him with purposeful hands when she would have stepped back, and the kiss he gave her didn't feel in the least like a goodbye kiss. "Ethan," she said warningly. "I have to get to work." "It's still early," he said with an innocent smile. But she read his intent in his eyes and in a flash she wheeled and dashed around her desk. He stalked around the desk as Lindy tried to keep the furniture between them, a purposeful gleam in his eye. "Ethan! We can't —" "Oh, yeah." His voice was a purr as he cornered her in front of the computer desk. "We can. In fact, I seem to remember we're getting pretty damned good at it." "But...not here!" Her voice rose in desperation as he unbuttoned her blouse with surprising dexterity in his big fingers. He slipped his palms inside the opened front of her blouse, cupping her breasts through the lacy camisole and rubbing his thumbs insistently back and forth, back and forth over her nipples. Lightning bolts of arousal shot through her and she felt herself softening, moistening, as butterflies fluttered deep in her womb. Desperately, she caught his wrists with her hands, but he was far too strong for her to have any impact. He thrust his hips forward, and she moaned as the hard evidence of his desire settled into the notch of her thighs. "Sh-h-h." He was laughing as he set his mouth over hers, muffling the sounds she couldn't hold back. One hand withdrew from her blouse and grabbed fistfuls of her skirt, dragging it out of the way. His hand slipped

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surely down over the smooth plane of her belly, beneath her tiny panties and her knees went weak as he delved into the warm cove between her legs. She felt him probing, spreading her own moisture over her throbbing flesh and she whimpered beneath his mouth, then abruptly bucked in his arms as one long finger slid smooth and deep inside her. His thumb worried the pouting bud of her desire, pressing and massaging relentlessly as she writhed against him, impaled on that encroaching finger. Her whole being was focused on the sensations he created. She felt herself hurtling forward, faster and faster, her hips moving wildly against his hand. And then she flew apart. Her moan rose into a ragged scream, which he swallowed while she heaved and quivered with the force of the contractions cascading through her. While she still shook in the grip of her own ecstasy, he slipped his hand free. Dimly, she felt him fumbling with the fastening of his pants and she reached down to help him, her small fingers delving into his briefs and curling around the hard, silky flesh she found there. She lifted him free and as she did, she realized he was shaking. "Oh, God," he whispered, fumbling with the small packet he'd taken from his pocket, and she wasn't sure if it was a curse or a prayer. "Hurry. Take me." With frantic motions he tugged aside the leg of her panties and positioned himself. Lindy spread her legs as he pushed farther between her thighs, and then they both sucked in a breath of shocking pleasure as he thrust his hips forward, pushing her up and back onto the desk as he filled her with one deep stroke. She lay back, feeling him pull her buttocks off the desk and willingly she wrapped her legs around his waist as he came over her, supporting himself on his elbows. Immediately, he began a forceful pounding rhythm, and as he drove home within her again and again, she felt the sweet tension hurling her up and over the edge a second time. Ethan felt it, too, and with a series of deep, wrenching groans, he emptied himself within her as his body slowly stilled. She clutched his shoulders tightly, wishing the moment didn't have to end. Wishing he wouldn't leave. Wishing he'd marry her and take her with him. Oh, God, she hadn't even let herself think it before. Ethan and marry didn't belong in the same sentence. Except to her, they only belonged in a sentence together — "Belinda? Are you in there? I need a signature on this requisition." The strident female voice was a jarring peal of reality. Lindy jumped, her thoughts completely scattered, but she was unable to move, pinned by the utterly relaxed weight of Ethan's sizable body. "Ethan!" She pushed at his shoulders. "Let me up!" He only grinned at her. "How much will you pay me?" "You are an oversexed idiot." She did her best to glare at him. Almost frantic to get to the door before it opened and someone caught them, she wriggled and squirmed. "I'll be there in a minute," she called, hoping her voice didn't sound as husky and different to her staff as it did to her own ears. Ethan pushed himself backward, slowly disengaging their bodies. Reaching behind her head, he tugged free a handful of tissues and tenderly began to wipe away the slippery moisture between her thighs. She made a sound of shocked protest and tried to get away, but he held her in place with his body until he had gently pulled her panties into place again. Lindy felt her face flame as he stepped back and lifted her to her feet. He cleaned up and restored his own clothing to order, then looked up at her, and his face creased in the familiar grin she couldn't resist. "It's a little late to be blushing," he told her.

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"I can't help it," she whispered in a fierce undertone. "I'm not — I don't do things like this." Ethan only smiled. "You do now." But there was something watchful in the depths of his piercing blue eyes. A surprising little imp of irritation reared its head. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one who will have to stay and face the gossip after you leave." His smile slowly died, and his eyes grew darker and hard to read. "You don't have to stay, either, you know." They both were silent, letting the words hang uncomfortably in the air. "I need to get out front," she told him, wishing they had time to finish this conversation. Suddenly he seemed as distant as the moon. What did he mean by that remark? "Stay here until I tell you it's okay to sneak out," she finally said as she reached for the doorknob. *** You don't have to stay, either. Ethan cursed his impulsive tongue as he fastened his cufflinks and reached for the black silk tie that matched his shirt and suit that evening. He'd practically forgotten about the damned reunion until she'd reminded him this morning. The memory of the way she'd hustled him out the back door of the library still rankled. It annoyed him that she didn't want people talking about them. Did she really only want him for a little clandestine sex? Well, hell. He supposed the bottom line was yes. She'd told him that first evening what she wanted from him. And he'd given it to her. But what he hadn't counted on was giving her his heart. His fingers stilled on the half-knotted silk. All right, so you love her. It doesn't change anything. He hadn't given her his heart this week. No, he'd loved her for a very long time — the shy, quiet beauty next door who'd seen past the bad boy persona and liked him for himself. He'd been convinced she would never welcome a declaration of his feelings, and he hadn't been secure enough back in high school to risk rejection. So he'd left. Since then, there had been a lot of women, but not a single one them had ever gotten beneath his skin. Lindy had always been in the back of his mind. The question was, what was he going to do about her now? He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to marry her. He took a deep breath. "I want to marry her," he said aloud. But...would she even consider the idea? In the past few days, he'd begun to think she must have some feelings for him. Could she have responded so totally to his lovemaking if she didn't? Did she love him? Could she love him? And if she did, how would she react if he asked her to marry him and leave Bell Gap with him forever. She seemed so very tied to the little town, to their memories. But she needed a fresh start. He wanted to take her around the world, share new places with her, shower her with pretty things. He knew she didn't consider herself very attractive and it drove him crazy. She'd been quiet and studious in high school, sure, but her jerk-off fiancé's treatment must have undermined her confidence more deeply than she wanted anyone to know. If he told her he loved her, asked her to marry him, she'd think he was lying. Teasing her.

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Maybe he'd better start small and work up to it. Ask her to visit him, or to take a trip with him first. Let her see the woman she could be. Then maybe she'd believe he'd been waiting for her for almost half of their 28 years. CHAPTER SEVEN Lindy was ready, as he knew she'd be, when Ethan went over to pick her up for the reunion. He saw her shadow fall across the living room window as she came toward the door in answer to his knock. But when the door opened, a stranger stood before him. He stared. He tried not to keep his mouth from falling open. "Ethan?" The vision reached out a hand and touched his arm. "Are you all right?" "Yeah, yeah, I'm, uh, fine." He stepped into the house and turned immediately to survey her. "What'd you do to yourself?" Her face fell. "I felt like a change, so I had a makeover and bought a new dress. If you don't think it looks right, I'll —" "Wait!" He grabbed her elbow as she turned away. "I'm sorry. It looks right. Believe me, baby, it looks very right. You just surprised me, that's all. I thought someone had kidnapped my Lindy and left a sex kitten in her place." He held her still as he looked at her again. She wore a dress — and what a dress it was — of some kind of slinky black fabric that clung to her wand-slender body. Her shoulders were bared and her bosom above the strapless top looked as though she might have bought one of those push-up bras. Whatever. Who cared? He liked it. Her legs looked a mile long in heels that brought the top of her head nearly to his eye level, and her face looked like a finely painted doll's. Except for the eyes. Shadowed and mysterious, they — hey! She wasn't wearing her glasses. "Contacts?" he asked. She nodded. "I can't wear them all day, but they'll be fine for tonight." The motion of her head made her hair slither and bounce over her shoulders, and he lifted one finger and touched a curl. She'd curled it somehow, and her waist-length hair waved and shimmered with a life of its own. "My God," he said reverently. "You are beautiful. I feel like I should be giving you jewels or something." If she married him, he'd give her jewels like she couldn't even imagine. She laughed, and turned to the table to get a tiny black purse. "I'll let you off the hook this one time." He took her out and handed her into his little sports car. He hardly ever drove in New York, and it had been pure pleasure to come down here in his very own car. They didn't talk much on the way to the fraternal club where the reunion was being held. As he helped her out of the car, she smiled up at him and he couldn't resist leaning forward and touching his lips to hers. "I can hardly wait to get you out of that dress later." "I can hardly wait for you to get me out of this dress later," she said. "Lindy, I...I have to leave tomorrow." Suddenly it was important that he get something nailed down between them. "I want you to come with me."

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Her eyes changed, became carefully blank, and her heart-shaped face didn't change expression by one single muscle. "To New York?" "Yeah, to start with," he said, talking fast to cover the nerves. "And then after I get a few arrangements made, get you settled in my place, I thought maybe we could sneak over to Paris for a week. What do you think?" She hesitated. He held his breath. Then...she shook her head. And his heart dropped to the ground and shattered. "Ethan," she said, "I'm just not that kind of girl. I'd be miserable in New York. Paris would be fun, but...I couldn't possibly take off from the library for that long. And people would talk —" "Oh, I forgot," he said, furious with her and with himself, as well. "I'm good enough to —" he used a crude basic word that made her flinch "— but not to be seen with. What the hell are you doing here with me tonight?" There was a moment of sheer, ut ter silence. Finally, Lindy spoke. Her voice was soft and pleading and there were tears in her eyes. "Ethan, don't." She took his face in her hands. "Let's not spoil this evening. For either one of us. Let us just have one more night of magic. We can talk later. As much as you want." He stood rigid beneath her touch for one long moment. Then resignation set in. He'd given it a shot. He'd been turned down. He might as well take what crumbs she'd throw him tonight and leave without making either one of them any more uncomfortable than they already were. Slowly, he turned his head into her palm and kissed her there. "All right." "Thank you," she whispered. She closed her eyes and he realized she'd expected him to storm off. Instead, he took her hand and led her into the reunion. *** Inside the big hall, they got exactly the reaction she'd expected. People approached with outstretched hands. They did a double take when they realized she was Belinda the Librarian. They did another one when they recognized her escort. She pinned on a smile and bit the inside of her lip, holding the pain away, determined not to ruin this one last evening with Ethan. One small highlight of the evening occurred when she spotted Mandy Briggs Morris and her minister, both openly staring at them. She waggled her fingers at them, unable to resist, then giggled into Ethan's shoulder when they both turned away as if they'd been caught cheating again. Ethan turned his head and saw the retreat, recognized Mandy, and started across the room. Lindy had to grab his arm and dig in her heels to hold him back. "Trust me," she said, "if you just grab my butt on the dance floor once, my payback will be complete. He'll spend the rest of his rotten marriage wondering what I'm like in bed." "Too hot for a rat like that." He stopped and put an arm around her, leaned down to kiss her ear. "And he'll never find out because I will kill him if he even tries to talk to you."

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She didn't point out that killing the Reverend would require Ethan to stay in Bell Gap. He knew that wasn't happening and so did she. Her heart squeezed painfully. If only he'd said he loved her. She wouldn't even hold out for marriage. But she'd spoken the truth: she would be miserable in New York with him, knowing that all she was a temporary fling. Paris, the city of lovers, was unthinkable. Without love, continuing a relationship with him was out of the question, no matter what her heart said. They ate dinner with several of Ethan's old football buddies and their wives, many of whom were from out of town now, too, so the conversation wasn't as awkward as she'd feared. When it came time for the class officers to give out those stupid awards, her name was called, for "Most Changed." They danced. She fit in his arms, followed his lead as if they'd been together for years. She rested her head on his shoulder; he kissed her temple. And her heart broke completely in half. Oh, Ethan. Why couldn't you have loved me? CHAPTER EIGHT Ethan was gone when Lindy woke in the morning. She'd slept in his arms through the night, waking once to find him already inside her, her leg draped over his thigh, a furnace of heat against her back as he slowly thrust, holding her to him with a hand low on her belly. He'd woken her a second time near dawn, rolling to his back and pulling her astride him, palming her breasts and urging her to ride him in a rough, hoarse voice that set fire to her excitement and sent them both hurtling into a powerful climax. Afterward, he'd stroked her hair as she lay on his chest. Then...she must have dozed off again. And while she slept, he'd slipped away. Lindy rolled over and looked at the clock. Ten a.m. on Sunday. Was there really any reason to get out of bed today? She rolled over again and buried her face in the pillow as the sobs came. *** Monday. Lindy slammed her hand down on the alarm and dragged herself out of bed. She had to get ready for work. Work. It was all she had left. As she dressed and ate, then walked to work, the future unwound itself before her like a black-and-white movie, a series of interminable scenes unfolding behind her desk at the library. And something within her snapped. She couldn't do it. She just couldn't resign herself to being Belinda the Librarian for the rest of her days. Not after she'd been Lindy the Sex Kitten, not after she'd realized how much she needed Ethan Wilde in her life and her heart. Half of that was true right now. But he was gone from her life, unless she took her future in both hands and made it happen. He'd wanted her to come with him. But she'd never imagined herself leaving Bell Gap, never imagined living somewhere else. It wasn't even that she feared a change so much as it was that she simply had never believed that she could make a change. But now, with Ethan gone, she saw how empty the little town was. Bell Gap was now Somewhere Else. Because it wasn't where Ethan was.

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So he didn't love her? So what? Her choices were to stay here and let him leave her forever, or to go with him and enjoy the time they had together. So what if people talked when she came back home one day? So what if she no longer had a position at the library? She'd have memories. And she'd have the satisfaction of looking at herself in the mirror and knowing she'd tried. If she didn't take this one chance, she'd regret it for the rest of her life. If she went to him, with him, at least she'd have that time. And in that time, she'd let him know she loved him. Miracles happened. Maybe his heart would admit her someday. Turning on her heel, she walked away from the library and headed for the travel office on the square. Later the same day, the chairman of the board stomped into the library. Lindy met him in front of the checkout desk. He didn't look happy. "I'm afraid I won't be able to give you a recommendation, Belinda, if you don't give us at least two weeks' notice. It won't be easy to replace you." "That's all right. I understand. But I'm leaving today, anyway." "This is terribly irresponsible —" The thin, balding board president began to sputter, but Lindy was no longer listening. Her attention was on the door, where a tall, broad-shouldered man with shining hair and intense blue eyes had just come in. Without giving herself time to think, Lindy launched herself at Ethan. He caught her as he had one week before. She threw her arms around his shoulders and pressed her mouth to his as a swell of whispers and murmurs filled the library behind them. His kiss felt like heaven. It felt like...she was coming home. "Ethan! What —" She had to stop and clear her throat, which was threatening to close up. "What are you doing here?" "I came to see you," he said. "But I was coming to you. In New York." She dug her ticket out of her pocket and waved it beneath his nose. "Ethan —" "Lindy —" he said at the same time. "You first," he said. "Me first," she said. They looked at each other, then shared a moment of awkward laughter. Then the laughter died away. "The thing is," she said, "that I want to be with you. I'm quitting the library. I'll follow you to New York or Paris or wherever you want to go, and I'll stay with you as long as you'll let me. I love you, Ethan. I'd rather be with you every day that I can and maybe be lonely someday down the road than stay here in Bell Gap without you. I want memories. And there's no reason not to make them just because you don't care as much." She paused, eyeing his reaction, but he hadn't moved. "There. I guess I'm done." "All right," he said. "My turn." There was an odd gleam in his eyes that she didn't trust. Sort of like when they'd been in sixth grade and he'd offered to push her on the swing, then walked around in front and enjoyed the view while she'd tried desperately to keep her skirt from billowing up around her neck. "When I was a kid," he began, "there was the cutest little girl living next door. And we were friends. In high school, she got even cuter. But she was really, really smart, and she didn't seem impressed by any of my escapades. She intimidated the hell out of me, if you want the truth. And when I left town, she was getting ready to go to college and my leaving didn't seem to matter to her one little bit."

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He stopped then, and reached up to blot a tear that rolled down her cheek. "Even though I didn't see her for years, except for one time at my mother's funeral when she was a godsend, I never forgot her. She was in my heart for good. Pissed off a lot of other women, let me tell you." Lindy made a choked sound, half laugh and half sob. "So when I got this invitation to a reunion, I decided to come back and see if she was still around. And she was." He dropped his forehead against hers and looked into her eyes. "And I loved her more than ever and I hoped she loved me. But I was afraid to tell her how I felt, or to ask her to marry me, so I thought I'd start small, invite her to come share my world for a while." He closed his eyes briefly. "And when she said no, she broke my heart." He released Lindy and stepped back. "And I acted stupid and left, and almost lost her. But then I realized I had to come back and tell her everything." He pulled a small white box wrapped with silver ribbon from his pocket and dropped to one knee. Behind them, there was an audible gasp. Other than that single sound, the library was dead quiet. "I love you, Lindy Melton," Ethan said. "Will you honor me with your hand in marriage?" "I would be honored to be your wife," she said. She sat daintily on his knee as he snapped the ring box open, and he slid the exquisite square-cut diamond onto her finger. And behind them, a woman's voice said, "How come you never did that for me, Melvin?" *** Two hours later, they were back where they'd started, in Ethan's bed. "I think I'd like to keep a place here in Bell Gap," he said. "So that our children will have a sense of where we grew up." Lindy choked on her champagne. "Children? Did I miss a conversation somewhere?" Ethan decided he might as well just say it. Look where thinking things through had gotten him the last time. "I know we haven't talked about it, but I would really, really like you to have my babies. Even one would do." To his relief, she sent him a brilliant smile. "How about we agree to put a cap on it at four, with either party allowed to halt the procreation at any time after the first one makes us or breaks us?" "Four. That's a good number." He kissed her. "I'm glad you want children." Her eyes narrowed. "Why?" "Because," he said, "Sunday morning, we didn't use anything. Either time." "You sneak," she said. "I had to have a backup plan," he defended himself. "I figured if I got you pregnant, you'd have to marry me. And sooner or later, you'd see what a prize I am and fall in love with me." "I already loved you," she reminded him. "You were just too dumb to know it."

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"And you were too dumb to show it," he countered. She opened her mouth but before she could speak again, he rolled her with him across the bed, ending with her beneath him. He settled himself snugly in the place that fit him so perfectly, and she wrapped her legs around his hips to hold him fast. Threading his fingers through hers, he dropped his head and sought her lips. "I love you, Lindy. And I promise to show it every day for the rest of our lives." And to prove he was serious, he began immediately.

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THE WEDDING EXPERT by Darcy Maguire Tessa Knightly has just returned to Sydney to start a business as a wedding proposal planner. Imagine her shock when one of the first men to ask for her advice on how to propose to his girlfriend is Justin Pearce, the man who broke Tessa's heart eight years ago! Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| CHAPTER ONE Justin paused outside the lavishly decorated shop-front, staring dully at the white lace, the flowers and the embossed stationery. He didn’t need this. He was rich, successful, and drove one of the best cars on the road. He clenched his jaw. So why couldn’t he find the right words to convince one perfect woman to share her life with him? He ran a hand through his hair. Why was this relationship stuff so hard? Someone should make it straightforward...write down the criteria and boom, along she comes, ready, willing and perfect. So he’d mucked up proposing to his last girlfriend, Laura. So he may have mentioned the old ball and chain, and that she’d won — she’d got him to propose, finally. And that she’d done what no woman out of the dozens he’d dated had done — she was the death toll to his bachelor days. None of which, he had to admit, went down too well. Which was probably why she’d dumped him and he’d had to find Victoria. Straight back on the horse was his motto. And Victoria Feathersham was the best of the breed. Long legged, smooth skinned, elegant and beautiful. Perfect. He stared up at the sign. But a proposal planner? If anyone other than his sister had suggested professional assistance, he would have laughed them out the door, but his sister, Janice, knew him better than anyone. And if she had finally come round to him marrying Victoria by offering this consultation to him — there was no way he was passing it up. Especially when Janice had set the whole thing up for him. There was nothing for him to do but show up and learn. Easy. Justin pushed open the door and strode inside. He’d get this proposal business under control, just like he had everything else in his life under control. It’d be easy. And then he’d have it all — the perfect career, the perfect portfolio, the perfect woman — the perfect life. He shifted uneasily. It was what he wanted. He’d have everything. At least something like what his friends had. What his sister had. To share your life with someone. So he was going about it using his head instead of relying on all that heart nonsense. It didn’t mean he was going to end up with anything less…though proposing to Laura had been a mistake. Victoria and he were on the same wavelength, both looking at life realistically. And there was nothing wrong with it at all. Despite what his sister said. Justin sighed. Love wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be anyhow. The sensor chimed the wedding march somewhere out back, and a small graying woman appeared at the receptionist desk. “Proposals or weddings?” Justin swallowed hard, looking past the trestles, littered with albums, spread wide with lavish photos of weddings. He ignored the lurch deep in his gut. “I have an appointment to see the proposal planner.” “Ah, so you’re the mystery man. Go right through.” He followed the hallway to the open doorway.

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A woman sat on a cream white lounge nestled to one side of the office. She was leaning over, reaching for something she must have dropped. He wasn’t in the market anymore, but cripes... Justin tilted his head. From this angle, the woman had quite a few things going for her. She was lithe and honey-blonde and her short gray skirt afforded him a fine view of her long creamy-smooth legs. The skirt also sat tight enough on her hips to feed his mind as to the curves that lay beneath the clothes. She turned, and her green eyes met his with the force of a punch to the stomach. It had been years...but he could never forget. Her name burst from his lips. “Tessa.” She stared up at him, as though she was finding it difficult just to breathe. “Justin.” She shook her head slowly. The urge to turn on his heel and run was about as strong as his desire to sweep her into his arms and kiss away the years. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and steadied himself, willing his heart to slow. He was older now, much older. There was no way she was going to weave her spell over him now. Justin had got over all that love stuff years ago. He wasn’t going to fall into it again. Sure, it had been incredible while it lasted, but it hurt like hell to leave it behind. Too much. He straightened. And he wasn’t about to go through that again. He stared at his shoes. This was a surprise and a half...a chance meeting — he’d only have to keep it together for a few minutes, then he’d escape. No drama, he admonished himself. “How are you, Tess?” he asked stiffly, scanning the room and wishing like crazy that the planner would turn up and end this nightmare. He didn’t want to be here with her. Okay, his body did, very much. But the rest of him would rather keep the past in the past. She moved to the edge of her seat but didn’t get up. “I’m fine now. Thank you very much. What are you doing here?” Her voice was still as whisper soft and gentle as he remembered, but her green eyes stabbed into his very soul.... He tossed some words around in his head, but thought better of a clever answer. There was no denying why he was here and there was no reason at all to lie to her or himself. “I’m getting some advice on how to propose.” She arched an eyebrow, shooting him a look of incredulity. “You’re proposing to someone?” “Yes.” And for the life of him, he couldn’t work out why it didn’t feel better saying it. Victoria was his society queen, his logical match. They’d worked it out together — what they could give each other, how their life would be, where they'd be in five years, ten.... So they didn't exactly love each other, so what? It didn’t mean it wouldn’t work. “To Victoria Feathersham.” “Oh.” “What do you mean oh?” he challenged. Victoria was a fine woman with a reputation and a social standing that no self-respecting businessman would scoff at. She was perfect, from her meticulously styled platinum blond hair to her manicured toenails. “I mean —” Tessa shifted back on her seat, crossing her arms over her chest, which only served to accentuate her breasts “— I find it surprising that you’d be marrying at all.” Justin let his gaze slide over her. She’d grown up, all right, in all the right places... “And are you married?”

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She set her chin in a stubborn line. “I don’t see that’s any of your business.” Justin’s blood heated, his mind fighting the idea that another man held her close at night. “Will you answer the damned question?” She shrugged. “No.” “No, you won’t answer my question or no, you’re not married?” “Pick one.” She glared at him, raising her chin. He looked toward the door again, rather than down into her eyes. It was too easy to lose himself in the way her eyes glimmered with yesterday’s promises. What was keeping the damned planner! “What are you doing here?” She took a deep, slow breath. “Justin. Your appointment is with me. I am the proposal planner.” CHAPTER TWO What twist of fate had Justin Pearce walking back into her life? She always felt he would, dreamed he would, hoped that he would, so she could tell him exactly where to shove his charm and good looks. Tessa had almost died on the spot when she saw him. Her heart was still pounding and her body shaking. She would have liked nothing better than to get to her feet and kick the guy out the door...and she would have, if her legs would have held her up. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him. He was just as she remembered, as her tortured dreams reminded her often, although his tall frame had filled out — he wasn't the lanky boy that had swept her off her feet years ago. His Italian genes had really come to the fore, too, and he was oozing Mediterranean charm. He stood frozen to the spot, staring at her as though he couldn't quite pull himself together. Which was strange in itself — Justin Pearce could always handle anything that came his way. Tessa Knightly allowed herself a smile. She could almost feel sorry for Justin — almost. But after what he'd done to her... Her belly roiled and her blood fired at the memories. How dare he come anywhere near her after treating her like that! She took a long slow breath, trying to focus. Be sensible. Justin wasn't coming back to tramp all over her heart again. He was here for business. Here to win over Victoria Feathersham with a captivating proposal of marriage. She swallowed the ache in her chest. Justin successfully proposing to Victoria would be a feather in her cap. Her business would boom — if Justin shared her name with the men in the socialite circles that Victoria was sure to drag him into. She shook her head. Who was she kidding? He wasn't likely to bring up the fact he'd needed help to propose. She'd just have to be happy with her fee. Tessa couldn't help but smile. A proposal to a woman like Victoria Feathersham was going to cost — he'd need all the trimmings to impress the likes of her. And there was nothing wrong with that at all — a girl deserved the most romantic, most memorable proposal for marriage, and she was all for giving her that. Besides, she could do with the cash flow to get her away from her sister's three children, two dogs, two cats and the spare room-slash-cupboard she was staying in and into a place of her own. She shifted in her seat, vividly aware of the man in front of her. The taste of vindication would be sweet. After all the years of study she'd put in under her mother's cousin, a well-to-do wedding planner in America,

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she looked forward to using her skills to prove herself to the man who'd caused her to flee Sydney. If only she could just block out that this was Justin. "You're the proposal planner?" Justin's dark eyes probed hers. "You're kidding, right?" "Not kidding at all, but don't be frightened. I don't bite." Not yet, anyway. He glanced toward the door. She clenched her fisted hands by her sides. Damn it. There was nothing stopping him walking out the door, and there was no way she could let him, not when the woman he wanted to woo was Victoria Feathersham. It was just too good an opportunity to miss. And besides, there were more subtle ways to avenge oneself. And she owed herself that, after the heartache and pain he'd put her through. She'd deserved a proper goodbye, an explanation, a real dumping — not the total void he'd left her with. "I assure you whatever has happened in the past is in the past — business is business," she stated coolly. "If you want Miss Feathersham to have the most impressive, unforgettable proposal ever, you've come to the right place." Justin looked back to her, his brow knotted. "I'm sure I can work this out on my own. I really don't need to —" his gaze roamed over her "— see you." "Really? What did you have in mind?" she asked innocently. "Hopping down on one knee in an up-market French restaurant and popping the question?" "Sounds good to me." And he smiled. Her heart lurched. Her blood heated. And every nerve in her body yearned for what she'd once had with him. For his touch, for his kiss, for his love. She ignored her traitorous body. "Then you'd be wrong. For a woman like Victoria you'd want to impress upon her how special she is, how much she means to you by how you propose." She leaned forward and plucked her contract from the file on the table, breathing deep and slow to dampen his effect on her. "If she loved me, wouldn't whatever I do be okay?" His voice slid over her like lotion and it was all she could do to remain cool, calm and composed. "If you loved her, you'd make it everything that she's dreamed it to be...everything Victoria dreams it to be." She swallowed away the ache in the back of her throat and concentrated on filling out Justin's name on the form. She slid it toward him, holding out her pen, praying for him to sign it quickly, before she had a chance to ponder on the sanity of working with him. He reduced the distance between them. "And you can make it that good?" "Damn right I can," she said with all the enthusiasm she could muster. He sat down in the chair beside hers and took the pen and his fingers brushed hers, sending a warming shiver racing through her body. Maybe, this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe she should refer him to someone else...maybe she had a tad too much baggage to cope with Justin on a one-on-one basis. Tessa pulled her hand back and lay it on her lap, covering it with her other hand. She lifted her chin and met his deep, dark eyes. She wasn't going to blow this chance. No matter what her body remembered of his.

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This was her independence and her future on the line — she wasn't going to let a little thing like helping her first love propose to another woman stop her. The pen hovered over the paper. "I'm a busy man. I really don't have time for this —" he waved a hand in the air "— stuff." She held her hands together, tightly, blotting out the image of wrapping them around his neck. She straightened. "We can meet whenever is convenient for you," she said softly, clamping down on the urge to add a few colorful phrases. "Wherever is convenient for you." Justin signed his name and looked her straight in the eyes. "That suits me fine. How about three p.m. tomorrow afternoon at my office?" "Fine by me," she replied through gritted teeth. On his turf. She should have expected that. Damn, why hadn't she seen that coming? She'd be traipsing all over the city after him! A cold knot formed in her belly as the implications of "his office" sank in. There was no way she wanted him to find out about the accident. She'd won a point by signing him as a client, but was she going to survive the experience and keep the truth from him? CHAPTER THREE He had to be ill. Sick. Justin strode through the office and pushed open the door to the stairwell, ignoring the glances from his employees. He was certainly off his game. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on work all afternoon. And everyone knew it. His secretary had been so concerned she’d even asked him if he needed a doctor. Justin wasn’t about to admit he’d gone to a proposal planner to train for popping the question or that he already knew the woman. That, in fact, the planner was the first girl to have stolen his heart, and some days he was sure she still had it. He swiped his hand over his eyes, trying to work out exactly what he did have. Since seeing Tessa this morning his mind was filled with her. With her face, with her accusing eyes, with her full lips challenging him. And it wasn’t just his head that was hurting thinking about her; every inch of him ached. He took the stairs rather than the elevator to the basement garage, focusing on taking the steps three at a time, on getting home, rather than on why in hell he’d canceled his dinner date with Victoria tonight. She was perfect for him. And Tessa... Tessa was screwing with his head like she had when they were young. He’d never noticed that Tessa lived up the road from him until she’d hit fourteen. She’d watch him with her sea green eyes whenever she passed him on her bike, and he couldn’t deny he was as fascinated with her as she seemed to be with him. When she was sixteen, he couldn’t wait any longer. He wanted to be with her and he swept her off her feet and into his arms. So, he was older than her by a few years. He knew that. And he was all for waiting. If only she’d been, too, he may have stood a chance.... He warmed at the memory. So it had been love. He ran a hand through his hair. Love. He’d loved Tessa Knightly with all his heart and soul. And it had been good. Felt amazing. But then her mother had taken him aside, and he couldn’t fight the truth in her words. His father was a drunk. He had no goals. He wasn’t enough for her Tessa. Suddenly, it was over — painfully, torturously over.

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Justin had thought he’d never see her again. Was sure she’d be married with kids. Thought it was all over. Until now. Could he ignore the logic of marrying Victoria for the chance at having love, of having his heart involved, at the mercy of being torn to shreds again? Maybe Victoria and he could learn to love each other…. Justin pushed open the door to the garage and strode to his silver Porsche. Maybe he was coming down with something.... He was all twisted up in the head, all achy and unsettled. He straightened. He’d handled million-dollar business deals; he could handle one woman. This was going to be a cinch. One lesson in proposals and he’d be done. Tessa Knightly would be out of his life, and he’d get on with it. Easy. *** Justin pushed his papers around his desk and glanced at the clock again. The knock startled him. His secretary opened the door. “Tessa Knightly to see you, sir.” Justin swallowed the lump in his throat. “Show her in.” “She’s set herself up in the conference room.” His secretary stared at her feet. “She was quite insistent about it.” “Was she now?” Justin should have guessed she’d avoid his private office and opt for somewhere else. And he couldn’t help but smile. At least he was getting to her.... Tessa sat at the conference table, folders spread out in front of her, her chin tilted high and her shoulders thrown back. She wore a cream trouser suit but it did little to hide her curves from his imagination. “Mr. Pearce.” “Miss Knightly.” He took a stab in the dark. He was painfully aware she hadn’t told him whether she was married or not. “You’re late.” She arched her eyebrows. “Three minutes?” “I’m a busy man.” “And you were in your office....” She was right. If he was able to, he could have continued working. “I don’t expect tardiness.” “I’ll remember that.” She moved her handbag under the table and rearranged the folders in front of her. Justin gave her a sidelong glance. She hadn’t missed a beat. He yanked out the chair next to her and faltered. He’d be a lot safer with the large timber table between them. “Well, let’s get to it then.” “Fine by me.” Tessa offered him a smile. “Now, to begin with, I have to get an idea of what Victoria likes so we can make the experience memorable for her.”

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“Makes sense.” Justin moved around the desk and sat down in one of the chairs opposite her, trying to keep his mind on Victoria and not on the way Tessa’s hands moved with such an easy grace. Tessa slid the folders across the table to him. He flicked through the pages, trying to focus on the images, but he was acutely aware of her presence, her soft perfume, and of her eyes on him. “Okay, Justin.” She stared him directly in the eye. “What are Victoria’s favorite flowers?” He glanced at his watch. “Flowers? I give her roses — she doesn’t seem to mind them.” “Okay.” She scribbled in her notepad. “What about her favorite music?” Justin shrugged. “Her favorite food?” He strained for recollection of their last meal and what she’d ordered. “Chicken?” he suggested. “You don’t sound so sure.” Her green eyes widened. “What about her hobbies?” “Hobbies?” He swallowed hard and looked at his watch again. Not long now and it’ll all be over. “You know, the things a person does for fun and personal satisfaction.” He stiffened. What did Victoria do for fun? He had no idea! And admitting the fact to Tessa weighed like a brick in his chest. “Look, the reason I need to know these things isn’t to make your life hard.” She paused. It was as though she saw right through him. He shifted in his seat, folding his arms over his chest. “It’s to discover whether she’s romantic or conservative or a bit of both so I can help you create a proposal that would mean the most to her.” Justin was caught off guard by the sudden vibrancy of her voice and he met her eyes. Mistake. His heart thudded against his ribs, and his body stirred again to her magic. She regarded him with an impassive coldness. “I suggest you go and find out a little more about the woman you want to marry.” He glared at her. “I know plenty.” “I don’t mean what underwear she wears,” she blurted out. “Ha-ha,” he retorted sarcastically. “You ought to be careful, Tessa. It’s sounding as though you’re jealous.” Her eyes darkened. “In your dreams.” How spot on she was. Since meeting her again he couldn’t get any peace from her, even in sleep! “So, you can’t help me —” he chose his words carefully “— until I can answer your questions about Victoria?” “That’s right. I suggest you spend some quality time with her.” Tessa bit her lip and looked as though she was stifling a smile.

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The breath caught in his throat. She was screwing with his head! He stiffened, his blood firing, his teeth clenched tightly. He wanted to shake the woman. Or kiss her. He glanced at his watch. He only had to keep it together for a little while longer. “Then what?” “Then, I’ll see you again. And hopefully we can come up with a heartrending proposal for her.” Her voice died away and she moistened her lips. “I have to see you again?” “Is that a problem?” CHAPTER FOUR Justin leaped out of his seat and started pacing the floor. Tessa leaned back and waited. She was doing fine, on the surface; she was sure she was radiating a perfectly calm and controlled businesslike air, but on the inside... On the inside she was in turmoil. It had been easier than she’d imagined setting up in his conference room making sure she was in place for Justin. The last thing she wanted was more complications. Justin stopped and turned to her. "If I can tell you what you want to know, will I need another appointment?" She stiffened. It was painfully obvious that Justin wasn't thrilled with the prospect of another meeting with her. "If you can tell me about the woman you want to marry," she offered calmly, "I can work out what sort of proposal will be the most moving for her." "And if I do," he said carefully, "can we get it all done today?" "We can try." She forced a smile of encouragement. He lifted a finger. "Give me a minute." And he left the room. Tessa sighed. What he was doing didn't leave much to the imagination after flunking all her questions. He was asking his secretary — the woman probably knew more about Victoria Feathersham than Justin did. She stiffened. She didn't care, she reminded herself sharply. If Victoria was who he wanted to marry, he deserved her. This job may be tough on her sanity but if she could pull it off, it would give her a start in the business. She would just have to tough it out. And if Justin wanted to get this over in one session, she was all for it. The sooner she got away from his deep, dark eyes and tempting body the better! Justin strode back into the room. "She loves white roses, caviar and her hobby —" he glanced at the notepad in his hand "— is organizing and attending charity balls." "Okay, great." If that's what his secretary said, she would give him the most romantic, all the frills, minimalcontact proposal plan possible. She closed her eyes and imagined the woman. "Balls, gowns, Cinderella style," she murmured to herself, slowly opening her eyes. Justin came toward her. She couldn't help but hold her breath. His presence was commanding and disturbing. "I suggest you take her on a horse-and-buggy ride through a park, to a gazebo decked out in fairy lights with a small orchestra playing classical music amongst the trees...."

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"I could have thought of that," he said. "Yes, you could have, but you didn't." “So, that’s it.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed his palms against the other, his eyes bright. “I don’t need you now.” He wished! Tessa raised an eyebrow, smothering the smile that threatened her cool facade. “So you know exactly what to say to make the proposal perfect?” Justin shrugged. “I figure I’ll just tell her how beautiful she is and ask her to marry me.” “Well, that would be okay, but not memorable.” Tessa shifted in her seat. “Now, something like telling her that you’ll love her forever and that you can’t imagine a future without her would be a start.” Her blood burned. “But, oops... I remember now. You’re not good at following through on forever, are you?” “Tessa.” Justin’s voice was dangerously soft. “It wasn’t like that.” She crossed her arms. “Then tell me what it was like.” She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. She didn't want to rehash the pain of the past, why he’d packed up and left home, and her, without a word. He dragged in a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Your mother pulled me aside to talk with me.” Tessa stared at him, her mind whirling. She never knew that! “She told me to back off. That you were too young.” Her mother would. She’d been a teenage bride herself and a teenage mother — she could clearly see now how her mother must have felt seeing her out with an older boy, totally and utterly in love with the guy. “And you did.” The words tumbled from her mouth. That he was so easily dissuaded from their relationship pained her. If he’d loved her, even a little, wouldn’t he have fought to be with her...or was she just a notch for his ego? “I didn’t want to hurt your mother — or you.” “And leaving me like that — you don’t think that hurt?” Justin rubbed his neck muscles. “I couldn’t stay. Your mother was right. You needed time to grow up. So I went and did a business course in Queensland. Stayed at my uncle’s place. I came back, with an offer of a good position in a large Sydney firm, with a future, but you’d left for America. So I got on with my life.” He paused. “I figured your life would be easier without me.” “Easier?” Tessa choked on the word. “My life hasn’t been easy.” “Tell me about it.” She couldn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him what had happened after he left — what had happened to her. She shook her head. “I got on with my own life.” She moved to the edge of her chair, suppressing the thousand wild emotions ravaging her body — he should have stayed…he would have if he’d loved her — fighting the urge to grab something and whack him with it. “Now, to business... Show me how you’re going to propose.” “Seriously?”

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“Yes.” She waved her hand for him to proceed. If she was going to have half a chance at keeping her mind on the job, she’d have to get on with it. He loosened his tie and dropped to his knee in front of Tessa, taking her hands in his. Sensation shot from where he held her, coursing down her spine and into every nerve in her body. He gazed into her face, his eyes flickering. Justin’s mind raced. Not with what he was going to say to Victoria, but with a thousand questions about why he’d want to. Bolts of excitement raced through his body, the implication of kneeling there, in front of Tessa, drummed through him…with her soft green eyes on him, waiting. “I... I want —” He swallowed hard and moistened his lips. He wanted Tessa. He didn’t want this mutual “arrangement” with Victoria. He was selling himself short, and so was she. Sure, it would have been safer. A whole lot safer than putting his heart out there again, but some things were worth the risk. It wasn’t Victoria he wanted to share his life with. It was Tessa. Only Tessa. Had only ever been Tessa. And he had to tell her. Show her. Justin sucked in a deep breath. “I want you to know how my heart flutters every time you walk into the room. How I can’t think when you’re close. How you make me feel like I’m something special.” Tessa’s eyes burned, and the ache in her throat threatened to suffocate her. It was as though he was proposing to her...something she’d once wanted, desperately. “And I’d be the happiest man alive if you’d consent to be my wife.” Her belly curled. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Justin pulled her down into his arms and his mouth covered hers hungrily. His cologne caressed her senses as his mouth moved over hers, devouring its softness. Her thoughts spun. She should be fighting him off, resisting, but the warmth of his arms was so male, so strong and comforting, that all she wanted was to languish in this tantalising persuasion of her lips, forever. His warm gentle mouth danced over hers, sending jolts of awareness racing through her, and her body sang his praises through her every nerve, each one tuned to the fire he was fanning in her. Tessa couldn’t help herself; she returned his kiss with reckless abandon, her mouth hot and welcoming, soft and sensuous... “What the hell is going on?” The shrill voice pierced through Tessa. She pushed herself away from Justin, her cheeks flooding with fire. Victoria Feathersham stood in the doorway, her eyes wide and her mouth pulled thin. Caught in a clinch on the floor with her client — Victoria’s boyfriend! Tessa swallowed hard. What could she possibly say? CHAPTER FIVE Justin held Tessa’s shoulders. He wasn’t sure whether he was holding on to keep her steady or himself. That kiss! Her lips... God, he’d missed her. Missed feeling like this... Alive. “You’re so perfect,” Justin whispered softly to Tessa. The urge to reach out and run his hand down her cheek, over her full lips and down her neck almost too much to bear. “You’re what I want....”

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“Justin!” Victoria barked. He twisted slowly around to face Victoria, his mind blank. Victoria. She stood, hands on hips in the doorway, her eyes blazing. Victoria — the woman he planned to marry. Victoria was decked out in some designer outfit in soft blue, her hair immaculately styled, her presentation flawless. She would compliment his perfect life with her beauty and social position.... He clenched his jaw. The drive to attain perfection stemmed from Tessa, from years ago. Her mother had been right. She’d been too young and he hadn’t been good enough for her, but now, now there was hope.... And judging by her response in his arms there was a chance that he hadn’t lost Tessa when he’d run away from her years ago. That kiss would suggest so. That despite everything that had happened, they could have a second chance. Justin dropped his hands from Tessa reluctantly and stood up, facing Victoria. She deserved an explanation; she deserved the truth.... His gut roiled. “I come down here, Justin —” her voice was shrill “— to find out why on earth you’d be calling me up and demanding to know all sorts of things about me...and what do I find? I find you in the arms of —” “It’s not what it looks like, Miss Feathersham,” Tessa said, her cheeks flushed. “Really,” Victoria snorted. “Then please explain what you were doing with your lips glued to Justin’s?” Tessa opened her mouth, staring toward the ceiling, looking extremely uncomfortable kneeling there on the floor. Why didn’t she get up? “Tessa Knightly, meet Victoria Feathersham,” he blurted. “Victoria, Tessa and I…” Tessa stood up, grasping the edge of the table tightly as though the kiss had affected her legs. “We’re working on a special project together.” Justin stiffened. Why not just tell the truth? He met Tessa’s eyes. She was covering for him. Making it okay for him if he wanted to continue with Victoria. Victoria crossed her arms over her impeccably tailored blouse. “And that involves kissing him?” “Yes. No. Sort of,” Tessa stuttered. “He got carried away. That was all. He thought I was you.” Justin stared at Tessa. Where was this coming from? She couldn’t really believe that he mistook her, even for a second, for Victoria Feathersham? The moment he started the proposal, his mind was filled with only Tessa, what they’d had and what he still felt. Victoria raised her finely plucked eyebrows and looked down her nose at Justin. “And how would you make that mistake?” she drawled. He hesitated. The idea of telling Victoria that he was planning to propose to her sat heavily in his chest. “My sister arranged for me to go to a —” “A therapist,” Tessa blurted, dropping into her chair and interlacing her fingers on the table in front of her, exuding a calm that he wished he was feeling.

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Justin stared at Tessa, speechless. How could she lie so easily and readily? Was lying a prerequisite of the job to keep the proposal a secret until the faithful moment? “A therapist? And you’re it?” Victoria’s eyes darkened. “Then what were you doing kissing her?” she demanded of him. Justin’s gaze rested on Tessa’s lips. Having the time of his life...reminding himself of what he was missing out on...what he’d left behind...what was within his grasp now... “I was...doing regression therapy —” Tessa looked wildly around the room “— and Mr. Pearce saw me as all his past girlfriends that he’d left behind.” His chest ached. He saw her as one in particular that he’d wished he’d never left behind at all. “You said he thought I was you?” Victoria’s voice was high and laced with skepticism. Tessa dragged in a deep breath, stacking her folders into a pile in front of her and lowering her eyes. “I was...representing the past and the future.” She lifted her chin and plunged on. “What you saw was Mr. Pearce embracing the future...his future with you.” Victoria shot him a look of disbelief. “Justin?” “Victoria,” he murmured softly. How was he going to break this to her? How could he have been so wrong? About them. About her. It was as though he’d suddenly woken up to what he’d left behind. And he wasn’t going to sit meekly by and marry “perfect” Victoria — he wanted more. And he was ready to take the risk. Tessa shot him a glare. “I assure you that it meant nothing.” “Nothing?” Justin turned and stared at Tessa, ice seeping into his body. “Nothing? Surely it had some significance?” “Yes. Nothing.” She took a deep breath. “You’re free to marry Victoria.” Justin didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t believe that she could dismiss that kiss so easily. There was no way that a kiss that could rock his world wouldn’t even make a ripple on hers. “That’s your final word?” Tessa glanced at Victoria. “In my professional opinion, Mr. Pearce, you are more than ready to focus entirely on the future you’ve chosen.” He shuddered. He didn’t want to. He wanted Tessa in his future. He wanted her in every aspect of his life to make it worth living again. Tessa restacked her folders and drew them close to her, the implications of her leaving slicing through him like ice-cold steel. Justin ran a hand through his hair. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. Victoria still stood near the doorway, conspicuously silent as though she hadn’t quite decided if what Tessa had said was the truth or not. And Tessa was on the verge of flight. Tessa’s eyes were hooded, not meeting his directly and Justin couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still a chance, despite what she was saying. “Mr. Pearce —” Tessa glanced at her watch “— your time’s up. I have another appointment.”

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Her coolness tore at his chest. “I don’t want to miss this chance,” he offered, a lightless future rolling out in front of him. Tessa shook her head, her chin tilted high. “Let the past go, Mr. Pearce. You have a future waiting for you.” Her tone was firm, final, drained of all emotion. His thoughts jarred, slicing deep. He’d just spilled his heart to her. Offered himself. He clenched his fists. Again, he’d been drawn in by her magic only to be cut off, not by her mother this time, but by Tessa herself. “Justin?” Victoria moved forward, her voice wavering. He focused only on Tessa, moving over to her where she still sat rigidly in her chair, his mind filled with tumbled thoughts, clambering emotions. He wanted her. Needed her. Surely that had to mean something to her. “I’m sorry for everything, Tessa. Please —” he knelt in front of her chair, his chest aching “— don’t go.” “I thought as much,” Victoria snapped, darting forward. “As if a therapist would act like that.” “Victoria.” Justin struggled to maintain an even, conciliatory tone. He stood up and turned to the woman who he’d deluded himself into thinking would be enough. She slapped him across the face and strode out of the room. CHAPTER SIX There was no way she was going to risk her future on Justin Pearce’s brand of commitment. So what if he could kiss her so soundly and thoroughly that her knees gave out beneath her. Tessa knew it couldn’t last. She’d lived through the aftermath of Justin once already. She shook her head slowly. She wasn’t stupid enough to fall for him twice. Her traitorous body was just confusing her. If only he’d played along with her story. The fool! So typical of a man to get carried away with one kiss...as if it meant something. From his response, he almost had her convinced he’d meant that proposal for her, not Victoria — as if that was likely! A product of her imagination, that was all. Why couldn’t he have kept his mind on the job at hand? She needed Victoria Feathersham’s proposal to go off without a hitch and set her business going. She needed the money. She stared at Justin. And he wanted perfection…. And he thought he could get it with her? That was almost laughable. It certainly showed how little he knew about her. She stiffened. He would never have her if he knew the truth. “Now, look what you’ve done!” she spat out, narrowing her gaze and shooting him what she hoped was a fiery look. “Pardon?” “You’ve messed up your relationship with Victoria over a stupid kiss.” She glared at him. “And what did you think you were doing — calling her up and asking those questions? I assumed you’d asked your secretary!” “I wanted to get this proposal thing over with, okay?” “There’s no wonder she came charging down here!” Tessa turned and looked out the window, shaking her head. She couldn’t even look at the guy. He’d messed everything up — her well-ordered life and the most promising job she’d had to date. “The kiss —”

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“That kiss didn’t mean anything.” She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt. Her body was still humming and the urge to fall into Justin’s arms again was almost too much to bear. “You really mean that?” he asked thickly. She could tell he didn’t believe her, and the gleam in his eyes and the way he was looking at her lips suggested he could be thinking of proving her words a lie. She wriggled back in the chair. “Yes. Of course I do. You were just projecting. It happens all the time,” she fabricated. “Go after her and make it right.” Justin took her by the shoulders. He stared down into her face, his dark eyes probing hers. “Can you look me in the face and tell me that kiss meant nothing to you at all?” “Of course it meant nothing.” She nearly choked on the words. “Don’t tell me you thought it did?” And she managed a light laugh. Pain flickered in his eyes, and she almost regretted her words. She stiffened, reminding herself of his wrongs. Her mother may have warned him off but that didn’t mean he had to go! What sort of guy was he to run away at the slightest hint of trouble? And she was all for avenging the years of heartache he’d caused her…. She just thought it would feel better than this. “You don’t feel anything for me?” His voice was thick. “Nothing at all.” Tessa lifted her chin and held the folders tightly to her breasts, the lie twisting inside of her. “I know I hurt you. And I’m sorry, but let’s not waste this. We’ve grown up now.” She stiffened. She couldn’t do this. He wanted the perfect woman and she could never be that. “Don’t be a fool. There’s nothing between us.” She swallowed hard. “I…I don’t even like you.” She dragged in a deep breath. “Go after Victoria. You and she make the perfect couple.” The words tasted like bile, but she had to do it. For her business, for her sanity, for her heart that had barely survived the last time. He hesitated only a moment, but the look in his eyes wrenched her heart. She saw the boy inside the man clearly, still as confused and lost as he ever was, hiding from emotions as his father had. Although his father had drowned his sensitivity in a bottle, while Justin — whom she followed in the social pages — chose the arms of pretty, shallow women. Her mind jerked. She could see it clearly now. Justin hadn’t run away from her, but what she evoked. He could have been afraid that he’d turn out like his father, who’d been so stricken with grief at losing his wife he couldn’t cope. And her mother had only exacerbated the situation by drumming home how he shouldn’t be thinking seriously about making a commitment to her. And he wasn’t. Until now. Tessa’s eyes burned with the irony. Justin slammed the door after him, the crash echoing around the conference room like a resonating bell, ringing a death toll through Tessa’s heart. What had she done? She swallowed the tearing ache in the back of her throat. He’d catch up with Victoria, may even confess his hiring of a proposal planner to give her the best proposal ever. And she’d fall into his arms. Tessa smothered a cry, clawing unbidden up her throat. She’d made the wrong choice. She knew it. Every inch of her body knew it. She’d been so hell-bent on convincing herself that Justin meant nothing to her that she’d ignored her heart. She leaned heavily on her cane as she walked slowly to the door, her heart as heavy as her leg.

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She pushed open the door and managed a smile. At least she still had her business. Tessa wished she could take back time…and her words. She wasn’t a bitter woman. Even after the car had knocked her off her bike, she hadn’t been angry, just resigned. Like how she’d just cried about Justin leaving her years ago, avoiding confronting him, finding him. She cast a long look down the corridor to the elevators. So much of her wanted to race to him and tell him what she really felt before he dropped to his knee and proposed to Victoria Feathersham. She hesitated. But if Justin was all for proposing, didn’t that mean he felt nothing for her? She shook her head. She was confusing herself. All that mattered was that she still loved him, even after all these years. But did she know this Justin? Was the older Justin who she wanted? Who she loved? She had no idea. All she knew was that she should give love one last chance. With him. But would he really want her? CHAPTER SEVEN Justin had seen the flames in Tessa’s eyes, felt the passion in her lips and her touch. He faltered, staring at the lift doors. She had to have lied. Said what she did out of revenge. And he’d deserved it. Deserved her hate, her spite and her harsh barbs. He’d wronged her. He’d left her. Without a word, he’d left her and hadn’t looked back, too scared of what he felt to face her. Justin ran a hand through his hair and over his eyes, trying to blot out the past few minutes. What had happened to the innocent, easy as hell proposal planning? He turned, looking back down the hallway to where the conference room was, to where she was. The pain threatened to tear him in half. He wanted her and she wanted nothing to do with him. He was an idiot. He should have known she’d still be smarting from his callous treatment of her years ago. He’d been young and stupid, not knowing what he had until she was gone. Some days he’d seriously thought about following her to America. Other days, he was sure it was vital to get over her and get on with life. And he had. Focusing on university and shaping up had been a good thing for him. Striving to better himself had made him who he was today. Tessa made him feel more than any woman ever had. And he wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing. He’d seen firsthand what had happened to his father…. His mobile shrilled its annoying melody. He had half a mind to ignore it. But whatever state he was in, work always was good to get his mind off things. And boy, did he need it this minute. “Pearce here.” He was curt. “Justin, it’s me, Janice. I just wanted to know how it went with that proposal planner.” He couldn’t miss the lilt behind his sister’s words. “You knew. You damn well knew who she was and set me up!” He almost choked on the words. He’d been manipulated by his worst critic, and the realization seared his mind. “I confess. How’d it go?” Janice said lightly. “Is she still as pretty as she was back then?” Justin dragged in a deep, slow breath. The idea that his sister could have so blatantly set him up with his old girlfriend under the ruse of marrying his current one was disturbing. And the fact that he could be manipulated that easily, distressing. “I knew you hadn’t gotten over her. She was so good for you. Is she single? Is she interested?”

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“Your plan backfired, sister-dear. Tessa is as lovely as she ever was, but unfortunately, she hates my guts.” “Well, that’s no surprise.” She gave a soft laugh as though it was the most normal thing in the world to set him up with someone who hated him. “I hope you didn’t take no for an answer!” He ignored her, steeling himself for her lecture. She was two years older than he was and as far as she was concerned knew everything, about everything. “Come on,” she urged. “Give me some juicy details.” Justin stepped into a lift and punched the ground floor button. “So you never had any intention of me proposing to Victoria?” “Come off it. She’s a stiff cardboard cutout. You need someone with a soul, with a heart. I figure I should be congratulated for my ingenuity. As soon as I heard Tessa Knightly was back from America...” “Well, thanks for your nose in my business, but I’ll take it from here.” And he rang off. Damn, he hated being predictable. He stepped out of the elevator and strode to his Porsche, squashing the feelings raging inside him. He wasn’t going to be a pawn. He was going to have the perfect life.... *** Justin flicked on all the lights in his apartment and dropped onto the sofa. The extra light didn’t make any difference. It still felt cold and empty. What had Tessa done to him? He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. He couldn’t hide from it anymore. And couldn’t ignore the fire raging inside him for her — Tessa was his match, in every way. So he was predictable. So his sister had set him up. None of it mattered. All that really mattered was making the past right for Tessa and making the future right for them both. He’d accepted losing Tessa the last time round. He wasn’t going to do it again. This time, he was going to fight. He was going to make it right. Make her his. Justin picked up his mobile. But first things first. The doorbell finally chimed. Justin straightened his shirt and smoothed down his trousers, throwing back his shoulders and striding to the door. This was it. He yanked it open. She walked in, dressed to perfection, her long lithe body clad in a clinging cream gown, her hair pinned up, pearl drops at her ears and a string of pearls at her throat. “So start explaining,” Victoria demanded smoothly. Justin offered her a seat. “The woman in my office was a proposal planner. I’m sorry for the lie about her being a therapist, but I didn’t want to admit I needed professional assistance.” And there was no way he was going to admit how much he felt about her and hurt Victoria more. “You’re getting help to propose?” she asked, her eyes wide and her voice tight. “To me?”

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He crossed his arms over his chest. “I need to talk to you about us.” Victoria swallowed hard. “Us?” “Victoria, you’re a wonderful person but I can’t do this.” Justin paced the room, his body coiled tight. “I’m sorry. You’re perfect. You really are...but you deserve someone that’ll love you totally. And that’s not me.” She touched her chest, letting out a heavy sigh. “Good. I am so glad you said that.” Justin stiffened. “Pardon?” She swished her hand through the air. “I’m dumping you. I’ve found someone else — someone special to share my life with —” she stood up and smoothed down her dress “— and I hope you do, too.” He couldn’t help smiling, relief washing through him like spring rains. Victoria sauntered to the door. “I hope you didn’t pay the woman too much for the proposal advice seeing as you won’t be needing it for a while.” Justin shrugged. “Hang on,” Victoria cooed, swinging the door wide. “It’s that woman. That proposal woman, isn’t it?” He couldn’t deny it. The thought of Tessa thrummed through his body. Victoria may have been a catch, but there was no doubt in his mind now. Tessa was perfect, more perfect than he could have imagined... “Hey.” Justin strode to the door, catching Victoria on the landing. “If you didn’t really care, then why did you slap me?” Victoria shook her head. “I don’t appreciate being told lies. I would have preferred the truth, straight up.” “I’m sorry. I was trying to tell you the truth but Tessa —” “— is in denial,” Victoria finished for him. The elevator dinged its arrival. “Goodbye, Justin, and good luck.” “You too,” Justin offered, his heart light and his mind buzzing. Now all he had to do was win Tessa’s heart…. CHAPTER EIGHT Justin pushed open the door to Tessa’s offices, his blood pounding in his veins, his chest full, and his mind tense in anticipation of the challenge that lay ahead of him. He had to get this right this time. The receptionist stood beside her desk, buttoning her cardigan. “I’m sorry, we’re closed.” “Where is she?” he demanded. He didn’t care that it was after six, as long as Tessa was still there. The woman picked up her purse. “She’s getting a cup of coffee.” Justin strode down the hallway. Tessa stood behind the counter of the kitchenette, tipping hot water into a cup. A lock of her blond hair fell around her face, her focus on what she was doing. “Tessa.” He whispered her name, his throat tight.

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She jerked her gaze to meet his. “Justin.” Their eyes met and held. A spark of hope warmed him. Tessa clunked the kettle down on the counter and grabbed a tea towel, sponging up the spilt liquid from around her cup. “What are you doing here?” “Looking for you.” She straightened. “Did you muck up the proposal?” He could have been affronted that she’d assumed the worst. That after her help in proposal planning, after she’d shunned him, that he would have reverted to his original plan. “Totally wrecked it.” And he had. Just not in the way she thought. Tessa gripped the tea towel tightly. “Tell me what you said, and I’ll see if I can help you remedy the situation.” He moved over to the bench. “You’re so damned dedicated.” She managed a smile. “That’s my job. So what did you say?” “I surprised her.” He moved closer, praying that there was still a chance for them. “Thought I’d chicken out?” “No, of course not.” She met his gaze. “Well, yes. I was sure you would.” Like he had when they were young. He’d been afraid to get serious, afraid to lose himself in love. “You think I’m not into commitment?” “I think you’re scared of loving someone like your father loved your mother.” Tessa tucked the stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Because when she died your father couldn’t cope without her.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, braving the urge to run from someone who could see him clearly for who he was. “You’re probably right. But I’m here to remedy the situation.” “To get help to propose properly to Victoria?” Tessa shook her head. “Because if it’s anything else — I’m not a therapist. That was a lie for Victoria’s benefit.” “And how much lying have you been doing, Miss Knightly?” The urge to drag her into his arms and kiss away all her doubts was excruciating, but he held his ground. She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Enough to get by.” “I think I’m not the only one that’s been hiding from my true feelings,” he accused. “I don’t know what you mean.” She threw the cloth into the sink. He stopped at the bench. “I’ve been lost, searching for the perfect partner to share my life with.... And then I found you.” “Me? Your perfect partner?” Tessa laughed, but her eyes were cold and flat as though she was a million miles away, or wished she was.

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“Yes, you’re perfect,” he murmured. “From the top of your glorious blond hair to the tips of your toes — perfect.” A shadow flickered in her eyes. “And that’s what you’re after. Perfection?” “You’re beautiful, Tessa. Everything a man could want. I want. Perfect.” He could finally see that his life would mean more than a bank balance and a tally of empty years. And he was ready to stop teasing her and to come clean. “I didn’t propose to Victoria. We broke up. I want to give us a chance.” Her face darkened. “Get out.” Justin swallowed hard. “Pardon?” “You’ve got the wrong girl.” She waved him off. “The wrong idea. Please go.” He hesitated, his mind tumbling in confusion. She gripped the bench tightly with one hand. “I’m sorry about the kiss. It was a mistake. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you. I hate you.” Justin hesitated for only a second, the impact of her words slicing through him. How could he have been so wrong? So stupid? She hadn’t been in denial, she’d been honest! He strode out the door. *** Tessa hobbled to the passageway, leaning heavily on her cane for support and not just because her leg was sore but because her legs were like jelly. Tears burned her eyes. He had no idea about her accident... but he wanted perfection and there was no way she could offer him that. Tessa’s stomach curled. She’d hurt him. And the knowledge clawed at her, but telling him the truth wouldn’t have helped. She didn’t want his pity. She waited for the sound of the shop door. Nothing. Tessa stumbled into her office, her heart pounding. What was he doing? She lurched to her sofa and collapsed onto it, kicking her cane underneath. “I need you to open the door.” Justin stood in the doorway. “Why’s that?” she managed calmly. “Because the door is locked.” “My receptionist always locks up after herself. I usually work late. I don’t want just anyone walking in late at night.” Tessa bit her lip. She was babbling. “Well…” The office keys were in her handbag in her desk. “You can get the keys yourself.” Justin crossed his arms over his chest. “And why is that?” “Because I’m not going to go to any effort for you,” she said as calmly as she could.

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He reduced the distance between them and held out his hand to her. “Let me help you up, then.” “They’re in the bottom drawer on the right.” Her throat ached and her eyes burned. Why couldn’t her secretary have just left the door open? Justin shoved his hands in his pockets and stared down at her. “I get the impression that something else is going on here.” Tessa tried to laugh, but the sound clogged in her throat. “So what is it? Another lover? A hidden agenda? A secret baby?” Tessa almost choked. “You’re crazy. Please just get the keys and go.” “Fine. Goodbye then, Miss Knightly.” He held out his hand, offering her a cordial handshake. She took it. One last goodbye. She could let herself have that, could savor his touch one last time. Justin straightened, pulling her with him, stepping back and yanking her to her feet. “You can show me out.” Tessa staggered. “What in —?” Concern blazed in his eyes. Tessa hung on to him for balance. Damn stupid leg. Darn her secretary for locking the door! Justin wrapped her in the comfort of his arms, drawing her close. “What’s going on, Tessa?” She sighed, looking up into his rich dark eyes. “I was knocked off my bike by a car a while back and now my leg isn’t as reliable as it used to be. That’s all. No big deal. It doesn’t make any difference.” “Then why didn’t you tell me? Show me?” His voice thick, his brow furrowed. Tessa sucked in a slow, deep breath. “I wanted you to remember me the way I was,” she whispered, staring at the floor. Justin tilted her chin up. “I want to keep you just the way you are.” Tessa’s eyes burned, and a wave of warmth washed through her. She couldn’t believe it. “I’m not perfect,” she said carefully. “You’ve always been, and always will be, perfect to me.” He ran his hand around the curve of her neck, his thumb stroking her cheek. “The problem as far as I see it is that you don’t love me.” She managed a smile, her chest filled with love. “So I lied.” “You do love me?” he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Always.” And Justin claimed her lips, wrapping her in his warm arms, kissing away the years of pain, of separation.

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Tessa held him tightly. She knew there were no guarantees that they’d have the perfect life, but she knew that they had something worth far more. They had love, and deep down inside, she knew they’d always have each other.

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The Tycoon's Surprise by Katherine Garbera Life has been handed to Maxwell Harris on a silver platter ? that is, except when it comes to finding one true love. Sabrina Tyrell is a charming diversion from the business that brought him to Amelia Island, but Max wants nothing more from her than one perfect night spent arousing the passion he senses within her. Sabrina has made a good life for herself, but she's always been unlucky in love. Trusting fate seems to find her falling flat on her face. On a dream island vacation, she meets Max, a man she suspects could bring her to a level of pleasure that has always eluded her. What she doesn't expect is to fall in love with her one-night standSabrina has made a good life for herself, but she's always been unlucky in love. Trusting fate seems to find her falling flat on her face. On a dream island vacation, she meets Max, a man she suspects could bring her to a level of pleasure that has always eluded her. What she doesn't expect is to fall in love with her onenight stand Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| Chapter One: Max Harris wasn't the kind of guy who engaged in one-night stands. But Sabrina Tyrell was bringing him around to a new way of thinking. He'd noticed her when she'd arrived by boat on Amelia Island last Tuesday. It wasn't that she'd been alone instead of with a group like most of the other women who visited the luxurious island resort. She'd stepped off the dock and onto the sand and closed her eyes. There was a frankly sensual appreciation of the earth in her body. It had been powerfully arousing to him. They'd spent the past five days together doing everything from wind sailing to scuba diving. For the first time since he'd started working, Max didn't want his stay at the resort to end. He wondered if Sabrina felt the same way, but didn't want to ask. He had a meeting in Chicago early on Monday and tonight was probably the last time he'd see Sabrina. And he wasn't going home until he'd done more than kissed her luscious lips. He wanted to explore the sensuality hidden in her eyes. To see if the passion she'd brought to wind sailing rivaled the passion he sensed she'd bring to his bed. Their lives were literally worlds away. She thought he was a CPA from Chicago, which was true in one sense, but he was more than that. As CFO of Harris Resorts, he did more than keep the books. He traveled regularly to the various resorts owned by his family and to others as well, to check on the quality of the services. Such as this luxurious restaurant, where he'd invited Sabrina to dinner, to share his last evening at the resort ? and, he hoped, the rest of the night as well. "Thanks for dinner, Max," she said, interrupting his thoughts. "It was the least I could do after you showed me the finer points of wind sailing." He couldn't remember ever being so attracted to a woman. Tonight she wore a slim-fitting sundress that brought out her tan and made her shine like the sun. Her hair was caught at the nape, and he wanted to free it. He liked seeing her brown curly hair free about her shoulders. She had the healthy look of a woman who loved the outdoors. She was fit and in shape, but not in a sculpted muscular way. Her breasts were full and her hips gently curved. Her long legs were accentuated by the strappy high-heeled sandals she wore tonight. "Most men don't like to take advice from women." "Well, my father always said, he who doesn't ask for help ends up looking like a fool."

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Sabrina's eyes were deep, unfathomable pools in the candlelight. He burned to know her secrets. To unravel the mystery that was Sabrina so he could get her out of his system. "I can't imagine you looking like a fool." "It's happened more often than I'd like to admit," he said. A warm breeze stirred the flame of the candle on the table between them. It felt as if they ere the only two people on the island tonight. Though they were at an exclusive restaurant, the dining area was comprised of small balcony alcoves that provided intimacy. Max was glad he'd brought her here tonight. She was a woman used to fending for herself, but tonight he wanted to pamper her and cherish her. To give her something he sensed she'd never had before. Because that's what she'd done for him. What time do you leave tomorrow?" she asked. "I have to be back in Jacksonville by six." "In the morning?" she asked. "No, evening." "You?" he asked. "I don't leave for three more days," she said. "Want to take a catamaran out tomorrow?" He nodded. "Sure, but let's concentrate on tonight." "Okay." She pushed the wild rice around on her plate and toyed with her fish instead of eating it. "Did you like the mahimahi?" he asked. "Yes. I'd never tried it before," she said, her voice cool and distant. "Thanks for recommending it." "Why are you suddenly treating me like a stranger?" he asked. She stiffened and placed her fork on the table. "It's just that I don't know you in this setting." "I'm still the same guy you've spent the past five days with." "I know, but here you fit in and I don't. I've never been to a place as fancy as this. I'm not used to such luxury. I feel like I don't blend in." "You're right," he said. Her mouth turned down and she glanced out at the starlit ocean. "I'd hoped you hadn't noticed." He grasped her chin and turned her face toward his. "You could never blend in here. You stand out like an exotic flower. Beautiful and bright, full of life and promising sensuality. Every man in the place wants to be with you, every woman wishes she were you."

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She blinked and turned away again. Her skin was soft to the touch but then he'd known it would be. He also knew her stomach was just as soft and very sensitive. He'd used the flimsiest of excuses to touch her the past few days but tonight there would be no excuses and no mistaking his intent. A slight blush covered her cheeks. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that." "Why not? It's the truth." "Only you see me that way." "Then see through my eyes," he said. He'd originally approached Sabrina on his first day of vacation because he was attracted to her. But she'd made it clear she wanted to be treated like a buddy and not a woman. Last night, he'd kissed her and made it obvious she was more than a buddy to him. He'd given her time to get used to him but he was out of time. Tonight was their last chance to explore the hidden current of desire that ran strongly between them. "I'm afraid," she said at last. "Of what?" "You make me want to be someone I'm not," she said. "Have I asked you to?" Because he realized he wanted to unleash her sensuality but not change the woman she essentially was. "No. But I've always dreamed of being an adventurous woman." "What kind of adventure?" he asked. Because she was the most daring person he knew. She'd swum with sharks in New Zealand and climbed sheer rock faces in Utah. When she'd told him of her daring he'd had a moment of fear for her. That this beautiful vibrant woman may have died before he'd had a chance to meet her. "Did you mean it when you kissed me?" she asked. "You know I did." "How can I be sure?" she asked. Her doubts were clearly written on her face. She wanted him but he knew her well enough to know she was the kind of woman who didn't give herself easily. "Because I'm a man." "That sounds very chauvinistic." "Only to someone who hasn't spent time with me." "It's strange to think how well I do know you," she said at last. "It's kismet, Sabrina," he said. Saying it was lust wasn't what she needed to hear from him. And in a way he did believe in fate. Just not in love. He'd never believed in any of the softer emotions because in his experience those were the ones others had exploited to manipulate him. "The last time I trusted fate I ended up flat on my face."

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"I'm not asking you to trust fate," he said. "No?" "No. I'm asking you to trust your instincts." "Which instincts?" "The ones that are telling you to indulge in your most daring adventure." She stared at him. "If I do, I'm not going to let you take control." "What do you want from me, Sabrina?" he asked, realizing she might have been biding her time this week. She glanced around the deserted balcony, then leaned across the table. The flickering light of the candle accentuated the planes of her face. "I want you, Max. Just you, for this one night." Chapter Two Sabrina didn't know what she'd expected from Max. Since they'd met five days earlier at this resort on Amelia Island, he'd been eager to spend time with her. But becoming her love slave for an evening might be asking for too much A moment ago, she'd steeled her nerves and taken the plunge, doing what she'd secretly wanted to do since she first met Max. She'd propositioned him, letting him know that she wanted to spend more than just the evening with him. She wanted the whole night, too. He arched one eyebrow at her. "That's just what I had in mind, darling." Max Harris was the kind of man who could use the word darling and not sound ridiculous. Tall, tanned, and very fit, he'd seemed at home on the ocean and beaches. It was only tonight that she realized he fit just as well in the world of the wealthy. She'd saved for 18 months to be able to afford a week's stay at this exclusive resort. Max was first-class all the way, from the tips of his hand-sewn Italian leather shoes to the Armani evening suit he wore with a graceful ease that told its own story. "Good," she said. Amusement lit his stark features. He reached across the table and drew his forefinger down the side of her face, lingering at the pulse beating at the base of her neck. "I promise it'll be better than good." "What if I want to be in charge?" she asked around a tight throat. Her nipples had beaded at his first hot touch. She wanted him to keep touching her. To move his fingers lower, past the strap of her sundress, under the bodice to the naked flesh waiting for him. "Darling, whatever you want." What had he said? She was deep in a fantasy where this man would do whatever she asked. Thank God they were all alone on a private secluded balcony because she felt as if she was about to melt into a puddle. "Anything?" He rubbed his forefinger again on her neck and she felt gooseflesh spread down her arm. She slid forward on her chair so that he could caress her easily. "I'm interested in your pleasure," he said.

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A tingle started at her center and spread throughout her body. No man had ever said those words to her. She shifted in her seat and tried not to let him take complete control of her. She had an objective. The moment she'd met Max, she'd had the feeling that he might be the one man with whom she might be able to experience the "big O." She'd experimented with different guys, but this time she wasn't taking any chances. She was more than mildly attracted to Max, and he seemed like a guy who knew his way around a woman's body. Instinctively, she felt that the passion she sensed within Max when they wind sailed together would cause sparks if they spent time together between the sheets as well. "I think we had the same objective in mind, but there might be a few differences in opinion over the exact activities." He removed his touch from her and she felt suddenly cold. She worried that she might not be able to protect herself from caring for him. It had become really clear tonight that Max moved in a world in which she'd never be comfortable. "Whatever the activity, I can guarantee your pleasure, Sabrina." His voice caressed her the same way his finger had. Brushing over her skin to spread slowly throughout her body, fanning fires his touch had ignited. Until her pulse beat a little quicker. Her skin felt ultra sensitized. The warm ocean breeze enhanced those feelings, playing over newly awakened nerve endings. While she wasn't normally aggressive around men, she'd decided this luxury vacation was a once in a lifetime chance. And she wanted more than a few nights' accommodation at the five-star resort. She wanted a red-hot affair with the kind of man passionate dreams were made of. She didn't believe that dream man existed until she'd seen Max Harris. She'd met him the first day she'd stepped off the boat on Amelia Island. The way he'd looked at her made her feel like a beautiful woman in a way she never had before. She knew how to hold her own with surfers, fishermen, and other outdoor enthusiasts because she owned a surfing and fishing rental shop in Ft. Lauderdale. But none of them ever made her feel special the way one look from Max did. The waiter cleared their dinner plates. Max ordered dessert and wine for both of them, speaking with the waiter in fluent French. She had some doubts. She wasn't cultured or sophisticated like Max so obviously was. Her planned seduction of her wind-sailing, bodysurfing buddy needed some adjusting. She scarcely recognized this GQ guy in a suit that without a doubt cost more than the rent on her apartment. Mentally she knew it was the same guy but appearances had really changed. "Do you like raspberries, Sabrina?" he asked. She nodded, suddenly incapable of speech. What had she been thinking? Her stomach fluttered and she felt more nervous now, sitting on this secluded balcony with Max, than she had when she'd been in the water with the sharks. "I thought you would." His voice made her want to close her eyes so she could let her ears focus on him. He called to all of her senses. Made her want to indulge each of them slowly on their own. Let his voice brush over her skin so close she could hear each word against her as he spoke. The humid warmth of his breath, the subtle touch of his strong lips, the rough edge of his teeth. She opened her eyes and found Max staring at her. She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, did you say something?" "Not a word. I was too busy enjoying you."

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"Don't say things like that," she said. She already liked him too much. And she didn't want to like the man. Lust was okay, but liking could lead to caring and then to hurt. Because she knew that Max and she weren't meant for more than a vacation fling ? a one-night stand. She only hoped her heart would listen. "Why not?" "Because you make me believe in fairy tales again." "Which ones?" "Happily ever after," she said. She reached for her wineglass as an uncomfortable silence filled their table. She could hear the surf breaking on the beach below them. The cicadas called and the wind rustled the palm trees against the side of the building. "I thought all girls believed in that," he said. "Girls do. Women know better." "Who taught you that lesson?" he asked. "None of your business," she said. "What if I make it my business?" She thought about it. He had no idea what she'd be giving up. Her chance at finally experiencing real pleasure in a man's arms. But there was no way she'd ever tell Max that she'd once been so foolish as to love a man who loved only his bank account. A man who thought she was a cheap distraction and not worthy of his real emotions. "Then I'd be happy to sail with you tomorrow but I won't stay with you tonight." "That secret means more to you than passion?" Her back stiffened. "Yes." Chapter Three Keep your secrets, Max said, knowing that discovering the mysteries of Sabrina?s body would be enough for him. Since he'd come to Amelia Island, Sabrina had definitely proved a distraction. And a temptation that he didn't have to resist ? tonight. His life waited for him in Chicago. A life that included a father who was pressuring Max to marry a society debutante and take over as chairman of Harris Resorts. He'd come to this Florida resort as much to think about the future as to relax, and instead of doing either he'd found Sabrina Tyrell. The waiter brought their dessert: berries and cream, and a nice wine. Max poured a small amount in his glass. Keeping his eyes on Sabrina, he swirled the glass and let the scent of the wine surround him. He lifted the glass and took a sip. "Very good. Full-bodied and robust ? shrouded yet promising." "Me or the wine?" she asked as the waiter filled both of their goblets.

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He liked her best when she remembered she was a strong woman. He must have thrown her for a loop this evening because it was the first time he'd seen a hint of vulnerability in her. "Both." She was a strong woman unafraid of her own desires. Which was what he was counting on. While some men thought sex was created for only their pleasure, Max had learned a long time ago that his pleasure hinged on his partner's. Only when she'd been well satisfied would he feel the kind of gratification he craved. She took a sip of her wine as the waiter moved away. "I could say the same about you." He was ready to leave this table behind. To pull her to her feet and hold her in his arms. One kiss be damned ? he wanted all of her curves resting against him as he caressed her. Seduction took patience, he reminded himself. "Serge," Max said to the waiter. "Sir?" "Please close the door to the main dining room on your way out and leave us undisturbed." "Yes, sir." Serge departed, closing the door behind him. Once again the feeling of being the only two people in paradise assailed him. He wouldn't mind playing Adam to her Eve. How far would Sabrina trust him? He'd never been so tempted by a woman. Never had one messed so completely with his control. He'd been hard off and on for the past five days and tonight it seemed that was finally at an end. For all his sophistication, he thought wryly, he was still only a man. "I wouldn't have guessed you could be so commanding. What else are you hiding, Max?" she asked. There was a teasing glint in her eyes that only added to the tightness of his groin. "Nothing. I'm an open book." Or at least he liked for everyone to think he was. He'd learned a long time ago that the poor-little-rich-boy role only made him feel like a whiner. If there was one thing Max didn't tolerate it was whining, especially from himself. "Why is this the first time I've seen this side of you?" she asked. "I've never pretended to be anything but myself. Maybe you weren't looking hard enough?" he took another sip of the wine, this time tracking her tongue across her lips after setting the glass down. Her full lower lip was moist and beckoning. He wanted to kiss her again. Had waited too long for this moment. "Perhaps," she said. "But you were looking?" he asked, needing reassurance. Maybe because he knew that if one night was all they'd ever have, he wanted her to be very sure of herself. "Does your ego really need stroking?" she asked, rubbing her finger over the rim of her glass. He longed to feel her finger on him in the same motion. Rubbing against his chest and down lower. Using her long-fingered grip on his most intimate flesh.

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He groaned. Blood had flooded his groin the moment she'd said stroke. To hell with seduction and a slow sensuous dance, he needed her. Now. "No, but I do." "Good. I assumed you had something specific in mind when you asked Serge to leave us alone." "I did." "What?" she asked. He sensed her hesitation. Was this new to her? What kind of men had she known that she'd be so unsure now? "Come over here and I'll tell you." "Why?" "Don't question. Just come here." "I'm not used to being ordered around." "I promise you won't object to what I have in mind." She stood and walked toward him. Her walk was the embodiment of her sexuality. If she hadn't been unaware of it he'd have thought she was a first-class man-eater. But after spending so much time with her, he realized she moved in a way that was comfortable for her. If every man who saw her was left aching and wanting, that was his problem. She stopped by his chair. He circled her wrist. A slender gold bracelet with a dolphin charm adorned her tanned skin. He tugged her off her feet and onto his lap. Finally she was in his arms. She smelled faintly of some floral perfume, and her breath when she sighed smelled of the wine they'd drunk. "The night seems endless," she said. "Are you ready to enjoy it?" She wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her face to his. "What do you think?" "That you are one hell of a surprise, darling." He took her mouth the way he'd been wanting to since he'd left her at her room last night. Deeply, leaving no part of her mouth unexplored. She tasted of the wine and faintly of her dinner, but he thrust his tongue deeper into her mouth trying to find the essence that was Sabrina. Needing to embed her taste so deeply inside him that once they parted he'd never forget this, or her. Her tongue was shy but determined. Max tilted his head to allow her better access. Her fingers burrowed into his hair, her nails scraping the back of his scalp. He shifted her in his lap. The skirt of her sundress was straight and narrow and earlier he'd loved that it hugged her hips lovingly, but now he cursed the tight material. Because he wanted ? no ? needed to feel her skin. He rubbed the line of her spine, slid one of the straps of her sundress down her arm. She moaned deep in her throat. The sound scorched him. He slid his mouth down the length of her neck. Her skin was warm to the touch and he felt her pulse race as he suckled her nape.

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Her hands were busy moving down his chest and caressing him through the barrier of his shirt, enflaming him further. Reaching beneath her, he lowered the zipper of her sundress, and used his teeth to tug the silk fabric away from her skin. She was as lovely as he'd expected, a little fuller though. Her breasts were round with large nipples. His hands shook as he looked at her. His legendary control hung by a damned thread. He brought his hands to her feminine flesh, touching her with a soft hand. She shivered. He couldn't wait another minute to taste her. To see if her breasts would be as sweet as her mouth had been. He blew gently on her flesh and watched her shiver. The nipple beaded lightly under his breath and he couldn't wait another minute. But she wasn't quite ready for his mouth yet. She was too still, watching him. "Something's missing," he said. He reached over to the dish of cream that had come with the berries and took a bit on his finger. He rubbed it into her areola. She gasped and her fingernails bit into his arms. He bent and licked at her. Tasting the sweetness of the cream and the even sweeter flesh beneath it. Soon licking wasn't enough and he took her hardened nipple into his mouth, suckling her. Searching for something from her body that he hadn't been aware he'd been missing until this moment. He brought his left hand up to caress her other breast. Sabrina was breathing hard now and Max felt as though he was going to explode if he didn't get inside her. But not here. Not now. He lifted his head. "Don't stop," she said. "I want you naked, Sabrina. I want you in my bed so I can take my time with you." "Please, Max. I've never been this close before. Please...don't stop." Chapter Four "Close to what?" he asked. Great. Now she had to say it. She'd been caught up in the moment earlier or she'd never have mentioned it. She began to feel self-conscious. Her breasts were bared, making her feel voluptuous. His hands were still caressing her skin but his eyes were on her face and not her body. He was the most sensual man she'd ever met. She'd never felt a tenth of the desire she'd experienced with Max with any other man. You can tell me, darling, he said, in a husky whisper that made her shiver. She swallowed and looked out at the sea, not at him. "The big O." "I can promise you more than an orgasm," he said, smiling sexily. She gulped. As much as she craved adventure she wasn't too sure how far from the ordinary she wanted to go. While the thought of even making love on this balcony was enough to titillate her, anything too kinky might not. "Relax, Sabrina. I only want to be the first man to show you what your body was meant to experience." He scooted the dessert plate across the table, and moved his wineglass out of the way.

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She'd never realized how much bigger and stronger Max was than her until he easily shifted her on his lap. Moving her so that her back rested against the table and she straddled his hips. His hands were large, nearly spanning her waist and she felt delicate and feminine when he held her. He wedged one hand under the skirt of her dress. "I hate this slim pain-in-the-ass skirt." "Why?" "Because I can't get my hands under it." "Want me to help you?" "Unless you want me to give it a slit, I think you better." She laughed out loud. His frustration was so plain. The guys she'd dated would have torn her dress and not thought twice about it. She stood and then realized what she was about to do. She wanted more than a quickie on the table. Max meant more to her than just physical pleasure and she had to remember that. "Why don't you scoot your chair back?" He stood and moved his chair away from the table and positioned it to face the ocean. The candle still flickered on the table providing the only light on the balcony. She felt primitive and restless. "Is this what you had in mind?" he asked. She nodded. "Don't get too comfortable." "I don't think comfort comes close to describing what I'm feeling." "Good. Take off your shirt." "When did the stakes change?" he asked, but was already shrugging out of his suit jacket. He draped it over the back of his chair as if they had all the time in the world. "When I realized that I'm not waiting for you to give me what I want. I'm taking it," she said, as he removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Finally he was bare chested. "I like aggressive women." She liked him. She'd seen his chest before, so it came as no surprise to her that he was hard-bodied and sculpted. But tonight that was just one more element in the many that were making her feel like a new woman. "I'm not surprised." "Your turn," he said, sitting back in the chair. If she removed her dress... No guts, no glory, she thought. She tugged the bodice of her dress up, he cloth felt too restraining. She found the side zipper quickly and tugged it down. The dress fell off of her in waves and pooled at her feet. He whistled between his teeth. She cocked her head at him and slid her hand slowly down her body. Loving the feel of her bare skin. Never had she been more comfortable with who she was than in this moment. She reached the waistband of her lacy underwear.

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"Leave your panties on," he said. The words were not husky but almost a growl. "Come here," he commanded. She went to him. His hands spanned her waist, pulling her forward. "Put your legs on either side of my hips," he said, against her breast. She remembered his mouth on her before and braced herself for the sensation again. The rhythmic tugging of his mouth stoked the fire that had been burning since he'd removed his shirt. Even through the barrier of his pants she could feel him, hot and hard between her legs. She caressed his chest and abs, moving toward her goal. She paused at his waistband. His hands swept down her back, grasping her buttocks and pulling her down on his lap. "Still ready?" he asked, dropping biting kisses on the globes of her breasts. He took her hips in his hands and pulled her more fully against his hard-on. "Oh, yes." He returned to her breast, scraping his teeth lightly along her hardened nipple. She shivered and pressed her aching center to the hardness between her legs. She held on to the back of his neck, half-afraid he'd leave her like this. Aching and needing. Her hips rocked slowly ? involuntarily. There was no real rhythm to her motions, just a convulsive seeking of something that only he could give. He took control of that rocking, rubbing the crown of his penis against her mound, through the barrier of his pants. She fumbled between their bodies trying to free him. His hands left her hips and his mouth left her breast. He grasped her chin and forced her to look at him. His pupils were dilated and she knew he wasn't stopping. "The first time is just for you," he said He took her hips again, his hands cupping each cheek of her bottom. She felt him hot and hard underneath her. His mouth returned to her skin, this time suckling at the base of her neck and chill bumps spread throughout her body. She didn't know if she could take much more, she jerked her mound over his hardness. But he forced her to a more sedate pace, moving her hips in a circling counterpoint to his thrusts. She moaned once and her hands tightened on him. She was so close. Everything inside her was building to the breaking point. Suddenly she felt every muscle in her body tense. The world narrowed and she dug her fingers into his shoulders, shuddering. "Oh, Max." He lifted his mouth from her shoulder and took her lips with his. She rocked a few more times and then fell against him. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands slowly sliding up and down her back. Her breasts were still sensitized and the warm planes of his chest made her want more. Though she'd found completion she needed him. Needed to be filled with Max so that she'd know they'd both shared something. Suddenly she wished this wasn't their only night together. This past week they'd become friends, but tonight they would become lovers. All at once she realized that her feelings about Max were more than caring friendship, and she didn't know if he'd ever feel that way about her. "Was it everything you expected?" he asked. Falling in love, she wondered. No, he meant the big O. "More."

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"Good. Let's get dressed and go to my room. That was only the beginning." He lifted her from his lap and standing in front of him she felt vulnerable. She didn't know if she could do it. Make love with him all night then wave him off in the morning. There was a reason she'd never done this before, she realized. Knowledge was too late in coming, though, because her body still pulsed and there was no way she was going to be able to say no to him or to herself. He shrugged into his shirt, buttoning it and slowly reclaiming that air of sophistication that had knocked her off-kilter earlier. "Uh, Max?" "Yes." She tugged her dress up and closed the zipper. "Just one thing before we leave here." He put on his suit jacket and slid his tie into the pocket, waiting for her to speak. "Next we're going to try a little role reversal." "I don't mind being on top," he said, grinning. "I meant I'll be in charge." Chapter Five TMax had never surrendered control. Never. It wasn't so much a macho thing for him as a survival thing. Only those who ruled themselves could rule others. He'd learned that lesson at a very young age. He'd been steadily climbing the ladder of success at Harris Resorts because as his father said, there were no free rides.hat didn't mean he wasn't a man. He was still aching hard and he would give anything to feel her creamy warmth around him. Saying no simply wasn't an option. Taking Sabrina's elbow, he led her off the balcony and through the dimly lit restaurant. It was a shock to see other diners. He'd become used to being with just Sabrina and he needed that isolation again. He wanted to get her alone so he could bring her around to his way of thinking. For all her strength she was an easygoing woman. As he knew from spending the better part of the week with her. Taking action made him feel better, but Sabrina stopped him once they were outside. She pulled her arm free of his touch and he missed the feel of her warm skin under his. Damn. Leaving wasn't going to be as easy as he'd hoped. But then few things in life were. The night breeze surrounded them and he could smell the ocean. He tipped his head back and reached deep in his soul for a semblance of normalcy. Reached deep into his memory for some image of Sabrina's face other than the way she'd looked as she'd climaxed in his arms just a few minutes before. But the memory was indelibly etched there. Her head tilted back, her eyes wide, lips parted, skin flushed. He hardened even more. Painfully so. He groaned. "Max?" she asked, gently, touching his arm.

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The walkway from the restaurant to the guest rooms was lit with tiki torches. The hibiscus bloomed nearby. He knew he was avoiding Sabrina but if he looked at her again, the first time they had sex would be in the tropical bushes lining the path. The control she wanted him to cede to her was already thin and losing ground by the minutes. "Why are we stopping?" he asked, his voice rough to his own ears. Sounding more like a growling tiger than a human being. She dropped her hand from his arm. "Because I don't think you understood me." "Believe me, Sabrina, I understood." She smiled at him, but he saw the strain in it. He knew she was going to say something that his aching body wouldn't like. If he were half the gentleman he'd always pretended to be then it wouldn't matter. "Then I'll take the lead and we're slowing down," she said. Just go along, his body screamed. But honesty was something he never let g of. If he were only going to have this one night with her he wanted it to be as pure and honest as it could be. "I don't know if I can let you." "You want to go back to your room alone?" she asked. "You've never struck me as a tease," he said, dying a little at the words because he knew she didn't owe him anything. He wanted her in his bed out of desire not debt. "You always struck me as a man of your word," she said carefully. He closed the distance between them. Stopping only when less than an inch of space separated their bodies. Glancing down he noticed her breasts strained the bodice of her sundress. And her breathing was short and shallow. Walking away from him wasn't something she wanted to do, he thought. "I haven't given you my word." "No, you haven't." She turned away. Didn't move from him, but he felt as if he were suddenly out in the cold. "Why is this so important?" She glanced over her shoulder at him. "I've always felt like your equal until tonight. You're from a different world than mine. You've seen me aching and vulnerable. You gave me so much pleasure I thought I'd die from it. And now..." "You want to see me the same way," he said. "Yes." "I want to be inside you so badly, Sabrina, I'm willing to say whatever it takes to get you back to my room. But I don't know if I'll be able to let you take control." "Is it a big issue for you?" He didn't want to tell her but, hell, the fact they were having this conversation was probably giving her plenty of indication. "Bigger than you'll understand."

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"Tell me." "Hell, woman, I don't want to talk. This is our only night together." Her eyes misted and she looked away. "I know. Maybe that's why it's so important to me to keep this equal." He rubbed her shoulder. He wanted to hug her to him but truly he needed to be buried deep inside her before he could do anything other than react like an instinctual man around her. Even her scent taunted him with each humid breeze that blew. Did he want to let her go? Was he willing to be vulnerable to her? "Ah, hell," he said, drawing her back into his arms. She held herself stiffly until he bent and dropped a feather kiss on her nape. She relaxed back against him. "Why are you making this so complicated? We only have this one night." "Why do we only have this one night? I know we live apart but..." She pivoted in his arms, not leaving him, just turning. Her slender fingers rested against his chest. "Do I not fit in your world?" "No, you don't," he said. The words were the truth. She didn't fit into his world. She rocked it. She made the normal world look like an alien landscape and he knew if it wasn't for the guarantee of only one night he wouldn't be here now. Because Sabrina made him feel and experience emotions that scared him. "Then you have a choice to make," she said. "I've already made it," he said. Realizing that she wasn't going to let him keep her an arm's length away set him free. For this one night he wanted to forget his calm controlled life and just feel. "Very good," she said. But the wicked gleam in her eye couldn't hide the sadness underneath. He wanted to reassure her but couldn't. Wanted to offer her comfort but didn't. Wanted to show her that she was worlds above the others he knew and decided that was one thing he could do. "I'm yours," he said. She took his lapels and lifted herself on tiptoe. Kissing him the way they do in dirty movies. Her tongue in his mouth, her hands on his butt blocking out everything except the lust that had been raging silently while they'd discussed everything and nothing. "I have plans for you, Max. Plans that I can only put into motion with you." "I'm intrigued." "When I'm done with you, you will be satiated." "Promises, promises," he said lightly, but inside he quaked. That other part of himself, the one that he hid under his control, wasn't a man he was sure of and he hoped he'd be able to let her have what she wanted. Hoped he'd be able to experience a night in her arms and then do what he had to do. Do what was necessary if he was going to have any peace for the rest of his life. He was going to have to walk away and not look back. "You still with me?" "Yes."

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"Then follow me," she said, leading him by the hand. And like a tempted man, he did. Chapter Six Sabrina knew next to nothing about seduction, but Max inspired her. Her body still pulsed from her earlier climax but she was empty deep inside. Empty in a way she'd been most of her life, but she sensed that Max could be the man to finally fill that need. She led him to her room because she was a coward, and leaving him during the night was something she didn't think she could do. Earlier she'd made her plans. She had the trappings of romance in her room. A huge sage scented pillar candle that reminded her of the outdoors. About six of her own soft feather pillows from home because she liked a lot of pillows. And lastly, a box of condoms she'd bought from the hotel gift shop that afternoon. "Close your eyes," she said to Max. He did. She entered the room and lit the sage candle, as well as a few smaller tea lights she'd brought with her. Having only one night together meant for her that the fantasy had to be real. And Max was too much a realist to pretend to feel something for a woman he'd be leaving in the morning. His nostrils flared and she wondered if sage reminded him of the outdoors, of the time they'd spent together, the way it did for her. She knew where he was concerned she was weak, so she straightened her backbone and took his wrist, leading him into her room. She nudged him down on the bed and crossed the room to open the French doors, which led to a balcony that overlooked the ocean. "Let's get a few ground rules out of the way." He leaned back on the bed, eyes still closed but looking like a pasha in some harem of old. The feather pillows were piled beneath his back. He adjusted one or two until he was comfortable. Taking control seemed like a distant dream. "I'm all ears," he said. "I will tell you what to do ? you will do it." "I believe I understand, darling." She wouldn't have guessed that one could be dominant from a resting position, but he was. "Open your eyes and get up from the bed." He did as she asked and she realized this was never going to work. She longed to see him naked but ordering him to do anything beyond that was something she couldn't do. "Max." Damn, her voice sounded shaky to her own ears. Crossing the room toward her he stopped only when his chest brushed against hers. Each inhalation of breath caused a riot to her senses. She needed him. "Yes?"

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"This love slave thing. I can't do what I'd originally planned." "I want to be inside you, Sabrina," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Uh...could I order you to make love to me?" She wanted to add, like a woman you love, but didn't. "That would make me the happiest man alive. Is that what you want?" She nodded. He lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bed. He placed her in the center and stepped back. The light of the candles played over his skin. The high planes of his cheekbones and his square jaw appeared stark. "This isn't going to be a slow steady seduction. I can't wait that long. I can promise you pleasure so intense you'll never forget it or me." He stripped off his clothes, not with finesse and flare as he'd done earlier on the balcony when removing his shirt. His movements were quick and jerky, his objective was clear. Nudity ? now. His shirt, jacket, and tie were cast aside. His hands went to the fastening of his pants. She reached for the side zipper of her dress, as he kicked off his shoes. "No, leave on your clothing," he said, toeing off his socks. He pushed his pants and boxers down his legs and stood in front of her magnificently naked. His chest was hard and sculpted. Each rib delineated by hard muscle. Her gaze followed the line of hair on his chest that narrowed and tapered until she found the part of him she craved. Her most feminine flesh clenched. She wanted him inside her now. She craved him. She lifted her arms toward him as he knelt on the bed and leaned over her. His mouth took hers in a deep hungry kiss. His tongue thrusting deep in her mouth, curling around her own and tickling the roof of her mouth. She moaned and tried to reciprocate but was powerless to do so. His large hands held her head still for the kiss. The rest of his body didn't touch hers. She felt the heat from his skin but at a distance. She twisted, trying to bring their bodies in contact and succeeded for only a minute. He lifted his head from hers, his gray eyes intense in the flickering candlelight. The ocean breeze blew into the room, stirring the embers of the fire burning in them both. "What do you want?" "Everything," she said. He lowered the side zipper of her dress. Freed her arms from the spaghetti straps and then lowered her bodice. Her nipples were tight and hard. She wanted his mouth on them again. Wanted to feel that fierce suckling again but instead he lowered his furry chest to her torso, resting against her. His weight was still supported by his strong arms. She moaned and shifted beneath him. Trying desperately to press her breasts against his warmth. "More?" he asked. "Yes," she said. He rotated his upper body, keeping a light contact with her hardened nipples. She liked that he knew his body well enough to wait for her. But she wanted him writhing and craving more the same way she did. She scraped her fingernails down his back, stopping only when she reached his muscled buttocks. She held him firmly and pulled him down onto her body. At last she felt him hot and hard against her entrance. Blocked by the barrier of her silk dress and panties.

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She wanted to touch him. Needed to feel him alive and pulsing in her hand. She reached between their bodies, to enclose him in her hand. He moaned deep in his throat and sat back on his heels. "Spread your knees," she said. He followed her command. She stroked him from root to crown and back again. His throat corded and she knew she had brought him closer to the edge. He reached between them and pushed her dress and underwear down her legs. Sabrina kicked the clothing from the bed. Max grabbed the box of condoms from the bedside table and quickly sheathed himself in one. "Now," he said. She could only nod, her throat too tight to speak. He surged up her body and flowed over her. A warm blanket of masculinity. He tested her readiness with one finger and then two, stretching her body's entrance with a gentle touch. "Hold on to me," he said. She did. Wrapped her arms and legs around him as he slid into her. He was large. Larger than any man she'd had before, filling her completely. He paused as if sensing her body adjusting to him. Then he tipped her head back so their eyes met. He didn't say a word, just watched her as he began to move. His hips thrusting into hers, his chest rubbing against hers. His soul reaching out to hers and catching her up in a delicious ride that went beyond the physical and into the realm of spiritual. She felt herself building again toward climax. Max's breathing was heavy and his hands settled on her hips, lifting her higher for his possession. He thrust deeper, harder, and she felt the end nearing. He drove deeper than he'd been before and light burst inside her head. Every muscle in her body contracted. Max shouted his release and then collapsed on her. Sabrina loved the feel of his weight on her, crushing her into the mattress. He rolled to his side after a moment, taking her with him. She bit her lip to keep from saying the words she desperately needed to. To keep from asking him if he had to leave tomorrow and why one night was all that she could have with the man of her dreams. "I don't want to return to Chicago in the morning," he said. No guts, no glory, she thought. "Uh, Max?" "Yes, darling?" he said, brushing a feather-soft kiss against her head. "Do you have to leave? Does this have to end now?" Chapter Seven Max slid from the bed, picking up his trousers on the way to the balcony. Behind him, he heard the bed linens rustle as Sabrina moved. His mind supplied an image of her bare skin, tousled hair, and troubled eyes He'd been telling her half-truths since the day they'd met and now it was time to make a decision. While it was true that she didn't fit into his life, he knew that she'd never understand that this week and this one night of passion made him long for things he knew he wasn't meant to have.

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He paced to the balcony railing and braced his weight on his hands. The ocean looked vast and endless beneath them. For a moment he was tempted to say the hell with it, take Sabrina, and sail away from civilization. He wasn't sure he could trust something that happened so quickly. Right now it felt as if he'd never be able to get enough of Sabrina. He'd never experienced this depth of emotions before. It frightened him as little else had in life. "I didn't want to ruin the rest of the night," she said after a long pause, her voice sounding strained. Those words struck him like a knife in the back. Sabrina didn't have the barriers for this kind of thing. A onenight stand, Max decided, should only be conducted with a woman he didn't like and respect, and that sure as hell wasn't the case with Sabrina. He wasn't prepared to take responsibility for her hurt and disappointment. Not when he was mired in the same troubled emotional minefield himself. "You didn't," he said, half turning toward her and lifting his arm. She came to him, burrowed close against his warmth. She wore only his dress shirt with one button fastened. She was temptation itself and for the first time he understood what Adam felt in Eden all those years ago. "I thought it would be easier than this," she said after a few minutes. He'd thought so, too. Somehow saying goodbye to her was the one thing he'd never imagined being hard. "I'm probably being too sappy," she said. "No, you're not." She glanced up at him. "You keep surprising me." "In what way?" "You're not like the men I know. You asked me for advice, actually listened to me, put my pleasure before your own...you are making it really hard to remember the fantasy doesn't exist." Her hair curled over his arm. He liked the sensation of that silky mass against his bare skin. Longing to take her back to bed and love her until the world went away, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Love?" he asked. He knew the answer without her saying a word. Could tell by the way she rested her head right over his heart. She shrugged. He could only guess that she had the same roiling emotions in her as he did. Possibly she was afraid to take the chance and end up hurt, too. He'd never loved a person. He cared for his parents but he'd always been too driven, too determined to make it on his own to really let them inside. And they'd always been remote ? more involved in their own lives than their children's. Only Sabrina had breached those walls and he wasn't sure what to do with her now. "We both wanted only one night," he said, as much to remind himself as her. She glanced up at him. Her brown eyes, dark unfathomable pools of emotion, searched his for answers to unspoken questions. "I've changed my mind."

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Max wasn't so sure. He'd started out this evening because she'd kept him on his toes the past week. Enticing him with her curvy body, zest for living, and love of the outdoors. But somehow he'd never glimpsed the vulnerable woman underneath until now. He wasn't sure he could be strong enough to keep from hurting her. And he knew that their lives wouldn't mesh easily together. He couldn't leave Chicago. And she wouldn't leave Ft. Lauderdale. He couldn't imagine that free spirit cooped up in the city. "Did I speak out of turn?" she asked at last. He stepped back. "I'm not the man you think I am." "You are." "I'm not." "Remember how you told me to see through your eyes? You need to do the same thing." "I can't. I'm not sure you've seen the real me. What if all I can give you is what we've just had?" "There's more in you, Max Harris." "I'm not sure. I'm 35 ? too old to change my ways." "Even on the chance of a lifetime." "We've only known each other less than a week." She nodded, crossing her arms over her middle, like she was protecting herself. Damn. He wanted to be the one to keep from hurting her. "I understand," she said. He doubted it. She was the one woman he wanted more than anything in the world but he couldn't risk seeing disillusionment in her eyes. And he knew she'd be disappointed in the life he had to offer her. A life that consisted of long, cold winters and more time spent indoors than out. A life filled from dawn to midnight with work and meetings. A life filled with a man who could never express his emotions. "Come back to bed," she said. There was a sadness in her eyes and her body. "I don't think that's a good idea." "You promised me this night." He followed her back to the bed. Made love to her through the night like a man who'd been told he'd die in the morning. As the first fingers of dawn crept across the room, he slid into her warm luscious body from behind. Holding her tight against him, not taking time to grab a condom, needing this one last remembrance of her in his memory for years to come. When their breathing stilled he got out of bed and dressed quickly before he gave in and stayed. Sabrina watched him from the bed, large brown eyes tracking his every move. "I'm not going to wait for you forever, Max. But if you decide to take a chance on living and loving, call me."

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Chapter Eight In the six long weeks since she'd left Amelia Island, Sabrina had adjusted to a different way of life. Though she still loved Max and missed him, she'd grown. And she had the added bonus of a new life growing inside her. She only wished he'd been able to believe in the very thing she'd disdained for so long. She'd never expected to feel swamped with emotion the way she had. She'd never expected to stumble over the man of her dreams on a luxury vacation. And the very last thing she'd expected was to get pregnant with his child. There was no mystery as to when she'd conceived. She remembered Max sliding into her that last time ? the one time that night that he hadn't worn a condom. The New Moon Surf Shop, her beach rental place, thrived. Spring had come and it seemed everything was in bloom. But this year the scent of orange blossoms and the sight of tanned college men weren't cheering her up. She walked on the beach every day at sunset after closing up the shop. It gave her a feeling of peace at the end of the day. A time for her to commune with her thoughts, and with the life within her. A man walked toward her, interrupting her thoughts. As he came closer, she realized that he looked like Max ? so much so that her heart almost stopped. Then her heart clenched and she knew that it was him. Why had he come back now? She'd tried to contact him through the hotel on Amelia Island but they'd refused to give her his address. She'd resigned herself to happy memories and never seeing him again. And having his baby. "Sabrina," he said, stopping right in front of her. "Max, what are you doing here?" "I..." He couldn't possibly know about her pregnancy. She'd only had it verified this afternoon. It was all she could do not to reach out and touch his face. He looked tired and his eyes were strained. He needed her, she thought. He'd probably never admit it, but she'd been good for him. "This isn't a vacation anymore," she said quietly. Still grappling with the fact that he was here when she needed him. The pregnancy had been a shock to her. And though she was excited to be a mom she was a little scared at the thought of doing it all herself. "We can't have one more night," she said. "Hell, I don't want one more night. I want all your nights." She sucked in her breath, waiting. But he didn't say anything else. Maybe she was dreaming. She'd had a vivid image of Max last night in her bed. But, of course, that had been more sensual in nature. Seeing him again made her remember other things about him she'd forgotten, like the way his mouth lifted a little on the left when he spoke. Would their child do that, too? "Damn. I never thought this would be so hard." He ran his fingers through his thick black hair. She remembered how rich it had felt under her touch. She started to speak but he covered her lips with his fingers, shaking his head. A strange excitement was singing through her veins.

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"It took me about two days to realize I was wrong in leaving you, but I'm stubborn so I didn't admit it until you'd checked out of the resort. It took me another three weeks of pleading, ordering, and bullying before I could convince them I wasn't a stalker and I needed your address." "You're not stalking me?" she asked, with a little laugh, afraid to see where this was leading. "Nope. I'm catching you." She smiled slowly, as she realized why Max was here. "Good." He grabbed her in his arms, holding her tight against him, pressing small kisses into her hair. "The past month without you has been the longest of my life. I'm not going back to Chicago without you." Chicago sounded scary. She was still adjusting to the fact that Max loved her and she was having his baby, moving across the country would be fine with Max by her side. "I'm not the same girl I was on Amelia Island." "You're not?" he asked, lifting one eyebrow. She cupped his jaw with her hands and looked up at him. "No. I want the fairy tale, Max." "White knight and the whole shebang?" "I'm afraid so." "I don't know if I can do that. I'm not one of those guys who can talk about his emotions. I never have been. Coming here is a big deal for me." "Oh, Max," she said, touching his face. "It is for me, too. But I'm through running and hiding from what I want in life." "What do you want, darling?" "I want you by my side as my husband. I want to be your equal and I want you to be mine." "I want the same thing." "I love you, Max." He hugged her close, his hands sweeping down her back. Holding her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. He did love her, she thought, happiness spilling through her. "I'm so glad. I knew this would work out." If he'd slapped her she wouldn't have been more shocked. She pulled away from him. "Nothing's worked out." Confusion knit his brow. In his eyes she thought she saw something more than confusion. Mybe desperation. "But we want the same thing." "No, I need to live with a man who cares as deeply for me as I do for him. A man who can tell me how he feels." "What difference does that make? I'm here for you. I'm devoted to you. Will words really make that big a difference?"

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"Yes," she said. She wrinkled her nose to keep from crying. Ah, hell, she had to get away before she took him back. She started down the beach, running as her emotions got the better of her. But it was too late. Running from her emotions wasn't working. She stopped, even as she heard Max running to catch up to her. She sobbed as the tears burst through. Losing Max on Amelia Island was one thing. She'd expected him to leave. But he'd come back and in a few minutes given her hope that they could have the dream. That they could be a family. She knew for the baby she should stay but she didn't want to raise her child with a man who couldn't confess his deepest feelings to her, who couldn't open his heart to his mate. Max's hand fell heavily on her shoulder and he tugged her around to face him. "You can't leave." "Give me a reason to stay," she said, wiping at the tears making hot tracks down her cheeks. He bent his knee until he knelt at her feet in the sand. Holding her hand in his he looked up at her and her heart stopped beating for a second. Staring up at her he gave his head a rueful shake. "Dammit, lady, you rocked my world. You made me question things about myself that I've always taken for granted. I'm sorry I couldn't say those words to you before, but you have to know I feel them." "Do you think you could learn to say them? Maybe with practice?" "For you, Sabrina, I'll try," he said, smiling sexily. "I love you, Max." She knew the depth of her love. It was stronger than anything she'd ever experienced and she knew that Max felt it, too. Could see it in his gray eyes. He took a deep breath and tugged her into his arms. "Do you promise not to leave me?" Those words cut past all her defenses. "You know I won't." He took a deep breath and pulled her even closer in his arms. She felt the words more than heard them. "I love you, Sabrina. I can't imagine life without you," he said, his words a raspy whisper against her ear. Hugging her around the waist with a fierce desperation she wouldn't have thought him capable of. "Me, too," she said, crying again, but this time because of the fierce happiness sweeping through her. She realized she hadn't told him about the baby yet. How would he feel? Before she could speak, he lowered his head, kissing her like she was water and he'd been in the desert a long, long time. She realized that they'd been searching for each other. Each of them flying through life with only half a wing until they found each other. "Uh, Max?" she asked, when he lifted his head. "Ready to go someplace more private?" he said with a smile. "Yes," she said with a laugh. "I'm not going to let you out of bed for the entire weekend," he said, wickedly.

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"I'll hold you to it, but first I have to tell you something." "Good news?" She wrinkled her brow. Did he suspect? "Yes." "A baby?" "How did you know?" "I think my body knew I wasn't letting you go way before my mind figured it out," he said with a laugh. "Oh, Max!" He whooped and lifted her off the ground, spinning her in his arms. Sabrina held on tight. She'd found her once in a lifetime man and she wasn't letting go.

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The Spy Who Loved Her by Marie Ferrarella Schoolteacher by day, avid mystery fan by night, Marla O'Connor is swept into romance and adventure by a tall, dark, and dangerous stranger. Will she escape with her life ? and her heart ? intact? Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| 9| 10| Chapter One "No, I don't want to meet him," Marla O'Connor told her best friend for the third time as the elevator doors of the St. Charles Hotel closed. Miraculously, given the number of people staying at the San Francisco hotel, the car was empty. With luck, she'd reach the 12th floor in a minimum of time, with a minimum of words from Barbara. Barbara and her fiancé, Stewart, were staying on 11. "I don't want to meet anyone. This is a teachers' convention, Barbara, not one big singles bar. I came here to learn, not date." A pert brunette, half a head shorter than her friend, Barbara frowned. "The two are not mutually exclusive, you know. All I'm saying is that you have to keep your eyes and options open." It was an old tug-of-war, one Marla engaged in with not only Barbara but, it seemed, every female relative in her family tree, including her three very-much-married sisters. "I'll take care of my own options, thank you very much. And as for my eyes, they're going to be open on this book." She held up the hardback she'd purchased in the hotel gift shop. "I'd say something here, but it would be X-rated." Barbara glanced at the title. Mystery at Midnight. "Honestly, Marla, you're an English teacher. That's pure pulp." Not to me, Marla thought. To her it was pure escape. She shrugged, tucking the book back under her arm. "So I'm letting my mind go slumming. There's nothing like a good mystery to get you stimulated." Barbara's smile was positively wicked. "I can think of something else ? to get you stimulated." Marla stopped her before she could elaborate. "I'd rather curl up with a good book than a bad man." Barbara's smile widened. "That all depends on your definition of bad." "Does the word lemon mean anything to you?" "Let's see," Barbara pretended to think as the floors slowly passed. "Lemonade sipped slowly at poolside while some gorgeous hunk of a man is gently rubbing suntan lotion on my warm body." Marla could only sigh, shaking her head. "You are hopeless." "No, ever hopeful." Barbara grasped Marla's arm imploringly. "Marla, we're in the big city here. This is our chance to kick up our heels." "You kick, I'll read." Barbara sighed in defeat. "Then you won't meet Stewart's friend?" "Not tonight I won't." Marla had all the excitement she wanted between the covers of the new mystery. "I'm just going to take a nice hot shower, call room service, and crack open this book." "You're passing up the chance of cracking open champagne instead."

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Barbara, never one to give up easily, had already elaborated her dinner plans with Stewart and his friend at length. "Afraid so." The elevator stopped on eight to pick up two people. Marla moved to the side. "Sometimes I don't know why we're still friends," Barbara whispered to her. "If you're not careful, you're going to turn into Mrs. Everett." The name from their mutual past pulled up no fond memories. "I promise that before I turn into a dour old assistant principal I'll go out with Stewart's friend." Barbara looked at her reprovingly. "Dour old assistant principals are made, not born." The door opened for Barbara's floor. The other two people got off. "Go." Marla all but shooed Barbara out. "Have fun. I hope you have a great dinner. I'll be perfectly happy alone in my hotel room. After listening to all those long-winded seminars I could use a little diversion." Barbara held the door open with her hand. "My point exactly." "A diversion that didn't try to get into my bed at the end of the evening just because I absently smiled at it over dinner." Barbara shook her head. "You really don't know what you're missing." "Then write me a note about it ? fifty words or less. Remember, spelling counts." "Yes, Miss O'Connor." Barbara released the door and it closed. Marla laughed to herself as she stepped off the elevator on her floor. Barbara meant well, but she just didn't understand. Barbara found it easy to meet men, to strike up conversations and be vivacious. She, on the other hand, became instantly tongue-tied when confronted with a prospective date. It was only when she was living vicariously, imaging herself the heroine of a wonderful novel, that she knew just what to say, that her conversation was pithy instead of pathetic. She positively shone in the English literature class she taught at Bedford High. But her light extinguished when it came to face-to-face encounters, especially with goodlooking men. Maybe someday, she mused, someone like Rick Arrowsmith would come into her life. The blurb about the hero in the suspense thriller she'd picked up sounded like everything she wanted in a man. Tall, dark, handsome, and mysterious, with a lethally sexy mouth and piercing eyes that radiated heat and desire. All that and a mind that was razor sharp. What a combination. If she ever found a man like Rick Arrowsmith ? with a sigh, Marla put her card into the slot of her hotel door and slid it down, then turned the latch. The lights were on inside the room. Funny, she didn't remember leaving them on. Maybe housekeeping had come in. But there was no reason for them to do that, she thought. This was her first day here ? she hadn't even unpacked, much less rumpled her bed. There'd only been time to throw her suitcase into the closet before dashing off to the first lecture. Bemused, she stepped out of her shoes and tossed her new book on the bed. She could have sworn she heard a shower running. Had to be in the room next to hers. You'd think an elegant hotel like the St. Charles would have walls that were thicker than that, she thought.

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Marla debated calling room service immediately, but then decided against it. She didn't want the waiter arriving while she was in the shower and she planned to be in there for a very long time. There was something incredibly soothing about having the hot water cascade all over your body. Like a man's hands, gently gliding along your skin. She pulled herself out of her mental reverie before she sank in too deeply. Unbuttoning her blouse, she pulled it out of the waistband of her slender, dark skirt and walked to the bathroom. The sound of running water grew more audible. She supposed the bathrooms were positioned back-to-back to save on plumbing fixtures. Opening the door, she felt the mist first. It surrounded her like a veil that then slowly lifted. A second later she saw the outline of a naked male body on the other side of the translucent glass. Chapter Two The scream froze in her throat like a solid piece of ice refusing to melt. Marla took a shaky step back on rubbery legs, feeling for the doorknob. Sneaking into her vision peripherally, the scattered clothes on the floor registered. Male clothes. To go along with the very male body in her shower. His form was visible through the translucent glass. Specific details might be blotted out, but she could definitely make out the essence of the man. And his essence was nothing short of powerful. Marla swallowed. The solid block of ice remained lodged where it was. She was in the wrong room. The thought desperately tattooed itself through her brain. That had to be it. She was in the wrong room. All the rooms looked alike. That would explain why the lights had been on. But not, she realized almost instantly, how she'd managed to gain entry into the hotel room ? with her card key. With all the different combinations being constantly scrambled, that would mean that the entry codes on her card had to have somehow come out matching the ones to the room she was in. It was a hell of a coincidence, defying astronomical odds. Odds she wasn't up to calculating at the present moment. The moment melted away as the man behind the glass suddenly became aware of her presence and grabbed for something that looked as if it was perched on a ledge above the showerhead. The next second, as her heart rate accelerated to a number that surpassed any records known to science, the glass door was pushed back and she found herself looking at the barrel of a gun. A gun that was pointed right at her chest. The gun barrel was almost as sleek as the wet, dark-haired man pointing it. The frozen scream melted, emerging as a loud gasp by the time it passed Marla's lips. She wasn't sure if the gasp was a reaction to the weapon or the man. Both looked equally lethal from where she was standing. Sharp blue eyes swiftly scrutinized every inch of the room before returning to her. "What are you doing here?" She was trying very hard not to give in to a growing sense of panic. "I ? I thought this was my room ? Twelve-twenty." Even as she said it, the hope that she was in the wrong room evaporated. She specifically remembered seeing the numbers on the door before inserting the entry card into the lock.

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Not a muscle on the angular face moved. "Twelve-twenty's supposed to be empty." "It's not." Her throat had become utterly dry. She found herself longing for the lump of ice she'd imagined there several hundred heartbeats ago. "There was a mix-up at the front desk and the hotel gave me this one." Her mind searched for an explanation. The room had been a last-minute switch. Maybe it hadn't been properly recorded and that was why he was here now. With a gun. Naked. "I can ? I can go," she offered, taking another step back. She froze when she heard the safety being released. "Stay where you are." "Okay." Her voice sounded almost normal to her ears, an incredible feat since within her chest her heart was shifting to and fro erratically like a runner trying to avoid a sniper bullet ? which at the moment seemed chillingly appropriate to her. "But could you please, um ?" Unable to put her request into a complete sentence, Marla lowered her eyes to his torso, but only for the briefest of seconds. Her meaning, she hoped, was clear if unspoken. Raising her eyes again, she saw it. The smile. Actually, it was only a glimmer of one. But to her it was even more unsettling than the weapon and his unclad, stone-hard body with its sheen of droplets slowly making their way to his feet. Somewhere within the confines of a museum in Europe, Michelangelo's David was stepping down off his pedestal, hanging his head in defeat at being usurped. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe she'd fallen asleep while reading her book and was even now, lying on the bed. It was a silly thought, but it sustained her for all of half a minute until the fogged mirror sent part of her reflection back at her, dashing the desperate thought. She wasn't on the bed ? she was here, in the bathroom, trying not to look at the best-built man God had ever created. "Sorry," he apologized in a voice that, at least for the moment, sounded far less threatening. "I forgot I was naked." He'd be the only one who forgot, although if she were honest he was also the only one who was sorry. She tried to draw oxygen into her lungs as her gaze darted anywhere but at her cleansed intruder while he reached for a towel. Quickly, he secured the towel around his waist, moving so fast that his weapon seemed to remain trained on her almost the entire time. And then it came to her. With the realization's advent, Marla straightened the backbone which had been in serious jeopardy of melting. This had to be a put-on, she decided, a put-on cashing in on her single-minded romance with mystery novels. "Barbara put you up to this, didn't she?" "Barbara?" he repeated in a puzzled tone of voice. Empowered by her theory and managing to ignore the contours of the glistening man less than three feet away from her, Marla felt on solid ground. "Very good, act confused." The pieces came to her in a rush. "You've got to be Stewart's friend. The one she was talking about in the elevator. I don't know how you managed to get into my room, but my answer's still the same. I don't like blind dates."

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Although in light of what she'd seen she had to admit that the scale was seriously beginning to tip in the direction of this particular blind date. "Neither do I." He cocked his head as if straining to listen to something in the other room. "Are you alone?" A sinking sensation took hold of her stomach. This wasn't her would-be blind date. He was exactly what he seemed ? a man with a gun. Panic produced her next answer. "No, I'm here with people, lots of people." He motioned her out of the bathroom. There was no one in her room and no sign that there had been. Humor curved his mouth. "Are they tiny people?" "No, they just stepped out. To get ice," she tacked on, her mind working in fits and starts. "Who stepped out?" He moved around the room like smoke, infiltrating everything, assuring himself that they really were alone. "Husband, lover?" "Yes." The answer was breathless. Bending, he quickly checked under the bed. "Which is it? Husband or lover?" Stupid, she upbraided herself. "Both. He's my husband and my lover." He looked at her face then and she could feel his eyes touching her. "I'd say he was a lucky man. And an understanding one to let you go out on blind dates." Marla closed her eyes, feeling like an idiot. "You're alone, aren't you?" Her eyes flew open, alert. "Yes, but I can scream." "I wouldn't advise it." At the window, he drew the curtain back and looked down at the street. "Damn." Letting the curtain drop again, he looked at her. She thought he was deciding on something. She hoped it wasn't whether or not to kill her. "What's your name?" "Marla O'Connor." Maybe Barbara would come to drag her to dinner, she prayed, all the while watching the man's every move. "Well, Marla O'Connor, it looks like I'm going to need your help." His weapon remained pointed at her. Chapter Three Panic clawed at her throat. It took Marla a second before she found her tongue, another second before she could use it. "Exactly why do you need my help?" Many things suggested themselves to her, none of them good. "And just who are you?" He took a step toward her, admiring the way she held her ground despite the fear in her eyes. He wished he could be completely honest with her, but he'd learned that honesty had its price and it was one he couldn't afford to pay right now. "Who I am is unimportant. As to why I need you ?" His eyes slowly washed over her. "At another time or place, my answer would be completely different. But for the moment my situation supersedes any notions of wining and dining a beautiful woman and spending the night getting lost in her ample charms."

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The many bad things Marla had been worrying about temporarily faded into the background. "Beautiful woman?" No one had ever called her that before ? if she didn't count her father, who'd been obligated to say that to his ugly duckling of a daughter. A sexy smile lifted a corner of his mouth. He really would have liked to linger with her, to entertain both of them in the variety of ways he'd learned to pleasure a woman. But even now they were closing in on him, and there was little time left. Perhaps none. "As beautiful as twilight along a Tahitian shore, but this is no time to hunt for a compliment, Marla O'Connor." He got down to business. "I need your charge card." The roller-coaster ride she was on came to an abrupt halt, nearly throwing her from the lead car. Anger usurped common sense. "A robbery? This is a robbery? Aren't you a little underdressed for a robber?" He supposed it probably sounded that way, but he didn't have the time, or the freedom, for elaborate explanations. "No, this is a crisis and I'm underdressed because everything I was wearing was a potential tracking device." He'd wet his clothes and his shoes down in an attempt to short-circuit the devices. Technology being what it was, he had no idea where the tracking device might have been hidden or if there was more than one. "Tracking device?" Horror and confusion danced together through her. The only tracking device she could think of was the kind given to people under house arrest. "Are you a criminal?" There were times when the line that separated one side from the other was finer than he liked, but saying so would only frighten her. "No, I'm one of the good guys." He held out his hand. "Now, the charge card, please." Marla wasn't sure exactly what possessed her, but she raised her chin. "I know Tae Kwan Do." He doubted it, but he humored her. "Of course you do. And I know seven ways to kill a man, none of which requires noise." She swallowed. "Seven?" "Seven." He took another step toward her, cutting the distance between them down to almost zero. "The card, please." She struggled not to tremble. There had to be ground rules of some sort. "No." He was doing her a favor, asking. In his place, Wallace would have ransacked the room until he found her purse, but he preferred hanging onto the notion that he was civilized. At least, whenever possible. His voice was dangerous. "No?" Her escape was blocked by the bed and her knees almost buckled when she backed into it. "No, not until you tell me your name and what's going on." He shook his head, random drops of water falling from his black hair. "You're either very brave or very stupid, Marla O'Connor. I'm hoping it's very brave. It might come in handy." He paused, whether to debate or create, she didn't know. And then he answered her. In part. "My name is Erik Carter. I can't tell you what this is about, but if I don't show up tomorrow at precisely two o'clock on the Golden Gate Bridge to meet a certain person, some very bad things are going to happen to some very nice people." This time he raised his weapon, cocking it. "The card, please."

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She had no choice. *** Marla could feel her pulse throbbing wildly in her head. It felt as if her entire body was clenched, waiting for the knock on the door. Erik Carter, or whoever he really was, had ordered clothing from the hotel's men's store. At least she'd be able to describe him to the police, right down to his shoe size. If she made it through this alive. She'd heard Erik give the clerk his exact measurements. His mistake, she thought with a flash of triumph. Her fingers closed over the tiny square of tissue she held in her palm. Marla fervently hoped that the dampness wouldn't dissolve the message she'd written using her eyebrow pencil. It was her only hope. When the knock came, she jumped, her eyes darting toward Erik as her heart slammed against her rib cage. His whole torso was rigid, poised for action. Something inside her began turning to room-temperature Jell-O. He nodded at her and she asked in a quavering voice, "Who is it?" The voice on the other side of the door answered, "Renee Russell's." The clothier. "Showtime, Marla." Weapon at the ready, Erik motioned her to the door, then positioned himself so that he would be behind it when it opened. Just as she reached for the doorknob, he stopped her. "Oh, one more thing." If her heart pounded any harder, she was certain it was going to break out of her chest. "What?" His eyes indicated her other hand. "Give me the note in your hand," he whispered. "The one you wrote on toilet paper in the bathroom." Her mouth went dry. "I don't ?" "Don't insult me, Marla." "How ? how did you know?" "I've been at this for a while." With his free hand, he beckoned for the note. "Time is of the essence." A frustrated hiss escaped her lips as she surrendered the note. Quickly, Erik perused the scrap of paper. "Help, I'm being held prisoner." Shredding it, he shook his head. "Really, Marla, a high school lit. teacher should have done better than that. The deliveryman would have thought it was a joke. Now open the door." Signing for the packages, Marla silently tried to convey her dilemma to the man from Renee Russell's and succeeded, she knew, only in making the clerk think she was trying to flirt with him. There was no other reason why he'd pointed to his wedding ring with a sad smile on his face as he left. The instant she closed the door, Erik took the packages from her and began ripping them open. "Sorry your little pantomime didn't work." She stared at him. Was the man clairvoyant on top of everything else? "How did you ?" "One step ahead, Marla. I've always got to stay one step ahead." His mouth quirked as he dropped the towel and began getting dressed. "Besides, it helps to have a mirror on the opposite wall."

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Startled by his casualness, Marla barely had time to avert her eyes before the towel hit the floor. She could feel her face burning. The burn intensified as she heard Erik laugh softly under his breath. "Modesty. Not something I often encounter these days. Nice to know it still exists. There, you can turn around now." She did, desperately reaching for anger and trying to cloak herself in it. It wasn't easy being angry at a man who was devastatingly handsome and looking at her with eyes that had sin written all over them. Marla wet her lips. "Well, you've got what you wanted. Now will you please leave?" "I fully intend to." He scooped up his old clothes and deposited them in the Renee Russell boxes, then pushed them into the closet. With luck, if the monitoring device did happen to still work, this would buy him some time. Closing the door, he looked at her. "Take whatever you think you might need." That sinking feeling was beginning to burrow its way through her stomach again. "Why?" Erik was already taking her hand in his. "Because you're coming with me." Chapter Four Marla's mouth dropped open. "I'm what?" "Coming with me." Crossing to the closet, Erik pushed open the door and found what he was looking for on the floor beside her suitcase. A purse that doubled as a backpack. Unceremoniously dumping its contents on the bed, he quickly began refilling it with still-damp objects from the pockets of his wet clothing. "As in now." "Oh no, I'm not." She grabbed a lipstick that was about to roll off the bed, then glared at him in exasperation. "What are you doing?" "Getting prepared." Though his expression hadn't changed, he said the words so grimly Marla felt she was being placed on notice. Awful things were about to happen. She grabbed his arm, her words tumbling out one after the other. "Look, you can intimidate me into giving you my charge card, because that's only money. But this is my life we're talking about and I've only got one, so no, thank you very much. I'm staying right here." Finished, she dragged in a deep breath. He glanced into the backpack to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. The high-priced, innocuous toys deposited inside had saved his skin more than once. Erik spared her a look that said he wasn't about to brook an argument. "It's your life I'm trying to save." Yeah, right. Stubbornly, she folded her arms. "And just how are you going to do that by taking me with you?" "Because if I leave you here and the men who are after me find you, they'll think you're with me. More important, they'll think you know ?" He broke off and shrugged. "You don't want that to happen." Quickly, he stuffed her book into the backpack and caught the incredulous look on her face. "In case you want to read later." The man was insane. In one breath, he was talking about her imminent death; in the next he was packing reading matter for her. Following him to the door, she clung to the obvious. "But I don't know anything." He paused by the door. It'd be easier just leaving her behind, but despite his years of service he still had a conscience. And he knew what his opponents were capable of. Things a woman like Marla O'Connor

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couldn't begin to fathom. "They won't believe you, and when they're through with you, you won't believe you." Marla raised her chin, hoping her voice wouldn't give her away. "You're just trying to scare me." "How am I doing?" Cracking open the door, he looked down the hall then quickly pulled it shut again. Damn, he'd seen two of them on the far end of the floor. Marla jumped when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from the door. "Congratulations, you've just succeeded in scaring me half to death." "Just as long as I manage to keep the other half of you alive, I'll be glad." His mind racing, he came up with their only way out. He hoped she was as athletic as she looked. Erik glanced at her feet. "Maybe you'd better put on something without a heel." "I don't own anything without a heel." He blew out a breath. "It figures." Marla's nerves began begetting nerves. He crossed to the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony, dragging her with him. She did not like whatever he was planning. "I thought you said we were leaving." "We are." "The door's that way." She used her free hand to point. "I know." Dropping the backpack to the floor, he pushed open the window with one hand, still holding her with the other. "We're going out this way." She saw him take something out of the backpack that looked like a small remote control. When he aimed it at the railing, a metal hook shot out and wrapped itself around the bar. Some sort of thin cord followed in its wake. This wasn't happening. "Are you crazy? We're twelve stories up." He was more than aware just how far they could fall. But they weren't going to. He hadn't completed what he'd been sent out to do and he was a firm believer in living up to his commitments. It was as simple as that. "They make the balconies strong." "But my knees are weak," she protested, even as he pushed her out onto the balcony. She eyed the gun that he'd shoved into the waistband of his slacks and wondered if she could risk trying to grab it. But if she did, he might push her off the balcony. She had absolutely no idea what he was capable of. Mechanically, he tested the cord. He knew the line was strong enough to support two agile elephants if it came to that. "Just follow my lead. This'll be over before you know it." "That's what I'm afraid of." "Sideways or down?" When she looked at him in confusion, he indicated the two ways they could go ? down one floor or across to the next building. Each seemed equally inaccessible to her unless she suddenly sprouted wings. "Now you decide to be gallant." He looked at her expectantly. "Down." Marla wet her lips as her stomach lurched. "I hope that's not a prophesy."

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"Not today," he promised her. She hung onto that, onto the promise made to her by a madman, though there was no earthly reason why she should. But it helped still her trembling fingers. He went ahead of her, shimmying down the thin line like an Olympic gold-medal winner at his event. "Now you," he called up to her. For a second, she contemplated staying right where she was. Then she heard someone try the knob on the locked door of her hotel room, followed by the sound of a large object crashing against it. Someone was trying to break in. She swung her leg over the railing. "Maybe this is just a bad dream," she muttered under her breath. "Maybe I'll wake up in a minute." "This is real, Marla," Erik shouted. "Hurry." He raised his hands up to her. "Don't worry, I'll catch you. Just remember, don't look down." Too late. Panic was scrambling through her with long, jagged fingernails. The line bit into her palms as she lowered herself. "Why do they always say that?" The breeze from the ocean picked up, billowing her skirt out like a saucy, red mushroom as she began her rapid descent. Just as she was afraid her strength would give out she felt his hands gliding up along her legs as he caught hold of her. A flash of heat went barreling through her like a runaway freight. It only intensified as her body slid against his. An eternity later, her feet touched the balcony floor. Her breath froze where it was. His face inches away from hers, Erik searched it for signs that she was about to break down. He saw none. The woman was gutsier than she thought. "You all right?" Marla swallowed, hoping she wouldn't squeak when she opened her mouth. "I will be, as soon as I catch my breath." No chance of that happening any time soon, she added silently. He grinned at her. "You were great." The backpack was already slung over one shoulder. Erik caught hold of her hand. "Let's go." "Go?" She looked around the suite as he pulled her through it, her heart sinking as she realized that there was no one here. No one to rescue her from this man claiming to be rescuing her. "Just exactly where is it we're going?" How far did he intend to drag her? "People do know I'm here. They're going to come looking for me." Very slowly, Erik cracked open the door and looked out. This time there was no one in sight. He took a chance. Hand to the small of her back, he ushered her out and to the stairwell. "Frankly, at the moment I am less than paralyzed at the thought of a group of teachers hunting me down. And to answer your question, we are going in search of a crowd to get lost in." He smiled at her as he pulled open the stairwell door. "There's safety in numbers." She sincerely hoped so. *** There were two restaurants on the premises, a well-lit establishment which catered to families and a sophisticated bar that echoed of dark blue lights and enticing music. To her surprise, he chose the latter.

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Signaling the hostess, he held up two fingers. A moment later, the woman was leading them into the heart of the place. "I thought you wanted a crowd to get lost in," Marla whispered. "There are people here," he pointed out, keeping a firm hold of her hand. "And enough shadows for us not to stand out." She tried to make out faces as they followed the hostess. Why was it that everyone had taken on a sinister cast? "So we'll be safe?" He'd come to know that was only a relative term. "As safe as is possible." Her stomach tightened another notch. Desperately, she tried to be logical. Marla waited until they were alone in the small booth. "You know, I only have your word for it that there's someone after you. How do I know any of this is true?" He'd wondered when she'd get around to interrogating him. "For the moment, in the interest of staying alive, you're going to have to take that on faith." He knew he was asking a lot. "Besides, why would I climb down a balcony if someone wasn't after me?" She had no answers, only questions. "I don't know, maybe you're a frustrated Sherpa guide, or ?" The rest of her sentence was abruptly stopped. Sliding closer to her in the tiny booth than her own dress, Erik framed her face with his hands and covered her lips with his own. Chapter Five He was kissing her. One minute she was talking, the next, he was kissing. Kissing her as if they'd been together before the first stars had ever been struck in the sky. When dazed surprise gave way to realization, Marla had every intention of pushing him away. But it was hard to push with arms that had gone as limp as overcooked spaghetti. To the best of her knowledge, she'd never been present at a meltdown before. She would have remembered. She was present at one now. Her own. Erik considered himself a consummate professional. Someone who could keep his head in any given situation, even one that threatened to separate that same head from his shoulders. But for just the tiniest particle of a second, he lost track of the tall, distinguished-looking dangerous men he had seen entering the restaurant and focused only on the incredible impact several inches of pliant skin was having on him. It took every bit of his intense, rigorous training to distance himself from the kiss and hone back in on his situation. Their situation. Their lips finally separated, Marla waited until the raging inferno within her settled down into a manageable forest fire. It took that long for air to return to her lungs. "What ? what was that?" She was trying for indignation. She managed a squeak. tty damn hot stuff, the first answer that came into his head, but he replied, "Camouflage."

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Marla stared at him, wondering when the pounding of her heart would cease breaking the sound barrier. "Excuse me?" He leaned in close to her, so close that his breath was singeing her skin. "The men who broke into your room just walked into the restaurant. I didn't want them to see my face." "So you buried it in mine?" "Seemed like the thing to do at the time." She automatically began to turn around to see if she could spot the men he was talking about. The next thing she knew, Erik had her hand again and was bringing her to her feet. "Now what?" His eyes indicated the small, discreet band playing soft music to fall in love by. "Now we dance." This was getting stranger and stranger. "And then what? If we dance well enough, they'll go away and leave us alone?" "No." Deftly, he picked up the backpack, slipping it onto the crook of her arm. She had a feeling they weren't coming back to their table or to the food her empty stomach was anticipating. "If we dance well enough, we'll be able to make it to the kitchen before anyone notices what we're doing." They were on the small dance floor now, mingling with several other couples. Pressing her hand to his chest, Erik slipped his other hand against the small of her back. She felt something hit her hip. Her eyes widened as a warm flush rose from her core and worked its way up to her cheeks. It was all well and good to fantasize about being whisked away by a secret agent man like the one in the book she'd bought, but this wasn't fantasy, this was real. She couldn't make up her mind if she was scared or excited. Or both. All she knew was that her heart was still beating wildly. A languid, sexy smile slipped across his lips. He knew what she was thinking. Very slowly, he moved his head from side to side. "That's your purse getting familiar with you, not me." His smile deepened. "If we get out of this alive, we can see about getting familiar without the purse." She was still fighting off the effects of his kiss. Contact had very nearly short-circuited her brain and she still couldn't think all that clearly. "If we get out of this alive," she heard herself saying, "I'm finding the nearest policeman and having you arrested." He smiled into her eyes, resisting the urge to kiss her again. This was not the time. But he wished like hell it was. "Whatever turns you on, Marla." This wasn't real, not the conversation, not any of it. It couldn't be. And yet... She found herself getting lost in wondering what turned him on, and then gave herself a mental shake. She opened her mouth to say something cool and cutting. "You dance well, but then I guess that's required of a secret agent." Darn, she was too aware of being held in his arms to be cool and cutting. With one eye on his destination, he began directing their steps. The less she knew, the better for both of them. Especially if the two men who were after him succeeded in catching up to them. He glanced back to see if they were watching. They blended in well. Two suave-looking businessmen of slender build. They could have been brothers. The other side picked their operatives well, Erik thought.

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"I'm not a secret agent." She could feel his body heat. Some very erotic things were happening to her. She was on the brink of meltdown again with a man she knew nothing about except that in another life, she would have been willing to spend all of hers with him. "Then what are you?" "Just a public servant." He had to think she was an idiot. "Public servants are sanitation engineers and councilmen, not men who play Tarzan off balconies." He pressed his cheek against her hair. Her perfume curled through his veins, taking a shade of the sharpness from his finely honed edge. "Have it your way." Frustration burrowed in between some very insensible thoughts that included silk sheets and naked torsos. "Don't humor me." The phrase "adorable when mad" played across his mind as he looked at her. Up to his neck in danger, he had the sudden urge to nibble on her earlobe. "Then what?" "Answer me. Tell me one thing that's going on." His eyes partially closed, he slanted his gaze toward the men again. They were looking in his direction. Erik's hand tightened on hers. "Can't. Now very slowly, we're going in that direction." She could see out of the corner of her eye. "That's the bar." "Kitchen's just beyond," he assured her. Once there, they could make a run for it. She still didn't see it. "How do you know that?" He continued to steer them slowly across the floor. The inches were painful, but any faster would attract attention. "Easy. I never go into a place I don't know how to get out of." "Spy by-rules?" He laughed softly, sending a major shiver down her spine. "Actually, that's something Robert De Niro said in a movie once. Sounded like good advice. Now," he whispered against her ear. The next moment she felt herself being pushed urgently toward the far end of the bar, passing several people seated against it. One looked up. And gaped. "Oh my God, Marla, what are you doing here ? wow!" The question ended in an exclamation framed in wonder. Marla craned her neck and saw Barbara on the end stool. Her friend was staring at Erik with deep appreciation. Hope sprang up. "Barbara," Marla called, trying to break free of Erik's grasp. She might as well have tried to bend bare steel in her hands. "I need help." Barbara smiled at her in sincere envy. "Believe me, if I wasn't engaged, I wouldn't hesitate for a second." She lifted her glass in a toast. "Have a great time, you sly devil. Good for you!" she called after Marla as the latter disappeared through the swinging kitchen doors. "Who was that?" Erik demanded.

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He'd broken into a run. She had no choice but to follow. Kitchen workers and waitstaff yelled at them as they passed. "My best friend up until a second ago." Ducking her head, she narrowly avoided plowing into a waiter carrying a large tray filled wish dishes and wineglasses. "Why are we running?" "Because your little exchange attracted the very people I was trying to avoid." He looked over his shoulder and saw two men in gray designer suits enter the kitchen. "Damn. Go, go, go!" Not waiting for her to obey the order, Erik took the lead, dragging her in his wake. Just as they made it into the alley, something whizzed by her head. The noise repeated. She tried to twist around to see what was going on. Erik wouldn't let her. "What the ?" "Bullets, Marla." He picked up speed. There was a car just up ahead. He had to reach it in time. "They call them bullets. In plain English, the bad guys are shooting at us. Now run, damn it, run!" Chapter Six Erik felt the heat as a bullet whizzed past his left ear. He silently blessed the shooters' poor aim or luck, whichever was responsible. The next moment, he saw Marla stumble and fall just a foot short of the convertible. In a swift, fluid movement that was as instinctive as breathing, Erik placed his body between her and the men pursuing them. Grabbing her arm, he yanked Marla to her feet while pulling open the passenger door. Pain exploded in his shoulder, then radiated out, infiltrating all parts of him. Surprised, his fingers loosened on her arm, then tightened again. With superhuman effort, he tried to hold on to not only her but to consciousness as well. Erik willed himself to breathe evenly. The pain began to blend in with everything else. He focused on what he had to do. Get them out of there. As he'd pushed her into the passenger's side of the Mustang, Marla had felt Erik stagger behind her, grunting something unintelligible under his breath. It was more like a growl than real words. "What?" He didn't answer. Erik was already on the other side, throwing himself into the driver's seat. Twisting around, she saw men running in their direction as he began doing something with the wires beneath the dashboard. Wearing suits that seemed in direct contradiction to the activity they were engaged in, the men looked as if they were fresh out of a boardroom meeting. Except for the guns in their hands. Marla had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She twisted toward Erik again. "This isn't your car, is it?" His head was pounding and he was struggling to keep from seeing double. It complicated the procedure. "Now isn't the time to worry about legal ownership." "We can't just steal a car." "We're borrowing it," he corrected. Sweat was popping out on his brow, between his shoulders, creating tiny rivulets down his back. He felt cold and hot at the same time. "And the alternative isn't pretty." The car started. He would have cheered if he had the strength. It was all he could do to straighten up and grab the wheel. Gunfire echoed in his head as he pulled out. "Duck." It was an order. "Duck?" "Duck!" he repeated, pushing her head down with his right hand. "You wouldn't look good with a bullet in your forehead. Doesn't go with the outfit." Gritting his teeth against a fresh onslaught of pain, he looked in

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the rearview mirror. The shooters must have hot-wired a car, as well. A maroon SUV was gaining on them. "Hang on. This is going to be bumpy." He wasn't kidding. Fifteen minutes later, after taking more twists and turns along the hilly streets than a wayward tornado, he finally felt confident enough to slow down. "I think we lost them." She wasn't going to throw up, she wasn't. Marla pressed her hand to her midsection. "Along with my stomach." Composure was something that had been lost on the first steep street. She was more angry than frightened. "Can I please go now?" He didn't want her getting killed because he'd entered the wrong hotel room. He wasn't letting Marla out of his sight until he was sure she would be safe ? like on a plane back home. He refused to consider why the thought depressed him. "Not until I'm sure the men following us have given up." Taking on the tone she used with unruly students, Marla drew herself up. "No more games. We need to go to the police. Those people mean ? " Her eyes widened as she saw the blood on his hand and followed the path up along his sleeve. "My God, you're hurt." He was 12 degrees past hurt and solidly entrenched in agony. His head felt vaguely hollow. "Deeply, if you keep on arguing with me." This was serious. "I mean you're bleeding. A lot." He kept driving, looking for a place that was safe. The streets were blurring. "Just a scratch." He was being incredibly stubborn. "Only if you're nine foot eleven. We have to get you to a hospital." He tried to shake his head and found doing so threatened blacking out. "Not possible." "But you need to have your injury taken care of." A smile curved his mouth as he looked at her. "Marla, I'm touched." "Obviously more than a little." Determined, she looked along the streets they were passing. At least the scenery was no longer whizzing by. "If you won't go to the emergency room, maybe we can find a drugstore." "I can't exactly go in like this." The car was beginning to slow down. Was he going to be sensible after all? "I was thinking of me." "Sorry, I can't..." She turned her head in time to see his eyes slide shut. "Oh, God." Marla grabbed the wheel. Without knowing how, she guided the Mustang to the curb without a mishap. Heart hammering, she pulled up the hand brake. "Erik?" Half afraid, she touched his throat, feeling for his pulse. He was alive, but unconscious. Marla let her hand drop. It was now or never. Marla seized her opportunity.

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Getting out of the car, she quickly walked halfway down the block before her footsteps slowed, then stopped. As she turned around she caught her reflection in a store window and shook her head in disbelief. "You are an idiot, Marla O'Connor. A first-class idiot." Frowning, she walked back to the car. *** The pain cut through layers of anesthetizing haze, growing sharper, dragging him up to the surface. Erik started, his hand reaching to his waistband before he even opened his eyes. "It's not there. I thought you'd be more comfortable without a gun jabbing you in the gut." Marla. The sound of her voice comforted him like the feel of a blanket on a cold, crisp day. It almost, just for a heartbeat, made him feel safe. It was an odd sensation, given his line of work and the circumstances. She was the kind of woman his mother would have picked out for him. He could almost hear her voice now. You need a good woman in your life. That was Marla. A good woman. He needed to keep her a good, live woman. With effort, he focused. First on Marla, then on his surroundings. He was lying on a sagging bed whose sheets hadn't been changed since the Bush Administration. The room was small and smelled of cheap liquor and cheaper perfume. Propping a stiff elbow under him, he managed to sit up. "Where the hell are we?" Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Marla tried to push him back. It wasn't as easy as she'd expected. The man had amazing stamina. Something inside her vaguely wondered if that extended to all things physical. "In the seediest motel I could find. This way, the guy at the front desk doesn't ask questions." A smile formed. She saw it in his eyes before it filtered to his mouth. "Smart thinking." Erik looked down at his shoulder. It still felt as if it were on fire. It was also bandaged. "Who ??" "Me." She'd found a pharmacy in the area and bought supplies. Very slowly, he eased himself into a sitting position. The room moved only slightly. He'd been worse. "Where did you learn how to patch people up like this?" "School yard." She liked the surprised look on his face, liked not being completely predictable to him. It was her turn to smile. "First neighborhood I taught in was pretty rough." A more important question occurred to him. "Why didn't you run when you had the chance?" She shrugged, swallowing the answer that came immediately. ause I couldn't. "You could have abandoned me at any time but you didn't." Her smile softened, her fear fading. There was something about a hero... "If you hadn't stopped to help me when I fell, you wouldn't have gotten shot. I figured I owed you one. Maybe two." Embarrassed by the way he was looking at her and feeling decidedly warmer than the room would have warranted, she nodded at his shoulder. "You were lucky. The bullet went clean through. But you did lose a lot of blood."

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Erik looked out the window. It was dark. "How long have I been out?" "Long enough for me to patch you up and get some takeout." Rising, she went to the bureau against the wall. A large white paper bag dominated the surface. "How do you feel about Chinese food?" "We're near Chinatown?" She nodded. "On the outskirts." That meant she'd gotten them clear across town. Admiration lifted the corners of his mouth. "You are full of surprises, Marla O'Connor." She was beginning to think so, too. It was a nice thing to find out about herself. He was reaching for his shirt. Marla crossed back to him. "What are you doing?" "I'm getting up." He was uneasy. They had to get moving. There was no telling if she'd been spotted. Marla frowned. "You need to rest." "I rested." "You passed out." "Same thing." He paused to look at her, amused. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you cared." He tried not to let that matter and succeeded only marginally. Her shrug was more self-conscious than casual. "I have a weakness for dumb animals." His eyes touched her face, lingering on her mouth. Remembering. "Not so dumb. I hooked up with you, didn't I?" She had no comeback for that. Just a very warm, unsettled feeling unfurling in the pit of her stomach. Especially when he looked at her like that. The next minute, the feeling was pushed to the background. She heard a noise and turned toward the door of their room. To her disbelief and horror, the doorknob was being turned once again. What was it about her and hotel rooms? She knew she'd locked it after she'd returned with the Chinese takeout. Marla glanced at Erik who was stone-faced and then back to the door and realized she was holding her breath. "We know you're in there," a deep voice growled from the other side. "If you give us what we want, we won't kill you ? or the girl. If you make this difficult ?" Marla did not like the significant pause. "The girl is going to suffer. A lot." Chapter Seven Marla stared at Erik. The only way out was through the front door ? she had checked out any possible escape routes after she'd made sure Erik would live. She was beginning to think like him. She wasn't sure if she liked that.

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On the other side of the door were the two men who were planning to do unspeakable things to her. She gulped. She did know that she trusted Erik. He grabbed the backpack, making certain that it was zipped shut, then motioned to Marla. "When I nod my head," he whispered, "open the door." She was putting her life in the hands of a crazy man. Marla could almost see Erik mentally counting to three, then he nodded his head. Terrified, she flipped the lock and yanked open the door. Prepared to use force, the first man stumbled in, followed by the second one. Erik swung the backpack like a weapon, felling the first. Marla stuck out her leg and tripped the second man, who landed on top of the first goon. Grabbing Marla's hand, Erik pulled her out of the room and slammed the door shut in his wake. "Nice work." She didn't know why the compliment had her glowing inside. She had to be going crazy herself. The glow continued. The lot in front was empty. "Where's the car?" "I parked it in the back." It seemed like the thing to do. He liked how she was beginning to think like him. "Perfect." They ran for the Mustang. "Marla, we'll make a recruit out of you yet." She opened her mouth to say, "Over my dead body," then realized she really didn't mean that. It startled her to realize that as frightening as this was, it was also exhilarating. As exhilarating as the man holding her hand. Instead, she shot back, "You couldn't afford me." Reaching the car, he jumped in. Hands on the steering wheel, he was backing out the moment her thigh hit the passenger's side. But he took a split second to look at her. "Give me a price." Why, in the center of an explosive situation, a situation that could end in death at any moment, did she suddenly feel heat throbbing through her body because he'd given her a penetrating look? "We'll talk," she breathed. His smile went clear down to her bones. "Count on it." She had a feeling he didn't have talking in mind. Marla grew hotter. They were barreling down the street, careening from one lane to another as Erik jockeyed for distance. Marla forgot to be hot-and-bothered and concentrated on not falling over in her seat. "Do all spies have a death wish?" He spared her a look, turning down the street. A glance at the signpost told him where he was. "I'm not a spy. Just a courier." That was his story and he was sticking to it. For her sake. Right, and she was a hummingbird. Marla sighed. "Okay, whatever you are, answer the question. Do you have a death wish?" "No more than most people." The silence in the car ate into the darkness. Maybe he owed her something more than a flippant answer, he thought. A little truth wouldn't hurt. He opened a crack into his past. "I was a history teacher."

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She turned her head to look at him. She had her doubts. He wasn't like any history teacher he'd ever met. "And what, you wanted to make it, not teach it?" Her naiveté was almost refreshing. Had he ever seen things that simply? He couldn't remember. "Something like that." Marla looked out. Nothing looked familiar. They hadn't gone this way before. Was he driving away, or driving to? She settled in, knowing she'd find out when she found out. "So how does a history teacher learn how to scale the sides of tall buildings and hot-wire cars?" He distanced himself from the memory. "I've been at this for a while. You pick up things." Marla glanced in the rearview mirror, hoping not to see the police. "Like stolen cars?" That was the least of his concerns. "It's just borrowed, remember?" "Shouldn't we 'unborrow' it before some patrol car runs the plates and stops us?" He laughed softly. "I'm impressed." She didn't know if he was laughing at her or not. "N.Y.P.D. Blue," she murmured. "We all have to get our education somewhere." Making a right, he drove into a strip mall. "All right, we'll lose the Mustang. This looks like a good place to ditch it." They pulled up into a space. She looked out. "A McDonald's?" He exited the car as if he hadn't a care in the world. She scrambled after him. "A lot of through traffic here. Still hungry?" She'd had dinner twice within her grasp, only to have to flee without taking a bite. "That is an understatement. I'm starving." "Then we'll eat." Taking her hand, he led her inside. The place was packed. There was hardly enough room to walk unobstructed. "Crowded enough for you?" she asked. He merely smiled in reply. They got in line and ordered, then undertook the ordeal of finding a table. Erik nodded toward one that had just been vacated. "Looks like our luck's changed." She sincerely hoped so. Sitting down, she made short work of the paper wrapper around the hamburger. Her stomach growled as she bit into the bun. "You really know how to show a girl a good time." She hesitated, then pushed ahead. "I've got a question for you." There was a dab of ketchup on her chin. Leaning over, he wiped it away with his thumb and felt something stir inside of him. Maybe it was the way she looked at him, with large, smoky eyes filled with emotion. With a sincerity that surprised him, he wished there was time to explore that emotion. "Shoot." For all her hunger, Marla found she was having trouble swallowing. He was looking at her that way again. It curled her toes and made her ache for a warm fireplace and a long, endless night. "Why did you stop to help me up when we were running for the car?" Did she think he was heartless, he wondered. "I couldn't just leave you."

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Marla could still feel her pulse doing tricks. You'd think she'd never had a man touch her before. But she hadn't. Not the way he did. Even wiping away ketchup felt like an erotic activity. "I thought all secret agents were taught to be hard-hearted." He shrugged and instantly regretted it. Pain scissored through him. "I cut class that day." "Lucky for me." She took another bite. The door opened and her eyes darted toward it. But it was only a group of teenagers. "How do you suppose they found us at the motel?" He'd been working on that. "Either blind luck or ?" It suddenly occurred to him. "How did you pay for the room?" "With my charge card, why?" An easy mistake. "There's your answer. They tracked you down by the card activity." Marla laid the hamburger down. She'd thought that only happened in the movies. "What kind of people are you up against?" "The shrewd, intelligent, ruthless kind. People who take good things and turn them into bad. People who would make those kids in the tough neighborhood you were talking about look like Good Samaritans." He'd dealt with their kind for so long, he'd forgotten there were any other type around. It'd taken her to make him remember. Wouldn't it be nice if he could keep her around? Coming from nowhere, the thought almost succeeded in unsettling him. She shivered. "Comforting thought." "Wasn't meant to be." Having finished his fries, he crushed the container. "It was meant to keep you on your toes." "For how long? I get nosebleeds easily." "Just until morning. Once I turn the 'product' over, our friends are in a new ball game." She wished he'd tell her more. "And that makes them harmless?" "Not harmless, but they won't come after you." And in the last few hours, that had become important to him, he realized. Very important. "What about you?" There were nothing but ice chips left in his drink. He stirred them with his straw. "I knew the risks when I signed on." She wondered about that ? and about him. "Is there a Mrs. Spy somewhere? Does she know the risks?" She wondered why the answer was so important to her. "No, there's no Mrs. Spy." Their eyes held for a long moment. "I wouldn't have kissed you like that if there was." "Ah, an honorable spy." She'd tried to make a joke of it, but fell short of her goal.

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"I'd try to be ? if I were one." Humor entered his voice. "I thought I told you, I'm not a spy." A movement caught his eye. The door was opening. Damn. The designer agents had found them. "Here we go again." She didn't even bother to look as he grabbed her hand and pulled her up with him. Marla caught a handful of fries with her other hand and then they plowed through crowd, making their way around the counter. "Hey, you can't go there!" an adolescent food server protested as they hurried through the kitchen, heading for the back door. Marla pulled herself short, barely avoiding crashing into one of the help. Her fries flew out of her hand. She sighed in resignation. "You know, I've seen an awful lot of kitchen for someone with an almost empty stomach." He pushed open the back door. "A full stomach won't do you any good if you're dead." "Good point." Chapter Eight They used the car one more time, driving into the heart of Chinatown before finally abandoning the Mustang on one of the side streets. As they wove their way from one store to another, Marla noticed that revelers were everywhere. "What is all this?" she finally asked, slightly breathless. "Chinese New Year." There were gaily dressed people, bright lights and enough noise to deafen half a city. Marla had to lean in close just to hear what Erik had said. The fact that doing so put him as close to her as her own clothing and that it delighted her was a revelation to her. She'd always kept both men and feelings at arm's length, afraid that reality was not nearly as satisfying as the fantasies that evolved in her mind, seeded by stories that existed between the pages of books. But this was outmatching any fantasy she'd ever come up with. And she found herself really getting into it at moments. The moments were growing longer. Who was this man she'd been forced to throw her lot in with? Was he really on the right side, or was she being an unwitting dupe? Looking into his eyes, she thought not. She knew at least 10 people who would have called her a fool for abandoning all logical reasoning and leading with her instincts, but there it was. She was going with her gut. Or, more to the point, with her heart. Because her heart was definitely going for a ride tonight. And she was loving it. "Try to blend in." His words were breathed against her face, and she was more aware of him than what he was saying. She shook her head, inclining it even closer to his mouth. She felt his breath on her temple and goose bumps rose to attention. "What?" Erik indicated the throng all around them. "Try to blend in," he repeated.

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This was Chinatown, and they were surrounded by its citizens and the relatives of those citizens. She stood out like a red flag on a snowbank. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not Chinese." He smiled at her then. A smile that went clear down to the bone and took up residence within places that, a scant 50 years ago, weren't mentioned in polite society. "Oh, I noticed all right. I noticed a great deal about you, Marla O'Connor." He was using her full name again, as if he was mocking her. She frowned as they continued moving with the celebrants. "I wish you'd stop saying my name that way. You make it sound like I'm some backwoods foundling who never graduated third grade." He laughed at the interpretation. "No offense intended, Marla. I just like the sound of your name." He liked more than that. He liked the whole neat, surprising package that was Marla O'Connor. Erik slipped his arm around her shoulders, bringing her even closer to him. He could almost feel her innocence. It made him remember what this was supposed to be all about and why he'd originally dealt himself into the game. Mom, apple pie, and baseball. She made him think of all those things. She also made him think of long, lazy kisses and excitement that was barely contained. The woman merited a great deal of closer examination. "Would you think I was completely crazy if I told you that in a strange way, I'm enjoying myself?" She stared at him, trying not to notice that when she turned her head, her mouth was less than a heartbeat away from his. The crowd faded. "Getting chased out of a four-star hotel, a fleabag motel, a McDonald's, run down and shot at, yes, I have to say that 'crazy' seems to fit the situation." What was crazier was that she was enjoying it, too. "Is this a typical day for you?" It was anything but. "No, I don't usually have guardian angels with swirling dark hair and a light touch coming to my aid. Usually I wing it alone." A chill went through her that had nothing to do with the weather. The press of bodies made it almost warm. "That has a very lonely sound to it." "At times," he allowed. "At others, I'm too busy to be lonely." Marla scanned the crowd, wondering how he could seem that complacent. They were out there somewhere, those distinguished-looking men in their designer suits with their guns and their complete disregard of life. Why wasn't he more worried? Her stomach growled, reminding her that she was still hungry. "Do you think there might be something to eat around all these celebrating people?" "Ask and you shall receive." He surprised her by producing a paper boat filled with tiny blackened chicken wings. They'd passed a vender a second ago. Was Erik light-fingered as well as everything else? "You didn't steal that, did you?" Even amid all this, she was a straight arrow. He found he rather liked that. It kept him grounded. He began to wonder about her, about the life she'd led before today. If there was someone special in it. And if there was room for him. The thought had just snuck up, surprising the hell out of him. Despite the situation, he began to toy with it in earnest. "Would you refuse to eat it if I did?" She was already biting into a wing. "No, but I'd feel guilty." He laughed, pleased at the gusto he saw. "Don't. I took it from a vendor, but I left him more money than it cost." He'd found a five in his pocket, money he'd transferred when he'd changed. He'd forgotten about it.

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Marla swallowed, her mouth curving. "I guess maybe you are honorable at that." Erik inclined his head. Honorable. He liked thinking of himself in those terms. Liked having her think of him in those terms. They were still moving, carried along by the crowd. He remained alert. "Whenever it doesn't interfere with my living another day." The last of the wings were gone. Crushing the container, she tossed it into a basket on the corner. An uneasy question had been haunting her. "Have you killed anyone, Erik?" Reality found him, dissolving more pleasant thoughts. The less she knew, the better for her. His face hardened. "Much to my mother's dismay, I stopped going to confession a long time ago." Despite the roar of the crowd, she only heard his voice. "You have a mother?" Humor returned, curving his lips. "Yes, I have a mother. Most people do at some stage of their lives." Embarrassment dotted her cheeks. "Sorry, I just don't think of spies as having parents." "Just springing up, full-grown, like Athena out of Zeus's head, eh?" "You know mythology." He found her surprise amusing rather than insulting. He wondered about that. Had to be the woman. "I know lots of things that don't include bullets and car chases." "Tell me about your parents. Are they still alive?" This was where he should cut her off. That he didn't was another revelation. "Yes." "Do they know? What you do, I mean?" The smile became a little remote. "At times, I don't know what I do." "They still think you're a history teacher, don't they?" Yes, they did. But he didn't want to talk about himself anymore. This was far more personal than he'd been in years. "What about you?" She took the question for what it was, a signal that they were no longer talking about him. "Well, my parents just celebrated their 30th anniversary last month. I've got three older sisters, all gorgeous, all married and I still go to confession." He smiled at that. Drawing her over to the curb, he curled a wayward strand of her hair around his finger and looked into her eyes. Carving out a small, private niche for them amid the swirling noise. "I'm curious. What is it that someone like you has to confess?" His eyes were touching her, reducing her to a semiliquid state "Not much. I don't go that often." He could have eaten her up right then and there. And wished they were somewhere private so he could act on some of the feelings ambushing him. "Would you like something to confess next time? Something to keep the old padre from falling asleep?"

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His mouth was so close to hers she could taste it. If she didn't say something quickly, he was going to kiss her and she wasn't sure she could handle that right now. Not without dissolving. Marla took a step back. "Um, is there someplace around here where I, um, could...?" He drew back, amused at her expression and somewhat taken aback at his own reaction. There was a moment there that he'd felt like someone else. Like the person he could have been if life had gone a little differently than the way it had. "Are you trying to say you're looking for a rest room?" Embarrassed, she nodded. "I think we passed a Chinese restaurant the last block. You can go there." She wanted to sit down before her knees deserted her. "Could we maybe eat there, too?" He was acquainted with the place. The food was good. "We'll order to go." She had a weakness for Chinese food and felt her mouth watering. "Sounds like heaven." Holding her arm, he created the appearance that they were two tourists, out for a good time. "No, giving you something to confess sounds like heaven. Food is only a basic necessity of life." Walking into the Red Dragon, Erik bowed to the man behind the counter. The man returned the greeting. Then, in what Marla assumed was one of the many Chinese dialects, Erik asked the owner something. The man pointed behind him. "The rest room's past the bar," Erik told her. "Go ahead. I'll wait for you here." She hurried toward the rear of the restaurant, marveling at the growing list of Erik's talents. The ladies' room was small and neat and she was quick, pausing only long enough to fix her makeup before leaving again. Vanity, she thought with a shake of her head. But she wanted to look nice. For Erik. The moment she opened the door, someone grabbed her from the side, covering her mouth. Chapter Nine Marla felt sharp pain stabbing her scalp. Whoever had grabbed her, had twisted her hair around their hand and was close to yanking it out by the roots, half pushing, half dragging her out through the a back door in the restaurant. The pain made her heart race. Terror encompassed her. Releasing her hair, a man twisted her right arm behind her back, almost snapping it in half. "Well, at least we have her," he snarled to his companion. Her captor was so average looking, she could have tripped over him and not noticed him at all. Except for his eyes. A cold, almost-clear blue, they seemed to slice into her, carving her into little brittle pieces. There were two of them. Only two. Were there others around? She couldn't focus. The pain was making her eyes well up. "What good does that do us?" the second man asked. "We still don't have him and he's the one with the microchip."

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"We'll have him soon enough." The captor twisted Marla around, studying her. "I don't know how you figure into this, Ms. O'Connor, but you obviously mean a lot to our fair-haired boy. I could be wrong, but I think he might even be willing to agree to a little trade just to get you back ? in one piece." He laughed quietly, the sound sending salvos of panic through her. "Give us back what's ours for what's his." His hand still covering her mouth, he began to shove her into a car that was parked in the alley. She knew her chances of getting out alive would evaporate. One look at the man's eyes told her he had no intentions of trading her. She was just bait. And Erik was the fish. Marla bit down on the fleshy part of the man's hand, simultaneously driving her high heel into his shin. Squealing in surprise and pain, he stumbled back, pulling his hand away. Marla spun around on her heel and shoved him into the other man. They toppled like well dressed dominos and she ran back into the restaurant. When she flew past Erik, it took him less than a beat to fall in behind her. "Sorry," he called to the owner who was emerging with their order. In another beat, Erik was abreast, grabbing her hand. He didn't have to ask what was wrong, he knew. He silently cursed himself for not standing guard at the lady's room door. What if something had happened to her because of him? What if they'd hurt her? The image of Marla ? hurt or dead ? was like a physical blow. It shocked him. He was always able to detach himself, to emotionlessly see things from all angle. That was what made him a good operative. "This way," he pointed. His target was the long, colorful dragon, comprised of fabric, human participants and imagination making its way down the street beneath a canopy of fireworks. Pulling Marla in before him, Erik ducked under the sparkling green and yellow material that was the dragon's side. They found themselves between two confused looking Asian men in their late thirties. A barrage of words flew at them from all directions. Marla understood nothing. Erik responded and the raised voices lowered, and stopped. The men nodded, smiled and returned to the task, moving the dragon forward. "What did you tell them?" she asked. "I asked for their help. That I'd stolen you from your husband and that he was chasing us." Catching the eye of the man in front, he nodded his head. "They're nice guys." The man in front of Marla smiled, repeating the words "nice guys." They were safe. For the moment. As far as she knew, the dragon was weaving its way down streets filled with revelers, but all Marla could see were feet. She felt the press of Erik's body behind her as they moved. Heat became her companion as well. "So how long do we hide under here?" He was acquainted with the route. "The parade winds all the way from the financial district to the end of Chinatown. We think we'd better stay in the dragon's belly for about half an hour or so." It sounded like a plan to her.

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*** Marla tried to make out the numbers on her watch. They'd dropped out of the parade after what seemed like miles. "I'm so tired, I'm going to drop where I'm standing." They hurried through the streets. The crowds were beginning to thin out. They needed to find shelter and soon. It wouldn't be safe to be out. His shoulder was beginning to ache again. "Please don't. I'm not in any condition to carry you." "We could get a room someplace." She realized her words could be interpreted as a proposition, but she was too tired to care. His sentiments exactly. "No charge cards. That's how they found us the last time." "A hotel isn't going to let us stay out of the goodness of their hearts," she pointed out. "Do you have any money?" Aside from a few dollars, her pockets were empty. "No." He saw a bank on the corner. Even at this hour, there was someone making a withdrawal at the ATM window. That was the answer. "Give me your ATM card." Confused, she looked at him. "What ATM card? I don't have one." "That's un-American." He blew out a breath. For the moment, he was out of ideas. Opening her purse, she rummaged through the various items Erik had tossed in until she found her wallet. "But I've got a Huntly's card." The name was vaguely familiar. And then he remembered. "A supermarket card?" He laughed shortly. "I don't think you'd find those shelves all that comfortable to sleep on. Too narrow." Excited now, her fatigue temporarily vanished. She began pulling him in the direction of the supermarket. "No, but I can get money that way." It proved easier to show him than to explain it. Once in the supermarket, she bought a six pack of cola and a bag of donuts. Running her card through the scanner, she punched in her codev number and then requested change. A hundred dollars. Satisfied, she held the money up to him as they walked out. "Now we can get a room somewhere." He kissed her, taking the money and pocketing it. "That's my girl." It took a while for her heart to stop racing. They got a room in the Chandler Hotel. Marla noted that they had made it full circle, back to a four star hotel. It was after two in the morning. They had less than twelve hours to go before Erik made his delivery. Entering, Marla made a beeline for the bed, sinking into it. After a moment, he joined her. They exhaled together, then laughed. "I'm exhausted. I've never packed so much into one evening in my life." Turning her head to look at him, she realized suddenly how close he was. It took a second to locate her tongue. "Do you think they'll find us here?"

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He was thinking, for a woman who was tired, she looked incredibly alluring. He was aware how close they were to each other. "Not with luck." They'd covered their trail pretty well and it was time they earned a small respite. "They haven't shown up in the last hour." She wasn't nearly as optimistic as she normally was. Still, there was nothing they could do right now except get some sleep. Marla propped herself up on her elbow. "I guess you should get the bed. You're wounded." "Why can't we both get the bed?" She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "Because ? -" His smile was slow, sexy and lethal as hell. She was almost on fire. "Don't trust yourself with me?" She tried for dignity but settled for coherence. "I wasn't thinking of me." He reached over and touched her cheek, sliding his finger down slowly. "I make it a practice never to do anything the lady doesn't want to do." Suddenly, he desperately wanted to spend the night with her in the very fullest sense of the word. She pressed her lips together. "Shouldn't one of us stand guard?" He laughed. "This isn't Fort Apache. Besides," he pointed. "I rigged the doorknob." Squinting, she looked intently at it. It looked untouched. "Where? I don't see anything." "That's the point." He exclaimed, almost touching her uneasiness. This wasn't the way he wanted it to be. Erik sat up. "If it makes you feel better, I'll take the sofa." Sitting up, Marla looked at it and then at him. It was smaller than a love seat. "The only way you could sleep on that is if you were a Smurf." She debated her options. By tomorrow, he would be gone from her life. And with him the one opportunity she had to live the way the heroines in all the books she loved lived. "It's all right," she said softly. "You can share the bed with me." "I thought you'd never ask." Because he couldn't resist, Erik took her into his arms, pressing a kiss softly to her neck. Her sigh nearly drove him over the edge. But he held himself in check. They had until dawn together. Chapter Ten As she kissed Erik, a feeling of panic lunged forward, elbowing sensuality aside. What if this was a huge mistake? What if she was being carried away by the moment, the danger and a man as sexy as sin? Before she'd met Erik, she'd always been level-headed, but now she was in over her head and going down. He could feel her wrestling with herself and Erik drew back. His smile widened. Marla looked rather adorable and flustered. He just realized, she looked rather adorable no matter what the situation. "Relax, Marla, you've nothing to fear from me." She wasn't afraid of him. It was herself she had feared. Fear of losing her heart to a man who wouldn't remember her name by this time next week. "Oh, I don't know about that. Sexy men are a danger all their own." He looked into her eyes and knew she wanted the same things he did. At least for tonight. Softly, he caressed the curve of her cheek. "Only if they presume things."

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His touch was hypnotic. It took effort to form words. They floated from her lips slowly. "What sort of things?" He wanted to touch her. Touch her in ways no other man ever had. To make her remember him ? always. "Some men presume that being slightly better looking than average entitles them to hold any woman they want." He tightened his embrace just a little. "Like this. Or kiss that woman. Like this." He pressed another kiss to her throat and felt her pulse jump. He looked at her. "Do I make you nervous, Marla?" Very slowly, her eyes on his, she shook her head. "No, I make me nervous." There was humor in his eyes. "Why?" "Because." Breathe, damn it, Marla, breathe, she ordered herself. Hopelessly lost in her eyes, Erik lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss gained a speed all its own. Her lungs lost breath. Her body attained the consistency of overcooked pudding, turning to liquid. Her head spun and her pulse did things that defied description within the known parameters of the AMA. "That," she finally managed to say. "Because of that." He combed his fingers through her hair, framing her face, bringing it closer again. "One should always make a point of facing one's fears." "Show me," she murmured. "I'm very good in a hands-on situation," he promised her. "I never doubted it," she whispered before words became obsolete and her lips were otherwise occupied. *** A glimmer of sunlight nudged at her consciousness. Her eyes still shut, savoring the last of this euphoric half-dream, Marla reached for him. The place beside her was empty. The warm haze froze and broke apart into tiny pieces. She opened her eyes in panic to see. Erik across the room, tucking his shirt into his pants. He was looking at her. "Time to go," he said. How long had she slept? She struggled with the fog around her brain. Erik hadn't left her, but their adventure was coming to an end. "Is it two o'clock already?" "No, but we have to keep moving. A rolling stone attracts no bullets." Gathering up the clothes he'd slowly removed from her last night, he placed them on the bed beside her. "By my calculations, we've probably used up all the luck allotted to us." He could have watched her sleep all night. Curled up innocently against his side, her cheek nestled on his arm. She'd made him feel things he'd forgotten he could feel. Some emotions he couldn't remember ever feeling before. It was dangerous for a man in his line of work to feel anything at all, he reminded himself. But feelings ? his desire to defend what was good ? had been what had pulled him into this world with its shades of gray in the first place. The consequence of what he sometimes had to do had meant that he'd

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shut down emotionally. And now, after a decade on ice, these feelings and wants were flowing back. Because of Marla. Sitting up, she forgot about the sheet and it drooped. Marla made a grab for it, but not before his eyes claimed her. She felt herself growing warm again. What had happened in the wee hours of this morning was not something she was going to forget any time soon. "Is there time for a shower?" The question awakened erotic thoughts. "I only wish." But he shook his head. With the sheet arranged around her like a Roman toga, she rose, the clothes in her arms. "All right, it'll only take me a minute to get ready." She surprised him by how fast she could get dressed. He wasn't accustomed to women who moved fast, only fast women. They left by the back stairs, rousing Marla's conscience. "Is it really necessary to sneak out like thieves?" He'd sent money in a sealed envelope addressed to the management down the hotel mail shoot. The room had been paid for. "Necessary and highly advisable." She was beginning to recognize his tones. That one left no room for argument. *** Mingling with crowds of tourists and natives, they boarded the public transit. A bus to the financial district, a trolley to the outskirts of Fisherman's Wharf, the BART through the center of the city. By noon, Marla estimated they'd put in over a hundred miles in a city that spanned forty-nine. "Are you sure you're not lost?" she finally asked him. "Maybe if we asked directions ? " "I know where I'm going," he assured her, his hand holding hers. "Always." Her gaze met his. Did he know he was also holding her heart? "Are you sure?" His silent debate was unexpected. And over within a second. He made up his mind. Taking a detour from his route, he brought her to the park across the street: an open area close to the Presido. There, away from people who might overhear, away from everything but pigeons, Erik departed from the straight and narrow line he'd followed for so long. He wanted her to know everything about him. "I'm guarding a chemical compound that, under the right temperature, becomes self-replicating at an incredible speed. The scientist who made the discovery was killed. We've been playing tag with the compound and at the moment I'm it." He saw the question in her eyes and said it simply. "I have the only known quantity. Applied correctly, it can be used to produce microscopic quantum computers capable of doing calculations at a phenomenal speed. Something that currently takes years can be done in a matter of hours. Whatever country owns the secret of this compound will leap forward in all kinds of technology. In the wrong hands, this could mean global enslavement or mass destruction." She grasped the ramifications of what he was saying ? but not why. "Why are you telling me this?"

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"Because you have a right to know. Because in that hotel room this morning you became more than just a shadow that fell across my life." The corners of his mouth rose. "I guess that sounds pretty sappy, coming from a CIA agent, doesn't it?" Moved by his words, they stopped walking, and she turned to him, touching his face. "No, I think it sounds pretty wonderful. It makes you real." He arched an eyebrow. "And last night I wasn't real?" She struggled with a blush. "Realer," she corrected. He glanced at his watch. "Time to make this ?realer,' still." Picking up his pace while still holding her hand, Erik picked up his pace. All the while, he remained alert, watching for the men they had, thus far, managed to elude. He and Marla arrived at Fort Point, just beyond the Presido, at the foot of the Golden Gate Bridge at one forty-five, precisely. The designer agents, as he'd dubbed them arrived at one forty-six. "Time for hide and seek again," he hissed against her ear, hurrying her into the building. She tried to look behind, but Erik blocked her way. Protecting her again. "Are they ? ?" He didn't have to look. "They are." There was an elderly man standing just shy of the entrance, reading a plaque dedicated to the brave soldiers who had spent the duration of the Civil War guarding the bridge from possible seizure by the Confederates. From a distance, the man looked like an elegant Santa Claus. Marla inclined her head to Erik. "Is that your man?" "No, that's their man." The agent seemed to be alone. An illusion. But that was all right, their side had illusions, too. "Ours is the one over there." She saw no one but a man in blue livery, sweeping. "The janitor?" "Waste management engineer." He held out his hand. She had the backpack. "Give me your book." "My book?" Even before she took, Mystery at Midnight, out of her purse, it hit her. No wonder he'd insisted on bringing it along. "It was in here all the time?" He nodded. "Imbedded in a paste compound inside the back fly leaf." One arm threaded through hers, he casually walked by the refuse container beside the janitor. As he passed it, he tossed the book in. The janitor didn't even bother looking in their direction. He continued sweeping, depositing his refuse in the trash can and then moving the can along with him. If Marla hadn't know what was going on, she wouldn't have known the agent had been waiting for a delivery.. She heard running footsteps behind her and turned to see two men; the same men who'd been chasing them, taking off after the janitor. But, before she could say anything, Erik had tackled one of them and another man, she'd thought was a student, had a gun pointed at the second. Marla held her breath. This was even more exciting than her suspense novels.

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Erik handed his guy over to the agent and came back to her. "Is that it ? ?" she asked. "It is." She let out a breath. It seemed that they were finally safe. And finished. Disappointment hovered, taking possession. "And that's it?" "That's it." He'd done what he'd been sent to do. Now it was someone else's turn. "Want some breakfast?" "I want to know what happens next." He took her arm. "I'll see if I can get them to serve that as a side order." They sat at an outdoor cafe. This beautiful, San Francisco afternoon was perfect for lovers to share. Marla toyed with her juice, wondering when he would get around to saying good-bye. She stalled for some time, knowing there was none left. "So, now what?" He'd been studying her quietly. And coming to term with things. "That depends on you." "On me? How?" He didn't answer directly. Instead, he asked, "is it everything you thought it was cracked up to be? Those spy adventures you like to read. Is living one as exciting as you thought?" Her eyes met his. "More." And she meant it. Both as a response and a request. She wanted more. Wanted to experience more. Most of all, she wanted more of him in her life. "Where do I sign up?" "Sign up?" he echoed, with confusion. "Yes. You signed up, I want to do the same. Where do I do it?" He thought of her as an operative. No one would ever suspect. Then, his protective nature kicked it. "It isn't that simple." "I don't mind complicated." She reached over and touched his hand; what she'd meant to say was written in her eyes. He began to smile. Just a little. "I could help you train." "I was hoping you might." She was, as his grandfather liked to say, a pistol. And he wanted to be the only one handling the firing pin. "First step is to take you home to meet my mother." "Your mother?" Marla blinked. "She's with the CIA?" "No, she's with me." His mouth softened. "The way I'd like you to be." She knew what he was saying without needing all the words. "So this would be a package deal." He wasn't walking away, he was staying. Her heart felt like singing. "The CIA and you." His smile grew wider. "In a way." He wanted her with him. Always. The other part they'd work out. I've always liked packages."

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"Me, too. I like opening them. Slowly." He was making her warm again. Very warm. She pushed the juice aside and leaned closer. There was no one to hear them. "If I join up, do I get my own gun?" "Only if you don't use it on me." Her eyes were smiling. "I've got other things I want to use on you." He rose, taking her hand in his. "No time like the present to get started." Marla O'Connor, the girl who had wanted adventure, found it, and she couldn't have agreed with Erik more.

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The Secret Wedding by Liz Fielding The last thing either Tom or Mollie expect is to spend a weekend together?even if they are still married.

Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| *** Begin your story at a moment of crisis, a point in time when your character?s life is about to change forever. ? Mollie Blake?s Writing Workshop Notes *** Tom Garrick couldn?t believe he was doing this. He wrote bestselling thrillers for men. His readers didn?t want emotional guff polluting the action. Women were included for the sole purpose of providing sex and sympathy while they fixed up his hero?s wounds. And to bump up the body count. He almost smiled. Almost. "The books are still selling really well ? " his publisher had told him " ? but you seem to have lost that wonderful humanity the women readers loved. Get back in touch with your feminine side, Tom." The man hadn?t been making a suggestion. He?d meant it. "Women buy a lot of books." Tom didn?t have a feminine side. Not anymore. As for spending his weekend being lectured on how to raise the "sigh" factor in his books... He said something rude, his mood deteriorating as he maneuvered his sports car toward the gothic pile that was the venue for a weekend workshop with bestselling romance novelist Mollie Blake. He repeated his curse, stocking up against his entry into a sugar pink, expletive-free zone. Mollie Blake was not happy as she shifted gears, grinding the motor slightly. She didn?t do signings, or talk shows, and she sure as heck didn?t do workshops. But when your sweetheart of a publisher had promised a friend, had gone down on his knees, had been desperate enough to offer the loan of his precious car because it had a phone and she?d never be out of touch... Late, she put her foot down on the accelerator. Tom cruised the packed car park. The venue, at least, was a bonus. The hotel had once been used as the set for low-budget horror movies and the weekend might be considerably enlivened by devising grisly literary ends for other members of the workshop. He grinned. He?d think up something really special for Ms. Mollie Blake. Mollie?s car phone rang and her heart gave a little lift as she pressed the hands-off button to answer it. "Hi, sweetheart ... " Then, "Can you hold on a minute, darling? I need to park." Spotting a space, Tom shifted into reverse. Maybe he could get a book out of this workshop and his grin deepened as he considered a title. A Shroud in Pink Lace? "What the ? " He was jolted out of pleasurable thoughts of mayhem and murder by an ominous thunk and the sound of breaking glass. The positive thoughts evaporated; he?d gotten it right the first time. This was going to be the weekend from hell. Climbing out of the car to check the damage, prepared to be reasonable on an I?ll-pay-for-mine, if you?llpay-for-yours basis, he turned to check the damage and swallowed hard. His old Aston Martin was built like a tank and had scarcely sustained a scratch. But he?d hit a hundred thousand pounds worth of black Porsche and he let slip a phrase that he usually confined between the covers of his books. "Ditto." The woman who?d been at the wheel of the Porsche didn?t look up from her examination of the damage, but her voice gave him a moment of hope. Soft, slightly husky, the sound settled low in his vitals,

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stirring something that his mind reached for, but just slipped past the edge of memory... He shrugged, let it go. And fought to contain a smile. It wasn?t all bad news. Bent over the buckled rear of the car in a short, close-fitting skirt, the lady displayed a physical framework to match all that classy German engineering. Her face was hidden by a pale curtain of silver-blond hair that shimmered in the light spilling from the entrance to the hotel, but the rest of her was a feast to behold. Her legs alone were enough to give a man straight-to-hell ideas ? if a man was in the market for that kind of thing. But she was the kind of woman that any one of his heroes would be glad to have hanging off his left arm and maybe, in the interests of research.... "Tell me," she asked, pre-empting him, without bothering to look up. "Just what kind of idiot are you?" The softness had been illusory. Not that she had raised her voice. Simply endowed it with an edge of sarcasm that would have cut through steel. Well, in her place, he guessed he?d be feeling a little touchy. "I don?t know," he said. "How many kinds are there?" Mollie groaned inwardly. As if it wasn?t bad enough that he?d done untold damage to poor Jerry?s precious car, the man was a relic from some cliché-ridden romance. Ignoring the pick-chat up line, she straightened, unimpressed with Mr. Cute. But she couldn?t escape the clichés. Even in the darkness of the car park she could see that he was tall, with mile-wide shoulders. A car door opened nearby and in the brief burst of light she saw that he was grinning, his mouth lifting at one corner in a way that left her momentarily floundering ... "Didn?t you see me?" she snapped, irritably and diverted her gaze to his car, pushing away disturbing memories. "Doesn?t that heap of junk have a rear view mirror?" "Heap of junk?" Now Tom was offended. "My car, madam, is a hand-built '60s classic. The finest ? " "Classic? That?s another word for old, right?" Then she seemed to forget about insulting his pride and joy and reached into her car to pick up the squawking handset. "Harry, sweetheart, I?ll call you in the morning. Miss you..." She made kissy noises into the receiver. The lady was spoken for, it seemed, and for once Tom found himself wishing it were otherwise. Which didn?t improve his mood. "And what do you use your rearview mirror for, sweetheart?" he inquired softly, as she switched off the phone and gave her attention to the more immediate problem of the car. "Fixing your hair ? " "Oh, please!" Then, "But what can you expect from a man who drives an outdated car except old-fashioned, chauvinistic ideas to match?" "Fixing your hair while you?re on the phone chatting to your boyfriend?" he concluded. "You won?t be his best girl when he sees the damage to his car." She ignored the taunt. "Just give me your insurance details and shift that superannuated heap out of the way so that I can park," she said. "I?m going to be late for my weekend workshop." "Workshop? You?re going to the Mollie Blake thing? Me too." "Really?" She sounded skceptical. He didn?t blame her. "Absolutely. Can?t wait," he said, making a virtue out of a necessity. "So, why don?t we go inside and trade dents in comfort? I?m sure we can sort this out amicably over a drink." "Can?t wait," she echoed, faintly. Tom parked, grabbed his bag from the boot and they reached the hotel doorway at the same time. As he pushed the door open and held it for her, she turned on automatic to thank him, and the light caught her face.

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That?s when he remembered where he?d heard the voice before. Younger... Sweeter... She?d changed, changed beyond recognition, but a man wasn?t likely to forget the voice of the woman he?d married. Even if the marriage had lasted barely long enough for the Registrar?s signature to dry on the certificate. "Thank you..." Mollie Blake took the door, waited for him to follow her into the light of the foyer, waited for him to fill in the blank of his name. But he hadn?t moved out of the shadows. Said nothing. "Are you all right?" The last thing she wanted was to get cozy with this man, but when he still didn?t move, she became concerned. "Did you get a whiplash or something?" "Yes, that is, no..." Tom stopped, gathered himself. "I?m fine," he said carefully. It was a lie. He wouldn?t have known her if they?d passed in the street. Hadn?t quite remembered a voice not heard for more than five years. But the eyes... He would never forget a pair of liquid gray eyes that had once bewitched him. Mary Harrington had been soft, sweet, an absurdly young 20-year-old, with mousy hair, lingering baby fat, and shoulders rounded from her attempts to disguise her height. Over-protected by dominating parents, she?d been dangerously naïve. Not his type of girl. No way. Shy and sweetly innocent and never-been-kissed, at least not the way he?d kissed her. Maybe that was part of the attraction for a girl kept on too short a leash. The danger. And his excuse? That he?d been captivated by something fresh, untouched, that had shone from her? No one had believed that. Not for a minute. "Mary." He said her name. That was all. Mollie caught her breath as every cell in her body went on red alert, responding with a familiar rush of adrenaline to the softness of her name on this man?s lips. Her real name. Mary. No one had called her that in so long. Only... She gave a choked cry as he stepped inside, let the door swing shut behind him. "Tom?" She said his name hesitantly, half lifted her hand to his face as if to touch it, reassure herself that he was real and not some figment of her imagination. Then, as the light fell full onto his face, the blood drained from hers and reality kicked in. The last time she?d seen him he?d been shouting to be heard over the angry voices, her tears, as she?d been surrounded by her family and bustled away from the Registrar?s Office they?d chosen for their secret runaway wedding. Swearing that he?d be back, that nothing, no one, could keep him away. He?d been struggling then, a newly published author, with an edge of danger to lend him glamor. He?d matured, taken on polish along with the fame, the streetwise edge had been smoothed from his voice and he looked...great. But he was still a liar. "It?s been a long time," he said. She choked back the words gathering in her throat. The "Where were you? I waited but you didn?t come" words. "Not long enough," she replied and he flinched as if she?d hit him and how many times over the years had she dreamed of doing just that? There was no pleasure in it, she discovered, as she turned and walked away, dropping her bag beside the hotel desk. Just an overwhelming sadness. "Not one more tear," she whispered shakily, as she gripped the pen, filled in the form. "?Not one." "I?m sorry, madam?" "Nothing." Nothing. What a joke! Everything, more like it. The weekend was a mess. Jerry?s car was mess. That was Tom Garrick for you. He could make a mess just crooking one of those expressive eyebrows. But

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she?d get the car fixed, just as she?d fixed her battered heart. It would look okay. Work efficiently. Only she would know the difference, that it would never be quite the same again, never be quite perfect. "Mary ? " She swung round to face him. "I?m busy, Mr. Garrick." She picked up her bag, but he beat her to her key and he clearly wasn?t going to surrender it until he?d got whatever it was he wanted. "Please, Tom! What do you want? What are you doing here?" Tom heard the desperation in her voice. The unspoken plea for him to leave her alone. Well, he would. But not until he?d got some answers. He was entitled to answers. "My editor thinks I need to woo my women readers," he said, relieving her of her bag and heading for the stairs. "He?s hoping that the brilliant Mollie Blake will pass on a few of her secrets." "?Don?t count on it." He glanced back. "You think I?m wasting my time?" "No, you?re wasting mine. Please give me my key." He handed it over without a word. "And my bag." "You shouldn?t be carrying anything this heavy. Has your mother put padlocks on all your ? ?" He?d been going to say underwear, but remembered the kissy-kissy phone call. Obviously not. She wasn?t wearing his ring and Tom wondered if her boyfriend knew she was still a married woman. Maybe the boyfriend didn?t care. "This is my room." She stopped, but pointedly, did not unlock the door. He wasn?t ready to move on yet. "Why didn?t you ever bother with a divorce?" he asked. "I was sure daddy would insist." If he was hoping to provoke a reaction, crack the cool façade, he failed miserably. She slid the key in the lock, opened the door and picking up her bag in the same smooth movement, shut it in his face. Despite everything, he knew that given the choice, he?d still have rather been on the other side of it. Mollie leaned back against the door, fighting the weakness, the temptation to fling it open and race after him, demand to know if it had been worth it. She shut her eyes, as if to shut him out of her mind, her heart. She wasn?t that gullible girl he?d married. No way. *** According to the program left in Tom?s room, there was to be a reception to meet the famous Mollie Blake before dinner. The noise of the crowd rose to meet him as he went downstairs, but that wasn?t why he paused. Mary was ahead of him, stunning in a long sea-green silk tunic worn over a pair of chiffon trousers that billowed transparently around her legs. And heels as high as the Andes. As if sensing his presence, she glanced back and for a heartbeat he saw through the expensive designer style to the girl who?d smiled so shyly at him and stolen his cynical heart. Uncertain, awkward, way out of her depth. And he reached out, took her arm, felt its warmth beneath his fingers. For a moment they were transported back five years, to a party getting out of control, when he?d seen how scared she was and whisked her out of harm?s way... Then someone turned and saw them. "Look, she?s here! It?s Mollie Blake!" Tom turned to the eager faces of the women surging towards them, saw the momentary panic in hers. "No," he said, stepping forward, to protect her. "This isn?t Mollie Blake. This is ? " "Don?t!"

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Her sharp interjection was a millisecond too late. " ? my wife." "Mollie, I?m Rachel Gibson. We spoke on the telephone. I didn?t realize you were bringing your husband with you." Rachel turned to Tom. "I had no idea that you and Ms. Blake..." She foundered on the confusion of the names. "I?ve seen you on television of course and my husband adores your books." He smiled but before he could engage her, divert her from Mary, she said, "I?m so sorry about your room, Mollie. I thought you were coming alone. I?m afraid the two of you will be desperately cramped..." Tom let her twitter on, even though she was mistaken. His concern was all for Mary. She was riveted to the spot, her luminous gray eyes filled with panic exactly as they had been when he?d first seen her... "Ms. Gibson. Rachel," he said, in an effort to stop the woman. "I?m afraid you?ve made a ? " "No!" Mary?s hand tightened on his arm, warning him not to go on. And that?s when the truth struck him with the force of a sledgehammer. There was no mistake here. Only the one he was making. Mollie... He remembered now that her mother had called her that. Mary Harrington was Mollie Blake. The girl he?d run away with ? secretly married, then lost ? was the brilliant, reclusive young woman who?d taken the publishing industry by storm. Which went a long towards explaining why she was publicity shy. After her first book was published, he and Mollie Blake had been invited to share the stage at a literary festival together. An unlikely pairing, but one the organizers felt had mass appeal. But it had never happened. She?d cried off with "family problems." Well, he could understand that. Her family had always been a problem. "Will that be all right, Mollie? Shall we do that?" She clearly hadn?t taken in Rachel?s question. "That?ll be fine," Tom said, quickly, rescuing her. He hadn?t been listening, either, but his answer seemed to make the woman happy. "I?ll see to it. Now, Mollie, everyone is simply dying to meet you." He watched anxiously as she was swallowed up in a throng of eager fans. That?s how he?d lost her before, as she?d been circled by her family, cut off from him, swept out of reach... "Are you here to research a book, Mr. Garrick?" He dragged his attention from the stranger who was his wife, his heart sinking as he saw the eager face of a reporter from the local newspaper. Mollie Blake was certainly getting the celebrity treatment. "Or are you just here to give your wife the benefit of your wide experience? She doesn?t usually do this sort of thing, does she? Is that why your marriage has been kept such a secret?" she continued with a barrage of questions, her eyes alight with the prospect of a "big story." "It?s not a secret." It was a matter of public record like any marriage. "My wife simply prefers not to live in the media spotlight," he said, enjoying the novelty of the word "wife." He was sick of the publicity too, but he?d dredge up something outrageous to keep the reporter satisfied. "?Can I get you a drink ? " He glanced at her name badge and smiled, "Lucy?" *** Mollie pushed her dessert around her plate. "Not hungry, sweetheart?" "Don?t call me that. I?m not your sweetheart." She?d insisted that it wasn?t necessary, but Rachel had rearranged the seating plan so that "her husband"

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could sit by her. And he was still legally that. ?Til death do us part, she?d promised. And she?d meant it. They?d said she was stubborn and stupid and they were probably right. Maybe if her parents hadn?t tried to force her into a divorce she?d have given in and signed the papers. But he hadn?t bothered with it, either. She?d never understood why. It had been too late by then to prove her father had been wrong about him. Tom leaned towards her, his jacket brushing against her sleeve in a gesture of such intimacy that she felt naked. He could do that to her with just a look. His eyes were so eloquent. They said, I see you ? in my mind I?m touching you... As her fork clattered to the floor, he caught her hand, held it to still her shaking fingers. "Nervous, Mary?" he asked. "Not nervous. Angry. And don?t call me that." "It?s your name. Mollie ? " he shrugged, " ? is just the baby name your mother persisted in calling you, long after it was obvious to anyone with eyes to see that you weren?t a baby anymore." He was still touching her... She?d tried to forget how good that felt, blot him out. She should hate him. "Leave my mother out of this. I haven?t..." No. She wouldn?t give him the satisfaction of telling him that. "What?" His gaze held hers remorselessly. "What haven?t you done?" "Nothing. Just... I?m Mollie, that?s all. Always have been, always will be." "Mollie!" someone called out, as if to prove her point and she glanced round, gratefully. There was a bright flash and, too late, she realized that she?d been photographed with her hand in Tom?s, like some "lost in love" teenager. "Oh, terrific," she said. "Maybe you?re right," he murmured, his grin doing nothing to help. "Mollie." She wished. It was the sexy way he?d said her name that had got her into trouble in the first place. Still could, she realized, belatedly snatching her hand away. She didn?t know how she was going to get through the weekend with him there, watching her through narrowed, knowing eyes. Remembering how it had been. Deliberately she turned away, engaging the woman opposite in conversation. *** The evening workshop went well, but it was a relief to escape while Tom was busy chatting up the press. Well, he?d got a lot to tell them. She just hoped they remembered he wrote fiction. "My key, please," she said at the front desk, as the receptionist looked up. "And mine," Tom said, over her shoulder. The receptionist beamed at them both. "Rachel explained about the mix-up and we?ve moved you into the Windsor suite ? " "No! No really," Mollie said firmly, "that isn?t necessary. I don?t want to be a nuisance." "No problem. The housekeeper supervised the move while you were at dinner." "But ? " "Rachel said she?d cleared it with you." The young woman was clearly growing a little puzzled by their reaction.

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Tom?s hand closed warningly on Mollie?s shoulder. "Yes," he said. "She did." "Not with me she didn?t," Mollie hissed as, with his arm firmly about her shoulders he directed her towards the stairs. "You weren?t listening." Neither of them had been listening to Rachel Gibson, but it had been him who?d filled in her expectant pause with a thoughtless, "That?ll be fine..." "You agreed to this?" She dug her heels into the thick carpet and forced him to stop. "Just what do you think you?re playing at?" He glanced around. The furiously muttered interchange had attracted attention. People were staring. Not good. "Right now, sweetheart? I?m doing you a favor and playing at being a loving husband." And by way of demonstration, he lowered his mouth to hers and before she could protest, he kissed her. Kissing Mollie was the best idea he?d had all evening Tom Garrick decided. And the worst. He?d caught her off guard, she?d had no chance to put up barriers, mental or physical, and her mouth was as soft and sweet as in the dreams that had never ceased to torment him. But dreams were transitory things that were banished in the harsh light of day when it was easy to remind himself that the sweetness had been an illusion. That when it came right down to it, her genes ran true to type. This wasn?t a dream. He wasn?t about to wake up and get a reality check. Mollie had dreamed of this. Night after night she?d dreamed that Tom would find her, come for her, take her in his arms and kiss her like this. It was only after she?d finally accepted the truth that she?d stopped seeking the solace of dreams and had fought to stay awake any way she could. Sitting up, night after night, writing the fantasy ? the hero who would cross continents, brave fire and flood for the woman he loved. Pouring her breaking heart out onto the paper. This wasn?t a dream. Tom wasn?t her hero, far from it, and she pulled back sharply, stumbling a little as she realized too late that his hands were not holding her, or compelling her, but simply offering support. That she could have stopped the kiss at any moment she chose... But she?d lingered, clinging to him like a drowning man to a shipwreck. "You shouldn?t ? " she began, her voice little more than a croak. "I didn?t ? " "I know," he said, softly, putting a finger to her lips in a gentle warning to be silent. "But save your feelings until we?re somewhere more private. I?ve just about managed to convince the local reporter that she doesn?t have a story." He smiled wryly at that. "The national newspapers aren?t interested in boringly happy celebrities. Don?t ruin all my hard work by throwing a fit in public and giving her a tabloid headline." Tom let out a breath of relief as Mollie groaned softly, let her head fall against his shirt front and allowed him to usher her up the stairs, out of sight of prying eyes. "The Windsor Suite," he said, approaching the door, sliding the key into the lock, ushering her resisting body through the door. "Do you suppose...?" He stopped as they stepped over the threshold. Yes, there was. He could see the majestic four-poster bed through the double doors that opened into the bedroom. "Don?t!" She stepped away from him, holding up her hands as if to ward him off. "Don?t even think about it ? " "What? Oh, the bed..." And he paused just long enough to let her think about it.

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"No, I was simply wondering..." he mentally crossed his fingers, "if there?s a sofa." There was. A fancy brocade thing that didn?t look comfortable enough to sit on, let alone sleep on. "Quit wondering. Just collect your things and go." "Go where? You want me to go back down there and tell them the truth?" "The great Tom Garrick admit that his wife threw him out of their room? I don?t think so. You love your car so much, sleep in that." "Cold and uncomfortable." He knew all about that. Sitting outside her home day and night, refusing to go away despite the threats. Then her father had called the police and he?d been arrested "on suspicion". When he?d been released the house was empty. And all that remained of his car was a crushed cube of metal at the side of the curb. Mollie?s note had arrived in the post the next day. "So, it?s cold. You should have thought of that before you rearranged the accommodation." "I didn?t ? " he began, then let it go. In her position he wouldn?t have believed him either. "I?m trying to keep things civilized, Mollie. I don?t want to share your bed." It wasn?t a lie. His body would catch up with his head eventually. Mollie?s fingers curled into her palms, the nails cutting into her flesh. Had it been so difficult for him? Had bedding the innocent virgin been a real bore? It hadn?t been like that for her. He?d made her feel like a princess, so special...Had even that been faked? She dug her nails in harder. "You don?t have any say in the matter." He held up his hands. All innocence. "You know me, darling. I never went where I wasn?t invited." She felt the heat rise to her cheeks as she remembered. Saw that he remembered. "Did I?" he pushed, forcing her to acknowledge a desire beyond reason. She had to be strong. Forget the kiss. Forget the spiraling desire that had blotted out five years in an instant. Tom had always been trouble. She?d known it from the moment he?d walked into that party, turning heads of girls who practically fell over themselves to get at him. She?d looked, she wasn?t made of stone, but she?d known he wouldn?t be interested in her. Then he?d turned, attracted by the commotion as she tried to escape the attentions of some idiot who?d had too much to drink. For a moment the world had stopped turning and then he?d said her name. She?d been too stunned that he knew it to answer him. But it hadn?t mattered. He?d reached out, taken her hand, held it for a moment as if to reassure her before walking out of the party with her. Walking away with her, body, heart, and soul. "Mollie?" He was doing it again. "Please, don?t..." "You loved it when I said your name like that," he persisted. He was closer. She could feel his breath on her face. "That was before I knew..." He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and her cheek welcomed the touch, longed to nestle against his palm.

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"Before you knew what?" This was dangerous. She needed to keep a clear head. To remember..."That you?d made a virtue out of your mistake. You didn?t know then that I had a pet name. You just knew I was Mary Harrington. The only child of Sir Charles Harrington. Landowner. Banker. Millionaire. You saw me being harassed by some lout at a party and you thought...bingo." "You believed that?" She hadn?t wanted to. She?d protested that Tom loved her ? would do nothing to hurt her. "You really believed that?" "I didn?t want to, Tom." At first she?d refused to believe it. So her father had set about proving it to her. It could so easily have destroyed her, and indeed came close. But as she?d held her baby in her arms she?d felt only strength, the overwhelming rush of love, joy that she?d gotten this one thing right. She wasn?t going to ruin it all simply because, despite everything, she?d never been able to stop loving Tom Garrick. "But we both know that it?s true." "You believed I wanted you for your money?" Tom asked again. Mollie said nothing, which was answer enough. Stunned, not because her family had lied to her about him, but that she?d believed them, Tom let his hand fall to his side. "Why would I need your money? I had a contract for three books, film options ? " "Please! Don?t treat me like a fool all over again, Tom. It had taken you five years to get published, five years of living hand-to-mouth, doing anything you could to pay the bills ? " It took a will of iron to survive, to keep going through the rejections, hold on to the self-belief. Mollie hadn?t had to starve in a shack, but once she?d refused to go along with her father?s plans to put her life back together, it had been hard enough. She broke off as the phone beside the bed began to ring. She turned away from him, picked it up, rapped out her name. Dear lord! She had so nearly told him that she understood. That she knew how hard it was, that she didn?t blame him. Of course she blamed him. Not for taking advantage of a stupid, naïve young girl who?d allowed herself to believe the fairy tale. She blamed him for not caring whether he?d had a son, or a daughter. Even now he hadn?t asked about their child. It was as if he?d forgotten that she?d ever been pregnant. She glanced at him and frowned. Did he think she?d swept the whole thing under the carpet? Had their son adopted? Was he waiting for her to say something first? "Mollie, dear?" Her caller prompted. "What?" she asked, distractedly. Then, "Oh, sorry ? " "Are you all right? You sound tense." Angie Blake knew her too well. Mollie forced herself to smile before she answered. Tom picked up his bag. It was empty. They hadn?t just been moved, they?d been treated to a full valet service. Great. He really needed to hear her getting cozy with the owner of the Porsche as they cootchiecooed goodnight. He pulled open a drawer, started to fling his clothes in the bag as she sank to the edge of the bed, kicked off her shoes, her mouth softening into a smile. "No, I?m fine, really. How are things at home?" Home? They lived together? His heart clenched painfully in his chest. He felt...jealous. Hurt. Angry. That should have been him, at home taking care of their kids, while she did her great novelist thing... He dragged his thoughts back from the precipice. Tried to imagine how it had been for her. They?d lied to her about him, those pillars of the community, Sir Charles and Lady Harrington.

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He didn?t fit the image they had of a suitable husband for their daughter, so they?d isolated her, lied to her, alternating between coaxing and bullying to get her to agree to an abortion, ending the precious life they?d made together. She must have felt so alone and frightened. If only she?d had faith in him, believed in him, trusted him, held on. He?d loved her so much, would have died for her ? had died, inside, where it really counted. He stopped stuffing his clothes into his bag. If only he?d understood at the time just how ruthless they could be. "Don?t fuss!" She was laughing now as this man worried about her, fussed over her. He wouldn?t have believed it was possible how much that hurt. She was still his wife. She?d held out against divorce at least... He stared at her frowning. Why? What had been the point? That was it! There was something wrong about this whole set-up and he was going nowhere until he?d got to the bottom of it. He crossed the room and plucked the receiver from her fingers, just as she was telling her lover about the idiot who had rear-ended her car. "I?m not some idiot," he said, into the mouthpiece. "I?m Mollie?s husband ? " "Tom!" she protested. "And we have a great deal to talk about." Then he cut off the call. "Tom! You can?t do that!" "Mollie," he said, very quietly. "I just did." "But ? " "But?" He waited but there was no further reproof. Only her breast rising and falling too quickly, the heat building in her eyes until the silver was molten with desire, the telltale flush that heated her cheeks, betraying her deepest need. He recognized it instantly ? because it was his deepest need too... The years melted away as he touched her face, his fingers cool against her cheeks and Mollie whimpered softly, unable to catch the telltale sound. But then she?d always known how it would be. That there could be never be anyone else for her... He brushed back a loose tendril of hair, tucked it behind her ear, long fingers sliding through her hair as he cradled her head. So gentle. She?d loved his gentleness. Loved him. "?Til death us do part," she murmured. Nothing had changed. "Mollie..." His voice brushed velvet against her skin. His eyes were liquid dark with a desire that he couldn?t hide. No other man had ever looked at her like that, making her feel worshipped and deliciously wicked, all at the same time. Whatever else he?d wanted, she didn?t doubt that at that moment he desired her as deeply as she yearned for him. Maybe they could turn the clock back, put right the mistakes they?d both made. All it took was courage. And putting her heart on the line, she stepped into his arms and kissed him, boldly, her arms curling around his neck, offering him a second chance. Mollie?s mouth was warm, her tongue silky sweet, intoxicating, her body pressed against the length of his. It required Tom?s total concentration to hold back, let her set the pace, take control of where this was going. When her mouth trailed moist kisses from his mouth to his throat, her fingers loosening the buttons on his shirt, he was pleased to play follow-the-leader. When her tongue teased at the hollows in his shoulder, her teeth nipped at his skin, he was just half a step behind.

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But concentration was tougher with every passing moment. He was learning fast that following rather than leading, letting her decide what happened next, teasing him as he tried to anticipate her next move, was blowing his mind. The thought that had snagged at his memory in the moments before she?d kissed him was completely forgotten in the heat of their passion. If this was getting in touch with his feminine side, he was a convert. "Tom..." she whispered, her voice no more than a caress... She said his name as he?d once said hers and his last coherent thought was that the past didn?t matter... Tom woke feeling different, strange, and for a moment couldn?t think why. Then Mollie?s head shifted against his shoulder and he knew. This strange, almost forgotten feeling was happiness. For a while he watched her, sleeping within the circle of his arm. It was a perfect moment. Asleep she was totally his. Once they were awake he?d have to contend with the real world and the owner of the Porsche. Mollie woke with a slow, blissful drift into consciousness from a state of pure happiness. There hadn?t been many moments like it in her life. The few precious weeks when she?d first met Tom. The first time she?d held Harry. This moment. Maybe. She opened her eyes and saw that Tom was already awake, looking at her with an expression of such tenderness that she caught at her breath. "I thought I must be dreaming." "Better pinch yourself to be sure," he suggested, the tenderness transposing itself into the wickedest of grins. "Or maybe I can help." His hand stroked softly over her hip, her thigh, as if seeking a suitable place for his demonstration, but since he was also kissing her it took a tap at the door to convince her that she was awake. "Ignore it," he said. "It?s just tea and the paper." "Tea? Dear lord, what time is it?" "Relax, sweetheart." He resumed the tender trawling of her neck with his lips, but she grabbed his wrist so that she could see his watch. "Oh, heck. Let me up, Tom. Please. I?ve got a workshop in half an hour." He surrendered to the inevitable and rolled over onto his back to watch her as she grabbed her robe and tied it around her waist. Mollie tried to marshal thoughts that seemed determined on doing their own thing. With Tom. She had to stop looking at Tom, thinking about last night...the rest of her life. She had to phone home, she reminded herself forcefully. Right now. Harry would be hopping around, driving Angie mad waiting for her call. She headed for the phone. Then she?d grab a quick shower ? with Tom? No! She?d read her workshop notes over a cup of tea, there was no time for breakfast... She suddenly thought of something else on her to-do list. "Oh, heck," she said again and Tom?s brows rose in query. "I?ve got to call Jerry." Tom?s brows snapped together. "Jerry?" he repeated. "I thought his name was Harry." Mollie, her hand poised above the phone, stilled, went cold. Tom knew about Harry. All through a long and blissful night spent in passionate rediscovery of each other, their need had been to touch, to hold each other. They had all the time in the world for the whys and the hows, at least that was how it had seemed to her. But Tom didn?t need the whys, or the hows. He hadn?t said a word to her, asked about their son. Yet he?d known about Harry all along.

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And in that split second she knew what Tom had done. In her mind she saw again the check that her father had laid in front of her with the cashier?s stamp on it, proof of her brand-new husband?s betrayal. He was doing it again. The ridiculous story about attending the workshop to brush up on his technique. This was Tom Garrick, for heaven?s sake... Then there was the cliché of the collision in the car park, the pretence that he didn?t know who she was. The publishing world was small. He?d probably found out who she was purely by chance. Dug around a little. Then remembered that there was a second seam to the gold mine. Charles Harrington had paid up without a murmur to get his pathetic daughter back. How much more would he give to keep control of his grandson? Tom had been so clever. She hadn?t suspected a thing, not even when he?d switched the rooms. The phone rang once, twice, three times before she could force herself to move, lift the receiver. "Mollie Blake," she said. She was cold. So cold that if someone just tapped her she would shatter... "Mollie, thank heavens. Now, lovie, you?re not to worry..." She heard Angie?s voice, but nothing registered until "worry." "What?s happened?" "Harry?s had a tumble on the stairs. You know how excited he gets and the phone rang and he thought it was you. We?re at the hospital and the doctor?s with him now ? " Mollie?s mind was suddenly crystal clear. "Which hospital? I?ll be right there." She grabbed the first clothes that came to hand and, shedding the robe, began to dress. "What?s happened? What?s the matter?" She stared at Tom for a moment. Then she said, "He?s had an accident. I?ve got to go to him." Tom saw her face and knew that he was in trouble. She cared about this man, really cared and he allowed himself the indulgence of five seconds in which to hope that his rival was in serious pain. Then he flung back the bedclothes and joined her in the scramble for clothes. "What are you doing?" "You?re in no fit state to drive." "Forget it, Tom," she said. "It?s not going to work." Her eyes were swimming with tears but as he put out a hand to touch her, reassure her, he saw every shade of emotion cross her features from pain to guilt. "Please just go away and forget it." "I can?t. Not after last night." "You don?t have a choice. I?ve made two mistakes in my life. The first one was marrying you. The second was last night." He let his hand fall to his side. This was not the moment to point out to her that last night had been her idea, that she?d led every step of the way. And definitely not the moment to bring up the way she?d clung to him, the need in her voice as she cried out for him. It was the moment to be practical. "You can?t drive the Porsche," he reminded her. "The rear lights are smashed." "I?ll call a taxi." "You won?t do anything of the kind." Guilt was driving her to reject him. Harry had been in pain while she?d

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been in his arms. She was pushing him away, trying to wipe out the night they?d spent together. Tom wasn?t going to let that happen. "It?ll take forever for a taxi to get here," he said, taking her coat from the wardrobe, gathering her handbag as she still hesitated, glancing uncertainly at the phone. "He needs you now, Mollie." She turned on him. "Please don?t pretend you care ? " "Mollie, please don?t ? " "What?" Blame yourself. That?s what he?d been going to say. Please don?t blame yourself. Bad idea. What, then? Please don?t worry about this man who, despite last night, I can see from your eyes means everything in the world to you? He tried not to think about that. "Please don?t let?s waste time arguing." That did it. With a small mew of anxiety that tugged painfully at his heartstrings, she turned and headed for the door. Mollie never wanted to live through another journey like that, her mind running over every nightmare scenario a mother feared, while Tom, grimly silent, concentrated on the road, edging the speed limit every inch of the way. He pulled up at the entrance to the hospital and made a move to get out, open the door for her. "Don?t!" she said. Then, "You can?t stay here." "I know. I?m going to park ? " "There?s no need. I appreciate the lift but you don?t have to stay. I don?t want you to stay." She climbed out as quickly as she could, discovering too late that her legs were like jelly and she was shaking uncontrollably. Tom was at her side in a moment, his arm at her back, holding her gently while she steadied herself. "He?ll be all right," Tom said, reassuringly. "Will he?" Angie had said it was nothing serious, but... "He fell on the stairs ? " For the briefest moment he put his arms about her and she clung to him for comfort as he hugged her. Then he straightened, pointed her in the direction of the door. "Go," he said. "Go and find him. I?ll be with you as soon as I?ve parked." "No." Her ache for her husband had never diminished and last night was a memory that she wanted to keep as something special, untarnished. But Tom was so good at this, his warmth so seductive. She didn?t care about herself, but Harry would love him too and then Tom would leave them both. She took a deep breath. "I don?t want you to stay," she repeated, pushing the words out, one at a time, each one a blow to her heart. "You tried, Tom. It didn?t work. Please don?t make things worse." Tom could feel her pain and it twisted his gut like a fork tangling up spaghetti. "Mollie, you?re stressed. Let?s talk about this later." "Please! For once in your life do something completely unselfish. Walk away. Drive away. Now." He understood why she felt she had to send him away, but he wasn?t going anywhere. "You?ll have to go back to the hotel for your things. If I leave now how will you get there?" She groaned. "The hotel! The workshop! They?ll all be waiting ? " "Forget the workshop. I?ll sort it out." She looked at him doubtfully for a moment. "Trust me," he said. "I?m a writer."

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"?That?s not a character reference." "No, but it means I can find someone to take on your wretched workshop so that you can forget it. Go and see what?s happened to Harry." She hesitated, then accepting she needed him for this said, "Thank you." "You?re entirely welcome," he murmured, giving thanks for this one small victory as she walked away from him and was swallowed up in the frantic swirl of activity in the accident and emergency department. He parked, found a phone, called a well-loved writer who lived 10 minutes? drive from the hotel and promised her his soul in return for taking over the workshop, then he called Rachel and put her in the picture. Only then did he head back to Accident & Emergency. Tom knew that very formal "thank you" from Mollie had meant goodbye, but she?d need him, if only to get home. Maybe, if Harry was badly injured, she?d need him for a lot more than that and he?d be there. Always. He wasn?t fooling himself. Last night was rapidly looking like a one-off. What, for a moment, had seemed like a new start to a golden future had been put on indefinite hold by Harry?s accident. Mollie wasn?t in the waiting room and he realized he didn?t have Harry?s surname to inquire where he?d been taken. "Tom Garrick? You are Tom Garrick? I?ve seen your photograph in the newspapers." He smothered a groan. The last thing he needed was an eager fan and he turned reluctantly to be confronted by a small motherly woman. "Mollie?s with the doctor." "You were with Harry? Is it very bad?" "He?ll survive." That could mean anything. Years in a coma, life in a wheelchair. And he knew that he could do nothing to protect Mollie from the consequences of that. He would never persuade her to leave Harry if the man needed her. "I?m Angie Blake in case you were wondering," the woman added. "Blake?" So that?s where Mollie had acquired her new surname. "We spoke, or at least you spoke, on the phone last night," she said. "Last night? But ? " "I cleaned for Lady Harrington, years ago," she said, taking pity on his confusion. "I only stuck it out for Mollie. You know, her parents had always wanted a boy, never forgave her for being a girl, poor mite. She came to me when she finally made the break from them." Angie put her head on one side. "It?s about time you put in an appearance. I just hope you?re not planning another kiss and run." And she smiled into the space behind him and began to move. "Here they are." He spun round. Mollie had her back to him as she thanked the doctor. She was gloriously, beautifully disheveled in the mismatched assortment of clothes she?d thrown on in her rush to get to the hospital, and he loved her so much that it hurt. But love sometimes meant sacrifice. Making things easy for the other person ? He watched as she shook the doctor?s hand, then turned to look around the waiting room for Angie. That?s when he saw the child she was holding, his little arm protected by a light cast.

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A child who could only be a few months over four years old, with a mop of dark curly hair and laughing gray eyes. A boy he recognized from faded photographs of himself at that age. The boy wriggled in his mother?s arms, impatient to be let down so that he could show Angie Blake his cast. Tom took a step forward, tried to speak, say something, anything. "Harry?" The child stopped fidgeting, glanced at him curiously. Turned to his mother. "Who?s that?" Mollie thanked the doctor, then turned to look for Angie and with a sinking heart realized that Tom was with her. But as he turned, saw them, she saw no gleam of triumph, or avarice light up his eyes. There was only confusion swiftly followed by recognition and color-draining shock. Then he took a step forward as if in a dream, and reached out for the boy, said his name. Asking who he was, Harry stopped wriggling then, after a moment?s thought, leaned away from her, holding out his arms, eager to make a new friend. The child reached out to him and Tom took him, held him for a moment, settled him against his chest, robbed of speech by the purest wonder. Harry, though, wanted to show off his battle trophies. "I?ve broken my arm," he said, confidentially. "Look." And he held up the cast for Tom to see. Tom?s throat was so tight that he was forced to swallow before he could speak. "Did it hurt?" "A bit," Harry admitted. "I didn?t cry though." Then, with a tiny frown, he asked again, "Who are you?" "I...I?m your daddy." Mollie?s throat was tight with suppressed tears as, with a look of wonderment, Tom gently brushed his finger against Harry?s cheek. "I?m your daddy," he repeated, as if the words were brand new. As if he were the first man in history to say them. "Really?" Tom nodded wordlessly, as Harry considered his response. "I didn?t know I had a daddy." Mollie?s hand flew to her mouth as Harry turned to her. "Can I show Daddy my car when we get home?" "You?ve got a car?" Tom asked. "It?s got a horn and lights and everything. I have to drive it in the garden though, not on the road." "Will you give me a ride?" Harry giggled. "You?re too big." "It?s a pedal car," Mollie cut in, quickly. Speaking had been a mistake. It reminded Tom that she was there. And his eyes, as he looked up, lost the soft mistiness of emotional overload, warning her that she?d better have a good reason for keeping his son from him. Well, he needn?t think that a belated attack of fatherly feelings would impress her. She?d had a good reason as he very well knew. "I?ll go and fetch the car, shall I?"? Angie suggested. "Good idea," Tom said. "We?ll all go home together." "But your car ? " Mollie interjected. She was losing control. Correction, she?d lost control the moment Tom Garrick walked back into her life.

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"I?m coming with you and Harry," he said. His voice remained quiet, but with a strand of steel that warned her she?d better not argue. And for the first time in five years she felt a moment of doubt. *** "How could you have done it? Kept him from me?" They were home. Tom had admired Harry?s car and every possession he held dear with a patience that left her pulling her lips tightly back against her teeth. Finally, Angie had tempted Harry away for lunch and now they were alone. "You really didn?t know?" Mollie asked. "Do you think that if I?d known I had a son, anything would have stopped me from finding you both?" The doubts intensified and she swallowed hard before she forced out the words. "Not even a hundred and fifty thousand dollars?" "Is that how much they said I took to walk away?" He shook his head, then bit out, "I don?t know which is worse. That you believed I?d take their money. Or that you?d value yourself so low." "Then...what did you think I?d done, Tom?" "Don?t ask." Don?t ask him to tell her about the painful images that he?d lived with. Tom couldn?t believe he?d been so gullible, so easily taken in. But the letter had been in her handwriting, signed by her. "Don?t ask," he repeated. "You don?t want to know what I believed." He swung round to stare out at the garden so that he didn?t have to see the look in her eyes as she realized the truth ? that he thought she?d gotten rid of her unborn baby. "It was all a lie. A filthy, stinking, rotten lie and I believed it." He rubbed at his face as if to wipe away the guilt. "God help me, I believed it. I suppose I?ve got no more than I deserved for not trusting in you." And the elusive thought that had been bothering him before they?d made love last night finally crystallized perfectly in his mind. "I mean, what was I thinking? Your parents couldn?t bully you into a divorce so why on earth did I believe that you would have surrendered on something so much bigger, so much more important?" "Tell me, Tom," she insisted. "Tell me what they said." "Said? They didn?t have to say anything." He?d carried the letter with him always. A warning never to love again, never to trust his heart. He reached into his jacket and from the back of his wallet he extracted the letter, turned and held it out to her. Mollie took the wretched piece of paper. It had been ripped into pieces, then stuck back together. The creases were worn with handling and it was only the tape that was holding it together. It didn?t take long to read. Tom ? it?s all been a terrible mistake. I?ve had an abortion. I don?t want to see you ever again, Mollie. She made a small, involuntary sound as she imagined his pain... Then she looked up. "I didn?t write this, Tom, my mother did." She folded it back up into the worn creases and offered it back to him. He shook his head. "She had such beautiful handwriting. I worked hard to copy it." Then, "If it?s any consolation, trying to persuade me into an abortion was the last straw. I left with Angie and we?ve never been back. They?ve never seen Harry." "?Don?t apologize. Don?t ever apologize for your family. I?m the one who should be groveling here." "No ? " She lifted her chin a little. "?We both made mistakes. I should have been stronger ? if I?d had the

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courage to tell them that I loved you instead of persuading you into a secret wedding, if we?d stood together they couldn?t have parted us. But penniless writer runs off with heiress... That put you in the wrong from the word go." "Not penniless. Far from it." She shrugged, hopelessly. "Who would have believed you wanted me just for my body?" "It?s a great body, but I swear I love your mind, too..." He offered a tentative smile along with his hand. She took it briefly, then turned to a small desk. "My mind isn?t that great. I doubted you too, when I should have believed." She opened a drawer, stared for a moment at the check for one hundred thousand pounds bearing a cashier?s stamp: Paid in full. She picked it up, turned and gave it to him. "I?ve never seen this before." He looked up. "It?s made out to me but ? " "Lies," she said. "They did it to both of us. My father laughed when he gave it to me. He said you were cheap, that he?d have paid five times that amount to prove to me what kind of man you were." "What kind of man do you believe I am, Mollie?" He laid his hand against her cheek, his eyes soft as melted toffee. It felt so perfect, as if she?d spent the last four years holding her breath, waiting for this moment. And she leaned into him, rubbing her face against his palm. "You?re like most men, Tom," she murmured. "A long way from perfect. But then perfect would be tough to live with. You?re a lot better than most." She turned and kissed his hand, looked up at him. "The only man in the world I?ve ever loved." Then, her voice straining through a throat thick with tears, "This is where you get to kiss me," she prompted, sliding her hand into his hair, tangling it in her fingers to draw him closer to her. "And the orchestra plays the violins." His smile was slow, but his eyes were heating her from the inside out. "To tell you the truth, Mollie, I wasn?t planning on an audience for this next bit." Then, with his mouth an inch from hers, he stopped. "No, wait." "I?ve been waiting four years..." "There?s one more thing I don?t understand. Who the devil?s Jerry? And what were you doing driving his Porsche?" She groaned and leaned against his shoulder. "Thanks a lot, Tom. You?ve just ruined the perfect moment by reminding me that I?ve got to confess to my publisher that his car is a wreck." "Your publisher? That is serious." Then he grinned. "Don?t worry about it, sweetheart. I?ll get it fixed, I?ll even tell him that it wasn?t your fault ? " "It wasn?t..." she began, but he pulled her close, stopped her protest with the most tender of kisses. And then, once he had her undivided attention, he murmured, "Now cue the violins." *** "Daddy?" Tom jerked awake, thought for a moment he?d been dreaming. Then he saw Harry standing beside the bed peering anxiously at him pre-dawn light. "What is it, Harry? Does your arm hurt?" "No. I just wanted to make sure you were still here." Not a dream. This small anxious little boy with his hair tousled from sleep, his arm in a sling, was his son, the child he thought forever lost.

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"I?m home, son," he said. "I?m not going anywhere without you ever again." He lifted the cover and Harry needed no encouragement to scramble into bed beside him, his anxious frown immediately transformed into a wide grin. "Do you know any stories?" "A few," he said, trying to think of something a four year old would enjoy. At his back Mollie moved closer to nuzzle his neck. "Once upon a time..." she prompted, propping herself up on her elbow, so that the three of them were all together, a real family. Tom doubted that this was what his publisher had in mind when he?d advised getting in touch with his feminine side. But it worked for him and his own grin must have set some kind of record. "Okay, here goes," he said. "Once upon a time..."

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The Runaway Mistress by Sandra Marton Rio is determined to get Esmé back into his bed ? but is that enough for either of them? Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| 9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14| 15| 16| 17| 18| 19| 20| Rio de Santos did not believe in fate. It was true that life was like a game of cards. You were dealt a hand to play but, in the end, your skill was all that mattered. Rio was skillful. When he knew something was right for him, he went after it. It was the way he'd acquired the financial empire that spanned two continents, the ranch high in the hills outside Madrid, the penthouse in New York, the beautiful women who warmed his bed ? although acquiring them required no skill at all. They had come to him since he'd turned 16, more than a dozen years ago. He'd been working for a rancher in Barcelona. By day, he rode horses. By night, he rode the rancher's wife. "Gorgeous," she'd whispered, as she'd undressed him. Rio smiled as his silver Learjet swooped over the Texas landscape. The lady had taught him much. How to please a woman. How to make her want to please him. How to ease himself, gently, out of a relationship when it grew stale, as all relationships eventually did. His smile faded. Either she had not taught him enough, or he had not been as good a pupil as he'd imagined. Otherwise, why would Esmé Bennett have been the first woman to leave him before he'd tired of her? It wasn't ego that made this fact troubling. It wasn't that he wanted her back, either. Hadn't he known it was time to end things? Six months with one woman was three months too many. That had always been his rule; he still had no idea why he'd deviated from it but when he realized he had, he'd begun to wind things down. More flowers, more gifts; fewer phone calls, fewer intimate evenings. That had been the plan, anyway, but somehow, it had gone wrong. Rio folded his arms, his frown deepening to a glower. One weekend, when he was away, Esmé had vanished from his life. What sort of woman left a man without a word? No note. No phone call. Nothing but a recorded voice saying that her telephone number was no longer in service. Rio had gone to her apartment, in a part of Greenwich Village that was still a slum as far as he was concerned ? she'd refused to give it up even though he'd offered to move her closer to him, on the East Side ? Señor de Santos?" ? and found the place empty. He'd had to hire a private investigator; after all, she could have been ill, or hurt. It had been the right thing to do. The surprise was not that the P.I. found her but that he found her in Texas. Coolly urbane Esmé Bennett had left the city, had left him, for a ranch called Espada. As it happened, Rio knew of the place. It bred some of the finest horses in the world.

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A man who believed in fate would have found that interesting. Rio simply found it convenient. Among other things, he was a rancher. It was only logical he'd improve the bloodlines of his horses by adding an Espada-bred stallion or mare to his stock. "Sir? You said you'd want to take the controls when we neared Austin." Rio looked up. His pilot was standing beside him, a polite smile on his lips. "Sí." Rio cleared his throat and rose to his feet. "Thank you, Jack." He ducked his head as he went through the cockpit door, then buckled himself into the pilot's seat. He liked to fly, liked the combined sense of freedom and control it gave him. It was always a propitious way to start a business trip, and that was all this was. He'd do a little horse-trading with Jonas Baron and if, in the process, he saw Esmé, if he found himself alone with her, if he were still curious enough to give a damn?maybe then he'd ask her why she had left him. Not that he wanted her back. Hell, no, Rio thought grimly, and took the jet down toward Espada and whatever was in store for him there?had he been foolish enough to believe in fate. The silver jet swooped over Espada and touched down on the Barons' private airstrip. The landing was quiet and uneventful, but the black stallion in the small paddock nearest the stables snorted and danced with terror. Esmé, who'd been working with the horse most of the morning, barely had time to grab its bridle and hang on. "Dammit," she said, through her teeth. All this effort spent soothing the animal, talking to it, letting it grow accustomed to her, and now some idiot in a shiny toy had all but ruined her hard work. The same idiot she'd probably be stuck with for the weekend, somebody with too much money, too much machismo, and too many people to do his bidding. Someone like the man she'd left almost three months ago, but why ruin the day by thinking about him? The horse nickered softly and nuzzled Esmé's shoulder. She smiled, dug into the pocket of her jeans, and offered him a chocolate mint. "Okay," she said, "you're entitled to a treat." The stallion took it delicately from her outstretched palm. She looked past him, to where a plume of dust rose lazily against the cloudless sky, proof that the plane had landed. It had to be that Eastern big shot, flying in to buy a stallion. Or a mare. "He ain't said which," Jonas had told her, with a grin. "That's your job, missy. You got to help him figure it out." Help him, indeed. Esmé led the horse toward the stables. Men with enough money to own planes and buy Baron-bred horses didn't need to bother themselves with the down and dirty details of life. They could snap their fingers, bark out orders, behave as if they owned the planet and everything on it, the way Rio?

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"Dammit," Esmé muttered again. The horse shied and she patted its neck. "Easy, handsome. I'm talking to me, not you." Why was she wasting time thinking about Rio de Santos? He was out of her life and she was out of his. That was the good news. That she'd made the first move was even better. It had been the only possible move, to save even a vestige of her pride. Esmé slipped the bridle from the stallion, patted his muzzle and shut the gate to his stall. Why think about a man who wouldn't have spent a moment thinking about her? Oh, maybe he'd have wondered about her a little, but only because she'd put a dent in his precious ego. Except for that, he'd be glad she was gone. He'd been planning to end their affair. The signs had all been there to read. She blinked as she stepped out into the sunlight. She knew she should never have become involved with him in the first place. The fellow models she?d worked with had warned her. He was gorgeous, they said, and sexy, and incredible, but he went through women like candy. "He'll break your heart," one had said, but that wasn't true. Rio hadn't broken her heart; you had to love a man for that to happen, and she'd never loved Rio. Never. She was too wise for that, and if it still hurt to think about him, if she sometimes imagined how it would feel, if he came after her? "Hello, Esmé." The earth seemed to tilt. Her heart and soul knew that deep, lightly accented voice, but it wasn't possible. Rio couldn't be here. He couldn't be. "Are you afraid to look at me?" She was trembling, but she knew better than to let him see it. "That's stupid," she said, and managed to sound as if seeing him again wasn't sending her pulse into overdrive. "Why would I be afraid?" Esmé took a deep breath, fixed a polite expression to her face. Then she turned around and looked at the man who had been her lover until a few months ago, the man who had awakened her to passion. He was wrong. She wasn't afraid of seeing him again. She was terrified. Esmé wasn?t terrified of Rio, physically. As big as he was, as powerfully male, she knew he would never hurt her. But she hadn't expected the sight of him to hurt so much. She thought she'd forgotten the rugged masculinity that radiated from his long, leanly muscled body; forgotten the black hair that felt like silk; the piercing emerald eyes that could see into her soul; the straight nose and wide, mobile mouth capable of such drugging kisses when he made love to her.? No. It hadn't been love, it had been sex. That was all he wanted to give; all she wanted from him. Hadn't she told him so? Pleasure. That was what they'd both sought. No entanglements, nothing to distract either of them from their careers. It was just that, sometimes, lying in his arms after he'd spent himself in her, she'd felt lonely. Unbearably lonely. She'd almost admitted that to him one night. "Querida?" he'd whispered. "You are so quiet. Is something troubling you?"

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"No," she'd said, and that was good because, soon after, he'd gone to Madrid without her. He'd never left her before, not in the six months they'd been together, and when she added that to the other subtle changes in their relationship, she'd realized he was getting ready to end their affair. "Querida," he said now, in a way that made a mockery of the endearment, "I take it you're not pleased to see me." Esmé looked into Rio's eyes, saw the coldness in them and her heart hardened. He had been her lover. Now, he was a stranger. He had only come after her because she was the first woman who'd walked out on him. "What are you doing here, Rio?" A tight smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "As always, direct and to the point." "I would appreciate the same courtesy from you." "Of course." He looked around him with studied ease. "This is Espada, isn't it?" he said politely. "Yes." "Well, then, I've come to see Jonas Baron." "For what reason?" Rio folded his arms. "Are you his secretary?" "No." "Then it's none of your business." "It's very much my business," Esmé snapped. "I'm not a fool. I know why you're really here." A slow smile curved his mouth. "Do you," he said flatly. "Yes. I do. And I'm not interested." "In what?" His dark brows lifted. "Ah. You think I've come for you." She felt a flush tinge her cheeks. "I didn't say that." "You didn't have to. It's there, in those eyes of yours." She started to turn away and he reached out, caught her wrist. "I hate to disappoint you, querida, but I haven't come to take you back." The heat in her face burned like flame. "That's good, because I have no intention of going back." "Such self-assurance." His hand tightened on hers; he drew her closer. She could see the gold flecks in his eyes, the flicker of a muscle in his jaw. "Such righteous indignation, querida. As if you were the injured party, not I." "You? Injured?" She laughed. "It's your ego that's injured, Rio. Look, if it makes you feel better, you can tell people you left me."

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"Damn you!" His eyes burned with green fire. "Do you think I care what people think?" "Let go of me!" Her mouth thinned as she tried to twist free of his hand. "I left you because I was tired of you." "Liar." "I know you can't believe it but that's how it is. I never wanted to see you again. I don't want to see you now. Just ? just get back on that plane and ?" "Well, now, missy, what kind of hospitality is this?" Esmé swung around. Jonas Baron was strolling toward them, his bushy white eyebrows raised. "De Santos," he said, and held out his hand, "good to meet you." Rio let go of her wrist. "And you, sir." "I take it you and the little lady here are old friends." Jonas grinned. "Makes it even better that she's goin' to spend the weekend showin' you around." "No," Esmé said, "no!" "Yes," Rio said, and from the quick flash in his eyes, she knew there was no way out.? Esmé sat stiffly on her horse, her back as rigid as an iron rod. Rio, riding just behind her, wondered ? for probably the 1000th time ? why in hell he had come after her. What did it matter, who had left whom? It had been time, past time, to end their affair. And he was certainly not going to demand she tell him the reasons she'd left him. Did a man really want to hear a woman enumerate such things? Rio narrowed his eyes. The trail curved like a snake as it wound up into the trees; there was a long drop to the right but Esmé paid it no attention. She sat in the saddle as if she'd been born to it. His mouth twisted. This was the woman he'd met at a charity ball at the Plaza and dined with at the Four Seasons. He'd taken her to Monaco, where she'd chatted easily with royalty; he'd watched her charm officials at a Washington gala. He knew her to be elegant, beautiful, and sophisticated. Now, she was wearing a cotton shirt, faded jeans, and scuffed boots. She had answered all his questions about the Baron stock with intriguing familiarity while handling a horse the size of Texas with little more than soft words and softer touches ? and handling him with icy disdain. He felt as if she were two different women. How was that possible? More to the point, how could he have only known one? Rio's horse picked its way delicately across a cottonwood deadfall. Esmé had moved out far ahead, where the trail opened onto a flat, wide plateau. He urged his mount forward and caught up to her just as she drew back on the reins. "You wanted to see the mares." She spoke tonelessly, not looking at him but at the

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meadow at the foot of the plateau. "Well, there they are." Rio dragged his eyes from Esmé, followed her gaze. Horses grazed far below them, muzzles deep in the summer grass. The animals were delicate and beautiful, but not as beautiful as the woman who sat on her horse beside him. "They're all Arabians," she said. He smiled, knowing her polite statement meant she didn't trust him to know very much about horses. "Yes. I prefer them. That aura of fragility, belying an inbred strength and stamina, especially in the mares?I find it most appealing." Her eyes met his. A faint pink color rose in her cheeks. "Yes," she said, "it is. It's one of the characteristics the Baron line has built upon." "You aren't a Baron." "We're talking about horses." "How do you know the family?" "Didn't whoever you paid to find me give you a complete dossier?" "Such hostility, querida." "Such curiosity, Rio." "I simply find it odd you should go from modeling in New York to riding the range on Espada." Esmé sighed. "I grew up here." She flashed him a look filled with challenge. "My mother is the Barons' housekeeper." His elegant mistress, the housekeeper's daughter. It seemed so incongruous that Rio smiled. "I'm glad you find that amusing," she said coldly. "I don't. I find it interesting." "Going slumming is always interesting." He looked at her, his dark brows raised. "Have I ever so much as inferred I am a man who would do such a thing?" She flushed. He hadn't. She had no idea why she'd said it. It was only that he confused her. His horse whinnied, tossed its head. Rio leaned forward, stroked the arched neck and the mare responded as any female would to that gentle, yet possessive, touch. Their eyes met, and what she saw set her blood on fire, just as it had the first time. She looked away, dismounted, and looped the reins over a low-hanging branch. "There are 100 horses in that herd," she said briskly. Leather creaked behind her. "I can point out some of the ones Jonas would be willing to ?"

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"Esmé," Rio said huskily, and without thinking about the consequences, she turned and went into his arms. This was what Esmé had really feared. That Rio would kiss her? That she would respond. She didn't want to, but how could she resist him? It had been like this from the beginning. The cool, silken brush of his lips turning hot, then hotter still as the kiss deepened. The taste of him, a rich, clean sweetness, like cold winter days and hot summer nights blended into one. She heard herself whimper, heard Rio's answering groan. He swept his arms around her, drew her close. His heart pounded against hers; his body hardened and she felt her own softening in response, felt the flowering dampness between her thighs. "Querida," he whispered, and she rose to him, looped her arms around his neck and gave herself up to the kiss, to what she had dreamed of each night since she'd left him because yes, she dreamed of him, yes, she still wanted him, yes, she loved? Esmé stiffened and tried to tear her mouth from Rio's, but he wouldn't let her. "No," he said thickly, and kissed her again, framing her face, holding her sweetly captive. Boneless, she let herself melt into him one last time before she pulled away again. When he tried to stop her, she pressed her hands against his chest, turned her face to the side and, at last, he let her go. She was trembling. How could he still have this effect on her? She had left him; she had eliminated him from her life. He was bad for her, he was everything her mother had warned her about, probably what all mothers warned their daughters about, and yet, oh, and yet? "Why did you run away from me?" He reached for her again, his hands bracketing her shoulders, his eyes hot and dark. "I returned from Madrid, and you were gone. No note. No message. How could you do such a thing?" "It was ? it was time. To ? to end things. We'd both said ?" He kissed her before she could stop him, his mouth crushing hers, silencing the lie, because it was a lie; she couldn't deny it any longer, not to herself. "Don't," she whispered. She pulled back, clasped his wrists. "It's over. Just accept that, and go back to New York. We said ?" "What we said was that our relationship would end, when it was time. But that time hasn't come yet, querida. Surely, you know that now." "It wasn't a relationship," Esmé said, hating herself for the tremor she heard in her voice, the tears she felt stinging her eyes. "It was an affair." Rio smiled slightly. "Why are women so hung up on words?" "Women," she said bitterly. "Is that how you think of me, Señor de Santos? As one of your 'women??" "No, of course not. It was a figure of speech, querida." "And don't call me that! What is it, a ? a generic term, so you don't have to try to remember the name of the querida you're with?"

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"Esmé." Rio frowned, as if he were confronting a jigsaw puzzle with a piece missing. "What is all this nonsense? Must we analyze everything? All that matters is that you still want me ?" "That I still want you?" "Sí." It was so obvious. Couldn't she see it? He smiled, put a finger under her chin. "What could be more important than that?" She swung at him. It was a fast, wild blow and he dodged it easily, but that didn't keep him from staring at her in disbelief. Esmé? His cool, sophisticated Esmé, balling up her fist and trying to sock him in the jaw? "Está un idiota cretino," she snapped, and her fury stunned him so completely that he didn't realize she'd cursed him in his own language until she'd stormed away, scrambled onto the back of her horse, and galloped out of sight. Esmé opened the screen door that led into the Baron kitchen and let it bang shut after her. Damn Rio for making her so angry! Who did he think he was, telling her that she still wanted him? She didn't. It was just that he'd always known how to kiss her so that she felt it, straight down to her toes. So that one kiss wasn't enough, any more than one touch, one feel of his hands on her skin was enough.? "I hate him," she said through her teeth. "Per Dios, Abel!" The Baron's housekeeper came bustling out of the pantry. "Do you want to take the door off its hinges? Then you will complain when I tell you I need one of your men to fix? Oh." Carmen stared at Esmé. "I thought you were Abel. The foreman. He is always slamming ?" "I know who Abel is, Mama," Esmé said dryly. She strode to the refrigerator, yanked the door open, then shut it so hard that it rattled. Carmen raised an eyebrow. "Is something wrong?" "Yes! I've been dealing with an idiot, a man who flew here to buy horses from Jonas." Esmé opened a cupboard door, peered inside, then slapped it shut. "With all the cooking and fussing and shopping you do, I'd have thought there'd be a bottle of water in this place." "I do my job," Carmen said calmly, "nothing more. As for water, we are not so fussy as city people. You know our water comes from the well." She opened the faucet, filled a glass, and handed it to her daughter. "Why are you so upset?" "I'm not upset," Esmé snapped, and downed the water in one long swallow. Droplets of it moistened her lips and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. "I'm tired, hot, and thirsty." "Tired, hot, and thirsty, sí." Carmen took the glass, rinsed it, and placed it in the drainer. "Tired ever since you returned here." "I have some kind of virus, that's all." "No virus lingers this long, chica." "Mama, please. I have things on my mind." "Upsetting things, and do not bother to tell me I'm wrong."

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"For God's sake, Mama?" "I do not like it when you take the Lord's name in vain, Esmerelda. And since when have you gone back to calling me 'Mama??" Esmé sighed deeply. "Look, let's start again, okay? I don't want us to quarrel." Her lips softened, curved into a smile. "Mama or Mother, I love you. You know that." Carmen sighed and held out her arms. Esmé went into them. "I only want the best for you," Carmen said softly. "I want you to have a better life than I had. Surely, you know that." "Yes, I do." "You are not a naïve girl from a village in Mexico, to be seduced by a man's lies. You are an educated young woman with a fine mind, and you would have a teaching certificate if you had not decided to drop out of school and take up modeling." Esmé stepped out of her mother's embrace. "Mama," she said quietly, "we've been through this. Teaching was your dream for me, not mine." "It is a profession. Modeling is not." "Teaching is fine but I wanted to travel, to see the world before I settle down. Modeling gives me that." "It can also give you trouble." Carmen huffed out a breath. "Men will prey on you, chica. Will you be strong enough to resist them?" Esmé knew she was coloring. She swung away from her mother's questioning eyes. "I'm not a fool, Mama. I know how to take care of myself." "You think you do. But if a man comes along with soft words and turns your blood to fire?" "You said it yourself, Mama. I'm not you. No man can ?" The screen door flew open. Both women swung toward it as Rio stepped into the room, his eyes dark with anger as they lit on Esmé. "There you are," he growled. "Did you really think you could get away from me so easily?" Carmen looked from the stranger's angry face to her daughter's pale one. All at once, she understood everything. Why Esmé had come back to Espada so suddenly. Why she'd spent the past several weeks in edgy silence. Why she was so upset today. This man, this dangerous-looking stranger with the angry eyes, was the reason. Her throat constricted. Foolish girl, she thought angrily. Foolish, foolish chica. She wanted to grab Esmé and shake her. Better still, she wanted to grab her and spirit her away?but that wasn't possible. Esmé was a woman, not a child.

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Besides, one glance at this man and she knew she would never be able to keep him from Esmé, if he was determined to find her. Still, a mother could protect her young as long as she was able. She stepped in front of her daughter, looked at the stranger, and spoke as calmly as possible. "I am Carmen Bennett." She saw the surprise register in his hard, handsome face. "Bennett?" His eyes flew past her to Esmé. "Are you Esmé's mother?" "I am Esmerelda's mother, sí. And you are??" "I am Rio de Santos, señora." Rio de Santos? Carmen thought, in surprise. A Spaniard, not a Mexican, from his looks, and perhaps that was not so surprising, now that she considered it. For who but an arrogant, hot-tempered Latin could have tamed her equally hot-tempered daughter? He smiled, and she saw the lazy charm of a tiger ready to be unleashed. "I am a guest of the Barons." He took her hand, brought it to his lips. Carmen told herself she was too old and too wise to be influenced by tigers. "Perdone, señor, but guests of the Baron family ?" "Perhaps I should have been more specific. I am not a guest, I am a client." "Sí. Of course. Nevertheless ?" Esmé stepped past Carmen. "Go away, Rio," she said coldly. Rio folded his arms over his chest. "Is that your solution to everything? To run?" "I'm not running. I'm simply asking you to leave." "No." "Coming after me was pointless. I'm not interested." "In what?" His smile was cool. "I don't recall making any offers." Esmé jerked up her chin. "Will you just ? just climb into that plane of yours and fly back to New York?" "I intend to. After things are settled." "Things are settled. I thought I made that very clear." "I thought so, too." His smile tilted. "Until a few minutes ago, on that mesa." "What mesa?" Carmen said suspiciously. "Esmerelda, what is he talking about?" "We ? we rode up to Superstition Butte." Esmé cleared her throat. "And ? and we had a discussion.?"

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Rio laughed. She looked at him, eyes snapping. Then she brushed past her mother, grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the door. "I'll be back, Mama." "When?" Carmen put her hand to her throat. "Esmé. Chica?. Don't do anything foolish." "I've already done as many foolish things as I ever intend to do," Esmé said, with a brittle laugh. "Don't worry, Mama. I'm done playing the fool." But as the screen door swung shut behind them, and she felt Rio's arm slide possessively around her waist, Esmé had the terrible feeling that her words were nothing but empty promises. Rio marched Esmé away from the house, his arm encircling her waist like a band of steel. "Let go of me," she demanded. Rio answered by tightening his hold. Esmé cursed and tried to break free but he was big and strong, and angry enough to be formidable. He had a hell of a lot of nerve! She was the one who had the right to be angry. He had followed her to Espada, made her look foolish in front of Jonas Baron, her employer, made her look even more foolish in front of her very own mother.? "Are you deaf?" she hissed furiously. "I told you to let go!" "When I'm done with you, chica," he said coldly. "Then, I will let you go." "Don't call me that! I am not a little girl." "Then stop behaving like one." "You can't do this!" "I already am." "Dammit, Rio ?" "You're repeating yourself. Besides, it is improper for a well-bred Spanish señorita to use vulgarities." "A well-bred?" Esmé laughed. "Don't delude yourself, señor. I'm not Spanish. My mother was born in Mexico. My father was born in the States. I am a mestizo, and proud of it. And even if I were Spanish, if I want to curse, I will." "Not when you are with me." "I'm not with you! I'm being dragged along by you, as if I were a ? a package. And I don't like it." He stopped and spun her toward him. She could see a muscle flexing in his jaw. The emerald eyes that could burn hot as flame were icy with anger. "Do you wish to draw everyone's attention to us?" Esmé slapped her hands on her hips. "Me, draw everyone's attention to us?"

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She tossed her head; her dark hair flew around her head like a raven's wings. Rio fought the sudden desire to sink his hands into that dark silk, cup her face, and kiss that sullen anger from her mouth. She was beautiful, yes, but she was behaving like a brat and he was tired of it. He was tired of chasing after her, too, from New York to Texas, from a windswept mesa to the Baron kitchen. If she had something to say to him, let her say it. He stepped closer to her. "I am pleased you find my comments amusing." He moved toward her again and saw the faintest flicker in her eyes. Good, he thought grimly. She was afraid of what he might do next. Let her be. Maybe then he'd be able to get her to tell him what in hell was going on, why she'd left him because yes, he wanted to know the reason. He was entitled to know it ? especially after the way she'd kissed him a little while ago. A woman who gave herself to a man in a kiss was not a woman who should be running away from him. "As for who is drawing attention to us ? if you would behave yourself." "You mean, if I would just let you order me around, don't you? Have me fall into step next to you? Or maybe walk two paces to the rear?" Rio's eyes narrowed. He reached out, grabbed her wrist, tugged her to within an inch of his body. "Lower your voice and walk beside me like a civilized woman." "I'm completely civilized." She poked a finger into his chest. "You're the one who's behaving like a savage!" He looked at her finger, then at her. "Do not poke at me," he said quietly.

"How about you not telling me what to do?" "Esmé. I am warning you ?" "And I am warning you, Rio. Don't you dare ?" Her angry protest ended in a shriek as Rio picked her up, dumped her over his shoulder like a sack of laundry, and strode toward the stable. Esmé couldn't believe Rio was doing this, that he'd grabbed her, tossed her over his shoulder, and marched away with her. "Are you crazy? Put me down!" He answered by shifting her weight and clamping his arm more tightly behind her knees. "Put ? me ? down!" Esmé pounded her fists against his back. "Put ? me ?" "Uh, mister? You need some help here?" Esmé saw a pair of familiar-looking, beaten-up boots come into view. "Who is that? Abel? Is it you? Abel, tell this idiot to put me down!" "No," Rio said politely, "thank you, señor, I am doing just fine."

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"He's not doing fine! He's ? he's kidnapping me!" "Don't look like much of a kidnap to me," Abel said, after a moment that Esmé suspected had probably included a wink of the eye from one man to the other. "The señorita seems to have had a bit too much sun." The stable doors loomed ahead. Rio shouldered them open; Abel reached out a hand and held them ajar. "She'll be all right as soon as I get her into the shade." "I will not be all right! I am all right! Abel? If you don't tell this ? this idiot to put me down ?" "Thank you for your assistance, Señor Abel." "Think nothin' of it, señor." The foreman stepped back. The doors swung shut and Esmé and Rio were alone in the shadowed, silent stable. Rio dumped Esmé on her feet. She spun toward the door but he grabbed her, shoved her back until her shoulder blades hit the wall, and planted a spread hand on either side of her. He looked at her and frowned. "You are pale," he said. She probably was. Hanging upside down had down something to her stomach. She took a couple of deep breaths before she answered him. "Let's not waste time on solicitude, okay? What do you want, Rio? Why did you cart me around like a ? a sack of feed?" "I carted you around, as you so charmingly put it, because there was no other way to gain your attention." Esmé slapped her hands on her hips and blew a dangling strand of dark hair off her forehead. "Yes, well, you've certainly gained my attention, and the attention of every other human being on this ranch! Maybe it doesn't bother you that I'll be the topic of conversation in the bunkhouse for the next umpteen evenings, but it sure as hell bothers me!" "I suppose that is true." Rio's mouth twitched. "It will make for some talk among the men." "Damned right. It's hard enough to get respect from a bunch of grungy cowboys ?" "Any man who shows you a lack of respect will have to answer to me," Rio said, his voice suddenly cold and hard. "I didn't mean respect as a woman, I meant respect as a horse trainer." A horse trainer. His elegant Esmé. Rio couldn't help but smile. "What's so funny?" Her eyes narrowed. "I am an excellent trainer. Ask Jonas, if you don't believe me." "Oh, I believe you. It is only that I would not have thought a woman whose lovely face is on magazine covers would prefer to train horses." "That just shows how little you know me," Esmé said. "I never intended to model forever. I just ? I wanted something different for a while, that?s all."

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"And now you will train horses?" She nodded, and Rio smiled again. "You?re right, querida. I did not know this other side of the woman who is my lover." Color flooded her face. "I am not your lover. Not anymore." Rio lifted a hand to her face. She would have jerked away from his touch but he clasped her chin, traced the arc of her cheekbone with his thumb. It wasn't fair that such a simple gesture should still make her catch her breath. "Don't ? don't do that," she said quickly. "Do what?" A muscle flickered in his jaw. He stepped closer, bent his head, nuzzled the damp strands of hair from her temple. "Do what, querida?" he whispered, and took her mouth with his. Rio's mouth closed over Esmé's. For a heartbeat, she gave herself up to the heat and excitement of the kiss, but this was exactly why she'd left him, because he'd still had this power over her, even though he'd been getting ready to leave her. Where was her pride? Her self-respect? She twisted her face away from his. "Stop it," she said, in a shaky whisper. He clasped her head and turned her face to his. His eyes were hot coals, his mouth a thin line of sensuality. He looked as he always did when he wanted her, and just seeing that need in his face had always made every pleasure point in her body throb in response. From the start, this was how it had been between them. All Rio had to do was look at her this way, no matter where they were, and she would feel the pull of his desire deep inside. She had never been able to resist him, never wanted to resist. Being in Rio's arms, in his bed, made her feel alive. That was what was so dangerous about him, that he could do this to her, even now, when she knew she didn't want to be just another woman, passing through his life.? Esmé gasped for breath, wrenched free, and jammed her hands against his chest. "I don't want you to kiss me," she said. "Not anymore." A quick smile flashed across his handsome face. "Liar," he said softly. He bent his head, put his mouth to her throat. Heat sizzled through her again. He whispered her name and bent her back over his arm, his teeth nipping lightly at her flesh, and she moaned, clasped his head, arched back so he could reach her breasts. Oh, it was wonderful to be in his arms again, to feel his hard body against hers. All these weeks, without his touch, without his kisses, without him. She'd been so lonely. How many times had she awakened in the night, her body on fire for his possession? Rio, she thought, Rio, I love you.? The shock of it swept through her like a tidal wave. No. She didn't love this man. She couldn't. She wouldn't. She was a toy to him. A conquest. He only wanted her because she'd had the courage to do what no other woman had done ? she?d left him. The last thing she would do was give him that power over her heart again.

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"No!" she cried, against his mouth, and fought him, really fought him, the arms that held her, the kisses that drugged her, until, finally, he lifted his head and stared at her through eyes blurred with passion. "Esmé?" he said thickly. "Querida? What is wrong?" "You," she said, her voice trembling. "You're what's wrong. Do you really think you can ? you can turn up in my life and ? and manhandle me?" "Manhandle?" Rio's eyes narrowed. "Is that what you call it when I take you in my arms to make love?" "It isn't love. It's ? it's you trying to seduce me." "I see." His mouth twisted, as if the words he spoke tasted bitter. "I manhandle you, and I seduce you. Is that what you think?" Esmé wrapped her arms around herself. The stable was filled with the heat of the horses, and having Rio's arms around her had always been more than enough to ward off any chill before. But now, she was cold, icy cold, with the realization that she loved a man who could never love her. "Yes," she said, and looked straight into his eyes. "I do. That's why I left you, Rio. I was bored. I admit, it was fun and exciting at first, that whole Latin lover thing, but after a few months, it ? it grew old. I knew it was time for a change, and ?" She gasped as he grabbed her wrist, brought her arm up between them. "Keep away from me," he said, his voice an icy whisper. "Do you understand, Esmé? Keep away from me, for the balance of the time I am here, or I will not be responsible for what I do." He flung her from him and strode from the stable. Esmé's arms ached. She had mucked out the stalls and forked in fresh straw bedding for the horses she and Rio had ridden, then started brushing the other horses in their stalls. One of the hands wandered in while she was working, watched for a while, then offered to take over. "Thank you," she'd replied politely, "but I'm perfectly capable of doing the job." The hand ? a new one, and so young she doubted he had to shave more than once a week ? had cleared his throat. "Yes'm. I know you can. I just thought ?" "Don't think," she'd snapped. "It isn't what you're paid to do." Just remembering how she'd spoken to the boy made her cringe. "I'm sorry," she'd said quickly, and the boy had said that was okay, she didn't have to apologize, but it was a lie. She wished she could go back in time and snip out her tongue, rather than say anything so mean to the kid. And it was all Rio's fault. It had been difficult enough, gaining the respect of a bunch of cowboys, especially after half of them had seen her face in magazines, advertising everything from lipstick to automobiles. But she'd done it, showing them what Jonas had remembered, that she had a natural touch with horses.

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Rio had ruined it. She'd have to work twice as hard now to erase what at least some of them had seen ? Rio, carrying her off like a prize.? Carrying her here, into the quiet shadows, where he'd have made love to her, endless love, where he'd have buried himself deep within her, rocked her and rocked her until she cried out his name? The horse she was grooming whinnied its displeasure. She'd stopped brushing him; her hand lay still against his withers. Esmé blinked and looked into the big, dark eyes. More, those eyes seemed to be saying, it felt so good to be stroked.? "Stop it," she said. The animal snorted and Esmé made a sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "Sorry, sweetheart. I was scolding myself, not you." She rubbed the velvet muzzle, left the stall and let herself out of the barn, out into the afternoon. The hot afternoon? The world spun; the path dipped under her feet. "Hey," a voice said, and a pair of arms went around her. Not Rio's; even as everything grayed, she knew it wasn't he who'd caught her. "Miz Bennett? You okay?" Esmé's vision cleared. It was the young ranch hand who'd caught her before she could faint. He was looking at her as if she might break apart. "I'm fine." Her voice was weak; she could tell from the look on the boy's face that her words didn't reassure him any more than they reassured her. "Really," she said, and managed a quick smile. "I'm all right." The boy frowned, let go of her, but kept a hand out as if she might sink to the ground. "You sure?" She nodded. A mistake, because the simple action made her stomach rise into her throat. "Yes," she said, and swallowed hard. "The sun ?" She gestured at the blue, hot sky and bright yellow disk blazing against it. The kid nodded. "Yeah. It can really get to you, if you ain't used to it." "I'm used to it," Esmé said. "I grew up here. Why is it everyone thinks they know all there is to know about me, when actually?" The boy was looking at her as if she'd lost her mind. Maybe she had, she thought. "Thank you," she said briskly, and headed for the house before the world turned gray again, which was exactly what it was threatening to do. "Esmerelda! Are you all right?" Carmen was standing in the doorway, holding open the screen door. Esmé brushed past her and headed for the sink. "Oh, hell," she murmured, as she opened the cold-water tap. "I suppose everyone on the ranch saw me trip over my own feet!"

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"Here, chica." Carmen bustled to the sink, snatched up a dish towel and soaked it in the spill of icy water. "Put this on your forehead and sit down." "I'm fine, Mama." "Good. Now, sit down." "Honestly, I'm okay." "Must you argue about everything?" Carmen took her daughter's arm, led her to the big oak table, gently pushed her into a chair. "Just sit here and let me take care of you." Esmé sighed. The truth was, her knees still felt as if they were made of noodles and there were little black dots dancing in front of her eyes. "Thank you." Carmen clucked her tongue. "And it is not necessary for a daughter to thank her mother. Here. Drink this." Esmé took the glass from her hand. "Orange juice?" "Sí. With sugar added, the way you liked it when you were small." "The way you wouldn't let me drink it," Esmé said, with a little smile. She sipped the cold, sweet liquid, felt it slide down her throat, where it seemed to collect in a blob too large to deal with. She swallowed very carefully, and put the glass down. "Too much sugar?" "No. I just? It's the sun, Mama. I feel a little nauseous." "Ah. Well, take tiny sips, chica. Have you eaten anything today? I know you didn't touch your breakfast? What is it?" Esmé could feel the sweat on her forehead turning to icy beads. "Please. Don't talk about breakfast." Carmen turned and looked at her daughter. She drew out a chair and sat down across from her. "Did you feel sick then, too?" she asked softly. "This morning, I mean?" Esmé nodded. "A little. Actually, I've been feeling queasy lately." She brought the glass to her lips and took a cautious drink. "I guess that cowboy was right." "Which cowboy?" "The kid who caught me before I could pass out." She sighed and smiled at her mother over the rim of her glass. "He said it took time to get used to the heat and I said I didn't have to get used to it, that I'd grown up here. But I've been away for so long.?" "Long enough to have involved yourself with a man like Rio de Santos." Esmé looked up. Her mother's expression was unreadable, but her black eyes were flashing. "Mama," she said carefully, "I don't want to discuss Rio de Santos."

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"No. I'm sure you do not." Carmen got to her feet, took a cloth from the sink and began briskly wiping down the countertop. "What girl would wish to discuss her lover with her mother?" "I'm not a girl. And Rio's not my lover." "Not anymore, but surely, he was." "That's the operative word, Mama. Was. Rio isn't anything to me, not anymore." "No?" Carmen tossed the cloth into the sink and put her fists on her hips. "Then, what is he doing here, huh?" "He came to buy horses." Carmen barked out a laugh. "Horses? You cannot be so blind, chica. He came here for you." "If he did, he's wasting his time." Esmé pushed back her chair and stood up. "I don't want him." "A woman does not turn her back on a man like that. He is the kind who leaves a woman to weep into her pillow, alone." "That's so old-fashioned it makes me?sick," Esmé groaned, and ran for the bathroom. Carmen gripped the edge of the sink. She closed her eyes, as if in supplication, though she feared her prayer was already too late. Night had fallen on Espada. Heat lightning lit the sky as thunder mumbled threateningly from the hills. Esmé sat before the TV set in her small apartment behind the tack room, just off the stable, and clicked mindlessly through the channels. "The apartment ain't much," Jonas had said when he'd hired her, "but you can have it, if you want." She'd wanted. Otherwise, she'd have had to share her mother's quarters and that would have meant that Carmen would have known that sometimes she spent half the night staring sightlessly at the television. Lightning rent the sky; thunder pealed again, faster and closer than before. The storm was coming nearer. Maybe it would bring an end to the relentless heat. Maybe then, she'd be able to sleep. Esmé sighed, clicked onto an ancient I Love Lucy rerun and sat back on the sofa. She smiled slightly; she'd seen this episode before. Lucy and Ethel were struggling to keep pace with a conveyer belt of chocolate candies. Just the sight of Lucy downing all that chocolate made Esmé feel queasy. She clicked the set off. Except for the growl of thunder, Espada was still. She dropped the remote on the coffee table and got to her feet. She was wearing an oversize T-shirt and a pair of cotton panties, her favorite bedtime attire now that she wasn't sleeping with ? now that she was here, on the ranch. The cotton was the coolest thing to wear and she didn't have to worry about looking sexy enough to appeal to ? to anyone. She realized now that she'd made a conscious effort to do that, toward the end of things, once she'd become aware of how much longer Rio had been with her than he'd been with any other woman. "Must be something special about you," one of the girls she worked with had teased.

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Esmé had never thought about how long their affair would last before her colleague?s words. After that, it was all she could think of, and after a while, when Rio had started breaking an occasional date, when she'd catch him watching her with a funny look on his face, she'd upped what she thought of as the glamour quotient. More silk nightgowns, new perfume? What an idiot she'd been! She went into the tiny kitchen, luxuriated in the blast of icy air as she opened the freezer compartment and dumped a handful of ice cubes into a glass. Her mother was right, she thought, as she filled the glass with water. Espada's well water was cool and delicious. It was just that she'd grown accustomed to drinking bottled water in New York. She'd grown accustomed to lots of things while living in the city. The noise, for instance. When she'd first returned to Espada, she'd had difficulty sleeping without an accompanying backdrop of traffic sounds. Mostly, she'd had trouble sleeping without Rio. Without his arm around her; without her head on his shoulder. Without him waking her in the night to kiss and caress her before it was time to leave her in the morning. He'd wanted to move her to an apartment nearer to his, but she'd refused. "I pay my own rent," she'd said. It was true, she'd wanted to hang on to her independence?but after a while, if he'd asked her to move in with him, not to move in near him, she'd have done it in a heartbeat. The truth, the naked truth, was that she'd wanted him to love her, and he didn't. He wouldn't. He'd been up-front about that from the beginning. The rain finally arrived, pounding against the tin roof like a tap dancer gone crazy. Lightning flashed through the kitchen; thunder rolled overhead. The lights blinked once, twice, then went out. Esmé jumped, then gave a shaky laugh. A storm was only a storm. There was nothing to be afraid of.? The door flew open. She screamed, swung toward it and saw a figure silhouetted against the lightning-torn sky. It was Rio. Rio, soaked to the skin, looking enraged and dangerous and gorgeous enough to stop her heart. "Damn you, Esmerelda," he growled, and he stepped inside, slammed the door shut, and pulled her into his arms. The storm raging outside, raw and uncontrolled, was reflected in Rio's eyes. He had always been a passionate lover. Still, Esmé had sensed that he'd withheld a part of himself, never lost control, and that was good. It helped her keep her own emotions leashed. Sometimes when they'd made love, she'd felt as if she were trembling on the brink of eternity, that one more touch, one more kiss, would turn her inside out. She'd known better than to let that happen?but now, as he gathered her in his arms, she knew that he was going to demand everything, offer everything.? And she would let it happen. Thunder boomed over Espada as Rio's arms closed, hard, around her. His eyes filled with passion. She could smell desire on him, a hot, clean, masculine scent that sent her pulse rocketing. "Esmé," he said, and he put his hand in the neckline of her shirt, closed it into a fist, and ripped the cotton fabric from her throat to the hem. His gaze dropped to her naked breasts and she felt her nipples lift and swell in response.

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"Rio," she whispered, and he caught her mouth with his, took it with such need that she swayed toward him. He cupped her breasts in his hands, his thumbs stroking the crests. "Tell me that you want me," he said thickly, "that you want this." She rose toward him, eyes closed, lips parted, her heart thundering in her ears. "Yes," she said. "Yes, yes, yes.?" Rio dropped his hands to her hips, yanked down her panties, tore them free of her ankles. A jagged streak of lightning splattered the room with light and she saw his face, exulted in what she saw there, in what she was doing to him. She reached for his belt but her fingers wouldn't obey quickly enough and he brushed her hands aside, tore his soaked T-shirt over his head, undid his belt, stripped away his clothes until he was as naked as she. Esmé's breath caught. He was as beautiful as she'd remembered, his body muscled and magnificently male. "Rio," she whispered, and touched him. He groaned when her hand closed around him, said something so explicitly sexual in Spanish that her knees almost buckled. "Is that what you want, querida?" he growled. "Is it what you want me to do?" "Yes," she said, "please, yes?" Rio's fingers wound through hers. He lifted her hands, pinned her to the wall with his weight, her arms outstretched to her sides as he bent his head and kissed her, his mouth devouring hers, his teeth nipping at her flesh, giving her pain, giving her pleasure, giving her what she'd longed for, all these lonely weeks. Esmé whimpered, moved against him, lifted her hips, ground her pelvis against the hard ridge of his desire. Rio groaned. She was killing him but if he had to die, he would die willingly, so long as it were like this. This was the woman he'd never quite been able to touch, the one he'd sensed was hidden inside the cool, elegant outer shell. She'd always been responsive and passionate. Still, he'd had the feeling she'd held back some part of herself, that she'd never quite let him inside her soul. Tonight, he knew she was holding nothing back. And neither would he. He lifted her in his arms, she wrapped her legs around his hips, and he entered her on one long, hard, exquisite thrust. She cried out his name and he kissed her mouth while he took her closer to the edge of the chasm that loomed before them. "You are mine," he said fiercely. "Do you hear me, querida? You are mine!" "Yes," she said brokenly, "yes, yes.?" He moved, moved again, and she gave a high, shrill cry and shattered in his arms.

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"Rio," she sobbed, and he groaned, buried his face against her throat, and emptied himself into her sweet, silken warmth. The sound of thunder receded; lightning painted a distant glow on the horizon. The hall lamp flickered, once, twice, then came on. Esmé, still locked in Rio's arms, sighed with contentment. Her head fell forward, onto his shoulder. She knew she ought to ease herself from his embrace, that he had to be as drained as she was, but she didn?t want to end this moment. She had never felt so close to him before, or so filled with happiness. "Querida." His breath whispered against her ear. "Querida, forgive me. I should have taken you slowly, but I wanted you so badly.?" "Don't apologize," she said softly. "It was the same for me." His arms tightened around her. "Was it?" She nodded. "Yes." It was a dangerous admission, one that left her vulnerable to him, but what was the sense in pretending, after what had just happened? He kissed her with almost unbearable tenderness. Slowly, he let her slide down his body until her feet touched the floor. "I missed this," he said. This, Esmé thought. He had missed this, not her. Suddenly, she was aware of how wanton she must look, of how she'd behaved. She drew back a little, crossed her arms over her breasts. "Rio." She swallowed dryly. "I think ? I think you should leave.?" "Don't hide yourself from me," he said softly. He clasped her wrists and gently brought her arms to her sides. "You are so beautiful, Esmé. I could never tire of looking at you." Color flooded her face. She wanted to tell him she never tired of looking at him, either, but then she might tell him too many things, none of which he wanted to hear. "Querida. Why did you leave me?" Because I fell in love with you, she thought, but she knew better than to say it. "I almost went crazy when you disappeared. I thought something had happened to you, that you were ill.?" "I'm sorry. I should have left a note." "You should not have left me at all," he said roughly. He swept her into his arms and carried her down the hall to the bedroom. "Never mind all that. I have found you again. That's what matters." Gently, he lowered her to the bed. "But I want you to know that I understand." She looked up. His eyes were dark and unreadable as he came down on the bed beside her. "You do?" "You felt you were losing your freedom, querida."He took her in his arms, held her close and kissed her. "It was the same for me."

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God, her heart was going to break. Silly, she told herself, she was being so silly. Rio had simply confirmed her suspicions. He'd been getting ready to end their affair. "Am I right, Esmé?" "Yes," she said, forcing the word past the lump in her throat. "But we were both wrong." He kissed her, his tongue stroking gently against hers. "After you left, I realized I was wrong, that we were not ready to end this thing between us." He smiled. "And now I am sure that you know it, too." Esmé felt torn between laughter and tears. She'd run away because that had seemed easier than having Rio walk out of her life, but leaving him had only sparked his desire for her. She knew it was time to tell him the truth, not that she loved him ? never that ? but that he was wrong, that she wanted to end their affair.? Rio kissed her, bent his dark head to her breasts. She felt the quickening of not just her body but of her heart as he made love to her with such sweet tenderness that, at the end, she could do nothing but weep. Dawn was just painting the sky when Rio awakened. Esmé lay in the curve of his arm, her head on his shoulder, her hand over his heart. He took her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it. She sighed, murmured something in her sleep, and snuggled closer. Rio glanced out the window. The sun would show itself soon, as it began its rise over the hills that rimmed Espada. People would be up and about. He knew it was time to get up, get dressed, and make his way back to his guest rooms in the main house. That was what his mind told him. His heart told him something else, that what he really wanted was to make love to the woman in his arms and then go out the door with her so that everyone on the ranch, everyone in the world knew that she belonged to him.? Rio frowned. Carefully, he eased his arm out from beneath Esmé's head, sat up, and swung his legs to the floor. Where had that idiotic thought come from? She didn't "belong" to him. He didn't "belong" to her. He didn't like that kind of thinking. Neither did she. That was why she'd left him, because she'd realized, the same as he, that their relationship had become too confining. She had agreed to leave Espada and return to New York with him. She would live with him ? temporarily, of course, until she found another apartment. And when their affair eventually ended, it would do so civilly. It was a sensible plan. Naked, Rio padded down the hall to the front door. His clothes, and Esmé's, were strewn everywhere. He bent down, picked up her torn T-shirt and brought it to his face. The soft cotton bore the scent of something light and floral and feminine. Her scent. Had he really ripped the shirt off her last night? Had he taken her against the wall with no preliminaries? He had done such things before with women; swift, hot sex could be incredibly arousing, but what he'd done last night was different. He hadn't planned any of it, hadn't even imagined it. One moment, he'd been pacing his room, his thoughts a blur, and the next he'd been striding through the pouring rain, straight to her door, ready to break it down if she didn't let him in.

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What had become of all his control? Rio put Esmé's shirt on a chair, collected his own clothing, and dressed. Then he reached for the doorknob.? No. He had to see her one last time. He made his way to the bedroom, paused just outside the door. She was still asleep. Well, he wouldn't wake her. He'd only go quietly to the bed, press a kiss to her shoulder. Or maybe he'd draw down the sheet, just so he could see her. Maybe he'd take her in his arms, kiss her until she awoke, until her lips parted and clung to his, and then he'd make love to her again, make love to her until she admitted she was his, only his, that she would never belong to another man.? He took a step back. Idiotic thoughts, again. What was wrong with him? He liked his life just as it was. He was free; he could do what he pleased, when he pleased. Oh, someday, yes, that would change. He would grow older, know it was time to settle down, choose a wife who would be easy to deal with, who would be obedient and respectful, who would never even think of striking him in anger.? Who would never let him see the depth of her passion for him. He turned away, hurried to the front door and stepped out into the early morning. Something was happening to him, but what? Whatever it was, it scared the hell out of him. Esmé opened her eyes when she heard the front door close. It was safe. Rio was gone. She wasn?t ready to face him this morning. He'd always been a wonderful lover, but the past hours had left her feeling stripped of all defenses. How many times had she awakened to his caresses? Sometimes, she imagined she was dreaming about him, only to open her eyes and find herself in his arms, find him touching her and kissing her, bringing her to climax again and again with his body, his hands, his mouth.? Esmé rolled onto her belly, pressed her face into the pillow that still bore traces of his masculine scent. After the last time they'd made love, he'd told her he wanted her ready to leave Espada by evening. "I can't," she'd said, and she'd felt him stiffen. "What do you mean, you can't?" His voice had been edged with anger. "This thing between us ?" "Dammit," she'd said, before she could stop herself, "don't call it that!" "Call it what you will, querida. You are coming with me to New York." "It isn't that easy. I have a job here." "Jonas will just have to replace you." "Thank you." She'd pushed free of his arms and turned away from him. "It's lovely to know you think I'm so easily replaced." Rio had laughed as he rolled her onto her back. "If you were, would I be here?"

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It wasn't exactly the answer she'd longed for but it was more than she'd ever hoped to get from him. Slowly, she relaxed in his arms. "And then there's my apartment." He nuzzled the sheet down, exposing her breasts. "What about it?" "I don't have one. I gave it up when ?" Her breath caught. "Don't do that." "Why not?" "Because ? because I can't think. I was trying to tell you that I have no place to live.?" "You will move in with me." At first, she'd thought she'd misunderstood him. Hadn't they just discussed the importance of not feeling trapped? But Rio had flashed a smile so smug and arrogant she knew she'd heard him correctly. "That's impossible," she'd said. "Nothing is impossible, querida," he'd said softly, and then he'd kissed her, moved against her, and she'd been lost to everything but him. But he was wrong. Some things were impossible, and living with him certainly topped the list. Did he really think he could arrange everything to suit himself? Esmé flung back the sheet and sat up. It was a big mistake. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. Nausea roiled through her. She reached the bathroom just in time. This was becoming ridiculous. She was always tired, and she was starting to hate the mornings because almost each one began this same way.? The sheer impossibility of the thought took her breath away. Cautiously, she put her hand over her belly. No. It was the same, still flat, as it had always been. She brushed her teeth, splashed cold water on her face, scrambled into her robe, and went to the little desk in the kitchen. It wasn't really worth checking but she'd check, anyway. Her appointment book was in the top drawer. She took it out, thumbed back a few months. There was a little red check on the 10th of April, another on the 10th of May. But where was the check for June, or July? "Esmé?" And August. What about August? The 10th had come and gone, and the 11th? "Esmerelda? Chica, are you there?" She turned to the door, opened it. The sun was blinding; she could feel its heat on her face but somehow she felt cold. Icy cold, straight down into her bones. "Esmerelda?" Carmen stared at her white face. "What is it?" "Mama," Esmé whispered. "Oh, Mama, I think I'm pregnant."

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Carmen staggered as if she'd been struck. This was what she'd feared, what she'd refused to acknowledge. "No," she said, "no, it cannot be." "I - I was with him only twice," Esmé whispered, "before I went on the pill.?" "All it takes is once," Carmen said coldly. "Is it this man, this Spaniard, who did this to you?" "It isn't Rio's fault." It wasn't. They'd talked about contraception, discussed if she wanted to take care of it or if she wanted him to use condoms. "I'm on the pill," she had told him, because she hadn't wanted anything to separate her from Rio's possession, but she'd lied - she'd had to go out and get a prescription. There'd been no reason for her to have been taking the pill. She'd only slept with a couple of men in her life, and that was long before she met Rio. Her tears came hotter and faster. Carmen held out her arms. Esmé went into them, sobbing. "Are you certain, chica?" "I haven't had a period in three months. And I've been feeling sick in the mornings, and tired?" "Ay." Carmen sighed. "I noticed. Still, until you take a test?" She took a tissue from the pocket of her apron and wiped Esmé's streaming eyes. "Come," she said brusquely. "We will drive to town and purchase a testing kit. Then we will know what we must do." An hour later, the two women sat in Esmé's kitchen. Her pregnancy had been confirmed. Esmé knew it was crazy but somehow, she felt calmer. Knowing the truth had done that because it was better to face facts than supposition. Carmen, on the other hand, was frantic. "How could you do something so foolish, Esmerelda?" "I didn't do it deliberately," Esmé said wearily. "I told you. It just happened." "It just happened," Carmen scoffed. "Well, now something else must happen. Either you will not have this baby, or you will give it up after it is born." "No," Esmé said sharply. "I won't do either of those things." "Then you will go to your lover and demand he marry you." Esmé gave a bitter laugh. "That's out of the question." "I will speak to him, then. I will tell him that he must face his responsibilities.?" "No!" Esmé leaped to her feet. "You don't understand, Mama. I - I love Rio." "Then, what is the problem, chica?" Carmen's expression softened. "Many babies are born before a marriage is nine months old. It is not right, but -" "I love him. But he doesn't love me."

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"If he is a decent man, he will do what he must. He will marry you, or at least he will agree to support you and the child." "He is decent. And he probably would offer to do the right thing." Esmé's voice broke. "But I don't want to trap him into a marriage he doesn't want, or a relationship that will stretch on endlessly into the future. I love him too much to force him into anything like that." Carmen's mouth thinned. "You are a fool, Esmerelda. How will you manage on your own? How will you support your baby?" "I'll stay on here at Espada, training horses. Or I'll go back to school and get that degree you want me to have. I'll find a way." "You will destroy your life!" "Did having me destroy yours?" "I was uneducated. I knew I could only be a maid or a cook. Besides, I married the man who created you." "And he began to cheat on you, and left you, as soon as I was born. Did that kind of marriage change anything for either you or me, Mama?" Carmen sighed. "No," she admitted, after a minute. "It did not." Esmé smiled, despite the tears that glittered in her eyes. "I'll be fine," she said softly. "You just wait and see." And she would be, she thought an hour later, after she'd put on her makeup, dressed, and turned herself back into cool, sophisticated Esmé Bennett of Manhattan. She'd be fine?and she would have Rio's child to love. That wasn't so bad, when she thought about it. All she had to do now was face Rio, and tell him that she had changed her mind about being his mistress. Esmé looked for Rio in the stables, but he wasn't there. She headed up to the house, let herself in through the always-unlocked front door so that she could avoid seeing her mother again, and met Jonas, at the top of the stairs. "Lookin' for the señor?" he said, and grinned. "Yes. Yes, I am." "Well, he's in the guest suite, checkin' out the paperwork on the fillies he bought." Jonas winked. "Man sure does have a good eye, when it comes to the ladies?which reminds me, missy. Rio says you'll be leavin' us. Got to tell you, I'm sorry to see you go. You got a fine way with horses." "Rio spoke too soon," Esmé said quickly. "I'm not going anywhere." "Oh?" Jonas jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "The señor might not approve." "The señor doesn't run my life," she replied, and knocked on Rio's door. He opened it, stared at her, then smiled and reached for her hand. "Querida," he said, and drew her inside. "Rio. I - I have to talk to -"

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Rio shut the door, gathered her into his arms and kissed her. For a moment, she gave herself up to the kiss. Then she put her hands against his chest and pulled away. He looked at her and frowned. "Esmé? What is wrong?" "I have something to tell you." She stepped out of his encircling arms and hoped he couldn't see the frantic beat of her pulse in her throat. She'd been good at modeling; photographers loved what they called her cool look. It was the look she deliberately set her features to now. "Do you?" His voice had an edge to it; she could only imagine how he would sound after she told him she wasn't returning to New York as his mistress. "Tell me, then, querida. Don't keep us both in suspense." She took a deep breath. "I've changed my mind. About going back with you to New York." A muscle knotted in his cheek. " Well, I can accept that. You need a few more days here. You don't want to leave Jonas, as you say, in the lurch." "No." Her hands were trembling. She dug them deep into the pockets of her gray silk trousers. "No, you don't understand. I'm not going back to New York, Rio. I'm not going to - to pick up where we left off." Rio said nothing. Esmé could hear the beat of her own heart, the soft rush of her own breath. "I see," he said, at last. "And the reason for this decision is??" "I don't -" God, she thought, God, please get me through this. "I don't see any point to it." She smiled, though it felt as if her lips were sticking to her teeth. "I admit that last night was - it was exciting, but that's only because we'd been apart for a while. We both know that - that sooner or later, we'll be back where we were before I left, with - with our affair over and both of us wishing to be free?" "Free," he said, very softly. "That is what you wish? To be free of me?" Tears rose in her eyes. She damned herself silently for not being able to control her emotions but with luck, he wouldn't notice. He was so angry, his face so pale beneath its usual golden tan, that she didn't think he'd notice anything but the fact that his ego had been hammered again. "Yes." She lifted her chin. "That's right, and it's better if we end things now, as friends, than if we wait a few weeks, or even a few months, and -" "As I have said before, amada, you are a bad liar," Rio growled, and hauled her into his arms. Esmé told herself not to kiss Rio back, but her head wasn't paying attention to her heart. She not only kissed him, she clung to him, opened her mouth to him, twisted her fingers in his shirt while tears ran down her cheeks. After a long time, Rio drew back and clasped her shoulders. "You don't want to leave me," he said softly. "Yes. I do. I?" He kissed her again and again, and she moaned softly against his mouth. "Tell me the truth, amada. You don't want to leave me, do you?" How could she go on lying? "No," she said, "no, oh no, I don't. I ? I ?"

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Rio took her face in his hands. "What, querida? Say the words." She shook her head. She had some pride left. Besides, she had to leave him, before her secret became visible. "Very well." He smiled. "I will say them first." It was a brave start and a brave smile, but he could feel himself starting to shake, which was ridiculous. He was a man who feared nothing, not a ride on the wildest horse or the wildest stock market, and yet he feared speaking the words in his heart to this gentle, beautiful woman. What if she rejected him? Dios, it would kill him? But the words needed saying. He had only admitted them to himself as he'd walked to the house this morning, still seeing her in his mind's eye, remembering how empty his life had been without her, how she had wept when he'd made love to her. He knew what he felt. And he was almost sure he knew what she felt.? "Esmé." He drew a deep breath. "Esmé, I love you." He thought, at first, she hadn't heard him. She just went on looking at him, staring at him?but then he saw the rush of color into her pale face and he felt his heart swell. "I love you," he said again. "I adore you, querida, and yes, you are coming home with me, and yes, you are moving in with me." He laughed softly. "I suspect that is the worst marriage proposal in the world, my beloved, but then, I have never asked a woman to marry me before." Esmé laughed. She cried. She rose on her toes and kissed him. Rio cleared his throat. "Is that a yes?" he said nervously. "You do love me?" "Oh, yes. I love you, Rio. I've loved you for so long.? That was why I left you, because I knew you were going to tell me it was over?" He shook his head. "I lied to myself, sweetheart. My need for you terrified me, so I tried to put you at arm's length, but it was useless." He drew her to him and kissed her, not just with passion but with love. "Marry me," he said, and leaned his forehead against hers. "Marry me, and tell me you want lots of babies.? What?" "How soon do you want those babies?" she whispered. His eyes met hers, searched out the meaning of her question. "I'm pregnant," she said, and he pumped his fist into the air. "I am going to be a papa!" Rio swept her into his arms. He spun in a circle, and then he stopped and kissed her with all the love in his heart. "You will be my joy," he said softly, "all the days of my life." "And you will be my love," Esmé murmured, "forever."

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Love Letters by Barbara McMahon Stacey Jerome always believed Zach Taylor only married her because she became pregnant, and her thoughts were confirmed when he left town to start a career as a race car driver right after she miscarried the baby. Having gone on with her life since then, Stacey moved to the big city and built up a business as a wedding consultant, giving brides the dream day she never had. Imagine her shock when a glance down the aisle during one ceremony finds her looking into the eyes of her husband, a man she hasn’t heard from in seven years! Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| 9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14| 15| 16| 17| 18| 19| 20| Chapter One Stacey Jerome checked her watch. Timing was perfect. With a quiet glow of satisfaction, she smiled at the bride nervously waiting. She reached out and twitched the gown into a perfect fold. The train was spread out behind, the lace and beading shimmered in the light. The father of the bride cleared his throat. “Time?” he asked. “In just a moment the organ will begin the wedding march, that’ll be your cue,” she said easily. After five years of managing weddings big and small, she was confident in all the plans made for this particular one. Marcie Evans was radiant. Stacey felt a pang, as she did at almost every wedding, remembering her own hurried affair at Carson Valley City Hall. She’d always dreamed of a lavish wedding, complete with bridal gown, a half dozen bridesmaids and a celebration reception with family and friends that went on forever. She hadn’t had that, so she did her best to give a perfect day to every one of her clients. The organist shifted from the music she’d played for the bridesmaids’ entry to Lohengren’s Wedding March. The familiar chords filled Grace Cathedral resounding loud enough to be heard outside by tourists and San Franciscans alike. Stacey smiled in reassurance. “I’ll meet you right here after the ceremony,” she assured Marcie. “We’ll take photos at the altar and then head for the reception.” As the bride began her walk down the long aisle of the old cathedral, Stacey watched from the door. The huge church was almost filled to capacity. Harry Evans was a City Councilman, a patron of the opera and one of the richest men in San Francisco. His only daughter was marrying a man he deemed worthy of her, so he had pulled out all stops. Stacey’s gaze moved to the groom. His eyes were for Marcie only. She smiled again. This was going to be perfect. Her gaze drifted around the standing congregation. One man, near the front on the groom’s side, stood taller than the people surrounding him. He turned his head and his gaze locked with hers. For a moment Stacey’s heart stopped. It couldn’t be! She felt the church spin around her. It was a coincidence, someone who looked like Zach. He couldn’t be here. He was off daring death on his wild need to race Formula One cars at record speeds. She almost marched down the aisle to him, but reason took hold. Then, with a wink, he turned to face the front. Stacy forgot about the myriad details still remaining to ensure the wedding and reception progressed flawlessly. Her breath hitched. What on earth could Zach be doing here? She’d often dreamed of running into him again. Sometimes she slapped him so hard his head snapped back. Other times, she pretended she hadn’t a clue who he was, and when reminded, feigned difficulty in remembering. Once in a while, she let herself fantasize his return was because he couldn’t live without her. But that was so far from reality she rarely let herself indulge in that particularly fantasy.

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Stacey backed into the antechamber, wishing she could deny what she’d seen. There was no way the husband who had married her seven years ago and abandoned her two weeks later would show up out of the blue now. Chapter Two Two hours later Stacy wanted to scream. She was operating on two levels - one the competent wedding consultant, making sure everything went perfectly for her client. The other, a frustrated woman who couldn’t stop thinking about Zach. The crowd at the St. Francis Yacht Club made it impossible to pause even for a moment to search out any one particular person. Still, even as she kept an eye on the celebration, she searched each dark-haired man who came into her line of sight. If he had been at the church, he was sure to be at the reception. Then it happened. For another endless moment, Stacey locked eyes with Zach Taylor, the husband she had not seen in seven years. Not seen, not heard from, tried to forget. The activity surrounding her faded, it was as if she and Zach were alone in the universe. Reality returned when Stacey’s assistant nudged her. “The music will be starting soon, and the dancing. Should we do anything to hurry them along in eating?” The spell broken, Stacy dragged her eyes away and looked at Lila. “No, the music will automatically have them finishing. After a few dances, we’ll have the bridal couple cut the cake.” She wanted to look around. Wanted to see what Zach was doing. Was he coming to speak to her? Or had he slipped out of a side door, not wanting a confrontation? “Then the older crowd can feel free to leave,” Lila said wisely. Stacey nodded, her throat tight with tension. Every cell was attuned to Zach. She couldn’t be focused on him, she needed to concentrate on the tasks at hand. “You look as if you need a drink,” a deep, once familiar voice said. Zach Taylor stood next to her, holding out a glass of champagne. Lila smiled brightly and slipped away. Stacey wanted to call her back, but her voice wouldn’t work. She stared at the champagne. “I’m working, I don’t drink when I’m on a job,” she said stiffly. She couldn’t bring herself to look up into the dark eyes she knew she’d recognize. The scenarios she’d so often pictured faded. The reality was she didn’t have a word to say to him. Her heart fluttered, memories crowded painfully in her mind. Of the love she’d once felt for him, the awe that the hell-raising favorite son of their home town had noticed her. Their final words yelled in anger. “How have you been, Stace?” he asked. He took a sip of the sparkling beverage. Her eyes tracked the glass, watched his lips caress the edge as he drank. Lips that had once brought her to ecstacy. And shattered her world when they spoke goodbye. “Just fine,” she said, glancing around, wishing desperately someone would rescue her, or that she’d find the strength to walk away. She didn’t want to be within a mile of Zach and his seductive lips, his bedroom eyes, his overwhelming sexy magnetism. But her feet felt rooted. Seven years had passed. Hadn’t she built up any resistance? She did not love him. She didn’t even like him. But she couldn’t walk away. That was his way, not hers.

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“Zach, here you are. Jason’s been looking for you.” The pretty blond bridesmaid came up and took his arm. She smiled at Stacey. “It’s a fabulous wedding. When I get married, I want you to be the consultant!” She turned back to Zach. “Come on, Jason and Marcie are ready for the toasts, and you’re elected to give one.” Zach looked at Stacey. “I’ll call you.” “Don’t bother.” “It’s no bother.” Without warning, he leaned over and kissed her. Chapter Three Zach watched Stacey turn and walk away. He was barely conscious of Jason’s sister hanging on his arm. He couldn’t believe he’d run into his wife. Pain pierced as he remembered their last words. He’d been such a young, arrogant fool. His world had been on a roller coaster for months - from the day he met Stacey. How was he to have known how things would turn out? “Wow,” Julia said. “I didn’t know you knew the wedding consultant.” She looked after Stacy with speculation. “And very well, I’d say.” “We’ve known each other since high school,” he replied, not willing to share private matters. “Let’s go get the toast over with.” “Jason was thrilled you were able to stop off in San Francisco to come to the wedding,” Julia said as they walked toward the head table. “He convinced Marcie to plan the wedding when there were no races scheduled, but he knows your training is on-going.” “I wouldn’t have missed it,” he said politely. He glanced over his shoulder, Stacey had disappeared. But he now knew she ran Rainbow Weddings. He’d asked Jason the first instant he’d spotted her. He could find her with no trouble. Her being here surprised him, as did the fact she ran a very successful business. How long had she been in San Francisco? He hadn’t heard she’d left Carson Valley. Not that he kept close ties with anyone in that town. Once he left, he hadn’t looked back. His parents hadn’t forgiven him for his actions. It looked as if Stacey hadn’t either. It was past time to mend fences. If they could be mended. The reception of his friend’s wedding wasn’t the place to do it, however. He’d find her later, take her to dinner. They’d discuss things like rational adults. When the bride and groom departed amidst much fanfare a couple of hours later, Zach looked around for Stacey. He couldn’t find her in the dwindling crowd. His jaw tightened. She’d run out on him. Was that any way for a wife to act? A thought struck. She was still his wife, wasn’t she? Or had she gotten a divorce sometime during the last seven years? Could she do that without his consent? He hadn’t heard anything from her. No response from her to his letters. Not a card at Christmas or his birthday. No demand for more support money. He faithfully deposited funds in their account each month. She’d never said if it were enough or not. Once he began to win races, the money poured in. He’d made sure he’d shared it with Stacey. She must have used it to set up her business. He wasn’t into romancy stuff. Normally he avoided weddings like the plague. Why had Stacey gone into this business? They hadn’t had a fancy wedding. Regret stirred. Their wedding could best be termed brief and business-like. The city hall conference room had held the remnants of a business meeting, with papers scattered around the long table. They’d stood by the window, and he remembered gazing out at the parking

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lot. Only their closest friends Tim and Margo had stood up with them. They had not had their family or other friends. No fancy cake. No reception. Hell of a wedding, now that he thought about it. But he’d done what he thought was right. Stacey had been pregnant with his baby. He married her. Now he wanted to speak to his wife. If she thought ducking out early would slow him down, she didn’t know him very well. But she would. Chapter Four Stacey knew hearing from Zach again was inevitable. Seeing him at the wedding had not prepared her for that kiss. Why had he kissed her? The thought had been churning at the forefront of her mind since his lips touched hers. How dare he act as if they were friends. How dare he awaken memories best left deeply buried. His kiss had burned into her psyche and she fervently wished it hadn’t. She wanted nothing more to do with Zachary Taylor! Since the moment she’d spotted him at the wedding, however, she’d known he’d want to speak to her. When the phone call came Monday morning around ten, she was resigned to it. “I’ll take you to lunch,” he said without preamble. “I’m busy.” “You’re not, you’re avoiding me.” “Oh, like you’ve avoided me for the last seven years?” she asked sweetly. Her hands were clammy with nerves. She wanted to rail against him for what he’d done. But some small part of her yearned to hear what he had to say, learn what he’d been doing with his life. For a few brief, wonderful days, she’d thought she’d share that life with him. Never again would she let herself be carried away by some man’s blandishments. She had her feet firmly on the ground and would never open herself up again to heartache that could not be mended. “We need to talk.” “The time for talking was years ago. Why are you really calling me? Do you want something?” she asked, refusing to dwell on that brief brush of lips another second. “To see you.” His voice was low and seductive. Stacey remembered how she’d been so enchanted with it when she had been a teenager. Wasn’t she wiser now? “There’s no reason.” “You’re my wife, that’s reason enough.” She drew a deep breath, wishing her heart would stop pounding. “Lunch, then. But not a long one. I have a heavy workload. August is a busy month for eddings, and we have seven more to manage before month end.” “As a guest, I have to say Jason and Marcie’s wedding seemed perfect.”

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“As long as the bride and groom feel the same, I’m pleased.” She couldn’t help the tiny burst of pride she felt with his compliment. If he stayed around long enough, he’d see his teenage bride had matured into a competent, successful businesswoman. One who had no need of him. Would the knowledge make any difference? Not to the outcome of their marriage, that had been determined long ago. “I’ll pick you up at noon,” he said, and hung up. She leaned back in her chair, toying with her pencil. Two hours until lunch. Could she fortify her defenses in that length of time? She’d be cool and calm. She could do this. And then he’d say goodbye and leave for another seven years. Or longer. This time she knew what to expect. He was not a man to stand by his vows, to make a commitment and stick with it. Zach Taylor lived for himself alone. And no one knew that better than she. A split second of fantasy gave rise to his asking her to come with him on the race circuit. She laughed over the ache in her heart. That would never happen. Why did he really want to see her today? To talk over old times? Or end their farce of a marriage? Chapter Five Stacey was standing on the sidewalk when Zach showed up. By the gleam in his eyes, she wondered if she’d made a mistake waiting outside. Her purpose had been to keep her present life as separate from her former one as she could. She hadn’t wanted him in her office. Surely he didn’t think she was anxious to see him. If so, she’d disabuse him of that notion fast. “Stace,” he said, leaning over to kiss her. The first one had been a total shock. This time she was prepared. Sidestepping the intended kiss, she watched him warily. “Zach,” she warned. He smiled, that heart-stopping lopsided grin that had set her toes tingling when she was younger. Darn it all, it still did. She looked at the cab, still parked at the curb. “Are we going in that?” “Depends where you’d like to eat.” “The Wharf is fine.” She loved seafood. Might as well get something out of lunch. “Then the Wharf it is.” Once settled in the back of the taxi, she scooted nearer the opposite door, keeping as much space between them as she could. “You’re looking good,” Zach said, his eyes skimming over the pale blue suit she wore, lingering on the expanse of legs showing beneath the short hem. She couldn’t return the compliment. She dare not let herself look at him for long. He reached out to brush the back of his fingers across her cheek. She looked at him, drawing back.

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“Leave me alone, Zach. I’m not one of your racetrack bimbos, fascinated by the hot-shot drivers.” “No. But you are my wife.” “Did Jason and Marcie’s wedding jog your memory to that fact?” she asked. “I’ve known it all along. When did you move to San Francisco?” “Years ago.” He looked at her, his dark eyes narrowed. “You never wrote.” “And you did?” she said sarcastically. He nodded. “Many times actually.” Stacey stared at him. He’d written to her? “I never got any letters.” “Stace, I wouldn’t have left and not written, despite the command you issued. I wrote you every week when I first started the circuit. Then when you didn’t answer, I tapered off. You told me to go away and never come back. I began to realize at last you meant it. Lately, I’ve only written at Christmas and your birthday. It didn’t take me too long to figure out you didn’t want to hear from me.” Stunned, Stacey couldn’t take in the concept. “I never heard from you, not once. Not even when you first left me. Do you know what it was like? I lost the baby and you walked out - all in the same week. I was devastated. I had no where to turn, no one to cling to. Nothing. At one point I wondered if I would ever be able to face life again. Zach, I never heard a single word from you!” The muscles in his cheeks tightened as if he were clenching his jaw. “I wrote, Stacey, what happened to the letters?” “I have no idea.” She turned to look out the window as they drew near the Wharf. “It doesn’t matter, does it? What could you have said that would have changed a thing? You left, I was alone — alone with unending grief. You got the life you wanted. Why have you come back?” Chapter Six Why had he come? Zach could give Stacey a solid reason, but would she accept it? Right now she thought running into him at Jason’s wedding had been coincident. Which it had. But his next stop had been scheduled — Carson Valley. He needn’t go there now until things were settled between them. He was startled by her revelation — she’d been left with grief. He had thought she’d share the relief he’d felt when she’d lost the baby. Hadn’t the doctor said a miscarriage was nature’s way. Nothing either of them could have done would have saved their baby. They had been too young to marry, too young to be parents. She’d been nineteen. He hadn’t even been twenty-one. The cab swooped to the curb and stopped.

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He paid the driver and held the door while Stacey slid across the seat, her skirt riding up even higher. Zach swallowed hard, the silken skin enticing him to touch. Clinching his hands into fists, he looked around the bustling tourist area. He remembered every day he’d spent with Stacey. They’d been crazy about each other and he’d been unable to keep his hands off her. Her skin had been so soft, so silky. Her hair had drifted through his fingers like gossamer. She’d liked his touching as much as he had. A lifetime ago. Today, they were older. Had grown apart. Was there anything left between them? The sea air was fresh with the tang of salt on the breeze. In the background he could hear the famous sea lions with their hoarse barking. The sunshine sparkled on the deep blue of the San Francisco Bay. He took a deep breath, wondering why he’d even bothered to try. She looked at him. “The restaurant I like isn’t too touristy. The food is the best, I think.” “Lead on.” In only moments, they were seated by huge floor to ceiling windows, with a spectacular view of the Bay. Their order taken, Zach looked at Stacey. “We were too young,” he said. She looked at him. “We were young, but too young? How do you figure?” “Stace, you were right out of high school.” “And all you wanted to do was race cars.” He nodded. “What did you want?” Funny, he’d never asked her that. He’d just assumed she’d want what he wanted. “I wanted you.” She laughed softly. “You’re right, we were too young. How could I think all I wanted from life was you?” The scorn in her voice hurt. “You knew all along I wanted to race. I had a chance at the big time.” “Which you turned down when we got married,” she said. “I did right by you. I married you for the sake of the baby.” By the way her eyes widened, Zach knew instantly he’d made a tactical mistake. “Thanks for confirming what I always suspected. If I had not been pregnant, we never would have married,” she said. She looked out the window at the view. Zach suspected she wasn’t seeing the Bay, but back down the years to Carson Valley. “When there was no baby, I knew I needed to leave. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. I had to take that opportunity. Did you want me to stay home and be a pharmacist like my dad?” “At least I’d know you were safe and alive,” she snapped turning back to face him. He looked at her, a ray of hope breaking through. “You were worried about me?”

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Chapter Seven Stacey shrugged, as a response to his question. But Zach pushed. “So you were worried.” “Scared silly, was more like it. I watched every car race I could get on television after you left, hoping to hear something about you. Until I saw a racer get killed in a fiery explosion. I couldn’t watch after that, I was afraid that might be you one day.” The fear she felt showed in her voice. “It’s rare that someone gets killed,” Zach said, knowing that was the dread of every racer’s family. “Rare maybe, but not unknown. Anyway, I moved on.” “Left Carson Valley and came to San Francisco. I was heading home after the wedding, you know,” he said easily. Wondering what he would have done had he arrived there and found her gone. “Why?” He took a breath, glad when the waiter arrived with their food. He waited until they’d been served, then spoke, “I figured it was time to mend fences.” “Life has gone on for seven years, what makes you think any of us want fences mended?” He should have known it wouldn’t be easy. How would his parents react? Had they also not received his letters? They, too, never wrote. He reached out to take her hand, but she snatched it away. “I never meant to hurt you, Stacey. But I wanted my chance in the sun. Haven’t you ever wanted something so badly you’d do anything to get it?” She didn’t move, but he knew she was thinking. About him? “I should have come home. I asked more than once in my letters if you’d join me. When you didn’t respond, I thought that meant no. I wrote so often and never heard a word from you.” “The famous letters,” she scoffed. “Stacey Taylor, PO Box 73, Carson Valley,” he recited. “Zach, I never used that post office box. You left and I went home — where my folks were less than happy with me for running off to marry you in the first place. Surely after the annual fee expired, the post office would have returned your mail.” “I don’t put on return addresses. I travel a lot, never know where I’ll be to get mail. I gave you a cell phone number to reach me and the address of the sponsor’s office. They forward mail to me.” “Don’t you have a home somewhere?” He shook his head. “There’s training, racing, and planning strategies on new courses all over the world. I told you, I travel a lot.”

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“But everyone has a home.” “I thought I had one in Carson Valley, now find out I don’t.” “Did you think I was just going to stay in that poky apartment and wait until you deigned to return? For seven years? Get real.” For some reason, Zach had thought almost exactly that. In his mind, Stacey had been in stasis, not changing, not moving away. Not altering the adoration she had for him. But that had been fantasy. He’d known when she hadn’t replied to his letters their marriage was over. He wanted a chance now to change things. “I thought you’d wait for me.” It did sound dumb, when he put it in words. She’d been too vibrant to meekly await his return. “As soon as I could scratch together enough money, I left for San Francisco. At least here no one knew I’d been married and abandoned in two weeks’ time.” “Scratch together enough money? How much did you need? What about the money I sent?” Chapter Eight “What money?” Stacey asked. Talking with Zach had been long overdue. She was learning things she never imagined. “I sent you money every chance I got. I worked on a pit crew until I got my chance to drive. When I started making some money in racing, I sent it to you.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Same P.O. box?” “No, I deposited money directly to the bank — to our joint account.” Stacey felt the world tilt a little. “I never did anything with that account. I assumed it was empty after you left. I still had the one I opened in my name; it was easier to use that one until I moved here. Didn’t the bank statements show I never used the money?” “The address was the P.O. Box. I never read the statements. What do you mean easier to use your old account?” “I never changed my last name. You were gone before I could do so.” She shrugged, remembering. “After you left, I didn’t bother.” “So you still go by Stacey Jerome?” She nodded. There was no reason to feel a prick of guilt. A woman married for two weeks didn’t really need to change her name. He leaned back, pushed his dish away. “You haven’t finished,” she commented, hoping he wouldn’t make the same remark about her almost full plate. “I’m having a hard time getting all this. No wonder you hate me, if you thought I abandoned you and left you to your own devices all these years.”

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“I don’t hate you,” she said, realizing with a start that it was true. Hate required more emotions that she was able to give. She didn’t want to be around him, to be reminded of their past, to put herself in any danger of falling for him again. But she didn’t hate him. “You don’t love me, either,” he said. “No more than you love me. You said it yourself, you wouldn’t have married me if I hadn’t been pregnant.” “Not then.” “Not ever. If you are finished, I need to get back to work. Thanks for lunch.” And the enlightening information. She wanted to think over what she’d learned. Maybe he wasn’t the black-hearted creature she’d thought him. Would that change her feelings? She looked at him. “Is there really money in the bank account? Wouldn’t the bank have tried to find one or the other of us if the account was still active? It was seven months after you left before I did. Surely some attempt would have been made to locate me. Carson Valley isn’t that large a town.” “Come with me to Carson Valley and let’s find out what happened.” Stacey looked at him, the refusal trembling on her lips. She didn’t want to go back. Her parents were not happy with her. Her in-laws had never liked her. She knew the gossip that had run rampant when Zach had left. How could he ask her to face all that? Yet, how much of the situation did he know? Stacey was no longer the devastated young woman who had fled looking for sanctuary in the anonymity of a large city. She had proved herself to herself. Who else mattered? For a moment the thought of her baby came to mind. She had done all she could to make sure if her child had known her, she would have been proud of her mother. Would the baby have been proud of Zach? Beyond his departure, he’d set out a goal and achieved it. “Are you happy?” she blurted out. “Was it worth it, Zach? Did you find your dream?” Chapter Nine “Let’s get out of here,” Zach said, summoning their waiter. “We can walk along the embarcadero or something while we talk.” Stacey shook her head. “I have to get back. This is a busy time for Rainbow Weddings and I can’t leave all the work to my assistants.” She didn’t want to explore how tempting his offer was. He paid the check and escorted her outside. “Have dinner with me,” he said, making no effort to flag down a cab. “I don’t think so.” Stacey had to watch out or she’d believe his tale and start to soften. She needed to remember how he’d let her down. She didn’t want that kind of heartache again. “Dreams change,” he said, glancing over the water. The breeze played with his hair, whipping Stacey’s around her face. She reached up to pull it back, but he beat her to it, brushing back the strands with gentle fingers. His eyes looked deep into hers. “I apologize for leaving you so long. For leaving you to deal with the

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loss of the baby alone. Racing kept me focused and helped to deal with the grief. I truly thought you’d come join me.” “You never came back,” she said. “I did. I’m here.” “Seven years after the fact. That’s so long — a lifetime. I’m not the girl you knew.” “And I’m not that young man who left. Give me a chance, Stacey. Get to know me today, see who I am now before judging.” Her heart raced. Why was he asking her to do that? “For what purpose? I have my life, you have yours. I can’t imagine you giving up racing, and I won’t give up what I’ve worked hard to attain.” Not to mention the peace of mind she worked hard to achieve. Sometimes she was lonely, but it beat the sorrow of the past. “Can’t we look for a compromise? I don’t race every week; you don’t have weddings every day. Take a break and come with me. See my world.” “Are you willing to see mine?” she asked. The images he provoked were daring. How would it feel to be in the stands with avid fans, watching the exotic cars in their race against time and each other? Hear the cheering, smell the exhaust, feel the fear at every turn, every time someone tried to pass? “I’m not good at the wedding thing,” he said. “And I’m not good at watching as men defy death.” Impasse. “Then come with me to Carson Valley. Let’s clear everything up, and if you want to go on your way, I won’t stop you. I want to see my folks. Make peace with yours. Revisit old places and see old friends.” “Are you on a pilgrimage or something?” she asked, wondering when the nostalgia bug had bitten him. When she’d known him, the last thing he wanted was to be in Carson Valley. “You could say that. Will you come with me?” “I don’t understand any of this,” she said. “What do you really want?” He cupped her chin with his hand, leaning closer. “You’re my wife. I want you.” Chapter Ten Zach’s words echoed in Stacey’s mind as she took a cab back to Rainbow Weddings. Outwardly she appeared to be looking at the passing scenery, but her mind was focused on the past. She had been so wild about Zach. They had been so hot for each other, beginning to date right after her graduation from high school. He worked for Mr. Pendleton, the best mechanic in town. He had loved cars. And she had thought he loved her. That summer had been magical. They’d spent every free moment together. They swam in the river, sometimes with friends, more often alone in a secluded section. They attended parties together, went to the drive-in theater. Made love under the stars.

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She grew warm thinking about the way his lips had awakened every cell in her body. The way his hands had caressed her skin, the drumming demand of completion that propelled them into lovemaking that flashed by with unworldly speed. Sometimes the nights seemed endless, like they were floating on clouds in an unending sky. Other times, it went by too fast. The entire summer had. And then she’d become pregnant. “Here you are,” the cab driver said. She gave him the fare and hurried inside. She had more to do than moon over a man who talked a good line, but whose actions proved the point — he was not for her. Stacey had expected his call that morning, but she had not expected he would be waiting for her at her apartment when she returned home. He was leaning casually against the wall near the large double glass doors. It was a secure building. He couldn’t enter without a key, or a resident releasing the lock. “Now what?” she asked when he stood straight, looking right at her. His broad shoulders hinted at dependability, as if a woman could rely on him. His chest had filled out over the years, he was no longer a young boy, but a man in his prime. His dark hair blew slightly in the wind. Did it whip around when he was racing? No, she knew he wore a helmet. He’d changed into casual slacks, and wore a designer polo shirt. The gold watch on his wrist looked expensive, as did the bouquet of flowers he held out to her. There had been no flowers in the past. Money had been too tight. From the cut of his clothes, and that exclusive watch, she knew money was no longer a problem with Zach. She wanted to stay firm, to send him on his way, but the flowers were too enticing. She smiled and reached out to brush her fingertips across the soft blossoms. “They’re beautiful.” “Not as beautiful as you,” he said. She pulled a face. “That’s so trite,” she said. “Probably because it’s an old truth.” He pushed them toward her and she took them, breathing in their sweet fragrance. “Thank you.” When she looked at him, she detected a hint of hunger in his eyes, or desperation. She blinked and looked again. He glanced away. She must have imagined it. But for a moment she felt a shiver of uncertainty. “I’d still like to take you to dinner,” he said. His words at lunch echoed again — he wanted her. “Dinner only? Chapter Eleven “Dinner only,” Zach said. “Where would you like to go?” “Upstairs. I need to change. Might as well eat here. I have enough pasta and vegetables to make something.” She used her key to unlock the large glass door. Zach pushed it open for her and followed her to the elevator.

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Entering her apartment a few moments later, Stacey tried to see it through his eyes. It was not fancy. She had serviceable furniture, a few photos and two paintings on the wall. Her large window overlooked the street, with a narrow view of downtown, which was spectacular after dark when the lights glittered in the night sky. Zach studied the living room for a moment. She waited -for what? Some hint of praise? Some remark that would make her feel comfortable in her own home? She headed for the kitchen, dropping her purse on the sofa as she passed. “I’ll put these in water,” she said. He followed her, looking at the small kitchen, the tiny table at one end with one chair. “Nice place,” he said. “It suits me.” Did he think the single chair was pathetic? Did it give away the fact she never had people over? Let him think any dinners parties were buffet style. Why did she care? She placed the bouquet in a large container, filling it with water. The fragrance filled the room. She couldn’t help smiling at the beautiful array of flowers. “I’ll change and be right back,” she said. Stacey wanted the space and time. She hurried to her room, and closed the door. Taking off the suit she’d worn to work, she searched for something to wear. Not too dressy, that would give a wrong impression. Not too informal, she didn’t want him getting the wrong idea, either. Finally, realizing time was passing, she pulled on a pair of shorts and a midriff shirt. Glancing in the mirror, she wondered if it was too much — or rather, too little. Tough. Let him eat his heart out for what he’d rejected. She brushed her hair and raised her chin, sailing out into the living room. Zach was studying the photos in the collage on one wall. He turned, his gaze running from her bare feet up to her eyes. She couldn’t tell what he thought, but she felt as if he’d caressed her by his glance. “None of me, I see,” he said, nodding toward the photographs. “Nope.” She walked back toward the kitchen, noticing he’d placed the flowers on the table in front of the windows. Their colors glowed in the afternoon sun. When she passed him, his hand came out, and caught her arm, his finger caressing the tender bare skin of her inner arm. “I meant what I said at lunch. Life’s too short to waste another minute. I want you, Stacey.” She pulled free and faced him. “Exactly what is it you want, Zach? Another chance at a full relationship, including home and hearth, kids and growing old together? Or another summer of wild, wicked lovemaking before you head back out to the tracks? And why me? I’m sure you’ve had your choice of women over the years. You expect me to believe you were heading back to Carson Valley to claim a bride you haven’t seen in years? Why now? Why this moment in time instead of another?”

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Chapter Twelve Zach didn’t know how to answer. Tell her the truth, of course. But what was the truth? That he had grown tired of being on his own? He was tired of feeling like a pariah. That he wanted someone who meant something to him to share his good fortunes, and bad? Or tell her that Bart’s death had changed him somehow. He no longer took anything for granted. He knew life was fragile, fleeting. Bart Nicholls had been his age, and died on the track two weeks ago. Racers didn’t get killed often, but it happened. A good man was dead. His family mourned. His friend mourned, and then took a long look at their own lives. Would Stacey want to hear that? “Forget it,” she said, heading for the kitchen. He stared at the family portraits she had hung. Her mother and father, years ago, as he remembered them. They were in the yard, near the old picnic table they so often ate dinner on during summer months. They looked happy. He studied the next one, Stacey’s best friend Margo. What happened to her? The next was of Stacey and Margo, at the river. Their young bodies looked slim and healthy, though he gave little thought to Margo, staring at the young girl Stacey had been. Her choice of clothes today was interesting. A suit for a competent business woman, and short shorts and a top that lay her midriff bare for at home wear. What a contrast. He clenched his hands into fists, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to run his fingers over that enticing strip of skin at the top of her shorts. See if it was still as soft as before. He wanted to touch her all over, feel her heat, hear the soft murmurs she made when in the throes of passion. Taste her unique flavor, and forget past, present and future in her arms. Would telling her why he had come back help or hurt his case? What did he want — forever after, or just some closure for the present? He thought he had time to decide. But he’d run into her here instead of Carson Valley. No time to prepare. And she wasn’t willing to give an inch. He had to make up his mind what he wanted and go for it just as he had done before. Could he ever prove to her he could be trusted? That if she gave him another chance, he wouldn’t let her down again? It did not look like he was going to get that chance — at least not any time soon. Resolutely, he headed for the kitchen. The longest journey began with a single step. Maybe somewhere along the way, he’d find the answers he needed. And hopefully the words to convince Stacey. “Like pasta?” she asked when he entered the kitchen. “I like meat.” “I’ll throw some chicken on the salad. If you want to help, get out the lettuce, tomatoes and carrots from the refrigerator.” Zach had done his share of cooking over the years. Even though he didn’t have an apartment to call home, he tried to stay in motels that offered kitchenettes, preferring to eat alone in private rather than alone in restaurants.

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Together they made a good team. He prepared a salad while she fixed the main course. From time to time they’d bump into each other. He watched her while she worked, trying to figure out if the contact was deliberate on her part or not. He suspected not. Seven years ago he’d walked out. Now he realized all he’d walked out on. Could he prove to Stacey he was a man she could take a chance on? Chapter Thirteen Stacey knew before dinner was finished that she’d made a mistake. She should have kept on her office clothes, and insisted if they shared a dinner, that they found the most formal restaurant in the city, one that was full of convivial customers, which would have dispelled any sense of intimacy. Preparing dinner together had been bittersweet. She remembered the few dinners they’d prepared together after their marriage. More often than not for those fourteen days, they’d ended up in bed before eating. Brushing against Zach today set every nerve on alert. She knew the dangers of getting involved again, but her body had been too long dormant. It craved his touch. She forced down the meal, trying not to think. Talk during dinner was non-confrontational. It was as if both knew the storm was coming, and wanted to enjoy what they could of the meal. He asked her how she liked San Francisco. She asked him how Paris was in springtime. At one point she thought she would laugh aloud at how prim and proper they both sounded, when just below the surface, tension seethed. Finally he lay down his fork, his plate empty. He leaned back on the sofa and Stacey took that as a cue to clear away their plates.“I can help with dishes if you want,” he said. “Won’t take me but five minutes. Want coffee?” “Don’t drink it,” he said. “You don’t?” That was surprising. “Don’t want caffeine nerves. I need all I’ve got to focus on the course when I race.” She swallowed hard, torn between wishing she could see him race, and the fear that ever lurked when she thought about the dangers. “I’ll be right back.” It wasn’t fleeing to leave. But it felt like it. For a few moments, she felt safe, as if the coming storm could be averted. As if things could go back to the way they were last week, before Zach’s arrival had turned her world upside down for the second time in her life. She stalled for as long as she could. But when the last plate had been put away and the counter wiped, there was nothing stopping her from returning to her guest. Zach stood near the window, gazing out. She should have expected that, he never sat still for long, unless they’d been watching a movie. Even then, his attentions seemed to be split between what was on the screen, and her. Had he spoiled her for every other man? She’d been so overwhelmed by him. Cherishing every moment together, had she forged unachievably high standards that mere mortals could never attain?

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He’d had feet of clay. Maybe that was why his leaving had been so hard. Not that she wouldn’t have missed him in any other circumstance, but that he could walk away when she thought the sun rose in him, that had been unforgivable. He turned and watched her enter the room. Stacey felt a pull of attraction she tried to ignore. She was immune to the man. She knew he was not for her. All the wishing in the world over the last seven years had proved that. “Shall we get it over with?” she asked. “Get what over with?” “The discussion. Then you can be on your way and I can get back to my normal life.” “I was serious earlier. I want you in my life. Come with me and see my world. In two weeks I have a race in Spa. Come with me to Belgium.” Chapter Fourteen Go with Zach to Belgium? He said it as easily as she might ask a friend to go to Los Angeles. But Europe wasn’t the same as LA. And he wasn’t a friend. Stacey wasn’t exactly sure how she’d classify Zach today. His mere presence set her world on end. And the revelations he’d made had her thinking and reassessing their entire past. She opened her mouth to reply, but he quickly placed his finger on her lips. “No, don’t answer today. Wait and think about it. I’ll ask you again. But until then, just think about it, okay?” She nodded. He slipped his hand down and took hers, lacing their fingers. “Tell me about Stacey Jerome. Who are her friends, what does she like to do when she’s not working? Where do you go on vacation? How do you spend the holidays?” “Talking can’t make up the lost years, Zach. Are you seeking a reunion? Where everything comes out perfectly as if the past never happened?” He shook his head. “The past happened. I caused the rift between us. But don’t forget, Stacey, you told me to go and never come back. Those were the very words you said that night.” “After you said you still had a chance to race. I was heartsick over the loss of our baby, and you were glowing with the thought of leaving everything behind to race some stupid cars. I was scared silly. I didn’t want you to go.” “Then why tell me to?” She rolled her eyes and tugged on her hand. He did not release her. Stacey refused to examine why she didn’t try harder. She would not admit to liking the feel of his hand around hers even thought it felt good. Right. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean a lot of what was said that last night. I was hurting. I expected you to stay with me. Grieve with me. I don’t know what I wanted, but it wasn’t that you’d leave.”

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He shook his head. “I’ll never understand women. Why can’t you just say what you mean?” “Poor baby, do all your women give you a hard time?” She couldn’t keep the scorn from her voice. She could imagine the scene at each race — the pretty women hanging on successful drivers. Sharing the spotlight they couldn’t attain on their own. Spending time with him that should have been hers. Seeing the excitement of the races, and reaping the rewards when he won. Jealousy flared. This time she succeeded in pulling her hand free. “I wouldn’t say all,” he said, his eyes narrowed slightly. Was there a hint of amusement lurking? She looked away, angry he wasn’t taking the conversation more seriously. “Just most, then.” She remembered the frustration, fear and anger of that long-ago night. Would they end up saying things they didn’t mean now? “Mostly you,” he said slowly. “What about the rest of your women?” “What rest?” “Are you telling me you never dated in seven years?” she asked in disbelief. Impossible! He was too dynamic, too virile. He could set hearts fluttering by merely walking into a room. “Have you?” he countered. Chapter Fifteen Zach waited for Stacey to answer his question, to laugh and tell him she had dozens of lovers over the past seven years. The seconds ticked by. Her expression moved from stricken to impassive. Her eyes moved to look out of the window. The laughing response never came. For a moment Zach felt sick. She had not dated in seven years? “Why, Stace?” he asked gently. Tears shimmered in her eyes. He felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. He had never meant for any of this to happen. Where had things gone so wrong? With him. He should have called, should have stormed back to Carson Valley and demanded she come with him after that first successful race. He’d had nothing to offer before that. But two years after he’d left, he’d had something to offer. He should have returned to Carson Valley then. “Stacey?” “You know the old saying, once burned, twice shy. I just haven’t found a man I wish to take a chance with. Besides,” she glanced at him with a hint of anger, “I’m married. I need to get divorced before I start dating again.” He nodded. As he should have done. Dammit, he’d screwed up even more than he liked to admit. Would anything have changed if Bart hadn’t died? Would he have changed a thing, or continued along until he was old, used up and no good to anyone? “Do you want a divorce?” he asked. Maybe it would be better if they just ended things now. He could continue on his own way. She’d be free to date. To find someone else. To have that family she once talked about. “Is there any reason not to get one?”

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He couldn’t think of a single reason, except he didn’t want one. For the first time in years, racing didn’t hold center stage in his life. He wanted more. “I thought we might see where being together leads us. Maybe we don’t have enough for a marriage. But should we give up without any effort?” “Most marriages I know have the husband and wife living together, sharing their evenings, weekends. You are already talking about taking off for Belgium.” “We’re not kids anymore, Stacey. We can define our marriage however we want. I do race from March to October. And I practice a lot, to keep reflexes sharp, to test the cars, the different engines and tires. But I can do some of that in California. For the most part, there are only a couple of races each month. I can be here the rest of the time.” “Really? Or would only your body be here, but your mind off on some race course thousands of miles away.” “Would it matter?” “To me. There’s more to sharing a life than sharing an apartment.” “Give us a chance. Give me a chance. Until a week from Wednesday. I’ll have to leave for Belgium then. And I hope you’ll be coming with me. What do you say? She shook her head. He’d hoped to talk her into giving them a chance. What would it take? Chapter Sixteen Stacey couldn’t believe what Zach was suggesting. That they give their marriage a try? For a week? How convenient for him. Then he was off to Europe, and she’d be left to pick up the pieces once again. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t let him in for a moment without risking her hard-won peace. Yet, she wasn’t sure how to explain that without giving him the idea she might still care. Another moment passed. Zach watched her. She could feel her skin heat under his regard. Feel the temptation build to take what he offered. No emotions need be involved. He had been vague enough in his suggestion, just see where it led. No commitment. Not that he’d stick to a commitment once he made it. She knew that. Unexpectedly, he reached out and cradled her head in his strong hands, tilting her head back a bit to close his lips over hers. Stacey couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. Only feel. Feel the warmth of his lips, the excitement that invaded every cell in her body at his touch. She opened her mouth, almost moaning in the sheer delight of his kiss. Her body clamored for more. She reached up and encircled his neck with her arms, pressing against him, savoring the sensations that exploded. She had loved this man so much when she was younger. For a moment the agony of loss faded. The past faded. Only this moment in time seemed real. For as long as it lasted, she’d hang on for the ride. His arms drew her closer. His mouth left hers to nip kisses along her cheek, her jaw, landing on the pulse point at the base of her throat.

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Shivers danced on her spine in contrast to the heat that engulfed her. “Give us a chance,” he whispered in her ear, gently teasing the lobe. “Say yes, Stacey.” “It won’t work,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t stop. She never wanted him to stop. When his hand moved to her waist and caressed the bare skin showing beneath her top, she almost lost her balance. Her knees felt decidedly weak. “You are so soft. So sweet. I want you. I want my wife.” She was nineteen again, and so in love she couldn’t see straight. She loved Zach Taylor, the wildest boy in town. They could conquer the world together. If they ever could break away long enough to do anything but kiss and make love. She wanted to be closer, wanted that connection that only he could bring. But it was false. It was physical only. There was no meeting of the minds, no marriage made in heaven. In fact their marriage had only been to do the right thing when she got pregnant. Remembering that fact was like a dash of cold water. Stacey pushed against him, freeing herself. She was disgusted at how hard she was breathing, how bereft she felt now that she was no longer in his arms. But this wouldn’t solve anything. She needed more. She deserved more. “Stace,” he said, reaching for her again. “This time I call the shots. If you are serious about wanting to see where this is going, then it will be on my terms or not at all!” Chapter Seventeen “And what are those terms?” Zach asked. “We get to know each other. Know what we are like now that we are adults. See if there is more than just passion between us,” Stacey said, wanting to be perfectly clear sexual attraction alone wasn’t enough. “Do we need more than passion?” he asked. “I do.” “I do, sounds like a wedding vow.” “Which I kept.” “I kept the vows, too, Stacey,” he said in a low voice, a hint of anger flaring. “I might have been seen with some other women, but it was only publicity stunts, it never went anywhere. I had a wife whom I thought — I hoped — was waiting for me.” She wanted to believe him. Wanted to know there was a chance. Her heart ached with the loss of years, with the opportunities they’d had and never taken. “Okay, then. Thanks.” He raised an eyebrow. “Thanks?” She nodded. “For keeping the vows. That means a lot to me.”

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“Right. Then we can begin by talking over what’s been going on over the last seven years. And seeing how each other lives,” he said. “I’ll go with you and see your work, learn about the ins and outs of wedding planning. And you’ll come with me to Belgium in two weeks.” Stacey wasn’t sure about the two weeks, but she jumped on the chance to have him see more of her world. The next few days were hectic. There was an evening wedding on Friday night, two to see to on Saturday, and a lavish garden wedding on Sunday. Zach kept his word, he went into the office, met Stacey’s staff and did what he could to help. He went with her to the weddings, standing unobtrusively to one side, watching as she also remained in the background, but ensured the ceremonies went off flawlessly. The evenings they devoted to themselves. He spoke about the early days, about the first big race he won, about the other members of the crew. Stacey listened intently, fascinated by the life he painted. No wonder he wanted to race so much, the passion with which he spoke had her riveted and she would be scared to death to even try to drive a track. After Sunday’s wedding, Stacey had a couple of days respite before gearing up for the next weekend’s weddings. The preliminary work had been completed months ago, the last minute checks would be handled by her staff. She took the chance Monday morning to get her hair cut. Zach dropped her off at the salon and said he’d wait in her car until she was ready. Her hairdresser was still with an earlier client, so Stacey sat in the small waiting area, leafing through magazines. In reading an out-of-date weekly news magazine, her attention was caught when she looked at the pictures of a fiery auto crash on a racetrack in Hungary. She shivered, mesmerized by the scene. Slowly she searched for the story, and her heart stopped. The driver was on the same tem as Zach. She scanned the article, then left it on the small table. Rising, she told the receptionist she couldn’t stay and headed outside to find Zach. “That was quick,” he said when she opened the car door and slid inside. “You didn’t tell me a teammate had died recently. Bart Nicholls.” He looked at her, wondering why he hadn’t told her from the beginning. “He was my best friend. He died much too young. It was a senseless death, a tire blew. He has a wife and a small child. It hit me hard.” “And made you think of your own wife? Is this the real reason you came back?” Chapter Eighteen “When death hits that close to home, it gives a man pause. Suddenly the priorities I had didn’t seem as important as coming back and seeing you. Seeing my folks. Heck, I even want to talk to your parents,” Zach said. “So it wasn’t some strong urge to look me up after all these years, just a setting your house in order kind of thing.” “It’s not like that. I’m not planning to die any time soon.” “I’m sure Bart Nicholls didn’t either.” Stacey looked out the windshield, feeling let down and depressed. She’d thought he’d come back because he couldn’t stand it anymore. Instead, it was a pilgrimage in honor of his dead friend. “Did you really want to take up where we left off, or did I leap to conclusions?” she asked, not much caring for the answer. Once again, he hadn’t loved her for her. If it was as a result of his friend’s death, how

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different was that reason from his marrying her initially because she was pregnant. In neither case did she come out on top. “I want to take up from today. We can’t go back to where we were,” Zach said. “I’m not sure I’m up to it,” she said, longing for the serenity of her apartment where she could be alone. “Stacey, this changes nothing.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, looking at him. “I didn’t want you to think...” He didn’t finish the sentence She did it for him, “...that you only came back because of Bart’s death. Why else? You’ve had seven years.” “I didn’t think I was welcomed.” “But you never tried to find out, did you? I want to go home. And I want you to go.” “Deja vu? You’re sending me away?” “I don’t know. But for now, I want to be alone and think about things.” She climbed out of the car when they reached her apartment. “Call me in a couple of days,” she said, and turned to go inside. He called something after her, but she ignored him. She couldn’t believe she’d been so gullible again. When would she ever learn? Or would she if it concerned Zach Taylor? Wednesday Stacey went to work. She had not heard from Zach since he’d dropped her at the apartment Monday morning. She waited for him to call, but he hadn’t. She wasn’t sure exactly where he was staying, so she couldn’t call him. Not that she wanted to. That was wrong, she did want to talk to him. She had so many questions. So many feelings that were jumbled and mixed up. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t concentrate on her job. She just wanted something to happen to end this awful sense of loss that was engulfing her. She wished he had never come back. No, that wasn’t true. She wished he loved her as she loved him. She had done so as a young woman, and despite her attempts to end it, she loved him still. That was the reason she hadn’t dated, no other man could hold a candle to Zach. She was probably destined to love him all her life. Wasn’t that a fine fix to be in? When she arrived home that evening, Zach was standing by the apartment doors. Instead of flowers, he held a large box. “I have the letters,” he said. Chapter Nineteen “I don’t believe this,” Stacey said when they were both in her apartment. Zach set the box on the sofa and she sat beside it. He opened it, then went to sit in the chair across the room. “The advantages of living in a small town. Remember Cyrus Snyder?” She shook her head, looking at the stack of envelopes in the bottom of the box. On top was a paper-clipped stack of bank statements. She looked at the balance and her eyes widened.

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She looked at Zach. “That much?” He shrugged. “It was over seven years, I told you.” “Who is Cyrus Snyder?” “The postmaster of Carson Valley. An old-fashioned man who believe in delivering the mail to the recipient.” She nodded, vaguely remembering some old man who was in charge. “When no one picked up the mail, he contacted your mother first, but she refused delivery. Then he called my Dad. No go there, either. Mr. Snyder isn’t the type postmaster who gives up. He kept them. Said he knew one day you or I would show up for the mail. I put them in chronological order. Read them, Stacey. They are your letters.” She picked up the first one and held it for a long moment, her heart beating rapidly. Letters from the past. She checked the postmark, it was just a couple of days after he left. Slowly she opened the envelope and slid the letter out. Opening it, she recognized Zach’s bold handwriting. It was several pages long. She began to read. The first letter brought tears to her eyes. She glanced at him from time to time, but he never said a word, just watched her read the missives he’d written so long ago. The second asked her to join him, just as he’d said. The letters began to blur together as she read them, he’d told her he loved her and wanted her with him. One letter spoke of all the disappointments of the racing circuit, and asked to come home. Another described what hopes he’d had for their child, and future children. Yet another told her of his unbearable loneliness and hurt that she didn’t even answer his letters — if only to rail against him for failing her. Gradually the tones changed. He no longer spoke of coming home, or of her joining him. The frequency diminished. The cards for her birthdays held photos in them. She touched his young face in the first one, glancing again at the man sitting so silently across from her. “I never knew,” she said. “I was alone and hurting and so were you. Why didn’t you come home?” “I asked to, you never said come. You only said go.” “Come home now, Zach. I need you.” He was off the chair in an instant, crossing to pull her into his arms. “I need you to say that. I love you, Stacey. I always have. We didn’t get married because of the baby, we got married because we are a part of each other. We were too young to handle what life threw our way. But we are older and wiser now. Marry me. Have my babies. Grow old with me. What do you say, Stacey? Love me until the end of time, for that’s how long I’ll love you.” Stacey cupped Zach’s face in her palms, gazing deep into his eyes. She saw only love. “I say yes. I love you, Zach, I always have. I’m so sorry for the lost years. For the pain you went through all alone.” “I’m sorry for yours, sweetheart. I always thought you were ignoring me. It never once crossed my mind that you didn’t get the letters.” “I’ll always cherish them,” she said through her tears. “I love you.” “I love you.” He sealed the vow with a kiss.

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Chapter Twenty “This time we’ll do it right,” Zach had said. Stacey remembered his words as she stood with her father in the vestibule of the old family church in Carson Valley. Lila reached out to twitch her gown into place. “I’ll wait here for you when the ceremony is over,” she said smiling brightly. “Then we’ll take the wedding photographs at the altar when the church empties, before heading to the reception.” “I know, Lila,” Stacey said smiling back. Hadn’t she said that to hundreds of brides before her? “Just practicing boss. Knock him dead!” She gave Stacey a thumbs-up and moved to the door, watching as the bridesmaids walked down the aisle. “I guess you know what you’re doing this time,” her father said patting her hand held in the crook of his arm. “I always knew,” Stacey said, impatient for the Wedding March to begin. She was anxious to pledge her love publicly in front of all her friends and family. Zach had known exactly how to make their start in life perfect — the wedding she’d always dreamed of. “He better not walk out again,” her father said. “He won’t. Give him a chance, Dad, he’s a good man. I trust him with all my heart.” Zach was waiting at the altar, his best man one of the men from the racing team. She’d met Phil in August when she’d flown to Belgium to watch Zach rack up the points in the race at Spa. It had been thrilling, and scary. But her faith in him had remained strong. Their team finished in the top three worldwide at the end of the season. He blamed the lack of first place on Bart’s death. Next year, he’d promised, they’d sweep the circuit. She knew she couldn’t talk him out of racing. She wouldn’t try to change him. He’d been right. They were older and wiser. She loved him as he was. As he loved her just as she was. If he wanted to race, so be it. He would hate being confined, constrained and any love he had for her would change over time if she asked that of him. No one said life would be easy. Just easier together. The familiar music started, the congregation rose to their feet and turned to look at her. Zach stepped out, as if coming to meet her when she and her father entered the sanctuary. His eyes were only for her. Stacey could scarcely see through her tears of happiness, but she focused on the one man who would be there for her from now on. No matter what, he was not leaving, he’d made that promise over and over. And she would never utter words that would make him think he should go. They’d been given a second chance. She grabbed hold with both hands. Never to let go. “Dearly beloved,” Zach said softly, just before the minister began.

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The Prince's Proposal by Carla Cassidy What happens when a regular American girl becomes engaged to a prince? Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| 9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14| 15| 16| 17| 18| 19| 20| 21| 22| Chapter One "I gave you a year to find a bride." King Michael Stanbury of Edenbourg glared at his one and only son, Nicholas. "In three weeks time that year will be up and you are no closer to marrying." "I haven?t found anyone appropriate yet," Nicholas replied. "Nonsense. You have dated women from all over the world, any one of which would have made a fine wife." Nicholas sighed. He couldn?t very well tell his father that although the women he dated were beautiful, sophisticated, and charming, he?d been looking for something more. "I thought it might be interesting if I married a woman I loved." Michael snorted with displeasure. "Love is overrated. If you are to one day be king, you can?t wait around for sentimental foolishness. If I?d had my way, I would have chosen a woman for you a long time ago, but your mother indulges you and she insisted I give you time to find your own wife." Nicholas bit back an angry retort. When his father had told him he had a year to marry, it hadn?t sounded like an indulgence, it had been a royal dictate ? as had most of his father?s words to him over the years. And as usual, Nicholas?s first instinct was to rebel. He drew a deep breath. "Father, I have tried ?" "Not enough," King Michael said. "A wife gives a man an aura of stability and if you are not married by your 30th birthday, then I will not allow you to succeed the throne." Nicholas wanted to protest the three-week deadline, tell his father it was a ridiculous ultimatum, but he knew it was useless. King Michael rose from his chair and looked at his watch. "You?d better get dressed ? the ball starts in an hour. Royalty from a dozen countries will be in attendance, surely you can find a woman that will make an appropriate princess." Without another word, the king swept out of the room. As always, after a talk with his father, frustration gnawed at Nicholas. He knew his father was right. It was time?past time that he chose a wife. He picked up his dress jacket and ran his thumb across the embroidered family crest on the lapel. Besides, he?d spent the past year searching for love and had found it elusive. His father was right. Love was nothing more than sentimental foolishness. It was time to put aside such foolishness. It was time to do his duty. Time to choose a wife. *** He knew the moment he saw her that she was the one. Prince Nicholas watched the dark-haired beauty from across the room. She stood by his cousin, Princess Serena of Wynborough, and Serena?s husband, Gabriel Morgan.

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He moved across the polished dance floor toward her. As he approached, she threw back her head and laughed at something Gabriel said and in her smile, in her rich laughter, Nicholas made up his mind. He stopped in front of the woman, bowed, and held out a hand. "May I have this dance?" Her brown eyes widened slightly as she nodded and smiled. "Are you enjoying your visit to Wynborough?" he asked, noting that she smelled as sweet as she looked. "Very much, although I?m finding things quite different here from my home in Brookville, Iowa." Again she offered him a shy smile. "I know you?re the Prince of Edenbourg, but I?m afraid I?m not exactly sure where Edenbourg is." Nicholas smiled, finding her confession charming." A long way from Wynborough. Edenbourg is in Eastern Europe." "Have you visited here often? I understand you?re Serena?s first cousin." "Actually, this is my first visit. Our families have not been close, although I enjoyed a long lunch with Serena yesterday." And throughout that lunch, Serena had spoken quite highly of her husband?s relative, Rebecca Baxter. Now Nicholas tried to remember what his cousin had said about the lovely woman he held in his arms. They spoke no more through the course of the dance. Nicholas?s father?s words rang in his ears. Time to find a bride. And why not the woman in his arms? Rebecca appealed to him more than any of the women he?d dated over the past year. That she was an American, and a commoner to boot, would irritate his father, but that only made her more desirable as far as Nicholas was concerned. Lust at first sight might make the best reason for marriage after all. When the dance ended, Nicholas escorted her over to where his father stood. The King raised an eyebrow and Nicholas nodded. So there would be no mistaking his intentions, he acted on an ancient custom. Reaching out to a nearby floral arrangement, he plucked out a flower, kissed it, and then tucked it behind Rebecca?s left ear. "May I present Rebecca Baxter." The king kissed Rebecca first on one cheek, then on the other. "May this union be blessed with many heirs," he replied in their native language, following the custom. Rebecca smiled blankly, but as the king?s words were repeated and swept around the room, a cheer went up. "What?s going on?" she asked curiously. He smiled. "My father has officially pronounced that he accepts our betrothal. You are to be my wife and the next Princess of Edenbourg." Chapter Two Rebecca stared at the devilishly handsome prince in disbelief. "I sincerely hope you?re joking," she said, surprised her voice sounded as calm as it did. Smoothly he took her by the elbow and led her toward an enormous set of French doors that allowed entry to an enclosed garden. As they made their way across the room, they were greeted with congratulatory murmurs that to Rebecca sounded colored with disbelief. He didn?t speak until they were alone on a bench amid a profusion of fragrant roses. "There is no joke. You have officially been proclaimed my intended wife, and we?ll marry in three weeks? time."

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"But, that?s crazy," Rebecca exclaimed. "I can?t marry you. We don?t even know each other." She stared at Nicholas, her heart beating wildly. Prince Nicholas Stanbury was handsome to a fault, but she also knew he had a reputation as a womanizer. His name had been linked in the tabloids with actresses and models. A different woman each week. "My mother and father didn?t meet until the day of their wedding. We have three weeks to get to know each other." He smiled, a charming smile that shot heat through her. "I am to marry by my 30th birthday or lose my right to succeed my father. In three weeks and one day, I turn 30, so I find a wife necessary." "That?s nice, but I don?t find a husband necessary," she retorted, and wondered wildly if they still beheaded recalcitrant women in this part of the world. "Besides, I don?t love you." "Marriage isn?t about love," he replied softly, his gaze not quite meeting hers. "I?m offering you what hundreds of women would sell their soul for?a fairy tale life. As my wife you?ll enjoy a beautiful castle, expensive clothing, exquisite jewels and all I ask in return is that you give me an heir." Rebecca was appalled by his cool recitation of a loveless marriage. "If there are hundreds of women who want a marriage with you and the lifestyle you?re offering, then I suggest you find one of them." She stood. The man was gorgeous, but he was obviously clueless when it came to matters of the heart. He stood as well and took her hand in his. Despite the fact she wanted nothing to do with his offer of marriage, she couldn?t halt the heat that raced up her arm at his touch. "But, I don?t want any of those other women as my wife. I want you." She pulled her hand from his. "We don?t always get everything we want." He grinned, a challenging smile that danced in the dark depths of his eyes. "I do." Chapter Three Rebecca awakened with the morning sun, but remained in bed, wondering if the events of the night before had been a fanciful dream. She felt she?d been in a dream from the moment she?d stepped off the plane in Wynborough and saw her brother-in-law, Gabriel, waiting for her. It had been four years since Rebecca?s sister, Gabriel?s wife LeAnn, had died in a tragic bank robbery gone wrong. After the funeral, Rebecca and Gabe had lost track of each other. They?d made contact again when Gabe had invited Rebecca to his and Serena?s wedding, but Rebecca had been unable to attend. Then Gabe had learned about her mother?s death and convinced her she needed a break and invited her to Wynborough for the anniversary celebration of the coronation of Serena?s father, King Phillip. Rebecca spied the flower on her nightstand, the same flower Nicholas had tucked behind her ear to proclaim their engagement. Her heart stepped up its rhythm as she thought of the handsome prince. A prince had made her his fiancée. It would be like a romantic dream, if she loved Nicholas?if he loved her. A knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts. "Come in," she called. "Good morning," Serena said as she entered. Rebecca smiled at the red-haired princess. In the brief time she?d been in Wynborough, she?d developed a friendship with Serena. "I?m not sure if it?s a good morning or not." Serena sat on the edge of the bed. "It was an exciting evening, that?s for sure." Rebecca sat up. "I was just lying here wondering if it was all a dream. Yesterday I was an unemployed schoolteacher taking her first trip outside the United States. Today I?m betrothed to a prince I don?t even

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know." She looked at Serena desperately. "How do I get out of this? I don?t want to do anything that might cause an international incident!" Serena laughed, then sobered and gazed at Rebecca thoughtfully. "If I were you, I?d go along with the engagement for several days, but tell Nicholas of your intention not to marry him. It?s important that it appears he?s the one who changes his mind. He?ll want to save face with the public." Rebecca nodded, trusting that Serena knew best how to handle issues concerning royalty. Serena stood, a worried frown etched into her forehead. "Just don?t let him hurt you. Nicholas is quite a charmer, but I don?t think his heart has ever been touched. Be careful with your own heart." Rebecca smiled. "Don?t worry about me. I?m not about to be taken in by what he?s offering." She looked at the flower on the nightstand, then back to Serena. "I?m glad Gabe found you. I?m so glad he found happiness." "I?m the one who is happy." Serena?s face positively glowed. "Gabe is my heart, my love, my very soul mate." And that?s exactly what Rebecca wanted for herself. Love. And that was the one thing Prince Nicholas wasn?t offering. Chapter Four It had surprised Nicholas when Rebecca had mentioned love. He?d once held out hope that such an emotion existed, had desperately wanted to find it, if for no other reason than to prove his father wrong. But, after spending the past year searching for love, dating an endless string of women, each of whom had left his heart cold, he?d come to realize it didn?t exist. Or at least not for someone like him. Marriages were made, as his father and mother?s had been, for a variety of pragmatic reasons, not because of some wild, crazy magic that might exist between two people. As Nicholas sat in Gabe and Serena?s living room waiting for Rebecca to join him, he thought of what he knew about Rebecca. She was 25 years old, an unemployed schoolteacher who had spent the past year caring for an ailing mother who had passed away a month before. She had one charge card she rarely used, a seven-year-old car, and owned no property. Her reputation was sterling and he knew many of his countrymen would find her modest background charming. He knew everything about her that could be learned through public records, but there was much he didn?t know, and he was surprised to realize he was looking forward to spending time with her. He smiled as he recalled her laughter. He hoped he could make her laugh today. "Rebecca will be down in just a minute," Gabe said as he reentered the room. "Good. I?m looking forward to spending the day in her company." He offered Gabe a friendly smile, but the tall, dark-haired man didn?t return it. "You know Rebecca is my sister-in-law from my previous marriage," Gabe said. Nicholas nodded. He knew Gabe?s first wife had died tragically and after her death, Gabe had come to Wynborough and gotten a position as a royal bodyguard. According to the rumors, Serena and Gabe had fallen madly in love. But, Nicholas now suspected Serena?s father, King Phillip, had made some sort of a business arrangement with the bodyguard. Nicholas wasn?t sure what the king had promised Gabe, but he knew King Phillip was pleased to have his willful, adventurous daughter safely married. That was how royal marriages worked, he reminded himself.

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"I?m very fond of Rebecca," Gabe continued. "And I?m sure I?ll grow fond of her as well," Nicholas replied, noting that his answer didn?t ease the tension that emanated from Gabe. "I don?t want her hurt." Gabe glared at him. "I have no intention of hurting her. I?m marrying her, not burying her," Nicholas protested with an uncomfortable laugh. He didn?t understand why Gabe wasn?t thrilled that Nicholas was offering Rebecca a dream life as a princess. "I?m just warning you," Gabe returned, his gaze intent on Nicholas. "If you hurt her, you won?t have to worry about succession rights or anything else." Nicholas stared at Gabe in surprise and wondered for the first time if perhaps he hadn?t gotten in over his head with the lovely Rebecca Baxter. Chapter Five "I thought we?d go to the marketplace and do some shopping," Nicholas said to Rebecca. They were seated side-by-side in the back of a luxury limo. Nicholas smiled at her. "I know how you women love to shop." "Actually, I hate it," Rebecca replied perversely. She was more nervous than she could remember. Nicholas was even more handsome this morning than he?d been last night, and she?d have to be a stick of wood not to be affected by the force of his smile. I shouldn?t even be here, she thought. I shouldn?t spend a single moment perpetuating this craziness. But, if she were honest with herself, she would admit it was a heady experience. It was hard to believe that after a year of taking care of her mother, her first date was with a prince who?d proposed to her. "I don?t think I?ve ever met a woman who hated to shop," Nicholas said, pulling Rebecca from her thoughts. "Perhaps you?ve been seeing the wrong kind of women." He laughed. He had a wonderful laugh, deep-bodied and genuine. "Perhaps you?re right," he agreed. "Still, I?d like to buy you something special to wear tomorrow night. Something to commemorate our engagement." "Tomorrow night?" "The party at the Woodtowers? house. I understand the Woodtowers throw wonderful parties." Rebecca nodded, remembering Gabe mentioning something about the party. "Please, I?d rather you not buy me anything. I?m only going along with this engagement business for the next week so you can then tell everyone I was entirely inappropriate." "But, I don?t find you inappropriate." "You will," she said firmly. She gazed at him thoughtfully. "Why would your father give you a deadline to marry?" "Because my father likes to control people and things," he replied. "And I will adhere to the deadline because I?ll do whatever I must do for Edenbourg."

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Their conversation ended as the limo pulled up at the curb in front of the open-air market. Within minutes, Rebecca was walking beside Nicholas through the marketplace. She had a feeling Nicholas was not only handsome, but headstrong as well, and it was obvious he?d paid no mind to her warning that he needed to find another fiancée. She certainly didn?t want to be responsible for him losing the right to one day be king of his country, but she wasn?t willing to sacrifice herself and her own dreams in the process. "Prince Nicholas!" Both Nicholas and Rebecca turned to see a man who was obviously from the press advancing on them. "Could we get a picture of you and your intended?" "No," Rebecca exclaimed in horror. She didn?t want any part of this mock engagement chronicled in the daily news. "Certainly," Nicholas replied at the same time. "How about a picture of our first kiss." Before Rebecca could protest or knew what was happening, Nicholas?s lips descended toward hers. Chapter Six Nicholas had intended to give her only a brief, courtly kiss, but the moment his mouth claimed hers, he was swept into a maelstrom of unexpected desire. She tasted of honeyed sweetness and the floral scent she wore eddied in his head. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss, vaguely aware of the reporter scurrying away. Rebecca?s brown eyes were luminous, and Nicholas wondered how they would look while he made love to her. The thought stirred his blood. "You shouldn?t have done that," she said, her cheeks a becoming pink. "Actually, I was just considering repeating the experience," he replied. She took a step away from him, her eyes flashing with a touch of anger. "Don?t you dare," she exclaimed. "You?re only making things worse. I am not marrying you." Quickly he followed behind her as she walked toward a flower booth. She intrigued him. It had never entered his mind that any woman wouldn?t jump at the opportunity he was offering ? the opportunity to eventually be queen of a beautiful kingdom. He knew without a doubt that any of the women he?d dated before would have married him in an instant. So, what was going on with Rebecca Baxter? Was she simply playing hard to get, or did she truly intend to turn him down? He hurried to catch up with her, noting how pretty she looked as she bent forward to smell a brilliant red blossom. "You like flowers?" he asked. "I love them." She flashed him a smile that created a pleasant warmth in his stomach. "I particularly love gardening." They walked on, leaving the flower display behind. "What else do you like?" he asked curiously.

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"I like all kinds of things: pepperoni pizza, working with children, watching a sunset." Her brown eyes gazed at him curiously. "What about you?" He frowned thoughtfully. "I like touring my country, visiting with the people, and representing their interests to the rest of the world." He thought of the official dinners, the formal dances and meetings that took up much of his time. He spent a lot of time dating, feeding the tabloids and scandal sheets because he knew it angered his father, but he couldn?t actually say he enjoyed it. "It isn?t necessary that we enjoy the same things," he said firmly. She eyed him in disbelief. "But, it is." She shook her head and continued, "and this is a pointless conversation because I have no intention of marrying you. One week, Nicholas, I told you I?d go along with this farce for one week, then you will tell the press I was inappropriate and you can choose another woman to be your bride." She turned and walked away. Nicholas hurried after her, wondering how in the devil he could change her mind in seven days, wondering why it was suddenly so important that he change her mind! Chapter Seven Flowers. They were everywhere. Huge arrangements that filled Rebecca?s bedroom and spilled out into the hallway. And still the deliveries came, and with every delivery Rebecca?s anger grew. Nicholas had returned her to Gabe and Serena?s by midafternoon, and the floral deliveries had started almost immediately. "A bit extravagant, but sweet," Serena exclaimed as she surveyed the floral wonderland of Rebecca?s bedroom. "Sweet?" Rebecca stared at Serena in disbelief. "The man is a lunatic. He?s obviously trying to buy me and it?s not going to work. He doesn?t understand the meaning of no, has probably never been told no in his life. He?s extravagant and spoiled." "The spoiled prince is waiting for you in the foyer," Serena announced with a grin. "Good. I intend to give him a piece of my mind." Rebecca left her bedroom, anger coursing through her. Thank goodness she hadn?t told him she loved animals, otherwise there would be an entire zoo in Gabe and Serena?s house. Her anger dissipated somewhat as she stepped into the foyer and Nicholas greeted her with a wide grin. He looked so handsome, with his eyes gleaming with pleasure and his lips curved into an expectant smile. "You are pleased?" "No, I?m not pleased," she replied curtly. "But, you said you liked flowers." His smile fell away, replaced by bewilderment. Rebecca was unable to sustain her anger as she realized he had truly meant to please her and was clueless about why she wasn?t delighted. "Nicholas, I said I love flowers, but I also said I love gardening." "When we are married, you may spend all your free time gardening," he exclaimed. Rebecca sighed. "We come from two very different worlds. I?d rather be a schoolteacher in Iowa than a princess in a loveless marriage."

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"Perhaps I should have sent jewelry instead of flowers," he mused, more to himself than to her. "I thought you wanted flowers." He didn?t get it. He simply didn?t get it, Rebecca realized. He was so accustomed to buying what he wanted, getting what he desired. He didn?t understand she could only be won over with love. "Come with me," she said suddenly and grabbed him by the hand. "Where are we going?" he asked as she pulled him out the front door. "The flowers you sent showed me a lot about your world. Now I?m going to show you a little about mine." Chapter Eight Nicholas allowed himself to be led, enjoying the warmth of her hand in his and intrigued as to where she was taking him. He didn?t understand why the flowers hadn?t pleased her. The huge arrangements certainly would have pleased any of the women he?d dated in the past. As Rebecca led him around the side of the country manor, Nicholas noted how the sunlight danced in her dark hair, causing reddish highlights to flirt and dance. His fingers itched to wrap themselves in the silky strands. She took him to the greenhouse and as they entered, she released his hand and gestured to the plants and flowers surrounding them. "This is the kind of flower I like?growing, living flowers." She tilted her head and gazed at him curiously. "Have you ever planted a flower?" She looked so charming that he wished he could tell her yes, but he wasn?t going to lie. "Never. We have gardeners for that." "There is nothing better than getting your hands dirty." She grabbed a spade and knelt down at a bed where pots of various flowers sat waiting to be planted. For a moment he stared at her in surprise, then he knelt beside her and within minutes they were covered with mud to their elbows. Nicholas had to admit there was something sensuous and evocative about planting, but he wasn?t sure if it was the warmth and texture of the mud on his fingers, or the utter pleasure that lit Rebecca?s features. "I?ve always believed marriage is sort of like planting flowers. It isn?t enough just to plant them. To flourish, you have to nurture them." He considered her words with interest. "I might have believed that once, but now I know marriage is simply a duty that must be fulfilled." She gazed at him sadly. "And if that?s why you marry, then you will never know real happiness." Nicholas found the conversation strangely unsettling. She seemed to sense his discomfort and laughed suddenly. It had been that wonderfully musical laugh and the sparkle in her eyes that had made him choose her, and he found himself grinning at her in response. "What is so funny?" "If only your subjects could see you now. His Royal Highness with his face streaked with mud."

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"Where?" Without thinking he touched his face with his muddy fingers. Again she laughed, and the music of her laughter soared through him. "Your face is dirty, too." He reached out and smeared mud across her cheek. She looked at him in astonishment, then dissolved into laughter. Nicholas didn?t know anything about love, but at that moment all he knew was that he wanted nothing more than to gather Rebecca into his arms and kiss her with the passion that was growing inside him. He decided not to fight the impulse, but rather to give in to it. Chapter Nine It had been easy for Rebecca to dismiss Nicholas?s first kiss. There had been a reporter with a camera nearby and she had known he was kissing her for publicity purposes. The moment his lips touched hers, she knew this kiss was far different. There was nobody in the greenhouse except the two of them, no reason for him to kiss her other than because he wanted to. His mouth plied hers with intense heat as he pulled her tightly against his hard-muscled chest. Rebecca?s head spun dizzily beneath the strong sensual assault and although she knew she should step away, her body refused to listen to the mental command. She needed the kiss to stop, needed to catch her breath and regain her equilibrium, yet she wanted the kiss to last forever. He deepened the kiss with his tongue and at the same time his arms pulled her even closer against him. She was aware of a thundering heartbeat, but couldn?t discern if it was his heart or her own. His hands moved up her back and tangled in her hair and Rebecca knew it had to be her heart pounding so loudly as she responded to her own growing need. Being held in his arms, being kissed by him made her heart?s desire seem attainable. And her heart?s desire had nothing to do with becoming a princess or a queen, but rather with loving and being loved by a very special man. Rebecca felt Nicholas?s reluctance as he ended the kiss. As he gazed at her, his dark eyes sparked with the flames of desire and Rebecca felt the fire in the pit of her stomach. "I hope it takes a while for you to give me an heir," he whispered. "The longer it takes, the more we?ll have to try." His words effectively doused the fire within Rebecca, reminding her exactly what he was offering her in marriage and what he would expect in return. She opened her mouth to protest his statement, to remind him that she had no intention of marrying him, but he held up a hand to still her. He smiled and touched her cheek softly. "I cannot have a serious conversation with a woman who has mud smeared on her cheek. Come," he grabbed her hand. "Let?s go clean up." With his hand around hers, and her cheek burning from the tenderness of his touch, Rebecca realized she had to be strong. She?d promised him a week of the mock engagement and she would give him a week. But, she had to be careful because when he gifted her with his warm, charming smile, when he touched her in the most simple fashion, he stirred emotions Rebecca knew could only lead to her own heartache.

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Chapter Ten "That blonde over there would make a beautiful princess," Rebecca whispered to Nicholas. The Woodtowers? ball was in full swing. Charles and Edie Woodtower were personal friends of King Phillip and Queen Gabriella and no expense had been spared in this celebratory party thrown in their honor. The ballroom itself was splendidly opulent, with gilded molding and enormous crystal chandeliers. An orchestra played from its position on a large balcony, the soft music providing a pleasant backdrop without hindering conversation. She and Nicholas were in a small alcove that provided an excellent view of the ballroom. Nicholas frowned. "I?ve never liked blondes." Rebecca grinned at him. "That?s not what the Daily Reader says about you." Nicholas laughed. "You mustn?t believe everything you read in the papers." "They call you the Playboy Prince." There was a touch of censure in her voice and her dark eyes gazed at him soberly. "I enjoy being seen with beautiful women." He shrugged, slightly embarrassed by the playboy image he?d cultivated as part of a perverse rebellion against his father. He smiled at her. "And tonight is no exception. You look stunning." And she did. Clad in a cream-colored gown that complemented her dark coloring and displayed her curves, she outshone every other woman in the room. Her hair was pulled up, exposing a long, graceful neck, and her makeup subtly enhanced her pretty features. She blushed at his compliment. "Thank you." As the blush faded from her cheeks, her gaze swept the room once again. "If you don?t like blondes, there are several attractive brunettes here and I?m sure any one of them would make an appropriate princess for you." "It is completely inappropriate for my fiancée to be matchmaking for me," Nicholas replied. "Somebody has to do it." She studied him and wondered if she was being foolish in resisting his appeal. "You have less than three weeks to marry." "I will marry before my birthday," he assured her. "I have spent my whole life being groomed to be the next King of Edenbourg. That is my destiny." "Then why haven?t you married before now?" She gazed at him curiously. "You said your father gave you a year. Why have you waited until the last possible moment?" Nicholas hesitated before replying, unsure what the real answer was. He knew part of the reason had been because he hadn?t wanted to believe his father would really force his hand in such a manner. Even more he didn?t want to confess that he?d been searching for something?something he couldn?t define. Whatever it had been, he hadn?t found it. He smiled. "I waited because I hadn?t yet met you." Rebecca shook her head and eyed him in disbelief. "I think instead of the Playboy Prince, the papers should have dubbed you the Prince of Baloney." He looked at her in surprise. He couldn?t remember a woman ever talking to him so irreverently.

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"What about dreams, Nicholas?" she asked. "What are your dreams for yourself?" "I want to be a fair and merciful king. I dream of peace and prosperity for Edenbourg." Her rich, caramel-colored eyes gazed at him thoughtfully. "Those are the dreams of a king. What are your dreams, your hopes for yourself as a man?" Nicholas frowned thoughtfully. Dreams? His frown deepened. "I don?t know," he finally replied. "I don?t know that I have any." Rebecca nodded, as if his answer didn?t surprise her. "Aside from the fact that we don?t love each other, we are fundamentally far too different to make a successful marriage. I could never marry a man who has no dreams, and that?s one of the reasons I would never marry you." Chapter Eleven "There are many successful marriages where the husband and wife are fundamentally different and love isn?t the driving force," Nicholas protested. "Name some," she demanded. He grinned, finding the sparkle in her eyes and the challenge in her tone intoxicating. "My own parents are a perfect example. Theirs was an arranged marriage for political reasons and they?ve been together for over 30 years. They have their own interests and their own responsibilities and friends and it has worked for them." She frowned, an adorable wrinkle appearing across her forehead. "Shall we dance?" he asked as the orchestra began to play. She nodded her assent and he took her hand and led her toward the dance floor. "There?s also Victor and Sara Thorton," he said as he embraced her and they began to move to the rhythm of the music. She fit perfectly in his arms and her sweet fragrance filled his senses. He couldn?t remember the last time he?d been so physically attracted to a woman. Rebecca wasn?t the prettiest woman he?d ever been involved with, but something about her drew him as no other woman had ever done. "You were telling me about the Thortons," she said, pulling him from his inner contemplation. "Yes, he?s the Grand Duke of Thortonburg and he married Sara years ago for duty rather than for love. I?d introduce you to them, but they left rather abruptly from the coronation celebration. There are rumors of trouble in Thortonburg. Anyway, both of those marriage have been tremendously successful." "But, Nicholas, I don?t want a successful marriage. I want a marriage like my parents had," she said. Her eyes took on a dreamy cast and Nicholas tightened his arm around her back, wishing it was he that evoked such a look on her face. "They were happy?" he asked. "More than happy. They were more than just husband and wife. They were best friends, passionate lovers, and utterly devoted to one another. They were truly soul mates." "And that?s your dream?" She nodded, her eyes still luminous. "I want my husband to be my lover, my companion, the keeper of my dreams, and my solace when dreams fall through. I want a family of happy children raised with laughter and

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love, children who grow up seeing the love and respect their parents have for one another." She blushed. "I?m sorry, I guess I?m rambling." "Don?t apologize," he protested. For a few moments they continued to dance without speaking. Nicholas pulled her closer against him, wondering how it was possible he?d begun the night with no dreams and now wanted her dreams to be his. Chapter Twelve "Tell me more about your parents," Nicholas said later in the evening as he and Rebecca stepped out onto a balcony for a breath of fresh air. Rebecca smiled as memories assailed her. "Every anniversary, my father would buy my mother a little trinket from a different country. One year it was a package of Russian tea, the next a bell from Holland." "My mother always gets a new diamond of some sort from my father on their anniversary," Nicholas said. Rebecca smiled, trying to ignore how utterly handsome Nicholas looked in his formal dress. "Daddy couldn?t afford diamonds. But, he?d promised mother the world and so each year he gave her a memento of some far away place." "What did your mother and father do for a living?" Rebecca sat on one of the wrought-iron benches that decorated the balcony. Nicholas joined her, his thigh warm against hers as they sat side by side. "Daddy was a simple man, a car mechanic and mother was a schoolteacher. He met her when she took her car in for repairs and three months later they married. Their love for each other filled our house every day." Nicholas frowned. "I know my parents respect one another, but they spend very little time together." "When I marry, my husband and I will spend lots of time together," Rebecca said fervently. "We?ll share meals and our bed, we?ll share our hopes and dreams. We?ll even argue occasionally, but we?ll always make up and our love will simply grow stronger with each passing day." She looked at Nicholas. "That?s what I want from marriage, what my parents had." She felt the burn of unexpected tears. "And had they lived long enough, my father would have given my mother the entire world." She swiped the tears that had begun to fall. "I?m sorry," she said and forced a small laugh to hide her embarrassment. "Don?t be," he murmured softly. "It?s just?my father died a year ago of a heart attack, and before I had a chance to mourn for him, my mother became terminally ill. She passed away a month ago." To her horror, as much as she tried to suppress her tears, it was useless. He gathered her into his arms and she went willingly, grief for her parents welling up inside her. She pressed her face into the front of his shirt as he stroked her hair tenderly. Even as the tears flowed, she was intensely aware of the strength of Nicholas?s arms around her, the attractive masculine scent of him. "Sweet Rebecca," he murmured. "Try not to grieve for your parents. Just think, now they have all of eternity to spend together." In his sweet words, in the tenderness of his embrace, Rebecca knew she was treading on dangerous ground. She was vulnerable to the fantasy he held out. After the dreadful year she?d just spent, it would be far too easy to fall into the fairy tale of becoming a princess in an exotic, foreign land.

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Yes, she was vulnerable, and if she weren?t very careful, she?d fall in love with the Playboy Prince who appeared to know nothing about love. Chapter Thirteen "You like children." It was a statement rather than a question. Nicholas and Rebecca had been walking in one of the lovely parks Wynborough had to offer and Rebecca had paused to watch a group of children playing on the swings. "I love children," she replied. "That?s why I became a teacher. When I was younger I told my mother I wanted at least a dozen of my own." "A dozen? Then you definitely would need a castle to hold all of them." She laughed, that musical laughter that affected Nicholas deep in the pit of his stomach. "Or an old two-story rambling farmhouse." Nicholas watched her as she looked at the playing children. He found her face utterly fascinating, full of expression and animation. Two nights ago he?d held her while she cried over her parents and her grief had resonated deep inside him. Since that night they seemed to have become more comfortable with one another. She turned to him suddenly. "If you weren?t a prince, what would you want to be?" she asked. They continued their stroll through the tree-lined sidewalks of the park. "Oh, I don?t know." He grinned at her. "Perhaps a farmer with a two-story rambling farmhouse perfect for a dozen children." She nudged him in his side and laughed. "I?m being serious." This was one of the things he enjoyed about her. She challenged him, made him think of things he?d never thought of before. "I don?t know?it?s difficult to think about options when you?ve been raised all your life for the role you will undertake." He smiled at her. "What about you? What would you have been if not a teacher?" She shrugged and a light breeze caused her hair to dance bewitchingly on her shoulders. "Maybe a social worker. I like people as much as I like children." "And that will make you a perfect princess," Nicholas said. "Nicholas, the only reason I agreed to spend the last few days with you is because Serena told me it would be better if you made an announcement to the press that you?d dumped me instead of me dumping you." "But, I?m not dumping you." "Nicholas?you aren?t listening to me." Her eyes flashed with anger. "You have a temper," he said in surprise. "Yes, I have a temper, and I probably sometimes chew with my mouth open. I eat crackers in bed and if there are more than two forks next to my plate I don?t know for sure which one to use. Face it, Nicholas, I?m not princess material." For the first time Nicholas wondered if he?d jumped too fast, if maybe she was right and this was all a big mistake.

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Had he only chosen her because of the fight with his father? Because he knew his father would disapprove but would be unable to do anything about it? "Ah, I see I?ve made you think." She laughed suddenly and in that sweet sound of her laughter, in the sparkle of her eyes, any doubts Nicholas momentarily entertained disappeared. "I?m only wondering how difficult it is to sleep on cracker crumbs," he replied. She started to speak again, but he stilled her by placing a finger on her lips. "You know, most women would think what I?m offering you is a magical fairy tale." "But I know better," she replied. "It isn?t a fairy tale at all." "Why not?" he asked curiously. Her eyes lost their sparkle of laughter and instead became somber. "Because everyone knows fairy tales always end happily-ever-after and we aren?t going to have that ending." Chapter Fourteen "So, today is the last day you?re officially Prince Nicholas Stanbury?s fiancée," Serena observed. She and Rebecca were seated at the breakfast table, lingering over coffee. Rebecca nodded. "I gave him a week and the time is up.That gives him two weeks before his birthday to find an appropriate bride." Rebecca tried to ignore the ache that shot through her heart. The past week had been like a dream. She and Nicholas had spent nearly every waking hour together. They?d taken long drives into the country, eaten at wonderful restaurants, and walked through Wynborough?s many parks. Rebecca had accepted each day as an exciting gift, like a reward after a particularly heartrending, difficult year. It had been easy to get caught up in the fantasy of it all. But now it was time for a dose of reality. And reality was that Nicholas didn?t love her. With each day that passed, Nicholas seemed to open up a bit more, revealing pieces of himself that she suspected he?d never shared with anyone else. As he?d spoken of his childhood, she?d gotten the impression of a spoiled, indulged, but lonely, child who saw more of his nursemaid than of his parents. It was no wonder Nicholas didn?t understand love. He?d had plenty of duty, of responsibility, plenty of pomp and circumstance in his life, but very little love. "So, what do you have planned for your swan song as Nicholas?s intended bride?" Serena asked, pulling Rebecca from her thoughts. "I?m not sure. Nicholas told me to be ready at noon and that he had a surprise for me." Rebecca took a sip of her coffee, then sighed. "It?s been a wonderful week." "It doesn?t have to end," Serena said. "Of course it does," Rebecca countered. She wrapped her fingers around her coffee mug, then looked at Serena once again. "I?m afraid if I don?t stop seeing him then I?m going to do something incredibly stupid." "Like what?" "Like fall in love with him," Rebecca whispered.

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"Would that be so terrible?" "Yes." Once again Rebecca focused her gaze on the coffee in her mug. "Nicholas is charming, and sexy and handsome. He?s obviously well educated and has a wonderful sense of humor." "But??" Serena prompted. "But, he didn?t choose me as his fiancée because he loves me. I?m not even sure he?s capable of loving the way I want to be loved." Rebecca reached across the expanse of table and grabbed Serena?s hand. "I want a man who looks at me like Gabe looks at you," she exclaimed fervently. "I need a man who needs me, one who wants to share my thoughts, my life, my dreams." "So, what are you going to do?" Serena asked softly and squeezed Rebecca?s hand. "Tell Nicholas goodbye." The words caused an ache to sweep through Rebecca. Chapter Fifteen "Nicholas, we agreed that I?d see you for a week and now the week is over," Rebecca said. She looked lovely, clad in a caramel-colored silk dress that perfectly matched her eyes. Tiny gold studs shone in her ears and her hair fell in soft waves to her shoulders. Nicholas?s fingers itched with the desire to tangle in its glorious silkiness. He longed to capture one of her ear lobes in his mouth, then rain kisses down the length of her gorgeous neck. He tried desperately to focus on the conversation and not his growing desire for her. "But, I don?t want to stop seeing you," he protested, wondering why the right words came so easily to him in political matters, but with so much difficulty when dealing with Rebecca. He sounded like a petulant child, and that irritated him. The two of them were seated in a private dining room in a popular but expensive restaurant. The room was conducive to romance, complete with fresh-cut flowers, candlelight, and soft music wafting in the air. When Rebecca had told Nicholas she only meant to be his fiancée for a week, he?d been confident by the time the week was over he would have changed her mind. Now, for the first time, he felt an edge of panic rise up inside him as he realized she apparently intended to stick to her word. "I want to spend more time with you." The moment the words left his lips, he recognized the truth in them. "We?d only be putting off the inevitable," she replied, her gaze refusing to meet his. For a moment an alien helplessness swept through him. He could command the cook fix his favorite meal; he could demand his housekeeper repolish a spoon or glass, but he could neither command nor demand that Rebecca give him more time. "Nicholas, I know nothing about your country, nothing about the customs, the people of Edenbourg." He smiled teasingly, wishing to pull an answering smile from her. "Then, I?ll get you some travel brochures to study." She sighed, obviously irritated by his response.

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He reached across the table and took her hand. He loved her hands?so soft and feminine. Strange, that he couldn?t remember the hands of any other woman he?d dated. "Rebecca, this past week with you has only proven to me how well a marriage between us would work. We are well suited to one another. You please me," he confessed. She pulled her hand from his. "But have you considered that you might not please me?" He looked at her in stunned surprise. "You don?t like me?" Again she sighed, her gaze not meeting his. "I like you just fine." She looked at him. "But I won?t love you." "That isn?t necessary for a successful marriage between us." Although he said the words, he was surprised to feel a renewed sense of panic well up inside him. He reached into his pocket, knowing that if anything could make her change her mind, his gift would. He withdrew a small, blue velvet box. Her eyes widened and he saw the protest forming on her lips. He quickly opened the jewelry box and exposed what it contained. Chapter Sixteen "Oh, Nicholas," she said breathlessly. "I?ve never seen a diamond that big before." Nicholas relaxed as he saw the awe on her face. It was one thing to turn down a proposal, quite another to turn away from a flawless four-carat diamond engagement ring. Rebecca wasn?t so very different from the other women he?d dated after all. He took the ring from its velvety bed and slipped it onto her finger. "A perfect fit. It?s an omen." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her. "Rebecca, please wear the ring, be my bride." His heart thudded with a strange, unnatural rhythm and he realized he was holding his breath as he waited for her reply. She held her hand up, allowing the diamond to catch and reflect the candlelight. It sparkled and glowed as if with promise and Nicholas felt that promise in his heart. She would say yes. She had to say yes. His heart plunged to the floor when she shook her head and pulled the ring from her finger. "It?s gorgeous. A ring for a princess, but I can?t wear this and we aren?t getting married." He watched dully as she placed the ring back into the velvet box. Funny, he was filled with a strange elation that she was different from all the others. But, the elation was tempered with alarm as he thought of living his life with anyone else. He couldn?t imagine any other woman as his wife. He wanted?he needed Rebecca. "I don?t want to play games, Rebecca. Forget I?m a prince, forget about my father?s ultimatum." He leaned forward and gazed at her. "Let?s spend a week together just as a man and a woman enjoying one another?s company. No commitments, no pressures of any kind." He saw the mulish stubbornness on her features and searched inside himself to find the right words to change her mind. "Rebecca, in two weeks? time I return to Edenbourg and continue my duties as heir to the throne. The position will bring me tremendous joy, but with that joy comes pressures and enormous responsibilities. I?d like to spend a week, not as a future king, but rather simply as a man. I?d like to spend that time with the woman of my choice and that woman is you." He saw her indecision and pressed his advantage. "Look, I?m putting the ring away and I won?t say another word about marriage." He tucked the velvet box back into his pocket.

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"Oh, Nicholas, you make it very difficult for a woman to tell you no," she finally said. "Then don?t say no." "This is probably the most stupid mistake I?ve ever made in my life," she murmured. "Okay?one more week." Nicholas released a sigh of relief. One more week. Seven days. He had seven days to figure out the way to Rebecca?s heart. Chapter Seventeen Rebecca knew that agreeing to continue to see Nicholas for another week was utter madness, but she didn?t have the strength to deny herself the pleasure. Every single day for the next week, she savored the moments, capturing the minutes in her memory, etching them in her mind and in her heart. Nicholas introduced her to lobster Newburg and she introduced him to pepperoni pizza. He took her horseback riding and she took him bowling. They took carriage rides and visited museums. And each evening when he returned her to Gabe and Serena?s house, he kissed her until she was dizzy with desire, aching with want. She told herself that she?d have wonderful stories to tell her friends back in Iowa?about the two weeks she?d been engaged to Prince Nicholas Stanbury of Edenbourg. And at night, in her lonely bed, she?d have plenty of tears to shed over the future king?the man she loved. She and Nicholas now stood at Gabe and Serena?s front door. It was almost midnight and the two weeks were up. The moon overhead was full, spilling illumination that played on Nicholas?s handsome features. "Rebecca, I know I promised I wouldn?t speak of it again, but I lied." His gaze bore into hers intently. "Marry me." She shook her head. "I won?t." "Why not?" His voice held a soft appeal. She couldn?t tell him she wouldn?t marry him because she loved him. If he knew, it would give him power over her and she was afraid he?d use that power to convince her to marry him. And that would be the mistake of a lifetime. She answered his question with a question of her own. "Why did you choose me?that night at the ball? The room was filled with dozens of women. Why me?" For a long moment, he stared up at the moon, as if the answer to her question might be found in the silvery globe. "I?m not sure." He looked at her again and in his eyes she saw confusion. "When I looked at you, something happened. The moment I saw you laugh I knew without doubt that you were the one I wanted." He pulled her into his embrace. "And nothing has changed my mind since that night." His lips touched hers in a kiss of aching sweetness. She held herself stiff, unyielding, but as his tongue touched the tip of hers, and he pulled her more tightly against him, she gave in to the magic, the passion.

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"Rebecca?Rebecca?" he murmured as his lips left her mouth and traveled down the length of her neck. His light, nipping kisses sparked flames of heat wherever his mouth touched. "I want you. I need you. Marry me." Reluctantly, heart aching, she stepped from his embrace. "Goodbye Nicholas." She grabbed the doorknob to enter the house. "Rebecca, wait?" In the moonlight that spilled down she turned back to face him, surprised to see what looked like sheer panic in his gaze. "If you don?t marry me, then I won?t marry at all. I will forfeit my right to succeed the throne of my country." Chapter Eighteen Rebecca stared at him in horror. "Don?t talk nonsense," she replied. "It isn?t nonsense. If you don?t marry me then there will be no wedding and I will never be King of Edenbourg." He looked perfectly serious, but Rebecca refused to believe his words. "I don?t believe you. You?ve been groomed to be king all your life. If you don?t marry, your father will back down on his ultimatum." He smiled without humor. "You don?t know my father. He would rather stripe me of my right to succeed than give in on one of his ultimatums." He drew a deep breath and raked a hand through his thick dark hair. "Two weeks ago any woman would have satisfied me. I had resigned myself to a marriage where my wife and I would live rather separately. We would be polite and civil to one another. She would give me the required heir and I would give her jewelry and expensive houses to keep her happy." He placed his hands on Rebecca?s shoulders, his gaze capturing hers with intensity. "These last two weeks with you have shown me what marriage can be. I like being with you, talking to you. We could have a marriage of companionship, of laughter?" his eyes darkened "?of passion." Oh, it would be so easy to fall into the promise of his words, to give her fairy tale a happy ending, but there was one thing Nicholas hadn?t said. He hadn?t said the marriage would be filled with love. He hadn?t said he loved her. "Goodbye, Nicholas." Before he could say another word, before he could say anything, do anything to weaken her resolve, she slipped through the door and left him standing on the porch. She was grateful Gabe and Serena were in bed and she managed to get to her room before the hot tears flowed. This trip to Wynborough had been intended to be a lighthearted vacation after the year taking care of her mother and an opportunity to renew the bonds of family with Gabe. It wasn?t supposed to be about heartache. She undressed and got into bed, tears still tracking down her cheeks. Nicholas. Her heart cried out his name. It would be so easy to fall into the fantasy, allow herself to become his bride. But she was so afraid she?d be sacrificing her own dreams of love in the process. Loving Nicholas simply wasn?t enough if he didn?t love her. Swiping the tears from her cheeks, she rolled over on her back and stared at the moonlight patterns that splashed the ceiling.

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"If you don?t marry me then there will be no wedding and I will never be King of Edenbourg." His words haunted her. Surely he?d been bluffing. By tomorrow?the next day at the latest, there would be a news story announcing Nicholas?s new fiancée. "And they lived not happily ever after," Rebecca whispered, then turned her head into her pillow and wept for what would never be. Chapter Nineteen "Can I get you anything?" the waitress asked Nicholas for the second time. "Not at the moment. I?m waiting for somebody," Nicholas replied. The waitress, a blonde with breasts that nearly spilled out of her low-cut uniform smiled saucily. "Sometimes we have things that aren?t on the menu." She winked and slid a piece of scrap paper toward him. "My phone number?just in case you want to order à la carte." Nicholas picked up the piece of paper and crumpled it into a ball. He wasn?t interested. He wasn?t interested in anyone except Rebecca. He took a sip of his wine and sighed in relief as he saw Gabe approach the secluded table. He half rose, but Gabe motioned him down as he slid into the chair opposite Nicholas. "Nicholas." Gabe nodded a greeting. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me," Nicholas said. "I?m not sure why I?m here," Gabe confessed. "But I think I have an idea." "Rebecca," Nicholas replied, as if that said it all. Gabe nodded. "That?s what I thought." "It?s been two days since I?ve seen her?spoken with her. I thought it best if I give her some time to think." "And what does this have to do with me?" Gabe asked. "I need help," Nicholas confessed. "I need to convince Rebecca to marry me." He twisted his napkin between his fingers. "You know Rebecca ? tell me what I need to do." The waitress appeared at their table. Gabe ordered a meal, but Nicholas waved her away. "I?m not hungry," he said. "No appetite?" Gabe?s dark brows rose. "Not sleeping well? Having difficulty focusing?" Nicholas looked at him in amazement. "Yes, all those. How did you know?" Gabe grinned. "I?ve been there. It?s called love, Nicholas." "Love." Wonder flowed through Nicholas. But of course. Love for Rebecca echoed in every chamber of his heart, flowed vibrantly through his veins. He loved Rebecca Baxter and he didn?t know what to do about it. He leaned forward. "Gabe, you?ve got to help me. Make her marry me. I need her."

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"I can?t make Rebecca do anything," Gabe protested. "Have you told her how you feel?" "I told her I didn?t want to marry anyone else. I told her we would have a good marriage." Nicholas frowned. "I don?t know what else to say to her." "Have you told her you love her?" Nicholas twisted the napkin once again. "No." He frowned thoughtfully. He said those words a hundred times in his past to a hundred women because he?d known it was what they wanted to hear. But, there had never been any real emotion behind the words. Again Gabe smiled. "Women are funny creatures, Nicholas. They don?t want implied. They need to hear the words." "I hadn?t said those words to her because my feelings for her transcend those simple three words." Again wonder raced through Nicholas. He?d been searching for love a long time ? all the women he?d dated, all the relationships he?d had. But, it had remained elusive. And when he?d given up the notion, decided it was a foolish sentiment, it had reared up and slapped him in the face. "I love her," he said aloud and looked at Gabe in astonishment. He stood, unable to sit another minute. "I?m sorry?I?ve got to go." Gabe grinned. "I figured as much. Go on." Nicholas raced from the restaurant, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt more alive than he?d ever felt in his life, and his heart ached with love for Rebecca. It wasn?t until he was halfway to Gabe and Serena?s house that a dreadful thought struck him. He loved Rebecca, but what if she didn?t love him? Chapter Twenty "Rebecca, Nicholas is here." Serena spoke from the doorway to Rebecca?s bedroom. An arrow of pleasure swept through Rebecca, but it left a spasm of pain in its wake. She didn?t want to see Nicholas, didn?t want to have the same arguments about marriage that had so often marked their days spent together. "Rebecca?" "Yes, I?ll speak with him," she said. She at least owed him that, she told herself. She found him waiting for her in the living room. When she stepped into the room, he advanced toward her, arms outstretched as if to embrace her. She held up her hands to halt his progress. "Why are you here? What do you want, Nicholas?" Drat him for looking so achingly handsome and drat him for renewing her heartache with his mere presence. "I want you," he replied.

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"We?ve been through all that," Rebecca replied wearily. "We?ve talked this subject to death and there is nothing left to say. Nothing is going to change my mind. You have four days?you should be making arrangements for your wedding." Each and every word shot painful arrows through her heart. "Please go." Before she could protest, he grabbed her by the shoulders. "I can?t go yet. Not until I tell you I love you. I love you, Rebecca. Now, please marry me." The heartache that had claimed Rebecca?s heart dissipated as a near-blinding anger ripped through her. "How dare you!" she said unsteadily. She jerked away from him, her anger building with each second that passed. "How dare you tell me you love me just to get your own way." "But ?" "You spent enough time with me, we talked enough that you discovered that love is what I want and I won?t settle for less. How convenient of you to tell me now that you love me." "But it?s the truth," he exclaimed with a touch of indignation. "No, it?s a shrewd manipulation to get what you want. Flowers didn?t buy me, jewelry didn?t move me, so now you pull out the big guns." "Rebecca, please?this isn?t any sort of manipulation." He gazed at her, his bewilderment radiating from his eyes. "I thought you?d be pleased. How can I make you believe me? I love you." He tried to reach for her again, but she evaded his attempt. "You can?t make me believe you," she retorted, appalled to feel the burning of tears. If only she could believe him. But she didn?t dare. He didn?t know the first thing about love. She drew a deep breath. " Just go. I don?t ever want to see you or talk to you again." She turned and fled the room. Chapter Twenty-One Nicholas stared after her, hope seeping from him in a huge sigh. What now? Did he consign himself to a loveless marriage? Forget Rebecca with her dancing eyes and beautiful dreams? He could marry another, but he knew in his heart he would never forget Rebecca. She?d become a part of his heart. How could he make her understand that? He?d tried all his usual ways and they had failed?failed miserably because Rebecca wasn?t his usual type of woman. He played and replayed the moments spent with her in his mind, and suddenly, hope renewed itself in him. He raced out of Serena and Gabe?s house and returned an hour later. "I must speak with her one last time," he said to Serena when she allowed him entry. Serena frowned. "I don?t think she?ll come downstairs." "Then, I will go up." He headed for the stairs. "Third door on the right," Serena called after him.

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He found her stretched out on her bed, facedown. "Rebecca," he said softly. "Go away." The pillow muffled her voice. "I want to talk to you." "I said, go away." She punctuated the demand by throwing a pillow toward him. "Ah, you?re showing your temper again." She sat up, her eyes reddened from the tears she?d been shedding. The sight of those tears hurt him, yet filled him with renewed hope. If she didn?t care about him, why was she crying? "You told me once you could never fall in love with a man without dreams. At that time I had no dreams, but I?m not the same man. You gave me a glimpse of your dreams and somehow they became my own. I want what your parents had, a marriage based on love, and I can only have that with you." He waited a moment for her to say something, but she remained silent and he continued. "I was a fool to think flowers or expensive baubles might change your mind. That?s the Stanbury tradition, and I think it?s time I start a new tradition?a tradition of love." He handed her a small gift box. "Go on, open it." She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She opened the box to reveal a cheap, tawdry key ring in the shape of a heart. On the back was a sticker that read Made in Taiwan. She looked at Nicholas questioningly. "I figured Taiwan was a good place to begin our journey of anniversaries together. You know?keep your mother and father?s tradition going." She blinked once?twice?then stood and he reached for her. He held her close and stroked the softness of her hair. "I thought my destiny was to be King of Edenbourg, but I believe my true destiny is to spend my life loving you," he said. "Oh, Nicholas. I love you," Rebecca replied. The words sang in his heart, danced on his soul and he kissed her with all the love that was contained inside him. "Rebecca, marry me. Put me out of my misery. I can?t imagine my life without you," he said when their kiss had ended. "Yes," she replied, her eyes shining brighter than any gem he might possibly buy. "Yes, I?ll marry you." Again they kissed?a kiss of promise, of passion, of love. "What happens now?" she asked. "Do we find a justice of the peace so we can get married before your father?s deadline runs out?" "No." He stroked a finger down the side of her cheek. "I don?t want a hurry-up wedding. I only intend to do this once in my life, and I want it done right." He took her hand in his. "Come?we?ll go talk to my father." Chapter Twenty-Two Rebecca gripped Nicholas?s hand tightly as they stood before his father. King Michael frowned at the two of them, his bushy eyebrows meeting in the center of his forehead.

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"And tell me why I should grant your request," he said. "Why should I extend my deadline another month?" "It took a year for me to find a woman I love with all my heart." Nicholas looked at Rebecca, and in the warmth of his gaze she felt his love. "This is the woman I?ve been seeking, and she owns my heart. I love her, father. I love her as I?ve never loved before." "And what does this have to do with my deadline?" King Michael asked. "We can marry here, before a justice of the peace," Rebecca said. "I?ll marry Nicholas wherever, whenever, in whatever kind of ceremony he wants. But we think it would be better to marry in Edenbourg." "Where our countrymen can share in the celebration and the joy," Nicholas added. King Michael stared at them for a long moment. "There are some men born to duty, and others born to love. And there are a few very lucky ones who are born to have both. It would appear, my son, that you are one of the lucky ones. You will make a good king. Permission granted," he said, then waved his hands in dismissal. Nicholas squeezed Rebecca?s hand as they turned to leave. "Rebecca." The king halted them and they turned back to face him. "I command you to give me a grandchild within a year." "With all due respect, sir. There are some things you simply can?t command?nature being one of them. However, I can promise you this.?" She smiled at Nicholas. "We will do all that we can to try to adhere to your command." King Michael stared at her for a long moment, and Rebecca wondered if she?d somehow offended him. Then, one corner of his mouth curved upward and he nodded to his son. "You have chosen well." The half smile disappeared. "Now, go." They left the suite and when they stepped out into the hotel hallway, Nicholas gathered her into his arms. "You were wonderful," he said. "I was scared to death," she confessed. "He isn?t exactly the warm and cuddly kind of father, is he?" "No." Nicholas frowned thoughtfully. "For so many years I?ve rebelled against him because maybe someplace inside I wanted him to be a warm and cuddly father. But what he is, is a good and wise king." "And he said you will make a good king." Rebecca smiled at Nicholas. He pulled her closer, more tightly against him; his eyes darkened with desire?and love. "I will be a good king, but you will make me be a wise king because I?ll be a king who knows love." He kissed her and Rebecca responded with all the love she had for him inside her. She had not only found herself a prince?more important, she had found her happily-ever-after, and it was right here in Nicholas?s arms.

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The Marriage Secret by Kim Lawrence After three years of marriage, Emily Lynch is still wildly in love with her husband, computer magnate Finn Lynch, despite his workaholic habits. The only thorn in her side is the late nights he spends working with Maeve, his ex-wife and the mother of his child. Emily has always found Finn secretive about his relationship with Maeve ? now Emily has a secret of her own to tell Finn at their anniversary dinner. But Finn spends yet another late night with Maeve... Don't miss the passion and excitement of Kim Lawrence's wonderful story, or other similar novels found in Harlequin Presents.

Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| 9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14| 15| 16| 17| 18| 19| 20| CHAPTER ONE "Can I help you?" The slight figure clad in an ankle-length trench coat didn't appear to hear the security guard. The newest addition to the security team at Lynch Compusoft cleared his throat and raised his voice to a less apologetic level. "I'm afraid, Miss...Miss!" he called out, deserting his post to intercept the intruder. As he spoke the diminutive figure stiffened and came to an abrupt halt. When she turned, a cloud of rich chestnut hair whipped across her pale, almost pretty face. "Mrs!" Emily corrected him firmly. She took a calming breath ? she could hardly blame a total stranger for mistaking her married status when her own husband forgot it when it suited him...and just lately it seemed to suit him most of the time, she brooded darkly. "Sorry, but I'm afraid I need to see some identification." "I'm Mrs. Lynch." The guy didn't look like this was ringing any bells for him. "Mrs. Finn Lynch." Your boss, she felt like adding, the genius ? according to certain reputable financial journals ? who, in 10 years, had turned the software company that bore his name from a one-man operation into a globally recognizable brand name. "I'm just going up to see my husband. Don't worry, he's expecting me?" The last bit was a blatant lie, but Emily felt she was entitled to the odd half-truth under the circumstances. Circumstances being in this case a husband who was lying, selfish rat! The young man's expression hardened perceptibly. "You'll have to come up with a better one than that! Mr. Lynch is here, but Mrs. Lynch is already with him and has been all night!" he revealed with an air of triumph. So what's new, Emily felt like asking. Emily hadn't minded ? well not much ? that Finn seemed to have forgotten it was their third anniversary. In her mood of euphoria she'd been inclined to forgive him almost anything ? almost!

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During the three years they'd been together Emily had got used to Finn's unique concept of time. So for the first hour she'd spent waiting for him this evening, she had managed to carry on smiling, anticipating the expression on his face when she finally got to share her news. It wasn't until he was three hours late and the meal she'd lovingly prepared was a shriveled mess that her resentment had kicked in, big time! "Hello, Maeve speaking." Hearing the husky tone of Finn's glamorous ex-wife Maeve answering the phone when she'd rang his office had transformed Emily's resentment into full-blown rage! "I'll have to ask you to leave," the security guard announced brusquely, interrupting her thoughts. "Mrs. Lynch... How are you?" Emily turned to see a familiar figure clad in the same security uniform as the young man. "Very well, thanks, Alec. I was just on my way up to see Finn," she explained as the older man escorted her past his stunned looking junior toward the lift. "I've brought some dinner for him." She held aloft the bag into which she'd scooped the miserable remains of their celebratory dinner. "Have a nice meal," Alec said as he pushed the lift button for her. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for what she was about to find. Sitting side by side on the chunky leather sofa in Finn's office, her husband and his ex-wife were chinking glasses as Emily, her chin up but her heart breaking, walked in. They didn't hear her; they were too wrapped up in each other. "Happy anniversary, darling," Emily drawled, emptying the contents of her bag into her husband's lap. CHAPTER TWO Finn shot to his feet, causing the nasty congealing mess to spill onto his shoes. Emily surveyed the damage and felt a pleasant glow of malicious satisfaction. Her only regret was that the shoes weren't the hideously expensive handmade numbers he often wore. Today he'd ditched the sharp formality of expensive tailoring in favor of the casual look. Six feet five inches of lean, athletic muscularity, Finn looked incredible in anything he wore. The gene pool had been kind to him: along with the curly dark eyelashes and stunning blue Irish eyes he'd inherited from his mother, Finn had been blessed with his Italian grandfather's classical profile and warm, golden Mediterranean coloring. "What is this?" The initial shock over, Finn looked fastidiously disgusted, but rigidly in control. Antipathy flared afresh in Emily's tight chest as their eyes met and clashed. "Oysters, duck in raspberry sauce, asparagus, baby new potatoes and, oh, profiteroles ? all your favorites." Maeve, who'd always been under the impression her ex's schoolteacher wife was boringly placid, gasped at the sheer audacity of this provocative response. Maeve looked up to check out how Finn was taking it; she knew he was less bothered than most men by the idea of looking foolish, but even he had his limits. She was shocked and a little envious to discover that

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Finn's burning, distracted gaze was fixed on the area where two buttons of his wife's long shapeless coat had parted to reveal a sliver of slim pale thigh. "Thanks, but I've already eaten," Finn returned thickly. His concentration was totally shot wondering what, if anything, Emily had on under her coat. "It was so considerate of you to let me know." "Something came up." For Finn this was quite an elaborate explanation. "So I see," Emily sneered, glaring with unambiguous animosity at the older woman, who looked embarrassed. "Emily!" Finn's voice was harsh with warning. Emily watched Maeve stand up; a man's woman, all sleek, slinky, and oozing sex appeal. "I'll leave you two to..." "No, Don't go, Maeve!" Finn appealed as his ex-wife shrugged on a fur-trimmed coat. Misery tightened like a fist around Emily's heart. He'd never begged her to do anything: Finn demanded and she, like the besotted, love-sick fool she was, gave ? and gave, and gave... "If she doesn't go, I will," Emily, close to bursting into tears, announced belligerently. Mouthing "sorry" to a furious looking Finn, Maeve slipped tactfully away. "You put Maeve in an impossible position," Finn censured icily as the door closed. "You put me in an impossible position when you carried on working with your ex-wife on a daily basis after we were married. I don't expect you not to see her," she admitted, trying to be fair. "You have a child together?" "Not again!" Finn groaned. "I've told you, it doesn't matter to me whether or not you and I can have children." He knew from bitter experience that Emily wouldn't believe him. Now was her chance to tell him. Emily opened her mouth and heard herself say. "Are you sleeping with Maeve, Finn?" CHAPTER THREE Did I really say that? Throat tight and aching, heart thudding, but looking defiantly unrepentant ? on the outside at least ? Emily met Finn's outraged glare head on. "I'm touched more than I can say by this display of trust," he bit out softly. Emily flushed uncomfortably under his icily ironic gaze, but her soft jaw firmed stubbornly.

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"That wasn't an answer, Finn, that was a strategic distraction!" Her eyes narrowed. Didn't people avoid answering questions when they had something to hide? His lip curled. "No, Emily, that was disillusioned distaste." Emily flushed. "What am I meant to think?" "Possibly that I meant the vows I made on our wedding day?" "You made the same vows to Maeve," she pointed out. Finn's expression darkened with annoyance. "That was different." "How exactly?" "Just different!" Her normally articulate husband came to an abrupt halt, his gaze sliding uncomfortably from hers. To Emily these signs of evasion were condemning. Oh, hell! Up to this point she hadn't really thought he was sleeping with Maeve ? not deep down. "You can't deny you see more of her than you do me!" Could I sound more childish if I tried? "Besides being Adam's mother, the woman is my marketing director, of course I spend time with her! You knew that situation wasn't going to alter when you married me." "Sure, you laid down the rules, as usual," she observed belligerently. "Maybe I just enjoy Maeve's company more?" Finn suggested, the maverick pulse in his lean left cheek working overtime. "And maybe I've got tired of playing the understanding wife to your selfish husband!" she flung back. "My enjoyment of her company could have something to do with the fact Maeve doesn't expect me to account for my movements in minute detail." The gross unfairness of this remark took Emily's breath away. She'd shown the tolerance of a saint! "Trying to take an interest in what your partner does is not jealousy." "You just asked me whether I was sleeping with my ex-wife," he reminded her dryly. "What would you call that?" Finn raked a hand through his thick glossy dark hair; the gesture was one of intense weariness. "Maeve isn't the problem here, your pathological jealousy and lack of self-esteem is." "I had oodles of self-esteem before I married you! What are you doing...?" She quavered in alarm as her husband began to unzip the jeans he was wearing. "What does it look like?" he asked kicking off his soiled trainers. Emily's breath snagged in her throat as his jeans followed the same route. Parts of her that shouldn't started to tingle. Even seething with hot resentment just looking at Finn's lean, bronzed body could turn her bones to water. She watched as he shed his shirt and selected some fresh clothes from the concealed storage cupboards lining the wall.

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Clad in a pair of boxers, he turned. Emily took one look into his smoldering eyes and realized even before her gaze dropped that the sexual tension had not been a one-way thing. "What have you got on under that thing?" he demanded in a raw voice that made her quivering stomach muscles spasm. CHAPTER FOUR Emily gasped audibly and looked away, but not before Finn had seen the soft unfocused sensual glaze slide into her wide, liquid-brown eyes. He smiled. "You think sex solves everything!" she accused hoarsely. An inherently honest person, Emily was forced to concede that her own attitude might have contributed more than a little to his assumption! The problem was, no matter how unreasonable Finn might be, or how mad he made her, when he touched her she was lost. Finn had come along with his sinful smile and wicked laughing eyes and a sensual side of her nature that she'd been blissfully ignorant of had hungrily awoken. "It's as good a place to start as any," Finn drawled languidly. "What sort of insensitive idiot would even think about making love at a time like this?" Emily wondered scathingly. "The sort of insensitive idiot you fell in love with and married, and if I ? being the injured party here ? am prepared to forgive and forget?" "Your generosity is astounding." Finn grinned appreciatively at her sarcastic riposte. It had been one of the great delights in his life to discover the restrained, shy, wide-eyed schoolteacher he'd fallen for at first sight possessed a sharp tongue, a clever wit, and a passionate warm nature. Far from being scared by his passionate advances as he'd feared, she'd responded with a rapturous enthusiasm and lack of inhibition that had knocked him sideways. And still did. "I suppose some people find your arrogance attractive." "You did." Mockery glittered savagely in his electric blue eyes as he lifted her chin gently with one finger. Closing her eyes tight was about the only defence left to Emily. As defences went, it wasn't great. "I pretended." Her voice emerged as a breathy whisper. "Don't do that, Finn," she pleaded throatily as she felt him unfastening the buttons on her coat. "Why, you're hot... I know you're hot." His silky, suggestive drawl sent Emily's temperature soaring another few sizzling degrees, and her eyes fluttered open. Her needy gaze fastened on his face at the same moment her coat slid to the ground with a rush. Emily heard his stark sibilant intake of breath, and saw his eyes widen. "Did you put that on for me?"

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His husky words brought back vividly the elation and confidence she'd felt when she'd dressed earlier that evening. It brought back even more vividly how miserable it had felt sitting there alone watching the minutes tick by. It was obvious to Finn even before she replied in that wooden little voice that he'd said the wrong thing. "Yes, I put it on for you, Finn. I put it on when I thought that for once you'd come home when you said you would." "I didn't forget it was our anniversary, Emily." "That only makes it worse!" "There is an explanation?" "I don't want an explanation, Finn, I just want to know one thing. If I asked you to sack, Maeve, would you?" CHAPTER FIVE In two seconds flat Finn's mobile features were wiped clear of all warmth and animation. "I don't respond well to blackmail, Emily. Neither am I about to pander to your insecurities." Eyes icy cold, nostrils flared, he regarded her with chilling detachment. "Maeve has always been a loyal and valuable member of the team." Not to mention the mother of his son and his first love! "I'll take that as a no, shall I?" "Why do you feel so threatened by Maeve?" Emily's jaw dropped. Was he for real? "Other than the fact you were drinking champagne with her on our anniversary? Let me see?." She pressed a finger to her pursed lips and adopted an expression of intense concentration. "I'm deeply irrational?" The fake smile vanished as she lifted her narrowed eyes to his face. "Or I suppose it could have something to do with the fact you're virtually joined at the hip to someone who is incredibly beautiful, talented, has your baby?" Swearing harshly under his breath Finn grabbed his wife by the waist and hauled her roughly against him. "I didn't marry you for your childbearing hips, woman." His hands slid down until his thumbs rested on the soft curve of her narrow pelvis. Emily's foxy red hair, soft and silky, brushed underneath his chin as her head fell forward against his chest. With a groan Finn pressed his face into the burnished mass, inhaling deeply the sweet, freshly washed smell. His hand moved under the short skirt of her dress and he felt her shiver as his fingers moved over the silky soft skin of her inner thigh. "Cut that out, Finn!" Emily, on the point of dissolving, yelped, pulling free just as his tongue started doing shivery delicious things behind her ear. "What?"

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"Don't look the innocent, Finn! You know I can't think when you?" The raw sensual glint in his eyes made her stomach flip. "And put some clothes on," she added hoarsely. "This isn't about getting pregnant, Finn. Well, not entirely," honesty impelled her to add. "Actually I?" "Actually what?" Emily shook her head, you couldn't use a baby to paper over the cracks in a marriage. "It's about the basics." "Basics?" He regarded her with obvious impatience. "Things like you letting me share things with you." "I share." "No, Finn, that's Maeve you're thinking of. I'm Emily, the dumb redhead you keep at home." "Sure, keep 'em barefoot and tied to the sink, that's my style." "Don't be flippant! I want to be involved, Finn. I want to know about the things that worry you." "You worry me when you talk like this." "Sometimes you treat me more like a mistress than a wife!" she accused hotly. "Is that a bad thing?" "This isn't a joke!" she raged. Finn looked into her stormy distressed face and drew a deep breath before gritting his teeth. "I know how much this baby issue matters to you. If you want, I'll go with you for tests and things." Emily didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She was touched by what for him was obviously an enormous sacrifice, but also frustrated by his inability to see what she was trying to say. "Have you listened to anything I've been saying, Finn?" she despaired. "And don't worry, there won't be any need for tests and things, because I'm pregnant!" CHAPTER SIX There was only so long a girl could hold her breath, Emily thought. Finn hadn't leapt for joy at the news she was pregnant ? in fact, he hadn't moved a muscle. "Well I know this isn't new for you, but I was expecting a moderate display of pleasure." Unless, of course, he'd changed his mind? He already had Adam; perhaps the boy satisfied all his paternal needs. Finn blinked. "You?" The muscles in his throat worked convulsively. "You're pregnant?" He grabbed her by the forearms. "Pregnant?!" Emily watched the slow wondering smile break out across his dark face and felt a surge of relief. "I did the test this morning. Well, actually," she admitted, "I did three ? just to be on the safe side. I had it all planned I was going to tell you over dinner, only ?"

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"? I didn't turn up." He grimaced and Emily pushed aside the unwelcome thought that he looked guilty. "I've got terrible timing. God, what a hell of a coincidence!" "You're pleased then?" she asked, feeling for some reason ridiculously shy. "I'm stunned," Finn breathed honestly. What man wouldn't be, discovering he was about to become a father. Although he thought of Adam as his own son ? and as far as the rest of the world was concerned the boy was ? it wasn't the same as knowing you'd created a life with the woman you loved. "Stunned happy?" Finn swept his wife into his arms and kissed her lingeringly. "Stunned, deliriously happy and of course, relieved." "Relieved?" "Relieved that I won't have to subject my person to the indignities of medical intervention." "Well it was never going to happen, was it?" she pointed out, amused by his squeamish shudder. "I mean, your fertility was never under question ? you've got Adam." An odd expression flickered momentarily into her husband's brilliant blue eyes. "God, yes, I hadn't thought of that." Emily had. She'd only shared her thoughts on the subject once with Finn, who had said he'd strangle her if he heard the word blame in that context again. She'd believed him. It was only now that Emily could finally admit that her desire for Finn's baby had put their marriage under a lot of strain lately. Emily linked her fingers behind Finn's neck and twisted the dark hair that lay against his nape. "What would you like, a boy or girl?" "Surprise me." She gave a contented sigh. "Earlier, when you said something about a coincidence, what did you mean?" she wondered idly. "You're not the only one who's pregnant." "I'm not? Who else...?" It would be nice to have someone else to compare pregnancy notes with, she thought, burrowing into his shoulder. "Maeve told me tonight that Adam is going to have a little brother or sister, hence the champagne." He felt Emily stiffen in his embrace before she pushed away. "Maeve is having a baby?" Please don't let it be?. "Apparently." "And who is the father?" Finn regarded the signs of tension and hostility in his wife's rigid figure with deepening misgivings and growing incomprehension.

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"Actually, Maeve isn't too keen on anyone knowing ?" The shifty look could mean only one thing. "How could you, Finn?" "How could I what?" He got no reply; Emily was gone. By the time Finn emerged from the lift into reception he had worked out what Emily had meant. This accounted for the red haze of fury dancing before his eyes. "Anything I can do, sir?" The youthful figure behind the desk asked, trying hard not to look at the boss's bare feet. Another button came off and Finn gave up on fastening his shirt. "Which way did my wife go?" he barked unsmilingly. "Which one, sir?" The savage expression on his employer's lean face as the laser blue eyes slid over him convinced the young man he was about to lose his job or maybe even his teeth. He let out a silent sigh of relief as the rigid tall figure stalked wordlessly past him. CHAPTER SEVEN Finn recalled again the expression of tearful reproach in Emily's eyes and ground his teeth. She thought ? the woman he loved, the soon-to-be mother of his child actually thought... He pressed his foot to the car floor, felt the powerful engine respond, and reflected bitterly on the sheer perversity of females in general, and his wife in particular. "I wish I'd never seen the damned woman!" he snarled out loud. His grim expression lightened fractionally as his mind drifted back to the first moment he'd ever seen Emily. A tiny thing with a cloud of wayward burnished curls, melting brown eyes, and a wide kissable mouth. The combination had stopped him in his tracks. Finn had felt physical attraction before, but nothing had ever approached the exultant sense of recognition he'd experienced at that moment. She was his ? it was that simple! "Adam's very artistic, Mr. Lynch," she'd said gravely as she handed him the childish daub. "You must be very proud of him." Adam, clearly besotted by his new nursery teacher, had only reluctantly relinquished her slim hand to take his father's. Finn had understood the boy's reluctance totally. Finn had gone straight back to the house he shared with Maeve and asked her for a divorce. It was something they'd both agreed should happen if one of them eventually met someone that mattered. There would be no bitter recriminations, and all arrangements would have to disrupt Adam as little as possible. Despite this agreement Finn could tell Maeve had been taken aback by his request. He didn't blame her; he was pretty taken aback himself, as their unconventional arrangement had worked pretty well for five years. "Who is she?" Maeve had asked. "I don't know her name, but she's not wearing a ring." Maeve had regarded the man she thought she knew so well with growing fascination. "You looked?"

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Finn nodded. "Definitely no ring." "Don't you think, Finn, that it might be an idea to get to know this woman-without-a-ring a little before you do anything drastic?" an amused Maeve had asked. "Perhaps a date??" Finn had shaken his head decisively, his expression quite ruthless as he'd observed, "No, she's not the sort who would get involved with a married man." And he didn't want an affair, which was strange because Finn Lynch, despite his wedded state, had never thought of himself as the marrying kind. "You could tell that just by looking?" Maeve asked wonderingly. "Most definitely." He'd been right. It had been an uphill battle to get Emily to date him after the divorce came through. Unfortunately, she'd got it into her head that he was acting on the rebound, and he was in no position to put her straight. Finn drew up outside the 16th-century, half-timbered cottage he and Emily shared. A taxi was still parked on the forecourt. This was going to be tough. CHAPTER EIGHT "I've got money inside," Emily assured the cynical-looking taxi driver. "But you don't have a key?" Emily's embarrassed blush deepened. "They were both in my coat." "Which you forgot, right?" He'd heard it all before. In his experience the ones with the posh accents, in the fancy clothes, were often the worst culprits. "It's the truth!" "Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," came the laconic response. "But either way it doesn't pay my bill, lady." "The little window in the utility room is open," Emily exclaimed excitedly. "If you gave me a leg up I could get through, I'm sure I could!" "The man looks far too sensible to be party to a breaking and entering." Emily recoiled, not only from the blast of cold air that entered the cab as the passenger door was flung open, but also from the grim-faced owner of the deep voice. "Don't listen to him!" Emily instructed the driver rigidly. "Go away, Finn! she hissed, throwing the tall figure a look of loathing. "I'm not going anywhere. I live here, remember?" Finn drawled. Emily was the first to look away, unable to withstand further contact with the scornful blaze in his spectacular eyes. What a cheek! From the way he was looking at her anyone would think he was the injured party! Not that she could blame Finn entirely. It had been obvious right from the outset that he hadn't been telling her everything about his divorce. Why hadn't she listened to her instincts? Because you were too damned eager to jump into Finn's bed is why, came the humiliating reply.

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The driver rubbed his chin. "Seems to me as though he's got a point, love." "It's got nothing to do with him!" Emily responded shrilly. "Listen, I don't want to get mixed up in a domestic dispute ? I just want my money." He looked hopefully at Finn, who nodded and reached into his trouser pocket. His hand came out empty. "I must have left my wallet in my other trousers." The driver sighed. "That figures. You know, you two are well suited. Between you, you might even have a full set of clothes." His disparaging gaze shifted from Emily's dress to Finn's bare feet. "I think," Emily commented in her best schoolteacher voice, "that you're a very rude man! I shall climb in the window myself," she announced. "Do you really think you're dressed for it, Emily?" Emily felt her nipples pinch hard and tight as Finn's insolent blue glance dropped deliberately to the bare upper slopes of her breasts. To think I bought this dress with the purpose of seducing him! It was comforting to know that, if he dared comment on the appearance of her breasts ? and Finn was crude enough to do so, thought Emily, choosing to overlook the fact she'd often enjoyed Finn's crudeness ? she could blame these physical developments on the cold, for it was teeth-jarringly freezing. "I hardly think you're in any position to make fashion judgments, Finn Lynch," she observed with a disparaging sniff. It was at that point Finn decided not to mention the spare key he kept in the Jag! CHAPTER NINE Standing in the darkness of the herb garden, Emily could just about make out the small window and, yes, it was open. Her satisfaction was short-lived; actually it wasn't small, it was very small, and it looked an awful lot higher up than she'd mentally pictured. Getting in by this route would call for a ladder and a good head for heights, neither of which she possessed. "Are you going to stand there all night?" Emily jumped and spun around, her heart racing. "How did you get in there?" she demanded indignantly of the tall dark figure suddenly outlined in the golden light filling the open doorway. Finn dangled a key ring and thumbed through a healthily thick wallet. "Spare key and cash in the car. My days as a Boy Scout were not wasted after all. Always be prepared," he quoted virtuously. Not always, he hadn't been, Emily recalled, lowering her eyes in panicky confusion as the intrusive recollection of the first time they'd made love crept into her head. She remembered lying there in a blitzed condition staring at the ceiling, feeling the warm fluttery aftershocks of the shattering climax. A good-night kiss that hadn't been! "Oh my god!" she'd mumbled for the umpteenth time since his heavy frame had finally slipped off her trembling, sweat-slick body.

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"If anything happens, you mustn't worry, Emily." Emily nodded. She supposed she should have been sensibly alarmed by the idea of an unwanted pregnancy, but she wasn't feeling sensible. "I want you to know I don't make a habit of this...carelessness," Finn had emphasized worriedly as he took her chin in his hand and looked into her hazy unfocused eyes. "Well, you already know that I don't," she replied with a shaky laugh. The reminder made him flinch. Finn had been pretty devastated to discover that he was her first. In fact, if she hadn't assured him he'd have her death on his conscience if he didn't continue, Emily was pretty sure he would have stopped right then! Thank God he hadn't! "Hell, I'm so sorry, I was too?" Emily had halted the torrent of self-recrimination with a kiss. "Too gorgeous for words is what you are!" she'd told him firmly. "You were incredible, Finn!" she'd whispered rapturously. "It was amazing, and when can we do it agai?" "Come on in before you get hypothermia, woman!" Finn's irritated voice tugged her back to the present. "I think I already have," she jittered. Wrapping her arms around her body, she walked past him into the small vestibule that led into the heart of their home ? the big farmhouse kitchen. She took a seat at the big refectory table bought at an antique fair on a weekend trip they'd taken to Normandy. Had he and Maeve been...together even then? Had they ever not? I'm my mother all over again, she thought in self-disgust, acknowledging her deepest fear. Emily had known about her father's mistress, the whole village had known, but not her mother. Finn, after seeing she was literally shaking with cold, opened the lids on the woodstove that sat in the inglenook. Extra heat immediately flooded the room. "I don't know why you're looking at me like that, Emily. Things are going to plan, aren't they? Haven't I done what I was supposed to do ? run after you?" "I didn't want you to run after me!" she denied, thrown off balance by his cool observation. "Sure, it must have come as an enormous surprise when I turned up," he drawled. "I suppose the next thing I'm Supposed to do is plead with you to believe that Maeve's baby isn't mine?" His eyes hardened. "Well, news flash, sweetheart. I'm not going to!" CHAPTER TEN Shaking with shock and revulsion, Emily pressed her cold, stiff fingertips to her trembling lips. "Then you're admitting you're?"

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"The only thing I'm admitting," Finn bit back, "is that I've had a gut full of justifying myself to you, Emily. How do you think it makes me feel to know the woman I love thinks I run around the country impregnating other women!" he thundered. "Tell me, do I act as if our sex life doesn't satisfy me?" he demanded. "Well?" Mutely, she shook her head. The only time he'd displayed any dissatisfaction was when, after months of tedious temperature taking and ovulation charts, he'd walked into the bathroom they shared and before her astounded eyes had flushed the whole lot down the toilet. "We'll make love," he'd announced authoritatively, "when we feel like it. I won't be limited to only touching my wife when she's likely to conceive. And if we meet at lunchtime to make love, it will be because we can't wait until the evening. I won't be rationed ? I'm a man not a machine!" Overawed by this macho display and secretly relieved to ditch the whole palaver, Emily had meekly nodded. "Not women," she protested weakly. He loves me? She clung to those three all-important words when the rest of her world seemed to be disintegrating around her. "No, not women," he conceded in a leaden tone that made her wince. "Emily. Is it because of Adam? Or can't you stand the idea there was anyone before you?" Emily shook her head. "I love Adam, you know that." Adam stayed most weekends and Emily loved to see him with Finn, who was a fantastic father. "And I'd much prefer to be your last love than your first," she admittedly warily. At least he didn't reject the idea outright. "Maeve shares so much with you that I don't, Finn," she tried to haltingly explain. "She's so... How would you feel if I saw an ex-lover every day?" She saw his unguarded expression and knew she'd made her point. "I'm your only lover." "I'm talking hypothetically. I feel shut out, excluded when Maeve's around, and I don't know why, but I always get the impression that you two have a secret." He shrugged. "If we have and I haven't told you, it must be for a good reason." "You can't say something like that and leave it!" Emily protested. "I can and I have. This is it, I told you I've had enough." Hands palm-flat on the table, he bent down toward her. The blood drained from Emily's face leaving her deathly pale. This conversation had suddenly taken a turn she had not reckoned on ? a turn that was making her head spin in confusion. "You're saying you want to...to...split up?" Why the shock, Emily? a voice in her head taunted. Didn't you always think this would happen? Didn't you always say why would a man like Finn want me? Oh my god! It's some awful self-fulfilling prophecy! Me, I've done this. I've virtually pushed the man I love into another woman's arms. "No, I don't want us to split up." Because of the baby, a spiteful voice she tried hard to ignore suggested. "But this is about trust, Emily. We've got no future until you start trusting me." CHAPTER ELEVEN

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The echo of his uncompromising words resounded in Emily's ears as the silence between them stretched. With each passing second of horrid hush it became harder and harder to speak. Head bent, her red hair brushing the table, Emily looked at his hands pressed down against the wood, his knuckles white. Finn had the most incredible hands. What am I doing getting turned on by hands when my entire future happiness is hanging in the balance? she asked herself angrily. Subconscious delaying tactics...because you're a coward, came the knowledgeable mental response. Pull yourself together, girl, think, ? this is important. Say the right thing, she instructed herself sternly. Do not mess it up! "That sounds like an ultimatum, Finn." As displays of calm objectivity went, this quavering effort was pathetic. After taking a deep gulp, she forced herself to meet his eyes. Immediately she got a blast of the grim, angry implacability she'd been expecting, but that wasn't all. It was the other thing she saw that really got to her ? the faintest suggestion of vulnerability in those crystal-blue depths that only someone who knew Finn very well could have detected. Arrogant, assured, assertive, borderline bossy...these things she associated with her husband. Insecurities just never entered the picture. I'm so caught up in how I'm feeling, I've not spared a thought for what this is doing to Finn. "Ultimatum?" Finn shook his head. "No, I'm just stating a fact, Emily, not making a grand gesture. You must know that your jealousy and suspicion is driving a wedge between us," he continued, his normally expressive voice dull and deadened. "This should be the best of times for us, we should be celebrating our baby." He walked around the table and, falling to his knees, pressed his head against her still-flat stomach. Emily gasped, feeling the pressure of his warm lips through the fine fabric, the heat spreading like arrows of fire through her body. "We should be enjoying every second of this time, sweetheart." She felt tears fill her eyes. "Before I get fat and ugly, you mean?" He lifted his dark head. "Lush and lovely," he contradicted huskily. In that second Emily believed totally in the love shining in his eyes.... There would be other seconds, though, when the doubts and fears would slip back. Emily found herself wanting to explain everything, just like she had all those other times. Only each time she'd tried, something clenched inside her and she couldn't. The same thing happened again now. "I have a problem with trust and men, Finn. I'm so sorry," was all she could manage. It sounded horribly inadequate. If he ever got hold of the man who had made her lose her faith in the whole damned sex, he'd personally throttle him, Finn decided grimly. "I'm not men," he gritted. "I'm your husband. Not a particularly brilliant one maybe," he conceded dryly. "I might forget to telephone you when I should sometimes. I might make too many unilateral decisions." "Might??"

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Finn returned her watery grin with his own wolfish version. "It's not like I don't want to ? I just don't know how," he admitted. "I knew my life would change when we got married. Hell, I wanted it to, but I wasn't prepared.?" His shoulders lifted. "Blame it on the fact I've been a solo act for too long, able to do what I want, when I want.?" "But, Finn," Emily interrupted with a perplexed frown. "What about all the years you were with Maeve?" CHAPTER TWELVE Finn froze. "Oh God, yes, I forgot." Forgot...? "You were talking as if you'd never been married before." As much as Emily would have liked to wipe out those years he'd shared with Maeve, she couldn't pretend they hadn't existed; and Finn had never behaved as if he wanted to. "Three years is quite a long time." "Perhaps I'm a slow learner." Emily's confusion deepened as his eyes slid warily from hers. "I wasn't talking about being married to Maeve," he said softly. "I was talking about being married to you." Hands pressed against his muscular thighs, he drew himself upright in one lithe motion. "How different could it be?" she blurted out without thinking. If he thought she was requesting some sort of compare and contrast thing, she'd die! "More different than you could ever believe." "You know how much I hate it when you're cryptic." Her faint smile faded when there was no answering glint of humor in his own face. "How different can it be?" she repeated. Instinct made her grab for his shirttail as he made to turn from her. "Just different." "Why are you being defensive?" she challenged. "I am not being defensive." "Yes, you are ? defensive, secretive, furtive?" "Don't be ridiculous, Emily, I just don't want to discuss my previous marriage with you." The combination of ice and impatience in his face and voice made Emily see red. "For God's sake, Finn!" she exploded. "I'm not asking for details of your sex life." Her eyes narrowed. "You really shouldn't play poker, darling." "Meaning?" "Meaning you look as guilty as sin, and don't you dare refer to my pathological suspicions!" she yelled. It wasn't easy to fight on equal terms with someone who was towering over you, so Emily unhooked her ankles from around the barley-twist legs of her oak chair and made to get to her feet. She was halfway

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through the simple procedure before she realized she couldn't feel her right foot. Had Finn not seen her dilemma and caught her, she'd have fallen. "What is it?" he demanded, turning her face up to him. Emily blinked as his blue eyes raked her face. They looked incredibly brilliant against a complexion that had become unnaturally pale and strained. "Speak to me!" he demanded hoarsely. The soundless little gasp that escaped her parted lips as her body grew limp in his arms didn't soothe his alarm. He was no medical expert but even he could tell her breathing had changed perceptibly, getting shallow and worryingly rapid. He swore softly under his breath as her eyes half closed. "Emily!" He shook her slightly and was relieved when her dark lashes lifted off her cheek. "Are you ill, sweetheart? Shall I call a doctor ? ambulance...? Oh, God, it's not the baby?" "No, no ? the baby's fine, I'm fine." she managed to breathlessly reassure him. "A numb foot ? must have been sitting awkwardly. Pins and needles now." "Well, you don't look fine," Finn responded with a suspicious frown. Emily felt the prickling heat that already bathed her body rush up to her neck, and it didn't stop until her whole face was burning. "That, you stupid man, is because you're too?" She threw him an exasperated look as he shook his head. "Do you want me to draw a diagram? I can't look at you without going weak at the knees, okay! I'm turned on, you fool!" CHAPTER THIRTEEN "I suppose you're happy now!" Emily accused belligerently before burying her hot face against his shirt. Unfortunately for her sanity, it wasn't fastened properly and she found her face pressed against golden, satiny hard skin. Unforgivably, Finn laughed ? a rich, possessive sound. "I suppose this is your idea of changing the subject?" she accused wildly. "Well, it won't work!" Who are you kidding? "I didn't do anything," he protested. He didn't need to. "It isn't me," she said defensively. "Pregnancy messes with a woman's hormones. I've heard it makes some women go off sex altogether." He wouldn't like that, but then if the tables were turned, neither would she. "What?" she cried distractedly as she felt him lift the heavy weight of her hair off her neck. "Now I'm doing something," Finn explained gravely as he slid the zip of her dress all the way down in one smooth motion. Emily gasped and pulled away in alarm as the slippery material parted, making a sexy, whispery noise. She stood frozen as the dress peeled away from her body. It wasn't until she felt the touch of fresh air on the aching peaks of her tender, full breasts that she looked down.

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Her heaving breasts were completely exposed; only the fact that the shoulder straps were snagged halfway down her slim upper arms had stopped further revelations. Her darkened glance shifted to Finn, but her eyes only got as far as the gap in his shirt and wouldn't move any higher. She watched his chest lift and fall as a deep sigh shuddered through his powerful frame. A thrill of sexual excitement so intense it made her head spin shot through Emily. She knew that if she had an ounce of spirit, she would be putting up some sort of token struggle. The problem was, where Finn was concerned, she'd always been easy! "Look at me, Emily." She felt her already tumultuous heartbeat quicken. With lower lip caught between her teeth, she did as he asked ? when had she not? Emily saw her own desperation mirrored in the fierce burning blue depths of his eyes. She whimpered as her insides dissolved with longing so sweet, so intense, she couldn't breathe. "I wanted you the very first moment I saw you, Emily, and I've not stopped wanting you since." He reached across and touched the fabric that was slipping sexily over her shoulders. One judicious tug sent it slithering silently to the ground, leaving Emily standing there in a minute pair of pants, lacy stay-up stockings and high-heeled sling-backs. "Kiss me properly, Finn!" she pleaded throatily. "I'll do more than that," he promised huskily, scooping her up into his arms. He did ? several times. It wasn't until very much later that Emily began to think once more about Finn's comments on his previous life: What he wanted, when he wanted. The more she analyzed, the more it seemed likely that he and Maeve had virtually lived their separate lives ? had a sort of open marriage. Just how open ? that was the question! "Finn, are you awake?" she whispered into his ear. "Uh-huh," came the sleepy reply. "Did you have other lovers when you were married to?Maeve? Finn! " she repeated, digging him in the ribs. His dark eyelashes lifted from his cheek. "What...? Oh ? yes, some," he mumbled, rolling over. CHAPTER FOURTEEN It was obvious to Emily the next day that Finn had no recollection of either her question or his own reply. After giving the matter some serious consideration she had decided to leave it that way. Even though what he'd revealed had shocked her deeply, she acknowledged that what Finn had done before he married her was really none of her business. Of course, if he ever even hinted that he wanted a similar arrangement with her, that would be different, Emily thought grimly, her stomach tightening in distaste at the idea of sexual liaisons outside marriage.

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Emily would have enjoyed the next few days of fragile peace between them even more if it hadn't been for the fact that the unpleasant side effects of pregnancy had kicked in with a vengeance. She looked at the cup of tea the school nurse had left her and forced herself to take a sip even though it made her feel queasy. The door opened and Emily shot to her feet. "I didn't want them to call you!" she cried defensively as the tall, familiar figure of her husband appeared. Finn looked at her pale face expressionlessly and closed the door quietly behind him. "So I understand." "I got a little light-headed and had to lie down, end of story." "You fainted," he corrected her, "and not for the first time apparently." Emily grimaced. "Oh, she told you about that, did she?" "Mentioned it in passing. For some reason the headmistress seemed to think that I might know all about it." Emily winced at the biting sarcasm in his tone. "What are you doing?" she asked as he removed her coat from the coatrack behind the door. "Taking you home." "I can't go home ? I've got a class to teach." "No, you haven't. They're making other arrangements." "Don't I have any say in the matter?" Deep down Emily was secretly relieved, but she couldn't encourage such high-handed behavior. Finn placed the coat over her slender shoulders and spun her around to face him. It was at that moment that Emily realized just how ferociously angry he was. "No!" he growled. "You don't. I just can't believe how stupid you're being," he breathed incredulously. "If your dizzy spells are just that, fair enough, but hasn't it occurred to you they may be a symptom of an underlying problem? Didn't it cross your mind that you might be putting yourself and the baby at risk by ignoring them?" "Oh!" Emily gulped suddenly. Her stoic behavior seemed criminally reckless. "I didn't want you to think I was one of those feeble women who expect to be waited on hand and foot just because they're pregnant." Finn looked totally bewildered. "What are you talking about?" Her lower lip quivered. "Maeve doesn't get morning sickness." She knew this because Finn had told her so while he was mopping her fevered brow after a particularly horrid bout of throwing up. "What the hell has that got to do with anything? Alan Martin is waiting at home to check you over." "You can't expect a consultant gynecologist to make a house call, Finn!" Emily protested. "You can't carry me," she added urgently, as he swept her up into his arms. "Why not?" he responded, on both counts. "Oh God, the dinner party!" she wailed, suddenly recalling the important clients they were meant to be entertaining that evening.

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"Don't panic, Maeve has already offered to stand in for you." CHAPTER FIFTEEN "Isn't that nice of Maeve." "Yes, isn't it," Finn responded absently, totally failing to detect the irony in his wife's bitter tone. Dinner parties weren't a high priority with him at that particular moment. Sorting out his wife's health problems were. He'd been in a state of frustrated anxiety ever since he'd received the urgent call from the head of the kindergarten. It hadn't improved matters to discover that this wasn't the first time Emily had been ill at work. Realizing she'd not seen it fit to confide in him had made Finn angrier than he'd have thought possible. Until he'd walked into the room and seen her standing there looking heartbreakingly fragile, Finn had had every intention of reading her the riot act. One look into those big brown eyes and his righteous indignation had melted, to be replaced by an equally strong desire to shield her from any and all ills. Well, this child was going to be a one-off. No way was Emily getting pregnant again, he decided, brooding grimly on the unacceptably high risk, major discomfort factors of pregnancy that frivolous people skimmed over. "I don't suppose Maeve is feeling sick or fainting." Emily remarked as he placed her in the front passenger seat of the Jag. "I don't suppose she is." Finn slid in beside her. "I expect she's glowing." "Probably. Try and have a nap or something, we'll be home in no time," he promised. Emily closed her eyes but all she could see was that woman presiding over her dinner table, charming the pants off everyone, including Finn ? especially Finn! Finn stayed while the doctor examined her, and Emily suspected the distinguished medic's noncommittal grunts frustrated him as much as they did her. "So, what's the verdict, Alan?" "Well, there's no need to worry." In unison Finn and Emily sighed gustily with relief. They looked at one another and grinned. "However, she's obviously exhausted, and her blood pressure is a little low?." "And that is bad?" Finn cut in impatiently. "Not necessarily, but I think you might be a trifle anemic, Emily. I'll send off the blood sample to check, but in the meantime we might start you on some iron therapy. Iron deficiency anemia is perfectly normal in pregnancy, especially when... You are sure of your dates?" Emily nodded worriedly, sensing a big but coming.

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Oh God, there's something wrong with the baby, she thought suddenly. Panic blanketed her; it was like drowning, but in the middle of it all she felt Finn's big strong hand close comfortingly over hers. Looking up, her eyes met his. His gaze was calm and soothingly confident, helping her to get a grip on her feelings. "Well, I'd say from palpation that ? you understand that I can't say definitely without a scan?" He looked from Emily to Finn. "For goodness' sake, man, spit it out!" Finn exploded, raking an unsteady hand through his thick hair. "Well, you're either having a very large baby, or more likely...twins." "Oh my God!" Finn sank down onto the bed, his face white. "Twins!" he echoed in a hollow voice. "You're sure?" "No, I'm not sure, but I'd say the odds are heavily stacked." Emily didn't need the scan: Call it maternal instinct, call it a gut feeling, but she knew.? CHAPTER SIXTEEN "Twins," Finn repeated, as if saying it again would make the prospect any more real. It didn't. This time it was Emily's small hand that closed comfortingly around his. "Well, I'll arrange a scan for the morning to confirm, and don't forget, Emily, eat little amounts often until the nausea stops. Bad sickness is more common with twins, too," Alan added cheerfully as he clicked shut his case. Finn got to his feet. "I'll see you out." As soon as the bedroom door closed behind them, he turned to the doctor. "Twins means increased risks ? right?" "Well, with proper medical care and?" "Cut the soothing pep talk. Just give me the facts and figures," Finn cut in impatiently. Five minutes later Finn returned to the bedroom. "How do you feel about it?" he asked Emily without preamble. She pulled herself up onto her knees. "I don't really know," she admitted. "Scared...excited?" "It'll mean you'll have to take a lot better care of yourself," Finn warned sternly. "No bouncing," he added as she began to excitedly rock back and forth, hugging her knees. "Lots of people have twins," she teased. "I don't care about lots of people, just you," he announced with a fierce possessive look that made her heart pound. "I won't be wrapped in cotton wool," she warned him. "And before you say anything, I need to work for a while yet. If I have too much time on my hands," she explained earnestly, "I'll only worry. I won't do anything silly ? cross my heart," she promised. "Work with me on this, Finn, please?" "When the doctor tells you to quit, you quit ? right?"

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Emily beamed. "Definitely. Oh, you're so lovely." "I'm a pushover," he contradicted with a wry smile. The doorbell rang, and with a frown Finn glanced at his wristwatch. "Hell, that'll be Maeve. I wish I'd canceled the damned dinner." "Never mind, we can talk when they're all gone," Emily replied, her earlier jealousies almost forgotten in the delight of discovery. "Tell her the starters are in the fridge and ? perhaps I should just come down and show her?" She flung the duvet aside. "No way!" Finn pressed a firm finger to cover her. "We'll cope. You get some rest." To please him, Emily did lie back down, though she had no expectation of falling asleep. She was too awake, her mind racing. Even so, it wasn't long before a heavy-limbed stupor crept over her. Emily slept heavily, not even aware of the occasions when Finn left his guests to quietly look in on her. The room was dark when she woke to the sounds of raised, angry voices. Alarmed, she switched on the bedside lamp and saw it was after midnight. She got out of bed and reached for her robe. Drawn by the sound of voices she went barefoot into the hallway. At the top of the stairs she stopped, realizing that the argument she had heard was taking place just below her. "James and I have talked this over, Finn, and we think this is too good an opportunity to miss." Emily was startled to identify Maeve's low tones raised in shrill defense. "Please be reasonable about this." "You can't go to the other side of the world. I won't let you!" It only took two seconds for Emily's world to came crashing down around her ears as she identified Maeve's antagonist. Finn, her Finn, his voice throbbing with emotion, was begging Maeve to stay because he couldn't bear to be without her. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Hand clamped across her mouth to prevent herself crying out, Emily ran back to their bedroom, heedless of the noise her bare feet made on the polished-oak boards. She doused the light and flung herself headlong on the bed, only to discover that although she could hide her head beneath a pillow there was no place to hide from the misery coursing through her body. After all the scorn and disgust she'd felt for her poor mother, who couldn't handle the truth about her husband's infidelity, and chose instead to believe his pathetic lies, it was particularly ironic to find herself in a similar situation. All Emily wanted to do was close her eyes and pretend she hadn't heard the raw anguish in Finn's voice as he contemplated being parted from Maeve. Emily had no concept of how long she lay there curled up in a fetal ball of denial, but part of her had subconsciously registered that the house had gone very quiet ? and stayed that way for some time before the bedroom door finally opened. Still and tense, hardly daring to breath, she listened to the sounds of Finn shedding his clothes in the dark. Was he going to come to bed and act as if nothing had happened? Was she going to wake up in the morning and act as if nothing had happened...? The antique brass bed-frame was suddenly shaken as Finn, who must have walked into it in the dark, swore softly. Nerves stretched tight, Emily let out a startled yelp and sat up.

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"Sorry, baby, I didn't mean to wake you." "I wasn't asleep," Emily admitted. "Was it a good party?" she heard herself ask brightly of the shadowy outline beside the bed. "It was all right." The mattress dipped as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "Did the noise wake you?" Was he sitting there wondering how much she knew? "I did hear something." She felt the draft as Finn pulled back the quilt and slid beneath. "Come here." Emily didn't resist as he reached for her, slotting her soft body comfortably against the hard angles of his naked body. She felt him shudder as he pressed soft kisses into her hair and then not so soft kisses against her mouth. "You smell so good!" he sighed. His kiss tasted of brandy, Finn who rarely drank. Well if he'd drunk to forget or relax, it hadn't worked; she could feel the tension coiled in his lean frame. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong, Finn?" He released her and rolled over onto his back. "Maeve and I had ? we fought. You don't want to hear this. I'll tell you about it in the morning." Emily took a deep breath. "No, Finn, tell me about it now." She sat up and reached for the light. "No!" An urgent hand curled around her wrist. "Don't turn on the light, Emily. Please." "Okay." Perhaps he doesn't want to see my face when he tells me...? "Maeve told me tonight that's she going to New Zealand with this guy she's been seeing ? the baby's father. They're talking marriage?." "New Zealand ? that's a long way away." Emily felt physically sick anticipating what was coming next. His laugh was bitter. "Tell me about it. God, Emily!" he groaned suddenly. "She's taking Adam to the other side of the world and I'll never see him again!" CHAPTER EIGHTEEN "Adam!" Of course, Adam. Emily's misery dissolved, leaving behind only the memory of how bad it would be to lose Finn. Why hadn't that element of Maeve leaving the country even occurred to her? In her eagerness to think of the very worst scenario, she'd totally failed to consider how traumatic it would be for a dedicated father like Finn to be deprived of his son ? not to mention what it would do to the little boy! An image of Finn and Adam, their two dark heads close together as they discussed the finer points of penalty-taking came into her head, and she blinked back the rush of hot emotional tears that stung her eyes. The total wrongness of separating them hit her.

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She reached for the light once more and blinking, turned to her husband. The haggard expression on his handsome face shocked her deeply and increased her escalating sense of outrage. "She can't take Adam away!" Emily declared hotly. "You can't let her, Finn." A militant light entered her narrowed eyes. "We must fight her." Finn listened with fascination to this unexpected declaration of war from his wife. "You're amazing, totally amazing!" he exclaimed wonderingly. The more he thought about his five-feet-two-inch wife being prepared to take on all comers on his behalf, the more he liked it. "My tigress," he teased. "And you present such a gentle, mild-mannered image to the world." Catching hold of her slim wrists he drew her down until she lay on top of him, her hands resting on the pillow on either side of his face. Her hair brushed against his chest and, against all odds after what had happened, he felt himself becoming aroused. "She can't do it, can she?" Emily wondered, her smooth brow furrowed as she wriggled against him. "I mean, you're Adam's father, you have rights. Surely, legally...?" An expression she couldn't work out flickered across Finn's face. "Actually, there might be problems." He cupped her face between his hands. "Problems?" Emily turned her head to kiss the inside of his palm. "Unfortunately, I didn't contest Maeve's sole custody when we got divorced." "But you're not just going to let her...!" "No, I'm not just going to let her," Finn confirmed, his expression implacable as he contemplated the fight ahead. "But you have to understand, Emily, that things might get ? ugly. Stuff might come out that I'd prefer didn't, things that... God, this couldn't come at a worse time." "For the business?" "For us personally!" he corrected. "The last thing you need right now is to get embroiled in a legal slanging match. "You mustn't let my being pregnant influence your decision!" "Adam's not your child, I thought you might resent?" Emily's eyes widened indignantly. "As if I would! No, you must do whatever it takes to keep him in the country." "I will, Emily, I will." Emily was relieved to see the chilling expression on his face fade as his eyes slid to hers. "But, right now?" He slid a hand under the hem of the short night-dress she was wearing and spread his fingers over the firm resilient roundness of her bottom. "Yes?" She nodded her head eagerly. "Yes, please." The next morning, slipping quietly from her sleeping husband's side, Emily crept into the bathroom. She sat on the edge of the deep bathtub and punched in a number on the cell phone. "Hello, Maeve, this is Emily. I think we should talk."

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CHAPTER NINETEEN "Can we go to the park, Dad?" Adam Lynch bounced his football on the pavement and looked hopefully up at his father. Finn intercepted the ball before it bounced into the road. He squatted down to look sternly into a pair of eyes very similar to his own. "What have I told you about playing with the ball in the street?" "Sorry, Dad." Finn grinned and ruffled the boy's dark hair; it was impossible to stay mad with Adam for long. "What'll your mom say if you get muddy in the park?" "I don't expect she'll notice. James said she's not very well ? she must be sick, because I heard her crying this morning." "Is that right. What do you think of James?" Finn wondered how Adam was going to feel caught in the middle of two warring parents. It was hard not to question whether there wasn't an element of truth in the accusations of selfishness Maeve had flung at him. Adam's freckled nose wrinkled thoughtfully as he considered the matter. "Oh, he's all right," he conceded. "He can't play football as good as you, though," he added loyally, giving his father's hand a comforting squeeze. *** Maeve opened the door to Emily minutes after she'd closed it behind Finn. "You'd better come in." Defensive rather than hostile, Emily decided as she followed Maeve through to the drawing room of the elegant Regency terrace. "Did Finn ask you to come? Because if?" "No, he doesn't know I'm here." Emily soothed her conscience with the thought that she hadn't lied to Finn. She had just let him assume, when they'd arranged to meet at the hospital before lunch, that she was going to spend the morning in bed. One of Maeve's arched brows rose. "Are you feeling better?" "I didn't come to talk about me." "Somehow I didn't think you did." Maeve smiled edgily. "Stand if you like, but I'm going to sit down." Emily didn't follow her example. "How could you do it to him, Maeve?" she exclaimed glaring at the older woman. "You know how much he loves Adam!" Maeve flushed and lowered her eyes. "Of course I know," she gritted. She lifted her head and Emily was amazed to see the sparkle of tears on her pale lashes. "But I'm allowed a life of my own! It's all right for you to look sneery!" she cried. "You've got Finn, and don't tell me you wouldn't do whatever it takes to keep him!"

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Emily shook her head. "Finn would never ask me to do this," she proclaimed with total conviction. "I still don't see how you... Did you ever love him, Maeve?" The blonde sniffed. "Not when we got married," she admitted, much to Emily's amazement. "But it's hard to live with Finn and not fall in love with him a bit...well, maybe more than a bit. But," she said drawing a deep breath, "it wasn't to be." "I sympathize with your position, but taking a child away from his father, no matter what the courts say, is a wicked thing to do." The doorbell started chiming, but neither woman took any notice. "That may be so, Emily, but Finn isn't Adam's father, is he?" She saw Emily's face and paled. "God, I didn't mean... Forget I said anything." CHAPTER TWENTY "Forget?" Emily echoed hoarsely. Maeve gave a sigh of annoyance. "I'll have to answer that, Emily," Maeve said, referring to the doorbell. "They're not going away." The next couple of minutes were a total blur for Emily, who stood there wondering if it was her or Maeve who had gone mad. How could Finn not be Adam's father? "Maeve said you were here." Finn's eyes were fixed warily on his wife's face. "Why are you here?" Like someone punch-drunk, Emily focused her eyes on the tall figure that had entered the room. "You were taking Adam out for the morning." "Adam fell and grazed his knees," he explained tersely. "Maeve's doing the necessary." "Are you Adam's father, Finn?" Finn took a deep breath before meeting her bewildered eyes. "I'm glad you know. I feel as if it's always been there between us." "Then it's true! I always knew you were holding something back." But not this, never this! "I thought that you and Maeve were still?" She shook her head. "I don't understand... How?" "Liam, my younger brother?" "The one who died in the climbing accident?" Finn nodded. "Maeve's family only lived a couple of streets away from ours in Dublin. But it wasn't until they both came over here to university that she and Liam got together. Nobody back home knew about it, and neither did I until Maeve came to me after she discovered she was pregnant." "So?" She shook her head. Her brain seemed to be functioning very slowly. "You married Maeve, she came to work with you, and you let everyone think that Adam was yours." Finn nodded. "It seemed the obvious thing to do. The baby was a Lynch, he needed a father, and Maeve had no money, no job, and a family that would very likely disown her." "Surely not!" Emily gasped horrified.

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"Maeve's family have very strong views about sex outside marriage." "Poor Maeve," Emily said, and meant it. "In a really good romance I suppose you'd have fallen in love.?" Not if I had any influence with the author, Emily added silently. "Me and Maeve!" Finn looked amused and shook his head. "We agreed early on that for Adam's sake, absolutely nobody should ever know the truth," he continued gravely. "How would Adam feel if he discovered one day that his loving parents had never even shared a bed?" "You were never even lovers!" "Never, but discreet liaisons were permitted in our rules," he revealed dryly. "I was no monk." "And love?" she whispered vulnerably. "That was discussed, though when it happened, I wasn't really prepared." He couldn't recall those months of raw frustration without an inner shudder. "When did it happen, Finn?" I've told you, the moment I saw you." "I didn't think you meant it literally! It was the same for me," she revealed shyly. "And I felt terribly guilty because you were married. I don't think I stopped being guilty until just now. It's such a relief!" She sighed. "Then you forgive me, Emily?" he asked warily. "What's to forgive?" She stepped into his open arms. "Promise me one thing, Finn ? no more secrets?" "How," he began, "do you feel about sealing the deal with a kiss?" "Don't stop on my account," Maeve said dryly as the entwined couple drew apart. "I just wanted to say that you were right. I'll be telling James that I'm staying here. I know he loves me, and I know he'll stay. We're happy together ? and Adam will be happy, too. We'll all make sure of it." As Finn aimed a smile at Maeve, she continued, "No, Finn, don't thank me, thank Emily." Finn turned to Emily, his eyes blazing with love. "I can't wait to start," he admitted. "My first, last, and only love," he whispered.

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The Heart of Riverbend by Judith Arnold You are now entering Riverbend?the kind of place where everyone knows your name ? and your business. Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| 9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14| 15| 16| 17| 18| 19| 20| Leaning against a flagpole in the heart of Riverbend, Indiana, Tony Viera understood what it meant to be in the middle of nowhere. He was somewhere, of course. He was standing in the shadow of the courthouse in Riverbend?s main square, his gaze fixed on the drugstore across the street. In a little while, he?d pay a courtesy call to the local police station to make sure the cops didn?t have any problems with his taking care of the business that had brought him here. But first he wanted to get a sense of where he was. The middle of nowhere. The clean, spring-fresh scent of the air, the sporadic traffic, the wide-open blue of the sky ? it was like an alien landscape. Tony was a New Yorker, used to pollution, rumbling buses, bustling pedestrians, the vitality that electrified the city?s streets. Here, the tranquility seemed otherworldly. Peter Linnett was in Riverbend ? quite possibly in the drugstore. Tony?s boss had told him to find the kid and, if necessary, bring him back to New York. The whole thing shouldn?t take more than a day ? which was good, because Tony didn?t think he could stand spending any more time than he had to in this one-horse town. The drugstore door swung open. He started forward, energy coiling inside him. Not that he expected Peter to stroll outside and straight into his waiting arms, but as a police detective, he was perpetually ready for anything and everything. The person who emerged wasn?t Peter ? unless Peter had undergone a sex-change operation in the past couple of months. It was a young woman in a crisp blouse and slacks. Maybe five-five, taffy-colored hair framing a heart-shaped face, a cute pink mouth and a faraway look in her wide-set hazel eyes. She held a small canvas bag with a zipper-lock, the kind of bag shopkeepers used for carrying cash to the bank. Propping the door open, she turned and shouted something over her shoulder. A clerk, he figured. If she worked for Peter Linnett?s father, she might know the kid. It was so quiet he could actually hear the lilt of her laughter as she backed away from the door. Half-turning, she was still laughing, shaking her head as she stepped off the curb between two parked cars. She obviously hadn?t noticed the white van cruising down the road, with Sterling Hardware & Building Supply painted across its side. It wasn?t going too fast, and neither was she, but someone was going to have to stop moving to avoid a disaster. The driver of the van probably couldn?t see the woman slipping out into the street between the parked cars, and she was still chuckling at whatever someone inside the store had said to her, and ? "No!" Tony roared, sprinting toward the street. Too late. With a muted thud, the woman bounced off the edge of the van?s bumper and fell to the asphalt. She lay there, perfectly still. Deathly still.... By the time Tony reached the woman who?d been struck by the van, she was sitting up, dusting the palms of her hands and examining one of them, which was bleeding from a long scrape. "I?m fine," she insisted to the driver of the van. "Really, Mitch. I?m okay."

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"I?m sorry," he said, sounding far from reassured. "The sun was glaring, and you just bolted from behind that car ?" "I mean it, Mitch. I?m fine." Tony couldn?t believe what he was hearing. Why was she absolving the driver? In New York City, she?d be warning that her lawyer would be in touch. She?d be moaning that her neck hurt, her back, her leg, and asking him how much insurance he carried. She certainly wouldn?t be saying she was fine. "Don?t move," he ordered her as she bent her legs and brushed small bits of gravel from her knees. "You could be seriously hurt." "That?s what I?m thinking," the driver of the van agreed as he and Tony hunkered down next to her. "How?s your head, Diane? How?s your vision?" "Just don?t move," Tony repeated. "Oh, please!" She laughed ? a sweet, musical sound that seemed as unreal as everything else in this hick town. "Stop fussing over me. It?s just a scratch." She displayed her palm, which was scraped up past her wrist. Tony pulled out his handkerchief and wrapped it around her hand. Back home, cops were always cautious when dealing with open wounds. But she looked healthy and wholesome, and he wasn?t back home. "I feel terrible," the driver mumbled. "Really, Mitch, it was my fault. Is the money pouch somewhere?" "Right here," the driver said, holding up the canvas bag. "I think we should report this to the police." "Report what? I walked into your van, lost my balance and got a scratch. It?s embarrassing. Why bring the police into it?" Because that was what police were for, Tony wanted to say ? although he had to admit that in New York City, no cop would waste time writing this one up. They were too busy dealing with traffic fatalities and serious crimes to worry about a woman in need of a little gauze and tape. And he shouldn?t be wasting his time with her, either. He was here to do a job. He couldn?t get sidetracked by a pretty woman with a bleeding hand. "I?ll take you to see Dr. Bennett," the driver insisted. "I don?t need a doctor. I can get this cleaned up inside." She gestured toward the drugstore, then rubbed her thumb over the square of white linen wrapped around her hand. She lifted her gaze to Tony. "You should see a doctor," he urged her, his voice unexpectedly husky. "You really do need to have Dr. Bennett check you out," the driver agreed. "I?ll run you over." He winced. "Bad choice of words." "Maybe you should file a police report," Tony suggested. "I can take her to the doctor." And then he?d get back to work.

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"Forget the police," the woman argued. "Do me a favor, Mitch, and bring the money pouch back in to Stan. Tell him I?ll go to the bank later." Once again she turned to Tony, and a small sigh escaped her. Her hand tightened around his handkerchief. "Do you really want to take me to the doctor?" He really wanted not to want to. He really wanted not to have any interest in her at all. But he couldn?t seem to help himself. "Yeah." "All right. Let?s go." He felt a combination of relief, regret, and the certainty that he was pursuing something better left alone. A faint smile curved her lips, and he knew that whatever it was, however wrongheaded it was, he had to pursue it.... Ordinarily, Diane didn?t get into cars with strange men. She might be absent-minded enough to walk into Mitch Sterling?s truck while it coasted down Elm Street, but she wasn?t stupid. Yet this man was...different. His manner, his accent, the way he walked, the way his long, athletic legs shaped his jeans and his battered leather jacket stretched over his broad shoulders ? everything about him shouted that he wasn?t like anyone she?d ever met before. Besides, he wasn?t a complete stranger. He?d told her his name. "Tony Viera," she murmured, letting the syllables roll over her tongue. He shot her a glance, then eased out of the parking lot. "What?" "It?s a nice name." "Diane Ellis is a nice name, too," he said. It was a pathetically boring name, but she appreciated his lie. "Turn right at the corner," she directed him, squeezing the soft linen handkerchief he?d wrapped around her hand. "Dr. Bennett?s office is just a couple of blocks down." He said nothing for a minute, then: "You work at the drugstore?" "I?m a pharmacist," she told him. "Really? You run the place?" She shook her head. "Stan Linnett owns the business. He?s planning to retire soon, though, and he wants me to take over. I guess I?m thinking about it. He had hoped his son would run the place, but Peter has no interest in pharmacy." Tony sent her another look, this one intense. "What does Peter do?" he asked. She wondered why he appeared all that fascinated by the mundane details of Riverbend?s pharmacy. "He just moved back to town a few months ago. He was living in New York City ? your neck of the woods." Tony had told her he lived there and was in Riverbend running a professional errand, which sounded intriguing. "Right now, he?s helping out at the store. He?s a sweetheart." "Is he?"

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"He?s like a brother to me." Sometimes she wished he was like more than a brother. She adored Stan, adored the store ? and adored Peter. They?d grown up together, and they?d always been close friends. She wanted to believe they might eventually fall in love; eligible men were few and far between in Riverbend, and she really did care for Peter. But she never felt around him the way she felt around... Tony Viera. A man she didn?t even know. Yet sitting beside him in his rental car make her pulse throb. His dark, penetrating gaze, his long, graceful fingers, the raspy undertone of his voice stirred something inside her, something thrilling and risky. "That?s the building," she said, pointing it out. He pulled up the driveway to the lot behind the building, shut off the engine and touched her shoulder before she could reach for the door handle. "Don?t move," he said. "Let me help you out of the car." She didn?t need his help. All she had was a scraped hand and a sore knee. Yet his touch held her in place. She felt it through her sleeve, through her skin, through her entire body. It made her eyes mist and her head feel light. Her dizziness was undoubtedly an aftershock of the accident. That the world seemed to tilt when Tony gazed at her, that her breath grew shallow, that the light pressure of his fingers on her shoulder had a greater impact on her than her collision with Mitch?s van had, only proved that she?d been shaken up by her brush with death. She didn?t need Tony?s help. She didn?t need him at all. She could take care of herself. She was a little dazed, a little battered, but ? really, she was fine. So why did she not want him to leave? Less than an hour later, Tony found himself inside the drugstore with Diane. Her hand and wrist were wrapped in white gauze, and she was so cheerful he couldn?t believe she?d been hit by a van that morning. Once again, he wondered at the utter strangeness of this sleepy village. Not only did the town itself seem otherworldly, but it was clearly inhabited by aliens, creatures who could bounce back after a traffic accident and ask for no sympathy, no special treatment, no financial compensation. Or maybe it was just Diane. Maybe there was something unusual about her. As soon as she?d stepped into the store, the woman running the cash register, the silver-haired guy behind the prescriptions counter at the rear, and a thinner, blonder, younger version of the silver-haired guy all swooped down on her, demanding to know how she was. Her laughter rose like bubbles above their clamoring voices. "I?m fine! Dr. Bennett checked me from top to bottom. Has anyone talked to Mitch? Is he okay?" "Why wouldn?t he be okay?" the cashier exclaimed. "He wasn?t the one hit by a truck." "He was hit by a pedestrian. I hit him. Isn?t that right, Tony?" She turned her luminous eyes to him. The others looked at him, as well. "You hit his truck," he confirmed. "His truck is made of steel. You?re made of flesh and blood. I?m sure you sustained more damage than the truck did." "I hardly sustained any damage at all. This is Tony Viera," she introduced him to the others. "Tony, this is Millie." She gestured toward the woman. "This is my boss, Stan ?" she pointed to the silver-haired man " ? and this is Peter. Peter, Tony?s from your old haunt ? New York City." Tony had already pegged the blond kid as Peter Linnett. Mid-20s, like Diane, a bit on the skinny side, and deceptively innocent looking. Tony bet Diane and the others would have a hard time believing the trouble Peter had gotten into in his "old haunt." But Tony wasn?t surprised. After nine years in the NYPD, nothing surprised him ? except, maybe, the idea of a woman getting bumped by a van and not demanding compensation.

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"I hope you aren?t planning to come back to work today," Stan warned Diane once everyone was done shaking hands. "You?re taking the day off." "I?m fine." "Give yourself the day, see if any mysterious aches and pains develop. Did Julian prescribe a painkiller?" "I don?t have any pain. He suggested ibuprofen if I need it." "Well, you?re not working today," Stan said firmly. "I?m giving you a paid day off. Only a fool would turn down an offer like that." Diane considered, then glanced up at Tony. "I?m not a fool. I?ll take the day off. Let me just bring the cash over to the bank." "Peter took care of it. Go on, get out of here. And take it easy, would you? Anything doesn?t feel right, you go straight back to Julian Bennett." Shaking her head and grinning, Diane turned and started toward the door. Halfway there, she paused and glanced at Tony again. Her eyes seemed to ask him to join her. He had Peter Linnett within arm?s reach. He could interview the guy and determine if he should be brought back to New York now or allowed to stay in Riverbend until his testimony was needed at trial. This was why Tony had come to Riverbend. But for some crazy reason, following Diane Ellis out into the sunny Riverbend day seemed far more important than doing his job. He knew what would happen with Linnett, but he didn?t know what would happen with Diane. And he desperately wanted to find out. It was a good thing he?d followed her outside, too ? because as soon as the door swung shut and the bright midday sun hit her in the face, she swayed on her feet, pressed her bandaged hand to her forehead and fell in a slow, graceful swoon. Diane felt arms around her, holding her. She couldn't see anything, couldn't feel anything but those strong, safe arms, one under her shoulders and the other under her knees, and his firm, warm chest along her side. "Don't," she whispered. "Don't what?" Tony's mouth was so close to hers, his breath brushed her cheek as he spoke. "Don't take me to the pharmacy." "I'm taking you to this bench," he said, and abruptly she felt the flat surfaces of the bench against her back and bottom. "Open your eyes." She opened them. Tony's rugged, rough-hewn face loomed above her. "I'm going to push your head between your knees," he told her. "No, I ?" He flattened his palm against her nape and pressed down. Unable to fight him, she doubled over and let him press her head down. Her vision gradually grew clearer and the strange thumping in her skull faded.

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Once she could make out the loose pebbles on the pavement beneath her feet, she tried to lift her head. Reluctantly, he let her up. His hand lingered on her neck for a moment, and his fingers stroked through her hair when he finally drew away. "Don't take me to the pharmacy," she said again. "They'll make me go back to Dr. Bennett." "Maybe you should." "No. I was just a little lightheaded for a minute. I'm okay now." She gazed at him, praying he'd recognize that she was all right. She hated being fussed over ? by Stan and Millie and Peter, and by Tony Viera. She took pride in her self-sufficiency, even though her friend Nora often warned her that her insistence on taking care of herself scared men away. As if there were so many men in Riverbend she had to worry about scaring away. Her tranquil hometown wasn't exactly a swinging place. While Diane wasn't a swinger, she had to admit that if there were more single men her age in the area, she might put some effort into behaving less independently ? if it would make any difference. It probably wouldn't. And anyway, Diane wasn't good at acting. She was who she was, and Riverbend was what it was. She breathed deeply. Tony's chin rose and fell with her breaths, as if he was monitoring them. "I'm okay," she assured him. "You don't like anyone helping you, do you?" "Not when I don't need help." "You shouldn't be alone right now," he advised. She smiled, hoping to put his mind at ease. "Should I hire a babysitter?" He didn't return her smile. "That's not a bad idea." She had to check the impulse to hire him. He had business to attend to in town, and he was a stranger, a good Samaritan who'd already let her take up too much of his time. "I'll get Peter to keep me company," she said, aware that Peter was her second choice. "I'll stay with you," Tony said resolutely. "At least until I'm sure you're not going to keel over again." Did he not trust Peter to take good care of her? Or did he honestly want to spend more time with her? Did he feel the same shiver of awareness she felt when their eyes met? "You should go home and take it easy," he continued. "I'll drive you." "Are you kidding? I just got handed a vacation day. I don't want to waste it sitting around at home. Maybe we can have a picnic lunch down by the river. It's such a beautiful day." He seemed perplexed. "Your day began with your getting knocked down by a van. What's so beautiful about that?" "I got knocked down, but I got back up again. That's as beautiful as it gets." He contemplated her for a long moment. "What if you faint again?"

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"You'll be there to catch me," she said, searching his face. "Won't you?" He looked undecided, reluctant...trapped. As if he couldn't bear to gaze at her any more, he turned to stare at the courthouse across the street, his eyes squinting against the sunlight. "For now." He sighed. "I'll be there for now." And then he would leave. She knew he would, and the truth pained her. Men like Tony didn't stay in Riverbend. They didn't stay in Diane's life. That was why she'd learned to catch herself if she was ever at risk of falling. She remembered the sensation of Tony's arms around her and realized she was already at risk. But he'd be gone soon. She wasn't going to let herself fall. Tony drove her to the cozy cottage she told him she rented. She apologized for its size, but it had three times the floor space of his efficiency apartment in the East Village ? and he?d bet her rent was a third of his. He thought about lecturing Diane on the dangers of inviting strange men into her home, but somehow her trust seemed perfectly natural in a place like Riverbend. She was better off trusting him than trusting Peter Linnett. He leaned against the counter while she prepared tuna fish sandwiches and packed them into a tote, along with apples, and bottles of iced tea. Pulling an old blanket from a shelf in a closet by the back door, she sent him a dazzling smile and said, "all set." Her movements seemed sure, her footing steady. If she fainted again, he?d take her to the doctor, no matter how loudly she protested. And then he?d clear out. He?d been a fool to volunteer to stay with her ? and not only because he didn?t want her trusting her no-good buddy Peter. The longer he spent with her, the more he... He wasn?t going to finish that thought. She was a single woman who lived in a poky little hamlet and dreamed of running the town pharmacy. He?d eat lunch with her and then take care of business. And when he was done, he wouldn?t have to worry about her trusting Peter anymore. They drove to a place called Riverside Park, along the river?s edge. The grass in the park was a new green. Leaves budded and unfurled along the tree branches. Not far from where they spread Diane?s blanket, a woman played catch with two preschoolers, the colorful ball so big the children had to spread their arms wide to catch it. They chased across the grass, squealing with laughter. The river was silver, smelling of springtime. Tony thought about the rivers surrounding Manhattan. They were a glum gray, spanned by massive steel bridges that carried millions of cars in and out of the city. He couldn?t think of anywhere in New York as peaceful as this. "How?s your sandwich?" she asked. "Good." She seemed to be waiting for him to say something more, so he added, "It?s so quiet here." "I?ve never been to New York, but Peter told me it?s noisy day and night. At two in the morning, he would hear traffic cruising under his window, and sirens, and people shouting to each other in the street." "You get used to the noise," Tony explained. "Peter never did."

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"I don?t think I could ever get used to this silence." He popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth. She looked wistful. "I find it soothing." "Have you ever lived anywhere else?" "When I was in college. I wasn?t planning to come back to Riverbend after I graduated, but Stan offered me a summer job. Then, when I got here, he said he was planning to retire in a few years, and once he did, the town was going to need a pharmacist." She smiled and shrugged. "What can I say? This place is my home." Tony couldn?t understand why a young, attractive woman would want to bury herself here. "What do you do on weekends?" he asked. She smiled, obviously able to figure out what he was getting at. "Riverbend isn?t a hot spot," she allowed. "But I?ve got friends here. I?m sure someday I?ll meet someone and settle down. It?s a great place to raise children." The discussion was getting too personal, but he couldn?t stop himself. "You?d like that? To settle down here and raise a family?" "I?d love it." Her words held so much passion, it was almost contagious. His Manhattan neighborhood was no place for kids. They wouldn?t have such clean air to breathe, such safe, peaceful parks to play in. Too bad he was a confirmed city guy. If he ever settled down the way Diane dreamed of settling down, he couldn?t imagine doing it in a place like Riverbend. He wasn?t going to settle down, anyway. He was a bachelor. A cop. Not exactly planting-stakes-and-raisingkids material. "What kind of work do you do?" she asked. He pulled an apple from her tote and took a bite, stalling for time. If he told her, she?d ask what he was doing in town, and if he told her he?d come to investigate her dear friend Peter, she?d hate him. He was only doing his job, and it wasn?t his fault that the Linnett kid had gotten caught up in something bad, but... He wasn?t ready to have Diane hate him. Not yet. "I?m a safety consultant." It wasn?t a complete lie. "A safety consultant?" Her eyes grew round. "What does that entail?" "Keeping people from doing unsafe things." "Like walking in front of moving vehicles?" She laughed. "Where were you when I needed you?" "I was right there," he murmured. "Wishing I could keep you safe." Actually, he wasn?t sure he wanted to keep her safe. One part of him wanted her to be his connection to Peter, and another part wanted her to open her soul to him as willingly as she?d opened her house. Just by being with her, he threatened her safety. He wondered if she knew it. He wondered if she knew and didn?t care. He wondered what she would do if he kissed her?.

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For one brief, crazy moment, Diane was certain Tony was going to kiss her. His gaze narrowed on her mouth and she found herself unable to breathe as he leaned toward her, lifting his hand to her cheek. But all he did was tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Then he settled back and turned to stare at the river. Her heart fluttered against her ribs and she sighed. For heaven?s sake, she was acting like a silly schoolgirl. She was 25 years old, years away from sweet-sixteen-and-never-been-kissed. Of course, she?d never been kissed by a sexy security consultant from New York City. Nora would have urged her to go ahead and kiss Tony if he lacked the initiative to kiss her. "The guy?s being a gentleman," she?d say. "That doesn?t mean you have to be a lady." Diane had never considered herself particularly ladylike, but she wasn?t overly aggressive, either. Especially when the object of her aggression was so unlike any man she?d ever known. "What sort of security work brought you to Riverbend?" she asked when it became clear he had no intention of kissing her. He continued to gaze at the river as he munched on his apple. The motion of his mouth transfixed her, his lips thin, his jaw strong. He chewed, swallowed, and shrugged. "I can?t discuss it." "Why not?" "Security reasons," he said, a wry smile twisting his mouth. He?s a spy. The possibility struck her like a poke to the stomach ? and then she decided it was ridiculous. Riverbend had no secrets worth stealing. But she couldn?t shake the feeling Tony wasn?t telling her the complete truth about himself. "Are you going to be here a long time?" "I hope ?" Turning to her, he frowned and shook his head. "I was going to say I hope not. But..." "But?" "But spending a while in all this ? this silence... I don?t know." He seemed to struggle against a grin. "Maybe it would do me some good." "There?s more to Riverbend than silence," she pointed out. "Like what?" "I?ll show you," she said impulsively. Then she bit her lip, wondering if her offer had been wise. If he did have ulterior motives for being in Riverbend, he might have just set her up, subtly enticing her into giving him a tour of the town. His long, simmering looks and the casually deliberate way he?d brushed her hair back from her cheek might have been ploys to gain entrée into the community. He was softening her up in the hope that she?d unwittingly help him. Her imagination was obviously in overdrive. Maybe she was still in shock from her accident. He reached toward her and brushed that errant lock of hair behind her ear again, and she realized how very much she wanted to kiss him. Just the friction of his fingertips against her cheek made her wish she was braver, brave enough to go after what she wanted. Tony Viera.

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Peter Linnett finished restocking the shelves with deodorant. He?d never understand why women needed a dozen different brands to choose from. They all served the same purpose. That stranger from New York bothered him. He wheeled the truck to the next shelf, folded back the flaps on the next carton, and replenished the supply of face creams, making sure each bottle and jar was tagged and facing forward on the shelf. While his hands managed the stock, his mind wandered back to Diane?s friend. He racked his memory but couldn?t recall anyone from New York named Tony Viera. He?d dealt with only a couple of guys, and he didn?t think either of them had mentioned Viera. Still, Peter was worried. Why would someone from New York suddenly appear in Riverbend? At the front of the store, he heard Millie describing Diane?s accident to the Reverend Kendall. Anyone who ventured into the store to pick up a prescription or a spool of dental floss had to hear all about it ? Mitch Sterling hitting Diane with his van, Dr. Julian Bennett bandaging her, the handsome, dark-haired fellow from New York who?d stuck like glue to her throughout the ordeal. Why had Viera glued himself to Diane? Was he trying to get to Peter through her? Or was Peter just being paranoid? He?d done things he shouldn?t have done in New York. Surely putting in drudge time at his father?s drug store in this mind-numbing town was adequate punishment. He didn?t need some creep from New York hunting him down and causing trouble. "Peter!" his father hollered. "Could you run this prescription over to Kate McMann at the bookstore? One of her daughters has an ear infection, and I told her we?d get this to her so she wouldn?t have to leave the store." Sure, Peter thought, placing the last jar of vitamin-e moisturizer on the shelf and marching to the prescription counter. I just love being your errand boy, Dad. Penance, he reminded himself as he took the bag from his father and left the pharmacy. Maybe if Peter performed enough penance, ran enough errands, kept his head down and his nose clean, he?d get lucky and that guy from New York would disappear. If he didn?t...Peter had to warn Diane somehow. He had to protect her. On the slim chance that Viera was using her to get to Peter.... He wouldn?t let her be used like that. He?d seen the way she?d looked at Viera, the way her eyes had glowed, and her smile. She didn?t date much ? who was she going to date in Riverbend? ? and the sudden attention of a tall, dark guy in a leather jacket and jeans could turn her head. She was naïve. She didn?t understand the way men used women. At best, Viera would amuse himself with her for a while and then take off. At worst, he?d exploit Diane?s trusting nature to get to Peter. Peter didn?t even want to think about that possibility. All he knew was what he sensed in his gut: Tony Viera was bad news. He was in Riverbend and someone was going to end up hurt. Diane or Peter, or maybe both of them. Peter just knew it. Tony had never seen a grain elevator before. In fact, he?d never seen grain, except in bags in the organicfoods section of his neighborhood grocery store. As he navigated his rental car through Riverbend, Diane pointed out the acreage to him, the fields breaking with the new crop, tiny dots of green poking out of the tilled soil.

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The air carried a tangy scent, and when he asked her what he was smelling she laughed and said, "dirt." He?d grown up in Queens, and now he lived in Manhattan. What did he know about the smell of dirt and the endlessness of a Midwestern sky? "They irrigate mostly in the evenings," she was saying. "If you irrigate in the morning, the water evaporates too fast. In the evening, it has a chance to soak into the ground. They won?t be doing too much irrigating this year, though. We?ve had a pretty wet spring. It?s been wonderful." "Wonderful?" He snorted. "People become cranky when it rains in New York." Cranky enough to get into fistfights over the scarcity of cabs. Cranky enough to curse at and shove each other, to elbow one another as they hurried down the puddle-filled sidewalks. A nastiness settled over the city when it rained. The homicide rate dropped, but the domestic assault rate soared when people were trapped indoors. "I don?t think I?d like New York very much," Diane said. "It?s a great city," Tony argued. "The capital of the world." "I know it?s got good restaurants, and the theater. I?d love to see one of those big Broadway musicals. Other than that, though ? it just sounds awfully crowded. And noisy." "There?s an energy in the city," he tried to explain, turning the car away from the grain elevator and steering in the direction of Diane?s outstretched hand. Somewhere at the back of his mind lurked the thought that he had a job to do. But as long as Diane kept gazing at him, he couldn?t seem to focus on his work. "Riverbend has an energy, too," she said. He grinned. "Enough energy to put an insomniac into a coma. This place is dead, Diane." "It is not! It?s full of energy! There?s the energy of the rotating seasons, the cycles of life. And the energy of friendships. Everyone knows everyone here. We look out for each other. We help each other. Even on the coldest day of the winter, Riverbend is warm, because the people care about each other." He was aware of another kind of warmth right in this car. It was the warmth of Diane?s passion, her convictions. She believed in her quiet rural town, believed in it so deeply he could only imagine how deeply she felt other things, how passionate she might be. Her warmth heated him. It made him want to taste that passion. He imagined it would be a flavor as exotic as everything else in Riverbend. They?d reached a stand of trees by the river, and he pulled off the road and killed the engine. "This is a really pretty part of the river," she said. "Let?s get out and explore." He got out of the car, but the river wasn?t what he wanted to explore. When Diane met him near the water?s edge, he gathered her hand in his and pulled her to him. Just one taste, he thought ? one small taste of Diane?s warmth, and then he?d take care of business. This isn?t love, Diane whispered to herself an instant before Tony?s lips touched hers. I hardly even know him. It can?t be love. But it was something. Something deep and dangerous and exciting. Something that had never happened to her before, and wasn?t likely to happen to her again if she stayed in Riverbend. It was something wicked and wild, and she wanted it.

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His mouth covered hers, possessive and persuasive. His hands were large and hard, one still clutching her uninjured hand and the other cupping her shoulder, sliding under her hair, stroking the skin at her nape. Heat rippled in waves down her back. Her breath escaped her on a sigh and she leaned into him, letting him coax her mouth open with his tongue. No one had ever kissed her so seductively before, so thoroughly. The heat built inside her, melting her, making her want much, much more. I hardly even know him, she thought, but it didn?t seem to matter. She?d been hit by a van that morning, and miraculously she?d survived with just a scratch and a few bruises. She wanted to celebrate. She wanted to revel in her aliveness. Kissing Tony Viera was a revel, and a revelation. When she thought about it later, she?d probably realize what a foolish thing it was to do...but nothing that felt so good could be that foolish. He was the one to break the kiss. As he pulled back, she averted her face and struggled to breathe normally. It almost escaped her that he was out of breath, too, his hand trembling slightly as he let it slide out from under her hair. "I?m sorry," he whispered. She lifted her head to gaze at him. "I?m not." He brought his hand forward to trace the point of her chin, the edge of her lower lip. It took all her willpower not to nip his finger between her teeth. "I?ve got business to take care of," he said, though his light, sensual caress was hardly businesslike. "I know." "And once that?s done...I?m out of here." "I know." She appreciated his honesty in pointing out that this kiss wasn?t going to lead to anything lasting. But that didn?t seem to matter to her. Every cell in her body had been altered by his kiss. Her blood sang with excitement. Her skin tingled. Her mouth, her breasts, her soul wanted more. He wasn?t offering more. "How long before you?re ?out of here??" she asked. He closed his eyes and chuckled. "Don?t tempt me, Diane." She?d never thought of herself as a temptress before. The wanton temptress of Riverbend. Sure. "I only meant ? as long as you?re in town, we could...well, maybe have dinner together or something." "I don?t think so." "Why not?" When he didn?t answer, she confessed, "I like you, Tony." "That?s because you don?t know me." He pushed away and stalked back to the car. He hesitated at the door and turned back to her. "Trust me, Diane ? if you knew me, you wouldn?t like me at all."

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With that, he got in, leaving her hurt and disappointed ? and wondering why it was that the security expert made her want to ignore her own security, toss caution aside, and find out what would happen if she kissed him again. Maybe her brush with death had made her recognize how much she wanted to live. She loved Riverbend. It was home. But she wanted the excitement Tony brought with him, the risk, the madness of not settling down, not settling. Suddenly, the life she?d always imagined for herself seemed tame and drab. One kiss from Tony had changed her even more than her run-in with Mitch?s van that morning. She?d survived his kiss, and now she wanted to live.... After dropping off Kate McMann?s prescription at the bookstore, Peter didn?t head directly back to the pharmacy. Instead, he detoured to the courthouse to find Diane?s friend Nora. Nora was his friend, too, sort of. He?d dated her in high school, and they?d broken up right after the senior prom, which had led to some awkwardness. But since they shared Diane as a friend, he and Nora had managed to keep things civil. Now she was married, so he supposed their past wasn?t important anymore. She worked as an administrative assistant at the courthouse, pushing papers around and keeping the bureaucracy chugging along. She?d put on a few pounds since high school, a layer of softness. A photo of her year-old daughter stood in a frame on her desk. She wasn?t the same Nora he?d dated eight years ago, but she was someone who might know why a stranger had come all the way from New York City to spend time in Riverbend. Working at the courthouse, she had her fingers on the pulse of the town. "Hello, Peter," she greeted him, glancing up from her computer as he entered her office. "Hey, Nora." He hoped he looked confident; he didn?t want to tip her off to his concern about Viera. "Did you hear about Diane?s accident this morning?" Nora?s cheeks lost some color. "What accident?" He told her about Diane?s collision with Mitch Sterling?s van. Even after he assured Nora several times that Diane was fine, she looked horrified. "Where is she now? Are they holding her at the hospital for observation? Even if she seems fine ?" "I don?t know where she is," Peter answered, keeping his tone casual. "She went off with some guy from New York." "Who? A friend of yours?" "I never saw him before today. He witnessed the accident, accompanied her to Dr. Bennett?s office, and then took off with her." "Took off with her?" Nora frowned. "I thought maybe you?d know who he was. His name is Tony Viera." "Tony Viera? I?ve never heard Diane mention him."

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"I thought his name might have come up in the courthouse rumor mill," Peter explained. "I haven?t heard anything about him," Nora said so resolutely he had to believe her. "If you want rumors, you ought to go to the Sunnyside Café." True enough. The Sunnyside was the best place in town to pick up gossip. If Evie Mazerik, the cashier, didn?t know what was going on, she knew who would know. But he hadn?t thought of Tony Viera as someone people at the Sunnyside might be talking about. He figured Tony had come to town to settle scores with Peter, who had left New York rather than continue to do business with Leo and his partners. If Viera had anything to do with Leo, the town?s legal authorities might be up on him. "Well, maybe I?ll mosey over to the Sunnyside," he said casually. "Would you do me a favor and let me know if you hear anything about this guy?" "Tony Viera?" She jotted his name on a notepad. "Because I?m worried about Diane, you know?" What little color was left in Nora?s cheeks faded. "You don?t suppose he had anything to do with the accident, do you?" "I don?t know. All I know is, Diane left the drugstore with him and hasn?t come back." Thoroughly shaken, Nora bit her lip. "I?ll let you know if I hear anything," she promised. "And you let me know if you hear anything." "I will. Take it easy, Nora." As he stepped out of the office he saw her reaching for her phone ? probably to call Diane at home and make sure she was safe. Peter hoped she was. He hoped he was, too. He didn?t know why he?d thought Nora might be any help, but she hadn?t been, and he remained as uneasy as ever. His gut was still telling him Tony Viera was trouble. Peter trusted his gut. Tony offered to drive Diane home, but her car was parked near the pharmacy, and she asked to be let off there. She could still taste him on her lips, still feel the erotic friction of his fingers caressing her neck, and the thought of walking away from him depressed her far more than it should have. She?d survived what could have been a tragedy. She?d eaten a picnic beneath the mild May sun and cruised around town with a handsome man. Why should she be depressed? She?d never wasted time yearning for things beyond her reach. But for the first time in her life, she wanted more than what she had. She wanted a tall, dark, handsome man to sweep her off her feet the way Tony had when she?d fainted. Even more, she wanted a tall, dark, handsome man to be swept off his feet by her. Maybe she was being greedy, wishing Tony would cover her hand with his before she left his car and say, "Yes, I want to have dinner with you. And afterwards, we can go back to Riverside Park and dance under the stars. And I?ll tell you all my dreams, and you?ll tell me yours." An idiotic fantasy. Maybe she was still a little lightheaded, her brain not functioning at full strength. She watched him drive away, his parting words echoing inside her: "What happened to you today was a miracle, Diane. Don?t ever forget it."

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He?d been talking about her coming through the accident with trivial injuries. And he was right; that was a miracle. But having experienced one miracle, she wanted another. She watched as that other miracle drove down the road and out of sight. *** Riverbend?s police station was around the block from the pharmacy. Tony could have walked there. But he?d had to get away from Diane before he lost his resolve and hauled her back into his arms. He couldn?t do that. He?d be gone from her life by tomorrow, and before he left, he?d be inflicting some unpleasantness on her close friend. He couldn?t risk having the sparks flying between him and Diane catch fire. If they did, she?d wind up burned. He entered the police station. Several officers stood behind the front desk, laughing at something one of them said. Tony approached the oldest of the group, a gray-haired man with a paunch. His uniform was neatly pressed, his badge polished. "Hi," Tony said, pulling out his detective shield and displaying it for the man. "I?m Tony Viera from the New York City Police Department." The man shook his hand in the way police officers greeted their brothers and sisters ? a warm, solid clasp. "Frank Garvey. What can I do for you?" Tony pocketed his shield. "I need to talk to a Riverbend local named Peter Linnett. His name came up in an investigation I?m conducting back home." "Peter?" Frank Garvey exchanged a surprised glance with the other officers standing near him. "What investigation?" "His father is a pharmacist," Tony continued. "We believe Peter may have put some people in touch with certain wholesale drug suppliers." "Drugs? Peter?" Garvey looked stunned. "Ritalin. It?s a hot new drug on college campuses. There?s a big business in illegal prescriptions, and I?ve got reason to believe Peter was in on some action during his time in New York. I need to talk to him. If I?m not satisfied with what he has to say, I?ll bring him back to New York with me. I?d prefer to avoid a formal extradition ?" Garvey shook his head. "Peter?s a good kid." "Lots of good kids make stupid mistakes. I?m hoping that?s all this is, but we?ve got people under indictment and they?ve named him. I?d like to do this quietly if I can. Can I count on your department for help if I need it?" "Sure," Garvey said, then added, "It?s going to break his father?s heart." "I?d rather not break anyone?s heart," Tony said, the words echoing inside his soul as he recalled Diane?s sad smile when she?d climbed out of his car. Something told him that by the time he left Riverbend, someone?s heart would be broken. Diane crossed the street and entered the courthouse. If anyone could pull her out of her funk, it was Nora.

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In fact, the instant she entered Nora?s office, her friend?s face transformed from pinched and pale to ecstatic. "You?re all right!" she yelled, leaping out of her chair and racing around her desk to hug Diane. "Oh, my God, Diane ? I?ve been trying to track you down! Are you okay? What happened to your hand?" "It?s just a scratch. Dr. Bennett got a little carried away," she said, laughing at the elaborate bandage. Nora stepped back, holding Diane at arm?s length and scrutinizing her carefully. "Are you sure you?re okay?" "I?m sure." "Good." Releasing her, Nora propped her hips against her desk and crossed her arms. "So who?s this guy from New York you?ve been running around with?" Diane felt her cheeks grow warm. "How did you know about him?" "Peter stopped by a few minutes ago. He wanted to know if I knew anything about Tony Viera. He implied that people in court might be talking about him. He isn?t a criminal, is he?" "Of course not!" Diane had no way of knowing that, actually. She knew so little about him. That Peter could imply such a thing unsettled her. He was more worldly than she was. Perhaps he?d sensed something about Tony, something she?d missed because she was so smitten with him. "I sent Peter over to the Sunnyside to see what they?re saying about him there. That place is gossip central," Nora said. "I don?t think they?ll be talking about him." Diane dropped into a chair as if her heart was weighing her down. "He only just arrived in town. He?s here on business." "What kind of business?" Security consulting? "I don?t know." "You were gallivanting around town with a complete stranger? Diane, that?s not like you. No wonder Peter was worried." "He has nothing to worry about. I?m perfectly fine." Bluer than the cloudless sky outside, but otherwise she was swell. "You know what?" Nora angled her head as she studied Diane. "I think Peter?s sweet on you." "Really?" "He was awfully worried about your spending time with this Viera fellow. I think he?s jealous." Diane shook her head. Someday she?d be willing to entertain the possibility, but not now. "I?ve known Peter forever. I?d know if he had those kinds of feelings for me." "Would you?" Diane?s head ached from thinking too hard. She acknowledged that ever since Peter had returned to Riverbend, he?d seemed different to her, altered by his time in the big city. His eyes didn?t sparkle the way they used to; his laughter didn?t come so easily. When she asked him about New York, all he said was that he was happy to be home. But he didn?t seem happy.

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He wasn?t the person he used to be. How would she know if his feelings for her had changed, taking a romantic turn? "If he?s carrying a torch for me, he and I ought to talk about it," she said. Any other time, she might have found the idea interesting. But not today, not after she?d kissed Tony. "I should go find him." She pushed herself to her feet. "Wait! Aren?t you going to tell me more about Tony?" "There?s nothing to tell," Diane insisted, unable to keep her sorrow out of her voice. "He?s the sexiest man I?ve ever met. But he?s ? well, a New Yorker. He?d never even seen a grain elevator before today." "So that?s what you were doing with him? Showing him the grain elevator?" Nora chuckled. "I gave him an education," Diane said, thinking that with one kiss he?d given her an education, too. "I should let you get back to work." "I?m glad you stopped by." Nora pushed away from the desk and gave Diane another hug. "Please be careful. Cross at the corner." "I will." She left the courthouse, exiting through the side door near Nora?s office. Sunlight slanted against the shops lining the eastern edge of Courthouse Square. She headed toward the Sunnyside Café, thinking to find Peter there. Spotting him and Tony outside the café, she halted. Peter was frowning, shaking his head, backing a step away. He turned as if to run, and Tony grabbed his arm and pulled him toward his rental car. He nudged him down onto the passenger seat, slammed the door, got in behind the wheel and tore away, driving much faster than anyone ever drove around the square. Security consultant? Or something more sinister? Peter had been worried about her. Now she was worried about him. Tony could have taken Peter to the police station for questioning, but he decided not to. In a small town like Riverbend, where everyone knew everyone else, the cops might interfere with him, protecting their local boy. Sure, police officers were family; they watched each other?s backs. But something told him Riverbend was an even closer family, where loyalty to a hometown kid might be stronger than loyalty to a fellow officer ? especially one from New York. He headed for the grain elevator. It had been quiet there ? he supposed there wasn?t much action at the site until the farmers had grain to put into the place ? and remote enough that no one would see Peter talking to him. If he could make this whole thing easier on Peter, he would. Funny, back in New York, he?d never cared much about making things easier for the people he brought in for questioning. Here he did. Was it the calming influence of Riverbend? The peaceful atmosphere? The genuine decency that seemed to radiate from everyone he?d met? Or was it Diane? Peter was her friend. If Tony made life hard for the kid, Diane would be upset. He couldn?t imagine why that possibility gnawed at him. He was going to finish his business with Peter, one way or the other, and leave town. He?d never see Diane again.

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That understanding caused an ache in the pit of his stomach. He pulled into the parking area beside the towering storage elevator, yanked on the brake and turned off the engine. Silence wrapped around the car. Tony shifted in his seat, feeling his gun press against his hip where he?d tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. He?d taken it from the glove compartment before going after Peter, just in case. Peter slouched beside him in the seat Diane had occupied not long ago. He tried hard to look indifferent, but Tony could tell he was scared. Scared people sometimes resorted to desperate acts. He was glad he had his gun handy. "I need to talk to you about a former associate of yours in New York City. Leo Crowley. Does the name ring a bell?" Peter scowled. "No." "Let?s not play games, Peter. Leo?s fingered you. You can help yourself by helping me." "Never heard of him." Peter eyed Tony out the corner of his eye. "What?s a big-city cop doing bugging people in Riverbend, anyway? You don?t belong here any more than I belonged in New York." "Maybe you didn?t belong in New York. But while you were there you crossed a few lines. Let?s work it out, okay? I know Leo was the brains behind this racket. He told me you put him in touch with suppliers you knew about through you father. That makes you a part of Leo?s operation." "I?m not saying another word," Peter snapped. "I know my rights. I want a lawyer." "You haven?t been charged with anything," Tony pointed out, keeping his tone low and level, as unthreatening as he could. "What do you need a lawyer for?" Peter eyed him suspiciously. "What did Diane tell you?" Tony held onto an impassive expression. "What do you think she told me?" he asked. "You were out with her half the day. Were you pumping her for information about me?" Again, Tony gave nothing away. "What do you think?" "She doesn?t know anything about my time in New York. She?s just ? you know, she?s my friend. If you dragged her into anything ?" "What might I have dragged her into? Tell me, Peter." Peter seemed to struggle. He raked a hand through his wheat-colored hair and glanced away. In the distance, Tony heard the faint rumble of an approaching car. Damn. Peter seemed on the verge of cracking open ? but someone was coming. Some Riverbend farmer who wanted to check on the grain elevator? One of Frank Garvey?s men who wanted to complain about Tony?s unorthodox way of conducting an interview? He glanced in his rearview mirror. As the car drew nearer, its driver grew more visible. Diane had found them...

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"What are you doing?" Diane yelled, bursting from her car and storming over Tony. Her bandage flashed white as she waved her hand at him. "Tony, why did you drag Peter off like ? like you were kidnapping him?" Tony sighed. He should have kept his window shut, but he?d been afraid the car would get too stuffy, and besides, he sort of liked that dirt fragrance. And anyway, even if his window were closed, he wouldn?t have been able to ignore Diane. How could anyone ignore a woman with so much spirit burning in her eyes, so much passion fueling her? He shouldn?t have kissed her ? because kissing her only reminded him of how deep her passion ran. "Go away, Diane," Peter muttered, gazing straight ahead. "I want to know what?s going on." She planted her hands on her hips and glowered at Tony. He twisted in his seat so he wouldn?t get a stiff neck trying to look at her. "Really, Diane, it would be better if you ?" She gasped and her cheeks paled. "You have a gun," she whispered. When he?d shifted in his seat, his jacket had pulled open and she could see the butt of his service revolver curving over the edge of his jeans. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I have a gun." She swallowed and inched back a step. "Did ? did you have that all day, when you were ? when we ?" "I didn?t have it on me then, no," he assured her, wishing he didn?t feel waves of fear and hatred emanating from her. "What ?" she swallowed again " ? what are you planning to do with it?" "Nothing." "Diane, please." At last Peter glanced at her. His eyes looked hollow to Tony, his mouth set in a scowl of resignation. "Go away. He?s right ? it would be better if you just left us alone." "He?s from New York City. Did you know each other there?" Diane?s eyes flickered between the two of them. "Did you do something there, Peter? Are you in some kind of trouble with Tony?" "Not the way you think," Tony said. "You don?t know what I think." Diane pressed her fingertips to her mouth, as if she was remembering their kiss and regretting it, regretting it for reasons quite different from Tony?s. "He?s a police detective," Peter snapped, obviously impatient with the long silence between them. "He?s come here to arrest me. Okay?" "Not necessarily," Tony muttered, but his words didn?t register on Diane. "Arrest you? Why?" Peter snorted. "Why do you think? I screwed up in New York. Now I?m in big trouble. And you?re only making it worse." Once again her eyes flickered between the two men. She fell back another step, and another, her hand once again pressed to her mouth. "How could you?" she breathed.

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She might have been addressing Peter. But as Tony watched her spin away and run back to her car, climb in, U-turn and tear down the road, back to town, he felt her words resonating inside him, cruel and angry. If Peter had betrayed her trust, Tony had betrayed it worse ? even though he wasn?t sure how he had. All he knew was that she hated him. That realization hurt more than a bullet to the heart. By the time Diane reached town, she felt dampness on her cheeks. She hadn?t even realized she was crying. But the shock of seeing that gun tucked into Tony?s jeans... and hearing Peter all but confess that he?d broken the law in New York... and worst of all, understanding that she?d spent hours with Tony, sensing a true connection between them, kissing him and wishing they could do more than kiss... The whole time, he?d been scheming to arrest Peter. He?d told her he was a security consultant. What a lie! The only reason he?d taken any interest in her was to get to Peter. He?d probably been waiting to nab Peter outside the pharmacy when she?d collided with Mitch Sterling?s van. Maybe he?d suffered a twinge of genuine concern for her after the accident ? but once Dr. Bennett had taken care of her, he?d probably stayed with her only because she was Peter?s friend, a means to an end. Some of her tears came from the appalling knowledge that Peter might have been involved in something illegal in New York. He?d never broken any laws in Riverbend, other than the usual ? sneaking a beer at a high school party, driving too fast on the county roads. Nothing bad enough to cause a policeman with a gun to travel halfway across the country to find him. What could he have done in New York? Why? She pulled into a parking space near the pharmacy and dried her eyes. Should she tell Stan what was going on? It might kill him. On the other hand, he might be worried about where Peter was. True, Peter was less than reliable at the store. He clearly didn?t want to be working there, but was helping out only on a temporary basis. Diane wasn?t sure she had the nerve to tell Stan his son was right that minute in the custody of a New York City detective ? one who?d duped Diane into believing he cared about her. Sighing, she opened her door just as Charlie Callahan emerged from the real estate office next door to the pharmacy. He saw her and jogged over. "Hey, Diane! I heard about your accident!" One thing about living in a town like Riverbend: everyone knew everyone?s business. "I?m fine," she said for the zillionth time that day. "I heard about it over at the Sunnyside. Evie Mazerik was telling everybody." Diane managed a limp smile. "As you can see, I survived." "I think you should sue the pants off Mitch." Charlie grinned when he said that. He and Mitch were good friends. A few years older than Diane, they?d been buddies for as long as she and Peter had been buddies. "I?m not going to sue anyone," she insisted. "Are you buying a new house?"

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He glanced over his shoulder at the real estate office and shook his head. "They?ve got a listing for the Dixon place, up on Madison. It needs some fixing up, so I put in a bid." A carpenter, Charlie did a lot of renovation work. "I?ve got to run, but listen ? stay out of Mitch?s way, okay? You know he?s a maniac behind the wheel." One thing Mitch Sterling wasn?t was a maniac, which was why she laughed at Charlie?s warning and waved him off. Once he was gone, she lost her grin. She?d never sue Mitch for an accident that was completely her fault...but mentioning the suit made her think about lawyers. Peter was going to need one. He needed to fight Tony. Because she adored Peter ? and because Tony had deceived her ? Diane had little difficulty choosing sides in this war. Peter was scared. Not of Tony so much, but of Leo and his associates back in New York. It seemed pretty clear that Peter could let himself off the hook if he testified against Leo and those guys, but...hell. They were dangerous. "What we?ll do is set up a conference call with the assistant D.A. back in New York," Tony was saying as he drove back to town. "She?ll take your statement, and we?ll work out a deal." He made it sound so simple. But it wasn?t. When Peter had first heard about some university students looking to buy Ritalin, he?d thought it was a joke. Ritalin was for schoolchildren with attention deficit disorder. It was a prescription drug, but so common he couldn?t believe the students were actually willing to pay big bucks for it. When he?d gone home to Riverbend for Christmas one year, he?d picked up some forms and internet codes his father used to place orders with his suppliers and brought them back to New York with him. One of the students was Leo ? only it had turned out he wasn?t really a student. What Peter had intended only as a favor ? an extremely stupid one ? for a couple of college kids, had gotten him tangled up with some professionals. They?d paid him well, but they?d also frightened him. He hadn?t meant to get involved in criminal activity. He?d thought that by leaving the city he could escape the whole thing. He?d live in boring Riverbend and behave himself, and no one would ever have to know about the idiotic thing he?d done. He?d never expected a police detective to come after him. "What kind of deal?" he asked warily. "Probation, probably," Tony said. "You?re a small fish, Peter. It?s the big guys we want to put away." Peter wasn?t sure if he should take that as a compliment or an insult. "If I get probation, do I have to go back to New York?" "I doubt it. We can set you up with a probation officer here in Riverbend. Maybe Frank Garvey could monitor you. He doesn?t seem like such a bad guy." Peter snorted. Frank Garvey was the old guard, gruff and set in his ways. Still, it would be better to have Garvey breathing down his neck than to return to New York, where Leo had lots of friends. Tony parked outside the police station, and Peter stopped him before he could leave the car. "Can I ask you a question?" "Sure." "What?s going on with you and Diane?"

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Tony eyed him carefully. "What makes you think there?s something going on?" "I know Diane." He sighed. "Look, I may be a screw-up, but if you did anything to her ?" Tony waited, and when the threat hung unfinished, he said, "I didn?t do anything to her." "You were with her all day, and she sure looked upset when she found us by the grain elevator. If you did anything to her, I swear I?ll make you pay." The way Tony looked at him, his eyes hardening, his mouth clenching, Peter knew he?d hit a nerve. Something had happened between this New York cop and a woman who?d never done a bad thing in her life. Diane had a soft heart. She could survive getting hit by a car better than getting conned by a good-looking guy. If Tony had hurt her...yes, Peter would make him pay. Tony found Diane at the place by the river where he?d kissed her. He?d known she would be there, and he?d found his way to the spot as if radar had guided him. Riverbend was actually a pretty easy town to get around. The streets were laid out in a logical order, just like in Manhattan, but there were fewer cars, and the drivers didn?t seem quite so homicidal. People were friendly. If he hadn?t been able to find the place, he suspected he could have described it to someone ?"there are a few big trees, I don?t know what kind they are, and some wild grass with flowering weeds, all colorful, and some large rocks, and it?s maybe a mile from the grain elevator" ? and the person could have directed him to this exact spot. But he hadn?t needed directions. He?d known instinctively, as if he were a Riverbend native. Stupid thought. He?d never feel at home in such a peaceful place, where dirt smelled clean and the sunset painted the sky with streaks of pink and red and lavender. She was perched on one of the rocks by the water?s edge, staring at the river. If she heard his car she didn?t indicate it. He got out, tramped through the high grass and settled onto a larger rock beside hers. He tried not to remember how good it had felt to kiss her. He?d come to apologize, not to make things worse. "Peter?s going to be okay," he said. She didn?t look at him. "Peter needs a lawyer. I called Nick Harrison ? he?s an attorney here in town ? but I can?t afford him. Do you know what lawyers cost?" "Less here than in New York, I?ll bet." "It?s not fair. You took advantage of Peter. If he?d had a lawyer ?" "Peter made a big mistake. His punishment isn?t so bad, considering." He was surprised that Peter?s future was all Diane cared about. If Tony had hurt her feelings, it didn?t seem to matter to her. She was worried only about her friend. "Are you going to throw him in jail?" Tony allowed himself a wry laugh. "It?s not my job to throw people in jail. Only judges and juries can do that."

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"Thanks for the civics lesson." Her tone was bitter. "I?ll rephrase the question: is he going to jail?" "Not if I can help it. I think the assistant D.A. is with me on this." "Great. Am I supposed to thank you?" Her sarcasm implied that Tony had hurt her, and that it did matter. A heaviness settled in his chest, an ache the beautiful scenery couldn?t overcome. He listened to the chirping of crickets, the whisper of the river flowing slowly past them, the haunting sigh of a breeze through the grass. This place was so beautiful... And Diane was even more beautiful. The wind played through her hair, and he longed to weave his fingers through it, to ease the tangles, to tip her face to his and kiss her. "Diane, look, I ?" "You used me," she muttered. "No." "You knew I was close to Peter, so you befriended me." "I befriended you because..." "Why?" She turned to him, her eyes luminous in the fading light. "Because I couldn?t help myself," he said. "Because I can?t." Then he did what he longed to do, what he had to do. He slid his hands deep into her hair and kissed her... Diane didn't want Tony's kiss. She wanted it too much. She knew that the instant his lips covered hers she'd be lost. Despite his having tricked her, lied to her, used her-she couldn't resist him. She wished she could, but she wasn't that strong. As he dug his fingers into her hair, she reached up and cupped his cheek. His jaw was scratchy with a day's growth of beard, and his skin was warm. Her touch caused him to sigh, which caused her to sigh, and when she did he took her mouth with his tongue. She tried to cling to her memory of what he'd done to Peter, what Peter had done to himself. She tried to stay focused on all the bad things that had happened that day, from her accident through this moment, but her resolve melted as easily as butter on a hot stove. She tried to remember that Tony Viera wasn't from Riverbend, would never remain in Riverbend, didn't belong in Riverbend-but his kiss, his hand sliding down her shoulder to her back, pulling her from her rock into his lap, his breath merging with hers and his body growing hard beneath her made it impossible to think about anything but how much she desired him. He tore his mouth from hers and kissed the tip of her nose, each closed eye, her forehead. Tucking her head against his shoulder, he brushed his lips against the soft waves of hair at the crown of her head. "I want you," he whispered. "You're leaving town." "Not yet." His voice was a hoarse rasp of sound, edged with hunger and need. It turned her on as much his kiss, his touch, the solid wall of his chest against her, the sheer masculinity of him.

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"But you are leaving." She said it firmly, a stern reminder to herself that what he was asking for could only lead to sorrow. "I can't even think about leaving," he swore. "I didn't use you, Diane. I'd never use you. I protected your friend as best I could. And now?no. I could never use you. You're too sweet. Too good. Too decent." "If I'm so decent, why am I kissing you?" she asked with a wry laugh. "Because you know I'm a decent man," he answered. "I'm not sweet, and it's not up to me to say I'm good. But I'm decent. I don't use people." He cupped his hand under her chin, urging her to look at him. "I could have left this evening. My work is done here. But I can't leave, because I want to be with you." He brushed his lips lightly over hers. "I want to be with you, Diane. Let me." If she said yes, she would regret it tomorrow and the next day, and the rest of her life. Tony was going to leave. And she'd remain in Riverbend without him. But her heart overruled her mind. "Yes," she said. "Your house is like you," Tony said. He lay across her bed, long and lean and naked. He had made love to Diane slowly, tenderly, with such exquisite sensitivity that she couldn't bear to think of what her life was going to be like once he was gone. At least she had tonight. She would hold her memory of it forever. That would have to be enough. "How is my house like me?" she asked, cuddling against him, her head cushioned by his upper arm and her hand resting against his chest, tracing dark hair that grew there. He sighed and held her hand steady, as if her light caresses were too powerfully distracting. Through the diaphanous curtains, the sky had turned from dusk to dark. She ought to have been hungry ? and she was, but not for food. Only for Tony. "It's like you because it's...honest," he said after mulling over his thoughts. "I was going to say it's simple, but you're not simple. You're unpretentious and wholesome and honest. Like this house." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. "I feel peaceful here. I've never felt this peaceful before." She leaned back so she could see him. In the dim evening light, his face was a sculpture of hard lines and angles ? but his eyes were smiling. And his mouth. Even his body felt peaceful beneath hers, his heartbeat strong and steady. "Don't you feel peaceful in New York?" He let out a laugh. "New York is about adrenaline," he said. "It's not about being able to lie so still you lose all sense of yourself." He shifted her hand in his so he could kiss her fingertips. "All I feel is you, Diane. All I hear and see and know is you. It's as if nothing else exists." She could tell he was struggling to describe the sensation, but she understood what he meant. The world outside her tiny house was tranquil. Her bedroom was filled with solid, basic furniture, and a big bouquet of wildflowers sat in a vase on her dresser. Photos of her family were wedged into the mirror frame, and she had made the braided rugs herself. Her house was like her, filled with peace and love. He moved out from under her and shifted onto his side facing her, his eyes darker than the night sky beyond her window. "I know you're worried about Peter, but I did the best I could for him," he said. The sudden change of subject, and his solemn tone, took her aback. "I'm sure you did."

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"He could have gone to jail for what he did." Tony stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "Even if I hadn't met you, Diane, I would have done what I could to keep him out of jail. He made a mistake, but everyone deserves a second chance." "I agree," she said cautiously, not sure where he was going with this. "I don't want you to hate me for coming to Riverbend." "Hate you?" She might hate him after he left, but not now. "Because ? God, I can't believe I'm saying this, but... I like it here, Diane. I like the smell of the dirt." He sounded so earnest she had to laugh. "I like the calmness. I like the way the river looks so clean and fresh, and everyone seems to know each other." "That's Riverbend." "I want to stay." His words were so unexpected, she was sure she'd misheard him. "What?" "I want to stay in Riverbend." "Why?" "Not just because it smells good and the crickets sound pretty, and because everyone I meet treats me with respect." He leaned toward her and touched his lips to her forehead. "The police force is small, but maybe they could use another detective. I'm experienced, I'm skilled, and I'd accept a cut in pay." "You'd want to work here?" "I want to be here." He leaned forward and pressed her mouth with a kiss. "You're here." "It's not New York." He grinned. "Don't I know it." His smile faded as he studied her face. "Say something." It was her turn to lean toward him, to take his mouth with hers and kiss away all his doubts. "Stay," she said. His face broke into a smile. "You want to settle down and raise some kids in this quiet little town?" She caught his smile and returned it. "That was my general plan." "Do you think those kids would make fun of their old man if he had a New York accent?" "I think ?" her smile softened and her heart swelled " ? that if you were their old man, those kids would be the luckiest kids in the world." "In that case," he whispered, kissing her once more, kissing her deeply, wrapping his arms and legs around her and holding her tight, "I'll stay."

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The Greek Tycoon's Baby by Lynne Graham Leos wants Susie to become his mistress ? again! Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| 9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14| 15| 16| 17| 18| 19| 20| DAY ONE: MONDAY When the stretch limo pulled up outside, the executives waiting in the foyer fell silent. The new owner of Devlin Systems, the Greek multimillionaire, Leos Kiriakos, had arrived. His ruthless reputation had preceded him and the tension was electric. Everyone was expecting a huge round of redundancies by the end of the month. Susie Marshall, the slender redhead on reception, was pale as death, her entire concentration centered on the entrance doors being swept open. In just seconds, she would see him for the first time in fourteen long, endless months... Her co-worker, Jayne, a chatty blonde, whispered, "Bet he?s not anything as attractive as his publicity photos!" Susie snatched in an unsteady breath and clenched her hands tightly together. From the instant Leos Kiriakos had added Devlin Systems to his global business empire, nobody had been interested in talking about anything else. Frantically trying to calculate how to avoid being seen by Leos when she had the misfortune to work on the front desk had run Susie?s nerves ragged. "In fact, it?s my bet that below chin level, our Leos will be short and round, and about as sexy as a sockswash!" Jayne said ruefully. In immediate contradiction of that forecast, a male who was an easy six foot four inches tall strode in. With his wide shoulders, lean hips and long powerful legs, he had the well-honed physique of a natural athlete. From the crown of his proud dark head to the soles of his hand-made shoes, he was, by any standard, spectacular. "I have just died and gone to heaven...." Jayne swore as the executives engulfed Leos Kiriakos, desperate to make a good first impression. "Drop dead gorgeous and loaded!" "Yes..." Susie mumbled shakily, unable to drag her eyes from those bold, bronzed features. She was dizzy with a longing that shamed her, for the bitter-sweet memory of the last night she had spent in Leos?s arms now felt like a guilty secret. While Leos appeared fully occupied, Susie left the desk and headed for the cloakroom, intending to stay there until the coast was clear. "Susie...?" In shock, she froze in her tracks, the startling intervention of that rich, dark voice on a clear and rising question so horrifically unexpected, she almost died right there and then. Slowly, she turned. The men surrounding Leos had parted like the Red Sea. Heart racing so fast she was afraid she would faint, Susie collided with glittering tawny-golden eyes set between black, spiky lashes. Having initially moved forward, Leos stilled and moved an authorative hand to indicate that she should come to him. His lean, strong face was as hard as granite. "You work here?" Leos enquired grimly.

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Painfully conscious that they were now the focus of astonished stares and surrounded by total silence, Susie nodded jerkily. "In what capacity?" His fabulous bone structure was taut, the long-lashed brilliance of his eyes raking over her like slashing shards of ice. "I?m on reception." Susie practically whispered. His aggressive jawline squared. With a bleak nod of dismissal, Leos swung away from her ? again. DAY TWO: TUESDAY Susie peered at her still-swollen eyes in the vanity mirror and suppressed a groan. She had not slept the night before. A plaintive cry sent her whirling round. Across the room, her baby son was clutching his crib bars in frustration. His toy keys had fallen to the carpet. As she restored the ring to his tiny grasping hand, she smiled as his cross little face cleared like magic. Ben was six months old. He had silky dark curls, huge melting brown eyes and dimples. His features were still rounded and indistinct but he already bore a marked resemblance to his father in hair, skin, and eye colour, Susie conceded wretchedly. And there was no denying that she was wretched. Only yesterday, Leos had looked at her with icy hostility. His attitude had really hurt. But then, she and Leos had not parted the best of friends and the pain of that cruel severance remained, biting deepest whenever she looked at the son she adored. Coping as a single parent had not been easy. Her brother David, who worked abroad, allowed her to live rent-free in his apartment. Without his generosity, she would have been forced to live on welfare. Having Ben cared for in the Devlin Systems day care swallowed half of her salary. What was left over would not stretch to paying a London rent and living expenses as well. On the bus to work, Susie thought back uneasily to Jayne?s reaction to what she had witnessed. "Well, you?ve certainly been a dark horse," Jayne had sniped. "Why didn?t you say that you actually knew Leos Kiriakos?" So Susie had told part of the truth but not the whole. Although she had a business degree, she?d been working as an office temp when she first met Leos Kiriakos. While he was over on London on business, flu had laid low two of his personal staff. Susie had arrived at his hotel suite, proud to have got the opportunity but secretly quaking in her shoes. She had fallen in love at first sight of his breathtaking smile. In a split second, he had gone from being the intimidating and powerful Greek tycoon, whom she wanted to impress with her efficiency, to being simply the man of her dreams. When Leos had asked her out to dinner, she had been overjoyed. Six weeks of ecstatic happiness followed before everything began to go wrong... Susie hurried into the Devlin Systems building and left Ben in the ground floor nursery. As always, leaving him was a wrench. And like every other employee using the excellent childcare facility, she was anxiously wondering whether Leos Kiriakos would keep such a staff luxury. When she arrived at reception, Jayne pushed a sheet of paper toward her. "Looks like you?re on the way up..." Susie frowned. "What?s this?"

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"Personnel sent it down. You have an interview with Leos Kiriakos tomorrow afternoon." Jayne?s envy was unconcealed. "You must have made quite an impression the last time you worked for him..." DAY THREE: WEDNESDAY At ten to three the next day, Susie presented herself on the top floor, dressed in a dark-green skirt suit, with a longer-length jacket, her streaky red-gold curls caught up in a clip, her emerald eyes were strained, the pallor marking her delicate features pronounced. Two sleepless nights in a row. She had lain awake fretting about whether or not Leos now knew that she had a child. Leos, who had once angrily given forth on the subject of a friend "trapped for the next 20 years by a pregnant woman on the make!" Had Leos looked at her personnel file? If he had, he would surely have found out that she had given birth to a premature baby, eight months after they broke up! She was sent straight down the corridor to the managing director?s office. Sick with nervous tension, she knocked on the door and entered. Leos was on the phone, his hard, chiseled profile intent. He indicated the chair set several feet from his desk and returned to his call. Susie sat down and tried to keep her hands steady. She tried crazily to recall what constituted defensive body language, for Leos was certain to know. As she watched him, an emotional pain that was almost physical held her taut. He had replaced her with another woman without telling her. But then there had been extenuating circumstances for his behavior. And the truth was, Susie had yet to get over her affair with Leos Kiriakos. "Sorry about that." Pushing aside the phone, Leos sprang upright, emanating the megawatt energy that was so much a part of him. "Stop looking at me like a scared little mouse, Susie. I didn?t bring you up here either to sack you or abuse you. Believe it or not, I can take having been dumped without behaving like Neanderthal man!" Was this the guy who had growled down the phone at her 14 months ago, "no woman dumps me!" Connecting with eyes of stunning tawny-gold clarity set below level ebony brows, Susie was mesmerized, her heart hammering, her bewildered mind blank. Fortunately Leos was still talking, his rich-accented drawl like evocative long-missed music on her ears. "I need a social secretary for the next month." Lithe as a jungle cat, Leos strolled over to the tinted windows. "You?re quick, you?re clever. You don?t irritate the hell out of me with stupid questions. When I move on from here, you?ll be an executive assistant on the management team." Disconcerted by his every word, Susie just sank deeper into shock. Clearly, she had been over-sensitive on the day of his arrival, mistaking his natural surprise at seeing her as hostility. "Social s-secretary?" Leos quoted a salary that made her head spin and then glanced at his gold watch with impatience. "If you want the position it?s yours and you start tomorrow. We?ll discuss your duties then. I?m rather pushed for time today." "I?ll take it..." she heard herself say, even though his quite shattering indifference to their former relationship pierced her like a knife.... DAY FOUR: THURSDAY MORNING Leos was chairing a board meeting when Susie arrived.

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Nervous as a cat on hot bricks, she organized the small office allotted to her. Finally, the phone rang and she was summoned into the boardroom. Leos immediately stood up, provoking a noisy thrusting back of seats as the all-male management team surged to emulate his good manners. "Not only has Miss Marshall a topflight marketing degree, but she is also fluent in French and Spanish," Leos said, disconcerting Susie a great deal with that introduction. "What was she doing down on reception?" Looking aghast, the personnel manager froze. "A business that fails to place promising staff in a key position is wasteful." Leos delivered. "I have also taken note of the fact that there are no female managers, an extraordinary achievement in a firm this size." On that thought for the day, Leos closed the meeting. Suddenly, Susie understood that there had been nothing personal about his decision to promote her. He had simply used her to highlight his lecture about equal opportunities! A confusing mixture of reluctant admiration, pain and resentment assailed her. A vision of masculine sophistication in a superb gray business suit, Leos showed Susie into his office. "Last month Devlin Systems settled two charges of sexual discrimination out of court. There will not be a third ?" "I thought you didn?t approve of working women ?" Leos raised a brow. "You were the first working woman I took to my bed and you were often unavailable when I wanted you. What I seek for my own satisfaction in my private life has no relation to my opinions as an employer." Hotly flushed in receipt of that blunt clarification, Susie tore her gaze from his and regretted her own overfamiliar comment. All those months ago, she had only actually worked for Leos for three days before their passionate affair began and she had moved on to another agency placement. "I have a long list of tasks for you," Leos continued without skipping a beat, the heavy silence not seeming to disturb him in the slightest. But then, she already knew that he did not have a sensitive bone in his body, didn?t she? Everything Leos did merely emphasized that she had never been more than a casual bed partner ? on his terms. Her throat convulsed with tears. He extended an audiotape to her. "It?s all on here. First, you send out the invitations to the dinner party. Then you can nip over to Bond Street and choose a bracelet for Brigitte. I?ll fill in the gift card." Powered by a near-agonizing sense of humiliation and pain, Susie lifted her head, green eyes alight with outrage. "You are asking me to choose jewelry for your current lover?? she exclaimed and flung the tape back at his feet. "You call that work? I call it victimization and revenge. Burn in hell, Leos!? Leos studied her with incredulous tawny eyes. "I hate you...I really hate you! You were the biggest mistake I ever made in my whole life!" And on that embittered declaration, Susie stalked out.... DAY FOUR: THURSDAY AFTERNOON An hour later, Susie?s tumultuous emotions calmed enough for her to slowly fill with horror at her own behavior.

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She had spent 10 minutes silently sobbing in the cloakroom, 20 minutes trying to pull herself back together and the subsequent 30 minutes hugging Ben in the day care. Ben, whose comfort and security were dependant on her success in the job market. Ben, whose mother had just lost her foolish head and screamed like a shrew at a monstrously insensitive male. Ben, whose mother now had to eat humble pie for his sake. Back on the top floor, Susie knocked on Leos?s office door with a hand she couldn?t keep steady. Infuriated with herself, she whirled back flat against the wall and breathed in deeply before going in. Lounging back in his desk chair, Leos surveyed her, his lean, powerful face unreadable. "I owe you an apology. I don?t know what came over me." Susie attempted to look through him rather than at him. "I have a very good idea what came over you," Leos drawled softly. "Naturally, I?m willing to carry out whatever duties the job entails," Susie stated hurriedly, to avoid him passing an opinion on what had provoked her. "Including shopping for the woman in my life?" Leos inquired even more silkily. Susie shivered and her hands knotted into fists. She didn?t argue but she couldn?t force out a word of agreement. "To think that while we were together I never once saw that temper." Narrowed tawny eyes were pinned to her with laser light intensity. "You were hysterical earlier." "And offensive. I?m sorry," she told him tightly. "It won?t happen again." "Brigitte is my brother?s wife. The dinner party is to celebrate her birthday...." Leos watched the tide of pink mortification sweep up over Susie?s complexion. But her relief was so intense at that news, it outweighed her embarrassment. Involuntarily, she met his eyes. His wide, passionate mouth curved into a slow, burning smile and her willpower went into free fall, allowing disturbingly intimate memories to surface: Leos kissing her with driving hunger, sending her out of control with excitement. Heat consumed her entire skin surface. She trembled, heartbeat speeding, pulses racing in concert, as she felt her treacherous body respond as it had always done to his potent sexuality. And then she recalled the angry, half-naked blonde she had found in his apartment 14 months back. It had been her own fault, rushing over there without an invitation, finally making use of the key he had given her ? wanting to surprise him ? mercifully failing to do so. Fortunately, Leos had already gone, but his blonde bombshell hadn?t got around to putting her clothes back on. That humiliating memory doused the wanton heat inside her as efficiently as a bucket of ice water. "Susie...?" Leos questioned almost roughly. Susie wrenched her shamed gaze from him. "Am I still working for you?" "The tape?s in your office, along with an address book. There?s a pile of correspondence to take care of as well. I?ll be out of the office until Monday..." DAY FIVE: FRIDAY

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Susie went to work, reminding herself that Leos would only be at Devlin Systems for a further three weeks. Almost a week had gone already and he still had no idea that she had a child. Why should he find out? Who, after all, would choose to comment on the fact? The day before, Susie had kept on endlessly replaying the latest audiotape just to listen to Leos?s dark, deep, accented drawl. She had learnt that he had recently bought a house in London and that she was to organize his dinner party. The caterers were already booked but Susie had to see them to organize the finer details. Ruefully wondering why Leos?s efficient Greek manservant, Stamatis, was not taking care of such domestic matters for him. Susie?s increasingly confused and pained thoughts inevitably took her back nearly 18 months. She had fallen for Leos Kiriakos like a ton of bricks and had counted no costs when he became her first lover. She had known that Leos had a fast reputation with women. Gorgeous, wealthy, dazzlingly successful and then only 29 years old, Leos had had the world at his feet. However, what hurt Susie most was acknowledging that she could not entirely blame Leos for getting tired of her.... A few weeks into their magical, romantic affair, her mother had died suddenly. In every way possible, Leos had been supportive. However, Susie had changed into a moody misery. What male wanted to deal with such problems after a mere few weeks? Naturally, Leos had got fed up, but her dependency on him had made it difficult for him to ditch her, so he had let their relationship drift, doubtless hoping that she would get the message on her own. Unfortunately, Susie recalled, drifting back to the present with her eyes swimming with tears as she fed Ben in the day care over her lunch hour, the first and only message she had received had been the half-naked blonde. Dumping Leos on the phone that same day had been a pitiful attempt to save face, for she hadn?t mentioned her humiliating encounter with her replacement. Late that afternoon an elegant, vivacious brunette strolled into Susie?s office. "I?m Alisha James. Get hold of Leos for me and inform him that I?m free this weekend after all." A sultry smile curved her ripe mouth. "Tell him I have the most divine ideas for his bedroom!" Susie reddened, striving to keep her friendly smile in place. "I?m afraid I only have access to a message service. I don?t know where Mr. Kiriakos is, but I?ll try to find out." Alisha laughed throatily. "No need. When Leos gets the message ? and don?t you dare change a word of it ? he?ll know where to find me waiting." As the brunette departed, Susie dialed Leos?s message service, loathing him and the position he had put her in with bitter, angry pain. She passed on Alisha?s provocative invitation, and then tormenting, humiliating jealousy flooded her and she said with artificial brightness to punish herself, "have a great weekend!" DAY EIGHT: MONDAY MORNING Susie had spent the weekend in torment at the idea of what Leos might be doing with Alisha James. Ashamed at the emotional turmoil that had destroyed her ability to sleep a single night through and utterly exhausted, Susie arrived at work. She was so angry with herself. Plenty of women had their hearts broken and got on with their lives. Leos was giving her a terrific career opportunity. That was all she should be concentrating on. Entering her office, she was dismayed to find Leos waiting for her. Sheathed in a superb charcoal grey suit, lean strong face firm, he settled his dark eyes on her. She stilled. "Is there something wrong?"

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"Thee mou...it is well for you that I have had two days to cool down." Hard mouth compressed, jawline squared, Leos surveyed her in angry challenge. "How dare you leave such a message for me? That nonsense from Alisha crowned by your snide comment!" While now appreciating that Leos did not like provocative messages made through third parties, Susie could not comprehend how wishing him a great weekend could have acquired the label of "snide." "I don?t understand." "No...?" Derision glittered in his level gaze. "Do you honestly believe that I can?t recognise jealousy when I see and hear it?" Susie reddened fiercely. She was too honest to lie and too mortified to continue meeting his scrutiny. He had to think that either she was neurotically possessive or still madly keen on him. Perhaps, had he not hurt her so badly, or had she not given birth to his baby, she would have managed to wholly detach herself from their shared past. However, with Ben around, their affair was still very much a major event in her memory, even it is wasn?t in his. Without warning, Leos abandoned his confrontational stance. He reached down for her hand, thoroughly disconcerting her with that sudden switch in mood. "Susie...I didn?t intend to say that. I?m sorry." Susie stared down at the strong brown hand cradling hers, drawn by the warmth and solidarity of him but sent reeling by memories that tormented her. "That?s okay." "Let?s have lunch together and clear the air," he suggested. Lunch? Wildly conscious of the proximity of his lean, powerful physique, Susie trembled, torn by resentment and longing. If only it were that simple, she thought painfully. If only they could act like sane, civilized people. Evidently he was capable of that feat but, sadly, she was not. "There is no reason for us to be enemies," Leos continued. Really? For an insane instant, she wanted to scream back at him in denial. He had gone to bed with another woman while she still believed he was hers. She might have understood but she had not forgiven. "I?m sorry..." Susie eased free and backed away, exhaustion weighing her down. "I?ll be more comfortable if we stick to a working relationship." Shimmering, dark eyes held hers. The silence seethed. Leos inclined his dark head and strode out of her office.... DAY EIGHT: MONDAY AFTERNOON Susie stretched out a sleepy hand and felt something furry and unfamiliar. Extending her fingers she touched cool...leather? Her eyes opened on a startling view of Leos?s office. Leos strolled into the picture, all fluid grace and cool. Susie sat up on the leather sofa, hampered by the fake fur rug still wrapped round her. "What on earth ? ?" Leos shrugged "I found you asleep at your desk before lunch. I tried to wake you but you were well away ?" "You should have shaken me awake!" Bright hair tumbling loose round her shoulders, Susie fought free of the rug and stood up to look for her shoes. "For goodness sake, why did you bring me in here?"

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Leos frowned, "Where else could you sleep in comfort?" "But you must?ve carried me in..." Susie protested. "Who knows about this?" "Nobody. I sneaked you in." His charismatic smile tilted her heart on its axis and left her breathless. "Susie...you looked worn out this morning." "Nevertheless..." Attempting to disconnect from the magnetic charge of his tawny gaze, Susie combed her hair awkwardly with her fingers. "I feel such a mess ?" "I like your hair down...as you used to wear it." Leos moved closer. "It?s pretty, natural. I can see all the colors." Susie could feel his approach pulse through her every skin-cell. Her mouth was dry, her heart thumping. The atmosphere sizzled with sexual awareness. She quivered but her feet stayed put. Caught unprepared, brain still foggy with sleep, her barriers were down and she could not resist the dark force of his attraction, or her own craving for physical contact. Leos settled his hands on her taut shoulders. "I?m not into sexually harassing employees. So you choose whether or not to walk away ?" Susie gulped. "I ?" "But if you don?t walk away now, there?s no going back," Leos warned huskily. Meeting those brilliant eyes, she told herself it was a dream ? a dream from which she did not intend to awaken. He moved one hand to her spine and eased her closer. You?re not dreaming, you?re wide awake, Susie, her conscience shrieked against her will. But she heard herself mumble, "Just one kiss..." Leos folded her into his arms and knotted his fingers into her bright hair, satisfaction blazing in his smouldering gaze as he scanned her face. "You are bargaining with me...or yourself?" He didn?t wait for her reply and while she was still trying to fight herself, he brought his expert mouth down on hers. By that stage, weak with anticipation, she felt like a powder keg craving a flame. And whoosh...Leos did not disappoint. She burned with excitement and joy, wanting, needing to touch him, close her straining fingers into the thick silk of his hair, shape his arrogant dark head, settle her palms to his proud cheekbones, hold him tight. Hold him fast, never, ever let him go again... Leos lifted his head. "It?s almost six. We?ll have dinner...talk ?" "Almost six?" Susie exclaimed, tearing herself free and racing for the door. The day care shut at half-past five and she was late picking up Ben! DAY EIGHT: MONDAY EVENING Safely home again, Susie had just settled Ben for the night when the apartment doorbell sounded. Peering through the peephole, she saw Leos and panic gripped her. Too late she appreciated that running out on Leos without explanation had been even more stupid than kissing him again. Reminding herself that Ben rarely stirred after he went to sleep, she opened the door. "Why did you rush off like that?" Leos demanded, strong, dark features taut.

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Face burning, conflicting emotions tearing at her, Susie went into the sitting room ahead of him. "Regret... embarrassment ?" "No need for either... " A lean hand closed to her shoulder and turned her back to face him. His eyes sought hers. "I want you back, Susie." Shock held her still. With a slumberous sigh, Leos lifted a hand and gently ran a forefinger along the line of her full lower lip. "Why so surprised? You should know I don?t play games. What you see is what you get ?" "Is it really?" The question erupted from Susie and she whirled away from him, physical senses singing from his touch but her mind a stormy sea of bewilderment. "Does Alisha James know you?re here?" Leos released a rueful groan. "Where I go or what I do has nothing to do with my decorator ?" "Your... what?" "Alisha?s firm is decorating my house." Though the brunette evidently aspired to a more intimate connection with Leos then she had yet achieved, Susie was embarrassed at having made yet another false assumption. "Wrong... again." His lustrous eyes now bright with amusement, Leos studied Susie?s expression. "But who cares? I don?t. Right now, the only woman I want in my life is you ?" A jarring laugh escaped Susie. "You told me that once before ?" "I don?t understand your bitterness. You ditched me." Humor set aside, lean powerful face intent, Leos frowned. "Were you crying wolf when you did that? Was I supposed to run after you and try to change your mind?" "No ?" "It was a bad time for you because you?d lost your mother. But you slammed the door on what we had as if it meant nothing to you. I need you to explain why you did that." Susie?s eyes widened at his demand. Leos sounded so sincere. Possibly he was not aware that she had found that blonde in his apartment. But he was a clever guy; he had to have suspected that she had discovered his infidelity. "Why are you doing this to me?" Susie lifted up her chin. "Why are you acting innocent? Did you think I wouldn?t find out?" "Find... out... what?" Leos trailed out with exaggerated frustration. "You were two-timing me... and you know you were!" His fabulous bone structure clenched hard. "That?s a downright lie ?" "Oh, come on... I used that key you gave me for your apartment. A six-foot-tall blonde dressed in only her underwear walked out of your bedroom!"

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Susie recognized the exact moment Leos made the connection. He paled with anger beneath his bronzed skin. He breathed something raw in Greek and swinging on his heel, he strode back out of the hall. "If I stay here I?ll say much that I will live to regret!" DAY NINE: TUESDAY MORNING Leos phoned Susie at nine-thirty the next morning. "I won?t be in until later. But I?ve just remembered that I didn?t ask you to keep Wednesday evening free ?" "Why?" "The dinner party. You?ll be acting as my hostess," Leos informed her dryly. "Choice doesn?t come into it either, Susie. I want you there." "But I would prefer ?" "In your current capacity, it?s a reasonable request. If you want a working relationship, start treating me like your employer." At that pointed reminder, Susie?s cheeks flamed. She was seriously tempted to put her head down and cry. Last night, she had finally faced up to her emotional turmoil. Being around Leos was tearing her apart because she was still in love with him. Learning that Leos wanted her back was almost more than she could handle. A second chance, an insane little voice had whispered in the back of her mind, shaming and infuriating her ? for what could be more impossible in the current circumstances? Leos Kiriakos had not the faintest idea that she had given birth to his child! They had parted before she realized that she was pregnant. Even worse, that development could be laid almost exclusively at her own door. She had been grieving for her mother and had twice forgotten to take her contraceptive pills. Leos had then swept her off to Paris in the rather touching last-chance belief that a romantic weekend might magically dry her tears and cheer her up. Well, she hadn?t cheered up but she had spent the night in his arms. Ben had been conceived in Paris. Over her lunch hour, she and Ben made a mad dash out to the shops. As always, it was a struggle to steer the buggy through the crowds but Ben adored getting out and about. Back in the Devlin Systems building, Susie headed for the daycare. By the time she saw Leos standing by the elevators, it was too late to do anything but just attempt to walk on by with a jerky nod of acknowledgement. Ebony brows pleating at the sight of her pushing a buggy, Leos froze in surprise. Every scrap of color drained from Susie?s complexion. Time was moving in slow motion for her. An elevator arrived with a loud pinging noise. Leos was still staring. She saw his hesitation and then he forced her to a standstill by moving forward. "Where did you steal the baby from?" Her heart felt like it was hammering inside her throat, making it impossible for her to breathe. "The daycare... " "What daycare?" "Devlin Systems has a daycare... " "Has it really?" Leos frowned. "I wonder why I wasn?t shown it when I was getting the official tour."

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"It?s beside the cafeteria. I imagine people thought you might not be interested," Susie whispered shakily. "So who does the baby belong to?" Her own lifetime seemed to stretch in the silence which followed. Susie parted dry lips. "He?s... he?s mine." Leos studied her in stunned silence. Then his tawny eyes darkened with incredulous fury. "Thanks for telling me!" Without another word, he strode into the elevator... DAY NINE: TUESDAY AFTERNOON By the time Susie got back up to her office, the phone was ringing. It was Leos. "I want to see you in my office." Stiff with strain, Susie breathed in deep. Showdown-time had arrived, she conceded heavily. And if Leos?s instantaneous rage on the ground floor was anything to go by, she could only dread what was coming next. Could there have been a worse way for Leos discover that he was a father? Leos was by the window with a glass in his hand. He swung round, bold, bronzed features grim. "Why didn?t you just tell me you had a baby?" "Leos ?" "Don?t you think I had the right to know?" "Well, it was more a matter ?" "You let me kiss you... you let me think... " Leos compressed his lips, lines of strain girding his hard mouth, and then he tossed back the remainder of the whisky in his glass. "All right, so you?re shocked ?" "What did you expect? I?ve been chasing you like some stupid kid and you sat back and you let me, knowing I didn?t have a clue what you were keeping from me!" Outraged eyes challenged her. "How could I have worked out that you?d had a child since I last saw you? It?s little more than a year since we were together ?" Susie was rigid, but her legs were starting to tremble. "I never thought of telling you... it was stupid, I believed I could keep Ben a secret ?" Leos released his breath with a stark hiss. "You had the gall to accuse me of infidelity? And all this time, do you know what I believed? I thought you dumped me because you couldn?t allow yourself to be happy even with me while you were grieving ?" "What are you getting at?" Leos seemed to be circling round, rather than centering on, the main issue, which was surely Ben. " ? and all along it was because you?d met someone else! The oldest story in the book, only I refused to see it," Leos ground out.

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"I?d met... someone else?" Susie stressed in bewilderment. "The father of your baby. Where is he? Since you?re living in your brother?s apartment, I assume the father is long gone!" As Susie finally understood that Leos believed that she had conceived Ben with some other man, dismay and anger filled her. "You assume ?" "Forget it... I don?t want to know the sordid details!" Leos proceeded to pour himself another shot of alcohol. "In fact, I don?t even know why I said I wanted to talk to you, because really, what is there left to say?" "You?ve already said more than enough!" Susie shot back at him in furious pain. Leos shot her a sardonic appraisal. "You were too scared to tell me you had had a baby. Admit it ?" "I refuse to continue this conversation!" "You have my permission to leave." Susie reached the door. She was shaking like a leaf. "Thee mou... now you?re trying to make me feel guilty. But your silence was inexcusable. You deceived me!" "Just like you once deceived me! Why should I care about how you feel now?" Susie slammed out. DAY TEN: WEDNESDAY At nine the following morning, Susie looked up from her computer monitor, just as Leos came in. In a fluid movement he leaned back against the door to close it. She had spent the previous evening telling herself that she truly loathed Leos Kiriakos. How could he simply assume that her baby was some other man?s? That was the one possibility she had not foreseen. And wasn?t it peculiar that Leos had shrugged off being confronted about that blonde? Was that his idea of smart footwork? Just act like the blonde had never happened? Well, her memory was sharp as nails. So it was unfortunate that no matter how mad and bitter Leos made her, he still took her breath away every time she saw him. Standing there, ruggedly masculine even in a formal business suit, aggressive jawline clenched, stunning eyes screened, Leos exuded a slight but perceptible discomfiture that unexpectedly tugged at her heartstrings. "If you?ve got something to say, say it," Susie sighed. "I suppose a sensitive but self-serving, dishonest guy would have leapt straight on the child and said ?Wow, this is just the cutest baby I ever saw!?" "Did you even look at Ben?" "I didn?t want to look at him... " A split second after admitting that, Leos gritted even white teeth and spread lean brown hands in frustration. "Scratch that comment ?" "Just sensitively slipped out, did it?" Susie turned back to the computer. "Not into babies, are you?" "No comment. I?m only here to tell you to go out this morning and buy yourself an evening gown for the dinner party." As she sat there stunned by the concept of Leos paying for anything she wore, he settled a

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gold credit card down on her dark desk and mentioned the name of an exclusive designer outlet. "It?s a legitimate business expense ?" "Is this an order?" "Yes," Leos confirmed without hesitation. "Appearances are everything in my world. I don?t want anybody talking down to you ?" "I am only the hired help, Leos ?" "For how much longer?" Susie raised shaken eyes to his. "Is that a threat?" "You should know me better than that." Brilliant tawny-golden eyes flared with exasperation. "Call it like it is, Susie. When I look at you, I ache and you feel the same way ?" Susie quivered with an angry response, but she didn?t know whom she was most furious with: herself for her quickened breathing and shameless shivery weakness, or him for making that arrogant claim with such cool. "Did the blonde make you feel like that?" "Never... " "Tough... " In the charged silence, Susie tore her anguished gaze from his, shattered by that single word with which he appeared to finally admit his cruel betrayal. "You can?t turn the clock back. I could never trust you." "How good at groveling, are you?" Leos murmured silkily on his way out. Groveling? Not for all the tea in China, not even for a fresh start with the man she still loved. But it was time she told him the truth about Ben, Susie conceded with bitter reluctance. Eventually, Ben would ask who his father was and expect answers. How could she allow Leos to continue believing that Ben was another man?s son? How had she ever imagined that she could keep quiet forever when it was not just her secret to keep... ? DAY TEN: WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON "The wildest rumors are flying around about you and the boss!" Jayne?s gaze rested on Susie with speculative heat and then dropped to the exclusive designer dress box parked beside the desk. "Watch your back, because the grapevine is exploding around this building!" "Really?" Susie was appalled to recognize yet another dimension to her problems, one she couldn?t believe it had taken someone else to point out. She also wished she?d had the wit to hide the dress box. "Leos Kiriakos will be moving on, but you have to work here ?" "What kind of wild rumors?" Jayne winced. "Well, they range from the two of you supposedly spending almost the whole of Monday afternoon in his office without coming out once... to the outer reaches of credibility ?" "And the outer reaches are?" Susie mumbled. "Nasty... that your Ben... well, you know he?s got that lovely dark coloring ?"

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"Say no more... " Susie dropped her head to hide her horror at the devastating accuracy of the grapevine. "The management team thinks you?re planning to spy on their every move and report back to the boss. The word is that when you?re with Leos Kiriakos, the door is always closed." It was perfectly true, and not all the norm in meetings between a junior employee and a powerful business tycoon. Suffering agonies of self-blame and already pitched to the emotional heights on the knowledge that she had to tell Leos that Ben was his son, Susie swept up the phone and hit Leos?s extension number, as soon as Jayne had departed. "Leos... I need to talk to you but I don?t want to come around to your office ?" "Why?" "I believe our behavior has caused a lot of gossip ?" "I don?t take account of that sort of nonsense." Leos sounded very male and very superior. "Neither should you ?" "Look, we need to talk about Ben ?" "No... I?m not ready for that... I may never be ready for that," Leos spelled out with blunt emphasis. "You don?t understand ?" "I understand perfectly. You and your child are a package deal. I may be insensitive but I?m not stupid." Leos drawled with cutting clarity. "I?ll send a car over to pick you up this evening at seven." Click! He?d ended the conversation. Susie groaned in disbelief. Why was Leos so certain that he could get her back? Was it so obvious to him that she still cared? How dare he tell her that he was still working out whether or not he could face taking her back, now that she had a child? Fifteen minutes later, during her lunch break, it was a shock for Susie to glance out of the daycare?s kitchen from where she was collecting Ben?s food, and see Leos in conversation with the daycare supervisor. A fixed smile on his lean strong face, he was scanning the busy room, his attention lingering on every baby within view. Finally he asked a question to his companion. Susie watched the discomfited supervisor indicate Ben. Leos zeroed in on Ben and just paled, his fabulous bone structure rigid. One minute later, he strode back out again. DAY TEN: WEDNESDAY EVENING Had Leos worked out that Ben was his son? That was all that Susie had thought about since lunchtime. Leos had not only left the daycare, he had left the building, and he had not returned. At seven, Susie was collected from her apartment by a limo. In the sleek midnight-blue evening gown she had selected earlier that day, she would have felt like a million dollars had her nerves not be strung as tight as piano-wires. Leos greeted Susie in the magnificent hall of his town house. Spectacular in a well-cut dinner jacket, Leos ran appreciatively dark eyes over her and a brilliant smile slashed his wide, sensual mouth. "I want you to meet my brother and his wife before the other guests arrive." Susie remembered once seeing a photo of his younger brother, Petros, but right at that moment, Susie would have preferred to speak to Leos alone. But, obviously, it was neither the time nor the place to make a

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big confession about Ben. She had been foolish to think that Leos might have guessed the truth just by looking at Ben. But she honestly didn?t know how she was going to tell Leos she had had his baby. Leos rested a hand to her taut spine. "You remember that blonde who walked out of my bedroom and shocked you last year?" Susie froze. "Yes... but what on earth ? ?" "Brigitte had just come out of a clinic here in London after a miscarriage. I moved into a hotel to give Petros and Brigitte the privacy of my apartment until they flew back to Greece." Leos explained. "I believe Petros was in the shower when you arrived ?" "Are you trying to convince me that ? ?" But Susie got no further for they had reached the drawing room, where a very tall blonde was standing beside Petros Kiriakos. Leos was attempting to convince her that the half-naked angry blonde had been Brigitte, his sister-in-law. She refused to believe it... but right there in front of her was the evidence. Brigitte was the woman whom Susie had found in Leos?s apartment and she looked rather embarrassed. "This is a case of my sins coming back to haunt me, Susie." Brigitte gave her a rueful smile of apology. "I was so rude to you that day that I didn?t even mention our meeting to Petros, never mind anybody else! It?s no excuse, but I was very emotional at the time and you just walking in; well, I lost my temper... totally forgot that it wasn?t our apartment ?" "That?s fine... I understand. Really, please don?t worry about it!" In severe shock at what Leos had confronted her with, Susie passed his sister-in-law a small gaily wrapped parcel with a reassuring smile. "Happy birthday, Brigitte." Her legs felt like cottonwool sticks. The crowd of chattering guests arriving provided a welcome distraction, but Susie could not have looked at Leos had her life depended on it. "How good at groveling, are you?" he had asked earlier. How did one grovel when the very ground had been torn from below one?s feet? Susie was reeling... DAY ELEVEN: THURSDAY MORNING It was just after midnight. Susie saw her babysitter out. Her eyes were burning in her head but the tears refused to come. When Leos?s guest had begun leaving, she had sneaked out and caught a cab home. "I?m very sorry that I misjudged you," she had said woodenly to Leos. "Is that it? Is that all you?ve got to say?" Leos had demanded. She had been far too upset to say the right things. Fourteen months ago, it had been so easy for her to believe he had betrayed her. She had just been waiting for it to happen. Being madly in love with a man who never mentioned love and never made a date more than two days ahead had just been too much for her to handle in the wake of losing her mother. That Leos should have preferred a beautiful blonde to her sad-and-sorry self had made perfect sense. She had believed Leos was a louse, a two-timing louse. Only he wasn?t. Now she was the one in the wrong, very much in the wrong. The doorbell buzzed. She knew it was Leos. That was when her eyes finally filled with scorching tears. She loved him so much. How had everything gone so wrong?

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White dress-shirt half unbuttoned to show a bronzed slice of muscular chest, his black hair ruffled and his hard jawline roughened by stubble, Leos looked like a very sexy pirate. Susie said, "I don?t know what to say to you ?" Leos dropped the package he was carrying and caught her into his arms, scanning her damp eyes with frowning censure. And then, without any warning at all, he was kissing her with explosive passion, crushing her soft mouth under his over and over again, until she was clinging to him in shivering excitement, senses singing, her heart racing, mind a total wasteland. Raising his proud dark head, Leos gave her a wolfish grin and lifted her. But he didn?t carry her in search of a bedroom. He settled her on the sofa, and reappeared with the package that he tossed on to her lap. "What... what?s this?" "It?s for Ben ?" "B-Ben?" "I saw him in the daycare yesterday." Dark blood scoring his fabulous cheekbones, Leos shrugged. "He gave me this big smile... he looked little and helpless... I?m not going to say he?s the cutest baby I ever saw. He?s probably the first baby I ever really looked at." Trembling, Susie tugged a blue velvet rabbit from the packaging and her throat convulsed once more with tears. "I had something similar as a baby... " Leos shared. Shame and guilt engulfed Susie, making her feel the lowest of the low. "Leos... Ben well, er...Ben is six months old." Leos continued to survey her steadily. "Ben is your son," Susie framed shakily. "There wasn?t any other man. I fell pregnant in Paris by you." Heart sinking, she watched comprehension grow in his eyes. Then disbelief, shock, and acceptance, followed by a look of searing condemnation. "What you have just told me," Leos breathed harshly, "is beyond all forgiveness." Agonized, Susie watched Leos walk out on her and listened to the slam of her front door. DAY ELEVEN: THURSDAY AFTERNOON Within minutes of Leos?s arrival that afternoon at Devlin Systems, Susie was called to his office. Leos raked chilling dark eyes over her. "Why did you come in today? Are you insane?" Insane? In the automatic way that most people clung to routine in times of crisis, it had not occurred to Susie to stay home. "I ? I ?" "Did you think I would want to meet my son for the first time in the workplace nursery?" His darkly handsome features were lit by the hostility of his gaze. "You go downstairs and you take my son out of there. Then you climb into the car waiting and you take Ben to my home."

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Distressed by his bitter antagonism, Susie nodded. It should have dawned on her that Leos would wish to meet Ben. But only when Leos had presented her with the velvet rabbit, signifying his willingness to accept a child he had believed to have been another man?s, had Susie appreciated how strongly Leos might feel about his own child. "You decided I had slept with another woman and you took your revenge by denying me the right to know my son," Leos condemned. "We broke up long before I knew I was pregnant, " Susie protested. "Do you remember talking about that friend of yours who you said was ?trapped? by a pregnant woman on the make?" "Don?t try to justify yourself on that basis. That woman?s child might have been fathered by any one of a half-dozen men! We had something very different... or at least, I thought we did ?" Susie flushed with discomfiture. "But I believed you might accuse me of being on the make because you were rich... I didn?t want the same label!" "You will tender your resignation, " Leos continued as if she hadn?t spoken, determined, it seemed, to allow her no defense. "Sacking me, too?" "Protecting my son?s foolish mother from further damaging her reputation and mine ?" "Only yesterday, you told me you took no heed of such nonsense ?" "You should have told me the minute I entered this building that you had a baby, and that the baby was mine! Then... " Leos vented a humorless laugh, "you should have told me the day you realized you had conceived. I wouldn?t leave any woman struggling to raise my child alone ?" "Even if it was my fault it happened in the first place?" "Surely I?m mature enough to accept that making love can make a baby? And that sometimes that particular creative event is out of our control?" So she was pond slime. Tried and found guilty. From every angle he made that clear. She had misjudged him, made wrong decisions, assumed the worst, surrendered to her own pessimistic expectations. Having been assailed by tears since the early hours, Susie?s throat ached, but she still had to ask him one question. "So... if I?d come to you a year ago and admitted I was pregnant, what would you have said?" His stunning eyes cut like golden knives into her. "I would have said it was fate... and I would have married you." "It?s easy to be perfect and self-righteous... after the event. " Susie left, feeling that he had ripped her heart out... . DAY ELEVEN: THURSDAY EVENING Leos would have married her. No mention of love though. No doubt he would have made her feel dreadful if he had married her, Susie told herself, no doubt they would both have been miserable. He had not loved her then and now even his respect for her was gone.

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"He?s really bright... ." Leos was watching their six-month-old son chortle and dig under the cushion to find the velvet rabbit his father had tried to conceal from him. "Hmm... " Seated bolt upright in the drawing room of the town house, Susie studied man and baby, the black hair, golden skin, dark eyes that made them a matching duo. Ben sat down on the rug. He?d had a nap earlier and Leos had gotten through that hour by asking constant questions about his son. What he liked, what he ate, how he slept, how big he was in comparison with other babies of his age, how clever he was in comparison with other babies of his age, how advanced in comparison with other babies of his age. For a male, who knew nothing about babies, Leos knew it all, including the fact that Ben had been born prematurely. Why had she had never realized that Leos might be the sort of guy willing to crawl about the floor in a suit that had cost thousands of pounds and happily pretend to be a airplane, or a horse, or a car? Leos was still surveying Ben with a shell-shocked look of pride and pleasure lightening his lean, strong face. From what she could see, discovering he was a father appeared to be a positive source of joy to Leos Kiriakos. "He?s dropping off again," Leos groaned in disappointment, as Ben?s lashes drooped and an enormous yawn showed off his baby teeth. "This is his bedtime." "Why didn?t you say?" Leos reproved. "One late night won?t harm him ?" "But we should stick to his routine, now that he?s out of that daycare and he has your full attention ?" "Yes, I?m sorry I worked and neglected him by doing what thousands of other women do to make a living ?" "Don?t be facetious. I wasn?t blaming you. I was merely pointing out that Ben will much appreciate having you all day ?" "You?re planning to keep us, are you?" Susie viewed him with bleak eyes, willing the storm of angry, wounded conflict inside her to stay down, out of sight. Leos lifted Ben from the rug with excruciatingly gentle hands and laid him down on a sofa, boxing in his sleeping son with a line of cushions. Then he hovered just in case Ben made a sudden attempt to climb over the safety-barrier and fall. "Obviously, we?re getting married. I?ve already been making enquiries about a special license. We?ll have the wedding as soon as possible." In one sense Leos was offering Susie all her past and present secret dreams but at that moment, all that powered her was the terrible hurt he had caused. "I wouldn?t marry you if you were the last man alive on earth!" DAY TWELVE: FRIDAY MORNING "I don?t want you doing the decent thing and marrying me... okay?" As Susie talked to Leos on the phone at nine the following morning, she was biting back sobs. "And at this hour of the day I do not want to talk about the stigma I am casting on your son by being an unmarried mother!" "Why are you acting this way?" Leos demanded, being totally unreasonable. Susie hung up the phone.

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Leaving Ben with the neighbor, who babysat for her on the rare occasions that she went anywhere without him, Susie headed for Devlin Systems. She had to clear her desk. Hopefully, slipping in near lunchtime would attract the least attention. Leos had been incredulous when she?d refused to marry him. Ben?s needs featured in his every argument. Sadly, Susie had not heard one word that she wanted to hear. His angry inability to forgive her for the past and his refusal to see both sides of the situation would inevitably wreck any marriage. It wasn?t enough for her to love him. Susie had just finished clearing her desk when Leos appeared in the doorway. Unusually, he hovered. Nervous tension soaring, her heart skipped a beat. Tall, dark, devastatingly sexy, and stubborn as solid steel. "You?ve never listened to my side of the story," Susie said. "Meaning?" "What it was like having my one and only affair with someone like you." Susie?s gaze clashed with his intense dark golden eyes. "You were romantic and caring but you never let me feel secure with you... you were too cool for that, too clever, even too fair to hint at a commitment you weren?t planning to make ?" Lean, powerful face taut, Leos frowned. "Susie ?" "By the time I met Brigitte in your apartment, I was already convinced you were getting bored with me. You gave me no reason to believe that we had a future beyond your next phone call," Susie asserted shakily. "Yet, you still believe I should have come running back with my big announcement that I was pregnant ?" "Don?t you think there might have been a gulf then between what I was feeling and what I was showing you I felt?" His lean hands clenched his sides. "No. Even my Valentine card didn?t have that four letter word, love, on it, Mr. Cool." Misery was rising like a tidal wave inside Susie. "I really do want to marry you ?" "You don?t have to marry me to see Ben." Emotion threatening to overwhelm her, Susie walked into the corridor. "Susie... " Leos breathed raggedly. Susie kept moving, eyes swimming with tears. "I love you... " Faltering, Susie blinked. "I?ve always loved you!" Leos proclaimed with roughened force. Fascinated faces appeared at doorways. Susie turned in a dizzy circle. Meeting the raw vulnerable intensity of his gaze, reading the strain in his bronzed features, she saw that he meant every word. A wild surge of happiness engulfed her. "I love you too ?"

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"This public enough for you?" A wolfish grin slanting his mouth at the muted burst of applause from an audience that was afraid to be too enthusiastic, Leos strode toward her and swept her into his arms. "Mr. Cool just took a hike... " DAY TWELVE: FRIDAY AFTERNOON In the limousine, on the way to pick up Ben, Leos banded both arms around Susie and kept her welded to every line of his hard muscular physique. Having kissed her breathless, he was now frowning with masculine bewilderment. "I assumed you knew how I felt ?" "How? By thought-transference?" "When we were together last year, I could have told you I loved you the first week but I decided it would be... well ? " "Cooler to keep it quiet?" "More sensible to go with the flow for a while." His dark tawny-golden eyes scanned her with tender appreciation. "Then you lost your mother and I felt like I lost you ?" "Did you?" That admission shook Susie. "You shut me out. I didn?t know whether to push or stand back... in the end I stood back which was the wrong thing to do ?" Susie groaned. "I though you were getting fed up with me ?" "I was devastated when you dumped me... there, I finally said it! " Leos breathed heavily. "Then I waited a couple of weeks and tried to contact you again but you?d moved ?" "Tell me, why did you just assume that Ben wasn?t yours?" "Ben seemed small to me at first. I thought he was a couple of months younger than he is. I went haywire for a couple of days, I was sick with jealousy," he admitted ruefully. Something that had been puzzling Susie since Wednesday evening prompted her to change the subject and say, "Stamatis answered the door to me the night of the dinner party. Why didn?t he just arrange everything for you?" At that reference to his manservant, Leos gave her a wicked grin. "Haven?t you worked that out yet, yinkeka mou? I had to dream up a job for you!" "Dream up?" "Not the promotion... the social secretary angle. If you?d gone straight on to the management team, I would never have had a chance to see you alone. The minute I recovered from the shock of finding you at Devlin Systems, I decided to try and get you back ?" Susie was transfixed by what he was telling her. "But that interview you gave me... you were so impersonal ?" "If I had gotten up close and personal as I am doing now... you?d have taken fright and run!" A teasing light in his lustrous dark eyes, Leos claimed another tender kiss. "I had to convince you that I would treat you like an employee, but I?m afraid that was too much of a challenge ?"

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"For me too. I just couldn?t think of you as my boss ?" "I loved it when you got jealous... then you told me to have a great weekend with Alisha James and I thought you were laughing at me!" Having long since arrived at its destination, the limo was at a standstill. Emerging from another embrace, Leos and Susie registered that fact about 10 minutes later. They rushed upstairs to Ben and told him what a wonderful baby he was. Secure in his parents? love, Ben yawned and fell asleep, as his parents held hands and dreamed of their future... DAY SIXTEEN: TUESDAY MORNING Four days later, the special license having been granted, Susie arrived at the church for their wedding. Her brother, David, had managed to fly back from the Middle East in time to give her away. Brigitte had volunteered to be her matron of honour and Petros was standing in as Leos?s best man. Ben sat back in his new luxury buggy and beamed at all his admirers. Wearing a gossamer-fine dress of lace and silk, Susie walked down the aisle with shining eyes. She had not a single doubt in her mind that she was loved. The weekend had passed in a non-stop blur of arrangements and excitement. They would live in London and in Corfu, where Leos also has a house. They were spending their wedding night at Leos?s London townhouse and then flying off the next day to a Caribbean villa. It was already decided that Ben?s birthday would be spent in Paris, possibly with a nanny in tow. Now that Leos got the woman he loved back, he could not plan far enough ahead. Leos watched Susie approach the altar with a smile that made her heart sing. Leos had decided that this time around everything would be different. When he had set her back from him on Friday evening with a determined air of restraint, she had been surprised but touched when he told her why. "The next time we make love I want you to be my wife, agape mou... " By Monday night, restraint, he had freely admitted, had become just about the toughest challenge he had ever set himself and he had indicated a willingness to be talked out of his vow. But Susie had had to rush off and meet her brother at the airport, so pressure of time had overcome that of temptation. Leaving the church, the ceremony over, Leos kissed her with hungry fervor. "How am I going to get through the photo session and the reception at the house?" "Like Mr. Cool... " Susie shivered with delicious excitement against him. Leos couldn?t take his dark tawny-golden eyes off her for a moment and she loved it. There were loads of photos of them looking deep into each other?s eyes. At the reception, it was quite impossible to separate them. When their guests had finally gone and Ben was asleep in his cot in his new room, the bridal couple finally reached the master bedroom. Although beautifully furnished, it had yet to be decorated. Susie was surprised. Leos smiled. "I told Alisha you would be taking care of this room ?" "When was that? Surely not that weekend you were mad at me?" "I was still hoping to marry you ?" Susie?s heart melted.

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"No way was I going to lose you a second time." Leos tugged her into rousing contact with his lithe, powerful frame. "I love you like I never thought I could love anybody." And being loved felt like the best thing that had ever happened to her, Susie reflected dreamily, as she gave herself up to another passionate kiss.

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The Duke's Dilemma by Margaret Moore We gave five authors from five different Harlequin and Silhouette series the same opening paragraph, and asked each of them to write the rest of the story. The result is five very distinctive individual stories that are compelling, engaging and, of course, romantic! want to whet your appetite for romance? Read the opening paragraph we gave to the authors: Charlotte winced as an inebriated party-goer stepped on her foot, but she kept moving determinedly toward the doors that led to the balcony. The Duncans would be delighted with their party; it was clearly the event of the season, and their daughter had been successfully launched into society. Unfortunately, the noise, the heat, and the crowd combined with Charlotte's pounding headache to make her want to escape for a breath of fresh air. Reaching the balcony doors, she opened them to find two people engaged in a passionate kiss. "I'm sorry." The words escaped her mouth before she realized it would have been better to make an exit without being noticed. The couple jumped apart. Charlotte felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at her fianc?. "John! I thought you were dead!"

Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| Chapter One Charlotte winced as an inebriated party-goer stepped on her foot, but she kept moving determinedly toward the doors that led to the balcony. The Duncans would be delighted with their party; it was clearly the event of the season, and their daughter had been successfully launched into society. Unfortunately, the noise, the heat, and the crowd combined with Charlotte's pounding headache to make her want to escape for a breath of fresh air. Reaching the balcony doors, she opened them to find two people engaged in a passionate kiss. "I'm sorry." The words escaped her mouth before she realized it would have been better to make an exit without being noticed. The couple jumped apart. Charlotte felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at her fiancé. "John! I thought you were dead!"

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As Charlotte fought to regain her composure, James?s gaze meandered over her simple silk gown, lingering for the briefest of moments on the embroidery around the neckline ? or her breasts ? before returning to her blushing cheeks. Angered by his impertinent scrutiny, she quickly closed the doors behind her, shutting out the music heralding the start of a quadrille. She wanted no one to hear them, or come out to see what was going on. And she wanted to know what the long-absent James was doing on the Duncans' balcony with her cousin, Dulcabella ? besides the obvious. *** Dulcie Duncan giggled and swayed, clearly the worse for the powerful punch full of rum, which was how their family had made their fortune, one large enough to overcome the stigma of having earned it in trade. The Duncan Distillery had even been granted a Royal Warrant to supply rum to the British Navy. "I just came out for a breath of air and he grabbed me and kissed me," Dulcie explained with a sodden grin. "I quite liked it." "Indeed?" Charlotte inquired as she regarded James, not troubling to hide her annoyance. "I daresay you did, for I have heard that the duke is quite accomplished in that, if nothing else." She took hold of her cousin?s arm, intending to lead her inside. "Come along, Dulcie. I think you should bid good-night to your guests." "Running away, are we?" James calmly inquired in his deep, husky voice ? the thing that distinguished him most from John. Otherwise, both men had the same dark hair, chiseled cheekbones, and brilliant blue eyes. Charlotte slowly wheeled around to face him. "I think if there is a person here who could be accused of running away, it would not be me, Your Grace." She watched as her words brought, for the briefest of moments, a look of what might have been remorse to those bright blue eyes. Yet if the Duke of Broverhampton felt anything deep in his cold heart in response to her accusation ? one she had been waiting years to make ? it was quickly gone, replaced by the cool tranquillity he had always possessed, even in his youth. John had been all fire and light and music; James had been dark and silent and cold as snow in January. Her cousin feebly yanked her arm out of Charlotte?s grasp, the action making her totter like a pile of teacups. "I want to schtay right here!" Dulcie protested as she grabbed on to James?s black waistcoat. "I think you should retire, cousin," Charlotte said with a tone of firm command. Dulcie pouted and stamped her slippered foot. "I don?t want to." "Dulcie, I really think you ought ?" "Well I don?t!" Stamp! Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte saw James?s lips jerk up into a smug grin, as if he was enjoying this show of defiance from the usually docile Dulcie. "Dulcabella, you should go before the ladies begin to gossip about the time you have been out here and with whom. Unless you want your season ruined before it is well under way, I suggest you go back into the ballroom, and preferably to bed. You have had too much punch." Charlotte?s words finally seemed to penetrate Dulcie?s drink-befuddled brain. She swallowed hard, then lurched back into the ballroom.

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Charlotte was about to follow her when James barred her way. He reached back and closed the balcony doors. "Let me pass," she ordered. He shook his head and stepped closer. "I have waited a long time to have a moment?s word with you." She inched away from him, until her back was against the wall and the ivy covering it. The foliage wasn?t the only reason the flesh there tickled, as James came closer until his body was mere inches from hers. Summoning her courage, Charlotte squared her shoulders. She would not let James?s predatory attitude frighten her. "If the wait was troublesome, perhaps you should have returned to England sooner. There was nothing to prevent you, especially when you inherited your title and the family fortune." "A fortune you did not get your greedy hands on, after all." Charlotte gasped. "I was not marrying your brother for his wealth!" James?s face betrayed his skepticism. "No?" "Certainly not!" He sidled closer, trapping her between the wall and his broad-shouldered body like a doe run to ground between a cliff and a pack of dogs. "Then why did you agree to marry him?" he asked in a husky whisper. "Because...because I loved him!" She put her palms on James?s chest and shoved, but it was like trying to budge a boulder. He caught her hands in his powerful grasp. "Love?" he scoffed. "What do you know of love but this?" he demanded as he hauled her close and captured her mouth with his. Chapter Two She had thought James cold? She had thought him lacking in passion? As James?s lips moved over Charlotte?s with firm and fiery purpose, she realized how wrong she had been. How very, very wrong... Which did not give him leave to kiss her, or her to enjoy it. Before she could shove him away, the balcony doors burst open. "Charlotte!" Uncle Malcolm cried as he stepped outside. "What are you doing?" While she stared, equally horrified, at her uncle and the well-dressed people crowding behind him, James moved away. He faced her uncle and quite calmly adjusted the cuffs of his waistcoat. "We were kissing." Uncle Malcolm?s jowls quivered with an indignation that matched Charlotte?s, now that the initial shock of discovery had passed. "Then, sir, you have not behaved like a gentleman!" "Indeed, he has not," Charlotte seconded, preparing to march past James, her uncle, and through the avidly curious onlookers. She could hear the scandalized whispers that would follow in her wake. Her reputation was already sullied by her fiancé's death, for surely the love of a good woman should have saved him from such despair. Therefore, the reasoning went, there must be some flaw in her. And now, to be found kissing her late fiancé's brother ?! James?s hand held her back and looked into her eyes, his gaze searching. "I have never claimed to be a gentleman."

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"How could you, since you are not? Now let me go!" He did not loosen his grasp as he once again faced her uncle, whose cheeks were getting progressively more flushed. "Gentleman or not, I am quite prepared to do the honorable thing, Mr. Duncan, and marry your niece." Charlotte stared at James. She couldn?t marry him! She hated him! And she had done nothing wrong here to cause her to be imprisoned in a marriage. "I would rather die!" "Like John?" His words pierced her heart like the thrust of a rapier. "How...how dare you!" she whispered as tears of anger and dismay leaped into her eyes."I dare because you as good as held the gun that killed him when you broke his heart." "I?" she gasped, incredulous. "I broke his heart?" "Your Grace, Charlotte," Uncle Malcolm said, obviously attempting to control his temper, "this is hardly the time or place for such accusations. I suggest you retire, Charlotte. As for you, Your Grace, you will please leave my house. You may call upon me at my offices tomorrow morning, where we shall discuss what is to be done. Now, Your Grace, I give you good night." James, the Duke of Broverhampton, smiled and inclined his head, then strode through the crowd which parted for him as they might a pauper who had intruded into their midst. *** Sitting in his barouche outside the offices of the Duncan Distillery, makers of Fine Rum and purveyors to the Royal Navy by the appointment of His Majesty, King George III, James wondered ? and not for the first time ? what the devil he was doing here. He should order his driver to take him home. Or to his club. Or even the closest tavern. Anything but beard old Malcolm Duncan in his den and explain that he did not wish to marry Charlotte. The offer had been made in the heat of the moment. And what heat. What unexpected, overwhelming heat. Charlotte clearly possessed the ability to drive a man to passionate ecstasy, if that was how she kissed when she supposedly did not want to be kissed. Or maybe she had. Could it be that despite her apparent animosity, she was setting her sights on the man who now had the wealth she craved? He mustn?t forget that she was a greedy, grasping creature who had broken his brother?s heart and destroyed his spirit when John had realized she was only marrying him for his title and money. That knowledge, and his shame at being duped, had driven John to take his life. If he married her as he had impulsively suggested because of some last, lingering vestige of chivalry called forth by the vulgar fascination on the faces of the guests last night, he might be playing right into her soft, yet avaricious, hands. Therefore, he must go to Mr. Duncan and rescind his offer. Such a thing would not enhance his reputation, but he could not concern himself with that. What he should concern himself with was making sure Charlotte knew he knew the kind of woman she was, despite his momentary lapse into forgetfulness, and that he intended to make sure the rest of the world knew it, too. That was why he had followed her out onto the balcony, or thought he had.

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He had mistaken Dulcie for Charlotte. The cousins looked enough alike that, attired in similar gowns and with their blond hair done in similarly Grecian styles, it was easy to mistake one for the other, especially across a crowded ballroom. So he had followed "Charlotte" and could not resist the urge to announce his presence with a kiss, only to realize the moment his mouth touched Dulcie?s that either he was kissing the wrong woman ? for it was no secret that Charlotte didn?t drink because her father had died after falling from his horse while inebriated ? or else he had his lips on a rum bottle. Whatever had happened last night, he finally decided, he could not and would not marry Charlotte. He alighted from the barouche and strode into the distillery, heading directly for Duncan?s office. He marched past the startled bevy of clerks perched on stools as they toiled at their high desks and entered the office without so much as a rap on the door. To find that Charlotte was already there. Or maybe it was Dulcie facing her father with her whole body rigid, her hands on her hips, and her bonnet?s white feather dancing. The young woman whirled around to face him, and he discovered it was indeed Charlotte. "What do you want?" she demanded, glaring at him. As always when faced with a nerve-racking situation ? which was always the situation when he was near the vivacious Charlotte ? he summoned up a mask of calm indifference, and answered truthfully. "I?ve come to tell your esteemed uncle that I have changed my mind and cannot marry you." Her green eyes flickered and a sardonic smile curved her full lips. "Good, because I am here to tell him the same thing." How her emerald green eyes sparkled like jewels when she was angry! How lovely she looked in that charming ensemble, including the ridiculous plume bobbing about like a writer?s quill penning a screed of its own volition. "Excellent. Then we are agreed." "Yes!" "So I see no need to remain here any longer." "Nor do I," Charlotte declared, pushing her way past him and slamming the office door with a bang like a cannon shot that probably sent the clerks scrambling for cover. Taking a deep breath, James bowed at the openmouthed Mr. Duncan. "Good day to you, sir, and I regret any inconvenience." Before he could turn away, Duncan heaved himself to his feet with surprising speed. "Not so fast, Your Grace. I would speak with you." James suppressed a sigh as he waited for the man to proceed. No doubt Duncan intended to berate him, and soundly, too. "You will either marry my niece, or I shall take you to court for breach of promise." Chapter Three James stared, slack-jawed, at Charlotte?s uncle. "Breach of promise?" he repeated in an incredulous whisper.

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Malcolm Duncan smiled with malicious pleasure. "Exactly. Several people heard you offer to marry her last night." "She didn?t accept!" Duncan waved his plump hand dismissively as he returned to his seat. "Women are fickle creatures, apt to change their minds." "But you can?t be serious! She hates me." "Does she?" James?s eyes widened even more, and even though his mind told him it must not, the small, hidden place in his heart where his hope had been buried cracked open. Charlotte had been living with her uncle since her father?s demise years ago; it could be he knew her well enough.... It didn?t matter. "Of course," he replied, burying the long-denied hope back where it belonged. "You heard her say she?d rather die than marry me." "Well, be that as it may," Duncan said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers, "the fact is, you?ve compromised my niece?s honor. Your family has already done her harm, and it?s about time one of you made it right." "My family did her harm?" "Aye," Duncan said, grave and firm as the bricks of his distillery. "She loved your brother and she was heartbroken when he died. And she?s blamed herself for far too long for what your brother did. Her reputation has suffered for it, too." "She did not love my brother, and she is to blame for what John did," James protested, every line of John?s last letter bemoaning his anguish and shame burned into his brain. If Charlotte mourned anything, it was the loss of his brother?s money. Duncan eyed him shrewdly, as if James were a merchant trying to sell him something of dubious quality. "Whatever you think of the past, it is last night I am most concerned with today. You compromised Charlotte?s honor, and you will do the honorable thing, one way or another, or you?ll be hearing from my solicitor." "I can afford the best solicitor in London to fight the suit." "Aye, I have no doubt, but fighting me will cost you a pretty penny, especially as these things can drag on for so long. In the meantime, no woman of character will trust you, should you wish to marry and create an heir. Of course, if you plan to remain a bachelor all your days, that may not trouble you." James did not plan to remain a bachelor. He wanted children, and not simply to provide an heir. He liked children. Many nights as he lay awake listening to his comrades in arms snoring and snorting and tossing and turning, he had envisioned leading the life of a country gentleman, surrounded by a loving family, married to...his brother?s fiancée. He flushed and pushed away that shameful memory. "Do you intend to threaten Charlotte into agreeing, too? Will you sue her, as well?" "Charlotte will do what is best for her." James scowled. "Of that I have no doubt," he said as he strode to the door. When he went out, he slammed it even harder than Charlotte had. ***

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"But, Papa, I don?t understand," Dulcie pouted a fortnight later as she sat on the arm of her father?s chair in his mahogany-paneled study, which smelled faintly of cheroots and pomade. "Why did you invite him to dinner again? Charlotte refuses to see him, and he sits here scowling like a bear whenever he comes. Why, they loathe each other!" "Of course they do," her father replied with a chortle as he chucked his beloved, but not overly intelligent, daughter on her round little chin. "I don?t intend that they should marry. I have other plans for the duke." He eyed Dulcie so significantly, even she caught on. "Me?" she squeaked. "You want him to marry me?" "Yes." He patted her arm. "The more annoyed he gets with Charlotte, the lovelier and more pleasant you will seem." Dulcie pouted again. "I thought I was pretty and pleasant." "Oh, you are, my dear, you are, and the duke can hardly fail to notice that fact every time he comes here." Dulcie?s pale forehead wrinkled with a frown. "Yet you said you?d sue him if he doesn?t marry Charlotte." "Only to ensure that he would stay in London and visit us. The moment he tells me he would rather marry you instead, all talk of breach of promise will be quite forgotten." Dulcie toyed with her rings and didn?t meet her father?s gaze. "That seems a bit hard on Charlotte, Papa, using her to lure the duke here to fall in love with me." "All?s fair in love and war, my dear. Indeed, we are really doing her a favor." He warmed to his subject. "The gossip will go against her if the duke doesn?t at least seem to be doing the honorable thing, but if he jilts her in your favor, she?ll appear to be the one hard done by. All the ladies will sympathize with her, even those who were so quick to blame her in that other unfortunate business." Dulcie continued to frown. "What if they blame me for stealing the duke away?" "They won?t," he assured her. "If there?s any blame in this, it will attach to him." He gave his daughter an indulgent smile. "Besides, what does it matter what they say if you marry a duke in the end?" Chapter Four Charlotte looked unseeing out the tall, narrow windows of the town house in Mayfair. She felt like a prisoner in her home ? or at least, her uncle?s home. She had never been completely comfortable living with her uncle and cousin, but after her father?s death, she had no other alternative. Now, with the unwelcome presence of the Duke of Broverhampton haunting her like a ghost, she felt more imprisoned than ever. She heard a small sound and turned away from the window, to find Dulcie standing near her dressing table. "Yes?" she asked, noting that her usually placid cousin looked worried and uncertain. Perhaps the strain of this forced marriage nonsense was wearing on her, too. "The duke is coming to dinner again." "So I heard from the downstairs maid." Dulcie chewed her lip and gazed at her beseechingly. "Charlotte, do you really not want to marry him?" "No." Not now. Not under these circumstances, although there had been a time.... "I do not understand why he doesn?t just let Uncle Malcolm sue him for breach of promise. I am more than ready to give evidence that

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I would be pleased to release him from his promise, such as it was. He can afford a good solicitor and surely that has to be more appealing to him than continuing this sham." Obviously relieved, Dulcie?s words came out in a torrential rush. "Papa thinks if the duke keeps coming here and you don?t see him, but he sees me, he might...that is, he might change his mind about marrying you and ask to marry me instead. He?s threatened to sue the duke not to ensure you marry him, but to keep him coming here." Charlotte stared at her, confused ? and yet, knowing Uncle Malcolm and his crafty mind, this could very well be true. "If this is so, why are you telling me, Dulcie?" Her cousin straightened her slender shoulders and her doelike brown eyes shone with more resolve than Charlotte had ever suspected she possessed. "Because I like you, Charlotte. You?ve been like a sister to me, and I don?t agree with Papa?s plan." Charlotte?s heart swelled. She had no idea Dulcie cared for her so much and she hurried to embrace her. "I appreciate your affection, and your honesty, Dulcie," she murmured, while also cursing herself for ever thinking ill of her cousin. "If you can win the duke?s heart, you are welcome to it." She silenced the nagging little voice in her heart that told her she was lying. "And you are kind to tell me that I am but bait." She drew back and regarded Dulcie gravely. "Shall I end this charade, then?" Just as grave, Dulcie nodded. "Yes, please. If I cannot attract his notice by better means, I do not deserve it." *** Listening at the top of the stairs, Charlotte hurried toward the drawing room the moment she heard the butler usher James toward it. Dulcie would be at least another hour dressing, her uncle several minutes. This was her best chance to have a private word with the duke. Despite her determination, she hesitated on the threshold when she saw him. He had one arm draped across the ornately carved marble mantel and was staring at the flames in the hearth, a look of such despondency on his face, she could scarcely believe this was the arrogant James Ellery. All this time, she thought he must be enraged over the situation, or disgusted, or frustrated. She had never imagined he would ever feel despair, about anything. She had always believed him different from John in that, as well. He must have heard her, for he looked up, and was immediately once more the coolly indifferent nobleman. "So, you have finally decided to venture down from your tower, Rapunzel." She perched on the scarlet velvet seat of a gilded chair. "You must ignore my uncle's threat of a lawsuit and stop coming here." "Perhaps it amuses me to allow people to think I have a vestige of honor, after all, by agreeing to marry you," he said as he sat on the brocade sofa opposite her. "He doesn?t really want to sue you." That caused the duke to raise an inquisitive brow. "Then he is a finer actor than I gave him credit for, for he certainly conducts himself as if he does." "He wants you to fall in love with Dulcie, and he thinks the threat of legal action, which compels you to appear to be engaged to me, and which therefore requires you to call here, is an excellent way to throw the two of you together."

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For a moment, James looked incredulous, then his lip curled in a sneer. "He does, does he?" "Now that you know that, you can drop this pretense of an engagement between us. I?m sure once he understands you cannot be bullied, he will reconsider suing you." "My reason for continuing to call here has little to do with any man?s ability to bully me, and more to do with my enjoyment of your discomfort that this engagement causes you ? some small recompense for the pain you caused my brother." Annoyed that he persisted in blaming her for his brother?s death, she jumped to her feet, her hands balling into fists at her side. "How many times must I tell you I did nothing to cause him pain? I was as shocked as anyone when he killed himself, and I have spent hours and hours thinking over all that I said and did in the days before, wondering if there was something I could have done to prevent it, but I saw no signs that he was so despondent. I thought he was happy we were to be married." "Then you, madam, are either the most coldhearted, calculating woman...or the most accomplished liar...I have ever met." James rose and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out an old, creased piece of paper. "Read John?s own words, and find yourself condemned as a scheming fortune hunter who never loved him. Hear from John himself how that discovery humiliated and destroyed him until he could not bear to live." He thrust the paper at her. "You may keep this. I will never forget what he says in this letter if I live a hundred years. And to think that once I ?" He fell silent, then turned on his heel and marched from the room. Chapter Five A few minutes later, Charlotte dashed into the street. She could see the carriage with the ducal crest rounding the corner and took off after it like a Bow Street Runner pursuing a thief, John?s plaintive letter clutched in her hand. Mercifully, the carriage had to wait to let another, even finer, vehicle pass before turning into the next street. Regardless of the startled coachman, or anyone else who could observe her, Charlotte ran up to the carriage and pounded on the door. "James, you must let me explain!" The window of the carriage came down with a crash, and James?s angry face appeared. "If you have read the letter, there is nothing to explain." "Yes, there is," she insisted, "and I shall scream if you don?t let me in!" For a moment it looked as if James was going to refuse, but then he said, "Stand out of the way." He opened the door and kicked out the folding steps for her to climb inside. "You?ll catch your death running about London without a wrap," he noted as she scrambled onto the seat opposite him in a decidedly unladylike fashion. "I don?t care." After closing the door, James knocked on the roof of the carriage. "Drive on, Charles," he ordered, and the carriage lurched into motion. "Well, Charlotte, this will certainly set the tongues to wagging, even more than our embrace. Is that your intention?" "I had no idea John had found my diary. He should not have read it." James frowned. "Oh, so my brother?s curiosity excuses your behavior?"

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"He read my private thoughts, which he had no right to do. Even so, I would have explained if he had asked me." "What possible explanation could there be but the obvious. John was very clear about what he found in your diary ? your obvious passion for another man, your desire to be with him, your dismay that you could not. Surely you cannot fault him for believing you did not love him, the man you had pledged to marry? What else was he, or any wealthy, titled man of reason to think but that you were marrying him for those things, and not himself?" "That?s not it." Now that the time had come to tell the whole truth, Charlotte hardly knew where to begin. Or if she should even try. And yet she could not forget what he had implied only moments ago, something that had made her heart race even as she read John?s letter. If she did not tell James everything now, she might regret it for the rest of her lonely life. "The diary John found was not a recent one. I haven?t kept one for three years, well before I became engaged to your brother. I did love another man then, passionately. But nothing came of it. I thought he didn?t care for me, for he never paid me much attention. When he went away, I thought that was the end of it. I believed it was the end of it, and still believing it, conceived an affection for John. I did care for him, truly, and it breaks my heart anew to realize that he died because he didn?t believe that." "Maybe your passion for this unknown lover was not as dead as you claimed," James replied. "The diary alone would not have been enough to cause John such despair. There must have been something else." "You have been away a long time, James. John was not the lad you left when he took his life. He was jealous of any man who glanced at me, and nothing I said seemed to alleviate his fears. He would rage at me, and for no reason. Any little thing would set him off. Even if he had never found the diary, he might have despaired of my love enough to end his life anyway." "Then you no longer love this man you wrote about?" "I thought I did not," she said, her gaze searching his face. "I thought he did not love me." Willing himself to feel nothing ? not envy as he had felt for John when he had announced his engagement, or remorse for keeping his feelings buried for so long ? James turned to stare out the window. "I?ll order Charles to return you to your uncle?s house. Our engagement is officially over, and I?ll leave you alone. You are free, Charlotte." "Oh, James," she cried, moving to sit beside him and taking his face between her chilly palms as the letter fluttered to the floor. "It was you I wrote about in the diary. After you went away, I thought I could forget you and what I felt for you, that I could love John, that we could be happy. I was devastated when he died. You must believe me, James." Her hands dropped limply to her lap. "But now I see that you are right, too. I did deceive him." She raised her stricken eyes to look at him. "Yet I didn?t know it, because I was deceiving myself, too. I didn?t realize that I agreed to marry John because he was so much like you." Finally, she had confessed ? but it was not at all what he had expected. Nor was she the only one guilty of keeping secrets that had led to such disastrous consequences. Full of remorse for all that he had done and not done, James grabbed her hands and clasped them between his. "I do believe you, Charlotte, and I?m so sorry for how I?ve misjudged and mistreated you. I?ve loved you for years, but I was too shy to say so. You always seemed so bold, so confident, I thought you would laugh at me. And then when I realized how John felt about you, I was sure I didn?t stand a chance, so I went away. If I had stayed home and made my feelings known, how different things might have been! John would still be alive and we could have been married." "While we cannot bring John back, we are engaged now," she reminded him. By God, she was right. They were engaged. They could be married. There would be scandal and gossip and rumors, but he didn?t care. All he cared about was Charlotte as he pulled her close and kissed her. All the

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passion and desire and yearning he had been trying to hide and destroy for years burst free. She returned his kiss with the same heated passion, the same fierce desire, the same anxious yearning. "Poor uncle!" she murmured a few moments later, arching her neck as James?s lips slid slowly lower. "He will be so disappointed." "Right now, I don?t give a damn about the man." "And if it hadn?t been for dear Dulcie..." James drew back, a slight frown darkening his face. "I must say, Miss Duncan, I am not pleased that you can ignore my kisses." "I?m not ignoring them," she said, putting her finger between his cravat and his shirt as she gave him a devilish smile. "I?m enjoying them very much. I?m just feeling rather sorry for Dulcie." He watched her proceed to pull off his cravat. "If it will make you feel better, there?s a fine young gentleman I know I can invite to the wedding and make sure your cousin meets. I think they would make a lovely couple." "That does make me feel better," Charlotte whispered as she gathered a fistful of his shirt and pulled him to her. "Now let me see if you can ignore my kisses." He didn?t even try. Indeed, they would have made love then and there if the coach had not tottered to a halt. "If you come into my house now and with your gown in such a state, it will cause a great scandal, Charlotte," he panted, his words grave, but his eyes dancing with joy as they moved apart. Charlotte laughed merrily, and not a little breathlessly. "You are in a state of dishabille yourself, Your Grace," she said as she threw open the carriage door and caution to the wind. "And I don?t care if all the world knows we are in love."

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TAKING A RISK by Brenda Novak Gabrielle Tucker is happy at last. She's married to her soul mate, and she's been reunited with her long-lost mother — and the sister she never knew she had. Now if only she could see her ex-husband and best friend, David, find true happiness of his own… But it just so happens that Gabrielle knows the perfect woman for David — her little sister, Lindy! Lindy fell in love with David on their first date — a date arranged by her sister, Gabrielle. But it's obvious that David isn't over Gabrielle, even though she's now happily married to someone else. Which is why it's going to be very hard for Lindy to tell David that the one night of passion they shared has changed all of their lives forever…

Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| 9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14| 15| 16| 17| 18| 19| 20| CHAPTER ONE Mesa, Arizona "How can it be almost ninety degrees? It's the second of December, for crying out loud," Lindy Sims complained, slouching onto her sister's sofa and kicking off her heels. "What are you complaining about? It's beautiful outside." Gabrielle Tucker piled the lunch dishes in the sink, scooped up her seventeen-month-old daughter, Allie, and joined Lindy on the couch. "We live in the desert. It's always beautiful outside," Lindy replied, toying with the cell phone in her lap. "What I wouldn't give for a rain cloud." "Quit trying to change the subject," Gabrielle said. "I'm not trying to change the subject." Her sister gave her the evil eye. "Every time I want to talk about David, you change the subject." Lindy glanced at her watch, suddenly anxious to leave. She was a district attorney fairly new at her job, so work kept her busy. But she had another twenty minutes before she needed to head back to the office, and Gabrielle knew it. "That's not true. There's just nothing to say. You set me up with your ex-husband. We went out to dinner. He never called me again. End of story," she said. But that wasn't the end of the story. Not by a long shot. Gabrielle straightened the bow in her daughter's hair. "You had a good time with him." Lindy couldn't deny that, so she said nothing. "Why not let me set you up with him again?" Gabrielle asked. Too nervous to remain sitting, Lindy tossed her cell phone aside and stood up to stare out the living room window of Gabrielle's new four-bedroom home. "If he liked me, he'd ask me out himself." "David's a wonderful guy, but sometimes he doesn't know what's good for him. And maybe I'm mistaken, but it seemed as though there was a spark between you two. When you called me the morning after he took you to dinner, I got the impression you really liked him."

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Lindy put a self-conscious hand to her stomach. She had liked him - well enough to make one of the biggest mistakes of her life. At some point, she was going to have to tell Gabrielle about that mistake. But she wasn't ready yet. She and her half-sister were close, but they'd only found each other three months ago. Three months wasn't nearly long enough for Gabrielle to know that Lindy's actions that night had been completely out of character. Lindy was generally conservative, cautious and slow to trust. She still wasn't sure what had happened with David to change all of that. One minute they were having dinner and a glass of wine. The next they were opening another bottle at his place while watching a movie. And then... Her cheeks began to burn. Steering her thoughts away from what had followed, she glanced at her watch again. "I'd better get back." "You've got a minute," Gabrielle said. "If I can talk David into asking you out for New Year's, will you say yes? Randall and I have tickets to a Creed concert. We want you to join us." Lindy felt like banging her head against the glass. Because of David, she was going to be a single parent. She and Gabrielle would be shuttling their kids off to the same man every weekend. And she didn't have any idea how to break the news.... "You're wasting your time with me and David," she said. "He's not interested." Gabrielle sighed. "If he wasn't so stubborn, he'd see that you two are perfect for each other." Perfect for each other... Lindy had thought she'd finally found the man of her dreams. Until he'd awkwardly apologized in the morning for what had happened in the night, driven her home and never contacted her again. "Evidently, he doesn't think I'm so great," she said. "He just doesn't know you the way I do." David didn't know a lot of things — one thing in particular. And Lindy wasn't looking forward to telling him.... CHAPTER TWO David Hadley was busy at his mortgage company in Tempe — DH Home Loans — when Gabrielle called. But he thought she or Allie might need him, so he asked Peter Vaughn at Sunrise Bank and Loan if he could call him back about the Coopers' refinance and switched to the other line. "Hi, Gabby. What's up?" "I'm planning a Christmas party," she said brightly. "In this heat?" "It's still Christmastime." True, but you just moved in. Aren't you exhausted?" "Not really. We only came from Florence, and we're nearly settled. I'm using this as an excuse to invite my new neighbors over. Because of all the publicity surrounding the murder of Randall's first wife, I think they might be a little leery of having us live so close." "I already know Tucker," he said. "You don't have to convince me he's an upstanding citizen." "I'm inviting you for moral support." David didn't think Gabby needed moral support. She was happier now than he'd ever seen her. More likely, she was trying to throw him and Tucker together again. She cared about them both, so she wanted them to care about each other. But David doubted that was ever going to happen. A man didn't lose the love of his life to another man and get over it that easily.

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But it was wiser to dodge the issue than try to explain. "I'm pretty busy," he said. "I haven't given you the date." "If it's a Christmas party, you're having it this month, right? I'm busy throughout December." "You're not planning to see Allie for the next several weeks?" she asked skeptically. She had him and he knew it. Of course he was planning to see his daughter. He took Allie every chance he got. But going to Gabrielle's party was different. There, he and Tucker would have to hang out and pretend to be friends. And — A thought crossed David's mind that made him even more reluctant. "Is Lindy going to be there?" "Probably," she replied. "But that's not a problem, is it? Lindy's great. You told me yourself that you think she's attractive." She was attractive. But he'd had too much to drink when they went out and wound up using Lindy to drown his sorrows over Gabrielle. That night wasn't something he was proud of, which meant seeing Lindy again wasn't going to make him any more comfortable than buddying up with Tucker. "When?" he asked, so he could come up with a more specific excuse. "This coming Friday." "It's already Monday. That's not a lot of notice." "I'm just having an open house. You come, you eat, you go. You can be in and out in twenty minutes or less. And you can take Allie home with you." "But that isn't my weekend." "I know." "I'll be there," he said. CHAPTER THREE Lindy held Allie and hung out near the punchbowl, even though she drank nothing but soda. Being pregnant meant she had to watch a few things — her caffeine and alcohol intake, for starters. But those were only the small changes. She'd never stepped foot inside a maternity shop or visited an obstetrician more than once a year. Now she was going to have to buy a whole new wardrobe and schedule her life around monthly, and then weekly, checkups. She'd have to come up with a good childcare arrangement for after the baby was born, so she could continue to work, and — She pressed her forehead against Allie's. "What have I gotten myself into?" she whispered, but Allie only grinned and clapped her chubby hands, convinced that Aunt Lindy was playing another game with her. "It was wonderful to meet you. Thanks for coming," Lindy heard Gabrielle say at the door. "Thanks for inviting us," the woman of the young family who was just leaving replied. "You have a lovely home." The door closed, and Lindy felt her nerves grow taut as silence engulfed the house. The party was winding down. Only a few stragglers remained outside on the deck near the pool, a couple of men who were talking to Randall and Randall's eight-year-old son, Landon. Lindy had spent the entire day at Gabrielle's house

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helping prepare for the party, then serving food and playing with Allie, but mostly waiting for an opportunity to talk to Gabrielle. She'd decided to tell Gabrielle about the baby and get it over with so she could sleep at night. "You look tired," Gabrielle said, entering the room again. "You want me to take Allie?" "No." Allie gave her someone to cling to. "I'm not too tired. I've just had a busy week." And the biggest emotional blow of my life. A curious look crossed Gabrielle's face. She opened her mouth to say something else, but the doorbell interrupted. Thinking she'd been granted a momentary reprieve, Lindy breathed a sigh of relief — until she recognized David's voice. What was he doing here? Gabrielle had said she was having her neighbors over. She'd mentioned nothing about her ex-husband. And Lindy knew for a fact that this wasn't David's week to have Allie. She and Gabrielle had gone shopping last Saturday while he had the baby. "Sorry I'm late," she heard him say. "I had to work." "More likely you were hoping to miss my party," Gabrielle replied. He didn't bother to deny it. "Did I have any luck?" "For the most part. Only a few people are left. Come in." Lindy glanced around, wondering where she could disappear. She'd mentally prepared herself to tell Gabrielle today, but she wasn't ready for David. Putting Allie down, she started for the hall, thinking the bathroom was the most logical place. But Allie squealed in protest the second she moved away — and Gabrielle called to her before she could get far enough to pretend not to hear. "Lindy, look who finally arrived!" Slowly, Lindy turned and forced a smile. "Hi, David," she managed to say. CHAPTER FOUR Evidently David hadn't delayed his appearance long enough. "Hi, Lindy," he said, nodding politely. "How are things at work?" "Busy." "I bet." An awkward silence fell almost immediately, and David tried to cover it by reaching for Allie. "Hey, babe. You ready to come to Daddy's?" "You're not leaving so soon, are you?" Gabrielle said as he lifted Allie into his arms. "You haven't even said hello to Randall." Through the window, David could see Tucker standing in the backyard with Landon and a couple of people he didn't know. "I wouldn't want to miss Tucker," he said, being careful to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "But it looks like he's busy. There's no need to interrupt him."

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"He won't mind. He asked me where you were just a few minutes ago." Wonderful. As David started to follow Gabrielle out for the inevitable greeting, he noticed Lindy inching the other way. "Well, I'd better get going," she said. "Er, good to see you, David." She turned and headed straight for the door, but Gabrielle caught her by the arm. "Wait! Where are you going?" "Home," she said. "But you said you'd go to the late movie with us after the party ended, remember? I have a sitter lined up and everything." "Oh...right." Her eyes settled on David, then darted away. Gabrielle gave him a wide smile. "And David doesn't know it yet, but I'm going to twist his arm into joining us." David felt some real alarm. This little encounter was awkward enough. He had no plans to prolong the agony. "Gabby, I have to get back." "To what?" she demanded. He groped for an excuse, but it was nearly nine o'clock on a Friday night, which meant it would be nine-thirty by the time he got home. It wasn't likely he'd be taking Allie tonight, and Gabrielle already knew he wasn't seeing anyone. They were close friends and spoke on the telephone two or three times a week. "I just... It's been crazy at work. I have some catching up to do." "You know what they say about all work and no play." She steered them out through a set of double French doors. "Look who's here," she announced. Tucker acknowledged him with a tip of his beer. When they were closer, he offered his hand. "Good to see you, man. How's life been treating you?" His life had been much better before, David decided. Before Tucker. Before Lindy. Before he let Gabrielle sucker him into attending this little party. CHAPTER FIVE Lindy didn't want to sit through a two-hour movie smelling the subtle scent of David's cologne and remembering that night at his place three months ago. It was too embarrassing and hurtful to believe that what had been an incredible experience for her had meant nothing to him. But even though she'd made it a point to enter the row first, right before Gabrielle, Gabrielle had sent Randall out to get some popcorn and a drink. Then Randall had decided he wanted some candy and left again while Gabrielle went to the rest room. Reluctant to be alone with David, Lindy quickly visited the rest room herself. By the time she returned, there was only one seat left, and it was right where she didn't want to be — sandwiched between Randall and David. Obviously, Gabrielle was working against her. Damn it, Gabby, if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be in this mess to begin with. She silently cursed as she sat down. But deep inside, she knew she couldn't blame Gabrielle for what had happened the night she and David had gone out. Gabrielle hadn't forced her to respond when David tilted his head during that video and pressed his lips to hers. Gabrielle hadn't had anything to do with the way she'd pulled him closer and opened her mouth to allow him to deepen the kiss, the way she'd reveled in the solid feel of his arms around

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her. Desire had flared so quickly and powerfully, Lindy wasn't sure when or how she could've stopped what had happened. In a very short time, David had managed to excite her in a way she'd never experienced with any other man. And yet... She squeezed her eyes closed. She should have stopped somehow. The warmth of David's arm next to her own made Lindy slide closer to Randall, so she wouldn't be so aware of him. But then her brother-in-law glanced at her a little curiously, probably wondering why she was nearly crawling into his lap, and she made herself sit in the perfect center of her seat without moving so she wouldn't brush arms with either one of them. Her back was aching before the movie was half-over. She surreptitiously pushed the light button on her watch so she could see the time, wondering how she herself was going to survive another hour and five minutes trying to be half her normal size, when David leaned over and said, "Relax, I won't bite." His voice was polite and impersonal, certainly nothing like it had been the night they'd made love. For some reason, his lack of emotion stung. Suddenly Lindy couldn't sit next to him any longer. She shouldn't have let Gabrielle talk her into coming, she realized. She had to go. Getting up, she slipped past David without saying a word and simply walked out of the theater. But when she reached the street, she didn't know what to do. They'd all ridden in Randall's SUV.... Briefly, she considered calling a cab. But she knew she had only a few minutes before Gabrielle came into the lobby looking for her. So she tied the lightweight jacket she'd brought around her waist, because it still felt like summer, and hurried away on foot. CHAPTER SIX David let his breath go in one big sigh as he stood facing the door to Lindy's house. He told himself he was crazy for coming, especially at one o'clock in the morning. But he'd purposely left Allie with Gabrielle for the night so he could talk to Lindy. After she'd disappeared from the movies, he knew he needed to clear the air. He knew she'd left because of him. He frowned as he remembered Gabrielle's confusion and concern when Lindy didn't return — and how frantically she'd tried to reach her on her cell. Lindy hadn't picked up until well after midnight. When she finally answered, she'd made up some excuse about feeling sick and not wanting to make them miss the movie. But she'd admitted to not taking a cab, which meant she'd walked nearly five miles. She couldn't have been too sick. Pinching the bridge of his nose, David tried to formulate what he wanted to say. He'd certainly never meant to take advantage of her or hurt her in any way. She was a sharp, sexy woman. Sleeping with her had been... Well, it had been a lot of things, but mostly it had been a mistake. It was way too fast, way too soon, way too intense. After what he'd been through with Gabrielle, he wasn't about to get seriously involved so soon, especially with a woman so closely tied to his ex-wife. He gave the door a quick, decisive knock. "Lindy? It's David." She didn't answer right away, but he doubted she was asleep. Gabrielle had hung up with her only seconds before he drove over and there were still lights on in the back of the house. More likely, she just wasn't happy about having him at her door. "Lindy? Come on. I think we should talk. It's not like we can avoid each other forever. As long as we're both part of Gabby's and Allie's lives, we're going to bump into each other at almost every family function."

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The porch light snapped on over his head, the door opened, and David could see that Lindy had changed into a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a T-shirt and piled her shoulder-length blond hair on top of her head. She looked freshly scrubbed and almost childishly innocent as she blinked at him with her clear blue eyes. "You really didn't need to come by," she said, offering him a propped-up smile. "I'm feeling better already." She started to close the door, but he caught it before it could latch. "Wait a second. Can I come in?" She hesitated. "It's late and —" "Just for a minute," he said. Again he read indecision on her face, but she eventually stepped back and motioned him inside. Located in the older part of Mesa, near Main Street, her house was small and probably thirty years old. But someone had recently remodeled the inside. Several walls had been knocked out, the kitchen, which was now completely white and almost spacious, had new tile and appliances, and the rooms he could see were decorated with such a modern twist that David felt as though he'd just stepped into a trendy New York apartment. "Nice place," he said, hoping to ease the tension. "Thanks." "You still live alone?" "For now." She tucked a fallen strand of straw-blond hair behind her ear. "I'm in the process of remodeling the back bathroom. I'll run an ad in the paper once I get the place livable." "Makes sense." He shoved his hands in his pockets. He was running out of small talk, it was late, and he wanted to go home. "Listen, Lindy, I came by because I feel terrible that you can't even sit through a movie with me after...after what happened. I know I was way out of line that night. I shouldn't have taken advantage of you the way I did. I'd had too much to drink and —" "And you're terribly sorry. I know," she said. "You've already apologized, remember?" "But —" "Please." She put up a hand to stop him. "A girl can only take so much remorse." She laughed selfconsciously. "Problem is, there's nothing we can do about it now." "We can agree to forget it," he said. She shook her head. "I'm afraid that's not possible." "Why not?" Her eyes were troubled when she looked up at him. "Because I'm pregnant." CHAPTER SEVEN David gaped at her as though she'd shot him. He blinked and rubbed his chest, then his mouth opened and closed but no sound came out.

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Lindy was afraid to hear what he might ask as soon as he found his voice. "Are you sure it's mine?" That degrading question had to be one of the first. He had no way of knowing that she hadn't been with anyone else since she'd broken up with Mac over four years ago. Instead, he said, "But we used a —" He seemed to realize the fallibility of their choice of protection because he fell silent for a second before finishing with a weak "It didn't work, huh?" She shook her head. "You're sure?" "I'm positive." He took a deep, audible breath. "I don't know what to say." "You don't have to say anything," she replied. "I won't get an abortion. I won't put the baby up for adoption." "I don't think I would have suggested either of those things." "Well, you don't need to worry about it, because I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I've decided that I'm perfectly willing to raise this child on my own. I feel it's only fair that I give you a choice, of course. But you can walk away, if you like. And I won't tell a soul you were involved at all, especially Gabrielle. She doesn't even know about the baby yet." "Gabrielle," he said, smacking his forehead. "She sets me up with her sister, and I get her pregnant the first night. God, what was I thinking?" Lindy had known this would probably be painful, but she couldn't help wincing at his self-recrimination even though she deserved every heartfelt pang. Throughout their dinner together, he'd made several comments that made it pretty clear he was still in love with Gabrielle, but she'd liked him so much she'd chosen to disregard them. "Allie and this baby will be half-siblings," he said, the ramifications obviously starting to come home to him. "They're first cousins, too," she replied, talking fast now that her decision had been made. "That already makes them family. They'll be close with or without your involvement." "I can't see you and..." he glanced at her stomach "...this baby at Allie's birthday parties and pretend I have no connection. I — I can't just ignore this." "Yes, you can," Lindy said. "This was my fault. I knew you were still in love with Gabrielle. I just didn't want to face it." She'd known how happy Gabrielle and Randall were, knew David would have to move on eventually, and thought she'd be able to help him. Which basically meant she'd been naive and stupid and now she had to pay the price. CHAPTER EIGHT David lay in bed feeling numb. Gabrielle's sister was pregnant. With his baby. From one night's encounter. What was he going to do? He automatically thought of Allie and how much he loved her. Kids were great. He'd wanted several. Only he'd always pictured Gabrielle as the mother of his children. Now Gabrielle was married to Tucker and would probably be having Tucker's child someday. And David was...what?

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Confused, he decided. Evidently being divorced wasn't bad enough. He'd had to go and get a woman he barely knew pregnant. He heard Lindy's voice in his head, saying that he was still in love with Gabrielle and wondered if it were true. How did a man draw a line between loving a woman in a certain way before and loving her in a different way now? The phone rang. He glanced over at the digital clock on his nightstand and knew it had to be Lindy. Who else would be calling him at three o'clock on this crazy night? He didn't want to answer. He needed some time to think before he spoke to her again. Unless telling him she was pregnant had just been her idea of a cruel joke, a way to pay him back for what had happened... "Hello?" he said, snatching up the phone before it could stop ringing. "David?" It was Gabrielle, not Lindy. "Did I wake you?" "No." Stifling a groan, David closed his eyes and let his head fall back on his pillow. He'd told Gabrielle he'd stop by Lindy's and then call to let her know that Lindy was okay. But he'd forgotten. And he wasn't sure what to say about his visit, anyway. At the moment, Lindy wasn't okay. Neither was he. "What happened?" she asked. "Nothing," he said. "Didn't you go to Lindy's?" "I dropped by, yeah." "Why didn't you call me? I've tried and tried to reach her and keep getting her message machine." "She's probably asleep." "She's been acting so strange the past couple of weeks," she said. "I'm really starting to worry about her. Did she say why she didn't tell us she was leaving the movie?" "No." David propped the phone up with his shoulder so he could rub both temples. Gabrielle was obviously looking for reassurance, but he wasn't the person to provide it. After what he'd done, his conscience wouldn't allow him to make any promises about Lindy's well-being. "Was she very sick?" "She said she was feeling better." "Hang on." In the background, David could hear Tucker trying to convince Gabrielle to come to bed by telling her they'd visit Lindy first thing in the morning. She finally agreed and told David she had to go. But long after David had severed the connection, he couldn't stop thinking about Gabrielle saying, "I've tried and tried to reach her and keep getting her message machine." Why wasn't Lindy picking up? Certainly she wasn't depressed enough to...

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CHAPTER NINE Lindy heard pounding at her door, but she was reluctant to wake up. It had taken her too long to fall asleep in the first place, and she really didn't want to start thinking again. Her head hurt from all the thinking she'd done already. But then she heard David's voice. "Lindy, it's me." "Again?" she muttered and dragged herself out of bed. This time when she answered the door, David was wearing a pair of faded jeans that looked far too good on him, a T-shirt and a pair of moccasinlike shoes. "You're wearing slippers," she said, blinking bleary-eyed at his feet. "I was in bed." "Then what are you doing here? I thought you wanted some time to think about...things." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "You haven't been answering your phone." "It's nearly five o'clock in the morning. Did it ever cross your mind that I might be sleeping?" "I figured that was the case, but then I thought maybe... I mean, you seemed pretty upset when I left, and I didn't know if..." He scowled. "Gabrielle was worried," he finished abruptly. "Oh, so you're on an errand for Gabrielle. Well, now you can call her back and tell her I'm fine." "I wasn't running her errands," he said. "She and Tucker are coming over here in the morning to check on you themselves. I was just — never mind." He started to go, but Lindy was suddenly eager to take advantage of the opportunity to resolve some of the issues between them. She needed to know how to plan so she could start moving ahead with her life instead of bemoaning the past. And there seemed little point in waiting. She and David didn't know each other well. He was in love with someone else. And she refused to become some sort of charity case to him. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of this baby on my own," she said. "I really don't need any help from you." "You told me that already," he said, walking away. "Why don't we just go with that then?" she called after him. "I'm sure we can work out some type of arrangement where we don't have to see each other more than once or twice a year. Gabrielle might not like the fact that we won't attend the same functions, but she doesn't have to like it, does she? We don't always get what we want. We —" "I'll call you tomorrow." "Wait! There's no need to call. We're in agreement here, right?" "I haven't agreed to anything." "Maybe this baby doesn't even belong to you," she said, saying exactly what she'd been afraid he'd say — because she was already tired of being his biggest mistake. What did she care what he thought of her? She didn't want him around, making her feel like sloppy seconds. She didn't need him. And neither would her

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baby. She was a successful individual, and she'd get everything figured out...eventually. "I live a pretty wild lifestyle," she added. "What happened didn't mean anything to me, either." He stopped and turned to face her. "Is that true?" Lindy wanted to ask, "Which part?" But his answer didn't matter. It was all a lie. "No." "Good, because I don't think it's funny," he said. Then he climbed into his SUV and drove off. CHAPTER TEN "It's not like you to be late," Gabrielle said when David knocked on her door at just past noon Saturday morning. "Don't tell me you slept in." "Actually I did," he said. "Is Allie ready to go?" She looked up at him, and he realized he'd been a little too abrupt. "Don't you want to come in and say hello before you leave?" He stretched his neck, grappling for patience. But after the sleepless night he'd just spent, patience seemed in short supply. "I can't, not today. I've got a few errands to run." "Oh." She hesitated. "Well, a few days ago you mentioned you were thinking about investing in some real estate. So I talked to Randall about the various properties he's seen on the market, and —" "I wouldn't be interested in anything as large as the properties Tucker's taking on," David interrupted, glancing into the living room to see if he could spot Allie. "I realize that, but he knows of a nice piece of land not far from where you live that could be divided into five good-size lots. He said it would be a perfect project for someone like you, who's local, who's new to real estate and who wants to learn. He even said he'd help you take them through the finishing process, if you want." "That's nice of him," David said, wishing he could muster more sincerity in his voice. Before Tucker's first wife was murdered, Tucker had been a very wealthy, successful developer. He was just getting started again now, but David had no doubt he'd climb back on top before too long. "Still, I'd rather handle any investing I do on my own, thanks." "You don't even want to talk to him about it?" "No." Her smile finally wilted completely. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her before lowering her voice. "David, can't you give Randall a chance? Please? He's doing everything he possibly can to make things as pleasant for the rest of us as possible." "And life couldn't be better," David said. "Please thank him for me." "What's that supposed to mean?" With a sigh, David jammed a hand through his hair. "Nothing. It doesn't mean anything." "What's going on with you?" she asked. "Are you ever going to let bygones be bygones? You won't even call Randall by his first name."

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"I don't want to talk about your husband right now. I have other things on my mind." "Like..." "Stuff at work," he lied. He could tell that his manner had offended her again. He and Gabrielle generally talked freely about everything, regardless of their divorce. But he wasn't about to share his most recent problems with anyone, especially Gabrielle — at least not until he and Lindy decided how they were going to handle the situation. *** Lindy had to do something to keep herself busy. She had plenty of work on her desk at the office — she always had plenty of work there — but she didn't have the emotional fortitude to tackle anything that required deep thought. Not today. She needed a mindless activity to occupy her Saturday morning, something physical to work off the anxiety that had plagued her ever since she learned about the baby.... Dragging the vacuum out of the coat closet, she began cleaning her house with a zeal rarely shown for such mundane tasks. But all the zeal in the world couldn't stop her from worrying about the future. What would David eventually decide? And when would she know? Last night, he hadn't taken the easy escape she'd offered him. Deep down, she'd suspected he wouldn't. She'd seen how he was with Allie, knew how much he loved kids. But knowing David would be involved in her life, in some capacity, from the moment the baby was born didn't comfort her. She hated feeling as though she was twisting his arm in some way, hated feeling responsible for their predicament. She yanked the vacuum plug from the wall. She needed an ego boost, she decided. She needed something to love that would be almost guaranteed to love her back. CHAPTER ELEVEN "Hello?" Lindy said, dropping her keys on the counter. She was breathless from bursting into her house and rushing for the phone, but she was feeling significantly better than she'd been feeling this morning. She'd just visited the pound and adopted a dog. She'd wanted a puppy, of course. But there weren't many puppies at the pound today. And everyone wanted a puppy. This dog's mournful eyes had won her over at first sight. "Lindy?" It was David. "Yes?" she said, tensing. "I was hoping we could get together tonight." "What for?" she asked, watching her new pet sniff around the house. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, you hear me?" she told the dog. "What did you say?" David asked. She sat on the floor, hoping to coax her new friend over so she could scratch him behind the ears. "I wasn't talking to you." "Oh, well, what do you say about having dinner with me tonight?" Lindy pictured spending the evening in David's company, feeling guilty for ruining his life, and decided not to put herself through the torment. He hadn't wanted to take her out a second time before he knew she was pregnant. She didn't want him to feel any obligation to do so now. Besides, she had her dog to think about. She wouldn't want to leave Max to his own devices quite so soon. She had too many pairs of expensive shoes to protect. "I'm afraid I have other plans."

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He remained silent for a second. "Okay. What about tomorrow? It's Sunday. We could do brunch." "I don't think so." This time David's pause was significantly longer. "Why do I get the impression you're going to say no to anything I suggest?" "Because there's no reason for you to feel as though you have to spend any time with me. You only need to decide whether or not you want to be part of this baby's life." "And if I decide that I do?" "Then I'll call you after the baby's born and arrange visitation." Max headed down the hall, and Lindy quickly rose to her feet. "I've got to go," she said. "He's heading for my bedroom." *** David sat staring at the phone. Who was heading for Lindy's bedroom? Pressing the disconnect button, he quickly got a dial tone and called Gabrielle. "Is your sister seeing someone?" he asked. "What?" "Lindy. Is she seeing someone?" "No, why?" "When was her last boyfriend?" "From what she's said to me, it's been several years. She dates here and there, of course, but not a lot. Since she started working at the D.A.'s office, she's been too busy to go out and meet men, and she refuses to see guys from work." "She has someone over there right now," he said before he could catch himself. "How do you know?" "I called her to make sure she was feeling better after last night," he lied. "That was nice of you," Gabrielle said. "But I went by this morning. I think she's fine." "That's good." There was an uncomfortable silence. "I thought you weren't interested in her," Gabrielle said at last. "I'm not," David replied and said a quick goodbye so he could hang up. He wasn't interested in Lindy, he told himself, but something about the possibility of Lindy seeing someone else bothered him. He paced around the house for several minutes, toting Allie, who wasn't too happy that she couldn't engage his full attention today. Then he drove over to Lindy's. Lindy might not think they had anything to work out, but David felt strongly the other way. Only, for some strange reason, once he stood at her door and raised his hand to knock, he couldn't remember all the things he'd planned to discuss. He could only remember the taste of her kiss.

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CHAPTER TWELVE "This is getting to be a habit," Lindy said, peeking through a narrow crack in her door. "I brought Allie this time." David gave her his most winning smile and shoved his daughter a little closer. Lindy adored Allie. She wouldn't refuse to let her in. "I can see that," she said. "Hi, punkin." Allie squealed and reached for her. "Just a second." The door clicked shut and there was some shuffling behind it. When it opened again, Lindy had a firm hold on the collar of the oldest, saddest-looking basset hound David had ever seen. "Where did you get that?" He glanced past her, trying to see if there was anyone else in the house, but it all looked pretty empty to him. "At the pound today," Lindy replied. Allie obviously appreciated the dog more than he did. She immediately struggled to get down so she could reach it. "You couldn't have rescued a better dog?" he asked. "This one's on its last legs." She bit her lip and gazed down at the decrepit animal. "You don't know that," she said, her tone slightly indignant. "He's fine. And he has sad eyes." David squatted next to Allie, who was hugging the dog fiercely. "All basset hounds have sad eyes." She scowled at him. "I'm sure you didn't come over here just to insult my dog." "No, I think we have a lot more important things to —" A knock at the door interrupted. "— discuss," he finished. "Are you expecting someone?" "It's Gabrielle. I called her to come over and see my dog." The way his luck was running lately, of course it was Gabrielle. David took hold of the dog's collar, so he wouldn't escape when Lindy opened the door, and resisted the urge to duck out the back to avoid Gabby's unwanted questions. It was too late for that. He was sure she'd already seen his truck outside. "Nice dog," Gabrielle said the moment Lindy let her in. David was pretty sure she was lying about the dog, but he didn't have much of a chance to call her on it because she turned to him next. "David, what are you doing here?" David noted the smug smile on her face and knew she thought her matchmaking efforts were finally bearing fruit. He struggled to come up with a reason for his presence that would convince her to the contrary, but he was out of excuses for contacting Lindy. "I just stopped by to —" He glanced at Lindy, looking for a little help. She sighed and shook her head. "Now that you're here, Gabby, you might as well sit down. We have something we need to tell you." "No, we don't," David said.

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Lindy frowned at him. "Yes, we do. There's no need keeping it a secret now. The truth's going to come out eventually." "It can wait," he said. "Stalling won't make it any easier," Lindy countered. "Tell me," Gabrielle prompted, her smile widening in expectation. "I want to know." "Remember when you set us up on that date?" Lindy asked. Gabrielle nodded, and Lindy gave David a look that said Here goes. "Well, we —" "— had a wonderful time and have decided to start seeing each other," David finished. He put his arm around Lindy, pulling her close, and she looked up at him as though he'd just grown two heads. "As a matter of fact, we're going to dinner tonight, right, Lindy?" Lindy looked too shocked to answer. Fortunately, Gabrielle filled the gap. "You know I've wanted you two to get together for a long time," she said, her eyebrows gathering in confusion. "Why would that be any kind of a secret?" "We just didn't want to tell you in case...in case it doesn't work out," he said. CHAPTER THIRTEEN Lindy shut the door behind Gabrielle, propped her hands on her hips and turned to confront David. "What the heck was that all about?" David rubbed the stubble on his chin as he shook his head. "I don't know." "Now she thinks we're dating!" "What's wrong with that?" he asked. "Maybe we should date, be seen together, pretend to fall in love." Lindy couldn't believe her ears. "Pretend? What's that going to accomplish?" "If the people we know believe we're a couple, at least for a little while, news of the baby will come as much less of a shock." Lindy was already having a hard time dealing with the many facets of the situation — the embarrassment of being fool enough to get herself pregnant in this way, the sting of his rejection, the mental and physical preparations necessary to be ready for a baby. She saw no need to complicate matters. "That might be true," she said, "but I don't think it's a good idea." "Why not? Surely you're dreading breaking the news to all the people in your life. What about your mother, your stepfather, your younger brother? What about the people at your work? They're conservative, law-andorder types. How are they going to understand you having a baby when you haven't even had a boyfriend?" "Maybe I have had a boyfriend." He cocked an eyebrow that said he knew better. "What would it hurt to prepare everyone, so the news goes over as smoothly as possible?" he asked. "Gabrielle, at the very least, will be much more understanding if we go this other route. And because of this baby's relationship to Allie, and the fact that Gabby's your sister, she definitely has a stake in this."

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Gabrielle again. He'd never get over her. What made it even worse was the fact that Lindy couldn't blame him. She knew her sister was special. "It wouldn't be as easy as it sounds," she said with a dismissive gesture she hoped would put an end to the discussion. But David wasn't ready to let it drop. "Why not?" Because we'd have to be around each other a lot. Because we'd have to smile and stand close and use all that other body language so characteristic of lovers… "No one pretends to have a relationship," she said. David rescued Allie from the dog, because he'd knocked her down and was busy licking her face. "You never know," he said. CHAPTER FOURTEEN In order to create the appearance of a relationship, they needed to spend some time together. David had tried to talk Lindy into going out to dinner, but she'd said there wasn't any need. Unless they were going to invite Gabrielle and Tucker to join them, chances were good no one they knew would be around to see them together. And Lindy definitely wasn't ready to test her acting ability on Gabrielle. Besides, they had Allie, who didn't particularly enjoy being locked in a highchair for as long as it took to eat at a restaurant, and Max, who hadn't yet settled in to his new home. But a pang of disappointment had surprised David when she refused. He'd really wanted to take her out, he realized. Maybe it was because he felt sorry for any woman so excited about adopting the canine equivalent of Oscar Madison. He cast a skeptical eye at her dog, which was lying on the floor with its muzzle resting on its paws, snoring. He'd never heard a dog snore before. Too bad she'd visited the pound before he became her pretend boyfriend. He could have gone with her and helped her pick out a nice golden retriever, or maybe an Irish setter.... "Why are you looking at my dog that way?" she asked defensively. He lowered the volume on the movie they'd rented. Once they'd returned from the video store and he'd put Allie to bed in Lindy's bedroom, he'd settled himself on her black leather couch. She'd curled up in the beanbag chair on the opposite side of the room, wearing a pair jeans and a T-shirt that was just tight enough to be distracting. "I was wondering if you'd been planning to get a dog for some time, or if you were acting on impulse." "Why?" she said. "Because this is a definitely an impulse dog." "This is not an impulse dog," she argued. "This was a calculated decision to add another dimension to my life and get me ready for the responsibility of caring for a baby." Her answer definitely made her sound like the attorney she was. He fought the urge to smile and overcame it easily enough when he remembered all the times he'd gotten up in the night with Allie when she needed to be fed or when she was sick with a cold. Those memories evoked the same sense of loss he experienced whenever he thought of all the holidays and birthdays and weekday activities he was going to miss when it was Gabrielle and Tucker's turn to have his daughter. He hadn't wanted the divorce. He'd loved Gabrielle, enjoyed being a husband to her and a father to Allie. Now he was packing bags and driving his baby back and forth every other eekend, and would soon be doing the same with another child.

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It wasn't a pleasant prospect. But he couldn't see any alternative.... "Now what?" she said, interrupting his thoughts. David blinked. "Nothing." "You had an unhappy expression on your face. And don't tell me it had anything to do with my dog." "It didn't. I was thinking about the baby." "Allie? Or our baby?" Our baby? Her words sounded so foreign to his ears that he wondered if he'd ever get used to the idea of having a baby with Gabrielle's sister. "This baby," he replied because he couldn't quite call it "our" baby yet. "What about this baby?" Her voice sounded tentative, as though she was afraid to hear where he was going with this conversation, and he couldn't blame her. These situations very often turned negative. "What kind of visitation do you think would be fair?" he asked. "I don't know," she responded. "You've never said what you expect." "I want at least the same amount of involvement I have with Allie." "At least?" "Alternate weekends and holidays aren't much." "But it's not practical to —" A knock at the door caused Lindy's words to fall off, and she jumped to her feet. "What do you want to bet that's Gabrielle?" "She'll be looking to hear how things went between us tonight." Sure enough, a second later Gabrielle's voice came through the door. "Lindy? It's me and Randall." Lindy's new dog managed to lift his head and bark — once — as Lindy shot David a worried look. "This was your idea. What do we do now?" "Fake it," he said. CHAPTER FIFTEEN Fake it. Lindy wiped her palms on her jeans and took a deep breath before opening the door. She wasn't a good actress. She generally wore her emotions on her sleeve. But now that she and David had decided to create the illusion of a budding romance, she wasn't going to be the one to give them away. He'd done too good a job convincing her of the merit of his plan. "Hi Gabby, Randall," she said. "How was dinner?" Gabrielle asked, her voice low and meaningful.

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Lindy purposefully avoided the intimacy Gabrielle's tone invited. "Dinner was good, wasn't it, David?" she said, drawing him immediately into the conversation. David came to stand behind her. "Excellent." "Where'd you go?" Tucker asked. Lindy waited for David to answer because they hadn't gone anywhere. They'd had pizza delivered. "P.F. Chang's," he said, placing his hands on Lindy's shoulders and massaging her in a subtle yet possessive manner. Gabrielle's eyes flicked from his hands to Lindy's face. She smiled broadly, and Lindy resisted the urge to pull away. "We're sorry for barging in on you like this," Gabrielle said. "But Randall's mother called this afternoon and asked if she could have the kids in the morning. So when we saw that David's Pathfinder was still out front, we thought maybe we could pick up Allie." It was an excuse if ever Lindy had heard one, but she didn't say anything. David had slipped his arms around her middle and pulled her back against him, and she was too busy trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. "That's fine," David said. "I appreciate you letting me have her today even though it wasn't my weekend." Lindy could feel her face heating with a strange combination of embarrassment and humiliation — because David was doing everything she wanted him to do but for all the wrong reasons — and was grateful the room was lit only by the television. "Where's Landon?" she asked, hoping to provide a distraction. "He's staying the night with a friend," Randall replied. His blue eyes flicked from her to David, and Lindy fleetingly wondered if her sister's enigmatic husband could see right through them. "I'll get Allie," he said. "There's no hurry for you to leave," Lindy said. "David was just on his way out. Right, David?" David stiffened behind her, and she knew she'd surprised him. But at the moment she needed some space to reestablish her emotional equilibrium. "Yeah, I gotta go," he said. "It's getting late." Then it was his turn to surprise her. Lifting her chin, he kissed her lightly on the mouth. "I'll call you tomorrow," he said and walked out. Lindy didn't respond. Her knees felt weak, and she couldn't find her voice. "Oh my gosh!" Gabrielle exclaimed once the door closed behind him. "He likes you. He really likes you. How do you feel about him? What do you think?" Lindy raised a hand to her lips. What did she think? That she'd made a terrible mistake agreeing to go along with David's crazy plan. She couldn't pretend to fall in love with him because, for her, it felt all too real. CHAPTER SIXTEEN David didn't call Lindy for several days because the way he'd felt when he kissed her last Saturday had been more than a little unsettling. He'd just been pretending; he knew that. But pretending didn't explain why he'd wanted to stay or why he'd longed to return to her place ever since.

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He'd thought time would give him some perspective, but four days without contact hadn't changed anything. At odd moments, he'd picture Lindy sitting in her beanbag chair, wearing that T-shirt he found so appealing on her. Or he'd remember the softness of her lips. That he could even kiss Lindy in front of Gabrielle, and actually feel desire, indicated something monumental, didn't it? Or was he simply reacting to the shocking news of the baby, hoping for something to exist between him and Lindy that wasn't there at all? He couldn't say for sure. He only knew he couldn't go any longer without talking to her. He wanted to hear the sound of her voice. He tried her at home, even though it was mid afternoon. Then he called information for the District Attorney's office. He didn't want to contact Gabrielle to get Lindy's number. He'd spoken to Gabby once since Saturday, and even though they were typically quite comfortable with each other, the conversation had been stilted. Probably it was all the lies and the pretense — and the huge secret he was harboring. All of that certainly didn't make for free-flowing conversation. And Gabrielle invariably tried to convince him that he'd like Tucker, if only he'd give him a chance. David was tired of hearing it. "District Attorney's office," a man's voice said almost as soon as David dialed the number. "Lindy Sims, please." "Just a moment." David waited, drumming his fingers on his desk. When Lindy picked up, he realized he was actually a little nervous. "It's me," he said. "How are you?" "Fine," she responded. "You?" "Good." She sounded distant, remote. He cleared his throat, suddenly at a loss for where to take the conversation, so he came right to the point. "You busy Friday night?" She hesitated, and he felt a rejection coming, so he rushed on, hoping to convince her. "I thought it might be nice to catch a movie, maybe grab some dinner. There's a nice steak place that just opened up by the mall." "Are Gabrielle and Tucker going or something?" she asked, her confusion obvious. David considered telling her they were. He knew he could always call Gabrielle and set up a double date, if that was what it would take to get Lindy to go out with him. But oddly enough he didn't want Gabrielle along. He wanted to be alone with Lindy. "No." "Then why go?" she asked. "We've been over this before. There won't be anyone around to convince." "Maybe I need to convince myself of a few things." "Like what?" "That what I'm feeling is real," he admitted. The pause that followed this statement was significant. "David, I — I appreciate the effort. But I'm busy all weekend," she said and hung up.

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Lindy stared at the phone on her desk long after she'd hung up with David, telling herself she'd done the right thing. She planned to play along with his little charade for a few weeks, because he was right about the appearance of a relationship making it easier to break the news about the baby. But she wasn't about to take any more of an emotional risk than a few strategically planned comments and outings. Why make the same mistake twice? David was still in love with Gabrielle. Lindy knew she'd be foolish to think, just because she was pregnant with his baby, that he'd be able to forget Gabrielle. Maybe if he wasn't so involved in his ex-wife's life he'd have a chance of getting over her. But he was involved. He had a baby with Gabrielle; they were good friends. But, if she'd done the right thing, why did she feel so lousy about it? Closing her eyes, she dropped her head in one hand, struggling with the desire to call him back. For once she was going to go with her head, she decided. Her heart would only lead her astray. Look at the mess it had gotten her into already. *** David went through the rest of the day replaying his telephone conversation with Lindy. He knew she thought his sudden interest stemmed only from the baby. He'd tried to convince himself of that, too, right after she turned him down. But it wasn't true. What he was feeling was far more basic than that. He simply wanted to be with her, see her face light up in a smile. Hell, he even wanted to see that silly dog of hers. Give it up. He'd asked her out, and she'd refused. What more could he do? He attempted to focus his attention on a Seinfeld rerun, but it was no use. The more he argued with himself, the more he wanted to call her again. A glance at the clock told him it was after eleven. Definitely too late to call. But he could drive by and see if any lights were on…. *** The house was dark. "Damn," David muttered as he sat in front of Lindy's house, letting the engine of his truck idle. He told himself to head home and forget about Lindy, at least until morning. But somehow it seemed important that he be exactly where he was. After several minutes of indecision, he shifted into Park, cut the engine and headed up the walk. He had something he wanted to say — and it couldn't wait. *** Lindy took several moments to answer the door. When she did, David could tell that she'd definitely been sleeping. Her hair was mussed and her eyes were sleepy, but she looked incredibly sexy. He remembered her, soft and warm beneath him the night they made love, and his body hardened almost instantly. "What is it?" she asked, blinking up at him. He drew a deep breath to slow the sudden pounding of his heart. "I..." His gaze lowered to her lips. "I'm not in love with Gabrielle," he said, then he pulled her to him and kissed her the way he'd been wanting to kiss

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her since last Saturday. Not a light peck — a deep, searching kiss intended to let her know, beyond any doubt, that he was here because he wanted to be. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Lindy felt herself melt in David's arms. She'd told herself she was going to use her head in the future and protect herself from making another mistake. But he was slipping his hands up the back of her shirt, and she couldn't think of anything except the feel of his fingers caressing her skin while he kissed her hungrily. "David, stop," she finally said, trying to pull away. He lifted his head long enough to look down at her, but still held her securely in his arms. "What is it?" "We need to take things slower this time," she said. "We barely know each other." "Actually, I've been thinking about that." "And?" she said, feeling warm and liquid inside in spite of everything. "I realize now that I know you better than I thought." "How?" she breathed, automatically arching into him as he started trailing kisses down her neck. "I know your family." He lifted her hair and kissed the nape of her neck. "I know you're an attorney." He circled the rim of her ear with the tip of his tongue, and she couldn't help the shudder that went through her. "I know you're a good person but a lousy actress." He cupped her bottom and pressed her into him. "And I'm positive I want to make love to you again." That part was becoming pretty apparent. But there were warning bells going off in Lindy's head. This was what she was supposed to avoid, right? This was what had caused all the trouble in the first place. His hand began to move around front, and she stopped him before he could reach her breasts. "You don't like my dog," she said, voicing the only objection she could think of in the heat of the moment. He chuckled against her mouth as he kissed her again. "Actually, I love Max," he said. "Max means you have a soft heart. See? I know that, too." He liked Max. How could she hold up against that? Finally realizing that they were still standing at the front door, she took his hand and pulled him inside. Some mistakes were just meant to be. CHAPTER NINETEEN David woke up feeling more content than he'd felt in ages. Lindy was sleeping on her side, turned away from him, but he scooped her closer. When he dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder a few minutes later, she stirred and rolled over to face him, and he couldn't help smiling at how appealing he found her, even in complete dishabille. At first, she just blinked up at him with those wide blue eyes and said nothing. But he knew something was coming when she began to worry her bottom lip. "We probably shouldn't have let that happen again," she said. "We keep doing things backward."

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He grinned and leaned up on one elbow to trace a finger between her breasts and down her belly. She caught his hand when he reached her navel, insuring that he could go no lower. "Don't confuse me," she said. "We need to talk." "About what?" "About Gabrielle. About this baby." "What about Gabrielle?" "You've been in love with her for years." The sudden freedom he'd felt last night when he'd told Lindy that he wasn't in love with Gabby anymore had confirmed that it was true. Now he believed he'd hung on to Gabby for so long, even after she'd moved on, because of Allie. Having another baby on the way forced him to look beyond what once was to what might be, and it was a very hopeful picture. "I'm over her," he said. "And the baby?" "I'm excited about the baby." "Oh." She seemed surprised that there wasn't more to say, but David felt as though things had suddenly become very simple. "Now I have something I want to discuss," he said. She raised her brows. "What's that?" "It's about the ad." "What ad?" "The one you're planning to run when you get the bathroom finished." "For a roommate?" "That's the one." She caught on and began to smile. "I suppose you know just the person." He rolled her beneath him and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her neck. "I do," he murmured against her warm skin. "But you already have a house," she pointed out. "I'll sell it." She put her hands on his chest. "But what if...what if it doesn't work out between us?" "I can't make any promises about the future, Lindy. It's too soon for that. But I do know it'll never work if we don't give it a chance," he said. Then he kissed her. And this time she put her arms around his neck and clung to him while he made love to her — and he understood what it was about her that had made him forget reason the first time.

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CHAPTER TWENTY Seven months later "I can't believe you had to bring that dog," Gabrielle said, frowning at Max as Gabrielle, Lindy, David and Tucker sat around the pool after Allie's birthday party. "Don't look at me," Lindy replied. "It's David. He's crazy about that dog." She got up because Landon was calling to her, wanting to show her some new trick he could do in the pool. "He doesn't like us to leave him for long periods of time," David said, feeling a little defensive. "A few hours is hardly a long period of time," Gabrielle pointed out. But her expression quickly changed when she saw David's eyes follow Lindy over to the pool. "What are you staring at?" she asked, nudging him with a knowing grin. David felt his defensiveness slip away. Lindy was now nearly nine months pregnant and more beautiful to him than ever. "My wife," he said. Gabrielle reached over and squeezed his hand. "I'm so glad the two of you are happy." He was happy, happier than he'd ever thought he could be. He'd loved Gabrielle — he still did, in many ways — but she'd been so unsettled when she was married to him. Lindy was just the opposite. She was committed and content and as excited about the baby as he was. "I can't believe we're having a boy," he said, glancing over at Allie, who was busy eating a second piece of birthday cake. "It's going to be fun to have one of each." "Maybe we'll have a boy, too," Tucker said, leaning back and crossing his feet at the ankles. David raised his eyebrows and split his gaze between them. "Are you two thinking about having a baby?" Tucker grinned, and David thought it had to be the first time he'd ever seen Gabrielle's husband smile like an eager little boy. "What's going on?" Lindy asked, curiosity lighting her eyes as she came back around the pool. "I think the Tuckers have something they want to tell us," David said. "I'm pregnant," Gabrielle announced. "I found out just last week. "That's wonderful!" Lindy said, giving David's arm an affectionate squeeze as she sat down next to him. David leaned back and studied the harsh lines of Tucker's face. He'd never really forgiven him for being the man who could win the whole of Gabrielle's heart, he realized. But the past few months had changed everything. He now knew that what had happened before was for the best. And he was grateful that Tucker was a good husband to Gabrielle and a good stepfather to Allie. Reaching over, he offered him his hand. "Congratulations, Randall," he said. And the best part of all was that he meant it.

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SUGAR AND SPICE by Lynette Kent Dr. Ian Baker is a man dedicated to his work and his patients. He recently moved to New Skye, North Carolina, because he knew he was needed in the small town. But with Thanksgiving fast approaching, and his family scheduled to arrive for a holiday visit, he realizes he needs a life outside the hospital — if only to convince his relatives that leaving Atlanta was not a huge mistake. That's where Cassandra Stuart comes in. Cass is used to running things. She runs her own successful catering business in the day, but her takecharge attitude could be the reason she still spends her nights alone. What she needs is a man who needs her. And Dr. Baker definitely needs her — to make Thanksgiving dinner and turn his house into a home before his family arrives. Will he realize what's really missing in his life is Cass?

Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| CHAPTER ONE Ian Baker heaved a sigh of relief as the garage door closed behind him. He'd written today's date a hundred times during the past fifteen hours, yet hadn't realized the significance until he drove home from work to find the streets of his neighborhood crowded with Hobbits, Star Wars storm troopers, and Powerpuff girls, firefighters and Special Forces soldiers. Halloween, of course. His newly adopted community?? New Skye, North Carolina?? appeared to celebrate the holiday with great enthusiasm. The front doorbell rang as he came into the kitchen, then rang again. Ian jogged to the entry hall, fished his keys out of his pocket, and turned the big brass lock. On the porch, upward of ten little goblins stared hopefully at him. "Trick or treat!" A contingent of adults stood on his front lawn, just outside the circle of light. Ian wiped his hand over his face. "Uh?I?" He didn't have any candy in the house. No apples or oranges. Handfuls of cereal wouldn't cut it. What the heck could he give these kids? He held up a hand. "Wait just a second." Back in the kitchen, he surveyed his pantry. A box of Grape Nuts, a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter. There was jam in the fridge, but he doubted PBJs would go over well. The light shining in the laundry room caught his eye. He'd left it on this morning when he was searching for matching socks in the dryer. And on top of the dryer? That's it! At the front door again, he crouched to kid level and held out the gallon pickle jar in which he saved the change from his pockets. "One fistful apiece, okay?" "All right!" They lined up efficiently to take their turns at the jar. "Thanks, mister." "This is cool!" "Awesome!" His impromptu treat appeared to do the trick. Wincing at his own stupid pun, Ian straightened to watch the kids flee across the grass to his neighbor's porch, followed by their adult bodyguards. Then he turned to go inside to prepare his nightly gourmet dinner?? a couple of PBJs and a glass of milk. What the menu lacked in variety, it made up in predictability.

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"Dr. Baker?" Hearing a woman's voice, he swung back around, automatically offering the jar. "Did I miss somebody?" She stepped out of the darkness and onto the porch. "Not at all. And I'm betting the handout at Dr. Baker's house will be the talk of New Skye Elementary School tomorrow morning. But you and I have an appointment." Her smile was wide and bright as she offered a handshake. "Cass Stuart. Sugar and Spice, Incorporated." Ian stared at her, his mind a total blank. "I'm sorry, it's been a really long day." Belatedly, he closed his palm against her warm one. "Come on in, please." He led her through the dark family room to the adjoining kitchen, where there was light, a table, and chairs. "Have a seat." Setting the pickle jar on the table, he crossed his arms and leaned his hips back against the counter to take some of the weight off his tired feet. "Now, Ms. Stuart, I hate to admit it, but I don't have a clue as to why you're here. What are we meeting about?" "Food." "Food." Ian scoured his brain. "Dinner?" Yes, he worked hard. Some nights he got home so tired he could hardly spell his own name correctly. But surely he would remember having asked this very attractive woman for a date. She nodded, her big brown eyes sparkling with laughter. "Thanksgiving dinner." "Thanksgiv??" He snapped his fingers as the pieces clicked into place. "Right. I remember?? I asked my office manager to find somebody to make dinner for my family." "And she called me. Sugar and Spice is a catering firm." She definitely fit the description, with her shiny, cinnamon brown hair, cinnamon sugar freckles sprinkled over her creamy skin, and those deep chocolate brown eyes. "I'm here to discuss the menu with you." She'd pulled her hair back from her face with an orange velvet band and wore black cats dangling from her earlobes. The touch of whimsy made him realize he hadn't thought about how much fun Halloween could be for?fifteen years? Twenty? "That's great." He heard his stomach growl and, from the quirk of Cass Stuart's full lips, knew she'd heard, too. "Would you mind if I made a sandwich? I haven't eaten since?" The memory escaped him and he shrugged. "Whenever." She opened her hands in a generous gesture. "Be my guest. But since I'm in the business of feeding people, I'd be glad to make a sandwich for you, if you'd like." He turned from the pantry with bread and peanut butter in his arms. "No, that's?" Then again, the idea of someone else making him a simple meal seemed close to heaven. "Will you join me? If you get the sandwiches, I could change clothes." "Sounds like a plan." She came to the counter as he set down the supplies. "I'll find what I need. Come back in ten minutes." "Right." Cass watched the gorgeous Dr. Baker disappear into the shadows beyond the kitchen. Rita, his new office manager and Cass's best friend since high school, had warned her. Now, she believed?? believed in the broad, rangy shoulders, the athletic build, the curly blond hair cut close to his beautifully shaped head. And the deep-set blue eyes, looking warily out on the world as if he hoped for friendship but didn't expect it.

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The house was nearly as magnificent as the man. As a kitchen aficionado, Cass definitely approved of the granite countertops and professional-grade appliances, although she wasn't sure the room had ever been used for meaningful cooking. A peek inside the spotless double ovens pretty much confirmed that guess. She put together four neat peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwiches, moved the pickle jar to the counter and set the glass-topped table with plates and two glasses of milk. Then, since Dr. Baker hadn't yet reappeared, she turned on the one lamp in the family room. Twice as large as the huge kitchen, this space offered a fireplace framed in black marble surrounded by exquisite paneling and built-in bookcases. Two long brown leather couches faced each other across the hearth, complemented by two tapestry armchairs and the lamp table between them. Otherwise, the room was empty. No curtains or drapes, no pictures on the walls, no rugs on the floor. Not a single accessory, not even a poker with which to stir a fire, should one ever be lit in that pristine space. Altogether, Dr. Baker's house looked like a cold, heartless place. Cass was still standing in the center of the room when Dr. Baker returned. He stopped short by the fireplace wall. "Something wrong?" "Not at all. Let's eat." They sat at the table and spent a couple of silent moments inhaling their food. Finally, Cass sighed. "This is good. I haven't had a bite since dawn." He raised a straight blond eyebrow. "A caterer doesn't get to eat?" "Too busy cooking." She reached into her purse for her notebook. "Now, do you have an idea of what kind of food you'd like for Thanksgiving dinner?" "Just the usual?? turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, rolls, vegetables, pies. Cranberry sauce. My mother likes cranberry sauce." Making notes, she shook her head. "You don't really need a caterer for this. Every grocery store will have all these dishes prepared and available the day before." "Yeah, I know." He put a hand on the back of his neck and rolled his head, obviously trying to loosen kinks. "But, see, this is a big deal. I just moved to New Skye to start my CT surgery practice." "CT?" "Cardiothoracic?? heart surgery. Coronary artery bypasses, that kind of work. Anyway, my whole family wants to drive over from Atlanta and celebrate the holiday. They weren't happy about my coming here, so my plan is to demonstrate that I'm doing fine and they don't need to worry anymore. I'd like everything to be really special, including the food. That's where you come in." "I understand." Cass added a couple of notes to her list. "But I have to tell you, Dr. Baker??" "Ian." He finished the last of his milk and looked at her with an endearing white mustache above his firm?? and very kissable?? mouth. "Call me Ian." Cass repressed her smile. "I have to tell you, Ian, that your grand plan doesn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of working out." CHAPTER TWO "'A snowball's chance in hell'? What are you talking about?" Frowning, Ian wiped away his milk moustache with the paper towel Cass had provided as a napkin. "What's wrong with my plan?"

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She braced her elbows on the table and shrugged, trying to keep her attention on the subject at hand, rather than on that well-shaped mouth. "You can hire me or any other caterer in town to prepare a terrific Thanksgiving dinner. But you don't have a place for your family to stay." "Of course, I do?? five thousand square feet of house, including four bedrooms, besides mine, and six extra baths. What more do I need?" He'd changed out of his surgical scrubs into a dark blue, long-sleeved T-shirt over soft, comfortable jeans, and socks, but no shoes. Something about the white socks, and those strong shoulders under blue cotton, made thinking a challenge. Cass pushed back from the table and walked into the family room. With a safe distance between them, she turned to face him, holding out her arms. "Does this look like a home to you? Does this resemble the house where you grew up?" Ian glanced around, his brows drawn together in concentration."Well, my mother has more furniture. And lots of?of stuff." "Don't you think she'll expect something like that here?" He shook his head. "Nope. No way. I had to do the dusting when I was a kid. Spent my Saturday mornings wiping off little china dogs and monkeys and fancy boxes and painted plates on tiny stands when I wanted to be out playing ball. I'm not having that clutter in my house." Given such a pitiful portrait, Cass held up her hands in surrender. "But there's middle ground between bare and unbearable. Your family?? which means who, by the way?" "Mother, Dad, sister and husband, brother and wife and two kids." She widened her eyes. "That's a boatload of family, all right. And they won't be comfortable if you don't offer more than just the essentials in furniture. You need chairs, tables, lamps, a television for the kids?." "You sound as if I've got time to do that kind of shopping." He rolled his shoulders, then rubbed the back of his neck again. "I was in surgery at six this morning. Even if I knew what to look for, I can't possibly make time for wandering around town to find it." "How long have you lived in this house?" Cass clenched her fists against the urge to massage his neck and shoulders, get out those kinks that were driving him crazy. "Six months." "And all you've done is work?" "That's why I'm here. CT surgeons are plentiful in Atlanta. There was only one overworked guy in New Skye. I came where the patients needed me." "So now there are two overworked guys." Cass smiled and stepped close enough to put her hand on his arm. "I'll be glad to prepare a dinner your family can enjoy together. But I really do think you need to soften the house if they're going to be comfortable. And, more important, if they're going to believe you are." After a silent minute, he nodded decisively. "Okay. You do it." To Ian's immense regret, Cass stepped back again, dropping her hand from his arm. "I beg your pardon?" He persevered. "I'll pay you whatever you ask to make the place look like it should." Those deep brown eyes had gone round with surprise. "I'm not a decorator."

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"I don't want a decorator." This was the right plan. And the right woman to carry it out. He wasn't sure how he knew that. But he did. "I want somebody who understands my aversion to clutter and somebody who understands what needs to be here so my family will stop bugging me about coming back to Atlanta." Her gaze focused, intensified. "You don't want to go back?" "I went to college at Georgia Tech and med school at Emory, in Atlanta. Did my training there, as well, but I never knew how tied down I was until I finally came up for air and realized I'd never left home." He shook his head. "I was thirty-three and still a little kid. I decided it was time to grow up." Cass gazed up at him, and he didn't look away, didn't try to avoid the frank interest in her face. He'd never said any of that to a woman. Somehow, though, he knew he could trust Cass Stuart with his confession. She took a deep breath. "Well, then, I'll see what I can do about the house. Is there a color you especially hate?" He thought for a second. "Pink. In any form." "Your mother likes pink?" "Loves it." She laughed, and he loved the sound of it in his house. "No pink. Do you want to show me what I'm up against?" "Right this way." He led her upstairs and turned on the lights in the guest bedrooms. Each room had a bed, an armchair, and a chest of drawers or a dresser and mirror. The armchairs were identical, upholstered in a green damask he'd seen on a sample at the furniture store, and the four beige bedspreads were all the same, because he'd liked the heavy cotton fabric. Off-white blinds hung at the windows, matching the offwhite paint on the walls. The off-white baths were supplied with green towels. Cass stood in the last room and shook her head. "Dr. Baker, you are seriously color-challenged." He considered that he'd done pretty well. "I had one free day before I started work. This was all I could manage." "Now we've got four weeks. Place yourself in my capable hands and I guarantee the results will be breathtaking." Ian couldn't help the interpretation his mind chose to put on those words. "Sounds good. I'm game." The woman across the room looked puzzled, and then horrified. "That's not what I meant!" "Unfortunately, I know that." He grinned and turned the light off to give her time to recover. Starting down the stairs, he glanced up as she came to the top step. "Do you want to have your way in my bedroom, too?" After a second's pause, Cass chuckled. "Of course," she said, in a voice suddenly gone deep and sexy. "What woman wouldn't?" A kitten was waiting on her doorstep when she got home from Ian's house?? tiny, shivering, all big green eyes and orange stripes. Cass picked the little thing up and warmed it in her arms. "What are you doing here? Where did you come from?" The baby mewed pitifully. "Is somebody missing you?" Inside her apartment, she wrapped a towel around her houseguest and went to the kitchen for a bowl of milk.

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"Pretty stripes." Cass sat on the floor nearby as the cat lapped up the last of her half-and-half. "Like ginger and cream. But I know naming you means you're staying?." She resisted the urge for all of a minute. "I think I'll call you Ginger. I'll be good, though, I promise. I'll put up signs, in case they're looking for you." Ginger crawled into her lap, made herself comfortable in the folds of Cass's sweater, and began to clean her paws. "I don't think they were taking very good care of you." When she stroked a finger along those stripes, the ribs underneath were all too obvious. "I'll have to check them out before I let you go back. "Meantime," she said, settling her shoulders against the oven with Ginger dozing in her arms, "we have to get your shots. The right food. And a litter box. You need to be well trained, as soon as possible. "Because, Ginger, my dear, there's this doctor I know?? a really great guy?? who needs just the kind of care you and I have to give." CHAPTER THREE On Monday, Cass got her early morning cooking done, then went to Ian's house and let herself in with the key he had given her. She walked through the rooms alone and tried to imagine coming home every night to such emptiness. How could the man survive like this? That was the problem, she decided. He survived, and that was all. He had no ties outside the hospital, nothing and no one to draw him away from his work. Ian had isolated himself with his studies and his training until his life withered around him. Even his reason for moving to New Skye had to do with the patients who needed him. But Cass believed that, somewhere deep inside, he'd known he had to find a place to do more than just exist. A place to live. And her job?? her calling?? was to show him how. Why she should believe that, after only one meeting, she couldn't say. Love at first sight had never been part of her agenda. Destiny was not a concept with which she felt comfortable. Life was work in progress, and she intended to make her work worthwhile. And to share it with Dr. Ian Baker, for as long as they both should live. In the following days, every moment she could squeeze from her cooking schedule she spent prowling fabric shops and furniture stores, searching for the right touches that would make Ian's house a home. She read Consumer Reports in bed at night to choose the best television and sound system. She renewed her close acquaintance with the man at the paint-and-wallpaper outlet. Her own small apartment accumulated the fruits of her searches?? pillows and candlesticks and pottery, fabric samples and paint chips and wallpaper books. Kate Bowdrey, a longtime friend and expert on d?r, spent several evenings sitting on Cass's living room floor, helping her choose patterns and colors and playing with Ginger. "I can't go too bold," Cass warned. "He wants a very quiet, soothing house. After a day at the hospital, I expect he needs peace." "I'm sure." Kate compared two shades of gold at the same time she dangled a feather toy in front of the kitten. "When do I get to meet this paragon?" "Did I say he was a paragon?" She hadn't realized she'd revealed quite so much. Kate smiled. "You said he was gorgeous, dedicated, intelligent, and?oh, yes, gorgeous. Sounds like a paragon to me."

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"No, that's the way you talk about Dixon." Kate was waiting for her divorce to become final so she and Dixon Bell, another high school classmate, could become engaged. She had already asked Cass to cater the wedding, but the arrangement was a secret between the two of them. "Oh, all right. You're just passionately involved in creating a comfortable home for this man in whom you have no personal interest. Who wouldn't understand something so?illogical?" But, of course, Cass did have a personal interest. And every time she ran into him, that interest deepened. Just last night, she'd come over late, after work, to measure the upstairs windows. And Ian had come up to see why his guest room lights had been left on. "The Decorating Fairy, I presume." He stood at the foot of her ladder. "I'm reminded of the Shoemaker and the Elves. They finished his work for him every night and made him rich." Cass grinned. "That's right, and at the end his wife sewed them clothes and he cobbled them each a cute little pair of boots." "So, should I write you a coupon for a free bypass? That's my only skill, I'm afraid." She turned sideways, leaned an elbow on the top of the ladder and propped her chin in her hand. "Somehow, I doubt that." He stepped onto the bottom rung, aligning their bodies and bringing their faces very close together. "You doubt what?" "That surgery is your only skill." Maybe it was their seductive position?? or, more likely, the fantasies she'd been having about him as she lay alone in her bed at night?? but Cass was feeling bold. "You'd have to be good with your hands to be a successful surgeon. So I'm sure?" At the glint in his eyes, her courage failed her. "You're sure??" "I'm sure you'd be quite dexterous with?with knots and c-carpentry?all sorts of?? of manual tasks." Ian stared at her for a long moment, his gaze intent, wondering. And then he dropped lightly back to the floor. "That's what you mean, hmm?" She tried to recover her breath. "What else?" "I'm wondering," he said, then winked at her and left the room. The second week of November was one of the hardest Ian had yet experienced in his new practice. Emergency bypass surgeries popped up every time he turned around, and the regular surgery schedule was booked solid. Follow-up visits and consultations with other doctors took time. Several nights he simply walked straight through the house from the garage to his bedroom and fell facedown on the bed, asleep before he hit the pillow. On Saturday, he got home early?? about seven p.m. - and stepped into a strange new world. The house smelled faintly of?cider, he decided. He tracked the scent to the dozen or more gold candles in brass holders of various heights now grouped on the mantel. A low, square table sat between the two leather sofas, with a bowl of green apples?? real apples, he discovered with approval?? on top. A soft, tapestry-patterned blanket had been draped over the back of one couch, while velvet pillows in gold and green lay against the arm of the other. The space provided in the bookcase now housed a new, state-of-theart television, and the remote control waited next to the bowl of apples. Firewood had been stacked neatly on the grate, ready for lighting.

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Ian found himself tempted to lie down, put his feet up and look for a ballgame on TV. But he was hungry. More important, he wanted to see what other changes Cass had brought to his house. A tour upstairs yielded?nothing. That seemed strange, when she'd been so appalled by the lack of color. His bedroom hadn't been touched, either. Or had it? He couldn't remember making the bed this morning?? he'd been called in at five a.m. for a trauma case. But now the sheets were smooth, the pillows plump. And did he imagine that hint of spiced peaches in the air? His stomach did the proverbial growling routine, and he decided he had to get sustenance or he would keel over. The refrigerator was his usual destination, so he went there first, wishing for something besides strawberry jelly. Grape would be a nice change. Maybe tomorrow he'd get to the grocery store. But the fridge yielded those surprises he hadn't found upstairs?? a foil container with a paper top marked "chicken and rice, heat in microwave four minutes on high." A big bowl of green salad. A whole apple pie and a pitcher of iced tea. Plus orange juice, fresh milk, bagels, butter, and cream cheese. Ian stood and stared for a long time. The pillows and blankets and candles?? part of their agreement, and he expected to see a bill. Food, though?what did food mean? Maybe Cass Stuart, caterer, couldn't stand to see anyone go hungry. Or maybe?? just maybe?? Cass Stuart, an attractive and generous woman, cared enough about Ian Baker to be sure he got fed on Saturday night. And if that was the case? What should be his next move? CHAPTER FOUR His next move turned out to be far easier than Ian had imagined. Maybe even predestined. He woke up Sunday morning to find chilly November rain pouring down outside the windows. For some reason, the idea of going to a worship service occurred to him. And the first person he saw, as he shut the church door on a wet gust of wind, was Cass Stuart. "Ian!" Her lovely face shone with pleasure as she came toward him. "Welcome to St. Peter's. Is this your first visit?" He shook the hand she extended, then discovered he was reluctant to release her. So he didn't. "I thought I should get back in the habit of showing up on Sundays." Impulsively, he added, "That was even before I knew you were here." She made no attempt to take her hand back. At his words, her gaze warmed like a goblet of fine liqueur held over a flame. "I'm glad you chose our church this morning. Let me find you a seat." Even as she turned away, her fingers clung to his for a few seconds. Ian missed her touch as soon as it was gone. CHAPTER FIVE Kissing Cass was like coming home?only better, because his empty house didn't welcome him the way she did, with an instant melting against him, the warmth of her palms holding his wrists, the spicy sweet taste of her lips moving, giving under his. He could have stood in the rain with her forever. Except that she was pulling away. He lifted his head to look at her and found her eyes closed, her smile dreamy. "Ian." He'd never heard his name sighed that way before, wanted to hear it over and over again.

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Then she opened her eyes. "I have to go. It's not heart surgery." She smiled, wistfully. "But people do count on me." A sudden clutch in his gut protested. But commitment was a characteristic he respected. And this was a woman he'd come to care about too much to dishonor. "I know." He stepped back, set her free. "Can I see you sometime this week? I don't know my schedule, but?" Like he ever had free time during the week for something as ordinary, as sociable, as a date. Cass smiled at him over her shoulder as she unlocked her car. "Oh, I imagine we'll run into each other. After all, this is a really small town." They next ran into each other on his staircase, as Ian was using his last ounce of energy climbing up and Cass was skipping down. He gazed up at her, sniffing the air. "Is that paint I smell?" She stopped, blocking his way. "Paint, it is. Top quality latex." Ian had liked the white walls. After a day of chaos at the hospital?? a day like this one where it seemed everything had gone wrong?? white was quiet. Soothing. He came to the step just below the one on which Cass stood, but when he edged to the right, so did she. "You didn't tell me you were going to paint." "You didn't ask." When Ian stepped to her left, she followed. Hands on his hips, he frowned. "What color?" "Which room?" "You're painting all the rooms different colors?" He swallowed hard. "And the bathrooms?" "Paper." Worse and worse. Visions of his mother's flower-covered walls assailed him. Again, he tried to move past her. Again, Cass blocked. "Please, let me by," he said through clenched jaws, barely remembering his manners. "I want to see what you're doing." "Why don't you wait until it's done and get the whole effect?" "Because it doesn't make sense to have you do something, pay for everything, and then have to do it over when I hate it. I'd rather stop this process as early as possible." "Whoa." The woman above him backed up a step. "What happened to trusting me?" He had said that. And meant it. But tonight, he just couldn't take the chance. "What happened to making things comfortable without any major changes?" he retorted. There was no doubt he'd roused her temper. She had her chin up in the air and her eyes were hard. "Your family will appreciate these changes." "My family will be here three nights. I live here all the time. If I'd wanted the walls all sorts of wild colors, I would have had them painted that way." Cass jammed her hands in the pockets of her overalls. "Excuse me, but that's not quite the impression you gave me of the way you finished this house." When Ian opened his mouth, she shook her head. "Never mind. Feel free to go up and make your judgment. If you hate it, tell the guys to paint over the color and charge the paint to me. I wouldn't stick you with a room you didn't like any more than I would a meal you

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couldn't eat. Good night." Brushing past him, she hurried down the stairs. The slam of the front door rattled the windows in every room. Ian ran his hands over his face and through his hair. Then, wearily, he climbed the rest of the way to the second floor to see what disaster awaited him there. The room at the top had two walls painted a soft green, lighter than the chair fabric he'd chosen, but in the same shade. With the woodwork left white, he had to admit the effect was cool, crisp. Pleasant. There were no flowers in the bathroom, just a pale green, marble-patterned paper with rolls of a Greek key border waiting to be installed. So it went. As he viewed each bedroom, Ian found a variation of paint against which his green chair looked?well, great. Soft gold, a light brown. The most unusual color was orange?? not a harsh or bright tone, just a moment pulled from a cozy blaze in the fireplace and expanded to glow on the walls. He felt warm and comfortable, standing there in the half-painted room. At the same time, he felt like an absolute jerk. A heel. An ungrateful, stupid, ill-natured boor. And there was nobody in the house to tell him he was wrong. Cass turned her answering machine off and refused to answer the first six calls that rang after she got home. She didn't want to talk to anyone on the entire planet, not even Russell Crowe. Didn't need any more work. Didn't want any more friends. Just expected to sit on the couch next to Ginger with a pint of H?en Dazs and eat until her teeth froze and her brain exploded. "When?" she asked the kitten. "When will I learn?" All her life, she'd been smart, fast, organized. And bossy. How many times had she heard that from teachers, from other girls? From boys? And when would she stop expecting to find a man who actually appreciated her talent for getting things done? Today might just be the day. Ian Baker had accomplished what no man had done before. He'd shut Cass Stuart up. A pint of H?en Dazs didn't last long enough for this kind of pain, and Cass realized she would have to go out for more. She set the carton on the floor for Ginger to clean and was dragging on her jacket, debating between French Vanilla and Bailey's Irish Cream, when the phone rang again. "'Lo?" Then she remembered, and swore. "Cass, it's Ian. Don't hang up." The words reached her even as she aimed the receiver at its hook. "Please, let me apologize." She brought the phone back to her ear long enough to say, "Don't bother." Then, for some reason, she didn't hang up, but stood there like a fool, one arm in her coat and one out. Waiting. "Listen, Cass, I was wrong. Totally, miserably wrong." He sounded breathless, frantic. "I looked at the rooms upstairs and the colors are great. Perfect. I wouldn't change one, and the bathroom papers are fantastic, too. I'm really sorry I acted like such a?a?" "Would you like me to supply the word?" "I'm sure you could. Let's just take it as already said." She heard the smile in his voice. "My only excuse is that I had a really bad day. A patient died during bypass surgery. Not my case but, still, it throws everybody." Immediately, she felt horrible. "Oh, Ian, I'm so sorry. Why didn't you say something?"

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"I didn't give myself a chance, did I? Instead, I jumped down your throat and made everything worse. But if you'll forgive me, that'll help." How could she refuse? "Of course. Do you want me to keep going? It's up to you." "Definitely." No doubt at all. "And I want to make up to you for being a jerk." Cass smiled, the ice cream forgotten. "How do you propose to do that?" "You'd like to know, wouldn't you?" Ian now sounded his usual, in-control self. "Just meet me here at eight Friday night. I guarantee an evening you won't forget!" CHAPTER SIX Wearing a velvet dress and sexy heels, Cass arrived at eight p.m. on Friday to find Ian's house dark and apparently empty. She waited in her car for a few minutes, thinking he might be running late. Then she wondered if he expected her to let herself in with her key. He might even be planning to spring some kind of surprise when she did. No surprise. No Ian. Just the chill and the dark and the smell of fresh paint met her at the front door. She turned on the lights in the family room?? she'd placed two floor lamps and another table, with the right lamp to set on it, by the sofas. She sat in an armchair for a while, staring at the blank television. The apples smelled good, and Cass finally acknowledged how hungry she was. In the refrigerator, she found hints of Ian's plans, including chicken breasts, a bottle of white wine, fresh broccoli, and fresh pasta. The thought of what she could do with those ingredients made her mouth water and her stomach growl. But tonight she would not take charge. She would let Ian keep control. By nine-thirty, she was ready to weep with hunger. He hadn't called and she didn't know how to contact him, except through the answering service, which wouldn't give her any information except to say he wasn't on call tonight. Great. So where was he? At ten, she consigned his male ego and his desire for control to hell. First, she turned on the gas igniter in the fireplace and set the logs to blazing. Then, she pounded the chicken breasts thin, dredged them in flour, and set about making chicken Piccata with the lemons and capers she found in the fridge. Great minds think alike. Just as she was stirring the sauce, lights flashed outside and the garage door lifted. In another moment, Ian came into the house. He closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, staring at Cass with an expression very close to despair. "Smells good," he said quietly. And then, "I am so sorry. I'd have called, but I was in surgery the whole time." Cass looked at him a moment, and her irritation bled away. "It's okay. Why don't you get out of your scrubs while I dish this up, and we can eat in front of the fireplace?" Ian squeezed his eyes shut. "Sounds great. I??" But then he opened his eyes, shook his head, and went to his room without finishing the thought. When he came out again, the plates were set on the coffee table, with glasses of wine waiting and a CD Cass liked playing softly. "I have no idea what kind of music you enjoy," she said as they sat on the floor opposite each other. "Is this okay?"

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"I haven't had much time for music. But this is good." He took a bite of chicken. "Mmm. So's this." He toasted her with his wine. "How is it you always end up taking care of me? I really meant to do the honors tonight." "You take care of people all day long." "You feed people all day long." "Not the same level of pressure as heart surgery." "Sometimes being fed is more important." "Give it up, Dr. Baker. I'm not going to let you take the blame. Just eat your dinner." "Yes, ma'am." She wouldn't let him clean up afterward, either. With the dishes in the dishwasher, she brought the wine bottle out, refilled their glasses, then turned off the lamps and curled up on the couch where she could watch Ian, still on the floor, and the fire. "Thank you for a lovely dinner. Consider yourself cleared of all obligation." "You cooked, cleaned up, and waited two hours to begin with." Cass shrugged. "I'm a take-charge kind of person. Being waited on really doesn't suit me." Ian pushed himself up off the floor and onto the opposite sofa, bracing his elbows on his thighs as he held his wineglass in both hands. "What does suit you?" The answer slipped out before she could stop it. "Being needed." "Yeah?" He moved to her couch, setting his glass on the table. "What else?" The fire flickered over his face, striking blue sparks deep in his eyes. "Um?being comfortable." Reaching out, he slipped off her shoes. "Better?" Cass smiled and wiggled her toes. "Much." "Anything else?" Staring into her wine, she debated asking That I want you to take off? but decided she wasn't brave enough to be quite that blunt. She risked a quick glance at the man next to her. "That suits me?" "Well?" His hand still rested on her ankle, his fingers circling lightly on her skin. The tremor caused by his touch streaked straight up her leg and set off an earthquake deep inside of her. "To be wanted," Cass said, barely above a whisper. He took the wine goblet from her shaky fingers and set it beside his on the table. "So, there are a few things I can do for you, after all." His fingers tilted her face up. His mouth touched the point of her chin, grazed the line of her cheek, placed a kiss on each eyelid. "I've wanted you from that first night," he said softly, skimming his fingers, then his lips, over her ear. "You were like a candle coming into my darkness, leaving warmth and light behind even when you weren't here."

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His kisses, light as they were, pressed her back into the soft leather sofa. She raised her hands to grip his shoulders, bring him closer, but Ian held back. "Are you warm enough? Too warm?" He set his mouth to her throat, nibbled lightly. "Ian?" She was losing the ability to think. "You're the first thing that comes to my mind in the morning when I wake up." He ran his fingers along the edge of her dress, over the sensitive skin of her shoulders, the tops of her breasts. "Seems like you're the sunshine that starts my day." He followed the trail of his fingers with his lips. "I need that thought of you to get me going." Crazy with her own need, Cass pulled his face to hers, seized his mouth for a breathless eternity of kisses. She let her hands roam freely, as his were, and soon they lay together with no barriers at all, except a desire to prolong the pleasure as long as possible. Finally, Ian settled over her, joining their bodies with a deliberation that drove her even wilder. Then he lifted his head to look into her eyes, his own glinting with a smile. "Are you okay? Comfortable enough?" "I'm going to kill you." Cass adjusted her hips with a move that made him groan. "You know, lady," he said breathlessly, "I think you might be right." CHAPTER SEVEN Thanksgiving drew near and the pace of Cass's life accelerated from busy to frantic. She'd always been an early riser, but when she stayed over at Ian's?? which happened more often than not?? she got up an hour earlier than her regular six a.m. That meant she got more cooking done before the stores opened at ten. But the house was almost finished. And she knew Ian was pleased with what she'd done. Pleased to see that his guest rooms provided a quiet elegance with which he felt comfortable. Pleased that his family room offered welcome and comfort?? to him and anyone else who came in?? with accents of color, contrasts of texture, and simple luxuries. Most of all, maybe, pleased that his kitchen had become a functional place, with food in the pantry and the refrigerator and, most nights, dinner on the table when he finally got home. She managed to be there at some point in the afternoon or evening and, even if she couldn't stay, to leave him something to eat. The extra cooking put more strain on her hectic schedule, but taking care of Ian was a pleasure well worth the effort. The weekend before the big day, she decided to introduce him to Ginger. He had two days off from the hospital, plenty of time for them to get to know each other. Late Friday afternoon, she packed up Ginger's household and went to Ian's, prepared to offer homemade lasagna and her little feline surprise when he walked in the door. Predictably, he still wasn't there by nine, so she cut herself a piece of lasagna, then curled up on the sofa with Ginger under the tapestry throw to watch the fire and wait. Warm, cozy, she dreamed that Ian was bending over her, his smile wide and sexy as he leaned in for a kiss. "Hey, beautiful. Where've you been all my life?" She smiled and kissed him back, and then realized with pleasure that it was real. He'd come home. Stretching, she reached up to put her arms around him. "Mmmm. What time is it?" Ginger stirred and peeked out from underneath the throw.

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"Midni??" His gaze dropped. He straightened up out of her hold. "What is that?" The cat scrambled away from his harsh tone, clawing at Cass's shoulder. "A kitten, of course. Ginger." "Did you find it outside the house? Are there more?" "No. I've had her since Halloween." Getting control of the trembling creature, she turned the sweet face toward him. "I brought her for you." Ian sneezed, and sneezed again. "N-no, thanks." "Are you getting a cold? And what do you mean, 'No, thanks'?" "I don't want a cat. I'm allergic." He backed around the coffee table to the other sofa. "You'll have to take her away." Allergic. How awful. "Are you sure?" Another series of sneezes. "Oh, I'm sure." She grappled frantically for a solution. "There are allergy shots you can take. Medicines. And you need a cat. Someone to be here when you come home." Until you ask me to be. "A reason to do something besides work. Ginger's perfect." Although as she kept trying to get away, she was pulling threads from Cass's brandnew velour sweater. Ian ran a hand over his face. "Look, I appreciate the thought?? though it would have been better if you'd asked me first, and saved us both the hassle. I just can't have a cat." He dropped down on the couch and put his head back. "Man, what a day." Hassle. That meant she'd done it again. Evidently, she never would learn not to be bossy. "What am I supposed to do with Ginger?" He opened one eye. "You can keep a cat at your place, right?" Her heart stopped for a long moment. "Of course." Now feeling very, very cold, she got to her feet and moved toward the door. "Cass?" Ian was on his feet again, staring at her across the vast expanse of his family room and kitchen. The space was friendly now, and inviting, with the fire crackling cheerfully, the lamplight glinting on gold and red and green accents, the scent of cider spicing the air. His family would know how good his life could be here in New Skye. And they'd never know that she had expected to be part of it. "I have to go." She opened the door and hurried outside, trying to keep hold of the cat and hold back her tears at the same time. What he'd just said, essentially, was that she had no more of a role in his life than the cat did. He hadn't used the L word yet. And Cass had been waiting on him, trying, for once, not to control the situation. Trying to let Ian take the lead. Good thing. This would hurt much worse if she'd told him she loved him. On the other hand, she wasn't sure it could hurt any worse.

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The only thing Ian knew for sure was that he had no clue. Cass had brought a cat to his house and when he didn't want it, she'd cut off all communication. He had some experience with women, though he didn't think of himself as Don Juan. Still, this was the strangest situation he'd ever encountered. To make matters worse, he didn't have time to do anything about it. The guy who was on call on Sunday came down with the flu Saturday afternoon and begged Ian to take over. So he spent Sunday in the hospital before beginning the regular workweek. People didn't much like seeing doctors in the days before Thanksgiving, so he made it home most nights by eight. But Cass wouldn't answer the phone, at work or at home. The finishing touches for the house magically appeared during the day, but she wasn't waiting for him anymore, with her warm smile and her hot kisses and her generous soul. How was he supposed to get through a week without waking up with Cass in his arms? Wednesday night, he came in to discover a mouthwatering aroma in the air, compliments of the pies on the counter?? pumpkin, pecan, and mincemeat, just as he'd ordered. Thursday morning, he went in for rounds at seven a.m., knowing no surgeries had been scheduled for the holiday. His family would be arriving about two. He should be home in plenty of time to talk with Cass and get this whole mess straightened out before they arrived. He really wanted his family to meet her. The news about a ten-car pileup on the interstate just outside of town only reached him after he got to work. CHAPTER EIGHT When Cass arrived at ten on Thanksgiving morning to find Ian's house empty, she drew a huge sigh of relief. As long as they weren't alone together, she could function as simply the hired help. She'd make dinner, be polite to his family, and then she'd never have to see him again. Him or his beautiful home. The turkey went into the oven at noon, and Ian hadn't shown up. She started on her special green bean casserole, peeled the potatoes, and put them in the pot, and he still hadn't arrived. Two o'clock drew ever closer. Ian didn't come home. Just as she set the yeast dough to rise for the first time, the front doorbell rang. With no other choice, she smoothed her hair, took off her apron, and prepared to face the Baker family. Alone. She opened the door. Standing on the porch was an assortment of adults, while a couple of little boys raced around the front lawn. Cass swallowed hard and called up some kind of smile. "Hi. You must be Mr. and Mrs. Baker." She searched for the oldest faces. "I'm Cassandra Stuart. Please, come in." As Mrs. Baker stepped inside, Cass realized that Ian looked like his mother. The same bone structure, the same deep-set blue eyes, which were surveying her now with outright suspicion. "Where is Ian?" "Where do you think he is, Dorothy?" Mr. Baker came in behind his wife, an approachable man with dark hair and twinkling eyes. "Where he always is?? at work." He held out a hand. "I'm Jeff Baker, Ms. Stuart. Good to meet you." His grin was like Ian's, definitely sexy even in his rounder face. "This is my son Jeff, Junior, and his wife, Honey, and that's our daughter, Melissa, with her husband, Todd. Those hooligans outside are Jason and Joshua." "I'm pleased to meet all of you." Cass held on to her poise by a thread. "Ian is still at the hospital?? there was an accident on the interstate this morning and I imagine he's been called in to operate. But I'll make you as comfortable as I can. Would you like to go to your rooms for a bit? And then I'll serve some appetizers while we wait for Ian to get here."

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With Mrs. Baker's assent, they went upstairs. Cass showed them to the rooms she'd thought they would like, and was gratified to hear murmurs of appreciation up and down the hall. Okay, she'd gotten that part right. Now, all she had to do was survive the rest of the afternoon. Ian drove home at six-thirty in a state of exhaustion coupled with dread. No woman would forgive a man who put her in the position he'd left Cass facing today?? welcoming strangers to a house where she had no real place or authority. That wasn't true, of course. Cass was the heart of his home, the soul of his life. If he hadn't realized that truth before, these past days without her would have done it. Today had brought him, once again, up against life or death choices and the realization of how precious time can be. There might never be enough. As he came in from the garage, he was surprised to hear his father's roar of laughter in the dining room. Baffled by sounds of celebration where he'd expected chilly silence, Ian stopped in the doorway to survey the scene. His family was clearly enjoying its collective self. His brother and sister and their spouses looked comfortable. He didn't see the nephews at first, but a quick glance into the family room found them playing some kind of video game on his new TV. Cass had joined them at the dining room table, her face flushed with effort and pleasure and, maybe, a glass of wine. She seemed perfectly at ease with his dad and his siblings. No one was ever at ease with Dorothy Baker, but as far as he could tell, Cass appeared to have made a truce. Of course she had. She was too gracious, too generous, not to have charmed even his mother. Ian cleared his throat. "Hi, everybody. Sorry I'm late." Chairs scraped the floor as they all surged around him for hugs. The chaos finally subsided when his mother filled his plate with her own hands and set it before him, along with a full glass of wine. Since he hadn't eaten since dawn, Ian was glad to dig in. As he looked around before that first bite, however, he found one face missing. "Where's Cass?" They all looked puzzled?? no one had seen her leave. Ian got to his feet again. "Excuse me a minute." His mother protested, but he waved her back. He would not let the woman he loved get away this time. He found her standing on the driveway staring at her car, blocked at the rear by his dad's SUV and on the side by his Saab. She would have to drive on the grass to get out. And Cass wasn't the kind to drive on the grass. "Where are you going?" he asked quietly, coming up behind her in the chilly darkness. "I left the kitchen clean," she said, without facing him. "You'll just need to put the dishes in to wash and store the leftovers." Ian smiled. "But isn't that part of what I hired you to do?" "Well, I'm sorry." She faced him, then, and he could see her temper had flared. "I wasn't supposed to have to entertain people all afternoon as well as cook. I thought the least you could do was clean up, but if that's too much?" Marching past him, she headed toward the house. "Cass." He caught her arm, pulled her up against him and heard her gasp. "I'm apologizing again. I'm not sure exactly what for, though. I mean?why did you get so upset over a cat?"

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With surprising strength, she tried to pull away. "Because it's more than the cat, idiot! If you don't want her, you don't want me. Is that too hard to understand?" But Ian didn't let her go. And, after a minute of concentrated thought, he began to see. He'd told her to keep the cat he didn't want. Which meant? "Boy, did I blow it." Chuckling, he put his arms around her stiff shoulders. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to send you away. I was too tired to think straight." "Are you allergic to me, too?" Though she didn't look up, she'd softened in his arms. "Not in the least. You, I can't live without." He lifted her chin so he could see her beautiful brown eyes. "And there are allergy shots. If you'll only come to me with the cat, then that's the way it'll have to be." "Ian?" Cass stopped, and dropped her gaze. He simply held her, waiting. Drawing a deep breath, she met his eyes. "I love you." "Yeah? What took you so long?" Finally, that wonderful smile warmed her face. "I was waiting for you, of course." "That's something you'll be doing a lot of, I guess. I can't seem to show up on time." Then he lowered his head, kissed her softly once, and again. "But never again for this. I love you, Cass Stuart. Today and always." They shared a real kiss, then, the kind he'd ached for in the long, lonely nights just past. When he raised his head, they were both breathing hard. "Let's go in and introduce my mother to the future Mrs. Baker." Halfway up the steps, Cass stopped and tugged on his hand. "That's really neat, you know." "What?" "I'll be Cassandra Baker." He bent down for another kiss. "I like the idea, myself." She gave him the kiss, but then shook her head. "No, I mean I'll be Cassandra Baker?of Sugar and Spice, Inc. Perfect, isn't it?" Ian grinned. "Whatever you think, love. You're the boss."

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SINGLE IN SAN FRANCISCO by Cara Summers Torrie Lassiter needs to find a man — now! Lucky for her, legend has it the skirt she's wearing is a manmagnet! In order to land a job as executive chef for the Monahan House San Francisco, Torrie must face off against another candidate — who just happens to be her ex-fiancé and the man who stole her last job, Avery La Rue! To build her confidence, Torrie plans to show up with a hot new lover on her arm — and the man behind the bar looks like the perfect candidate to play the role! What Torrie doesn't know is that he's no bartender — he's the hotel owner, and her potential employer! Jake Monahan has registered at his own hotel incognito so he can investigate the problems that have been plaguing his latest location. When the woman he wants to hire as his chef walks into the bar looking for a man, Jake happily volunteers. But is he just trying to make sure she's the right kind of woman for the job or is his interest in the leggy brunette more personal?

Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| CHAPTER ONE Torrie Lassiter paused just before she stepped into the bar of the San Francisco Monahan House. Her plan — to hire herself a pretend lover for the weekend — had seemed so simple and clever during the long flight from Chicago. But now that she was on the brink of implementing it, the warning bells and buzzers were going off in her mind. But she was not going to let herself back down. In her mind, she pictured pulling one switch at a time until every one of the bells and buzzers clicked off. Visualization was a technique she'd picked up from her globetrotting aunt Jan, and during the past year it had helped her get her confidence back. Avery La Rue, the man who'd stolen that confidence and a prestigious job at the Turtle Bay Inn from her, was not going to get the chance to triumph over her again. When she faced him with a new lover on her arm he would know that she was no longer the stupid, naïve girl he'd been able to manipulate so easily a year ago. And tomorrow morning when she competed against him in a cook-off, she would win! Mr. Monahan himself was going to sample the dishes and the winner would be offered the job of executive chef at the San Francisco Monahan House. Just as Torrie stepped into the arched entrance of the bar, her cell phone rang. Putting it to her ear, she said, "Yes?" "Well, what does your gigolo look like?" "Aunt Jan. I'm not hiring a gigolo." Torrie couldn't prevent a smile. Her aunt, who reminded her of Auntie Mame and General Patton all rolled into one, was the only person she'd shared her plan with. "I'm merely going to find a nice businessman who will do me a little favor." "By pretending to be your lover for the weekend." Her aunt's crack of laughter sounded in Torrie's ear. "Okay, call him whatever you want, but why don't you have him yet? The clock's ticking!" Torrie glanced at her watch. It was five o'clock and she was meeting Avery for drinks at seven. He'd called her in Chicago to set it up — just a friendly little drink for old times' sake. Right! Avery was about as friendly as the snake in the Garden of Eden. He'd called her because he'd wanted to size up his enemy. Perhaps he thought he could even seduce her again.

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He wasn't going to get the chance. By seven o'clock this evening, she was going to have an attractive, sexy man on her arm. She pictured it in her mind. "You're wearing the skirt, aren't you?" "Yes." Torrie glanced at her reflection in one of the mirrored walls that flanked the bar's entrance. Her aunt had been with her when she'd gotten the skirt that had always acted like a magnet with men. It had been spring break her junior year in college, and their cruise ship had blown off course to a tiny island that wasn't even on the map. Torrie had never forgotten the words of the woman who'd sold it to her: The island women weave the fabric in the moonlight with a special fiber. Whoever wears this skirt will attract her true love. So far, the "magic moonlit fibers" hadn't brought Torrie her true love, but every time she'd worn the skirt in college, some man had asked her out. More recently, she'd been wearing it for luck during the taping of her TV cooking show in Chicago. Turning sideways, she checked her profile in the mirror. The skirt had always looked ordinary to her — basic, black. It went well with any top, including the sleeveless shell she was wearing. "Well, what are you waiting for?" Aunt Jan asked. "Time's a wasting! If that skirt can attract your true love, it should certainly be able to reel in a gigolo or two." "One will be quite enough," Torrie said. "Talk to you later, Aunt Jan." She was placing the cell phone back in her purse when something in the mirror caught her eye. For a moment she could have sworn the fabric of the skirt glowed. And there'd been something else, too. Narrowing her eyes, she waited for it to happen again. It didn't. Maybe she was getting a little too good at the visualization thing. For an instant while the skirt was glowing, she'd also seen a man with his arms around her. Pushing the image away, she turned and saw the man again. Tall, dark, and handsome enough to make her eyes blink, he was standing behind the bar staring straight at her. He was perfect. For a moment, that was the only thought in her mind. But he was the bartender. She could hardly hire him. Pulling her gaze away, she glanced around the room. He was also the only man in the bar! What in the world was she going to do now? *** Jake Monahan tried to recall the last time his mind had been wiped clean by a woman. Third grade, when Mary Jane Delaney had offered to kiss him in the cloakroom? Even then, he'd managed to snap out of his trance long enough to take her up on her offer. Eyes narrowing, he gathered his thoughts and tried hard to assess the woman striding toward him. Because the room was dim and the light was behind her, he hadn't caught a good look at her face yet. What had captured his attention first were her legs. She wasn't that tall — perhaps five foot two or three, but her legs were amazing: long and slender and — he could see every inch of them through the sheer fabric of the skirt she was wearing.

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The elemental pull that he'd been feeling ever since she'd stepped into the doorway of the bar tightened at the same moment that an alarm sounded in the back of his mind. Damn! The last thing he needed was a professional lady of the night drumming up business in his hotel bar. Good thing he'd gone with his instincts and registered incognito so that he could personally check out the problems that had been threatening the reputation of his latest addition to the Monahan House chain. The hotel was celebrating its grand opening in less than a month, and it was crucial that it be running up to his standards by then. Forcing his gaze upward, Jake noted the woman's slender, athletic build, the snug fit of the tank top. His gaze lingered there, too, before he forced it higher, taking in the long, almost ebony-colored hair, the whimsical spirals of thin gold that dangled from her ears, and the eyes — a clear, deep blue. A flicker of recognition moved through him. Then for the second time in as many minutes, Jake felt his mind go blank. "Could I have a seltzer water with lime?" she asked. Jake heard the words, struggled to make sense out of them. She thought he was the bartender — no doubt because he'd stepped behind the bar for a minute to check the supplies while the real bartender went to fetch the champagne he'd ordered. Dragging his eyes from hers, he took in her other features — the delicate line of her cheekbones, a slightly pointed chin, the full, unpainted lips, a little pouty right now. She was speaking again…. Her mouth alone was enough to make a man's blood move. Suddenly, recognition flooded in. Her lips had always been curved upward in a smile on her television program. The woman standing before him was Torrie Lassiter, the Cordon bleu chef he wanted to hire for the top job in his San Francisco Monahan House kitchen. Right now she was looking at him expectantly. "Sorry. What did you say?" Jake asked. She climbed onto the stool and let her gaze sweep the room. "It's five o'clock and the only people in this bar are women sipping tea. Where are all the men?" She glanced at her watch. "I need one in a hurry." CHAPTER TWO Jake Monahan knew that top-of-the-line chefs were often temperamental and eccentric. But the last thing that he'd expected on his anonymous visit to check out the problems threatening his Monahan House San Francisco was to find Torrie Lassiter in his hotel bar…on the prowl. Over the top of the bar, he watched her cross her legs. As the skirt inched higher up her thigh, his mouth went dry and he wished for the bottle of champagne he'd just sent the bartender to get. This certainly wasn't the image that she projected on her TV cooking show. He made a point of watching it whenever he was in the Chicago viewing area because of the passion and enthusiasm she had about cooking. He'd known from the first time he'd seen her that he wanted her. No, that wasn't right. Jake forced his gaze away from her legs. He wanted her in his hotel kitchen. Nothing more. And he had to have misunderstood what she'd just said to him. He cleared his throat. "What did you just say?" She turned those wide blue eyes on him again. "I said, I need a man in a hurry, and I thought the bar would be the best place to pick one up. Where are they?" No, he hadn't misunderstood her, nor had he misread his own reaction to her. He wanted to be the man she needed.

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And that was impossible. He didn't get involved with women on a whim — certainly not on the basis of the kind of reckless desire that had been building in him since he'd seen her framed in the doorway. And he made it an unbreakable rule to never become personally involved with the people he employed or intended to employ in his hotels. "Look." She leaned a little closer to him. "I don't want to interrupt your break or anything — but could you get me a glass of seltzer water with a twist?" Get a grip, Jake told himself as he pushed himself back from the bar and fixed her a drink. Another minute of gazing into those blue-as-the-sea eyes of hers and he might have pointed out to her that he was a man — and available for anything she might have in mind. This was what came of working nonstop for the past five years. Perhaps Arthur, his right-hand man, was right, and he did need to take a break. Otherwise, why would he have to remind himself that the only reason he'd invited Torrie Lassiter here to the Monahan House in San Francisco was because he wanted her to be his executive chef? It was the hotel's manager, Marjorie Lyndon, who'd arranged a cook-off for publicity purposes. And she'd done it all without checking with him. That was one of the reasons why he was here. A lot of things were happening at this hotel that he didn't know about, and he had a feeling that the incidents weren't accidental. A man didn't get as far as he had in the business world by ignoring his instincts. Nor by throwing caution to the wind. What was it about Torrie Lassiter that had him suddenly wanting to do just that? As he placed the drink in front of her, Jake studied her. It was a lot easier to look at her in profile than it was to be trapped in those eyes of hers. People fascinated him almost as much as running a business did. And Torrie had intrigued him from the first time he'd seen her on TV. His gaze seemed to move of its own accord to her mouth. The urge to taste it, to taste her, was becoming irresistible. He couldn't recall ever having been pulled this quickly, this strongly to a woman before. One thing was for certain. He wanted to know more about Torrie than what was on the résumé he had in his files. If she intended to use his bar to pick up men, then she wasn't the right chef for Monahan House. This time, he leaned toward her and let himself flick one of the thin gold spirals that hung from her ear. "You know, the last time I checked, I was a man," he said conversationally. There was surprise and a touch of embarrassment in the look she gave him. "I didn't think you weren't. I mean…I just thought…you're the bartender." "No. She went to get the bottle of champagne I ordered. They're a little short staffed, and I told her I'd cover for her." The lack of adequate staff was something he would speak to Marjorie Lyndon about. "I assure you I'm a paying guest. And I imagine there'll be a lot more men coming in here in a couple of hours. It's only three o'clock." Torrie glanced at her watch and then groaned. "I'm still on Chicago time." Jake signaled the bartender, who'd just reappeared, for a second glass to accompany the champagne. "That must mean you have two hours to relax." He passed a bill to the bartender and signaled her to keep the change. "Thank you, sir. And thanks for keeping an eye on my customers." Stepping out from behind the bar, Jake smiled at Torrie. "Why don't you have a drink with me and we can talk about what you have in mind?"

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*** The man had a killer smile, complete with dimples. And Torrie had to admit he was perfect — tall, dark, handsome, and very attractive. Kind, too. She'd noted his generosity to the bartender. Quickly, she sized him up. The clothes were a bit travel worn. But even without a change in wardrobe, any woman who could breathe would give him a second look. Suddenly, an image slipped into her mind — his arms were around her, just as they'd been in that flash she'd seen in the mirror, except that one hand had moved beneath her chin. In a moment, he would draw her closer and kiss her. And she wanted him to. Warning bells and buzzers sounded in her mind. The last time she'd felt this drawn to a man — Avery La Rue — disaster had resulted. "I can vouch for the fact that the champagne's excellent. What do you say?" Torrie forced the image of Avery out of her mind, and took another look at the man standing in front of her. No doubt about it. He was the perfect man to make Avery La Rue rue the day he'd ever messed with her. He took her hand and raised it to his lips. "You want a man, and I'm available. Why don't we drink to it?" Heat unwound in a ribbon of fire up her arm. As he pressed the glass into her hand, his fingers brushed hers and champagne spilled onto her skirt. Only when he dabbed a napkin on the fabric to absorb the spill did his words finally penetrate the haze that had settled over her mind. You want a man, and I'm available. As he rubbed the napkin across the skirt a second time, an image filled her mind — just as clear and as potent as the one in the mirror had been — the two of them entwined on a small narrow bed. Torrie felt the heat stain her cheeks as she reached for his hand and removed it from her skirt. "I've given you the wrong impression. When I said I wanted a man — well, what I meant was that I have a business proposal to make." His left eyebrow shot up, but she could have sworn the smile left his eyes. "Not a problem. I'm a businessman. How much do you charge?" More heat flooded her cheeks. "Not that kind of business. I'm not proposing that you and I… that we…" Swallowing to ease the dryness in her throat, she tried again. "My proposal is strictly business. A job offer for the weekend. And it has nothing to do with sex. Understood?" He studied her for a moment, and then smiled that killer smile again. "Maybe we could negotiate that part?" CHAPTER THREE "No. That part is nonnegotiable," Torrie Lassiter said firmly. "I need a man to pretend to be my lover just until tomorrow at noon. There will be no sex involved." Relief surged through Jake, warring with the wave of desire that had been building inside of him from the moment he'd seen Torrie standing in the entrance to the bar. Torrie Lassiter was not here to pick up a man in the Monahan House bar.

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Well, at least not exactly…not in the way he'd thought. And it certainly wasn't disappointment he was feeling. It was definitely relief. That sudden urge to throw caution to the wind was probably because he was suffering from burnout. Or jet lag. And if he didn't stop looking into her eyes, he was going to kiss her. Drawing back a little, he plucked the champagne out of the bucket and tipped it carefully into the two glasses. "If I'm going to accept your offer, the least you can do is tell me why you need a pretend lover." *** Torrie studied him over the rim of her glass. He had dark intelligent eyes, and there was a determined gleam in them. She imagined he must be very good at whatever he did. With a sigh, she realized she was going to have to tell him the whole story. Not that she would have lied to him. But she'd been hoping for someone she wouldn't have to bare her soul to. Taking a sip of champagne, she poured the entire sordid saga out. He was a good listener. Not once did he interrupt, nor did he judge her. When she'd finished, she felt…better. He looked thoughtful. "So you met this La Rue guy at a big celebrity chefs' dinner and he follows you back to your job at the Turtle Bay Inn because he can't bear to be separated from you. You put him to work in your kitchen and one night, diners get mysteriously sick on your linguine with clams." Torrie nodded. "My signature dish. I always prepared it personally." "You resign at his suggestion — to protect the reputation of the inn — and he's right there, Johnny on the Spot, to take your place. Then he dumps you." He took her hand in his. "That's cold." Torrie glanced at their joined hands and absorbed the feeling — strong and warm — that moved through her. "Do you think he doctored the clam sauce?" he asked. She met his eyes in surprise. "No. A chef wouldn't ever use food as a weapon." *** She was a true innocent, Jake realized, and decided to have his assistant, Arthur, check into it. But right now, he had something else on his mind entirely. "About your offer…" Jake kept his eyes open and on hers as he cupped her chin. In business, he knew the value of making a strategic first strike, so he brought his mouth within a breath of hers. "This Avery sounds like a sharp guy. If we're going to pretend to be lovers, we ought to see if we can pull it off." She drew in a quick breath when his lips brushed hers. She didn't protest, didn't pull back, but he felt the tension ripple through her. He kept the kiss soft at first, teasing, testing them both. The moment her lips warmed, he parted them and took them both deeper. He watched her eyelids lower, felt the pulse under his finger skip. Each separate sensation moved through him and settled hot and hard in his center. Something in the back of his mind told him that tasting her was different than tasting other women. The depth of what he was feeling was different. Something inside of him warned him to pull back. But to do that would be to deny what had always helped him succeed in business. A man who discovered something new and didn't explore it was a fool. Sliding his hand to the back of her neck, he nipped at her bottom lip and took them both deeper still.

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As sensations bombarded her — the scrape of his teeth, the heat of his tongue sliding seductively over hers — Torrie fought to keep her hands fisted in her lap. Not to keep from shoving him away, but to keep from touching him. Oh, how she wanted to press her fingers into those dimples, to run them through his hair, to test the muscles under that shirt. It was shocking how much she wanted to feel his skin heat beneath her hands. The desperation racing through her was so different, so new. When he drew back, all she was aware of was how cool the air-conditioning felt on her skin, how devastating was the sense of loss that had settled over her. Jake signaled the bartender. "Send the rest of the bottle up to my room." There was only one thought in his mind. He was going to take Torrie Lassiter there. Taking her arm, he eased her from the stool. "Let's go." "Mmmm?" It was a mistake to look at her. Somehow, the skirt had inched its way even higher when she'd slid from the stool. One look at those legs and he had a vivid image of what they would feel like wrapped around him. One look at that mouth, still swollen from his kiss, had an edgy blade of desire slicing through him again. "We're going to my room." "Your room?" Another minute and those dreamy eyes were going to have him on his knees. "Come on." *** He'd managed to drag her fewer than two steps before his words finally began to sink in. They were going to his room — the image flashed suddenly into her mind — the two of them on a narrow bed, pressed so close they seemed to be one. She couldn't. She could. Just then she spotted two people moving through the lobby toward the entrance to the bar. Avery La Rue and a woman she'd never seen before. Torrie stopped and pulled Jake to a halt. "We can't." He turned then, moving his hands to her shoulders. "Of course we can. I won't hurt you." Peeking past his shoulder, she saw that Avery La Rue and the woman were only a few feet away from the entrance. "It's him." "Who?" "Avery La Rue. I can't face him right now. I'm not ready." Frantic, she looked around for a spot to hide. But the only place that offered any kind of cover was a cluster of potted plants at the side of the bar. "Come on," she said. Pulling him with her, she ducked down behind the plants. *** As they settled themselves on the floor, Torrie slipped her hand into his. Jake held it tight and struggled with the emotions running through him. Analysis was his forte in business, so he could put a name to some of them.

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Jealousy because Torrie Lassiter obviously still felt something for this man she'd been involved with a year ago. But overriding that was an urge to protect. And something else that ran deep, even deeper than the passion she'd aroused in him. It spread from where her hand gripped his tightly, running through him, sweet and true. A man's voice spoke. "Bartender, we're looking for a small, slender brunette — Torrie Lassiter." "You just missed her," the bartender said. "Avery." It was the woman speaking now. "I don't see why we had to rush down here. You're going to meet the woman for drinks at seven. And you promised me some…private time before then." Jake immediately recognized the voice as belonging to his San Francisco manager, Marjorie Lyndon. "Just trying to get the jump on the competition. I have a history with Torrie. I know her vulnerabilities. Throwing her off stride is a key step in my plan to win." "But you're going to win, darling. I told you I have everything all —" "Yes, I know, my dear. But we shouldn't be discussing this in public. The walls have ears." *** As the voices faded, Torrie let out the breath she was holding. Time was running out. In so many ways the man crouched beside her was all wrong for the job. She needed a clear head if she wanted to win the competition against Avery La Rue. And the man sitting beside her… She realized with a little start that she didn't even know his name! She should call the whole thing off right now. She could tell him that she'd changed her mind. She would…immediately. CHAPTER FOUR From her position on the floor behind the potted plants, Torrie considered her options. Somehow, in all of her planning, this little complication had never occurred to her. The problem was — could she spend any length of time with the man whose hand was gripped tightly in hers and just pretend to be his lover? "I'll do it," Jake said. "I'll be your pretend lover — on one condition." Torrie tore her gaze from their joined hands and met his eyes. There was something in them that she hadn't seen before — the kind of intensity that might be visible in the eyes of a shark studying its prey. It occurred to her again that she'd kissed him, almost gone to his room with him, and she didn't even know his name! What was she thinking? This was her last chance to tell him that it had all been a joke, to send him away. Then she thought of Avery, the smug confidence she'd heard in his voice. It had been more than enough to rekindle a memory of the pain, the self-doubt. Torrie cleared her throat. "What's your condition?" "Our pretend love affair has to last beyond tomorrow when your cook-off will be over. We're going to spend the entire weekend together." His words — we're going to spend the entire weekend together — sent images tumbling into her mind. Each one of them was enough to bring back the sensations that had flooded through her when he'd been kissing her — when she'd been kissing him back. Drawing in a deep breath, Torrie eased her hand out of his and clamped down ruthlessly on the little fantasies that were doing their best to settle themselves in her mind.

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"I don't think that would be…wise. My only reason for doing this is to prove to Avery that I'm not the same woman I was a year ago." His eyebrows rose. "But you did say this was strictly a business proposition." "It is." "Then I should get something that I want out of it." When she started to say something, he raised a hand. "All I'm asking in return is your company for the weekend. I hear that San Francisco is a beautiful city. Why don't we explore it together?" She lifted her chin. "Okay, but I have two conditions. Number one, I want to know your name." * * * Jake stared at her for a moment, completely nonplussed. He'd completely forgotten about the fact that they hadn't as yet exchanged names. And when he told her, it was definitely going to complicate things. He had a feeling that she might not be too comfortable with the idea of having her future boss masquerading as her pretend lover. Hell, he shouldn't be comfortable with it himself. She might not agree to spend the weekend with him. He didn't want that. For reasons he didn't want to examine too closely, he wanted very much to spend the weekend with Torrie Lassiter. "Jake," he said, extending his hand. "Jake…?" she asked as she shook it. He smiled easily. "Since I'm your pretend lover, you can make up the last name." She nodded. "Okay, condition number two, we're not going to… I mean, you may have gotten the wrong impression from that kiss… I'm not going to… We're not going to…" She was babbling. So the kiss they'd shared had thrown her as much as it had him. There was some satisfaction in that. And she was going to agree to the weekend. It was comforting to know that he still had the power to negotiate until he got what he wanted. For a moment there, when he'd been kissing her, he'd lost all track of where he was and what he'd come to San Francisco to do. And as much as masquerading as Torrie Lassiter's lover might help him to figure out exactly what Marjorie Lyndon was up to behind his back, he wasn't doing it for that reason. He was doing it because he wanted Torrie Lassiter. "I don't think… It would be better if we didn't kiss again," Torrie said. "I couldn't disagree more. We're going to kiss again," Jake said. And more, he thought, but he didn't say it aloud. There were vulnerabilities as well as passions that lay beneath the surface of Torrie Lassiter. "For starters, because we're never going to pull this little charade of yours off if we don't put on a convincing act of being lovers. Perception is everything — and your whole point is to shake this La Rue guy up, isn't it?" "Yes." She couldn't argue with that. "And then there's another reason why we're going to kiss again." He took her hand again, and when it trembled, he merely held it in his. No, she wasn't at all what he'd thought she was when she'd first walked into the bar. And she wasn't nearly as confident as the image she portrayed on TV. Jake was certain of one thing. He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to know everything. "I don't think so," she said.

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"Reason number two," he corrected firmly. "Neither one of us is going to be able to forget that first kiss. We're both wondering right now if it was a fluke or if we can strike up that fire again." Torrie opened her mouth and then shut it. How in the world was she going to answer that when even now, she was thinking of kissing him again? Her gaze had dropped of its own accord to his mouth. His lips were curved in that half smile. And the dimples were about to appear. Quickly she forced her gaze down. She had to focus on something else. Anything. The skirt. In the dim light that fell through the palm leaves they were crouched behind, she thought she could see the trace of a shiny thread in the fiber. As she studied it, she felt her nerves begin to calm. It reminded her of the glimmer of moonlight on water. Funny, she'd never noticed it before. "Have you ever made love just for the fun of it?" Her eyes flew to his. For one moment, Torrie allowed herself to think about making love with Jake. All right, think ,I>again about making love with him. Truth told, the thought hadn't been out of her mind since she first laid eyes on him. "Look." Pushing the images out of her mind, she met his eyes squarely. "I came here for one reason — to win the job of executive chef at this hotel. I can't afford to make love or anything else just for the fun of it until I get this job. Can you understand that?" He nodded. "How about a compromise? In public, I call the shots. I do what's necessary to carry off the role of your lover. In private, I'll let you make the first move." She would have felt a whole lot easier if Jake hadn't looked so damned confident. Perhaps it was time to shake him up just a little. Taking his hand, she drew him to his feet and pulled him with her. "C'mon. I'm making my first move." He was drawing her in a beeline toward the bank of elevators when she tugged his hand and veered off toward a row of shops. "I thought we were going to the room." "First we're going shopping," she explained. "If you're going to be my lover for the weekend, you need a new wardrobe." "Now wait just a minute —" "Hey, you said it. Perception is everything." She turned into a shop with men's clothes in the window. "Unless you're going to renege on the deal?" CHAPTER FIVE Three hours later, Torrie paced back and forth in front of the small balcony in her hotel room. She felt as if she'd been caught up in a tornado. Every so often, she glanced at the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance to assure herself that she hadn't been deposited somewhere over the rainbow with Toto and Dorothy. How could so much have changed in the past few hours? Moving toward the bed, she sank down on it. She should be thinking of her upcoming meeting with Avery, but she couldn't stop thinking about Jake. The shopping had been fun. He'd been such a good sport in the men's store. She recalled how they'd laughed together at one of the outfits the sales clerk had recommended and how he'd teased her, warning her that like Pygmalion she might fall in love with her "creation." Could she?

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No. Impossible. Pressing a hand against her stomach, she tried to still the panic that threatened to bubble up. Her mind was just playing tricks on her because Jake had invaded her room. Perception is everything, he'd said. His grin in combination with his dimples had driven any reasonable objections she might have had right out of her mind. As a result, his "stuff" was sitting next to hers on the nightstand and the desk. Right now he was puttering around and getting dressed in her bathroom. All during the long shower he'd taken, she should have been visualizing her upcoming meeting with Avery. Instead, all she'd been able to picture in her mind was Jake. What it would be like if she just had the courage to join him in that shower. To run her hands over that slick, wet skin, that narrow waist, that… No! She had to get a grip. Moving to the bed, she sank down and smoothed the material of the skirt over her legs. Touching it had helped to center her before. The words slipped so quietly into her mind: Whoever wears this skirt will attract her true love. "Well?" Torrie turned just as Jake stepped out of the bathroom, and her eyes widened. He had a white T-shirt in one hand, a blue silk dress shirt in the other. But the only thing he was wearing was a new pair of jeans. "I'm thinking the dress shirt might go better with the jacket," he said. She struggled to picture him wearing the shirt and the linen jacket they'd chosen together. But the image wavered. Even his feet were bare. Suddenly, the room seemed smaller, the air thicker. "What do you think?" She thought she was in very big trouble. For the past year all she'd done was run — from Avery, from her job. Even her work on the television show had been an escape — because she'd been afraid to take a job in a restaurant. When you cooked in front of a TV camera, you didn't have to worry about making people sick. Torrie Lassiter was a coward. But for once in her life, she wasn't going to wait and she wasn't going to run. *** Jake was in very big trouble. No woman had ever made him beg, but in another minute he was going to be on his knees. One look into her eyes, and he was cursing himself. Why in the world had he promised her that she could call the shots between them in private? If he hadn't, he could move toward her right now, it would be so easy. She was already on the bed, and he could have her beneath him in a second. "Torrie," he finally managed. "I know what I promised. But if you don't stop looking at me like that…" "I've never wanted anyone — anything — as much as I want you right now." Jake let the two shirts slip through his fingers. Then he moved toward her. "You can't say something to me like that when we're alone and expect me not to —" "Kiss me," she said.

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He did then, taking her face in his hands and lowering his mouth to hers. He was going to take it slow and easy, to draw out the pleasure for both of them. During the long, cold shower he'd taken, he'd imagined all of the things he'd wanted to do to her. His plan vanished the moment her taste poured into him. "I don't think I could have waited much longer," he murmured as he trailed kisses down her throat. "No." Her hands were busy. It seemed as though he'd been waiting all of his life for the press of those strong, slim fingers on his skin. Everywhere she touched, heat — waves of it — spread through him. "This is crazy." Her voice was just a breath in his ear. "Insane." Never had his control been stretched so thin. Never had he been this desperate to taste, to touch, to possess. She was so slim, so strong. He pushed the skirt out of his way, slipped his fingers beneath the lace of her panties and found her. "I want you to come for me." He barely managed to whisper the words when he felt the shudders move through her and watched the stunned pleasure flood her eyes. He'd wanted this, needed to see her trapped in the pleasure he could bring her. And it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. Then her fingers were at the zipper of his jeans. He closed his hand around them. "Wait." Tightening the slipping grip he had on his control, he snagged the shaving bag on the nightstand and found the foil packet. "Please." Her softly spoken demand started a drumbeat in his head. Desperate, they worked together to get rid of his jeans. Then he slipped the condom on. "Now," she said. Wrapping her legs around him and taking him in. Through a haze of pleasure, she saw him rise above her, dark hair, intense eyes. He was all she could see. Then she was moving with him, they were moving together, quickly, almost furiously. Never had she imagined the speed, the sheer recklessness of it, and the glory of it delighted her. Then all she knew was bright spiraling colors, arrowing flames of heat, and an unbearable explosion of pleasure. And through it all, all she could see was Jake. All she wanted was Jake. *** The ringing of the phone was the first thing she heard. Jake reached for it. "Hello?" Lifting her head, she sent him a questioning look and saw his face harden a little. "Tell Mr. La Rue that Ms. Lassiter was unavoidably delayed. She'll join him shortly." "Avery!" She shot straight up and off the bed. "I completely forgot. How could I have —?" She let the question trail off as she looked at Jake's discarded clothes. He was naked. She was still fully dressed — except for her panties. They were lying on the floor on top of his jeans. Picking them up, she tossed them at him. "Get dressed." "Relax," Jake said, taking her hand and pulling her back down beside him. "You might get to call the shots inside this room, but I draw the line at wearing women's panties." Torrie stared at what she'd thrown at him, then handed him his jeans and took her panties back. "You made me forget why I'm here."

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He smiled at her then, and she sighed. "It's not going to help me think clearly at all if you use those dimples on me." "We're going to get dressed, go down to the bar, and throw Avery La Rue off course." Hearing Jake say it so calmly helped ease the bubbles of panic in her stomach. Then he was reaching into the pocket of his jeans. "And just to give you a little extra confidence, you're going to wear this. The moment he took the small box out of his pocket, the panic bubbles attacked, and they weren't content this time to remain in her stomach. They were exploding through her whole system as Jake slipped a diamond ring on her finger. CHAPTER SIX Torrie's head was still spinning half an hour later when she and Jake walked across the lobby to join Avery in the bar. Somehow, her simple plan to hire a pretend lover for the weekend had spiraled out of control. She hadn't planned on seducing him. And she certainly hadn't expected him to put a diamond ring on her finger. He'd picked it up on approval in one of the hotel shops while she'd been settling the bill for his clothes. If she'd been able to string two coherent words together, she would have told him to take it off. She should have pulled it off herself, but every time she looked at it, the brilliance of the stone made her eyes hurt and her stomach knot. And seeing the ring on her finger made her wish…. She caught a glimpse of the two of them in the mirrored walls that flanked the entrance to the bar — the tall, darkly handsome man in the pale linen jacket and jeans — and the woman in the skirt that for just a second seemed to glow with light. They looked so perfect together. But they weren't real, she reminded herself. Then Jake's hands moved, one gripping her shoulder, the other her waist. As he pulled her into his arms, she remembered she'd seen this image before in the mirror. Then his mouth covered hers, and she couldn't think at all. The kiss was hard and potent, and her body responded instantly, her mouth opening for him, her arms gripping his shoulders. A fresh wave of excitement rushed through her. He touched. She wanted. It was simple, elemental. Kissing Jake just felt so…right. Even as the realization moved through her, he ended the kiss. Still holding her close, he moved his mouth to her ear. "Remember. Perception is everything." Just beyond his shoulder, Torrie saw Avery La Rue rise from his table. And she remembered that they were doing all this for his benefit. "Showtime," Jake murmured as he steered her toward the table. The scene was just as she'd visualized it in her mind hundreds of times. She was walking toward Avery La Rue in a public place with a handsome man — a lover — on her arm. She was strong, self-confident and nothing at all like the woman he'd found it so easy to manipulate a year ago. The expression on Avery's face — curiosity at first, then astonishment and a flicker of annoyance — was exactly what she'd hoped for.

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"Torrie," he murmured, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. The shock when he saw the diamond — that was an added bonus. She might have appreciated it even more if Jake hadn't just reminded her that the kiss, the ring, everything was just a show. She watched Avery's gaze narrow just before he shifted it to study Jake. "I'm Jake. Torrie's fiancé." As the two men shook hands, the differences between her ex-fiancé and her new, fake one suddenly struck Torrie. Avery was all smooth sophistication from his gestures right down to the sleekness of his clothes. As he recovered from his initial surprise, he began to take Jake's measure. She caught a gleam of calculation in his eyes that she'd never seen before. The champagne bucket, a single white rose in a delicate vase testified to the care with which he'd planned this meeting. Had his original pursuit of her been this carefully orchestrated? Had she been too blinded by her feelings for him to see it? She certainly couldn't accuse Jake of any calculation. Spontaneity seemed to be his middle name — and hers, too, since she'd met him. But there was a quietness about him now that made her think of the stillness of a jungle predator as it waited for its prey to show some kind of weakness. The focused intensity was there in the way he was studying Avery and in the way he was still holding her hand. "Congratulations," Avery said. "I had no idea…." She jerked her gaze back to Avery. Though his tone was puzzled, she saw anger in the frowning glance he gave her. "I spoke with Maynard Glassman two days ago. He never mentioned an engagement." Torrie's mind began to race. Maynard was her TV producer. He would have been among the first to know about any engagement. Jake gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I just popped the question a few minutes ago. You're the first person we're sharing our happiness with." "You flew out here together then?" Avery asked. "No," Jake said. Torrie shut her mouth. She'd been about to say yes. And she was sure that Avery could tell. The calculating look was back in his eyes. "I surprised her by showing up about two hours ago," Jake continued. "A spur of the moment decision on my part." "We'll have some champagne to celebrate. I want to hear all about this spur of the moment engagement. Sit down and I'll pour." "No thanks," Jake said with an easy smile. Then he sent her a look that had her knees melting. "We have other plans for celebration." The way he was looking at her, Torrie could almost believe the plans were real. She wanted them to be. Worse, she wanted Jake and her to be real, too. "I distracted Torrie so much that she nearly forgot she'd promised to meet you. She insisted that we come to give you the news in person and to wish you luck tomorrow at the cook-off. You'll have to excuse us."

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A second later, Torrie found herself being propelled out of the bar. Once again she caught a glimpse of the two of them in the mirrored wall. They weren't real, she reminded herself. And if she didn't get a grip and separate reality from the little fantasy she'd convinced Jake to participate in, she stood a good chance of losing everything she'd worked so hard to achieve. A year ago she'd allowed a man to sweep her off her feet and snatch her dream away from her. Was she about to make the same mistake again? *** "I don't think it's a good idea — going up to my room right now," she said. Jake turned to study her and he could see exactly what she was thinking. Everything was always so clear in her eyes. She'd been a pushover for Avery La Rue. He felt the flash of anger burn through him and forced it down. "History is not going to repeat itself," he said. "I'm not Avery La Rue. And what happened between the two of you was not your fault. He wanted your job at the Turtle Bay Inn, and he seduced you to get it. He may very well have put something in that clam sauce just to move his plan along." She blinked, but she didn't argue with him. "You want to blame yourself, but it wasn't your fault. Hell, he was about to try the same game plan tonight." And he might have succeeded. That was the thought that had been rolling through him since he'd taken in the little scene in the bar. And Torrie had feared it, too. It wasn't merely for revenge that she had come up with this fake lover charade. What he wanted to do was take her up to the room right now and make love to her until she wouldn't, couldn't ever think of Avery La Rue again. But that was the last thing that Torrie needed right now. "He wouldn't have succeeded," she said. It helped a little to hear her say it — to see the truth of it in her eyes. Something inside of him, the hard knot of jealousy perhaps, began to ease. "I can handle Avery," she said. "But I really think it would be better —" She was going to brush him off, Jake realized. She was going to back out of their deal. CHAPTER SEVEN Torrie was going to back out of their deal. Jake could see it in her eyes, and the panic sprinting through him was taking away his ability to speak, to think. "You've been very kind. You've helped me to see Avery very clearly. But I have the cook-off in the morning and I really should —"

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When she backed a step away from him, Jake finally moved, taking her arm and pulling her with him toward the door. "I've got a better idea." In just a minute he'd know what it was. He was sure of it. Just as sure as he was that he couldn't let her go. "What?" The moment they were out of the street, he spotted the cable car, pausing to release passengers in front of the hotel. "A date," he said, suddenly inspired. "A date?" She sounded as if he'd just said a word in a foreign language. But she'd lost the look of determination that had been in her eyes a moment ago. Jake felt his panic begin to ease. "You know — two people go out, have dinner, get to know one another. We haven't had one yet." "But —" He raised a hand, beginning to enjoy himself. "Besides, we had a deal. Lovers for the weekend. We have two days to go." The whole time he was talking, he was drawing her toward the cable car. "Besides, if you go back to your room, you're just going to worry about the cook-off tomorrow." Hopping up the first step, he drew her with him. "I've never ridden on one of these. Have you?" "No." The car lurched suddenly and he pulled her close. He felt her stiffen, but she didn't pull away as the car lurched again and started up the hill. *** It was after midnight when Torrie stood in front of the window in her hotel room and stared out at the Golden Gate Bridge. Thin strips of moonlight poured through the slatted drapes. One of them striped the skirt lying on the back of a chair and caused the threads to shimmer. Once again, the words of the island woman slipped into her mind. Whoever wears it will attract her true love. She was pretty sure she'd fallen in love with the man who lay sleeping on the bed a short distance away. Whatever had started when she'd first seen him standing behind the bar had solidified during the evening they'd just spent together. He'd given her a whirlwind tour of the city — a cable car ride, a walk on the wharf. They'd even danced to an old-fashioned jukebox in the Fog City Diner. And then they'd made love again. But she didn't kid herself that there was going to be a future for Jake and her. What the island woman failed to mention was that stories of true love frequently ended unhappily. And not once during the evening they'd spent together — or even after, when there'd been almost desperation in his lovemaking — had Jake mentioned anything beyond tomorrow. Neither had she. Even now, watching him sleep, Torrie could feel the pull he had on her. It was as strong and true as gravity. She'd been tempted to run from him in the lobby earlier — to take the coward's way out as she had with Avery. She would never let herself play the part of the coward again. And for tonight, Jake was hers. She could show him what she might never have the chance to tell him. ***

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Heart pumping, head whirling, Jake shot awake to find himself steeped in her. Her mouth was already busy on his, her kisses hot and hungry. Her body kindled flames in his where it pressed full length on top of him. Even as he struggled to think, her scent surrounded him, taunting him with all the dark secrets he'd been dreaming about. Wants and needs rocketed through his system as those slender, clever hands moved over him. Before he could even get a thin grasp on control, his only thought was to take, to devour. He found her then — those small, firm breasts, the strong, slender ribs, the narrow waist and finally that soft inner heat. He pushed into her and in that moment of joining, he felt the tremor move through her. She was his. Just as she'd been his in the dream before she'd begun to slip away. In the moonlight, he could see her face flushed with passion, her eyes dazed with pleasure. This time he wouldn't let her go. He couldn't. His. The word sapped his control, pushing him to drive them both to the brink of madness. "I want you." Neither was sure who said the words. They were too lost in each other as they began to move as one. Later, they lay together in the moonlight, their limbs tangled as they slept. *** Jake woke this time to sunlight pouring across the bed. A bed that didn't contain Torrie. Panic knotted in his stomach as he pushed himself up and looked around. "Torrie?" Silence. The moment he stood up, his gaze fell on the note. It was lying on the desk, propped against the case that held his laptop. I've gone to meet Avery for the cook-off. He might not have thought twice about the brevity of the note if it hadn't been propped right next to the name tag on his briefcase — a name tag that identified him as Jake Monahan. On the back of the tag was the embossed logo of the Monahan chain of hotels — the same logo that decorated the note she'd left. She had to have seen it. What would she be thinking? The worst. That he was a liar, just as Avery had been before him. Grabbing his jeans, he dragged them on, then strode across the room to pull a shirt off of a hanger. He should have told her the truth last night. The excuse that he'd given to himself — that he didn't want to rattle her before the cook-off — was a lie. He hadn't told her who he was last night because he'd quite simply wanted to be with her. He didn't want to lose her. Now, there was a good chance that he had. Worse than that, he'd allowed her to discover his deception at the worst possible moment — just as she was about to compete with La Rue in the cook-off. He had to find her. The ringing of his cell phone reminded him to pick it up as he headed toward the door. Arthur had promised to call the moment he had something on La Rue and the incident at the Turtle Bay In "What have you got, Arthur?"

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"I'm not Arthur. Are you the gigolo my niece hired? And where is my niece?" Damn. It was Torrie's cell phone that he'd grabbed. "It's a long story. I'm on my way to find her right now." "To find her? Have you lost my niece?" As he left the room with the cell phone pressed to his ear, Jake wondered if things could get any more messed up. CHAPTER EIGHT Torrie entered the kitchen of the Monahan House San Francisco fifteen minutes before her cook-off with Avery was scheduled to begin. The scents made her mouth water. The sounds nearly deafened her. Waiters rushed past, shouting orders, and amidst the confusion, a young chef to her right teased a perfect omelet onto a plate. She was home. For the first time since she'd accidentally discovered the name tag on Jake's briefcase, she was able to shove aside the questions and fears flooding through her. She'd come to San Francisco to become the executive chef at this hotel, and learning Jake Monahan's true identity was not going to deflect her from her goal. That's what she'd told herself in the room when she'd dressed in slacks and her white chef's jacket. She'd left the skirt behind along with the fantasy that Jake Monahan was her true love. Ignoring the little band of pain that tightened around her heart, she let her gaze sweep the room. It was time to get back to reality and to what had always been important to her. When she spotted a man pointing a TV camera at Avery, she started toward him. The tall blond woman who'd been with him in the bar yesterday stepped forward. "I'm Marjorie Lyndon, the manager of Monahan House San Francisco. A local TV station will be taping the entire event. I believe you and your opponent have met." "Torrie." "Avery." She was very much aware that the TV camera was running as Avery took her hand, drew her toward him and kissed her on both cheeks. When he reached the side away from the camera, he whispered, "History has a way of repeating itself." Torrie felt a familiar twist of panic in her stomach. Pushing it down, she turned and moved toward her workstation. A man clipped a small microphone to her jacket. Marjorie Lyndon began to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen…" Out of the corner of her eye, Torrie caught sight of her reflection in the stainless steel refrigerators that lined the wall. For just a second, she thought she saw Jake there, too, with his arms around her. Pushing the fantasy away, she focused her attention on the group that had gathered in front of her workstation, and she saw him again. Jake was here and he was real. For the first time since she'd left him in the room, Torrie let herself want more than the job. As impossible as it was, she wanted Jake, too. "On the counter in front of each of our chefs is a set of ingredients that they must use in whatever they create," Marjorie explained. "And the results will be tasted by none other than Mr. Jake Monahan, who I see has arrived." When Marjorie introduced Jake to the audience, Avery shot her a look of pure hatred. But there was no fear. The man's confidence was definitely back.

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The moment the white cloth in front of her was whisked away, Torrie realized why. The ingredients on the counter were the ones she used for her signature dish at the Turtle Bay Inn — Linguine with Clams à la Lassiter. The last time she'd prepared it, everyone who'd ordered it had become ill. Avery's words came back to her. History has a way of repeating itself. *** Jake stood at the back of the small crowd and debated what to do. The quick surge of relief he'd felt when he'd first seen Torrie had faded the moment he'd seen the ingredients that lay on the table before her. Was this La Rue's way of throwing her off stride and getting the upper hand? And what part was Marjorie Lyndon playing in it? He could put a stop to the cook-off right now. It wasn't the fact that a TV camera was rolling that stopped him. It was Torrie. He'd been thinking only of himself last night. Right now, the least he could do was to allow her to do what she'd come to San Francisco for. The look on her face told him that she had become totally focused on what she was doing. The energy, the enthusiasm for cooking that had fascinated him on that night when he'd first seen her on TV began to fill the room as she spoke directly into the camera. Jake leaned back and began to enjoy the show. *** In one quick motion, Torrie scooped up the parsley she'd just minced and sprinkled it over the finished platter of Linguine with Clams à la Lassiter. The rush of adrenaline she'd felt when she'd started the dish was fading. Avery's threat chanted its way back into her mind. Relax, she told herself. The clams had been perfectly fresh. And she'd sampled the sauce three times. It was as good as any she'd ever made. As the heady aroma of garlic and spices wafted up from the platter, Torrie felt the first wave of nausea sweep over her. She saw Marjorie motioning Jake forward. "No. You can't," Torrie began, then swallowed quickly as another wave of nausea hit her. "Nonsense." Marjorie was quick to interrupt her, moving toward the platter and picking up a fork. Something was definitely wrong with the linguine. Torrie fought against dizziness as Marjorie deftly twirled strands of pasta around a fork and offered it to Jake. Lunging forward, she grabbed Marjorie's hand and heard the fork clatter to the floor just before the darkness closed in around her. *** "Ipecac? That's what Avery slipped into my linguine?" Torrie asked. "Both times, I imagine," Jake said, sitting down on the edge of the bed to prevent her from springing up. "They found traces of it in the olive oil." In spite of the assurances of the doctors in the ER and the lab report

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he'd just received, Jake still hadn't fully recovered from seeing her sink bonelessly to the floor. He hadn't let her out of his sight since then. "The doctor at the ER said Ipecac's the standard first line of treatment when little kids swallow something they're not supposed to. It causes them to toss their cookies in a very short amount of time. Marjorie wanted everyone on the six o'clock news to see me getting sick on food from my own hotel. She met Avery when he flew out to personally apply for the job. Once she learned the history between the two of you, she enlisted Avery's help, believing that when I investigated things, he'd take the fall and she'd remain in the clear. In the meantime, she'd have succeeded in garnering some very bad publicity for the grand opening and she'd also be able to continue causing me problems." "Did she tell you why?" "No. But I've had my assistant, Arthur, checking into her phone records, and she's been in frequent contact with the corporation I outbid for the hotel. The man who heads it is an old business rival of mine. I imagine her motive was simple greed. And they may have believed that I'd be willing to sell if the Monahan House San Francisco ran into a spell of bad luck." "Would you have?" Torrie asked. "No." He met her eyes squarely. "I don't give up that easily. And I'm not going to give up on you." *** Torrie felt the bubble of panic in her stomach expand until it threatened to burst. More than anything she wanted to get up and pace, but Jake sat next to her on the edge of the bed, blocking her way. She glanced down at where their hands were joined on her lap. She was still wearing the ring he'd placed on her finger. Closing her eyes, she summoned up the image in her mind that had gotten her through the cookoff — Jake standing with his arms around her. He cleared his throat. "I wasn't…I haven't been honest with you, Torrie. There's no excuse for that. But I want you…I need you to believe me now. Look at me." Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his. "I love you." When she opened her mouth, he raised a hand to stop her. "I think I fell in love with you the very first time I saw you on TV in Chicago. There was something about you even then." Her eyes widened. She'd been wearing the skirt. She'd worn it every time she taped a show. Was he only in love with her because of the skirt? "I tried to analyze what it was — your obvious talent and expertise, your love for your work. Now I know that it was just you. It took me a year to come up with the idea of offering you a job. I thought once you were here working for me I could prove to myself that what I'd felt was a passing fancy. Then within two hours of seeing you, I found myself putting a ring on your finger. When I woke up this morning and found you gone, all I could think of was finding you. And when I saw you standing in the kitchen of my hotel, ready to face Avery La Rue, I suddenly realized that I want that ring to stay where it is. I want you to be a permanent part of my life." She hadn't been wearing the skirt during the cook-off. She wasn't wearing it now. Still… "Are you sure? Maybe it's the skirt." "What skirt?"

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The look of utter bafflement on his face had her hurrying on. "Don't tell me you never noticed it. I'm always wearing it — except for today." Jake gripped her hands. "When I look at you, Torrie, all I can see is the woman I love. If you'd like, I'll buy you a new skirt as soon as you tell me that you'll marry me. Will you?" "Yes. Oh, yes," Torrie said as she threw her arms around him. "There's just one more thing." "What?" Jake asked. "I love you, too," Torrie said. And then Jake was kissing her. She'd tell him all about the skirt later, Torrie decided as her thoughts began to slip away. When they were very old she would tell him about what the island woman had said. It would be the kind of story they could both tell to their grandchildren.

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Roped into Romance by Alison Kent Alison Kent's online read Roped into Romance marks the start of her gIRL-gEAR.com miniseries beginning in Mills & Boon Blaze this month with All Tied Up Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| Chapter One Lauren Hollister stood beside Macy Webb and followed her best friend's gaze up the exterior of the fourstory, redbrick warehouse recently converted into four spacious lofts. The duo had been searching forever for the perfect place to live. But this didn't look promising. And Lauren said so. "This doesn't look promising." "Uh, hello? We're not going to be living in the chinks between the bricks." Macy reached up a hand to shade her eyes then walked down the sidewalk and cast a glance along the length of the building's back side. "Besides, the facade is being repaired. The scaffoldings are set up over here." "Hmm. He did say not to judge this particular book by its cover." Hard not to, though, since Lauren's degree was in commercial art and she had a critical eye. She glanced at the face of her wristwatch. "He also said he'd meet us here at 3:30." Her cursory building inspection complete, Macy walked back to Lauren's side, reached for her wrist and the watch. "It's 3:27. We're early. He's not late." "Not yet," Lauren said just as a sleek black Jaguar purred around the corner and eased to a stop behind her SUV. She let out a long low whistle. "Okay. I'm impressed. On time and in style." As the car door opened, Macy leaned closer. "I'm beginning to think you ain't seen nothin' yet, sister." Lauren's, "What are you talking about?" died on her lips as Anton Neville stepped from the car. The architect was six foot one or two at least, and had a body to die for. For some reason ? his voice? his demeanor? ? Lauren had assumed from their phone call that he was older. Her father's age maybe. But he wasn't. He couldn't have been more than 30 and he was absolutely gorgeous. His long legs ate up the distance between his car and the sidewalk, long legs displayed to advantage in a pair of tobacco-colored dress pants that were very Versace. His shirt was a lighter shade of camel and his tie a flashy brown print. He was head-to-toe delicious?the head part having snagged Lauren's attention first. Anton Neville was not your average blonde. Both his build and his complexion declared him a swimmer. And then there was the way the sun had bleached his hair. It was long, though not unconventionally so. It was just that she'd never seen curls that were so 100 percent male. Windblown ringlets fell over his forehead, his collar, and his ears. The look was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen, especially when she added in the barely-more-than-stubble length of beard and mustache. But when he took off his Ray-Ban sunglasses?oh, God, she was a goner. "Anton Neville." Blue eyes flashing, he held out a hand. Macy accepted first. "Macy Webb. Thanks for meeting us." And then it was Lauren's turn. "Lauren Hollister," she said as his large hand swallowed her palm and long artist's fingers. She swore his touch had set her belly on fire.

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"I hope I haven't kept you waiting long." He slowly pulled his hand from Lauren's and, balling her fingers into a fist that she tucked into her pocket, she said, "No, not at all. You're right on time." "Good." He gestured for them to go ahead, flipping through his ring of keys. "Then let's go check this puppy out." As they made their way up the length of broken pavement to the door, Macy cast a questioning glance at Lauren and mouthed, "You're right on time?" Lauren simply elbowed Macy in the rib cage. "Our contractors have done their best to utilize as many of the original fixtures as possible," Anton was saying, now leading the way down the high-ceilinged hallway that ran the length of the building. He stopped halfway. "Including the freight elevator." Lauren and Macy looked on as he used his security key, releasing a huge red button that protruded from the cinder-block wall. One smack from Anton's broad palm and the heavy steel door rolled up. When he gestured for them to enter, they did, taking the trip to the fourth floor along with the freight car's rattletrap creaks and groans. This still didn't look promising. And so Lauren continued to think until the lift ground to a stop and Anton, again using his security key, shoved the door upward along its overhead tracks and yanked back on the loft's metal privacy grate. At her first sight of the hardwood floor, Lauren changed her mind. She turned and met Macy's wide eyes, seeing the astonished reflection of her own baby blues in her best friend's whiskey-colored gaze. "I don't believe this place." Lauren slipped off her clogs before walking on bare feet into the loft. "Talk about not judging a book by its cover. Crumbling bricks be damned. This floor is absolutely the best." "It smells," Macy said, stepping out of her wedged sandals, "like real wood." "It is real wood." Anton left on his Italian leather loafers. "One hundred percent maple plank. Urethane finish. Definitely shoe-proof. And the building's facade is being repaired. One brick at a time." "I don't care," Lauren said, shaking her head. "I mean, I do care. About the bricks. Not about the floor being shoe-proof. Well, I care about that, too. But I want to experience this with my skin." Macy had already slapped her barefooted way into the center of the loft's main room. "It's a hardwood floor, Lauren. It's not a grassy meadow. It's not Berber carpet. There's not a lot to experience with your skin." "Maybe not with your skin." Lauren closed her eyes, held her shoes wrapped in her arms close to her chest, and flexed her toes against the wood. No one, her best friend included, had ever understood how her body assimilated touch. Her sensitivity had often been a curse. Childhood immunizations? The worst. Eyebrow tweezing? Yikes! Bikini waxes? Forget about it! But, oh, could her sensory feedback be a blessing. The right man and? Shivering, Lauren opened her eyes ? and looked straight into Anton Neville's. They gleamed with speculation. And his irises, wow. That shade of near navy was incredibly rare. She knew he wasn't wearing contacts. Just like she knew, if she had her way, he wasn't going to be wearing anything soon. "Like I said. The best." She flexed her toes again and hoped he bought it. Then took Macy by the hand. "We're going to take a look around." Ankles crossed, hands shoved down in his pockets, Anton leaned back against the edge of the open elevator. "Take your time."

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Ankles crossed, hands shoved down in his pockets, Anton leaned back against the edge of the open elevator. "Take your time." Once she'd dragged Macy out of the main room to the far end of the building, Lauren nearly groaned. "All night wouldn't be enough time. Give me that man and give me forever." "You are such a slut." Lauren grinned, unoffended. She was a sensualist, not a slut. A discriminating one, and Macy knew it. Getting a rise out of each other was tough, but they both loved to try. Having checked a far corner and claimed it as her bedroom, Macy returned to the main room and the area prepped for a kitchen build-out. "Hey. You remember those sculptures we saw in the Sixties Store?" Lauren's eyes widened. "They would make perfect room dividers. You're brilliant, Mace. Five of them, at least. Right here between the kitchen and the center of the loft." Lauren's eyes widened further as she caught sight for the first time of the balcony doors. "C'mon. Let's check out the view." Lauren headed that way. Pulling open the sliding glass door, she slipped on her clogs and stepped outside. "This is so great! Can you imagine a little candlelight, a little wine? A lotta lovin' under the stars? Listening to the traffic below and trying not to get caught?" Lauren hugged her arms around her middle, whirled back to Macy, and said, "I can't wait to try it out!" Only it wasn't Macy standing in the open doorway behind Lauren. It was Anton Neville. And he said, "Neither can I." Chapter Two Anton Neville slumped back in his desk chair. Feet flat on the floor, he swiveled from side to side. He kept a grip on both armrests, kept his gaze on the door. It was after hours; the support staff had long since left for the night. But his partner was due any minute. And he wanted to be here to gloat. Doug Storey, the second half of Neville and Storey, Architects, had made it his personal mission to wash the firm's hands of the loft property Anton had shown yesterday to Macy Webb and Lauren Hollister. And here, with Doug out of town, Anton had done little more than pour on the masculine charm to make the sale. Possible sale, he reminded himself. All the women had done was inspect the property. Twice. But it was the way they'd done their inspection, the decorating plans they made as they walked, the looks they'd tossed back and forth, the whispers and the giggles. Anton had been at this business long enough to know when he could sit back and let a property sell itself. But, for the loft, he'd been ready to wheel and deal his ass off. Still, this was the first time he'd ever considered offering himself as a sales incentive. And he was only half kidding. The other half seriously wondered what would've happened on that balcony had Macy Webb not walked into his tête-à-tête with Lauren Hollister. He didn't think he'd ever hovered on the verge of anything so unprofessional in his entire career. Even if she'd made it more than clear she welcomed his attention, he knew better than to mix business with what he knew would be an unimaginable pleasure.

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Lauren Hollister was a willowy thing, with pale baby blue eyes that promised all the tricks of the female trade. Her body was perfect, beautifully lush curves filling out a slender frame. Dark blond waves fell to the center of her back. And, yeah. He could see himself wrapping that silky mane around his wrist and holding on for the ride. "Hey, Neville. You make us a million while I was gone?" Anton looked up from his musings as his partner walked through the door. The grin that spread over his face felt like the wicked celebration it was. "Close enough. I sold the loft." Doug stopped in his tracks, strands of blond hair falling into his face. He shook them back, tossed his satchel to the office sofa, slammed his hands to his hips. "The downtown loft. The fourth floor. The warehouse. Are you friggin' kidding me?" Anton shrugged. "Maybe not." "Ha!" Doug dropped down on the sofa. "You mean you showed it, not sold it. I'm not paying off any bet until that place goes to closing." "They want it. You know the look." "Hmm." Squaring an ankle on the opposite knee, Doug laced his hands behind his head and leaned back. "They had it outfitted before they even left, didn't they? Curtains, throw pillows, area rugs." "Not these two." Anton couldn't get the picture of Lauren Hollister out of his mind. Her low-slung blue jeans. Her black metallic sheer lace top over a skinny black tank. "Lava lamp bubble sculptures. Hanging panels of hammered brass." "Gay?" "Female. Two." Anton held up two fingers. "Gay?" Doug repeated. "Not these two," Anton repeated, getting to his feet just as his phone rang. He glanced at the display. The number seemed vaguely familiar. He punched the speakerphone button. "Neville." "Anton Neville? This is Lauren Hollister. From yesterday? The balcony?" Anton jerked the receiver from the cradle, ignoring his partner's arched brow and mouthed, "The balcony?" He flipped Doug the finger and turned his attention to the call. "Ms. Hollister. How nice to hear from you." "I wasn't sure what time your office closed. I was hoping I might still be able to catch you. Is this a bad time?" "No. Don't worry about it. I'm usually here this late." This time when Doug rolled his eyes and mouthed, "Bullshit," Anton turned his back on the other man and leaned against the desk. "What can I do for you?" "It's about the loft." He'd figured that much. And the way she said it he figured it was bad news. "Have you and Ms. Webb reached a decision?"

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"Are you kidding? We love it ? ouch!" she cried, mumbling unintelligibly from behind what Anton would guess was a hand over the mouthpiece. "What I mean is, would you have time to let me in to take a few measurements?" "Sure." He turned back around and flipped open his Day-Timer, running a finger down his schedule. "I'm free in the morning at ten, or tomorrow afternoon around, say, two?" "I was thinking about tonight." Anton straightened where he stood. "Tonight?" Doug mouthed, "Tonight?" before tumbling over onto the sofa and muffling his howls with a pillow pressed to his face. "Tonight's not a problem. What time?" "Will nine work for you?" "Perfect. See you then." The call disconnected and Anton returned the receiver to the cradle just as Doug managed to push himself from the sofa to his feet. He crossed the office, planted both hands on the surface of Anton's desk and leaned forward. "Let me guess. Blonde. Blue eyes. Twenty-something. Single. Not gay." "Definitely not gay," Anton said, looking at the plain black face of the watch on his wrist. Doug hung his head. "Does she have a friend?" "Yeah." Anton stuffed his Day-Timer into his satchel, dug in his pocket for the keys to his Jag. "But she's not coming." "Oh, and I suppose you will be." Anton grinned. "You know me all too well, my man." *** oped into Romance "I really hated calling so late, but I am so glad you were available." Tape measure and notebook tucked into her backpack, Lauren stepped from the elevator into the loft. The room was dark, darker than she'd expected, the only light thrown by the moon through the balcony's glass doors. Leaving the grate open, Anton flipped a switch next to the elevator's call button. A row of track lighting above the door threw six spotlights along the hardwood floor. Nice atmosphere, Lauren thought. Not quite as seductive as the moon but, hey. She'd take what she could get. The fact that she'd managed to get him here was a miracle in itself. "Like I told you earlier. It's not a problem." He sounded sincere enough. But Lauren wanted to be sure about that. And about?other things. "I didn't ruin your plans for the evening, did I?" "Nope." He shook his head, the illumination catching the highlights in his hair. "No plans to ruin."

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Lauren so wanted to run her fingers through those curls. She didn't think she'd ever known a guy with hair so tempting to the touch. Smiling, she reached into her backpack for her pencil and spiral pad. "I didn't want your girlfriend coming after me for making a mess of her night." Anton walked toward her then, his eyes glittering, his mouth drawn into a seductive smile. He stopped when he'd drawn within a scant foot. Close enough that her every breath caught his subtle scent. Her heart hammered like a piston in her chest. He took hold of the strap of her overalls, rubbed his thumb in a circle over the copper catch. "No, Lauren. I don't have a girlfriend. Is that what you were wanting to know?" Chapter Three He didn't have a girlfriend! Lauren Hollister thought she might actually jump for joy. "Yes. That's exactly what I wanted to know." She backed a short step away and tried to pretend her skin wasn't tingling where his fingers had grazed her shoulder. "It's a girl thing. We look out for one another. Make sure not to step on toes. Or on boyfriend toes. That sort of thing." One of Anton's blond eyebrows arched. His mouth fought back a grin. "I see." If he did, he would be the first. Men never did get the girlfriend thing. All the rules, and such. Still, she had to be careful. He could be one of those guys who knew a woman was lying simply by taking her pulse. Which he'd no doubt done with his hand so close to her heart. She never had been very good at deception. She was, instead, very good at the truth. And that meant she might run into trouble convincing him she wasn't here to take his measure along with the kitchen's, or to see if her instincts were right. That, yes, her attraction to him was as much about what she saw when she looked into his eyes as when she looked at his body. Call her foolish, but she swore she'd caught a glimpse of awareness that reached deeper than a sexual level. And that possibility, that complex attraction to both mind and matter was what she wanted to explore. She flipped open her notebook and made her way to the space perfectly suited for the bubble sculptures on which she and Macy had their hearts set. "I knew I wasn't going to be able to sleep tonight until I found out if the sculptures are going to fit beneath the ductwork. We went by the store earlier today so I know exactly how tall they are." While Lauren continued her decorative chatter, Anton had followed her across the main room. She'd counted each of his footsteps ? she took one and a half to each of his ? and now she felt his body heat behind her. She had to talk herself out of stepping back into his solid male warmth when she so wanted to know what he felt like. Oh, but her imagination was running wild, wanting to experience more of him than she would have time to experience tonight. "Let's see." She dug the measuring tape from her backpack, extended the strip of stiff metal far enough to reach the shiny ventilation system directly overhead. Then she let go of the casing. Gravity slowly pulled it to the floor where it landed with a light thunk. She looked back at Anton and smiled. "And voilà! Exactly?this tall." Anton reached over her shoulder, his large hand taking hold of the metal strip. He nodded toward the floor. "I'll do this part. You get down there and do yours."

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Lauren released the measuring tape and turned beneath his outstretched arm. She had a devil of a time keeping a straight face. Anton wasn't having much better luck ignoring his own timely double entendre. "Just?go. Do. Before I get my other foot stuck in my mouth." With a wink, she dropped to her knees at his feet. Once she noted the distance between floor and ceiling, she sat back on her heels and jotted dimensions into her notebook. "A perfect fit. You can let go now." She made to stand. He made to reach for the tape casing. It was one of those badly timed movie moments where their faces ended up inches apart. She could so easily have kissed him. His lips were so beautifully full and she just knew that the stubble beneath his lower lip would tickle. Imagining the feel of his mouth had kept her tossing and turning a good part of last night. But, as tempting as she found his mouth ? and his everything else, she knew what anticipation added to the sensual equation. She also was quite sure he would be worth the wait. And so she gave him nothing more than a smile before she got back to her feet. He handed her the tape, closing his fingers around her smaller hand. "Did you get what you needed?" "Well, that is certainly a leading question. But, to answer you honestly? No. I didn't. Do you mind?" Pulling out the tape while pulling her hand from his hold, she moved away, motioning for him to step back. "Right there. Stop. How far apart are we?" Looking at her like she was crazy before looking down at the tape in his hand, he answered, "Fifteen feet." "Hmm." Lauren walked toward him, feeding the tape back into the case. "The base of each sculpture is three feet, so that's perfect. Now all we have to figure out is if we can afford to buy five." "You've made up your mind then? About the loft?" "We're getting there. Arguing over a few details still." "And taking measurements just in case?" "Yes. And no." Lauren took a deep breath. Here came the honesty part. "I was also hoping you'd let me buy you dinner." She didn't know why she was nervous. Other than the obvious reason that she rarely invited a virtual stranger to eat. A stranger to whom she found herself so viscerally attracted at that. And so she held her breath. Finally, after what seemed like eternal minutes spent staring into her eyes, his glittering even in the room's dim light, Anton answered. "I don't think I can do that. But I would love to buy dinner for you." Exhaling at last, Lauren grinned. She knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or to trample a male ego. "Great. I'd say I'd get my things ?" she shrugged and held up her backpack "? but this is it." "Vietnamese okay?" "Perfect. I'm famished." Chapter Four

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Anton Neville watched Lauren Hollister slide down the elevator wall until her butt hit the floor. She was wearing a pair of overalls. Micro-mini overalls, if there were such a thing. Which there had to be because he was looking at the evidence. Damn but her legs were long. "You know, you'll never sell this place if you don't get this thing fixed," she said. He moved his gaze to her face. Her eyes were resigned to the wait. Resigned, but definitely not defeated. He liked seeing that spunk. "Does that mean you're backing out of the deal?" Lauren scrunched up her nose, stuck out her tongue, and sighed. Then she sighed again and settled in for the duration, tucking her backpack up under the bend of her knees. Damn but her legs were long. With nowhere to pace, Anton figured he might as well take a load off, as well. He sank to the floor, stretched out his legs, and leaned back on the wall opposite the one against which Lauren had collapsed. Their feet met in the middle and she tapped his sole. "You're going to ruin your pants." He kept his foot pressed to the bottom of hers. "I know a good dry cleaner." "You'd do better knowing a good tailor." "I know one of those, too." "At least you don't know a good girlfriend. I would be in so much trouble if you did." "Why? This wasn't exactly a calculated move to get us alone." He knew it wasn't. She knew it wasn't. But she sure had a guilty look on her face. "This is breaking every rule ever written. A girl does not strand herself with another girl's man." She punctuated that last statement by banging her head on the wall at her back. And then Anton realized he didn't know for sure whether or not he was getting close to trespassing himself. "What about you? Am I going to need to be watching my back when we get out of here?" She shook her head. "Macy's aim's not that good." "Macy?" Uh-uh. No way he had called that one wrong! "Never mind. No. I'm not seeing anyone right now." She dropped her head back in one last thump. Then she smiled to herself, a private inside joke that had her shaking her head and tilting it to the side as she gave him a considering look. "And I've learned my lesson. Next time I want to see someone, I'll call. I'll be direct. I'll do my interior decorating on my own time." Anton wasn't sure, but he thought she'd just said she wanted to see him. His pulse began to do its own thumping. His temperature started to rise. He pointed in the general direction of the loft. "So, all that business about measuring for sculptures..." She nodded. "I really was measuring for sculptures. But I also meant it when I said I was hoping you'd let me buy you dinner."

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Anton had a sudden wish to smash Doug's voice mailbox. "No can do. My rule. No matter who does the asking, I always buy on the first date." Lauren's pursed lips slowly parted as, in a tone both low and lightly suggestive, she asked, "Is this a date?" "It could be." He nodded toward her backpack. "If you have anything to eat in that bag of yours that I can pay you for." Her eyes grew both wide and bright and Anton felt a strange stirring in his gut. An unease that told him he was asking for the sort of trouble that had a good chance of turning his well-ordered life upside down. "Hey, we're in luck. One for each of us. And my treat. None of that macho sexist crap," she added when he reached for his wallet. "We'll call this a first date warm-up if it'll make you happier." From the front compartment, she produced two high-carb energy bars and tossed him one. Then she unzipped the main part of the pack and pulled out a bottle of water. "But the water we'll have to share." The thought of sharing her things, of how many of his things he wouldn't mind if she shared, finally sent him across the elevator car to her side. He sat next to her, his hip at her hip. She offered him the bottle. He pulled up on the sports cap and drank, keeping his gaze locked on hers as he handed it back, as she brought the same spout to her mouth, as she grinned before drinking, giving him a glimpse of the tip of her tongue. He forced himself not to groan when his entire body wanted to scream. "What was it you said yesterday? A little wine? A little candlelight?" he asked. He cast a glance up toward the bare bulb, looked back in time to see her running the drinking spout back and forth over her lower lip. He couldn't stop the sound that seemed to roll straight out of his groin. He reached for the bottle, pulled it from her hand and set it on the floor. She looked from the water bottle back to his face. And then she gave him a soft smile. "That, a lotta lovin', and trying not to get caught." His mouth descended to hers. And she was waiting. She didn't feign surprise or pretend he'd caught her off guard. She was waiting, and she responded with more than her lips and her tongue, threading her fingers into his hair and holding him close. He swore she smiled. Her lips slanted over his, even while lifting upward. Nothing had ever aroused him so quickly. Like the head of a match, he burst into flame. And this was only a kiss. He moved his hand to the back of her neck, holding her close while he nipped at her lips, while he tasted her mouth, while he slipped his tongue up the length of hers and told her with the kiss what he wanted to do to her body. To penetrate her slowly, to slide his sex into hers the way he'd taken her mouth. He wanted to feel her skin with his skin. Her mouth was soft, and the hair trapped beneath his palm slid over her nape like pure silk. His imagination already had her undressed and naked beneath him. This time when he groaned, he knew she felt the echo in her mouth. And when she whimpered in return, the sound turned him inside out. He pulled his mouth free, his hand holding the back of her head as he stared into her eyes. So bright and so blue and so beautifully beguiled. She'd caught her lower lip between her teeth, then bathed it with her tongue, whether savoring his taste or healing the skin roughened by his whiskers, he didn't know. He didn't care. He wanted her. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted any other woman.

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And he wanted her now. Chapter Five Lauren Hollister hadn?t known a man could kiss the way Anton Neville kissed. His hair was the texture of the softest silk, gossamer curls in her hands. His hand at her nape was insistent, his mouth on hers demanding. And she?d thought she?d known exactly what to expect from a man. But she didn't. She'd never been looked at the way he was looking at her now. His eyes already had her undressed and she reveled in the exposure. She returned the look because she wanted to see his body, as well. To touch him. To explore and discover what spots made him shudder, which ones made him groan. Whether he liked gentle strokes of fingers or sharp nips of teeth. She pulled his head down to hers to get her fill of his taste. He allowed her one kiss and then he shook his head, telling her with his eyes that kissing wasn?t enough. He wanted more. He wanted it all. When his hand moved from her neck to the shoulder strap of her overalls, she let her head fall back against the wall, let her hands fall to her lap. Her chest lifted and fell as she struggled to breathe. She watched his fingers work free first one loop then the second, separating the hardware from the tack button and lowering the bib so that her overalls bunched at her hips. She wore a simple skinny white T-shirt beneath and had to stop herself from pulling it off over her head. As much as she wanted to have his hands on her body, she wanted to enjoy the anticipation. And she knew without a doubt that Anton wanted to unwrap her himself. He did, lifting her shirt hem above her bare breasts. Lauren shivered, her nipples pebbling. Anton covered her with his hands, then with his mouth, leaning down to curl his tongue around first one taut peak then the other. His hair slid over her skin like skeins of silk; his hands skated over her rib cage, the heels of his palms pressing the sides of her breasts. She wasn't sure anything had ever so thoroughly roused her skin's sensitivity, or that any man's touch had ever felt so right, so loving. None of this made any sense. She hardly knew him, yet felt as if she'd known him forever. And when his hands made their way to her thighs, she let him have his way. He looked up from beneath long blond lashes, his eyes flashing, the corners of his mouth lifted in a suggestive grin. "Spread your legs," he said and she did, opening to his determined search for her body's secrets. He pressed fingertips into her bare inner thighs, opening her further until he could easily slip a hand beneath the leg of her overalls. Lauren pulled in a sharp breath. His hand was hot where he skimmed her most intimate skin. "Are you okay?" he asked and all she could say was, "Oh, yeah." At that, he chuckled, a sexy half laugh, half moan that told of his struggle for self-control. This time it was her turn to ask of him, "Are you okay?" "Baby, you have no idea." And then he brushed the backs of his knuckles over the crotch of her tiny bikini panties, leaning forward to murmur against her lips, "I'll stop. Just say the word." "Don't stop." Her body was coming apart and he'd barely done more than tease her with the promise of his touch. She had never, never, never felt so close to falling from contact that was only a whisper. But she was, and this was what she wanted. She told him so with her lashes that slowly lowered, with her hungry tongue she caught with her teeth after begging, "Please. Don't stop." But he did, pulling his hand free as he scooted to sit cross-legged in front of her and lift her legs over his. She stared into his eyes, heavy-lidded and aroused. He was as affected as she was, as taken by storm. Like her, he hadn't expected the intensity of this tryst.

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And, though she'd immediately known he was special, she hadn't considered anything as crazy as love at first sight. She couldn't. For so many reasons, she couldn't. She pushed the thoughts aside and focused on this moment, this man. Concentrating on his hands sliding up her inner thighs, on his thumbs flirting with the hem of her shorts before slipping beneath to flirt with both sides of her lace-edged panties. He used one hand to pull the wisp of fabric away from her body, giving his other hand room to slip beneath, to touch her intimately, his fingers teasing through her folds, over her tight bud of nerves, before he circled the mouth of her sex and eased a finger inside. Lauren gasped but refused to look away from his face. Even as he began to stroke, to simulate the motion she wanted from his body, even as he moved his thumb to tease at the hard knot of sensation aching for release, she maintained the contact with his eyes. Only when he lowered his head and returned his attention to her breasts did she sag against the wall and allow passion to take over. No man had ever been so focused on her pleasure. His tongue lapped and his thumb played and his fingers worked in and out of her sex until she couldn't stand it anymore. She cried out, she shuddered, she ground her body down into his loving hand. He continued the rhythm, seeing to her finish and easing her slowly back down. Only then did he leave her body, adjusting her panties and tugging her shirt back into place. She waited for a moment, smiling, expecting him to reach for his belt and the fastenings of his pants so she could return the favor. But he only ran a caressing hand down her face to her neck and leaned forward for a too brief kiss. Lauren frowned. This wasn't right. "What about you?" she asked. He shook his head. "I'm fine. I wanted to do this for you." No. This was all wrong. She wasn't going to let him think that she didn't want to give back. And so she got to her feet, pushed her overalls down over her hips and kicked them off. Anton's eyes flared as, sitting beneath her, he took in her legs, her bare belly, the tiny slip of sheer mesh that served as her panties. "Thank you. Now, please. Let me." She held out her hand and, when he took it, she urged him to his feet and went to work loosening his tie and the buttons of his shirt. He stopped her hands, holding them to his chest in his much larger fists. He captured her attention with a strange look of resignation before saying, "You don't owe me, or need to pay me back. I don't expect that from any woman." For several long seconds, all Lauren could do was blink before she managed to wrench her hands free from his and shove them at her hips. "What? Was this some kind of test? You wanted to see how far I'd actually go? If I was all talk and no action? Is that it?" He didn't answer. He only continued to study her face until she wanted to pull out her hair in frustration and scream. Why did men have to have such double standards? Why couldn't they believe that good girls could love sex, too? She asked her next question with all the calm she could muster. It wasn't much considering she was close to seething inside. "Well, tell me then. Did I pass?" Chapter Six Anton groaned. He had a gorgeous, responsive woman staring up at him as though he were some kind of devil, when all he'd been trying to do was let her off the hook.

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He'd known too many females who took the pleasure he gave them, then offered him the same as an afterthought, as a token payment, always out of obligation and never from the heart. He was getting older and more discriminating. He wanted a woman to want him, not to feel obliged to leave him a tip in exchange for services rendered. But he was afraid he'd just made a big mistake with Lauren Hollister. Rather than the glow of her previous expression replete with satisfaction, she now looked ready to bite his head off. He didn't get it. He didn't get this woman at all. But, then, he didn't really know her, yet, did he? "No, Lauren. This wasn't a test." How was he supposed to explain this from his point of view without leaving her insulted? "It was unexpected and it was amazing. You're amazing. I loved seeing you come." She was still breathing fire. "Oh, so you'd rather watch, is that it?" He tried to hold back a smile. "I do like to watch. But I'd much rather do." A faint blush crept up her neck. "You just don't want to do me. I'm too easy. You like more of a challenge. Where have I heard that before?" He tossed his head back and roared. "You are not too easy, but you are making me crazy. I want to make love to you more than anything and I'm about to tie my hands behind my back to keep them to myself. If that's not a challenge, I don't know what is." "Then, why ?" He backed her up, planted his hands flat against the elevator wall above her shoulders as he looked down into her upturned face. He had a number of logistical reasons, not the least of which was the lack of a single comfortable amenity, but he gave her the most obvious. "I don't have a condom."She blinked, registering his response before her mouth broke into a self-satisfied grin. Reaching down for her backpack, she rummaged inside and produced a foil packet he wished he'd had 10 minutes ago. "Why didn't you say so?" she asked just as his cell phone started to ring. This time it was Lauren who growled before hanging her head. Anton knew the mood would not be easily recaptured. As much as he wanted to bury himself in her warmly receptive body, he reached for the phone instead. "Neville." "Hey, buddy. Wanna go double or nothing?" his partner, Doug Storey, asked. "You are never going to dump that dump at this rate." "I wouldn't be so sure," Anton answered, keeping an eye on Lauren as she slipped back into her overalls and swiped the elevator dirt off her backside. "Where the hell are you, anyway?" "Downstairs with the elevator crew and your Ms. Hollister's roommate." Doug lowered his voice. "You two might want to get your story straight. Looks like you'll be outta there in a few." "Thanks, bud." Anton ended the call, returned the phone to his pocket and took great pleasure in watching Lauren run a brush through her hair. Then she straightened her clothing, smoothing down her T-shirt, as well as the legs of her shorts. Once she'd finished, he held out his hand. "You want my hairbrush?" she asked. He shook his head. The elevator jerked to a start and he knew he didn't have much time. "I want the condom."She swung the backpack strap up onto one shoulder. One eyebrow lifted as she gave him a haughty look. "What, you don't have a supply of your own at home?"

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"I do." He wanted to make it clear that her assumptions had been wrong. That he didn't think her too easy. Her expression told him she wasn't convinced. But the problem was more complicated than he could get into with only two floors left to descend. The rest of what he wanted to say would have to wait. The elevator groaned and creaked and finally hit the ground floor. Anton continued to hold out his hand. Lauren continued to consider him with her worldly eyes. Finally, just as the overhead door began rolling up along its tracks, she slapped the condom into his palm. He closed his fingers around hers and around the foil packet, only letting her go when she insisted. The condom he tucked into his pocket, holding it tight in his fist. "I'm going to hold on to this. And I'm going to call you and invite you to dinner. A real dinner. A real date. Next time, and there will be a next time, I don't want to be caught with my pants?up." *** "Why do I ever believe a man when he tells me he's going to call?" Three days had passed since Lauren and Anton's elevator adventure and she was not a happy camper as she paced back and forth in her best friend's gIRL-gEAR office. Macy Webb sat cross-legged behind her desk in a chair that seemed to swallow her diminutive form. She'd been working on copy for her gIRL gUIDE column when Lauren took over the office with her ranting and raving about men. "C'mon, Lauren. It's been three days, not three weeks. And not the three months you're acting like. If he calls, he calls. If you can't wait, call him. It's not a crime, you know." Lauren stopped pacing and collapsed into one of Macy's visitor's chairs. She rubbed her fingers to the headache building in her temples. "I can't call him. I can't explain. But I think he's sorta old-fashioned about wanting to be the one to do the calling and the paying. Stuff like that." Macy leaned across her desk. "Yoo-hoo. Lauren? Since when do you do old-fashioned? Waiting for the man to call? Letting the man pay? Don't you think you're borrowing trouble here when there are about a bazillion men out there who wouldn't think twice about you calling or paying? Especially the paying part." Lauren sighed, dropped her head back against the headrest and stared up at the ceiling. Macy was probably right. Lauren knew she wouldn't be able to deal with having a man call all the relationship shots. Anton Neville seemed the type who got off on being in charge. He'd certainly been in charge of their elevator date, hadn't he? What kind of guy said no to sex, anyway? And why was she even thinking about seeing a guy who did, again? Chapter Seven "I'm sorry it took so long to get back to you. All hell's broken loose at the office. Doug and I have hit a streak of bad contractor luck lately. Not to mention clients who can't make up their minds." Sitting across from Anton Neville in the restaurant known to serve Houston's best Vietnamese cuisine, Lauren Hollister listened to his architectural woes. The last part, about clients being unable to make up their minds, had her rolling her eyes. "Is that what this is? A business dinner to talk about the loft? You're wanting to know what Macy and I have decided?" She didn't know why she'd gotten her hopes up otherwise. But she had. She liked him a lot and hated that they might actually be facing a problem as out-of-date as equality of the sexes.

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Anton laid his chopsticks on his plate, propped his elbows on the edge of the table and laced his fingers, looking at her over his joined hands. His blue eyes were brighter than she remembered from the dim elevator and lit with an intensity that would've stolen her appetite if she'd thought it was intended for her. But she didn't. "If this was a business dinner, this conversation would be business specific," he said. "As in, what build-outs you've decided on. If you want us to arrange them, if you plan to hire your own contractors. Or if you've even decided whether you want the loft at all." "So, that wasn't a dig? That comment about clients making up their minds? Because we have. We do want the loft." Why, oh why did he have to look even yummier than her spring rolls? All dressed up in the dark browns and greens that did such amazing things to his coloring? "Good." He picked up his chopsticks and dug into his steamed rice. "Now, can we get back to the date? I promised you a good time and I intend to see that it happens." Yeah, his idea of a good time, Lauren silently groused. He wanted to call, he wanted to pay. He wanted to coordinate the when, where, and how of any sexual encounter. And now he wanted to be in charge of what they talked about. Typical overbearing man. She had a feeling that she was going to miss out on experiencing his good qualities because his bad ones so got on her nerves. True, some women did like sitting high atop a pedestal, safe from problems, decisions, and sin. He couldn't know that she hated looking down at the action. That she thought duking it out eye-to-eye was a much more honorable way to live. Not to mention a helluva lot more fun. "Did you bring our condom?" "As a matter of fact, I did." His lips drew taut, almost into a grimace as he dug his wallet from the back pocket of his chocolate-colored pants. "Did you want it back?" Still holding her chopsticks, Lauren slumped back hard in her chair, her hand on the napkin draped over her crossed legs. "Oh. Now you've changed your mind." Anton leaned into the forearm he'd braced on the table and reached for his beer. He took a drink from the longneck, keeping his gaze locked with Lauren's as he did. "Can I ask you something Lauren? Do you want to be here with me? Or did you feel indebted to go out with me because of what went on in the elevator?" Indebted was the last thing she felt. But she could understand where he was coming from, considering the way she was acting. Time to stop dancing around the ring and take it on the chin. Returning her chopsticks to the table, she smoothed down her simple salmon-colored skirt. She tried to smile but, since the feeling failed to reach her heart, was afraid she wasn't very convincing. "I'm sorry. I just don't think this is going to work." Anton blew out a huff, as if he'd been anticipating her decision. "You're calling this off before we've even gotten to know each other?" She was calling it off before she was in over her head and ended up being hurt. "I think I make you uncomfortable. And that makes me uncomfortable." He frowned. "Why would you make me uncomfortable?" "Because I am who I am. I say what I think. I go after what I want. I play by my rules and I'm afraid that might cause me to inadvertently step on your more traditional toes." There. She didn't think she could be more honest without telling him he needed to loosen up.

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"My toes are traditional?" he asked, a small quirk to the corner of his mouth. This time her response was genuine. She felt her own smile work the muscles of her face. His smile she felt other places and she held the feeling close. She wanted to feel so much more, but they seemed to be coming from two disparate places. "Since I haven't seen them yet, I can't say for sure. But I'm leaning in that direction." "What do you want me to do with this?" He held the condom he'd pulled from his wallet between two fingers. Lauren felt a flush heat her cheeks. She might be the more free-spirited of the two, but even she didn't want an entire restaurant wondering if they were in for a show. She took the foil packet from his hand and tucked it down in the low-draped cowl bodice of her sleeveless white blouse. "I'll hang on to it. Just in case." One blond eyebrow went up. "Just in case you change your mind?" She shook her head. "In case you come to your senses and realize that you don't have to be the one on top to have a good time." *** Lauren and Macy finalized the deal on the loft not long after. Doug Storey represented the firm of Neville and Storey, Architects at the closing. He explained that neither he nor Anton usually handled the financial end of any property they sold. But the loft space had been an anomaly since they'd acquired it and they'd sworn to see its sale through to the end. Lauren couldn't have cared less who showed up. She and Macy had found the perfect place to live and nothing else mattered. And Lauren told her best friend that very thing. "Oh, that's a bunch of crap, Lauren," Macy said, her head next to Lauren's as they lay side by side on the hardwood floor of the loft's main room. Feet pointing opposite directions, they stared up at the exposed piping Lauren had decided to paint red, purple and green. "You wanted Anton there and you know it. You may not have said so, but you wore a business suit to the closing, for chrissakes." "It was an important occasion and I dressed accordingly." "You dressed like you thought Mr. Uptight would want you to dress." "That's not true. He is not uptight. He's just?traditional." Macy snorted. "Traditional, my ass. He's a stick in the mud. Face it." Anton Neville was anything but a stick in the mud. He was a veritable god. Seeing to her pleasure? Without expecting anything in return? Had she ever known a man so unselfish? So considerate? So incredibly kind and thoughtful? And did she mention hot? Lauren groaned. She'd been so worried about her precious equality that she'd told him it wasn't going to work before they'd gotten to know each other. Now she was afraid she'd thrown away the best thing to ever happen in her life. Chapter Eight "So, you're going to go? After all that bitching about your date with the man, after the way he dumped on you at the closing, you're still going to go?"

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Macy Webb stood in Lauren Hollister's bedroom doorway, watching as Lauren settled on a periwinkle suede fringed skirt and a silver silk corset that left the biggest part of her assets bare. She left her legs bare, as well, and slipped her feet into a pair of easily slipped-out-of periwinkle blue mules. "And that's what you're going to wear?" Both of Macy's eyebrows went up. "What happened to conventional and old-fashioned?" They'd closed on the loft yesterday. And they needed to get busy packing. But Anton Neville had called and asked Lauren to meet him at the loft. Alone. Tonight. At nine. Lauren turned side to side and examined her reflection in the full-length mirror. With this outfit and her hair in a wispy knot on top of her head, she looked hot, if she did say so herself. "Yes, this is what I'm going to wear. Anton Neville can take conventional and old-fashioned and shove it. He wants to see me? He's going to see me." "A whole lot of you, in that outfit," Macy added. "What's wrong with that? I'm a fun, fearless female. Screw him if he doesn't like it." Lauren only hoped she could keep up the charade. Her insides were melting like butter and she was afraid if he came too close she'd pour herself all over him. Equality be damned. He was sexy as hell, both his mind and his body. The combination was an incredible turn-on. More than that, however, the combination had captured her heart. She only hoped she hadn't messed things up forever the day she'd walked away. Macy gave a quick nod. "Looking like that? I'd say screwing is a definite possibility." *** Anton stood on the loft's balcony, leaning against the railing as he watched the taillights of the traffic four stories below. He was waiting for Lauren and he wasn't sure he wouldn't still be waiting come morning. She'd vaguely agreed to meet him, as long as nothing else came up, or so she'd said. He still had a key and he'd let himself in. He didn't think Lauren would mind, if she showed up and if she hadn't already written him off. He wanted to give this a go. If he had to rein in his insistence on having things his way, he'd give it his best shot. Lauren Hollister was too special not to work out a compromise. He heard the newly installed elevator motor engage and his heart flipped in his chest. He glanced quickly around the balcony, where he'd set up a chaise longue with a coverlet and pillows. On the table beside, candles still burned. The wine was chilled. He wondered if Lauren had brought the condom. He had others, of course, but there was something about that particular one?. "Anton?" she called. Even the way she said his name was enough to make him weak in the knees. "Out here. On the balcony." He'd left the sliding glass doors open and now he leaned his backside against the railing and turned to face the darkened loft. He heard her footsteps as she made her way across the floor. He couldn't see her, but he knew she could see him. He wasn't sure he'd ever had so much trouble drawing a breath. His heart thumped furiously in his chest. And when she finally reached the doorway, a vision of glittering silvers and blues, he knew he was in more trouble than he'd ever imagined possible.

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"Hi," she said and stepped outside into his world. She glanced around and, even with nothing more than the light from the moon, he knew she could see the romantic stage he'd set. She grinned and Anton held his breath, hoping she wasn't about to laugh at his plans for seduction. She did laugh, but it was the purest sound of joy, a filling of her soul with the moment, and happiness spilling like bubbling champagne and? God, but he needed to be committed, writing poetry in his mind instead of talking to the flesh-and-blood woman holding his heart in her hand. "I can't believe you. I can't believe this." She pressed her fingers to her lips as she circled the chaise longue, plumping the pillows and running her palm over the coverlet. He remained standing with his arms crossed and his ankles crossed because he still wasn't sure if her disbelief was a good thing or bad. But then she made her way back to where he stood. She took him by the hand, guided him to the chaise and, with a palm planted in the center of his chest, forced him to sit. "You did good. The candles and the wine. There's even traffic down below. And there's always the possibility of getting caught. We're only missing one thing." "The condom," he stated, his palms growing damp. Nodding, she planted her hands at her waist. "Find it and you get that whole lotta lovin'." Hands shaking, he started with the tiny silver hooks holding the corset together. The front separated and fell to the ground, revealing nothing but bare skin from her tiny waist to her beautifully long neck. Pressing his lips between her breasts and breathing deep of her softly scented skin, he skimmed his hands around her hips, finding the skirt's rear zipper and easing it down. One smooth tug and it fell to her feet, leaving her standing in a wisp of sheer silver mesh. The condom was caught between the elastic and her skin. He stripped her free of both, leaving her standing bare before him. He took a deep breath, struggling for control, even as Lauren urged him to his feet. "My turn." She tugged his shirt from his pants, releasing the buttons from bottom to top as he got busy with his cuffs. By the time he was out of his shirt and his shoes, he was so hard he thought he might burst. And then Lauren went to work on his belt and his pants. "Careful," he whispered, as she eased his zipper over his erection. At the bold touch of her fingertips, he released a gut-deep groan, groaning again as she shoved his pants and his briefs to his ankles. He kicked them aside and she dropped to sit on the lounger, patting the seat for the condom and smiling when she found her prize. Taking his penis into her mouth, playing the ridge of his head with her tongue, she used nimble fingers to rip into the foil packet. Anton gritted his teeth and threaded his fingers into her hair. When she sheathed him, he was more than ready. He lowered them both down to the cushion, covering her with his body. She opened her legs, taking his weight and accepting him deep inside. He shuddered. She shuddered. Her warmth enveloped him; her wetness welcomed him and he knew he'd found a place to call home. "I want to ask you something," he said, knowing they had so much to talk about, so much to settle. Knowing, too, that time would come but, for now, this was what mattered.

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"Anything." "Do you believe in love at first sight?" She lifted her hand and cupped his face. "Yes. I do. And, yes. I did." Her words slowly brought their sensuous dance to a stop. He turned his lips toward her palm for a kiss, his eyes maintaining contact with hers that shimmered by the light of the moon and the softly glowing candles. Reaching for the coverlet, he pulled it up until they lay enveloped in a cocoon of warmth and romance. He didn't think making love had ever felt so right. Had ever resonated with so much emotion. Her heart snared his, as did her eyes. And her body held him tightly in her intimate embrace. He began to move again, trying to take his time. But holding back quickly became impossible. His body ached with the need for release. Lauren's eyes gave him permission to come, promising she'd stay with him every second of the ride. He picked up the pace, harder, faster, meeting each upward thrust of her hips with a powerful downward stroke. Seconds later, she cried out, a soft gasp, a sweetly unexpected catch of breath as she shuddered beneath him. Her completion sent him over the edge. His body clenched and he groaned, his climax exploding through him in one final driving burst. He buried his face in her hair, holding his weight on his elbows braced above her head, feeling for the first time in his life like he'd never recover. And loving the feeling of being in love. Finally, he raised his head and looked down into her smiling eyes. "So, about that love at first sight thing? Are you sure?" Lauren gave a quick little nod. "I wouldn't be down here naked beneath your godlike body otherwise." When he raised an eyebrow, she added a small shrug and said, "Hey, it sounded good anyway." "Uh-huh. I thought so." He brushed hair back from her forehead, loving her sense of humor yet knowing this one thing, at least for him, couldn't wait. "I can be as cynical as anyone, Lauren, and I've always believed in love. I just never expected to be hit ?" "Shh." She placed her fingers to his lips. "I promise. Next time I won't hit you." "That's what I wanted to know. About next time. That there will be one." He knew she had to feel his heart racing, his chest pressed to hers as it was. "Maybe one or two." And then she smiled. A smile that touched him where a woman had never touched him before. Where he knew no other woman would touch him again. "One or two? Is that all?" "Or however many times we can squeeze into the next 40 years," she added, pulling his head down for the sweetest imaginable kiss.

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OUTLAW HEARTS by ELIZABETH LANE Since the death of her husband, Amelia Gray has been struggling to hold on to the homestead the two of them carved out of the northern Colorado foothills. She is determined to build a life for herself, even though the local sheriff, Cam Bartlett, seems to have plans of his own for her future. When Amelia finds a gravely wounded Heath O'Connor in her barn, she is more concerned with tending him than she is for her own safety — can she believe the stranger's promise that he won't harm her? When Cam shows up on the trail of a fugitive that fits Heath's description, Amelia must decide whether to turn the man over to the law, or hide him until his wounds heal...

Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| CHAPTER ONE Colorado, 1870 When Amelia Gray stepped into the barn, the first thing she noticed was a thin trail of blood. The fresh red drops spilled across the floor like a broken string of garnet beads, leading from the doorway to a pile of straw in one shadowed corner. Alone and armed with nothing but a milk bucket Amelia stared at the crimson spatters. She knew she should turn around and run — flee to the house, bar the door, and snatch up her late husband's shotgun from its hook beside the fireplace. But a sense of urgency drove her forward. Something — or someone — was hurt and needed her help. She almost tripped over the half-buried foot before she saw it. The worn military boot clearly belonged to a man — a man who did not appear to be moving. From the looks of things, he'd just had time to burrow into the straw before passing out. Or dying. Heart pounding, Amelia dropped the bucket to one side and began pulling away the straw that covered the man's inert body. He was lying on his back, his long, muscular legs clad in faded U.S. Cavalry breeches. His flesh was warm and hard through the weathered fabric, but he did not even twitch as her hand brushed his thigh. Amelia could hear her own taut breathing as she worked her way higher. Now she could see that the stranger was not wearing a gun belt. His dark brown shirt was not military issue. Not a soldier, then. But possibly a deserter — and deserters could be dangerous. Her heart crept into her throat as she uncovered the ugly gunshot wound in his left shoulder. It was still bleeding, bright crimson soaking his shirt and pooling in the straw below. Would a dead man bleed like that? Amelia held her breath as she uncovered his face — a strong, tanned face that was more rugged than handsome, framed by tousled coal-black hair with a few threads of silver at the temples. Was he alive? Amelia leaned over him and laid her ear lightly against his chest to listen for a heartbeat. Nothing. She pressed closer — only to freeze in sudden terror as a viselike hand clamped around her wrist. "Not a sound, lady, or I'll break this pretty arm of yours." The male voice that rasped in her ear was gruff with pain. She bit back a cry as the strong hand twisted her arm behind her back. "You're...hurting...me," she whispered, battling terror. "Stop it right now if you want my help. Otherwise, I'll leave you here to bleed to death!" She shifted her weight toward his wounded shoulder. He cursed under his breath, releasing her arm and allowing her to pull away. "That's better." Amelia spoke boldly, knowing that whoever this man might be, she could not let him know how afraid she was. "Now tell me who you are and how you came to be here, wounded and in my barn!"

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The blue eyes that gazed up at her swam with pain. "Major Heath O'Connor..." he muttered through clenched teeth. "At least that's who I used to be. If you want to hear the rest, I'll tell you while you fish the bullet out of this damned...shoulder." He struggled to sit up, then sagged back into the straw. "I can't clean your wound out here. We've got to get you into the house." Amelia thrust herself beneath his uninjured arm. His body was solid against her, all muscle and sinew, but he barely had the strength to rise. He leaned heavily on her as they pushed upward, swaying and staggering until he gained his feet. But the battle was far from over. Dizzy from blood loss, he clutched her in his arms. His head sagged against her breasts as she fought to keep him on his feet. "Nice the way you smell..." he murmured groggily. "Like wild roses. What's your name, pretty lady?" "My name is Amelia, and you're out of your head. Come on, you've got to keep walking. If you pass out I won't be able to get you inside." A shudder passed through his body as he forced himself erect. "I won't hurt you, Amelia," he said. "Please believe that." Was he babbling again? Amelia clutched his ribs to keep him from collapsing. His woollen shirt smelled of sagebrush and damp earth. How far had he crawled to find her barn? Who had put that bullet in his shoulder? One step...another. He sagged against her, their contact strangely intimate. No man had touched her in the eight months since John, her husband, had died in a landslide. Now, this wounded stranger's nearness triggered responses she had all but forgotten. Amelia struggled to ignore the tingling heat that arose from the contact of their bodies. Heath O'Connor had promised he wouldn't hurt her. But he was clearly a dangerous man. She would be a fool to trust him. They reached the back stoop of the small clapboard farmhouse. Amelia pulled the door open and guided his stumbling feet across the threshold. By now he was barely conscious. He sagged against her, his weight threatening to drag them both to the floor. The strain of so much movement had made the bleeding worse. Pausing, she braced him against the cupboard. Her free hand fumbled for a clean towel and stuffed it against the wound. The pressure helped stanch the blood, but she knew it would not be enough. He needed to lie down, and there was only one place where his big, rawboned frame would fit. Dizzy with effort, she dragged him into the bedroom. The foot of the bed was only a lunge away. He collapsed on it, pushing her down onto the patchwork quilt. She lay beneath him, trapped by his dead weight. "Let me up," she muttered, pushing against his chest. His only response was an incoherent moan. A sharp rap on the front door galvanized her to action. Thank heaven, help was here — if only she could get free before her visitor gave up and went away. Summoning the last of her strength, she twisted out from under Heath O'Connor's body, rolled off the bed, and staggered to her feet. "Amelia! Are you there? Are you all right?" The voice was all too familiar. Amelia closed the bedroom door and took a few precious seconds to rearrange her clothes and smooth her hair. Then she hurried into the parlor and opened the front door. Sheriff Cam Bartlett stepped into the room as if he owned it. A look of concern crossed his handsome face as his eyes took in Amelia's rumpled gown and flushed cheeks. "Thank heaven, you're all right!" he exclaimed. "I was escorting a prisoner to trial, and he got away from me. I trailed him this way. He was wounded, so he couldn't have gotten far. I was afraid he might try to hole up here." His eyes flickered possessively over Amelia's face and body. "Afraid for you." "I've got John's old shotgun and I know how to use it," Amelia said. "I can take care of myself." "Maybe," Cam grunted. "But if you run across a black-haired stranger, don't take any chances with him. The man's a cold-blooded murderer. Two nights ago, in his hotel room, he strangled Molly Mae Spangler to death." CHAPTER TWO

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"Molly's dead?" Amelia stared up at Cam in disbelief. Everyone in Bramble Creek knew the pretty, darkhaired girl who'd worked at the Irish Rose Saloon. Few people had approved of the way Molly made her living, but surely no one had reason to kill her. Except, perhaps, a stranger. A dangerous stranger with his own hidden purpose. I won't hurt you, Amelia. Please believe that. Heath O'Connor's words echoed in her mind. Was the man really a killer or was this all some ghastly mistake? "You look pale," Cam said, taking a step closer. "Is something wrong, darlin'?" "It's just the shock. Molly was a sweet girl, for all her wild ways." Amelia inched backward, keeping the distance between them. "Are you sure this man killed her? Were there any witnesses?" "Caught the bastard red-handed myself. I was downstairs in the hotel bar when someone reported a ruckus upstairs. I kicked open the door and there he was, standing over the bed. Molly was on it, dead as a doornail. Damn fool didn't even resist arrest. Just stood there and let me cuff him while Bart Wilson held the gun." I won't hurt you, Amelia. The words remained, even when she tried to will them away. "You said he was wounded." Cam nodded. "Happened early this morning on the road. My horse picked up a stone, and when I stopped to check it, the bastard jumped me. He got the keys out of my pocket, but I rolled away and drew before he could get the pistol. That was when he jumped into a dry ravine and I lost him in the scrub." "So you shot him as he was running away from you," Amelia said. "Had to. He was a murderer and a fugitive from justice. Got him, too. Found blood on the bushes before I lost the trail in the willows along the creek." "Then maybe you'd better keep after him. Go on. I'll be fine here." Amelia felt her stomach clench as she realized what she had just said. It made all the sense in the world to tell Cam his escaped prisoner was here — but she had always trusted her instincts. And her instincts told her she needed to hear Heath O'Connor's side of the story before she decided what to do next. Apprehension swept over her as she watched Cam ride away. In aiding this fugitive, she had crossed an invisible line. She, too, was now acting on the wrong side of the law. Trembling, she closed the front door and bolted it from the inside. What if her intuition was wrong this time? What if Heath was nothing but a handsome, charming killer who preyed on vulnerable women? After all, Molly had died in his bed. She would be a fool to lower her guard with him. Taking the shotgun down from its rack, she checked to make sure both barrels were loaded. It was an awkward weapon at close range, but it was all she had. She cocked it and, with her finger resting lightly on one trigger, she walked back to the bedroom and opened the door. Heath had managed to turn over onto his back. He lay there watching her with hooded eyes, one hand pressing the towel against his wounded shoulder. "So, are you going to shoot me, too?" he muttered, eyeing the shotgun. "I just might, unless I get some fast answers. You heard what was said in there?" "All of it. Including the darlin' part. Just my rotten luck to run into the sheriff's woman."

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Amelia shot him a glare. "If I were his woman, I would have told him you were here." "So why didn't you?" "Maybe I wanted to hear your side of the story first." A spasm of pain rippled across Heath's face. "Then maybe you ought to put that damned bird gun away and do something about this bullet in my shoulder." Amelia hesitated, then slowly lowered the heavy gun. Heath was in no condition to harm her, she reminded herself, especially not when he needed her help. Hurrying back to the kitchen she rummaged for some forceps — the ones her husband had used for doctoring animals would do — a knife, some clean rags and a bottle of cheap whiskey. Returning to the bedroom, she saw that he was already fading. His eyes were glazed, his face ashen. There was no time to lose. "Let's get rid of that shirt," she said. "I've got others. My husband was about your size." "Was?" He mumbled the question, slipping into the fog of his pain. "Then you're a widow lady...such a beautiful widow lady…" He sank back into the pillow and allowed Amelia to unbutton his damp, muddy shirt. His chest was hard and muscular beneath. A dusting of black hair narrowed to form a dark downward path that disappeared into the waist of his trousers. Steeling herself against his nearness, Amelia slipped the shirt off his uninjured arm and worked it around his back. He moaned softly as her breast brushed his cheek. Damp heat flooded her body. Struggling to ignore it, she eased the shirt over his wound, slipped it off and dropped it on the floor. Then she opened the whiskey bottle and held it to his lips. He took a single deep swallow. A shudder passed through him as he opened his eyes and looked directly up at her. "I didn't kill Molly," he said. "You've got to believe that." "Then what was she doing in your bed?" Amelia soaked a rag with whiskey and began cleaning around the ugly wound. "Were you one of her customers?" "Lord, no!" He winced as the alcohol stung his raw flesh. "Then what was she doing in your room?" She held the end of the forceps in the flame of a candle she'd lit for that purpose. "And how did she end up dead?" He muttered something she could not understand, and Amelia realized he was slipping away from her again. Thrusting the knife's leather sheath between his jaws, she began probing for the bullet. As the tip of the forceps touched lead, Heath moaned again and passed into unconsciousness. Fifteen minutes later, Amelia had finished her work. Heath lay bandaged on her bed, his eyes closed, his breathing deep and even. He would be all right, she concluded, but he needed rest. Amelia leaned back against the wall, watching him. Could she believe what Heath had told her, or was he a liar as well as a murderer? Either way, she had to know. There had been another witness to Heath's arrest, she reminded herself. Cam's deputy, Bart Wilson, was her nearest neighbor. He would be honest enough to tell her exactly what he had seen last night. She would be wise to talk to him as soon as possible. Still pondering, Amelia reached for the shirt she had dropped on the floor. She would burn it, she resolved. It would be one less piece of evidence that Heath had been here. As she picked up the shirt, something fell out of the pocket and landed on the floor with a metallic clink. Startled, she picked it up. It was a small, heart-shaped silver locket. Amelia's fingers shook as she pressed

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the tiny clasp that held the locket's two halves together. Inside was the photograph of a girl — a beautiful girl with laughing eyes and dark, curling hair. Amelia stifled a little cry as she recognized Molly Mae Spangler. CHAPTER THREE Amelia stared at the open locket in her hand. There could be no mistake. The girl in the tiny heart-shaped portrait was Molly Mae Spangler — and Molly had been found dead, strangled in Heath's hotel room, with Heath standing over her body. Dropping the little silver heart into her apron pocket, she walked back to the bedroom and stood in the doorway, gazing at the dark stranger who lay wounded on her bed. Heath was sleeping like a tired child, his black hair falling in a damp tangle over his forehead, his eyelashes like charcoal smudges against his pallid skin. Had she rescued an innocent man or was she harboring a killer? Her own life could depend on the answer to that question. Heath had sworn to her that he hadn't killed Molly. Amelia had chosen to believe him. But she'd assumed that he was an innocent traveler who'd stumbled into a nightmare that was not of his making. Now she could no longer believe that story. Heath had known pretty Molly. He had come here to find her, perhaps to take her life. He moaned, thrashing in his sleep. "No…." he muttered, his head twisting on the pillow. "…Lord, no! …Molly... Molly!" His movements were becoming more and more frantic. Fearful that he would open his wound, Amelia flung herself down beside the bed and seized his upper arms. "It's all right...." she soothed, pressing down on him with her full weight. "Lie still. You're having a bad dream, that's all." His startling blue eyes shot open. For an instant he stared at her as if he did not remember who she was. Then a tremor passed through his body and he sank back onto the pillow. "No," he muttered. "It isn't all right. The bad dream is real." She sank back onto her heels, watching him. No, she concluded, he hadn't killed Molly — or at least, he hadn't meant to. No man could fake the kind of anguish she had just witnessed. Amelia reached into her apron and brought out the locket. "I found this in your shirt," she said. "I want the truth about what happened, Heath. You owe me that much." He shook his head. "The best way to repay what I owe you would be to drag myself out of this bed and leave right now. That way you could forget that any of this ever happened. You don't need my kind of trouble, Amelia." Impulsively she reached out and gripped his hand. His long, brown fingers were lightly callused. They tensed, then curled around her own as if seeking comfort. "It's a bit late for all that," she said. "Tell me. Even if it's bad, I have to know." Wincing, he eased himself up on the pillow so that he was looking directly at her. "Molly was my baby sister," he said. "She was just fifteen when she ran away from home — not that she'd had much of a home to run away from. I was off in the army at the time, and short of desertion there was nothing I could do. But I swore that one day I'd find her and make things right." "So you found her here." Amelia was acutely conscious of his fingers, still gripping hers. He nodded. "I'd sent out letters, even offered a reward. Even so, it took me years to locate her. By then I'd saved up enough of my pay to buy a parcel of Wyoming land with a house on it. Before I mustered out of the army, I wrote to Molly, asked her to come with me and start a new life."

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"And she said yes?" "There wasn't time to wait for her reply. I left Fort Kearny, rode here, and found her serving drinks in the saloon. She seemed nervous about talking there, so I took her up to my room, where we could have some privacy. We'd been there just a few minutes when there was a knock on the door. It was the desk clerk. I recognized his voice. He said there was a man downstairs, in the alley, who needed to talk to me." Heath's eyelids fluttered, and Amelia realized that he was still very weak, but he seemed determined to keep talking and she had no will to stop him. "I thought it might be somebody who fancied he had a claim on Molly," he said. "I slipped my gun in its holster, told Molly to lock the door, and went down the back stairs, to the alley." "And who was there?" Amelia asked softly. "Nobody. I spent a few minutes looking around. Then I went back up the stairs. I found the door to the room unlocked, and Molly inside...." Heath's throat moved as he swallowed. His fingers gripped Amelia's so hard that she could feel her bones grinding together. "I can't drag you any deeper into this mess," he said, struggling to sit up. "Help me back to the barn. I'll hide in the straw till nightfall. Then I'll be gone." "No!" Amelia tore her hand from his and pushed him back onto the pillow. "You're too weak to run from this! And even if you're lucky enough to get away, you'll be a hunted man for the rest of your life! Is that what you want?" "What I don't want is to get you hurt because of this. It's more dangerous than you know." His cobalt eyes burned with helpless fury. "All I want is to get away from here," he said. "I can't stay here, Amelia, not with that sheriff sniffing around." "But there has to be a way to prove you were innocent. What about the desk clerk?" "He was gone when I came out of the room, so he never saw me leave. Anyway, I'd bet money he was paid to get me out of there so somebody could be alone with Molly. He wouldn't —" Heath broke off, suddenly alert and wary. "Listen," he whispered. "I hear horses." Amelia darted to the kitchen window and peered through the lace curtain. Three mounted figures were approaching the far gate. Her heart sank as she recognized Sheriff Cam Bartlett, his eighteen-year-old brother, Billy, and their powerfully built father, Jethro Bartlett, who owned the Bramble Creek Bank. Frantic, she rushed back into the bedroom. Heath was already on his feet, looking pale and shaky. "Get me to the barn," he said. "I'll take it from there." "No, there's not time!" Amelia dropped to the floor, reached under the bed and moved aside a trapdoor. "There's a secret cellar down here. My husband built it as a hiding place, in case of trouble. Go on. I'll be all right." Heath slid under the bed, grunting with the pain of his wounded shoulder. Amelia heard him curse as he dropped into the hole. "I don't like this. Anybody looks down here, and I'll be trapped like a rat." "They won't look," Amelia said. "Nobody knows about this place but me." Stripping the bloodstained blanket from the bed she dropped it into the hole after him, then reached for the trapdoor to slide it into place. She gasped as his hand seized her wrist. "Maybe you ought to come down here with me," he said. "That way you won't be tempted to give me away." She struggled to pull away. "You don't trust me? After all this?"

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He hesitated, then released her. "Right now, Amelia, I can't afford to trust anybody." "Well, you'll just have to trust me. Get down and let me close this trapdoor. They'll be here any minute, and if they don't find me they'll know something's wrong." Amelia reached out again to pull the wooden cover into place. That was when she noticed the long smear of blood on her sleeve. CHAPTER FOUR "Amelia! Are you all right?" Cam Bartlett's voice rang out over the pounding on the kitchen door. Amelia paused to roll up her sleeves, hiding the stain Heath's blood had left on one of them. Forcing herself to be calm, she walked slowly to the door and opened it. "Thank heaven you're safe!" Cam strode into the kitchen, followed by his burly father, Jethro, and his lanky, pimpled nineteen-year-old brother, Billy. A glimpse of their lathered mounts in the dooryard told her they'd been riding hard. "Of course, I'm safe." Amelia said. "Whatever gave you the idea I wouldn't be?" Jethro Bartlett stepped directly into her path, his bullish face blocking her view. "Don't you play cute with us, Amelia, honey. You know that Cam trailed that murderer here, to your place. " "We think he's hiding here somewhere," Cam cut in. "Heath O'Connor's a mighty convincing liar, and you're too trusting for your own good. I can understand how he might sweet-talk you into helping him. But the man's a cold-blooded killer, and his victim was a woman. If you know where he is, darlin', you'd best tell us now. I'd hate to have to arrest you for aiding a fugitive." "You're talking nonsense, Cam Bartlett!" Amelia struggled against a rising tide of fear. "If you think your murderer is hiding in my barn, just go out and look!" "Already did." Cam's eyes narrowed. "I found blood on the straw, but no sign of O'Connor." His hand slid possessively around the curve of her waist. "How many times have I told you it's not safe, your being out here all alone? You need a man around the place. It's been more than a year since John was killed in that rock slide. If you ask me —" "How would you all like a nice piece of gooseberry pie?" Amelia asked, pulling away. "Otherwise you'll have come all the way out here for nothing." Without waiting for a reply she set three plates on the counter and began cutting the pie into generous slices. Cam had been after her to marry him almost from the day poor John was in the ground. She had never understood why, since there were several pretty young women in town who'd set their caps for the handsome sheriff. But none of them owned a ranch — especially a ranch whose boundaries straddled Upper Bramble Creek, which provided water for the neighboring homesteads and much of the town. If he couldn't get the ranch by marrying her, would Cam try another way? Like sending her to prison? "Billy, here, was sweet on Molly," Jethro said. "Hell, a lot of men were sweet on the girl, even with her bein' what she was. When we catch that bastard, O'Connor, he's gonna wish he was dead — an' pretty soon that's just what he'll be." The tone of his voice sent a chill up Amelia's spine. "Cam told me O'Connor gave up without a fight," she said. "Are you sure he's guilty?" "He was right there in the room." Cam eyed her coldly as he sat down. "There's nobody else it could've been."

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"I see." Amelia bit back the other questions she was burning to ask — questions that would give away things she wasn't supposed to know. The Bartletts seemed almost too eager to see Heath dead. Somehow she had to find out why. "What's that?" Cam's hand brushed Amelia's arm. She felt her heart stop as she realized her sleeve had slipped downward far enough to reveal the fresh smear of Heath's blood on the pale blue fabric. "Oh, I — killed a rat — in the barn," she stammered. "At least I tried. It —" Her words ended in a gasp as Cam's arm tightened around her wrist. "Stop it — you're hurting me!" "I've never known you to kill a rat in your life, darlin'," Cam drawled. "And you're not a very good liar. That's fresh blood on your sleeve, and if it came from where I think it did, you're in a lot of trouble. Do you know what the penalty for harboring a fugitive is, Amelia? Especially a murderer?" "Let the lady go, Bartlett." A low, tense voice ripped the silence. Amelia spun around to see Heath standing at the entrance to the kitchen, holding the double-barreled shotgun she'd left on the bedroom floor. His face was ashen and he held the stock of the heavy weapon braced against his side to steady its weight. But there was no mistaking the menace in his tone. "If the lady gave me any help, it's because I forced her to," he said. "I broke in here and threatened to hurt her if she didn't dress that bullet wound you gave me." His cobalt eyes glazed slightly, and Amelia stifled a moan. Heath was barely strong enough to stand. But he had crawled out of a safe hiding place to make sure she wasn't implicated in his escape. That, more than anything, told her she could trust this man with her life. "I said, let her go, Sheriff. I've got two barrels aimed right at your heart, and it would be a real shame to blast you all over this nice clean kitchen." Heath's eyes flickered toward Jethro and Billy. "Don't move, either of you. I'm already a dead man if I'm caught. I've got nothing to lose by pulling this trigger. Now, slowly, hands on the table where I can see them." Three pairs of hands inched upward to lie flat on Amelia's kitchen table. "You, lady," he growled at Amelia. "Get their guns. Bring them over to me. When everybody's comfortable, I'll be asking some questions, and I want some straight answers." Trembling, Amelia did as she was told. Jethro and Billy gave her no trouble as she slipped the pistols from their holsters. Cam, however, was seated at an angle to the table, so that she had to reach across his body to get his gun. As her fingers touched the grip, she felt a flicker of movement. Hidden for an instant, Cam had pulled a tiny derringer from his vest pocket. She heard the soft click as he thumbed back the hammer. Amelia jerked upward, striking his hand. The shot went wild, shattering the unlit lamp that hung from a hook on the ceiling, sending a shower of glass and oil onto the table. In the melee that followed she was knocked off balance and jerked sharply backward. When her head cleared she realized she was trapped in the crook of Heath's arm. He had exchanged the shotgun for one of the pistols, and he held it with the muzzle jammed against her breast. "Nobody moves or the lady dies," he said. "The two of us are getting out of here. Give us an hour. Then I'll let her go. Come after us any sooner and you'll find her body on the trail." He dragged her out to the yard toward Cam's tall bay horse. "Struggle, damn it," he hissed. "I'm supposed to be kidnapping you!" Amelia complied, flailing at his good shoulder as he flung her over the saddle and dragged himself painfully up behind her. He paused to catch the reins of one remaining horse and give the other one a slap that sent it rocketing toward the road. "Hang on," he muttered. Then he jabbed the bay's flanks with his knees and they were off in an explosion of dust and pounding hooves.

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They rode in silence, skimming the foothills until they found a trail that led along a mountain ridge. In a secluded clearing, he brought the horses to a halt, eased Amelia to the ground, and slid out of the saddle to rest. "This is as far as you go," he said. "I've already caused you more trouble than you deserve." She stared up at his pain-creased face. "But what are you going to do? You're innocent! If you run, you'll be a hunted man the rest of your days!" "And if I stay, the Bartletts will see that I don't live to stand trial." His eyes softened as he gazed down at her. "You've been my angel, Amelia. Now the only way I can repay you is to get out of your life." Aching, she searched his face. This wasn't fair. It wasn't right. She had to find a way to make him see that. Heart pounding she took a step toward him. "Heath —" He caught her close, his strong arm all but crushing her against his body. The lips that found hers were rough and hungry, igniting flames of need that seared her to the depths of her soul. Her arms went around him, binding him to her as she returned his kiss, holding him tightly, knowing she never wanted to let him go. CHAPTER FIVE When Heath released Amelia from their long, dizzying kiss, they were both breathing hard. She gazed up at him, knowing he had meant to kiss her goodbye. But how could she watch him ride away, knowing he would be hunted down and shot like a wounded animal? There had to be a way to make this right. But if they parted now, they would never find it. "Stay with me, Heath," she whispered. "If you ride away, I'll never see you again." "Don't, Amelia." His voice was husky as he eased her away from him. "If things were different, I'd promise to come back for you. But we both know that can't happen. Once word gets out, I'll have every lawman and bounty hunter in the territory after me." "But that's not fair!" Amelia burst out. "You've done nothing. You've hurt no one. You're innocent!" "That doesn't matter. If I stay, the Bartletts will have the whole town gunning for me. I have no choice except to run, and you can't come with me. It's too dangerous." "What makes you think it's safe for me back there?" Amelia argued. "The Bartletts have wanted my land for years so they could sell water rights to the people downstream. If they can't get it by having Cam marry me, they'll find other ways." "Like sending you to jail for helping me? I was hoping we'd taken care of that." "It doesn't matter anymore. All they need to do is wait for me to come back down this trail. They can kill me and blame my death on you." Amelia watched the emotions flicker across Heath's face. His blue eyes were as troubled as the storm clouds welling up in the sky behind him. She was right about the Bartletts. Surely he would see that. Scowling, he turned away from her and swung into the saddle. "Do you have any family around here?" he asked. " Any close friends?" "None that I'd be willing to put in danger." "Come on, then." He reached down and pulled her up behind him. "I'll take you with me for now. But as soon as we come to a safe place, I'm leaving you there." "Then what?" she persisted. "Where will you go?"

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He swung the horse back onto the trail. "Don't even ask. The less you know about my plans, the safer it will be for both of us." "But you'll write, won't you? You'll let me know you're safe?" Heath's silence answered her question. Amelia settled herself behind the saddle, her hands gripping his waist. Only then did she notice the blood that was soaking into the dark blue shirt she'd lent him. "Your wound's opened up," she said. "We'll need to stop somewhere and replace the bandage." "Later. Right now we need to lose our three friends." He swung the horse off the trail and headed up the slope. Behind them, dark clouds billowed in the sky. The breeze that struck Amelia's face smelled of rain. "My husband did some prospecting in these hills," she said. "On the other side of that ridge, there's a place where he tunneled into the slope. Nobody else knows about it, so we should be —" The rest of her words were lost in a violent thunderclap. Rain poured out of the clouds, pelting the ground, turning the dust to mud. Heath swore as the horse slipped on the treacherous slope. "Where's that tunnel?" "Up there!" She pointed to an outcrop of rocks. Heath slid to the ground and led the toiling horse upward, toward the outcrop. Minutes later, muddy and soaked, they found the clump of heavy brush that screened the tunnel's entrance. The rocky tunnel was eight or ten paces in length, the opening just high enough for the horse to stand under its lip. Gray light filtered in through the brush, casting patterns on the dry sand that covered the floor. Amelia tore two long strips from the hem of her petticoat. "We've got to take care of that wound," she said. Heath allowed her to unbutton his shirt and slip it clear of his shoulder. His face was haggard in the wan light, his skin lightly feverish. What were they going to do? she wondered as she rebandaged the ugly wound. Heath was far from well. They had no food, no money, no blankets, and they were riding a stolen horse. There was no way they were going to get very far. Surely Heath knew that. What could he be thinking? She was knotting the bandage when the truth struck her — the only truth that made sense. "You proud, crazy fool!" she exclaimed. "You never planned to run, did you? You were going to hide out near Bramble Creek until you could learn who murdered your sister! Why in heaven's name didn't you tell me?" He shook his head. "I've already ruined your life, Amelia. I can't put you in any more danger." She gazed into his angry blue eyes, knowing what she had to say — and that words would not be enough to say it. Tilting her face to his, she sought and found the stubborn line of his mouth. For the space of a heartbeat she felt the resistance in him. Then his lips moved against hers. His arms went around her and he pulled her close. They kissed and clung with wild desperation, both of them knowing that here and now was all they might ever have. "There's no going back for me, Heath," she whispered as his hands fumbled with the buttons of her dress. "Whatever happens, I'm here, and I'll be with you." Their loving was bittersweet — hot and wild and hungry. Amelia filled her senses with the saltiness of his skin and the clean, musky aroma of his body. She wanted him — wanted his hands, his mouth on every part of her, wanted his hardness filling the place that had been empty too long. Heath was weak from his wound, but that did not lessen his need for her. She felt that need as he entered, pushing deep and hard, bringing a cry of pure animal joy to her lips. She pulled him into her body, meeting his thrusts again and again until the great bursting took them both, and they tumbled over the edge of heaven. ***

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Spent at last, and fully dressed, they lay in each other's arms waiting for the storm to end. Amelia felt the drumming of his heart, and she knew Heath's thoughts had already moved beyond their lovemaking to the desperate dilemma they faced. "What do you remember about the night Molly died?" she asked him. He sighed. "Molly was happy to see me and anxious to leave Bramble Creek, but she seemed nervous. She wouldn't tell me what was wrong, but I gathered it had something to do with a man." "Billy Bartlett? Could he have killed her, Heath?" "Maybe." He was still for a long moment, thinking. "There's something else — something I didn't remember until today." He eased away from her and sat up. "When I walked back into that hotel room and found Molly on the bed, there was an odor in the air. It smelled like tobacco — faint, as if someone had carried it on his clothes." "Billy smokes," Amelia said. "He rolls his own cigarettes. So does Cam." Heath shook his head. "This was different. Once I served under a general who smoked expensive Cuban cigars. That's the odor that was in the room the night Molly was murdered. I'd forgotten about it until I smelled it again in your kitchen, when the Bartletts were there." Amelia stared at him, stunned. "Only one man in Bramble Creek smokes cigars like that — Jethro Bartlett. Heath, why would he kill Molly? And what are you going to do?" "Bring him to justice if I can. That's the only way I'll get any answers. A friend of mine is a U.S. marshal in Central City. If we can get there, he may be willing to help us." "Central City's a three-day ride," Amelia said. "We can't make it without food and money and a second horse. I've got all those things back at the ranch, but we should probably wait for nightfall to go after them." When Heath did not respond, she continued. "We'll be safe enough here. The rain has washed out our trail, and nobody else knows about this tunnel." Heath did not respond. He was gazing down at a small, dark object that lay half-buried in the sand. As Amelia watched, he kicked it loose with the toe of his boot. She gasped as she saw it clearly. It was the half-smoked butt of a cigar. CHAPTER SIX Amelia stared at the object in the sand. "That's one of Jethro's cigars!" she exclaimed. "Heath, the Bartletts know about this tunnel, and they know which way we came! They're bound to come looking for us!" "And they'll know we were here." Heath gazed down at the trampled sand where they had clung together at the height of the storm. "The rain's stopped. Let's get moving while we can." She rode behind him, her arms clinging to his waist. Heath was silent as the horse negotiated the muddy trail through the aspens. What was he thinking? Amelia wondered. Was he sorry he'd taken her along? Was he sorry he'd made love to her? She glanced back over her shoulder and saw the deep hoofprints in the muddy ground. The Bartletts would have no trouble following such a trail. And with two riders on the horse, Heath would never be able to outrun them. Suddenly she knew what she had to do. "Stop, Heath," she said. "I'm not going with you."

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She felt his body stiffen. "Don't argue with me," she said quickly. "A girl knows when she's made a mistake, and I made a big one with you! If you think I'm riding all the way to Central City on the rump of a horse with no one for company but a wanted man without a cent to his name —" Amelia let her words hang on the air as she let go of Heath's waist and slid to the ground. She could see that her lies had cut him deeply. But there was no other way to set him free. "It's only a couple of hours back to town," she said. "I know the way, and I won't get caught. Once I'm there I'll be safe. Now get out of here!" Heath shot her a rueful glance, eyes blazing with wounded pride. Then, without a word, he turned away and kicked the horse to a trot. Amelia watched him until he disappeared through the trees. "Goodbye," she whispered, fighting tears. "Be safe, my love." Taking a new path, she cut across the hillside, where a thick stand of pines would hide her from view. Some friends lived a few miles away, up the next canyon. It would take extra time to hide her trail, but she could still be there by nightfall. Amelia had not gone a hundred yards before a trio of riders emerged through the trees, cutting off all chance of escape. "We figured you'd come this way, darlin'." Cam Bartlett reached down and seized her arm, jerking her to a halt. "Where's that murdering bastard, O'Connor?" "He's long gone." Amelia glanced back the way she had come. "He turned me loose back there. I waited out the rain alone in the tunnel, while he rode on. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be on my way." Cam chuckled. "You never were a very good liar, darlin'. We saw his boot tracks in that old mining tunnel of John's, and we're betting he hasn't gone far. Now, thanks to you, we've got a way to bring him back!" Guns drawn, the three men led Amelia to an outcrop of rocks. Dismounting, they took shelter behind it. "O'Connor!" Cam shouted. "We know you're out there somewhere! Get off that horse and come in with your hands up, or your lady friend here will get hurt bad!" The words echoed down the canyon, followed by a silence in which Amelia prayed that Heath would either be too far away to hear or too angry with her to answer. Her heart sank as Heath's voice rang out from the slope above them. He was close — much closer than he'd been if he'd simply kept riding. Had he turned around and come back for her? Her heart ached to know. "Amelia!" he called. "Are you there? Are you all right?""Don't come any closer, Heath!" Amelia shouted. "We know too much! They'll kill us both —" The words ended in a gasp as Cam clamped a rough hand over her mouth. "That's enough," he muttered. "Any more of that and you'll wind up like your husband —" He bit back the rest of the threat. Amelia froze in his arms. She'd known, of course, that John had refused to sell out to the Bartletts, but she'd accepted his death as an accident. Only now did she realize what must have really happened. "Let her go, Sheriff!" Heath called out. "When I know she's safe, I'll give myself up!" Cam laughed coldly. "Can't say as you've got a choice! You come down here now, or the lady won't look so pretty next time you see her." He shoved Amelia toward his younger brother. "Hang on to her, Billy. And watch out, she's a tricky one." Billy was more slender than either Cam or their father, but his grip on Amelia's arms was like steel wire. She watched in helpless dismay as Heath emerged from the trees with his hands above his head and no weapon in sight. He moved slowly, picking his way downward through the loose rock. His face was ashen, his shirt stained with blood where his wound had begun to seep again. His eyes met hers across the distance, and she felt the love in them. He would give his life for her, she knew. But she was not about to let him.

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Her gaze flickered toward Jethro Bartlett, who stood in the shelter of the rocks, out of harm's way, letting his sons do his dirty work now, just as he'd let Cam cover his crime by arresting an innocent man, with orders to make sure Heath never lived to stand trial. "I know you did it, Jethro," she said. "I know you killed Molly. You left the smell of your fancy Cuban cigars in the room where she died." Behind her, she felt the sharp intake of Billy's breath. The young man had been sweet on pretty Molly, that much she knew. But there were still many pieces missing to the puzzle. "Why did you do it, Jethro?" she persisted. "Were you afraid Molly would be a bad influence on your boy, or was it because you wanted her for yourself?" Jethro glared at her. "Shut your mouth, missy," he growled. "You don't know what you're talking about." "Don't I?" Amelia was bluffing now, but she plunged ahead. "You wanted Molly — maybe you even had her. But when you caught her in another man's hotel room, you strangled her in a jealous rage." "She was nothing but a little tramp!" Jethro snapped. "I would've made her a queen! Pretty clothes, trips to Denver, a fine place to live, but she couldn't stop her whorin' ways! If she'd just —" The gunshot exploded from behind Amelia's shoulder, so loud and so close it seemed to fill her whole head. She saw Jethro sag and crumple to the ground. Billy gave a loud cry, releasing her as he dropped his smoking revolver and fell to his knees beside his wounded father. Distracted by the shot, Cam did not see Heath shove the heavy boulder loose from the slope. The boulder rolled down the steep hill, setting loose a clattering shower of rock. By the time the startled Cam looked around, the rocks were coming straight at him. Amelia made a dive for the pistol Billy had dropped. Seizing the weapon in her hands, she cocked and aimed it. "Drop your gun, Cam!" she shouted. But even as she spoke, a fist-sized rock struck the sheriff in the middle of his forehead. Cam Bartlett staggered backward and fell to the ground, unconscious. Still gripping the gun, Amelia surveyed the scene. Jethro lay on the ground, bleeding from a gunshot wound in his ribs. Billy crouched over his father, weeping like a child. Cam lay sprawled on his back, eyes closed, an ugly welt rising on his forehead. All of them, she concluded, would live to stand trial. Glancing up, she saw Heath coming down the hill toward her. His face was pale, his bloodless lips set in a hard line. But in his eyes, she saw understanding and forgiveness. The future stretched before them, filled with tender nights and sun-filled mornings, with children, hard work, and laughter. And with love. Love most of all.

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Night Moves by Jeanie London Beneath Delia Wallace's blond bombshell appearance beats the heart of a shy romantic. Delia's used to attracting men's attention, so she has no idea how to pursue her own personal fantasy man, Jackson Marsh, the only man who seems oblivious to her outer appearance. She's settled for being Jackson's friend and colleague by day, and his online fantasy woman by night. But before they both finish grad school and head off in different directions, she's got one night to make her fantasy a reality... Jackson Marsh has gotten to know and love the real Delia, and he's sure they could have a real future together. But he can't let her see him as just another guy, after her for her Barbie-doll good looks alone. So he's let her pursue him in her own way — under the cover of an online persona. But when his "mystery woman" invites him to spend one sensual evening together, he jumps at the chance to prove to her that he's interested in much more...

Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| CHAPTER ONE "Jackson will never recognize me." Delia Wallace stared into the mirror, amazed by the stranger staring back. "I don't recognize me." "That's because I'm a bloody genius," Ramón said, eyeing her reflection above stylish black eyeglass frames. "Your own mother wouldn't recognize you." Delia wasn't about to argue either point. As the owner and resident genius of Casa de Ramón, an upscale styling salon in the heart of historic Savannah, Ramón had every right to be proud of his accomplishments tonight. When he'd arrived at the theater earlier with his assistant in tow, his client had been a blonde with fair skin and blue eyes. Ramón's skill with beauty supplies and theatrical makeup had transformed her into a cat-eyed stranger with sleek raven-hair and exotic dark skin — the physical embodiment of her online persona, RisquéHistorian. It was her online persona, not the real Delia Wallace, who would enjoy a very hot night with her fantasy man if all went as planned. Finally. She'd met Jackson Marsh two years ago when they'd become partners in graduate school. He'd been gorgeous, charming, smart, and — unfortunately for her — involved in a longterm relationship. So Delia had reveled in their growing friendship and experienced her first taste of unrequited love. Until his relationship had ended. Suddenly the possibility of dropping the un from unrequited existed. Especially when she'd caught Jackson watching her with a gleam in his eyes. At least she'd thought she had and since she was no stranger to men noticing her...Delia had just figured that once his rebound time had passed, he would express an interest in deepening their friendship. But he hadn't. Maybe he was waiting for her to make the first move. Maybe she'd simply mistaken that look in his eyes. Delia didn't know, and she'd never know because she couldn't figure out how to address the subject without dissolving into a blushing, stammering puddle at Jackson's feet. Ah, the irony of fate. Her bombshell appearance was as much of an illusion as the gilt-trimmed facade of this sexy old theater — all showy on the outside with an internal structure that needed serious renovation. Beneath Delia's own curvy exterior beat the heart of a shy romantic. And since men had always pursued her, she'd never actually had to pursue one herself, which left her unsure how to pursue the one she wanted. She simply had to get over her inhibitions. At least long enough to enjoy a fantasy night with her fantasy man. Graduation was fast approaching and life would take her and Jackson in different directions.… Now was her only chance.

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Deciding the anonymity of cyberspace would help liberate her of self-consciousness, she'd assumed the screen name RisquéHistorian and become Jackson's online chat buddy. RisquéHistorian was a woman who knew practically everything about the Risqué Theatre, where she and Jackson were serving their internship for the historic preservation program at the University of Savannah. As RisquéHistorian, she'd spent the past months shedding her inhibitions and seducing him online for the big night when she'd finally appear in the flesh for a cameo appearance as his lover. "It's amazing." Delia searched her reflection for a glimpse of the woman she'd been for the past twenty-eight years. "How did you manage —" "A dab of foundation here and a dab of foundation there and voilà." Assistant Katriona leaned so close they were reflected together in the mirror, a distinctly odd pairing as Katriona stood six-foot-two in her stocking feet and flaunted her pancake makeup and razor-stubbled cheeks proudly. "You could be mistaken for an Indonesian princess. The look suits you, which is a miracle, given you're a dead ringer for Barbie on a normal day." Delia didn't need the reminder. Many women would have been thrilled to possess her classic features, but Delia had lived with the result for too long not to fully appreciate the downside of stereotypes. The phrase blond bombshell came to mind. Most people assumed that looking like Barbie meant she must be sexually daring. Women steered their boyfriends past her at parties. Men presumed she'd be open to invitations. Many times in her life she'd considered downplaying her looks with a severe hairstyle and a shapeless wardrobe, but she refused to make grooming concessions that made her feel ashamed of the way she looked. But tonight...temporary grooming concessions were absolutely necessary. "You don't think I'm too exotic-looking? I want Jackson to find me attractive." "Are you kidding, girlfriend?" Katriona waved a hand dismissively, flashing dragon-lady nails. "The man would have to be dead not to drool. You're oozing sex, or will be as soon as we get you into costume." From where Delia sat, her costume didn't look like much of one. The flesh-toned sheath dripped off a dressmaker's mannequin, nearly see-through but for the intricate beadwork that would strategically veil various body parts. A gown that flaunted her assets in a way she'd never done before. "Come on," Ramón said. "Let's get you dressed. Your man will be showing up soon and you don't want him peeking at his present before you wrap the package." Slipping out of the vanity chair, Delia turned herself over to the professionals for gift-wrapping. "I hope Jackson's interested. I hate to think of your hard work going to waste." "I'll charge your credit card anyway." Ramón knelt, motioning for her to step inside the gown. "So enjoy your night. You will be paying for it." Delia dismissed the thought of next month's minimum payment. She could rationalize the expense as a graduation gift for herself — she'd worked long and hard enough for a great one — but the thought of not getting her real gift, a night with Jackson… "There. All set." Ramón tugged the zipper up and Delia turned to survey the effect. The gown's low-slung back reached to the cleft of her backside. She gave a low whistle. "Yow is right, girlfriend." Katriona said. "But you still haven't told us why you planned your seduction at the Risqué Theatre. It's under construction."

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"I know. Jackson and I are interning with the architect who's renovating. It's our place. Not to mention it's an erotic theater." "But the man doesn't know he's coming here to get erotic with you." "That was the whole point of my plan." A plan that had better go off accordingly, Delia thought as she saw Ramón and Katriona to the theater's back exit a short time later. She'd devoted entirely too much time to this scheme to settle for anything less than success. She'd spent too many months trying to squelch her attraction to Jackson while he'd been dating someone else, alternating between guilt and frustration for wanting a man who belonged to another woman. Then there were the months of hoping and waiting after he'd become a free agent. Then hours and hours of chatting online under an assumed identity to have the sorts of intellectually stimulating, emotionally moving conversations she could never seem to initiate when staring into his sexy dark eyes. But tonight, disguised as a fantasy woman, she'd put her inhibitions behind her. Delia headed to the AV room, where she flipped a switch to fill the theater with sultry swing music from a bygone era. The better to dance with you, my dear. She hurried down the hall, where ornate plasterwork depicting sexy couples was in various stages of restoration, to the theater's concession area, which even in its current disarray brought to mind opening nights from past decades when theater-goers milled through the gilttrimmed lobby, waiting for the crystal chandelier to signal the next act. Delia unlocked the door and climbed the sweeping staircase to await her guest. Placing a hand on the railing, she showcased herself to prepare for her entrance. The better to perform for you, my dear. And then the door opened. Showtime. CHAPTER TWO Jackson Marsh stepped inside the lobby of the Risqué Theatre before locking the door as per the instructions on his invitation. Scanning the interior, he made a mental note of the differences between the work site he'd left the previous day and the low-lit, fanciful setting surrounding him now. Although his hostess had only added a table for two, piped-in music, and refreshments at the bar, she'd created an intimate atmosphere that was kind to the half-stripped wallpaper and broken tile work currently undergoing a major overhaul. Or maybe his rushing pulse just enhanced the mood of the place. Could be. Yesterday he'd viewed this lobby as a living lab, a place where the past would soon blend smoothly with the present under the skillful direction of the project architect. Tonight, as a man who'd been teased for months by an online temptress, he viewed this lobby as the place where he'd capture the woman of his dreams. RisquéHistorian — sexy, brilliant, and completely outrageous. She'd seduced him with her intelligence, her wit, and a boldness that had conceived of this wild plan to finally meet in a place symbolizing their shared interest.

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Jackson stepped inside, glancing overhead at the ceiling moldings, where naked cherubs grinned as they pointed golden love arrows at him from every direction. I've already been hit, he silently informed them, so aim for the girl. And the instant he saw her, poised at the top of the grand staircase for a dramatic entrance, Jackson knew he'd need all the help he could get tonight. "Good evening." She issued her greeting in a low silky voice he barely recognized, a sound that conjured visions of his body wrapped around hers. His gaze locked on her as she began her descent, flowing down those stairs with a grace that drew his attention to the way her gown glimmered over her curves. All that spangly beadwork and yet he could see breathtaking glimpses of her lush body below. Swallowing hard, Jackson lifted his gaze to her face. Amazing. She'd been renovated more than the Risqué Theatre, a total change from the blond-haired, blueeyed angel he'd worked with yesterday while mapping the gallery floor. This woman was a black-haired, green-eyed embodiment of sex. For one blind moment, Jackson thought he'd been mistaken, that the woman who called herself the screen name RisquéHistorian wasn't really his friend Delia Wallace, but simply a stranger who'd chanced across him online. "I'm glad you decided to join me." Her sultry tone didn't hide the way her voice trembled. No, he wasn't mistaken. She may have lowered her voice a sexy octave and reinvented her appearance into this exotic creature, but the Delia he knew was still there. "You invited me for a fantasy night in our special place. I'm honored." He was, and he wasn't. He'd hoped she would spring the big surprise on him by greeting him as herself. She extended her hand with such studied femininity that Jackson couldn't help but smile. Shifting the roses he'd brought, he twined his fingers through hers, observed how her new skin tone extended down to the manicured tips. Then he pressed his lips to her warm skin and marveled at the way touching her affected him. Heat sizzled through him like a brushfire and he saw a similar reply in her eyes. Their color may have been unfamiliar, but the awareness was there. He lingered over her hand and it was only the reminder of the greater pleasures the night would bring that prompted Jackson to let go. "For you." He handed her the roses. "Red roses are my favorite." "I know. I remember everything you've shared with me in our chats." "I'm flattered." "I'm fascinated." Their gazes met above the blooms. Their surroundings became surreal as the promise of sex filtered between them.

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"So how does reality hold up to fantasy?" she asked. Though her expression never changed, Jackson recognized the vulnerability in her question. That vulnerability was the real problem here. Delia was intelligent, gorgeous, used to men pursuing her, and very shy. She'd been counting on him to fall all over her just like one of the thousand other poor guys who routinely fell all over her. Jackson wanted to be a lot more and she needed to understand that or they'd never have a solid foundation to build a relationship on. He'd decided the best way to make his point was to let her pursue him. He'd been counting on their friendship to help her overcome her shyness, but upon reflection, he realized he never should have expected Delia to do the expected. Predictable simply wasn't her style and she'd outdone herself by pursuing him under the online screen name RisquéHistorian. Instead of relying on their friendship, she'd relied on a disguise and right now Jackson couldn't tell whether she was worried he'd see through her ruse or that he didn't like her new look. But he knew Delia well enough to know he needed a lot more than words to bridge this distance. Reaching out to stroke her cheek, he grazed his fingertips along her skin, aroused by the freedom to touch her, and not just a little interested in how she'd pulled off such a dramatic change in her appearance. "Reality far surpasses the fantasy," he said. "You're brilliant and beautiful and I'm one very lucky man." She trembled, and judging by the way her expression melted into a pleased smile, he'd said exactly the right thing. "So what shall I call you?" The only name she'd given him online was RisquéHistorian and he needed to know if she wanted to continue playing the game. "I prefer the mystery of our screen names, don't you?" Not much mystery there since his screen name was JackMarsh. "Lady's choice." "Let's run with the fantasy, shall we? Tonight's our night to enjoy our special place without reality intruding. No past. No future. Only now, the two of us." Jackson nodded. He'd have to play along, because he wouldn't tip his hand until he knew the time was right. He wanted to get on with exploring their incredible chemistry and planning their future. He'd already waited so long. Too long, though the fault was his own. He'd gotten complacent with his high school sweetheart. It had taken meeting Delia for him realize they were only still a couple because they'd grown comfortable. Even more time had passed before he'd finally admitted his heart really wasn't in the relationship anymore. His former girlfriend had agreed. They'd parted ways and remained friends. But Delia couldn't know this, so when she swept past him with a breezy "I'll find something to put these roses in," he was left staring after her. And noticing the back of her dress. Or lack of back rather. The shimmery fabric scooped below her waist, exposing lots of skin as she walked across the lobby toward the concession area. Blindsided by the sight, Jackson had to shake off the effect to follow. Circling the concession area, Delia moved as comfortably behind the bar in her high heels as she did in her work boots. She produced another silver ice bucket, filled it with water, and arranged the roses inside. "These are lovely. Thank you so much." "Beautiful flowers for a very beautiful lady."

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"I promised you a tour through the Risqué's erotic history tonight." "I'm ready for the tour, the erotic history...." He paused, smiled. "And for you." She'd promised him a lot more than a tour in the darkness of late night as he'd stared at his computer monitor, connected through cyberspace. The cover of anonymity had fueled her boldness in a way that had him thoroughly turned on. "I'll do the honors." Needing something to occupy his hands, he reached for the champagne bottle, popped the top and filled the glasses. After accepting a glass, Delia tilted the rim to his with a tinkle of crystal. "To our night together." "To us." He brought the glass to his lips in an effort to curtail a smile. Delia really thought she was going to get away with one night. How would she react to learn he wasn't interested in a limited engagement? There was one way to find out. With the taste of champagne still lingering on his lips, he leaned forward to kiss her. CHAPTER THREE Delia shared a breath with Jackson before their lips met. She inhaled the mingled scents of hot male and champagne, tasted an urgency that surprised and thrilled her. His sensual mouth had always fascinated her, had tempted her to kiss him a thousand different times. His words came back to her, just a whisper of memory that added to the magic of the moment. "Reality far surpasses the fantasy," he'd said. "You're brilliant and beautiful and I'm one very lucky man." Jackson was brilliant and beautiful, too. And never so much as tonight. This was a Jackson she'd never seen before, polished and purposeful and oh-so appealing. When she'd descended those stairs, she'd grown breathless at the sight of him in his tux. He'd seemed like a stranger with his tall, athletic body showcased to perfection in crisp black and white, his broad shoulders filling out the lines of his jacket. He'd combed his inky black hair and when he'd gazed up at her, pleasure so clear on his face, she'd known she'd made the right decision by devising her sexy plan. She was one very lucky lady. For tonight at least. The bar separated them, but apparently Jackson didn't consider it an obstacle. Threading his fingers into her hair, he smoothed work-rough palms over her cheeks, tipped her face to deepen their kiss. He kissed her as though he'd wanted her forever, and the intensity of his hunger struck her as odd. She was technically a stranger, despite their intimate online chats. But her own flaring need forbade her from following the thought. She couldn't do more than slide her fingers over his, learn the texture of his skin, the curves and hollows of hands she'd admired from afar for so long. A desire she hadn't dreamed could grow any hotter spiked through her. She wanted this man like she'd never wanted another. She craved his mouth on hers. His masculine scent filled her senses, played to her deepest fantasies and promised so much more. She wanted to feel his body pressed against her, wanted to feel his strong hands caress her skin. She wanted to see his face sharpen with desire, wanted to hear his voice as he reached his own pleasure. The bar supported her when her knees grew weak. The gilt railing dug into her ribs, but the discomfort was nothing to the longing, an ache that made heat pool between her thighs, made her muscles clench with a needy little spasm.

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She sighed when his lips nibbled along her jaw, a purely sensual experience with his lips caressing, his tongue stroking, his breath breaking in warm bursts against her skin. When he trailed his mouth to the hand she held over his, pausing to rest his cheek against her fingertips, he literally took Delia's breath away with his tenderness. Perhaps he sensed her surprise, because he opened his eyes, searched her face for...what, she couldn't say, but she knew he'd found it because he slipped his hands from beneath hers and caught them in his. He didn't let go. "I guessed kissing you would be awesome, but I didn't know how arousing," he said. "Way better than the fantasy, Risqué." Somehow his nickname for her sounded right spoken in his rich hint-of-the-Deep-South voice. She laughed, a sexy sound, but how could she laugh any other way when she felt so sexy beneath his gaze? His dark eyes poured over her as though seeing her for the first time, clearly as amazed by the intensity between them as she was. "Since we're spinning fantasies tonight," he said. "I have a request." "Your wish is my command." He smiled at that, a roguish smile filled with promise. "Anything?" Delia brushed her mouth across his knuckles, a caress. She would have agreed to anything right now. The night spread before them ripe with sensuality, her one and only chance to explore the sensations this man evoked in her. "I want to dance with you," he said. Dance. She sighed again. Dancing suggested an intimate, thorough introduction to each other and intimate and thorough sounded perfect. "Great minds think alike. I chose this music because you mentioned your professor listens to it and you're acquiring a taste." He arched a dark eyebrow. "So I'm not the only one who's been paying close attention to our chats." "I've been hanging on to your every word, JackMarsh." "For how long?" "Since we met." His expression suggested her admission was the greatest compliment she could have paid him. With a smile, he drew her hand into his then guided her around the bar. Delia suddenly stood before him, never more aware of her body than she was at this moment. Jackson's gaze caressed her, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. A part of her trembled at the need she saw in his face, even as she experienced a terrible sense of disappointment that he looked this way at a stranger, a woman who didn't exist in reality except for tonight. She wanted him to want her, the real her. But Jackson didn't give her a chance to dwell long on disappointment. In a move reminiscent of her latenight fantasies, he gathered her into his strong arms, introduced their bodies in a motion that brought them together full length.

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Delia wasn't short by any stretch of the imagination, but even in her heels, the top of her head only reached Jackson's chin. Her cheek rested comfortably against his shoulder. Her breasts pressed against his chest. She could feel the strength of his muscles beneath his jacket, sense the steady beat of his heart. He slid his hand along her waist and down the curve of her hip until his fingers rounded her backside and coaxed their hips close enough so she could feel the erection that revealed so much better than words that he was as aroused by her as she was by him. "You said anything," he said without apology, yet still acting the gentleman by giving her a chance to retreat. "Yes." She breathed the word on the edge of a sigh, as captured by the strength of his body as she was by the pleasure in his eyes. The corners of his mouth tipped up with that devilish grin and he pulled her a little closer. "You trust me?" "I do." "Why?" "Because you've opened your heart online." "You think that makes me trustworthy?" He tightened his grip on her a little more, tested her limits, a heady combination of respect and daring, a Jackson Marsh who was as much a stranger to Delia as the man in the moon. Only online had she ever glimpsed the demanding lover he might prove to be, but now she stared proof in the face. She'd known Jackson the partner, the tutor, and the friend but never Jackson the potential lover. "I do," she said, rising to his challenge. He only smiled and the moment took on an unknown quality, a merging of her friend with her fantasy lover. The possibilities for the night suddenly seemed endless. Especially behind the anonymity of her costume. For now, at least, she could indulge this wildness that made her lean back until he balanced her in his arms, arch her neck in case he should want to kiss her there. "Shall we?" he asked. "Yes." And then, their bodies molded together as one, as they began to move. CHAPTER FOUR Jackson marveled at the way Delia followed his movements easily, their bodies swaying in the dance as though they'd known each other forever. Though slender, she was curvy in a way he found very attractive, a woman to mold against a man in all the right places. Against him. She felt so damned...right. Resting his cheek against the top of her head, Jackson moved to the music, savoring the feel of her body against him and inhaling the scent of her hair, strangely different tonight than the lightly floral fragrance he'd been stealing whiffs of in class or whenever chance permitted. A by-product of her disguise, he guessed. "This is exactly what I had in mind for our special night," she said softly.

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"It's off to a very promising start." "You'll have to tell me more about what you'd like to accomplish, so I'm sure to meet your expectations." A familiar candor glittered in those unfamiliar green eyes and Jackson found himself slowing their pace to hang on to her a little tighter. He couldn't help himself. Delia was such a beautiful woman, all sleek curves and creamy skin. He admitted to more than one fantasy about her gracing his bed, wearing nothing more than her blond hair. Just the thought had the ability to make saliva pool in his mouth until he was forced to swallow. It was no wonder she managed to hide her shyness behind her stunning looks. She practically rendered him blind with her smile. Most men didn't hear a word she said. Their senses, along with their brains, took up residence in their eyes, which never glanced higher than her breasts. The poor Joes couldn't help it. Jackson knew that firsthand, as he'd been guilty of the same crime when meeting her. He'd managed to drag his gaze above her chest and make it as far as her eyes before drowning in those bright blue depths. But Jackson had been loyal to his former girlfriend and had overcome his starstruck reaction. Only later, after he and Delia had become partners and friends, had he realized how deceiving her looks actually were. She may have looked as though she was comfortable commanding the attention of every person in a room with her stunning good looks and sparkling smiles but that wasn't the case. Jackson was very grateful he'd had that time to become her friend because a friend pretending to be a stranger had enough of an edge to turn this situation around to his benefit. "You've surpassed my expectations already, Risqué." He meant it. "Your idea to meet for the first time in our special place was inspired." "We're both connected to the theater and tonight should be special, don't you think? We already know each other intimately, so to speak, so the rest would be just logistics otherwise." "Intimately. What an interesting word choice." "It fits. You've been very forthcoming in our chats." "You're easy to talk to...well, write to." He smiled, rather sheepishly as it was. "About what I'd like to accomplish tonight...we're progressing along nicely. My first objective was to see if I was as attracted to you in person as I was online." "And..." She peered up from beneath thick black lashes. "Mission accomplished." He dipped her low over his arm, savoring the surprised little gasp that slid from her lips and the way she responded so naturally to his motion, enjoying the sight of her dark hair cascading behind her, exposing her throat and a glimpse of her breasts as they swelled above her neckline. "What's your second objective?" she asked as he brought her against him again. "To prove myself worthy." "Really? Of what?" "My third objective, which involves the two of us naked." More than he had yet tonight, Jackson recognized Delia in her unguarded reaction to his boldness, in the expression that made her eyes widen and her breath hitch audibly. She couldn't completely mask the

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blushing, beautiful girl she was behind the makeup, nor could she hide that she was emotionally invested in what was happening between them. Knowing this gave him the first hope he had that he might just accomplish his real mission objective — making Delia drop the games and commit to a future. "Have I shocked you, Risqué?" Green contacts didn't hide the flash of surprise in her eyes or the exact moment when she rallied past surprise to rise to his challenge. "No, it's just...what a coincidence. It so happens that getting naked with you is on my to-do list, too." "Isn't it remarkable how our thoughts so often run in the same direction. If you weren't convinced before, here's proof." I'm convinced." Snuggling even closer, she stood on tiptoe to press silk-soft lips to his. Jackson gave up all pretense of trying to dance. Grinding to a halt, he wrapped his arms around her, tucked her neatly into the folds of his body. Their kiss was urgent this time and he couldn't contain the need to skim his hands over her curves, exploring every smooth inch while cataloguing the touches that brought a sigh to her lips or sent goose bumps along her bare arms. With the slightest pressure, he nudged his thigh between hers. Though her narrow gown didn't allow much room, she rode against him just enough so he could feel her faint heat despite the clothing separating them. Or maybe he just imagined he could feel her. She was pushing him past limits he'd thought were solid. It became a test of his control not to slip the gown from her shoulders and make love to her where they stood. He settled for running his hands down her bare back instead, slipping his fingers inside the gown that hugged her derriere, where Jackson made a stunning discovery — Delia wasn't wearing anything beneath, not even the wispiest thong. Without a thought for the liberty he took, he sank both hands into her gown. Running his fingers along her firm curves, he pulled her even closer, ground himself against her with a forceful thrust that made him groan. She sighed. He dragged his mouth from hers, knowing that if he didn't catch his breath right now, he was a goner. He'd strip Delia where she stood and show her exactly how much he wanted to make love to her. Forcing his eyes to open, he found her watching him. For a moment they stood facing each other, both flushed and breathless. "Looks like we're well on our way to meeting your third objective," she said. "What was next on your agenda?" Had Jackson not known the woman beneath the makeup, he might have missed the relief in her expression. But he caught it. RisquéHistorian was getting a lot more than she'd bargained for tonight. He was gratified to see she was as jolted as he felt, and not surprised when she shot a glance at the bar, where silver catering trays beckoned. He knew Delia and she was looking to run, if only for a moment to catch her breath, and he wasn't surprised when she asked, "Are you hungry?" Oh, he was hungry all right. "For you." CHAPTER FIVE

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Delia forced a light laugh and headed back behind the bar to put some much-needed distance between her and Jackson. She needed to collect her thoughts, and her breath, before she wound up abandoning her carefully planned fantasy and making love to him right here in the concession area. Not in the game plan. Dancing with Jackson and their erotic kiss had not only left her trembling with desire but with alarm bells clanging wildly in her head. Unfortunately she was just beginning to suspect that she'd seriously underestimated how much emotion would factor tonight. Not only her own, but Jackson's. She hadn't counted on him being so involved with a woman he'd only met online. "Why don't we grab something to eat while we tour the theater." She needed to get back to her plan fast, needed some breathing room to think this unexpected turn through. "I want you to show me everything you've been doing to preserve the place. And I'll amaze you with my knowledge of the history." "You already amaze me." His voice was silky smooth. "You're a very amazing woman, Risqué." How she'd longed to hear him say that when she wasn't wearing a disguise! "I'm glad you think so. It's nice to know I'm not the only one feeling amazed tonight." He smiled and refilled the champagne glasses. "So what's on the menu?" "Lobster cocktail from Lester's. Marinated mushrooms from the Olde River House. And..." She raised the lid of the final serving tray. "Sushi from Ichiban." "All my favorites. You've put a lot of effort into tonight." The man had no idea. "I wanted it to be perfect." Rather than looking pleased, Jackson looked thoughtful. A fluttering started deep inside her and Delia avoided his gaze, turned to action as a distraction. Arranging a sampling of morsels on a plate, she added two linen napkins to their to-go meal. But Jackson wouldn't be ignored. He leaned over the bar to close the distance between them. "What happens if tonight's so perfect I want a repeat performance?" That was a contingency she hadn't planned for, but she couldn't tell him that. "I thought we were about the fantasy, JackMarsh." "What if we can be more?" "All our online discussions... While we know each other intimately, we've talked very little about our lives in real time. I figured a fantasy night would be enough." "What if I can convince you to give us a try in real life?" How she'd longed to hear those words! But now her stomach gave a wild lurch, brought her face-to-face with the fact that she'd really underestimated the role emotion would play tonight. She'd planned for every conceivable contingency. Or so she'd thought. The one contingency she hadn't planned for was hearing Jackson talk about tomorrow with a woman who didn't exist. It just hadn't occurred to her that he could become so attached to a woman he'd only known through cyberspace. She hadn't realized his emotions would be so easily engaged, especially not when he hadn't been interested in the realtime version of her. And here she'd thought she'd known him. "Let's just see how the night goes and not worry about tomorrow, shall we?"

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It was a cop-out. She knew it. He knew it. His mouth thinned just enough to harden the lines of his face. And because she knew this man, she understood that expression. He was disappointed, and she didn't have the ability to counteract disappointment, because she'd never anticipated this turn of events. "You're underestimating my ability to convince you of the merits of a fantasy night," she said, a lot more boldly than she felt. "Fair enough. But turnabout is fair play. I want a chance to convince you of the merits of reality. You have to promise to listen when I decide the time is right." Her heart started to pound, not the languid, bone-melting sort of pounding she'd experienced in his arms, but a sense of foreboding. "You sound so cryptic." "Not cryptic. I just want a chance to lay my cards on the table when the time comes." He raised his champagne flute. "Deal." She raised hers. "Only if you promise to return the favor." The way the night was progressing, she just might need to call in that promise.… He tapped her flute. "Deal. You won't be sorry, Risqué." Plucking a marinated mushroom from the plate, he popped it into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "Ready for our tour?" "Yes." Delia meant that in a big way. Treading these unforeseen emotional waters hadn't been part of her plan. She'd been looking for excitement, a special night of fantasy without the risk of harming their friendship. Her plan simply didn't allow for tomorrow. Jackson would be a lot more than disappointed if he found out who she really was. She'd lose her fantasy man and her friend all in one night. Just the thought made her shiver. Hindsight convinced her she should have known better than to anticipate his reaction. Why hadn't she expected him to have some night moves of his own? "You carry the champagne and I'll handle our meal," he directed. "Where to first — the long corridor, the gallery, or backstage?" "The gallery." In the direction of the staircase that led to the dressing rooms below and the prop room, where she'd move them to phase two and try to get back on track. In between savory bites of lobster and sips of champagne, Delia glossed over the history of the Risqué Theatre and its origin as a place to celebrate culture and art after the Civil War, when morale in the South had been low and people's faith shaken. Savannah's insightful politicians of the time had built the theater to engage the city's interest by targeting men's, and women's, interest in sex. But Jackson knew the facts as well as she did. Their professor, Dr. Blake, required them to know as much about the history of a renovation project as they did the architectural processes used to rehabilitate a site. So she wowed Jackson with the trivia of the place instead, interesting happenings between actors, and other minutiae. "How do you know all this stuff?" Jackson asked, sufficiently awed. "That's a historian's job." Not quite the truth, but enough of it for tonight. Jackson, in turn, shared his thoughts about how renovating the Risqué Theatre presented the challenge of retaining the distinctive flavor of a building that had provided a home to an eclectic variety of erotic theatrical

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venues from vaudeville, burlesques, and gangster films to modern film noir, performance art, and improvisation. Delia knew what amazing things Dr. Fairfax, the architect who was supervising the restoration, his design team, and their interns were doing around here, but she asked questions and responded to Jackson's answers with interest. At first she'd meant to keep her cover up, but as they finished the appetizers and polished off the champagne, she found herself asking questions just to keep him talking. His voice filtered through her in a way she'd never fully appreciated during their busy days on site or on campus. Something about the solitude and the late hour, she supposed, because the awareness flowed between them like an electrical current. After abandoning their dinnerware, they indulged in glancing touches that led to steamy embraces and long exploring kisses that kept sidetracking them from their tour. But along with these distractions, Jackson shared opinions about their work that he'd never expressed before, which made Delia curious about why he opened up so easily to her online personality. She wanted to know. Her emotions were getting the better of her. One minute she was melting into his arms, caught up in the fantasy. The next, she was hurt by the reality that he felt closer to a stranger than he ever had to the real her. Jackson Marsh had some nerve talking about real-time and shared tomorrows. How could he be so involved with a fantasy woman but completely unwilling to get involved with the woman who worked by his side all day long? CHAPTER SIX "So tell me about this colleague of yours," Delia said. Not exactly a question. "I don't recall you ever mentioning her before." Jackson bit back a grin. She was fishing. This might be his second promising sign that he could win her over before the night was through. "Not much to tell, really. She's...nice." "Nice?" Though she looked only mildly curious, there was just something about the way the word seemed to catch in her throat that told Jackson the whole story. "Yeah, nice. Very competent, too. Except in math. No head for numbers at all." "Really?" He shrugged again, trying to decide if that was indignation flashing behind those green contact lenses. "So how long have you two been working together?" she asked, clearly still looking for something he hadn't yet provided. "Since I started my internship. I think our professor assigned us as a team so I could keep her out of trouble. Delia's a real looker. The guys pant after her." "But not you?" Jackson shook his head while gnawing on the inside of his lip to keep from smiling. "I like mystery and substance in a woman. Just like you have."

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Delia looked as though she couldn't decide whether to quit while she was ahead or haul back and punch him. Judging by the color staining her already-darkened cheeks, he suspected she was leaning toward the latter. "I'm not interested in talking about my working partner, Risqué. I'm interested in you." To say she looked pained would have been a mild understatement, but she recovered quickly. "How nice." The words were encrusted with ice and Jackson grabbed her before she got away. Crowding her back against the wall, he went to work on soothing hurt feelings. "Yes, it is. It's very, very nice." He trailed kisses under her jaw, was rewarded when her pulse jumped in her throat. He kissed her there, too. Grazing his fingertips down the smooth arc of her neck, he rounded the curve of her shoulders, barely resisted the urge to drag the clingy fabric down her arms and peel the dress away. Instead, he molded his hands over her breasts, discovering what he'd suspected since exploring her bottom earlier — she was bare everywhere. If he peeled away her gown right now, he'd fulfill his fondest wish. But Delia had retreated emotionally and he had some work to do to bring her back. Coaxing her chin up with a few well-placed nudges of his nose, he caught her mouth with his, tasted those sweet lips. Her breasts filled his palms. Flicking his thumbs across the peaks until they hardened, he tugged one tip, caught Delia's moan with his kiss. And when she slipped her arms around his waist to pull him close, he knew she'd finally let go of her anger. Or was planning to extract a sexy vengeance, which served his purpose as well This woman aroused him in a way that drove home just how much he had riding on tonight. He wanted a future to discover how to coax these soft sighs from her lips, learn how many different ways he could make her arch against him, greedy to feel their bodies pressed together. He wanted to explore the different ways to make her climax, to hear her gasp in pleasure. Desire drove him to sink his tongue deeper in her mouth, to cradle the weighty fullness of her breasts in his palms, to envision what she would look like bared, swollen from his touch, wet from his mouth. Desire urged him to finally break their kiss, to stare down into her exotic face, at thick lashes forming inky semicircles on her cheeks, at lips slightly parted around soft bursts of breath. She looked like arousal come to life. Despite the tanned skin, the sloe eyes, the cloud of dark hair, she was the woman he'd fantasized about. "I want to make love to you, Risqué." Her lashes fluttered open. He found himself holding his breath as she lifted up on tiptoes and brushed that luscious mouth against his. "Is that a yes?" A smile curved that passion-swollen mouth. "I know the perfect place." Catching his hand, she led him back down the corridor, past columns that were sculptures of naked couples engaged in their own passionate acts. She led him back to the gallery. "Not on the stage?" He hoped. Construction equipment littered the boards, a reminder of their real-time life. He wanted to begin their future someplace he could stretch out to enjoy every inch of Delia. "No. Not the stage," she said.

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He didn't ask where. He just followed her backstage. She could have taken him straight to hell for all Jackson cared, when she lifted her hem and descended the stairs, bottom swaying provocatively and keeping him dogging her heels. To his surprise, Delia didn't lead him into a dressing room, but to the prop room instead. All manners of décor from decades of erotic performances were stored inside, and would be until the project architect deemed it necessary to unload the room and sort the wheat from the chaff with the theater management's direction. He wondered when she'd finagled a visit inside. Delia didn't flip on the overhead lighting, but rather turned on a set of lamps that had been left over from some boudoir stage set. The lamps cast the room into a soft golden glow and threw just enough light to maneuver through the chaos of scenery, props, and backdrops without doing bodily harm. "Isn't this place just wonderful?" she asked. "Do you see all this stuff?" "I do, indeed." Unfortunately he saw no place to lie down. He did notice Delia discreetly lock the door behind them, though, confirming they'd reached their final destination. "Come on." She avoided his gaze but reached for his hand again. "It's back here." When they turned the corner, he saw it. A massive bed shaped like a swan, complete with sparkling wings, white satin sheets, and an abundance of red pillows that made the thing look like some lurid creation from a Poconos honeymoon brochure. Jackson blinked. Delia beamed. "Isn't it great?" He took another look. This bed had to be a prop from some fantasy performance. Beyond being huge, it stood so high off the floor that steps made of the same sparkly material as the bed had been positioned beside it, large enough to climb and still provide a table for an ice bucket and champagne glasses. The champagne touched him. He was very pleased she'd put so much effort into seducing him. This was exactly the pursuit he'd been waiting for. He glanced at the swan bed again. Well, sort of. "Yeah, it's...great," he said, attempting to inject enthusiasm into his voice without much success. He'd fantasized about making love to this woman but never in a bed like this. "You couldn't have come up with anything more...fantasy." Not if she'd tried. Delia just laughed, a sound that carried through the dimly lit room, filled the shadows with light. Then she turned her back to him, visibly trembling with excitement. "Would you mind?" "What?" "Undoing my zipper. I can't climb the steps in this dress." She was going to...what? Climb those steps naked?

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It was worth any effort to find out. Dragging the zipper down, he swallowed hard when the fabric parted to reveal an expanse of tanned skin. Without a word, she let the gown fall to the floor, gifting him with an aweinspiring display of slender curves and heart-shaped bottom. He'd been right. She hadn't worn a stitch underneath that gown. "Coming?" She shot him a breathless gaze over her shoulder. He sucked in his own ragged breath and willed his heart to resume beating. This wasn't sexy vengeance, but sexy benevolence at its best. Delia wasn't going to climb those stairs naked, but naked in high heels. CHAPTER SEVEN "First one in gets to call the shots," Delia said, brave words that were a show of bravado more for her benefit than Jackson's. She forced her feet to move, took the steps to beside the swan bed without glancing over her shoulder to see if he followed. But she smiled when she heard his footsteps on the wooden floor a moment later. The air grazed her bare skin as she shimmied into the bed. Jackson emitted a sound that was suspiciously like a growl, as she stretched out on the smooth comforter. There was an expression of such wanting on his face that she let her eyes shut for the briefest of instants, capturing his expression in her memory. This moment was her fantasy, the way she'd always longed to see Jackson, his handsome face sharp with his desire, his need for her burning in his dark eyes. Too bad he wasn't burning for the real her. But she quickly brushed the thought away. Motioning to the champagne, she said, "Will you do the honors?" "I'm not thirsty. I want you." His possessive words kicked up her heart rate, fueled her boldness. "You're welcome to join me, but why don't you undress first? Not that I wouldn't enjoy that privilege myself, but I'd rather watch you strip for me." He flashed her such a daring grin that the old saying "Be careful what you wish for.…" flickered through her head. Then he toed off his shoes, shrugged away his jacket and began a very erotic performance. Crisp white shirt and black dress slacks contrasted to make his shoulders seem a mile wide before they veed into a trim waist. She'd seen him in a variety of attire during their internship, from the neat casual clothes he wore on campus to his favorite scroungy jeans and work boots for getting down and dirty on various work sites. But Delia had never even imagined Jackson like this. He didn't hurry, but measured his actions, unfastening each button to let her enjoy the emerging expanse of tanned chest, to discover the swirls of black hair nestled in the muscular ridges. Mmm. Mmm. Mmm. Removing his cufflinks was a prelude to a display of shifting muscle as he dragged the shirt down his arms, revealed the definition of tanned biceps that was nothing short of scrumptious. Then he popped open his fly. Slacks parted, and in the instant it took Delia to blink, he shoved his trousers down long gorgeous legs to reveal... Mmm. A brief man. An impressive erection strained against white cotton, and her eyes fluttered shut again to etch this image in her mind, to imprint the way heat pooled between her legs at the thought of being granted the freedom to explore Jackson's gorgeous body at her leisure. Her fantasy, here in real time. For tonight at least. And then he kicked aside trousers and briefs and stood before her, all tanned skin and sculpted muscle, all hard, strong male. "Mind if I join you?" he asked with a smile.

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She could only shake her head. He slipped into the bed, his tanned body contrasting sharply with the bright white of the bedding, but to Delia's surprise, and disappointment, he didn't take her into his arms. "May I undress you?" he asked instead. She extended her foot. "Please do." Slipping off one strappy sandal with great ceremony, Jackson leaned over and pressed his mouth to her ankle. His warm lips glazed over her skin, making her shiver, making him smile. There was no question that he liked the way she reacted to him. He removed the other shoe and kissed his way up her calf, sexy, tender openmouthed kisses that melted her insides to jelly. His mouth trailed up her thighs, his strong fingers kneading her skin, guiding her so he could continue his sexy exploration, pleasure her with his skilled mouth. His tenderness touched her. His need overwhelmed her. She wanted this man to want her, not some fantasy woman. She wanted to spark that hunger in his eyes more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life. She had the wild impulse to confess who she really was, but when she opened her mouth, no words came out. What if he rejected her? She'd played a major game with him and at the very least he'd have to work through surprise before understanding that she'd plotted this ruse to overcome her inhibitions and be the woman she wanted to be in his arms, before he could even decide whether or not to forgive her. And would he? She honestly didn't know. He hadn't been interested in the real her and nothing had changed to suggest he might welcome her advances now. Nothing except her longing for him and the caring, arousing way his lips skimmed her skin. She'd thought her plan was perfect...but now she wasn't so sure. Jackson wanted more than a night, but with a woman who didn't exist. Was honesty worth losing her one and only chance to make love to her fantasy man? Each hot stroke of his mouth urged her to say no. Enjoy the moment. Delia shushed her conscience and did exactly that. Zeroing in on her most intimate place, Jackson pleasured her. With his lightly stubbled cheeks tickling her skin, he wiped all thoughts from her head. She couldn't think when her blood slowed to a languid pace in her veins, when each beat of her heart resounded through her body like the rumble of a sonic boom. Each caress, each delicious stroke wove a spell over her senses that made reasoning, let alone worrying, impossible. Delia could do nothing more than surrender to his possessive touch and marvel at the unrestrained way her body responded to him. The reality proved so much more fulfilling than any fantasy she'd ever had. Delia was ready for this man with a need even she hadn't fully appreciated. A need so strong that she'd conceived of this crazy plan to be with him. It felt as though she'd waited her whole life to feel his skin hot against hers, to know the feel of his silky hair beneath her fingertips, the tight strength of those broad, broad shoulders. Moisture puddled between her thighs. Her muscles melted until she trembled...her pleasure mounted until all she could do was moan softly and arch her hips. And then she simply opened up, her entire body engulfed in a downpour of sensation that stole the breath from her lungs.

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Jackson idly traced circles on her stomach, sometimes veering down to follow the depression along the juncture of her thigh. A sensitive place, and one that made her twitch rather ungracefully. He smiled, only lifted his gaze when she gasped. "Hello, are you back now?" He looked immensely satisfied with himself. Another stroke of his fingertip. Another twitch. His smile deepened. "Let's make love." Her whispered words fluttered out on the edge of a sigh. Propping himself up on an elbow, Jackson frowned, a look that roused her from her dreamy state. "We have a problem." "I brought plenty of condoms." His expression grew thoughtful. When he made no move to extract himself from between her thighs, she felt the silence lengthen with her every heartbeat. "It's not a protection problem," he finally said. There was something about the inevitability she heard in his voice, an emotion mirrored in his eyes, that sent alarm bells clanging in her head. "Then what's wrong?" "I won't make love to you with deception between us." Those alarm bells were ringing wildly now, but still Delia cooled her reaction, wouldn't let herself overreact, when he couldn't possibly know.... "Deception?" He seemed curiously reluctant yet very resolute. When he finally spoke, it was as though he'd measured his every word against her reaction. "I know who you really are, Delia." CHAPTER EIGHT Delia's world went suddenly, horribly still. Every echo of pleasure drained away in such a physical rush that she actually felt dizzy. Jackson's admission filtered through her, stunning, yet not quite bridging the distance from disbelief to acceptance to utter horror. She wanted to close her eyes and block out the sight of his face, that resigned expression that revealed he wasn't pleased about confronting her yet hadn't been able to do anything else. But she couldn't shut out the sight of the man she knew. The man she'd wanted with all her heart for so long. The man she thought she'd deceived. Though nothing had changed about their positions, or their expressions — indeed they both stared at each other as though caught soundly in the harsh glare of the truth — Delia no longer had the cover of her disguise to conceal her. She was exposed beneath Jackson's dark eyes. Visible in all her naked, postorgasmic glory.

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Something had to break before she dissolved into a humiliated puddle right before his eyes, and since he didn't seem to be gearing up for any other shocking revelations... "How long?" "Since the night you told me the Olde River House was your favorite place to eat." "You knew it was me because of one comment? What's so unusual about the Olde River House?" "You knew exactly how many bricks were used to construct the facade." Delia could only stare, though she was very grateful for his smug expression that distracted her with a good dose of righteous disbelief. "How could you possibly connect that to me? We've never even discussed —" "I overheard you telling Dr. Fairfax's design team about the construction while we were at dinner the night they came to town." "Jackson, you were sitting all the way across the table." All traces of smugness faded from his handsome face and he grew so serious that Delia braced herself for what was coming next. "I don't have to be sitting next to you to notice what you're doing." There was something so solemn about this admission, so unexpected, that she couldn't believe she'd heard him right. "What's that supposed to mean?" He glanced down at where his hand hovered above her thigh and traced another circle as though to make a point. "It means I've been paying very close attention to you." "You...you have?" He leaned forward and pressed a kiss where he'd traced that circle. She quivered in what was becoming a predictable reaction to his touch. "I have." She wanted to ask if that's why he'd played along with her game while she'd established her cover as RisquéHistorian and laid the groundwork for her fantasy seduction. But she couldn't make her voice work. "I want you, Delia." But that didn't explain why he'd never tried to turn their friendship into anything more and she finally managed to say so...while she tried to scoot away. He leaned across her legs so she couldn't move. "Hear me out. You promised." She had indeed. Another one of his slick moves. Here she'd thought she'd been the one with all the tricks up her sleeve and he'd been snaring her soundly in a trap of his own. She scowled. He traced another circle. "I didn't want you to lump me in with the other million guys who chase you because you're beautiful. I wanted you to feel comfortable enough to pursue me. And you did, online, as RisquéHistorian." "I do not lump..." she began to defend herself, but when Jackson arched a dark eyebrow, she trailed off, forced herself to entertain his point.

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I wanted you to feel comfortable enough to pursue me. He'd known how much she wanted him, so much that she'd been willing to risk everything, including his friendship, with her crazy plan, and he'd been willing to wait for her, to play along, just so she could transition from friends to more at her own pace. Delia couldn't seem to wrap her brain around the fact that they might actually have a chance to consider tomorrow. "Jackson, I was convinced you weren't interested, that you didn't see me as serious girlfriend material." "Because of the way you looked?" "You sound surprised. I have had the problem before and you have to admit that I'm a polar opposite from your last girlfriend." A woman who'd looked like a delicate china doll with her shiny black hair and big dark eyes. "True enough." Another circle. Another shiver. "But it's me we're talking about, Delia. I'm not just some man drooling after you. I'm your friend." "Is that why you played along?" He nodded. "Why did you pretend you were the Risqué Theatre's historian? And where did you learn all that stuff you told me about this place?" "Were you impressed?" "Very." She smiled. "It seemed a good way to get your attention. We're both interested in the theater and my neighbor worked here for forty-five years. She's been telling me all about the place. Not the facts that Dr. Blake quizzes us on, but all the juicy gossip. When the theater isn't undergoing construction, there's a plaque in the hallway with her name on it. She's the employee with the longest-running tenure." "Esther Lou Quincy. I remember. Dr. Blake told us about her." She nodded. "That explains where you got all that good trivia. But how did you get Dr. Blake and Dr. Fairfax to let you borrow the theater tonight?" "Blatant lies. I told them I wouldn't have a date for their wedding if they didn't give me the key to the place," she explained. "You know Dr. Blake. She's a mush. As soon as I told her I was tired of waiting for you to ask me out and wanted to give you a nudge, she handed over the key. And it did help that the security guard needed the night off." Jackson laughed. Then before she even realized what he was about, he'd rolled on top of her, pressing her back into the soft bedding. Delia might have gasped had she not been so caught up in the feel of his hard body against her. As it was, she sighed at the suddenness of his movement and then all thoughts fled as he brought his mouth down on hers. His urgency stole the sound from her lips and drove home what Delia hadn't been able to absorb yet — Jackson had been waiting to make love to the woman he wanted. Not the bold and daring RisquéHistorian, but her, Delia, his intern partner and friend.

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Slipping her arms around his neck, she savored the warm heat of shared breaths, the knowledge that he'd been willing to wait for her. Arching her body against him, she let him know with touch just how long she'd been waiting for him. "Make love to me, Jackson." Delia didn't need to ask twice. With sultry whispers and longing, she finally got to watch Jackson's face sharpen with his desire, hear his voice as he reached his pleasure, got to savor her response to this man and the magic they made together. And as they lay in each other's arms afterward, sated, their heartbeats racing, their bodies clinging skin to skin with the sheen of their exertions, Delia stroked the damp hairs from his temple and marveled at the turn of the night's events. "You're not angry that I misled you?" she asked. He leaned into her touch, a response that conveyed how satisfied he was more than words ever could. "Technically, I misled you, too, so I'm willing to call it even. As long as I don't have to settle for just one fantasy night." Delia snuggled into his arms with a smile. "I think we can look forward to a fantasy future, instead."

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Mistress of His Heart by Deborah Hale Years ago, the father of heiress Rosemary Greenwood forbade her to marry Merritt Temple, a young soldier, because of his lack of fortune. Now Merritt has returned to her small village a rich widower with an infant son. Rosemary is too proud to tell him that her family has been left penniless by her father's spendthrift ways and are struggling to save the family home from creditors. But Merritt has a secret of his own... Chapter: | 1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| 9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14| 15| 16| 17| 18| 19| 20| CHAPTER ONE "That must be him!" Ivy Greenwood dug an elbow into the muslin-draped ribs of her sister. "Ouch!" Rosemary peered in the direction Ivy had been looking. On the far side of Lathbury's assembly hall, she could make out only vague shapes of people. Both necessary economy and a stubborn crumb of vanity prevented Rosemary Greenwood from wearing spectacles. Just because she was 24 and still unwed didn't mean she'd surrender tamely to oldmaidenhood. "Don't stare! He's looking this way!" Ivy fluttered her fan protectively in front of their faces. "Who is he?" Rosemary raised her own fan. "And why shouldn't we look at him if he may look at us?" "He's coming this way!" Rosemary checked her impatience with her sister's high spirits. There'd been little in their lives of late to excite any emotion but worry. "Since you refuse to identify the gentleman, I suppose I must wait for an introduction." "It's the new master of Heartsease, of course." Ivy tossed her red-gold curls. "I hear he's widowed, and he must have an enormous fortune to afford such a grand estate." Rosemary cast a sidelong smile at her sister. "So you've set your cap for him, sight unseen?" "You must admit it would solve all our problems." "And spawn a host of new ones," muttered Rosemary. To her, the words wealthy widower did not conjure up an attractive picture. She glanced over the top of her fan to see the new master of Heartsease bowed before them. A tall fellow, many years younger than she'd expected, his broad shoulders filling out a well-tailored coat. "Ladies, forgive my impertinence in speaking to you without a proper introduction." The deep musical timbre of his voice set a swarm of bees buzzing inside Rosemary. Though she'd tried to forget, she never heard a man's voice without comparing it unfavorably to this one. "You probably don't remember me." He glanced up, catching Rosemary in a silver-gray gaze at once hard as tempered steel and soft as a summer mist. "I assure you we're acquainted. Merritt Temple is my name." Not remember? Rosemary might have laughed out loud, except a lump the size of a toasted crumpet had risen in her throat.

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Not that Merritt Temple looked exactly as she remembered him. Seven years ago, he'd been an awkward, ardent boy. Now he was very much a man. Crisp brown hair was swept back from a high brow that suggested cleverness. His lanky figure had ripened into its promise of spare, vigorous manhood, and the harsh Iberian sun had bronzed and weathered his compelling angular features. Those were not the changes that made Rosemary's heart lurch in her breast and her bones melt like butter on that toasted crumpet. Rather it was an air Merritt Temple carried about him now. Battle-hardened and subtly dangerous, yet tempered with an edge of wistful melancholy, as if he'd been wounded by something or someone in the past and had never fully recovered. Could she have been that someone? CHAPTER TWO As he faced the woman who'd broken his heart when it was still fragile enough to break, Merritt Temple strove to address Rosemary Greenwood and her sister with casual courtesy. Even as his pulse thundered in his ears like a volley of artillery. "I was at school with your brother, Thorn. He kindly invited me to holiday at Barnhill on several occasions. I have many pleasant memories of those visits." Merritt failed to mention they were among the few pleasant memories in his life. Three brief summers with the Greenwoods had been his only experience of belonging to a family. Perhaps that was what had drawn him back to Lathbury to raise his son. As he stared at Rosemary Greenwood, whose girlish charm had ripened into willowy golden beauty, Merritt knew it was the vain hope of seeing her again that had lured him. "Mr. Temple!" Ivy Greenwood cried. "Thorn will be delighted to hear you're the new master of Heartsease. Isn't this a marvelous surprise, Rosemary?" "I'm quite overcome." Not with pleasure, apparently. If she'd been happy to see him, her delicate features might have pinkened, as they used to when he pretended to steal a kiss. Instead they paled and her luminous blue-green eyes clouded with dismay. "Wh-what brings you to back Lathbury after all these years, Mr. Temple?" He resisted a mad urge to blurt out the truth. "I have an infant son whose mother died shortly after he was born. His health has been a concern to me. The doctors advised wholesome country air." "A baby!" exclaimed Ivy. "I have no patience with infants but my sister dotes on them. Don't you, Rose?" Rosemary's graceful tawny eyebrows drew together in a look of distress that Merritt ached to comfort. "Dear Mr. Temple, we are heartily sorry for your loss. Now to be anxious over your son's health, too. You have my deepest sympathy on both accounts." As he accepted her words of consolation, Merritt berated himself for the vilest cad. How dare he impose on Rosemary's tender sympathy when his heart held more guilt than grief? Behind them, the musicians struck up a lively tune — one to which they'd danced on a distant summer evening. He longed to ask if she might again, for the sake of an old friendship. But did he dare risk the blissful hazard of her touch?

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*** Rosemary recognized the lilting melody. As if it had been yesterday, she recalled the sweet felicity of dancing with Merritt Temple. Did he remember, too? Or did she only imagine the far-off look in his eyes? If he asked her to dance again for old times' sake, how would she answer? She must refuse, of course, politely but firmly. Even if Mr. Temple didn't hate her, which he must, there could be nothing between them, now. For the opposite reason such a connection had been impossible seven years ago. As Merritt started to speak, she opened her lips to decline his invitation. "Will you do me the honor of this dance…Miss Ivy?" Ivy? CHAPTER THREE "Me?" Ivy looked as bewildered by Merritt's dance invitation as Rosemary felt. "I wish I could...but...I've injured my ankle." She pushed Rosemary forward. "My sister will be happy to take my place." The force of that shove sent Rosemary staggering into Merritt's arms. Something else kept her from pulling away as quickly as propriety demanded — all the nights she'd fallen asleep longing for one final embrace. "Take care, Miss Greenwood, the floor's a trifle uneven." His large capable hands closed around arms left bare by her short sleeves. Once such a mishap would have left him touchingly flustered. Now he reacted with cool aplomb. Rosemary wanted to detest him for it. How dare he remain imperturbable while stirring her emotions to such a pitch? "I beg your pardon, sir." She pulled away from him. "You won't wish to squire such a clumsy partner." "On the contrary." He extended his arm. "You could roll down a hill into a brook and make it look graceful." He gave a warm chuckle, exploding her fancied slight into shimmering fireworks. "As I recall, you once did." Rosemary remembered how mortified she'd been and how enraged when Merritt laughed — what a silly, self-important creature she'd been! Now she laughed, too, and took his arm. As they danced, Rosemary struggled to keep her mind on the steps. Later they drank punch, and reminisced. Like a flower emerging from beneath the snow after a long winter, Rosemary felt herself warmed to life by the spring sun. "I must go." Merritt sounded reluctant to part. "I grow uneasy if I'm long away from my boy. May I call on you tomorrow?" "No!" cried Rosemary. "Thorn's away...and..." What could she tell him? Anything but the truth.

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*** Miss Greenwood didn't wish to renew their acquaintance. Merritt despised his weakness in caring. Clearly his heart hadn't grown as impervious as he'd hoped. He'd been a fool to imagine she'd refused him seven years ago solely because he'd been poor. More likely she'd considered him a friend, but shrank from the prospect of him as a lover. The wealth he'd inherited from his late wife couldn't change that. "Another time, perhaps." He willed his hurt not to show. Rosemary shook her head to discourage even that vague possibility. "The house isn't fit for guests. We're packing for an extended stay in Bath." "I'm sorry to hear it." Merritt tried to sound indifferent. "Will you be leaving soon?" "Within the fortnight." "How fortunate we should meet here and renew our acquaintance before you go. Good evening, ladies. Enjoy your stay in Bath." When he turned to leave, Ivy called. "Wait, Mr. Temple! We aren't well disposed to entertain, but we'd welcome an invitation to Heartsease. Wouldn't we, Rosemary?" "No, we mustn't intrude while Mr. Temple is busy getting his household in order." Resolved not to utter a word of persuasion, Merritt heard himself say, "I'd welcome the company. I know nobody else in Lathbury and I've always been backward about striking up acquaintances." Ivy ignored her sister's glare. "Send word when you want us and we'll come." CHAPTER FOUR "I wish I'd been born an orphan!" Rosemary pulled her cloak tighter. The spring evening was chilly and the walk back to Barnhill rather long. "I'm a better sister than you deserve." Ivy blew on her fingers. "Turning down Mr. Temple's offer of a drive on the spurious pretext that Lady Gorham would see us home." "The walk will do your injured ankle good," snapped Rosemary. "Speaking of spurious pretexts. "Do you know how many dance invitations that cost me?" Ivy said. "It would serve you right if I did nothing more to promote this match between you and Mr. Temple." "I do not want you matchmaking between Merritt Temple and me!" Ivy stopped in her tracks. "Why ever not?" Rosemary fought to calm her overwrought emotions. "When Merritt Temple had no prospects, I heeded Father's bidding to discourage him. I make no apology for that. It was prudent. Now that our positions are reversed — he is rich and we are not — I refuse to pursue him like some contemptible fortune huntress." "You still care for the man, but you won't have him because he's rich?" Ivy shook her head. "That's the silliest thing I ever heard."

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How could she make her sister understand, Rosemary wondered, when her own heart remained unconvinced? *** Merritt paced the gallery of Heartsease with his infant son in his arms. "What do you think, Harry? Will Miss Greenwood come to see you or was Papa foolish to send for her so soon?" oblivious to his apprehension, the child lavished a toothless smile upon Merritt and chortled. "You're right. It's silly of me to give a damn if she comes or not. And monumentally absurd to think the fortune we inherited from your mama would impress Miss Greenwood. What was I thinking?" He pulled a face at the baby, who batted his nose. "It makes no difference, does it, old chap? As long as we have each other, who needs the nuisance of a woman in our lives? We'll be the most exclusive gentleman's club, with only two members." Six-month-old Henry Percy Temple crowed his approval of the scheme. Through the gallery windows, Merritt saw his carriage drive up the lane. Surely it couldn't have returned from Barnhill so soon if the Greenwood sisters had accepted his invitation. In spite of his protestations to Harry, Merritt's stomach seethed. "Let's go ask Tom what excuse they gave." He sighed, knowing Harry would not count it a weakness. "Perhaps they'll come another day." Again Merritt cursed his impatience. He knew Rosemary was reluctant to renew their acquaintance on even a casual basis. Appearing overeager wouldn't endear him to her. He had so little time, though. The Greenwoods would be leaving for Bath soon and he'd been counting on Rosemary's help to get settled at Heartsease. "If she misses out on meeting you, handsome fellow, it's her loss entirely." As he strode into the entry hall, Merritt stopped dead in his tracks and almost dropped the baby. CHAPTER FIVE As Rosemary Greenwood stepped into the entry hall of Heartsease, she saw Merritt Temple an instant before he noticed her. In that fleeting glimpse, all her quiet, hopeless yearning of seven years multiplied a hundredfold. For she had caught him in an unguarded moment with his son. His formidable features had relaxed, and his brooding gray eyes twinkled with intimate laughter. All his height and lean strength signified only to protect the tiny, fragile, cherished being he cuddled in his arms. When he caught sight of them, Merritt froze, staring at her and Ivy as if they were unwelcome apparitions. Perhaps he'd only sent his carriage as a polite gesture after all, hoping they would refuse as they'd declined his offer of a drive last night. Why had she let Ivy convince her to come? Just then the baby looked up, smiled broadly and held out his arms. And Rosemary lost her heart to a second Mr. Temple. "Oh, Merritt!" She flew the length of the entry hall, hardly mindful that she'd called him by his given name. "You're too modest, as ever. Why didn't you tell us you had the most beautiful baby in England?"

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The child proved as susceptible to flattery as older, wiser gentlemen. He wriggled in his father's arms, straining toward Rosemary. Merritt handed him to her with the air of a miser surrendering his most precious treasure. "You mightn't have thought him handsome if you'd seen young Harry when he was born." Merritt sighed. "A tiny red scrap of a thing, not expected to live. He's proven a valiant fighter, though, my boy." "He looks in the pink of health now," Ivy assured Merritt as Rosemary kissed and cooed, not caring that she was making a perfect idiot of herself. Merritt shook his head, an anxious look clouding his distinguished features. "The doctors say his lungs aren't as strong as they might be. Harry's nurse claims it's my fault for not allowing him to cry himself to sleep. No doubt she's right, but..." "The woman's an unfeeling beast!" snapped Rosemary. "To let a motherless babe cry himself to sleep — what barbarity!" "I'd hoped to hire a replacement once we get settled," Merritt admitted. "But the woman is steady and capable. I fear I might do worse, having not the faintest idea how to engage servants. My past hasn't equipped me for my new station, I'm afraid. The staff I brought from London is hardly sufficient for this large an estate." "Rosemary will help you engage some good people," said Ivy. "Won't you Rose? She's seen to the running of Barnhill for as long as I can remember." Rosemary shot her sister a look that demanded she say no more. Much as she wanted to help Merritt and his little son, how could she come here da